it's the little things

by liv2read

Summary:

***I encourage those who usually don't read teachers/students to give this a chance. There are no instances in which there are taboo power dynamics, at least of a sexual nature. Heed the slow burn quite literally. A smoldering if you will.

After catching Y/N breaking the rules, Severus Snape sees the layers of the quiet student's personality peel before his eyes. The more he sees, the more intrigued he becomes as he indulges in the growing connection that exposes him to a world he thought he once knew and the peace he'd always been yearning for.

---

Takes place in the 90's like the movies (I'd like to think 1996 or 1997), but some character time-canon things are tweaked, so it's not strictly canon-compliant (Draco is not at Hogwarts yet/Weasley twins are in their third year). I write her being 20-21 in mind, but feel free to self-insert a different age. Reader is a 7th-year student who transferred in her 5th year. Snape being Draco's godfather fanon trope included. Malfoy family is a little OOC (not blood supremacists.)

*Potentially triggering content have warnings applied in designated chapters*

I do not support JKR's beliefs, trans rights forever 🤟🏻

Chapter 1: [Quick Authors Note]

Hi everyone!

As I write this story I can't help but feel like I should clarify some things so there is no confusion going forward.

•I'm aware that canonically Hogwarts school uniforms have skirts for the girls and pants for the boys. Feel free to picture her in a skirt as much as you want, but in scenes where she is in uniform I will be writing her wearing pants. Admittedly, this story is a bit self-inserty and I would rather choke on a cactus than wear a skirt. However, don't let this stop you from picturing her wearing a skirt if that is what you want to do. It makes no difference to me, just wanted ya'll to be aware so there isn't any possible confusion. 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

•Secondly, even though this is a no Voldemort/ no boy who lived fic, references from the movies are made (example flying Ford article). In my mind, they are simply substituted with different background/irrelevant characters.

•Also I know this is an /Reader fic, but as I started this I accidentally established two physical descriptors for the reader and we're too deep (and I feel too bad) to go back and change anything, but honestly these descriptors are hardly mentioned and therefore pretty ambiguous so its highly negligible as a reader.

Love ya'll and I hope you enjoy the story.

Chapter 2: Rain

Summary:

Reader has fun by breaking a rule.

Notes:

If the image towards the end of the chapter isn't popping up, please let me know immediately cuz I think its funny af

 

H/G/N = Head Girl Name

You were bored. Plain and simple.

It didn’t take you long to get back into the routine of things, but just one month into the year, and it already felt so tedious, including meals. You were in the Great Hall eating dinner with the other Slytherins on Saturday night. You didn’t talk much, more focused on eating, but never hesitated to throw in your two cents. While you didn’t have a close group of friends to talk to at meals, a result of your more reserved demeanor, you were an excellent student, which warranted friendly idle chat with the students that sat closest to you. Most of the time, you stayed in the Great Hall even after eating, either reading a book or daydreaming for a bit.

This evening’s dinner was one of those times. You were looking for something in the room to fix your eyes on. Solid blank colors or repeating patterns worked best, and yet, nothing seemed to be doing it for you. Not even the surface of the table in front of you. However, after one more head swivel, you found a satisfying target: the windows behind the teachers’ table. The window panes were arched and repeated both horizontally and vertically in an array. Very little light came through the windows since the sun had already set, leaving them to look dark blue.

You got comfortable, propping an arm up on the table and resting your cheek in your hand with a blank expression. Fixing your eyes on the windows, you let your mind wander as the Great Hall's ambient noise began to fade away.

Minutes passed as you became lost in the sea of thoughts and images that swelled in your mind. Tonight, however, you were so zoned out that you had failed to see that someone was staring at you. That someone was Professor Snape. See, when you were daydreaming, your body had slowly leaned forward a bit more than you intended, and your head had tilted downwards. Before, you had set your gaze towards the higher parts of the window, but now, you were looking at a section that was just past Professor Snape’s shoulder. Because of this, he assumed you were looking at him.

At first, Snape thought he had just happened to catch your eyes and ignored it. Once he saw that you hadn’t looked away, he narrowed his eyes at you in hopes of intimidating you, a sure-fire way that always made overly curious students snap their gazes away. Still nothing. Now he was practically drilling a hole in your head as his brow furrowed in irritation, scowling at you. 

You were snapped out of your blissful state of nothingness when a flash of light caught your eyes, making you flinch and blink a couple of times.

'Serves that foolish girl right,' Snape thought, celebrating his momentary victory.

Your breath hitched as you waited, still looking at the windows. Was that..?

On cue, another brief flash of light.

Please, please, please! You scrambled out of your seat, nearly tripping over your own feet as you began to walk towards the teachers’ table.

Snape wasn't expecting you to approach after what just happened, especially with the sense of urgency that was stricken on your face. Why were you walking toward him? He prepared himself to tell you to bugger off when you walked right past him without so much as a glance. Perplexed, he turned in his seat to see you standing in front of the windows. You were standing as close to the windows as you could get to watch streaks of water dribble down the tinted glass panes. You pressed your mouth into a thin line, suppressing a smile while bouncing on the balls of your feet, trying to contain your happiness. Looking over to Dumbledore, you saw that he knew exactly what you were thinking and gave you a nod, smiling. That was all you needed. Turning on your heel, you flounced away from the windows, leaving your plate and personal belongings back at your house table. You almost broke into a run as you rounded the exit to the Great Hall.

Baffled, Snape looked over to Dumbledore, who was whispering and laughing with McGonagall. His chest twinged with irritation at the conspiratory sight. It wasn’t his business, but it felt as though they were hiding a secret from him. He didn’t like this feeling of being excluded. You’d think they’d tell him, especially if it regarded one of the best students in his Advanced Potions class. 

'It’s probably nothing.' Throwing his napkin down, Snape quietly excused himself, intending to go to his chambers for the rest of the night.

 

And yet, curiosity got the best of him as he walked closer to where you had sat. Slowing to a halt, he saw you had left behind your school bag and a black zip-up jacket. 

“H/G/N,” Snape barked.

H/G/N abruptly turned away from her chattering friends, looking up to the potion master, surprised. “Yes, sir?”

“Where has Miss L/N gone?” he asked, outwardly calm and formal.

H/G/N blinked. She looked to where you had sat, noticing the reckless abandonment of your belongings. She then flicked her head to the windows you had stood by earlier, seeing a flash of light herself. Putting two and two together, she smiled and turned to Professor Snape.

“She’s in the courtyard. I guarantee it,” H/G/N said.

Muttering a quick ‘thank you’, Snape swiftly walked out of the Great Hall, his cloak billowing behind him.

***

Snape glided through the stone corridors. His presence was foreboding to students as a couple of stragglers in the corridors moved out of his way instantly. He looked like a man on a mission, though he had no idea what he was going to say or do when he found you. He still wasn’t quite sure why he was currently looking for you. Was it to soothe his curiosity or his ego? After rounding another corner, a sliver of moonlight caught his attention further down the hall. He approached it, realizing you had let the doors to the courtyard sit slightly ajar. As he got closer, he could hear the sound of running water.

 

Opening the doors, Severus saw that it was pouring rain. He could hear a murmur of thunder in the distance through the loud drumming of heavy water hitting the cobblestone courtyard. It was hard to see you through all the water at first, but when he squinted through the rain, sure enough, there you were on the far side of the courtyard. You were laughing happily while prancing about in the rain, positively soaked from head to toe. You whooped and hollered to yourself as you jumped into deep puddles and kicked water all around you. The rain felt extraordinary on your face and bare arms.

There was something so striking about the scene, seeing you so…expressive. Since he’s taught you, it seemed as though you were emotionally dampened. He was a bit amused by the sight of you running around in the rain. It was so childish, but it made him smile slightly.

A deafening crack of lightning snapped him out of his thoughts. Looking at you, he had expected you to yelp or run back inside in fear, but no, you ignored the lightning and kept enjoying yourself.

Snape walked a couple of yards out from the doorway. The architecture of the school created a natural awning for him to stand under.

“Miss L/N,” he called.

Not hearing him, you kept jumping in puddles and giggling.

“Miss L/N!” he tried again, this time shouting.

It was no use. The pounding of the rain was too loud, and you were too engulfed in your own euphoria to register his voice.

Hesitantly, Snape stuck his hand out into the rain. If he went out there, he’d be drenched in ten seconds. Even with a heating charm, the walk down to the dungeons in his many layers would be uncomfortable. He couldn't accio you to him, but perhaps, there was another way of reaching you.

Pulling out his wand, Snape aimed at you. “Legilimens.”

~

In your mind’s eye, a memory from your childhood began to play. You were probably around eight years old stomping around in the wet grass in your front yard in just shorts and a shirt while it rained. You had unbuttoned and yanked off the yellow raincoat and boots your mother had made you wear before going outside. You heard the door swing open with a creak. Your mother stood there with two cups of hot cocoa. 

“Y/N, it's time to come inside,” she said, but it wasn’t her voice. It was a deep baritone that rumbled between your ears.

“Huh?” you called back to her.

“I said, it’s time to come inside.”

~

The memory faded as you regained your surroundings. Instinctively you turned around and saw Professor Snape’s dark silhouette through the water, his wand down at his side, staring at you.

You were mortified. How long had he been standing there?

Snape motioned for you to come toward him. Reluctantly, you began to walk across the courtyard, making sure not to step on any worms or snails that were trying to escape the rain. Just before you were within his reach, you stopped, standing about six feet away from the building’s cover.

“Do I have to come inside?” you pleaded aloud.

“You know students are not supposed to be out in the rain at night, Miss L/N,” Snape said sternly. “I don’t care what special permissions Dumbledore has given you. I am your head of house, and I will not have you catch your death on my watch. Inside. Now.” He walked to the set of double doors and stood, waiting for you.

Sulking, you walked under the building’s cover, pausing to take off your shoes and wring the water from your hair and clothes. Snape observed your clothing. Thankfully, you were not wearing your uniform, which would have been see-through at this point. You were wearing muggle clothes. A pair of long, loose black pants that nearly reached the bottom of your heels, and a loose navy blue graphic t-shirt. The shoes you had taken off were black sneakers, the kind of shoes that were meant to get dirty. Honestly, you looked like a drowned rat. Holding your shoes with one hand, you followed him inside.

Neither of you realized how hard you had been breathing until you were both alone in the vacant corridor. It was a little hard to see too. Water from your scalp dribbled down into your eyes and you had to stop to wipe it away. Snape’s eyebrows quirked at you with a hint of concern.

“M’okay,” you panted while smiling, smearing your wet hair away from your face. “...Just had a…lot of fun is all.”

Snape was about to question you when he saw your shoulders suddenly tense up and your mouth hang open slightly. Your nose scrunched and your face contorted before you let out a soft sneeze. You lowered your head and sniffed, attempting to conceal your blush with your wet hair.

“Silly girl..” Snape muttered, shaking his head. In one swift motion, he had unwrapped his cloak from his shoulders and pulled it over your head, swaddling it around you. He held your wrist and gently pulled you down the corridor, leaving wet footprints on the ground from your socks.

“Where are we going, sir?” you asked curiously.

“As I said before, Miss L/N, I will not let you get sick,” he said insistently.

Snape led you further down another corridor and stopped once he had reached a particular statue standing in the nook of the stone wall. He spoke an incantation, activating the wall behind it to slide open, revealing a secret passage that led down to the dungeons. The two of you quickly descended the dark spiraling staircase until you were met with the cold dungeon air, which only made your wet body shiver more despite the presence of the cloak you were clutching tightly. Taking an iron key out of his pocket, Snape ushered you towards the potions classroom and unlocked the door. 

It was weird seeing one of your classrooms at night. The room took on a more depressing aesthetic with the lack of students and natural light. You could still smell hints of potion ingredients from the earlier classes that day. A couple of seats were scattered out of place and a pile of cauldrons lay on a table in the center row along with a bucket of water and a scrubber. 

Instead of leading you to the storage room, Snape pulled you to another door, this time unlocking it with his wand.

It was his office. The walls were lined with several bookshelves that housed different kinds of reading material. A leather couch, a small coffee table, and a rug sat near the large stone fireplace. On the far side of the room, you saw two other doorways. They probably lead to his bedroom and kitchen. In one of the corners, he had another desk, presumably for grading, and a small potion-making set, cauldron included. Similar to the Great Hall, Snape’s office had large arching windows accompanied by dark blackout curtains.

"How fitting," you thought.

Waving his hand, the fireplace ignited with a whoosh , dancing with orange flames. 

“Sit,” he ordered.

You padded over to the fireplace and sat down on the rug, legs crisscrossed. You leaned forward wrapping the cloak tighter around you, basking in the warmth of the fire’s glow. You were about to close your eyes when you heard the sound of pots clattering and Snape lowly cursing from the room you assumed to be the kitchen. You chuckled to yourself. It was quite funny, you’ve seen Snape get mad plenty of times but you’d never heard him curse before. 

A couple more minutes passed as you stared into the fire when you heard quiet footsteps. Snape returned to the main room, a steaming mug in hand. He walked over to a small cupboard near his desk and rummaged around with his free hand creating light clinking noises. After finding what he was looking for he made his way to the sitting area. He gave you a funny look.

“I meant the…never mind. Drink this.”

He leaned down and held out a small vial filled with brown liquid. Taking the vial from his hand you turned it over in the air. The liquid moved slowly, it was thicker than most potions. It moved like pancake batter. You looked at Snape who raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘Well?’. You grimaced knowing that it would probably taste nasty.

“Cheers,” you said popping the cork off and raising the vial to your lips. You tossed the liquid into your mouth. You instantly gagged as it hit the back of your throat. It tasted utterly foul. Pinching your nose, you forced yourself to swallow. Only then did Snape hand you the mug of tea. You began to drink it fast, not caring if you burned your tongue. You just wanted to get the taste of that awful concoction out of your mouth.

“What was that?” you asked.

“An immune booster,” he said flatly, taking the now empty vile back from you.

“Oh…thank you…” you spoke quietly, returning your attention to the fire.

Snape paused, looking at you. No one had ever thanked him after consuming one of his potions. Most students just complained about the taste of his concoctions or insulted him, albeit in their heads, calling him an ass for giving them such a horrid substance. His eyes lingered on your profile as you stared distantly into the fire, clutching the mug of tea. The yellow and orange light danced across your cheeks and ignited your eyes, which were glazed over, lost in thought. Under his cloak, Snape could see that though your hair was still dripping wet, it had curled under the heat of the fire. Little dimples formed on your cheek when you smirked at a silly idea or happy thought.

A sharp knock on the door caught both of your attention.

“...uh Professor Snape? I’m here to serve my detention,” a muffled voice said on the other side of the door.

He scowled, muttering beneath his breath. “I had forgotten about that. Miss L/N, you’ll have to stay here for the time being. It would be suspicious for you to leave my office now in such a state at this time.”

You nodded. “I understand, sir.”

Satisfied, Snape strode towards the door, hearing it close as you turned back towards the fire.

***

You didn’t do much in the first couple of minutes of Snape’s absence. You tried going to your mind palace again but the hardness of the floor was starting to hurt your butt. Stretching your legs, you stood up, still wrapped in Snape’s cloak, and padded around the room. Despite the insulting things you had heard about the potion’s master, he kept his office very clean. Walking closer to one of the bookshelves, you didn't see a single spot of dust. Your eyes scanned the rows of reading material. Most of the books were quite old. From what you could tell he had been building a collection of sorts as you noticed missing editions from some of the titles. You knew of some of these books. They were quite rare and highly sought after. Your eyes moved further down the shelves. School books, research books, foreign literature, poems… Your eyes stopped at a worn-out book tucked in the lower corner of the bookshelf. It was a muggle book that you knew of but had never gotten the chance to read.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Professor Snape wouldn’t mind if read, right? And I don’t have anything else to do... 

Carefully pulling the book out, you walked over to the leather couch. You set your now empty cup of tea on the coffee table and sat up against the armrest. You pulled his cloak off around your shoulders and laid it on your body like a blanket. Getting nice and cozy you began to read.

Halfway through the book, you grew tired as darkness began to cloud the corners of your eyes. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you saw an hour had passed since Snape’s departure. You tried focusing your attention back on the book, but you were so comfortable. While reading, your body slowly slid down the couch until you were lying across its length. The lit fire glowed warmly against your skin, the couch cradled you like a cloud, and Snape’s cloak was so soft and smelled of rain and lavender…

***

 

Snape barged into his office, irritated. 

“Stupid, stupid Gryffindor…” he muttered harshly to himself.

Snape froze as he looked in your direction. You had fallen asleep on his couch. Your now dry hair splayed around your head, catching the light from the fire. One of your forearms laid across your face, shielding the light from your eyes, while the other lazily clutched a book to your chest. Snape quietly walked towards you, checking to see if you were actually asleep. You hadn’t reacted to his sudden entrance and your breathing was soft and steady. He loomed over where your head was. He expected you to snap your eyes open and yelp at his sudden presence. Instead, you gently stirred, turning out towards the coffee table. Your arm flopped in front of your face and the book that sat on your chest fell onto the couch cushion. 

Snape cautiously removed the book and placed it on the table. He smirked at your selection after seeing the cover. It was a book he hadn’t read since he went to school here. He should’ve woken you. He should’ve hit you on the head with the book, scolded you for going out in the rain, touching his belongings, and sleeping on his couch. He should’ve. But he didn’t. You looked peaceful, and admittedly, your presence did not bother him. And besides, he had assignments to grade and you were being quiet… He could wake you when he was done. Sighing, he walked over to his desk. Pulling out a quill and a bottle of ink, he began to grade in silence, only looking toward you when you occasionally stirred.

***

 

You shifted under Snape’s cloak and slowly woke up. You were surprised to find yourself still in his office. The room was darker, the fire now reduced to red smoldering embers. The warm glow in the air that lulled you to sleep had left. How long have you been asleep? Looking at the clock, you saw that it was now past curfew. You stood up clutching his cloak in your arms. It was eerily silent. Where was Professor Snape? You scanned your eyes around the room almost missing him. There on his desk lay Snape, face down in his folded arms, asleep. You crept over to his desk and glanced at the piles of paper. They were from first years and most of them were given T’s. Snape began to shiver slightly in sleep. Quietly, you transfigured his cloak into a black fleece blanket and draped it over his shoulders. You grabbed a piece of parchment paper, scrawled out a note, and folded it into a little origami snake. Finding your shoes, you put them on and slipped out of his office.

It was around midnight when Snape had groggily woken up. His neck twinged in slight discomfort. Reaching back, he felt something on top of him. He yanked it off and held it in front of him. The blanket you had placed on his shoulders transfigured back into his cloak before his eyes. Instinctively, he looked across to the couch where you had laid. Sure enough, you had already left. He looked at his clock and scowled. He was beyond late for rounds, but it was the weekend and he just couldn’t care less tonight. 

Snape huffed, turning his attention back to rolls of parchment on his desk. He reached for his quill but noticed a small paper snake on his desk. His brow arched at the sight, but nevertheless, picked it up and unfolded it.

Snape snorted at the little drawing you had made. Most of the crude depictions he encountered weekly portrayed him as a greasy troll or something, but he found your rendition endearing. He knew you intended to make him laugh, not insult him. Carefully, he smoothed the note out and placed it in the drawer of his desk. 

 

 

Chapter 3: Don't Push Your Luck

Summary:

Reader gets a bit too playful on the first day of Quidditch.

The Great Hall was buzzing with excited chatter. Quidditch season had begun and the first game was versus the age-old rivals: Gryffindor and Slytherin. You weren’t the biggest fan of Quidditch, but you did attend the games that your house participated in. Though you didn’t preach it verbally, house support was important to you. Maybe you and the other Slytherins will do something to celebrate if you win? You started to make conversation with the more quidditch-obsessed students at your table. They had been coming up with extravagant ways to cheer on their team to kick off the season. The boys wanted to show up to the match shirtless with S-L-Y-T-H-E-R-I-N spelled out on their bodies, but you pointed out that McGonogall might take house points away from them for “indecent exposure”. But painting wasn’t a bad idea.

“What if we wore face paint?” you suggested. “You know like half green half silver split down the middle. I’d be happy to even paint little snakes on our cheeks.”

“That’s a great idea, Y/N!” they beamed.

You pulled a notebook out of your bag and started making little designs, showing them as you drew. Some of them pitched ideas like inverting the colors of the face paint with snakes on the cheeks, painting scales and fangs on their faces, or even having snakes going down the tops of their arms. It was a lot of fun coming up with visuals as they chattered at you excitedly. You all made plans to get to the quidditch field early before the game started to paint their faces. You felt giddy, maybe from all the school spirit.

Putting your notebook away, you glanced at the teacher’s table just in time to see Dumbledore and Professor Snape discreetly slide McGonogall two small, lumpy pouches.

Oh, gambling are we? You smirked. It was no surprise coming from Dumbledore and McGonogall. They’ve been known to be quite meddlesome in student affairs. But Professor Snape? That was interesting. Maybe it’s because he’s your head of house? Whatever. He’s an adult he can do what he pleases with his money. It’s not as though you were worried. You had extreme confidence in your house. Maybe you should make a bet. But with who?

Scanning the Gryffindor, your eyes settled on the Weasley twins. They’d be perfect. The pair were always looking for ways to make things “interesting” in the school. And your offer would be irresistible.

“OI. WEASLEYS,” you said loudly, catching the attention of both the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. Curling your finger, you motioned the pair over to you.

Curiously, they got up from their table and trotted over to you.

“Hello, Y/N,” George started. “How are you?” Fred finished.

“Hello boys, I’m great,” you said, “especially knowing that we're gonna bury you in the ground today.” You smirked at them, wiggling your eyebrows. 

They grinned. “Someone’s cheeky today.”

“Oh, but it gets better,” you responded smugly.

They leaned down towards your face. “Oh yeah? And why’s that Y/N?” they questioned in unison.

“Because I’d like to make a bet with you both. If Slytherin wins, you both give me 5 galleons. But if Gryffindor wins, I will give you 20 galleons. Each.” you said crossing your arms.

Their eyebrows shot up in surprise. They both turned around and began to whisper to each other. You could see the rest of the Slytherin and Gryffindor table watching the three of you intently. Thankfully, the teachers were too occupied to notice. 

The twins turned to you holding their hands out crisscrossed over each other.

“It's a deal!” They exclaimed. 

***

Word of your little bet had gotten around the school fast. It was a weekend and you didn’t have classes, which meant students had all morning to pester you. Many of the students were other Gryffindors and Slytherins who wished you good luck or were also trying to get in on the action. You weren’t completely opposed to the idea of expanding your potential profits, but the existence of the bet itself was already drawing enough attention and you didn’t want to get in trouble with the teachers, so you shut all of them down. And of course, the Weasleys didn’t wish to share the profit with anyone. From what you heard, they were planning on using their winnings to buy special pranking items.

Having enough of being bombarded, you grabbed a jacket and your school bag that held your notebook, and walked to the grassy field outside of the quidditch stadium an hour before the game. Finding a soft spot of grass, you sat down and began to doodle more face paint designs. You didn’t know how many faces you’d end up painting today, hopefully, a lot! A variety of designs would likely make everyone happy. Soon, your mind began to wander again. The repetition of drawing snakes made you think back to the note you had left Professor Snape a couple of weeks ago. Did he even see the note? I wonder why he didn’t wake me up earlier. Had he forgotten I was even there? Oh well, what matters is you managed to escape any actual punishment that night. 

You turned the page in your notebook and started a new section, this time drawing more caricatures of Professor Snape as a snake. Today, you had a bit more time to start with sketches, make the lines cleaner and create more dynamic positions. Soon, the entire left page was filled with little “Severus Snakes”. 

Just as your pencil hovered over the right side page, you saw a shadow partially fall over you and felt a presence behind you. You already knew who it was, it was Professor Snape of course. The man had a habit of appearing behind people silently and scaring the bejeezus out of them, but ironically his silence was the very thing that gave him away. Every normal person would just tap you on the shoulder or say something as they approached you, but Snape didn’t operate that way. You COULD turn around and greet him…

..or you could ignore him and see what he does. The latter option sounded more enticing and you were curious how he would react.

As if nothing happened, you began sketching. As a cherry on top, you even scooted your notebook a bit to your right across your lap so that he had a view over your shoulder. You sketched the base layer of the snake’s head and body, planning out the action and positioning. Your wrist moved fluidly, lightly dragging the pencil across the page, creating smooth curves. You could feel Snape’s eyes following your movements. Still, he had said nothing. You moved on to developing the features of the face and hair. Setting your note-taking pencil down, you reached into your school bag and took out a different set of pencils, ones meant for sketching. Grabbing a medium dark pencil, you blocked out his hair, creating little floofs at the ends to express irritation. Using the same pencil, you whisked a harsh curving line behind the snake's body, creating the outline of Snape’s dramatic cloak that flourished behind him. Switching to a deep black pencil, you colored in his hair and outlined some scales on the body. You also had given more detail to the second subject of this picture, a Gryffindor boy who was known to be a bit clumsy in potions. Signing your name in the corner, you set the pencil down and examined your work.

“Huh. I wonder…” you trailed off. Retrieving your wand from your bag you pointed in front of you. 

"Serpensortia.” 

A snake about a yard long popped out from your wand. It slithered on the grass, looking around in confusion. You muttered another transfiguration spell at the snake. It sprouted a head of black hair and a little black caped appeared a couple of inches down from the snake's head. The snake tilted its head at you and flickered its tongue, even more confused.

You begin to laugh, closing the notebook book you pressed it to your mouth in an attempt to stifle yourself. “I’m sorry little guy.” You said to the snake. “I just had to know.”

You pointed your wand at the snake once again. “Evanesca.” 

The spell hit the snake and it began to disintegrate inch by inch, orange sparks shooting from its body. You sighed a little sadly, feeling bad about summoning life only to just take it seconds later.

Professor Snape cleared his throat from behind you. You had almost forgotten he was there. Before he could say anything you beat him to the punch.

“For the last time Headmaster Dumbledore, I am not putting laxatives in the Slytherin team’s water no matter how much you bribe me,” you stated firmly, suppressing your smile.

You could feel Snape’s surprise and anger rise behind you. You had no idea it was this fun to mess with him, harmlessly that is. 

“He did what?” Snape bellowed. You leaned backward, resting your shoulders against his shins. You didn’t realize just how close he had been standing behind you. Craning your head up, you saw an upside-down Professor Snape staring down at you in confusion and anger.

“I'm just messing with you, sir.” You smiled. “I knew it was you behind me the whole time.”

Snape huffed at you in annoyance. You reached for your notebook and returned to sketching face paint designs, still leaning against his legs. You were surprised he didn’t recoil away from you the instant you made contact.

“What are you doing out here, Miss L/N? The Quidditch game isn’t for another 45 minutes.” 

You groaned. “Currently, I am hiding from our house and ALL of Gryffindor. I made a bet against the Weasley twins, and suddenly everyone is begging me to let them in on it.”

“How much?” Snape raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“40 galleons on my end,” you said flatly.

He scowled. “Gambling is unbecoming of you, Miss L/N.”

You whipped your head back up to him, bumping his knees. “You’re one to talk Profe-

“Y/N!” a voice called.

Instinctively, you scooched away from Snape, putting a few feet of distance between the two of you. Both you and Snape turned toward the direction of the voice. A little over 20 Slytherins were walking towards you in the distance.

“The other reason why I’m here,” you said to Snape. You waved to them smiling.

“Oh, hello Professor Snape,” a boy said. “Are you here to get your face painted too?”

“Absolutely not,” Snape hissed.

You snorted, trying to envision Professor Snape with little snakes on his cheeks or a green face. Snape sensed what you were thinking and shot you a glare.

“What are you doing out here, sir?” you asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Miss L/N, but I was asked to inspect the field to ensure nothing has been tampered with to give any team an unfair advantage,” he said coldly.

“Oh, okay then,” you said. “Well, if you change your mind you know where to find us.” You motioned for the Slytherins to come close and make a circle. One of them handed you the paint and brush. They began to talk about the match as they each waited their turn to be painted. You had your notebook open next to you, but you had memorized all the designs at this point and you didn’t really need to look at them. You started on one of the girls smearing her face with green and silver. 

Snape had not left yet. He stood there for a bit watching you paint, a bit surprised. Was this your idea?

He eyed your notebook. Noticing the others were too excited about the game to care about his presence, he discreetly accio’d the notebook to himself and turned around. He flickered through the pages until he found the drawing you had been working on earlier. 

Snape’s eyes scanned the little drawings. It was strange how well you managed to capture his mannerisms, even as a snake. He didn’t think anyone paid much attention to him in his classes, let alone the emotions he felt throughout the day. And yet, the illustrations felt so familiar to him. Silently, he tore the pages out of your notebook before sending it back next to you and stalking off towards the Quidditch pitch. Little did Snape know that those drawings would be the last ones he would see for quite a while.

***

As expected, the stands were packed with students. And it looked like a great day to play quidditch. You and the Slytherins whose faces you painted all sat with each other. You had also painted your face, but not nearly as much as you had for the others. You gave yourself long fangs on the corner of your lips and a couple of green and silver scales on your jaw and along your cheeks and hairline. It was a weekend so you weren’t obligated to wear your uniform, although many house members wore their robes and scarves in support. You were wearing another muggle outfit so you transfigured your jacket from black to dark green. 

You looked over to where the teachers sat. You could see Dumbledore and McGonagall saying something to Professor Snape while he rolled his eyes. Ha, probably trying to get each other to put more money down. Dumbledore always wore some set of grayed-out robes so you were pleasantly surprised to see him wearing a red and yellow scarf today. Snape, of course, donned all black even though it was sunny outside. 

You wondered how much exactly the two had betted for this game. You had 40 galleons total on the line, which was about 200 pounds. In hindsight, gambling that much was a bit hasty, but it didn’t matter too much to you. You had extra money to spare this year after working a job in the summer. Besides, if you lost you could always tell the Weasleys to consider it as an “early Christmas present.”

 

The sound of Lee Jordan's amplified voice cut through the air as he began to announce the start of the Quidditch match. Gryffindor cheered loudly as their team flew onto the field. But when Jordan introduced the Weasley twins as the beaters, Gryffindor’s cheering became drowned out by booing from the Slytherins, which earned you all glares from the teacher’s stand.

 

Shifting slightly away from the rest of them, you covered your face with your hands, embarrassed.

 

C’mon y'all. Have some class for God’s sake.

It was safe to say that Slytherin had this one in the bag. 15 minutes into the game, and your house had already scored 60 points while Gryffindor still had nada. You could feel a sense of impatience build in your head while your eyes darted around the stadium. My god, were you bored already? With QUIDDITCH of all things? Perfect fucking timing. Of course, you get bored in the one place where students can’t leave, while being surrounded by hundreds of shouting people. And you couldn’t draw with all this noise. I should’ve brought a book like Professor Snape. You felt a chilling breeze on your neck and wrapped your jacket tighter around you. Looking up, you noticed that the once sunny sky that graced Hogwarts this morning was now blocked out with gray overcast clouds. Maybe it’ll rain again. You could only hope. Tucking your legs into yourself, you pressed your arms around your knees and rested your head against them, letting your hair shield the sides of your face. You doubt you’d be able to go to your mind palace in such an environment but it was worth a shot. To your surprise, it was quite easy to let your mind get lost in the sounds of the loud cheering. Because the cheering was consistent and maintained its volume, it almost functioned as white noise.

What should I buy with my winnings? There is a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. Do I need to restock anything? I don't think so… Should I get a pet? I’ve never had one while at Hogwarts. Perhaps a snake? You weren’t a parseltongue, but you would love to have a little guy wrapped over your shoulders and nuzzling into your hair as you drew. Give it plenty of boops.

Lee Jordan's voice cut through the air, bringing you out of your thoughts. The Slytherin seeker was hot on the golden snitch’s tail. He swerved about through the air, ducking and turning to avoid stray bludgers. He inched closer and closer to the golden snitch and made a desperate lunge right before colliding with the Gryffindor seeker, who flew a perpendicular path toward the snitch. The crowd gasped as both seekers struggled to hang on to their brooms. Two Gryffindor chasers managed to help their teammate back onto his broom. The Slytherin seeker held on desperately to his broom with one hand, and with the other, frantically waved the golden snitch in his hand. 

The crowd roared in celebration. Slytherin had won the first Quidditch game of the season and you won 10 galleons total. You hummed in satisfaction, clapping proudly for your house. They had flattened Gryffindor with a score of 210-0. Could this day get any better?

Plip.

Something wet landed on your nose. Touching the droplet, you saw that it was clear.

Plip Plip Plip.

They landed on your forehead. Looking up, you saw that the clouds had become darker than before. It had started to drizzle. It seemed most people were too preoccupied with celebrating to notice. That was until the light shower started to become heavy rather quickly. The students around you began to clamor, some girls squealed not wanting to get their hair wet. No one had expected it to rain this morning since it started as a nice day, so naturally, no one had an umbrella. The paint on the Slytherins you had met with earlier that day began to streak down their faces, turning into a dark muddy green. You could see on the tip of your own nose green paint running down from your forehead. They all pushed towards the stairs to get out of the stadium so they could run to the castle for shelter. The Slytherin section had cleared out in almost a matter of seconds. It was the same with the other houses. You noticed that the teachers had also not spared a moment to abandon their seats as well. They would probably close the stadium soon which meant you couldn’t linger for as long as you had wanted.

Slinging your bag around your shoulder, you slowly descended the stairs of the nearest tower until you had reached the ground level. You walked through the internal circumference of the stadium that was underneath the stands until you reached the main entrance to the stadium. Standing up against the wall was Professor Snape. He seemed conflicted.

“Hello, Professor,” you called.

He snapped his head toward you, surprised that someone else was still here.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“I could ask you the same thing, sir.” You observed him a bit more. It seemed, like everyone else who had decided to make a run for it, that he did not have an umbrella. He’s smart though, couldn’t he have just transfigured something into an umbrella? …oh he doesn’t have his wand with him, does he? I probably shouldn’t ask though. Knowing him, he’ll snap at me out of embarrassment or something. You also noticed that the book he was holding earlier was no longer in his possession.

“Where is your book, sir?” you asked.

“My what?” he responded blankly.

“Your book. I saw you reading one before the game started. Did…you leave it somewhere?”

Understanding you now, he quickly patted his sides and the inside of his cloak. He let out a growl of frustration, realizing that he had indeed left it somewhere. He turned back towards the rain cursing to himself under his breath. 

Wordlessly, you shook your bag off your shoulder and unzipped your jacket, leaving you in jeans and a t-shirt. Taking your wand from your bag, you turned the green jacket back to black and transfigured it into an umbrella. Leaning it up against the wall opposite from him, you turned around and walked back the way you came. 

The stadium was filled with the sounds of heavy pitter-patter noises as the rain bounced off the surface of the risers. Rather than popping up in the student section, you ascended the tower where you saw Professor Snape sitting. It was a small sitting area, meant to hold maybe 30 ish people at most. You walked between the risers, skimming your eyes along the ground, sure enough, in the very front row, lay a book drenched in rainwater, the corners of the pages slightly curling. You recognized it. It was the book you had read in his office the first time he had caught you out in the rain.

 

***

 

Of course. Of course, it had to rain on the one day he didn't have his bloody wand! And he left his book up in the teacher’s tower. Probably ruined by now. He kicked at a nearby patch of grass underneath the entrance’s arch.

He eventually turned back around to tell you to be on your way, but you had disappeared. In your place was a long black umbrella leaning up against a wall.

Snape briefly poked his head out in the rain, sweeping his gaze across the grassy field searching for you. Knowing you, you would have walked back to the castle without an umbrella splashing in puddles again. However, he didn’t see you anywhere in the distance. He would’ve seen her walk past him.  She’s still here. She must be.

Grabbing the umbrella, he opened it and waited.

***

Walking towards the entrance again, you placed a heating charm on the book, expelling water from the pages with clouds of steam. It wasn’t a very long book, so it ended up drying rather quickly. You quickly flipped through the pages of the book. There didn’t seem to be any damage to the book, perhaps the occasional smudged word, but otherwise in good condition. Reaching the end, you saw a message scrawled on the inside of the cover.

“Property of the Half-Blood Prince”

Closing the book, you were surprised to find that Professor Snape had actually waited for you. You intended for him to take the umbrella and leave so you could take your time walking back. 

“You’re still here,” you stated.

He turned to you upon hearing your voice. “As are you,” he responded matter of factly. You were once again soaked from having gone back upstairs into the roofless stadium.

You flashed him a small lopsided smirk and waved his book out in front of you. 

“Found it in the teacher’s section. And don’t worry there’s barely any damage. I dried it off on the way down here," you said handing it to him.

He said nothing.

Your fingers brushed his as he took the book from your hand. You felt a shiver down your back.

You sniffed, wiping the dripping paint off your face with your forearm. Your arms and face were a muddy mixture of silver and green. Making sure you had all your belongings, you gave him a nod and began to walk out into the rain. 

The downpour felt wonderful, you turned your head up towards the sky and stretched your arms up in the air, taking in the water. You wanted to enjoy this as long as possible. Maybe you didn’t have to go back to the castle right this moment. Seconds later, you felt a presence on your right side. Snape had caught up and was holding the umbrella between the two of you.

“Oh, sir I’m fine, really. Besides I’m sure you want to get back to the castle as soon as possible. I know you’re not a fan of the rain,” you said.

“Do not play with me, Miss L/N. If I left you alone, you’d probably wander around Hogwarts for hours in the rain and become hypothermic,” he said sternly. 

“Bit of an overstatement…” you mumbled. It was true though, you’d love to go into the forest or walk around the Black Lake right about now. “I bet you’re happy it rained after the game and not during it, Professor. What do you plan on doing with your winnings?” 

Minerva, you blabbermouth. Snape scowled at you. “That is absolutely none of your business, Miss L/N.”

You rolled your eyes. Fine, be that way.

Looking ahead, your eyes caught sight of a puddle in the middle of the path. You smiled and were about to run forward but Snape had caught your shoulder before you could leave the cover of the umbrella.

“Don't,” he barked.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Don't ‘what’ me, you know exactly what I am referring to.” 

You bit your lip in frustration. Was he going to be like this the rest of the way back?

Apparently, yes. On your walk, the two of you passed many puddles of all different sizes and depths. As you neared each one, you would begin to slowly gravitate towards them in hopes of at least kicking them, but every time you lingered away from Snape, he would give you a low warning growl. The more untouched puddles you passed, the antsier you grew.

C’mon, just one puddle.

And then you saw it. About 20 yards ahead of you was a large glorious puddle that had covered most of the path's width. You knew it was a deep one too. You walked this path many times to know that there is a dip in the ground where the puddle currently sat. You calmed yourself and put on your best poker face. Snape hadn’t seen the puddle yet, but when he did you knew that he would focus all his attention on you. But even then, how would you get away from his grasp? 

Think. Your wand is in your bag and the sudden movement might catch his attention even more. Magic is not an option, which means you could either distract him or bait him. He’ll be focused on you, baiting him would be better. Maybe you could get HIM to put distance between the two of you. Just for a second or so. That’s all you would need. There was about two feet of space on the path between the puddle and thick muddy grass. How can you use that?

An idea came to mind. It was so simple too, but it hinged on an assumption that you were hopefully right about.

Just as you predicted, Professor Snape began to watch you like a hawk from the corner of his eyes. Not only that, but he switched the umbrella to his outer hand so that he could grab you from a shorter distance if he needed to. Still, you kept a blank expression on your face and kept looking forward. To Snape’s surprise, you kept close to him as the two of you were getting closer to the puddle. Just as you reached the constrained part of the path, you suddenly pressed your wet shoulder firmly against his. He jolted away from you, side-stepping into the slick mud, and stumbled, but did not fully trip. 

Seizing the opportunity, you quickly turned away from him and did a giant leap into the puddle, stomping your feet hard and making a big splash around your legs. Your shoes were completely submerged and you felt the water instantly seep into your socks. 

You spun around flashing him a victorious smile. However, your smile faded and your eyes widened when you saw the look of rage in his eyes.

“You insolent girl…” He swiftly closed the distance between the two of you, grabbing the collar of your wet shirt and yanking you towards him. “I will see to it that you never touch a drop of water outside the castle walls ever again! Do you understand?!” He roared, his eyes piercing into yours.

You flinched, your throat becoming dry and your eyes blurring a bit from the shock. He had never threatened or even yelled at you before—never had a reason to. No one had ever really yelled at you before. Maybe that's why it had such an impact. But you had pushed your luck. You hoped not to hear him do so again.

I…yeah” you managed to utter. 

Letting you go, the two of you resumed walking. You remained completely and utterly silent for the rest of the walk, tilting your head down a bit and kept your eyes glued to the ground, letting your wet hair shield the sides of your face. You didn’t dare look anywhere else or even stick your hand out from underneath the umbrella to feel the raindrops, worried that any slight change in your movements would get you in trouble.

As the two of you entered the courtyard, you saw Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore standing by the doors to the castle talking with each other. Noticing your arrival, Dumbledore looked towards you and Professor Snape, smiling.

“Ah, there you two are,” Dumbledore said. 

His smile faltered a bit when he saw the expression on your face. You looked like a wounded animal with your tail tucked between your legs. As soon as Professor Snape closed the umbrella, you darted under the cover of the castle, hurriedly yanked off your shoes, and strode inside without a word.

 

Chapter 4: Glow

Summary:

Reader spends time deprived of one of her favorite things.

Notes:

I made some slight edits to the last chapters. Nothing noticeable, just small little things that don't accidentally contradict what I have planned and will help with the timing better :v feel free to go back and reread if you'd like. I might go back and rename chapters the more I post as well

You did not show up for dinner. In fact, you stayed in your room for the rest of the weekend. So much as even looking at the rain through the windows made you depressed, so you enclosed yourself in the walls of your dorm. Professor Snape had mentally barred you from being able to go out in the rain. You were convinced that even a single step out into the courtyard would result in him somehow finding out and punishing you. You had never been scared of Professor Snape, or even intimidated by him before, but the experience had thoroughly shaken you. Like a lab rat, you didn’t want to get electrocuted if you touched the plate of cheese. On top of that, your notebook had been tampered with. You thought about drawing to make you feel better after returning to the castle only to find that someone had specifically torn out your drawings. You had a pretty good idea who did it too, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

You had two visitors that night. The mischievous red-headed twins had swung by to give you your winnings but stayed and attempted to console you after seeing how grief-stricken you were. They offered to bombard whoever made you upset with the mother of all pranks. George went to grab you a plate of food, remembering that he had not seen you at the Great Hall, while Fred told you about what pranks he had on his bucket list in hopes to cheer you up.

For the rest of the night, you threw yourself into your schoolwork. You had a potions essay to finish, but the reminder of the potions master put you in a sour mood. You didn’t even recognize your own handwriting with how harshly you scrawled on the paper. You had also opted not to draw in the margins and on the back of your parchment paper like you typically do. Instead, you moved on to your other schoolwork, albeit a bit more robotically and uninterested. 

The rest of the week was spent in a similar fashion as it continued to rain. You hardly spent any time in the Great Hall, only to grab quick snacks, and attended classes as usual, but it felt as though you were on autopilot. You plowed through the practical portions of your classes to give yourself as much time as possible to escape into your mind. It didn’t help that almost every seat you had in class was next to a window, with the exception of Potions. Potions felt unbearably slow. Brewing such complicated potions required your full attention and left almost no time to daydream, especially if the class that day was lecture-based. You had no choice but to suck it up. When you weren’t in class, you immediately retreated to your room and occupied yourself until you got hungry or went to bed. A couple of times during the free period, you accidentally wandered a bit too close to the windows on your way back down to the dungeons and ended up standing frozen in place and staring at the rain for a whole hour. George and Fred continued to visit you, asking if you were okay and bringing you food when they noticed your infrequent appearances for meals. You weren’t purposely starving yourself or going on a hunger strike, it's just that you weren't really motivated to go and do stuff outside of your room while it kept raining.

***

Although he didn’t show it, Snape was pleased to see you in class. He thought you had gotten sick from the walk when he saw the Weasley twins making an uncharacteristic trip down to the dungeons to bring you food. He had pressed George about his intentions for being in the area, but he was not given much, only that he had been bringing food to your room. 

But as the week progressed, he could tell that something was off. You took notes and brewed without a problem, but it was as though you weren’t all there. In the brief moments that his eyes met yours, he saw something that resembled detachment. When he called upon you to answer questions, your responses, though technically correct, were brief and loaded with apathy. Your demeanor starkly contrasted with what he was used to seeing in his class. Engaged. Passionate. Curious. Now…you almost seemed a bit empty. It didn’t sit right with him. 

Snape didn’t want to admit it but he had grown a bit protective of you since you joined Advanced Potions in your sixth year. It was evident from how he treated you when he caught you out in the rain recently. Realistically, he should have placed a heating charm on your clothes and escorted you back to your dorm, rather than drag you down to his quarters and coddle you. It’s not as though he saw you as weak, your abilities in classes proved quite the opposite, actually. There was just something about you that made him want to pay more attention to you. And, unlike most of his Slytherins, you were nice and generally went out of your way to help others, even if you didn’t benefit from it. If it weren’t for your cunningness, you could’ve been a Gryffindor. 

Merlin, the thought of that made him want to throw himself from the astronomy tower.

Class was about to end. He wanted to ask how you were before you would disappear for the rest of the day. Students began packing up their things and filing out of the classroom, eager to get to their free period. Fortunately for him, you hadn’t left your table yet.

“Miss L/N. A moment,” Snape said.

You slung your bag on your shoulder and slowly approached his desk, raising your eyebrows lazily rather than verbally greeting him.

Snape knew what he wanted to ask you. He wanted to know if you were okay. Why you weren’t showing up to meals. Why your eyes seem so utterly dead as he looked at you. Why it seems as though a chunk of your soul had been ripped out. But for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to, so he pivoted.

“Where is the essay I assigned last week? I didn’t see your submission on my desk this morning.”

Knowing exactly where your essay was, you pointed to an ordinary parchment roll amongst the group of rolls near the corner of his desk. 

“ ‘s right here, sir,” you said.

Snape blinked. Reaching for it, he unrolled it examining the front and back, and sure enough your name was in the top right corner. He was used to instantly recognizing your work from all the little doodles and drawings that encompassed the entire backside of the roll. It always stood out amongst the pile.

“Oh…” was all that came out of his mouth. He saw that you hadn’t left anything in the margins or even in the leftover space at the bottom of the page. It slightly saddened him. Initially, he thought you had a lot of nerve to vandalize his assignments with your little doodles, but now it has secretly become something he looks forward to seeing.

You stared at him blankly. “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

Snape cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed. “No, you may go.”

 

 

These exchanges would repeat over the next few days. Snape would attempt to work up the courage to figure out what was wrong with you, only to chicken out and ask you something trivial about schoolwork. He chastised himself for being unable to ask you such a simple question. A part of him was afraid to find out the answer, or even worse, that he wouldn’t be able to help you. 

A couple of times after potions Snape would be walking to another part of the castle and he would see you staring out a window with your hands clasped behind your back, still as a statue with a faraway expression on your face. He tried to approach you each time, but the distinct sound of his footsteps was enough to snap you out of your trance and walk hurriedly away down to the dungeons. 

At some point, Snape ambushed the Weasley twins after they had visited your room during dinner. He drilled them with questions. How long were they in there for? What did you eat? How much? What did you talk about? They answered to the best of their abilities, but still, he turned up with nothing. 

He was becoming anxious and it started to show. Snape found himself staring at the entrance to the Great Hall, waiting for you to show as he ate his meals. In class, he tried to disperse his attention equally amongst the students as he walked around observing everyone brew their potions, but always ended up lingering back to your general vicinity. In the evenings, he made brief appearances in the common room, surprising the other Slytherins, as he typically confined himself to his chambers in his free time and only ever traversed through the area to make announcements or escort back a student breaking curfew at night. Though, no one questioned the professor’s intentions. Snape would dare himself to knock on your door, eventually going back to his office after convincing himself that you were fine and that it was all in his head, only to go to bed more restless than before. 

Friday evening came and Snape had enough. He got to the Great Hall early to enact his plan. He was going to eat his dinner and then get to you before the Weasley twins could, knowing that you would open your door, likely expecting them and not the potions master. As soon as he saw them sit down at their table, he got up from his chair. Leaving the Great Hall, Snape activated a different secret passage that led to the dungeons that would put him closer to the Slytherin common room.

Thankfully, everyone had gone up to dinner already when he entered the common room. He wasn't too sure what to expect at the moment. As he got closer to your door, he frowned. There was no light coming from the other side. Have you gone to bed already? Snape raised his hand and knocked, but was surprised that the door had swung back a bit when his hand made contact.

“Miss L/N?” he called.

Not hearing a response, he pushed the door open all the way but did not cross the threshold to your room. Looking around he saw that you were not at your desk and your bed was empty. He yanked your door closed and paced back to the common room, scanning for your presence in case he had walked right past you, but still nothing. 

Snape pulled out his wand and concentrated on you in his mind. Muttering a spell, glowing blue footprints began to materialize on the ground for a couple of seconds before fading away.

He followed the prints out of the common room and through the dungeons. Every hallway turn had him guessing where your footprints would lead him to. At the very least, he was happy that you were out of your room for a change.

…

Eventually, the footsteps guided him to the stretch of hallway that he had walked the first time he went searching for you weeks ago, except now he was coming from the opposite end. The footsteps dissipated abruptly before he rounded the corner. There in the middle of the hallway, you stood. Snape paused, not wanting the sound of his footsteps to catch your attention. You were just standing there in your muggle clothes looking out at the courtyard through the wide open doors. He could hear the pitter-patter of the rain from where he stood.  He leaned against the wall and observed. You were gently fiddling with your fingers and every thirty seconds you would hesitantly take a step towards the open doors only to step back to the spot you were just standing with a discouraged look on your face. 

Not wanting to squander the opportunity, Snape pulled out his wand.

“Legillimens.”

 

~

Snape was pulled into a memory from the day of the Quidditch match, watching from your eyes. The memory played the moment it started to rain after the game had ended. He could feel your own giddiness faintly pass through him.

He flickered further ahead and stopped when he saw himself. 

Oh, he doesn’t have his wand with him, does he? I probably shouldn’t ask though. Knowing him, he’ll snap at me out of embarrassment or something. Your internal voice rang in his ears.

It was strange watching himself in your memory. With his own recollection, it was almost as though he could switch between perspectives, like changing channels on a television.

Snape watched as you took off your jacket and transfigured it into an umbrella and left it for him while you went searching for his book.

He flickered ahead again.

The both of you were outside walking underneath the umbrella. He watched you as he felt your patience slipping the more he denied you access to the nearby puddles.

Moments later, he heard your voice again. 

Think. Your wand is in your bag and the sudden movement might catch his attention even more. Magic is not an option, which means you could either distract him or bait him. He’ll be focused on you, baiting him would be better. Maybe you could get HIM to put distance between the two of you. Just for a second or so. That’s all you would need. There are about two feet of space on the path between the puddle and thick muddy grass. How can you use that?

Snape slightly raised his eyebrows. He was surprised at how calculating you were, and all for the sake of just jumping in a puddle. 

He watched the scene unfold in front of him. You had convinced him that you would obey him at that moment only to fall right into your trap. He saw himself stumble in the muddy grass while you seized the opportunity to fling yourself into the deep puddle.

Instantly, Snape felt an overwhelming glow of warmth in his chest. Through the memory, he was experiencing the same joy that you had felt as you splashed in the water. The sensation was wonderful. He almost cracked a smile, but the warm feeling was snuffed out after mere seconds. He watched your eyes widen when he harshly grabbed you by your shirt.

.. you..YOU INSOLENT GIRL..girl.. His voice reverbed and echoed loudly in both of your heads.

Snape grimaced as he watched himself continue to yell at you. His body became heavy with the dread you had felt, the dread of never getting to enjoy another rainy day at Hogwarts ever again, of never experiencing that unique warm glow that made you feel lighter than air. Your heartbeat was pounding in his ears and the cold shock that ran through you made him stiffen. The feeling stayed with you the whole rest of the walk back. You were positively flooded with trepidation.

~

 

Pulling himself from your mind, he saw that you were tightly gripping your shirt in the same spot he had in the memory. You had backed up a couple of feet from where you had stood, still staring out into the rain. Snape was overcome with a wave of guilt. It wasn’t his intention to strip something so precious away from you or make you feel as though you had to commit some sort of penance for disobeying him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed at himself. He inflicted such distress on you, and for what? Because you were happy? Because you went against his wishes? Wishes he justified with his own silly reasoning? Where was his sense of entitlement coming from?

Quietly, he began to walk over to you.

It had taken you a bit longer to fully come out of the Legilimency, but when you did, you saw Professor Snape standing a couple of feet away from you.

You spoke with a slight panic in your voice, avoiding his eyes. “I promise I wasn’t going to—”

Snape raised his hand to silence you, but your shoulders tensed and you unconsciously took a half step away from him. You saw something flash across his face when you did that. Something akin to confusion and regret. He slowly lowered his hand and instead walked through the doorway to the courtyard, stopping in front of the rain.

“Come here,” Snape called to you.

You wrung your hands nervously and followed him out into the courtyard, stopping next to him. You remained silent, unsure of what he was going to say or do. Snape turned to you, exhaling softly.

“Go on,” he said, cocking his head towards the rain.

You didn’t move at first. Your eyes flickered back and forth between his and the rain, trying to decipher whether or not this was a trick. But he didn’t say anything else. He just stared at you, waiting.

Apprehensively, you stuck your arm out into the cold rain, coating your forearm with heavy beads of water. A smile twitched on the corner of your mouth before you glanced back at Professor Snape. He said nothing and continued to watch you. You took a step forward into the rain. Then another. And another. You didn’t want to push your luck so you stayed within twenty feet or so of Professor Snape. Tilting your head up to the sky, you embraced the feeling of wetness that thumped on your skin and dribbled down into your eyes and along your chin. You missed this. It had only been a week since the incident, but it seemed like an eternity. Your hands glided across your arms, smearing the water into your skin and welcoming the goosebumps that sprouted. It felt as though you were eight years old again. 

You clasped your hands together behind your back and began to bounce on the balls of your feet with excitement, but stopped rather quickly. You became increasingly self-conscious of the fact that Professor Snape was watching you and possibly even judging you. It was different the first time he saw you. At the time, you had enjoyed yourself to the fullest, blissfully unaware of his presence and allowing yourself more freedom to express yourself. You still wanted to experience that, but it was a bit more embarrassing knowing he was watching you. 

So you tried. 

Approaching a puddle, you gave it a kick. Immediately, a smile graced your face, but you tilted your head, obscuring it with your hair. Taking a couple of steps back, you did a small running jump into the same puddle, splashing water all around you and drenching your socks. You let yourself laugh. As awkward as you felt, you resisted the urge to restrain yourself from enjoying the moment. You let your arms fall to your sides, your fingers clenching with anticipation each time your eyes set upon a new pool of water to splash around in. Your walks had now become quick trots and your kicks were a bit more forceful, sending water high into the hair. At one point, you went to leap into a big puddle and almost slipped. You caught yourself and shot Professor Snape a reassuring glance that you were fine, not wanting him to cut your fun short. Occasionally, you paused to wring water out of your thoroughly soaked clothes and wipe your eyes or to pick up a snail and move it to a safe spot so that you didn't accidentally crush it. In some instances, you just stood still, feeling every heavy drop tap against your body. 

Snape had fixed his gaze on you the whole time. It had been a half-hour since you stepped foot in the rain. He watched you, analyzed you, questioned you. You had intrigued him. Who knew that under your reserved exterior was someone so sensitive yet terribly cunning? All kinds of thoughts flooded to the forefront of his mind. Some he welcomed with open arms from sheer curiosity or amusement, while others he halted and meticulously examined before pushing them out of his head. His attention was pulled from you momentarily when he heard the sound of voices coming closer.  

“Well, she wasn’t in her room and I can’t think of anywhere else to look…”

“It’s raining cats and dogs…what makes you think she’ll be out here…”

Pulling out his wand, Snape strode up the steps to the doorway, crossing the threshold just in time to run into the Weasley twins.

“Oh, Professor Snape!” they both exclaimed, surprised to see the intimidating potions master anywhere but the dungeons.

Snape simply stood up straight and crossed his arms in front of him, looming over the two boys. 

“Er..we were just looking for Y/N. Any chance you’ve seen her?” George said.

“I have,” Snape said curtly, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, where is she?” Fred asked.

“She’s busy.” 

“Doing what?” They asked in unison

Snape scowled at them and puffed out his chest. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

Fred held up a plate of food. “We’ve just come to bring her some fo-” He paused and looked past Professor Snape and out into the courtyard. “Is that Y/N out in the rain?” He laughed. “What on earth is she doing?”

Without hesitation, Snape yanked the plate of food out from Fred’s hand and raised his wand to the twins’ foreheads.

“Obliviate.” 

The tip of his wand glowed white as he removed the last couple of minutes or so from their memories. Fred and George blinked a couple of times, dazed from the mind-altering spell. They stared at their professor perplexed.

“What are you two still doing here? Get back to the Hall!” Snape barked.

They gave each other a baffled look before taking off to the Great Hall.

“What just happened…?” he heard George say.

“Beats me…” Fred’s voice trailed off.

Snape walked back to where he had stood. He waited for you to turn and face him as you continued to splash about. Catching his eyes, you saw him motioning you to come over to him. Walking over to him, you saw him holding a plate of food. 

“I'm assuming you haven’t eaten?” he asked, but you knew it wasn’t really a question. You shook your head. He handed you the plate and you sat down on low-rise stone stairs a couple of feet away from him. You ate quietly as the two of you stared into the rain, listening to the water drum on the cobblestone ground as thunder rumbled softly in the distance.

 

“ ‘M sorry.” You said softly, breaking the silence after a while.

Snape glanced at you, his eyebrows knitted together. “What for, Miss?”

“ ‘Dunno.” Setting the plate down next to you, you slowly wrapped your arms around your legs and rested your chin on top of your knees. “... feels like I should be apologizing.” You paused, smearing wet hair out of your face. “...for aggravating you after Quidditch I guess…”

Snape stared at you impassively, but on the inside he was dumbfounded. Of the two of you, he is not the one that is owed an apology. He should be the one saying sorry to you. You were just being yourself while he acted like an imperious arse. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to properly phrase the words you deserved to hear.

 

“I…” he trailed off, returning his gaze to the rain. “You are strange,” he eventually said.

 

You sighed. “So I’ve been told.”

 

“I did not intend it as an insult, Miss L/N,” he muttered, slightly defensive.

 

“I know,” you said.

Snape turned to you and saw you had a faint smile on your face. He sighed. Leaning down a bit, he offered you his hand. Grabbing your plate with one hand you took his hand with the other and he pulled you up, leading you back into the castle. Entering the cold corridor, you let go of his hand and wriggled out of your shoes to pick them up. Snape observed you once again.

“What?” you asked, noticing he had been looking you up and down.

“I will never understand your childish affinity for splashing about in dirty rainwater,” he scoffed.

“You’re a smart man, sir. I'm sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” you shrugged, cheekily.

Snape growled at you unamused which only earned him a soft chuckle. He went to take his cloak off and wrap it around you but caught himself. Instead, he pulled out his wand and cast a heating charm on your clothes. Warm clouds of steam began to expel from your wet clothes. Snape motioned you to follow him. Walking down the hall, he opened the passage that led down to the dungeons. By the time the two of you had reached his classroom, your clothes were fully dry, though your hair was still dripping with water. He opened the door to his classroom and took the plate from you. 

“Wait here for a moment.” He turned, leaving you at the doorway and walking towards his office. You heard his office door open and close before you were left in the chilling silence of the dungeons. Even after the heating charm had dried your clothes you were still a bit cold. You were wearing long basketball shorts that almost touched your knees instead of pants, so there was a bit of water that still clung to your skin and dribbled down your legs. A couple more minutes passed before you heard Professor Snape's approaching footsteps.

He returned to you, holding out the black zip-up jacket that you had transfigured into an umbrella the day of the Quidditch match.

“I was going to return this to you days ago, but it slipped my mind. I didn’t realize it was your jacket. It’s been washed and cleaned,” he said gruffly.

“No worries.” You took the jacket from him and threw it on, stuffing your hands in the pockets. The jacket smelled faintly of the lavender you had smelled on his cloak.

Next, he pulled out the familiar corked vial of thick brown liquid.

“Ah yes, how could I have possibly forgotten,” you said sarcastically.

You reached out for the vial, but Professor Snape retracted his hand, holding the vial out of your reach. You glanced at his dark eyes, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“I’m…” Snape paused, contemplating. I’m sorry is what he what he should say. “You must promise me that if you are outside in such weather for more than thirty minutes without proper attire or protection you come to my office immediately and drink this. Is that understood?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on your face. Sure, it tasted like wet gym socks, but you knew he was just looking out for you.

“As you wish, sir,” you responded quietly.

Satisfied, Snape handed you the vial. Uncorking it, you tipped your head back and threw the liquid into your mouth. You swallowed it stoically, only grimacing at the lingering aftertaste that hung in the back of your throat. You wiped your mouth and handed the vial back to him.

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Chapter 5: Cookies and a Good Book

Summary:

A trip to Hogsmeade!

“Daddy!”

 

The school bus came to a creaking halt, the doors screeching open for you. The driver barked at you to be more careful going down the steps as quickly as you did, but you didn’t care. Your father was waiting for you, arms crossed and expression blank, but he smiled when he saw you bounding toward you and knelt to your level. You threw yourself in his arms, and he scooped you up as you latched on like a spider monkey. 

 

“There’s my girl,” he hummed against you as the bus pulled away.

 

“I missed you!”

 

“I missed you, too.” His eyes scanned along the street, making sure no one was around to notice. He walked you some feet to the side, where a pushed-back section of hedge that surrounded your property sat, almost like someone had begun to carve out a hallway but gave up. He walked straight through the dead-end, which, with a charm, gave way to the other side. He felt you shiver slightly at the sensation, you always did, and he squeezed you back lightly in reassurance as he walked you up to the house.

 

“How was your first day of kindergarten?”

 

“Good! My teacher’s really nice and says I catch on fast! I like learning math, but…”

 

“But?”

 

“The boys who sit near me are loud.”

 

“Well, if your teacher is any good, she’ll make sure those boys behave, won’t she?”

 

You nodded in agreement, the door to the house opening with barely a wave of his hand, and closing behind both of you. He set you down and watched as you removed your shoes and tucked them away in a cubby by the door before taking off through the foyer, passing through the living room, and into the kitchen. 

 

“Can I do my homework outside?” he heard you say as he followed after you. In the kitchen, you had your hands on the sliding glass door handle, but you didn’t tug on it, only gripping it as your body wiggled in place from impatience. 

 

“Outside? Why outside?”

 

“Teacher says we can use stuff to count to help us with math if we need to, and I wanna use the rocks outside.”

 

He cast a hesitant look at you, then at the ceiling, as if to stare through it, before looking back down at you. He supposed he could get the report from his study and review it while he sat with you outside. “Alright. Go collect your rocks. I’ll be down in a minute.”

 

The two of you ended up doing your work side by side at a patio table in the perfect autumn afternoon, not too cold, not too warm. You only ended up needing your rocks for a few problems on the worksheet, and when you were done, you asked your father to check your answers. He proudly reported that you had gotten them all right.

 

“What are you reading?” You asked when his focus drifted back to the papers in front of him.

 

“A report from work. Grizzly stuff.”

 

“Grizzly?”

 

“Scary. Disturbing. Something not meant for your eyes.”

 

“If it’s scary, why are you reading it?” you challenged.

 

“I hate to say it, but I’m used to reading scary things.”

 

“Are scary things harder to solve?”

 

His eyes fit from the papers to you, noting the way you looked at him, full of curiosity, but also that glint that told him you’d remember his answer for the rest of your life.

 

“Sometimes. Especially when you want to help, but need to remain behind your desk while other people do it instead.”

 

“That sounds…frustrating.”

 

“Oh, look at you learning big words,” he simpered, which made you blush and bury your face in your forearms. “But,” he continued, “I am able to do something called compartmentalize. Meaning, when I read these scary things, I can separate myself from my emotions for a bit so that I can do the work I need to do.”

 

“Does it hurt when you…compart…men…talize?”

 

He smiled fondly at your innocent question, setting a hand on your head and scratching along your scalp. “Not really. As long as I deal with them afterwards.”

 

~~~

 

The air around Hogwarts Castle was terribly frigid. The rainy days have passed and will soon make way for the snow to come in the next month or so. Autumn had begun to attack the trees, turning the leaves red, orange, and brown. It was one of your favorite seasons. You chose to wear darker colors because they absorbed the most heat. You wore a black double-breasted wool coat with a cotton long-sleeve gray shirt underneath, black jeans, and a pair of black sneakers so you’d be comfortable walking around for some time. It was a Hogsmeade weekend and you were interested in looking for a couple of things. About a hundred students had gathered outside of the castle, waiting to be escorted to the village. A good chunk of them were 3rd years who were finally old enough to visit Hogsmeade for the first time. You smiled at their giddiness, remembering what your first trip was like. You spotted some familiar faces from the cluster of 6th and 7th years. Some you had classes with, others you had talked to briefly during free periods or meals, but no one you could really call a friend. You hoped that this trip would be a bit mellow, wanting to enjoy your time in blissful solitude.

 

Waiting, you stepped in the little piles of leaves that had been building on the ground, relishing in the satisfying dry crunches. Occasionally, you bent down and picked up certain leaves, twirling them between your fingers and studying the intricate patterns and grooves. Suddenly, Professor McGonagall’s grandmotherly voice rang through the air.

 

“Attention students, we will now be making our way to Hogsmeade. Please stay on the path and walk in an orderly fashion.” Turning on her heel, she began the march down the path.

 

You hung close to the back of the group, seeing no need to rush forward. You have been to Hogsmeade plenty of times. The 3rd years were so excited that they all rushed to the front and were practically breathing down McGonagall’s neck. The chain of students was just barely connected by a couple of 4th and 5th years. Professor Snape preferred to deal with older students and lingered towards the back as well in case he needed to break up any unnecessary roughhousing along the way; a job he would surely perform on the way back due to most 7th years only going to Hogsmeade because they were finally old enough to drink alcohol. You glanced at his outfit. Appearance-wise, he didn’t look much different except for the scarf he had wrapped around his neck. No one would really notice, but his scarf was actually a very dark green. He had also changed into more comfortable-looking shoes instead of his regular boots.

 

Shoving your hands in your pockets you inhaled the crisp autumn air. Everything smelled so earthy. Not too far from the path little rodents and birds rustled amongst the fallen leaves, creating gentle swishing noises. 

 

You felt someone bump into you. Glancing to your left, you saw it was a 7th-year Gryffindor boy. He and his friend were playfully teasing and pushing one another. He mumbled something of an apology to you before returning to his friend. Fortunately for him, you had a lot of patience and it wasn’t really a big deal, so you let it go. Looking around again you noticed that a short Hufflepuff boy had fallen behind his friends and trickled towards the back of the group, walking ahead of you by about a yard or so. You knew he was a Hufflepuff from the black and yellow scarf he had wrapped around his neck that made him look like a bumble bee. 

 

The two Gryffindor boys became louder and more obnoxious, unaware of the professor who was staring daggers at them. Suddenly, the same Gryffindor was shoved quite forcefully and this time slammed into the Hufflepuff boy. You lunged forward and grabbed both of them by the back of their scarves, stopping them mid-air before they ended up eating dirt. After a second or two, you released the Gryffindor, letting him faceplant into the ground while pulling the Hufflepuff boy back up.

 

“Thank you!” He said, eyes widening as he turned to face his knight in wooly armor. You offered him a faint smile and patted his back before he ran back up to his friends. You walked around the Gryffindor who was struggling to get off the ground. Soon after, you heard the sound of two fierce whacks to the back of the head and painful muttering.

 

***

 

Finally, you all made it to Hogsmeade. You instantly broke off from the crowd and began to meander along a nearby sidewalk and took your time to absorb your surroundings. The colder seasons made the aesthetic and architecture of Hogsmeade look extra magical as if it had come from a children’s storybook. The scent of trees, baked goods, and new books flooded your nose. All the shops had swept away the dead leaves onto the street in preparation for the students' arrival, much to your dismay. The other 7th years wasted no time in booking it to Three Broomsticks while the 3rd years wandered around like lost little puppies, trying to figure out where certain shops were. 

 

You felt a gentle tap on your back. Turning around, you saw that it was the same Hufflepuff boy from earlier, accompanied by a group of students you presumed to be his friends.

 

“Um…hi,”  he said nervously. “We…uh…we don’t really know where we’re going. Could you show us where a shop called Honeydukes is?”

 

What am I, a chaperone? Why didn’t they ask McGonagall?

 

You looked around and noticed that Professor McGonagall had disappeared into one of the shops for her own personal agenda while Professor Snape… well… they were probably too scared to ask him.

 

Setting your irritation aside, you put on an impassive face and motioned the kids to follow you. As you walked down High Street, you began pointing out all the shops to them, telling them their names and what they had to offer or specialized in. Other 3rd years from all different houses who’d been wandering around flocked over to the group and began to follow you too, listening intently as you guided them through Hogsmeade. You looked like a mother duck leading her group of ducklings. While walking, you sketched a quick map of Hogsmeade and put a red dot on where the so-called “starting point” was. Arriving at Honeydukes, you gave the map to the straggling 3rd years. They crowded around a girl who managed to grab it while the Hufflepuff boy and his friends followed you into the shop. 

 

Opening the door, the kids flooded into the shop, staring at the many confections in awe. The inside of Honeydukes was warm and smelled sickeningly sweet as if the air itself was made of sugar. Every surface was lined with an assortment of fudge and rainbow-packaged candy. You weren’t here for candy, though you still looked around at the new treats they were selling. Despite being a sweets store, Honeydukes had a small bakery section that offered cakes, pastries, scones, and other baked goods. Your eyes scanned the little window display. You had eaten a couple of hours ago and were looking for something small. You felt a presence to your left and turned to find the Hufflepuff boy once again by your side. In his hands, he held out a small bag of cookies.

 

“These are for you.” 

 

You cocked an eyebrow, taking the cookies from his hand and putting them in your bag.

 

“I just wanted to say thank you for showing us around, Professor. Walking around with a bunch of kids must be a nuisance..” he said

 

You blinked, stunned for a moment. “I’m not a professor.”

 

The Hufflepuff boy blushed furiously with embarrassment. “Oh Merlin, I am so sorry ma’- er…miss! We didn’t mean to bother you earlier! It’s just that you’re dressed like Professor Snape and you’re so tall and-”

 

Holding up a hand, you silenced the boy’s rambling. Walking past him, you ruffled his hair letting him know that it was fine, and exited the shop.

 

***

 

Next on your list was Tomes and Scrolls. It was a bookstore that had reading material on all kinds of subjects, though they curtailed more to the wizarding world and specific teachings, considering Hogsmeade is an “all wizards and witches” village. You’d be lucky to even find any fictional or fantasy books. Spotting the store’s window display, you crossed High Street and opened the door to the shop which gave a little ring. A man who looked almost as old as Dumbledore greeted you from behind a counter. Looking around the store, you saw some Ravenclaws and a couple of locals roaming between the bookshelves. 

 

“Anything I can help find for you today, Miss?”

 

“Actually, yes,” you said. “This is a bit of a shot in the dark, but do you happen to have any muggle books?”

 

The store owner’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “My my, I haven’t had anyone in here ask for a muggle book in quite some time. We may have some in the back. Allow me to retrieve them for you and feel free to browse in the meantime.”

 

You nodded as the old man retreated behind the counter and out of sight. You walked around the store aimlessly, only taking the time to inspect books that caught your attention. Near the window display, you saw a stack of identical books. The covers showed the face of a man you had never heard of or seen before. He had blonde curly hair and an impossibly bright smile.

 

“Here we are, Miss!” the store owner called to you.

 

Walking to the counter, you saw him put down a box. Inside were about thirty books in total, covered in a light layer of dust. 

 

“This is all we have. I'm sorry, it isn’t much…”

 

“Don’t be,” you smiled kindly. “This is a wizarding village after all.”

 

You began to rummage through the box of books. The owner was right, it really wasn’t much. Inside were children’s stories, a cookbook, a book that showed pictures of Great Britain in the 1930s, and a dictionary. However, at the very bottom of the box lay a book whose red cover snagged your eyes. The book had both English and Chinese text across the cover. Flipping it open, you read the synopsis on the inside cover and saw that the book was almost 300 pages long.

 

“How much for this one?” You asked the owner, showing him the book.

 

He chuckled. “Funny you should ask, I’ve never actually put a price on those books. Most people just look at them.” Taking the book from your hands, he looked at the front and back covers. “How about a galleon?”

 

You agreed and pulled a coin sack from your bag and handed him the galleon. He cleaned the book and offered to wrap it for you, but you politely declined. Inside the book, he attached a small tassel to be used as a bookmark. You thanked him and left the bookstore, making your way over to Three Broomsticks.

 

***

 

Three Broomsticks was…exactly as you expected it to be. The place was packed with 7th years, almost all of them clutching large mugs filled to the brim with foaming butterbeer or fire whiskey. You found an open booth in the corner next to a window that let in a faint amount of soft light. Not too much to ruin your preference for a dark ambiance, but enough to help you read your book better. 

 

You walked up to the bar and ordered a hot chocolate before settling into the booth. Removing your arms from the sleeves, you let your coat rest on your shoulders and pulled out the small bag of cookies the Hufflepuff gave you from your school bag. You bit into a cookie, savoring the richness. The barmaid brought over your cup of hot chocolate topped off with a little bit of whipped cream and you gave her a galleon in return.

 

A dark figure behind her caught your attention. Professor Snape walked into Three Broomsticks, sneering at all the barely legal students who had decided to go day drinking. He looked around the room for a free table, but eventually settled at the bar and ordered a drink himself.

 

Taking a sip of your hot chocolate, you pulled your newly acquired book out from your bag and began to read.

THE ART OF WAR 

by Sun Tzu

 

The Art of War is an ancient Chinese military treatise attributed to the strategist Sun Tzu, detailing specific lines of indirect and direct attack to use in different circumstances of conflict and war as well as five essential elements: moral influence, weather, terrain, command, and doctrine.

 

The more you read, the more immersed you became. You weren’t sure what to expect when you had flipped through the book at Tomes and Scrolls, you thought it would be a regular history book. It was so much better than that. In your opinion, it was the holy grail of psychological strategies. Sure, they were meant for war and physical altercations, but dialed back a bit and slightly modified they could easily be used to outsmart or get the upper hand on those you didn’t like. And to be fair, you had a strong moral compass and there was no way you’d ever go full supervillain. 

 

“Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate.”

 

Out of nowhere, a 7th-year Slytherin boy slid into the opposite side of the booth in front of you.

 

“Hello,” he greeted.

 

Tearing your eyes from your book, you saw Michael Ivery sitting in front of you, smiling.

 

Michael Ivery embodied the traits of a typical high-school douchebag in most of the movies you saw on TV. He held a high level of popularity, was objectively good-looking, and arrogant with a flirtatious personality that made girls crumble at his feet. He has a history of being promiscuous, jumping into multiple new relationships each year at Hogwarts, making them feel special before ultimately breaking up with them out of boredom or to take on a different challenge. Currently, he is dating the Hufflepuff Quidditch keeper, a hot-headed 5th-year girl named Abigail. Unfortunately, his assholerly was accompanied by intelligence. He was in your Advanced Potions class and sat in the back, but ego often blinded his intelligence. 

 

“I’m Michael. Michael Ivery, though I suppose you must already know that.” He smirked, winking at you.

 

Wow. “Of course, how could I not know? I’ve heard a lot about you,” you gritted through an insincere smile. You just wanted to read in peace.

 

“Great things I imagine!” Michael leaned forward and wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Anyways, I wanted to know if you’d like to go out sometime. You seem really cool, not like the other girls in our house. You seem…alluringly chaotic.”

 

Oop, there it is. “I didn’t know you were single,” you said, tilting your head and faking bewilderment.

 

“Newly single, I broke up with my ex a couple of weeks ago. She was getting really clingy,” he cringed.

 

Okay, that was the fattest lie. They were still together. You had seen Abigail leave the Slytherin common room early this morning looking disheveled and holding hands with Michael on the way to Hogsmeade, exchanging little kisses. How stupid did he think you were?

 

“Well, that’s…unfortunate.”

 

“It’s nothing. So what do you say, can I take you on a date sometime?”

 

“I’m sorry, but I’m awfully busy,” you said amiably, returning your gaze to your book.

 

“Oh c’mon! It’ll be fun. We can get to know each other really well~” Michael spoke leaning closer across the table to you.

 

“Sorry, but it's a “no” for me.”

 

He grabbed your wrist and forced the book you were holding down on the table, making your cup of hot chocolate rattle loudly. 

 

“Quit playing so hard to get Y/N.” The smile he had moments ago now turned into a persistent frown.

 

Without hesitation, you flicked your wand out from the sleeve of your other arm and pointed it under Michael’s chin.

 

“It’s a shame how such favorable looks are wasted on a slimy little maggot like yourself. You are a terrible liar, and I suggest you leave this booth unless you want Abigail to find out about your secret romantic endeavors.”

 

Michael backed away from your wand until he hit the back of the booth. “You think you can threaten me and get away with it?” he snarled.

 

“Yeah,” you clipped, the tip of your wand grazed the skin of his neck.

 

His sudden attempt at macho intimidation quickly dissipated into desperate anger. “You’re nobody at this school, y'know. Your words mean nothing and she'll never believe you,” he snapped at you defensively.

 

Your patience broke and pressed the wand into his jugular vein. Hard. Michael stopped breathing and his eyes widened.

 

“Leave. Now.”

 

Without further hesitation, Michael scrambled from his side of the booth, trying to control his movements and smoothing out his clothes as if he hadn’t been cornered, and walked out the door of Three Broomsticks.

 

The second you saw the door close, you physically deflated and exhaled in relief. The stress of dealing with unwanted advances while putting on a strong front drained you. You could handle yourself in a confrontation, but when someone puts their hands on you, things become uncertain.

 

Looking outside, you saw Michael hurriedly talking to Abigail and pointing at you through the window…

 

You let your wand drop to the table with a clatter and brought your book up to your face, thumping it against your forehead.

 

“Fucking. Fantastic,” you muttered.

 

“Language,” a deep voice rumbled. Lowering your book, you saw that it was Professor Snape.

 

“Hello, professor,” you greeted him, speaking softly.

 

“Afternoon,” Snape replied blankly.

 

A beat of silence passed between the two. He just stood there scanning your face with his dark eyes, squinting at you. 

 

“Are you alright?” he eventually asked.

 

You sighed and tucked your wand back up your sleeve. “Yeah, nothing I couldn’t handle..”

 

“I’d say you handled it pretty well, a shame it was one of ours though,” he sneered.

 

Another beat of silence and still he just stared at you. You saw that Snape had left his drink at the bar and was holding the Daily Prophet in the crook of his elbow.

 

“...Did you want to sit down, sir?” you asked hesitantly.

 

He regained his focus. “Yes. Please. Those bar stools are horribly uncomfortable.”

 

You smirked and watched as he plopped himself down in front of you and unbuttoned the top two or three buttons of his coat, surprised to find a layer of white underneath. You took another bite of cookie, following it with a sip of hot chocolate.

 

“You can have one if you’d like.” Picking up your book with one hand, you angled the bag of cookies towards him with the other and continued to read.

 

Snape eyed the cookies and muttered something incoherent before accio’ing his drink over to the booth. He took a swig of his own drink and opened the Daily Prophet.

 

***

 

The two of you read in comfortable silence. You had finished your hot chocolate and felt warm and cozy in the booth; both you and Professor Snape slouched a bit, stuck in your own little worlds. Neither of you said anything when the lower half of your legs rested against each other, though, you both had long legs and the size of the booth probably made it inevitable. You felt your eyelids drooping at the fifth attempt to read the same paragraph. Putting your book down you leaned back into the corner where the booth met the wall. You rested your head against the wall and stared distantly through the window, watching students and locals venture up and down High Street. Wrapping yourself in your coat, you eventually succumbed to your sleepiness..

 

Snape threw down the Daily Prophet on the table with a sigh and downed the last of his drink. A couple of Gryffindor graduates he taught a few years ago had taken a flying Ford out for a drive and nearly exposed the wizarding world to no less than seven muggles. He rubbed his temples. The damn Ministry must be all over that.

 

Glancing in your direction, he noticed you had fallen asleep. He slowly took the book from in front of you, careful not to wake you up, and inspected it. It was a muggle book he had never seen before. He opened it and saw that you had dog-eared several pages and had little notes written in the margins. The word “DADA” often popped up next to sentences you underlined. He also saw house names scrawled next to specific quotes.

 

“If your enemy is secure at all points, be prepared for him. If he is in superior strength, evade him. If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant. If he is taking his ease, give him no rest. If his forces are united, separate them. If sovereign and subject are in accord, put division between them. Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected.” 

 

- R, lead with false information, unpredictability, less knowledge revealed is more power to you

- G, platform off blind self-confidence or use own force against them

- S, tempt the ego and control its fate, strike fast like a snake

- H, sever the bonds of loyalty, induce mistrust

 

EVERY WIZARD HAS A TIP. CONFRONTATION/DUELLING ONLY

 

[(A/N): tip means “a giveaway”]

 

Snape thought back to your interaction with the Slytherin boy earlier. He had seen it all from the bar. He could sense your annoyance the moment Michael rudely slid into your booth without asking. It was painfully clear that you were just being polite and that he would be rejected, but the boy was not used to being told “no”. Snape’s hand hovered over his own wand when he saw Michael put his hands on you, but you had been proactive enough to keep your wand in your sleeve and turned the tables on him.

 

He took a cookie from the bag on the table and flipped further into the book.

 

…

 

About twenty minutes later, you slowly opened your eyes, letting yourself adjust to the light again. You lazily gazed toward Professor Snape. He was slouched a bit more, tangling your legs further as his knees pressed into yours. He held your book in one hand while the other he tucked across his side. Little bits of chocolate stained the corners of his mouth and there were crumbs on the table.

 

You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile, but a soft snort escaped you. His eyes snapped over to you.

 

“Enjoying ourselves?” You said groggily, raising your eyebrows, amused.

 

Snape sat up quickly, subsequently retracting his legs from you. Though he remained stoic as ever, you could tell his mind was racing to come up with a witty retort or a defense of some kind for reading your book. But you didn’t press him. Instead, you laid one of your forearms on the table and rested your head atop it. With your other arm, you reached across the table and slid Snape’s copy of the Daily Prophet over to yourself. 

 

You saw Snape relax a bit out of the corner of your eye and felt his legs lightly touch yours again. Scanning the newspapers, your eyes fell upon the same flying Ford article. You recognized the three Gryffindor boys in the car. They graduated from Hogwarts two years ahead of you.

 

“Typical,” you muttered.

 

Snape looked over at the section you’d been reading. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

 

Pushing the newspaper aside you reached for a cookie only for your hand to completely flatten the bag, making an audible crinkling noise. There were seven cookies in that bag and you only ate one. You raised your head to Snape, almost comically slow. You felt his legs tense slightly against yours as he raised your book higher, concealing his face.

 

Leaning off the table, you noticed that students had begun to filter out of Three Broomsticks. Through the window, you saw Professor McGonagall standing in the middle of High Street as students began to crowd around her.

 

“I think it’s time to head back, Professor.”

 

Snape followed your eyes out the window and nodded. The two of you shuffled out of the booth and put on your coats before stepping outside into the chilly air.

 

***

 

As much as you would’ve loved to see it, the 7th years had not gotten drunk and once again clustered at the back as McGonagall led the crowd of students back to the castle. Much to their surprise, Snape was nowhere to be found. One second he was beside you and the next he disappeared. Unfortunately for them, some 3rd-year students decided to trickle back to the group and walk alongside you. For understandable reasons, the 7th years only liked to hang out with the 5th years and older.

 

They asked you many questions during the walk back. “What did you do in Hogsmeade? Did you buy anything? How much money did you bring with you? What is your favorite treat from Honeydukes? What is Hogsmeade like during Christmas?” You kept your answers brief and each of them chattered loudly with their own answers, much to the annoyance of the 7th years near you. You did your best to remain at least neutral with them. They were too high energy for your liking but they're just kids so you extended them more patience.

 

Suddenly, they all shut up and trotted away from you. Apparently, Professor Snape had once again appeared by your side. 

 

“Thanks again for the help, Professor!” a 3rd-year girl said as she ran away.

 

Snape furrowed his brows in confusion. He had barely interacted with any other students today.

 

“Guys, for the last time I’m not a-... And they can’t hear me,” you trailed off.

 

“Care to explain, Professor L/N?” Snape snorted, amused.

 

You scoffed. “A bunch of ‘em couldn’t find certain shops in Hogsmeade so I led them around for a bit. They thought I was a professor because, and I quote, “ I’m tall and dressed like Snape.”

 

You half-turned as you walked, showing him your mostly black attire. Snape made a “hmph” sound, giving you a quick once-over.

 

“Where’d you run off to, sir? Did you have a last-minute errand or something?”

 

Snape pursed his lips and stared ahead, pushing his hands into his coat pockets, saying nothing. You acknowledged his silence and didn’t ask anything else of him. 

 

The rest of the walk back was fairly uneventful. Most of the students just talked about what they bought from the shops in Hogsmeade or what they drank at Three Broomsticks. The two 7th-year Gryffindor boys who were roughhousing on the way to Hogsmeade stayed especially quiet for the duration of the walk, not wanting to induce the wrath of the potion master. Approaching the castle, students begin to break off from the group and run ahead of Professor McGonagall, eager to show their friends what they got from Hogsmeade. At that moment, you felt something nudge your arm. Professor Snape held out a small paper bag that had the Honeydukes logo stamped on the side. Taking it, you looked inside to find six warm chocolate chip cookies. 

 

“Oh,” you blinked. “You didn’t have to, sir…but I appreciate it. Thank you.” You took out one of the cookies and bit into it. The chocolate chips were extra gooey. “Sense you did though, I now feel obligated to tell you that you have chocolate on your face.”

 

Snape’s eyes widened at your declaration. Wiping the back of his hand on his mouth, he saw small chocolate smears on his skin. You had purposely waited almost an hour to tell him as punishment for nearly eating all your cookies. He scowled, putting two and two together. Taking your book out from his coat, he firmly smacked you on the top of your head before handing it to you.

 

Putting it in your bag, you laughed and ran into the castle.

 

 

Notes:

Hey everyone, I hope you are enjoying the story so far! The next couple of chapters MAY come a bit later than you'd like, though it's not like I have a release schedule or anything. Without spoiling let's just say I am debating whether to release each one when I get done with them or release the next two (or three?) together on the same day due to the chapters' content.

Chapter 6: Halloween Horror

Summary:

One scary Halloween.

Notes:

This chapter mentions blood/injury.

A trigger warning will be applied following the horizontal line that appears in the chapter.

Due to the nature of this chapter, I am now changing the rating of this story to T for Teen.

The alarm clock blared loudly and yanked you from your slumber. Slapping the top of it, you rolled over and looked at the little calendar on your nightstand. 

 

It's Halloween!

 

Halloween was one of your favorite holidays to celebrate back home. In the UK, it was celebrated in a more lowkey way. Not a lot of people went trick or treating and were more likely to buy candy and watch a scary movie with their friends and family. But in America, things were turned up to eleven. Crazy parties, slutty costumes, people roaming the streets with fake chainsaws and dressed as killer clowns, morning news reports of drunken shenanigans…it was beautiful chaos.

 

Breakfast this morning was a spectacle. The candles that hung in the air of the Great Hall were replaced with glowing jack-o-lanterns and skulls. Students of all different ages had dressed up. You saw some stereotypical Halloween costumes; werewolves, vampires, zombies, black cats…but you were happy to see some familiar muggle characters like Superman, Cinderella, and even Beetlejuice. Dumbledore had allowed students to wear costumes as long as they didn’t interfere with their ability to perform in class. He had also extended the curfew for tonight by an hour. You had a costume ready on stand-by this year, but you weren't sure if you wanted to wear it. Halloween fell on one of your busiest school days of the week. You could always wait till after class to put it on if you still felt like dressing up.

 

Today’s lessons were somewhat Halloween-themed. In Transfiguration, Professor McConnogal demonstrated how to turn ordinary foods into candy. She even let those who did it successfully keep the candy for themselves. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Green gave a lecture on werewolves. Fillius Flitwick showed students the difference between disillusionment charms and invisibility, one spell made the caster take on the color and texture of their surroundings to blend into surfaces like a human chameleon while the other created a field of invisibility. Finally, you ended the day with Double Potions with Professor Snape. 

 

The topic was the Wolfsbane potion. The first half was dedicated to a lecture on its use and preparation while the other was left for brewing. Much to Professor Snape’s relief, the 7th years had taken off their costumes before class, not because they didn’t want to irritate the potions master but more so because they didn’t want to spill anything on them. You could tell that Snape was in a bit of a sour mood when you walked into class. He was grumbling to himself and slammed the door to the storage room harder than usual. You noticed that one of the stations in the back of the classroom was an absolute mess; the cauldron was concaved on itself and liquid dripped off one side of the table and onto the floor. 

 

Thanks to your earlier DADA lecture, certain things about the Wolfsbane potion clicked faster in your mind. The Wolfsbane potion must be administered every day in the week of the full moon to relieve the symptoms of lycanthropy. It's a complex potion and the ingredients are expensive. Most werewolves had trouble finding jobs and therefore could not acquire the potion ingredients themselves, having to rely on the good-heartedness of others or succumb to their werewolfry. Snape recounted his experience with a werewolf while he went to school, which prompted many questions from the class, but he shut everyone one of them down. Snape was aware of how difficult brewing Wolfsbane was and hardly expected anyone to be successful, but if he could get so much as a one or two, it would’ve been worth it.  

 

Walking away from your desk, you realized that everyone else had raced to claim their stations in the back half of the classroom, leaving you with the messy, wet table and exploded cauldron.

 

Awesome.

 

Inspecting your station even more, you heard the sound of crunching underneath your shoes. There were shards of glass in the puddle of liquid on the table and around the legs of your stool.

 

“Reparo,” you chanted, pointing your wand at the glass shards. The pieces of glass mended themselves back together into four separate vials. Next, you leaned over the table and wafted the scent of the puddle to your face and were hit with a slight wave of fatigue. 

 

Draught of Living Death , you thought. And a mediocre batch at that. Drying the puddle with a heating charm would just turn it into a sleeping gas. You also didn’t want to risk touching the potion with your bare skin not knowing how it would affect your body. Looking around the room, you saw that everyone else had already started their potions while Snape checked their progress.

 

“ Ugghhh. ” Kicking your stool aside, you strode over to one of the large basins against the back wall and retrieved a pair of safety gloves and a rag. Soaking up the potion on the floor would be your first priority. Most of it was on the table, but a sizable puddle had formed on the ground and you had no intention of slipping and cracking your tailbone today. After tying your hair up and rolling your sleeves back, you cleaned up the potion on the floor and wrung it from the rag back into the deformed cauldron. Getting up to clean the table, you jumped at the sight of Professor Snape standing on the other side.

 

“Someone’s in the Halloween spirit...” you murmured.

 

Snape inspected your station and the contents of the cauldron. “This is not the Wolfsbane potion I instructed you to brew, Miss L/N,” he drawled, looking at the potion disgusted.

 

You sighed. “No, it’s not. It’s a sorry excuse for Draught of Living Death. Apparently, your 6th years felt the task of cleaning up their stations was beneath them.” You soaked up the rest of the potion with the towels and squeezed it into the cauldron. The vials you had set aside were still wet with the potion. Scooping them up you walked to the basin and began to rinse them out. While your back was turned Snape replaced the damaged cauldron and fetched your ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion since you were now behind the others.

 

“Did something happen in the last class, Professor? There was broken glass all over the table,” you said.

 

He scowled and pinched the bridge of his nose as he was reminded of the incident that took place over an hour ago. “Some dunderhead wore a costume with a long cape and tripped all over himself.”

 

“No one got hurt, I hope?” you asked, walking to your station.

 

Snape shook his head “ no ” and circled back to his desk at the front of the classroom.

 

***

 

Despite having less time, you still managed to catch up with everyone else. Much of the brewing process for Wolfsbane focused on proper ingredient preparation. It was very similar to baking and your handling of a potion’s knife was efficient and precise. The rest of the instructions detailed waiting and stirring at certain intervals. Almost everyone else was in the waiting phase too. A couple of students had finished, but it seems their attempts were unsuccessful, the potions producing green smoke rather than blue. One got close to turquoise, but still, no blue.

 

It was about a five-minute difference between each set of stirs. To pass the time, you tucked your elbows against your sides and began to quietly air drum to yourself to songs in your head while staring at the clock. You only stopped to stir the potion before continuing your self-entertainment, subtly bobbing your head and mouthing words to yourself. On a whim, you glanced away from the clock towards your potion and saw that Professor Snape had been giving you a funny look from across the room. Your hands shot down to your lap and you turned away hiding your face bashfully.

 

Don’t look at me like that.

 

Ten minutes later and the final stirs came. You stirred the potion once clockwise and twice counter-clockwise and waited. The white smoke from the potion slowly started to change color. 

 

It turned green. 

 

You slumped in disappointment. You did everything right, following the instructions to a tee. Was there something you missed? Was your flame too strong? Did you perhaps mess up a stir? 

 

You were about to turn off the flame and accept defeat when the smoke began to change again. The hue shifted, becoming turquoise. Oh? You leaned forward gripping the edge of the table, anxiously bouncing your knee up and down against your stool, saying little pleases and prayers to yourself. Finally, after fifteen agonizingly long seconds, the smoke turned blue.

 

You laughed and exhaled in relief. Turning off the flame, you folded your arms on the table and put your head down, hiding the immense joy plastered on your face.

 

“Well done.”

 

Lifting your head up a bit you saw Professor Snape standing next to you, evaluating your cauldron. You looked away from him and mumbled something with the back of your hand covering your mouth, but Snape could tell you were smiling from the prominent dimple on your cheek.

 

“Bottle it and bring it to my desk,” he said.

 

For the last five minutes of class, you cleaned up your station and made sure every freakin ’ drop of Wolfsbane from your cauldron got bottled. It was your first attempt at brewing the potion and by the grace of Merlin you had succeeded. You couldn’t help but wonder what Professor Snape would do with it though. It’s not exactly a potion he keeps readily available in his stock.

 

The bell rang just as you finished cleaning your cauldron. The other students had hastily grabbed their bags and ran towards the exit, once again free to enjoy Halloween. Grabbing your own bag, you went to Professor Snape’s desk and handed him your potion.

 

“Do you have any plans this evening, Miss L/N?” he asked, almost sounding bored.

 

You pursed your lips. “Mmm nothing set in stone, why do you ask?”

 

Snape set the bottle down on his desk and folded his arms. “If you are up to the task, I would like for you to resume brewing Wolfsbane this evening after dinner.”

 

“How much more?” You raised an eyebrow.

 

“Six bottles should suffice.”

 

The corner of your lips twitched upwards. Interesting. Seven bottles total. Seven days in a week.

 

“Who are we brewing this for, Professor?” you asked, crossing your own arms and tilting your head to the side.

 

Professor Snape almost said their name but paused and narrowed his eyes at you. “Nobody.” 

 

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.” Letting your arms drop, you shoved your hands in your pockets. “What time would you like me back here?”

 

“9 o’clock would be preferable,” he said.

 

You nodded subtly, “As you wish, sir.” Taking your hand out of your pocket, you pulled out a piece of candy and set it on his desk before exiting the classroom.

 

***

 

Dinner had come and gone and you found yourself with some free time before your eventual return to the potions classroom. You kicked off your shoes and changed out of your uniform into more comfortable pants and a baggy white t-shirt. You settled on reading your advanced potions book in the Slytherin common room. It didn’t hurt to refresh your memory on the Wolfsbane potion. Perhaps you could find a more accurate way to prepare the potion, or even improve upon the potion itself.

 

A few Slytherins had walked through wearing their costumes. You chatted with them briefly, apparently, they were going to a party that was being hosted in the Hufflepuff common room. Though Hufflepuffs seemed almost docile on the outside, they knew how to throw good parties and were able to get their hands on certain ingredients to ensure everyone had a good time.

 

…

 

You looked up and checked the clock above the fireplace. Almost two hours had passed, though there were still about fifteen minutes left before you would need to leave. The door to the common room opened with a creak. You assumed it was a Slytherin returning from the party, so you didn’t look up, that is until the figure stood in front of the fireplace, facing you. They were wearing a black cloak that covered the majority of their body and a red devil mask over their face. You raised your eyebrows at them.

 

Suddenly, they withdrew their wand and pointed it at your head, and remained motionless.

 

“Happy Halloween to you too. Is this supposed to scare me?” you scoffed.

 

“Shuddup,” the figure slurred. They took a couple of steps toward you and held the wand inches from your face. You saw their eyes flicker back and forth as if they were contemplating what their next move would be.

 

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, but you’re a bit out of your depth. Go bother someone else.”

 

“I said SHUDDUP. You’re notnna position t’be talk’n,” they hissed, and adjusted their grip. It was in this moment that you realized that this person wasn’t some party straggler playing a joke on you. You being alone in the common room, the timing… This was a planned event. This person intended to hurt you.

 

“For your sake, I hope you know how to use that thing,” you said lowly, narrowing your eyes.

“You stupid bitch. Flipendo!”

 

The textbook you had readily clutched in your lap came up to block the anticipated attack, the spell only forcing the book back against your chest firmly, your body stopping the momentum.

 

“Motherfucker!” you snarled, throwing the book at them as hard as you could, hitting their hand. The impact made them drop their wand and hiss in pain at the hard cover walloping down on their limb, giving you another opportunity for you to defend yourself. You reached for your own wand on the couch and aimed at the masked figure.

 

“ Stupef—”

 

Something wrapped around your neck.

 

Then everything faded to black.

 

***

 

Professor Snape waited over an hour for you until he resigned to the fact that you were not coming. The plan was to split the work in half, each of you making three bottles of Wolfsbane before he would have to see to his rounds tonight. However, the time he spent sitting at his desk staring absent-mindedly at the door waiting for your arrival dented his progress. He only managed to brew one bottle himself, which was… fine. It was Halloween. Friends hang out, go to parties, and eat candy with each other, things he assumed a student would’ve much rather done than confine themselves in the dark and dreary dungeons, brewing Merlin knows what with the “greasy dungeon bat.” Snape didn’t know what exasperated him more; the fact that you hadn’t shown up or why he’d bothered to wait so long for your arrival. The least you could’ve done was send him a paper crane saying you changed your mind or tell him at dinner. 

 

But that’s how it always starts, isn’t it? The moment he deems someone to be more than tolerable they slowly pull away, wanting nothing to do with the brooding man who lurked in the dungeons, and eventually becoming complicit in the behind-the-back mocking and degrading insults that graced him every day. Who knows, perhaps you already had. However, he was guilty of being complicit too. Your presence wasn’t a nuisance and maybe, just maybe, eased him a bit. You treated him with respect, always calling him “sir” or “Professor Snape.” Even when you weren’t directly speaking with him, you addressed him as Professor Snape instead of just “Snape,” which had somehow garnered an insulting connotation, as if his very name was associated with dungeon mold. It was unnerving how subtly you could read him as well. He thought of himself as a closed book and yet you managed to get a peak at a couple of pages, how he didn’t know. It was respectful though. Patient. You never pressed, never poked fun at his personality, and for some reason, never questioned his actions around you. You let him get away with too much in his opinion; rifling through your things, taking your belongings, eating your food, practically jump-scaring you in class and in the hallways, and drinking his potions without any protest. Your disposition confused him.

 

You're pathetic, Severus.

 

Snape glanced at the clock. Eleven. Time for rounds. A part of him hoped to find a couple of drunk students to take out his anger on. Grabbing his wand, he slammed the door to the classroom and made his way out of the dungeons.

 

---

TW: BLOOD/INJURY

.

.

.

 

It’s…

dark.

 

Are your eyes even open…?

 

…

 

Yeah, they are…

 

Something was on your head. Something scratchy that felt like cloth.

 

What time is it…?

 

…

 

There was…something! I have something…with…with…

 

A violent wave of pain crashed in your head and you felt wetness streaming from your scalp down to your face. You tried to make noise, any noise, but nothing came out but strangled rasping. The only other thing you could hear from yourself was a loud high-pitched ringing in your ears and your own heartbeat.

 

It’s cold too…You didn’t realize it at first, but you were lying on your side, your arm pressed firmly into chilling wood. 

 

Getting into a sitting position was hard. The pain was tremendously dizzying and something restrained your hands behind your back. Rope…?

 

Another wave of pain slammed into you as you finally managed to prop yourself up against something, the blood beginning to rush down to your toes.

 

You need to get up. Figure out where you are.

 

Wooden floors…not a hallway. And you were up against a wall…or something..?

 

You pushed up against whatever was behind you and leaned against it for support. You lingered away from it for a second only for your knees to almost buckle underneath you. It didn’t help much that you were only wearing socks on your feet.

 

You pressed your shoulder into the wall and took slow, wobbly steps. Until your knees got used to movement again. You were still extremely dizzy so you remained moving with your body tracing the wall…that is until the wall ran out of...wall.

 

You set your legs into a wider stance, hoping to find balance. It worked…kind of. Your attempts to walk resembled that of a drunk baby deer. You managed to take a couple steps before bumping your hips into a hard edge. Something made of wood.

 

A table..? 

 

You changed directions and paced around more.

 

Bump.

 

Another table...

 

Were you in a classroom?

 

You found yourself pressing into another “wall,” but you felt that it wasn't completely flat. There were sections that caved in on themselves. As you touched your head to them, you felt objects shift against your weight. Smelling them deeply, you were hit with a faint scent of leather.

 

Leather.

 

Books.

 

You’re in the library. How did you get into the library?

 

The wetness from your head had accumulated in your shirt, the soaking fabric clinging to your skin. You could feel it dribble down your forehead and over your lips. It tasted metallic.

 

You’re bleeding. Right. 

 

You need to get out of here.

 

Fortunately for you, the library had a simple layout. It was shaped like a set of human ribs. You assumed you had walked into the center path that split the library in half since you weren’t bumping into tables anymore. 

 

This is good. You’re doing good. 

 

There were only two places to go from here, one way leads into the gate that blocked off the restricted section and the other would lead out of the library.

 

Let’s go left.

 

You slowly rotated your body to the left and began to totter down the open floor plan.

 

.

.

.

 

To your relief, you were met with stone under your feet rather than a face full of metal. You were now in the chilly corridors, goosebumps pricked your bare arms.   Finding a wall you jutted your elbow against it, tracing your arm along it as a guide. You were still teetering and every couple of minutes were met with breathtaking pain that made your head spiral.

 

…

 

Someone would find you right…? Even if you walked in a circle…someone had to…

 

Your sense of time was beginning to slip. Each shaky step that drained you of energy felt like hours had gone by. How much time has passed since you woke up? Since you left the library? Why were you even there to begin with? Did you hit your head or something? Why does it smell like burnt toast?

 

So many questions…I should sleep on it…

 

.

.

.

 

No.

 

Stay awake.

 

Through the ringing in your ears, you heard a faint, low noise that caught your attention. 

 

You whipped your head in the direction of the sound…a bit too fast…

 

Your head spun more and your body swayed with it. Eventually, your knees buckled underneath you and the side of your head smacked against the stone ground.

 

The hit had brought you out of your dizziness and your body began to convulse in pain. You must’ve been in shock before since the pain that exploded from your head down to your toes came at you tenfold. You could do nothing but close your eyes and writhe against your restraints, choking on your own breath.

 

Someone was standing in front of you now. You felt the thing that was covering your head get pulled off. You tried to see the figure in front of you but your vision was clouded by blood and tears. 

 

Suddenly, your hands were free and you were light. You felt yourself moving but your legs weren’t touching the ground. You were being held against something firm but soft. An arm cradled you on your back while another held you underneath your knees, whisking you away in the darkness of the castle as you closed your eyes…

 

***

To his delight, Snape did end up taking points away and handing out detentions that night. He had found a couple of students wandering the halls after curfew, still in their costumes. Some of them were drunk while others he had found making out in window sills. Or both. One student had almost thrown up Halloween candy all over his shoes.

 

It was midnight now. He was about to make his way up to the second floor when he heard the sound of heavy footsteps and strained heaving from another stretch of hallway. Silently he rounded a corner and saw a figure in the distance, illuminated by blue moonlight that shone through one of the windows.

 

“What do you think you are doing out here?” he called to the figure.

 

They didn’t respond and simply kept shambling down the corridor.

 

“I'm talking to you. Do not make me repeat myself!” he strode towards the figure in the distance, but his steps faltered when the figure became clearer to him.

 

What the hell kind of costume…? 

 

The person was wearing a bloody sack on their head and a blood-soaked shirt. The sleeves had been ripped off from the shoulder seams and their arms were covered in bruises and obscenities, presumably scratched in with black ink.

 

“Reveal yourself!” Snape bellowed, pointing his wand at them.

 

Just then, they turned their head in his direction and crumpled to the ground, hitting their head on the stone floor. They started squirming, unable to get up. It was only then that Snape realized that their hands were tied behind their back.

 

Snape paced forward and kneeled in front of the figure. Tugging the sack of their head, his eyes widened and his heart plummeted straight to the depths of his stomach.

 

It was Y/N. 

 

***

 

Your eyes were half opened and your face was smeared red. Unstable breaths escaped your lazily hung-open mouth. There was so much blood. He could see deep gashes running up your temple and into your hair. Blood oozed down your chin and seeped into your clothes, turning your white shirt into dark red.

 

His heart began to pound as panic and dread seized his body. 

 

Snape cut the rope with his wand and scooped you into his arms, clutching you to his chest as he ran down the corridor toward the dungeons.

 

Opening the door to his classroom and office with wandless magic, he rushed towards his couch and gently laid you down.

 

“Expecto patronum!” he chanted shakily, waving his wand.

 

Blue light fizzled from his wand and took the form of a doe. It pranced around the room for a second or two before leaping through the walls.

 

Snape bent down beside the couch and frightfully inspected you, fear gripping every one of his nerves. On your arms, your skin was decorated with the words “bitch”, “slut”, “whore”, and “homewrecker”...Your breathing was ragged, and each breath you took caused more blood to flow out from your scalp. He pushed your sticky hair out of your face, but he felt something that made his breath hitch. His fingers ceased in your hair as they traced over something not just wet, but soft…

 

Mushy.

 

After a minute or so, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore burst into his office. Their eyes locked on the student who lay across his couch in blood-soaked clothing. 

 

“Severus! What happened?” McGonagall cried, running over to him.

 

“I don’t know! I was doing rounds and I found her like this on the first floor. She could barely stand!” Snape shouted.

 

You opened your eyes again and saw Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore surrounding you. It looked like they were yelling at each other, but you couldn’t hear anything. Everything sounded like it was underwater and the sharp ringing in your head persisted. Your pupils shook and black spots began to cloud the corners of your vision.

 

No…I don’t wanna go to sleep…I can’t…

 

With what little energy you had left, you began to desperately grab at Snape’s robes. Your movement stopped their arguing as all eyes turned to you. Snape reached for your wrist and held your hand to his chest. Your mouth twitched as you struggled to form words. Red tears streamed down your cheeks and he watched as your eyes fluttered closed and your fingers slowly unclenched and fell limp in his hand.

 

Chapter 7: Ensnaring The Senses

Notes:

I know the cliffhanger I left you guys on was rotted so I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Snape didn’t sleep at all that night. He sat in the chilling darkness of his office clutching the bloody sack you had on your head, unable to think properly. His fingers were still stained with your blood and there was a red smear on his robes. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the large blotchy stain on the far end of the couch where your head had laid as he watched your hand fall from his body. You looked so weak and helpless. 

 

After you had lost consciousness, Dumbledore summoned two mediwizards he only dared to contact when it was an emergency, especially so late at night. With Snape’s aid, they had moved you from his office to a private section in the corner of the hospital wing, hidden away from the other beds. Madame Pomfrey and the two mediwizards made quick work of stopping the bleeding, but actually healing your wounds took more time due to their nature, and apparating you to St. Mungos in such a state was too risky. They had kicked both professors AND Dumbledore out of the hospital wing so that they could work in focused isolation. The three of them sat in the staff lounge. McGonagall and Dumbledore grilled Snape on every last detail he could remember from his encounter with you earlier that night. An hour passed before the mediwizards eventually came back with a report. You had broken your skull open in three different places and the injuries were caused by blunt force trauma to the head. Additionally, you would be waking up from the Draught of Living Death they had given you to sleep through the night with a concussion. 

 

“The concussion, however, is the least of her problems. Before we began to treat her, she woke up again and stayed conscious for approximately five minutes. During that time we cast a Sensory Examination spell on her to check how strong her senses were. Unfortunately, the spell determined that for now, she has lost both her sight and hearing, maybe even her ability to speak, it’s hard to tell for the time being. On top of that, there could even be complications with her memory. She could wake up remembering everything about herself, her schooling, and the incident, or she could wind up not knowing a thing. We advise that no one use Legilimency or Memory Extraction spells on her as the invasion of her mental psyche could stress her mind and worsen the extent of her injuries, at least not until she has full functionality of her senses.”

 

The mediwizards had a separate conversation with Snape and Madame Pomfrey. They explained the types and quantities of potions you would need to take in order to clear your concussion and eventually regain your senses again. Even with their prescription, there was no guarantee you’d fully recover. Snape promised Madame Pomfrey he would ensure every potion you took was perfect.

 

Before breakfast, Dumbledore called a meeting with all the teachers to brief them on the situation. Last night’s incident was to be kept quiet and your visitors would be limited to staff for now. It was unclear whether your injuries were accidental or a purposeful attack and Hogwarts couldn’t have any rumors floating about that would make students feel unsafe.

 

It was hard to teach potions. Snape could barely get through his classes without thinking about you. Every time he turned to face his students his eyes immediately went to the usual spot you sat in during his class. Even during lectures, his mind flashed with images of you convulsing on the ground and struggling to stay conscious as you bled out on his couch. While students brewed their potions, he took multiple opportunities to shut himself in the storage room to give himself a breather and gather his resolve. He hadn’t seen you all day and only heard of your condition between classes and at lunch. Apparently, you were being quite uncooperative with Madame Pomfrey. You wouldn’t let her get close enough to give you potions. The only thing you had allowed her to do was guide you to the bathroom and give you plates of food to eat yourself, which resulted in you making a bit of a mess.

 

During the free period, both Dumbledore and Professor Snape were summoned to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey explained that she was going to once again attempt to get you to drink a potion and would likely need their assistance in holding you down should she have to force-feed it to you. 

 

As she tended to another student Dumbledore and Snape made their way over to the corner of the wing sectioned off by two large curtains. Snape pulled one of them back to reveal you sitting on a large bed surrounded by pillows. You were wearing all white clothes; a long sleeve shirt, loose lounge pants, and socks. Your hairline was no longer crusted with blood and one of the deep gashes he had seen running down the side of your head was now a thick red line. Part of your sleeve was rolled up and he could see that the words that were scrawled on your arm had been washed off. Snape couldn’t see your face though. You had curled yourself into a tight ball, burying your head against your knees.

 

Blind. Deaf. Mute.

 

You must’ve been terrified.  

 

“That poor girl…” Dumbledore murmured. “I couldn’t imagine being in her position. What sort of treatment did the mediwizards prescribe, Severus?”

 

“Potions. Five a day to be precise until she starts showing improvement. One to alleviate her concussion, one to put her to sleep at night, and the other three to hopefully bring her senses back. It’s just a matter of getting her to take them…and time, of course…” Snape drawled. “It’ll be a miracle if the damage to her brain doesn’t impact her mem-”

 

“Severus, look,” Dumbledore interrupted, pointing towards the bed.

 

Snape turned to see that you had uncurled from yourself. Even though your body wasn’t facing him, you had turned your head and were staring directly at him and Dumbledore with an unreadable expression on your face.

 

“Last night, didn’t they say she is blind?” Snape asked.

 

“They did.” Dumbledore furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed. “Stand in that corner for me, would you?” 

 

Snape paced over to the adjacent corner where the curtain met the wall and stood still. After a couple of seconds, your head slowly swiveled towards Professor Snape.

 

“Strange. She can sense our presence,” Dumbledore chuckled. “I wonder if she recognizes us.”

 

“I highly doubt that. It’s likely Miss L/N just felt the vibrations of our footsteps,” Snape replied.

 

Madame Pomfrey walked in holding a small bottle filled with red liquid. 

 

“This is the potion I tried to give her this morning. It’s meant to treat her concussion, but every time I get near her she becomes rather defensive.” Pomfrey said. 

 

Your eyes shifted back and forth between the three of them. As Madame Pomfrey got closer to you, your shoulders tensed up and you began to scooch up against the bed frame, attempting to create some distance. Your knees retracted towards your chest and your arms went to shield your head, hands balled into fists. When she put her hand on your shoulder, you started to curl back into yourself.

 

“Headmaster, if you could please,” she huffed.

 

Dumbledore stepped to the other side of the bed and grabbed your wrists which immediately made you tremble, your breathing becoming fast and heavy. You tried to remove yourself from his grip when he started to pry your arms away from your face. 

 

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t watch this.

 

“Stop.”

 

Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey turned to Snape, confusion written on their faces. “She needs to take this, Severus.” Dumbledore asserted.

 

“I’m aware just…give it to me,” he sighed, stretching his hand out to Madame Pomfrey.

 

The two of them let go of you. The second you felt their hands leave your body, you grabbed the nearest pillow and hugged it to your chest. Madame Pomfrey handed Professor Snape the potion; she and Dumbledore backed far away from the bed assuming he would be less gentle and trigger you to put up a fight against the potion master. Snape slowly approached your right side and grabbed one of the pillows off the bed, transfiguring it into a chair. To Dumbledore and Pomfrey’s surprise, he just sat there and waited, turning the bottle over in his hands while he watched you. He needed you to calm down before he could do anything.

 

A few wordless minutes passed before your shoulders began to relax and your breathing steadied. The death grip you had on the pillow loosened a bit and you tilted your head up. Your eyes were watery, tears threatening to spill from the corners. Snape leaned toward you and gently pressed the base of the bottle against your forearm. You flinched slightly at the initial contact, but he just held it there patiently. You lazily turned your head in his direction and looked at him. It was strange for Snape to see you stare at him even though you couldn’t actually see anything. 

 

Your right arm released the pillow and began to move towards Snape, grasping at the air between the two of you. Your hand eventually fell on his wrist, covered by the sleeve of his robes. Snape saw your eyes widen slightly as you felt the material. Your hand traveled from his wrist to the bottle that he held. Finding the top of the bottle, you let go of the pillow and brought the potion towards yourself, fumbling the cork off with your fingers.

 

You lifted the potion to your mouth and began to drink, but then you suddenly lurched forward, gagging from the taste. Madame Pomfrey started to move towards you, but Snape held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks. After a few moments of remaining frozen with the bottle pressed to your lips, you screwed your eyes shut and tilted your head back as far as you could, trying to down the potion as quickly as possible. Swallowing the last of it, you buried your face into the pillow, attempting to hide your contorting expression as the repulsive taste lingered in the back of your throat. You held the bottle in the air away from yourself and felt Snape take it from you.

 

“There.” Snape stood up, setting the empty bottle on the little table next to your bed.

 

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” Pomfrey bowed before swishing through the curtains.

 

The two of them stood in silence as they watched you bring the pillow out from your torso and begin fiddling with the cloth around your now stretched out legs. Snape looked at your head again and noticed that some of your hair had been trimmed down. You had an undercut on the base of your head that started at the top of your ears and traveled down your neck. In the center of your neck, an angry scar ran up the back of your head and into your hair, presumably one of the places you had cracked your head open. Curiously, he raised a hand next to your ear and snapped. No reaction. He took out his wand and cast “Lumos” in front of your eyes. You didn’t blink but you leaned back slightly away from it.

 

“Do you not trust their diagnosis?” Dumbledore asked, a little amused at the sight of him playing the role of a doctor.

 

Snape grumbled and put his wand back into his waistband. “Just double checking…”

 

Dumbledore ambled towards you and sat at the end of your bed. Feeling the sudden dip in the mattress, your legs bent upwards again and you shifted your body against the bed frame towards Professor Snape.

 

“She knows, Severus,” Dumbledore stated as he stroked his beard.

 

Snape looked at the old man, raising an eyebrow.

 

“That it’s you,” he smiled, lines wrinkling around his eyes beneath his half-moon glasses.

 

“I’m sure she does, Albus.” Snape rolled his eyes and folded his arms in front of his chest.

 

“I am not joking with you. It’s clear from her body language. She was calm when you gave her the potion, but one step from Madame Pomfrey or I and she’s practically on the ceiling. Even now, as I sat down on the bed she opted to move towards you instead of away from either of us.”

 

“Yes, well perhaps that is the case because I didn’t put my hands on the girl who can’t even see it coming.” Snape hissed.

 

“A fair point,” Dumbledore shrugged, “but if I recall correctly, she began to panic before either I or Madame Pomfrey touched her.”

 

Snape opened his mouth to respond but didn’t have one. Instead, he turned away from Dumbledore and looked at you instead.

 

“Regardless of who is right,” Dumbledore stood up, “it’s safe to assume that her recovery will be better endured if her potions were administered by someone she trusts, and so far, that seems to be you.”

 

“Fine,” Snape muttered.

 

Dumbledore nodded and walked out of your makeshift room, leaving Snape to himself, studying you.

 

*** 

 

The rest of the day was somewhat tolerable for Professor Snape. Though your physical state was nowhere near ideal, seeing you conscious and responsive to your surroundings provided him with a semblance of ease. You were awake, you were eating, you were starting to drink potions, and you were safe. The temptation he had to use Legilimency on you as soon as Dumbledore left the two of you alone was strong. The old man could believe what he wanted, but Snape felt deep in his bones that what happened to you was no accident. Your hands were tied around your back for Merlin’s sake. Guilt and anger clawed at his mind. Perhaps if he didn’t act like a mopey teenager last night, he could’ve stopped this whole thing from happening in the first place. Meanwhile, whoever did this to you was walking amongst the sea of students he saw every day, likely reveling in their supposed victory. But he would find them. He would find them and make this individual pay for even touching a hair on your head .

 

At dinner, the other teachers were happy to hear that you were awake. Unbeknownst to you, you were well-liked amongst your teachers, though you generally didn’t interact with them the same way you did with the potion master. While Snape worked painstakingly on brewing your potions that evening, they went to visit you, although Dumbledore warned them not to touch or get too close to you. They were severely limited in how they could interact with you. All the teachers could do was talk to each other as you watched them from your bed. Their reaction to you being able to feel their presence was about the same as Dumbledore’s: intrigued confusion. McGonagall was able to get closer to you than the others, having the advantage of being an animagus. She transformed into a cat and hung out at the end of your bed.  You could tolerate the presence of people, so long as they didn’t crowd around you or put their hands on you. Sensing presence and touching things with your hands was the only stimulation you had full control of. You had no sense of time and had to occupy yourself for hours with nothing but your own thoughts and changing your position on the bed. Madame Pomfrey was a very strict matron who wouldn’t allow you to stand out of bed for too long unless you needed to use the bathroom, in which case she would have you hold on to her sleeve and walk with you.

 

Snape later returned to the Hospital Wing with the other four potions you needed to take. Moving a curtain aside, he found five teachers laughing and chatting with each other as they stood in the adjacent corner. Their talking ceased as their eyes fell upon the potion master.

 

“What are you all doing here?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Visiting Miss L/N of course!” Fillius Flitwick piped up.

 

Snape glanced over at you, making sure you weren’t overwhelmed by the number of people who were present. 

 

“Must you all be here at the same time?” Snape hissed. “Don’t you think that students will find it suspicious that almost half the staff have come to visit one girl?”

 

“Oh relax, Severus,” Flitwick chuckled. “The students hardly care what we do in our free time AND we cast a 'muffliato' spell.”

 

Snape rolled his eyes and walked over to your right side. 

 

“Wait!” Aurora Sinistra spoke. “Dumbledore said not to go near her!”

 

Snape stood next to you and turned toward the teachers. Staring them dead in the eyes, he held three of the four bottles with one hand in front of your body. The teachers watched in awe as you turned and registered his presence next to you. Your hand went up and grabbed at the air between the two of you. It found his arm, and finally, the bottles. A look of confusion flashed on your face when you felt more than one potion in his hand. With both your hands, you took the potions from Snape and set them on your lap. 

 

“How in the world-” Trelawney began, but Charity Burbage shushed her.

 

You picked up the first bottle and your face fell. It felt twice the size as the potion that you consumed this morning. Still, you knew you had to drink it. Popping the top off, you sniffed it. To your delight, it smelled sweet. A half smile twitched on your lips before you poured the contents of the bottle into your mouth. It tasted like honey. You held the bottle out to Snape as you swallowed and picked up the next one. It was about the same size and didn’t have a smell. Nervously pressing it to your lips, you were graced with cherry-flavored liquid that made your ears feel warm. The last one was a cylindrical bottle, unlike the other two which were rectangular. You swished the liquid in the bottle around and felt that the liquid was thicker, similar to the immune booster Snape gave you in the past. You opened it and began to drink. The consistency caught you off guard, it was like vegetable oil, but it tasted of chamomile tea. You wiped your mouth and held the last potion bottle out to him. A strange feeling of bashfulness knotted in your stomach. The other people in the room definitely just watched you touch Professor Snape and drink his potions without hesitation. It made you feel very self-conscious and the tips of your ears turned pink. 

 

“What—that is so unfair! How come she lets you be so close to her but not us?” Pomona grouched.

 

Snape sneered. “Luck of the draw, I suppose.”

 

She huffed and grumbled to herself. McGonagall leaped off the bed and morphed out of her animagus form. “I think it is time we took our leave. Miss L/N is due to go to bed soon and we do not wish to cross Madame Pomfrey, do we?” McGonagall spoke. The teachers began to file out one by one, saying some form of goodbye to you and Professor Snape even though you couldn’t hear them. 

 

Once they had all left, Snape turned to see that you were now sitting at the edge of the bed on the opposite side, facing away from him. You were patting your knees anxiously as if waiting for something. On cue, Madame Pomfrey entered and walked over to you. To Snape’s surprise, you let Madame Pomfrey take your wrist and guide you out toward the curtains.

 

“I’m going to take her to the lavatory, Professor Snape. Then, you may give her a sleeping potion.”

 

Snape sat down in the chair as you were led out through the curtains. He put the empty bottles on the bedside table and noticed someone had left a little bowl of leftover Halloween candy. It was obvious who the culprit was evident by the sherbert lemons that lay on top of the bowl. 

 

…

 

After five minutes or so, you came back through the curtains by yourself, shuffling around until you found the edge of the bed. Snape observed you as your hand glided along the mattress, eventually crawling onto the bed into a sitting position. You reached behind your neck and started feeling the long, thick scar, delicately tracing over it. Running your fingers through your scalp, you parted your hair down the middle, aligning it with the scar, and gave yourself two braids. 

 

A bittersweet smirk flickered on his face. It was such an ugly scar, and if it were his head, his insecurities would’ve made him hide it for as long as he lived. Clearly, you had no such issues, or maybe, you were just blissfully unaware of its nature for the time being.

 

When you finished with your hair, you scooched back into the pillows and lifted the blanket. You were about to lie down when you remembered that Professor Snape was still in the room and right next to you. Turning your head to him, you fidgeted with your hands, unsure of what to do. You figured he would’ve left when you went to the bathroom.

 

Snape tapped one last potion against your hand. You didn’t flinch like you did this morning. At this point you were expecting to receive potions anytime you felt him next to you. You raised your eyebrows in surprise feeling the size of the small vial. 

You pulled the cork off and sniffed at the rim. Your eyes fluttered with fatigue as you recognized the potion. Swallowing the sleeping draught, you gently laid on your side and fell back against the pillows, closing your eyes. The disquieting tension that gripped at his heart since the night before finally melted away. His chest felt light with relief knowing that you were sleeping because you were healing rather than because you were knocking on death’s door. 

 

Despite the potion’s power and your long clothes, Snape could see you subtly shivering underneath the blanket. He unclasped his cloak from his shoulders and carefully wrapped it over your body and against the back of your head until you were cocooned in black material. Silently, he slipped out through the curtains and out of the Hospital Wing.

 

Snape saw so much potential in you. You had to get better—needed to get better. So far, it was plausible that you recognized him and that your memories were still there. Of course, he hoped you would regain all of your senses back, but he prayed for at least your eyesight to return. He could attempt to communicate to you through Legilimency or perhaps train you to read lips should you never regain your hearing, but without your sight, it would be meaningless. With your sight, you could still learn, still be a great witch, still brew potions…Snape’s attitude towards your recovery was a selfish one because, most of all, he wished to have you look at him properly again. Other than the teachers, you were the only person who didn’t gaze at him with utter detestation or needling judgment, but rather curious interest and acknowledgment. It made him lower his guard without realizing it. Perhaps that's why parts of his genuine self were starting to leak through, and it felt…good.

 

Chapter 8: A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Summary:

A new professor starts teaching at Hogwarts.

Notes:

OMG, A 1000 HITS??? LOVE YA'LL

After a couple of days, Madame Pomfrey reported that the foul-tasting potion Snape had given you healed your concussion, an injury that takes a couple of weeks to heal naturally in the muggle world. The matron gave you slightly more freedom with your mobility, allowing you to do stretches on the ground and walk around the inner circumference of your “room,” as long as you leaned against the wall or hold on to the curtains. Thankfully, it was one less potion for you to take and one less potion for him to brew, not that he was against providing your prescription, but Dumbledore had been on his case about finishing the rest of the Wolfsbane. Snape didn’t have much free time nowadays and brewing five more bottles of it required extreme precision. 

 

Professor Green, the current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, had taken a sudden leave of absence that required her to leave the country. In her place, Dumbledore had the brilliant idea of employing… Remus Lupin.

 

Why? Of all the capable witches and wizards out there he just had to pick Remus Lupin. Was it not enough that he was stressing over your recovery? Must he also be forced to work with one of the men who made his life a living hell?

 

Professor Snape intended to avoid Lupin like the plague. He didn’t even so much as glance in his direction since he set foot in the castle. Furthermore, Snape sat in the farthest seat away during the welcoming introduction in the Great Hall at breakfast. Fortunately for him, the location of their classrooms and living quarters put some much-appreciated distance between each other. Dumbledore had tried numerous times to convince Snape to let go of the past, but he had not seen change from Lupin, especially when he was accompanied by Sirius Black. While Lupin rarely instigated anything physical himself, he was often complicit and did nothing to stop the torment he received from James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew as a teenager. The last time he had seen Lupin and Black was at a bar in Diagon Alley, which ended in Snape storming out and drinking himself to a stupor at his home in Spinner’s End. And now he was forced to assume responsibility for keeping his lycanthropy in check? Why must life be so cruel…

 

Lupin had made a strong impression amongst the students on his first day of teaching and all morning Snape had to deal with students chattering about how “wicked” the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was. Lupin had taught them about boggarts and how to counteract their fears by turning them into something funny. The tiny sadistic part of Snape was happy to find out that he was the boggart of a couple of 1st years, but it vanished when he noticed that students had been snickering at him when he strode through the halls and ate his lunch.

Apparently, he was seen wearing a dress, changed into a bat with a black wig, and turned into a small hunched-over troll with a large nose. As a result, he was extra cruel in his classes, taking house points and giving detentions left and right, even taking points from his own house which is something he rarely does. He tried to ease his agitation by shutting himself away in the dungeons, but all it made him think about was the Wolfbane he still had to brew and he was in no mood to deal with or even think about Lupin.

Snape paced around his classroom, racking at what to do with himself. He glanced at his desk and noticed that he still had assignments to grade, and a thick pile at that too. Grading did help him blow off steam, even though it often reflected in the letter that he harshly scrawled in the top corners of each assignment. He wanted to, but not here. Not in the dungeons. With one hand he snatched the pile of papers and grabbed three potions with the other and began his ascent to the Hospital Wing.

 

***

 

You were sitting up against one of the walls next to the curtains doing some stretches. Eating your lunch in bed with your legs crossed was not a pleasant feeling on your knees, plus you really needed to get out of that bed and move around. A slight draft blew in your face as you felt the presence of Professor Snape not too far from you.

 

Snape saw you on the ground stretching your legs, your right heel tugged into your thigh and your left leg extended outwards as you reached toward your knee. You stopped when he entered your space, figuring it was time for your potions. Snape took a step towards you as you slowly got up in case you lost balance. You didn’t even need to feel around for the bed this time and walked right over to it. He was surprised at how you've adapted to your current situation; you’ve pretty much had the floorplan of your space memorized, were able to eat on your own for the most part, and didn’t give him any sort of grief when it came to taking your potions. He’d only been in the room for 30 seconds and he could already feel his irritation simmering down. 

 

You plopped yourself down in the center of the bed and turned to him, waiting. Snape walked over to the chair and sat down, still bewildered at how you managed to recognize him in your state. Instead of reaching out and grabbing at the air randomly, you held your hands out to him palms up. Taking potions had become routine and you felt silly clutching at the air like a baby reaching for its crib mobile. Snape put the potions in your hands and watched as you consumed them in slow succession, savoring the flavors. He noted that the corner of your lips would turn upwards as you drank, clearly appreciative of the fact that he made the potions taste pleasant. A smirk twitched on his own face.

 

You held the bottles back out to him and expected him to depart, but were confused when you still felt him in the room, sitting next to you in the same spot. Usually, Snape would give you your potions and be on his way; you didn’t blame him as he was a busy man after all. He didn’t move, but he also didn’t press anything else against your hands. You withdrew your hands back to yourself and awkwardly patted the tops of your legs, staring off into the distance. Unsure of what to do with yourself, you visited your mind palace and began to daydream.

 

Snape made the right choice coming here. Five papers into grading and the stress of the morning had already dissolved. It was peaceful here. He didn’t feel trapped as he often did when he resorted to shutting himself away for a moment to himself. No one came to bother either of you and he felt rather…content. But a part of him felt a twinge of guilt. He couldn’t interact with you much and using your space as a hideaway felt like he was taking advantage of your condition to satisfy his own distress. However, you did seem more relaxed when he came to visit you in comparison to the other teachers, and you started smiling when you recognized his arrival.

 

Snape looked up from the papers when he heard a quiet, breathy chuckle escape through your nose. His eyes followed the spot you’d been staring at only to find nothing and that’s when he realized you were zoned out. He wondered what you thought about, how you managed to keep yourself mentally occupied for hours on end while being stuck here. He thought back to his potions class when he saw you staring at the clock and making strange motions with your hands and how embarrassed you seemed when you were caught. He didn’t use Legilimency on you that time, but his curiosity wished he had.

 

You blinked quickly a few times, letting Snape know that you’d snapped back to reality. You looked down at your lap and began fidgeting with your hands. Snape acknowledged your desire to touch something so he leaned forward and gently placed a sheet of paper from your bedside table over your lap. It was from a separate pile he had marked with 0’s for being illegible or just downright horrendous. You turned your head to him and furrowed your brows in confusion when you realized what he had given you. Obviously, he knew you couldn’t read it but what else were you supposed to do with it?

 

In all honesty it didn’t matter to him what the end result was, you just looked like you needed entertainment. This seemed to click in your head too as he watched the confusion fade from your face. You picked up the assignment. Feeling for the corners, you began to methodically fold the paper, gliding your thumb along the edges and stopping at certain points before making the next fold. Given your blindness, it took a bit of trial and error to get the folds just right. After a couple of minutes, you had successfully created an origami snake. You turned the paper creature over in your hands, feeling the points and dips. Satisfied with your work, you held it out to Professor Snape. 

 

Snape retrieved the paper snake from your hands. Picking up his quill, he added two little eyes on the sides of the snake’s head. He was about to hand you another piece of paper when he saw the pained expression on your face. Your hands moved furiously through your scalp and on the back of your head. Snape stood up and moved closer. You were aggressively scratching at the scars on your head, the skin turning a deep red. 

 

A side effect from the potions perhaps?

 

Snape walked out through the curtains towards a medicine cabinet. Madame Pomfrey always kept a large stock of balms, salves, and lotions that helped with pain, swelling, and itchiness. He picked one of the lotions and strode back over to your bedside. Without thinking, Snape reached out and put his hand on one of your wrists, indicating for you to stop.

Realizing his mistake he retracted his hand, but to his relief, you were calm and didn’t freak from his touch. He slowly reached out again and placed his hand on top of your head and gently tipped it down. He started parting your hair in the back, looking for the scar. You understood what he was getting at and parted it for him. With his thumb, he lightly pressed the lotion along the thick scar. Snape saw your shoulders relax as it absorbed into your skin, the itchiness subsiding almost instantly. Your hands moved toward the top of your head on the sides, showing him the other two incredible itchy scars. Snape hadn’t seen these ones yet and was happy to find they weren’t nearly as bad as the one that ran down the back of your head. He gently rubbed the lotion on the other two scars. You exhaled softly as he watched the skin around your scars return to its regular pigment.

 

When he finished, you turned around towards him and found his hands. You squeezed them twice as if to say “Thank.” “You.” Snape squeezed your hands twice in return.

 

“You’re.” “Welcome.”

 

***

 

Professor Snape went to his afternoon classes in a much better mood to the surprise of his students. They heard about his earlier tirade from the morning classes and made the wise decision of shutting up about DADA and boggarts so as to not anger him again. In fact, his mood had improved so much that he was able to make two more bottles of Wolfsbane potions before dinner rolled around. He planned on visiting you again in the evening to continue grading the assignments he left on your bedside before he would give you your last potion for the day. 

 

Dinner did not go as he would’ve liked. Though students had stopped giggling at him, Snape entered the Great Hall only to see that the last seat available at the teachers’ table was between Dumbledore and Lupin. He grumbled to himself as he bitterly took his place. 

 

“Evening, Severus,” Lupin greeted, smiling politely at him.

 

“It’s Professor Snape to you,” Snape growled.

 

“Seriously, after all this time?”

 

“Deathly.”

 

Lupin rolled his eyes. “Is there any particular reason why you’ve been so ruthless today?”

 

“You know very well why.” 

 

“I can’t help that you just happen to be the boggart of some of my students,” Lupin chuckled.

 

“And yet you possessed no misgivings when you instructed them to make me wear a dress!” Snape spat back.

 

“Easy you two,” Dumbledore interjected. “Severus, how is the Wolfsbane coming along?”

 

Snape huffed. “The batch is almost finished, but as you can imagine I’ve been busy as of late. It would’ve been completed by now if it wasn’t for Halloween…”

 

“What happened on Halloween?” Lupin asked, curiously.

 

Before Snape could tell Lupin that it was none of his business Dumbledore spoke again. “There was an incident with a student. Miss L/N, a 7th-year Slytherin. From what Severus told me, she was supposed to assist him in brewing your Wolfsbane in the evening but never showed. He found her later that night with a severe head injury,” Dumbledore explained.

 

Snape shot a glare at Dumbledore. He preferred Lupin to not know of your current situation.

 

“She can make Wolfsbane? Well, now I have to meet her! Tell me, does she like chocolate?” 

 

Snape detested the idea of Lupin visiting you in the hospital wing. “She doesn’t need your chocolate, Lupin. She’s got plenty of candy. Dumbledore made sure of that,” he muttered. Dumbledore looked down at his plate, smiling at his food guiltily. 

 

Snape quickly finished the rest of his dinner and got up from his chair. “If you’ll excuse me I’ve got a Sleeping Draught to brew.” 

 

***

 

When Lupin found he had a spare moment in the evening he decided to make a trip to the Hospital Wing. He was looking forward to meeting you. He knew of very few people who could brew Wolfsbane and wasn’t keen on the fact that his current supplier was being rather uncivil with him. It would be nice to talk to and befriend someone who is more willing to help with his lycanthropy.

 

Lupin walked into the Hospital Wing to find it empty, except for Madame Pomfrey who was organizing some potions in a medical cabinet. She turned to him, hearing the man’s footsteps.

 

“How can I help you, Professor Lupin?” Madame Pomfrey asked.

 

“I am here to visit Miss L/N.” Lupin looked around the room at the empty beds. “Is she here?”

 

“Yes, down at the end. She should still be awake.” Madame Pomfrey pointed to the section of the Hospital Wing that was blocked off by your curtains.

 

Lupin thanked her and made his way over to the curtains. He pulled one aside and saw a girl in all-white clothing standing close to the wall, tracing her hand along the surface. You stopped and turned to face the unfamiliar presence that came through the curtains.

 

“Hello Miss L/N,” Lupin greeted.

 

The girl did not respond. She just stood frozen in place staring at him warily.

 

“We haven’t met before. I’m the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin,” he said walking towards you, holding his hand out.

 

You could sense the presence getting too close for comfort and began to back away towards the side of your bed, but in your rising panic, you stumbled backward over a pillow you had kicked onto the ground earlier and landed on your butt. The presence was now right in front of you and you felt two hands grab onto your shoulders.

 

“Are you okay, Miss?” Lupin kneeled in front of you, furrowing his brows in concern.

 

They were too close and without Snape in the room, you didn’t feel safe with the stranger. You tried to scramble back as they attempted to help you off the ground. The panic you felt started to consume you. Your breathing became fast and your right hand clenched into a tight fist. You drew it back and swung out violently at the figure in front of you. Professor Snape entered just in time to see your fist connect fiercely against Lupin’s nose, making an audible crunching sound.

 

“ AUGH! ” Lupin cried out, clutching his nose. “What in Merlin’s beard was that for?!”

 

“Step away from the girl, Lupin,” Snape barked.

 

Lupin turned to Snape in surprise. Snape could see blood dripping from underneath Lupin’s hand as he backed away from you. You had most definitely broken his nose. A wave of pride rolled through Snape as he pressed his lips together in a thin line, doing his best to suppress a smile. 

 

He swiveled his head toward your direction as he heard the mattress squeak loudly. You had climbed onto the bed and huddled yourself against the bed frame and pillows. Clutching the cloak Snape had left behind a couple of days ago, you buried your head down and started to cry.

 

“Go have Madame Pomfrey tend to your nose,” Snape ordered, stoically.

 

Lupin did not need to be told twice and swiftly exited through the curtains. Snape cast a quick 'Muffliato' spell on them and walked over to you, sitting sideways on the edge of the bed. You were shaking like a leaf. He was hesitant to console you, not wanting a broken nose of his own, but his reluctance disappeared when he felt your head lightly press on his shoulder, leaning against him. Your mutism made your crying eerily silent, the only indication being the tears that dripped from your jawline and onto the cloak. Snape removed the cloak from your grip and wrapped it around you. He reached to your other side and pulled you closer to him, rubbing slow circles on your upper arm with the palm of his hand. He stayed put and just held you, softly murmuring comforting words even though you couldn’t hear him; perhaps to relieve his own concern. 

 

Something foreign began to bloom in his chest. It was a subtle, dull sensation that befuddled him. Snape had never experienced what it was like to be needed before, physically or emotionally. He was used to being the driving force of other people’s misery instead of a source of comfort and support. Even in his childhood, he was nothing but a burden and a punching bag. Life constantly took from him, spat on him, and kept him isolated. Not once did he see himself capable of being a giver as he was so desperate to receive. Being here for you picked at a part of his soul he kept securely under lock and key.

 

After ten or so minutes your trembling ceased and your breathing slowed significantly. He felt your body become heavy with weariness. Snape released you and transfigured your origami snake into a bandage roll, dressing your now bruised knuckles before giving you the sleeping potion. Still wrapped in his cloak, you got underneath the blanket and drank the potion, slowly sinking back against the pillows. Sleep overtook you as your bandaged hand extended out on the mattress toward Snape. 

 

Snape gazed at your face as the remaining tears on your cheeks dribbled onto a pillow. His fingers gently brushed against yours and onto the back of your hand.

“Please. Please get better.”

 

***

 

You woke up in the morning to a throbbing sensation behind your eyes. You sat up and slowly opened them and immediately regretted the decision. The light of the room sent piercing waves of pain through your eyeballs, quickly summoning tears to your lower lids. You grabbed Snape’s dark cloak and covered your face, shielding your eyes from the light. Through the thread of the material, you could make out parts of the room without any pain.

 

Oh my god.

 

You can see!

 

You stayed in the bed and held the cloak against your face. You gradually peeled away the layers of fabric bunched against your eyes, letting them slowly adjust to the light. Lowering the cloak to your lap, you looked around your space for the first time. The bed was bigger than the one in your dorm and there was a chair next to it, the same spot you could sense Snape in when he would visit you. A bowl of half-eaten candy sat on the bedside table. You looked down at your bandaged hand, flexing your fingers.

 

That’s right. You punched someone last night.

 

You wobbled out of bed and padded to the curtains. You peeked out and saw that the Hospital Wing was empty and there was no sight of Madame Pomfrey. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you saw that you had slept through breakfast and the first classes of the day had started.

 

You need to get out of here. You were getting sick of being in bed most of the day and occupying your mind with nonsensical daydreams was starting to make you go crazy. You wrapped Snape’s cloak around your head and shoulders, letting a portion of it sag over your face and partially obscuring your eyes. Swishing through the curtains, you walked through the Hospital Wing and out to the vacant corridor.

 

Thankfully, there were no straggling students to witness your dark figure stalking through the halls. You weren’t sure who knew you were supposed to be in the Hospital Wing other than Madame Pomfrey, Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. You found the secret passage Snape had shown you in the past and descended down to the dungeons.

 

…

 

Reaching the common room, you searched for your wand and found it rolled underneath one of the couches. You clutched it tightly to yourself. It felt good having your line of defense back. Now that you were in your dorm, the first thing you were going to do was take a shower. You could tell Madame Pomfrey had used some basic cleaning spells on you, but they could only do so much, and quite frankly, you felt disgusting underneath the clothes you’ve worn for almost a week now.

 

You took the longest shower of your life, feeling as though you had scrubbed a whole layer of skin away. Combing your wet hair for the first time in a week, you got a good look at the scars that ran through your scalp. With a hand-held mirror, you looked at the back of your head and noticed you had an undercut that accompanied the thick scar that ran up the back of your head. 

 

You changed into a new pair of socks, pants and a T-shirt. Immediately, you went to your desk and began to write. You wrote like you never had before. Everything you could possibly remember about Halloween night you scrawled onto the pages; what you saw, what you did, who you talked to, time intervals…every little detail. You knew that at some point Madame Pomfrey would find your bed empty and notify Dumbledore and possibly other staff members. When they found you, they would have questions, and even though you still couldn’t hear or speak you wanted to tell them everything. 

 

A memory of the masked figure that had threatened you in the common room came to mind. Pulling open your desk drawer, you grabbed some markers and began to draw while it was still fresh in your head. It was as close as you could get to identifying your attacker and it was something for Dumbledore to go off of as well. Maybe someone else in the castle would recognize them from that night and put another puzzle piece in place.

 

Draping the cloak onto your shoulders, you grabbed the marker and notebook and made your way back to the common room. Sitting on the couch, you waited.

 

…

 

The doors to the common room swung open abruptly and you looked up to see Professor Snape stride through the doorway with a worried expression. Looking at the couches, he froze in place when he made eye contact with you. A smile spread on your face and you raised your notebook up toward him.

 

“Hello, Professor Snape.” 

 

Chapter 9: Questions and Answers

Summary:

Reader and Snape finally get some questions answered.

You bounced your leg nervously as you sat in a chair across from Dumbledore in his office. He was combing through your recount of Halloween that you had written down, attempting to establish some sort of timeline of events to build off in correlation with what Snape had told him. After Professor Snape had found you in the common room, he alerted Pomfrey and took you to Dumbledore’s office to reside for the time being. He was ecstatic that your sight had returned and wished to stay and talk with you in the common room, but he had morning classes to finish first.

 

Dumbledore offered you some sherbet lemons and a book to read in the meantime while you both waited for the two professors. The old man paced slowly around the office stroking his beard and staring at the drawing you had made.

 

Classes let out for lunch and not too long after, Snape and McGonagall entered the office.

 

“Good. Now that we are all present, we can discuss the matter at hand.” Dumbledore tore the pages you wrote out of the notebook before handing it back to you. “Miss L/N wrote down everything regarding the incident. It seems that her memories of the event have not been disturbed, thank Merlin for that. You two should have a look at this,” he said, holding the torn-out pages to them.

 

McGonagall and Snape took turns reading the pages. Your retelling confirmed what Snape suspected. You had been attacked.

 

“Oh my..” McGonagall gasped, reading the part where you had woken up in the library.

 

“There is more,” Dumbledore spoke. “She drew a picture of her attacker.” He presented the drawing to Snape with both hands. Just like you wrote in the pages, it was a picture of a hooded figure in a red mask with horns. “Did you see anyone who looked like this during your rounds, Severus?”

 

“I did catch some drunk students in costumes, but no one like this,” Snape frowned.

 

While you watched their muted conversation, your eyes focused on Snape’s mouth, doing your best to read his lips. You saw him mouth the word “drunk” and something clicked in your head. You grabbed your marker and began to furiously write in the notebook. All three staff members turned to you, hearing your aggressive writing. You flipped the notebook towards them.

 

“L. Evergreen, B. Permont, R. Grey”

 

“They went to a Hufflepuff Halloween party that night. My attacker sounded drunk when they spoke to me. I think they went to the same party. They might know who it was.”

 

“Oh Merlin, I completely forgot about that party,” McGonagall said, rubbing her temples. “So many students tried to run away when I shut it down.”

 

“You said your attacker spoke to you?” Snape said, turning to you.

 

You knitted your brows, unable to understand him. Snape stepped in front of you and enunciated his words slower, hoping you could read his lips.

 

“Your. Attacker. Spoke. To you?” he repeated, pointing at you as he ended his sentence.

 

You nodded in response.

 

“Boy or girl?”

 

You started scribbling in the notebook again. 

 

“I don’t know. Their voice was distorted, likely from a spell.”

 

McGonagall caught Snape’s attention and pointed to something you had written on the paper. They started exchanging theories back and forth. You tried to decipher what they were saying but their lips moved too fast. Realization flashed across his face and he took your notebook and marker from you and started writing.

 

“Do you know how you wound up unconscious?”

 

You shook your head no.

 

“You wrote that you felt something around your neck. It's possible you were put in a choke hold, meaning there could be a second attacker.”

 

Your eyes widened. He was right. Someone had to have come up behind you after you disarmed the masked figure. You nodded aggressively toward him, expressing your agreement.

 

“It seems that we’ve put all the pieces in our possession together for now. I’m sure we’ll find out more when we question those three students. In the meantime why don’t we all get lunch? I’m sure Miss L/N is very hungry.” Dumbledore said with a grandfatherly smile. The three of them begin to head towards the office door and Snape motioned for you to follow.

 

***

 

You became a bit nervous when you realized where you were being taken. It has been almost a week since you’ve been around your classmates. Did they even know about the attack? Would they have questions? You weren’t in your school uniform, walking amongst three prominent staff members and wearing Snape’s cloak. You’d stick out like a sore thumb.

 

As expected, everyone in the Great Hall turned and looked at the four of you. You were thankful you were currently deaf as you could see everyone murmuring and not so subtly pointing at you. The Slytherin table looked at you in bewilderment, calling your name and trying to get your attention, but all you could do was meekly wave back to them. The third years you had talked to at Hogsmeade looked just as confused too. You started lingering away from the teachers to take a seat at your house table, but Snape led you past it. You were being guided toward the teachers' table. All the other teachers looked to Dumbledore for an explanation as Snape summoned a chair for you. Your eyes fell upon a man you’d never seen before. He had brown hair and some bruising underneath his eyes. He met your gaze and awkwardly looked away.

 

You did your best to eat in peace. The silence did help, but you could still feel hundreds of staring eyes burning into your head. Snape did his best to dispel their judging stares by sending his own intimidating glances toward them. You brought your notebook out from your lap and placed it on the table between the two of you. Uncapping your marker you begin to write.

 

“Who is the teacher at the end of the table?”

 

Snape heard the sounds of writing and looked down at your notebook. Duplicating your marker, he responded.

 

“Professor Lupin. New DADA teacher.”

 

“What happened to his face?”

 

Snape bit the inside of his cheek, just barely stopping a proud smirk from forming on his face.

 

“You broke his nose in the Hospital Wing.”

 

Your face shifted from curiosity to sheer horror. You assaulted a teacher . A TEACHER. This whole time, you thought you had defended yourself against an overly curious student. Setting your marker down, you leaned on your elbows and covered your face with your hands in embarrassment.

 

Snape tapped on your forearm, directing your attention back down to the paper. 

 

“Lupin was not properly informed about your condition. He went to meet you after finding out you would be assisting me with Wolfsbane.” Snape wrote scowling. He proceeded to send daggers towards Professor Lupin who had been watching your interactions curiously.

 

You picked up your marker again.

 

“Is he a werewolf?”

 

Snape shook his head yes.

 

You started writing something but hesitated. He had been rather curt about it in class and you didn’t wish to offend him, but Snape caught your reluctance and urged you to continue.

 

“ Did Lupin atta”

 

“Is he the werewolf you fought when you were a student?”

 

Snape’s eyebrows furrowed at your correct deduction.

 

“ How did you figure that out?”

 

“Lupin seems to be around your age and you look like you’d rather kedavra yourself than be in the same room with him.”

 

“Watching you break his nose was satisfying enough. 100 points to Slytherin.”

 

You shielded the smile on your face with the back of your hand and resumed eating your lunch. It was nice to finally eat in the Great Hall again, even if most of the room was watching you. You finished your plate rather quickly, finally not having to worry about messing up the hospital bed and starving from not eating any breakfast this morning. Pushing the empty plate forward, you slid the notebook back in front of you and began to write on a new page.

 

“Hello Professor Lupin. It’s nice to meet you. I was told you are the new DADA teacher. I’m sorry I broke your nose yesterday. I just got my sight back today, though I am still deaf and mute. I was scared and was just trying to defend my boundaries. I hope there are no hard feelings.

 

-Y/N

 

P.S. Hopefully Professor Snape and I can find a way to make your Wolfsbane taste less like goblin piss.

 

You folded the paper into a little snake and were about to send it off when you felt a hand on your wrist. Professor Snape gave you a stern look.

 

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

 

You picked up the marker and wrote back, “I know but he keeps looking at me like I neutered him and I’d rather not start off on the wrong foot with him. He is my new teacher after all.” Tapping the paper snake with your wand, it slithered along the edge of the table all the way down to Professor Lupin. 

 

You watched as Lupin unfolded the little snake that stopped next to his plate. His eyes scanned your writing and he glanced up at you with a smile. You gave him a little wave in return. Lupin flipped over the paper and wrote his own note before folding it back into a snake and sending it down the table to you.

 

“Hello Miss L/N. It’s nice to meet you too. Do not worry about my nose, it was entirely my fault. I wouldn’t have approached you in such a manner if I knew of your condition. I’m glad to see you have gotten better and I hope that assisting Professor Snape with my Wolfsbane doesn’t prove to be too difficult. He can be quite grumpy sometimes. I look forward to seeing you in class.”

 

-Remus Lupin

 

Snape scowled at the remark about him while Professor Lupin just chuckled to himself at the end of the table.

 

***

 

Lunch was about to conclude and you, Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and Professor McGonagall stood at the entrance to the Great Hall.

 

“Attention, please.” Dumbledore bellowed. “Can the following students accompany me to my office? Miss Evergreen, Mister Permont, and Mister Grey.” You watched as the three confused 7th years got up from the Slytherin table, the other Slytherins peppered them with questions about what was happening.

 

The walk to Dumbledore’s office was thick with tension. You could sense the uncertainty radiating from the three students. They tried to ask you what was going on, but you saw Snape say something to them and they remained quiet the rest of the way. Dumbledore said the password to the stone gargoyle that guarded the stairwell to his office. He motioned for the three students to enter. As they ascended, Dumbledore waited behind and started talking to Snape and McGonagall.

 

“I believe it would be best for Miss L/N to return to her dorm for the day. I’m sure she is sick of being in the Hospital Wing.”

 

“With all due respect Headmaster, given what has happened, I don't think Miss L/N should be left alone for the sake of her safety and her sanity. Now that we know she was attacked, an eye should be kept on her until the suspects have been caught.” Snape said.

 

“I agree with Severus,” McGonagall said, “but at the same time, there is no guarantee she’ll stay put in the Hospital Wing now that she has her sight back.

 

“...She can stay in my office during the rest of my classes today. She won’t be far and I can check on her every so often and give her the other two potions. She can even catch up on schoolwork in the meantime.” Snape offered.

 

“Very well then, Severus. Please escort Miss L/N to the dungeons. I’ll alert you and Minerva should I manage to uncover more information from Miss Evergreen, Mister Permont, and Mister Grey.”

 

You watched as Dumbledore went up the staircase and Professor McGonagall departed to her Transfiguration classroom, leaving you alone with Professor Snape. You quickly wrote something in your notebook and handed it to Snape.

 

“What now?”

 

“You’re going to get your schoolwork from your room. You’ll be staying in my office for the remainder of the afternoon.

 

You nodded your head in acceptance. Frankly, you didn’t care where you went or what you did as long as you didn’t have to go back to the Hospital Wing. The two of you walked down the secret passage into the dungeons. It didn’t take you long to gather your things. In your absence, you were excused from certain assignments and only needed to do some general note-taking and reading in its place. There were a few minutes left before Snape’s next class started and he got you settled in the office. On a piece of parchment paper, Snape wrote the chapters of your potions textbook to read and take notes on in order to catch up. You were allowed to use the kitchen and the bathroom should you need to. Before he left, he gave you the two potions meant to help with your hearing and mutism that he brewed early this morning.

 

“Thank you, sir,” you wrote.

 

A ghost of a half smile appeared on his face as he exited his office and into the classroom.

 

…

 

Within the first two hours of being in Snape’s office, you had caught up in four out of five of your classes. Without having to write essays or do any assignments, your notes were completed in a cinch. Granted, you were also in your 7th year and have therefore mastered the art of proper note-taking. Your notes and textbooks were scattered about the coffee table. You fished out the paper Snape had written on and started working on your potions notes. Out of all the classes you were behind in, Advanced Potions was really the only one you were truly concerned about. It took precedence over your other classes when it came to practical application. You could always practice transfiguration or charms for as long as you need to outside of classes, but you didn’t have your own potion lab or ingredients at your disposal. 

 

You were more detailed with your potion notes, taking the time to draw and color ingredient preparations as well as the potions in their different stages of brewing. You even acted out the instructions for some of the potions with your hands as if you were in the potions classroom. Your Advanced Potions textbook was thoroughly defiled with all sorts of markings and comments you had written in the margins.

 

Halfway through your potions work, you looked up to see Professor Snape shoving his way through the office door, seething as he made a beeline to what was likely his bedroom. The clock on the wall said 5:00, which meant that he had just gotten done with a class. It wasn’t particularly any of your business and he looked in no mood to be bothered, so you turned your attention back to reading.

 

…

 

You were slouched back into the couch nose deep in your textbook, seemingly forgetting that Snape had entered the office in the first place. He eventually came out to the main room, pacing around and muttering to himself. Exhaling, you lightly thumped the book against your forehead. Your eyes had grown tired from not giving yourself breaks between reading. You set the book down on your lap and rubbed your fatigued eyes as you leaned forward to straighten up the notes that were strewn about the coffee table. Getting them organized, you caught sight of Professor Snape standing across the room, looking at you. You flipped to a blank page in one of your notebooks and wrote in big letters so he could see.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Snape didn’t answer you. Instead, he turned and walked into the kitchen. 

 

He must really be in a bad mood.

 

You packed up the notes for your other classes and began to review the work you’ve done for potions so far. Many of the pages were quite colorful. Other than black ink of course, you liked using colored markers and occasionally highlighters in your notes, which often resulted in funny looks from teachers and classmates. You couldn’t help it though. You were a visual learner and it aided in remembering concepts more effectively.

 

Snape slowly emerged from the kitchen holding two mugs of warm tea. Your eyes flickered up as black robes moved across your eye-line. He approached the couch, setting a mug down on the coffee table near you before taking his own seat on the other end. He didn’t say anything or write in the notebook. He just sat and stared off into the distance sipping his tea. He looked so done with the day. You wanted to know what was wrong, but you already asked and didn’t want to push him. He’ll talk if he wants to. You grabbed the mug of tea and sipped it as you resumed your reading.

 

After a little while you felt the couch shift and the notebook move out of the corner of your eye. Snape picked up one of your colored markers and quickly wrote something before plopping the notebook back down between you two.

 

“I hate people.”

 

You raised an eyebrow at that, but not out of surprise. You grabbed a marker and responded.

 

“Do you want to vent?”

 

Snape quirked his eyebrows, not understanding the terminology. You saw this and clarified yourself.

 

“In other words, you talk about what’s bothering you and I just listen and do my best to empathize in return. I don’t have to necessarily give you advice or solutions unless you want me to. Or we can just sit here and drink tea. I can also leave if you’d like. Your feelings, your business, your choice.”

 

He stared at your writing as if it was written in a different language, before abruptly turning his head away from you, his hair obscuring his face. He drummed his fingers methodically against the side of his mug, seemingly weighing his options. You accio’d your school work into your bag and followed suit, leaning back into the couch, drinking your own mug of tea, and staring ahead. More minutes of just sitting followed before Professor Snape slowly slid the notebook towards him and onto his lap, remaining turned away from you. You glanced over and saw him begin to hesitantly write on the pages. He was slow at first, but his writing gradually became more aggressive, flipping a page in the notebook and continuing to write on the other side. When he was done, he reluctantly placed the notebook back down on the couch, still avoiding your gaze. 

 

You set your tea down and went to reach for the notebook, but your hands whipped back to the sides of your head, clutching your ears. A blistering pain throbbed in your head, so much so that you leaned all the way toward your knees to ground yourself. Your breathing became sharp and a high-pitched ringing persisted in your ears with the pain. The couch dipped next to you but much closer.

 

“Oh my god..” you felt yourself choke out. 

 

As the ringing peaked in volume, a deep muffled voice simultaneously started to become louder and more clear.

 

“...mf ym..”

 

“...Miss L/N…”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

You shakily lowered your hands away from your head and lifted your face from your knees as the ringing faded. Tilting your head towards Professor Snape, you saw that he was looking at you with deep concern.

 

You opened your mouth and spoke, finally having control over your voice again.

 

“I can hear…” your voice was gravelly from prolonged disuse. Both your and Snape’s eyes widened at the same time. “I can talk.”

 

“Are you in pain?”

 

Snape’s voice triggered a new wave of pain in your ears. You winced as your hands went to cover your ears again, making him tense.

 

“Everything is loud,” you murmured.

 

His face flashed with understanding. He stood up from the couch and briskly walked over to the cabinet by his desk, clinking bottles around as he looked for something. He came back and wordlessly handed you a tiny bottle of yellow liquid. You drank it without asking what it was, the pain in your head easing away. 

 

“Better?” Snape asked softly.

 

“Yes,” you nodded

 

Before either of you could say anything else, a phoenix made of blue ethereal light burst from one of the walls and hovered in front of you and Snape. It opened its beak and Dumbledore’s voice spoke.

 

“Professor Snape and Miss L/N, please come to my office immediately. We’ve found the attackers.”

 

***

 

Snape was positively murderous as he strode down the halls with you in tow, both your cloaks billowing behind you. Students cleared the way for you and the professor, not daring to be in the path of his wrath. Of course, they all started whispering to each other having seen you with Professor Snape again. Snape said the password to the gargoyle and the two of you quickly rushed up the stairs to Dumbledore’s office. 

 

The doors to Dumbledore’s office flew open with a bang as Professor Snape stormed into the room. You both paused at the unexpected sight of your audience. Every head of house was now present in the room with the addition of Remus Lupin. Sitting in two chairs in the center of the room was a pair of students who anxiously squirmed in their seats.

 

Abigail Pratt and Michael Ivery.

 

“Miss L/N, Professor Snape, thank you for joining us,” Dumbledore said, sitting at his desk. The two students visibly flinched at the mention of Professor Snape. “I trust the afternoon treated you well?”

 

Snape stayed terrifyingly silent as his eyes locked on to the two students who shrank down in the chairs, his hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation and anger.

 

“I’ve caught up in my classes.” You said in a scratchy voice to the surprise of all the staff members. “I just got my hearing back too…and control of my voice.” 

 

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Dumbledore smiled lightly. He turned his attention to the other teachers. “Could you all wait with Miss L/N outside? I’m sure Professor Snape would like to have a word with Miss Pratt and Mister Ivery.”

 

The teachers followed you out through the doors. You slid down against a nearby wall and sat on the ground fiddling with the cloak material. As soon as the doors clicked shut, muffled yelling ensued. To Snape’s delight, Dumbledore let him tear them a new one as he was disgusted by what he saw in the pensieve from their memories. You could make out a little of what Snape was saying. He was sure to mention the physical state the attack had left you in as well as the mental distress it caused. The other teachers had seen the memories in the pensieve too. While you waited, they filled you in on how you had acquired your injuries. After Michael had sufficiently choked you into unconsciousness, the two of them struggled to transport your body to the library while drunk in the dark, dropping you on your head many times and from varying heights into the hard, stone, floor... They likely had no idea that you were bleeding by the time you woke up. You tilted your head and showed the teachers the scars that decorated your scalp, earning a frightful gasp from Professor McGonagall.

 

“There were people in my room while I was in the Hospital Wing. Do any of you know who they were?” You asked quietly.

 

“Why, that was us, my dear!” Professor Flitwick said. “Plus a few other teachers who were not called to this meeting.”

 

“Oh..” you blinked, looking down at your lap. “Thank you for visiting me, even though I couldn’t see or hear you all.” 

 

“Of course, Miss L/N.” Professor Sprout smiled. “Though I must ask how did you know when Professor Snape was present?” 

 

“Footsteps…” You lied. The real answer to that question was too embarrassing to say. “I could feel the vibrations of footsteps when people came into the room. Professor Snape’s are different and I recognized them. You were all strangers to me…s’pose that's why I decked you in the face, Professor Lupin.” You gave him an apologetic smile.

 

McGonagall's eyes widened in shock. “Oh Remus, you said you ran into a doorframe!”

 

Lupin shrugged with a lopsided smirk before turning to you. “How many house points did he give you for that?”

 

“I’m afraid Dumbledore may revoke them if I say.” You said, biting the inside of your cheek.

 

“That many?” Lupin chuckled.

 

…

 

Several more minutes passed before the doors to the office magically popped back open. You and the other teachers slowly filed back into the room. Professor Snape was a bit pink in the cheeks, presumably from all the rage he just released, while Abigail and Michael looked as though they soiled themselves. Dumbledore met your gaze and motioned for you to approach him. 

 

“I want to consult you in regard to how these two will be punished.”

 

You frowned in confusion. “Isn’t that your decision, Headmaster?”

 

“It is. However, given the circumstances in which events unfolded, I need to know whether you’d like to pursue legal action.”

 

“Legal action?” You repeated.

 

“Yes. What happened to you falls under reckless endangerment and assault. We do not take such things lightly here at Hogwarts, but what happens outside is up to you.”

 

“Are you going to expel them?” You asked.

 

Dumbledore nodded.

 

You opened your mouth to say “ no” but stopped.

 

“Headmaster, if I may, I’d like to have a conversation with Abigail,” you said.

 

“Of course,” he responded.

 

You turned around and approached the two chairs where Michael and Abigail sat. You coldly stared at Michael and raised an eyebrow, signaling for him to give up his seat. He nervously complied, getting up and moving to stand against one of the walls. With the top of your foot, you hooked it under the chair and pulled it to you so that it was facing Abigail. Taking a seat you lazily drew your wand out from your waistband, making everyone in the room tense. Snape placed his hand over his own wand.

 

“Relax,” you rasped to Abigail, though it was addressed to everyone. Slowly waving your wand, you cast a 'muffliato' spell around the two of you. 

 

“Let’s have a heart-to-heart.”

 

Chapter 10: A Heart To Heart

Notes:

Thank you for 1500 hits and 100+ kudos! I love ya'll and I hope you've been enjoying the story so far 🫶🏻

You leaned back in your chair, staring at Abigail with an inexpressive face while she did her best to look anywhere but at you, her lap seeming particularly interesting. Rolling your wand back and forth between the fingertips of your hands, you exhaled.

 

“You’re an idiot,” you rasped blankly. “What made you think you were gonna get away with it? Like, actually?”

 

Abigail said nothing, biting the inside of her cheek as embarrassment clawed at her throat.

 

“Can you even comprehend the severity of what you've done? What being blind, deaf, and mute is like? The scars I now have on my head?” You tilted your head down and moved your hair around, showing Abigail all three of your scars, lingering when you parted your hair to show her the one on the back of your head. Her face twisted as she grimaced at the sight. “You did this, too, Abigail. Not just Michael. You as well. I’m lucky to have even woken up that night. To have my memories. And how on Earth could you let yourself be convinced by some…some guy?” you sneered. “ And Michael of all people. Everyone knows he’s the biggest player at Hogwarts, and you thought I wanted to be in a relationship with him? I’m not even going to mention the fact that it’s kinda gross that he’s even with you, considering he’s seventeen and you’re still a minor…” You added.

 

You turned your head and briefly made eye contact with the potion master before returning to Abigail.

 

“It was Professor Snape who found me that night—why I have not been rendered a vegetable. He is also the reason why you alone haven’t been thrown under the bus for this whole ordeal, a scenario I’m sure Casanova over there would’ve gladly let happen, given the fact that he is, or was, set to graduate this year.” You pointed your wand over to Michael, who looked confused. He couldn’t tell what you were saying, but Snape could. He had been reading your lips, a talent McGonagall was aware of, while she kept asking him what you were saying, only to be shushed. “He almost got away with that possibility, too. Your costume was what I remembered. I didn’t even think about someone coming up from behind and choking me.” You crossed your arms. “You, on the other hand, were disarmed in less than ten seconds, and I didn’t even have to use my wand.”

 

Abigail’s cheeks turned pink with embarrassment.

 

“Whose idea was it?” You asked in a way that didn’t at all sound like a question, because you were fairly certain you knew the answer anyway. She'd always been the impulsive type.

 

“...Mine.” Her voice cracked.

 

You exhaled for a moment, thinking. “If I had to guess, Michael told you about our little interaction at Three Broomsticks, claiming that I came on to him. Do you believe him?”

 

“…Yes,” Abigail said, sitting up a bit as if she had finally grown a spine.

 

You snorted, chuckling wryly. “Wow…”

 

“Shut up!” she snapped defensively. “He’s never lied to me—"

 

Your chair scraped harshly as you stood up without warning, any amusement you found in her naivety vanishing in an instant, your expression set in a hard glare. 

 

Thinking a physical altercation was about to occur, Professor McGonagall moved to rise from her seat, but Professor Snape stopped, muttering, "She won't do anything," and urged her to sit back down.

 

Abigail's posture drew tight, slightly shrinking in on herself as you looked down at her, patience wearing thin and anger barely restrained.

 

"You do not tell me to shut up," you gritted dangerously at her, fists clenched at your side. "You're a foolish, desperate teenager, and you almost killed me. The only reason why aurors are not here is that you are a minor. You do not get to tell me to shut up."

 

Her throat dried. "I-I... He..." The defense died on her tongue before she could summon the courage to continue

 

With your irritation flaring, your scars began to itch. Your hands snaked into your hair and began to scratch. This girl was too damn stubborn even to consider any other possibilities.

 

“What exactly is the end game here?” Your voice was still gravelly as you restrained a growl while your fingers dug through your hair. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me, you and Michael are done either way, or can you not see that? You both are expelled. He'll wind up at a new school, surrounded by hundreds, literally hundreds of other girls that I’m sure he won’t hesitate to dig his claws into. You won’t even be a passing thought. The only reason he was with you was that you were a popular new plaything for him. It’s what he does, except I saw through his bullshit. Why do you think he came running to you so fast? He was covering his bases. He didn’t love you. He. Manipulated. You.” You punctuated each word with a fierce scratch on your scalp. "And you want to know what the saddest part is? You had weeks to confront me about it, woman to woman. Instead, you got drunk and hid behind a mask like a coward. Of course, I could’ve gone to you, but then we’d end up right here again because you wouldn’t have believed me, just as you’re telling me now. I could’ve wound up a vegetable, or dead, all because you couldn’t keep your fucking temper in check.”

 

Abigail stared at the floor, unsure of what to do or so. Her eyes were watery with incredulity as the weight of reality confronted her.

 

You retracted your hands from your head and took a deep breath, gathering your patience. “You could look in the pensieve, you know. Michael’s memories are right there, mere feet away from you and me. You could get closure, or you can die stubbornly on your hill for nothing, but you will not blame me for any of this. What kind of boyfriend convinces their girlfriend to help them commit assault? Get your self-esteem some help. Seriously.” You waved your wand and chanted a counterspell, releasing the muffliato. “I’m done here,” you said, standing up from your chair. “And no, I do not want to pursue legal action, Headmaster, but I appreciate the offer.”

 

Dumbledore hummed. “Very well. You may go.”

 

***

 

As you reached the first floor, the teachers clustered at the base of the staircase, wondering what you said to Miss Pratt. Snape was about to follow them to the Great Hall for dinner when he noted your absence. He turned around and saw you walking in the other direction several yards away.

 

“You’re going the wrong way, Miss L/N.” Snape drawled, having caught up to you.

 

“I’m not going to the Great Hall. I’m going to bed,” you croaked.

 

“Without eating dinner?”

 

“Yes, without dinner. I am…I am tired and I do not wish to draw any more attention to myself. If you bring me to the teachers’ table again, I’ll be under the spotlight. If I sit at my house table, I’ll surely be bombarded with questions about where I’ve been and what’s going on, and I’m just…too drained.”

 

“After a day like today, I insist you eat dinner, Miss L/N.” He took a large step in front of you and turned, stopping both of you as you nearly bumped into him. Snape pursed his lips. “If you wish, you may eat in my office. I’ll send a house elf.” 

 

You started scratching at your scars again, sighing. “Haven’t I taken up enough of your time this week, Professor?”

 

“I wouldn’t be offering if you were,” he responded, attempting to sound impersonal. “And don’t scratch. You’ll only exacerbate it.”

 

Following him into his office, Snape ignited the fireplace with a silent wave of his hand. You slowly walked over to the couch and sat where you had no more than an hour ago. He summoned a house elf to bring you a plate of food and retreated to the kitchen to make more tea to help with your voice. You could feel yourself getting more sleepy from the heat of the fire and the comfort of the couch. Attempting to distract yourself, you looked around the room, your eyes falling on the notebook that Snape left on the middle cushion. You picked it up and began to read.

 

“Students are exasperating. They show little appreciation for the subtle art of potion-making. First years have the attention spans of fleas and never cease their petty arguments amongst each other while brewing. A boy nearly blew up the classroom because he chose not to take notes and wasted half a jar of flobberworm mucus. Two girls fought over a station, breaking multiple vials and cutting themselves. The 5th-years are no better. Every day they become more arrogant, assuming they can coast by in my classes with minimal effort and less than adequate papers. They don’t care about doing the work, they just want to get in and out. None of them seem keen on showing respect for me either, even though I’ve taught those ungrateful little brats for five bloody years. And I’ve handed out six detentions today, which of course, means less time to myself for the next couple of evenings. On top of that, the wolfsbane still needs to be finished before the start of next week.

 

Tearing the page out and putting the notebook in your bag, you grabbed a marker and wrote a response in the leftover space on the backside. You folded the paper into a palm-sized square and placed it on the table just before the house elf entered with two plates of food. You thanked them and moved to eat your food on the floor in front of the fire. Snape came out from the kitchen and was confused to find you once again choosing to sit on the ground instead of the furniture.

 

“Why aren’t you sitting on the couch?” He asked.

 

“I didn’t want to accidentally make a mess. Plus, if I sat on that couch any longer, I would’ve fallen asleep.”

 

Snape exhaled softly before handing you a mug of tea and settling himself in the middle of the couch. The two of you ate in peace, letting the fire fill the air with warmth and gentle crackling sounds until Snape took it upon himself to break the silence.

 

“Why did you choose not to press charges?” his voice rumbled.

 

You quietly set your plate down next to you and half turned so that your side was still heated by the fire while facing Professor Snape.

 

“Honestly, I didn’t really see the point. Michael doesn’t strike me as the type to learn his lesson, even if he would’ve spent a year in jail. Narcissists don’t change. Abigail on the other hand…is just a dumb teenager who got carried away. She was manipulated emotionally. If my words weren’t enough to set her straight, the pensieve should hopefully give her the reality check she needs. She doesn’t need jail.” You gulped down the rest of the tea.

 

He stared at you, contemplating your logic. “I would’ve never had your patience.”

 

You smiled faintly into your mug. “Oh, I know. You were practically foaming at the mouth, and we could all hear your rant from outside the office. You really laid into them. It must’ve felt good, though, given the apparently crappy day you’ve had.”

 

He turned away from you and grumbled, but you managed to discern the words “a little.”

 

Setting the mug down, you could feel yourself beginning to nod off. The meal made you nice and full, and the radiating heat of the fire had thoroughly relaxed your body. 

 

“Do not come to class tomorrow,” Snape asserted.

 

You lazily raised your head up to him. “Why not?”

 

“Physically speaking, you have started to heal; however, you should take time to recover mentally.” 

 

“With all due respect, sir, sitting in pitch-black silence for multiple days in a row gave me plenty of time to think,” you mumbled.

 

Snape didn’t dignify your remark with a response and instead just narrowed his eyes at you.

 

You sighed. “All my classes or just potions?”

 

“All of them. I’ll talk to your other teachers. As your head of house, they can’t say no.”

 

“Fine, as you wish…” You muttered. 

 

Another beat of silence

 

“What was it like?” He spoke. You raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. “Being in the Hospital Wing, blind and deaf…”

 

“Oh.” You paused to think. “It was scary in the beginning and with Professor Lupin, but mostly it felt…slow. Time sort of just blended into itself. It was difficult to tell when I was awake and when I was asleep since all I could really do was daydream and drink potions. My only solid indications of different times of the day were when Madame Pomfrey would bring me meals or when you would give me potions. Otherwise, I wasn’t terribly bored. I’ve got a pretty vivid imagination. However, I can’t deny how good it felt to sneak out of the Hospital Wing when I got my sight back this morning. I didn’t intend to make anyone worry, but I had to get out of there…” Your eyelids grew heavier, and you started to rub them.

 

He noticed your attempt to stay awake. “Would you like to return to your room?” You nodded slowly in response. “Allow me to escort you back then,” he said, rising from the couch.

 

You snorted, grabbing your school bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “S’pose you’ll protect me from more attackers lurking in the common room?”

 

Snape shot you an unamused look as he stood by his office door.

 

“Sorry, bad joke.” You murmured.

 

The walk back was silent. Fortunately, everyone was at the Great Hall finishing dinner, so there was no one to gape at you walking with Professor Snape again. He continued to walk with you through the common room until you reached the door to your room. Before you opened it, you turned around to face the professor. 

 

“I know you said not to come to classes and you’re practically giving me a three-day weekend, but do you still want me to assist in the rest of the Wolfsbane with you in the evenings?”

 

Snape squinted his eyes, thinking. “I can handle the remaining three potions on my own…but if you find yourself available, then you may join me, though I don’t expect you to.”

 

“Alright.” You put your hand on the door but paused. “Oh, I almost forgot.” You reached around your neck and detached the cloak from your shoulders. “I’ve had this for like four days now, I should’ve returned it earlier this morning.”

 

Snape blinked before he reached out and took it from your hand. He had clearly forgotten about it. He got used to seeing you with the long black cloth.

 

“Wait,” Snape said quietly, just as you pushed open the door.

 

“Yes?” you asked.

 

“When you were in the Hospital Wing, how did you know who I was when I visited?” He furrowed his brows, puzzled but curious.

 

The tips of your ears turned pink and you averted your gaze. Thankfully, the area you both stood in wasn’t very well-lit for Professor Snape to see them. You considered feeding him the same lie you told Professor Sprout, but there was no point lying to the legillimens.

 

“...Lavender.” You murmured. “Your cloaks…they smell like lavender. That’s how I knew when you were nearby.”

 

Snape didn’t say anything as his gaze remained fixed on you and his eyebrows raised slightly at your explanation. Taking advantage of his surprised silence, you pushed the door open with your back and slipped into your room.

 

“G’night, sir.”

 

After the door closed, Snape lingered outside your room, pondering for a minute or so before eventually pacing back down to his office. As he sat down on the couch again, he lightly sniffed at the cloak in his hand. It didn’t smell like lavender anymore; his scent long faded. Lifting the hem of the cloak he was currently wearing, he inhaled, and sure enough, it smelled of lavender. Fumbling and bunching the fabric you wore back and forth in his hands, his eyes flickered to the coffee table where a piece of folded-up paper sat. Leaning forward, he picked it up and unfolded it. It was his own writing from earlier in the day. Although he didn’t mention it at the time, getting his thoughts down did slightly alleviate his irritation. Flipping it over, Snape saw that something new was written underneath in the space below.

 

“If this is an average day for you, then it’s no wonder students deem you as the 'grumpy dungeon bat.” I’m sorry today was particularly grating for you. While I understand the childishness of first years, they ought to recognize that Potions is not a class you can simply wing and requires great focus and attentiveness, especially the fifth-years. They should be going above and beyond in your class to get a good grade, considering they have O.W.L.s this year. Hopefully, the next couple of days pan out better than you expect."

 

***

 

Even without the sleeping draught, you woke up for the first time this week feeling like yourself. You had slept for twelve hours that night and thankfully, no one knocked on your door that evening to bother you. You knew what was to come at breakfast, though, and surrendered to the reality that it would not be a peaceful one. 

 

Entering the Great Hall, eyes bore into you again as you crossed the threshold. Even the teachers were looking at you, which almost made you stop in your tracks. All eyes suddenly snapped away as Professor Snape silently breezed past you, glaring at them as he made his way up to the teachers’ table. Gathering your resolve, you approached the closest end of the Slytherin table and took a seat. Eating was a challenge. You did your best to keep your eyes down at your plate and scoop food into your mouth, but you were distracted by all the flickering stares in your direction from the other Slytherins. After a couple of minutes, you gave up.

 

“Fine, what do you want to know?” You huffed.

 

Many of them shifted down or scrambled out of their seats to get closer to you so they could ask you questions or hear you better. Of course, they were all burning to ask you the same thing.

 

“What happened?” They all leaned forward in their seats.

 

“I’m going to tell you all once and one time only. If I find out that my retelling of events has been twisted into any other narrative, as I’m SURE none of you will hesitate to run off and tell your friends what I am about to say, I will hunt you down myself. Are we clear?”

 

They all nodded in anticipation.

 

You took a breath. “On Halloween night, I was attacked by Abigail Pratt and Michael Ivery in the common room. Abigail instigated it under the pretense that I had been trying to get with Michael since the last Hogsmeade weekend, which is not true. He came on to me and I threatened to expose him, so naturally he lied to her. I haven’t been to classes lately and I won’t be today either as I am still recovering. I’ve been in the hospital wing all week; I was blind, deaf, and I couldn’t speak. I just got back my senses yesterday, but Professor Snape insists I take the day to recover mentally.”

 

Your eyes flicked over to the teachers' table to see Professor Snape watching you talk to the other Slytherins in case they made you uncomfortable.

 

The students scowled. “I can’t believe those two would jump you! Leave it to a Hufflepuff’s loyalty to blind their judgment.” Some of them began to glare at the Hufflepuff table. “And that snake! What kind of maniac chokes someone out when they get rejected?”

 

“They were both terribly intoxicated.” You clarified. “And I don’t think they didn’t intend to do much damage to me. Apparently while moving my unconscious body to the library they kept dropping me and I landed on my head many times. Don’t worry though, they’ve both been expelled.”

 

“Did you get any scars?” A 2nd-year boy asked.

 

You nodded silently in response.

 

“Can we see?” He asked, only to be elbowed harshly in the side by the girl next to him. “Don’t be insensitive!” she scowled.

 

“No, it's alright. Some of you are bound to see them anyways when I tie my hair up in classes.” You said.

 

Pushing your plate out of the way you leaned forward and tipped your head down. You parted the sides of your head, showing them the scars that started at the edge of your scalp, and ran toward the crown of your head. “They’re not that bad, but this one is pretty gnarly.” You turned in your seat so that your back faced them. With one hand you lifted and parted your hair in the back and showed them the thick jagged scar that ran through your undercut and up toward the top of your skull. To your surprise, none of them gawked or grimaced, but stared at them in curiosity, some even calling them “cool” or “wicked” which made you cringe a bit.

 

“If we had known what happened we would’ve come to visit you.”

 

“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure Dumbledore kept that matter private on purpose. He probably didn’t want to make any of you feel unsafe in the halls.” You replied.

 

Suddenly, they turned their heads and glared in a different direction. You followed their eyes towards three 3rd-year Hufflepuffs who were approaching you, one of which was the boy from Hogsmeade whose name you found out was Tom. The Slytherins growled at them as they got closer. The air was crackling with malicious energy.

 

“Easy, they did nothing wrong.” You said to your housemates sternly. “Hello, Tom. And friends.”

 

They waved meekly at you. “Hi, Miss L/N,” Tom said.

 

You rolled your eyes. “You can drop the ‘Miss’. It’s just Y/N. Despite what you saw yesterday I promise you I am just a student.”

 

“Okay…Y/N,” Tom said, smiling awkwardly. “We just wanted to know if you were okay. You haven’t been in the Great Hall all week and seeing you at the teachers’ table suddenly was…strange.”

 

You bit your cheek as you attempted to choose your words carefully. They really didn’t need to know the full extent of what happened. “I…had an accident and have been in the hospital wing for some time; a bit scratched up for now, but I am fine.”

 

“Oh,” he blinked. “Well, I hope you feel better! Would you like some more cookies?”

 

You smiled softly. “No, but thank you. I appreciate it.”

 

The castle was silent as you walked the empty halls after breakfast. Filch had been informed and was told not to bother you if he saw you outside of classes. You weren’t quite sure how to spend the day. You could go to the library, visit the astronomy tower, draw somewhere, practice magic, anything you wanted. Peering out a nearby window, you saw that it was a rather nice day despite heading into colder weather. Smiling, you left the castle and made your way through the courtyard.

 

Chapter 11: Hippogriffs and Runespoors

Summary:

Y/N enjoys her day off from classes

It was the perfect temperature outside, not too hot where you couldn’t wear a light jacket but not too cold where you didn’t have to necessarily keep it on. The morning sun made the long grass sparkle with beads of dew. Dry leaves crunched under your feet as you walked along a dirt path that cut through a large grassy field dotted with small yellow and white flowers. It had been some time since you took a walk along the grounds and enjoyed the ambiance of the landscape. The fall and winter seasons were your favorite times of the year, especially in Hogwarts where the already beautiful landscape appeared even more enchanting. In the distance, you could make out soft clouds of smoke that puffed from the chimney of the half-giant’s hut.

 

Approaching the low cobblestone wall that circumferenced the hut, you traced your hand along the moss that speckled the surface. The area behind the hut was littered with all sorts of vegetables, but most notably large green and orange pumpkins nearly four times the size of your head. A makeshift campfire sat near the wall decorated with freshly hunted rodents, birds, and other small mammals. In the middle of the yard, Hagrid kneeled on the ground tying together a crudely made scarecrow.

 

“Hello, Hagrid,” you called.

 

Hagrid looked up from the ground toward you with a smile. “Mornin’ miss!”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“The crows ‘ave been feastin’ on the crops. I reckon’ they can smell ‘em a mile away. This should do the trick,” he said tying the last knot. Standing up, he presented the half-body of the scarecrow that stood tall on a wooden post with a pumpkin head.

 

“What ‘er you doin’ out ‘ere? Shouldn’t ye be in class?” Hagrid asked skeptically.

 

“I’ve been given the day off from classes. Orders from Professor Snape,” you replied.

 

“Oh, well I s’pose there’s no arguin’ with Professor Snape now is there?” He raised his bushy eyebrows.

 

“No, I s’pose not,” you grinned.

 

A rough squawking noise from the pumpkins caught both of your attention. Amongst the large pumpkins sat a feathery creature that resembled a giant hawk from the front, until you noticed it had four legs instead of two. A hippogriff.

 

“Oh look at ‘em. Loves the smell o’ the wind when the trees blow." Hagrid said, smiling at the creature.

 

“What’s its name?” you asked.

 

“His name is Buckbeak,” he remarked, turning his head to you. “Would ye like ta feed ‘em? Is ‘bout time he had a meal.”

 

“Sure,” you nodded.

 

You pushed yourself up onto the wall and swung your legs over, standing next to the rack of hanging animals. 

 

“Grab two ‘o them ferrets ‘n come over ‘ere slowly now,” Hagrid motioned.

 

With one hand, you picked two big, brown ferrets and held them by their tails. You hid them behind your back as you slowly approached Hagrid. Buckbeak’s head swiveled towards you as you got closer to his owner. He rose up from the ground, and towered above you, squawking curiously. 

 

“Go ahead ‘n bow, nice ‘n low,” Hagrid instructed.

 

Facing the hippogriff, you steadily dropped to a kneeling position and leaned your head down for a few seconds before hesitantly looking up. Buckbeak tilted his head at you and flapped his wings a couple of times before placing a claw forward and bowing back in response.

 

“Good, very good Y/N. Now go ahead ‘n feed ‘em the ferrets.”

 

Revealing the ferrets from behind your back Buckbeak began to tap his claws on the ground in anticipation, as if doing a little dance. You tossed one of them into the air and watched as he rose up on his hind legs, catching it in the air and swallowing it down in a couple of gulps. The second one you held out in your hand toward him. Buckbeak lowered his head and gently plucked the ferret from your hand and began to gnaw on it, bones and all. Finishing off the second ferret, he leveled his head to yours and walked towards you slowly, making your shoulders tense a bit. 

 

“Don’t be scared. He’s very gentle,” Hagrid murmured reassuringly.

 

Buckbeak moved his head in close to you, so close you could see the orange of his eyes. Suddenly, Buckbeak made a high-pitched trilling sound and began to playfully snuffle and nip at your hair, making you break out into a smile.

 

“Look ‘a that, he likes ye!” Hagrid exclaimed.

 

“I like him too,” you chuckled and reached your hands up to the sides of the hippogriff's chin and began to scratch. Buckbeak slowly withdrew from your hair and began to lean into your touch, deep rumbling noises emitting from his throat. His back wing feathers began to ruffle from pleasure and you saw one of his hind legs kicking at the air.

 

“You really are just a dog with feathers, aren’t you Buckbeak?” you said and kept scratching. Buckbeak continued to press into your hand, making your arm lower more and more until he flopped on the ground and wriggled his head on the grass in contentment, which made Hagrid belly laugh.

 

“I s’pose ye want ta ride ‘em?”

 

You smiled sadly. “As enjoyable as that sounds, I’m supposed to be taking it easy today. If anyone saw me on a hippogriff it would surely get back to the other teachers and I would be in for it.”

 

“Fair enough. Would ye like ta help me with somethin’ else instead?”

 

***

 

You and Hagrid spent the morning and early afternoon doing all sorts of things. He had been expanding his garden to accommodate the magical animals in his care who were growing in size. While Hagrid dug thin rows of trenches into the ground, you planted seeds and cast aguamenti to water them. The two of you also enlarged the size of his backyard by accio’ing nearby boulders out of the way and constructing a fence to connect to the cobblestone wall. You both went on a walk along the outside edge of the Forbidden Forest and took Buckbeak with you as the hippogriff was insistent on coming. Hagrid taught you all about the magical creatures in his care as well as the creatures that naturally dwelled in the forest. It was interesting to learn as you were an animal lover and had always stayed away from the Forbidden Forest. He allowed you to pick flowers and naturally growing ingredients that grew along the route you walked and put them in a basket he had brought along. 

 

As you bent down to pluck a couple of mushrooms, something lustrous and white lay hidden in a patch of grass. You picked it up with your fingers and began to inspect it.

 

“What ‘ave ye got there?” Hagrid asked curiously. You turned to him and handed him the pale object. His eyebrows shot up instantly in recognition.

 

“Tha’s a unicorn horn, Miss. I reckon one shedded it. They like ta bang their horns against the trees ta shake ‘em loose.”

 

You gawked. “All the way out here? Don’t unicorns inhabit parts that are much deeper in the forest?”

 

“Maybe a crow picked it up ‘n flew it out ‘ere? They do ten’ ta like shiny things,” Hagrid remarked, placing the unicorn horn in the basket where your other objects sat. “You’ve got quite a collection growin’ in ‘ere.”

 

You cringed slightly to yourself. “Sorry, I just…really like certain parts of nature. There are things about the forest that make me irrationally happy...”

 

Hagrid smiled. “Nothing ta apologize fer.”

 

You and Hagrid eventually walked away from the forest and out to a soft clearing in the grassy fields. Buckbeak began to frolic and jump around, wiggling and writhing on his back against the lushness. Hagrid shifted your objects aside to reveal he had packed food. The two of you sat down in the grass eating sandwiches and fruit he had gathered from the garden. Buckbeak trotted over and laid down behind you, letting you use him as a backrest. Every now and then, he’d pick one of the flowers from the basket and present it to you as a gift, even though you were the one to find them in the first place. As you ate, you took the flowers from his beak, weaving the smaller ones into tiny braids in your hair while turning the bigger ones into a flower crown.

 

“Can I ask you something Hagrid?” you spoke, finishing a sandwich.

 

“Of course,” Hagrid said between bites.

 

“Do you ever get lonely out here?”

 

Hagrid shook his head. “Not really, I like havin’ my own space. I can go ta the castle ta see students ‘n teachers when I want ta. I’m not exactly bound to stayin’ on Hogwarts grounds either.

 

“Oh,” you mouthed silently to yourself and started to stroke Buckbeak.

 

“Why do ye ask?”

 

“ ‘Dunno. I s’pose it’s something I’m dealing with at the moment. I like having my own space too and I’m used to doing things on my own, but there are days…” you trailed off fiddling with the hem of your jacket. “I guess I was just wondering how you deal with it if you’ve ever experienced it.”

 

“Well like I said, I seek out people if I wish ta,” he said taking a big bite of his sandwich.

 

“Not exactly my strong suit,” you murmured.

 

“Ye came out here ‘n found me didn’t ye?” He smiled with his cheeks full, crumbs littering his thick beard.

 

You snorted and turned your head so that your hair obscured your face, smiling to yourself. “I guess.”

 

Buckbeak squawked and nuzzled his head against your shoulder and nibbled at the cloth of your jacket. “Yes, you too Buckbeak,” you said, petting his head.

 

“I’ve never seen ‘em this friendly with a student before,” Hagrid noted. “You must ‘ave a good soul.”

 

“Well, I sure hope so.”

 

***

 

Morning classes proceeded without a hitch for Professor Snape. Students had done as they were told and there were no slip-ups so far, and fortunately, no more detentions had been handed out yet. He almost considered revoking a couple of the ones he had given the previous day to make the following evenings easier, but he had a reputation to uphold.

 

Fridays in the Great Hall were always louder as students jabbered about assignments they had just finished, Quidditch practices, and what they plan on doing for the weekend. He was relieved to see that there hadn’t been any blatant quarreling between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Knowing his Slytherins, he thought for sure something would be done in the form of revenge. Snape took a seat at the teachers’ table and started eating his lunch when he noticed a dirty paper snake on the ground slithering toward the table. He recognized it as your doing. As the snake climbed onto the table Snape reached for it and tried to unfold it as it continued to writhe in his hand but found that the paper wouldn’t budge. He tried harder but still had no luck.

 

He frowned. Was it not for him?

 

Snape set the wiggling snake back down on the table and watched as it slithered two seats farther down, stopping in front of Dumbledore. The old man’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. Ordinarily, he had never received notes from teachers who sat right next to him and no student was bold enough to bother the Headmaster during a meal. Dumbledore opened the note and began to read, his eyes creasing behind his glasses as he smiled. He leaned over to McGonagall who sat between Dumbledore and Snape and showed her the note. Snape heard her murmur the words “good for her” before Dumbledore began to write something back in the snake.

 

“What is it?” Snape asked, trying to come off as uninterested. 

 

“It seems Miss L/N has had a very good day so far.” Dumbledore smiled.

 

Damn cryptic old man. Before Snape could ask anything else, Dumbledore sent the snake slithering off back the way it came. Snape’s eyes followed it out of the Great Hall, realizing you were not at the Slytherin table.

 

“Do not fret,” Dumbledore said, recognizing the bothersome expression on Snape’s face. “She is with Hagrid.”

 

Hagrid? Well, that certainly is an interesting way to spend your day off. He thought you’d likely be in the library doing schoolwork or something of the like in protest of him barring you from classes today. He looked down at the teacher’s table and noticed that Hagrid was indeed not in his usual spot, but neither was Professor Lupin.

 

***

 

Departing from Hagrid’s with your collection of items carefully stored in a sack inside your school bag, you thanked him for letting you spend the morning with him and meandered down a separate path toward the boathouse. The afternoon sun made the reflection of the lake dazzle like black diamonds. Though most of the shores weren’t very flat and accessible, the boathouse sported a few docks. Choosing the longest one, you rolled your pant legs up to your knees and took your shoes and socks off, letting your feet dangle just below the surface of the water as you sat at the end of the dock. You pulled your sack of items out from your school bag and plucked out the flowers, starting another tiny braid in your hair.

 

Something red underwater caught your eye as it got closer to the surface. The water in front of you started to bubble as if boiling in a pot. A large tentacle slowly broke through the water and stood bent in the air in front of you as if offering a hand to kiss. It was the Giant Squid. It was fairly docile and sometimes dwelled in the more shallow parts of the lake, but was well known by the Slytherins as it had a tendency to swim past the windows of the common room. You reached out with two hands to pet and squeeze the parts of the tentacle you could touch, almost giving it a massage. Another tentacle appeared and laid across your lap. You removed one of your hands from the first tentacle and applied the same attention to the one on your lap. The squid seemed to like this as smaller but more frequent bubbles rose to the surface, popping near your feet. Eventually, your hand lets go of the one in the air, grabbing an apple from your school bag and tossing it into the water. The tentacle in the air came down to the apple, dragging it underwater.

 

The paper snake you had sent earlier had returned to your side, tapping against your thigh.

 

That’s a fantastic find, Miss L/N! Unicorn horns have purification properties, making them useful in creating a number of potions, some of which are antidotes to common poisons and restoratives for injuries. I’m glad your day off has served you well so far.

 

“Hello Miss L/N,” a voice called.

 

You turned your head to see Professor Lupin approaching you from the other end of the dock.

 

“Professor Lupin,” you responded. “What brings you out here? Don’t you have an afternoon class?”

 

“Not for another half hour or so. I just wanted to bring yo- MERLIN what is that?!” he jumped back in surprise, clutching his chest.

 

The tentacle that rested on your lap had wriggled up over your shoulder, flopping and curling around lazily. You laughed and glided both hands along the expanse of the tentacle.

 

“The Giant Squid, sir. Don’t you remember it from when you went to school here?”

 

“I always thought that was a rumor Dumbledore made up to keep students from swimming in the lake.” 

 

“Nope, it is very much real. How did you know I was out here?”

 

“Your paper snake led the way,” he said, motioning to the unfolded note. “I came to bring you this before my next class starts.” He held out a sheet of paper towards you.

 

“DADA homework?” You asked, inspecting the paper.

 

“Professor Snape may be able to keep you from coming to my class, but he can’t stop me from assigning homework.” He chuckled.

 

“That he cannot.”

 

***

 

You walked with Professor Lupin until you hit a fork in the path, he waved goodbye to you as he headed back to the castle while you walked towards a lone tree that stood tall in one of the grassy fields. During your short walk together, Lupin had told you about the mischief he and his friends got up to when they were young, leaving out the parts when, unknown to you, they had bullied Professor Snape. Though unknown to Lupin, you had already known about an attack between the two of them. He also told you about how the Shrieking Shack was actually just him chained up inside in his werewolf form, having to go through the full moon without any Wolfsbane. At the mention of Wolfsbane, you informed him how you and Professor Snape would soon be finishing the batch that he would have to start drinking next week. Lupin joked with you, saying how you shouldn't waste your free day on Professor Snape, but it still rubbed you the wrong way for some reason.

 

The tree had a large overhang of leaves that shielded your eyes from the bright afternoon light. Propping your school bag between your back and the trunk, you took out your DADA homework and read it. You were familiar with the spell written at the top of the paper. “Expecto Patronum.” It was a powerful defensive charm that was primarily used to fend off dementors and lethifolds, but could also be used to send messages. But why would he assign this to you? It’s not as though you planned on going to Azkaban anytime soon and you had no reason to venture deep into the forest where dementors could be roaming. The spell itself had two forms; corporeal and incorporeal. Incorporeal acted more as a wispy shield of bright light whereas corporeal took the form of a guardian animal you shared an affinity with. Dumbledore’s phoenix patronus made sense. He has a bright orange phoenix in his office named Fawkes.

 

The assignment detailed instructions on how to cast both spells as well as blank lines in which you would report your findings and the progress you’ve made. The wand movement for a corporeal patronus was a simple circle. All that was required of the spell was the concentration of positive emotions channeled from happy memories. The more you concentrated, the longer the spell would last.

 

You drew your wand out from your jacket sleeve and focused. A happy memory . It was sad to admit but picking a happy memory took you longer than it should’ve. Your childhood was rather…unorthodox and many of your memories from your previous years at Hogwarts didn’t feel powerful enough to support the spell. You chanted the spell over and over flicking through positive memories but all that came out was a small wisp of blue light that dissipated after a few seconds. 

 

You thought back to when it first rained for the first time in September and how it felt to splash in the puddles, concentrating on the happiness you felt at the time. You chanted the spell again. This time the wisp was bigger, growing in size and swirling in the air before fading again. You slumped a bit in disappointment, but it seemed you were headed in the right direction. What about Hogsmeade? Other than the shitty encounter with Michael you had a nice time, right? Again, you cast the spell but the wisp did not grow anymore in size. When you got your sight back? Still no difference. This morning? With Buckbeak and Hagrid? You were starting to get tired. The level of concentration it took to use the spell was draining. You were close though. 

 

Potions? When you successfully made Wolfsbane? You were pretty happy then...

 

The blue light that came out from your wand swirled around and gathered more intensely. It started to take the form of something, but it kept getting bigger and bigger. Just as it started to become clear your arm flopped down to the side and you leaned back against the tree. You were spent. Content, but spent. Your eyelids began to droop as the warmth of the afternoon sunlight glowed around you and you soon fell asleep.

 

…

 

You woke up sometime later with the sun much lower in the sky, though it was still bright out. It was probably around 4:00, which meant most afternoon classes were likely about to finish for the day. Gathering your things, you trekked back to the castle.

 

The evening came and your good mood persisted. You had become appreciative of the fact that Professor Snape had given you the day off from classes despite your protest. It was nice to be outside again and just do whatever made you happy. It was 8:00 now and you figured today’s detentions with Snape would be done by now so you made your way to the potions classroom. 

 

Approaching the door, you raised your hand to knock but stopped when you saw a small piece of paper stuck to it. On it were three words.

 

“Start without me.”

 

You blinked. Did he really trust you to make it without any supervision? And where was he instead? You pushed open the door and found that a station had already been set up for you along with a sheet of instructions. They were different from the ones in your book. Certain steps had been swapped for alternate preparation methods and the total time it would take was reduced by about fifteen minutes. Of course, you did not hesitate to copy this set of instructions into your potion’s notebook. Grabbing the ingredients from the storage room, you set to work.

 

It was strange making potions alone in the classroom. Other than your own station there was no general ambiance present; no cacophony of cauldrons bubbling or stirrers clinking, no sense of rivalry from students in different houses forced to work with each other, no petty squabbles over who gets to cut the ingredients...it was nice. Finishing the final swirls of the potion, the smoke changed from white directly to blue instead of transitioning from green.

 

Yes! And you made good time too. It was a little past 9:00 now. It took about forty five minutes rather than an hour to make the first potion. Maybe you could get another two done before curfew? Professor Snape didn’t mention how many you would be making tonight and he hadn’t returned to the classroom yet. He said six more bottles total were needed nearly a week ago, but surely he made some on his own while you were incapacitated. 

 

It wouldn’t hurt to make another one, right? It’s not like you’d be wasting ingredients if you’re making more wolfsbane in the future. 

 

You refilled your cauldron with more potion water, retrieved another round of ingredients, and started cutting.

 

Just as you had added the last ingredient to the cauldron, you heard the door to the classroom pop open. You looked up for the briefest moment and locked eyes with Professor Snape before returning your attention back to the cauldron. He didn’t say anything as he walked to his desk. He knew better than to interrupt you mid-brewing and you knew better than to take your focus off the potion. He was relieved that you showed up, himself having been called to a staff meeting that ate into his grading and brewing time tonight. The room stayed incredibly silent for the next ten or so minutes, the only noise being the soft bubbling coming from your cauldron. You stared at the clock on the wall between stirs, not daring to miss a single millisecond knowing that Professor Snape was watching. After the last two counter-clockwise swirls, blue smoke puffed from the liquid. You hid your satisfied smile behind the back of your hand and turned the flame down.

 

“Well done,” Snape spoke, standing up from his desk, and walking over to the table. He paused, seeing the first potion bottled next to you. “You made two?”

 

“Sorry sir, was I only supposed to make one? The instructions didn’t specify and I didn’t know when you’d be back,” you explained.

 

“No, it’s quite alright. This gives me more time to grade tomorrow evening,” he said picking up the bottle and inspecting it in his hands. “Only one more is needed now.”

 

“Oh, good.” You turned to the clock and frowned upon seeing the time. “It’s awfully close to curfew though. There's no time...”

 

“Don't worry about that. Stay, we’ll do the last one together.” Snape said as he walked to the storage room. You slowly bottled the second potion and yet again refilled the cauldron with potion water. Returning to the station, Professor Snape had already divided the ingredients between the two of you. With a pestle and mortar, you ground the aconite while Snape cut the moonwort.

 

“Professor, can I ask you a question about DADA?”

 

“That depends, do you intend to use me to cheat on your homework?” he drawled bitterly, keeping his eyes down on the moonwort.

 

You quirked your eyebrows. “No, not at all. It’s about my patronus.”

 

“I see,” his tone relaxed. “Go on.”

 

“Are patronuses supposed to be big?” you asked.

 

“That’s entirely dependent on what animal the patronus is, Miss L/N. They’re the same size as their real-life counterparts. Why do you ask?” 

 

“Professor Lupin assigned Expecto Patronum for homework and I was practicing outside the castle today. I almost successfully summoned it but it just kept getting bigger and bigger; I had to give myself a break before it could fully form.”

 

“How big?”

 

“I don't know, just big.” 

 

“What did it look like?”

 

“It was shaped like a trident…? Or a cactus? Something like that.”

 

“Show me,” he said, putting the potion knife down and standing up. You blinked. “Wouldn’t you rather I show Professor Lupin?”

 

Snape’s eye twitched at that. “I’d rather Professor Lupin not assign you homework on the day I specifically gave you off and yet here we are. Show. Me. ”

 

You set down the pestle and stood up, drawing your wand from your sleeve. As you got into a casting stance, Snape "depulso'd" nearby stools out of the way to make way for the patronus. You took a couple of deep breaths, focusing on your happy feelings. 

 

“Expecto Patronum,” you chanted, waving your wand.

 

The blue wispy light that projected from your wand started to bend and twist, expanding up into the air. It was easier to focus now that you weren’t so tired. The light began to take its unconventional form, becoming clearer and clearer until finally, it solidified. The creature hissed, wriggling around the space trying not to bump its body into the tables and stools. It tilted its head— three heads at you.

 

“A runespoor...” he said, stepping closer to you now standing side by side while staring at the creature. 

 

“Runespoor?”

 

“Three-headed snake,” Snape clarified. “They’re around six or seven feet tall in real life, but this one is...quite monstrous.” Your runespoor slithered around the two of you in circles, bending its three heads down and puffing air through their nostrils while flicking their tongues. 

 

“It suits you,” he stated. 

 

You looked at him, curiously. “How so?”  

 

"Each head of the runespoor serves a different function. The left head is the decision maker, determining what’s best for all three of them; where to go and what to do. The middle head is the dreamer. Runespoors can remain stationary lost in glorious visions and imaginations for days on end. And the right head is the critic. It evaluates the efforts of the left and middle heads, keeping itself grounded. Though, it’s common to see runespoors with the right head missing. The other two heads will band together to bite it off if it criticizes them too much.” Snape explained. “I’m surprised you’ve managed to cast it in one day. It’s a difficult spell.”

 

You shrugged. “I guess I just had a really good day. Did Dumbledore tell you what I found?” You let your patronus dissipate into the air as you went to your school bag and pulled your sack of goodies out. “Before you react, I did not go into the Forbidden Forest and I was with Hagrid throughout the morning,” you said. He narrowed his eyes slightly at your prelude but nodded nonetheless. Shuffling the contents of the bag around, you grabbed the unicorn horn and held it out to Professor Snape. 

 

“This is...” his lips parted in surprise.

 

“It is.” You smirked. “Go on, take it.”

 

Snape frowned.

 

“Really sir, it’s of no use to me. I’m not a potions master. Besides, the oculus potions for my eyes must’ve put a dent in your supply of unicorn horns, correct?”

 

“You need not worry about that Miss L/N...” He hesitantly took the horn from your hand. “...but thank you.”

 

You hummed in satisfaction as you returned to grinding the aconite while Snape paced to the storage room to put away the unicorn horn. In the privacy of the room, he allowed himself to smile.

 

Chapter 12: Hide 'n Seek

Summary:

Some friendly competition.

G/S = Gryffindor Student

R/S = Ravenclaw Student

H/S = Hufflepuff Student

Notes:

*A small but important edit has been made to Chapter 1 on May 15th.

ALSO 2000 HITS? YALL ARE CRAZY

This is just a fun cracky filler chapter to give us a break from the Halloween stuff and serves as a segway into some cutesy shit in the future :D

You shifted restlessly in place, the seat belt across your torso holding you down as the familiar, red, orange, and yellow trees of the local park streamed by your window. The weekend meant your father wasn’t working, which meant you could convince him to take you to the park, which you did successfully. It was supposed to be a decent day for it; a little bit on the colder side since autumn had started, but nothing a thick sweater couldn’t handle.

 

Your excitement shot up tenfold when the car came to a halt in the parking lot. Your fingers fumbled with the seatbelt buckle as your father got out of the car and went to open your door. You practically sprang from the vehicle, making to sprint across the lot, but your father caught you by the back of your sweater collar, stopping you from rushing across the pavement.

 

“Don’t run in the parking lot, Y/N. A car could hit you,” your father scolded.

 

“Sorry,” you replied hurriedly, your impatience building as your father led you across the lot, holding your hand in assurance. Once you had painstakingly made it to the entrance of the park, he let go, and you took off like a bullet through the grassy park lawn toward the nearest playground structure. He kept his eyes on you as he followed after you at his own pace, eventually taking a seat at a bench and beginning to read a book.

 

You made good use of the playground, swinging on the swings, climbing a domed structure made of metal bars, spinning on a carousel with other kids, sliding down slides, or even just messing about in the grass. All the while, your father read and glanced up from his book every now and then. 

 

At one point, while playing in the grass, trying to coax a gopher out, you noticed a woman approaching your dad. She had far too much hairspray in her hair, in your opinion. A curious smile was fixed on her face, and she puffed her chest in a manner that was more than unnecessary, considering she was doing nothing but standing in place as she conversed with your father. 

 

You couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but one thing was certain: your father was uncomfortable. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, how he held his book closer to his chest, the way he avoided eye contact with the woman, answering her questions, but fielding none of his own. She was either too oblivious to notice or didn’t care, going so far as to take a seat next to him, which made your father shift away slightly. 

 

“Go away, lady,” you thought, and searched for a friend amongst the grass.

 

“That’s mighty sweet of you to take your daughter to the park,” the woman simpered in a sugary sweet voice. “You’re like a super dad.”

 

Your father blinked at her. “I’m…a parent. I’m parenting. How is taking my daughter to the park different than you being here with, presumably, your own child?”

 

The woman’s expression faltered, struck by the thick awkwardness that followed his words. “Oh…well…I meant that—”

 

“Dad.”

 

Your father, who seemed more relieved by your presence. The woman looked at you, her overly performative smile returning. “Is this your daughter?”

 

“Yes,” your father grunted to her. “What is it, Y/N?”

 

“I found something cool in the grass,” you remarked, presenting your hands cupped over one another to him.

 

“Oh? What is it you found, sweetie?” the woman asked. 

 

You didn’t say anything, merely stepping toward the woman, moving your hands so that they brushed the knee of her crossed legs and placed the object of your admiration on her jean-covered joint.

 

A large praying mantis.

 

The woman screamed, shooting up from her seat and brushing frantically at her legs. The mantis fell to the ground, righting itself up.

 

“Oh, my lord, what is wrong with you?!” she screeched.

 

You scooped up the insect and presented it to her once more. “It’s just a praying mantis,” you said. “They are quite good at flying, too.” You then blew at the mantis from behind. Thinking it was a gust of wind, the mantis spread its wings and began to fly toward the woman. Her eyes bugged out of her head, much like the mantis, and she ran away from it, shouting her head off, calling for anyone to “kill it,” and that you were a “crazy child.”

 

The woman, once far enough away, made no more attempts to return to flirt with your father. You watched as she brushed herself off of more invisible bugs before returning to her not-so-bright child, who had gotten his head stuck between two bars in the playground structure. You sighed to yourself, looked to the ground, and began collecting fallen leaves.

 

“They eat each other, you know,” your father spoke softly, observing you. 

 

“Moms?”

 

“Mantises,” he corrected. “The females eat the males.”

 

“Why?” you questioned absently, more focused on leaf gathering. 

 

“Nutrition. Before it lays eggs.”

 

“Do humans eat each other?”

 

“Those that do go to jail,” he hummed, answering willingly, not deterred by the morbidness of your question.

 

You only hummed, not wanting to question it as you took a seat right next to your father, and began to make a crown of leaves, leaning over and pressing your head against his shoulder as you did so. Your father, grateful for your actions, leant back against you, a small smile playing on his lips.

 

When the two of you left the park, the route home that he took was different. Actually, it didn’t look like you were going home at all. The street was familiar, but your destination was unknown.

 

“Where are we going?” you spoke up.

 

Your father only hummed back a quiet, “You’ll see.”

 

You pressed your cheek to the window, watching various storefronts and businesses pass you by until the car stopped once more. 

 

“Come on,” he motioned to you as he got out of the car. 

 

When you hopped out again, you squealed internally at the place he had taken to you. It was a café. And a café on a cold day only meant one thing.

 

“Enjoy!” The worker at the counter bid you as your father handed you the cup of warm hot chocolate with whipped cream.

 

“For being good at the park,” your father commented, sipping his own drink.

 

“I scared a lady with a bug.”

 

He placed a hand on your head, smoothing along your scalp. “Like I said, for being good.”

 

~~~

 

“What’s going on?” you asked aloud.

 

There was a massive crowd of students hovering in front of the open entrance to the Great Hall. Standing on your toes, you could see that Dumbledore and some other staff members were setting up an event that involved a giant sheet of paper of some kind that floated above the teachers’ table. The house tables had also been arranged differently. On the teachers’ table also stood four golden goblets, presumably one for each house. The staff members ignored the students crowding around the doorway, having been instructed not to reveal any information until lunchtime. You could see Professor Lupin talking to Dumbledore. With a flick of Lupin’s wand, black streaks of ink began to bleed into the paper until a map of the school had manifested.

 

“I think Dumbledore is hosting a game of some kind,” a Slytherin girl next to you said.

 

“Like a competition?”

 

“Hopefully, we could use the house points.”

 

At the front, Professor Burbage motioned for the crowd of students to come in. You all flooded into the room, curious as to what was going on, and sat at your house tables. None of the teachers said a word. Instead, lunch manifested on the tables and students began to eat, murmuring to each other. More latecomers eventually arrived in the Great Hall, also having a similar reaction to the giant map floating in the air.

 

…

 

Lunch concluded and the air was buzzing with excitement. Nearly all the students had turned their attention towards the teachers’ table waiting for some sort of announcement from Dumbledore. The old man finally finished his plate and stood up from the table, holding his wand to his throat.

 

“Attention students!” his voice echoed, using an amplification spell. “I’m sure you are all curious as to what I have planned for this afternoon. I am happy to announce that since there has been an overall improvement in grades recently, we’re going to celebrate with a friendly competition! I hope you are all familiar with the game Hide and Seek?”

 

The muggle-born students at each table nodded and chattered excitedly while those born from pureblood families looked around in slight confusion.

 

“Each house will be made up of hiders with the exception of two seekers who will represent your house. The house that succeeds in finding the most people will be awarded 500 house points and the seekers of said house will get an extra Hogsmeade weekend. There are, however, a few rules:

 

Hiders must stay in the castle. Hiders must hide in publicly accessible rooms; no bathrooms, common rooms, dormitories, etc. Hiders are not allowed to use transfiguration or concealment spells of any kind. Seekers are not allowed to use tracking spells of any kind. And finally, everyone must keep their necklaces on.” At the last sentence, Dumbledore flicked his wand and a necklace materialized in front of each student.

 

“These necklaces mark your place on the school map. This allows those who have been found to watch the game unfold from the Great Hall. Go on, put them on.” With that, you slipped your necklace on and watched as hundreds of dots appeared where the Great Hall was illustrated on the map.

 

“Now to introduce our first seekers: your head of houses!” Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor Snape, and surprisingly, Professor Lupin all stepped in front of the teachers’ table wearing necklaces as well. “As you can see, Professor McGonagall is not present. She isn’t feeling well and Professor Lupin has graciously volunteered to substitute.” Professor Lupin waved to the Gryffindor table who all smiled in return.

 

“Our second seekers will be selected through a lottery system,” Dumbledore explained, turning towards the four magical goblet cups. “Each of these cups holds the name of every student in each house. If you are chosen, please come and stand next to your fellow seeker.”

 

Dumbledore picked up the first goblet. “Seeking for Gryffindor with Professor Lupin is…G/S!” The Gryffindor table clapped as G/S got up and stood next to Professor Lupin.

 

“Seeking for Ravenclaw is…R/S!”

 

“Seeking for Hufflepuff is…H/S!”

 

Dumbledore picked up the last goblet of the four. “Finally, seeking for Slytherin with Professor Snape is…Miss L/N!” Your table clapped as you slowly got up from your seat and made your way over to Professor Snape.

 

Dumbledore flicked his wand once again and everyone’s necklaces changed into their house colors on the map. You noticed that the icons that represented seekers had now changed from dots to triangles.

 

“Each house will be hiding one at a time,” Dumbledore said, turning to the seekers. “And why don’t we make this easy, shall we? Gryffindor will look for Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff will look for Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw will look for Slytherin, and Slytherin will look for Gryffindor.”

 

“Hunting Gryffindors,” you murmured to Professor Snape, smirking, “this must be a dream come true for you.” Professor Snape only grunted in response, but you could sense a subtle buzz of anticipation.

 

“Hiders will have ten minutes to hide while seekers will have thirty minutes to seek their assigned house. As you can see on the map, there is a timed countdown as well as a live count of students found by each house. When you are found, your dot will disappear from the map and you must return to the Great Hall at once.”

 

Dumbledore motioned for the Hufflepuff table to stand up. “Professor Lupin, G/S, are you ready?”

 

“Yes,” they both said. The Hufflepuffs began to scramble away from the table towards the exit of the Great Hall, pushing each other enthusiastically.

 

“3…2…1…Go!”

 

***

 

The other houses watched in glee and nervousness as the icons on the map moved about, the number of students found increasing periodically. It was fun to watch the dots of students moving about attempting to find a new hiding place, but it was even more fun to see Professor Lupin and G/S approach students only to just barely miss them and walk in a different direction. Still, they had found a significant number of Hufflepuffs and there were still ten minutes left. You glanced over at Professor Snape whose mouth was twitching downwards, clearly irritated at how well team Gryffindor was doing.

 

Eventually, time ran out and Lupin, G/S, and the remaining Hufflepuff students returned to the Great Hall. They were met with cheers from the Gryffindor table.

 

“Team Gryffindor with a whopping 128 out of 200! Well done!” Dumbledore grinned. Lupin and G/S bowed, receiving another round of applause.

 

Damn. Given the size of the castle and how much time they had, 128 found Hufflepuffs is really good.

 

Next up was Team Hufflepuff followed by Team Ravenclaw. Team Hufflepuff didn’t do that badly. Based on the map, many of the Ravenclaw students chose to hide in pairs or groups of three rather than by themselves. Team Hufflepuff ended up finding 73 Ravenclaws.

 

Team Ravenclaw did about as well as you expected: poorly. With Professor Flitwick’s height, he couldn’t run as fast, which meant less ground covered and fewer students found. Most of the students found were due to the efforts of R/S. The Slytherins knew better than to hide in groups, adopting “every man for themselves attitudes” and scattered around the castle, choosing to go the highest floors knowing that Flitwick and R/S would have to kill time using stairs and running down long corridors just to get to them. Team Ravenclaw ended with 46 Slytherin students found.

 

“Alright ladies and gentlemen,” Dumbledore bellowed over the room of giddy students. “We are down to our final team!”

 

The Gryffindor table stared at you and Professor Snape. Everyone knew that Professor Snape had a long-winded vendetta against the house and would thoroughly enjoy hunting them down like rabbits. Silently, you smirked back at them and dragged the tip of your thumb across your throat, earning you a glare from Professor Lupin.

 

“Gryffindors, are you ready?” They all whooped with excitement as they shuffled out of their seats and started teetering toward the exit.

 

“Go!”

 

You and Professor Snape stood facing the exit as the Gryffindors flooded out of the room. You were not allowed to look at the map until the end of the round. The clock started to count down from ten minutes.

 

“We need a plan,” you said. “Team Gryffindor performed really well. There are over sixty publicly accessible rooms, eight levels including the dungeons, and only thirty minutes of searching time. That means less than a minute to search each room, taking into account the amount of time climbing stairs and running through corridors will eat up.”

 

“We’ll split up, obviously.” Snape drawled. “I know this castle like the back of my hand after years of doing rounds and catching students attempting to hide from Filch and me. It would be advantageous if I searched the lower half of the castle as I am more familiar with the hiding spots. Go to the Grand Staircase and immediately make your way to the top floor and move in a circle, that way you’ll catch anyone potentially changing spots whether or not they go up or down. Use the Suspended Bridge to get to the other side of the castle. It’s the quickest way. I’ll likely finish my floors before you; I expect us to run into each other somewhere around the 3rd or 4th floor, in which case we’ll switch on the off chance one of us overlooked something.” 

 

“Sounds good,” you nodded. 

 

During the last remaining minute, you and Professor Snape began to migrate towards the exit to the Great Hall, toeing the line of the threshold much to the displeasure of the other seekers in order to save yourselves some time. The two of you need every advantage possible.

 

“Ready?” Dumbledore called.

 

“3…2…1…Go!”

 

***

 

You and Snape split up the moment you stepped out of the Great Hall. You had conveniently found a couple of students on accident hiding behind statues in concave parts of the walls while on your way to the Grand Staircase. Fortunately for you, the Grand Staircase was a magically enchanted space with self-moving staircases that rotated and shifted, leading traversers to any floor they wished to much faster than any ordinary staircase. Ascending to the 7th floor, you followed Snape’s instructions and moved in a clockwise direction, starting with the Arithmancy classroom, Divination classroom, and North Wing. All three rooms contained several desks, shelves, and tables for students to hide behind. You found a few students sprinkled about in each room, many of them being 1st or 2nd years who couldn’t think of any better hiding spots far enough from their own tower. You strode through the Hall of Hexes and the Fat Lady’s corridor to circle back to the Grand Staircase when you stopped and looked back behind you, remembering the Room of Requirement. Though it was technically a publicly accessible room, not many students knew about it, or at least, knew how to use it properly. If you turned back now, you’d be wasting time, but you had to be thorough. You ran back down towards the Hall of Hexes and stood facing a wall where you knew the Room of Requirement was. 

 

“I want to be with Gryffindors,” you spoke.  

 

The sentient room’s stoney frame shifted and groaned, opening for you, revealing ten 7th-year Gryffindors who hid in the farthest corners of the poorly lit room.

 

“Gotcha!” you shouted. They all groaned in response and grumpily walked towards you and out of the room. Their necklaces pulsed with light, signaling back to the map that they had been found. You ran ahead to the Grand Staircase as they did their walk of shame back down to the Great Hall.

 

…

 

Professor Snape had caught a surprising amount of either really brave or really stupid Gryffindors hiding down in the dungeons and on the ground floor, knowing that it was his domain. Some were bold enough to hide in the potions storage room. He made sure to threaten them with detention if he found any ingredients missing later that day, though his concern didn’t lie in the dungeons.

 

The 1st and 3rd floors had arguably the most viable hiding spots. The rooms accessible for students on both floors were four classrooms, the Hospital Wing, the Tapestry Corridor, Quad Battlements, the Armoury, the Library, the Trophy Room, and the Entrance to the Clock Tower. He made quick work of the Tapestry Corridor, using a spell to blast wind down the wall way, lifting the tapestries and revealing the legs of any student hiding behind them. The Library was big, but it had an echo, so any noise made could be carried all the way to him. Snape was a hypervigilant man; detecting the slightest of noises came to him naturally. He caught some students between bookshelves simply for breathing too loud, making the experience of being tracked down by Snape even scarier.

 

…

 

Snape was on the third floor now when he heard the sound of running coming from around the corner. He quickened his pace to catch the student who was trying to run away to a new hiding spot only to almost crash into you.

 

“Professor!” you exclaimed in surprise, a bit out of breath from running.

 

“How’s the search?” 

 

“I ran into a dry spell on the 4th floor, but otherwise I think we’ll be fine since there’s hardly any rooms there. You?”

 

“The dungeons and first three floors have been searched. I’ll finish up here and double-check the 4th floor,” he said as he strode past you. 

 

“Oh, and don’t worry about the Suspended Bridge Towers. I already checked them!” You called over your shoulder.

 

Snape stopped at the mention of towers, his shoes scraping harshly against the stone ground, which made you stop and turn around.

 

“You did check the nearby towers, right?” you asked hesitantly.

 

“Bloody hell!” He growled loudly, spinning on his heel and hurrying back over to you. He had completely forgotten about the towers. “Change of plans,” he said, whisking you toward the direction he just came from. “Both of us will go and check the towers. There are fourteen of them and I believe we have somewhere between five to eight minutes of time left. We’ll have to be fast.” 

 

“Sounds like an awful lot of stairs,” you said between pants as you kept up with him. 

 

“Not if we use magic,” he sneered as he ran. “Most of these towers are built around open spiral staircases. When you get inside, stand in the center and Wingardium Leviosa through the empty space and grab onto the railing when you get to the top. It will save plenty of time and energy.” Snape proceeded to list which towers for you to search and the two of you split up again.

 

Reaching the first of your assigned towers, you cast Wingardium Leviosa and pushed off the ground to give yourself an extra boost. Floating to the top of the stairs you grabbed onto the railing and came face to face with another group of Gryffindors, their eyes the size of dinner plates and their necklaces pulsing as they were startled by the floating girl in front of them. You cast a feather-light spell on yourself and released Wingardium Leviosa, pushing yourself downwards from the staircase railing toward the bottom of the tower. You repeated this method at the other towers Snape told you to look at, hoping that he was having the same luck you were. He was right to have you both check the towers as you found students at the top of each one. Finishing with the Octagon Tower, your own necklace pulsed.

 

You and Professor Snape met up again, the two of you positively winded from running around. You took your time walking back to the Great Hall together, both of you trying to regain your breath. Snape told you how the students in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower looked absolutely petrified at the site of Professor Snape floating in front of them as if he were a real-life vampire. You were surprised at how into the game he was, but you supposed he was as desperate for house points as the others.

 

“I would’ve loved to see that,” you chuckled. “Do you think we won?”

 

“We better have. I’ll be damned if I lose at a child’s game,” Snape declared.

 

When the entrance to the Great Hall came into sight, you and Snape could hear argumentative debating. You both began to jog again from curiosity and anticipation.

 

“How many???” You both shouted, crossing the threshold of the entrance.

 

The room silenced as everyone turned to face you. The two of you were last to arrive back.

 

“We tied.” Professor Lupin threw his arms up in exasperation.

 

“I’m sorry, we tied?! ” your eyes widened in disbelief.

 

“That is correct,” Dumbledore interjected. “It appears Team Gryffindor and Team Slytherin both found 128 students.”

 

“So who wins? Is it both of us?” You asked. This notion made the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff houses protest in anger, and rightfully so.

 

“No, not necessarily. I prepared a tiebreaker round should this have happened,” Dumbledore clarified. Miss L/N, Professor Snape, please join Professor Lupin and G/S over here.”

 

Now standing in front of the teacher’s table with Team Gryffindor, Dumbledore once again addressed the crowd of students. “Since we have a tie, Team Gryffindor and Team Slytherin will engage in one more round of Hide and Seek.” Dumbledore chanted a spell. Your, G/S’s, Lupin, and Snape’s necklaces all began to glow. After ten seconds, the necklaces stopped glowing, except for yours.

 

“Miss L/N, hider or seeker?” 

 

“Hider.” You spoke resolutely.

 

“Very well,” Dumbledore smiled, recasting the same spell, but this time only on G/S and Lupin. Their necklaces glowed again, and this time, Lupin’s stayed lit.

“The necklaces have spoken. Miss L/N will hide for Slytherin and Professor Lupin will seek for Gryffindor!” The map refreshed, resetting the clock and clearing away the previous number and names. “This round will be winner takes all and the same rules apply. If Professor Lupin can find Miss L/N in thirty minutes, Gryffindor wins. If Miss L/N manages to hide from Professor Lupin for the allotted time, then Slytherin wins.”

 

The Slytherin and Gryffindor tables began to cheer for their champions.

 

“Oh, and one more thing,” Dumbledore said, waving his wand. A piercing noise began to emit from the necklace you were wearing, making everyone cover their ears.

 

“At any point in time, Miss L/N, your necklace will make this sound. I hope you have a good hiding spot in mind,” he smirked with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Champions, are you ready?”

 

Both you and Professor Lupin nodded.

 

“3…2…1…Go!”

 

***

 

It was darker here than you thought it would be and your back was beginning to ache a little, but it was worth it. You had found a hiding spot no one would think to look for. You were, however, worried about Professor Lupin. Did his lycanthropy give him the nose and super hearing of a dog? Would he be able to track you down? From your vantage point, probably not, but it still made you nervous. You could just barely see the clock. Eleven minutes had passed since you found your hiding spot, which meant Professor Lupin had already begun to seek. You shifted on your butt, trying to find a more comfortable position when your necklace wailed.

 

It didn’t stop making noise for a whole minute. Each second summoned bullets of sweat across your skin, antsy at the prospect of Professor Lupin being nearby. The necklace eventually silenced, leaving you holding your breath, waiting for the hurried footsteps of Lupin at the nearest door any moment now, but nothing happened.

 

…

 

Everyone in the Great Hall sat on the edge of their seats watching the map. The Slytherins would cheer rowdily every time Lupin began to move away from you on the map. According to the map, you were hiding somewhere in the Potions Classroom. Snape sat at the end of the Slytherin table watching the game unfold in front of him, unaware of how hard he was gripping the edge of the table. The clock seemed to drag on forever. There were fifteen minutes remaining in seeking time and Professor Lupin was gradually getting closer to you. He’d go off in one direction for a couple of minutes only to suddenly stop and turn to take a path that would lead closer to the potions classroom. That damn necklace.

 

…

 

“Oh my god shut up shut up shutthefuckup!” you hissed. You smacked the necklace in your hand trying to silence it but to no avail. Your eyes darted over to the clock. There were a few minutes left and your necklace was screeching like crazy. You couldn’t use Muffliato as it counted as a concealment spell. You smacked it around one last time and finally, it stopped. You breathed a sigh of relief but tensed as your ears pricked up to the sound of echoing footsteps. You just barely saw a shadow moving across the light that came from underneath the door to the potions classroom. You heard a creak and listened carefully from your heavily obscured view of the classroom as Professor Lupin popped open the door and began to pace around.

 

“Miss L/N~ I know you’re in here~”

 

***

 

The Slytherins were uncharacteristically silent while Gryffindor cheered as Professor Lupin finally made his way into the Potions Classroom. There was just under a minute left, but it seems he was walking in circles around you. Snape pictured the floor plan of his classroom in relation to where your marker was. There was only one possible hiding spot where you were located: his desk. Were you hiding underneath it? That seems like such a careless hiding spot. Lupin was walking around stations, checking under tables, behind a stack of cauldrons in a corner, and even went into the storage room. With thirty seconds left, Lupin finally walked toward the desk, getting closer and closer until his icon was right above yours. 

 

It was over. He had found you. 

 

The Gryffindors exploded, clapping and hollering with glee while the Slytherins slumped their shoulders in disappointment. Slytherin has lost.

 

...

 

Eventually, Professor Lupin returned to the Great Hall and was met with intense cheering. He looked around bewildered at the swarm of Gryffindor students who had risen from their seats to congratulate him.

 

“Congratulations, Remus!” Dumbledore smiled.

 

Lupin blinked. “What for? We lost,” he said, knitting his brows.

 

The cheering died down almost instantaneously at this revelation and turned into confused murmuring.

 

“What do you mean? You found her, did you not? Is she not with you?” Dumbledore glanced past Lupin’s shoulder out into the corridor thinking you had walked back with the DADA professor.

 

“No, I didn’t find her,” Lupin said.

 

“But-” Professor Flitwick started, “you were right on top of her, Remus!”

 

“I was?”

 

“Yes!” the chorus of Gryffindor students spoke.

 

“Look!” a Slytherin student piped up pointing to the map. The map showed that everyone including Professor Lupin was now gathered in the Great Hall except for you. Your icon had stayed in place. The students and teachers were too swept up in the moment to realize that your icon hadn’t faded away from being found while Lupin was walking back to Great Hall.

 

“I don’t understand.” Snape stood up peering closer at the map. “The only possible hiding place in her location is my desk.”

 

“Indeed, I did search your desk, but she wasn't there,” Lupin said. “Is it possible she took her necklace off?”

 

“I hope you aren’t insinuating that she would break the rules, Professor Lupin ,” Snape growled, narrowing his eyes.

 

“ If she took the necklace off,” Dumbledore interrupted, “her mark would be glowing red and she would’ve been disqualified. Clearly, that is not the case.”

 

“So...” a Slytherin boy began, “...does this mean we won?”

 

“That remains to be determined. Professor Snape, Professor Lupin, if you’d follow me please.”

 

…

 

You heard the door pop open and watched as Lupin, Snape, and Dumbledore came into view and walked to Snape’s desk. 

 

“This is where the map says she is?” Dumbledore said.

 

“Yes, and she clearly isn’t here.” Lupin crouched looking underneath it.

 

“Hello, sirs.”

 

The three staff members all craned their heads up to find you cradled on the bowled frame of a metal chandelier that was embedded into the vaulted ceiling high above Professor Snape’s desk

“How’s it hanging?” you snickered.

 

“What—how on earth did you get up there?” Lupin gawked.

 

“Wingardium Leviosa. Plus, a feather-light spell.” You hoisted yourself out of the chandelier and slowly levitated down toward the ground, landing perfectly straight with your hands clasped behind your back. “Did we win?” You grinned bouncing on the balls of your feet.

 

“It appears so,” Dumbledore smiled.

 

“Now hold on just a moment. Hanging from the chandelier? Tha-that has to be cheating!” Lupin sputtered.

 

Professor Snape came to your defense. “She kept the necklace on, she hid in a publicly accessible room, and she used no concealment charms. It’s not Miss L/N’s fault you looked everywhere but up.”

 

“He’s got a point, Remus. Come now, don't be a sore loser,” Dumbledore said, patting him on the shoulder, which only made Lupin grumble.

 

…

 

The four of you returned to the Great Hall. As soon as you came into view of the other students, you flashed the Slytherins a thumbs up. They burst out cheering, jogging over to congratulate you while the Gryffindors bitterly moped in defeat. You shook the other seekers’ hands including Professor Lupin’s in good sportsmanship before he returned to the Gryffindors who assured him he performed well. You felt Professor Snape’s presence behind you as you finished talking to the last remaining Slytherins who had yet to leave the Great Hall. You turned and met his gaze.

 

“You…did well,” Snape stated reticently. A faint feeling twitched in your chest. Professor Snape was a man of few compliments, and when he did give you one, it was in the classroom and about potions. This time felt different.

 

“ We did well,” you lightly smirked in return, the tips of your ears turning pink.

 

“Now then,” Dumbledore said, coming up to the two of you. “What weekend will you both be going to Hogsmeade?”

 

“Pardon?” 

 

“Well, you’ll be going together, of course,” he smiled.

 

“Uh…” you started to say. You weren’t really expecting to go to Hogsmeade with Professor Snape, not that you mind. You just assumed you could pick whatever day you wanted and go on your own time. 

 

“December 1st,” Snape interjected, sounding a little more eager than he intended. 

 

“Very well then,” Dumbledore replied and strolled off, leaving the two of you alone.

 

“...”

 

“Just so you know, we obviously don’t have to go together on the same day . I’m sure you’ve got your own agenda in Hogsmeade—” 

 

“It’s fine,” Snape said, squinting his eyes and looking off in a different direction. “Not a bother…” he muttered.

 

“Okay,” you nodded. “Well, you did a good job today, sir…I had fun,” you murmured as you began to walk past him toward the exit. Snape just stared off in the distance as you paced out of the Great Hall. 

 

Chapter 13: We Need Help

Summary:

A good deed brings unforeseen problems.

Notes:

Snape's look subtly changes throughout the movies. His hair gets a little longer and he becomes a bit more pale. Which movie do you guys like him the most in as far as appearance? I like to write and imagine him with the way he looks in Half Blood Prince or Deathly Hallows when his hair is a bit longer and more whispy or curls a bit. I think's he looks very handsome with this hair 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

You loved the library. Everything and everyone was quiet. It was different than studying in your dorm. Here, you weren’t confined to a desk and the presence of people offered a little ease, just the way you liked it. You didn’t necessarily feel the need to interact or be around people most of the time, but the idea of having the option there was a distant comfort. Additionally, the social etiquette of the library discouraged other people from coming up to you , so it all worked out. Your grades were outstanding, even though you were only taking five N.E.W.T classes, they were arguably the hardest; Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Advanced Potions, and Transfiguration. Many students opt to pursue other classes in place of Herbology and Potions following O.W.L.s for easier classes such as Divination or Astronomy, however, you were a strong believer that Herbology and Potions went hand in hand when it comes to general knowledge of ingredients and usage. Of course, students can take more than five classes in their final year, but you didn’t really see the point. None of the other classes held any interest for you.

 

You were deep into your DADA textbook when you felt someone lightly tap on your shoulder from behind, making you instinctually whirl around in your seat and cover your neck with your hand.

 

“I’m sorry!” the boy in front of you said in a hushed tone. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

“Don’t ever do that again.” you spat back.

 

“Right, sorry…erm you’re Y/N, right?”

 

You squinted your eyes warily. “That would be me.”

 

“I’m Will Finnegan. 5th-year Gryffindor. I came here because I wanted to ask you something.”

 

“Before you do, let me ask you something. How did you know I was here?”

 

“Oh um…we followed you from the dungeons…” Will said.

 

Your eyes widened as you rose from your chair which made a harsh scraping sound against the wooden floor. Wand in hand, you loomed over the boy, backing him into the nearest bookshelf.

 

“ Followed me from the dungeons?” you pointed your wand at his chest.

 

“W-We don’t mean any harm. We need help,” he stated meekly, motioning to his right.

 

Turning your head, you saw two other students peeking around the corner of another bookshelf, watching the interaction between you and Will. A girl and a boy who looked no older than Will. You looked back over to Will; realizing the position you had him in, and stepped back. What was wrong with you?  

 

Will turned to his friends and cocked his head towards you, signaling for them to come. The two students reluctantly walked over.

 

“This is Romona, a 5th-year Ravenclaw, and Arin, a 5th-year Gryffindor, same as me.”

 

“Hello.” They both said.

 

“What do you need?” you asked.

 

“As I said, we need help,” Will said. “My brother is in your Advanced Potions class and said you have an O. We were hoping you could maybe tutor us in potions. See, we’re all struggling, and with O.W.L.s this year we need to get better.”

 

“You wouldn’t happen to be in Professor Snape’s Thursday classes, would you?” you narrowed your eyes. 

 

They nodded . “Snape gets rather angry with our class.”

 

“So I’ve heard,” you responded. “What grades do you have?” 

 

“We both have P’s…I’d like to get to at least an A,” said Arin.

 

“Me too,” Will added.

 

“What about you Romona?” you asked.

 

“I have an A, but I’d like to get an EE, maybe even an O, though I still don’t know if I’ll want to pursue Advanced Potions after my O.W.L.s”

 

“That’s fair,” you nodded.

 

“So will you help us?” they looked at you pleadingly.

 

You sighed and pulled out your planner from your school bag, looking at the available time you had. You were only taking five classes, but you really did like having dedicated alone time.

 

“I can do evenings on Mondays and Wednesdays and weekend mornings.”

 

“Yes. Please. Whatever works for you.” Will said, looking at your planner. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked closer. “What’s that?” He pointed to the last day of November where you had drawn a wolf head.

 

“Don’t worry about that.” You closed the planner with a fwip . “Seeing that it is currently Wednesday, we can start now.” They nodded in agreement and you started packing up your things. 

 

“Follow me.” You begin to lead them out of the library and toward the Grand Staircase.

 

“Where are you taking us? Romona asked.

 

“To a better place. We’ll be able to speak as freely as we need to and won’t be disturbed by anyone else.” They followed you to the 7th floor and down the Hall of Hexes until you reached a large blank section of stone wall.

 

“We’d like a room to study in privately.”

 

The walls groaned open, creating an entrance for the four of you. The three younger students stared in awe.

 

“What is this place?”

 

“It’s the Room of Requirement. It’s a somewhat sentient room that will accommodate anyone whose request is specific enough. I’m surprised you two don't know about this considering how close it is to Gryffindor Tower,” you glanced at the two boys. Tilting your head, you motioned for the three of them to follow you. The room had generated a space that offered a large table and some chairs, the floor made of the same wood as the library. The four of you took a seat and brought out your potion textbooks.

 

“I want to establish a couple of rules before we begin. One, no making fun of eachother or the progress you make. I get that you are all friends and have jokes, but everyone learns at a different rate. Two, no bad-mouthing Professor Snape. I’m well aware that to most he is a less-than-ideal teacher, but I can’t in good conscience allow you to insult my head of house even if you dislike him. Three, if you can’t show up to a session, give me at least an hour's notice. I won’t waste your time if you don’t waste mine. Are we all clear?”

 

The three of them nodded.

 

“Alright then. Show me what you are currently learning.”

 

It wasn’t as bad as you thought, but it still wasn’t good. Romona did fine with actual potion making according to her grade sheet but was less than adequate with written assignments. The two boys were not any better, their grades being poor in all realms of potions. A common factor between the three of them was their ineffective note-taking, which was something you could use to build a foundation. According to them, it’s not that they didn’t care to take notes, it’s just that they didn’t know how, which was understandable to a degree. Professor Snape did not make a habit of repeating himself during his lectures and recording every vital piece of information live isn’t easy. You showed them your own notes, watching their astonished faces. They made a point to mention that they’d never seen such colorful notes before as theirs' were written in regular ink with a quill. You weren’t against using a quill but it was rather inefficient having to constantly dip it in ink when you could just use a writing pen or pencil. You explained to them your note-taking method using an example from one of your recent assignments.

 

“Based on the questions Professor Snape tends to ask, there are four things to pay attention to when it comes to potion notes. Name, use, effect, and preparation. In that order too.” You flipped to a random potion in your notebook and showed them the notes you took. “If you know your ingredients, then you’ll know your potions. Tell me, what are your grades in Herbology?”

 

“EE,” said Romona.

 

“O,” said Arin.

 

“EE,” said Will.

 

“That’s great! Herbology and Potions are practically cut from the same thread. It’s all about knowing what you’re working with. Many of the plants you use in potions are taught in Herbology; in fact, Professor Sprout and Professor Snape often exchange ingredients and potions. Here, take out your Herbology notes.”

 

You took out your own Herbology notes as well and showed them how much of the information you had written within the pages of your Potions notes correlated with Herbology. “You can even draw pictures too if it helps you remember, see?”

 

“How come you have so many colors in your notebook?” Arin asked.

 

“Well, seeing everything written over and over in black ink does tend to become stale to the mind. It helps me remember information better. Plus, I grew up taking notes like this. It’s what I’m used to.”

 

“Like a muggle? You’re not pure-blooded?” Will questioned.

 

You cocked an eyebrow in return. “Did someone tell you I was?”

 

He shrugged. “No… My brother mentioned that you don’t associate with many people. I guess I just assumed you were looking down on us muggle-borns.”

 

“Assumptions can often be misleading. Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I’m an asshole,” you stated, scratching the back of your head. “If you must know, I’m a half-blood and I don't care for all that blood supremacy nonsense.”

 

“Thank Merlin,” Romona laughed. “We haven’t had the best run-ins with Slytherins since we’ve been at Hogwarts. They can be quite…um…”

 

“Shitty?” 

 

“Er…yes, sorry. I didn’t want to insult your house.” She explained.

 

“No, no I get it. Good for you three for reaching out to me despite the history you have. Though, if you do have any problems in the future with anyone from my house, do let me know.”

 

…

 

You spent the next hour and a half going over old and current potion assignments, clarifying and expanding upon the concepts they had managed to record. You showed them how to use Venn Diagrams for comparing and contrasting potions ingredients and encouraged them to draw boxes at the bottom of their notes to jot down ideas to record later if they fell behind mid-lecture. They also gave you the details of this week’s assignment, eight inches of writing about the Draught of Peace potion. You instructed them on the best ways to format the content of their assignments, discouraging them from filling up space by writing the instructions for brewing the potion, describing it as a “nothing-burger” tactic that Snape would recognize as a means of trying to meet the length requirement.

 

“You should dedicate at least an hour in your free time to reviewing and updating your notes, hence the point of jotting down ideas in the box. Doesn’t matter if you go over your notes during a free period or in the evening, as long as you’re consistent. If it helps, you three ought to meet together and compare your notes and notes only. Do not copy off each other for your assignments. He’ll know.”

 

“Thank you so much for helping us.” Arin piped up. “You’re a good teacher, I much prefer you over Professor Snape.”

 

“Careful now…” you murmured

 

“It’s not an insult!” he clarified. “I’m not saying he’s bad, just that you’re better…”

 

You snorted. “Don’t tempt me. I can be Professor Snape if I wish to.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Will challenged.

 

You crossed your arms and stared at the three of them, donning an impassive, slightly frowning expression. 

 

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses...I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death .” you drawled in your best unamused Snape impression.

 

They gawked and laughed at your performance. “You sounded just like him!”

 

You smiled lightly. “Yes, well Professor Snape isn’t hard to impersonate. He does have a tendency to stand out amongst the teachers.” 

 

“Tell me about it,” Romona said. “He can be so nerve-wracking.”

 

You blinked. “Are you three scared of him?” They remained silent in response, which only made you chuckle.

 

“Alright, I s’pose I should teach you one more thing before I let you all go.”

 

You took a small flashcard from your school bag and wrote a few lines on the back.

 

“Romona, tell me the properties of Salamander blood, how it’s prepared, and what potions it’s used in.” 

 

“Salamander blood is scarlet red and has healing properties-”

 

Without warning you suddenly stared her in the eyes and began to scowl, making her shift in her seat.

 

“U-Um…it’s supposed to be shaken- no not shaken?” she was beginning to sound less and less confident the longer you stared at her. She was trying to discern a glimpse of approval of her answers but you weren’t going to give it to her.

 

“And it’s used in…Strengthening Solution…I think. And Fire Protection and Wiggenweld Potion?”

 

“…”

 

“No not Wiggenweld- uh Befuddlement Draught?”

 

You didn’t say anything as you let her stew in your own nervousness, turning your gaze to Arin.

 

“Arin,” you spoke, making him flinch. “Your turn. Same question.”

 

He was nervous as well, having fully expected Romona to be able to answer the question confidently since she has a higher grade in the class than he did. His responses were no different, saying his answers only to change them last minute.

 

“Will?”

 

“Salamander’s blood has healing and rejuvenation properties. It’s supposed to be…shaken. The potions it’s used in are Fire Protection, Strengthening Solution, and…Wiggenwald?”

 

“Are you sure?” you asked with a stoic expression.

 

“Um…”

 

“I don’t have all-day Mister Finnegan .” you gruffed in a Snape-like manner, folding your hands together.

 

Will began to sputter. “I changed my mind, not Wiggenweld- uh…uh- Invigorating Draught!”

 

You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back a mischievous smile. “Well, all three of you were right, but…”

 

You flipped the flashcard over to show them the correct answers:

 

Properties: Healing/rejuvenation

Preparation: shaken

Potions: Fire Protection, Strengthening Solution, Wiggenweld Potion.

 

They all groaned in response while you just laughed. “Don’t be too hard on yourselves you guys. I knew what I was doing.” 

 

They gave you a questioning look.

 

“See, many don’t do well in Professor Snape’s class because they are afraid of him. He knows how to make students squirm in their seats and bring their confidence down to zero simply by looking at them. It’s important to trust your gut, even in the face of scary ‘ol Professor Snape. That’s why I changed my demeanor during your answers. I was testing your resolve and your confidence. Also, it helps if you anticipate him to call on you for every question so you’re not caught off guard.” You shut your potions book and begin to pack your things. “Now as far as making the potions, I’m sure you three are perfectly capable of following instructions, but there seems to be a disconnect. I imagine it has to do with your ability to actually select and prepare the ingredients properly. Let’s meet outside in the Viaduct Courtyard on Friday an hour before dinner, I have something in mind we can try.”

 

***

 

Friday rolled around and you stood in the center of the courtyard holding the cloth sack of potion ingredients you had gathered last week. Hearing footsteps approaching you were surprised to find not three but five students before you, the two new additions being Hufflepuff girls, Grace and Daisy, who were also in Professor Snape’s problem class. Will had told them about your tutoring and they jumped at the opportunity. He pleaded with you to let them join to which you reluctantly obliged. You sat down and instructed them to do the same in a semi-circle in front of you.

 

“I’ve asked you all to meet me out here because I thought we could play a game, though I still expect you to record any information that is new to you.” With that, they all took out their notes from their school bags. 

 

“In this bag are some potion ingredients that I collected recently. I thought I’d test your knowledge by asking you some questions. Of course, you may use your notes if you feel you need to; Potions is an open-book class after all. I’ll call on you randomly. For each correct answer, you will get a point. Now the idea isn’t to compete against one another but rather as a team. I’ll ask you, let's say…forty questions total. Your goal is to get more than thirty correct. Clear?”

 

They nodded as you dipped a hand into the bag and began to shuffle the items around. 

 

You pulled out a flower and held it in front of you.

 

“Will, tell me what this is.”

 

“It’s sneezewort,” he smiled. 

 

You nodded. “Good. Anne, what makes sneezewort different from other flowers?”

 

“It’s poisonous to cattle, sheep, and horses,” she said. 

 

“What part of the flower is poisonous?”

 

“Uh…the stem?”

 

You flicked your wand out of your sleeve and cast aguamenti in her face, mimicking an explosion noise with your mouth. “Your cauldron has blown up! The correct answer is the filaments.” The other students giggled while she wiped the water off her face with a smile.

 

“Alright, next question.” You pulled out another item from the bag, but this time you kept it hidden behind your back. “I’m green and similar to celery. I’m used in herbal medicines, but when consumed, the brain becomes inflamed. What am I? Romona?”

 

“Lovage!”

 

“Correct! Bonus points if anyone can tell me another use for lovage.”

 

“Cooking,” Arin said. “The seeds and the fruit are used in cooking. The herbal medicines also help with indigestion.”

 

“Wonderful, Arin. If I could, I’d give you house points.”

 

…

 

They were having fun with your game. For some questions, you showed them the item while other times you hid it behind your back, asking for the name, preparation method and the potion it is used in based on the description of said item. You attempted to trick them a few times with ordinary items like a stone or a leaf, but you had no such luck. After every item, you set them on the ground in front of you in case they needed to update physical descriptors or doodle them into their notes. 

 

After the final question, you tallied their points as they waited anxiously.

 

“32/40.”

 

They all broke out in smiles high-fiving each other as they went to stand.

 

“One more thing,” you said, putting the last couple of items back into the sack. “Everyone take out your wands.”

 

They each removed their wands from their school bags and awaited your instruction. You took a couple of steps back from them and spread your arms out in a welcoming position. “Now let me have it,” you smiled.

 

“Aguamenti!” they all chanted, blasting you with water. Your robes were soaked through and your hair plastered against your neck. You chuckled as water dripped down your face, smearing it away from your eyes. 

 

“Well done everybody,” you said as you braided your hair back. “Remember, we’ll be meeting again this weekend. If you can’t make it then let me know. Now, go on and enjoy dinner,” you finished, shooing them off. The five of them waved you off and trotted inside to eat. You soon followed suit, water dribbling from your clothes as you slung the bag over your shoulder.

 

As you entered the corridor, you nearly collided with someone.

 

“Oh, pardon me!” they said.

 

The person in front of you was none other than Nicholas Finnegan, Will’s older brother who was in your Advanced Potions class. 

 

“Hello, Nicholas,” you greeted.

 

He frowned slightly as he took in your appearance. “You’re dripping,” he stated.

 

“Oh, yes I am. I just got done tutoring your brother and his friends.”

 

“And those two things are related because…?” He smiled, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“Since they did so well today I let them blast me with water as their reward.”

 

“Well, that sure is some peculiar incentive to keep them motivated.” He cast a heating charm on you, expelling the water from your body in small puffs of vapor.

 

“Thank you for doing so by the way. I hope he didn’t pester or guilt you into the job.”

 

You shook your head. “Not at all. I like helping people, plus it gives me something to keep me occupied.”

 

“Wow,” he spoke, astonished. “Never in a million years did I expect to hear the words “I like to help people” come from a Slytherin.”

 

You dramatically rolled your eyes, smiling nonetheless. “Yes, yes we’re all assholes. Duly noted.”

 

***

 

The both of you walked to dinner together. The rest of the way was spent exchanging thoughts on Advanced Potions, how your current N.E.W.T classes were going, what you both were interested in doing as the holidays approached…And much to your protest, he tried to tell you embarrassing stories about Will in his younger years at Hogwarts, no matter how much you covered your ears and “la la la’ed.” You chuckled at his final attempt and bonked him on the head with a book as the two of you crossed the threshold of the Great Hall and departed to your respective tables.

 

“Were you just with Nicholas Finnegan?” the girl next to you said.

 

You grunted in response as you began to scoop food into your mouth.

 

“Are you two dating?”

 

You choked on your food, managing to cough out a “What?”

 

“It’s alright if you are, I can totally see it. He is handsome and you looked pretty cozy with him,” she nudged.

 

“Your logic is two people having a conversation together must be involved? What, so does that mean every time Professor McGonagall gives you detention, you two are doing it in the classroom?” you challenged, throwing a grape at her.

 

She cringed, wrinkling her nose. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were. We rarely see you in the evenings and I did see you come back from the 7th floor a couple of days ago which is Gryffindor territory…”

 

“We are not dating,” you said resolutely, stabbing at the food on your plate.

 

“Okay,” she responded in a sarcastic tone, implying she didn’t actually believe you.

 

***

 

The weekend sessions had gone smoothly. You had purposely scheduled them to be in the mornings after breakfast so that you all could spend the rest of your day as you pleased, whether that meant staying on top of school or enjoying yourselves. Unfortunately, it did not dispel any of the jokes about you “dating” Nicholas. Your uncharacteristic trips to the seventh floor on the weekend and the day after only seemed to encourage the teasing, practically becoming a rumor; so much so that Nicholas was now being questioned. In class, he told you he had vehemently denied everything. Even if it was true, it was no one's business anyhow. However, the more either of you refused it, the more it seemed the two of you were hiding some secret star-crossed love for each other. You did your best to ignore the whole situation. You could not control what people think and weren’t about to let it affect your tutoring.

 

Nicholas gave you a sympathetic smile when you walked into Advanced Potions. You subtly nodded back and opted to sit as far away as you could from him, hoping to send a message to anyone in the classroom to anyone who believed the rumor. 

 

“Not gonna sit with your boyfriend?” the girl next to you said, to which you simply rolled your eyes.

 

Today’s potion was to be brewed with partners. On days like these, Professor Snape would spend the beginning of the session occupied at his desk with grading papers and then would wander around, inspecting everyone’s work during the second half of class. For obvious reasons, he was more trusting in everyone’s ability not to blow up the classroom, and therefore, didn’t feel the need to hover about.

 

Your potion was going well. Your partner had not pestered you about Nicholas for the rest of class. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop others from doing so. While preparing your ingredients and stirring your potion, you felt the taps of multiple paper cranes against the side of your forearm. You did your best to tolerate them while attempting to keep your focus on the potion. You and your partner had just finished when Professor Snape began to walk around the room, starting with your table. His eyes roamed over the softly bubbling mixture in the cauldron.

 

“Good,” he nodded approvingly. Snape’s gaze flicked up and stopped just above your hair. Frowning, he reached out and plucked something off the top of your head. You returned a confused look until you saw what was in his hand. Another paper crane. He looked down at the spot next to your outer arm and noticed the other unopened paper cranes that accompanied you. Snatching the notes off the table with his other hand, he turned and addressed the rest of the class.

 

“Need I remind everyone here that passing notes in my class is punishable ?”

 

With that, he made a show of wandlessly burning three of the four notes, letting the crumbling black ashes fall to the ground before circulating around the room again. Frankly, you didn’t care to know what the notes said. They probably contained questions about you and Nicholas. You did, however, flash Nicholas a thumbs-up upon seeing his reaction to Professor Snape’s assessment of his potion.

 

As Professor Snape finished inspecting everyone’s potions, he remembered the paper crane he removed from your head. He took out the note from his pocket and unfolded it.

“Are you going to see Nicholas again tonight? I want details!”

The message took him by surprise, his eyebrows twitching together as he reread the sentence. You were seeing somebody? And apparently that somebody is Nicholas Finnegan? A Gryffindor . It was unexpected, to say the least. You gave no indications of such a relationship existing, though, you rarely ever talked about yourself. Yes, as if her personal life is any of your business, Severus. And yet, there was a tiny part of him that was bothered by the whole thing. Why exactly, he couldn’t pin down. Perhaps because of the boy’s house? Besides that, there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with Nicholas. He was good at potions and didn’t grate his nerves as much as the other students, but picturing the two of you walking down the hall hand in hand made his shoulders tense as if spiders were crawling down his neck.

 

“Incendio,” he murmured, burning the note and returning to his desk.

 

Students began to pack up and bottle their potions as the clock indicated the end of class. 

 

“Miss L/N,” he spoke as you tapped the bottle against the top of his desk. He waited until everyone had departed the classroom before speaking again. “Tomorrow is the 30th.”

 

You looked up into the air and mentally checked your schedule. “Wolfsbane?”

 

He only nodded in return.

 

“Why aren’t we starting on the 1st?”

 

“It would be mutually beneficial for the both of us to complete the batch of potions before then so as to not interfere with the weekend…” he drawled.

 

“Oh,” you said. Hogsmeade. Right. “Yeah, sure. That works.” you nodded. 

 

“Very well.” He motioned dismissing you, but his eyes lingered on the doorway after you had left.

 

***

 

Dinner was no different than the past five days. You were once again pressed about your nonexistent relationship with Nicholas. You insisted that nothing had been going on between the two of you and that your trips to the seventh floor were for tutoring sessions, which only yielded suggestive jokes about you “tutoring” Nicholas.

 

Your irritation had dulled once the actual tutoring had begun. Though the Room of Requirement’s location was inconvenient, its ability to accommodate the six of you proved to be valuable. The students had followed through on your advice and had been reviewing their notes consistently after classes in the library, sometimes alone, sometimes together. Their efforts served them well as they excelled during the session. They also showed you the results of last week's assignment. Their overall grades in the class still hadn’t changed, but they all had gotten A’s and EE’s on their Draught of Peace essays. You were proud of the progress they had made so far, and it had only been a week. A majority of the session was spent drilling them with a typical standard line of questioning one would experience from Professor Snape as tomorrow they would have a class with him. It was gratifying to know that they were taking your advice so seriously and were showing results in the process. Time flew by and when you checked your watch you were shocked.

 

“Oh shit!” You rushed to pack up your things. “Guys, we’ve got to get out of here. It’s past curfew.” They followed suit, shoving their books into their bags. 

 

As you all left the room Romona, Arin, and Will went one way while you and the Hufflepuff girls went another. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers were close to the Room of Requirement whereas the Slytherin and Hufflepuff common rooms were diametrically opposed to your current location. The two of them trailed silently a little ways behind you. The three of you walked down the Hall of Hexes, intending to use the Grand Staircase to get down to the dungeons. As you rounded a corner, however, you came face to face with the potion master who had been doing rounds.

 

“Professor.” Your reaction was hushed but audible enough to let the two girls who were out of Snape’s sight know that they should run the other way.

 

“It’s past curfew, Miss L/N.” he gruffed.

 

“Sorry sir, I-”

“I expected better from you. Perhaps, it would serve you well to pick a better time and place to do your snogging .” His voice dripped with venom as the last word left his lips.

 

You were stunned. Since when did he of all people pay any attention to student affairs? 

 

“But-”

 

“Not. Another. Word . Detention tomorrow, after dinner.” He flicked his brightly lit wand to his side, signaling for you to start walking. You closed your slightly opened mouth and cooperated. The walk down to the dungeons was quiet as he followed a few paces behind you. You didn’t bother trying to explain yourself again as it had gotten you nowhere with anyone else and Snape made no attempt to peek into your mind, not wanting to be flashed with images of you and Nicholas.

 

You went to bed angry. Angry at your schoolmates for gossiping about you, trying to fill their own dull lives with drama to entertain themselves without taking into account your own feelings, and angry that Professor Snape wouldn’t let you at least defend yourself. Your eyes grew watery as your fingers dug harshly into the pillow you clutched tightly to your chest and fell asleep…

 

Chapter 14: Detention

Summary:

Y/N has detention with Professor Snape after being caught out past curfew.

Notes:

Hi, darlings! I wish you all luck on your finals this year as I prepare for mine :D

You woke up this morning feeling like shit. Your mind was foggy with black clouds and the sides of your head throbbed. It had only been a couple minutes into the new day and it felt as though your patience had been reduced to half. The anger you felt last night had now morphed into a thick layer of bitterness. Professor Snape giving you detention last night was not uncalled for since you were out past curfew, but his assumptions about your intentions had only twisted the knife that had been this week even further. Braiding your hair and throwing on your robes, you greeted the day with apathy.

 

You did your best to tune out at breakfast. Your housemates had not known you got detention last night for breaking curfew, and for your sake, you intended to keep it that way. It took much restraint to keep your hands from slithering up to your head and scratching, especially when your housemates kept asking you questions, to which you just ignored and remained silent. 

 

Never had you been more thankful for it to be a school day. You only had two classes today, giving you a couple more hours of spare time in the afternoon before everyone was let out. On top of that, neither of the classes was Advanced Potions. It was your favorite class, sure, but it only reminded you of the prior day. Defense Against the Dark Arts did make you feel a little bit better. Professor Lupin had you all dueling one another, practicing both offensive and defensive spells. Occasionally, he would duel students himself when giving a demonstration, but he always held back of course. Unlike Lupin, you were not as kind. While your expression appeared dispassionate, you wordlessly threw spells with such aggressiveness that your partner insisted on switching with someone else as they could no longer tolerate being knocked on their butt. 

 

Transfiguration was nice. Maybe it was due to her age, but the way Professor McGonagall talked always managed to make you smile, especially when she was scolding a student. Her wittiness strongly contrasted with her strict but grandmotherly personality. Today’s lesson was to transform a tortoise into a trumpet. One student couldn’t resist themselves from playing the transfigured trumpet, only to have it morph back into a tortoise and bite the student’s lips.

 

It was mid-afternoon when you settled into the library. There were few other people in there with you as a majority of students were still in classes. At the very end of the library toward the restricted section was a large hearthstone, in front of it a rug and a sofa that could seat up to four people. A fire medium in height cracked softly behind its caged barrier. Madam Pince would light it during the day so that students were more comfortable in the library throughout the colder months. Resting yourself in the middle of the sofa, you held one of the throw pillows against your body and used your wand to levitate a book in front of you.

 

***

 

“Y/N,” a voice called.

 

You blinked your eyes rapidly as a hand waved in front of your face. Looking at the clock above the fireplace, it read half past five. The book you were reading lay on the rug in front of you. At some point, you had stopped and zoned out while staring into the fire.

 

“Hmm?” you turned to face the owner of the hand. It was Will.

 

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Will said. “Snape gave us points today in class!” 

 

Your eyebrows perked up in surprise. “Is that right?” Snape rarely gave points to Gryffindor if he could help it, though he was always eager to take from them.

 

“Yeah! I also got an EE on my potion today!”

 

“That’s great...” you murmured.

 

He frowned at you, a little disappointed in your lack of excitement. “Are you alright? I thought you’d be happier considering it’s all thanks to you.”

 

“I’m fine, Will.” You offered the smallest trace of a smile. “I’ve just got some stuff on my mind right now. I’m sure you’re well aware of the rumor floating about regarding your brother and me. On top of that, I’ve also got detention with Professor Snape-”

 

“ You got detention? With Professor Snape?” he asked gobsmacked.

 

You nodded lightly. “He caught me on the 7th floor after our tutoring session ran late.”

 

“But that wasn’t your fault. He shouldn’t have given you detention.”

 

“Professor Snape doesn’t like to take points away from his own house, Will. And besides, it’s not a huge deal. It’s just detention. It’s not as if I’m going to be executed in the middle of Hogsmeade,” you told him reassuringly.

 

“Still, that’s not right. It was our fault that we kept you late,” Will declared.

 

“Well, what can you do?” you shrugged. “Come, let’s head to dinner. Perhaps you and the others can tell me more about class today.”

 

***

 

You, Will, Romona, Arin, Daisy, and Grace all sat at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall discussing how their Potions class went today. They all confirmed Will’s story, Professor Snape had given Gryffindor 5 points after Will and Arin held their own in answering Snape’s questions and making a good potion. The girls also did well, having earned at least A’s on their potions. Daisy and Grace informed you that they were able to make it back to their dorms without getting caught to your relief. You told the rest of the group that you weren’t as lucky. Their reaction was the same as Will’s, finding your punishment rather unjust. 

 

“Speaking of detention…” you said, noticing that Professor Snape had finished dinner and already left the Great Hall. “I’ve got to go. Remember to study tonight.” Shoveling the last remnants of food into your mouth, you grabbed your school bag and made your way to the dungeons

 

…

 

Knock Knock Knock

 

“Enter,” Professor Snape’s voice drawled from the other side of the door to the potion classroom.

 

Hearing the door click, you lightly pushed on it, a faint creaking noise erupting from its hinges. Snape was sitting at his desk grading papers. His dark eyes seemed to pierce right through you as he looked up toward the doorway. You heard him exhale sharply as he drew his wand and flicked it in the air, accio’ing a pile of cauldrons onto one of the tables.

 

“You will be cleaning cauldrons,” he spoke curtly. “ Without magic.” Another wave of his wand and a bucket of soapy water and a scrubber manifested next to the cauldrons. 

 

You only nodded in response. Setting your bag down near the door, you paced over to the table, his eyes following your every step. There were sixteen cauldrons of which the outsides and insides would need to be scrubbed, the bottoms being the hardest to clean due to always hovering above the burners. Sitting on a stool, you grabbed the scrubber, rolled up your sleeves, and began to clean.

 

After getting through the first few cauldrons, you felt a recognizable sensation between your eyebrows, as if someone was lightly pressing the tip of their finger against your skin. You knew exactly what it was and did your best to remain stoic, focusing on the task in front of you. Professor Snape was using legilimency on you again. 

 

Oh yes, you were painfully aware of the potion master’s ability to slither into your mind whenever he pleased . However, he seemed oblivious to the fact that you could always tell, which made you feel quite smug. It was something you had gotten used to experiencing. Sometimes he’d peek into your head randomly during class, why you didn’t know. Strangely, it didn’t bother you. You never made any attempts to block him out; it’s not as though you had much to hide and from what you could sense, none of his invasions were accompanied by malicious intent. 

 

You could feel him present in your mind, almost as though your mind was a movie theater and he was just sitting there waiting for something interesting to hear or play for him. You could clearly make out the scratching of his quill that filled the silent atmosphere along with the bristles of your scrubber. He was multitasking, keeping one foot in reality and the other across the doorway to your mind. You ignored it as you continued cleaning, but the feeling of the visitor in your head never went away.

 

Eventually, you let your mind wander a bit. You were more than halfway done with the cauldrons and keeping all your focus on cleaning was starting to bore the hell out of you. The soapy water from the scrubber had run down the length of your wrist and arm, soaking into the rolled-back part of your robe sleeve. It made you remember something from your childhood. As you reminisced, the sound of Snape’s quill slowed.

 

~

 

It was summer. You were in the kitchen and were around 10 years old. The sun had started setting, filling the room with a yellow glow through the open window above the kitchen sink. The backyard door was slid open, letting a slight breeze cool the mugginess of the atmosphere. You were standing in front of the sink with a pile of dishes in front of you. You had gotten lazy and let over a week's worth of dishes accumulate. It took you a minute but you had found the sponge buried underneath all the plates and utensils. You squeezed the bottle of dish soap on the sponge and began to wash the dishes. You were very methodical, using warm water that pruned your fingertips and scrubbing in circular movements, intent on cleaning every inch. This action generated large mounds of foamy soap that enveloped your small hands. Every now and then you’d have to stop and rinse it off. It wasn’t exactly every kid’s dream to be doing dishes, but it’s not as though you had a choice. You needed clean dishes to eat off after all and the task itself was easy. You didn’t mind the mess either. Water would bounce off the plates and cutlery at odd angles, dripping along your forearms and sometimes soaking into your shirt. When you were done washing, you’d hand dry them with a towel and stack them before eventually putting them away in the cupboards.

 

As you dried the last dish, your eyes went back to the dish soap and you had an idea. You squeezed a dollop onto your palms and soaked your hand briefly in water, letting the soap spread out and run through your fingers. Closing your hand in a fist and holding it in front of your face, you made an “OK” sign with your index finger and thumb and began to blow bubbles. You had great success with this, sometimes making small bubbles that would float in the air, other times creating large bubbles with a continuous breath that would hang on the open face of your hand before eventually popping. Your favorite thing to do was to make a large bubble and hold it with both of your hands, where you would proceed to push and pull on the bubble with your palms, drastically warping its shape. 

 

Unfortunately, you slipped on water that dripped on the floor, knocking over some of the dishes as you fell. They shattered on impact, creating a minefield of ceramic shards. You were frozen, panicked for a moment, but you didn’t cry. You got up and carefully maneuvered around the broken pieces as you were barefooted and went into the living room. In one of the cabinets was a wand and a book. “Only to be used in emergencies,” your parents told you. It’s not like you were being attacked but potentially cutting yourself constituted an emergency to you. You retrieved both and padded back into the kitchen, observing the mess you made. The book was a small journal that had a list of phone numbers and spells written including the wand movement. It wasn’t a very long list and it only covered basic situations should you find yourself needing extra help; healing spells, some charms, a couple of defensive spells… There was one on the list called “Reparo.” The note next to the charm said, “Reh-PAH-roh. If you break something around the house.” Pointing the wand at the broken dishes, you chanted while making a triangular swirling motion with the wand. The pieces began to slink towards each other, mending themselves back to their original state and onto the counter. You dried up the water on the ground with a different towel and started putting the dishes away-

 

~

 

Knock Knock Knock

 

You felt Professor Snape quickly withdraw from your mind as both of you looked toward the door. His face hardened. He wasn’t expecting anyone else this evening. You turned your attention back down towards the last cauldrons as Snape huffed and got up from his desk. Opening the door, he was surprised to find a cluster of five students standing before him.

 

“There better be a good explanation as to why you all have chosen to disturb me this evening,” he scowled.

 

“Please don’t keep Y/N in detention, Professor Snape,” you heard an insistent voice say.

 

Your movements faltered as you recognized Will’s voice. Had they all come down here to defend you?

 

“ Oh fuck …” you whispered to yourself. This could only end badly for them. Snape’s hypervigilance caught your words and he shot you a stern look.

 

“Her punishment is none of your concern, Mister Finnegan .”

 

“But sir, it’s completely unfair! She didn’t mean to-"

 

“Since when do you insolent 5th-years have the audacity to criticize my authority?” He snarled, looming over them. “Miss L/N is a 7th-year who should know better than to be wandering around the castle past curfew where she ought not to be. Detention is perfectly. Reasonable.”

 

“But it was our fault!” Romona nearly shouted, making Snape’s jaw clench. “ We kept her out past curfew! Y/N was tutoring us in the Room of Requirement. We were learning so much from her a-and we lost track of time. Please sir, just let her go. None of this is her doing.”

 

“Yeah, c’mon Professor!”

 

“She doesn’t deserve this.”

 

“Let her go.”

 

“ ENOUGH! ” Snape bellowed, shutting them up. “All of you will leave. Now . Unless you wish to share the same fate as Miss L/N.”

 

“Listen to Professor Snape,” you called from the table, keeping your eyes down on the cauldrons. “I’m fine. You should all go to the library and study…”

 

Professor Snape sneered at them and went to shut the door in their dejected little faces but halted when you spoke again.

 

“And guys…I am proud of the progress you’ve all made so far. No tutoring this weekend. Enjoy it.” With that, Professor Snape closed the door with a satisfying clang .

 

Neither of you said anything while you continued to scrub one of the last remaining cauldrons. Snape stood still in front of the door, thinking. His eyes darted down to your school bag which sat no more than a foot away from him. He accio’d your planner to himself and flipped through the most recent pages. Sure enough, you had the evenings marked off on Mondays and Wednesdays for tutoring. Yesterday's session was supposed to end thirty minutes before curfew, theoretically giving you plenty of time to get back down to the dungeons.

 

He put the planner back in your bag and walked over to his desk, sifting through sheets of paper. He found the grade sheets of the five students who were present just moments ago. There had been improvement in assignments and potions for each of them within the last week or so.

 

Snape paced into the storage room but dipped back into your mind right as he became obscured from your view. He was swiping through your memories of the tutoring sessions and the days that proceeded afterward. He saw Will approaching you in the library, the sessions spent in the Room of Requirement, you being blasted with water and laughing, Nicholas Finnegan thanking you, the rumors… For some reason, Snape went over those memories multiple times…and finally the moment you realized it was past curfew. You felt him retreat just as you started cleaning the final cauldron.

 

…

 

Snape exhaled as he pulled himself from your mind. He had seen enough to prove their claims about you. And he was relieved.

 

He paused.

 

Why was he relieved? Why was the knowledge that you weren’t involved with Nicholas Finnegan so gratifying to behold? How was it any of his concern? Regardless, he wasn’t going to allow himself to feel guilty. Not this time. If he let himself feel guilty, it would be an admission of wrongdoing, and his need to feel superior just couldn’t allow that. He was not wrong for giving you detention. You were out past curfew and that was that. Reasoning be damned. It was about sending a message, that no one could escape punishment, despite grades or house or status. He was the ruthless, foreboding potion master and he intended to be viewed as such…

 

Then again…he never had a problem with you before. Not once had you received a detention from him, let alone gotten house points removed. He could've at least allowed you to explain yourself first.

 

And then the heavier question was presented, weighted with implications, that Snape didn’t dare ask himself: Would he have been more merciful if he had known your true intentions? Or, if he flipped the question inside out, was he harsher towards you because of his own assumptions?

 

Instead, he peered out of the storage room and saw that you had finished cleaning the cauldrons and were sitting there idly, patting your hands rhythmically against the table and staring off at one of the walls. He straightened up and walked back out.

 

“You are dismissed,” he declared.

 

You stopped your movements and tilted your head at him in slight confusion. “No Wolfsbane tonight then?”

 

Snape’s brain short-circuited for a moment. He just made you sit through a potentially meaningless punishment and you still wanted to help? Were you not mad at him? Or at the very least disdainful?

 

You took his silence as a no . “I don’t have to. I understand if you wish to retire for the night or start tomor-”

 

“It’s-” he inhaled, gathering his thoughts and doing his best to remain stoic. “I suppose you may stay if you wish…” he turned back around toward the storage room where you heard glass clinking, presumably from retrieving ingredients. You moved all but the two cauldrons you just cleaned to the back of the classroom. Instead of taking the other cauldron and sitting at the neighboring table, he took a seat at your table and simply duplicated the cauldron rack and bunsen burner. Despite your willingness to still assist tonight, a strange tension still permeated the air. You didn’t mind silence, but this silence was painfully heavy. You couldn’t have that as it would make brewing with the man who just made you sit through detention too awkward.

 

“I…” you started to say, making Snape glance up while preparing his own ingredients. “…didn’t know they were going to do that. I told them not to worry. It was expected considering we were out past curfew.” 

 

Snape didn’t respond for a minute. He too could sense the thick atmosphere and was trying to think of a reply. 

 

“I was unaware you were a tutor…” he muttered. “…though that doesn’t excuse last night.”

 

“Mhm..” you hummed impassively in acknowledgment, just above a whisper.

 

“…”

 

Merlin, was it uncomfortable here. He didn’t wish to kick you out as making progress in the batch would be favorable, but at the same time, he didn’t know what to say or do. 

 

“They are good kids,” you continued. “They don’t… necessarily hate you or potions…just need some help ‘s all.”

 

“You decided the task fell to you?” Snape scoffed.

 

You cracked the faintest smirk as you ground an ingredient and added it to your cauldron. “Help is always given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it,” you pitched your voice lower, quoting Dumbledore. “Though, it’s only temporary. Just until they achieve their desired grade or feel as though they can carry on by themselves. Whichever comes first.”

 

“And what exactly are you receiving out of it?”

 

You raised an eyebrow questioningly, “Do I need to be getting something from it? Honestly, the fact they are improving with my help is enough for me…And they are your problem children after all…” you mumbled against the back of your hand, squinting off into the distance. He narrowed his own eyes, a semi-dazed expression on his own face, but didn’t say anything. No more words were exchanged for some time as you both brewed two Wolfsbane potions each. The atmosphere had settled into a more bearable form as the initial awkwardness gradually filtered itself away. You felt him enter your mind, again not looking for anything in particular, just…waiting. Wanting to see his reaction, you revisited your first tutoring session.

 

You snorted. “Don’t tempt me. I can be Professor Snape if I wish to.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”

 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Snape’s expression twitch momentarily into a scowl. You just barely held back a smirk, pressing your lips together as you stirred your mixture, eliciting blue puffs of smoke. You started to think again while bottling the potion.

 

Hogsmeade tomorrow…

 

Snape’s ears pricked up at the mention of Hogsmeade while he finished his own potions.

 

The start of December…Will Hogsmeade start decorating to prepare for the holidays? It would look pretty, especially if it snowed. Will it snow? Is it too early to go Christmas shopping? What should I buy? I’ve got plenty of money…I’m pretty sure there is a regular Hogsmeade weekend in mid-December before everyone goes home…should I wait? Honeydukes will be packed. Hot chocolate sounds nice…Wait, what time are we even going? Morning? Afternoon? How long are we allowed to be out? An hour? Two? Is it just the 1st or both days of the weekend? Professor Snape can of course…lucky. Dumbledore never specified any of this-

 

“Miss L/N,” Snape’s voice interrupted your string of thoughts.

 

You faced him and saw that he had just finished his potions as well.

 

“We have not picked a time to depart to Hogsmeade this weekend…” he stated aloofly as if he hadn’t just used legilimency on you.

 

“I usually get all my work done before the weekend even starts. Whenever is best for you I s’pose.”

 

He looked off into the distance, his eyes flicking back and forth ever so slightly as he mentally reviewed the time his schedule afforded him. “I have business to attend to in the morning. It would be preferable if it were sometime in the afternoon.”

 

“I’m not opposed to that. If you wish, we could go after lunch ends. It would leave plenty of time should you have some unexpected detentions to deal with,” you shrugged.

 

Snape only grunted in agreement as he gathered the finished potions and moved them to a drawer in his desk.

 

“Right…” you murmured. You glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was approaching curfew. You stood and grabbed your school bag. “Well, I’m off then… G’night, sir.”

 

“Wear a coat," he said just as you reached the doorway and turned. “This weekend. It will be cold.”

 

“ Obviously,” you raised an eyebrow as you spoke in a low Snape-like manner before stepping out into the corridor. Once out of view, you let yourself grin and chuckle at the somewhat irritated muttering you could hear echoing from the classroom behind you.

 

 

Chapter 15: High Street and High Roads

Summary:

HOGSMEADE 2 BABYYYYYYYY

This chapter is a bit longer than what I usually put out but I couldn't help myself. It would've been hard to split this into two chapters so enjoy!

cw: unwanted advance/mild sexual harrassment

MUSIC: Hot Liquorice

 

“Damn it, I’m so jealous of you Y/N!”

 

Your housemates did not hesitate to express their feelings towards you regarding your free Hogsmeade this afternoon at lunch. You were thankful that they had stopped with the Nicholas nonsense, having moved on to the next juicy piece of drama that circulated amongst students. Many of them couldn’t wait to go shopping, having been deprived of leaving Hogwarts grounds until scheduled weekends, the nearest being before the start of winter break. You didn’t have a set plan for yourself regarding what you’d do in Hogsmeade. The only reason anyone visits is to shop, eat, and drink but that can only quell the nagging need for entertainment that generally accompanied your weekends for so long. Surely, it would be no different from a typical trip; a teacher would still be chaperoning you, despite the fact you were an adult, and it was likely the two of you won’t be long as the timing was meant to accommodate Professor Snape’s schedule.

 

“Me too! It’s too bad you’ll be stuck with Professor Snape though,” another housemate said.

 

“Oh? Why’s that?” You asked lazily, taking a bite of food.

 

“What do you mean? He’s notorious for being a stick in the mud when he chaperones the Hogsmeade trips. He won’t let us have any snowball fights, always wants to leave as soon as possible, and takes points for even the littlest joke. It’s like being monitored by a wet black blanket.”

 

You shrugged. “I’ve never really noticed it.”

 

“Given your tendency to wander off on your own, it’s not surprising that you wouldn’t be around to see it.”

 

“Yes, well, everyone’s got their own way of having fun. Perhaps the same applies to Professor Snape and Hogsmeade simply doesn’t fall into that particular category.”

 

“I guess…but that doesn’t mean he should ruin it for everyone else.”

 

“I’m sure that’s not his intent…” you trailed off.

 

“You say that now, just wait until you get there.”

 

***

 

“Afternoon Severus,” Professor McGonagall chirped.

 

“Afternoon,” Snape muttered, sluggishly dragging himself into his usual seat at the teachers’ table. 

 

“Is everything alright? You look positively drained.”

 

“I did not get much sleep,” he grumbled, sipping on a cup of coffee. 

 

Unfortunately for Snape, his “morning business” commenced quite literally at the crack of dawn. After his rounds concluded at 3 AM, he crashed into bed only to bitterly rouse a couple of hours later to receive and compartmentalize a large shipment of potion supplies. He skipped breakfast to acquire some much-needed slumber and he still wanted to crawl back into bed as he ate his lunch. His hair was a bit unkempt and ruffled from bedhead, but he didn’t care as his physical appearance wasn't a top priority to him.

 

“I must say you picked a fine weekend to accompany Miss L/N to Hogsmeade!” 

 

“And why is that?” Snape raised an eyebrow skeptically.

 

“You don’t remember? Well, I really shouldn’t be surprised. It has been a long time since a Hogsmeade weekend has been scheduled for the 1st.”

 

“What makes the date so special?”

 

“Perhaps you will understand once you see it for yourself,” she smiled knowingly.

 

Snape rolled his eyes at her purposeful attempt at being mysterious. “I insist that you spend less time around Dumbledore. Ambiguity doesn’t suit you.” However, her refusal to give him a straight answer did make him ponder. The 1st..the 1st… He had no idea what she could’ve been referring to. Truthfully, he only picked the date as a quota filler in order to get out of chaperoning the next Hogsmeade weekend that was closer to winter break. Whatever the two of you would encounter would be purely accidental. 

 

He’s dragging.

 

You had noticed the drowsy state of the potion’s master when he entered the Great Hall for lunch. His typical determined strides were slower and seemed heavier. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that Professor Snape was tired. Pair his movements with his bedhead as well as the slow pace he ate his meal and you have your answer. Snape was typically always the last to arrive for meals, but he was always the first to leave as well; today not being the case as he chewed at a snail’s pace, his head slightly resting against his hand. Meanwhile, you had already finished your lunch, even after slowing down your own pace. You wanted to leave the Great Hall, but you would feel guilty if his notice of your departure possibly inclined him to rush. It didn’t matter to you what time you went to Hogsmeade. Perhaps if you were discrete…?

 

You grabbed two large croissants from the middle of the table and gingerly slipped yourself out from your house table. You kept your movements slow so as to not draw attention to yourself and ambled out the exit. Though you couldn’t see behind you, you assumed you were successful having not felt the sensation of legilimency between your eyes.

 

As expected, the weather was terribly cold, the breezy air nipping at your fingers and making your hands feel quite stiff. You were once again wearing mostly black, with the exception being the dark gray ribbed turtleneck you wore beneath your coat. Instead of a scarf, you popped the collar of your coat under your hair upwards for extra coverage. As for your hands, a simple pair of knitted gloves that you kept balled in your coat pocket. It had not yet begun to snow, though there were incoming signs of its arrival. The thinnest layer of frost covered the stony ground of the courtyard, not enough to make you worry about slipping, but its presence was certainly enough to discourage anyone from running too fast. The sky was gray and overcast despite being the early afternoon when the sun should be at its brightest. Few leaves were left clinging to the trees as the majority of them had been swept away by autumn winds. The ones that did remain were thin and extremely flimsy, curling from early morning dew.

 

An hour had passed since you left the Great Hall. It took you maybe ten minutes at most to change into proper attire and the remainder of that time you spent meandering about the courtyard, tearing the large croissants into tiny pieces and feeding them to birds that were no bigger than your palms. They were wary of your tall figure, briskly hopping and skipping across the cobblestone ground, but embraced your presence with high-pitched peeping when presented with food. You sat down crisscrossed, allowing the more brave ones to pluck pieces directly from your cupped hand while tossing pieces with your other hand farther away for those more reluctant. They happily nibbled away at the bready food. A couple had gotten so bold they flew up and perched on the arches of your knees, their tiny talons lightly gripping into the fabric of your black pants. 

 

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of footsteps lightly scraping the stone ground that the birds scattered, ignoring the pieces you had tossed far away. The faint scent of lavender the light breeze carried towards you confirmed the owner of the footsteps. Standing up, you clapped your hands against each other, swiping off the remaining crumbs, and turned to face the brooding potion master.

 

Snape’s attire was more or less the same as the last Hogsmeade trips, except this time his scarf was also black. His hair had returned to normal, taking on its regular cascading wispiness having gotten the chance to comb it after lunch. Since he was closer now, you could see just how tired he truly was. It was in the eyes. They looked somewhat glazed over, the circumference of the white parts appearing more pink and bloodshot. Not to mention his slack-faced expression.

 

“All good?” you asked.

 

He ignored your question, his gaze flickering over to the flock of birds who were now picking at the pieces of croissant on the ground. 

 

“They’ll get greedy,” Snape muttered unamused.

 

On cue, the tiny birds hopped towards the two of you, taking an interest in the potential new source of food and congregating around Snape’s feet. They let out quiet but demanding peeps towards the dark figure that loomed above them. The sight was quite humorous, so much so that you had to turn around and cover your mouth with your hand. He shook his coat with a flourish, hoping the dramatic movement would startle the birds, and had some success; the majority of them flew away while a couple simply leaped back in surprise.

 

“Yes, well perhaps I should raise an army of them and take over the school.” You spoke over your shoulder chuckling as you began to walk out of the courtyard towards the path.

 

***

 

The walk was quiet. No words were exchanged so far as neither of you preferred to indulge in small talk. Additionally, you showed mercy on Professor Snape; your usual stride that nearly matched his on an average day was restrained, slowing down to a more relaxed pace and even then you remained ahead of him. It was a little off-putting. Despite your ability to rationalize the situation, you could feel yourself beginning to overthink.

 

He doesn’t seem very keen on going in his condition…but he did pick the date AND agreed to your proposed timing…and we’re already halfway there… Should I have offered to reschedule? Hush . You shook your head. If he wanted to reschedule he would have said something earlier. The plan is meant to accommodate his timing after all.

 

You fished the gloves out of your coat and stretched the material over your hands, clenching and unclenching your fingers as the wools slid snugly around them. Soft , you thought as you rubbed your gloved palms over the expanse of your slightly pinkened cheeks from the cold. After a minute or so, you brought your hands down in front of you, loosely balled into fists, and started to subtly drum. A specific song came to mind. Professor Lupin occasionally played records on an old gramophone during DADA lessons. Though you detested the genre, there was this one jazzy song that you did like. He told you it was called “Hot Liquorice.”

 

[A/N: “Hot Liquorice” is the song that plays during the boggart lesson in PoA. The link is at the top of the chapter if you want to listen.]

 

The way the brass and drums swelled together in the song made it so satisfying to drum to, your lips silently mouthing little “bups” and “baduhs.” You were so engrossed in your act of self-entertainment that you failed to realize that Professor Snape was now walking next to you nor did you recognize the faint tingling sensation between your eyes. You were three-quarters of the way through the song when you finally registered his presence after randomly looking to your left. Instantly, you turned your face away from him, using your hair and coat collar as a shield for your face, which was now pink from embarrassment, while your other hands shot down into your pockets. He had the same expression on his face the last time this happened. Snape pulled himself from your mind, sensing your sudden discomfort at his staring. It wasn’t his intent to make you feel so, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him.  

 

Snape was aware of how selfish his actions may seem. Using legilimency on students was highly inappropriate and against the rules unless he suspected cheating in class, not to mention a huge invasion of privacy. As a way to curb shame or guilt, he was strict with himself. With the exception of your recent detention, he never dug through your secrets or memories, only bearing witness to whatever you just happened to be thinking about. The second he suspected a thought or a memory to be embarrassing or deeply personal, he retracted himself. Otherwise, he greedily stuck around for whatever silly little visuals or daydreams your mind would conjure seemingly at random. In hindsight, it was a huge boundary that he was crossing, both professionally and ethically, but what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you. 

 

***

 

As the two of you approached Hogsmeade, the loud collective murmuring of crowds could be heard. High Street was packed with people who moved up and down the center; many pop-up tents and stalls that were stationed along the sidewalks. From what you could make out, there were people selling food, drinks, clothes, magical and non-magical trinkets, flowers, and more. 

 

A street market.

 

“Did…you know about this, sir?” you turned to Professor Snape, who was watching the event in front of him warily.

 

“Not entirely…” he trailed off.

 

He remembers now. The dreaded street market that annually celebrated the start of holiday festivities. Snape hadn’t visited in over a decade and for good reason. In his early years as a teacher, students constantly got lost in the sea of strangers, delaying the inevitable return to the castle. Other times they would drunkenly start fights with vendors or visitors not from the area, so much so that Dumbledore purposefully scheduled Hogsmeade weekends to avoid the 1st. Not to mention that he wasn’t particularly comfortable with large crowds and loud noise despite his intimidating presence.

 

Neither of you took another step forward, seemingly frozen in place as the two of you inspected the scene before you. You weren’t a fan of large crowds either, but at the same time, it was an opportunity to buy things you wouldn’t ordinarily be able to acquire during a regular Hogsmeade trip. 

 

“I imagine we’ll be split up for some time… Is there a specific location you’d like to meet at before we leave?”

 

“Three Broomsticks,” Snape said.

 

You nodded. “Well then…” Taking a deep breath you straightened up and walked toward the clamoring crowd of patrons. Snape stood in place, watching from a distance as you slowly disappeared into the depths of the busy market.

 

…

 

The crowds were not as bad as you anticipated. People made way for each other as many of them brought kids who had a tendency to wander off, wanting to keep them close. Rarely did you bump into anyone and when you did, they were polite about it. Your attire however did grace you with some peculiar looks. A majority of people were clad in bright colors, with many parents and kids dressed festive-colored scarves and sweaters. Your dark figure stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the ocean of green, reds, and blues. Despite the wavering stares, the vendors were very welcoming. You weren’t sure what to buy until you saw just how many food stalls there were. There was something you wanted to bake this year and you didn’t want to steal ingredients from the kitchen to do so. You scoured the stands, pleasantly surprised at the success you were having with some ingredients you’d normally had to purchase from grocery stores, specifically vanilla, and cinnamon. The others you purchased from produce and grain stands. Thankfully, you brought a large canvas bag with you charmed with a feather-light spell to carry everything. Though you had found what you needed, you continued to stroll through the crowd, observing the welcoming scenery. It was strange seeing so many families out. The kids ardently pointing at booths would likely be attending Hogwarts within a year or two. 

 

Wiggling out on one side, you stepped out of the crowds and onto the sidewalk. You noticed there was a large line leading out of Tomes and Scrolls, the windows display littered with the same book, and a cutout of a man with blonde, curly hair and a bright smile. You recognized his face from the last trip to Hogsmeade while looking through some books. A standing sign was placed next to the entrance of the bookstore.

 

Tomes and Scrolls Presents:

Gilderoy Lockhart 

~~~

Book signing 2:00-3:00 PM

Q/A 3:00-3:30 PM

Ah, a book signing event. That explains it.

 

You walked further down the street until you reached Honeydukes. It was just as busy inside but that was to be expected as it was always popular during the holidays, kids demanding their parents to buy them some sort of chocolate confection to munch on while they did their holiday shopping. The sweet smell was even more powerful than before. In the bakery section, a baker brought out a fresh tray of different types of cookies, practically hypnotizing many of the kids who brought their allowances with them to shove each other as they ran to the bakery display. The list of baked goods on the wall had changed, the options catering more to a holiday theme, but still offered the classics. You saw gingerbread, snickerdoodles, walnut cake, peppermint chip cookies, chocolate chip banana bread, cinnamon rolls, peppermint bark, sugar cookies shaped like stars and snowmen, and…s’more cookies?

 

Yes, please.

 

You stepped into the improvised line formed by the kids who chattered loudly with each other, exchanging pleasantries and bragging about what they bought (or their parents bought for them) while in Hogsmeade. They also demonstrated an extreme lack of spatial awareness as some of them kept bumping into you, but thankfully grew quieter after taking in your figure. The line moved rather slowly, the kids taking forever to decide what they wanted while calculating how much money their purchase would leave them with. Eventually, your turn came and you ordered 4 s’more cookies. You could feel their warmth through the to-go bag as they had come fresh out of the oven. They smelled heavenly and would pair perfectly with hot chocolate.

 

Exiting Honeydukes, you put the cookies in your canvas bag with your other items and checked your watch. An hour and a half had passed since arriving, which wasn’t bad at all. Well, you have everything you need. Maybe you should head over to Three Broomsticks and see if Professor Sna-

 

“ Oof!” 

 

Someone collided with you, knocking you onto your butt. Your gloves prevented your hands from getting scraped up, but it didn’t make the impact of the ground any more enjoyable.

 

“Oh my, I’m terribly sorry, Miss!” a man spoke. You looked up to see a figure in a fancy rose-gold suit, looking down at you. It was the blonde man from the window in the bookstore. He held a hand down to you which you begrudgingly accepted, helping you off the ground.

 

“It’s not a problem, Mr. Lockhart,” you responded flatly as you dusted yourself off.

 

“Ah, so you recognize me! Always nice to meet a fan of my work.” What was once vague concern now morphed into a smug grin. “Well, I do hope you are alright. It would be a shame to injure such a pretty woman.” He winked and kissed the top of your hand through the fabric of the glove.

 

Your brain malfunctioned for a split second attempting to register his words and actions. Though the gesture made you uncomfortable, your body betrayed your emotions after hearing him call you pretty, feeling a blush rise to your cheek as you weren’t used to such compliments. 

 

God, you’re pathetic.

 

“A bruised dignity perhaps, but I’m fine…” you murmured, averting your eyes and retracting your hand.

 

“Allow me to make it up to you, my dear! Come, I’ll buy you a drink.” Before you had the chance to respond, he linked his arm with yours and began leading you to Three Broomsticks. 

 

It was crowded inside, nearly every booth and table taken up by couples and families who needed a break from the street market. You took note of the jealous glares directed at you from multiple women around the room seeing you in the arms of the supposedly renowned wizard. He led you to the bar where he immediately ordered two glasses of firewhiskey. The bartender served your drinks swiftly. Lockhart raised his glass to yours, clinking them before taking a long drink. You held the glass towards you on the table. You didn’t get the opportunity to tell him you weren’t a drinker. 

 

“So Miss…?”

 

“Y/N.”

 

“What brings you to Hogsmeade, Y/N?” He asked, wearing his most charming grin.

 

“I was awarded a Hogsmeade weekend,” you replied.

 

“Oh, you’re from Hogwarts! I went to school there myself, I was a Ravenclaw.” Lockhart smirked proudly. “What do you teach?”

 

You chuckled wryly. “Aha…I seem to be getting that a lot. I’m actually not a teacher. I’m a 7th-year student. Slytherin,” you added.

 

“Really…” His eyebrows raised in surprise. “My, my. You certainly don’t look like a student.” He grinned, leaning forward in his seat. “And a Slytherin. If I had to guess I would’ve assumed you were a Hufflepuff. No Slytherin could have hair as beautiful as yours!” 

 

You pressed your lips together and clenched your jaw, attempting to stop another wave of heat from reaching your cheeks and ears. 

 

Not much was said from your end as Lockhart did not hesitate to share memories from his time at Hogwarts. He regaled you with stories from his later years as a student to the many supposed encounters he had with dark creatures. He boasted about his Order of Merlin, his membership in the Dark Force Defence League, and the many, many books he authored. His tone was in no way humble. It was clear that he was a very self-absorbed individual as he kept glancing at his reflection in his glass and fiddling with his hair. You did your best to remain attentive to his stories to be polite, but you quickly grew doubtful of his self-proclaimed achievements as you continued to listen. You had picked up on several discrepancies in his stories, most relating to Defense Against the Dark Arts and counter-curses. It was obvious Lockhart was only word-vomiting to impress you in addition to the random compliments he would sprinkle about between stories. However, you didn’t challenge his claims, not wanting to offend him. And he has been drinking after all. He was multiple glasses deep himself while yours remained untouched.

 

“I pity you, my dear.” He said slinging an arm around your back. His cheeks were thoroughly rosey and you could hear a subtle slur in his words. “It must be awful being stuck in those dreary dungeons all the time.”

 

You cringed as you did your best to tolerate the current situation. You could feel the warmth and smell of the alcohol in his breath. “Why?”

 

“Well for one, potions. Ugh, what a boring subject! Defense Against the Dark Arts is superior in every way.” He declared, raising his glass in the air. “Not to mention your head of house…I assume the dungeon bat still occupies that position?”

 

“...Professor Snape?” your eyebrows raised slightly.

 

“He was the potions teacher during my 7th year. Of course, he was only a couple of years older than me. Regardless…” he set his glass down on the table with the other empty ones, his blue eyes reflecting something new. “If I was your head of house, you would be much more satisfied . I’d make sure you never want to leave~” He smiled salaciously as the hand on your back moved up and started twirling a lock of your hair.

 

“W-Wha-...” you sputtered, floored by his words.

 

“You’re absolutely bewitching when you’re flustered, my dear,” he spoke lowly, leaning closer. “You know, I have a room in the Leaky Cauldron. Perhaps we can move this conversation there~”

 

The hairs on your neck raised and you felt indignation crackle in your chest. It took all your willpower to keep your expression from morphing into a disgusted scowl. Your fist clenched tightly down at your side. 

 

hit him hit him Hit him Hit Him HIT HIM HIT HIM-

 

“Perhaps, it would be best if you took your leave, Lockhart.” A deep voice interjected, making the both of you turn to find a very irate Professor Snape standing a mere foot away.

 

“Ah, Severus!” Lockhart slurred jubilantly, removing himself from you and slapping a palm against Snape's arm. “How have you been my good man?”

 

“Fine.” Snape gritted. “I believe those women would like your attention ,” he tilted his head, motioning for Lockhart to look behind him. Sure enough, in a booth were three very attractive women who were giggling and waving at him. Lockhart’s smile grew bigger as he got up from his barstool and teetered over to the opposite side of the room toward the women who happily greeted him. “Ladies!...”

 

“Narcissistic charlatan…” You pushed your still-full glass away from you.

 

Snape cocked an eyebrow at your remark.

 

“Not you. Him,” you clarified.

 

“I should hope so as I am very much inclined to agree with you.” he sneered, taking a seat where Lockhart had sat. The bartender came back and cleared away the empty glasses. Snape ordered himself a glass of firewhiskey. The bartender turned to you, noticing your untouched drink. “Is there anything else I can get you, Miss?”

 

“A hot chocolate. Please,” you murmured. With your wand, you accio’d the small bag of cookies from your large canvas bag onto the counter. You gave the bartender a galleon in return as he set the mug in front of you. You took a sip of your hot chocolate, and for the first time since stepping into the establishment this afternoon, you relaxed. In your peripheral, you saw Snape reach over to you, half expecting him to steal a cookie from your bag, but his hand instead slid the full drink of firewhiskey over to himself. It was obvious to him that you weren’t a drinker and that you accepted the drink out of courtesy.

 

“You seem disturbed,” he stated. “We could return to the castle if you wish.”

 

“I’m…” you rubbed the spot between your brows. “I’ll be fine. Enjoy your firewhiskey. I think I just need silence for now, if you don’t mind. I feel like my ears are about to fall off from all his yammering.”

 

Snape only grunted in response. Though your request hardly alleviated any of his concerns, he was happy to oblige. He also made no further attempts to peer into your mind as you had a rather introspective expression on your face. You both drank in silence, you staring into your mug between sips while Snape read the Daily Prophet. Periodically, he’d notice from the corner of his eye that your free hand would snake up to your scalp only to stop before making contact, ball into a fist, and slowly drop down to your lap. 

 

He had walked into Three Broomsticks just as Lockhart put his arm around you. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have let the man even be in the same room as you. Lockhart’s reputation of being a pompous, smarmy, sycophantic womanizer preceded him, at least in Snape’s personal experience with him. He saw the way Lockhart’s eyes subtly raked over you as if you were a piece of meat ready to offer yourself to him from mere flattery. When he looked into your mind upon seeing you at the bar, he was pleased to find you did not share the same sentiment. As much as he would’ve loved for Lockhart to get popped in the mouth, he couldn’t allow you or himself to make that wish a reality. Assault charges did not make a good holiday present after all. 

 

***

 

You blinked quickly coming out of your mixed trance of self-reflection and mild zoning out. You finished your hot chocolate and put your leftover cookies back into your bag. The watch on your wrist read 5:00. You’d been in Hogsmeade much longer than you expected. Snape had finished his drinks too. He also seemed to be looking off into the distance, but on closer inspection, you saw that his eyes were closed and his head rested upright in his hand as he leaned over the counter. Soft breaths could be heard coming from his nose. 

 

“Sir?”

 

He didn’t respond nor did he move in any way.

 

Oh, wow. He’s asleep. You went to pat him on the shoulder to wake him up but at the last second thought against it. Let him be.

 

“E-excuse me.” a tiny voice squeaked. You looked around you, trying to find the source of the voice. You angled your gaze down towards the ground behind your stool and saw a little girl who looked to be no older than 5 or 6.

 

“Um…can I help you?” What was a girl her age doing in a bar?

 

Her eyes grew watery as she fidgeted with her scarf in distress. Her bottom lip trembled as she attempted to pluck up the courage to speak her mind, but having no such luck. You slid off the stool and kneeled in front of her, taking her hands in your own. 

 

“What’s your name?” you asked softly.

 

The girl sniffled. “...Stella.”

 

“Stella,” you repeated back to her nodding in reassurance and offering a small smile. “I like your scarf.”

 

She averted her eyes shyly, looking down at her feet. “My mummy made it for me.” The tears she tried holding back slowly slid down her cheeks. “I can’t find her…”

 

Understanding washed over your face as you brought your gloved hand to her cheek and swiped away her tears with your thumb. “Did you lose your mom in the crowd, Stella?” 

 

She nodded meekly in response. 

 

“Don’t worry.” You gave her hands a little squeeze. “I’ll help you find her.” You slung your bag across your shoulder and guided her out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. 

 

…

 

It seemed even busier and colder outside than it was earlier this afternoon. You offered Stella to sit on your shoulders so that she would have a better view of the people that walked around. You started at one end of the market and began to walk through the sea of people.

 

“So Stella, what does your mother look like?”

 

She had stopped crying at this point and was able to respond to your questions clearly. “She has a green sweater and brown hair.”

 

Great, so half the people here.

 

“Why have you come to Hogsmeade?”

 

“It’s my first time here. My mummy said it’s magical and that I would love it.”

 

“Is your mom a witch?”

 

“Uh-huh, I will be too!” You smiled, hearing the shifting tone in her voice change from sadness to hope. 

 

“Well, I’m sure you will make a fantastic witch someday,” you declared.

 

You heard Stella giggle as her hands that rested on your head began to shift. You felt her move parts of your hair about as she played with it. “You have funny lines on your head.” She pressed her fingers along one of the scars that ran towards the crown of your head, making you involuntarily shudder. 

 

“Those are scars,” you replied.

 

“Do they hurt?” she asked, keeping her fingers on your scalp.

 

“No, but they do itch sometimes.”

 

“How’dya get them?”

 

“On Halloween I…” You were silent for a moment. “…I ate so much candy that my head exploded.”

 

She gasped. “I did that too!”

 

“Your head exploded?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Nuh-uh, my mouth did! And my stomach felt funny too…” 

 

You chuckled. “It sounds like you did in fact eat too much candy.”

 

“I was a fairy for Halloween!” Stella chirped.

 

“That’s nice. I didn’t dress up this year, but I saw some pretty cool costumes. A dragon, a zombie, Batman-”

 

“I see Batman right now!” she squealed. 

 

You blinked in confusion. Batman is a fictional character, obviously, and Halloween has long passed. “Are you sure you see Batman?”

 

“He’s behind us. Batman’s really tall and dark.” You felt her shift on your shoulders. “He’s staring,” she whispered.

 

Ah. “Batman.”

 

“Oh? Is Batman looking exceptionally grumpy today?” you smirked, speaking louder on purpose after feeling the tingling sensation between your eyes.

 

You felt her turn in place on your shoulders again to look behind you. “He’s frowning. Batman looks scary.”

 

“There’s no need to be afraid of Batman. He’s a superhero, remember?”

 

“How come he’s not happy?” Stella asked.

 

“I'm sure Batman is just tired. Even superheroes need a break from fighting crime every day. Batman works hard and probably came to enjoy the magic of Hogsmeade, just like you and your mom.” You patted her lower leg.

 

“Batman’s hair is strange. Yours is pretty.” She lightly ran her fingers down through your locks.

 

“Why, thank you, Stella.” You chimed gratefully in response. “I have to disagree with you though. I think Batman has pretty hair as well…” Your intentions were innocent, yet saying it aloud turned your ears pink which were fortunately covered by your loose hair. 

 

“MUMMY!” The girl shouted. She pointed towards one of the food stands. There was a short woman in a green sweater and dark hair frantically talking to a couple. She had a terribly worried expression on her face as she made hurried motions with her hands while talking, presumably describing her missing child. Her gaze snapped over to you as she heard Stella’s cry. Her eyes widened and a wave of relief crashed over her, seeing her child safe and sound. She ran to meet you halfway as you knelt and helped Stella climb off your shoulders.

 

“Oh Merlin, Stella! I’m so glad you’re alright!” She hugged Stella fiercely, peppering her head with kisses and rubbing circles onto her back. “I was so worried!”

 

“I found help just like you taught me, Mum,” you heard Stella’s muffled voice against her mother’s body.

 

“Oh, my dear…” she lifted her off the ground and into her arms, Stella gladly clinging to her mother's torso. She turned her attention to you. “I can’t thank you and your husband enough for finding her. I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.” 

 

Both you and Snape flinched. He quickly retracted from your mind milliseconds before you slapped a hand over your mouth, your face flushed red at the implication of her words. She thinks the two of you are together. Married. You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself stumbling over your incoherent thoughts.

 

“I’m—We’re not—I don’t have-”

 

“She was fine,” Snape’s deep voice drawled neutrally. Though he had been trailing a couple of yards behind you, he was now standing bit behind your shoulder as he slightly narrowed his eyes at the child who referred to him as a bat. Stella’s shoulders tensed under his gaze but still bravely met his challenging stare, remembering your words.

 

“No way! You married Batman?!” Stella gushed. 

“Okaywellhaveagoodday,” you spoke hurriedly in a strange mix of bashfulness and panic as you turned on your heel and briskly walked back the way you came, not bothering to say goodbye to the little girl you reunited with her mother. You cut through the crowd sideways, popping out onto the empty sidewalk and blowing out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It was not long before Snape followed suit and you felt him next to you. 

 

…

 

It was silent once again as the two of you walked up High Street and away from Hogsmeade. Even though you could see your own breath now, you were too warm. You slid your wand from your coat sleeve and put it in your waistband before shaking off your coat, folding it, and tucking it away in your bag. Folding your turtleneck collar down and pushing your sleeves up to your elbows, you embraced the icy air, pricking goosebumps on your skin. You watched as your breath puffed out in small billows.

 

“You’re not cold?” Snape spoke. 

 

“Nope.” Quite the opposite. You thumped your fingers against the side of your legs, working with the frigid weather to calm your nerves. You squinted off into the distance attempting to get your thoughts in order. Snape sensed your antsiness and dipped into your mind.

 

Good god, since when did you get so ruffled over something so inconsequential? It was an honest mistake. Probably because you’re both wearing black and he was standing so close. Married to Batman…

 

You shook your head and yanked off a glove, threading your fingers through the hair on the back of your head. The undercut was starting to become thicker, but definitely not thick enough to conceal the scar as it felt just as prevalent and rigid. Your fingers dug lightly, rubbing and scratching.

 

“Keep that up and you will further delay the healing process,” he chided.

 

Ignoring his forewarning, you brought your other hand to your scalp, running it along your temple towards the crown of your head. 

 

“Stop.” He reached over and firmly encompassed your hand with his, pulling it down and away from your head. Your eyes widened in surprise, your other hand halting before falling back down to your side. You could still sense him in your head, but you couldn’t stop the thought that was summoned to the front of your mind as his hand remained grasped over yours.

 

Warm.

 

Snape let go with such speed it was as though he had touched fire. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and turned his head away, his hair shielding his face. “And for Merlin’s sake keep your gloves on,” he grumbled. He loosened his scarf, his neck becoming a bit too heated for his liking. It’s the alcohol , he told himself. His hands shifted around in his pockets, gripping the inner lining tightly.

 

“Batman...” you murmured in a whisper as you slipped your gloves back on. A visual of Professor Snape in his usual attire with a Batman mask using spells to stop a bank robbery popped into your head, making you snort and cover your mouth to stifle a chuckle in your throat. His eyebrows quirked at the radical change in your demeanor.

 

He didn’t feel so cold either.

 

 

Notes:

Hello readers! I hope you enjoyed this update :v the next update may be a bit delayed. I'm once again in a position where I don't know whether to drop one chapter at a time or both chapters for 16 and 17 based on their content. Granted, I'm nearly done with all my finals so who knows maybe I'll have a creativity high and pump it out faster than I anticipate and it won't be delayed! Drink water and get some sleep, I hope the rest of ya'll have success with your last couple weeks of school!

I appreciate every comment posted so far, ya'll make me smile ;D

Chapter 16: Black Cats and Dungeon Bats

Summary:

A brewing session goes wrong and Professor Snape needs your help.

One last ingredient.

 

It was past midnight and Snape was beyond exhausted. Having the night off from rounds, he planned on going to bed much earlier than he typically did as a reward for getting through all the grading he did today. The universe’s cruel sense of timing bestowed upon him the task of brewing a potion requested by Professor McGonagall. She was like a second mother to him and more often than not found himself unable to say ‘no’ to her. In fairness, the resupply of this potion was a priority. Too many incidents in Transfigurations had resulted in students being unable to change back to normal due to a mix of miscast spells and blind self-confidence. This particular potion served as a hard reset, reverting any and all physical transformations cast within a six-hour period if or when certain counter-spells failed to do the job.

 

It was never like the potion master to rush the art of brewing. Any potion, regardless of difficulty level or batch size, he dedicated his utmost attention to, ensuring that every result was perfect by his standards. He prided himself on consistent results and always looked for new ways to improve even the smallest aspect of a potion. Potency, color, longevity, it didn’t matter. The perfectionist in him drove his hunger for results. 

 

And yet Snape found that side of him losing.

 

He wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep so badly. It aggravated him that he couldn’t enjoy the night off, so much so he could feel his focus starting to linger. The words in his personal potions book started shifting and doubling through his now bleary vision and in his hastiness, he made an uncharacteristic mistake that would cost him more than a proper night’s rest.

 

After one final slice of mandrake root, he added it to the cauldron only to be blasted with warm liquid and clouds of vapor. He broke out into a coughing fit, his lungs burning and his eyes tearing up. His vision became dark as the smoke had cleared and wafted away. He blinked. His eyes were open but all he could see was black. 

 

Something was weighing him down. 

 

He struggled and pushed up against the heavy layers that covered his head. It took a minute but he finally broke through whatever was on top of him, his eyes adjusting to the light again. He looked around the room and immediately knew something was wrong.

 

Why is everything so high up?  

 

He tried to stand up but found his extremities to be wobbly and unstable. When he did manage to push up successfully, his body fell back down and he caught himself on all fours. He found some stability in this position as if it was natural but highly unfamiliar at the same time. It was then that he finally looked down.

 

Snape was standing in a pile of his own clothes.

 

His hands were no longer hands and his skin was no longer pale. He didn't even have skin. Instead, it was fur as dark as the night. His hands had become paws, decorated with faded pink pads on the underside. His heartbeat pounded and his claws unsheathed, gripping desperately into the discarded clothes as he realized what he had become.

 

“Mrow.”

 

***

 

You were restless tonight. The cold dungeon air was comforting to sleep in, consistently prompting you to swaddle and cocoon yourself in your blankets and long pajamas at night. For whatever reason, you just couldn’t get comfortable. You tossed and turned in your bed for what felt like hours. No amount of zoning out or counting hippogriffs made you sleepy enough. Shouldn’t have eaten that chocolate frog before bed.

 

Fortunately for you, the rules at Hogwarts had loopholes. Students were not to be wandering around the halls past curfew, a rule enforced by staff who did nightly rounds. However, common rooms were considered safe areas. Each house had its own common room that neighbored the dorms, and while students were encouraged to go to bed at a reasonable hour, it didn’t necessarily prohibit anyone from sleeping or lounging about the common room in the wee hours of the night.

 

You grabbed a book and a large pillow from your room and padded into the empty common room. With a wave of your wand, you lit a fire in the hearthplace. You pushed the nearest couch into a new position so you had a view of the dorm hallway and the entrance to the common room. The fire felt toasty on your face as you huddled into the corner cushion, clutching the pillow to your torso and under your chin while your other hand held the book.

 

…

 

Scritch scritch scritch

 

Your eyes stopped trailing on the pages, pausing to look up from your book. It was silent in the common room as you slowly gazed around, the only sound being the soft crackling of the fire next to you. Must’ve been a rat in the wall.

 

But your initial assumption was met with more insistent scratching as well as a low muffled noise. You set your book down and stood from the couch, listening for the sounds. Your ears pricked when you heard an animalistic yowl coming from outside the common room. Slowly pacing to the door, you listened to the noises as they got stronger.

 

That’s odd. It sounds like…a cat?

 

There were only two cats you knew of that existed in the castle; Professor McGonagall’s animagus form and Mrs. Norris, though McGonagall had no business in the Slytherin common room. If she did, she would’ve transformed back to let herself in. On the other hand, you never saw Mrs. Norris unaccompanied by Filch before, but he did live in the dungeons with the rest of Slytherin. Perhaps Filch accidentally locked her out of his office? 

 

You opened the door. 

 

“Mrs. Norris what are you doing he-”

 

The cat scrambled into the common room, gripping the material of a nearby rug. Its ears flattened down like airplane wings and its fur puffed up in a mix of fear and agitation. The tips of its fangs just barely prodded past its upper jaw. It growled at you from its spot.

 

You blinked, confused. “You aren’t Mrs. Norris…” This cat had sleek black fur that was shorter and its eyes were greenish-yellow with large pupils. The tufts of fur around the cat's head and tail were just a bit longer than the rest of the fur on its body. The cat seemed to calm down a bit after taking a longer look at you, though its demeanor remained guarded as its tail flopped about the ground rapidly.

 

Slowly, you walked towards the cat, only stopping when it let out a guttural growl. It was clearly already spooked and you had no intention of stressing it more. You lowered yourself down to the ground, sitting in a crisscrossed position, facing the cat. You moved your arm to draw your wand only to be met with fierce hissing from the cat. 

 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to touch you. I’m just reaching for my wand.”

 

You maintained eye contact with the cat as you reached up your sleeve and pulled your wand out. “Lumos.”  You pointed the tip of your glowing wand at the cat. Its pupils dilated to slits as you moved your wand a bit lower. From what you could see there was no collar around its neck. Strange…is it not a pet?

 

“I’ve never seen you in the castle before. You’re very cute,” you smiled.

 

The cat narrowed its eyes and let out a disapproving noise from its throat. It began to pace around in front of you in an ushered manner. Its steps were wobbly as if it were learning how to walk for the first time.

 

“You’re rather uncoordinated for a cat. How did you even get down here?” The cat simply hissed in response as it continued to move about. It kept walking back and forth between you and the door.

 

“Well it was nice to meet you, but I should be going back to bed now.” With a wave of your wand, you doused the fire and walked back to your dorm room. You opened your door and before you could take a step in yourself, the cat rushed in next to you. It meowed, circling about the room as you set your book down on your desk. “You can’t sleep in here, kitty. I don’t know where you’ve been and I can’t have you pissing on my blankets while I’m asleep.” You stood by the door, holding it open so the cat could leave, but it made no movement towards you. Instead, its meowing got louder and more erratic.

 

“Shhh! You’ll wake up the others,” you shushed. That cat obliged and stopped meowing and took a couple of steps toward you. You narrowed your own eyes this time. 

 

“...Can you understand me?” The cat gave a softer but no less hoarse ‘meow’ in response. You calmly raised your wand and aimed it at the cat. The cat’s ears flattened a bit in response but held its ground. “Are you an animagus?” The cat hissed and let out another rumbling growl. No. If it was an animagus, it would’ve transformed back already…right?

 

You grabbed a piece of paper and pen from off your desk and started to write. Along with the words yes and no, you wrote the alphabet, arranging the letters into a formation similar to that of a Ouija board. You kneeled in front of the cat, placing the piece of paper on the ground and touching the illuminated tip of your wand to it.

 

“I’ll ask again. Are you an animagus?” 

 

The cat sniffed the paper and with an unsteady paw, pressed it on top of the word no.

 

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “So you can understand me…and can read…somehow. What is your name?” This time you dragged the tip of your wand across the letters starting with ‘A’. The cat didn’t meow again until you got to ‘S’.

 

“S” you repeated. You kept going, starting back at ‘A’ after you had reached ‘Z’.

 

“N”

 

“A”

 

“P”

 

“E… Snape.”

 

You slowly tilted your head up towards the cat, eyes widened in disbelief. The cat matched your gaze, its tail flickering quickly. 

 

“Professor…?” you breathed out. The cat meowed back affirmatively in response. You shot up, slapping a hand over your mouth. Snape started to pace the room again, meowing in quick successions as you struggled to grasp the situation you were in. So many emotions swirled in your head; curiosity, bewilderment, nervousness…you had several questions.

 

“Wha-..How are you a…why-” He cut you off with a hiss when you started to ramble. He scurried over to the doorway and walked back and forth between it, trying to get his message across. When you didn’t follow him, he walked up behind you and swiped at your legs, making you step forward.

 

“What the-... You want me to follow you?” He meowed back, confirming your guess and trotted out of your room. You snatched the outer robe layer off your desk chair and shrugged it over your top half. 

 

“This is so weird. So very, very weird.”

 

***

 

The walk down to the potions classroom was successful in that neither of you were spotted by Filch who performed rounds on the lower floors of the castle. It didn’t take long for you to realize that’s where Snape was leading you. You didn’t show it but it was quite humorous seeing Snape struggling to move as a cat. His movements were a bit uncertain, obviously not used to traversing on all fours and occasionally he stumbled. Thankfully, he had left the door to his classroom and his office unlocked and the two of you were able to walk right in.

 

As you both entered his office, the first thing you noticed was the mess on his personal potion station. The spoiled potion dripped from the edge of the table as a pool had accumulated on the surface. A pile of clothes, presumably his robes, lay on the ground nearby along with his black wand. He padded over to the chair, hopping atop it, and climbed onto the table, and sat, waiting for you. Your nose wrinkled at the weird-smelling potion that leaked from the cauldron. With a wave of your wand, you cleaned up the mess and looked at the open potions book.

 

“A Transfiguration potion?” 

 

The text on the page had several markings and notes scrawled along the margins, a majority of them noting alternative brewing instructions and ingredient substitutions for more substantial results. The description of the potion itself was fairly brief. It detailed how the potion intends to reverse the effects of strong transfiguration spells on humans. Yet, here was in front of you in the form of a cat. 

 

You frowned and looked up from the book. He sat on the corner of the desk observing you with wide eyes. He had calmed down significantly, but you could tell he was still on edge, the tip of his tail twitching and his ears slightly splayed. Understanding morphed on your face. He had messed up a brew and somehow wound up as a cat, and the fact that he hadn’t transformed himself back meant that he was unable to use magic in his current form. 

 

“Okay…” you blew out a breath and ran a hand through your hair. “Hop off, I’d like to try something.”

 

Snape obliged and leapt off the table and sat next to his pile of clothes. You drew your wand from your sleeve and aimed it at him. Your other hand rose to your face, covering your eyes.

 

“I’m going to cast a spell or two on you. If it works just…say something.”

 

Snape braced himself as you flicked your wand in the air.

 

“Reparifarge.” 

 

You felt the spell leave your wand and heard a low whooshing noise as it made an impact with Professor Snape. However, the following seconds were completely silent.

 

“...Professor? Did it work?” Hesitantly, you peeked through your fingers and saw that he sat in the same place, still as a cat. He gave an agitated meow in response.

 

“Corpus revelio.” You watched the spell hit him and still nothing. Sighing, you walked back over to the potion table and grabbed the potions book.

 

 “Looks like I’m doing some late-night brewing.”

 

…

 

Snape hovered around you pacing in a paranoid manner on top of the potion table as he watched you meticulously prepare each ingredient. He had every right to be anxious. You were using his ingredients for a potion that he would inevitably have to drink if he wanted to return to normal. Every so often he would pap your arm and press his paw onto a little note in the book that referenced ingredient preparation, and every time you’d shoo at him replying with “I know, sir I saw” or “I got it don’t worry.” The potion was not difficult to make whatsoever. It made you wonder how Professor Snape managed to screw it up. Then again, everyone makes mistakes, so you didn’t poke at him for it and he was definitely in no mood to be made fun of. He grew increasingly wary as you got to the last step, the same step that resulted in his feline transformation. Sensing his worry, you slowed down your movements in case he needed to stop you. Snape watched as you picked up the potion knife and cut 3 inches of mandrake root. Glancing at the potion book, he internally facepalmed and cursed himself in his head, realizing his mistake. He read it as 8 inches.

 

“Well, here goes nothin’.” 

 

Adding in the mandrake root, the potion lightly puffed yellow smoke from the cauldron. The liquid had a light shimmer to it and smelled much better than Snape’s failed attempt. “Does this look alright?”

 

Snape lightly sniffed the edge of the cauldron, rising on his hind legs as he inspected your brew. He let out an approving meow and went to stick his head into it and drink.

 

“Woah woah, hey! Don’t do that you’ll burn your tongue!” You grabbed him by the scruff and lightly tugged him away from the cauldron. “At least wait for it to cool down. I’ll put it in a bowl and you can drink it from there.” You moved the cauldron off its rack and carried it into the kitchen. Though you’d been in his office before, you had never seen the kitchen. It was small of course as it only accommodated the one man living here. You opened the only cupboard and found a couple of dishes. On the lowest shelf was a wooden bowl, big enough to hold the contents of the cauldron. You cast a cooling charm on the bowl to bring the temperature of the potion down without accidentally changing the composition of the potion itself. Snape trilled impatiently and paced around the floor as you returned from the kitchen. Barely touching the bowl to the floor, you watched as he practically dove towards it and began to eagerly lap up the liquid.

 

“Slow down, we wouldn’t want you to accidentally spill it and have it go to waste now would we?” You scolded to which Snape gave a subtle, rumbly growl, but nevertheless slowed down. If he were human, he’d get it over with quickly and chug it all down in one take, but it took him quite a while to finish the potion in his current form. He pressed his paw down on the edge to tip the last few drops in his direction before letting it fall back with a quiet clatter.

 

You brought your hands up to your face, ready to cover your eyes, expecting a nude Professor Snape any second now. The two of you stared at each other and waited

 

…and waited…

 

…and waited…

 

Nothing happened.

 

“I made it correctly, didn’t I?” you eventually asked, confused. Snape meowed back in agreement.

 

“So then why isn’t this working…” you muttered, raking your eyes over the potion instructions. You scanned each line, triple-checking preparation methods, ingredient quantities, temperature, and stirring increments. You had done everything right. It wasn’t until your eyes snagged on a teeny tiny sentence toward the bottom right-hand corner of the page. Your breath caught in your throat and your shoulders tensed as you prepared to share your findings with Professor Snape.

 

“Sir…” you started, turning to face him. He looked at you curiously as you lowered yourself down to his level. “The potion…I brewed it properly but…it takes 24 hours for it to work.”

 

Snape’s eyes widened at your proclamation and he too read the book you had placed in front of him so he could see for himself. His pupils dilated as they honed in on the same sentence you had read. He let out a series of loud distressed yowls as he frantically paced about the office. His claws unsheathed and scratched lightly against the stone floor and his movements started to once again become sloppy and uncoordinated from frustration.

 

“What are you going to do? You have classes tomorrow! How are you going to teach?”

 

Snape ceased his turbulent prowling and perked his head up as if having a eureka moment. He trotted past you and started pawing at a cupboard by the potion table that was lower to the ground. 

 

“Is there something in there that will help you?”

 

You opened the door for him and stuck his head inside. You heard the sounds of bottles clinking together as his head poked and prodded around, sniffing the cork stoppers. He gingerly opened his jaw and grabbed the top of a large bottle that contained bright green liquid inside with his teeth. He set the bottle down on its side, the label facing up to you.

 

“Polyjuice?” you cocked an eyebrow. “That won’t work on you Professor, not with the transfiguration potion now in your system.”

 

He only blinked back in response before using his paw to roll the potion toward you, stopping a couple of inches in front of you. The silence between the two of you was deafening as your brain struggled to comprehend what he was trying to tell you. 

 

And then it clicked. It was for you. He wanted you to be him.

 

“No…” you rebuked. “No, no, abso- fucking -lutely not!” 

 

Snape hissed back at you in disapproval of your language and your unwillingness to cooperate. An agitated growl began to build in his throat as this time you began to pace around the office in distress. “I am not doing that, sir. The idea is pure lunacy! We need to get another teacher- McGonagall! She’s the Transfiguration teacher, she can help you. She’ll have a better solution, better spells! Maybe she can change you back and you won’t have to wait for the potion to start working.”

 

He only growled back at you and started to insistently nudge the bottle of Polyjuice further in your direction.

 

“I’m going to get Professor McGonagall,” you said resolutely and began to stride towards the exit, but your journey was cut short by Professor Snape who galloped across the room and stood in front of the door. His back was arched and his fur was standing on end as he let out a string of loud, ferocious hisses and growls. His tail was poofed and his black pupils had grown to the size of dinner plates, barely leaving any yellow-green color.

 

“Professor, you are being unreasonable. We have to get Professor McGonagall! I cannot teach your classes for you. In case you forgot I’ve got my own classes to go to. And besides, if McGonagall can’t help I’m sure someone else will substitute for you.” 

 

You went to take another step toward the door, but Snape lashed out at your legs, his claws nearly catching into the fabric of your pajamas. He was growling much louder this time and his ears flattened all the way back.

 

“My god, you won’t even accept help from a teacher? Sir, with all due respect, you need to put your ego aside. Is it amusing that you’re a cat? Yeah, just a smidge, but you need to let me get you proper help. McGonagall isn’t going to judge you or make fun of you for a simple accident. She would want to know if you’re incapacitated. She’s a fellow staff member whom I’m sure respects you greatly. Now, please move. I don’t have the heart to use any non consensual magic on you and I wouldn’t want to resort to anything both of us may regret. I want to help you, truly I do, but this isn’t the way to go about it.”

 

But he didn’t back down. He kept still in the same position, lowering himself a little bit. His puffed-up tail curled and flipped in the air and there was a slight wiggle in his hind quarters as he prepared his next attempt to stop you. You met his challenging stare, keeping your eyes trained on his. All you needed was to reach the door handle and yank it open. You slowly stretched your arm out in front of you, eliciting another rumbling yowl from Snape.

 

“Sir…” You gave him a warning look when he didn’t budge.

 

Suddenly, you lunged forward, hoping that your attempt to leave would be faster than he could react, but his (literal) cat-like reflexes beat you to the punch. Just as you touched the handle, Snape had already lept up into the air and sunk all of his sharp claws into your arm through the sleeves of your robe and pajamas. He bit down on your hand, using his front claws to hang on to you while simultaneously raking his back claws along the length of your forearm.

 

“OW!” You yelped and harshly shook him off of your limb. “Fucking devil spawn cat—FINE!” 

 

Gripping your wrist, you turned on your heel and stormed across the office toward his bedroom. You didn’t stop for a moment to inspect his room decor and headed straight toward the bathroom, locking it behind you. You rummaged through the cupboard under his sink and found a muggle first aid kit. Sitting on the floor, you unclasped the kit and shuffled the items around inside, finding basic disinfectants, bandages of different sizes and variations, needles and thread thimbles for sutures, a gel ice pack, and some petroleum jelly. There wasn’t much you could do about the bite marks and your main concern was the scratches; they were deep and ran down from your wrist nearly reaching the crook of your elbow. The skin around the scratches glowed an angry red and dribbles of blood peaked at the surface. You sprayed the disinfectant on the scratches and bites, hissing at the stinging sensation that followed. The petroleum jelly helped stop the bleeding and soothed the skin, creating a thin but durable layer between the skin and the cloth bandage that you wrapped around your forearm. For the bites, a small dab of the jelly and two tiny square patches. 

 

Flinging open the bathroom door you caught sight of Snape’s cat form scrambling away and out of the bedroom; he had been guiltily waiting on the other side. He didn’t mean to hurt you, but he couldn’t let you tell a staff member. He knew that you meant well, that you spoke truthfully about his colleagues, but he just…couldn’t. He had spent so long carefully crafting his image; wanting to be respected. The last thing he desired was to look or feel silly. It was all he knew. The abuse, the bullying, the constant not-so-subtle snide remarks from students. He couldn’t handle the idea of being vulnerable or showing vulnerability to anyone. With you, he could threaten detention or some punishment of the like to keep you quiet, but he couldn’t do that with teachers. He’d be the butt of a joke, a scapegoat for their amusement. You were right about him and his big ego…

 

Re-entering the main room, you refused to look at the black cat who stared at you from a distance, still somewhat guarding the door, though not as closely. You picked up the Polyjuice along with Snape’s wand and glanced at the clock on the wall. Knowing Snape, you’d likely have to get up earlier than you’re used to to get ready for classes and whatnot. You let out a defeated sigh, accepting your fate for the next 24 hours.

 

“I s’pose you won’t even let me return to my room for the night because you don’t trust me enough not to go running to McGonagall,” you spoke contemptuously.

 

He let out a raspy meow, his throat a little overworked from all the yowling and hissing he had done tonight.

 

“Of course…” you muttered. 

 

Snape got up from his spot by the door and walked past you towards the bedroom. He paused when he saw that you weren’t following him. He trotted behind you again and raised his paw to pap at your legs, but you flinched and stepped away, expecting him to scratch you again. He rolled his eyes and this time firmly bonked the top of his head against your shin, pushing you towards the bedroom. You understood what he was getting at and didn’t resist. As much as you didn’t want to sleep in his bed, it was a better alternative than the couch and you’d need to be as comfortable as possible to catch what little sleep you could.

 

His bedroom had a very dark ambiance, even with the candle lamps lit. Every inch of the large bed was nearly pitch black; black sheets, black covers, black pillowcases. There were no decorations on the wall other than wall lamps and dark curtains that mostly obscured a set of windows. There was a single bookshelf in the corner and a large wardrobe closet with sets of drawers on the bottom that sat opposite of the bed. Begrudgingly, you peeled away the layers of comforter and sheets and slid onto the mattress. It was really comfortable, like being cradled by a dark storm cloud. God, no wonder he shows up to breakfast late on weekends. Not long after you felt a light dip towards the end of the bed as a pair of eyes gleamed back at you in the darkness. Snape had hopped up onto the bed and kneaded his paws against the covers as if it were dough, his feline instincts taking over for the moment. You plopped your head back against the pillow and closed your eyes, feeling him curl up near your feet.

 

“I hope you get fleas.”

 

Notes:

I'm done with my finals! I hope you all have a lovely start to your summer!

Chapter 17: A Walk in His Shoes

Summary:

You take Snape's place for the day. Will you be caught?

You slowly stirred awake, screwing your eyes shut just as you had opened them. A sliver of light through the curtains had shone directly on your face, waking you from your comfortable slumber. You briefly startled yourself when you took in your surroundings before you remembered the events of last night and what you had to do today. The clock on the nightstand read 6:30. Quietly groaning, you cautiously withdrew yourself from the covers and padded out of bed. Snape remained in the same spot he had settled in last night, sleeping peacefully with his paws and tail covering his face. It was quite chilly in the potion master’s bedroom; never before had you been jealous of a cat for having fur. Opening the wardrobe, you were hardly surprised at the dark color palette of clothes that hung in front of you, the only articles of clothing standing out being the white undershirt he wore underneath all the layers of darkness. Below the hung clothes were multiple boots, shoes and a couple of belts. The drawers held pairs of undergarments, socks, folded pants, and his cloaks. You grabbed a pair of each along with a cloak, a white undershirt, a frock coat, a belt, boots, and the Polyjuice potion on the nightstand before going into the bathroom to change. 

 

Stripping yourself out of your pajamas, you started changing into Professor Snape’s clothes. You did your best not to look down too much. Though you hadn’t drunk the potion yet, you weren’t exactly keen on seeing yourself clad in a pair of the potion master's boxers. It took you what felt like forever to do up the buttons on the undershirt and frock coat. The more clothes you put on, the heavier you felt. You were drowning in black material with the addition of the cloak on your shoulders. Yup, they still smell like lavender. You looked quite silly in the reflection of the mirror, the layers hanging loosely on your body and your hands mostly hidden by the length of the coat sleeves. 

 

You uncorked the Polyjuice and picked up the comb that sat on the countertop. A couple of long black hairs lay tangled between its teeth. You picked them out of the comb and inserted them down into the bottle, watching them dissolve and fizzle into the potion upon touching the liquid. 

 

You can do this. It’s just a day. Stay in character and get it over with.  

 

Taking a deep breath, you brought the potion to your lips and took a sip. You gagged a bit as the foul tasting substance slid down your throat. You closed your eyes, braced yourself against the counter and waited. A moment passed before you felt yourself shoot up a couple inches. Your clothes began to fill out as your shoulders, torso, and limbs broadened and gained mass. The once ill-fitting boots felt just right on your feet. Your scalp started to tingle as your hair retracted in length and your scars smoothed out into healthy skin. You waited for the slight throbbing sensations in your body and face to subside before opening your eyes.

 

There he was, staring back at you in the mirror as if he had never transformed into a cat. It was almost impossible to make eye contact with yourself, your now onyx eyes piercing straight back at you. It was surreal . You inspected your hands, flipping them over. They were slightly calloused on his upper palms from years of potion making. You leaned closer to the mirror and raised your hands into your hair, feeling the inky tendrils that curtained your face in layered outward flicks and reached the tops of your shoulders.

 

Soft.

 

Contrary to what students claim, his hair didn’t feel greasy at all, but how it maintained a lustrous sheen, you didn’t know. Good genes I guess. Your hands lowered and you flinched when you touched his...your face. Feeling yourself doing it but seeing him in the mirror was throwing off your senses. Your fingers traced along the sides of your face and forehead. He had a deep set crevice between his brows and under his eyes, likely from constant frowning, but his lips had a unique curve to them with contours in the corners that made them appear more downturned. Doing one final inspection, you messed with your hair a bit to give it that signature wispiness Snape’s hair usually had during the day before departing the bathroom.

 

…

 

Snape trotted around his office in a panic when he woke up to find you missing from his bed. His mind was reeling. Had you gone to tell Professor McGonagall what had happened while he was asleep? Who else would find out? What would he do? How could he get out of this? 

 

His ears perked up at the sound of a door opening with a light creak. Quiet footsteps sounded from the bedroom and before he could decipher what was causing the noise, there you stood in the doorway.

 

You looked exactly like him. You carried yourself in a prideful manner, shoulders back with your hands clasped behind your back underneath the cloak. A deadpan but slightly frowning expression rested upon your face. Not a single thread of clothing was out of place as you had dressed yourself in the thick layers. You even had his walk down, his steps appearing more heavy when he wasn’t striding down the halls at an extraordinary speed. 

 

“Morning,” you drawled in his baritone voice. 

 

Snape trilled anxiously as you stepped into the center of the room. He walked around you in a circle, looking at you up and down, trying to find any error in your appearance that would give away the act. When he was satisfied, he retreated into the bedroom and came back out with his black wand in his jaws, dropping it at your feet with a clatter. You picked up the wand and slid it into your waistband before pacing over to his potion station. Rifling through one of the cupboards, you found a flask and transferred the rest of the Polyjuice into it and tucked it into your coat pocket. Snape trailed closely behind you assessing your every movement with a mix of concern and interest as you moved about the office. Using his stove and kettle, you brewed a half cup of tea and poured it into the small bowl you had used last night and set it on the ground near the couch. 

 

“As I do not know how to summon a house elf, I’ll be attending your meals in person and will bring back food for you,” you stated. “I’ve left the bathroom door open should you need to…do your business."

 

You found the class plans for the day on Snape’s desk and settled down on the couch as he began to sniff and drink the tea. You had another ten minutes or so to kill before you would need to show up to the Great Hall. You could’ve left then and arrived with the other teachers, but you planned on embracing and mimicking his characteristics down to every breath he took, including showing up late to breakfast. The schedule for today wasn’t ideal. It was one of his busier days, but fortunately, none of the classes were for 7th years, which meant you already knew the material and wouldn’t have to wing the lectures. 

 

Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t he have gone to Filch or Madame Pomfrey? How do you keep ending up in these predicaments with him? Does the universe have some sort of vendetta against you? If it was anyone else in the common room last night, you wouldn’t be in this situation. It’s not trust. Anyone could make that potion, not just you…

 

***

 

You maintained your long-legged stride during the walk to breakfast, bored and impassive, changing your expression to scowl or sneer at a student who looked at you the wrong way. Most students knew better than to get in Professor Snape’s way, the majority of them side-stepping out of your path to avoid irritating you. It was clearly out of fear, and yet you almost felt like royalty. The Great Hall was packed, the room filled with a cacophony of breakfast chatter and silverware lightly tapping against plates. The Slytherin prefects greeted you as you passed by the house table to which you only returned a slight nod. You took a seat in the empty chair next to McGonagall, briefly exchanging pleasantries before shifting your focus on consuming your breakfast. The less you managed to talk, the better the situation would be for you.

 

“Oh, Severus, I’ve been meaning to ask. How was your visit to Hogsmeade with Miss L/N last weekend?"

 

“It was fine, rather uneventful,” you gruffed.

 

“Really? Even with the street market?” 

 

“Even so.”

 

“Well, I know you aren’t one for crowds, but I hope Miss L/N was able to enjoy herself."

 

“...I suppose she did, though we didn’t speak much.”

 

“Yes, that girl is awfully quiet, but I suppose it’s nothing to fret over.” 

 

You said nothing in response.

 

“Severus…might you be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays this year?” McGonagall asked hesitantly.

 

Zero impact answers.

 

“It’s…not something I have given much thought to.”

 

“I do hope you change your mind this year. I’m aware you do not have the best history with Remus and his friends, but I don’t wish for his plans to deter you from spending time with us. The holidays can be quite melancholic when one is alone.” 

 

What is she talking about? What does Professor Lupin suddenly have to do with the holidays?

 

“I’ll think about it,” you muttered, compiling a separate plate of food to take back to Professor Snape.

 

***

 

The clock ticked away as you finished setting up for Snape’s first class today. You had five classes total to teach with the last being a Double Potions class. You forged notes to your other teachers, excusing your absence from classes today under the guise that you were sick. Just as the first years filed into the classroom, you cracked the door to Snape’s office so he could hear the instruction for himself without being seen by students. 

 

You were unsure how this first class would go. 1st years were one of the more irritating sets of pupils he dealt with and you didn’t want to be overly mean toward or critical of them while impersonating the potion master, but it had to be done should they fail to behave properly. The most noticeable thing about this set of students was how many of them could barely stand to look you in the eyes when answering a question. It was as if they’d turn to stone if they held eye contact for more than a second, most opting to look down at their desk or avert their gaze off to the side. Though you understood what they said, you detected a shakiness or mumble in voices of those less confident. You took and awarded points when appropriate and of course, in the typical Snape-manner, avoided giving any points to Gryffindor whatsoever. There were no incidents in today’s 1st year class, unlike Snape’s previously described experience, although you did resort to scolding and whacking two boys on the back of the head with the open face of a book when they played with their potion ingredients, putting themselves behind in progress.

 

The 2nd, 3rd, and 5th years were not so bad. The younger students were respectful and kept their stations tidy, not wanting to get yelled at by the easily irritated professor. The 3rd years, in your opinion, were the best class. They were still young and susceptible to their fears of the potion master, keeping them in line during the brewing portions of class. However, they were also safe from the pressures of the O.W.L exams, which took away some of the anxiety when it came to answering questions during lectures. You did not show any mercy on the 5th years, especially since Will, Arin, Ramona, Daisy, and Grace were present. In fact, you made it a point to specifically target them in class to evaluate the progress they’ve made in your consistent tutoring sessions. Obviously you didn’t show it, but you were brimming with pride on the inside at their improvement.

 

Your problems laid with the Double Potions class you had with the 4th-years. There were many choice words you could’ve used to describe them that Professor Snape would surely disapprove of, so to put it mildly, they were arrogant, hedonistic, brats. The lot of them saw themselves as hot stuff, having gotten used to Professor Snape's so-called “unappealing personality” while being safe from O.W.Ls and were therefore more bold with their goofing off and downright dismissal of your teachings. 

 

“Turn to page 113 and start brewing,” you concluded the lecture for the Aging Potion and took a seat at Snape’s desk and started grading 1st year essays. 

 

For the next 20 minutes or so it was relatively quiet besides the sound of bubbling cauldrons and ingredient preparation. Ever so often your eyes would flick up and scan the room to make sure no one was messing around. Occasionally, a student would raise their hand and ask you to inspect their progress or finished potion. You’d circulate the room and check in on everyone else after doing so. There were some adequate potions, but the rest weren’t anything to write home about. You wrinkled your noses at the foul smelling cauldrons that sat upon many student’s stations. 

 

There was one specific pair of partners in the back who finished their potion, but hadn’t yet called you over. They were whispering to each other and giggling, one of them holding a spoon as if ready to bottle it. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion from across the room and kept your focus trained on them. They both seemed to relent from whatever conversation they were having and not-so-subtly scooped a bit of potion with the spoon and quickly swallowed it.

 

Imbeciles.

 

Already knowing what was about to happen you strode into the storage and grabbed a small vial of Shrinking Solution and kept it behind your back.

 

The boys who had consumed the Aging Potion shouted in panic as they had now grown scruffy gray beards, bushy eyebrows and frizzy hair. They frantically patted their heads, realizing that they now donned the features of an old man.

 

“You said-”

 

“ You said-”

 

The two of them pushed each other and started wrestling on the ground. It did not take much time for the other students to notice and began egging them on as they fought.

 

“ You two!” you bellowed, approaching the back of the classroom. “Cease this petty quarreling immediately!”

 

The two boys bitterly let go of each other and instantly tried covering their asses.

 

“He messed up the potion Professor-”

 

“No, you cut the newt spleen wrong-”

 

“Silence! Don’t think I didn’t see you two scheming back here. It doesn’t matter who did what, you both drank an untested, and clearly, disgraceful potion. 30 points from Ravenclaw and detention tomorrow night.”

 

The two boys looked away sheepishly. “...How long will we be like this?”

 

“A couple of years,” you lied, watching the blood drain from their faces in horror, “...that is, unless, you drink this.” You produced the vial of Shrinking Solution from behind your back. They tried to grab it from you, but you pulled back, holding it away from them.

 

“And what makes you think you are so deserving?” you questioned in a mocking tone.

 

“Please, sir!” they begged. “We’re sorry, we won’t do it again! We’ll even sit up front from now on. Forgive us! Turn us back!”

 

You pretended to think about it for a moment or two, relishing in their pathetic pleading, before ultimately giving them the liquid which they ravenously consumed.

 

…

 

Snape was lying on the couch when you entered his office in the evening. He remained asleep, dead to the sound of his office door opening and closing. Flicking his wand, you lit a fire in the fireplace. The previously eaten plates of food were swapped with his dinner as you picked them up and cleaned them in the kitchen and made a cup of tea for yourself. The desk in his office was now buried in a sea of parchment scrolls, having taken the time to move them into his office between classes. The weariness in your shoulders was heavy. You were exhausted, your steps faltering as you paced to his desk and took a seat. The tea did help, but it wasn’t the most pleasing sensation to be writing with the hand that Snape had bitten. Nevertheless, you grounded yourself, picked up the quill, and began to write.

 

The smell of food and the warmth of the fire gently stirred Snape from his nap. He yawned and stretched his body out on the couch, gripping lightly at the material with his claws. His nose picked up the scent of the dinner that had been placed on the coffee table in front of him. You had made sure his meals would be easy to eat without the use of utensils, cutting up what needed to be into bite size pieces beforehand at the Great Hall. You had also placed another half cup of tea next to the plate. The glow of the fire had kept his food warm, as if it had just come out of a kitchen. Finishing his food and lapping a bit at the tea, his ears perked up to the soft sounds of scratching. He hopped off the coffee table, stopping momentarily to stretch out his hindlegs, and found you sitting at his desk, immersed in piles of paper with your head propped up against your other hand. He strutted over to you and meowed softly to get your attention. You didn’t acknowledge him, your mind seemingly elsewhere as your attention was dedicated solely to reading the essay before you. He meowed again, a little louder this time and pawed at your lower leg. 

 

“What?” you gritted irritably, still looking down at the papers.

 

Snape’s eyes narrowed and his ears flattened back slightly at your tone. He padded over to your other side and hopped on to your lap underneath your arm, using it as a stepping stool to get on to the desk. You leaned back as his tail swatted your face. You glowered at him, his body obscuring your view of the essay you were reading as he sniffed around, inspecting the work. He was oblivious to the fact that he stepped directly on wet ink from a comment you had written in the margins and had made a partial pawprint on the paper. 

 

“Move, I can’t see.”

 

He pulled the other half of his body onto the desk. Almost every square inch of his desk was covered in paper scrolls, rolled and unrolled. You shuffled some of them around to give him a bit of space to sit and observe. You were currently grading essays belonging to the 4th-years which were littered with corrections, most students earning ‘D’s, ‘P’s and ‘T’s; hardly anything above an ‘A’. Seems about right, he thought. From what he saw, you had already graded the 1st-year essays and had started to put a dent in the 4th-years, but the remaining work was still hefty. He stepped toward the jar that held a couple of quills and tried to hold one with his teeth but the angle made it impossible to write anything legible and gagged when the feather brushed too far back on his tongue. He redoubled his efforts, attempting to barely dip his paw into the ink pot to write with his claw, but his incoordination made him clumsy and he knocked it over, spilling black ink across the essays.

 

You slowly tilted your head at him, glaring in vexation before magically reversing the mess. 

 

“Are you quite finished?” you scowled.

 

His ears twitched in embarrassment, looking away from you.

 

“Just…” you rubbed your temple with your free hand. “If you’re going to watch then sit there and do nothing. Please.”

 

Snape looked down at the spot he was in and sat, but the wood was quite hard against his now sensitive paws from walking about within the last 24 hours. He tried to lie down, doing his best not to bump into the scrolls too much or smudging any of the ink, but he was too uncomfortable and constantly had to change his position. You tried to ignore his constant shifting about, but he kept scrunching up papers with his paws.

 

Sighing, you snapped your fingers at him to get his attention. You leaned away from the desk and let your arms rest momentarily on the surface. He blinked back in confusion, not understanding what you were trying to tell him. You rolled your eyes and looked away from him, patting your lap twice. That he seemed to understand. He got up from his spot, carefully stepping around the scrolls of papers and took a hesitant, unsteady step directly on to your stomach, making your gut clench a bit from the impact before settling himself into a sitting position on your lap that allowed him to see over the edge of the desk.

 

***

 

The two of you remained like that for hours, you grading while Professor Snape observed from your lap. He trusted your judgment and agreed with nearly all the marks you gave, but he still wanted to see his students’ work for himself. The mountains of scrolls had become more organized the more progress you made. It was true that you didn’t have to do any grading, that you could’ve simply stayed in Snape’s office and monitored him until he returned back to normal, but at some point in the day, you started to see this as not only an opportunity to gain some leverage in extracting a favor from him one day, but to experience the full scope of what an average day for Professor Snape is like.

 

You were pulled from focus when Professor Snape’s office door creaked open. You felt Professor Snape hunker down in your lap in a panic, attempting to hide himself in the darkness of your clothes. You instantly reached for the hem of your cloak and curtained your side that faced the door, blocking the unknown visitor's view of Snape. 

 

“Since when do you enter my office without permi-” your voice cut itself off as you took in the grandfatherly figure that now stood in the doorway.

 

“Albus…” Shit . “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

 

“I could ask the same thing of you, Severus,” Dumbledore smiled, ambling into the room.

 

“I was rather busy today. I am trying to get ahead for tomorrow,” you grumbled, getting back into character and resuming the scratching of your quill.

 

“I see,” Dumbledore replied, walking over to the couch and taking a seat. “Well since you are in fact awake, there is something I would like to bring to your attention. As you know the holidays are coming up and students will be departing home to be with their families. Being that it is Remus’s first semester here, Hogwarts will be playing host to an associate of his.”

 

“Who might that be?” you drawled in a bored manner.

 

“Sirius Black.”

 

You ceased your writing, holding back a wince as Professor Snape suddenly dug his claws into the tops of your legs through the fabric of the pants. Sirius Black…where have you heard that name before? 

 

“And how is that any concern of mine?”

 

“Severus, I may be old, but I remember you having a rather turbulent relationship with Sirius. Remus has apologized for his past many times, but please, try to remain civil with the both of them. I understand if you’d rather return home during the festivities, but I’d hate to see you hole yourself away because of a guest.”

 

You weren’t sure how to respond. This was definitely not your business. You didn’t wish to provide an answer that would provoke Professor Snape. On the other hand, not responding might push Dumbledore into accidentally revealing more personal information.

 

“...How long will Sirius be staying?”

 

“I was not given an exact time table, but he should be arriving after the Yule Ball.”

 

You sighed, pretending to be irritated. “Very well.”

 

“Ah, and another thing. There will be a staff meeting tomorrow to discuss…” Dumbledore continued to go off on a tangent regarding the rest of December when you felt a tingling sensation at the top of your head. You thought nothing of it until it gradually spread down your neck and to the rest of your body. Soon, it felt like your whole body was vibrating. You were changing back.

 

No No NO NO NO

 

You fumbled the Polyjuice flask out of your coat pocket and took a sip. You tasted nothing. You were all out. 

 

“...and Hagrid will be chopping down a tree to help Filius with the decorations and-” Dumbledore paused, noticing the panicked expression on your face. “Is everything alright, Severus?”

 

You turned your head away from the desk and looked Dumbledore directly in the eyes. “I am so sorry, Headmaster.” 

 

On cue, you quickly shrunk down a few inches in your seat in what looked like a sudden jolting movement, perplexing the old wizard. Your hair followed, shifting back to its original form. Your facial features and limbs morphed soon after, Professor Snape’s clothes once again awkwardly drowning you. What followed was a painfully long silence as Dumbledore stared at you just…stunned. You didn’t make an effort to reinitiate conversation, letting him wrap his head around what he just witnessed.

 

“Miss L/N…” He spoke dazed. 

 

“Hello…” you swallowed thickly, unsure what to do now.

 

“What are you doing in Professor Snape’s office on this fine winter night?”

 

You licked your lips, gazing amongst the scrolls of papers that piled high on Snape’s desk before facing Dumbledore again.

 

“...Grading.”

 

“Evidently so,” he raised his eyebrows incredulously, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Care to explain why you are impersonating Professor Snape?”

 

“Professor Snape is more or less… debilitated at the moment.”

 

“And where might Professor Snape be?”

 

You bit the inside of your cheek and slowly lowered your arm that hid Professor Snape with the cloak. Dumbledore blinked in surprise at the skittish black cat that gripped harshly into your legs, staring back at him with wide eyes, his pupils the size of galleons.

 

“...Severus?” Dumbledore called out curiously. Snape let out a low, distressed yowl turning around in your lap to hide his face. You saw the corners of Dumbledore’s mouth twitch upwards and you once again raised the cloak to shield Professor Snape. 

 

“Don’t laugh,” you spoke insistently.

 

Dumbledore stood up from the couch and paced towards you, raising his arms in a surrendering manner. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss L/N.” He stopped next to the desk, peering at all the written papers, splayed across his desk. “Might you tell me how you found yourself in these circumstances?”

 

“Last night, Professor Snape botched a potion and came to the Slytherin common room for help. I happened to be there and brewed the potion to return him back to normal, but it needed 24 hours to take effect,” you glanced at the clock on the wall, “which should conclude in the next half hour or so. I tried to convince him to let Professor McGonogall help seeing that she is the Transfiguration teacher and a feline animagus herself, but he was rather persistent about making sure none of the other teachers knew.” You pulled down the now loose-fitting sleeve of the robes and button-up shirt to reveal the bandages that dotted your hand and wrapped around your forearm. 

 

“Really, Severus?” he said to Professor Snape, cocking an eyebrow in disapproval. A quiet growl came from behind the curtain of black cloth.

 

“Anyways, I relented and agreed to drink Polyjuice and took his place for the day. I attended meals for him, covered his classes-”

 

“You taught his classes?” Dumbledore interjected. You nodded. “And how did that go?” 

 

“Fine I s’pose. There was an incident with the 4th-years involving an Aging Potion, but I handled it. Though, I would’ve been able to deal with everything much better if I hadn’t been up brewing a potion at one in the morning,” you sneered, flickering your eyes down toward the cat in your lap.

 

“Well, from what I’ve seen today you played the role quite convincingly. You have his idiosyncrasies down to a science.”

 

You only shrugged back in response and felt Professor Snape move off your lap; he slunk low to the ground towards the couch, disappearing behind it. You took this as an opportunity to change back into your pajamas from the previous night. Returning from Professor Snapes’s bedroom with your robe clutched in one hand, you saw Dumbledore leaned over trying to coax a hissing Professor Snape to come closer. 

 

“You’re due to change back any second now, Professor,” you remarked. Professor Snape let out a raspy meow and trotted past you into the bedroom. You shut the door behind him and walked towards the couch where Dumbeldore stood. 

 

“...Am I going to be in trouble?”

 

Dumbledore smiled lightly at you. “No. It’s clear you were only trying to help…though I can’t say that I approve of the position Professor Snape put you in.”

 

You gave a subtle half smile in return. “Was I really that convincing?”

 

He chuckled. “Eerily so.”

 

A few minutes later, the two of you turned as the door to Professor Snape’s bedroom clicked open. Snape reluctantly walked out, his demeanor the opposite of what you were used to seeing. He could hardly stand to look at either of you, finding the floor to be a much more interesting subject. To say he was embarrassed was an understatement.

 

“Welcome back, Severus. Feeling better?” 

 

“...Yes,” he muttered.

 

“Good.” Dumbledore turned to you. “Now that this is all settled, Miss L/N, you may return to your dorm. I’m sure you’ve had a rather hectic day.” 

 

You mumbled something incoherent to Dumbledore before turning and exiting through the office door. Hearing the clang of his classroom door shutting in the next room, Snape finally lifted his gaze up and went to escort you back. Just as he was about to reach his office doorway, he was stopped by Dumbledore who put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“You’re not out of the woods for this just yet, Severus. When you return, you and I need to have a discussion,” Dumbledore spoke in a strict yet calm manner.

 

“Fine,” Snape grumbled.

 

… 

 

It was quiet in the dungeon corridors, the only sound heard was the light scuffing of your socks against the stone ground as you dragged your feet. You hadn’t bothered to cast a “lumos” spell with your wand as you trudged through the dark. The light was too harsh on your sleep deprived eyes and you knew the layout of the castle very well, knowing exactly which turns to make and how long to walk for, even in total darkness. It felt like you were walking in a dream, your lids heavy and your eyes glazed over.

 

You heard quiet footsteps and a slight breeze blew past you on your right. You hardly acknowledged the presence, already knowing who it was. There was a sudden scrape of shoes as Professor Snape stopped, realizing he had walked right past you. He waited until you had reached him before resuming his movement beside you, slowing his steps to match yours. He chanted the light spell, keeping his wand low and illuminating the ground in front of the two of you so neither of you would trip on any uneven patches of stone. He caught sight of the bite punctures on your hand that were revealed by the reflected light. You had unbandaged your arm after changing to let your marks breathe. He angled his wand upwards a bit and followed with his eyes the sharp lines that trailed from your wrist and nearly reached your elbow. The scratches had scabbed over from healing overnight, appearing as a red so dark they looked black. Several of them criss-crossed over each other from when you tried to remove him. 

 

You said the password and the two of you entered the Slytherin common room. You only managed to take a couple more steps when Snape grabbed your elbow, halting you in place. You were too tired to react, physically or verbally, and just stared ahead sleepily. Snape slowly raised his wand to your wrist and pressed the tip lightly against one of the scratches. He whispered a spell, dragging the wand down the scratch. It began to fade away from your wrist down your forearm. He did this for each individual scratch as well as the bite marks on the back of your hand and palm. You went to move again once he finished, but Snape still didn’t let you go. That was when you finally looked at him. 

 

He tried to keep his expression stoic, but you could see his eyes slightly squinting and his jaw was clenched, barely tolerating the situation he found himself in. “I'm sorry,” he gritted out, as if it physically pained him to say the two simple words.

 

You allowed a brief moment of surprise before recollecting yourself. “For?”

 

“Hurting you.”

 

Oh. Your shoulders tensed in discontent and your eyes narrowed, annoyed with his reasoning. “Whatever, they’re just scratches,” you said coolly, attempting to remove your arm, but he kept you firmly in place. 

 

“They are not. Just. Scratches. It-” He paused trying to find the right words. “It shouldn’t have happened. It was coercion . It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if you went the whole day thinking I would punish or attack you again if you didn't cooperate and take over my responsibilities. Truthfully, I likely would have.” 

 

A beat of silence passed as you took a moment to really process his words. It was rather uncharacteristic for the potion master to be apologizing to anyone, but he sounded genuine and it was for the reason you had hoped he would acknowledge. Your gaze softened a touch as you exhaled, letting your shoulders relax. Only then did Snape’s grip on you loosen. 

 

“Ok.”

 

“Ok?” Snape repeated back, skeptically.

 

“Yes. Ok. I forgive you, though I don’t see why my forgiveness is so important…” you murmured.

 

A little unconvinced, Snape entered your mind to confirm your sentiment and that you weren’t just trying to dismiss him. He found that your ill-will had vanished and let go of you.

 

“I hope you know I was being honest last night, about asking others for help. It’s not the easiest thing to do, but it doesn’t make you any less of a person for doing so.” 

 

Snape rolled his eyes. He didn’t quite like the feeling of being lectured by you with information he already knew, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to refute. “Yes, well perhaps I will remember to consult the other teachers when I become a frog or my hair miraculously turns pink,” he scoffed.

 

“Fingers crossed on the pink hair.”

 

With that, you tossed him a faint lopsided smirk and went to bed, leaving him to be scolded by Dumbledore.

Chapter 18: The First Snow

Summary:

Reader finds a special place during a tutoring session outside.

The door to your front house shut behind you as the weight of school lifted off your shoulders, finally home, where there was quietude and control. Fourth grade was harder than it sounded, especially when the girls at school kept trying to enforce their own social politics at recess, probing one another about possible crushes and who was deserving of having certain friends. And god forbid someone have interests that deemed them as “the weird kid.” 

 

Tossing your bag onto the living room couch, you entered the kitchen, only to pause hesitantly at the threshold. Your dad was there, sitting at the table for three, slumped over in the chair with his head resting on folded arms. Presumably sleeping or just…decompressing. He was like this sometimes after work when something went sideways or when he had to be around a lot of people.

 

You peeked around to look at him, seeing that his head was buried down, before continuing on your way. Quietly, you prepared an after school snack, a bowl of yogurt with some maple granola mixed in. But…something nagged at you, the sympathy you felt for your father for having a stressful day, and so you made a bowl for him too. Little did you know that he had been awake and looked up from his forearmed sanctuary and watched you make the snack with your back turned before resuming his hunched position just before you turned. You had set the bowl down in front of him on the table, patting him lightly on the back, before taking your snack to the living room to watch the news. 

 

About an hour later, you went back into the kitchen to dispose of your dirty dishes and noticed your father was gone. His entrances and exits had always been so quiet… You noticed the bowl you made him were missing too. You checked the dishwasher and there it was, the bowl and the spoon set aside to be cleaned.

 

But what if…

 

You trotted over to the kitchen trash and lifted the lid. There was no discarded yogurt or chunks of granola sitting at the top. Just yesterday’s trash

 

Your face warmed, and you bit away a smile.

 

He ate it.

 

***

 

“Dismissed.”

 

Having heard the word they longed to hear, the 5th-years rushed to pack up their schoolwork and escape the potions classroom. Professor Snape hadn’t been merciful in his classes as the holidays grew near, knowing that his students would likely begin to slack off. He was thorough in keeping them on their toes, firing off questions left and right, leaving many of them positively frazzled by the end of class.

 

“Man, is it me or has potions been even more difficult to keep up with lately?” Will spoke aloud.

 

“Nah mate, you’re right,” said Arin. “Snape’s been letting us have it. I suppose he’s a bit of a winter scrooge.”

 

“I guess. Imagine how bad it would’ve been if we didn’t have tutoring. I’m starting to feel sorry for the others in our class.”

 

“We offered them to join us.” Romona interjected. “It’s not our fault if they don’t want to dedicate extra time to getting better. You can’t help those who don’t wish to help themselves. And we shouldn’t be too hard on ourselves, we’ve been holding our own.”

 

“Hey, what's that?” Grace asked.

 

Further down the corridor a white paper snake slithered directly towards them. The snake stopped in front of them, tapping its nose against Will’s shoes. He picked up the enchanted snake and unfolded it. 

 

“It’s a note from Y/N.”

 

“What’s it say?” 

"It’s snowing. Grab your coats and meet me in the Middle Courtyard in 15 minutes. We’re having tutoring outside today."

…

 

Your breath puffed out in light billows against the gray sky. It was the first snow of winter in Hogwarts. Several other students who had been released from classes took to the courtyard and grass fields around Hogwarts to enjoy the cold weather. It was nowhere near a heavy snow, rather, a flurry. You had dressed up in your dark coat paired with black sheepskin gloves, this time wearing a green sweater underneath your coat to go with your Slytherin scarf. The icy air felt crispy on your face, the only part of your body that wasn’t wrapped up. Your hair was tied into two braids, the chilliness feeling surprisingly pleasant on your exposed scars.

 

You heard your name being called from behind and turned to face the group of 5th-years now bundled up in many colorful layers. They all sported their house colors too and were smiling.

 

“Good, you got my note.”

 

“We did, but how come we're tutoring outside today?” Will spoke.

 

“Well, I didn’t want to deprive you of all of the first winter snow and there are some plants and ingredients I’d like to gather before dinner this evening.” Doing a headcount, you frowned at the absence of a person. “Where is Daisy?”

 

“Oh, she felt ill during DADA. She’s sleeping, which is probably why she didn’t send a note.” Grace explained.

 

“I see. Can you take notes for her then?”

 

“Yeah, I got it.”

 

“Let’s get started then.”

 

***

 

You had planned this tutoring session to be more of a field trip, giving them a break from the mental strain they had endured today. The five of you took a separate path from the courtyard away from all the other students who had been throwing pitiful snowballs at each other or making shallow snow angels. You allowed them to rough house with each other during the walk, so long as they kept up and stayed on the path. The location you were taking them to was never really traversed by students. There was an area behind the Quidditch Pitch and east of Hagrid’s Hut that was considered to be separate from the Forbidden Forest. It was its own environment, playing host to a number of different flora and fauna. The biggest difference was the change in the trees and how it seemed to create a border between the two different sections of forest. The Forbidden Forest was thick with trees, such as beech, oak, pine sycamore, and yew, as well as undergrowth such as knotgrass and thorns. The other forest was mainly cypress, fir, silver maple, and evergreen. Creatures from the Forbidden Forest naturally stayed there, the other environment being unsupportive of their predatorial needs. The most dangerous thing to encounter in the forest you were leading the 5th years to were certain kinds of snakes, but they had all brumated for the winter. To those less knowledgeable, it would be hard to distinguish where one territory ended and the other began, especially now since the leaves and branches of the trees were enveloped in a light layer of white snow.

 

As you approached the beginning of the forest, you explained to them what kinds of creatures and naturally growing plants they could encounter. You also briefed them on how to make sure they were still in the right forest. Other than visually marking the tree species, you revealed your own trick to them: going by smell. One of the most populated tree species that made up a majority of the Forbidden Forest was pine. If they kept walking and no longer smelled pine or saw anymore pine cones on the ground, they were in the right area. 

 

“So what are we looking for?” Will asked.

 

“A couple things. Holly, mistletoe, frost fern, and crystalized moss.”

 

“Sounds festive!"

 

Holly was the first thing you all went to find. Upon locating some evergreen trees, you explained to them the differences between holly and mistletoe. “Holly and mistletoe are often mistaken for eachother. Holly has spiky leaves, red berries, and is what often is used to decorate homes during the holidays. Mistletoe has round leaves and white berries. This is the plant that people traditionally kiss under. I don’t know why but everytime I see a kid draw a mistletoe on a christmas card, they always get it wrong and make the berries red. Speaking of which, please don't eat the berries on either plant. The birds can, but if we humans did, we’d have our meals coming out of both ends of our bodies.” They all grimaced and laughed at your last remark.

 

You had them all transfigure their scarfs into a pair of snippers to cut away low-hanging holly that had ripened first amongst the evergreen trees. With five of you going at the same time, it didn’t take long for the first 1⁄4 of your basket to get filled, each layer you would separate with a cloth.

 

The mistletoe was a bit trickier. It grew on the much higher up parts of silver maple trees and required a bit of climbing. Theoretically, you would Wingardium Leviosa yourself towards the top of the tree, but the branches were far too condensed and you’d just hit your head. Instead, you cast a feather light spell on yourself, in case you fell, and climbed the tree yourself. You instructed them to stand underneath you with the basket. Snipping away some mistletoe stalks, you bundled them together in mini bouquets with red ribbon before tossing them down to the others. They attempted to catch the falling plant, cheering everytime you “scored.” They also did not hesitate to make kissing-jokes while you were up there. You made some sort of remark about them technically being under the mistletoe as you dropped it down to them, apparently making Will and Romona blush. 

 

At some point you all took a break, sitting underneath one of the trees and separating the holly berries from the leaves. You tested them with questions on everything you’d said to them upon walking into the forest, even if it wasn’t the most educational tutoring session so far. Apparently, Arin was really into History of Magic and gleefully shared yule folklore stories about magical and mythological creatures who lived in the forest, one in particular being a European originating figure named Krampus, who was the exact opposite of Santa Claus and kidnapped the naughty children and beat them with reeds. There were also certain traditions that were said to drive away certain spiritual creatures of the night whose intentions were less innocent during the holidays, such as placing a yew branch on each window sill so that the ones who desired the souls of young children could not enter the house. Granted, these stories were ancient and have more or less become an excuse to decorate houses with festive plants.

 

You saw a surprising amount of wildlife while walking around the forest, all of which you made sure to maintain an appropriate distance from your group. Foxes that stood out against the stark white snow yipped in the distance as they pranced and burrowed through bushes and shallow piles of snow, attempting to hunt smaller prey. Owls stared you down from the inside of hollowed tree trunks, hooting in curiosity of your presence. There was one instance where you were about to lead them through a clearing when a deer and her nervous baby stepped out from behind a fir tree, stopping you all in your tracks. They all watched in awe, trying to not to make any noise to startle the deer as the baby bleated in surprise of the humans that shared the forest with them. You informed them to never disturb the wildlife or interact with them, no matter how cute they seemed, unless you were defending yourself.

 

“ACK!” 

 

You whipped your head around to find Grace attempting to swat away a cluster of cornish pixies who had been hiding in the trees, watching you all from a distance. While she was distracted, her wand was stolen by one of them who giggled mischievously. You told her to calm down and remain still, but suddenly she was hoisted off the ground by her ears and placed high into a nearby tree. The pixies proceeded to toss her wand back and forth to each other right in front of her, as if to mock her. 

 

“ Get me down! ” she shouted, clinging to the tree.

 

“Just hold on!” you called to her.

 

You advised the others to keep a tight grip on their own wands before setting the basket of plants down. You waved your arms and yelled at the pixies, attempting to get their attention. They let Grace’s wand fall to the ground and set their sights on you, happy to harass another human. You waited until they flittered into close enough range before chanting a spell. 

 

“ Immobulus!”

 

A purple light shot from your wand and radiated over the cornish pixies who were practically nose diving toward you. Though the spell kept them conscious, it froze their bodies in place, leaving them to float haphazardly in the air. You exhaled, having finally taken care of the initial threat. 

 

“Are you doing okay up there?” you asked.

 

“I’m fine, I think!” she called back.

 

“Good. I am going to get you down now. This is going to be scary, but I will not drop you. Keep your eyes closed and don’t panic.” You ushered the Will, Arin and Romona to group together between you and the tree. “I’m going to lower you down magically and the others will set you down on the ground. Are you ready?”

 

She shook her head yes. 

 

“Brace yourself. Levicorpus!”

 

The jinx hit Grace and she flipped upside down in the air, dangled by her ankles. She pressed a hand to her mouth suppressing a yelp, not expecting to be flipped while so high up in the air. You took a couple steps back pulling her away from the tree. “Keep them closed,” you told her and started lowering down from the top of the tree. “You’re doing good, almost there.”

 

Once within reach, Will, Arin and Romona grabbed a hold of her and flipped her right side up before you released the spell. She exhaled shakily as you handed her back her wand.

 

“You alright?” Arin asked.

 

Strangely, she broke out into a smile and giggled. “Yeah I am, that was actually quite fun.”

 

You huffed. “Well, I’m glad someone here had fun because I just about had a heart attack.”

 

“What were those things?” 

 

“Cornish pixies,” you stated. “They’re rather harmless, but are quite irritating to deal with in numbers. Those intolerable little shits love to steal things and cause mayhem, so keep an eye on your wands at all times.”

 

…

 

In your search for frost fern, the forest had opened up to you, revealing a glade. In the center was a pond that had almost frosted over, the fringe of the water gradually accumulating into a slush. Massive snow-covered vertical boulders decorated the borders of the glade, making the area seem like its own secret world. The nearby cypress trees were almost barren of leaves, but were covered in pale green lichen that enveloped the roots and high into the trunk of the tree. The moss that hung from the branches of the cypress draped down like curtains and sparkled as if made of the most dazzling chandelier jewels. This spot was magical. You’d have to come back here soon and enjoy it in your own time. 

 

You spotted some frost fern sprouting out from the snow at the base of the trees and instructed them to snip the leaves from the roots. This particular species of fern that grew in the winter was not green, like most plants in the forest. It was a desaturated pale blue that remained cold and took on a frosty appearance, even when it wasn’t in the snow. It was meant to aid with flu-like symptoms such as a fever. You made a mental note to make sure Daisy got a couple leaves to chew on before curfew tonight.

 

The crystalized moss was more delicate and couldn’t just be yanked down from the branches. They required careful trimming and storage. Luckily, cypress trees had thick branches that were spread out and could support your weight. You cast Wingardium Leviosa on yourself and levitated yourself onto the branches. Rather than letting the moss fall to the ground with a fwump , you draped the layers of moss around your neck and shoulders and brought them down manually so as to not disturb the plant too much. You repeated this process a couple of times, not wanting to take away too much moss from the tree you had chosen. With the help of the others, you wrapped the moss around thick sticks like string on a spindle so that it would be stored efficiently in the basket and be easy for Professor Sprout to unravel.

 

“I am beat. My legs feel like jelly.” You laughed aloud.

 

The five of you sat down in the snow, taking the opportunity to really enjoy the environment you were in. Will and Arin ran around in the snow, pelting snowballs at each other while you, Grace, and Romona had some girl talk, the two of them choosing to build baby snowmans in front of themselves. They chanted a spell on their snowman, bringing them to life and giving chase to the two boys, throwing baby snowballs at their legs. You plucked a holly berry from the bottom layer of the basket, enlarged it to the size of your fist, and began to cut it open with a rock you had transfigured into a small knife.

 

“What are you making?” You looked up to Grace and Romona who were watching your actions intently.

 

“Holly Bombs.”

 

“What’s a Holly Bomb?” Romona asked.

 

“Christmas in a ball. Blow up one of these and you can have your home smelling festive for twelve whole days. Of course, it depends on what you put inside.” 

 

“What year do we learn how to make them?”

 

“You don’t. It’s something I created myself.” 

 

They gasped. “You did? Can you show us how to make them?”

 

You quirked your eyebrows in confusion at their insistent begging. No one had really indulged in your creative interests before. “You…want me to teach you?” They nodded excitedly in response.

 

“...Okay then. First you get a Holly berry and enlarge it, about the size of a baseball is good. Then you want to cut it open-” You continued to cut open the holly berry down the center until you had to semi spheres. “-and scoop out the insides.” Taking off your gloves, you scooped out the mushy orange red fruit from the inside, leaving only the firm holly shell. “With this next step you can be a bit flexible with your ingredients. Just pick what you like and grind it down to as fine a powder as possible. I like to use foresty scents like mistletoe, yule log wood, and pine, but right now I’ll substitute the pine with cypress leaves.” You transfigured another two stones into a pestle and mortar and ground up the ingredients inside. You let them take turns for themselves should they choose to ever make these on their own time. “Now, you just pack the powder in, put the two halves back together, seal it back up-” With your wand you cast a smell that summoned a small flame at the tip like a lighter and sealed the sides of the holly berry back together. “-shake it up to mix the scents, and then…” Standing up, you threw the Holly Bomb high up into the air and launched a spell at it. The Holly Bomb exploded with an audible poomf , sending large clouds of red and green smoke in all directions, dissipating after ten or so seconds.

 

“That was so cool! And it smells amazing,” they gushed. “How did you come up with something like this?”

 

You shrugged, kicking at the snow beneath your feet. “ ‘Dunno. I did a lot of experimenting when I was a kid and kinda just had the idea.” You looked up at the sky, which had grown a bit darker. “We should head back to the castle. They’re probably going to start serving dinner soon.”

 

***

 

It seemed like everyone was in a rush to get through dinner this evening, many of the students still had on their scarves and coats just like you. Your housemates were practically inhaling their food in comparison to you. You were eating at a rather leisurely pace, a bit tired from the walk back. At one point in dinner, you made eye contact with Professor Sprout, shooting her a thumbs up. She responded back with a smile and three fingers, letting you know to leave the basket in Greenhouse 3.

 

It always smelled like moist soil in the greenhouses. It was dark, you wouldn’t have been able to see if it wasn’t for the blue moonlight that had illuminated the structure through the glass walls. You could tell that mandrakes had just been re-potted by the freshly turned soil that was sprinkled all around the ground next to the pots. You set the basket down on one of the plant trimming stations and walked over to a tiny section of the greenhouse where Professor Sprout was growing ginger.

 

“I do hope you aren’t stealing from Professor Sprout, Miss L/N.” You jumped at the sound of the voice, not expecting anyone else to be in the area. You turned and saw Professor Lupin leaning against the entrance.

 

“You’ve caught me red-handed Professor Lupin. I was going to take this ginger, grind it into a powder, and sell it as a drug in Diagon Alley.”

 

An amused exhale could be heard from his nose as he approached you.

 

“But in all seriousness, no I am not stealing. I volunteered to harvest some plants Professor Sprout was low on.”

 

“I see,” he replied. “Might you tell me where she keeps the Shrivelfig?”

 

“Are you stealing from her, Professor Lupin?” you cocked an eyebrow, smirking.

 

“Of course not,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare anger that woman. I’d sooner feed myself to the Devil’s Snare before even thinking about stealing from her.”

 

“Right. The Shrivelfigs are in the corner over there.” You momentarily jutted your thumb over your shoulder towards the opposite corner of the greenhouse.

 

“Thank you.” He strolled over to the other side.

 

“What are you all bundled up for? Are you going to Hogsmeade this evening?” Professor Lupin was wearing a tan coat with a maroon sweater underneath to go with his Gryffindor scarf. 

 

“I am not. The students seem keen on playing in the snow this evening and Dumbeldore is reluctant to let them do so without supervision so I volunteered to keep an eye out.” He explained, twisting off two Shrivelfigs from the stems of a plant.

 

“And you just happen to be in the Greenhouse making them wait for you?”

 

“I figured if I made them wait a bit I’d receive a standing ovation just for walking into the courtyard.”

 

“How truly diabolical of you,” you chuckled.

 

…

 

The students who had been eagerly waiting in the corridor for Professor Lupin smiled upon his arrival. Dumbledore was right to have someone supervising the students who chose to go outside this evening. Seconds after Lupin stepped into the courtyard a snowball fight had broken out between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Beyond the courtyard were more students who were more on the mellow, choosing to build mini snowmen, make snow angels, or penguin-sliding on their bellies upon giving themselves a running start. You greeted them all with small waves as you walked past them in the snowy field. 

 

There was a large English oak tree, not too far away from the courtyard to cause concern over a missing student, but just far enough in the fields that the shrill laughter sounded way more quiet. You didn’t need to use magic to climb up this tree. The tree’s trunk was enormous, being both concave and bulbous around its circumference, leaving many notches and flat parts to put your feet on. The mossy snow-covered branches were also thick and perfectly capable of supporting your weight. Hoisting yourself up the trunk and into the center where it began to split off, you picked a branch and shimmied yourself on to it, swiping off the snow before settling down. The view was quite pacifying, the fields and Forbidden Forest far in the distance seemingly blending into one vast blanket of white. The sun had already set, leaving the heavily overcast sky to reflect the tinted blue light from the somehow unobscured moon. Your nose felt nearly numb from the cold air that nipped sharply along your face, though it would still be getting colder for the next month or so. Your legs lightly kicked back and forth as you stared off into the ever-expanding landscape. 

 

~

 

Nine years old. You were in the living room watching television in pajamas, swaddled by a blanket, pillow pressed to your torso and a bowl of strawberries in your lap. It was the start of December then, which of course meant networks were already playing Christmas movies everyday. You absolutely hated when they did that, especially since there were so few networks at the time. You got up from the couch and turned on the VCR and put in a video tape of slapstick cartoons. An episode featuring a gray cat and brown mouse who were constantly messing with and chasing each other began to play as you got settled back into your seat. You loved cartoons. They were a comfort for you and always made you laugh with its over-the-top yet harmless violence.

 

By the time the episode had ended, the clock on the wall said 8:15 PM. You turned off the television and put your now empty bowl on to one of the kitchen counters and were about to go to bed when you caught a glimpse of the weather outside. It was snowing. Keeping the blanket tightly wrapped around your shoulders, you stomped upstairs to put on a pair of slippers. The sliding glass door was starting to fog and frost over as you unlocked it and pulled it open with both hands. There was no wind accompanying the snow, just bone-chilling air. You rubbed your cheeks with the material of the blanket as you stepped into the backyard. The snow had already layered a couple inches of the ground, covering every inch of grass and meeting the height of the stone brick patio that elevated you. The roots of the tree in your backyard barely poked out through the snow. The snowflakes were light but came down rapidly. You gingerly stepped off the stone and into the snow, listening to the soft crunch underneath your feet. The sky was dark, the snow seemingly coming down from nowhere. Snowflakes caught into your hair and into the fabric of the blanket around your shoulders. You found a stick lying next to the tree and started playing with it, flicking it about repeating chants you had read from books around the house. It had been instilled in you that you would be capable of wielding magic as a witch, but you never knew when that day would come.

 

You started to draw pictures in the snow with the stick, swiping the snow over when you made a mistake. You drew a cat, flowers, a race car, a large spider web… at some point you ended up writing your name, but having many failed attempts with cursive. You remembered a hopscotch pattern and traced that out in the snow. Since you were wearing slippers, you nearly tripped and ate snow multiple times, but caught yourself with your hands. At some point you returned and sat on the stone brick that separated the stone from the snow. You started scooping up the snow in front of you and built a baby snowman. Your hands felt frozen solid, not having realized how cold you were before with such little weather protection. You snapped the twig in half using it for the arms and stuck them in the midsection of the body. There was something missing though. You trotted inside and retrieved a small cartoon of raisins. You took out a handful and pressed them into the snowman, adding eyes, nose, a smiling mouth, and a couple of “buttons” on the front of its body. Exhaling a warm puff of cloudy air, you rested your chin on your knees and inspected your creation. 

 

“I don’t s’pose you’ll come to life and start singing carols for me?”

 

The snowman said nothing and stared back at you with dark wrinkly eyes and a smile.

 

“That’s what I thought,” you murmured.

 

It was quiet, the only sound being your soft breaths. Not another person or family in the neighborhood could be heard, most enjoying a movie together inside and eating takeout pizza from the delivery cars that carefully drove down the streets. Picking the raisins from the box, you popped them into your mouth, wrapped the blanket around your legs now and continued to watch the snow fall, slowly concealing your markings in the snow. The snow gave you a sense of peace. It served as a reminder that there were some things that you could control and others you’d just have to let go and…accept.

 

“Of all the students, why am I not surprised to find you out here.”

 

~

 

The sound of Professor Snape’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and with it, the tingling sensation of legilimency between your eyes faded away. You looked over your shoulder and caught sight of his dark figure standing a few yards away. You crossed your arms and slowly leaned back, letting yourself hang upside down from the branch by your knees. In your now flipped view stood the potion master, your heads at level with each other. Your braids and scarf flopped down and lightly swayed from side to side.

 

“Hello, Professor Snape.”

 

“And in a tree no less,” he added with reproach, narrowing his eyes. 

 

A breathy chuckle sounded from your nose accompanied with small white puffs of warm air. Despite his presence you closed your eyes and continued to hang upside down, embracing the flurries of snow that fell through the upper branches of the trees and cascaded over your cheeks. You looked like a sleeping bat. You heard the sound of snow crunching under boots as he took a couple steps towards you. 

 

“How long have you been up there?” 

 

“ ‘Dunno. I came outside with the others, been here the whole time.” you murmured. “Too much noise in the courtyard… ’s more peaceful up here.”

 

You felt him enter your mind this time, but he didn’t speak aloud again.

 

“Taking a walk in the snow?” you asked, keeping your eyes closed.

 

He sneered. “Apparently, a spontaneous snowball fight between students somehow calls for the supervision of two teachers.”

 

“Look on the bright side. At least no one would dare to throw a snowball at you. The same, however, cannot be said for Professor Lupin…” 

 

A shriek could be heard in the distance as another snowball fight had started, this time out in the fields. You sighed, trying to settle back into whatever quietness the evening would afford you. Professor Snape moved again, hearing his footsteps come toward you, but also moving to your side. You briefly opened your eyes and saw Snape in your peripheral standing a couple feet to your left, staring out into the landscape that was now behind you. The two of you remained quiet, you enjoying the chilly air and darkness behind your lids, and Snape observing the dim lightness of the snowy fields.

 

Peace…

 

“All of you are too far away! Come back to the courtyard!” Lupin’s distant voice shouted.

 

A quiet groan of frustration escaped your throat. You didn’t move, wishing to further enjoy the ambience of your surroundings.

 

Maybe if I pretend I didn’t hear him, I can remain here for a little while longer…

 

“I believe that includes you too, Miss L/N,” Snape spoke.

 

“Damn…” you muttered, finally opening your eyes again. You clenched your stomach, and with the help of your arms, pulled yourself back up onto the branch in a sitting position. Snape watched as you scooched yourself back towards the center of the tree and descended down the trunk, his wand down at his side in case you slipped and fell. You and Professor Snape walked back to the courtyard and were greeted with a warzone of snow. While some remained off to the side building snowmen and conversing amongst each other, snowballs flew across the air and miniature fortress walls out of snow were erected with magic, students crouching behind them as they rebuilt their ammunition. Professor Lupin stood on the opposite side close to the castle, surveying the students from a distance. You found a Hufflepuff girl and gave her a couple of frostfern leaves wrapped together, instructing her to give them to Daisy for her illness.

 

“Oi! Y/N! Get in on this!” A Slytherin boy called to you, throwing a snowball that sailed over your head and hit a Gryffindor boy who tried to shield himself from the snowy assault.

 

“Pass,” you replied flatly, “I’m going back to the dungeons.” and walked through the center of the courtyard toward the castle.

 

“Oh, you insufferable git!” the Gryffindor spat. He crouched down and built a snowball. He then sneakily took out his wand and enlarged the snowball to the size of a bludger. He used his wand to magically launch it back at the Slytherin boy, but his control was terrible, making the snowball fly way off target. The attack meant for the Slytherin boy was now hurtling straight at you.

 

“Y/N, look out!” the Slytherin boy called.

 

Before you could even process his words and turn, snow crashed against the back of your head with such power that you were physically forced down to a knee, your hands stopping you from going any further. You blinked rapidly in surprise as the iciness seeped into your scalp and crept down the back of your neck and underneath your scarf.

 

“Hey! What did I say about using magic on the snowballs!” Lupin shouted sternly, addressing everyone who was currently participating in a fight, not knowing who threw it.

 

You steadily raised back up on your feet and tugged at your scarf, trying to get the slush out. A hand not belonging to you started to brush the snow off your shoulders and neck, making you flinch. 

 

“I can’t say that you didn’t have that coming, waltzing into no man’s land like that…” Snape declared. Finishing with the back of your collar, he tipped your head down forward.

 

“Wait don’t-” He halted his movement. “Leave the snow. I like the feeling on the scar,” you spoke with a smile in your voice.

 

He rolled his eyes and scowled, continuing to swipe off the snow that was caked to the back of your head and pushed you forward.

 

“Get back inside, you silly girl,” he muttered.

 

 

Chapter 19: Preparations

Summary:

Reader fulfills a request for Professor Flitwick and finds she may have some unresolved feelings.

“The Yule Ball has been a yearly tradition since its inception. We will gather in the Great Hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity. As representatives of your house, I expect you all to put your best foot forward because the Yule Ball is first and foremost, a dance. The house of Salazar Slytherin has commanded the respect of the wizard world for centuries. I will not have you all in the course of a single evening besmirching that name by behaving like dishonorable, incompetent dunderheads.”

 

They all groaned and murmured in confusion. Professor Snape had summoned the entirety of Slytherin to the Music Hall after classes had ended that day for a mandatory dance lesson. Though the Yule Ball was a week away, Dumbledore had already instructed the heads of houses to give dance lessons. Furthermore, Professor Flitwick had started taking it upon himself to decorate the interior of the castle for the Yule Ball and the holidays, being a lover of the winter season. The ever-increasing presence of white, gold and green was beginning to assault the potion master’s eyes.

 

“Silence! You would all do well to pay attention. The sooner we get through this lesson the better, as it is not my preference to spend my valuable time teaching students how to dance. Raise your hands if you are familiar with the steps in a waltz.”

 

A couple student’s raised their hands; you raised your hand as well, albeit much less enthusiastically then the others. While you technically knew how to dance, you did not enjoy the activity whatsoever. You had no desire to attend the Yule Ball. Dancing in a room filled with people to music you didn’t like was not your ideal way of spending an evening.

 

Snape called forward the six of you who raised their hands and partnered you into three pairs in front of the rest of the Slytherins to demonstrate. You were paired up with the remaining girl since only two of the six students who had raised their hands were boys, so you volunteered to assume the leading role.

 

“In a proper ball, the gentleman will approach the lady and bow-” The three of you faced your partners and bowed. “And the lady will respond with a curtsy.” The other girls curtsied in response. “Only after the lady curtsies will the gentleman offer their hand for a dance.”

 

“Miss, you look positively radiant tonight. May I have this dance?” you murmured lowly with a mock sultry voice. The other girl half-stifled her amused laughter at your charade and accepted your hand.

 

“Boys, you will rest your free hand on the girl’s waist, no lower. Girls, your other hand may hold the top or side of the boys’ shoulder.” Snape circulated around the six of you, observing your positions. “The dance consists of three simple steps. Even the most dimwitted of you should be able to grasp it,” he sneered. With a bitter expression, he clasped his hands behind his back and slowly performed the movements. It was a small box formation. 

 

You and the other partners repeated the instruction just as slowly multiple times for your housemates. You turned the girl to the side so that the Slytherins could see how your leading footsteps moved her backwards, revealing the flipped manner in which her steps reflected yours. They started to understand Professor Snape’s instruction, having seen it demonstrated to them live with partners.  

 

“That should suffice. Everyone come together.” The girls stood up from the risers on their side of the room and approached the center of the room while the boys were reluctant to even look them in the eyes.

 

“On. Your. Feet. Now.”

 

The boys scrambled up from their seats, making the girls giggle. They all partnered up with whoever happened to be in front of them, none of them having the courage to ask any specific girl. Snape turned on the large gramophone and requested that you and the others who demonstrated walk about with him and help those who were struggling to perform the dance properly. Of course, being many of the students’ first time dancing the waltz, they awkwardly shuffled around, trying to remember the choreography. It took some additional instruction for them to start to get the hang of it. For those who had made progress in mastering the steps, they broke away from the line and danced in their own spot, giving them a sense of privacy. They started having fun and twirled each other, the initial tension fading away. There were those, of course, who just couldn’t seem to get the steps right, confusing themselves with which foot went where and what direction to move in. You could hear a few boys and girls muttering “ouch” underneath their breath. 

 

“Mister Balmon, you are completely hopeless!” 

 

Your gaze swept across the room and you saw Snape berating a 4th-year boy. His partner was staring daggers at him too, having her toes being stepped on one too many times really pissed her off. He tried one more time to dance with his partner but ended up tripping over his own feet and landed flat on his butt. You couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from your chest. You turned around, facing away from the amusing sight, snickering to yourself.

 

“Miss L/N…!” a hushed voice called to you. 

 

Your eyes darted over to the doorway where Professor Flitwick stood, motioning you to come over to him.

 

This boy is a trainwreck. It’s like he was born with two left feet . Snape pinched the bridge of his nose trying to find some semblance of patience for the 4th-year but to no avail. The girl who he partnered with had abandoned him and went off to find a different boy, tired of getting her toes crushed. Snape looked for you across the room hoping you could rescue the situation and knitted his brows when his eyes landed on you talking to Professor Flitwick. You had lowered yourself to a knee and were whispering to each other, your hand shielding your mouth. 

 

“Professor Flitwick,” Snape spoke aloud. “Is there something I can help you with?”

 

“Sorry to interrupt your dance lesson Professor Snape, I just had something to ask of Miss L/N. I’ll be on my way.” Flitwick smiled and patted your arm, sending you back to your housemates before taking his leave. 

 

“Miss L/N,” Snape said. “Assist Mister Balmon. His dancing abilities are shameful.”

 

“As you wish. Balmon!” He flinched at the sound of his name being shouted and turned to you with panic stricken across his face. You pointed at the ground in front of you and he trotted over. “Yes?”

 

“I see you are having a little trouble with the choreography.”

 

“A little is an understatement…” you heard Snape mutter, making you quietly chuckle.

 

“How about you lead me and we’ll see what needs fixing.” You both assume your positions, resting your hand on his shoulder while he held your waist and your other hand. You mouthed the words “ready and” lightly bobbing your head…

 

…and he immediately steps on your toes. You jolted and forced his movements to stop, but didn’t let go.

 

“Try not to cripple her,” Snape jeered.

 

“Agh! I’m so sorry! I don’t know why that keeps happening.” 

 

“For starters your posture sucks,” you stated. “Straighten up and act like you want to be dancing. Second, your steps are way too big. You don’t need to move me back so far. Your steps should only be about this long.” You took over for a moment leading him and taking a step forward by about a foot or so. “Smaller steps like that.”

 

“But Snape’s steps were much longer.”

 

You rolled your eyes. “Very astute observation, Sherlock. Though you have failed to take into account that Professor Snape dwarfs you so naturally his steps will be bigger. Don’t force your movements. Small steps.” You resumed the dance and immediately you noticed there was improvement. The movement seemed to come more naturally to him, a flow beginning to build as he maintained the rhythm. 

 

“Better. Much better. If it helps, try to pretend that our bodies are holding a dragon egg.”

 

“A dragon egg?” Balmon asked.

 

“Yes, an egg. If you step too close, our torsos will crush the egg. If your step is too meager, then our movements will look stiff and the egg will drop.” 

 

He nodded and concentrated, trying to imagine an egg between the two of you as he led you in the dance. You two soon became in sync as you repeated the waltz over and over, both moving at the exact time, the distance between the two of you remaining the same and hardly wavering. For once, you saw a smile crack on his face.

 

“Seems like my work here is done.” You declared, removing yourself from Balmon. He murmured a thank you and went to find the girl he was originally partnered with to apologize and try again. You clasped your hands behind your back after briefly glancing at your watch. Snape didn’t need to use legilimency to know you were happy about something, noticing you were bouncing on the balls of your feet as you looked off into the distance.

 

“What did Professor Flitwick want?” You heard him drawl next to you.

 

“Hmn?” You turned to Professor Snape with a dopey smile on your face, but you swiftly tilted your head away and half covered your mouth with the back of your hand out of bashfulness when he narrowed his eyes at you. “Ahm- nothing important just…decoration stuff.” Snape entered your mind and found that while you weren’t lying, you were being intentionally vague and the words “Yule Ball” kept popping up in your thoughts.

 

“Are you going?” he asked in a seemingly detached manner.

 

“To where?” you played dumb, still feeling his presence in your head.

 

“The Yule Ball.”

 

“ Ha! No.” 

 

He slightly raised an eyebrow at the way you responded to his question, as if the answer was obvious. “It shouldn’t be hard for you to acquire a date.”

 

Pardon? Your eyebrows quirked and your ears went pink as you kept your gaze trained on the dancing students around the room.

 

“-in the sense that you’re a 7th-year,” he clarified. “You’ll have younger years practically banging on your door, pleading with you to get them into the ball.”

 

Right, that rule. Only 4th-years and older may attend. Those who were younger needed a date old enough to get it. “Well, it’s not really a matter of whether I have a date. I simply have no desire to attend and I don’t particularly enjoy dancing,” you shrugged.

 

“It’s your last year. You should go,” Snape said in a tone that sounded more like an order than a suggestion as he walked toward a few students who were still struggling to dance.

 

…

 

Joy didn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling. There was an extra spring in your step as you strode down the corridor wearing your coat, gloves and scarf. You brought your school bag with you to the Great Hall and packed up a meal to go, not wanting to spend another minute inside of the castle. Professor Flitwick had come to you earlier that day asking for your assistance and you couldn’t have been more happy with his request.

 

“It has come to my knowledge that you’ve created something called “Holly Bombs” and that they can expel fragrances, is this true?”

 

“Yes, sir. I did. I can make them smell like whatever I wish.”

 

“Well, I think they would serve wonderfully in the castle, especially for the Yule Ball. I was hoping you could produce some for me. Once all the decorations are up, I think the Great Hall will be positively magical with the addition of your Holly Bombs.”

 

“Sure, I’d love to help! Are there any specific scents you have in mind?”

 

“I’m not quite sure, but for the Yule Ball I was thinking of something that would specifically remind one of the cold. The decorations will be mostly white and crystal-like to go along with the tree and reefs.”

 

“Peppermint,” you nodded. “Definitely peppermint.” 

 

Professor Flitwick smiled in return. “Peppermint it is.”

 

More snow had blanketed the fields and you saw a couple of crudely built snowmen sprinkled about as you made your way to the forest. There were no snowflakes currently falling, but the sky was a bright white and gray and there was a faint breeze that nipped at your nose and cheeks. You had worn a pair of black boots that better accommodate the thicker layer of snow you’d be trekking on. You made a pit stop at the oak tree in the field to cut off a chunk of wood not wanting to traverse into the Forbidden Forest for oak wood. There was a tweak you wanted to make to the Holly Bombs and oak wood served best for your intention.

 

You found the glade much quicker this time, having engraved markings on the trunks of trees in reverse from when you last visited for your tutoring session. The small pond near the center had completely frozen over now from the increasingly frigid weather. You picked a spot on the far side of the glade and used a heating charm to melt a large circle so you could sit on the grass rather than get your butt wet from snow. In your bag, you had brought your to-go meal and your old experiment notebook as well as various brewing supplies; a pestle and mortar set, a knife, a spoon, and a small cutting board.

 

It was a good thing Professor Flitwick agreed with your idea to use peppermint. While it was true that it would work well for the setting of the Yule Ball, you had primarily suggested it because the peppermint you had seen growing near the pond along with the frosty fern during your first visit here would soon die, as snow and frosty temperatures were not an optimal environment for peppermint to thrive. It would’ve been a shame to let such an ingredient go to waste. You plucked a bundle of peppermint sprigs from the ground with ease, the roots practically sliding out of the dirt having already started to wither from the harsh weather. You did not bother drying out the peppermint as you ground it in the mortar with the pestle. Drying it out meant eliminating a portion of its natural oils and weakening the strength of its scent. Though the powder wasn’t as fine as you would have liked it to be, it was well worth the sharp scent that flooded your noise. It also didn’t matter as much since the oak wood will make up for that sacrifice.

 

As you continued to prepare the holly bombs, you wrote every little instruction in the notebook under a drawing of each type of holly bomb you’ve ever made including but not limited to measurements, preparation method, and hypothetical alterations. The improvement you sought to make with this batch was dependent on the oak wood. You wanted the smoky explosions to be bigger, ensuring that the fragrance could settle even farther throughout the air without having to use as many holly bombs or sacrifice the strength of the scent. Combustible materials would help with the dispersion of the fragrance. Wood was a good option, specifically oak wood as it had a relatively muted and neutral smell that wouldn’t throw off the peppermint. 

 

With your knife, you began to cut shavings off of the section of wood, as if whittling it. And whittle you did. You trimmed the thick block of wood all the way down until it was practically a toothpick. You slid some shavings off the cutting board and into a duplicated mortar and ground it into a powder so fine it was practically dust. With your spoon, you scooped an equal amount of peppermint and oak into an engorged holly berry shell, sealed it together, and shook it thoroughly. Launching it far into the air, you threw a spell. It exploded, the force of the blast blowing your hair back a bit, despite you being on the ground, and producing red and white smoke at double the volume that smelled strongly of peppermint. 

 

You let out a victorious laugh, allowing yourself to trust-fall back on the snow, basking in your own happiness before scrambling to produce a couple more testers and playing with the proportions of powder. You hurriedly wrote out the result of each combination at the bottom of the page in your notebook designated for “Peppermint Holly Bombs.” The sandwich and fruit you had wrapped in your school bag started calling your name, the rumbling of your stomach becoming more noticeable after coming down from your high of satisfaction. Settling down in your snowless circle, you munched away on your food in content. 

 

SNAP

 

Your gaze flickered up and you stopped mid-chew, looking across the glade into the forest. You were quiet, scanning your eyes between what little trees you could see next to the massive boulders that circumferenced the glade. You resumed chewing after not having heard anything for a minute.

 

Probably just a fallen branch.

 

SNAP

 

Another one, accompanied this time by crunching snow. You were not alone.

 

“Hello?” you called. “Is someone there?” 

 

No one responded, but the noises persisted. Your eyes darted around as you turned, observing your surroundings and trying to locate the source of the noise. You felt a cold sweat beginning to build.

 

“I know you're out there. I can hear you!” you shouted.

 

Once again, there was no verbal response, but the noises started to grow in volume, as if they were getting closer. Putting your sandwich down, you flicked your wand from your sleeve and summoned your patronus. The runespoor materialized from your wand in a burst of blueish-white light and hissed at you, awaiting your command.

 

“Fetch.”

 

Your patronus swiveled its three massive heads towards the source of the noises and slithered away and a little to your right, curving around one of the boulders and disappearing into the thick brush. The sounds became silent for a moment but suddenly returned even louder and more prevalent, as if someone had broken into a run. Wand at the ready, you ever so slowly crept toward the direction your patronus took off in. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your head and your chest grew tight from holding in your breath. The noise got closer and closer, your wand jerking from side to side in anticipation as you braced yourself, attempting to predict where the suspect would pop out from.

 

Three grown deer came sprinting out of the thick brush through the tree line and into the open glade, followed by your runespoor as if it was herding them. You exhaled, letting your shoulders drop as you panted heavily trying to catch your breath. Your runespoor returned in front of you, lowering its large, spiny heads and analyzing you curiously. In your previous state of semi-frozen panic your free hand had unconsciously snaked its way up to the base of your throat, just barely squeezing it. You withdrew your hand and saw that it was shaking. You clenched it into a hard fist and opened, repeating these motions in an attempt to rid the tremor. Looking up, the deer were now grazing together, snuffling at what little fauna still stuck through the snow. You tried to relax by taking deep breaths and embracing the returned silence, but your heartbeat wouldn’t slow down and you couldn’t get the shaking to stop. In the corners of your vision and in the tree line you swore that you saw dark figures peeking out at you from behind trees and darting away at the last second when you snapped your head in their direction.

 

“Protect me.”

 

The runespoor coiled around you defensively as you sat down on the snow, ignoring the icy wetness that seeped into your pants as you tried to calm down. Your patronus’s long and thick body stacked on itself, shielding your view of your surroundings, its heads turning on a swivel to look out for any physical threats. Snowflakes started to fall as you touched your forehead to your knees and closed your eyes.

 

***

 

The walk back to the castle lasted way longer than it usually did. It took you nearly an hour to calm down and recollect yourself, and when you finally did, you were drained. Your usual stride was now a trudge as you warily scoped the fields of white. You kept your patronus manifested closely behind you, its presence giving you a sense of security. Thankfully, no one else was around to witness the ethereal creature that slithered about you protectively. 

 

Reaching the courtyard, you let your patronus dissipate and transferred the peppermint holly bombs from your school bag into a basket you had shrunk down and kept in your pocket. You did not bother to brush off any of the snow that had accumulated on your attire and in your hair before entering the castle. You quickly located Professor Flitwick as he was chatting away excitedly to Professor McGonagall a little ways down the corridor. He caught your eye as you paced over. Wordlessly, you held the basket out to him with both hands.

 

“Are these…?”

 

You nodded.

 

“My, you’re mighty efficient, Miss L/N! I wasn’t expecting these for at least a couple more days.”

 

You only shrugged in response and began to turn around and walk away.

 

“Wait- how many should be used in the Great Hall?”

 

“Three should be adequate. The scent will last for 12 days, you may blow them up around the castle using “Crepitus” whenever you wish.”

 

“Pardon?” Professor McGonagall interjected. “Blow up? Just what exactly have you been producing?”

 

You looked at her lazily. “Bombs.”

 

“Wh- Bombs?! ” she sputtered, her eyes widening as she looked down at the batch of red balls that were cradled by the basket. “What on earth are you planning, Fillius?” 

 

“Oh, relax. They're harmless!” He flickered his gaze towards you. “They are harmless, right Miss L/N?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Excellent! Let’s go set them off then.” He patted your arm and began to walk to the Great Hall.

 

“You want to do it now?”

 

“While we have the opportunity. No one is occupying the Great Hall at the moment and I would rather you set them off since you created them.”

 

“Very well.”

 

You and Flitwick walked towards the Great Hall while Professor McGonagall followed out of a mix of concern and curiosity. As the three of you approached, Professor Snape and Dumbledore came into view, having their own conversation near the doors of the large room. Flitwick cast a spell from a distance that unlocked the doors with a click. You took three peppermint holly bombs from the basket and gave Dumbledore a polite nod, who opened one of the doors and closed it behind you. Snape frowned.

 

“What is she doing in there? It’s not time for dinner.”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “Fillius tells me that she is-”

 

BOOM

 

The low but loud sound echoed inside of the Great Hall and the doors rattled with a sharp bang. The teachers jumped from the sudden noise and watched in disconcert as red smoke seeped out from underneath the cracks. Snape was the first to snap out of his bewilderment and pulled open the doors only to be greeted by a rush of mintiness. The red haze began to settle and clear away just as your figure emerged from the cloudiness, casually stepping back out into the corridor with your hands clasped behind your back as if what you did was completely normal. 

 

“Enjoy, ‘m gonna go take a nap.” you muttered, leaving four stupefied staff members staring at you from behind.

 

***

 

“You want me to do what?” you stopped just shy of the stairs that lead down to the dungeons.

 

You never expressed it aloud before, but you loved the Weasley twins. According to both your houses the existence of your friendship was bizarre. Other than hanging out sometimes, you looked out for them, providing them with information about people or ingredients needed for pranking, and in return, they would do things for you. They were the mischievous little brothers that you never had that brought the occasional sense of whimsy to your day. Which is why you thought it was highly unusual when they asked you to attend the Yule Ball with them.

 

“Be our date to the Yule Ball!” they proclaimed in unison.

 

You ran a hand through your hair, blowing out a breath. “Look, you two are adorable and would be a catch to any girl here, but I don’t really like you guys like that-”

 

“Oh, Merlin, we don't mean it in a romantic way!” George clarified. “You're much more like an older sister to us.”

 

“And we know it's not for another week but we wanted to snatch you up before any other lucky fella could.” Fred winked.

 

You sighed, chuckling. “Glad to hear that we are on the same page.”

 

“So is that a yes?” they asked.

 

“Well, I don’t know. It’s not as though I planned on going. I imagine you’re also asking me, a 7th-year, because you need an older date to get in. Tell me, what would I be getting out of it?”

 

“A night of dancing and fun with two dashing, charming men.”

 

“Oh? And who might those men be?”

 

“Ouch!” They both clutched their chests, dramatically bending over from your playful retort. “Fair enough then. What do you want in return?”

 

You mulled it over, trying to decide whether this would be worth it or not. “A favor. I don’t know what yet, but when I ask you, you have to say yes.”

 

George raised his eyebrows smiling. “Sounds intriguing.”

 

“It’s a deal,” Fred answered.

 

Notes:

I'm taking a writing class this summer for college stuff. I'll try to get updates out on regular basis, but if you notice a delay in updates (or a sudden increase in the quality of my vocabulary and or writing style .3.) ya'll know why.

Chapter 20: Dress For Success

Summary:

Reader goes dress shopping and makes an unexpected friend.

Notes:

Moved the author's note to be chapter 1 instead of chapter 12, so if you notice a shift in chapter numbers that is why.

“Please, it'll be fun!” H/G/N insisted.

 

“Yeah! Join us Y/N. You spend far too much time reading,” another housemate chimed in.

 

You were reviewing some material on Defense Against the Dark Arts while simultaneously eating your breakfast at the Great Hall. H/G/N had informed you and the other 7th-year Slytherin girls that her aunt was visiting her for the day and offered to take her and some other girls to Diagon Alley to go dress shopping for the Yule Ball. Buying a dress hasn’t been on your mind despite the fact that you had a date, or rather, two dates. Honestly, you had half a mind to show up in your uniform robes and get them into the ball, allow them each a dance, and then leave. Though, it had been some time since you’d worn a dress… A trip to Diagon Alley did sound enticing as well, but shopping as a group did not. You preferred to do those sorts of things on your own time without having to wait on others.

 

“How exactly does your aunt intend on taking you all to Diagon Alley?”

 

“There is a fireplace in Three Broomsticks that’s connected to the Floo Network we can use.”

 

“Don’t you need to get approval from Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape to leave Hogsmeade?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “McGonagall isn’t our head of house. She doesn’t need to know where we are every second. And besides, we’ll be with a chaperone.” 

 

“So you informed Professor Snape?”

 

“...”

 

“H/G/N…” you sighed.

 

“Oh come on! We’re of age after all. Even if Snape says no, I’m still going to go…” she grumbled. 

 

“So your plan is to sneak off to Diagon Alley with this aunt of yours and hope you get back in time before either teacher suspects you’re missing?”

 

“Actually…I was hoping that you would ask...”

 

“Why me? What makes you think I have any leeway here? You're head girl, you have a reputation backing you.”

 

“That may be so, but he barely tolerates me and I wasn’t exactly a good potions student in my 5th year. Professor Snape likes you and you’ve never really gotten into trouble with him before…”

 

You choked a bit on the piece of egg in your mouth. “Professor Snape likes you.” The thought left a strange sensation in your chest, unsure of how to feel hearing that statement out loud.

 

“Where is this revelation coming from?” you asked, sipping some water. 

 

“I’ve got quite a few friends in Advanced Potions class who are bitter at how Snape seems to treat you differently.”

 

“Different how?"

 

“Like you aren’t just another “dunderhead” he has to manage in class. Apparently, he never insults your potions or disciplines you when your mind seems to be elsewhere.”

 

You rolled your eyes. “Imagine that. Professor Snape doesn’t hate me because I’m competent and sit quietly when I get my work done early.”

 

“I’m not saying it’s farfetched , I’m saying it has its benefits.”

 

You closed your book, leaned forward and lightly donked H/G/N on the forehead with the spine. “If you are inviting me simply so you can use whatever hypothetical advantage you think I may have with our head of house, then I decline. I refuse to be a pawn.” You spoke resolutely, keeping the spine of the book resting on her skin.

 

Her eyes widened, realizing how the situation seemed. “No! No, of course it's not like that. We really do want you to come with us. You seem stressed these days, jumpy really… We figured you could use a break from whatever that has been bothering you recently and what better way than shopping? And of course, it kills two birds with one stone…” She grinned, shrugging.

 

You slowly leaned back in your seat and retracted the book from her forehead, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. You didn’t think that she-... anyone really took notice of you or your change in behavior. It was true though. You were starting to have…nightmares...these last couple of nights. You weren’t necessarily losing sleep over them just yet, but it wasn’t exactly a pleasant start to your day when you woke up with your hands wrapped around your neck. 

 

“I don’t know. I’m afraid I won’t be very good company…” you murmured, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

 

“I’m sure that’s not true, Y/N.” H/G/N said. “Please. Come with us.” She gave you a pleading look.

 

You propped your head in one of your hands and brought your other one up onto the table, lightly drumming your fingers for a moment or so. “If you ask Professor Snape and if he says yes. I will come. If he says no and asks of you later…I won’t tell.”

 

“Fine, so be it.”

 

…

 

Including you, there were about eight Slytherin girls who H/G/N had invited to go shopping together. You all walked in a group to Hogsmeade somewhere between the middle and the back of the chain of students that were guided away from the castle. One of the girls had to physically keep you in tow. You kept unconsciously wandering away from the cluster when a random thought crossed your mind or something off in the distance caught your attention. It was somewhat amusing to the potion master who watched from the behind as the girl who constantly had to pull you back was much shorter than you. 

 

Snape resigned himself to Three Broomsticks for the duration of the visit after briefly walking around. He barely had any business in Hogsmeade and most of the students were occupied with early Christmas shopping and searching for a dress or robes for the Yule Ball; hardly anything that needed his supervision or attention. He detested the Yule Ball. It was required of him to attend and observe students from afar along with the other teachers to make sure no inappropriate behavior or fights occurred that would sully the occasion. It was a yearly thorn in his side, a waste of a night he could use relaxing in the confines of his office or readjusting his potion inventory. He had no desire to stay longer than what was expected of him as he intended on departing back to Spinner’s End for the holidays the very same night.

 

“The usual, Professor Snape?” Madame Rosmerta said, approaching him from behind the bar, glass in hand.

 

“Yes. Might as well leave the bottle,” he gruffed, rubbing one side of his temple.

 

“That bad, eh?” She set a bottle of firewhiskey and glass on the bar top. “Do you plan on going back again to Spinner's End this year?” 

 

Snape only grunted in response. Madame Rosmerta was the landlady of the pub and one of the few people who knew Professor Snape lived in Spinner’s End, unlike all the students in Hogwarts who assumed he lived in the deepest and darkest parts of the dungeons. It wasn’t common knowledge; no one knew much about the potion master’s personal life besides the teachers and he preferred to keep it that way. Though Rosmerta could be lumped in with the students, she had picked up little things Professor Snape occasionally let slip while drinking, not that they were necessarily secrets, and never shared this information with others. Bartender-patron confidentiality and all.

 

“Professor Snape?” a voice spoke. Snape lazily tilted his head and saw H/G/N standing next to him, slightly fidgeting with her fingers.

 

“What.”

 

“My aunt would like to take me and some of my housemates to Diagon Alley to go shopping for the Yule Ball. I thought I should let you know seeing that I need your permission.”

 

Snape turned in his seat and looked towards the fireplace and saw the eight other girls who waited nervously while watching the conversation. Though he had seen you with the group earlier, he was surprised to find you wanting to go with them considering how you had previously expressed your disinterest in the Yule Ball.

 

“And just where is this aunt of yours?” 

 

“Waiting.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “On the other side.”

 

He huffed, taking a long swig from his glass, before glancing towards the group again. All seventh years, all of age, more or less are well-behaved, and would have someone monitoring them.

 

“One hour.” Snape muttered.

 

H/G/N beamed. “Thanks, Professor!”

 

She trotted back over flashing you all a victorious smile. One by one you all filed into the fireplace taking turns with the floo powder, each of you disappearing with a crackle of bright green fire.

 

“Diagon Alley.”

 

***

 

You popped out in another fireplace. It was another pub similar to Three Broomsticks, presumably the Leaky Cauldron. None of the other patrons bothered to acknowledge your presence as it was a regular occurrence for people to enter in and out of the fireplace. You swiped a bit of soot off your shoulders and followed the other girls who were exiting out the back door. H/G/N drew her wand and tapped methodically on a couple of bricks in one of the walls. The brick wall shifted and opened up to the nine of you as you stepped through. Diagon Alley was packed. There were many families out and about pointing at all the window displays of the latest new gifts and toys for the holidays. Everything smelled festive as bakeries opened their windows and let the smells of sweet treats waft into the air to draw in customers.

 

“So H/G/N, where is your aunt meeting us?”

 

Her and the others snickered a bit. “Uh yeah, about that…there isn’t an aunt.”

 

You quirked your eyebrows, perplexed. “You…lied to Professor Snape?”

 

Her lips twitched into a triumphant grin. Your gaze flickered back and forth between her and the other girls.

 

You turned around. “Well, you all have fun-”

 

“Oh, no you don’t!” she said, grabbing your arm and linking it tightly with her’s. “You are coming shopping with us."

 

“Guys, come on! I really don’t want to get in trouble if Professor Snape finds out.”

 

“He already gave us his approval, Y/N. We have a whole hour and I had to get you to come somehow. And besides, how would he find out that I lied?”

 

"Legillimency," you thought, staying silent.

 

“Exactly. He won’t find out,” she declared and began dragging you and the other girls through the crowd of witches and wizards.

 

H/G/N led you to a shop commonly known as Madam Malkin’s. Having anticipated the Yule Ball and the time for upcoming Christmas parties, there were plenty of dresses on display for purchase. The whole time H/G/N and the other Slytherin girls were chatting about who they were taking to the Yule Ball and helping each other find the perfect dress. Unsurprisingly, H/G/N was taking H/B/N as they were currently a couple. You stayed quiet but listened intently as your eyes scanned the rows of dresses, feeling the material.

 

“So Y/N,” H/G/N said aloud. “Do you have a date for the Yule Ball?”

 

You nodded, keeping your eyes trained on the dresses. “I do.”

 

“Care to share who that might be?”

 

“The Weasley twins.”

 

She looked up, mouth agape in amusement. “Twins? Plural? As in both of them?”

 

You clicked your tongue. “That is correct.”

 

“Merlin.” She raised her eyebrows, smirking in an insinuating way. “Good for you Y/N…”

 

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you sneered. “They’re too young for me, and besides, the arrangement is purely transactional.”

 

“Alright, alright. I believe you. But you do know what that means…” she said coming over to your side. “We’ve got to find you a dress that will make both of their jaws drop.”

 

The other girls abandoned the task of searching for dresses for themselves, finding your situation to be much more interesting. They started showing you dresses they thought were cute, awaiting your opinion, but the more they did so, the more irritated you grew as they were showing you dresses that were far outside the realm of what you liked.

 

“No.”

 

“Too short.”

 

“Too long.”

 

“No.”

 

“Hate it.”

 

“No.”

 

“Honestly, my chest would need to be twice as big to fill that out.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“I don’t do sleeveless.”

 

“No.”

 

“No.”

 

“No-”

 

“Oh come on Y/N! You can’t be that picky.” H/G/N said. “Give us something to work with. Like…the color. What color dress are you looking for?”

 

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “...Black,” you murmured. “I think I look good in black.”

 

The other girls sheepishly lowered what they had just pulled out, having selected dresses that were pink, blue, or red.

 

She winced. “I don’t know if they have any black dresses here. You’ll likely have better luck at Twilfitt and Tattings, but it’ll be more expensive.”

 

“Don’t worry about that. Money is not a problem.”

 

“Would you like us to come with you?” 

 

You sighed. “No, enough time has been wasted on me. Please, have fun and find something for yourselves. I will meet you all later.”

 

…

 

Walking into Twilfitt and Tattings, it gave off a…less welcoming vibe. It was definitely an establishment catered for upper-class wizards and witches. The other patrons eyed you with contempt, not recognizing you among the wealthy and elite families in London and turning their noses up at you. Of course you ignored them, keeping your back straight and your hands clasped behind your back as you slowly paced around, looking at the dresses the store had to offer. You were pleased with the selection of attire as far as dresses go. The colors weren’t as bright, the hues leaning on the darker side.

 

You gravitated towards dresses that were clearly meant for formal parties or dances. They were more accommodating for someone of your height. You weren't comfortable showing off too much skin, at least in the two places you were concerned about. Your goal wasn’t to turn any heads or be “sexy”. You just wanted to feel…nice. 

 

As you were browsing, you noticed a woman not so far away from you. She was holding a dress in each hand, her gaze shifting back and forth between the two, seemingly stuck in trying to figure out which one to purchase.

 

“The green…” you murmured to yourself. 

 

The woman turned her attention away from the dresses and towards you. “Pardon? Did you say something?”

 

You looked toward her and your cheeks blushed from embarrassment, realizing the woman had heard you. She was looking you in the eyes, quizzically. Oh, wow. She’s really pretty. “Sorry, it’s…nothing. I just…think the green would look better, though I think you could pull off anything in this store.” Your voice grew quieter at the end as you looked away.

 

Her red lips tugged into a prominent smirk. “Why thank you, my dear. You're right, the green does suit me better.” She set the other dress down and held the long sleeve green dress against her body. From a further distance, one wouldn’t notice but it had an intricate gold pattern ingrained in the fabric. “I think my husband would love to see me in this.”

 

You offered a light smile in return before resuming your browsing, but you heard the woman speak again. “Is there anything in particular you’re hoping to find?” She was standing much closer to you now.

 

“Oh well…I don’t know. I do need a dress for this ball that I am attending, preferably black. I want to feel elegant, but I don’t want to look over the top. I don’t want to reveal too much skin, but I need to be able to move comfortably in it. And I would like for it to have sleeves and-” You paused and swallowed before speaking again. “I am a bit picky when it comes to clothing…” you trailed off. 

 

“This ball…it wouldn’t happen to be the Yule Ball, would it? Are you a student?”

 

You nodded your head in affirmation.

 

“What house are you in?”

 

“Slytherin, ma’am. In my seventh year.”

 

She smiled fondly at you, raising both her hands and lightly cupping your cheeks. “Me and my husband were both Slytherins too, though I should’ve known a pretty girl such as yourself was a fellow snake.” A light pink dusted your cheeks. “Take off your coat for me, would you dear?”

 

You complied with her request, shrugging out of your coat and holding it in your arms. She slowly walked around you in a circle, looking you up and down, seemingly analyzing your appearance. Every now and then her smirk would persist or she’d let out a little “hmn”. 

 

“Yes…black would indeed look stunning. I know exactly the kind of dress that would work for you.”

 

“Really?” you gave her a hopeful look.

 

“My dear, I have been shopping at this store for years. It’s one of my favorites. I’ve bought so many dresses from this place, I could buy a second house. Trust me.”

 

She grabbed your hand and began leading you to a different part of the store. Thankfully, Twilfitt and Tattings was very organized, almost like a library, and the woman skillfully navigated through the dresses as if she was the librarian. The dresses were arranged by color, style, and size. She kept glancing back and forth between you and the dress she would select as if imagining you wearing it. Often she gave a strange look that resembled a ‘maybe?’ before contorting into disapproval and letting the dress go. There were others that she completely skipped over, not giving them the time of day. 

 

“Tell me, how do you feel about lace?”

 

“...I like lace.”

 

She smiled and danced her fingers along the line of dresses, stopping on one and pulling it out with a flourish. 

 

“This. You must try this one,” she asserted, handing you the dress, spinning you around and ushering you towards a fitting room. “Go on, I’d love to see it.” 

 

You stepped into one of the fitting rooms, inspecting the dress in front of you. Even though the dress was mostly opaque lace, you were thoroughly relieved to find a built-in slip inside. You peeled off your layers of clothing and stepped into the dress, using your wand to magically pull the small zipper up in the back. It fit you like a glove, as if it were made for you. There was a tall vertical mirror embedded into the wall. You inspected yourself, a large smile gradually forming on your lips.

 

The door opened with a creak and the woman who was waiting outside rhythmically drumming her fingers against her forearms turned to face you. She raised an eyebrow, as a grin spread on her face.

 

“It’s perfect.”

 

***

 

The woman accompanied you back towards the Leaky Cauldron as she herself was headed toward Knockturn Alley. She gossiped with you about the latest drama in her circle of friends, figuring it was harmless since you were basically an empty well who wouldn’t be able to repeat such scandalous information to anyone who mattered. You listened patiently. As much as you didn’t like gossiping and drama, you couldn’t deny the way she was raving on and on about these supposed elites was a little entertaining. 

 

“By the way, I never got your name,” the woman said.

 

“My name is Y/N. Yours?”

 

“It’s-”

 

“Y/N!” a voice called. You turned and saw the rest of the Slytherin girls waiting as H/G/N waved to you.

 

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

 

She smiled. “May I ask you a favor? I have this letter that I was going to send. It’s meant for your head of house, Professor Snape. He is a close friend of my husband. I was hoping you could take it to him. My owl is terribly slow these days.” She held out the letter to you. It barely had any writing on it, the only words being “Severus Snape”.

 

“Yes, of course.” you took the letter from her hand.

 

“You’re so sweet, my dear.” She gently held your head and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, her lipstick leaving an imprint on your skin. “It was lovely meeting you. I hope we see eachother again someday.” You blushed furiously at the sudden act of affection, your mouth hanging open a little as you struggled to return any sort of verbal farewell, but she had turned and disappeared into the crowd.

 

“Who was that?” H/G/N asked as you approached the group of girls.

 

“A new friend I guess…” you mumbled.

 

She looked up at the red mark on your forehead. “Did she just ki-“

 

“YeahsoanywaysIfoundadress,” you interrupted, your words coming out in a rushed, jumbled manner as you showed them your bag from Twilfitt and Tattings.

 

“Oh, good for you! We all found one as well.” They each raised their own bags in response. “We best get going then, the hour is nearly up.”

 

Re-entering the Leaky Cauldron, you clutched your bag tightly to yourself, not wanting the soot from the fireplace to get inside and dirty your new dress. Dropping the floo powder, you stepped out through the whoosh of the flames and back into Three Broomsticks. You looked across the pub and saw that Professor Snape remained in the same spot now reading a book. The other girls popped out behind you one at a time. H/G/N took it upon herself to grab two large tables that had just cleared up and would seat the nine of you. You were hesitant to join them as your social battery was nearly drained and you didn’t want to be rude; shopping always had a way of mentally exhausting you and this wouldn’t have been the case if there were only two or three of them. Reluctantly, you took a seat on one of the outer edges and put your head down on your forearms. 

 

The scuffing of shoes approached the tables as a barmaid came to take an order of drinks. “What can I get you ladies today?”

 

“A bottle of firewhiskey and nine glasses please.” You interjected with a low muffled noise against your arms. “Er sorry- eight glasses.”

 

“I’ll need to verify your ages.” The barmaid pulled out her wand, holding it in front of each girl. The tip glowed green indicating that they were all of age. “One bottle of firewhiskey coming right up,” she smiled, walking back to the bar.

 

“You okay, Y/N?” you heard H/G/N ask. 

 

You mumbled back in response, the only recognizable word being “tired” accompanied by one of your hands morphing into a quick thumbs up. She gave a soft chuckle and let you be. Closing your eyes, you eased into the ambient sounds of the pub. You weren’t trying to sleep, you just needed to recharge for a bit. You promptly ignored the fleeting sensation of legilimency before it disappeared a second later, the brisk manner resembling something akin to checking the time on a watch. The conversations around you did not cease. You kept pivoting back and forth between listening and ignoring them, paying attention when something interesting graced your ears then retreating back to your quiet mind. 

 

“Y/N, I think your dates would like to see you.”

 

You slowly lifted your head up from your arms and followed her gaze. The Weasley twins were standing near the door, motioning for you to come join them. You dragged yourself out of the table and made your way over to them. “There’s our special girl!”

 

“How was dress shopping?” Fred asked.

 

You quirked your eyebrows in surprise. “How did you kn-”

 

“Your bag,” George spoke. “It’s from Diagon Alley, Twilfitt and Tattings if I’m not mistaken. Can’t believe you snuck off without us.” They both gave you a pretend hurt look. It wasn’t entirely true, while you technically had Professor Snape’s permission, he was very much misinformed. However, it was fun to play along with the twins.

 

“Please forgive me your royal highnesses, however could I possibly make up for such a heinous crime?” you bantered.

 

“You hear that George? She thinks we are kings!” They both straightened up, smirking proudly. “Seriously, how was dress shopping?”

 

“It was fine I s’pose. I did find a dress that I like.”

 

“Ooh, show us!” Fred reached for your bag, but you smacked his hand away. “Uh-uh, you will see it at the Yule Ball.” They gave you puppy dog eyes in return. “At least tell us the color. I want to make sure that we’re all color coordinated.”

 

“Do you two plan on wearing matching robes?”

 

“Of course!” They said in unison. 

 

You smirked. “It’s black. It should be easy to find robes to go with it.”

 

“Why don’t you come help us look? We’re about to head over to Gladrags Wizardwear.”

 

“Yeah, alright.” you sighed, nodding. On cue they both linked their arms with you and led you out of the pub.

 

You figured going robes shopping with the twins would be much easier than it was to find you a dress, but you were wrong. They were struggling to agree on every piece of clothing they would buy, even the shoes! You insisted that they didn’t have to match or buy two of the exact same ones, but they wouldn’t budge, the one thing they apparently could agree on. It took a while, but they eventually settled on a combination of long black robes accompanied with a tan vest, white undershirt and a black ribbon tie. By the time you were finished, they were all smiles.

 

“How could you!?” a voice shrieked just as you and the twins exited the shop. 

 

You looked around for the source of the voice and saw H/G/N standing in the middle of High Street with her wand extended in front of her pointing directly at H/B/N. She was furious, her arm shaking with rage as tears streamed down her face. 

 

“H/G/N, if you’d just hear me out-”

 

“A day before the Yule Ball? Are you fucking kidding me?!" She fiercely threw a couple of spells at H/B/N who only blocked them, not wanting to fire back. There was a heavy sway in her movements and she had to constantly shift her weight back and forth on her feet just to keep herself upright.

 

Oh god, she’s drunk.

 

More spells were thrown towards H/B/N as he pleaded with her to stop. A crowd had begun to draw as students began to murmur to themselves. H/G/N looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown. You flicked your wand from your sleeve and strode over to the fight.

 

“H/G/N, what are you doing??” you called out to her as you got closer.

 

“Payback!” She snapped. “Bombarda Maxi-”

 

“Expelliarmus!” 

 

The spell left your lips just in time, knocking her wand out from her hand and into the snow. She gave you a shocked look of betrayal before dropping to her knees and clumsily scrambling for her wand. It was too late as you had already accio'd it to yourself, holding it far away in the air as she crawled toward you and grabbed at your coat, pleading for her wand back through choked cries.

 

Professor Snape emerged from the crowd, shoving a couple of students aside, having heard the commotion from inside the pub. Professor McGonagall appeared next to him seconds later. He was bewildered by the scene he saw before him; three Slytherin students seemingly engaged in a fight, one with his wand extended out warily and you holding two wands towering above the hysterical head girl who reached at you desperately.

 

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?!” Snape yelled.

 

H/G/N half turned her head towards the potion master, opening her mouth to speak…

 

…and then proceeded to throw up on your shoes.

 

H/G/N’s friends looked away in embarrassment while others snickered out of amusement and disgust. You closed your eyes and grimaced, but you didn’t get angry. 

 

“ ‘m sorry Y/N,” she slurred through pitiful tears. “I didn’t mean to, please don’t hate me-”

 

“It’s fine, H/G/N…” you vanished the vomit off of your shoes and her mouth before lowering yourself down to her level. “Can you stand?”

 

She sniffled loudly and made a wobbly attempt to stand, but the one-sided duel had taken too much energy out of her and the effects of firewhiskey were proving to be too much. She buckled back down to her butt and her bottom lip quivered like a toddler who had been scolded. You sighed and wordlessly casted a Feather Light spell on her and scooped her into your arms bridal style. She clung tightly to you and began sobbing into your coat. 

 

“30 points from Slytherin for fighting and causing a public disturbance.” Professor McGonagall spoke angrily. “I demand an explanation for this inappropriate behavior this instant!” 

 

H/B/N was the first to speak, finally lowering his wand and walking towards the two professors. He wasted no time in defending himself, explaining how he was only trying to block her drunken onslaught and never casted a spell back at her. Taking advantage of the distraction, you silently backed away, slipping through the crowd of on-lookers and begin to carry H/G/N back to the castle.

 

***

 

Her crying had yet to cease as she persistently blubbered and sniffled against your body. Every now and then she’d let out a little “it’s not fair” or “he’s such a jerk” before falling back into a miserable sob. You said nothing, allowing her to feel what she needed to feel as you trekked back up the snow-covered path. It would be fruitless of you to ask her anything in her current state.

 

Eventually her sobbing died down as her head rested lazily against your shoulder. Her cheeks were red and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. The only sounds she made were loud sniffs and shaky breaths.

 

“ ‘m such’n idiot,” she mumbled. 

 

“…Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“…”

 

“You are not obligated to tell me anything, H/G/N. Though it might make you feel better, even if it means more crying.”

 

She remained silent, or as silent as she could be in her current state for a couple more minutes, relaxing further into your hold and grasping at the inner hem of your coat.

 

“Why’d you steal me away? You’re gonna get in s’much trouble…”

 

“You were in no condition to be chewed out by Professor Snape and I feared leaving you helpless on the ground would have worsened your distress. And besides, if what you claim about Professor Snape is true then I probably won’t receive that harsh of a punishment.”

 

H/G/N picked at one of the open buttons on your coat and took a few more deep breaths as she braced herself, fighting back another set of tears. “H/B/N wants to break up with me.”

 

“ Ah jeez, I’m sorry to hear that H/G/N.”

 

“He said he didn’t want to go to the Yule Ball with me ‘cause he wants to go with another girl,” she muttered bitterly. “I feel so stupid.” Stray tears leaked from her eyes and dribbled down her cheek, soaking into your coat, but she was more or less quiet.

 

“Why do you feel stupid?”

 

“Cause,” she sniffed, “he’s been distant these last two days. I shoulda known.”

 

You exhaled, thinking for a moment. “May I tell you something? It’s going to sound bad at first…but I encourage you to hear me out.”

 

H/G/N nodded meekly.

 

“He probably has been thinking about breaking up with you for some time.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Whaddya mean?”

 

“Well, the way I see it is if H/B/N’s just now choosing to end things in order to attend the Yule Ball with someone else, it’s because he believes he will be happier. It’s not exactly a decision one makes randomly. He’s likely thought this over for a while, who knows, perhaps he’s already…established things…with this other girl. However, it is not something you should blame yourself for. If you’re truly this blindsided, it must mean that he hid his affliction fairly well. Damn snake in the grass…”

 

“I still feel like shit.”

 

“Being drunk and angry tends to have that effect,” you chuckled.

 

She groaned in embarrassment. “Merlin…what am I gonna do? I-I might lose my position as head girl. Everyone’s probably talkin’ about me right now…”

 

“What’s done is done. The only thing you can do is move on with grace and ignore what people say. I would know.”

 

She whined a bit more in protest, clearly not happy with being told that she can’t control what other people think. “It’s not fair! I had everything planned out. Now I don’t even have a date.”

 

“You can still attend the Yule Ball even without a date. I implore you to have a great time with your friends, dance with whoever you’d like, and look stunning while doing so. Make him regret it if that is what you wish…”

 

She gave one last mopey sigh before looking at you in accepted defeat. “You’re so smart, Y/N…”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

…

 

Thankfully, H/G/N had fallen asleep in your arms before you made it inside the castle. Students who had stayed behind stared at you in a mixture of confusion and surprise as you silently carried the unconscious head girl down towards the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey gave you a questioning look, having spotted no visible injuries on the girl as you walked in, but it morphed into understanding when you uttered the words “she’s drunk.” She guided you over towards an empty bed for H/G/N to sleep off the alcohol and set down a bucket and a potion equivalent to a hangover helper on the bedside stand. You gently laid H/G/N down on her side, bending her knees a little towards her stomach to relieve any nausea, and laid the blanket over her. You summoned a chair and sat down next to her, listening to her quiet breathing as you propped an elbow on the bedside stand and lightly tapped your wand against the side of your head.

 

About thirty minutes later, Dumbledore paced into the Hospital Wing followed by an irritated Professor Snape. Both of them spotted you immediately.

 

“Hello, Miss L/N.” Dumbledore ambled over to the bed.

 

“Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore.” You spoke softly, keeping your eyes on H/G/N.

 

His gaze briefly flicked over H/G/N’s sleeping form before speaking again. “I’ve been told there was an altercation in Hogsmeade this afternoon.”

 

You nodded slightly. “There was. No one was hurt, physically speaking.”

 

“That is good to hear. Can you tell me what happened?”

 

You knitted your brows. “Professor Snape didn’t-”

 

“I have informed Headmaster Dumbledore of H/B/N’s recount of the incident.” Snape interrupted. “We are merely investigating whether both perspectives align .”

 

“Well, I wasn’t really there for the start, but I did put an end to it. As you know she was thoroughly inebriated. H/B/N was telling the truth. He didn’t cast a single spell at her, only blocked her attacks. She nearly blew up High Street with Bombarda Maxima , but I disarmed her before she could cast it.” You withdrew H/G/N’s wand from your coat and set it on the bedside stand.

 

“Do you know why this fight happened?” Dumbledore asked.

 

You cringed. “I do, but it’s really not my place to say…”

 

“I’m afraid you must tell us for it is necessary in our evaluation of H/G/N.”

 

You clicked your tongue. “I’m sure it won’t hold much significance to either of you. It’s just typical teenage drama stuff. The two of them are-... were dating. H/B/N wanted to ask someone else to the Yule Ball and H/G/N did not take too kindly to that.”

 

Dumbledore smiled. “A lover’s quarrel.”

 

“I s’pose so.” 

 

H/G/N stirred in bed, her hand flopping out and landing on your knee. You gingerly picked it up and tucked it back toward her body.

 

Dumbledore spoke again. “I applaud you for stepping in and stopping the fight. I believe house points are in order, but I’m sure they’d hardly do anything against the amount Professor McGonagall took. H/G/N is lucky to have a friend like you by her side.”

 

You looked down in your lap and fidgeted. “ ‘m not really her friend.”

 

“Well. In any case,” he began to stand and depart the Hospital Wing, “it is nice to have support when one is in distress.” With that he was gone, leaving you and Professor Snape by H/G/N’s bed. You didn’t really acknowledge him, focusing your attention on H/G/N until you noticed he was squinting at you.

 

“What?” 

 

“You have lipstick on your forehead,” he drawled.

 

Your eyes widened and you blushed, wiping the expanse of your forehead with the back and your hand and indeed finding a red smear. “Oh, that reminds me. A woman at Diagon Alley told me to give this to you.” You reached into your dress bag where you had put the letter and held it out to Professor Snape. He eyed the letter suspiciously before taking it from you.

 

“Did this woman have a name?”

 

“She didn’t say, but she mentioned that you were a family friend.”

 

That wasn’t a very long list. Instantly, he knew exactly who you were referring to, and if that wasn’t enough, the crest with a large letter ‘M’ stamped into the wax seal gave him the answer.

 

Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy.

 

Chapter 21: The Yule Ball

Summary:

Reader attends the Yule Ball. Who will she dance with?

Notes:

I know ya'll have been wanting more Snape and reader interactions. Have patience, we're getting there.

There is a reference image used for the dress. Please note that it is for the DRESS and not an allusion to other characteristics of the reader.

 December 18th - The Yule Ball

 

Dear Severus,

 

Lucius and I would love to host you at Malfoy Manor for the holidays, whether it's for a day or the entire Christmas break. Draco misses you terribly and it has been some time since he has last seen you. You’ll be pleased to know that he has taken an interest in Quidditch and intends on becoming a seeker at Hogwarts at the start of due term. I hope this school year so far hasn’t been too harsh on you, I understand it tends to get busier around this time, yes? Please, do consider our offer this year. You are welcome in our home any time.

 

-Cissy

 

Snape threw the letter back down on his desk and rubbed the space between his eyes. Every year he received an invitation from the Malfoys requesting his presence during the holidays. It was expected considering his role of godfather to Draco, but nearly every year he declined. That wasn’t to say he didn’t feel somewhat guilty every time he opted to stay home. He wanted to make sure that Draco was being raised properly. Lucius and Narcissa had a tendency to spoil him, a habit he was sure would do wonders to the boy’s ego. While staying at Malfoy Manor was a luxury in itself, he was ironically more comfortable in Spinner’s End despite his upbringing; it was his home, he didn’t have to uphold any sort of expectations or responsibilities. He could just…breathe. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen them in years, but enough time has passed. Given the circumstances he finds himself in with Lupin (and soon Sirius Black) gallivanting about the castle, he was considering taking up their offer.

 

Having already eaten dinner, it was likely that Professor Flitwick and Hagrid were about to finish putting up decorations for the Yule Ball. He bitterly walked to his bedroom and began to change into a different set of robes. Truthfully, it wasn’t much different from how he regularly appeared, still donning all black, the only distinction being the robes themselves. They were more formal and without his coat or cloak he didn’t look as intimidating. He had some time before he would need to make his way to the Great Hall. Staff had to be early to make sure everything was in order before opening the doors to students.

 

As he made his way over to the couch to read he paused, catching sight of his reflection in a wall mirror that hung next to one of the bookshelves in the main room. He stared at himself, specifically his hair. He vaguely remembered you saying something during your Hogsmeade weekend together when you had that child on your shoulders. He didn’t hear everything, but he swore to Merlin that he thought you described his hair as “pretty”. He still wasn’t entirely sure whether he was the subject or if you were referring to someone else. His hands raised up into his wispy tendrils that lightly touched the brink of his shoulders. The waves and the subtle way the ends flicked up, down, and outwards was a trait he had inherited from his mother. He never did anything to it in the morning on the average day besides briefly combing it. Unfortunately, he had also inherited the genes of having hair that got oily easily. There were also times when his hair had simply absorbed too much potion fumes, taking on a greasy quality. He snapped his gaze away from the mirror, shaking his head and muttering to himself. He moved toward the couch to sit down, but it turned into an idle back-and-forth pace.

 

***

 

Professor Flitwick had outdone himself with the Yule Ball decorations. The Great Hall looked as though it was made of crystalized ice. Three large fir Christmas trees stood proudly covered in enchanted snow where the teacher’s table once sat. Thin, glassy icicles hung from the ceiling and shone brightly, illuminating the room with a blueish white as if it the room itself was a patronus, and releasing small orbs of dissipating light that fell ever so slowly in the minty air like snowflakes. The house tables had been removed and replaced with circular dining tables covered in cloth for those who wished to sit off to the side to observe or relax. 

 

You let the Weasley twins know in advance that you wished to arrive sometime after the doors were opened. As much as they wanted to show you off, you didn’t want to be at the forefront of all the embarrassing clapping nonsense the staff did to welcome the first arrivals. The Slytherin girls all helped each other get ready, sharing bobby pins, makeup, ties, zipping eachother up and so on. You volunteered to assist before you yourself got ready, applying makeup and fixing their hair. Those whose dates were Slytherin boys were greeted by a wave of wolf-whistles upon entering the common room as they waited for each other, gushing over their attire.

 

You didn’t do much to yourself as far as cosmetics. You took a shower and a nap earlier that day, letting your hair dry in a bonnet as you slept. This way it felt cleaner and appeared less frizzy, not to mention it smelled freshly of your conditioner. You wore your hair down, separating some of the thicker locks that had intertwined too much in your slumber to give your hair a bit more length and volume. As for makeup, you hardly used any as you didn't want to fuss much with its eventual removal or worry about it while dancing; merely a layer of mascara and some dark red lip tint.

 

It was not uncommon for the oldest years to show up fashionably late, which is why you were not surprised to find many of them still lounging about the common room and socializing. Some of these students included H/G/N and a couple of other girls who had accompanied you in Diagon Alley. You quietly stepped out from the dorm hall and into the common room, fidgeting with your fingers. H/G/N was the first to see you.

 

“Well fuck me sideways with a broom, Y/N!” she spoke loudly, gaining the attention of the others whose gaze landed on you. She walked over to you and held your shoulders, looking you up and down. “You look amazing! Black does suit you,” she smiled. “I’m a bit surprised, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

 

You averted your gaze to the ground bashfully.

 

“I’m not! It’s always the quiet ones,” a boy piped up, waggling his eyebrows only to be smacked harshly on his shoulder by his date.

 

“Were you all waiting for me or…?” you trailed off looking back behind you. You were the last person to get ready.

 

“No, we were just hanging out. But since everyone’s all dressed up now we should head down as a group, yes?” The other Slytherins nodded in agreement and they all began to migrate towards the exit.

 

“By the way,” you whispered to H/G/N. “How was the aftermath of Hogsmeade? Are you still head girl?”

 

“I am. Dumbledore had mercy on me, him being a romantic and all, but I still received an intense lecture from Snape about letting my “silly emotions” get the best of me,” she rolled her eyes as her fingers mimicked air quotes.

 

“Are you going to be okay tonight? There’s no shame in going stag of course, but I know you were really looking forward to going with H/B/N.”

 

She blew out a breath. “Yeah, I should be. I think I got it all cried out last night. I’m just going to focus on having a good time, just like you said.”

 

You patted her shoulder. “Atta girl.”

 

…

 

The twins stood outside the Great Hall, talking with some of the other younger years who managed to get in with an older date. Tom was among this group, his date being a fellow Hufflepuff. Tom caught sight of you before the twins did, his eyes widening as he elbowed George and motioned for him to turn around. Fred followed his lead and they both stared at you. You walked up to the both of them, hands clasped behind your back with a slight smile on your face.

 

“Boys,” you greeted.

 

Their mouths opened to say something, but nothing came out. After a second or two they both shook their heads and blinked in unison.

 

“Y/N, you look stunning!” Fred spoke.

 

“You could say that again,” said George.

 

“Y/N, you look stunning!”

 

“Thank you. You two look very dashing, though I’m not surprised considering I helped pick out your robes,” you grinned. They both came to your sides offering you an arm. You rolled your eyes at their silliness and accepted both of their arms as they led you inside.

 

You were relieved upon seeing the setup of the Great Hall. Though it was a formal ball, the general environment was more like the dances you saw in movies. Those who weren’t dancing either sat at a table, talking and laughing with friends, or stood off to the side up against one of the walls rather than everyone standing in one suffocating circle and watching those who were already dancing. Right away they both asked you to dance. You eeny-meeny-miny-mo’ed between the two of them and let George whisk you away.

 

The teachers were spread out around the Great Hall standing along the walls and observing the students. Snape was posted on the side of the room closest to the fir trees and the table where drinks could be served along with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. From the moment the doors opened, they were murmuring and chuckling with each other upon seeing all the couples. It was evident that a few bets were made. He rolled his eyes. Since he stepped foot inside the Great Hall he had been counting down the minutes in his head, achieving freedom in a few hours. 

 

“Oh, my.” 

 

“What is it, Albus?” McGonagall replied.

 

“Miss L/N looks lovely,” Dumbledore smiled with a twinkle in his eyes.

 

Snape attempted to follow the old wizard’s gaze towards the entrance of the Great Hall. It did not take long for his eyes to snag on the girl in black. He unconsciously straightened up and the grip he had on the drink behind his back tightened. You were wearing a black lace dress with long semi-opaque sleeves that showed off your shoulders, starting at your upper arms and running down to your wrists. It hugged your torso and tapered out with a relaxed structure, the bottom half flowing down gracefully in layers and stopping at your knees in the front. Your hair curled down over your exposed shoulders.

 

He tore his eyes away from you and mentally slapped himself, his hair shielding his face as he turned from the other staff members.

 

It was not surprising to find that you had shown up with the Weasley twins as he was somewhat aware of the familial relationship you had with them. He watched as George Weasley brought you to the dance floor. Fred stood a little behind his brother, shadowing him as George led you around. About every minute or so they’d spin you into the arms of the other brother, taking turns being your partner. It was quite an unusual sight from his perspective but you seemed to be having fun. He could see a smile forming on your face as you were guided around.

 

You grew a little nervous as George took you toward the other dancing students. You were confident in your abilities to be graceful and not step on his toes, but you weren’t a fan of the staring from those who sat back and watched. However, when you and George started dancing you found yourself ignoring the on-lookers and focused on enjoying your time with the Weasleys. You were pleasantly amused by the way they switched off with you, ending each of their turns with a twirl or spin of some sort. Honestly, you nearly lost track of which brother you were dancing with at one point. Contrary to the expectations you had, you were starting to have fun. 

 

Eventually, they stopped switching so frequently to allow each other more time with you and taking breaks between turns. During each dance with them, they talked about their plans for the holidays. They insisted you come to the train station and wait with them tomorrow before they went back home, to which you agreed. They also asked that you write to them at some point during the holidays. You told them that you didn’t have an owl, but they said they’d write to you first and that their owl is very friendly.

 

You tapped out after forty minutes, needing to give your feet a quick break. The twins went to get themselves and you a drink. You found some of the other Slytherin girls and sat down at a table with them. H/G/N seemed to be having a good time so far. You could tell she was still a bit sad, but she was trying. Your gaze slowly circulated around the room, observing all the other couples who smiled and flitted about. Your eyes landed on Professor Snape who now stood near one of the walls, sipping a drink and surveying the students. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else at the moment. A couple other teachers walked around the room making sure students were okay and having a good time.

 

You looked to your left and noticed Dumbledore was standing nearby, having just finished a dance with Professor McGonagall. You stood up and walked over.

 

“Hello, Headmaster.”

 

“Evening, Miss L/N. You look very lovely tonight,” he smiled.

 

“Thank you,” you beamed, glancing out towards the other dancers. “Professor Flitwick did a great job with the decorations.”

 

“That he did. It smells nice, too. I certainly wasn’t expecting an explosion to achieve that.”

 

“Yes, I s’pose this is when you find out that I’ve secretly been a pyromaniac this whole time!” you jested. “Would you like to dance, Headmaster?”

 

He chuckled. “Why would someone such as yourself want to dance with someone as old as me?”

 

“Hey, who says age has anything to do with it? I know you know your way around the dance floor. And besides, I’ll dance with anyone so long as they don’t break my toes.”

 

“I’m afraid I’m not as agile as the students.”

 

“I just spent the better part of an hour getting tossed back and forth between the Weasley twins. Trust me, I could use a break from agility.” You held out your hand, raising a challenging eyebrow with a smirk.

 

The corner of his eyes creased with an amused smile as he accepted your hand. He guided you towards the dance floor, placing his hand on your waist as you put your hand on his shoulder and began to move you about fluidly. 

 

“Tell me Miss L/N, how has your 7th-year been so far? Other than the attack of course.”

 

“It’s been good,” you smiled. “I’ve got all O’s for now and I became a tutor in potions earlier this year.”

 

“That’s wonderful to hear.” His expression suddenly turned bittersweet. “Are you staying at Hogwarts again for the holidays?”

 

Your smile faltered and your shoulders deflated a touch as you sighed through your nose. “...Yes, I will be.”

 

He squeezed your hand sympathetically. “I’m sorry, my dear. I know your situation is rather complicated. Hopefully you can enjoy it here just as much, if not more.”

 

“I hope so too… It’s just so stupid. You’d think they’d at least send a letter, even if it meant that I…” you trailed off, licking your lips. “Whatever. I’ll manage…as I always have. Atleast the twins will write to me.”

 

“You are very close with the twins, yes?”

 

“I am. They are kind of like the little brothers I never had. I’m a bit jealous that they come from such a large family.”

 

“Headmaster,” A voice gruffed.

 

Dumbledore let go of you and turned to find an annoyed Professor Snape holding the Weasley twins by the backs of their robe collars. “I caught these two trying to taint the pumpkin juice with a burping tonic.” 

 

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at the two boys questioningly who only shrugged coyly. However, the smirks on their faces were wiped away when they caught sight of your disappointed expression. Before Dumbeldore could respond, you brought both of your hands up and donked them on their foreheads with a karate-chop motion.

 

“Are you two being intentionally dense or are you just plain stupid?”

 

They opened their mouths to say something but nothing came out.

 

“I hope this little prank of yours wasn’t the reason why you both asked me to attend.”

 

“N-no Y/N. We promise, that wasn’t our reasoning!” Fred said.

 

“We just wanted to take advantage of our current situation and spice things up a bit. Can you imagine it, Y/N? A hall full of people burping over Flitwick’s boring music?” George followed with a mischievous expression.

 

“Enough,” Dumbledore interjected. “20 points from Gryffindor. Professor Snape, see to it that neither of them set foot near the refreshment table for the remainder of the evening.” 

 

Snape sneered at the two boys and dragged them off to the side and out of site. Dumbledore bowed, thanking you for the dance and headed off in another direction, presumably to talk to a teacher. You felt a twinge of sadness in your chest having been reminded of the Weasley family. Your eyes started to feel a little wet. Blowing out a breath, you walked away from the dance floor and towards the corridor outside the Great Hall. You needed a break, a moment to collect yourself. Pacing back and forth near the exterior wall, you drew your wand out from between your shoulder blades and tapped it against your head as you slowly paced back and forth, thinking.

 

You should be used to this by now. Why couldn’t you have been born into a family like theirs? Mrs. Weasley is always sending them letters. Why do I have to be stuck here again? I want to go back home to America… God, what’s the fucking point of complaining. If they won't even send you letters then clearly they don't—

 

“Miss?”

 

You stopped pacing and turned your head to the voice. There was a man standing near you; he wore a velvet maroon coat and had curly brown hair with a mustache that connected to a thin beard along his jaw. His gray eyes looked at you softly, gleaming with concern. 

 

“Are you alright?”

 

You nodded slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t seem fine.” He stepped closer, his eyes flickering over your face. “You are crying.”

 

You frowned and touched the area beneath your lower lids and felt a stray tear or two. “Oh…I didn’t even realize.” You carefully wiped them away, trying not to smudge your mascara.

 

“Bad night?”

 

“No, it’s been a good night actually, just bad thoughts. Y’know…holiday crap.”

 

The man smiled kindly. “I understand. I too deal with ‘holiday crap’ as you put it so well.”

 

A half-smile twitched on your face which seemed to make the man less concerned. “I like your dress. Did you by chance get it from Twilfitt and Tattings?”

 

“I did, how did you know?”

 

“Where do you think I got this coat from?” he said proudly, tugging on the hem. “I recognize quality when I see it.” He looked off towards the entrance to the Great Hall, hearing the music and the sounds of chattering students. “I’m not too late, am I?”

 

“Did you come for the Yule Ball?”

 

“More or less… Would you mind a dance?” he asked, offering an arm.

 

You smirked. “No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

 

***

 

Snape leaned against one of the walls, lazily tilting a glass of pumpkin juice around in his hand. He could only wish that it would spontaneously turn into firewhiskey. He was especially irritated. The Weasley twins were not the only students he had to deal with that night and he felt his patience for the circumstances he found himself in slowly slipping. He needed a break, to mentally be somewhere else. He had looked around the room, hoping you were somewhere in sight to use legilimency, but you had vanished. Perhaps you were in the bathroom or maybe you had called it a night and returned to your dorm. Regardless, the fact that he even didn’t have the option of accessing your head at the moment displeased him.

 

The man led you over to the dance floor, him bowing and you curtsying before he officially offered his hand. You didn't realize it at first but you were actually a bit taller than the man. He was a good dancer, confidently but gently leading you around. It was evident that he had been too many balls before and his appearance made him look rather aristocratic.

 

“So stranger, why have you come to crash the Yule Ball?”

 

He spun you around, chuckling. “I assure you, I am not crashing this ball. I was invited by a friend of mine. He teaches here.”

 

“Oh, who might that be?”

 

“Remus Lupin.”

 

Your eyebrows raised a touch. “You are a friend of Professor Lupin? What did you say your name was?”

 

Snape huffed. He had been arguing with himself for the last couple of minutes whether he should try to sneak away to the dungeons in hopes that Professor McGonagall wasn’t anywhere near the door. It was a risk he was willing to take considering he’d be gone tomorrow and wouldn’t have to face her wrath for some time. Sipping on his drink he took one last look around the room and choked on his juice at the sight that met his eyes. Apparently you had returned to the Great Hall without him noticing. The glass in his hand nearly shattered from how tightly his fingers clenched around it. He almost broke it again when he slammed it down on the nearest table and strode toward the center of the hall, weaving through passing students as alarm bells went off in his head. You were dancing with-

 

“Sirius Black,” the man said.

 

Your smile grew as you let out a soft gasp. “I know you!”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yes, yes. If I’m not mistaken, you’re Professor Lupin’s best friend. The animagus. He’s told me stories about all the trouble you and his friends got up to when you were students,” you chuckled.

 

“You would be correct. I am the one and only Professor Lupin’s best friend,” his smile grew as well, matching yours.

 

You hummed. “It must’ve been hard for him back then. I can’t imagine being a werewolf while going through secondary school…” 

 

Sirius’s face fell. “You…know about his lycanthropy?”

 

“Oh, yes.” You lowered your voice a bit. “He’s not shouting it from the rooftops or anything. I only know because I aid in his supply of Wolfsbane potions.”

 

Something clicked in his head and his smile returned. “You must be Y/N. Remus has written to me about you. He was so happy to finally have a supplier who would give him the time of day. I certainly didn’t expect you to be a student. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

 

“Nice to meet you too, Mister Black.”

 

Suddenly, you bumped firmly into someone behind you. You assumed it was another dancing student and turned your head around to apologize and were surprised to find the potion master instead. 

 

He was sizzling with anger.

 

“Oh, sorry about that Professor Snape,” you said.

 

He didn’t acknowledge you. He didn’t even look at you. You turned back to Sirius Black who also was no longer looking at you as well but still held you in the dancing position. The two men were locked in each other’s stare. The air between the three of you crackled with hostile energy; the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. As you were about to ask Professor Snape if he was alright, your eyes met Professor Lupin’s who nervously watched the wordless yet intense exchange from not too far away. ‘Back away’ he mouthed to you, motioning with his hand. You obeyed, pressing your lips together and quietly stepping out to the side. Black clasped his hands together and took a half step closer to Snape now that you were no longer occupying some of the space between the two of them. You paced over and stood next to Professor Lupin. 

 

“You don’t want to be too close when they get into it,” Lupin sighed.

 

“They don’t like each other, do they?”

 

“Oh, you have no idea.”

 

Professor Snape and Sirius Black started speaking. You couldn’t hear a word either of them were saying over the music, but you could practically feel the sarcasm that dripped from their tongues as you observed the interaction.

 

“I thought your friend wasn’t supposed to be coming until after the Yule Ball. Why is he here now?”

 

Lupin raised an eyebrow at you, perplexed. “How do you know about that?”

 

“Oh-um I overheard Dumbledore talking about it one day,” you fibbed.

 

“Ah. He was supposed to arrive tomorrow morning, but I can’t say I’m surprised that he showed up early for the ball. Sirius does enjoy these sorts of gatherings.”

 

The conversation between the two dark-haired men did not last very long. It was clear there was some restraint on both their ends, neither of them wishing to cause a scene. Throughout the exchange, Snapes faced morphed back and forth between a sneer and thinly veiled rage. He looked as though he would pop a blood vessel any moment now. Sirius Black was the one to end it with a particular word that made Professor Lupin wince and Snape clench his jaw before walking towards the two of you.

 

“That sure was a nice reunion,” he rolled his eyes. “Y/N, it was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the dance,” he bowed. “Remus, could I steal you for a moment?” Professor Lupin bid you farewell with a nod of his head and the two men walked off to a more secluded area of the room for a chat. You were unsure of what to do now. The mood for you had shifted so drastically. You hadn’t done anything wrong yourself and yet you felt tense. Looking around, you had no such luck locating the twins. Did they leave without telling you? Or did they get kicked out by another teacher? Maybe you should find someone else to dance with…or perhaps you should just leave before anything else abnormal happens. Shaking your head, you went to turn towards the exit of the Great Hall and barely stopped yourself from colliding with Professor Snape, taking a small step back. 

 

“Hello again.”

 

“Evening," he muttered before turning his head towards the two men conversing in the corner of the room. You noticed one of his lower eyelids twitching slightly and followed his glare towards Sirius Black and Professor Lupin. They were most definitely talking about him as Black did not hesitate to throw his own annoyed glances paired with some hand motions back at Snape while speaking to Lupin. While Snape was distracted, your eyes wandered over him. He looked relatively the same but there was something different…

 

“So that’s Sirius Black… He’s early.”

 

“Unfortunately so,” he gritted, still not looking at you, but you did feel him enter your mind as he stared daggers at Black. He was still clearly aggravated from the conversation the two had minutes ago. It was written all over his face.

 

Will he be okay?

 

Snape’s eyes flicked back to you. Your head was tilted down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of your translucent sleeves. He allowed himself to really look at you since you were closer than when he initially spotted you with the Weasleys or when you were dancing with Dumbledore. Even though the air was minty from whatever stunt you had pulled with Professor Flitwick, all he could smell was conditioner.

 

You raised your head up and found him unexpectedly staring at you now.

 

Does he want something?

 

“Did…you want to dance, sir…?” you tried.

 

“That wouldn’t be entirely appropriate, Miss L/N,” he chided.

 

‘Oh’ you mouthed, nodding and turned your head towards Professor Lupin and Sirius Black. I wonder if Mister Black would be up for another dan-

 

You felt Snape take hold of your hand and your attention snapped back to the potion master as you blinked quickly in surprise.

 

“But I suppose if you can dance with the Headmaster of all people then… exceptions can be made.”

 

He took a few steps back towards the other dancers, pulling you with him. You weren’t sure what kind of answer you were expecting from him. It was known that Professor Snape was not one to dance. You didn't know why he suddenly popped up next to you again and your hesitant offer was meant to take his mind off whatever he and Black had discussed. You raised your other hand and let it rest on the top of his shoulder. If it wasn’t for the polyjuice incident, you would’ve been more apprehensive about touching him in this manner. You did have his body after all. However, this did not make it any easier to look him in the eye, especially with the two of you being in such close proximity. Eye contact wasn’t your strongest suit anyways. Instead, you focused on the spot where your hand settled.

 

Professor Snape placed his hand on your waist and began leading you in small steps. The song was a bit slower, but still a waltz. Neither of you spoke, but he still remained in your mind. Turns out, you didn’t have to worry about eye contact as Professor Snape still kept his gaze fixed on the two men in the corner, attempting to read their lips. Fortunately, you noticed his shoulders start to relax as the two of you danced in silence. You let your eyes shift over a bit more. Your fingers were a couple inches away from his hair.

 

Oh!

 

Snape heard the exclamation in your head. Though it sounded like a revelation, he thought he had accidentally stepped on your toes without realizing and glanced at you. A smirk was playing at the corner of your mouth as you kept your eyes down towards his shoulder.

 

It’s his hair! That’s what's different about him. It’s almost a bit curly near the ends.

 

Snape barely squinted his eyes at you as he managed to stay stone-faced at your observation, but underneath he felt a strange mixture of insecurity and defensiveness. He had indeed made an attempt to style parts of his hair but doubled-back at the last second, combing it out in an apparently unsuccessful way.

 

You bit the inside of your cheek in playfulness and uncertainty. There were plenty of instances where you had to play dumb or abruptly change your thoughts so that it appeared you were thinking about something else. Sure, it was a little inconvenient sometimes, however, because it was your mind you could get away with saying just about anything. He was not aware that you knew when he was in your head. Furthermore, you’d been operating on the supposedly correct assumption that he intends to keep his use of legilimency on you a secret even if you addressed him with a silly nickname or some witty comeback in your head. It was a fine line the two of you walked. 

 

You let one more thought go.

 

Pretty.

 

Snape’s fingers twitched against your hand and waist as you registered a slight flinching motion from his body. Your eyes finally darted over and finally met his. He had an unreadable expression on his face that leaned towards…disbelief? Offense? His mouth parted open to say something but he was stopped just in time by Professor Flitwick’s amplified voice.

 

“And now, the band that needs no introduction!” 

 

Rock music began to play as the Weird Sisters appeared on an elevated stage. You let go of Professor Snape as students began to rush past and crowd around the band, cheering and yelling. They started to crowd surf Professor Flitwick around. “Hey, whose hand is that…!”

 

“Well,” you spoke. “Thank you for the dance Professor Snape, but I think I will be retiring now. Have a good night…and happy holidays.” With that, you flashed a quick smile before turning on your heel and exiting the Great Hall. Snape didn’t move for a moment as he watched you depart. When he finally turned around, he was met with an inquisitive stare from Dumbledore accompanied with a vaguely teasing smile. The potion master never danced at the balls before.

 

“Enjoying the ball, Severus?”

 

Snape rolled his eyes and grumbled, walking past the Headmaster.

 

“I need a real drink.”

 

Notes:

Also, I know I have been intentionally vague with why Snape chooses to enter reader's mind as much as he does. All will be revealed eventually 🫡

Chapter 22: Fortuitous

Summary:

The first day of winter break for Reader at Hogwarts.

December 19th - The Start of Winter Break

 

8:00 AM

" Guys, you don’t have to run. The train isn’t going to leave without you.”

 

You got up early this morning to accompany the twins to the train station as promised. Students bustled around the castle, packing their belongings and pulling their luggage behind them as they prepared to depart home for the holidays. Though the rest of the castle had already been decorated, the enchanting Yule Ball decorations in the Great Hall had disappeared and were being replaced for more traditional green, red and gold Christmas decorations by Professor Flitwick. Dumbledore stood near the entrance to the courtyard, saying goodbye and wishing happy holidays to passing students. You didn’t bother with a scarf and wore your black coat and gloves over regular clothes. 

 

The twins strode through the snow trying not to slip as you walked behind them. They were excited to finally get away from the castle and their classes for a couple weeks. Normally, students would need to use the boats from the boathouse to get to the Hogwarts train station. However, since the Great Lake was frozen over, the alternative route was a path through and around Hogsmeade. During the walk there, they explained their sudden absence from the ball when you had looked for them. Fred accidentally cast a hex on George that inverted his knees and ankles and they spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out the counter-spell. You told them it was alright and that Professor Snape kept you company on the dance floor to which they sputtered and gawked.

 

“You willingly danced with Snape? Why?!”

 

You shrugged. “I dunno. You two were gone. He was nearby. I asked and he obliged. It was just one dance.”

 

“I didn’t even know Snape could dance. From what I hear he never dances at the Yule Ball.”

 

“Yeah, that’s probably because no one has the guts to ask the greasy git.”

 

" Watch it ...” you warned.

 

“Oh, come off it, it’s the holidays! Besides, it’s not like he can hear us.”

 

“Yes, but do keep in mind that the two of you are within head-whacking range.”

 

The twins instinctively covered the back of their heads and increased the distance between them and you.

 

“I’ll never understand why you stand up for that bat,” Fred said. “He’s awfully mean to us.”

 

“That’s because you two would rather put all your energy into pulling pranks and joking around rather than getting your potion grades up. And besides, his hair isn’t greasy, it's actually quite soft.” Your eyes widened and you slapped a hand over your mouth after realizing what you’d just let slip. The twins froze in place and turned to you slowly, returning their own wide-eyed stare and their mouths opened in astonishment.

 

“Pardon?” they spoke in unison. 

 

“Uh—nothing I didn’t say anything.” You tried to walk forward again but the twins stopped you in place.

 

“Yes you did! You said his hair is soft? Why on Earth would you say that?” George questioned.

 

You looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear you and came between the twins, turning them back around and pushing them forward to walk again. “Dumbledore already knows this but what I’m about to tell you guys stays between us.”

 

The boys nodded in anticipation, awaiting your explanation. 

 

“I polyjuiced him.”

 

Their eyebrows shot up with amusement and shock. “You did what?!”

 

“Yeah, I know, but I wasn’t really given much of a choice. Professor Snape accidentally turned himself into a cat and made me take over his classes for a day.”

 

“Why would he do that? Why didn’t he just cancel class or have another teacher substitute instead?”

 

“I don’t know. I still wonder about that myself.”

 

“Wait a minute, so was that you who gave us detention for spilling that Wideye potion?”

 

“Yep. Sorry about that, but I had to play the part,” you smirked.

 

“Merlin, Y/N. You’ve been holding out on us! What else do we not know about you?”

 

You squeezed their shoulders. “Lots.”

 

Arriving at the train station, you saw that quite a few families had decided to come meet their kids here in Hogwarts, no longer able to restrain themselves to waiting for them at the 9¾ platform in King’s Cross. Most of the parents were of 1st-year students who burst into tears upon seeing their mothers and fathers waiting for them with open arms. You mentally steeled yourself, sitting on a nearby bench between the twins and looked down at your lap, picking at one of the buttons on your coat and bouncing your knee. They asked if you were alright from your sudden quietness, but you only gave a quick nod in response. A couple minutes passed before you heard a voice.

 

“Fred! George!” A short woman with red wavy hair and a tan sweater stood some yards away. The boys got up from the bench and trotted up to the woman who hugged them both in a wide embrace, kissing the temples of their heads. 

 

Molly Weasley. 

 

You weren’t expecting her to be here. You had only heard of her through the letters the twins would receive as well as stories and memories they entertained you with. Though she was a very sweet woman, she was also a protective mama bear and probably the only woman on earth who could keep the twins in line. 

 

“It’s good to see you boys,” she kissed their foreheads. “How are you, how’s school? You two better not be getting yourselves into trouble.”

 

“Of course we are, but were rather good at not getting caught.”

 

She gave them a stern look, but the twins merely wiggled their eyebrows back at her. “Well, come on then. Let's get your luggage on the train.” She huffed.

 

“Wait mum, we have someone we’d like you to meet!” George said. The twins pulled Mrs. Weasley over toward where you sat. You raised your head up at the sound of footsteps approaching you and stood from the bench. “Mum, this is Y/N. She is the Slytherin girl we’ve told you about.” 

 

She frowned in slight confusion, her gaze shifting back and forth between you and the twins before suddenly morphing into elation. “Oh, Y/N!” She wrapped you in a tight hug that made you flinch but she didn’t seem to notice. You just stood there taken aback by the gesture as her arms squeezed you in a loving manner.

 

“It’s so good to finally meet you, dear! Fred and George have written loads about you!”

 

“H-have they now…” 

 

She pulled back from you, her hands remaining on your arms. “Yes! Good things, very good things. I’m so happy they have someone like you looking out for them at Hogwarts. They tell me that you're like an older sister to them,” she smiled warmly. “Merlin knows someone needs to keep an eye on them.” 

 

The train blew a loud warning whistle, signaling its nearing departure.

 

“Now have you got everything you need for the holidays?” her hands raised to your cheeks.

 

“Yes,” you murmured.

 

“ Yes , all of your books?”

 

“Y-yeah it's all in the dungeons-”

 

“And all your warm clothes?”

 

You swallowed thickly, nodding.

 

“Good girl,” she grinned, pinching your cheek. “Please, do write to us dear. And don’t be afraid to ask if you need anything.”

 

She turned around and started ushering the twins towards one of the open doors of the train. The twins stuck their head out of one of the windows just as the wheels of the train slowly churned to life with a sharp groan. Smoke started to pump out from the top of the train and a deafening whistle sounded in the air.

 

“Goodbye Y/N! Happy Holidays!”

 

“Don’t forget to write back!”

 

You stood on the platform watching the boys wave to you as the train pulled away until it was nothing but a tiny dot in the distance. Snowflakes fell lazily in the air. It was quiet. The buzzing ambience of the station now deathly silent as the families who once surrounded you vanished, all of them having boarded the train to return home.

 

Just you.

 

Standing on the empty train platform.

 

Alone. 

 

You popped your coat collar up and stuffed your gloved hands into your pockets. Smoky clouds left your lips as your breathing shuddered and warm tears trickled from the corners of your eyes. You didn’t make a sound. 

 

Not during the walk back. 

 

Not when you entered the castle.

 

Not when Dumbledore called your name in the corridor to which you ignored and hung your head low, shielding the heavy-hearted expression on your face that he caught sight of.

 

The only noise that came from you was the loud slam of the doors to the Slytherin common room that echoed from the dungeons.

 

***

 

Snape woke up that morning feeling lighter. It was a relief knowing that he’d have three whole weeks away from teaching classes and he could choose how to spend that time however he liked. Ultimately, he tentatively accepted the Malfoys’ offer, writing that he would visit for a day and see how he feels before deciding whether he would stay any longer. 

 

This year’s Yule Ball for him was… strange . Lupin, he could handle. Despite his issues with him, Lupin was more passive and the two did not speak a single word to each other that night while on chaperone duty. Sirius on the other hand was an instigator. Had he known Sirius Black was coming that night, he would’ve given himself time to mentally prepare for his presence. Saying that he was caught off guard when he saw the two of you dancing together was a severe understatement. He got angry, quickly . Anger was not out of character for him. It was the rate at which he flipped from bored to wrathful that made him reflect in his bed that night. It was similar to watching someone steal unicorn hair from his storage room only to open the vial and burn them to a crisp in front of him. Snape’s own dance with you was a bit of a blur. In hindsight he shouldn’t have accepted your offer to dance, especially when other students and teachers were watching. He had only done so because he read your thoughts and saw that you intended to ask Sirius to dance again. He rationalized it as making sure Sirius didn’t get the opportunity to tell you anything embarrassing about the potion master or refer to him as “Snivellus” since you’d be going home for the holidays the next day.

 

However, there was a miniscule part of him that regretted paying so much attention to Sirius while dancing with you. Though his attention was dedicated to deciphering what Lupin and Sirius were talking about, he felt himself starting to calm down from his initial spat with Sirius as he absentmindedly led you around. Playing it over in his head, he couldn’t deny that your company was the reason why, no matter what angle he examined it from. And then you had to go ahead and call his hair pretty. The last thing he was expecting that night was for you to refute his prior skepticism in the form of a compliment, albeit an unspoken one. It surprised him to say the least and he almost objected, nearly revealing his legilimency abilities right then and there, but was luckily saved by Professor Flitwick.

 

He shook his head, shutting his luggage bag. Walking up the dungeons, he found Dumbledore and McGonagall and said a quick goodbye to them, informing them of his departure. He caught sight of your figure walking into the courtyard with the Weasley twins, presumably staying with their family this year, before he apparated away with a loud crack.

 

…

 

Snape appeared just past the impressive wrought-iron gates of the driveway that lead up to Malfoy Manor. The manor sat amongst elaborate gardens and many vast acres of land that slowly bleed into the surrounding woods of Wiltshire, England. Large yew hedges towered along the driveway, forcing guests to walk a straight path towards the wide double set of doors. He didn’t need to knock as the doors were enchanted to swing inward at the approach of select individuals without anyone visibly opening it. The entrance hallway was brightly lit from the natural morning sunlight that shone through the tall vertical windows and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering the stone floor. The walls of the entrance hall were lined with pale-faced portraits lining the walls, and at the end of the hall was the bronze-handled door to the drawing room.

 

“Severus!” a voice shouted.

 

Draco Malfoy came jogging out from another room towards the potion master and threw himself against Snape’s frame, hugging him. Snape merely responded by patting the boy's bleach blonde head. Draco was probably the only child on Earth he would ever allow to hug him as his physical boundaries were a bit more flexible with the boy.

 

“Hello, Draco.”

 

Draco removed his arms from his waist and started tugging on his wrist, pulling him further into the house. “Come! I want to show you my new broom. Father got me a Nimbus 2001.” 

 

Of course he did.

 

“Speaking of which, mother and father are in the west sitting room. You should say ‘hello’.” He let go and trotted up a nearby staircase while Snape walked past the staircase and into the west sitting room. Like the rest of the manor, the interior of the sitting room was gothic, possessing a multitude of ornate rugs, intricately carved chairs and several lounging couches whose fabric all paired with the long silk curtains that adorned the windows. Of course, a chandelier hung high in the center and a large dark mantle guarded the fireplace that roared with flames, creating a blanket of warmth in the room. Lucius and Narcissa were sitting together on an upholstered sofa. They looked like sleepy cats leaning against each other; Lucius reading the Daily Prophet while Narcissa rested her head against his shoulder, reading along with him while drawing lazy circles atop his leg. Lucius lowered the newspaper at the sound of Snape’s approaching footsteps.

 

“Severus! How wonderful of you to join us.” Lucius spoke, setting the newspaper down. “Come, sit. Would you like some tea?”

 

“Tea would be nice,” Snape said.

 

Lucius summoned two house elves, one to take Snape’s bag into his room while the other set off to the kitchen to make tea and a plate of biscuits, returning a couple minutes later.

 

“We’re so happy you could join us,” Narcissa said, pouring herself a cup of tea. “I imagine you weren’t too thrilled to find out that Sirius would be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. I wrote my letter as soon as I found out myself. I’m glad you decided not to immediately hole yourself up in Spinner’s End.”

 

“There’s still time,” Snape muttered. “And it is unfortunately not just Black’s presence that drives me away from the castle. Lucius, I’m sure you know who Dumbledore decided to give the Defense Against the Dark Arts position to.”

 

“Actually, I do not. I’ve been rather preoccupied lately. Why, who currently holds the post?”

 

“Remus Lupin,” he sneered.

 

Lucius stared at Snape incredulously. “Lupin. Dumbledore is letting Lupin the werewolf teach kids at Hogwarts? Where Draco will be attending?” He huffed. “Well, I can’t say I approve in the slightest. That man is a danger to the children. I’ll make sure that mongrel isn’t teaching by the time Draco enrolls next year.”

 

Snape rolled his eyes at his melodramatics. “Don’t bother. It’s not as though he’ll be biting anyone while at Hogwarts, not since Dumbledore gave me the task of brewing his Wolfsbane.” 

 

“It’s no wonder you arrived at the manor so promptly.” Lucius shook his head. “Two marauders running around the castle; if I were in your shoes I would’ve fled to Australia.”

 

The sound of rushed footsteps approached as Draco bounded into the sitting room, holding his broom at his side. “Let’s go outside, Severus! I want to show you my flying skills.”

 

" Patience , Draco.” Narcissa admonished. “Severus just got here. You may show him after tea.” The boy grumbled to himself but his pouting was cut rather short when he saw the tea and biscuits and helped himself, setting his broom against the doorway and taking a seat in a chair.

 

“As a school governor, is there anything else going on with Hogwarts I should know about? Other than Black and Lupin, of course.” 

 

Snape parted his lips above his cup to say something but paused, hesitating. “Not…necessarily, no.”

 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Severus, while I maintain a certain level of power with the school, I can keep a secret. Though I have my ties, you’re the last person I would rat out to the ministry if that is what you are concerned about.” 

 

Snape squinted his eyes, seemingly staring at nothing while looking deep in thought. “Remind me… What are the rules in regard to ministry-regulated potion production?”

 

Lucius hummed. “I’m not too well-informed about this particular subject but anything regulated by the ministry whether its potion production, use of magic, creature care, ingredient harvesting and the likes all have their own individual laws, sanctions and prerequisites. Is there any particular reason why you are asking? If you are running into any issues with the ministry that Dumbledore is unable to handle just say the word.”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Snape muttered.

 

A small, shameless smile began tugging on Lucius’s mouth as he detected an unprecedented hint of surreptitiousness from his long-time friend. “Are you perhaps trying to sidestep the ministry? Participating in a little black-market brewing?”

 

“No," he growled and shot Lucius a look while quickly flicking his eyes towards Draco as if to say ‘watch what you insinuate in front of the boy’. “I was sanctioned to brew ministry-regulated potions the moment I started teaching at Hogwarts. You know this. This matter pertains to…someone else. She has shown promise in this field and assists with the aforementioned potion. I was merely inquiring whether the criteria to become a licensed brewer of such potions has changed within the last decade or two.”

 

Lucius shook his head. “Not from what I’ve heard but if I had to assume, acquiring an official sanction from the ministry for this particular potion may be difficult. It’s fairly new in the Wizarding World and has already generated problems; unregulated markets, falsified research, and what not. She shouldn’t be in any trouble so long as you are monitoring the production of each batch. But I suppose what the ministry doesn’t know won’t hurt them,” he winked.

 

“Right.” Snape set his empty cup of tea down and stood. “Well, come on Draco. Let’s see these flying skills of yours.”

 

***

 

You woke from sleep again a couple hours later just in time for lunch. You had retreated back to the dungeons earlier to sleep off the sadness that bubbled over inside you and to make up for the fact that you had risen sooner than you would have liked to this morning. It was eerily silent in the dungeons. Though it was empty, you were reveling in the sense of calm that filled the cold dungeon air. When you arrived at the Great Hall you noticed three things. 

 

First, Sirius Black was sitting at the teacher’s table next to Professor Lupin. Some of the teachers had gone home for the holidays to see family so naturally there were some empty seats.

 

Second, there were hardly any students who stayed back this year. Probably around ten at most.

 

And finally, no one sat at the Slytherin table. You were the only one who had stayed for the holidays. Meaning, you would have the dungeons all to yourself.

As soon as you sat down an empty plate and an array of food manifested in front of you, more food than you could possibly eat by yourself. The elves were certainly in the holiday spirit and included a plate of gingerbread snakes decorated with red and green frosting, which made you snort in amusement as you reached for one and bit the head off. As you ate your lunch, you thought about how you would preoccupy your time here with three weeks of no classes to fill up your day. Going outside in the snow was a definite must. Maybe you could go ingredient harvesting before anything else died out during the remainder of the winter? If you're lucky you might be able to find some lavender down by the lake. Though, you wouldn’t be able to make anything in a proper lab with Professor Snape being gone. Yeah, like that’s ever stopped you before. 

 

Light snowflakes continued to fall over Hogwarts. After you had finished your lunch, you pit stopped at your room to retrieve a scarf, books, and a bag. The oak tree out in the fields was blanketed in white snow, supported by the thick branches that somehow still had leaves, as if trapped in stasis. It created an umbrella structure that blocked the snowflakes from falling through and providing a nice overhang to read under. Seeking refuge under the tree, you cast a heating charm to create a snowless circle for you to sit down in. Other than a few muggle books, you brought your potions textbook to lightly review material you may forget over the winter break. Pulling one of your muggle books out, you leaned back against the tree and began to read. It did not take you long to become lost in the worn pages and the sea of images that flooded your head as you engrossed yourself in the words in front of your eyes. You were so caught up that you did not notice or hear the creature that was approaching you.

 

“Rawrf!”

 

Lowering your book, you saw a large black dog with slightly scruffy fur standing a couple yards in front of you. Snowflakes dotted its dark fur and its tongue bounced lazily in its mouth as it stared at you.

 

“Uh…hello?” you called out hesitantly. The dog barked again in response but remained unmoving. What was a dog even doing here in the first place?

 

It started sniffing around in the snow as if looking for something. After digging for a moment or so, it plucked out a stick and began walking towards you. Your guard rose as a little as you pulled your legs toward yourself and slid your wand out from your sleeve. The dog sensed your reluctance and stopped feet away from you and dropped the stick in the snow before sitting. When it saw that you hadn’t made any sort of movement, it lowered its head and nudged the stick closer to you with its snout.

 

Oh.

 

You slowly reached out and grabbed the stick, still wary of the dog in front of you, but relaxed a little when it made no attempt to growl or bite your hand. Scooching away from the tree you drew your arm back and threw the stick back out into the field. The dog bounded after the thin piece of wood you hurled back into the snow, wagging its tail and panting. It trotted back over to you, gleefully presenting the stick and dropping it in the same spot, waiting for you to throw it again. You put your book away and stood up, deciding to indulge the canine. You played fetch for a little while with the dog, casting a spell or two on the stick to make it sail farther into the distance. Each time the dog would return and drop the stick in the same spot. Eventually it got tired from all the running back and forth and flopped lazily, twisting onto its back and wiggling about in the snow.

 

“ Sirius…!” someone called from behind. You turned and saw Professor Lupin not too far away walking towards you and the dog.

 

Wait, the dog is-

 

Before your eyes the dog transformed into Sirius Black who stood up and shook the snow off of his coat. 

 

“Hello Miss L/N,” Sirius grinned, sweeping snow off his shoulders. 

 

“Of course, I should’ve known it was you, Mister Black.” You rolled your eyes, smiling and took a seat back against the tree.

 

“Apologies, I would’ve revealed my form earlier but I was enjoying myself,” he chuckled. “And you don’t have to address me as Mister Black. Just Sirius is fine.”

 

“Or Snuffles,” Professor Lupin chimed in, now standing next to the tree.

 

Sirius snapped his head to Lupin. “ No , absolutely not. Anything but that wretched name. It’s embarassing.”

 

Lupin shrugged, smirking. “Whatever you say… Snuffles.”

 

Sirius returned a challenging look and suddenly snatched Lupin’s wand away from his side, put it in his mouth and sprinted away while transforming back into his animagus form.

 

“Oh, you-” Lupin ran after Sirius and wandlessly summoned a couple of snowballs off the ground and began pelting the black dog from behind as Sirius teasingly galloped in circles and evaded the snowy attack. You watched from afar as the two of them horse-played. They were acting like they were students again. It must’ve been a while since they had seen each other. Every time Lupin got close enough to lunge at Sirius who would drop the front half of his body towards the ground to bait Lupin, Sirius would swiftly dodge and take off running in a different direction. Lupin eventually gave up feeding into Sirius’s nonsense, walking back over to where you were and took a seat in the snow next to one of the long tree roots.

 

“Snuffles, huh?” you cocked an eyebrow, pulling out your potions textbook.

 

“A cover name,” Lupin panted. “Sirius isn’t exactly…a registered animagus. He hasn’t gotten in trouble for it yet , but it’s a precaution that we take when we're out in public. You never know who might overhear.”

 

“Well, I’m not exactly ministry-sanctioned to be brewing your Wolfsbane so who am I to judge?” you smirked, opening your textbook. “Secret’s safe with me.”

 

Lupin exhaled, his breathing returning to normal and he glanced down at the book you were reading. “Why are you reading your potions textbook? It’s winter break, enjoy yourself. Don’t bother yourself with your classes.”

 

“ ‘m just reading to review. I don’t want to forget anything since we won’t be in session for three whole weeks.”

 

“Speaking of forgetting, did Severus just forget that I have to start taking Wolfsbane next week before he went home or will you be assuming responsibility over that?”

 

You blew out a breath. “Honestly, I have no idea. Professor Snape and I never had a conversation about that. I just assumed he’d owl you the potions from wherever he is. If not then I’m sure Dumbledore will step in and do something about it before it gets too close down to the wire. When’s the full moon?”

 

“January 1st,” he said.

 

“Wow,” you chuckled. “You got lucky. You won't have to start drinking Wolfsbane until after Christmas and you can still party on New Year's Eve. Say, what do you usually do after transforming? Do you still go to the Shrieking Shack?”

 

He shook his head. “No, now that you and Severus are supplying me, I just stay in my quarters and put multiple locking spells on the doors before I transform. While I still have my faculties, it’s not a very good idea for me to be out and about. Since Sirius is here for the break he’ll be able to watch over me on the full moon if needed.”

 

Sirius walked back over to the two of you and plopped Lupin’s wand next to him before changing back to his regular self. “I heard my name. What are you two talking about?”

 

“My lycanthropy.”

 

“I see,” Sirius smiled sitting down in the snow, the three of you forming somewhat of a triangle. “Remember that time James got you a collar for your birthday that had “a very good boy” embroidered on it?”

 

You snorted, picturing Lupin as a werewolf in said collar while Lupin simply rolled his eyes at Sirius.

 

“Oh! Oh! What about when you were convinced you could control your shifting like me and tried peeing on a tree but accidentally soiled your trousers!”

 

This time you busted out laughing, not bothering to be polite and attempt to hold it back.

 

“Yes, yes. Very funny, Sirius.”

“How about the time when you had transformed inside the Shrieking Shack and I convinced Snivellus to go confront y- OW! ” Sirius didn’t get to finish his sentence as Lupin whacked him on the back of the head. “What was that for?” Sirius frowned, rubbing the spot Lupin struck.

 

“She doesn’t need to know about that,” Lupin hissed at Sirius. 

 

“Know about what?” your laughing ceased.

 

“A prank I played on your head of house back in our schooling years. Snivellus was-” 

 

“Sirius, for the love of Merlin do shut up,” he asserted, raising his hand to silence Sirius. “Please. We can walk down memory lane while we're at Three Broomsticks, but not in front of... her,"  he jerked his head and gestured with his eyes.

 

“Fine,” Sirius huffed, standing up and dusting the snow off his legs. “Let’s head over then, yes?”

 

“You go ahead. I’ll join you shortly,” Lupin said, waving Sirius off. As Sirius walked further into the distance, Professor Lupin awkwardly glanced your way and saw the skeptical expression on your face. “I'm sure you have questions about… that .”

 

“A few…but I don’t think it’s my business. And besides I think-” you paused, looking away from Lupin and squinting off into the distance. “I believe I already know about that . Not much, but…enough.”

 

A quiet moment of understanding passed between the two of you as Lupin realized you had been somewhat informed of what took place that night around twenty years ago, and possibly even more. If not, he was sure you were damn smart enough to figure it out based on what Sirius said.

 

“I see.” He stood up and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “Well then, I am off. I shall see you around the castle, Miss L/N.”

 

You nodded, still looking out at the snow. “Later…”

 

***

 

Merlin, he was exhausted .

 

Snape had forgotten how lively the Malfoy family was. They always wanted to go do something; watch a quidditch match in the VIP section, go shopping, dine at fancy restaurants, attend parties, and the likes. It had only been a day and his brain was throbbing from all the activities they dragged him along to when all he wished to do that day was read; something more mellow. Now, he found himself in one of the guest rooms unable to sleep. He tried to read a book or grade some assignments he had brought along in his luggage, and while it did make him feel more tired, he couldn’t fall asleep. His mind simply wouldn’t shut down. It was a problem that typically plagued his nights and was unfortunately worsened by stress. He would have thoughts. Sometimes they were passing ones, ones he could usually dismiss, but more often than not he encountered thoughts that were reminiscent of a more unfortunate time in his life. Thoughts that would slowly bleed regularly into his dreams, swiftly turning them into nightmares. Thoughts he did not prefer to have. 

 

This was the downside of his preference for spending the holidays by himself. While he had complete control over his time, it also meant being alone with his thoughts.

 

He hated to be alone with his thoughts. And now, he laid in a bed far too big for him, tossing and turning at two in the bloody morning unable to sleep.

 

Curse this.

 

At this rate, he’d be awake all night. He needed a potion, but he didn’t pack any with him. Throwing the covers off he slipped on a pair of shoes, grabbed his wand, and apparted to Hogwarts. 

 

He casted a ‘lumos’ the moment he felt the cold chill of his potions classroom prickle his face. Entering the storage room, he clinked several pre-made potion bottles around until he found a Sleeping Draught. Satisfied, he was about to disapparate but heard noise coming from the otherside of the classroom door. It was soft and fleeting, but it sounded like someone was walking around and talking to themselves. Approaching the door, he quietly opened it and leaned out through the doorway. He strained his ears, and sure enough, he heard the sound of footsteps fading away in the distance accompanied by low murmuring and humming. It didn’t sound at all like Filch. Who on Earth was wondering about the dungeons this late at night?

 

Holding his wand out in front of him, he began to walk through the freezing corridor as he followed the voice while keeping his own footsteps silent. Even with his long strides, it was tricky locating the person as their voice was faintly echoing off the dungeon walls as if coming from any possible direction. Nevertheless, he could tell that he was getting closer as the voice grew louder and more clearer to him. Finally, his wand illuminated the back of the figure just as he reached out and grabbed their shoulder.

 

“SHIT!” they yelped, whipping around and clutching their heart while their other hand instinctively aimed their wand at him. They lowered it upon recognizing the potion master, staring at him with confused wide eyes.

 

“Miss L/N…” Snape breathed out, lowering his wand so it didn’t shine as harshly in both your faces. You were here. You were at Hogwarts. But…he saw you leaving with the Weasley twins... “What are you doing here?”

 

“I'm just…walking around the dungeons, sir.” He glanced over your appearance. You were in long pajamas but wore a thick, oversized sweatshirt to combat the freezing air. You weren’t wearing any shoes but you had socks on, which explained your softer footsteps. “What are you doing here?”

 

“That’s none of your business now, is it?” he sneered. 

 

You remained silent and went to turn around to walk away into the darkness but he caught you by your wrist and made you face him again. 

 

“ Why are you wandering around the dungeons so late at night? It is hours beyond curfew. I could give you detention for this.”

 

You pressed your lips together, suppressing a smug smile. “Actually, you can’t. Dumbledore decided to oust the curfew for the break.”

 

“And tell me, why would Dumbledore do such a thing?” He raised a doubtful eyebrow as if you’d have the audacity to lie your way out of this.

 

“Only ten students are staying back this year and were all 7th-years. I guess Dumbledore deems us to be a responsible bunch. It also means the teachers who stayed behind can actually enjoy their nights instead of having to do night patrolling. He told us all at dinner but…you weren’t there.”

 

After a moment he huffed, letting go of your wrist. You took this as an opportunity to walk away again, but Snape continued to follow you, keeping his wand lit and partially illuminating the space in front of you.

 

“You still haven’t answered my question, Miss L/N. Why are you walking around dungeons at this hour?” You could sense the annoyance in his tone.

 

You chuckled. “As if this should come as a surprise, sir. I’m the one who likes to frolic around in the pouring rain in unsuitable clothing, remember?” Your voice became more quiet. “But if you must know, I couldn’t sleep. I needed to distract myself for a bit.”

 

“How long have you been dawdling around in the dark for?”

 

You rolled up the sleeve of your sweatshirt and checked your watch. “A little over thirty minutes now.”

 

He scoffed in disbelief. “It certainly is a wonder how Filch hasn’t snatched you yet.”

 

“Filch isn’t here. He went somewhere for the holidays; don’t know where but I saw him board the train at the Hogsmeade station. I’ve got the dungeons allllll to myself.” You gave him a lopsided smirk. “Or so I thought.”

 

He frowned. “You are the only Slytherin here?” 

 

“Yep. Of the ten students it’s four Gryffindors, three Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs…and me.” You looked away towards the darkness, your smirk wavering.

 

“I see…” He eyed you with the slightest hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I assumed you were staying with the Weasleys for the holiday break. I spotted you accompanying them to the train station.”

 

“I’m not… The twins just wanted an escort. Mrs. Weasley was waiting there for them and they wished for me to meet her for the first time.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “She’s nice.”

 

It was silent for a moment before either of you spoke again.

 

“It is late, Miss L/N. You should return to your room and try to sleep,” Snape muttered. “Surely you’ve had enough time to distract yourself.”

 

You looked down and began fiddling with the hem of your sweatshirt. “I’m not sure if I can… I’ve been having…nightmares as of lately.” Snape’s eyes flicked over you. He didn’t miss the way one of your hands raised up and lightly touched the base of your throat as your gaze shied away.

 

“You did not think to take a Dreamless Sleep potion?” he reproached.

 

“Madame Pomfrey is all out and I do not currently possess the ingredients to make one.”

 

“Why didn’t you come to the potions classroom?”

 

“You usually aren’t present for the break. I had no idea you were here… And even if you weren’t I am no thief,” you murmured.

 

He sighed, shifting the potion bottle at his side. Just as you were about to turn to another corridor he reached out and pulled you away from it, guiding you down a different hall that led straight to the Slytherin common room which only made you grumble under your breath as you realized where he was taking you.

 

Arriving at your dorm room, he produced the potion and held it out to you.

 

“Drink,” he ordered.

 

You took the potion from his hand and uncorked it, but paused before the top of the bottle reached your mouth, thinking.

 

“It is not poison,” he insisted. “ Drink. ”

 

“This…was not meant for me though, was it?” you asked.

 

He narrowed his eyes at you and didn’t grace your observation with a response. You took his silence as a confirmation of your suspicion. Why else would he be up late in his pajamas and just happen to have a sleeping potion on hand?

 

“Let’s split it. Besides, if I take all of this now , I'll end up sleeping through breakfast.” 

 

Still, he was quiet, but he didn’t decline your proposal. You tipped the bottle back and drank half the contents before handing it back to him. Immediately, you were overcome with a wave of sleepiness and your eyelids started to feel heavy as the lavender tasting liquid ran down your throat. You pushed open the door behind you and swayed to your bed, flopping down and hugging a pillow to your chest as you shuffled underneath the covers.

 

As you fell asleep, he heard you mumble something incoherent to him while he closed the door to your room.

 

Chapter 23: Meet the Malfoys

Summary:

Reader is surprised by some unexpected visitors.

December 20th

You removed the pillow you were lazily holding away from your face as you slowly woke up. The cloth that smushed against your cheeks left weird creases in your skin, but you felt refreshed. You didn’t have any nightmares that night and it was almost as though you had slept for a whole day. Last night seemed rather inexplicable to say the least. You weren’t sure if your encounter with Professor Snape was even real or if it was just a dream. It didn’t seem likely that you actually saw him or that he was even here at Hogwarts. He wasn’t at any of the meals yesterday and he doesn’t usually stay for the holidays. You definitely remember walking around alone in the dark. That was real. Maybe your conversation with him was just some dream your brain cooked up that blended with your late-night stroll?

 

After tying your hair into two braids you changed out of last night's clothing, remembering to grab a thicker scarf as you planned on going outside again and anticipated a light breeze in the frigid air. Just as you guessed, Professor Snape was not in attendance at the Great Hall for breakfast, but you did give a polite nod to Professor Lupin who had acknowledged you from the teachers’ table as you sat down.

 

“Hello, Miss L/N.”

 

You looked to your right and saw that Dumbledore had arrived and was standing next to you.

 

“Oh, morning Headmaster,” you replied.

 

“I just wanted to see if you were feeling any better. Yesterday seemed rather…difficult for you.”

 

“I am better, I think. I’m sorry I ignored you then. I was just…going through it and needed to be with my thoughts. It was a little hard seeing all the families at the train station. But I did get to meet Mrs. Weasley. Apparently the twins have been sending her letters about me.”

 

“Is that so?” he hummed. “What did you think of her?”

 

“She is…welcoming. I barely know her and she was treating me like her own kid.”

 

Dumbledore chuckled. “That seems about right. That woman is tough as nails but she possesses a heart with room for many.” His gaze flickered down at your bag which held your gloves, scarves, your notebook and a couple of books. “Do you plan on spending some time outside today?”

 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I don’t want to feel like I’m stuck in the castle all day so I try to occupy myself by spending as much time outside as possible. And I quite enjoy the snow.”

 

“If you’d like, you're more than welcome to go to Hogsmeade. Perhaps do a little holiday shopping or just walk about.”

 

“Really?” 

 

“Of course. You’ve proven that you're more than responsible enough to go to Hogsmeade by yourself during the break. Just be sure that you’re back before dinner whenever you choose to go.”

 

You looked away, suddenly feeling reticent as your ears turned pink. “Thank you,” you murmured.

 

Dumbledore smiled and lightly patted your back before heading towards the teachers’ table. “You’re welcome, Miss L/N.”

 

The prospect of being able to go to Hogsmeade without having to ask the other teachers did make you feel happy. There was some shopping that you wanted to do before Christmas Eve and perhaps it would be best if you picked up some sleeping remedies from J. Pippin’s Potions should your nightmares persist, though you really didn’t want to rely on potions just to get some sleep…

 

The sound of something skiddering and sliding across the table pulled you from your thoughts. A great gray owl had swooped in and collapsed on the table, struggling to stand back up on its feet due to the table’s slippery polished wood. You furrowed your brows and helped the owl stand up as it hooted at you gratefully. In its mouth was a letter.

 

A letter addressed to you.

 

You plucked the letter from the owl’s mouth and tore it open as the bird leisurely preened itself.

 

Dear Y/N,

 

Happy Holidays! We know it’s only been a day but we wanted to write as soon as possible. Sometimes Errol gets a bit lost. That’s our owl’s name by the way! The ruddy thing is ancient but he’s nice. Feel free to give him a treat. How is it at the castle so far? Is it snowing really heavy? Is Snape every bit of a scrooge as he is year-round? We both have already started going Christmas shopping and found a magical snow globe that creates a blizzard inside when thrown on the ground. Mum confiscated it of course. We weren’t gonna use it on our house, we were going to sneak into one of the local pubs and set it off inside. We have a plan to get it back though. On another note, our father wanted us to ask you a question since you’ve grown up around muggles. He wants to know “what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?” Mum would also like to know what your sweater size is. If you need anything from us, don't be afraid to ask.

 

We miss you and hope you don’t die of boredom without us!

 

-Fred and George Weasley

 

You smiled as you finished the letter, offering the owl a piece of toast. You retrieved your notebook out from your bag and tore out two pieces of paper, transfiguring one of them into an envelope and began to write.

 

Hi guys,

 

Happy Holidays. Things are rather quiet here. Few students have decided to stay for the break and I’m the only Slytherin. Interestingly enough, Dumbledore lifted the curfew and Filch has also departed for the holidays so I can roam the dungeons at night free of consequences. Needless to say, I'm not too bored. Regarding Professor Snape, I can't say I have an answer for that. I thought I ran into him late last night but that could’ve been a dream…or a hallucination…still not sure. Don’t stress your mom out too much. At the rate you two are going at it’ll be a miracle if she makes it past sixty. To answer your father’s question, a rubber duck is just a fun bath toy for toddlers and young kids to play with. Supposedly it helps with sensory development. My sweater size is large but I also like it when they are a size too big. Either is fine. I actually do have a request. My options with where I can go during break are limited since I am still a student. I was hoping the two of you or one of your parents could acquire something for me. They are called “double A batteries.” They are metallic and are about the length and width of a pinky finger. You can buy them at most muggle corner stores or technology shops. I’ve put some muggle money inside this envelope. It should be enough for a pack of 16. If there is change buy yourselves some candy or something.

 

I love you both. Say hi to your parents for me.

 

-Y/N

 

***

 

“severus…"

 

“Severus…!”

 

Snape groggily opened his eyes against the arm that shielded his face. He felt Draco gently shaking him awake as he stood by his bedside.

 

“You’ll miss breakfast, Severus! And hurry up! I want to see the castle,” the boy whined.

 

Snape groaned and rolled away from the boy, raising the arm that was covering his eyes and waving him off. Draco huffed, but nonetheless obeyed and exited the guest room. Snape sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair and moving it out of his face. The Dreamless Sleep potion that sat on the night stand remained half-empty. He opted not to drink the other half you had spared him last night. When he apparated back, he found a new sense of ease that silenced his mind and allowed him to sleep when his head hit the pillow. As if he had drunk the potion, he slept dreamlessly and peacefully.

 

After getting ready for the day, he wandered into the dinning room where the Malfoys were waiting for them. Draco had nearly finished his breakfast and was fidgeting in his chair impatiently, watching as his parents and the potion master took their time eating. Lucius had convinced Snape to give Draco a tour of Hogwarts after his son requested to see the Quidditch Pitch he’d “most definitely dominate.” It was a good idea for Draco to become somewhat acquainted with the school he would spend the next seven or so years at, even if it meant accidentally running into Black or Lupin. It was obvious that the boy would be sorted into Slytherin at the start of term, just like his parents. He only hoped that he didn’t give him too much of an ear-full about how gloomy the dungeons were. The moment the adults rose from their chairs, Draco scrambled out of his seat and headed towards the entrance hall underneath the foyer. 

 

“Will you two be joining us?” Snape asked.

 

“We will. It’s been some time since Cissy has been back at Hogwarts,” Lucius smiled, linking arms with his wife. “I’d thought we’d go on a little walk while you escort Draco.”

 

“Very well.”

 

The four of them stepped outside through the front doors of the manor. Draco confidently put his hand on Snape’s arm having already experienced side-along apparition plenty of times with his parents and knew what to expect. With a loud crack they apparated away and reappeared next to each other in the entrance courtyard. Draco stumbled from dizziness but was otherwise fine and quickly straightened up. He stared in awe at the ancient castle that loomed proudly above him on the crest of the snowy hills. After a few moments of gawking, he scampered through the snowy courtyard and up the steps to the door, trying not to slip in the process. They all agreed to return to the Great Hall for lunch and went their separate ways. While Lucius and Narcissa turned around and began to leisurely stroll towards the fields, Snape followed Draco into the castle.

 

Immediately, they ran into Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall who were surprised to say the least that the potion master had returned after a day, but he quickly dismissed the idea, explaining how he merely returned to give his godson a tour of Hogwarts. The two staff members were aware of Draco’s relationship to Snape but had never formally met the young Malfoy, and only ever heard things about him through Lucius. After exchanging introductions with the boy, Dumbledore informed Snape that Lupin and Black had gone to Diagon Alley for the afternoon, much to his relief. The very first place Snape showed Draco was the dungeons. It was cold and maze-like; very easy for someone his age to get lost in, but revealed a secret passage from the first floor took a more direct route to the classroom should he need to use it. Though Draco was more interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he was curious to see what the potion master’s classroom looked like after hearing so many stories of him berating students for blowing up their cauldrons. He also wasted no time snooping about Snape’s office and storage room, browsing the foreign ingredients and strange books Snape collected over the years.

 

Snape taught Draco the password to the Slytherin common room and explained that per Hogwarts rules, no members from any other house were allowed inside. He noticed that despite there being only one Slytherin here for the holidays, Hagrid and the elves still decorated the common room. There was a fir tree adorned in silver and gold balls and stars, pine cones and holly branches on the mantle, along the the high, stone arches, and above the doorway, a couple of holly wreaths on the walls, and the tapestry had been switched out for more festive designs. Any kid would have been impressed by the size and accommodations of the common room, but not Draco. He’d grown up living in a mansion his whole life and was even less impressed to find that his future dorm room would be much smaller than his current bedroom. Snape just rolled his eyes at the boy’s snobbiness. 

 

He apparated them both to the Quidditch Pitch after showing him the dungeons and the classrooms for the five major core-classes. There was a breeze now, but no snowflakes fell. Snow covered every seat in the stands as well as the tops of the circular goal posts. Draco had brought his broom with him and immediately took off in the air wanting to test out his flying on the real deal. He soared high in the air with swift zipping motions, performing the occasional dive bomb as if chasing after an imaginary golden snitch. He certainly was a show off in the eyes of the potion master, but Draco was indeed a very good flyer. Though, that didn’t stop Snape from keeping his wand at the ready in case Draco accidentally fell off his broom.

 

…

 

You breathed heavily as you trekked up the white snow-covered hills back to the castle, your stomach growling loudly with hunger. It took you longer than you anticipated but you managed to locate a patch of lavender that wasn’t completely buried in snow. The wormwood was easier to find due to its abundance. Ingredient harvesting was always more difficult this time of year, but you had gotten lucky as the trees that surrounded the Great Lake shielded much of the plants from the falling snow. What was really taking up space in your bag was some firewood you had chopped since the common room was out of it and you liked lighting fires during the nights. Even though you had casted a Feather Light spell on your bag, the steep, faster route you were taking back to the castle had you gasping.

 

Walking into the Great Hall, you struggled to suppress your panting, your breaths coming out in semi-restrained shudders as a result. You were too focused on breathing to look up and see who else was in attendance at lunch and plopped yourself down at the nearest section of the Slytherin table, setting the axe down you had borrowed from Hagrid on the table with an impactful thunk and your bag on the bench next to you. You didn’t bother shrugging off your coat as you planned on going back outside after eating and dropping the wood off at the common room. You did however yank down one of the thick scarfs that obscured the lower half of your face to make it easier to breathe. The cup of pumpkin juice in front of you that you chugged eased the dry throbbing in the back of your throat as you braced yourself against the table with your forearms, allowing yourself a minute or two for your breathing to return to normal before you started eating. 

 

You had hardly put a dent in your meal when someone approached you from behind and put their hands over your eyes. Releasing your fork, you placed your gloved hands over the person’s wrists and peeled their hands away. Turning in your seat, your gaze settled on the culprit.

 

It was the woman from Diagon Alley with black and blonde hair. She smiled at you graciously.

 

“It’s…you,” you frowned, perplexed.

 

“Yes, it’s me,” she smiled fondly, her hands finding their place on your cheeks while your hands still remained lightly grasped around her wrists.

 

“What-...” You started, confused. “What are you do-” But you didn’t get to finish as you were cut off by her leaning down and once again planting a firm kiss on your forehead, making your mouth clamp shut and snapping your head down and away when she pulled back. With one of your hands you tugged a scarf back up even higher, trying to cover the intense blush that spread over your face.

 

“Narcissa, dear. Narcissa Malfoy. But please, feel free to call me Cissa. Or Cissy,” she spoke in a satiny voice.

 

“Narcissa…” you mumbled, barely audible from the scarf that you held over your mouth. “...what are you doing here?”

 

She gently tilted your head back up and to your right. At the far end of the Slytherin section towards the teachers table sat two platinum blonde-haired figures and Professor Snape. Professor Snape? You were very confused now. What is going on? Why is he here? Was last night really not a dream?

 

The three of them were staring at you and Narcissa. The man with long blonde hair, presumably her husband, had the appearance of someone that came straight out of a cheesy romantic muggle book… Long silky hair, strong jaw and steely eyes that bored straight into your soul. He watched the two of you with a slightly raised eyebrow and an expression of piqued interest. The boy, definitely their son, inherited the same blonde hair and was bewildered by his mother’s forward behavior towards someone he had never seen before. And Professor Snape…he seemed just as baffled as the boy, but it was less explicit. It was more in his eyes and the fact that his fork was paused midair. You also noticed that Dumbledore seemed to be discreetly observing the exchange with vague amusement and curiosity.

 

“Your head of house was so kind as to give my son a tour of Hogwarts. He will be enrolling next year, you see.”

 

“Oh…” was all you could muster through the cloth as your eyes flicked back and forth between her and the men. Narcissa shot Lucius a look. His lips curved upwards as he rose from his seat and leisurely walked over. Snape knew that look. It was a look he had seen specifically from Narcissa and Draco when they saw something in a shop that caught their eyes, but at the same time he detected mischievous undertones in her gaze.

 

“Lucius, darling, this is Y/N. She’s the lovely girl I met a couple days ago who helped me pick out that dress. You know, the green and gold one that you liked so much?” 

 

“Oh yes, I remember that ravishing little number,” Lucius purred, stepping close to Narcissa and resting a hand on her lower back. He turned and looked at you, his penetrating gaze regarding you with deference. “My wife has spoken well of you. Lucius Malfoy, a pleasure.” He held a hand out to you. You removed your other hand from Narcissa and shook his, trying not to blush even more when he kissed the back of your gloved palm.

 

“Nice to meet you too…” you murmured.

 

Narcissa released your face and peered over at your bag and axe. “What’s all this?”

 

“Some stuff I've gathered from outside. Just potion ingredients and firewood for later.” You turned back towards your food.

 

“Lavender and wormwood…” Lucius muttered to himself. “These wouldn’t happen to be for sleeping potions, would they?” 

 

You nodded, taking a bite. “They are. Sleep does not come easy as of lately.”

 

“Why not simply buy them from Hogsmeade?” he arched an inquisitive eyebrow.

 

“I was going to, but I found some plant patches down by the lake that hadn’t died out from the cold. It would’ve been a waste of perfectly good ingredients not to use them.”

 

Narcissa hummed. “Such a smart girl, so incisive.” She linked her arms lazily beneath your collar bone and rested her chin atop your head. Lucius and Narcissa shared a hidden smile from your flustered reaction as your fork fumbled out of your hand. “If you ever need anything dear, just let us know,” she murmured against your head. She withdrew herself from you and Lucius gave your shoulder a light squeeze before they both meandered back towards Draco and Professor Snape. You could hear Narcissa chuckle all the way from where the four of them sat. Feeling very awkward, you popped your coat collar up and rested your cheek into the palm of your hand, angling your head away towards the Great Hall entrance as you hurriedly ate the rest of your meal.

 

***

 

After stopping at the common room to deliver your items and saying ‘hello’ to a couple students who were on their way to take residency in the library for the rest of the afternoon, you visited the large oak tree in the fields again. Instead of reading on the ground, you put your book in your mouth and scaled the deformed trunk and on to your favorite branch, sweeping snow off along the way. You had made a point to grab a folded blanket from your room to sit on while in the tree to pad the hardness of the branch against your rear. Even though there were no snowflakes, the breeze would lap at the higher up branches and lightly push dollops of snow down and onto your shoulders and book. The breeze seemed to be the only sound that could be heard for miles excluding the distant caws and calls from birds in the sky or searching for food in the snow. You found that reading did a lot to pass time. It kept your brain engaged during the strung out hours of the day. Most of your classmates would mention how they’d feel as though they had gotten “dumber” over the summer due to the extensive break from school. Sometimes you did too, but you were not about to let that happen to yourself over the holidays, especially with N.E.W.Ts this year.

 

“You there,” a voice called. You looked over your shoulder and saw the platinum blonde boy from the Great Hall standing some yards behind you. 

 

“Yes?” you responded. 

 

“Who are you?” His tone dripped with contempt.

 

You turned back towards your book. “No one important.”

 

“How do you know my mother?” The boy sounded irritated at the fact that you were not giving him your full-attention.

 

“I hardly know your mother,” you murmured. 

 

“She seems to like you.”

 

You had no explanation for that. “Yeah, well, Professor Snape seems to like you,” you challenged. “It is unlike him to willingly mingle with kids such as yourself.”

 

“Severus is my godfather,” the boy spoke pridefully.

 

You shut your book. Professor Snape is a godfather. How interesting. An image of Professor Snape in a suit leaning back in his office chair with a thick cigar in one hand and a cat on his lap manifested in your mind making you snort and chuckle.

 

“Something funny ?” he sneered.

 

You leaned back slowly and hung upside down to face the boy, still laughing lightly. “Nope. Just me and my silly little thoughts.”

 

He took in the sight of you hanging upside down, his eyes roaming over you as if evaluating your worth. “Why are you in a tree?” His nose wrinkled.

 

“Why are you on the ground?” you shot back with a smirk.

 

He narrowed his eyes at you in annoyance at your unwillingness to properly answer his questions. “Are you an American?”

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“Figured as much. With that accent of yours and your lack of manners, it was painfully obvious,” he spat.

 

Brat. You only chuckled again at his pitiful attempt to get under your skin. The boy frowned, not expecting your kind of reaction.

 

“I am in a tree because I like to be. Just as I imagine you’re outside because you want to enjoy the snow. And really, I don’t know your mother. I’ve only met her once in Diagon Alley before today.”

 

“Hmph.” His gaze shifted a little, as if trying to decide whether to insult you more or ask you another question. He walked towards you, the snow crunching loudly underneath his shoes until he was only a couple feet away from you.

 

“I believe you know this already, but,” he stood on his toes extending a hand out to you, “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

 

You reached down an arm and shook his hand telling him your full name and once again that doubtful look returned to his face. “I don’t recognize that name. What do your parents do?”

 

“My mother is a doctor and my father works with the ministry.”

 

Draco’s eyebrows raised and for once he looked at you as if you were worth his attention. “Really? My father is a school governor for Hogwarts. He has a lot of connections with the ministry. Perhaps they know each other.”

 

“Doubt it…” you muttered. You accio’d your bag that was lying by the base of the tree into your hands and shoved your book inside.

 

“How’d you do that?” Draco asked curiously.

 

“It’s a summoning Charm. You learn it around your 4th year,” you said.

 

“But you didn’t even say anything.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Teach me,” he ordered.

 

“How to ‘accio’? Ha! No, that’s too advanced for you. But I can teach you something easier.” You pulled yourself up and climbed down the tree. “Take out your wand.”

 

“I don’t have one yet. I can do magic, but mother and father haven’t taken me to get my first wand.”

 

“I see. No matter, you can use mine. But first, give me your broom.”

 

Draco handed it to you. You held it in both hands, admiring it. “This is nice. Is it new?”

 

“It is. Father bought it for me. It’s the latest model,” he boasted.

 

“Interesting,” you nodded. Suddenly you raised the broom up and brought it down hard over your knee, snapping it in half.

 

He sputtered in horror, his eyes wide with shock. No one had ever dared to disrespect him or his property before. “ How dare you! That was a Nimbus 2001 you insufferable- My father will hear about this! ” He whirled around to storm off back to the castle but you grabbed him by the coat collar.

 

“Calm down, fruitloop. Your broom will be fine,” you declared, forcing him to turn around. “Watch.” You flicked your wand from your sleeve and aimed it at the broken broom that lay in the snow. Waving your wand in a triangular swirl, the two pieces slid together and mended itself, every little splinter intertwining and binding together until the broom was whole again, the spot where you it had snapped so smooth it was as though it had never been broken. “See? All better.”

 

Draco strode over and picked up the broom, stunned. He twisted it over in his hands, trying to find the tiniest crack or dent, but to no avail. “...How?”

 

“Reparo. Also known as the Mending Charm. It’s a charm you learn in your first year. Come, your turn.” You took the broom from his hands and gave him your wand. Standing next to him, you lifted his arm up so that it was outstretched away from him. “Repeat after me. Re-PAH-ro.”

 

…

 

“That boy has some nerve wandering away into this labyrinth of a castle without telling us where he is going.”

 

The three adults strolled through the ground floor corridors and out to the courtyard where they had originally apparated to. Draco had departed from the Great Hall not long after you did and had been gone longer than they anticipated. He had a curious expression on his face having witnessed the strange display between you and his parents. It was only natural for someone like Draco to interrogate you for answers, trying to figure out who you are, how you know them, what your wealth status was, and even more so, boast about how you were lucky to be in their presence. Snape too was confounded by their behavior as the Malfoys were garrously picky with who they chose to associate themselves with. It made him wonder similar things about you since Narcissa had taken a liking to you so quickly.

 

Exiting the courtyard, Narcissa had feared the worst, thinking Draco had wandered towards the Forbidden Forest or went outside to fly and fell off his broom. However, a simple tracking spell from Snape revealed that his footprints lead towards the large oak tree that stood alone in the nearby snow fields. Lucius pointed out that it appeared as though someone was hanging from the tree and instantly Snape recognized it as your figure. As they got closer, they soon registered Draco sitting on the ground against the tree. It was hard to spot him at first since his attire blended in.

 

Neither of you acknowledged their presence even when they stood near the tree. Draco was too engrossed in your textbook to recognize the other adults.

 

“Draco,” Lucius spoke sternly. Only then did Draco tear his gaze up from the book toward his father, walking stick in hand and planted in the snow. “You shouldn’t run off like that. You worried your mother and I.”

 

“Sorry, father. I got carried away reading.”

 

Snape eyed the book, recognizing it as the DADA textbook for older students. He put two and two together when he saw your school bag in the snow. “Put it down Draco. We mustn’t touch what isn’t ours,” his deep voice rumbled.

 

“But Y/N said I could read it.”

 

They looked to you for confirmation, but no response was given. You were sleeping soundly as snow flurries that drifted from the tops of the trees lightly landed on your knees, some scarcely brushing against your face. The Potion’s textbook lay beside you on the branch. You had taken advantage of the Magnetizing Charm and cast it on your legs against the tree branch so you could hang freely without clenching your muscles. You once again appeared very bat-like and had your arms tightly crossed against your torso, preventing them from flopping down.

 

“She’s asleep,” Draco said casually, though he thought it was highly unusual when he first realized it fifteen minutes ago.

 

Lucius and Narcissa blinked in surprise. Meanwhile Professor Snape didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Regardless, we will be departing soon. Put it down.”

 

Draco huffed, placing the book back inside of your bag and standing up. “Oh, there was something I wanted to show you all,” he said eagerly, his demeanor changing suddenly. He looked down in the snow for your wand but remembered you had slid it back up your sleeve when you climbed back up onto the branch. “Y/N, wake up!”

 

Your lids twitched and barely fluttered open before scrunching them back together from the overcast light that reflected from the snow. “What…” you murmured.

 

“I need your wand again.”

 

In your half-awake state, you didn’t think to ask him why and let your right arm fall straight for a second, your wand slipping out of your coat sleeve and into the snow, before resting it back across your side. Draco snatched it off the ground and retrieved the broken in half broom he had hidden on the other side of the tree trunk. Narcissa and Lucius scowled, unamused at the prospect that he had already damaged his brand new broom. Before either one of them could open their mouths to scold him he cast the Mending Charm, repairing the broom live in front of their eyes. He turned to them with a self-congratulatory grin.

 

“You…learned your first spell.” A smile slowly twitched onto Lucius's mouth. Narcissa stood proudly next to him with a hand on his back.

 

“Y/N taught it to me. And It only took me two tries to figure it out,” he bragged.

 

“Well done, Draco.” Lucius stepped towards him and took your wand, inspecting it for himself. “Y/N, if you don't mind, might you tell me what your wand is made of?”

 

You slowly opened your eyes, letting them adjust to the light before glancing over at Lucius who was now holding your wand. “Cedar wood with a dragon heartstring core.”

 

Lucius nodded. “Mine too shares the same core. A fine wand for the Dark Arts,” he said, looking over your wand again from tip to handle before raising his arm up to give it back to you. “Speaking of Dark Arts…” you spoke. You took your wand back and reversed the charm on your legs before hoisting yourself back up right. You rubbed your eyes, sniffing from tiredness and rotating yourself on the branch to face them.

 

“Professor Lupin has been asking questions,” you said, looking at Professor Snape. Neither Lucius or Narcissa spoke as they didn’t know why you’d suddenly brought Lupin up and simply glanced at Snape. He narrowed his eyes back slightly.

 

“What kind of questions?”

 

“Questions regarding his… medication .” You chose your words carefully. You gathered that they had all gone to school together, but you didn’t know if the Malfoys were aware of Lupin’s lycanthropy and therefore did not want to accidentally spill his secret. “Specifically, if his timetable has been acknowledged and how administration of said medication will be handled given everyone’s current holiday plans,” you spoke stoically. 

 

“Of course he did,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. He knew exactly what you were asking in your own discreet, arcane way. “Are you aware of when production must begin? Will you be present at Hogwarts for it? If not, will it be my job?” 

 

“I haven’t given him any concrete answers. Besides,” you smirked, “how could I possibly deprive you of the opportunity of giving him an answer that’d make him stew in his own paranoia?” 

 

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged subtle looks as they realized two things; you were the girl helping Snape with Wolfsbane and you had known enough about him to understand, on some level, the potion master’s disdain for Professor Lupin. 

 

“In any case,” you accio’d all your belongings together into your bag and shimmied your way off the branch and down the trunk, “I just thought you should know and if you want me to pass on a message unless you’d rather tell him yourself.”

 

“Do not bother with Professor Lupin,” he dismissed. “I will deal with him. If he has concerns, he knows to consult me directly.”

 

You pursed your lips a little and nodded lightly. “Alright. Well, you four enjoy yourselves. It was nice to officially meet you Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.” Just as you had started to pass Draco, you reached out and harshly ruffled his neatly styled hair. “You too, fruitloop.” The boy raised his arms and attempted to smack you away after you thoroughly disheveled his hair, grumbling loudly to himself and running his fingers down on his head to tidy it back up. Lucius and Narcissa smirked softly as your dark figure retreated in the distance before they all apparated back to Malfoy Manor.

 

Chapter 24: Potions and Emotions

Summary:

A late night encounter leads to a change of heart. Bit of a filler chapter tbh.

 11:30 PM

 

The cauldron bubbled softly on the large coffee table in the common room along with the crackling fire that cast a warm glow on you and the couches. Lavender wafted in the air with a pale purple tint in the smoke that only added to some of your sleepiness. You had already made three Dreamless Sleep potions with the amount of ingredients you collected and were moving on to bottle number four. The plan was to have multiple in stock, expecting more nightmares to come since they’ve been occurring almost nightly as of a week ago. You didn’t want to resort to potions. You want to be able to process your problem in a healthy way, not depend on some substitution that doesn’t help solve the root problem. Instead of taking a bottle before bed, you’d try to sleep normally in case you didn’t have any nightmares that night in hopes that it would help get your brain back on track. Only if you woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night would you drink some. Just as you finished filling up the cauldron with water, someone rapped hurriedly on the common room door.

 

You frowned. Who’d need to see you at this hour? Still, you got up and answered the door. As you pulled one of the double doors open, Professor Lupin quickly side-stepped his way in and put his arm on the door, forcing it back shut. Before you could question him, he held a finger up to his mouth, indicating for you to be quiet. His lips were pressed together, but you could spot the tiniest smirk tugging at the corners. The next twenty seconds were silent between you two as he remained still. He pressed his ear to the door and listened. After a moment or so he sighed, his somewhat tense shoulders deflating.

 

“So sorry about that, Miss L/N. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

 

“Not particularly, though I wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight.” You quietly turned and moved back towards the couches to your potions. “Everything alright? You seem rather agitated this evening.”

 

“Ah…yes,” he confessed, leaning back on the doors. “I am hiding from Sirius at the moment.”

 

You cocked an eyebrow. 

 

“We were in my quarters playing cards and drinking. He got a bit riled up from losing and I cut him off for the evening.” 

 

“So…what is he chasing you around the castle or something?”

 

“Well…” He pushed off the doorway, crossing his arms and meandering about. “Yes. I may have stolen his bottle of firewhiskey from him,” he said, pulling an almost empty bottle of firewhiskey out from an inner pocket of his robes. “And his wand… I also may have charmed a dog cone around his neck so that he couldn’t drink anymore even if he tried.”

 

You snorted which earned you a relenting smirk from Lupin. “So. You’ve come to the Slytherin common room seeking sanctuary? You shouldn't have done that.”

 

“Oh? And why’s that? Has Professor Snape secretly banned me from setting foot in here?”

 

“No,” you chuckled, “I mean that you shouldn’t have come to the dungeons at all. You should’ve gone upstairs to the higher floors or to one of the towers. It's much harder to ascend stairs when you’re intoxicated than it is to go down them.”

 

He exhaled, shaking his head with a smile. “Ever the smart one you are.” He looked up towards the ingredients and various tools you had sprawled out around the coffee table and paced over. “Are you making potions? Seems a little late to be brewing.”

 

“You and I have two very different definitions of ‘late’. And yes, I am making potions. A couple of Dreamless Sleep to keep in stock over the break.”

 

“Are you having nightmares?”

 

You shifted a bit in your seat and nodded quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Miss L/N,” Lupin said, noticing your demeanor.

 

“ ‘M fine,” you murmured as you began preparing the wormwood for the next potion. “They’re just nightmares. Not like I haven’t dealt with them before.”

 

Lupin nodded to himself glancing back at the double doors. “Do you mind if I wait here for a little while? I’d rather deal with Sirius when he’s calmed down.”

 

“Knock yourself out.” Lupin walked around the furniture and took a seat on one of the opposite couches and set the almost empty bottle of firewhiskey on the coffee table. “I talked to Professor Snape recently,” you spoke, keeping your eyes on your work.

 

Lupin looked up from his lap. “Really? When?”

 

“Earlier today. He returned to the castle with the Malfoys some time this afternoon.”

 

“Oh,” You heard him say. You didn’t look at his face, but it was the kind of ‘oh’ where he sounded both disappointed and repulsed. “Did you ask him about the Wolfsbane?”

 

“I did.”

 

“And?”

 

“He said you shouldn’t be consulting with me on the matter and to voice your concerns with him or Dumbledore.”

 

“That’s it? No confirmation on who will be doing what and when?” You nodded. Lupin rolled his eyes. “So in other words, he’s purposely choosing to be a spiteful bastard about this. How professional…”

 

“You’ll be fine,” you hummed. “He’s clearly just trying to make you squirm a bit.”

 

“I know it's just…I’d rather not spend the next six days wondering whether he will pull the rug out from underneath me. He could get away with it if he wanted to. All he’d get would be a slap on the wrist from Albus and he knows it. Meanwhile, I’ll be forced to suffer from something I can’t control. It may only be one night but…it's horrible .”

 

“I assure you Professor Lupin that such a thing will not happen. I promise that Wolfsbane will be made available to you…with or without Professor Snape.”

 

He sighed. “While I appreciate the sentiment Miss L/N I’d feel terrible if you were to get in any trouble with Professor Snape going behind his back, even if you are just trying to help.”

 

“Really… You think Dumbledore would let Professor Snape punish me for providing you with Wolfsbane? And even so, it’s not as though I’d be stealing the necessary ingredients from his storage room. Most of the ingredients grow in the Forbidden Forest with the exception of aconite, which I know Professor Sprout has in one of the greenhouses and would be more than willing to supply if she knows it's for you.”

 

Before Lupin could speak again to convince you otherwise, he heard his name being called. “Remus!”

 

Loud footsteps could be heard from just outside the common room. “I know you’re down here Remus. I can smell you!”

 

“Damn his nose…” Lupin muttered. He held in a breath as both your ears picked up the sound of Sirius walking right by the set of double doors. He relaxed when they faded away, but only for a moment as loud scuffling was heard followed by two bangs on the doors. “Open up, Remus!”

 

“Oh yeah, he sounds real calm,” you quipped, grabbing the bottle of firewhiskey and moving it so that it sat underneath the coffee table and out of view. “What’s the password?” you called toward the door.

 

It was silent for a beat or two before Sirius spoke again. “Y/N! Tell Remus that if he doesn't get this wretched cone off me I’m going to piss all over his bed AND in his alcohol.”

 

Remus’s face fell as Sirius had a history of following through on such threats. He got up from the couch and moved to open the door. Sirius strode in with both hands yanking on the white plastic funnel that wrapped around his neck. “Get this bloody thing off me,” he hissed. 

 

“Now Sirius, I will do no such thing until you promise me that you’re done with your temper tantrum.”

 

“What are you, my mother? Get it off, now!”

 

“That will not be removed and neither will you be getting your wand back until you’ve assured me you have calmed down.”

 

“Fine! I have-” Sirius paused, taking a couple of deep breaths. “I am calm. Now please. Get this off of me. I’d like to go to bed soon,” he said at a quieter volume.

 

Lupin chanted a spell and the cone that obscured Sirius’s face cracked and half like an egg and fell to the ground. “Finally,” he huffed. Sirius noticed you sitting on the couch in lounge pants and oversized sweatshirt. “Evening, Y/N.”

 

“Evening,” you said amused. Looking at Sirius, you could tell he was tipsy at the very least. Lupin had cut him off at just the right time, otherwise he’d be stumbling into the walls and furniture had he continued.

 

“My wand?” Sirius turned to Lupin. 

 

“You will get that back when you return to your quarters.” 

 

Sirius rolled his eyes. “And my firewhiskey?”

 

“No. You’re not having anymore.”

 

Being treated like a child only riled Sirius up again as the two began to bicker. While Sirius was faced away from you and distracted, you quietly pulled the bottle of firewhiskey out from underneath the table and into your lap. You quickly waved at Remus to get his attention and were successful. Popping off the cork of one of your already finished Dreamless Sleep potions, you poured in a little bit of the potion; just enough to knock him out for a few hours until his natural sleep cycle took over. A slight smile twitched on Lupin’s face before returning his attention to Sirius.

 

“Fine. You want your firewhiskey back Sirius? Here.” Lupin walked around the couch and picked up the bottle of firewhiskey you had placed back on the table and shoved it towards Sirius. “Enjoy.”

 

“I will ,” Sirius sneered. Immediately he raised the bottle to his lips and downed the remaining liquid, maintaining eye contact with Lupin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have better things to do than lose to…” Sirius stopped talking as if his tongue was too heavy to move, staring at Lupin with a dazed expression. His legs shook for a second and he buckled under his own weight as the sleeping potion took effect. Lupin caught him before his knees could hit the ground, lifting him up and throwing him over his shoulder.

 

“For someone with such a strong nose, you’d think he would’ve been able to smell the lavender inside of the bottle,” you jeered. 

 

Lupin sighed, shifting Sirius on his shoulder. “His impulsivity has always been his weakness. Goodnight, Miss L/N,” he said, departing through the doors.

 

“G’night,” you replied just as he shut them.

 

***

 

Snape grumbled as he harshly shut the door to his storage room. It was another night where he knew he wouldn’t be able to go to bed without a potion. Back at Malfoy Manor, he was about to change into pajamas, but was interrupted by Draco knocking on his door. The boy was having trouble sleeping and naturally went to ask the potion master if he had brought any potions for the duration of his stay. He had mercy on his godson and offered him the remaining portion of the sleeping aid. He didn’t dwell on it too much and apparated back to Hogwarts to retrieve another one only to find that he was completely out of Dreamless Sleep. Then, when he got the brilliant idea to just brew another one, he discovered he had no lavender left. He slammed the door shut and paced around the room thinking. No apothecary shops would be open and it was far too cold for him to go outside to harvest some. He knew that Pomona wasn’t currently growing any, which seemingly left him out of options.

 

But then he remembered something he heard earlier today.

 

“Some stuff I've gathered from outside. Just potion ingredients and firewood for later.” 

 

“Lavender and wormwood…These wouldn’t happen to be for sleeping potions, would they?” 

 

“They are. Sleep does not come easy as of lately.”

 

You had gone out and harvested exactly what he needed earlier. He could go and ask you, assuming you were still awake, but he scoffed at the idea. It’s not that he didn’t trust your brews. Your potions were damn near perfect in class. But having to go to you, cloak in hand, made him feel…embarrassed. A teacher, specifically, the potion master, having to ask a student for a potion to sleep. How humiliating. But he was out of options if he wanted to get a good night’s sleep. 

 

As he walked through the dungeons he picked up on the sound of distant footsteps. He assumed you were lurking around the dungeons again and tried to locate you in the dark. But then he heard a voice. A voice that was certainly not yours.

 

“I know you’re down here, Remus. I can smell you...”

 

Black. What was he doing down in the dungeons?

 

Snape was able to discern that he wasn’t too far away from him. Upon rounding another corner, he spotted a sliver of light on the ground in the distance. It was coming from underneath the doors of the Slytherin common room. A figure stepped across the light and banged on the door. “Open up, Remus!”

 

Why was Lupin in the common room? How was he in the common room?

 

Snape doused his light spell and cast a Disillusionment charm on himself in case Black could see him in the dark and a muffliato on his shoes. “Y/N! Tell Remus that if he doesn't get this wretched cone off me I’m going to piss all over his bed AND in his alcohol.”

 

How charming.

 

As he crept closer and closer, the doors to the common room opened and Black rushed inside, but did not close the door behind him. He could make out Lupin and Black talking in an irritated manner. The door was open just enough for Snape to slip inside undetected. He came just in time to see them quarreling like an old married couple and for Lupin to remove some sort of plastic off of Black’s head.

 

“Evening, Y/N.”

 

Snape heard you respond all the way from the couches. You were brewing what was fortunately Dreamless Sleep and had your lavender and wormwood separated into little piles on the coffee table. He was just thankful you were still awake, but not at all pleased that the two men were intruding on a Slytherin-designated space.

 

The two of them started bickering again. Snape noticed that you had suddenly begun to move very slowly and reaching for something down on the ground. To his surprise you pulled out an almost empty bottle of firewhiskey. You discreetly motioned to Lupin and began to pour a little sleeping potion into the bottle and set it back down on the table before resuming your work.

 

“Fine. You want your firewhiskey back Sirius? Here.” Lupin strode over and snatched the bottle off the table and gave it back to Black “Enjoy.”

 

Like a fool, Black guzzled the rest of it out of cockiness, and as expected, collapsed seconds later.

 

“For someone with such a strong nose, you’d think he would’ve been able to smell the lavender inside of the bottle,” Snape heard you comment.

 

Lupin soon departed with a dosed Black over his shoulder, leaving the invisible potion master alone in the common room with you. Though he had casted muffliato, he was still careful to pace slowly over to the sitting area. He stopped behind one of the opposite couches. Though you weren’t in a proper lab or the potions classroom, you made it work. You had a cauldron hanging by a small rack over a flame that you could conjure and adjust with your wand, seemingly burning from nowhere. Besides your ingredients you had a portable cutting board, potion knife and mortar set in front of you. Though you didn’t necessarily need your notes, you were proactive enough to bring your textbook and notebook anyways. 

 

Snape watched in silence as you methodically cut the wormwood leaves off the stems and grounded them into a paste using the pestle and mortar. It wasn’t a step that was included in the textbooks. With the wormwood, you were supposed to strain it in the cauldron for 10 minutes while the water boiled to help draw out the wormwood oil inside. The alternative method you opted for bypassed all of that and forced the oil out of the leaves much more effectively, rising above the green mush in a small pool. He had seen you do it before in your sixth year and chose not to stop you at the time, assuming an explosion from your cauldron would teach you not to disregard the instructions in your textbook. When no such explosion occurred and you turned in your potion, he found your Dreamless Sleep worthy of an O. After adding in the wormwood oil and lavender flowers, you reached a stopping point in which your potion would need to simmer for a bit.

 

Sighing, you shuffled about on the couch, changing your position so that your back was against the nearest arm rest. “Expecto patronum,” you murmured, waving your wand in a small circle. The wispy light expanded and swarmed you until your runespoor formed and solidified. It was careful to keep its body away from the coffee table and hung sections of itself over the opposite armrest, off the back of the couch and coiling around the floor. Snape stared intently at the runespoor. It was just as big as he first saw it. It lowered its heads to you, a deep rumbling sound coming from their throats. You raised your arms in a ‘gimme’ motion towards the left head as it laid itself on you. The middle head stood on the back of the couch and stared off into the fire while your right one, flicked its gaze around, inspecting the space it found itself in. While you hadn’t bothered to name the heads, you did find out that your patronus was a boy after asking Hagrid about them. You stroked lefty's spikey head, earning you the occasional tongue flick and nostril puffs from the creature. 

 

Snape eyed the potion bottles on the table. You had made three potions this evening and would be finishing number four in the next ten or so minutes. He hadn’t considered how he would go about this. Should he reveal himself and just ask for one or simply swipe one when you are distracted? But there were so few potions. Surely you’d notice the missing bottle. As he debated what to do, his foot accidentally nudged the axe you propped up against the couch in front of him. It fell over with a loud clatter that echoed around the common room. Instantly, you and the heads of your patronus snapped your attention toward the noise. The runespoor quickly straightened up, its three heads flicking their tongues instinctively waiting for something else to happen.

 

You knew what that sound was. It was the axe getting knocked to the ground. The way you had set it against the couch wouldn’t have let it fall down on its own.

 

“Hello?” you called. “Peeves?” You heard no verbal response, not even the impish giggling from the poltergeist known to haunt and play tricks in the castle. Someone was here though. You just knew it. You vanished the flame underneath your cauldron and murmured something to your patronus before moving to sit up against the couch. Snape slowly backed away from his current location as your patronus stood up even taller and began to slither over the coffee table and around the room directly toward him. He kept moving until his back touched the wall. You patronus towered above him, the left head guiding the three of them around the room as its thick body contorted over and around the furniture. The heads hissed and flickered their tongues, moving in different directions with the range each of them had to work with, trying to find whatever you had told them to look for. 

 

Snape kept still. While the creature couldn’t do any real damage to him, it was still highly intimidating, and admittedly, he had been caught in the headlights when your patronus whipped its heads and gazed directly at him. 

 

Your chest began to feel tight and your breathing sped up as your wandless hand gripped into the leather of the backrest. Your wand was trained in front of you, trying to detect the faintest noise or slightest breeze in the tapestries. Your patronus dipped their heads down towards the walls like hound dogs trying to track a scent. Their tongues lapped at the air and Snape was barely able to evade the piercing gaze of the judgmental right head, carefully side stepping away from the runespoor just as the head nudged into the space he occupied seconds ago. After covering every square inch, the patronus slithered back to you, tilting its head and twitching its tail in confusion. You didn’t speak parseltongue, but you could tell that your patronus was communicating that it couldn’t find anything. Your eyes widened and you spun your head towards the area behind you.

 

“Backrooms,” you whispered to your runespoor. Again, the patronus took off slithering down the back hall towards the dorms and bathrooms. You scrambled up so you were sitting on your knees watching the runespoor’s tail disappear down the hall. From where he stood, Snape could hear your breathing become unsteady. He quietly moved away from the wall and towards you. He didn’t understand why you were having such a visceral reaction. That is, until he stopped just short of the coffee table and saw that your eyes looked incredibly bleary and your free hand was now gripping your throat.

 

Oh.

 

Your runespoor returned and gave you the same confused head tilts as they leaned down and examined you. You turned back around towards the cauldron bracing yourself against the couch cushions. You drew your hand away from your neck. Both you and Snape saw that it was shaking. 

 

“Fuck,” you muttered, slamming your tremoring fist into the couch before shooting up and running it through your hair as you walked away from the sitting area. “I’m going crazy.” After a few moments of standing there, clenching and unclenching your hand, you signaled for your patronus to follow you as you exited the common room.

 

…

 

It was freezing up in the Astronomy Tower. You could still feel the cold through your sweatshirt. Light snowflakes fell, blending in with the stars that dotted the sky, as if the stars themselves were raining down on earth. You were sitting on the wooden floor near the balcony, taking slow and deep breaths. Your patronus had coiled protectively around your curled figure, the middle head letting you stroke it for comfort while the other two rested on it’s stacked body, watching the snow.

 

Snape ascended the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. He had followed you and your patronus from a distance, your patronus’s body casting a natural light that illuminated the corridors for you. One thing had become glaringly clear to him as he followed your path. The events of Halloween had disturbed you much more than he thought. You seemed fine after your three-day weekend, at least from what he had seen. Granted he only had one class with you and hardly saw you around the castle otherwise. He assumed you were virtually unaffected by the attack because of how well you carried on after returning to your classes…unless…there were signs that he was missing? 

 

Reaching the top of the tower, he uncasted the Disillusionment charm and muffliato. He saw your patronus wound in a circle, your body obscured from him due to the thickness and height of the runespoor stacked on itself. He took a couple steps towards you.

 

“Miss L/N.”

 

The body of your patronus shifted, the left and right head turning away from the snow to face him. They weren’t nearly as suspicious now that he was visible to them. The right head slithered towards him as far as it could manage, looking at him from different angles and flicking its tongue, judging him as Snape remained stone-faced. It puffed air at him before retreating backwards. It started to hiss at the left head. They went back and forth hissing and cocking their heads at one another until they both suddenly dipped down towards you. Slowly, your patronus began to fade a way from tail to heads, revealing your seated form. Your free hand, which no longer seemed to be shaking, moved up towards your face as you sniffed.

 

Snape slowly moved around the circular floor plan toward you. He wasn’t sure if you had heard him or if your patronus disappeared from a lack of focus. The old, wooden floor creaked underneath him until he stopped in your peripheral, standing against the nearest stone arch. Your arms were linked around your bent knees as you stared vacantly out into the falling snowflakes, the breath from your nose coming out in white clouds. You turned your head when you heard his shuffling stop near you, holding his gaze for a second or so in acknowledgment before looking away again.

 

“How did you know I was here?” you murmured.

 

“A giant, glowing runespoor slithering about the castle isn’t exactly subtle, Miss L/N.”

 

“Good thing I wasn’t going for subtlety.” You felt him enter your mind after that remark, the tingling sensation nearly masked by the numbing cold air against your skin. 

 

“You are well aware that students are prohibited from setting foot in the Astronomy Tower unless a class is being held. Tell me, do you plan on breaking into the Restricted Section of the library tomorrow night? Or take a stroll into the Forbidden Forest?” he drawled.

 

“I wanted to watch the snow fall… It usually makes me feel better, but I didn’t want to step outside the castle in order to do so. And the view is…comforting,” you spoke quietly. You half-expected him to roll his eyes and chastise you for trying to use your emotions as an excuse to break the rules. Instead, he pressed his back against the nearby stone arch and turned his head out towards the snow. The invisible winter breeze lightly blew against the tips of his wispy hair. He must’ve found a smidge of mercy for you as he decided to remain silent on the matter for now as you both stared off into the distance.

 

“Why did you summon your patronus? Anyone could’ve seen it should they have been wandering the corridors,” he asked, still looking out at the gloomy landscape. Of course, he knew why you had summoned it earlier than he made you believe, but he wanted definitive answers about what happened earlier.

 

“Sometimes I summon him when I want company. Or when I am feeling anxious.”

 

He squinted. “Him?”

 

“Mhm. No spikes under the chins means it's a male. Regardless…” you waved off.

 

More silence followed before he quietly spoke again. “What happened?”

 

It took you a bit to realize what he was referring to. Professor Snape wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type toward his house, not like McGonagall or Flitwick. He was not one to care about those sorts of things. And when he did inquire, it usually boiled down to his teacherly duties. Snape glanced at you when you hadn’t promptly answered him. You were looking away from him towards the other neighboring stone arch like you were embarrassed to show your face. But he didn’t sense any embarrassment, more so…frustration.

 

“ ‘S stupid,” he heard you mutter.

 

“If it has you sitting in the freezing cold, I doubt it is as insignificant as you deem it to be.” He could sense your hesitancy as he heard your thoughts conflict with one another, deciding if it was even worth telling him. He was well aware that he doesn’t come off as sympathetic to students and you had every right to be doubtful of his concern.

 

“I…” you started. “I just had a moment… In the common room.” You turned your head back towards the snow. “I heard a noise. I thought someone was hiding in there with me and all of a sudden it felt like-” Your hand moving upwards again, but you forced it to stop, grabbing the front of your sweatshirt collar instead. “Like I was going to be attacked again…” you swallowed thickly. You braced yourself, ready for him to tell you that you were being irrational or dramatic and that worse things could have happened to you on Halloween. That your feelings were unwarranted. But he didn’t respond so you kept going.

 

“I know they aren’t here anymore. I know they can’t hurt me and I was able to deal with it the first time this happened—”

 

“What do you mean the first time ?” he interrupted. “How many times has this happened?”

 

You silently raised two fingers. 

 

“When?” he asked, but it sounded more like a demand.

 

“After the dance lessons for the Yule Ball. I was outside...” You trailed off and decided to not mention your hidden oasis for now.

 

“And the nightmares?”

 

“They started the same day,” 

 

“Why haven’t you said anything before? If not to me, then Pomfrey or McGonagall?” he pressed on, annoyed.

 

“I can handle it myself… It’s no one’s burden to bear but my own.” 

 

He opened his mouth to debate your logic, but all that came out was a disapproving huff as he turned back toward the snow, muttering under his breath. "What am I going to do with you..." He would’ve preferred to know as soon as these experiences started happening even if it was none of his business. Still, he felt entitled since he was the one who helped with your recovery. At least he knew now regardless of the circumstances.

 

The floorboards creaked as you shuffled forward to the railing on your knees. You sat down cross-legged, resting your head and forearm against one of the horizontal rungs. You had rolled up the baggy sweatshirt sleeve all the way to your elbow and stuck your arm out towards the snowflakes, letting them brush and melt against your bare skin. He could tell you were cold from the shiver in your shoulders, but you didn’t appear to care as your mind was elsewhere. It seemed that you had fully relaxed now, sensing your train of thought returning to what he considered to be normal for you as a faraway half-smile twitched on your face.

 

Snape felt a fog within him begin to clear away. When he was away at Malfoy Manor he had yet to feel this sense of pacification. Not even in the previous years when he would retreat to his home in Spinner’s End where he could be in total control of every little thing. Neither you nor him were doing anything in particular. Just… existing in the vicinity of one another and watching the snowfall. He quietly shifted toward you, still facing the snow. It only took two steps for him to be inches away from you. You didn’t show any signs of discomfort, or perhaps you were too far out of it to realize he was now standing close to you. He guessed the latter as you hardly blinked when the breeze caused the hem of his cloak to gently tap against your side. 

 

...He could make do with this.

 

The sensation of something plopping against the tops of your shoulders and back pulled your attention away as you heard a loud cracking noise next to you, like someone using a whip. You looked to your left to find that Professor Snape had wordlessly disappeared in the blink of an eye. You tugged the thing off your back and saw that it was his long black cloak. Oh, were you shivering? You wrapped yourself in the soft dark material and felt a wave of sleepiness creep up on you. A part of you wanted to stay and keep watching the snow. Another part was whispering for you to go to bed, the time approaching 1 AM and it would be even colder then. But would Professor Snape expect you to be in the same spot when he apparated back? Would he be coming back? A few more moments passed and you decided it would be best to go to bed now. You could already hear his voice scolding you if you got sick. Firmly gripping the cloth, you stood up and descended down the stairs.

 

***

 

Shutting his suitcase closed, he paced down to Lucius and Narcissa’s bedroom and slipped a scrawled-out note underneath the door. They wouldn’t see it until morning but that was the idea. When he apparated back to the Astronomy Tower he found that you had left already. He then popped directly into Slytherin's common room, the fire had been reduced to a few burning embers and he heard a door close down the back hall. You had retired for the night, but he noticed you had left something on one of the coffee tables. Your cauldron and ingredients had been moved, but his cloak remained folded up in a neat square with two Dreamless Sleep potions on top of them with a small note that he picked up.

 

“One for tonight (I'm guessing), the other to replenish your store.”

 

***

 

“Dear Lucius and Narcissa,

 

I’ve decided to return to Hogwarts, at least for as long as I can manage. I will send Draco his Christmas present via owl.” 

 

-Severus Snape

 

 

Chapter 25: Into the Woods

Summary:

Reader's first time in the Forbidden Forrest. How much fun could it be?

Notes:

I know ya'll have been craving more Snape/Reader interaction so I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The house is quiet when you return home from school. Still. Empty, but not the type of empty that suggested no one was occupying it. Like a sixth sense, you detected that your father was upstairs in his study.

 

But not alone.

 

Heavy footsteps above the ceiling gave it away. Too heavy to be the sound of one person, but rather, two or more moving in sync. There were people in your father’s study. Co-workers.

 

“Dang it,” you thought, pouting in discontent. That meant you couldn’t go upstairs until they left. Your father had told you that he ever had magical company over, you were not to make yourself present. Going up the stairs when they could walk out and use the upstairs bathroom at any second was too risky.

 

You resigned yourself to the living room, turning on the TV and flipping it to the sports channel, but muting it so that the commentary was inaudible. Before you started your homework, you went to the kitchen to make yourself a snack, but slipped just before you crossed over the threshold, banging your knee against the polished wooden floor.

 

“Ow…!” you hissed to yourself, rubbing at your knee where there would surely be a bruise by the next day.

 

Your eyes searched for the culprit that had made you slip, only for you to find a sheet of paper. It was unlike the papers you used in school; the coloring was tanner than white. Stamped ink littered the page as if it had been run through a typewriter. The text was tight and cramped, filling the entirety of the page, both front and back. At the bottom of the face-up side was a signature, one inscribed with a writing tool, almost like a calligraphic pen, and a few messy drops of ink. The name was unrecognizable to you.

 

What was this?

 

Against your better judgment, you picked up the paper and began to read.

 

“…multiple vials of werewolves' saliva found on the wizard, including an extraction kit and medical-grade needle. Aurors believe the suspect is being hired to turn certain targets into werewolves in exchange for gold to fulfill vengeful wishes against them—“ You stopped.

 

Werewolves are real?

 

You clutched the paper to your chest. Even though it was just parchment, it felt so much heavier than that. Heavy with implications. If werewolves were real, did that mean vampires were real too? Goblins? Dragons? Ghosts? Gremlins?

 

The possibilities gripped you as you forced yourself to do your homework, waiting for your father’s company to depart for the day. The paper hummed at you with malevolence on the coffee table, the kind of unsettling energy that made you apprehensive about your future. You knew one day you’d have to learn about magic, go to school for it, see the other world…

 

That notion scared you.

 

You were certain your father’s coworkers had disappeared a half hour later when you heard collective whooshing through the ceiling, using the floo to go back to MACUSA. That was your cue. Hesitantly, you crept upstairs, your footfalls softened by the long rung that extended down the hallway. The knock you gave on the door to his study was gentle. Passive. Behind came an equally calm and gentle, “come in.”

 

The door clicked as you opened it, taking in the ambience of the study. Your father was slouched over his desk, tired, but still scratching away at something, the soft ‘scritch,’ filling the air.

 

“How was school, Y/N?” he said aloud, the sound of writing continuing. You didn’t answer, only silently approached his side, where his desk was. It pressed directly behind a large, arching window that nearly touched the ceiling, allowing him to see into the backyard where you played. He looked to the side when he sensed you in his peripheral vision, his eyes flicking between your unsettled face and the paper in your hand.

 

His steely expression shifted slightly, brows knitting as he took the paper from your outstretched hand. Your finger took purchase along the side of your legs, tapping and thumping away as he read the paper, his jaw clenching before returning his attention to you.

 

“Where did you find this?” he asked calmly. 

 

“Downstairs. On the floor by the kitchen,” you murmured meekly.

 

“Did you read it?”

 

You swallowed, dropping your gaze. “A few sentences about werewolf saliva…”

 

A deep sigh left him.

 

“I’m sorry,” you uttered quickly.

 

“No,” he followed just as swiftly, rising from his chair. “I’m not mad at you, Y/N. My displeasure is with my colleague. He shouldn’t have left that paper out in the open. It was unprofessional and sloppy.” ‘Bastard,’ your father thought. He had allowed him to get tea from the kitchen downstairs, and of course, the man dropped a page from a classified report. 

 

Your father motioned for you to sit with him in the sitting space of his spacious study, the two of you settling on a couch together. Holding his hand out in front of him, he accio’d a book from one of the wall-to-ceiling bookshelves to himself. He tried not to use magic too much in front of you, but he did introduce it to you in small doses as he knew you were a little scared of it.

 

“Werewolves aren’t quite like what you’ve seen on TV,” he declared as you scooched in close, peering over the book in his lap. He opened it and flipped to about halfway, stopping on a section about werewolves. The picture you were met with was black and white, not taken with a camera, but sketched and illustrated. It was scary—ugly—hardly any fur. More flesh, sinewy muscle, if anything. There were still some human qualities in it, like the shoulders and the cranium, but its face was dog-like, a snout and sharp teeth snarling at the book's reader.

 

“In the Wizarding World, they are also known as lycanthropes, or people who suffer from lycanthropy. They aren’t much different from anyone else. Simply, they are people, like you and I, who transform on the full moon for the night should a potion be unavailable to them. They can have a hard time finding employment in the Wizarding World as a result, and are often viewed as dangerous. Unless you ever encounter one transformed, you haven’t anything to be afraid of.”

 

“But…” you shifted against the couch. “That paper said something about their saliva. About someone wanting it…”

 

His fingers thumbed the edge of the book thoughtfully. “Yes. Lycanthropes are not themselves when transformed. Their minds are gone. Rabid. And…they can bite people and turn them into werewolves as well. Saliva entering the bloodstream is what does it.”

 

“Why does this wizard want werewolf saliva?”

 

“He wants to turn others into werewolves with injections.”

 

Your mouth dropped, aghast. “But—why?! That’s horrible!”

 

“It is. That's why we call them dark wizards . This one in particular was paid a lot of money by some rather mean people to get the job done.” He felt you shudder against his side, your fear returning. “But,” he continued, “that’s why I, and my colleagues, are going to catch these dark wizards and witches and put them in the deepest cells of Azkaban so that they can never do anything evil again.”

 

“You mean Alcatraz?”

 

“No. Azkaban. It’s a prison for witches and wizards in the middle of the North Sea.”

 

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder. “Sounds like Alcatraz.”

 

“Yes, yes, it does.”

 

~~~

 

December 21

 

Ohh maaaann…

 

You ate too much. The breakfast options this morning were just so enticing. Last night’s stress had you salivating this morning. You devoured a hearty stack of pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, a side of sliced strawberries and bananas with sausage links, and a large cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream. The button and zipper on your pants felt as though they’d burst any minute, your stomach full and your appetite satiated as you laid your head down on your forearms. Despite this you were happy, the meal making you feel warm and content as the food you wolfed down settled in your stomach, a slice of toast away from falling into a food coma. You’d have to thank the houseleves later.

 

Sirius looked no better than you. Accompanied by Professor Lupin, he trudged into the Great Hall with a mixture of drowsiness and likely a hangover.

 

“Morning drinky,” you greeted, lifting your head up a bit as two passed your table. Sirius grumbled and waved at you dismissively, keeping on route to the teacher’s table. You snickered to yourself as Professor Lupin paused across from you. “Is he alright?”

 

“Yes, just a bit grumpy. Thank you again for dosing him. He’s a bit of a pain to deal with sometimes.”

 

“Does he know that he was dosed?” Lupin shook his head. “As far as I know, he thinks he passed out. I suppose it’s best that he believes that,” he winked, following after Sirius.

 

The feeling of fullness was starting to make you sleepy even though you had woken a little over an hour ago. Of course, it didn’t help that you were already bundled up in preparation to go outside, the warmth of your scarves and coat making you feel as though you were still under your thick duvet covers. The quiet ambiance of cutlery lightly tapping against one another and the smell of peppermint and pine created a symphony that lulled your senses into a trance. The temptation to give into its siren call was strong as your forehead pressed firmly on your arms, but the urge to let the unforgiving crispy winter air slap you awake was just as appealing.

 

“If you intend to sleep, do so in your room.”

 

You smirked against the table. So the serpent has come out to play.

 

It was not shocking to find Professor Snape looming over your hunched figure next to the edge of the Slytherin table. While his sporadic appearances perplexed you at first given his prior history of going home for the holidays, questioning it took more energy than it was worth. For all you know he could’ve been hiding out in the dungeons this whole time or apparating here from home for free food. Honestly, you would too if you could apparate.

 

“G’morning,” you hummed, sitting up and rubbing your sleepy eyes. 

 

His eyes briefly raised up towards the teacher’s table to find Dumbledore and the others throwing inquisitive looks his way, surprised that the potion master had once again returned. “I need to know where you got the ingredients.”

 

“Ingredients?”

 

“Lavender and wormwood.”

 

“Oh, those. I went down to the Great Lake and harvested some along the shoreline.”

 

He squinted slightly as if thinking something over before speaking again. “Do you remember the exact location?” You nodded. “Then meet me in the courtyard in ten minutes,” was all he said as he turned around and walked away, not even giving you a chance to accept or decline. You figured he wanted you to lead him to the spot for his own harvesting needs, but the least he could’ve done was say ‘please’. You glanced over to the teachers’ table on a whim to find Professor Lupin giving you a confused ‘what the hell’ look to which you only returned with a shrug.

 

…

 

After a brief trip to the dungeons, you arrived at the courtyard and found Professor Snape standing under the building's cover with his back towards you. Though his attire was already suited for the outdoors, a vertical picking basket slung from his shoulders by a couple of straps. He was just staring out at the falling snowflakes with his hands shoved in his coat pockets, his breath wafting out in faint clouds from the side of his dark silhouette. He must’ve been distracted as he did not catch the sound of the quiet footsteps of your snow boots until you had breezed right past him and entered his line of sight.

 

Per usual, he remained silent. As much as you would’ve liked to enjoy the winter scenery as you typically did, you forced yourself to keep your eyes front and your pace at a stride. You were the one leading after all and you doubt he’d appreciate any lollygagging on your end. It was a rather direct path to where you were taking him. The area you were traversing to had a rather spacious shoreline that didn’t immediately steep upwards into thickets or rocks which thankfully made it much easier to walk through. After locating a specific grove of trees, your eyes roamed the snow-covered fauna and found the lavender and wormwood protruding out of the snow. The late night winds, fresh falling snow, and the already blanketed branches ganged up on the poor plants, the snow enveloping nearly a third of the plant’s height and thickly dusting what was visible. 

 

“Here we are,” you said. You withdrew your wand from your coat sleeve and began to carefully melt and vanish some of the snow with heat charms before moving away. Wordlessly, he took a knee and slid the basket off his shoulders as he pulled a pair of clippers out from one of his inner coat pockets.

 

Welp…

 

As he snipped at the lavender stems you meandered away from him, having done what was “asked” of you. However, you didn’t get very far as he suddenly spoke.

 

“Tie these.” You turned to him. He was referring to the few piles by his side that were increasing in size as he methodically cut away at the upright purple flowers. You strutted back over and set your bag down, retrieving a small knife and some red ribbon from a spool you kept on hand for your own gathering purposes. You tied two bows around each bundle, one midway up the stems and one just below the point at which the green stalks transition to flower. This process was repeated for each mound he created both for the lavender and the wormwood after which you would gently place the bouquets in the basket. As you tied together the piles he made, you couldn’t help but watch him from behind. The back of his hair was littered with snowflakes, starkly contrasting his raven locks and dark coat. 

 

Hmph.  

 

He stood up and looked around, burning images of his surroundings into his mind for future reference before slinging the basket over his shoulders again.

 

“Follow me,” he said as he began to walk through the grove of trees.

 

You frowned, perplexed, but hesitantly complied. “You are not going back to the castle?”

 

“There are other things I wish to collect and the task would be completed more efficiently with another set of hands.”

 

“Oh…ok.” You followed his path. So he wanted your assistance. Why didn’t he just say so at breakfast? “Where are we going now?”

 

“The Forbidden Forest.”

 

You tugged up one of your scarves out of unease. You’d never been into the Forbidden Forest before. Sure, Hagrid had told you about its inhabitants, but you’d never encountered any of them in real life or even had a reason to go into the forest. The name speaks for itself. 

 

The two of you cut through the trees for a bit and popped back out into the snowy fields. In the distance, you could see the treeline of the Forbidden Forest. It looked a lot less foreboding during the day and covered in snow. It took you a moment to realize just how quiet it was, not just amongst you and Professor Snape, but in the surrounding area. Other than the light crunching of snow beneath both your boots, the air was absent of sounds from nature. No birds chirped. Nothing rustled around in the trees or in the tall, snow-filled grass. No distant cries or yelps from woodland creatures. You saw a couple of ravens strutting about the snow in search of food, but none of them graced you with their comical “wahs”. It was as if all the surrounding life had vanished. This silence seemed to only thicken the closer you got to the forest if it were even possible. It wasn’t perturbing though. Maybe because it was winter, but it was strangely nice. 

 

“Do not go wandering off and don’t touch any of the things we’ll be collecting without your gloves on,” he sternly instructed as the two of you crossed the threshold of the Forbidden Forest. A slight chill ran up your spine as you entered the rumored-to-be dangerous woods, not from fear, but from unfamiliarity. Immediately you noticed something odd about the forest. Even though it was bright out and snow was falling, there seemed to be a permanent layer of haze that made the environment more spooky and things in the distance harder to see. That didn’t stop the potion master from confidently navigating it, having visited the forest hundreds of times, occasionally with Hagrid or Professor Sprout depending on his purpose. 

 

You let him lead the way, keeping some paces behind him rather than walking beside him. Every so often he’d glance back to make sure you were still with him. You warily scoped the surrounding trees and brush looking for any sudden movements and your wrist angled to flick your wand out at a moment’s notice. You had half a mind to whip out your patronus for good measure.

 

“Relax,” Snape said.

 

“Huh?” His voice drew you from your alertness.

 

“With the exception of dementors, there is nothing to be heedful of for the time being. Most of the more dangerous creatures have either brumated or gone into hibernation. Even if it wasn’t winter they do not make their presence known in broad daylight.”

 

You didn’t feel him in your mind… Was your discomfort that obvious? You nodded in credence of his words, though you were still a little unconvinced. You kept your eyes down towards the ground in an attempt to keep your focus off of what may be lurking in the forest. Another ten minutes of walking and he brought the two of you to a dense brush where waist-high plants were growing. From inside his coat he pulled out a jar the size of a galleon that expanded to that of a mason jar after muttering an incantation.

 

“Name,” he said aloud blankly, staring down at the plants as you approached beside him. You crouched down to get a closer look at the green growth. The plant's leaves looked an awful lot like peppermint based on the general shape and the engravings, but the edges were more jagged looking. On closer inspection, you saw thin shining hairs sticking out from the leaves and stem of the plant.

 

“Stinging nettle,” you replied.

 

“Alternatively known as?”

 

“Burn hazel.”

 

He lowered himself down as well and set the enlarged jar between the two of you as he reached for his snippers while you retrieved your knife.

 

“And why do they sting those who touch it through bare contact?”

 

A bitter smile graced your face as you remembered that one time you fell into stinging nettle as a kid. “Because the universe thought it would be funny.”

 

“The actual reason, Miss,” Snape chided with a slight scowl.

 

You plucked one of the leaves off, running your fingers thoughtfully along the surface through your thick, sheepskin gloves that protected your skin from the plant. “All over the plant, there are fine hairs that contain the nettle’s venom. Without protection, you get injected with a cocktail mix of histamine, acetylcholine, serotonin, formic acid, tartaric acid, and oxalic acid. The first three cause inflammation and rash while the acids extend the pain. Most of the rashes look blotchy with raised bumps, but some people develop white spots as well,” you concluded, twirling the leaf between two fingers.

 

He nodded distantly in approval and started snipping away at the leaves and dropping them in the jar. “It’s rather unexpected that you know the names of the individual compounds.”

 

You followed suit, using the knife to trim off the leaves. “Of course, I know them. Witches and wizards learn about stinging nettles in our third year of school, don’t we?”

 

“Indeed, but students do not bother to delve deeper and default to calling it ‘the stinging juice’,” he sneered.

 

“I guess that sounds about right,” you shrugged. “They are muggle terms after all. I s’pose it would be presumptuous to think that 3rd-years would be knowledgeable of such vocabulary, muggle-born or not.”

 

***

 

Though you were growing increasingly comfortable with the forest, you still kept behind him just in case. He kept up with his question-answer game, testing you every time you both approached something. Much of what he asked was easy to answer, at least to you. Granted, what you were harvesting with him just happened to be things you were taught in your earlier years. It wasn’t just plants too. Even if it unfortunately required killing them or stunning them, you and him gathered parts of or whole insects as well. Some were immobilized so that mucus or venom could be collected, others were mercy killed with a spell. After all, a dragonfly would surely die within the day after having its wings amputated. 

 

Soon, you and Professor Snape came across a small Wiggentree. As long as a person touched said tree, they would remain safe from dark creatures that roamed the nearby area. He approached the tree claiming that he needed some of its bark, but of course, as soon as he reached out to it the branches came to life and swiped at him. He didn’t flinch as his skin was covered, but nevertheless retracted his hands. No…it was not the tree that moved, but the green, spindly, twig-like creatures that guarded their beloved home with ferocity despite their docile appearance. 

 

“Bowtruckles,” Snape said. One of them lashed out from the tree with its needle-like fingers, trying to intimidate the dark figures that threatened their tree.

 

“They’re rather cute when they're not trying to gauge our eyes out,” you chuckled. One leaped on your hand and tried to scale its way up your arm and onto your face, but you simply pinched it by its nape and set it back in the tree as it threw a tantrum in your grip.

 

“They are too agile to charm. We’ll need insects to distract them.” He looked to a nearby tree that had a gnarly crevice from decay running up the trunk. “In that tree,” he pointed, “go look for woodlice.’’

 

“Wood…lice?” You tilted your head in visible confusion

 

“Yes, that's what I said.”

 

“Yeahhh...I don't know what those are.” You looked down and kicked at the snow.

 

He huffed and walked toward the aforementioned tree. He stuck his hand inside the gaping crack and moved it up and down a little, feeling around at the insects feasting on the wood. After a few seconds, he pulls one out. “These.” In his hand was a small crustaceous insect rolled up into a ball with a few speckles on its back that stood out against its dark shell.

 

“Oh… Oh! I do know what those are! Why would you look inside a tree for those?”

 

“Because that is where they dwell, obviously,” he drawled, raising a questioning brow while keeping his expression utterly stoney.

 

You pressed your lips together trying to hide a smug smile. “What if I told you I know a better spot to look? Uhm…” You swiveled your head around and caught sight of a thick log a ways away covered in snow. “There!” You trotted over to the log and to your surprise he followed you out of a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

 

“When I was in kindergarten,” you set your bag down and got on your knees, “me and the other kids would look for those bugs during recess. I’ve always known them as ‘roly-polys’, not woodlice.” You cast some spells to melt and vanish the snow around the log before bracing your arms and lower back against the log. “We always found them in the dirt near the trees, but never in them.” You dug the heels of your boot into the snowless part of the dirt and pushed against the log, speaking between grunts. “It’s true…they like wood…but also dark and damp spots…like the underside of a rock…or log—”

 

“—especially after it has snowed,” Professor Snape finished for you, understanding what you were getting.

 

“Exactly,” you exhaled, the log finally dislodging from its sunken position in the ground. “The best conditions for rotting wood.” With the log out of position, you rolled it aside with more ease to reveal the cavernous, decaying underside of the rotting lumber. Worms wriggled about in the soft, moist dirt while the insects who dwelled alongside them scurried away, sensing the disruption of their cover. There was a bountiful amount of woodlice. Some curled up into balls for safety while others tried to escape into the confines of the log.

 

“Bon appétit."

 

Snape pulled another jar out from his coat, though he only enlarged it by a little before handing it to you. “In here. For potions.” You took off your gloves not wanting to dirty them up. Scooping at the dirt, you shook your hands and let it crumble through your fingers like a filter, leaving the bugs rolled up into balls in your palms. Their hard shells made a soft tink sound as they hit the inside of the glass. There was no need to bother with a spell as they’d surely succumb to suffocation. Some tried to unroll as more filled the jar but it was no use. Screwing the lid back on and handing the bug-filled jar back to him, you put your gloves back on and plucked twenty or so more woodlice from the log and held them together in your palms.

 

The bowtruckles reared up at the two of you as you once again approached the tree. They squealed in anticipation and uncertainty but quieted down when they saw the insects in your palms. They gathered towards one side of the tree, plucking the woodlice from your hands and greedily nibbling on them while Professor Snape cut away some bark using your knife. He finished just as the bowtruckles began quarreling over the last bug.

 

Eventually, you both moved into a clearing. There wasn’t anything around of significance that could be harvested and he didn’t give you any sort of direction. He strode ahead in the snow and sat down on a large rock, inspecting the fruits of both of your labors inside the basket. You checked your watch and saw that it was about lunchtime back at the castle. You and Professor Snape had been in the forest for a couple of hours now, though it didn’t feel like it. Thankfully, you packed snacks in your bag as you always did when going outside, never knowing if your solo shenanigans would accidentally make you miss a meal. You sat against a tree some yards away from him and pulled a sack of food out from your bag. With your knife, you began to cut up an apple as your legs thanked you for the break with light throbs.

 

You had eaten about half the apple when you saw something move between the trees across the clearing from you. It was hard to tell what it was because it blended in with the snow, but you knew that it was big. You cautiously slid your wand out, resting it in your lap as the creature moved closer and sauntered into the clearing. Its long horn and golden hooves shone brightly as the light breeze blew against its majestic white mane. Its nose nudged against the snow in search of grass to munch on.

 

A unicorn.

 

You had never seen one this close before. They were awfully skittish creatures and preferred a witch's touch. You were surprised it had not run away at the first sight of you or Professor Snape as you had locked eyes with it. Maybe it thought you were trees? You glanced over at him and saw that he had not registered the unicorn's presence as he was still occupied by the contents of the basket. The unicorn’s path was directly in line with you. When it looked to the side for a moment, you discreetly cast a spell that melted some of the snow halfway between you and the unicorn, drying out the soaking grass. It whinnied at the sight of grass, hoping that its call would reach the ears of other unicorns that wandered the forest to come join in. It certainly reached Professor Snape’s ears as he snapped his gaze up between you and the unicorn, his lips slightly parted in surprise.

 

You kept still, not wanting any sudden movements to accidentally spook it. It gnawed at the earthy blades swishing its tail in content. It would glance up at you between bites as you just stared back into its beady black eyes. After some time it took a couple steps closer to you, having moved on from the patch of grass it was snacking on. Its eyes were trained on your lap, more specifically the other half of your apple that you had sliced up. It must have smelled the juices. You experimentally tossed one of the slices a few feet from your stretched-out legs. It carefully approached, keeping its head low to the ground as its mouth found the apple slice. It snorted in approval of the taste as it chewed and continued to stare at you, waiting for another one. 

 

You retracted your legs to yourself so you were sitting crisscrossed and just sat there quietly, tossing another slice off to the side of where your boots were just moments ago. The unicorn strolled over more confidently, not perceiving you to be a threat as you made yourself look unimposing. It was now within a few strides away from you. As it finished that one, you decided to be bold. Instead of lobbing the slices, you held them to the unicorn in your hand. To your astonishment, it closed the distance between you and snorted as it lowered its head and ate the apple slices from your palm. You let out the quietest of chuckles as the unicorn tried to eat them one at a time without biting into your glove. With your free hand, you gently stroked its large snout, earning you a pleased sigh from the creature.

 

This is so cool.

 

Snape just watched in passive awe as the graceful beast ate from your hand. Like you, he kept quiet not wanting any noise to accidentally startle it especially now that it was so close to you. He could see you clearly restraining a smile, fearing that even so much as a change in facial expression would scare it off.

 

Satisfied with the snack it was offered, it leaned its head in close and snuffled against your cheek as if to give you little kisses of appreciation. You reflexively closed your eyes and cringed as the unicorn’s whiskers and lips tickled your skin. Pulling away, it nickered at you as it ambled away and out of sight into the depths of the forest. You tugged up one of your scarves to hide your face and kept your gaze down at your lap as you stretched out your legs, and subtly wiggled your boots in contentment.

 

…

 

After the encounter with the unicorn Professor Snape decided it was time to leave the forest. The two of you had gotten nearly everything he needed with the exception of one ingredient: frost fern. While on your way to gather some berries, he noticed that the patch he knew of in the forest had apparently been devoured by rabbits and decided not to mention it aloud at the time. You told him that you knew of a spot outside the boundaries of the Forbidden Forest that had frost fern, but he dismissed the idea as the snowfall was starting to become heavier and it would’ve been a thirty-minute walk just to get there.

 

You no longer walked behind him since departing from the forest and re-entering familiar territory. Despite it snowing harder he didn’t seem to be in a rush to get back to the castle, his long-legged stride now a wander. Though, he could’ve just been tired. He seemed to be observing the snowy fields, albeit stone-faced, as he had been with the snowflakes this morning. Strange. He doesn’t like when slightly cold water falls from the sky but doesn’t mind when it's literally freezing. When he turned his head towards you looking out at some birds, you noticed the skin on his face was awfully pink, at least the side that you could see. Not just his cheeks, but his nose and forehead too.

 

Your brows slightly furrowed. Did he feel ill? He didn’t appear to be sweating and he hadn’t been sneezing or coughing…

 

Ah.

 

“It is impolite to stare,” he stated, feeling your eyes on him for longer than necessary.

 

“Sorry. It’s just- I believe you have a sunburn, Professor.”

 

Snape glanced at you suspiciously, thinking you were playing some sort of practical joke on him. “It’s winter. That attempt was futile at best.”

 

“I have nothing to gain from lying about such a thing, sir.”

 

He muttered something to himself but nevertheless pressed a couple fingers against his cheek. He winced on impact, making his step falter as you passed him by and watched the spots that had become pale from the pressure of his fingers return to pinkish red. 

 

“The albedo effect,” you murmured, keeping your pace and now being in front of him by a couple of strides. 

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Albedo. The ability of surfaces to reflect sunlight. Lighter-colored surfaces, like freshly-fallen snow, have a higher albedo and can reflect eighty to ninety percent of the sunlight that shines upon it back up into the air. So yes, you can in fact get a sunburn in the winter.”

 

“Why are you not sunburned?”

 

“I put on sunscreen before we left. Oh sorry, would you like me to explain what sunscreen is too?” You chuckled.

 

“You find my pain to be humorous?” His voice was laced with questioning offense as if daring you to say ‘yes’.

 

“I find your rash assumptions to be humorous,” you called back. 

 

Wap!

 

You stopped as something hit you square in your back and crumbled to the ground. You turned and saw some snow smeared on the backside of your coat. Professor Snape had some snow clinging to one of his gloves, saying nothing as he walked past you.

 

A smile momentarily twitched on your face as you resumed walking while quietly scooping up clumps of snow in your hand and molding it into a ball.

 

“Throw one back and I’ll give you detention,” he declared, not looking back at you.

 

You stayed silent but still carried on with making a couple of snowballs. Holding them in one hand, you picked up two tiny twigs and some pebbles and began to assemble your baby snowman. Pressing that last pebble onto its head to complete the mouth, you tapped your wand against it and whispered a spell before setting it down in the snow. Its stiff arms twitched and became flexible as it came to life. It let out a tiny war cry, scooping up its own tiny snowballs and gliding swiftly along the snow toward Professor Snape as if ice skating.

 

Snape ignored the sensation at first, but eventually looked down and around him when he felt them get harder. It was like someone was pelting the back of his calves with acorns. Behind him was a small snowman chasing after him and throwing snow at his legs. It let out another small rebellious noise as if it were a soldier fighting valiantly against an evil beast. He raised an unamused eyebrow at you, to which you simply shrugged with a shit-eating smirk and caught up to his side again. Before it could throw another snowball at him, he lifted his heavy boot and squashed the brave little snowman back into a pile of snow and debris. 

 

You laughed, pulling a scarf over your mouth to stifle your amusement. Had you not averted your gaze you would’ve seen the tiniest of smirks playing on the potion master’s mouth.

 

In the near distance, you could see two figures talking to each other under your favorite tree as you and Snape continued to trek through the field, approaching the castle. One of the figures who you were able to discern was Professor Lupin from far away who waved to the two of you as you got closer. The other was Sirius Black who was idly trampling patterns in the snow with his shoes.

 

“Hello there!” Lupin called.

 

“Hello,” you waved. “Is Sir Grumpsalot feeling better?”

 

“I heard that,” Sirius spoke lifting his gaze up from the ground. “And yes, I am. I just needed a good meal.”

 

“Where have you two been this morning?” Lupin asked.

 

“Forbidden Forest” 

“None of your business,” you and Snape say at the same time. 

 

He rolled his eyes and continued to walk forward, but only managed a couple of steps before Black spoke up again. “That's a lovely shade of pink, Snivellus,” Black jeered, unfortunately noticing Snape’s sunburn. “You ought to wear it more often.”

 

Snape stiffened at the use of that name in front of you. Before he could come up with some clever retort, a spell fired from your wand into the tree, causing heaps of snow from the branches to avalanche down onto Black, bringing him to his knees as he gasped in shock from the cold mounds that enveloped him. Lupin looked at you in surprise as Snape watched Black struggle to get the thick layer of snow off and out of his clothes.

 

“That's a lovely shade of white, Mister Black. You ought to wear it more often,” you declared, casually strolling past the three men and into the castle.

 

Chapter 26: The Weather Outside is Frightful

Summary:

Inconvenient weather forces reader to spend time inside.

Notes:

Not much Snape/reader interaction but we get Snape POV flashbacks this time!

December 22nd - 23rd

 

Well… This was certainly unexpected.

 

A blizzard had hit Hogwarts.

 

As you had been since the start of break, you were dressed in your layers to go outside after breakfast. Today you were going to go to Hogsmeade and do some Christmas present shopping, but you never made it to the courtyard. Having just finished your morning meal, you were striding down the main hall towards the doors to the courtyard. Before you could even reach out to the handles, someone pulled you back by your shoulders.

 

“Oh no you don't," the voice said. You turned and saw Professor Lupin dressed down in more casual attire than what you were used to seeing him. “No going outside today.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Didn’t you hear? There’s a blizzard. Until the weather lightens up, no student is to set foot outside for their own safety.”

 

You slumped your shoulders in disbelief. “You gotta be kidding me.”

 

He smiled. “ ‘Fraid not. Have a look for yourself.” He moved to one of the nearby windows gesturing you to come and see. You walked over and stood next to him, peering out the semi-frosted windows. From what you could tell there was a thick haze, the snow coming down hard and blowing at a harsh diagonal angle from the strong winds. You could barely see the far half of the courtyard.

 

“Nooo…I was gonna go to Hogsmeade!” You covered your face with the expanse of your palms, groaning in frustration.

 

“Yes, I suppose it is rather unfortunate timing. Supposedly it’s not just here in Scotland. England has been affected as well. I imagine much of Diagon Alley has been closed off.”

 

“Well. My plans are shot. Now what?”

 

“Enjoy the ambiance! Dress cozy, eat some cookies… As long as you remain indoors. And don’t even try going up into the towers to enjoy the snow. They’ve been blocked off for the time being.” He gave you a knowing smile as he departed, a jab at your affinity for the cold weather.

 

This was a bit unprecedented, at least for the time you spent at Hogwarts. Though it did snow, there wasn’t a blizzard the previous two holiday seasons. You have been spending a lot of time outside lately. Even if it wasn’t ideal, it could be a nice break. Not like you had a choice anyways.

 

This was one of the few times you were jealous of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Their common rooms and dorm rooms were in towers, towers that had windows that offered a view of the snow and the distant landscape. That wasn’t to say you didn’t like the Slytherin common room. You loved the dark and cozy ambiance, but its windows allowed no such view. Instead, it showed you the murkiness of the currently frozen-over Great Lake.

 

No longer needing them you changed out of your gloves, scarves, and coat and into an oversized cable knit sweater; so oversized that the loose sleeves completely obscured your hands with room to spare and the bottom hem extended beyond your rear. It felt perfect, like wearing a cozy blanket. 

 

You could do whatever you wanted, that is, as long as you remained inside, could be done inside, and didn’t break the rules. You did some wandering around for a bit, visiting parts of the castle you hadn’t seen in a long time. Many of the portraits that decorated the corridors said ‘hello’ to you since many of the students who lived near their part of the castle had all gone home and were craving some sort of human interaction. You did a lot of snooping around in the unused classrooms, opening up cabinets and drawers, finding the occasional textbook or torn off piece of an old assignment, though it was all rather dusty and you eventually got bored. 

 

Following lunch you decided to settle down in the library for some time. There were one or two other students in there with you, but the library was so big you might as well have been alone. You could see the snow falling through the tall arching windows which cast a light blue hue against the yellow orange lighting of the library. It was also quite warm in the library, the roaring fireplace ensuring that the room was comfortable for anyone who decided to stay. Ultimately, you curled up on the center couch in front of the large hearth. With you, you brought some graphic novels from your room as well as a few school books for some brief review. Getting comfortable you picked up a book from your favorite series and began to read.

 

***

 

A blizzard. Fantastic.

 

Snape walked from his small kitchen into the sitting area of his office and sat down in an armchair with a cup of tea. The weather didn’t really give him much of a choice except to hunker down in the castle. He apparated to Spinner’s End in an attempt to evade the freezing hellscape only to discover the weather was just as bad, if not worse, so he came back. If he was forced to be inside he might as well be in a castle instead of his small, rundown childhood home.

 

He was able to kill some time. The Daily Prophet offered plenty of news regarding the disastrous weather, the Quidditch World Cup, all the new patented potions, latest research endeavors, and magical discoveries made within the year…

 

When he was done with the newspaper he moved on to making progress on grading some essays that had piled up within the week before winter break. They were from his 5th-years who’d be taking their O.W.Ls this year. The five students you had tutored had made noticeable improvement in their writing, but a majority of the fifth years overall were hardly achieving passable grades. It was safe to say he’d only be seeing a couple of them in Advanced Potions next year.

 

Sometimes if he wanted to assess the quality of one’s work faster, he’d pull out old assignments of the same essay topic that had achieved O’s and compare the current student year’s work to it. He retrieved three papers; two that belonged to Ravenclaw and one that belonged to Slytherin.

 

Yours.

 

This particular paper from your 5th year had an ‘O’ scrawled in the corner. It was almost comical the way your face morphed to disbelief when you saw the grade you received for this paper. You thought you had gotten a zero as you were not used to the different grading system, but he had cut you off before you could fire off a single word and explained that it was an ‘O’ for outstanding, the highest possible grade you could get. In the time that you had spent at Hogwarts, you rarely scored anything lower than an ‘EE’ in his class. You were thorough with your work and spoke rather analytically about ingredients and the ethics of their uses, but he had no idea what you were like as a person. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of you then. Or now, really…

 

~~~

 

Another school year was about to start as Professor McGonagall led the new batch of students into the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony. The current older students waved to the shy new first years who hesitantly entered the great hall and took their seats on a few rows of benches meant for the incoming students. McGonagall stood next to an empty stool in the center of the open space between the students’ and teacher’s table with a list of names and the Sorting Hat in hand.

 

“Anyone in a gambling mood?” Dumbledore murmured to Professor Snape and the other teachers who sat the closest.

 

“Must you do this every year, Albus?” Snape rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh, come now. It’s just a bit of fun.”

 

To make things entertaining, sometimes Dumbledore would make bets by predicting the house some students would be sorted into during the ceremony as they were called upon, but only if the student caught his eye. Snape was awfully accurate at reading the incoming students and correctly predicted many of their houses in his head, but hardly indulged Dumbledore’s tomfoolery.

 

As they scanned the rows of new students, Snape’s eyes fell on one girl in particular who looked like she already should have graduated. She was seated on the last bench in the back. Her hair was tied into two braids and her clothing was drastically different from the other students who wore their school robes. Instead, she wore muggle clothing; a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that looked to be about two sizes too big with her hands stuffed in the front pockets. She had an irritated expression on her face as if being here was inconvenient. 

 

“Albus.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Who is the girl in the back wearing muggle clothes?”

 

Dumbledore crinkled his brows as he scanned the rows of new students until his eyes found the person he was referring to.

 

“Ah,” he smiled, “that would be the American transfer student. I met with her earlier today as she didn’t come by train with the others. She’ll be starting as a 5th-year.”

 

“She seems a little old to be a 5th-year, let alone attend Hogwarts.”

 

“You’d be correct. She is currently 18 years old. She started her magical schooling when she was 14.”

 

“She acquired her magic that late?”

 

An unreadable expression twitched on Dumbeldore’s face and before he could answer the sorting ceremony began. McGonagall read the first name off the list and a mousy looking girl with brown hair walked up and sat in the stool. The hat grumbled for a bit before announcing “Hufflepuff.” The Hufflepuff table cheered and welcomed the girl over to their table. The ceremony went on in standard fashion. Snape didn’t get his first new Slytherin until about ten or so students in. And it was no surprise that the Weasley twins were placed in Gryffindor. Their older brothers were put in Gryffindor as well. Throughout the ceremony, he found his eyes wandering back over to the transfer student out of curiosity. She kept her gaze down at her lap most of the time, occasionally glancing up every now and then. Their eyes met once as if she could feel him watching her. Her expression had softened for the briefest moment before she looked away and her face hardened again.

 

“[Your full name]”

 

The girl slowly got up from the benches and sauntered over to McGonagall. Students began to whisper, wondering why someone so old was being sorted in with the first years.

 

“I think she’ll be a Gryffindor,” Professor Flitwick whispered.

 

“Me too,” said Professor Sprout.

 

“Interesting choice. What do you think, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

 

Snape thought for a moment watching you walk up the aisle towards the chair. He was in agreement with the teachers. He couldn’t place it, but there was something very Gryffindor about you. It was just a feeling.

 

“...Gryffindor. Maybe.”

 

The girl sat down on the stool, avoiding eye contact with anything and anyone. McGonagall lowered the hat down towards your head. It didn’t even touch your hair before it cried out gruffly.

 

“Slytherin!”

 

The Slytherin table cheered and motioned for her to come join them. She took a seat at the very edge of the Slytherin table that was closest to the front, not saying a word.

 

“Well,” Flitwick blinked, chuckling in disbelief. “Good thing none of us put any money down.”

 

“Welcome to the house of Slytherin, Miss L/N,” Dumbledore whispered to himself.

 

…

 

Snape strode into his potion classroom, with his cloak billowing behind him and making the door slam with a flick of his hand, ceasing all idle chatter between the 5th-years. He stood in front of the classroom, crossing his arms and glaring at the students before him. 

 

“I think it’s appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions." His eyes roamed over the room and snagged upon you as you had your head propped in your hand and were staring at the adjacent wall, his words seemingly going in one of your ears and out the other.

 

“Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough...to not...pay...attention.” Snape walked from his initial position until he was standing directly in front of you. Only then did you finally look at him. “Miss L/N. Our...new...transfer student. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

 

This was his preferred method of humiliation, asking students questions about things above their education level in order to humble them, to make an example of them for the other students who thought they could get away with similar behavior. What he asked of you was something that was taught in sixth year. As if you would possibly know that the answer is-

 

“Draught of Living Death, sir,” you spoke, almost as if his presence bored you.

 

He narrowed his eyes and put his palms on your part of the table and leaned forward in an intimidating manner.

“Where, Miss L/N, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

 

“Inside the stomach of a goat, sir.” 

 

“And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

 

You quirked your eyebrows in a confused manner, your lips twitching as if asking yourself the question and trying to process what he said. After five seconds of total silence on your end he sneered and made his way back to the front, having finally pegged you. Foolish girl.

 

“As I was saying, you will all have-”

 

“They are the same.”

 

He paused in place, slowly swiveling his head back to you. You had brought a lock of hair up in front of your nose as your fingers twiddled with it intently.

 

“Monkshood and wolfsbane…are the same plant. It also goes by the name aconite…”

 

Snape just stared at you. The other students stayed silent from the tension, a mixture of uncertainty of whether the transfer student was correct or if the mean Professor would blow up at you for interrupting him. Eventually, he looked around the room at the other students who blinked dumbly in response as he knew none of them knew those answers.

 

“Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?” The students quickly obeyed and wrote down the answers you had given him. “And Slytherins, note that five points will be added to your house...for your classmate's competency.”

 

Over the next month or so, the potion master realized you were a lot smarter than you let on. Realistically, you should’ve been in his Advanced Potions class already, but Dumbledore said it would be best if you spent at least a year in his regular classes like the other 5th years. You kept quiet, never volunteering and speaking only when directly addressed. Even worse, it took him longer to realize that you did in fact know the answers when no one else volunteered because you would mouth the answers to yourself.

 

“Miss L/N.” He stopped you at the end of class one day as students were exiting the classroom. He waited for them all to leave before speaking again. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

 

“Pardon?”

“Do not play dumb. I know you know the answers. You’ve had countless opportunities to earn your house points and yet you purposefully let them slip through your hands. The question being…why?”

 

You pursed your lips and looked away from the professor, toying with the strap of your school bag. “ ‘m just trying to keep my peace. No one likes a know-it-all.”

 

“You needn’t be concerned about such things,” he drawled. “Dunderheads who go after others for being smart are covering for their own inadequacy. From now on, volunteer and answer the bloody questions,” he waved, dismissing you. “As it stands, I’d rather Slytherin not be behind Gryffindor in house points.”

 

The Slytherin side that the hat had so eagerly recognized did not come out until much later in the year. For whatever reason, there were two 5th-year Ravenclaw students who decided to make it their mission to harass some of his 1st-year Slytherins. He was walking down a corridor one day when he saw the usual suspects coming off as particularly threatening to his Slytherins. Nothing physical had happened yet, but they were standing awfully close and looming over them like they were prey. He sensed something was about to happen and made his way over. As he expected, the older kids started yanking at their collars and shoving them, spitting insults at them. Before Snape could verbally intervene from where he was, a book came out of nowhere, levitating past him toward the group of boys accompanied by the sound of quick footsteps. Just as one of the Ravenclaws raised their wands at the two Slytherins the hardcover book swung back in the air twice and slammed down across their faces with a loud ‘pow’, making their heads whip back as blood trickled from their noses. They dropped their wands and cried out, clutching at their noses as the young Slytherins were seemingly dragged out of view by the back of their collars. 

 

“What is going on here?” Snape spoke loudly, approaching the two Ravenclaws.

 

“Those two! They hit us with-” they stopped talking as they realized that the Slytherin boys had disappeared. 

 

“Do…not…lie to me. I saw everything. 20 points from Ravenclaw for causing a disturbance in the corridors.”

 

“But-”

 

He sent them a glare that told them to shut up and not argue with him unless they wanted a harsher punishment. They silently picked up their wands and went to the Hospital Wing. Snape turned and walked towards the direction he saw the Slytherin boys being dragged. Upon rounding a corner, he saw them standing next to a window and staring at the book that hovered at waist level. They stood still as their heads were tilted and clothing was tugged at as if being inspected. They muttered out a ‘thank you’ as they were lightly pushed away in the direction of the dungeons. The book floated  there, waiting for the boys to be out of sight. Once they had left, the book shifted and the window was unlocked and pushed open. Liquid was spat out as you appeared holding the book at your side. You had a vial's worth of Invisibility Potion in your mouth, a potion you realistically shouldn’t have possession of in the first place.

 

“Ugh, that is fucking disgusting,” you murmured, wiping the excess dribble off your chin and walking towards the dungeons as well.

 

…

 

“Severus, I need answers! This is getting out of control!”

 

“What do you expect me to do, Minerva? They’re from your house. Surely you can handle it.”

 

As of lately the Weasley twins had been increasing the intensity of their pranks through inexplicable means. Initially, they started off with cheap spells or whatever they could get their grubby little hands on from the Zonko’s Joke Shop, but all of a sudden it started escalating. Somehow they were achieving “better” results using potions he knew for a fact were outside of their caliber, evident by the P they both had in his class. He couldn’t care enough to get involved because one, they weren’t in his house, and two, they hadn't dared to pull a stunt during one of his classes specifically. Until one day, they did.

 

In the middle of his class with 1st-years, Dumbledore popped in and asked to speak with him in the hall for a moment. Something about a dispute with the Slytherin Quidditch team. Not one minute later a ‘boom’ sound was heard and smoke leaked under the door. Snape ripped open the door and both wizards had their wands ready thinking they were about to evacuate many students from some sort of toxic explosion only to be met with a sea of Dumbledores sitting in the classroom. They all looked at each other in bewilderment, except for the real Dumbledore who despite his initial worry, thought the situation was highly hilarious. Snape did not, considering when he unconsciously breathed in some of the smoke he had transformed into Dumbledore as well. All of them were sorted out into the hallway as Snape cleared out the air. Lunch was highly strange that day as the Great Hall was temporarily filled with far too many Dumbledores.

 

A polyjuice concoction is what he had gathered. How they had done this, he had no idea. Nothing from his stores had been stolen. He assumed that one of his students from Advanced Potions had provided it to the twins considering students do not learn how to brew it until their 6th-year. With Minerva’s help, he questioned his advanced students, starting with Gryffindor, but neither of them got any useful information. Dumbledore wouldn’t allow him to use legilimency or veritaserum on the twins to find out how they had pulled off such a feat, and of course, the twins gave up nothing, even when they were offered a lighter punishment in return for who their source was. 

 

One day, he had found their weakness. Quidditch. Apparently the two were dead set on eventually becoming beaters during their time at Hogwarts. Coincidentally, their next prank involved the Quidditch pitch and disrupting his Slytherin’s practice. They had managed to make the grass grow to the height of the goal posts. It took a couple days to cut it all down and clear away the clippings. Both he and Minerva had just about enough and both agreed to bar them from ever trying out for the Gryffindor team until they gave up their source. They were reluctant to do so and countered that their source would like to speak with Dumbledore alone before any punishment was given out, to which Dumbledore agreed.

 

When all was said and done, the two other teacher’s were floored by the name Dumbledore had given them, mostly because neither of them could understand why you of all people would ever help the Weasley twins. On top of that, your punishment wasn’t even much of a punishment. Dumbledore had decided you’d be helping Madam Pince in the library for a week. When the two teachers questioned him on it, he explained that technically none of your actions resulted in any injuries or damage to the school. You had walked away from the whole situation practically untouchable.

 

~~~

 

***

 

You read all day yesterday, bouncing around between graphic novels, schoolbooks, and whatever fantasy fiction books you could find in the library. You hardly saw any of the teachers either, only at meals really. At one point you fell asleep on the couch in the evening and was woken up by McGonagall’s cat form telling you that you should go down to the dungeons for the rest of the night. When you woke up this morning, you found that once again the weather had not lightened up and it would be another day spent inside the walls of the ancient castle.

 

“Hagrid, must you have that creature at the table? There are students present!” Flitwick said, referring to the hippogriff that sat next to Hagrid at the end of the teachers’ table, preening itself.

 

“He’s on a leash, Professor Flitwick. And besides I can’t leave ‘em out n’ the blizzard and my hut’s too small for ‘em.”

 

You absentmindedly walked into the Great Hall, but you didn't sit down, instead setting your bag on a Slytherin bench as you knelt down to tie your shoes. All of a sudden, Buckbeak started thrashing about trying to escape from his leash. The other teachers scooted away from Hagrid as he struggled with Buckbeak. Even the other students who were sitting far away from the hippogriff jumped a little.

 

“Hagrid, get that thing to settle down,” McGonagall spoke in annoyance.

 

“I’m trying! Buckbeak, calm down! What has gotten into you?” he hissed, wrestling with the leash. The suddenly rebellious creature became desperate enough to escape Hagrid's grip that he chewed through the rope that connected to his collar with his sharp beak. He sprung forward, free from the confines of his handler and galloped down the aisle of the Slytherin section. Of course, you didn’t hear any of the commotion as you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. By the time you looked up from your shoe, Buckbeak came barrelling into you.

 

“Oomf!”

 

The hippogriff pinned you down against the ground by your shoulders with his front talons and began squawking and trilling as he shoved his head against your body, aggressively rubbing and nipping your sides.

 

“Buckbeak sto-op,” you laughed trying to breathe and wiggle out from his clutches, but every time you made an attempt to sit up, he pushed you back down again, snuffling your face and neck. Needless to say, the hippogriff was very happy to see you. You succumbed to his affectionate onslaught and decided to stay down, letting him throw himself all over and scratching the length of his neck, earning you deep rumbling sounds like he was purring. 

 

“My big, handsome hippogriff,” you sighed, scratching him along his jaw and leaning your head up to peck his beak. A shadow fell over you and Buckbeak seemed to come down from his energy high just as an invisible force repelled him back by the collar around his neck, which didn’t make him very happy. You propped yourself up on your elbows and craned your head back to find Professor Snape standing right behind you with his wand outstretched. Hagrid finally reached you and Buckbeak, retying the leash back on to him. 

 

“Keep that oversized chicken under control,” the potion master growled, sweeping towards the aisle on the other side and walking towards the teachers’ table.

 

“Aye, sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. He can get a little rowdy when he misses someone.”

 

“ ‘s not a problem at all,” you smiled standing up and repairing the tears in your jumper from Buckbeak’s talons.

 

Hagrid started to pull Buckbeak away but the hippogriff refused to comply and started lunging toward you again, cawing in irritation. “C’mon ye big brute. Leave her be.”

 

“He’s more than welcome to hang out next to me while I eat.”

 

“Sorry but I’m ‘fraid I can’t let him off leash in case somethin’ were to happen.”

 

“Hm. Well, how about I sit at the other end of the tables? That way Buckbeak can be near the both of us.” You picked up your bag and walked with Hagrid. As predicted, Buckbeak became a lot more agreeable with the half-giant and walked alongside the two of you. You sat down at the edge across from the teachers table. Hagrid let plenty of slack out on the leash that allowed Buckbeak to come and hang out next to you. 

 

Immediately, Buckbeak relaxed, content with having gotten what he wanted. He lowered himself down onto the ground in a loafing position. Because he was so big, his head reached just past the top of the table in that position, allowing you to keep one hand on him at a comfortable height and stroking his feathered head as you ate and read a book. The teachers watched in curiosity at how the feathered creature settled down beside you.

 

“How strange. Buckbeak seems to really like Miss L/N,” Flitwick noted with a smile. Even McGonogall and Dumbeldore were attempting to restrain grins of their own.

 

“Oh yeh, Buckbeak adores ‘er! She likes to spoil ‘em. Sometimes I’ll spot ‘er throwin’ lunch meat over my garden wall even if he just had a meal.” 

 

Buckbeak was a rather cheeky thing. He would lean up on his front legs and rest his head on the table giving you puppy eyes, or atleast the best begging expression his orange eyes and large beak could make. His beak kept sneaking closer and closer to your plate. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing there mister,” you muttered. However, Buckbeak was successful in managing to steal two sausage links off the edge of your plate. When he wasn’t being a food thief, he would flop on the stone ground and dramatically sprawl out on his back with his legs twitching in the air. Every so often he nudged your leg with one of his claws or his beak, as if he’d die if you didn’t give him attention right then and there. The whole time, Snape kept his eyes on the hippogriff from where he sat.

 

“Tsk, such a drama queen…” You finished your breakfast, getting up from the bench. Buckbeak sat up thinking you were leaving, but instead you got down on your knees with your book in hand, scooching towards the wall. “Come on,” you patted at the ground in front of the wall. He got up and circled the spot a few times before lying back down against the wall, tucking his front legs against his chest. You scooted across the ground and slouched against the hippogriff's body, using him as a backrest as you opened your book. Buckbeak cooed and rubbed his beak against the temple of your forehead. When you raised your hand to pet him, he suddenly became very interested in your hand. He kept smelling your palm and pushing the top of his head into it, as if trying to get rid of an itch. He went back and forth like this, making disapproving noises.

 

“What? You smell food on my hand?”

 

Hagrid barked out a laugh at Buckbeak’s behavior, catching your attention. “He’s jealous. He’s tryin’ to put his scent on ye.”

 

“Jealous?”

 

“He smells another animal.”

 

Another animal … Your face switched from pensive to amused. “Do you smell unicorn on my hand, Buckbeak?”

 

Hagrid’s bushy eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell agape as he let out a hushed gasp. “You got to pet a unicorn?”

 

“Mhm! Two days ago. And fed it too. It ate straight out of my palm.” Hagrid smiled gleefully in response, rocking slightly in his chair with pride.

 

***

 

“I think I’m gonna call it,” she said, closing her potions book and grabbing her school bag. You had gone back to the library for the rest of the day and stayed all throughout the evening. Both you and a Ravenclaw girl just happened to be refreshing your minds with school work so you invited her over to your table by one of the windows. You were both the kind of people who functioned better at studying when someone else was present as company, even if the two of you didn’t end up speaking that much within the few hours you were together.

 

“Alright. See you ‘round,” you murmured. You checked the time on your watch. It was just past 10 PM. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes. There wasn’t much light in the library now, your only source of visibility being the pale blue moonlight that shone through the large arching windows and the spell-powered lamp embedded into the table. The windows were no longer rattling like they had been earlier in the day. Curiously, you hoisted yourself up into the nook of the window, wrapping your arms around your knees and pressing your temple against the cold glass. 

 

You wiped the fog off a section at eye level and stared out at the landscape. The snow seemed to be falling slower now and the winds were nowhere near as high as this morning. You should be able to go outside tomorrow. You lazily drew a couple more doodles on the window and your mind couldn’t help but wander back to when you had made all that snow dump onto Sirius Black. You were surprised Lupin didn’t take points from you. Maybe he interpreted it as you just joking around? Which you s’posed was half true… It wasn’t so much about the fact that Black had teased Professor Snape about his sunburn, but more so that he had called him by that name.

 

“Snivellus.” What kind of nickname is that? No… Not a nickname, an insult. A childish one at that. How charming. A thirty-something-year-old aristocrat resorting to such methods well after his schooling years. What was the deal between those two? How deep does their animosity for one another go…

 

“Miss L/N.”

 

You flinched at the unexpected voice and accidentally banged your head against the glass. A wince flashed across your face as you raised a hand to rub the spot, alleviating the dull throbbing. 

 

Jesus, just wear a bell at this point.

 

You turned your head a little to your right and saw the potion master standing next to a bookshelf not too far from the table you were sitting at minutes ago. The light didn’t do much to illuminate him.

 

“Yes?” you responded quietly.

 

“Tomorrow…I expect your assistance with Wolfsbane,” he drawled.

 

“Yeah. Sure.” You paused momentarily. “…I’ll be shopping tomorrow morning assuming the blizzard has officially passed so ‘m free whenever after lunch.”

 

He was silent, lingering for a little before retreating back through the dark shelves.

 

“Very well.”

 

Chapter 27: The Dogs and Diagon Alley

Summary:

Reader goes Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley. Will she get anything for her potion professor?

*brief mention of weed edibles in this chapter*

Notes:

Featured song in this chapter if anyone is interested :)

Michael Jackson - Smooth Criminal: https://youtu.be/RCmuTH6T7fk?si=FWZT32coWg0IWBlS

December 24th, Christmas Eve

As predicted, the blizzard passed and Dumbledore allowed us to go outside again. 

 

You got up especially early today. It was typical for you to show up later than most of the teachers and students for breakfast, but today you were trying to get a head start and arrived shortly after Dumbledore and McGonagall.

 

Lupin smirked at you as he and Sirius walked by the Slytherin tables, sensing the excited energy radiating off of you as he knew of your plans to go shopping today. Eating became a race. You had no intention of sticking around for too long in case something suddenly comes up that would prevent you from going to Hogsmeade.

 

Just as you finished scarfing up the rest of your food and downing the last of your pumpkin juice you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to face the DADA teacher and preemptively slumped. “Oh god, please don’t tell me something else has come up.”

 

“No, not at all,” Lupin chuckled. “The opposite actually. I’d like to offer for you to come to Diagon Alley with Sirius and I. I’m sure you’d enjoy yourself more if you had more options at your disposal than what Hogsmeade has to offer.”

 

“Oh,” you blinked. “Uhm…Dumbledore said I’m not s’posed to go any further than Hogsmeade.”

 

“I’ve just spoken to Dumbledore. He has given his approval on the matter should you choose to join us.” You looked over to Dumbledore who was smiling and gave you a nod.

 

“...Alright then,” you murmured.

 

“Good! Just give us a chance to eat and we’ll be on our merry way.”

 

Instead of lingering in the Great Hall, you went out to the courtyard to kill some time. The recent blizzard had created a thick layer of fresh, wet snow. Setting your bag down, you crouched to make a snowball. Very little time was needed for the snowball you had made to grow the size of a beach ball as you rolled it around the ground, the snow sticking together and gaining mass. Quickly, a shoddily made snowman was erected as you stacked the snow spheres atop one another and decorated it with tree debris that had been blown towards the castle from the high winds.

 

“Frosty the snowman was a jolly, happy soul~”

 

You completed your winter sculpting with some younglings surrounding the normal sized snowman, their arms raised up with agape expressions as if praising the arrival of some deity they held dear to them.

 

The clunk of the heavy courtyard doors caught your attention, Lupin tugging on a pair of gloves as Black wrapped a thick scarf around whatever bit of neck remained exposed to the unforgiving air.

 

Professor Snape was returning to the dungeons as he passed by Dumbledore and McGonagall who watched through one of the corridor windows as the two men initiated conversation with you in the courtyard. Black said something cheeky to you, prompting you to enchant the tiny snowmen to harass him with their snowy ammunition. Lupin watched in amusement and summoned a hat and a scarf to wrap around the regular size snowman you had built.

 

“Glad to see she is having fun…”

 

“It’s an awfully reminiscent sight…Remember their little group when they were students?...”

 

Snape scoffed to himself briefly pausing in front of a different window and bearing witness to Lupin apparating the three of you out of sight before sweeping further down the hall.

 

***

 

“Not used to apparating, are we?” Sirius smirked with a hand on your back as you pressed an arm against the nearest alleyway wall and gasping a little as you felt the impending wave of nausea rising from your stomach. It was to be expected for those apparating, side-along or not, to experience nausea and vomiting the first time.

 

“Hell no,” you sighed, your other hand pressed gently against your stomach. You took another couple of deep breaths as you steadied yourself and leaned back upright. “Okay, I think I’m good.”

 

“Apologies, I should’ve given a warning,” Lupin spoke, but you brushed it off. 

 

You were surprised to find that Diagon Alley hadn’t been buried from all the snow. The shop owners must’ve gotten up early to melt it away to ensure it didn’t deter any potential business. Even though it was Christmas Eve, it was still as busy as ever, families doing some last minute shopping and making sure the postal services were able to deliver their letters and presents in time.

 

All three of you were there for the same purpose, but each of you were buying for different types of people. Black was buying for a couple of friends and associates. Lupin was looking to purchase for someone named “Tonks”. You noticed he blushed a little at the mention of the name. His girlfriend, perhaps. And you…your list was much longer than theirs’. You wished to get something for each of your teachers, Dumbledore, the Weasley twins, and what would likely be the most challenging, the Malfoys. You hardly knew them, but you felt an urge to show your appreciation to them for being so nice to you, excluding Draco’s initial bratty behavior, even if you were basically a stranger to them.

 

The lot of you all had different shops you wanted to go to and it was decided that you’d all move in one circle and then stop somewhere for a break before heading back. While shopping, you noticed that Black wasn’t looking at the prices of the things he selected and paid for them at the end without batting an eye. You’d already suspected he was rich and when you asked Lupin he confirmed, explaining that the Black family was famous for possessing a notably pureblooded lineage (a fact that held little significance to you) and inherited his family’s fortune. His lavish taste began to make sense to you.

 

You and Black both went to Twilfitt and Tattings. Lupin decided to wait outside, not really comfortable with the judgmental atmosphere from the people inside. The same woman running the store must’ve vaguely remembered you as she didn’t look at you with condescension this time. Rather, plain indifference. Black, however, must’ve frequented the store often as the woman regarded him with a smile and a greeting so welcoming it bordered on flirting. 

 

“What are you looking for?” Black asked, noticing you perusing the robes and dresses. 

 

“I’m not exactly sure… I don’t know this person very well, but I know she favors this shop so I’m imagining what she might like. She is also, from what I’ve gathered, very wealthy so that’s a whole ‘nother standard to consider…”

 

“If she comes here often I might know her. What’s her name?”

 

“Narcissa Malfoy.”

 

Black’s eyebrows shot up though you didn’t notice, your eyes continuing to roam the rows of clothing, but his surprise was evident in his voice. “You know the Malfoys?”

“To a degree. Narcissa has made her apparent liking to me painfully clear. I’ve met the husband and son too. How do you know her?”

 

“We are cousins believe it or not, though I only see her and her husband during celebrations or dinner parties. Unfortunately, I cannot offer much about Narcissa’s preferences.”

 

“I see.”

 

Black was looking for some travel cloaks as some of his wealthy associates tended to journey back and forth between countries this time of year for work and or vacationing. You were able to find something for Narcissa after much thought. You settled on a black over-robe coat adorned with luminous, silver coils that swirled along the hem, collar, and sleeves. They were similar to that of snakes or decorative wrought-iron fences. With some assistance from the woman at the counter who had an idea of Narcissa’s taste and aesthetic, you paired it with a set of pearl earrings that dangled from their gold hooks. The woman asked for your name, and when told her, she said she would certainly remember it. Black nodded in approval of your selections before the two of you reconvenied with Lupin.

 

Shopping for the other two Malfoy’s was a lot less nerve wracking. Black told you nearly every rich man such as Lucius loves a good bottle. He gave his recommendations of brands based on his own personal taste and what he has seen Lucius partake in. As for Draco, you knew just what to get him. You went into Quality Quidditch supplies and got him a pair of high quality and adjustable Quidditch goggles to protect his eyes from the rain or winds, whether during future matches or while on a leisure flight. You also got him a book of basic spells; a healthy blend of Charms, Transfiguration, and DADA, as well as a dummy to practice on that you had shrunken down to a foot tall for easy transportation.

 

Halfway through the shopping spree, Lupin found himself struggling and asked for your help in finding a gift for this “Tonks” person, figuring you’d have some perspective as a woman and someone who was closer to her age then he is.

 

“Do you have a picture of her?”

 

He took out a Polaroid picture that was charmed to move. It showed a young woman with purplish-pink hair jumping up and down excitedly pointing at a billboard in downtown London. She had a vibe and style that you couldn’t help but admire, reminding you of your muggle interests. 

 

“I like her hair.”

 

“She’s a metamorphmagus so she’s always doing fun things with her appearance.”

 

“Is she a half-blood?”

 

Lupin knitted his eyebrows, a slight smile tugging on his mouth. “Yes, how did you know?”

 

“Just a feeling,” you hummed. “It’s a shame. If we were in the muggle world right now I’d know exactly where to take you. Are there any stores around here that sell muggle clothes or muggle items?”

 

“Just one.”

 

The three of you walked to a shop that looked small on the outside but was actually quite large and resembled a thrift store. Many witches and wizards walked around looking at muggle records, board games, art, books, posters, clothes and so on in wonder. To your surprise, Black was a bit of a fanatic as he told you about the motorcycle he owned as a teen and all the posters he had in his room, claiming to be charmed by muggle culture. Lupin looked highly confused when you explained that Tonks was someone with a “punk aesthetic” but nodded in submission to your expertise.

 

“Oh my god, they have patches!” you exclaimed trotting over to a basket filled with them. There was a little sticker on each that said the price, presumably in sickles or knutts.

 

“What are they?” Lupin asked.

 

“Oh, they’re great! They’re fun little icons or images you can meld onto clothing with a little bit of heat. They work best on pants and jackets.” 

 

“I think I’ve seen her wear these before… She has this pair of pants that she likes.” 

 

You grinned. “Then I think we know what you have to do.”

 

While Black went to look at some muggle music, you assisted Lupin with his endeavor. He knew her size and found a black jean jacket that you both thought was perfect. Lupin rifled through the pile of patches and found a couple of images he recognized, mainly muggle bands or album covers’ he’d seen Tonks listen to. Tonks was apparently an Auror and a Hufflepuff so he was able to find some neat little icons like a lightning bolt, a patch with red claw marks that made it look like it was ripping through the clothes as well as some other fun things he thought she’d like. 

 

Shopping for your teachers and Dumbledore was a breeze as you already knew what you wanted to get them. The twins too. You went to Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop and got them Dr Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks as well as some candy.

 

There was one person you ran into trouble with. A certain potions master. It’s not that you didn’t know what to get him, it's that you didn’t know whether to get him anything at all; not that you thought he was undeserving of a Christmas gift but more so if he would even be okay with receiving one. Especially from a student. You didn’t see anything particularly wrong with it. But still, it’s Professor Snape. You never know how he may react. 

 

…

 

You, Lupin, and Sirius split up for a bit and agreed to meet at The Leaky Cauldron. You were looking for a particular book, not expecting to have much luck and went to all the book shops in Diagon Alley. You didn’t dare to visit Knockturn Alley as it was filled with dodgy wizards and shops that focused more on cursed or dark items rather than literature. You had no such luck at Flourish and Blotts, Obscurus Books, or Whizz Hard Books. 

 

However, an older gentleman at Flourish and Blotts suggested trying this particular shop that was widely known as “The Everything Shop.” It was more or less a vintage or antique store that carried objects of all kinds regardless of magical genre. From what you saw, much of the space was designated to display furniture. A worker who looked to be around Lupin’s age saw you wandering around with a puzzled expression and came up to you. 

 

“Hello Miss! Can I help you find anything today?” he asked.

 

“Yes. I was told this store might have some old books, but I don’t see any on display…?"

 

The workers expression, though cheery, took on a more serious yet understanding look. “Apologies for the confusion. Yes, we do. If you’ll follow me please.” He led you to a separate room blocked off by a heavy curtain adjacent to the sales counter. This room contained items that were guarded with heavy spells that made the objects glow or were locked away behind glass. Some for obvious reasons like expensive vases or paintings, but the books left you pondering.

 

“Quite the security you have here,” you remarked. 

 

“Yes, for the past couple of years we’ve been having a bit of a theft issue. Particularly with the books. Those pilfering rats from Knockturn Alley have been trying to get their hands on the ones pertaining to the Dark Arts, thinking they can gaslight or threaten me into selling it to them for cheap, but I know their worth. When I refused they eventually tried to take them by force but I foresaw this. Unless I disengage the security spells, anyone who attempts to snatch them will receive a nasty shock.”

 

“I’m actually looking for a book that pertains to the Dark Arts. It’s part of a series, not a standalone piece.”

 

The worker remained standing by the exit and pointed to the shelf a little to your left. It was understandable why he was a bit on guard. Anyone could try their luck, including a seemingly innocent woman.

 

You scanned the rows of the large bookshelf. You didn’t recognize any of the names, but you could tell they were in fact very old from the looks of the cover material, the font and ink used to inscribe the authors' names and the binding style. The books seemed to be arranged by author, title, then edition. You were not too concerned about the condition of the book as long as you could find it. 

 

“Saryph… Serlile… Sinzar…”

 

You suddenly paused, your eyes catching on a name.

 

Icarus Slayne

 

Your gaze slowly moved towards the title and…

 

“Holy- you actually have it…!” your mouth agape with glee.

 

“Which one, Miss?” the worker asked, pushing off the wall and coming to your side.

 

You pointed as close to the book as you could without setting off the spell. 

A History of Dark Artifacts, The Occult, and Dark Wizards in Asia - 1st Edition.

by Icarus Slayne

The worker became just as giddy as you. “I feel as though I am fulfilling some sort of prophecy,” he chuckled, chanting a counter spell that ceased the books glowing. “Many have tried to steal this particular book, but none have succeeded. I can only imagine their faces when they discover someone has actually purchased the book. It’s one of the most sought after in the series.” 

 

“How much?”

 

He pulled out and unfolded a sheet of parchment from his pocket. He held his wand against it and the words started to move about and regenerate, likely controlled by a protean charm.

 

“Let’s see here…Icarus Slayne…Asia- Ah, here we are! This book is priced at… 400 galleons (~2000 USD/£1614.73).” He clenched his jaw a little, hoping the price wouldn’t deter you from buying it.

 

You only grinned. “Seperate or are coin rolls okay?”

 

“Rolls, please! The chest box is an utter mess!” he laughed with relief, guiding you back out to the front. The two of you walked to your respective sides of the counter. “Before I wrap this for you, would you like a bookmark? No extra charge.” You agreed and he showed you some of the bookmarks. A black one with an all-over pattern of silver and gold stars spoke to you. He slipped the bookmark inside and began to wrap it as you started retrieving galleons from your dimensionally transcendental pouch and placing the galleons in stacks of twenty so that he could see that they were indeed real galleons before charming a tight coin wrap around each column.

 

“Happy Holidays!”

Triple checking all your purchases, you stopped at an owl postal service. You wrote a couple of letters and had your gifts for the Malfoys and the twins sent out in time for Christmas morning. Soon after, you reunited with Black and Lupin inside of Leaky Cauldron.

 

The pub was abuzz with all sorts of visitors; the regulars who came by for an afternoon pint, tourists who were just passing through the area or in need of a brief rest, and families who were staying in the rooms above the bar visiting loved ones. Black had claimed a table not too far from the bar. They wished to relax and “let loose” for a bit before the eventual return when Lupin would have to once again assume his teacherly disposition, and Black, the affluent and mild-mannered man. You ran the three of your drink orders up to the bar and the barmaid came by to the table soon after.

 

“Apple cider?” Lupin asked, referring to the beer-sized bottle that contrasted against their glasses of firewhiskey.

 

You nodded.

 

“You are of age, are you not? Please don’t tell me we brought a minor into a bar.” A smile played on his lips.

 

“Yes I am of age, but rarely do I indulge. Today is not one of those days.”

 

The moment a drop of alcohol graced Black’s tongue did a dam within him break. He talked. A lot. And my god was it fun to just sit back and watch. It was like listening to the opinionated rants of a teenage girl. He went on and on about the people in his circle, a slew of insults dedicated to each of them as if the bubble of pretense he maintained for them had finally burst. In all honesty you were reminded of Narcissa, except Narcissa didn’t possess a sailor’s mouth, something about Black that you do like. He was by no means intoxicated, but clearly he was multifaceted depending on who he talked to. And apparently you were an individual he was okay with seeing his more vulgar side.

 

Lupin had his fair share of venting as well, though it was more directed to you, not Black. For a man who seems so confident as a teacher, it was quite the opposite when it came to his relationship with Tonks, who you found out was his fiance. His lycanthropy had been a major hindrance in his ability to “be the man” he thinks Tonks deserves. There was the prospect of not being financially secure, the possibility of accidentally hurting her, and his biggest worry: passing on his illness to any children they might have. Though Black was his best friend, he must not be the best emotional shoulder to lean on. Perhaps he was telling you all this because you were one of his suppliers and that maybe you’d have empathy for him?

 

“Professor Lupin.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Not that I mind exactly, but why are you telling all this? While I am sympathetic for your struggles you do realize you’re spilling all your deepest insecurities to a student right now.” 

 

“I am curious too, Remus. You aren’t usually so open about that,” Black said.

 

Lupin blinked. “I don’t…know. You just seem really easy to talk to for an eighteen-year old.” He swirled his glass. “Apologies. That sounded improper coming out. What I meant was that you’re a good listener.”

 

You hummed, taking a swig of cider. “I'm 20.”

 

They both gave you a curious look. “You are? What are you still doing at Hogwarts? Did you get your magic late?”

 

“It is a long story.” You looked at your watch. “A story we don’t have time for unless we want to miss lunch at Hogwarts. We should return.”

 

***

 

You set your bags down on your bed with a huff as you undressed from your outdoor layers into something more comfortable, swapping your boots out for a pair of sneakers and your heavy coat for an oversized sweatshirt.

 

Almost as soon as you sat down for lunch did the Weasley’s owl swoop and clumsily slide across the table to you. Attached to it was a small parcel and a letter in its beak. Giving the owl a few scratches, you tore off the wax seal and pulled out the piece of paper inside.

 

Dear Y/N,

 

The muggle world sure is interesting. It's no wonder our father loves his job! We wish we grew up with “television” and “videogames.” Lucky you! He took us with him and we were able to find those batteries you requested and put a Feather Light charm on them so Errol could carry them. Also, our father figured you’d be missing muggle candy right about now so he also got you a chocolate bar. It was strange, he came out of the shop smelling kind of funny. He says thank you for answering his question! You get to run around the castle at night without curfew? And Filch is gone? You’re living our dream Y/N! Is it possible you could break into his office and retrieve something for us? A month ago he confiscated a bag of Palooza Paintballs before we could go through with a prank. Oh, and Mum’s sweater for you should be there by Christmas morning!

 

-your favorite people in the world, Fred and George

 

Dismissing the owl, you untied the package and sure enough was a pack of double-A batteries. You did a silent victory cheer as you could finally listen to music on your walkman again. Underneath the batteries lay a chocolate bar that came in its own flat box. You didn't recognize the brand name from anywhere. Then you noticed some numerical ratios printed near the bottom as well as a triangle with a pronged leaf and an exclamation point inside.

 

You tried to stifle the laughter that bubbled up in your chest as you tapped the bar to your forehead.

 

Sweet, naive Arthur Weasley…

 

After lunch, you ran back down to the dungeons and into your room with barely contained excitement. The day you came to Hogwarts you found out the batteries in your walkman had died and you didn't have any replacements or time to go pick up some new ones. You pulled a bin out from underneath your bed and rummaged around until you found your cassette tape collection, walkman, and plug-in headphones. Placing two batteries in the backside compartment you pressed the power button, making a little dot in the corner glowed green.

 

You breathed out a sigh of relief. It had been some time since you’d been able to listen to music on the go, especially during your free periods.

 

You grabbed some tapes at random and slid them into the front pouch of your sweatshirt after inserting a cassette into the walkman and hit play…

 

…

 

“As he came into the window it was the sound of a crescendo… He came into her apartment, left the bloodstains on the carpet…”

 

You’d been singing lowly to yourself as you wandered aimlessly around the castle for an hour or two, letting your feet take you wherever as you nodded along to the beat.

 

“Annie, are you okay? Will you tell us that you’re okay? 

There’s a sound at the window- that he struck you, a crescendo Annie!

He came into your apartment. He left the bloodstains on the carpet. 

Then you ran into the bedroom. You were struck down, it was your doom!...”

 

Few students were inside today, at least from what you saw. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if the others went to Hogsmeade to get something to drink or to enjoy the ambiance of the quaint village.

 

“You’ve been hit by” duh duh “you’ve been hit by” duh “a smooth criminal…”

 

Something yanked on the hood of your sweatshirt, hard enough to stop you in tracks. Your thumb pushed a button on the walkman in your pocket, stopping the music as you turned around and slid the headphones off one of your ears. Professor Snape was several yards behind you with his wand extended out and an annoyed expression on his face. 

 

“Yes, Professor Snape?”

 

“I’ve called your name four times,” he reproached.

 

“Ah, ‘m sorry I couldn’t hear you,” you explained walking towards him.

 

“Clearly.” As you came closer his eyes briefly dragged along the swaying cord that ran from your front sweatshirt pocket up your torso, forking off into what looked like a pair of skinny ear muffs. “If you recall, you agreed to aid me this afternoon.”

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

“I wish to commence. Now.”

 

“Yeah. Alright then,” you smiled faintly, nodding. He turned around on his heel and strode down the corridor from whence he came, his cloak flowing behind him. Even during the holidays he still wore the same robes you saw him in during classes, as if he’d rather be caught dead wearing anything else or god forbid, a sweater. You slipped the headphones back on. It was a bizarre sight, the dark and grouchy potions master treading through the castle with such purpose; in tow, a girl who followed a couple paces behind bobbing her head along in content and drumming to herself.

 

The two of you even passed Lupin and Black who gave you an inquiring look. As you passed them, you spun around and walked backwards, making a ‘W’ with your hands and mouthing “Wolfsbane” to Lupin who gave you an eager smile.

Notes:

Arthur Weasley’s got the spirit I guess 🫡

Had to split the original planned chapter into two, brewing in the next one!

Chapter 28: Modicum

Summary:

Basically part 2 of the previous chapter.

Notes:

Featured Song:

Billy Idol/Generation X: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMdOhFwuUFc

When you entered the potions classroom, you noticed a few things different. It was always cold in the dungeons and bordered on freezing during the winter months, which is why you thought it was strange that the skin on your face and hands didn’t prickle from the air. It was almost…warm. Perhaps the classroom was charmed to feel so or he’d left the door to his office open earlier with a fire blazing away. Evidently, the potion master gets cold once in a while. Second, there was a smell that permeated the air. You couldn’t place it. It wasn’t a bad smell or the lingering results of a recent potion experiment. It was actually nice, like you were walking through the candle section in a store that reminded you of all your favorite seasonal scents. He must’ve been spending a lot of time down here. It certainly was a hell of a lot cleaner, not having to sweep up after the hundreds of students who made daily messes with their less-than adequate brewing attempts.

 

“How many today?” you asked, setting your bag down by the door and braiding your hair out of the way.

 

“All of it.”

 

Your fingers paused as you were wrapping a section of hair around another. “Oh,” you blinked in surprise, resuming with your hands. “All in one go, huh?”

 

Fabric rustled as his cloak detached from his shoulders. Rarely did anyone ever see him without it. “Is there a problem?” He drawled, draping the cloth across the back of his desk chair as he turned to you, an ever austere expression settling upon his face, his tone baiting. 

 

“Nope.” You switched over to the other side of your head. “Just doing the math ‘s all. With the two of us and assuming there are no mishaps that’ll be at least…” You trailed off muttering some quick multiplications and divisions to yourself. “Three..ish hours of brewing?” 

 

“Yes…that is an accurate estimation.”

 

“Hmm. A shame we didn’t knock a couple out during the blizzard.”

 

It was true. Brewing during the blizzard would’ve been ideal to get the entire batch out of the way, but much to his own chagrin and embarrassment he had completely forgotten as he was caught with other tasks that were regretfully lower on the totem pole of priority. He felt irritation flare in his chest having been reminded of the fact.

 

“My apologies. I didn’t realize you were in such a rush to escape my classroom,” he sneered.

 

You dropped your hands, not only from the successful assembly of your hair but also from confusion, two of your fingers fidgeting with the cord. “That’s not what I intended at all. I’m perfectly content with assisting for that amount of time. I would’ve spoken up otherwise. I was merely thinking that you’d prefer to spend your Christmas Eve doing something you actually enjoy and with more favorable company instead of having to concern yourself with Professor Lupin.” You flicked your eyes away from him and sauntered towards the basin at the back of the classroom to retrieve two clean cauldrons.

 

The clench in his jaw slightly relaxed. T’was a nasty habit he possessed, redirecting his emotions or jumping to conclusions as a means of shielding himself. He said nothing, disappearing into the storage room.

 

When he reemerged with several jars of ingredients, he saw you were rolling up the large sleeves of your sweatshirt up to just above your elbows. It wasn’t a necessary precaution, but it was a routine action he noticed you taking during every class with your robes, even for potions that were not nearly as complicated or as dangerous. It was rather unfortunate that other students did not share the same diligence, allowing their robes sleeves to be stained, drenched or burned only to whinge about it as if they had no control over it.

 

“I suppose, in a way,” you suddenly said, setting two cauldrons filled with potion water down at the station between the two of you, “you could consider this to be a Christmas present for him.”

 

He scoffed with a roll of his eyes. As if Lupin was even deserving…

 

He took a seat on the side of the station that was perpendicular to you, leaving about six feet of space between the two of you as he set the jars down across the surface of the table. From what you could tell he seemed to be in a bit of a mood, more so than his typical brooding demeanor you’d see between classes and meals around the castle. Of course, why should the potion master be anything but bitter given the current circumstances?

 

A brewing session where hardly any words would be spoken is what you had expected. Nonetheless, you were prepared. Though you could tolerate and enjoy silence in company, another option you’d purposely kept in your pocket instead of stowing it in your school bag seemed more appealing. 

 

You slid the pair of headphones up from the collar of your sweatshirt onto your head, keeping the ear closest to Professor Snape partially uncovered and the volume a little lower than before in case he said something, and thumbed the play button.

 

Music helped. It kept you grounded and focused in moments like this where a task required prolonged attention, granted you had only just begun prepping ingredients. A double-edged sword your mind was; capable of conjuring vivid images or serving as a remote cottage for you to pop in for a cup of tea and a side of fantasies to become lost in. A place where five minutes quickly becomes one hour. As easy as it was for you to entrance yourself, that didn’t always mean the movie you watched was a pleasant one. It wasn’t usually on purpose, more so due to word or image association from whatever you were thinking about seconds beforehand. Most of the time they were memories from your childhood before you went to Ilvermorny. Rarely did you think back on prior magical schooling years. You had allowed Professor Snape to see some. A few he’d seen without you realizing until you felt him depart, too engrossed to clock his presence.

 

You let your head bob a little as another song queued up, keeping your attention on grinding the aconite in front of you. 

 

“On the floors of Tokyo-o! Or down in London town to go, go! 

A-with the record selection and the mirror's reflection I'm a-dancing with myse-elf! 

Oh, when there's no one else in si-ight! A-in the crowded lonely ni-ight! 

Well, I wait so long for my love vibration and I'm dancing with myse-elf!..”

 

Whether it was the subtle movement or just instinct, the potion master glanced up from his mortar to find you slightly nodding, the cord running down to your stomach ever-so-lightly tapping against the fabric of your sweatshirt. Your lips twitched too. You were mouthing something to yourself. Something told him it had to do with that thing on your head.

 

You continued on like that for both of your first bottles, the rate at which you bobbed slowing down or speeding up incrementally. The only time you didn’t continue with this behavior was when the potion needed to simmer for a bit between stirs. You’d pause, keeping your eyes down at the table, a strange clacking sound would come from your hands as they shuffled in the pouch, fiddling with whatever birthed the cord. A couple more soft clicks and you were back at it again. He didn’t ask because it hadn’t interfered with your ability to brew. The opposite it seemed. You were less…spacey…when certain steps of the potion required waiting.

 

He finished his potion a minute or two before you, as he was naturally faster with ingredient preparation, and fetched a set of bottles. Your eyes were glued to the clock, counting down the seconds until the final stirs. Snape watched too, his own eyes flickering back and forth between the clock and the stirring rod you hovered above the softly bubbling potion.

 

The few final stirs triggered the expected puff of smoke that transitioned from white to bright blue. The softest “yay” was murmured under your breath as you lowered the flame beneath the cauldron. You both bottled your potions with a ladle, not needing to wait for the substance to cool as the bottles were charmed to do so.

 

He only grunted in response when you declared that you were going to use the bathroom before the start of the next two potions. Upon refilling both cauldrons with fresh potion water, he noticed you’d left the thing on your head behind on the table. The cord looped and piled on itself like a snake, one side leading to the part that looked like muffs, the other trailing to an object that resembled a box. It had strange symbols and words inscribed on the sides. He stepped towards it, withdrawing his wand and using it to lift up the cord. The box didn’t move as easily as the muffs, having some weight to it. 

 

He picked it up with his hand, inspecting it. There were some other words illustrated in larger, bolder text. “WALKMAN,” it said in one of the corners of its faces. The top of it was partially transparent, something else nestled on the inside.

 

Strange muggle contraption.

 

He set it down, noticing another object, or objects you placed on the table. A stack of what he could only describe as “colored rectangles,” each of them being no bigger than a deck of cards. They too had words written on the side, though this time it was your handwriting. The majority of them had abbreviated names. A few had phrases in quotations. Then, there was one that made him tense. It had a name on it.

 

His name.

 

***

 

You trotted back to the potions classroom feeling more prepared, though it was unfortunate the nearest bathroom was back in the common room. 

 

“Phew! Okay I’m ready.” There was a pause. You stopped just as you passed the threshold of the doorway. Professor Snape was leaning against the edge of the table with his arms crossed shooting you a look of suspicion and displeasure, his eyes drilling into you like you were his enemy.

 

“What is this,” he demanded, raising one of his hands. Between his thumb and index finger was one of your cassette tapes, a clear one that wasn’t tinted like the others. Your gaze darted to your walkman. It had moved a little from its original position.

 

“I see someone got curious in my absence,” you hummed, clasping your hands behind your back as you made your way to the station. Before you could round to the other side where your seat was, Professor Snape stopped you, stepping into your path and blocking you with his body.

 

“I will not…repeat myself.” His voice was gravely low. “What. Is. This.”

 

You stood your ground. Why was he getting so riled up? “That is a cassette, Professor Snape.”

 

“And pray tell…why is my name on it?” His expression remained unchanged.

 

Ah. That tape. You must’ve grabbed it by accident. You smiled, catching the potion master off guard as his lower lids twitched at the fact that you found humor in this situation. “That would be because you are its subject matter, sir.”

 

That only seemed to worsen his enmity as he straightened up even more and loomed over you. “Explain.”

 

“If you wish to know more, it would be better for me to show you, Professor.” You held up your hand for the tape staring back at him. He didn’t move, but after some tension filled seconds he begrudgingly gave the tape back to you. Side-stepping him you returned to your stool and fiddled with the walkman, popping the lid off and switching out the current tape for the clear one. “Snape 001” you had written on the side with black marker. 

 

“You’ll want to sit for this.” He complied, his paranoia-fueled curiosity getting the better of him, otherwise he wouldn’t be taking orders from a student. You slid the headphones over to him. “Put those on your ears. You can listen while we brew. It’s a long tape.”

 

“Listen?”

 

You quirked your brows at him. “Yes…Listen...” Does he not know what a cassette tape is?

 

He picked up the headphones and reluctantly fitted them over head, the foam pads covering his ears.

 

“Let me know if it's too loud.”

 

*Click*

 

His ears were filled with the sound of people murmuring. There was a sharp slam of a heavy door.

 

“Everyone settle down,” a voice rumbled. It was his voice. His eyes widened a touch. “I think it’s appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions." 

 

“... Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough...to not...pay...attention.”

 

This was the first day he taught you at Hogwarts. The start of your fifth year. He looked up to you to find you returning an amused smirk, knowing exactly what part he had gotten to before you returned your eyes down to the ingredients.

 

Your voice sounded clearer in his ears than his own.

 

“…And Slytherins, note that five points will be added to your house...for your classmate's competency.”

 

It was not long before he dove into a lecture on Draught of Peace, the first potion that he teaches to 5th-years. He had decidedly ignored you, dispersing his targeted questioning onto other unfortunate souls.

 

“The Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing. Who here can tell me the properties of a moonstone?”

 

“...Mister Thompson.” A Gryffindor student.

 

“Moonstones are a milky colour and shine very brightly, almost as though they were a source of their own light. They have some value and are sold at markets for a fair amount of money. They’re also used as an ingredient in conjuration magic.”

 

“And what other potions are they used in?”

 

“Er…I don’t know sir.”

 

“Love potions,” you muttered to yourself. It wasn’t loud enough for him to hear that day. A corner of his mouth quickly twitched upwards.

 

“Pity. Can anyone else provide the answer?”

 

A different student tried her luck only to be met with a harsh “incorrect.”

 

“C’mon, it’s love potions…” He remembered you decided to raise your hand by that point, the only one up in the sea of students, but he had refused to call on you. 

 

“No one else knows? How truly disappointing considering that the answer is something I taught you all last year, and that answer being love potions…”

 

Professor Snape still had not touched any of the Wolfsbane ingredients, meanwhile, you were already making progress with yours. He was fairly interested in what you had recorded, his head resting against his knuckles as he stared down at the jars, his other hand lightly picking at the wood. He hadn’t realized he was stalling until you traded mortars with him, giving him your prepared aconite and prompting him to snap out of it and sit up. He got to work, still listening to the recording. You’d notice that his expression would shift slightly, having been amused or piqued by something on the recording, but he didn’t speak up during it.

 

“Miss L/N, if you plan on having a staring contest with the cauldron I suggest you do it outside of class and not…waste…time.”

 

“I’m done, sir.”

 

A pause.

 

“You can’t possibly be done. There’s thirty minutes of class left.”

 

“Well…I am…” Another pause between both of your voices as the background noise of stirring and clinking from other students filled the space. He was examining your potion at this time.

 

“This is… What did you do?”

 

“Did I mess it up?”

 

“No. It’s…beyond adequate.”

 

“Oh, good.”

 

“Tell me, how did you manage this…”

 

“I didn’t do much, just tweaked the instructions.”

 

“You tweaked the instructions on a highly volatile potion on your first day of class? With your boldness, I would think that the sorting hat would’ve put you in Gryffindor.”

 

You snorted. “I didn’t do anything major, really. The ingredients are still the same, I just altered the applications. There’s all this waiting you have to do and most of the instructions for this potion don’t call for specific measurements, it’s just “add this and then stir until the potion turns this color.” Instead, I added the ingredients as I stirred. That way I don’t accidentally put too much of one ingredient in before the color changes. It's more precise and efficient. And a ninety-minute brewing time for one potion is absurd…”

 

He read your mind right then and there, not believing you and checking to see if you had somehow cheated, but you didn’t. He heard himself huff. “As devil-may-care as your thought process was…it seems to have paid off. Make yourself useful and help Mister Morgan. His cauldron looks as though it will blow his eyebrows off any minute.”

 

***

 

This time you finished your potion before Professor Snape did. Simultaneously, the recording seemed to end just as his potion puffed blue, pulling the headset off and setting it down in the space between you two.

 

“Satisfied?”

 

He was quiet for a moment, tracing a thumb along his bottom lip almost looking troubled. “Why do you have that?” Though it didn’t show on his face, his voice sounded pensieve and serious. A different kind of serious, not like it was when you returned from the bathroom and there was that unmistakable tang of paranoia behind his words. And oh, how interesting that was. His name on an unfamiliar object is enough to turn him into a temperamental storm of distrust. In a pitiful way, it makes sense given the people he teaches and his reputation. Did he really think you were like them? That you were possessing a side or secret allusions that held disdain for him? Another brick in the wall, you s’pose…

 

You shrugged. “I didn’t mean to bring it with me today, I must’ve grabbed it by accident with my other cassette tapes. As for why it was made, the reason is innocent enough. On my first day at Hogwarts I was warned of your… intensity and how rare it was for you to repeat yourself during lectures so I recorded the first class in case I needed to go back and listen to anything I might’ve missed.”

 

“...I see. Are there any more?”

 

“Recordings of potions class? No,” you said, bottling your potion. “I was fairly confident I could handle myself in your class after the first day and didn’t feel the need to make another. That there’s the only one.” You picked up the walkman and removed the “Snape tape” before putting it in your pocket.

 

“And those?” He gestured to the other tapes.

 

“Oh, those just have music on them,” you replied, refilling both cauldrons with potion water. He sensed the conversation was going to come to an end as you inserted a different tape and raised the headphones back up to your head.

 

And admittedly he didn’t want it to.

 

“Are you a muggleborn?” he blurted. You halted, your eyes shifting towards him as you lowered the headphones to rest around your neck. He interpreted the sudden bewildered expression you had given him as an indication that he had crossed some sort of line. “Forgive me…I realize that isn’t an appropriate thing to ask,” replied quickly, getting started on the next set of ingredients.

 

“No, it’s alright.” You also begin to start your next potion. “I’m just surprised. People don’t tend to ask me questions like that. I am a half-blood.”

 

“...I figured it was something like that,” he muttered.

 

“Oh?”

 

“The way you talk. And I don’t mean your American accent. More so your choice of vocabulary…as well as the tools you desecrate the margins of your potion assignments with and your apparent fondness for muggle technology.”

 

“Mm. Back in the states it would be called “no-maj” technology, but to me it's just technology. I’ve retained and prefer the no-maj lifestyle and traditions compared to what is commonplace in the wizarding world.”

 

“Not many half-bloods do.”

 

“So I’ve come to find out. But I get it. It’s magic…it’s world and norms are, while not too different, are naturally appealing. However, I know very few half-bloods in general back home. There aren’t as many as there are here in Great Britain. Rappaport’s Law ‘n all…”

 

Yes, that law… He had read enough about the history of American wizardry to know. A law that prevented witches and wizards from marrying no-majs up until 1965, but of course there were those who would have children in secret or move to different countries out of convenience even after the law was repealed. Ethically speaking it was a terrible law, but necessary for the greater-good of the wizarding world at the time. It proved to be very effective. MACUSA had always been better at keeping the secrecy of magic in check compared to the Ministry. Given when you were born, you were likely one of a handful of halfbloods in your years at Ilvermorny.

 

“Were there many half-bloods at Hogwarts when you went to school here?”

 

“Yes…but the politics at the time were not as progressive as they are now. Unless one was pureblooded, openly mentioning blood status was not a regular occurance. Of course…there were few purebloods who were indifferent or didn’t care, but most were inclined to express their displeasure.”

 

“Right…bullying.” You nodded in understanding. “We don’t actually have that sort of issue in America. The prejudices never took root. More often than not, any bullying at Ilvermorny pertained to one’s sexuality, their social class, or being too smart or too incompetent.”

 

He arched an eyebrow. “Speaking from experience?”

 

“More as a witness, though I stepped in whenever possible and to the extent that I could.”

 

Hardly surprising. Still, something stirred in him. He had noted instances, though fleeting, here at Hogwarts. Sometimes they weren’t even in your house.

 

Did you truly… He was doubtful.

 

Anytime you could…and without…regret.

 

“That's a lovely shade of white, Mister Black. You ought to wear it more often.” 

 

The look of shock on Black’s face when he felt the hefty weight of snow that knocked him to the ground as though he couldn’t believe anyone would retaliate in any way…or at all. The distantly familiar sensation that made him feel both high and mortified resurfaced that day.

 

But then this morning you looked like a bloody marauder. Frolicking around Diagon Alley with those two mangy mutts for hours while he brooded away in the dungeons with the Daily Prophet. 

 

Was it one big joke that you were in on?

 

Or were you simply keeping pretense. 

 

How much did they tell you when his back was turned…when he wasn’t present.

 

His grip tightened on the stirring rod. 

 

He shouldn’t care. Doesn’t…

 

Yet, he couldn’t help but hypothesize. If you went to Hogwarts at the same time as him would it have been any different? How would you have acted if you saw his books getting knocked out of his hands in corridors. When he was hexed during meals.

 

When…

 

“Snivellus greasy!”

 

His gaze snapped up and he glared at you with such intensity. If looks could kill… “What. Did. You. Just. Say?”

 

You were staring back at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. Your hands came up a little in front of you, open faced as if to communicate that you mean no harm. 

 

“I said you’re bleeding, Professor…” You spoke calmly, perturbed by his defensive reaction.

 

It took a couple seconds longer than he liked to admit to process what you said. He blinked as his frame deflated in relief at the fact that you hadn’t actually said what his brain heard. His eyes raked over his free hand as he became acutely aware of the throbbing pain. Sure enough there was a trail of blood coming from the pad of his thumb that had dribbled and smeared a little on the table. 

 

“Think you nicked yourself earlier with the potion knife.”

 

He grumbled, cleaning the table with a simple “Scourgify” and healing the cut non-verbally. 

 

It was silent again for some time. A polluted silence that made it feel as though talking at all would do neither of you any good, even though it felt so easy earlier. For the rest of the brew he seemed agitated, the crease between his eyebrows appearing more prominent while appearing lost in thought, though his movements remained focused and purposeful. Finishing with your third potion, your gaze snagged on the clock.

 

“Oh.”

 

Snape glanced up from his own bottling.

 

“We missed dinner.”

 

One quick check of the time confirmed your proclamation. “So it would seem…” His stool made a harsh scraping sound against the stone floor as he rose, snatching the two newly completed bottles and placing them on his desk with the other four in a small crate.

 

You reached for a jar.

 

“Don’t.” It was like he had eyes on the back of his head. The sharpness of his command was enough to make you retract your hand back to yourself. A specialty of his, the power in his voice being enough to stop anyone dead in their tracks as if they had done something wrong. Instead of turning around, he strode into his office and out of sight. 

 

Were you done? Did he wish for you to leave?

 

You heard talking. The door wasn’t fully closed but the volume of his speech was quiet enough to sound muffled. There were a few pops and before you could figure out what it was the door opened.

 

He had pushed it open with the side of his arm as his hands were currently occupied. By the time your nose detected the new smell, the sound of cutlery thunking lightly against the table made your ears perk up. The potion master had wordlessly set a plate of food down next to you as he took his seat and began to work on the last remaining potion. 

 

Your gaze flicked briefly back and forth between the singular plate of food and the professor before you reluctantly tugged it toward you. “You are not going to eat?” 

 

“My eating habits should be of no interest to you,” he muttered dryly.

 

You pursed your lips but relented, hovering your walkman and cassette tapes into your school bag before muttering a ‘thanks’ and quietly digging into the meal. Hmph. Probably the type to use meals and breaks as a reward for completing work. A common habit for a workaholic. 

 

The more you ate, the more tired you could feel yourself becoming. It had been a busy day and the warmth of your clothes combined with the filling meal certainly wasn’t doing any favors in keeping you alert.

 

Lulled by post-meal fullness your head found itself cradled by your folded arms, remedying the blanket of fatigue that threatened your eyes, your vision blurred just a touch as a result. Few could say that the dungeons, that the potions classroom, brought them comfort. The smell of potions herbs, accompanied tonight by scents one might find walking throughout the quaint village at the edge of Hogwarts, the change in temperature that encouraged the toasty feelings your sweatshirt sought to provide, the light tinks of glass and scrapes of wood so gentle and quiet they might as well have been whispers all swelled together into a force that made you feel pleasantly heavy. A pity it was nowhere near the time you’d find yourself crawling into your bed. Do you deign to let yourself settle into it, an action that would result in a whack on the head and detention if this were an actual class?

 

He hadn’t given any indication that your dormancy was unwelcomed. With this particular professor you’ve come to learn that even his unspoken words were a statement. If he wanted your assistance in that moment he’d have instructed you the second you set the fork and plate aside. At the same time, however, none of his actions implied a silent dismissal for the evening. With the way his face stayed emotionless, his attention dedicated solely on shepherding this complicated concoction to its most perfect form, it was evident he harbored no expectations for you with this seventh potion. 

 

So with the faintest sigh you closed your eyes. 

 

You didn’t sleep as the nagging “what-ifs” kept you at the border of that threshold, but the meditative sensation that came over you was close enough as your breathing slowed and sounded almost non-existent.

 

Snape knew you weren’t sleeping. Your face was not visible, but the way your thumb unconsciously ran back and forth along a creasing fold on the side of your arm in a light grazing motion was enough of a sign; that if he spoke your name you’d be conscious enough to snap to attention. And if the movement of your fingers wasn’t enough the briefest touch of legillimency that followed confirmed his guess. He could’ve told you that you were free to go upon finishing your dinner as he intended to be the one to complete the last potion of the unfortunately odd numbered batch. 

 

While he was aware it would be an unvarying and tedious brewing session, it was not his intent to keep you past dinner. The time simply got away from him, and of course, he could’ve been more proactive in seeking you out at an earlier time. However, despite his aversion to Christmas, he wasn’t about to devote a single second of brewing for Lupin’s Wolfsbane tomorrow, nor did he wish to think about it for the following days after once the cycle would begin. Despite your prior reassurance, there was just the slightest twinge of guilt that you were nearly conking out as a result of his insistance. On the other hand, seeing you so relaxed in an environment that normally had his first years running for the hills and his seventh years grumbling about ‘their ass of a potions Professor’ was, dare he say, flattering?

 

At one point you shifted a little. The arm that more or less guarded your face readjusted so that your hand was now near the base of your skull. Though drowsy looking, your eyes stared down at the table while your fingers followed a meticulous route through the growing hairs of your undercut and up the center path of your part. You were gently running the tips of your fingers along it, feeling the rigidness of it as if it were a tree root. From what he had noticed in passing, and at least when it was visible depending on how you wore your hair, the long scar was pinker now, no longer a jarring red. Alas, it was hypertrophic and undoubtedly wouldn’t get much lighter.

 

With a poof from the cauldron, you sat up, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes as Professor Snape bottled the last of the potion. Quietly pushing in the stool as you rose, you accio’d your school bag and slid it over your shoulder.

 

“Miss L/N.” He was standing by his desk now, casting what you presumed to be a Protective charm and a Feather Light charm on the crate of potions.

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

With his wand, he levitated the crate towards you until you had a firm hold on it. “Deliver those to Professor Lupin,” he said, taking a seat in his chair.

 

“As you wish.” You shifted your hold on the crate into a more comfortable position. As you made your way to the door you saw that he began to grade some papers on his desk. “Oi. Eat something. We just brewed for like four hours straight.”

 

He looked up from his desk and before he could tell you to nip it you were gone.

 

Chapter 29: Christmas I: Gifts and Grief

Summary:

Christmas Day at Hogwarts.

cw: brief mention of past domestic abuse and implied alcohol abuse

Notes:

Hello hello hello! My last year of college just started up for me .3.

As you can see by the title, I will be breaking up this chapter into multiple parts (three I think?) because the word count was a lot and it will help me be ahead in chapter releases and it will take some pressure off.

December 25 - Christmas

 

Professor Lupin rushed down to the dungeons, a mixture of giddiness from the holiday paired with nervousness from the task he was given coursing through his veins. Sirius had gotten himself into a bit of a predicament and Dumbledore instructed him to bring you to the scene of the crime after giving him the password to the Slytherin common room.

 

You were actually having a good dream for once, a pleasant break from the intractable mix of nightmares consisting of flashing black and red blurs with extreme difficulty in breathing while remaining physically unmarred. Otherwise, dull, empty nothingness bestowed upon you by the somewhat tolerable substitution that tasted of lavender sat primed on your nightstand. You felt safety and warmth. You couldn't see it, but it felt as though you were being embraced, swaddled by a force who’s clutches promised security and comfort.

 

So why is it that someone had the nerve to start pounding on your door?

 

The dream contorted and disintegrated away, transitioning into the darkness of your closed eyelids that you refused to open, hoping whoever it was would go away after hearing no response from you. The rapping only persisted.

 

You growled in frustration, turning to the clock on the nightstand. 

 

Seven in the goddamn morning…

 

The pillow you hugged in slumber remained glued to you in an attempt to conserve warmth as you groggily rose with bleary eyes. Slowly, you walked to the door and tugged it open, leaning against the doorframe.

 

“Hello Miss L/N.” Professor Lupin stood with a slight smile on his lips despite the hint of urgency in his voice. “I do apologize for disturbing you, but your assistance is needed.”

 

“...Why,” your voice raspy from sleepiness.

 

“Sirius got himself stuck under a mistletoe.”

 

“...So go kiss him,” you deadpanned.

 

He knitted his brows at you, nonplussed. “Wha—I'm seeing Tonks. And I’m not— Sirius and I are just friends.”

 

“Kiss him as his friend.” You went to close the door.

 

“Wait,” he placed a palm against the door, preventing it from closing any further. “You misunderstand. You really do need to come with me. I only ask because Dumbledore insists.”

 

Dumbledore? You weren’t a fan of the implications so far, but if Dumbledore is asking…

 

After a few moments of skepticism, you relented, still snuggling the pillow like it was your most precious possession and followed Lupin out of the dungeons.

 

***

 

“Doing alright there Sirius?” Dumbledore quipped.

 

“I could be better.”

 

Sirius Black had gotten himself stuck under a mistletoe that mysteriously manifested over the doors of the Great Hall. Black was able to summon a patronus to Dumbledore before the tightness of the mistletoe vines that wrenched around his wrists made him drop his wand. He now stood there with his arms raised up high, his wrists bound together above his head and his feet just barely still touching the ground as if the vines were threatening to lift him up in the air. Surrounding him were Dumbledore and some other teachers who were asked to help with freeing Sirius, including one Professor Snape who was taking great pleasure in seeing one of his bullies struggle helplessly against the decorative holiday plant.

 

“Headmaster,” Lupin called, drawing the attention of the teachers. 

 

“Ah, there you two are. Good morning Miss L/N.” The wizard smiled at you as you trudged toward the group of teachers in your pajamas and outer robe. You only grunted in acknowledgment keeping your face buried against the pillow blocking the glare of the dazzling morning light that illuminated the ancient corridors as you now stood between the DADA teacher and potions master.

 

“What is she doing here?”

 

“I asked Professor Lupin to retrieve her as I feel she may be able to help with our guest here.”

 

Snape’s eyes flicked back and forth between you and Black, his expression morphing from questioning to appalment as he realized what the headmaster was implying, his hands clenching into tight fists. “Help…him…how exactly?"

 

“I think it’s fairly obvious, Snivellus,” Black mocked.

 

“Shut it, mutt.”

 

“Silence, you two. Save the bickering until after we’ve all had some coffee.” Dumbledore said sternly. “Miss L/N? Do you think you can get Sirius down?”

 

You slowly lifted your eyes up from the pillow and stared sleepily at Black, assessing the way the vines wrapped around his wrists and forearms as well as where the mistletoe was placed.

 

“Did any of you try any spells?” you mumbled against the cloth.

 

“Yes, but none seem to work on this particular mistletoe, but something curious does happen.” Dumbledore cast a "Diffendo" at the vines, but they weren’t affected. The use of the spell, however, triggered a voice to echo from the mistletoe. Two identical, mischievous voices.

 

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” It was the twins. “It seems one of you has fallen victim to our festive little prank. Whoever it is, we hope you’re comfortable because the only way out is to be kissed! Don’t bother with any more spells, they’ll only make the vines tighten and you wouldn’t want that now, would you? Good luuuck~”

 

“That being another reason why I thought you might be able to help. We were hoping you know another way to disarm it seeing that you are fairly close to the twins. That is, unless push comes to shove.”

 

“I for one am fine with the old-fashioned way if you can’t. Just for the record.” Black said in a friendly tone, earning him a death stare from Professor Snape.

 

“Well Miss L/N?” Dumbledore looked at you expectantly.

 

You thought for a moment, groaning into your pillow. 

 

“...Too early in the morning for this bullshit… ” you grumbled, thrusting the pillow towards Lupin who fumbled it as you turned your heel and walked away.

 

“Where are you going?” he called after you.

 

“I'll return momentarily…I have an idea.”

 

Luckily, you hadn’t returned Hagrid’s axe yet. You twirled it around in your grip, feeling the weight of it. As you got closer to the gaggle of teachers you purposefully held the blade of the axe out and began to drag it along the stone walls, creating small sparks and a horrible screeching sound that made Lupin and Black wince harder than everyone else.

 

“AGH! Y/N, please! Stop!” Black called out, wriggling against his bindings.

 

“Aw I’m sorry. Is the noise too hard on your doggy ears?” you taunted as you came back between Lupin and Snape. 

 

Black eyed the axe that you thumped against the palm of your hand and got nervous. “What do you plan on doing with that?”

 

“Sorry to break it to you Mister Black, but I’m afraid it’s fatal. The only option left is to amputate.” You flashed him a patronizing smirk. Snape snorted under his breath in amusement, but you caught it. “I’m going to cut you down. Obviously.” 

 

“Wait! Won’t you get caught in the vines?”

 

“Believe it or not, no. The Weasley twins know I’m staying here for the break and aren’t stupid enough to leave behind any booby traps or pranks that would have any effect on me.” You stood directly under the mistletoe near Black and waved your arms a little. Another set of vines sprouted from the mistletoe and reached out to you, but upon touching your wrists, they retracted as if thinking better of it. “See? Now, would one of you be so kind as to levitate me so that I can reach the mistletoe better?”

 

“Of course.” Dumbledore withdrew his wand and chanted a spell making you hover a couple feet off the ground. You drew the axe back over your head and swung it down hard on the mistletoe.

 

THOK

 

The vines instantly severed from the mistletoe and the plant fell dead from the doorway, shrivelling up like a pitiful flower that had been dropped into a Draught of Living Death. The coils around Black’s wrist unraveled and hung off his arms like loose ropes as he sighed in relief and rolled his shoulders from the uncomfortable position. “Thank you, Y/N.”

 

“Are we done here?” You wriggled the axe out from the wooden frame as Dumbledore lowered you to the ground.

 

“Yes, I believe we are, Miss L/N.”

 

“Wonderful,” you muttered to yourself, snatching your pillow back from Lupin and stalking off back towards the dungeons. “And by the way Black,” you paused, half turning back towards the other adults. “While your enthusiasm is noted, I’d sooner go to Azkaban and french the dementors. Just for the record.” Your voice dripped with an even mix of playfulness and condesension before giving a slight farewell nod.

 

Black’s grateful expression faltered at the allusion, not that he was actually expecting you to go through with it, but at the insinuation that he wasn’t as charming as his self-inflated ego convinced him to be. The potion master threw him a sneer before departing as well.

 

***

 

After managing to catch another hour and a half or so of sleep, you commenced with your Christmas festivities. Taking some inspiration from Lupin’s fiance, you sectioned off your hair and magically charmed it to be red and white so that when braided they resembled peppermint candy canes. Before going to breakfast, you made a trip down to the kitchens to visit the houseleves. They happily agreed to deliver your Christmas presents while everyone was eating.

 

The chill in the air was laced with the crisp scent of pine, a hint of sage and aromatic nutmeg that made your nose twitch in delectation; your senses heightened in preparation for the appetizing Christmas breakfast assortment the houseleves had cooked. Even the portraits seemed to be celebrating, those who were neighbors or in a group painting having the ability to visit eachother and carouse with their oil-painted goblets, sloshing with mead or a rich red wine. The translucent figures who were long since dead drifted through the castle in clusters, softly carolling until their hymns were nothing but a distant echo.

 

Just as you were about to enter the Great Hall you stopped, toeing the threshold of the doorway. The scene before you was a jarring difference from what you were expecting, wiping the neutral expression off your face and making you stiffen, almost paralyzing so.

 

There was only one table.

 

A large one that stretched its way down the middle of the Great Hall. Its mahogany wood was covered by a cream colored table cloth with an ornate pattern of green trees and red bows that congregated along the drooping hems. Incrementally placed along the edge were shining sets of white cutlery awaiting use as the trays of mouth watering food manifested, enticing the castle’s residents with its inviting fragrance and sapid flavors. Students and teachers gathered around, laughing and eating together in merriment. As if on auto pilot, you began to slowly back away, but a hand on your back stopped you from getting too far.

 

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” Dumbledore’s voice echoed in your head. He was a highlly skilled legillimens, a fact that likely only the teachers and no other students have come to know. Unlike Professor Snape, you couldn’t sense Dumbledore’s intrusions. You did connect the dots a couple of times in the past, but only because his eyes held a peculiar twinkle, not that he needed to hold eye-contact for it to work. Whether your inability to recognize his presence in your mind was due to your own ineffectuality or his aptiness, you didn’t know. Likely the latter.

 

“Why…is there one table?” you thought back in response, keeping your hesitant gaze forward. You hardly reacted when you felt him tug a fleece santa hat down on your head.

 

“I thought it would be nice to have everyone together for meals due to the few students present. Especially for the feast tonight.”

 

You gave no mental reply, shifting your weight slightly back and forth as one of your hands fiddled with the material of your sweatshirt on your elbow. Anxiety crept up on you, gripping at your chest in a manner so polarizing to the gentle touch of the old wizard next to you. His gaze softened further.

 

“I know this is something you aren’t quite used to, but please…do not retreat.”

 

You bit your lip in an attempt to get your nerves under control, taking a couple of deep breaths before returning a slight nod.

 

“...Ok.”

 

He offered a comforting smile as he guided you through your trudge to the table. The students were naturally more inclined to sit next to eachother and collected at one half of the table while the teachers sat at the other. Dumbledore led you to a seat between a Gryffindor and Professor Flitwick while he himself went to sit at the head. You were sat across from Sirius Black, the two of you making up the border that separated students from teachers. You, a couple of years older than your peers despite being in the same year. Black being neither a student or teacher, but a guest.

 

“Oh, I love your hair Miss L/N! Very festive,” Flitwick exclaimed, drawing the attention of those who sat nearby. Professor McGonagall’s eyes flitted over to you, raking up and down your braids that paralleled the appearance of the hat on your head. Her eyes crinkled with amusement, a puckered smile taking form as she whispered something to the headmaster on her right. 

 

“Thank you, Professor…” you murmured with a faint upwards twitch of the corner of your lips. You directed your gaze to Black. “I’m surprised to see you still here. I figured you would’ve ran off with Professor Lupin this morning.”

 

Black rested his chin against his interlocked fingers. “As much as I would’ve liked to, I didn’t want to be a third wheel for Remus and Tonks. Though, Remus does plan on bringing Tonks back to the castle later today.”

 

“Oh, good for you three. That should be fun.”

 

You didn’t speak much from that point in the meal, trying to focus on enjoying the food that was graciously prepared for you. You still passively listened to the others, absorbing and learning. A couple students tried to talk to you, inquiring about trivial matters like how you did with certain assignments before the start of break and you just couldn’t care to hold a conversation longer than a few curt replies. Sometimes you hated yourself for it, not being able to maintain a cheery attitude or be as socially fluent as others during such a joyous occasion. And of course, it makes you the asshole for not reciprocating the same energy, even if at times it felt as though you were being held verbally hostage by communal etiquette. You could only stand people for so long.

 

The frustration was sometimes suffocating for your brain, like it was itching and drowning simultaneously. Getting up from the table after barely sitting for five minutes felt rude, especially when Dumbledore encouraged you to give it a chance.

 

Professor Snape strode through the doorway of the Great Hall, his steps faltering as he grimaced at the new eating arrangement. He took the open seat next to Professor Sprout who acted as the barrier that separated him from Black. He seemed just about as comfortable as you: barely. Not that you wished him any ill-will, but seeing someone else not as easily attuned to the current circumstances made you feel a little better.

 

A large eagle owl swooped down through the air from behind Dumbeldore and landed gracefully between you and Black. It sported white, gold and earthy brown feathers, its ear tufts slanting downwards and blending into the dark markings above the bird's eyes, resembling cartoonishly large eyebrows. It stood proudly with its chest puffed out, its sunset orange eyes shining with a critical glimmer as it presented a letter with a fancy maroon wax seal. Professor Snape recognized it from his seat as the Malfoy’s owl.

 

“Who’s owl is that?” you asked.

 

“That’s Hermes. He belongs to the Malfoys,” Black explained, reaching to pluck the letter out from the bird. As soon as the paper dislodged from the owl’s beak, the owl screeched at him and pecked his hand. “Ow! Bloody menace!” He snatched his hand back, rubbing the spot where the point of its beak stabbed at his skin. Snape hid a superior smile behind his goblet. The owl sidestepped away from Black, not from fear but in a manner that seemed like it found his presence distasteful. 

 

You moved your plate aside to give the bird more room, casually sticking your hand out open faced to the bird, not too close as if to ask it to dance. The owl swivelled its head to you and stared at your hand assessing your offer. It seemed to recognize your respect for its boundaries and leaned towards you to close the distance between it and your hand, rubbing its face against your fingers. You gave it some light scratches, pulling your hand back after a couple seconds, not wanting to push it but the owl seemed to desire more of your affection. It waddled its way over to you, standing in the space between your arms and turning around so that you could scratch along its head while staring daggers at Black.

 

Black looked at you incredulously as he tore off the seal. “What are you, Snow White?”

 

You threaded your fingers in its feathers, scratching little circles below its ears and on the back of its head. It squinted its eyes and ruffled its tail feathers in pleasure. “Animals just like me,” you hummed, kissing Hermes on his head as a smug expression taking form on your face. “Then again, it is said animals are the best judge of characters. What kind of skeletons are hiding in your closet, Black?” He just scoffed and rolled his eyes, slipping the parchment out from the envelope.

 

He started reading but quickly stopped, barely getting past the greeting line. “Oh.”

 

“What?”

 

“It's for you.”

 

You frowned. “Really?”

 

“Really.” He held the letter out to you. As soon as your hand made contact with the parchment, the owl took off, having completed its job.

 

Dear Y/N,

 

I can’t tell you how surprised our family was to receive presents from you. How sweet of you! You must be a legillimens because you managed to pick out Lucius’s favorite brand of wine. We’ll certainly enjoy it at dinner tonight. I’m quite fond of the overrobe and earrings. I hope you didn’t spend too much time fussing over little old me. Draco enjoys the presents you got him too. We had to keep telling him to put the book away while eating breakfast this morning. And what wonderful timing because we’re going to take him to get his very first wand. As it is currently snowing here in London, there is no doubt Draco will make good use of the Quidditch goggles you got him. You’re such a lovely girl. We must have you over at Malfoy Manor sometime.

 

Merry Christmas,

Narcissa, The Malfoys.

 

You snorted, your cheeks thoroughly rosy against the hand that had unconsciously covered your mouth when you started reading the letter. Your eyes felt a little misty too.

 

“You alright, Y/N?” Black asked. 

 

“Hm? Yeah—I’m…I’m good.”

 

“You’re blushing. Did Lucius send you a love poem or something?” He wiggled his eyebrows with a suggestive emphasis. “Or perhaps Narcissa?”

 

“Wha-No! It’s nothing like that.” You tucked the letter in your pocket. They're just…strange ‘s all.”

 

“Interesting. That’s not an adjective I’d use to describe the Malfoy’s at all. What does it say?”

 

“Narcissa was just giving me her thanks and that they’d like to have me over at Malfoy Manor sometime.”

 

Sirius looked at you quizzically. “I thought you barely knew them.”

 

“Yes, that is correct.”

 

“What the hell? Lucius rarely invites me to Malfoy Manor, but they’ll open their doors to some girl they hardly know?” Black grumbled into a goblet of pumpkin juice. You simply gave him a smirk and stuck your tongue out at him.

 

***

 

Snape planned on avoiding any other festivities that Dumbledore would possibly surprise him with. He didn’t like Christmas. There were few traditions he could get behind, but his emotional connection with the holiday had long since been corrupted. From his own personal experience, nothing good ever came from Christmas. His father would go out and get drunk with his muggle friends or get drunk at home and sit in the living room in front of the television all day while he and his mother skirted around his presence, both doing their best not to invoke his wrath. Sometimes his mother was able to get him a Christmas present, but his father would often find out and give her the present of a black eye or a broken wrist for “daring to spend money on such things for an undeserving, sniveling brat like him.” 

 

Dumbledore and McGonagall would get him Christmas presents; usually a bottle of firewhiskey or a new scarf or potion ingredients he could use for his own personal experiments rather than for the school’s inventory. Still, he never got used to receiving them, which is why he was only half-surprised by the one that sat on the coffee table in the sitting area of his office. It was a black rectangular box with a green ribbon and little iridescent silver snakes around the outside. There was no tag on the outside that indicated who the sender was, which was a bit unusual. When he picked it up he noticed it had some weight to it.

 

Tugging off the ribbon and pulling at the lid, his knees buckled at the sight that met his eyes as his rear hit the cushion of the couch. A book about as thick as the height of his four fingers pressed together, the leather cover a burnt umber impressed with deep gold font that shone in the light despite the book's age and presumed deterioration of textile quality.

 

A History of Dark Artifacts, The Occult, and Dark Wizards in Asia - 1st Edition.

by Icarus Slayne

 

It was the last one missing in one of his favorite Dark Arts collections. He couldn’t believe his eyes, so much so that he pried himself up from the sofa to look at a particular bookshelf to confirm. Europe, America, South America, Africa, Australia… This was it. Not only that, but it was a first edition and in perfect condition. He’d been searching for this book for years, even utilizing Lucius’s connections in the ministry to find out where copies were likely to be found, and now he finally had it in his possession. He felt a sense of completion, but it was quickly doused by inquisition.  

 

Who bought this for him?

 

He was well aware how expensive a book like this was. He had the money set aside for it, but it was mainly a matter of finding it. A war of emotions waged within him; touched that someone knew him well enough to know he yearned for such a thing, confused by why someone would splurge on him, and intense curiosity of the identity of said individual. His mind ricocheted between whether he should try to figure out who the mystery sender was or to start reading the book and make a day of it.

When he opened the book there were two things inside: a bookmark and a note that fluttered out. 

 

“Don’t go whacking any heads with this one,” it read.

 

It was printed text like a business card, not handwritten so he couldn’t tell who it belonged to. Only three people really came to mind who would send him something like this. Albus, Minerva, or Lucius. Each of them knew of his longing for the Dark Arts and had been in his office many times to have known about his collections. 

 

There were a few hours before lunch. If he was to enjoy this day, he needn’t dwell on it any longer. While preparing some Earl Grey tea he opened the dark curtains, illuminating his light-deprived office, and started a roaring fire that filled his office with a warm glow, and finally, summoned a house elf to bring him a small plate of lemon poppyseed scones. Tea and book in hand, he settled himself in the large armchair, basking in the warmth of the crackling heat, and began to read.

 

***

 

You were barely biting back a smile as you sat at the opposite head of the table in the Great Hall for lunch. Making the extra effort of getting there earlier proved beneficial as that spot didn’t make you feel as though you were trapped between two people, though it did put you directly in Dumbledore’s eyeline. But neither of those things was why you were trying to conceal your amusement. Through the giddy chatter of the other students before you, you could just barely make out the teachers jabbering happily about the gifts they received. 

 

Other than Snape’s book, you got Dumbledore a pound of homemade sherbert lemons that you had made in the kitchens late last night as well as the recipe card if he so desired to make them on his own in the future, Professor Sprout a new set of dragon-hide gloves with an intricate vine patterned engraved on the palms since you noticed her current ones were beginning to thin out and develop holes, Professor McGonagall a rose gold glasses chain to wear and was currently wearing (she had a tendency to misplace her glasses at the beginning and ends of class), Professor Flitwick a special quill that was charmed to have a five pot’s worth of ink already inside, like a pen, that could change colors with certain incantations (you left a little note with the chants and extra ink pots as well), and Professor Lupin…you’d give it to him later. Admittedly you had no idea what he liked and came up empty-handed at Diagon Alley, but you found something of interest when you broke into Filch’s office as per request of the twins.

 

They were trying to figure out who got who which present, accusing one another of being coy or straight up lying. Dumbledore just sat there with a perplexed expression, even when they started prying at him, assuming he was atleast one or all of their anonymous gifters.

 

As Professor Snape walked by to find a seat you noticed he was holding something in his hand. You smirked.

 

It was the book.

 

Dumbledore seemed to notice the book too as Snape sat down. His eyes widened a touch, recognizing the title. A smile played on Dumbedore’s mouth as they began to talk, but you couldn’t discern any of the dialogue. Just as you started talking with one of the neighboring students you heard Dumbledore’s voice in your head.

 

“Y/N.”

 

You kept your eyes down, either towards the plate or at the student you were holding a conversation with as you can practically feel the lively energy from Dumbledore’s stare.

 

“Yes, Dumbledore?”

 

“I have a question for you.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“A large bowl of fresh sherbert lemons mysteriously appeared on my desk this morning courtesy of a house elf. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that, would you?”

 

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Maybe.”

 

“Thank you, they are very delicious… Your other teachers have noted having a gift delivered in a similar manner without a tag. Anything you’d like to say about that?”

 

“...I plead the fifth.”

 

He chuckled in your head. “As you wish… He’s very happy with it by the way.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Your head of house. He’s not showing it at the moment but I can tell. 

 

“Well I should hope so.”

 

"How did you know he was interested in such an item?”

 

“I have my ways. How I acquired it is even more ludicrous. Who does he suspect got it for him?”

 

“Me, I think.”

 

You chuckled. “Of course…” 

 

***

 

For a holiday perceived to be so colorful and uplifting, the outside world seemed to have no desire to match the spritely energy of the occupants residing in the immemorial edifice. A deep haze had settled over the vast expanse of the snow-covered fields and forest, somewhat blurring the lines between what was ground, sky, and trees; your only clue being the light snowflakes that hung in the air as if weightless and slowed down by a spell. The kind of atmosphere one could walk into and vanish into thin air. The sky was tinted a dull grayish blue that made the time of day look much later than it was. The suspended particles of vapor kissed your cheeks with freezing nips as the snowflakes coagulated and blended in against the stark white parts of your charmed hair. 

 

It was all so lovely.

 

You nearly cried when you opened the pliable gift wrapped with bright red and green paper under the tree in the Slytherin common room. Mrs. Weasley had come through with a baggy, oversized sweater that possessed Slytherin colors; a deep green with the initial of your first name contrasting with silver knitted threads. You could sense the motherly love that went into the craftsmanship. Paired with the way your black coat pressed the sweater material snuggly against your torso and with the scarf engulfing your neck, it felt like you were wearing a hug. 

 

The snow clumped against the underside of your boots as you trekked through the snowy terrain, what once was a glorious pasture of flowers and tall grass that you wouldn’t see again until Spring. The skin of your cheeks felt taut and were likely tinted a rosey pink from the frigid air.

 

You were searching for plants today. First, reeds. They’d serve as a substitute for the straw that would ideally function best for tonight’s ritual. The shore of the Great Lake showed promise for locating the tall, sinewy grass, the only other locations being large ponds or marshes deep within the Forbidden Forest. This time, for once, the grip of death winter possesses would work in your favor, the slender-leaved plant being easier to harvest and use when dead.

 

Unbeknownst to you, someone else was enjoying the weather too, but from a distance. Giving his eyes a break from reading, Professor Snape dragged himself out of the dungeons in hopes to find a suitable place to watch the snowfall. To a degree, his unplanned meeting with you in the Astronomy Tower did impel him to appreciate the snow while it was here; something he hadn’t done since his youth. His office windows didn’t face the lake which looked remarkably enchanting during the winter season. The Astronomy Tower was far too high for him to see through the foggy air. There was one spot he visited occasionally. The Clock Tower. While anywhere would have been just as cold, the Clock Tower was the perfect height, allowing a view of both the shoreline and the Forbidden Forest without the fog being too concentrated to obscure his view completely. The Clock Tower had a balcony as well which he currently stood on, nearly enveloped by the semi-transparent haze that cascaded over Hogwarts.

 

The snowflakes fell so gently it was as though someone had trapped him in a painting or slowed time. He tugged off one of his gloves, allowing them to tap and melt on the warmth of his fingers. His other hand held the book against his torso, afraid that it might vanish if he set it down.

 

In the foggy distance, a dark figure punched through the haze with such distinction against the white landscape, catching his eye. He knew it was you. It was so obviously you, atleast to him; black coat that gave his own attire and the night sky a run for its money, the indefatigable need to relish weather that would make every household across Scotland lock their doors and windows, the scrutinizing manner in which your silhouette traced the snow covered shores in search of Merlin-knows-what or perhaps just appreciating the somber view of the lake as he was. While you preambulated, you stop to pick at something in the snow. He’d faintly chuckle to himself with how predictable you were sometimes despite the enigmatic mien you had. Just this morning when he saw the snowfall from his office did he imagine that you’d go wandering through the bleak expanse like a lost soul the first chance you got.

 

As quickly as it came, the faint smirk on his face shifted to a scowl as another dark shape emerged from the haze, creeping up behind you. From what he could see, it was about half your size, walking on all fours and just as dark. 

 

Black.

 

You’d been spending time with the dogs as of lately. He did his best to ignore his close proximity with Black at breakfast, but listened to the two of you despite trying to distract himself with his book. He could understand, to a degree, how Black would end up in your orbit, but only if Lupin was present. You and Lupin shared an inevitable social connection; teacher and student, lycanthrope and brewer. Two dynamics that allowed for neutral or friendly interactions outside of castle walls. 

 

You and Black shared none. 

 

Black was merely an extension of Lupin, though personally he was more like a festering tumor he just couldn’t excise out of his life no matter how much he occluded Black from his mind. Not only that, but Black was a blabbermouth and would gladly air out his dirty laundry from when he and the other Marauders tormented him if it meant scoring points with someone. Today however, Lupin would be with Miss Tonks and the fact that Black is seeking you out for company despite having rebuked him, sometimes politely teasing, sometimes almost disciplinary, made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with annoyance.

 

The cluster of reeds you yanked out of the snow slid with ease, the tendril-like roots fraying and withered from its merciless, chilling death. The harvesting was easy but the remaining growth from the fall was very little and highly sporadic. 

 

A soft woof from behind drew your attention as you placed a grasp of the dry plant in a handheld harvesting basket modified with an extension charm. You turned to find Sirius Black in his animagus form licking snow off the scraggly fur around his chops.

 

“Hello Mister Black,” you greeted flatly, returning to the task at hand.

 

Black changed to his human form, running a hand through his hair and along his arms to get rid of the snow that had previously dotted his fur. He donned black gloves, a charcoal gray coat and a cream colored sweater that matched his scarf.

 

“Afternoon Y/N,” he tugged on the hem of his coat, straightening it out. “What are you doing?”

 

“Gathering plants.” 

 

“At this time of year? What on Earth for?”

 

“I have my reasons…” You noticed he was following your slow trudge as you continued to walk the frozen shore, your gaze roaming over the thick blankets of white. “Is there anything in particular I can help you with at the moment? I doubt you’ve stumbled upon me by mere accident.”

 

He kicked at the snow. “Lupin is with Tonks today in London…”

 

“So I’ve heard.”

 

“The teachers are all off doing their own thing or talking about school work...”

 

“Uh-huh…”

 

“And I find myself not having much to occupy my mind.”

 

You stopped and turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “So in other words, you are bored.”

 

“I suppose…that is the best way to phrase it, yes.”

 

“And you have come to me for entertainment.” Four perfectly good Gryffindors in the castle and yet he chooses to seek out the lone Slytherin . “You do realize you aren’t confined to Hogwarts over the holidays as I am, do you? If you are bored then you can go to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley or literally anywhere else.”

 

Black said nothing. You merely tilted your head, your eyes squinting a bit in thought. “But you know that already…and yet…you choose to stay at the castle, to come to me specifically. Someone who isn’t even your friend.”

 

He was silent for a moment. “I just…don't want to be alone right now.” He cringed to himself upon hearing his own words.

 

Something in the air shifted at that moment as a heavy silence lingered between you. The subtle plea that carried a thin veil of desperation rang close to a minuscule part of you that harbored sympathy for Black, despite how he treated your Head of House; a part that was intricately connected to your own complicated relationship with loneliness. Before you, a man shifting his weight like a nervous schoolboy despite being almost twenty years your senior. Embarrassment mixed with vulnerability.

 

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you are not used to being alone, are you?” A rich man’s plight. While your expression was neutral, your tone held sympathy, sympathy you’d offer him sparingly today. He just stared at you with his lips parted, unsure how to feel about having an insecurity of his be presented to his face so bluntly despite how palliating it felt to have it recognized and not weaponized against him.

 

You sighed and turned back around to the reeds after he said nothing. “You can either stand there and I can continue to psychoanalyze you or you can put that nose of yours to use and assist me for a bit. At least until Professor Lupin returns to the castle. Otherwise, I’m afraid I can’t help you as I must get this done before dinner.” You half expected him to turn around and walk away with a metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, but heard the sound of snow crunching softly as Black’s animagus form came up to your side awaiting instruction with a slight smile on his jaw.

 

“Don’t expect me to be all jovial and sociable like Professor Lupin,” you murmured, taking a handful of the plant and holding it towards him. “Reed grass. As long as it’s tall its condition upon extraction is irrelevant as it will be destroyed in the end, so feel free to yank ‘em out with your teeth instead of transforming back and forth.”

 

He snuffled the plant for a second or two and gave you an affirmative woof before walking off in the distance ahead while sniffing along the frozen water, however, he didn’t go too far so that you didn’t lose sight of one another through the fog. If Black got to a group of reeds before you did, he’d tear the grass and scooch it into a pile with his snout and bark at you from where he stood indicating that he had some ready for you. When the two of you reached a portion of the cliff that prevented you from continuing, you both backtracked and went the other way along the shore toward Hagrid’s Hut and the Forbidden Forest. At that point, Snape had lost sight of both of you and disapperated with a huff.

 

With Black’s help you managed to accumulate a large quantity of reed grass, the diameter of the bundle being about as wide as your torso. In addition to the reed grass, you needed evergreen branches. Spruce, cedar, fir pine, hemlock…any type. It didn’t matter to you that much. Your route was pushed all the way to the edge of the forest where you were able to locate some strongly scented pine trees. Even though this part was something you could do on your own, Black lended a hand, or jaw, by tugging down the ends of the low hanging branches down and away so that the tautness of the wood made it easier to cut away from the trunk. 

 

Your willingness to let him accompany you for a couple hours seemed to put him in a better mood compared to when you encountered him earlier by the lake. His step had a little bit more pep, practically galloping when you gave him any sort of instruction even for something as simple as plant harvesting. He’d get bold, picking up some of the cut branches with his teeth and swing his head so that the branch would smack against the back of your calves and then scamper away before you could retaliate. 

 

Black’s pants filled the air as the two of you stopped near a fallen-over tree. Walking around for this long in the cold apparently doing a number on his paws as he sat against the tree, shifted back into his human form, and dusted the snow off his gloves.

 

“How…are you not…tired..?” He gasped between breaths. While he sounded drained, you stood a ways from him perfectly fine, bag slung over one shoulder while you balanced a bundle of branches on the other with an arm.

 

“Since it started snowing earlier this month, I’ve been spending hours outside so I’ve grown accustomed to it. And to be fair, you’ve been running around on all fours and sinking in the snow with every step.”

 

He barked out a chuckle between his ever so slowly diminishing huffs as his back slunk further against the tree, settling into the snow.

 

“Lift your butt up for a second.” He gave you a questioning look, but nevertheless did as you said and pushed off the ground with his hands. You cast a heat charm that vanished the snow, leaving a patch of dry grass for him to sit in. “Oh, thank you.”

 

You only grunted in response, dusting snow off part of the tree and taking a seat yourself as you sorted out the branches and began tying them together with some red ribbon, leaving about a bench’s length of distance between you and Black. His panting subsided before he spoke again.

 

“Can I ask you something Y/N?”

 

“That would depend entirely on the question now, wouldn’t it?” you murmured, keeping your eyes down on your work.

 

“Earlier. You said you were confined to Hogwarts for the holidays. What did you mean by that?”

 

“It means exactly just that. For the duration of the holidays, I must remain at Hogwarts unless hosted by someone else.”

 

“But you’re an adult. Surely you can just waltz right out of here. Why not just go home or to a different city? The country even?”

 

You were silent, your hands pausing their ministrations on the red bow you just finished tying around a bundle of branches. Black looked at you after a couple of seconds, noticing your sudden pensiveness.

 

“Apologies, was that a bad question to ask?”

 

You fidgeted with the hem of your gloves. “Dumbledore and I…have an agreement for my own sake…and that’s all I really care to say on the matter.” 

 

Black nodded. “You’re from America, correct? Do you live there and travel back and forth when school is not in session or do you live here in the UK?”

 

“I travel back, but I have dual citizenship, so if I wanted to move here that is a possibility further down the line.”

 

“Which state do you live in?”

 

“Washington. The weather there is much like the weather in the UK. It's rains. A lot.”

 

“Yes, but so far away!” He grimaced. “It must take you several floo ports just to get to the MACUSA building in New York. Not to mention flying all the way back to Europe—”

 

Something blue moved through the fog, its glow dissipating the surrounding murky air, allowing for a clearer view. Out stepped an ethereal wolf made of bright whitish-blue light. A patronus.

 

“Sirius,” the patronus spoke with Professor Lupin’s voice. “Tonks and I are back from London. We are in Hogsmeade if you want to come meet us there for a bit before dinner.” The patronus faded away upon delivering its message, a faint howl accompanying its self-destructive exit. A grin spread across Black’s face as he scrambled up from the ground. If he had a tail at the moment it’d be wagging like crazy.

 

“Well. Thank you for allowing me to accompany you this afternoon. I shall see you back at the castle for the feast,” and disapperated with a loud crack.

 

You stared at the spot Black stood in before he departed for a few seconds before shaking your head and returning your attention to the branches that sat on your lap. A thin layer of stickiness smeared on your right cheek as well as some droplets on the cloth of your pants. Sap from the cut branches. A price to pay for your own selfish use of the fauna. Tying a red bow on the last assemblage of branches, you hoisted your bounty on your shoulder and headed east of Hagrid’s hut.

 

Chapter 30: Christmas II: Forlorn Feast

Summary:

The Christmas feast at Hogwarts. (Part Two of the Christmas chapters)

Featured Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwILkY9gRrc

Daft Punk - Da Funk

Notes:

I recommend reading this chapter in light mode, though it's hardly necessary.

December 25 - Christmas Part 2

 

“Tonks, it's been so long! How are you my dear?” Professor Sprout opened her arms welcoming the Hufflepuff into a warm embrace. The young auror was all smiles, returning a squeeze to her former head of house.

 

“I’ve been great! Being an auror is brilliant, but it sure does keep me busy.” 

 

A few other teachers including Dumbledore collected in the main corridor to see Tonks when she and Lupin arrived back at the castle. Sirius remained in dog form near her sides, tongue panting and tail wagging just happy to be around his friends again. 

 

“I hear you have been apprenticing under Mad-Eye Moody! I hope he isn’t too hard on you. I imagine your metamorphmagus abilities serve you well,” Dumbledore smiled.

 

“Yes, I am. He can be a grouch sometimes, but we make a good team. I’m quite clumsy, really. Barely passed the stealth and tracking portion of training…”

 

“Well from what Lupin has told us it sounds like you’ve been enjoying yourself.”

 

The students began to meander through the hallway and eventually everyone moved to the Great Hall to get their feast on. Ornate golden goblets stood like sentries at the corners of each place holder, intricately folded napkin swans lounging on the sets of cutlery that wrapped around the perimeter of the long table. The ceiling above was enchanted to show a dazzling night sky, a far cry from the actual sight. Teachers and students alike took their seats. Silver trays began to pop up along the length of the table, removing their own tops with a flourish; roasted turkey; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce — and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. 

 

Despite everyone being of age, bottles of apple cider appeared rather than wine. It was safe to say a few of the teachers might be a bit rowdier after drinking and it wasn’t entirely appropriate for the teachers to drink in front of those who were still students.

 

With a wave of Dumbledore’s wand, forks and knives began to cut into sections of the roasted turkeys creating servable portions.

 

“Do my eyes deceive me or are we missing a few people?” Lupin spoke. He was referring to the two remaining chairs that sat next to each other across from Black and Tonks.

 

Dumbledore noted the empty chairs and sighed. “Those two…if they are brewing Wolfsbane—” He pulled out his wand and summoned his patronus, conveying a mental order as it soared above the table towards the entrance. Just as the phoenix flew out and around the doorway, Professor Snape walked through the entrance, an eyebrow slightly raised as he turned his head and watched the patronus fly past him.

 

“Ah Severus, there you are. I was beginning to worry.”

 

Snape rolled his eyes. “Yes… Believe it or not, being late doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve died from a potions accident.”

 

Dumbledore ignored the potion master’s snark. “Come. Sit.”

 

With not much of a choice, Professor Snape took the seat that was further away from the Gryffindor student who sat next to the other empty seat, putting him to the right of Professor Flitwick instead, who unfortunately had a tendency to prattle on about insignificant matters and things that were generally uninteresting to the potions master. And Snape hardly ever returned the favor. Perhaps he could put a silencing charm on his own ears for the duration of this dinner.

 

Five minutes later and your form stepped out from around the doorway and slowly paced into the Great Hall, coat, gloves, and scarf removed and sweater sleeves rolled up to your elbows. Truthfully, you were already on your way to the Great Hall when Dumbledore’s patronus found you. You had purposely slowed your walk down throughout the castle, delaying the inevitable. Your form was stiff as you kept your gaze to the ground while making your way over to the last available seat. One between Professor Snape and another student.

 

“Welcome Miss L/N,” Dumbledore said. You gave no verbal reply in response, sliding into your chair and fiddling with your fingers in your lap. Tonks looked at you, a light smile playing on her lips having recognized your name from conversations with Lupin as well as the colorful way your hair appeared. She murmured a little ‘hello’ and a wink to which you returned a nod. Snape, for the first time today, also noticed your hair as he side-eyed you. It was as though the silly santa hat on your head had infected your braids, red and white bleeding into your hair and turning them into peppermint twists. However, it was not peppermint he smelled as your neighboring presence sat beside him. It was a different smell, one that wafted from you and implicated the hours you had spent wandering around Hogwarts grounds. A cool, musky smell of pine and myrrh.

 

“Well then,” Dumbledore clapped. “Now that everyone is here, please dig in!”

 

The other students began chatting amongst one another as they started to serve themselves. Black who sat across from you again, snuck a glance at Dumbledore before pouring himself some cider and waving his hand above it, turning the cider into red wine.

 

“What are you, Jesus?” you chaffed. He gave you a sly smile.

 

To appease the curious teachers, Tonks began to regale the older adults with her experiences so far being an auror, describing her most harrowing experiences so far while also maintaining a professional air, careful to only disclose what she was allowed to. Her hair looked about the same in length but was more of a bubblegum pink. You noticed she was wearing the jacket you and Lupin customized for her. Her lipstick was a plum color, the same plum color that faintly stained along Professor Lupin's jaw. In between stories, they’d reminisce about all the times Tonks got in trouble, her spunky Hufflepuffness often being the root cause. 

 

While you had served yourself, you hadn’t really touched your food. On your way to dinner, the anxiety you’d felt this morning returned. When your rear hit the cushion of the chair your brain was sent into fight or flight mode, your state of mind controlled by how you currently occupied your physical self. Your elbows propped up from the table on either side of your plate, your forehead resting against the knuckles of a fist wrapped gently by your other hand. Barely audible breaths sounded from your nose, wrestling with the thoughts that gnawed away at your patience, testing your will in a way that sent ripples of discomfort down to your very core. 

 

You were not used to this. 

 

You felt so out of place. 

 

This wasn’t like the meals that took place everyday. This was a holiday feast, meant to celebrate the company we find amongst each other. 

 

Where was your goddamn company all those years? 

 

How does Dumbledore expect someone so deeply inured to be comfortable in such a setting…

 

“Relax, Y/N…” Dumbledore spoke in your mind. “I can feel your walls rattling from here.”

 

“I’m trying…”

 

“I know. That’s all that matters…”

 

“Y/N, you alright?” you heard Black's voice speak, his utensils ceasing to move while cutting his turkey. Most of those at the table were immersed in their own convivial discussions, Black being the one to have noticed your contrariness besides Dumbledore. 

 

Snape only noticed after Black, his eyes flicking from the curly haired man over to you. Though your face was tilted down against your hands, he could see that your eyes were closed and your lips were pressed together in a tight line.

 

You nodded against your hands.

 

“Are you…praying? Or…?” Black asked again.

 

You shook your head. “…Just…need a minute,” you murmured.

 

Your breathing became purposeful, an attempt to slow down and suppress the waves of despondency that lapped at you. Getting to somewhere neutral, a state of tolerance was the goal, at least until after the feast when you could have more agency over your circumstances. 

 

Pretend you’re somewhere else if you have to—

 

“So Y/N—” Tonks spoke.

 

Or not.

 

You restrained a sigh, slowly sitting up straight and lowering your hands back down to make use of your utensils. “...Yes?”

 

“How did you wind up brewing such a complicated potion?” 

 

She was referring to Wolfsbane, purposefully keeping her vocabulary vague enough to discuss in public without provoking the curiosity of the other students who sat nearby. Your eyes flicked over to said students who were engrossed in their own conversations to pay much mind to what the other adults were discussing. None of them were in your Advanced Potions class either. Though she could’ve picked a better time and place.

 

“I assure you, it wasn't as eventful as one might think.” You stabbed at your food. “I happened to be competent enough to make an adequate brew during the lesson and as a result I help when it is requested.”

 

“Selling yourself short, are we?”

 

“No, actually. It was my first attempt, and though I succeeded, it took a nerve wracking amount of time for the potion to… adjust itself. ” You once again snuck a glance at the students. “But since then, I’ve gained more mastery over it.”

 

“Well, it sounds like you’ve had a great teacher,” she smirked at Professor Snape. 

 

“Ass kissing won’t make me forget the time you almost killed me with that Venomous Tentacula plant, Miss Tonks,” Professor Snape drawled. 

 

“Oh, rubbish . That was an accident, it was meant for Filch. Besides, it’s not like you were going to stay mad forever as I’m sure you remember me doing exceedingly well in Advanced Potions, hm?” She crossed her arms, a smug smile splaying on her lips. Snape only rolled his eyes, but it wasn’t derisive, more like a ‘don’t get too cocky’ response. “Anyways, Y/N. You’re from America, yeah? Did you transfer here from Ilvermorny?”

 

“Yes, I did.” You sipped some cider from your goblet.

 

“What’s it like there?”

 

Dumbledore warily looked up from his food to you having heard the name of your former school being haphazardly thrown into the air. You had willingly showed him memories before and he was aware that your time at Ilvermorny is something you didn’t have the most positive association with. You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again before any sound actually came out. 

 

“Uhm…it’s…it's different from Hogwarts in its own ways… Like Hogwarts, the school is a castle but it's located in the mountains. Mount Greylock in Massachusetts. It’s the next state over from where the MACUSA building is located in New York. Instead of Filchs we’ve got Pukwudgies who make up some of the staff. The uniforms are nearly the same except for the colors. Blue and cranberry, not black and gray. And we’ve got our own houses too.”

 

“What house were you in?”

 

“I chose a house called Horned Serpent.”

 

“Students get to choose their own houses?” Professor Lupin asked, who’d been listening along.

 

“Er no—it's…the sorting process is different too. We don’t have a talking hat. In our Entrance Hall, we stand on this symbol called the Gordian Knot before the four carvings that represent the houses. Horned Serpent is considered to be attributed to the mind, Wampus the body, Thunderbird the soul, and Pukwudgie the heart. The houses actually choose you. The carvings will react in their own unique way when it wants a student. Rarely, a student will be chosen by multiple carvings. I was one of those cases. Should that happen, the student gets to pick.”

 

“So you were chosen by the Horned Serpent and…?”

 

“Pukwudgie. Which… I guess… could be equivalent to Gryffindor, though they are not mutually exclusive.”

 

“Why did you choose Horned Serpent?”

 

You shrugged. “I like snakes.”

 

Thankfully, the conversation had shifted as you did not wish to delve further into your prior schooling years, at least for the time being anyway. More memories of Tonk’s schooling were shared, goaded on by her former teachers in a light-hearted manner. You stopped paying attention after you finished your food and ended up leaning your head into one of your hands and staring down at the part of table cloth that peaked out underneath one of the silver trays. While the center portions of the table cloth appeared to be a matte white, closer attention to detail revealed little reindeers playfully chasing each other into the endless white fabric as if it were a pasture of snow…

 

~

 

13 years old

 

The front door of your home closed with a creak as you stepped out into the freezing temperatures of the night, bundled up in thick layers leaving no trace of skin except for your face. Pale moonlight illuminated the snow on either side of the walkway that led up to your house. The glow of rainbow lights flickered in vibrant hues, barely kissing the sidewalk on your side of the street. As you reached the pavement, a car pulled into one of the houses across the street, laughter bubbling from the five people who exited its frame, matching the joyous expressions of a few already in the house whose merriments were exhibited on full display in the warmly lit living room. A family or relatives coming back from a dinner or perhaps just now reuniting for Christmas and the upcoming New Year. A few carried presents and what looked to be desserts.

 

Nearly every house was decorated and shining brightly in some manner. Another car drove up the street slowly, but still faster than your walking pace of course, with a couple of kids inside, watching in awe at the glimmering colorful houses. It was a common tradition in America, one you were indulging in then, for parents to take their kids for a drive to look at all the Christmas decorations in different neighborhoods, especially wealthy neighborhoods where such festivities appeared more sumptuous. 

 

The occasional car passed by and the football game echoed from open windows. The savory smell of turkey and pumpkin pies drifted from nearly every house on your street, permeating the air with a mouthwatering fragrance. Most driveways were shoveled clean of snow and will likely be blanketed again in the next couple of days. 

 

There was one house that differed from the rest on that side of the street. Their decorations were not store bought and didn’t give the other neighbors epilepsy. The house belonged to a German family. They had a daughter your age who moved here because the father got a better job opportunity. She was your best muggle friend in school and  was in her front yard right now, the door to her house wide open as she cursed to herself while fiddling with something in the snow.

 

“Guten Abend.”

 

She looked over her shoulder as you stopped your approach from behind.

 

“Oh, Y/N. Guten Abend. Vat are you doing here?” She looked back down to the snow, the sound of clicking and faint sparks emitting from her hand.

 

“At the moment watching you struggle to use a lighter,” you smirked.

 

“Nutzloses stück scheiße—AH! Finally.” 

(Useless piece of shit—)

 

A small flame came from the lighter as she lowered it down to a small red candle.

 

“What am I even looking at right now?” You stepped closer and gave yourself a full view of what appeared to be evergreen branches and rocks arranged into a spiral with a few pinecones and a thick red candle in the snow. It smelled nice.

 

“A solstice spiral. Vun of ze traditions my family likes to partake in for Yule.”

 

“Is Yule like Christmas?”

 

“In vays. Ze modern traditions of Christmas have elements of old Yule practices. It lasts from ze 21st to ze New Year.”

 

“Oh, Happy Yule then.” “Happy Yule,” she returned with a smirk. “Come, you can light ze ozer vun. Over zere.” Across the yard was another spiral that was of equal size, but “spun” in the opposite direction. You took the lighter from her hand as both of you knelt down.

 

Dessert was now being served at the table as the plates vanished and were replaced with a clean set, the platters following suit to reveal pumpkin cakes and pudding. Black had noticed you staring at the pumpkin cake and offered to cut a slice for you, but you didn’t respond. In fact you’d been frozen for the past ten minutes as you sifted through memories, your eyes still locked on the same spot.

 

“Y/N?”

 

“So…your family is not a fan of Christmas lights?” You were referring to the noticeably bare exterior of the house, much like yours. Otherwise, the house was lit by the warm orangey glow of the fire and living room lights where a tree stood proudly. 

 

“Are you kidding me? Ve’re nearly going blind from ze neighbors! Und besides, most of ze Yule decorations are made vith zings from nature,” she explained, gesturing to the spiral. “Ve don’t need to be flashy like ze ozer houses. Is more about creating calming environment. Makes nice smells too. Pine, holly, cinnamon sticks, candles, yule logs, runes, wreaths, nuts, fruits, yule goats—”

 

“Yule goat?” You clicked the lighter, summoning a flame and lighting the candle.

 

“Ja. Is vun of my favorite zings to make. Can hang zem on ze tree or sneak zem into friends’ houses. Is like a game of tag but vith ze goat. Traditionally, is made of straw vith red ribbon wrapped around it.”

 

“I see. So like a non-creepy version of Elf on a Shelf.” 

 

She gave you a bit of a confused look. “Sorry I don’t know vat zat is…”

 

You chuckled. “Uhm, it's an elf doll that's meant to watch the kids to make sure they aren’t being naughty and parents will move the doll to different places to make kids believe that it’s real.”

 

“Zat is creepy,” she smiled. “But ja, I see vat you mean. Is similar.”

 

“Do you have one made already?”

 

“Ja! You vant to see?” She didn’t wait for an answer and got up from the snow and trotted into her house. She returned a half minute later with a straw yule goat in the palms of her hands.

 

“What else do people do with these?”

 

“Vatever zey like! You can hang zem, leave zem as a gift in houses, put zem in zey yard, burn zem with ze yule log... As long as it makes you happy. Is what ze season is all about, ja?”

 

“Damn, Ada. You’re making me wish I was German.”

 

She barked out a laugh. “You don’t have to be German to celebrate Yule, silly. Anyone can participate. Is actually rooted in paganism, but still, is not restricted to vun group of people. Perhaps you make yule goat too.” 

 

“I’d love to but you’ll have to teach me how. It looks hard.” You stroked the back of the small, straw yule goat.

 

“Is not hard at all. It may take practice, but—” She paused her sentence, the sound of her mother calling her from inside the house to come to the table for dinner if she was done lighting the solstice spirals.

 

“Ah, coming! Sorry Y/N, I show you different day. Merry Christmas and Happy Yule!” 

 

“Happy Yule…” you murmured as the door to her house shut before continuing your walk. 

 

“Y/N,” Black repeated, frowning slightly.

 

You let your legs carry you absentmindedly out of your neighborhood to the nearby park. It was a huge park that had a lake that was frozen over at this point. Instead of a vast expanse of empty white, you were met with a frenzy of rainbow lights, booths, and blow up decorations. A large red and white banner  displayed the words “Winter Wonderland”. Walking all around were families with small children bustling in and out holding hot chocolates and cookies or playing along with staff members dressed in bright green with pointy ears.

 

Black leaned forward a bit, squinting at your face in an analytical manner and taking note of your glazed over eyes. His elbows bumped the table a little, making the potion master’s gaze swivel away from whatever McGonagall and Dumbledore were discussing over to the source of the disturbance as the cider in his goblet rippled. Black had his hands on the edge of the table and was studying your face. Snape stole a glance and determined that you had undoubtedly gone to fairytale land. “Y/N, can you hear me?” Black tried again, making Tonks look over as well.

 

“Quit bothering her Black,” Snape muttered harshly.

 

“Sue me for being concerned,” Black scoffed in annoyance and served himself a piece of cake, but his eyes flicked back up to you every now and then as he bit into the pumpkin flavored dessert.

 

There was an entrance fee to get in, one that you had no desire to pay as you had no intention of going inside. You meandered around the outer circumference of the barricades, looking at the booths from behind. There seemed to be some food booths, ones that offers hot beverages, desserts, turkey legs, an ornament making station, an ice skating rink, a santa’s workshop where kids could get a picture on Santa’s lap, a fenced off area where kids could have a snowball fight supervised by parents, gingerbread house making, and what seemed to be a station to feed animals. As you got closer, you heard the sound of grunts and clicks as well as a few parents warning their kids not to touch them.

 

You thought it was horses, but the large set of antlers from the mammals quickly put that theory to rest. They were farm-raised reindeer brought down from further up north closer to the mountains. There was a herd of children around the metal fence that separated them from four reindeer who had names embroidered on the scarfs around their necks: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen. The children held banana slices and oats in their hands, attempting to hand feed them or simply tossing them on the ground in front of the tall creatures.

 

“Did she show up to dinner high?” Black said a little too loudly, catching the attention of the other teachers and a few students. He’d finished his dessert and found that you still hadn’t moved an inch and your eyes were nearly unblinking. He leaned forward again and waved his hand in front of your line of sight. Still nothing. Though the grip you had on the balled up napkin next to your plate was even tighter than before.

 

“She is not high, you dolt . She’s thinking —something you’d stand to benefit from before opening that insufferable mouth of yours,” Snape bit back in response.

 

Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout both snorted in amusement, an action that did not go unnoticed by the deputy headmistress who glared at them disapprovingly.

 

The reindeer named Dasher raised its head up and let out a loud, throaty cry that made the children initially wince from the volume, but break out into awestruck laughter and clapping. The thick layer of snow forced your stride into a clomp as you continued to walk the parameters towards the otherside where the frozen lake sat, turning the noises of the festive event into distant murmurs. You plopped yourself down in the icy froth, ignoring any of the wetness that would seep into your pants. The moonlight bounced off the lake, the water glass-like yet opaque, acting as a blurry mirror pool for the night sky above. The stars seemed dull, or were they snowflakes that were simply taking their time falling? A hand touched your shoulder and you turned to find Dumbledore—

 

You inhaled sharply under your breath, your eyes flitting instinctively to Dumbledore who was staring right back at you. He’d only done it a few times, physically inserting himself into your memories to drag you out of your daydreams. Your ears began to focus on the fact that Professor Snape and Black were bickering about something— surprise, surprise —while McGonagall, Tonks and Lupin were looking at you somewhat concerned.

 

There was no reason to sit here anymore.

 

Without a word, you leisurely grabbed an unopened bottle of apple cider and slowly pushed out of your chair, the scraping noise and your movements catching the attention of the men next to and across from you, effectively ceasing their squabble. Nearly all eyes were on you as you trudged over to Dumbledore and whispered something into his ear, him leaning towards you as you covered your mouth with your free hand. After a brief back and forth, it concluded with him offering you a slight smile and murmuring “be safe.” 

 

Now to mend the tension you suspected had something to do with you… 

 

“Professor Lupin,” you said, walking around to the other side of the table.

 

The DADA teacher turned to you a little surprised as you stopped a couple feet from him. “Yes, Miss L/N?”

 

Your eyes averted away and squinted like you were wincing as you reached around to your back and pulled out the parchment paper you had hidden between the layer of your sweater and the shirt underneath.

 

“...Happy Yule. It should help during rounds or whatever…” you mumbled, holding the seemingly blank parchment out to him. His eyebrows shot up, looking positively muddled. A student got him a present. Stop the presses. The moment his fingers grasped the papers you strode towards the exit without further explanation.

 

“Miss L/N got you a present?” Professor McGonagall asked.

 

“It would seem so.” He inspected the parchment, his brows furrowing when he saw that it was blank. However, when he turned it over to the other side he gasped.

 

“What? What is it, Remus?” said Tonks.

 

“It’s the Marauder’s Map…”

 

“What?!” Sirius stood up from his chair and rushed to stand in the space between Lupin and Tonks, peering over his shoulder. There it was as clear as day written in deep red ink.

 

“How… How did she get this? I thought James had it before—”

 

“No,” Sirius interjected in, shaking his head. “James gave it to me, I gave it to Wormtail— said he needed it for something in the last week of school. Bloody prat,” he spat in disgust. 

 

“What is this map, love?” Tonks leaned to get a better look.

 

“Back in school Sirius, Peter, James and I made an enchanted map of Hogwarts. It shows everyone; where they are, what they’re doing, every minute, of every day.”

 

“It’s how we got away with a lot of our schemes,” Sirius smiled at his former teachers.

 

“Still. I may have mentioned some of our shenanigans to her, but not the map. I-I mean…” Lupin trailed off in disbelief, seemingly at a loss for words.

 

Dumbledore smiled fondly. “Yes… It seems Miss L/N has a peculiar way of just knowing these sorts of things.” 

 

***

 

A map. A map. So that’s how they got away with the plague of misery they brought down on him and other innocent students.

 

Snape slouched in his armchair, absentmindedly swirling a glass of firewhiskey in his hand while propping his head up in the other, staring across at the fireplace replaying the events of tonight as well as revisiting old memories he had long buried in the deepest recesses of his mind. Regardless of how frustratingly asinine it was, it explained everything; how they managed to find him around different parts of the castle when he sought out spaces to have a moment of privacy or to outright escape only for them to pop up out of nowhere and hex him or jinx him into oblivion. 

 

It explains that day.

 

With this newfound information, replaying the moment you walked up to Lupin maddened him. You had casually presented one of his former bullies a gift, an artifact enriched by their arrogance, one that played directly into the agony he suffered from their hands, augmenting the trauma he still felt to this day. It was insulting.

 

His blood boiled with indignation, his ire kept at some imperceptible edge by the amber liquid that sat in an all too familiar grasp, an edge that if stepped over would likely result in the bottle being shattered against the wall. His fingers picked at the worn upholstery of the arm. “ You were innocent in all of this ,” a part of him told himself. That is what he had hoped, that you were blissfully unaware of what happened behind the curtains, and that this aching, unsettling feeling of betrayal was baseless. 

 

But Lupin had supposedly told you things. And Sirius proudly flaunted that juvenile name like it was an Order of Merlin.

 

Fine. So be it. As if he cared about your opinion. Make fun of him behind his back for all he cared. You were just another student. When the time came, he’d make sure to treat you just like the others who made his life needlessly difficult day in and day out.

 

He let out a heavy sigh, downing the remnants of his glass. At least he had his book, the one tangible semblance of joy he could find on a day irrevocably entwined with the demons of his youth and the hidden insurmountable jealousy conjured by having to continuously bear witness to those who’ve led happier lives. A bitter time for a bitter man. His free hand reached for the prized possession, but was met with nothing but the smooth wood of the small chair-side table. His eyes flicked over to the empty space, his face falling in confirmation of the book’s absence.

 

His earlier irritation morphed into panic. How could he lose Dumbledore’s gift? He patted his torso; it was not inside his robes, nor the inner pockets of his cloak. He paced around his office and chambers, checking every drawer, shelf and surface in case he’d set it down without remembering. Still, he came up empty-handed. 

 

Think. He ran a hand through his dark hair in an attempt to rack his brain. He was reading it before dinner. Then he put it in his cloak pocket as he went to the Great Hall…

 

“Bloody hell...!” He hissed under his breath. He must’ve unknowingly dropped it at some point. He could only hope that no one else got their hands on the book in the meantime. Merlin forbid Madam Pince mistook it for a book from the library or Black found it and is currently using it as a coaster.

 

He swept through his office, through the classroom and out into the dungeons. With a wave of his wand, the torches incrementally embedded in the stone walls of the corridor lit up one by one with a dramatic woosh, lighting the way for the Professor. His eyes remained trained on the ground, scanning over every inch through his determined strides as he repeatedly muttered “accio book” to himself, envisioning its goosebumped leather cover, the way the eloquent golden text subtly shone like iridescent gemstones, the durable binding that had yet to wear or deteriorate, the deckled edges of the tanned pages that he had traced a finger along so delicately upon first sight.

 

Every step he took heightened his anxiety, that the book would become lost forever to the cracks and depths of the monumental castle. He retraced his steps down to each gritty brick. Through the dungeons, up the staircase, along the ground floor corridors, and all the way to the Great Hall to which he used an unlocking spell to get back inside. He found nothing. The festively decorated table was gone, the chairs vanished, the room bathed in moonlight from the large set of windows and the charmed ceiling, but no book.

 

His hands clenched into tight fists, digging little crescents into his palms. A frustrated growl rumbled from his throat. He’d turn Hogwarts inside out if he had too.

 

“Severus?” a soft voice called.

 

The potion master turned to find Dumbeldore standing at the entrance to the Great Hall with a curious and concerned look on his face.

 

“Albus…” Snape gave one last sweeping look of the ground where the table once sat before reluctantly ambling over to the doors and slipping past the wizard. 

 

The headmaster shut the wooden doors with a ‘click’. “What were you doing in the Great Hall? I figured you would’ve been reading in front of the fire or something of the like at this time.”

 

Snape’s throat grew dry at the mention of reading. He felt guilt and shame claw at him, having to face the man who gave him something so precious only to lose it in his carelessness. He parted his lips to say something but nothing came out. Dumbledore tipped his head a bit, his brows furrowing while analyzing the professor before him. There were so few times where Severus Snape had been rendered speechless. “Severus, is everything alright? You seem very troubled.”

 

“I…” Snape’s voice sounded hoarse coming out. And before Dumbledore could blink, Snape’s face changed to a cold and indifferent composure as if nothing was wrong in the first place. Dumbledore unfortunately knew all too well what was happening, his shoulders deflating a touch in commiseration. He hated when Snape felt the need to occlude himself in his presence. The two men maintained a strong connection with one another, a relationship built on time, trust, and support—having the ability to sense the subtle changes in emotions within one another as if they were their own. Still, after all this time, Snape struggled with being fully vulnerable with him despite the fact that Dumbledore had seen him at his lowest. 

 

“I lost it.” His voice was controlled and steely as if he was addressing his students in a lecture.

 

“Lost what?”

 

“Your present. The book. I lost it.” The tops of his fingers interlaced in front of his stomach, a natural position his hands found when he was feeling agitated.

 

Dumbledore blinked. “Oh,” was all he said.

 

“I believe I dropped it somewhere. I’ve been…retracing my steps and I’ve had no such…luck.”

 

“Well, I am sorry to hear that Severus.” He gently placed a hand on Snape’s arm, guiding him away from the Great Hall. “I don’t imagine the book would just suddenly disappear into thin air or sprout legs and walk out of the castle. Perhaps…one of the other students or teachers found it after dinner. Have you asked any of them?”

 

Snape stayed silent, but Dumbledore could read him like…well… a book. The silence was a ‘no’.

 

Dumbledore hummed. “Well, if it helps to ease your distress I know for a fact that Miss L/N is awake. I imagine she ends up taking similar routes as you to and from the dungeons…and it would mean one less person to question in the morning. She’s outside if you’d like to ask her.”

 

Snape stared at Dumbledore in bewilderment, his occlumency seemingly shutting off for the moment—a brief respite for the old wizard. “It's 10:30 at night and inhumanely cold! What could she possibly be doing outsi—why would you allow her to go outside at this time?” Dumbledore returned a fleeting, bittersweet smile. “She has other festivities to attend to tonight. And it’s not as though she is a 1st-year, Severus. She is quite strong and has a good head on her shoulders.” He squeezed Snape’s shoulder. “Though your concern is warming to see.”

 

Dumbledore paused momentarily, gesturing at the fact that not only had they arrived beside the courtyard doors but that they’re also cracked open. “I imagine she hasn’t actually departed, otherwise she would’ve closed these,” he stated before continuing on his way with a bidding nod.

 

“Albus—” The wizard stopped, half turning to Snape. “….What were you doing up and about?”

 

“Contrary to what is said about old people, I am quite the night owl,” he smirked. “Good night, Severus.” 

 

Snape watched the headmaster’s gray robes disappear down the moonlit corridor, his shoulders relaxing and chest untightening as he fully lowered his emotional facade. His eyes flit suspiciously over to the slightly ajar doors. A thin stream of moonlight barely shone through. A slight push with his fingertips against the door emitted a loud groaning creak. A wall of white lay before him, more specifically a wall of fog, foggier than what one might see in the downtown streets of London, allowing him practically no visibility. But he heard it.

 

Music . From where he stood it was dull, but detectable by his ears, and coming from somewhere in this labyrinth of pale gloom that occupied every inch of air.

 

“Lumos,” he chanted, pulling his wand from his waistband. The light could only do so much, illuminating the air and dispelling the fog within a foot or two from where he held his wand. He strained his ears, attempting to gauge the location of the source as he took slow steps, careful not to slip in the snow. He nearly got himself turned around once or twice, the music being his steady guide. The music grew louder and louder as he carried on in one direction. Finally, something on the ground came into view. It was your school bag and your walkman laying atop of it, but there was no you. He scanned his hazy surroundings before picking up the device that blared away, the headphones absent this time. He could see the cassette tape inside, two little gears spinning away. It was a song with no lyrics and with sounds he had never heard before. Muggles have developed strange tastes in music. He turned over the walkman and thumbed the “off” switch on the side, abruptly cutting off the music and leaving him in eerie silence.

 

Suddenly it felt like he was being watched, a creeping tension taking hold of him. He snapped his gaze to his right and jumped out of his own skin, dropping your walkman back on to your school bag. He hadn’t seen it earlier because his hair curtained his view, but inches away from his face was the massive head of a runespoor, a head from your patronus to be more specific. From the way its own eyes bored into his as if to examine his soul, he’d wager it was the right head. The creature let out a quick succession of puffs as if laughing at his reaction before withdrawing itself back through the haze, which was noticeably more blue and translucent, the light from the patronus’s spectral body evaporating the cloudy vapor. Down at his feet, your belongings quickly slid across the snow as if pulled by a magnetic force into the same direction that your patronus had retreated.

 

He followed the trail of the disturbed snow through the opaque air until he promptly found himself in a fogless opening as if the weather was physically incapable of crossing some invisible border. Some yards away you were sitting cross-legged against the chiseled masonry of the gothic cloisters. Your patronus took refuge amongst its ridges, the shared body nestled and coiled through the arches while the heads found their place elsewhere; the middle resting against one of your knees near the hand that held your wand and the other two outstretched towards him, hissing to each other. The light they radiated was like a barrier that prevented the fog from obscuring your vision and nearby surroundings. In your lap, a thin trail of smoke wafted and curled as something red burned brightly within the grasp of your fingers.

 

You spared a quick glance at the professor clad in black when you heard the sound of crunching snow cease ahead of you.

 

“Evening…” you spoke, keeping your attention on branding an image on a holly bomb with a hot needle. Lefty and righty took an interest in the potion master and flicked their tongues out drawing toward either side of him and dipping their heads in close. “Oi.” You took notice of their behavior within your peripheral vision. The potion master was unphased, standing perfectly straight and merely observed them. “Don’t bother him,” you ordered. The two other heads pulled themselves back and resumed their “conversation.” You gazed back to Snape who still hadn’t said anything and was looking between you and your patronus. 

 

“Oh—I’m fine. It’s uh…foggy and uhm—” Jesus Christ—articulate, Y/N. You cleared your throat. “Apologies. Is there something I can help you with, Professor?”

 

“Perhaps…” His baritone voice, while not loud, resonated off the stone around you. “I have misplaced something that belongs to me. I fear I may have dropped it somewhere in the castle.”

 

You bit back a satisfied smirk. You had a feeling he’d go looking for it at some point, having spotted the book on your way back up from the dungeons after dinner. It looked like it had been dropped accidentally rather than purposefully discarded. You’d been thankful that you were the first to find it.

 

“What might that be?” you asked, pocketing the holly bomb.

 

“A book. Leatherbound with gold text. Bigger than a potion textbook.”

 

You nodded thoughtfully in response as you stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder and picking up the yule goat that sat beside you, bound in red ribbon and about the size of a small lap dog. Your patronus disentangled itself from the architecture, following you and awaiting direction. As you approached Professor Snape, he couldn’t help but notice your attire; long black coat, green sweater, red and white hair, santa hat, scarf, loops of garlands wrapped loosely around your collar that draped down to your abdomen as well as circular slabs of wood engraved with runes that hung around your neck with red ribbon like medals. White, warm breath exhaled from your nose as if you were a dragon. All those things came to a culmination, granting you the appearance of a harbinger of the yuletide season, your patronus, your faithful spirit guide as the witching hour drew ever near. 

 

Your free hand slid underneath the hem of your coat and into a large inner lining pocket where the book was securely tucked away against your side for the time being. 

 

“This book?” You gently tugged the book out and held it out to him. His eyes widened a bit and his jaw clenched in an attempt to restrain whatever emotion he was feeling at the moment. You hoped it was joy.

 

“Yes.” Immense relief flooded his system as his fingers once again made contact with the book and held it firmly against his chest. “Where did you happen to find it?”

 

“At the turn before one would descend the staircase to the dungeons.” You looked to the fog in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch. “Is there anything else?” 

 

“No, that would be a—” He cut himself off as something new registered in his senses. A powerful smell that he was just now noticing coming from you. The pine he smelled at dinner paled in comparison to the newcomer. It was a smell that made his nose scrunch and gave him flashes of his childhood. Specifically, his father. 

 

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Have you been drinking?”

 

“Mh-mh,” you said with a small shake of your head.

 

He stepped closer to you, scrutinizing your face for any signs of impairment. “I know what alcohol smells like, Miss L/N, and you reek of it. Don’t lie to me. ”

 

You clicked your tongue. “Technically, my yule goat reeks of alcohol. I myself have not consumed any tonight.” You held up the goat made of reed grass that you had indeed soaked in alcohol thanks to the bottle of tequila you had previously stowed underneath your bed which currently sat inside your school bag. Professor Snape could indeed smell the pungent alcohol from the woven creature as well as spot little droplets dripping off its legs.

 

Before he could comment on its bizarreness or ask why, you checked your watch. “If there isn’t anything else then I’m afraid I must be going so—” you were stopped by Professor Snape taking hold of your forearm as you had turned to exit the courtyard. It wasn’t a harsh or demanding grip, just enough to get your attention and make you quirk your eyebrows in perplexity at the potion master. It was certainly enough to get your runespoor’s attention who became more alert and wary of the man, though you gave it a mental command to relax.

 

“Where. I doubt any of the shops in Hogsmeade are still open.”

 

“Nope, not Hogsmeade. Just…out.”

 

An annoyed growl rose in his throat. You were hiding something. He could detect the air of slyness underneath the coy veil in your voice. Sometimes he wondered if you were being vague on purpose, creating an intrigue to toy with him.

 

You sighed, your expression became more serious, but your tone was still somewhat nonchalant. “If it will grant you peace of mind, Dumbledore is fully aware of what I have planned for tonight and has given me his permission to go through with it. It’s nothing that will get me killed or in trouble. I do it every year. And…” You paused, swallowing thickly. “I really don’t…want to be in there right now. Dungeons or not.” You gestured to the castle with a nod of your chin. “You can ask Dumbledore too if you don’t believe me. However,” A playful half smile twitched on your face. “I may not be in the same spot when you return.”

 

His pupils shifted back and forth as you felt the tingle of him searching for any signs, any discrepancies in your train of thought that would indicate you were lying. You had to suppress an internal eye roll as he did so. As he withdrew he also let go of your forearm. You felt the right head of your patronus nudge your side, the impatience you’d been stifling in front of your professor showing through your patronus as a result. “Yeah, yeah. I know…” you murmured to it, petting the head. “Right…so…I’m gonna go now since I’m done preparing…”

 

“Preparing for what exactly?” he asked.

 

“A ritual of sorts,” you replied as you had already turned around and moved away from him.

 

“Wait.”

 

You halted, your frustration instantly spiking as you suppressed a groan and clenched your jaw, the material of your leather gloves snug as your hand tightened around your wand. “Yes?” you gritted out.

 

Quite frankly, he was at a crossroads. Now that he had his book back, he could read in content instead of feeling sorry for himself and pouting about the two marauders in the castle. At the same time, the information you spared him was indeed tantalizing.

 

“...Take me with you.”

 

You said nothing, those four words dragging you out from your irritation and into a dazed state. He wants to come wi…? You spun back around on your heels, a look of confusion plastered on your face as the wood necklaces clacked softly against each other. You were unsure about bringing him along, and rightfully so. It was something you’d always done in private for personal reasons and you were in no mood to endure or deflect whatever snide comments he’d have locked and loaded about its incongruous nature.

 

“...Why?” You couldn’t help but be a bit suspicious. “Forgive me for making such an assumption but it’s my understanding that you are not overly fond of holiday festivities."

 

He went slightly rigid for a moment, not used to you directly questioning his reasoning as you’d usually abide by his requests without objection. “…I too could use a break from the castle and the idea of a ritual sounds…interesting,” he drawled in a calculated tone. 

 

You pursed your lips, relieved that his reasoning didn’t have to do with any lack of faith in taking care of yourself, but still you were hesitant. You crossed your arms and averted your gaze, kicking at the snow a little. “...Are you sure? Because I can’t guarantee you will be amused,” you spoke tentatively. “It might even be disquieting for you.”

 

“If I find myself intolerable of the experience I’ll apparate somewhere else,” he proclaimed matter of factly.

 

You mulled it over for a bit, Snape waiting silently for your response before you eventually relented. “…Okay.” You looked him up and down. “And you’re comfortable with your attire…? Because it will only get colder—” Before you could utter another word his figure warped and snapped out of sight. Half a minute later, Snape returned wearing a coat, scarf, and gloves.

 

Notes:

Hi .3.

For anyone who has gone back to reread certain chapters only to be confused by some little changes or a sentence being deleted, no you're are not crazy and no it is not a Mandela effect. I have a tendency to go back and reread chapters myself and sometimes I find little sentences or phrases that I wrote at the time a bit cringe or genuinely think need changing for better scene context. I'm not deleting or altering anything important to the story, more or less just character quotes. No one has raised any questions about it yet but I thought you should know.

Love ya'll and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)

Chapter 31: Christmas III: The Burning of the Yule Goat

Summary:

Reader performs a ritual in the woods witnessed by Professor Snape.

December 25 - Christmas Part 3

 

Most of the walk was silent, your attention dedicated to keeping your patronus present and alight as it led you both through the fields. Its stretched out form did an exceptionally good job at dissipating the fog, giving both you and Snape a clearer view of what was ahead of you as well as several yards of visibility in all other directions. Every so often the middle head would look behind itself to make sure the two of you were still there. Snape didn’t have a problem letting you and your patronus lead, however, he became a little confused when you broke off from one of the main paths and into the thick snow that sunk a little under each step. Thankfully both of you were wearing boots.

 

Snowflakes had started to fall again, their speed similar to what you’d witnessed this morning. Your expression was unwavering, a sign of your own confidence in being able to navigate the lands in such weather. And yet, you were unforthcoming when it came to divulging the location for such a festivity. From what he could gauge from the route so far, the two of you were heading towards the Quidditch Pitch, however, you had purposefully stepped off the main path that led directly to the stadium’s entrance. 

 

“Where exactly is it that you are leading us to?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

 

“Ehm…the exact location doesn’t have a name. It's more or less a spot I found in the forest—not the Forbidden Forest, but the lesser-known one behind the Quidditch Pitch, where according to Hagrid the old follies used to be and where most of the magical creatures tend not to migrate to."

 

“And this festivity…it has to take place there?”

 

“No. It’s not site specific, however, I’ve already gone and set it up earlier today and the location is ideal should we be graced with any other… guests tonight,” you explained.

 

There. It was always fleeting, but he’d caught it; that ephemeral twitch of a smirk that graced your lips when you were being knowingly secretive. Again, you were concealing information from him.

 

“Once we reach the forest edge,” you pointed to the trees that came closer and closer, “it should be about another ten minutes.”

 

The trees grew larger with each anticipation-filled step, your eyes scanning for one tree in particular. Not only had you left engravings on the trees weeks ago, but you had coated them in a paint-like substance that glowed in the dark as if it were a bioluminescent fungus should you ever visit the glade during the evening when it was darker. As your patronus guided you both closer to the edge, you saw it. On a tree was an arrow that glowed the same blue as your patronus, pointing straight up the trunk, which meant to keep going forward in that direction. Snape eyed the marking curiously as you stepped close to the tree and patted the side of it, an action that served as physical reassurance and further indication of where you were going.

 

Due to the unevenness of the forest ground and thick snow, it became a little bit more difficult to walk in strides. Your patronus kept low to the ground, watching out for rocks or roots that may trip you. By this point you knew where you were going. The right head hissed back at you as the runespoor approached another tree, this time the blue arrow pointing diagonally to the right as the giant serpent was already taking off in that direction.

 

More minutes passed and before you knew it, the lichen and snow covered erratics that circumferenced the glade came into view. The sight put a sudden spring in your step as you trotted ahead, stumbling in the snow from the burst of happiness which only made the potion master raise an eyebrow at you. Sidestepping your way through two large boulders that were particularly close to one another, you popped out on the other side, your patronus standing tall in the center of the glade like a lighthouse though thankfully the fog was already a bit more thinned out in this particular part of the forest, more so resembling a semi-thick haze.

 

“Here we are,” you spoke aloud, turning as you did to see Professor Snape step through the same two boulders. You made a circling motion with your pointer finger to your patronus. The large runespoor slinked over to the perimeter of the glade and slithered briskly around the edges defined by the tree, snow covered brush and giant rocks. Its spectral body allowed Snape to see just how much open space the glade provided as well as its nearby surroundings. He was a little taken aback. He thought he’d seen every inch of Hogwarts, including the old follies you’d mentioned earlier as they were around when he was a student, but this place…he’d never seen it before despite having visited this forest many times in his youth for ingredient collecting and personal experiments. 

 

“Over there,” you pointed to a specific cluster of trees where the moss from its snow-covered branches hung exceptionally low, “if you still need it, there is some frosty fern growing, though you might need to melt the snow a bit.” Your patronus moved swiftly from its current position over to where you had pointed and tilted its heads at the potion master. 

 

Snape said nothing, his eyes moving back and forth between you, who was rummaging around for something in your bag and the runespoor, who seemed to be waiting for him. He sauntered towards the patronus, the left head lowering itself down to the exact spot and eagerly rubbing its nose against the snow as if to burrow, but leaving the snowbank undisturbed. He retracted, giving Snape space when he stepped close to the lumpy spot of snow and cast a heat charm. Sure enough, the snow evaporated to reveal delicate, blue fern leaves. They looked so crisp he thought they’d crumble to dust if he so much as breathed too hard, the snow having bolstered its traits. He summoned a black rag, carefully plucking some leaves from where they met the stems and wrapping them in the soft material and gently tucking it away into an inner pocket of his coat.

 

Upon finishing, he stood up to see that you were holding a large glass bottle in one hand, your thumb covering most of the bottle’s opening so that the liquid was pouring out in a thin stream. Snape didn’t notice it at first, but there was something in the snow that occupied a large chunk of space. Branches, from what he gathered pine and blue spruce. They laid embedded in the slow, accompanied with flat stones, pinecones and yew, forming a giant spiral that marked the very center of the glade. You were walking backwards from the outer end of the spiral towards the inside, allowing the clear liquid to drain and splatter on the evergreen.

 

“What is this…” he approached, narrowing his eyes at the creation as well as the returning smell of alcohol.

 

“What you see on the ground is a solstice spiral. It symbolizes the inward path, finding light in the darkness, and sharing that light with others. Also the winter solstice, but it’s about four days too late for that. And this,” you held up the now empty bottle as you reached the center of the spiral, letting the last little droplets fall, “is tequila. Smells like goblin piss…” you muttered, vanishing the bottle, and pulling out the recently made holly bomb out from your coat pocket, tossing it up in the air like a ball. You tugged your scarf up and covered your mouth. “I recommend you cover your mouth for what I am about to do,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the material. He took your word for it, unsure of what was about to happen. You dropped the holly bomb and aimed your wand.

 

“Crepitus.”

 

POOMF

 

Clouds of orange smoke flowed in all directions, blowing the professor’s locks of hair back a little and replacing the white haze that lingered. He stood stunned by the sudden explosion, his eyes falling upon you and saw that you had lowered your scarf as the smoke began to waft away into nothingness. The scent that flooded his nose, though pleasant, was unexpected.

 

“Oranges,” he muttered.

 

“Dumbledore has effectively ruined pumpkins for me. Pumpkin juice, pumpkin pasties, pumpkin cake, pumpkin pumpkin pumpkin… It’s yule pomander. Oranges and cloves. It’s used as a decorative perfume around homes during the yule season and is said to drive away negative spirits and emotions. At least now the foul smell is undetectable.” 

 

You accio’d the yule goat and set it down in the center of the spiral. Kneeling down, you gingerly lifted the loops of garland off your shoulders and draped it around the neck of the yule goat. As for the necklaces, you hooked them under each leg of the goat and twisted them so that the ribbon corkscrewed. One rune for each leg: Wholeness, Growth, Love and Prosperity. You got up and stepped back so that you were all the way outside of the spiral. Snape watched as you cast an “Engorgio” on the goat, slowly increasing the size of the woven being so that it stood tall bove both of you.

 

“Yeah…twenty feet is good,” you murmured to yourself and hovered your bag so that it sat a few yards away up against one of the logs you had transported to the glade earlier this afternoon. The garland and runes now wrapped snugly around the appendages of the goat. You paced over to the outer end of the spiral and bent down, but noticed Professor Snape’s position. 

 

“I wouldn’t stand there if I were you, Professor.”

 

His brows quirked as he looked down and realized he was standing on one of the outer evergreen branches and stepped back. You hummed as something small found its way into your hand while you sank to your knees. He heard clicking come from the object, little sparks flashing in accompaniment. At that moment, Snape realized what you were about to do.

 

You were going to set this all on fire.

 

By now, you’d let your patronus disappear. A flame ignited at the end of the lighter, a smile gracing your face as it caught onto the first branch, nourished with support from the alcohol. The sprigs of the evergreen snapped and crackled with satisfying pops. You had shuffled away to the dusted log and sat down in the snow against it. Your professor still stood close to the outer edge of the spiral, staring down at the way the fire began to feed itself and inched along its predetermined path. From your position he looked rather disconcerting, but in a good way, the growing glow of the fire sharpening the edges of his dark silhouette.

 

Muttered curses from behind made him look over his shoulder. You were sitting against a log, your thumbs were working the top of another large glass bottle. A sonorous pop sounded off as a cork rocketed off into the distance, plopping somewhere in the snow. He spared one last glance at the kindling vegetation and paced over towards you.

 

“That better not be what I think it is,” he said.

 

“And if it is?” There was a glint in your eyes. Golden liquid that filled a cup you’d retrieved from your bag hovered inches away from your lips. “Last I checked I’m above the legal drinking age of this country.” He apparently didn’t take too kindly to your cheek, albeit lighthearted, and wandlessly accio’d your cup to himself before you could take a sip. 

 

“Hey—”

 

“I would think you are smart enough to know not to be drinking in the middle of the woods, much less in front of a professor,” he admonished.

 

You leaned back against the log, arms crossed and bottle in hand, a challenging smirk finding its way to your face. “How is what I am doing any different than Black drinking wine at the dinner table in front of students?”

 

“The difference being that I can give you detention,” he answered with a sneer.

 

“Oh how mean,” you chuckled. “Threatening me with detention on Christmas. But honestly, is it really a crime to enjoy a bottle of apple cider?”

 

He said nothing, holding your gaze as the space between you was charged with facetious energy. His eyes narrowed as he raised the glass up to his nose and lightly sniffed the gleaming juice. Sure enough it smelled of crisp apples rather than the burning scent of firewhiskey or some kind of wine.

 

“May I have my cup back now?” you held your hand out toward the professor expecting him to hover it back over to you.

 

“...No.” Instead, he decided to steal it for himself and took a drink as he ambled over to the log, taking a seat some feet away from you.

 

You feigned offense, a hand splayed against your chest while a corner of your mouth curled playfully. “My! I allow you to witness such a spectacle and you have the audacity to steal my apple cider? How discourteous.”

 

He half grunted and growled against the cup. “Quit being cheeky,” it implied, which made you smile as you began to drink straight from the bottle.

 

“What is supposed to happen now?” you heard him say. "Well…I suppose that is up to you. What I’ve done here strays from what is customary. I’ve more or less combined three different yule traditions into one.” You emphasized this explanation by interlacing your fingers in front of you. “With the solstice spiral, typically one would light candles along the path instead of setting it ablaze like I did, and walk to the center. Some people pray or leave a gift. Others use it as a time to quietly reflect upon themselves or how they might want the new year to be. I’m particularly partial to that option. However, no one is obligated to do anything. It is not unheard of for people to just watch the candles flicker and drink, share stories, or just sit in silence and enjoy the ambiance. To each their own,” you raised the bottle in a motion that resembled a toast before taking a long swig. 

 

Hands found their way to your forehead, melded together into a fist much like at the dinner table earlier that evening with your legs bent and elbows pressing into your thighs. You breathed deeply, but softly, closing your eyes and allowing your surroundings to fall away as you entered an introspective subspace. Before you even began to open the can of worms that was yourself, you thought about the people who were currently in your life. Though you maintained a distant, watchful eye over the peers you saw day to day, the number of people who you considered to be close to you was few, a short list comprising of three people: George, Fred, and Dumbledore. You wished the twins success in all their classes and prosperity for them and their family. For Dumbledore, you wished him good health and strength. You considered Dumbledore to be like a father to you (even though he looked like a grandpa). In the almost three years that you’ve known him, he’d been a big help for you mentally and you were thankful he allowed you to transfer to Hogwarts in the first place. As for your teachers you wished…

 

Snape took your sudden change in position as an indication that you were reflecting as you had mentioned seconds ago, diverting his eyes back towards the flames that threatened to spread up the goat. The soft ends of his gloved finger tips grazed over the ones wrapped around the cup.

 

He felt awkward.

 

He wasn’t an avid participant of the holidays or its traditions, at least as much as he could help it when Dumbledore wasn’t forcing him to attend anything. There was always the lingering presence of expectations that seemed to put a damper on his ability to simply be, that if he wasn’t supportive or enthusiastic about the usual social conventions like Christmas parties, white elephants, or parading around in merriment that he was somehow at fault or that there was something inherently wrong with him. It was a lack of freedom really, both physical and emotional, something that had always been controlled by his parents and the restrictions of his job. Now, at this moment, he was presented with options. The ability to choose without judgment.

 

So he did nothing, but watch the flames, how they danced with a twisted sense of grace as if the most delicate thing in existence despite its destructive demonstration before him. It was almost hypnotic, the way the orange and yellow heat blended against the dull, pale moonlight, your two saviors from total darkness. There was no trace of that fetid alcohol to be detected from the malefic burning, masked by the smell of pine, citrus and spice, a quaint combination that smelled as pleasant as it was tranquilizing. He set the now empty cup in the snow, his fingers resting over one another in his lap. With the exception of the crackling fire, there was not a sound to be heard in the forest around. It was as though you had brought him to a transcendental sanctum.

 

However, that feeling of quietude was replaced by, once again, the feeling of being watched. His eyes swept around the glade, squinting at the imposing boulders and trying to discern any peculiar shapes in the treeline and dense undergrowth, but the low flames were not strong enough to provide light that would reach the circumference of the glade. Even behind the both of you, he found nothing. He stole a quick glance and saw you were still reflecting to yourself, seemingly oblivious or invincible to the eerie feeling he had so easily picked up on. Perhaps, it was the fact that the two of you were in a secluded part of the woods in the dead of night. His eyebrows knitted together as the unshakable impression refused to leave his chest.

 

Then, in his peripheral toward the right side of the glade, he saw something moving in the fog that had condensed at the edge of the glade as a result of the fire, or rather it seemed like the fog itself was moving. There was no wind, nothing that could disturb the fog into shifting or changing shape. He zeroed in on that spot, his casting hand skimming to his wand in cautious anticipation.

 

Finally, it revealed itself. They revealed themselves. Spirits. There were three of them, one much shorter than the other two. Their spectral, flowing forms matched the hazy white of the fog; billowing curtain-like robes trailing behind as they walked slowly as if entranced. If they were ghosts he wouldn’t have even blinked. But spirits and ghosts were not the same. Spirits closely resembled dementors, their figures being nothing but floating phantasmic robes and a gaping void of a face obscured by a hood. And like dementors, spirits were almost always malevolent; the best option being to avoid their presence unless one was experienced in the Dark Arts.

 

“Get up,” Snape hissed, prompting you to open your eyes and turn your head to him and frown slightly.

 

“What-” He didn’t wait for you to breathe another word as he shot up from the log and swiftly closed the distance between the two, jerking you up from the snow by your upper arm and shoving you behind him, his body acting as a shield as one arm kept you behind him while the other held out his wand resolutely. 

 

His hastened demeanor sent a wave of apprehension through you. “What's wrong?” He didn’t respond, keeping his focus on the reverent beings. You peeked around his side and saw that he had his wand drawn and readied. Your eyes followed the direction of the slender ebony wand and widened when you saw them. The alarm you felt shifted to mirth almost instantly.

 

“Professor.” You kept your voice steady with a hint of a smile. “It’s alright. I’ve been expecting them.”

 

He didn’t budge, keeping his glare on the new arrivals as they moved toward the two of you. Almost ten yards away was another log placed at a perpendicular angle to the one the two of you stood at. The spirits trudged to said log, taking residence on the end closer to you and Professor Snape, the smaller one sitting between the two taller ones. 

 

“Really,” you gently placed your gloved hands on the arm that prevented you from stepping forward. “It’s fine. We’re fine. I was anticipating their arrival. They are here to watch and nothing else.” You drew back from Snape and once again took a seat against the log, accio’ing your bottle to yourself. He still remained planted in a somewhat defensive position as he thought, assessing the situation for himself.

 

There were three of them, which was highly unusual as spirits were solitary beings. They are attracted to the presence of people, human bodies serving as vessels as they sought the feeling of being alive again. Yet, they were just here to watch… Or so you claim. Malevolent spirits steer clear of bright lights as it is their weakness, however, if they were here to watch, did that mean they were fond of the light? The burning? If that is the case…

 

Then these spirits were likely no threat.

 

He relaxed his stance but maintained a cautious grip on his wand. He glanced behind him and saw you were sitting down again, unbothered by the presence of the dark creatures. Your eyes met the voided “face” of the smaller spirit who looked at the two of you curiously. You offered a small smile and waved to the otherworldly figure who chortled in response, resembling the call of a loon with a gruff, echoing overlay as it gave a cloaked wave back. The sound sent a giddy shiver down your spine, making you titter under your breath. However, you couldn’t help but notice that Professor Snape did not share your amusement. In fact he seemed…bothered?

 

“Who are they?” 

 

A thin trail of cider dribbled along your jaw as you downed the rest of the bottle.“ ‘Dunno,” you said, wiping your mouth. “They just showed up the first time I did this here at Hogwarts and were in attendance last year as well. If I had to guess, I think they are a family...” your voice low and nearly a whisper as you trailed off.

 

The spirits proceeded with their own practice as they stared at the fire. Rather than mimicking what you had done, they seemed to join hands, at least from what Professor Snape was able to make out. Raspy, incoherent whispering sounds reverberating as they seemed to be either conversing with one another or praying. Snape finally surrendered to the strangeness of the situation, his wand arm lowering down to his side and his feet carrying him backward until his calves hit the log, prompting him to sit down again, this time near the other end of the log closest to them. His eyes still flicked observantly between you, the fire and the spectral guests in case they decided to change their tune. 

 

By this point the fire was approaching the center of the spiral. At the same time, the back end of the flaming path was extinguishing itself, having no viable material left to burn and leaving behind a trail of charred greenery. The feet of the large yule goat began to smolder from the heat as each foot was placed upon some median within the spiral's path. This appeared to please the spirits as the unearthly noises they made started to resemble tickled chatter. Meanwhile, your stretched out legs rolling side to side in placidness. 

 

For reasons beyond his ken, Snape found himself in a state of malaise as the fire crept closer and closer to the core branches. He had no reason to be. It was just a fire. However, there was what lay in its wake. The unfamiliarity of his current circumstances and the lack of control he possessed at the moment. What would happen when the fire reached the center? Was there any unpredictable magic involved? How would the spirits react? Then again, maybe he wouldn’t get to find out. The rear of the fire’s swirling length was gaining speed in snuffing itself out. It was a race now—a race to the center.

 

The light that the flames emitted was diminishing, slowly dragging the glade back into natural darkness. Yards became feet, feet became inches until all that was left was a dwindling flame as if a single candle occupied the inside. It’s time in solidarity was short lived as it gave a few desperate flickers before vanishing into a thin, curling waft of smoke. Once again, it was quiet. Even the spirits seemed to be rendered silent. The seconds dragged on as he found himself waiting in anticipation of unknown origin, but still nothing happened and you had made no movements yourself.

 

“Is that i—”

 

CRACK

 

It was as though someone had snapped a large whip. Sparks flew from the feet of the yule goat, the fire finally kindling enough under the feet to catch on the alcohol-absorbed material. In one swift motion, the fire whooshed up, engulfing the goat in a giant, bursting fireball, eliciting squeals and deep hums of delight from the undead spectators. This batch of fire was different. Instead of the typical orange and yellow light with the tinge of blue at the center, this fire was bright green with a saturated red center. The flames roared, sending a wave of radiating warmth around the glade, heating him to the point where he didn’t need his scarf. The snow all around now reflected the same green, the sheer size of the fire casting bizarre, dancing shadows along the treeline and impressive rocks. 

 

The white parts of your hair adapted to the light, also taking on a green appearance while the red parts of your hair darkened to nearly black. You peered at Professor Snape and saw that he was seemingly spellbound by the burning yule goat, his attention away from the spirits who huddled close to each other. 

 

Even after death—in their limbo of nonexistence did they have one another.  

 

Your eyes became hot, and not because of the fire, as a tightness grew in your chest. 

 

Damn it…

 

The scorching viridescent and red heat snapped and crackled loudly, lending itself as a diversion of your attention. You tried to let yourself get lost in the bending flames that usually served as a catalyst for your reveries, but to no avail. The tears were building fast and blurring your sight, turning the colorfully burning goat into a festive kaleidoscope within your vision. Holding it in wouldn’t do you any good, but you would’ve been more comfortable letting it out in privacy. You remained like this for what felt like a long time, but was only mere minutes. The salty tears enveloped your sight and teetered on your lower lids, held back by sheer willpower. The languor of your surroundings threatened to give you away if you so much as let out a shaky breath or a sniffle. Your hands hugged your arms in a self-soothing motion and as you focused on breathing, taking every second as it came.

 

Then, you made the mistake of blinking too fast. 

 

At the feeling of the first tear rolling down your cheek you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop the incoming wave. Hastily shedding your coat and scarf, letting them fall into the snow behind you and taking it even farther by rolling your sweater sleeves up to your elbows, you scooched forward a couple feet away from the log wanting to feel the warmth directly on the skin of your arms. A dry, clawing sensation was building into an ache within your throat as your bottom lip quivered.

 

“Silencio,” your voice barely a whisper, tapping your wand against your neck.

 

With the reassurance of being muted, you let your tears flow in a persistent trickle down your face, dripping on to your sweater. You could feel yourself sniffle and your breath become shaky while remaining inaudible under the silencing charm, your shoulders and chest rising up and down in shudders. The release felt nice and you couldn’t care less if Professor Snape saw. Despite your sadness, you were able to summon your patronus again. You found that the more you used the spell the less reliant you became on any one specific memory. Practice makes perfect.

 

In your mental connection with the runespoor it felt your melancholy. While the middle head stared at the colorful fire and righty snuffled at the snow, lefty took it upon himself to coil his body snugly around your crossed legs and torso in a constrictive motion like he was giving you a hug. He felt pleasantly solid. You had lifted your arms up to allow him to do so, resting them on it's body as if you were in a pool floatie. As he circulated again and slithered in front of you, he leveled his massive head with yours and prodded one of your cheeks with his nose in an attempt to wipe away the tears that streamed down your face, drawing a muffled ‘mph’ from you as you were forced to close an eye as a result. He repeated the same action on the other cheek as well.

 

Snape thought nothing of it when you had summoned your patronus to join you in the snow.

 

He also thought nothing of it when the patronus began to slither around you in an almost protective manner.

 

That was until he saw your face; lips pressed together in a tight line while the corners of your mouth quivered, eyes glassy and leaking tears that glinted in the light of the fire, staring intensely at the green and red flames as if you’d die if you looked away as your shoulders bounced in slight jerks. The patronus was trying to wipe them away, but was unsuccessful, though you appreciated the sentiment and returned the gesture by running your hands along its lower jaw and pecking its nose. Snape frowned, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to think. You were fine minutes ago.

 

The temptation to look inside your mind was strong, but he thought better of it. Instead, he just sat and stayed silent.

 

Eventually, creaking, snapping noises came from the burning goat. Its charred body gave out at the knees and the goat came tumbling down, sending sparks into the air. This marked the end of the ritual; the spirits let out a departing coo before fading away into thin air. Your patronus unraveled itself around you as you promptly stood up and checked your watch.

 

Midnight. Perfect timing.

 

You aimed your wand at the fallen, broken monument and reduced the charred remains until it was nothing but a pile of smoldering ash and glowing embers. The branches of the spiral were burnt to a crisp, caking the snow underneath in black soot. Like you did in the beginning, you walked the path of the spiral, but this time you kicked at the brittle cinder, scattering the burnt remains and mixing them amongst the snow. 

 

Snape stood from the log, sweeping snow off his shoulders and wherever else it may have accumulated on his body from the snowflakes. You were in the center once more trampling on some particularly stubborn embers. The evidence that a burning had even taken place here was now wiped away, either buried in the snow or reduced to crumbling pieces identical to the natural forest debris.

 

With your back turned to the potion master, you released the silencing spell, wiping the last few tears away with the heel of your gloved palm. Your hands came to rest on the back of your neck, fingers interlocking in a position that supposedly helped with breathing easier. It did help a little. All three heads were doting on you now, leaning in close nuzzling their noses against your sides and face. 

 

“...nk you…” you murmured to them. A sigh escaped you, the weight of Christmas Day lifting itself from your body after a good cry. The scorched remains around you were scattered enough to your satisfaction and you had no doubt they’d be completely buried by morning. A chill seized your upper body sending goosebumps prickling along your arms, now cold from the absence of your winter wear and previously roaring fire. You turned to retrieve your coat and scarf and barely took more than a step when you were met with your professor holding said items in his hands a few feet away.

 

You rolled your sweater sleeves back down before fitting the coat back over your frame, the dark wool clothing wrapping around you cozily and bringing warmth to your body once again. By the time you had tugged the hems down to straighten out the coat, Professor Snape had already closed almost all the distance that was left between you two. Before you even registered it, he brought the thick scarf over your head and began wrapping it around your neck, not too tight, but not too loose. The spontaneous action made you blink rapidly as you grew increasingly flustered. Your automatic reflex was to shift your gaze down and away. You could’ve done it yourself…

 

His eyes darted over your face. You seemed confounded by the gesture. “It is freezing out here. Do not make me tell you a third time to keep...your layers...on,” he muttered, ever austere as he fidgeted the scarf in place.

 

The Santa hat covered the tops of your ears which you were sure were burning pink. 

 

Distracting yourself as he withdrew his hands, you checked your watch again. 12:06. Even if the forest you were in was generally safe, it wasn’t a good idea to be in any forest during the witching hour. “ ‘S past midnight…” you mumbled. “We should leave before anything misanthropic decides to make an appearance.”

 

Snape only grunted in agreement. You accio’d your bag to yourself and even though you knew the way back you signaled for your patronus to take the lead.

 

***

 

While snowflakes did continue to gently fall, the thick haze that had enveloped the snowy pastures hours ago thinned out, the night sky now visible to your eyes. Clouds obscured many of the stars tonight. At least with the clarity you could see how the more luminous appearing moonlight cast blotchy patches of light on the dark clouds. Even in the frigid night the castle looked monumental and winsome in the distance.

 

“You are not going to apparate back?” you queried, noticing your professor’s prolonged presence.

 

“That wouldn’t make me a very responsible head of house,” he drawled.

 

“I can literally see the castle from here and I’ve got a giant runespoor to scare off anything that dares to pop up. I’ll be fine.”

 

“I’m aware you are perfectly capable of navigating your way back, however, I do not trust you to actually make your way back. Who's to say the minute I apparate away you won’t go walking on the ice of the Great Lake or climb into the highest tree?”

 

“Interesting… So what exactly is it you think I’ve been doing all this time when you aren’t present?”

 

Snape didn’t indulge the challenging tone in your voice. Mainly because you had a point. He was aware that as of late, your attire in the morning being the indicator, that you would disappear after breakfast only to return to the castle hours later for dinner, presumably taking a lunch with you, doing merlin knows what. For all he knew you could be doing exactly the things he just hypothesized. Still, that did not stop him from sending you a testy look.

 

The left head of your patronus got your attention hissing softly at you as the other two heads kept trying to lunge forward at something. It seems it was attempting to hold the others back for a moment. You squinted ahead to see what it was they were looking at. In the distance was a watch of nightingale birds flitting about, singing and searching for morsels in the snow. From what you could tell, your runespoor really wanted to have a go at them.

 

“Yeah, yeah—go on,” you murmured, waving your hand dismissively. It wasted no time whipping his head back to the others, surging forward in the snow with such speed. All three heads kept low to the ground as if the birds wouldn’t be able to see a massive three-headed snake slither towards them. As predicted the birds kept out of reach, even when each individual head lunged and snapped their jaws as far as they could reach. The birds didn’t fly away but kept low enough where it almost seemed like they were taunting the ethereal creature, their melodious chirps akin to derisive laughter.

 

You snorted at the sight of your seemingly ferocious patronus being outwitted by tiny brown birds. When it got annoyed with the flock, your patronus looked around towards Hagrid's Hut and became much more interested in the bird-like creature that slept in the backyard.

 

“Uh-uh. That is not for you,” you called sternly. Your patronus paused waiting for you and Snape to catch up as it hissed and shook its heads in frustration. “I don’t want you scaring Buckbeak into not trusting me anymore. You’re much bigger than him, mister.” The three heads slouched down on themselves like they were grumping. You gave the heads one last pet and let the runespoor disappear. The tip of your wand tapped against the sides of your head as you cast a charm to return your hair back to normal, the colors receding from tips to roots beneath the Santa hat.  

 

Snape muttered something, making you turn your head towards him. “Huh?”

 

“How did you make the fire appear the way it did?”

 

“Floo powder. As for the red…strontium nitrate.”

 

“I am not familiar with such an ingredient.”

 

“Aha…it's a no-maj inorganic chemical compound commonly used in fireworks. Since I can’t apparate to muggle London, I got creative and took apart a firework from Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop. I don't normally go about coloring the fire, but I wanted to do something special for the spirits since it was the last time…”

 

His jaw twitched. Right. Sometimes he forgets that even though it’s only your third year here, it’s also your last.

 

“But who knows,” you smiled. “Maybe I can show the twins and they can burn a goat of their own next year.”

 

“You will do no such thing. Those two will be the reason that forest burns down,” Snape warned.

 

You snorted, your hands squishing your cheeks to warm them up. “I have to say, I am a little surprised you blindly followed me into the woods even when I gave you such little information. For all you know, I could’ve been luring you into a trap to use you as a blood sacrifice. I thought you had better judgment.”

 

“You have a big head if you think I could be bested by a silly girl.”

 

“We ought to test that theory sometime before I leave. And wouldn't making such a declaration without proof make you just as big-headed?” 

 

He sneered. “Do you plan on being this insufferable for the remainder of the way?”

 

“If I was truly insufferable you’d have apparated away by now or hit me with a snowball.” You smirked, kicking up a pile of powdery snow. “Clearly I’m not being insufferable enough.”

 

Something bulbous in your bag kept bumping against you. Your hand snaked its way through your belongings until your fingers found the source, tracing along the smooth outer shells and tightly wound rope. They were untested holly bombs about the size of a billiards ball with a thin line of rope sprouting out from each one. Not only was the design alternative, but you had charmed the insides with an Extension Charm to hold more material while still remaining dimensionally unchanged on the outside. A different shape was branded into the outside of each; a cloud, a cluster of stars, and one that looked like a slime puddle or an ink splash. You were in an ideal setting to test them…open fields, plenty of space…

 

You retrieved a pen and your experimenting notebook, holding the pen between your lips as you flipped to the section designated for this version of the holly bombs. Placing the other two bombs in your coat pocket, your hand clenched around the bomb with a cloud symbol, wandlessy and wordlessy casting an “Incendio,” lighting the fuse. It wasn’t a very long fuse, around two inches in length, and waited until the flame was about ¾ of the way down before throwing it far to the side.

 

It exploded with a KRAK, but the results were pitiful, the blast radius seemed alright but the amount of smoke was a far cry from what you desired. You took the pen from your lips, scowling in disappointment and jotted down some notes.

 

HOLLY BOMBS V.2.0

 

Smoke T.1: POOR

 

-Blast size shows potential but amount of smoke is insufficient for purpose. Smoke longevity needs tweaking as well.

-Level of combustible material is currently satisfactory.

-Need to increase the amount of powder in other agents. 

-Maybe switch to a denser ingredient(s)?

 

Your hand found the next one, the one with three stars in a triangle formation. After lighting it, you casted “Wingardium Leviosa,” levitating the ball a little over 50 feet into the air. It sizzled and boomed, lighting up the sky above with four fireworks, one for each house and their designated color with dazzling sparkles.

 

You hummed in satisfaction, switching out the pen in your mouth for your wand as you scribbled down some notes under a section for the firework bomb.

 

Outstanding…No…changes… Think about making different shapes…

 

“What on Earth are you doing?” His voice was suspicious. You murmured something about “running some tests,” but your words sounded more or less incoherent against the wood of your wand.

 

You brought the last one that was cradled in your pocket up to your ear, shaking it lightly and listening to the sound of sloshing. Though it may not look like it on the outside, this ball held several gallons of liquid. You were hoping this one was successful not to need any adjusting as you had spent quite a while on this particular bomb. 

 

You tossed it up in the air a few times, feeling its weight. It was a little heavier than the other two and had a shorter fuse. A quick peek at your Professor told you he was heedful of the object as he watched you toss it about so haphazardly. Without warning, you fluidly tossed it in his direction. His hands reflexively caught the bomb as if it would blow up if he hadn’t caught it.

 

“Wanna have a go?”

 

He scoffed. “I’d rather not encourage your nonsensical shenanigans.”

 

“Ah c’mon, it’s the last one. I promise.” You turned out your coat pockets to emphasize your honesty. And much to your satisfaction he rolled his eyes derisively but nonetheless lit the fuse.

 

“Now throw it.”

 

In hindsight, you really should have told him what exactly it was he was throwing. You assumed he would’ve thrown it in a similar manner as you, putting enough power behind it to send it far enough into the distance. And that was your mistake. Instead, he made an unenthusiastic lob, sending the object not nearly as far enough as you expected, its role coming to a stop only five yards away.

 

Your eyes widened with panic as you fumbled your notebook away and withdrew your wand out of your mouth. "Wait, not that— ”

 

POW!

 

In the blink of an eye, the white snow in front of and around the two of you was now coated red. It was as though someone had a firehose filled with red gloopy liquid and went to town. Snape urgently looked down at his attire and was relieved to find that he was still dressed in black, not a drop of red to be found on him. However, his eyes caught on to something that was touching his chest dripping with red substance, but not getting onto his clothes. He realized it was your wand and followed its path to find you—the front face of your body covered nearly head to toe in the red substance that dripped into a puddle at your feet. It seems that you had ‘Protego’d’ him from the blast.

 

“Close,” you breathed out, finishing your sentence and lowering your wand down to your side. Your eyes weren’t open yet, but the fact that you could feel the thick runny liquid on your face and in your braids meant that your bomb had some success. Ever so slowly you peeled off an equally dirty glove and used your clean hand to wipe the mess out of your eyes and off your mouth. The whites of your eyes stood out amongst the soupy wetness that layered your face. Your eyelashes were a bit sticky as a result but at least you could see your surroundings now. And you were right. It was like walking in on a crime scene where the victims were a couple of giants. You yourself looked as though you had been Carrie’d.

 

“Outstanding,” you murmured with a tiny smirk, relishing the success of your labor. Professor Snape, however, did not share your amusement and looked rather bewildered.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you have something like that?” he upbraided.

 

“ ‘S just paint. You sound awfully irritated for someone not covered in it.” You tried using your scarf to wipe the paint off, but it was just as glazed and only smeared the redness around your face even more. Snape grimaced as something ticked at his mind. 

 

It really did look a lot like blood.

 

“Answer me.” He crossed his arms. “Why do you have that?” 

 

“Use that big brain of yours, Professor,” you said, stroking some of the paint out of your braids. “Fireworks, the color red, the general chaos of it all… Who does that remind you of?”

 

His nose wrinkled in disapproval. “So childish…” he muttered, to which you merely snickered at in return. He looked you up and down once more before drawing his own wand and cast a cleaning spell on you, but nothing happened. Again, he tried, but with the same results as he knitted his brows. 

 

“Don’t bother,” you waved him off. “It is not regular paint. These clothes will be turning rainbow for a couple of days before the stains even begin to fade away. I’ll definitely need to shower tonight…” On cue, the paint began turning orange…then yellow…and so on. It was the same with the paint in the snow, both of you surrounded by the color-changing fluid.

 

In the edge of your vision you could see him reach out to you. Before you could tell him not to touch you or attempt to try to wipe it off any of the paint, he placed his hand on the back of your shoulder where it was clean. The world twisted and warped around like you and you felt like you were being forced through a very tight rubber tube. Before you knew it, you had been apparated to the Slytherin common room. 

 

Instantly, both hands flew up to your mouth as your top half curled over a little, a wave of nausea rolling through you. When you were sure that the sick feeling had settled you set your dirtied bag down against the nearby wall so it wouldn’t get near any of the rugs. You discarded your boots, gloves, scarf and coat, turning it inside out so it didn’t drip onto the floor as much. The green sweater underneath remained perfectly clean. You accio’d a hand towel out of the bathroom from all the way down the dorm hallway and started wiping your face when you noticed Snape eyeing you. Probably making sure you didn’t make even more of a mess.

 

“The book…?” You asked as you dragged the towel up your face, smooshing your cheek. “Is it clean…?”

 

His eyes widened a touch before he withdrew the item out from inside his coat. He inspected every millimeter and was thankful to find no paint on the cover. “It appears to be fine.”

 

“Good…good…uhm...about that…” The words were right on the tip of your tongue but you held them back. You weren’t sure if it would be wise to reveal yourself. Being anonymous with these things was more your style. Plus, he seemed happy with the book under the pretense that it came from Dumbledore and you didn’t wish to ruin that. 

 

“...Maybe place a tracking spell on that book and any others you take around that castle. Imagine what would’ve happened if it fell into the hands of Black or another student.” You wiped the last glob of paint off your forehead and nose, your face currently stained purple. 

 

The potion master rolled his eyes, swooping towards the exit as he muttered. “As if I need you telling me how to take care of my books.”

 

Chapter 32: Happy New Year

Summary:

A New Year's Eve party brings new experiences.

cw: talk of blood supremacy,

December 31 - New Year's Eve

 

Up…

 

Down…

 

Up…

 

Down…

 

You’d been debating what to do with your hair as you stared at yourself in the standing mirror. If you wore your hair up, you’d be able to see your scars peaking out along your hairline, not that you cared, but tonight was different. Tonight, you were going to a party and you didn’t want anyone asking about them. It was not just any party either. It was a New Year’s Eve party.

 

Hosted by the Malfoys.

 

Yesterday, Hermes found you while you were walking about Hogsmeade buying some potion ingredients. In his mouth was a letter with a wax seal and your name scrawled in fancy calligraphy, the shimmery ink and presence of your name suggesting the letter was different from what you had received before. And you were right. 

 

Dear Y/N,

 

You are hereby invited to the annual New Year's Eve party hosted at Malfoy Manor. There will be food, drinks, music, and a fireworks show to celebrate. We’d love to have you present and it will be an opportunity for you to meet other fine and accomplished witches and wizards of the UK.

 

Time: ~9:00pm~

Attire: ~Semi-formal robes of silver/gold~

 

Sincerely,

The Malfoys

 

After a good amount of standing in the snowy street and shielding your pinkened face with the letter, you decided to sneak off to Diagon Alley. Why? Because you didn’t have any wizarding robes. Well, you did, just not here at Hogwarts. They were all back home. And this was a special occasion of course. Again, you weren’t one to care for such attire, but this was too interesting of an opportunity not to pass up, so you needed something charming that conformed to the requested dress code. Sure, you could’ve gone and gotten a dress, but you figured with an old-money family like the Malfoys as well as the type of people who’d be attending, everyone would stick to the conventional wizarding attire, so you decided you would as well. You wouldn’t have to worry about sticking out tonight or accidentally dressing too extravagantly. If your instincts were right, those invited would drown themselves in the most lavish clothing money could buy and exquisite jewels, ignoring the “semi” part of semi-formal to communicate their wealth. Yeah, you’d be just fine.

 

So here you were now in your black velvet and lace robes gilded with a glinting, gold rococo-esque detailing; your hands threaded through your hair, moving your locks up and down in uncertainty. Down felt more comfortable, but you wanted to spice it up a bit. 

 

A pin could work, you thought to yourself with a raised eyebrow as there were some locks of hair that had a tendency to fall in front of your face a little due to your side part. After some digging around in your wardrobe, a particular pin caught your eye, a leaf-like one that closely resembled the pattern in the gold trim of your robes. Clipping the locks away, you completed your appearance with a light smokey eye and a deep wine-red lip. Attire-wise, you looked like a completely different person.

 

After one last glance over in the mirror, you checked the time and saw that it was now 9:45 PM. The party started almost an hour ago which meant there’d already be people there, though it’s not like you planned on arriving right as their doors opened. As you stepped out of the common room and into the dungeon corridors, you thought over your route. Since you didn’t know how to apparate, you’d resigned to taking a floo. There were a couple of floos in the castle but they were all in the offices of the heads of houses and one in the Gryffindor common room. Lucky sons of bitches. However, you did find out from a house elf when you ventured down to the kitchens for extra dessert after dinner that the fireplace in the Hogwarts kitchen was connected to the floo network, and therefore, could be used to take you directly to Malfoy Manor.

 

Dumbledore knew where you were going tonight and yet you still felt the need to move swiftly and silently throughout the corridors. You peeked your head around every corner and every doorway before proceeding with caution. Thankfully, you ran into no passerbies along the way and breathed a sigh of relief when you finally made it to the kitchen, breathing a sigh of relief while shutting the double doors behind you and leaning against the smooth wood, having navigated the castle with no disruptions. 

 

“Y/N?”

 

You snapped your head up to the source of the voice to find Black standing by a large row of shelves and cabinets, holding a goblet and bottle midpour with a puzzled expression on his face.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

 

“What are you doing here?” you responded.

 

“I’m going to the Malfoy’s New Year's Eve party.”

 

“ I’m going to the Malfoy’s New Year's Eve party.”

 

Even though you only tolerated Black, you couldn’t help but let a smirk slip that matched his own, the two of you amused by the absurdity of your circumstances. His eyes caught on to your attire, flitting up and down. “Well done,” he said, raising the goblet as if to give a little toast. “You look splendid.”

 

“Thanks,” you stood up straight against the doorway. You took notice of his own appearance. “You look nice as well…but god damn I think I’ll go blind if you stand directly under a chandelier tonight.” Black wore a traditional black ruffled button-up with an ornate brocade overrobe that looked more like a coat. The silver gleamed even in the low lighting of the kitchen.

 

“I’ve got to bring attention to my lovely self somehow,” he grinned, taking a hearty swig of what you presumed to be wine, drawing your attention back to the goblet

 

“Oh, wow. Have you been pre-gaming?” You cocked an eyebrow.

 

He clicked his tongue. “I refuse to wait another hour for the party champagne to kick in and Merlin knows the people the Malfoys have likely invited will give me a headache the minute I step foot in the mansion.”

 

“Fair enough.” You looked around the room and spotted the large hearthstone fireplace with a cauldron of floo powder hanging beside it. “Guess I’ll see you there then.”

 

“You are going to take a floo?” He asked to which you only nodded in response. “Nonsense, I’ll apparate us both there. And besides, you’ll get soot all over your nice robes.”

 

“Fine,” you sighed. “But if I lose a limb, I’m going to beat you to death with it.”

 

“That’s the spirit.”

 

***

 

The nippy London air chilled your face as you and Black snapped into existence just past an imposing set of wrought iron gates, the tall, lush green hedges forcing your view to converge on a magnificent manor at the other end. Even from where you stood, you could see dark silhouettes moving across the many windows of the warmly lit interior. Further down towards the manor were a few parked cars along the hedges, driven presumably by those who preferred not to apparate. They were older cars, notably Bentleys and Mercedes that you guessed were from the 1950s or 60s that had that expensive appearance to them despite being outdated.

 

“I feel there is something I should brief you on about Malfoy parties,” Black said as the two of you began to walk. “While we are here, you might encounter some individuals with some…less-than-savory opinions about non-pureblooded witches and wizards. 

 

Your shoulders tensed. “Oh god, are the Malfoys—”

 

“No… well …they were more or less indifferent when we all went to school, but now they’re very embracing of it. They care more about one’s character and ability to contribute to society than they do blood status. However, there will surely be those in attendance tonight who either still remain indifferent or stuck in their hateful ways having grown up around the so-called “dogma" that is pureblood supremacy. Their being invited more so has to do with maintaining pretense, investments, connections, etc., not because Lucius and Narcissa still support such old-fashioned thinking. If you don’t mind me asking, what might you be?”

 

“Half.”

 

He winced a little, but out of sympathy. “Always a bit trickier navigating these people when one is half-blooded…”

 

“Oh, pssh! Like I give a fuck about what some snobby assholes think of me. If they don’t like me they can take it up with my two middle fingers,” you proclaimed with an emboldened smirk on your face. 

 

Black snorted. “As waggish as I find your sailor’s mouth to be, I suggest keeping those particular set of vocabulary words to yourself tonight. You may not be afraid of their attitudes or power, but they will definitely complain to Narcissa and Lucius should they find your presence distasteful."

 

“Fine, I’ll reel it in for the evening,” you huffed. 

 

Other guests who were just arriving or stood near the entrance doors while still inside the manor eyes you and Black as you walked up the smoothly carved limestone steps. Some looked at Black in recognition. 

 

The entrance was impressive. The nearly black, ebony wood shined with a glinting polish that smoothly transitioned into the intricately carved balusters of the two sets of curving staircases that led to an overlooking foyer populated by other party guests. Soft, scintillating, instrumental jazz resonated through the air accompanied by the smell of professionally catered food. Flutes of champagne were held in the grasp of every party guest, loosening their minds and their tongues. Portraits hung sporadically along the ornate and chiseled interiors, bearing witness to any debauchery tonight.

 

“Well, I am off to mingle. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the Malfoys. Just look for Lucius’s hair I suppose. Try not to tread on any toes tonight, but also…” he leaned close and murmured, “Don’t let anyone walk all over you as well.” He gave you a subtle wink and a departing pat on your shoulder before meandering over to a group of women who seemed to be undressing him with their eyes the moment he stepped foot in the manor.

 

Your hands found their place clasped behind your back as you walked tall at a relaxed place, your movements giving you a sort of grace that didn’t make you look arrogant or vain. You roamed the main floor in an almost aimless manner in order to get a feel for the place. Despite the absurd amount of people here, it was quite easy to navigate the manor as most guests were conscious enough to stand near the walls so that people could walk without bumping into one another. 

 

As predicted, everyone was dressed in posh clothing to a nearly overcompensating degree, especially the women who adorned themselves in ornate yet rather gaudy jewelry, corsets, and dress robes. The men looked nearly identical, the decorated cloaks that distinguished one another having been given to a coat checker. You made brief eye contact with many people and it dawned on you just how exclusive of an event this actually was. They eyed you with a mixture of vague curiosity and heavy suspicion; the kind of icy stare that asks “Who invited you? ” Or perhaps they simply didn’t like your attire. You had stepped into a reality where everyone knew everyone and based on the way people glanced at you, it seemed there was no room for outliers.

 

But this was child’s play for you. You went to a public no-maj school after all. Cliques and overall bitchiness were the name of the game and you were more than willing to return the same energy should you please. You stared onwards. They might as well have been a part of the wallpaper. However, to those who gave you a particularly nasty look, you simply narrowed your eyes back in the same cold manner. 

 

You stumbled upon what you imagined was a large sitting room where most people were filtering in and out of. There were long, white-clothed tables lined with all sorts of hors d'oeuvres, dessert, and champagne towers. All sorts of chatter filled the room as you weaved past guests to get closer to a table, some about ministerial affairs, the usual politics, breakthroughs in various research fields or simply bragging about how they’ve spent their winter holidays thus far. As you approached, you spotted familiar platinum blonde hair on a boy in black and silver robes struggling to grab a glass of one of the drink towers.

 

“Hello, Young Malfoy.”

 

The boy tensed a little but you caught a slight sulk in his posture as he prepared to converse with yet another adult who’d ask him trivial questions about his parents or his own pursuits.

 

“Good evening—” the boy cut himself off, his eyes widening. “Oh! It’s you.” Draco visibly relaxed, but only for a moment before remembering himself. “Er—uh—” He bowed at you. “Good evening and welcome to our home, Miss L/N.”

 

“Stop,” you rolled your eyes. “There is no need for that nonsense when addressing me.”

 

“It’s proper etiquette to.”

 

“I’m aware. Still.” You grabbed a glass of champagne off the tower. “Might I ask why you were trying to sneak a glass?”

 

“I wasn’t going to drink it,” he explained. “I was going to pour it in the bushes and get some water since they are only serving alcohol.” You frowned at his explanation and looked amongst the tables and sure enough there wasn’t really anything to drink besides champagne, wine, and whiskey. You raised the glass of champagne to your lips and began to drink, gulping it down and ignoring the sharp notes of fruitiness that slightly burned at your throat until you had depleted every last drop, resisting the urge to make a “guh” noise as you had swallowed the glass in no less than thirty seconds. Slipping your wand from your sleeve, you transfigured the glass into an ordinary drinking cup and used “Aguamenti” to fill the glass before handing it to Draco. “Don’t set that down anywhere.”

 

“Thank you.” 

 

“So,” you grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry, taking a bite. “Where are your parents? I wanted to thank them for inviting me.”

 

The boy cocked his head towards the other side of the room where a crowded semi-circle of people had formed. It’s not as though they were facing away from you, but their attention was being held by others. “Good luck trying to talk to them. They’ve been hounded since they opened the bloody doors. Honestly, it’s New Year’s Eve. Can’t they talk about something other than boring ministry business?”

 

You hummed. “And how about you? Shouldn’t a boy your age be in bed right about now?” 

 

“Normally I am, but mother and father insisted I should properly get to know some of the other kids my age as we’ll likely be going to Hogwarts together. I also don’t want to miss the fireworks.”

 

You and Draco talked for a little bit and you noticed his demeanor had loosened up a bit, being able to talk freely and a bit more casually since you were unlike the snooty businessmen and women who took up the majority of the guest list. Draco hadn’t thought much of the other kids so far, but only because “they seem socially inept,” he had told you.

 

Eventually, you saw your opportunity when you noticed a break in the conversation amongst the assemblage of people that clustered around the hosts.

 

“Damn Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” you called to them, “How ‘bout you save some beauty for the rest of us?” Yeah… if you hadn’t been encouraged by the glass of champagne you chugged minutes ago you probably wouldn’t have just done that, especially since you had just now garnered the attention of many onlookers. You weren’t lying though. With Lucius’s hair and both their fancy glittering robes of silver, gold, and green, they looked like illustrious royalty of an elvish kingdom.

 

The entire group looked towards you and you met the host and hostesses gaze with a cheeky flash of your eyebrows. Lucius smirked subtly whereas Narcissa was far less reserved, her face lighting up as they both made their way over to you. Those watching were flummoxed by the sight of the Malfoys abandoning their compeers for some strange mystery woman who had acknowledged them in a seemingly ingratiating manner.

 

“Y/N, dear! I’m so happy you could come,” she smiled graciously. Her hands reached out and lightly held your upper arms drawing you closer. You expected her to give you the fake pecks you’d often see rich people do in movies as well as the ones you had seen her give a couple earlier. Boy were you mistaken. She stamped two kisses on your cheeks, her saturated red lipstick leaving two prominent marks that nearly matched the sudden blush that spread over your face.

 

Cue the whispering. You couldn’t hear what people were saying but you could see their lips moving, the way they suddenly leaned towards one another and analyzed the interaction. Your hands rested over her forearms as your eyes shied down and away, your expression flustered. “And your robes! My, you look very darling.” 

 

You regained your composure. “Thank you. And I meant what I said. You look exquisite—the both of you.” You glanced over to the man, offering a small smile and a bow. “Nice to see you again Mr. Malfoy.”

 

“You as well, Miss L/N,” he returned a bow back. “Have you been here long?”

 

“Around twenty minutes or so. I came with Black and I’ve spoken with frui—er—your son for a little.”

 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that there are plenty of people here who are around your age. From what Cissa has told me, you are a bit older than your peers, yes?” You nodded in affirmation. “Most of the people you see here tonight are of families who have strong connections or are employed themselves within the ministry and various research fields. Perhaps you can use tonight to your advantage as far as your future is concerned…or simply to make some new friends,” he spoke with an amiable smile. 

 

As you continued to converse with the Malfoys, a particularly curious group of individuals a few years older than yourself had their eyes on you.

 

“Do any of you know who she is?”

 

“Not a clue.”

 

“Surely your mother knows. She pretty much knows everyone in Great Britain, right?”

 

“I would be inclined to agree, but look at my mother’s face right now. She seems just as confused.”

 

“Maybe she’s a relative?”

 

“Doubt it. She doesn’t have the hair nor does she look like the Blacks or the Lestranges. And if she was, we would've seen her at the Halloween masquerade ball.”

 

“Oi , she’s headed this way.”

 

Upon wrapping up your conversation with the Malfoys, you made your way back over to the catered tables for another drink. The first one you had guzzled was obligatory—to loosen you up and take off any edge that accompanied stepping into foreign territory. Now, you had drifted into a rare mood that occurred only a few times a year where you actually felt like enjoying a drink. You took another glass of bubbly champagne, but remembering the sharp taste, you grabbed some regular strawberries and plopped them into the drink before casting a spell, liquifying the fruit and turning the champagne pinkish-red. A sip of it brought a smile to your lips, the distinct tasting alcohol now more fruity and diluted.

 

God, that’s so much better.

 

“Excuse me, Miss.” Your eyes flitted over to the voice on your right. Before you was a man you guessed to be in his mid-twenties. He had combed back auburn brown hair that brought attention to his set of striking hazel eyes that complimented the gold-encrusted hems of his robes. You half turned to him and he took that as acknowledgement enough to continue. “Your presence seems to have caused quite a stir. Might I ask, is this your first time attending the Malfoys’ New Year's Eve party?”

 

You nodded against the rim of your glass.

 

“Are you enjoying yourself so far?”

 

“Yes, however, you all need to be more subtle with your leering,” you responded flatly.

 

“Oh,” his eyebrows rose at the sound of your voice. “You are an American—not that there’s anything wrong with that, just unexpected. I do apologize for the staring, but it is only natural at these sorts of events. New faces here, especially faces no one seems to have heard of before, are quite piquing.” He plucked a cloth napkin off the table and handed it to you. You rolled your eyes, but nevertheless took the napkin and rubbed away at your cheeks until the red lipstick had faded away. 

 

“What is your relationship with the Malfoys?”

 

“Friends I guess…? I don’t know. I’ve only known them for a couple of weeks.”

 

He gawked. “A couple of weeks? A couple of weeks and you’ve already got Mrs. Malfoy kissing you like you're a soldier coming home from a war. Merlin, it has taken families a couple of years to even be considered worthy of an invite.”

 

“ ‘Dunno what to tell you. That’s only how she has greeted me.” 

 

“You must be something special.” He smiled good-naturedly and offered a hand out to you. “My name is Dean McCaffery by the way.” You eyed him with indifference and accepted his hand.

 

“Y/N,” you uttered.

 

“Not going to tell me your last name?”

 

“My last name should be of no concern to you. It is irrelevant to how others should see me. Besides…showing all my cards would take the fun out of it.”

 

“Interesting…” he smirked at your calculating demeanor. “You plan on taking advantage of your position as mystery woman?”

 

“Of course, I think it will be a suitable tool in discerning who is worth getting to know and who is a toplofty ass.”

 

He fixed you with an amused gaze. “And where do I fall?”

 

“I’m afraid it’s too early to say…” you met his stare with a tiny, challenging smirk. 

 

He chuckled softly. “Alright, then mystery woman… Spare me a tidbit then. What do you do for work?”

 

“I don’t have a job, not currently, at least. I haven’t graduated from school.” He gave you a strange look in response and knew what he was going to say so you continued. “I know, I look a bit older. I’m an unorthodox student. I started wizarding school at 14. I’m currently 20, turning 21 this year.”

 

“I see,” he nodded. “It’s no wonder no one here has ever heard of you. You’ve yet to fully step into the wizarding scene.”

 

“Dean,” a woman’s voice called. She stood next to his friends by the wall and was giving you a particular stink-eye look as her pupils flicked back and forth between the two of you. “Duty calls,” he murmured to himself before giving you a bidding smile. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N. I shall see you around.”

 

After your interaction with Mr. McCaffery, you found it easier to slip into conversations with those who found your presence interesting, asking who you were as you drifted around. There was an older woman you wagered was just breaking into her sixties who complimented your robes and you returned her kindness tenfold with some words of your own about her fashion sense. One thing led to another and she was introducing you to her husband who was a part of a team of wizards looking to improve upon the Wolfsbane potion. He was jovial and took the news rather well that you could make a solid Wolfsbane brew rather well for a ministry man, but upon hearing so, he was more inclined to gush about the routes they were taking when it came to tweaking and testing the potion.

 

You felt light, a warm buzz now radiating through you as you were beginning to enjoy yourself more as you meandered from room to corridor. Then out of the blue, you felt someone grab your arm and pull you into a more or less empty corner. Before you knew it, you were met with the face of your potions professor. 

 

He did not look very happy to see you.

 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. 

 

“Good evening to you too, Professor Snape,” you spoke cordially, liquid courage warming your veins. “I thought I’d take this opportunity to rob the Malfoys blind whilst they enjoy the party. Maybe snag some paintings on the way out.”

 

He wasn’t having your cheek and loomed over you, taking a step forward so that you were forced to step back against the wall if you wished to maintain the same distance. 

 

“I am in no mood for your nonsense right now.”

 

“Some wine should help with that,” you grinned cheekily, but only momentarily as he glared at you like you were a first-year who spilled flubberworm mucus all over his shoes. “Christ, alright —I was invited by the Malfoys. Is that a satisfactory answer?”

 

He narrowed his eyes. “You were invited here?”

 

“So was Black.” You gestured with your glass behind him to the other end of the hallway. “He apparated us both here.”

 

Snape turned his head and sure enough Black was standing at the other end of the hall talking amongst a group of men and women, his cheeks thoroughly rosy with a glass of red wine in his hand. While he was turned away, you took the opportunity to observe his outfit. He still donned his black cloak that made him look imposing, though it was shortened slightly so no one would step on it. It was his coat-like robes, however, that made you snort, causing him to snap his gaze back to you.

 

“I’d hardly call that silver,” you tittered, flicking your chin at him as your eyes roamed the inner hems. The decorative parts of the robes looked more like a metallic gray to you. “Still, ‘s nice.”

 

He made a sort of harrumph sound before his eyes got a good look at your appearance, the apples of his cheeks tinging a slight pink with warmth. He had never seen you in wizarding robes before, or at least proper ones. He’d spot you always wearing your muggle clothes when classes were done for the day, taking the opportunity to change as soon as possible. Your robes were of high quality from what he could tell, but they were not over the top. You looked elegant.

 

“You’re wearing robes,” he spoke blankly, though you could detect some surprise.

 

“Uh yes, I am..? And unlike you, I can actually adhere to the requested colors,” you smirked against your drink. He scowled and pinched the neck of the glass and pulled it down and away from your lips. “How much have you had?”

 

You huffed. “I’m not drunk if that is what you are implying. ‘S just water now. This stopped being champagne after the first two glasses.”

 

“Y/N” Dean stood some feet away having spotted you in the halls, his eyes narrowed a little at the way his former professor had you backed against the wall despite your relaxed and unshrinking demeanor. “Is he bothering you?”

 

“No more than usual,” you teased. “Something I can help you with, Mr. McCaffery?”

 

“Some space just opened up in the main sitting room and I was wondering if you’d like to relax with me and my friends.”

 

“Sure that sounds alright.” You stepped off the wall and away from your professor, glancing at him before departing with McCaffery. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Professor.”

 

***

 

“Narcissa, a word?”

 

After confronting you in the hallway, Snape got a glass of whisky before stalking off somewhere and ended up running into Regulus. The two were friendly with one another in school and neither of them liked Sirius, something that initially bonded them. They talked for some time, Regulus airing his grievances about his brother being here as well as discussing the Dark Arts. When he finished recuperating with his old friend, Snape spotted Narcissa flitting into the main sitting room and strode after her.

 

Narcissa turned to the brooding man and tilted her head, motioning for them both to stand near a section of wall that was more or less unoccupied, but also happened to give a perfect view of you and the other guests.

 

"What did you want to talk about Severus?”

 

“You invited a student to your party?” He scorned.

 

She smiled. “I see you’ve spoken to Y/N already. And yes, I did invite her. I think she’s a lovely girl.”

 

Snape scoffed at that. “You hardly even know Miss L/N. What about her has you so taken that you felt the need to expose her to these people? You intend to show her off as some sort of lap dog?”

 

Her expression shifted into something solemn and pensive, her eyebrows knitting together slightly as she looked out at you. “You really don’t see it, do you Severus? As someone who theoretically spends more time around her, I would’ve assumed otherwise…” 

 

He squinted his eyes at her. “Do explain…”

 

Narcissa hummed, smiling thoughtfully. “When I first met her…she had no idea who I was. She didn’t know the family I came from, who I married, my status in this world, the wealth, the house, the people I know, the influence we have… She had no idea…and even so…the very first thing she did was help me. She was kind, polite, a great listener, and unapologetic about who she was, even giving me advice that conflicted with my own opinions. It was refreshing… Her genuineness is not something you come across very easily in our world,” she gestured out to the sea of elites around her, “where most are too busy brown-nosing and maintaining two faces. I didn’t even tell her my name, and even then, I was sure she would’ve remained her charming self. Plus, she’s awfully fun to tease. Her reactions are rather endearing.” She took a sip of her wine. “And if that isn’t enough of an answer, then one ought to consider the circumstances.”

 

“What circumstances?” he glanced towards you as well.

 

“Come off it, Severus. Do you really think a girl like her would want to spend New Year's all alone in those dreary dungeons? I can’t imagine what it’s been like for her so far, having to retire each night to a space so hauntingly empty with no one to talk to, no one to celebrate the holidays with. I couldn’t stand to think about how lonely she might’ve been. I thought tonight would be a nice opportunity to bring her out of that castle so she could make some connections and hopefully make her evening a little better.”

 

Snape stayed silent, absorbing his dear friend’s words. He admittedly had not thought about that. He had noticed that, since Christmas, your presence around the castle had become more ghostly than it already was as of late. And in the moments that he did see you at meals or in the corridors, you had a faraway expression. Not only were you disappearing quickly after breakfast and not to be seen until dinner, but you were also going to bed much earlier. When he would roam the dungeon corridors and pass by the common room, the room showed total darkness from underneath the door by 8 o’clock. Usually, you were up past midnight as indicated by light streaming from underneath the double doors. 

 

Now, you did seem like you were enjoying yourself, laughing comfortably and dropping the formal schtick that was expected from the group of young adults, a sort of looseness achieved by the liquor and sympathetic comradery. 

 

“I’m sorry but this has been bugging me since I met you,” Dean addressed you suddenly, “but your ribbon scarf is tied wrong.”

 

You frowned a little, looking down at the thin fabric. “It is? It came with the robes and I didn’t really know how to dress it. I assumed I was to treat it like an ordinary tie.”

 

“May I?” You nodded in response, prompting him to get up from the sofa next to you and half-sit against the closest arm of the armchair you were sitting in. His being above you meant that he had to lean in close to get on with his ministration. You turned your head down and away, but as one hand began loosening the scarf his other gingerly touched underneath your chin tilting it up so that you almost met his eyes.

 

“Chin up love, ‘else I can’t see,” he murmured. The use of the word “love,” even though it was just casual British slang, sent heat to your ears and cheeks. You knew he intended nothing by it. It just happened to be the word itself. You resigned to tilting your head diagonally towards the ceiling, avoiding eye contact.

 

Snape could feel his metaphorical hackles rising as he watched his former student, a student who was terrible at potions might he add, touch you in such close proximity. However, Snape was not the only one irritated by this display.

 

“For Merlin’s sake Dean, would you stop it?” Miss Lynch, another former student of his who sat on the middle section of one of the couches snapped. Based on her pissed-off yet glazed-over expression, he guessed the young woman was inebriated. 

 

“I’m not doing anything wrong, Kendra. I’m just trying to be helpful,” he replied, a little annoyed.

 

“You wanna know wha’s not helpful?!” she hissed, standing up from the couch and stumbling as she did so with a nearly full glass of red wine in her hand. “You paying more attention to some other girl than you have to me.” Dean huffed as he finished with your scarf, now a neat bow. Kendra wasn’t having it and wrenched him away from your chair just as he took his hands off you.

 

“Darling, will you calm down? You are taking things out of context. I’m just trying to make her feel welcome at her first Malfoy party. And besides,” he crossed his arms, “you didn’t even want to come here.”

 

“I bet I know why this ‘s her first time here.” Kendra turned her attention to you now, jabbing her finger at you. “Have you wondered why she ‘asnt told’nyone her las’ name ‘r any personal details about ‘r background. I betchu ‘s because she’s a filthy little mudblood!” she spat. “She probably Imperiused her way into this party so she can score some pureblooded dick!”

 

“Kendra!”

 

Half the room was watching you all. Snape was about to intervene when he felt Narcissa press a hand against him, telling him not to move. It was a silent message. “I want to see how she handles this.” Your face showed no emotion, maybe the tiniest hint of vague amusement, but you were relaxed back against the chair, a leg crossed over the other as your head tilted against the curled knuckles of your propped-up hand while your wand had slithered out a little from your other idle arm.

 

“Got nothing to say?!” She continued. “ ‘M right aren’t I?! You’re just some American nobody. Did’ya really think could fool anyone? How ‘bout you show everyone who you really are!” With a harsh jerk of her wrist, she splashed your shining robes with the dark red wine, staining your torso and robed pants of your legs and eliciting gasps and murmurs from those who watched. “There!” She sneered. “Now you’re as filthy as your blood, you whore!”

 

“What the hell is wrong with you, Kendra?! ” Dean grabbed her shoulders and physically forced her to sit back down on the couch as she attempted to bat his hands away.

 

“It is quite alright, Mr. McCaffery.” Your tone was detached and strict. Your wand unsheathed itself from your sleeve with a slow extension of your middle finger from the heel of your palm outwards. You touched the wand to your chest drawing it slowly down your body as you wordlessly cast a spell. The liquid stain absorbed in your robes moved as though the tip of the wand was sucking the wine up like ink bleeding in reverse. The rest of the group watched as the red wine vanished in no more than a minute, your robes appearing just as clean as the day you bought them. Your eyes flit to Kendra. “It’s just wine after all. Magic is a neat thing. Unfortunately, no amount of magic can erase your impertinent decorum.”

 

The girl stopped writhing against her boyfriend’s restraining grip and looked out across the room, finally registering the fact that they were all staring at her, whispering and murmuring amongst themselves about her outburst, regardless of their stance on blood status. Her sloppiness and lack of appropriacy were disgraceful. She was the foolish drunk in their disparaging eyes. As a result, she seethed, seeing red, and made a lunge at you, but was held back. " You fucking bitch…!” 

 

“That’s it, you’re leaving!” Dean tightly linked his arms around her arms and torso so that all she could do was squirm in his grip before turning to you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I—uh—hope you enjoy the rest of your night,” he hurriedly said before apparating himself and Kendra somewhere else with a pop.

 

Needless to say, the air was thick with tension as people attempted to settle back into their own conversations. Narcissa’s hand finally lowered, proud of the way you maintained your composure and handled the situation with cunning tact. Fortunately, Draco’s timing couldn’t have been more impeccable as he trotted into the room blissfully unaware of the altercation that happened seconds ago.

 

“Y/N,” Draco said, coming over to your chair and holding the book of spells you had given him for Christmas. In the blink of an eye, your face switched from cold control to a warm smile as you turned your head to him. “Yes, Draco?”

 

“Can we go outside and…?” he raised the book at you.

 

“Hell yeah, we can.” You grinned and pushed up and off the armchair and went to follow Draco.

 

“Are you going outside to do some magic?” you heard Narcissa call with a smile in her voice. You and Draco both paused and faced Narcissa and Professor Snape who’d been standing next to eachother. “Yes ma’am. And for every spell he gets right, I’m gonna teach him a new curse word.”

 

Draco’s eyebrows raised with a little hope. “Really?”

 

“No.”

 

“Aw…”

 

***

 

The night air pricked against the skin of your cheeks while the outdoor heating lamp behind the cushioned bench warmed your back in cooperation with your robes. You sat on the farthest part of the terrace towards the gardens, Draco sleeping soundly on his side with his head on your lap. Other people had filtered out onto the terrace to smoke a cigar or to get away from the stuffiness of the packed rooms, but they were nowhere near you. Their idle chatter might as well have been a whisper in the wind. His attempt at staying up well past his bedtime paired with the determined use of magic tuckered him out. You told him to call it a night, but he insisted that he didn’t want to miss the fireworks, so you told him to rest and that you’d wake him up beforehand. 

 

He was a quick learner and had succeeded with a few new spells with his own wand within the week that had passed since Christmas. There was one that he had been agonizing over and was even more exasperated when you told him the reason he hadn’t gotten it was his pronunciation. “It’s Levi-O-sah, not levio-SAH,” you told him. It only took him a few more attempts following your correction to levitate a stray peacock feather off the ground.

 

Your fingers absentmindedly threaded through his hair as you stared out lazily at the low maze-like garden, lightly scratching his scalp and making him involuntarily shudder occasionally in sleep. 

 

A faint scraping of boots against the stone ground of the terrace could be heard as Professor Snape entered your peripheral. When you glanced over at him, he looked as though he was going to say something until he saw his sleeping godson and promptly closed his parted lips. The low murmur of crickets in the snow-covered hedges punctuated the silence as he chose to take a seat on the remaining part of the bench, not leaving much space between the two of you. Draco stirred slightly from the creak in the bench so you cast a “Muffliato” ensuring no more noise would bother him.

 

You and Snape sat quietly for another minute or two before he decided to speak.

 

“She hasn’t changed one bit.” 

 

You half tilted your head towards him and shifted your eyes to find that he was doing the same to you. “Kendra Lynch. She was always supercilious, even as a student.”

 

“You saw all that?”

 

“Indeed. Narcissa is quite satisfied with how you navigated the situation in front of so many eyes. As am I.”

 

“It’s not a party ‘till some drunk idiot thoroughly embarrassed themselves,” you shrugged. “As far as dealing with her, it wasn’t exactly hard. Miss Lynch wasn’t doing any favors making a spectacle of herself. Her choice of words was not surprising; Black did warn me that I might run into a supremacist or two tonight. And as much as I would’ve liked to put her bigoted face into the wall for simply harboring such ideologies, I didn’t want to hurt the house.”

 

Snape snorted under his breath and for a moment you thought he might’ve been laughing, but the fleeting smirk returned to his neutral, austere expression the second you caught sight of it. “It is unfortunate,” he continued, “that her impetuous spoutings have tainted the positive image you could’ve left with. Quite a few people now think you are a—..that you are not like them.”

 

“Dear god, however, will I go on with my life?” You spoke flatly. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what some collection of snobby elites think of me. I didn’t come for their approval. Besides, Halloween has taught me that life is too short to care what people think. I’ve got more important things to worry about this school year, things that actually matter. I’d rather someone not want anything to do with me if it means being myself than have them like an illusion or false image.”

 

“Language … Second of all, that kind of self-conviction is not easy to come by nor is it easy to maintain. However, if wielded properly, it can make one a force to be reckoned with.”

 

A smirk twitched on your face as you rubbed your hands together to generate some warmth. “Is that your sibyline way of saying I have potential?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“Yes… The “mudblooded whore ” who is on the prowl for some pureblooded dick. ” You mused, putting wry emphasis on the ‘ck’ as you chuckled to yourself.

 

His nose wrinkled at how easily those words rolled off your tongue. “Enough,” he censured, jutting his elbow into your arm. “Spare me your foul vocabulary for one evening or I’ll give you detention.”

 

“Cleaning cauldrons. Oh, the humanity.” 

 

“You’re insufferable.”

 

“I am myself.” 

 

“Painfully so.”

 

You smiled into the distance. “Such a pity, however, you have yet to know the depths of my impropriety.”

 

His eyebrows knitted into a perplexed frown as he gave you a questioning look—

 

Beep-beep Beep-beep.

 

The digital watch that blended into the robes on your wrist under the guise of a Disillusionment charm softly signaled to you that it was now one minute until midnight. Simultaneously, the sounds of people filtering onto the terrace a ways behind you could be heard. You released the Muffliato and lightly shook Draco’s shoulder.

 

“Draco,” you murmured. The boy stirred and lifted his head up rubbing an eye. “Is it time…?” He asked, his voice heavy with sleepiness, but sat up quicker when he saw his godfather. “About a minute now. Still going to show Miss Greengrass your appreciation?” You asked playfully, making the boy blush crimson as he smoothed his ruffled hair down and trotted away grumbling. Cloudy air puffed from your fingers as you brought your hands up to your face and blew hot air into them.

 

“Got any resolutions?” Your voice is slightly muffled but still coherent.

 

“It’s not in my interest to make any,” he drawled. “You on the other hand should think about not sourcing the twins’ juvenile pranks for the rest of the year lest you want Professor McGonagall to deplete us of house points.”

 

You smiled against the knuckles of your thumbs. “That’s hearsay.”

 

“You can add lying to the list too.” 

 

Your breaths became broken as you tittered against your hands before bringing them down to your lap. The cold, winter air made your skin feel chapped and tight, like a squeaky door hinge that has gone years without oiling as you curled and uncurled your fingers. You’d gotten so used to wearing gloves all day that the sensation felt more biting, a slight wince in your features accompanying the discomfort. 

 

“Do your hands hurt?”

 

“Just cold ‘s all. Had I known I’d be outside I would’ve brought gloves, but I’ll live.”

 

He thought about it—reaching down and grasping the closer hand. Would it be the most appropriate thing to do in this context? No. He did hear one of your thoughts in the past that he had warm hands. However, you had taken the option of debating it off the table any longer by bundling your hands up in the velvet length of your robes.

 

The sound of people counting down soon registered to both your ears.

 

“…5…4…3…2…1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

 

A sequence of fireworks rocketed into the air from various parts of the garden leaving smokey trails in their path and exploding into a bright storm of flashing red, yellows, and blues.

 

“Happy New Year.” Your voice was barely audible over the loud crackles and pops.

 

“...”

 

“...Happy New Year.”

 

Notes:

I feel like Lucius and Narcissa would slay the Met Gala in real life. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Chapter 33: Pieces of a Puzzle

Summary:

Professor Snape has a revelation that leads him to seek answers from you.

cw: implied neglect, use of a needle (mild desc.)

11 years old.

The sheets were clinging to you when you woke up from sleep, your t-shirt slick between your shoulder blades as you rose uncomfortably from the bed. It was nearly nine in the morning, and it was already hot; this summer day was sure to be brutal. You opened the window in your room and can practically feel the room heave a sigh of relief, feeling the air cool almost immediately.

 

After a nice, cold shower, you changed into clothes suitable for the summer heat and clomped your way downstairs, listening intently to the sounds of the house as you did so. Quiet. Your father was likely in the office today. Even though it was summer break for you, he still had to be at work.

 

You turned the TV on, flipping the local news network to listen to this week’s weather update to provide some background noise as you went to make breakfast. 

 

When you crossed the threshold of the kitchen, you noticed a folded note on the center island. Opening it, a twenty-dollar bill came fluttering out to your surprise, and you read the note to yourself.

 

Y/N,

It’s going to be hot today. Get yourself some ice cream. This should be enough for something from the convenience store. Wear sunscreen. Take the wand.

 

 

You snorted to yourself, a bit amused by your father's astronomical overestimation of how much ice cream cost. Still, how random of him.

 

You waited until after lunch to spend this allowance, slipping the wand into the waistband of your shorts and slinging a canvas tote bag across your body to carry the treats and trinkets you may find while out and about. Peaking out from the charmed hidden entrance that surrounded your property, you made sure no one was watching you as you tugged your bike out from behind you and onto the sidewalk

 

With your bike, the ride to the mini mart would be much shorter, but you intended on biking around a few different neighborhoods and a creek while you enjoyed your treats.

 

The lone worker at the checkout desk didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at you when you entered, as a lot of kids came and went, more focused on the magazine in front of them. Your total purchase came out to a little over three dollars, getting a juice, a bag of chips, an ice cream sandwich, and a pack of Big League Chew.

 

You ended up being out for hours, booking through neighborhoods, the creek, stopping to watch a group of high schoolers play basketball at a park, and visiting the library to check out a few books. By the time you returned home, it was five o’clock. You had hoped your father was there when you shut the door behind you, listening intently for noises in the house, only for your shoulders to sag in disappointment when you realized he was still away.

 

Guess you’d be making dinner yourself again.

 

Or…

 

You felt the leftover money in your pocket and got an idea.

 

Flitting into the kitchen, you picked up a takeout menu from your favorite pizza place and dialed the number on the home phone. After a few seconds, a young man's voice sounded on the other end.”

 

“This is Ray’s Pizza. How can I help you?”

 

“Hi,” you greeted. “I’d like to order a small pizza, half cheese, half pepperoni, please.”

 

“One small pizza, half cheese, half pepperoni… Can I get a name for the order?”

 

“Y/N.”

 

“And an address, please?”

 

You blinked, panicking for a moment. You didn’t have an official address that you could give anyone without raising suspicion, as everyone assumed the property behind the hedges was simply where power generators sat and where water main lines ran through. So you gave the address of the neighbors across the street.

 

“22 Maple Lane. Don’t knock. I’ll be standing outside on the curb.”

 

“Alright.” The worker didn’t bother questioning it. “It’ll be ready and delivered in thirty minutes.”

 

As the minutes counted down, you kept eyeing the clock, watching as it ticked closer and closer to the expected time. When you had about five minutes left, you decided to make your way outside, sneak through the entrance, and stand across the street so that you were ready.

 

Right on time, a car with a Ray’s Pizza sign on top drove up the street. You waved at the car, getting its attention, and the driver pulled over to where you stood. The delivery man was more like a delivery boy, hardly eighteen, probably in his last year of high school.

 

He got out of the car, his facial expression somewhat confused, clearly not expecting a child.

 

“Uh…  I’ve got a delivery for Y/N,” he declared, holding your pizza in his hands. 

 

“That’s me,” you confirmed. “Small pizza, half cheese, half pepperoni.”

 

“Huh. Alright then. Here you go,” he said, giving you your pizza. “Your total is $5.50.”

 

Without hesitation, you handed him the rest of your money. The teenager gawked.

 

“Uh—miss—this…uh…”

 

“What? It’s the total and the tip.”

 

He chuckled, a mixture of amusement and confusion. “I know, but…this is like a 200% tip.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Won’t your parents be upset with you for giving me the rest as a tip?”

 

“No,” you blanked. “The money is…insignificant.”

 

The teenager seemed to be hesitant. I mean, who’d turn down a 200% tip? But the fact that it came from someone young felt like he was swindling you.

 

“It’s fine, really,” you repeated. “My folks have money to burn, okay? Get yourself a burger and a milkshake when you’re done with work. These summer nights are hotter than Satan’s balls.”

 

The driver smiled unexpectedly at your language and allowed a chuckle to escape. “Right… Uh…thanks…” he gave you a two-finger salute, his engine roaring to life, and flipping a U-turn, disappearing down the street.

 

Later, you sat on the couch, a football game playing on the TV, your stomach full and your body boneless as you endured your food coma. You ate most of the pizza, but saved some for your father or lunch tomorrow, whichever came first.

 

But… he didn’t come home. At least not while you were awake. 

 

At 11 o’clock, the floo in your father’s study crackled, and he stepped through the disappearing flames, weary and heavy. Shedding any unnecessary layers and letting them fall to the floor. He’d deal with it in the morning. Approaching the door, he saw a note you had left for him. 

“Ordered a pizza for dinner. Used the neighbor's address. There’s some leftover for you.”

 

He blinked once. Twice. Then, took the note off the door and tucked it into his pocket with a sigh. 

 

His footsteps were quiet as he crept down the hall to your room, certain you were asleep by now. When he pushed your door open, he saw you form half covered by blankets, letting your legs breathe in the muggy night, and your breaths coming out slowly in deep sleep. It was then that he let go of the remnants of work that clung to him, moving towards you so that he sat on the mattress. He cast a cooling charm on you and adjusted the comforter so that you didn’t have to resort to a half-and-half setup.

 

For a while, he just sat there, staring at the darkened floor, reflecting on the day. Incompetence all around him. Idiots prolonging cases if that could be solved much more quickly if they just employed some damn sense. Alfie kept him sane, as usual. And tonight, he was able to put yet another dark wizard behind bars. 

 

He wondered how you spent the day, how you kept yourself busy while he was absent. Surely, if he were to go downstairs, he’d find bits and trinkets that you collected from your adventures sitting on the kitchen counter. And he felt…guilt for being away all day, and longer than anticipated. He was supposed to be home hours ago, but a co-worker's ineptitude kept him longer than desired. Still, you appeared to be fine, full, and sleeping peacefully.

 

One day, he’ll manage to get his work-life balance in order.

 

 

***

 

January 5th

Dumbledore idly paced his office as his deputy headmistress quietly twiddled with the hems of her sleeves, slightly unnerved by her friend's quiet behavior, but perked up when the doors to his office opened.

 

“Good, you’re both here."

 

“What’s going on?” Snape cut in. “Why am I here?” 

 

“As Miss L/N’s head of house, I just wanted you to be up to date in case we find ourselves in an…unfortunate situation.”

 

“Is she in trouble?”

 

“We don’t know, Professor Snape. Miss L/N, if you’ll have a seat.” You sat down in the solitary chair across from Dumbledore’s desk and watched as he produced a large manilla envelope. “This was delivered to me after breakfast.” Snape’s eyebrows scrunched as he noted the official ministry seal as well as another one that was unfamiliar to him that enclosed the contents inside. “Do you have any idea what this could possibly be about?”

 

You clenched your jaw in annoyance. “ ‘M afraid not, Headmaster, but I know who it’s from.”

 

He nodded in understanding and handed you the large envelope and a letter opener. It was thick, and from what you could tell, there were more letters inside. Dragging the blade through the wax seals, you flipped the large envelope upside down and dumped the contents into your lap, quickly scooping them up and sorting through them. There was one that caught your attention with a stamp from Washington and bold capitalized letters that made your blood boil.

 

“Oh you’ve got to be fu— mmnngh,” you growled instead, remembering the people present in the room. You swiftly set the other letters down and paced to the far side of the room towards the fireplace as if putting physical distance between you and your professors would quell your anger. “We have a problem,” you gritted, as you tore open the letter to fully read the document.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I have to go back to America. I just got summoned for jury duty.”

 

Dumbledore sighed with relief. Though he still wasn’t pleased with the circumstances, he was happy it wasn’t anything more serious. Meanwhile, the other two professors were so struck with confusion you could hear a pin drop. “I see. Is there anything else amongst the mail to be concerned about?”

 

“No, I can manage this other stuff from here,” you grumbled.

 

“Well, that is most assuring to hear. It seems we can all relax a little then.”

 

“Now hold on just a moment,” Professor McGonagall piped up. “Why is she getting muggle mail through the Ministry of Magic? And why has she been summoned for a muggle engagement? She’s a witch!” 

 

“I too share those questions,” Snape concurred.

 

Dumbledore looked at you. “Miss L/N, would you like to explain, or shall I?”

 

You sighed, running a thumb along your bottom lip and walking back to the chair. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re all half-bloods, right?” you asked taking a seat again.

 

Snape frowned in slight suspicion. He never told you what his blood status was.

 

“Yes, that is correct,” Dumbledore answered for all of them.

 

“And do you all know what jury duty is…? Or do I have to explain that too?”

 

"We know of it,” McGonagall said, “but we are not so knowledgeable about the specific inner workings.”

 

“That’s fine,” you nodded. “To answer your first question, my father sent this. He usually acquires the mail I can’t otherwise receive for myself. As for your other question, that requires a bit of context. In America, when someone has parents or a parent who is magical it is commonplace and highly encouraged by MACUSA for parents to fully live in the wizarding world, and at the very least give birth in a magical hospital. I am a half-blood with a mother who is not only not a “muggle-born”, but not magical whatsoever. I’m guessing it was in case I turned out to be a squib, but it was decided I’d be born in a no-maj hospital, making me officially a recorded U.S. citizen in the no-maj world. That being the case, I have to go through the same processes as any U.S. citizen, including but not limited to jury duty. I am aware the Ministry of Magic goes out of its way to remove such obstacles for witches and wizards in the UK to reduce any risks of exposing the wizarding world. In America, it’s the opposite. MACUSA keeps its nose out of the U.S. government’s business as not interfering has maintained secrecy quite effectively.”

 

Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall stayed silent for quite some time, absorbing the information you had given them before McGonagall spoke again.

 

“When would you have to leave?”

 

“My summons date is January 26th, so I’ll need to be home before then.”

 

“How long?” It was Professor Snape who asked this time.

 

You clicked your tongue. “I don’t know. Best case scenario I’m on standby or serve for a couple of days; worst case I am away for a couple of weeks at most. The unfortunate thing is I won’t know until my jury duty actually starts.” You slouched in the chair and rubbed at your temples. “Such a mess…I wish they had waited until summer when my N.E.W.Ts are done.”

 

“And this is something you can’t delay or get out of?”

 

“In my case, no.”

 

“And if you don’t go?”

 

You snorted a little at the notion. “A warrant will be issued for my arrest for contempt of court which will cause problems for my parents, and in turn, cause problems for me. So yeah… ‘S just something I have to get over with. Everyone does it. It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Does that answer your questions?” Dumbledore looked to his colleagues who simply nodded. “Good. Miss L/N, we shall revisit the subject as the date further approaches to iron out the details of your departure. And another thing—” he pulled out a white box a little over half a foot long with a clear, plastic, vacuum seal around it. “As per your request, Madame Pomfrey was able to get a hold of this for you. If you need any help with it, I’m sure she’ll be happy to assist. Otherwise, you’re dismissed.” 

 

You murmured a quick thank you to the headmaster and as soon as the doors clicked shut, Professor McGonagall let out a huff. “Honestly, it’s like Merlin is going out of his way to purposefully disrupt her schooling.” 

 

“Is she a legilimens?” Snape asked suddenly. “I have not once disclosed my blood status to her.”

 

Dumbledore hummed. “No, she is not a legilimens. Though, she is a very smart girl and her perspicacity can be a little unnerving. Sometimes I entertain the thought that she is simply omniscient.”

 

“She is rather mysterious,” McGonogall mused. “I wonder what all those other letters were.”

 

“Undoubtedly, more muggle affairs I imagine.” He stroked his beard. “But that is no surprise, all things considered…”

 

“Meaning what exactly?”

 

He flashed him a knowing smile. “I'm afraid it would be imprudent of me to divulge any information about Miss L/N’s personal life without her knowing. However, she’s a rather open book. If you’d like to know more about your Slytherin, then you’d have to ask her.”

 

***

 

Severus Snape considered himself to be a very smart man. Having grown up hyper-vigilant, always picking up on the smallest details within people or his surroundings, he was practically the eyes and ears of the castle; a sponge soaking up every bit of knowledge that presented itself to him. It was easy to pick up on the little quirks or extrapolate information about his students in the classroom. Legillimency helped with that too. Now, he found himself truly questioning his arcane deductive abilities because McGonagall was right. You were a mystery. And when he left Dumbledore’s office he realized…

 

He doesn’t really know anything about you.

 

When he thought it over, he could come up with three pieces of somewhat personal information. Your blood status, because he had asked you, the fact that you went to Ilvermorny, and your patronus. On a grander scale, however, those facts were not sufficient enough to really tell him who you were. Maybe substantial enough for any other insignificant student. 

 

At the same time, it was a first. It was unprecedented for him to want to know one of his students. It was foreign territory, an unexplored jungle that could be navigated expertly and in the blink of an eye with legilimency. Dumbledore called you an “open book.” The only thing open-book about you was quite literally whatever book you would have in your possession during meals. You didn’t seem to care to interact with any other students over the break. Or in general. The only people he could confirm for himself to be your friends were the Weasley twins who barely cracked into their teen years and often sucked all the air out of the room with their incessant yammering. Your friendship with them is yet another mystery. You were there opposite. You were studious, reserved, and independent, and whereas the twins had their rare bouts of being mellow and quiet, he had come to find that you had a hidden brazenness that piqued him.

 

You were a puzzle and all he had were edge pieces.

 

It toyed with his brain, poking at the part that had an insatiable pursuit for knowledge and answers like you were a complicated potion that had yet to be brewed by anyone. He couldn’t dissuade himself from putting you in a separate box from the rest of them. He assumed it was due to your age; that you were more responsible, more disciplined, and that somehow made him view you less like a student. You certainly didn’t act like the other 7th-year students, maturity aside. You took his jabs at your personality or habits and had the courage to turn them into your own weapons of wit, sometimes firing them right back. A student could hardly get away with such a bold feat. Perhaps he found your jocose audacity to be enlivening, and that’s why he let you get away with certain things. It was almost as though you were…

 

Friends. He scoffed at the idea as he set down his quill, having finished planning some assignments for next week. It sounded absurd. He was your teacher. Your head of house. Realistically, the notion shouldn’t even be a possibility, both on a professional and personal level.

 

Especially when he doesn’t know anything about you.

 

***

 

The fire crackled in the darkened solitude of the Slytherin common room, casting an orange glow just large enough to lighten the perimeter of the seating area. All the Christmas decorations had been removed overnight by the house elves and the normal tapestries were hung once again. You did miss some of the fragrances the holidays brought so you made it a point to light some vanilla and balsam candles, setting a couple on top of the hearthstone of the fireplace in ornately carved, metal candlesticks and a few smaller ones on the small side table next to the opposite couch. Documents and discarded envelopes littered the space on the couch next to you as well as the coffee table. You hadn’t shown up for lunch or dinner, dedicating the rest of the day to dealing with your no-maj affairs. It wasn’t a difficult task. It was tedious; things that more or less required your signature and other personal information. It was something you’d normally spread out over a week to handle, but with what little time was left before winter break ended you wanted to get this stuff handled sooner than later.

 

You yawned. It was nowhere near your usual bedtime, but having to read over such redundant text made you feel tired. Your eyes shifted away from the document in your hand to the white box that sat beside you. The timing of its arrival could not have been better. Picking at the sealed plastic corners, you tore the protectant off and lifted the lid to be graced with a sterile injection needle embedded in the foam insulant, a small stoppered, glass bottle filled with a clear solution, and a packet of instructions you promptly ignored having done this before.

 

You rolled your shirt sleeve up your left shoulder and wiped a spot on your deltoid muscle with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. The needle unsheathed from its plastic guard and you stuck it through the cap of the small bottle, sucking up every last drop of the liquid before lining it up with your upper arm—

 

“What are you doing?” A stern voice spoke. You moved it away and looked towards the voice and were surprised to find Professor Snape standing behind the opposite couch across the seating area. You hadn’t even heard him come in. His eyes were widened and locked on the needle that glinted in the firelight. 

 

“Nothing much…” you murmured, returning your attention to your arm. In your peripheral vision, you saw him striding over to you so scooched away from him on the couch and raised a sock-covered foot off the ground ready to kick at him like a child to keep him at bay. “It's a FLU SHOT—it's a flu shot,” you sputtered sharply, moving the tool in your hand farther away from both your body and him.

 

He frowned at you in confusion, “Why?”

 

“The name isn’t self-explanatory enough?”

 

He rolled his eyes, scowling. “Why are you sticking yourself with a needle when there are potions you can take?”

 

“Potions that only suppress flu symptoms after one gets it . Within the next couple of days students will be coming back from god knows where having been around tens and hundreds of people and when one person down here gets sick, it will be the Night of the Living Dead. I’ve never gotten the flu and I don’t intend to now. Besides, I get a flu shot every year and have self-administered the last two during winter break.”

 

His expression became less forboding and he moved a hand like he was going to snatch the needle away from you. He saw your apprehension as you moved it even further from his reach and huffed. “I’m not going to confiscate it from you, I am going to administer it.”

 

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to give one?”

 

“I have dealt with potion accidents, contagious outbreaks, and allergic reactions amongst students where the use of injections has been required. A needle is child’s play for me.”

 

You relented with a sigh and scooted back over along the couch towards the arm of the furniture he stood next to and carefully handed him the needle. Picking up the same cotton ball, you dabbed at the spot again and plucked up a bandaid you had ready off the coffee table. He lightly squeezed the muscle with one hand as you looked away towards the fire and felt the familiar pinch that lasted a few seconds. Only when you heard him mutter a vanishing spell to dispose of the medical instrument did you smooth the bandaid down over the spot and roll your sleeve back down.

 

“Pomfrey better look out unless she wants her job stolen,” you joked halfheartedly, rotating your shoulder cuff like it had been rusted to ease the expected ebbing soreness. He only gave a dismissive grunt as he moved a little away from your couch. “So,” you returned your attention to the document you’d been reading beforehand, “Is there a reason you’ve come here or are you just bored at 9:00 PM?”

 

“You have been comparatively…absent.”

 

“If your concern lies in whether or not I have been eating meals, I have. The house elves can attest to that.”

 

“I am referring to in general, though your skiving of lunch hasn’t been discounted.”

 

“I have been around. Busy, but around. And the nights have become rather… preoccupying as of lately,” you murmured, picking up the pen next to you and scribbling something on the paper, using your knee as a flat surface. When Snape heard the clicking of the pen, he noticed that parts of your face, specifically around your cheeks and a part of your forehead above your right eyebrow were a little smeared with ink, no doubt from the muggle writing instruments you favor.

 

“Are you physically incapable of keeping yourself clean for even one day?” He derided.

 

You knew he was referring to the ink stains on your fingers that had likely transitioned to your face. You managed a small smirk, but it was fleeting. Normally, you’d attempt to banter with him in a moment like this, but you were not in the lightest of moods and it showed in the way you mumbled. “I s’pose so. Is there anything else?”

 

For all he knew you could’ve just been tired, but his eyebrows creased regardless. His gaze darted to the collection of envelopes and papers that lay strewn about, some in neat piles, some arranged in an array. On the couch directly next to you were two small booklets whose gleaming texts both reflected the words “PASSPORT” in the firelight, what appeared to be a muggle wallet, some other personal documents you had purposefully separated from the rest as well as some envelopes you had most likely purchased from Hogsmeade.

 

Your eyes flitted up from the paper when he hadn’t spoken and you noticed him staring at organized chaos. “It’s not all that interesting I assure you. Nowhere near as numbing as it is grading your 4th-years’ essays.”

 

“Is this all muggle business?”

 

“A few wizarding things, but yes a majority of it pertains to some no-maj affairs of mine.” You noticed he was giving you and your things a strange, contemplative look. “What?”

 

“You…are an enigma.”

 

“Ah…okay?”

 

“Other than Dumbledore, no one seems to know much about you.”

 

You quirked your lips. “People don’t generally make it a point to ask about me, even when I first transferred here. Though I s’pose it's no more their fault than it is my own. I am not exactly a social butterfly and there are some things I choose to keep private, but I am rather open about myself.”

 

He was attempting to verbalize his thoughts in a manner that didn’t seem strange or off-putting. Perhaps there was no such way. “In any case, given that you are one of the more accomplished students and a soon-to-be graduate, it would be rather injudicious to not…know you.”

 

Confusion prodded at you as you tilted your head a little, eyebrows scrunching. “To know…” You went silent realizing what he meant. He wanted to know about you. “Oh.” Sudden shyness pooled in your stomach as your cheeks tinged pink. Your reactions to these things always felt so pitiful. No one had ever been interested in asking about you with the exception of the twins, but to be fair it was more of a “pestered you nonstop until one day you caved” type of deal. 

 

He assumed he had overstepped, your demeanor shifting to one that, on the outside, appeared as discomfort. However, just as he was about to retract his statement you said, “What would you like to know?” It surprised him to know that Dumbledore was right, that all he had to do was simply ask. This whole time, was your seemingly withdrawn personality simply a mirage? Because no one cared to ask? There was a pause on his end. Admittedly, he didn’t think this conversation would even be taking place. There were some things that had settled in the forefront of his mind from what occurred in Dumbledore’s office, but there were other things profusely unrelated that he could also ask about.

 

“My childhood? My time at Ilvermorny? No-maj life?” A venturesome look suddenly glinted in your eyes. “All the things I have done for the twins that even you don’t know about and can’t retroactively punish me for?” 

 

He sneered at you, having been reminded of the fact. “For starters, why are you friends with those two dunderheads?”

 

“Hmph. Well, to put it simply they wore me down. They somehow got wind of how I escaped your ire on the first day of potions, and because I wasn’t a Slytherin who hadn’t turned into or wasn’t already a jerk, that was enough to interest them. It started off as very transactional; they would get a hold of certain items for me, and I helped them with whatever prank they had planned. But over time, their whimsy was something that made me feel better and I came to care for them. They are like the little brothers I never had.”

 

“You are an only child.” It was a question of confirmation, but he had phrased it like a statement.

 

“Yes.”

 

He nodded subtly to himself. In a way it made sense, he thought. As he once again looked at the papers, he remembered how Minerva asked about how your muggle mail went through the ministry.

 

“Does your father work in the Ministry of Magic?”

 

You winced a little. “He… Yes, technically speaking he does, but his primary and official position is in MACUSA.”

 

Snape’s expression became rather curious. “What kind of position does your father hold that could possibly allow him to work in two national, magical governments?”

 

“I don’t know what exactly his title is, but from what I have gathered, he is pretty high up on the ladder. He works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for both locations. His employment pertains to the hunting of dark wizards.”

 

“So he is an auror.”

 

“He himself isn’t, though he works closely with them. What he and his team do is communicate with the Ministry of Magic about dark wizards who are trying to flee the country. Lots of dark wizards from Great Britain like to run away to America and vice versa. Despite how tough the magical governments are, we both have the largest floo networks in the world which can make it easy to go into hiding. Whether it’s by muggle means of transportation or some combination of magical travel, my father will bring the collaborative findings of his team and travel to the Ministry of Magic where he convenes with the equivalent department so that they can have the same knowledge and be fully prepared to go after and arrest them. The Ministry does the same with him when someone evading the law attempts to flee Great Britain. He’s even got his very own office there for that exact reason.”

 

“I had no idea such a sub-department even existed within the Ministry.”

 

“It's not a fact publicly discussed much, but without their aegis, aurors wouldn’t have the tips to know where to look first.”

 

“And your mother, you said she is not magical?”

 

“She is a doctor at a hospital and also high up on the ladder. An attending, specifically. I don’t know what her specialty is,” you said, twiddling with your fingers in your lap. You were hoping he would move on from any direct questions about your parents. To your relief he did.

 

“What exactly is amongst all…this?” He made a small motion with his hand, gesturing to the sea of papers between the two of you.

 

“Nothing interesting, that’s for sure,” you snorted. “Taxes, bank statements, insurance papers, a few medical things… Mostly stuff that is being transferred under my name. Boring no-maj affairs. Actually, if you wanna see something more compelling…” you trailed off and stood up, accio’ing all your no-maj stuff with you and making your way to your room. He could hear you loudly rummaging around your desk, opening a drawer or two before returning to the sitting room with a large blanket wrapped around your figure and a notebook in hand.

 

“Here,” you tossed the notebook on the coffee table in front of him, plopping yourself down on the couch and getting comfortable. 

 

“What is this?” He eyed the aged and black, scraggly writing on a blank strip of the front cover. The corners felt soft from becoming tattered over time as he picked it up.

 

You flashed your eyebrows at him, smirking. “The origins of my impropriety. Atleast, the things I was able to accomplish in my free time and record.”

 

He flipped open to the first page which contained the same somewhat scraggly writing but it was most legible. It was some sort of logbook. The first page was titled “Hair-Raising Potion,” a potion he recognized from a standard curriculum taught to 1st-year students. The page contained bullet points of scribbled notes as well as crude drawings incrementally between lines. When he flipped to the backside of the page, there were more lines covered in a semi-translucent marker in red, yellow, then green. When he actually read the content, he realized that they were brewing notes; things you had taken note of when preparing an ingredient or the results of a stir. The lines highlighted with the three colors were the results. From what he gathered by the colors and the written text, red meant total failure, yellow meant that it was almost there and needed adjustments, and green meant you had brewed it correctly. The next page was another potion. And another. And another. Some were familiar to him from his own teachings at Hogwarts, others were not and likely came from other potion textbooks you had your hands on at the time. 

 

He also noticed that you had sectioned the notebook off with tags, making it very easy to find certain pages. He settled himself down on the opposite couch as he briskly flipped through. Your penmanship improved significantly over time and the content became easier to read. There was one potion he stopped on simply because it had a nonsensical name. In the section where you had logged your results was an abundant amount of red. In between the results, you had logged vulgar little comments such as “what the fuck am I doing wrong???” He counted 12 red results for the potion before it abruptly ended with a single green line of text describing the proper outcome of the potion. At the bottom of the page was a note with an asterisk next to it:

 

“I want to run into traffic. You forgot to wave your wand over the potion you COMPLETE AND UTTER BUFFOON.”

 

He couldn’t stop the snort that left him. You had certainly wasted quite a few ingredients due to your forgetfulness. From where you sat you could see the tab he was on and knew exactly what he was looking at and blushed from embarrassment.

 

“Don't laugh at me,” you chided, attempting to fight a contorting smile in favor of sternness. “You don’t get to judge. I was young and stupid.”

 

“Foolish, perhaps. Certainly not stupid.” You only harrumphed bashfully in response. 

 

The further he flipped along the more advanced the potions became. First, he discerned that you had a thoughtful insight into how each ingredient affected the potion. He knew this because as you had gotten older, based on the gradually increasing neatness of your penmanship, you had taken more time to diary your thoughts about the potion as you moved through each step. Second, this notebook wasn’t strictly for potions. You had prank plans for the twins and plant drawings in here, presumably for herbology, or simply because you had found them interesting. They were detailed as if for a still life and you had drawn diagrams with what you had learned from mere observation and from textbooks. Some were magical and some were ordinary fauna you’d find just about anywhere. They appeared sporadically between potion logs. 

 

He’d ask you questions about certain things you had written or your logic at the time and you’d clarify for him. There were some ingredients he hadn’t heard of before so you’d tell him specifically what part of America they were native to and what potions they were commonly used for. He sighed, almost dramatically, the words “I remember this,” when he had come across a page you had titled “Dumbledore’s Army” in which you had so eloquently blueprinted the polyjuice stunt the twins pulled in his classroom. You laughed recalling the memory.

 

“I was rather proud of myself for that one.”

 

“The fact you went to such lengths for a prank is pure lunacy,” he admonished.

 

“Yeah, but it worked, didn’t it?”

 

“Yes, the experience of holding my bladder until the effects wore off was quite memorable,” he drawled sarcastically. “How you even managed it…” he trailed off in a mutter as his eyes found the answer to his self-posed question. You saw his face slack a bit like he was almost surprised as he looked up at you.

 

“Wax?”

 

“Mhm,” you smiled proudly. “You can’t boil the polyjuice into vapor because the intense heat would simply wreck the potion and there are no such spells that turn liquids into smoke without being heat-based so I melted soy wax just enough to be a jelly-like consistency. It’s a neutral ingredient, absorbs liquids really well, and is also non-toxic to the human body. Once it dried, I ground it down into a powder, put the powder in a ball and told the twins to use a spell called “Crepitus” that essentially breaks solid particles to a state so fine that it’s basically smoke. Still heat-based, but more precise.”

 

“As innovative as that may be, I am still inclined to believe that you have a screw loose.”

 

“I prefer the term mad scientist,” you quipped.

 

“I suppose anyone who had to wait until fourteen to get their magic would go mad and dedicate a notebook to whatever they can get their hands on.”

 

You frowned at him, tugging the blanket around you tighter. “I didn’t get my magic at fourteen. Who told you that?”

 

This time Snape frowned, but more so in a perplexed manner. “Dumbledore mentioned in the past that you had started your magical schooling at fourteen.”

 

“Yes, I went to Ilvermorny then, but I didn’t…” you trailed off, licking your lips before speaking again. “…I got my magic when I was nine.”

 

It grew painfully silent. The revelation made him look at you as though your head had spun around in a circle. After a few moments, he snapped out of whatever thought he had and flipped all the way back to the beginning again. This time, he noticed a date written small in the top right corner.

 

December 28th, 198X

 

You indeed would’ve been nine at the time. Now that he realized, all the logs had dates. In fact, doing the math, you were brewing potions at nine years old that a first or second-year student would be taught. As much as he would’ve liked to let himself be proud, incredulity and concern took over. How does a nine-year old manage to get a hold of such ingredients? And then he had questions that pertained to your magic.  

 

“How were you performing underaged magic without getting caught?”

 

You shuffled beneath your blanket and slid your wand out between the layers, holding it out to him. “Have a look. Bottom of the handle.”

 

He reached out to take the wand from you and examined it. On the underface of the wand's blunt handle was the same symbol he had seen embedded in the seal on your mail. “Is this the MACUSA symbol?”

 

“Yes. When a wand has the icon engraved, it means that it was a wand issued by MACUSA themselves. My father bestowed it to me, though I don’t know if MACUSA is fully aware of that fact. They are enchanted to not leave a trace on any real-time hex indication maps.”

 

He scowled to himself. What an abuse of power. “Is it still?”

 

“No. The enchantment was removed when I went to Ilvermorny.”

 

“If you got your magic that young, how come you didn’t start wizarding school after you turned ten or eleven? Why at fourteen?”

 

You sighed, reminiscing. “I knew the reality of what I would be signing up for. I liked living as a no-maj, even after I got my magic. But learning how to duel, how to fend off dark creatures, counter jinxes and hexes, handle plants that could kill you, learn charms that could maim a person if you aren't careful, having to write essays about it and not piss off other students who were just as capable of wielding the same such magic? That’s not a childhood I wished for myself. That sounded…stressful and that’s not how I wished to spend my time.”

 

“And your parents were just okay with you not wanting to go?”

 

“My mother didn’t care to get involved in any of the magic. It was a matter between my father and I. I had proposed that I should finish elementary school and junior high so that I had some sort of basic no-maj education. No one really remembers what they learn in no-maj high school anyway, but really I just…wanted to be a child for a little longer, to not have to worry about the other things. And my father… As long as I didn’t expose magic to no-majs he didn’t care. So I kept going to no-maj school and I wore a bracelet that kept any accidental bursts of magic under control. I was a normal kid to the others. Though, as soon as I got home from school each day I’d attempt to brew something. I like potions and I am good at following instructions. The wand was originally to be used for emergencies, but…” you gestured to the notebook, “as you can see that didn’t turn out to be the case.”

 

“Is brewing with your father something you still do?”

 

You became quiet, picking at the fabric of the blanket before reluctantly parting your lips. “...I always brewed by myself.”

 

He blinked. Silence.

 

“Were you at least supervised?”

 

“...No…”

 

Another beat passed, filled only with the crackling of fire and the shifting of your form on the couch cushion.

 

“...I was rather independent. My mother practically lived at the hospital…and my father worked from home sometimes on the weekends. He had a study with a floo that connected to his office in the MACUSA building all the way in New York. Still he…preferred to work there amongst his colleagues. I was left to my own devices.”

 

The implications of such a statement crashed over him like a tsunami. He was appalled though he didn’t show it, his face remaining emotionless. How could someone in their right mind let a nine-year-old have such unrestricted power? How many times had you flouted the decree of the use of underage magic? How could you be left alone to perform magic and handle such ingredients without supervision? Who made sure you were safe? Another thought clawed at his chest, his eyes unconsciously darting over your form.

 

“...Did you ever get hurt? From the brews?”

 

You didn’t answer immediately, but that alone was enough to give the potion master some sort of confirmation as you traced your bottom lip, your eyes averting away and gleaming with orange light as a disheartened look settled on your face. 

 

“...Sometimes, but I didn’t let it deter me. I learned how to heal myself. Those instances are in a separate notebook. I don’t wish to show you that one,” you muttered.

 

Stillness took hold of both of you as your words settled in the air. He turned his head to the fire, taking in the weight of everything you had told him as he was provided more context. Disbelief didn’t even begin to describe how he felt. “It is a miracle you haven't blown yourself to smithereens or wound up a dark wizard having such…” Freedom was not the right word for that. “Unrestricted access to magic,” he murmured, watching the dancing flames.

 

You hummed quietly against the swaddled portion of blanket that covered the lower half of your face. “I watched a lot of after-school specials on TV; programs where there is some sort of moral lesson in each episode. My impressionable self took them to heart I guess. I also didn’t use the wand much for anything outside of potions unless I needed to.” Your eyes were heavy-lidded and your voice was thick with sleep as you further cocooned and slouched in on yourself and closed your eyes. You resembled a sleepy owl. “...s merely the tip of the iceberg. The things I did during my Ilvermorny years would make you go prematurely gray. But it is 1:00 AM and I am tired…” your voice trailed off as the blanket subtly rose up and down around you and your breathing pattern slowed significantly.

 

You had fallen asleep.

 

Snape glanced at the clock on the wall. Sure enough, it was an hour past midnight. The two of you had talked for a couple of hours as the aromatic scent of the candles and the comfortable couch had relaxed him into a state where time seemed to fly. Needless to say, what he discovered about you tonight was perturbing. It was only five years of your life and only what you had recorded. Who knows what else you did outside the pages of this notebook? He can only imagine the possibilities during your teen years to make you say such a thing. He wouldn’t wake you though despite the mountains of questions he still had. That would be for another time.

 

He quietly flipped to the farthest end of the book and found a recent entry. You were still participating in your little experiments to this day. In fact, the entry pertained to the paint grenade that exploded all over you. Despite the mess, you had recorded that it was outstanding and readied to be made for the twins. He rolled his eyes. Of course, you were making it for the twins.  

 

Gently, he set the closed notebook and wand on the coffee table, extinguished the candles, and lowered the fire down to a less overwhelming level. As he walked around the furniture to leave he nearly tripped, slipping on a piece of paper that stuck out from underneath the couch. He scowled to himself as he picked it up, assuming it was simply one of your documents that had fallen onto the floor. The sight that met his eyes, however, made his breath hitch. It was not a no-maj document.

 

It was a Christmas list.

PRESENTS FOR TEACHERS

 

-Dumbledore: get ingredients while at Diagon Alley, make lemon drops

 

-Prof. McGonagall: chain for her glasses so she won’t lose them anymore

 

-Prof. Flitwick: charmed quill and charmed ink

 

-Prof. Sprout: new dragon hide gloves to replace worn ones

 

-Prof. Lupin: ??? See what’s at Diagon Alley

 

-Prof. Snape: potion bot , potion ingre , enchanted not , missing Icarus Slayne book

He felt his heart rate quicken as he read the last line. Over and over. His book… It was you. You were the one that had gotten him his Christmas; gotten all of your teachers' Christmas gifts. He glanced over at you. You were still asleep. How did—Where—?

 

And then he straightened up in realization.

 

CRACK

 

***

 

Blue moonlight streamed in through the arching windows of the Headmaster’s Office as he prepared to retire for the night. The orange phoenix’s feathers dimmed, the bird cooing sleepy in its cage as Dumbledore gently laid a cloth atop it to ensure the bird could rest in relaxing darkness. Before the old wizard could turn towards the door that led to his personal chambers, a loud popping sound filled the room, and there before him stood the potion master.

 

“Severus? Is everything alright? It’s late.”

 

The dark professor slapped the paper down on the desk that separated the two men. “You lied.”

 

Dumbledore cast a “Lumos” and picked up the paper reading its inscription, his lips quirking as his eyes moved along the text. “Might I ask how you acquired this?”

 

“Never mind how I acquired it. You lied about the book and you lied about her.”

 

“I assure you, Severus, I haven’t lied to you about the things you so speak of.”

 

“You are holding the proof in your hands, you fool. You took credit for the present and you lied about her being a legilimens. No one except you, Minerva, and Lucius know that I even collect books on the Dark Arts and I certainly didn’t tell Miss L/N about it myself so how else could she have possibly known?” He spoke exasperatedly.

 

“I never said the book came from me. You simply assumed it to have. And I promise you, she is not a legilimens. Think about it from a rational standpoint. If she was, I’m sure your experienced mind would be able to feel her slinking around your thoughts.” 

 

“Neglecting to omit the truth is still lying! You didn’t—She—” he cut himself off with a frustrated groan, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning to face away the headmaster.

 

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back, observing his dear friend curiously with a slight tilt of his head. “Severus… I can’t help but wonder: Does this bother you? And if so… Is it more so the fact that a student got you a Christmas present or that she knew something personal about you?”

 

Snape was quiet. He didn’t feel like answering that line of questioning, let alone unpack the emotions he was feeling at the moment. “Do the other teachers know about their gifts?” His voice was significantly lower.

 

“No, they do not. Like you, they assumed it came from one another or from me. I imagine yours was delivered in the same anonymous fashion as theirs?” The old wizard began to stroke his beard in thought as he only received a slight nod from the brooding man. “She has given gifts in the same manner during the two previous breaks as well. Her preference for doing so is beyond even me, however, I will tell you this. The holidays are not a happy time for her, but she still tries to enjoy it in whatever way she can, even if that means trying to make others happy instead, whether they know it or not. I’m sure she only had the best intentions in mind, Severus. Don’t think that the book is some form of pity or a prank.”

 

The potion master’s eyes flitted along the decorative pattern on the rug he stood on, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his trousers before letting out a final sigh and disapparating out of the office.

 

He reappeared silently in the Slytherin Common room. You were still asleep on the couch, though your position had changed, now flopped on your side towards the fire facing out to the coffee table. He sauntered over quietly to the sitting area until he was only a few feet away from your blanket-engulfed form. If anyone were to walk in at this moment, they’d think he was being very creepy. He pointed his wand at your head.

 

“Legilimens.”

 

~He watched a memory come to view from your perspective. You were in his office, the day he had caught you out in the rain. He left to deal with a student and you were alone now. He found himself looking at one of his bookshelves as your eyes skimmed along the reading material. He could hear your thoughts at the time echo in his own ears as you looked at his collection of Dark Arts books and paused when you saw the Icarus Slayne titles. “I’ve heard of these books before, they’re really old. He’s nearly got them all. How interesting, the potion master has an affinity for Dark Arts.” ~

 

He sucked in a quick breath, withdrawing himself from your mind having seen what he needed to. He ran a hand through his hair. It was something you had simply remembered, yet it was such a small detail, such an ephemeral moment in his office. His chest felt tight and his fingers toyed with one another in front of his stomach as he took a tiny step toward you.

 

Don’t. She could wake up at any moment.

 

His feet didn’t obey his mind as he inched closer and closer until he took a knee in front of you. His hand hesitantly rose and brushed the locks of hair that had fallen in front of your half-hidden face out of the way. You hadn’t stirred from the action and continued to slumber peacefully. He drew an imaginary circle a few inches from your face and cast a wandless cleaning spell, vanishing the dark ink stains. Lowering his hand to your free one, the one that lay out towards the edge of the cushion slightly clenched against the plush layer of blanket, he pressed his palm on top of the covered hand and gave it a gentle, lingering squeeze, running his thumb along the side. 

 

“Thank you,” he murmured, before rising and disappearing into the dungeons.

 

Chapter 34: Slytherpuff

Summary:

>:(

cw: description of dissection (in case any of ya'll are squeamish) and mention of blood

Winter break ended and it finally felt like you could breathe again, the sense of routine normalcy grounding you in contentment. The castle bustled once again with students walking the corridors and chattering away at breakfast talking about what they did during the break and all the presents they received. The twins practically tackled you on your way to the Great Hall. They blabbered to you, sometimes in turns sometimes in union, about all the trouble they cooked up and how their family traveled to Belgium to watch a game in the Quidditch World Cup. They used some of the fireworks you sent them for New Year’s and were very pleased to find that the paintballs you had retrieved from Filch’s office stood waiting for them on the nightstand between their beds when they returned to the castle. When they asked you about the majority of your break you were honest. “I did whatever I wanted, when I wanted, and sometimes ran into Professor Snape.”

 

Of course, now that the break was over the workload would gradually get more difficult as the next six months progressed, especially for the older students who had O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts this year, but that also meant more Quidditch games to look forward to, so it was a give and take. The fifth-year students you’d tutored told you that they were confident enough in their learned skills to continue on their own and you had assured them if they ever needed to resume at any time or simply wished to study with you that they were more than welcome to.

 

It would be a rude awakening for some. Three weeks of no school is plenty of time for students to fall into a state of mind where they underestimate the impending wave of assignments. Thankfully, you were smart enough to study and revise every couple of days during the break. 

 

Professor Lupin seemed to be the more merciful type. Having gone to school here himself and even being taught by some of the other teachers, he knew how it usually went around here. He told the class he didn’t want to overwhelm us immediately after returning to school, that we’d just be having a lecture today, to take notes, and that there would be no homework. Your fellow classmates were most appreciative and made their regards evident with a relieved sigh when he announced this at the beginning of class.

 

“Thank Merlin for teachers like Lupin, eh?” A classmate murmured aloud next to you. 

 

“Yeah, ‘s nice of him to take it easy on us. McGonagall was not as forgiving. The lesson wasn’t the hardest, but she assigned us a paper due at the end of the week and it has to be a foot and a half worth of parchment,” you replied.

 

“Blimey. I skipped Transfiguration today. I didn’t think she’d assign us anything strenuous.”

 

“You skipped Transfiguration?” A classmate behind the two of you whispered, making you turn in acknowledgment. “I plan on skipping Potions and I do not regret it. My little brother said, “Snape was having a cow” and was all around extra pissy today. It isn’t even lunch yet. You have Potions today, don’t you Y/N? Have fun.”

 

“I do, but it’s always my last class. Who knows, maybe something irritated him this morning and it’ll blow over by the afternoon.”

 

“Maybe, but poor Gryffindor, huh? They better nip it today.”

 

Your fellow Slytherins were discussing it as well. Usually, the Slytherins could figure out why their head of house was especially roused on any given day, but no one could come up with an answer. He had also been absent from both meals thus far. You were sitting in your usual spot at lunch when you heard someone calling your name. When you looked up you saw the twins trying to get your attention. When your eyes met, they then pointed toward the opposite end of the table where Nicholas Finnegan as well as some other Gryffindor students who had Advanced Potions with you sat. Nicholas was attempting to flag you down, waving at you in a “come over here” motion.

 

“What’s up?” You said after having made your way over to him and his group.

 

“What the hell is going on with your head of house?”

 

You shrugged. “Shit if I know. I’ve heard just as much as you probably have.”

 

“For the love of Merlin, please, help us out here Y/N. We’re Gryffindors,” he gestured to himself and five other students. “You’ll be safe due to Slytherin bias, but he’s already taken 125 points from Gryffindor in his earlier classes.

 

“Yeesh.”

 

“Right?” Anyways, you were here during winter break, yeah? Did something happen in the last few days to get his knickers in a twist?”

 

“I was, but everything was rather mellow. If anything he might be annoyed that the break is over and has to deal with students once more. If I were you though, I’d lay low and maybe sit in the back of class so as to not draw attention to yourself. We don’t know if today will be a lecture or a brewing day.”

 

His friends huffed. “Great, so we're going in blind. I don’t suppose the next Quidditch match will help us regain the amount of total points we’ll lose today.”

 

“Sorry. Don’t know what to tell you. Have you asked your brother about it?”

 

“Yeah. We saw each other after his potions class and it looked as though he had seen a ghost. All he said was that Snape was being a right git and extremely harsh today. I guess we’ll have to see for ourselves, won’t we?”

 

Herbology was more or less the same. Those who stood closest to you as the collective class worked on pruning their own sophorous bean plant assigned to them since December murmured to each other about how Professor Snape has been in a foul mood, having heard from their younger friends who had classes with him this morning. The sixth and seventh years, particularly the ones who were in his Advanced Potions class, grew nervous as they would be under more pressure not to slip up and pester their grouchy teacher anymore. 

 

In the fifteen minutes of time you had to make your way to the potions classroom, you made eye contact with several people who were headed to the exact same place. An unspoken tension took hold as it felt as though they were marching to their deaths. You weren't bothered so much by it. It wasn’t uncommon for Professor Snape to have moods and you had rationalized the cause to be something elementary like not getting much sleep or students fooling around, having not yet gotten used to school being back in session. Those who were Slytherins murmured to one another. In all likelihood, your house would be spared from the potion master’s wrath, but even then the impending instruction seemed to unsettle your housemates a little.

 

The students filed in a line and only entered the classroom when the door magically swung open. The first thing you noticed when you went to take your usual seat was that there was something covered in cloth at each of the potion stations. The smell of it was…familiar. It made your nose wrinkle nevertheless. The second thing you saw was the names of every student in class written on the chalkboard in pairs. Professor Snape stood off to the side leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, staring at us until the last remaining student took their seats. He did look a tad bit angry, but then again he always had a case of resting grump face. Students shifted in nervous anticipation at the clang of the door being shut and the sound of Snape’s heavy footsteps moving to the very center of the space in front of the board, sweeping his gaze over you all.

 

“In case the fact has fallen deaf upon your ears, you all have roughly six months left before the most important exams of your schooling will take place. Those of you who believe they have the competent skills to pursue a career in the art of potions may land a position, but individual brewing abilities are not enough in creating successful potions,” he drawled. “In the real world, you will find that you will often have to trust and make compromises to progress with the task at hand. Which is why today, you will do well to learn those things when brewing the Doxy Potion.”

 

You hadn’t heard of such a potion, but you were familiar with the creature. It’s known as the “biting fairy”, but wasn’t actually a fairy. More of a particularly annoying magical house pest. Students murmured under their breath to themselves in similar apprehension.

 

“Quiet.” The murmuring stopped. “The Doxy Potion is a concoction that, when brewed correctly, will allow the drinker to briefly take on certain traits of the creature. An inadequate job will cause persistent vomiting. The qualities of both results are clear and odorless. As you can see on the board, this particular potion will be made in pairs. The first half of your work will be a period of dissection where one of you will harvest the necessary parts in a precise manner from a doxy, while the other brews the potion.”

 

Your classmates began scanning the board with their eyes to see who they were partnered with. A majority whispered to themselves in dissatisfaction. You were assigned to work with a Hufflepuff girl that you probably haven’t uttered a single word to in the two years you had Advanced Potions together. The board didn’t say who was to dissect and who was to brew, likely an issue to be worked out amongst each pair themselves. 

 

Wait. If a failed Doxy Potion looks and smells the same as a successful one, then…

 

Professor Snape could see the gears turning in your head as you had narrowed your eyes at the board and lightly drummed your fingers against the surface of the table. You had ceased; your eyes widened a little as if you had an epiphany and your hand hovered a little off the table in an indecisive manner.

 

“If anyone has any questions about how this lesson will proceed then ask...them...now.”

 

No one raised their hands except for you as they did not want to further annoy their professor. He gave you a slight flick of his chin permitting you to speak.

 

“Given the physical appearance of a successful and unsuccessful brew, are we correct to assume that one of us within our pairs will have to drink the resulting potion for you to assess our work?”

 

It became deathly deathly silent in the potions classroom. The tiniest smirk, a callous one, appeared on his face.

 

“That is precisely correct. Whoever dissects drinks. Regardless of the outcome, both people will receive the same grade. A pass or fail. No in-between. So pick...your roles...wisely,” h e stated coolly. “Begin.”

 

Students began murmuring and arranging themselves accordingly. “Snape’s bloody sadistic,” you heard someone mutter. You made your way to a station and your partner found you not long after.

 

“Hi,” Y/P/N said. “I guess we’re working together then.”

 

“I guess so. Where the hell do you regularly sit?”

 

“Over there,” she pointed to the seat that was opposite from yours all the way across the room.

 

“Oh, that’s rich.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Look at the board and look at where everyone usually sits. He did this on purpose. He put us in pairs with people who sit far from each other on the basis that we don’t usually talk to or even know one another. He’s really driving home the lesson of having trust in our coworkers.” 

 

“Hey, you’re right! Check out Hanna and Julie. They look so awkward,” she giggled. “So how do you want to do this?”

 

“I’ll be blunt. I don’t care whether or not I have to drink it. If I throw up, I throw up. If I temporarily grow bug eyes then whatever. I’ve dealt with worse things. I guess it is up to you what role you’d like.”  

 

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m awfully squeamish. I’d say I want to be the brewer, but you’re a better brewer and I trust you not to make me puke my guts out.”

 

“So do you want to dissect?”

 

“...Yeah, I’ll dissect.”

 

You nodded. “Alright then. Let’s get started.” Y/P/N slid the pieces of parchment paper that showed the instructions for brewing the potion as well as a diagram of the parts of a doxy to harvest. When you peeled up the cloth it revealed a tray of dissecting instruments as well as the carcass of a doxy glistening in the thinnest layer of embalming fluid to preserve its body. 

 

“Poor little guy,” she winced.

 

“Yes, poor little guy indeed.” You picked up the dissection sheet. “Says here that the potion requires 20mL of Doxy blood, doxy hair, its upper canine teeth, one eyeball, and to drain its salivary glands.” 

 

“Okay.” She rolled up her sleeves and picked up the scalpel. She seemed very unsure of herself and couldn’t quite decide how to approach the creature. She hasn’t even seen a drop of blood yet.

 

“Start with what’s easiest. I’d recommend the hair. It’s like shaving our own body, yeah?” She snorted at that, but it seemed to calm her nerves as she began running blade against the skin of her doxy, shaving the top of its head between its ears and along its back, depositing the hair in a small vial for later use.

 

She moved on to the eyeball, but was hesitant with how deep she could cut. “Use your fingers.”

 

“My fingers?”

 

“Yeah. Dead muscle is very weak, especially when it’s already so thin on such a small creature. Massage the eyeball out of the socket as much as you can and then cut whatever is holding it back.” 

 

“Not that I am complaining or anything…” she spoke as she started massaging the muscle around the right eyeball, “but won’t we get in trouble if you are telling me what to do?”

 

“I suspect not. Professor Snape said only one person gets to dissect and as far as I’m concerned that means only one person gets to use the tools and cut into it. That doesn’t mean we can’t trust each other to give advice or instruction.”

 

“I believe I only said one person gets to dissect,” a voice snapped behind you. The two of you froze and ever so slowly looked over your shoulders. Professor Snape was standing not too far away, but he wasn’t speaking to you two. He was speaking to two boy’s who’d been caught exchanging the scalpel between one another. The two of you turned back to your work and attempted to muffle your snickers when you heard him take away 10 points.

 

“Hey look, it's working.” The eyeball had thoroughly loosened and bulged out of the socket, leaving enough space for her to shift the tool underneath and slice away at the stringy muscle that held the eyeball in place. “I don’t know if I want to hear the answer to this, but how do you know these tricks?”

 

“I took a biology class back in America and we dissected a lot of things. The biggest thing we had to disembowel was a pig fetus.”

 

“Disembowel?”

 

“Organ removal.”

 

She gagged and covered her mouth with her free hand. “Merlin! Forget I even asked." Her shoulders shook with a shiver. “What’s next?”

 

“If I were you, save the teeth and saliva for last. If its teeth accidentally knicks your skin through the glove without the saliva being drained first, you could poison yourself. I would get the blood out now.”

 

“Got any tips to get 20mL out?

 

“Yes, but neither are pretty. There are two efficient methods. The first being to completely decapitate it—” 

 

“Merlin, no!”

 

“—OR. Or…you can cut its throat open and hang it upside down and let gravity do some of the work.

 

“Those are really my only two options?”

 

“If we want to get this done in time, yes. If you’d like, I may know of a way to make this less jarring for you.”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

You grabbed a beaker and held it firmly against the table. “Pick up the doxy and hold it belly down in your palm so you can’t see its face.” With her latex-covered hands, she grabbed the deceased creature and held it so its stomach pressed into her palm and its limbs dangled loosely. “Hold it over the beaker. There, that's fine. Now, bring the blade up to its throat and make a firm incision.” Slowly, she started to apply pressure with the blade and slice the skin with just the right amount of pressure. “Just a little more… There! Stop, that's open enough.”

 

On cue a stream of sparkly red liquid began to dribble out of the doxy as she angled the body down, letting gravity help with the blood flow. “That wasn’t so bad.”

 

“You can’t recoil from what you can’t see,” you murmured with a small wink.

 

It wasn’t long until the dissection was complete. She had drained the saliva from its glands in a similar manner and completed the procedure with the teeth by using a pair of pliers and simply yanking them out. While you started to prepare the body parts, Y/P/N took it upon herself to clean up the surrounding area as well as drape the cloth back over the dissected corpse so neither of you would be distracted by it any longer.

 

She sat quietly with her chin tucked against her forearms, watching you brew the Doxy Potion. Occasionally she’d speak up and ask you a question if she saw you do something that deviated from the brewing instructions and you’d clarify your reasoning. There weren’t any big changes to the recipe, just slight tweaks in how you went about preparing a few ingredients.

 

Soon you were all standing at your stations with a completed potion in hand and a cauldron for throwing up in on standby. Professor Snape started with a pair about three stations down from you and Y/P/N. A Gryffindor boy who had dissected hesitantly tipped the contents of the small bottle into his mouth and waited for something to happen. It seemed like everyone was holding their breath. About ten seconds later, his eyes widened and his cheeks filled quickly as grabbed the cauldron, turned from everyone’s view and emptied his guts into the cauldron. Everyone groaned in either pity or amusement at the display. He promptly told both of them they failed and moved on.

 

Y/P/N was growing increasingly anxious as Professor Snape drew closer to you two. None of the three stations before you passed so far, this point being cemented by a Ravenclaw girl vomiting harshly into the cauldron as the professor rolled his eyes. These were all people who Y/P/N considered to be better students than she was.

 

“Miss Y/N and Miss Y/P/N.” 

 

Y/P/N flinched in attention, her hands picking nervously at her robes.

 

“Who brewed?”

 

“I did, sir.” You produced the bottle from behind your back.

 

His eyes flicked from you to Y/P/N. “Well? Let’s see it then.”

 

With that you turned to her and held out the bottle. She glanced at it with an uncertain look in her eye. Her hand rose shakily to take the bottle, but suddenly she dropped it down to her side.

 

“No.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” He scowled at her.

 

“I’m… I’m not drinking that.” She looked at you apologetically. “I’m sorry Y/N. I know I said that I trusted you but you strayed from the instructions and—”

 

“I take no offense. I understand your reluctance and I get that you’re squeamish. Professor, I’m more than happy to drink the potion on our behalf—”

 

“No,” he snapped at you before returning his attention to your partner. “Miss Y/P/N, you made your bed, now lay in it.”

 

What the hell?

 

“I am not drinking that Professor. You can’t make me.” Though her voice was a little shaky she stood her ground.

 

“Drink it or you both fail and 50 house points will be removed from Hufflepuff,” he spoke strictly as he loured at her. You didn’t mind taking a failing grade for this as it would hardly put a dent in your current projected grade, but why is he being so harsh towards her? She hasn’t done anything to him, so why take out his anger on the girl?

 

“Fifty?!” Another Hufflepuff student gawked. “Y/P/N, just suck it up and drink the bloody thing!” All the other Hufflepuffs started egging her on as they did not want to have house points removed due to her unwillingness to drink a potion. If that wasn’t bad enough even the other Slytherins started to jeer at her.

 

“Don’t drag one of ours down with you just because you’re such a coward,” A Slytherin boy spat.

 

The two houses were heckling the girl while the other students just watched in anticipation. Y/P/N stayed quiet. She looked as though she wanted to cry, her eyes flitting on the edge of the table trying to find a semblance of comfort. And Professor Snape…he was allowing this to happen. He incited this. He knew what he was doing as you watched him simply stare back at the girl displeased with a slightly raised eyebrow awaiting her compliance.

 

Quite frankly, you were disgusted by this whole scenario, disgusted with him. This was just cruel, using points and the guilt of causing you to fail to make the students, her own housemates, pressure her. Whatever pissed him off today he was simply redirecting on to her. You were seeing him in a new light now. The version you saw of him during winter break was gone and likely never to be seen again. He was still the cantankerous potion master.

 

You were a fool to think you could be friendly, or friends, with him if this is how he treats people. Screw Slytherin bias. All you saw before you was a teacher bullying a student.

 

“Enough,” you announced loudly, making the other students fall silent. “She is not drinking it.” You turned your attention to Professor Snape who was glaring back at you. “The point of this lesson is to learn how to compromise, right? Then let’s compromise.”

 

“If you think you have some sort of authority in my classroom—”

 

“I don’t,” you interjected with just as much venom, before taking a deep breath and grounding yourself. “But since you seem so keen on punishing Hufflepuff, then let's make this more interesting on the basis that I drink this. Name the punishment and I’ll take it with grace. What happens if it’s a failure?”

 

In an ideal world, he’d yell at you and punish you for your insubordination and disrespect of his teaching. His temper today would just love that. However, your partner did not trust you, which he found very interesting considering your brewing skills, and was most likely a sign that your potion would be a failure. Who was he not to use the failure as a lesson against you and the rest of Hufflepuff?

 

“Very. Well. Then.” Everyone in the room had their eyes on you now, surprised that one of Snape’s own Slytherins was standing up against him and hadn’t been hexed yet. “If your potion is a failure, Miss Y/N, both of you will fail this lesson, you and you alone will have detention to clean all the soiled cauldrons from today with no magic and 100 points will be taken from Hufflepuff since you feel such a need to sympathize for them.”

 

Astonishingly, the Slytherins changed their tune, wanting to see you fail. Since Y/P/N would no longer be the direct cause of you getting a failing grade, they now wanted to see Hufflepuff lose such a massive amount of points simply because it would please them. Hufflepuff on the other hand, was now more nervous than ever.

 

“Fine.” You remained calm and collected. You had faith in yourself and in your brew, even if your partner didn’t. “If my potion is successful, then you give Hufflepuff 100 points and as it stands with your original rules, both Y/P/N and I will pass. Is that an acceptable compromise?” Not a sound could be heard, except for your own heartbeat whose rapidness was not from fear, but from determination. You weren’t going to allow him to harass some innocent student just because he was having a bad day.

 

“Perfectly. Let’s see if your audacity pays off.” 

 

You tipped the bottle up to him in a little ‘cheers’ motion, keeping eye contact with the angry professor, and guzzled the potion. Y/P/N held the cauldron in preparation of you throwing up. After a few seconds, you started to feel funny. Your body seized as if you were about to vomit as a hand flew through your mouth. Liquid was building fast in your mouth and in your throat. You took the cauldron from Y/P/N, thinking the worst. The potion master sneered at you, thinking he was about to claim his victory.

 

That was until you smirked at him—that irritating, self-satisfied smirk when you managed to get away with something. When you opened your mouth over the cauldron, it wasn’t vomit that dribbled out and down your chin, but saliva. Purple, venomous saliva. 

 

“Blehhhhhhh,” you said, unfurling your tongue for all to see. Your tongue was now like that of a chameleon or a really long party blower as the length of it had reached your belt. You even lowered your head a little to the table and shot your tongue out to grab a towel to wipe the product of your increased salivation. The students guffawed in amusement.

 

“Oi, check out her eyes!” A Hufflepuff spoke.

 

Your eyes had also changed. Your round pupils were now thin, reptilian slits and the whites of your eyes filled out with the same color as your irises. You didn’t notice any other physical changes with yourself but were still quite satisfied.

 

The Hufflepuff students knew better than to cheer aloud so they cheered under their breath and shot you elated expressions and thumbs-ups as the professor silently moved on. Of the seven remaining stations, four more of them passed adapting the same traits as you, though their physical changes returned to normal after five minutes while yours had stayed. You assumed it was a result of your alterations. 

 

Snape didn’t seem to notice that your traits hadn’t reverted. He didn’t care as the bell had now chimed, signaling the release of his students and the end of his final class for the day. Everyone rushed out of the classroom and he could hear the Hufflepuff students cheering you on and thanking you, even chanting “Slytherpuff.” When the footsteps of the last person faded out into the hall, he magically shut the door, cleaned everything in the classroom with one wave of his wand, kicked a stool over, and stormed into his chambers.

 

***

 

You cut dinner rather short today. It became quickly known amongst all the houses what you had managed to do today in Advanced Potions. After relishing the way the house point jewels clinked into their glass chamber, Hufflepuff had invited you to their table, to which you had obliged as Slytherin did not seem to be happy about not only Hufflepuff gaining so many points, but you striking up a compromise that didn’t include Slytherin earning points. As much as you would’ve liked to have stayed longer and entertained the younger ones by using your tongue to catch pieces of food they’d hock in the air for you, you had developed another Doxy trait in favor of your eyes returning to normal. 

 

The need to bite. They don’t call Doxies the Biting Fairy for nothing!

 

You could suppress it, but for everyone’s safety you left as soon as you had finished your meal, claiming you were retiring for the night to get on top of homework. It was a lie though. Instead you had made a quick trip to the dungeons to grab a sweatshirt and went outside to your favorite tree in the fields. You didn’t plan on being there for too long so a coat, scarf and gloves were not needed. You climbed up onto your sitting branch and started to reflect on the day. What you had done in class today undoubtedly made Professor Snape’s day worse. It’s not like you wanted to, but your stance was a necessary action. Even if your potion was a failure, you wouldn’t have regretted stepping in. It was infuriating to watch him demean someone for something so stupid. If only you had been the one to dissect. Maybe then you could’ve guided Y/P/N through the brew and still wound up with a successful potion without all this nonsense.

 

“Hello, Miss Y/N.”

 

You flipped upside down and hung from your legs to face the source of the voice to find a smiling Dumbeldore standing not too far in front of you. The saliva that was constantly building up in your mouth, that you had to swallow nearly every three seconds fell to the upper roof of your mouth. So you decided to just openly drool to relieve your excessive salivating, the purple substance now leaking down your face and into the snow

 

“Good evening, Headmaster,” you smiled. “Come join me in this tree.”

 

“I'm afraid if I go up there I won’t be able to come down, my dear,” he returned your smile. “I see the students speak the truth. Your doxy traits are still intact.”

 

“For the time being. My eyes are normal now and I suspect the others will begin to morph back before the day is over, but I have developed an urge to bite so I departed from dinner early.”

 

“That was considerate of you. I also heard you had a fairly interesting exchange with Professor Snape today.”

 

“...It needed to be done.”

 

“I don’t doubt that, but still, I’d like to see for myself. May I?”

 

You sighed and tapped your temple twice, telling him that he was allowed to venture into your mind. It felt like nothing. It never did. He just stared at you, his irises flicking back and forth as the events of the late afternoon came flooding back to the forefront of your mind. Dumbledore saw the patience you had for the Hufflepuff girl, felt the indignation in your chest when you watched your potion professor threaten to take house points if she didn’t do something that made her extremely uncomfortable, and the protectiveness that had overcome you when you dared to challenge him.

 

Dumbledore blinked a few times quickly, indicating he had withdrawn himself from your head.

 

“Thank you for allowing me to see that.” He slowly paced over and stood next to you, him looking out to the snowy fields and first while you faced the castle. “I’m glad there’s someone other than Professor McGonagall with the courage to challenge him,” he mused, stroking his beard.

 

You snorted. “Yeah, well don’t get used to it. I do not wish for there to be more instances like that. That kind of behavior is uncalled for, especially as a teacher.”

 

He hummed. “Indeed, but alas, Professor Snape is a rather complicated man.”

 

“ Please. Something stressed him and he took his anger out on students when he could have done literally anything but that. It is not complicated in the slightest. He could’ve canceled class, punched a pillow till he was drained, talked to someone; not act like a raging—” The need to bite something rose sharply with your anger, so to stop yourself from stringing together any eloquently vulgar phrases about your teacher in front of the headmaster or making a grab at him, you bit down on your forearm just below your wrist and hard enough to draw blood.

 

“None of that, Y/N.” He reached up and tugged at your elbow.

 

“I’m immune ‘o the venom an’ isth be’er ‘an the al’ernative,” you growled against the skin of the limb.

 

“Still, release yourself please.” You reluctantly did so after a few deep breaths and a grunt.

 

The headmaster sighed. “...It is his birthday today.”

 

You couldn’t turn your head much to look at him so you resorted to just letting your eyes narrow a little. “So…what? Did none of you wish him Happy Birthday or…”

 

“It is not like that. He simply has a negative association with the event.”

 

“And I am to feel sorry for the fact and let today go?”

 

“I tell you not as an excuse, but to provide the reasoning for his demeanor. I thought that…you might understand to a degree.”

 

Silence briefly enveloped the two of you.

 

“I can…but it is no excuse.”

 

“...I know…”

 

He turned to you and patted your dangling arm. “Let’s make a little trip to the Hospital Wing, yes?”

 

You rolled your eyes and carefully flipped yourself up and hopped down from the branch, landing in a crouch. “I can heal myself just fine, sir.”

 

He placed a guiding hand on your back. “I know, Miss Y/N. But Madame Pomfrey should be the one to treat it and this is not optional.”

 

***

 

Goddamn it. Of course he is here.  

 

He didn’t see you, but you could see him. You were sitting up against the headboard of one of the beds and reading a book to pass the time that you had to remain in the Hospital Wing for. Your bed was on the end closer to the doorway close to a medical cabinet and anyone could walk through the entrance without noticing if someone occupied the two closest beds. Professor Snape kept his gaze forward and his pace a stride. The sound of his footsteps echoing off the stone walls alerted the matron to the arrival of a new patient. 

 

“Good evening, Professor Snape. Something I can help you with?”

 

“There’s glass in my hand,” he muttered, removing the hand out from behind his back. 

 

“Indeed there is. Have a seat and I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

 

He took a seat on one of the beds towards the other half of the room. His hand ached. It was a stupid action; fruitless except for a slight reprieve in burning off some steam. In the midst of his anger, he had slammed a glass potion bottle down on his own potion station too hard and it shattered against the wood, cutting up his hand and embedding some of the more little pieces in his skin as well. It was his dominant hand which meant he wasn’t able to properly remove the glass himself.

 

Pomfrey raised her gaze across the room. “How are you feeling, Miss Y/N. Any pain?”

 

“No.”

 

Snape frowned at the mention of your name and the sound of your voice and looked over his shoulder. He didn’t notice you were here. You were sitting on one of the beds in the corner reading a book provided by the matron. There was something strapped to your face. A muzzle. It was very cage-like, one you might see on an aggressive dog. There was also something placed around your neck that draped along the front of your shoulder and chest. It resembled a cloth napkin or a bib. He also noted that one of your sweatshirt sleeves was rolled up to your elbow, revealing your forearm, a portion of it being covered in a bandage wrap.

 

“What happened to her?” Snape asked Pomfrey as she sat in front of him with a pair of tweezers and began to pick the shards of glass out of his hand. She offered no pain-reliever as the potion master was partial to declining.

 

“According to Dumbledore, she consumed a Doxy potion earlier today, but for some strange reason the physical effects have more or less lingered. He found her outside about half an hour ago and brought her here so she can be monitored.”

 

“Why is she wearing a muzzle?”

 

“She adapted the urge to bite. And bite she did… Left quite a nasty one on her own arm. She’s on anti-venom so that her blood can counteract the saliva that got into the wound while the Mandrake Restorative Draught I gave her not too long ago settles in her body. She should be back to normal soon.”

 

Once Pomfrey finished with the glass and applied an ointment to the cuts, she attempted to bandage his hand, but the Professor retracted it and insisted he could bandage it himself. She sighed at Snape’s usual stubbornness but relented and handed him the roll. Bandaging his own hand from a potion accident or a regular mishap was something he was familiar with and had the cloth wrapped securely along his palms and splayed fingers in no time.

 

The muzzle wasn’t uncomfortable but it was quite annoying how you couldn’t stick your reptilian-like tongue through the slots to lick away the dribbling saliva. You’d let your lips part, resulting in you openly salivating all over the bib. Your saliva was returning to normal, but still tinted a slight purple.

 

“That was incredibly foolish of you.”

 

The briefest flick of your eyes showed you that Professor Snape was standing near the end of your bed. He could’ve been referring to multiple things, either way you didn’t dignify his proclamation with a response.

 

“What did you do to the potion?”

 

“…”

 

“Why did you bite yourself?”

 

You once again said nothing, simply rolling the sleeve of your sweatshirt back down over your wrapped limb.

 

“Has the draught suddenly rendered you speechless?” He sneered.

 

You snapped the book shut and began tugging the back straps of the muzzle on your head. Professor Snape’s hand subtly shifted down his waist toward his wand. However you did not have the urge to bite him. The urge was gone now and your tongue felt incredibly tingly. Once you unclasped the muzzle, you grabbed a small handheld mirror off the bedside stand and opened your mouth. Your tongue unfurled and you watched it slowly retract and morph back to its regular shape and length. You swallowed the saliva in your mouth and noticed there was no longer an immediate buildup and was back to its normal, clear color.

 

“Madame Pomfrey? My doxy traits are gone.”

 

She strolled over to your side and did a quick inspection of your mouth and removed the saliva soaked bib from your neck. 

 

“Feeling the need to bite me?”

 

“No ma’am.”

 

“Well then. It looks like you may go. Come back tomorrow so I can check to see how your wound is healing.”

 

“Will do…” You put the book back on the table along with the mirror and pushed off the bed, strode past Professor Snape and out of the Hospital Wing.

 

Some familiar faces waved at you, especially those from Hufflepuff as you walked the corridors on your way to dungeons. They smiled in appreciation of your effort today, however, the smiles would disappear rather quickly at the sight of the professor approaching from not too far away as the sound of his footsteps increased and fell in pace at your side. It couldn’t be helped that you both happened to be going to the same place. However, it didn’t annoy you any less when you felt his legilimency.

 

“You didn’t answer me. Why did you bite yourself?”

 

“It was either me or Dumbledore…” you grumbled lowly.

 

“You should’ve mentioned that you still had Doxy traits,” he scolded.

 

Perhaps if the birthday boy didn’t have the piñata stick up his ass all day…  

 

Snape physically bristled at the words you had thought to yourself and had to restrain himself from summoning a book and whacking you upside the head. Then he realized. How did you know it was his birthday?

 

“You have been rather disagreeable for the entirety of the day and given the reason why, as explained by Dumbledore, on top of what happened in Advanced Potions, one could imagine why I wouldn’t want to seek you out. I, however, have no regrets about what I did in class.”

 

“You wouldn’t be saying that if your potion failed.”

 

“If my potion failed then I still would have succeeded.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Professor, I would’ve drinken that potion if it made me throw up slugs, expell flobberworm mucus from my face and made me more hairy than Hagrid. You really think I spoke up because I cared about a passing grade on a potion I’ll probably never have to brew again in my life? It didn’t matter to me if my potion was successful or not. I did it to spare Y/P/N. You—” You had to physically drag a hand down your face to shut yourself up. As much as you would’ve liked to say it, any response at all wouldn’t serve you any good nor did you wish to be in his presence for the remainder of the evening.

 

“I what?” He was basically daring you to finish your sentence, but you were not going to satisfy him.

 

You sighed against the hand and your voice lowered to a mutter, “As a student I am sure my opinion will be insignificant, and knowing you this conversation will reach a moot point. And I have homework to do,” and turned down a different corridor to check out a book from the library.

 

“Wait—” He reached out and grabbed your arm. A sharp intake of breath and your shoulders suddenly tensing made him realize that he had just squeezed your bite wound rather firmly and he quickly let go, his eyes widening a little. He didn’t mean to. Though, unbeknownst to him, your reaction was from surprise, not pain.

 

“Happy Birthday,” you murmured as you walked away, leaving him standing alone in a state of discountenance.

Notes:

Not me making an angst chapter after that fluff ending on the previous one 🤭

Chapter 35: Wilkommen

Summary:

Another transfer student comes to Hogwarts.

Notes:

I put in a picture of how I pictured Jakob to look while writing this, feel free to use it as a visual reference or not. The reference is an older picture of Jannik Schümann, a German actor.

R/P = Ravenclaw Prefect

You couldn’t have been in the library for more than five minutes, your rear still trying to get comfortable in the wooden chair. You were working on a Charms paper when, much to Madam Pince’s chagrin, Dumbledore’s patronus came swooping into the library, shrieking its introductory cry before finding you at one of the window-side tables and perching on the charmed lamp. Its message was rather short, all in all telling you to come to the headmaster’s office. Dumbledore always seemed to have the strangest timing.

 

Upon entering his office, you were surprised to find that someone else was there. It was a boy. He was a bit taller than you and was a handsome fellow; strong jawline, honey blonde hair with an offside part that made it swoop partially over his forehead and caress down the back like grass after a heavy rain, full lips that smiled good-naturedly at your arrival and a pair of steely blue eyes. The boys would have some competition, that's for sure.

 

“You called for me, Headmaster?”

 

“Yes I did, Miss L/N. Thank you for coming. This is Jakob (Yaa-kop) Fischer. He is a transfer student from Durmstrang who will be completing the remainder of his last school year here at Hogwarts.” The boy simply raised his hand in greeting. His name… Is he…?

 

“Guten Tag…?” you tried, with skeptically raised eyebrows.

 

His face seemed to light up at that. “Guten Tag! Sie sprechen Deutsch?”

 

“Ja, ein wenig. Sie sprechen Englisch?”

 

“Ja, I can.”

 

Dumbeldore smirked at the exchange. “I’ve explained the houses to him and the hat has placed him in Ravenclaw. Since it is the weekend and there are no classes to be held, I thought you could show him around the castle.”

 

“Not that I am against such a task, but might I ask why you didn’t retrieve one of the Ravenclaw prefects?”

 

“Well, it was not some two and a half years ago you were in his position, Miss L/N. I thought it would be best suited for someone who has shared the experience of being a transfer student from a different country to ease him into Hogwarts.”

 

You nodded. “Alright then. Has Jakob been situated in his dorm or met Professor Flitwick yet?”

 

“A house elf has taken his things to where he will be sleeping, but no, he has not seen Ravenclaw Tower or met his head of house yet. I was hoping you could have him meet his teachers and show him around the rest of Hogwarts.”

 

“Will do.” You turned your attention to Jakob. “If you’d like, we have some time to kill before lunch. You could change into some warmer clothes and I can show you the outside of Hogwarts if that is something you are interested in.”

 

“Ja, zat sounds nice. I’ve got a coat and scarf right here.” He gestured to the articles of clothing grasped in his hands, likely what he wore while at King’s Cross and Hogsmeade.

 

“Great.” Dumbledore clapped. “I'll leave you two to it. And Miss L/N do inform him of our rules, I wouldn’t want Jakob to get off on the wrong foot with anyone over a simple misunderstanding on his first day here.”

 

“Of course. Follow me, Jakob.”

 

***

 

After changing yourself, you and Jakob began your tour around the snowy fields of Hogwarts. He was confused as to why you gave him a duplicated and color altered version of your tie as well as telling him to hide it under his sweater, but you assured him it was for a social experiment so he just shrugged and went along with it. Despite not wearing boots, it was very easy for him to navigate the freshly fallen snow as the two of you set off through the courtyard. 

 

“Zank you for showing me around. I hope I vasn’t taking you away from anyzing important.”

 

“You were not. Are you feeling nervous at all about starting school here?”

 

“Not particularly. I have confidence in my own academic abilities. I just hope getting socialized here vill be easy.”

 

“Oh, you’ll get socialized alright. A little slice like you…”

 

He raised an eyebrow at you, not quite understanding what you were alluding to. “Vat are you talking about?”

 

“You’re a regulation hottie.”

 

“Oh,” he chuckled, breaking out into a grin. “Danke.”

[Thank you.]

 

“Bitte sehr, however, do not mistake my words for flirting. I’m simply giving credit where credit is due.”

[You're welcome,]

 

“I didn’t zink you vere, but I appreciate you clarifying. Sometimes ze zings I say and do come off as flirting. I’m a very touchy person.”

 

“That's fine… I just ask that you not touch my neck for any reason.”

 

“Noted.”

 

The two of you spend a good hour outside walking around in the snow as you pointed out certain locations and explained the rules to him and warned him about the Forbidden Forest. He was surprised to find out that Hogwarts had houses. Apparently at Durmstrang, there were no such things as houses or points, but he was happy to make his new house proud. You introduced him to Hagrid who was tending to his garden outside of his hut. You told Jakob that students come to visit Hagrid sometimes and could often be seen around outside on any given day when he wasn’t teaching. You pointed out the Quidditch field to him and asked him if he played. It surprised you a little when he said ‘no’ given his build. He explained how his father tried to get him into it, but it just wasn’t his thing. You also walked the edge of the lake and told him about the friendly squid that resides in the water and that the lake was NOT safe to walk on while it is frozen over. The owlery was also a place you made a point to show him. Despite the winter season, the interior was charmed to stay warm so the birds didn’t have to rely on their feathers too much. He did introduce his bird to you which had been apparated there by a house elf. It was a tawny owl with a head of feathers that matches his hair.

 

You started to see what he meant by being touchy. When he talked he had a tendency to do so with his hands whether it was some neutral, indiscriminate movement to fully placing a hand on your shoulder or arm to emphasize something or say something funny. You didn’t mind as the twins also behaved in a similar manner around you when they were especially excited about something. By the time you two had returned to the courtyard, he’d been holding your hand for sometime. He’d asked first to be sure and you gave him permission to. Gloves were something he had left in his bags and your sheepskin ones looked particularly warm to him, the inner lining of his coat pockets not being enough to satiate the chill in his skin.

 

The corridors were practically empty except for a few stray 1st-years who didn’t pay you two any mind. Everyone had already settled in the Great Hall for lunch.

 

“I should warn you that you will be stared at. It happened to me as well in my 5th-year when I was sorted into my house at the same time as the 1st-years.”

 

“Zat is alright. It is to be expected as someone who is new.”

 

One by one students begin to notice you and Jakob’s presence as you arrived and stood idly a couple paces inside as you let him take in his surroundings. They nudged at one another attempting to direct the attention of their friends toward the entrance. While Jakobs eyes flitted up towards the ceiling admiring the atmospheric charm place on it, you were able to clock many people staring at the both of you, more specifically at Jakob, and blushing.

 

“This is the Great Hall. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served here everyday at the same time. The food is prepared by house elves who often give snacks to those who are nice to them, though the kitchens are off limits so it helps to have a friend in Hufflepuff to sneak them for you as their common room is close to it. As you can see there are four sitting sections; one per each house. You are not required to sit in your section, however if you cause a ruckus the teachers will not hesitate to tell you to go back to your proper seat.”

 

“Are zose ze teachers up zere?” He pointed to the long, elevated table that faced perpendicular to the house tables. The string of teachers were observing you two as well.

 

“Yes, at least the ones who decided to eat in the Great Hall today. Some teachers occasionally eat in their offices. I’ll take you to meet your teachers afterwards, but I suppose I can tell you the names of the heads of houses from here.”

 

“Vich vun is mine?”

 

“The head of Ravenclaw would be Professor Flitwick. He is the shortest one on the right. He’s part goblin and comes up to about here.” You raised your hand to about 3”6’. “He is also the Charms professor and an overall cheery man. The one to his left with the brown robes and gray curls is Professor Sprout. She is the head of Hufflepuff and the Herbology teacher. Hufflepuff is also Ravenclaw’s house rival, at least in Quidditch. The witch to Dumbledore’s left is Professor McGonagall. She’s the head of Gryffindor, the deputy headmistress, and the Transfiguration teacher. Her and Headmaster Dumbeldore are like two peas in a pod if all they did inside of said pod was gossip and make bets. As grandmotherly as she may look, she is not to be trifled with.”

 

“Who is ze man in black staring at us like ve are Scheiße?”

[Shit?]

 

Your eyes located the man who was two seats down from Professor McGonagall with Hagrid in between them. Jakob was correct in that Snape had his gaze locked on you two.

 

“That is the head of Slytherin. My house. His name is Professor Snape and he teaches Potions. It would be in your best interest not to break any rules in front of him or get in his way. He is known for being testy. As far as the derisive looks, he does that to everyone. Best to ignore it,” you explained coolly.

 

“I vould have zought zat man over zere vas your head of house. He seems just as nice as you are.” The man in question he was referring to this time was Professor Lupin who was laughing along with Madame Pomfrey.

 

“That would be Professor Lupin. He and Professor Snape are total opposites. Lupin teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. He’ll give out chocolate to any student who is feeling sad. Do you mind if I have a look at your class schedule?”

 

“Not at all. Here.” He pulled a slip of folded up parchment paper out from his pants pocket and handed it to you. You unfolded the sheet and began to read his schedule. As you did so, you felt a particular lock that always fell in your face when you tilted your head down being touched. The lock always managed to be the curliest one whenever you looked in the mirror and Jacob was lightly and repeatedly pulling it down straight to its farthest length and letting it go, watching it bounce back up. 

 

“Is my hair amusing to you?” You deadpanned while continuing to look for any similarities in his schedule with yours.

 

“A little,” he smirked. 

 

According to Jakob’s schedule, he was taking six classes total, and shared three of them with you. Charms, Herbology and Transfiguration. His other three classes were Astronomy, Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies.

 

Snape stared at you and the boy from across the room. He didn't recognize him as a student and the boy was playing with your hair as if he’d been doing it forever. You were letting him too. Was this someone you knew? Someone coming to visit Hogwarts for the day? The grip he had on his fork shifted about in questioning before tightening when the boy put a hand on your shoulder and stepped in even closer to you as you pointed something out on a piece of parchment paper. He tilted his head toward you more like he was telling you a secret that made the back of your hand come up to shield your mouth, an action Snape knew as you trying to hide the fact that you were smiling at his remark as you turned your own head away from the boy.

 

“I s’pose we should eat now.”

 

“Can I sit vith you?”

 

“I wouldn’t mind, however, it would be in your best interest to get used to sitting with people in your house. Though, I suppose that can wait until dinner.”

 

You lead him over to the Slytherin section where you both sat on the edge across from each other. He gave a smile to the students who eyed him, making some look away with a blush while some continued to watch you two.

 

“Das Essen hier ist gut. Essen Sie so viel, wie Sie wollen.”

[The food here is good. Eat as much as you want.]

 

“Wir haben in Durmstrang sehr viel Fleisch gegessen. It was supposed to help the students grow strong.”

[We ate a lot of meat at Durmstrang.]

 

Durmstrang ist eine Schule der "Dark Arts". I noticed you are not taking the DADA class here. Why?”

[Durmstrang is a Dark Arts school.]

 

“Another zing I am not interested in. I only vent to zat school because of ze location. Vat I really like is Astronomy.”

 

“You’re in luck. We have a really nice astronomy tower that offers the best view in all of Hogwarts. I’d show it to you, but it is closed when a class is not in session.”

 

The two of you continued to eat and talk, switching back and forth between languages though you mostly spoke in English. While German was more comfortable for him, he was also trying to improve his English. You’d also been out of practice, so switching into short German phrases was helpful. You had originally learned when you befriended Ada in no-maj school to make her more comfortable, but that was years ago.

 

When the two of you finished lunch, he followed you out of the Great Hall like a lost puppy, leaving your table to wonder what the hell was going on. You intended to show him his classrooms in the order he would have on Monday. You showed him the Grand Staircase, a structure that made him a little hesitant due to its animated nature. He held on to your forearm lightly as you demonstrated to him how to use it. It was especially important considering he lived on the highest floor. Showing him his classrooms was more or less the same feat repeated six times. You’d walk him to each classroom, introduce him to his teachers where pleasantries were exchanged, and repeat. As far as Astronomy and Herbology, you showed Jakob the entrance staircase of the closed off Astronomy Tower before bringing directly to Professor Sinistra’s quarters. You then took him up to the Greenhouses where Professor Sprout encountered the two of you on your way out after you explained which Greenhouses contained what. They were all pleased to meet him and introduced themselves in a very warm manner.

 

On top of his classrooms, you guided him to other essential places; Ravenclaw tower, the Hospital Wing, the bathrooms, and the Library which you currently wandered through as students filtered between shelves and settled at tables to begin studying or working on assignments.

 

“There are still many places in the castle, but you’ll come to see them and get a feel for the layout in your actual free time when you can wander around or hangout with other students in your free time.”

 

“Vere is it you reside?”

 

“Ah, the Slytherin common room is below the ground floor in the dungeons along with the potions classroom. It’s a bit of a maze down there and it's usually cold all the time. Not to mention dark. You won’t really need to go down there because of the classes you’re taking.” Your fingers idly traced along the wooden framing of a nearby shelf. “Do you need any books while we are here?”

 

“I have ze books for my classes, but I suppose it vouldn’t hurt to have some regular reading material. Does ze library have muggle books?”

 

You nodded and led him to a single bookshelf that contained muggle literature, but what was one to expect at a wizarding school? Most of the non-schooling books were still authored by those who live in the wizarding world. While he browsed you asked the nearest Ravenclaw student if they had seen any of the prefects from their house. He told you one was having Quidditch practice right now and that he didn’t know the current whereabouts of the others, so you shrugged it off for now. Jakob could meet them later.

 

When he found a book, you informed him that the tour was over and that he could go wherever and talk to whoever he pleased. He didn’t make any immediate choice and asked if you were going to be in the library for a bit. You confirmed, saying that you’d be starting on a paper for class. He then asked if he could read next to you in the meantime until dinner and you obliged. Instead of going to a table, you lead him over to the lounging area by the large hearthstone fireplace which was surprisingly vacant. You plopped down on one end of a sofa and took out a book to use as a flat surface and some writing material. Jakob sat next to you in the middle section and read quietly. You could feel the passing gazes of students watching, but because of the setting, they were not able to speak as freely and as loudly as they wanted.

 

You were about a quarter of the way through your paper when you felt the couch shift beside you as Jakob stretched his arms up, stifling a yawn into a grunt.

 

“Are ve allowed to lay on the furniture?” He murmured.

 

“I’ve never been scolded for it. Why, you feel like taking a nap? I’d do that in your dorm.”

 

“Nein, just vant to change positions.”

 

“Go for it.” You didn’t really bother to look up from your paper as he went about making himself more comfortable. The sound of clothes rubbing the couch cushions could be heard as you registered his movement in your peripheral, but what you didn’t expect was for something soft to be pressed against the side of your thigh. Jakob had retrieved a throw pillow from one of the other couches and placed it up against you. You assumed he would lay against the opposite armrest and just keep his legs bent. Instead he plopped himself down, scooched his head against the pillow while his stretched out legs were somewhat elevated by the arm rest as he continued to read.

 

You snorted. “Comfortable?”

 

“Ja.”

 

***

 

“Did you see who was walking around with Y/N today?”

 

“How could I not? He’s like a model!”

 

“You think he’s her boyfriend? Like a long-distance one or something?”

 

“Who cares? Enjoy the eye candy while it's here.”

 

This was just one of the many bits of conversations that graced Snape’s ears as he walked the halls. He ignored it all, or tried to at least, but there was one snippet that he just couldn’t disregard.

 

“Merlin, I would kill to be Y/N. Having a guy that hot laying on me? Yes, please.” That one made his jaw clench especially hard. The little ‘what-ifs’ and visuals kept popping up within his mind and soon he found himself walking towards the library. He was in need of a book anyways, so he might as well kill two birds with one stone.

 

As he preferred it, students moved out of his way upon registering his presence, quickly stepping off to the side as he walked toward his destination.

 

After he found his book, he halted not three steps later when he caught sight of your two figures, the aisle he was in giving him a rather generous view of the lounging couches. You were sitting up at one end of a couch, jotting away at a school assignment while the unfamiliar boy lay across the remaining portion of the couch, using your leg and a pillow as a head rest. He felt slight relief as the sight was not nearly as bad as the visuals in his head caused by the students’ offhand remarks, however, it did nothing against the annoyance that still ticked in his chest. 

 

Even when a soft bell chimed for dinner did he have to bear witness to the way the boy’s hand took its place in the crook of your elbow, as if it were natural, whilst you led him out of the library to the Great Hall.

 

He kept some distance away so he could watch you two. He was unable to decipher the boy's words when he turned to talk to you. His words might as well have been gibberish to him. Yours too, but it changed from being perfectly readable to incoherent phrases. At one point the boy looked back on a whim and made direct eye contact with him before leaning close to say something to you. The only word he was able to get from him was “Snape.” Whatever the boy had said was enough to make you visibly snort. He immediately grew suspicious. 

 

The two of you stopped upon entering the Great Hall. “Alright Jakob, think you can eat with your house like a big boy?” 

 

“Of course,” he laughed. “Zank you for ze tour. I’m sure I vould have been lost othervise.”

 

“No problem. Oh, and you can take out your tie now.”

 

Upon doing so the Ravenclaw section chattered excitedly upon finding out that the attractive young man was not only a student but also in their house while the other tables let out some audible sighs of disappointment.

 

“Vultures,” you scoffed with a smirk. Your eyes scanned the tables and found the face of a Ravenclaw prefect who you signaled over. 

 

“R/P, this is Jakob Fischer. He’s a transfer student from Germany and will be spending his remaining months as a 7th-year here."

 

“Hello! I didn’t know we’d be getting a new transfer student. Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said, holding her hand out. 

 

“Hello,” he smiled, taking her hand gently. The blush that rose to her face upon hearing his voice and touching him was profuse and you swore you could see her knees wobble a little.

 

“Jakob, Ich würde nie jemandem raten, nicht er selbst zu sein, aber wenn Sie es verhindern können, versuchen Sie, sich bewusst zu machen, wie "touchy" Sie sind. I wouldn’t want you to have any problems should there be any misunderstandings amongst the students."

[Jakob, I would never tell anyone to not be themselves, but if you can help it, try to be conscious of how touchy you are.]

 

“Ah, yes. I vill.”

 

“What’d you say to him?” R/P asked.

 

“Just a little piece of advice.” You turned to Jakob, patting him on the shoulder. “This is where we part then. Make lots of friends and I’ll see you around in class.” Before you could step away he put his arm around you and drew your head to the crook of his neck, resting his chin on your head which sent heat to your face. “Danke, dass du mich herumgeführt hast.”

[Thank you for showing me around.]

 

You removed yourself from him and harrumphed. “That. That is exactly what I am talking about.” You lightly pushed him towards the Ravenclaw section as R/P guided him away. “Off you go.”

 

From what you could see his housemates were glad to have him there, happily making room for the boy as he was seated next to a couple of other seventh-years. You rubbed your hands over the expanse over your face in an attempt to ease away the pinkness of your face.

 

“Who is that?” You didn’t need to turn to know whose voice that was. 

 

“Hogwarts has another transfer student. Atleast for the last remaining six months. Jakob Fischer. Dumbledore asked me to show him around,” you murmered.

 

The boy is a student? Snape looked to the Ravenclaw section and sure enough Jakob now wore a blue tie and was conversing with a few other students. He wasn’t sure how to feel. At least the boy was not a Slytherin, though he doubted that would ease any of his trepidations.

 

“Why you and not a Ravenclaw prefect?”

 

“I was once a transfer student. Also, Jakob kommt aus Deutschland und ich kann die Sprache sprechen.

[Jakob comes from Germany and I can speak the language.]

 

He scrunched his eyebrows at you. “Pardon?”

 

You didn’t bother to translate for him and simply walked away towards your table. “Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Professor.”

[Goodbye, Professor.]

 

***

 

The next week or so was rather uneventful for you with the exception of the new transfer student. He fit in well with his house and made friends rather quickly. From what you could tell, quite a few people wished to be more than friends with him. You couldn’t blame them. 

 

The two of you shared a few classes together and spoke in the minutes between them. In the hours after classes, you were glued to the library, studying and working on homework with the twins. They struggled to buckle down during the busy months of school. You kept them in line while their presence served as a comfort in your own academic endeavors. Jakob would join you three a few times given that the two of you were assigned the same classwork. 

 

Snape had been correct about his apprehensions. Even though Jakob was in a different house, he had been more often than not by your side between meals and after classes. He assumed it was a natural reaction, to want to cling to the first person he met at Hogwarts. However, he seemed quite capable at making friends, at least from what he had seen with his own eyes. Students were always trying to talk to him and he seemed to be a very flirty individual, noticing a tinge of pink in the faces of students’ whose shoulders he squeezed or leaned in close to speak with.

 

Snape noted that you weren’t exactly excluded these particular set of actions. When he saw you two in the halls, Jakob would always be touching you in some way; lightly grasping the crook of your elbow or resting it on your shoulder or upper back while your own hands were in your pockets. 

 

There was one instance in particular that really bothered him. He had gone to the library once again to return his book when he saw you and the twins working on school work in the library. You were citing a passage from an Herbology book when Jakob came up to you.

 

“Y/N, I need your help vith somezing.”

 

“Hey Jakob, what’s up?”

 

“I’m having some trouble understanding zis book.” He placed the book down next to you and opened it to the last page he was reading. “I’m used to reading my books in German and Swedish… I still haven't quite gotten used to reading in English. I vas hoping you know a spell to change ze language of ze text to make it easier for me.”

 

“As a matter of fact I do. But just remember to change the text back before you check this book back in with Madam Pince.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Withdrawing your wand you lightly pressed the tip of it to the page. “Vertextua German.”

 

The ink letters began to warp and shift, the words and passages translating themselves from English to German. Jakob lit up at how much easier it now was to read the text. “Mein Gott, you are brilliant! Danke dir,” he murmured excitedly in a hushed manner to avoid Pince’s ire. [Thank you.] He then put a hand around your head and pecked your temple, making you turn red and lowering your face down into your folded forearms to hide yourself from anyone’s view. Snape gripped the hem of his cloak tightly in discontent as he watched from a nearby bookshelf aisle within earshot.

 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Jakob frowned, putting his hand on your back.

 

“Mate, you broke her,” Fred guffawed. 

 

“Huh?”

 

“She’s not that good with affection. A bashful thing, really.” George reached across the table and patted your elbow. “Best to dial it back when you’re around her, yeah?”

 

“Oh, es tut mir leid, Y/N. I didn’t know.” 

[I’m sorry].

 

You didn’t really give a verbal response. All you did was move one of your arms out and give a resting thumbs up on the table in acknowledgement.

 

Another thing Snape had noticed pertained more so with you. Since the break had ended, you seemed different. It was an unfounded feeling, his only indication being how your mind felt recently when he last dipped in. Then again, he could’ve been fooling himself. It was time for your N.E.W.Ts this year. You had pretty much ceased your daydreaming in his class when you finished a potion early, opting instead to continue work from other classes. Ever the diligent student you were. It was a shame though. He found many of the images or thoughts fairly enjoyable. Nowadays, he’d hear whatever sentence you were reading or writing to yourself accompanied by a slight coldness that made him want to shiver in his chair. When your mind did wander it was only for the slightest moment, him barely being able to catch the tail end of the thought before it flickered away and the cold feeling returned.

 

He didn’t quite know how to explain it other than there being a sort of… distance. He suspected it was the winter break’s doing now that it was over. During then, he could have interacted with you whenever he pleased, even chance encounters during the late hours of the night. Additionally, the increased amount of schoolwork would occupy much of your time and energy. He told himself to think nothing of it.

 

***

 

“It’s time, Miss L/N. Bring the snow globe with you and make sure none of the other staff catch sight of you in the halls.”

 

Dumbledore’s patronus came to you just as you had finished packing up your suitcase. The snow globe was tucked away in the front pocket of your sweatshirt as you cast a locking spell on the door to your room. It was Saturday night and thirty minutes until curfew which made walking about the corridors fairly dicey, but Dumbledore was aware you had a knack for sneaking around undetected. It was also necessary to leave now so that you could have a day or two to adjust to the time zone difference. The torches in the halls hadn’t extinguished yet and for good measure you casted an invisibility spell on yourself and your suitcase. You had a close call with Professor Snape, nearly colliding with him as he rounded a corner, but otherwise getting to Dumbledore’s office was hiccup free.

 

“Ah, there you,” he said, rising from his office chair. “I trust you kept out of sight?” 

 

“Yes, Headmaster.”

 

“Good.” He pulled out a piece of parchment paper and handed it to you. “Here is a list of homework your teachers plan to give over the next two weeks, just in case your trip turns out to be longer than anticipated.”

 

You grunted in confirmation and pulled the snow globe out from your sweatshirt, letting Dumbledore take it with careful hands. With one hand on your suitcase and the other on top of the bulbous glass, you gave him a ready nod. 

 

He reached two fingers underneath the snowglobe and twisted a t-shaped switch underneath three times. A high-pitched melody began to play as a light generated and pulsed from the globe, growing brighter with each passing second.

 

“Goodbye, Y/N. I hope to see you sooner than later.”

 

You smirked. “Hopefully.”

 

There was a sudden blinding flash that made the headmaster close his eyes accompanied by a whooshing sound. When he opened them you were gone. The light throbbed and dimmed until there was none at all. The music continued to play softly as Dumbledore ambled over to a bookshelf, placing the globe up top next to the Sorting Hat as snow flew around gently inside the glass sphere.

 

 

Notes:

Yes that was a Mean Girls reference for anyone who caught it.

Did I really create a new background character as an excuse to write more mildly jealous Snape? Absolutely I did. Ya'll are going to EAT UP the next chapter btw.

Also guess who has real life jury duty the week of Christmas? 💀 THIS BITCH OVER HERE.

Chapter 36: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Summary:

While Reader is away in America, Snape faces an eye-opening truth.

Being conflicted and relieved at the same time was an odd sort of sensation. Part of your brain relished in the sense of sanctity the house brought you, free from any arbitrary Hogwarts rules that you had outgrown as a twenty-year old woman and magically obscured from any unsuspecting eyes who knew not of the witch who resided inside. At the same time, you had many memories here, each branching off into their own complicated maze of emotions. This was your childhood house, the same one you lived in since you were born. On top of that, it was your house now, it being officially documented under your name after you had turned 18. The sense of complete ownership and control was it’s own layer to unpack, but then again you were accustomed to the constant agency over your own life—preferred it now in some twisted way.

 

The house itself was not and has never been located in the wizarding world. You had always resided in the no-maj world, though the property always maintained its own privacy in addition to some other charms you had placed. A very high hedge and tall trees surrounded the property, a second gate cutting off anyone who tried to walk up the winding driveway, not that anyone has ever tried to before. No one was particularly concerned with who lived in that house as hardly anyone ever saw you entering or exiting now that you were attending school across the world. 

 

Upon blipping into your house next to an identical snowglobe that sat on the mantle of the living room fireplace, you saw a layer of dust had accumulated on the furniture surfaces since you were last here in the summer, you being the only resident for years now. Even though it was nearing 10 o’clock at night when you left Hogwarts, it was still two in the afternoon in Washington. The first thing you did was take a Wide Eye potion or two to keep you energized for the remainder of the day. After cleaning up a bit and getting some groceries, you took an egg out of the brand new cartoon and threw it at the wall. Just because you could. Ah, the freedom. You cleaned it up after, of course. 

 

Most of your first day back was spent walking around the parks whose trees which once possessed a vibrant array of greens, reds, and oranges were now barren, currently a sea of white speckled with parents and their young kids who enjoyed their weekend outings as well, a steaming cup of coffee or hot cocoa in their hands.

 

You rarely visited the wizarding world here in America, even in your hometown. You could take the floo in your father’s old study if you wanted to, but you only ever used it to go shopping for potion ingredients or the occasional book. The nearest Diagon Alley-esque location in the wizarding world called Avery Avenue wasn’t nearly as compact. It was probably five times its size and accommodated those with flying enchanted vehicles.

 

There was one thing you did miss terribly that you unfortunately had to leave back home during school. Television. God did you miss watching television. Movies too . Thanks to a certain red-headed man and his amusing misunderstanding, you had a particularly enjoyable evening, busting out your video game console and rocking some Super Mario 64 while high on the chocolate edible. A very fun evening indeed. To top it all, you stopped at a gas station to get some candy and drove up through a park in the mountains to watch the stars on the roof of your car, bundled up in comfy clothes and a blanket, watching the scattered white dots in the sky twinkle so subtly as a stray shooting incrementally streaking through the expanse of black.

 

Sunday was spent in a more or less similar fashion, doing whatever you wanted whenever you pleased with an emphasis on visiting Avery Avenue. It was about time you really explored it and you could pick up some potion ingredients needed for homework. You were pleased with the variety of shops. There were a few clothing shops that catered to no-maj style clothing, one of the few aspects other than cars that bled approvingly into the wizarding world along with no-maj literature. It smelled grand, every which direction you turned as cafes and restaurants kept their windows open, drawing in customers. The bookshop you visited in your younger years remained the same and still did well to this day.

 

The owner of Perriwinkle’s Potions after all these years still recognized you. Granted you saw him last summer, but he always remembered you as the nine-year old girl who came wandering into his shop one day and visited frequently since, though your visits had lessened over the years due to going to Ilvermorny. Still, he remembered you. He was ecstatic to hear that your interest in potions hadn’t ebbed and that you were even capable of consistently brewing Wolfsbane, the potioneering nerd in him giddy with compassionate glee. In your opinion he looked like Geppeto from Pinnochio, but a bit younger. He gave you a generous discount on your purchases despite your protest.

 

A new store, one you haven't seen before caught your eye a block up from the apothecary. It had a large panoramic window with golden text printed on the glass. 

 

Martin’s Incredible Ink

 

Crossing the street to the other side to get a better look you saw a few people lying back in reclined leather chairs as a witch and wizard dragged an enchanted tool across their skin. It was a magical tattoo shop! 

 

***

 

A new week had started. Snape had planned another partnered brewing session and had gotten right to it as soon as class started with a brief overview. It was a potion they had been lectured about the prior week so not much introduction was needed. As he sent them off to their work a student came up to him.

 

“Professor Snape?”

 

“What is it, Mr. Crowley?”

 

“My partner isn’t here.”

 

Snape looked at the board, scanning the pairs he had made. Crowley was partnered with you. Glancing at your usual spot he found that indeed you were not here. He scanned the room in confirmation and sure enough your presence was missing. Ultimately, he sent the boy off to work in another pair as a trio. Why were you absent today? Were you sick? He received no note from your previous teachers or the Hospital Wing as required when one is ill.

 

Knowing you would’ve had Transfiguration first today, he spoke to McGonagall at dinner.

 

“Minerva.”

 

“Yes, Severus?”

 

“Was Miss L/N in Transfiguration this morning? She was absent from my class today.”

 

“Well of course she was absent.”

 

“What do you mean “of course?” Is she sick?”

 

“Miss L/N went back to America.”

 

“…”

 

“Her jury duty, Severus. Don’t you remember?”

 

“...Yes.” He had indeed forgotten about that. “When did she leave?”

 

“According to Dumbledore, she took the train in Hogsmeade Saturday night.” He frowned. That was two days ago. He expected Dumbledore to at least tell him in advance when exactly you’d be leaving. Perhaps then he could’ve escorted you to the station.

 

“And her return date?”

 

“I believe she said it could be anywhere from a couple of days to maybe two weeks.”

 

A couple of days. Including time to travel, he imagined that meant either Thursday or Friday. 

 

Later that evening he did something strange. He was on day three of brewing Wolfsbane, opting to do one a day instead of trying to knock it out quickly. When he had gathered the ingredients and set them at the usual station he paused as if waiting for something to happen. It took him a good minute to realize what was wrong. The cauldron. There was no cauldron readily filled with potion water. It was a task that you’d silently take upon yourself when you assisted him, retrieving the ingredients being his own self-assigned duty. It was something born out of silent understanding. He knew that you weren’t going to be here tonight, not only because of your required leave but also because he didn’t ask for your assistance with this batch, deciding it would be best for you to focus whatever spare time you had on your N.E.W.Ts. He was capable of brewing the potion himself. However, what he had found odd about his pause was that he didn’t do it the prior two days when he had no idea you were gone. He supposed now that he knew of the fact, he was more conscious of your absence from the castle entirely. 

 

And that fact unfortunately made things…difficult.

 

Merlin must have been conspiring against him. The twins found out about your absence through McGonagall the same day he did and went about attempting to concoct something they needed for a prank that they’d normally ask you to handle. They intended to create something that would make the food being served at breakfast grow spider legs and crawl up the wall and onto the ceiling. Instead, it made students who ate the food grow spider legs. Needless to say, many of them needed to make a trip to the Hospital Wing for a restorative draught. While no one was necessarily hurt, Fred and George landed themselves in detention for a few days and had forty house points each removed.

 

Then there was the usual nonsense. Breaking up fights, dealing with potion mishaps, taking points for attitude or insults, all the unnecessary, exasperating mental toils that piled on top of the additional grading he’d have to do as a result of the upcoming exams. And Advanced Potions was just…pitiful. Students were feeling the pressure, causing them to second guess themselves, and as a result few volunteered to answer lecture questions. You could’ve answered them had you been here. Merlin knows his house could use the points since recent fights had caused a hefty removal from his house by other teachers.

 

All of this and it was only Tuesday. But he could manage. If over fifteen years of teaching has taught him anything it’s how to deal with annoying teenagers. 

 

The next couple of days slowly dragged on; a mishmash of grading, doling out punishments, and keeping his lowly simmering temper and headaches at bay. It all felt like one really long day. There was one class on Wednesday in particular where he had another slip-up. During his 3rd-year class, he was grading essays from another year as they worked on their own papers in class. He had just scrawled another ‘P’ on the unfortunate parchment before him, wishing it was after dinner already so he could unwind and rid himself from scrolls that decorated his desk. Without really looking up, he briefly pointed his wand at your usual seat to use legilimency but stopped almost instantly when he felt how different and wrong the mind was. When he looked up from his work, he saw that this was indeed his 3rd-years’ class and that someone else was occupying your seat. 

 

That added salt to the wound, but it was his own fault for making a habit out of something he shouldn’t have been doing in the first place. Still, he wasn’t any less bitter about it.

 

Before dinner, he found himself in the staffroom reading the Daily Prophet. Professor Burbage came in quietly, only giving the potion master a brief nod when he glanced up from the paper, knowing he wasn’t exactly one for small talk or words as she paced over to the kitchenette to make herself a cup of tea. 

 

“Charity.”

 

The woman turned to him as she dipped a tea bag into her cup, a little surprised that the other professor was initiating a conversation. “Yes, Severus?”

 

“I have a…muggle-related question,” he drawled.

 

“Oh,” her eyebrows rose a touch. Professor Snape had never asked her of such things before but she primarily attributed it to the fact that he himself had grown up part muggle and knew what there was to know. “What might that be?”

 

“I am inquiring if you know anything about jury duty.”

 

“Jury duty,” she hummed, “…A rather unique subject. Was there anything specific that you wanted to know?”

 

“What happens, I suppose.”

 

“Well, it’s different for everybody. Those who are summoned wait in a “jury pool” and if they get picked then they’ll serve on a case, either civil or criminal. Some cases are very open and shut, and some are more intense and require multiple meetings. Some people don’t end up having to report at all and are dismissed after a few days. It’s very different from Wizengamot. Why do you ask?” 

 

“For complex reasons, one of my Slytherins got summoned for it and is missing school as a result.”

 

“Ah yes, I heard about that from Minerva. A nice girl. Given her age though, I am not surprised. It is my understanding most muggles get summoned starting in their early twenties.” 

 

Thursday came and he was once again slogging through the day. That's typically how it was during N.E.W.T season with spring break serving as a brief respite between now and the end of the school year. He took each day as it came just waiting for the moment he could close the door to his classroom after dinner. Brewing tonight’s Wolfsbane wasn’t much different. Despite usually brewing any given potion in solitude, he managed to get accustomed to the adjacent seat being empty and their only being one cauldron before, unfortunately, having to deliver the Wolfsbane to Lupin himself. He suffered from a peculiar bout of restlessness in bed, different from the nightmares and thoughts that had a tendency to plague him sporadically throughout any given week. It was a strange jittery feeling that hovered on the cusp of anticipation that shifted his mind from the usual brooding to little flicks of antsiness as if he just drank a whole pot of coffee.

 

Friday. The subtle stirring feeling carried on into the morning when he awoke and went to breakfast. He found himself glancing up every now and then as he ate, eyeing the entrance to the Great Hall and the far end of the Slytherin section. No one from your house really noted your recent absence or asked about your whereabouts. The twins were the only ones who were outspoken about it. His fingers tapped quietly on the table in tandem with the impatience that bubbled inside him. The minutes passed as he kept conversation with those who sat on either side of him to a minimum. He’d have classes soon, but at least it was the end of another school week. One by one, students began to leave their tables and…

 

…you hadn’t shown.

 

Lunch…

 

…you hadn’t shown.

 

Potions…

 

…you hadn’t shown.

 

Dinner…

 

…you hadn’t shown.

 

The castle corridors were especially frigid at night during the winter; one could nearly see their breath. It was, however, no match against the potion master’s usual layered attire. There was a frost over the windows but it was somewhat clear enough to look out at the nearby architecture and landscape. There was always something beautiful about the depressing winter landscape at night. The weather also punctuated the sheer emptiness of the dark halls, he and Filch being the only two to cover the inside of the entire castle for his round of shifts. When the break had ended he had to remind himself that he wouldn’t see or hear you lurking about the dark anymore, especially when he was traversing the dungeons.

 

He wondered if it was snowing just as much over there as it was here.

 

***

 

“Get ready for Potions, mates. Snape’s in a mood again.” The sixth and seventh years from Gryffindor collectively groan. Monday came again as another week started. It was currently breakfast, meaning classes hadn’t started yet, but Gryffindors commonly being the ones to face Snape’s ire could tell when the man was in a sour state from a mile away.

 

“For Merlin’s sake, not again.”

 

“I wonder who he’ll go after this time. Maybe Ravenclaw?”

 

“Gods, I don’t care as long as it’s not us.”

 

“Remember when Y/N stood up for Hufflepuff some of weeks ago? Wonder if we’ll get to witness the sequel. Still can’t believe the bollocks on that girl…”

 

“Not bloody likely,” the twins spoke up in unison, drawing the attention of the older kids.

 

“Something you know that we don’t, Weasleys?”

 

“Y/N hasn’t been present for over a week now,” Fred said, munching on some crispy turkey bacon. “Apparently she had an urgent matter to attend to back in America.”

 

“Which means if anything does happen, the lot of you will have to manage on your own,” George grinned mischievously, knowing that the Advanced Potions students, regardless of house, often dealt with the more rougher side of the potion master, especially when a mistake is made or a cauldron blows up. 

 

The potion master was indeed in a mood. The advanced students picked up on it the second they stepped into his classroom, one that made them want to walk on eggshells. But it wasn’t anger, no, that much was visible. His face was utterly and chillingly cold, colder than the corridors for the last couple of months. Outwardly, it didn’t differ too much from his resting face when he gave lectures, and yet there seemed to be a detectable air of glumness thinly veiled over his grumpy self. His stoicism was obscured by his typical unfriendly demeanor, but this time he was also incredibly brief whenever a student posed a clarifying question, whether it be during lectures or potion critiques, his responses being curt mutters. At the same time, he was being uncharacteristically…resigned. No one had yet to do something foolish like cause an explosion, but there were still little things like students dropping glass vials or someone knocking over ingredients onto the ground and causing a ruckus, smaller things that would have snide insults rolling off his tongue without hesitation, but it seemed he couldn’t even be bothered to do that. The students noticed, but if it meant less of Snape’s wrath then they didn’t care.

 

It was not just students who noticed. Very little escaped Dumbledore, especially when it came to the emotional states of those around him. It was not uncommon for the already reticent potion master to be unforthcoming with himself. Of all the professors in the castle, Snape was always the busiest of them all especially in the second half of the term, a fact unanimously agreed upon by the staff. Unlike the other teachers, he had potions to assess and ingredients to sort through in addition to the usual grade work. Granted, it was partially his fault since he is the one to assign the amount of homework after all. McGonagall always told him to ease up and make prioritizations but the man was stubborn.

 

The headmaster assumed Professor Snape was just having a rough couple of days and initially didn’t pay any mind to his absence at meals. It was a habit for the professor to hunker down in his office and eat his meals there so as to not stray too far, mentally or physically, from his work. What did tip him off, however, was when he actually saw the professor. 

 

The bat decided to come out of his cave in the middle of the week for lunch. What Dumbledore saw as Snape approached the teachers’ table was a bit concerning. The potion master looked very tired. He had dark circles under his somewhat glazed over eyes. Secondly, Snape was occluding and probably had been before lunch. Even if his mental senses were being iced out by the barrier around Snape’s mind, he could still detect an intense low-spiritedness radiating from the man who sat a few seats down.

 

He was quiet too, more so than usual. The potion master was never one for small talk. He could hold a conversation if needed, but even Professor McGonagall, one of few people he actually enjoyed speaking with, wasn’t graced with that privilege as of recent, choosing only to reply with non-committal grunts or nods and shakes of his head. It troubled the old woman who sat next to him and she wasn’t getting anything out of the brooding man with her careful, coaxing questions. Even when she tried talking to him in the corridors and at dinner he was partial to remaining silent, ignoring her words. A dark cloud had been hovering over him. 

 

He attempted to spend the more saturnine moments reading but his mind kept wandering, as did his feet when he’d eventually go on a walk to clear his head in the evenings after dinner. He’d move aimlessly like a banshee in the Forbidden Forest, though in his supposedly destination-free routes he’d always end up by that lone oak tree in the fields at some point. It was clear skies despite the fresh layer of snow that had fallen earlier today. His walks would last until he couldn’t feel his gloveless hands.

 

Returning to his chambers tonight, he slowly paced over to his office desk and plopped down in the cushioned chair. There wasn’t much left to grade as he had been rather on top of the assigned papers, throwing himself into the process when he needed a distraction from his thoughts. He might as well finish off the bottle that sat in the corner, enough amber liquid to suffice as one drink. His preferred glass cup touched his lips, the drink running down his throat like hot soup, warming his body and settling in his stomach.

 

When his hand rummaged around in a drawer for his quill, he retracted it suddenly, banging the interior of the drawer. A sharp stinging sensation pulsed from the tip of his middle finger as he inspected it to find a small paper cut, though not deep enough to draw any actual blood, but enough for a reddish line to form. He scowled to himself, healing the cut in seconds before peering inside to find the culprit. An origami snake sat at the surface next to his quill, a portion of the head slightly unfolded, an edge sticking out prominently. One would think such hands trained to endure hours of brewing would’ve withstood such a feeble thing.

He plucked it from the drawer. It was the one you had somehow managed to create when you were impaired in the hospital wing. You had turned something that caused him irritation into something enlivening. Even blind, you had a midas touch. With things, with potions, with people. Certainly with him. He didn’t feel as hapless about himself when you were around. Less heavy. Nearly two weeks had gone by… 

 

He mis—

 

Snape’s chair scraped harshly against the stone floor. He had shot up with such speed it was as though someone had pounded a gong right by his head. His hands clenched and unclenched, not knowing what to do with themselves, his eyes the same, darting around for they did not know where to look as the revelation that sent a shocking chill down his spine equal to the warmth of the alcohol in his torso gripped his mind. The paper snake fluttered to the ground, its black beady eyes staring up at him in a way that mirrored his own dazed appearance. 

 

Merlin’s beard… He missed you.

 

A can of worms within himself had finally popped open, all of them turning into snakes and slithering about his mind, whispering back every fleeting moment or thoughts he had dismissed or shoved to the very corners of his head in regards to you. The times where it had just been the two of you and he found himself gravitating toward your congeniality whether you were talking about something serious or not, the frivolous little back and forths triggered by him insincerely calling you “insufferable” or making a jab at something you’d do with an equal air teasing, how refreshing he thought you were in the school of Hogwarts as a person, as a Slytherin, how you seemed to be able to laugh in his presence, to find something amusing about something he would say or do, and not in a way that was at his expense. For Merlin’s sake, he stayed for winter break because of you despite Black’s presence.

 

He wanted to laugh in contempt for himself. He could feel his teenage self, the version of him that so strongly relied on himself and himself alone, staring back at him with distaste. How low had the potion master fallen that he had now sought solace in the company of a student? Yes. Your status as a student, an ethical dilemma when one takes into account that he is your teacher, not that there was anything outwardly shifty occurring between you two. And yet, it was becoming exceedingly strange to consider you a student. Given your age and magical origins you should’ve been done with school a couple years ago. Even more unhelpful towards his perception, he saw you in your muggle clothes far more often than he did in uniform. 

 

Then there was your mind. He supposed that was something he could also now admit to himself if he was being honest. Not only was your presence calming, but your mind was something else, and yet, something of equal alleviation. Everytime he stepped inside he was greeted with warmth, like when one opens the oven door after baking a batch of cookies. It felt like a soothing blanket was being wrapped around him, all the tension and thoughts that weighed him down or wound him up melting away. It just felt so welcoming and unprejudiced, even when you were thinking about nothing at all. His favorite times were when you were lost in some fantastical daydream or thinking about something downright silly. Sunballs would glow in his stomach when he tried to multitask between grading and watching those thoughts. 

 

There was a little guilt that came with it as well. He knew he shouldn’t be doing it, his rule-breaking a testament to how deprived of comfort he was. If he were to write down his actions on paper it would appear as though he was using your head like some getaway hotel, but it wasn’t like that to him. Mind aside, he liked the company just as much, your sense of wit and immature bouts of silliness causing sunballs on their own. Severus Snape enjoyed the company of a student. How pitiful.

 

What made him wary, however, was that hidden layer of attachment he sensed had developed. He could see that string, glinting with temptation in the center of his mind like a loose thread on a sweater. “How deep does the attachment go?” was the scale-tipping question that echoed from the string. If he were to pull on it, would it be so surface level that it was like pulling a stray hair off his robes or did it have the potential to run so deeply that it was something he would feel tugging within him all the way down his spine to the heels of his feet?

 

“Just don’t pull on the string,” he told himself, bringing some relief to the panic he had felt so abruptly moments ago. It was a rational and simple solution and it’s not as though he’d be doing anything much differently. Do not escalate the level of your involvement lest your emotions run astray. However, that was easier said than done for he longed for that kind of easygoing company and friendship that made him feel a little fuzzy. And if he was to attentively dissuade himself that would also mean stopping the legilimency for his own good and out of respect for you even though he wasn’t snooping for anything in particular. He just couldn’t have it both ways, could he? The busy days he’d have as a result of NEWTs should help overall with controlling that dynamic so as to not let it meander into a problematic maze. Then again, he could see the stress only encouraging his newfound habits. He’d have to adjust.

 

He slowly lowered himself back down into the chair, scooching towards the desk and blowing out a deep breath as his hands smoothed along the surface. This was something he’d have to be meticulously self-conscious of for the time being. It wasn’t something he felt necessarily perturbed by, it was just…different. 

 

He’ll manage it. 

 

And if he is careful with it…then maybe he can embrace it.

Notes:

ADLFJNAALSDKJASPDSOASJID giggling and kicking my feet for reallllll

Also I didn't have to serve my jury duty! I'm free! :D

I hope you all have a lovely Christmas/Yule/Holidays!

<3

Chapter 37: Solace

Summary:

Reader returns from America (and with a small surprise!)

Song Featured: Hedwig’s Theme Music Box: Harry Potter - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6uTeSJz-F5c

cw: talk of blood, murder

The melody chimed quietly from the snow globe in the headmaster’s office, the glass glowing faintly as light began to generate from within. It was late, well past midnight as the portraits that adorned the old walls began to grumble at the soft music and the light that began to build so strongly it was almost blinding. Just as the melody concluded, there was a flash like someone had just snapped a picture with a camera. You stumbled slightly against the bookshelf, gaging your surroundings in the darkness of the office. You could hear Fawkes cooing in his sleep within his cage. 

 

It was still early evening back home when you gathered your belongings to leave. You would’ve liked to have stayed one more night, but the agreement was to come back as soon as possible no matter the time if you were to travel in this manner. After plucking the globe from its spot on the shelf and shoving it in your coat pocket you retrieved some parchment paper on Dumbledore’s desk and scrawled out a note. He’d see it when he woke up.

 

Descending the spiral staircase, you felt disconcertment coil in your stomach and a tightening in your chest as you registered the fact that you were now back at Hogwarts. Moments from your civic duty began popping up in your head. If the length of your absence wasn’t an indication enough, you hadn’t been so lucky to be excused without selection. The trial you were deemed a suitable juror for was…rough. Because of the case, you had to be shown pictures, pictures that threatened your walls and made you want to throw up regardless of how much the prosecutor had warned you and the eleven other people about how graphic the content was.

 

The alcove-like window across from the bottom of the staircase called to you, the recessed space offering itself to you to recompose yourself as your heart rate spiked upon reaching the seventh floor below. You let your suitcase hit the floor with a loud thud that echoed down the lengths of the corridor as you shifted yourself sideways to sit up against the stone. You could just barely make out flurries through the foggy window. It was almost a week into February, the last month of snow here. Then the rain would be back and flowers would once again dot the fields. Your breaths gained a shuddering quality to them as you felt warm tears prick your lower lids and gently spill over. You raised a hand to your brow bone, fingers shielding your eyes from the moonlight.

 

“She’s fine. She’s alive,” you whispered repeatedly to yourself, taking slow and deep breaths to calm your beating heart. “She’s fine. She’s a—”

 

“Miss L/N.” The timbre of Professor Snape’s voice in the dark corridor ceased your actions of self-assurance. You splayed your middle and ring finger, briefly peeking out through the space between them at the mass of black robes that stood near you before closing them again. There was a slight fluttering in his chest when he saw you and your suitcase illuminated by the moonlight from down the hall as if Merlin was shining a spotlight on you saying “here you go.” While he had been anticipating your return he wasn’t expecting to find you during rounds, much less on the seventh floor.

 

“Have you just gotten back?”

 

You nodded.

 

“What are you doing all the way up here?”

 

“I had to check in with Dumbledore.” As you shifted in place and moved a few locks that had fallen in front of your face, the moonlight made your tears glint in a way that was now more obvious to the potion master who hadn’t noticed them before despite his own wand shining from a “Lumos” spell.

 

“You are crying,” he commented.

 

The hand that had been concealing your eyes moved, pressing the heel of your palm to your cheeks and swiping it upwards. “ ‘S nothing.”

 

“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be shedding tears over it.”

 

“Please.” Both of your hands were on your face now as you took a deep breath, palms pressing over your eyes as if to put a stopper in your tears. “I don’t—It will have resolved itself later. So please. I don’t want to talk about it. Not now,” you sniffed.

 

You seemed rather insistent about this for the time being. He didn’t want to push and upset you further, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but suspect if something had triggered you in the dark corridors moments ago like that night in the common room over winter break.

 

“Did something in the dark…provoke you?”

 

“No, ‘s not that,” you mumbled. 

 

Well, thank Merlin for that. He felt a little more at ease having that confirmation. “Will you tell me after it has been resolved?”

 

There was reluctance on your end, but after a few moments you nodded against the expanse of your hands. He stepped back from the alcove not realizing how close he was. “Come on then.”

 

Lowering your palms you felt that your tears had finally ceased, the glow of Snape’s wand making your eyes squint a little as you readjusted to your surroundings. Just as you had stood and picked up your suitcase, your stomach abruptly gurgled rather loudly.

 

“It’s two in the morning, how are you hungry?” he frowned.

 

“My brain and body reverted back to Pacific Standard Time. It’s about 6pm in my state. But it’s fine. I was just gonna eat a snack and take a Dreamless Sleep to knock myself out and restart my internal clock.”

 

“...Very well then.” A practical plan, one he would’ve advised had you instead proclaimed that you’d eat and just take potions to keep you awake for the next twenty-ish hours. After giving him a slight nod and walking down towards the end from which he came, he actually started to walk next to you.

 

“Don’t your rounds continue off in that direction? Clockwise around the castle?”

 

“You are a student out of bed past curfew and are being escorted back. From my perspective, I am performing my rounds perfectly,” he countered, a light challenge in his voice.

 

You snorted softly, a smirk threatening to wiggle its way on your face, but you quickly killed it. Admittedly, you missed the badinage during your time away, but the inconsistency in his behavior was befogging. Why couldn’t he be like this with the other students? Why did the polarity of his outbursts of unreasonable anger toward others versus his snarky banter with you have to be so divisive amidst your morals? Did you understand his perspective at the time? Yes, but that doesn’t mean he should treat others in such a way. Maybe it’d be best to just let it go for now and if he was acting like an ass on a day that had absolutely no reason for it then you can really let yourself condemn him.

“Did I miss anything eventful around here? I wasn’t expecting to be gone for so long.”

 

“The Weasley twins caused quite a ruckus within the first few days of your absence.”

 

“Oh god, what did they do?”

 

“They made roughly thirty students grow spider legs and crawl up onto the ceiling.”

 

You growled in anger, facepalming yourself. “Those imbecilic little—I told them to wait for me.”

 

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means just that, otherwise the prank wouldn’t have gone wrong. It wasn’t supposed to make people grow spider legs, it was supposed to make the food grow spider legs when touched. I’m going to kill them.”

 

That…actually made more sense to the potion master now that he thought about it. The incident did occur at breakfast. 

 

“What was their punishment?”

 

“Forty points each and three days of detention with Filch.”

 

You shook your head to yourself. “ ‘S not enough.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at you. Inwardly, he agreed since McGonagall was the one to dole out the punishment and the fact that a few of his Slytherins were victims of the unfortunate prank. He was also a little humored by your anger about it, but was more surprised at the fact that you weren’t coming to their defense.

 

“And here I was thinking that you’d be on their side on the matter,” he mused.

 

“I have two rules when it comes to any planned pranks of my knowledge that they need my assistance with, Professor. One, anything above their brewing caliber is to be run by me and made by me. Two, no pranks that would result in direct physical injury. By breaking rule one, they also broke rule two. Therefore, they shall face the music.”

 

***

 

Waking up this morning felt more like waking from a nap. You still felt sleepy and the fact that you needed to get up to eat in order to get your internal clock back on track made you grumpy on top of the fact that it was Monday now. As you entered the Great Hall, your eyes scanned the Gryffindor tables, looking for the two red-headed twins as you thumped a soft cover book against the outside of your leg. Just as you had located them and slowly moved in their direction Professor Snape entered, pacing in his usual stride. 

 

“Good morning,” said Professor Snape to the Transfiguration teacher next to him when he reached the teachers’ table. She turned to him, her eyebrows raising in surprise, noting his seemingly improved mood in comparison to recent days. “Good morning, Severus.”

 

“Watch,” he gestured with a pumpkin juice-filled cup to the Gryffindor section where the twins sat. McGonagall’s eyes followed to where he was referring to and noticed you taking your sweet time walking towards where the twins sat.

 

“Oh, Miss L/N has returned!”

 

“Yes—last night—now watch.”

 

“Severus, what am I to watch for?” she asked, confused.

 

“She found out about the twins’ messy spider prank.”

 

McGonagall’s face switched into a look of understanding, thinly veiled by a just barely restrained smirk. “Oh dear.”

 

As you came up from behind the twins, you wandlessly casted a duplication spell on the book you had behind your back before tapping them on the shoulders. When they both turned their faces lit up.

 

“Y/N!" They scrambled out of their seats, the both of them wrapping their arms around you in a tight hug. Your arms instinctively rose up and away from them before hesitantly settling in their hair. They hummed in satisfaction at your reciprocation. “We missed you! Hardly seen our girl since after break.”

 

“I missed you both too.” Your fingers scratched lightly along their napes before you fisted the back of their robe collars, keeping them from running away as your voice lowered to a more serious tone. “Your girl knows about the spider prank.” Their faces fell and as they pulled back to look at you, the books you had levitated up above them out of their sight came walloping down on the backs of their heads.

 

“OW!” They yelped loudly, drawing attention from all around them, hands reflexively moving to nurse the spots you’d struck. 

 

“I had two rules for such pranks— Two. Rules! I told you two to wait until I got back and instead you send thirty students to the hospital wing! Are you two insane?!”

 

“We didn’t mean to—”

 

“Of course you didn’t mean to and yet that is what happened! What was rule number one?”

 

They both looked down at the ground shifting their feet. “Don’t brew anything complex without consulting you.”

 

“And did you follow rule number one?”

 

“No…” they mumbled.

 

“No. No you did not,” you huffed, flicking their foreheads. “And as a result, you broke rule number two. And that would be?”

 

“No pranks that cause harm.”

 

“Exactly. What offends me the most is that you two thought you could take on the Arachni-Grow potion without supervision. Do you know what could have happened to yourselves if you made a more egregious error and the potion blew up in both your faces? Growing spider legs is not a pain-free experience. And you did that to thirty people. Thirty! So here is what’s going to happen. For the next two months, I will not be stealing back for you any possessions that get confiscated in Filch’s office. I will not be making any type of bomb or firework for you two. I will not be teaching you any useful pranking spells, and finally you can temporarily kiss my assistance goodbye with any sort of potion-based pranks, so go ahead and take the risk of brewing them yourselves if you dare, but expect my fury to return tenfold if you fuck up again.”

 

They might as well have been wearing cones of shame at the way they guiltily avoided your gaze. No matter how big a punishment they got from teachers, your disappointment in them had a way of driving the message home as if you were Molly Weasley herself.

 

“Now then. I have goodies I brought back from home. If you behave yourselves this upcoming weekend as expected of you then you may just get them,” you stated, guiding them back into their seats. 

 

“Yes ma’am,” they replied instinctually.

 

“Don’t call me ma’am,” you chided, tussling their hair.

 

“Welcome back Y/N,” Nicholas greeted. “What was this ‘urgent business’ that called you back to America?”

 

“Jury duty.”

 

“Jury duty? Isn’t that a muggle thing?”

 

“It is, but I’m a halfblood and it’s a bit complicated in my case to say the least. Anyways, did I miss anything else around here besides these two’s shenanigans?”

 

“Somewhat. Snape’s been in a mood for some time, like the git sat on his wand.”

 

You huffed. “Again?”

 

“Yeah, he’s been awfully short with students, especially last week when he took a bunch of points. But for some reason he seems…different.”

 

“Different how?”

 

He shrugged. “Dunno. He was still sharp with people, but also…dispirited?” He continued to explain what Snape was like in his classes, making your shoulders slouch in dreaded anticipation. “I can’t really put my finger on it. But that’s Snape, eh? Unpredictable grump who can go from zero to a hundred if you so much as breathe wrong. Thankfully our knight in shining armor is back!” he raised a goblet at you.

 

“I don't think I even have the energy to deal with his nonsense.”

 

It was times like these where you really hated having potions as your last class of the day. The location was ideal as it meant very little walking to get to the common room or even outside the castle, but at the same time, it meant ending the school day off on a note usually determined by the potion master. He almost always tended to be a bit more of a grump at the start of the week in comparison to Fridays where the weekend would serve as respite. A shame since you had just started feeling a teensy bit better about last night having gotten the chance to speak to Professor McGongall after Transfiguration.

 

You and Nicholas flashed your eyes at one another in silent sign of solidarity and expectation as the door to the potion classroom closed behind the last student to file inside. Professor Snape waved his wand and a single word magically appeared on the black board. 

 

Veritaserum

 

“Veritaserum — a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear. The use of this potion is nearly indistinguishable from ordinary water and is therefore controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. Open your textbooks to page 95.”

 

As he proceeded to start the lecture you focused on Professor Snape’s demeanor. You trusted Gryffindor's judgment when it came to this sort of thing, their radar for the brooding bat’s mood being accurate 99% of the time. From what you could tell he seemed to actually be doing about average for his behavior, rather neutral really with that resting outward grumping expression. Perhaps he finally caught a break this weekend to reset his mind.

 

Your mind must’ve gone askew from tiredness when you were pulled from your brief inattentiveness by the words “five points to Gryffindor.” You blinked to yourself, Nicholas shooting you a smiling ‘holy shit’ look much like how the other students did to one another, not daring to have an audibly outward reaction that would prompt the potion master to retract them. Not that you were complaining, but was he actually in a decent enough mood to offer your rival house points or had he consumed an Essence of Insanity? Then again, you were sure that a Gryffindor would do something stupid later outside of class and a teacher would subtract the points, but right now it was the thought that counted. 

 

“Miss L/N.” Your eyes flicked back to him, flashing your eyebrows in acknowledgment. “Aside from resistance to the potion, what is the quandary of using Veritaserum in Wizengamot?”

 

You exhaled, your gaze shifting thoughtfully to the word written on the blackboard, your fingers thumping slowly and methodically. “...Despite the serum being known for its strength it’s ironically unreliable, though that issue is more attributed to the drinker.”

 

Snape tipped his chin up at you. “Elaborate.”

 

“The potion effectively forces the drinker to answer any questions put to them truthfully, though that hardly means what they say is THE truth. In other words, they will respond to questions with what they believe to be true. With that in mind, those under the effects could have been previously misled or straight up lied to about a story or a fact. There are also the deluded, the criminally insane, and those with a warped sense of reality whose recounts would be rendered unusable. Give Veritaserum to such a person and they’ll insist the message they see in their alphabet soup is some sort of prophecy or the word of Merlin if that is what they truly think. Honesty and truth are asymptotic, but not the same.”

 

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. Those were the moments in teaching that made it worth it and brought him satisfaction, when he could get students to think critically and see outside the scope of the classroom with how such potions effectively play a role and apply in the real world instead of just parroting back information from the textbooks. He nodded. “Ten points to Slytherin.”

 

The Slytherin girl next to you lightly patted your shoulder in appreciation and smiled, as did other Slytherins around the room. Upon concluding the lecture portion you all were sent off in groups of three to work on brewing Veritaserum, a potion that would take 28 days to fully mature after brewing. When the bell rang you were abnormally quick to exit, in desperate need of a nap despite having taken a sleeping potion last night. 

 

“I thought you said he was going to be moody,” you said to Nicholas.

 

“I thought so too. It was like a switch suddenly flipped. Is it me or was he actually…pleasant?”

 

“Perhaps he finally managed to deal with whatever had made him so irritable during my absence.”

 

“Or it was your absence that made him irritable.”

 

You whipped your head in the boy’s direction, a perplexed expression on your face. “Huh?”

 

“Y’know, because of the twins? Even with you keeping them on a leash they can still be quite a handful. They were being extra mischievous while you were away, spider prank aside.”

 

You blinked, shaking your head to yourself at his rational explanation. “Ah, right. Right…”

 

***

 

“Y/N,” a voice spoke a voice, pulling you from your textbook while reading in the common room, quite a few other students doing the same or taking notes for class. You looked up to find the 7th-year prefect standing before you.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“Professor Snape asked me to pass along a message. He says he needs to collect whatever homework you completed in your absence.”

 

“Oh, of course.” You had forgotten, the original plan being to give it to him the first time you saw him upon your return but that was very late last night. The homework had been energy consuming, but at least you got to brew in your kitchen again. It was two potions that would’ve been brewed during class, one of them being the counteractive to the other, and a paper that discussed both of them. 

 

Homework in hand you trotted down the torch-lit corridors passing by a few students meandering about the castle within the few hours that were left before curfew. You could see light coming from underneath the door as you approached. 

 

When you knocked, there wasn’t the usual “Enter,” but rather muffled footsteps that sounded from the other side of the door. The heavy wood swung open and there stood the potion master.

 

“My homework,” you said, holding up the bottles and parchment roll. Instead of taking them from you he merely stepped aside, signaling for you to enter. The usual smell of potion fumes and herbs that have been so ingrained in your nose smelled new due to your prolonged leave. The temperature as well, a chill running up your spine despite wearing a sweatshirt. Back home you would’ve been in front of the fireplace sprawled out on one of the couches reading or playing a video game right about this time.

 

“I need to test their authenticity,” he drawled, levitating the paper from your grip on to his desk and the bottles to himself.

 

“Authenticity?”

 

“In the past, student’s have managed to sneak off to Diagon Alley and turn in potions they merely purchased from shops, specifically these two as they are sold in pairs.”

 

“Then you should know that these two potions are actually illegal to sell in my state. And in the time it would have taken me to travel elsewhere to acquire them, I would’ve finished, Professor. Also, ouch. What do you take me for?”

 

“It is still standard for me to do so, Miss.” He pointed his wand at the potions and muttered an incantation before doing the same to you. A purple light glowed around the glass as well as your hands, indicating that your hands had indeed been the ones to prepare and brew the potion. He then opened up your parchment roll and checked for the basics; name and date in the corner, handwriting...

 

“Has your problem resolved itself?” Snape asked, suddenly switching topics as he took a seat at his desk and lowered the parchment.

 

Your eyebrows scrunched. “Yes, but now I feel rather silly about it,” you muttered, crossing your arms and leaning back against the table that sat opposite to his desk.

 

He fixed you with a resolute stare. “Tell me.” 

 

You tugged at the hem of one of your sweatshirt sleeves for a couple of seconds, avoiding his gaze before speaking. “...It was my jury duty. As you can probably guess, I was selected for a trial that required me to be away from Hogwarts longer than I would’ve preferred. I ended up being chosen for a case of matricide.”

 

“I am not familiar with that term.”

 

You pursed your lips. “Matricide is when someone kills their mother.”

 

His eyebrows creased in a moment of surprise. Despite Professor Burbage’s words, he didn’t think participating in a murder trial would be a possibility. 

 

“While in court me and the other jurors had to look at pictures of the woman, the mother, who was murdered. Both normal ones…and graphic ones. And the woman she—” you swallowed, licking your lips. “—she looked exactly like…Professor McGonagall.

 

The professor shifted slightly as his jaw clenched.

 

“Really, Professor—” you pushed off the table and started to pace a little. “I mean…it was like someone polyjuiced her. Even when the prosecutor was describing her personality so we could get a sense of her character, she was exactly like her. A kind and fair woman loved by her community who taught at an elementary school with three kids of her own and seven grandchildren. And then you see her in these pictures for evidence and there’s so much blood a-and—there are no other words to describe it—she’s just…

 

… mangled.”  

 

You ceased your pacing and stared at a wall, the two of you remaining silent for what felt like way too long before your palms rose and dragged along the expanse of your face. 

 

“It was her eldest son,” you murmured. “We found him guilty. He tried to plead not guilty by reason of insanity, but too much evidence and witness accounts built up against him. Obviously, I knew Professor McGonogall was alive and well while I was away, but when I stepped back foot in the castle…I don’t know it—” You weren’t going to cry, but you could feel that familiar tightness building in your chest so you paused and took a deep breath, recomposing yourself and lowering your hands back down. “As I said before. I feel silly now like my sense of logic flew out the window while I was away,” you tittered wryly.

 

Snape’s eyes slightly squinted at you as he absorbed the information you’d just told him, gathering his thoughts. “On the contrary. In your situation your reaction seems perfectly rational. It is not silly to miss someone…especially when one is presented with such unfortunate…visuals,” he stated softly. “It sounds as though you care a great deal for Professor McGonagall.”

 

“Of course, I care for her. She’s a fantastic woman and a great teacher. I’d be devastated if anything like that happened to her.”

 

“I take it she didn’t have a very positive reaction to such a recount? That is, if you told her?”

 

“I did. And no, not at all. She was understandably more shocked, all things considered…but yeah.” You patted the sides of your legs “That’s why I was upset last night.” 

 

He nodded lightly to himself. “Alright then,” he murmured, his fingers tracing along the edges of the parchment. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take a dark turn. “I should have your work assessed by next Monday and…” His voice trailed off as his eyes honed in on something peaking out on your arm. It was bright green and stood out starkly against your sweatshirt and skin. “What is that on your arm?”

 

You saw him staring at the green that peaked out towards your hand, your fidgeting of your sleeves having caused the cloth to move up an inch or two. “This?” You pulled the sleeve all the way up to your elbow to reveal that the green covered much of your forearm.

 

He got up from his chair and moved around the desk, realizing that the green was actually a thick, cloth bandage wrap. “Did you get hurt while you were away?”

 

“Oh—no—this isn’t an injury. I just had to keep it covered for a bit, though I suppose enough time has passed.” You unhooked a metal clip that had been keeping the bandage wrapped securely together and began to unravel the colorful cloth of your skin. With the final layer gone, the black symbol stood boldly against the underside of your forearm, a thin layer of sheen from a prescribed gel making your skin appear glossy.

 

“Duh duh-duh duh!” You mimicked the Care for Magical Creatures teacher. The potion master’s eyes widened as he reached out and held the back of your palm in his large hand and used his other one to tug you closer by your elbow to get a better look, making your own eyes widened in surprise.

 

His expression became stern and questioning. “This better not be what I think it is.”

 

You clicked your tongue, looking away while failing to suppress a smirk at his suddenly more serious tone. “It's exactly what you think it is.”

 

“You got a tattoo?” he pressed incredulously.

 

“Very good, Professor. Five points to Slytherin.”

 

Snape scowled at you before returning his scrutinizing gaze to the ink on your skin. It wasn’t a huge tattoo , only three to four inches in length and starting just below your wrist. He recognized it from somewhere. This symbol—no, it was a rune. Ancient Runes. He remembers now. This is the rune for a runespoor, also the number three, but that wasn’t relevant.

 

“Silly girl,” he derided. Only you would get a permanent etching of something ever-changing .”

 

You tilted your head at him in curiosity. “You really think my patronus would change?”

 

“They often do and yours most likely will since you’ve yet to fully experience life. And then what will you be left with? A mark that no longer has any meaning.”

 

“I’d be left with an interesting rune on my arm and an immortalized memory of a pretty cool patronus who brought me comfort and made me feel safe. Honestly, I thought of that possibility already when I proposed the idea to the tattoo artist, but mainly I did this because it makes me happy. I’m sure you do random things all the time because they make you happy, don’t you?”

 

He didn’t really have a reply to that other than scrunching his nose and eyelids in a wince-like way while continuing to stare at the black runespoor on your arm, making you raise an eyebrow at his lack of response. 

 

“Don’t you?”

 

He tugged your sleeve all the way back down, letting your arm flop as he accio’d a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet and smacked you somewhat firmly on the forehead like you were a dog before returning to his desk. 

 

“Go back to the common room before you do anything else to make me question your sanity further.”

 

 

Chapter 38: A Haunting Face

Summary:

Professor Lupin attempts to help Reader with her nightmares.

cw: bodily injury/desc. of body horror(?)

Notes:

barely any Snape this chapter, sorry :(

You bolted upright in bed, a thin layer of sweat on your face as your heartbeat throbbed in your neck. In your room, you were alone, but the tension from mind’s eye nearly convinced you that your school robe hanging off a hook on the wall was someone standing in the corner watching you, waiting for the moment that had passed too quickly for them to get you when you were asleep moments ago. The fleeting images of black and red faded away in your mind like the dying embers of a fire. Another nightmare. They had returned soon after coming back to Hogwarts, an unwelcome shift from the nice streak of neutral to pleasant dreams at home without the aid of any type of potion. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was a little past 5:30 in the morning, too early for you to normally get up, but also too late to consume any type of potion that would put you into a peaceful slumber.

 

A morning shower helped. Normally you opted to bathe at night just after curfew started when everyone had retired to study in their beds or went to sleep, but this was just about the same, the only difference being the heaviness that made your eyes and face feel like they were sagging. When you were done, you felt much more awake, your hair still damp and dripping on some ends, but it had plenty of time to dry.

 

Anticipating the early morning chill, you layered your school uniform sweater on top of your white dress shirt for added warmth. The sky looked as though it was on fire as the sun slowly crept up over the rolling hills of the Scottish highlands, the clouds its burning smoke that ran askew in all sorts of directions. It was even more of a marvel when you climbed up into your tree and hung upside down, the sky now a hellish looking pit underneath you as the snowy ground became an earthy roof. Slowly, you felt warmth lighting your skin.

 

“Not another step,” you warned, your wand flicking out from your sleeve and aimed over your shoulder at the presence you had felt not too far behind. The soft padding of shoes walking through the snow gave them away. The only fortunate thing you gained from the unyielding nightmares was increased vigilance when you were alone, or atleast when you thought you were.

 

“Do not worry, Miss L/N. You’re one of the last students I’d like to get in a duel with.”

 

You curled yourself upwards so you were sitting on the branch, now facing the castle and the Dark Arts professor who stood a few yards away with a tired yet amused look on his face and a steaming drink in a to-go mug in his hand.

 

“Was not expecting you. Or anyone for that matter,” you yawned.

 

“Neither was I and yet here we are. I didn’t think I’d find anyone else wandering around at this time. I saw you stepping through the courtyard doors as I was leaving the kitchens. Do you usually choose to hang upside down?”

 

“Yes.” You eyed the travel mug. “Tea?”

 

“Yes.”

 

You sighed, letting yourself lean back upside down again to face the sunrise which was now a rosy pink, glowing and bleeding across the horizon into a light blue. “I should’ve gotten myself a hot chocolate if I was going to be found anyways…”

 

Lupin smiled briefly before plodding over to stand nearby next to you to watch the rising sun that shone brightly in both your eyes. “Couldn’t sleep anymore, Miss?”

 

“No. Nightmares.”

 

“Still?”

 

“They never stopped. It’s not every night, but it’s often enough. They paused when I was back home, but…yeah.”

 

He nodded to himself. “I can empathize. I have them too.”

 

You turned your head to him. “Have them? As in recurring?”

 

“Indeed. A rather unfortunate present bestowed by the trauma that traps us in its clutches.” He gave you a look full of understanding. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

You turned back to the sunrise, shrugging. “It’s really nothing to write the prophet about. The same scene plays each time. I’m in the common room, she shows up, I reach for my wand and then I’m being choked. Sometimes I can change the scene and fight back in a way my mind allows me to conjure in the moment and even knock her out, but then she gets back up or appears right in front of me again.”

 

“I try to do that too. Changing the scene…It never works.”

 

“What happens in yours?”

 

He sighed, sipping his tea. “Few things, but they always have something to do with my lycanthropy. Sometimes it’s the night I was bit, sometimes it’s certain what-if scenarios.”

 

“How old were you?”

 

“...Six.”

 

Six. Over thirty years of nightmares he has had. Is that what is to become of you? A victim of nightmares that haunt you for years because of a choice someone else made? Because they thought they could do as they pleased?

 

“I hate not having control of it.” 

 

“As do I. It’s the worst part.

 

You rubbed your palms over the expanse of your face, smooshing your cheeks and feeling choked up all of a sudden. “ ‘S too early to have deep conversations.”

 

He smirked. “I actually came out here to tell you that you're breaking the morning curfew.”

 

You scoffed against your hands. “What on earth is morning curfew? I’ve never heard of such a thing?”

 

“Well we can’t have students flocking around an empty castle at five in the morning now can we?” He chuckled lightly. “The technical rule is that student’s can’t be wandering the corridors until after 6:30AM.”

 

“And what time is it now?”

 

Lupin checked his watch. “About 6:20 now, but considering it's about a ten minute walk to the dungeons from where we are, I no longer see the point in telling you to come back inside. And besides, I’d hate to drag either one of us away from such a pretty sunrise.” 

 

“Not gonna take points either?”

 

“At this moment you don’t seem like the type to be fazed by such a thing.”

 

“You’d be correct.”

 

Despite feeling a little better having spoken to Lupin earlier in the morning, the peacefulness had been doused by the echoing chatter of students walking the corridors to the Great Hall for their first meal of the day. You ate quickly, silently regretting that you didn’t just eat a protein bar and hadn't tried to catch more sleep before class, choosing to spend the rest of the meal with your head laid in your forearms. You wouldn’t actually catch any sleep this way, but you just needed to right yourself and trick your brain and eyes into thinking this was sleep though it was more like a meditative state. None of your housemates asked if you were alright, but whoever was next to you certainly had no problem in starting a chip stack on your shoulder. You didn’t stop it because you didn’t really care and you couldn’t be bothered to. Like a Jenga tower the stack of salty, greasy chips did eventually fall over onto the students lap, leaving their lap dirty and your shoulder miraculously clean.

 

While Professor McGonagall was a good teacher, there was hardly any variety to Transfiguration. The lectures consisted of the usefulness of spells and the history and importance of their creations while the practical portion was simply trying to perform the spell successfully within the class time. Same with Charms. That’s why you preferred Herbology, DADA and Potions where the work was more widespread.

 

“Welcome!” Professor’s Sprout said. “Today's class will be sure to make you smile. We'll be studying Alihotsy, also known as the Hyena Tree. Alihotsy leaves have the ability to cause uncontrollable laughter, so try your best to keep your giggles contained. Before we dig into the soil, we've got to dig into a lecture on Alihotsy!"

 

You all stood around a large wooden table with notebooks ready as she yanked off a large cloth that covered many small pots. They were filled nearly to the brim with soil with a tiny sprout poking out nearly half an inch above the surface.

 

“What gives? I thought we were handling Alihotsy,” A student piped up.

 

“You are.” She reached underneath the table and hoisted another pot, this one much larger and set it down on the table with a harsh thunk. The plant was fully grown and about two feet in height. “This is an example of what well-grown Alihotsy looks like. Note how the stem tapers upwards and the red dotting on the leaves that resembles poison oak. These plants do not take just any old soil. They thrive on owl dung fertilizer.” Several students wrinkled their noses, but hey, it was better than dragon dung fertilizer. “Now. The reason they are so tiny is because each of you will be taking care of your own Alihotsy plant for the next month or so. During such a task I expect each and every one of you to document your plant; height, number of leaves, amount of spotting, stem strength, as well as the steps you’ve taken to care for the plant. Drawings are not required as I know some of you are not the most artistically capable, but if you feel as though it will help convey the fruits of your efforts then be my guest! This specific greenhouse will be open from 12pm to 6pm everyday for the duration of the assignment. I highly encourage you all to make good use of your free periods. And do write your names on the bottom of the pots! We don’t want any mix-ups now, do we?”

 

She floated a pot to each of you. “The most important step in gro…”

 

There was a slight throb in your feet by the time class ended as you all filed out of the greenhouse and back into the castle. Standing during practical lectures was always a pain, but you were rather looking forward to this assignment.

 

“It’s a shame Professor Sprout did not make zis a partnered assignment.” Jakob said. 

 

“Meh. I disagree, but I’m a bit biased. I hate group work. In my experience, someone always ends up being a slacker, if not everyone but myself.”

 

“But I’m a good student. Vouldn’t it be fun if ve both took care of a plant together? Like parents raising a little green baby.”

 

You snorted. “Divorced parents with shared custody. ‘Cause we live in different houses.” The both of you snickered, nearly colliding with a Ravenclaw girl whose face momentarily lit up as a shade of pink took over her skin as walked from a perpendicular hall. Aria you think her name was. 

 

“Hello Jakob,” she said, waving meekly, avoiding eye contact and trotting away without another second.

 

“Oh h-hello,” he replied back. His eyes trailed after her, the same pink taking over his cheeks. 

 

Your eyes widened and a knowing smile spread on your face. “Well, well WELL! Only a month into Hogwarts and you’ve got yourself a little crush, huh? Sure you wouldn’t want to raise a little green baby with Aria?”

 

“Maybe…I zink so,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just feel guilty, you know? She’s my tutor in Astronomy and I’d hate to put her in a veird position. But I do like her. She’s patient vith me and goes the extra mile to make sure I understand any confusing concepts. I’d hate to misinterpret anything from her.”

 

You raised your hands in a surrendering position. “I totally get it. I’m just saying Valentine's Day is coming up. It’d be a good chance to get to know her a bit more intimately.”

 

***

 

You took up Professor Sprout on her recommendation of using free period time and ended up coming to the greenhouse to work on your first day of care and documentation of your Alihotsy plant. No one else was inside with you, but you could hear Sprout teaching another class in one of the nearby greenhouses. The icy mist from outside managed to permeate the inside of the greenhouses too, creating a strange light haze. 

 

Sprout had moved all the plants to be housed on a slotted shelf, a cubby for each plant with even spacing between them. Donning your dragon-hide gloves, gingerly removing your pot from the shelf and stationed yourself at a potting table, a small Herbology notebook turned to a brand new page. The steps were not hard in the slightest, but making sure the plant had enough fertilizer to begin with could determine how well its growth progresses. Consulting a chart in your herbology textbook, as well as the use of some math, you were able to determine just how much water the plant would need for today as well as the ratio for owl dung fertilizer. 

 

You retrieved a deep-drip water stake from the indoor storage shed. Professor Sprout purchased some rather cute ones that looked like carrots. Carefully, you pressed the stake down in the dirt against the pot at a slight angle towards the origin point of the roots and poured in a ½ cup of water that would slowly be absorbed by the soil and roots. Writing this action down in your notebook, you then spritzed and slightly mixed the topsoil around as prep for applying the paste-like fertilizer. “Enough to thinly cover the surface layer of soil within the pot,” the book said in regards to fertilizer. With a metal spoon, you scooped a large glob out from the foul-smelling bucket that sat underneath the table and smeared it along the surface of the soil into a thin veneer before using your fingers to churn the soil around to distribute the dung closer to the roots. The pot was not yet big enough to be treated with a sickle.

 

“Okay…” you sighed, rubbing the back of a glove across your face. You were all done with the brief physical care for the plant for today and hovered the plant back into its cubby, placing a defense spell or too on the pot in case anyone tried to mess with it.

 

Just as you pressed the tip of your pencil to start a sketch of the plant, a barn owl swooped in through the open door and screeched at you, landing a couple feet away from you. Attached to its leg was a small piece of parchment. You assumed the bird was meant for Professor Sprout and ignored it until it skipped over and tugged at your sleeve, presenting its leg to you. You eyed the small rolled up piece of parchment and untied it from the bird’s leg.

 

Miss L/N,

There was something I was hoping to discuss with you after dinner should you find yourself free to. If that is the case then meet me in the DADA classroom.

-Professor Lupin

 

You suspected this message had something to do with this morning or what happened earlier in DADA today. Today’s lesson involved immobility spells and you hadn’t reacted too kindly when a girl who wasn’t even your partner for the practical portion used “Incarcerous” on you, binding your hands behind your back and bringing you to your knees. The rope had also slinged around your neck and when Professor Lupin told her to rid the rope, she used the wrong chant, one that actually tightened the bindings. Lupin had vanished the ropes himself and placed a hand on your shoulder to calm the evident distress in your face, but not without you cussing her out and getting a few points taken away in the process.

 

Great. Now this had to be a whole thing.

 

You sent the bird on its way, continuing with your quick sketch. It wouldn’t be much for now, just the pot with a small little curly sprout peeking out from the top as well as a little measurement next to it that indicated it’s current height. When the leaves started to come in you could be more detailed. It was really just a truncated cone and a small vertical line at the top for now.

 

Dinner proceeded just as breakfast had, though this time you ate rather slowly in an attempt to delay the inevitable and no one stacked food on your body. It’s not that you were against talking about…whatever it was he wanted to talk about, but when it was with a teacher there was this inexplicable air of unnecessary seriousness and formality that you hated. And Lupin could be serious when he wanted to despite being one of the more easy going instructors.

 

“Y/N,” a voice spoke. You lifted your face from your folded arms. Both of your potion partners for your Veritaserum group project were standing next to the end of the table. One was a boy from Gryffindor and another from Hufflepuff.

 

“Mhm?”

 

“Professor Snape wants all three of us down in the potion classroom.”

 

“Now?”

 

“Now.”

 

You groaned to yourself, wishing you could be left alone for the evening. It was obvious it had something to do with your Veritaserum, doubtful that you three being requested was a mere coincidence. As you got up from your seat your eyes trailed over to the black robes billowing out through the entrance to the Great Hall. The three of you followed him from a distance, each of you thinking the same thing and hardly uttering a word to one another except for asking the Hufflepuff student, who Snape had spoken to, if he knew exactly why the three of you were being summoned in the first place. He did not.

 

Snape was silent as well the whole way down, except for when he muttered a spell to open the classroom door from a ways away. His eyes scrunched in a peculiar manner when he caught a glimpse of your face smudged with dirt and graphite. Honestly, how hard was it for you to keep clean?

 

“I shall make this brief,” he drawled as the three of you sat around a nearby table. “Your Veritaserum has been spoiled.”

 

While your two other partners gawked in perplexion, you remained silent and craned your head back towards a long low-level shelf where a row of cauldrons containing stewing Veritaserum were sitting. There was an empty spot where the three of you had placed your cauldron days ago.

 

“There was an incident in the third year class. A student mistook it for water and used it to extinguish a small fire that was started. Even if none of you are not at fault, I cannot just excuse you three from the assignment. Therefore, you will start a new cauldron tonight and it will be graded a few days later than the rest of the class after it stews.” Behind his back, he waved his wand and the storage room door unlocked and opened slightly. “Decide amongst yourselves how the work will be done and get started,” he concluded before slowly turning around and pacing towards his desk.

 

The three of you softly sighed amongst yourselves. “So,” you patted the table’s surface. “How do you guys wanna do this? One person preps, two people brew?”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“I’m alright with that.”

 

“Good. If you two don’t mind, I would like to prepare the ingredients.” They both nodded eagerly in agreement, clearly happy with the fact that you had taken the “hardest” of steps with this particular potion off the table. You wouldn’t consider it hard, just requiring more effort, but you had your ways. “I’ve got to meet with Professor Lupin tonight so I’d like to get out of here as soon as possible,” you said to them, striding towards the open storage room.

 

Snape’s eyes flicked up at that, narrowing before he returned his attention to the paper before him.  

 

You scanned the rows of jars in the storage rooms. A vial of Ptolemy, Moonstone, Adder’s Fork Tongue, Jobberknoll Feathers, Sophorous Beans… You grabbed them all, cradling them in the crooks of your arms against your torso. 

 

Out of all of these ingredients, three can be prepared with a knife. The vial was fine as it was so you simply set that one aside and retrieved a pestle and mortar while your partners began to quietly chat away about the upcoming Quidditch game. Placing the stone inside, you pressed the tip of your wand to it and muttered “Reducto” breaking the stone down to granule-like chunks before beginning your assault with the pestle to reduce it to a fine powder. 

 

“Wait, you use spells on your ingredients?” the Gryffindor boy asked, having heard your chant.

 

“You don’t?” you replied back softly, raising an eyebrow without looking at him. Use of magic on the ingredients for preparation was something you were all for if it meant making things more efficient. It’s not like it was cheating.

 

With the Moonstone grinded down to a soft little pile of powder, the tongue was next. The instructions said to slice down the middle lengthwise so as to split the tongue into two equal halves. To accomplish this, you folded the already skinny tongue in half like a hotdog bun and delicately sliced through the natural inverted crease that formed so as to make them as equally-sized as possible. For the feathers, all you had to do was cut off the hairs that would be added to the mixture, which took you no more than a couple minutes total. Placing the wispy feather hairs into a small bowl for your partners, you moved on to the final ingredient. The Sophorous Beans were to be “lightly crushed.” What truly defined “lightly?” You played it safe. Using the flat side of the silver potion knife, you pressed the bean down against the cutting board letting your weight do the work as it had a rather firm exterior. The beans crunched, caving in on itself like a peanut shell whose pieces still clung to one another. 

 

“Done.” 

 

The two boys ceased their conversation to look at the ingredients you had prepped while you made your way to the back basins to wash the potion knife.

 

“But it’s only been fifteen minutes.”

 

“Yes.” You turned the sink on, washing away the blood from the tongue and the bean juice that dripped on the knife. “And?”

 

They said nothing for a moment as you returned back to the station to gather your belongings. And then it dawned on them, their expressions souring a little, but it’s not as though they could be too annoyed. It would be a team effort in the end after all.

 

“You hustled us.”

 

You smirked to yourself, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Yes, in a way you did. While you knew you could accomplish the prep quicker than they could, they’d also have to be stuck stirring the potion and adding the ingredients for about 30 minutes each. But hey, it’s not your problem. And if anything else went wrong with the potion, you’d know who to blame.

 

“Mayhaps,” your smirk fully widening into a smile. “Nighty night~”

 

***

 

The door to the DADA classroom was slightly ajar when you got there. Music from a record player echoed softly around the room as you slipped inside, your presence remaining unknown to the Professor who had his back turned as he reorganized some material on a distant bookshelf. You recognized the song that was playing and quietly walked over to the record player, observing the cover art of the record slip.

 

“You do me proud, Professor.”

 

Lupin jumped a little when you talked, not having heard you enter his classroom. He turned to find you holding up a record slip that boldly displayed the word “QUEEN.” He smiled a little, flicking his wand at the record player to stop the music as you set the slip down where you found it.

 

“Sirius got me hooked onto muggle music during my fifth year.”

 

You nodded lightly and crossed your arms, slowly pacing aimlessly between desks. “So why am I here?” you asked, getting right to the point. “Is it because of this morning or because of class?”

 

He exhaled softly, leaning back against the edge of his desk. “A mix of both I suppose. How have you been feeling since then?”

 

“Fine. Just a little annoyed.”

 

“You have every right to be. Neither of us were expecting such a thing to happen today, and I understand if you do not wish to speak of it. However, I feel that in my experience as well as others there is often an underlying reason as to why bad dreams keep coming back to us, not that I can claim to know just exactly how it felt to go through what you did.” He tilted his head. “Do you think the reason might be due to a certain lack of justice? Because you didn’t have the chance to effectively fight back?”

 

“Professor, I’ve beaten Abigail six ways to Sunday in my dreams and it doesn’t do anything to stave the nightmares off.”

 

“Perhaps defeating her in your dreams is not enough. Maybe you need a more authentic encounter.”

 

“And how exactly do you plan on making that happen?”

 

He said nothing and simply motioned his wand in the direction of the large mirror-adorned wardrobe sitting in the corner of the classroom. You looked away scoffing to yourself as you knew full well where this was going.

 

“Her in that stupid costume is not my boggart, Professor. I am certain of it.”

 

“When was the last time you faced your boggart?” 

 

“I dunno, two years ago?”

 

“Two years is still quite some time. People go through experiences, no matter how great or small, that can affect our greatest fears to our greatest desires. Don’t you think that it’s reasonable to consider that Halloween might’ve changed your boggart?”

 

As much as you didn’t want to admit it he had a point, but you also didn’t like how he had inserted himself into trying to fix your personal issues. You didn’t ask for his help. You didn’t need his help. And even if your boggart had changed it’s not as though firing a spell at it would guarantee anything to change for you emotionally.

 

Lupin could sense your understandable reluctance. “I really do think this could help you, Miss L/N. And if this doesn’t atleast make you feel better then I won’t propose anything similar in the future. You have my word.”

 

Oh yeah? And has it ever helped you? you wanted to sneer, but you bit your tongue. “Fine,” was all you uttered out, pulling your wand from your sleeve. Only if it means getting you off my back. “But do not say I didn’t tell you so.”

 

With a wave of his wand he shuffled some chairs and desks out of the way to make room for the boggart. “What’s the magic word?”

 

“Riddikulus.”

 

“Alright then.” He moved to stand off the side, closer to you should anything go wrong. Another flick of his wand and the knob turned harshly with a loud click. It was quiet before the door slowly creaked open at a snail's pace like a breeze blowing through an old house. A hand appeared, grabbing on to the outside of the wardrobe for balance. The figure became visible as they stepped out of the darkness of the wardrobe. This figure, however, did not wear a cloak. This figure did not wear a red devil mask. This figure was not even in wizarding attire.

 

It hadn’t changed.

 

This figure was you. 

 

You were a couple years younger. Your hair was a mess like you had major bedhead. Your eyes were tired as if you hadn’t slept in weeks, a thousand yard stare within them. The boggart trudged forward, stopping a couple yards away from you. The two of you locked eyes, Lupin’s gaze shifting back and forth between you and the other you. The boggart rolled the baggy sweatshirt sleeve of its left arm all the way up to the elbow, leaving the previously concealed hand on full display. The hand clenched, not into a fist, but like it was going to claw at something. All of a sudden thick steam started generating from the skin, billowing upwards and persistently. The skin started to quickly turn a deep, dark red, blisters forming all over your wrist, palm, and fingers. The sound was sickening, your skin bubbling like tomato soup and sizzling like greasy bacon being cooked in a saucer pan, popping loudly. The whole time, the boggart's face didn’t change, remaining absent and defeated as the hand trembled violently and you two just stared at one another.

 

“Riddikulus,” you eventually muttered.

 

The sweatshirt the boggart was wearing enveloped itself until it was nothing but a blanket lying on the floor. The now harmless boggart slithered its way back into the wardrobe, the door closing shut behind itself and re-locking. Your expression hadn’t changed either and Lupin seemed to be at a loss for words, not knowing what to say as he traced his thumb along his bottom lip. He wasn’t expecting anything like that. 

 

You clicked your tongue, turning around and pacing towards the exit. “As I said before, Professor. That amoral devil is not my boggart.”

 

“Miss L/N—” 

 

KA-THUNK!

 

You were simmering in frustration. You hadn’t thought about that moment in years. You shouldn’t have indulged him—should’ve just walked right back out of the classroom and ignored him. Your left hand was tucked against your stomach, clutching it and rolling small circles against the back of your palm with your thumb in self reassurance. In a way you were glad your boggart hadn’t changed. In real life, you had overcome that horrible event which meant you would overcome these nightmares. Eventually.

 

When you finally made it back to your room, you tossed your bag into the corner and flopped on your mattress staring up at the cloth tent of your bedposts. “Expecto Patronum,” you murmured. The patronus body coiled mostly on the floor but slotted their heads and long necks against your body, the middle one slithering up over your torso and settling its massive head on top of you so that the tip of its nose pressed against your chin. You sighed, finding comfort in its weight and stroked along its jaw. 

 

“Don’t ever change. Please.”

 

 

Notes:

Hi, I am indeed alive, just busy prioritizing school/life.

Also, our runespoor patronus no longer has a set size (I don't know why I did that to myself, all it did was limit me in visualizing and writing the creature) so he's now just described as "giant" in previous chapters. Picture him as big as you want! (not that it was stopping anyone before I imagine lol) Just know that he is a very big boy indeed.

Has anyone scene deleted scene from Fantastic Beasts where they show a GINORMOUS one? Here if you want to watch: https://youtu.be/vG8CGM5iH8E?si=OXXzNWuloZXbmjmT

Chapter 39: Bonds

Summary:

The bonds of friendship began to grow between Reader and Professor Snape.

“Mate, those gloves are mine! These are yours!”

 

It was just after dinner now and you, Fred and George were standing in the corridor across from the courtyard doors. The twins were bickering over whose gloves belonged to who. Despite being twins they were coming into their own and were very adamant in having their own style of clothes when their mom didn’t perpetuate the stereotype of them dressing nearly the same in public. You on the other hand were trying to pay their chatter no mind as you slipped inside of a dark, hooded wool coat.

 

“Unless you two are incapable of talking and walking, I’d like to get a move on before the sun completely disappears on us.” 

 

Quickly, George pulled out a small tag on the inside of one of the gloves where he had written a “G” as proof to his brother that the green, yellow, and red plaid gloves were indeed his. Fred finally relented, but not without muttering that those gloves were more his color instead.

 

“Honestly, you twins are far too obedient.” A couple of older Gryffindor boys approached, on their way back to their common room. The boy who spoke up sneered at the twins as they cut through the open space between you and the Weasleys. “She walks you two like dogs. It’s embarrassing.”

 

George rolled his eyes. “Bugger off, Fletcher. You’re just cheesed because no girl’s paid any attention to you today.” 

 

“My, is someone in a projecting mood?” you said to Fletcher.

 

He turned around but still kept walking backwards with his pals. “Perhaps I’ve just been waiting all day to let you have a chance at this,” he goaded, gesturing to himself. “But it’s a shame for you since you’ve waited too long, doll.”

 

“Oh, really…”

 

You made slow strides towards him, making the boy flinch when you actually put your hands on his shoulders, as he turned around you grasped his upper arms and manhandled him until his back was pressed against the nearest wall. While your face remained emotionless that look in your eye was still present as you stepped in close. Fred and George’s mouths fell open from your sudden boldness towards the older Gryffindor.

 

“Perhaps I’ve just been waiting all day to let you have a chance at this,” Snape heard just as he was rounding a corner after leaving the Great Hall. “But it’s a shame for you since you’ve waited too long, doll.” When he did he faltered slightly when he saw you and the boy with his back nearly to the wall like he was nothing but a rabbit being cornered by a panther. Snape’s walk fully stopped as he stiffened at the sight of you stepping in so close to the boy it might’ve only been mere inches apart between the two of you as you wrapped your forearms around his neck. 

 

Fletcher tensed, his face having suddenly lost confidence as he had not expected this sort of reaction. “I—y-you—what—”

 

“Is it true what the twins say?” you cooed. “Have you been in need of a little… attention?” You punctuated that sentence by moving even closer, your noses nearly touching. You let one of your arms retract and your gloved fingers came to trace and play with the rim of his shirt collar, your thumb just barely swiping at the skin of his neck. His shoulders were climbing towards his ears and his face became more red and flustered with every passing second. You thought you even heard the lightest whisper something to Merlin under his breath.

 

“Well…” You leaned forward tilting your head a little to speak into his ear. “Too bad.”

 

And the illusion for him was over in a flash as you pulled away like nothing happened and walked back over to the bag you had left near the opposite wall containing a myriad of items you’d be using this evening. Fletcher blinked, his shoulders sagging all the way back down as you had just taken all the wind out of his sails. He blushed furiously when his friends started to cackle at him and he stormed over and shoved them further away down the hall. 

 

Searing yellow and orange blended in with a blue as the sun was making its descent, touching the water line of the Great Lake and making the trees and mountains look nearly black. There was a thin layer of snow covering the fields. You suspected Hogwarts was capable of one last heavy snow before it started to rain again, a time you were greatly looking forward to. The twins ran ahead of you, lightly pushing each other while trying not to slip on the snowy surface of the grass. You smiled lightly to yourself as you watched from behind. A flock of ravens who were picking at the ground for their evening meal skipped out of the way of the two red-headed boys who were running towards the Great Lake. “Easy,” you reproached when Fred slipped on the snow and landed on his rear before hastily wiping the remnants of his pants and throwing a handful of the snow at George for laughing at him. 

 

The three of you found a flat spot not very far from the shore. While the twins were mock sword fighting with two large sticks you began to brewing supplies from your bag; a shrunken down cauldron, pestle and mortar, a few jarred ingredients, a potion knife, a book and a special mask to help keep the potion fumes at bay. In the snow, you drew a large circle, about ten feet in diameter and casted a spell that lit a burning flame as if originating from an invisible bunsen burner. 

 

“Can one of you fill this with water from the lake?”

 

“You’re not going to use Aguamenti?”

 

You shook your head. “No, it’s gotta be fresh mineral water. The more natural, the better.”

 

Fred held out his hands and you hovered the now enlarged cauldron over into his grasp. The two of them worked on breaking some of the ice closest to the shore, Fred putting the cauldron down to warm up the ice while George dropped large rocks on to it. The backstrap of the mask tightened over your braids and around your head as you secured it snugly on your face before pulling your hood up. There was the sound of a loud crack and a small section of ice finally gave way, eliciting a triumphant smile from the boys.

 

Fred hovered the cauldron back over to you and in exchange you hovered a dense, hand-held object over to him. 

 

“You both remember how to use it?” They both nodded fervently. “Alright then. Go crazy.”

 

It was your camcorder. You brought it with you any time you and the twins hung out in case they wanted to record you or themselves doing something nonsensical. They were fascinated with the technology ever since you showed it to them in both your first schooling years at Hogwarts. You loved that they loved it and you would fortunately have recorded memories of them to look back at fondly after graduating.

 

“Look at this handsome bloke!” Fred said, starting a video recording and pointing the camcorder at George. George started posing and flexing his arms while laughing to himself. “But not as handsome as me.” This time pointing the camera around to himself, grinning cheekily before crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. “And of course our favorite pretty girl, but it appears she’s transformed into a bird,” he joked, pointing the camera at you and zooming in as you worked on cutting open a bit of dried fruit. You briefly looked up to them, your figure unrecognizable to anyone who could possibly watch the recording before refocusing your attention back down to the fruit. “Shut up,” you mumbled.

 

Fred continued to film George pretending to sword duel someone, though it really looked like some silly, choreographed dance. On a whim, he turned the camera back open towards your direction, but spotted something in the distance. A figure was approaching and there was only one other person who wore that much black.

 

“Bullocks,” he cursed. “Snape is headed this way.” George stopped his air fencing. “What? How’d he know we were out here?” The twins weren’t sure what to do. It’s not as though they were currently breaking any rules and you remained unbothered by the proclamation, but in their experience any encounter with the potion master meant fun was ruined or a punishment was in order. 

 

“Maybe he’s just walking to the Forbidden Forest?”

 

Fred zoomed in on the potion master. “No mate, he’s definitely walking towards us.”

 

You hovered some pieces of dried plum into the cauldron. “You two need to relax.”

 

“Easy for you to say Miss Slytherin.”

 

Less than a minute later as George and Fred were busy filming one another and appearing to keep busy did you hear the potion master finally make his presence known, his baritone voice cutting through the relative silence of the air from somewhere behind you, save for the sound of a the light crunching of snow beneath the twins feet and the distant crickets that hid within the brush.

 

“What do we have here…” Snape drawled. “It seems you three are not as furtive this year, finally caught in the act of brewing up trouble.”

 

George, who was holding the camera now, lowered it, a sense of discomfort prickling their spines. You could feel all their eyes on you, Snape’s stuck to the back of your hood out of question and accusation and the twins whose gaze was more innocent and pleading, a call for protection. With a bundle of sage in your lap whose leaves waited to be trimmed by the blade of the potion knife, you slightly turned your head to the side a little as if to look over your shoulder in acknowledgment of your potions professor. 

 

“Admirable wordplay, Professor,” you spoke calmly, slicing at the leafy herb in your lap. “But I am sorry to say that we are just hanging out.”

 

He eyed the cauldron ahead that was softly gurgling with the faintest bit of steam showing within the crispy cold air. “I am to believe that the students responsible for every practical joke in the castle for almost the last three years just happen to be jaunting outside at dusk and brewing for entirely innocent reasons?”

 

“Pretty much, yes.”

 

“Yeah, we're not doing anything wrong, Professor,” the twins said in unison, smug grins plastered on their faces. “Just having a bit of fun. More fun than you apparently.” George angled the camera and zoomed in to get a shot of the Professor standing near you with a now soured expression on his face. 

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“You think I am weak-willed enough to succumb to the twins if they had begged a little to have their punishment lifted?” A little puff of laughter sounded from beneath your mask. “I am not so in favor of them that I would let them off the hook early for doing something so foolish.” 

 

“Honestly woman, two months is a bit harsh,” Fred stated. “That even goes through the week of our birthday, y’know.”

 

You said nothing for a moment, staring at them through the glass lenses of your mask before picking up your wand. Silently, you summoned your patronus and the twins began to scamper away as the giant three-headed snake took form and slithered after them.

 

“ No! Not Runey, Y/N! He’s too big!” they yelped. Had they been smart enough they would’ve ran in opposite directions. Snow kicked up from their feet as they tried to outrun the patronus, but the runespoor was faster. The middle and right head lunged forward and nipped at their ankles, tripping up the two boys. They landed in the snow and tried to scramble up to get away again but the runespoor had already laid two of its gargantuan heads down on top of them, forcing the twin’s face to press into the icy snow.

 

The twins squealed. 

 

“ACK! That’s cold! 

 

Ok, ok! We get it!”

 

Snape was a little surprised you summoned your patronus in front of them, but then again, why would he be? They were the two people you were closest to. Of course it shouldn’t be shocking, though it did make him wonder who else had known about the impressive runespoor. After a good ten seconds you let the creature disappear, the twins rolling onto their backs. You could hear them huffing in the distance as if they had gotten run over by a car.

 

“Sweet Dreams,” you spoke aloud, using your wand to hover in the trimmed sage leaves into the cauldron and writing something down in your personal brewing and experiments notebook. The professor, who now stood next to you instead of a bit behind you, looked down and for the first time this evening noticed that you were wearing a mask. A plague doctor mask that resembled a raven with reflective glass lenses. When he said nothing you craned your head up next to you to briefly meet his gaze. “Sweet Dreams. That is what I am brewing, Professor.” 

 

He passed you by and approached the cauldron, disregarding the circle you had drawn in the snow. The name was somewhat familiar, a certain possibility that he could've seen it in the morning paper within the past few years under new potions to be aware of within the wizarding world. With the sun now completely set with the first few stars of the night it was a little difficult to discern the color of the mixture so far, though he recognized that the ingredient you had just added in was sage.

 

“Do you know it?” You asked as you began to chop up some Valerian root.

 

“No.”

 

“As the name suggests, it provides the consumer with “sweet dreams,” though it’s highly addictive. In my opinion, it’s basically a drug, creating a false hallucinogenic euphoria with sedative effects.” You briefly paused your chopping. “Did you know that the general public of the European Wizarding World has only recently become aware of this potion within the last couple of years even though MACUSA has been brewing it since the 1950s?”

 

He frowned at you, parting his lips slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

 

“Well don’t act so surprised, Professor,” you chuckled. “Every country has secrets, whether it be for the sake of nationalism or financial gain. The Soviets wouldn’t have won the space race with the Sputnik-1 satellite if they had been sharing their plans every step of the way, now would they? I must admit, I do like learning about wizarding history. The macabre, the mystery, and the ensuing drama from any moral corruption is rather intriguing.”

 

That was similar to how he felt about Dark Arts. “Why the mask?” he asked after a brief pause.

 

“A safety precaution. The potion fumes aren’t toxic, but they aren’t very friendly towards the lungs either. It’s also volatile, so I’d like to protect my face.” 

 

Volatile. His gaze wandered around and he noted the circle he had carelessly crossed over. A blast radius. He cautiously backpedaled out of it towards you. It would also explain why you were hovering the ingredients into the cauldron from a distance instead of brewing it regularly. 

 

“May I see the ingredients?” he inquired, his curiosity, admittedly, getting the best of him.

 

Wordlessly, you held the book up to him with the page opened to the potion. It was about the size of a potions textbook. He read the front title of the book. A History of Morally Grey Potions. There was a MACUSA seal stamped on the spine as well. 

Sweet Dreams

 

A potion that induces “sweet dreams” when consumed before sleep. 

 

This potion is for educational use only. Selling or distributing this potion may result in jail time.

 

 

1. Fill the cauldron with natural mineral water. Spells used on the water before any ingredients are added will render the potion useless.
2. Add 1 sliced Plum to the cauldron. 
3. Add 14 Sage Leaves to the cauldron. 
4. Add 3 chopped Valerian Root to the cauldron. Yellow sparks should appear above the mixture. Lower the flame.
5. Add 2 cups of Absinthe to the cauldron. If orange smoke appears, vanish or repulse the cauldron immediately. Turn off the flame and wait for the mixture to cool.
6. Transfer potion into a copper cauldron. Let stew for three weeks in sunlight. Cover the top with a cauldron lid during the day and remove it at night.
7. Strain the solid ingredients from the cauldron.

 

1 batch = 3 potions

 

The Sweet Dreams potion was conceptualized and researched by Elliot Rosedegger in 1949 as a means of becoming a publically available medication to those in the wizarding world who suffered from PTSD-induced nightmares as a result of the Global Wizarding War in Europe and North America. After the fall of Gellert Grindelwald, Rosedegger was enlisted by MACUSA to come up with an aid for U.S. aurors who struggled mentally the following years. He and a team of unnamed potioneers were successful in the creation of a potion that would improve upon already existing sleeping potions. However, during a short period of market testing it was found that the potion is highly addictive, and as a result could be abused recreationally. While MACUSA has tight restrictions and monitors national production of the potion, the potion brewing process was leaked by an unknown official and managed to make it into American black markets by the 1960s. It is the third most common potion to be found on smugglers…

 

Yellow sparks begin to pop along the surface level of the potion, garnering the potion master’s attention. It was a sign that you were successful so far.

 

“I hope you don’t intend to eventually consume this potion.”

 

“No. I just want to see if I am at least capable of making it past Step 5.” You cast a “Lumos Maxima'' with your wand and retrieved the bottle of absinthe and a measuring bowl. Screwing the head off you tipped the green liquid into the bowl to the 2 cups marker, lowered the flame, and hovered the bowl over to the cauldron. Snape remained quiet as he watched, unaware that a sudden light breeze was making the outer hem of his cape tap against your shoulder. You angled your wand, tipping the bowl in turn. The absinthe flowed smoothly out of the tapered nose and into the cauldron. You couldn’t see over the top of the cauldron from such a distance so you couldn’t tell if the alcohol had taken, but you got your answer. Orange smoke started to build and waft rapidly.

 

“Uh oh.”

 

“Depulso!” Professor Snape fired a spell at the cauldron sending it flying towards the frozen water of the lake. Just as it crossed the threshold of snow to ice did the mixture explode, sending hot liquid splattering about the ice that likely would’ve gone outside the safety circle. That could have caused some bad burns. 

 

“Blimey, Y/N!” The twins called from where they were dueling each other having heard the exploding mixture and noted the discarded cauldron. “Are you alright?”

 

“ ‘M fine!” you called back before lowering your voice to a murmur as you laid back in the snow. “Just a wounded spirit…”

 

“Pity,” Snape rolled his eyes half, though he was only half disingenuous.

 

You slapped your hand against the snow, almost petulantly. “I mean—” You sat up. “I’m not crazy, am I? That was 2 cups of absinthe wasn’t it? And I did all the steps right. It’s definitely not as difficult as Wolfsbane.”

 

He thought about it. From what he saw you had indeed followed the instructions properly. “Not all alcohol is brewed equally. You could’ve been sold a bad bottle… or the seal was already broken, therefore triggering the expiration period.” He wanted to look at the bottle himself to see if there were any indicators that it wasn’t your fault. "Accio absinthe.”

 

Strangely, the bottle didn’t so much as wiggle but—

 

CRASH!

 

You and Snape whipped your heads towards the sound of glass breaking further down the shore in the distance. It sounded as though one of the windows from the boating house was smashed. You stood up and could see something flying through the air, the shine of the moonlight highlighting its presence. Only when it entered the large radius of light that your wand cast were you able to tell what it was: a bottle. The professor held his hand out and the bottle slotted itself within his grasp. He inspected the object confused. Another bottle of absinthe. His face unpinched itself, some idea or thought flashing in his mind as he directed his wand at the bottle that sat next to you in the snow. “Finite.”

 

The bottle changed itself. The rectangular build morphed back into a cylindrical one, the liquid inside turning amber. A bottle of firewhiskey. Someone had used a disguising spell on your potion ingredient.

 

“You sure you’re alright Y/N?” The twins asked again, ceasing their trot over to you.

 

You tilted your head down toward the snow, the leather of your gloves squeaking as you clenched and unclenched your hands. 

 

That fucking prefect. 

 

You had that bottle on display in the common room before dinner as you were checking your supplies. He asked about it and you told him that it was indeed alcohol but you’d be using it as a potion ingredient because even one drink’s worth could fuck you up. You were aware that there would be a party tonight, one you had no intention of going to. He had broken into your room, messed with your things, and it almost hurt you and Professor Snape. What if the twins had decided to sit next to you and watch your brew? You were enraged. 

 

“Expecto Patronum.”

 

You once again summoned your patronus, though this time it was not as opaque and was already hissing. You sent it a mental command and it snapped its heads around and zipped away hurriedly, phasing through the ice and moving through the lake while remaining relatively hidden, its long, glowing body shining from beneath the solid water. While Snape and the Weasley’s were focused on where you sent your patronus off to, you walked some paces, grabbing your bag and thumping the bottle against yourself, trying to calm down.

 

As instructed, your patronus popped up through the ice at the open end of the boathouse where a mini pier sat inside, towering at its full length. The sounds of fearful screaming could be heard as Snape and the twins saw in the distance a little over twenty students run out the opposite end of the boathouse back towards the castle as if death was after them.

 

“Twins… Get back inside the castle,” you growled, trying to keep control of your anger in the moment.

 

“Not a chance, love. This is gold!” George giggled watching your runespoor herd them from behind like sheep.

 

“Weasleys!” the professor hissed, having picked up on your radiating yet restrained anger from your body language. “Get. Back. In. Side. That is not a request.”

 

The twins huffed. “Fine. G’night Y/N. See you tomorrow.”

 

As the twins walked into the distance and your runespoor disappeared, Snape stepped over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder, apparating the both of you. The two of you snapped back into existence in the center of the courtyard. A couple moments later did the first few intoxicated students filter into the area. They were stumbling, trying not to trip on the snowy stone, and were surprised to find the dungeon bat and someone who resembled a large bird staring them down. All of them were too drunk to come up with a logical excuse for their whereabouts and current states. Snape spoke just as the last student entered the courtyard.

 

“Let me make this perfectly… clear. I know what you all were doing and I know where you were doing it,” Snape upbraided. “So don’t...bother...lying to me. How many of you drank from this bottle?” He held up the empty absinthe bottle.

 

They all reluctantly raised their hands, persisting the potion master’s scowl.

 

“You have all ingested a type of alcohol called “absinthe.” It’s highly potent, one of the main ingredients being wormwood, which as you all should know causes hallucinations.” Quite a few of them breathed sighs of relief, now believing that the beast that was chasing them was a figment of their imaginations. “You will all make your way to the Hospital Wing. Now. ”

 

Madam Pomfrey was bewildered by the sight of over twenty Slytherin students being led into the Hospital Wing. Due to the number of students, Dumbledore and McGonagall were summoned to be made aware of the situation. The Transfiguration teacher regarded you oddly due to your appearance. Dumbledore said nothing, knowing it was you beneath the mask.

 

“As a prefect, I expected much better from you.” Snape derided, glaring down at the boy who stared back dumbly and slack-mouthed in return. “Breaking into a student’s room, stealing their possessions, sabotaging a brew, and drinking on a frozen lake? Clearly, giving you such a position was a dreadful mistake.”

 

“I agree,” Dumbledore spoke calmly. “Not only have you broken quite a few rules, but your actions have endangered yourself and other students tonight.”

 

You weren’t paying attention to the teachers. Whatever they were saying to the drunk students, who would end up having to spend the night in the Hospital Wing, might as well have been white noise. You were posted in the corner of the room, arms crossed tightly against yourself as you tried to wrestle and deal with your anger, the bottle of firewhiskey.

 

“Oi. Birdman.”

 

You snapped your head to the prefect who was frog blinking at you. “What.”

 

He outstretched his hand at you. “Can I’vma’ firewhiskey back?” he slurred. 

 

Snape could slap him right now.

 

You craned your head up to the ceiling in disbelief before directing it back towards the ground, holding the bottle out away from you. “Oh my god—Somebody take this from me before I hurl it at one of the armor statues.” 

 

Dumbledore ambled over to you and removed the bottle from your hand, which immediately went to harshly grip at the hem of your pants. “Why don’t you and Professor Snape go and see if anything else of similar importance was removed from your room? Then I recommend retiring for the evening,” he suggested quietly, a particular referential look in his eye that was only discernible by you. He was referring to the snow globe.

 

You got a couple of strange looks from those who passed you and the potion master by as you both made your way down to the dungeon. Snape didn’t really speak much except for asking if you had some sort of potion store in your room. He assumed that when Dumbledore spoke to you, he was referring to other potion ingredients of a similar caliber. You simply said “yes” and nothing more, though it truly wasn’t your primary concern.

 

By the time you entered the common room, you had removed your hood, your recognizable braids now visible. A girl on one of the common room couches did a double take when she saw you and hastily stood up.

 

“Y/N,” she sputtered. “Uhm-are you going to your room?”

 

“Yes.” Your room wasn’t that far away from you. It actually shared a stone wall with the sitting area and one of the first doors one walks past to get to the shared dorms.

 

“Don’t!”

 

You had every intention of ignoring her when she opened her mouth, but you stopped mid stride, as did Snape. You flicked your gaze to her. “Why?”

 

She shifted her feet back and forth ignoring eye contact with you. She felt as though she couldn’t say it with the potion master present. “Just…don’t.”

 

“Why?” you pressed, taking a few steps in her direction. “I was having a pretty good evening until recently. So answer me. Why?”

 

She winced to herself, not wanting to be the one to add salt on the wound.

 

“It’s…it’s being…used.”

 

“Used how?” 

 

She blushed. “I mean…your room is private…so…”

 

Something flashed in your mind as you put the pieces together, approaching her further for one last confirmation. “…There are people in my room… fucking on my bed?” you spat. When she nodded to you nervously, everything just stopped. Your rising anger had been replaced with a heavy burnt-out feeling and a sense of hopelessness like the engine that was your mind came to a stuttering halt. You did not have the emotional capacity at the moment to process it. And even if you did, you couldn’t because the space you had designated for such things, a space where you had true privacy in a location occupied by hundreds of students, was being defiled by horny teenagers.

 

You were done. Done.

 

That was your room.

 

Your safe space.

 

And they just helped themselves. 

 

“I…” You wanted to say something, anything that could possibly quell your own distress and chase away the overwhelming amount of disrespect thrusted in your face  but nothing came out. You had resigned. Speechless, you turned around and trudged out of the common room, disregarding the uncertain gaze of the girl and Professor Snape who watched you pass through the doors, closing them behind you with a soft click.

 

***

 

The trail of blue footprints blinked and glowed like stars in the darkened corridors of the castle, not another student present or silly whisper about who went on a date with whom as the minutes until curfew drew near, a majority of the students having since retired or were within the vicinity of their common rooms. Rarely did the potion master ever find himself traversing to the fourth floor and yet that is where the spell was directing him to.

 

That Slytherin girl who had cautioned you about the unwanted visitors in your room during your evening’s absence had the sense to scurry off to her shared dorm, wanting to avoid being the only one left with the professor. Or perhaps, she could detect the simmering discontent that peaked through his usual cold exterior when he, despite his own self-imposed prohibitions, used legilimency on you, deeming it to be an exclusionary precaution and necessary in gauging your state of mind when presented with such an unfortunate situation. You were very good at controlling your anger, at least in comparison to how he would’ve theoretically handled it. But then the strong sense of indignation that had seeped into your mind shifted into defeat, resembling a type of overwhelming exhaustion and bitterness. Yet, even underneath that he could see flashes, visuals of what you thought about doing; sending in your patronus to scare them, walking into your room yourself and yelling for them to get out, or going to the bathroom to slam your fist into one of the mirrors. In tandem with having your brew inadvertently tainted, which could have left you with an injury had he not repelled the cauldron before you could even breathe the chant, you had been worn down. 

 

Suffice to say, the aftermath wasn’t the most pleasant thing to deal with, but if it meant taking another thing off your plate he’d do it. Perhaps only for you. Upon deciding how to approach this, he banged twice on your door and instructed harshly through the wood that whoever was inside had better make themselves decent and exit your room immediately. He stood back against the other wall with his arms crossed and only thirty seconds later did the two 7th-year offenders exit your room, mortification evident in their disheveled state, the girl in particular covering her face with the expanse of her palms while the boy merely avoided his gaze. He gave them both detention with Filch tomorrow, staring daggers as they did their walk of shame.

 

They left the door to your room wide open with the wall lamp on. From where he stood he could make out the disorganized state of your bed on the far side of the room where they had done the deed. That urge that was telling him to fix this successfully tempted him into cautiously crossing the forbidden threshold of the door frame. He didn’t know what to expect when he did so. A trap? Merlin smiting him for being a teacher entering a student’s room? Just in case he closed the door behind him.

 

Snape had no expectations of what the interior looked like. He had been in here as a cat but his priorities at the time weren’t to plot the layout of your room. The size of it is what surprised him. The location of this room used to be where a tiny unused storage closet was, but Dumbledore had mentioned making a room for you with expanding charms and didn’t divulge much other information, including why you wouldn’t be housed in a shared room regardless of where the hat placed you. You had a room the size of the shared dorms all to yourself. As a result, it looked rather barren as you didn’t decorate it like other students did. There was your desk, your bed, a standing mirror that sat in the adjacent corner, a wardrobe, a small bedside stand and a bookshelf almost fully slotted with various reading materials. The only thing he could deem decorative was a snow globe that sat on one of the shelves. Everything was clean and organized, not even a lone sock haphazardly tossed onto the floor.

 

He slowly paced over to your bed and observed the bedspread. It was a cool-toned plaid cover with sheets to match. If there was a mess, and he assumed there was, it would’ve been hard to spot. He cast multiple cleaning charms on the entirety of it, including your pillows. For extra measure, he summoned a house elf, their magic being more proficient in this case, who’d have it be the cleanest surface in Hogwarts even before finding you and escorting you back to the common room. 

 

The footprints eventually led him to a section of hallway dedicated to abandoned classrooms or rooms where unused or broken furniture was housed. He was just thankful you hadn’t gone back outside.

 

He heard the sound of a high-pitched squeal. Peeves manifested out from one of the doors ahead, flying swiftly away from a runespoor head that snapped its jaws after him, barely missing the troublesome poltergeist’s behind. 

 

“A horrible monster is after me! 

Run for your lives! 

Flee! Flee! Flee!” 

 

Peeves chanted, whisking past the potion master and diving through another wall. The head made eye contact with the professor, slowly blinking before retracting itself backward through the door. 

 

It was dark and quiet in the abandoned study room, some moonlight shining through a pair of tattered curtains allowing you to see your surroundings. Dusty desks and chairs littered the room, the exception being a worn sofa littered with cobwebs and holes torn in the upholstery. There were a few chalk scribblings on the blackboard that you’d have no trouble believing to be some years old. You sat leaned forward on one end of the couch, your knees propping up your elbows and your chin resting on your hands wrapped over another. You needed somewhere comfortable to think and prayed one of the abandoned rooms had at least an armchair. 

 

Peeves was unfortunately scouring the castle tonight in search of out-and-about students he could tease. He found you, dipping through the ceiling on his way to the ground floor and took interest, particularly because of the mask you were still wearing. He had tried to levitate your bag away from you, but you had it strapped to your shoulder. He then resorted to goading remarks and using his powers to annoy you, hovering a piece of chalk over and drawing on you or even tugging at your braids. Peeves was looking for attention and you were in no mood to give him any, so you scared him off with your patronus, letting it vanish when it dipped its extended head back inside.

 

Just when you thought you could begin to get your thoughts in order your ears pick up on the sound of footsteps right outside the door. The carved, iron handle tilted downward and the door slowly pushed open, emitting groans from the old hinges that echoed around the room. The windows in the corridor did little to highlight the potion master’s silhouette that filled the doorway. 

 

A slight downward tilting of your masked face was all you had in response to his entrance. You were expecting him to just stand there and tell you to return to the common room. Instead, he stepped inside, leaving the door slightly cracked.

 

“I think the hat was wrong.”

 

Your statement made Professor Snape’s pace halt, stopping within the empty space of the floor where desks had been swept aside and where the moonlight illuminated him softly. Your eyes flicked up through the tinted lenses to see a faint expression of bemusement. 

 

“I shouldn’t have been put in Slytherin.”

 

With the silence now taking on an intensely thick disposition as Snape’s face twitched into something unreadable, one could hear a pin drop on the 7th floor. 

 

“…The Sorting Hat doesn’t make mistakes,” he said plainly.

 

You scoffed, the sound muffled yet still recognizable. “Did the hat tell you that too?” The head of the couch met the base of your skull as you leaned back, slouching in the old furniture and staring up to where the opposite wall met the ceiling. “Am I simply too kind? Do they think I’m a pushover? And for the love of god, please don’t give me the Dumbledore sugar-coated mysterious runaround. Be real with me, like a fri…” You looked away. “Force me to eat a slice of humble pie if you have to because…I don’t know anymore. As cunning as they may be, it is always out of selfishness and greed. They only care about themselves. And the ones who are nice…they are also cowardly. That girl in the common room for example…knew they were in my room and did nothing to find me or kick them out. I don’t want to believe that our house is made up of jerks, but they make it difficult. The younger years I can understand but the older ones…”

 

Snape was quiet for a moment, trying to structure his words carefully. You had done nothing wrong and he didn’t wish to cast any blame on you, but… “You cannot expect teenagers to act like saints all the time, Miss.”

 

“I don’t expect the other Slytherins to act like saints, I would only assume that they at least possess a shred of basic empathy, but apparently even that is asking for too much,” you muttered. “And the worst part is that even though they don’t give a damn for me…I still cared about them in return, and I hated myself for that. I worried that one of them would’ve fallen in the ice.”

 

“That is not something you should hate yourself for. While it is not the most orthodox trait for a Slytherin to have, especially in my day, to still be concerned for those who have wronged you is rather…admirable. I had hoped other Slytherins would’ve taken after you during your few years here.”

 

You harrumphed, drawing your knees up to your chest and tugging your hood back down to cover the burning of your ears. “Now you sound like Dumbledore,” you murmured. “But even Dumbledore would’ve told me that he thought I would end up in Gryffindor, as did other teachers… And I know you did too.”

 

Snape said nothing.  

 

You scoffed, but the joking air of it was undetectable with your face hidden. “I might as well start wearing a red tie instead of a green one—”

 

“You belong in my house,” he all but snapped at you, clearing the space between where he stood and the sofa in a few long strides. He found the insinuation downright insulting. You were his Slytherin. “Not Hufflepuff, nor Ravenclaw, and certainly not Gryffindor. My house. The hat places someone where they are best suited and if it has somehow escaped your wondrous mind it was rather eager in placing you in Slytherin and I shall hear nothing else about it.”

 

It was the potion master’s turn to wince, albeit internally, having heard his slip-up. He meant to say “wandering,” not “wondrous,”...even if both were true. There was a beat of silence again as you blinked at him beneath the mask and rolled your thumbs over one another, looking down at your lap. “ ‘M only kidding, Professor. I don't think I could sleep in those muggy towers, but…” you blushed beneath the mask, your voice lowering to a barely discernible mumble, “...the assurance is somewhat relieving. Still, is it so wrong to want more compatible housemates?”

 

Snape huffed softly. “They are young,” he stated. “As such, it is unwise to assume they will be entirely rational and considerate in their decision-making. They will learn. Eventually.”

 

Your fingers rose up under the hood and fiddled with the straps of the mask. “...Would you hate me if I was put into Gryffindor?”

 

Things would certainly be different. “If that far-fetched scenario implies that your personality remains as it is with the only change being your house then no, but I shall vomit if I witness you wearing one of their ties.”

 

A puff of laughter escaped as you chuckled briefly, the back of your hand instinctively hiding your already obscured mouth. 

 

DUM…DUM…

 

A deep bell chimed throughout the castle. You rolled up your sleeve. Sure enough, the watch displayed the curfew time. You groaned to yourself. “My bed…”

 

“Your bed has been taken care of,” he drawled.

 

You sat up and unstrapped your mask, allowing the potion master a view of your face for the first time all day. “What? When?”

 

“Not long after you departed. Spells were applied and a house elf was summoned. Other than the swiped bottle, nothing else appears to have been disturbed.”

 

You were a little dazed by his admission. He’d gone inside it, but that wasn’t a concern nor the focus of your perplexity. Professor Snape had taken care of your unfortunate situation even though it wasn’t his problem nor his responsibility. He did it because…he wanted to…?

 

The notion made you feel fuzzy inside.

 

“I see… That poor house elf,” you grimaced. “And…” You shied your gaze away from him as you felt another wash of pink dust your face, praying it wasn’t noticeable. Good lord, it was like mentally trying to push yourself over a wall. “...Thank you.”

 

He grunted and held out his hand. “Off to bed with you.” You touched your gloved hand to his and as soon as you were upright did the space around you warp into the much colder dungeons with the set of double doors to the common room before you. When you muttered another “thanks,” he checked into your mind one last time, just to see how you were fairing on the inside now that the two of you have spoken.

 

The corners of his mouth curled up at a particular word that rang clear in your mind.

 

“Friend.”

 

Notes:

cue the start of the will they won't they kicking my feet giggling moments

Chapter 40: Liquid Love

Summary:

Valentines Day in the Wizarding World can be weird. Reader learns that very well.

Featured song: Somebody's Watching Me

https://youtu.be/7YvAYIJSSZY?si=DlmzKI7Vn_Zq4mGh

cw: dosing

“Yes.”

 

“Nein.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Nein.”

 

“Jakob—”

 

“Nein, nein, nein!”

 

Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick watched from further down the Entrance Hall as you and Jakob were having a seemingly intense conversation, hand gestures being thrown about as you spoke insistently to one another. Some students lingered to watch while most continued on their way, gathering in the courtyard for another Hogsmeade weekend. No one watching could understand a lick of what either of you two were saying.

 

“What do you suppose they are arguing about?” asked the Charms professor.

 

“I haven’t a clue, though I am willing to bet a galleon it has something to do with school work,” Professor McGonagall said.

 

“What an interesting notion Minerva, however, I bet five galleons it has something to do with the holiday,” Dumbledore mused. The woman gave him a look. “Now Albus, you wouldn’t happen to be raising the stakes because of your particular mind-interpreting abilities, would you?”

“Of course not,” he chuckled. “I am a man of my word.”

 

“Jakob, das ist die perfekte Gelegenheit, sie zu fragen.”

[Jakob, it's the perfect opportunity to ask her.]

 

“Aber sie ist meine Tutorin! Was, wenn sie nein sagt?”

[But she's my tutor! What if she says no?]

 

“Sie wird nicht nein sagen. Nach dem, was du mir erzählt hast, ist es offensichtlich, dass sie dich mag.”

[She won't say no. From what you've told me, it's obvious that she likes you."]

 

“Ich weiß es nicht. Sie ist schrecklich still in meiner Nähe, sogar während des Unterrichts. Ich glaube, sie fühlt sich unwohl bei mir.”

[I don't know. She's awfully quiet around me, even during class. I think she feels uncomfortable with me.]

 

“Wenn sie sich in deiner Nähe unwohl fühlen würde, würde sie dir keine Nachhilfe geben. Bei dir fühlt sie sich schüchtern. Das ist ein gutes Zeichen.”

[If she felt uncomfortable around you, she wouldn't tutor you. She feels shy around you. That's a good sign.]

 

“Aber—”

[But—]

 

“Jakob, oh my god I will slap you!” you said firmly, squeezing his shoulders.

 

That, the teachers understood. “Okay, maybe one of us should interfere,” Flitwick said doddering over to the two of you as you both continued to talk lowly to one another. “Pardon me, but is everything alright you two? Your argument seems to be drawing eyes.”

 

You looked around and noticed that two other teachers and some students had indeed been watching you and Jakob. “Oh, apologies professor. We didn’t mean to make a scene. We’re not arguing actually. I’m trying to convince Jakob to ask out a girl he likes unless he wants her to be snatched up by another fellow.” Dumbledore smirked to himself from where he and the headmistress stood as she pursed her lips in defeat.

 

“Ah, I see. Young love! I say go for it, Mr. Fischer. You only have so much time left to make memories before you graduate.”

 

“See? Even your head of house agrees.” You spotted Jakob’s crush walking through the doorway to the courtyard and pulled on his coat collar to follow you. The girl was a 7th-year Ravenclaw like him. She had a quiet personality overall but was especially soft-spoken around him. They shared Astronomy and Ancient Runes and she tutored him in the latter class in the library. You witnessed some of their sessions while crossing through the library to do your homework. He’d only known her for a month, but the way he spoke of her in your presence you’d think he was on Amortentia. Not only was it Valentine’s Day, but it was also Jakob’s first Hogsmeade weekend. If it were any other case, you’d volunteer to show him the village, but you saw it as a perfect opportunity for them to spend some time together outside of school.

 

You ignored the chill that sent a shiver down your spine as you stepped into the courtyard, your lack of layers and unprotected arms prickling instantly against the cool air. As Jakob came to a stumbling halt beside you readjusting his clothes you spotted the Ravenclaw girl not too far away. Aria, you think her name is. 

 

“HEY A—” Jakob clamped a hand over your mouth and tugged you back.

 

“Please I am begging you, Y/N. Come to ze village vith me instead. She’s going to say no. I am sure of it.”

 

“No can do, loverboy. I’ve got other plans with the castle being more vacant today. And I’m not about to let this opportunity slip through your butter fingers.” You wiggled from his grip and managed to scoop up a clump of snow and sent it hurtling toward Aria, smacking her in the side of her upper arm. She whipped her head toward her attacker but her face lost confidence when her eyes landed on you motioning her over, a flustered Jakob standing next to you.

 

“H-hello,” she said, cheeks tinging pink at how put together Jakob looked in his winter clothes, like a model in a magazine. 

 

“Hi Aria. Sorry about the snow, but I needed to get your attention. Did you know that today will be Jakob’s first time going to Hogsmeade?”

 

Her eyes widened, a small smile gracing her lips. “Oh, that’s right! You were not yet here at Hogwarts when we had our last Hogsmeade weekend. Well, you’ll be in good hands. Y/N’s been to Hogsmeade loads of times.”

 

“Aha, well about that…” stepping close to her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got other things to attend to. I was actually thinking you could show him around the village.”

 

“Me? Oh I-I don’t know. I don’t think it would be a very enjoyable time—For you, Jakob! I don’t think it’d be a very enjoyable time for you. I’m not the most entertaining company…”

 

“Oh really? That’s a shame. I guess we can ask one of the other Ravenclaw girls then.” You turned and pretended to scope out the other girls. “Edaline looks free.” Aria’s face fell and just as you were about to cup your hands around your mouth to yell for Edaline, Aria stopped you.

 

“Wait!” She looked in Jakob’s direction and flushed as she internally gathered her courage. “I’ll…guide him around Hogsmeade.” Her voice became significantly quiet, a near murmur. “I can’t promise that I will be able to make it a satisfactory experience.” Jakob smiled as softly as he spoke in return. “Your company is satisfactory enough.” Aria flushed red at that, picking at the hem of her coat in nervousness.

 

“Alright,” you smiled, taking her hand off your shoulder and conjoining it to Jakob’s who was previously holding your wrist. They both looked away from each other this time, blushing to themselves. “Jakob likes to hold hands on walks. You alright with that?” The tiniest “mhm” sounded from her. “Cool, cool. Well then, I’ll see you two later.”

 

When you turned to walk back up the wide, flat steps you noticed Professor Flitwick standing nearby, having watched and heard the entire interaction with a smirk on his face. “You are positively guileful, you know that?” he said as you passed him.

 

A sly smile graced your lips. “It’s a gift.”

 

***

 

His shoes scuffed against the dusty stone stairs as he descended downwards to the kitchens. Snape was walking on the ground floor when the intense smell of cinnamon hit his nose, the warm and fragrant spice permeating the air. Lunch concluded before the students went off to Hogsmeade, which meant, in theory, that the house elves would've already disapparated until the next course of food needed preparing. If they hadn’t, what could they possibly be making that called for such an ingredient whose scent pervaded the air to a powerful degree? As he approached the set of double doors he could hear what he believed to be music playing, which told him it was not a house elf, but rather an unruly student, the sounds of kitchenware clattering harshly from the other side of the wood in tandem with the music. It seemed a new song had queued up just before he pushed on one of the doors. 

 

The potions professor was surprised, and yet, not at all surprised to find that it was you who decided to make use of the kitchens. There were no longer any house elves occupying the kitchen alongside you. You were facing away from him bobbing your head along to the music that blared aloud. The space you had stationed yourself in was messy, covered in a thin layer of flour and of a doughy mixture that dripped from the used mixing bowls. Two loaves of some sort of cakey bread concoction sat on a table across from the large, woodfire oven. Your hair was put up into a simple, high bun with a few loose tendrils. The apron you wore was a navy blue and stood out starkly against the cream-colored sweater you had on, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, flour dusting over your tattoo. You looked very domestic singing along to the music.

 

“I'm just an average man with an average life. I work from nine to five, hey, hell, I pay the price. All I want is to be left alone in my average home. But why do I always feel like I'm in The Twilight Zone? And— I always feel like somebody's watchin' meeee~. And I have no privacy oh-oh-oh…”

 

Snape just crossed his arms, slightly leaning against the nearest wall, and watched. You glided around smoothly, reaching for a couple of ingredients, adding them all together into a bowl, and whisking away.

 

“...When I'm in the shower, I'm afraid to wash my hair. 'Cause I might open my eyes and find someone standing there—” You had turned around to go and pour the freshly made glaze on the other two loaves only to find the potion master within your line of sight, standing by the doors and watching you. 

 

“Jesus!” You flinched from his unexpected presence and fumbled the bowl of glaze around. With one hand you reached behind you and felt around for your walkman, finding the pause button and stopping the music. You exhaled when you felt your heart rate go down and once again moved towards the other loaves. A noticeable smear of flour streaked across your cheeks and along your hairline.

 

“Are you making it your personal mission to break every rule at Hogwarts, Miss L/N?” he drawled.

 

You bit back a smirk, accio’ing a butter knife to yourself. “That’s not a bad idea. It would certainly make my remaining time here more interesting. Or maybe old habits just die hard.”

 

“If that is the case, you ought to be fitted with a shock collar.”

 

“Perhaps,” you smiled to yourself, “but I’m just about done here.” With both hands, you began pouring the thick glaze onto each loaf using the butterknife to sculpt away at parts that dribbled down onto the sides and using a cooling charm to harden the glaze against the efforts of the warm cake. You pulled a large, plaid cloth out from the pockets of your apron and laid one of the loaves atop it, tying the corners into a large knot to store it for later. With a flick of your wand, a faucet in one of the large basins turned on as you made your wave over, hovering your dishes alongside you.

 

“What are you doing down here?”

 

“Baking, Professor.”

 

"Obviously, yet I would’ve assumed you’d be galavanting around Hogsmeade with that German boy and the other 7th-years at this time,” he said coolly, a slight tone of bitterness imperceptibly hidden beneath.

 

“Oh yeah? Why would you think that?”

 

“The holiday.”

 

“Ah…yeah, I dunno. I don’t think I should go. History has shown this year that I cannot have a normal Hogsmeade weekend. Perhaps this time it would’ve been on theme and I’d get dosed with Amortentia.”

 

He grimaced at the thought of you consuming an unsuspecting drink in Three Broomsticks, a hot chocolate perhaps, and suddenly scampering off to cling to someone who had no respect for consent. “If such an incident were to occur, we teachers are extra wary on Valentine's Day and are all educated in recognizing the signs… I do hope that fear is not why you opted to stay back.”

 

“Not particularly…I just think I’ve got bad luck when it comes to the village. And besides, it’s not like I need to buy anything, and taking advantage of an empty castle sounds more promising than witnessing teenagers tongue-punching each other’s throats at every table in Three Broomsticks.”

 

Snape’s eyes noted a piece of paper next to the other loaf and walked over to it. It was a list of ingredients. “You can try it if you’d like,” he heard you say, glancing up to find you looking over your shoulder with a wet rag in hand, cleaning one of the bowls.

 

“Why are you washing dishes like a muggle?”

 

“Something wrong with that?”

 

“It’s highly inefficient and menial, or are you not capable of casting a simple “Washing Up” spell?” he goaded. 

 

“A, Yes I can, I just choose not to because I find performing certain tasks “the muggle way” to be relaxing, and B, I don’t believe for one second that you haven’t once opted to manually clean something before considering the type of class you teach.”

 

He sneered at your last statement, but only because you were technically right. “One would think you are simply stalling for time so you can further run amok the kitchens.”

 

You turned off the faucet, finishing drying a whisk before accio’ing the now clean dishes and most of the ingredients into a canvas bag. “One would think your very black robes could use a touch of white.” Your tone was slightly daring as you slung the canvas bag over your shoulder, grabbed your bag of flour, and started walking in his general direction.

 

He was silently staring you down now, his eyes narrowing with every step you drew closer until you had stopped a yard or so away from him. Your other hand slowly rose and dipped into a flour bag. He doubted you would actually do anything, but in his experience, you had shown moments of unpredictability. He was unphased by the testing display, until he saw your fingers touch some of the flour through the clear plastic rectangle of the bag, and his hand found his wand in an instant.

 

"Do it and it's a detention for you,” he warned lowly.

 

You were fully smirking now. This was just too much fun. Watching him get so riled up over something inconsequential made you want to laugh. His wand was aimed in front of his abdomen, not so much in a serious casting stance, but he was definitely ready, his agility in casting like a hair trigger. And as soon as you had curled your fingers to grasp a very small handful of flour, your face was met with a cloud of white.

 

He had silently cast a spell that made some flour blow upwards into your face, caking the skin of your face and neck so that it was as white as your sweater.

 

“Hmhm…” you chuckled in an easygoing manner, pinching the top of the flour bag and wrapping the opening downwards blindly with your eyes closed, before stowing it away in your bag. “Of course, I wasn’t going to throw flour at you, Professor.” You wiped the flour out of your eyes and mimicked his tone. “Or are you not capable of casting a simple cleaning spell?”

 

“Bite your tongue you—”

 

The doors to the kitchen creaked open again and Dumbledore stepped into view. “Merlin’s beard that smells heavenly. Is it do—” The headmaster paused at the unexpected presence of the potion master. “Oh, Professor Snape. I’m surprised to see you down here. And Miss L/N—oh my, you seem to have flour on your…well everywhere.”

 

“Ah c’mon, don’t act so surprised. You knew what you signed up for letting me down here.” The potion master shot a look back at you, to which you side-eyed a cheeky expression. Oh yes, Professor. Did I fail to mention that I was actually given permission to be down here? Oopsie!

 

“Is it done?” Dumbledore spoke meandering towards the unwrapped loaf. “Yes. I made two, one for me, one for you, and the— hey!” You caught sight of him summoning a knife and as he was about to cut into it you accio’d the loaf away from him. “How many times do I have to teach you this lesson, old man? Do not eat any before dinner or you will pass out and sleep through the meal. In fact—” You wrapped a different cloth around it and cast a time barrier spell on it, a little blue hourglass glowing above the loaf, before hovering it back over to him.

 

“Did you learn a time-limit spell just for this occasion?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at you, humored. 

 

“ Learn—Your—Les—Son.” you clapped at him, small clouds of flour wafting from your hands as you breezed by through the kitchen doors, second loaf tucked against you. “No offense, but you and Professor McGonagall are vultures. Absolute vultures,” you said to the two men who followed you back up the staircase. “Obviously I can’t stop you from using a counter but you will have no sympathy from me if you fall asleep at your desk or in the staff room.”

 

Professor McGonagall was also waiting for the baked confection but in a less conspicuous way near the door on the ground floor. When it opened her eyebrows flicked up in anticipation but an incredulous frown formed when she saw the headmaster holding the sweet treat. “Oh, Albus, you’re such a cheat!” she reproached, following the headmaster towards the staff room.

 

“Enjoy,” you called. “And don’t just split it in half and hide it in your offices. It’s meant for all the teachers y’know!” You tipped the top half of your body down towards the floor and began scrubbing away at your face with the apron. 

 

“Are you going out or just lurking around today,” you asked aloud blindly to the man whose presence you still felt lingering as the powdered substance dusted off your face and onto the ground. 

 

“Do I look like the type to celebrate such an inane holiday?” he scorned.

 

“Lurking it is,” you snorted softly. “By the way, you are evil. Truly and positively evil, you know that right?” Brushing away what you assumed to be the last of the flour along your hairline, you straightened up to find Professor Snape giving you a rather questioning look. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know exactly what I am talking about. Assigning us fourteen inches of parchment on Friday that's due Monday knowing Professor Flitwick secured a Hogsmeade weekend so people can celebrate Valentine's Day? The devil incarnate you are,” you teased.

 

Ah. That. The potion master smirked internally. That was a little treat he had cooked up for himself. “If they care to maintain a good grade they ought to dedicate their time to their studies instead of pursuing such frivolous things,” he replied blankly.

 

“Yeah, well, have fun writing T’s, D’s, and P’s because last I checked there were hardly any students in the library.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “I assume your paper is completed?”

 

“Yes, sir. Finished it last night.”

 

“And you are available at this time?”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“Then I need you to…”

 

His train of thought came to a grinding halt. A warm, cloudy haze quickly filled his head as if he had consumed a Pepper Up Potion. He had only felt this type of blazing sensation once when he was a student here and by the time he realized what was happening it was too late as you were directly in his line of sight.

 

You raised your eyebrows. “...Need me to…?

 

One of his hands rose to cover his mouth as you spotted a furious blush come over his skin, but it was only there for a second or two before it vanished completely, his skin returning to its staple paleness. You frowned at the rapid yet fleeting pigmentation of his face and his sudden silence.

 

He brought his Occlumency walls all the way up, but even then he could feel the strength of the Amortentia, the emotional magical defense just breaking even against it. He couldn’t even think of apparition properly without sacrificing his mental walls, which was the only thing restraining him from reaching out to you and…

 

“Are you feeling alri—”

 

CRACK

 

***

 

The sensation of being forced through a tight rubber tube lasted a moment before you could breathe comfortably again. Somewhat comfortably. You recognized the famous chill of the potions classroom and you were still being pressed into something, an arm wrapped around the middle of your back rather tightly and your head pushed down into some soft fabric, like you were being smothered.

 

And it smelled like lavender.

 

Was Professor Snape… hugging you?

 

“Professor,” your voice came out muffled from one of his hands pressing your head into his shoulder.

 

There was silence on his end and he did not move an inch.

 

“Professor, you need to let go.” You spoke louder as your heart began to beat faster and your face ignited with warmth. He gave you no response. Why wasn’t he listening to you? You made an attempt to move your arms and found that while one of them was pinned to your side, your casting arm was still free. Focusing the accio spell on the tip of your finger you wordlessly drew your wand out from inside of your sweater sleeve.

 

“Professor Snape,” you said once more, your voice wobbling as you pressed the tip of your wand against his back and further attempted to free your other arm. “Please. I don’t know what’s going on, but I really need you to let go of me.” 

 

That only seemed to make him hold you tighter. 

 

“Let go.” You fully jammed the wooden stick into his spine and—

 

“Mmnghh.”

 

Fire. Your face was on fire now.

 

Did he just fucking growl at you? 

 

“Incarcerous!”

 

In an instant, you were freed as the sound of Professor Snape being forcefully dragged away from you and stumbling to the ground echoed around the room. The spell bound him with rope, forcing his hands behind his back and the other end of rope attaching to the legs of his heavy desk. 

 

Now out of his grasp, you braced yourself against the nearest table and took deep breaths to calm your flustered self down while your ears remained ablaze.

 

“What is wrong with you?” you all but shouted, trying to keep calm as you whirled around to face the potion master. Professor Snape, while bound and propped up tightly against a side face of the desk with his legs stretched out, hardly gave away any emotion, his expression impassive except for the slight part of his lips as if to almost hint at slight confusion or surprise. He continued to remain silent, eyeing you like you were the only thing in the room. You’d figure he’d yell or berate you for using such a spell against him, even if it was totally justified, but he didn’t. He was staying quiet like an obedient little first-year. 

 

And that’s probably what was disturbing you the most right now. 

 

This… he didn’t seem normal at the moment.

 

“What is wrong with you…” Your voice was much more controlled now. As you slowly paced towards him with your wand held out warily, he began to shift against his bindings. You stopped momentarily as he managed to get into a position where he could cross his legs. He leaned his body forward towards you as much as he could against his restraints as if to get closer to you, the faintest pained noises escaping him. 

 

You tip-toed forward until there was a little over a foot of distance between you two. Getting into a crouching position you inspected his face. His eyes were the first thing you noticed. His pupils were blown, fully encompassing the lighter onyx irises that sent shivers down students’ backs. 

 

“Lumos,” you murmured, holding the brightened tip of your wand up to his face. He blinked rapidly a few times, and yet, the size of his pupils didn’t change. He was under the influence of something and you had a feeling it wasn’t by choice.

 

“You’ve been dosed,” you breathed out in realization, standing up. With his intense earlier blushing you figured it was probably some sort of love potion, and this fact was certainly not helping your own pinkened complexion right now. You strode into the storage room and rummaged around the shelves for various antidotes. You spotted an Antidote for Love Potion but groaned when you saw that it had expired. Shit. How do you go about handling this? Do you go and get one of the teachers? That would certainly be the right thing to do, but leaving him tied up in his own classroom didn’t sound like a good idea. And what if he apparated out of his restraints? Could he apparate out of his restraints? Even without a wand?

 

You came out of the storage room back to where you stood. “Accio Severus Snape’s wand.”

 

The wand wiggled out from somewhere within his robes and into your hand, which you promptly set down on top of the desk.

 

You could send a message. A paper snake would be too slow. By the time it got to Dumbledore or Pomphrey or someone of the likes you could have an Antidote to Love Potion made already. And you didn’t want to send Runey. Someone could see him.

 

Casting a locking spell on the door, you got to work. 

 

Love Potion Antidote

 

1. Add four bundles of liquorice root, or until the potion turns green.
2. Stir until the potion turns orange.
3. Add castor oil until the potion turns blue.
4. Stir until the potion turns purple.
5. Add extract of Gurdyroot until the potion turns red.
6. Add one liquorice root bundle.
7. Add Extract of Gurdyroot until the potion turns purple.
8. Leave the potion to simmer till it turns red.
9. Add more gurdyroot extract till it turns green.
10. Stir till it turns orange.
11. Add seven liquorice root bundles.
12. Allow to simmer till it turns pink.

 

It wasn’t difficult, but it would take some time. With a wave of your wand, the nearest cauldron traveled over to the back basins and filled itself with water while you collected the necessary ingredients from the storage room and began to brew. The burner beneath the cauldron roared to life.

 

Four bundles of licorice root…

 

Castor oil…

 

Gurdyroot extract…

 

Another licorice bundle…

 

More Gurdyroot extract…

 

More licorice root bundles…

 

Over forty minutes had passed and you got up and stretched from your stool, letting the cauldron simmer until it turned pink. Professor Snape had remained silent throughout the brew only shifting every now and then against his restraints and staring at you. Why he hadn’t said a word this whole time confused you. It’s not as though love potions rendered one voiceless as evident by the almost animalistic noise he made earlier. And then there was that strange occurrence with the blushing. One second he was red as a tomato and the next he was back to his pale self. It reminded you of one time at Ilvermorny when your classmate had embarrassed you in front of the class and you had…

 

occluded. 

 

Aha…

 

Yes… You were an Occlumens, a natural one at that. And while you had made it a point not to practice that unfortunate art as much as you could help it, you knew what the signs of its usage looked like, and he was showing them. The restrained nonverbal-ness, the erasure of emotion on his face… It fit.

 

So he is a Legillimens and an Occlumens? That’s not very common. If he was occluding, how much more would have happened if he wasn’t? Everyone reacts differently under the influence of a love potion. Some became dopily lovesick, some grew incredibly clingy, and others became downright amorous. You pushed the thought away for now as the potion let out a disembodied noise that resembled a deep exhale, the hue of the potion turning a rosy pink.

 

You cast a cooling charm onto the potion, separating a portion for Professor Snape while you bottled the others and put them into the storage room for future use. The tip of your wand touched your temple as you muttered an incantation to yourself and slowly pulled an ethereal, wispy blue string from your head. A memory and a small note that would give him answers when he consumed the antidote. You were not going to stick around for it.

Snape seemed to physically perk up like a puppy finally being given attention, sitting up as straight as possible and tugging against the rope towards you as you approached. You cast a spell that freed one of his hands from the bindings which immediately attempted to grasp the sleeve of your sweater to draw you closer, but you slotted the beaker filled with antidote in the palm of his hand. 

 

“Professor, I need you to drink this.” You spoke in a voice as if you were talking to a child. “I’ll give you all the hugs you want after, but you need to do this first.”

 

His eyebrows quirked slightly in potion-induced bemusement, but at least he wasn’t fighting you. You placed your palm against his and raised the beaker to his slightly parted lips, tipping the antidote. He swallowed it without protest. As soon as the potion was fully consumed, you moved quickly as you didn’t know how long it would take for the antidote to kick in. You retrieved his wand and set it in his lap, placed the note with the string atop of it where the wand originally sat on the desk surface above him, cast a Disillusionment Charm on yourself, and waited by the now unlocked and ajar door. 

 

Only when you saw the numbed look on his face disappear as he muttered in confusion and rising crossness about his current circumstances did you quietly slip out the door.

 

***

 

Based on Jakob's and Aria’s expressions when they came back from Hogsmeade, you assumed their date had gone fairly well as they were once again holding hands and giggling. You had seen the group walking back on the path while you were out giving Buckbeak some attention and joined the twins for the rest of the short walk back. They informed you of the painfully awkward dates they bore witness to at Madam Pudifoots as well as some surprise couples that formed. In each of their arms were some chocolate cauldrons they got from Honeydukes as well as a few roses they received from a few girls in their year, although one girl did get them mixed up at first.

 

You had managed to distract yourself from that hour of weirdness with the potion master by hanging around outside the castle, but you had to admit that you did feel a little on edge once dinner rolled around. You always sat closest to the door, so it gave you a pretty good view of those who entered and exited. Professor Lupin was absent and you figured he was out tonight with Tonks. Three other seats were notably empty too and you rolled your eyes at your suspicion that Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall hadn’t learned their lesson again. As you were in the middle of a conversation with a girl who had also gone to Hogsmeade, a swoosh of black robes entered your right peripheral. Just as you had glanced at him did he tear his gaze away from you, both your eyes locking momentarily. There was a visible clench of his jaw as he looked away from you. Oh boy.

 

Upon finishing your meal and bidding the other students a good evening, you retrieved a wrapped broken off section of apple bread for tonight’s dessert inside your bag and practically melted at how good your concoction was, the warm cinnamon cake filling your stomach with a satisfying sense of fullness. No wonder the old witch and wizard always fell asleep.

 

“Sir Nicholas,” you called to the ghost while you walked the corridors of the castle.

 

“Hello there! How are you?” the ghost spoke jovially.

 

“ ‘M alright. I was actually wonderin’ if you’ve seen the Headmaster ‘n Professor McGonogall around. They didn’t show up for dinner,” you spoke through a mouthful.

 

“Indeed I have! Though I must say they looked quite sleepy. Very sleepy indeed. They left the staff room not too long ago with crumbs all over their robes.”

 

You sighed in exasperation, but nevertheless chuckled from flattery. “Okay. Thanks, Sir Nicholas.”

 

“Happy to help!” The ghost then looked behind you. “Good evening, Professor Snape!”

 

The professor’s stride came to a skidding halt as the ghost gave away his presence and floated down the hall. You turned around to face the potion master as you had just stuffed your face again. He had a rather discomfited expression on his face, a stark contrast to his usual austere and impersonal manner.

 

“ ‘Thup,” you managed to say, shielding your mouth as you felt a couple of crumbs escape.

 

“I need to speak with you,” he stated calmly, but you could see his hands fidgeting at his sides, partially hidden by his cloak.

 

You swallowed before talking again. “I bet. But not here, yes?” You gestured to the paintings that adorned the walls, referring to the lack of privacy. 

 

His lips pressed into a tight line and looked over his shoulder to make sure no other students were around. He strode over to you and reached his hand out to apparate the both of you, but drew back at the last moment, seemingly hesitating. Apparating was the very thing that dragged you into this mess after all. You suppressed an eye roll and stuck your arm out towards him, giving him permission to touch you this time. More self-assured now, the walls warped and blurred, the both of you now in your right minds. 

 

As you recognized the chill of the dungeons, Professor Snape quickly put some distance between the two of you, still fixating on earlier events. You tousled your hair with your hands. It’s not as though you were disturbed by him. He couldn’t help his actions under the effects of the love potion, even with the Occlumency. You were always comfortable around him and were confident in approaching this in a calm manner, but the uncertainty and anxiety he was showing seconds ago made you a little jittery.

 

Snape was beyond mortified right now. Not only because of what he had supposedly done under the effects of the Amortentia, but also because he didn’t detect the love potion before consuming it, a confounded house elf who had unknowingly served him tampered tea being the culprit. While his recollection of events had been disturbed as he had no idea how he wound up in the potion’s classroom, the simple note that you had left him saying “You were dosed” gave him some clarity as he freed his other hand from his bindings. His immediate thoughts went to what happened while he was under its effects and it was the string of a memory that gave him the answer. Using a pensieve in his office, he watched himself in horror as he enveloped you and ignored your protest as you attempted to squirm out of his hold. Yes, it could’ve gone a lot worse, but it was the principle of the matter. He could see the agitated and almost fearful look on your face when you magically bound him to the desk and hated himself for being the cause even if he couldn’t control it. His mind must’ve been so torn and clouded and he couldn’t even remember it because of the antidote you had so successfully brewed.

 

You decided to speak up after a few moments of silence. Just gotta rip it off like a bandaid.

 

“I imagine you have…questions about what happened earlier today.”

 

He was so filled with shame, the only hint of it being his fingers toying with one another in front of his stomach and the fact that he couldn’t even look at you, instead focusing on where one of the legs of a table met the ground. His face appeared cold and neutral once more, utilizing a little Occlumency. 

 

“I need to know what happened,” he drawled coolly.

 

“What happened was in the memory I left with the note.”

 

“Memories can be deceiving,” he said without missing a beat. “They can be altered or not fully intact.”

 

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I am lying?”

 

He parted his lips but then closed them again to gather his thoughts with more tact and intention. “I think,” he began to speak, “that it wouldn’t be entirely far-fetched for you to withhold information from me in order to avoid incurring my ire.”

 

“I promise you, Professor. What you saw in the pensieve is all that happened. It wouldn’t do me any good to hide that sort of information from you.” He didn’t look at all convinced by your words. You huffed. “If it will ease any of your trepidations, I would be willing to recount the matter with some Veritaserum—” You did not have to tell him twice as he instantly paced into the storage room. He would be lying to himself if he said that having you consume a drop or two wouldn’t have given him some reassurance. A few seconds later he returned with the serum, the antidote for it, and a teeny tiny spoon that could hold a few drops.

 

You carefully took the measured amount on the spoon from his fingers and popped it into your mouth, the liquid tasting like water but slightly more acidic. You handed him back the spoon before sitting on top of a nearby table as the effects kicked in.

 

“What happened after we left the kitchens?” Snape demanded, crossing his arms.

 

What you could only describe as an intense need to be transparent came over you. “We spoke for a bit while I cleaned flour off of myself. You stopped talking and started blushing at one point and wouldn’t answer me when I asked if you were alright. You then grabbed me and apparated us to the potions classroom. You were hugging me. I told you to let go of me multiple times and you wouldn’t, so I had to use magic on you. I asked what was wrong with you and you still didn’t talk. I figured out rather quickly that you were under the influence of a potion and brewed an antidote to get you back to normal. I wrote a note, pulled the memory from my mind, and slipped out the door under a Disillusionment spell when I saw that you had returned to your senses.”

 

“All I did was hug you?”

 

“All you did was hug me.”

 

He breathed a sigh of relief at that. Thank Merlin. “Why didn’t you get a teacher?”

 

“I was unsure if you were capable of or cognizant enough to apparate out of your bindings to stop me from doing so. And I didn’t want other students who weren’t going to Hogsmeade to accidentally see Runey if I were to have sent him to Madame Pomphrey or Dumbledore. At the time, you were content to just sit there in my presence and I deemed that enough to keep you…moderated.”

 

He mulled over your words. It sounds like you were trying to be as cautious as possible for both of your benefit and it’s not as though he could contest his own behavior and thinking influenced by a potion. 

 

“...Why didn’t you run away?” he asked quietly.

 

“Run…away?”

 

“I can’t imagine anyone staying after…something like that.”

 

You smirked. It was a small expression far too nonchalant for the professor no matter how disarmed it might’ve made him feel. “I did not run away because I was not afraid of you, Professor. I have never been afraid of you. I’m not the impulsive type and I like to know why things happen. It was probably best that it was me and not anyone else. And I know you weren’t trying to do anything—”

 

“But you couldn’t have known that,” he interjected impatiently. “You didn’t deduce I was under a potion until after you stayed. And it could’ve been worse—”

 

“But it wasn’t. I am aware it could’ve been more severe and if it was I’d have given you a proper ass-kicking if I damn well pleased, however, I gathered there was something off with you before you apparated the both of us and I can’t exactly fault you for anything caused by a potion that clouds your inhibitions. Besides…I know you were trying very hard to not let it become worse. You are an Occlumens. You were occluding, weren’t you Professor?”

 

His mouth dropped open a little. You knew that he was trying to actively restrain himself and fend off the potion’s effects? You stuck around because of intuition?

 

“How did you know that…” he questioned, his tone a mixture of urgency, restrained awe, and suspicion.

 

“A consistent symptom of love potions is intense blushing that doesn’t go away until after the antidote is drunk. Before you grabbed me, you were blushing furiously, but then,” you snapped your fingers, “it vanished like you were repelling the potion-induced emotions that made it so. You also refused to talk. Occlusion requires focus, and dedicating one's mentality to staving off something else within the mind leaves little consciousness and energy left for communication. I know the signs, Professor.”

 

It was quiet again. Eventually, he looked away, almost turning around completely as he made a gesture with his hand that hovered the antidote over to you. You consumed a spoonful and felt the unfiltered sensation fade away.

 

“You were going to tell me something before the love potion kicked in. You said, “I need you to…” And then you trailed off. Do you remember what that was?”

 

Snape shifted slightly on his feet as he thought back. “I was going to send you to the village to get roses. I am low on the petals…” he muttered. 

 

“Oh. It’s a good thing that never happened. I’m actually allergic to roses,” you chuckled lightly, but it did nothing to chase away the waves of discomfort radiating from the professor. You sighed. “I am not angry at you, Professor, nor has this made me feel uncomfortable being around you. If I felt otherwise, we’d be in Dumbledore’s office, not here. It was simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not your fault. I can feel the self-loathing from over here. You didn’t…ruin anything. We’re good, alright?”

 

He didn’t say anything and you got the feeling he wouldn’t be very responsive from here on out as the tension still remained as thick as ever.

 

“But I s’pose, unlike a potion, I can’t make you feel a certain way or force you to speak on it,” you murmured. “I understand if this was too jarring for you and if you can’t look me in the eye for the rest of the year then…I get that too. ‘S not exactly fair to expect you to be as comfortable or easygoing about it as I am…” You hopped off the table and picked up your bag. “I’m going to leave now to work on a Transfiguration paper. I hope you uh…feel better. Again, leaving 'cause I got schoolwork, not because I think you’re some grabby creep, okay?

 

Nothing. You quietly exhaled. 

 

“Goodnight.”

 

***

 

You yawned to yourself as you approached your target progress goal with this Transfiguration paper, the extra energy boost of your dessert wearing off. Your bed was calling to you, whispering “A little procrastination isn’t a crime,” but you pressed on. It was only an inch or two more and then you could wind down for the night. Your exchange with Professor Snape both dosed and undosed kept popping up in your mind. You kept having to pap your cheeks anytime your mind wandered back to that hug. You had to admit it was a pretty good hug. 

 

"Hagrid would probably kill someone with his arms if he was on a love potion," you mused. 

 

While you had spoken your peace, you were a little restless at the fact that you had left the situation somehow unresolved. But there was nothing else to do about it now. It was up to him to think about it now.

 

A soft, scratching shuffling noise drew your attention away from your work. A paper snake was attempting to get into your room, its head having successfully entered through the crack of your door while it attempted to get the rest of its body inside. It was a bit bigger than the paper snakes you made, this one an inch or two shy of being a foot in length. It wasn’t strictly a house thing, but most people in Slytherin took to sending paper snakes rather than cranes. You assumed a classmate was sending you a message about schoolwork or something. 

 

The paper snake scaled its way up onto your desk. When you booped its snoot, it didn’t open itself up into a piece of parchment paper. Instead, the tan paper creature began to take on colors of red and green and began to magically refold itself. What was once a snake moments ago was now a red rose with a short stem and a single leaf. On the leaf of the paper flower, you could make out a message.

Thank you.

-S.S.

 

Notes:

Writer's block sucks ASS ya'll

Also my logic for this chapter is that love potions make you fall in love with the first person someone looks at. (Like Ron seeing Romilda Vane’s picture on the card in HBP)The whole falling in love with the doser thing logically makes no sense to me and I hate that the reason is “because magic.”

Chapter 41: Apparition Antics

Summary:

Snape is petty when you show off part of your muggle upbringing at Hogwarts.

They were plotting something. Having witnessed their shenanigans for over two years you could just tell. Throughout breakfast, you felt the twins eyeing you and every time you looked up from your food to meet their gaze they looked away, sly smiles on their faces. They hadn’t talked to you about any pranks they were going to do, but that trademark energy that radiated off of them was palpable like they wanted something. Any time this happened, it was usually for a prank that they usually couldn’t wait to tell you about. You stared at them until they tried to flick their eyes back over to you again and caught your eyes. You mouthed “What” to them. Their smiles grew and they mouthed back and motioned “Over here.” Suppressing an eye roll you stood from your seat and paced over to their side of the room and leaned against the wall as they got up from their seats and met you in the same spot.

 

“Well? What’s so interesting that you have to stare me down during breakfast?”

 

“We were thinking you could help us with something,” they said. “A muggle matter.”

 

You raised an eyebrow, hiding the delight swelling in your chest and keeping your expression impassive. “Do you two need tutoring for Muggle Studies?”

 

They feigned offense. “Us? Needing help with Muggle Studies? Having learned from you practically makes us experts on muggles! However, others in our grade are not as lucky.”

 

“So you wish for me to tutor other people.”

 

“No, Y/N,” Fred chuckled with purpose. “You see, Muggle Studies has become so boring as of recently. No matter how interesting of a topic Professor Burbage may teach, all we do is write papers.”

 

“And we’ve been thinking,” George followed up. “That you might have a way to liven things up for the day.”

 

“And why do you think that?”

 

They leaned in close and in unison said, “Today’s lesson is about muggle cars.”

 

You were already walking away from them.

 

“No! Wait!” they shouted and wrapped themselves around your arms and pressed their cheeks against your shoulders, garnering strange looks from many people in the hall. “We can’t take any more slideshow lectures. We’d need entertainment. I’m sure the other third-years in our class agree that they think you’re cool.”

 

You scoffed to yourself. Now they were just trying to butter you up. “Please.”

 

“No really,” George smiled, nuzzling his face against you with an ingratiating smile. “Many students in our grade have siblings in their sixth or seventh year. They hear things about you.”

 

“Like how you’re surprisingly nice even though you don’t speak much to others—”

 

“That you’ve got a secret tattoo—”

 

“How you always manage to get O’s in potions—”

 

“And you how rarely lose a duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts—” 

 

“That you can make Hagrid’s hippogriff melt for you with a single touch—”

 

“Or how you’re supposedly mates with the dungeon bat and he never punishes you—”

 

“—OKAY. Okay. You don’t need to lay it on so thick.” You grumbled, blushing. “I get it… I have done things that may have caught their attention.”

 

“And, like us, they would be  delighted to see a real muggle car.” Fred batted his eyelashes at you. “Dad’s got his own Flying Ford back home, but it’s just not the same as a muggle car.”

 

“Please, Y/N! Think of the children! More specifically us, your favorites!” George added.

 

You harrumphed and it was then that the twins knew you were close to breaking since you didn’t shut them down with a firmer response.

 

“Come on lovely,” they simpered. “Think of all the students who’d get to see a part of your experience in the muggle world. We always thought more witches and wizards ought to learn about the muggle world in a hands-on way y’know.”

 

Fuck. They had you.

 

“Mnnmnm— fine,” you relented, eliciting wider smiles of joy from the twins. “But you’re gonna have to get approval from Professor Burbage.”

 

“On it!” They withdrew from you and all but sprinted towards the teacher’s table.

 

“Hold on, don't just— ugh!” You sighed and returned to your seat to continue eating breakfast. Not thirty seconds later did you hear an excited “Yes!” coming from the other end of the Great Hall at the teachers’ table before there was an audible clearing of the throat as you saw Professor Burbage give a more quiet approval to the twins.

 

Today wouldn’t be as harsh, two classes in the morning and one after lunch, leaving the remainder of the afternoon wide open for you. Ah, the perks of not having electives. A couple of people caught wind of what the Weasleys had asked of you this morning in the Great Hall. In Muggle Studies, Professor Burbage was teaching about muggle vehicles, specifically cars.

 

You just happened to have one in your possession. Along with certain other objects, it was shrunken down to that of a toy car a toddler might play with or teeth on, and kept in a secure box. Driving was also your preferred method of traveling, regardless of whether you were in the no-maj world or not. Some of the older siblings of those who found out asked you if it was true that you did indeed have and drive a muggle car. You answered them sparingly, confirming their statements and telling them to turn back around and pay attention to the teacher. 

 

***

 

The crowd of third years murmured excitedly to one another as Professor Burbage led them through the castle. Since the students taking muggle studies were either half-bloods or pureblooded, very few of them had ever seen a muggle car in person. The twins trotted ahead of them all with self-satisfactory expressions, quite pleased with having successfully orchestrated this demonstration so that they wouldn’t have to spend the whole class time inside. They have seen your car before, in fact, you had driven it with them inside, but only once and only for a minute. 

 

Fred and George called your name as soon as they squeezed through the heavy doors of the courtyard, students filing out after them. Whenever possible, the twins liked making a spectacle of showing how close they were to you, like it was somehow a brag or something to take pride in, but also because they knew the PDA would fluster you. 

 

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the most wonderful creature to walk this Earth!” They announced, coming up to your sides and leaning their heads against your shoulders. “Oh, we like your boots!” You had changed back into a no-maj outfit layered with a black denim jacket to help against the cold, donning a pair of boots to keep you from slipping on the now snowless, but still dewy, cobblestone courtyard. You found it endearing that they’d never seen or heard of Doc Martens before. And besides, it was Muggle Studies. You might as well dress like one too!

 

“If there was a class for brown-nosing, you’d both have O’s,” you muttered.

 

“Hello Miss L/N!” She smiled. “Oh twins, come now. I know you are friends but please join us over here with the rest of the class.” They huffed dramatically but nevertheless obeyed their professor. “I’m quite thrilled you were willing to allow us your car for today’s lesson. It’s one of the things I’ve always wanted to show to students in person.”

 

“It’s no problem at all, Professor Burbage.” You gave a little wave to Tom and his friends who waved back. “Where would you like it?”

 

“I think right there is fine,” she directed, pointing to a spot nearby.

 

You nodded, removing the sleek box from your bag, and murmured a few unlocking spells. The little clips of the box opened and you spotted your car lying snuggly amongst the velvet cushioning of the interior. It was like holding a toy car. You paced over to the spot where she had pointed and set the car down before stepping back away.

 

“Finite.”

 

Your chant countered the shrinking spell you had placed on it some time ago. The car quickly grew to normal size, steadily rocking a little in place from the sudden change in size before settling still. 

 

“Woah!”

 

“Wow!”

 

The class murmured in a delightful collection at the sight of the vehicle before them. Burbage’s eyes gleamed with joy too, loving that she got to show her students this.

 

“I’m happy to answer questions they might have—” Instantly, their hands shot up. You and Burbage shared a knowing look. One by one, she called students’ names permitting them to speak.

 

“Why is the steering wheel inside on the left side of the car rather than the right?”

 

“In America, we drive on the right side of the road rather than the left side. So unlike some British brand cars with right-side steering and driving on the left side of roads, we drive on the right with left-side steering.”

 

“How fast can it go?”

 

“I’m not one to speed, but I believe it can go a little over 110mph, meaning I could definitely out-pace the Hogwarts Express train.”

 

“How much does a car cost?”

 

“That depends on the car. This one was around 17,000 dollars which is about 3400 galleons.”

 

You heard a couple of “blimeys” and “bloody hells” murmured.

 

“Is it hard to drive a car?”

 

“It was nerve-wracking at first to learn the rules of the road and a little scary driving for the first time, but no, it’s not hard. I got used to it quickly. Parallel parking can be annoying sometimes.”

 

“Do you have a driver’s license?”

 

“I do, but not on my person at the moment.”

 

“Can we see the inside of the car?” As soon as that question was asked did many hands go down, other students having the same thought. 

 

“I don’t have any issues with that. Professor Burbage?”

 

They all turned to her, giving her pleading puppy dog eyes to let them go inside the car. 

 

“As long as the engine remains off, I am okay with it,” she stated. They all began to chat restlessly amongst one another as you approached the car with the key in hand and opened the driver’s side door. You pulled up the little pronged head near the window that unlocked the passenger side door. Inserting the key into the ignition you turned it only far enough to power on the car, but not enough to make the engine roar to life. Just in case you also put the emergency break on. Lastly, you opened the trunk where there was extra space. 

 

“Alright. Go on and have a look. Touch whatever you’d like and don’t worry about dirtying anything up. Cleaning spells exist for a reason.”

 

Students were nearly tripping over themselves trying to snag the two seats at the front. When the trunk filled up with two or three kids who crammed themselves inside to talk to the ones up front, others simply ran their hands along the outside of the car made funny faces through the window, or fiddled with mirrors. Others who were more patient simply hung back and watched or asked you more questions about cars. The students in the driver or passenger seat were quick to explore your car's dashboard. When they turned on the radio, all they heard was static. Someone eventually flicked the lever that turned on your car's windshield wipers, the blades swiping across the glass back and forth at various speeds. One thing that intrigued them greatly was that the car had an air conditioner and a heater. They were quick to set it to heat since it was cold outside.

 

You, Professor Burbage, and any other students standing outside jumped at the sound of your horn being blared followed by a quick “Sorry!” from the student in the driver’s seat. 

 

***

 

“You signed me up for apparition lessons?” you huffed at Professor Snape after potions class the next day. The ministry-regulated course had been advertised on a parchment poster in the common room for almost a week. You never planned on learning as you didn’t see the point. You already had your car to travel around back home and if you ever needed to go to the wizarding world you had a floo in your home. But this morning, you received an owl confirming that you had been enrolled in the course. Your first thought was that this was Dumbledore's or your father’s doing, but you figured that they had the sense to let you know in advance, however, as no such prior discussion was held you concluded that this was Professor Snape’s doing as he was the only other one with the power and gall to make such a decision. You had suspicions about his reasoning.

 

“Yes,” he replied plainly, not looking up from some parchment on his desk.

 

“Why?”

 

“You are an adult. Theoretically, you should’ve already taken the course in your fifth year, maybe even before that.”

 

“Really. Because it’s my understanding that plenty of witches and wizards choose not to learn how to apparate considering the other, safer forms of magic travel.”

 

“ All forms of magic travel have dangers. Apparating is the most efficient. Those who choose not to learn before graduating from Hogwarts often regret it and are frankly quite foolish for not jumping at the opportunity.” 

 

“Oh?” you said, your voice laced with amusement. “And you deem yourself fit to make that decision for me?” You weren’t at all irritated by his action, but you were intrigued by the rationale.

 

He flicked his eyes up from his desk. “Seeing that I am your Head of House, yes, I do.”

 

You crossed your arms and faked a pondering tone. “Mhm-mhm and just out of curiosity, this wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I showed off a muggle car yesterday and talked extensively about how it’s a common way to travel in both the no-maj and wizarding world where I’m from?” you questioned lightly, tilting your head at him. 

 

There were about five full seconds of silence as you two stared at one another.

 

“That lesson was fatuous.”

 

“A- HA!” You turned with your fists raised above your head in an almost victorious pose before you whipped back around and pointed at him. “I knew it! You’ve got a vendetta against cars or something?”

 

“Your little demonstration distracted all the first years. The whole bloody Potions class they wouldn’t shut up about that infernal vehicle.”

 

“Aww, I’m sorry,” you smiled, shrugging your school bag on your shoulder. You weren’t sorry at all. 

 

~~~

 

The both of you landed on the ground with a thud, scrambling to wrestle one another on their back while attempting to “Accio” your wand to yourself but it didn’t work. Abandoning the effort you swung a right hook at the red devil who attempted to pin you, your fist making a harsh cracking noise against the mask yet still knocking the figure all the way down against the rug-covered floor.

 

“Coward!” you shouted. In one hand you held the devil down by her neck and grasped the chin of the mask. With a harsh jerking motion, you ripped the mask off her face and were met with a head that looked as though it was made of a pure, dark void with two pin-hole-sized dots for eyes piercing back into you. Before you could react, you were pulled backward by an invisible force by your neck as you began to thrash about, your airways being cut off by an impossible strong squeezing sensation. You clawed at your neck, but it was like trying to catch smoke. The maskless devil was now hunched over you, their hands taking residence around your throat and heightening the sensation. Desperately, your hands searched the surrounding rug to find something to hit her with. Your fingers found her wand that clattered to the ground earlier in the dream.

 

“Stupefy…” you choked out, but nothing happened.

 

“..Depulso…” This spell didn’t work either and your vision was starting to darken.

 

As a last-ditch effort, you tried one more spell.

 

“...expecto patronum…!”

 

In a flash, the devil was snatched backward and was thrown violently into the wall, disappearing into nothingness, but it did nothing to cease the choking. Your lungs were on fire and throbbed painfully in your chest and just as you slipped away you saw a blurry blob of light blue within your darkening vision…

 

“GUHHH!!” you shot up in bed heaving like you had broken the surface of water trying to catch some air. Tears were streaming down your face as you panted, the remnants of your nightmare fading away. It took you an embarrassing amount of time to register that one, you were now holding your wand, and two, your patronus was here, taking up nearly every inch of space in your room as the middle head, who you dubbed Morpheus, was hovering his massive head in front of you, staring and flicking his tongue at you. You cradled him with a hand as he bumped his snoot against your face in an attempt to wipe the tears away as your breaths returned to normal.

 

Did you summon Runey in your sleep? You looked down at your other hand. Indeed your cedarwood wand sat tightly in your grasp. You must’ve grabbed it off your nightstand when… 

 

No. You shook your head. That is over now. The clock next to you displayed a time that was unfortunately before the morning curfew and too late to take a potion. Instead of taking a morning shower or attempting to go back to bed knowing it would’ve been futile, you retrieved a book you’d started reading recently. You charmed it so that it hovered above you and flipped pages as you wrapped your arms over Morpheus who purred into your chest.

 

After breakfast, Dumbledore announced that those who signed up for the Apparition course were to stay behind. Dumbledore, the Heads of Houses, and another unfamiliar wizard were the only teachers to stay back. The tables and the benches of the Great Hall had been cleared away, leaving behind an empty stone floor.

 

“Good morning,” said the Ministry wizard, prompting the students to cease their idle chatter. “My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be your Ministry Apparition instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to be able to prepare you for your Apparition Tests. As you may know, it is usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts except for approved individuals. The headmaster has altered this enchantment to enable you to practice. May I emphasize that you will not be able to Apparate outside the walls of this Hall and that you would be unwise to try,” he added pointedly. “Now then. I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you.”

 

Everyone began to shuffle around until you were all in a near grid-like shape sorted by house with the heads standing near the walls watching the students belonging to each of their houses. You were on the edge and somewhere in the middle, shooting him an ‘I-don’t-want-to-be-here' look.

 

Professor Snape could see quite plainly that you were not at all enthusiastic about today's apparition lessons and the fact that it took place on a weekend morning. The quality of your sleep last night was evident on your face, especially with how droopy your lids were. He felt a twinge of guilt. You would’ve likely skipped breakfast and continued sleeping had it not been for the apparition lessons he signed you up for. 

 

With a wave of Twycross’s wand, an old-fashioned wooden hoop materialized in front of each student. “The important things to remember when Apparating are the three D’s!” Twycross proclaimed. “Destination, Determination, Deliberation! Step one: Fix your mind firmly upon the desired destination, in this case, the interior of your hoop. Kindly concentrate on that destination now.” Each student turned their gaze down to the hoop, staring at the roughness of the cobblestone floor and tracing the circumference of the hoop. 

 

“Step two: Focus your determination to occupy the visualized space! Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every particle of your body!”

 

You took a curious peep at the other students. Quite a few of them were making funny faces while concentrating. You barely resisted a snort as a few were so scrunched up or blushing pink with effort that it looked as though they were purposely trying to soil themselves.

 

“Step three,” called Twycross, “and only when I give the command…turn on the spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation! On my command, now…one—” A few students straightened up in surprise at the prospect of being instructed to apparate so soon.

 

“—two—”

 

You focused your energy and thoughts on the center of the hoop rather than the heaviness of your body.

 

“—THREE!”

 

You turned in place in a relaxed manner, trying to mentally recreate the feeling of Side-Along Apparition, but with no luck. The sounds of shoes scraping against stone and hoops being knocked around by clumsy feet echoed off the walls. Two Gryffindor boys fell flat on their backs, and a Ravenclaw girl accidentally kicked her hoop into the calf of the student in front of them. Those who hadn’t managed to make complete fools of themselves staggered awkwardly from their sharp turns.

 

“Never mind, never mind,” Twycross sighed. “Everyone adjust your hoops and return to your original positions…”

 

Something interesting did happen on the fourth attempt. A pop was heard and everyone looked to find that a Hufflepuff girl managed to apparate about 90% of her body, leaving her balancing within her hoop on one leg. She was screaming her head off while her separate leg stood in the original position. The Heads of House converged on her. There was a puff of purple smoke and before you knew it the girl was reunited with her leg, sobbing. The other students looked on, horrified as their faces paled. They all thought the same thing: Will that happen to me?  

 

“Splinching, or the separation of random body parts,” Wilkie Twycross explained, “occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continuously upon your destination, and move, without haste, but with deliberation...” Twycross stepped forward, turned gracefully on the spot with his arms outstretched, and vanished in a swirl of robes, reappearing at the back of the Hall. “Remember the three D’s,” he said, “and try again...one—two—three—”

 

These trial-and-error attempts at apparating on Twycross’s command would continue for some time. Students were growing visibly frustrated even though this was only the first lesson. You on the other hand were rather bored. The last two turns you were simply moving on autopilot, not even thinking about apparating just to kill time.

 

Fuck, you were tired. 

 

“One…”

 

The thought of your bed made your eyes flutter; thick comforters you would charm to keep you warm, a cool, lumpy pillow cradling your head, no one to bother you…

 

“Two…”

 

Cuddling your giant runespoor, a head rumbling against your torso accompanying you in your cocoon of coziness and eventually dissipating once you were unconscious…

 

You wanted nothing more than to be in bed, to drift away to a slumberous paradise.

 

“THREE!”

 

You had gotten so accustomed to Twycross’s counting that your body moved automatically. Turning on the spot, you heard a loud crack and felt the familiar sensation of being pushed through a tight rubber tube. Your surroundings had changed from the brightness of the large Great Hall to the darkness of your room in the dungeons. You landed on your back, bouncing up and down against your mattress with an oomph. Pushing up quickly, you gauged your new environment, putting two and two together. 

 

“Oh wow…” you breathed out, inspecting yourself for any splinches. “It wo— mph!” You slapped a hand to your mouth and rushed over to a waste bin in the corner, vomiting into the liner. Despite the fact you had Side-Along apparated quite a few times at this point, your body was not used to you performing the spell. Only after you were sure that you wouldn’t vomit anymore did you run a hand through your hair, wistfully looking to your bed before departing back to the Great Hall in a jog, not wanting to risk a potential splinch by apparating back.

 

Meanwhile, the crack of your apparating was heard loud and clear. Judging by the lack of screaming, it sounded like a successful attempt.

 

“Who was that? Has someone done it?” Twycross spoke aloud with a hint of hope in his voice. The students looked around between them to locate a vacant neighbor.

 

“Oi! Y/N’s gone!” A Slytherin called. 

 

Snape whipped his head over to your spot to find that you were no longer there, but also not in your designated hoop. 

 

“Miss L/N?” he called looking around the Great Hall, assuming you might have accidentally apparated to a different part of the room as blips like that happened in the past. The other Heads of Houses looked around too in hopes of spotting you, but to no avail. Within the murmuring of students, Snape could feel his heartbeat quicken. You weren’t supposed to be able to apparate to any location outside of the hall, so why weren't you here? Were—

 

Were you splinched? 

 

Bleeding out somewhere, far away from him?

 

“Now, now,” the headmaster said, attempting to ease the anxious energy in the room. “We’ll find her. On the off chance that this could have happened, Lupin so graciously allowed me the use of his magical map.” He removed the layered parchment from his gray robes as Professor Snape strode over to his side. Adjusting his half-moon glasses, the old wizard tapped the tip of his wand just below the words “MARAUDERS MAP.”

 

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

 

The ink on the map bled away like a watercolor canvas and a map of the school surfaced on the aged parchment. Ignoring the congestion of names layered over one another in the Great Hall, he carefully unfolded various parts of the map until he located your name which was thankfully moving.

 

“Ah. It appears Miss L/N may have apparated into the dungeons.”

 

“But that shouldn’t be possible!” the instructor frowned. “She shouldn’t be able to apparate past these walls.”

 

“Well,” Dumbledore tilted his head in thought. “Apparition is tricky magic. Considering her location, it would be impractical to dismiss the notion that her initial path of trajectory went down instead of side to side. Did you cast the spell on the floor as well?”

 

“I…” He paused. It seemed Twycross had not considered casting the Anti-Disapparition Jinx on the ground. “I did not. Ehm—” The instructor scratched his head a little before leaning down and casting a spell on the ground that sent a ripple of light like a stone being tossed into a lake until it met all edges of the wall. “Right then. Everyone back to your hoops.”

 

“I’m going to go get her,” the potion master stated but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“There’s no need, Severus,” Dumbledore asserted gently. “The map shows her moving and she’s already past the Hospital Wing, so I assume she is perfectly fine. Stay and watch your Slytherins.” He patted his shoulder before resuming his idle stroll around the perimeter, watching students from various houses as they resumed their instruction. Begrudgingly, Snape returned to his spot close to the members of his house, though that didn’t stop him from subtly fidgeting with his fingers.

 

Another five minutes would pass until the doors to the Great Hall creaked open, prompting everyone to snap their heads in that direction. You quietly entered the large room as if nothing had happened and began to pace over to your spot. Snape scanned your clothes for any blood stains and sighed in relief when he found none.

 

“Blimey, Y/N!” a student called. “Where'd you go?”

 

You pursed your lips and blushed a little. “...my bed. I got distracted.”

 

Chuckles were barked out at the absurdity of your response while some merely snickered under their breath. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, but I don’t see any of y'all in your hoops.”

 

“Speaking of which,” Twycross strode his way through the crowd of students until he was near you. “Let’s have you do it again, yes? This time aim for your hoop.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Clearing your mind of all thoughts related to sleep and your bed, you closed your eyes and envisioned the spot within the wooden hoop, how your surroundings would change slightly if you physically strode forward, allowing the idea to take up every inch of brain power. After a moment you spun with deliberation and—

 

CRACK

 

Your body squeezed and tightened before you felt the ground tapping beneath your feet. Opening your eyes, you looked down to find yourself in the center of the hoop with no residual pain or vomiting.

 

“Well done!” Twycross and the other Slytherins clapped for you. “And on the first lesson! Very well done, indeed.”

 

Within the remaining time of today’s lesson, two other students managed to apparate; a Gryffindor girl and a Hufflepuff boy. The three of you were given a pamphlet titled Common Apparition Mistakes and How to Avoid Them and were told by Twycross to look out for the date of the apparition test in your common rooms within the coming week, to remember the Three D’s and that it wouldn’t hurt to read about apparition if you were interested. When Twycross concluded that the lesson was over, Dumbledore chanted a spell and a burst of light shone, filling the room and disappearing quickly, like someone had taken a photograph with a flashing light, presumably returning the Anti-Apparition spell to its original condition of hindering all but a select few.

 

“Distracted?” You heard a disapproving jeer next to you under your yawn and trudged out of the Great Hall. Your tired pace forced the professor to slow down if he wanted to talk to you.

 

“Yes. Distracted. As in ‘God-I-wish-I-was-anywhere-else-right-now-like-my-bed’ distracted,” you shot back nonchalantly.

 

“You cannot afford to get distracted lest you splinch an arm off, or your whole head even.”

 

“Counter argument: you could also prevent splinching by not apparating at all. It's not like it will be much use for me where I live. I imagine people don’t take too kindly to some girl popping into existence from thin air unless they think I’m some sort of angel or demon or a real-life superhero.” Snape frowned. Apparition was the second most common way to travel. Why would anyone question—

 

The scrape of his shoes as he paused in realization caught your attention, making you look back at him with slightly raised eyebrows.

 

“You live in the muggle world,” he stated, looking for confirmation.

 

“Uh yeah…? I thought you already knew this?”

 

“You mentioned no such thing.”

 

“Professor, it was implied when we spoke!” you uttered a good-natured sigh of disbelief, chuckling as you referred to that night over winter break. A few passing students gaped at you, wondering how you could be laughing at him or in his presence. “How do you think I was able to go to no-maj school?”

 

“I assumed your father apparated you when necessary,” Snape replied, resuming his position beside you. He hid his self-chiding well. Looking back it should’ve been obvious to him given your mannerisms, your preferred style of clothing, and fondness for muggle objects. With your father’s job, he assumed your family had relocated some time before you showed signs of magic. 

 

Yet another reminder of how he still has much to learn about you.

 

“No. I took the school bus like the others. Oh, a bus is a large rectangular vehicle mean to—”

 

“I know what a bus is,” he hissed.

 

You smirked softly. You were just messing with him. “I got a driver’s license by seventeen and use my car to get around—sometimes in the wizarding world too. In my opinion, it’s the best form of travel among both worlds. Granted, I think a lot of things about the no-maj world are superior to the wizarding world.”

 

He scoffed. “Please.”

 

You coughed out a laugh in retort. “Oh, you wanna go there? Where do I even begin…”

 

Notes:

Hi, my lovely readers! I saw some heart-warming comments about people concerned about the rate at which I've been posting as of the last few chapters. I assure you all I am fine! I have not come down with a case of fanfic writer syndrome where I got hit by a bus and am working on the chapters from a hospital bed or something like that! I'm just a busy college student :)

The next chapter should come out sooner than the last two did because I actually know what I want to write about this time whereas with this one I think I rewrote 3/4 of it a total of eight times (kill me), but y'all are going to EAT UP this next chapter I PROMISE! (a healthy dose of drama comes into play)

Mwah! ❤️

Chapter 42: Quidditch Quandary

Summary:

Reader makes a mistake during a Quidditch match that exposes her to the school and the teachers.

Notes:

*rubs hands nefariously*

“Attention, please,” Dumbledore’s deep and formal voice echoed in the Great Hall, silencing the excited bustling of each house section. Rather than simply standing up from his seat at the teachers’ table, he stood before a wooden podium, the gold owl on the front spreading its wings and settling into an in-flight position. Everyone turned their eyes to the man in gray robes as he slowly swiveled his gaze across the room, ensuring he had everyone’s attention. “I am quite happy to see you all so excited for today’s Quidditch game where, once again, Gryffindor will be playing against Slytherin.”

 

There were a few short ‘ whoops’ to fill the Headmaster’s pause.

 

“However, another announcement should be made about today’s events. Following this morning’s meal, members of the school’s board of governors will visit the castle for a meeting. It’s nothing you youngsters need to worry about, truly, it’s simply an annual meeting to discuss matters relating to the school. I expect all of you to be on your best behavior in their presence for the duration of their visit.”

 

“Yeah, Weaselys!” someone piped up, causing the hall to break out into a fit of laughter as everyone eyed the twins knowingly. “That’s rubbish,” the twins retorted back to anyone who verbally dog-piled onto them.

 

“With that being said,” Dumbledore cut in, regaining the students’ focus. “If you see any adults on Hogwarts grounds that aren’t a member of the teaching faculty, you will all have some knowledge about that.” 

 

“We can still get our faces painted, right?” A Slytherin murmured to you, eliciting a nod of confirmation from you.

 

“Now then, enjoy the rest of your breakfast. Pip pip!”

 

It was adequate weather for a Quidditch match. You’d argue that it was perfect, actually. While it was cold, the Quidditch uniforms were insulated enough to keep the players warm. The trees were still, not a whisper of wind to be found and not a glimmer of light poking through the clouds. Meaning, that players wouldn’t be blinded by the sun’s glare.

 

“So,” the twins trotted up to your side. “Are you gonna fall in line like the rest of these schmucks or are you finally going to dawn some red and gold?”

 

“You’d know I’d love to guys, but it’ll be a bit hard. Professor Snape’s been more watchful than ever this year.”

 

“Since when do you conform to what Mr. Happy has to say?” They frowned, utilizing a sarcastic nickname for the teacher they held contempt for.

 

“Believe me, I don’t.” You smirked. “I’m more concerned about what he’ll do about it if I manage to run into him before the match.”

 

“You aren’t going to give up the red and yellow face paint, are you?” George pouted slightly, resting his chin on the crown of your head.

 

“No way, but some adjustments might be called for.”

 

The members of the board of governors arrived in different ways. A few took a flying carriage while a couple apparated directly into the courtyard. Lucius Malfoy on the other hand opted to take a floo directly into the potion master’s office so they could speak for a little bit, the fireplace reshaping and resizing itself to accommodate the incoming governor. The governors were of varying ages, some looking about as old as Dumbledore while others were closer to Malfoy’s age.

 

If they hadn’t roamed the halls and idly interacted with nearby students, the students wouldn’t have known they were there. Not that they were here for an inspection or anything, but they did ask the students questions like “How are you liking your education so far?” and “Is there anything you wish was different in regards to the school's infrastructure?” The answers they received ranged from completely serious to downright silly. Most of the students wouldn’t even notice the governor’s presence until after the meeting was over, walking in a group with the Headmaster and the Heads of Houses in company.

 

Students within a thirty-foot radius of Lucius Malfoy were blushing at his attractiveness, but also gawking at how different he and the potion master looked next to each other as they spoke, more specifically due to their hair. Even they could tell that the two were friends.

 

As they approached an intersection of a vacant corridor Dumbledore, who was leading the group, narrowed his eyes slightly before completely stopping in his tracks and holding both arms out to his sides to stop anyone next to or behind him. They all looked at him somewhat confused, but a second later there was an eruption of laughter as a spell came zipping through the air and hit the wall opposite of its origin, shimmering into nothingness. 

 

Two red-headed boys in Gryffindor Quidditch uniforms came barreling out from view, pushing and shoving one another while they ducked and dodged two more Jelly-Leg jinxes. Jeering aloud, they took off down the corridor ahead of the group of adults. You came sprinting into the same corridor so eagerly that when you went to turn the corner you slipped on the dusty stone floor and stumbled, smacking your knee a bit firmly on the hard surface and allowing the twins a few seconds more worth of distance. However, by picking such a long and narrow corridor, they had doomed themselves as they had nowhere to turn or zig-zag for a few considerable moments.

 

“Locomotor Wibbly!”

 

The spell shot from the end of your wand and hit the twins who were much further down the corridor, their legs glowing as the spell ensnared them before they promptly collapsed to the ground. You were already on your feet by the time you had turned the tables on them, running over before they could withdraw their wands and cast the counter-curse on themselves.

 

“Oh no, you don’t!” Grabbing hold of George by the back of his uniform, you hoisted him so that he lay perpendicularly across his brother on his stomach. They were confused by this until you sat down on the boy’s back, pinning them both to the ground. “Say it!” you taunted.

 

“Y/N!” they howled with laughter. “You’re going to make us late! We still need our brooms!”

 

“Yes, what a pity! I guess Gryffindor will have to forfeit if they cannot find replacements for their star beaters! Say ‘uncle’!”

 

“Never!”

 

“Ahem.”

 

You tensed and could feel the twins flinching as the three of you heard the gruff clearing of a throat. Looking down the stretch of the corridor behind you, you realized that you and the twins had run right past not only Dumbledore but the Heads of Houses and the board of governors. Dumbledore had his eyebrows raised but was nonetheless smirking softly. Snape and McGonagall were highly unamused. Meanwhile, Flitwick and Sprout were trying not to smile as they had a very “not my circus, not my monkeys” attitude about your shenanigans with the twins or anything between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

 

You turned your head away, smirking into the flat of your palm, your fingers drumming briefly on your face before you got up off the twins. They immediately scrambled upwards and took off after you applied the counter-curse to their legs. “This isn’t over!” you called after them as they ran to the end of the corridor giggling and turned another corner.

 

“Having fun?” Dumbledore inquired good-naturedly as he ambled toward you. “It seems the spirit of Quidditch has possessed you.”

 

You looked down and away bashfully. “Ah…yeah.” While you were wearing black jeans and a thin black overcoat, you had on a chunky knit sweater that had patterns of red, yellow, green, and blue throughout. Wrapped around your neck was your Slytherin scarf and woven into the few Viking braids that stood out amongst the rest of your free-flowing hair were ribbons of red and gold. Your face was painted as well. Divided into quadrants, resulting in a checkered pattern, was red, yellow, green, and silver. Tilting your head back up, you noticed a man with long and silky silvery-blonde hair.

 

“Oh! Hello, Mr. Malfoy!”

 

Mr. Malfoy seemed to recognize your voice now and smiled lightly. “Miss L/N, could that possibly be you underneath all that color?”

 

“Yes, it is I!” you grinned. “Slytherin is playing Gryffindor in Quidditch today.”

 

“Headmaster, you never mentioned a Quidditch game happening today.” Another governor within the group spoke aloud.

 

“Ah, yes. I didn’t mention it because I know you all lead busy lives and I’m sure you all know about the spell that keeps spectators inside the pitch until the game is over. I didn’t wish to throw your schedules off kilter inadvertently.”

 

“Slytherin versus Gryffindor you say…” Lucius mused aloud. “Perhaps I shall stick around.”

 

“You should,” you said encouragingly. “We need more snake supporters. Over half the school is already rooting for Gryffindor.”

 

“You appear to be doing so as well, Miss.” The potion master spoke, the bitterness and light hint of betrayal evident in his voice.

 

Honestly, you didn’t think he’d raise a verbal spear at you in the presence of other teachers, let alone the board of governess, but if he was asking for it you were oh so willing to indulge him. In front of all of them as well.

 

“Well, Professor,” you started with a soft smile, making the wistfulness of your tone clear as you fidgeted the hanging hem of your scarf. “Seeing that this is my last year here, this will also be the last time our house gets to play our rival and it’s one of the rare opportunities I can support both Slytherin and the Weasley twins without too much condemnation. And today, I’d like for them to have my support out and proud.”

 

Even though you had been acting foolishly in front of them mere minutes ago, Professor McGonagall couldn’t stop the small smile that came to her face. You even managed to elicit an “aww” from Professor Flitwick and a “how cute” from a governess. Malfoy side-eyed Snape, having detected an air of calculation in your words.

 

Slippery little snake. Professor Snape narrowed his eyes and slightly bit the inside of his cheek. There was no sort of disapproving reply he could give without looking like an asshole. You did that on purpose.

 

***

 

The Quidditch stands were packed. Even though their teams weren’t playing many students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff attended. This was just one of those games that almost everyone wanted to watch because their age-old rivalry was the most intense of the houses. The school’s band played boisterously as a prelude for the game while the two teams prepared themselves. The Heads of Houses and governors all sat in one tower, in addition to one Lee Jordan who would narrate the match.

 

“Hello, and welcome back to the second match of Slytherin vs Gryffindor!” Lee Jordan announced in a microphone. Everyone in the stands cheered rambunctiously waving flags and banners that matched the scarves and sweaters they wore. Climbing up the last wooden step, you popped up in the Gryffindor section

 

“Oh ‘ello there, Y/N! What ‘er you doin’ in this section o’ the pitch?” The half-giant furrowed his brows at you as you took an empty spot next to him.

 

You smirked. “I could ask you the same thing Mr. I’m-Supposed-To-Stay-Neutral” and yet here you are with maroon robes underneath that fur coat of yours.”

 

He cleared his throat. “I—er just like their mascot ‘s all.”

 

“Uh-huh. You can have a favorite you know. It’s no skin off anyone’s bones here. We got Filch on Slytherin’s side and you’d be no more of a hypocrite than Dumbledore who we ALL know roots for Gryffindor.”

 

“Are ya over here for the twins?”

 

“I am. Don’t get me wrong, I always root for them even when they are playing my house, but I’ve never done it so blatantly and out in the open before. And there is only so much time left.”

 

Two sets of barn-like doors hidden by decorative banners swung open on opposite sides of the pitch. The two teams zoomed out and about performing an introductory flying formation along with the music before settling into their respective positions. 

 

“The players take their position as Madam Hooch steps out onto the field to begin the game.” The witch wearing black referee robes with white hems and holding a broom in one hand approached the ominously shaking box that seemed it would burst at the latches.

 

“Now, I want a nice clean game. From all of you,” Hooch added, looking pointedly at a few Slytherin players. She kicked the box, allowing the latches to unlock and the lid to swing open. Three balls rose up and out of the box.

 

“The bludgers erupt followed by the golden snitch…” Madam Hooch grabbed the fourth ball. “The quaffle is released…and the game begins!”

 

The tip-off of Slytherin and Gryffindor games was always so aggressive and almost always determined who would score the first ten points with the ball. A Gryffindor girl got to the quaffle first as several players narrowly avoided crashing into her while also trying to go for the ball as well. She took a few harsh body checks from a Slytherin player. Still, she managed to zip her way around a tower, narrowly avoiding a stray bludger before throwing the quaffle into the unguarded middle hoop. A bell rang as she did so.

 

“Angelina Johnson scores! That’s ten points for Gryffindor!” Normally, Jordan would throw in some compliment or plea about wanting to take the girl out on a date or be her boyfriend, but couldn’t because of Dumbledore’s announcement this morning.

 

“Well done!” Hagrid cheered.  

 

Slytherin was now in possession of the quaffle. One chaser managed to keep possession of the ball before a bludger flew across their path startling them and causing them to accidentally drop the quaffle. Thankfully another Slytherin chaser managed to scoop up the concave ball before a Gryffindor player got their hands on it. Closing in toward the goal, they tossed the ball up and punched it into one of the lower goals, just barely grazing the keeper’s fingertips. 

 

“Cassius Warrington scores! That’s ten points for Slytherin!”

 

Unlike the last heated rival game, this one was rather close, with both teams staying within 30 points of one another, and neither had managed to spot the snitch as they broke into the mid 100’s. You were sure this had more to do with Slytherin becoming worse than Gryffindor getting better. Based on looking at the teams' new configuration, it seems Slytherin’s winning streak has assured the captain that they can focus more on size rather than skill for this game. At least three players had been swapped out for bigger and taller individuals who you imagined were typically bench players.

 

“Oh, darn it!” A girl in front of you said.

 

“What is it?” her friend questioned.

 

“My bracelet fell off. You know, the one my boyfriend got me for our anniversary? I think it fell beneath the stands!”

 

“So go get it.”

 

“Are you kidding? It’s absolutely filthy down there! I’ll ruin my new boots!”

 

“Excuse me,” you piped up. “Did you say your bracelet fell between the bleachers?”

 

The two girls turned. “Oh, hello Y/N.” The owner of the lost bracelet said. “Ah—yes. I must not have clasped it on properly.”

 

“I could go get it for you if you’d like.”

 

“Really? You’d do that?”

 

“Yeah, sure. Truthfully, I suspect this game will keep plateauing until someone spots the snitch or falls off their broom.”

 

“Oh—okay—thank you! It’s silver with a little flower charm on it.”

 

The girl wasn’t lying when she characterized the underside of the stadium structure as filthy. As the rainy days approached one by one, the air was a bit more misty. Condensation clung to the beams of the wooden structure, dripping water like leaky pipes and turning the ground underneath into a near-muddy consistency. A couple of stray items had fallen beneath the stands and were long forgotten. A rolled-up copy of the prophet, a jacket that’d probably been here since the first game, a Gryffindor flag…

 

“Accio bracelet.” It shouldn’t be hard to spot if it had indeed fallen all the way down to the ground, the metallic metal of the jewelry making it an easy-to-spot item against the brown dirt. After chanting a second time, you heard a clinking noise and something glint from the corner of your eye. The bracelet that had hung on top of a support beam fell to the ground some feet away from you. Smudging the dirt off, you confirmed it to be the bracelet with a flower charm.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen! Gryffindor has spotted the golden snitch!”

 

Oh?

 

Two silhouettes on brooms wooshed by the nearest covering that decorated the wooden structure of the pitch, lifting the corner a bit. Pocketing the bracelet, you carefully squirmed your way through the various beams, trying to avoid bumping your head. You pulled back the flap a little and peeked out at the match. Both seekers were flying close to each other as they went after the tiny winged ball, occasionally breaking off to avoid the bludgers being aimed at them. Simultaneously, Fred and George used their beater bats to knock two bludgers at the Slytherin seeker. One missed by quite a bit, while another hit the front of the seeker’s broom, snapping off part of the wood and sending the player spiraling off-course, but remaining in the air. 

 

Well, your team did not take kindly to that. You saw the Slytherin captain make a gesture to two chasers, directing their focus away from the quaffle. The larger set players did as they were told and flew up into the air and waited.

 

What were they doing?

 

As the Gryffindor team once again regained possession of the quaffle and crossed over into Slytherin territory, the two singled-out chasers started flying at full speed directly toward the twins. You watched in slow motion as the chasers rammed the two red-headed boys off their brooms. That’s why they had waited. With everyone downfield and distracted while the twins stuck to sending bludgers at the Slytherin seeker when he caught back up to the Gryffindor seeker, there would be no one within a proper distance to catch them in time.

 

A fall from that height, should they land wrong, could kill them.

 

The crowd gasped, some making pained “ooh!” noises at the hits, as the twins began falling…and falling…

 

“Expecto Patronum!” you whipped your wand out and roared, the sound of your chant hidden beneath the unrest of the crowd.

 

Your runespoor materialized faster than ever and took off across the pitch, eliciting screams from every direction, but it fell deaf on your ears. 

 

catchthemCatchThemCATCHTHEM CATCHTHEM! 

 

With every foot of ground your patronus covered, the runespoor became more and more opaque. The creature turned solid just in time, the other side of the Quidditch pitch no longer visible through itself, diving beneath the twins and coiling two of its three bodies into a spring-like formation to cradle them, the patronus cushioning their fall. Only when you didn't hear the expected sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground did you let out a breath you were holding, crumbling to your knees as your heart pounded with relief.

 

“Runey!” The twins gasped. “Merlin, you saved us!” They struggled to climb out of the creature’s bodies, like trying to wriggle through the stuffy obstacle course of a giant inflated bounce house, but you sent a mental command for it to uncoil itself instead of letting the twins try to climb out themselves just because it wanted to cuddle with them. The heads bent down and inhaled at the boys’ uniforms, checking to see if they were alright. 

 

“MERLIN’S BEARD!” Jordan’s voice echoed out through the screams that permeated the pitch. “THERE’S A GIANT THREE-HEADED SNAKE ON THE FIELD! DO THE TWINS HAVE A SECRET PET MONSTER?!”

 

“Thanks Runey!” Fred booped the snoot of the nearest head. 

 

“We’ll go talk to your mum later,” George added before they both got back on their brooms and flew back up in the air. You let the patronus fade away when you saw Fred and George safely back on their brooms.

 

The teachers were shocked. The governors were just…stunned. While the students might not have known, the adults all knew the creature was a patronus—a patronus so strong that it had achieved solidification. Slowly they all turned their heads, including Malfoy who sat next to the man, to Professor Snape. Snape stared out at the field with his lips slightly parted and his fingers fisting the material of his trousers. Being the Head of Slytherins they naturally associated the slithering creature with him.

 

“Severus…” Dumbledore spoke up from behind him. “...was that your doing?”

 

“...No.” Snape breathed out.

 

“Professor Lupin?”

 

“No, headmaster…”

 

A whistle was heard somewhere in the air from Madam Hooch. She waved towards the Gryffindor Seeker who held the golden snitch proudly.

 

“The Gryffindor seeker has caught the snitch! This game is over! Gryffindor wins 330-170!” The reaction to this was a mixed bag. While there was a roar of cheers to celebrate their win, you could also hear a stampede of footsteps within the Quidditch stands as some raced to get the hell out of there lest the “monster” came back. 

 

***

 

“You missed a spot,” said Moaning Myrtle as she swooped around the effectively abandoned bathroom. 

 

“Thank you Captain Obvious. I can see myself in the mirror, y’know.”

 

She giggled, coming to a hover near your side so she could get a good look at your skin. “It really does look like blood,” Myrtle grinned, inspecting the splotch of stained red that just barely touched your hairline.

 

Following your flight from the pitch, you got back inside the castle by taking the long way on the covered bridge that led to the Clock Tower and through the Quad rather than going through the main courtyard. You figured one of them would be waiting for you there or outside the Slytherin common room which is why you were temporarily seeking refuge in the second-floor girl’s bathroom; a space that remains mostly unused due to the haunting presence of Moaning Myrtle.

 

“Ugh, why is red always the most stubborn…” you scrubbed the soaked rag more firmly against your forehead.

 

“Both alluding and speaking literally, I presume…” A deep voice spoke from behind. When Moaning Myrtle moved away you could see in the mirror Professor Snape’s Dark figure standing at the threshold of the entryway to the bathroom.

 

Damn you and your tracking spells. 

 

Your gaze lingered on him in the mirror, just barely making eye contact with him before looking down towards the sink and turning the faucet on again.

 

“You shouldn’t have run,” Snape said.

 

“I wanted to buy myself time before I got hauled off to Dumbledore's office,” you explained, scrubbing the last paint that had spread between your fingers before drying off your hands and vanishing the soiled towel. “How much trouble am I in?”

 

“That has yet to be determined. While objectively all you did was interrupt a Quidditch game, the magic you performed has more concerning implications in itself, according to the governors.”

 

According to the governors. Shit .

 

You sighed, picking up your coat and tossing it over your shoulder while keeping your sweater sleeves rolled up. “Let’s get this over with,” you muttered.

 

The Headmaster, three Heads of Houses, and Professor Lupin tried answering the rightfully prying questions as best as they could of the governors that decided to stay for the game, gathered in the Great Hall while Professor Snape went to retrieve you. Meanwhile, Lucius remained uncharacteristically quiet considering he was the head of the board of governors. He stood off to the side, backlit by the gray sky of one of the large opened windows, thinking to himself as he idly rocked his walking stick in place.

 

A crack got their attention. They all looked to the sound to find you and Professor Snape now inside the Great Hall with them. You frowned in confusion as you registered that this was not Dumbledore’s office. All the furniture had vanished except for a chair. Whipping around you saw that it was also not just Dumbledore here and you slowly began backing away from the crowd of adults. 

 

“Miss L/N,” Dumbledore spoke up, noting the evident apprehension on your face as you distanced yourself. “It’s alright. We just wish to speak with you.”

 

“Yeah,” you said dryly, but also nervously. You bumped into the chair, probably for you, making it scrape across the stone. “Yeah, you say that, and yet, wands have been drawn.”

 

Dumbledore observed the room and noted that of the now twelve adults present, the four of the five governors that stayed behind and Professor Lupin had their wands out.

 

“Come now, she’s not going to hurt us. I wouldn’t allow it and there are more of us than there are of her. Wands away, please.” Those who had their wands out reluctantly put them away, granted, in easy unsheathing locations.

 

Snape could see you were agitated from the way you backed up like you were being cornered and how you were currently hugging your upper arms. You were guarded and attempting to self-soothe. It was quite clear to him why they wanted this meeting to happen here. If he had the power to, he’d keep this meeting to just him, Dumbledore, and Lucius since he is the head of the board and it would most likely take place in his own classroom or Dumbledore’s office to not stress you out.

 

“Miss L/N,” the old wizard said once again, rather softly. “We’d like to ask you some questions about what happened earlier today at the Quidditch game. Surely, you know what I speak of?”

 

There would be no beating around the bush. He knew and you knew, but he wanted confirmation. You nodded.

 

“Then I shall be direct. Was the patronus that rescued the Weasley twins yours?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

Dumbledore hummed, his hand coming up to toy with the dangly piece of jewelry that kept his beard neatly together. “A runespoor patronus is quite rare, Miss. And the size is no less intriguing. Rather impressive to say the least.” He tilted his head. “However, what I find most interesting is your patronus achieving true solidity and saving two wizards in the process. That’s not something you see every day, even in the Ministry’s Department of Aurors. This spell is notoriously difficult to perform…or do you not encounter such obstacles with this one in particular?”

 

“...No, not really,” you mumbled. “Casting the spell was only kinda hard the first few times, but summoning him now is like breathing. To make him solid I usually do have to be in a good mood or have a powerful memory, more powerful than most of my own for it to work.”

 

“Him?”

 

“Mhm… Runey’s a boy.”

 

“You’ve named it?”

 

“Each of the heads has a name too.” You picked at your scarf. “...I don’t use the spell for traditional means since the only dementors around are at Azkaban or the Forbidden Forest, so I kinda treat him like a pet. I give him free will and he comforts me a lot when I’m not feeling my best.”

 

“I see,” he nodded to himself. “Well, Miss, if you are up for it I would very much like to meet him.”

 

You flit your eyes up to him. “Is that why I was brought here instead of your office?”

 

“Yes, I believe this is one of the few rooms that will allow your patronus to move around some.”

 

You bit your lip and slowly removed your scarf to its place on top of your folded coat. 

 

“You will all need to back up,” you stated, drawing your wand from your waistband. Shoes scuffed across the dusty floors as people repositioned themselves. Professor Snape, instead of joining the crowd of teachers and governors, paced over to a space off to the side of you and not too far away from where Malfoy stood. “And Dumbledore, you will need a chair with a temporary Sticking Charm to the floor. I don’t want him to accidentally knock you over.” Your ears tinged pink. “He can be enthusiastic.”

 

“Very well then.” Dumbledore extended his wand out and duplicated the chair before drawing it to him, and cast a Sticking Charm on its feet. 

 

You sat down and began to think. You’d need a memory for it to work in this instance. Earlier today was different like when people get adrenaline rushes that give them extra strength in life-or-death situations. Closing your eyes, you ignored the feeling of being watched by eleven other people and retreated into your mind for a good enough memory. Interestingly enough, Runey has sort of become a happy memory—a bit of a strange paradox that you didn’t question.

~

 

Your mind went back to when you were at home for a bit during the end of January and the beginning of February.

 

“SUCK MY DICK YOU MUSHROOM-HEADED FUCK!” you shouted at the TV as you pressed a button on your video game controller. You sent out a blue shell that sped forward on the track, locking on to Toad who was in 1st place. The item hit the unfortunate character, causing him to squeal and spin out just in time for you to pass him and cross the finish line, your placement changing from 2nd to 1st as you ended the race.

 

“YES! YESYESYESYESYES! I AM GOD! RAAAAHHHHHH!”

 

The win resulted in you unlocking a new racing cup and a new kart for you to use in future races. You picked up your wand and summoned Runey, his large figure having to drape over and around the furniture. 

 

“Look, bubba! I finally won this grand prix,” you exclaimed, pointing at the TV. Your patronus had no idea what this strange glowing box was. Themis flicked his tongue at the static-feeling screen but hissed when he saw the low-poly Bowser. “Oh, you don’t like the big, mean, dragon turtle, do ya? Come on, let's go make a potion. I got some more ingredients to work with.”

 

Accio’ing a potions book off the nearest bookshelf, you closed your eyes and picked a random page in the book. You did indeed have the ingredients required for this one and stuck your wand in your mouth. Putting away your video game console and turning the TV to a random channel for some background noise, your patronus settled down in the living room as you went to gather some ingredients and brewing tools. You returned with all the necessary materials and set up the filled cauldron and magic bunsen flame. Was it a fire hazard to do this in the living room and not the kitchen? Absolutely, but it didn’t matter to you as Runey wouldn’t fit in the kitchen and you wanted him around. 

 

While Morpheus watched the news, Themis lay his head on the couch, watching from over your shoulder as you sat on the ground with Zeus. 

 

“Stho’ eth,” you said to Zeus with your wand in your mouth, pushing his snoot away as he attempted to steal an ivy leaf from you.

 

Thirty minutes later the cauldron showed signs that your potion was finished. The potion was a blood-orange color that shone brightly within the clear glass bottle you had poured it into for storage after putting away your brewing materials.

 

“Bottoms up,” you toasted, taking a swig of the potion before re-corking it again. Your runespoor watched in curiosity as you swallowed your concoction and waited. You felt a warmth grow in your lungs. Taking a deep breath you angled your head up and exhaled hard, your fiery breath whooshing out some feet and flickering into nothingness.

 

“I did it!” You laughed, making a quick note of success in your experimenting notebook. “Did you see that Themis? It—” The words got stuck in your throat as you felt Themis slither up and lay the underside of his head on top of yours, his purring reverberating all through the couch and from the crown of your head to the base of your spine. Zeus wiggled onto your legs, trying to fit as much of his head into your lap as he could as he snuffled into your stomach, making the same noises. Morpheus, whose lingering gaze turned away from where the fire had disappeared into the air, leaned down and slithered over Zeus and cuddled into your chest, staring at you with unblinking eyes and puffing affectionately at you. 

 

You still had yet to fully understand your patronus at times, but now you were sure they were cuddling you because they were congratulating you as you wrapped your arms around Morpheus. You hadn’t given them an order, they had done so of their own volition. Never had you been able to share your successes with anyone while in your own home, but at least you had them now.

 

~

 

“Expecto Patronum.”

 

The blue light erupted from your wand, swooshing and expanding until it took the shape of a three-headed snake. While initially standing tall and flicking his tongues about the air, he tilted his heads in confusion at the new setting.

 

Runey, you see the man sitting in the chair with gray robes? I want you to go say ‘hi’.

 

The three of them dipped down and slithered forward a little to approach Dumbledore who remained calm and collected. “He’s going to smell you now,” you said aloud as Dumbledore curiously lifted a hand. Themis sniffed and flickered his tongue, barely grazing the skin of his hand. Getting his fill of Dumbledore’s scent, he puffed heartily at the headmaster and you could hear the beginning of rumbling sounds from their throats.

 

“Miss L/N? What do the puffs mean?” Dumbledore asked. You said nothing, blushing red, and pulled the collar of your sweater up with a hand to hide your face as you leaned down towards your lap. You liked Dumbledore a lot, which meant Runey would like Dumbledore. A lot.

 

It happened before Dumbledore could even expect it. The heads butted into him and aggressively rubbed at his body, their loud guttural purrs dragon-like as they tried to claim certain parts of him. Morpheus got to his stomach first and burrowed against his robes, claiming his lap like a cat and hissing at the other heads that tried to push at the portion of the head that could even stay on the headmaster's lap. Zeus and Themis were then all up in Dumbledore’s face rubbing furiously at the man's head, knocking his hat off, and pushing his glasses askew.

 

“Oho! Oh goodness, me!” Dumbledore laughed, putting his hands on their heads in an attempt to settle their eagerness. Had the chair not had the Sticking Charm applied, he would’ve been pushed to the floor in seconds. Like your memory, Themis took it upon himself to rest his head atop the headmaster’s, and Zeus took solace on the ground against his legs. “I take it the puffs mean approval?”

 

“Mmf,” you gave a non-committal sounding noise, hiding in the confines of your sweater, your ears being the only visible indicator that you were blushing self-consciously. A few seconds later you would feel a hand on your back. 

 

Lucius Malfoy had been quiet, keeping to himself to think and observe. Your runespoor was indeed interesting, spooning and loving up on the headmaster like giant cats. Despite it being the spectacle that had everyone’s attention, he was looking at something else he thought was much more interesting. He watched his friend quietly shuffle over to stand at your side and put a hand on your back.

 

Lucius knew Severus Snape as someone who wasn’t fond of touch. At least, that’s what he thought. He was aware of Snape’s unfortunate living situation back in the muggle world as well as the bullying at school that made him anxious due to trauma. He even knew of the assault through Snape's letters. Despite being in his fifth year when Snape was in his first, the two built a friendship when Snape aided him with OWL-level work. Lucius also suffered physical abuse sometimes from his father at home, so he could sympathize with Snape when he went home in the summers. The two would keep in touch when Snape could manage to send replies without his father seeing Lucius’s owl. Despite the bullying stopping at the end of Snape’s fifth year and his parents moving out of the childhood home when Snape came of age, he was unfortunately left as a bit of a broken toy. There were times when they’d meet after graduating and he would flinch hard when Narcissa would try to hug him unexpectedly or when Lucius would reach out to pat him on the shoulder.

 

So to see him want to reach out and touch someone else? You specifically? It made Lucius ponder.

 

You could have Severus Snape wrapped around your finger if you wanted.

 

“What are their names, Miss L/N?” Dumbledore called, stroking the head in his lap and feeling the solidness of the creature.

 

You lowered your sweater collar to reveal your eyes, still blushing madly. “The leader of the three is Zeus. He’s the one at your feet. Morpheus is the dreamy one on your lap and the critic squishing on you from above is Themis. Runey is just the name I use to address all three at once.”

 

“You gave them Greek mythology names according to their roles. How fitting!” he smiled. “I must say he feels quite solid indeed! Professor Lupin, how come you never spoke of Miss L/N’s patronus before?”

 

“Because I never knew she had one in the first place,” he snipped.

 

Snape and Malfoy both looked at each other, subtly raising an eyebrow and slightly smirking for different reasons. Lucius didn’t hate Lupin because he was a werewolf. No, his dislike towards the man was fueled by Lupin's participation in his friend’s misery, even though his dislike made itself present through jabs at lycanthropy. Lucius smirked because it was Slytherin screwing over Lupin and not the other way around this time. He saw your withholding of this information as karma, whether you were aware of that or not. Snape smirked because, well, he found it highly interesting that in the months that had passed since learning the spell, you hadn't even thought to mention it to the DADA teacher. 

 

It made him feel special. Granted, he just happened to be around when you summoned it for the first time. 

 

Still.

 

Lupin was exasperated and it showed in the restrained clench of his jaw and his frowning brows. Snape, who was ever so perceptive, caught the way you winced and shied your gaze further away, and when he looked to find Lupin unpleasantly glaring at you he felt a surge of anger.

 

“Do not look at her like that, like she owed it to you,” Snape growled, removing his hand and stepping forward in a manner that partially blocked you from Lupin’s view. 

 

“That’s not—” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That’s not what I think. I just… don’t understand why she wouldn’t have at least mentioned at some point that she could cast the spell,” he explained, his expression softening into something that resembled light offense rather than anger. “I would think a student would want to share their progress on such a spell should they be successful.”

 

“Miss L/N, before today did anyone know about your patronus?” the headmaster questioned.

 

“Yes,” you murmured. “Three people.”

 

“And who might they be?”

 

“Fred, George, and…Professor Snape.”

 

All eyes whipped over to the potion master. “You knew? With a patronus like that, you didn’t think to tell one of us?” Lupin pressed, gesturing to the other Heads of Houses and Dumbledore.

 

“With that sort of logic, is the board of governors obligated to know everything about you?” Snape challenged back coldly with a threatening glint in his eye. Malfoy knew of Lupin's lycanthropy already only because Snape had let it spill during a night of drinking before teaching at Hogwarts. Lucius had no reason to tell anyone since and even then, Snape told him not to say anything after informing Lucius that Lupin would be teaching here; not because he truly cared, but more so because it might’ve offered him leverage one day.

 

“Let us not dwell on that for now,” Dumbledore said sternly with a hint of warning in his tone, causing an awkward sort of silence to fill the air. “I feel as though I am hogging your runespoor, Miss. Would anyone else like to meet it?” he offered in an attempt to change the subject.

 

“I would,” said Lucius, much to the surprise of everyone in the room. As you carefully directed your patronus off the headmaster toward Malfoy, Snape subtly felt for the wand inside his robes should anything go wrong. The patronus slowly leveled itself with the governor, Themis leaning in to smell Lucius’s outstretched hand. He inhaled Lucius's hand deeply multiple times, curiously flicking his tongue at the family ring on Lucius's hand. 

 

Themis pulled away and hissed to Morpheus and Zeus who bent down curiously at level with Themis. After a brief back and forth Morpheus took Themis’s place to smell Lucius, drawing back after a deep sniff and standing upright at full height with his large jaw slightly unhinged and his head tilted up towards the ceiling.

 

“Is something happening?” Lucius asked, unsure whether he should put his hand down as soft breathy hisses escaped Morpheus.

 

“I think he’s having a vision,” you replied.

 

“What of?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m not a parselmouth.”

 

Morpheus stood still in his trance for what was probably twenty seconds as Themis and Zeus flickered their tongues at him, listening to his hisses. After snapping out of trance the snake lowered its head again and hissed firmly at Zeus. Zeus stared at Lucius’s hand, bumping the tip of his snoot against the ring before sinking into a deep bow for the man and puffing.

 

“What does this mean?” he questioned.

 

“The puff means he likes you…but I think it also means that your son will be a Slytherin.”

 

“How have you concluded that, Miss?”

 

You smiled lightly. “Well, I can’t understand what he says, but I did a lot of reading on runespoors when I first found out what he was. The leader heads only bow like that when they recognize the leader of another runespoor. He thinks that you are like him, or in this case a figurative one.” You raised your hand and counted. “You, Narcissa, and Draco. A trio of snakes in one family. I reckon the vision was of your son getting sorted into Slytherin.”

 

Lucius smiled at Zeus and did a bit of a bow in return for the massive spiney head. This pleased Zeus as he let out a motorboat rumble and pressed his snoot past Lucius's hand and into his chest, the other heads puffing along softly.

 

“You are right, Headmaster,” Lucius proclaimed, gingerly stroking his head. “He does indeed feel like a real creature.”

 

“Pardon me,” a governor spoke, taking a daring step forward amongst the teachers and other governors. “But are we sure we should be encouraging this?”

 

“What do you mean Mr. Pembrooke?” Dumbledore inquired.

 

“If this young woman can make a patronus of such a size solid, should we not consider the damage this thing can do? Its potential to cause bodily harm?” It became eerily silent in the Great Hall. Despite his prior frustration, even Lupin frowned at the man’s insinuation. 

 

“It was only some odd fifty years ago that a student named Tom Riddle secretly possessed his own ginormous reptilian creature and attempted to unleash it upon the school,” Pembrooke continued as you retracted your runespoor away from Lucius and back to you. “Granted, the boy only managed to take Myrtle Warren’s life before he let the reins slip on his control of the creature and accidentally killed himself, but still. Riddle was clearly a dark wizard, Headmaster, and I am finding this new development to be all too ominous for my liking.”

 

“Mr. Pembrooke,” Professor McGonagall interjected lowly. “Are you implying that…you believe Miss L/N to be a dark wizard?”

 

“I’m suggesting that there are warning signs present. Another Slytherin with top-ranking grades who controls another snake-like beast and has yet another branded snake symbol on their forearm?” Your eyes widened a little as you crossed your arms to your chest. Dumbledore looked at you, curiously flitting his gaze over your arms. “I see the rumors of your secret tattoo are true.”

 

“It is just the runespoor rune symbol…” you mumbled. “Got it while I was home for a bit.”

 

“I have seen it, Headmaster,” said Snape. “It’s nothing nefariously imbued or curse related—”

 

“—And yet, the creature is famously associated with dark wizards, and for a good reason ,” Pembrooke interjected. “How do we know that she hasn’t just been making the creature act all loving just to simply charm us all over? The only reason no one suspected Riddle was because of his charisma.”

 

Themis snarled at the man, prompting Pembrooke to draw his wand before you mentally ordered the head down. The runespoor head growled aloud, looped itself around you, and laid its head behind the chair as if to grump in time out.

 

“A dark wizard…” An embittered expression settled on your face as you stroked Themis. Zeus and Morpheus lingered about the air defensively, completely ignoring Snape’s proximity to you as they’d usually sniff at him when he was near. “Yes… I get my skull cracked open like an egg by a Hufflepuff and suddenly I’m the dark wizard. I end up blind, deaf, and mute in the Hospital Wing for a week and I’m the one that should be put on a watchlist.”

 

“That was you?” Lucius flared. You turned towards him, tilted your head around, and showed him the gnarly scars on your head, when you leaned back upwards he had a rather pissed-off expression on his face and sent Snape a look. They’d talk about it at a different time. “That is enough, Pembrooke. You’re grasping at straws with no actual proof of Miss L/N’s intentions at Hogwarts. Narcissa trusts Miss L/N, therefore, I do, unless you believe my wife to be a poor judge of character?”

 

Pembrooke opened his mouth but closed it with a sigh. Technically Lucius was right, but also, no one insults the man’s wife and gets away with it.

 

You yawned, your patronus pulsing between solid and physically intangible as a result.

 

“He really is quite spectacular, Miss L/N,” Dumbledore spoke with a fond cadence in his voice. “But I can understand why you would be reticent in showing him to anyone. He isn’t exactly the most docile-looking creature.”

 

“People are already wary of me. I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to be scared…or for you to think that there was something wrong with me. I’m aware of the runespoor’s association with dark wizards…”

 

Lupin bit the inside of his cheek, feeling a bit bad about his sense of entitlement.

 

“Nonsense, Miss,” Dumbledore sighed. “I know that heart of yours is rather big and I have it on good conscience that there is not a speck of space in it available for evil.” One of his hands supported an elbow while his other hand took the usual place on his upper arm. “Due to the intense mental clarity required to achieve such a state in a patronus, I don’t imagine there is much knowledge about what a solid patronus is capable of. Perhaps if the two of you are interested, you and Professor Lupin could explore those possibilities when you both have free time.”

 

The DADA teacher flicked his eyes over to you, a glint of interest present.

 

“I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to that…” you mumbled.

 

***

 

One by one you all filed out of the Great Hall and into the corridor as Dumbledore had concluded the end of the meeting. Students in the distance looked on curiously at the presence of the governors. Snape had a crease of annoyance between his brows at the prospect of you and Lupin potentially investigating something so experimental together.

 

Lucius placed a hand on your shoulder as the other governors disapparated. “Miss L/N, can I speak to you for a moment?” You nodded as he led you two near one of the alcoves. 

 

From what Snape could see, Lucius spoke quietly, attempting to maintain some privacy with this brief conversation. While you weren’t facing the potion master, he could extrapolate some of the words that Lucius said: “letter,” “personal,” and “blacklist.” While you clasped your hands behind your back, Lucius lifted his walking stick up and used the head of the snake handle to brush aside the section of hair that obscured the scar on the left side of your head from view. The movement of his lips became more tight. Snape could see that he was highly displeased by the marks as the two of you went back and forth. 

 

Now and then Lucius’s eyes would flick over to Snape to find him watching the two of you speak. He found it curious the expression Snape wore on his face. It was his classic look of suspicion and a bit of vexation that was rarely ever directed at the long, pale blonde-haired man. That look was often reserved for when he kept a distant eye on one James Potter.

 

Hm. A mischievous thought crossed his mind. What if he just —

 

“Well, if you change your mind, do let me know. Otherwise,” Lucius lightly tipped your head down and chastely pecked it just past your hairline. “Until next time,” he bid.

 

Just as Lucius was about to turn around and disapparate he looked directly at Snape again and— oh dear. Were those balled-up fists he could see?

 

Lucius smirked in a way only Snape would recognize before swooshing his cape and making his exit.

 

Oh, Severus, what interesting developments have occurred.

 

 

Notes:

I pulled a stupid idiot and accidentally did something on my laptop that messed with the hosting ability of the fic to show images properly, but I've fixed it now. Images and linked words should be functioning again.

Chapter 43: A Treacherous, Overactive Imagination

Summary:

Following the quidditch quandary, Reader and Snape are unsure whether grudges are being held or its just a figment of their imaginations.

classic indirect miscommunication trope, but it gets solved in this chapter because I'm not a monster ;v

long chapter btw

I can't believe it's been a year since I posted this story!

Notes:

fox laughing reference audio: https://youtu.be/fQVhppRP4Wo?si=2-6DgOtYrf2u7cZf

Featured Music: Enjoy the Silence - Depeche Mode https://youtu.be/aGSKrC7dGcY?si=2t1idDVfMxrVUXtq

The expected had happened within the following few days of the game as February became March. Students had become afraid of you.

 

You knew they’d figure it out, that the three-headed creature that made an appearance in the Quidditch pitch belonged to you. The seventh years who had learned what patronuses were from Lupin told their friends and siblings, and once the creature was pinpointed as a three-headed snake, the answer became obvious. A giant snake creature that rescued the twins? It was too on the nose.

 

The younger years darted out of your way as you roamed the castle halls, and those older made it a point not to look you in the eye for too long. Or at all. Of course, people talked about you—in the halls, in class, when you wandered the library… It was so annoying. The twins were always on your side though and they tried their best to assure people that you weren’t dangerous. It made you sad to see the younger years who sometimes come up to you and the library and ask you something school-related, avoiding your gaze and shuffling away when you were nearby. 

 

It was like you were another Professor Snape.

 

The teachers were acting normal about it, most of them at least. You could still feel an awkward energy radiating from Lupin when you made eye contact in DADA. What was the most irritating about all this was that now people from your house were more eager to befriend you. They kept asking you about your runespoor, what things it was capable of doing, and if you wanted to hang out or mess with one of the other houses. 

 

Surprisingly, Jakob was just as chipper around you, which you were a little thankful for. He was not at the Gryffindor and Slytherin match and never saw the patronus for himself, but he heard things from other students and had the sense to know that you were still you and not to consider any of the harsh things said about you unless you actually did something bad. As is standard fashion amongst schools your patronus would likely be the subject of gossip for a couple of weeks at most until something more interesting happened.

 

“Y/N!” he waved to you amongst the collective students in the courtyard, changed out of his uniform like you. Herbology today will be taking place outside as today's topic was Asphodel. After communicating with Hagrid about the movement patterns of the centaurs, it was determined that certain areas of the forest were safe to travel through for today’s class. The weather today wasn’t quite raining, but it was oh so close to it, which is why Jakob had part of an umbrella sticking out of his bag just in case. The air was very misty, thick droplets condensing on the grass and stony parts of the castle. Due to wettish weather, Professor Sprout allowed you all to change into more accommodating clothing so that we weren’t cold. Most simply put on a coat over their robes. 

 

You had discarded your robes and shimmied on a gray mock knit coat over your button-up and uniform pants, tugging the tie out to lay over your chest so that you were still identifiable. 

 

“Hey,” you greeted, spotting a braided bracelet on his wrist beneath his navy blue coat sleeve. “Is that a friendship bracelet?”

 

Jakob looked down at his wrist. “Zis?” he smiled. “It is a bracelet, but it is not for friendship. Ve haven’t made it public yet, but Aria and I have been spending a lot of time together and decided to make it official. Ve made bracelets for each other last night.”

 

“Wow, I can actually feel my teeth rotting in my mouth. That is so disgustingly sweet,” you chuckled.

 

“Alright! Is everybody here?” Sprout called. “Let’s see, one…two…” As Professor Sprout began to do a headcount of the class, another pair of footsteps swept through the courtyard entrance. “Ah, Professor Lupin! Glad you could join us after all! In case I haven’t mentioned it yet Professor Lupin has a long class break and was available to help chaperone our little trip into the Forbidden Forest should there be any nasty encounters.”

 

You flicked your eyes over to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He wore a light brown trench coat with a thin pair of gloves sticking out of the pockets and walking boots. You looked away from him just as his eyes moved in your direction.

 

“Y/N, I have a question,” Jakob said. “I keep hearing zis word in ze last couple of days, but I don’t know vat it is.”

 

“What word?”

 

“I don't zink I have it right, but inper… em…empress?”

 

You scrunched your eyebrows. “Empress?” He nodded his head. “In what context are you hearing this?”

 

“Vell…lately ven I hear people talking about you. Sometimes zey mention me too.”

 

“Strange, last time I checked I’m not an empress,” you hummed in feigned bemusement.

 

“Ja, I don’t zink I hear zem properly. It is somezing like zat. Empre…imbir…” He frowned to himself, racking his brain but also trying to communicate the word with the right pronunciation.

 

“Don't mind it for now. If it’s about me I reckon you’ll hear it again.”

 

The trek into the Forbidden Forest was rather uneventful. Professor Sprout wouldn’t actually be explaining anything until you all arrived at where the asphodel would be growing, so much to your pleasure that meant you could listen to music along the way. Jakob had gone up towards the front of the group to talk to a few others while you typically hung towards the back. Some students strolled through the forest floor as if they founded the damn place, their confidence likely resulting from having snuck off into the wooded location multiple times despite the rules set in place. That, or they seriously underestimated what dwelled here.

 

Electronic sounds blocked out the ambient noise of the forest and the surrounding conversations of the various students. There weren’t a lot of you considering it was a NEWT class, but still, you’d rather listen to your music for now. Despite this, your eyes were still ever sharp, noting how a few people would sneak a look at you and say something to their friend before looking away again. 

 

About you. 

 

There was one thing you were unfortunately struggling to ignore throughout the walk. The way his stare sent pitiful arrows of hurt into your back was irksome, the kicked puppy aura stronger than any hypothetical wet dog smell.

 

You felt a tap on your shoulder at the same time that you noticed that all the other students were now technically ahead of you. To your left was the man in question. He mouthed something to you that you couldn’t quite hear through the music.

 

“Huh?” you uttered, lifting one side of the headphones.

 

“I asked what you were listening to,” Lupin reiterated, trying to come off as courteous despite his weird behavior recently.

 

You restrained a huff, looking back forward. “You probably wouldn’t know them.”

 

“Try me,” he retorted. That got an eyebrow raise of you and you tugged the headphones off your head and handed it to him, loosening the cord to allow for some more slack. He slipped on the headphones as you adjusted the volume for him.

 

“Vows are spoken to be broken.

Feelings are intense, words are trivial.

Pleasures remain, so does the pain.

Words are meaningless and forgettable.

All I ever wanted, all I ever needed is here in my arms.

Words are very unnecessary.

T hey can only do harm.”

 

Lupin carefully tugged the headphones off and handed them back to you. “You were right. I don’t know it. Who's it by?”

 

“Depeche Mode,” you informed him, sitting the headphones around your neck. “You need to stop, Professor.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“The pity party you are throwing for yourself and giving me the credit for. So I didn't tell you I could cast the Patronus Charm or that my patronus is freakishly unordinary. Whoop-de-fuckin’-doo. You were not entitled to know such information and you are choosing to take it personally despite it having virtually no impact on your life whatsoever. Stop making your wounded pride my problem by looking at me as though I told everyone your biggest secret.”

 

He was silent and for a moment, just for the briefest millisecond, you thought you had spoken too informally to your professor no matter how justified, but you quickly dashed that feeling. Something needed to be said and you weren't going to stifle your feelings about it for his sake.

 

“You were the only one…” he eventually said, staring onwards and watching the other students as you did. 

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You were the only student who managed to cast it—the Patronus Charm. Until last week, I thought I had been unsuccessful in teaching the spell. No one had managed to perform it in class and during office hours despite the amount of students who wanted to try. I thought…I wasn’t being competent enough as a teacher. But apparently, all you needed was a piece of paper and…” he trailed off with a sigh. “I hope you understand my frustration with this.”

 

“I do understand. Completely. But don’t you see how projective that is?” 

 

“No, I know,” he rubbed the space between his brows. “I know that and I’m sorry. I don’t mean to crucify you for choosing not to tell me about it. Patronuses can be a very personal matter and I was being cranky and bitter and it was within the last days of the moon cycle—”

 

“Yes, I gathered that played a role in your reaction.”

 

“Still. I should know better than to be petty. And besides, I’m not the one taking flak from the students.”

 

You hummed. “You are forgiven.”

 

“And while I’m at it, I’m sorry for the boggart or at the very least, being intrusive. I thought I was doing something helpful, but evidently not.”

 

“I could’ve refused. That’s not entirely your fault, but whatever. You’re forgiven for that as well.”

 

“...Just out of curiosity,” he started again, “you not telling me about your patronus wasn’t some form of revenge for the boggart, was it?”

 

“It wasn’t. To be fair…I didn’t intend for anyone besides the twins to know about Runey once I knew what he was.”

 

Lupin quirked his eyebrows. “And yet, Professor Snape knows…?”

 

“He just happened to be around the first time I performed it successfully. You can put that “I’d tell him, but not you” thought away now,” you nudged him knowingly, illicitly a sheepish smirk from him.

 

“How are you handling all this by the way?” The corners of his eyes crinkled with a slight grimace. “I’m no stranger to the whispers of teenagers. I’d be miserable if people found out about me and called me a monster.”

 

“It sucks that some people think they need to fear me now, but otherwise, it’s not much of a change. People here know very little about me, so if so much as a crumb of enticing information becomes public about me, or anyone really—this school seriously has no privacy—it goes through the rumor mill as usual, but nothing bad has actually happened so far. Just whispers and theories. It’ll blow over eventually.”

 

***

 

“Care to speak up, Miss Talpin?” the potion master snipped icily as he was giving his lecture for today’s sixth-years. The girl and her friend tensed, having been caught whispering amongst themselves instead of paying attention to today’s topic. Her friend merely bit her lip, looking down at her notes as Miss Talpin gulped out, “No, sir.”

 

Professor Snape let his glare linger on her before resuming the lesson. It didn’t take a genius to know exactly what the girl was whispering about to her classmate. “Runespoor, freak, and dangerous,” were the top three words that pervaded the hushed conversations and insults that infested his classroom, and no doubt others, the last couple of days. Your spectacle had made tidal waves among the students. Some thought that, despite the heroic act, you were dangerous and they needed to be cautious of your presence. He’d spot them from afar as you walked to meals eyeing you, some subtly wrapping a protective arm around a younger sibling. 

 

Worst of all, even though this development wasn’t his problem, he was still letting it affect him, angered by the amount of badmouthing and gossiping going on.

 

And how were you handling all this?

 

There were no physical differences he could note, your expression remaining its usual look of indifference, blase even, when you walked the halls or came into class. Since the birth of this odd sort of friendship between the two of you this year he was able to pick up on certain emotional idiosyncrasies. When you are mad about something the lower lid of your right eye would twitch. When you are upset you take longer to respond to people, like you had to put in more effort in crafting a response or wrangling your emotions. Agitation was sometimes accompanied by tapping your fingertips against your legs. He had yet to see any as of recently, but the last time he assumed you were fine you weren’t.

 

As he made his way up to the staff room before his next Advanced Potions class to swipe some tea bags he could hear a commotion coming from one of the hallways. He turned and saw a group of students being separated by Professor Lupin. On one side were you, though he couldn’t see your face, and Jakob Fischer while Lupin was more or less “shielding,” more like standing partially in front of to de-escalate, a Gryffindor girl and a Ravenclaw boy. 

 

The German boy was spouting a flurry of words angrily in a mix of broken English and German while the other two students snickered at his inability to yell at them in proper English. Lupin seemed to be looking for you to translate, but you were busy trying to get Jakob to calm down.

 

In the bits of phrases the potion master could understand, the word “Imperius” kept popping up.

 

Why on Earth was the Imperius Curse being discussed?

 

“Atme Du,” you urged, guiding him so that he was looking at you and not the three others behind you.

[Breathe.]

 

“Aber—”

[But—]

 

“Atme Du. Klappe halten und atme.

[ Breathe. Shut up and breathe.]

 

The boy parted his lips as if to protest again, but sighed in defeat, tipping his head down and letting it rest on your shoulder. Snape glowered at the sight and promptly swished his cloak before disappearing out of sight.

 

“Miss L/N, if you could tell Jakob that—”

 

“He can understand you, Professor Lupin.” You patted the boy’s shoulder in commiseration. “It’s just that sometimes his English speaking is off when he’s emotional.”

 

“Right—ehm,” Lupin cleared his throat, “Mr. Fischer, despite your intent I’m afraid you’ll still have to serve detention with me.”

 

The boy grunted in acknowledgment against you.

 

“And ten points from both of you,” he turned to the students behind him. “I would expect seventh years such as yourself to behave better than that.”

 

The boy and girl muttered and departed for their next class as Lupin set off to his own classroom.

 

“I’m going to change and go to my Potions class now.” You drew Jakob back. “Ignore them next time. It’s not your problem.” 

 

“But you’re my friend. It is my problem—” 

 

“No —I mean…yes, I am your friend, but please just ignore them. I am asking you to ignore them, for both our sakes, okay?” Jacob had a rather dissatisfied look on his face but nodded. “Alright then. You should go find Aria and walk to Ancient Runes together.”

 

The Potions classroom was filled with the usual murmurs and idle side chatter that occurred before Snape would start the class. While most were in their seats a little group congregated in the back. A Gryffindor boy in the center of it sneered upon your entrance, his friends eyeing you with just as much enthusiasm while you resisted the urge to flip them off in return.

 

“Asphodel roots,” you said aloud to the potion master who somewhat had his back to you as he wrote on the blackboard. He hardly spared a glance at the tied-off burlap sack you held out to him.

 

“You know where they go, Miss,” he replied surly, not taking his eyes off the board.

 

Not in a good mood. Alright.   

 

The Asphodel roots were brownish and the shapes of carrots, not the finger-like carrots found in packs at the supermarket, but actual rooty carrots one might harvest from a backyard garden. Dirt particles still clung to the stringy bits around the ingredient. While inside the potion storage room, you located a wooden bin with the word “ASPHODEL” carved onto a nameplate and poured the roots from the bundled sack into the bin, shifting them into an arrangement as if they were stacked pencils so they’d be easy to grab. You trotted out of the storage room as Snape began the lecture, claiming the last available seat near the door as your usual spot was occupied.

 

“The Wound-Cleaning potion is a powerful antiseptic that is used to paralyze and heal wounds of varying degrees…”

 

Not even five sentences in and you were telling yourself to sit up straight, shut the fuck up, and keep your hands ready to write. While you were aware that certain potions were required to be taught as per ministry-regulated curriculum, there were few times when Professor Snape would lecture about a potion where it seemed like he had some personal connection with it, or that he found these potions to be fundamentally intriguing. The only hint would be the intonation of his voice when discussing the history of said potion or certain procedural details of the brewing process. On a deeper level, you also liked seeing people speak of things they are interested in or passionate about. It gave you the fuzzies.

 

At one point in the lecture though, Snape seemingly made eye contact with you and gave you a weird yet fleeting look.

 

“...and caused the infection to grow. When—”

 

He paused when he looked at you, but it was imperceptibly quick as he continued speaking. On your face was something he hadn’t noticed before: a bright orange patch that looked to be two inches by two inches plastered on your right cheek. Snape instantly recognized it as Madam Pomfrey’s “Bruise Begone” patches, charmed to make bruises fade away. He saw another orange patch on a student earlier. As he proceeded through the lecture he used his natural swiveling gaze to look for the student, and located him. A Gryffindor. His patch was on the left side of his mouth

 

The same Gryffindor whom Lupin was keeping separated from you and Fischer. 

 

Did you and the Gryffindor get in a fight? Did that boy strike you? This rousing hypothesis caused the prior annoyance he held for you to be mentally funneled toward the Gryffindor as he concluded the lecture.

 

Students shuffled to get their ingredients as Professor Snape signaled for brewing to commence. You remain seated for a bit, not seeing the point in getting up just to stand waiting in a line of impatient students as they squeeze around one another in the doorway. Only after the last students trickled out did you get up and cross the threshold into the darkened and somewhat damp-smelling storage room. The cauldron you used as a temporary basket filled up little by little with each vial and handful of ingredients you collected like you were shopping at a farmer’s market. Just as you grabbed the last ingredient needed—

 

BAM!

 

The sound was as though someone slammed the flat of their palm down on a table before you heard the following bellowed outside the storage room.

 

“The next person who even thinks the word ‘runespoor’ shall find themselves in detention tonight!”

 

“…”

 

Ah…

 

You stood still in the dark room, letting the semi-muffled words wash over you as you felt a heaviness building in your chest. 

 

It’s not your fault. You couldn’t control how and what people spoke about you. 

 

It’s not your fault. Runey is perfect the way he is and you wouldn’t change him for the world. 

 

Not your fault.

 

But…

 

How many teachers have been inconvenienced since? How many of them groaned in frustration or threatened punishment because their students couldn’t stop talking during class about the scary patronus or cooking up disparaging theories about the girl who resided deep in the dungeons? 

 

Is that why he’s sour? He had about three or four classes before Advanced Potions. The younger students were objectively worse when it came to interrupting or side-chattering…and this had been going on for a few days in a row.

 

Your fingers twitched against the cauldron as you forced yourself to move again, stepping out from the darkened room to the cooly-lit space of the classroom. 

 

“He could just as well be annoyed about something else,” you thought, but the seeds of doubt had already taken root. Ignoring the wandering eyes of your classmates and the piercing sensation of Professor Snape’s ever-present, hawk-like gaze you weaved your way around tables and desks back toward your station, beginning your brew amid the horridly strained silence.

 

***

He should have asked. Yesterday, when his mind wasn’t yet manufacturing things he wasn’t sure were there or not, he should’ve asked. 

 

Snape sat in the Great Hall at breakfast, quietly reflecting to himself as his eyes wandered over to the far end of the Slytherin section, satisfied that you were here as you had skipped dinner last night. But he wasn’t a fool. Something had been off and he suspected that the murmurs around the castle had finally gotten to you despite your proclamations of your unheeding attitude.

 

You were quiet in yesterday’s potions class—in the past few classes, actually. Granted, you were always quiet unless he fielded questions, but it was a different quiet. An avoidant quiet, like you were trying to mask your presence. Throughout the class, you steered from looking in his general direction, and when his sharp tongue lashed wittily at a student in rightfully deserved admonishment, your poorly stifled snickers were not present, not that he did so to hear such sounds escape you, but he liked knowing that someone else agreed that said students were owed scolding. During brewing steps in which waiting was required, you stared down at the surface of the wooden station, your fingers thumping the surface and only looking up to note the time. Any normal person would rationalize that you were simply focused, paying extra attention in being careful with the recording and treatment of such a potion. He even let you go early since it was the last class of the day and you had finished with a little less than fifteen minutes to spare.

 

His mind, however, convinced him that your standoffish behavior was because you were angry.

 

“Angry with you,” the devil on his shoulder whispered to him.

 

He could know if he wanted to, a certain chant hovering on the tip of his tongue, but he told himself he’d stop, letting it die on his lips.

 

“Oh my!” Professor Flitwick yelped. A creature made of pale blue light scurried across down the length of the teacher’s table, stepping in Snape’s eggs, but leaving the food undisturbed as it continued on its way. The creature ran up to Lupin and swiped its long fluffy tail at his nose before leaping off and swimming into the air above the students in the Great Hall. Those who noticed turned their heads up, giggling and pointing at the creature in awe as it bounded on seemingly invisible stepping stones towards the Slytherin section.

 

As you rubbed the fogginess of yesterday out from your temple while you dug into some toast and bacon, a set of paws presented themselves to you at the top of your peripheral. Tilting your head up a pale, whitish blue animal sat before you, its mouth agape as if to smile wildly at you. A fox patronus.

 

“Is that yours, Y/N? Did your patronus change?” a seventh-year Slytherin asked observing the animal before you.

 

“No, it didn’t change.” You lowered your fork and stared at the fox. 

 

“Heheheheheh,” the fox chittered, its tail swishing happily as it bowed its front down mischievously before leaping onto you, using your shoulder as a stepping stool to climb on your back and head. It was by no means solid, but it was physically tangible enough to have a tactile presence, its weight akin to a feather. Sure enough, touching it was like running your hand through thick fog generated by dry ice.

 

You rolled your eyes as the animal climbed about you, using your head to prop its front legs up to scope out and yip to those who watched; flopping over your shoulder while swishing its feather duster tail in your face, obscuring your vision.

 

“Do you mind? I can’t see.”

 

It chortled letting its upside-down body slide down the front of your torso and shifting so that it laid sideways across your lap, belly up. You leveled your hand to its stomach and made a rubbing motion through the wispy glowing fur as if it were real, the fox cackling and lightly clenching its teeth around your wrist in playfulness.

 

The patronus bounded after you as you left the Great Hall and while passing an intersection of the hallway two pairs of arms wrapped around your own and steered you to the courtyard.

 

“What—” You assumed the twins had found you and were going to tell you about a prank idea but when you actually looked to see who was holding on to you, you were surprised to find Jakob and Aria, grinning like crazy. “What are you two doing?”

 

They responded once they stopped dragging you into the outdoor cobblestone area. “Did you see it?” he exclaimed, Aria wrapping an arm around his waist and squishing her cheek against his shoulder.

 

“See what?”

 

The fox patronus jumped on your back, platforming off of you and onto Jakob’s shoulder. Only then did you notice that Jakob had his wand out and there was a bit of wispy light flowing out of it. “Ah, so that playful fox belongs to you,” you smiled.

 

“Ja! I vas curious about it after my detention vith Professor Lupin and he vas happy to teach me. Aria joined us too. Ve vere practicing until curfew!” He pecked her head, making the girl blush tomato red.

 

“Well, I must say your patronus is very charming despite using me like a cat tower.”

 

“You should see Aria’s patronus. It is very cute!”

 

Aria angled her head so that her forehead was pressing into Jakob’s shoulder as if to hide her bashful expression. “Jakob…”

 

“Vat? It is true,” he simpered. After grasping her free hand and murmuring a few more words of encouragement, he managed to coax the girl into fishing out her wand and casting the spell as well.

 

“Expecto Patronum.”

 

Light burst from Aria’s wand as a small mammal manifested and hopped about the air and the cobblestone. Based on what you remembered from the book of known patronuses, the silhouette indicated that it was a brown hare. The hare stood on its hind legs, ears twitching as it observed you.

 

“A hare. Very cute,” you nodded.

 

“Heheheheh!” Jakob’s fox jumped off his shoulder and onto the ground, nudging and playfully nipping at the hare. The hare boxed its paws at the fox who tugged back to dodge before the two began a game of cat and mouse, peaking out and swatting at one another around either side of your legs.

 

“Ah, I see you three are having fun with your patronuses,” the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher announced his presence as he appeared within one of the nearby cloisters. 

 

“Hallo, Professor,” Jakob greeted while Aria simply waved. You stepped around the two fuzzy creatures, ambling over to where Lupin was, and leaned up against a pillar of the cloister.

 

“So that’s two more on the board, huh?”

 

“Yes. They both expressed interest in learning the Patronus Charm following Mr. Fischer’s detention. It would seem he took inspiration from you.”

 

“He should do the opposite if he wants to remain well-liked. Anyway, I suppose ‘congratulations’ are in order.”

 

“Thank you, but admittedly it doesn’t feel as fulfilling. Perhaps if they were students I work with during classes…”

 

“You’re an idiot, Professor.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at you as if he needed to decide whether to be offended or not. “Excuse you?”

 

“If anything you should be very fulfilled. You have taught two students how to summon a patronus within a day. Two students who aren’t in NEWT level DADA, which, from an objective standpoint, would imply that they aren’t as informed or skilled as those you teach regularly. And yet, given that fact, they managed to learn such a spell, and that is because of you. It is impressive, and technically, more impressive than me learning it.”

 

He gaped at you before an incredulous chuckle rumbled from him, smiling sheepishly. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

 

“Y/N,” Jakob chirped, getting your attention. “Is it possible I could meet your patronus? I’ve heard much about it. Big ja?” He spread his arms out to emphasize the fact before gesturing to his and Aria’s patronus. “Perhaps zey can be friends like us.”

 

Your heart clenched as you offered him a weak smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “As much as I would like that…I don’t think I should bring him out for a bit. At least not in public.”

 

Lupin frowned slightly at that. In the duration he has known you so far, he gathered you possessed a ‘give no damns’ attitude similar to Sirius. “Did Dumbledore or Professor Snape say something to you?”

 

“No,” you replied to the DADA teacher. “I just think it would be best if I continued to lay low. However,” you pushed off the column and approached Jakob, placing a hand on either shoulder. “You should continue to show yours off. It’s adorable and I’m sure it'll get along with everyone.” 

 

Jakob nodded, but the three of them remained a little perplexed, their gazes lingering on you as you exited the courtyard for your morning class.

 

***

 

As you had hoped, the subject of idle chatter was less about you and more about the cute German boy with an equally as cute patronus, though your anxiousness wasn’t quite as appeased by the time Potions came. Thankfully, today was a double day and a challenging potion was set aside for today. Draught of Living Death.

 

“...the instructions of which can be found on page ten of your books,” Snape concluded.

 

While students crowded to get their ingredients, you made your way to the back of the classroom to claim a decent brewing station and reviewed the textbook’s instructions. 

 

Equipment Required:

 

• Standard size cauldron
• 150 fl.oz beaker
• 50 fl.oz graduated cylinder
• Standard size test tube
• 250 fl.oz measuring cup
• Stirring rod
• Dropper

 

Ingredients:

 

• Water - standard potioning water
• African Sea Salt
• Asphodel Root Powder
• Wormwood Essence
• Valerian Roots
• 12 Sopophorous beans

What followed was nearly twenty different steps, but as you read them, taking in each step…

 

“Complicated my ass,” you muttered. It wasn’t difficult, just long! Honestly, some of these steps didn't need to have their own line, the formatting of the instructions only created the illusion of complexity. For example, there were about five steps that could easily be combined into two. On top of that, you found the preparation order somewhat strange as if they popped up in the middle of nowhere and implied certain time constraints instead of being established at the beginning of the brewing process. You’d have to do some bouncing around between steps to make the brewing process more convenient.

 

The crooks of your arms were filled with various pieces of equipment, your will to bring groceries into your house in one trip shining through how you managed to get everything back to your station in one go, using your cauldron as an ingredient basket like at a farmers market. Equipment tinked and thunked as you got to rearranging to make grabbing items within your radius more opportune. You’d be using bottled Wormwood Essence instead of having to extract it yourself this time, so you moved on to pre-measuring out the African Sea Salt and chopping the roots—

 

FWIPOO!

 

What you would describe as the sound of cartoon bullets ricocheting nearby filled your ears followed by something clattering against the stone ground. Curses were muttered as students shuffled around within your peripheral. Just as you looked away from your work to see what was happening something small whizzed by your face, just barely grazing the skin of your nose before smacking the floor and rolling around.

 

Another Slytherin huffed and weaved around the other stations towards your area to pick up the small object. 

 

“Merlin, why are these beans so hard to cut…” they muttered. 

 

The beans?

 

Sure enough, the student picked up a bean identical to the twelve you had set off to the side in a small porcelain bowl. You swiveled your gaze to the other students who were attempting to rock the blade into the beans, their faces concentrated in concentration or sheer frustration at the way the beans seemed to become animate and jump out from beneath the knife. Was it that hard to cut into?

 

As you finished prepping the other ingredients you picked up one of your beans and inspected it. It resembled a rather large raisin with a firm outer shell that, on the contrary, looked rather pliable on the outside. Inside was a juicy pomegranate-esque interior. You picked up your potion knife and aligned the blade atop the flesh. Surely with a steady wrist, it shouldn’t be that—

 

The bean flicked out sideways towards the nearest wall and rolled around somewhere. Alright, point taken. Your eyes scrutinized the floor and between extra stools for the bean, but apparently, your foot was the first to find it as you were about to kneel to get a better look at the floor, signaled by the audible crunching noise that sounded like someone breaking a crispy bundle of celery.

 

You lifted the underside of your shoe to find it relatively clean before peering down at the squashed ingredient. The bean was flattened, the tough tusk exterior somewhat concave as drops of red juice inflated and clung to crack that ran around the circumference.

 

Huh.  

 

Despite the cacophony of whizzing beans, Professor Snape heard the sound crunching that had his ears metaphorically perking. His eyes flit about the classroom, settling on you as you stared at the floor with narrowed eyes. He watched as you lifted your shoe, revealing a stepped-on bean. The ‘ah-ha’ moment was subtle, but very clear to him, your lips parting slightly and your eyebrows unfurrowing as you turned to look at your untouched beans and back to the knife in your hand.

 

Yes... Use the knife.

 

Instead of returning to your station, you seemed to falter. Snape saw how your head slowly toward a reinforced shelf where pestles and mortar sat and knew what you were thinking. Using a pestle would also be a rather efficient way to crush the beans, however, the pestles were also porous and the stone could end up absorbing some of the juice should the beans crack too much at the top like a spider web rather than on the sides.

 

The knife. Use the knife, you silly girl.

 

After a few more seconds of lingering, you reluctantly returned to your station, deciding against the idea. You squeezed out the bean’s juice into an extra, smaller beaker you had retrieved before grabbing another bean from your bowl, laying it on a cutting board, and crushing the bean against a flat side of the blade with the butt of your palm. He smirked, continuing to sweep an evaluative gaze around the other students.

 

“How did you do that?” Your neighbor asked as you were squeezing the juice from the last bean into the beaker. 

 

“Crush it, don’t cut it.”

 

“No,” they huffed, “the instructions specifically say to cut.”

 

“And how’s that workin’ out for ya, Einstein?” They parted their lips, but said nothing in response.

 

With your ingredients prepped, the instructions were now more straight forward and you had a leg up on everyone else. You had crushed your beans within less than half the time other students spent cutting into their beans. You knew you were successful so far when your potion had turned lilac, an indication that you had properly reached the halfway point. 

 

You stirred until it turned clear…

 

Seven pieces of Valerian root…

 

More stirring…

 

One hundred and fifty fluid ounces of Powdered Root of Asphodel…

 

More stirring…

 

And waiting…

 

You’d abandoned your stool in favor of standing, watching the contents of your cauldron softly bubble as your index finger tapped lightly on the table to the beat of the clock’s ticking hand. The history of the potion paralleled the princess movies you had watched growing up like Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. A wizard prince once used the Wiggenweld potion to awaken a sleeping princess put to sleep by a Draught of Living Death by applying some Wiggenweld on his lips and kissing her. A bit unsavory in your opinion when he could've just poured the potion down her throat or on her own lips, romanticism aside.

 

There was a pinch on the back of your robe’s collar and you were gently tugged some inches back from the station’s edge before a black silhouette swept around your left side.

 

“Stand any closer and you’ll succumb to the potion’s fumes,” Professor Snape drawled as he slowly rounded to the other side of the station. You grunted, fiddling with a small piece of Valerian root as he glanced at your cauldron. “Have you finished?” 

 

“Uhm…” you looked at the clock again. 57…58…59…60. You stepped forward again and added the small root. The color of your potion shifted to a black color similar to the shade of Professor Snape’s robes, and the slope of the cauldron's interior bottom was no longer visible. “I have now,” you stated, turning off the flame and sitting back on your stool.

 

He summoned a large wooden spoon and scooped a portion out to observe the color without the darkness of the cauldron tainting his judgment. The tiny pond of liquid he scooped resembled the storminess of the Black Lake at night. Perfect. When his eyes flit back to you, you were rolling your thumbs over one another and kept your gaze lowered. He scoffed internally in a state of chafe. You were doing it again. Even as he stood right in front of—

 

Look at him, damn you!

 

The sound of a body hitting the floor caught your and Snape’s attention. Your neighbor had gone down like a sack of potatoes, crumpling so that they landed on their side. Their potion was gurgling quite loudly, the flame a bit too high in your personal opinion. 

 

“Blimey! Are they alright?” a student called. Snape strode over to the unconscious student’s station, turning the flame off before kneeling to assess their condition.

 

“Birchwood has fallen unconscious,” he sighed, dissatisfied. “Let this be a lesson to you all to keep your flames at a medium level instead of attempting to speed up the brewing process…and to not stand too close to this potion while brewing.”

 

Damn. That could’ve been you.

 

“Miss L/N, since you have finished, please take Birchwood to the Hospital Wing,” he instructed, standing from the floor.

 

“Right—yeah.” Your eyes shot around, debating what to do first. First, you hovered your used tools into the sink basins since you were being excused from cleaning up. Next, you accio’d Birchwood’s bag and put both theirs and yours on your shoulders. Finally, you cast a Feather Light spell on the unfortunate student and scooped them up in your arms. Them being on the shorter side was a convenient factor for you. The other student’s eyes trailed after you as you left them and a grumbling potions master behind.

 

***

 

Since it was only fumes, Birchwood turned out to be fine. Wiggenweld was prescribed and they were to stay and eat their dinner in the Hospital Wing just in case, but otherwise would later be sent off to sleep in their dorms as normal with a prescribed Sleeping Draught as a side effect of Wiggenweld was hyperactivity.

 

The courtyard was relatively empty except for a few students hanging out, playing games, or making out in the corner of one of the cloisters. Naturally, a few of them yelped when you had brought out your patronus while exiting out towards the fields. Some alone time with your runespoor was needed, but you didn’t want to wait until after dinner and after you finished your homework in the library.

 

Snape’s stride became more purposeful with every step he took. He was going to clear his mind. That lingering feeling of anxiety festering in the back of his head was pissing him off, needing to be pruned. He needed an intact conscience so he could eat his dinner in peace and stop questioning whether he had accidentally done something to make you mad, that is if you were mad at him. You could’ve been anywhere in the castle, but something told him to go outside to your tree in the field. He apparated up into one of the towers that afforded him a view of the fields and low and behold he could see a bright blue squiggle shape where the tree was.

 

His footsteps were incredibly soft, not particularly his doing, but the recent misty weather had made the grass soften and clump, providing a natural muffling effect. As Snape approached, his eyebrows knitted when he realized you weren’t up in your usual spot but sitting up against the side of the trunk facing out towards the forest and lake. Your legs were outstretched, the leader laying his head across your lap, and your arms were crossed with a hand wrapped around your wand. Your eyes were closed and your head lulled slightly to the side. It was as though you were asleep, though if your patronus was present that wouldn’t be the case. You appeared more relaxed than when he had seen you in recent days. 

 

His eyes moved along the form of your runespoor. From looks alone, he could tell it was solid as he could not see the grass through its body. The middle one was farther ahead, stretched out and snuffling about the grass and at gopher holes in hopes of catching the furry little creatures by surprise. And the right head was—

 

He flinched hard and took a step back when his eyes finally tracked its location. The body was wrapped up around the trunk and on your favorite branch, the head hovering just inches above and staring straight down at him. The large spiny head flicked its tongue, softly hissing in acknowledgment and prompting the middle head to look back and also slither over. Morpheus and Themis he believed their names were. 

 

As Themis unraveled itself off the branch, Morpheus began to draw near but paused as if second-guessing itself. The head then moved and began to nudge and prod at the head on your lap, Zeus. It prodded and prodded until finally Zeus snapped back and hissed fiercely back at the two other heads, likely to quit bugging him, before setting down on your body again. 

 

“Leave the squirrel alone…” you murmured absentmindedly, your eyes remaining closed.

 

The two heads looked at one another briefly before turning back to the professor, both of them advancing curiously. Morpheus lowered down sniffing out at the professor carefully while Snape kept his hands at his side, stiffened. The head pulled back, and just as it had with Lucius, looked up toward the sky, and began to let out a series of panted hissing. It was having a vision.

 

Snape stayed silent, unsure whether to wake you up or to just let the situation be. After all, he hadn’t announced his presence yet.

 

Morpheus slowly lowered itself again, its jaws only slightly parted now. He held its gaze with the professor blinking slowly, deep breaths escaping it. He didn’t puff at him this time and instead turned to his brother and hissed lowly. Both stared at him momentarily before moving in closer. Snape stepped back, trying to maintain a certain distance from the creature, but to no avail. Themis swooped around him, cutting off that direction, and started wrapping itself around him. The thick, tubular body prevented him from going anywhere and Morpheus was leaning close to his face. He had no idea what the creature’s intentions were, but he wanted out, managing to get his arms up and attempting to push Themis off of him. It was useless as he began to squeeze.

 

“Miss L/N…!” he exclaimed, a hint of panic within his voice. His utterance had your eyes snapping open and glancing towards the other two heads. For whatever reason, Themis and Morpheus were attempting to envelop Professor Snape as he struggled and shifted.

 

“Oh my god! You two!” you barked, scrambling up as Zeus lifted off of you at the sudden commotion. The two heads quickly moved away from the potion master awaiting a command or an invite to snuggle with you. “What is wrong with you guys? We talked about this! You can't just—” you groaned in exasperation. 

 

You can’t do that to him! He’s not like me, his boundaries are different! You mentally scolded the runespoor before throwing your wand down in the grass, forcing the creature to disappear. Your hands rose and covered the expanse of your face as you turned from the professor and where the runespoor once stood. Jesus, if only the earth could just open up and swallow you whole.

 

The atmosphere grew thick as Snape observed you, uncertain as your form once again turned away from him. You were clearly embarrassed, but…

 

Turn around. Please.

 

“Have…you been cross with me?” You heard him ask with a tone of apprehension you hadn’t heard from him before. 

 

Finally, as if Merlin had heard his thoughts, you turned and looked at him for the first time in what felt like months. Confusion—shock, even—was stricken across your features as you peeled your hands down.

 

“I… No, I haven't…” What the hell? Why did he think that you were mad at him? Isn’t it the other way around? His voice sounded so genuinely innocent too. Did that mean…there was no anger on his end? Why would there be if he would ask you such a thing? 

 

Oh god. Had your brain been overthinking things again?

 

“Have you been angry with me…?” your tone matched his as you were bracing for the answer. You almost wanted it to be ‘yes’ to justify what was most likely a ridiculous amount of self-effacing behavior.

 

“...No,” he responded, his eyebrows furrowing in a manner that resembled yours.

 

Now you were mad, your lower lid twitching. Now you were mad, but not at him. At yourself. How did you manage to provide your brain with so much mental kindling? How could you scourge yourself with so much penitence over something that wasn’t even true?

 

“Du bist ein absoluter Vollidiot…! Dummes Gehirn, das über alles nachdenkt...!” you muttered, facing away from him again. Your voice rose with every step you took away from the tree, stopping some paces away as your fingers threaded into your hair.

 

[You absolute dumbass…! Stupid brain overthinking everything...!]

 

Snape understood none of what you spat at yourself, but you’d definitely switched languages on purpose. He guessed expletives were coming out of your mouth. Knowing that you weren’t mad at him didn’t quite mollify him the way he imagined. It brought up a new sense of perplexion. Evidently, you thought he was mad at you.  

 

Why?

 

“...dümmer als eine Kiste voll verdammter Felsen!” A rock was the victim of a harsh kick as you sent it further into the distance.

 

[...dumber than a box of fucking rocks!]

 

You were panting slightly by the end of your rant to yourself. Your head was feeling like a stalled engine again.

 

“No,” you murmured aloud, loud enough for Professor Snape to notice the switch back to English. “No, no, no, no, no… No more of that.” Your hands fell as you made an executive decision. No more thoughts for now. No more thinking. You’re shutting your brain down, turning the metaphorical sign to “Sorry, we're closed.” You were not going to feed it any more energy it could use to deceit you again.

 

He straightened up slightly when you started walking back towards the tree, grumbling lowly to yourself. As you accio’d your wand to yourself he thought you were going to storm back into the castle in a fit of vexation, but instead, you had maneuvered your way up the tree in just a few seconds and shifted sideways onto your favorite branch. 

 

“Scooch over, please. You’re in my air.”

 

Snape reluctantly side-stepped a foot or so away from the spot he stood in before you leaned back off the branch and hung upside down, arms crossed over your middle once again and your locks hanging free, no longer a shield for your expression, unlike recent days. 

 

“And spare me a few minutes before you ask what that was. It’s about to start,” you mumbled.

 

“What is?” You only responded by pointing out towards the cloudy horizon. Within the few seconds that passed by, the minuscule movement of the sun created a shift in the sky’s color. As a result of the misty cloud coverage that blurred the sun's shape but not necessarily its light, it looked as though the sun was setting after a recent wildfire. As a result, the sky took on a somewhat smoky complexion, the sun a fiery glowing circle like the end of a cigarette. The natural orange and yellows adopted a peachy quality, and the mountainous landscape surrounding the lake and the forest darkened into a purple ombre. The lake mirrored the sky, the crests of the tiny ripples within the path of the sun's glaring reflection a stark white compared to the environment's current palette. The golden hour had begun.

 

The gradual build of what sounded like hundreds of frogs ribbiting in the distance, likely all along the shore of the lake, turned into a quiet cacophony, the dissonance serving as neutral background noise for the viewing and a sign that they had finished hibernating already. The light that managed to breach the clouds made the dew on the grass sparkle like crystalline, beady gems.

 

Tssschhhh…

 

The orange patch on your right cheek was finally beginning to peel off on its own like used scotch tape. Pomfrey had charmed it to be removable once it had done its job at healing the bruise. You had a stubborn tendency to refuse treatment from her. Snape glanced over to see it dangling by two corners before it broke off and fluttered toward the ground like a piece of confetti, but he stuck his palm out and caught it.

 

“What did you do to earn this?” He closed his hand around the patch and vanished it wandlessly.

 

“A few days ago…there was a fight in Herbology, during the excursion to collect Asphodel.”

 

He frowned. “You were in a fight?”

 

“Not in the fight, no. I was trying to stop it. I took an elbow to the face.”

 

“A fight about what?” If it had anything to do with Slytherin or had a house member participating he wanted to be in the know.

 

“Someone made up some stupid rumor about Jakob and me; that the only reason he is my friend is because I use the Imperius Curse on him. Jakob and I have Herbology together and he overheard some jacka… some guy from Gryffindor perpetuating it. Jakob took offense on my behalf and confronted him, but it escalated almost immediately.” You tapped the previously bruised spot, which was still a bit tender, but no longer purple. “Jakob was winding back to get another hit in and clocked me in the face. Accidental, of course, but he feels really bad.”

 

Snape exhaled sharply, conflicted. On one hand, Fischer bruised your face. On the other hand, Fischer defended your honor and punched a mouthy Gryffindor. At least it answered multiple questions like why two of his students had patches on their faces and why Fischer was so angry in the hallway a few days ago. Maybe if he slipped a Hiccuping Solution into both boys’ drinks tonight that would appease him. 

 

“…You presumed I was angry with you.”

 

He went straight for it, huh? Your forearms rose over your eyes as you cringed to yourself. “Yeah.”

 

“I’m not.” That was 99% true. He was annoyed a few days ago regarding Fischer, but it holds no significance now.

 

“Yeah, I’ve gathered.”

 

He was silent for a moment before asking, “Why?”

 

“Because,” you groaned, “I have a treacherous, overactive imagination. People wouldn’t shut up about me or my runespoor, not that I particularly care for their opinions, but I could tell it was bothering teachers because it was disruptive. Logically, I know I wouldn’t be blamed because it's not my fault people can’t be quiet, but…this is just one of those times where I got too far in my head—so far I thought you excused me from class early yesterday so that my presence wouldn't distract them.”

 

“That obviously wasn’t my intention,” he muttered, grumpiness lilting in his voice. 

 

“The power of overthinking can topple towers if it manages to remove the right brick,” you commented, softly. “Alright, fess up. What's your reasoning?”

 

“That’s no longer important.”

 

“To you, perhaps, but I’d like to know. Unless, we’ve both bound ourselves in our own chains?” you questioned. 

 

He chose silence over a proper response, not because he didn’t have one, but because the thought of explaining himself in this instance was uncomfortable. 

 

“Despite my perspicacity, I can be rather oblivious at times,” you continued. “So if this is something that is genuinely my fault, that I unknowingly did something wrong, it would benefit me to know. I can’t pinpoint what I could have possibly done as I’ve been keeping to myse—”

 

“Just drop it.” There was some urgency in his bite of a reply, but his tone softened when he begrudgingly added, “It doesn't matter.”

 

You stifled the rousing protest in your throat and instead pivoted to your mind. There was nothing of significance when you reflected on your actions of recent. You’d been keeping your nose down, performing well in class, remaining quiet during study hall sessions... You’d hardly spoken to him, too busy trying to be invisible, ruling out anything offensive you might’ve said. So why wo…

 

…

 

He…

 

Oh for the love of god…

 

You let out a slightly frustrated sigh. “You and that brain of yours,” you murmured in a near whisper, but he’d heard clear as day. He tilted his head away from you and the magical sunset. Embarrassment took root on his shoulders as he recognized the tone of your voice, that you had seemingly put some pieces together.

 

“I am quiet. I am quiet and I…withdraw when my emotions feel threatened,” you admitted. “It helps me think, and thinking helps me process, lest I do something of actual significance like lash out or retaliate. I…withdrew and avoided general interaction with almost everyone to not stir things up and to get a grip on my thoughts simultaneously, which is not a crime, but,” you grimaced, “I can see how such…detachment can be mistaken for crossness, so…know that was not the case. You will know when I am truly mad. However,” you rubbed at your eyes as if that could eliminate the longness of the day, “I think it’s best if we both shut down our brains for the day.”

 

And with that, you said nothing else, your explanation for his interpreting your avoidance as anger bringing him clarity as he felt himself finally relax. You’d both manufactured a false reality out of virtually nothing. Of course, he felt quite foolish now. Choice words of self-degradation were ascending to the surface of his mind, but perhaps he should take your advice and shut his brain down for now. Ignore the feral demon of deprecation that he had now placed a metaphysical cage around. Relax and enjoy what was around him, the two of you once again falling into a silence that was now comfortable, and his insides gradually becoming as warm as the burning sunset glowing on his face.

 

Notes:

Snape calling me a silly girl makes me feel some type of way, idk

For those who were wondering, Morpheus had a vision of Severus's sad childhood and was giving him a hug :( The next chapter is a rainy one and it's just AUGGHHHH giggling and tweaking fr!

Ao3 keeps giving me grief with image displaying. If you see a link break or notice an image not showing please let me know!

Chapter 44: Birthday Blase

Summary:

It's Reader's birthday and she is met with a few surprises.

Featured Songs: Tom Lehrer's "Poisoning Pigeons In The Park" and "Smut"

https://youtu.be/0kQ7YugllNQ?si=ntcwotYFaBtz46MH
https://youtu.be/7dy5zuvge3U?si=XKRP3ki_WUuf2btB

Notes:

This chapter is a little over 11k words, good lord—

Thank you all for resisting the urge to comment about the inconsistent frequency at which I post. I've reached a junction in my life where I've started adulting so things get busy for me.

As always with linked images, ignore anything that isn't the stated object.

I'm putting the slow in-slow burn here lol. Most stories I see have a reader and Snape fucking like ten chapters in, but hey, everyone got their own definition of slow burn. I'm serving y'all 🤌🏻tension. More jealous Snape to come 🤪

Also, I'm sorry if any of you got a notification telling you that the chapter got posted yesterday only to find it actually wasn't. I hit the wrong button 😭

It was pathetic, really, how much you missed this.

 

Your surroundings seemed to go on into infinity, the ground inches beneath you an indiscernible texture as you sat cocooned within the confines of the force. It had a tangible appearance now. It was like they were made of black smoke or a blurred shadow as their silhouette had taken on a human shape, at least that's what you had gathered based on touch. Their firmness was that of a teddy bear, embracing the force and resting your head in what felt like the crook of a neck as a large hand slowly rubbed up and down your back. You hadn’t cared to see if they possessed a face, too busy clinging to the touch that made you want to stay forever.

 

Another hand delicately carded through your scalp and you just about died when you felt your head being lightly pulled back and angled so a pair of warm lips could kiss you on your forehead—

 

~

 

You blinked as your brain slowly woke up, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. One of a few large and lumpy pillows you had reserved for snuggling was encased against your torso, your eyes barely peeking over the edge as the blurriness in your vision began to clear and the texture of the stone wall sharpened. Very few seconds were afforded to your alarm clock as you abruptly rolled over and practically punched it into silence. You briefly glanced at the small standing calendar, displaying today's date before reflecting on your dream.

 

A precursor birthday present to yourself, perhaps.

 

A familiar pressure built behind your eyes as wetness accumulated in your water line. Your birthday was…hard. As far back as you could remember, you were confused as to why your birthday wasn’t celebratory and inherently flooded with fun activities like the scenes in movies you watched or the recounts of the kids you went to school with. Sure, you’d get a present or two from your parents, but receiving them didn’t feel authentic. It was like they were obligatory. When you had hit your teen years and garnered some more perceptive critical thinking skills, pieces were put into place. 

 

Your birth was not something that was preferred. 

 

Your parents didn’t need to say it explicitly. With your mother pulling away at every opportunity she got when you gained your magic and how your father hardly overtly resembled the other fathers of kids you had seen, you knew. By then, you had accepted the event as just getting older, the rousing excitement that normally accompanies the occurrence in any child having long withered away and replaced with resentment. You’d normally still try to enjoy the day with self-fulfilling activities, but the bitterness lingered around every corner. 

 

It wasn’t until meeting Dumbledore, as well as some other events, that you needed to make some executive changes in your life. You wouldn’t force an attitude of toxic positivity on yourself, but you had to at least get to a point where you could address your birthday with neutrality. And with Dumbledore’s aid, you had gotten there last year when you turned twenty.

 

“But most importantly,” you remembered him saying, during a conversation you had with him in your first year at Hogwarts when you struggled with your Occlumency, “you have to let yourself feel, even if those feelings seem like they might tear you down to the tiniest particle of magic. It will pass and you will feel light again.”

 

Gently grasping the sheets with your fingers, you let the unbidden tears roll down your face as you stared up at your bed’s canopy, conjuring up the negative feelings that made your eyes warm. Five minutes. Five minutes and then get up to greet the day. There were no strangled garbles or hiccups, just your slow and deep breathing in the quiet privacy of your room. If you got it out now, you wouldn’t have to deal with the feeling of being stoppered throughout the day. The lump in your throat ached. Instead of celebrating birth, you’d be celebrating life. They sounded the same, but not really. Rather than celebrating your existence, you’d be celebrating the fact that you were fortunate enough to experience the things that brought you joy in life. Granted, several of those things were back home, that presence of the snow globe on your shelf teasing you, but you needed to make do and respect Dumbledore’s wishes. Maybe he’d let you go down to the kitchen again. Otherwise, in every other way, you were determined to do as you please. Thank god it was a Saturday.

 

When you looked at the clock again and saw that five minutes had passed and your tears subsided, you sat up and ran a hand through your hair. 

 

“Okay.”

 

***

 

“Happy Birthday, Y/N,” Dumbledore’s voice echoed softly as you approached your usual spot at breakfast. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Fine so far,” you thought back in response. You could feel him prodding and inspecting the borders of your mind, like a cockroach using its long antennas to feel about its surroundings. He was purposefully making sure that you could feel it.

 

“Did you happen to cry this morning?”

 

“Yes…” You felt further tracing and poking as you dug into a stack of pancakes and strawberries.

 

“It feels lighter,” he hummed. “More spacious, not that I am insinuating a lack of intelligence.”

 

You snorted internally. “That’s supposed to be good, right?”

 

“Yes.” You could hear the gentle smile in his voice. “Well done, dear.”

 

An object floating down within your peripheral caught the attention of you and the Slytherins that sat nearest to you. A small box with a wind-up crank supported by a parachute touched down on the space in front of your plate. Your neighbors were just as curious and gave you an encouraging nod to open it. You grabbed it and began winding the crank. Growing up a regular no-maj, you recognized the “pop-goes the weasel” tune that sounded from the box. When you reached the end, the lid exploded open, confetti shooting out in a colorful cloud and fluttering about the table.

 

“Oh, bloody hell! It’s in my cereal!” a student two seats down complained, picking a few pieces of tissue paper out of his bowl, as did other students with the confetti that drifted to their meals.

 

You felt the presence of two people standing behind either of your shoulders. You looked to find Fred and George grinning, holding a pie in their outer hands as they kindly squeezed your shoulders before reaching up and carefully holding your two braids away from your face. 

 

“Happy Birthday, Y/N,” they chanted boisterously in unison.

 

You accepted your fate.

 

They both pressed a lingering, smacking kiss to your temples before shoving the whipped cream-covered pies on your face. The Slytherin table, or at least those who could see the ordeal gawked and laughed at how the plates beneath the pies fell, leaving the pie adhered to your face.

 

You quickly wiped away as much pie from your eyes as you could and the twins squealed at the way you jerked from your seat. They giggled rowdily as you managed to grab onto their sweaters before they could make it back to their table, giving all the houses and the teacher’s table a clear show of the ruckus. You managed to tug Fred down to the floor before hooking an arm around George’s head, grabbing a large cream-covered handful of pie from your face, and smearing it all over his face. Fred managed to get you to stumble to the floor by pulling your legs out beneath you, which was the wrong move as you had now set your sights on him. He crawled backward as fast as he could but to no avail as you pounced on him holding him down by his chest with one hand and smooshing pie on his face with the other.

 

Gryffindor was very confused as to why this was happening while members of Slytherin were egging you on, house pride taking over. One even offered a muffin so you could jam it down Fred’s pants.

 

“What on Earth are you three doing?” Professor Snape’s appalled voice rang sharply as he observed the childish, messy scene before him. You each had cream and pie chunks plastered to your faces.

 

The three of you were sitting down on the floor at this point, your faces squished together as you had an arm hooked around both of them.

 

“Nothing,” the three of you said cheekily.

 

Snape scowled. “Get back to your seats. And ten points from Gryffindor for the mess,” he added, sneering at the twins having spotted the two pie plates on the ground near the Slytherin table.

 

“Worth it,” George chuckled when Snape was out of earshot.

 

You wiped off your hands on a napkin upon returning to your seat and let your face remain smeared up for now until after breakfast.

 

“What in Merlin’s beard was that about?” A Slytherin boy laughed.

 

You smirked. “Revenge. I may or may not have done the same thing to them last year on their birthday.”

 

“So you’re 17 now, eh?” A girl said. “One of us! One of us!”

 

“I’m twenty-one.”

 

“One of—” The words died on her tongue as many heads from the Slytherin section snapped in your direction. “What?!” Quite a few of them gaped.

 

“Hold up,” the boy shook his head incredulously. “You’re twenty-one?”

 

“Is that so hard to believe?”

 

“Wh—it’s just—I suppose we all assumed you were just mature looking for our age since we’re in the same year.” Quite a few people sheepishly agreed. “You’re really twenty-one?”

 

“Yep. I was eighteen going on nineteen when I came to Hogwarts.”

 

“Oh, Merlin! So what you’re telling me is you could’ve bought us all alcohol this whole time?” he pressed, albeit humorously to which you rolled your eyes.

 

“Y/N!” Jakob came skidding to a halt beside you and placed two hands on your shoulders as you turned to him. “I heard! Alles Gute zum Geburtstag!” [Happy Birthday!]

 

“Danke,” you replied softly. 

 

“You are old enough to drink in America now, ja? You simply must try zis German beer, it's—Oh! Your face is so messy.” He picked up a cloth napkin from the table and began wiping along your hairline—a sight that had Snape narrowing his eyes and stabbing at his food a bit harder than necessary. “Anyvays, it’s called “Flüssiggold''. It is like drinking a sunset, but a sweet one. Ze company started exporting it to America last year—”

 

Jakob suddenly stumbled back a bit and planted his foot directly on the pie plate, causing him to slip and fall directly on his butt as if he had stepped on a banana.

 

“Shit, you okay?” you leaned down and offered a hand.

 

“Ja, I’m alright,” he replied all smiles and taking your hand. It was strange. It almost looked as though he got pushed, but you didn’t see any ghosts nearby and Peeves never ventured into the Great Hall. Maybe your eyes were just playing tricks on you. “It is not ze first time I slipped zis morning. Ze water tracked in from ze courtyard got me earlier.”

 

“Water?”

 

“Ja! You haven’t seen it yet? It’s raining.”

 

As you ran through the corridors, you paused very briefly to confirm the current weather, and sure enough, it was raining. Buckets of it. You managed to leash yourself from going outside until after lunch so that you had several hours of time to work with. A house elf apparated into the common room and gifted you a hot chocolate, claiming they were instructed by “Tom the Hufflepuff” who had heard it was your birthday. Your appreciation was offered to the house elf before transferring said beverage into a travel mug for your journey outside. While you planned to be outside anyway, you’d need to change your attire into something more suitable for the wetness. You could hear Professor Snape’s chiding voice now if you had ventured out in just pants and a basic sweater. Discarding the sweater you previously had on, you switched to a much larger, thicker one whose collar was like a turtleneck, stopping just at the tip of your chin. On top was an equally thick wool coat whose sleeves just about swallowed your hands and the bottom hem reaching your ankles. Having noted the fogginess of the windows, you grabbed a pair of soft gloves after switching your shoes for something more durable to clomp around the wet fields. Your final outfit was a gradient of grays like you stepped out of an old movie except for your boots and gloves, which were a stark black, and a large bright purple umbrella. You smirked at your reflection triumphantly.

 

Should a certain dungeon bat see you outside, he won’t be able to say shit about your state of dress.

 

Those who walked by were in their own comfy outfits. It was clear some were taking the opportunity to reside in the towers and hang out on the higher floors where it was warmer and they could snuggle under blankets, drink warm spiced beverages, and evade the rain altogether. The more passionate Quidditch players were bummed that their practice got rained out. Other students that were more curious of the rain lingered by the windows and entrances, some dressed in rainy wear to feel out the downpour, but you reckoned most of them would be high tailing it back inside in under half an hour.

 

Two first-year girls who appeared particularly unhappy about the wet weather stood in the doorway, looking out at the water that thrummed off the ground. When you passed them by you heard a sharp inhale from each of them as they gauged who you were, your presence disquieting to them. You took slow steps out into the courtyard, your umbrella tucked into your emptied-out school bag that now contained only a few items, including some apple bread you kept preserved. It was a heavy downpour allowing no rest for the thick puddles assaulted by the barrage that left them rippling non-stop. You reveled in the way the fat drops drummed the crown of your head and trickled down your scalp, embracing the light mistiness of the atmosphere that had your breath condensing into a somewhat perceptible fog.

 

The calls of the two first years behind you were softened and almost inaudible by the rain, but you recognized your name. You turned leisurely to the girls who remained sheltered by the castle.

 

“Um… Are you going out there?” One of them asked, nervously, to which you only nodded. “Do…do you think you could retrieve our bags? We left them in the Quidditch pitch yesterday, but it was too late to retrieve them and, well, we didn’t think it would rain today…”

 

You pursed your lips, thinking, and said, “Both of you should remain outside of your common rooms, or else I won’t be able to deliver them properly. Be on the lookout for two dogs.”

 

“O-oh thank you so much!” she replied pleasantly surprised as if it was generally assumed that you weren’t capable of kindness. “Last I remembered we were somewhat between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff sections.”

 

You gave a soft affirmative noise and bid them goodbye with a slight bow before beginning your walk.

 

A couple of younger students ran by you, one of them grazing your arm as they endured the weather as long as they were challenged to before seeking refuge inside. The ground squelched beneath your boots as you took your first step out into the grass which had grown long but was worn down by the heaviness of the rain. Flowers that had sprouted and elongated, but had not yet bloomed their colorful petals, were pelted by the heavy drops, causing them to bob and sway in a constant trance. There wasn’t a single breath of wind to your delight. Any wind would have ruined the rain for you as it would’ve made the already cold weather feel even colder. With your foggy breath, you wagered it was currently mid-forties Fahrenheit. Your head was soaked within a few minutes, your two braids feeling slightly heavier and elongated, though you felt none of its slickness nor the persistent, liquid onslaught through your thick layers. Your face, on the other hand, lavished it.

 

Seeing that no one was nearby, you fished a hand into your bag and retrieved your walkman, which you had waterproofed with a spell just in case. You laughed fondly at the first cassette your fingers grasped along with it and popped it into the device. Setting it within a large pocket on the interior of your coat, you removed the headphones from their usual socket and pressed play.

 

***

 

[VOLUME WARNING: This video is a bit loud by default, set to low for optimal vibes :)]

SHAAAAAA….

 

The rain came down heavily over Hogwarts. Those whose offices resided within the upper levels or towers took the full brunt of the rain. It was days like these when such professors were jealous of Slytherin. The dungeons shielded them from any evidence that it was even raining, and though the dungeons were colder as a result, Slytherin already possessed the largest fireplace, second to the one in the kitchens, to keep them warm and toasty. Teachers like McGonagall, Lupin, and Flitwick, who absolutely abhorred such weather, much more in favor of sunshine, convened in the staff room for some tea. Lupin and McGonagall, no matter how hard they tried, were unable to not look out their windows and when they closed their curtains, the rooms felt too stuffy and closed off. And Flitwick, no matter how many charms and spells he knew of that could silence the weather from drumming the walls of his office, just couldn’t get his magic to reach a particular window that was battered by the rain and he was too afraid of heights to levitate himself. 

 

One would think that in such dreadful weather, the dungeon bat would be hiding out in his metaphorical cave, sitting in his large armchair by the fire, with a cup of tea, a pastry, and a book to occupy his mind. As the other teachers understood it, Snape was not a fan of such weather either, though it often matched his everyday disposition. Right now, however, they couldn’t be more wrong.

 

Exactly as he had done on Christmas, the professor had taken a trip to the Clock Tower, apparating there so that he didn’t need to endure the wet walk. He applied a warming spell to himself, just enough to prevent his skin from prickling with goosebumps beneath his robes. He stood just before the balcony’s opening, watching the rain pound down on the surrounding landscape. It wasn’t entirely true that he disliked the rain. He could find peace in the sound of it accompanied by the low rumbling thunder in the distance. He did, however, dislike getting wet. Except for bathing, other times he had gotten wet at Hogwarts were against his will, whether it had been a prank, having pumpkin juice poured on his head, or getting tossed into the lake. Of course, he needn’t worry about such things anymore, but it was especially uncomfortable with how he usually layered his clothes. He stuck his hand out briefly, allowing a few heavy drops to spatter on his slender, pale fingers which appeared even lighter as a result of the cold air, before flicking the water away and wiping his hand against his trousers.

 

The dementors in the Forbidden Forest must be having a field day right now.

 

In the distance a dot of colorful purple could be spotted in the misty fields, its presence a particle of vibrancy against the desolate, blueish-gray tinted landscape before him. A student had been bold enough to traverse through such weather and so far into the fields. Granted he spotted quite a few dawning some protective layers to attempt to venture outside, but from what he gauged most gave up rather quickly.

 

"That couldn’t have been you out there, could it?” Snape thought. While the audacity fit you perfectly given the circumstances, he snorted at the idea of you actually employing an umbrella in such weather. And one so garishly bright. You’d have much more likely flung yourself out in the rain with the sleeves of whatever shirt or sweater you had on, the sleeves rolled up as high up as possible, letting the rain drench you entirely without so much as a care for your health. 

 

He frowned. He should check his stores later and see if he has an adequate supply of immune boosters.

 

The purple dot seemed to move on the path that ran along the edge of the forest and was approaching the Quidditch pitch. His eyebrows furrowed. Hagrid had closed the pitch early this morning when it had started to rain, which meant there was no practice to be witnessed. He assumed the student would realize this and begin to move away. Instead, the dot stopped moving and completely disappeared. The umbrella had been folded up and the owner was presumably trespassing.

 

Snape debated on what to do. He had just witnessed a student actively breaking a rule, but it was not as though it interfered with his day. However, if the student was a Gryffindor or someone from any other house that particularly vexed him he’d happily take points. Of course, he’d need to go and check to do so…

 

The air rippled and warped around him as he envisioned the spot just beyond the closed entrance of the pitch. He grimaced as he felt a drop land on the bridge of his nose, scooting away further beneath the pitch’s covering. It was positively filthy. The ground was slick with mud and water dropped from every edge of the wooden beams that made up the structure. Snails that attempted to escape the wet grass clung to support beams and the underside of the risers, making use of their evolutionary advantage compared to the worms who were also seeking refuge. He had to move very carefully to not slip while also avoiding the water that trickled down through the gaps above him.

 

The sound of music got his attention. That’s when he noticed a figure through the woven wood of the inset perimeter since the decorations no longer blocked the view of the grassy lawn in the center. He could only see them from behind as they cut across to get to the other side faster, but the presence of music all but confirmed their identity.

 

What were you doing in the pitch?

 

You ducked under a beam and carefully swung your legs over a set of cross-crossing slants of wood upon reaching the other side of the pitch. You were right about where the divide between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff section was but the bags could be in either direction and probably blended in with the mud by now. Perhaps a little help is needed.

 

“Expecto Patronum.”

 

Runey morphed from the blue light that swished from your wand. The curvature and limited walking space beneath the risers forced him to emerge coiled up a bit. When he solidified, Themis went to raise his head and accidentally bumped against a beam, not hard enough to hurt, but it elicited a hiss of surprise. 

 

“Hi, my handsome boys,” you greeted the runespoor, who leaned its three heads in and nudged at you affectionately in return. “I need you to help me find something,” you said slowly and clearly, rubbing their snoots before presenting your bag. “We are looking for two bags. They look like this.”

 

Zeus, Morpheus, and Themis each leaned in flicking their tongues at the bag, and hissed in acknowledgment.

 

“I want you to go that way,” you stated, pointing to the right. “Stay low to the ground so you don’t hit your heads. If you find the bags, grab them and bring them back to me.”

 

As Snape continued through the circumference of the pitch, it sounded like he wasn’t getting any closer to you, the music remaining the same volume as he traversed around to the other side. It seemed you hadn’t a clue that anyone else could be around, otherwise, you wouldn’t be singing such strange lyrics so proudly. A flash of pale light caught his eye through the wooden structure, causing him to falter. He prayed to Merlin that it wasn’t your patronus, but his efforts were in vain. The creature was slithering through the mud, flicking its tongues at the tufts of grass that sprouted and snuffling at the outer ridge of the perimeter as well as the space beneath and along the risers. Morpheus rose in height to inspect the section of seating above, but in doing so, caught sight of Professor Snape and revealed the fact that its underside was completely covered in mud, mud that Snape wanted nowhere near his torso as he remembered how Morpheus and Themis conspired to constrict him last time. Morpheus hissed at his counterparts. As much as Themis and Morpheus wanted to surge forward and say “hi” to the man in black whom they’d become charmed by, Zeus, being the leader, restrained their eagerness, and forced them to slow down.

 

Snape took hesitant steps backward as the runespoor began to get closer and closer. Though Zeus was trying to prevent a repeat of last time, knowing better than his two brothers, he couldn't help his own softness towards the professor and wanted to interact with him as well. Just as they went to nudge at him they paused, lifting their heads in alertness and looking behind them before suddenly retreating the other way with haste. He could only assume that the patronus had been ordered to return to you.

 

He reluctantly followed the creature, and in doing so, the sound of your music became louder and clearer.

 

“...They call it impiety and lack of propriety and quite a variety of unpleasant names…”

 

You sang to yourself as you inspected the contents of the bags. They were sopping and the water had gone all the way through but the damage to the work and textbooks inside wasn’t completely unsalvageable. The puffs of your runespoor signaled his return, Zeus coming forward to snuffle at the bag you had already assessed.

 

“...We’ll murder them all amid laughter and merriment. Except for the few we take home to experiment. My pulse will be quickenin’ with each drop of strychnine we feed to a pigeon it just takes a smidgin’ to poison a pigeon in the park.” The song ended and a piano began to play the intro to the next song. You recognized the short intro instantly and inhaled before singing along enthusiastically. 

 

“Smut! Give me smut and nothing but! A dirty novel I can’t shut! If it’s uncut and unsubt—”

 

Zeus bunted your arm. You turned your head to see what he wanted only to be greeted by the potion master who had a particularly nonplussed expression on his face at the words you so ardently sang. You tugged your sweater collar over your lips despite it doing nothing to block the snort of amusement that escaped or to hide the pinkness of your ears. What bad timing. With your wandless hand, you shut your walkman off and accio’d the hot chocolate that had been sitting on a wooden support beam to yourself.

 

“Hello there.”

 

Snape closed his slightly parted lips, remembering himself and why he was here, and the adapted sternness returned once again. 

 

“You are trespassing,” he stated.

 

You clicked your tongue, showing no signs of countering him on the matter. “Yes.” The three heads chuffed and wriggled against the wood and ground, pleased by Snape’s presence once again. 

 

“What reason could you possibly have to be here?”

 

“Two first years left their school bags here. They are not fond of the rain and asked me to retrieve them, so I came,” you explained, gesturing to the soiled bags.

 

“Why?”

 

You quirked your brows at him after taking a sip of your hot chocolate. “Be…cause it’s a nice thing to do? It wasn’t exactly out of my way and—I swear to god I will turn a hose on you.” Themis, who hadn’t yet captured the professor’s attention, slowly and sneakily slithered against the lower part of the riser and just barely managed to get the outer hem of Snape’s cloak in his mouth. The professor gazed at where you were glaring just as the creature whipped away from the man in black and slithered back over to you. Themis lifted his enormous head and rumbled at you in a simpering manner. 

 

“What?” you clipped. The head leaned in and rubbed its chin against your face, smearing a hearty amount of mud across it. It was just like this morning except your face was now more mud than flesh. Your runespoor’s mischievous behavior even got an eyebrow raise from Snape.

 

“Yes, thank you for that, Themis,” you muttered. Themis puffed, emitting a dracontine, garbling vibrato noise in amusement before you let the patronus disappear. The mud and water that clung to them spattered to the ground as a result. You turned your attention to the two bags, aiming your wand and ignoring your dirty face.

 

“Incanem.” The two bags each sprouted four legs, a furry head, and a wagging tail. They were now a pair of labradors who barked and sat obediently, waiting for a command. “Back to the castle,” you waved, and the two dogs obeyed with a bark, squirming their way through the crisscrossing wooden frame of the pitch and back out through the fields. You exhaled after completing your quest, stretching your arms above your head as you looked back to Professor Snape, who was eyeing you up and down, seemingly analyzing your clothes.

 

Yeah, that's right. I dare you to find something wrong with my attire.

 

“Of course, you manage to douse the most susceptible part of yourself with rain,” he gruffed, eyeing your dripping head and hair as a result of the water. 

 

“I am a creature of habit.” You sipped your hot chocolate that remained warm thanks to the heating charm you had on the travel mug. Your eyes flit to your umbrella leaning up against the same piece of wood as your bag. It was now black instead of purple. He really couldn’t help himself, could he?

 

“Did you turn my umbrella black?”

 

A cardinal reason why you had been successful in having a friendly relationship with the professor was because of how you interacted with him, or in other words, how you generally abstained from calling him out on some of the things he did. Most people saw him as some vampiric asshole who hated everyone and everything. To you, he was more like a skittish fawn. It was a visual that had you cackling into your pillow when you were reflecting one night. Despite the impression he gives off, he is surprisingly sensitive, both to his surroundings and what people say about him. For a man who gave ‘I don’t give a fuck’ energy, he sure made his displeasure quite plain when students disparaged him. You didn’t have a definite answer as to what made him lean towards you in the first place, but you weren’t complaining. What you did know is that, like him, you were more on the mellow side of the energy spectrum. You did feel a little bad for him as that trait made him an outlier amongst his coworkers. Needless to say, your serene disposition and extensive patience must’ve given off some sort of vibe that you were a “safe person.” You let him interact with you on his own terms and not questioning or casting judgment evidently offered him some assurance. 

 

Today, however, you were curious. There were a few times in the past when you had directly questioned his decisions or little behaviors, such as when he went ahead and signed you up for apparition lessons. He’d either become quiet and try not to look as though he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar while justifying his actions with his own reasons, or become defensive and borderline flustered. It was, and you don’t think you’d ever admit this to anyone, a bit adorable. And to you, permitting such actions thus far was fine, truly. He hadn’t been villainous.

 

His eyes briefly flicked over to the umbrella that he had indeed charmed to be a different color while you were transfiguring the bags. He glanced away, his eyes slightly narrowing in self-consciousness, and with a twitch of his hand, the umbrella began to bleed back to its original color.

 

Mhm. There it was.

 

“Don’t bother,” you waved dismissively, feigning an eye-roll as you moved to walk past him and leaving the umbrella where it was. You both knew you wouldn’t be the one using it anyway. “Make it a frickin’ rainbow for all I care.”

 

Therein lay the other half: why he changed the color of the umbrella at all. He had changed it to a color he preferred, but that shouldn’t matter if he wasn’t going to use it. That indicated he did plan on using it, even though he could apparate, which meant he wanted to walk, and presumably, talk with you. That’s why you hadn’t squirmed through the wooden frame of the pitch so he couldn't get to you without getting wet himself. And at this point, you’d run into him outside of class enough times to guess that he sometimes enjoyed walks.

 

When the two of you made it back to the front entrance, you stepped to the section of wall closest to the warded gate and began weaving and slipping through the crowded and crossing beams of the pitch’s frame like it was an awkward obstacle course despite Snape’s protest. “How do you think I got in here, Professor?” you simply chuckled back.

 

Fat drops once again beat down on your head as you wiggled out the other side of the pitch and scraped the bottom of your boots against the pitch’s frame to get thick clumps off. They’d only get dirtied up again but the clumps specifically you could feel wedging beneath the arch of the boots. Professor Snape appeared within the edge of your vision. Wasn’t the gate to the pitch closed and locked?

 

“So you can just walk through walls now?” The gate took on a bit of a smoky appearance, before solidifying and creaking back to its regular hardness.

 

“Only this wall,” he replied matter-of-factly.

 

You paused your scraping momentarily, a small smirk playing on your face before resuming. “I just gave you a golden opportunity to say “Yes, so don’t even think about breaking any more rules,” but alas you’ve squandered it.” He only rolled his eyes at that, fiddling the little velcro strap that kept your umbrella wrapped together neatly.

 

Your eyes swept placidly over your rainy surroundings once more. In the distance, the trees seemed to tremble slightly from how the rain showered down on the dark green leaves and foliage, eliciting tapping sounds that resonated and amplified into the ambient symphony. Mist more or less cloaked the trunk of it, but one of the trees in which you had imprinted a guiding symbol that directed you to your glade captured your attention. It had been some time since you’d visited the glade, snow still engulfing the grounds then, but no longer blanketing the trees or undergrowth like it had on Christmas. How were the deers fairing in all this weather? What kind of new fauna would present itself now that winter has passed? The coverage of your umbrella did little to break you from your thoughts as Snape stood close. 

 

“What are you staring at?”

 

“Nothing I s’pose. Just…” you trailed off, barely audible over the heavy rain and soft thunder. He glanced in the direction you were staring, not spotting anything of particular significance, but after a few moments put two and two together, realizing it wasn’t a matter of what, but where.

 

“Don’t even think of going there while it rains,” he cautioned, tugging lightly on the sleeve of your coat in order to get you moving. You did look away from the tree, but only after a few bumbling steps in which you nearly collided with him. His hand went to your back to steady you, lingering perhaps a touch longer than necessary before pulling away. You thought he was going to have the two of you cut across the grassy fields, but instead, he led the both of you back to the perimeter path you had traversed to get to the pitch. Technically speaking it was the long way, but also safer compared to the uneven grounds.

 

“I just wonder what it looks like now, the glade. I only ever saw it during winter while it was snowing. All that white is probably green. And with the next bouts of rain, I can only imagine what sort of things will grow as a result… What types of flowers…” you contemplated, casting one last glance over your shoulder at the tree.

 

“...You should wait until Spring makes itself more conspicuous,” he stated mildly after a brief silence. “It would be a more fulfilling sight to behold after the vegetation has had some time to bask in the sun and develop more vivid coloring…”

 

You peaked at him when he trailed off and he glanced away from you as if it was embarrassing to speak fondly of nature.

 

“I guess that’d be true,” you hummed, tipping the mug back and downing the rest of your hot chocolate before discarding the mug in your bag. Beads of muddy water from your dirty face began tickling your neck as they crested over your chin inside of your sweater. Just barely using your teeth to bite the tip of your right glove you tugged it off and stuck your hand out from under the umbrella, wetting your hand and swiping some of the mud off your face in a sort of rinse and repeat fashion.

 

“Don’t do that,” Snape said.

 

You raised a muddy eyebrow with a light smirk. “You don’t want me to clean my face?”

 

He huffed. “Don’t subject your hands to the cold for such a task. Use a towel.”

 

“Well, if one happens to fall down from the sky do let me kn— oomph!” 

 

Snape had used a spell to summon a white hand towel with his other hand and shoved it in your face, firmly dragging the soft material from the top of your forehead down to your chin. Your hands instinctively went to his wrist to pull away from the towel.

 

“Okay, I got it,” you asserted, taking the towel from him and adding a little water to it so that you were just pushing mud deeper into your pores. “ ‘M not some scrappy kitten you found in an alley.”

 

“No, you are not. A kitten can keep itself cleaner than you can,” he muttered.

 

He heard your quiet tittering beneath the towel as you cleaned yourself, causing a light tug on the corners of his lips before disappearing a second later. When no more mud transferred onto the towel you vanished, your hands settling into your coat pockets.

 

Due to the proximity of having to share an umbrella, one that could fit two people but with only a few inches to spare, your upper arm and Snape’s were either brushing against one another as he held the umbrella with his inside arm or pressed together—not that you minded, and apparently nor did he. Or he was just tolerating it. It made little difference to you, though you’d happily give him a bit more wiggle room to work with even if it meant a bit of your body being pelted by the rain. This proximity, however, gave you a closer glimpse of him, your eyes landing on the hand holding the umbrella. In typical fashion, his sleeves were long enough to cover the butt of his palm and thumb joint, and his skin was pale as ever. A bit more pale than usual, actually. There was a slight tremble present too, evident in his wrist and extending up his arm, but it didn’t quite show itself in the shoulder.

 

“You’re cold,” you blurted.

 

Snape pursed his lips, his hand holding the umbrella clenching slightly in an attempt to make the shiver in his body that he thought was unnoticeable cease. The Warming Charm was doing little even with his layers as the misty air that clung to his exposed skin and mid-forty degree weather prevailed.

 

“I am not,” he replied tersely.

 

You rolled your eyes and uttered, “Liar.” It was clear enough for him to hear over the rain and gentle thunder.

 

“Care to repeat that, Miss?” He cast a sharp look your way.

 

“Li-ar,” you enunciated, meeting his daring tone. “There’s no warm air radiating off you which means you have no warming spell, or it’s not doing much for you, I can feel your arm trembling a bit and I doubt it’s from holding up the umbrella, and you don’t have on the items of clothing you claim is required of me to have in such weather.”

 

He granted you no response, so you assumed you were right. If he wasn’t wearing such clothing, he must’ve not planned to see you or be outside to begin with. 

 

“Here,” he heard you say. When he glanced over you no longer had your coat on, left in your thick, oversized sweater. You were holding it out to him.

 

“Put it back on,” Snape adjured. 

 

“You’re cold.”

 

“I’m not wearing that and I do not intend on repeating myself regarding subjecting yourself to the cold.”

 

“I’ve since warmed up from all my walking and considering it’s big on me it would fit you just fi—”

 

“I’m not wearing your clothes!” he exclaimed and added less harshly again, “Put it back on.” 

 

You sighed, sliding the coat back on. He’s such a hypocrite. “I do hope the irony of this situation isn’t lost upon you.”

 

“You shouldn’t care,” he muttered, the tips of his ears burning. You feigned an exasperated sigh. “Tough.”

 

From there the conversation lulled a bit as the path curved closer to the Forbidden Forest in the direction of Hagrid’s Hut. Every so often you’d swipe your boot along the surface of the baby puddles that formed on the path that couldn’t be contained by the bordering grass. You wondered how Buckbeak was fairing with all the other hippogriffs in the Forbidden Forest today as you noted his absence from Hagrid’s backyard. There were parts of the path where old cobblestone walls, much like in Hagrid’s yard, outlined the path. At one point you briefly branched out from beneath the umbrella to poke at an exceptionally chunky frog that was gurgling atop the stone. It let out an amusing squeaking noise, starkly contrasting its deep croaks before hopping off and waddling into the grass.

 

As the path gave you a view of where the forest met the lake, you could see that the lake’s surface was practically vibrating as it was peppered with heavy drops. The giant squid was hanging out just below it, its tentacles breaking through the surface and, like you, reveling in the way the water hit its flesh as they swayed in the air. The visual must’ve reminded Snape of something as he casually mentioned that there were a few magical plants in the Forbidden Forest as well as Great Britain that only grew and thrived when it rained, otherwise laying dormant and their growth pausing. The way you gazed at him with such interest and curiosity upon learning of such a thing made his chest tingle, even more so when you asked him to tell you about them. 

 

And he did. All the way back to the castle.

***

The two of you parted ways in the, thankfully for him, empty courtyard, handing you your umbrella without a word before ducking beneath the cloister’s cover and off to do…whatever it is he does on weekends. You did not remain indoors for long, only making a quick pitstop to switch out some items in your bag before gallivanting around again. Regardless of what Professor Snape may or may not have thought, you were walking him back, not the other way around. Your black boots were now brown, as were the bottom half of your pant legs from jumping around in muddy puddles, hardly employing your umbrella this time and taking a trip down to the lake. You wanted to see what was growing down here. The snow melted and the thawed surface of the lake ushered in rebirth. It being a landlocked body of water, certain conditions resulted in certain fauna. Those sporadic clusters of lavender wouldn’t bloom until late spring or early summer. Squinting at the large boulders that bordered certain parts of the shore you could see blotches of algae submerged beneath the glassy surface, starting their ascent up the rock. 

 

It was almost like you were home when you looked around Hogwarts landscape. Almost. The safer forest was basically the same. Similar tree species, plants… You imagined things would be scarily similar the next time you visited when it was sunny. Even as it rained, the darkness of the pine trees and the rippling of the lakes resembled the parks you visited. It rained a lot at home. You’d go on walks like this too, not using your umbrella when you really ought to. The only difference is that you couldn’t truly wander at Hogwarts—couldn’t accidentally stumble upon something new like an off-the-beaten-path hiking trail or a secret bridge without potentially breaking a few rules in the process. Finding that glade was pure luck and a nice place to get away from occasionally feeling like a caged dog. Couldn’t even use your car around here for fuck’s sake.

 

The next time you were inside the castle it was in the late afternoon and you were drenched head to toe. Paintings gawked at your dripping mud-splattered clothes, a few witches who lived in more classical eras scorning you for walking around in such an “unladylike state.”

 

“Y/N!” Two voices called. You turned as the twins skidded to a halt, their eyes locking on to your dirtied clothes. “Blimey, Y/N. It looks like you waded around the sewers,” they laughed.

 

“As per usual,” you smirked. “D’ya need something from me?”

 

“Actually, Madam, we have something for you," George declared as Fred opened his schoolbag. “Now, we know you told us not to get you anything, but we think you’ll really like this.” He stuck both hands in the bag while Fred held it open for him. George pulled and pulled but it seemed whatever was inside was stuck. 

 

“Pull harder, George,” Fred urged.

 

“I'm trying! Bloody Extension Charm…”

 

Fred turned the bag upside down, hoping gravity would help his brother as George gave one last heave. The present came spilling out of the bag, pooling into a thick pile like a giant noodle. 

 

“Tada!” They said as George picked up the object, or part of the object as the rest hung limply and held it up to you. It took you a moment or two to discern what he was presenting you with.

 

“Is this…?”

 

“It’s Runey!” Fred grinned as George handed you your present. “Or at least a stuffy of him.”

 

You held the middle head of the stuffed runespoor. It was as long as you were, each neck and the body about as thick as your thigh, with some weight to it.

 

“We asked mum to help make it. We’d probably drain ourselves of all our blood if we tried sewing. She thought we were boggled at first when we sent her a letter to sew three snakeheads onto one body. We did stuff it ourselves though.” 

 

“And it’s weighted, too! Ten pounds I think, but you can charm it to be light if you want. Or to be a different size—bigger, smaller… We thought it’d be nice for you to have something solid like this to hold when you’re sad or struggling to make Runey…well…solid.

 

“Oh, and go ahead and smell it!”

 

You brought the stuffed head up to your nose and sniffed. “Vanilla?” you murmured against the soft material.

 

“Yeah! We sprayed it, but you can make it smell like whatever you want when it fades.”

 

You buried the stuffed creature further against your face, completely obscuring your expression and inhaling the scent. Your chest felt tight and a lump manifested in your throat, the wetness in your eyes blurring your sight.

 

“Y/N?” Their excitement faded to confusion and worry at your sudden silence, especially when Fred reached out to touch your elbow and you pulled back, dropping the stuffed animal and turning around completely to hide your face with your hands. Their hearts clenched when they caught a glimpse of your twisted-up expression as hiccups escaped from you.

 

“Oh, Y/N…” They gently turned you around and embraced you warmly, ignoring the wetness of your clothes as they rested their heads in the crook of your neck. “You’re not supposed to cry, it’s your birthday!” they implored. If only they knew. Shallow breaths and spilled tears were your only response as your hands took purchase on their backs, holding them to you as close as you could, and drawing out a hum of satisfaction from the boys. “Love you too, Y/N”

 

“Yeah! We sprayed it, but you can make it smell like whatever you want when it fades…” Professor Snape heard the voice of one of the Weasleys say as he approached a corridor intersection. It sounded like a prank was being planned. When he caught a view of you three in the perpendicular passage, his eyes honed in on the fact that the bottom half of your coat and trousers were plastered with mud. You’d gone out and gotten dirty again. He was about to bark at you to go take a shower, but you suddenly turned towards him, prompting him to step back out of sight unconsciously.

 

“You’re not supposed to cry, it’s your birthday!”

 

He blinked numbly. …Birthday? It was your birthday?

 

Snape slowly paced back the way he came, abandoning the thought of going to the staff room, and instead walked back down to his office, a low buzzing occupying his ears until he heard the door of his office shut behind him. Knowing today was your birthday brought upon a new sensation like an animal scratching the walls of his mind. A quiet sense of anxiety. The book you had gotten him for Christmas, a book he had yet to finish, slowly chipping away at it in his free time, sat by his armchair, the bookmark sticking out at him like a taunting tongue. 

 

He pushed off the door, fiddling with the tips of his fingers as he tore his gaze away from the book. 

 

It was your birthday. What was he to do about that?

 

Nothing. A student’s birthday isn’t something he put any mental stock into. But he couldn’t play that card with himself right now—didn’t want to use a label that was becoming increasingly secondary to him as a means of avoiding the cold hard fact that something inside of him wanted to do something.

 

Oh, how he hated the pressures of reciprocity. It was one of the reasons why he was never fond of receiving presents. You had gotten him something so great for Christmas. How the hell was he to measure up? Should he even bother? He wanted to but…it's not like you knew that he knew you were the anonymous gifter. There was no expectation on your end and were likely under the impression he had no idea it was your birthday. 

 

Maybe he should just leave it be.

 

But his brain wouldn’t agree with him on that note. He’d spend the next hour or so bouncing around the idea in his head until he couldn’t stand it anymore, impulsively throwing on a coat, and snatching a few other belongings before disappearing into the flames of his floo fireplace.

***

Diagon Alley resembled the foggy River Thames of London, a thick blanket enveloping signs and the top halves of multi-story establishments. The rain had yet to migrate all the way down, still working its way through the midlands. As the bricks of the Leaky Cauldron shifted back into place behind him, Snape put his umbrella back into his bag, expecting the weather to be just as wet as it was north. One would think such weather would shift the usual foot traffic to one that was more desolate, but that was not the case. Warm light flooded out from shops and dining establishments, families settling in for an early dinner or simply to get a drink to warm themselves from the nippy air.

 

He floated slowly up the street like a ghost, waiting for his surroundings to make a decision for him. Either something in the windows of the shops would give him inspiration or the fact that these shops would be closing within a few hours would eventually discourage him. And the more his feet lead him about aimlessly, the minutes ticking away, the more likely the latter would win.

 

“Severus?”

 

He turned to the voice calling him. Standing outside of Twilfitt and Tattings was Narcissa Malfoy, her hair pinned in an intricate updo and sporting dangling teardrop earrings. Each hand was occupied by a bag or two as she smiled at the man.

 

“Good afternoon. Or should I say good evening… It’s quite hard to tell with this weather.”

 

“Afternoon, Narcissa.” He made an unsure, limp flicking motion with his hand. Narcissa held out the two bags in her left hand to him, which he took wordlessly. Carrying things for a woman, be it bags, books or what have you, was inculcated into his brain by the same woman who stood before him. In school, he saw Narcissa as practically royalty and committed every tip she gave about speaking properly, being gentlemanly, or what counted as good manners to memory. “It shows that you care for her,” she had explained to him in Snape’s first year, placing a smacking kiss on a fifth-year Lucius Malfoy’s cheek who had offered to help carry books she needed from the library back to her room.

 

“Are these all from Twilfitt and Tattings? Even for you, this seems a bit much.”

 

Narcissa huffed with a slight grimace on her face. “Ah, well…Draco has taken to getting a jump start on learning spells that are a bit too advanced for him. To make a long story short, he somehow charmed a chair to come alive and shred some of my outfits. I was merely having them mended.” She sighed, chuckling. “I love that boy, I really do, but I cannot wait for him to go to Hogwarts. And what are you doing here, Severus? I thought you’d be holed up given the weather across Britain.”

 

“I…had an errand to run,” he said, his tone not as confident as he would’ve liked it to be.

 

“Are you shopping for the school or for yourself?”

 

“...Neither.”

 

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion before a smile began tugging on the corners of her lips. This version of Narcissa vexed him so, the one who could pick up the scent of uncertainty on him like a bloodhound, almost always resulting in her teasing him and making him feel self-conscious.

 

“Shopping for someone else then?” she queried with a smirk.

 

“Yes,” he gritted, quietly.

 

“Could my feminine know-how and shopping expertise be of any assistance?”

 

“What makes you think I am shopping for a woman?”

 

“Because your demeanor has reverted to that of a nervous schoolboy and you are struggling to look me in the eyes right now,” she chuckled.

 

He avoided her gaze further. Blast you, Narcissa. “...I don’t know if you’d be able to help.”

 

“Try me, Severus,” she challenged, taking an emboldened step towards him. “Who’s it for and what’s the occasion?” 

 

“It’s her birthday,” Snape mumbled, adding the name so breathlessly quiet. 

 

“Pardon me, who’s?”

 

“...y/n’s…”

 

“Oh, is it really? How wonderful!” she beamed. Had her other hand been free she would’ve clapped. Snape relaxed a little at the fact that Narcissa didn’t immediately poke at him after hearing the name. Maybe she was having mercy on him. Had it been Lucius, he would’ve been all over it. “She’s turning 21, yes?”

 

“Correct.”

 

Narcissa hummed. “A notorious milestone for Americans if I am not mistaken. Though she can drink here, she can now legally do so back home. Have you thought about getting her a celebratory bottle?” 

 

“She’s not a drinker.”

 

She tilted her head, curiously. “I saw her drink champagne at the New Year’s Eve party…?” 

 

“To my knowledge, she doesn’t drink at the frequency other students or people her age typically do. I’d wager it’s only on special occasions,” he refuted.

 

“A birthday is a special occasion, is it not?”

 

“I still don’t think it would be a good idea. She may end up using it as an ingredient in some outrageous potion experiment.”

 

“Very well then. What do you have in mind?”

 

Snape bit the inside of his cheek. “Nothing yet…”

 

“Well, tell me. What sort of things does she like?” Narcissa asked.

 

“Other than the rain I’m not sure.”

 

“What’s her favorite color?”

 

“...I don’t know.”

 

“Does she wear jewelry?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Is there anything she needs?”

 

“I don’t know, Narcissa! I…” The gravity of his current circumstances was finally hitting him. He had squandered the two months that have passed since wanting to know more about you, either not having paid enough attention to such things or not having asked enough questions. Or the right ones. But it felt weird to think about suddenly asking you random things about yourself if it didn’t come up naturally in conversations.

 

“Honestly, Severus, I was under the impression you two had become friends,” she chided. “Do you two even talk?”

 

“We don’t speak of such insignificant things,” Snape bit back.

 

“Insignificant or impersonal?” she countered with equal snark. When the potion master didn’t respond she knew she was right. Severus had a habit of wanting to know what lay beyond a person’s walls without stopping to admire the layers that made up those walls, to see what secrets they had, if they were a threat, or if they were just as broken up inside as him. She wished she could watch the both of you interact, to see what your dynamic was in its rawest form instead of relying on the tidbits she’d hear from Lucius or the letters they exchanged should they happen to mention you. “You have not even an inkling of what to get her?”

 

“It’s not that simple of a task,” he contended. “Y/N’s not like other witches and wizards, not even like other half-bloods we know. She prefers her muggle side, so much so she might as well be a muggle waving a stick around. As a result, she… thinks differently… Does things differently… I don’t know what her desires or inclinations are. I’ve been inside her room before— do not give me that look, it was for a perfectly innocent reason —and she doesn’t seem very materialistic. On top of that, I don’t know what she already has, but even so, whatever I get her couldn’t possibly measure up t…” he trailed off, prompting Narcissa to rest her bags on the ground and place her hands just above her troubled friend’s elbows.

 

“Measure up to what?

 

“Y/N got me a…book I’ve been wanting for years. One that even Lucius couldn’t track with his connections… It was a Christmas gift.”

 

“I see.” Narcissa lightly squeezed his arms. She was surprised Severus still had the capacity to care about something like this to such a degree, but nevertheless, it warmed her heart. “Severus, if this is causing you this much disconcertment, perhaps it might be best not to indulge, especially if you feel obligated to do so. Someone like Y/N who gives gifts, and is supposedly not materialistic, probably was never expecting to receive anything back. I’m confident she may believe you don’t know today is her birthday either.”

 

“…I…want to.”

 

“Truly?” She raised an eyebrow, giving him her best no-nonsense face.

 

“...Yes.”

 

Narcissa smiled, picking up her bags. “Sometimes I look at you, Severus, and see the same introverted little boy I met almost those years ago.” She tipped her head to some shops up the street. “Come along. I have an idea of where we can start. In the meantime, keep thinking. Oftentimes the simplest answer is the right answer.”

***

It was well past curfew now as a student murmured a “goodnight” to you, leaving you alone in the common room, lying outstretched on a couch near the roaring fireplace. You were so cozy cuddling into the stuffed runespoor, too comfortable to migrate back to your room. The twins knocked it out of the park with this gift. You heard the doors to the common room creak but heard no footsteps of someone entering and saw no one sneaking back inside. You thought it might’ve just been the castle being itself. Old buildings creaked and groaned all the time, even if this place was made of stone. 

 

Your ears perked to a strange clicking sound. Something was scuttling across the stone ground—something with mass. The offender made itself known, entering the sitting area. The creature resembled a spider with crab-like legs, the sound of its steps sending shivers up your spine. Though your heart skyrocketed at first, it relaxed when you inspected the creature despite the squeamish sounds it made. It wasn’t a spider, but merely an object charmed to have legs, presumably so it could travel around. Its body was a small black box the size of your fist with a dark green ribbon over it. 

 

A present.

 

The gift hopped onto the nearby coffee table, its point legs clacked against the wooden surface as it rotated in place. It raised one of its front legs and pawed at the air, wanting your attention. When you sat up and leaned on the edge of the couch it curled the leg back and tapped itself repeatedly on the lid of the box. You hesitantly reached out and pressed your index finger on the lid of the box. The legs disappeared in a small poof of smoke and the box settled down on the table, now an ordinary gift. 

 

You picked up the box with one hand slowly rotating the box around. Whoever this was from had to know the password to the door to even let it in. The coloring of the box was awfully familiar too. You sighed, pressing the cubic object to your forehead, blushing. 

 

It was from him.  

 

Was the box's appearance purposeful? Was the coloring a subtle message that it was from him or were you being silly?

 

You tugged the ribbon loose and removed the lid to find two metal objects glinting on a soft cushion. You plucked them out and cradled them in your hand. The pieces were engraved with a diamond pattern and sat coiled on top of themselves. 

 

Oh. They were little snakes.  

 

Rolling them about in your palms you tried to discern their purpose. You glanced inside the box again and pulled out a note tucked against the interior of the box.

 

Happy Birthday, Y/N.

 

There was no signage but having gotten feedback on papers and whatnot from him you knew what Professor Snape’s handwriting looked like. It was definitely his. There were a few other words on the note as well.

 

Armilla, Annulus, Crinis, Ictis

 

Your Latin was shoddy without a dictionary to help you, but even you could guess these were Charm chants. You picked up your wand that had fallen onto the floor and pointed it at the metal snakes. “Armilla.”

 

The snakes uncoiled themselves and elongated from their hardened forms. They wrapped around your wrist and bit each other's tails like they were going to eat one another, hanging gently but securely on your wrist in the form of a bracelet.

 

You smiled. Transmogrification.

 

“Annulus.” The snake unlatched themselves and slithered onto your hand, one encircled your ring finger while the other scrunched itself up before launching across to your other hand, mimicking the other snake and wrapping around the identical finger in the same manner. Rings.

 

“Crinis.” 

 

They moved again and slithered up the length of your arms, the cool metal creating goosebumps on your skin. You hoped they weren't going to bite into your ears. Instead, they squirmed onto your braids and began gnawing at the flimsy and worn material of the bands that held your hair together. The bands snapped and fell onto the couch cushions, the snakes looping snugly around your two braids and settling into place. Hair cuffs. This one was probably your favorite of the charms so far. 

 

“Ictis,” you chanted, pointing your wand at them. They didn’t move, remaining inanimate. You frowned, chanting it again this time with a different pronunciation. Still, nothing. Maybe it was a conditional like the Caterwauling Charm. You guess you’d just have to wait and see.

 

You heard a small pop come from the box. Occupying the inside was a vial of familiar brown liquid that made you roll your eyes, smiling. You popped the cork off and tipped it back, pleasantly surprised by the added flavor.

 

It tasted like birthday cake.

***

Snape drummed his middle finger against the surface of his desk lightly in anticipation the next day as the seventh-year students filtered in for Advanced Potions. Narcissa had practically interrogated a memory out of him when he offered a hunch on what you might possibly want or need. After going into five different shops he hesitantly told her that your hair ties had a tendency to snap in the middle of brews, sometimes the band almost landing in your cauldron. Either the fumes weakened the material or the bands themselves were incompetent. He didn’t think it was anything of significance, but Narcissa papped him on his arm and hissed, “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” before dragging him off somewhere else. Snape had no idea Transmogrifying Jewelry was even a thing. The shop owner told them the snake pair he picked could hold four charms. Narcissa imbued the first two herself while Snape added the last two. The one for your braids was more specific and required more mental effort. And the last one, well, that one he added for both your benefit, but hoped it wouldn’t have to perform.

 

He was a little disappointed when you came into class with your hair down, but he had hope again when you plopped yourself down in your seat and began manually braiding your hair as there was a minute or two before class began. The task seemed almost agonizingly slow as he subtly observed you. When you finished both braids you carefully lifted the already charm-activated snakes to your hair. His heart fluttered when he saw them glinting in the low light of the potions classroom. You hummed contently when they secured around your hair and rested your chin in your hand. When you happened to glance in Professor Snape’s direction and met his eyes you two quickly looked away from one another, both of you smirking demurely into your palms.

Chapter 45: Eyes On Me

Summary:

Reader begins a new venture with Lupin. And why does it feel like we are being watched?

Notes:

Not much Snape this chapter I'm so sorry

13 years old

The clock in the principal’s office ticked away as you sat in a hardly comfortable chair. To your right was Vivian. She sported bruises, as did you, but she had more, and tissue held up to your nose. A fight you had won, a notion unanimously agreed upon by others in your grade. Outside, Ada sat on a bench, waiting restlessly for the verdict of the situation. 

 

“This is becoming quite irritating, you two,” the principal started. “Every month, both of you wind up in these same seats for the same reason. Why is it that you are incapable of getting along?”

 

You snorted. “I’d rather hang myself in the auditorium than be friends with someone as xenophobic as her.”

 

“Y/N,’ the principal said sternly. “Don’t make such dark references.” He took a deep breath, recomposing himself. “Look. Seeing that neither of your parents showed up to discuss the issue at hand and that neither of you has any serious injuries, I will let you off with yet another warning.” He turned to Vivian. “Miss Lancaster, while everyone in the world is entitled to their own opinion, I suggest you don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

 

Vivian huffed, bringing a satisfying smirk to your face. 

 

“And you, Miss L/N,” he addressed you once more. “The next time you escalate a conflict into something physical, it’s either Saturday school or suspension. Understood?”

 

A muscle in your jaw ticked, but you nodded numbly. 

 

“Both of you may go,” he announced with a dismissive wave. “Try not to start another fight in the hall.”

 

Ada spent the whole way home fussing over you and your bruises unti, eventually, the two of you split off, and you were able to enter your property without anyone noticing. When you walked through the front door, you were greeted with a familiar Italian-American voice. 

 

“...I’m just saying, it would be more efficient if the hearing was delayed until—”

 

The conversation ceased when you entered the living room, both Alfie and your father sitting in the living room, a drink in their hands.

 

“...You’re home later than usual,” your father remarked, to which you subtly rolled your eyes to yourself. As if he knew your schedule.

 

“Yeah,” was all you said as you tossed your bag down on the floor and strode over to the cabinet where potion supplies were kept.

 

“And you’re sporting bruises,” he added, an imperceptible amount of concern tinging his tone.

 

“Not for long.” You located a vial with orange liquid inside. Popping the cork off, you tossed the contents back and swallowed. Feeling the liquid hit your stomach, you felt your limbs warm and tingle at the same time. The bruises began to lighten significantly until they disappeared completely.

 

“Were you in a fight?” You heard Alfie call after you as you started to leave once more.

 

“Yes. I won, so it doesn’t matter.”

 

“Y/N,” your father’s voice cut through the air. “Not so fast.” 

 

The next words you expected to hear were some long-winded monologue about not bringing attention to yourself, starting fights, and getting him and your mother involved. Instead, what you got was:

 

“A few more colleagues will be here soon. No going upstairs.”

 

And, oh, that pissed you off. No needling questions about why a fight had occurred, if you were okay, or if that school had punished you? Would he not care if the next fight resulted in severe injury?

 

“Fine,” you growled, snatching your bag once more. “I’ll piss off to the library since you’re so desperate to not have me in your orbit.”

 

Your father sighed, sensing where this was going. “Y/N, that’s not…”

 

But you didn’t hear him, slamming the door behind him, leaving Alfie to cast your father a look that said, “You deserve that,” as your father ran a defeated hand through his hair.

 

***

 

“...and read pages 126 to 150,” he concluded as students began packing up. “Miss L/N, could you please stay back a moment?”

 

Chair legs scraped against the old wooden floors and bags zipped close as students wove through rows of desks and shuffled out through the threshold of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to the rest of their Monday classes. Professor Lupin leaned back against his desk, palms pressing into the edge watching the other students filter out until the two of you were alone.

 

“I won’t take up too much of your time since you have another class soon. I just wanted to ask you a question or two,” he explained, pacing to the other side of his desk and clearing away some of the material on the surface. “If you recall, before March, Dumbledore proposed exploring your patronus's capabilities. I’d like to know if you are still interested in that.”

 

“Yeah, I remember. My answer remains the same. And actually…I do have something that can be recorded already.”

 

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, smiling softly. “What might that be?”

 

“Runey can interact with liquids and get wet. Messy. I brought him out in the rain recently. The water droplets rolled off him and mud can stick to his body too.”

 

He chuckled. “Really? Well, I suppose that’s good to know. I’ll be sure to add that to the list.”

 

An owl flew through one of the large open windows and landed atop a globe on the desk. In the owl’s mouth was a letter with a black stamped wax seal with an almost purplish hue. “Where availability is concerned, when would you like to get to work?” he asked, moving toward the owl. “With your NEWTS coming up I imagine much of your free time will be spent studying and whatnot. We can always keep this sort of thing for the weekends if you’d like.”

 

“That sounds good. I should tell you though that I only have two classes on Thursday so maybe if I ever discover some things on my own while you’re busy that could be used to briefly check in…? Depending on how you want to structure this, of course.”

 

“I think that's a fine idea,” he replied, thumbing open and reading the contents of the letter. “Why don’t you come by this evening after dinner and we can iron out more of the details. I’ve already got a proposal in mind.”

***

 

The door to the potions classroom was yanked back so hard it nearly slammed into the stone wall as your classmates exited into the softly lit corridor.

 

“That git! Where does he get off assigning us an argumentative research paper when we’ve got other NEWT classes? How is debating a bloody topic gonna be of any use to us when we could be using the time to study for other classes?!”

 

You weren’t too concerned. Were you a bit disappointed that this assignment would carve more into your free time? Yeah. But you’d been good at maintaining a balanced schedule thus far and the only way to beat procrastination was to start the assignment immediately. Besides, argumentative papers weren’t so bad when you had a passionate opinion (and hopefully without stumbling on works that refute your stance from the get-go). And you had the perfect topic in mind.

 

“Oi, Y/N,” a boy next to you spoke up. “Are you going to the library to work on this?”

 

“I am, why?”

 

“Let me join you, yeah? Seeing someone responsible will make me want to chip at my paper too.”

 

“Oh, me too!” said another boy.

 

“Me three!” a girl joined.

 

“Fine, but keep the goofing off to a minimum. I need to focus and want to have at least the introduction done before dinner.”

 

The library seemed to get fuller and fuller with each passing day, with tables and desks covered with piles of textbooks and parchment paper as students slogged away at their assignments. The younger years cast confused glances at the fifth through seventh years who toiled over their writing assignments with tired expressions, blissfully unaware that would be them in a few years. You managed to grab a table that seated four people near one of the walls. The sight of mist and rain sprinkling against the window made you pursed your lips in discontent, making you wish you were outside rather than doing schoolwork.

 

“What’s the prompt of this assignment again?”

 

“Pick one of the five potions he listed and make an argument regarding something subjective about the potion,” you replied.

 

“Right… Felix Felicis, Wolfsbane, Amortentia, Draught of Living Death, and uh…uhm…”

 

“Polyjuice.”

 

“Polyjuice. Right. I can see Felix or Polyjuice being the fan favorite. They’ve inherently got more possibilities.”

 

“Which one are you thinking of writing about, Y/N?”

 

“Wolfsbane. I’ve already got a main point in mind.”

 

“Oh?”

 

You retrieved a fountain pen from your bag as you abhorred the use of ink and quills and scrawled out your emboldened topic sentence in a section of your potion’s notebook you were dedicating to jot down key essay points, considerable sources, and structure formatting. When you turned the notebook and flashed your argument to them they gaped at you.

 

“Merlin, Y/N! Are you trying to piss off Snape?”

 

You waggled your eyebrows. “He can’t fault me for following instructions.”

 

“Ugh,” the girl groaned against folded arms. “I hate having to come up with my own topic sentence. I wish he just gave us prompts.”

 

“This assignment is meant to push us to be original and think for ourselves. If not, we're just parroting books.” You drummed your fingers lightly on the mahogany table before sliding out of your seat to retrieve the books relevant to your choice of topic.

 

Books of varying thickness surrounded each side of you, intermittently passing by students studying by themselves at desk-like stations pressed up against the bookshelves. Gathering material for your paper would be a bit trickier. Wolfsbane was quite new to the wizarding world which meant there’d be very few books about the potion. You’d have a better chance at looking through the copies of research paper archives provided by the Ministry. Maybe you should send a letter to that gentleman you met at the Malfoy’s New Year's Eve party who’s researching Wolfsbane. Crap, what was his name? 

 

After finding only one potentially helpful book, you cut across to the “Magical Beasts” section of the library to find a book on lycanthropy, grabbing Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Woes of the Werewolf. The research paper archives were more or less arranged like how one would sift through vinyl at a record store or sift through files in a filing cabinet. The papers themselves had many protective charms on them so that they couldn’t be burnt, torn, soaked, or otherwise destroyed. You just hoped that papers about lycanthropy weren’t kept in the restricted section.

 

Whump!

 

A book fell out behind you and landed on the ground unceremoniously. You turned your head to the noise and there was a soft gasp from the silhouette through slim spaces of the books on the other side retreating away from you. Odd. You frowned, slowly approaching the fallen book and tucking it back into place, scanning the other side through the narrow spaces one last time before selecting a few research papers and returning to your table.

 

Your classmates were going through their potions textbook and lecture notes trying to find something subjective or at the very least interesting about the potion of their choosing. One of the boys managed to settle on a topic after thirty minutes of digging around and set off to find his books, leaving the other two buried nose-deep and brows furrowed in their notes. Of others in your year you had an advantage when it came to work like this. In no-maj junior high, kids were taught English composition in which they’d learn to think more critically, develop comprehension skills, and form arguments more strongly. Good god, were some of those assignments boring as hell though. You scribbled out some key points in your notebook that you wanted to touch on and mentally began plotting the structure of how you wanted your essay to read. The potion’s usefulness, financial impact, lycanthropes, the Ministry…

 

A few sentences into your introduction and you couldn’t help but flick your eyes up and look around, a slight shiver running down your spine. You didn’t know why but it felt like eyes were on you. You couldn’t discern from where and went back to your paper, but the feeling persisted and you’d glance up and look around a few more times until eventually finishing your introduction, bidding your classmates good luck and exiting the library.

 

At dinner you purposefully ate a bit slower, waiting for Professor Lupin to finish his meal before you’d eventually meet him in his classroom. While eating your dinner you recalled the name of the gentlemen who you’d thought of reaching out to. Jasper Greenford. You knew it was Green-something, but you couldn’t place it earlier. However, sending a letter presented problems. You didn’t own an owl. There wasn’t really a point since you rarely received any, and in turn hardly sent any, so why bother taking care of an owl? You could ask the Weasleys to borrow Errol but you had no idea where this man lived and didn’t want to push the geriatric bird, especially when you hoped for a timely response. 

 

This will require some creativity that definitely breaks the rules.

 

After seeing Professor Lupin leave the hall, you waited another five minutes before departing your seat and making your way up to the DADA classroom and rapping on the heavy, dark door.

 

“Come in,” you heard from the other side.

 

Professor Lupin was at his desk writing something on a piece of parchment paper. The classroom was mostly dark with the exception of a few wall lamps softly illuminating the farther end of the classroom where he sat as well as a scented set of trident candles that smelled of bergamot. “Ah, good. You’re here,” he called as you closed the door behind you and approached the desk. He shifted aside what he was working on and opened a drawer in his desk to retrieve another item. A leather-bound notebook.

 

“Dumbledore wasn’t very specific in recommending to me how we might go about doing this, so I’ve come up with an idea of sorts,” he said, flashing the notebook to you. “As far as I am aware, the Ministry has very little information regarding what a patronus in such a state can do. There are very few recorded instances in history of witches and wizards possessing a patronus that can be solid and even less willing to share their insight with the Ministry. All this to say: this is going to be highly experimental.” He gestured to the notebook and slid it across the desk to you. “I’ve compiled a list of questions and ideas that could be tested out. I figured we could record the results as well as any posited theories inside.”

 

“Like a diary?” you asked, taking the notebook and flipping open the cover.

 

“Yes, precisely like a diary,” he confirmed. “Should this be submitted to the Ministry, I thought a notebook would be a more convenient form rather than scrolls of parchment paper.”

 

Your eyes scanned the list of questions that Professor Lupin had inscribed. They ranged from simple to ideas that had more serious implications but mixed in an order that resembled a well-shuffled deck of cards, and you were certain more queries would be added when inspiration struck.

 

“You’ve been busy,” you stated, referring to the quantity of questions written inside. 

 

Lupin bit the inside of his cheek. “I got a little excited. As you can imagine this whole thing is rather intriguing.” His fingers idly traced the letter he set aside. “I’ve got first years asking me questions about you. Sirius too.”

 

“Why Black?”

 

“According to Tonks, news of your patronus reached the Ministry within hours after that Quidditch game. From there it spread like wildfire, and Sirius being the well-connected sociable man that he is, found out as well and has been owling me. I’m sure everyone at the Ministry is aware at this point. 

 

So your dad definitely knows. Your eyes flit to the shifted papers on his desk. “Was that letter you got this morning from him?”

 

“Yes. I do feel quite bad for his owl. It had to fly all the way from muggle London.” Lupin laced his fingers in a relaxed manner. “Now, I think this goes without saying your NEWTs come first before this exploratory process. Should you find yourself too busy with schoolwork, we can stop this whenever you’d like. That goes for your mental health too. I can’t say I know what is required of the mind physically and mentally to make a patronus solid and I’d hate for you to be pushed during a time that is usually quite stressful for someone of your age. There also isn’t a rush to have everything answered as this isn’t exactly part of a class. We go at your pace and should this be something you wish to pursue by yourself upon graduating then so be it.”

 

“Of course. I understand,” you responded solemnly.

 

“Good. As far as scheduling, how about you come an hour after lunch on weekends when we’re both more awake and well-fed? The sessions themselves I can’t imagine lasting more than an hour or two, depending on what we tackle. When we're done, I can give you the notebook and you can write whatever you feel is necessary to add, and on Thursdays, you can stop by and give it back so that I can review anything that might inform what we do the following weekends.”

 

You nodded, setting the notebook back on the desk. “Does that include this Thursday?”

 

“No, I think we should officially start things on Saturday. I’ve heard Professor Snape has given Advanced Potions students a rather provoking assignment so perhaps it would be best to focus your efforts on that,” he explained to which you returned a weary smirk. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

 

At first, you thought no, but…

 

“Would…you like to meet Runey? Officially, that is. I know you saw him the first time, but…I feel he will be more amicable come Saturday if he already knows who you are.”

 

“Sure,” he nodded, standing from his desk. His eyes flit to the array of desks and chairs behind you. “Should I…?”

 

“Oh—no, no that won’t be necessary. ‘M not gonna have him solid for this.” Just in case this goes wrong.

 

You scooted your chair away as Lupin stepped out from his side of the desk. Wand drawn, the chant left your lips in a soft murmur and your giant runespoor materialized, flickering its tongue.

 

“Hi, bubs,” you murmured as the runespoor lowered its heads to a more appropriate level. “This is Professor Lupin. He taught me the spell that allows me to summon you. Say ‘hi’.”

 

Themis leaned forward and sniffed out at Lupin’s hand positioned in a manner that mimicked Dumbledore’s the first time around. The head inhaled the scent of his being before drawing back almost cautiously and fixing you with blank expressions and crooning, neither puffing, rumbling, or hissing. 

 

What? Don’t look at me, look at him.

 

The runespoor sniffed out again, this time only sticking to the tips of his fingers like a shy cat only to withdraw again without much of a reaction, now tilting their heads at you. 

 

“Is everything alright? Does he…dislike me?”

 

“If he disliked you he’d be hissing. I think he’s…confused?”

 

“Confused?” He quirked his brows. “What about?”

 

“I don’t know…” you muttered. Themis?

 

Themis side-eyed the DADA professor before reluctantly hovering towards Lupin, beyond his outstretched hand, and near his face, his snoot ghosting over the scars slashed across Lupin’s nose.

 

Ah.

 

“I see…” You mentally ordered the runespoor back, choosing your next words carefully with your professor. “I believe he is confused by what you are.”

 

“What I…” Lupin blinked. “Can he… smell my lycanthropy…?”

 

“Maybe, maybe not,” you shrugged. “I don’t believe for sure that he knows it’s lycanthropy. Werewolves aren’t native to Burkina Faso, so I don’t imagine he has an inherent frame of reference as a runespoor. I do think that he senses a sort of difference in your soul as a result of your lycanthropy that makes him unsure what to make of you.” You observed your runespoor curiously. “Bubs. Lupin is friend, not foe,” you spoke slowly and clearly as if talking to a toddler. “You’ll see him again soon.” The runespoor merely lifted his heads up, no longer particularly interested in engaging with the man, and eyed the architecture of the ceiling. You hummed, letting the patronus disappear.

 

“Sorry about that. He’ll adjust, I’m sure.”

 

“As long as he’s not biting my head off,” Lupin joked.

 

***

 

As the week continued on, these strange lapses of being watched didn’t cease. They occurred at meals and when you’d go to the library to work on schoolwork. Sometimes it lingered into your first class of the day after breakfast but would fade away after a few minutes of settling down. You just couldn’t pinpoint where they were coming from, especially during meals. At one point, you glanced towards the teachers’ table at Professor Snape. He did have a habit of staring at everyone, but you found that he was conversing with Professor Burbage. You were offered some reprieve when you snuck your way down to Hogsmeade through one of the secret passages that led to Hogsmeade, information about such a passage provided to you by the twins who claimed to have found it their first year, to send a letter from the village post office, but it was becoming such a problem that come Wednesday you could barely add any inches to your potions paper without getting sudden spikes of anxiety. It also didn’t help that the students passing through the bookshelves looked a lot like dark silhouettes, watching you from the corners of your eyes . 

 

And of course, these irrational thoughts culminated in a rough night in which you woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night and couldn’t go back to sleep, which especially sucked considering you went to bed at 11:00 PM. If you had figured out how to portion sleeping draughts by the hour, things would be different. 

 

Professor McGonagall shook her head in disapproval when she saw your sleep-deprived state when you trudged into Transfiguration. Lupin, on the other hand, looked about as ghastly as you did in the eyes. Evidently, he had a rough night as well but was better at hiding it as he greeted the class with a friendly smile. However, when your gazes met there was a silent understanding as he momentarily inspected your state and let you be for the class, for which you were grateful.

 

Mail came during lunch, the owls entering through vaulted openings and sweeping low down to the various tables. A slightly chunky gray owl with exceptionally bushy, feathery eyebrows landed at the edge of the Slytherin table, a letter decorated with your name in a slanted scrawl in its black beak. The bird took off as soon as you took the letter and began to read.

 

Dear [Your Full Name],

 

In all my years of doing potion research for the Ministry of Magic, I’ve never had a student or heard from my colleagues about having students reach out for information for a potion assignment for Hogwarts. I commend you for taking the extra step with your current Potions assignment, especially for a new and precarious potion such as Wolfsbane. Your thesis is quite bold. I’d proclaim it myself in agreement, but alas, I’m not as brave as you it seems. Unfortunately, I cannot answer your questions in as great a detail as I’d like due to non-disclosure agreements, but I can provide you with some harmless technical answers…

 

As you continued to read the letter the corners of your lips slowly tugged upwards. Its contents, like you’d hoped, were very much supportive of the stance you took in your Potions paper. 

 

Your hands were stained with ink as you plowed through the last of your paper, confident the ink on your hands transferred onto your chin and lower jaw when you shifted about to prop your head up. This new information you received allowed you to go well beyond the minimum parchment length required for the potions paper, even more so when you ensured your commentary was at least three times as long as any quotes you pulled from supporting material. 

 

A satisfied sigh escaped you as the last few words of your sources were scrawled out at the bottom of the parchment. This paper had been a doozy and you were glad to have it done, rolled up securely, and ready for eventual submission. Your resting hand kneaded the material of the stuffed Runey you’d brought to the library in case you needed to quell any anxiety spikes. You wished you could take a nap but you had reading for Charms that you needed to do, the thick book that sat off to the side being a painful reminder.

 

Professor Snape paced into the library, sparing a nod to Madam Pince as he breezed by the occupied tables. There was some time left before the start of his next class and he thought it would do him well to brush up on some lecture material. He could feel the tension of concentration in the air, students either buried their noses deep in their books or nearly gave themselves carpal tunnel from how furiously they scrawled away on their papers. A few he recognized working on their potion papers at that very moment.

 

The book he was looking for sat high on a shelf near the Forbidden Section, its binding having gotten rather worn over the years. He wandlessly accio’d the brown, dusty book to himself and carefully flipped the delicate pages to ensure the topic was indeed in this book. Satisfied, he nodded subtly to himself and carefully tucked the book against his side and moved to check out the book with Madam Pince but paused when he casually looked around and saw you.

 

You were sitting in a rather vacant part of the library tucked away by a window. Your palms, as was your face, were smudged with ink while you attempted to keep your head up. It was obvious that you did not get very much sleep last night. Your chin kept bobbing downwards and your eyes were fluttering lightly rather than blinking. The elbow of the arm propping your head up was slowly sliding out to the side and a second later your forehead smacked firmly against the book's open pages, making him grimace.

 

A quiet hiss slipped by your lips as you rubbed the center of your forehead. That was the third time in this hour alone you’d face-planted.

 

“If you can’t keep your head up you might as well just leave.”

 

You slowly turned your head and propped it up with a hand once again, frog blinking at the potion master who stood at your table, book tucked beneath his arm while looking down at you.

 

“Where do you suggest I go then, Professor?” you replied with a tired half-smile.

 

“To your room, obviously.”

 

“It wouldn’t be wise to do work in a room with my siren’s call of a bed.”

 

He frowned more prominently as his eyes roamed over your weary face. You had dark circles forming beneath your lids and the whites of your eyes were tinged pink. “Did you sleep at all last night?” 

 

“Not very much. Like about…I don’t know…” Snape could see your mouth forming a number beginning with “f” and was already rolling his eyes in derision. 

 

“Did it ever cross your mind to simply take a potion?”

 

“I wanted to,” you groaned. “So badly, I wanted to, but it was the middle of the night and I didn't want to accidentally take too much and oversleep and make myself miss class. If I knew how to portion them by the hour it wouldn’t be a pro—”

 

“Seventy-five milliliters for every hour, you silly girl,” he cut your rambling off with a huff.

 

“Seventy five…seventy five…” you whispered to yourself, ingraining the number into your mind as you rubbed your eyes with the butt of your palms. Of course, this information wasn’t present in your potions book. He must’ve gotten this number from experimenting. Or experience. You should’ve asked Lupin a while back.

 

When you raised your face up again, you flinched. Hard. It was a nearly muscle-paralyzing flinch that made your chair squeak and made Snape jump slightly from the movement as your eyes remained locked on the end of a bookshelf and your hand went to grip at the stuffed Runey beneath you. Someone had been watching from that spot. You were sure of it. You might’ve even seen the whites of their eyes as the dark silhouette of their robes darted out of view when you set your sights on them.

 

Only after Snape called your name for a third time with furrowed brows and waved a hand in front of your face, concerned etched on his own, did you glance at him briefly before looking down and shrink away, abashed.

 

“What was that?” Snape asked, quietly.

 

You couldn’t meet his usual piercing eyes again, which unbeknownst to you, were analyzing you with nothing but softness and worry. “Nothing…”

 

“That was not nothing. You practically jumped towards the ceiling. Tell…me.” He kept his tone insistent but also tried to filter out the severity. And failed.

 

You opened your mouth once, but closed it a second later, exhaling softly before speaking once more. “I’m sure I’m just seeing things again, but…I thought I just saw someone watching me… Us.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “Where?” You made a motion gesturing to the length of the bookshelf row not too far away that ran parallel to the direction you faced, leading over to the more occupied parts of the library. The area behind you was inaccessible, leading to the restriction section, so he would have no choice but to sweep back towards the way he came. “It’s only been for a couple of days, but it’s nothing Prof…” But it was too late, he was already striding over to round the corner of the array of bookshelves. You folded your arms and plopped your head down.

 

God, this was embarrassing. He’s gonna find no one and think you’re crazy.

 

When he didn’t return after almost two minutes, you assumed he had left the library thinking you were delirious, which ironically made you snort half-humorlessly. No, if he thought you were delirious he’d have shoved a potion down your throat for your irrationality and then leave.

 

Soft footsteps approached once more as Snape rounded the end of the bookshelf back into view with a pronounced expression of annoyance.

 

“You don’t appear to be seeing things this time. Someone was watching you,” he informed you, displeased.

 

What? You scrunched your brows in surprise. The confirmation that you weren’t being paranoid this time was both placating and concerning “Seriously? Who?”

 

“Longbottom,” he drawled with a curled lip. “A first-year with Gryffindor with abysmal potion skills.”

 

Longbottom. Longbottom… You were trying to put a face to the name, not that you knew everyone in the castle. “Oh,” you sat up. Now, you remembered. Neville Longbottom. He was a boy who looked at you with quite a bit of fear when you subbed for Snape and would’ve blown up his cauldron had it not been for his more competent partner. “Neville Longbottom? That kid with the melon head and the toad?”

 

Snape raised an eyebrow at your description despite its accuracy. “Yes. Evidently, he deems himself to be a formidable spy. Nevertheless…he won’t be bothering you anymore,” he affirmed before sweeping away once more, his cloak flowing behind him and swishing around the corner as he went to officially exit the library.

 

***

 

“Give him back!” Neville cried.

 

“Catch up to us then, fat ass!” the young Slytherin boys mocked, increasing the distance between themselves and the Gryffindor boy as they ran towards the Great Hall. The unsuspecting, shy boy was on his way to breakfast this morning with Trevor, his toad, sitting on his shoulder, throat gurgling as the amphibian was also ready for its meal. Stealing or threatening harm to the boy's toad was a common means of tormenting Neville—treatment he received often from Slytherin in particular. Had Neville been more proficient in magic, he would’ve attempted to hex them already when the boys snatched his beloved pet off his shoulder and ran ahead, but he knew that Snape would not dole out punishment in his favor. 

 

Neville stumbled into the Great Hall just in time to the Great Hall to see what the boys were going to do only to pale significantly.

 

You ignored the sounds of shoes scuffing loudly across the stone nearby as you ate breakfast, assuming that a student or two were roughhousing only to tense up when you heard them come up behind you, jam something into the hood of your uniform robe, and take off laughing towards the other end of the Slytherin section.

 

Others sitting nearby raised an eyebrow at their erratic behavior and looked at you questioningly as you reached back and fumbled around for the object inside. Your hand touched something dry and slightly warm. As your hand grasped the object—

 

RIBBIT.

 

You frowned at the noise and your hand retrieved what turned out to be a brown toad covered in wart-like bumps. It stared back at you, throat pulsating without a single thought behind its black beady eyes.

 

“Lost your toad again, have you Neville?” An older student a few seats down on the opposite side mused aloud towards the boy, not jeering, but not quite out of sympathy for him either.

 

You looked in the same direction to see Neville Longbottom staring at you, shoulders tensed and mouth agape like he was about to piss his pants. His toad was in the hands of the most intimidating Slytherin student. He might as well get started on Trevor’s tombstone right now. On top of that, he was told to stay away from you. Much to your confusion, Neville closed his quivering mouth and timidly walked to the Gryffindor section with his head low, fighting fearful tears as he glumly plopped himself down in his usual seat.

 

The toad gurgled once more in your hand. Not wanting to cause a further scene you lowered the toad into your lap, keeping a firm grip on it so it wouldn’t squirm about, and quietly fed it some blueberries. Blueberries seemed like a safe choice.

 

“Thought you would’ve gutted that thing for potion ingredients,” H/G/N remarked across from you, teasingly.

 

“In a bit,” you stated. “I’ve got to fatten him up first.”

 

She choked on her pumpkin juice and coughed into her napkin, taken aback by your response. “Mer—Merlin—Y/N!”

 

“I'm kidding. Christ…”

 

All eyes from the Slytherin table were on you as you exited the hall with the toad still in your possession. The boy whimpered into his hands as you made your departure, thinking he’d just seen Trevor being carried off to his death. The twins tried to assure him that you’d never do anything like torture or kill his toad, but the boy didn’t listen. He’d seen the magic you were capable of and didn’t fully believe you were as close as friends with the twins as you supposedly were. On top of that, he heard strange rumors that you’d go off into the woods doing Merlin knows what and wouldn’t come back after hours had passed.

 

Neville walked back to his dorm room in defeat, miserable at the prospect that his toad was now dead and his classes hadn’t even begun yet! He wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and wallow with his indignance towards the house of Slytherin.

 

…rmbbmt…

 

He snapped his head up towards the closed door of his dorm room, thinking he heard a muffled ribbit come from behind it

 

“Trevor…?” he called aloud, jogging over to the door and pushing it open.

 

RIBBIT.

 

“Trevor!” The boy beamed in relief and ran across the room. Sitting contently on the boy's pillow was his beloved toad, a little bit of blueberry juice dribbling down the front of its dry torso. The boy scooped up the amphibian and kissed its head, murmuring affectionate little greetings and comments to the pet. Neville hardly noticed the small note left on his pillow until the toad squirmed from his grip and settled back into the same spot he sat in previously. Curiously, the boy unfolded the small bit of parchment and read it.

 

“I’m not a sociopath. Consider keeping Trevor in the inner pocket of your robes when bringing him to meals.”

 

-Y/N

 

P.S. Professor Snape doesn’t speak for me. Just don’t spy. It’s rude.

 

 

Notes:

Hi guys! Oof, it's been over a month since I last posted! I've been busy with post-grad life and making sure I have a completed cushion chapter written out before I post. I promise ya'll are going to LOVE the next chapter and the one after that! It's a long one with plenty of Snape and touches on some tags we have yet to address :O I'm glad to see some have been enjoying my other posted stories in the meantime :)

Chapter 46: What Happens Behind Closed Doors

Summary:

Reader has her first experimental research session with Professor Lupin and has a complicated run-in with Professor Snape.

"behind closed doors": things that are kept hidden or private without public knowledge

"self-harm": Self-harm is when people deliberately hurt their bodies, typically as a way to cope with strong physical or emotional pain and distress. To clarify further it is NOT ALWAYS linked to suicidal thoughts or underlying mental issues.

Queen — Radio Gaga: https://youtu.be/pMYCOYjIKrE?si=gu6Hh9BSs3_NKRXd

cw: emotional hurt/no comfort, Snape once again being oblivious to boundaries, memories of unhealthy coping mechanisms/self-harm, blood

Notes:

a healthy dose of Snape this chapter .3.

I made a slight boo-boo regarding the description of Reader's room in the "Bonds" chapter. Go back and read if you want, but it's not a big deal whatsoever.

You hummed softly as your brain slowly woke up from slumber, your body feeling positively limp with warmth and comfort like a cat wrapped up in a heated blanket. The Dreamless Sleep you took last night helped after that whole debacle with Longbottom apparently spying on you, which had made you stressed enough to lose sleep. Perhaps it would be best to have a conversation with him soon to find out why he had been watching you.

 

“But not now,” you thought to yourself as you turned away from the wall, too comfortable beneath your covers. “I’m just a big toasty cinnamon bun. I never wanna leave this bed.”

 

As you nuzzled your cheek back against the pillows, your eyes snagged onto the time of your clock.

 

Eleven o’ clock…

 

ELEVEN O’ CLOCK?!

 

Had this been in the summer at your house you wouldn’t have even batted an eye at how much you had slept in, but you had things to do this afternoon. You recalled giving yourself enough of the potion last night to guarantee you eight hours of sleep, going to bed at 11:30 PM last night. The rest must’ve been natural because you apparently forgot to set an alarm. 

 

Great. You had missed breakfast, a fact further emphasized by the timely growling of your stomach as you begrudgingly peeled your thick covers off, hissing at the naturally cold air that hit your arms. Despite having slept through your first meal of the day, you still had time for a shower before lunch and then your first exploratory session with Professor Lupin.

 

These sessions filled you with a sense of anticipation and apprehension. This realm of magic had barely been touched as being able to perform a non-corporeal Patronus Charm was already difficult. There have been instances where solid patronuses have been summoned, but they were done by witches and wizards who were ancient at the time and either died before anything extraordinary could be discovered or were simply interested in pursuing other things despite the possession of such a skill. If you and Professor Lupin did manage to produce significant findings that could be of use for the Wizarding World, it might lead to exhaustive poking and probing from various magical organizations, higher expectations from those around you, and a lack of privacy should any of it result in you becoming a “known figure” like Marcus Belby or Barty Crouch. You quite liked your privacy.

 

After a nice shower, you dressed in a cozy outfit and put your hair up in a bun before making your way to the Great Hall. You had a hunch it would be a bit wet today, not so much raining but more like a heavy mist where it felt like it was sprinkling, so only a thick sweater would really be needed to stave off any indoor or outdoor chill.

 

Your stomach gurgled in need until you plopped your butt down in your seat and practically wolfed down any and all food in your vicinity, making up for your missed meal and needing to get your energy up for your meeting with Lupin.

 

“Dang Y/N,” H/G/N chuckled. “Eat any more messily and you might as well sprout a pig's tail.”

 

“ ‘M hungry, damn it. And I need to be more energized for later.”

 

“You’ve got something planned?”

 

You nodded with a mouthful of food, taking another triangle cut of grilled cheese and a cup of tomato soup from the shared platters in front of you. “Y’know how my patronus is uh… different from most?” H/G/N nodded. “Well, Dumbledore suggested that Lupin ‘n I should explore what a patronus in a solid state is capable of doing so…yeah, we’re starting our first session this afternoon.”

 

“Oh, how neat! Are you two doing this for the school or for the Ministry of Magic?”

 

“Ehhh both I guess? Assuming anything comes of it, whatever information we compile will be sent to Dumbledore and the Ministry, and if any of it is useful, I imagine it may find its way into a book sometime in the future.”

 

“Wow, talk about an employable future!”

 

“And tha’s jus’ ‘n the UK,” you managed to say through a mouthful of bread. “Can’th imagine wa’s been said at MACUSA or anywhere el’th. Word travel’th fa’th.”

 

You ate and talked about your upcoming meeting until you physically couldn’t swallow another slice of strawberry or sip any more apple juice, your stomach so full you wouldn’t be surprised if you fell back to sleep as a result of a food coma. In the hour before your meeting, you lounged about the library with a book, allowing your stomach to digest the Thanksgiving feast you inhaled until your watch beep. 

 

Muffled music echoed from Professor Lupin’s classroom as you approached the heavy door and rapped firmly on it.

 

The music quieted down before you heard a “come in.”

 

The sound of Queen’s “Radio Ga Ga,” played softly on the record player as you stepped into the classroom, feeling an abrupt change in temperature. It was a bit warmer here than it was in the hall.

 

“Miss L/N, welcome!” Lupin sat at his desk, looking at the Quidditch scores in the Daily Prophet. He put the newspaper down and turned the music off. “How are you today?”

 

“I got twelve hours of sleep last night and ate so much food I feel nine months pregnant. Let’s do this,” you smiled.

 

“Excited, I see,” he returned a smile. You rocked once on your heels, looking around the classroom, and frowned when you noticed that all the furniture was more or less in the same positions instead of being cleared out of the way. “Are we not doing the session here…?”

 

“Oh, no,” he started, standing from his desk and retrieving his wand, the research notebook, and a few other items. “I realized that with the arched walls and width of the classroom,” he gestured along the perimeter, “your patronus might be a little cramped depending on what we explore so I’ve another location in mind.”

 

“Where might that be?”

 

“Well,” he walked by and indicated for you to follow him. “On the seventh floor, there is a secret room by Gryffindor Tower. It’s quite big and can adjust itself depending on our needs.”

 

“The Room of Requirement? I know about that room.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Mhm. I’ve used it a couple of times myself when the weather outside was too bad and still wanted to do a potion experiment.”

 

“Ah… Did you know that the room is unplottable on the Marauder’s Map?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, we could never configure it properly. We suspected that it has to do with the strange fact that it has become sentient and dimensionally transmogrifying.”

 

Professor Lupin was the one to request the room for a space for the both of you to do your work when you arrived at the blank wall. Inside, the room gave you a large burning fireplace within the wall, two chairs each with a pillow, and a mobile blackboard with some sticks of chalk. The rest of the room was blank, offering you and your runespoor plenty of room to move about.

 

“Alright! Let’s get started, shall we?”

 

You nodded and drew your wand from your sweater sleeve. “Expecto Patronum.”

 

Your runespoor bloomed from the tip of your wand, forming and solidifying in a matter of moments with the help of your content state of mind this morning. Runey looked around the unfamiliar room for a few seconds and flickered his tongues at the vaguely familiar man standing before him.

 

“It’s nice to see you again, uh, Runey, is it?” Your runespoor exhaled which Lupin took as a sign of confirmation. “Well then, first things first.” He opened the notebook to the first page. “There are two main things I believe we’ll be focusing on with this research: how he interacts with outside stimulus, magic or non-magic, and his own capabilities as a runespoor. Last we spoke you mentioned he can get wet and that inspired me with a first test that I feel will be quite informative.”

 

“What might that be?”

 

Lupin lifted his wand. “Something simple. I’d like for him to drink some water.”

 

You raised an eyebrow, but complied, instructing Zeus to lower his head for Lupin and open his jaws.

 

“Aguamenti.” Water spouted from Lupin’s wand and pooled in the lower jaw of the head who just blinked along.

 

“Go ahead and swallow, Zeus.”

 

Zeus closed his mouth, tipped his head back, and swallowed the water. You could faintly hear it trickling down his throat, pressing your ear to the smooth part of his neck, crouching lower and listening the more the liquid traveled down until it stopped at the junction in which their necks met and where Runey was sitting.

 

“I can hear it sloshing around inside of him,” you chuckled.

 

“That’s good! Now let's have him tip the water back out.”

 

Per your instruction, Runey hovered his body upward into the air above the both of you, leaned his heads down, and opened their mouths. The water came running out of all three of their mouths in an evenly distributed amount and splattered on the floor before lowering themselves back down.

 

“Fantastic! With this test, we’ve proved that a solid patronus can retain things inside of itself. We can assume this counts for solids, like an apple or a book,” he explained, jotting something down in the notebook.

 

You snorted. “I’m glad to know I am in possession of one very scary-looking container.”

 

“At least we know now that if he were to eat anyone they wouldn’t be digested,” he laughed, picking up a piece of chalk and drawing the rough shape of a runespoor. “It’s already known that patronuses don’t come with the internal organs that their real-life counterparts have. They are more or less just taking on the shape.”

 

“What do you think patronuses are made of?” you questioned. “I mean, they look like they are made of light and probably are, maybe a special magical version, not like the white light that occupies our atmosphere but…light isn’t solid. The makeup of light particles is not capable of forming the necessary connections to become solid, so how is it that he can be solid?”

 

He tilted his head in consideration. “Well, I have no doubts about your knowledge of muggle sciences, and I am aware they may be necessary to apply in some instances. With that being said, perhaps patronuses are made up of a type of transfigured magic that gives off a type of brightness or light?”

 

You pursed your lips, mulling it over. “I think that’s a good theory.” 

 

“Then again,” he sighed. “This is magic we are dealing with. This could very well be light that can somehow become solid because of magic. Magic has a funny way of granting numerous exceptions when it comes to how things normally function in the muggle world.”

 

You frowned. “I hate that. I’d like to think we can rationalize certain qualities of a solid patronus without saying “because of magic.”

 

“I’m afraid it might be inevitable. Some things are just simply unexplainable, or perhaps not meant to be known by humans.”

 

“So…if we assume that patronuses are made up of a type of transfigurable magic or substance that allows them to take shape and be solid…” a smirk crept its way on your lips, “does that mean that Runey can be transfigured into something? ”

 

Lupin grinned and moved to write more things on the chalkboard. “Now that is exactly the type of out-of-box thinking we should indulge in.”

 

***

 

Your first session with Lupin lasted a little over an hour, consisting mostly of theorizing, considering intersecting narratives, and running a few more tests with Runey. The books he brought with him helped a little bit in regards to sharing an insight into the history of the spell and how it was configured in the first place. There was also the chance that some of the research the two of you did could end up rewriting what is currently known, which wasn’t much. 

 

Despite having gotten a lot of sleep last night, keeping Runey solid for the duration of the session left you a bit drained, but you weren’t going to let that stop you from going on a walk outside.

 

Soon after you and Lupin split off, you got a few strange looks from those who resided on the upper floors. It was a rarity to see a Slytherin walking around anywhere near Gryffindor territory. Even for you, who had a well-known friendship with the Weasley twins, it was strange as the twins would usually come down to the dungeons or meet you elsewhere if the three of you were suspected to be up to something.

 

The sky had darkened a significant amount since this morning, claps of lightning occasionally lighting up the sky, but the sound of thunder was so distant like hearing a muffled cannon's cry. Rain was beginning to come down more than just a mere pitter-patter. Just in case, Professor Sprout had taken to flood-proofing her greenhouses after you had assisted her in trimming the Alihotsy leaves from the plants your year had grown starting last month. Suffice it to say, that you were satisfied with the results of your altered care as it had resulted in your plant growing lush and tall. In return for your assistance, Sprout awarded you twenty points as well as to make good on her promise to acquire something from outside of Hogwarts that you otherwise couldn’t yourself in your circumstances.

 

With a comfortable coat thrown on and your plague doctor mask strapped to your face, you made your way through the chiseled corridors. Some students had gotten used to your strange shenanigans, and therefore your occasional unorthodox appearances, but a few still gave you strange looks. The twins, who were currently carrying an armful of treats and gag toys, presumably to share with the rest of their house in the common room, did not hesitate to throw some obscene gestures and taunting faces your way, of which you returned in kind, for funsies as they assumed you too were up to something. 

 

Lightning clapped dramatically in the halls that connected to the cloisters, making some who were curiously observing the sudden poor weather jump and retreat a little out of fear from the volume of the nearby thunder or because they thought they’d somehow get electrocuted.

 

The rain drummed pleasantly down on your scalp, some drops running directly down the part of your two braids and on the portion of your scar that wasn’t obscured by your now thickened undercut. Though the visibility of the landscape was a little hard to discern with the rain, you popped out the lenses on your mask and put an Imperturbable Charm on them before slotting them back in so that the water droplets wouldn’t streak over your vision. 

 

The gloomy lighting made the dark green grass appear almost black, squelching beneath your boots. Weighted down by the rain it appeared clumpy, but when the sun would come out you knew the blades would stand tall and proud, swaying lightly in the sunny spring air and gently brushing your lower calves. You hummed to yourself, traipsing along the low cobble wall-lined path, stopping now and then to poke at the emerging fungi that grew on the moist stone and lollygagging through the open fields whenever there was a break in the walls. Now and then you’d stoop down to the ground and pick up various objects or toss them aside if they didn’t interest you. More often than not you gravitated to the small stones in the shallow shores of the lake that looked as though they’d been put through rock tumblers. These instances really drove home the times in which the twins called you “raven-brained.”

 

As you ambled closer toward the Forbidden Forest, the shape of Hagrid's Hut was becoming clearer to you. There was something off about it. The silhouette was different. Moving. And squawking. When you approached further, you smiled.

 

“Buckbeak!” You shouted, laughing. “What the hell are you doing on the roof?!”

 

The large creature turned to you, his front claws gripping harshly at the wet shingles as his back hoofs were doing their best not to slip out from underneath him. He squawked happily at the sound of your voice, but let out a goose-like hiss at Hagrid who was trying to encourage him off the roof with a broom.

 

“Come on yeh ruddy beast! Don’t be such a baby!” Hagrid admonished.

 

“Hello, Hagrid,” you called.

 

“Miss L/N!” he turned to greet you, lowering the broom for a moment. He hadn’t a thought in regards to the mask you wore as he had seen you out and about in it for potion brewing plenty of times. “What ‘er you doin’ out ‘ere? I didn’t think any students would be wanderin’ around in this turbulent weather.”

 

“When rain comes a knockin’ so do I,” you replied. “And what has Buckbeak so riled up?”

 

The half-giant tossed the broom aside in defeat, putting his hands on his hips in an indignant gesture. “Ahh..that feather brain ‘s stubborn s’all. He’s due for a new set of horseshoes but won’t let me get ‘em on. Oi!” The groundskeeper scowled at the hippogriff who had tossed a pinecone at him, hitting him on the head.

 

You chuckled, “Perhaps he needs a bit of a distraction,” as you walked around the hut to the cobble-walled backyard where you always greeted Buckbeak when you had the time. “C’mere, Buckbeak!” you clapped.

 

The large creature bobbed his head excitedly as he attempted to navigate over the peak of the coned roof to the other side, his claws loosening a few stone shingles as he jumped off and landed in the backyard with a loud thud before trotting over to you. Buckbeak approached you happily, the hesitance in his steps dispelled when he got a whiff of your hand, confirming that it was you despite your altered appearance. Comically, he rubbed his beak against the beak of your mask before slotting his chin on your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

 

“Aye, keep him still now!” Hagrid instructed as he doddered over with a hammer, a pair of horseshoes, and some nails. Buckbeak trilled in contentment despite having his back legs being groped when Hagrid knelt and took Buckbeak’s right hind leg over his thigh and began to hammer the shoe in place. 

 

“How are you and Buckbeak not wet?” you asked, noticing the dry state of Hagrid’s clothes despite being outside.

 

“I have a charm on this bit ‘o land,” he said, his words slightly muffled by the nails held in the corner of his mouth. “If you look closely, you’ll see the rain is disappearin’ over before it can touch the ground. I have it fer rainy days to keep Buckbeak dry.”

 

You squinted your eyes at the air in the backyard. Sure enough, the rain was disappearing into nothingness at about the level of the roof.

 

“Hagrid, what would you say to another little quid pro quo regarding your ax?”

 

“You plannin’ on burnin’ somethin’ again?”

 

You smiled against Buckbeak’s feathers. “Perhaps. I’ll need to get the wood for it within the next couple of days. So whaddya say? Got something in mind you’d want in return?”

 

The half-giant grunted as he finished hammering the last nails in place in Buckbeak’s left hoof. The hippogriff shifted on his back legs, getting a feel for his new hoof shoes. 

 

“I’d like ter officially meet yer patronus if you don’t mind,” Hagrid smiled.

 

“You wanna meet Runey?”

 

“Aye. Fascinatin’ creatures they are. Very sensitive. I’ve never seen one ‘n person and don’t get to travel outside o’ Europe very often. Most Care for Magical Creatures professors don’t get ter because o’ where runespoors are native.”

 

“Ah, I see. Well, how about this? I’ll show you my runespoor as a freebie and you let me know when you think of something else you might want before the twentieth.”

 

“It’s a deal.” His large hand enveloped yours as the both of you shook on it. Hagrid grabbed a dead ferret hanging on a rack and tosses it to the other side of the yard to distract Buckbeak for a little and as a reward for behaving himself. As the hippogriff trotted over and settled down on the ground to pick at his treat, you stepped back from the wall and aimed your wand off to the side. 

 

“Expecto Patronum.”

 

The giant three-headed serpent erupted from the tip of your wand, the light morphing and gathering itself until it clarified into a tangible form, pulsing a few times before settling into a solid form. The three heads lowered themselves down to a more appropriate level, swaying lightly to and fro before the half-giant. 

 

“This is Zeus, Morpheus, and Themis,” you stated, pointing at the head from left to right. “Or just Runey.”

 

“Can I touch ‘em?” Hagrid asked, hesitantly raising his hand.

 

“Of course.”

 

Themis. Come greet him. 

 

The right head leaned forward and snuffled the stranger's hand, letting his snoot drift along the man's wrist and on the sheep wool sleeve of his coat. Themis puffed enthusiastically and quietly communicated for Zeus and Morpheus to join in. The other two heads dipped forward, three massive heads now smelling Hagrid, taking in the foreign smells that he accumulated from being outside all the time before nudging him at every angle. 

 

Hagrid belly-laughed as the three heads rubbed on him forcefully, knocking the half-giant about like a ragdoll despite weighing a lot. Hagrid put his hands out to scratch along their chins and feel their spikes, intrigued by their texture.

 

“Merlin! He’s really somethin’,” he proclaimed, petting Zeus who blepped at Hagrid’s nose before surging forward and pinning the entire man’s body down to the ground and rumbling away. “BAHAHA! And he’s got spirit too!”

 

“Sorry about that. He is excitable.”

 

A high-pitched screeching sound made you jump and you looked over to Buckbeak. He was crying out fiercely at the giant serpentine creature, his wings spread out as far they could reach and his feathers puffed up as he crab-walked like a cat, attempting to display his dominance toward the runespoor that was encroaching on his territory.

 

“Alright, alright— easy, Buckbeak…” you assured the creature, letting the runespoor disappear into nothingness once more and allowing Hagrid to get up off the ground. You pivoted on your back to heal slightly to stop an incoming wave of dizziness as Buckbeak audibly huffed in satisfaction at having successfully defended the yard.

 

“Was Professor Snape really the first of us teachers to meet the patronus?” Hagrid inquired, standing up and swiping dirt off his trousers.

 

“Yeah. It was actually the evening after you had introduced me to Buckbeak.”

 

“It might’ve just been my eyes playin’ tricks on me, but I swore I saw Professor Snape out here before yeh came by.”

 

Oh? “Where did you see him?”

 

“Last I saw he was headin’ towards the Black Lake. Probably collectin’ some potion ingredients. Then again, the man don’t like rain and it could’ve been a dementor floatin’ along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. You should be careful out ‘ere and keep yer wand ready, Miss. Dementors ‘r especially active during rainy weather.”

 

“Aye aye, captain,” you replied. After a few more exchanged words, you bid your goodbyes to the half-giant and hippogriff and adjusted your route so that you were headed towards the lush and rocky shoreline of the Black Lake.

 

Weaving your way through the line of trees, the hazy mirage that enveloped the lake cleared up, giving way to its almost black-tinted surface that afforded its name. The colorful rocks that covered the shore glistened like pebbles in a fish tank, reminding you of the rivers and lakes you had explored in the forests you went galavanting through back home. As you drew closer to the water, careful not to slip on any of the larger stones, you could spot many agates littered about, some embedded further into the ground than others. Though their rough, rust-colored exterior was quite ugly on the outside, they often gave way to a myriad of vibrant colors and patterns when split open. Unfortunately, no spell you knew could cut through stone hard or accurately enough.

 

Some especially colorful tones rested where the edge of the water kissed the shore. They were smoother, and more naturally polished out than the ones farther away. Instead of picking at those ones, you knelt down and rolled up your coat sleeve and the sleeve layer beneath up to your elbow and stuck your wand a foot past the waterline with a “Lumos” Charm. The darkness of the lake became practically clear and you could see all the smooth rocks half-embedded in the wet sand. You reached out with your other hand and grabbed at them in clusters like a claw machine. Among them were mostly granite and quartz, all of them on the warmer end as far as colors go. It reminded you of Gryffindor. You pocketed several small stones with patterns that interested you. However, your fingers managed to pluck a stone completely by chance, an outlier amongst what you collected. It was a gorgeous, polished agate stone made up of silver, green, and black that seemed to bleed into one another like ink in water. A perfectly Slytherin stone.

 

Putting the last few in your pocket, you scanned your eyes down the length of the shoreline, noticing a dark shape much farther down standing near the edge of the water. It was most likely Professor Snape. Should you go say ‘hello’? Come to think of it, you’ve never gone up to him yourself outside when it wasn’t related to school. Every time you’ve been outside, he’s the one that finds you. 

 

Just in case it was a straggling dementor, you receded back into the tree line and began to make your way toward the dark figure. The wet ground muffled your steps as you drew nearer to what turned out to be, in fact, Professor Snape. He had an umbrella charmed to hover above him so that his hands were free to tend to what looked to be some kind of netting that had been cast into the water some time ago, indicated by the amount of algae and whatnot that had grown on it.

Beside him was a bucket that was partially filled with pinky-sized, crustaceans called Fire Crabs. Ironic given that they mainly dwell in the lake.

 

Snape had on what you would expect him to wear in such weather. A long black coat over his robes, heavy boots, and unlike you, a pair of gloves tucked in his pockets. Part of you was reluctant to disturb him as you knew making your presence known would guarantee him badgering you about how much time you’ve spent out in the rain so far…

 

The other part of you wanted to do something funny.

 

That side tends to win more often than not. Such as now.

 

As you pressed yourself against a tree, you aimed your wand at some sizable stones. They rolled and clunked together forming a crude little body about as big as your foot. With a dismissive chant, your temporarily animate golem hopped over the tree roots and ran like a toddler on the loose through the brush toward the potions professor. 

 

Snape’s nimble fingers attempted to work away at untangling a knot in the netting that was wrapped around a chunk of coral. The fact that he possessed blunt nails was not helping his cause whatsoever, though the thought was pushed aside when he felt something bounce off of his lower calf, something too big to be a raindrop. When Snape looked behind him he saw nothing suspicious through the rain. No animals or people about, just beach rocks that slowly blended into grassy brush and trees. Just as he returned to his task he felt it again and whipped back around, this time catching sight of movement. A few yards away blending in amongst the rocks that his eyes had previously scanned over without much thought was a small rock golem figure waving at him. The golem picked up another pebble with its round “hands” and threw it at him, this time bouncing off the front of Snape’s boot.

 

Snape cast a disparaging look at the being before moving his gaze along the line of trees that bordered the nearby fields. Of course, this was your doing as you had done something similar with a little snowman during Christmas break. You were near, but you remained hidden.

 

He aimed his wand at the golem and cast a simple Depulso spell, the force enough to scatter the golem’s stone limbs away from each other, rendering the creature inanimate and useless. A signature, condescending sneer came to his face, though it disappeared a moment later when the stones rolled back together in place, the golem alive once more. It made no noise, instead taunting the professor with a dance, shaking its booty at him. Snape rolled his eyes and prepared to cast another spell, but the golem started to dodder towards him, so he held off in curiosity. It wobbled over the uneven grounds stepping on stones almost as big as itself until it reached the bucket of Fire Crab shells. Jumping up and hooking its arms over the edge it managed to bring the bucket down, spilling several shells out on the sand before the golem picked up the largest one and began to run away like the little devil it was.

 

“Reducto,” chanted the unamused potion master. The spell hit the golem square in the back, reducing the stony creature to a pile of rubble, the shell sitting atop the crumbled remains that could no longer return to its charmed form.

 

“I know you are out here, Miss,” you heard Snape’s authoritative voice proclaim through the rain as you snickered to yourself behind a tree. “You would do well to make yourself visible.”

 

Snape’s eyes honed in on movement by a tree as your figure stepped out from behind it, your silhouette different as you had on that mask again. 

 

“Hello,” you greeted loud enough through the rain for him to hear you. As you carefully navigated through the brush that separated the shore from the trees, Snape observed your clothes. This was perhaps the first time you had worn a coat that wasn’t somewhere on the greyscale. It was a deep taupe color. He supposed earthy colors suited you just as well.

 

Tsk. No umbrella in sight.

 

“Tell me, what has motivated you to attack me with such feeble magic?” he drawled mockingly as he accio’d the shells and bucket righted themselves back up.

 

“Just my way of saying ‘hi.’ I didn’t quite believe Hagrid when he said that you were out here in the rain willingly. ” 

 

Snape snorted, returning to his attempt at untangling the net but was having no such luck. He could feel his frustration rising, his fingertips not having the right grip on the tight knots.

 

“Lend me your fingers,” Snape ordered.

 

You approached him, tilting your head at the strange way the net had been bunched up in his hands when you noticed the tangles and small chunks of coral wrapped amongst it. “Need someone with longer fingernails, hm?” you remarked as he handed off the section of netting to you. He only grunted mildly in response, his eyes flitting once more over your mask. 

 

“Were you brewing something out here?”

 

“No,” you replied, knowing he was asking because of your covered face as you loosened a fat knot. “The rainwater can irritate my eyes sometimes and our house is stingy about lending Quidditch goggles.” The net had slackened more and with a drawn-out pull, the biggest of the few knots was no more, coral plopping to the ground. You made light work of the other knots, though their size initially made it a little bit more difficult to get a good grip on its tightness.

 

“There we are,” you shook the rest of the kinks out before handing the net back to him. Ooh! A dark purple stone just barely submerged in water caught your eye a few paces away. You knelt and plucked it from the sand, swiping away at the wet grains. Purple agate was rare. This one in particular had a lacey ribbon pattern of milkier purples. You’d give this one to Dumbeldore later. “Well then,” you pocketed the stone and began to walk away, “enjoy the rest of your collecting—”

 

“Not. So. Fast…” With a flick of his wand, the net receded back into the water, resetting itself accordingly as he charmed the bucket of Fire Crab shells to be feather-light in his grip. “I have a bone to pick with you, Miss.”

 

“Oh? What have I allegedly done this time?”

 

“I wish to discuss your recent paper submission.”

 

You smirked beneath the mask. “Ruh-roh. Wasn’t expecting any sort of conversation about it until at least Monday. What did you wish to know?”

 

Snape sneered. “Nice try, but if you think this conversation is going to take place out in the rain then you are sorely mistaken.” He lifted the bucket towards you. While you grasped the handle, you mentally prepared yourself for the roller coaster sensation that was apparating as he grabbed onto the umbrella, but no such thing occurred. Instead, he just looked at you intentively. You took the hint and shuffled closer to him so that the both of you were now beneath it and began to walk back towards the fields. 

 

***

 

You were still soaked head to toe when the two of you had made it back to the castle, one hand still gripping the bucket while the other insulated the pocket filled with rockets so that they didn’t clack the whole way. There weren’t many students, but the ones that were walking about the castle were mostly from Hufflepuff, wanting to escape the increased dankness and chill that the storm had brought to the lower levels of the castle. Tom and two of his friends were walking opposite to you and Snape in one corridor. He was confused by the sight at first, but quickly put it together that it was you beneath the mask while his two friends were avoiding the professor’s gaze. He gave you a little wave. In return, you palmed a stone to his chest as he passed you by. Perplexed, he looked back at your figure and then at the object in his hands. It was a yellow, palm-sized stone with a veiny black pattern and orange flecks, somewhat reminiscent of a dragon scale. 

 

Of course, it was fucking freezing down in the dungeons. It was almost like you were being taken to Dracula’s lair when Professor Snape opened the door to his classroom and a clap of lightning lit up the dark space through the windows. 

 

“It would be wise to take that off, Miss L/N. You’re dripping,” he remarked, a little puddle forming beneath you as you set the bucket down on the nearest table across from his desk. Your hands rose and fiddled with the straps of the mask, making him roll his eyes with a huff as he crossed toward his office door. “I could not have been more clearly referring to your wet coat.”

 

Oh. Right. As you shrugged off your coat, laid it down so the rocks didn’t tumble out of the pocket, and removed your mask, you could make out shuffling sounds and a sudden whooshing before he emerged again, leaving his office door wide open. 

 

“So, what about my paper did you want…” You paused in rubbing out the weird creases around your lower jaw that the mask had left when he held the familiar vial of brown liquid with a firm stare. An amused puff of air escaped you as you stepped around the side of the table, took the vial from him, and swallowed the muddy-looking liquid. With how many of these you’ve consumed it was like drinking water. “...To talk about?” you finished, handing back the vial and taking a seat.

 

“Its premise.” He slowly paced around to his desk, taking a seat as he opened a top drawer to retrieve a parchment roll littered with doodles on the backside. “As well as other things. You took a surprisingly cynical stance, all things considered…”

 

“Lycanthropy isn’t all puppy dogs and rainbows. Well, maybe puppy dogs… I’m sure others were just as pessimistic.”

 

“On the contrary. No one else chose Wolfsbane.”

 

Well. That’s not really surprising, is it?

 

“Alright, so my stance was a bit negative. What about it? Do you disagree with it?”

He remained quiet for a moment, staring at you thoughtfully as he tugged off the little bit of string he had put on the roll to keep it temporarily rolled. “Do you really think Wolfsbane is useless?”

 

You made a sound that was half a scoff and half a laugh, your hand dipping into the pocket of your coat to pull out a rock to fidget with. “I did not call the Wolfsbane potion useless—”

 

“While Marcus Belby’s efforts in researching and manufacturing a feasible solution for the Wizarding World’s werewolf community should not go unappreciated, the Wolfsbane potion is not worth its supposed value in the presence of current alternative solutions that offer better financial flexibility and similar peace of mind to an already oppressed and underserved community; potions that render Wolfsbane obsolete until a permanent cure for lycanthropy is found.” He let the parchment half flop down in his grasp as he finished quoting your main thesis. “A rather polite way of calling it useless.”

 

“Okay, sure. Let’s go with that. I called it useless. And you’ve come to tell me that you take issue with that?”

 

“No,” he said softly. “I am suspicious as to how you’ve managed to pull your supporting evidence out of thin air to support such a premise. The sources you’ve cited from the library do not touch on using Draught of Living Death and Wiggenweld as a substitute. That being the case, in any other person's eyes it would read as entirely assumptive.”

 

“Oh.” You straightened up, patting your palms against the table. “Yeah, there isn’t much information to work with in the Library about Wolfsbane and lycanthropy, so I reached out to another source, but I didn’t know how to go about citing a letter.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. “A letter?”

 

“Mhm. There was a man that I met at the Malfoy’s New Year’s Eve Party. Jasper Greenford. An older guy. He’s a part of a research team for the Ministry looking into improving Wolfsbane. I took a shot at sending him a letter explaining my stance on Wolfsbane for this assignment and thankfully he responded. I can show it to you if you want.”

 

The name was vaguely familiar. He didn’t interact with the man personally, but the name was mentioned a few times when he corresponded with his old professor Horace Slughorn in the past. He believed Slughorn and Greenford were friends. Now that he thought about it, Slughorn could’ve been at that party and he might not have even known about it.

 

“If you’d please.”

 

You smiled lightly, murmuring a “be right back” as you abandoned your stool and walked out of the classroom, your footsteps echoing into the distance.

 

Snape exhaled slowly and rolled his shoulders as he finally felt the temperature change in the room, the heat of the fire slowly expanding out through his office. The top right corner of your paper had grown thin and flimsy with ink, almost entirely black with chicken-scratch lines as he had written a single letter, crossed it out, and repeated. Honestly, he had no idea what grade to give you. Reading your thesis nearly had him jumping out of his chair in indignation until he reached each section that explained your thought process reason by reason. He had calmed down then. It’s not that he necessarily disagreed, but he was a little miffed when he initially read it as he had done his own research to improve Wolfsbane in the past.

 

There was another flash of lightning and something glinted near your coat that caught his attention. He squinted at the small, shining object that stood out from the wooden surface. Was that a rock?

 

“Accio rock,” Snape chanted. The rock flew towards him but so did many other rocks that were kept in your coat pocket. His surprise made him cancel out the spell mid-air and they all came tumbling out onto the floor in a clatter. He huffed to himself, standing up and swishing his wand so that they regathered into a pile on the table. His eyes roamed over them as he approached. They were of varying shapes and sizes, some half the length of his pinky, a few as big as his palm. There must’ve been a little over twenty of them, each of them possessing vibrant colors and interesting patterns. He picked up a random one that resembled swirling molten lava. They were all quite pretty.

 

He examined a few more of them curiously before slipping all but the one he noticed back into the pocket of your coat, sitting the first rock in its original place before returning to his desk and passing the time by looking at all the doodles on your paper. 

 

A few more minutes later you had returned the letter in hand. You could feel the temperature difference in the air now. That whooshing earlier must’ve been him lighting the fireplace in his office. After handing him the letter, you settled back down at your seat, rolling your sweater sleeves up so that your forearms bask in the warm glow, and begin to passively sort and fidget with your rocks.

 

Snape flipped open the folded-over half of the letter and began to read.

 

Dear [Your Full Name],

 

In all my years of doing potion research for the Ministry of Magic, I’ve never had a student or heard from my colleagues about having students reach out for information for a potion assignment for Hogwarts. I commend you for taking the extra step with your current Potions assignment, especially for a new and precarious potion such as Wolfsbane. Your thesis is quite bold. I’d proclaim it myself in agreement, but alas, I’m not as brave as you it seems. Unfortunately, I cannot answer your questions in as much detail as I’d like due to non-disclosure agreements, but I can provide you with some harmless technical answers.

There are a few potions that we use in tandem with Wolfsbane when we run tests with monthly volunteers who suffer from lycanthropy since it is unknown whether the eventual cure will be a single potion or a combination of multiple. For example, there have been attempts, that have since been published, of reengineering the Animagus Potion to reverse the transformation process of a werewolf and combining it with the Wolfsbane potion. Other routes that are being explored involve the tweaking and combination of Memory Draughts, Polyjuice, Rudimentary Body Potions, Whit-Sharpening Potions, and Blood Replenishers, though that is more so my colleague's work rather than my own.

Regarding your question on whether sleeping draughts are known to affect lycanthropes pre or post-transformation, the answer is yes and no. Like how a giant’s blood makes them resistant to certain offensive spells, lycanthropes are resistant to the longevity of some potions. Giving a lycanthrope an ordinary sleeping draught meant to knock them out for 8 hours will keep them subdued for only 2 hours post-transformation. However, giving a lycanthrope a sleeping draught post-transformation will not work at all. We only apply it as a precaution for subduing them should an actual test go awry, though I find it curious what sort of idea you have cooking up in your mind.

If you are ever interested in pursuing research in potions after you graduate, be on the lookout for internships advertised in the Prophet during the summer, specifically in July. I wish you luck with your assignment.

 

-Jasper Greenford. 

 

You had underlined a snippet regarding the effects of standard sleeping potions and had annotated around it with little phrases.

 

“Stronger draughts how effective?”

“Draught of Living Death?”

“DOLD knocks out + Wiggenweld wake up as temp alternative?”

 

Though still unproven publicly, it wasn’t a half-bad idea to assume that Draught of Living Death can keep them entirely unconscious after transforming. However, according to what you were arguing in your paper, your stance is that Wolfsbane’s ability to render the mind intact and limit transformation to that of a sleeping wolf is not worth the financial cost for the mental ease of being in a less severe form. That was where the subjectivity of your opinion came into play. Whether the cost of Wolfsbane was worth keeping one's sanity for the night and maintaining a more docile form in the presence of family members or if such things should be “toughed out” for a cheaper solution. Your stance, in short, is “No, it’s not worth it.” However, your idea would render the drinker unconscious throughout the whole process, which meant sanity would be no matter, but the drinker would still have to be isolated away from any family…

 

He flicked his eyes up to you to find you attempting to make little towers with the rocks.

 

“Lupin would think you are arrogant if he read this,” Snape commented. 

 

“I’d imagine so. Given that I myself am not a werewolf, I understand how having such an opinion on Wolfsbane may sound conceited, but I’m thinking in terms of the long run. Do you really think that spending upwards of 104,160 galleons on Wolfsbane potions is worth being able to cuddle up as a wolf for twelve nights a year rather than being chained up safely and unconscious under the Draught of Living Death?”

 

He snorted, an amused but curious look on his face. “And just where did you pull that number from?”

 

A challenging glint appeared in your eye as Snape was once again about to indulge in your nonsense, although this time your nonsense was proven mathematics. “Oh, you shouldn’t have said that Professor,” you smirked, making your way to the blackboard. Hearing no protest from your potions professor, you begin to write.

 

“The average wizarding lifespan is about 130 years old…” you wrote on the board, “And seven potions for each lunar moon cycle is 84 potions a year. For all intents and purposes let's use some variables. “Y” equals 130 minus the age a lycanthrope was bitten, which can be called “a.” “P” equals the average wolfsbane price, and “M” equals money.” The formula for crunching such a number would then be M = 84 x P x Y. You break that down slightly further and you would get M = 84 x P x (130 - a).”

 

You gave him a quick look and he seemed to be with you so far, giving you a light nod.

 

“Of course, the age one is bitten has a drastic effect on how much someone will have to spend in their lifetime on Wolfsbane, but I’ll use Lupin as an example. Lupin has the unfortunate position of being bitten as a child. He was six when it happened. Depending on the seller or region Wolfsbane can average between ten to fifteen galleons per potion. I’ll use ten for now. So plugging in those values you get M = 84 x 10 x (130-6) or M = 84 x 10 x 124. Take those calculations further and…” 

 

Your piece of chalk moved rapidly breaking down the multiplication and addition line by line. It was reminiscent of doing these calculations back home in American no-maj school. 

 

“...104,160 galleons (~$520,820USD/£404,953) That’s quite a bit of money, of course, this is assuming he has no future health issues and doesn’t kick the can early. Knowing that lycanthropes are often discriminated against when it comes to employment and are generally poorer as a result, I’d say that type of money in one’s lifetime is better off spent on things like supporting one’s family, buying groceries, etc. On top of that, a well-brewed Draught of Living Death is cheaper than Wolfsbane and a few drops are more powerful than entire bottles of standard sleeping draughts, meaning, one bottle of Living Death has the potential to last decades. So yes, if I am to be perceived as arrogant for thinking that Wolfsbane is not worth being able to safely cuddle up with one’s spouse at night, then so be it.”

 

You put the piece of chalk down with a quiet tap and tensed slightly at the way he was looking at you like he was staring deep in thought. His eyes flicked subtly back and forth between your no-maj calculations on the board before suddenly looking away, a noise coming from him that resembled a chuckle.

 

“No wonder Lucius likes you,” he said quietly.

 

“Tsch,” you tittered with a smile. Your hands rose to your face, your palms rubbing at your eyes as the fire’s warmth radiating from the office was beginning to make you feel fuzzy and sleepy. “Don’t get me wrong,” you stated, walking back to your seat. “I’m not saying those brewing sessions we had for Lupin are pointless, considering it’s on the school’s dime, but if he were in any other position…” You trailed off and stretched your arms out to the opposite side of the table closest to him like a cat, gripping the edge and feeling your shoulders crackle. “I assume that clarifies enough for you.” Your voice was muffled by the fact that your face was pressed down against the table. “So what’ll my grade be? An O? Double O? Triple?”

 

He could hear the smile in your voice. Since you head your head down, he allowed himself to smile too as he observed your form. “Well, look who's being arrogant now…” he teased. His smile, however, shifted into a frown when his eyes took notice of your right hand. Your fingers were really, really red.

 

“What’s wrong with your hand?” he questioned.

 

“Nothing’s wrong with my hand…” you mumbled against the wood.

 

There was a rustle of clothes and some footsteps and before you could put it together he was right in front of you, the smell of lavender hitting you as you felt a careful grasp on your wrist that lifted your hand up and off from the edge of the table. You lifted your head so that it rested on your forearm and looked to find Professor Snape looking at you with a stern expression, holding your wrist at an angle so that the fronts of your fingers were facing you. The skin on your fingers from your base knuckles to your middle knuckles was red with inflammation.

 

As a result, the fine-line scars that remained imperceptible every day were now raised and obtrusive.

 

You kept your expression unchanging despite feeling a bolt of anxiety run down your spine. “My hand is fine, Professor,” you insisted quietly once more.

 

Snape narrowed his eyes at you in restrained annoyance. “What were you doing out in the rain that has your hand marked and inflamed?”

 

“They are not from earlier and I was just picking up rocks and whatnot.”

 

“Then from what?”

 

Your lips pressed into a narrow line, your eyes flitting away down at the wooden surface of the table inches away. “They’re scars,” you murmured.

 

The crease between his eyebrows became more prominent, not from scowling but from concern as his expression shifted away from irritation to worry. You could feel the change in the air’s energy to something more loaded like you had when you felt the temperature change in the room.

 

“Scars,” he reiterated with a nonplussed edge in his voice.

 

“Yes. Old ones.”

 

He carefully adjusted his grip so that his left hand was holding your damaged hand, his fingers pressing into the flat of your palm and his thumb lightly setting on the back of your hand, while he added his right hand so his fingertips met yours, keeping your fingers only slightly arched. The sensation of the gesture was painfully alien to you…and weirdly intimate, so much so that you felt the need to nudge your forearm out so that it hid the lower half of your face, a subtle heat creeping up your neck.

 

“I have not once seen these scars on your hand since you’ve transferred to Hogwarts.” Snape proclaimed. His eyes darted over to your other hand but was relieved to find it was not inflamed nor marked. Your scars were roughly the same length and width as the natural wrinkles that present themselves on a person's knuckles. The scars crisscrossed over one another, occupying the space between the base and center knuckles of your fingers, but were especially concentrated directly on your knuckles.

 

“They aren’t—” You cleared your throat rid of the crack that threatened your voice. “They aren’t normally visible. They only get like this when my skin is irritated by something.”

 

“Are you absolutely sure you didn’t touch more than rocks?” he pressed to be sure. Redness and swelling like this can be more than irritation and can be acquired simply by brushing your hand along certain foliage. “Did you touch any leafy plants?”

 

“I…helped Professor Sprout trim some Alihotsy, but with gloves on. I did use some of her soap afterward. I think the fragrance just irritated my skin ‘s all.”

 

He pursed his lips. “Any pain?”

 

“I don’t feel much in those parts of my fingers. A bit of nerve damage,” you mumbled.

 

Snape glanced at you momentarily, perturbed, before returning his attention to your hand, his right fingertips abandoning yours, and placing only the pad of his right thumb just above the center knuckle of your index finger. “Do you feel that?”

 

“No. Just…pressure.”

 

He moved his thumb up higher more towards your base knuckle, but it was more of a sweeping motion, his pad grazing gently along the space between and causing the heat that was in your neck to suddenly shoot up all the way to the tips of your ears.

 

“What about here?” he asked again. You swallowed, thickly. “N-no.”

 

His thumb jumped to the neighboring knuckle of your middle finger and stoked over a scar that stood out amongst the others for being bolder and suddenly all the warmth in your head shifted to a chill, memories coming back to you from Ilvermorny. 

 

You were frustrated beyond belief with your circumstances then, the school rules and environment being quite restrictive on the way you had lived prior to then. Your upbringing and tendencies lead you to be more isolated, and as a result, you have no friends. No support system. Only yourself to wrestle with the swirling mix of indignation, misery, and teenage hormones raging inside of you. It made you lash out more often than you cared to admit. Not just at people. You tried not to toward people as much as you could help it. On especially rough days you’d retreat to a bathroom somewhere in private to attempt to calm your heavy thoughts. They were loud too. So loud. And to dissuade those thoughts you had found a way to distract yourself.

 

The sadness and tears that seemed stoppered inside of you would finally flow when you were done with the mirrors, your fists throbbing like hell and blood dribbling into the sinks. Resembling spiderwebs or a mosaic in a church window, the mirrors were splintered and cracked in all sorts of directions, some pieces tinkling out of the frame and into the bowls in front of you. Sometimes, little chipped-off pieces would get stuck in your hand and embed even further if you continued to connect your fist to the mirrors. Other times, a broken knuckle without many cuts would cause enough pain to placate you, but those instances had left more obvious scars, like the one your potions professor was currently touching.

 

“Nerve damage,” Snape thought to himself as he inspected the concentrated scarring on your knuckles. With the lines being as condensed as they were, he wondered what could have caused them to present themselves like this. The spacing was curious too. The knuckles were covered the most and some were twice as thick as the others. Were these caused by cuts? Intense labor? Impact injuries?

 

He muttered to himself, “What could you have possibly done to—”

 

You abruptly pulled your hand away from him and were on your feet before he could blink, the stool scraping harshly as you put more distance between the both of you despite the table already serving as somewhat of a barrier. A wave of nausea crashed through you, turning your face away as you felt your heartbeat anxiously beating away in your chest. You hadn’t talked about these self-harm scars to anyone but Dumbledore and you didn’t want to talk about them with anyone else. Not yet at least. This nauseous feeling was a different kind than when you were antsy about your Halloween crap. 

 

This was more like you wanted to curl up somewhere and hide away from the world.

 

Snape’s eyebrows had quirked in confusion when you suddenly withdrew from him, but his heart clenched when he saw the emotion on your face before it was mostly hidden by you turning away from him. You wore a twisted-up expression he had never seen on you before. Intense mortification mixed with panic. The hand he was needlessly examining was tucked against your torso as if to conceal it, your shoulders drawn up and tensed and your eyes glassy like you could cry. You were hiding. You were guarding. 

 

He had made you feel this way.

 

“I’m…sorry,” Snape spoke carefully as if you were made of delicate china. “I…didn’t mean to pry or…make you uncomfortable.”

 

The clench in your jaw was all too visible to him in your turned face, your gaze locked on the doorway, anywhere but him. He felt rooted to the spot, a heavy pit in his stomach as he watched you struggle to form words, your lips twitching like you wanted to say something, but failing as you stared on, breathing shakily as quietly as you could. He couldn’t get himself to say anymore, too rattled by your distressed reaction to think.

 

After what seemed like forever, you had slowly brought your hand up to your face, your palm obscuring your mouth and your fingers digging into your cheeks like you wanted to throw up. But it dropped soon after as you quietly stepped back toward the table and grabbed your mask and your coat, one of the stones tumbling out of it and clacking onto the floor, but didn’t bother to check or pick it up, instead briskly walking out of the classroom and into the chilling dungeon corridors.

 

A heavy silence fell over the potions classroom as Snape now stood alone, his eyes stuck on the doorway having witnessed your retreating form. Despite the warmth of the fire radiating from his office it now felt entirely cold in his classroom. The pit in his stomach gave way to a murkiness in his limbs that made his movements slow, his shoes scuffing against the floor as he trudged around to the other side of the table. The dazed contrite on his face remained unchanging when he found the stone that had fallen out of your coat. He picked it up, turning it over pensively in his hand. It was a beautiful stone made of Slytherin colors, except now, it had a partially chipped crack that ran through one side from the angle of impact with the ground. He squeezed his hand around the stone, letting it fall to his side as he closed his eyes and sighed to himself.

 

Severus, you fool.

Chapter 47: S'more Apologies

Summary:

As Spring continues to approach, Y/N makes plans for a classic muggle celebration with unexpected guests after a much-needed conversation.

S'more Apologies? Get it? Like "some more apologies"

I'll shut the fuck up now lol

Notes:

WOW 50,000 HITS! I'm so honored! 🥳

Another chapter! I've been BUSY! I started a new job and had to deal with the stress of getting a new place before my current lease expired. Once I've settled, I might hopefully get back to some sort of schedule, though that might not make the postings more frequent. Anyway, I LOVE all the comments you guys leave me. Though I may not respond to each one, I DO READ ALL OF THEM! You guys make me feel so supportive of my fanfic writing abilities. I hope you all are healthy and happy wherever you are.

The next TWO chapters were originally one, but it would've been 14k words and it's very much like the second/third Christmas chapter(s) so I decided to divvy it up in a similar manner, so it will be split into two parts :V We also get more Y/N lore ^_^ I know you guys are wanting more crumbs so I'm doing my best to give you guys snippets without affecting the pacing I have set in mind.

Also, Sprout is a certified hippy 😎

As each day passes and new seasons draw near, the world changes gradually, almost to a supernatural degree. Spring approaches like a tiger stalking its prey in a jungle. It’s quiet and creeps up on you slowly until it catches you off guard. It has ways of presenting itself in both the magical and non-magical parts of the world. The sun crosses above the Earth’s equator, moving from south to north, resulting in a slowly increasing amount of daylight in the northern hemisphere. One could walk outside their house and see flowers, perhaps closed up and dull in color only a few days before, opened in bloom, colorful petals absorbing some much-appreciated sunlight. Back home, the trees that lined your neighborhood would possess bright green leaves and bark that would still smell moist from the on-and-off showers, and bees and butterflies would make themselves more apparent flitting between the bobbing daisies and tulips that swayed slightly in the whisper-like wind. Families would go on walks through the parks after school, some still taking the opportunity to jump in the leftover rain puddles cradled by dips in the sidewalk. And the forests with their winding hiking trails were just…lovely.

 

Plenty happened in the Wizarding World according to folklore too. Spirits old and new would come out and play to bless the lands with their gifts. The mist would clear, grass would grow tall and saturated seemingly overnight, rain-fed bark and logs would sprout hordes of fungi, moss would crawl its way up into trees spreading like a viral infection, and lichens ranging from pale green to fiery warm tones speckled all over boulders and creeks rocks. Ostara, the Anglo-Saxon goddess rooted in Paganism, enriched the vegetation and forests with lushness and brought fertility, the hares who hopped at her feet assisted in leaving behind colorful eggs, a memento of her presence and an ode to new life. Fairies would leave behind their old clothes made of petals on the forest floors in favor of the newly bloomed flower petals that graced them. And the more mischievous ones would go about pranking any who appeared lost while wandering through the woods.

 

This wasn’t to say that the rain would be gone until summer. Scotland was notable for having bipolar weather, and as much as you welcomed the rain, you had been looking forward to this bit of time before spring break.

 

But boy, was it bright as fuck though.

 

“Miss L/N, do pay attention now,” a strict Scottish voice spoke, pulling you out of your reverie. Professor McGonagall eyed you sternly with her wand raised as she was about to give a demonstration for the class.

 

“Sorry, Professor McGonagall,” you said, tearing your eyes from the view of the window next to you. The professor pursed her lips before resuming the demonstration. “A standard test performed during your NEWTs is not only the complete transfiguration of one object into another but also to transfigure an inanimate object into something alive. We shall start small. Please take one king piece from the basket and pass it along to the next student.”

 

With a flick of her wand, two baskets floated to the opposite sides of the room containing dark, mahogany kings from a chess set. You took one as the basket was passed to you and handed off the basket blindly behind you, your gaze floating back to the brightened landscape outside. 

 

“With this lesson, you’ll be changing your royal pieces into rooks. Like so…” She removed a piece of her own from her robes, holding it out in one hand and raising her wand. “1…2…3.”

 

The royal chess piece morphed and grew into a rook, a dark feathered bird that was related to crows. It ruffled its feathers, perching quietly on Professor McGonagall’s wrist.

 

“The incantation for this spell is “Corvatio.” Now remember, two taps and a slight flick,” she motioned. “Begin.”

 

The classroom was filled with the sounds of repeated chanting and wood clattering from students accidentally knocking over their chess pieces. You slowly turned the chess piece over in your hand, your thumb running along the lines of the intricately carved wood. With a few taps and a flick of your wrist, you had turned the king piece into a rook piece. Strange how they just didn’t call it the castle considering its placement on the board and how it looked similar to a few towers at Hogwarts.

 

You wrapped your hand around it and placed your thumb along the ridged top, rocking it back and forth on the table as you floated away into your thoughts once more. The Spring Equinox was in a few days. There were plenty of ways to celebrate, both magically and non-magically. Fortunately, it landed on a day when you had classes that took up the afternoon, so you had switched up your original plans and would push your glade visit to then, and have a different celebration tonight.

 

“Miss L/N, have you done it or have you dawdled off to fairytale land again?”

 

You looked to the Transfiguration teacher who was standing right in front of you now, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow. In response, you simply opened your hand to her and showed her the rook piece. Her eyebrows pinched in sternness. “Now is not the time to be funny, Miss.”

 

You frowned. “ ‘M not being funny. This is a rook.”

 

“I can see that Miss, but the rook in my demonstration was clearly a bird.”

 

There was a magical humming noise next to you as your classmate succeeded in transforming their king into a rook. They beamed as the bird cocked their head and shifted in place, examining its new surroundings. 

 

“Much like Mr. Briar has done. Five points to Ravenclaw,” Professor McGonagall nodded.

 

“Oh—er—” you sat up straight, setting the chess piece down into place. You didn’t even know there was a bird called a rook. The “corv,” part of the incantation must be part of the Latin word Corvus. You tapped your wand two times on the chess piece’s head, flicked your wrist, and chanted, “Corvatio.” The chess piece first changed from dark brown to black before inflating and sprouting feathers until it was a proper rook bird cooing softly and blinking its beady eyes at you. You internally sighed in relief that you had got it done on the first try when you had been caught lollygagging, though Professor McGonagall simply huffed, shaking her head slightly and continuing her way around the room.

 

For the rest of the class, you let your mind wander while others continued attempting to transfigure their chess pieces. It had been a few days since that instance with Professor Snape about your hand scars. To say that it hadn’t been weighing on you was a lie. Truthfully, you were fine with it now. You had gotten over it that same night, actually. You were just thinking about how to go about addressing it or talking to him again. How you had suddenly left his class was because you were overwhelmed. You owed it to yourself to do what you felt was best for your mind at that moment and that was to step away. You knew he was sorry; there was no doubting the sincerity in his voice when you heard him apologize to you, but you hoped he understood why you departed abruptly. The trouble would be explaining this all without revealing too much personal information.

 

The bell towers thrummed, signaling students to pack up, some glumly as they only managed a half wood half feathery amalgamation.

 

“It is not like you to get distracted in my class, Miss L/N,” McGonagall commented, collecting the chess pieces and returning them to their baskets. Like Professor Snape, she was aware of your habit of being elsewhere sometimes when you got work done early but you had never let it affect your ability to pay attention during lessons. “And might I add that managing the spell on the first try is no excuse for not paying attention.”

 

You slung your bag over your shoulder. “Ah—yeah—Sorry. Again. I…It’s just sunny outside… It’s pretty.”

 

She made a sound that was a mix of a puff of amusement and a scoff. “And here I was to believe you’d be utterly devastated by such a change.”

 

***

 

The stone in Snape’s trouser pocket shifted as he sat down at the head table. He’d been carrying it around the past two days, meaning to give it back to you when he had the chance to speak with you… Whenever that was.

 

For Merlin’s sake.

 

Every time Snape thought back to that instance with your hand scars, which had been constantly since it had happened, he winced, the guilt hit him like a freight train. He was astounded at himself. He thought himself to be perceptive, but apparently, he is capable of being just as oblivious. There was no mistaking the quietness in your cadence when you informed him that the irritated lines on your hands were scars. Asking about something that apparently unnerved you just happened to be rotten luck, but that, the obvious change in your demeanor, should’ve been the first indication that he was venturing into a sensitive realm. 

 

And then he just had to touch you. Merlin, that was the worst thing he could have possibly done in that situation. On top of the fact that he wasn’t being observant enough to pick up on any of your discomfort, he didn’t even ask if he could look at your scars more closely. If the Amortentia incident didn’t make you think he was a touchy creep, surely this had surely gotten the job done. Why does his curiosity of you make him so damn impulsive? He tried to remind himself that you just needed space, as you had mentioned to him at the beginning of the month that having time to yourself helps you process. 

 

But that face you made was just… You looked tormented.

 

Granted, it had only been two days so far. It was Monday now, so the next time he’d be in required proximity to you was Advanced Potions. He had observed you in the moments that had passed since at meals, had even made eye contact with you a few times passing in the corridors and you hadn’t shied away in discomfort. You seemed fine now, but as he had learned, looks can be deceiving. All he could do was wait. 

 

Hagrid’s axe rocked slightly over your shoulder, your other hand shoved in your pocket as you casually paced into the Great Hall for lunch. You had abandoned your robe and tie for the time being since you had a free period after this meal anyway, leaving you in just your white shirt with the sleeves rolled to your elbows and your black uniform bottoms.

 

“What’s the axe for, Y/N?” H/G/N asked as you took a seat across from her, setting the large tool on the table with a thunk.

 

“I have a business meeting with a tree outside,” you quipped. She smiled lightly, surprised you didn’t make a joke about implied murder. You often made dark jokes like that when she first met you. At first, it was unsettling, but she had gathered you only responded in such a way for your own amusement.

 

While devouring some fish ‘n chips and roast beef with one hand, your other was busy compiling a list on a bit of parchment paper. It was a list of materials that you would need for tonight, some you had acquired already, some you’d need to arrange for onsite. Professor Sprout had gotten you the muggle treats you had requested: graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate bars. It had been almost a year since you had a s’more as you tended to be in the mood for them more during the summer. Other than these ingredients, you had a scented holly bomb ready, some herbicide spray, and some grass growth spray. When you were done chopping your wood, you’d need to move the logs, kindling, and some stones over to the location of your choosing.

 

“You’re up to something, aren’t you?” You could hear the teasing edge in her voice followed by a hand entering your vision as she abruptly slid the list out from underneath your pen causing an inky streak to appear across the paper. You gave her a “Really?” look as she scanned the half-crossed-out list you had made. 

 

“Are you going to make a bonfire?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I can?” you replied as if she’d just asked you what 2+2 is. “And Spring is just about here. A pre-celebration if you will.”

 

“Why not just have it on the actual starting date?”

 

You smirked knowingly to yourself. “I have other plans that day.”

 

“Wow, you really go around doing whatever you want, don’t you?”

 

“Pretty much, yeah.”

 

“Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, having an idea. “You should totally have a party!”

 

You snorted in amusement. “Yeah, no.”

 

“Nooooo c’mon! It’d be great! And we’ve all been so stressed with NEWTs.”

 

“I believe that’s what Spring Break is for. And besides, I don’t need everyone else’s carousing to ruin what could be a peaceful night for me.”

 

She pouted her bottom lip out before an ingratiating smile quickly flashed onto her face as she smoothly reached across the table and clasped your hand like she was your goddamn Prince Charming. The intimate-like touch made your arm involuntarily spasm in a way you could feel in your back.

 

“Y/N~”

 

“No.”

 

“Sharing is caring Y/N. Share with us your ability to remain virtually unaffected by NEWTs. I could just about turn into a dementor and inhale it out of you myself.” She squeezed your hand. “Please,” she simpered, batting her lashes at you. “Let’s do something nice for them, yeah? Just have a no-alcohol rule. I doubt most people are gonna wanna drink anyway given that it’s a Monday and some people have Astronomy tonight.”

 

You held her gaze for another moment or two before relinquishing with a muttered, “damn you and your long eyelashes—Fine. Go get the 7th-year female prefects from each house and meet me in this corner.” You cocked your head to the space not too far away from you.

 

Like a puppy, she grinned and bounded out of her seat and made her way to different tables while you hurriedly ate the rest of your food, cradled the axe over your shoulder once more, and stood in the corner. The girls turned in their seats, confused by H/G/N's approach, but went along with her request to follow her.

 

It was now the six of you, in a little cluster, some students looking on at you all in curiosity.

 

“I’m having a bonfire tonight,” you started matter-of-factly. “And H/G/N has convinced me to make it…open to the public.”

 

“A bonfire?” the Hufflepuff prefect asked. “Like with s’mores and everything?”

 

“What’s a s’more?” the, evidently, pure-blooded Slytherin prefect asked, to which the Hufflepuff prefect murmured, “I’ll explain it to you later.”

 

“Yes. There will be s’mores. However, I have rules, and if you don’t like them, too bad. First thing’s first, seventh years only. No younger years. This is for us graduates only. Secondly, no drinking. That goes in hand with the seventh-year rule. Most are old enough to drink, but it’s not a good look for me to allow those who haven’t quite turned seventeen to drink on top of the fact that y'all seem to think you are professional opera singers after one too many shots. Y'all get loud and annoying and I won’t have that. And finally…no boys.”

 

The Gryffindor prefect opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off. “I don’t care that you just got a boyfriend. No. Boys. Allowed. With Spring comes mother nature, fertility, and embracing divine femininity. I think a night for just us girls is called for. There needs to be more girlhood between the houses anyway. Besides, I swear I heard the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain ask if “girls put fertilizer in their bras to make their boobs grow bigger,” and I just…can’t with the boys right now.” You rubbed the bridge of your nose.

 

Professor Flitwick finally spoke up at the teacher’s table after watching your group for a few seconds. “Does anyone know what’s going on there?”

 

The teachers who had heard him all looked to where he was gesturing. In the far right corner of the room were you, the head girl, and the oldest female prefects. One or two of them kept looking back over their shoulders toward the tables, which made it look as though you all were conspiring something.

 

“I haven’t the foggiest idea, but if it involves Miss L/N I’m sure it’s something outlandish,” Professor Burbage remarked, returning to her salad.

 

Professor McGonagall pinched her lips in suspicion. Professor Sprout, who had been around the block when it came to summer muggle activities, had slowly put the pieces together in her head when you had asked for s’more ingredients, noting the axe on your shoulder, and chose to remain silent instead of voicing her theory. Dumbledore honed his focus on you, remaining unblinking for a brief moment as he received a short answer and an image of a blazing fire from you in his mind’s eye. “Whatever it is,” he stated with a veil of knowingness in his voice, “we’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

Professor Snape, however, was slightly panicking beneath his steely visage. Were you telling them about what happened two days ago? Warning them, perhaps? Advising them to never let them find themselves alone with the creepy potions master? Is that what you thought of him now? He watched as you spoke a few more words before they dispersed again to their seats.

 

And then you looked directly at him.

 

His fingers twitched around the fork in his hand, his eyes locked on to yours as you held his gaze for what seemed like forever but was only a moment or two. Your hand shifted on the lower part of the axe handle, slightly rocking the giant tool on your shoulder. Your expression was calm, stone-faced, and impossible to read. But then you made a gesture. You had nodded your head towards the wall, flicking your eyes to it and then back to him, lingering a second longer before exiting the Great Hall.

 

What was that? It looked as though you were referring to “outside.” You were purposeful with it too. Was that an “I’m going to go outside” gesture or “I want you to know where I’ll be?”

 

If the latter, did that mean you wished to speak with him?

 

Just in case the other teachers noted it, he continued to eat for a few more minutes, his mind mulling over the possibilities of your intention. He quietly shifted out of his seat, his fingers picking at the side of his trousers beneath his cloak as he paced around the student seating and out into the Great Hall, blindly following where his feet would take him. Soon, he found himself stepping out into the bright soon-to-be spring air, the smell of moist masonry drifting faintly about the air as the sun worked at drying out the rain-absorbed stone. Looking around the courtyard, he detected no sign of you, only the occasional student drifting in and out through the cloisters. Upon casting a tracking spell, the blue footsteps lead out through the exit of the courtyard and into the fields, seemingly curving around the edge of the wall.

 

Just as he stepped across the threshold, something swung out in front of him, the metal glinting sharply in the light. The smooth, blunt part of the metal blade that was wrapped around the thick, wooden axe handle pressed feather-lightly against his torso, discouraging him from taking another step further. His eyes trailed along the wood to your extended arm, your figure leaned against the gritty, chiseled stone.

 

“Hello,” you greeted mildly, lowering the tool away from his body and back down to your side. “I wish to speak with you.”

 

So that was your intention . Even though he had considered this, your directness had still caught him off guard and he found himself unsure of what to say at the moment, and pivoted slightly.

 

“Why are you out here?” he questioned softly.

 

“I have a free period. And I need wood.” You bit the inside of your cheek slightly, turning your gaze out towards the green landscape, rubbing the skin of your forehead with your free hand. “About two days ago…” The axe twirled in your grip, an indication of your creeping uncertainty. Snape grimaced internally every time the side of the blade swiped or thumped against your slack-clad calves.

 

“Put the axe down, Miss. You’ll accidentally cut your leg.”

 

You obliged, resting the axe against the stone wall, and tapping the tips of your fingers against the uneven crevices behind you, trying to find the right words to explain your thoughts. “The thing in your potion classroom…with my scars…I…” Your lips twitched, struggling to string an explanation together that had the desired effect.

 

“...I am sorry,” Snape murmured calmly. “If I caused you any distress—”

 

“It’s not like that,” you replied quickly with minute frustration. “It’s not your fault. I mean…it was slightly you, but it’s not what you might think.” You took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “Those scars on my hand are from a…less positive time in my life. I’ve only ever spoken to Dumbledore about them, so to talk about them so suddenly… It caught me off guard. I’ve found that I don’t like to speak of them…” You thumbed along the middle knuckle of your right hand. “It brought up old memories and…feelings. I got overwhelmed…so I left. I don’t blame you though. You didn’t know.”

 

He was silent for a moment, carefully processing your explanation. “That may be so, but there was still no excuse for me to…examine them out of curiosity,” Snape stated with quiet conviction.

 

You shrugged as nonchalantly as you could. “It’s alright. You’ve touched my head scars plenty. It was more so the fact that it was these ones, but…” You cleared your throat. “But yeah—anyways—I…I thought you deserved an explanation and I didn’t want things to be weird later in class.” You picked up the axe once more and pretended to knight him from a distance in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I hereby release you of your guilt.” 

 

Even though he knew you were just trying to be amusing, he did feel the tension in his shoulders fade away at having this issue resolved as he too was also thinking about how he would’ve navigated Advanced Potions later today. Frankly, he was surprised about how direct you were being about this. Any mess he had gotten into with a friend or a coworker was always so awkward and drawn out. After a few moments of silence, he simply sighed. “Very well,” he replied and remembered the stone in his pocket. He fished it from his pocket and held it out to you. “You left this behind in my classroom upon your sudden departure.”

 

The lustrous stone of green black and silver that you had noted being absent from your rock haul count that day sat in the center. It was a bit of a shame that it had a crack in it now as you had heard it hit the floor when you rushed out of his classroom, but it was still quite beautiful.

 

“Keep it,” you said as you retrieved a small vial from your pants pocket, popped the cork off with your thumb, and tossed back the teal liquid. Your tongue darted out quickly to swipe away the excess drops on your lips. When you saw that he was looking at you somewhat strangely you half side-stepped toward him and pushed at the tip of his hand with your own, moving it back towards him. “Keep it. They are not all for me. I give ‘em out to people I like.”

 

People I like. Those three words echoed welcomingly in his head. 

 

You exhaled, rolling your head side to side and gripping the axe with both hands as you felt the potion work its magic. The sleeves of your shirt and the part that covered the backs of your shoulders filled out a bit more, the fabric stretched taut as the Strengthening Solution made you physically stronger.

 

“What are you and those prefects planning?” he asked, having noticed the change in your arms with narrowed eyes.

 

“I’d tell you…” You looked at your watch and smirked. “But it appears your Potions class has started.” You showed him the time displayed on your wrist. “However, I’ll leave you with this departing hint. It is not entirely dissimilar to what I demonstrated to you on Christmas. Only this time, no boys allowed, so sorry in advance.” 

 

He scoffed, taking out his wand and preparing for apparition. “I have no desire to attend your juvenile affair.”

 

I hAvE nO deSiRe To AtTeNd YoUr Ju—Okay, Batman. “Said the pot to the kettle,” you retorted lightly. His eyes only flashed at you warningly before he disappeared with a crack.

 

The students in the Potions classroom nearly jumped out of their seats when a loud pop sound filled the room and their professor was now standing before them in a blink of an eye.

 

“Open your books to page 129.”

 

***

 

With the air cleared between you and Snape, Advanced Potions went much better than you had anticipated this morning. The anxious stiffness Snape had felt this morning waking up had vanished as did your nagging thoughts about explaining the nature of your leaving that day. The both of you were more at ease now as he lectured on improving the potency of Owl Tonic and before you knew it the class was over. 

 

Now, you sat in the Great Hall eating the last little bit of your dinner, feeling eyes on you from all around the room, but not the bad kind. They were trying to be discreet, but the anticipation was getting the best of them. The prefects had done their job, informing the other seventh-year girls from each house about the bonfire, and you could only hope they also kept this information from the boys or any other younger years. It was to start around sunset and since you were the only person who knew where it was set up, so the idea was that they had to wait on you.

 

The strange energy in the air was palpable to most, teachers included. They, along with the other students could sense a sort of buzzing excitement lingering about the air, and the teachers noted that the older girls in particular were acting like angels, not a single detention given out to them.

 

The quiet tap of your fork being set down on the table was like the snapping of a twig in the forest if the other seventh-year girls were a herd of innocent deer. H/G/N bit back a smile when you got up your seat and walked out of the Great Hall at a seemingly leisure pace. Once you rounded the doorway she got up and exited as well.

 

A moment later, so did two other girls.

 

Then four.

 

Then eight.

 

The quickness in how parts of each house table were abandoned, leaving gaps in the student body, perplexed the seventh-year boys and the younger students as the girls trotted after one another. As instructed, while you went to change out of your school uniforms, the other seventh-year girls went to do the same, also gathering their own stashed snacks, blankets, pillows to sit on, and other miscellaneous items. 

 

The bonfire site was quite a way out into the fields but still visible from a few towers when lit. You had many logs arranged into a medium-high stack, stopping at around the height of your stomach. While you double-checked to make sure everything was set up properly, H/G/N launched red sparks high into the air so that the other girls knew where to find the site. They started showing up in their long pajamas or sweatpants with a jumper on and armfuls of goodies. As you got the kindling going, they claimed their spots around the large fire, not crossing the ring of stones you had set up around the burning wood for safety reasons. This ring also served as a border for the spell you had applied so the fire’s smoke wouldn’t billow inconveniently into people’s faces.

 

An amplification spell on your walkman allowed you to play music louder without sacrificing quality. It was a new cassette that you had gotten from the last time you went home that had purely instrumental music without any singing. In the regular world, music had been going through a sort of renaissance phase. Different realms of instruments were being explored. You found yourself drawn to different subgenres, and you felt this had hit the particular vibe you were trying to curate.

 

“Alright, listen up,” you said loudly, getting the attention of all the girls who surrounded the bonfire, some still arranging their spot, some fully splayed out on their blankets. “So you are all aware, this was originally supposed to be a private ordeal for me, but I was convinced otherwise. However, I have one more condition to impose on you all, so do me the decency of respecting it. With everyone here being from different houses, I am painfully aware that some of you do not hold each other in high regard, whether it be to houses or simply just not liking each other. With that being said…” your wand shicked out from your sleeve and you made a show of balancing it on the tip of your finger. “If I see or catch wind of anyone talking shit about anyone else present with us tonight, I will have my runespoor drag you by the ankles and toss you into the lake, so put whatever petty bullshit you may harbor for anyone aside and enjoy each other’s company. Capiche?”

 

They all nodded, some mumbling “Uh-huh.”

 

“Good.” You accio’d two bags of marshmallows to yourself, the label proclaiming Mega-Jumbo size, and each being as big as your torso. “Let’s make some s’mores.”

 

The fire roared away as things officially kicked off. Everyone had settled in and got cozy, little groups already forming and many sitting close to the stones to get their marshmallows on the ends of their sticks as close as possible. Many of the wizard-native students, purebloods or half-bloods who lived in the wizarding world with little to no muggle experience or influence, watched you closely as you made yourself a s’more, getting the marshmallow a nice golden brown. A few marshmallows caught on fire, resulting in urgent attempts at blowing out the flame and fits of laughter. It was a new experience for them, and you supposed the blissful expressions on their face when they bit into their crafted treat was enjoyable to see.

 

Bags of candy and chips made their way around, allowing anyone to indulge in a variety of sweet ‘n salty, savory, or fruity flavors. Face masks were applied and nail polish colors were borrowed, some painting house colors or going off a friend's recommendation. Muggle-born students with more experience volunteered to make the gooey treat for those still struggling. The arrangement of blankets allowed people to sit near familiar faces and wave bashfully to new connections. These simple actions fostered a convivial atmosphere and brought the opportunity for new friendships to be formed as the first twinkling star appeared in the night sky.

 

There was a moment when you had zoned out slightly only to be snapped back to reality by fingers combing through your scalp. H/G/N had settled into a cross-legged position behind you, wordlessly separating your hair into sections. A girl came and sat behind her, and another, and another, and before you knew it a braid train of nine girls with you at the front had started.

 

“Thank you for doing this Y/N,” H/G/N said softly as she began to french braid your hair down the middle. “I know you would’ve preferred to be alone. And I’m sorry if it seemed like I badgered you into it.”

 

“No worries.” You stabbed another marshmallow on the end of your stick. “I’m just not used to hanging out with so many people.”

 

“What do you mean? You’re out and about the common room all the time in the evenings."

 

“I mean in a…friendly manner.”

 

“You didn’t have a lot of friends before Hogwarts?”

 

“I was not fond of my time at Ilvermorny and kept to myself. Before that, my upbringing didn’t really allow me to make any meaningful friendships…except one.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry…” she replied sympathetically, not wanting to pry. 

 

“At the same time, I can be easily vexed by people.”

 

“Now that I definitely believe.” Her fingers grabbed and twisted more of your hair. “You and I haven’t interacted that much since you came to Hogwarts, but…I do think you are an interesting person. It’s a shame I didn’t get to know you sooner. I would like to consider you a friend, but I get that my being younger and having power over you makes it weird. And that I don’t really know anything about you.”

 

“That doesn’t bother me.”

 

“Really? So…we can be friends?

 

“Even though we’ll be in different places in a few months, sure,” you murmured.

 

“Good!” She gave you a few appreciative scalp scratches in return before continuing her braiding.

 

As the night progressed and more stars revealed themselves in the darkened sky, so did the fun. Everyone had some sort of flower tucked or twisted into their hair or dawned entire crowns. A human pyramid was attempted and games like truth or dare started. Some unfortunate truths did however lead to more probing or clarifying questions, then to off-tangent conversations about relationships, and finally full-on crying sessions in which someone realized their partner wasn’t as good or supportive as their lovesick, rose-colored glasses made them out to be. Those few girls were promptly burritoed in blankets and consoled by hand-feeding them gummies and giving them hugs. 

 

Students who were not invited, more specifically the seventh-year boys, watched enviously from the towers or the border of the courtyard the wholesome party that had been taking place in the fields. A few braver ones attempted to gatecrash, even offering some of the girls to come back to the common room to indulge in some firewhiskey they had, however, it did not help when they remarked that few select girls were “more fun after they’ve had a few.” The implication caused a collective “fuck off” to be spat back at them and they left grumbling in bitterness.

 

“Y/N, Truth or Dare!” a girl called to you.

 

“I think the fact that I am occupied at the moment makes me exempt from dares, don’t you think?” You tipped your head, referring to the girl who was currently painting your nails an alternating pattern of black and purple.

 

“Alright then. Mmmm… What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

 

You cringed to yourself as a memory came to mind, one from your no-maj schooling years. “Oh god,” you muttered, a wry smile of self-contempt splitting on your face. “Okay… This one time in junior high I did a guy’s homework because I had a crush on him. When I asked if he wanted to go to the movies, he told me that he didn’t even like girls.” You covered your face, laughing to yourself.

 

“Oh my god, I’ve totally been there,” a muggle-born student sat up from her lying-down position. “Not the gay part, but doing something like that for someone because you have a crush on them only to be rejected. But wait, you went to junior high?”

 

“What’s junior high?” a pureblooded girl asked.

 

“It’s a type of secondary school in the no-maj world. I wanted to do a few years before I officially started wizarding school, hence my age difference.”

 

“Oh, that’s right…I keep forgetting you live in the muggle world. Isn’t it weird for you? You’re so talented with magic but you can’t use it out in public in the muggle world. Doesn’t that bother you?

 

“No, not really. I barely consider myself to be a witch in the passing moments of the day. I grew up a no-maj and don’t see myself giving up that part of my life for anything.”

 

“So when we graduate are you going to…disappear into the muggle world?”

 

“Disappear? No. I’ll certainly keep living there but…I don’t often find myself needing to venture into the wizarding world for anything except books or potion ingredients. Otherwise…I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it much…” The girl who was doing your nails pulled away and capped the small bottles. You flexed your fingers, feeling the dried polish that occupied every speck of space on your nails. “Alright, my turn. Truth: what’s the grossest thing you’ve ever done?”

 

The girl who had called you for a truth gaped slightly like a fish and covered her face, a blush of embarrassment coming to her face. Those participating rocked in their seats in anticipation, urging her to fess up to her supposedly true and gross deed.

 

“Okay—okay!” she remarked, getting them to temporarily cease their jeering. “I can’t believe I am recounting this… When my brother and I first got our wands we were really excited, and naturally, got a bit mischievous with our magic. One day we were messing around and I meant to cast a charm on him, but it bounced off a mirror and hit me instead. For the next few hours after that I…I…”

 

“You what?”

 

“I threw up slugs!”

 

“Ugh!”

 

“Ew!”

 

“Well, wait,” you chimed in. “That doesn’t sound that bad. Slugs are pretty small.”

 

“Not these ones. They were almost as big as my hand! And so slimy!”

 

“EWWWWWW!!!” You all had rolled back on the blankets in fits of sympathetic laughter, the symphony of joyous sounds echoing into the night air.

***

 

“Professor Sprout?”

 

The potion master called out to the Herbology professor whose office he was walking to. Professor Sprout was standing in one of the corridors near her office, looking out a window with arms clasped behind her back and a distant smile as she stared on at the celebration.

 

“Hello, Severus,” she said, unmoving from the window.

 

Professor Snape approached curiously with a quiet stride. When he looked out the same window he could see a burning orange flicker in the distance somewhere amongst the now grassy fields.

 

His eyebrows came together. “Is there something burning out there?” 

 

“A bonfire, ” the Herbology teacher corrected. She heard the grumpy professor make a noise of disapproval and tutted right back at him. “Come now, Severus. Let the girls have this. They’re stressed. And Miss L/N is hosting it. Nothing will get out of hand.”

 

“It is not Miss L/N I don’t trust,” he muttered before narrowing his eyes at her. “Strange how you knew of this and decided not to bring it up at lunch when Fillius spoke up.”

 

“I only got the official details just before dinner, but I had a feeling it would be a bonfire. And I didn’t say anything because you and Minerva are such party poopers,” Sprout teased. “And I want at least my Hufflepuffs to enjoy themselves. It reminds me of my summers in the muggle world.”

 

“Yes, yes you’ve regaled us enough with your stories of flower crowns, rainbow shirts, and ‘magic cookies.’” 

 

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. “As I said. Party pooper. Nevertheless, I am glad she is doing this. She seems to have gotten better.”

 

Snape gave her a weird look, a thin hint of concern at the implications of the word ‘better.’” “What do you mean by that?”

 

“Don’t you remember what she was like during her first year here?”

 

No. “I don’t make it a point to memorize the progressing demeanors of every Slytherin,” he responded aloud instead.

 

Professor Sprout ignored his snark. “You’d think those Americans would be more boisterous and extroverted, but she was surprisingly quiet, especially for her age, and rather…solitary. I don’t think I ever saw her socialize with anyone outside of class and when she had to do partner work with the plants her interactions were as though someone were holding a wand to her throat and forcing her to do so. I kept a distant eye on her after she’d shown interest in volunteering to help with some messier tasks in the greenhouse every so often. I’d like to think it was due to the twins that she’s gotten better at being around people. Being sociable. Overall, she seems happier since then.” She dipped a hand into a hidden pocket and pulled out a shiny stone that fit inside her palm. “It’s nice to see her reveal the hidden gems of her personality.”

 

Snape looked down at the stone in her hand, inspecting its appearance. It was smooth and had more earthy and warm tones, sporting yellow, a sunset orange, brown, black, and white. Some parts of it were one solid color while others had random blotches and a cluster of swirling ribbons.

 

“She just walked up to me this morning, said nothing, gave it to me, and then immediately left,” Sprout chuckled. “Such a strange girl…”

 

He took a moment to debate the thought internally before he pulled out the stone he had still kept in his pocket throughout the day. Noticing the action, Professor Sprout looked down at his hand and gawked. “You received a stone as well?”

 

He raised an eyebrow at her as she gently picked up the stone from his hand, allowing her to examine it. “You find that hard to believe?”

 

“Well—yes! You’re not exactly Professor Popular. Honestly, I’m more surprised you kept it. ‘Thought you’d toss something like this, but it’s beautiful, Severus! The colors suit you.” When she turned it over she frowned at the sight of the crack. “Severus, did you drop it?”

 

“Yes,” he replied, feeling the strange need to lie about it. She grumbled lowly, muttering to the potions master about ‘needing to be more careful.’

 

“I’m still curious as to why she gave these out. It’s not as though I’ve done anything special for her.”

 

Snape remarked quietly, “...I was made aware that she gifts them to people that she...likes."

 

“Who said that?” She asked, placing the stone back in his hand.

 

“She did.”

 

“Really? Those were her exact words?” He only nodded. “Well then,” she hummed with a musing smile at the fact that someone liked the grouchy professor, “you learn something new every day.”

 

***

 

Sometime within the hour of curfew, you had announced the end of the bonfire. While they wished it could go on just a little longer, you wanted to give them time to gather their belongings and make the trek back to their respective common rooms before curfew took effect.

 

You made some s’more to go, sending a few to be delivered to the twins by a Gryffindor girl before officially putting out the fire and ‘reducto’ing’ the burned logs into ash that would eventually be scattered by the wind. Despite having placed a spell on the fire to prevent the smoke from billowing toward anyone, your clothes still smelled like smoke and firewood. An expected low ache from your earlier axe-swinging combined with the after-effects of Strengthening Solution finally made itself present in your triceps, but you’d just sleep it off.

 

You hummed to yourself and nodded quietly along to the music now playing through the headphones of your walkman, trailing some distance behind a group of Slytherin girls. A few teachers were out and about the ground floor, awaiting for the seventh years to return to their common rooms. Professor McGonagall was informed only a few minutes ago about what had been transpiring in the fields for the past few hours and expected to encounter drunk students. However, she was surprised to find that the students she had stopped to ask why they were all giggly and floaty was because they were simply that happy.

 

Snape and Sprout lingered about too, but only out of sheer curiosity and the fact that their students would be headed somewhat in the same direction anyway. “Thanks for not shutting us down, professors,” a few girls simpered in a fit of giggles toward the two house heads as they trotted down to the dungeons.

 

You ended up seeing Snape and Sprout before the two spotted you, prompting you to move your hand into the front pocket of your sweatshirt. When the three of you made eye contact you flicked the arm, sending two ready-made gooey s’mores their way with a Hovering Spell before winking at Sprout and continuing on your way to the dungeons.

 

“Thank you, Miss,” Professor Sprout called, plucking the treat out of the air and taking a hearty bite into it, pieces of graham cracker immediately crumbling onto the ground, despite her attempt at cradling any rogue crumbs with her other hand. “You’re not going to eat it, Severus?” she asked the man next to her who was scrutinizing the s’more with a scrunched-up expression as if you had just delivered him a dead rat.

 

“I…don’t even know what it is,” he said with scornful hesitance toward the treat.

“It’s a s’more. Marshmallow and chocolate between two graham crackers.”

 

Snape’s eyebrows furrowed. “Suh-more?”

 

“Yes. A classic muggle treat, though they're usually in season when people have campfires during the summer nights,” Sprout explained as if it were a plant.

 

A muggle treat. A “s’more.” He’s never had one before.

 

The Potions professor drew his wand out, using magic to rotate the s’more about in the air, inspecting its form at every angle and analyzing the way the ingredients were layered. Sprout rolled her eyes at that. “Honestly, Severus. It’s not poison. If you don’t want it, I’ll happily eat it for y—” Sprout couldn’t even get her hand close to it before he snatched it from the air away from her clutches, looking at her like a child refusing to share their favorite toy at a local playground before stalking off towards the dungeons himself.

 

The professor shook her head in humored nonplus, amused by the man's strange, vacillating demeanor.

 

Snape could still smell the faint scent of smoke wafting in the air from your path of travel as he strode past the entrance to the Slytherin common room toward his classroom. When the door to his office closed behind him, he carefully placed the stone on his desk right next to his reliable quill holder and other writing tools before removing the s’more under the concealment of his cloak. The treat seemed to have maintained its form, not dripping any melted chocolate on his way down as he observed the way the “marshmallows” squished and fused against the chocolate. He wasn’t much of a sweets person, and the fact that this was supposedly a staple muggle treat made him feel…off. He rarely indulged in the so-called “muggle culture.” Despite being a half-blood, his muggle childhood was a miserable time and the only muggle-related thing he had been fond of during that time would be taken from him at the young age of twenty-one.

 

Reluctantly, Snape lifted the s’more toward his mouth but remembered the mess Sprout made and accio'd a cauldron to hold under before biting into it a portion that would guarantee him an equal amount of cracker, marshmallow, and chocolate. It was a rich flavor that made his insides feel warm, the texture of the graham cracker and the combination of the chocolate and the marshmallow, an ingredient he was trying for the first time, blended together perfectly. He could see the appeal, roasting a marshmallow over a fire on a summer night where the air was just still and warm enough to not need a coat, squishing the ingredient between the cookie crackers and the contrastingly colored chocolate, laughing with a few select friends…

 

He’s really missed out on life. The last bite of the treat sat pinched between his fingers before he popped it in his mouth and swiped his hands clean of crumbs. 

 

But at least you gave him a taste of it.

 

 

Notes:

Sprout: if you don't want it Severus I’ll eat it for y-

Snape: NO. *slaps hand away* MINE >:C

Chapter 48: What Blooms in Spring - Part 1

Summary:

Reader celebrates the first day. Hopefully, an unfortunate wardrobe situation will not put a damper things...or maybe, it will add to a subtly smoldering fire.

Notes:

Hello everyone! I'm settling at my new job and have moved into my new place, so future chapter releases will have a more structured/scheduled release, though I cannot say for certain if it will affect the frequency of releases. This chapter and the next will be very similar to the second and third Christmas chapters :D

I love you silly gooses <3 Good luck to those who have or are starting school soon!

The back lawn of the school echoed with sounds of clamoring and laughter, a hotspot of leisure and mischievous activity as people you knew vaguely from classes and some a whole grade below you claimed their respective spots up against walls, on the grass or loitering about low-rise brick staircases. The underside of the bleachers of the baseball field that sat across the lawn was reserved for more illicit activities to occur within the given lunch period, where pictures cut out from playboys were exchanged, sweets were sold, and cigarettes were slipped. While the cafeteria was perfectly capable of hosting the entire student body for lunch in one sitting, the older kids, and those who preferred to take homemade lunches outside felt it was cooler to loiter about, especially when nosy staff were posted in the cafeteria to ensure no food fights were started. The groundskeeper who had duties within the area was to report anything out of hand, but everyone knew he didn’t give a shit.

 

You pushed through a set of heavy double doors, slipping by just enough before letting them slam back shut, the kid behind you grumbling at the inconvenience. The sun shined brightly, heating your warm-toned plaid shirt that slightly slipped off your shoulder, the tank top beneath, and the light-colored baggy jeans. It was an unusually hot start to spring, but you didn’t mind as a slight breeze was enough to cool you without needing to remove your long-sleeved layer. You spotted the familiar blonde head of hair, which was now sporting streaks of raspberry blue as of a few days earlier, and made your way over, tearing a handful of grass as you approached.

 

“Hey Mädchen,” you said, sprinkling the grass above her, a few pieces slipping down the collar of her shirt.

[ Hey girl,]

 

“Ack! Y/N!” Ada slapped the back of your calf before you sat beside her on a portion of the slanted, hill-like portion of the yard. She managed to shake out the pieces that tickled the skin of her back. “Du Schlampe, es ist auf meine Pizza gekommen!”

[You bitch, it got on my pizza!”]

 

“Sorry, sorry,” you laughed, pulling out a small packet of fruity candy and tossing it to her. “Here. Compensation.” She huffed, but nevertheless, pocketed the treat as you settled in and took your own lunch out from you bag; a PBJ sandwich, an apple, some chips and a juice box. “D’ja hear we have an assembly tomorrow during homeroom?”

 

“Vat about?”

 

“Some ‘Say No to Drugs’ stuff. Won’t do much good considering,” you gestured out to a gaggle of girls not so secretly clustering beneath the bleachers getting cigarettes from a boy who was probably selling them five bucks a pop.

 

“How did you do on ze math test?” she asked, picking a few blades of grass off her lunch.

 

You snorted. “Like you even have to ask. Easy peasy. What about you?”

 

“It vas alright I guess. I was more worried about yesterday’s homework. I didn’t get to turn it in zis morning.”

 

Your eyebrows scrunched together. “Whaddya mean? I watched you finish it yesterday in the library.”

 

“I…” she blushed, growing quiet and mumbling, “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

 

“Liar,” you replied, to which she only shrugged and shifted her gaze away, fingers picking at a loose thread on her pants. “Ada.” You put a hand on her knee and squeezed lightly. “Did someone take it again?”

 

She was silent, but it was confirmation anyway.

 

“Who?” you demanded, sitting up on your knees, ready to go after whoever it was.

 

“…Vivian…” Ada murmured.

 

“That bitch!” you exclaimed, shoving aside your lunch and leaping upwards. “Has she not learned her lesson?” Ada’s protests fell deaf on your ears as you surveillance the schoolyard, looking for the girl with long dark hair, almost always in a group with her three best friends, who were just about as xenophobic as she was. Your eyes caught on to said girls, standing about in a cluster facing away from you and admiring a group of boys who had breached puberty earlier than others and were making it a point to show off their thicker arms.

 

You strode across the lawn towards the group of girls, each step fuelled with rising anger that the grass might as well have caught aflame. As you got within feet of her you lunged out and roughly grabbed at her shoulder. “Vivian! What the hell is your pro—”

 

All the ambient noises of the schoolyard muted themselves as one by one students faded into non-existence. The girl you had so harshly turned to face you was not the girl from your past. The head of black hair had enveloped her clothes, becoming a dark cloak in a blink of an eye and instead of her irritating face was a red devil mask with horns protruding upwards just past the hem of the cloak. 

 

It was just the two of you now standing in the empty lawn, the both of you enveloped in total silence. 

 

“You…” A chilling fear gripped your chest as you took heavy steps backward, automatically feeling for the wand that you usually kept up… Up your sleeve? No. No, you… You leave it at home during…school. The masked figure kept a consistent distance of a couple of yards between the two of you, stepping forward as you stepped back. How’d she know what school you go to? How did she find you again?

 

…Again?  

 

You…already dealt with her. At…

 

Hogwarts. This…isn’t Hogwarts.

 

“This…” The masked figure stopped moving as you spoke once more, pausing some feet away from you. “This is not real.” You had gained enough lucidity to recognize the faults in this illusion of yours, this dreamed memory that had accidentally become a nightmare. “I-I’m fourteen! And you aren’t here!”

 

“Well, well, well!” two new voices proclaimed in unison. Two red-headed boys appeared from the corners of your vision, stepping out in front of you. They both dawned top hats, comically large bow ties, and two sleek, black walking sticks. They moved like it was a mirror act. “About time you figured it out, Y/N,” Fred and George said.

 

One boy raised his stick up, swiping it down from high above the head of the masked figure all the way down to the ground. The figure was no longer a masked person, but a floating red balloon, held in place by the weight of the cloak. The other boy put a guiding hand on your shoulder and held a long needle up to you, the point glinting maliciously in the light. They said nothing more, only smiling mischievously as the boy gently urged you forward until you were only inches away from the balloon. 

 

You slowly raised your weaponized hand up in the air as if it were a knife and brought it down hard on the buoyant balloon. There was a loud pop and confetti exploded in front of you, much more than the balloon could realistically hold. As your vision was fluttering colors of a rainbow, the surroundings of your dream darkened and blurred away as a distant alarm began to ring…

 

~

 

The hypnagogic colors of your vision cleared away as your eyes creaked open to the sound of your alarm chiming beside you. You blindly fumbled your hand out to smack the top of it, silencing it after a few attempts.

 

That was a weird ass dream. You tilted your head to your bedside stand where an empty bag of M&Ms lay flattened, the one you had consumed before bed. “I blame you for that,” you muttered to the round mascot, giving you a thumbs up from the corner of the wrapper. 

 

Why were the twins there? Oh. Right. You had been thinking about what to get for their birthday. How fitting that these pranksters were born on April Fool’s Day. 

 

You sighed, eyes flitting over to the date on your calendar, and scrambled up out of bed. It’s officially spring! Since you had only one afternoon class, and therefore no one to make sure you weren’t breaking any rules, you had extra time to fulfill your end of the bargain with Hagrid. For you see, you’d be visiting the glade for the first time in a while and after describing what it looked like to Hagrid, he asked to come along. 

 

You strolled happily to the halls this morning, an idle, light smile on your lips instead of the usual resting witch face. When you saw the back of the twins’ heads round a corner and walk in the same direction, you sped up your pace until you were practically skipping to them.

 

“Mmmmmwah!” You threw an arm around their shoulders and placed a smacking kiss on each of their heads. 

 

“Blimey, Y/N!” George gaped, flabbergasted by your sudden attack of affection, the both of them wrapping an arm around your back. It wasn’t common for you to initiate it towards them, especially in public and in such an enthusiastic manner. “What was that for?”

 

“Not that we’re complaining,” Fred added.

 

“It’s spring,” you smiled.

 

“Okay, and the sky is blue,” he responded. “Seriously, what’s up with you? You’re more chipper than usual.”

 

“It’s spring,” you reiterated. “I have special plans today. And…I had a dream. You two showed up and helped stop it from becoming a nightmare.”

 

“Now that’s more like it!” George proclaimed. “Why don’t you regale us with how your knights in shining armor helped you!”

 

They were interested in the fact that you had a dream about someone who you were friends with before them, asking you what Ada was like. Of course, they frowned when the dream transitioned to Abigail’s costumed appearance. It displeased them very much to hear that you were still having nightmares, and really, you hated the idea that the image of a fifteen-year-old girl was rattling you, however, they laughed at how you described them in your dream.

 

Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick seemed just as enthusiastic about the arrival of spring. 

 

In Charms, Professor Flitwick taught a lovely spell that summons a bundle of flowers paired with a spell that made the flowers ascend into the air before falling down while spinning gracefully. As each student garnered success with the spell more flowers filled the air, descending elegantly and spinning amusingly down to the ground, petals scattered about. The lesson actually gave you an idea for a future holly bomb.

 

The Mandrakes in Herbology had matured from their potting a few months back. In their fully developed state, they no longer screamed like babies, their expressions still remaining twisted and scrunched as they grumbled rather more like bitter old men being pulled from their dirt naps. And with it being the start of a spring, her greenhouses were prepped with all sorts of now-in-season foliage to work with for the remainder of the semester, the first of which you all got to treat was a fungus that secreted an oil used in medicinal potions.

 

Following lunch, Professor McGonagal’s afternoon lesson seemed to blow by. While you were doing your best to remain focused, she could see that something else clearly held your excitement as you shifted about your seat in anticipation and kept glancing out the window every now and then during the lecture. She could only guess what had you so enlivened this time, though your fleeting glances toward the window hinted that it had something to do with being outside. When the bell signaled the end of Transfiguration, you booked it out of the classroom, practically sprinting down the corridors despite the chiding protests of the portraits discouraging you from running on notoriously dusty stone. 

 

Amongst the bustling halls of students headed to their second or last afternoon class, you had successfully slipped your way through the door that led down to the kitchens without any wandering staff member eyes on you. For your excursion with Hagrid, you wanted to pack some food, unsure of how long the two of you would be there. The walk may work up your appetite, or, depending on the length of your trip, might miss part of dinner. In addition to packing some sandwiches, you were craving something sweet, something you’d get from the bakery. Something in season…like…

 

Strawberry almond scones? Yes. With a vanilla glaze, too.

 

You let out an unprecedented squeal of excitement as you rolled your sleeves up and got to work. With a flick of your wand, the wood fire oven roared to life, pre-heating itself in preparation for the doughy confections. The doors of the cabinets flew open as you rummaged around eagerly collecting various bowls, measuring tools, and whisks, arranging them quickly along the counters. You took stock of the ingredients in the food stores of the kitchen, nodding in satisfaction that there was more than enough for you to make use of. Let’s see… Strawberries, almonds, flour, sugar, milk, butter, salt, baking soda, eggs, vanilla extract, almond extract… Perfect!

 

You started with the dry ingredients, measuring out cups and tablespoons and tossing them into one large bowl before mixing them thoroughly with a wire whisk. Then, you moved on to the wet ingredients; eggs, butter, milk, extracts… The result was a thick, light yellow batter that resembled a pancake mix. A timer you had set ringed just as you had finished mixing the dry ingredients with the wet ones, smooshing a couple of strawberry chunks in each scone as you placed the doughy balls on a cooking sheet and sprinkled a generous amount of sliced almonds on top. You were going for a flaky outside and a moist inside, hoping that your preparation wouldn’t be for naught. 

 

While the scones baked in the fire, their exteriors slowly hardening and puffing upwards, you worked on finishing the glaze and making some simple sandwiches for you and Hagrid. You weren’t sure what he liked, so you stuck with a basic meat-layered arrangement with lettuce and cheese and some mini PB&J sandwiches for you. 

 

Thankfully, you had no major disturbances that interrupted your baking, aka, no teachers coming down to the kitchens to catch you trespassing. A Hufflepuff student did come in to grab some snacks, freezing up when they saw you in here, but the both of you silently made a zipped-lips motion and carried on with your tasks.

 

***

 

“No no no…!”

 

Your wardrobe, drawers, and chest were popped open, clothes flung and strewn about your room. On your bottom half was now a pair of outdoorsy shorts, but what of your top half? Your uniform button-up still. 

 

You were out of your regular shirts.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you gritted to yourself, throwing a shirt down you thought to be a t-shirt but was actually a pajama top and stomping out of your room. “Hey!” you said loudly to the other Slytherins loitering about the common room who didn’t have classes at the moment. “Did anyone else get their laundry back yet?”

 

“Nah,” a 7th-year boy said. “They're a bit behind right now. I’m still waiting on some of my clothes too.”

 

You sighed in frustration. These house elves… If only Dumbledore would just let you do your own laundry. You could have it done much faster.

 

“Looking for a specific shirt, Y/N?” H/G/N, who was curled up on the couch with a book, asked.

 

“More like any shirt. I’m out of regular ones.” 

 

“Seriously?” She put her book down and followed you into your room, chuckling at the mess you made. When she looked through the open doors of your wardrobe she smiled. “Y/N, you’ve got some perfectly good dresses right in front of you.”

 

“So?” you murmured, triple-checking another drawer.

 

She looked at you expectantly. “...So, wear one!”

 

“...No.”

 

“Wh—Y/N, what do you mean ‘no’?” she sputtered. “You need something to wear, well, here you are!” 

 

Your eyes flit open to a few spring and summer dresses you had hanging on a wooden bar within your wardrobe. “I don’t…make it a point to wear dresses,” you said quietly. “At least not until it’s hot enough.”

 

“I bet you look lovely in these! Oh! You should wear this one, especially if you’re going outside.” She pulled out a light-colored dress with flowers dotting all over it but scrunched her eyebrows when she saw the look of uncertainty on your face. “Oh, come on, what’s wrong with it? It’s perfect for today's weather. What, think you’ll flash someone?” she joked.

 

“Yes…” you muttered. That was one of those things you disliked about dresses. You didn’t like the drafty sensation of feeling exposed when wearing just underwear beneath a dress. One sweeping gust of wind and it was over. And you could never find the right kinds of shorts to wear beneath a dress without it feeling bulky around your hips or inadvertently giving you a wedgie.

 

She blinked at you, slightly confused. “Well, it’s plenty long. Plus, you’ve got shorts on.”

 

“I…” You looked down at your legs, your outdoor shorts stopping around mid-thigh. “I guess… ‘Just don’t like it if the shorts feel too bulky against the fabric underneath.”

 

“Well, you won’t know until you put it on!” She tossed the dress to you by the hanger and made a dismissive motion before turning around and staring passively at the wall to give you some privacy.

 

You sighed inwardly, unbuttoning your uniform shirt and tossing it on the bed. H/G/N shifted from side to side in anticipation as she heard the sounds of clothes rustling behind her and the utterance of a spell. Her ears perked when such sounds ceased and the room eventually fell silent. “Y/N? Do you have it on?”

 

“…Yes.”

 

She turned around and her eyes lit up at the sight of you. “I was right! Oh, Y/N, you do look lovely!”

 

She came up to your side slightly behind you as you examined yourself in the standing mirror. The dress fit you nicely, stopping somewhere past your knees. As you tugged at the fabric around your hips, you felt no irritating thickness or wedging between your legs that made your groin uncomfortable, the part of the dress that sat on top of the short’s waistband flowing out in a relaxed state while the portion just above your waist clung gently to you.

 

“It’s a bit of a shock, really," she giggled. “I think I’ve only ever seen you in a dress for the Yule Ball.” You only grunted in response as her eyes flicked over to a lidded basket you had set on your bed. “What do you have in there?” she asked, walking over to it.

 

“Food for when I’m outside,” you replied, adjusting the dress's neckline slightly. 

 

She took out a scone from the wrapped-up portion of the basket and bit into it. “Mmph! Is all of it for you? Seems a bit much considering dinner is in a few hours.” 

 

“For me and Hagrid. I’m helping him in the forest with something and we might get hungry.”

 

She pressed her lips together, a thought coming to mind as she restrained a smile. “Hm. I’d have thought it would be with someone else.” 

 

You frowned at her in the mirror. “Huh?”

 

“Nothing, nothing,” she smiled, snickering to herself as she flitted out of your room. 

 

After cleaning up the pandemonium of clothes around your room, you found some suitable shoes to wear outside. Did they match your dress? Not at all. They were brown, leather hiking boots, but they were very suitable for the type of walking you’d be doing today. Though you had a hair tie or two just in case, you let your hair remain down for now. Basket in hand and a travel sketchbook in the other, you strode out of your room, flaring your eyes at anyone who looked like they wanted to comment on your attire.

 

Classes were just about over now, or most at least. Students bustled about, some walking to the library for a few hours of study while some were set on returning to their common rooms for a bit. You could ignore the passing stares of students who caught a look at you, though most were preoccupied with their own thoughts of homework and whatnot to care much. Assuming Hagrid was still outside, your plan was to pitstop at his hut to pick him up, and then the two of you would make your way over to the glade. Just as you rounded a corner to get to the courtyard, your eyes widened and you threw yourself back against the wall.

 

Fuck.

 

Clustered by the nearest cloister entrance were at least four staff members; Professor Flitwick, Professor Burbage, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore. They seemed to be conversing casually, but their location could not have been any more inconvenient for you. You didn’t want them to see you in this… dress. Not that you were insecure about how you looked. No... But the idea of wearing such clothes in front of people who usually see you in sweatpants, jeans, or shorts made you irrationally apprehensive and bashful.

 

“Y/N?!” You heard two voices say and went pale. You looked off the side to see the twins gawking at you some paces away. 

 

You bit the inside of your cheek and backed away from them, inadvertently putting yourself in direct view of the teachers should they notice you, cheeks tinging, but they were on you, trotting towards you. They circled you, observing your attire from every angle as you accidentally let go of the basket, it thudding onto the ground.

 

“Y/N…you…You’re wearing a dress!” they exclaimed.

 

“I’m aware,” you gritted.

 

They stopped moving around you like vultures, observing your complexion and the overall feminine aura that now radiated from you. “Blimey, it looks smashing on you,” George said, and as if hypnotized to do so, they stepped forward and wrapped their arms around you, your own arms reflexively rising up and away.

 

“Wh—what—what are you doing? What is this for?” you questioned.

 

“I dunno,” Fred knitted his eyebrows, perplexed with himself as his head rested near the crook of your neck. “You just…look so nice. Feels like we need to hold you.”

 

You made a choked-up sputtering noise, growing more abashed with every second. Of course, it only worsened when you realized you were now in the teacher’s sights and they were all looking at you. Your fingers gripped tightly around the sketchbook with both hands, raising it up in an attempt to cover as much of your face as you could.

 

“Weasleys,” you heard Dumbledore’s voice say. The old wizard ambled over with his hands clasped behind his back. “Are you three up to something?”

 

“Nope, just saying ‘hello’ to Y/N,” they stated, peeling themselves away but still keeping an arm around your waist.

 

Dumbledore hummed. “Perhaps you should let Miss L/N carry on with her afternoon before Professor McGonagall sees you two being boisterous in the halls. She tells me you two were very chatty in her class this morning.”

 

They huffed, “Oh, alright,” and let you go, pinching your sides lightly and scampering away.

 

Dumbledore picked up your basket and tapped the corner of it lightly against you. You lowered the book a little so that your eyes were visible, taking the basket from him with a free hand. “What do you have in the basket, Y/N?” he asked with a gentle smile.

 

“Um…sa..ches ‘n…sco…” you mumbled. He looked into your averted eyes and saw flashes of you in the kitchens making some sandwiches and a batch of what he guessed to be strawberry scones. “For you and Hagrid, I presume. He mentioned the two of you had plans before dinner,” he said, ignoring the fact that you had snuck into the kitchens during classes.

 

You nodded against the book. Dumbledore smiled at your reticence. “I know you don’t want to hear it, Miss, but you do look very pretty.”

 

“Mnph,” you uttered, cheeks blazing. “Laundry day.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Do...you want a scone…?”

 

“No, but thank you.” He patted his stomach. “I haven’t the darndest idea why, but strawberries do not sit well with me. However, I’m sure Professor Flitwick would like one. His tooth is sweeter than even mine.” Dumbledore tapped your forearm encouragingly and gestured for you to come along.

 

Professor Flitwick’s face brightened as the two of you approached. “Oh, Y/N, you look lovely!”

 

“Indeed!” Professor Burbage agreed. “That dress suits you, dear!”

 

Aaaaand up goes the sketchbook again. Dumbledore snorted softly as you muttered to yourself. He translated your bashfulness for the other professors who nodded in understanding of your laundry predicament, but that didn’t stop them from encouraging you to wear more “lovely dresses” in the near future. 

 

“Might you all know where Hagrid is?” the Headmaster asked. “Miss L/N is supposed to meet with him for an excursion in the forest.”

 

“I believe I saw him returning to his hut not too long ago.” McGonagall frowned slightly. “Is it me or…does it smell like strawberries?”

 

“Ah, yes. Miss L/N packed some food for her and Hagrid. She made strawberry almond scones.” Dumbledore flipped open the lid of the half of the basket that was closest to him and offered Flitwick a scone.

 

“Now Miss,” Professor Flitwick started before biting into the scone. “You really shouldn’t be sneaking about the kitchens—” His expression softened the more he chewed. “Even though—my goodness—even though this is the best scone I’ve ever had! Did you really bake these yourself?”

 

“Mhm,” you replied quietly.

 

“Merlin! Whoever winds up marrying you will be one lucky person,” Flitwick chirped.

 

“Fillius…” the Headmaster exhaled softly, a slightly chiding look in his eyes as he watched you skitter off, book pressed flat to your face and ears red now.

 

“What? They are really good, Albus.”

 

“You two are incorrigible,” he looked between the Charms and the Muggle Studies teacher, shaking his head lightly and good-naturedly.

 

“Me?” Burbage pressed a hand to her chest, surprised. “What did I do?”

 

As the sounds of the bickering Professors faded away, new sounds filled your ears as you paced through the cloisters. Birds that were perched on various prongs and points of the castle architecture chirped, happily greeting the new season with joy, a few students laughing about and playing a game that resembled hacky-sack but with a fizzling spark instead, as well as the sounds of… scolding?

 

Across the other side of the courtyard by the opposite set of cloisters was the entirety of the Slytherin Quidditch team and one clad-in-black professor whose back was towards you. You could somewhat make out his chastising and based on the context, it sounded like Slytherin was indeed in the wrong for whatever transgression they committed. Something about a scheduling conflict.

 

When you reached the halfway point of the cloister, you decided to turn through an arching entrance into the courtyard and cut across diagonally to the main entrance out into the field. Deep down, however, part of it was motivated by nosiness in that you wanted to hear exactly how he was wringing them out as Snape rightfully punishing students from his house was considered to be rare.

 

“...that Hufflepuff has the pitch on Wednesdays after four. Must I send you back to primary school so you can learn how to interpret a clock, Mr. Urquhart?” he admonished.

 

You snickered to yourself at a volume the professor, thankfully, couldn’t hear before looking back out at the approaching fields, an anticipatory expression settling on your face. The boys, however, seeing you distantly move into their vision from behind their Head of House let their focus drift onto you, a few in surprise at your choice of clothing, some genuinely enthralled by your charming attire and serene aura as you strolled on your way out of the courtyard.

 

Snape noticed the way their gazes wandered nearly in sync with one another somewhere behind him. He looked over his shoulder briefly and rolled his eyes at the fact that their attention had been stolen by a girl in a dress. He used a spell, making their chins snap back to him at the same time as if a hand had forced them to do so. 

 

“Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”

 

“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled in response. Another slight movement of his wand and the spell released them. 

 

“Now go,” he dismissed sternly. The Quidditch players retreated in a pack the potion master sighed once more in disgruntlement. Bloody students can’t even remember a simple schedule. Hufflepuff had the field today, but the Slytherin team had forgotten and insisted that it was their time, resulting in a squabble and two broken Hufflepuff brooms. Completely his team’s fault. As he turned to head back inside, he curiously glanced out towards the fields where that student had passed through and choked on his breath.

 

Was that… you?

 

He could recognize the back of your head from across the Great Hall, but…surely that wasn’t you. The girl had stopped and turned sideways, providing a clear view of her profile. She leaned her upper half down, swiping gently at the tall grass that swayed imperceptibly, and let out a soft yelp of surprise when a small yellow butterfly flapped up and away, making her smile.

 

Snape could hear a record scratch in his head. It was you. 

 

A dress. You’re in a dress.

 

With the exception of the Yule Ball, he had never seen you wear muggle clothes that made you look so… feminine. He couldn’t stop his eyes from tracing you up and down, unconsciously committing this visual to memory. It was a simple, modest dress, the skin of your arms below the elbow, collarbones, and a small section of your legs all basking in the light. The color complimented you nicely.

 

And still, he found his ears to be burning. “For Merlin’s sake, you are no better than those teenage boys. Have some decorum, you fool.” He forced his gaze away to a tuft of grass growing between a bit of cobblestone on the ground, unwilling to let himself be flustered by a young woman who just happened to look rather nice in the spring light. “Who also just happens to be your student, too. And………friend,” he thought that last part extra quietly in his mind like a whisper from his conscience.

 

What were you doing out there anyway, a picnic basket crooked around your elbow headed in the direction of Hagrid’s Hut as you stayed on the path? With food in there perhaps? What were you thinking with dinner in only a few hours? His feet drew him towards you, but he resisted. He had no business with you out there, no significant reason to speak with you. 

 

…But… 

 

It’s not as though the business he had in his office was in immediate need of attention. He had one less class today, and therefore less to grade. He supposed he could ask what you were doing out here, though he imagined the answer was something perfectly reasonable and may just end up wasting his time.

 

Your eyes flit about the landscape pervaded with tall, green meadow grass. The fields were rich with wildflowers that bobbed and swayed when the bees dove in for some pollen before launching themselves over to the neighboring flower. The sky was streaked with bright white fluffy clouds that took on the shape of animals in your mind's eyes. Despite being the late afternoon, the moistness of the recent rains made your surroundings smell like early-morning dew. Your favorite tree was lush with new leaves and likely new inhabitants in the higher-up branches. 

 

“Miss L/N.”

 

The sound of his voice was light and calm in the spring air, gently pulling you from your dreamy appreciation of the fields around you. A part of you felt like hiding once more, but then you remembered that your Potions professor wasn’t like those other teachers. The man rarely complimented people and wouldn’t care enough to poke at you about today’s attire in such a way as the others had.

 

“Hello,” you greeted in a mellow tone.

 

The gentleness of your voice combined with your appearance made his mind go momentarily blank as he got a much better look at you, standing only a few yards away now. He could discern a dotted all-over pattern of tiny pink roses on the fabric and two stitched creases by your hips that he guessed to be convenient pockets. In your hand looked to be a small notebook, its cover a brown, aged leather with a portable writing tool strapped to it.

 

The soft smile on your face slowly dropped, a coil of apprehension manifesting and squirming around your insides. The look he was giving you… You could see the subtlest flicks of his pupils analyzing your outfit. It was like the twins when they saw you, though more reserved, but there was also something else. Something you couldn’t quite place. And that made you feel…weird. Not unpleasant, but…different. 

 

“Um…” Your sketchbook rose to cover your lower face and you shifted your eyes. “Is there something I can help you with?”

 

Snape quickly regained his thoughts, straightening up slightly. “...You look to be headed somewhere,” he simply said.

 

“I am… um… With today being the Spring Equinox, I thought it’d be fitting to see what the glade looks like now. I’m on my way to pick up Hagrid. He’ll be joining me.” 

 

Hagrid? He felt a juvenile sort of resentment flare in his center. Why Hagrid? “And just why is Hagrid accompanying you?” He took a small step toward you. You were sure it was nothing but you thought you were catching a bitter vibe from him.

 

“Well,” you slowly lowered the sketchbook. “I recently told Hagrid about the glade and after describing it to him, he believes that it may not be just a glade, but also an old dragon’s nest.”

 

“A dragon’s nest?” he repeated skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I mean… You have to admit that it’s rather strange for those giant boulders to conveniently surround the border of the glade and be not only almost the same size but also nearly the same distance from one another. But…even if his analysis confirms that the glade is just a glade, then it still would’ve been a nice walk,” you shrugged. “It’s my fulfillment of a deal I made with him for allowing the use of his axe.”

 

Snape subtly pursed his lips, glancing way into the distance toward the direction of its location.

 

“If you have time…” You started again, quietly. “You’re more than welcome to join us. After all that rain, there will no doubt be lots of plants and fungi about. Y’might find something useful for potions.”

 

He snapped his gaze back to you, his eyes narrowing a little in a calculated move meant to convey suspicion or resistance to the idea to disguise the gradually growing ball of buzzing interest that replaced the gnawing envy. Perhaps it worked a little too well, noting how you slightly shifted your weight back. “Fine,” he uttered, an unreadable mixture of coolness and urgency.

 

Your eyebrows raised in gentle surprise. Oh! “Alright,” you said, shifting the basket to your outer arm, making space for him on the path.

 

***

 

New in-season vegetables littered the groundkeeper's backyard, Buckbeak’s resting spot surrounded by bunches of broccoli, cabbages, and asparagus stalks amidst the bright green grass. Said hippogriff was sprawled out on his back in the middle of Hagrid’s backyard, surrounded by new in-season fruits and vegetables Though the air wasn’t warm enough for the hippogriff to be sunbathing like a cat, the freshly trimmed grass scratched wonderfully against the featherless half of his body. 

 

“Buckbeak!” you called to the hippogriff, who snapped his eyes open upon hearing your voice. He trilled in excitement seeing your presence by the wall, clambering up and tippy-tapping his way over to you. “Ohhhh, hi pretty bird,” you cooed as he squawked softly against your touch. The back door of Hagrid's Hut flew open, the hinges squeaking loudly. 

 

“Hello, Miss!” Hagrid greeted you enthusiastically, clomping down the small staircase with a heavy backpack strapped to him. “Oh, and it looks like you’ve brought a stray professor with ya,” Hagrid remarked playfully at the professor near you but still kept some distance away from the feathered creature.

 

“Afternoon,” Snape drawled.

 

“Are ya goin’ to be joinin’ us, Professor?”

 

“In the pursuit of potential potion ingredients, yes. Though, I have known about this location since winter,” he made it a point to add.

 

Hagrid’s eyes caught onto your attire. “I like yer dress, Miss,” he said earnestly, to which you grumbled “Laundry day,” flustered. “What’s in the backpack?” you asked, withdrawing from the hippogriff who became interested in a gopher trying to poke through the ground.

 

“Just some stuff ter help inspect the area. What ‘ave you got in tha’ basket?”

 

“Oh, I packed some food in case we got hungry,” you said softly. You lifted one end of the basket lid for him as he closed a small wooden gate behind him, the three of you no longer separated by a wall. “Just some sandwiches and scones.”

 

“Aye, tha’s real nice of ya, Miss!” he exclaimed, making your cheeks pink as he grabbed one of the hearty meat sandwiches and pocketed three scones. “Ya ready to head off?”

 

You simply nodded, and with that, the three of you began your journey toward the non-forbidden part of the forest.

Notes:

yeah i know, sorry for the cliffhanger 😭

Chapter 49: What Blooms in Spring - Part 2

Summary:

Part two of Snape, Hagrid, and Reader going into the forest.

(I renamed the chapter titles)

Notes:

HELP NOT SNAPE BEING JEALOUS OF HAGRID

Also more Reader lore!

 

I rewrote the confrontation scene in A Heart to Heart (Ch. 10) so go back and read it if you like! Also, I am currently in the process of rewriting "Miss Y/N" as "Miss L/N" instead. It's just a change in my writing preference now, though Y/N will still be used in referencing our first name in this story :D

Since you were leading, you remained some yards ahead of the two men on the path that bordered the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid didn’t say much as he ate his sandwich, his mind focused on the exact route you were taking as he never knew when he’d need to visit this place on his own in the future. He took these things seriously, knowing Hogwarts’s land, its residing creatures, its fauna, and how it changes during the seasons is something he takes pride in as the groundskeeper and Care for Magical Creatures professor. Plus, his mouth was full of delicious sandwich.

 

Though you confidently lead Hagrid and him along the tree line, Snape could sense a hint of apprehension from you, further supported by the fact that one of your hands was drumming lightly on the side of your leg. Your movements were a bit stiff since he started walking with you to Hagrid’s. You weren’t moving like this before he approached you. The only common denominator he could gauge was his and Hagrid’s added presence. He hoped he wasn’t somehow making you feel uncomfortable again, but if you didn’t want him here you wouldn’t have invited him. Right?

 

“Is there something off about her?” Snape murmured to the half-giant next to him, quietly enough that you wouldn’t have heard him. It took Hagrid a moment or so to realize that his colleague was speaking to him as Snape usually wasn’t one for small talk. “What do ya mean?” Hagrid replied just as quietly. 

 

“She seems discomfited.” Hearing the potion master’s take, he tried to confirm any signs, but the fact that you were some distance ahead of them and facing away didn’t help. He made a sort of contemplative grunt, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Snape.

 

“Maybe she’s…? What’s tha’ word… Y’know, when yer thinkin’ about yerself?”

 

Snape raised an eyebrow at Hagrid. “Self-conscious?” he offered.

 

“Yeah, tha’. Don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘er wearin’ a dress before an’ I don’t doubt she ran into other teachers on ‘er way over. Y’know how the other heads can be with their teasin’.”

 

Merlin, did he know it. Fillius and Minerva were the biggest culprits in that department, their self-proclaimed “light-hearted teasing and playful compliments” quite irksome to him. While Minerva was more reserved about it, Fillius enthusiastically did so with even the students. He’ll wring that man’s nonexistent neck if he said anything to make you feel bad about yourself.

 

The rest of the walk continued to be devoid of conversation, the natural sounds of the forest and the scuff of shoes filling in the silence. Hagrid noted the Quidditch Pitch was a good reference point in knowing where to divert off from the path when you stepped off of it a few minutes after passing it. It took you a moment or two, in which Hagrid and Snape were able to catch up with you, to discern the right tree, a thin layer of fuzzy green partially obscuring the carved arrow. 

 

Soft grass carpeted the forest floor, the trees standing tall and proud with lush branches and trunks streaked with varying shades of green moss. The slightly moist air smelled fresh and crisp, due in part to recent weather, but also the healthy tree growth. Almost everything around ranged from chartreuse to a deep pine green. Some branches twitched with movement, and squirrels and small birds were observing the three newcomers from above. Fallen logs and the lower portion of the ivy and moss-wrapped tree trunks down to the roots sported clusters of common mushrooms and tree fungi. You even saw a toadstool with an actual baby frog sitting on top of it. And amongst the grass, standing out against the light yellowish green color were sporadic patches of white flowers. It reminded you of…home. You could no longer contain the excitement bubbling within you since you had stepped off the path and into the tree line. It was all so pretty, the interesting textures of some foreign, some familiar fungi calling to you, the grass practically glowing in the soft late afternoon lighting, and the moss looking so very soft and fuzzy. You. Needed. To. Touch. Ev-er-y-thing.

 

So like a toddler in a toy store, you took off once more, bounding ahead of the two professors, running over to the first tree you set your sights on, and sliding your palms along the soft moss and leafy epiphytes. Hagrid and Snape blinked in surprise at the way you burst into a jog, approaching a tree and touching various parts of it before moving on to something else along the route, like a log or a rock. Though you stayed on the route, your constant running off and stopping made the distance between you and the professors fluctuate back and forth. 

 

“Don’t just touch everything so carelessly…!” Snape chided in a grumble, just barely loud enough for you to hear, but you elected to ignore him as you ran your hands all over the bulbous tops of some mushrooms that appeared to be growing out of the tree sideways. He wasn’t entirely sure what non-magical fungi in this area were poisonous or toxic

 

“Aye, let her be,” Hagrid smirked, coming to your defense. “If she does touch somethin’ bad, we’ve got the potion master here to heal ‘er,” the half-giant lightly nudged the man next to him. Snape huffed lowly to himself, though his softer emotions betrayed him. He watched as you ran to different trees or swiped your hand down low along the grass and flowers, approaching such simplicities of nature with enthusiasm, curiosity, and an unrestrained smile on your face— a smile that grew when your fingers grazed along something that had a particularly satisfying texture.

 

He found it difficult to take his eyes off you.

 

Spotting the second tree with the arrow, you patted it amicably, drawing a circle around the arrow with your wand and ridding it of moss. As you began to change directions, you faltered at the sight of what was ahead of you.

 

That’s quite a few rocks. You took some cautious steps forward before stopping altogether. Woah. That’s A LOT of rocks. 

 

Up ahead and nearby were many rocks and small boulders, most of them as high as your knees or hips, littered about the forest floor. Only a handful of the ones you could see in the vicinity had moss creeping up the sides. And oddly enough, they almost appeared dirty, or rather…stained. What were these doing here?

 

“Miss? Everythin’ alright?” Hagrid asked coming up on your left, Snape on your right.

 

“These rocks were not here before,” you said warily, gesturing to the plethora of stone that decorated the space ahead of you, stretching further into your route as well. It would not make walking the rest of the way forward impossible, but it wouldn’t be easy. The two men looked around at the scenery, their eyes gauging just how tall these rocks were, how clustered and scattered they were, the area more stoney than grassy. Snape noted the dark discoloration on the stones in comparison to the ones the three of you had already passed on the first half of your route. The trees in this particular area seemed to have a similar discoloration on the bottom of the trunks and he could observe that because the moss that would’ve been covering those sections looked like it had been stripped away.

 

“Mudslide,” the potion master affirmed. “A mudslide brought these rocks down from the mountains, evident by the staining on the trees.”

 

“I reckon yer right,” Hagrid nodded as you stepped to the nearest trees and rubbed your fingers against the stained tree trunks, a clear line showing the height of the mud nearly reaching your knees. You shuddered at the thought of ambling through the forest during the rainy days only to be swept away and buried alive. You guessed it was a good thing Snape warned you against going into the forest on your birthday.

 

“Are we goin’ to be able teh walk the rest ‘o the way? I wouldn’t want ye to break an ankle tryin’ to step over ‘n aroun’ these rocks, Miss. It may also take a while to move them with magic as we walk.”

 

“We’ll go through,” you asserted. “I’ll kill two birds with one stone. With the help of Runey, of course.”

 

The two men instinctively stepped back to give you space as you summoned the creature, having no objections themselves. The blue light streaked from your wand toward a tree you aimed at. Runey spawned, his long coiling body enveloped the thick trunk, the large heads hovering about the air and hissing quietly.

 

Hello, big man. We need your help. I want you to lower your heads to the ground and plow these rocks out of the way together, please.

 

The heads let out a deep serpentine rumble, flickering their tongues as they touched their heads down to the ground, their shared body uncoiling from the tree as they slithered forward. As you had instructed, Zeus, Morpheus, and Themis pressed their gargantuan heads to one another and began to move in sync, using their snouts to plow the rocks out of the way. As a result, the rocks would be haphazardly moved out to the sides, creating a natural, and much-needed, “path border.” Hagrid marveled quietly at the runespoor, fond of its physical strength, especially in a solid state, while Snape was overly aware of the creature's giant body moving literal inches next to him and was doing his best from accidentally bumping into it as he was forced to walk alongside the patronus.

 

Runey did a splendid job at plowing the rocks out of the way, the new pathway matching the natural aesthetic of the forest. When his heads couldn’t fit through the space of two neighboring trees, he’d stack his heads and necks atop one another, still pushing the rocks out of the way with whoever was on the bottom, before they settled back down on the ground again. A few times, you had to tell him not to stray away as his eyes would set upon the colorful bluebells that sprouted in large clusters nearby

 

The rocks seemed to clear away within the last minute or so of walking distance of the dubbed “entrance” to the glade, the imposing boulders that bordered it slightly visible through the condensed trees and shrubbery. The types of trees had shifted subtly the further you moved into the forest, with maple, oak, and cypress trees becoming more prevalent. More interesting-looking fungi made themselves known, but your excitement about breaching the glade kept you from stopping.

 

You could see the entrance now, a bright ray of light streaming between the coverage of the trees and the space between the two massive interior boulders, making the opening seem like a portal to another world. You let Runey disappear as the trees came closer and closer together and bounded further ahead your form disappearing into the light from the professors’ view. And what you saw on the other side was just magical

 

The ground before you was an explosion of colors, wildflowers of soft shades permeating the verdant glade. They almost looked to be made of crystal, the early morning dew still glinting in the bright light on their petals and the surrounding blades of grass. Three orange butterflies flit ever so gently up toward the trees, whose once glassy and chandelier-like appearance during the winter sported fresh moss that hung in flourishing curtains, the moss a viridescent spectrum of mint to earthy green. The fungi, oh, the fungi… The trees here did not escape the moisture of the rains either. Various epiphytes infested the trunks and roots. They clustered and climbed up to the sky, the trunks their lifeline. They sprung outwards to the sun to an almost heliotropic degree despite being shaped like umbrellas. Minty lichen streaked along the bark and on the tree branches as if smeared on with a dry paintbrush, their rough yet flaky texture like that of morning cereal. And the boulders… They could’ve tricked you into thinking it was autumn with the colors that blotched all over them. Like the trees, they sported pale lichen but also two more colors: lemony yellow and sun-bursting orange. They were spattered all over like a blazing bacterial infection, their flaky and fuzzy surfaces blending into the regular moss that climbed up the humongous rocks from the ground. 

 

An insurmountable amount of joy bloomed in your chest as you galloped forward into the taller grass and wildflowers, miraculously no small stones tripping you up as the glade’s boulders and surrounding dense trees had protected it from the mudslide’s debris. Hagrid and Snape passed through the entrance, their faces falling in wonder just as yours had moments ago. 

 

“Merlin’s beard…” Hagrid murmured, a slow grin spreading on his face as both men took everything in. Snape was in awe at how different the glade looked, the heaps of snow now replaced with vibrant flowers and rich grass His eyes locked on to you who was prancing ahead even more toward the center before you suddenly turned around and whipped your arms out, gesturing to the expanse of the space. 

 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you beamed. The effervescent expression on your face and the way the sun shone on your hair made him feel warm. 

 

Yes… Beautiful…

 

“I suppose I should get started then.” Hagrid removed his backpack and promptly retrieved a few chiseling tools along with some parchment. He slowly began to walk clockwise along the circumference. Snape, who didn’t even know where to begin, let himself be drawn to the trees in the other direction.

 

The grass tickled the bit of your legs that the dress did not cover. Walking amongst this space almost made you feel bad; no matter where you stepped a flower would surely be squashed, but they did not yield to the pressure, popping back upwards a few seconds later. 

 

Snape approached a tree whose bark was nearly more moss than wood, little fern-like plants sprouting outwards. From what he could note, the tree’s mushrooms went all the way up until the first set of breaches, the moss and lichen continuing on. The mushrooms were quite common in Scotland. He supposed some species could be worth harvesting for potions, not that they were anything special, but simply because it meant he wouldn’t have to use his free time on weekends to go out and purchase more supplies for the school amongst the hustle and bustle of the crowds. Most of these would be used for medicinal, restorative, or transfigurative potions. 

 

As he ran his hand along the outside of his robes in search of a knife, he realized that he did not in fact have one. Damn it.

 

The sound of dragon-like rumbling got his attention once more. He looked past the giant boulders to see that you had once again summoned your patronus. The creature was solid again, feeding off your happiness as it bobbed its heads in excitement before the middle one lunged forward and pinned you down in the tall grass, forcing a guffaw out of you as you disappeared from his sights.

 

Since your visitation was planned…perhaps you had a knife?

 

You let out a hum, enjoying the vibrations of Morpheus’s purring as Zeus and Themis snuffled about the grass, taking in this new yet familiar environment. A few more butterflies popped out from the disturbed grass, but the two heads had no desire to snap their jaws at them like they did with birds.

 

“Miss.”

 

“Hm?” You acknowledged him wherever he was standing, not wanting to move from your spot. He was near, within a few yards perhaps. 

 

“Do you happen to have a suitable harvesting knife?”

 

“Oh, yeah! In the basket,” you gestured to his general direction where you had set the basket down against one of the boulders. “I’m always carrying one when I’m out exploring. There might even be a jar or two.”

 

He located the basket resting against the boulder adjacent to him and strode over to it. Just as you said, on the right side of the basket was a jar he could make duplicates of and what looked to be a sturdy, serrated knife that could be used for harvesting and hunting. His hand nudged against the other half, moving a bit of cloth aside and revealing one of the scones you had packed, the scent of strawberries wafting up to his nose. They even looked good too. Sneakily, he glanced over his shoulder, making sure that neither of you was watching before he took a scone for himself and a jar before moving back behind the boulders once more.

 

The meaty skin of the fungi was no match for Snape’s hand, expertly guiding the blade through the base of the steps with precision. He sliced off various types, some lichen, some with thin stems and thick caps, some with thick stems and thin caps, a bracket fungus there, a chanterelle mushroom there… Very common yet versatile in experimentation. There were a few more rarer ones that he kept separated in a duplicated jar, resembling coral without any sort of cap. And of course, he was not conservative with his harvesting. He was sure the next time it rained, which could be any day when it comes to the Scottish highlands, would surely produce more epiphytes than what was there before. 

 

His shoulders prickled, sensing a presence nearby and watching him. He looked over and saw Themis—how did he know it was Themis?— slow blinking and puffing at him, semi-sitting up on its own body about four or five of Snape’s own strides away from him. Snape neither greeted nor made any obvious acknowledgment of the runespoor head, moving on to the next tree and ignoring the monstrous thing thinking that it couldn’t get much closer to him due to the way its body was squeezed tightly between the rocks. But his aloofness toward the creature would prove ineffective as the next thing he knew he felt air being blown on the back of his neck. The potion master whipped around, hissing “do not” quite harshly at the creature, the knife in his hand raised in an intimidating manner.

 

Themis, despite having no concept of what a knife is, still pulled back slightly, lowering himself in an almost submissive manner, and puffed softly at the man before him. Snape cast a suspicious and slightly unnerved look at Themis before slowly taking a large step away from him. The creature followed, moving the same distance forward a second later. He took another. Same thing. Why was this head so bloody intent on bothering him?  

 

Snape did his best to ignore Themis whilst harvesting some more fungus despite catching the creature lingering about in his peripherals and observing him, testing the man’s physical boundaries in how close he could get without the man glaring at him or making a threatening gesture. Themis wanted to be close, yet despite not being Snape’s, still respected him. To a degree.

 

Your outstretched hands ran through the blades of soft grass, the sun glowing gently on your skin. Morpheus carefully lifted his head off you and ran his snoot through the tall ribbons, curiously looking for the source of a faint swishing sound, a field mouse perhaps. You sat up in the grass, looking around. Hagrid was about halfway around the glade now, metallic clanks coming from his direction as he began chiseling off a piece of rock. And Snape…

 

Where was Snape? Wait, where is Themis?

 

Morpheus was with you, Zeus was licking the moss on one of the nearby boulders, and Themis’s body…

 

Your eyes followed his tubular form squeezed between two boulders doing god knows what, but you could make out his pleasurable noises. Curiously, you rose from your spot and quietly crept through the grass toward where Themis was hanging out. Peaking around one of the boulders you saw said runespoor head studying your Potions professor as he collected some fungi. Your first instinct was to call Themis back, to tell him not to bother the man…but was Snape even irritated? You could tell your Professor was certainly aware of Themis’s presence watching him a few feet from the man's side, evident by the slightest scowl. However, he did not tell the runespoor to go away or return to you.

 

Hmm..

 

Your fingers dipped slowly into one of your dress pockets, grazing a portable camera you had shrunken down to the size of your pinky. You quietly plucked it out, returning it to its regular size before holding it up to your face and lining up the shot. Only a bit of his profile was visible due to his hair and the angle he stood at while Themis looked at him with wonder. The interaction looked so innocent. After only a soft click you stepped back out of sight, a quiet whirring coming from the device as a square photo popped out. You waved it about a little, encouraging the light to help develop it before carefully slipping the photo inside your pocket.

 

Having physical memories of this place was a nice thought, so you continued to take pictures. Of the rocks, of some flowers and waxcap clusters, a wide shot of the entire glade… Hagrid even posed for you with a big ‘ol smile on his face. And of Zeus and Morpheus as well. You’d have to write little captions on the back of the photos when you returned to your dorm. 

 

Eventually, you let Runey disappear again and settled by the pond in the center with Hagrid, Snape returning a few minutes later to see what the two of you were up to. 

 

“What do you have there, Hagrid?” you asked, biting into a PB&J sandwich as you gestured to the parchment on his lap.

 

“This? Oh, just my map of the Forbidden Forest. I’m plottin’ this bit of land on it.”

 

You scooched closer to the man who sat on one of the logs from Christmas that had since become bushy with moss and ferns. The opened map laid on his thighs was intricately detailed, to an almost artistic degree, showing the expanse of the Forbidden Forest with a winding dashed line that separated the Forbidden part from the less harmful and objectively dangerous territory the three of you were currently in. Various words and labels decorated certain areas with doodled icons, representing the creatures that lived in the area, like unicorns.

 

“Hagrid, this is amazing!”

 

“Aye, it’s nothin’...”

 

“No, really!” you grinned. “This looks like a professional cartographer’s map! I can’t believe you have all of this plotted!”

 

The half-giant blushed, and it almost reminded you of how Santa Claus’s rosy cheeks looked. “I reckon we’re right about here,” he said, using the tip of his quill to point toward a dashed circle within the top right quadrant of the map. “I haven’t been much north than where we currently are.”

 

“Why do you have a map? Don’t you have the Forbidden Forest memorized?” Snape commented, signaling his presence some feet from the both of you. You wanted nothing more than to swat your professor for saying such a thing.

 

“I do. But anyone can get lost now ‘n then,” Hagrid explained. “And besides, whoever winds up bein’ the next groundskeeper for Hogwarts in the future might like to have a bit ‘o help at their disposal.”

 

“What is your verdict on this glade?” you chimed in once more before Snape could say anything else with a vaguely disparaging tone.

 

“We're about ter find out,” Hagrid proclaimed. Taking the rock out from his bag, he held it out in his palm for you and Snape to see and pointed his wand at it. “Spiritus Draconis.” 

 

The chunk of rock burst into flames briefly, making the both of you jump. Hagrid urgently patted at his beard to snuff out the sparks that had caught in the hair.

 

“What was that?” you questioned, almost breathlessly. 

 

“A spell. It checks fer remnants of dragon’s breath, which is inherently magical,” he beamed. “Based on this sample I took, these ‘r no erratics. They’re boulders made ‘o volcanic rocks from one ‘o the old volcanos far into the mountains. These type ‘o rocks are good at maintainin’ heat. If a dragon finds ‘n ideal place to settle, it’ll carry these rocks all the way from the mountains and line their nests with ‘em. It helps keep the area warm.”

 

“So we’re really in a dragon’s nest?”

 

“I think so. Must’ve been a thumpin’ big dragon too to carry boulders this size, but I couldn’t tell ya the type. There ‘r no dragons native to Scotland, atleast none tha’ are still alive to this day. It could be the home ‘o one tha’ has gone extinct or maybe a Norwegian Ridgeback that migrated from up north.”

 

“Wow! A dragon’s nest in Hogwart’s own backyard!” You patted his arm in excitement. “I think it’s really neat that you know so much about this sort of thing, Hagrid.” He looked somewhat bashful at the fact that you had complimented him on such a thing as if no one had ever thought he was or could be knowledgable.

 

Snape scoffed to himself internally, the dibbit between his brows sharpening from his frown, his eyes zeroing in on where you touched the half-giant. He could show you far more impressive things in the potions classroom compared to a map.

 

A quiet buzzing sound registered in your ears somewhere up above you. Following its source, you saw what you thought to be a large dragonfly creature swoop down in front of your face, its wings beating like that of a hummingbird. Then you saw a small, smiling face with big eyes and pointed ears looking at you. A fairy.

 

“Oh, look at tha’. A fairy! I didn’t think they were native to this part of the forest.”

 

“Neither did I,” you murmured, curiously standing from the log as the creature flitted about, guiding you away from the log with an encouraging gesture. Snape kept slightly on guard for any mischievous behavior from the tiny thing. You followed it a few yards away from the two professors before it hovered down into the grass, patting at a singular green waxcap mushroom amongst a cluster of red ones.

 

“Oh, that’s an interesting mushroom,” you said to the creature, kneeling down in the grass with it. The fairy wrapped its small hands around the cap of the mushroom tugging on it and pointing at it repeatedly while chittering quietly. “You want that one?” you asked. It nodded.

 

Since Snape had your knife, you resided to digging the tip of your thumbnail into the stem to release some of the tension before grabbing the mushroom and twisting it off from the small incision. You presented the mushroom to the fairy. It beamed lifting the mushroom from you hand and then let out a high-pitched laugh. The laugh grew deeper in pitch almost like a humans, making your eyebrows quirk. Then it got deeper and deeper, the fairy glowing and transforming into a ball of light. It zipped back up into the air, expanding like your runespoor would when you summon him. And before you could even think, a giant was in front of you.

 

Hagrid and Snape choked on their breath, Snape’s first instinct being to run over and throw you behind him and hex the being, but the half-giant’s grip on him wouldn’t let him move. 

 

“Severus, you can’t!” Hagrid insisted while Snape attempted to wrench himself forward.

 

“Hagrid—”

 

“You can't!” he hissed, urgently. “That’s a forest spirit. Dont. Move.” 

 

You looked up to the figure that towered high above you perhaps about twenty feet tall. The giant looked quite human in the face, not disfigured or with exaggerated features like most giants. Its skin looked to be made of gray oak bark, the only clothing being a sort of kilt of moss that reached its knees. It had long bushy hair like Hagrid’s made of thick ivy that hung just past its chest, pinecones knotted around its head resembling a crown. Protruding from its scalp was a set of sturdy deer antlers that twisted about. Mushrooms sprouted from its arms and around its ankles were loops of flowers. This being seemed to have a permanent glow, a thick trunk-like staff resting in its hand.

 

This thing was not an ordinary being… It was…a spirit.

 

You felt rooted to the spot…and yet…not afraid of the being’s imposing demeanor.

 

“...um…hello…” you managed to say, barely audible as you forced yourself a couple hesitant steps back.

 

“Leshy,” Hagrid called aloud to the spirit, finding his voice. The spirit flicked its mysterious eyes over at Hagrid, making both men stiffen before returning his gaze to you. It leaned down to a more accommodating level and opened its palm to you, presenting the mushroom as you had to the spirit. It shifted the mushroom between its fingers and brought it up to a patch of bark-like skin just above its right elbow and pressed the base of the mushroom to that spot. The green mushroom welded to its body, a few ferns sprouting from the base of it as well. The spirit smiled softly at you, letting out a chuckle that sounded like a rockslide.

 

Snape looked between you and the spirit with a mixture of fear, frustration, and urgency. This thing could kill you with relative ease if it desired to.

 

The spirit raised an enormous hand to your head, making your breathe hitch.

 

“Leshy, please,” Hagrid beseeched, carefully. “She’s new. Please…”

 

You didn’t dare move anymore as it placed its thumb sideways against your forehead, the texture softer than you expected, as your vision went white. Flashes of memories appeared before your eyes, ranging from your childhood all the way to minutes ago. You saw your younger self going on walks, running around fields, collecting rocks, gently appreciating a forest’s epiphytes, or making yourself flower crowns because they made you happy. What felt like minutes was only a couple seconds as your vision returned to normal. The palm of its hand stroked down your head as if petting you, before drawing back said hand and moved the staff toward you. 

 

Even though it was seemingly affectionate to you, your brain was convincing you otherwise. You pressed your lips into a thin line and stared at the ground, hair falling in front of your face. This was it. This is how you’d die, whacked to death by a forest spirit.

 

The spirit brought the staff by your head, the bottom of it visible in your obscured vision, your shoulders tensing in response and preparing for pain. But no pain came. Only a tingling sensation. The spirit made a circular motion with the head of the staff above you, conjuring flowers all throughout your scalp and your locks of hair. You saw them hanging in front of you, tiny pink flowers that resembled the ones in the pattern of your dress. You touched them gingerly, finding the courage to look back up at the spirit, whose smile remained unchanging toward you.

 

Feeling obligated to do so, you said a quiet “thank you” to the spirit as you cautiously and unsteadily moved backward toward the two men. Once close enough, Snape stuck his arm out in front of your torso and quickly moved you back behind him, the grip on his wand steady as the spirit approached the two men this time.

 

“You just about gave me a heart attack, Leshy,” Hagrid asserted, slightly teasing.

 

“Hmhmhm…” Leshy laughed, waving its staff at the half-giant, making baby blue star-like flowers sprout from Hagrid’s hair and bushy beard.

 

Leshy then looked to Professor Snape and the smile on his face faded away, settling into an expression that nearly resembled disapproval, the grip on his staff shifting in thought.

 

“Leshy…” Hagrid said warily once more.

 

Snape didn’t know what to do, whether he should risk raising his wand more or keeping absolutely still so as to not piss off the spirit that doesn’t seem to like him. His unnerved mind was too preoccupied to even consider apparition as he felt this spirit dig about his mind, looking at his old memories in which he had expressed derision toward nature unless it was for educational purposes. You could sense Snape’s apprehension, inches from his tensed body. You’d be frozen too if a forest spirit looked at you like that too, especially when wielding something that could knock your block off.  

 

As calmly as you could, you stepped out from behind Professor Snape and stood by his side, wrapping your arms around his right arm and lightly tipping your head to rest on his shoulder. “Sorry,” you whispered to Snape as you felt him inhale sharply at your touch. You thought this would help, that your friendliness to the man next to you would sway the spirit’s judgment of him. “He’s not bad,” you said to the spirit. “Anything he may have taken is only to help people. I promise.”

 

Snape’ heart beat wildly in his chest, both anxious and flustered as he felt a sudden heat rise up his neck. His mind was jumbled, his focus shifting rapidly back and forth between the spirit and the fact that you were holding him so, your head resting on his shoulder and your arms wrapped around his elbow and forearm in a reassuring and almost protective manner. He had to ball his hand into a fist to keep his composure.

 

The spirit held your and Snape’s gaze for a few agonizingly long moments more before its expression softened into something that was more like neutrality. It waved its staff once more, small white flower dotted Snape’s raven locks like snowflakes. But as a personal treat to himself, Leshy made a tiny tan toadstool spring from the tip of the professor’s nose before the spirit transformed back into a dainty looking fairy and took off into the sky and out of sight.

 

All three of you heaved a sigh of relief, you letting go of Snape and raising a few fingers to massage your pulse as you could hear your heartbeat between your ears. Snape grasped the toadstool and delicately snapped the mushroom off the tip of his nose, wincing at the sensation of broken skin.

 

“Hagrid,” Snape gritted, glaring at the half-giant. “Just who the hell was that?”

 

“That was Leshy,” Hagrid breathed out. “He’s a Spring, shapeshifting spirit and a trickster at tha’, but he’s not from here. He’s Slavic. The only reason I can think ‘o him being’ aroun’ here is that the centaurs worship him fer the Equinox.”

 

Snape shook his head in disbelief before he snapped his eyes over to you, his hands moving you by your shoulders so that you faced him and inspecting you for any damage, specifically where the spirit had touched you.

 

“I’m fine, Professor. Just a bit rattled,” you said, keeping your voice even, touching the tip of your nose in a demonstrative gesture. “You’re bleeding, though.”

 

He swiped his thumb on the tip of his nose and found a few blood droplets collecting on his pad.

 

“Sorry for earlier,” you mumbled looking away. “I thought it would help spare you from whatever Leshy was thinking.”

 

Snape harrumphed, muttering to himself in frustration, but you managed to catch the words “going to be the death of me” amongst his grumbling.

 

With Leshy gone, the three of you settled back down once more, Snape going back to the trees to do his own thing, Hagrid indulging in the other meat sandwich and you settling up against a boulder amongst the tall grass and sketching the flowers and waxcaps growing around you in your mini sketchbook with the other PB&J and a few scones. You’d always take this particular travel-sized one with you whenever you felt like sketching nature, the first drawings dating back years ago when you’d dilly-dally on your way back home after school. Of course, you’d cringe when you looked back on how bad they are compared to now but it still warmed your heart. 

 

Every so often, Snape would enter your line of sight, either inspecting the fungi amongst the grass and on the boulders or cutting through to the other side of the glade. You’d just barely catch him looking at you in a hovering manner before his eyes would dart away and his steps got slightly faster. Given what happened earlier you didn’t mind. You were happy that the jars he appeared to be storing things in were getting fuller and fuller.

 

Eventually, the light in the sky began to get more yellow, tinting the grass a sort of golden color as well. Checking your watch, you saw that it was close to dinner now, the sun just about setting. You saw Hagrid and Snape speaking briefly, and they seemed to be thinking the same thing as you were, Hagrid motioning you over. 

 

“I think it’d be best if we head back. Dinner’s bound ter start any minute now,” Hagrid remarked.

 

“Oh, okay. It’s a shame, I could spend hours here.”

 

Hagrid hummed. “It is a lovely spot. I’ve even named it “Y/N’s Den” on the map here.”

 

You covered your face blushing. “Hagriiiiid, whyyyy?” He laughed, “Well, you were the one to find it, Miss.” 

 

***

 

The three of you walked back through the forest with relative ease, the route now officially being bordered by some sort of guiding path thanks to Runey. You could make out the sounds of distant animal activity around you like ravens and owls, signaling their presence in the trees. Instead of leading, Snape walked beside you while Hagrid’s hulking figure was behind the both of you.

 

Having Hagrid’s height came with advantages. Being able to grab things off high shelves with no problem, swiping at random tree branches… And being able to see that Professor Snape kept looking at you. 

 

They were sneaky, almost sideways glances at you, every minute or so. He wasn’t getting a bad vibe from the Professor’s glances, but he wasn’t sure what to entirely make of it. 

 

Unless… But that would be so out of character…

 

It wasn’t until the three of you had since exited the forest and were just about to pass Hagrid’s hut that he spoke up.

 

“I’m going ter unpack my things and feed Fang…” he said, as if musing to himself. “You two go on ahead to dinner.”

 

“Sure. Later, Hagrid.” you said. Snape simply nodded before you and he continued on your way, your paces slowing a little.

 

As you continued to admire Hogwart’s beauty, memories from your past kept resurfacing. The walk through the forest and galavanting around the grass reminded you so much of your teen years with Ada. The two of you would hang out after school and randomly on weekends if you ever saw eachother out and about the neighborhood, go on walks, get candy from the nearby gas station, and fuck off to some park or field that bordered a forest and mess around, often getting dirty or collecting scrapes. It had been years since you last saw her. She never questioned why you were always so keen on going to the most random places, but she was happy to join you.

 

You missed her so much.

 

“What’s wrong?” Snape’s baritone voice gently drew you from your reminiscing.

 

“Huh?” You replied, reflexively.

 

“You look like you’re about to cry.”

 

You blinked and your eyes did feel a little wet and perhaps your facial muscles did feel a little downturned. “It’s nothing. M’ just thinking.” Believing that was that you turned your head away toward the lake that sparkled beneath the fiery sunset, keeping pace, but then he spoke again.

 

“What about?”

 

A drawn-out exhale left your nose as you. “Someone I knew. A girl.”

 

“Why are you thinking of this person?”

 

“We went on lots of walks together in forests and near fields back home. I miss her. A lot. Her name is Ada. She…was my best friend. My only friend then, really.” 

 

There was a flicker in his chest, curiosity and a bit of anticipation. This was it; a chance to know more had practically fallen into his lap. He’d been wanting to know more, but he never knew how to approach it, especially after broaching the subject of the scars on your hand without forethought. But that was just the thing. He didn’t know what were sensitive subjects for you, and your current despondency was not the best sign.

 

“I don’t…” he muttered almost inaudibly.

 

“Hm?”

 

He steeled himself, but his eyes were trained forward were and squinted. “I don’t…want to offend you. And I…don’t know what I can ask,” he managed to utter with some finality, like he had to cattle prod himself to say it. “About you.”

 

“Oh.” You tilted your head at him in light curiosity. “Well, anything I s’pose. Like I said over winter break: people don’t know because people don’t ask. If I don’t like a question, the logical thing would just be to tell you that,” you shrugged. “I can’t fault you for stepping on a landmine you didn’t know was there.”

 

Snape bit the inside of his cheek, digesting your directness as various formulated questions came to mind.

 

“You said “was.” Did she go to Ilvermorny? Or has she…passed?”

 

“Neither. This was before Ilvermorny during my two years of secondary school. She’s a no-maj.”

 

He did the math in his head. From 12 to 14…

 

Wait— after you got your magic?! 

 

“Your best friend was a muggle?” he repeated in shock, or about as much as he would let show. You gave him a suspicious look and he felt his ears heat with embarrassment rather quickly. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he continued carefully. “ Just… You don’t hear of many witches and wizards being able to successfully maintain such relationships without breaking secrecy.”

 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “It wasn’t really hard to hide it from her. I walk, talk, and act like a muggle. It’s pretty much what I am. She is actually why I know how to speak some German. We were both sort of new to the school. Most of the kids at my primary school went to one junior high school while I went to another. She was an international transfer student from Germany who also moved in on my block. I thought the language was cool so I learned to speak with her in a way that was more comfortable for her. The funny thing is, she was my best friend, and yet, she had never even been to my house.”

 

“How does that manage to happen?”

 

“That was the great thing. She didn’t prod much—never found it weird that I didn’t invite her over to my place to play games or have a sleepover like regular teens. And it’s not like I could've had her over even if I wanted to. The property has privacy wards and hedges all around.” You smiled lightly. “That didn’t stop us from hanging out after school and on weekends. If I saw her on the street we’d talk, get a snack, and go loiter around a park somewhere or go on a trail walk through a field or the nearby forests.”

 

He grunted in dissatisfaction. “A great way to get yourselves kidnapped, roaming the streets without supervision.”

 

“It’s actually pretty normal in the no-maj world,” you laughed. “The general philosophy is “as long as you’re back by dinner or before dark,” then parents tend not to worry. We never really got into trouble.”

 

“...Are you two still friends? Or..talk?”

 

Your expression grew wistful. “I wish. Me having to go to Ilvermorny meant that our friendship had an expiration date. I regret not telling her that we wouldn’t be going to high school together or coming up with some sort of plausible lie. And she had no way to send me a letter since she didn’t know my exact address, and because I was away at a magical boarding school I couldn’t say anything in person.”

 

“What about when you returned for the summers?”

 

You pressed your lips together. “I did see her once… When I was sixteen. I work a summer job at a bakery just to keep me entertained and have a routine. I hadn’t seen her around the summer before. I think she spent it elsewhere. One day, she walked in and we made eye contact. She didn’t say anything and neither did I. She just…turned around and left. I don’t blame her if she hates me. She probably thinks I had dropped her as a friend or was avoiding her when she went to high school and I went off to Ilvermorny. I have no idea where she is now…but I’ve always wanted to give her an explanation.” You rubbed your face, chuckling wryly. “Sorry, I don’t know how I’ve gotten us onto a depressing topic again.”

 

“I suppose it's my fault I asked,” Snape said quietly.

 

“Nah, it’s alright,” you dismissed. “Life happens. I was also thinking about her because I had a strange dream about her last night. We were back in school, having lunch outside with a bunch of other kids. She told me she was getting bullied again. You know how teens can be little shits—”

 

“Language.”

 

“—little punks. Anyways, I went to confront this girl, Vivian, and when she turned to face me, she was suddenly Abigail in that devil costume.”

 

Snape’s eyebrows furrowed. 

 

“I guess I was lucid enough to stop it from letting it shift into the usual nightmare. I realized that I was dreaming and suddenly the twins showed up and turned Abigail into a red balloon.” You clicked your tongue with a smirk. “And I popped her with a pin.”

 

“Blood sprayed everywhere, I presume?” he asked with the slightest sadistic curl of his lip.

 

“Nope,” you laughed. “Just a lot of rainbow confetti.”

 

His gaze softened, his voice low and even. “Do you still have nightmares often?”

 

“Much less than before, but if I get a little stressed from school then yeah, it happens. Hopefully, they’ll disappear when I graduate.”

 

A moment of silence fell over you both.

 

“I do like talking about this stuff. Even if the answers are not very positive or not what one expects, it does feel good to speak of it… So don’t hesitate, I guess. Even if it’s the most mundane question.”

 

The two of you eyed one another. Something imperceptible in him soared at having gotten a green light without having to worry about offending you. 

 

“Will do,” he murmured.  

 

A familiar figure stood by themself in the courtyard, their grey robes swaying lightly as they paced, seemingly waiting for someone. Dumbledore looked over his half-moon glasses at the approach of the young woman and clad-in-black professor entering the courtyard.

 

“Ah, I figured the both of you were together,” the old wizard smiled softly.

 

You pursed your lips. Snape bristled internally at the insinuation.

 

“Where is Hagrid?”

 

“He had to stop at his hut first and feed Fang,” you explained.

 

“I see. And what has his assessment concluded?”

 

“It is indeed an old dragon’s nest!” You rocked on your heels from happiness. “We also met the forest spirit named “Leshy.” It was scary but we weren’t harmed.”

 

“My, what a memorable experience. And a dragon’s nest so close to Hogwarts. How fascinating! I presume Leshy is responsible for the flowers in your hair?” 

 

Your cheeks pinkened, nodding fervently. The headmaster flicked his eyes to Snape. “White suits you, Professor Snape,” Dumbledore declared, playfully gesturing to his hair.

 

Snape frowned, running a hand through his locks, and was met with at least ten flowers tangled in his fingers. He whipped toward you, glaring.

 

“I thought you knew!” You laughed, putting your hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry!”

 

Snape scowled to himself, drawing his wand and making a circular motion around his head. The flowers lifted off and floated back toward the fields like someone had blown a dandelion. He then raised his wand toward you. 

 

“Don’t you dare,” you covered your hair with an arm and trotted over behind Dumbledore, using him as a human shield and making the headmaster laugh in amusement.

 

“Off to dinner, you two.”

Chapter 50: A Runespoor and A Pukwudgie

Summary:

A day of patronus exploration also brings reader a message from America

Notes:

Rest in peace, Maggie Smith/Professor McGonagall /*

The lightest of breezes can be felt on the skin of your neck upon breaching the fields of Hogwarts, the early morning sky a wash of magenta fading into a peachy color mixed with pale blue, a rather magic sunrise. You couldn’t sleep, or rather, couldn’t sleep any longer, your excitement for the upcoming Spring break making you wake a bit earlier than usual, and being that it was the weekend, you might as well get a jump start on your day. You were pushing it with the early morning curfew, but honestly, curfew-schmurfew. It was probably something to prevent students from trying to break into kitchens to disturb the house elves.

 

“Expecto—Huuaaaahhh… Patronum,” you yawned.

 

Runey bloomed from your wand, slithering happily and sluggishly like you. You found a good spot that faced toward the lake and the distant mountains, the light rather soft on your eyes. Runey curled up in a manner that cradled you like a giant bean bag, Morpheus immediately claiming your body to snuggle, his snoot pressing the underside of your chin while Zeus and Themis wrapped over their brother and themselves in content, the four of you in one big cuddle pile. Deep vibrating rumbles ran through your body as Morpheus nuzzled you, his tongue flicking out to give you little neck kisses. In return you sighed, wrapping your arms around him in an attempt to hug as much of the head as possible.

 

“Well, don’t you look comfortable.” 

 

You lazily lulled your head to the sound of the voice. The DADA teacher stood off to your side, regarding you with slightly tousled hair and a faint smirk just visible over the rim of his coffee mug.

 

“Very,” you murmured back. Morpheus hardly flicked his eye out to the man, whereas the other two heads lifted themselves a little before settling back down.

 

“Couldn’t go back to sleep again?”

 

You hummed. “Was done sleeping, actually. Went to bed early, woke up early, and wanted to see the sunrise before inevitably hunkering down in the library to finish up on some homework before our session.”

 

“So, no nightmare then?”

 

“Nope. What are you up for?” 

 

“I am a natural early riser. I’m always up by six. I like to watch the sunrise from the tower's view, but I saw your distant form amongst the fields.”

 

“Mmh.” 

 

Lupin moved his eyes over the heads and their positions. “They’re very cat-like, aren’t they?”

 

You smiled softly, glancing down at the head nestled firmly against you. “Yep, this one especially. My handsome, clingy boy.”

 

“Mmhhhhnnn” the runespoor head rumbled. You smiled, planting a firm kiss on its snoot

 

“Do you have any plans for Spring break?”

 

“Boy, do I!” You grinned. “Sorry. With the Wolfsbane, you’ll be dealing with Professor Snape yourself over the break.”

 

He snorted. “I think you’ve got your wires crossed, Miss. The Wolfsbane has already been brewed. The full moon is tomorrow.” His eyebrows quirked a little. “When do you think Spring Break is?”

 

You frowned. “...I thought it was a week from now, but…now you’re making me think it’s not.”

 

“It’s not. It’s one week on one side of Easter Sunday and a week on the other. You'll all go home tomorrow.”

 

Your heart wanted to jump for joy, but then you realized…

 

“ Damnit…”

 

He chuckled. “Does that throw a wrench into your plans?”

 

You sighed. “Not my break plans. It’s just… I’m kinda waiting on an important piece of mail. It’s the Weasley twins’ birthday present and I need it to arrive before I leave tomorrow or else I can’t get it to them properly.”

 

“Well, if one thing is for certain, Britain has the fastest owl delivery service. You just might be able to receive them before the day is even over.”

 

“Yeah… I hope so.”

 

The morning crept along quietly after breakfast, soft light illuminating the library as you worked on completing the Charms paper you had put off yesterday. The gentle murmurs of students discussing their plans for the Spring Break echoed softly around the castle walls, a reminder of your own inevitable departure while you attempted to stay focused instead of pondering about what you would do when you were home. The key word being attempted.  

 

Oh my god, you should totally get a fat burger and fries the first night back. 

 

You shook your head. No, focus! You were supposed to have this paper done yesterday so that you wouldn’t have to worry about it, but you had gone out lollygagging in the fields with the twins. This was quite literally the last assignment you needed to drop off to a teacher before your upcoming reprieve. Jakob and Aria came to join you at your table, Aria reading a fantasy novel quietly by Jakob as the both of you worked on your Charms paper. Apparently, he had also slacked off. The two of you working on it at the same time created an encouraging air of determination, and a sense of urgency motivating you to complete your respective papers.

 

The both of you put your quills down as the clock signaled for lunch, panting as if slightly out of breath having both speedrunning through your conclusions just in time. The three of you discussed your plans for Spring break while on your way to lunch. Jakob intended to return to Germany for a little and would take the train into France for a couple of days. Aria would return to her home in London and host her cousins. You had joked that if they wanted to see eachother one of them should just simply fly over the English channel. A mischievous look glinted in Jakob’s eyes as if seriously considering the idea.

 

“Let’s begin,” Professor Lupin said as the two of you settled in the Room of Requirement for another explorative session with your patronus. He flipped open to the notebook where the two of you had already done some back-and-forth notetaking and observations. “Last time we investigated how a patronus in a solid state interacts with other solid objects in various manners. I think it’s time we spice it up with a little bit of magic, shall we?”

 

You nodded at his prelude, summoning your patronus. Runey flicked his tongues at the familiar room and lowered himself down. 

 

Lupin brought out a burlap drawstring sack, tugging on the bit of rope to loosen the opening. “Professor Sprout was so kind as to provide a variety of plants, thankfully without asking why.” He began pulling out various plant leaves, stems, and even extracts and placing them on the table the room had generated for the two of you.

 

“Do you want Runey to eat them?”

 

The professor shrugged. “Eat, smell… I think it’d be an interesting idea to see if he can even be stimulated by them.”

 

“Even though he has no internal organs?”

 

“Even so. From what you’ve observed in your own time, he seems to have a very strong olfactory system, though that’s more so the runespoor part of him than the patronus part. While he may not have a stomach, it would be fool-hearty to discount the idea that he could still be affected by an object’s magical properties. If we don’t open the door for quirks, we may end up missing something unique.”

 

You pursed your lips. “Fair enough.” 

 

The first thing Lupin pulled out appeared to be a Sneezewort leaf. Using his wand he reducto’d it into a pile of powder. “As you know, Sneezewort can be ground up into a powder that causes sneezing, hence the name. I’d like to blow a bit into Runey’s face to see how he reacts.”

 

“Hm. Well, how will we know if it's the actual magical properties of Sneezewort that will make him sneeze and not the fact that the Sneezewort is in a particle form.”

 

“Good point,” Lupin remarked. With a wave of his free hand, dust particles from around the ancient room flew over into his hand, forming a small pile in his hand. “Let’s see how he engages with dust. 

 

This time you commanded Zeus to be the tester for this one. The massive head swayed forward toward the DADA teacher. Lupin blew the powdery dust square into Runey’s snoot, quite a few of the particles sticking around the edges of the patronus’s nostrils. Zeus didn’t have much of a reaction, not even a puff, other than bringing his snoot down to the ground and attempting to rid the foreign material by rubbing his snoot against the stone ground.

 

“And now for the Sneezewort.” As Zeus lifted his head once more, Lupin raised his other hand and blew the powdered Sneezewort into the runespoors face. Zeus pulled back sharply, feeling the stimulative powder enter his nostrils. He scrunched up his nose, the upper rim of his jaw quirking awkwardly as he stared forward frozen, his mouth agape.

 

“NCHHHH!” Zeus sneezed, his head tipping down sharply like a human.

 

“Awww, Zeus!” you smiled. “You sneeze like a kitten, bubba!” Zeus responded by burying his snoot into your thick sweater, rubbing against it to try to get the powder out while he kept sneezing against you. “Okay, okay hold still,” you said, swiping away the powder that stuck to the interior of his nostril entrances.

 

“Very interesting…” murmured aloud with a light smile as he scribbled away in the notebook and plucked the next plant. An Alihotsy leaf.

 

“Can runespoors even laugh?” you mused.

 

“Maybe not in the traditional sense. I guess we shall see then, won’t we?”

 

Your turn, Themis. Open your mouth.

 

Themis moved forward and opened his mouth just wide enough for Professor Lupin to slip a leaf onto its dragon-like tongue. The both of you waited for something to happen, but Themis just stared at you two, blinking and waiting for an order.

 

Lupin muttered, moving the writing tool along the page. “No reaction… Could be due to lack of digestive organs…or just an exception…”

 

“What do you think would happen if he ate something poisonous?”

 

The man snapped his gaze up to you, his brows furrowing at the question. “I…don’t imagine it would do much with his lack of a stomach… Why do you ask?”

 

You shrugged. “Just wondering if he might be able to experience pain. I know he doesn't have a digestive system, but…what about nerves?”

 

Lupin pressed his lips together, thinking. “Well, I suppose we can test that in the future, but I insist that we build a stronger foundation first. I wouldn’t want to accidentally hurt you if I were to give him poison or test a dark spell.”

 

You raised an eyebrow. “You believe hurting him…might hurt me?”

 

“He is a representation of you. There is still much to be explored and who knows just how connected the two of you are.”

 

Turns out, patronus’s have very randomized reactions. Or maybe it was just Runey. You and Lupin were still working out those kinks. So far, Runey primarily reacted to things based on smell rather than taste or “absorption,” and while the two of you wouldn’t necessarily be discounting consumption, the both of you agreed it would probably be best to focus on his olfactory abilities. Thus, the next lesson will be a rather intriguing one: exploring Runey’s tracking abilities of magic and non-magical traces.

 

Descending the Master Staircase, you spotted a familiar coconut head talking amongst his two close friends at the ground level. They were out of their uniforms and in muggle clothes, Neville in a sweater that looked quite itchy, to be honest.

 

Perhaps it would be best to speak with him before the break starts.

 

“Neville,” you called, touching on to the ground floor.

 

He didn’t hear you.

 

“Longbottom!”

 

That got his attention, his body freezing up at the familiar bark of his name that he usually heard from his Potions professor. The bushy-haired girl and the red-headed boy both tensed as well, staring wide-eyed at you like they’d been caught doing something wrong. Neville slowly turned around to face you, his shoulders nearly touching his ears as his complexion paled. 

 

“I want to talk to you.” You tipped your head towards the direction of the courtyard. “Follow me.”

 

Neville gaped but was urged on by his fellow Gryffindors to follow after you as if he’d spontaneously combust if he didn’t. As he nervously trotted to catch up to you, he kept glancing around, making sure Professor Snape didn’t see him following after you despite you asking the boy to. 

 

The sunlight warmly kissed your cheeks, large puffy clouds still clogging the light blue skies. The sound of Neville’s shoes scraping lightly against the courtyard ground came to a halt a few feet behind you. The boy tensed once more when you turned around and made eye contact with him. 

 

“Hi.”

 

“H-hello,” the boy mumbled quietly.

 

“I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding this past week or two.”

 

“O-oh…”

 

Tsk. The boy couldn’t even look at you properly. “I want to know what Professor Snape said to you in the library.”

 

Neville fidgeted with his slightly trembling hands, the ground being the most interesting thing in the world to him at the moment. “H-he said that I’d better stay away from you a-and if he caught me watching you again I’d have detention for a really long time and threatened to feed Trevor to Hagrid’s hippogriff.”

 

You snorted, rolling your eyes. That man…

 

“Well, as I said in the note I left you, Professor Snape doesn’t speak for me. You don’t have to stay away from me, but the spying needs to stop… I would also like to know why you were doing that.” You then teasingly raised an eyebrow. “I do hope this isn’t because you have some sort of crush on me because eleven-year-olds aren’t my type.”

 

Neville blushed tomato red. “Merlin, no that’s—that’s not why…I…it’s just…I heard things about you and…wanted to see if they were true.”

 

“What things?”

 

“Well…just that you wander off into the forest and…practice strange magic.”

 

You blinked. “I do wander off into the forest and practice strange magic.”

 

The boy looked dumbly at you. He didn’t expect you to just outright confirm anything about you. He only expected name-calling and anger. “Oh…”

 

You spoke once more, swiping your shoes idly against the stony ground. “You do know why I am asking you to stop spying on me, don’t you?”

 

“Er—yes,” Neville replied frantically. “It’s rude. I—I know that now.”

 

“It’s not just that,” you said softly. “Neville, despite it being months since Halloween, I am still affected to this day by what happened. I’ve become more vigilant than necessary when I am alone. Sometimes I mistake shadows as people and have startled myself into thinking that I am being watched when there is nothing there. Can you imagine my perspective, feeling like I am being watched all week and telling myself that I am just being paranoid only to find out I was actually being watched?”

 

The redness that once flushed his cheeks shifted to paleness in horror of his actions. “Oh, Merlin, I—I am so sorry! I had no idea!”

 

You clicked your tongue, nodding. “Now you know. So, to reiterate, you don’t have to stay away from me if you have questions or something of the like, but no more following me and or watching me without my knowledge.”

 

“I understand,” Neville nodded, licking his lips. “Ehm…you said I can ask you questions?”

 

“You can.”

 

“How…how do you…deal with him?”

 

“Deal with who?”

 

“...Professor Snape.”

 

You did something unexpected in front of Neville that made his eyes widen. You laughed.

 

“How do I deal with Professor Snape? You say “deal” as if it’s a grueling task,” you smiled.

 

“Wh—I-I mean—it’s Professor Snape. He’s scary. And Ron told me the twins told him that Snape catches you doing strange things and acting silly around him all the time and you don’t get punished for it, even when you break rules. Meanwhile, he always insults me and takes points for the littlest things…”

 

“Yeah, he is biased, but so is every Head of House. And I get how he seems scary. However, you do know that he can’t actually follow through on whatever threats he spews at you, right? Killing a student’s pet? I imagine he’d get in a lot of trouble for that. He’s just huffing and puffing. He’s not so scary once you really pick him apart. Yes, he’s got an overly sharp tongue, but he can’t actually hurt you, y’know?”

 

The boy looked down at the ground once more, fidgeting and muttering to himself. “What about points and detentions? Aren’t you afraid of getting punished?”

 

You pressed your lips into a thin line and exhaled before approaching the boy so the two of you were closer. “Neville, I promised Dumbledore not to spread my so-called “propaganda,” but I’m going to tell you anyway and you have to promise not to tell anyone else. Especially that Granger girl. If she took what I am about to tell you to heart, there’d be two of me running around and Hogwarts might implode on itself if that happened.”

 

Neville nodded eagerly. A little confused, but eager nonetheless.

 

“House points. Don’t. Matter.” It was a simple statement, one that left Neville more perplexed as he tried to understand its meaning.

 

“What do you mean?” he frowned. “Of course, they matter—it’s…it’s house points! It’s one of the reasons why we have Quidditch! And the House Cup!”

 

“The House Cup,” you smirked lightly, “is something that you as students don’t even get to touch. It’s a decorative prize incentivized by house points that are meant to keep students in line. Which is fine, of course, Dumbledore’s gotta keep you all orderly somehow. But, at the end of the day, it’s just an empty cup, Neville. You do realize that, right? It’s not worth all that fussing. On top of that, you shouldn’t worry about losing house points in Potions because, quite frankly, if it isn’t you, it’s going to be some other Gryffindor.”

 

Neville gaped at you once more, processing this information. “But…but what about detentions? With him, they are the worst! Cleaning all those cauldrons and the floor is awful!”

 

“Oh, for god's sake—honestly you wizard natives are so goddamn spoiled,” you huffed. “Are you all so used to doing your chores with magic or having your parents use a Washing Up Spell that your bones have turned to glass? That they might just break if they touch a sponge to a dish? Because you’re basically washing dishes, Neville. It’s a tedious task at most, not child slavery. Christ…”

 

The boy blushed again in embarrassment. It was true. Wizarding families, regardless of blood status, didn’t perform common chores the same way they were done in the muggle world, especially when many families employed the use of house-elves.

 

“All this to say…” you sighed. “If you stop and actually take a second to rationalize your circumstances instead of letting fear get the best of you, Professor Snape will not be a problem. So he says a few nasty words to you and probably gives you detention. Is his harshness a bit unnecessary at times? Yes. But that’s really all he can do. He’s not gonna chop off your hands if you fuck up a potion or hang you from the ceiling by your underwear, okay?”

 

“Yeah… Yeah, alright,” Neville conceded. “It’s just…he’s so intimidating, y’know? It’s hard to feel relaxed in front of him.”

 

“Hmph…” You flicked your eyes over the young Gryffindor before putting much more distance between you two. You slowly withdrew your wand from your sleeve behind your back and cast the Patronus Charm. The runespoor erupted into existence, the heads towering high into the air and assessing their new surroundings. Neville yelped, tripping over his own feet as he fell back against the stone, staring slack-jawed up at the monstrous creature. The heads leaned down to your general vicinity and observed the boy before them. Those who were traversing the cloisters stopped and looked on at the interaction.

 

“Remember this guy?”

 

Neville gulped. “H-he’s massive.”

 

“And much scarier than Professor Snape, wouldn’t you agree?” Neville nodded along. “Greet him. Stand up and stick your hand out.”

 

With wobbly knees, Neville managed to get himself standing up and hesitantly crept forward a couple of steps, his body leaning away from you as he shakily stuck out his hand and covered his eyes with the other. Themis hovered past you and stretched out to Neville’s hand with a flickering tongue. Neville flinched when he felt air being blown on his skin as the runespoor took in the scent of his soul.

 

Themis gave a brief puff and a low rumble as he nudged his snoot against the flat of Neville’s palm. The Gryffindor peeked through his fingers, marveling at the sight of the terrifying creature pressed into his hand in a docile manner. Neville hesitantly rubbed his hand along the snoot in a stroking motion which garnered him more purring sounds, making the boy break out in nervous laughter and giving him a slight confidence boost.

 

“What’s going on here?” A strict voice called out. You and several students, including Neville, turned your heads sharply to the Potions professor who was passing through the area and saw the spectacle through the cloisters.

 

Neville drew his hand back as if caught with it in the cookie jar as Snape glared at the boy, approaching you. He told Neville to stay away from you.

 

“Afternoon, Professor,” you greeted.

 

“Mr. Longbottom,” Snape started acerbically. “What about “detention for the rest of the year” is your feeble mind unable to comprehend?”

 

Seriously? You raised a brow. Is that what he told Neville? You turned your gaze to Themis who was hovering about the boy, an idea coming to mind.

 

Flatten him.

 

As instructed, Themis pushed the boy to the ground and laid his head flat on top of the short child, causing a mixture of laughs and gasps from nearby onlookers. Neville’s eyes widened, fearing he was about to be made into a meal, but his next breath was cut off by the fact that Themis started rumbling deeply.

 

“W-w-w-h-a-a-a-a-at th-e-e-e-e-e h-e-e-e-c-c-ck,” Neville’s voice sounded stuttered against Runey as if the boy was speaking into a powered-on fan, too stunned to try to wiggle out from beneath the creature. You had hoped the display of Themis being affectionate with Neville would placate Professor Snape.

 

“He is not bothering me,” you informed the man near you. “I asked to speak with him, actually.”

 

Snape wrinkled his nose in discontent at the sight. How could Themis like Longbottom? The child was terribly incompetent! Were you not angered by the fact that this boy had been spying on you? Causing you nightmares?

 

“I suppose he provided you with weak excuses for his curiosity?” Snape sneered.

 

“He told me the truth. I can’t be that mad when he didn’t know how his behavior was affecting me. But he knows now, so it’s all good,” you shrugged.

 

“Hmph,” Snape scoffed.

 

“OH MEIN GOTT!”

 

Jakob's voice rang out beneath one of the archways with Aria, astonished by the presence of your patronus. He stepped over the low wall and strode towards you excitedly. Snape’s jaw clenched bitterly at Jakob’s enthusiasm toward you.

 

“Y/N, zis is you patronus? He’s huge! Just like you said!”

 

Themis drew back from Neville at the presence of the new person, allowing Neville to crawl back and trot toward where his friends had congregated, also watching the interaction. Meanwhile, Jakob, with infinitely more confidence than Neville, approached Themis without letting the head sniff him and began to pet and scratch wherever his hands could reach.

 

“Mein gott! Eine höchst spektakuläre und prächtige Kreatur! Oh, and I really like ze spikes!

[A most spectacular and glorious creature!]

 

Themis, who was almost too stunned by the stranger’s sudden affection without any fear, had his jaws parted and blinked at the boy a few times, allowing the pets to continue for a few moments more before drawing back and moving to burrow his snoot into your stomach, puffing quietly. Snape frowned at Themis’s reaction, his discontent with the transfer student growing. Was Themis scared? Morpheus, cuddlebug that he was, was all too happy to take his brother’s place, basking in Jakob’s affection while Zeus doted on you and Themis. 

 

“I’m sorry, did I do somezing wrong?” Jakob asked as Morpheus snuffled the Ravenclaw’s hair.

 

“You’re supposed to let him sniff you first, but I think he just got shy ‘s all,” you replied. Does Jakob make you feel shy, bubs? Themis harrumphed against you, making you titter in amusement. I guess even Runey can get bashful.

 

“Aria! Come here!” Jakob called happily. Aria blushed nervously but quietly approached. “Can ve show your runespoor our patronuses, Y/N?”

 

“I don’t see why not,” you hummed, stroking Themis.

 

The two of them drew out their wands and chanted “Expecto Patronum.” A hare and a fox emerged from the wispy magic, one giggling in glee, the other thumping its right foot on the ground. You instructed Zeus, arguably the most well-behaved of the three heads, to slink down towards the ground and stay still. The fox trotted over to the runespoor, the hare hopping after. Just as the fox patronus leaned forward to sniff, Zeus sharply exhaled a breath of air which made the other two animals’ ears flatten backward. They leaned forward once more, sniffing along and pressing their snouts against the large patronus before squealing and giving him kisses.

 

A symphony of “awwws” erupted from all around at the patronuses being cute with one another, making you feel especially self-conscious and bashful like Themis as you turned away from them, hiding your face.

 

Snape rolled his eyes at the affectionate display, turning to leave, but faltered. In the corner of his eye, he noticed you shift your weight heavily to one side awkwardly, like you were trying to keep yourself standing. The patronus suddenly dimmed to a near ghostly state as you blinked and rubbed your face, a spinning sensation in the center of your head.

 

“Are you alright, Miss?” He questioned with restrained concern as the two of you were in public.

 

“…Dizzy,” you stated softly, sniffing. “I had him out for a bit earlier.” The runespoor became more opaque but not quite all the way solid as it was before.

 

“You shouldn’t overdo it,” Snape murmured. “Put him away if you’re dizzy…and perhaps rest.”

 

You groaned quietly to yourself, but you did feel tired now. Maybe it’s for the best. You let your patronus fade away, confusing the other students, but most understood that the show was over and moved on. You turned toward the distant fields and began to move—

 

Snape shot his hand out and snatched the back of your sweater, forcing you to go the opposite direction with a slight stumble, back toward the castle.

 

“Rest on a proper bed, not a bed of flowers, you silly girl,” he derided, giving you one last light push toward the interior halls.

 

***

 

You blinked against the pillow smooshing against your face, a patch of drool soaking into the cover. Your bleary vision cleared after a few more eye rubs, the time on your alarm clock clearing up. Damn. You napped for three hours. ‘Guess Snape was right… It was early evening now. Granted, you didn’t rest as soon as you had returned to your dorm. You had opted to read for an hour or so and that’s what fostered your sleepy state. 

 

Tonight’s dinner looked extra delicious with roasts and heaps of mashed potatoes, vegetables, and buttery biscuits spread out amongst the different sections. Everyone was glowing with anticipation for their two weeks of break, the older students looking particularly thankful for the much-needed reprieve from NEWT work as they, you included, stuffed their faces to your heart’s content. When Dumbledore presumed that most children had gotten their fill, he subtly flicked his wand and an arrangement of many small, multi tier cakes made themselves visible on the tables. The students marveled at the sweet-looking confections, but before anyone could cut a slice for themselves, the headmaster stood and approached his podium, the golden owl decorating the front screeching, capturing everyone’s attention.

 

“Good evening,” Dumbledore began with a smile. “It pleases me to see you all so excited for the arrival of Spring Break. I wanted to take this time to say that you have all made great strides this year in your respective paths. It makes me proud to see just how many students have been buckling down in the library and working hard to do their best…”

 

A faint popping sound got your attention. You whipped your head to the source but found nothing but the student across from you watching Dumbledore like everyone else.

 

pop crack!

 

Okay, that was definitely right in front of you. This time you were able to see it with your own eyes. Dancing a foot or so away in the air was a fizzling orange spark. It seemed stuck like chipped glass, crackling softly. What the hell... And before you knew it, the crack burst.

 

The headmaster’s speech trailed off as the sound of plates loudly clattering interrupted him. Every student turned their heads toward you. Sitting in front of you now was something you could only describe as a large blackish-brown thistled sphere like a hedgehog rolled up. The person across from you darted their gaze to you, a questioning look in their eyes asking if you knew what it was. Tentatively, you used the blunt handle of your fork and prodded it.

 

“Hagh!” The spiny ball unfurled and leaped to its feet, bearing a nasty expression. Students screeched and ducked when the creature revealed a poison-tipped bow and arrow, vigilantly aiming at anyone who posed a threat. This creature had gray skin and ears like an elf, though its nose indicated it was also related to goblins. Its brown eyes matched the color of its tunic and pants and instead of more regular-looking hair like goblins, it bore hundreds of thistles that shot outwards and sloped down nearly reaching its feet as if wearing a large headdress. Or if it was a porcupine personified.

 

A pukwudgie.

 

“Hey,” you shot upwards and swiftly wrapped your hand around the arrow it had drawn back at a fifth-year girl. The pukwudgie sharply turned its aim toward you and you flashed your eyes warningly.

 

“Do you think it would be wise to shoot one of your own?” you gritted, leaning in close.

 

The pukwudgie relaxed upon hearing your American accent. They were not inherently fond of humans, despite being willing to work for them at Ilvermorny, however, this one seemed to be sent for an American, you, specifically .

 

“You are Y/N?” the pukwudgie croaked.

 

“Yes,” you replied calmly, releasing your grip. “Come on.” The pukwudgie sheathed its weapon and clambered down the table as you shifted out of your seat, the students were aghast as you offered the creature your hand and began to exit the Great Hall.

 

“Don’t stop on my account, Headmaster,” you called over your shoulder, rounding the corner.

 

You guided the pukwudgie without any protest from it as the continuation of the headmaster’s speech faded away from your ears. When the two of you reached a secluded corner near the entrance to one of the cloisters, you sat down on the ground, crossing your legs. The creature was only two or three feet tall so you wished to grant it some respect.

 

“MACUSA sent you, didn’t they? Do you have a message for me?”

 

“Yes,” it grunted, fishing a claw-like hand into the front pouch of its tunic and revealing a rolled-up piece of parchment. Tearing off the wax seal, it unraveled the roll and began to read.

 

“To Miss F/N L/N,

 

The Magical Congress of the United States of America wishes to invite you to meet with the Department of Aurors in regard to the provoking news of your patronus. Your magical capabilities in Britain have reached the ears of Department Auror Trainers who wish to learn and improve their own criteria in training current and future Aurors in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Given your connection to one [Father’s Full Name], security will be provided upon your arrival. Should you accept this invitation, please respond as promptly as possible and arrive at the MACUSA Department of Aurors on Monday at 9:00 AM. We look forward to your response.”

 

L. Minus

Auror Commissioner of the Magical Congress of the United States

 

You propped your elbows on your legs, your forehead resting against your interlocked hands, sighing to yourself. Were you expecting some weird shit to happen with the public knowing of your abnormal patronus? Yeah, but you were expecting it to be more like interview stuff, not…this. Not meeting a bunch of aurors and possibly dueling them.

 

Not maybe seeing your dad again for the first time in nearly 3 years.

 

I mean…If anything, you get to go to New York for a bit which was bound to be raining and they had plenty of great places in the no-maj parts you could indulge in after. And messing with grown-ups sounded fun.

 

“Do you wish to send your response?” 

 

“I—”

 

The sound of harsh scraping footsteps cut you off. You jerked your head toward the Entrance Hall and saw Dumbledore stopping in place, his hand subtly preventing Lupin from moving beyond him. The men stared at you sitting across from the strange, temperamental creature. The pukwudgie narrowed its eyes and prepared to draw its weapon again, but you stopped it.

 

“Tell them I accept,” you said quietly, taking the parchment role from it. “Is there anything else?”

 

The pukwudgie grunted again, pulling out another envelope for you, this one with a shiny seal of a golden snitch. Your present for the twins.

 

“I’m sorry they made you handle this.” You lifted the envelope. It only huffed. Sensing its desire to depart, you held up both hands and rotated them a few times in place, as if double pageant waving. It did the same to you before taking a deep breath, leaping up into the air while curling into a ball, and disappearing with a crack.

 

Dumbledore quietly approached, Lupin still watching in curiosity at the interaction they had just witnessed. “ How did it get into Hogwarts?” Lupin wondered.

 

“Has that creature brought good news?” Dumbledore asked softly.

 

“You could call it good news,” you shrugged, handing him the parchment to read for himself. His eyes danced along the official handwriting from top to bottom, absorbing the message and its implications.

 

“I see,” Dumbledore hummed, handing the parchment back. “And you plan on going?”

 

You exhaled, “Yeah. I mean, what the hell right? Messing with a bunch of grown-ass aurors sounds like it’ll make for an entertaining spring break. And if they pester me too much with photos or something I could always just walk right out, so…”

 

He pressed his lips together, slightly smiling. “Why don’t you go back to the Great Hall and enjoy some cake? And give the twins their early birthday present,” he winked.

 

Lupin remained quiet, waiting a few more moments after you breezed by him to go back to the Great Hall. “Dumbledore, what’s going on? What was that creature?”

 

“That was a pukwudgie. They’re often regarded as the ‘American equivalent’ of house elves. And it seems it had a message for Miss L/N. MACUSA is now aware of the girl’s ability,” he remarked before recounting the contents of the message to the DADA teacher.

 

Lupin muttered to himself. “…in training current and future aurors? What does MACUSA intend to do with her?” 

 

Dumbledore pondered. “I imagine she’ll participate in a series of demonstrations or interviews. But we will not truly know until next week's papers come out.” He eyed your retreating form. “Let us hope this doesn’t end with her being overwhelmed about life outside of Hogwarts.”

 

The presence of students filled the corridors once more, some moving sluggish, weighted down by the fullness in their bellies having consumed more cake than humanly possible, some with quick strides, eager to get to bed in hopes that retiring for the night early will make tomorrow come faster. The twins were in no way the latter, the two of them practically leaning on each other for support, a lazy sense of happiness and satisfaction plastered on their faces.

 

“George! Fred! Hold up,” you called after the two red-headed boys, weaving your way through the mass of shuffling students and hopping on a moving section of the staircase to get to the Gryffindor common room entrance.

 

“Hello, Y/N,” they blinked happily at you, stopping at the bottom of the Master Staircase. “Wha’s up?”

 

You pulled the golden-sealed letter out from your back pocket, presenting it to the two of them. “Happy Early Birthday, you two!”

 

“Oh, Y/N!” Their smiles widened. “A bit early, don’t you think?” George added.

 

“We all leave tomorrow, remember? And it’s not like I know where you live,” you retorted.

 

Fred took the letter from you and his eyes lit up at the seal. “Y/N! Did you get us Quidditch tickets?” George peered over his brother’s shoulder at the exclamation.

 

“Open it and you’ll find out.”

 

Fred practically shredded the letter trying to get to the paper inside, George telling him to ease up. George was the first to get his hands on the special parchments, not wanting Fred’s excitement to damage the contents. Upon reading the header on the papers, they frowned. 

 

“This says Quidditch Pass,” Fred murmured.

 

“Yes.”

 

They just looked at you dumbly. You sighed. “Keep reading.”

 

They looked back down to the first copy of the parchment and began reading. After a good ten seconds, their eyes widened and their jaws fell open.

 

International Quidditch Pass

Summer Cup 199X

 

This pass admits one person per pass to any and all Quidditch games played in the International Quidditch Summer Cup from July 1st to August 31st.

Upon arrival at any game, please have this pass ready for—

 

They stopped reading and fiddled with the papers, seeing that there were enough passes for everyone in their family.

 

And the next thing you knew, your world turned and your back hit the floor.

 

“Oof!” The twins had pretty much tackled you, burying their faces into your collar. 

 

“Y/N, y-you…” Fred sniffed.

 

“This is the best birthday present ever!” George warbled. 

 

You chuckled to yourself, running your fingers through their hair. They loved Quidditch, especially one Viktor Krum, and figured with school off they and their family could see all sorts of matches with these special passes. They still clung to you even as you managed to get to your feet. When you moved to pull away, they did not let you go, your hands returning to their backs, rubbing up and down. They might’ve even been crying with their refusal to show you their faces.

 

“Sleepover…” George murmured.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Sleepover. Tonight.”

 

You scoffed. “C’mon. You know I’m not sleeping in a room with a handful of other teenage boys.”

 

“You know that’s not what we mean,” Fred grunted defiantly.

 

You smirked to yourself. You had sleepovers with the twins before. Always in your room. It happened so many times that the prefects couldn’t even bother to tell you to stop bringing them through the common room area, though you’d always sneak them in close to curfew when the prefects were still busy. However, what was most ideal was making sure Professor Snape never saw them headed toward the dungeons in the first place. Unfortunately, the twins tackling you was quite loud and Professor Snape, who was passing by to return to the dungeons, had just seen and heard everything.

 

“Do enlighten me just exactly what you mean, Weasleys,” Snape drawled strictly from behind you.

 

You could practically feel the twins frowning into your neck, frustrated that they were about to be denied the chance to hang out with you in secret.

 

“Sorry, guys. Even if the abandoned prefect lounge ,” you lied, “is unlocked, Peeves has taken a liking to it and he’s too damn annoying.” You leaned in towards their ears and whispered, “Wait a few moments before quietly following Snape and me down to the dungeons. Trust me.” You dropped your arms from their backs. “You two should put your present away in a safe spot. We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

They got into character, releasing you and taking extra care to flash Professor Snape with immensely dissatisfied expressions. “Fine, we’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

 

Snape narrowed his eyes challengingly at the twins as you swooped past him before the twins watched as the mean Professor caught up to you in no more than five strides and fell into a natural pace by your side. If the sudden scent of lavender hitting your nose and the black mass in your peripheral told you anything, it was that Professor Snape had successfully taken the bait. “You’ve got questions?” you spoke aloud, coming off as unsuspecting as possible. 

 

“What was that creature at dinner?” He asked quietly as students were still walking about the corridors. 

 

“That…was a pukwudgie.”

 

His eyebrows raised a little. “Pukwudgie?” The label rolled off his tongue with familiarity. “That little terrorizer represents one of the Ilvermorny houses you were in?”

 

“Fitting, isn’t it?” You chuckled. “But yeah. They are quite temperamental and not fond of people and yet they willingly serve them.”

 

“Why was it here?”

 

“It had a message for me. From MACUSA.”

 

“It apparated from America?” Snape’s expression was incredulous. 

 

“Oh—no, no!” You dismissed the idea. “My best guess is it was taken to the Ministry first and then apparated here.” You took the parchment out of your pocket and held it out to him. “You can read it if you’d like.”

 

He hesitantly took the message from you, wondering why you were allowing him to read your personal mail. His eyes moved along the few lines and almost popped out of his head, his jaw clenching in some unplaceable feeling akin to worry and irritation. “I see…” He muttered in discontent, handing the message back. “And you plan to attend?”

 

“Yep. It might be interesting. Sorry to say that I won’t be your court jester during the break,” you snorted.

 

“Pompous girl,” he huffed, hiding the dull pang of disappointment in his chest. “Your foolishness does not dictate what keeps me preoccupied during holidays.”

 

“Oh, for sure, for sure— Because you definitely didn’t go into the forest to watch a giant straw goat be burned alongside spirits on Christmas. That totally didn’t happen.”

 

“Quiet,” he hissed in concern that a passing student would overhear you.

 

You rolled your eyes. “Nevertheless, it’s probably just the one day at MACUSA. Who knows? I may spend some of the break at home and then bounce around a bit. Maybe check out Edinburgh.”

 

“Why Edinburgh?” He questioned with light curiosity. He’d been to Edinburgh himself, and while it was a beautiful place, there were far more interesting places you could visit outside of the country.

 

“For one of the things Europe does way better than America. The architecture.”

 

In standard Snape fashion, he had walked, more like ambled, with you back to the common room as if escorting you. Upon murmuring an “enjoy the rest of your evening,” you slipped inside and leaned your back against the door waiting. The twins had been following you as you noticed their distorted figures in the reflections of passing armor stands. You prayed that Professor Snape would keep walking toward his potions classroom instead of turning around to go to the staff room or something. 

 

Knock…knock…

 

Two soft raps on the dark wood ceased your worrying and the last thing anyone in the common room saw was you and two red-headed boys weaving around furniture and darting to your room in a fit of giggles. 

Chapter 51: A Monster in the Ministry of Magic

Summary:

Snape makes an unplanned excursion to the Ministry of Magic as your runespoor is revealed to the rest of the Wizarding World

Notes:

Chapters 51 and 52 were originally one, but I decided to split them. Also, more mild jealous Snape and some cameos!

A singular soft ray of yellow light streaked through the crack in the dark curtains, illuminating the room just enough to rouse the grumpy potion master from his well-earned slumber. The remnants of his dream faded away like the vignette in the corners of his vision. Despite his body wanting to sleep in, his mind was still attuned to his work schedule, bitterly glancing at the clock whose time began with the number ‘6’. With a groan, he uncurled from his position and rolled onto his back, his arms briefly splaying outward as he stared at the gently lit ceiling, feeling his face creak as he rubbed the butt of his palms up and down over his cheeks and eyes, encouraging himself to just get on with the day.

 

The students had all departed the day before, trunks and luggage in tow, excited to be reunited with their relatives for Easter and Spring break. He had spotted you yesterday morning with the twins, eating breakfast at the Gryffindor table as they practically clung to you for reasons that eluded him. Would they really miss you that much?

 

According to Dumbledore, not one student was staying for the break, everyone needing to mentally detach for a few weeks before their final exams. Yes. Everyone. Including you. Filch was the most satisfied with this outcome as it meant he had no brats to keep in line, which enabled him to visit a squib village for the break. Even the teachers departed, Dumbledore returning to Godric’s Hollow. The only person who resided in the empty castle for now was the brooding Slytherin. 

 

But his reasoning was simple. Rationale. His chambers here were arguably nicer than Spinner’s End, so why not opt to sleep here and spend his free time doing what he desired outside of the castle, whether that entailed errands in wizarding cities for something as simple as stopping for a drink or pastry?

 

His movements were languorous, slowly trudging toward the curtains to open them up more. Despite doing so carefully, he still winced like a vampire at the light. The morning was unhurried for him, a summoned house elf preparing him breakfast while he sat in his pajamas in the living area, a cup of tea by his side, his selected flavor giving him a bit more energy compared to the type he drank in the evenings, and your Icarus Slayne book in his lap, currently flipped open to a new chapter on Siberian witches and wizards. He read through his breakfast too, taking careful bites of his eggs and using a spell to levitate the book at eye level so as not to sully it with food. Soft hums of intrigue escaped him, his mind opening to and absorbing the stories of these foreign characters and their wild intentions, one witch in particular who created a series of nesting dolls that could trap whole people inside of them for trafficking purposes.

 

He felt much more awake and ready for the day after a shower. His nimble fingers buttoned up the last button on his dark robes, his feet slotting into his shoes as he mentally checked off each action, preparing to depart for the day. Stuffed in his robe pockets was a list of things he planned on accomplishing or acquiring as well as a money pouch full of enough galleons that would allow him to indulge in such prospects. Though quite a mundane outing compared to how most celebrate the break, he had no particularly eventful excitements to look forward to anyway.

 

A glance at the clock told him that it was now 10:00 AM, a perfect time to beat the usual traffic at the bookstores. 

 

Hmm. For a moment he thought you were at MACUSA right about now, until he remembered the time difference. You were most definitely still asleep.

 

He shook his head, dispelling the thought, and approached the floo place in his office.

 

***

 

Severus’s flame-engulfed form sputtered out on the other side of the floo, placing him in the Leaky Cauldron. The tables were jam-packed, friends and families laughing and hugging as they settled at the inn. Like a serpent navigating through a thick bramble, he weaved through the clumps of people and managed to avoid so much as grazing their shoulders with his. Slipping out through the back and free from the loud ambiance of the magical inn, he breached the cobbled street of Diagon Alley, pleased by the amount of walking space on the roads as most had taken to go elsewhere for vacations. Though he’d never tell anyone this, he thought Diagon Alley looked rather nice in the spring. There was more color around and a significant dip in the usual ruckus that sometimes deterred him from visiting. New flowers and plants popped up on the window sills, signage that had taken damage from the winter weather was replaced, and stores shifted out their products for more seasonally appropriate items, some he may have just yet to try. And of course, with a new season came the smell of new confections and pastries that floated out from shop chimneys and windows.

 

He appreciated the aesthetic of Flourish and Blotts, its interior decorated similar to that of a Victorian library. The small bell above the door frame tinged as he stepped through the entrance of Flourish and Blotts, signaling a new presence. The worker at the front counter tossed him a reflexive “Hello, welcome!” before returning to their duties.

 

There was a book or two that came to mind he saw being advertised in the Prophet , though truth be told he was nearly running out of shelf in his office for more books. A team notable for the exploration of potential potion ingredients in the more ominous nooks and crannies of the world had published a book regarding their findings within the depths of the land-locked Black Sea. Another he was potentially interested in was a Dark Arts book that detailed some rather troubling encounters with dark creatures in Australia. Supposedly, the Acromantula there were twice as big as the ones in the Forbidden Forest.

 

The foreboding energy Severus possessed made those near shift away from the shady-looking wizard, his eyes flicking critically across the bindings that faced outward, and muttering the author's names aloud. Much to his satisfaction, he successfully located both books, the new and clean texture of their covers a pleasing sensation against the pads of his fingers, yet another subtle thing he appreciated about adding new books to his personal library. 

 

Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecary had a variety of newly stocked ingredients. Severus spent some time leisurely perusing, cataloging the different ways the ingredients could be used in various experiments, depending on what kind of a brewing mood he’d find himself in over the break. There were some new ones he had yet to test, imported from Egypt and Spain. Little cards decorated the display crates, declaring the names of the ingredients and some text detailing their common uses from their place of origin. The Spanish ingredient was a sticky honeycomb that was said to help remedy a lack of appetite and or nausea when one is sick. The Egyptian ingredient, root of acacia, was used in potions that helped with vitamin deficiencies. The honeycomb certainly intrigued him and he was unsure about how useful the root would be for him, but thankfully, the shop owner was allowing samples to be taken for their first debut week, the professor departing with five hearty honeycombs to start with and a singular root in a small drawstring pouch.

 

He continued to drift around Diagon Alley, more or less window shopping until his stomach growled. By now it was past noon and the smells from the local cafes and restaurants were a siren’s song for his stomach. He gave in, pivoting off the street and stepping into a cafe he had been in once or twice before. It was a modest location that let in plenty of light but still had calmer corners where he could park himself at and not be bothered by strangers. Upon putting in his order at the counter, a sandwich, chips, and a glass of iced tea, he settled into a quiet spot by a window that wasn’t too bright on his eyes and began reading one of the cafe-provided copies of the Prophet. England was doing well in Quidditch this year, having recently beaten the Norwegian team 470-290. Summer internships at the Ministry and St. Mungos were already being advertised for all sorts of entry-level positions, or simply for a way to get your foot in the door. And of course, the usual scandalous stories that pervaded England’s wizarding community in which journalists such as Rita Skeeter would pry at those just trying to live their lives.

 

Who cared if the owner of the broomstick store cheated on their spouse with a vampire?

 

***

 

By the time Severus had returned to Hogwarts, the sky had a slight golden tint to it, the sunset surely to come within the next hour. His body felt pleasantly full from the nice lunch he had. Upon jarring his newly bought ingredients, he parted the curtains of his office all the way, casting his gaze across the shore and surface of the Black Lake he was afforded. It was rather nice out right now, a breeze presenting itself in the way the tall grass in the distance gently swayed. 

 

Perhaps…a walk was due?

 

He turned his gaze toward the clock once more, now 5 o’clock. It was noon in New York now. He frowned. His first thought shouldn’t have been you when he pondered a walk.

 

He wondered if you had finished at MACUSA or if you were still with the auror department. What were they having you do over there, anyway? Interviewing? Explaining how you managed to solidify your patronus?

 

His hands clenched into fists, his mind conjuring up the more concerning possibilities. 

 

Dueling?

 

POP POP!

 

He whipped his head toward the fireplace, green flickers of sparks and fire crackling in the floo fireplace. There was a sudden whoosh, a figure emerging from the flames, swiping any stray spot off his illustrious cape.

 

“Severus,” Lucius greeted mildly, taking only but a few steps out of floo.

 

“Lucius,” he raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here? I’d have thought you’d be in Paris for Spring break.”

 

“Worry not. I do have plans to travel soon. Might you find yourself free at this moment?”

 

Severus narrowed his eyes at his friend, picking up a certain glint in the man’s eye. Lucius knew something…

 

“What do you intend to drag me off to this time?”

 

“My, my Severus. What’s with the sudden change of tone? I merely wanted to offer you the chance to witness something entertaining. Interesting things are happening at the Ministry as we speak.”

 

Severus rolled his eyes. “I have no desire to bear witness to whatever petty drama is happening between your affiliates.”

 

Lucius clicked his tongue, his fingers drumming against the top of his walking stick. “Well then…I shall be on my way. I just thought you might’ve liked the chance to see your favorite Slytherin in action, but I understand if that holds no interest for you—”

 

“You saw Miss Y/N?” Snape interjected in confusion.

 

The bit about you being his “favorite” evidently went right over his head, making Lucius’s lips quirk upward. “Yes. She was being escorted around the Ministry by who I presume to be a group of MACUSA officials mere minutes ago.”

 

“For what purpose?”

 

“I do not know. However, I’m inclined to believe the individuals accompanying her are aurors.”

 

Severus pressed his lips tight together before he uttered, “She was invited to MACUSA to meet with the aurors regarding her patronus. Are you sure you saw her at the Ministry?”

 

“I’ll admit I nearly mistook her for someone else as she looked very… different in comparison to the few times I have seen her, but yes, I am positive it is her. I do not know what business she has there, but I got the sense something peculiar was going to happen as I noticed a few journalists and other curious workers following after her. I thought you might like a front-row seat should there be a spectacle.” He leaned forward slightly. “And I do tend to be right about these things, Severus.”

 

It was true. Lucius had an innate sense of these things as if he could feel a physical shift in the air's energy. He has been involved in politics, business, networking, and the drama of the elites for quite a while. He could tell if two people in a room were on the cusp of divorce with a simple glance. 

 

Severus huffed to himself, his curiosity, unfortunately, piqued as he paced toward the floo. “If this ends up being a waste of my time, you owe me a bottle of the finest Parisian wine.”

 

“Of course,” he hummed in amusement. “Though I don’t believe that’ll be necessary.”

 

Severus held the crook of Lucius's elbow, and soon both their visions were once again filled with a bright green as the flames enveloped them, a tugging sensation running up and down his spine. It was as quick as a blink, the interior of his office replaced with polished, dark brick.

 

Workers just getting off from their day shifts and those coming for the night shift bustled about the lobby level, their conversations entailing the crumbs of today's duties or recounted friction between another colleague. The Fountain of Magical Brethren grew in height as they moved through the waves of people, granted most parted away for Lucius. The octagonal stacked offices offered a view of one-on-one meetings and employees hard at work, each room a cog in a machine that helped keep the Wizarding World in balance. 

 

The golden cage-like doors of the elevators slid open, a tightly packed group filing out and blending into the crawling sea of workers. Both men stepped into the elevator with thankfully no one else cramming in around them. Lucius pressed the ‘2’ button, the elevator jerking to life and moving backward before it shifted downwards. Severus’s nerves were alight with anticipation, an unsettling mixture of anxiety and hope. What were you doing here when you were supposed to be in the States? Maybe there was a simple explanation. Perhaps it has something to do with your father who worked back and forth…

 

The elevator slotted itself in place, the door sliding open granting Lucius and Severus access to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The ground was the same brick, but the walls were now made of a lighter marble. Carved into the ground in the center of the lobby floor was an “M” that resembled a weight scale, text curving around it that said “Department of Magical Enforcement. Lots of aurors paced around, files in hand and speaking urgently with one another, some appearing to stay overtime to work on finishing a report or closing a case.

 

“Lucius,” a dirty blonde man in dark blue robes said some feet away, spotting the two men.

 

“Cadmus,” Lucius greeted, approaching the man and shaking his hand. “So good to see you, my friend.” 

 

“What brings you to the Department of Magical Enforcement?”

 

“Severus and I are here regarding a group of MACUSA workers. They were seen escorting a girl around. Tall and in her early twenties. Do you know anything about that?”

 

“Ah, yes. I did see them pass through here not too long ago. I don’t know what’s going on, though I saw them go into the Training Pitch. Rufus Scrimgeour was with them and I believe Mad-Eye is leading a training session with the aurors right about now.” Cadmus tilted his head at him. “Do you know her?”

 

“Yes. She is Severus’s student. She is also the same woman you may have heard of being able to summon a solid, giant runespoor patronus.”

 

“Merlin’s beard,” he gawked. “That’s her? Well, I hope you two don’t mind if I join you. If she is who you say she is, I may have an idea of what Scrimgeour and Moody might be up to.” He motioned for them to follow. “This way.”

 

Cadmus guided them to two large bronze double doors on the far side of the floor. Above the doors was a black sign also gilded in bronze displaying in bold words:

~ AUROR TRAINING PITCH ~

 

As they strode through the double doors, they were met with the backs of several witches and wizards clustered and crowded around the windows. The training pitch resembled a Quidditch pitch with very limited seating, the expansive arena floor down below, and a 360-degree viewing level blocked off with one-way windows that allowed people to watch the training without the aurors being distracted. Though it was primarily those from the Magical Enforcement division, there were spectators from other departments watching the scene that was soon to unfold, having heard through friends about the strange demonstration that was to take place. Even oddballs like Xenophillius Lovegood were here, his young daughter at her father’s side and holding his hand.

 

Cadmus guided Lucius and Severus around the viewing level until they found three vacant seats in a section that neighbored another batch of seats in which Rufus Scrimgeor sat, speaking quietly with someone who looked to be from MACUSA. He was a thick man. Not portly, but broad in the shoulders and hips. His hair was black and slicked back, the first graying hairs making themselves known on the sides of his head. And on each of his middle and ring fingers were a few thick silver rings. The man spoke with somewhat of an accent that he couldn’t place. Judging by how this man appeared when he sat, Severus imagined he was shorter than himself.

 

A set of doors in the arena opened up and all side chatter ceased as a group of of twenty aurors entered and lined themselves up accordingly. The clunking sound of Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody’s wooden staff echoed from the built-in speakers throughout the viewing level as he hobbled in. And following alongside him was…

 

You.

 

Lucius nudged him and Severus looked over to see Lucius offering him a small pair of binoculars one might use at a Quidditch match to get a better look at the players. He silently accepted and held the magnifying spectacles up to his face. His friend hadn’t been exaggerating earlier. You did look different. Your hair was up and out of the way in a tight bun, black smokey makeup that looked as though it was painted or splattered over your eyes, and to match with it, a gothic style coat that blended into equally black jeans and combat boots. Merlin, you looked so militaristic. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, he was just so used to seeing you in more casual clothing. 

 

Though he had to admit…the aesthetic made you look alluringly powerful. 

 

“Alright everyone, listen up,” Moody gruffed. “This was not on the trainin’ schedule for today, but this a very rare opportunity for you all and her to learn more about a vein of magic that has seldom been tapped into.” He rocked his staff slightly, his magical eye flicking way off to the side toward you. “This is F/N. She’s 21 and from America but is still doin’ her last year at Hogwarts. An unorthodox student…with unorthodox magic.”

 

The aurors in the arena looked to you, but you weren’t really paying attention to them, or Moody for that matter, pacing around to yourself and swiping your feet lightly against the floor like you were bored. Lucius raised an eyebrow, Severus feeling a twinge of embarrassment. At least try to act professional in front of all these people, Miss.

 

“As you may or may not have heard, about a month ago, rumors floated around that there was a witch who could summon a runespoor patronus that was not only big but could be solid. Well…yer lookin’ at her!” Moody gazed at you, nodding his head curiously.

 

“Mmh,” you hummed, tersely, pacing off into the direction you were already facing to give you and your patronus more room. You flicked your wand out from your sleeve and raised it in the air. Those watching who had heard about your patronus leaned forward with anticipation, journalists getting their cameras ready. 

 

“Expecto Patronum.”

 

Silvery blue light burst forth from your wand, gathering itself and expanding upwards into the air like volcanic gas before it took the shape of a runespoor and solidified clearly before everyone’s eyes. 

 

“Oh my!”

 

“Merlin!”

 

“They’re like bloody basilisks!”

 

Murmurs and gasps of shock and surprise echoed around the viewing level followed by the snapping of cameras and the scritching of quills. The aurors on the arena floor had their jaws dropped open. They had never seen a patronus so big before.

 

“F/N has managed to hit the lottery twice with her patronus. Not only is her patronus monstrously large, but she can also make it solid.” He paused dramatically. “To…the…touch.”

 

To emphasize this point, you made a show of leaning backward, doing a trust fall, only for Morpheus to dip his head down and catch you, raising you back up. The aurors eyes widened, the gears in their heads turning.

 

“I don’t suppose you need me to explain the implications of such a fact,” Moody stated once more to the team. Your patronus partially uncoiled from around you, their heads dipping down and forward to flicker their tongues out at the new people before them. Morpheus, your visionary sweetheart, hovered his way past you and over to Moody. The man pressed his lips together slightly but stood his ground as the massive head dipped down and sniffed at Moody’s magical eye. The eyeball in return flicked all over your patronus’s form. Morpheus seemed to puff in approval of this characteristic and began licking the scarred skin around the edge of the leather strap on his face.

 

“Bah!” Moody leaned away from the creature’s affections and raised a meaty hand to push the head back by its snoot. “Anyway… Some of you have had the experience of fighting very large and very dangerous creatures like dragons. However, none of you have encountered such a creature that can be controlled, or puppeted by another person. The closest you may have come to is a Fiendfyre cast by a dark wizard, but this,” he raised the staff toward Runey. “This may as well be the real deal.”

 

An auror who looked to be in his late twenties raised his hand. Moody nodded, permitting him to speak. 

 

“Do you intend to have us… fight her?”

 

Moody hummed. “Yes, Mulligan, I do.”

 

The audience was abuzz with excitement and apprehension. Severus’s fingers gripped the fabric of his trousers tightly, a spike of worry panging through his chest.

 

“But why? And not to complain, sir, but we just got done with training an hour ago—”

 

The scarred wizard glared at him, Mulligan buttoning his trap instantly and looking away.

 

“As I said before… This is a very rare opportunity. I would like to test your creativity in handling such a situation. Consider it a team-bondin' exercise. I’ve also been made aware that Hogwarts’s headmaster has encouraged F/N to explore the possibilities of her patronus, and I imagine knowing how it reacts to other types of magic would be useful.”

 

The aurors shared a look, all worried about one thing in particular: embarrassing themselves. Though they couldn’t see, they all knew that there must’ve been many people watching behind the glass, journalists, employees, and representatives from many divisions. But then again, you were outnumbered. Depending on how Moody wanted to do this, it just might be a cinch.

 

“We are lucky that F/N has granted us a bit of her time, so let's get started. F/N. How many do you think would be a fair fight?”

 

You pursed your lips. “There are three heads, so how about…six?”

 

Moody grunted in agreement. “Mulligan, Ricketts, Biliwick…”  Moody rattled off the names of some aurors to step forward from the line. “You six will be fightin’ F/N at the same time. You’ll have up to thirty minutes to disarm or debilitate her. F/N the same goes for you. Disarm or debilitate. If you get disarmed, join the others outside of the pitch. The rest of you…up to the viewin’ area.”

 

Severus’s leg started to subtly bounce, anxiety rising in him. They were going to have you fight. Against aurors. While he knew you had an ‘O’ in DADA, these people were professionally trained. You were still just a student! Just because you had your runespoor doesn’t mean you were invincible. 

 

“What is Rufus thinking putting her in an arena with aurors when she has no experience?” Snape muttered.

 

Lucius side-eyed his friend. “I’m sure everything will be alright, Severus. Rufus is a shrewd man, and I don’t doubt the security team would take it lightly if the Ministry sent her back in a matchbox.”

 

They all quieted once more as the participating aurors moved to one side of the pitch, regrouping and forming a game plan while you went to the opposite side, heads dipping down low and snuffling you out of comfort. Even though you had done pretty much the same thing at MACUSA hours ago, you were still nervous…and a bit tired, but you wouldn't be hanging around for as long. “ Like hell this was private either,” you thought, running your gaze slowly along the ring of windows. 

 

You wondered if your father was watching you. Silent and unsuspecting…

 

Zeus crooned, nuzzling his snoot against your cheek. “Yes, I love you too, my big handsome boy,” you cooed back enthusiastically, kissing him.

 

Moody cleared his throat. “The spectators can hear you, F/N.”

“Good,” you blanked. “I hope the charms in place pick up the sounds of your aurors soiling themselves.” Severus bristled at your crassness and the man who sat next to Rufus couldn’t help but snort loudly as he failed to suppress his amusement.

 

“Right… Are you lot ready?” Moody barked.

 

The six aurors broke apart, fanning out into an offensive formation. “Yes, Sir!” Mulligan said. Moody turned to you. “F/N?”

 

Alright bubbies, you know what to do.  

 

Zeus, Morpheus, and Themis arranged themselves accordingly, Zeus on your right, Morpheus hovering above you, and Themis on your left. They swayed about menacingly, fangs the length of your arm bared at the aurors and growling like dragons as per your mental orders. The flashing of cameras erupted around the viewing area once more. Your wand rested at your side, though gripped tightly.

 

“Ready,” you declared.

 

Moody cast a barrier spell on himself that resembled a bubble, presumably to protect himself from any stray spells. He cast another one, this time manifesting a floating, glowing hourglass. “Use any means you like, including jinxes and hexes. No curses, especially the Unforgivables, of course. You start when I flip this hourglass.”

 

Not a single spectator took their eyes off you and the aurors. Your six opponents shifted in place, widening their stances and tightening their grips. Moody spared one last back-and-forth between you all before flipping the hourglass.

 

“Begin!” he bellowed.

 

“Experliarmus!” Mulligan cast the first spell. An understandable choice to cast the Disarming Spell. It was natural to want to see if he could at the very least disarm you right at the very beginning. 

 

But also predictable.

 

Morpheus lunged down in front of you, blocking the spell with his head. The spell burst into hundreds of tiny sparkles, dissipating away into nothingness before Morpheus returned to his position. The aurors looked at eachother once more before another spell was fired.

 

Another auror fired non-verbally. Based on the color you assumed it to be a “Stupefy.” This time it was Themis who threw himself in front of you, enduring the spell. Like before, it had no effect and faded into nothingness.

 

What followed was a heavy barrage of verbal and non-verbal spells fired your way. Morpheus swooped down in front of you, using his thick body to protect you from the attack, a myriad of colorful bursts of light resulting from the impact. It went on like this for nearly a whole minute before it stopped completely and you ordered Morpheus to move.

 

“Is it sinking in yet?” you questioned aloud. “You’ll have to get more strategic than that if you want to get to me.” 

 

“He’s like your impenetrable shield,” Mulligan mused. “But I suppose you’re right. Another strategy is needed.” 

 

Mulligan then aimed his wand down toward the ground in front of you, murmuring a spell. White light shot out from the tip, fanning out and frosting the ground over with ice like the Black Lake's frozen surface. Although you were wearing boots, the grip wasn’t enough to keep you steady, and instantly, you slipped and fell right on your behind. The impact and bit of pain that came with it made your patronus flicker to an unsolid state.

 

Two other aurors took advantage or tried to, and fired different spells at you. Despite this effort, your mind was quicker, and you managed to get Runey back into a solid state before the spells could get to you, Zeus deflecting the magic away.

 

“I see. Typical direct attacks will not work with that beast in the way. So either we distract you just enough, or distract your monster.”

 

“Well done, Mulligan,” you smiled amicably. “You figured it out faster than the lead MACUSA auror did. Only two minutes in! You’re rather astute.”

 

Mulligan, who wasn’t expecting a compliment from his opponent, let a proud, but friendly, smile grace his lips.

 

You clicked your tongue. “Unfortunately, that means I must dispose of you first. Bye-bye, Mulligan.”

 

Except for your verbal warning, there was no way anyone could have guessed what happened next. Morpheus swiftly lunged out, and instead of protecting you, went straight for Mulligan. Before the auror could even react, Morpheus had clamped down on Mulligan’s extended wand. Everyone froze, Mulligan’s hands were just barely missed by Morpheus’s jaws and gripped tightly around his wand. Morpheus swiftly yanked the man upward and flung him like he were a ragdoll. His startled cry filled the air, but his sounds were not heard for long as Morpheus shot his head back up, opened his jaws wide, and snapped them shut around Mulligan, the auror no longer to be seen or heard.

 

The entire viewing level gasped and shouted with fright and outrage. Everyone who was sitting was now on their feet, and those who were already standing pressed closer to the glass. 

 

“Did that thing just eat an auror?!” someone yelled. The onlookers were in complete uproar. 

 

“Atta girl,” the man next to Rufus murmured.

 

Morpheus lowered himself down to the same level as the other two heads. “One down, five to go,” you declared. The other aurors had their mouths hanging open once more, their minds a muddled mess. “Oh, don’t worry. You can get your friend back. If you’re smart enough,” you taunted.

 

“There’s no way we’re losing to a student,” Ricketts growled. “Make yourselves invisible! Now!” 

 

The aurors swiped their wands over themselves, disappearing from your eyes. 

 

“Ho- ho! Now we’re talking!” You licked your lips, a thrill shooting up your spine.

 

Zeus. Themis. Fan out.

 

Runey’s spikes flared in anticipation like he was ready to hunt. The left and right heads stretched away from their conjoined center and smelled at the air, trying to pick up on the scents and locations of the five aurors in the pitch while Morpheus kept himself low and partially in front of you, ready to provide coverage. It was eerily quiet, not even the sounds of their footsteps giving them away, but you remained calm, eyes and ears vigilant for any signs.

 

A flock of birds manifested out of nowhere, flying up to Morpheus and swarming around his head. He ignored them at first according to your will, but when they started to peck at his eyes, he growled in irritation and whipped his head, snapping at them and leaving an opening.

 

An orange flash was headed your way, and Themis ducked down, taking Morpheus’s place and absorbing the spell. Instead of bouncing off or bursting into nothingness, a grainy cloud had formed on impact and began to swirl around Themis’s head. You blinked to yourself as you felt something get stuck in your eyes like small grains. The wind got stronger, blowing more grains and more particles around. It was some sort of sandstorm spell. You did your best to move yourself and Themis away from it, but enough sand had gotten in Themis’s nose and eyes that he was too frustrated to keep himself grounded.

 

Zeus surged downward, picking up on a scent, and lunged out. His snoot pushed someone over roughly and they grunted. The sound of a wand clattered to the floor and the auror was visible. Instead of snatching them up and swallowing them, Zeus lapped up the wand into his mouth, showing it off tauntingly like a dog with a chew toy. 

 

“Graves! You’re out!” Moody called. Zeus dropped the wand and returned to your defense. The auror scowled, snatching her wand back up and stalking away.

 

The sandstorm grew in size like swirling cotton candy, enveloping a quarter of the pitch. Your other forearm went up to shield your eyes.

 

Keep tracking! Stay low to the ground. 

“Bombarda!”

 

A round of explosions fired off in the air, startling the heads, and making them jerk away from their center, exposing you. As the sandstorm built, it was getting hard to see properly. Two jets of green came your way and you avoided it by throwing yourself against Zeus’s body. 

 

“Keep at it!” A different auror said. “She can’t counter without sacrificing her patronus!”

 

Morpheus! Down here!

 

Having shaken off the birds, Morpheus swooped in and guarded you, but more flashes of magic were making themselves known through the sandy air. A bolt of lightning shot out and struck Morpheus square on his jaw. The impact was like a slap in the face for him, jerking him sideways. He roared in displeasure but was cut off by another bolt, whipping his head in the opposite direction. More magic was being thrown at the heads; lightning bolts, jets of water, vines manifesting from nowhere, and attempting to wrangle Zeus, Morpheus, and Themis, anything to keep them from protecting you. 

 

You had no idea how much time there was and could no longer see Moody anymore. Themis lunged out and knocked an auror over, but was unable to clamp down on him or the wand as someone had used “ Incarcerous ,” enveloping the head with thick netting like fishermen hauling in their load.

 

Almost there! Just a little bit longer.

 

Zeus guarded you now, the four of you waiting for the sandstorm to keep building. You had a plan to win, but you needed to wait for this sandstorm to thicken just a bit more. The other side of the pitch was nearly impossible to see, and you might’ve guessed that it was very hard for the people watching to even discern you amongst the dusty storm. The air was getting exponentially thicker. Your chance was almost here. 

 

Themis! Morpheus! Sweep them!

 

The two heads followed your command, slinking on the ground and flailing themselves in a large sweeping motion. You had no idea how close the aurors were and if any of them planned on sneaking up on you, so you decided to repel them back just in case. That seemed to be the best decision as you heard the sound of bodies being flung and smacking against the floor, the aurors grunting painfully and muttering encouragements as they recomposed themselves.

 

“Everyone alright?” Ricketts called, the aurors unsure where their partners were as they were still invisible.

 

“Yes! Come on, now. We’ve almost got her—”

 

“Aguamenti!”

 

A thick jet of water, like it was being shot out of a firehouse, spouted out high from the sandstorm in a sweeping back-and-forth motion, drenching the aurors where they stood. They all whipped their heads back to the sandstorm which was beginning to fade away. Ricketts cast a spell that made the sandstorm disappear much faster, the air becoming less hazy…

 

…and also revealing that you had disappeared.

 

“Where’d she go…?” Biliwick murmured.

 

Moody’s eyes widened. “You fools! She’s made herself invisible—”

 

Two spells fired from the side of the arena, hitting Biliwick and Ricketts, who were now visible due to the water rolling and dripping off their bodies. The spells made them inhale sharply, before their shiny forms stiffened and fell over like planks of wood, remaining unmoving.

 

You had paralyzed them.

 

“Homonu—”

 

“Stupefy!”

 

The auror who had been too focused on making you visible, was launched backward and knocked out, letting go of his wand and disqualifying him from the fight.

 

“Homenum Revelio!” you and the last auror both chanted as he had heard your approaching footsteps. Both of you were visible now and wet now, the auror from the water, and you with the sweat that had been dribbling down your temples, making your eye makeup bleed down your cheeks. The delayed strain from concentration was hitting you now, dizziness making your head fuzzy.

 

“And then there were two,” you panted.

 

The two of you stared each other down, an understanding passed between the both of you that this would be a one-on-one duel, no patronus involved. You and the auror shifted into your preferred fighting stances and eyeing Moody’s hourglass, which indicated there were about five minutes left.

 

The auror fired first. You wordlessly blocked it, steeling yourself for the next one that came immediately afterward. This time you reflected it, back toward them, giving yourself an opening.

 

“Flipendo!”  

 

The auror blocked. The seconds ticked by as you fiercely exchanged spells, the both of you locked in a sort of dance. Cast, cast, block… Cast, cast…block. But the dance would be coming to an end soon, either due to the waning time or the throbbing that was building intensely.

 

The distance had lessened between the both of you. If either of you were not able to block or reflect at this point, the duel would be over. The auror saw their moment when you had swayed and stumbled slightly.

 

“Stupefy!” he chanted. The spell hit you in the chest, sending you backward. You hit the ground roughly, smacking your head against the floor. Everyone on the viewing level watched with bated breath, waiting for Moody to declare the fight to be over. However, the auror noticed your body slightly stirred and you still had your wand, so he paced forward to end the fight once and for all. The spell wasn’t guaranteed to knock a person unconscious, only if they were launched high enough and hit the ground hard enough. That didn’t appear to be the case for you, but the rest of your body was starting to feel weaker. He sneered down at you, standing over your body with his wand aimed at you.

 

“You put up a good fight, but it doesn’t seem like you’re much without that patronus protecting you. I’ll give you the chance to forfeit now or I can— OOHF!”

 

The auror curled over on himself with his mouth agape, his wand clattering to the floor with your boot lodged between his thighs. Every man on the viewing level hissed and groaned in sympathy, for you had kicked this man in the bullocks. Hard. The auror crumpled to his knees by your side, hands automatically finding themselves where your boot was as he bit down on his lip, the pain radiating throughout his lower half. You shot your hand out to the side, snatching up his wand, before pushing yourself off the ground with trembling arms.

 

“I win,” you called out to Moody, who didn’t know whether to be impressed or disappointed. 

 

“It would appear so,” he grunted out. He raised his staff, casting counter spells on those you had knocked out or petrified, the other aurors becoming visible and able to move their bodies once more. The members from MACUSA clapped for you from the viewing level, as did Lucius. Severus finally released the breath he had been holding in, praying for the fight to be over and that you wouldn’t get hurt.

 

“What happened to Mulligan?” Moody barked.

 

You looked around, locating Mulligan’s form lying on the ground where you had released Runey. You trudged over, taking in the fact that he was not moving but still breathing.

 

“He appears to have fainted, sir. Probably from a panic atta…”

 

Your vision blurred a little and you stumbled to the ground. The spectators murmured to themselves, Lucius and Snape’s prideful expressions replaced with concern. The man next to Rufus got closer to the glass, withdrew his wand, and aimed at you, casting the Legilimency spell. Severus seemed to be the only one to notice this, glaring at the MACUSA member in suspicion. Should he say something? Call the man out? Why was he using Legilimency on you? But before he could decide, the man made the decision for him, sweeping away from the window with determined strides and disappearing from the Training Pitch.

 

“Tapped out?” Moody questioned.

 

“Yes. I think I’m done.”

 

The man nodded, rocking his staff. “Good fightin’. If anything it has taught me that my aurors are cocky,” he derided, throwing a disparaging look toward the auror you had kicked between the legs. “Though I don’t doubt you could've ended it at the beginning simply by constricting them.”

 

“Yeah,” you breathed, standing up once more. “But what would’ve been the fun in that? And I wouldn’t have learned what weaknesses Runey has.”

 

Moody gave you a nod of approval. “Rest here if you want. They’ll collect you for questionin’ later,” he uttered, leaving you to lower yourself to the ground and sit up against the wall to give yourself a break. The other aurors went to gather their two unconscious teammates and followed after the hobbling man. 

 

Rufus, who had much to say, moved away from his spot and went to meet with Moody. The other aurors who had been on the sidelines grumbled in frustration, criticizing their teammates while also claiming that what you did at the end was “dirty,” but alas, all is fair in love and war. Those who had stayed beyond their work schedule, promptly departed, eager to tell their families what they witnessed. 

 

“Well, this certainly was worth coming, wasn’t it Severus?” Lucius smirked. Severus exhaled, rolling his eyes at his friend's smugness, and was about to bite back until he saw you summon your patronus once more despite your supposedly tired state.

 

“That damnable girl… She should be resting!” Severus grumbled.

 

“Merlin! What a spectacle! I’ve always wanted to see a runespoor,” Xenophilius’s boisterous voice echoed nearby. “This was more exciting than when I first witnessed the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.”

 

“Whatever you say,” A man next to him rolled his eyes. “Er, Xenophilius? Isn’t that your daughter in the pitch?”

 

The blonde man frowned looking down at his side where his daughter once stood, only to find it empty. There might as well have been a blinking dashed outline of her silhouette. He looked out at the pitch and saw his daughter wandering dazily around the pitch toward your runespoor. “Luna!” He shouted, weaving through spectators toward a set of doors that would grant him access to the pitch.

 

Those who had stood near Xeno snickered, disparagingly. “What a nutter… Can’t even keep an eye on his kid.”

 

Runey’s shared body cradled you now, Morpheus dipping in low to dote on you. He wedged whatever part of his snoot he could get into the crook of your neck and licked along your thumping pulse point, a strange sensation, but it was a welcomed attempt to calm your heartbeat. Some jerking movements from Zeus and Themis made you push up and look over their thick coils. Someone else had entered the pitch. 

 

A young girl with platinum blonde hair.

 

She giggled to herself, staring up at Themis who blinked and flickered at her curiously as she fidgeted with a charm around her neck. She didn’t appear to have noticed you. “Hello!” The girl chirped at the massive head. Raising her arms up, she patted its snoot affectionately. Themis inhaled the scent of her soul and puffed back at her with equal enthusiasm.

 

“You're quite lovely,” she said softly, stroking its chin. “Daddy says not to judge a creature by its looks, but by its eyes. They are the windows to the soul, you know.”

 

Themis shoved himself into her and lifted her into the air, eliciting squeals of happiness from her as she gripped his head. “Weeeeeee!” She cried as Themis flung her mid-air and gently gripped her upside down by her ankles, the girl still giggling relentlessly as she was moved into your field of vision. Her smile persisted when she saw you staring at her.

 

“Hello there,” you greeted. “I don’t believe you’re supposed to be in here.”

 

“I’m sorry. I followed a trail of wrackspurts in here.”

 

“What’s a wrackspurt?” you asked with a slight tilt of your head.

 

“They’re invisible creatures that float into people’s ears and make their brains fuzzy.” She took out a pair of strange glasses and held them up to her eyes. “Your head is full of them!” she proclaimed.

 

You hummed in amusement. “What is your name?”

 

“Luna. Luna Lovegood. My father runs the Quibbler. He likes magical creatures like your patronus, you see.”

 

“Oh, yeah… I know the Quibbler. Reminds me of MAD Magazine…”

 

The doors to the pitch burst open and a distraught man with equally blonde hair appeared in the doorway, he stepped into the pitch but froze at the sight of his daughter in the jaws of the three-headed beast.

 

“Hi, Daddy!”

 

“L-Luna…!” his mouth went dry, taking hesitant steps toward the Runespoor. 

 

You turned towards the source of the new voice. It was a man. Her father. Your eyes flicked between him and Themis, realizing how this might’ve looked, so you mentally ordered Themis to hover himself over toward Mr. Lovegood. He met the runespoor halfway and carefully took his daughter from Themis and set her on the ground. 

 

“Oh, Luna! Honestly, you must stop wandering around when we go out! You know I can’t keep track of you when you wander in such busy places, especially the Ministry of Magic.”

 

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said gently. “I just saw some wrackspurts and couldn’t help myself.”

 

He huffed, and just as he was about to speak again, the words died on the tip of his tongue. Themis, who had gotten curious about Mr. Lovegood, had dipped down and begun to snuffle along the crown of his head. The man was tense, not daring himself to move.

 

“Sorry about that. He’s curious about new people. He will not harm you,” you spoke up, prompting the man to flit his eyes to you. The coils unraveled, allowing you to plant your feet on the ground as well. “Did you shower this morning? I think he likes the smell of your shampoo.”

 

“I… Yes, I did. It’s plum-scented,” Xenophilius spoke carefully. Themis begin to lick along the man’s hairline.

 

“You can pet him if you’d like.”

 

Xenophilius raised a hand and placed it against Themis’s chin like his daughter had and stroked lightly. Themis purred, drawing an unexpected smile from Mr. Lovegood. “He feels…quite real,” he remarked, tracing Themis’s scales on the underside of his jaw.

 

You smiled back, a fuzzy sensation flaring in your chest at this man’s friendliness toward Runey. “Very. This one’s name is Themis. And that’s Morpheus and Zeus.”

 

“Ah… Nice to meet you three,” he greeted the heads. 

 

“Your daughter likes magical creatures?”

 

“She gets it from me, yes.”

 

You hummed. “Themis likes her. She’s got a good soul. Her curiosity will serve her well.”

 

“I do hope so,” he smiled lightly, offering his hand. “Xenophilius Lovegood.”

 

You chuckled, shaking his hand. “Your name is Xenophilius?”

 

His smile faltered. “I’m aware it’s a strange name…”

 

“No, no!” you beamed. “I think that name is cool! Spelled with an ‘x,’ right? You don’t hear such interesting names back where I’m from. You wizard natives are so creative.” 

 

Back in the viewing room, the same men snickered. “Oh, look at that! Maybe Luna will get herself a new mum soon,” they mused.

 

Severus dug his nails into his legs, wishing he could make Xenophilius disappear, wishing you would just come out of the pitch already so he could see you. And Lucius, well, he was having a ball watching his friend’s demeanor vacillate so quickly and he desired to poke the bear once more. 

 

“Honestly, gentleman,” Lucius called to them. “If you’re so willing to accept that idea, then, by all means, go ahead. However, given the power this girl has, and the reputation she may gain, I’d have thought you’d want to introduce her to your sons. They’re around this woman’s age, are they not?”

 

The men’s expressions blanked momentarily before the wheels started to turn.

 

“The girl is indeed powerful.”

 

“Alluring, too, I should say.”

 

“Henry would love a girl like her.”

 

“Not if I introduce her to Silas first!”

 

Severus swore he was going to pop a blood vessel as they prattled on about gaining a potential daughter-in-law. How dare these men talk about you like…like you were livestock to be sold to the highest bidder ! Surely, you wouldn’t succumb to such offerings of a fancy house, handsome first sons, money… 

 

Surely you wouldn’t leave those who actually knew you behind.

 

You and Xenophilius wrapped up your conversation and made your way to the double doors. Your security was on the move as well when they noticed you exiting the pitch. Moody came back into the room and told everyone to move out as they were closing the Training Pitch for the day. Everyone filed out, some people deciding to leave as others had earlier, some lingering once more in the lobby of the Department of Magical Enforcement to see if they could snag the chance to speak with you.

 

As Cadmus, Lucius, and Severus entered the lobby once more, Severus noticed the man from MACUSA who had used Legilimency on you earlier had returned. His metaphysical hackles raised, eyeing the stranger critically as he spoke to some journalists who appeared to be hanging on to his word. In the man’s hand was a plastic paper bag that was kept tucked by his side.

 

It wasn’t until five minutes later that you arrived in the lobby with your security. 

 

“Eyyyy! There she is!” the man with slicked-back hair said with a grin, turning away from the journalists and striding over to you. Severus clenched his jaw when the man confidently approached you and wrapped you in a hug. He was right in that the man was shorter than him. Shorter than you, too. While you didn’t hug him back, you did close your eyes and lean into it.

“Hello, Alfie.”

 

“Jesus, you’re even taller than last time! You good? You hungry?” He presented the bag. “I got you somethin’ from Rocco’s knowin’ your ass probably didn’t get to eat lunch. A meat sub. The protein’s good for ya.”

 

You opened the bag and oh my god it smelled so good. It was true, you hadn’t given yourself the chance to eat a proper lunch before you decided to take up the Ministry's offer to do the same thing you did at MACUSA, a fact that played into your tiredness toward the end of the fight.

 

“Smells good,” you murmured.

 

He hummed. “You kicked ass out there. How about we go get a donut once you’re done here?”

 

You grunted quietly, earning you a teasing poke at your side. 

 

“Miss Y/N,” a journalist called. “Could you tell us a bit about how you made your patronus sol—”

 

“Ey.” Alfie turned sharply toward the journalist, a simmering expression on his face. “Let the lady eat, huh? She’s hungry. She don’t need no questions durin’ her lunch.”

 

The journalist muttered an apology, leaving you to enjoy your food. Your security moved in sync with you as you picked out a vacant spot in the room tucked in a corner to stand and eat your lunch while Alfie resumed consulting with other MACUSA members and the journalists. You bit into the sandwich, sighing at the taste of the layered meats and sauce. This sandwich was going to send you into a goddamn food coma when you got home.

 

Just as you bit into it again, you froze. Your eyes had looked up and happened to glance across the room only to make eye contact with one Lucius Malfoy…

 

And Professor Snape.

 

What the hell were they doing here?

 

Chapter 52: A Word of Caution (A Monster In the Ministry of Magic P.2)

Summary:

After her performance at the Ministry of Magic, the reader is left with some troubling advice that sets her on a path of doubt and examination.

Notes:

For context, Alfie Morretti is Italian American with a New York accent and I'd like to think that Snape has never met someone who talks like him. If you're wanting a visual or voice reference, I'd like to think of Paulie from "The Sopranos."

What the hell were they doing here?

 

They both looked at you with curiosity and recognition, Lucius with a slight smirk on his face. Had they been here the whole time? Did they see you fighting those aurors? Your cheeks heated as you grew self-conscious, looking away from them and focusing on eating your lunch, finding the idea of being perceived by them discomfiting at the moment.

 

Despite feeling the weight of their gazes you tried to think about all the other things you’d do today. You’d go get your donut with Alfie, floo back to Washington, go to a pop-up market that was happening by one of the local parks, do some baking, and take it easy for the rest of the day. The prior demonstrations and interviews at MACUSA had drained your social battery before coming here, but when Rufus Scrimegeour came to MACUSA and asked you to spare a bit more of your time, you just couldn’t say no, thinking that this was going to happen eventually anyway. He was very direct and honest about his intentions, which you appreciated. And you thought Mad-Eye was cool.

 

“Thank god, Alfie was here to help coordinate as well,” you thought, inhaling the last of your sandwich. His no-bullshitting assertiveness and credibility were a comfort to you, having experience with aurors and nosey journalists and whatnot. You’d known him since you were a child. He knew you appreciated the things he did for you, even if you weren’t the best at showing. 

 

“...in theory would be difficult, however, if we employed the—” Alfie stopped mid-sentence as he felt something weight down on his shoulder. He tilted his head slightly to find you resting your forehead against him. He smirked to himself, patting your head in acceptance of your reticence, and swiftly wrapped up his conversation with the journalist.

 

“You willin’ to answer some questions for the papers, Y/N?”

 

“Mhm,” you confirmed, withdrawing yourself from him. Alfie signaled for your security to rearrange themselves around you. “I’ll be nearby. If the journalists give you trouble, let me know.” With that, the journalist began their questioning and Alfie took his place by a wall not too far from Severus and Lucius, lighting a cigarette that was charmed not to smell.

 

“Lucius,” Cadmus spoke with uncertainty in his voice. “Is it me or is there something… familiar about that girl?”

 

Severus and Lucius gave him a strange look. “What do you mean?” Lucius responded. “Do you think you’ve met her before? I’ve known her since before today. She was at the New Year’s Eve party. Was it there, perhaps?”

 

“No, no… it's not that. It’s…I can't quite place it. Something about her eyes. Her gaze… What is her last name?”

 

“It’s L/N.”

 

Cadmus choked on his breath in bewilderment. “L/N? As in [Y/F/N] L/N? The head of the Wizarding Bureau of Intelligence and Capture?”

 

Lucius wasn’t sure what to say, looking to Severus for answers if he perhaps knew more than he did.

 

“Miss L/N has mentioned that her father works with aurors for both MACUSA and the Ministry. I would assume you are correct,” Severus replied.

 

“Good lord! I had no idea the man had a daughter. Didn’t know he was married either…” he added with a mutter.

 

“Her existence is surprising to you?” Lucius queried.

 

“Frankly, yes. Mr. L/N is not known for being…warm and fuzzy. Not one can get a read on him and few are close to him, on a comradery level at least. He’s got an infamously cold stare and is a rather private man.”

 

Severus considered Cadmus’s words. He’s very familiar with that constant look of cold blase on your face whenever you weren't directly entertained by something. He wondered what your father looked like, if you perhaps shared more traits with him due to your magic, or if you resembled more of your mother.

 

The questions weren’t too complicated, though some, whether it was of your judgment or for the sake of others, were answered with a simple “no comment.” He had a bit of difficulty trying to hear your answers as your tiredness made you more soft-spoken. Now and then Severus’s eyes would flit over to the man with slicked-back hair who took long drags of his cigarette. The man’s eyes would narrow occasionally, his fingers clenching tighter on the cigarette when the journalists asked you more personal questions.

 

This man was protective of you to a degree. And he had called you “kiddo,” a muggle pet name. Was he a relative? An uncle, perhaps?

 

“Are there any final thoughts you’d like to leave the readers with, Miss L/N?” a journalist asked.

 

“Similar to animagi, we don’t get to choose what our patronus looks like. To anyone insecure about the form of their patronus, it is not the size of the patronus or the aggressiveness of the animal that matters, it’s your ability to keep your mind sharp and your thoughts positive. Even a mouse patronus can fend off a hundred dementors. Meanwhile, I can barely fit Runey in my room when he’s solid and he’s a whiny brat when I don’t let him snuggle with me.”

 

That got a few laughs out of the journalists who snapped their last pictures of you. You nodded to Alfie, signaling to him that you were ready to depart. Alfie pushed off the wall and rejoined you, he and the security guiding you through the lobby to the elevators, depriving anyone the chance to speak with you privately. As you passed Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy, you pressed your lips together and gave them a subtle wave before you and the other men stepped into an elevator and disappeared from their sight.

 

While Cadmus stayed to finish up his work, Lucius beckoned Severus to step into another elevator with him and pressed the ‘6’ button.

 

“What’s on level 6?” Severus asked. 

 

“The Department of Magical Transportation,” Lucius said, the cage-like door sliding in place. “I’m assuming you’d like to speak to her before she crosses an entire ocean, yes?”

 

Though it was true, Severus said nothing as the elevator moved. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask or why he felt the need to speak with you, but all he knew was that he wanted to see you.

 

Lucius ceased drumming his fingers against the head of his walking stick when the elevator slotted itself in place once more. The Department of Magical Transportation was laid out like a muggle airport, not that he had been to one himself, though he had seen pictures, and was the busiest floor in the entire Ministry. Witches and wizards from all different backgrounds moved through the floor like a beehive arriving and departing through different customs and floos. General security was higher around here as various politicians and government officials could be seen striding through, trying to catch their next meetings in a different country. In theory, it should have been difficult to spot you amongst all these people.

 

But, no. There you were, standing out amongst them in your dark outfit, fiddling with your muggle music device and somewhat turned away from them while your security stood watch. That man you were with seemed to have vanished for the moment.

 

You took slow breaths, the music drowning out the noisiness of the building and grounding you from all the other things you found overwhelming. With the prospect of being able to go home soon, you were able to relax a little bit. And Alfie should be back soon from the Cabinet Customs.

 

The gruff, authoritative tone and movement from your bodyguards from the corner of your eyes got your attention. “Miss L/N is no longer taking questions or meeting with anyone today.”

 

You looked up from your walkman to find Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape mere feet from you, clearly attempting to approach or engage with you, but we’re stopped short by the warning tone of your guards. A jolt of apprehension ran through you.

 

“No, it’s…alright.” You slid your headphones down so they rested around your neck. “I know them.” The guards relaxed, but only slightly, keeping their eyes locked on the two men and their stances tall. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy. Professor…” you murmured, tiredness seeping into your voice despite your polite composure as you bowed slightly.

 

“Hello, Miss L/N,” Lucius returned your subtle bow. Severus remained silent, taking in your demeanor. You were strained. Agitated. Clearly, you hadn’t thought you’d see them once more.

 

“What…are the both of you doing here?” Your fingers played with the cord of your walkman.

 

“I was originally here for business, but I happened to see you walking through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a group of security guards and had a hunch it had something to do with your patronus, so I dragged Severus with me to come and watch. I must say, it was quite the performance. With a rather… unexpected ending.”

 

You snorted dryly, looking down and away, your tiredness making you come off a smidge impudent. “Yeah, the quickest way to bring a man to his knees is with a swift kick to the ba—”

 

“Y/N,” Alfie’s voice cut in as he rejoined you and the security team. The man’s eyes honed in on the two strangers who were attempting to speak with you. He cast a critical look at the security team, red smoke billowing from the corner of his mouth before vigilantly coming to your side. “You alright?” 

 

You nodded silently.

 

Alfie raked his gaze over the two men who stood before you, their appearances starkly contrasting eachother. “Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?” Alfie said politely, but his voice's testy undertone was not completely obscured.

 

“Just catching up with Y/N,” Lucius answered, calmly using your first name to imply established familiarity in an attempt to placate the man’s unease. He didn’t know what to make of this man, but he wasn’t about to start potential drama between two national magic governments. “Her magic is quite impressive.”

 

“You know them?” Alfie murmured to you. 

 

“Yes,” you said gently. “...um… This is Lucius Malfoy… He’s an affiliate of the Ministry of Magic and the head of the Hogwarts school board...” 

 

Lucius gave the man a slight bow.

 

“And this is my Head of House and Potion’s professor, Professor Snape. The both of them are friends.”

 

There was a flash of something in Alfie’s eyes as he looked at your professor. “Your Potion’s professor? The one who found you when…?” the man trailed off but made a vague gesture to his head, referencing your attack on Halloween.

 

“Yes,” Severus answered mildly, but beneath his composed exterior he was surprised the man had known such details.

 

The man’s guard appeared to lower even more, his stance relaxing as he hummed to himself. “I am Alfonso Moretti. I work with Y/N’s father and am a family friend,” he explained to both men. “I hope she hasn’t given the school much trouble with her patronus.” He looked to Severus. “Or with potions. She was quite the little mad scientist growing up.”

 

There was a ghost of a smirk on Mr. Moretti’s face and it took Severus a good second or two to realize that the man was being slightly playful.

 

“Only sometimes,” Snape drawled. “Her best friends are the two biggest pranksters in the school whom she is all too happy to supply with bizarre creations and ingredients.”

 

Alfie barked out a short chuckle. “Still stickin’ it to the man, huh?” He tussled your hair. “No incidents with her patronus, I hope?”

 

“Except for saving said friends from falling during a Quidditch match, the board has received no complaints,” Lucius replied.

 

“Good. Your old man doesn't need that, accidental or not. Ey, don’t rub that black shit even further into your eyes.” He tried to remove your hand from your face as you were rubbing your eyes to keep yourself awake.

 

“Hey… I like that black shit,” you snarked back with a small smile.

 

“You look like those weirdo-wannabe vampires I see loitering around the mall.”

 

“They're called goths, Alf…” You covered your mouth to yawn, and Alfie pursed his lips. Waking up early, the timezone change, and using your patronus for an extended period was taking a toll on you.

 

He put a hand on your back. “Sorry gentleman, but this one needs a donut if she intends on staying awake for the rest of the day.”

 

“Of course,” Lucius remarked patiently. “Until next time, Miss.”

 

You murmured a goodbye to the two men, and as you, Alfie, and your security started walking away—

 

“Miss L/N,” Severus suddenly found himself saying, motivated by the tight annoyance in his chest from having his time cut short. You halted at the sound of his voice and looked over your shoulder. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“...Belinda’s Books.”

 

You tilted your head in puzzlement. “M’kay…? And that is…?”

 

He blushed momentarily at his lack of clarity. “It’s a bookstore. In Edinburgh. They have some literature you might like. That is…if you still intend to visit…as you previously mentioned...”

 

“Oh.” Understanding flashed across your face with a soft smile. “Yeah, no, I–I think I will visit…assuming no other governments persuade me into giving demonstrations. Thanks for the recommendation, Professor.”

 

And with a final nod to the two-robed men, you were gone, swept away amongst the traveling witches and wizards.

 

Alfie and the security team guided you through the crowds of people, remaining quiet until the two of you crossed through a chiseled arched threshold in which several lines separated by golden railings sorted those who were traveling by cabinet to different countries. Alfie showed two slips of shiny paper to a cabinet conductor who approved of them and allowed you and your security to enter the line to the dark, wooden cabinet embedded in the far wall, the words “United States of America” engraved into cabinets fancily chiseled exterior. It was always fun to people-watch those in the same or different lines. It allowed you to see what magical folk from other countries looked like, how they dressed, and their mannerisms. Some carried some rather interesting luggage, too. One wizard even had a red macaw parrot in a cage!

 

“Y/N,” Alfie spoke up once more. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Those two wizards from your school… Be careful around them.”

 

You frowned. “Whaddya mean?”

 

“You know what I mean, especially now with your patronus publicly known, I encourage you to be a bit more guarded with who you associate with.”

 

“Alfie, c’mon. Just say it like it is.”

 

“Just… Your father, the money, your patronus… I don’t want to see you get used. I know you’ve been burned before.”

 

Oh. So that’s what this is about.

 

“They are not like that, Alfie. Really.”

 

“Oh, yeah? That Malfoy man. Never could put a face to it, but I know the name. One of those “Sacred Twenty-Eight’s,” right? That group is the fakest bunch of people you will ever meet. Racist sons ‘o bitches who circle jerk each other and throw money around for an ego boost… They use people like I use toilet paper.”

 

“The Malfoys aren’t like that,” you contested. “At least from what I can tell. I’ve met the mother and son, too. They seem rather genuine to me. And very nice.”

 

“Did they invite you to any parties? Show you off to other stuck-up richies like you were an added jewel to the collection?” 

 

“I—yes, I attended their New Year's Eve party, but it was nothing like that! I didn't tell anyone who I was related to, and no , they didn’t “show me off.” I barely even got to speak to them that night.”

 

“What about that Professor Snape?”

 

“What about him?” 

 

“A little weird for your Potions professor to come watch you at the Ministry… Your DADA teacher I can understand… He seemed like a nice guy…”

 

Your brows creased. Lupin was here? Tonks must’ve told him. You supposed it was good he saw your dueling. It’d cross off a couple of things for your experimentation.

 

“As I said, Professor Snape is Mr. Malfoy’s friend.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “He’s…my friend, too.” 

 

Alfie snorted harshly to himself. “You? Friends with a teacher? Never thought I’d ever hear those words considering your days at Ilvermorny.”

 

You slapped him on the arm. “Yes, I am aware…” you gritted. “It's…unorthodox, but it’s true. At least…I’d like to think it’s true.”

 

“You think, huh?” He narrowed his eyes. “And have you ever given any thought to the idea that he could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation once you graduate? So that he can brag to his friends in high places that he taught one of the few witches who can perform one of the rarest forms of magic known in the Wizarding World?”

 

You parted your lips to bite back at him, but nothing came out. His words had struck a chord in you, one that had long since been buried in the shadows of your mind. That fear of being used for someone’s gain in one way or another. You wanted to say that it couldn’t be true, that there had been, on some level, a sort of connective vibe between the two of you before all this patronus stuff happened, before Halloween even. He wouldn’t… But…you didn’t really know him, did you? You knew some things about him, of his personality, a few likes and dislikes… 

 

His…aversion…toward “muggle” things. You weren’t stupid. You’d see the way he’d grimace when your no-maj quirks shone through.

 

Did he even see you as a friend? 

 

And the timing, it… The two of you did get arguably “closer” since you first summoned Runey… 

 

What if…What if Alfie was right? What if Professor Snape and the Malfoys were just using you for their reputations?

 

What if it had all been a lie?

 

Alfie looked over to you when you didn’t reply, your sharp tongue usually ready to counter him, only to find you looking at the ground, dejected and glassy-eyed. A wave of guilt cascaded over him as he realized he might’ve gone too far.

 

“Kiddo… Look, I—” He paused for a moment, composing his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I know makin’ friends isn’t your strong suit and I’m not tellin’ you to break up with the ones you got. I’d rather not have you end up like your pops, guarded and distant… I just don’t want to see you get taken advantage of by all the phonies out there, you know?” He sighed. “But I also know that you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Just… From now on, be careful with anyone y’might meet who thinks your patronus is so un-fucking-believable.” He reached for your hand and squeezed it. “And if you think you’re bein’ used for influence, let me know and I’ll turn ‘em into gabagool myself.”

 

The gesture coaxed a small smirk from you, but the seed had been planted, the doubt lingering in the back of your mind while you waited in line.

 

“Was Dad watching?” you asked quietly.

 

Alfie hummed affirmatively. “He was, but he made himself invisible. You know him, he didn’t want to be pestered with questions or make small talk with anyone.”

 

“...And?”

 

“He was impressed. Proud, I’d say. He thinks you’d do well as an auror, should that be your path.”

 

You bit the inside of your cheek. “So why couldn’t he have told me that himself…” you muttered. 

 

Alfie rubbed your back in commiseration. “I’m sorry, Y/N…”

 

“I know…”

 

***

 

As you had hoped, the temperature had stayed cold as you changed into thick cable-knit sweater. You took a breath to yourself, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you looked over your attire once more, black makeup cleaned up to be a more typical smokey look. When you and Alfie had gotten your donut, you finally felt that you could relax, but even more so when you floo’d home, the simple feeling of being in your own house a physical reminder that you were back in control once more, free to drop any acts you may have had to put up out of professionalism. Your performative magic this morning brought up ill feelings that made themselves present occasionally, a certain contempt for magic. Magic was convenient, but sometimes it felt like your identity would always be chained to it, that people in the Wizarding World would only see you as a witch, your patronus and brewing skills dispelling any idea that you could possibly be someone who breathes their no-maj half. 

 

“You’re a no-maj first and a witch second,” you told yourself as you looked down at the slender wood in your wand before decidedly leaving it on your nightstand and clomping downstairs.

 

The ringing bells of couples and families on bicycles passed you by as you drove carefully through the local suburbs and turned into a local park, just barely managing to find a spot that wasn’t street parking. The city had blocked off one of the widest one-way streets for the first spring market. Various booths and tables had been set up, and a local band was hired to provide a welcoming ambiance to those looking around. Two children scampered by you as you entered the market, brushing lightly against your open sweater flap to catch up with their parents who urgently called for them. All around you, people weaved through rows, picking up and flipping through the various items being sold. Some were selling handmade or vintage clothes, bags, hats, home decor items, accessories, candles, farmed honey, produce, baked goods, and more. A mix of a flea and farmer’s market if you will. Despite not being the biggest fan of crowds, you felt at peace seeing all these people who looked and acted like you.

 

The tote bag you had brought with you would eventually fill with your haul, your first bought item a jar of homemade jam, tied off with a cute little gingham bow and tag with aesthetically pleasing cursive handwriting. Your eyes snagged onto a booth run by a woman a bit older than you, her hair tied back with a bandana and a studded piercing in her nose. Arranged around her table were candles of different sizes with cottagey labels attached to them, displaying the scents.

 

“Hi there!” she chirped, sitting up in her chair. “Looking for any specific scents today? Any vibe you want to create in your home?”

 

“I don’t know yet,” you informed her. “My home still smells like my summer-autumn candles, so I’d like to change that. And I know I want three large candles.”

 

“Of course,” she stood up and gestured to one side of her table. “These are our large ones. Some have multiple wicks if you're into that. I recommend this lavender and oak one. It’s perfect for spring.” She held the candle out to you. You took it gently and raised it to your nose, taking a light sniff—

 

NOPE! Nope-nope-nope-nope.

 

It smelled like Professor Snape after the both of you brewed Wolfsbane, the oak providing that smokey-fumes tone. You were not going to have your home smell like him. Not after today…

 

“Um… you got anything that isn’t flowery?”

 

“For sure,” she nodded, her eyes skimming along the candles before picking up another one. “How about this one? It’s Coconut Mahogany, and blended fairly evenly.”

 

You smelled it and gave it an approving nod. “I’ll take that one.” You scanned along the labels, looking for scents that intrigued you. One of the candles was called “After The Rain.”

 

“What’s this one?” you pointed to it.

 

“Oh, this is a good one!” she remarked, picking it up. “It took me a long time to figure out how to balance the scents I used, but it's one of my favorites. It’s meant to smell like a forest after it rains. Try it!”

 

After it rains, huh? You held it up to your nose and smelled it. “Oh wow!” you smiled. “That smells exactly like Sherman’s Ridge.” 

 

“Yup! With just a touch of mint to give it that crispness.”

 

“Awesome, I’ll buy that one too. And…hmm…do you have something that’s, like, indoor and cozy? Maybe like those mornings where you bake and lounge with a book?”

 

The vendor smirked. “Oh, girl…” She reached for one last candle. “Strudle and spice. Perfect for those domestic chilly spring mornings.”

 

You didn’t even have to move your head in close to smell it. “Fuck yeah…” you sighed contently. “These are perfect.”

 

“Would you like them wrapped?”

 

“Yes, please— Oh! What are those?”

 

The vendor looked to where your eyes had drifted. There were three wood-carved acorns roughly the same size as the candles lined in a row surrounded by the smaller candles.

 

“Those are candle holders. They were originally from the fall season. They didn’t sell then, but I think they still work for spring.”

 

You grabbed one of them, turning it over in your hands. “What’s this hole at the top of the stem?” you questioned, pointing out the hole almost as big as the stem itself.

 

“That’s for the smoke and fragrance to come out. The lid can actually go on top while the candle is lit. The hole allows the candle to burn and for the scent to permeate the air without extinguishing the flame.”

 

You smiled. “Dude, that's fucking tight. I’ll take the holders as well.”

 

“Awesome! And since you bought the holders I’ll give you a 10% total discount.”

 

More and more items begin to fill your bag as you travelled through the market. A new decorative throw blanket, a couple of pairs of earrings that were on the gothic side, some fresh fruit and veggies, seeds for the next season to plant in your garden, a cute new mug with a raven in a top hat, and monocle painted on the side, and few pins.

 

You wiped a bit of ketchup off the corner of your mouth as you settled yourself at an open table, diving into the hotdog and french fries you had ordered from one of the food trucks and surveying the scenes around you. All around you, people were smiling, finding little trinkets, and enjoying the simplicity of the market. You valued this time, the ability to make spur-of-the-moment decisions and enjoy such events without any restrictions, not like Hogwarts. You were getting sick of seeing those stone walls.

You hummed in contentment to yourself when you reentered your home, the hotdog, and fries you had gotten from one of the local food trucks settling nicely in your stomach. Within a matter of minutes, your kitchen went from five-star hotel clean to covered in crumbs, wet dough, flour, and various other ingredients as you flit about the room, mixing your wet and dry ingredients. The moist mixture clumped and blended nicely, filling out the ridged paper lining in the muffin pan. You cringed at the brief sound of scraping metal as you slid the pan into the oven and set a timer.

 

Your new candle holders sat in a cluster in the center of the living room coffee table, waiting for you while you cleaned up the kitchen and washed the used dishes. The wax candles slotted perfectly inside the acorns. Despite being made of wood, the interior of the lid came with a protective layer of brick about a centimeter thick. The light click-clicked as you ignited the wick of the strudel and spice candle and placed the lid on top of it. You could see a thin trail of smoke curl out of it for about thirty seconds before it vanished. Just in case, you looked down the hole to see the flame, still present and burning just as strongly, the relaxing sent beginning to fill the space around you.

 

As you unfolded your new throw blanket, your eyes locked onto one of the photos that sat on the mantle of the fireplace. It was a Polaroid picture you had framed of you and Ada. The both of you were smiling happily into the camera, one of your arms outstretched to hold it. It was the first time the both of you had gone exploring together in a creek near an abandoned water mill not too far from your school. You had found lots of salamanders and hilarious graffiti that day. She was the braver of the two of you when it came to picking up insects and whatnot, not at all deterred by the salamanders’ slimy texture.

 

Her grinning face made your heart and throat ache, tears gathering on your lower lids. 

 

She was the one constant in this murky turmoil, maybe a stronger constant than the Weasleys. The one who, despite not knowing of your magic, knew you —your morals, the things you cared about, the things that got you excited, your favorite muggle treats, your preferred clothing aesthetics, your unrelenting curiosity…

 

A few tears escaped as you popped the back of the frame open and slipped the picture out.

 

“Accio wand,” you chanted. There were some seconds of silence before you heard the whooshing sound of wood spinning through the air until your wand slotted itself in your grasp. You cast a doubling charm on the picture, granting you a copy of the photo that you could take back with you to Hogwarts. You should’ve done this months ago.

 

Ting! The sound of the kitchen timer echoed from your kitchen. The domes had fluffed out like mushroom caps, streaking with purple and blue from the blueberries inside. Wiping your tears away, you carried a muffin and a cup of hot chocolate with you over to a sofa chair, setting the treat down on a side table before retrieving a book and cozying up. 

 

“Maybe you’re overthinking things again,” you thought. But you couldn’t deny that Alfie’s word of caution had some truth to it. There were people out there who would absolutely capitalize on this sort of fame. “How can things be so simple and then suddenly be so complicated?”

 

There was also the added layer of complexity of what your emotions toward your relationship with Professor Snape were. And what to even officially label that relationship as.

 

Whatever. You could be paranoid all you wanted at school, but not here. Not at home where you were supposed to be relaxing. You sighed, snuggling up with the blanket. Soon, those nagging thoughts of apprehension began to drift away as your mind became lost in the fantastical story of one Bilbo Baggins from Middle Earth, the picture of you and Ada quietly staring down at you. 

Chapter 53: Oliver Bloody Wood

Summary:

Reader travels with the intention of exploring muggle Edinburgh only to have her plans flipped on its head.

SOLID PATRONUSES: OUR FUTURE FIGHTERS?

 

That was the title of the New York Ghost a few days following your Atlantic expedition in sharp bold font. Like clockwork, you had retrieved your copy of the MACUSA-provided newspaper and sat down at the kitchen table, digging into some fluffy pancakes. The moving picture for the article about you showed Zeus lashing out at one of the aurors, snatching them up with his massive jaws before throwing them at another auror. Both of those aurors had left the dueling demonstration limping. It then transitioned to a more strikingly innocent display: a picture of you looking into the camera with Zeus and Morpheus hovering around you while Themis lapped at your cheek, you fighting a smile as you tried to remain composed despite the large forked tongue forcing your head to lull back and forth.

 

“The duality of men,” you mused.

 

You were not at all surprised that they hadn’t put the article out the very next day. These sorts of matters are delicate, especially when it comes to the portrayal of someone. The New York Ghost wasn’t like the Prophet. The Prophet was too privy, too personal. Worst of all, far too unaccountable. Anyone’s business can be thrown out there for the world to see, often sensationalized to a degree out of the victim’s control. Drama for the sake of some coin, all while remaining just outside the liability laws. The New York Ghost, however, was a publicly owned company in the Wizarding World, which meant stricter liability laws, especially when it came to defamation. The writers had the sense to take great care in not portraying you as some dark wizard or making any related implications with your patronus being able to do what it can do. Instead, they focused on how the nature of this type of magic could be used for future endeavors when it came to the next generation of aurors.

 

The article, now cut out with a pair of your kitchen scissors, remained magnetized to the fridge until you could get a proper frame for it.

 

According to a copy of the Prophet you had snagged a few days ago, the weather claimed there would be rain throughout different parts of Scotland and Great Britain. For all you know, it could be barely misty to completely stormy. Your outfit was composed of a thick black turtle neck sweater, a pair of loose, high-waisted jeans, and a plaid overcoat, and sense you gathered you’d be doing quite a bit of walking you wore more comfortable street shoes, charmed to be waterproofed. Just in case, you put on your experimenting mask so as not to be bothered by any potential press along the way.

 

The pitter-patter of footsteps on polished marble filled your ears as you stepped out of the floo place. Light streamed in from the rows of rectangular windows, highlighting the lobby’s statue that paid tribute to all those lost during the Salem Witch Trials to which you gave a two-fingered salute. Instead of brick floors like the Ministry, it was black granite, and one could see the different levels as they extended up or down before even taking an elevator. The classical columns that connected and supported each floor were a muted maroon color rimmed with gold and sat upon black bases. Elevators slotted within framework made of original US steel extended to the highest floor as if to touch heaven itself. With the vaulted ceilings and chiseled arched walls, it resembled the Old Penn Station from the early 1900s with a blend of art-deco and gothic traits. At various corners hung clocks that told the time, some multi-facing and displaying different time zones for major wizarding hubs across the States. Stone and brass statues stood poised by various entrances, carved after famous wizards who served MACUSA or for the good of the no-maj world in the past.

 

Your hand grazed back and forth along the ornate golden railing of the lines as you waited for the people in front of you to shuffle forward. No matter what day you chose, the lines were going to be packed due to the break, families taking advantage of educational downtime and taking their kids with them for a much-needed vacation. With your mask on, you did catch a few strange looks, though not too strange. It was the Wizarding World after all.

 

“Ma’am?” A travel official got your attention, and you realized you were next in line. “Ticket or pass today?”

 

“Neither,” you uttered. His eyebrows quirked slightly in confusion before you offered him your wand. He observed the bottom of the handle, understanding dawning on his face as he retrieved a cube-like object from within the podium he was posted at. With a delicate ease, he stuck the wand into a cylindrical slot in the cube, a flash of light and the sound one hears when casting ‘Lumos’ coming from the object. 

 

“And where are you traveling today?”

 

“The Ministry of Magic in Great Britain.”

 

He nodded. “As I’m sure you understand, for security reasons, you have officially been recorded as traveling from MACUSA. Upon arriving at your destination, please have your trace recorded at the travel customs.”

 

“Of course. Thanks.” 

 

You could see the cabinets as you got closer to your destination; tall, wide, made of polished walnut wood, and capable of fitting up to four people at once, luggage included. Two wizards and a young girl were guided into a cabinet, “The Ministry of Magic” etched into the brass plating at the top of the cabinet. The little girl saw your plague doctor mask and offered you a wave and a silly grin as another employee shut the doors on them. The large piece of furniture trembled for a good ten seconds and then ceased. The employee looked down at his watch before pulling the doors open once more, revealing that the family had disappeared.

 

“Next in line, please!” she called, prompting you to step forward. “Single traveler?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

She gestured for you to step inside. You did so and patiently waited for her to close the doors. She waited a minute, guiding three other single travelers who had been toward the front into the cabinet with you before shutting the doors. It was pitch black, only the sound of one another’s breathing could be heard before the cabinet began to shake. A man beside you grunted in surprise, steadying himself against the back. When the shaking stopped, the four of you waited in silence for a few moments more before the doors opened and you saw the smiling face of a ministry worker.

 

“Welcome!”

 

***

 

Rippling puddles reflected the grey sky all around you as you meandered along a lengthy cobbled bridge into Old Town Edinburgh, a red trolley ringing a bell as it passed you by. You hadn’t even reached your destination yet, but you were already excited. The town itself looked amazing, a combination of Gothic and modern styles with buildings packed so tightly, heightening your curiosity toward the type of businesses it had to offer. Warm-toned lights from the various street signals, cars, and buildings created an aesthetically pleasing contrast against the moody ambiance. You jumped up and high-fived every sign you came across as you crossed onto one of the main streets that ran through the city. All the shop signs were so adorable, the chalk art beckoning people to come in and try their new teas and coffees. And the smells were no less inviting too.

 

You rounded upon a small convenience store, a shop cat meowing at you through the glass as you approached a worker who appeared to be adjusting the newspaper stand just by the double doors. 

 

“Excuse me,” you approached. “I’m not from here and am looking for a store called Belinda’s Books. Could you tell me where I could find it?”

 

The worker gave you somewhat of a strange look. “Buh-linda’s Books? Yeh mean Linda’s Books?” 

 

You quirked your eyebrows, “Er…” You weren’t about to question someone who actually knows the area, but you couldn’t help but wonder if Professor Snape may have misspoken. “I think so, but my…friend…said it was called Belinda ’s Books.”

 

“I think your friend is mistaken, lass. Look here.” He pulled a sheet of paper off another row of the newspaper rack and presented it to you. It was a map of Old Town Edinburgh. There was a legend indicating store types and a column that showed a list of names in small font. “See there?” He pointed to a part of the column. “Linda’s Books, though I’m not sure if that place is even in business anymore.” 

 

“You don’t mind if I…?”

 

“Not at all,” he waved dismissively. “Take it. That’s why we print 'em out. ”

 

“Thanks.” Letting the worker get on with their job and continuing up the street, you straightened out the map to see the route you’d have to take. It wasn’t too much of an incline and you were especially thankful not to have worn your boots, but it would be a bit of a walk as it was on the opposite side of the town. 

 

The rain began to come down a little bit harder than its current sprinkle, creating a blurring effect on all lights in the distance. Couples crowded under large umbrellas while some simply stuck to traversing under as many awnings as possible. More people took the opportunity to duck into nearby cafes in hopes of waiting for the rain to lighten up or to get a mid-afternoon drink or snack, but you were content to meander on the sidewalks, swiping your shoes through and leaping into puddles, garnering a few raised eyebrows from those who passed you by. 

 

Eventually, you had gotten to a part of the street where there were very few people walking around, everyone taking shelter for a bit, and those who still remained were either attempting to use the payphones or waiting at stops for trolleys and cabs to take them to out of the city. 

 

Your hair was damp now as you had opted not to use an umbrella. According to the map you were just about at the bookstore. Looking around, you spotted its neighbors, the supposed bookstore between them appearing awfully dark in comparison. Waiting for a trolley to pass, you trotted over to the other side and approached your destination. The store worker was not wrong. The store appeared to be pretty desolate with almost no light coming in through the other side. Maybe they were closed?

 

You looked for any kind of open/close sign or posted store hours but saw nothing of the sort. Much to your surprise, the doors were unlocked and gave way for you when you pushed on them, its groans echoing around the seemingly vacant store.

 

What the hell? This place looks abandoned.

 

The room was a dust particle’s paradise. The floorboards squeaked beneath you, shelves the height of your chest were placed in off-centered rows, one even tipped over on the ground. There was not a single book, vinyl, or audio cassette to be found, the shelves barren and covered in dust. There was very little furniture aside from the shelves and there were no decorations on the wall or a single other door that led anywhere else. It looked like this place had been robbed. Oddly enough there was a type-writer that sat at the checkout counter that was miraculously clean and shining with the little light that streamed in through the windows.

 

How strange…

 

You took a step toward it and jumped in surprise when the light fixture above it began to flicker on until it shone down on the typewriter like it was some angelic artifact. Cautiously, you rounded to the other side to see if it was still functional. There was a piece of paper slotted into the machine with a few words pre-typed onto it.

 

“What’s the _____ password?”

 

Someone apparently tried to be funny before they ran out on this place. Why would they leave this behind? Though having lived in the no-maj world for so long, the word that automatically came to mind was “magic.”

 

Your face fell.

 

Magic. 

 

MAGIC.

 

This— Was this a gateway location?!

 

You could feel frustration rising within you as you firmly pounded down on the keys. 

 

M-A-G-I-C

 

The typewriter pinged, the freshly tapped ink disappearing from the paper before a deep groaning sound came from behind you. The lone, bookshelf from behind you creaked and slowly swung out towards you. In tandem, the cacophony of patronage echoed from the somewhat ajar secret door. You tugged it open and, low and behold, was Belinda’s Books, flooded with soft warm lighting, rows upon rows of books, curious customers, and the smell of coffee and pastries.

 

Belinda’s Books was for witches and wizards. You chuckled wryly to yourself, a hand sliding down the expanse of your face. Of course. Of course, he recommends a magic bookstore . Of fucking course. Originally, you were happy that he recommended you a place, assuming it was for muggles, and you thought it was nice that he might’ve actually indulged in such places. 

 

…Apparently not. 

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You kicked at a shabby nearby stool and pinched your nose. 

 

Whatever. Whatever! You sighed to yourself. You walked all this way, you might as well check it out. Just because you didn’t mean to come to a magical bookstore doesn’t mean they might not have anything of interest.

 

Witches and wizards of all different ages wondered about the bookstore, murmuring and chatting with one another. The store seemed to be built like an octagonal prism, with mahogany bookshelves covering each wall, and was larger than any magical bookstore you’ve been in. Granted, it was no Barnes and Noble when it came to being a “big bookstore,’ but there seemed to be a fairly substantial selection. It was a bit difficult to tell how many floors the store was, but a spiraling staircase guarded with an embellished mahogany banister stood prominently in the center trailing up to another level. The scent of scones told you there must’ve been a cafe up there.

 

“Welcome, dearie!” A matronly woman with round glasses and electric blue pinned-up curls. Her elegant movements reminded you of Narcissa. “First time here?”

 

“I…yes. How…?”

 

“I saw you come through the back,” she pointed to the now-closed bookshelf behind you. “Most customers usually leave through the back.”

 

“I see… And…you are Buh- Linda?”

 

“Indeedy, I am! Had the name changed on the other side to something less…intriguing so that the muggles wouldn't get too curious. But even if they typed on the typewriter, it only responds to us magic users.” She took in your damp hair and muggle-styled outfit. “Though I must say, dear, you could’ve fooled me otherwise.”

 

“Trying to blend in,” you cleared your throat. “So, uh…what magical area are we in right now?” you asked, your gaze floating to the windows that showed a street of witches and wizards shopping around. 

 

“Lopside Lane. Though we aren’t as lengthy as your average ‘Diagon Alley,’ it’s got everything a witch or wizard could need whether they are just passing through or staying a few days.” She looked over her shoulder, hearing a store employee call her name. “Excuse me, dear, but I’m needed elsewhere. I encourage you to look around and visit our upstairs cafe. If you need anything, look for an assistant with a gold tassel on their collars.” Her heels click-clacked away, leaving your gaze to wander around the store once more. Not expecting to find yourself in a magical bookstore, you weren’t even sure what you wanted to read, and therefore, had no idea where to start. Eventually, you drifted to one side of the store and began moving in a circle. It seemed like the most logical idea to you.

 

You did your best to have some patience for the kids who were less spacially aware as they weaved through the more busier parts of the shop. Little signs embedded in the walls of the shelves with pointing hands indicated where to find each genre. The fictional section held little interest to you, and honestly, you couldn’t quite comprehend what fictional stories written by wizards would entail, as what no-majs considered to be fantasy was probably normal life for witches and wizards. The history section, on the other hand, piqued you. Your fingers danced along the soft leather covers, tracing the inscribed names on the bindings. Foreign history, no-maj or magical, was something you had naturally gravitated to as you had already come to know much of the American content.

 

“Hello…” you murmured to yourself as you happened upon a thick book whose cover was a dirty mint green color. In the center of the cover was a single castle spire etched in black with ivy leaves bordering the perimeter. Bold medieval font was imprinted above and below that architectural icon. 

 

Faelands, Follies, and Magic Monuments: A Western European Chronicle

 

You flipped through the table of contents and saw all sorts of names, a few you recognized like the infamous Stonehenge, but most were unknown to you. There was even a comprehensive inscription on the inner cover that said, “This book contains a historical record of notable territories and landmarks in Western Europe otherwise deemed folkloric by muggles detailing their origins, purpose, and impact in the Wizarding World.” Flipping rapidly through the book, you saw that they even included visual etchings of the structures and mythical creatures relevant to the records, captured in a unique etching style that reminded you of a personal journal.

 

Yup. Sold.

 

You perused around some more, sticking to the historical and non-fiction sections but most of what was available either didn’t captivate your attention or was part of a series you hadn’t had the other books for, so you just stuck with the one book. You went to pay for the book first before going upstairs to check out the next level of the bookstore. There was plenty of seating for those looking to read their books, a lounge area that somewhat resembled a study that slowly blended into seating where there were actual tables like a library. And of course, there were more typical two to three-person tables close to the cafe, though they had all been filled by those chatting with friends or enjoying a warm drink with their book.

 

As you approached and scanned the menus, you noticed in your peripheral two girls looking toward you and speaking quietly to each other. They did not shy away when you flicked your eyes toward them but they did stiffen slightly. The cafe worker at the counter bid the person in front of you a good day as you stepped forward. “Hi, how can I hel…”

 

The words died on their tongue when they looked at you, eyes widened slightly as they attempted to recompose themselves. They probably recognized you from the papers. “Ahem—hello! Wh-what can I get you today?”

 

“Relax. I don’t bite,” you said mildly, the worker blushing. “I’d like to know what’s on the floor above us.”

 

“O-oh, above?” They knit their brows. “The next floor is where we have private rooms.”

 

You raised a brow. “Rooms as in…inn rooms?”

 

“Er—no—it’s more so meeting rooms or studies. Some business owners like to come here and make use of them as well as customers who are simply looking for a bit more solitude compared to this floor and the floor below.”

 

“How much? For a private room?”

 

“That…depends on the type you’d like to rent—”

 

“A fireplace, a table, and large windows that open,” you stated tersely. “Do you have any rooms like that?”

 

The worker parted their lips slightly, but closed them, signaling for another co-worker to take over their position at the counter. “If you’ll follow me,” they murmured to you. They stepped out from behind their station and led you up the spiraling stairs to the next floor. Despite not being its intent, the interior of this floor really did look like it was that of an inn, but instead of the hallway with the rooms on either side, it was a ring with about ten doors total.

 

“The type of room you ask for is one of our more expensive ones for single patrons,” they explained, taking a set of keys from their pocket and moving to the door with the number ‘8’ on it. “And it’ll be extra should you want elf service.”

 

With the door unlocked, they pushed it open for you. It was a large room, the size of a study or lounge. There was a modest fireplace in one of the walls with two armchairs and a small rug arranged in front of it, and in the center of the room was a cloth-covered table that could sit about three people. Celtic-themed tapestries decorated the wall and an old chandelier lighting fixture hung from the ceiling, though the large vertical windows that were about a third of the size of its wall let in plenty of light. It smelled old but in a good way.

 

You wordlessly approached the windows, pulling up the latch and pushing them open, offering a view over Lopside Lane, the relaxing sound of rain filling the air.

 

You could definitely work with this.

 

“How much for an hour?”

 

“Five galleons. An extra eight sickles for elf service and then the added cost of whatever you purchase from the cafe.” You pulled out your wizarding money pouch and gave him the five galleons and eight sickles. “Your house elf will be Willy. Just say his name and he’ll appear to take your order. And this room… It is also private in the sense that no one outside can see who is inside through the window or its frame. All they will see is an empty room.” 

 

You nodded to the worker who quietly departed leaving you to enjoy the privacy of the room. You set your bag down against the back of the sofa and went up to the windows, leaning over the bottom of the frame. You could see from above all sorts of people moving through Lopside Lane, some using umbrellas, some taking advantage of Imperturbable Charms to keep them dry. You smiled lightly, craning your head up to the sky and letting the raindrops plop on your face and stream down your cheeks.

 

“Incendio,” you chanted toward the fireplace, making your way to the table. The logs caught fire, whooshing up sharply before they started to burn properly at a low level. “Willy!”

 

There was a crack to your right and a house-elf dressed in a blue tunic and pointed shoes appeared before you.

 

“Hello,” the house-elf chirped. “Miss has summoned me to order from the cafe?”

 

“I have.” In response, the house-elf produced a menu listing the kinds of hot and cold beverages they serve as well as small lunch items and baked goods. The creature shifted quietly in place as you scanned the menu.

 

“I’d like a hot chocolate, a turkey sandwich, and three raspberry scones, please.”

 

The house elf bowed to you, taking the menu back before disapparating out of sight.

 

The fire gradually warmed the room, the rain continuing its gentle onslaught. You had settled in at the table flipping through your new book and reading about a colony of now thought-to-be-extinct goblins who once ruled the Black Forest in Germany and controlled a trade route that had made it difficult for some wizarding villages to trade with Switzerland. Your food was good, as was the hot chocolate. Willy turned into a blushing mess when you had tipped him and even pleaded for you to take the coins back, claiming he wasn’t worthy. He must’ve not gotten them before, but nevertheless, you had held your ground and he accepted his defeat. 

 

Crumbs from your scone dropped onto your clothes as you took another greedy bite into the scone. Despite not being where you thought you’d be, you couldn’t deny that you were content at the moment. You wondered if Snape got himself a private room when he happened upon this store. You could certainly imagine him wanting to get away from the noise, renting a room with a book or two in hand and a cup of tea from the cafe. Then again, you could also see him just as easily purchasing a book and leaving immediately.

 

You took another sip of hot chocolate, the whipped cream and chocolate syrup giving you a bit of a mustache. Your tongue darted out to lick it away—

 

CRASH!

 

The sound of wood breaking and a heavy smack and tumbling tore through the air as you felt the impact vibrate through your feet. You remained frozen, your book and hot chocolate held inches above where the table’s surface had been. Except now, the table was no longer in front of you. You slowly turned your head to the side where the noise had sounded. The table was flipped on its top and your leftover scones were thrown on the floor. Oddly enough, a broom now lay on the ground alongside the tablecloth. 

 

The tablecloth that was now moving. And groaning. 

 

With one hand you closed your book shut, the other tipping the rest of your hot chocolate in your mouth and setting it down on the ground before you calmly paced over to the tablecloth that was now half sitting up. You knelt down, fingers pinching at the tablecloth and gently tugging it away, revealing a man who looked to be in his twenties with short brunette hair and fair skin.

 

You s’posed he was kind of cute.

 

He blinked his eyes dazedly at you, his brows and lips pinched in pain.

 

“...Hello,” he said softly with a Scottish accent. He looked around the room slowly, cringing in discomfort and at the accidental mess he had made. “I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—” You silenced the man, pressing your wand to his lips.

 

“You have a piece of ceramic sticking out of your forehead,” you blanked.

 

He stared at you in bewilderment as he mumbled against your wand. “I…do?” 

 

You stuck a finger out and tapped at it. It was a piece of ceramic plate that held your scones. He definitely felt that, recoiling away from you. Upon doing so, he felt the extent of his other battered limbs, wincing in pain at his own sudden movement. He had crashed into the table quite roughly, and at the speed he must’ve been flying, he didn’t have enough time to decelerate properly.

 

“If you stay still, I can remove it for you,” you offered. He nodded absentmindedly. Your free hand settled around his forehead, your pointer and thumb hovering millimeters away from the piece. 

 

“Three…two…one…”

 

You grabbed the piece and tugged it out of his forehead.

 

“Mmph!” he grimaced at the feeling it siding out of his skin. Upon setting the piece down, your wand began to work at the resulting cut that was dribbling blood. You murmured a spell that slowly began to seal the flesh wound. While you did so, his eyes flicked over your face, a puzzled expression on his own. “Do I…know you?”

 

You swiped away the last little drop of blood, grabbing a cloth napkin and applying a freezing spell to it as a sort of makeshift ice pack and handing it to him. “I do not know you, so probably not.”

 

He took the frozen napkin from you, holding it to his forehead as he continued to study you for a few moments more. “You're that girl… From the Prophet. The girl who can summon that runespoor patronus.” You pursed your lips, rising to your feet and taking a step back, surveying the mess once more. With a wave of your wand, the table righted itself once more, the tablecloth moving away from the man and setting itself back onto the table, along with the plates and your cup.

 

The man rose unsteadily to his feet, clutching at his bruised shoulder from where he had hit the table. He looked over at his broom, sighing in relief that it had not broken into two pieces. “I didn’t mean to crash land here…I mean—I did, but I…the room looked empty. I was trying to escape the—”

 

Four witches came halting to a stop on their brooms right outside the window, looking around for a moment. The man tensed up like a deer caught in the headlights. “I think he went this way!” one of them proclaimed. “C’mon!” And then they were out of sight.

 

“...fangirls,” he exhaled in confusion. “...How come they didn’t see us?”

 

“This room is warded with a privacy spell. All they saw was an empty room, presumably as you did.”

 

His eyes flashed with understanding. “Oh. No wonder…” He held his hand out to the discarded broom, which flew upright and into his hand. He rocked it in his grip, noting the scones on the floor. “I…I feel bad for disturbing you. Please, allow me to buy you more scones.”

 

You regarded him once more, taking a seat again and opening your book. You weren’t about to turn down free food. “If you must,” you murmured. “Willy.”

 

The house elf appeared again, a bit surprised by the newcomer.

 

“Hello,” the man greeted the elf. “I’d like to buy this woman two…er…”

 

“Raspberry.”

 

“Raspberry scones,” he finished. The man shoved his hand in his trouser pocket and fished out some coins, handing it to the house elf who diasapparated shortly after. The man shifted his weight and let out a painful grunt, his hip throbbing.

 

“You can sit down, y’know,” you commented, your eyes still moving along the text. 

 

“That’s kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

 

“I have about fifteen minutes left in this room. That’s hardly an imposition. If I were you, I’d tend to whatever is hurting before you get back on your broom.”

 

He parted his lips to refuse, but instead, simply exhaled, the ache in his body convincing him otherwise. He pulled up a chair and settled, groaning quietly as he slouched against the back, clutching his side, and applied a few basic spells to the parts of him that hurt while keeping the frozen cloth against his forehead. His eyes flicked over your book, your appearance, your general lack of interest…

 

“Do you really not know me?” he questioned.

 

You lowered the book a little, quickly looking him up and down. He had gentle, hazel-green eyes, pink lips, and a neat bit of stubble growing around his jaw and neck.

 

“No. Should I?”

 

He smiled demurely. “I suppose if you keep up with the Quidditch section in the Prophet.”

 

Willy appeared once more, setting the plate of scones on the table before promptly bowing and disappearing. 

 

“I like to watch my friends play, but I’m not really into the scene. I’m more so into potions.” You took a scone and bit into it greedily. “In any case…what is your name?”

 

For a brief moment, conflict swirled in his eyes before he responded. “My name is…Harrison.” 

 

Much to his surprise, you didn’t bother asking for a last name. “Okay, Harrison. Why were you being chased?”

 

“My team likes to host public practices and we get a fair amount of fans who are…especially enthusiastic in getting to interact with us when we finish. I was just trying to get away from them.”

 

You raised an eyebrow. “Junior League?”

 

“National League. I’m the starting keeper for the Scottish team.”

 

“Oh,” you replied with vague surprise. “Well…that’ll do it. Let’s hope after today you return to your team with season-ending injuries. Whatever to help the Americans qualify this summer.”

 

Harrison chuckled sincerely at your light-hearted joke, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards slightly at his reaction. He bit his lip, looking down at the table before looking back up at you. “Could I ask you something? About when you dueled those aurors at the Ministry?”

 

You gave him a permissive nod.

 

“What happened to the man your patronus ate?”

 

That must’ve been what they used as the main picture for the article. You clicked your tongue. “He remained inside my patronus for the duration of the duel and couldn’t escape. When I let my patronus disappear, he had since fainted and was unable to fight.”

 

“I’d faint too if I were him. Being swallowed up by such a creature? I’d sooner take a bludger to the head. And I’ve had my fair share.”

 

You snorted in response, the conversation reaching a natural lull. He didn’t say anything else, choosing to look out at the rain, his mind thinking about today's events and his current practice schedule while you continue reading your book. 

 

Eventually, your watch beeped, signaling that your time for the room had run out. You gathered your things quietly, Harrison standing up from his chair and flexing his limbs, trying to discern all the aches and points of pain in his body. “Ouch!” he hissed, as he stretched his wrist, just realizing now that it had been sprained.

 

“Are you sure it is wise of you to fly? Especially while it’s raining?” 

 

“I’ve dealt with worse injuries in worse conditions,” he declared.

 

“I don’t doubt that, but I insist you take a floo wherever you’re going, or at least stop at an apothecary first.”

 

He pressed his lips into a thin lying, looking out at the rain and mulling it over. “I suppose you might be right,” Harrison conceded, trailing after you as you crossed the door’s threshold. 

 

He followed you down the staircase, taking more cautionary steps as he descended, and you watched him as well until the two of you hit the bottom floor. 

 

“I forget, is the apothecary down the lane, and then you take a left? Or is it right?”

 

“I dunno. This is my first time here.”

 

“Your first time at Lopside Lane?” He gave you a surprised yet amused look. “Well, that won’t do. They’ve got plenty of shops here you might like and the best chocolate frogs in all of Scotland. And if you’re into potions, I could take you to the apothecary. That is if I manage to make the correct turn.”

 

“That's a kind offer, but I’m actually meant to be exploring muggle Edinburgh today, not the wizarding spots.”

 

He hummed. “That doesn’t sound like a bad day. I have been to plenty of nice muggle spots in Edinburgh. Tell you what. Since you’re into potions, come with me to the apothecary and recommend me a potion for my battered self, and in return, I’ll tell you the best spots to go exploring in muggle Edinburgh.”

 

You bit the inside of your cheek, squinting at him slightly. He wasn’t being pushy about it and you supposed the offer was better than wasting time potentially wandering through alleys, crossing the wrong streets, and having to rely on the opinion of strangers to determine the places you wanted to explore. Plus, he wasn’t half bad to look at.

 

Fuck it.

 

***

 

The rain continued to tap against the windows of his chambers, and Severus was not at all surprised to wake up to another rainy Scotland morning. Such contrasting weather when one typically thought of spring was rather commonplace. He had no desire, however, to be holed up in his office today. A few days ago the Prophet had advertised a one-day sale for more hard-to-come-by ingredients near the border of England and Wales. A daily post owl swooped in through the open windows of his office, gingerly placing this morning’s copy on the sill before flying off once more. Severus plucked it up and wedged it into a travel bag he’d be taking with him, scowling toward the fireplace where another recent copy sat, now a pile of ashes and burnt bits of paper.

 

The copy that had the article about you.

 

It was laughable, the way they had made you out to be some sort of…threat. They had used the money shot, a picture of your patronus grabbing that auror by the wand, tossing him up in the air, and swallowing him whole before the picture transitioned into one of you using your patronus as a hammock. He only read the article because he was curious as to what the reporters had asked you and was hoping to get more personal insight on you. However, it was not at all surprising that when asked about the powerful memory or memories you used, you simply replied “No comment.” 

 

There was one question he found your response to somewhat interesting.

 

“Do you think the ability to summon a solid patronus can be taught?”

 

“Given the fact that there are so few witches and wizards recorded to have had the ability, I am doubtful. I am also unsure if those currently capable of conjuring a corporeal patronus are even able to reach solidity, though I encourage them to try. Statistically, however, the facts might as well imply that it is a God-given gift, or that a certain set of traits need to be met in order for someone to utilize such magic."  

 

“And what do you think those traits are?”

 

“I have somewhat of a working theory, but I’d rather not share for now, not until I could potentially meet with anyone else with the same abilities. If any of you out there are still alive, let’s talk.”

 

He had approved of your discretion, of wanting to take a more diligent approach before running to the Ministry with information that might be deemed as misleading. It was tricky business, similar to researchers who competed with one another, wanting to be the first to publish their findings, but also wanting to be certain they were correct. In this case, however, you had no competition. Part of him wished he could help, but it was a silly notion. His ability to cast a corporeal patronus had fizzled out at some point following the passing of his childhood best friend. The warm feelings attached to such memories dimmed and faded like a slowly extinguishing candle. On a good day, he can manage a strong non-corporeal, and the occasional doe that was highly ghostly, but it was fickle and hardly acknowledgeable anymore.

 

As to why he had thrown the paper into the fire? That was due to another segment before one got to the interview.

 

“Y/N L/N, a twenty-one-year-old American finishing her schooling at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was invited to the Ministry of Magic through careful coordination with MACUSA to demonstrate a form of magic sparsely seen throughout history: summoning a solid patronus.  A solid patronus is capable of interacting with people and objects in the way that one is able to pick up a book, feel the texture of its leather cover, and flip its pages. Y/N L/N’s patronus takes on the form of a runespoor, a three-headed spiked serpent native to Burkina Faso, Africa with an average length of six to seven feet tall, though some are capable of reaching gargantuan sizes. Runespoors are classified as XXXX beasts and have long been associated with dark wizards. In wielding such magic, the witch has shown proficiency in defeating multiple aurors at once in a controlled demonstration this past Monday in the Department of Magical Enforcement’s Training Pitch, taking very little damage herself in comparison. What does this mean for the Wizarding World when witches and wizards become capable of using such magic? One could argue that the implications attached to a solid patronus are rather ominous. Are we to hope that wielders of such magic will maintain a positive moral compass? Or should we put our faith in their mentors to guide them on their magical journey in growth and power?”

 

'How dare they. How dare they imply that you are dangerous, that you needed to be watched,' he had thought before tossing the newspaper into the fire, the image of your patronus melting away with the ink.

 

His large, black overcoat, kept him warm and comfortable, leaving his face to be otherwise ravaged by the wet and nippy air as he walked through the shop center’s bustling crowds, an umbrella equally as dark protecting him from above. Compared to how those around him dressed in lighter spring colors, he looked like Death on his way to pay someone a visit. Despite being the middle of the week, it seemed many people were attempting to run their errands before the usual afternoon traffic for most magical shop locations struck. He could grumble all he wanted at the little walking room he had, but there wasn’t much he could do.

 

Upon finally reaching the Fievel’s Fungus, Flora & Fauna, he wasted no time gathering his desired purchases as if he were at a bloody farmers market. He’d been saving up for such occasions where he didn’t have to feel guilty about overspending on the school’s dime. With Severus’s intimidating demeanor, witches and wizards avoided his gaze and stepped out of his way, enabling him to snatch up some stock of product before others did. His bag slowly began to fill with burlap-clothed samples and sealed jars containing various herbs and fluids, as well as a bioluminescent fungus he was particularly excited about as he wanted to take a stab at concocting his own night vision potion.

 

After a worker assisted him with his purchases, he swiftly exited the shop in hopes of finding a suitable place to sit down for a bit and read the Prophet. The neighboring cafe had much to offer drink-wise, but the seating was limited and occupied already, so he promptly ordered a hot drink to-go and walked further down to where he had known a small park to be located.

 

The usually sparkling surface of the pond decorated with lilypads and water skimmers took on a more gloomy tone as it reflected the sky’s dull tone. While he gathered that no one else would be out and about in this area while it was raining, he was also correct in assuming no one would occupy the public gazebos charmed with warming spells to keep the interior comfortable. He selected the one closest to him, closing his umbrella and setting it down against the built-in seating. With his bag in his lap, he tugged out today’s copy of the Prophet and smoothed it flat against the table as he took another generous sip of his coffee…

 

And immediately spat it out, choking a little when he saw one of the articles on the very first page.

 

In a heart-shaped frame constructed by the spacing of the surrounding text was a moving picture of you dressed in your muggle clothes. 

 

With Oliver bloody Wood.

 

QUIDDITCH KEEPER AND RUNESPOOR-WEILDING WITCH: NEW POWER COUPLE?

 

~By Rita Skeeter~

 

The picture was of you and the Scottish Quidditch keeper in front of a shop, him wearing what looked like your music-playing device on his head and doing a silly dance, coaxing a smile out of you. His eyes burned at the sight of the upturned corners of your lips. What were you doing with Oliver Wood?

“You heard correctly, my rabid readers! Oliver Wood and Y/N L/N were spotted together in Lopside Lane by local quidditch fans. The two appeared quite cozy with one another as they ambled down the street exploring the apothecary shop after being seen leaving Belinda’s Books. It is unknown whether the two are involved and for how long, but one can certainly agree that the witch and wizard do look good together. Perhaps the wizarding scene shall have a new couple making their debut so—”

 

He couldn’t read anymore, tearing out the page, crumpling it up, and incinerating it to ash. What nonsense… He couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. Especially when it came from Rita Skeeter. As if you would ever be involved with a Quidditch player. A former Gryffindor. He wrinkled his nose in disgust before swiping the ashes onto the ground.

 

Truly, what absolute and utter…

 

His insides squirmed with anger and uncertainty.

 

Nonsense.

Chapter 54: Tea Time

Summary:

Reader receives an invitation all the way from London to join a friend for tea.

Notes:

Happy Halloween! Sadly, no Snape this chapter, LOTS of Narcissa.

She’s an icon, she’s a legend and she is the moment. Now come on now *3*

14 years old.

 

 

“Ilvermorny is a boarding school?!” you screeched.

 

“It’s located on the other side of the country, Y/N,” your father remarked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk in his study. “What else did you think it was?”

 

“But I don’t want to live there! I like this house! I like being able to watch TV after school! I like going to the mini mart for snacks. Can’t I just take the floo to school each day?”

 

“That's not how it works. If that were the case, those without permission could enter the school and cause a ruckus or harm the students.”

 

“Dad, please! I know we had a deal, I know I have to properly learn magic b-but...” your voice broke at being taken away from all your beloved things and activities, especially without Ada now. “This,” you gestured all around you, “I still need to be around all this. I can’t go the first four months without this part of my life.”

 

“I don’t make the rules. All magic schools in the Wizarding World are boarding schools and it’s time you got actual experience in all corners of magic. There’ll be other kids who share the same feelings, most, younger than you.” His voice grew quieter, but no less final. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

 

Your nostrils flared, your face flushing in anger, and you whirled out of the study. “Fuck this,” you growled, stomping down the hallway and into the haven that was your room.

 

You spent the rest of that weekend avoiding your father, either reading or doing homework in your room or staying out as long as you could manage, roaming the neighborhood or biking around town. But come dinner time, it was unavoidable, and you needed to eat.

 

That was when he was able to get to you. He was in the kitchen—waiting—knowing that at some point you had to eat. You did not spare him a glance when you entered the kitchen, sweeping past him and to the refrigerator, where you began to pull out ingredients to make some pasta. 

 

“Y/N.”

 

You rolled your eyes to yourself. “What?” you muttered.

 

“I may have…a solution.”

 

Your hand paused on a block of Parmesan cheese, and you turned to look over your shoulder at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m listening,” you replied, shutting the refrigerator door.

 

Slowly, and with careful precision, he removed an object he was concealing behind his back and set it down on the kitchen island. It was a snow globe with a miniature version of your house inside.

 

“Is that trinket supposed to be something that reminds me of home?” you sneered bitterly.

 

Your father’s expression remained unchanged, calm and still. 

 

“No. It’s a port key, a magical device that can teleport you to a specific location. Most are one-way, others…are rarer. If one wanted to, one could use a port key to cross entire continents. Nevertheless, they are tightly regulated by the magical governments.”

 

“Like the Vanishing cabinets?”

 

“Yes.”

 

You scrutinized the snow globe, approaching it and tentatively placing your fingers on it. It didn’t feel any different from a regular snow globe. “Ilvermorny’s gonna allow me to port key to and from school?”

 

“Ilvermorny doesn’t know. Nor do the governments.”

 

You whipped your hand away from the snow globe, thinking that aurors were going to apparate into the kitchen any second. “Dad, this sounds super illegal,” you commented nervously.

 

“It is. Very. This breaks national security laws,” he said, presenting a second snow globe. Inside was a castle sitting on top of snowy mountains. The nameplate on the base of the globe read “Ilvermorny.”

 

“Then why are you doing this?”

 

Your father ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply from his nose. “I did some research. Unfortunately, this school is…rather secluded. Up in steep woodland mountains, hardly allowing any level space for outdoor socializing.” He tapped his fingers methodically on the polished counter. “And I don’t…want you to go crazy there. I don’t wish for your magical education to be a miserable one. I hope you know that.”

 

You swallowed thickly, feeling shame bear its weight down on you. “I know I’m not being cooperative, but…you shouldn't have to break the law like this. I don’t want to cause you trouble.”

 

“I’ve broken laws plenty of times, Y/N. Mostly stupid ones, to be fair, but still, I’ve never been caught. Your wand, for example, has been modified so that the government can’t detect your utilization of magic. Though I suppose that charm will have to come off anyway once you’re off to school again. And these port keys,” he gestured to them, “were something found on a dark witch we recently arrested. They were not recorded into evidence or inventory before I took them. They might as well only exist between you and me, so long as you don’t tell anyone about them.”

 

“What if… What if I’m in a dorm room with multiple people? Won’t they eventually see me using it?”

 

“That… I can’t help you with that. Maybe they’ll grant you a private place to sleep, given that you’ll be older than a typical first-year student. Otherwise, you’ll have to try to be discreet. And if you get caught, write to me. Immediately. I will try to handle it.”

 

Your face reddened, fingers fidgeting at your sides. He shouldn’t do this for you. You shouldn’t add more to his plate. He shouldn’t have to risk anything just because you were resistant to such a big change. 

 

“Come.” He straightened up, moving towards the living room. “I’ll show you how to use them.”

 

***

 

For once, spring had looked and felt like the usual things associated with the colorful season in London’s countryside. Though clouds continued to streak and plume in the sky, it was still a bright and sunny day, the light casting a remarkable glow on the many colorful flowers that adorned the Malfoy property. The maze garden welcomed a plethora of butterflies and bees who happily hovered about the newly bloomed pollen providers, wiggling their delicate legs along the petals and taking their fill. Throughout the lush bushes, one could find stray feathers shed by the white peacocks who perched peacefully on the tops of the hedges, basking in the light and observing their domain from above. 

 

Teacups quietly clinked against delicate saucer plates, a tea party being rather appropriate in such weather amongst the fine women of wizarding society. Each was dressed in trendy spring attire, though the material of their robes remained light and airy, preventing discomfort while in the sun’s gaze. They all sat straight on the edges of their seats despite being on cushioned terrace chairs, prim and poised and engaging in this week's gossip. That is, except for their dear host, Narcissa Malfoy, who had leaned into her comfortable furniture, her eyes cast over the lawn where her curious son had taken once more to practicing his spells. Her eyes sparkled at the boy's thirst for knowledge and encouraged such learning but under the proper supervision. After the chair incident, she had made a strict rule that any time he wanted to practice on the dummy or try any new spells in general, he was to do so with either herself or Lucius present to ensure he did not accidentally injure himself or perform magic he wouldn't otherwise be able to undo. She thanked the stars that he was taught “Reparo” first as he had broken that dummy far more times than she could count. And Draco smiled no less wide every time he successfully repaired it.

 

She exhaled quietly.

 

…You.

 

Narcissa had been thinking about you quite a bit, even before the newspaper stroked the flames. Lucius was practically the town crier when he came home about a month ago, hurriedly informing her that you had managed to perform a bit of rare magic. “A solid patronus,” she had clutched her literal pearls then. And a rather intimidating creature at that. Though she didn’t believe her husband to be a liar, she had difficulty grasping it. Runespoors were not known for being kind to humans. She wondered why Merlin had chosen such a beast to represent your soul, but who was she to needle the notion? She was no expert. 

 

And then the newspapers got hold of you.

 

She, admittedly, did not let Draco read the front page of your… demonstration at the Ministry, not out of disgust, but because she did not want the boy to come to fear you. The visual of your patronus swallowing an auror whole had no place in her son’s mind. She did, however, inform him of the recent events that transpired with your magic should he ever come across another morning paper that contained information regarding you.

 

Frankly, she was a little worried for you. What happened at the Quidditch Pitch, at the Ministry… is something no one will forget. It had the potential to bring you many opportunities once you graduate, which was good, who wouldn’t want that? But being who she is, a Malfoy, an influencer, she was aware of what the exposure, of what the watchful and judgemental eyes of the public could do to someone's mental well-being. And she didn’t want you to endure the same things she had to when her marriage with Lucius hit the papers a few decades ago; the jealous accusations, the made-up rumors crafted to stir the pot… There was no need for you to experience such things, but alas, it had already happened with you and that Wood fellow. Though if it was true, she couldn't blame you for going with the charming young keeper. He was handsome.

 

“…And so I told Miss Willowford she ought not to host her charity ball so close to May and to wait until June so she can better curry favor with the donors— Narcissa. Narcissa?”

 

Narcissa turned her wandering attention back toward the group of women who were all staring at her with slightly raised eyebrows. “Pardon?”

 

“Is everything alright, Cissa? You’ve been rather lost in thought.”

 

“Ah, yes,” she straightened. “Apologies, Marianne. I’ve had quite a few things on my mind as of late.”

 

“Personal affairs, yes?” She stirred her tea before casting Narcissa a look of intrigue like an owl who had been offered a vole. “Or perhaps something interesting you’d like to share.”

 

“No, no…” Narcissa managed a smile, pouring herself another cup of tea. “I’m afraid your ears are better than even mine at picking up on the most entertaining of whispers.”

 

“True,” Marianne quipped in agreement. “But really, is there something bothering you?”

 

“I suppose so… I’ve just been thinking about Miss L/N in the paper some days ago.”

 

This caused a symphony of disapproving noises.

 

“That girl,” Atermia snorted. “I must say I am surprised Albus Dumbledore has allowed such a person to stay at Hogwarts. Around children. Just a week ago, I had to assure my dear Benjamin that “the runespoor lady” was not going to come to the house and devour him in his sleep.”

 

“I,  for one, am intrigued by how she managed to bewitch Oliver Wood. I doubt she is his type…” another woman chimed in.

 

Narcissa kept silent as her friends continued to rattle off their thoughts and speculations on this past week’s developments. She listened. Analyzed. Quite frankly, she could do away with half these women and their snobby opinions, but their world was far too interconnected, too personal, in that if one person was cut off, then a whole vein of social connections died as well. The way they fed into Rita Skeeter’s nonsense was just…startling. She had never been a fan of Ms. Skeeter’s work. Especially when it concerned someone the world had yet to truly know.

 

“Wasn’t she at your New Year’s Eve party, Narcissa?”

 

“Yes, she was,” Narcissa confirmed.

 

“And did you know then? That she was capable of such…power?”

 

“I was informed she is a remarkable brewer and an O-student, but no. At the time, I was not aware of her patronus.”

 

A whooshing sound got their attention as Draco managed to set the dummy on fire somehow, black smoke billowing into the air. Narcissa watched calmly as Draco urgently flipped through his hybrid book of charms, spells, jinxes, and hexes, looking for something to put out the fire. “Aguamenti!” the boy shouted, his wand aimed at the flames. It was his first time casting the spell, the jet of water wasn’t nearly as strong as most could cast, but it was about the same as a sink faucet, and enough to put out the fire when he moved closer. 

 

“I see Draco has been keeping busy before he starts school this fall,” Marianne remarked.

 

Narcissa sighed quietly to herself. She would very much like to see you again.  “Miss... A friend of mine got him a basic spell book and that practicing dummy. He seems to prefer Defense Against the Dark Arts, much like his father.”

 

“Well, it’s always good to have them start early if they want to fair well at Hogwarts. Especially with Potions.”

 

The ladies all hummed collectively in agreement. A house elf popped into existence by Marianne’s side, tugging slightly at her robes and showing her a pocket watch. “Oh my, is it time already?” She placed her tea cup down. “I must be going now, Narcissa. I have another affair I must see too. A pleasure, as always. I do enjoy these get-togethers. Ladies,” she bowed to the rest of the group. 

 

Eventually, the other women departed within minutes of one another, their afternoons also occupied with things to tend to. Narcissa breathed out in relief. While she loved hosting, she always forgot how draining these people can be. 

 

Her shoes tapped against the polished wood of the hallway as she approached her husband's study. She smiled softly at the sight of her husband backlit by the soft, afternoon light streaming through the impressive vertical windows behind his antique wooden desk. His illuminated hair made him look like an angel. Her heart fluttered with equal admiration when she looked at him, even more so whenever he looked up from his book or documents and returned the gentle smile, for he knew exactly how his wife felt about him in these moments.

 

“Hello, darling,” he said, reaching for her hand as she approached and pressing a kiss to the back of it before squeezing it affectionately. “Tea went alright?”

 

“It did,” she pecked his head. “Is Hermes here? I’d like to send a letter.”

 

“Yes, dear. He’s in his cage preening himself.” Lucius retrieved some parchment, an inkpot, and a fresh quill for his wife. She kissed him once more before settling by his side and dipping the quill into the ink pot.

 

“Dear, Y/N…”

 

***

 

You lay sprawled along the length of your sofa, the news playing on the TV in the background as you held the sealed letter above your face. You knew who it was from, the seal and handwriting familiar to you now. Honestly, you were surprised they had even figured out how to get mail to you. The question is, why? Why were you holding a letter from Narcissa Malfoy? What purpose did she have in writing to you? You’d been playing this question on repeat for almost an hour now, debating on whether you should open it or pretend like you never received it the next time you ever saw her. 

 

And if you opened it to find it was a request to meet some colleagues, you’d burn it.

 

Your fingers picked at the stamped wax seal and tugged out the parchment paper from inside.

 

Dear Y/N,

 

I hope this letter has reached you properly. I’m not too familiar with how magical governments transport international mail. It’s been a few months since we last spoke. Draco has been practicing his magic any chance he gets and excels at destroying and repairing the practice dummy you got him for Christmas. I read the articles written about you in the Prophet. It was quite a story. I’m writing because I want to see you and catch up. I would love for you to accompany me for tea this Thursday at two o’clock if it’s convenient for you. I understand if there are difficulties with international travel.

 

I hope you’ve been well.

 

Sincerley,

Narcissa Malfoy

 

Malfoy Manor, 15 Hardwick Lane, Wiltshire, London

 

You brought the letter down on your pinkened face. Tea. She wants to invite you for tea. You sighed into the piece of parchment before moving it down to your stomach once more. It made you smile briefly to know Draco was making good use of your Christmas presents. 

 

What to do about this invitation…

 

Truthfully, you didn’t want to travel back to England, wishing to spend your last remaining days of the break in America. However, this could be an opportunity to figure out what her deal was—what the entire Malfoy family’s deal was. An almost devious smirk formed on your face. Perhaps, you could really shove your no-majness down her throat while you're at it. You would show her that she was associating with someone who more often than not, saw themselves as a no-maj. You did it all the time with Snape. This way you could compare notes.

 

You sent a confirmation response back, preparing for tomorrow’s meetup, and crafting the outfit you’d wear. You weren’t going to wear robes. No way. And as the cherry on top, you were going to drive up the road to their house in your car. Your only obstacle would be getting a physical copy of the Wiltshire area, but that shouldn’t be a hard task. And if she wanted to meet at 2:00, then you’d have to wake up at around four to give yourself enough time to get ready and travel to match the time zone change.

 

Alright. Game on, Narcissa.

 

***

 

The gravel crunched under your car’s tire as you approached the impressive wrought iron gates of the Malfoy property, which was more land than you initially thought. Though you had been here before, you didn’t realize how off-the-beaten-path their manor was. A map of Wiltshire you had gotten from a convenience store in London told you to take a road that veered off into land that was a natural blend of countryside and forest, providing the family with natural privacy from both muggles and wizards. It was quite a scenic drive. From the lack of gates or general architecture, there didn’t seem to be any houses beside Malfoy Manor in this particular bit of land, perhaps primarily serving as an alternative back road for people traveling across the country. 

 

The gates seemed to part for you this time like they were expecting your presence, which was good as you did not know if your car would be able to pass through like you had with Black at the New Year’s party. You brought your car to a quiet halt on the roundabout some feet away from the stone staircase that led to the door. As you got out of your car and locked it, you swore you saw a silhouette in one of the windows quickly dash out of sight behind the curtains. You straightened your clothes out a little as you climbed the low-rise steps, stopping in front of the grand doors and quickly knocking, giving yourself no more time to doubt whether you should even be here.

 

Some moments passed before the door clicked and was gently pulled back. You were expecting Narcissa but were surprised to see a fleshy creature much shorter than the average human standing before you instead. It was a house elf dressed in a simple long-sleeved tunic shirt and trousers that stopped at the ankles paired with simple slip on shoes, staring back at you with wide eyes. 

 

“Hello,” it greeted. “Is Miss expected by Mistress or Master today?” 

 

“Yes. My name is Y/N L/N. I’m here to have tea with Narcissa Malfoy. What is your name?”

 

“Dobby,” it replied before making an uncertain whimpering noise. “Miss doesn’t look like a witch…”

 

You didn’t respond. Instead, you cocked your wrist and twitched your fingers, your wand unsheathing itself from your sleeve and into your palm. Dobby let out a quiet “oh” before pulling the door open all the way and gesturing for you to come inside.

 

The door shutting echoed behind you, Dobby tugging on your pant leg to follow him. You trailed behind silently as the elf led you past the grand foyer and toward the other side of the house. You could see the terrace through the already-opened French doors of one of the drawing rooms.

 

Narcissa, who sat on the terrace looking out over the back lawn, turned her head toward the doors at the sound of soft footsteps. Her red lips twitched upwards when she saw you stepping out onto the terrace.

 

“Hello, Narcissa,” you said softly.

 

“Y/N!” she beamed and stood up to greet you. Her hands came to your cheeks as she placed a kiss on your forehead, your face reflexively flushing in return. “It’s good to see you dear. I’m glad you could come. Her eyes lowered slightly, her lips pursing as her thumbs moved up and gently smoothed along the skin near your lower lids. “Are you okay, dear? You seem rather spent.”

 

“I’m just a bit tired. I’ve been up since four in the morning.”

 

“What on Earth for?”

 

You blinked at her. “It’s…an eight-hour time difference…plus the two hours I allotted to travel from central London to here.”

 

Her hands fell from your face and settled above your elbows. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had completely forgotten about the time changes,” she cooed. “Please, forgive me. I should have been more conscious of that.”

 

“It’s alright. It’s nothing I haven't experienced before.”

 

“And you didn’t take the floo?”

 

“I’m not authorized to use them at the Ministry and I don’t really know where the wizarding gateway locations are in London other than the Leaky Cauldron, but I do have a car, so I used the visitor exit and drove the rest of the way. The route to your home is rather scenic.”

 

She pressed her lips together in thought and nodded. “I see. Well, come sit.” She gestured to the plush, terrace seating. “Lucius is out at the moment and Draco is doing a bit of homeschool work, but he is around.” You took notice of the way her eyes flit over your attire as she said this, though her expression did not change. If she was judging you she was really good at hiding it.

 

You settled down on the cushioned chair just as Dobby came back into sight with a tray of tea and some cookies.

 

“Thank you, Dobby,” Narcissa said.

 

“Thank you, sir,” you said as well.

 

“Sir?” Dobby’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I like this one…” he murmured bashfully, playing with his fingers. 

 

“As do I,” Narcissa agreed and dismissed the house elf. “I’m not sure what kind of tea you like, so I picked one that hasn’t failed me before.”

 

You reached for the teapot as she plated herself two cookies. You weren’t generally a tea person. The only times you drank it was because…well…it was offered. By Professor Snape specifically. Luckily, the teas you had taken from him were agreeable with your tongue. Today’s tea was amber-colored like firewhiskey and smelled rather sweet, unlike the lavender notes you were used to.

 

“Do you like it?” Narcissa asked as you sipped the tea carefully. 

 

“It tastes like…caramel apples,” you murmured.

 

“Indeed.” She poured herself a cup. “I hope it’s to your preference.”

 

“It is,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

 

She took a sip from her cup and sighed contentedly at the flavor. “So. How has everything been with you?”

 

You looked down into your cup. “Everything’s been…fine.”

 

“Hmm…” she lowered her cup into her lap. “So it hasn’t been fine.”

 

You furrowed your brows and looked back up at her.

 

“I’m a woman too, Y/N,” she chuckled lightly. “I know when “I’m fine” actually means “I’m fine” and when it doesn’t. You don’t have to save face for me.”

 

You parted your lips to speak, but closed them, letting out a defeated sigh. “I…” You licked your lips. “I don’t know. I’m…managing, I guess. I’m just…having to deal with feelings that I didn’t…think I would be feeling.”

 

“What sort of feelings?”

 

“Doubt… Toward people. Toward myself. It’s not as though I haven't felt this uncertainty before. It’s just…more complicated this time.”

 

She tilted her head contemplatively. “Is this because of the articles written about you since the demonstration?” 

 

“Not in the sense you might think. It’s not like I’ve been hounded by paparazzi or have had people heckle me or call me a freak. A family friend of mine recently gave me some advice about handling fame. And now I feel bogged down by uncertainty.”

 

“What were you told?”

 

“To be careful who I associate with. Not in regards to bettering my reputation, but more so in putting my trust in the right people. To not be…taken advantage of so to speak.”

 

She nodded, taking another sip. “I understand. Though I may not have been in your exact shoes, I know what it’s like to have to examine your relationships wisely.”

 

You grabbed a cookie. “You do?”

 

“Of course. Lucius does, too. We’ve both been dealing with such social games since we were at Hogwarts together. Him, a Malfoy, me, a Black. We both come from wealthy and noble families and our friendships were often pre-selected for us. It made it difficult for both of us to discern whether anyone new who came along genuinely wanted to be our friend or use us for our reputation or money. It was something that bonded us closer together. Now, we are practically experts at spotting the rats among the mice.”

 

“I see. And…I’m guessing Professor Snape was one of the mice back then?”

 

“Yes,” she tittered. “He was a scrappy little thing at the time, but very smart. And just as serious as he is now. Severus would give Lucius Potions advice and Lucius would let Severus read some of his more rare books regarding the Dark Arts. There was no deception in his eyes, just a thirst for knowledge. And you eventually learn to read their eyes, the timing of their mannerisms.”

 

“That sounds depressing, to have to do that every time someone introduces themselves to you.”

 

“It is an unfortunate downside of fame, accidental or not. But if I may say so, dear, you seem like a very good judge of character. I don’t think it will be hard for you should you find yourself in such situations.” She smiled. “And if you ever need assistance, I have a whole laundry list of people I recommend you be wary of.”

 

A pang of guilt radiated through your chest. She was being so nice to you, offering you her expertise when it came to your troubles, and you had come to her home with the intention to sus her and her family out. She took notice of the shift in your demeanor, the way your eyes had taken on a glassy quality as your gaze became distant.

 

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice warbly as you set the tea down and fidgeted with your fingers. “I…I came here thinking I had to—” You swallowed the growing ache in your throat and exhaled shakily. This time Narcissa put her tea down as well. She stood from her seat and moved to sit on the neighboring cushion of the outdoor couch. Her hand gingerly reached to your lap and held one of yours. 

 

“Had to what?” she inquired gently.

 

“Test you,” you choked out. “You and your husband were so nice to me when you visited the castle during the holidays. And when I was told to be wary of who I befriend, especially those from the twenty-eights, I got anxious and started to think that maybe the two of you were just buttering me up or something a-and I saw Mr. Malfoy was at the demonstration with Professor Snape and I—” you squeezed your eyes tight together and paused, trying to keep your words from coming out jumbled. “I-I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. If you want me to leave, I understand—”

 

“No, no, no, darling,” her other hand came up to cradle your cheek. “I don’t wish to kick you out. Your suspicion is…understandable. I’m sorry you’ve been so worried about this since the beginning of spring break.” Her thumb stroked soothingly on your cheek. “I assure you, neither me, nor Lucius, have any intention of using you as a bragging tool. We just think you are lovely. Ever since you helped me pick out that dress in Diagon Alley, I thought you were so endearing. And I had no idea about your patronus, really. I only found out when Lucius told me the day he came home from the Quidditch game at Hogwarts.”

 

“This week…I thought you might’ve known before… I’ve been able to summon my runespoor since early November. And Professor Snape was there the first time it happened. I know you three talk. In retrospect, I thought he might’ve…told you two…”

 

Narcissa shook her head. “No. No, he didn’t.”

 

She waited patiently for you to recompose yourself, encouraging you to drink more tea and eat another cookie, or biscuit as she called them.

 

“May I ask you something, Y/N?”

 

“Mhm…” you replied, swallowing another bit of cookie. 

 

“Do you think the same thing of Severus? Do you think that he is using you too?”

 

You rubbed your thumb along the side of the cup, taking a sip to delay your answer. “I don’t know if I should talk about that. I don’t wish to start any drama between you all.”

 

“I promise you, Y/N, I won’t say anything to Severus. Or Lucius, for that matter. It’ll be just between us. Girl to girl.”

 

You sighed, contemplating. “Honestly…I don’t know. Yes? Maybe? There’s been weird timing with Professor Snape as well. In my opinion, we are…comparatively closer than other students and teachers, and that began ever since I was able to summon my runespoor. I find that to be suspicious.”

 

“I’ve known Severus for a long time. Trust me, my dear. He is not the type, not like his own head of house,” she remarked with acute bitterness. “To be frank, I would’ve thought your closeness was caused by your Halloween assault. Severus was the one to find you, after all. And it sounded like a rather frightening experience. I’ve assumed he has grown to care about you, and truthfully, based on the fragments of interactions he has written about, amongst other things, I thought you both were friends.”

 

Your mouth parted in surprise. “He’s…written about me?”

 

Narcissa bit the inside of her cheek, chastizing herself for her slip of the tongue. “Perhaps don’t tell him I said that. And I assure you, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s mostly him questioning ‘lady logic,’ nothing much more.”

 

You pursed your lips. “Anyways… I’m doubtful he believes we’re friends. Even if I’d like to think we are. He’s still my Head of House, and as such, he’s contractually obligated to give a damn about me, which makes it difficult to discern his actions. And on the off chance that he does consider me a friend, I don’t know if friendship with him is even worth it at this point.”

 

Narcissa’s features grew both solemn and dispirited at this new bit of information. “And why is that?” she questioned quietly.

 

“He…” You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts into a coherent sentence. “It’s very obvious to me now that Professor Snape doesn’t like muggleness or muggles. In my case, no-majs. And I just…can’t roll with that. I’m a half-blood, and not just the spawn of a muggleborn and what you people call ‘pureblood’, I’m exactly down the middle. The daughter of a no-maj mother and a pureblood father and I lean in the direction most witches and wizards just…don’t. I prefer not to identify as a witch in the waking moments of the day and I even have a no-maj job when I go home in the summers…”

 

She nodded, taking the information in as she recalled her conversation with Severus when she ran into him attempting to find you a suitable birthday present. “And why do you think he is not fond of such…traits?”

 

“He’s disparaged my no-majness quite directly. Multiple times. And he makes faces at my outfits, whenever I use or bring up no-maj technology, make no-maj references…”

 

Narcissa audibly sighed in frustration, muttering to herself. “That overgrown dungeon bat, I swear to Merlin…” She could clear all of this up for you right here, right now. She could tell you about his conflicting childhood, his abusive muggle father, and how he had lost the only good muggle thing he had in more ways than one. But she wouldn’t. That would make her a terrible friend to reveal such personal information without his knowing. 

 

She took a deep breath. “Severus is…how to say this politely… a bit…socially challenged. He doesn’t acclimate to people very easily, and when he does he can still be rather dense regarding how his behavior can affect them. And sometimes he simply doesn’t think before he speaks, despite how smart he is. Navigating him can be difficult.”

 

“It doesn’t feel difficult,” you shrugged. “For the most part, it’s actually easy. I feel like I can be my no-maj self in front of him…until…I don’t. Normally, I’ve never given a damn when people insult me and I keep on doing my thing…but this is…new to me…”

 

“It sounds like you do indeed care about his opinion. Partially, at least.”

 

You averted your eyes, muttering, “I guess…”

 

“A word of advice: Call him out directly next time he says something thoughtless.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Absolutely. With his intimidating stature and grumpy demeanor, he never expects anyone to be confrontational with him. You’ll catch him off guard if you do and it won’t kill him to be humbled every now and then. However, if he keeps being imperious and judgmental when it’s not warranted, I’d understand if you choose to…distance yourself.”

 

“YYY/NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!”

 

Draco’s voice cut through the air as he came bounding through the French doors and onto the terrace, coming to a panting halt in front of you and Narcissa.

 

“We do not run through the house, Draco. You could slip on the floor and hurt yourself,” she chided lightly.

 

“Sorry, mother,” he breathed out. “I saw Y/N from my room, but I had to finish my study lesson first.” Draco’s eyes caught on to your outfit and his nose scrunched up. “Why are you wearing such strange clothes?”

 

Narcissa felt your hand twitch in hers and she sent her son a look. “Draco….”

 

“It’s alright,” you commented mildly. “He doesn’t know.”

 

“Know what?” Draco questioned.

 

“This is how some American muggles dress.”

 

“But you’re a wi—”

 

“Draco,” Narcissa said sternly now. “It’s not polite to question or judge a guest's attire.”

 

The boy averted his gaze, shifting his feet. “Sorry, mother. Sorry, Y/N.”

 

“What were you studying, Draco?” you asked, changing the subject.

 

“English and grammar. Do we really have to write papers at Hogwarts?”

 

You smiled. “I’m afraid so. It's one of the ways you prove you understand the core of what you’re being taught.”

 

The boy pouted. “I don’t see the point in all that if I can just learn to cast all the spells successfully and be done with it.”

 

Narcissa smirked at you. “He set the dummy you gifted him on fire this morning.”

 

Draco blushed with embarrassment. “Mother!”

 

You chuckled heartily. “Well, that’s good to hear! Have you been teaching yourself a lot of spells?”

 

“Every day,” Draco nodded. “But mother and father will not let me practice unless one of them is around to watch.

 

“That’s probably for the best,” you hummed. “I’ve had my fair share of injuries without proper supervision.”

 

Draco clasped his hands behind his back and started wiggling and shifting nervously in place. “Y/N… Is it possible I could…see your patronus? I read the article but, I never got to see what it looked like.”

 

You pressed your lips together, unsure how to respond. Instead, you looked to Narcissa who also seemed to be unsure. “If you think it’d be too scary for him I understand. Many first-years at Hogwarts are afraid of it.”

 

“I suppose…that would be alright,” she answered carefully, the both of you rising from your seats. You lead them onto the back lawn where you created some distance between yourself and the two Malfoys. Narcissa instructed Draco to hold her hand, who was confused at first but obeyed his mother. You inhaled deeply, letting your wand slide out from your sleeve and waving it about.

 

“Expecto Patronum.”

 

The wispy light bloomed from your wand, expanding and twisting about until it had formed your beloved Runey who hissed quietly to himself as he scoped out the lawn.

 

“Ahh!” Draco yelped, stepping behind his mother and out of sight, squeezing her hand. He had no idea that your patronus was so big.

 

“It’s alright, Draco,” Narcissa murmured, keeping her gaze fixed on the three-headed serpent. 

 

The three heads came down and nuzzled you.

 

Zeus, Morpheus, Themis… Lower yourselves to the ground. There is a child present.

 

The three heads positioned themselves accordingly, flicking their tongues curiously toward the child who was peeking out from his mother’s side.

 

“They won’t harm you. I have control of him. Draco, this is Zeus, Morpheus, and Themis. Zeus is particularly fond of your father.”

 

“Th-they’re huge… I-I didn’t think th-they’d be this big.”

 

“Mhm… You could pet him if you’d like.”

 

Draco made no move forward, nor did he give a verbal response, still eyeing the creature cautiously. 

 

“May I greet it?” Narcissa asked, hoping her willingness would give her son a bit more confidence.

 

“Yes, of course. Themis…”

 

The critical head slinked forward, raising himself to the height of her stomach, looking up at her with wondering eyes. 

 

“Hello,” she said gently, holding her palm out to its snoot. Themis snuffled along her palm and licked at her rings, her lips grimacing slightly at the sensation of the tongue on her skin. Themis’s pupils visibly dilated like a cat’s would, puffing resoundingly, before pulling himself back and tucking himself against your side.

 

“He can get shy,” you offered immediately. “But he does like you.”

 

A smile tugged at her lips. “I see. Draco, would you like to try?”

 

It took him a few seconds but he hesitantly crept around his mother and was by her side once more. This time Morpheus was the one to approach, settling himself slightly lower than Themis had to accommodate the boy. With further encouragement from Narcissa, he lifted his hand similarly to how his mother did. Morpheus sniffed at the boy, getting his fill of the young Malfoy’s soul, tongue darting out along his fingers. Draco flinched at the sensation but was placated by his mother's reassurances. Morpheus puffed, emitting a rumbling purr and tucking his nose against the boy’s palm. Draco giggled nervously, tracing his fingers along the scales of Morpheus’s face. 

 

“All three of them are total sweethearts. If they like you, that is,” you explained, letting your patronus disappear and pulling your plaid shirt to reveal your tattoo. “It’s not a magical one, but I got a tattoo of him as well. In case something happens that causes my patronus to change, I’ll have a way to remember him fondly.”

 

“Woah! Mother, can I get a tattoo?”

 

“Absolutely not, Draco.”

 

***

 

The three of you continued to drink tea and chat. Draco had officially started magical homeschooling ever since he got his wand around the holidays. He was rather taken with Defense Against the Dark Arts much like his father and had been teaching himself basic offensive spells on the dummy. Because he didn’t have anyone to practice with, you let him throw some spells at you so you could teach him how to defend himself. You taught him ‘Protego,’ ‘Stupefy,’ and ‘Expelliarmus,’ the three most important spells an aspiring auror should know. 

 

When the time came for you to depart, Narcissa walked you to your car.

 

“I’m glad I was able to see you once more, my dear. I know you have a lot going on with school and whatnot, but I hope it all works itself out.”

 

“It was good to see you too… I just wish all this didn’t have to happen while I’ve got NEWTs to study for.”

 

She crooned. “I know, dear. I’m sorry. Life can be rather inopportune at times, especially with matters of the mind.” She wrapped your arms around you as the both of you stopped by your car. “Do stand your ground around Severus. If he wants to be an arse, then you don’t have to take it. But, I do encourage you to give him a proper chance to explain his behavior should it come to that. He is not so good with words.”

 

“I’ll try,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

 

She pulled back and squeezed your shoulders. “It’s funny. I could see getting along rather well with Sirius. He loves muggle culture. You’re dressed quite similarly to how he went about town in his early twenties.”

 

You snorted. “No offense to you or your family but he’s…”

 

“An arsehole?”

 

“Yeah. And loud.”

 

She laughed, “yes, that he is,” before she pecked your forehead once more. “Take care now. Enjoy the rest of your break.”

Chapter 55: A Sense of Doubt

Summary:

Featured Music: Shoop by Salt-N-Pepa

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BGI1z9KBpk&ab_channel=TheOneFilmElement

Notes:

The next chapter(s) will be split into two. It was just so big. It will contain not a trope but a specific "situation" I'm sure some of ya'll were wanting to occur since...I don't know, like, the winter chapters? Anyways... ᕕ( ᐛ ) ᕗ

It warms my heart to know that this story has been helping those deal with crappy days. I hope everyone here is doing alright with all the crazy shit that's been happening in the world, whether it be in your personal life or things that are simply not in your control anymore. Remember to breathe, drink water, and check in with your loved ones.

Early morning sunlight filtered into your kitchen through the windows, tinted a gloomy color as the light downpour persisted through the overcast air. You enjoyed walking through it to pick up breakfast and go from a cafe. Afterward, you floo’ed to New York to pick up some takeout that would serve as a special dinner for you tonight as New York was a couple of hours ahead and had pizza places just opening for the day. It was time to go back to Hogwarts today, much sooner than you wanted to, but Dumbledore needed to know you had gotten back properly, check in on you, and for your body to adjust to the timezone while still being able to enjoy some of the day. 

 

The plastic takeout bags crinkled and swayed, hanging on the crook of your elbow as you lugged your suitcase with you, more full than it was when you first came back, the additional weight being due to you needing a refill on potion ingredients and a few months supply of snacks to tide you over for your remaining time. Upon standing in front of the snow globe on the mantle, you paused, going over your mental checklist. 

 

Your garden had been charmed with a Stasis Spell.

 

All the wards were still in place.

 

Clothes had been swapped.

 

The water and power to the house were turned off.

 

Your car was shrunken down in your suitcase.

 

You glanced at the picture of Ada on the mantle, reminding you of the duplicate picture that was currently in your pocket. You had everything. You were ready to return. Only a couple of months and you’d be back. Your fingers plucked the snow globe off, inside a miniature Hogwarts castle as you felt for the wind-up mechanism on the bottom. The music began to play softly as you placed it back on the mantle, your palm splayed firmly over the glass globe. As the short song reached its conclusion you cast one more look out at your home before everything flashed white.

 

The floating feeling of port key travel ceased as you felt your toes touch the ground once more, now inside the headmaster’s office. You expected a gentle “hello” at your presence, but weren’t met with anything, the lighting rather dim in fact. You checked the clock on the wall. It was about 2 PM. Lunch would be over by now and Dumbledore should be here as the teachers needed to be back on the day that students were to return. Maybe he was in Hogsmeade or having tea in another professor’s office. Oh well. You’d leave him a sign. You approached his desk, mischievously eyeing the bowl of lemon sherberts before grabbing a handful and making a happy face with them on the flat wooden surface.

 

Your head bobbed along to the music playing through the headphones of your walkman, tossing nods to the portraits you passed by as you made your way down through the castle. You couldn’t hear them but you could tell most of them were saying “hello” or “welcome back.” As you passed by windows, you were delighted to find that it was a rather misty day, probably following the aftermath of some rain here as well.

 

A hand on your shoulder near your neck. 

 

Your pulse skyrocketed.

 

You flinched as you whipped around, one hand guarding the front of your throat, the other drawn back to strike whoever it was that was behind you only to be Professor Lupin who gazed back at you with wide eyes and hands up in surrender.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed through your music.

 

You sighed in frustration, sliding the headphones off. “Fucking Christ, Professor.”

 

“I’m sorry, Miss,” Lupin repeated. “You couldn’t hear me, but I didn't mean to frighten…” he trailed off as your hand went to massaging your alarmed pulse point, his guilt worsening. “Are you alright?”

 

“…Give me a minute.” You turned away and stepped toward the wall, taking deeper breaths to slow your heartbeat down. Professor Lupin remained silent, slowly lowering his hands and letting you recompose yourself.

 

You exhaled softly, feeling your heartbeat steady out.

 

“Sorry…” Lupin murmured once more.

 

“It’s alright,” you affirmed calmly. “What can I help you with?”

 

“I just wanted to talk, but I should probably let you unpack your belongings.” He gestured to your luggage. “I didn’t expect any of the students to be back early.”

 

“It’s to help get my body used to the time zone change where I just was.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. “…Where you just were?”

 

“Yes, I was quite literally in America a few minutes ago. I have access to forms of travel that some…don’t.”

 

“Ah, the Vanishing Cabinets, yes?”

 

Yeah… Sure… The Vanishing Cabinets…

 

“Mhm,” you simply replied.

 

He pressed his lips into a soft smile. “How about you unpack what you need to and then we have a talk? We have much to discuss, but I also wish for you to enjoy the rest of the day before everyone else gets back.”

 

“M’kay…” 

 

One by one you slotted your belongings into their respective places when you entered your room. Your hidden potion stores were restocked for plenty of fun experiments, your replenished snacks sat hidden under your bed like a treasure trove of no-maj goodness, and your wardrobe was rearranged to accommodate the anticipated shift in weather. You changed clothes once more from your comfy coat and lounge clothes and cast a Stasis Charm on your pizza and dessert to save for later before you ascended upstairs once more with your to-go breakfast in hand.

 

You hardly grazed your knuckles against the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom before it swung back for you. Inside, Professor Lupin sat at his desk with Dumbledore standing not too far away, his hands tucked in the crooks of his elbows. The dangly jewelry that pinched his beard halfway down jingled as he turned to you.

 

“Miss L/N. Welcome back. I saw the message you left on my desk,” he smiled.

 

You bit down on your lip, fighting a smirk, and shut the door behind you. His eyes flit down to the white plastic bag in your hand as you drew closer. “What have you got there?”

 

“My breakfast.”

 

Lupin frowned. “You haven’t eaten breakfast yet?”

 

“It’s about an eight-hour time difference where Miss L/N lives,” Dumbledore explained on your behalf.

 

“Oh! Of course. Well, you’re welcome to eat, Miss.”

 

You made a noise of acknowledgment, plopping yourself down at a random desk in the front row and opening up the slightly greasy cardboard to-go box from inside the bag. The scent of your egg-in-a-hole with bacon grilled cheese sandwich had you salivating as you took a greedy bite from it, your eyes nearly rolling up into your head from how delicious it was.

 

“You've had a rather eventful break, Miss L/N,” Dumbledore began. “Your patronus made quite a splash in the papers.”

 

“I live to entertain,” you mused.

 

“Professor Lupin has been filling me in on the progress the two of you made as well as what he recorded at the Ministry of Magic. I wish I could’ve been there myself to see the demonstration, though the papers seemed to adequately capture the main event. How have you been handling it all?”

 

You shrugged, mumbling through a bite. “Alright, I guess.”

 

He tilted his head. “Truly?”

 

“I mean… I’ve had time to think about what may be and I’ve spoken with a few others about it. My worries lie more so within the school. Though I don’t particularly care about what others say about me, I’d rather not start back at square one as I did in 5th year with students being frightened by me.”

 

“I’m afraid that’s something that can’t be helped,” Dumbledore sighed. “I’m sure, however, those who’ve come to see you as not just some fearsome beast-wielder will continue to stand by your side despite what has been said about you.”

 

“Dumbledore is right,” Lupin spoke up. “We cannot stress enough how important it is to have support. I was thankful to have good friends around me when my condition was particularly self-destructive.” With a flick of his wand, he hovered a picture that sat in a frame on his desk over to you. You grabbed it mid-air and turned it towards yourself. In the picture was a red-headed girl and four boys, two with dark hair, and two with lighter hair. The lankier boy you recognized as Professor Lupin and the one with curly chin-length hair was Sirius Black. Based on their ages and the Hogwarts uniforms, this looked to be a graduation picture.

 

“Animagi. All of them, except for the girl. When my condition was especially hard on me, they’d transform and comfort me throughout the night, and help keep me sane. Sirius, to this day, has always been a great help to me. We want you to know should any trouble arise from this, be it inside or outside the school, that we as your teachers are here for you.”

 

You made a quiet bashful sound through closed lips as you averted your gaze to the scratched surface of the desk. 

 

“Did you get any letters about me over break? From angry parents perhaps?” you asked softly.

 

“Yes,” Dumbledore said honestly. “There are some parents who are…concerned about their children being around you, but that is something you needn’t worry about. Their worries have been placated for the time being seeing that you are graduating soon and that you wouldn’t hurt any of them without fear of expulsion.”

 

“I wouldn’t hurt them with my patronus, period,” you retorted.

 

“I know you wouldn’t. I merely phrased it in such a way for the parents so that they think you are ‘under a thumb’ so to speak.”

 

You huffed, taking another greedy bite to prevent yourself from responding defensively again. “Is there any mail for me?”

 

“Indeed, but I feel it would be better for you to address it after you’ve settled in once more. In the meantime is there anything we can do to help you make the next few days easier? Anything you’d like to talk about?” Dumbledore asked softly.

 

One of your hands left the sandwich to draw lines along the surface of the desk. “You will not see me at dinner tonight. I’ll be here in the castle, but not present in the Great Hall. I brought food back that I’d like to enjoy in solitude.”

 

“Very well. Is there anything else?”

 

You clicked your tongue “Is Mr. Filch around? I really don’t want to be a witch today.” 

 

Lupin quirked his brows curiously at Dumbledore, who knew exactly where you were going with this. “Mr. Filch is here, yes. He is attending to some duties to prepare for the students’ return. You might be able to find him outside. But, if he doesn’t want to be bothered then you must respect that.”

 

You hummed in satisfaction. It wasn’t uncommon for you to seek out the non-magical employee when you didn’t want to be reminded of your magical abilities. Helping him out with certain duties reminded you of being at home like you weren’t stuck at a magical school halfway across the world. And he seemed to tolerate you, especially since you didn’t refer to him as just “Filch.”

 

“Patronus business aside, did you get to enjoy your break?” Lupin asked, his tone taking on a more knowing quality. “Meet any interesting people perhaps?”

 

“As a matter of fact, yes. I did meet someone interesting.”

 

***

 

The fog tickled gently along the skin of Severus’s face, his pace relaxed as he clomped through the fields toward the Owlery, its silhouette like that of a mysterious folly looming in the misty veil. He harrumphed at the the fact that the students would be returning that evening. The halls would once more be filled with endless chatter, unruly behavior at meals, and worst of all, the increasing amount of papers to grade. These last few months would surely test his patience, stress no doubt reaching its tentacles of misery across every part of the castle.

 

At least you’d be back. That was something.

 

As he approached the first step of the spiraling, stony staircase, he paused. Soft laughter had fallen on his ears from somewhere nearby. It sounded like it was coming from inside the Owlery rather than around him. The students weren’t back yet… Were other professors sending mail at the same time he was?

 

Every step he ascended upwards allowed him to pick up on the voices more clearly. A man and a woman from what he could tell. One was…Filch. Yes, that much he could discern, that rough grumbling quality to his voice present. The other one was a woman. Charity, perhaps? 

 

“...just stupid… Why don’t they just sell regular ones?...”

 

“...ause they make more money caterin’ to the magical brats…”

 

His eyes widened, his pace hastening. Definitely not Charity.

 

He came to a grinding halt in the archway of the Owlrey when his eyes had laid upon you. You were back already. Early. When did you return? You were holding the base of an old ladder while Filch was up toward the top, a bucket and brush in hand as he cleaned away at the last section of bird feces that smattered the section in front of him. You had possession of a similar brush, but yours was set down on the ground so you could support the ladder, Miss Norris batting around and chewing on one of your loose shoelaces.

 

“That sucks. Going into Hogsmeade must be annoying for you then, huh?”

 

Filch grunted. “That’s why I stick to Hog’s Head.”

 

The last smear of white was brushed away as Filch climbed down the ladder, though the three of you knew that in a week it might be just as dirty again. Still, the routine cleaning was necessary. Ms. Norris, who had semi-flopped as she continued to wrangle your shoelace, caught sight of the professor in the doorway. She quickly stood up trilling and meowing at the potion master. You and Filch looked to where she was meowing and you felt yourself tense a little, your conversation with Narcissa being the first thing that came to mind. And the fact that you had even tensed was telling. Were you even ready to confront him about it?

 

“Afternoon, Professor,” Filch’s voice croaked out. 

 

Severus’s eyes darted back and forth between you and the old caretaker, before finally landing on you, the crease between his brows deepening as his eyes flit over your choice of attire. Must an outfit need that many suns and moons?

 

Your chest tightened a little at his lingering gaze on your clothes. He was judging again.

 

“Afternoon…” he drawled out softly. 

 

Filch motioned to you. You picked up the brush and handed it to him as he tucked both into the bucket of water, Ms. Norris trotting over to him as she guessed it was time to go.

 

“Is there anything else I can help with?” you asked hopefully. 

 

“No. Not until the students are back. And the house elves take care of most of it. Find another way to entertain yourself, Miss,” he stated firmly, mumbling to Ms. Norris as Professor Snape stepped out of the way for Filch, sparing him a sideways glance as he passed by before returning his attention to you. Your hands shoved themselves into your pockets, your eyes moving to trace the stone bricks of the floor off to the side as you shifted slightly in place.

 

“You’ve returned early,” he remarked with a hint of surprise in his voice. “When did you get back?”

 

“Almost two hours ago,” you murmured. “To help my brain adapt to the time change with a potion tonight.”

 

“And why were you with Filch?”

 

You shrugged, your response even more reticent. “...I wanted to help him clean.”

 

He furrowed his brows once more at your demeanor. You were acting strange, stranger than your usual self. You weren’t normally this diffident, at least nowadays. Come to think of it, you were also a little awkward the last time he saw you as well.  

 

“Um…” you began to speak after a few painful moments of silence between you both, prying your gaze away from the floor. “How…was your spring break?”

 

“Quiet,” he replied, his tone clipped. 

 

You pressed your lips together into a thin line. So much for that attempt.  

 

It took him a good second or so to realize how curt his response was. “...How was your spring break?” he asked hesitantly.

 

“Outside of the MACUSA-Ministry business…it was good,” you answered, starting to sound more like your usual self as you idly moved to the stairs that went up to the next level and leaned against them. “Went on a lot of trail walks in the woods, sketched, baked, some back and forth between America and Europe… Ah.” Your eyes fell upon the parchment in his hand. “You are here to send mail?” Though it sounded like a question, it was more of an observation. There wasn’t any other reason to come to the Owlery except to send mail.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I didn’t know you had an owl.”

 

He rolled his eyes a little. “Every professor has an owl, as do the students.” His eyes moved along the vacant nooks in search of your owl, but this level of the Owlrey was empty. “Where is your owl?”

 

“I don’t own one,” you stated simply.

 

There was a glimmer of curiosity and perplexion at this fact. “Why not?”

 

“It is rare for me to receive mail, therefore, I find it pointless to own an animal whose purpose in the Wizarding World is to send it. Even when I do receive mail, it more often than not has to go through Dumbledore first.” You tilted your head slightly. “...May I see your owl?”

 

He narrowed his eyes at you. At that moment he could’ve snarked back, he could’ve told you his owl was none of your business and did not need to be bothered by a stranger. That’s what he wanted to say. But it was only to cover up a feeling of discomfort. Rarely do you ever ask things of him despite how much he’s come to know of you thus far. It was just a bloody owl you were asking about, and still, it somehow felt like you were breaching a personal level that made him a bit anxious. 

 

Has he ever elicited the same feeling from you with his own probing?

 

There was a good four seconds of silence as he narrowed his eyes at you before he exhaled sharply and cocked his head toward the staircase, signaling for you to follow as he climbed upwards. You were pleasantly surprised with his compliance and followed after him, ascending two steps at a time. The level of the Owlery above you was smaller than the main one, similar to how the higher tiers of a cake get progressively smaller. You and Filch had been there earlier to clean, so it was not surprising, neither were the seemingly empty nooks in the walls, but you had learned from him that the teachers have Disillusionment Charms over the open faces so that students do not try to disturb their owls. However, their quiet cooing and whistling could still heard. 

 

Professor Snape carefully approached one of the nooks at about the torso level. He drew his wand over it once like a TSA agent scanning for metals and countered the charm, revealing his owl. It blinked at you, ruffling its feathers at your presence.

 

You turned your head away sharply, a fit of giggles erupting from you as you failed to suppress a snort of amusement.

 

“What?” he gritted.

 

“Hm-hm…” your laughter died down, your smile persisting. “Your owl looks like you.”

 

The man frowned, observing his owl. “This bird does not resemble me.”

 

“Oh, yes it does! Its black feathers literally make it look like it’s wearing a cloak, the white around its neck is the collar of your shirt, and the slant of its brows resembles a perpetual frown,” you assessed cheekily.

 

“And what of the golden feathers Miss Know-It-All? ” he scorned. “Tell me, what part does that mimic?”

 

“I dunno.” You picked up a brown feather that had somehow made it to the floor and began to inspect its pattern. “Is there some golden light inside that you keep hidden beneath all that black?”

 

Your response was like a cold splash of water that also somehow made him feel warm. You were oblivious to the way he tensed, pressing his lips together as a warmth crawled up his neck as you inspected the dots and streaks on the feather. Golden light. Ridiculous. He forced out a derisive grunt. “No.”

 

You shrugged nonchalantly with a satisfied expression. “Three out of four is still passing. Does it like pets?”

 

Severus knew that his owl did not tolerate touching from anyone else except for him, but you didn’t need to know that. A good nip would be your punishment for your silly characterization of him.

 

“You shall not have my sympathy if you are bitten,” he declared stiffly.

 

As passively as you could you stepped closer to the owl and carefully held out a curled index finger. Most owls either rubbed or bit new people, kind of like cats, but cats could at least sniff at you first to see if they liked you or not. With owls, it was more of a gamble. The bird neither moved away nor shifted closer, though its pupils did dilate as it stared wide-eyed at you, almost with a look of offense, another thing that reminded you of the potion master.

 

Without so much as a screech, it lunged out at you, wings spread and encompassing the width of the nook. You flinched as its beak latched onto your bent finger right between your smallest and center knuckle. The pressure was enough to feel the edges of its beak cut into your skin, a throbbing sting quickly rising, but you tolerated the pain and didn’t pull away just yet. When you didn’t move or attempt to wrench your hand away, the bird blinked once more before it pulled your hand close to its chest and let go, giving you a ‘get on with it’ look. 

 

Almost feather-lightly at first, your finger brushed along its chest before pressing more firmly, stroking and scratching the cascade of golden feathers. 

 

Severus scowled at his owl. “Traitorous bird.”

 

You snorted in amusement. The first drops of blood made themselves present through the broken skin, so you changed the angle of your finger. The owl’s eyes squinted in satisfaction at the continued pets. Snape, however, softened at the sight of your blood despite his ‘no sympathy’ declaration.

 

“You’re just a big softie when you aren’t provoked, aren’t ya?” you murmured to the owl as you withdrew your hand back and produced a small bandage roll from your bag. As you treated your finger, Severus made a gesture toward the owl. It hopped up onto the potion master’s forearm, taking the letter from his other hand. 

 

“I’m a little surprised that you recommended a magic bookshop to visit,” you declared, wrapping the thin cloth around your flesh.

 

“And why is that?” he responded lazily bringing the bird over to one of the exposed openings in the wall. The bird rotated itself and lept off his black robes, flapping up and away into the foggy distance.

 

You breezed by, making your way back down the stairs. “Because I was there to see muggle Edinburgh after all.”

 

He scoffed, turning away from the window and following you down. “Muggle bookshops have nothing of value in comparison to what you could learn from in the Wizarding World, books that could greatly enhance the knowledge and skills you currently possess. Besides, it sounds like you still managed to locate it just fine despite the fact.”

 

You bit your lip in an attempt to quell your irritation. Reading doesn’t always have to be for learning, you dolt. He’s definitely biased. “Just barely.” You crossed to the threshold of the outside air as soon as your feet touched down on the main level, the misty fog grazing along your cheeks like the soft skin of someone’s fingers making your neck prickle at the sensation. 

 

“And did you purchase anything?” he asked as the both of you descended the outside staircase.

 

“Only one book.” You pointed to the bag slung on your shoulder behind you. You didn’t elaborate any further about the details of the book, and he took that as well as your pointing as an invitation to take the book out of your bag. There was no protest on your end as he did so.

 

“Faelands, Follies, and Magic Monuments: A Western European Chronicle,” he read the title aloud quietly to himself before flipping open to read the summary on the inside. “I figured you would’ve selected a text such as this.”

 

You purse your lips at his observation. “Why do you say that?”

 

“You mentioned in the past that you like history. As do I,” he added in a soft murmur, putting the book back inside. Your ears tinged with warmth at the fact that he remembered.

 

“I would’ve gotten more had there been more solo-standing works. And it was quite crowded.”

 

He nodded in understanding. “Belinda’s Books is the only bookstore in Lopside Lane and tends to be a one-stop shop location. It’s always busy.”

 

“All of Lopside Lane was busy. Me and this guy I met could barely get to the apothecary without bumping into everyone.”

 

Though you could not see it since he was behind you, Severus’s eyes darkened at the fact, reminded of the picture he had seen of you and the young man spotted together. “I am quite aware of your excursion with Oliver Wood,” he muttered bitterly.

 

You knit your brows at his change of tone. “Who is Oliver Wood?”

 

“Scottish Quidditch keeper Oliver Wood. You two were sighted together. The reporters were all over it,” he sneered.

 

“Oh…” you replied mildly. “He said his name was ‘Harrison’,” you shrugged, wondering why he lied if you said you didn't recognize him. Oh well.

 

“What exactly were you two doing together in the first place?” he questioned impatiently, as the both of you stepped off the stony staircase and onto the moist grass that squelched faintly beneath your shoes.

 

“Well…he sort of crash-landed into a private room I had rented in Belinda’s Books. Literally, through the window.”

 

“And?” he followed up quickly.

 

“And, he said if I recommended a potion to help with his aching limbs, he’d tell me where all the good spots in muggle Edinburgh are. While his dropping in was inconvenient I was able to go out and see a lot of interesting places thanks to him. He told me about the old castles in the hills, cathedrals, gardens, great cafe locations… I might’ve gotten bored otherwi…”

 

You trailed off when you half-turned and met his eyes, caught off guard by his expression, now soured and almost…angry. Did the mention of muggle places annoy him that much? Your fingers went to fidget with themselves behind your back. “...Otherwise” you finished quietly, refusing to succumb to the feeling of smallness you felt, keeping yourself straightened. “But I had lots of fun,” you stated with finality.

 

The severeness on his face slowly mellowed out, but his irritation was still evident, his features still tight and downturned. “How nice for you…” he responded caustically, suddenly turning away and striding away in back towards the castle, disappearing into the fog and severing the fizzling string of uncertain energy that had been crackling incessantly between you mentioned the magic bookshop.

 

A shudder rolled through you, feeling a bit unsettled by the interaction. His jabs at no-majness hardly affected you, chalking it up to how he liked to poke at you.

 

Assuming that’s what he was doing.

 

But now, with your doubt and with your conversation with Narcissa, it feels like you had been missing something so glaringly obvious. You should’ve taken Narcissa’s advice and called him out when he insulted the idea of going to a muggle bookstore. But that part of you that hoped he was imperceptive of his own words held you back.

 

Coward.

 

***

 

“Hey, yeah~ I wanna shoop, baby—”

 

Music blared between your ears, obscuring the heaviness of the thoughts that had been slowly building into a tornado. It worked. Somewhat. It was more effective since you were away from everyone else. You knew the twins were probably looking for you this evening, wanting to bombard you with prank ideas they have now that their so-called ‘parole’ was over. And you missed them too, wanting to hold them, to get physical reassurance from them that they were the friends you presumed them to be. But there was a very low chance you’d be able to get back up into the Battlements undetected if you left now, not that it was off-limits to students, but it was a very easy place to get away with illicit activities, evident by the discarded cigarettes that sat in the corners along scaffolding. You sat crisscrossed in one of the archways of the Battlements that faced out over the courtyard, offering you a generous view of the scattered stars. An opened box of pizza had been decimated by your ravenous craving for it, leaving a slice you were about to bite into and a cannoli for dessert as you rapped along to the music and sketched in the sketchbook on your lap.

 

“You're packed and you're stacked, 'specially in the back. Brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that! Can I get some fries with that shake-shake boobie? If looks could kill you would be an Uzi or a shotgun, bang—”

 

“Y/N.”

 

You froze mid-rap blushing as you heard Dumbledore’s voice in your head. Your hand slithered over to the walkman beside you, pushing down on the pause button, tugging the headset from your ears, and looking over your shoulder. The old wizard stood on the wooden scaffolding some feet behind you, his hands crossed behind your back with a calm and curious ghost of a smile.

 

“Hello,” you murmured. 

 

He paced forward and looked out over the expanse of land from over you. “An interesting location for a meal under the stars.”

 

You grabbed the last slice of pizza. “Didn’t feel like eating in my room and I didn’t want to be around people either.”

 

“Hm.” He paused for a few moments. “Your mind is more clogged than it was this afternoon, Y/N.”

 

“Yeah, tha’ tends ta’appen when someone spews garbage at me when I’m already stressed,” you explained bitterly through bites. You felt his hand splay on the top of your head, the action triggering a sense of calmness to wash over you.

 

“What stresses you?”

 

A long drawn-out exhale escaped you. “People. I don’t know who to trust at the moment. I’m…closer to more people now, but I don’t know who is truly my friend and who is…using me. If I’m even liked…”

 

The tips of his fingers flexed in your hair, somewhat lightly scratching your scalp and you felt a bit sleepy from it. “And this was recent?”

 

“I started thinking about it after my demonstration at the Ministry. Alfie gave me advice to be careful and now I can’t help but reexamine those who have gotten to know me.”

 

“I see. I won’t ask who, but are they present at Hogwarts?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

He hummed thoughtfully. “Y/N, I think perhaps it would be best if you did a bit of minding tonight before you eventually confront this person. Or people.”

 

You closed your eyes, a sense of defeat gripping you. ‘Minding’ was an activity that allowed for more complex introspection of one's thoughts and feelings. It was almost like using Legilimency on yourself, or a deep form of meditative introspection, but because you were magic, the experience was different than what a no-maj might see or feel when meditating. It was a practice Dumbledore had taught you soon after transferring to Hogwarts. He too practiced it now and then. It was a healthy way for you to deal with any urges to occlude your negative feelings away or any other harmful manner. And despite feeling much better afterward, every time you had to do it was a bitter reminder of why it was needed in the first place.

 

“I…I haven’t done it in a while. I don’t know if it will help.”

 

“You must try, my dear. You know this,” he adjured.

 

Your fingers latched onto the hem of your sweater, toying with the material. “Not in my room,” you whispered. “I don’t want to associate it with my room.”

 

“Very well. I have a place better suited for your minding than these creaky, old Battlements.” He patted your head. “Come.” 

 

“Where are you taking me?” you murmured as you gathered your belongings.

 

“To a place even you have yet to visit in Hogwarts: The Divination Tower.”

 

The walk to the Divination Tower was silent and brief as it was located within the same area of the castle as the Battlements. Those who passed you and Dumbledore looked on curiously but flicked their gazes away when they thought you might make eye contact with them. For the most part, you kept your eyes front, attempting to de-focus the faces that stared at you, even a confused Jakob who waved at you only to be ignored.

 

The Divination Tower was unique in comparison to the other classrooms at Hogwarts. It had no desks, no hidden chairs, and no black chalkboard. Purple, red, and orange tapestries hung from the walls, the aesthetic and patterns reminding you of a magical bazaar. Everything was carpeted, cushioned, or covered in some sort of cloth, even the tables, some dawning crystal balls, some with a set of teacups. There was a distinct scent of burnt sage that filled the air as well. A faint floated about, signaling Professor Trelawney’s hidden presence.

 

“Professor Trewlawney,” Dumbledore called, the two of you hovering about the center of the room. The humming paused, and soon after the bottom half of a set of legs descended a white staircase half obscured by a giant curtain. The blonde professor with wild, frizzy hair pushed back by a silk headband and eyes framed with thick round glasses lingered at the base of the staircase as she finished her descent, eyeing you both peculiarly.

 

“Yes, Headmaster?” her soft, operatic voice replied lightly.

 

“Might I have a word with you? I have a favor to ask.”

 

Her eyes darted between you and the Headmaster, an awkward, twitchy smile finding its way onto her face as she nodded. The two of them stepped into a corner speaking lowly with one another. You tried not to listen, visually tracing the pattern of the rugs beneath your feet in an attempt to distract yourself from their exchanged words. Dumbledore’s voice caught your attention once more as you looked up to find them both staring at you.

 

“Professor Trelawney has agreed to let you use this space until curfew comes. Should that be the case, she is willing to escort you back down to the dungeons so you do not get in trouble.”

 

You nodded, managing an appreciative grunt. Trelawney paced over to her desk which, quite frankly, you couldn’t even tell was a desk with the knick-knacks and eccentric teaching materials littered about it, and began grading you presumed to be Divination papers. Dumbledore drew his hand slowly towards the space behind you and began moving pillows and blankets into an arrangement that resembled a nest. It was not guaranteed that you’d end up in the same position that you started in. Sometimes you’d start the minding sitting up and snap out of it lying down. Or straight-up fall asleep. Wordlessly, you set your stuff down to the side and settled into the center of the cloth nest in a cross-legged position.

 

Dumbledore accio’d a napkin from the table and transfigured it into a blindfold before gently tying it over your eyes and plunging you into darkness. 

 

“Remember,” he murmured. “Have patience with yourself, go slow, and let…yourself…feel. Feel the good. Feel the bad.” 

 

And with that, everything fell silent, the old wizard casting a spell that quieted all. The subtle sounds of your breathing and heartbeat were gone. It was like you were blind and deaf again, but this time for a good reason. You closed your eyes, as if it made a difference, and took deep slow breaths, feeling the way your chest expanded and deflated with every passing moment. The thumping of your heart slowed. Your body lightened. And like a child who had let go of their balloon in a moment of surprise or excitement, you let your mind drift away, its direction controlled by the winds of time. 

 

~

~

~

 

“And have you ever given any thought to the idea that he could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation once you graduate? So that he can brag to his friends in high places that he taught one of the few witches who can perform one of the rarest forms of magic known in the Wizarding World?”

 

You stood in the tall grass of the Hogwarts fields, the imposing castle looming in the distance. The wind made the blades that reached nearly to your knees brush lightly against the fabric of your ripped jeans. Another school for Witches and Wizards. Your new school.

 

“Y/N,” a voice lightly said to you, a figure forming in the peripheral of your vision.

 

You gritted your teeth, pushing the memory of her away.

 

“Ada, I love you, but not now.”

 

She faded into obscurity as you began moving toward the castle. As you got closer, the green and yellow fields shifted into the stony Great Hall. You walked in tandem with the first-years through the doorway, the already-established students clapping at your entrance as you found a seat on one of the benches for incoming students to sit on before they get called up for the Sorting Hat. You shoved your hands into your pockets, it could’ve been a while until they got to your name. The feeling of someone watching you made you look up. Granted, everyone was taking their chances at casting you questioning looks at the adult sitting amongst pre-teens, but this was different. 

 

A professor in all black with pale skin sitting at the head table was looking at you. His eyebrows were slightly knit, not in a condescending frown, but in curiosity. Though he was some distance away, you could see the way his gaze assessed your appearance, a stark difference in comparison to all the other students who had robes on. 

 

The first time he looked at you and the first time he looked at you without judgment.

 

“SLYTHERIN!”

 

You eventually exited the Hall. Crossing the threshold, you left Professor Snape's classroom, now in your robes and a school bag slung on your shoulder a few days later. Rounding a corner, two 1st-year twin boys who had been sorted into Gryffindor stepped in front of you like some Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum act from Alice in Wonderland. You had remembered them not because they were twins, but because those cone hats that you refused to wear for the Start-of-Term feast made them look like garden gnomes. 

 

“Hello there!” they chimed. You only narrowed your eyes in response before pushing past them.

 

“I’m Fred!”

 

“I’m George!”

 

“And I’m not interested. Now leave me alone.” You kept on striding toward the common room.

 

“Hold on, lovely! We just want to know, is it true you went toe to toe with Snape on Monday?”

 

“If by toe to toe you mean answered his questions without shrinking away like a sniveling little bitch, then yes. I s’pose so,” you gruffed.

 

They looked at eachother, pleased by your foul language. “Wicked! Do you think you could help us with a prank?” George asked. “We need a potion for it, but we’re not sure how to make it.”

 

“I don’t like to be used.”

 

“W-Well we’d give you something in return! Name your price. We really would love your help, especially for our first prank of the year.”

 

You came to a halt outside of the common room, thinking before you whipped around to the twins.

 

“Candy.”

 

“Deal! We’ll wait until the first Hogsmeade weekend and—”

 

“No,” you interjected. “None of those hopping chocolate frogs or Twizzlers that tie your tongue in a knot, or any of that other Beetlejuice’d shit. I want candy candy. From the ‘muggle’ world.” 

 

They gaped at you, astounded by your request. “How on Earth are we supposed to get muggle candy?”

 

“You got an owl?”

 

“Yes—”

 

“A parent who knows how to use muggle money?”

 

“I suppose so—”

 

You reached into your bag, pulled out your no-maj wallet, and handed them a ten-dollar bill. “A bag of mixed chocolate candy. Make it happen. Then, I will help you with your prank.”

 

They had followed through, producing a bulky bag of chocolate candy for you about a week later. The first prank was a success, the owls residing in the Owlery all had their feathers turned a rainbow color by pouring the potion into Hogwarts' supply of owl treats.

 

Your mind brought forth another memory from a time when you and the twins were closer, a time when you had considered them to be your friends.

 

“I doubt learning such tricks is going to convince the Gryffindor captain to let you be beaters in your first year, guys,” you stated, watching the twins balance themselves on their brooms in the fields. Both of them were standing on the handles like it was a surfboard.

 

“Are you kidding? This type of showmanship will guarantee us spots on the te—” Fred began to lose his balance, the wood jerking out from underneath him, rocketing off like a greased-up cannonball. The boy landed awkwardly on his wrist and there was an audible snap.

 

“AUGH! OH, MERLIN, MY WRIST!” He wailed, groaning in pain, tears springing to his eyes. George hopped off his broom and ran to his brother’s side, trying to pull Fred’s other arm away from clutching the broken appendage to his chest. George grimaced at the sight, unable to look at the janky angle of the bones without wanting to gag. 

 

You strode over to Fred, kneeling in front of him to assess his injury. Parts of his skin were jutting out in ways it shouldn’t. You peeled off a mitten and instructed him to open his mouth, giving something for him to bite down on. 

 

“I’m going to heal your wrist,” you said calmly. “Do you trust me?”

 

Fred nodded fervently.

 

You drew your wand out from your coat and lightly touched the tip to the injury as gently as you could. 

 

“3…2…1… Backium Emendo.” 

 

“MMMNNGGHHHH!” Fred bit down hard on the mitten, feeling his bones heal and pop back into place. He lunged forward when the worst of it faded, gripping onto you for physical comfort. He sniffled into your shoulder, his good arm wrapped around you while his newly healed wrist lay limply in his lap. You froze up, not knowing what to do as George came up behind him and rubbed his back.

 

“Easy does it, mate. Just relax,” he cooed.

 

You remained rigid under Fred, your hands clenched down at your side as he panted through the ebbing pain. “Let's…get you to the Hospital Wing, Fred,” you replied hesitantly. But the boy didn’t move, his shoulders still heaving up and down as he gripped the back of your coat tightly. Slowly, you managed to move a hand up to move your ungloved hand to the back of his head, lightly holding it at first before applying more soothing pressure and running your fingers through his scalp. Almost instantly his panting slowed down to a less strained level as you felt him lean into you more, George watching on with approval as his brother calmed down. 

 

Later after you had explained the situation to Madame Pomphrey as she bandaged up his hand, George thanked you endlessly for healing his brother’s wrist and asked what you wanted in return.

 

“What do I want—it’s a broken wrist, George. I don’t want anything in return.”

 

He beamed at you, a knowing smirk wiggling on his face. “Because we’re friends?”

 

Your face flushed, your lips pursing in self-consciousness at the spotlight he had shown on your dynamic. “Yes,” you muttered.

 

Another memory came forth. 

 

In your sixth year, Fred and George lay asleep in your bed, a sleepover before they’d go home for Christmas break the next morning. You were not in the bed, but rather sitting at your desk, quietly crying to yourself at two in the morning. You’d be stuck at Hogwarts, no one close to celebrate with. You’d rather be alone in your house, free to go out, free to go anywhere. But per your deal with Dumbledore, you must remain here. Still alone. 

 

Little did you know that Fred and George had awoken and were listening to your weeping. When you eventually returned, slotting yourself back in the middle, they made sure to throw an arm over you and nestle in tightly. 

 

The next morning, you awoke tired and dehydrated from your crying, even sleeping through breakfast. The bed was empty, but the covers were drawn up over you more. On your nightstand sat a small present wrapped in green and red paper.

 

Tearing off the wrapping revealed a small white box that held a chocolate ball the size of your fist. On the tag, it said “Drop me in hot milk! We promise it won’t explode :)”

 

You waited until lunch to do so, using magic to heat a glass of milk and drop the ball inside. It melted quickly, turning the drink into hot chocolate. And before you could think of taking a sip, a message with a darker shade of chocolate spelled itself out on the surface. 

 

“We love you.”

 

Your boys.

 

They loved you.

 

 

“...Y/N…”

 

 

“Ngh…Stop…” Not now. Your mind swirled, trying to find something else to focus on. A flourish of black cloth caught your mind’s eye.

 

“And what to make of you,” you thought to yourself, the image of Professor Snape standing before you now. 

 

…I’ve assumed he has grown to care about you, and truthfully, based on the fragments of interactions he has written about, amongst other things, I thought you both were friends…”

 

The taste of something bitter ran down your throat as his cloak was now wrapped around you, an empty vial in one hand, a mug of tea in the other. There was a crack and his form diminished to a low burning fire, the scene changing to his moody office. 

 

…I’ve assumed he has grown to care about you…

 

“You must promise me that if you are outside in such weather for more than thirty minutes without proper attire or protection you come to my office immediately and drink this. Is that understood?”

 

…I’ve assumed he has grown to care about you…

 

“Don’t scratch. You’ll only exacerbate it.

 

…I’ve assumed he has grown to care about you…

 

“Perhaps, it would be best if you took your leave, Lockhart.” 

 

…I’ve assumed he has grown to care about you…

 

“It shouldn’t have happened. It was coercion.”

 

…I’ve assumed he has grown to care about you…

 

“It’s not poison. Drink.”

 

…he has grown to care about you…

 

It is freezing out here. Do not make me tell you a third time to keep...your layers...on.”

 

…he has grown to care about you…

 

“Do your hands hurt?”

 

…he has grown to care about you…

 

“I’m not going to confiscate it from you, I am going to administer it.”

 

…he has grown to care about you…

 

“Did you ever get hurt? From the brews?”

 

…he has grown to care about you…

 

“Did something in the dark…provoke you?”

 

…he has grown to care about you…

 

“Your bed has been taken care of.”

 

…to care about you…

 

“You belong in my house; not Hufflepuff, nor Ravenclaw, and certainly not Gryffindor. My house. The hat places someone where they are best suited and if it has somehow escaped your wondrous mind it was rather eager in placing you in Slytherin and I shall hear nothing else about it.”

 

…to care about you…

 

“Have…you been cross with me?

 

…to care about you…

 

 “Of course, you manage to douse the most susceptible part of yourself with rain.”

 

…to care about you…

 

“Evidently, he deems himself to be a formidable spy. Nevertheless…he won’t be bothering you anymore.”

 

…to care about you…

 

“I’m…sorry. I…didn’t mean to pry or…make you uncomfortable.”

 

…to care about you...

 

“ You shouldn’t overdo it.”

 

…to care about you...

 

“Put him away if you’re dizzy…and perhaps rest.”

 

You stared into the fire. He’s…done things for you and said things that…make you think he cares… 

 

But he’s also your teacher, it’s his duty to care and to help. How do you even begin to distinguish—

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? Never thought I’d ever hear those words considering your days at Ilvermorny. And have you ever given any thought to the idea that he could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation once you graduate? So that he can brag to his friends in high places that he taught one of the few witches who can perform one of the rarest forms of magic known in the Wizarding World?”

 

Your hands rose to your face, covering your eyes as you felt a wind breeze around you, snuffing out the fire, Snape’s cloak, vial, and mug of tea disappearing.

 

“I will see to it that you never touch a drop of water outside the castle walls ever again! Do you understand?!”

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

“I will never understand your childish affinity for splashing about in dirty rainwater.”

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

“And in a tree no less.”

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

The way you talk. And I don’t mean your American accent. More so your choice of vocabulary…as well as the tools you desecrate the margins of your potion assignments with and your apparent fondness for muggle technology.”

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

“You’re insufferable.”

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

“Why are you sticking yourself with a needle when there are potions you can take?”

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

“Go back to the common room before you do anything else to make me question your sanity further.”

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

“Why are you washing dishes like a muggle? It’s highly inefficient and menial, or are you incapable of casting a simple ‘Washing Up’ spell?” 

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

“Your little demonstration distracted all the first years. The whole bloody Potions class they wouldn’t shut up about that infernal vehicle.”

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

“I have no desire to attend your juvenile affair.”

 

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

 

“Muggle bookshops have nothing of value in comparison to what you could learn from in the Wizarding World, books that could greatly enhance the knowledge and skills you currently possess.”

 

The breeze in your head was now a raging tornado, your thoughts a maelstrom of crippling doubt and confusion. His jabs at you were just…it was just banter, right? At least some of it has to be it…

 

But he doesn’t like…

 

I don’t…

 

He has grown to care about you…

 

He could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation…

 

He has grown to care about you…

 

He could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation…

 

He has grown to care about you…

 

He could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation…

 

He has grown to care about you…

He could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation…

He has grown to care about you…

He could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation…

He has grown to care about you…

He could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation…

He has grown to care about you…

He could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation…

He has grown to care about you…

He could be actin’ friendly with you to boost his own reputation…

grown to care about you… He could be actin’

grown to care about you… He could be actin’

grown to care about you… He could be actin’

grown to—actin’

grown to—actin’

grown to—actin’

grown to—actin’

actin’

 

Actin.’

 

ACTIN!’

“You? Friends with a teacher? ”

“...y/n…”

 

Your breath hitched at her voice, a gentle grasp on your wrist pulling your hands away from your face. What was empty darkness moments ago was now the schoolyard, bright and sunny as young teens hung around doing their thing. Ada gazed at you carefully, her pupils flitting over your injured eye, bruising and swelling already making itself present. Behind her in the distance was a staff member disciplining another student, one of Vivian’s friends who was harassing Ada. That person was worse off than you, as you had busted her bottom lip open and bruised her up more in different places.

 

Ada’s hands moved to hold your face, getting a closer look at your eye, and swiping away the tears on your face. 

 

“I keep telling you, Y/N, you don’t have to get into fights for me.”

 

“Yes I do,” you contended. “They aren’t gonna learn unless they get put in their place. This,” you gestured to your eye, “would’ve been yours if I didn’t step in.”

 

She sighed, tugging you up from a bench and sneakily looking at the staff members. There was just no reasoning with 14-year-old you. “Come on. Let’s start moving. Ze bells going to ring any second now and zey won’t be able to punish you if ve’re off school grounds.”

 

The both of you skated instead of taking the bus, stopping at a gas station on the corner outside of your neighborhood. Even though you intended on healing yourself when you got home, Ada had gotten you some ice from the store anyway to keep on your eye. The two of you meandered along a trail that would put you closer to your respective homes, stopping halfway to eat your snacks on a boulder.

 

“Does it hurt much?” Ada asked.

 

“Throbs like a bitch, but… it’s tolerable,” you hummed. “Ada, you have to understand, it’s only gonna get worse in high school. Not necessarily fights, but the remarks. I don’t want to see you get walked all over.” A heaviness took root in your stomach. “I’ll always be your friend, but I may not be around to defend you all the time.”

 

She pressed her lips together. “I know. I just… I don’t vant to vorry my parents. Moving here a year ago vas already hard enough, I don’t want zem to think I’m unhappy, you know.”

 

“Aren’t you already unhappy? Aren’t you tired of those assholes who, by the way, will most likely go to the same high school as you?”

 

She shrugged. “As you said, zings will be different then. But maybe…it won’t be as bad. As for now…” she wrapped an arm around you, leaning her head against your shoulder. “I’ll be just fine with you by my side. I’ll always be your friend, too.”

 

~

~

~

 

You gasped, heaving against the darkness, the cloth on your face dampened by tears you didn't know you had shed. It had been so long… It was…intense. You felt a sob try to claw its way out of your throat. You didn’t want to think about Ada because you knew it would make you sad, but your heart, and Dumbledore, had known better and led you to that memory anyway. As you registered your body once more, you realized that you were still sitting up in your original position, albeit more hunched over. Also…someone had their hands on your face, as Ada had her hands moments ago. You gently shimmied the blindfold off your face to find Professor Trelawney sitting in front of you, also cross-legged, her hands cradling your face and her eyes staring at you profoundly.

 

“Your aura is pulsating quite vigorously, my dear… You were very far away, weren’t you?” she murmured seriously, but there was an intense undercurrent of curiosity.

 

You leaned your body back out of her hold, an intense fatigue hitting you. 

 

“What time is it?” you whispered.

 

Her lips pressed into a flat line, regretful that someone with your spirit had to leave. “A bit past curfew. Forgive me for not speaking up sooner, but the energy swirling inside of you had me captivated.” She grabbed your hand, patting it. “A shame, you’d fair well in my class. Let us be off.”

 

Your body felt heavy with each step you took, a sheen of sweat developing on your skin. It must’ve been from not having done your minding in so long. The glare from Trelawney’s wand lighting the corridor was not helping either, the paintings grumbling complaints you wish you had the energy to. It wasn’t a far walk to the Slytherin common room, and the two of you were there in no time, thankfully not running into the potion master who might’ve been walking around the dungeons for rounds this very moment.

 

Professor Trelawney bid you a ‘good night’ that sounded highly muffled in your ears as a ringing began to sound off in your head. Your mind didn’t feel any more eased than it did in the Battlements. Instead of clogged, it now felt tangled , nuances overlapping and knotted together in manners that you couldn’t decipher until you found the right place to pull on. You trudged to your room, pushing the door behind you closed with your foot before ultimately flopping into your bed, not bothering to change into pajamas as you clutched a pillow to yourself and dreamt of the girl with blue in her hair who made your heart ache for a time long gone.

 

Chapter 56: The No-Maj Witch Part 1

Summary:

Karma finally catches up with the reader and a light is forced to be shined on her relationship with the potion master.

This is part 1. I had to split it up because it would've been like 15k+ words.

Hot. 

 

It was hot when you awoke to your alarm, both vision and mind fuzzy from morning weariness. The best way to describe the feeling was like having hot smog behind your eyes.

 

Oof…Very hot.  

 

Which was weird… The dungeons are usually room temperature at best.

 

Sweat clung to your skin and you were sure you’d been sleeping in a puddle. When you turned to look at the clock, you could feel your clothes from yesterday peel away from your slick skin uncomfortably. Only when your head was right side up did you realize how big of a mistake sitting up was. A strong pressure in the temples of your head forced you back down. You tried to take deep breaths to help clear away the pain but found that you could barely breathe through your nose at all. You’re hot, your head hurts, your nose is stuffed…

 

No…

 

Your hand fumbled around for the bedside drawer, pulling it open and rifling around until you found a digital thermometer. Pressing the button you popped it into your mouth and waited, but you feared you already knew the answer. Almost thirty seconds later it beeped, revealing your temperature.

 

102.6

 

Fuck.

 

You tossed the thermometer onto the bedside stand, running your hands over your face. Of all times to be sick… You were at least grateful that you weren’t coughing or had a sore throat. For now… There was no way you were going to class today, but my god, you needed to change your clothes badly. You felt like you were frying like an egg.

 

Fighting through the dizzying pressure, you stumbled over to your trunk and began changing into a pair of long lounge shorts and a loose tie-dye t-shirt to let your limbs breathe. While you were up, you cast a spell on your clothes and your bed cover to help regulate your body temperature as well as taking a first dose of Dayquil in case you developed a cough or sore throat— that shit always tasted nasty— and some Advil to help bring the fever down. You suppose you needed to let Professor Snape know that there was just no way you’d be attending your classes today. 

 

With shaky hands, you retrieved a piece of parchment and a pen and began to write, but your watery vision and sudden weakness made it difficult. You managed to scrawl out the word sick, which was good enough for you, not bothering with your name as Snape knew what your handwriting looked like anyhow before folding it into a snake and sending it off beneath your doorway.

 

You looked at the time. People were getting dressed and on their way to breakfast right about now. Kneeling by your bed, you reached into your snack box and pulled out a few fruity granola bars for your breakfast, chewing them in quick succession. It would do for now. You’d deal with lunch when you got to that bridge. Slinking back into bed, you tossed back another remedy, 75mL of Dreamless Sleep to send you back into your darkness of slumber for another hour. Spooning your stuffed runespoor and pulling the charmed covers over you, you let the potion take you into its gentle caress away from reality.

 

***

 

Lupin eyed the empty seat in class this morning where you should’ve been already, the bell having rang nearly twenty minutes ago. He had received no notice this morning about a dismissal of attendance, and yet you were still absent. As he progressed through his lecture, he couldn’t help but wonder if you had decided to skip. He noticed your absence at breakfast as well, rationalizing it as you maybe not wanting to deal with eager probing from your peers. He understood that these were awfully precarious circumstances you found yourself in. He’d hide just as well if the students found out what he really was. And if there was anything else the matter, anything related to the events of spring break, surely you would have informed him, yes?

 

He spent a bit of time tidying up his classroom before he made his way to the Great Hall for lunch, but just as he was about to leave, a gray tabby cat pushed its way through the slightly ajar door.

 

“Minerva?” the DADA teacher raised a brow.

 

The cat transformed shifting from its feline state to the composed and controlled Transfiguration teacher in green and black velvet robes, her hair tied in a neat updo.

 

“Professor Lupin,” she greeted.

 

“Something I can help you with?”

 

“Yes,” she clasped her hands together. “I wanted to ask if Miss L/N was present in class today.

 

The man frowned slightly. “No, she wasn’t. I was actually going to ask the others the same.”

 

The Transfiguration teacher pursed her lips in thought. “Did Severus by any chance say anything about whether she’d be attending classes today?”

 

He shook his head. “I received no update.”

 

“Nor did I,” McGonagall sighed. “Perhaps we can get to the bottom of this at lunch.” The two left the classroom side by side. “But I suspect this may be a case of her simply being uncommunicative.”

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“Being that this is your first year teaching her, I do not blame you for not knowing. Miss L/N has a history of flakiness when it comes to informing her teachers when something is wrong. Perhaps it’s the need to be an ‘independent adult’ in her that drives her to do so, but she claims she can handle any issue she faces by herself. I am curious if this has something to do with the papers written about her.”

 

“Hm. While I don’t agree with her skipping, I can see why she might. The students were talking about her at breakfast and in class today.”

 

She nodded, solemnly. “As they were in my classes.”

 

Lupin and McGonagall spoke a little more of you before the conversation naturally transitioned into what they got up to for Spring Break. While Tonks still had to work during the few weeks Lupin had off, they were able to meet with Sirius for a couple of outings and visit Mr. and Mrs. Nymphadora some evenings. Otherwise, all was calm as he spent some time free from his symptoms before they started acting up again. McGonagall also had a rather peaceful break. She read some books, did plenty of sunbathing in her cat form when she felt the need to rest, and visited some relatives in Wales. McGonagall was glad to hear that you were well taken care of at the Ministry according to what Lupin had seen at the demonstration.

 

As they had hoped, Professor Snape was present for the afternoon meal. Knowing how the brooding professor was, McGonogall took it upon herself to be the one to ask about your absences this morning, taking the seat closest to the man.

 

“Afternoon, Severus.” The man only grunted back lowly in acknowledgment. “I’d like to inquire about one of your Slytherins.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Miss L/N. She did not attend breakfast, Transfiguration, nor did she show up for Professor Lupin’s class either.”

 

The mention of your name got his attention, making him look up from his meal. “She didn’t?”

 

“No. She did not,” she confirmed. “Might you know why that is?”

 

The potion master paused for a moment. This morning he had received a strange note from you and he knew this only because no one else had the bullocks to send any paper snakes his way without fear of some sort of retribution. It came to him just as he had finished drinking a cup of coffee, slithering under its door like it owned the place. The message inside however was puzzling. It was an illegible scribble that he couldn’t decipher no matter what way he rotated the note. He didn’t know what to make of it, but just in case, he kept it in his pocket.

 

“I happened to receive a note from Miss L/N, but I am unsure if its context proves relevant to the situation,” he drawled.

 

“What does the note say?”

 

He pulled the note from his pocket and offered it to McGonagall. “Nothing. A nonsensical scribble.”

 

The Transfiguration teacher picked up the curious note and examined it for herself. “How do you know this is from Miss L/N?” she questioned, trying to decipher the scrawling and even applying a spell to it in hopes of revealing a clearer message.

 

“She’s the only student who’d dare send me a paper snake in the first place.”

 

McGonagall handed the note to Lupin who seemed just as perplexed by it. “Well, let’s rationalize this. No student sends a teacher a note saying that they’re skipping a class and it’s generally required for students to let their Head of House or Madam Pomfrey know if they are sick. Perhaps, someone should check the Hospital Wing,” he offered.

 

“What is this I’m hearing about Miss L/N?” Dumbledore spoke up from Severus’s left.

 

“Miss L/N did not show up for my class or Lupin’s class this morning,” McGonagall clarified.

 

“Hmm.” Dumbledore pondered for a moment to himself. “Let us ask one of the older Slytherins at the end of the meal if they have seen her.”

 

Severus snorted at Lupin’s theory. Nonsense. You aren’t sick. In every plausible circumstance he could, he made sure that you didn’t get sick. There must be another reason why you had flaked from your morning classes. He tightened his grip around the napkin in his lap.

 

He refused to see you get sick.  

 

With this thought lingering in the back of his mind as he ate his eyes kept glancing at your empty spot at the far end of the Slytherin section. When Severus finished eating, he strode from his seat and out of the Great Hall to catch up with  Miss H/G/N. He figured she’d be a good person to ask as he noted that you too would speak often with one another at meals and had similar classes.

 

“H/G/N,” Snape barked before the girl could get too far away.

 

H/G/N turned swiftly on her heel to face her Head of House, eyes slightly widened with alertness. “Yes, Professor?”

 

“Miss L/N did not attend lunch, breakfast, or her two-morning classes. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

 

She tilted her head, thinking to herself. She didn’t believe you were one to skip on purpose despite your bouts of rebellion. “I don’t, sir. However, I also don’t recall seeing her at dinner yesterday, in the common room last night, or this morning.”

 

His controlled composure did not allow his worry to seep through. Three missed meals. “Was there light coming from her room when you returned from patrol duties last night?” 

 

H/G/N shook her head. “Not even before, sir. If she’s skipping I don’t blame her. Everyone on the train was talking about what happened at the Min—”

 

She bit her tongue as Snape allowed his control to slip, fixing her with a stern glare. Her shoulders rose upwards from the tension, unease wrapping around her. “A-anyways… No, I haven’t seen her…” she murmured.

 

“Very well,” he grumbled, sweeping past her. His pace only slowed momentarily when he passed by the Hospital Wing peering past the grand arching doorway and scanning the rows of bed for any sign of you. There was no one there except for Madam Pomfrey who was currently taking inventory of the treatments in the medical cabinet. Weaving his way through students on their way to their various classes, he descended back down through the dungeons to the Slytherin common room, taking a route that would also lead him more closely to the Potions’s classroom when he was done with you.

 

Stepping through the doors to the common room, he rounded the sitting area and stopped outside of your room. There was some soft light coming from beneath the door, suggesting your presence was just beyond this piece of wood.

 

You slurped up the last of your ramen, tugging the mask down and moving the styrofoam cup into the corner of your desk as you resumed reading your Herbology textbook, taking notes for what you believed to be the next lesson according to the seventh-year curriculum. While you weren’t tired, the fuzziness in your head was making it challenging to keep your focus for more than a couple minutes at a time, but you still managed to get some notes down. It would be another couple of hours or so before you’d take the next dose of pills. 

 

A soft set of knocks reached your ears. You made no move to get up from your desk, instead, choosing to use wandless magic to pull the door wide open.

 

“What is it?” your deepened voice from your illness rumbled out, slightly muffled by the mask you wore around your mouth.

 

The lack of response after a few seconds of silence made your eyes flick to the doorway. Your wrist ceased writing. Professor Snape was standing at the entryway, befuddled by the sight before him. But you paid no heed to that, choosing to redirect your attention back to your work.

 

“Yes, Professor?”

 

“…You weren’t at lunch. Or breakfast. And I’m told you were absent from your morning classes,” he said, stoically.

 

“I sent a note,” you stated curtly. “I’m sick.”

 

A thrum of anxiety rippled in his center, but it made no appearance in his tone. “The note you sent was indecipherable,” he said, pulling the note out and flashing it towards you. You scrunched your eyes, trying to focus on your own, apparently, sloppy writing, but it caused another ache in your head. You looked away rubbing at the side of your head. 

 

You mumbled, “Oh. Well. Anyways. I’m sick. And I ate already.” You gestured to the corner of your desk and resumed your note-taking. His eyes spotted the styrofoam cup that said “Cup-O-Noodles.” What on Earth…

 

“That muggle food is not a proper lunch.”

 

You huffed. “Agree to disagree…”

 

His nose wrinkled at your dismissiveness toward him. “Prove it.”

 

“Excuse you?”

 

“Prove that you are sick.” He dared to take a step forward, now directly under your doorframe.

 

You snorted. “Do you even hear me right now? My voice sounds like yours . I think that’s proof enough.”

 

“Don’t make me come in there and feel your forehead.”

 

You slapped your pencil down, fed up with his presence already. Rotating your swivel chair to face him, you accio’d the digital thermometer to yourself, stuck it in your mouth, and waited. With your arms crossed and one leg over the other you glared at him waiting for the beep. At that moment, Severus realized you had more skin exposed than he was used to seeing from you, and held your gaze firmly, doing his best to ignore your legs in the bottom half of his vision. 

 

Beep beep.

 

The thermometer shifted about in your mouth your tongue maneuvering it so that the temperature flashed at your teacher.

 

“Thee? I ‘ol ooh.

 

“That says 102.6,” he commented sternly. “Why are you not in the Hospital Wing?”

 

“I don’t need to go to the Hospital Wing. I’ve dealt with much worse on my own,” you replied dryly.

 

“That’s no excuse” 

 

You turned back to your work. “I’m fine here,” your tone insistent. “And besides, I’ve got notes to take.”

 

“Food, potions, and rest are needed for you to recover properly.” His patience was rapidly wearing thin from your flippancy. “Leave your schoolwork and come to the Hospital Wing.”

 

“No, Professor. I’ve got medi—“

 

“For Merlin's sake, will you stop being so bloody stubborn? You should be in the Hospital Wing!” he shouted.

 

Your eyes flashed at him. “And you should be teaching Potions, Professor,” you growled back. “You’re late.”

 

And with a wave of your hand, the door slammed shut in his face.

 

A chilling moment of silence passed as he gaped at the wood before seething to himself, clenching his fists in order to resist the urge to wrench the door open and apparate you directly to the Hospital Wing. He didn’t understand. Why the hell were you being so childish about this? The Hospital Wing had proper remedies for you. Can’t you see that he wants you to get better?

 

He scowled, muttering curses beneath his breath as he looked at the clock in the common room and apparated away.

 

Your interaction with Snape had irritated you to all hell, your pulse beating more firmly against the side of your neck and another hot flash running through. You could deal with this fever yourself. It isn’t anyone else’s problem but your own.

 

Another hour passed as you covered the next chapter of Herbology, but an intense wave of dizziness combined with your heavily watery eyes made it impossible to work.

 

Fuck… You needed another nap…

 

With trembling legs, you managed to sit yourself back on the bed, reaching for the Dreamless Sleep. Your sweaty fingers struggled to get the cork off, but once it dislodged with a pop—

 

Knock knock knock.

 

For the love of god, what now?

 

Maybe if you didn’t respond they’d just go away. You kept still, not making a sound with the exception of your light wheezing. 

 

“…Y/N…”

 

Dumbledore?

 

“I can see the light in your room. Please, open the door.”

 

Your head tilted down in defeated frustration, your watery eyes spilling over like tears. You wandlessly opened the door, allowing the wizard to step in. A few seconds passed before Dumbledore slowly paced into your room. His eyes moved from your empty desk to your bed where you sat, giving you a once over, listening keenly to your somewhat labored breathing.

 

“You’re sick,” he observed mildly.

 

You said nothing, your eyes trained on the point at which the floor met the wall across from you. His robes rustled as he crossed the room and stopped directly in front of you, his gray clothes and beard all you could see. He lifted a hand and pressed it to your forehead, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards slightly when you leaned into it, but downturned even more when he felt just how warm you were. 

 

“You have a high fever, Y/N,” Dumbledore commented. His hand moved to swipe your “tears” away with his thumb only for them to be replaced with new ones seconds later.

 

“I can take care of it myself,” you opined, but no matter how much you wanted to reason with him, the inevitable would come.

 

“I know you can, but you and I both know you shouldn’t have had to do so in your youth. Nor do you need to at Hogwarts. Besides, the dungeon's cold air is not a good place for you to reside when sick. I know you have more freedom here in your room, but with a fever this high, some supervision is needed. It would be awful if you were to suddenly collapse by your lonesome with no one to help.” His tone became more sullen. “I’d much rather you not be alone this time.”

 

In your silence he brought his hands to your shoulders, lightly squeezing them in a pleading manner. While he intended on making sure you’d get to the Hospital Wing even if it meant dragging you kicking and screaming, not that he ever had to, it would be much easier on his conscience if you came willingly.

 

“I… I can’t walk much.” You avoided his gaze.

 

“Is that so?” He lifted in an amused brow. “Tell me, how were you intending to use the bathroom if that is the case?”

 

You shrugged. “Dunno… I’d crawl if I had to.”

 

“Hm. In any case, I’ll apparate us there. Madam Pomfrey already has a bed set up.”

 

“Wait—I…” You looked around the room, trying to locate various objects. You weren’t about to be stuck in another bed without means to entertain yourself. Reaching behind you and grabbing your wand, you gathered up your stuffed runespoor and attempted to accio your bag to you which already held a plethora of items, but it had pathetically tipped over instead due to your weakness. Dumbledore moved his hand and the bag flew over to you, slotting in your grip.

 

“Ready?” 

 

“Mhm..”

 

He supported you as you pushed off the bed, leaning against him when you managed to get upright. With wandless magic, he turned off the wall lamp before your surroundings warped and blurred.

 

The back of your legs hit a mattress as you stumbled back onto another bed, sheets and covers now white, but similarly tucked into the far corner like your bed was. 

 

“Temperature?” The matron’s firm voice drew your and Dumbledore's attention to the opposite rows of the bed where she was switching out pillow sheets. Her directness indicated that she anticipated your eventual arrival at the Hospital Wing.

 

“Between 102 to 103,” Dumbledore said, having read your mind when he felt your forehead. You were not surprised.

 

Pomfrey tutted at your decision to not come earlier in the morning. “Have you taken any remedies?”

 

“No-maj fever relievers.”

 

“When?

 

“This morning around breakfast time.”

 

“Then we shall wait a few more hours just in case before I give you a potion,” she declared. “Do you know how you got sick, Miss?”

 

“No…” you played with your fingers.

 

“Miss,” Dumbledore spoke with a hint of reproach in his voice. “Be honest. Did you go splashing about in the rain without an umbrella before you came back to Hogwarts?”

 

“I…yes. But I was also around a lot of people and stressed about…personal things.”

 

Dumbledore exhaled. “Very well. We’ll consider each possibility equally as likely.”

 

He gestured for you to get comfortable in the bed, appreciative of the fact he and Pomfrey had picked a corner bed for you. You liked being next to a wall when you slept. You moved the pillows about so that you could sit up comfortably, tucking stuffed Runey between you and the wall and fetching your new book out from your bag before lowering it to the floor. Dumbledore took a step closer to the bed, sitting sideways on the edge.

 

“How was your minding last night?” he asked quietly in case any students who had a free period were waltzing by the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey already knew of your affliction. Dumbledore had deemed it medically necessary for her to know of at the beginning of your time here should anything happen. 

 

You deflated at his question, your eyes watering more quickly. Last night had made you feel like a failure. You were no closer to figuring out your Potion’s professor.

 

“It didn’t help,” you muttered sadly. Dumbledore put a comforting hand on your forearm. “I… spiraled trying to figure out my thoughts while doing my best to just feel and my mind deviated at the end.”

 

“Where to?”

 

Your hand dipped into the pockets of your shorts and pulled out a picture. Dumbledore took the Polaroid from your fingers and hummed thoughtfully at the sight of you and your muggle best friend. While your current best friends made you very happy, there was something unbeatable about the joy he saw in your eyes whenever you were with or thought of Ada. The end of your relationship with her was practically set in stone and he knew how much it had hurt your very core to leave her in the muggle world. He had seen all of your memories with this girl and when you thought of her, there was a particular spark there that had tied a part of your heart and mind to her. A sort of…love.

 

The love between two best friends. 

 

He set the picture against a vase of flowers on the bedside stand. Madame Pomfrey came over with a charmed compress to wrap around your forehead like a bandana. The chilly fabric helped to cool the temperature in your head while also applying a temperature-regulating charm to the blankets.

 

“Relax now, Miss. I shall bring you some of your mail later today. You may find the letters rather amusing,” he smirked, patting the bed before rising. “And please cooperate with Madam Pomfrey’s ministrations.” 

 

***

 

The thumping of anticipatory footsteps echoed in the corridors as the last class before dinner ended. The two boys refused to listen to the paintings that urged them not to run in the halls lest they trip and lose their heads. Students traveling opposite of the twins grunted in annoyance at how they shoved through the crowds, shoulders bumping into those who got in their way.

 

The compress helped with the fuzziness in your forehead, but your eyes still watered profusely, a steady stream of light tears trickling down your face as a result, which meant drinking more water to compensate.

 

Just as you turned a page in your book, the sound of two hurried footsteps scraping on the stone floor caught your attention. 

 

“Y/N!” they both called, trotting through the entrance of the Hospital Wing. Your eyes crinkled with fondness as they zoomed down the center aisle and climbed up onto your bed 

 

“Boys, please! You mustn’t touch her so much, not with her high fever. You’ll get sick as well,” Pomfrey reproached, but they weren’t having it.

 

“We missed you, love!” They draped themselves on various parts of you. “Thought something terrible happened when you didn’t show up yesterday.”

 

“Like you got cursed—“

 

“Or poisoned—“

 

“Or deported!”

 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I needed to be alone yesterday. I had a lot on my mind. And this morning I woke up sick.” You set your book down in your lap. “How was your guys’ spring break?”

 

“It was bloody brilliant! We went to visit our brother Charlie in Romania. He’s studying dragons there!” Fred exclaimed. “And we got Ginny her first wand! Ron’s been teaching her some basic spells.”

 

“Dad knows about your gift by the way,” George chirped. “He doesn’t know how to possibly repay you. He said those Quidditch passes are extremely hard to come by.”

 

“Me being me, I have my ways. And it’s a gift. Ya’ll owe me nothing.”

 

George poked knowingly at your side. “How was your break?” 

 

“Decent. I did some back-and-forth travel, met some new people, practiced apparating, kept myself entertained…”

 

“Swallowed a man whole,” Fred giggled.

 

“Yes, that too. No one was hurt though, just frightened. Anyways… I suppose you two have all sorts of ideas you’ll want my assistance with now that your parole is over.”

 

They blinked at you as if you were speaking gibberish, but the realization dawned on them a few seconds later. “Blimey, you’re right! We completely forgot!”

 

“Now that’s a bit surprising,” you chuckled softly. “Until then, I have something I can show you guys when I am better.”

 

“Alright, you two. Off the bed,” Madam Pomfrey came shooing them away like they were seagulls. They crawled off the bed as the matron handed them a soft blue-colored potion. “This should help cool your body down. I’ll give you another dose in the morning if needed.”

 

You tried to ignore the taste of it going down your throat, the distinct flavor of pool water hitting your senses. Blech. 

 

“Are you able to keep food down, dear?”

 

“Yeah. No nausea.”

 

“Alright then. I’ll have a house elf prepare a plate of food for you. Twins, you should go on and head to dinner now.”

 

They groaned in discontent but obeyed the matron, bidding you a ‘feel better’ as they took their leave.

 

Dinner was…okay. While you weren’t feeling nauseous, your appetite had waned, but you managed to get a meal of mashed potatoes and lightly spiced turkey down. Annoyingly, she wouldn’t let you have dessert, but she gave you a bowl of sweet mixed berries and banana slices, claiming the fruit was good for someone who was sick. Curious students who heard you were sick lingered near the doorway on the opposite side of the room, trying to get a peek at you and darting away when you made eye contact with them. Jakob, Aria, and H/G/N came to visit and brought you your homework. They all had similar questions regarding spring break, not pushing you too much about the whole ‘eating an auror’ thing. Jakob and Aria did in fact get to see each other over the break, Jakob taking your advice to fly over the English Channel quite literally. H/G/N’s break was more dedicated to preparing for post-grad life, checking out the internship opportunities in the Wizarding World, her head girl status being a nice resume padder.

 

“So. You and Oliver Wood?” she smirked, applying a coat of black to your nails as she sat cross-legged across from you on the bed, where a mask like yours that Pomfrey had given her if she was to be in close proximity to you.

 

“No. Not me and Oliver Wood. Nothing happened in Lopside Lane. It was a convenient shot slapped with a sensational headline to make a nothing-burger.”

 

“What were you two doing together anyways?”

 

“I was reading in one of the private rooms in Belinda’s Books and he crash-landed through the open windows to avoid some fangirls. In exchange for directions around Edinburgh, he asked for potion recommendations from the apothecary to help with his body pains.”

 

“So Merlin practically threw down a handsome man from the sky for you. I wish it were me,” she hummed, feigning a dramatic sigh. “What’s he like in real life? He was apparently the best Quidditch keeper when he went to school here not long ago.”

 

You shrugged your shoulders. “He was nice. He paid for the food he ruined and didn’t seem too bothered by the fact that I was the “fearsome witch” featured in the papers some days beforehand.” 

 

“And his voice just as gentle and as swoon-worthy as they say?” H/G/N probed.

 

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, he said the word ‘hello’ and the next thing I knew my panties hit the floor. His voice sounded like any other Scot around here. But I will concede he is…” your ears reddened “...not bad to look at.”

 

She giggled at that, capping the polish and falling backward with laughter.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, nothing, hm-hm…” She smiled pushing herself upright. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard you talk about guys like that before. But then again there isn’t anyone age-appropriate here for you at the moment, is there?”

 

“Meh. That doesn’t mean I don’t have crushes.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Celebrity crushes. You know, like you being attracted to Oliver Wood, that’s a celebrity crush,” you explained.

 

She beamed. “Do you have a celebrity crush? Who’s yours?”

 

You snorted in amusement behind the mask. “Don’t get your hopes up. He’s not a wizard. And technically the crush is on the character he plays.”

 

“Character? Like from a muggle movie?”

 

“Yup. His name is Bender from a movie called The Breakfast Club. He’s the token bad boy.”

 

“Ah, you like the bad boys?” she waggled her eyebrows.

 

You smirked lightly. “Nah, I just think he’s hot, but…I suppose his wit and attitude do enhance it for me.”

 

“Good evening, you two,” Dumbledore greeted, announcing his and Professor Lupin’s presence. The Headmaster had a particular twinkle in his eyes at the sight of you and H/G/N once again in the Hospital Wing togeteher, this time with the roles reversed.

 

“Hello!” H/G/N replied, but her face fell slightly at the presence of two professors. “Oh—er—I can leave if you two were wanting to talk—”

 

“No need, Miss. We are just here to drop off some mail for Miss L/N.”

 

“Yes, she got a very interesting package this morning as well,” Lupin smiled.

 

In Lupin’s grip was something long and skinny wrapped in brown tissue paper from head to toe, but based on the general shape and the bristles sticking out from the bottom you could already guess what it was. “Is that a broom?”

 

He chuckled. “It would appear so. It came with a note as well.” 

 

You took the broom from him, laying it between you and H/G/N, and tore off the note attached to the top of the handle.

 

To Y/N L/N,

 

I hope this package finds you well. I’m sorry if our sighting in the article together has caused you any distress in and out of school. I know very well how infuriating it can be when subjugated to Rita Skeeter’s articles. I got you this broom as a gesture of my sincerest apologies. You know, ‘cause you’re “so into Quidditch” (wink wink). Maybe this time you’ll be the one outflying fans.

 

Happy flying,

 

Oliver Wood

 

You snorted good-naturedly at the note, surprised by the act of kindness. It wasn't his problem, really, so you weren’t expecting him to say anything. He was likely dealing with just as much scandalization on his end as well. 

 

“It’s from Oliver Wood.”

 

H/G/N gaped. “Shut up, is it really?!”

 

“Yes,” you confirmed to the three of them. “I guess he feels a bit guilty about us being captured together in the Prophet. ” You removed the wrappings off the broom. It had a sleek, dark oak handle that tapered in thickness where the note was, the broom’s bristles coming to a neat rounded point like a paintbrush dipped in water.

 

“Are you going to keep it?” Dumbledore asked.

 

You were silent for a moment “No,” you exhaled. “I’ll write him back, but I’d rather give it to someone else. Ginny, perhaps.”

 

“Who is Ginny?”

 

“Ginny Weasley, the twin’s younger sister. I’m told she’s a big Quidditch fan like her brothers.”

 

“Ah, the Weasley family finally has a daughter,” Dumbledore hummed. “I’m sure she’d be delighted by the gift.”

 

“I can’t believe you’re just giving this away, Y/N,” she proclaimed, stroking her fingers along the hand, admiring the polished finish. 

 

“It has no use to me. I can’t fly a broom,” you simply stated.

 

Her eyes flit up to yours curiously. “Really?”

 

“Never learned. Never cared to. I prefer other means of travel. Like driving.” 

 

Dumbledore stepped forward and gave you a stack of letters. “I shall give you the rest at a later time. I think you’ll find the top four letters rather…humorous,” he smiled before he and Lupin took their leave.

 

H/G/N turned to you raising an eyebrow. You slid your finger under the lip of the first letter, tearing the wax seal off and pulling out the parchment inside.

 

“What’s it say?” H/G/N asked.

 

You didn’t respond to her immediately at first as you kept reading but busted out laughing some seconds later.

 

“BAHAHAHAHA! O-ho my god!” 

 

“What?”

 

“It’s a marriage proposal,” you threw your head back in laughter, holding out the letter for her to read. She snatched it from you and began quickly scanning the contents

 

“Merlin, the Rosiers are trying to fix you up with their son? Look there’s even a picture attached!” On the back of the letter attached to the bottom was a small moving picture in black and white. The man stared blankly back at you, the only movement being a slight side-to-side shift in his weight. He was a good-looking man, you’d give him that, but he looked like he had the personality of a cardboard box.

 

“How could you say ‘no’ to a blood supremacist face like that?” she jeered, flashing the photo.

 

“How do you know he’s a blood supremacist?”

 

“The Rosier family is notoriously draconian. That family’s apples fall straight down from the tree. What do the other letters say?”

 

As it turned out, the other three letters on the top of the stack were also marriage proposals or bordered on fixing them up with relatives. You and H/G/N got a kick out of it comparing the pictures, giving your rankings on who was the most attractive of the four. The other letters were rather sweet. They came from kids around Europe who had the bravery to write to you. They asked about your runespoor, what it could do, if you could speak parselmouth, if you could ride on Runey like a dragon and fly high in the sky… One of them even made a drawing of your runespoor chomping down on the top half of the auror during the demonstration. The crudeness of the drawing and the thick crayon lines made you belly laugh.

 

Eventually, H/G/N needed to leave to get in a bit of studying before beginning her patrolling duties. Most had wound down for the evening, either relaxing in the library or their respective common rooms. The potion had helped with your watery eyes, making it easier to read, though Pomfrey had insisted that you give your eyes a break if you develop another headache or feel discomfort in your eyes. Even if you did, you’d still read anyway. As you have learned before, there isn’t exactly much to do when you’re confined to a bed. At some point within the hour before curfew, you had gone to the bathroom, your body feeling a bit stronger by then, only to come back to a new visitor in the Hospital Wing. 

 

Professor Snape.

 

He had been conversing with Madam Pomfrey a few beds away from yours, but he looked toward you when you entered the edge of his vision. You continued towards your bed as if he wasn’t present, moving the broom so that it was propped up between the little space of the bed and the bedside stand and separating the letters accordingly. Your wrists trembled a little as you settled back on the mattress, continuing where you left off about an ancient elf graveyard hidden in the Black Forest of Germany. Like the black shadows you sometimes tricked yourself into seeing, he moved leisurely into the space between the top of your book and your peripheral.

 

“Why must you give me grief if you were going to wind up here regardless?” Professor Snape drawled.

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you sniffed. “I’d have said the same things to my other teachers. The only person I can’t fight back is Dumbledore.”

 

He scoffed but was nevertheless pleased his message to Dumbledore had you successfully extradited to the Hospital Wing. He pulled something from his robes wrapped in a small black cloth and held it out to you. “Take this,” he said. You set the book down, took the bunched-up cloth from him, and unfolded it all while he watched you patiently. Tucked inside was a rectangular cut of something golden about half the size of your palm and made up of hexagonal holes, dripping in stickiness.

 

“Is this… raw honey?” you tilted your head in curiosity.

 

“Yes,” he replied flatly.

 

“Where did you get raw honey from?”

 

“An apothecary over the break, originally for experimenting. It’s used in potions that help with nausea, diminished appetite, and sore throats, but it can also alleviate such symptoms on its own. Eat it.”

 

Hm... You weren’t feeling nauseous and you had no sore throat, but…you s’posed it might help with your appetite in the morning.

 

Tugging your mask down, you turned the honeycomb over in your grip, grimacing slightly. “So I just…bite into it?”

 

“That is generally how people eat, yes,” he chuffed.

 

You ignored his jab, your jaw shifting in hesitation as you gave the honeycomb one last examination before raising it up to your mouth, the cloth held below to catch any pieces and dripping honey. The wax texture was…strange. You didn’t know why you thought it would be dryer, like biting into a wafer cookie. You didn’t love the way some parts of the hexagonal holes slotted directly between your teeth when bit off half the comb, getting lodged like when one bit into corn or an apple. The most unpleasant part was the sound; it was a wet squelching noise that bordered on lewd, making your ears want to curl in on themselves as you turned from the professor to eat the other half in a more concealed manner. The honey was sweet in its unfiltered form, oozing from deep within the combs, a little dribbling down your chin. 

 

It didn’t take you long to finish off the rest of it, wiping the residual drippings off your chin and mouth, thankful that none of it had gotten onto your fingers or your book. You murmured a ‘thanks’ as he took the cloth back from you, his eyes falling onto the opened envelopes.

 

“What are all those papers?” He stepped to the bedside stand. 

 

“Letters. The right stack is from curious children, the left is…proposals.”

 

“Employment proposals?”

 

“Marriage proposals,” you blanked.

 

His eyes widened, the sharp intake of breath making you look to see him snatching up the letters and reading them through. You traced the way his profile deeply frowned at the manner in which the elegantly scrawled words promised you a lifetime of nobility, riches, connections, and privilege should you marry into a family.

 

Each word threatened to carve away at his composure, his tight-lipped expression a facade for the inexplicable need to keep you away from them, from the men who desired you for your “youth, power, and your beauty” as the letters claimed; such traits to surely “strengthen the family name.” A trophy to put on their shelf. Another jewel on their crown. They disgusted him. How rude of awakening it would be for them if they were to find out that beneath your militaristic appearance at the Ministry was a silly girl who lived and breathed the detestable muggle lifestyle.

 

He reviewed the names once more.

 

Felix Rosier was a smug bastard with a pension for cheating on his girlfriends back in school.

 

Travers was a raging misogynist with a history of varying types of assault.

 

Crouch Jr. was a sadistic, pitiful man.

 

And Regulus— Regulus?!

 

Before he could stop the rising anger, the letters in his hand had disintegrated into ash, parchment one moment, a pile of blackened dust another. Severus blinked in surprise with himself, lowering his hands back down to his side. He hadn’t meant to do that. His emotions just…took over all of a sudden. He slowly met your gaze, the surprised parting of your lips hidden by your mask, but it was very much present to him in your eyes.

 

“It’s not as though you were going to give them the time of day,” he asserted coolly, his austere mask falling back into place.

 

You turned back to your book. “You don’t know that,” you fibbed, lightly smirking. “Even if he is like a decade older than me, Junior’s not that bad to look at.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at you, harrumphing at your recognized jesting tone. “How is it?”

 

You looked up in slight confusion until he tipped his chin up and dropped his eyes down at your book. “Oh. It’s…pretty good,” you confessed. “I’m reading a chapter from the section covering Germany. Apparently, there is a mass elf grave hidden somewhere in the northern part of the Black Forest region. A war of some sort happened between two tribes… Supposedly, the residual magic in their bones has been absorbed by the land, serving as a source for many strange occurrences and urban legends.”

 

He slightly raised a brow, his interest piqued. “What of it now?”

 

“While the region is too dense to pinpoint the exact area where the ancient graves may be, explorers suspect it might located where muggles have proclaimed that the wild Hinterwälder Rind refuse to travel through despite being a sturdy breed capable of coping with the harshest conditions and are not easily spooked,” you quoted, the German name rolling off your tongue smoothly.

 

“And what are Hin…Hindervay—” he hesitantly attempted to say but was butchering the name.

 

“Hinterwälder Rind. Blackwoods cattle,” you translated. “I guess they are known to move all throughout the Black Forest region except for that one spot. They avoid it vehemently. Interestingly enough, the urban legends and changes in the landscape  caused by subtle magic that has spread through the Black Forest inspired the Brothers Grimm muggle authors to write their fairy tales.” A corner of your mouth tugged upward. “I love it when both worlds bleed together…”

 

“It is dangerous for muggles to find themselves in the presence of unregulated magic,” he said stiffly. “Especially in places they ought not to be in the first place. They are far too impulsive and arrogant.”

 

“That’s not what I meant, Professor. Just…” you sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose in annoyance. “Never mind…” Why does this keep happening? The two of you will talk, and the stage gets set for an interesting topic of conversation only for him to open his mouth and allow something ignorant to slip out. Pain in the ass… He is not making it easy for you to—

 

Badump-badump-badump-badump—

 

You frowned slightly, your hand reaching toward the side of your neck, fingers kneading over your pulse point as you wheezed a little. The crease between Severus’s brows deepened as he sensed your discomfort.

 

“Are you alright?” 

 

“ ‘M fine,” your breathing took on a slight shuddering quality as you forced yourself to take deeper and slower breaths. All the while, Professor Snape eyed you critically, his eyes never moving away from where your fingers met your neck. He shifted subtly in agitation, not knowing how to help you. As he observed you more closely he realized you weren’t just rubbing your neck, you were rubbing your pulse point. Was your heart causing you pain?

 

Drawing his wand, he lowly chanted a spell that manifested a glass which he proceeded to fill nearly to the brim using “Aguamenti.”

 

“Here. Drink,” he instructed. 

 

“You better not be sneaking her anything without me knowing, Severus,” Pomfrey called from across the room. “I already gave her a potion for the fever.”

 

“It’s just water,” he responded back. “Drink,” he repeated to you. 

 

But you only shook your head again, refusing the water and scooching away from him. You just wanted this interaction to be over with, the prospect of sleep enticing you more than waiting for him to say something potentially disrespectful about muggles again. 

 

Concern lapped at him, almost resembling…offense. You had never refused potions or remedies from him. In fact, you had always accepted them with a sort of blind trust that astounded him from day one. And yet now, you refused something as simple as water.

 

“Madam Pomfrey…” you mumbled just loudly enough for her to hear. “I’d like to be knocked out now.”

 

“Dreamless Sleep or a sleeping draught?”

 

“Dreamless. Please,” you wheezed. “I don’t want to have a fever dream turn into a fever nightmare.”

 

“Very well.” She opened one of the cabinets, fetched the purple-colored potion and made her way over to you. Severus stepped back out of the way for her as she handed you a potion with enough liquid to keep you asleep for at least eight hours. You latched an arm around stuffed Runey, turning your lower half on its side as you took the bottle and guzzled it down. When you felt her take the bottle from you, you tugged your mask back up and faced your whole body to the wall, drawing Runey closer to you and arranging him closer to you; no “good night” to either of them, just a silent pray that the potion would claim your consciousness and the feeling of eyes on you away a few moments later.

 

And it did. 

 

Your strained breathing petered out to a more relaxed, even pattern, a sign that you had been taken by the arms of sleep. Madam Pomfrey exhaled moving away from the bed to dim the nearest wall lamp that illuminated the section of space your bed occupied before disappearing through another door that led to her office, presumably to put away the used potion bottle, and subsequently leaving Severus alone by your bedside. 

 

Severus couldn’t figure out why he was so perturbed by you refusing the water. As he looked down at you now, it made him feel like there was something…off. Other than your fever, of course. He wanted to listen to his gut, but it was difficult to trust his judgment without having some sort of insight this time around. 

 

He set the glass of water on the bedside table, and just as he was about to withdraw his hand, he noticed something else by the letters propped up by the decorative vase of flowers. It was a square paper no bigger than his palm. When he plucked it with his fingers, he saw that it was not just a bit of paper, but a photograph. It wasn’t a moving picture, suggesting it came from a muggle camera. It depicted two girls; one he realized after a second or two was a younger you, arm reached out to hold whatever camera was used to take the picture, and the other girl…well, he didn’t know. She had blue stripes in some parts of her hair. Did muggles really dye their hair such outlandish colors?  

 

He flipped over to the back of the photo.

Y/N and Ada

Shermans’s Ridge

So this was Ada.

 

The both of you smiled into the camera without a care in the word. Based on what he knew, you must’ve been around fourteen years old in this picture. He could see that you were some inches taller than her and had an arm thrown around her neck and shoulders, implying that you were the more casually dominant of the two of you, your heads resting against one another. He wondered what you were like then; if you were more uninhibited and brazen or demure and standoffish before your magical education became a regular part of your life. And if it was the former, he wondered if that was so because this girl drew it out of you.

 

Severus set the photo back in its place, casting a sidelong glance between you and Pomfrey’s office. His fingers slowly migrated upward toward his cloak, his senses fixated keenly on the sounds that came from her office; the shuffling of feet, clinking of vials, the swish of running water... In one smooth, decisive motion, he had removed his cloak, pulled back the blankets, and draped the cloth over you. 

 

Better.

 

Only then did he realize that it stuck out like a sore against the all-white bedding, so he pointed his wand at it and cast a spell. The black began to brighten progressively into a gray and then a white, like the sun piercing its way through a stormy sky until the cloak was disguised in plain sight amongst the sheets as he pulled the blankets back up. He observed you some more, making sure you were perfectly comfortable and that he was satisfied that you were taken care of. His hand delicately lifted a second time, his fingers just barely grazing the back of your shoulder before approaching noises from Madam Pomfrey’s office caused him to quickly pull back, his hand clenching into a fist as he strode away into the chilly darkness of the castle.

Chapter 57: The No-Maj Witch Part 2

Summary:

Part 2 of the last chapter

Notes:

Y'all I don't even know... writer's block from the next chapters, I guess? Anyway, enjoy what I like to call "the communication chapter" lol

Waking up the next morning was… It was a specific feeling, like when one lowered themselves into a jacuzzi, enduring the half-biting-half pleasurable sting of the hot water and fully relaxing when they got used to it after a minute or so. Eventually, the water feels lukewarm or cold upon acclimating, a sign that it was time to hop out. That’s what your body felt like when you slowly creaked your eyes open.

 

Except it was in reverse.

 

Your body was rigid with discomfort at the way you suddenly felt the heat crashing down on you at once as you drifted into consciousness, your skin slick with sweat, your own breathing feeling muffled by a distant ringing in your ear. The wateriness in your eyes was back, so much so that you already had tracks of tears running down your face, your head pounding from overnight dehydration.

 

The effort it took to sit up made your arms tremble, and despite your head feeling like it was stuffed chock-full of cotton, you managed an upright slouch on the edge of the bed. You reckoned it was around 6:00 AM, but you couldn’t tell, your vision too blurry to read the clock across the room. Looking at your bedside stand, there was a much-needed glass of water waiting for you, the one Professor Snape had attempted to offer you last night. Your arm shakily moved to grab it, but you clumsily overshot, your hand knocking instead into the vase, tipping it over and sending it crashing onto the stone floor.

 

Some moments later, Madam Pomfrey’s door flew open, clutching her sleeping robes to her chest with an alarmed expression on her face.

 

“Miss L/N?” She asked, her eyes flitting over your state as she heard the sound of something shattering. “Are you alright?”

 

You merely lulled your head toward her, frog-blinking and unresponsive. She frowned. Making her way over, the broken bits of the vase came into view. She quickly cast a spell, repairing it and sitting it back in its place. Her eyes caught on to just how shiny your face appeared in the morning light that streamed in through the tall windows and she pressed her palm to your forehead.

 

“Oh, dear…” she muttered in concern. She moved back again, to another cabinet, pulling out a thermometer and appearing before you. She pulled down your mask and slipped the tapered end into your mouth with ease as you were in a foggy and submissive enough state to allow her to do so. She watched painstakingly as the temperature started at 98.6 and proceeded to climb. Your temperature had spiked, now at a startling 104.2.

 

“Your fever has gotten worse, Miss,” she informed.

 

“‘Fee…s like I’m…n…n’oven,” you mumbled as she went about collecting a few things.

 

After she assisted you in drinking another fever-relieving potion, she swiftly changed into her uniform robes and sent notes out for your teachers that your fever had worsened and you still wouldn’t be returning to classes today. She kept insisting that you lay back down and try to sleep more, but you couldn’t, not even with another round of temperature-regulating charms being applied to your clothes and the bed. 

 

Eventually, the rest of the castle was up and about, murmurs and footsteps beginning to fill the corridors. Your body was now vacillating between boiling hot and what felt like freezing cold. Fevers do strange things to the body. When you were shivering you had plucked up the closest layer of sheet and tugged it around you. It didn’t really feel like a sheet, but it helped with the shivering without making you feel hotter than you already were. Pomfrey had gotten you apple oatmeal for breakfast and some toast, something easy to get down. You ate curled up in the corner where your bed met the wall, letting the brick prop your temple as it helped conserve energy in keeping yourself upright.

 

Your teachers came to visit you in the time between breakfast and the first morning classes. The twins tried to see you, but they were promptly kicked out and told to come back later, much to their chagrin. You didn’t speak much to the teachers who were asking you and Madam Pomfrey questions, purposely eating slowly and responding in brief words or grunts. You just wanted to be left alone. So of course, they started talking about you like you weren’t present.

 

Which was annoying.

 

Professor Snape didn’t say anything, merely listening and observing as Pomfrey detailed your spiked temperature to them. There was an instance where you had finished your oatmeal, setting the bowl in your lap. He was unflinching when your gaze met his through half-lidded eyes. He was looking at you with a hidden intensity that was hard to pin; like there was something he wanted to do but couldn’t. It felt like a staring contest. Maybe it was just your brain messing with you, or some sort of phantom pressure caused by the fuzziness in your head, but you thought you felt the familiar twinge of legilimency between your brows. 

 

Or…you had felt his want to use legilimency on you. Then again he hadn’t done it in some time.

 

You flicked your eyes away and the feeling dulled along with it. Before he left he had quietly asked Madam Pomfrey something that you couldn’t discern. When he got his answer he was not happy, flashing you a look of disappointment before he swept away.

 

The rest of the morning and early afternoon was a bit of a blur for you. You slept, read, daydreamed. Pomfrey gave you another potion to help with your congestion. You ate lunch… you think. Yeah…? Yeah, you did. No part of you was in any pain and it wasn't something you hadn’t dealt with before. It was just inconvenient. And in any case, you’d been through worse with less assistance.

 

***

 

He thought today might’ve been better. He thought today he’d have less to worry about. Apparently not.

 

A paper crane hovered at his bedside.

 

Your fever was now above 104 degrees. 

 

Damn it all.

 

He lingered in his walk to the Great Hall this morning, spotting your form sitting up in bed with one of the white bed layers wrapped around you. Hopefully the cloak.

 

At breakfast, Professor McGonagall suggests a visit to the Hospital Wing.

 

He joins.

 

You’re quiet, more flushed than yesterday. Your hair is tied in a single braid and out of the way so you don’t have to endure the uncomfortable feeling of your hair clinging to your sweat-slick neck. There’s no cough. Good. When you ate you avoided eye contact with all of them, your responses terse or non-existent. Or the fever had made it difficult to hear as well. 

 

He wondered what got you sick in the first place. Was it travel? Being around so many people? The weather? It had rained in Scotland…  He was pissed that he couldn't give you a booster while you were away. 

 

Why must you give him reasons to worry?

 

He observes you curled up in the corner as you finish your morning meal. You meet his gaze. He doesn’t look away. Neither do you. He wants to peek. It would only take a second.

 

You look away.

 

A glance at the clock tells him that his first class starts soon, but before he leaves he walks over to Madam Pomfrey who is scanning a list of potions. 

 

“Madam Pomfrey,” he murmurs. 

 

“Yes?” she replied just as softly. 

 

“Do you know the reason why Miss L/N fell ill in the first place?”

 

“We can’t know for certain, but other than stress and being around a lot of people during the break, she confessed to gadding about in the rain back home the same day she came back to Hogwarts.”

 

“Without an umbrella?”

 

“Indeed, Professor.”

 

He scowled in your direction before he left, tutting to himself. You foolish girl. He had warned you several times not to go out in poor weather without the proper protection. And of course, you get sick the one time he isn’t around to make sure you consume an immune-boosting potion. 

 

This all served as the basis for his shortness with his students today, the students more hesitant than ever to give answers on the off chance that his increased impatience would result in derisive remarks and a loss of points. His mind was not fully in the present with his lessons as they drifted to you being sick in the Hospital Wing. Foolish, foolish girl. The concern that had clawed at him since yesterday had officially festered into something else. He couldn’t be eased unless he could physically see you being treated or improving in some manner. “Distracting is what it was,” he grumbled internally, and in his distraction, he had left a large ink blot on a student’s homework, his quill accidentally pressing into the parchment while his current class spent the last ten minutes reading and taking notes to prepare for next week’s lesson.

 

Severus was unable to check on you properly during lunch. That wasn’t to say he didn’t try, he did, but according to Pomfrey you had conked out mid-meal and were asleep by the time he had gotten there. Even if you had been awake, two students were sitting on a bed not too far away from yours getting treated for bites from a Fanged Geranium. Regardless of the topic, he much preferred speaking with you in private, or at least, away from the prying eyes and ears of students.

 

He was distracted just as much, if not more in his final class before dinner. His fingers thumped impatiently against his leg within the last minute of class until the bell finally rang and students filtered out into the halls.

 

And now, Severus finds himself simmering in frustration by the entrance to the Hospital Wing. Your attention was otherwise occupied by the Weasley twins who sat on your bed with you and Professor Lupin and Dumbledore conversing in the corner while Pomfrey continued with general upkeep. Was it too much to ask for some bloody time… It’s not as though anything was physically preventing him from going inside and visiting; it was just his stubborn preferences. He did not wish for a conversation with Lupin, nor to interact with the twins, but they might’ve been necessary obstacles if he were to get to you. 

 

Taking a steady breath he strode into the Hospital Wing.

 

“Hello, Professor Snape,” Dumbledore greeted, looking past Professor Lupin, who turned his head over his shoulder in light surprise.

 

Severus only grunted at the headmaster, continuing on his path to your bed. The twins side-eyed each other as he approached, looking at him warily, but he ignored them. He came to a halt by your bedside when he saw the tears rolling down onto your mask, your eyes half-lidded. “What did you two do?” he pressed, firmly. “Why is she crying?”

 

“I’m afraid she can’t help it, Professor,” Pomfrey stated, appearing from her office. “The fever has made her eyes very watery, even more so since it spiked.”

 

You didn’t react much to his presence, continuing to scribble away at something in the notebook on your lap, your side pressed against the wall and supporting your head. However, your blurry eyes did flick over to him when you saw his form shift somewhat. He was holding something out to you again.

 

“Eat,” he instructed, almost mutely.

 

You let out a soft, muffled sigh figuring it was another honeycomb, and reached out toward him, feeling for the clothed comb. Severus frowned at your attempts to take the wrapped honeycomb as you kept missing his hand by some inches each time. After the seventh attempt, he simply reached out and gently grabbed your wrist and palmed the covered comb into your hand.

 

“Professor,” the matron said warningly from a tidy desk against the wall, eyeing the both of you. “What are you giving her?” Her questioning made the other two adult men glance at the potion master. Severus quickly removed his hands from yours.

 

“Honeycomb,” he uttered as you held it to yourself.

 

“To eat? Absolutely not. She hasn’t had a proper dinner yet and she doesn’t need her stomach filled with honey beforehand. And you shouldn’t offer students anything without knowing what potions they’ve taken or their allergies— Miss,” Pomfrey stated firmly as she saw you tug your mask down and raise the comb to your lips. “Don’t eat that.”

 

You froze mid-bite, looking between Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey, torn on who to listen to, but eventually, you closed your parted lips, bringing the mask back up and lowering the comb down to your lap before rewrapping it and setting it off to the side.

 

“Are you almost done, Y/N?” George asked without looking up from the parchment in his lap. He and his brother were competing to draw the best hippogriff from memory.

 

“Mmf,” you hummed as you began to write out a formula. It wasn’t necessary but it was good practice. 

 

Severus sneakily darted his eyes down to the writings. “ Instructions?” he pondered as he read out a list of steps, his eyes honing particularly on the line you had just finished writing.

 

KMnO 4
2H 2 O 2 -------------> 2H 2 O + O 2

Catalyst

 

“What on Earth is ‘Elephant Toothpaste?’” Professor Snape questioned. You tensed as you realized he could see what you were writing in the notebook on your lap.

 

“..m …t’s no—” 

 

“Y/N’s gonna show us muggle potions when she’s healthy again,” Fred proclaimed proudly, knowing there was about a 99% chance they couldn’t get in trouble since it was something muggle, not magic. “Er–I mean… Chemistry?” he looked to you for confirmation.

 

“Mmf.”

 

“Yeah, Chemistry,” Fred grinned.

 

Severus’s nose scrunched in derision. Chemistry. “Is this how you intend to spend the time you should be using preparing for final exams? Filling your heads with muggle nonsense? Last I checked, you two are barely scraping by with a P in my class.” He turned his gaze to you. “And I would think you would want to assist them in that area instead of… that,” he gestured to the notebook in your lap.

 

The twins looked appalled as if they’d been told they were adopted. They were under the impression that you and the potion master were sorta-kinda-mates, and yet this is how he speaks about you? About a whole half of your identity? What a git!

 

“Well, we like your muggleness,” George reached over and squeezed one of your knees, the one closest to him, affectionately. “Who cares what some potion professor thinks?”

 

George had said something to you squeezing your knee, but it didn’t quite register on your ears, his words increasingly muffled as a sharp ringing filled your head and your heart rate skyrocketed once more. Not again… It sounded like the twins and the potion master were bickering now, your fingers rising to massage your pounding pulse and your breaths quickening to an uncomfortably tight degree in your chest.

 

“Miss L/N, are you alright?” Madam Pomfrey asked, noticing the change in your demeanor and getting up from her chair. The back-and-forth between Professor Snape and the twins ceased at the matron’s concern. The three of them realized that you were now wheezing, your breaths getting more strained with each passing second.

 

“Twins. Off. Now,” Pomprey ordered. They obeyed immediately, scrambling off the mattress to stand by Lupin and Dumbledore who were watching you as well. Professor Snape moved back from the bed to give the matron room to tend to you.

 

“Miss, are you in any pain?” 

 

You neither confirmed nor denied her question, your fingers moving more firmly as you squeezed your eyes shut, your other hand reaching for the stuffed runespoor and clutching it against you.

 

“She’s stressed,” a voice commented, that voice belonging to Professor Lupin. The twins, Dumbledore, Pomfrey, and Snape all looked at him in confusion.

 

“How do you know, professor?” Pomfrey asked. 

 

A slight look of guilt flashed across his face before he spoke again. “The day she returned I…had accidentally spooked her in the halls. She’s rubbing her pulse point in the same manner she did when she was…startled.”

 

“Is this true?” Pomfrey asked you. “Are you stressed, dear?”

 

You managed a discernable nod. 

 

“What stresses you?” This time, however, Pomfrey received no more insight than an aggressive shake of your head. You wouldn’t tell her. You wouldn’t say it aloud. Your breathing increased to borderline gasping like your lungs were being pushed into overtime. Snape shifted restlessly. He felt so useless just standing there unable to help.

 

“Miss L/N, you must try to calm yourself or your fever will increase,” Pomfrey implored. She was worried this was going to become a full-blown panic attack. She’d normally give you a Calming Draught, but it was too soon after the fever reliever you had taken recently.

 

“Miss,” Dumbledore said, moving by Madam Pomfrey and sitting sideways on the bed, as close to you as he could manage. “Y/N.” The headmaster dropped the honorific. “Look at me.”

 

Your dribbling eyes fluttered open and momentarily locked with Dumbledore, but that was all he needed in order to get inside your mind. Snape and Pomfrey inhaled sharply as they both realized what he was doing. Was the headmaster mad, using legillimency on you while your brain and body were practically on fire?

 

“Y/N.”

 

“No..!” your mind shouted back desperately. “Don’t look..!”

 

“You will make your fever worse, Y/N.” He was trying not to let himself focus on the thoughts he could feel your mind desperately holding back from him. “You must relieve yourself. Tell me what is wrong.”

 

“…Infernal..!”

“…Nothing of value..!”

“…Fatuous..!”

“…Muggle nonsense..!”

 

“…You? Friends with a teacher?…”

 

“IN—SU—FF—ER—AB—LE!”

 

A few bits of what you were trying to hold back lingered out from your mental hold and roared at the Headmaster. Outside of your mind, his eyes widened slightly at the mixture of voices he heard, one being Professor Snape’s. Dumbledore’s hands, which were now on your shoulders, squeezed encouragingly. You whimpered softly as your eyes began to droop once more. He had an idea of what this might’ve been about, but he needed to confirm.

 

“Y/N, please. I won’t judge. You know I never will.” In your mind, he nudged lightly against the barriers of your thoughts. “ Let me see.”

 

There was an eerie moment of total quietude in your mind before everything came rushing to the surface, initially as a whisper, but exponentially growing in volume, flashing chronologically in quick succession as instance after instance presented themselves to him. 

 

“Oh, dear…”

 

In the span of two weeks, you had amassed a concerning amount of doubt that was not good for you, especially since you had already possessed lingering PTSD and paranoia from your assault. It seemed Mr. Moretti had inadvertently planted the seed. The man only had your best interest in mind. It had bloomed, however, and was wreaking havoc on your ability to trust your judgment. Particularly, your emotions toward your Head of House.

 

Dumbledore was… aware that you and Severus did not possess the relationship that was typical between student and teacher, or at least, the relationships Severus in particular maintained with his students. Dumbledore could say with no hesitation that if Severus were to have a favorite student, it’d be you by a landslide. You were intelligent, curious to learn, witty, perceptive, and fair-minded. But Dumbledore was not blind to the slow and subtle changes in his colleagues throughout the year. The professor was leaving the castle more, which was good as he always thought Severus needed more fresh air for reasons other than ingredient collecting. Sometimes he was seen returning with you or parting ways in the courtyard. The man was also showing up to dinner more, the meal he most commonly skipped. Had you nagged him into doing so or was the professor’s lingering gaze toward the Slytherin table an indication of his intention to keep a watchful eye on you? And finally, he was all around more pleasant on the weekends. Granted, every teacher was as it meant no classes to be held, but Severus returned to lunches and dinners in a more pleasant mood. Or at least a more agreeable mood.

 

Plus, Dumbledore knew you both had spent Christmas night together in the woods. He watched the two of you go there via the Marauder’s Map and checked the map in time to watch the both of you suddenly vanish from the fields and reappear in the Slytherin common room. And there was the first day of spring, too…

 

It seemed you were under the impression you and Professor Snape were now friends. And to Dumbledore, it seemed like it too. He didn’t disapprove. Rather, the opposite. He thinks your energy and personality were a good influence on the brooding Professor, a sort of calming presence that somehow also kept the man on his toes.

 

However, you didn’t appear to think so anymore. He supposed it didn’t help that you had difficulty believing anyone could care for you outside of obligation with how you practically raised yourself. You had even doubted Dumbledore when you first arrived at Hogwarts. All this doubt, this reflection on your interactions with your professor had caused you to focus on something that made you very different from Severus: your relationship with muggleness. Dumbledore knew how you saw yourself, how you embraced the lifestyle with desperation, how you fiercely valued your muggle friend Ada. It was half of you after all, though you believed it to be more than so. Every offhand remark the professor had made felt like a slight against you and the girl. Regardless, it imposed a problem that had been highlighted by your minding and the doubt that tightened around you. 

 

It sounded like this:

 

“Professor Snape doesn’t like muggles. He doesn’t like muggleness. He wouldn’t be friends with anyone who identifies and acts as such. He gives you crap for it and he’s teased you light-heartedly for other things before, as you do to him, but it doesn’t feel like teasing anymore when it comes to that part of you. He’s only interested in your magic side. He’s probably using you.”

 

“…SHE… …WOULD… …HAVE… … NEVER… …

DONE… …THIS… …TO…

…YOU…”

 

The growing seed had become tangling weeds, wrapping around your ability to differentiate and analyze your predicament properly. And as far as Dumbledore was concerned, those weeds were going to come out. 

 

Today.

 

Dumbledore moved back slightly from your body and accio’d the photo of you and Ada to himself, his eyes studying it for a few seconds before reaching into his robes and pulling out his wand. 

 

“Forgive me, Y/N, for what I am about to do,” he said sincerely. “Laetificus Illusio.”

 

As if commanded to, your wheezing stopped, your breathing ceasing altogether for just a moment or two, as you took a sharp inhale and let it out slowly, your shoulders sagging and your body relaxing. You stared forward dumbly until Dumbledore lifted a hand to your face, and shut your eyelids with his fingers before lightly pushing you back by your shoulders so that you fell back limply onto the pillows. You remained unmoving, your breathing reassuringly slow with a hint of peacefulness on your face.

 

“Albus… ” Pomfrey whispered in shock.

 

“The False Illusion spell, I know, but it was necessary. I saw her thoughts and I feared making her speak of them aloud in the current circumstances would have worsened her state.” He pushed up off the bed, clasping his hands behind his back. “The spell I used more or less inserted her into a positive hallucination. I fed her an image and the happy feelings she associates with it will do the heavy lifting. It was the only way I could think of to get her to relax quickly,” he explained to Professor Lupin and the twins.

 

Fred and George, whose bodies were rigid with tension, murmured, “She looks dead…”

 

“I assure you, she is not dead. She is not sleeping or listening to us either. Her state is more so like a coma. I cast the spell with the intention of it lasting for about thirty minutes at most. She should be more settled then. In the meantime, we would do well not to disturb her, even if she isn’t fully aware of her surroundings.”

 

The twins scowled. “Like hell—”

 

“Fred. George,” Lupin interrupted. “Please. I know you’re concerned, but you must listen to Dumbledore. We wouldn’t want to risk any accidents in her current state. Come,” he guided them away gently. “Let’s go to dinner.”

 

The twins relented, casting a forlorn look over their shoulders as they trudged away with the DADA teacher, leaving the three other staff members behind.

 

Madam Pomfrey moved from her spot back over to the small desk, plopping herself down in the chair and sighing against her hand. “Poppy?” Dumbledore inquired, hearing her defeated sound.

 

“If her fever reaches 105 we’ll have no choice but to send her to St. Mungos,” she muttered wearily, staring distantly at you with tired eyes.

 

“I know. Though…I don’t believe it will come to that.” He tilted his head thoughtfully at her. “I know you’ve been working to help her, but I think you should join the rest of us for dinner. You need a break.”

 

“I can’t up and leave, not with her fever so high… And if there is another sudden issue with the spell…”

 

Dumbledore enacted step two of his plan and turned to Professor Snape who was gazing at you with a downcast look. “Severus, would you be willing to watch over Miss L/N for some time?”

 

“Yes,” Severus said quietly.

 

The headmaster hummed. “Let us be off, Poppy…” The matron rose from her chair and began to follow Dumbledore. “Oh, and Severus,” he paused, looking back to the man. “When she wakes up, she won’t be happy that where she was is no longer real. I implore you to take that fact into consideration and exercise some sensitivity.”

 

Severus met the old wizard’s stern eyes and nodded solemnly.

 

“Good. If you could summon a house elf to bring Miss L/N dinner, that would be appreciated,” Dumbledore bid, he and the matron exited the Hospital Wing together and shut the doors behind them.

 

The only sound to be heard was your faint breaths against your mask. Severus accio’d a chair to himself, taking a seat and running a hand through his hair. Good grief… The unease caused by the startling turn of events faded but never quite left as he watched you, encapsulated by a manufactured fantasy. He didn’t speak, even when you twitched or turned about to face the wall, not daring to interrupt your respite. He wondered what you were seeing right now. He knew it had something to do with Ada. The picture slotted itself into his hand from the bed before he set it back down on the bedside table. 

 

Within a few minutes of his request, the house elf brought you both dinner, and he set your plate down on the bedside table while he ate his own, not once ceasing his observation. Thankfully no one else had attempted to enter the Hospital Wing while he looked after you. As he finished his meal, your twitches became more prevalent and you even began mumbling to yourself. It was incoherent at first, especially since your speech was muffled by the mask that covered your mouth and nose.

 

“S…you..ag..n” was the last thing you rumbled out before your body jolted harshly like how one wakes up from a nightmare, the abrupt action making him flinch a little in his seat as he heard a sharp inhale from your direction. Severus suspected that you had “awoken” from the spell.

 

“Miss L/N?” Severus called to you softly.

 

You sat up, looking around the room in bewilderment, though it seemed like your gaze went straight through him before settling on some unknown point on the wall opposite of you. Your breathing had taken on a shuddering quality in perplexion.

 

“The headmaster had to use a spell to calm you down. You are still in the Hospital Wing,” he explained cautiously.

 

Your initial confusion gradually faded, and despite the lower half of your face being obscured, he could tell that your expression was pained and twisted up when the realization took over you. Your eyes filled with newfound wateriness as you curled up, an arm wrapped around your legs as you tilted your face down toward your lap. Your other hand raised up, closing into a fist before slamming down in frustration into the mattress once…twice…three times, a few seconds between each ‘pomf’ before your fingers splayed and clenched the blankets. You sniffed sharply, and Severus wouldn’t be surprised if you were actually crying now. He’d be angry too if a reality he sought solace in were ripped away from him in the blink of an eye.

 

Your fingers rose to your neck, rubbing at the same spot before, and the potion master tensed again anticipating another round of audible wheezing, but there was no such thing this time. Still, that didn’t stop him from summoning and filling a glass of water to go with your dinner.

 

“I have your dinner here. You’ll feel better if you eat.”

 

There was no response. Rather you moved on the bed, pulling the cloak/blanket up and over, forming a hood over your head and rotating away so that only a little bit of the mask’s edge was noticeable beyond the cloth that covered you.

 

“..o you ..a..e ..no…ajs…?”

 

His brows came together in bemusement. “I cannot understand you, Miss.”

 

Your ears burned beneath the cloak in self-consciousness as you willed yourself to try and speak of your troubles. With your finger, you hooked the top edge of the mask and tugged it down to your chin.

 

“...Do you hate no-majs…?” you asked feebly.

 

Those four little words felt like a cold slap across the face, an uncomfortable silence taking over the Hospital Wing. You were no less eased in the silence either, your hands toying anxiously with the hems of the cloak in your lap as you had finally let the question that had been building in your head for some time slip past your lips. He blinked a few times, mouth slightly agape as his brain sputtered, attempting to compose a proper response, but also trying to figure out why you would even ask him something like that. 

 

Why would you ask him something like that?

 

Severus straightened up in his seat took a deep breath and finally spoke. “...Have I given you reasons to believe I do?” he questioned calmly.

 

His white cloak rustled as you shifted in place and nodded.

 

Apprehension flooded his veins at your confirmation, a mutual air of uncertainty swirling around the both of you. His mind was urging him to give an automatic ‘no,’ but deep down he knew that would be a lie. What you perceived to be a simple question was not so simple for him. His past with muggles was… messy . He couldn’t fool himself by denying that he wasn’t enthusiastic about having them as neighbors and dealing with them in the summer. But he was no blood supremacist, not like the families who, to this day, wished Grindelwald were leading today’s magical society.

 

Yet, you had reasons to think otherwise…?

 

“Explain.” His voice was as earnest as it was hushed.

 

The atmosphere grew heavier, yet charged with an undercurrent of nervous energy. A sense of dread grew in your stomach, matched only by the desperate need to know the answer to your question, allowing for you to take slow breaths and mentally work up the courage. Professor Snape didn’t rush you for an answer, waiting patiently. It seemed he understood that this wouldn’t be an easy conversation or a battle of wits.

 

You swallowed thickly. “You’ve said… You say things that…are scornful. That disparage me,” you started. “Specifically about no-majs. My no-majness. You deprecate my interests outside of magic and school, how I go about doing things without magic, you make judgmental faces toward my appearance when I’m wearing my regular clothes… You seem to hold contempt for us and how we go about living, as if the things we do, create, and achieve couldn’t hold a candle to what someone could accomplish with a flick of their wand... As if that part of me is undeserving of recognition entirely…” You took a shaky breath. “In the almost three years that you’ve known me, three years in which you’ve experienced my no-majness in an uninhibited manner, you only took an interest after I demonstrated powerful magic. And coming to that revelation sucked because now that I’ve had unwanted fame thrust upon me, I have to be more careful in choosing my friends, in figuring out who likes me for me, both sides of me, and who's just using me. And I…” Your voice began to lose its momentum. “I don’t know what to make of you anymore.”

 

You sniffed heartily and pulled your stuffed runespoor toward you, seeking comfort.

 

“You and I poke fun at eachother too. That’s just what we do and I won’t deny that it’s never happened, but I can’t… differentiate anymore between teasing and detestation. I can’t claim to know much about you or your thoughts on the matter, but…the lines are so blurry right now…” you rubbed at your eyes “...and I am tired of fighting with my own mind. Despite my perspicacity, I don’t have a written guide in navigating you, and I don’t want to if I end up hesitating to be myself around you. I can tolerate having a prejudiced teacher for a few more months if that is the case, but I will not tolerate having a prejudiced…friend,” you uttered, your face flushing in self-consciousness. “So…I ask again: do you hate no-majs?”

 

There it was, a spotlight shining directly down on the core of what was between you two, leaving nowhere for it to hide. At that moment, of the two of you, you had decided to be the one to finally address the elephant in the metaphorical room that was your dynamic. For quite some time, your go-to method when it came to interacting and communication with him was “going off the vibes,” but now, it was time for some much-needed directness. Every second he was silent heightened your agitation, Narcissa’s words echoing in your mind. “Give him a proper chance to explain his behavior should it come to that. He is not so good with words.” You had no idea how he was going to answer, but four variants came to mind; he denies a level of friendship ever existing and either denies or admits his disdain toward no-majs, and the other is that he confirms the previously unspoken bond with the same two possible opinions toward no-majs. You just wanted an answer. Any answer, because at least then it meant clarity and from there you could compartmentalize everything properly. If they were unfavorable responses then…so be it.

 

Severus was truly at a loss for words at your explanation, his mind trying to digest it properly as it was a lot to take in. A coil of perturbation wriggled around in his center, fighting to find reprieve as he willed himself to get a hold of his thoughts. He didn’t… He didn’t hate muggles… Yes, he hated his muggle father, and in regard to muggles as a whole, they wore his nerves down to dust, especially in the summer. He could hardly say he tolerated them, but it’s not as though his dislike toward them resembled that of a pureblood supremacist. He didn’t wish for them all to be eradicated or enslaved. They were all just so… annoying to him. As a wizard, he felt he had no need to be in touch with that biological half of him. 

 

He thought back on his past remarks toward you regarding your muggleness. Most were intended to be teasing as you had correctly pointed out, though behind all of them still remained a genuine simmering aversion. It seemed you had picked up on that, though it was impressive given how much apparent belittling he had done.

 

And did he really make faces at your muggleness?

 

Severus took a steady breath in. 

 

“That…is a complicated question,” he replied carefully, a wave of vulnerability rolling through him, but his own weak response made the hairs on his neck stand up. The last time he had insulted someone’s muggleness he was not allowed the chance to explain himself properly and was told to “save his breath” before being cut off for good. He should’ve given an automatic “no.” He feared that those five pitifully insufficient words might’ve used up his chance, his body stiffening all over again as he awaited an angry reaction from you, whether it be a frustrated huff, you pulling the cloak tighter over yourself and flopping down close to the wall to ignore him for the remainder of the evening, or whipping around and cursing him out. But you did none of those things. Instead, you had said…

 

“Then give me a complicated answer.”

 

Your succinct response caught him off guard, that internal squirming sensation jumping into his chest. He laced his fingers together in his lap. There was no easy way to go about this conversation and the both of you knew it. He felt he was partly justified in his reasoning for disliking muggles, but as he ran it through his head, he could guess that you would feel otherwise. His opinion was formed as a result of events that happened long ago. 

 

“It would be fairly ironic for me to harbor blood supremacist ideologies. I don’t hate muggles…but I am also not fond of them.”

 

Your fingers picked at the material of the stuffed runespoor. That wasn’t very reassuring. “Yeah, I got that…” you muttered.

 

His pupils flit over your form subtly. “You are correct in that I’ve said things to…chaff. I…admit, some of my comments were perhaps undeserved. But…none of it was ever intended to offend you. I…apologize…if you felt disrespected.” 

 

“That’s not really an apology,” you whispered. “You’re blaming me for having emotions.”

 

His hands broke apart into fists as regret and frustration flared within him. “If I made you feel disrespected…” Severus restated gruffly. “I don’t detest your muggleness.” It only elicited an acknowledging grunt from you as you pressed the concealed half against your face into your knees. Severus couldn’t discern much from that reaction, but since you weren’t berating him, he took it as a good sign. 

 

“If not mine, why others? What are your reasons for disliking them?”

 

“I’m afraid the origin is…too personal to explain. However, I will say they are loud, rude, arrogant, far too privy to my business, and have terrible spatial awareness amongst other unfavorable qualities… Not to mention the magiphobes…”

 

You blinked to yourself in disbelief. “...You’ve…just described people, Professor. Witches and wizards are like that too… Not just some no-majs.”

 

As predicted, the faultiness in his logic was recognized. “I know,” he rumbled bitterly. “Still, old wounds…”

 

Silence crept up on the both of you as your unbidden need to decipher, understand, and rationalize kicked into gear. He says ‘he knows,’ but still uses it to support his opinion. His true reasoning must be rooted in something else, possibly the thing he deems to be too personal to reveal. 

 

Most likely that.

 

“I won't…pry, but…if there was someone who…” you trailed off and started over again. “Just… One does not represent all, y’know. To think otherwise is a morally dangerous mindset to have.”

 

Something like alarm flashed in his eyes like you found the needle in the haystack on your first try. How? How were you able to figure… He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to shake off his astonishment.

 

Severus cleared his throat. “As for your… other concerns…”

 

You bit your lip in preparation.

 

“…You must be a real dunderhead if you think your insufferably intrusive runespoor has anything to do with why you’ve intrigued me. And yes,” he added as he registered you straightening up sharply, “that is teasing,” he dared to taunt.

 

“I don’t understand…” you breathed out in confusion. “I haven’t done anything else that could’ve possibly…” What did you do that was so interesting that suddenly made him start interacting with you outside of classes?

 

He didn’t need legillimency to know why you were confused. It was deeply ironic and amusing that the very thing you thought he abhorred was what served as the catalyst. “I already knew you were a promising witch within the first month of your time at Hogwarts and your competency is well-reflected in your assignments. However, it’s what lay in the margins that made me curious. Your muggleness.”

 

Your face flushed anew.

 

“It’s ironic, as I’m sure you realize, that those peculiar ‘S’s’ that littered your parchment opened the door for me to see just how different your personality is in comparison to your peers, including the muggle-born ones. Nor can I think of any half-bloods that I know outside of Hogwarts that have your…combined traits.”

 

…badump-badump-badump-badump…

 

“Even so, your quietness more or less made you blend in amongst them all for the first two years outside of class, until I caught you out in the rain running around like a bloody lunatic. I suppose…the sight fascinated me.”

 

…Badump-Badump-Badump-Badump…

 

“And while your patronus is impressive, it is not nearly as entertaining as you and your affinities, gallivanting around Hogwarts—”

 

…BADUMP-BADUMP-BADUMP-BADUMP!

 

“—Okay,” you interjected, your fingers rubbing the spot. “Hhh…hhh…I got it…”

 

His breath caught in his throat at the fact that your heart was giving you trouble yet again. “What is it?”

 

You wheezed, “Hhh… ‘Can’t handle sentimentality and a high fever at the same time.”

 

His parted lips closed once more after some hesitance. He was surprised with himself as he did not often indulge in touchy-feely emotions and yet he spoke so sincerely about your muggleness. As a distraction from the heat that burned in his ears, he looked to the dinner plate on the bedside table. 

 

“You should eat now while you’re still awake,” he urged.

 

The mattress creaked as you slowly rotated in place, allowing the potion master to see your face again. It was tinged with pink, whether it was the fever or your emotions he didn’t bother to question, merely grabbing the plate and water and offering it to you. Your eyes flit over the food unenthusiastically and your head leaned away from his direction. “...‘Don’t think I can eat much.”

 

“Nauseous?”

 

“ ‘M not really hungry.”

 

“Even if you aren’t, you must get some down. Otherwise, you won’t get better.”

 

You let out a noise of dissatisfaction, but regardless, you took the plate from him with both hands, sitting back against the wall to prop you up. The cup hovered across the space between you and floated idly by your side as you took slow bites, keeping the plate resting on your lap.

 

“….I’m not asking you to stop, just so you know. The teasing…” you murmured. “I just…needed to know the sentiment behind it.”

 

He didn’t reply immediately, taking his time to observe you, to think it through. It satisfied him to know you had gotten some enjoyment out of the verbal sparring.

 

“Don't expect to be getting automatic O’s in my class now…” you heard him comment dully. You looked up from your plate to see him staring at you, something softer mixed with the seriousness in his eyes. Your eyebrows pinched together in genuine confusion. 

 

“Don’t…I already get high grades in your class…?”

 

“For Merlin’s sake, you can be so dense sometimes,” Severus thought to himself. He didn’t know how long you’ve troubled yourself with these notions, but did you honestly think that the things he does for you he does for any other student? Yes, you were friends, though thinking of saying it allowed still unnerved him. It was somewhat new to him. While your misgivings on the matter were understandable, he almost felt offended by the fact. He squinted his lids as if in thought, his arms moving to cross in front of his body—a subtle, preemptive guarding motion.

 

His voice lowered even more. “I believe you know what I am referring to…Y/N.” 

 

You paused your movements, your eyes searching for a clue in his form, in his words. And it hit you, your eyes widening just the slightest touch.

 

Oh. Oh.

 

You felt your cheeks dust with heat and prayed that the fever somehow obscured the self-conscious blushing. “Hmfh…” you hummed in realization, averting your gaze shyly.

 

A long, drawn-out creak sounded from the front of the Hospital Wing, the doors being pushed open and effectively bursting the bubble of privacy. Madam Pomfrey stepped through the large wooden doors with a sense of urgency, though she sighed with relief when she saw you.

 

“Oh, good! You’re awake and eating.” Her matron robes grazed against the ground as she strode over. “Are you…alright? I never would’ve expected Headmaster Dumbledore to use that spell on a student.”

 

“Yep… I’m fine. Jus’ took a trip down memory lane.”

 

“Hm.” She turned to the potion master and bowed slightly. “Thank you for watching over her, Professor. It was much appreciated.”

 

His demeanor had shifted back into his professional, aloof self, standing from his chair and bowing back lightly to Madam Pomfrey. “Let’s not make this a regular occurrence,” he bid a simple statement weighted with multiple subtle meanings, his eyes flitting over to you before he departed without another word, his black cloak flowing behind him like oil in water.

***

 

You fought against your body's internal clock, feeling your eyes flutter despite wanting to remain in the floating bliss within the cocoon of blankets you had wrapped yourself in. You had another dream with that smokey figure, the remnants of forehead kisses, scalp scratches, and cradled embraces disappearing into the morning fog of your mind. You groaned, cracking your eyes open to look at the clock on the wall. It was basically dawn.

 

A ray of light had escaped past the ajar curtains that hadn’t closed around the closest set of impressive vertical windows properly, landing right on your eyes. Hissing at the cold air that elicited goosebumps on your skin, you tugged the white blanket around you and sluggishly moved toward the window. Though the curtains had intended to be closed, Pomfrey had kept the windows open, insisting that the fresh air was good for you and that being exposed to it overnight wouldn’t worsen your fever since you were already sleeping under multiple layers of blankets. You pulled the curtains back more, pushing the windows all the way open to admire the glowing sky. As you leaned against the frame of the window, you noticed the air smelled crisp, a slight minty quality to it as it carried the smells of the grass and dew through the morning mist.

 

Wait.

 

You inhaled strongly through your nose, finding there were no blockages. The congestion was gone. 

 

You felt your forehead. It didn’t feel like it was burning anymore. You felt much better in fact.

 

Some minutes later, Madam Pomfrey entered the wing and found you sitting on the edge, idly patting the tops of your thighs and seemingly waiting, as you used to when she had to escort you to the bathroom back in November.

 

“Miss L/N?”

 

“Good morning,” you greeted.

 

“...Good morning,” she raised an eyebrow in your surprisingly content tone. She shut the door to her office and observed you. “Feeling better, are we?”

 

“Much. I think my fever is gone.”

 

Her expression grew hopeful as she fetched the thermometer and came to a halt before you, slipping it between your readily parted lips. She watched the number on the bulbous end climb and even out in growth.

 

98.8

 

“Thank Merlin,” she sighed in relief. Your fever was basically gone. “You are correct, Miss. Your body temperature is back down to an acceptable number. However,” she added strictly just as you had begun to gather your things. “Should you find yourself feeling under the weather again in your classes, I expect you to inform your professor and come back here. Understood?”

 

“Mhm…”

 

“Alright. You may go. Make sure you eat a big breakfast and drink some pumpkin juice,” Pomfrey encouraged as your form retreated beyond the doorway. She sighed once more, the stress of tending to your high fever and other students who had flitted in and out within the past couple of days rolling off of her. Her meticulous hands tugged at the bedding, casting various spells and prepping them to be cleaned by the house elves. Her fingers landed upon a layer that felt foreign to her. She didn’t recall possessing blankets and such for the beds that felt like this. Was this yours? Had you accidentally left it behind?

 

She attempted to fold it, successfully finding two of the corners, but was unable to lay it down flat properly as it was curved and stitched in various places. Did you botch a Transfiguration spell while debilitated?

 

“Finite,” she aimed her wand and chanted. Slowly, the white began to bleed away in one corner streaking its way down to the opposite hem, like a cloth soaking up ink. She dropped the “blanket” in surprise and watched as it turned from bright white to black, it’s form still remaining the same. Brows pinched together she picked it up and examined it once more. This time the color made her realize exactly what she was holding, huffing to herself in disapproval.

 

“Really, Severus? Honestly…”

 

***

 

You stripped your tie-dye shirt and shorts off and tossed them into the hamper, happily moving to the girls' bathroom to take a morning shower. While you loved that shirt, being in it for a few days straight, sleeping and sweating, made you cringe as you practically peeled it off of you . Feeling fresh and clean after your shower, you changed into your uniform, appreciative of the fact that you were able to shower ahead of all the girls who’d be waking up to crowd the bathrooms, some to shower, others at the sinks as they took care of their various morning routines with their hair or skincare. However, your expression became more downturned when you remembered exactly how much work you’d have to catch up on just to stay on track. Safe to say you’d have your ass planted firmly in the library after dinner and until curfew. 

 

Ready to take on your classes, you slipped your school bag over your shoulder and pulled open the common room doors to head up to the Great Hall for breakfast, and narrowly avoided colliding with Professor Snape who was coming from a perpendicular corridor as you stepped out into the hall.

 

“Morning,” you greeted with mild surprise. He wasn’t usually one to arrive to breakfast before most teachers. Professor Snape furrowed his brows a little at the fact that you were here, down in the dungeons.

 

“Shouldn’t you be in the Hospital Wing?” he questioned.

 

“I’m not sick anymore,” you announced. “My fever cleared. I’m back down to normal—er—pretty much normal. Ninety eight-point—”

 

The words died on your tongue as he suddenly raised his hand and pressed his palm to your forehead. With the way heat shot up from your neck to the crown of your head, it felt for a moment like your fever had returned, especially when his thumb had made a little sweeping motion along a part of your brow.

 

“You’re still rather warm,” Severus commented.

 

“The i-implication being that your hand has greater a-accuracy than a medical grade thermometer?” you attempted to counter, trying to contain your frazzledness.

 

His eyes narrowed at you slightly. “Hmph. I see the fever hasn’t killed your cheekiness,” he rumbled out before striding away to the Great Hall without another word.

 

You stood there blinking in surprise, still feeling the warm impression of his hand on your forehead, like when one took off a bandaid and still felt a phantom presence. To say the action was unexpected was an understatement. You slowly raised your hand and pressed it against your forehead in the same manner and nearly jumped at the replicated feeling, whipping your arm back down to your side and attempting to shake off the pinkness of your cheeks as you muttered to yourself on your way to breakfast.

Notes:

Pomfrey is suspicious... and Severus has finally, in his own way, confirmed that he and Y/N are friends. I know some of you may be thinking, "Wait, didn't this happen in the "Bonds" chapter?" Well, no. That was just Y/N's, confirmed feelings on the dynamic, but now that there is we'll get more interesting plot here on out >:) hue hue hue

Is anyone else enjoying DeepPerplexity's Rickmas 2024 so far? I know I am :D

Chapter 58: There For You

Summary:

Reader reaps the consequences of being behind in schoolwork following her stay in the Hospital Wing from her fever.

OR

Reader and Snape are there for eachother in their own ways.

Notes:

Happy Holidays, everyone! I hope everyone gets to spend time with friends or loved ones during these last remaining days of the year.

Breakfast was far more appetizing than it had been these past few days and your senses were back up to one hundred percent. H/G/N smiled when she saw you enter the Great Hall for breakfast, beckoning you over to your usual end of the table. She kindly caught you up on any work that had been assigned during the two days of your absence, which turned out to be quite a bit, and would likely be even more if anything else was assigned for homework today. You could already feel your face sag in anticipatory exhaustion, and your free period is paying the price for it as well. Granted, not everything that was already assigned was due this Friday or next Monday, however, Apparition Exams were this weekend. You imagined it would almost be like another Hogsmeade weekend with how many students were to be tested, and if you managed to be one of the early examinees, you could spend the rest of the day doing as you pleased then. In other words, your goal would be to get most, if not all, of your homework done by Friday so that you could still enjoy the weekend if it meant only having to study just a little bit on either of the days.

 

“No longer frying like an egg, are we?” H/G/N quipped.

 

“No,” you breathed out, settling into your seat. “My fever had persisted against Pomfrey’s potions due to stress and I…was able to work that out.”

 

“I see. Though, I don’t suppose you were exempt from any of the schoolwork you missed in your absence?”

 

“Unfortunately not.”

 

She winced. “That stinks. But hey, today is a short day for you, right? You’ve got the whole afternoon to help catch up.”

 

“No need to remind me,” you puffed in disappointment. “I really wanted to go outside today.”

 

“Well, you still can. If you did your work outside, perhaps?”

 

“Nuh… I know myself,” you contended through a mouthful of egg. “I’ll be too tempted to lollygag about and go to the gla—to the forest,” you corrected yourself quickly. “I need to glue my ass to a chair in the library and stay there until curfew.”

 

She hummed, pushing her strawberries and sliced bananas around on her plate. “At least Professor Snape won’t be so temperamental. Less than he usually is, I mean.”

 

You stared at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

 

“He’s been wound up since you’ve been sick on Monday.”

 

You bit your bottom lip, your ears burning shyly. “Spring break just ended,” you mumbled. “Probably bitter he’s got to teach again.”

 

“True. However,” she put her fork down, resting her chin on her laced fingers, smirking slightly at you. “I noticed a sort of pattern with him. He becomes a particular brand of grumpy whenever you are absent from class. He was highly impatient with everyone when you were hospitalized after Halloween, very moody when you went home to the States for your muggle thing, and yesterday he gave detentions out like they were bloody flowers. I kept my mouth shut for all of Potions class and I still felt like I was doing something wrong. His already short fuse is increasingly lessened when you’re absent from class. You’re like the class lightning rod, sparing us from his wrath.”

 

Your mouth fell open to speak, but all that came out was a strained noise of self-consciousness before you pulled the collar of your uniform up over the lower half of your face.

 

“Sorry—I thought—are you two not…friends?” she dipped her head down to catch your gaze, searching your eyes for truth.

 

“I…” you dropped your shirt collar, replacing it with your palm over your mouth as if to smother your words and resting your elbow on the table. “…We are…but…how did you know?”

 

“Other than the reasons I just mentioned, it's honestly not that hard to pick up on, at least to me. He doesn’t make it a point to interact with students outside of class unless absolutely necessary, and yet I see you two out and about talking fairly often. I assumed he, at the very least, tolerates you more than the rest of us.” She grinned, drumming the table. “Not that I’m judging or anything, whatever keeps his panties out of a bunch and lowers our chances of getting detentions.”

 

“Mmh…” You fidgeted with your food. “How many people have noticed?”

 

“That I know of, I think a few of the girls, but they’re not bold enough to say anything. And the boys I think are too dense.”

 

“Got it,” you muttered.

 

She smirked, nibbling on her lower lip. “What’s he like?”

 

“What?”

 

“Outside of class.”

 

You stopped your chewing, averting your gaze. Should you really say anything? It’s not like you’d be airing out his dirty laundry or anything, but it still felt weird to talk about.

 

“I dunno… Not that different… He’s less irritable.”

 

“What do you two do?”

 

You shrugged. “Depends.”

 

“On?”

 

“What I’m doing when he finds me.”

 

She blinked dumbly at you, repeating, “When he finds you? What does that mean, when he finds you? Does he just stumble upon you messing around outside?”

 

“Not so much stumbling, more so…tracking.”

 

“Tracking?!” H/G/N sputtered, a bit too loud for your liking, and the look you sent her told her to quiet down. “Tracking?” She questioned more quietly.

 

“Yeah, you know, tracking spells? I’m like 99.9% sure that’s how he finds me, especially in the more obscure locations around here.”

 

“He uses tracking spells on you? And that doesn’t… bother you??”

 

You knit your brows. “No? Why would it?”

 

“Most would find that to be, at minimum, very strange and a bit creepy, Y/N.”

 

“Not really. I mean… He’s arguably the most busy Professor at Hogwarts, and if or when he intends to see me during whatever free time he might have, isn’t the most logical way of finding me around such a big castle also the most efficient?”

 

She shook her head a little in disbelief, not really on board with what you perceived to be perfect logic. “You both are so weird. Birds of a feather, I suppose.”

 

With your morning classes out of the way, and thankfully nothing else new assigned at the end except for a reminder of what to brush up on in preparation for next week, you strode to the library with determination fueling your every step, an emptied bladder, a full bottle of water and some snacks to sneak now and then under Madam Pince. To lessen temptations, you picked a table that sat four in one of the corners, far from the entrance and views through the window cut off by a perpendicular bookshelf. Best of all, it was quiet, with no nearby conversations with select words to inspire you to venture into the woods or roll around the fields. You would not leave this chair unless necessary.

 

The fields… The clovers…

 

No! You papped yourself harshly on the cheek. If you could resist the urge to port-key home every day then you can resist the urge to procrastinate. You must get some work done.

 

First, there was your essay for Transfiguration about the impacts of cross-species Transfiguration for the purpose of breeding, a Potions essay on abandoned potions of the Middle Ages as compared to the Black Plague, a topic you were rather excited about, an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts on resisting the Imperius curse, a fairly easy assignment to tackle as a result of its straightforwardness, and assigned reading and spell practice for Charms. Flitwick and Sprout, bless their souls, didn’t assign as many papers this time of year as they advocated for more work-life balance for the students, unlike McGonagall and Snape who believed essays were the best way to teach students outside of class.

 

The stack of books you’d collected thudded harshly against the table, their worn spines and softened edges a testament to their service to students who no doubt endured similarly intense assignments. You rearranged them before you by importance, you’d reserve your assigned reading for the end as a sort of “cooldown” for your brain, leaving the book meant for Charms last. 

 

You decided to start with the Potions paper first. Since the prompt had interested you already, you figured it would serve as good momentum once you got started. 

 

“Abandoned potions of the Middle Ages as compared to the Black Plague…” you muttered to yourself. People don’t just let certain potions fade into obscurity without reason, normally it’s because something better comes along. And if muggle history has taught you anything, regardless of time period it’s that this occurrence is influenced by three things: a change in philosophy or leadership, technological development, and globalization.

 

So this would be more like writing a history paper. You eyed the stack of leather-bound books. You’d need a few more.

 

“Hey!” you heard to your left. It was H/G/N, presumably here to work on the same assignments as well.

 

“Hey,” you greeted back. 

 

Her pace came to a halt at your table, her light smile changing to surprise when she saw your work spread out.

 

“Dear, Merlin...”

 

“Yep,” you sighed. “Are you here for homework as well?”

 

“Mhm! Del and Marcella are gathering their books.” Delilah and Marcella were her two closest friends. They’ve been generally nice to you, but you’ve only spoken in passing, in Hogsmeade and at the bonfire. Her eyes flit over the empty seats. “May we join you for the free period? We all more or less have the same assignments.”

 

“Assuming we can all fit our work on the table, sure.”

 

“Great! I’ll let them know,” she murmured happily, setting her things on the table next to yours.

 

After finding a few more books, the four of you regrouped at the table, the surface covered in books, parchments, and quills. 

 

“Thanks for letting us join you, Y/N,” Del said. “Quite a sorry lot we are. I shouldn’t have procrastinated on that DADA paper.”

 

“What is girlhood if not suffering together?” you mused. “If you plan your time wisely, you should be able to have it done on time. I intend on staying in the library up until curfew for the next few days.” You bit your lip. “You three are welcome to join me if you think the company will help get work done,” you stated quietly.

 

“Sure, that sounds great,” Marcella smiled. “I like having company when I work. It makes me more relaxed.”

 

The four of you buckled down, getting to work on your assignments. Slowly but surely you all began to chip away at the assignments laid before you, the quiet ambiance filled with the scratching of quills to jot down notes and the turning of tanned pages. The three of them were a little confused by the vague wording of the prompt for the potions paper, but once you had clarified, they seemed to have no trouble in beginning the assignment. Every now and then you’d all offer suggestions or pose questions about a passage or the accuracy of a fact presented, regardless of the assignment. Marcella, who took Muggle Studies, had even sought your explanation on how magnetism worked as they were vaguely exposed to how physics stood in the place of magic in the muggle world. The concept of a ‘north pole’ and ‘south pole’ befuddled her as she didn’t know how “two metal lamp poles that stood on the top and bottom of the Earth were relevant.”

 

***

 

“Mmnh…”  

 

Severus groaned quietly as he extended his arms above his head, stretching and flexing the muscles in his back and shoulders as he leaned back in his wooden chair, feeling the small little crackles and pops in his body. His classroom was filled with the soft light of the approaching sunset creeping ever so closely to the horizon line of the Scottish landscape. His last class for the day cleared out mere minutes ago, leaving only behind some slightly disarray stools and streaks of glowing dust illuminated by the rays of light that managed to stream in through the few windows. He pushed away from his desk leisurely circling the perimeter of his classroom, discarding bits of scrap paper here and there and placing any accidentally left-out brewing tools in the back basin. The sparkling surface of the lake caught his eye in the distance. The tall grass along the rocky shore was a bright yellow from the warm light reflecting on the greenish blades. It had been a nice day out, one he was not fortunate enough to see or enjoy while teaching. While the sun had started to beat the clouds, Scottish weather wasn’t always so transparent. Sunny days could still be nippy, especially when there was wind. It looked to be one of those days, noting the dewiness that had gathered on the panes of the window and sill.

 

Severus pried himself from the view, sweeping back over to his desk for his inevitable grading only to realize as he glanced along the paperless surface that there was none to grade. Last week was spring break after all and within the prior two days, he had gotten this week's lesson plans in order. It was odd. Free time in the middle of the week after classes was rare for him, not that he was complaining.

 

He pursed his lips, dragging his gaze from his desk to the windows, and then to the door.

 

You were probably out and about right now, enjoying the last hour or so of sunlight.

 

The shutting of the heavy door to his classroom echoed behind him as he paced through the labyrinth of stony corridors, using the secret passage to get to the ground level more quickly. Upon reaching the upper floor, he murmured the spell that allowed him to figure out where you were, assuming the magic could catch on to your nearest trace. The spell didn’t just generate footprints that led him straight to you, it had to catch on to the closest path you had physically walked. However, it seemed you hadn’t been down this corridor recently. He walked further, a few more turns taking him to a more commonly traversed hall that many of his Slytherins used to get to the Great Hall and Master Staircase. The spell was successful this time, gleams of blue light popping up on the ground, only visible to his eyes, and forming footsteps, moving at the rate you had.

 

He followed them, his stride nearly matching each step’s manifestation leading him toward the courtyard much to his satisfaction. No one paid the professor any mind despite his eyes being glued to the ground, his pace as though he were on his way to an important task. He could see the open doors to the courtyard now, the sun’s warm glow seeping through the frame.

 

However just as he reached the junction connecting to a perpendicular corridor, your footsteps veered to the right and away from the doors. 

 

He frowned in disappointment, his jaw shifting at the clear way your route deviated from the lit fields, swaying grass, and sparkling shoreline. It surprised him that you were still inside, not enjoying the golden hour that illuminated the expanse of land. What were you doing instead?

 

Severus eyed your path and the door back and forth debating what to do. He intended to not be alone while walking about outside, so was it even worth it? That wasn’t to say he hadn’t been on walks without company…

 

But…

 

In the moments of the day when there was quiet, when he was alone, his mind was best when distracted or occupied, by a book perhaps, or his post-class duties, neither of which were enticing to him at the moment. He wished to passively enjoy the fleeting scenery beyond these ancient walls, ideally with you. Your presence, your mind, the things you spoke of, and your instigative nonsense helped keep his conscience away from the uglier things that dwelled in his mind. The voices of his past loved to whisper to him tauntingly when he was alone on these grounds, which was unsurprising given at least half his trauma stemmed from this very school. 

 

However, that didn’t appear to be an option right now, so he’d just have to deal with it.

 

The fresh spring air flooded his chest as he took a deep breath, exiting out into the courtyard and the fields. His shoes left firm prints in the dirt of the grass-lined path, the grounds moistened from the evening’s approaching mist. The yellow light radiating off the lake’s surface resembled the golden sequins of an illustrious gown, a stark contrast to the silhouettes of the trees that grew near the shoreline. All was calm around him, the only noise to be heard was the faint rustling of small creatures amongst the tall grass and the occasional ribbit from frogs. His eyes took in his surroundings in a calculative manner, not at all in a way that said “I am trying to relax.” Without a book or placated with the help of a few fingers of alcohol, relaxing was not his strong suit, unless the conditions were ideal. In this case, they were not…so he had a little trouble reminding himself that there was nothing at his desk waiting for him, no mentally draining tasks to check off, and nothing scheduled with the teachers. He didn’t intend to waste it, but he wasn’t off to a very good start.

 

Severus did his best to fight the usual pace of his stride so that it was an amble. He tried to focus more on his sensations, the things in the air he could smell, the sounds of nature around him, counting the colors and hues he could distinguish from one another, the feeling of a slight breeze caressing his cheek… The air in the fields always had a sort of cleanliness he could appreciate. Sometimes the dungeons could get stuffy and stale, especially in the fall.

 

He stuck to the path that the two of you had taken on Spring break, the one that brought him along the line of trees that separated the fields from the shoreline. He traced his gaze along the sparkling water through the gaps of the trees eyeing two ravens, one larger than the other as they picked along the small stones. The smaller one raised its head and began to nip at the larger one's tail when it wasn’t looking, making the larger one whip around aghast and cawing warningly at the other one who pretended like it was innocent.

 

Hm.

 

The bigger one nipped back but was missing the smaller one by some inches who hopped and fluttered its wings in glee, even rolling onto its side mischievously. The bigger raven croaked in irritation and skipped off some yards away, only for the smaller one to spring up and follow after it happily. 

 

His feet continued to carry him along the grove until he decidedly stepped off the path and through the trees so that he was on the other side. He was nearly blinded by the way the orange-yellow light bounced off the water, uninhibited by trees now. Despite this, it did provide a subtle warmth to his cheeks. Little crabs begin to make their presence known, surfacing from beneath the sandy, gravelly ground where he disturbed it and scuttling to a new hiding location, their shells nearly as warmly toned as the horizon.

 

As his route brought him closer to the Forbidden Forest, his steps came to a slow halt as he stared blankly at a specific tree. 

 

His tree.

 

It served as the border of the Forbidden Forest and the start of the shore’s grove, its trunk twisting almost in agony. This tree was one he sat under often as a student. It provided a suitable canopy for shade to read under during the hotter days and was a secret hideaway location, specifically to hide from the Marauders. Being so close to the Forbidden Forest, the Marauders thought he was too cowardly to ever take refuge in such a spot, then again, even the Marauders were not brave enough themselves to hunt him down near the Forbidden Forest no matter how big of troublemakers they were.

 

Until they did.

 

That godforsaken map.

 

In his head he distantly heard the sounds of laughter, the impact of him being shoved to the ground as he was jinxed by a spell that made his legs heavy and his head spin too harshly to gauge his bearings properly, Black’s laugh as he and Potter snatched one of his favorite books from his hands and began tearing out several pages one by one before ultimately casting a spell on it that prevented him from accio’ing it to himself and launching the book into the lake, sinking to an unknown depth. At the time Severus couldn’t tell where Lupin had been but he sure as hell remembers Pettigrew greedily rummaging around his bag and fishing out the box of special chocolate frogs that had a caramel filling, a treat he had saved up to purchase from a Hogsmeade weekend the day before.

 

After that day, the tree had lost its sanctity and Severus lost the one place outside of his room where he felt safe as a student.

 

It was not as though he was noticing it for the first time in over two decades, but it was now more recognizable in the light, drawing him in as though it were his first time seeing it all.

 

It made him feel ill.

 

He looked away, maneuvering back through the grove and into the fields once more, spotting a different but familiar tree in the distance.

 

Your tree.

 

Like the Whomping Willow, he was unsure of its origin, but it had always been there, even during his time as a student. At the time though, its presence disinterested him as it was too out in the open as the only tree in the middle of the fields. 

 

Too exposed.

 

Still, you had an excellent eye, and yet, he wondered: why did no other students use this spot for their leisure activities? Even before this year, before your arrival, he couldn’t recall a single time he had seen students climbing, lounging around, or reading under this tree. Did its solitary presence come off as ominous to the children? Or had they perceived it as claimed territory?

 

It was a good tree—a strong one. Its structure, not nearly as twisted up and crooked, stood tall and proud as a result of an adequate supply of nutrients and minerals, not having to fight the sand-dwelling creatures and other fauna in the mixed bordering shoreline. Your tree’s trunk did have strange knobs, dents, and swells, but he supposed it gave it a bit of charm and served as an effective support in your climbing endeavors. He noted its developments until he found himself standing directly in front of it, shaded by the bright sun. The branches were healthy and lush with spring leaves, providing superior protection from bright light and harsh winds, new acorns were budding, their pigment still green and unripe, and a thin layer of tree fungi and speckled fungi began to crawl along the bark.

 

His eyes trailed up along the underside of the thicker, lower-hanging branches, observing the growing fuzz there as well. He can imagine you in your spot, seated atop and running your palms and fingers delicately along the bright patches.

 

“What was so bloody special about hanging upside down?” he thought to himself, imagining you in place of the air.

 

As he looked out to the now burning skyline, two dark, small forms shot across the purple cloudy plumes. The two ravens from before glid above and landed on a middle-tier branch some feet above the lower branch, ruffling their feathers and croaking softly. The smaller one was the first to get comfortable, wriggling its wings a little and settling into a loaf position. The bigger one, sidestepped to its companion as close as it could get until the two were pressed against one another. It carefully ran the tip of its beak along the feathers of the smaller bird's neck in a nibbling-like motion, preening it. The action was well-received, the smaller raven tilting its head into it contently.

 

Severus blinked rapidly to himself, tearing his gaze away as an unsettling feeling thrummed in his chest. He forced himself to look back out to the blazing horizon, but it was too late. Despite the beautiful scenery before him, he felt his mind float away, pulling him into deeper, darker, lonelier places that he desperately wished to keep in the past…

 

The setting sun filled the corridors of the castle with a soft glow, providing an air of comfort to those on their way to dinner. Though the four of you knew you’d be right back in the library after dinner, by which it would also be dark, you still revelled in the faint bit of warmth that leaked past the ancient walls as you walked together cracking jokes to lighten the studious mood.

 

“I don't know what I was so worried about,” Del chirped. “That Potions paper is actually easy.”

 

Marcella snickered. “No offense Del, but you’re probably doing it wrong then—

 

Your shoes screeched against the stone as you threw your arms out to the side to stop the group from moving forward. Professor Snape had whirled around the corner and nearly collided with the four of you. He looked angry, as he came into view, his features hardened and his eyes piercing, something flashed on his face when he saw you and pivoted out of the way before his disposition shifted to one of bitterness and he was striding away once more.

 

“Evening, sir,” you called back to him as the three girls looked between you two peculiarly.

 

He did not respond, continuing on his way without a single word or gesture.

 

“What’s up with him?” H/G/N raised an eyebrow.

 

“I don’t know. I’m not omniscient,” you hummed.

 

“He seemed angry. And what was with that look he gave you? Did you do something earlier?”

 

“Not that I know of.”

 

She leaned in close so Del and Marcella couldn’t hear. “You gonna go check on him?”

 

“What? No,” you sputtered. “Why?”

 

“Because that’s what friends do?” she raised a brow.

 

“That…” you paused, licking your lips. “It’s probably not a good idea.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“It just is. He’ll probably feel better in private. He just needs to cool off.”

***

The logs crackled away dimly in the stone fireplace of Severus’s office, providing an extra layer of warmth that the firewhiskey in his tumbler didn’t. His grip on the glass and the armchair were tighter than they ought to be, trying to keep his walls up. It was almost time for curfew and he had been occluding for a few hours now after skipping dinner. He didn’t feel like eating, but the eventual hunger only worsened his mood and pushed him deeper into his own misery.

 

Severus didn’t even notice the bright bluish light seeping through the crack of the curtains that covered the windows until he heard the drawn-out creak of them opening.

 

He got up and swiftly turned toward the now glowing curtains, his eyes staring suspiciously at the colored cloth as he set the glass down and felt for his wand in his robes. Dark, slender wand in hand, he crept closer to the glowing curtains and listened carefully. He could make out what sounded like heavy breathing, but nothing more. Still, it didn’t sound human.

 

With the most of his courage, he suddenly closed the distance with the curtains and threw them open. Within the frame of the now opened windows was your runespoor, or in this case only one head, and given the way he shuddered slightly when he made eye contact with it, he knew this to be Themis.

 

Severus scowled.

 

“Why are you disturbing me?” He demanded as if the creature could understand or properly respond to him. Or as if he was speaking to you.

 

Themis just flicked his tongue out and puffed shortly. Severus huffed. He didn’t have the patience for this. He moved forward once more, fingers grabbing the windows to close them, but the runespoor head had other ideas and began to shove his way through. Severus, not wanting to touch the creature in any capacity, stumbled back, trying to keep a certain distance.

 

“Stop,” he bellowed, aiming his wand at the creature, the tip barely grazing its snoot. Themis blinked and hovered back slightly, his gaze beginning to wander. He’d never been in this room before, the air was filled with all sorts of interesting smells that pleased him and furniture decorated with objects that tickled his feline personality. One potion with an iridescent appearance and lovely smell drew him towards the professor’s personal brewing station. Severus, realizing what the patronus was up to, threw himself to that part of the room, blocking the station.

 

“Don’t you dare even think about it,” Severus hissed, the wand raised again, pressing firmly between its two central nostrils. This seemed to have the opposite effect on Themis, the creature was delighted that the man it was so fond of was finally “touching” him. Themis made a sort of whining noise you might hear from an excited dog before flailing his tongue over Severus’s fingers. The sensation made him jump, his hand spasming from the foreign texture, and he was surprised as he clutched his hand to his chest and let the wand clatter to the ground. Themis puffed, lapping up the wand between his lips and presenting it back to the professor. Severus, who was very hesitant at this point, cautiously slid the wand out of its mouth, thankful that the creature wasn’t trying to bait him into tug ‘o war. Fortunately for Themis, Severus was no longer threatening the head and had him right where he wanted. With the wand lowered, Themis took the chance he had…

 

…And licked a long, firm stripe from the tip of Severus’s nose to the man’s hairline.

 

Severus sputtered, stepping even farther back, wiping his face instinctually. Despite the tongue feeling like a damp sponge, there was no actual saliva. How dare this monster lick him!

 

“You insufferable beast,” he snapped at Themis who was blepping his tongue at him. “Lumos Maxima.”

 

An impossibly bright light filled the potion master's office as if the very sun were before him, making his eyes water. He used his other hand to block the light from hurting his eyes more while Themis was hissing frantically, shaking his head from the light irritating his eyes and pulling away from the wand, and wriggling backward through the window. Countering the spell, he quickly shut the windows with a wave of his wand, locking them too so that the runespoor couldn’t get back in. Behind the glass, Themis tilted his head, confused by why the potion master would try to blind him, and pressed his snoot to the clear panes, fogging it with his breathing.

 

Severus sneered at the patronus, taking deliberately slow and triumphant steps to the window, getting the creature's hopes up for attention once more before grabbing the curtains and throwing them together.

 

“And stay out,” he muttered. Severus stayed in place for a moment or two listening to the creature rumble in discontent before the light behind the curtains receded, your patronus giving up on whatever its goal was. When the satisfaction faded, his curiosity took its place. Why did you send your runespoor down to his office? What task had you given it?

 

He wiped at his face, still feeling phantom pressure from Themis’s sudden and surprising gesture.

 

Insufferable beast.

 

The next day, you went into your classes with determination to stay on track with your assignments. Such a shame though that today was a longer day, your classes using up time that could have been spent working on your assignments.

 

“Nobody say or do anything stupid today in class,” Nicholas came jogging around the corner and popping up behind you as you all navigated the last few corridors to the Potions classroom.

 

“I thought that was already a given, but I’ll bite. What happened this time?” you asked.

 

“Ehm—something with a fourth-year Hufflepuff. An exploded cauldron accidentally filled the room with laughing gas. Anyway, he’ll be pissy today, so everyone just be normal and—I don’t know—don’t mess around I guess.” 

 

“Cool. Yeah. Good pep talk,” you snorted.

 

“Merlin, why do the younger years always do this?” Del bemoaned. “They mess up and we have to deal with Snape in his moods.”

 

“If they don’t mess up, they won’t learn. Much like you and a certain paper you’ll be redoing tonight.”

 

“Shut up,” she grumbled, covering her blushing face in embarrassment. “No need to remind me that I misinterpreted the prompt.”

 

All of you entered the classroom quietly and took your seats. Professor Snape wasn’t inside yet, but that was sometimes normal, and it was a bit early anyway. You and Del sat by each other, and H/G/N and Marcella sat together nearby. A few minutes later, Professor Snape strode into the classroom, the door shutting behind him with a subtle flick of his wrist and—

 

Woah.

 

It was almost instantaneous the way he pressed into your mind, eyes only meeting for a millisecond as he paced his way to the front of the classroom. It had been some time since he last made himself at home in your head. You just barely met his pace in clearing any and all previous thoughts, so he was met with a blank screen in the movie theatre of your mind. The fact that he didn’t even need to hold eye contact to stay in your mind was both impressive and…somewhat troubling. His cloak swished as he turned dramatically in place, arms crossed and face hardened. Everyone watched him with closed mouths and slightly widened eyes, waiting in tense anticipation.

 

“We will be revising the Wound-Cleaning Potion with updated instructions,” he drawled, his tone soft yet stiff. He waved his wand and chalk marks began to reveal themselves on the blackboard listing a set of instructions. “You’ll note that they are different from the instructions published in the textbooks. I have altered them in a manner I believe will better prepare you for your NEWTs. Take heed of the differences and how they affect the potion during the brewing process as you work.” He paused, his eyes scanning over you all.

 

“Now.”

 

Everyone’s seats scraped as they quickly memorized the instructions on the board and set off to gather their tools and ingredients. And Snape was…still in your mind. Ignoring the urge to wonder about it to yourself, you absorbed the instructions on the blackboard and went to claim a cauldron and gather your ingredients.

 

The changes were minimal; stewed sea cucumber rather than raw, an ounce more of salamander's blood, and two additional counterclockwise stirs after the last step. Maybe the treatment of the sea cucumber improved the rate of tissue regeneration…

 

Severus smirked lightly to himself at your correct guess.

 

You turned your flame on high and placed the lid on the cauldron to bring it to a boil.

 

“Del. Put the lid on your cauldron,” you said to her as she stared blankly at her cauldron, waiting for the water to start boiling. “Why?”

 

You restrained the urge to roll your eyes. “Putting the lid on traps the heat and helps build pressure, which raises the temperature more quickly, and will get your water to a boiling point faster.” 

 

“Oh! I didn’t know that,” she chirped, putting the lid on. “No wonder you finish early.”

 

Amongst other things, yes.

 

While your water continued to heat, you began to work on prepping and measuring out your other ingredients. Del on the other hand was glancing over at H/G/N and Marcella who were also waiting for their cauldrons to heat and were mouthing words back and forth to each other in conversation. Severus sensed the light annoyance but watched as you decided to do something about it.

 

You waved your hand off to the side of Del’s head to get their attention. When they noticed you, you looked at them sternly and mouthed while gesturing with a knife in hand, “Prepare your other ingredients while it boils.”

 

“But we’re on pace,” H/G/N mouthed back.

 

“And you’re distracting Delilah. If she finishes early alongside me, she’ll have a bit more time to redo her Potion’s paper.”

 

Severus raised an eyebrow to himself. H/G/N visibly puffed at your silent remark, but relented, however not without side-eyeing Marcella and looking back at you with a seemingly mocking expression as you continued on with your work.

 

“Those girls did not deserve your time,” Snape thought to himself as they only measured out a bit of salamander blood and resumed their conversation.

 

With your water bubbling evenly, you took the lid off, pulling your face away from the plume of steam that wafted upwards and dissipated. You added the sea cucumbers and waited another 10 minutes for them to stew, during which you note possible differences in effects in your notebook to compare later. When the cucumbers were stewed, you brought the potion down to just below boiling and added in the salamander blood, turning the once-clear liquid into burbling magma. The last ingredient was six newt tails, however, you had to skin them without shaving off too much of the tissue beneath. It was a very delicate procedure as the potion required an almost exact amount of newt tail matter. 

 

Carefully, you added them in one by one, stirring between each additional tail and waiting for the potion to shift to purple. After the last one dipped below the surface, you turned the stirring rod once clockwise, and four times counterclockwise, and—

 

POOF!

 

Your cauldron coughed, so to speak, a cloud of purple smoke puffing upwards as the potion was now a deep royal purple, the cauldron still huffing and puffing little clouds despite having turned to flame down to a slow, simmering level. Being that the potion naturally smokes when applied, you took this as a good sign. It certainly looked that way, its appearance similar to the first time you brewed this potion in sixth year. 

 

Severus looked away from assessing another student’s work toward you when he felt an unexpected flare of warmth in his head. You had finished your potion, bottling it to give to him at the end of class. By the looks of the color, you brewed it just as well if not better  than last year. As he returned to his desk to get some work done while the rest of the class continued to brew, he began to, once more, feel guilt. He had long since calmed but had spent the majority of the class in your mind. Honestly, he had more than enough willpower not to use Legilimency, but he was still seething before class, and you were right there…

 

Severus sighed quietly to himself. He would do well not to let this repeat. However, just as he was about to pull himself from your mind, he began seeing rapid flashes of colors and images in his own mind. Looking at you, he saw how your gaze targeted the vacant corner of the room by the entrance, your head propped on your palm, and your expression far away and defocused. You had zoned out and your thoughts were leading you elsewhere. He saw the scene build itself; chiseled corridors, window mosaics, talking portraits, mixed stone and tanned marble flooring… It was the interior of a castle, and based on the amount of light it was probably the afternoon, though he was confused. Having spent around two decades roaming these halls, he couldn’t place what part of the castle this was. It definitely wasn’t Hogwarts. Was this…

 

Ilvermorny?

 

He had yet to see a memory from Ilvermorny. 

 

~~~

 

You side-eyed yourself as you passed by a section of hallway decorated with mirrors. Severus could see yourself now. Though not in your previously described uniform, you were some years younger and this was confirmation enough for Severus that this was indeed a memory from your previous schooling. There was an anxious and impatient energy attached to this memory that had significantly dimmed the warmth he normally felt.

 

Your boots thumped harshly on the floor as you strode with purpose, up and up multiple sets of stairs until finally, you came to a grand door with a golden creature embedded in the center. A thunderbird. Its wings were splayed out as if in mid-flight. With haste, you looked over your shoulder to make sure no one was watching and pulled on three of its feathers in a specific order. This triggered a heavy set of clicks, and rather than opening like a regular door, swinging on a set of hinges, The wood split down the middle and pulled itself to the side, allowing you entry. To your liking the common room for the Thunderbirds was empty. Thunderbird was playing Wampus in Quidditch that day, and you used this fact to your advantage. Up another smaller set of stone stairs and through one of the doors, you found yourself in a boys’ dormitory. Worn clothes and snack wrappers were strewn about. Beds were unmade and personal belongings were left on furniture haphazardly. You scanned the unkempt room, locating a particular bed and bedside stand as per instruction. 

 

Toiletries and other miscellaneous rattled and bumped around as you rummaged through the drawer, but could not find what you were looking for. Shutting the drawer, you bent down and looked under the bed and—

 

There in the corner, a wooden box that blended in with the darkness of the covered space.

 

You reached for it, pulling it out only to find it had a lock on it.

 

“Alohomora,” you chanted, aiming your wand at the box. The lock slipped off and fell to the floor and you set the box down on the bed. 

 

Severus winced internally at the sight he was met with. The box had been filled with magazines of the…lewd variety. Based on the way the barely or not at all clothed women had somewhat blurred, you had done your best to ignore the displays at the time, your focus on something else. 

 

You stopped, your hand finding the outlier amongst the magazines. An envelope. Written on it was a woman’s name. Felicity. Thumbing the envelope open, you dipped your hand inside and felt several polaroids. You didn’t look. You didn’t need to. 

 

The memory began to change, shifting some hours ahead to what looked to be dinner. 

 

You waited by the entrance of the Dining Hall, students passing by to take their seats and enjoy their evening meal. You locked eyes with a girl with long, strawberry-blonde hair and an upturned nose who walked alone. Cocking your head off to the side, you gestured for her to step out from the parade of students to speak with her in private. 

 

“I got them,” you affirmed quietly, eyes flicking over the nearby students and staff.

 

“You did?” She gasped as you discreetly handed her the envelope. “Oh, thank Merlin. I can’t let him show anyone those pictures of me. I don’t know when he even took them!” Felicity took the envelope from you but tensed. “You… You didn’t look, did you?”

 

“I didn’t.” Your mood became more hurried, more frantic. “Do you have what I asked for?”

 

“Yes, yes I do,” she patted her clothes, locating an ornately carved key the length of her hand. “Thank you, again, I—”

 

You snatched the key from her and bolted, weaving your way through the oncoming traffic of students. 

 

It was beginning to feel cold in your mind like someone left a window open during the winter. He watched in tense curiosity, listening to the way your heartbeat echoed in both your minds, feeling as though he was about to be graced with some sort of crescendo. What were you running to? And why did it feel so desperate? 

 

Your thighs burned once again as you stomped up many more staircases, not once stopping your sprint as you threw yourself around corridor corners, almost slipping each time. Finally, you happened upon a stretch of hallway that led to a dead end. At the far end was a set of doors with two eagle gargoyles perched on each side. You fumbled the key into the hole, turning the heavy lock with an audible click and pushing your way inside. 

 

Snape had no time to note the decorations of the new environment. It was clear it was an office space or quarters of some sort. Whose, he didn’t know. You begin opening drawers and cabinets like a mad woman, muttering frantically to yourself as if in a rush. There was a moment where you stopped before raising your hand out in front of you. 

 

“Accio snowglobe!” 

 

A treasure box on the top of a bookshelf popped open, a snow globe flying through the air and into your hands. As soon as the seemingly innocent object met your fingertips, Severus felt your immense relief, but the coldness persisted. And hadn’t he seen that snow globe somewhere before?

 

“Finally,” you whispered victoriously to yourself, not noticing the shadow that had fallen on you from behind.

 

“Miss L/N!” a displeased, authoritarian voice bellowed—

~~~

 

“Y/N!” Del said, shaking you almost roughly and snapping you from memory so hard that Severus could feel himself being booted from your mind without warning. He blinked rapidly, frowning at the girl who shook you from your thoughts. 

 

“Wha—” you looked at her. “What is it?”

 

“I said your name like five times,” Del quirked her brows in confusion.

 

“Oh, um,” you rubbed your eyes. “What’s up?”

 

“You’re making it snow in my cauldron.”

 

It was then that you realized that your wand was in your hand and when you looked up, snowflakes were appearing out of thin air and flailing delicately over your and Del’s station. You released the piece of wood and the snowflakes stopped generating, the remaining flakes melting into the station’s surface upon contact. 

 

“Sorry,” you murmured. Del said nothing, returning her attention to her notes. Your eyes drifted to the invisible scars on your right hand, a quiet sense of sadness rippling through you as your other hand clasped it, thumb gently stroking along the knuckles.

 

“Finished, I presume?” Professor Snape’s baritone voice sounded somewhere in front of you. You flicked your eyes up momentarily from the surface of the desk to see him standing in front of Del and her cauldron. 

 

“Oh, yes, Professor,” she set her quill down, straightening up. Professor Snape lifted the lid of her cauldron and poured some into a bottle, analyzing it without the color of the cauldron tainting the hue of the potion. It was a good shade and had a low viscosity, but it could be smokier as there was somewhat of a lack of symptomatic puffs.

 

“Exceeds Expectations. Ensure that the tails you select are of equal length…and perhaps lower your flame more in the final few steps.”

 

Del nodded in understanding, content that she got at least a passing grade. Snape’s dark robes moved into your vision and you didn’t react much. You eyed him momentarily before looking away, head resting in your palm, and slid the uncorked bottle to him. The puffs of smoke were small but dense, like an adorable little chimney. Professor Snape picked up the bottle and swirled it lightly, examining how the liquid moved, lingering for a moment before he took the lid off your cauldron. He was blasted in the face by the built-up purple smoke that was trapped beneath the lid. When he pulled back the smoke started to flow more evenly there was still an impressive amount.

 

“Merlin, Y/N,” Del said in surprise. “How’d you do that?”

 

There was no real answer, really. You had a lot of experience brewing Wound Cleaning potions, even before Hogwarts. A lot. That experience just happened to give you an edge this time.

 

“Mmf,” you grunted evasively into your hand.

 

In the almost twenty years he’s taught at Hogwarts, this was by far one of, if not, the best brew of the Wound Cleaning potion he’d ever seen by the amount of smoke it produced alone. The color was also perfect and the thickness was like that of water. You never stopped surprising him.

 

“Stay behind after the bell, Miss. And do not empty that cauldron,” 

 

You nodded silently, Del looked between the two of you perplexed as he swept off to another group of students.

 

“That was weird. He didn’t even give you a grade,” she whispered.

 

You rubbed the expanse of your face with your palms. “…already know what I got…” you mumbled before taking out your Potions paper to work on for the remaining fifteen or so minutes.

 

When the distant bell thrummed, you packed up a bit slower than usual, allowing the other students to naturally fill out first. You and H/G/N looked at one another and affirmatively mouthed ‘library’ to each other just before she exited the classroom.

 

When the two of you were alone, you had expected him to start the conversation with something along the lines of your potion or Lupin’s upcoming Wolfsbane needs. Instead, he stood tall, arms crossed with a calm expression and said this:

 

“Your runespoor got into my office last night.”

 

Those eight words made you pale, your face falling into an expression of panic. “No he didn’t,” you murmured back, not in an attempt to lie but in disbelieving denial. Snape raised an eyebrow at that reaction.

 

“Indeed it did. Sometime before curfew your patronus opened the windows into my chambers and decided to let itself in.”

 

Your hands rose to cover your face, now blushing in deep embarrassment as you groaned, mortified. Why—Why Runey? Why must you do this to meeee….

 

“Oh m’god, I’m so sorry,” you uttered from behind your hands. “Please tell me he didn’t do anything weird.”

 

The potion master bit the inside of his cheek before saying, “Themis in particular had the audacity to lick me.”

 

An awkward moment of silence passed between the two of you before you inhaled deeply.

 

“Excuse me for one moment.”

 

You turned around slowly and drew your wand up, pointing it at the ceiling so that his body wouldn't knock the potion stations around. Summoning your patronus, Runey manifested and hung about in the air, much of his body floating above him as you ordered Themis down to you. The head rumbled in anticipation of some pets but grunted in confusion when you smacked him across his snoot with a rolled-up copy of the morning paper from your bag.

 

“You had one job . One. Job. And you do not go invading people’s personal space,” you scolded the creature. 

 

Themis only blinked back at you, holding your gaze for a few moments before deciding to lap at your face. You shoved him away in simmering frustration, ultimately releasing the grip on your wand and forcing the patronus to disappear. Apparently, Themis had no idea what discipline was.

 

Severus watched on for a second more in mild surprise before he spoke again.

 

“Why did you send your patronus to my office?”

 

You flinched slightly at the question, turning around once more but avoiding eye contact with him, playing with the material of your robes.

 

“I…just…got an off feeling when you passed me in the halls before dinner yesterday and…sent him to check on you…”

 

His fingers twitched in front of his stomach, a self-conscious feeling buzzing in his chest. You sent the beast in order to…check on him?

 

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you. He was only supposed to look through the window and come back. It sounds like he did plenty more on his own volition.”

 

Severus observed you passively. He certainly wasn’t…against how you looked right now, all flustered and bashful, wanting to hide yourself in the collar of your uniform. You were apologizing for something that was, at most, a mild inconvenience even though your intentions were purely out of concern for him.

 

Endearing.

 

“And pray tell,” he started once more, an imperceptible glint of amusement in his eye, “how was he to communicate the state I may or may not have been in the previous evening given that you are not a parselmouth?”

 

“He and I have ways of getting our point across,” you murmured. Ohmygod-ohmygod-ohmygod this was so embarassiiiiing. Themis fucking licked Professor Snape. He basically kissed him. Or smelled him extra hard…? Still not sure whether runespoors smell with both their tongues and nostrils or exclusively with tongues like snakes do… “Anyways,” you huffed, shoving your embarrassment down and readjusting your bag on your shoulders. “If that is all, I’m going to drown myself in the Black Lake before I make a fool of  myself further,” you declared wryly.

 

A low puff came from the professor that might've been a snort of amusement. “That is not necessary, Miss. I just ask that you not send him to my office again, solid or not. Lumos Maxima is not very easy on the eyes.”

 

Your head cocked slightly in curiosity as you tried to make sense of the meaning of his last statement. Did Lumos Maxima work on forcing Runey out of his office…? Definitely make sure to write that down in the Patronus Notebook later.

 

“However…” he started again more cautiously. “If you would like to show your remorse more demonstratively…I am in need of a second pair of hands…before it gets dark.”

 

You raised your brows. “For ingredient gathering?”

 

“Yes. A certain species of algae has bloomed on the rockier part of the shore and I feel not harvesting it in the most efficient manner after the selkies leave the beach would be rather…inopportune…”

 

OOF. Wow. The effort it took to restrain yourself from blurting out the word ‘yes’ was astounding. You really, really wanted to go outside today, but you also really, really wanted to have your work finished by Friday night. A part of you screamed, “You deserve a break,” but your reprieve would be the weekend anyway. His offer was only for an hour. Granted, you needed every hour you could get… Maybe you could do both? Just wake up a bit earlier than usual and get more done…? You had a feeling this would end up biting you in the ass, but…

 

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out. “Yeah, let’s do it. Let’s go.”

***

 

You should’ve listened to the little voice in your head that told you it was a bad idea to go with Professor Snape yesterday evening. Of all the times to give attention to any voice in your head, that was when you should’ve obeyed. You had it all written out in your planner too, when to leave dinner and meet up with H/G/N and company as well as how long you stayed. But it had been thrown out of whack, and now you had to reap what you sowed. What was supposed to be an hour-long excursion turned into a little over two hours. Severus Snape, with his lack of patience for people and circumstances not bending to his will, got snippy with the selkies that basked in the setting sun who were keen on absorbing as much light as they desired before returning to darkened depths. Snape’s attitude toward them had made them spiteful and they began to play games with one another on the algae-covered rocks. Well, their pettiness was matched by Snape’s desire to collect ingredients, and unfortunately, he drew his wand.

 

That was his first mistake. Because like elves, selkies had certain wandless magic, like snapping their webbed fingers and disarming the professor mere seconds after threatening them. What proceeded from there was a 45-minute hunt for his wand as the selkies dove into the water, wand in the leader’s teeth, and chittered tauntingly as they proceeded to swim far from the shore and down into the depths of the Black Lake. At first, he had used your wand, with your permission to cast spells at them from a distance, but once they swam beneath the surface, there was only one thing to resort to, and that was Runey. You’re not sure what exactly took place beneath the surface, but eventually, Runey came back with Snape’s wand and the two of you were able to proceed properly as planned. However, the delay resulted in a very frustrated Professor Snape, both of you missing dinner, and you lost time. Sure, you had food in your room, but not a proper meal that would give you the necessary brain power to charge through the remainder of your work.

 

H/G/N and the others had wondered where you were, and knowing Del had heard Professor Snape asking you to stay behind, you had to come up with an excuse.

 

“He wanted to try testing potions on my runespoor,” you had offered, and thankfully, they didn’t push for more information. You stayed in the library with them until curfew took effect in which you then got more work done in the common room. You stayed up in the common room until midnight only to wake up at four to get even more time with your papers, leaving you with just two to finish after classes: Transfiguration and Potions. 

 

Whatever. You’d sleep in until the Apparition Exams on Saturday.

 

Running on four hours of sleep was, needless to say, rough, especially when most if not all your classes today were lectures to prepare for next week. In DADA, you had nodded off and smacked your head against your desk, prompting Lupin to ask you after class if your lack of sleep was due to nightmares again. In Herbology, your tired body almost fell captive to a venomous Tentacula when you leaned against the wall for support, haphazardly placing yourself too close to the plants' predatory vines, and worst of all, though not a personal blow for you but still inciting frustration with your house, you lost Slytherin a few points in Transfiguration. Your tiredness had caused you to misunderstand the questions she was asking you and she interpreted your confused responses as trying to be funny.

 

And Potions… You honest to god couldn’t even remember what happened in Potions. You didn’t speak and sat in the back this time, just wanting time to pass faster so you could meet your fate in the library afterwards. The notes you took were super sloppy and would require deciphering at a later date to recall what the hell you revised/learned. 

 

At dinner, if you could even call it that, you tried not to eat too much of “dinner,” not wanting to end up so full you go into a food coma. Rather you ate a light dinner, but stuffed your face with cake afterward, intending to use the sugar rush to your advantage. You knew the eventual crash would be your doom, but you needed the high to get through your remaining papers. As the hours passed, the group began to break off. 

 

Marcella finished an hour after dinner.

 

Then it was Del, needing to fit in a quick nap before Astronomy Class.

 

And then it was H/G/N who reminded you to keep an eye on the clock for curfew. She would be on duty tonight for rounds for certain parts of the castle, but she couldn’t guarantee she’d be able to save you should you fall asleep.

 

The last paragraph. The home stretch. Your vision was so blurry, your eyelids pulling down like anchors on ships in the watery storm of your sight. Your wrist trembled and ached with each passing sentence, each stroke and mark drawing you one step closer to the freedom you had allowed yourself. You’d barely get down to the dungeons in time for curfews when you finished.

 

Five more sentences. You were now laid against the table, head hovering within an inch of the paper as you desperately tried to stay awake and focus.

 

Four more sentences. The pen scratches intensely despite your significantly weakened grip, the stickiness of ink leaving an unpleasant feeling on your nails.

 

Three more sentences. Your sweatshirt covered arm felt like a great pillow for your head, your hand beginning to slow.

 

Two more sentences. The single light you had to illuminate your work began to fade in your narrowing vision.

 

One more sentence.

 

“Though left behind, they still held society's hand and led us to the future.”

 

“F…

 

U…

 

T…

 

U…

 

R…

.

.

.

 .

     .

                .

                           

The darkness of the castle enveloped the potion master like a bat in the night, expertly navigating the corridors in near silence, his footsteps no louder than the slightest breeze. Severus was assigned the lower floors for rounds tonight, the most favorable outcome for him. He didn’t expect to find any students tonight, most getting much-needed rest after studying for upcoming final exams, especially the older years who had Apparition Exams the following day.

 

As he rounded a corner, he caught sight of someone walking the hall ahead of them with their wand lit. Odd considering he was the only one assigned this floor. He assumed it was a student, and they were, but it was merely H/G/N doing Prefect rounds. This was not her designated route, however…

 

When he was about to speak out to her the girl paused by the Library entrance, hesitating for a second or so before decidingly entering the haven of books. Severus frowned, following after the disappearing glow of her wand with steps as quiet as a mouse. He could see her moving between tables and shelves toward something on the far side of the library. A soft glow, one more golden-like candlelight rather than the white light that resulted from the Lumos spell.

 

H/G/N came to a halt as she found the source of the light and sighed in commiseration. She had warned you about the curfew time and here you were, asleep at the table with your work strewn about. It was kind of cute though. She had known you to be studious, but seeing you like this had reminded you that you were just as susceptible to the obstacles of school as anyone else was, oftentimes viewing you as a potion god.

 

“Y/N—”

 

“H/G/N,” Snape drawled softly.

 

H/G/N jumped, trying to keep her startled squeak muffled. Whipping around she saw Professor Snape standing some feet within the light of her wand, with a look of light curiosity on his face. He eyed your sleeping form on the table, allowing none of his inner thoughts to show as he addressed the Head Girl.

 

“If I am not mistaken, the library is not part of your route.”

 

“I—er, no it’s not. I just…had a feeling. Me, Y/N, and a few friends have been working on our papers together these past few days and Y/N looked especially ghastly this morning, like she barely got any sleep, and she was the last of us to stay in the library earlier…”

 

Yes, your tiredness had not been lost on him when you trudged into his class and tried to hide your insufficient physical state in the back of his class, but he presumed it to be because of nightmares. But schoolwork…

 

Is that why he hadn’t been able to locate you two days ago? You weren’t available because you were being a good student... Of course.

 

“I shall handle this. Do continue with your patrolling.”

 

“Oh, please don’t give her detention, Professor, " she whispered pleadingly. “She’s been working hard and keeping us in line so that we didn’t procrastinate—”

 

“When I want your input on how to handle those who break curfew, I’ll ask for it,” he said stiffly, flicking his wand off to the side, gesturing for her to take her leave. 

 

She sighed beneath her breath, “Yes, Professor. Good night,” and took her leave. 

 

Severus waited until the sound of her fading footsteps could no longer be heard before approaching you further, stopping at your side.

 

Your breaths rose and fell slowly in deep sleep, head semi-cradled by your crossed arms. The glow of the lamp light highlighted the ink all over your hands and face, or at least the part of your face he could see, rubbed along your cheek, brow bone and temple. His gaze drifted along to the open planner that laid next to a few books, entailing your schedule. What he saw, however, made him frown. 

*Schedule so that you have no weekend homework :D*

 

Thursday

 

Free Period: LIBRARY Finish DADA Paper

After Potions: Shower 

6:45pm - 9:45pm: LIBRARY Transfig. Paper + Potions (leave at curfew), continue in COMMON ROOM until 11.

 

5:00pm - 6:00pm: Prof. Snape ingredient harvesting

 

5:00pm - 7:20pm: Prof Snape ingredient harvesting, eat when???

 

7:30pm - 9:45pm: LIBRARY Finish Transfig . +  work on Potions (leave at curfew), continue in COMMON ROOM until 12.

 

(Friday) 4:00am: wake up and finish rest of Transfig.

 

Friday

 

4:00am: wake up Finish Transfig.

 

Free Period: Read for Charms DUE

 

After Potions: Read for Charms DUE

6:45pm to 9:45pm: FINISH POTIONS!!! 

 

 

Severus’s finger trailed over the parts you had crossed out and rewritten, digesting the schedule. You had planned your homework around not having to do any of it on the weekend with Apparition Exams. And apparently… his requesting your assistance had imposed an unexpected delay. But why had you crammed all this work towards the end of the week? Why didn’t you do any of it earlier when…

 

You were sick…

 

Ah. This schedule had been based on your illness as well.

 

He looked at you, a sense of pity and fondness spreading in his chest. You foolish girl. You should’ve told him ‘no’ yesterday. He’d have understood why. He saw the way you had hesitated when he asked you to accompany him, thinking it would only take an hour. Even more so, you didn’t get to eat dinner yesterday while he was able to summon a house elf to his chambers. And you got such little sleep…

 

Severus pulled a small handkerchief out of his robes and poured a little bit of water from your water bottle onto it before delicately swiping away a few locks of your hair to better show your face. He took the cloth to your skin and gently began to wipe away the ink above your eye. You didn’t wake then, thankfully, but when he moved on to your cheek, your nose wrinkled.

 

“Morpheus…” you mumbled.

 

Severus felt the corners of his mouth momentarily tug upwards. He could imagine how the damp cloth might’ve felt like your patronus’s tongue. The fingers of his other hand lingered within your hairline while he finished with the ink, the tips twitching and gently combing through your scalp, his thumb running lightly along the length of the scar on that side. Even though they had gotten better, he really hated these scars. Granted they weren’t his to bear and he couldn’t see them, especially since you had stopped parting your hair down the middle into two braids, favoring other styles that suited you more. Still, the fact that they lurked beneath…

 

And he had been completely unaware that night. The portraits must’ve seen it all though, assuming it was some sort of prank.

 

It killed him to think that.

 

“Mm-nh,” you let out a low noise of protest, your eyebrows knitting together as you moved your head in your arms to completely obscure your face from the professor. Tucking the cloth back in his robes, Severus debated on what to do. You really needed to get to bed, but he also didn’t want to disturb your peace, even though it didn’t take precedence over the fact that you were out past curfew. And to carry you? Well, that… That was simply the less logical choice of the two. He could run into H/G/N again or students who were still awake in the common room. And besides, you could rouse at any moment, so wouldn’t it be better to wake you anyway without it being with the two of you in a compromising position?

 

Yes it would be.

 

And so, he picked up the book you had last been using as a reference, a thick one at that, and raised it in the air, preparing to drop it on the table with a loud smack. That would certainly startle you awake. He adjusted the book in his grip as he looked down at you, fingers urging themselves to lift away from the leather cover and…

 

His jaw shifted, biting the inside of his cheek.

 

He couldn’t do it.

 

Weak.

 

With an inaudible, relenting sigh, he carefully placed the book in your bag, along with the rest of your belongings, and summoned a house-elf. The house-elf almost got out a cheery greeting but was sufficiently silenced by a glare and a finger held up to his mouth, referring to the current circumstances of the darkened setting and sleeping student. Breathlessly soft, the potion master instructed the elf to take your bag to your room. He’d need free hands for what he was about to do.

 

The house elf took care to apparate away quietly. Severus eyed you over once more as he planned how to make this work. First, he applied the Feather Light Charm to you so you’d be, well, light as a feather. Very carefully, he tugged at you from the back of your sweatshirt, pulling your hunched-over self back so you were no longer lying on the table. Tucking the still-lit wand in his trouser pocket, tip still out and illuminating the space around him, he lowered himself a little, hooking one arm under your knees and the other around your mid-to-lower back. With a strong grip, but not hard enough to disturb you, he lifted you up from the chair and—

 

Thump!

 

Severus cursed internally, his body tensing up in preparation. Of all the bloody… He had just, quite firmly, knocked your knees against the edge of the table, sure to leave light bruising in the morning. Frozen, he waited for your stirring, a yelp of surprise, a whimper of pain…but nothing. Miraculously, that hadn’t woken you up. 

 

With even more caution he maneuvered you out of your seat and began to leave with you in his arms. Your head rested against the crux of his shoulder, something that made his heartbeat quicken irrationally. The gentle snore’s of portraits filled the halls as he kept his steps even, worried that the bounce of his usual stride would be too interfering. Whispering the password to the common room, he breathed a sigh when he found no student’s occupying the shared space. With a bit of some tricky wandless magic, he was able to make the door handle of your door push down and used your shoes to nudge it open gently. 

 

Balled up parchment littered your desk from the day you had gotten sick. Your bed hadn’t been made which was convenient for him as he lowered you down onto the soft mattress and pulled the duvet covers up to your neck. He saw that the house elf indeed delivered the bag, resting at the foot of your bed by a trunk. His eyes flit back over you, an implacable feeling as if something was missing, or something still needed to be done.

 

No. There is nothing else. You did your job. It would be proper to leave.

 

However, Severus hesitated one last time, the soft pads of his fingers returning to that same spot along your hairline, smoothing out a few baby hairs. 

 

“You must cease with your selflessness,” he murmured. “I am not deserving of it.”

 

And then he left, your room no longer illuminated, silence ticking, your alarm clock passing a full minute as the atmosphere was ladened with something clandestine. Confident the potion master was gone you shot your arm out, grabbing the stuffed runespoor, burying your face against it and wiggling frantically side from side, face blazing in utter self-consciousness and confusion.

 

Oh my god.

Notes:

*CACKLES WITH GLEE*

Chapter 59: Birds Of A Feather

Summary:

After the Apparition Exams, Reader finds solace in the company of a new friend who matches her freak, much to Severus's discontent.

Songs referenced:

Twin Tribes - Monolith (Slowed and Reverbed) https://youtu.be/ieJ-uXYWAwI?si=MCKiWGbJBeOGTUGl
(this version is intended for the fic)

Twin Tribes - Monolith Original https://youtu.be/i1pw9IHEqNw?si=7gs_Tq9PaxM1ZuGk

I know it’s not an 80-90’s song but it definitely sounds like a dark wave one

Notes:

jealous snape jealous snape i love jealous snape

cw: use of weed

15 years old.

 

To Y/F/N L/N:

Dad, I’m using someone else’s bird to send this letter. The Headmaster found out about the port key. I don’t know how. Someone must’ve gone through my stuff. I swear I wasn’t flaunting it, either. He’s furious and says I’m going to be in really big trouble. Please help. I don’t know what to do.

.

.

.

Dad, whatever you did, thank you, but the Headmaster won’t return the port key to me. He only said that he was going to keep it in his office for security reasons. Fuck him. I’m stealing it back. 

.

.

.

Happy New Year,

Thank you again for the Queen album. I was able to steal the port key back as soon as we all came back from Winter Break. That fool doesn’t change his office password often enough.

.

.

.

The Headmaster found out I stole it back. I gave him a fake when he confronted me. Please write back. 

.

.

.

This place sucks. I hate it here. The rules are so restrictive. I feel Iike I can’t be myself. No one seems to get me. Do OWLs and NEWTs matter that much? How do employers even check for that sort of thing? I could just live like I always have in the no-maj world. Please write back.

.

.

.

I got into a fight recently. They got a blue eye, I got zilch. Any thoughts on that, or have you stopped reading my letters? Write back.

.

.

.

Write back. This week has been hell.

.

.

.

Fuck you. Write back.

 

***

 

In the hour after breakfast, older students took to congregating in the courtyard, chattering in a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. It was Apparition Exam day, an important milestone for every learning witch and wizard, being able to pass the exams and legally obtaining the right to travel instantaneously, and if feeling mischievous, pop up on some poor victim and scare the living daylights out of them. It was almost like a Hogsmeade weekend, those who tested first or were waiting to be tested could meander about the village and relax for a little while. Poor younger years. They were jealous of their older siblings who got a free Hogsmeade weekend, some even urging the test takers to “get them a snack while they were in the village.” There wasn’t a cloud in the sky either, not that the weather had any impact on the structure of the exam, but still. It was almost a perfect day to be out.

 

Except…

 

“Is this really necessary?”

 

Guards. 

 

Your father had arranged for guards to protect you on Apparition Exam day. 

 

The two aurors, both men who’ve escorted you to various places in the past, greeted you in the courtyard, their militaristic robes an ominous warning to those who looked at them curiously or dared to pull any funny business. You stuck out like a sore thumb, not that you usually didn’t with your no-maj clothes, but their presence didn’t help. Their expressions were hardened but in cool control, an intimidating facade mixed with years of experience with tragedy and training. Both of them adorned a scar in different spots on their face, yet another trait that enhanced the automatic danger and hidden chaos of their positions.

 

“Yes,” one of the gruffed. His name was Cliff, you didn’t know his last name. The other guard was Hawke. The same went for him. “Information about the Apparition Exams is public knowledge, and with your interview detailing who you are related to, your capabilities, and the school being your current place of residence, it is unwise to be ill-prepared for any surprises.”

 

They had their orders. Even with select staff escorting the group to the village, your guards were to walk with you, be present for your examination, and depart upon the assurance of your passing. Your peers openly stared at you, some blinking and looking away quickly when you met their eyes. A few had even tried to approach you and chat, but when stopped by the guards from getting too close, decided it wasn’t worth it.

 

The staff monitoring you all today would be Professor Snape, Professor Lupin, and Professor Flitwick. Snape entered the courtyard carrying a crate of purple potions—

 

Oh. OH! That's why he had asked you to leave your cauldron behind! In case of splinching during the exams. You felt heat creep up your face. Your brew was that good, huh? As you watched him speak to Flitwick, your mind drifted back to last night, and you felt yourself blushing for a different reason. You had awoken to a feeling of pain in your knees and general weightlessness in your body. When you creaked your eyes open, you realized two things: you were still in the library and someone was holding you. The smell of musk and lavender told you it was Professor Snape and you quickly shut your eyes. Why? Well, frankly, you just didn’t want to make it awkward by asking what he was doing while he was carrying you. And in your sleepiness, part of you was too tired to care. The press of his robes against you was so soft, and the signature scent of his cloak was too comforting. 

 

But then it got too real when you felt yourself hit your mattress, his fingers smoothing along your scalp and you thought, why the hell did he decide to carry you? Why didn’t he just wake you up in the library?

 

Why the risk?

 

You had spent a good minute punching your pillow this morning, blushing over what it might’ve looked like with him in your arms. He had carried you like that before when you were attacked, but this time around it wasn’t necessary. 

 

He chose to put himself in that position.

 

Severus’s grip shifted on the crate when he noticed you in the corner. You had guards with you. Why did you have guards with you? You didn’t appear to be too happy about that, your lips pressed in a firm line. They stood rigid but ready on either side of you as you leaned up against one of the cloisters, nodding your head along to some music. Would these guards be with you for the entirety of the exam? And how strict were they going to be in your interaction with others?

 

“Alright, everyone!” Flitwick announced. “Let's get moving!”

 

You and your guards remained behind everyone on the walk to Hogsmeade. Even behind Professor Snape who was supposed to be “herding” everyone. Every now and then, students would look back at you and your guards, whispering to themselves. You hated this, despite the reason being for safety. It was the inherent attention that came with power or fame. It made you feel like a sideshow attraction, something to behold and criticize. You feared normalcy was something you might never have again.

 

Upon arriving at the village, a witch and a wizard from the Ministry met with you all, explaining how the examination would take place as they handed out papers to everyone. On the list we’re the names of every participating student and the order in which they’d be called to apparate. The Protean Charm applied to the parchments would cross out the names on all the lists when said student did their exam, allowing those who have yet to go to gauge how much free time they had before and after.

 

“I’ll give you 100 galleons each if you take me to muggle London after my test,” you murmured to your guards.

 

They remained silent.

 

“200?” You upped the ante. Nothing. “500?”

 

“You cannot bribe us into taking you to the muggle world, Y/N. Especially after you pass. We’re not fools,” Hawke said.

 

“Now then!” The witch’s voice cut through the air. “Everyone, have a look at the list and see where you’ve been placed. A reminder to those of age: do not consume any alcohol prior to your examination lest you want to risk losing your head.”

 

Your eyes scanned the list and you couldn’t believe your luck.

 

Out of all the students, 5th!

 

“Well!” You smiled triumphantly, flashing the paper at them and tapping on your name. “Looks like you two won’t be sticking around for long.”

 

Cliff rolled his eyes. “Just doing our jobs.”

 

“Alright! Let’s get started,” the other instructor said, triggering students to break off or linger behind to watch. “Bethany Burkins!”

 

A girl with short, straight black hair that stopped just past her chin stepped forward from the crowd, nervously picking at her equally black tights. A small wooden stage had been placed at the beginning of the street, and the village informed about the exams that would be taking place. The girl walked up a few steps and onto the wooden platform and was joined by the wizard. 

 

“As the same with the rest of few, Miss Burkins and I will apparate to another village some miles away and it will be your job to apparate back here on your own without injury.” The wizard turned to her, offering his arm. “Are you ready Miss Burkins?”

 

The girl looked around her, absorbing her surroundings and committing her exact spot to memory before nodding at the wizard and placing her hand on his arm.

 

“Let us begin.”

 

And then they disappeared. All of you, or at least those who stayed back, watched in baited silence. A moment later, the wizard returned by himself, smoothing out his robes before clasping his hands behind his back and eyeing the spot they had stood previously. About thirty seconds later, there was a crack and Bethany Burkins stumbled back into existence without any visible affliction or harm.

 

“Well done, Miss Burkins! Well done!” 

 

Everyone clapped and the girl breathed a sigh of relief, all smiles as the instructor cast a spell on her, one that signaled to the Ministry that the person could now apparate legally.

 

“Pierre Dartmouth.”

 

The first student’s success had cast a blanket of relief and confidence over the rest of you, smoothing the tension that had wound you all into bundles of nerves.

 

Pierre was successful in his performance, apparatting back with a little bit more grace than Bethany had. As was the next student.

But then…

 

“AHHHHHHH!!!” 

 

A blood-curdling scream. The girl before you had apparated back but had splinched her hand clean off, the fingers of the severed hand still gripping her wand. The witch instructor and Professor Snape quickly descended on her, Snape with a potion in hand, their backs blocking the sight as everyone else remained frozen in fear. Purple smoke puffed around them from the potion and when it cleared, the girl’s hand was reattached, though she gripped her wrist shuddering and whimpering as if it was going to fall off again.

 

“There there, now. Accidents happen,” the witch declared, Lupin coming to the student’s side and taking her away to calm her as the instructors continued with the examination. “Next up, please. Y/N L/N!”

 

Your guards looked at you expectantly to step up to the stage. Rather, you had taken a step back, the previous splinching landing a blow on your nerves as you paled. Students started to look at you now, as did your teachers. 

 

“Y/N L/N?” The instructor called once more, eyes searching the crowd.

 

Hawke placed a hand on your back. “Go on. It’ll be alright. You’re very capable, Y/N. If there’s a splinching they’ll be ready to heal you.” After a slight nudge, you managed to take some shaky steps forward and eventually approach the stage. Your boots clomped heavily against the creaky wood as you took your place next to the wizard on stage.

 

“Take a good look around you, Miss, and place your hand on my arm when you’re ready.”

 

Your eyes darted around the students, your guards, the trees that lined the entrance to Hogsmeade…

 

Professor Snape, who was staring at you with anticipation and light concern…

 

You looked away, and placed your hand on the wizard’s arm.

 

Your view swirled and warped, and both of you landed in a village that was just as nice as Hogsmeade, though the buildings were taller and the streets wider, accommodating the larger population.

 

“Where are we?” You questioned.

 

“Quillsborough,” the wizard replied. “About 5 miles away from Hogsmeade. With experience after graduation, however, you’ll be able to apparate almost 500 miles.” The wizard stepped away and faced you. “Now, you must apparate back. Remember the Three D’s, Miss: Deliberation, Destination, Determination.”

 

And then the wizard was gone.

 

You stood in place letting the slight breeze blow over you, a wave of resentment washing over you as you took a moment to look at your wand.

 

I hate you .

 

You never asked for these lessons, for this ability. It was just another thing that would make you feel different from your people. From no-majs. But you had no choice. The people in your life just meddle, meddle, meddle… 

 

A few months. Just a few more months until freedom. This was just another temporary hurdle. Focus on that. On freedom. 

 

Pass, and you’re one step closer.

 

You blew out a long breath, twirling the wand in your fingers and lowering it down to your side. 

 

The trees. The stage. Your guards.

 

Your freedom.

 

Spinning in place, you felt yourself squeeze and twist, and when you opened your eyes you were no longer in the village of Quillsborough, but back on the stage in Hogsmeade. Immediately, you patted over your body, trying to register any pain, aches, or blood, but you felt nothing but your thumping heart. 

 

“Congratulations, Miss L/N! Well done!” The wizard beamed. The onlooking students began to clap as the instructor stepped in front of you cast a spell that made your vision see sparkles before fading away almost immediately. You hastily lept off the stage, your guards rejoining you.

 

“Good job,” Cliff offered.

 

“Whatever,” you sniffed. “You guys can leave. If there’s trouble I can now legally apparate, so…”

 

They both nodded. “We’ll let your father know your results.”

 

You narrowed your eyes before responding in a mocking voice, “We’Ll LeT yOuR fAtHeR kNoW—get the hell out of here already.”

 

Used to your indignation, they took their leave without another word and you finally felt like you could breathe again. You never wanted to be rude to the men and women who were just instructed by your father to do their jobs, but Jesus Christ it was so annoying. You don’t need this type of attention. Taking a deep breath, you tried to shake off the lingering negativity and set off to enjoy the village.

***

 

Students, locals, and travelers alike hustled and bustled up and down High Street, each shop advertising their new spring products. The flower shop was booming and had been since the start of spring, with new colorful arrangements made up of local and foreign fauna lining the windows. There was even a little boy handing out single yellow tulips to people who he thought could use cheering up and ladies he found pretty.

 

Spring attire for witches and wizards did not look much different to you in comparison to any other season. Yes, cloaks became thinner and/or shorter, and sure, color-wise robes aired on the pastel or floral side, but compositionally, it was all the same. Such an opinion would probably have you scorned in pureblooded high society. “A closer inspection of these particular robes reveals a more subtly flared collar, an increased thread count, and lavender lining in the hems—” Blah Blah Blah who cares. You s’posed women had it easier. Dresses weren’t necessarily deemed inherently “muggle,” as there were dresses that resembled robes and robes that resembled dresses. Nevertheless, it granted an advantage for witches wanting a more airy feel on their legs in the hotter days of the season. 

 

Honeydukes appeared to be especially popular today, with students who have yet to take their exam and those passing through lining up to enter the shop. Those toward the back of the line, a line that was so long it stretched out of the shop and was leaking into High Street, kept glancing at the Apparation Examinee list in their hands, hoping to at least purchase their goodies before having to take their exam. A sign in the window advertised that Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans had come out with even more flavors, ironic given the name. You had no desire for the product, but the shop was known to make its own fudge, and they sold a limited quantity batch that contained toffee, a treat you thought went very well with hot chocolate or tea. Left with pretty much all the time in the world, you hopped in line, chalking the wait up to the fact that the shop had been bombarded out of nowhere by the students and that the line would slowly filter and shorten. However, almost twenty minutes later, you found yourself standing in the same spot, not a single inch forward, and even more people behind you.

 

“What the hell is with this line? What’s taking so long?” you grumbled to yourself.

 

“How long has it been like this?” A student behind you asked. 

 

“About twenty minutes.”

 

“Bloody hell!” they exclaimed looking toward the front in exasperation, but their gaze shifted as they spotted a friend whose spot in line was directly beneath the doorway. “Oi! Garrett! What’s the hold-up?”

 

Garret looked back, spotting his friend, and murmured something to the person beside him in line before stepping out and trotting over.

 

“There’s this really scary bloke blocking the counter. I think he’s a vampire!” he exclaimed hushed, as if said individual could hear him.

 

“A vampire?” you snorted doubtfully. 

 

“Yeah! His skin is pure white, and he’s got long dark hair and his eyes are red! Red!”

 

The people behind you began to get restless and clamor at the people ahead as if we had control over the pacing of the business. 

 

“Enough of this bullshit.” You stepped out of the line, striding to the front. “This dude’s outta here, vampire or not.”

 

Your fingers twitched as you closed the distance to the shop’s entrance. Students who recognized the hardened expression of impatience on your face and the tell-tale aura of your spiteful or irritation-fueled endeavors murmured lowly to one another, anticipating some sort of confrontation to take place. You squeezed your way through the entrance of the shop and were met with a semi-formed crowd of people who had already grabbed their treats but were hesitant to approach the cashier due to where this so-called vampire was standing. 

 

You scooted past the lingering customers, giving yourself a clear view of the man. His silhouette from the back was entirely black. Long black hair, longer than Lucius Malfoy’s, but not silky appearing, more fried looking, like he had taken a straightener to it, a leather jacket with shiny metal buttons on the sleeves that blended into black leather gloves paired with black leather pants and combat boots. A sliver of his face was visible to you and you could indeed see snow-white skin.

 

It seems even the workers were hesitant to ask him if he was there to buy something or just looking at the sweets on the display shelves.

 

“Yo! Nosferatu!” you snarked. The man didn’t react in any way to you. Then you noticed a cord trailing into his hair and where his ears were.

 

Was he…listening to music?

 

You decidedly closed the distance between yourself and the figure, your fingers reaching out and tugging the cord out, a small earbud popping out of his ear. The man whipped toward you and…

 

Oh. He’s not a vampire, he’s a goth! You’d never seen a goth wizard before. He didn’t look much different to those in the regular world. A muggle-born perhaps?

 

Indeed, his eyes were red, but they were very obviously, at least to you, colored contact lenses. His face had been painted white, except for his ears which he seemed to have accidentally missed or ignored, and contrasting with the white of his skin was black lipstick that glinted with a few lip piercings and black eye makeup that was both smoky and sharp. He glared at you as if he was going to demand what was wrong with you, but you had steeled yourself first and beat him to the punch.

 

“You’re blocking the business. Are you going to buy something or not?” you gestured to the mass of people behind you.

 

The goth man crinkled his brows at first, but his gaze moved past you, scanning over the gathered customers and you imagined that if it wasn't for the already white paint on his face he might’ve grown pale when his eyes moved through the windows, and realized just how many people he was accidentally holding up.

 

“U-uhm—no,” his deep voice stuttered softly, taking a few long steps back away from the racks of candy and counter until his back nearly hit the opposite wall. Those closest audibly huffed, rolling their eyes and frustration, quite a few muttering “finally” beneath their breath, and approached the counter, allowing more people to enter the shop and look around. You and the goth made lingering eye contact as you passed him by, pacing over to the shelf where the limited edition chocolate was stocked and sneakily had your chocolate rung up at the bakery counter, effectively “cutting” in front of everyone who had been waiting before you, but hey, you were the one who solved the problem right? Quid pro quo. As you clutched the small bag to your side, you found that he was looking at you still. Passing him by you murmured, “Nice chains” to him, referring to the drooping chains that connected from his belt to his pant pocket, before exiting the shop.

 

The noisiness of Honeydukes had been replaced by the carousing customers of the Three Broomsticks, the air no longer sugary sweet and instead carrying the sharp notes of the various alcoholic drinks being served. Madam Rosmerta’s jolly laugh rang from the counter as she humored a group of mountaineers passing through the area. You claimed a small booth in the corner and approached the counter with the intention of ordering a hot chocolate, but another worker saw you approaching and called out, “A hot chocolate, right?”

 

“...Yes,” you confirmed with narrowed eyes.

 

“Sorry, you’re just the only person who orders that around here so I figured,” they shrugged with a reassuring smirk, to which you softened, nodding in understanding and returning to the booth. You palmed a few coins into their hand when they came with your drink, a smiley face drawn on the whipped cream in chocolate syrup.

 

As you sat in contentment reading a book and sipping away at your hot chocolate, the pub/inn began to fill with more people, mostly students celebrating the passing of their Apparition exam. However, the increased bodies in the establishment made it feel more warm and stuffy, and god forbid you ruin your outfit by removing a layer, so you resigned to putting your hair in an updo.

 

“Hey.”

 

A soft yet stiff voice pulled your attention from the cracks in the table where your gaze had focused, but your hands did not stop their task with your hair as you looked at the source of the voice. It was the goth man standing in front of your table.

 

“Hey,” you replied before the both of you fell into silence while you finished up with your hair. His red eyes burned into your dull ones. It was like you both were two baby deer from different herds trying to sus eachother out without scaring the other off. You waited patiently for him to speak again as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, biting the inside of his cheek.

 

“I…just wanted to say ‘thanks’ for…at Honeydukes,” he uttered.

 

You grunted dropping your hands from your head back down to the table. “No problem.”

 

His eyes flit to your ears. “And I like your earrings,” he added.

 

The tiniest smirk tugged on the corner of your mouth but was gone as soon as it came. “Thanks,” you responded, barely audible over the pub’s ambiance.

 

Assuming he had reached the extent of interacting with you, he turned to find a table of his own to settle at but was met with a full house, even the limited seating on the upper level that partially overlooked everything.

 

“…Would it be too much of an imposition if I sat with you?” He asked, peeking back to you from behind his curtain of hair.

 

You glanced between him and the occupied tables. “No… It wouldn’t be.”

 

He nodded, quietly seating himself in the booth, his chains rattling as he did so.

 

“Where did you get your chains?” You questioned.

 

He debated telling you before muttering, “You probably wouldn’t know the place.”

 

“Hot Topic?” you said after an exceptionally long pause.

 

A look of surprise flashed across his face as he straightened up in his spot, and there was a glimmer of comradery that began to make itself present in his eyes. “You’re…?”

 

“Half, technically. But I might as well be a no-maj waving a stick around. It’s rather amusing to see how many of my classmates have no idea what a goth is,” you offered an amused half-smile.

 

“Ah. Yeah… And yes I did get them at Hot Topic.”

 

“I got these earrings there, too.”

 

His stony demeanor officially cracked and a smirk pulled on his lips. “I’m Sebastian,” he offered his hand. You took it, squeezing lightly. “Y/N.”

 

“Yeah…I know. I recognized your face in the paper.”

 

“Ah…” you looked down, picking at the edge of the table.

 

Sebastian sensed your discomfort and quickly followed up. “I’m not going to ask about your runespoor. I’m sure you’ve been pestered enough.”

 

“Mmph.”

 

The bell above the pub’s door frame tinged as Professor Snape entered, having been relieved of playing doctor by Flitwick whose turn it was to deal with splinched appendages. Much to his satisfaction, all of his Slytherins had passed so far and he wouldn't be surprised if he found them celebrating in the pub. Quickly, however, he saw that there wasn’t really any seating left for him to enjoy a drink, not even at the bar. That wouldn’t stop him from getting a drink though. He’d take it somewhere else to enjoy privately if he must. Or, assuming you were here and alone, he may be able to secure a seat with you.

 

He ordered his drink at the counter and swept his gaze more thoroughly around the pub, this time trying to discern your form amongst the tables and booths. To his luck, he spotted you in a booth and you were indeed without company, your fingers running through your tresses and gathering them upwards into an updo, and no doubt the drink in front of you being a hot chocolate. Madam Rosemerta gave him his drink and just as he went to take a step toward you—

 

Vampire.

 

No, not a vampire. His knowledge of the Dark Arts refuted such a theory as vampires, full-blooded or not, could not be out and about during the day. This… stranger's peculiar appearance could have fooled him otherwise. This individual dripped in leather nearly from head to toe in all black, bits of metal glinting on his apparel and his lips were just as black as their clothes and hair, that stood out amongst snow-white skin—and most startlingly, blood-red eyes. Severus felt an anxious chill when the man decidedly approached you, a fearful need to intervene gnawing at him. This man looked dangerous and your guards were no longer with you. But you didn’t look worried.

 

And you, damnable girl, allowed him to sit with you.

 

A bloke behind him unsteadily rose from his seat at the counter, and stumbled past Severus, deciding that the alley would be a suitable place to throw up the drinks he had consumed in quick succession. Severus instantly claimed the seat, as if he had a choice in seating, but more so because it allowed him to keep an eye on you while you were in the company of this…person. He tried not to make himself obvious, a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of him, but he consistently stole glances at you almost every minute or so only to see the two of you still chatting enthusiastically.

 

At one point he heard your laugh ring out from the booth and his heart clenched at the sight. Your expression was so…happy. At ease. He had never seen you this relaxed whilst fraternizing, especially with a stranger, and it irked him to no end. You never laughed like that around him… Like you hadn’t a care in the world…

 

“No, no I swear to god,” you gasped between laughs. “Like a month after the movie came out and there was Jack Skellington merch everywhere! And I distinctly remember this girl with box-dyed red hair with a tattoo of him on her shoulder coming into the store and grabbing everything, and it’s like okay we get it, you’re living your Sally fantasy and you want to fuck the skeleton.”

 

Sebastian chuckled heartily. “I don’t doubt it. To be fair some characters are absolutely shagable. Even though it’s been almost a decade, I think Beetlejuice is still pretty popular in my hometown’s store.”

 

“Oh, Daddy-Juice can get it, can he?” you teased back.

 

“Daddy can. Maybe after a bath,” he winked. “I’m not opposed to the 657-year age gap.”

 

“Hm,” you smiled thoughtfully, biting into your chocolate. 

 

The worker who had situated you with your hot chocolate approached, noticing your new company, and asked Sebastian if he wanted anything to drink. 

 

“Do you want to do a shot with me?” he asked with a playful smirk.

 

“My brother in Christ, it is eleven in the morning,” you chided in amusement.

 

“So? Time is a social construct and I’ll be damned if I have to tolerate any more staring from people without loosening up a bit.”

 

You bit your lip, mulling it over. One shot wouldn’t do much to you despite being a lightweight and you were enjoying his company very much. “Yeah. Screw it. Why not? I wouldn’t be breaking any rules,” you relented.

 

“Good girl,” he praised and turned to the worker. “Two shots of..vodka?” He glanced at you in confirmation. 

 

“And a bit of pumpkin juice to chase it for me, please,” you added.

 

“Weakling,” he purred mockingly to which you blew him a raspberry. When the worker came back with the shots, Sebastian had beaten you to the punch in paying for them and clinked his glass to yours. “Cheers,” you both said and Snape watched in shock as you tossed back the hard liquor without hesitation. This man has even convinced you to drink?

 

“So…you’re 23?” you asked.

 

“I am, yes.”

 

Only a few years older than you.

 

“What is a wizard such as yourself doing in Hogsmeade? You don’t exactly blend in with the locals.”

 

“Just passing through for business. A bit of a pit stop before I get back on to my mail route.”

 

“You’re a mailman? Don’t they have owls for that?”

 

“I’m more of a…mail bird.”

 

You quirked your brows in confusion. “I don’t follow.”

 

“I’m an animagus. A raven.”

 

“Oh! That’s pretty cool,” you remarked.

 

“Yeah, it’s a sweet gig. While yes, people can use owls to deliver mail, there are certain…shall we say…personal correspondences that some witches and wizards would pay a lot to have securely delivered without the risk of being lost in travel.”

 

“Oh? What kind of ‘personal correspondences’?” you inquired.

 

He clicked his tongue knowingly, “I don’t kiss and tell, love. I won’t name names, but I will say that there are quite a few noble families and individuals that are terribly unfaithful.”

 

“Ah, I get it. Scandalous love letters? Dirty polaroids?” 

 

“In that realm, yes. I also do a bit of private investigation work on the side and the occasional potion delivery. Needless to say, I’m often traveling, and villages like these are a great rest stop on my way to major cities. My next delivery is in Kirkwall before I start to head back south.”

 

“He gets to see the world,” you thought wistfully with a light hum. Uninhibited by walls and authority.

 

“That sounds quite adventurous. You must meet a lot of people along the way. I’m…rather jealous,” you murmured, playing with the ends of your sleeves.

 

“Jealous of me? He raised a skeptical brow. “You’ve got a beast in your back pocket and you’re jealous of me?”

 

“I am. I mean, you get to take to the skies, travel the world whenever you want, and pick up some juicy drama along the way, no one’s scrutinizing you or has any expectations of you… You just get to be free for a living. While I love my runespoor, it… My ability enables people to feel as though they can put me in boxes and hold me to standards without considering my…feelings,” you finished solemnly.

 

Sebastian softened at that. “I get that. Sound’s a lot like my secondary schooling experience at Durmstrang. Pretty much had no friends then. No one understood why I had taken to a subculture from the muggle world despite that I am a muggle-born. And my parents…” he laughed wryly, “when they heard that a magical government existed wanted me to become some pencil pusher at the Ministry simply because I got good grades. To be chained to a desk, but I had hoped and prayed that when I sought to become an animagus after graduating it’d be something with wings.” While his words were meant to be commiserating, he noticed the light smile you gave him didn’t quite reach your eyes and faded into a faint grimace. He recognized that attempt to veil what was beneath. A thick pool of misery.

 

He licked his lips, casting a sweeping glance out at the other patrons before leaning in and dropping his voice to a volume only you could hear. “Would you like to chat somewhere more private?”

 

You nodded wordlessly with half-lidded eyes, feeling the warmth of vodka spread subtly in your limbs.

 

Sebastian cocked his head and the two of you slid out from your respective seats and went to exit the pub. Severus looked up from his newspaper again just in time to see you and the strange man standing from your seats. His brows pulled together in confusion at first but he quickly realized that the two of you were leaving together. He waited until the two of you had disappeared through the entrance before following after.

 

Though you likely knew the layout of Hogsmeade better than Sebastian, you let him lead you through the main street. As expected, people stared at the both of you together, but neither of you could be bothered to care. While speaking passively about less harmless topics and personal tastes, neither of you acknowledged the simmering tension of something more substantial waited to be breached upon reaching your destination, hoping to diffuse the awkwardness from before.  

 

You and Sebastian walked to the end of the main road and veered around a curve where a cobbled stone wall covered in moss and lichen formed a cul-de-sac, a place where sleds and carriages could park to make supply drop-offs or the village, but was unoccupied for now, the sounds of any nearby locals or visitors far behind you and out of sight. The break in the stone wall revealed an equally stony staircase that winded along the hillside and trailed into the road that linked the other villages within ten miles of each other. 

 

Sebastian settled on the wall, looking out at the drop-off and rolling hills, and you joined him wordlessly. Severus, who had remained undetected, watched distantly, standing half-hidden by a large stack of old wooden crates.

 

Sebastian dipped a hand into one of his pant pockets and pulled out a small lighter and what you initially thought was a cigarette, but was actually a tightly rolled joint.

 

“Don’t you have to fly somewhere today?” you queried in amusement.

 

“Takes more than a shot and a few puffs to knock me from the sky, love. Just wan’ ta relax,” Sebastian mumbled against the joint's tip as he clicked the lighter repeatedly until finally a little flame sparked and lit the opposite end of the joint. He inhaled deeply, the end burning a bright orange before fading as he released his lips, holding the smoke in for a few seconds before exhaling slowly and offering the joint to you.

 

You pursed your lips “...What kind?” 

 

“Indica.”

 

You nodded and took the joint from him. Similarly, you took a long puff but coughed a little bit, your lungs were not used to the feeling after such a long time.

 

 He smirked. “Smooth,”

 

“Shut up,” you scoffed.

 

“Hmhmn…” he took the joint back and twirled it between his fingers in his lap. “What is it you want? When you graduate?”

 

You sighed. “If that ain’t the question of the century… I don’t know. A lot of things, and nothing. I want to be left alone. I want to reunite with an old friend. I want to do some good with my magic, but I want to keep living in the muggle world. I want to travel Europe, but I also want to spend some time visiting some other states I’ve never been to before. I’m getting the sense everyone expects me to become an auror or something even though I’m like a god at potions. I’ve already gotten offers from the Ministry for interning. Part of me has thought about joining a research team to improve Wolfsbane, but I like working by myself, having complete control of what I do, when I do it, and where I go… And no matter what I choose, I’ll be losing someone or something.

 

“Heavy…” he breathed, taking another puff. “And what is it you want right now?”

 

Suddenly you felt like you were going to burst, like all your frustration was rising to the surface like water in a backed-up sink. Your throat tightened and burned as you felt yourself choke up and tears building in your eyes.

 

“To leave,” you gritted out in a whisper. “I hate it here. I…” You shuddered mid-sentence, cutting yourself off and pressing your lips tightly as the first tear threatened to roll down your face. He handed you the joint again and you quickly brought it to your lips and took another puff, trying to find the right words. “It’s a big school,” you exhaled, “but I feel so trapped. Like I’m going mad. I grew up going to regular school, even stayed for junior high and the boarding school format of Illvermorny and Hogwarts doesn’t agree with me. I like being able to go to school and knowing that when the last bell rings I can go home or fuck off to the mall, or the movies, anywhere. I hate having to be confined with the same people and things that stress me the fuck out. It’s getting harder to find some solace outside of the classroom when I have to study for NEWTs. I need that separation, to physically be somewhere else away from it all in order to find some peace. Sometimes…I’ll go out into the fields, close my eyes, and pretend I’m back home in Washington, my backyard even… But every second outside of that eats at me, knowing I had to relinquish that control when I enrolled.”

 

Sebastian hummed softly. “I understand. I was the same way at Durmstrang. I missed home and all the people who understood me. The winters were a dark and frozen hellscape and did nothing for my seasonal depression. I got  in trouble a lot for ditching and going to nightclubs back in the muggle world. I suppose that’s why I listen to music a lot. Escape without travel.”

 

“I do too,” you replied weakly.

 

He stubbed out the joint against his thigh and put it back in his pocket. He gave you a sidelong glance, his gaze sweeping over you carefully before he said, “I can take you somewhere if you want.”

 

“What?” you met his eyes.

 

“Let me take you somewhere. Not physically, I mean. You’d probably get in loads of trouble with your professors. But mentally I can transport us somewhere else. If you’d like,” he added.

 

“You… Are you a Legillimens?”

 

His black lips flattened as he nodded in confirmation. “I’m well practiced.”

 

“Are you in my mind right now?”

 

“No,” he said firmly, his expression growing more serious. “I’d never enter the mind of someone as genuine as you without their permission.” Sebastian didn’t wait for another reply from you as he turned and shifted off the wall, pacing a few steps into the center of the cul-de-sac and waiting for you. You followed, moving off the wall and standing before him.

 

“Oof.” Your head began to feel very fuzzy. “I think it just kicked in.”

 

He smiled softly. “Good timing.” Sebastian pulled out his walkman and attached it to his hip, slipping one earbud into his left ear and moved so that he was within a foot of you and gave you the right earbud. “Ever been to a nightclub before?”

 

“No,” you took the earbud and put it in your right ear.

 

“No? How about an abandoned warehouse?”

 

“Yeah. I’ve trespassed on a few.”

 

“Perfect,” Sebastian murmured and held his hands at chest level, palms facing you. You curiously mimicked him and he pressed his palms to yours, the leather of his fingers lacing with yours and curling down. You did the same, swallowing thickly at the heat that rose to your cheeks. “I promise I won’t do anything weird. All you need to do is look into my eyes for a bit. I’ll tell you when to close them after I’ve finished building the scene. Your vision might blank or flicker for a moment since I’m essentially inserting a vision in your mind but just relax. You’ll have full control of yourself. Can you do that for me?”

 

“Mhm.” Despite the weed making you want to defocus, you fixed your eyes on to his. 

 

“Legillimens.”

 

You felt a light force make itself present in your mind, and just as Sebastian said your mind blanked as you allowed him to build a scene and your vision flickered to match his construction, like a TV flickering in and out with static from poor connectivity. It started to smooth out soon after and you found yourself still standing in front of Sebastian but in a darkened warehouse, lit only by the spare use of rainbow spotlights. There was an elevated stage where DJ equipment stood. The DJ himself and the silhouettes of other people that surrounded you were frozen in time. Some were dressed like Sebastian, others more eclectically with stripped tights, masks, colorful and or teased hair, meshed sleeves, leather straps, chains, and heavy boots.

 

A rave?

 

“Close your eyes,” you heard, echoing through the high ceilings of the warehouse. Closing your eyes, every detail clicked into place with familiar crispness, as if you were actually in a different place. In your mind and reality, Sebastian’s left hand detached from yours for a second, pressing a button on his walkman. There was the faintest bit of white noise in your head as you felt him move closer and relink your fingers, the heat of his face inches from yours. Then, the music began to play.

 

Everyone around you jerked to life, the spotlights slowly changed colors every few seconds, and a thin layer of fog wafted along the ground from hidden smoke machines. The song had a steady and favorable beat, and everyone around you began to move like swaying seaweed, limbs twisting, bodies rolling, feeling for atoms in the air as if they were one with the music. Your body began to move, Sebastian guiding the both of you in a back-and-forth sway, palms moving again together in a “push and pull” motion.

 

You were dancing.

…Trust in me…

…I will rise…

…Through the fire, in the sky…

 

….Set me free…

…Ancient lies…

…Is this peace divine?...

 

…The light will cast me aside…

…Me envenena…

…Te envenena…

…Me envenena…

…Te envenena…

You let yourself become lost to the beat, the deep rumbling voice, and the instrumentals, you and Sebastian now resembling those who danced around you, hypnotized by the music. Something deep swelled within your chest as you felt yourself enter a controlled state of floatiness, your breath stuttering as you felt the sense of freedom that you had been mentally chasing all year. Free, like the people around you who revolted against the norms of society and wore unconventional clothing, dancing as if they were the only ones on the planet. 

…Trust in me…

…As I am…

…Shattering inside…

 

...The vision upon us…

…The memory remains…

…Nothing to defy…

 

…The light will cast me aside…

…Bring me to silence…

…A rite for the heart…

…Bring me to silence…

…Through the light…

 

…Bring me to silence…

…A rite for the heart…

…Bring me to silence…

…Through the light…

The potion master’s fist curled in anger down by his side. Severus had watched as you and the stranger moved away from the wall, an out-of-earshot conversation somehow turning into…a dance. His nose wrinkled in indignation as the man stepped into your personal space and laced his hands with yours in a lover's hold. And oh, the cherry on top of this miserable sight, was your acceptance of…all of it, your allowance for this man to use Legilimency on you, something he was able to discern by watching the man’s lips move, your allowance of him touching you, to be so close to you. The man who he believed to be a potential danger to you hadn’t done anything to jeopardize your safety just yet and your demeanor suggested that you were not at all uncomfortable…

 

His chest tightened.

 

So why was he so twisted up inside about this?

 

As if in slow motion, he watched as you both inched forward once more, still in your mutual trance, and rested your foreheads against each other's as if you both were going to—

 

“Stop them! Grab her! Keep her away from him!” Severus’s mind screamed at him. It begged him to do something, anything, but he felt like the weight of the world held him down by the ankles.

 

You’ve never danced or done anything like this with someone before, not even back home. The flashing lights, steady music, and that feeling of just letting yourself flow… You’d watched scenes in moves where people went to clubs but it was always some tacky bit of drinking and grinding, practically fucking eachother on the dance floor that made you cringe. But this was something entirely different, about the act of moving and being in a space with others like you, feeling that mental connection that felt like you were part of something bigger. Something welcoming. You wished it didn’t have to end.

… Me envenena…

…Te envenena…

…Me envenena…

…Te envenena…

…Bring me to silence…

…A rite for the heart…

…Bring me to silence…

…Through the light…

 

…Bring me to silence…

…A rite for the heart…

…Bring me to silence…

…Through the light…

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over your lids, rolling down your cheeks as the song approached its end. The both of you kept moving until the song faded into silence and the warehouse blurred away into darkness, taking with it the overwhelming sense of peace as you slowly halted in place. Sebastian gently moved his forehead away from yours, prompting you to open your eyes. 

 

“How was tha—Oh,” Sebastian started but, furrowed his brows at the sight of you crying. “Are… Are you alright?”

 

You pressed your lips together, choking on a sob that was clawing its way out of your throat as you unlink your hands from his and covered your face. His hands came to rest on your arms.

 

“Was that too intense?”

 

“N-no,” you responded in a broken breath. “That was…everything I needed. I just,” you sniffed harshly, “I just can’t wait to get the hell out of here.”

 

His thumbs rose up and carefully swept away the tears before dipping back into his pocket. “It’s official,” he said taking the joint out and palming it into your hand and curling your fingers over it. “You definitely need this more than I do.”

 

You barked out a wet chuckle which, to his satisfaction, seemed to cease your crying. A beeping sound broke the calm connection between you both. He slid up his jacket sleeve and eyed his digital watch. “...It’s time for me to get back to the skies.”

 

Your other hand shot out and gripped at his arm. Sebastian merely blinked in response, looking at you curiously. 

 

“I…You’re…You’re good people,”

 

He gave you a strange look that slowly morphed into a smile as he mulled over your words, he moved his arm so that your hands were intertwined and squeezed back.

 

“You’re good people, too,” he murmured. “I’ve never met a witch quite like yourself. Keep being you.”

 

With that, Sebastian withdrew from your grip and dipped into a dramatically low bow, before whipping upwards abruptly. His body swirled and shrunk, his jacket turning into a feathered body until he was a simple Raven swooping about. You held out your arm and he landed gracefully, his nails digging lightly into your sleeve. He croaked quietly, sidestepping along your arm until he had reached your shoulder and nuzzled the top of his head against your lower jaw, rubbing away the last tear that had traveled down your face. You tittered under your breath, Sebastian bidding you one final caw before he took off, flapping up and up until he was nothing more than a black dot in the distance.

 

His departure left a strange hollow feeling in your chest. Under different circumstances, you felt the two of you could've been good friends and had a blast in the regular world. Your thumb rolled over the joint in your pocket, debating on whether to light it up and smoke the rest of it or to save it, and coast with the even high you had going right now.

 

You clicked your tongue. Maybe another day.

 

A loud popping noise got your attention. You looked behind you to see yellow sparks had been launched in the sky, signaling to the students that there was one hour left of time before returning to the castle for lunch. You didn’t want to stay, and there was no reason for you to anyway. Rather, you felt like you needed to be alone for a bit and sit with your thoughts. So, casting one last forlorn look at where you and Sebastian had mentally entwined, you raised your headphones back to your ears, blocking out the distant noise of the village, and left.

***

 

The lush fields were as soft as you had expected them to be, the grass a bountiful mixture of clovers and wildflowers whose height provided excellent coverage for you. Upon arriving back at the castle, your high added with the anticipation of lunch triggered an onset of munchies, and that bag of potato chips and some fruit taken from the kitchens didn’t stand a chance. The little picnic you had with yourself was a peaceful venture, and though it was purposeful, you were surprised you didn’t see any younger years enjoying the nice day outside. Maybe too busy studying. Your downfall, however, had started with a yawn after you had done some minding, in which you had decided to lie back in the clovers and grass while you built a flower crown, your form swallowed and concealed, and then it was lights out.

 

This was how Professor Snape had found you, curled up, spooning your bag on your side, and holding your wand loosely in one hand. Such occurrences shouldn’t surprise him anymore as he expected you to be outside right about now, but he wasn’t any less grumpy about it. You had failed to inform any professor that you were departing the village early and then you didn’t show up for lunch. Evidently you had eaten, the wrappings of a snack and a few apple cores lying a few feet from you. It was the birds that had led him to you beneath your tree. Crows more specifically. They stood on the branch above cawing down at you, one swooping into the grass. Such groupings often served as a prelude to death, and admittedly, there was a fraction of a second where he thought something had happened to you as he stumbled upon you in the grass only to realize the birds were merely attracted to the discarded snacks.

 

Severus observed the way you slumbered peacefully amongst the grass, the tall clovers framing and caressing your form as if pulling you down into the earth with them. The light cascaded through the cover of the tree just right, causing a soft glow on your skin, and revealing the glint of the metal snakes you had used to keep your hair up. There was something ironically angelic about you when you slept, a stark contrast to your devilish impulses when you were awake. 

 

A white butterfly flitted out from the grass some feet from you, fighting against the light breeze, and hovered about your shoulder, before landing on the apple of your cheek, opening and closing its wings slowly. You scrunched your face up at the ticklish sensation, whining softly as you rolled over onto your other side with the bag, the sudden movement causing the butterfly to flap away and onto a flower.

 

When you had turned over a notebook slipped out from your open bag, flopping onto the spot where you once laid. It was unlike a school notebook, its cover a deep taupe color. There were no stickers or etched-in words like how many students opted to decorate their notebooks with. There did appear to be a white label slapped onto the center with something written on it. He accio’d the curious object to himself and read the label.

Experiments - Remedies Log  

It hit him like a flash of lightning just what he was now holding in his hands.

 

“Did you ever get hurt? From the brews?”

“...Sometimes, but I didn’t let it deter me. I learned how to heal myself. Those instances are in a separate notebook. I don’t wish to show you that one.”

 

Severus swallowed thickly. It was the notebook. That notebook. In his hands was another side of that precious decade he had yet to know of, those ten years between when you had gotten your magic and stepped into his life. Except this time there would be no recounts seeping with joy and determination that filled him with second-hand pride and fondness for your thirst to absorb and learn, no comments in the margins that reflected your inner thoughts, no doodles that represented the ingredients you had used. No… These inscriptions would be a representation of the pain that you went through, every instance in which you dealt with accident or injury by your lonesome with whatever knowledge, books, and ingredients you had at your disposal. Things a child shouldn’t have had to do on their own.

 

His thumb moved to the cover, his insides buzzing with an odd mixture of anticipation and anxiety about what he may find beneath. Slowly, he lifted the front, revealing the first bit of words that touched against the edge of the page  and—

 

No.

 

“Insignificant or impersonal?” Narcissa’s voice echoed in his head as he snapped the notebook shut. He can’t. He shouldn’t.

 

Severus closed his eyes and sighed softly to himself. He was doing it again, stepping over boundaries, trying to breach another wall. You told him you didn’t want to show him this. Even if it would be like when he uses legilimency on you, to delve into this part of yourself without you knowing, he wasn’t sure if the stories told behind this cover would change the way he saw you. Would he pity you and become even more over-protective? Would you be able to sniff out such signs as a betrayal of your trust and privacy?

 

It would also be disrespectful. Yes, that too…

 

“Happy, Narcissa?” he asked himself quietly as he wordlessly transfigured the notebook into a brown mouse and set it on the ground. The mouse skittered from where Severus stood, climbed up your back and on your shoulder and crawled back into your bag.

 

This time your eyes fluttered open as you stirred, letting your bag go and sitting up, groaning softly as your palms went to rub at your eyes to help readjust to the light and revealing the awkward creases on one side of your face from laying on the grass. You sniffed, fighting against the grogginess and overall rumpled feeling of your clothes as a shadow fell over you, shielding the light that had felt blinding as a result of your nap. Through the green hue of your vision, you were able to make out the features of the potion master.

 

“Hi…” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep, as you continued to rub at your eyes.

 

“Why were you sleeping out here?” he questioned softly with slightly knitted brows.

 

Ah. You did a quick mental and physical check on yourself, feeling out your mind, the looseness of your body, the pace of your heartbeat... You didn’t feel high anymore. Probably slept it off. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was just out here with my thoughts and I guess I nodded off,” you explained just as quietly, looking down and around for the flower crown that had slipped off. You located it by your bag and put it back on your head, grabbing the bag as well, holding it against yourself, and tucking your chin over the top. “What's up…?”

 

Yes… The reason he had looked for you.

 

“You ought to know better than to leave the village early without informing any of the accompanying professors, especially after being seen…” he trailed off, holding his breath as he realized he might’ve just accidentally revealed that he had been watching you at the village.

 

You gave me an unimpressed look. “With a vampire?” you sighed. “And here I thought Lupin taught students about real vampires properly.”  

 

“I’m merely reiterating what multiple students have recounted. A real vampire cannot be out during the day, obviously, but the sentiment still stands that there was concern about you socializing with a stranger who appeared…dangerous. Given the fact you had to be escorted by guards today, your behavior would be considered irresponsible.”

 

You flopped back against the grass and clovers, still holding your bag to your torso, muttering, “This school is full of natives, I swear to god… ”

 

Severus’s lids twitched. Natives?

 

“And he isn’t dangerous,” you continued. “Sebastian is a wizard just like anyone else. He’s nice. We got to talking and we have a lot in common. I had a good time with him.”

 

Sebastian. He drawled the name bitterly in his head. “What could you and a wizard like that possibly have to talk about?” he scorned.

 

You frowned up at the tree’s foliage at his tone. “You know, current events, the latest movies, the music we listen to, celebrity drama… Just regular stuff.”

 

Oh. Muggle things. That man was a muggle-born wizard. That’s why you were so bloody happy. This Sebastian person was someone you could actually relate to, someone who understood your jokes and references, someone who was closer in age and could empathize the modern gripes young adults possess with the world. A sense of resentment crept up on him, his hands curling into loose fists.

 

Things he couldn’t do.

 

“Was that all you wanted to know? To make sure I didn’t get bitten on the neck or something?” you mused. Expecting his usual snark, you were surprised to hear nothing but silence for ten seconds or so, prompting you to sit up again and look at him. He was looking down and away, the crease between his brows emphasized, like he was troubled. You tilted your head curiously at him, wondering what he was thinking about. You glanced around momentarily and targeted a tuft of grass, your fingers gripping it and tearing it out of the ground. Gently throwing it in his direction, the light breeze carried the blades toward him, pelting the legs of his trousers pathetically. Though he didn’t feel it, the movement of the blades blowing against his clothes made him snap his gaze back to you. You did it again, this time holding eye contact with the faintest of smirks, throwing a few more handfuls of grass toward him, the blades flying over and tapping against his shin and his shoes.

 

“Stop that,” he warned lightly, though not at all irritated as he couldn’t even feel the meager grassy assault.

 

You hummed, your hands resting atop one another in your lap, your thumbs rolling over one another as you pursed your lips. “I am sorry for leaving the village without a heads up,” you conceded. “I wasn’t feeling well—not physically speaking,” you clarified, “I just wanted to be alone in an environment I could…control.”

 

He knew the feeling all too well, wanting to control the volume and crowdedness of the space around him but it was still no excuse. “Do not make the same mistake at the next real Hogsmeade weekend,” he uttered stiffly.

 

“Not a problem,” you shrugged, gazing amongst the clovers and running your hand thoughtfully through its softness. “Probably gonna go to the glade that weekend anyways. Hopefully, it won’t be too hot then.”

 

Another round of silence fell between the two of you as he watched you admire the greenery around you. 

 

“Lupin’s transformation is in about a week, yes?” you asked quietly, just in case anyone was nearby.

 

Severus flitted his eyes about, also making sure the both of you were truly alone. “That is correct.”

 

“Hm… It’s been a while since I helped with the Wolfsbane. Is that something you’ve still got handled or will you be needing a bit of assistance this time around?”

 

Severus bit the inside of his cheek. He was going to start brewing it tomorrow and he imagines he’ll be just fine on his own. Plus, he doesn’t want to take you away from any of your studies on the weekdays. But if he could squeeze out some time with you…

 

“I am starting his next batch tomorrow… You may help then.”

 

You wrapped your arms around your knees, smiling into your upper arm and rocking a few times in place. On the third lean back, you flopped on your side again. 

 

“You shouldn’t sleep out here. You leave yourself in a rather vulnerable state.”

 

You snorted, turning onto your back and spreading your arms out to rub along the clovers and flowers, your fingers reaching out and stroking a yellow-petaled one. “I doubt anyone here actually has the balls to try anything, not anymore at least” you groaned tightly as you stretched your limbs out.

 

A curtain of gloom draped over him as he thought of that dark day. “You were not untouchable then and you are not untouchable now. Please, do not sleep in the fields.”

 

Huh. You pursed your lips to yourself. He’s never said ‘please’ to you before. Why does he care so much about a little nap? You had your wand with you this time and a giant runespoor.

 

…Does he actually care that much?

 

Severus listened as you sucked in a long breath and breathed out, muttering a “very well,” as you moved to rise from the ground. As you stood, however, your legs shook harshly and he was in front of you in an instant, his hands catching you beneath your arms, but it was no use as your legs buckled and your knees touched down on the ground again, and for a moment, he couldn’t think of anything besides how soft the skin on the underside of your arms were.

 

You blinked dumbly to yourself as one second you were getting up to stand and the next you were back on the ground, knees planting firmly into the grass as a deep tingling sensation festered in your lower limbs. The warm feeling of Snape’s hands against the sensitive skin of your bare  forearms from when you had rolled the sleeves of your layers much earlier to bask in the light drew you from your surprise, not noticing the way your fingers had reflexively grasped onto his own arms to help support yourself. 

 

“What’s wrong with your legs?” he questioned with worry.

 

“I…” you frowned to yourself attempting to stand once more, but an uncomfortable pressure blazed from the side of your calves, zipping in both directions. A smile of amusement broke out on your face. “It seems my legs didn’t want to listen to your advice. They fell asleep,” you chuckled. Another attempt to push up and you hissed harshly at the feeling, letting go of Snape’s arms. “Ack—okay—nope, it’s pins and needles all the way down. Give me a moment.” 

 

Snape allowed his hold to loosen, your arms sliding from his grasp as you shifted to sit back on your rear, moving to massage various parts around your knees as you carefully rotated your ankles, grimacing at the pressure as you got your blood to start circulating properly again. While you tended to yourself, a look of smugness settled on his face. “Proving my point already, Miss. Even your own body can be your foe.”

 

“Oh, hush.”

 

Chapter 60: A Staring Problem

Summary:

Another silly outdoor interaction between Reader and Severus leads to an unexpected admission, giving Severus more insight of ourselves.

 

Intergalactic - Beastie Boys: https://youtu.be/ln-Jq6X6p-g?si=ALPX-SKAMz4KDX0w

Notes:

hnnnnggggghhh I wish their were more hours in the day! I apologize for the delay. I also went out of town to see family and wanted to prioritize spending time with them.

Quidditch. Students could always rely on Quidditch regardless of who was playing to offer them a mental break from their studies. Hufflepuff vs Slytherin is the final game of your house’s year and the last chance to wrack up hundreds of points in one go. It was expected to be a blowout with Slytherin as the victor. And Spring was finally putting the ‘sun’ in ‘Sunday,’ not just with a lack of clouds, but because it was actually hot, even on top of the fact that you naturally ran a bit cold. This unfortunately meant no more thick jumpers during the day, but you weren't too uncomfortable yet to stop wearing pants. After breakfast in the Great Hall, an event in which most students were decked in either green or yellow whether it be with paint on their faces or on the flags they carried, though more yellow than green, everyone flocked to the Quidditch Pitch for the exciting match. Risers were filled, leaving very little room for moving about, students whooping and hollering as both teams flew out to the field and began their warm-up drills, prepping their arms and reflexes for the intense game ahead.

 

“Last chance to change your mind, Severus,” Professor Sprout declared cheekily.

 

“You will not sway me so easily, Pomona. I do believe our houses’ last match against each other is indication enough that Slytherin will come out victorious.”

 

This was true. Hufflepuff had gotten creamed the last time they played against Slytherin. In Sprout’s defense, their starting Keeper and Seeker were injured then and therefore Hufflepuff was not at their best. But Sprout had confidence that it would be Slytherin who would be defeated this time.

 

“Would anyone else like to make a wager?”

 

“I don’t have a horse in this particular game, Pomona,” Lupin stated from Pomona’s right. 

 

“Nor do I,” said McGonagall from behind.

 

The headmaster emerged from the winding staircase within the teachers’ stands and moved to sit by McGonogal. “Good morning, all. A fine day for a Quidditch match.”

 

“Indeed!” Pomona chirped. “I just love Spring.”

 

Severus rolled his eyes. “What a surprise, the Herbology professor enjoys Spring.”

 

“Jab at me all you’d like, Dungeon Bat, but I shall not hear another word from you after I win.”

 

The teams eventually separated to their respective sides and the microphone system squeaked to life as Lee Jordan’s voice rang throughout the air, greeting everyone in the audience with a cheeky introduction to the anticipatory game as Madam Hooch walked to the center and prepared to unleash the balls.

 

“Madam Hooch gets in position…throws the quaffle…and the game is on!” The players moved in a frenzy zipping and weaving around like catfish in a pond who’d been tossed a bit of bread. Hufflepuff managed to capture the quaffle first and thus the chase began. The stands filled with chants and cheers as the Hufflepuff seeker avoided a bludger sent their way, diving and spinning away from a chaser on his tail as they approached the Slytherin goalposts. Speeding through the air, the Hufflepuff seeker made a fake throw motion toward the lower right goal, the Slytherin seeker, falling for the bait and moving just enough for the seeker to suddenly throw the ball to the lower left goal. The keeper attempted to recover, but their earlier mishap meant their fingers barely grazed the ball as it landed in the hoop. A bell sounded off and the Hufflepuff supporters erupted in glee.

 

“And that’s ten points for Hufflepuff!”

 

To Professor Snape’s surprise and chagrin, the game had been rather tight, with neither team leading more than twenty points at a time. Slytherin’s keeper wasn’t playing as well as they normally did and there was something to be desired in Hufflepuff’s offense. This would be a game determined solely by whose seeker had the sharper set of eyes.

 

“My, how has neither team spotted the snitch yet?” Lupin shielded his eyes like a visor trying to scope out the glinting, zipping ball for himself.

 

“I do believe Hufflepuff shall find it first,” Flitwick piped up. “Orwell always had a keen eye for detail in class.”

 

“I’ll have to disagree with you on that one Fillius,” McGonogall hummed. “Though I get no pleasure in admitting it, Farrow is quicker. Even if he doesn’t spot it first, he’ll catch up and snatch it out from Orwell.”

 

“I don’t know. I think it could go either way.”

 

All the staff who heard the new voice whipped their heads toward the right to see you somehow floating just beyond the stand’s edge, watching alongside them.

 

“Miss L/N?” Professor McGonagall squawked. “What—what are you doing? How are you—”

 

A massive runespoor head rose into view, hovering behind you, and bowed politely toward the teachers, puffing. Lupin hastily got up from his seat and looked over the edge of the stand guard. Runey had his body wrapped around the tower and you were currently standing on Morpheus's head. 

 

“She’s using her runepsoor like a bloody lift!” Lupin exclaimed. 

 

“Miss, that’s dangerous!” Flitwick cried as McGonogal sputtered at a loss for words.

 

“I’m fine, as long as I don’t—”

 

“L/N, get over the bloody guard before you fall to your death, you foolish girl!” Snape shouted.

 

Lupin quickly helped you over the side of the stand, much more relieved by the fact that your feet were touching solid ground. “What were you thinking, using your runespoor to traverse so high in the air?”

 

You smirked. “I wanted to see the look on Professor Sprout’s face when she loses our wager.”

 

“First of all, Miss L/N, do not use your runespoor in a way that jeopardizes your safety in such a manner. Had you lost focus you could’ve been seriously injured or worse,” Dumbledore chided to which you pursed your lips, looking away and nodding. “Secondly,” his tone lightened, “Pomona? Really? Gambling with a student?”

 

“Well, I figure if I can kill two snakes with one stone, I should take the chance,” she chuckled.

 

Lupin gestured for you to take the empty seat at the edge of the aisle as you let your runespoor disappear. “You have some gall,” he sighed.

 

“We Slytherins are known for our ambition, Professor.” 

 

As the game carried on, you and Lupin got to talking about what your session today would entail. As you discussed, you both failed to see the potion master stealing glances your way. Severus eyed the both of you with suspicion. The two of you were talking an awful lot and it was hard to discern what exactly you were saying with the surrounding noise of the pitch. Furthermore, both of you were using your hands to shield your words every so often, like you were talking about something not meant for anyone else to know.

 

There was an uproar within the stands as Lee’s voice was heard once more. “Orwell has spotted the snitch. We just might be nearing the end!” 

 

You and Sprout stood, locating Orwell who was high up in Slytherin territory, zooming around after the tiny, winged ball. The ball led him into a nose dive that leveled sharply within mere feet of the ground, but Orwell was able to adjust and remain close behind the snitch.

 

“And here comes Farrow hot on his tail!” 

 

The other seeker flew in quickly and the both of them began bumping into eachother while trying to remain within the snitch’s reach. You got up from your seat and moved to the front of the barrier of the tower, gripping the edge and attempting to track the players. “Come on, Farrow. Don’t let me down here,” you gritted to yourself. 

 

Both Farrow and Orwell rammed their shoulders against one another harshly, attempting to push the other out of the snitch’s path. However, neither of them would see them coming from the side. The bludger broke off the front of their brooms, and they both began to lose control. Farrow spun out to the side, and Orwell’s broom tipped down, vaulting him forward and sending him flying. The crowd let a simultaneous ‘ooooh’ as both boys made an impact with the ground rolling roughly and coming to a stop. Both of them were slow to get up, but when Orwell did he wrapped his arms around his torso and began to seemingly gag. All the teachers stood up now, watching with bated breath to see what was to become of the seekers. 

 

Orwell heaved one last time and coughed up the snitch, the precious object now cradled in his hands. 

 

“Orwell did it! Orwell caught the snitch and receives 150 points! Hufflepuff wins 330 to 180!”

 

The pitch roared with ‘whoos’ and whistles, the rest of the Hufflepuff team touching down on the ground to rejoice with their seeker.

 

“Son of a bitch!” you cursed aloud. You really wanted to win that bet. Had you been victorious, Sprout would’ve owed you some pineapple. Yes, fruit. Nothing special. Pineapple was in season now and you had expected the weather to keep being warm and you wanted something cold and sweet to enjoy without getting caught raiding the kitchens.

 

“Language, Miss L/N!” Flitwick called, but you ignored him, casting a grumpy look to the Herbology professor who was all smiles, clapping for her sproutlings. Snape was just as irritated by the outcome, but refused to clap.

 

“I suppose congratulations are in order…” he muttered.

 

Sprout cast a triumphant look at the man. “Indeed. It seems my badgers are tougher than they look. You may give me my winnings after lunch. And you, Miss,” she looked at you. “Make sure you dress properly. You’ll be sweating like a mule otherwise. I do intend to work you like one.”

 

You huffed, grumbling to yourself as you descended down the staircase. “Fucking Farrow can’t even do his job…”

 

“Language!”

 

***

 

Severus shielded his eyes from the sun's glare as he clomped along an uneven cobbled path toward the outdoor greenhouses. It had gotten even hotter, it being midday now and his all-black attire wasn’t doing any favors. He cast a cooling charm on himself to help buffer the heat just before he entered Outdoor Greenhouse #1. Professor Sprout had her back turned to him as she tended to some plants, spraying them with a germinating solution to help encourage growth. The scuff of the potion master’s shoes did give him away though.

 

“Severus,” she greeted kindly. “Do come in.”

 

Severus stepped over the door's threshold, taking heed of the seemingly harmless plants that lined the walls and hung from the ceiling.

 

“Your germinating solution is working marvelously,” she remarked. Severus paced over to her side and watched as she tended to a Mimbulus Mibletonia. It was rather small but showed signs of maturing as its limbs became more bulbous with accumulating stink sap. It crooned and twitched at the misty shower it received from the spray bottle.

 

“Your winnings,” Severus murmured, setting a small pouch on the workbench. 

 

“Thank you,” she replied pocketing it. Sprout was never one to gloat when she was victorious, which Snape could appreciate. “Your snakes played a good game. I was a little worried when Farrow caught up to Orwell.”

 

“They did indeed. I suppose Orwell played…adequately as well.” 

 

Sprout hummed, knowing that was the most complimentary thing she would get out of him today. “Speaking of Hufflepuff’s being adequate at their jobs, guess what I finally was able to get approved for the school?”

 

The potion master raised an eyebrow at her. Wordlessly, she pulled out a small sprig of lavender and wormwood from her robe pockets. 

 

Severus sighed exasperated, but satisfied, “It’s about bloody time they approved it.”

 

For a few years now, Professor Sprout had been lobbying a proposal from the Ministry to allow Hogwarts to start a garden specifically for lavender and wormwood. There were two ingredients that not only had a harder time surviving the harsh winters but ran out much faster than most plants as they were used to make Dreamless Sleep potions and other common potions. With so many students enduring stressful lessons and exams, it was natural that some would have nightmares over it. 

 

“Indeed. And just in time, too. Lavender is best planted in April.”

 

Severus nodded. “Very well. Let me know if I can produce anything to accelerate the growth timeline.” As Severus went to turn and leave, he paused for a moment. Through the window just past Sprout’s shoulder, he saw in the distance a large wagon in the fields piled high with what looked like dirt and a figure standing atop it. It was unlikely to be Filch, seeing no way the man could’ve climbed up there.

 

Who is that out in the fields?

 

“INTERGALACTIC PLANETARY, PLANETARY INTERGALACTIC! INTERGALACTIC PLANETARY, PLANETARY INTERGALACTIC!”

 

“INTERGALACTIC PLANETARY, PLANETARY INTERGALACTIC! INTERGALACTIC PLANETARY, PLANETARY INTERGALACTIC!”

 

“Another dimension, another dimension, another dimension, another dimension…”

 

The Beastie Boys played through your headset, providing perfect hype music to help you get through the labor ahead. Upon losing your wager, your debt to Professor Sprout was that you’d do some labor for her, not in the greenhouses but out by the fields for a new garden approved for the school. A lot of work went into it; tilling the plot of dirt, creating rows for the seedlings, planting them, watering them, adding the fertilizer, and then building the fence around it.

 

While Filch went about building the fence, you claimed you’d handle all the more intensive steps as there were some tasks you felt an old man like Filch shouldn’t be doing on his own without the aid of magic. With Runey’s assistance, you tore up the grass and tilled the land until it was softened and ready for planting. You had Runey use his fangs to create long rows in the dirt, not too close so that anyone could still walk between the plants. As per Sprout’s instructions, you dedicated the left half of the plot to lavender and the right half to wormwood, sprinkling the seeds into the ground and covering them back up.

 

You were truly a sight when you climbed atop the giant wagon that held an equally large mound of fertilizer, hose in hand connected to a charmed barrel, and began to water the dirt, your thumb partially pressed over the hole so that it had a spraying effect. You were sweaty, you smelled, there was dirt smeared on nearly every inch of skin not covered by your clothes…

 

You felt great.

 

“ I am known to do the Wop (Wop)! Also known for the Flintstone Flop (Flop)! Tammy D getting biz on the crop! Beat-sie Boys known to let the beat—”

 

Because of the music and your back being turned, you hadn’t seen or heard the approach of your Potions professor, but you sure did feel it as a force tugged on the singular braid that spat out from beneath the backward cap you were wearing. Your hand reflexively went to the back of your head at first, but then you turned around and there he was, standing in the grass below some yards away. You smiled, removing the headphones, gathering your walkman together, and hovering it down towards your bag with the rest of your belongings.

 

“Hello, Professor!” You called down.

 

You stood atop a pile of fertilizer dressed in olive green overalls, a black mock neck tank top, brown work boots, an unbuttoned thin flannel that sagged off your left shoulder with the sleeves rolled up, and a cap with the brim pointing backward.

 

“So this is your punishment for betting against Professor Sprout,” he drawled.

 

“Not really a punishment,” you chuckled. “I’m enjoying myself very much.”

 

Severus raised a brow, his eyes sweeping over your filthy form. “Evidently so. You look like a rodent that just broke through the surface of the Earth.”

 

It was your turn to raise a brow and hold up the handle of a hose. “Careful. I’m armed, y’know. And it ain't just water, either. It rhymes with ‘wagon bliss’,” you smirked mischievously.

 

“Not very wise of you to spray the person who can give you detention for the rest of the year,” he sneered back as the cogs in his brain worked out the hint you had given him. Severus didn’t even have a chance to say or do anything else before you had aimed the hose toward him, took your thumb off the hole, and carved a line in the dirt with the high pressure of the hose mere inches from the tips of his shoes. Some splattering droplets got very close to landing on the tops of his shoes, and he took a step back in shock. You only had time to chuckle triumphantly before the potion master flicked his wand out and aimed at you. The fertilizing soil beneath you sunk suddenly, and you had been swallowed by it up to mid-shin.

 

“Is this supposed to intimidate me, Professor?” you taunted.

 

His steely expression remained the same with another subtle flick of his wand. You jerked down again, this time your legs buried up the mid-thigh and you now found it difficult to move.

 

“The dainty dungeon bat just can’t stand to get dirty, can he? Too good for us rodents?”

 

You yelped at the sensation of the fertilizer getting into your overalls as you were sucked downwards, now buried up to your chest. Even though you were wearing shorts beneath them, you swear you might’ve felt some fertilizer get into your underwear.

 

“AGH— Okay, okay! I’m sorry,” you laughed.

 

Severus lowered his wand and hummed lowly to himself in satisfaction at his “victory” over you, watching as you planted your palms on the top of the fertilizer and attempted to push yourself up. But to no avail. You were too deep.

 

“Is the dungeon rat struggling to burrow her way out?” Severus mocked. You blew a raspberry at him, making him wrinkle his nose. “Childish,” he commented.

 

“Touchy,” you countered. Waving your wand above you, whitish-blue light bloomed from your wand and took the form of your runespoor. Runey’s coils piled on the other side of the wagon, his heads raising to seek you out. Mentally, you instructed Zeus to pull you out from the dirt. His mouth pinched the back of your tank top, pulling you out of the mound like a carrot in a garden, fertilizer falling from your clothes, and tinting the overalls a bit darker. You kissed his snoot after placing you back down on the ground by the ramp that led up into the wagon and let him disappear. “This was a good idea, the garden,” you gestured behind you, stooping to unlace your boots as Severus drew closer. “I know many students right now who could use some Dreamless Sleep.”

 

“They shouldn’t expect anything any time soon. It will take a year or so for the wormwood and lavender to mature fully.”

 

“Oof,” you chuckled. “Never mind then.” You kicked off your boots and poured the fertilizer out of them before stepping back into them and tying them back up. Your skin was slick with sweat, dirt clinging to every visible pore that the professor could see. The single braid you wore stuck out from the hat like a snake’s tongue, and beads of sweat rolled down your neck and into the collar.

 

“You're wearing that hat incorrectly, Miss,” he observed, and with a twitch of his hand, the cap righted itself so that the brim was facing forward.

 

“Actually,” you pointedly grabbed the brim of the cap and turned it back around, “I’m trying to protect my neck from the sun. Unfortunately, I ran out of sunscreen earlier, so...” You stretched your limbs out, rolling your joints and massaging your aching limbs. “What brings you out today?”

 

“The garden was something Professor Sprout and I had proposed... and I was told its construction had finally begun. Though…I did not expect to find you behind its making.”

 

“Ah. Well, I have experience with this sort of thing. I built my own garden in my backyard and helped in some school clubs in the past,” you panted, shielding your eyes as you looked up at his backlit silhouette from your seated position. “How have you not melted into a puddle of ink?”

 

“For the millionth time, Miss, cooling charms. It baffles me why you do not use them on yourself.”

 

“I do have one on. It’s probably just not as effe—” you blinked, shaking your head. “Not as a eff…” You rubbed your eyes, your panting sharper. “Christ—okay—I can’t. My brain is gonna be reduced to mush,” you pushed off the ground, striding past him.

 

“Where are you going?” he questioned.

 

“ ‘M gonna go jump into the lake to cool off. Plus, I stink even more now thanks to you,” you replied, not turning back.

 

“Absolutely not,” he called sternly out. “The Giant Squid is lurking about the shallow end this time of year. It could drown you should it be too excitable.”

 

“I’ll be fine," you hollered. “The squid and I are buddies. And if I have problems I’ll summon Runey.”

 

“Y/N.”

 

Something made you stop mid-step, force wrapping around your waist and holding you there. You frowned looking down and seeing nothing. When you turned, Professor Snape had his wand aimed at you once more with a stern expression on his face. You raised a daring brow at him, taking your own wand and using the tip to wind around the barely visible line glinting in the light, before jerking your wand out to the side, severing the string-like wisp as it faded to nothingness and releasing you from it’s hold.

 

“You’re not going in the lake,” Severus warned.

 

“Oh?” A conniving, look made its way onto your face. You stuck your free hand out, wordlessly accio’ing a small object all the way from your bag to yourself. “Challenge accepted.” 

 

POOMPH!

 

Severus jumped at the sight and sound of a giant, rainbow cloud plooming before him, a giant thick wall of colorful smoke now where you stood. Regaining his focus, he slashed his wand at the air, the dense smoke parting down the middle like the Red Sea to reveal you already in the distance sprinting away from him. He growled to himself in irritation. “You insolent—!”

 

You pumped your arms furiously as you sprinted away through the grass, a crazed smile on your face as you giggled to yourself. A flash of red light flew past you, striking the tall grass, and you were momentarily shocked for a second that Professor Snape was actually hunting you down. Another spell flew by you before one made impact with your back and you fell to the ground, rolling onto your side. Immediately, you attempted to stand, but your legs gave out. At first, you had assumed it was a Jelly-Leg Jinx, but then you saw that your legs were shaking vigorously. It was a spell that stimulated your nerves and muscles randomly, giving you no control of them when you tried to stand. When you did you, fell back to the ground again. You applied every counter spell you could think of, and on the fourth one, it finally yielded. When you were up once more, Professor Snape was much closer this time, still yards away, but closer. 

 

You cast a wordless Jelly-Leg Jinx spell at him, which he blocked, but there was a fleeting look of surprise on his face, either toward the fact that you had the balls to cast back or that he was expecting you to chant the spell aloud. Either way, he didn’t let up. And neither did you. The both of you cast at one another, neither opting to chant the names aloud as you didn’t want to give the other an advantage. It was a dance of casting and blocking, him striding forward and you quickly shuffling back to try to keep the distance between you two, but he was managing to get closer, inches at a time. But it eventually clicked what you should do to give yourself another chance to run away again. 

 

I know your weakness, Professor!

 

“Aguamenti!”

 

A jet of water like a firefighter hose shot from your wand, speeding toward the potion master. He stopped in his tracks, throwing up a “Protego” to form a shield in front of him. You kept the spell going as you trotted backward some more, aiming your wand higher and higher so that it still rained down on him despite the increasing difference. Once you were far enough, you stopped the spell and chanted, “Expecto Patronum!”

 

Runey swirled into existence, happy to be out once more, but did get a chance to receive pets as you gave him orders.

 

Stall him, bubba! And no biting!

 

Severus waited for the water to stop blasting his shield. He couldn’t see where you were or how far away you had gotten. Damnable girl… But eventually, the water stopped coming and he was able to get his field of vision back only to be met with the sight of your runespoor. And even though it was big, it was still fast. Very fast. It came slithering toward him, and because of its size and length, it was able to reach its target sooner. That thing would coil around him and squeeze him like a stress ball the second it got to him. Lumos Maxima would have no effect in the daylight and the only other spells that he knew that affected the creature were environmental, but he didn’t know the incantations. But there was also another option.

 

Avoiding the creature altogether.

 

You could see your destination now as you continued to cut through the field, the grass getting subtly shorter in height the closer you got to the shore. There was a long dock that went out some yards into the lake, a perfect platform to jump off of into the water. You couldn’t have been too far from it however when you heard a crack somewhere from behind you. Quickly looking over your shoulder, you saw Professor Snape once more who had gotten past your runespoor using apparition. What the hell! How many apparition points does he have?!

 

You began running in a zig-zag-like fashion which helped you avoid the spells that sped past you, and even when his accuracy was on target, you were looking over your shoulder every few seconds to block them. The last one, however, was a well-timed “Expeliarmus” that had knocked your wand out of your hand, but you didn’t dare to stop and pick it up. If you kept running, you’d have a greater chance of getting into the water.

 

Soon, the grass under your feet changed from grass to gravelly sand to flat wood as you made it to dock. You were heaving, but still determined to dive in, the wood thumping harshly beneath your boots. The end of the dock came closer and closer, your heartbeat pounding into your ears as your anticipation crescendo. There was another faint crack again and just as you dove off the dock, your world flipping upside down, everything stopped. It was as if everything froze, your fingertips millimeters away from the surface of the water. But it wasn’t time that had stopped, the surface of the water still trembling and sparkling naturally. It was you that had been frozen midair and upside down. And when you looked back at the beginning of the dock, there was Professor Snape, wand aimed and holding you in the air like a freshly caught fish.

 

“No!” you whined petulantly. “No, no, no!” you wriggled about in the air, struggling to swipe even your fingertips against the water as Snape lifted you further up from the water, presumably using “Levicorpus” on you. Your protesting, however soon shifted into amusement as he closed the distance, your face about at level with his as he stood a few feet from the dock’s edge. “You—you—I can’t believe—I—ah—haha hahaha—,” you burst into a fit of giggles at your current circumstances. It must’ve been a silly sight. You had annoyed Snape into chasing you, dueling you, and now this. It was just so amusing to you, and you couldn’t stop laughing because, well, you were having fun. 

 

Severus could throw you by your ankles if that wasn’t exactly what you wanted at the moment. He was fuming at your disobedience when you had run away but found it shifting to anticipation and something indescribable when he engaged in a duel with you. A type of thrill. That wasn’t to say he let his irritation go then, but he found it melting away now as he stood before you, the tapping of the wood beneath his shoes ceasing as he watched you chuckle and giggle at being held upside down, having poked the bear enough into successfully getting him to do something he normally wouldn’t do if it was anyone else.

 

“Hmn—hmn…” As your laughter died down, you felt your hat slip off, and your hands shot downwards to grab it, securing it back on your head. As you looked back at Professor Snape, you noticed the downturn of his mouth and thought maybe you had gone too far in being a menace today. 

 

Wait. But you’re upside down.

 

Grinning to yourself, you attempted to shift and crane your head and body in an awkward manner, trying to get a right-side-up view of him. “Professor, are you smili—”

 

“PROFESSOR SNAPE!”

 

Professor Snape whipped around to the new voice, breaking his focus on the spell and unintentionally dropping you into the water. You plunged head-first into the refreshingly cold water, but it went into your noise at an angle that caused your sinuses to burn uncomfortably. Righting yourself in the water, you pinched and tweaked your nose until the feeling subsided. Shallow-dwelling kelp and seaweed swayed on the floor, small crabs and a few fishes receding from your imposing presence as you floated. The bubbles you had made brushed along your limbs and rose upwards toward the surface. You could see the Squid not too far away, letting its tentacle bask in the rays of light that pierced through the water. Sensing your presence, it reached one out to you like a fair lady offering its hand at a ball. You kissed the top, rubbing your hands along the length in greeting. It patted your forearm in appreciation before pulling it away, continuing its shallow end sunbathing. While underwater, you took the opportunity to scrub at your face, your arms, including the length underneath your sleeves, your pits, and tugged at your overalls to get as much dirt off of you as possible. 

 

Upon resurfacing, you did so as quietly as possible in hopes Professor Snape wouldn’t notice. As you swam sneakily, only the top half of your head peeking out above the surface like a crocodile, you registered the new voice as Professor Sprout.

 

“…more conscious about it, Severus. It looked like you were going to drown her.”

 

“I was not going to drown her. I was trying to keep her out of the water.”

 

“RAH!” You lunged up and grabbed at both of their ankles. Professor Sprout yelped, and while Snape had no audible reaction, you’d felt him flinch harshly and instinctually went to kick you but stopped at the last second, glaring at you.

 

“Miss L/N, you mustn’t jump out at people like that. We could’ve stumbled off the dock,” she chided. 

 

You snickered to yourself and lowered yourself back down, your giggles causing bubbles to form in the water.

 

“What did you do to have Professor Snape dangling you above the water?”

 

You rose above the water a bit more. “First of all, I was minding my own business—”

 

“She threatened to spray me with dragon piss and used magic against me,” Severus interjected.

 

“He called me a dirty rodent,” you followed quickly. “And then when I said I was gonna jump in the lake to wash off after he dunked me in the fertilizer, he used magic against me first. ”

 

“Because the squid is in the shallow end, you foolish girl,” he argued.

 

“I know,” you heaved a laugh. “We just said “hi” to each other. It’s chilling out by the coral.”

 

Professor Sprout shook her head in disbelief as she looked between the two of you. “Childish. Honestly, so childish, the both of you. Anyway, Miss, I have something for you.”

 

“Oh? What is it?”

 

“If you’d like to receive it, you best do as Professor Snape asks and come out of the water.”

 

You narrowed your eyes. “And how do I know what you have is even worth leaving the lake?”

 

She sighed. “It’s what I would’ve given you had you won our wager.”

 

Your face lit up and the Professors stepped back as you palmed your hands against the dock and pulled yourself up out of the water. Water pooled beneath you instantly as your now heavy-feeling overalls clung and sagged against you. Professor Sprout put a hand on yours and Snape’s shoulder and the three of you were apparated back to the garden.

 

“Bloody hell!” Filch yelped, as you all had apparated very close to him while he was retrieving more wood for the fence.

 

“Sorry, Argus,” Sprout apologized. The man grumbled to himself and returned to his task as Sprout reached into her bag and pulled out a large, spikey pineapple. You made grabby hands at it immediately. 

 

“It occurred to me,” she started, handing the fruit to you. “That we probably should have made a quid-pro-quo rather than a bet as I know you like this type of labor.”

 

“Probably,” you chuckled.

 

Severus’s brows knitted together at the fruit. Pineapple? Of all things, you had asked for pineapple as your prize if Slytherin won?

 

You moved away from the teachers, cradling the fruit possessively and snapped the stiff stem off the top. “Mr. Filch!” The man shuffled around to face you. “Want some?” You asked, holding the pineapple up.

 

“No,” he gruffed, hobbling back to his work and muttering to himself.

 

“Don’t eat too much in one sitting, Miss,” Sprout advised as you knee’d the bottom of the pineapple quite hard before crouching and rolling it firmly against the ground back and forth to break the internal sections apart. “You’ll burn your tongue if you do.”

 

You muttered a “yeah yeah” to yourself as you worked on opening up pineapple. Professor Sprout murmured a soft goodbye to the potion master who watched your ministrations in bemusement. When juice began to leak and squirt out from the grooves and cracks, you smiled to yourself in glee and moved to sit back against one of the wheels of the wagon, shaded by the shadow.

 

Severus paced around to the other side of the wagon to get a better look at the garden. The plotted land itself was much bigger than a few of the interior greenhouses lined next to each other. A simple fence was being constructed by Filch to serve as a perimeter and he had no doubt Sprout would add her own final magical touches to serve as security to keep birds or even students out. This garden would indeed save him from having to go out on quite a few nerve-wracking harvesting outings, especially in the winter.

 

When he rounded the wagon again, he saw that you had removed that thin, plaid layer you had on to cradle the pineapple as you pulled the triangular sections out by the spikes and bit into them. The top you had on didn’t have any sleeves. Well, barely. Was their cloth connecting the front to the back over the junction of your shoulder and neck? Yes, but only there. He could see the entire length of your arms and shoulders, the skin shiny with a mixture of lake water and sweat and…

 

The sweet and sour juices tingled wonderfully on the flat of your tongue as you bit into the cold fruit. You felt much better now, no longer smelly, your body temperature cooled down, and delicious fruit in your lap. You looked off to the sides, checking for the potion master as it had grown eerily silent, and found him off to right, staring at you with an expression you can only describe as unsettled.

 

“What?” You weren’t doing anything unusual at the moment. Just eating. His gaze remained fixed on you, unresponsive to your question. What was he looking at? You noted the downward direction of his gaze and followed it, looking for anything strange and—

 

Oh…shit…

 

In removing your flannel shirt to hold the pineapple without discomfort, you had forgotten why you were even wearing it in the first place: to cover up the massive scar on your arm. It was a painful-looking scar, the raised parts pinched like dark red fabric pulling taut on the surrounding skin that was blotchy with pink and white in an almost watercolor-like way. The scar at its highest reached the crest of your shoulder, and at the lowest was an inch shy of your elbow, encompassing the topside and outward-facing side of your upper arm. You were running low on Invisi-scar cream and opted not to use it today, dawning the thin flannel instead. Fat load of good that did you now. It was on full display. And Professor Snape was staring at it so shamelessly.

 

You felt emotionally clogged, not knowing what to feel, but there was a coldness that jolted through you. People naturally stared at the strange, the ugly, the beautiful… Being stared at wasn’t new for you, even with this scar specifically. It happens quite often back home. You didn’t care much for what others thought of it. But when it came to him…

 

Jesus, having friends has made you soft.

 

Severus’s eyes studied the large, unexpected scar on your arm. It looked terribly painful, the skin pinched in splattered, diverting paths like a tree root surrounded by blotching. What stunned him more than the nature of the scar was its placement. He had seen this section of your arm before, half covered by t-shirt sleeves, but the skin outside of the cloth had appeared healthy then. Did this happen recently? It doesn’t look like an attempt was made to heal it. What had you done? 

 

Something moved over the scar, drawing him out of his trance and when he looked at you once more, he stiffened. You had caught him red-handed gawking at your damaged limb for Merlin knows how long and you had broken his daze by slowly and purposefully, placing your cap over the scar, or as much as the cap could cover, to regain his attention. You were looking back at him in disappointment and…restraint. Restraint of something. His face heated in embarrassment and when his lips parted further, unsure if he himself was even going to say anything, you had looked away and put the cap back on to your head, pulling the brim down exceptionally low to shield your eyes and slipped the flannel back on.

 

“I…” It came out as an inaudible broken whisper, hardly finding his voice.

 

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. I don’t know why I keep messing up with you.

And you didn’t do anything to ease his nerves either, quietly continuing to eat the pineapple piece by piece. He could feel it build again, that same feeling after he had heedlessly inspected the scars on your hand. The guilt. Only this time you hadn’t rushed out of a classroom, but your withdrawal was just as worse.

 

Instead, it was he who retreated, swiftly walking back toward the castle, hoping the fact that no longer looking at you would help mitigate his emotions.

 

It didn’t. It really didn’t.

 

Coward.

***

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s alright.”

 

“I don’t know why; I just can’t seem to—”

 

“Miss, it’s alright. I won’t lie, I was expecting it to happen at some point.” Lupin cast you a light look of reassurance. Your experimenting session, which had been delayed to later in the day as a result of your wager with Sprout, was off to a bad start. You were struggling to get Runey into a solid state, rendering today’s exercise in testing his senses, including his ability to feel pain, useless. It was frustrating, to say the least, as you had higher expectations of yourself than Lupin did of you when it came to the Patronus Charm.

 

“Has something changed with what you draw your happiness from?”

 

“No, I—,” you huffed in exasperation, running a hand through your hair. “I just can’t seem to clear my mind properly. Maybe if I—”

 

“Let’s not force anything, L/N,” he advised carefully. “If it’s not there right now, then it’s not there. Remember, we are not on a schedule.”

 

You sighed, irritated with your failure. This was not how today was supposed to go. You were really looking forward to today's tests and now your brain was turning against you. Professor Lupin observed you for a moment before humming softly, “Why don’t we take some time to just have a chat? Speaking my thoughts aloud has always helped me acquire some clarity.”

 

Upon reluctantly agreeing to his offer, the two of you walked back to his classroom, the ambiance arguably more comfortable than the large vacancy of the Room of Requirement whose sentience offered little furniture for you and Lupin’s sessions. When the two of you approached, however, sounds were coming from the other side of the door. Lupin, assuming it was a student up to know good, sighed and mentally prepared himself to give a lecture about etiquette and trespassing, but instead of a student he was met with Sirius Black’s owl perched on his desk and tearing up pieces of parchment with its talons and beak.

 

“Dionysus!” Lupin chided the bird sharply as he strode over to his desk, shooing the owl away, who flapped over to perch on a nearby coat rack. The bird screeched, cocking and twisting its head at you.

 

“Whose owl is that?” you asked as Lupin assessed the damage to the papers on his desk, noticing another letter delivered by the bird.

 

“It’s Sirius’s. I wouldn’t go near it. It bites,” he stated, thumbing open the envelope and quickly reading the contents inside. He rolled his eyes, throwing the letter down on the table. 

 

“You don’t seem too happy with what Sirius has to say,” you noted, approaching and sitting atop one of the many desks.

 

“It’s not displeasure. It’s…well…he’s asking about you.”

 

You raised a brow. “Me?”

 

“Yes. He’s been wanting to know how you’re doing. He’s even given you a Marauder-esque nickname in our writings. ‘Hydra’.”

 

“The hell is a Hydra?”

 

“A multiheaded, serpentine monster based in Greek and Roman mythology.”

 

“Ugh. Tell him not to call me that.”

 

“He won’t listen. I think he thinks you are his friend,” he chuckled, slipping the letter into a drawer. “Now then, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

 

“I mean… It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything, just annoying.” You drummed the tops of your thighs with your hands. “I have this scar on my right arm. It’s rather big and uh... earlier today, someone whose opinion I guess I hold in higher regard than others saw it and stared at it rather rudely.”

 

“I see. Would this person happen to be Professor Snape?” Lupin asked carefully.

 

You clicked your tongue. “Yes. I am supposed to aid him this evening with your Wolfsbane…and I am not looking forward to addressing it.”

 

“Hm. I can’t say I’m that surprised, Miss. Even when I was a student, it was said that Severus had a bit of a staring problem. However, is there a chance he could have been staring out of concern?”

 

“Of course, I considered that, but I don’t care what his reasoning was. That’s not the point. It’s the fact that he drew attention to it. Even an eight-year-old knows better than to stare. And its nature is not exactly easy or convenient to cover up on the hotter days,” you huffed.

 

“I suppose that is fair. I’m not a fan of people making a fuss over mine either.” His eyes flit over the length of your arm, your upper body now dawning a thick, ill-fitting sweatshirt. “Is there a chance I may see it? Scarred person to scarred person?”

 

“It’s not like yours, Professor. It’s not a cut.”

 

“That’s alright. Considering I had to see severed limbs yesterday, I don’t think your scar will rattle me.”

 

Pursing your lips, you began to peel off the thick sweatshirt, smoothing down your ruffled hair when it was off. The T-shirt you had on was oversized as well, the hem of the sleeve reaching your elbow. You slowly pinched the edge and drew the sleeve all the way up over your shoulder. Lupin bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes flashing with that same look that Snape had, and he was more conscious and controlled in his reaction. His eyes danced over it all, seeing where it started, where it ended, the pigmentation that made it look fresh even though it was years old, the pinched areas, the blotchiness…

 

“Ah…well…” he started delicately. “I understand why Professor Snape might’ve…fixated on it.”

 

You tugged the sleeve back down and wriggled the sweatshirt back on. 

 

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve seen worse scars?”

 

You snorted. “Considering your lycanthropy and that your soon-to-be wife is an auror, yes, I can believe that.”

 

He tittered softly. “Yes, I suppose Alastor Moody’s socket is rather ghastly. If I may say so, Miss, perhaps you shouldn’t assist Professor Snape with my Wolfsbane tonight. It would certainly teach him a lesson if he were to be down a pair of hands.”

 

“No, I don’t think I should do that,” you sighed. “As much as I’d like to be spiteful and petty right now, it’ll be better for the both of you if you start getting your medicine made as soon as possible.”

 

Lupin’s shoulders dropped a bit, saddened but touched by the sentiment. “Oh, Miss, you don’t need to put my own comfort above your own.”

 

“It’s more so a matter of logic. If I help tonight, it’ll ease the overall workload and be better for everyone. You’ll have your potions, Professor Snape won’t have as hefty a workload, and…”

 

He slightly dipped his head to catch your eyes. “And what for you?”

 

“Hopefully, I can just have the matter squashed.”

***

 

The cauldron before him simmered softly, little bubbles of oxygen that had built up on the bottom launching upwards as it drew closer to a boiling point. Its fizzing was the only noise, highlighting the lingering quietude of the classroom as he brewed the first Wolfsbane potion. 

 

By himself. 

 

Alone.

 

Foolish man.

 

Had he not learned his lesson after the first incident with your scar in this very spot? And if otherwise, had he not always been a man of control, subtly and discretion? Since when does he take liberty in openly gawking at physical afflictions as if they were spectacles in a freak show? To stare so critically as he had tried to diagnose its cause based on the appearance? Was he not an adult who knew perfectly well it was ill-mannered to fixate on such things? Its excruciating appearance stirred up that unfounded, insatiable curiosity in him when presented with all the ingredients, all the pieces, except for the “why.” Why did you have that frightening scar? 

 

17 aconite leaves…

 

And the guilt… Its presence was a constant reminder that he had gone soft, that he cared in a way that wasn’t obligatory as a teacher. He was already past the fringe of territory he feared to graze when this dynamic between you both started: the territory of caring too much— of involving himself with someone so much that his actions and words actually had an effect. 

 

Juice of 2 mandrake leaves…

 

Sentimentality was a nuisance. A distraction. As much as he could help it, he liked being able to control as much of his life as possible. The intricate circumstances of his day-to-day routine, the people he has to interact with, what occupies his free time… But if he can’t control his emotions, what then? If he can’t control what he lets affect him, how the hell is he supposed to focus on anything?

 

3 drops of dragon’s blood…

 

Severus didn’t expect you to show, not that he needed your assistance this time around… Even so, he never mentioned a specific time to show up. He assumed some time after dinner, which it now was. You could be doing anything right now; studying, reading, winding down for the night, each more likely than you brewing alongside him.

 

1 powdered moonstone…

 

The potion shimmered like a pearl as the powdery dust swirled and dissolved shifting the hue of the potion to a cooler spectrum as he stirred the potion. His hand went to reach for the hellebore syrup and—

 

…knock..knock..knock…

 

A soft hesitant rapping on the door made his head snap up from the station. He blinked, gazing at the door. Had he actually heard that or was his brain playing tricks on him? Lowering the flame beneath the cauldron, he moved smoothly up from the stool, the end of his cloak grazing lightly along the stone as he approached the door. The lock clicked harshly as he twisted the little knob, his hand grasping the handle of the door and pulling it open.

 

You stood on the other side of the threshold, your hair backlit with a soft orange glow from the torch on the wall some feet behind you, one of many that illuminated the dungeon corridors. The first thing Severus observed in his surprise at your presence was the change in your attire. Every inch of skin that wasn’t your neck or head was covered, now wearing loose, baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt that practically drowned you, the hem reaching the middle of your thighs and the sleeves more than swallowing your hands. Severus couldn’t help but wonder if that was purposeful or not.

 

You felt your stomach twist up at the sound of the lock being turned. After leaving Lupin’s classroom, you had considered not going to the Potions classroom to help with the Wolfsbane, but in the end, you didn’t want this to become something that could fester and grow in significance. When the door pulled back to reveal Professor Snape, you swallowed anxiously, eyes repeatedly darting between him and some unknown point in the corner of your vision.

 

“...Do…you still need assistance?” you murmured.

 

The professor didn’t respond; his expression was stoic, and instead, he opted to simply step to the side to allow you to enter. Internally, however, Severus was fighting several emotions at once: surprise, nervousness, anticipation… 

 

The smell of herbs and potion water hit your nose as you took note of the cauldron already simmering with Wolfsbane ingredients and tools placed meticulously within an arm's reach of the station. Being that he was in the middle of brewing the, presumably,  first one already, you didn’t know what to do, walking off the nearest side of the classroom and tapping your fingers against the side of your thighs through the long, thick sleeves, an action Severus was able to see as he quietly closed the door to the classroom. Apprehension.

 

“All the prep work has already been done for the first potion,” he started softly, fingers fidgetting with one another behind his back, his gaze lingering on you as he took slow steps back to the station.

 

You nodded to yourself. “...Okay. I’ll wait then.” If all the prep work had been done, it meant that he was just adding them in and waiting periodically between stirs.

 

Severus sat down in his seat once more and noticed that you didn’t move much in his peripheral. He assumed you needed a few seconds or so to gather your courage before joining him. When you did move though, it wasn't toward him, but to the back of the classroom where he heard the faucet of the basin squeak to life. He looked over his shoulder and saw you scrunch your long sleeves up to your elbows and grab a pair of thick rubber dish-washing gloves.

 

Must you be so impossibly helpful?

 

Severus turned the flame back up, added the Hellbore syrup, and stirred the concoction a few times before he reached for the murtlap tentacles. However, he found it a little difficult to keep going with you in the classroom now, the tension bearing its weight on his shoulders. His lips parted and closed repeatedly, trying to come up with the right words to address the issue at hand.

 

“...I didn’t mean to stare earlier today,” Snape's soft and deep voice carried across the classroom above the sound of the running water and scratch of the bristle brush against a miniature cauldron you were cleaning. 

 

Had you not mentally prepared yourself for this conversation on the walk down, you might’ve dropped the brush in surprise. You took a deep breath in and replied blankly, “Everyone means to stare. They just don’t mean to get caught. You’re not the first to stare, and you won’t be the last.”

 

His ears heated. Well. That certainly did not make him feel any better. “It wasn’t my intention,” he reiterated with more conviction. “I was…surprised… I’ve seen that portion of your arm unclothed before, and I've never seen it…damaged before.”

 

You turned the mini cauldron over in your grasp, using a towel to wipe away the burn marks on the bottom before setting it on the metal rack to dry. “If I know I’ll be wearing clothes that don’t cover it all the way, I tend to use a cream to conceal it, but I am running low on said cream and didn’t think I’d run into anyone this afternoon while working for Professor Sprout, so I chose to wear a flannel… At the time, I had forgotten when I took it off.”

 

He dropped the tentacles into the cauldron and began to add the squeezed juice of the sopophorous beans before lowering the temperature once more. Cleaning the remaining beakers and knives, you set the tools away to dry before leisurely making your way over to the station where Professor Snape was situated. He gave you a sidelong glance as you settled on the neighboring seat some feet from him, resting your head on your crossed forearms.

 

“I’m sorry,” Severus murmured.

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“It’s not.” He carefully added the crushed remains of an occamy egg into the cauldron. “As I have taught all sorts of students, I should know better than that.”

 

“What would you rather I say then?”

 

He offered nothing, only shifting his jaw a little in thought.

 

“How about a knuckle sandwich then?”

 

His eyes flicked over to you, narrowing. “What is offering food supposed to accomplish?”

 

You blinked at him in confusion before the corners of your lips quivered, and you snorted, burying your face against your forearms. “Really are a native…” you muttered. Severus quirked a brow. Again, with that word, ‘native.’ 

 

The potion gurgled, catching his attention once more. He waved his wand over the cauldron once, stirred six times counter-clockwise, and then waved his wand over it a second time. The potion puffed a perfect hue of blue smoke, drawing the faintest smirks from the professor as he bottled the contents and set it off to the side. You brought your head up from your arms, smoothing some hairs away from your face. While he portioned off the next set of ingredients, you went and got yourself a cauldron filled with potion water and the full set of tools needed to prepare the ingredients. You were just about to start crushing the sopophorous beans with the flat of your knife when you felt a hand fall briefly on your right wrist, stopping you from preparing the beans and retreating away when you looked to Professor Snape.

 

“Before we start…I would like to ask you something,” he stated measuredly.

 

“Okay…?” You set the knife back on the table.

 

“...About that scar,” he dared to clarify. He was approaching uncertain territory. The way you swallowed and bit on your inner cheek didn’t go unnoticed either, and he braced himself for a harsh ‘no,’ but was instead given the subtlest permissive nod. He took a second to compose his words carefully.

 

“The appearance of your scar…It doesn’t look as though it has healed properly...”

 

“It wasn’t. If you are proposing that you could improve its appearance, it is a fruitless endeavor. I’ve tried.” 

 

“I’m not,” he murmured. “Its pigmentation, however, is concerning… It…looks as though you acquired it recently, and I can’t help but wonder if you injured yourself during one of your outdoor excursions and hid it from Madam Pomfrey…”

 

You shook your head. “No. No, I’ve had this scar for some years now.” Your hands coming together in front of you. “It’s that bad, huh?”

 

Severus’s cheeks tinged pink at the accidental implications of his question.

 

“I know it’s ugly,” you waved in dismissal. “But I only cover it up because it’s inconvenient to deal with questions about it, especially from unfiltered first year students.”

 

He pressed his lips together, nodding slightly in understanding.

 

“Was that all you wished to know?”

 

“…No.” His fingertips slightly fiddled with one another on the table. “But as you said, I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

 

“I’ll grant you an exemption.” You drummed the wooden surface of the station. “I don’t believe it’s wise to brew if you’re distracted by those unanswered questions.”

 

The crease between his brows deepened. Was it that easy for you to recognize? “Very well,” Severus grunted. “Does it hurt ever? It is quite painful looking.”

 

“No, but it is sensitive to the sun on hotter days though.”

 

“How long have you had it?”

 

“About 5 years give or take.”

 

“How did you acquire it?”

 

You tilted your head slightly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your right sleeve. “…Guess.”

 

He raised a brow. “You wish for me to guess?”

 

“Makes it fun for me,” you shrugged before you grabbed the bottom of your sweatshirt and peeled it up over your head, revealing a thick sweater, which you also removed, only for Severus to be greeted with another thinner sweater.

 

“Cold, are we?” he teased lightly.

 

“You’re the one who schedules the brewing for nighttime,” you retorted, removing the second sweater, down to the last layer, which was an oversized t-shirt whose sleeves reached your elbows. Goosebumps raised on your skin from the chilly dungeon air. Grasping the edge of the sleeves, you tugged it upwards, cuffing it over your shoulder and fully baring the scar to Professor Snape. His eyes darted all over it from top to bottom, studying the discoloration and pinched skin. His hand hovered upward a little off the desk but fell back down a second later, fingers curling into a slack fist.

 

“You can touch it if you’d like,” you offered quietly, clocking the micro movement. “Carefully.” 

 

He gave you a hesitant look, but you returned it with a small nod of encouragement. He scooted his stool closer to you, hands moving slowly until he made delicate contact with your shoulder and just above your elbow. You blushed. Warm hands.

 

Severus was purposeful in his touches, fingers shifting up and down slightly and using his thumbs to swipe along the borders of healthy and damaged skin and pulling some areas with the pad of his thumbs. With an up-close inspection he was able to see that you no longer had follicles on the blotchy, non-pinched areas of the scar, the area smooth and shiny.

 

“…A burn?” He guessed.

 

“Technically, no, but you’re close.”

 

Severus furrowed his brows. The lack of follicles suggests it’s a heat-based injury. Studying the splatter shape a few seconds more, it came to him.

 

“A scald.”

 

You nodded solemnly. “Yep.”

 

“I presume this is from a brewing accident… Was the potion by any chance acid-based?”

 

“Um…I don’t remember.” You looked over your shoulder toward the wall where you had discarded your bag. Sticking your other arm out behind you, you accio’d your Experiments Remedies Log to yourself. Severus took his eyes off the scar, but not his hands, when he saw the notebook now in your grasp. He watched as you opened it and flipped quickly through it, a blur of a repeated image on every page until you settled on one. It was a drawing of a person's silhouette, resembling the signs one might find on the door of a muggle public restroom. On the particular page, there was a red ‘x’ drawn on the upper portion of the right arm where your scar also was.

 

“Yes,” you stated, reading the log below the drawing. “It was acid-based. How’d you know?”

 

“The blotching of near white and red is common in acid-based burns. You recorded this event?”

 

“I did.”

 

Severus removed his hands from your arm. “Would you allow me to read it?” he requested, his eyes soft with mild curiosity.  

 

Your face heated again, your lips pursing in hesitation and flusterdness, but nevertheless, you found yourself sliding the notebook in front of him. “J..s.. the o..e p..ge…” you mumbled.

 

Severus nodded in confirmation. “Just the one page.”

 

Your clothes rustled as you put your layers back on while Severus adjusted the notebook in front of him and began to read the information you had recorded beneath the diagram.

 

 

• Messed up somewhere in the Aphid Killing potion, see other notebook for corrections.

• Cauldron exploded and potion splashed on right arm. Was scalded on the upper half.

• Out of dittany. Used hose in the backyard for 15 minutes to wash it off. Found burn relieving cream and bandages.

 

 

• Large blisters on arms. Very tight. Can’t move it much. Difficult to bandage.

• Got more dittany. Need to wait until blisters go away.

 

 

• Blisters popped on their own after 3 weeks. Skin underneath is bad. Applied dittany.

• Dittany is having little to no effect. Waited too long? Ingredient in potion causing resitance? Should use another cream?

• Cream is helping with pain, skin not dry anymore.

• Tried recommended potions, none working. Definitely waited too long. Hopefully time will improve the pigment.

• Scar looks like splashed paint.

 

 

The log ended there and he assumed that you hadn’t bothered to make any attempt to heal or improve its appearance after the final note. The frustration begins to bubble within him once more. This was another event that could’ve been prevented had you been supervised. Another harrowing experience that didn’t need to happen.

 

“Face.”

 

Severus looked up from the notebook.

 

“You’re making a face,” you clarified. He blinked, huffing faintly as he forced his facial muscles to relax out of whatever expression he was wearing. Anger maybe. 

 

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that,” he said quietly.

 

“Well… I don’t disagree,” you shifted on your stool, “but it did teach me a few good lessons. It was my fault. It was a hot day, and I stupidly chose to brew in a tank top. Had I worn even a T-shirt, I could’ve lessened the damage. That particular potion was also a few years above my skill level at the time. Nowadays, I’m ready for any accidents that might happen. I never go out and about without some anti-poison, anti-venom, dittany, burn paste, pain reliever, or bandages in my bag. But it’s whatever,” you sniffed. “I’ve dealt with worse on my own.”

 

Severus just stared at you, that statement tugging on that protective string within him. “You’ve dealt… with worse…” he repeated strictly in question.

 

His tone caught you off guard and you started to regret saying such a thing that might make him ask you to elaborate. “Er—yes—” you cleared your throat, taking the notebook back, closing it, and setting it off to the side. “But that’s not a story for today.” You quickly picked up the knife and began to use the flat of the blade to crush the first sopophorous bean, trying to ignore the round of tension that suddenly made itself present. Severus’s gaze lingered on you in thought, wondering if he should probe more before he too eventually picked up the knife and began to prep the beans, dropping the subject for another day.

 

***

 

Dear Narcissa,

 

I thought I’d send you an update just in case you were still wondering what was going on with me. Professor Snape and I talked and he cleared up any misunderstandings as best as he could. I more or less got the idea of his reasons for being unfavorable toward no-majs. I understand that they are personal rather than ideological. He did clarify that he doesn’t dislike my no-majness. Oddly enough, the opposite. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something since you know him better. Did Professor Snape have a staring problem back in school? I ask because I notice he does it quite a bit, especially when I’m doing something one might consider to be “childish” or “outlandish,” but also when I’m doing nothing at all. Or is that just a European thing because it’s considered quite rude where I’m from? He’s still a weirdo, which I thoroughly enjoy.

 

I hope Spring has been treating your family well.

 

Sincerely,

Y/N L/N.

Chapter 61: Intricate Little Facets

Summary:

After an encounter with a boggart, Severus is offered another opportunity to see below the surface.

cw: implied child abuse

There were those days that you knew were just going to be shit. Y’know, when you wake up in the morning with a headache or something, and you get the sense that it’s just the tip of the iceberg? That it’s an omen? Everyone has had them now and then. You had a knack for sensing them too. Or maybe such occurrences were self-fulfilling prophecies. You had sensed it this morning when you woke up, your neck stinging like crazy. You had a nightmare last night, one of the especially bad ones where you unintentionally hurt yourself in your sleep. When you woke up this morning and felt the pain, you grabbed a hand mirror from your bedside stand and saw that you had raw, red scratches all over your throat, ranging from just underneath your chin down to your collarbone. They were angry, and a few were crusted with blood, not that your nails were sharp, but you must’ve really gone at it. You looked for some cream to help, but most of what you had wasn’t designed for mere scratches. And you weren’t about to mummy wrap your neck and make the injury look worse than it was, so you resigned to leaving it as is.

 

Your tired eyes shifted needlessly around the corridor, an implacable ball of anxious energy buzzing inside you, born from your earlier nightmare, but for some reason, you couldn’t get it to go away, no matter how many deep breaths you took. As a result, it started to take on the form of impatience. 

 

You detested slow walkers, especially when they were right in front of you. You had dealt with it enough at junior high, and you hoped that people who had to traverse a castle with corridors that were sometimes a bit narrow would’ve had the spatial awareness to realize when they were being a hindrance to others, but apparently not. There was this group of second-year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws that were walking in a cluster, taking up as much space on one side of the corridor as possible and slowing down the natural flow of student traffic, oblivious to the fact. Multiple times, you tried to dart around them, but every attempt was met with another student coming from the opposite direction nearly colliding with you, and every time, your shoes would squeak harshly against the stone.

 

“These fucking people…” you thought to yourself as you grabbed the shoulders of a first-year student and physically moved them to the side and out of your way.

 

Breakfast was irritating, too. Meals in the Great Hall were always lively and filled with students chatting with one another, but the sounds were just too much for you right now. Cutlery clinked and scratched too harshly against the ceramic plates, there was too much talking with full mouths, lips slurping on the rims of goblets, and too many attempts to get you to engage in a conversation when your demeanor very clearly said, “Leave me alone.” Worst of all, you couldn’t block the noise out because you had accidentally left your Walkman in your room this morning. You tried to eat your way through it, but then you started focusing on how the eggs tasted like eggs, and you effectively lost your appetite for anything that would give you real energy through the day, nibbling on toast for the rest of the time.

 

“Good morning, everyone,” Professor Lupin greeted the class, his voice a bit strained and thick with sleep. As you sat down, you remembered it was day two of his furry time of the month, and as each day passes, he’ll feel more of the strain. He didn’t look like he slept too well last night, his eyes dark with under-circles and his robes a bit rumpled from a lack of care in getting ready properly. 

 

“I know last week I said we would be doing a practical demonstration of how to defend oneself against a creature called the Chameleon Ghoul, but I seemed to have caught a bit of a bug this past weekend and I wouldn’t want to risk any accidents as I am not feeling my best, so today will be a lecture instead.” A couple of people groaned in disappointment, but most were understanding, having gotten sick themselves at times that were rather inconvenient.

 

With a flick of his wand, the tall windows shut themselves, sending the room into near darkness as he pulled on a cord that lowered a projection screen. He walked to the back of the classroom and turned on a film projector he had rolled out and readied, projecting the image of a short-looking creature who resembled a small troll. It had grey skin, no hair, and rather normal-appearing ears, unlike elves, who were also hairless. Its eyes were that of the headlights on your cars, wide with bright yellow light. Students snickered at the grubby creature’s appearance.

 

“This is a Chameleon Ghoul. They are named as such due to a disturbing ability they possess: the ability to transform themselves into ordinary objects. As such, you can think of them as the cousins of boggarts. Their transformative abilities allow them to blend into rooms as inconspicuous objects, much like a chameleon can blend into various surfaces. Some think that this ability makes them more dangerous than a boggart as they can hide in broad daylight, giving them greater success in attacking humans, however, they are limited in their ability to physically do anything so long as they remain as the object they’ve taken the form of. In 1891, there was an infestation of Chameleon Ghouls in the Ministry of Magic that resulted in the deaths of nine workers and seriously injuring five, including the minister themselves. It was believed that this event was actually an assassination attempt on the Minister at the time and was a key factor in improving security measurements within the Ministry of Magic. Does anyone have any questions so far?”

 

No one raised their hands, eager to hear more from the DADA teacher.

 

“Alright then. The best way to handle a Chameleon Ghoul when you find yourself facing off against one…”

 

You were rubbing your eyes by the time class came to an end. You did your best to pay attention to a creature you thought was rather interesting, but now and then, your anxiety spiked when you thought you saw shapes moving in the dark corners of the classroom. Lupin ran a hand over his face as students got up from their seats and left the classroom, a wave of fatigue washing over him.

 

“Are you alright, Professor?” you murmured.

 

“I could be better. A bit of a headache, but I am managing.”

 

“Sorry, Professor Snape and I got you your potion so late last night. Not sure why he waited until the first day to start the brewing, but we have most, if not all of them done now. If you’d like, I have a pain-reliever potion in my bag.”

 

“That’s very kind, Miss, but I plan on getting a few from Madam Pomfrey before lunch. Rather, it looks like you may need it. What happened to your neck?” His eyes flicked over the long red marks.

 

You shifted your jaw. “Nightmare. I uh…clawed at my neck apparently.”

 

Lupin winced. “Oh, my. You hurt yourself in your sleep? Is there anything you can do to mitigate it? Other than sleeping potions?”

 

“I don’t know, wear mittens to bed?” you shrugged wryly. “This has never happened to me before. It’s been a rather crappy start to the day.”

 

“Hmm. Do you have Potions next?”

 

“No. It’s my last class.”

 

“I see. Perhaps you can ask for something from the Hospital Wing during your free period. A topical cream or some ointment ought to do. And hopefully, your day gets better from here on out.”

 

It didn’t.

 

Transfiguration and Charms went terribly for you. The headache that had been building behind your eyes since DADA only worsened, and when combined with the flashing images of the nightmare you had last night and the lack of breakfast this morning, your concentration was nowhere to be found. Your mind was all over the place in Transfiguration, your notes a nonsensical, illiterate mish-mash of scribblings and snippets that were not coherent whatsoever. Moreover, you were not able to perform the practical portion of the class in turning a monkey into a mirror, and every failed attempt yielded a “with feeling” from Professor McGonagall.

 

With feeling-with feeling-with feeling—What the fuck does that even mean?!

 

Charms class was equally bad, bombing the practicals. Literally. Your task was to enchant a tea set to serve itself, but you couldn’t keep your frustration in check and made the porcelain pots and cups explode, sending shards and tea in every direction. No one was hurt, thankfully, but it only made you feel worse.

 

You felt so tightly wound up when you entered the Potions classroom. Your brain stalled, and your body tensed. It had been a bad day. All you wanted to do was curl up in bed and rot for a few hours with your snacks, books, and smoke the remainder of your joint. Though Potions was your favorite class, the thought of fucking up like you had in your other classes filled you with unease. It’s not as though you haven’t messed up in Potions before, but the anxiety you were already feeling made the prospect seem ten times worse. You would not let anything happen in this class to be the cherry on the shit sundae that was this day.

 

Crossing the doorway, you quietly took your seat off to the side, tasking yourself with counting all the dents and scratches on the wooden surface of your desk to keep your mind from floating to your negative thoughts. The ambient murmuring of the classroom died down as the few remaining minutes ticked away before the start of class. All was eventually silent when the door to the classroom shut with a metal clang, signaling the beginning of class.

 

Professor Snape lazily flicked his wand toward the blackboard behind him, charming the chalk to write out today’s potion.

Mandrake Restorative Draught

“To those of you who intend on becoming healers after graduating,” he started, “pay special attention to today’s lesson. The Mandrake Restorative Draught is a healing potion used to restore those who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state. It is quite a common occurrence for St. Mungos to treat aurors or unsuspecting victims with this particular potion…”

 

Despite the ache in your temples and the occasionally flashing images in your head, you managed to take some decent notes; not by any means your best work, but it wasn’t exactly rock bottom either. You’d have to spend some time fleshing it out more for it to be sufficient for NEWTs.

 

When Snape had ended his lecture, you were relieved going into your brewing, knowing that the potion called for stewed mandrakes, which were inanimate and quiet, unlike the ones you planted in your second year that cried like newborns. Less noise would be good for you. They rolled a little on your station as you gathered the ingredients and plopped them down, resembling yellow squashes with vestigial legs that were rather root-like.

 

“Y/N, your hair,” your station-mate reminded you in a murmur just as you were about to start brewing.

 

Right… You felt your loose hair that hung down and partially obscured your neck. If you were to put it up, you’d be exposing the claw marks in full to everyone, and you didn’t want people fussing over you. But you had no choice. Professor Snape would remind you at some point during class, and he too would see the marks regardless.

 

Tsk.

 

Your hands smoothed along your scalp, gathering your locks together and tying your hair out of the way, your neck on full display to the chilly classroom air as you reached for the stewed mandrake and began to cut them into even pieces.

 

As you brewed, an obvious tension made itself known in your movements, a weariness that made brewing more stiff and slow. The hissing of cauldron steam reminded you of the demonic disembodied effect of the devil’s voice in your nightmare, the heat from the flickering flame like the roaring fireplace that night. You set the knife down, rubbing your tired eyes, trying to clear away the lingering images in your mind.

 

Stop thinking about it.

 

Severus dutifully circled the classroom that softly simmered with cauldrons and thumped with the chopping of knives, eyeing his students’ work. Every now and then, he’d step in, giving a tip or adjusting a technique, but otherwise, they all seemed to be doing well with no glaring issues needing his attention. Advanced Potions went all right last week with no major accidents or hiccups, and he hoped to continue the streak with this class. He looked over at you to see how you were progressing and noticed that you were behind. 

 

Odd. It was rare for you to be trailing the majority of the class when brewing. He watched as every minute or so you kept pausing and setting your tools down to rub at your eyes, massage your temples, tug at your uniform collar…

 

Your neck.

 

Angry red marks streaked up from the underside of your chin down to the collar of the white button-up shirt. Some overlapped, deepening their aggressive nature, just as his concern deepened for you as his eyes raked over them from a distance. He decidedly entered your mind to uncover their source only to be met with harsh images of the cloaked devil overpowering and choking you before quickly removing himself. Even though it wasn’t her that did it, that’s what your mind associated with her and had been projecting to you in your apparently continuing nightmares.

 

Your hand nestled itself on the left side of your scalp, scratching away at a scar as your other hand idly stirred the potion in increments. You had no idea if you were even doing well with this potion. It hadn’t blown up or grown sludgy, but it didn’t exactly smell good either. Not all potions did, but it wasn’t helping your confidence at the moment. Hopefully, it was supposed to have this smell.

 

Are you brewing this right?

 

Scritch-Scritch-Scritch-

 

How far behind are you?

 

Scritch-Scritch-Scritch-

 

Is the flame too high?

 

Scritch-Scritch-Scritch-

 

Do you have enough ingredients to brew more Dreamless Sleep?

 

Scritch-Scritch-Scritch-

 

Should you take one tonight just in case—

 

A warm hand grasped your forearm and moved your scratching hand away from your head, firmly planting it back on the surface of the station. You pressed your lips together as black robes moved into your vision from your left side, releasing your limb as they did so. There was also the soft tap of a small tin being subtly placed some inches from you as Professor Snape seemed to continue on his way.  You didn’t acknowledge the tin, but you did feel the need to speak up.

 

“Idon’tknowifI’mbrewingthisright.” It came out rushed and hasty, your fingers drumming on the table anxiously.

 

Professor Snape paused, looking between you and your cauldron as if the notion of your uncertainty bored him. “What makes you think this potion is inadequate so far?”

 

“Ehm…I don’t know…th-the smell…and…” You trailed off, unsure of yourself.

 

Severus raised a bemused brow and wafted some of the smoke towards him, sniffing lightly. “Stewed mandrakes are not reputable for having a pleasant smell when boiled. Your brew smells accurate enough, given the ingredients. You should, however, slow your stirs. They’ve been rather….aggressive today, which might spoil your potion.”

 

You nodded against your palms, pressing the butts of them into cheeks. “I don’t know why,” you murmured. “I can’t rela—”

 

The sound of a cauldron bubbling furiously came from one of the stations behind you. Professor Snape looked past you at a boy who was taken aback by the occurrence and was too surprised to do anything in time to stop the telltale sign of a cauldron about to explode. Snape moved toward him, casting a silent spell at the cauldron at the same time that the boy quickly turned off the flame and held the lid down on the cauldron.

 

But that’s not how physics worked. By trapping the heat, he made the pressure build more, and there was an audible ‘bwoosh’ as the contents sought their own escape in you and your station mate’s direction. However, due to the spell Professor Snape had cast on the cauldron, anticipating an explosion, what was originally liquid was now a solid gelatinous jello-like form of the potion that had sprayed out in chunks, landing on your robes, the boy’s station, and the space between. Professor Snape’s all-black attire remained spotless.

 

Students who heard it looked over, snickering at the state of disarray. Severus sighed inwardly, having taught this potion so many times that he already knew what mistake the boy made to warrant such a quick increase in the reaction.

 

“Mr. Whitfield, how many times did you stir when adding the brown mushroom caps?” Snape questioned.

 

“Eight times after adding the eight mushrooms, sir.”

 

Severus merely raised a brow. “It’s supposed to be one stir after each mushroom. Otherwise, you stimulate the potion too much before it has time to absorb the mushrooms, which is why it exploded.”

 

“Ah…” Whitfield’s shoulders sagged in disbelief and disappointment with himself. “Sorry, sir.”

 

“There is no time left to brew a complete potion. You may clean up the mess and spend the remaining time starting this week’s homework. And five points from Hufflepuff,” he drawled strictly. 

 

The boy pressed his lips together, nodding in understanding, and went to move the spoiled brew to the sink. Severus looked back to you and your station mate, the both of you plucking chunks of gelatinous potion off your robes and placing them on the station rather than adding to the mess on the floor. Your stationmate had cleaned off faster, doing one last check on themselves and looking at you. What happened next was something Severus could neither stop, predict, nor control.

 

“You have a little on your neck there—”

 

It happened entirely too fast. There was the quickest blur of metal before your station mate recoiled in pain, snatching their hand away at the same time you had whipped away from them when feeling their fingers barely graze the skin of your neck just above the back of your collar. 

 

“Y/N, what the hell?!” They screeched sharply in pain. Everyone was looking at the both of you now. Your station mate kept shaking their hand erratically, trying to rid the source of the pain.

 

“I…I didn’t,” you started to say in confusion, clutching protectively at your own neck, your hair falling down from its once tied-up form.

 

“Hold out your hand,” Professor Snape demanded. Your station mate did as told, holding out a trembling hand. Embedded on the student’s hand were the metal snakes that kept your hair tied, jaws unhinged all the way and clamped down on their index finger, blood trickling onto the ground. Your eyes almost bugged out of your head, looking back and forth between the charmed jewelry and the man who gifted it to you. He aimed his wand at the metal snakes and chanted “Finite,” causing the needle-like fangs to sheath themselves, allowing the snakes to drop to the ground with a clatter, coiled up and stiff, innocent looking once more.

 

He cast one more spell on their hand, healing the puncture marks on the student’s finger before plucking the snakes up from the ground. However, when he looked at you, you were nowhere to be found. You had left without warning, leaving behind the tin still on the corner of the station, an incomplete potion, and a classroom humming with tension and confusion.

***

 

The darkness of your room kept the storm that had been building in your mind at bay, stoppered but not soothed. The way you found your bed upon bolting from the Potions classroom was automatic, stripping yourself of your uniform and changing into more comfortable clothes before crawling under the covers and holding on to the large, stuffed runespoor.

 

A bad day indeed.

 

Your thoughts floated back to before you fled the classroom, the student whimpering in pain from the metal snakes biting down on their finger and drawing blood. The fourth charm. A defensive one. Your hands shielded your heated face from no one in particular. You understood where Professor Snape was coming from, adding such a charm. While you recognized the consideration that went into it, you didn’t want your own issues to hurt people. The student didn’t know that you didn’t want your neck touched or to be touched without being able to see it coming. Blood didn’t need to be drawn for such a simple mistake.

 

You turned over and looked at the clock, unsure of how much time had passed. You felt like you might’ve napped, but your head was too fuzzy to tell. The time indicated that you had, unfortunately, missed dinner. Whatever. You still had more instant ramen.

 

With a bit of magic, you were able to successfully cook and slurp down the noodles and vegetables, and the matter of your hunger was solved with warm food in your stomach, but your mind still felt tangled. Though it was nighttime, you still felt like some sort of walk was helpful. Tugging on an oversized sweatshirt, you extinguished the light in your room and set out on your stroll.

 

You wouldn’t be going outside. It was dark out and too cold for you to think clearly without being bundled up in a thick blanket or two, so you resided to walking aimlessly through the labyrinth that was the dungeons. The torches flickered warmly, lighting the corridors with a soft, orange-yellow glow, a stark contrast to the surely bluish-white moonlight leaking through the windows above ground. You just kept walking in circles, making a different turn every now and then, leading you to different parts of the castle. You did, however, avoid getting too close to Potion’s classroom as you weren’t keen on running into Professor Snape at the moment.

 

The minutes ticked by, and your mind became calmer as your thoughts were left adrift in all sorts of places: the past, the present, the future, Ada, and graduation… Eventually, you found yourself in Hufflepuff territory. You knew this because not only did you have the dungeons memorized, but this particular area had corridors lined with a few potted plants, courtesy of Professor Sprout.

 

As you continued down one stretch of hallway, harsh footsteps scraped along the stone as someone came running from behind you and called your name.

 

“Y/N!” Tom the Hufflepuff called.

 

Oh brother, not now…

 

“Business hours are over, Tom. Try again in the morning,” you uttered. “I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

 

“No—wait—please,” he panted out. “The common room—we—”

 

“Christ, just spit it out already. I’m not in the mood for any nonsense tonight,” you urged as he suddenly clung to your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

 

“Boggart…” Tom wheezed. “There’s a boggart…in the Hufflepuff common room.” He took a deep breath. “We can’t get it out. We’ve got it surrounded to confuse it, but we can’t capture it in a chest or box quickly enough before it changes into something else. It scared the daylights out of a few others already.”

 

You scowled. “How’d a boggart get into the Hufflepuff common room?”

 

“We think someone went into an abandoned classroom and let one accidentally hitch a ride in their bag.”

 

“How come you didn’t get Professor Sprout?”

 

“I was on my way up to her, but you’re much closer. Please. Help us,” he pleaded.

 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine. I will get rid of it, but I expect some cookies from the next Hogsmeade trip.”

 

Tom nodded urgently, gesturing for you to follow him. “Yeah, ‘f course! C’mon!” You strode after him as he led you back down a section of the hall you previously traversed but turned a different corner, leading you to the corridor where the kitchens also were. The both of you stopped in front of a large circular door with an iron pull-handle framed with a couple of barrels. Tom tapped the second barrel from the bottom amongst the stack in a strategic rhythm, causing the door to pop open and allow you entrance. On the other side, you could hear the word “ridiculous” being said over and over by multiple students attempting to keep the boggart under control. 

 

You and Tom stepped through and approached the crowd of Hufflepuff students of all ages that surrounded the boggart. With there being quite a few students, the boggart didn’t know quite what form to take, resulting in an awkward mish-mash that wasn’t very scary, like a clown in a dress, for example.

 

“Everyone! I ran into Y/N in the hall. She’s going to get rid of the boggart.”

 

“Oh, Merlin, finally!”

 

“Thank you so much!”

 

“You all are making this harder on yourselves than necessary,” you declared. “There are too many of you. Anyone whose boggart is an animal or a magical being, go to your rooms. Now.” 

 

About half of the students who had participated in stalling the creature backed away and trotted off toward their rooms, a few lingering curiously in doorways.

 

“The rest of you, look down at the ground and no sudden movements.”

 

They all did so without question. The boggart, which was currently a demonic gargoyle one might see perched atop a cathedral, set its sight on you, growling in anticipation as it shifted forms. 

 

“Tom, go get one of those barrels for me,” you instructed just as the boggart took the shape of a younger you. As expected, your left hand began to boil itself, the boggart meeting your blank gaze. Tom returned with the barrel and gaped in surprise that your boggart was yourself. You aimed your wand at the creature and chanted “Riddikulus.” It shrunk into an ordinary pillow, landing on the ground with a plop. However, as you made your way over to pick it up, a third-year girl peeked up from the ground, eyeing the boggart, and subsequently got the creature's attention. It shifted and morphed back upwards into, much to your surprise, a person. 

 

A man. 

 

He had a sloppy appearance: rumpled clothes, smelling a bit like beer, pants with the fly halfway zipped, and a nasty expression on his face. His gaze locked onto the girl lecherously, who began to tremble and take steps back. The boggart didn’t follow her but swayed in place drunkenly.

 

“Oh, little kitty cat grew up into quite a pretty thing, didn’t she? Bet you’re still a feisty one,” the Scottish voice slurred with a dark chuckle, eyes raking over the young girl’s body.

 

Oh, hell no. 

 

Instantly, your anger flared protectively, reminding you of one time when you and Ada went to a park, goofing off and doing handstands when a man passed by and made salacious comments about her legs and exposed waist. The said man ended up tripping on the sidewalk and knocked his two front teeth out with an imperceptible flick of your wand hidden within your sleeve. Based on the context, this boggart must’ve been impersonating a family friend or relative. An uncle, maybe? 

 

The other students begin to look up now. Kat, the girl’s name was, covered her mouth holding in sobs as tears fell from her eyes and that just about did it for you. The part of you that resolved things logically, and often peacefully, was no match to the other part of you that you thought you had buried so deeply. It came roaring to the surface, the younger version that let anger take control, the one who got satisfaction in justice through physical means. 

 

Your hand stuck out toward the fireplace, a long metal fire poker flying into your grasp. The boggart, too distracted in terrorizing Kat, didn’t see the swinging metal coming, a sickening crack ringing out in the air, and liquid spraying on your face as the brutish man fell to the ground, bleeding from the mouth unconsciously.

 

Your breath came out in slow, furious puffs through your nose as an overwhelming wave of fulfillment rolled through you. There was something so twistedly satisfying in kicking someone’s ass when deserved. It made you feel in control. Dominant. And maybe it was because of your uncontrollable nightmares and shitty day that your violently swinging on the boggart was enjoyable. Fucking cathartic, even.

 

You nearly smiled. 

 

A tense round of silence followed as everyone looked between you and the boggart in shock. They hadn’t expected you to handle it in such a manner. You knelt down by the unconscious boggart's head, accio’d someone’s discarded drink cup to yourself and transfigured it into a flask. Threading your fingers in the boggart's hair, you harshly tugged the head upwards, holding the flask beneath the corner of its mouth as a midnight-black substance trickled out. You’ve never worked with boggart blood in potions before, and you weren’t going to waste the opportunity to collect some. Satisfied with your flask, you let the head unceremoniously drop with a thud and vanished the pool that had accumulated beneath it. Only when you pocketed the flask did you register the feeling of many eyes on you.

 

“What?” you pressed stiffly at first, but the longer they stared, the more irritable your tone grew. And you realized that they weren’t looking at you in awe; they were looking at you in fear. Even Kat, who you thought would’ve loved to see this person get hurt, took a few steps back from you when your eyes snapped to her. “What?” You demanded. “Why are you all looking at me like I’m the bad guy? I solved the problem, didn’t I?” Not a single one of them could meet your eye. You whipped around to Tom, Tom who seemed to look up to you in almost every way according to the twins, but even he darted his eyes away to the stone ground.

 

You helped them…so why…are they afraid…?

 

You’re not… 

 

You…

 

Lips pressed tightly together, you fought off the desire to occlude and took a shuddering inhale before casting a spell and turning the unconscious, bleeding boggart into a gingham cloth. You plucked it up where it lay and walked over to the barrel, taking the top off and jamming it inside before applying a locking spell on it. 

 

“Please make sure Kat is fine,” you murmured as you passed by an apprehensive Tom, fire poker in hand, wand in the other, making the barrel roll in front of you as you exited the Hufflepuff common room.

 

A high-pitched ringing filled your ears, muffling your own footsteps and murmurs of portraits as you walked through the upper corridors, keeping the barrel an even distance in front of you. Your mind was once again swirling, ignoring all external stimuli. Someone called your name, you think, but you kept walking through the halls out of the courtyard and into the fields. It was dark, the sky streamed with hundreds of little stars. Crickets and frogs chirped all around you as you walked further along the path, moving closer and closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the grass shortening in height. You stopped when you were about ten yards away from the forest.

Countering the locking spell and kicking over the barrel. The boggart zipped out as a dark, shadowy blur, taking the form of younger you again and staring once more.

 

A hand placed itself on your back as your jaw clenched and tears built in your eyes. The boggart locked eyes with Dumbledore, who now stood next to you, observing the creature. Its appearance flickered, trying to get inside the man’s head, but its form didn’t change. He must’ve been using Occlumency. Calmly, Dumbledore took out his wand and aimed it at the bogart.

 

“You don’t scare me, nor do you scare her. Please, leave,” Dumbledore demanded.

 

“...ffFFFuck yyyou…” the boggart hissed out in a voice that was almost yours, but it had a disembodied, unstable quality to it, like a lost soul attempting to communicate through a veil. A spark of light shot from Dumbledore’s wand, striking it in the stomach and sending it past the first few trees and tumbling to the ground. The boggart snapped its head up to you and Dumbledore, cold eyes gleaming in the dark at both of you as it thought better of its situation and promptly shifted its form, retreating into the forest's dark shadows.

 

There was nothing but the sounds of rustling from the forest and distant hoots that passed through the air for a good few moments as the hand on your back shifted slightly. Your hearing began to clear as you forced yourself to suck in shaky deep breaths.

 

“...Y/N,” you heard him say gently as he turned you in place. Your head hung low in shame, and you felt yourself slot in place against him as he pulled you into a soft embrace, forehead resting on his shoulder, hand lightly stroking your back. Your fists curled tightly down by your sides as you swallowed thickly against his grey robes. He said nothing, letting you get as much of it out as you were willing to let yourself.

 

“I got violent in front of the Hu-ufflepuffs,” you muttered weakly.

 

“I know,” he replied. He had looked inside your head when you had strangely ignored him in the corridors. He saw the entire interaction unfold, and when he went back further to see you had this seemingly random burst of aggressive behavior, he saw that you had a rather poor day, caused by a nightmare that had you stuck in a negative headspace. “Do not feel guilty for this. It was merely a lapse of judgment."

 

“D..n’t wan’ them to f..r me…”

 

“You know you can’t control that, Y/N. What’s happened has happened. Even if they fear you, I’m sure they are grateful you removed the dark creature from their safe space.”

 

You protested faintly some more, but it was mumbled and indiscernible. He held you, patting your back some more before you stepped away on your own accord. He regarded the speckled and smeared substance on your face and cast a spell to make it fade away.

 

“I think it would be best if you retired early tonight with some Dreamless Sleep,” he spoke gently.

 

You blinked numbly, still looking down to the ground with only a nod of your head. Dumbledore offered you his arm, and you tentatively placed your hand in it, your surroundings twisting and shifting into the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Sounds of laughter and conversation radiated from the other side as students settled in for the evening. Without any sort of bid, you muttered the password and slipped inside the common room, leaving the old headmaster to sigh deeply and ascend back to his office.

 

***

 

The footsteps of the potion master tapped faintly against the bumpy stone floors of the castle corridors as he made his way to the headmaster’s office, slightly confused. Being summoned to the office at night wasn't anything new or strange. What was odd about this time, however, was that he and Professor Sprout were requested to meet with the headmaster, the two running into each other on the seventh floor and revealing each other’s destination. Normally, when two heads of houses were summoned, it was to discuss an incident among students of said houses, like a fight or what have you. However, very little context was provided in the patronus message sent to each professor. They both climbed the rotating spiral staircase, Sprout following behind Snape, whose long legs allowed him to move up two steps at a time.

 

The headmaster looked up from some parchment on his desk when the heavy door to his office creaked open. 

 

“Good evening, you two,” he greeted, adjusting his half-moon glasses. “Do come in.”

 

The professors entered the warmly lit office, Sprout shutting the door behind them. “Has something happened, Albus?” Sprout questioned.

 

“Of sorts,” he affirmed. The two professors stood waiting for an explanation some feet in front of the seated headmaster. “There was an incident earlier this evening in the dungeons. With Hufflepuff.”

 

Professor Snape and Professor Sprout both knit their brows. Hufflepuff rarely caused trouble, if any at all.

 

“A boggart managed to get inside of the Hufflepuff common room and caused a bit of trouble,” he informed.

 

“What?” She gawked. “When was this? How did it get in? Why wasn’t I retrieved?” 

 

Severus’s hands clenched at his sides in concern. He didn’t have a heart of stone, he knew how traumatizing it could be to face a boggart without being mentally prepared. He cared about the safety of students. 

 

“A little over an hour ago. It is believed a student went exploring an abandoned classroom, and it’s possible a boggart snuck into their school bag and was unknowingly transported back. As to why you weren’t fetched… a third year went to get help, but they had run into Miss L/N who was close by, wandering the dungeon halls, and asked her to help.”

 

There was a flash of interest in Severus’s eyes. That explains why he was summoned as well.

 

“And?” Sprout urged. “Did she remove it? Was anyone hurt?”

 

“The students are fine, physically. However, a few of them are more emotionally rattled than the others, given their personal fears. I cannot say the same for the boggart… Miss L/N handled it in a rather…unexpected way.”

 

“How did she deal with it?” Severus asked.

 

The old wizard clicked his tongue in slight hesitation before uttering softly. “With a fire poker.”

 

They both stared back at the headmaster in shock. “…A fire poker?” Snape repeated blankly.

 

“Yes. She used the Boggart-Banishing Charm the first time around, but before she could contain the creature, it transformed into another student's fear who happened to be a person, and Miss L/N…took advantage of its momentary humanism.”

 

“You don’t mean to tell us that she…”

 

“Indeed. To its head. I followed her on her way to the Forbidden Forest to release it. She was…disturbed…and I escorted her back to the dungeons where I imagine she is already sleeping per my request.”

 

A thick tension overtook the office as the two professors digested this information. You had beaten a boggart with a fire poker. What had driven you in the moment to do such a thing?

 

“I thought the two of you should be made aware, especially if she attends classes tomorrow and is more…withdrawn.” They nodded in understanding, but they were no less unsettled by the information presented to them. “Pomona, with the time left before curfew, I think it would be wise to check in with your badgers about the boggart, especially with Miss Katherine Mayfield. I need to speak with Severus for a little bit longer.”

 

“Yes. Yes, of course,” she murmured, somewhat dazedly, to herself, before she bowed lightly to the both of them and exited the office.

 

The logs in the fireplace crackled in the brief silence of Sprout’s departure as Severus returned his attention to the headmaster. He had removed his glasses for a second to rub at his eyes. It seemed more than just a wave of fatigue. Rather, like a hidden layer of stress breaching the surface.

 

“Was there more you needed to tell me in private?” Severus inquired.

 

“Not particularly,” Dumbledore replied, setting the glasses back on the bridge of his nose and lacing his fingers together to rest on his stomach. “That was the bulk of it. I do, however, have a few questions for you regarding Miss L/N.”

 

Severus said nothing, save for the slightest permissive nod.

 

“How is she in your class?”

 

“She’s fine,” Severus said, somewhat bemused by the simple question. “She holds one of the highest grades in the class.”

 

“I know she’s one of your best, but that’s not what I mean, Severus. How is she emotionally?” Dumbledore pressed, his voice giving away only the slightest bit of exigency.

 

Severus frowned. Emotionally? “You are inquiring about her emotional state in my classroom?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Miss L/N is…alright…I suppose. She does come to class a bit tired now and then from nightmares…” he responded, hesitant with suspicion. “Why are you asking me this?

 

 He ignored his question. “What of her tendency to float off?”

 

“...Float off?”

 

“Float off. Zone out. Go somewhere else mentally,” Dumbledore clarified, earning him a look of surprise from the potion master. “I’m quite aware of her inclination to distract herself with the esoteric recesses of her mind.”

 

Severus pressed his lips together, looking away for a moment as he composed his thoughts. “Sometimes before class officially begins or after she completes her potion, she becomes inattentive and 'floats off, ' as you put it.”

 

“How often would you say?”

 

“I couldn’t give you an official rate, but…it is noticeably more consistent on days where she comes in…less enthusiastic than normal or looks ill-rested. Her stress levels seem rather equatable to the other NEWT students…except for today’s class.”

 

Dumbledore nodded, murmuring. “Yes, I saw the claw marks on her neck. Poor girl…”

 

“Why are you asking me this?” Severus questioned once more. “Why now, when she’s been in more vulnerable states in the past?”

 

“Given that the two of you have become friends—”

 

Severus visibly bristled in defense. “We are not—” But the headmaster interrupted and rejected his panicked denial of the fact.

 

“I’m old, Severus. Not blind. I’m aware you two speak and socialize outside of necessity, and I’ve seen the two of you go outside together. I don’t believe it is wrong of either of you to do so. I merely bring up this observation because, as much as I’ve built a trusting relationship with her, she still has a tendency to hide things from me, and being that she seems to have a positive association with you, it merely crossed my mind to ask if you noticed or if she has spoken to you about anything of particular concern,” Dumbledore explained solemnly. 

 

Severus huffed, looking like a cat who had fur rubbed the wrong way, uptight and stiff with an irritated expression on his face. “She hasn’t confessed to anything,” he muttered bitterly before he spoke again with more insistence. “I still find your timing in asking me this questionable. Of all the incidents involving her since she started here, why this one?”

 

Dumbledore parted his lips to answer but didn’t say anything, averting his gaze for once. 

 

“Refresh my ancient mind… Did I ever inform you of why Miss L/N transferred from Illvermorny to Hogwarts?”

 

“No. No, you did not,” Severus answered softly.

 

The headmaster sighed quietly, sitting up in his chair and tugging open a few drawers in search of something. The rummaging ceased after a few moments when his hand located a ledger with a broken, golden wax seal.

 

“A week before the first term almost three years ago started, I met with a young woman interested in transferring to our school—a young woman who would turn out to be Miss L/N. That same morning, an hour before her arrival, I received a letter from the Headmaster of Ilvermorny… warning me about her.

 

Severus gave him a perplexed look. “Warning you?”

 

“To put it politely, she was a handful at her previous school,” Dumbledore explained, taking the letter out of the envelope. “And the headmaster felt it necessary to send a letter detailing just exactly who I might have been letting into our school.”

 

Dumbledore unfolded the parchment, cleared his throat, and began to read the letter aloud.

 

To Albus Perceval Wulferic Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts,

 

This letter is to inform you that one of our students who has finished her first four years of Magic schooling intends to transfer her education from our school in the States to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While Ilvermorny is a school that accepts all sorts of students from many different backgrounds, my official ruling is that we can no longer allow this student to continue her education at our school. In our assistance in providing her with alternative schooling options, she has selected Hogwarts as it is English-speaking and close to her father’s work. Before you make a final decision in accepting her request to transfer, I implore you to heed my words first. 

 

F/N L/N is a very intelligent and fiercely cunning girl who does well in all her classes and possesses a predisposition to potions. However, she is resistant to authority, disrespectful towards the rules intended to keep students safe, and is difficult to control overall. She has committed offenses such as arson, assault with magic and muggle dueling, bribery, destruction of property, thievery, trespassing, refusal to follow dress code, leaving the school without permission, reading forbidden texts, engaging in psychological warfare with students and teachers, lying to her teachers, spiking drinks with potions, possession of forbidden objects, possession of drugs, consumption of drugs, and threats of violence. After numerous counseling sessions, I’ve yet to establish whether her behavior is tied to her home life or any underlying psychological issues. Her parents have been unresponsive in these matters. 

 

After four straight years of her improper decorum, we are no longer able to tolerate it, especially as she gets older and learns more spells, and as a result, we have denied her continuing education at Ilvermorny. Upon meeting with her, I advise that you take extreme caution in considering her possible enrollment at her school. I do not wish these same offenses onto your school and urge you to remain vigilant around her. Quite frankly, I would not be surprised if she winds up in Azkaban in the next few years.

 

I wish you a good term.

 

Headmaster Archibald

 

Severus stared back at Dumbledore, dumbfounded by the narrative painted of you in the letter. It didn’t sound anything at all like the young woman he had come to know. Dueling? Drugs? How is the same person he finds pleasant company in the same person who apparently terrorized a school?

 

“I can imagine what you are thinking right now, Severus. I will say that, at the time, the headmaster left quite a bit of information out of the letter. Some of these actions were in self-defense, but…she did do all of those things.

 

“If that was the case, what influenced you to accept her into Hogwarts?”

 

“Well, I believe there are two sides to every story, and it wouldn’t have been fair of me to deny her without meeting in person and discussing her history and desire to enroll here. Much to my surprise, her demeanor was starkly opposite to what one might expect of someone who has committed these offenses. She was very reserved and could barely look me in the eyes.”

 

“How do you know she wasn’t putting on a timid act to convince you to let her in? You aren’t exactly an obsolete figure. If she knows you’re a Legillimens and was avoiding eye contact…”

 

“She did know who I was, and she allowed me to see her memories. In fact, she let me see all of them. And what I saw was not contextually accurate to what the headmaster portrayed her as. Whether he meant to do so on purpose, I don’t know.”

 

Severus said nothing, surprised into silence once more as the headmaster stood up and paced over to an elevated cabinet shaped like the tower itself. Inside were shelves of tiny vials slotted with small nameplates underneath them, each important memory that belonged to students,  professors, and previous headmasters who’d gone on to shape the wizarding world. He clicked open the latch that kept one of the sides closed and proceeded to skim his fingers along a whole row that was dedicated to you.

 

“At the end of our meeting, Miss L/N allowed me permission to collect several core memories that have molded her into the person she is today on the basis that I can refer to them if she is not acting like herself. Given the way she grew up, it is my opinion that Ilvermorny was not an environment that was suited for her. I believe it only fueled her more concerning tendencies.” His fingers stopped on one of the vials before he plucked it from the shelf, examining it briefly before moving away from the glass cabinet. “I’m sure she won’t mind if I showed you one of her more innocent ones before she took a turn for the worse.”

 

Dumbledore looked down at the ground, his foot grazing the floor in search of a particular stone. When he located it, he pressed his weight down on it, causing another cabinet, one made of wood and gold that was ornately carved, to open and reveal the pensieve the headmaster often used to reflect on and analyze certain memories.

 

Severus joined him hesitantly, holding back his curiosity about what he was about to see. Dumbledore uncorked the vial, allowing a few drops of the translucent liquid to fall into the pensieve, making the substance in the stone bowl swirl and take on bright colors. The two professors shared one last look before slowly lowering their heads toward the watery surface and felt themselves being sucked into the memory.

 

~~~

 

The setting began to bleed into existence like watercolor paint dripping onto a canvas, spreading and flowing into existence. A corridor formed the linoleum floors, shiny with floor cleaner and walls lined with metal lockers and posters boosting school spirit and promoting after-school programs and events. The professors found themselves standing in the middle of it, taking in their surroundings. Severus was particularly curious about what a muggle secondary school looked like. Students blurred into existence, passing by and walking right through the professors, some lingering to chat but most in a hurry on their way to a class.

 

“Y/N, c’mon! The bell’s gonna ring any second,” a random voice called. 

 

Severus followed Dumbledore’s gaze to a girl who was taking her sweet time at a water fountain. When she turned around, he saw that it was a younger version of yourself at twelve years old. You had on a pair of straight-fitted high-waisted jeans, a red and white striped short-sleeved t-shirt tucked into your jeans, and a backward hat with a single braid flowing out from beneath. There was a faint spray of freckles on your face that you no longer possessed, and your face was rounder with youth, but otherwise, you were still highly recognizable. Despite being a memory, both professors parted ways for you and followed you into a classroom.

 

From what Severus gathered, it was a mathematics class. They stood behind your seat in the back against the wall, observing the scene. The teacher greeted the students, wishing them a good first week of junior high, and began to write a few warmup questions on the board.

 

“Would anyone like to come up and solve this first equation on the board?” The teacher asked just as she scrawled the last number down.

5/7 (x-9) = 25

Your hand shot up amongst the hesitant students, a smile spreading on the teacher's face at your enthusiasm. “Very good, Y/N! Come on up.”

 

“Forty-four,” you answered, letting your hand flop down and remaining unmoving in your seat.

 

The teacher knit her brows. “I’m…sorry?”

 

You blinked, repeating your answer. “Forty-four.”

 

“Can you come up and show your work?” she asked, holding a piece of chalk.

 

“Did I get the answer right?” you questioned.

 

“Well…yes…but you need to show your work.”

 

This made you tilt your head in confusion. “Why? You said I got it right.”

 

“I’d like to ensure that you aren’t cheating,” she sighed lightly, restraining a thin veil of early morning impatience.

 

You restrained an eye roll and began to explain yourself rather than get up from your chair. “Multiply both sides by 7 to get rid of the denominator, and divide both sides by five to eliminate the coefficient, which leaves you with x – 9 = 35, and the answer is x = 44,” you said quickly. 

 

The teacher parted her lips, eyes flitting over your desk. There was no pencil or scrap paper in front of you where you could’ve done your work after she had written it, which could only mean you had done the problem in your head in only a few seconds. You smirked faintly to yourself as a hint of recognition found its way onto her face, and she hummed quietly to herself. You were good at math, with a certain satisfaction deriving from solving for unknown variables or missing values. All one had to do was follow the instructions and understand the concept of ratios, which seemed straightforward to you. And, admittedly, knowing you were good at it stroked your ego delightfully.

 

The door to the classroom creaked open slowly, and all eyes turned to the newcomer who hesitantly entered with a piece of paper clutched to herself.

 

“Can I help you?” The teacher asked.

 

It was a girl with brown hair, overalls, and a colorful sweater underneath. She looked around at the students, swallowing nervously at all the eyes on her.

 

“Hallo… Zis is…mazematics? You are…Mrs. Preston?”

 

“Ah!” The teacher smiled and addressed the class. “Everyone, this is Ada Hoffmann. She is our new foreign exchange student from Germany. This is her first time attending school in America.”

 

The girl gave a small wave. Everyone just stared back at her, analyzing her clothes, her hair, how she carried herself, the pins on her backpack strap… Ada made eye contact with you as her gaze swept, but you quickly looked away, toying with the tips of your fingers.

 

“We’ve just about begun with our warmups. Why don’t you have a seat next to Y/N? She can help you if you get a bit confused,” she stated, pointing to you. The transfer student nodded in acceptance and walked silently along the outer wall and weaved her way inward until she got to the empty desk next to yours. Neither of you acknowledged each other as the teacher prompted another student to answer a different warmup question until a few minutes later.

 

“Hallo,” she murmured to you, glancing at you from a notebook she had opened in front of her. You turned your head slightly to her from within your palm and found her looking at you curiously. You frowned slightly, feeling a burn in your ears. 

 

“ ‘Sup,” you replied back softly, looking away once more.

 

~

 

The scene changed again to another two classes where once again you and Ada were in attendance and sat next to each other, but didn’t speak, only stealing sidelong glances at each other.

 

~

 

It blurred again, now taking the two professors to an indoor basketball court. They watched as two students in white shirts and red exercise shorts engaged in a selection process with other students who wore the same outfit. Out of the thirty or so students, you were picked sixth to be on a team, your height and tomboy demeanor giving the captain an impression that you were good at sports.

 

Ada, who had been as quiet as a mouse, was picked last.

 

The students all lined up on their respective sides, territories separated by a line of balls that almost resembled bludgers. The teacher who served as referee blew a whistle, starting the game. Students ran forward, snatching balls and positioning themselves, and Severus watched in shock as they began to hit each other with them. Balls flew, narrowly avoiding students who dodged just in time, some taking an unfortunate hit to the face or shoulder, the rubber making a sickening smacking noise. Those hit were sent to sit on the bleachers, clutching and rubbing at the parts of their bodies that were hit.. A boy from the other team took a chance at trying to get you out, but to Severus’s relief, you caught the ball and remained physically okay. 

 

One by one, the size of the teams dwindled down, and it was left between you, your team captain, and Ada, who had somehow managed to survive only by dodging and without throwing a single ball.

 

A conniving grin spread on your captain's face as they handed you a ball and murmured, “Hey, we can get her out if we both throw at the same time. I’ll go high, you go low.”

 

You didn’t want to hurt Ada as she seemed like a nice girl, but the game needed to end somehow, and both benched teams were getting restless. The both of you readied the balls in your hands, pulled back, and threw them at her. Not wanting to hurt her, you aimed for around her knees. Unfortunately, your captain had gone straight for the headshot, and that’s exactly where the ball ended up going. You grimaced at the hollow sound of rubber smacking flesh as Ada’s head whipped to the side from impact, her hand clutching her upper cheek instantly. 

 

FWEEEEEEP! “That’s game! Team 1 wins!”

 

Your other team members jumped up from the benches and patted each other in celebration. A light smile came to your face at the victory, but it faded quickly when your eyes fell on Ada, whose pained sniffles were defeated by the cheering students.

 

~

 

In a cafeteria, you sit at a table, getting your math homework done with one hand and eating a sandwich with the other, ignoring the noisiness of the students who sat not too far away at the other end of the long table. Had it not been for the “no food” rule, you would have eaten your lunch in the library.

 

A presence stopped in front of you, making you look up from your work. It was Ada, standing stiff as a pole, an anxious energy radiating from her. She looked at you with the uncertainty of a baby deer, trying to discern any malice from you after approaching. You said nothing, returning to your math, and she took that as indifference and/or acceptance and sat across from you.

 

Every now and then, you felt her eyes on you, the both of you locking eyes momentarily and shying away simultaneously, however, not before you noticed the bruising on her cheek from where the dodgeball had hit her. As smoothly as you could, you reached into your lunchbox, grabbed the ice pack that had been keeping your yogurt cold, and slid it across the table toward her. She looked back and forth between you and the icepack a few times before picking it up and pressing it to her aching cheek.

 

“...danke sie…”

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“...E-ehm—nothing…!” she sputtered and snapped her gaze down to her lap.

 

~

 

A bell rang, and students eagerly flooded out of the school, backpacks slung on their shoulders, walking in pairs and groups toward the bus stop, crossing the street to go to the corner store somewhere to get a treat. You, not doing either, rode on a rounded board with four little wheels, moving past the line of students that had accumulated at the nearby bus stop. As you had finished crossing a neighboring block, a voice called out to you.

 

“Vait!”

 

You frowned to yourself, stepping off the board and pressing your foot down on the back tip to keep it angled up in the air. Ada came jogging to a halt behind you, panting, her school bag thrown haphazardly as she chased you for two blocks. In her hand, she held out the ice pack you had given her, the object now lukewarm and dry.

 

“You forgot zis,” she said. 

 

You took it from her and put it in your backpack. “Thanks,” you murmured. “Are you walking home?”

 

“No, I’m taking ze bus.”

 

You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded your chin up to behind her. “You sure about that?”

 

Ada looked behind to where you gestured and saw the bus pulling away from the sidewalk. Her face fell as it drove forward and turned onto another street and disappeared from her sight. Her shoulders sagged sadly in defeat.

 

“Looks like you are walking after all.”

 

She groaned. “ Scheiße. Iz going to take thirty minutes to get home.”

 

“What street do you live on?”

 

“Maple Lane.”

 

The corner of your mouth twitched with an unfamiliar emotion when you got back on your board. “I live on that street as well. I guess you and your family are the reason for that moving truck out front by that one house.”

 

“Oh! Ve are neighbors? Iz gut!” She smiled.

 

You puffed your cheeks, feeling bashful as you put one foot down and prepared to push off and away, but you found yourself hesitating to leave her behind, not for any vulnerability reasons in leaving her to walk by herself, but you couldn’t pin it down yet. You sighed, stepping off the board, stomping on the back so it popped off and tucked it against your side. “C’mon. We’ll walk back together. I’ll show you the best route.”

 

~

 

Your street swirled into view, the two of you passing by some long, towering hedges and walking further up the street and crossing to the other side until you were in front of her house. A cat that sat in the window meowed at the both of you as she pointed to it and waved.

 

“Danke, dass du mich nach Hause begleitet hast…”

 

“Uh...”

 

“Thank you for walking me home.”

 

You nodded. “I’d say you’re welcome in German but…”

 

“Gern geschehen,” she said.

 

“Gern geschehen,” you repeated, easily. She smiled a bit wider, and you cleared your throat. “Word of the wise, the bus stop on our street is one of the last to get picked up and dropped off, so you’re better off getting up a bit earlier and walking or just skating to school. Skating cuts it down to like 15 minutes or less.”

 

“Ah! I see. But I do not know how to ride. And I do not have board,” she pointed to your skateboard. 

 

“I have a spare,” you lied. You were just going to duplicate it. “And…I could teach you this weekend…if you want.”

 

“Really?” She lit up.

 

“If you are not a total klutz, then yes.”

 

“Oh, vielen Dank! Sie sind der netteste Mensch, den ich heute getroffen habe!” [Oh, thank you so much! You are the nicest person I’ve met today!] You just stared blankly at her, and she blushed in embarrassment. “Ehm…you are gut…friend. Ve can ride together, ja?”

 

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

 

“Alright! Gut! I vill see you tomorrow zen.” She turned and walked up her driveway. “Danke sie!”

 

Her figure disappeared behind her front door, and only then did you turn around and cross the street, pulling up your shirt collar to cover your face as your cheeks warmed. Your mind warmed too, an almost familiar overwhelming tornado of heat blooming from around, but it faded on him just as the memory faded to white as well.

 

~~~ 

 

Both men removed themselves from the pensieve, Dumbeldore inhaling sharply with a shudder. 

 

“Hmm… I always forget her mind does that.”

 

“Does what?” Snape asked, smoothing a few locks of hair away from his face.

 

“Heats. When she’s happy.” 

 

Severus said nothing, watching the old man straighten up and gently guide the pensieve back into place.

 

“That was Miss L/N’s best friend before her time at Ilvermorny. The memory was of the first day they met. Miss L/N often got into quite a few fights at her muggle school in trying to defend her friend before she eventually mellowed out after graduating.”

 

“I know of the girl. Miss L/N has spoken of her,” he added when Dumbledore gave him a bemused look.

 

“Interesting,” Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed in intrigue. “Miss L/N doesn’t usually speak of her. I don’t believe even the twins know of her." 

 

His fingers toyed slightly with the fabric at his sides. “Why did you show me that?” Severus questioned.

 

“I thought it was a good reference to have. It is a memory that, in my opinion, shows Miss L/N’s best qualities. Kind, intelligent, attentive in class, patient, merciful… Tonight, however, she was not merciful, and that lets me know she wasn’t okay. Such actions are not because she is a violent person at her core. I’ve learned with her that it usually stems from a lack of control, a feeling I suspect has something to do with the bad day she had today and her nightmare from last night. To be truthful, I would not be surprised if she had been picturing her demonic tormentor in place of the boggart,” he shrugged, walking back over to his desk.

 

“If what you say about her qualities in that memory is true, are you telling me it is bad when she floats away?” Severus inquired.

 

“It’s not bad, but it is not always good for her to spend so much time in her head. It depends on the frequency. It is one of her precarious habits that I try to monitor whenever I can.”

 

His brows creased. “What other habits of concern are there?”

 

For a moment, a blank expression flashed across the headmaster’s face as he had accidentally slipped up before it returned to careful control. “That…is something I cannot tell you.”

 

“Why not?” His tone took on a more suspicious lilt, eyes slightly narrowing. The headmaster was hiding something.

 

“It’s private.”

 

“If there is something wrong with her, something that I should be watching for as her Head of House—if she is a danger to herself—”

 

“Medically private, Severus,” Dumbledore interjected. “It is medically private. As it is such, Miss L/N is entitled to that privacy. I would feel too guilty to speak of it without her permission. I did not mean to tempt you with my words, but it would be truly wrong of me to indulge you.” The old wizard then sighed. “If I am correct in assuming your mind thought of darker notions, allow me to alleviate that. Miss L/N is not suicidal,” he said softly.

 

Severus exhaled indignantly through flared nostrils, not very satisfied with the scraps of information he was given. What was he supposed to be vigilant of if the headmaster won’t tell him?

 

“As we get closer to graduation, Miss L/N might grow a bit more restless, and in turn might act more strange, stranger than many believe her to be. As long as she is enjoying herself and isn’t putting herself in harm's way, you need not worry,” Dumbledore smiled fondly. “That’s all I have for you, Severus.”

 

As the headmaster’s office shut behind him, Severus lost himself to his thoughts while descending the stairs, his curiosity trying to weave together a picture that made sense to him from the strings of information he had, but he couldn’t rationalize the letter. What had made you go from a sweet and considerate girl to an outright delinquent? More interestingly, what brought you back to your gentler self?

 

Who were you?

 

Chapter 62: The Natural Course of Things

Summary:

To Severus's chagrin, Black has been sniffing around the castle and Reader has to swallow a tough pill.

Song referenced: Bad Reputation - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LeYn_W14zTU&ab_channel=JoanJettVEVO

Notes:

I wish I could get these out to ya'll sooner but I refuse to sacrifice word count when I'm locked the fuck in 😤

Your clothes rustled in the quiet early morning of your room, changing from your pajamas into a pair of basketball shorts and a sweatshirt. You were up earlier than when you normally woke up. This time, it wasn’t due to a nightmare but a blip in your bladder schedule that urged you to get up at 5:45 in the morning and relieve yourself. When you returned, you found yourself swamped with thoughts of the new day and couldn’t go back to sleep. No doubt word had gotten around about how you disposed of that boggart. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if the twins began to fear you. And so, to remedy your lowly thrumming anxiety, you got up early, changed your clothes, and decided to do something you hadn’t done in a while: exercise.

 

The last time you went on a run that was at least a mile was in P.E. class in junior high. The exercise would be adequate for the health of a young woman such as yourself, and the endorphins would be good for your mind and distract you from your woes. Plus, it would help with keeping your body alert and attentive today. 

 

The crisp morning air sent goosebumps up and down the bare parts of your legs, but you’d warm up properly once you actually got your body moving. The sun began to break through the horizon, painting the sky in burning hues. The courtyard was slippery with early morning condensation, giving off the illusion that it had rained last night. To get rid of the stiffness, you did some stretches to warm up and loosen your extremities, arranging yourself in a variety of positions where you tugged, leaned, and lunged before tying your hair back and preparing to take off.

 

“Arf!”

 

You whipped your head around to the source of the bark to find a black dog standing behind you, wagging his tail happily in your presence. Black.

 

“What are you doing here, Black?” you huffed, re-tying your shoelaces. Sirius didn’t transform to give his reply, instead giving you a lazy “uh-bwoof” in return and yawned. When you thought about it, he might’ve spent the night in Lupin’s office to keep him company and help him through his symptoms. You wondered if Tonks ever privately came to the castle to comfort the man as well.

 

Sighing, you turned away from animagus and took off into a steady jog into the fields. Your breaths were even, in through your nose and out through your mouth, as you focused on feeling the impact of your feet against the slightly uneven path. Your gaze turned to admire the sparkling water as you passed by the shoreline, the surface rippling faintly and catching the light in a hypnotic glint. The peaceful scenery was interrupted, however, by an audible panting at your side. You looked down and saw Black trotting next to you. When you had made eye contact with him, he barked playfully, suddenly jerking away and running around in a zig-zag motion, pausing to see if you’d deviate from your path to engage with him. He made this attempt a few more times after you ignored him once but gave up when he accepted that you weren’t going to indulge him, so he settled into an idle pace by your side. Knowing that you couldn’t stop him from following you, by magic or non-magical means, you restrained your irritation and proceeded to ignore Black for the rest of your jog. 

 

Your body warmed properly along with the air as the sun continued to rise, the sky its now signature pale grey-blue, filled with puffy clouds. Birds chirped and creatures cried distantly from deep within the Forbidden Forest as you passed it by. With it being spring, you wondered what lurked about during the day. In the backyard of Hagrid’s hut, Buckbeak slept soundly, his talons twitching as he dreamed, probably of hunting a juicy ferret. You didn't call the hippogriff's name, allowing him to continue his peaceful slumber. A slight breeze began to pick up, evident by the lightly billowing flags between the towers of the Quidditch Pitch. Your legs powered through, muscles stimulated more thoroughly as you ascended the incline of the hill, which would eventually lead you back to the courtyard. 

 

Instead, however, just before you reached the point at which the crest of the hill plateaued, you veered further right and gave your legs some respite on the now downhill angle as you jogged over toward your tree in the fields, praying you wouldn’t accidentally roll your ankle on any gopher holes that were concealed in the tall grass. The blades tickled along your legs, dew rubbing onto your skin and cooling the burning sensation in your muscles. Once you got beneath the coverage of the tree, you resisted the urge to wallow in how out of shape you felt, taking a few seconds to catch your breath before lowering yourself to the ground and beginning to do some situps, moving on from legs to core. Black sauntered over by your feet, sitting down and panting away more quickly now from the run, and watched you do your situps.

 

“I’m not interested in indulging whatever it is you want, Black,” you grunted out.

 

The dog changed its shape, standing up until Sirius Black was before you at his full height, smiling down at you in dark robes. “Hello to you, too, Hydra. Long time no see.”

 

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t call me that. ‘S a stupid name.”

 

He grinned further, letting your irritation bounce off of him. “Come now, Hydra. I’ve been dying to speak to you since rumors about a runespoor patronus began floating around. Imagine my surprise when I see a newspaper of your patronus swallowing a man whole!”

 

“Why are you even here? You shouldn’t be wandering around the grounds. Students will think you are an intruder.”

 

“I usually come at night to help Remus out during the week of the full moon with his pains and disappear in the mornings.”

 

“Well, it’s morning. Disappear then.”

 

He slapped a hand to his heart and reeled back in mock hurt. “So mean! But a snake is a snake, I suppose. I just wanted to ask you some questions.”

 

“If I answer them, will you leave?”

 

“If it pleases her royal highness,” he teased.

 

“Fine,” you gritted through the tightness of your stomach. “What do you want to know?”

 

“How long have you been able to summon that patronus of yours?”

 

“Since November.”

 

“How come you didn’t mention it or show it when I stayed at the castle?”

 

“Because I’d rather not portray Runey as some party trick to be gawked at.”

 

He raised a brow. “You named it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Interesting… Lupin tells me the two of you have been doing experiments to test its capabilities. Is that true?”

 

“Yes. During the weekend, we take a little time to analyze the abilities of my runespoor and test any hypotheticals we come up with. There’s barely any reference material to solid patronuses, so we try to test everything and anything we come up with.”

 

“Are the two of you writing a book about it?”

 

“No, but we would like to see it be a part of some DADA material in the future for good record-keeping.”

 

He hummed faintly, tilting his head curiously. “Do you plan on pursuing something related to your patronus after you graduate?”

 

Oh god. That dreaded question you’ve been asking yourself for almost a year now. What are you going to do after you graduate? You didn’t know. Truly. You had vague fields of interest but nothing concrete. It always made you feel self-conscious to answer such a question like you were a moron for not knowing or preparing for your future already. It made you uncomfortable to think about. It would be nice to maybe travel for a bit. Otherwise? It was a toss-up. So, instead of answering, you strategically deflected.

 

“I’ll tell you what I’m not pursuing: your brother Regulus. Did you know he proposed to me in the mail recently?”

 

Sirius’s expression shifted from curious to something akin to disbelief, but a bit darker, a subtle sort of anger present. “He what?” The man replied in a near hiss.

 

“Yep. He asked for my hand in marriage, promising me a comfortable life of riches and nobility. He even included a photograph, as if that would somehow seal the deal.”

 

Sirius scowled, the timbre of a canine growl rumbling in his throat. “That bastard… What is he playing at?”

 

“No clue,” you grunted. “But I know what your bloodline is about, and that’s all I need to give a resounding ‘no.’”

 

Sirius ran his fingers through his curly locks. “He probably has no idea that you’re not fully pureblooded. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have much of a reason to ask… Not that you aren’t a catch.”

 

You scoffed. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

 

“It’s not flattery, it’s the truth. Even if you are winsome, powerful, and wealthy, it doesn’t mean much to Regulus if you aren’t pureblooded.”

 

Your sit-ups paused as you gave Sirius a perturbed look, his expression shifting almost smugly as he saw the questioning in your eyes. “I’m not dumb, Y/N. Your father’s position in the magical government isn’t exactly one that pays a meager wage.”

 

“Whatever,” you muttered. “Even if Regulus possesses those traits, one can still be an asshole,” you contended. “You’re living proof of that.”

 

But Sirius completely ignored the last characteristic you tacked on, smirking at the fact that you had indirectly called him attractive.

 

“I’m winsome, hm?” he pressed, straightening out his robes as if the gesture made him more debonair.

 

“Begone, Black,” you bit out irritably.

 

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in mock surrender. "I shall see you around, Hydra.”

 

Lowering his body, he transformed back into his animagus form. Before he took off, however, he quickly stepped forward and licked at your knee, prompting you to kick at him, but he swiftly dodged it and trotted off with a departing bark.

I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation!

Livin' in the past, it's a new generation!

 

A girl can do what she wants to do!

And that's what I'm gonna do!

And I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation!

Oh, no (no-no-no-no-no-no-no)

Not me (me-me-me-me-me-me-me)

The ambient sounds of the castle in the morning were silenced and replaced with music as you walked to the Great Hall, the stink of your morning exercise showered off, and your mind cleared. You couldn’t hear it, but you could feel the stares on you as you passed by students in the corridors, entered the Great Hall, and took your usual seat. “People could talk all they want. It doesn’t matter. Who cares?” That’s what you tell yourself daily. But you weren’t perfect. Of course, there were days when you were susceptible to the conspiring whispers and disparaging critiques. But you didn’t want to hear it—didn’t want to bear being subjugated under an attentive spotlight. And Joan Jett shouting in your ears was helping with that. 

 

The stares and fleeting gazes were subtly pressing on you from every angle. Every now and then, you flicked your eyes up from your food, glancing in a random direction and locking eyes with someone before they hastily looked away. 

 

Those at your table had the sense not to bother you, including H/G/N, who sat across from you, her curiosity palpable in the air, but she didn’t act on it.

 

You kept the music blaring in your ears until your first class of the day, the smell of ancient castle halls replaced with the crisp scent of fresh spring air, soil, and herbs. Amongst the clusters of students who stood about, waiting for Professor Sprout, you hovered at the back of the greenhouse, keeping to yourself as you silently worked to maintain a clear mind today. Jakob, who had been keeping his head on a swivel, finally located you near a corner, smiled, and approached you.

 

“Hello,” he greeted, bright as the sun and oblivious to your reticent demeanor.

 

“Hey,” you murmured back.

 

“I heard vut happened. Are you alright?”

 

A shiver ran down your spine and you sucked in a deep breath, letting it go in a drawn-out exhale. “Yeah… I’m fine…” you answered, staring off distantly at a burlap sack filled with fertilizer.

 

“She’s too shy to tell you herself, but Aria says ‘thank you.’ Her little sister is in Hufflepuff, and vas afraid something bad might have happened. Her boggart is an Acromantula,” Jakob explained. “She’s glad you vere there to help.”

 

Your cheeks buzzed with light warmth at the sentiment, but you offered nothing more than an acknowledging hum. Jakob reached for your hand and squeezed it. You squeezed back.

 

Professor Sprout’s brown robes swept into the classroom, her disposition cheerful and eager to start the lesson. “Good morning, everyone!” she said, rapping her wand against the edge of the long wooden table that ran through the center of the greenhouse. 

 

“Good morning, Professor Sprout,” you all greeted back in unison.

 

“I hope you're all ready for an exciting lesson. I think you’re going to like the plant I’ve selected.” She bent down and retrieved a large, leafy plant she had stowed away beneath the table and ‘plonked’ it onto the surface. It had a long, thick stock but with skinny branches that gave way to flame-shaped, almost skeletal leaves. In height, it must’ve been as tall as your torso. “Is anyone able to tell me what this plant is?”

 

No one raised their hands, including you. You squinted at it, trying to figure out what it could be, but you hadn’t seen the plant before, not even around Hogwarts, though it did remind you of some houseplants you’d seen in magazines.

 

“I’ll give you a hint,” Sprout grinned. “This plant plays an important role in the transportation of millions of wizards across the world on a daily basis.”

 

Many hands shot up now, and Professor Sprout gestured to a Ravenclaw girl to answer. “Is it floo?”

 

“Correct! Five points to Ravenclaw,” Sprout said, and the girl grinned. “Though the exact composition of the recipe for floo powder is a closely guarded secret, the Floo plant is a key ingredient, hence the name floo powder.” 

 

She took a tiny drawstring pouch out from her robes, opened it, and poured a glittering green substance onto the table, presumably floo powder. “Ignatia Wildsmith invented this nifty means of travel when she, as a young Ravenclaw, was faced with a particularly challenging riddle from the eagle door knocker at the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. She spent two whole days sleeping outside in the corridor before she had the idea of coming up with a means of travel that allowed people to get around doors. It was very quickly realized the potential such a method of travel had and was swiftly implemented first in the Ministry, then at gateway locations, and finally, homes. Thus, you have the floo network. Due to its precise nature, only one company in Britain is licensed to produce it, a company called “Floo-Pow” in Diagon Alley. Now, even though they maintain a monopoly on the product, they have not let greed get the best of them, and the price has, for a long time, stayed at 2 sickles, making it an affordable household item to have in stock. Many have tried to create their own versions, known as Faux Floo, which results in nasty injuries at St. Mungos every year. More often than not, they involved ludicrous ingredients like crab shell or runespoor fang…“

 

You felt eyes dart over to you at the mention of runespoors.

 

“This will be the last plant you’ll be caring for outside of classes as your education comes to an end. At the end of May, your plants will have grown fully, and it will be then that you will trim the leaves and grind them down into a powder, which I will exchange for refined and properly produced floo powder for you all to take home.”

 

For the rest of the lesson, she demonstrated how to take care of the plant in each stage of its maturity, recommending incremental treatments catered to each day that passed for optimal growth. It was nothing too challenging for you, but for someone who lived in the dungeons, you were at a disadvantage, so you decided taking it with you on your near-daily excursions would have to suffice. Every now and then, you felt Professor Sprout’s eyes linger on you one too many times, but she never said anything or prompted a question out of you. It left you a bit on edge, and you couldn’t help but think that she was going to ask you to stay after class to discuss the matter of the boggart in the common room.

 

And as soon as the bell thrummed throughout Hogwarts…

 

“Miss L/N, could you stay back a moment?” she chirped.

 

Called it.

 

With a sigh, your fingers clenched around the material of your pants, taking slow and careful breaths as, one by one, the students exited with their potted seedlings. Professor Sprout, taking in your rigid demeanor, smiled lightly with a softened gaze. “Relax, Miss. You are not in any trouble.” You said nothing in response, the clench in your jaw only becoming more prominent.

 

“I just wanted to thank you for what you did for my badgers the previous night. In all my years teaching here, I’ve never had a boggart find its way into the Hufflepuff common room. I regret not being there myself, but I’m glad you were able to lend a hand.”

 

You shifted in place, failing to meet her gaze, instead choosing to look at the vines of a Venomous Tentacula that sat, waiting patiently for flies and insects to hunt. “ ‘S common sense,” you mumbled. “Someone could’ve gotten hurt, ‘n I was nearby…”

 

“Indeed.” Then, the usual positive light in her eyes dimmed slightly. “With all the usual bustling, student shenanigans, and uproarious rivalries, sometimes it feels like my house tends to fade into the background, so it is nice to know that someone else cares.”

 

Finally, you managed to tear your eyes away from the plant and hesitantly meet her eyes. You had no idea she sometimes felt like that. Then again, the intense rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin was always something that somehow stole the spotlight, whether it be in Quidditch, academics, or scuffles amongst students in the halls.

 

“I wanted to give you something to show my appreciation,” she continued, ambling over to a wooden cabinet where tools and spare sets of gloves were often kept. You couldn’t tell what she pulled from it until she turned around and moved back over to you, holding potted clover in a brick-colored rectangular pot the size of a takeout box. Nestled throughout the lushness were small white flowers. This kind of clover was something you saw often back home in the most random of places, but always in the fields and parks. “I’ve heard from Dumbledore that you like to roll around and lie about the fields, especially in the Spring when everything has grown, including clovers. It’s nothing fancy, a bit of Dutch White Clover. It’s charmed with a stasis spell to remain at its current height and not wither. I figured you could keep it in your dorm room to touch whenever you are stuck inside or studying.”

 

Your face reddened as she held the pot out to you, her smile widening at your reaction. “There, there now. No need to be flustered,” Sprout chuckled, transferring the pot into your hands and patting you on the arm. “I take it you like it?”

 

You nodded, muttering out a ‘yes. ’ She put a hand on your shoulder and began guiding you out of the greenhouse. “I won’t press for any more details than I already know, but should you ever feel the need to release some pent-up energy, I have some extra scarecrows that would make for great target practice.”

***

 

Cauldrons bubbled and hissed, generating warm puffs of vapor and smelling of herbs and other earthy tones as students toiled away with their potions. Some stared at their cauldrons in such focus it was as though they were trying to make it levitate with their minds. Naturally, as the days counted down toward NEWTs, students were more on edge, their insecurities and doubts doubling in strength during the time that caused great stress among those with ambitious futures and those simply trying to stay afloat beneath the drowning weight of familial pressure. 

 

Severus’s critical gaze moved over the classroom as students brewed for the second half of the class, a refresher on a potion they learned last year to ensure they were ready for NEWTs. However, he spent quite a bit of his attention eyeing you, observing your demeanor after yesterday's events. He was…mildly surprised. Dumbledore had cautioned that you’d be especially reserved today, but you seemed nothing like it. You were almost energized and impatient, drumming your fingers along the edge of the table, though you still kept your focus directly on the cauldron despite it being in a waiting phase. Strangely, you kept one hand hidden in your bag, which lay next to you on your station, for nearly the entire duration of your brewing. 

 

You smiled faintly at the cauldron, turning the flame off as you leaned back in your seat in satisfaction, happy to have gotten through the class without any potion mishaps. Your fingers stroked and curled around the bushy clovers of the clover plant you had stowed in your bag, the sensation keeping you calm and focused throughout the class. Though simple, the plant was a wonderful gift; it felt like you had a piece of the fields with you wherever you went. You pulled it out from your bag and buried your face in it, chin resting in the soil as you inhaled the scent of the stems and flowers, imagining you were outside in the sunlit grass. The fantasy was cut short, however, as you felt a tap on your right arm.

 

Lifting your face back up, you looked at the student who had wanted your attention. A Gryffindor boy. His eyes flicked to your now dirtied chin, but he opted not to comment. “Hey,” he started. “I need a tip with this potion.”

 

“What's wrong with it?” you asked, eyeing his cauldron.

 

“It’s supposed to be colorless, but mine has got a bit of a green tint to it,” he explained. “Any ideas on how to counteract that? I don’t want to get docked for it.”

 

“Well…” you looked around at the ingredients on the table. “I know harpy talon is what changes the potion from orange to green. How much powdered talon did you add?”

 

“4.75 ounces.”

 

You winced slightly. “That’s half an ounce too much. We’re supposed to add 4.25 ounces.”

 

The Gryffindor scanned the book once more and found that you were right, cursing quietly to himself. “So how do I fix this?”

 

“My go-to method when I add too much of something is to add a proportional amount more of the other ingredients. So here,” you paused, opening your notebook and angling it towards him. “To find your ratio to determine the increments of other ingredients to add, you divide 4.25…by 4.75…” you explained as you scribbled out the math, “which gives about 0.89. Now,” you tapped your pen to the list of ingredients in the instructions, “take these numbers and subtract them by themselves multiplied by 0.89, and that's how much more you should add into your cauldron. And because the numbers are rather small, I wouldn’t necessarily worry about—”

 

“And just what are you two chatting about that is more important than brewing?” Snape’s baritone voice cut in from behind, his dark form lurking behind like an ominous shadow. The Gryffindor boy tensed up while you, on the other hand, turned your head into your palm, pursing your lips to fight a smirk.

 

“I’ve finished with my potion, Professor,” you replied. 

 

Professor Snape shifted his eyes from you to the boy and sneered. “And your excuse, Mr. Dimmons?” 

 

“I’m almost finished, sir,” he explained calmly. “ ‘Was just asking Y/N for a little help.”

 

Though you weren’t looking at him, you could feel Professor Snape’s gaze pierce through you, condemning and offended, as if you had committed some high form of treason. It doesn’t seem like he takes too kindly to you helping out a Gryffindor classmate. 

 

“This is not a group activity. Your potion is your own responsibility. Unless you’d like me to consider this cheating, I suggest you continue on silently by yourself. Professor Snape snipped sharply at the Gryffindor. “And five points from Gryffindor,” he added in a mutter as he moved away.

 

The Gryffindor glared at the back of the professor’s robes but held his tongue, continuing on with the tip you had given him. Bottling your potion, you gathered the tools and cauldron you used and walked over to the basin to clean them. While running a sponge over the inside of the cauldron, you caught the approach of your Professor once more in your peripheral.

 

“You have detention this evening, Miss,” he informed softly, his tone slightly imperious as he stood near your side.

 

Your movements hitched momentarily, not in anger, but in light surprise before they continued. “Okay, sir,” you said simply.

 

Severus’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flitting down to your hands, which washed the tools thoroughly before moving back up to your face. “After class. For leaving yesterday's class without permission.”

 

“Yeah. Alright,” you glanced at him nodding, your passive tone unchanging.

 

He wasn't sure what to expect in response, but your unbothered nonchalance surely wasn’t foreseeable. Regardless of the house, he was used to hearing protests or even just a crestfallen expression. Or maybe you just weren’t taking him seriously.

 

“Was there anything else?” you added when he hadn’t strode away.

 

His jaw shifted side to side before he muttered a “no” and finally walked away, leaving you vaguely confused before the feeling faded, and you returned to your station. By the end of class, your Gryffindor station mate had managed to correct the color of his potion, and Professor Snape had, begrudgingly, given the boy an ‘Adequate,’ which might as well have been an ‘O’ in the student’s eyes given Snape’s attitude toward the house of lions. The Gryffindor had mouthed a “thank you” to you as he left the class, to which you winked back at him, much to the Professor's displeasure,  whose gaze drilled into you as the last students filtered out the door and into the hall.

 

When it was just the two of you, you met his eye from across the room, patting the wooden station’s surface in anticipation.

 

“You are to brew another Mandrake Restorative Draught,” Severus said after a few seconds. “And clean the remaining cauldrons from today’s class.”

 

“Alrighty,” you responded with the lightest of smiles as you went to gather the necessary tools.

 

“…And a Wolfsbane potion.”

 

“Yup.” Your movements didn’t cease.

 

Severus scoffed internally, feeling a deep sense of conflict and a flare of annoyance. Detention was supposed to be a punishment for you, but here he was, having you do things you like. It wasn’t exactly in his control. He has heard from other professors who’ve attempted to punish you that there isn’t any activity that you abhorred, whether it involved sorting or cleaning. Even scrubbing the floors was no doubt a chore you performed at home, given the way you preferred to live. Though…this detention was hardly necessary. He supposed your running out of his class was justified to a degree. Deep down, he knew this punishment was more of an excuse. An excuse to keep you around.

 

“And for Merlin’s sake, wipe that dirt off your chin,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear before he disappeared into his office. 

 

You rubbed the back of your palm on your chin and found that there was indeed dirt from when you had set your face into the plant. Shrugging the fact off, you gathered the first set of ingredients for the Mandrake Restorative Draught, feeling a little more confident this time now that you knew a strange was normal. Even though you had brewed this potion before in your sixth year, some things simply escaped your mind. Professor Snape returned at around the same time you had started prepping your ingredients from whatever he was doing in his office and sat at his desk, sparing one last look at you before giving his attention to the parchment that lay before him.

 

You moved through the steps with more enthusiasm than last time, chopping, skinning, and crushing your way through each ingredient. The offputting smell made itself present once more as you eventually reached the milestone you had last class before you had darted out, leaving you with only one thing to add. It was an ingredient you’d see often at the supermarket but never really bothered to use much yourself: ginger. In the wizarding world, it was frequently used in many healing potions that treated stomach issues, the common colds, pains, and aches, but also the Mandrake Restorative Draught, it’s role in this particular potion to eliminate the stiffness and pain of muscle atrophy depending on how long a person has been paralyzed for.

 

With the tip of a teaspoon, you carefully scraped off the skins of the palm-sized root and made lateral incisions up from the base and along the short, stubby branches, allowing the juicy root to leak before gently placing it into the cauldron. The root would need to stew for another five minutes before the potion was complete.

 

So, for the last remaining minutes, you brought the plant out before you ran your fingers in it, playing with the clovers and flowers, letting your thoughts drift to tomorrow. With it being a shorter day for you then and now officially caught up in your studies, you thought maybe you’d treat yourself to a campfire outside or an evening under the stars like you did back home. Perhaps if it was clear skies. And you still had part of that joint left over. If everything aligned and no one came sniffing around for you, it would make for a very relaxing evening.

 

You blinked quickly, pulling yourself from your reverie, checked the clock, and saw it was time to remove the root. The smell changed slightly , not in a good or bad way, but the presence of the ginger’s effect on the fragrance, a layer of subtle spice, was undeniable. Turning the flame off, your stool scraped against the stone floor as you pushed away and went to the storage room to gather ingredients for the Wolfsbane. With bottles and jars cradled in your arms, you paused momentarily in the doorway as you saw Professor Snape standing at your station, looming over your cauldron. You smirked faintly to yourself, pacing back over to the station.

 

“On your left,” you murmured as you passed him by. The directional cue was common in class, something Professor Snape had instructed students to do when passing eachother by while carrying tools, ingredients, and cauldrons to lessen the frequency of accidents.

 

His eyes flicked to you and then back down at the cauldron.

 

“Is it acceptable?” you asked, tapping vials and jars down onto the station, quickly arranging them to your liking.

 

“…Yes,” he said softly, using magic to hover the cauldron to another station to be dealt with later.  “And just what is that?” Severus gestured to the plant next to your bag. 

 

You followed his gaze and smiled to yourself, running your hand over the clovers. “A present. From Professor Sprout. For…” you hesitated, your smile fading, “helping out her house.”

 

Severus inspected the plant critically, noting its simplicity. Common clover. Nothing special or useful in brewing. Why would Sprout give this to you?

 

“It’s nothing unique as far as plants go, but she unknowingly picked my favorite one.” You held the pot up to your face and buried your nose amongst the clovers, nuzzling into the leaves like a cat rubbing its face on a piece of furniture. “I love clovers.”

 

When you pulled your face away, his eyes latched onto your chin. “It seems you also love to ignore my instructions of keeping clean. You’ve got even more dirt on you now,” he sneered, regarding how it now smeared along your jawline.

 

“Dirt’s never hurt me,” you shrugged as you screwed off the lid of a jar and begin to count out seventeen wolfsbane leaves. However, before you could even pull three out of the jar, a hand came to rest on your head, and something soft rubbed along your chin. Professor Snape had taken a few steps closer and was now right at your side, keeping your head still with one hand and using his other to wipe away your face with a cloth, something you easily could’ve done yourself. You tried not to tense up or let any micromovements imply that you were uncomfortable or weirded out, not that you were… Not at all. But again, you could have done it yourself.

 

“If so much as a single speck graces the potion,” he began in a stern drawl, “it will taint it and render it useless. It may not hurt you, but it will sabotage you.”

 

You pursed your lips, heat from embarrassment creeping up your neck.

 

Severus was slow to pull away, his eyes skimming over your pinkened face one last time before removing both hands from your head. But the second he did so, he became hyper-aware of his actions and put a more appropriate amount of space between you two. 

 

“Headmaster Dumbledore informed me of what happened last night,” Severus murmured, changing the subject. 

 

“I don’t doubt he did,” you replied blankly, grabbing another cauldron you had pre-filled with potion water, setting it on top of the circular rack above the burner, and igniting the flame.

 

“A rather unorthodox way to get rid of a boggart…”

 

“Are you all mad about that?” You questioned hesitantly as you began to break up and grind a moonstone with a pestle and mortar. “You, Sprout, Dumbledore, any other teachers who know…”

 

“Not particularly. There was concern, however, about why a fire poker was utilized.”

 

A weighted silence hung in the air, your movements pausing as you attempted to maintain a calm exterior. You let go of the pestle, letting it lull to a stop in the mortar as you set your chin into your hand and looked away from him and the cauldron, a low sigh escaping you.

 

“I think…for a long time…I have been lying to myself,” you muttered. “About my feelings regarding…” Your hand rose and gestured vaguely to where your scars were before you let it fall back down to the table, your nails picking and tracing the thin cracks in the wood. “I told myself when Dumbledore eventually caught Abigail and Michael that I wasn’t angry with them, that they were just idiotic teenagers, and that I was just sad and disappointed that someone so young fell for lies so easily.”

 

Severus nodded in understanding, saying nothing in hopes you’d continue.

 

“But I don’t believe that anymore. I am angry. I have nightmares and heightened anxiety because of them. I lost my wits last night and ended up putting on an abruptly violent display in front of young students. And…” you wavered, “...I liked it. It felt good, like a release of what I’ve been subconsciously pushing down. Cathartic—like I finally got some physical control back.”

 

Your hands moved so that both your palms cradled your head. “I have a history of dealing with certain things in an…overly physical manner, and I try not to indulge that part of myself anymore, but I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that I had a good dream after it happened.” Your palms slid upwards, pressing into your eyes, causing odd colors and shapes to form before they rose further and tangled in your scalp. “I don’t want the mental strain to drive me into bad habits. I don’t want to be like Professor Lupin and have nightmares years later about something that happened a while ago.” 

 

One hand reached down, tracing the faded claw marks with a feather-light touch. Severus initially remained quiet at your admission, feeling for the balm tin and metal snakes he had retrieved from his office in his robe pockets.

 

“You expect too much of yourself,” he said measuredly. “It’s not as though you are getting over the embarrassment of tripping on a sidewalk crack. What happened to you that day was bad, Y/N. Very. Bad. It could very well take years for your mind and body to fully process it…and whether you like it or not…you have to be willing to accept that.” Severus paused for a moment before speaking once more. “Controversial as it may be, I, for one, am not against needing to release anger in a physical manner. So long as you’re not hurting anyone. Then again, boggarts aren’t really people. They are pests.” He clicked his tongue bitterly. “And yet Dumbledore won’t bother to exterminate them from the castle.”

 

A tiny, breathless titter came from you, easing the potion master slightly. 

 

“Probably to deter students from wandering into places they shouldn’t. I guess it worked then, didn’t it?” you offered wryly before sighing down at the table, lacing your fingers over the back of your neck. “I know that I’m being unreasonable in thinking that I can just…will the nightmares and the bad thoughts to go away. I just don’t like not having control. I like possessing it to the highest degree that I can in every aspect of my life. But this… I can’t even anticipate it properly. Now, I’m hurting myself in my sleep, and I feel…helpless.” You took a shaky breath and muttered, “I hate feeling helpless.”

 

“You are not entirely helpless in this,” Severus responded with quiet conviction. “Evidently, you were able to find mental relief, if not for a few moments, through physical action. If there is something you can do physically to help mitigate the anxiety and any lingering…paranoia…that isn’t as aggressive as what you did last night, I suggest you do it more often.”

 

You pursed your lips for a second before speaking. “I went on a run early in the morning and did as many sit-ups as I possibly could. I felt a bit better about greeting the day afterward.”

 

He nodded. “Then I encourage you to keep doing that.”

 

“What about the potions? I don’t want to keep taking them. I shouldn’t have to be dependent on them for a good night’s sleep.”

 

For that, Severus didn’t have a positive answer. Some people, depending on what they went through, would live the rest of their lives consuming dreamless sleep each night to ensure a proper night’s rest. Everyone was different.

 

“Believe me. Sometimes…they are necessary.”

 

There was something in his tone that drew your attention. His reply wasn’t merely informative. It sounded like…empathy. A confession, like he shared the struggle. Did he, too, have to take Dreamless Sleep multiple times a week? Did he endure something as serious as you did?

 

Ah. You straightened up slightly. That prank Black spoke a bit of. Despite your realization, you couldn’t help the flicker of warmth you felt that he had shared a small piece of himself with you without being prompted to.

 

“But…” he continued. “I don’t see you needing to rely upon them even a year from now. You’re young and…strong.” He stepped back closer to the table and set the small objects from his robes onto the station with a faint tap. You turned your head toward the sound and saw the two metal snakes sitting a foot or so from you. In Severus’s hand was the tin. He twisted the lid off of it, revealing a shiny balm that looked like a clear petroleum jelly. It smelled of nothing, offering no hints as to what it might be made of. 

 

“Should you wake up with any more unexpected markings, that should help. It’s strong, so you only need a little.” 

 

Then, there was a moment when you reached out to take the tin from him, and Professor Snape moved his other hand toward the tin as well. It wasn’t much, but it almost looked as though he was going to dip his fingers in the salve. Like…he was going to apply it for you. The both of you paused, eyes locking for a fleeting second, before his lips pressed in a thin line, and he quickly held it out to you, shifting his gaze so that he was looking beyond your shoulder rather than at you. You said nothing and decided to ignore the gesture. With your middle finger, you scooped a dime-sized amount and began to spread and smear it around the markings as evenly as you could. 

 

“It tingles,” you commented lightly.

 

“That means it’s working.” Severus peered at your neck, watching the way the claw marks had finally disappeared completely. Summoning a hand mirror, he gave it to you so you could see for yourself. You hummed at your reflection, scrutinizing your skin. The marks were now gone, as if never there to begin with.  You handed the mirror back to him and slowly pocketed the metal snakes instead of substituting them for your current hair tie. Severus said nothing about it, turning around and moving back toward his desk.

 

“When you have finished brewing the Wolfsbane, leave it. I shall deliver it to Professor Lupin after dinner,” he declared.

 

You raised a brow as you continued to brew. “Really? You’re alright being around Black?”

 

Severus came to a grinding halt, his shoes making a sharply high-pitched scraping noise against the stone before he slowly turned back around to you.

 

“ Come again?” he gritted.

 

You began to measure out mandrake juice, eyes flicking up between him and the beaker. “Black’s been keeping Lupin company in his quarters at nights this week. I just found out this morning. Did you not know?”

 

“I didn’t,” he nearly growled, his hands curling into fists. “And how exactly did you find out this information?”

 

“When I went on a run this morning,” you answered. “Black was leaving the castle just as I was heading out. Kept following me around in his dog form…” you added in a mutter, but Severus heard it. Loud and clear. His jaw clenched at the thought of Black sniffing around you, trying to get your attention, to charm you. The thought maddened him. 

 

“He shouldn’t be here,” he scowled to himself.

 

“Supposedly, he’s just here to provide support for Lupin during his furry pains. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dumbledore knew.” You smirked skeptically. “Then again, Black isn’t really considered a guest anymore, is he? The holidays have long passed. Technically, he’d be considered an intruder now. Who’s to say he shouldn’t be treated as such?”

 

He narrowed his eyes at you, his head tilting slightly. “What are you implying?”

 

“I’m not implying anything, Professor,” you remarked with feigned innocence, a smile spreading onto your face. “I’m just an obedient snake following the instructions of my Head of House. "And should he want me to sick my patronus on a certain someone and toss that person into the Black Lake…” you trailed off and made a vague shrugging motion to fill in the blank as you continued with the potion.

 

Though disapproving of your suggestion, he couldn’t stifle a feeling of amusement and something softer inside of him, a sense of reverence that caught him off guard and made his face heat. It was such a foreign feeling to have someone come to his defense, regardless of whether it was over something serious or trivial. And here you were, offering your services even though it would no doubt get you in trouble with the headmaster.

 

“That is not necessary,” Severus declared. “Though, the sentiment is…acknowledged.” His hands came to rest together behind his back. “I will speak with the headmaster about his visits. Should you find yourself being pestered by Black in the future, how you deal with him is your prerogative…patronus or not.”

 

Your eyes flit up from the cauldron, giving him the briefest wink.

 

“As you wish.”

Chapter 63: Bloody Noses and A Rocket Man

Summary:

Reader helps the twins with a side project and a request to assist in Wolfsbane results in Severus stumbling upon a less-than-sober Reader.

Referenced Songs: Rocket Man and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, both by Elton John.

Rocket Man: https://youtu.be/DtVBCG6ThDk?si=Y9gDbjEM_wTetehN
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road: https://youtu.be/wy709iNG6i8?si=m5VRg3CvmOwiUXKX

cw: use of weed

Notes:

Happy Two Year Anniversary of this fic! I hope you all have enjoyed the story so far :D

Sometimes I daydream and play with these two like they are goddamn barbie dolls. They're gonna be nudged closer together soon, I promise!

The TV filled the living room with quiet narration, the informative voice reporting on this week's weather and local news as you sat cross-legged in front of it, homework in your lap and an after-school snack of cut-up fruit and some chips beside you. The multiplication tables filled themselves little by little as you diverted your attention back and forth between the school work and a news story about a koala escaping the zoo. Every minute or so, you’d hear a soft thump from upstairs, your father’s coworkers floo’ing in to gather for a meeting in his office “to go over a report,” he had told you when you had gotten home from school. Your father didn’t always need to be at MACUSA or the Ministry to work, depending on what needed to get done. And sometimes, his being home was merely to keep an eye on you when you returned, though, like clockwork, you’d go to a quiet room and do your homework. 

 

Then, there was a knock on the front door, and you froze. No one ever knocked on your front door. No one should have been able to, let alone get past the charms on the perimeter of the property. You pressed the mute button on the TV and hesitantly got up. Your father had instructed you never to open the front door unless he mentioned he was expecting someone, and he hadn’t today. But you were beginning to accrue a sense of logic when it came to your father, the magic world, and life. Whoever was knocking must’ve been a witch or wizard and knew this was your father’s address. That meant they weren’t a threat, yes? 

 

Trotting over to the door, you stood on a small stool and looked through the peephole of the door and saw a man standing there. He looked to be around your father’s age and had on a hat and a suit that looked far too loose and heavy, like a trench coat, but had on a tie like the businessmen who went to work downtown. And in his hand was a stick. A wand. He was a wizard.

 

“Who is it?” you demanded from the other side. 

 

The wizard’s face quirked in surprise, not expecting to hear a young girl’s voice. “My name is Alfonso Moretti. I’m here for a meeting with [Y/F/N] L/N. Is this the right address?” he asked with an accent you’ve never heard before.

 

Deciding it was safe, you stepped off the stool, pushed it away, and began to unlatch and turn a few locks on the door. You pulled the door back, and the man stared down at you in bemusement, clearly not expecting to meet an eight-year-old, and quickly tucked his wand up his sleeve.

 

“You were supposed to use the floo,” you blanked and turned around to continue your homework. The man blinked in nonplus, hesitantly following you into the house and shutting the door behind him, removing his hat. Alfonso moved through the foyer and went the same direction you did, catching sight of your form settling in front of the TV. 

 

“Ah… Where is—”

 

“Upstairs. The door at the end on the right side.”

 

He nodded slightly to himself, casting one last curious glance at you before ambling towards the staircase and out of sight.

 

You wouldn’t see or hear this man until almost an hour later when you had moved on to your geography homework, which involved naming and labeling all the states and coloring them according to the instructions. Two sets of descending footsteps echoed through the house paired with harsh, yet low exchanges.

 

“...have a daughter? This whole time, you had a kid? How old is she…

 

“...eight years old… You don’t mention it to anyone…”

 

Your ears perked at the sounds of their movements coming to a halt at the edge of the living room, feeling their eyes on you.

 

“Y/N,” your father said aloud. You set your homework down, turned your head over your shoulder, and saw your father and the man standing side by side. “This is…my partner at MACUSA, Mr. Moretti. He’s an auror.”

 

Your eyes flit between you and the man, remaining silent. Mr. Moretti shifted awkwardly at your lack of reaction and cleared his throat. “Ehm… It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I wasn’t aware your father was…well…a father.” 

 

That didn’t get anything from you either. Just continued staring.

 

“Y/N, why did you let Mr. Moretti in through the front door? You know the rules,” your father asked sternly, but there was light curiosity behind it.

 

“I looked through the peephole and saw his clothes. They were like yours and the men in the New York Ghost. And he had his wand drawn,” you explained, returning your attention to your homework. “And you only tell people you trust our address.”

 

“She’s sharp,” Mr. Moretti commented with a faint chuckle, and you felt your ears burn. Your father harrumphed, ushering Mr. Moretti back through the foyer, and the last thing you managed to hear from him before he apparated away was “She’s got your eyes.”

 

Your father came back into the living room a few seconds later as you had just finished coloring in Florida. After what just happened, you anticipated being scolded or hearing some kind of lecture about the rules set in place meant to protect the both of you. But it didn’t come. Instead, he moved some feet behind you, plopping down on the couch with a heavy sigh. Peeking at him, you saw that he had his head tilted to rest on the back and an arm thrown over his eyes.

 

Ever since you gained a sense of awareness, you’ve come to realize certain things about the world, how things work, and human behavior. One thing you noticed about your father was that he was always tired after coming home from work or wrapping up a meeting. Not physically tired, it was more…mental, like a vampire got to his brain. It took a few meetings before this one to realize that it was because he was around people that he didn’t like to socialize and interact with for too long. But you didn’t know why he decided to sit here with you instead of going back upstairs to rest.

 

To fill the odd silence in the air, you picked up the remote and lowered the volume a little before unmuting, allowing the local news to be heard once more. The couch cushions shifted slightly from behind you as a feel-good story about a dog being reunited with its owner was being recounted.

 

“Do you always sit so close to the TV?” Your father asked. 

 

“Yes,” you answered.

 

“You’ll ruin your eyesight if you do that. Come sit on the couch.”

 

You pursed your lips to yourself but obeyed, gathering your homework and your backpack, moving to the couch, and settling on the cushion beside him. Every few moments, your father flicked his eyes down at the paper you were scribbling on. Only when you had finished coloring did he speak up again. 

 

“Is that your homework?”

 

“Some of it,” you murmured, retrieving the other worksheets and handing them to him. Your father flipped through the papers, observing the completed multiplication and division tables, grammar sheet, and colored geography map. Everything had been filled out neatly and correctly.

 

“Is all this…easy for you?” he inquired.

 

You shrugged, your attention fixated on the TV. “I guess. I just follow the instructions.”

 

He hummed quietly, his eyes hesitantly flitting over to the bookshelf in the corner that held potion brewing books, but your voice had pulled him from his thoughts. 

 

“Where is Mr. Moretti from? I’ve never heard someone talk like him.”

 

“His parents are from Italy. He’s Italian-American and lives in New York.”

 

“Oh,” you said softly, not bothering to question it anymore. A few seconds later, you felt his reluctant hand settle on top of your head, remaining still for a moment before slowly smoothing down the back of your head like he was petting a cat for the first time. Your father wasn’t…expressive of his emotions, his face almost always remaining the same except for the tone of his voice. When it came to affection, he was rather uncertain, like he didn’t know what to do with you.

 

Your cheeks puffed up in bashfulness, and you pressed back into his palm, wanting more of the simple gesture.

 

“Not everyone who stands at our door dressed in robes is a safe witch or wizard,” he said matter-of-factly, his hand moving to the crown of your head once more. “I know I've said before that those who know where we live are trustworthy, but the fact remains that anyone who doesn’t come through the floo is either incapable of following basic instruction or cannot be trusted, as they could be an impostor.”

 

You looked at him, wide-eyed. “How?”

 

“A potion called ‘Polyjuice.’ With a bit of someone's DNA, the drinker can transform into a different person temporarily.”

 

“Oh… Well…what about Mr. Moretti?”

 

“Ironically, you can trust him the most. He is a confidant and…understands me. So, ignore today with him and the door, and do not open it for anyone else. Understand?” 

 

You nodded, and his thumb stroked through your scalp one more time before he lowered his hand from your head back to his lap.

 

“Good.”

 

~ ~ ~

Y/N,

 

Spring has been treating us well; thank you for asking! Our peacocks unexpectedly had babies, so we are trying to establish new homes for the chicks, but Draco is begging us to let him raise one of them. It’s nice to hear you cleared things up with Severus. Had you not called him out in whatever manner you did, he surely would’ve let it drag on. To answer your question, he most definitely did! It was a bit off-putting and was likely a contributing factor to why other students were hesitant to befriend him until I found out he merely did so out of curiosity. Despite having grown up, he remains analytical and eager to absorb knowledge. You just might be that intriguing to him! 

 

I hope you’ve been able to keep up with your studies, and I hope to hear from you again soon.

 

Sincerely, 

Narcissa Malfoy

 

“You just might be that intriguing to him.” Her words echoed in your head, pressing the letter against your face to cover the blush on your cheeks. Intriguing… The implication that you could have someone’s attention like that is something you aren’t used to. And frankly, putting aside your patronus, you didn’t think you were really that intriguing. You had what you thought were regular interests, did the usual things people your age did, and even if certain muggle proclivities might've been more foreign to him, was it really such a spectacle?

 

“And what has you so bashful this morning?” H/G/N greeted you as she sat across from you at breakfast, eyeing the parchment. “Did you get another letter from Oliver Wood?”

 

“Holy shit, what is it with you shipping me with Oliver Wood? You’ve been doing it ever since he sent the broom,” you chuckled incredulously. 

 

“Because I have taste, and I know you think he’s handsome too. Plus, if the two of you get married, you can hook a girl up and introduce me to his other devilishly good-looking teammates,” she smirked. Her half-serious, half-playful remarks were not entirely unwarranted. You and Oliver Wood had exchanged a few letters more beyond the first one, and H/G/N insisted on knowing the details of each one. The nature of the letters was not flirtatious whatsoever. It was rather like talking to a friend, or at least someone who was still close enough to your age group who could joke around with you and share news properly. None of it would lead anywhere, and you weren’t interested in the man that way. At most, he was a fun pen pal. But yes, you did tell H/G/N he was handsome, and she took that information and ran with it.

 

“Nuh… He’s not my type. I’d rather Sebastian over Oliver.”

 

She gawked. Yes, she had seen the man you were referring to at Hogsmeade, and only later did you describe your interactions with him. “Seriously? The freaky vampire guy over Oliver bloody Wood?”

 

“He is not—”

 

“Not a vampire, yes, I know, but my point still stands. You’d rather date a guy who looks like that than the dreamiest Quidditch keeper known to man?”

 

“Well, it’s a bit more than that. Though I only had one physical interaction with each of them, Oliver comes across as too…” you waved a hand vaguely trying to find the right word, “...passive, I guess…? And there’s nothing wrong with it, I just prefer someone who's more…casually dominant. Physically speaking. It makes me feel protected like I can turn my brain off and not be so vigilante.”

 

“Huh…” She squinted in thought. “Okay, I think I can understand that.”

 

“And besides, it’s more titillating to have someone like that whimpering and writhing beneath you.”

 

H/G/N choked on her juice, sputtering and wiping her mouth. “Merlin, Y/N! Are you ovulating or something?”

 

You shrugged with an amused expression. Probably. You never bothered to keep track of that shit.

 

“Hello, ladies!” the twins said in unison, announcing their presence at the end of your table.

 

“Hello, twins,” H/G/N greeted politely. They winked back at her before focusing their attention on you, a hand resting on each of your shoulders and beginning to massage you, a telltale sign that they were about to butter you up.

 

“Y/N, love, the most elegant creature to walk this earth, we have something to ask of you,” George declared.

 

“What is it, you two?”

 

“As you know, we’re working on perfecting our Skiving Snackbox product, and we’ve managed to narrow down the treats inside to about four products,” Fred explained. “We’ve got Puking Pastilles, Fainting Fancies, Fever Fudge, and Nosebleed Nuggets.” 

 

“However,” George took over, “we have a problem with the nuggets. We can make the bleeders just fine, but we’re having trouble coming up with a proper antidote that will stop the bleeding fully.”

 

“What main ingredient are you using to trigger the bleeding?” 

 

“Yarrow,” they answered.

 

You hummed.  “Not bad. That plant can start and stop nosebleeds, but I’m guessing you’re unable to adapt to the latter.”

 

“We’ve tried lots of ways, but it’s been messing with the taste of the fudge, and we can’t have our customers spitting out the product before it has a chance to work. Since you have a short day today, is there any chance you’d be able to look into it for us?”

 

“Should I have a manageable workload today, then I’ll see what I can do. Just let me know what you’ve already tried so I know what to ignore.”

 

“Brilliant! We’ll get you a list of what we’ve tried after breakfast.”

 

The list, as it turned out, was quite long. At first, they had started by simply mixing in an inflammatory potion, the logic being to increase pressure on the burst blood vessel to stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, it acted like Wolfsbane in that when mixed with the sugar inside the chocolate, it rendered it useless. And so they had moved on to using ingredients that had inflammatory properties. They’d put in a lot of effort in refining their product.

 

Too much effort. Too much time . They really should focus on improving their Potions if they don’t want to get in trouble with the law if something goes awry and injures a future customer.

 

Upon finishing up with your morning classes and lunch, you set off to the library to get some studying in. Neither teacher assigned homework, which meant you’d default to NEWT prep. A palpable trace of tension and discipline lingered in the air, grounding the students with a sense of anticipation and determination. Those who had limited classes today like you and buckled down in the library stared in concentration at their textbooks, few lifting their eyes to meet your commiserate gaze. 

 

You settled in a corner, your class textbooks surrounding you in addition to your copy of Healers’ Guide to Horticulture, a book that combined knowledge about plants from both the no-maj and the wizarding world. Using your notes and the comprehensive ministry-created guide for NEWTs preparation, you dove into your books, switching topics every so often to keep your mind stimulated with variety. You flipped through flashcards, testing your ability to remember potions, their key ingredients, and their functions. You practiced transfiguration spells and charms on origami objects you made from paper. Sketched creatures stared back at you in your DADA book as you covered the text and attempted to recite the creatures' names, the dangers they posed, and how to defend oneself against them…

 

A few hours passed when your brain begged for a break from studying, as did your spine from hunching over the table. Your back crackled as you stretched your arms, putting away your class books and beginning your search for the perfect ingredient. Or maybe ingredients. Who knows? Maybe the perfect result involved the combination of two, three, or ten. 

 

When it came down to it, nosebleeds were a physical reaction to a disturbance or trauma, like a punch, allergies, increased blood pressure in fragile vessels, or weather. The most effective way to stop nosebleeds was with something that possessed hemostatic properties, encouraging blood coagulation, and you very well couldn’t just shove the plant up one's nose. It also had to be safe to consume by the majority of people.

 

Following along the table of contents, you flipped to about a third of the way through the book, where it mentioned herbal remedies that were used to encourage clotting to help flesh wounds. The book was very compact, containing information and inscriptions dating long before Hogwarts and the houses ever formed. Some of the pictures were faded but still recognizable, only emphasizing the significance of its age.

 

“Chromolaena odorata, commonly known as Devil Weed, is a tropical and subtropical species of flowering shrub in the family Asteraceae. It is a multi-stemmed shrub that grows up to 2.5 m (100 inches) tall in open areas. It has soft stems, but the base of the shrub is woody. In shady areas, it becomes etiolated and behaves as a creeper, growing on other vegetation. Tea made from the leaves is said to be an excellent remedy for the flu, coughs, common colds, asthma, sinusitis, and fever. The leaves emit a pungent odor when crushed, and studies suggest the plant contains wound healing, hemostatic, antioxidant, anti-inflammatory, and anti-anemic properties...”

 

You made a noise of approval. This sounded perfect for the counter-nosebleed nugget. However…

 

“This plant is native to the Americas, Mexico, West Africa, tropical Asia, and parts of Australia.”

 

Tsk. Not close to the UK. The twins would have to pay more on tariffs to get ahold of it. Moving on then…

 

A few more page flips and your eyes caught on to a plant that resembled a marigold. 

 

“Calendula is a genus of about 15–20 species of annual and perennial herbaceous plants in the daisy family, Asteraceae, that are often known as marigolds. They are native to Europe, North Africa, Macaronesia, and West Asia, and their center of diversity is in the Mediterranean region. It can help wounds heal faster, possibly by increasing blood flow and oxygen to the affected area, which helps the body grow new tissue. It is also used to improve skin hydration and firmness. Calendula might cause sleepiness and slowed breathing. Do not consume if sedative potions have been taken…”

 

Another promising option. Closer to London and has the potential to be left as is or mixed with an ingredient that provides a slight energy boost. Still, you kept looking.

 

The more you read, the longer your list for the twins became, detailing several possibilities and combinations that could be used for the second nugget.

 

You rubbed your eyes, fatigued from staring at books for multiple hours on end. A glance at your watch showed that it was now the late afternoon. The last classes of the day were happening right now. Your fingers pressed lazily on the book, swiping along to the next page as you had almost finished going through the plants known to have properties conducive to stopping nosebleeds.

 

“Urtica dioica, often known as common nettle, burn nettle, stinging nettle or nettle leaf, or just a nettle or stinger, is a herbaceous perennial flowering plant in the family Urticaceae. Originally native to Europe, much of temperate Asia, and western North Africa, it is now found worldwide.”

 

The familiar jagged-edged plant sat etched before you. Hm…

 

“Nettle is yet another astringent herb that could help stop a nosebleed by constricting bleeding vessels. Studies suggest that it may reduce inflammation, hay fever symptoms, blood pressure, and blood sugar levels, among other benefits. While fresh stinging nettle may cause irritation, cooked, dried, or freeze-dried stinging nettle is generally safe to consume.”

 

You blinked, a small smile gracing your face. Nettle. It’s perfect. And the twins could always try adding cinnamon or sugar if the nettle juices turned out to be too bitter. You sighed in satisfaction, smoothing your face out with your palms before moving to put your books back in your bags.

 

Your eyes lingered on the windows as you made your way down to the dungeons, the light through the increasingly sparing windows as you moved further down taking on a yellow hue as the sun dragged ever closer down to the horizon, not yet touching it, but it was getting there. Most students were either still in class or their common rooms, passing the time until dinner started,  which is why you were surprised to see a young Gryffindor girl traversing the dungeons. As she got closer, coming from the opposite direction, you realized her nose was bleeding quite profusely, her hand clutching at it in an attempt to stop the blood from further soaking up into her white shirt.

 

“Oh—Jesus—Uh— are you alright?” you called to her as you approached.

 

“Uh-y-yeah, I think I’m alright. I’m-I’m just leaving Potions class,” she explained, her voice wobbly with panic, but she was doing her best to hide it.

 

“How’d you get a bloody nose?”

 

“I…” she started to say but paused, hesitating. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

 

You raised a brow at her. “I’m not a snitch. Well, unless it benefits me, but I doubt that’s the case at the moment. And if it’s Professor Snape you are worried about, I definitely won’t tell. I think the nosebleed itself is punishment enough.”

 

She pursed her lips, mulling your words over before speaking once more. “I ate some chocolate meant to give me a nosebleed. George and Fred made it. I wasn’t ready for today’s lesson, and I was just so nervous, and I didn’t want to be embarrassed by Snape in class, so I ate some. Actually, I ate two bleeders…”

 

You closed your eyes, sighing in frustration. Those idiots… Why would they sell it if it’s not ready yet? “Yes, I am quite aware of the twin’s latest invention,” you grunted. “However, I also know that the antidote isn’t 100% effective just yet. I’m a little disappointed that they sold it to you like that.”

 

She gaped a bit, looking down and away, blushing. “Well… They didn’t exactly sell it to me. I may have…swiped some. I was desperate.”

 

Your brows raised. “Really? You were that desperate to get out of potions today that you’d steal from your own housemates?”

 

She nodded. “I’m already anxious about final exams, and this week has not been kind to me.”

 

“This week has not been kind to me either so far,” you answered, sympathetically, before moving past her. “C’mon. Follow me.”

 

She turned, looking after you. “To where?”

 

“My room. I have a temporary solution for your nose so that you don’t bleed all over the ground on your way back to the Hospital Wing.”

 

“You mean…in the Slytherin Common room? Won’t that make the Slytherins mad?”

 

“No one will say shit if you’re with me.” You motioned once more. “C’mon.”

 

As the doors to your common room creaked open, students lounging about glanced up, casting disapproving looks your way, some startled by the bloodied Gryffindor, some immediately glancing back down, minding their own business as you guided the girl into your room. 

 

“Oh… Your room is big,” she commented, looking around.

 

“Mhm.” You closed the door behind you two, crouching by your bedside stand and tugging open the bottom drawer. “Sit on the bed.” 

 

She moved toward the bed, fidgeting with her hands in her lap as she sat down. “...My name’s Carina—not that you asked, but… I’m Carina.”

 

You flicked your eyes momentarily to her, offering a nod as you pulled out a box of tampons and some medical tape. “I believe you’re familiar with this particular product,” you declared, holding up two tampons you plucked from the box.

 

Carina’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me those are going up my nose.”

 

“For a little bit, yes.” You stood back up to your full height, taking off the paper sheathing of the product. “Technically, you’re not supposed to pack a bleeding nose as it will make the bleeding worse, but considering it’ll only be for a few minutes and just to keep your hands and clothes clean, you should be fine. Look up at me.”

 

She tilted her chin up, her mouth falling open naturally, like when one applies mascara close to the mirror. Lining up the plastic with her nostril, you began to guide it inwards until it couldn't go anymore.

 

“Deep breath in,” you instructed, and she inhaled slowly and deeply. “One, two…”

 

You pushed on the plunger, simultaneously moving the plastic casing back out so that the tampon was snug in place. Carina cringed at the stuffed feeling of her nose, but you were already lining up the second one with her nose. You did the same thing with the other nostril, her breathing out as you guided the plastic out and tossed it into a bin. “How’s it feel?” you asked.

 

“Snug,” she managed to say. “I bet I look stupid with the strings hanging out.”

 

You smirked, tearing off a piece of tape. “A bit, yeah. But not for long.” You managed to tuck the string just inside her nostrils before placing the piece of tape horizontally against her nostrils, smoothing the ends along the side of her nose. “There we are.”

 

She touched her nose, getting up from the bed to look in the standing mirror in the corner of the room. 

 

“I believe it doesn’t bear repeating that you shouldn’t do something like this again.”

 

She blushed, nodding at herself in the mirror.

 

“Good. Let’s get you to the Hospital Wing then.

 

***

 

The galloping footfalls of two sets of legs echoed through the corridor, the twins’ hurried movements filled with curiosity and worry. They hadn’t sold any of their product to Carina, but when they saw the sudden bleeding and plentiful amount of blood pouring out, they suspected something was amiss, that it had to do with the experimental nosebleed nuggets. And, of course, they were concerned for their fellow Gryffindor. 

 

They weaved around students, earning frustrated grunts from those they accidentally bumped shoulders with until they made it to the entrance of the Hospital Wing. Halfway down one of the aisles of beds sat Carina, nose crusted with dried blood as she pinched the lower part of her bridge. Nearby, you stood observing her, notebook in hand and bookmarked with a pen. On. The off chance that you found yourself in the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey permitted you to record how she treated your injuries to satisfy your curiosity, and sometimes, the injuries of others, but you only did so if the injuries interested you.

 

“Carina?” Fred called.

 

Both you and the Gryffindor girl turned toward the twins who strode in through the doorway.

 

“George…Fred…” she greeted quietly.

 

“Miss Brimwood, can you unpinch your nose? I’d like to do one last inspection,” Pomfrey declared, approaching the girl. Carina released her nose, and Madam Pomfrey shined her illuminated wand around her nostrils, inspecting the inner cavities for any more continued bleeding. “It seems the spray worked. You are no longer bleeding,” she informed, lowering her wand. “You may go, but should you spontaneously bleed again, come back to the Hospital Wing at once.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, rising from the bed and smoothing out her skirt.

 

“Hey…” Fred greeted.

 

“Hey…”Carina answered quietly.

 

An awkward silence pervaded the space between the four of you, but it didn’t last long as you cut into the conversation. 

 

“Carina, you should just tell them,” you encouraged.

 

The girl bit her lip with a nervous sigh, her shoulders drooping. “I…took one of your nosebleed nuggets to get out of class.”

 

“Yeah, we reckoned,” George nodded. “The timing was rather suspicious. As well as the amount of blood. But those were testers, Carina. We still don’t have a proper counter-nugget. We’re a little surprised you’d steal from us.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking down at the floor. “I was just really nervous about today, and I knew my brew wasn’t going to get good marks, so I panicked. Are… Are you mad at me?”

 

The boys looked at one another. “Well, on the one hand, we're glad you proved our product has a market, but on the other hand, you could’ve fainted from blood loss and hit your head or something. But, more importantly, we’re glad you’re okay. Should we ever find the proper combination of ingredients for a working counter nugget, then you’ll be the first we’ll offer a Skiving Snackbox to.”

 

“Speaking of the proper combination of ingredients, I may have found a solution to your problem,” you announced. At that, the Gryffindor reunion came to an end, Carina bidding the twins a good evening and that she would see them at dinner. The three of you exited the Hospital Wing and clustered up by a nearby armor stand, and the twins grinned eagerly when you pulled out a list from your pocket.

 

“I found some potentially suitable ingredients to replace the yarrow you’ve been trialing. Some are combinations or simply by themselves. However,” you pointed ot the bottom of the list. “I believe nettle is your best bet. It’s common and can be stewed, cooked, or dried, and I don’t imagine it will have too much of an effect on the taste of the product.”

 

“Y/N, this is amazing!” George commented, taking the list and scanning the herbal ingredients. “But honestly, how’d you come up with all these ingredients? We went to the library over a hundred times.” 

 

The corners of your lips tugged upwards. “It pays to take no-maj knowledge into account. Plus, I’ve gotten enough bloody noses in my lifetime to know the causes and, therefore, the solutions.”

 

“Brilliant! Well, thanks for doing this fo—”

 

“Not. So. Fast. I still have something to  discuss with you two.”

 

The twins gave eachother a look as you proceeded to fish something out of your pocket. In your hand was the no-maj candy you were saving for later. You moved it around in your hands until you spotted the allergy warning on the back. 

 

“I understand it is your guys’ dream to open a shop for your products after you graduate, but there are certain things you need to keep in mind.” You showed them the packaging of the candy. “What do you see there?”

 

They both leaned in to read the writing. “Warning: the product contains peanut oil. Do not consume if allergic.” 

 

You nodded. “Right. This type of warning is something required in the no-maj world by a federal agency called the Food and Drug Administration. It ensures that companies and businesses aren’t liable for any mishaps should someone consume something that can harm them and serves as a warning for customers so that they don’t buy something that might send them to the hospital. The last thing you need is for your business to get shut down because a child consumed something that could kill them.”

 

Fred nodded. “Okay, yeah, that’s smart. We’ll have to change the packaging then, or maybe include a little slip in each candy slot about the ingredients.”

 

“Secondly, you should also include a warning not to consume more than one Nosebleed Nugget to get out of class. If a product is ineffective, encourage your customers to write to you. I had to shove tampons up Carina’s nose so she wouldn’t leak out all over the floor.”

 

The boys blushed at the mention of feminine hygiene products. “Oh—er—alright. Ehm—We’ll do that.”

 

You rolled your eyes at their childish reaction. “Anyways, something to keep in mind moving forward with all your products. It would be a shame for things to end so quickly before you even get started.”

 

They smiled. “Definitely,” George said. “Do you want to sit with us at dinner and tell us more about these ingredients?”

 

You smiled knowingly to yourself, looking away. “Sorry boys, but I’ll only be in the Great Hall for a moment or two to gather some food before I have to skidaddle.”

 

“Oh? And just what are you up to tonight?”

 

“A date with the stars, of course.”

 

The twins escorted you down to the dungeons so that you could retrieve your bag and thicker clothes to withstand the outdoor chill, and on the way back up to the Great Hall, you indulged them about the ingredient list, including the recommended nettle. You didn’t bother with a coat tonight, just a thick sweater as you would light a campfire. Crossing the threshold of the large room filled with clinking utensils and idle conversation, you broke off from the two boys and paced over to your table, immediately picking out food to build your meal to go. Tonight’s feast wasn’t very to-go friendly, especially when you took into account the cutlery required to eat it, but you were creative. 

 

“You off somewhere?” H/G/N asked.

 

“Yeah,” you answered, grabbing bread buns to build yourself a brisket sandwich.

 

“Where to?”

 

“No exact location. Just out in the fields for some alone time.” Pulling out a gingham cloth, you wrapped the meaty sandwich, a bit of fruit, and some marble cake for dessert.

 

“Anything special involved?”

 

“Perhaps,” you smirked and placed your hand on her head, rocking it about. “But too inappropriate for your impressionable ears to hear.”

 

She batted your hand away. “Oh, please, I’m old enough to drink. A legal adult.”

 

“Maybe so, but what I’m doing falls…outside of legality. And I’d like to keep such indulgences private for now.”

 

H/G/N mock-pouted, but it morphed into a smirk, waving you off. “Whatever. Just make good choices.”

 

The fiery colors of orange transitioning to dark purple contrasted the chilly air that assaulted your face as you plodded through the fields, dew-covered grass clumping beneath your shoes. Stray birds flew against the warm-toned sky on their way from their last hunt to return to their nests for the night. You wandered far past your tree, choosing a location between the triangular distance of Hagrid’s Hut, your tree, and the Quidditch. From your bag, you removed some items: your wrapped food, four logs that you had shrunk down to the size of pencils, a thick blanket, and a sleek wooden box. Resizing the logs and arranging them to your liking, you cast an ‘Incendio,’ a small flame catching in the center that would slowly begin to build. While the wood began to burn, you opened the box and carefully took out your car that had been shrunk down, set it down a few yards from the fire, and enlarged it back to its original size as well, the vehicular machine rocking slightly in place before settling. Now, your car wasn’t entirely necessary for tonight’s events, but you were trying to recreate an activity you did back home.

 

Every now and then, you’d drive up to Wilson’s Peak, a road that winded in the nearby mountains that led up to some hiking trails and cliffs where people would often pull over to observe the sunset, study the sky, or carouse with friends.

 

Or fuck in their cars.

 

You were a stargazer, preferring to lie on the roof of your car and stare in awe at the dotted, twinkling sky, devoid of any light pollution that would otherwise faze out their appearance.

 

As the fire built and the warmth expanded, you settled down in the grass, ignoring the dampness of the grass and letting the music from the cassette player in the car swell around you. 

 

When are you gonna come down?

 

When are you going to land?

 

I should have stayed on the farm

 

I should have listened to my old man

 

You know you can't hold me forever

 

I didn't sign up with you

 

I'm not a present for your friends to open

 

This boy's too young to be singing

 

The blues, ah, ah

You bit into your brisket sandwich, closing your eyes and swaying along as Elton John hit a high note. 

So goodbye, yellow brick road

 

Where the dogs of society howl

 

You can't plant me in your penthouse

 

I'm going back to my plough

 

Back to the howling old owls

 

Hunting the horny back toad

 

Oh, I've finally decided my future lies

 

Beyond the yellow brick road

 

Ah, ah

 

This song really resonated with you. You felt you could relate to it as Elton sang of dealing with high life and recognition but wanting to return to his simpler life and his roots despite external pressure. It truly made you wonder what you were going to do after graduation. Yes, you still wanted to live in your home in the muggle world. No, you wouldn’t cut everyone off; you still wished to keep in touch with them and meet up sometimes. You felt you could do a lot of good with your patronus as an auror or some kind of government-sanctioned mercenary with Alfie, but that would involve a lot of emotional turmoil. Potions was another idea, but maybe not as a healer. That involved too many hours and not enough of a personal life. Research was another idea, but being a part of a team, eh… Individually, you certainly had the funds to do so, but you wouldn’t have been able to accomplish as much. 

 

Then again, it’s not as though you’d be on a schedule. Maybe you should just travel for a bit to fully reintegrate yourself mentally back into the muggle world.

Sucking the last bit of meat juice off your fingers you pushed off the ground and began arranging the thick blanket on top of the car, the thick, soft material making the hardness of the car’s roof less uncomfortable on your back. You climbed up, rolling onto your back, a pouch of fruit and dessert resting on your stomach. A wondrous sigh escaped you as you looked out at the stars, dotting the sky in a spray of white as the last bit of purple glow from the sunset faded away on the horizon, twinkling and shimmering more beautifully than the charmed sky within the Great Hall. It was like the skies back home; for a moment, you thought you were actually there.

As you embraced the radiating warmth of the nearby fire, your fingers felt around in your pant pocket, locating the half joint. A wordless ‘Incendio’ had the end lit and glowing a subtle orange. You brought the tip to your lips and inhaled slowly and deeply, holding it for some seconds before steadily exhaling, watching the smoke billow and fade away.

She packed my bags last night pre-flight

 

Zero hour 9 a.m.​​

 

And I'm gonna be high as a kite by then

 

I miss the Earth so much, I miss my wife

 

It's lonely out in space

 

On such a timeless flight

 

And I think it's gonna be a long, long time

 

'Til touchdown brings me 'round again to find

 

I'm not the man they think I am at home

 

Oh, no, no, no

 

I'm a rocket man

 

Rocket man

 

 burnin' out his fuse up here alone

 

And I think it's gonna be a long, long time

 

'Til touchdown brings me 'round again to find

 

I'm not the man they think I am at home

 

Oh, no, no, no

 

I'm a rocket man

 

Rocket man

 

 burnin' out his fuse up here alone…

Feeling the effects of the weed after a few minutes, a giggling fit built in your throat as you began to ponder if weed had an effect on Runey or your ability to summon him. Smiling to yourself, you drew your wand out and chanted, ‘Expecto Patronum.’ Runey took form very quickly, glowing exceptionally bright, emphasizing his state of solidity. He looked down at you happily, all three heads puffing at you.

 

“Mhmhm hi, babies…” you tittered. 

Morpheus rumbled deeply, moving to rest his head on you, but the sudden increase of weight on the car triggered the alarm to go off, blaring loudly away in the fields. 

 

“Oh-ho shit,” you laughed, fumbling for your keys and silencing the alarm. When the high-pitched noise stopped, Morpheus hesitantly lowered himself down onto you more slowly. The car creaked under the additional weight but didn’t trigger the alarm this time. The other heads wrapped themselves around the car as if protecting a large egg.

 

“Are you my handsome boy?” You teased, and he lapped at your chin with an affirmative grunt. “Hm-hm… Love you, too.”

 

***

 

Crickets and frogs chirped gently all around, wet grass brushing along Severus’s trousers as he ambled through the darkened fields. The sunset had since passed, leaving the sky a dark canvas smattered in brilliant twinkling stars with the occasional, momentary comets. A nice night for whatever it is you were doing out here. 

 

He desired your assistance tonight, having realized earlier that there was more work to be graded than he had initially thought. He knew you were out here, your attire and brief presence in the Great Hall a dead giveaway on where you’d be spending your evening. Earlier, he had thought about sending you a note summoning you to the Potions classroom, but when he remembered where you were, he imagined any note he sent would’ve gotten soaked by the grass and likely would’ve never reached you, so he decided to retrieve you in person. 

 

As he got closer to what he presumed to be a glowing campfire, he was able to make out the shape of your car parked some yards away from the flames, your form resting quietly on top of it, the curve of your plague doctor mask catching the light of the fire. One arm rested on your stomach, the other rested at your side, almost hanging off the roof of the car.

 

Why were you on top of the car?

 

“Miss L/N?” he called, unceasing in his approach as he drew closer, breaching the light of the fire.

 

You didn’t respond or so much as even twitch, lying still and quiet. Severus frowned. Were you asleep? He told you not to sleep in the fields. It left you in a vulnerable position.

 

“Miss.” The grass rustled beneath his shoes as he paced within inches of the vehicle. He rested a hand on your upper arm, jostling it gently in hopes of waking you. When you didn’t stir, he did so more firmly and yet again received no reaction.

 

“Y/N?” Worry crept up on him, his hand slowly sliding down from your shoulder to your wrist, pressing his index and middle finger against your wrist. A pulse. Concerning slow, but there. He could just barely register the rise and fall of your chest in the darkness as well. With haste, he pulled his wand from his robes and held it centimeters away from your temple.

 

“Rennervate.” He chanted the counter for Stupefy, this spell intending to rouse you from unconsciousness. With the mask on, he couldn’t see the way your eyes snapped open, but the rest of your body made it obvious it had worked. A sharp, ragged inhale sounded from beneath the mask, and your body spasmed harshly before you scrambled against the roof of the car in an attempt to ground yourself, but flailing about had only caused you to slide against the blanket in a direction you hadn’t meant to, and fall off the opposite side of the car, your body hitting the ground with a ‘whump’ and a pained groan.

 

Severus blinked in surprise, striding around to the other side of the car just in time to see you scrambling upwards, staggering as you rose.

 

“Miss—”

 

You snapped out of your stupor at the sound of a voice, setting yourself in a fighting stance and ready to swing at whoever ripped you out of your minding. But standing before you was someone you’d never hope to swing on: Professor Snape. He had his wand out with his brows creased with confusion. Had he used a spell to force your attention back to reality?

 

Your demeanor shifted instantly upon recognizing him. Your hands dropped down to your side, your head hanging down a bit, and you switched from confidently offensive to embarrassed and withdrawn, ignoring the ache in your arm and side that you hit the ground on.

 

“Are you alright?” He asked, his tone careful.

 

You offered nothing more than a noncommittal hum, slowly walking around the front of your car, back to the fire. He did the same around the other side; the both of you were now bathed in firelight. The flames crackled away, filling the tension-laced silence as you felt your alarmingly elevated heartbeat fall back down to a comfortable level.

 

“Please don’t use that spell on me again, Professor,” you said, your tone calm yet unprecedentedly serious as you stared into the fire.

 

Severus straightened up, recomposing himself and slowly moving his hands to clasp behind his back. 

 

“You weren’t responding to your name or physical stimuli. I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping or unconscious. Or ignoring me. And your pulse was…suspiciously slow.”

 

You tilted your mask at him, fingers twitching at your sides. “My heartbeat?”

 

He nodded, murmuring, “Your wrist.”

“Ah…well…I wasn’t sleeping,” you explained as you started loosening the buckles and straps that held the mask to your face. “Or unconscious.” You pulled the mask away and smoothed out the indentations of the edge along your scalp. “I was just…elsewhere. If you come across me in the same state in the future, just…yell, pinch me, or bop me on the head with a book or something.” You rolled your shoulders. “That spell felt…violently disturbing.”

 

He pressed his lips into a thin line, remembering Dumbedore’s words about ‘strange behaviors’ and ‘being in your own head’ potentially becoming more prevalent the closer it gets to graduation. “It’s not supposed to feel that way. Then again, it’s not intended to be used on those who aren’t unconscious,” he supplied matter-of-factly. “What is it exactly you are doing out here with fire and…” he looked at the vehicle, one of his lower lids twitching. “That.”

 

You cast a glance between the fire and the car, and then the sky. “I was watching the stars,” you answered, mapping out Orion’s Belt. 

 

Severus spared a momentary flick of his eyes to the stars before they returned back to you.

 

“Sometimes, when I am back home, I drive up to a place called Wilson’s Peak to stargaze. I’d park my car, throw a blanket on top of the roof, lie on my back with some snacks and whatnot, and just enjoy the quiet scenery. I was…pretending I was home.” You looked down at the ground, swiping one of your feet along the grass. “And then my mind wandered off after god knows how long.” After some seconds, you found it in you to look back to him again. “What are you doing out here?” you questioned lightly.

 

“I was going to send a note, but then I realized it wouldn’t have made it to you properly in the wet grass. I’ve come to tell you I desire your assistance with the Wolfsbane tonight,” Severus said flatly.

 

Despite the lingering tension, a wave of amusement rolled through you, supported by the giggling fit that threatened to escape as a result of your now mild high. Of all nights he needs your help, it just has to be when you decide to get high. You bit down on your lip, fighting the twitching feeling in the corners of your mouth. “Ah… ‘m sorry,” you murmured, looking down at the grass again. “I’m not in the best state to be brewing tonight.”

 

Severus raised a brow, quickly flicking his gaze over your physical form, searching for affliction.  A moment of silence passed between you both, the potion master’s eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he took a few measured steps toward you and raised his hand to your forehead. You shivered at the sensation of his warm hand against your forehead.

 

“Ah— I— I-I’m not sick,” you stuttered, taking a small step away, and he let his hand drop. “I… I’m just…not 100% sober.”

 

Severus stiffened at the confession. “Not…100%…sober?” He repeated back, his voice a rumble. Was he angry? Unsettled? You couldn’t tell.

 

“Yeah… In all honesty, I am…a little high.”

 

Your words hung in the air, leaving Severus more dazed than ever. Usually, a student would offer up every lie in the book before admitting they were drunk or high. Your honesty caught him off guard, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with you.

 

His delayed response caused a ripple of anxiety in your center. It’s not as though the admission just slipped out. You knew there was no point in lying. Legilimency aside, any other excuse you could have offered up would've been questioned right then and there. Studying? You had no textbooks with you. Sick? “You wouldn’t be out here if you were sick.” Brewing dreamless sleep? “I’ll supply it for you tonight. Your hands are better spent brewing Wolfsbane.” So, you thought telling the truth was best.

 

Severus closed his eyes and exhaled slowly and deeply. “What have you ingested?” He questioned, his voice startlingly calm as he pinched the bridge of his nose. You thought he would’ve been furious that you were high and out in the fields in the cold of the night.

 

“I smoked some weed, nothing crazy,” you stated. Based on the crease between his brows deepening, you assumed he didn’t know what that was. “Pot,” you tried, but it didn’t seem to help. “Marijuana?” Nothing. “Oh my gosh, you’re such a native,” You chuckled to yourself but quickly cleared your throat. No, don’t laugh. This is serious. Despite your inner lecturing, you couldn’t suppress the amusement on your face. “It’s a smokeable herb. The type I ingested has a sedative effect. I’m not hallucinating and seeing dancing pink elephants or demons or anything like that. It just makes me more mellow and relaxed.”

 

His eyes searched yours, trying to detect a lie, any sign that you were downplaying or misleading him in any way, but the only thing he found was the fact that your pupils were the size of saucer plates, even in the light of the fire, an indication of your current state. 

 

“Your reaction is not as dramatic as I would’ve anticipated,” you added.

 

Severus sighed. “I am beginning to believe that I should oust any expectations I have of you so that I’ll never be surprised by your nonsense. I am still, however, disappointed in your decision-making to get high and wander into the fields at night.”

 

The intention was not lost on you. He was referring to vulnerability; not having your wits in full control while being near the Forbidden Forest.

 

“Well, that doesn’t sound very entertaining,” you giggled. “And to be fair, had I stayed in my room, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy this beautiful sky.”

 

“You don’t need to be high to admire the stars.”

 

“True, but it certainly does help take my mind off other things…”

 

“So can a Calming Draught.”

 

You smirked. “I wouldn’t be replicating the full experience then.” Turning to the car, you cast a Shrinking Charm onto the vehicle, sizing it back to that of a toy car and placing it into the wooden box before placing that back into your bag. Casting ‘Aguamenti’ onto the fire and lighting your wand so that you wouldn’t be drowned in darkness, you looked back to the professor. “Is this the part where you drag me to the Hospital Wing?”

 

“Not quite,” he drawled, closing the distance between you. “You better not throw up.”

 

His hand wrapped around your arm, and the world warped and spun, the dark fields giving way to the interior of Professor Snape’s office. Apparating while high was not the most pleasant sensation on your stomach, your hand settling there and kneading at it through your clothes. You barely had any time to gauge your surroundings before he pushed you back firmly by your shoulder into a large armchair positioned behind you.

 

“What—”

 

“You are going to sit there until I deem you sober enough to be by yourself,” Severus declared.

 

Your brows twitched in confusion as you frowned back at the man, pushing yourself up out of the chair. “I am mildly high—”

 

This time, he used wandless magic to force you down, feeling an invisible tendril of magic pull you backwards like a bungee cord, your back pressing into the cushioning of the chair.

“I don’t believe I stuttered, Miss,” he asserted with finality. Your fingers twitched around the armrests where they had landed, lips shifting in thought, calculating your next sentence.

 

“...Why here and not the Hospital Wing?”

 

“Do not patronize me. You’d sneak out of the Hospital Wing the second Madam Pomfrey turns her back.”

 

You snorted rubbing at your eyes, slouching in the chair. Yeah, that sounds on-brand for you. Your gaze settled on the fireplace before you. Broken fireplace? A large chunk of the stone lip that filtered the smoke out of his office was broken off, the “left wall” also having taken a bit of damage. The rubble lay before the previously burned logs, swept up into a neat pile.

 

“What happened to your fireplace?”

 

His jaw clenched as he remembered what had happened earlier in the day, irritation lapping over him. “That’s none of your concern.”

 

What could’ve possibly caused that much damage? Magic, obviously, but how and why? “D’ya blow it up trying to kill a rat or something?”

 

The professor’s eyes flashed at you, his lips parting slightly, and in that moment, you realized you may have just pinned him. You sat up, a grin spreading and eyes crinkling in amusement. 

 

“Is that what happened?” you pressed, hilarity written all over your face.

 

“Silence.” He swept out of your field of view. 

 

You tossed your head back in a fit of laughter, rotating in the chair so that you sat sideways, bringing your knees up towards your chest.

 

“Good to know you find my suffering amusing,” you heard him snip from somewhere behind.

 

“Nooooo, hey, c’mon.” You shifted about in the chair once more, moving to sit on your knees, laying your arms on top of the back, and resting your chin there. “I was just curious. Is that why you wanted me to brew the Wolfsbane? So you could fix the fireplace in the meantime?” 

 

“The fireplace is irrelevant,” he muttered, opening a drawer by his personal desk. His hand dipped inside, swapping the empty inkpot on his desk for one that was brand new. “There is simply more grading to be done than I originally anticipated.”

 

“Oh, well, I can help with that.” You patted along the top of the chair.

He scoffed, giving you a look of derision. “I am not letting you near those papers with clouded judgment.”

 

“My judgment is perfectly fine, thank you very much,” you mock-huffed. “Interesting thing bout being high though, I find things to be way more amusing than they really are, even more so things that deserve to be laughed at. Like crappy homework.” Your expression turned into a Cheshire smile. “I can be your mediocrity detector, sort out the inadequate from the passable papers.”

 

“A mediocrity detector,” he reiterated with uncertainty. 

 

“Yeah. If something in the papers makes me laugh, there’s a good chance something incorrect was said. Mediocrity detector,” you responded. When his expression didn’t shift much, you added, “Jus’ wanna help since it’s not safe for me to brew,” with a more pleading expression on your face.

 

Severus thought about it. It would be nice to have something done with those papers, but allowing you to do so while under the influence of something didn’t give him the most reassurance in the world. But Lupin’s potion took precedence, and he needed every minute he could get after its completion to accomplish other duties as well. 

 

He let out a sharp, relenting breath. “Separate them into two piles: adequate and inadequate. Do not write on them for any reason.” With a flick of his wand, a thick stack of papers floated from his desk and settled onto the coffee table before you. Do not leave the sitting area unless you have to go to the bathroom. I will be in the classroom brewing.”

 

You smirked triumphantly, tossing him a thumbs up before turning around and settling back into the high-backed armchair. You heard his footsteps recede as you picked up the stack of papers and the door creaking, but not to a complete close.

 

The pile stared back at you in your lap, the paper at the top sporting impeccably neat handwriting, radiating an intended sense of formality you couldn’t otherwise explain verbally other than that this person took school very seriously. In the top right corner was the name Hermione Granger. The name wasn’t familiar to you, hinting that this girl was probably some years younger. The first few sentences gave you enough of an idea of the topic: Antidote to Common Poisons. It was something you learned in your first year of potions.

 

So this girl is a first year.

 

“As the name suggests, it is a potion intended to serve as an antidote to common poisons, often from bites, stings, or the purposeful poisoning of one’s drink. Ingredients often include, but are not limited to, bezoars, standard herb mixture, ground unicorn horn, an ingredient that has powerful purifying properties, and mistletoe berries, an ironically poisonous fruit when consumed by humans. Regardless if a poison is considered to be ‘common,’ one must always consider Golpalott’s Third Law when brewing any kind of antidote…”

 

You raised a brow at the essay. This girl is a first year, and yet she already knows about Golpalott’s Third Law? That knowledge was way ahead of her curriculum. She had obviously done her research and more. Continuing your analysis, you found nearly no faults in her knowledge and how she tackled the essay. There were a few lines she quoted directly from the book, a choice that wasn't necessarily bad in your eyes as it possibly came from a place of wanting to be as correct as possible, but still, the girl could learn to paraphrase more. It was a strong paper, one deserving of an ‘EE’ or ‘O’ if you had anything to say about it. You wondered what house she was in.

 

By the time you got to the end of her essay, you were smiling lightly with pride, the girl’s effort in knowing the potion inside and out a reminder of your younger self. The paper found itself set off to the left side of the coffee table, the start of your “adequate pile.”

 

The next paper in the stack belonged to one Ron Weasley, no confusion there on who that was. The boy had a tell-tale smirk, hair just as red as his brothers, and a more devil-may-care attitude. His paper was not so good. First, he spelled “antidote” wrong all throughout his paper. Secondly, he failed to mention bezoars at all, arguably one of the most important ingredients in antidote recipes. To top it off, the structuring of his paper was all over the place, with no smooth transitions or contextual formatting. It seemed he just wrote whatever came to his mind without taking the time to plan out how it read, regardless of whether what he was saying was correct or not.

 

You clicked your tongue. Sorry, Ron. That one’s going in the other pile.

 

Almost an hour had passed when you took a break from reviewing the papers, both stacks fairly sizable now. The cold dungeon air had finally caught up to you, a persistent shiver running through your body despite the thick sweater you had on. A warming charm helped a little, but it wasn’t enough to get comfortable again. If only the fireplace hadn’t been damaged. 

 

Your knees crackled as you pushed up from the chair, twisting and stretching the upper half of your body as you approached the rubble of the broken fireplace. The chunks were a spectrum of round and angular, some the size of your fist, and the smallest pieces the size of your thumbnail. Unfortunately, one couldn’t wave their wand and have their floo place fixed in an instant. Once a fireplace absorbed enough magic from floo travel, it made it more difficult to repair—an unfortunate circumstance established by magic. Had it not been the case, Professor Snape would have fixed it seconds after damaging it. 

 

You sorted the stone chunks by size, grabbing two pieces that looked like they connected, and…they did. Hmm. You cast a Sticking Charm on them, molding them back together, leaving an imperceptible crack. The stone pieces were very distinct, but in turn, it meant that if you were to think of this as a jigsaw puzzle, their placements would be obvious. You’d just have to build off the molded pieces you already had. 

 

Perhaps you could repair this for him. 

 

And so you got to work, sitting cross-legged in front of the rubble, picking up pieces, sliding and slotting them into places you thought they fit until they sat together seamlessly, applying the spell when required. It took you a while to progress in rebuilding the first cluster of stone, but once you got going, it became easier to figure out which piece went where based on size and shape. It really was like a puzzle, and you found yourself enjoying the self-appointed task. 

 

The heavy piece of stone sat in your lap, leaving a dust residue on your pants. Giving it a final examination, you popped onto a knee and leaned forward, setting the large stone chunk into its original place. It settled in place without a hitch, except for a jagged, scooping crack that ran along the perimeter of where the piece and the fireplace touched together. That part couldn’t be helped as it was caused by the stone dust and grain that couldn’t be put back together. The upper portion was much easier, the damage less in comparison to the side, and it took you only a third of the time, resulting in a similar result, another unfixable, hairline crack.

 

With the fireplace restored, you ignited the wooden logs, reveling in the way the flames licked and spread along the wood, casting a subtly blooming warmth that would soon envelop the office and you with much-needed warmth. They crackled and popped quietly, accompanied only by the soft rustling of papers as you settled back in the chair sideways, allowing your bent legs to lay over the other armrest, getting comfortable once more in the quietude of the secluded office and returning to the papers at hand.

 

***

 

Your bleary vision cleared as you slowly blinked yourself awake, the warmth of the still-burning fire lapping at your cheeks. The darkness of your surroundings blended into one another except for the furnishings illuminated by the orange glow. Sleep had accidentally taken you, and your watch had indicated it was a bit past curfew, so you must not have been sleeping for too long.

Something was different, though, and it took you a few moments to realize what. 

 

The wall lamps.

 

The wall lamps of his office were off, and the fire was now the only source of light in his office. He must’ve come in at some point while you were sleeping and turned them off. As you moved to sit up, you felt something slip down the front of your torso and along your hands, a cloth that was soft and smooth. A blanket..?

 

Wrapping it around yourself without another thought about it you stood up and sniffed sleepily, glancing about the room. A yellow glow crept through the crack of the slightly ajar door to the classroom, indicating the potion master’s continued brewing. Had he just been brewing one, he’d already be finished.

 

You placed the pads of your fingers against the door to his classroom, pushing with impossibly light pressure so that the hinges didn’t squeak and potentially break Professor Snape’s concentration. As you stood in the doorway, you found the professor standing over the cauldron with his back to you, watching the cauldron simmer away in quiet focus, his demeanor radiating composed precision and delicate mastery. With the exception of his hands, he looked like he’d been dipped in ink, his all black attire and hair blending into one dark silhouette. It seemed he had removed his cloak for the time being, considering you could actually see his shoulders and waist.

 

Huh.

 

From behind, he had sort of a…v-shape going on. You thought it had to be an illusion, that his cloak made him more broad and imposing than he actually was, but no, it wasn’t. Your eyes traced along his shoulders, down his sides, noting how his robes were adorned almost like a second skin, showing where his sides curves as they met his waist, almost like an hourgla—

 

NOPE! Nope, nope nope—stop it. You slapped yourself mentally as you blushed. Do not make those observations—not with him. They weren’t by any means lecherous or meant to be leering, in fact you made these notes all the time with people around you; Lupin was objectively handsome, Professor Sinistra had high cheekbones and a snatched waist, Jakob had full lips and eyes that practically sparkled, H/G/N had big boobs, things you just noticed about people, harmless observations that went absolutely nowhere physically or mentally. But with him, it felt weird even to acknowledge such things, and worst of all, your eyes kept lingering. And for what? Out of surprise? Curiosity? Or maybe H/G/N was right in that you were ovulating, and he just happens to be right there like a blissfully unaware piece of meat for your eyes to satiate themselves with for the time being. It was one thing to admit that he had pretty hair, but this was…

 

You backed away into the office, but as you did, your still sensitive shoulder bumped into the doorway, eliciting a soft ‘ow’ from you. You were likely sporting a bruise there as well as on your hip that you had not bothered to check yet.

The pained reaction was audible enough for Severus to pick up on, straightening up slightly and half-turning to look at the door to see you standing there, lightly rubbing your arm and meeting his gaze dazedly. For a few moments, neither of you spoke, even as his eyes very clearly flicked over your form, taking in the fact that you clutched his cloak around yourself like it was natural for you to.

 

“It’s…10:28,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

 

“I’m aware,” he simply stated. It was always so confusing to you why the strictest teacher in Hogwarts had no problem with you being in his classroom or office after curfew, friendship or not.

 

His short response made you hesitant to leave the doorway, glancing briefly at the steaming cauldron near him. Should you return to the armchair or just take your leave? Not one time had you been caught by Filch during times you shouldn’t have been out and about, but your Head of House was always insistent in escorting or apparating you back so there wouldn’t be any trouble.

 

The way you sparingly eyed the cauldron, fidgeting slightly in the doorway, didn’t perturb Severus in the slightest. He knew what you wanted to know. “Five minutes,” he declared, returning his attention to the cauldron.

 

Your fingers idly drummed along your thigh, shooting a look back into the office. If you sat down in that armchair, you might unexpectedly conk out again, and you’d rather not wake up to him looming over you. It was only a few minutes more until he was finished with the next Wolfsbane potion. Maybe you should sit down again, just not in there. Reaching a hand out behind, you accio’d your bag to yourself, stepped into the classroom, and gently closed the door behind you. 

Severus kept his attention on the cauldron, but was fully aware of your approach as your shoes lightly scuffed along the floor, his eyes flicking to you as you moved from beyond his side and into his view, settling at the brewing station in a nearby seat—not directly next to him, but not across from the table either. Your head sought refuge in the cradle of your crossed forearms, burying your face with your chin just barely grazing the wooden surface. He didn’t speak at first, electing to cast quick glances from the cauldron at you in the moments that passed, listening to your soft breaths.

 

“Do you prefer wooden stools over cushioned chairs now?” he probed with a teasing lilt in his voice.

 

Your response was an unintelligent mumble paired with a dismissive wave of your hand that you let dramatically flop down on the table before tucking it back amongst your folded limbs. A subtle smirk pulled at the corner of his lips in amusement. He thought back to when he finished the first potion and went into his office to check up on and potentially dismiss you for the night only to find you asleep, all of the papers sorted, and the fireplace miraculously repaired and alight. Miraculously was the keyword, as he knew it couldn’t be repaired with simple magic. With a quick once over of your sleeping form curled up in his chair, he deduced you had fixed it by hand when he spotted the grey, stone dust on your fingers and likely with Sticking Charms. Once again, you had gone out of your way to give him reprieve. He had decided to let you be and that he’d brew another potion in the meantime, delicately brushing away the hairs that fell in front of your face, draping his cloak over you for extra warmth, and quietly exiting the office.

 

Nothing else was said in the next few minutes as the professor completed the potion, the only sounds being the soft simmering of the hot liquid and the occasional tap of the stirring rod against the edge of the cauldron. When the cauldron puffed, he turned the flame off and promptly scooped and funneled the potion into a self-cooling bottle.

 

Hearing the puff of the cauldron, you raised your head, watching the potion master methodically pour the potion into a bottle for tomorrow. Your knees and ankles clicked as you stood from the stool, holding on to your bag with one hand and clutching the fabric of the blanket around you with the other. The fatigue in his eyes was noticeable to you, but you gathered that, like you, he was more of a night owl and would be up for a few more hours as well, assuming he wasn’t on rounds tonight.

 

Carefully depositing the bottle in his classroom desk drawer, he looked to you, his typical piercing and critical gaze ever-present when class was in session, absent without a trace to be found. Even with the fatigue, there was an easy calmness and quiet curiosity. That was the gaze you were used to seeing. As he moved toward you, he removed his wand from his sleeve and held it up at eye level. 

 

“Look into the light,” he instructed, casting a non-verbal ‘Lumos’ and slowly dragging the wand side to side in front of your face. Despite the close brightness making your eyes water, you stared onward obediently, fixating on the blinding point of his wand. Severus’s pupils focused on yours, watching the way they shrunk further beneath the harsh light. Satisfied with the reaction, he lowered his wand but kept the spell going, his stare lingering on you expectantly.

 

You were so used to him apparating you that you just stared back, waiting for him to put a hand on your shoulder and for the world to twit and turn, but instead, his eyes merely flicked to the door and back to you.

 

“Oh,” you breathed out, barely in a whisper and blinking quickly before walking toward the door, Severus following you a second after. The door to the classroom shut with a sharp ‘clunk’ and for a moment, you thought Filch was going to pop out of nowhere based on how loud it was. Without the radiating warmth of the fire, you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself to stave off the freezing dungeon air.

 

Severus’s footsteps were practically inaudible, his step accustomed to remaining vigilante and blending into the shadows throughout his years of teaching, while your shoes tapped on the stone as if you were walking by yourself.

 

“It goes without saying,” the man’s voice cut through the air in a firm but soft rumble. “That I don’t want to find you in such a state again.”

 

You exhaled softly. “It’s a rarity for me, more than drinking. And you won't. What was ingested was the last of it.”

 

“Good,” he grunted softly. “How did you even acquire such a substance?”

 

“I can’t give everything away, now can I?” you teased, much to his displeasure. “I will say, though, you’d be surprised how easy it is to get high around here.”

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“The path to the glade…er…dragon ne…the glade,” you restated with finality, preferring to call it that. “After it rained, when you, me, and Hagrid journeyed to it, I noticed that the forest floor was teeming with psilocybin.”

 

Severus raised a brow, waiting for you to go on, but you didn’t, somehow thinking that your short explanation was enough for him. “And?” He encouraged you to continue.

 

Your brows came together in a furrow. “That’s it.”

 

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

 

“What do you mean? It—Do you not know what psilocybin is?” you asked. Tilting your head curiously at him.

 

The questioning of his intelligence made his ears burn and his jaw clench. It wasn’t patronizing, but it certainly didn’t do anything for his pride. “Quit being cryptic and spit it out already,” he muttered.

 

“It’s a mushroom species, and its street name in no-maj world is ironically 'magic mushrooms.’ When consumed by humans, they can cause very surreal hallucinations. It also just so happens to be a fungi mentioned in a few books often used by the sixth years for Herbology. Should any of the muggleborns pay extra attention and stumble upon certain excerpts…” you trailed off, making a suggestive motion with your hand.

 

“I recall no such teachings in the textbooks,” Severus contested, the crease between his brows deepening. 

 

“That’s ‘cause you probably weren’t actively seeking out such information. Perhaps too busy with your potions. We both know my curiosity flows in all directions, regardless of ethics. And don’t worry, I’m not a hallucinogenics girl,” you winked, but he felt no assurance from it as he only felt the need to keep an eye on you even more.

 

“Do you have bruises? From when you fell?” he changed the subject, eyes tracing the side of your body that had taken the impact.

 

“I didn’t check, but, uh, I don’t doubt it. I’ll see when I change. And I’ve got stuff for it.”

 

The remainder of the walk was quiet, the two of you reaching the Slytherin common room and the door to your room without any hiccups along the way.

 

“You shouldn’t have repaired the fireplace,” he murmured as the both of you came to a halt outside your door. “It was my own reckoning.”

 

“I kind of enjoyed doing so,” you smiled faintly. “It was like putting together a challenging puzzle. And besides. It would’ve been awfully cold down there for you otherwise, even with Warming Charms.”

 

Damn you, woman… His chest tightened. You were going to kill him one day with your kindness.

 

“Well…goodnight,” you murmured, to which Severus only grunted back softly in acknowledgement as you slipped into your room and shut the door with a soft click. His fingers rose and pressed into his sternum, rubbing slightly to try and rid the tension. With a sharp crack, he apparated back into his classroom, rolling his shoulders back and dimming his classroom to darkness with a wave of his hand before taking refuge in his office for the night. Tonight’s session, with your help, calmed him greatly, the warmth of the fire adding a layer of comfort too, and he felt mentally prepared to go over the presorted papers, but as he took a step toward the sitting area, he paused, frowning to himself as he felt a twinge of hesitation.

 

Was he forgetting something? 

 

Notes:

For anyone looking for a fic rec, I just read this one called Sharp Tongues, Soft Hearts by GothPanda. Healthy mix of angst and fluff, I loved it.

Chapter 64: Demon Cloak

Summary:

Professor Lupin's symptoms persist, as does Black's obnoxious presence.

CW: Snape's worst memory (let's be real, whether Severus had his underwear forcefully removed or not, it's attempted SA at the very least)

Notes:

The next two chapters are split up because for whatever reason I just can't make chapter that are under 8k words anymore LMAO

Also “rags” is a British term for pads/tampons

“All right, Snivellus?” said James loudly. 

 

Severus tossed and turned in his bed, bullets of sweat trickling down his forehead.

 

“Expelliarmus!” Snape’s wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “Impedimenta!” he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet, halfway through a dive toward his own fallen wand. A thousand eyes seemed to open all around him, all in mockery, bearing witness to his endless humiliation.

 

Snape let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but his wand being ten feet away, nothing happened. “Wash out your mouth,” said James coldly. “Scourgify!” Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him— 

 

“Leave him ALONE!” The sharp order rang from a girl who possessed startlingly vibrant, green, almond-shaped eyes and dark red hair that fell off her shoulders. 

 

Lily…

 

“What’s he done to you?” she demanded.

 

 “Well,” said James, appearing to deliberate the point, “it’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean. . . .” Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn’t, and neither did Lily. 

 

“You think you’re funny,” she said bitterly. “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.” 

 

“I will if you go out with me, Evans,” said James quickly. “Go on . . . Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.” 

 

While James attempted to force Lily’s hand, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Severus desperately inched toward his wand, spitting out soap suds as he crawled. 

 

“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” said Lily. 

 

A gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about, staring down Severus, who looked at him like a cornered feral animal, bearing his teeth defensively at him with his wand aimed; but before he could land another spell on James, Severus’s world flipped upside down, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants. 

 

“Ngh…!” Severus's fingers gripped the sheets by his sides.

 

Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, “Let him down!” “Certainly,” said James, and he jerked his wand upward. Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground.

 

And then… The most regrettable moment of his life.

 

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!” 

 

Lily blinked. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.” The nightmare didn’t even indulge him with the bickering between Lily and James that had followed that immediately afterwards, cutting right to the part that filled his body with dread, the source of his self-hatred every time he dared to glance at himself in the mirror upon changing or exiting the bath—why he always wore layers that didn’t give away an inch of skin. 

 

“Who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?” 

 

“No…!” He gritted in a whimper, knuckles whitening from his grip on the sheets as he trembled.

 

Everything seemed to slow as the infamous moment approached, a spell leaving James’s lips that made his underwear slide from his hips. Just when he felt the bony ‘v’ of his pelvis register the slight breeze of that infamous day—

 

“Hey!”

 

It was a commanding, aggressive snap of a greeting. A girl. Her hair was free-flowing, and she wore a somewhat torn jean jacket and trousers. Her attire was inspired by some of the delinquents Severus had seen hanging about the outskirts of his desolate hometown. She materialized out of nowhere, her back to Severus and standing mere feet from Potter, who stopped the spell in his distraction. The boy looked dumbstruck, as did Sirius, but before Potter could say something witty or continue the spell—

 

CRACK!

 

Her first reeled back and collided with Potter’s face, dramatically snapping the boy’s head to the side and breaking his glasses. His grip on the wand deadened, and the boy fell to the ground, unconscious. As a result, Severus was dropped to the ground as well in a heap of his robes, scrambling to cover himself and adjust his underpants back to a secure position, still panting heavily in panic as he eyed the girl who had knocked his bully to the ground.

 

“OI!” Sirius roared, aiming his wand at the girl. “Who the hell do you think you are—”

 

“Petrifacus Totalus,” the girl had chanted in a familiar voice, her tone controlled and calculating as her wand shot from her sleeve, sheathed in her hand. Sirius went rigid, his body freezing in place, almost crackling like ice in warm water as his body locked, but not quite falling over, his readied stance somehow keeping him upright.

 

As she took slow and calm steps toward the curly-haired boy, Severus began to feel an overwhelming sense of cognizance, like when one feels the word they were looking for was on the very tip of their tongue. The girl stopped in front of Sirius, the boy’s eyes flicking around helplessly. 

 

“Dogs like you should be neutered,” she declared coldly. 

 

And then, winding her foot back, she kicked Sirius in the bullocks with what looked like all her strength, the front of her boot lodging between the boy’s legs in the blink of an eye. A high-pitched, squeaking canine whimper escaped from Sirius, and he collapsed to the ground, crumpling in on himself, gasping, his hands diving to cradle the injured part of his body as she released the spell, looking down on him in disgust. 

 

Severus stood up shakily now, his wand still gripped harshly in his hand despite feeling an inexplicably, overwhelming wave of relief just from looking at the girl. Then, she began to turn.

 

It was you. Unlike the girl before, your eyes were a muted hue, yet piercing with their cold, indifferent appearance.

 

In his nightmare, he couldn’t quite narrow down how old you were. Sixteen? Seventeen? Your appearance was a blend of memory and his imagination. 

 

Suddenly, both boys exploded into a swarm of white butterflies, flapping around you and away until the last few dissipated high up into the air, leaving the two of you seemingly alone in the fields. You took a daring step toward him, and instantly, Severus raised his wand, distrustful of your intentions after the show you had just put on. You didn’t pause, but you did raise your arms passively at a ninety-degree angle, like one does when they are going to be arrested by the authorities, showing him that you meant no harm. Step by step, second by second, you closed the distance until you were directly in front of him, the tip of his wand digging into the flare of your ribcage, your noses inches apart. Your right hand twitched in his peripheral, and you carefully lowered it down to his face. Severus leaned back slightly from your touch, but your hand didn’t deter, fingers pressing onto his hairline. He flinched, his body freezing up as any warning or threat died on his slightly parted lips, exhaling shakily as your digits caressed through his scalp, down the side of his head, moving easily through his greasy hair, before settling on his face, gently cupping his left cheek, thumb stroking his pale skin. His breath quickened as a faint smile tugged on your lips. 

 

“Pretty hair…” you murmured to Severus, his face flushing from the positive stimuli and affectionate words.

 

Ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump BA-DUMP BA-DUMP—

 

Severus’s eyes snapped open, and he inhaled sharply as he awoke in his barely morning-lit bedroom, faint light streaming through the crack in the curtains. His heart beat wildly in his chest as the remnants of the conflicting dream slipped away from him. It felt too warm in the bed, his nightmare making him sweat, and he could feel the skin of his back cling to his damp nightshirt. He moved to sit on the edge of his mattress, and realization struck him like a cold thunderclap.

 

He dreamt of you.

 

Merlin… Severus ran a hand through his hair. As much as he wanted to reject the idea of it, he was able to acknowledge and understand why his subconscious, which had been screaming out for help, selected you as his savior, coming to his aid at the pivotal point of the nightmare. Always helpful, always a grounding source for him… But the ending, he had no words… The compliment echoed like a hushed whisper in his head, and he felt shame for it, disgust at the fact that he dared to enjoy the fleeting encounter, loathing that he perhaps wished for it to continue longer. 

 

More… More innocent touches, more compliments, more looks of endearment. 

 

Just… more.

 

This is foolish. He shook his head to himself, wiping away the sweat on his brow and changing his shirt before he settled back into bed. It was a bloody dream, an unguarded portal for his intruding thoughts to slip in and steal the spotlight for a fickle moment, his pathetic teenage self seeking comfort. Nothing else.

 

His hands gripped the covers, tucking himself back into a comfortable position.

 

Nothing else…

 

***

 

You stared at the black cloth that lay draped over the back of your chair, hugging your knees to yourself as you perched on the edge of your bed, chin resting atop your knees with a faint blush on your face. 

 

Fucking demon cloak.

 

As it turns out, the blanket you had absentmindedly kept wrapped around yourself last night down in Professor Snape’s classroom was not a blanket, but his cloak—the cloak he had removed while brewing—a cloak that had once again found its way back into your possession.

 

A cloak you had slept in last night.

 

You grumbled against your knees, cheeks burning. And your nose— your traitorous nose —thought nothing of the fact that it smelled somewhat like him because you thought it was a blanket, one you imagined he’d used before. What was even worse is that you slept well. There was no dream, but the sleep was long and deep, and there was no waking up in the middle of the night from random anxiety or having to go to the bathroom.

 

Your fingers stroked along your shin. This prodded at a part of you that you always tried to ignore, a feeling of self-loathing draping over you like the cloak once had. Admitting to yourself that someone had an effect on you, regardless of what kind, was a weakness of yours. Ada managed to crack you like a goddamn egg within a few weeks, but the twins…that took nearly a year for you to admit, even though the bond was there before, they affected you. This didn’t mean that you had been lying to yourself about your friendship with the man prior to tonight. It just meant that something, whether it was your trust in him or the intricacies of the connection itself, on some level, had deepened.

 

Severus Snape affected you.

 

Oh, god— You beat your fist into the mattress, scowling in self-consciousness and turning beet red. The admission made you feel fourteen fucking years old again when Ada gave you that goddamn friendship bracelette, her expression practically lighting up the whole town. Fucking pathetic is what you are, twenty one years old and unable to process when a friendship strengthened and that someone could possibly get past your walls. 

 

No, you allowed him to. Which you supposed was…growth.

 

You huffed, smoothing away some wisps of hair as you padded across the room to the cloak, plucking it from the chair and folding it. At some point in the day, you should return it to him. You set the folded cloak on your desk next to the potted clover Professor Sprout had given you, running your hands through the tri-petaled plant before changing into your school uniform and heading up for breakfast.

 

While in the Great Hall, the twins practically dragged you over to their table, their eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, but their attitudes bright and energetic. Their words came tumbling out in an excited, barely comprehensible flurry detailing how they had stayed up nearly all night with your recommendations and had managed to produce a suitable counter.

 

“Please, Y/N, try it out!” Fred urged, grinning like a madman, holding the bleeder and counteractive to you.

 

“Wh— Now?” You gawked. “We’re in the middle of breakfast, and I just had this shirt cleaned.”

 

“So, use a napkin to catch any blood!” George reasoned. “Please, Y/N!”

 

“If this works,” a first-year Gryffindor boy who had been watching started, “Consider me a future customer. I can’t tell you how many times I wish I could get out of Divination. Trelawney’s a sodding lunatic sometimes!”

 

“Same here,” another student, a girl this time, piped up. “History of Magic.”

 

More students nearby began to murmur, watching the three of you intently, and it wasn’t long until that section of the table became an audience.

 

“Alright, alright,” you relented. “But let’s be quick about this.”

 

The twins patted the table giddily as you took the nuggets from them, popping the first one in your mouth and chewing. Those curious watched as blood began to quickly trickle out of your nose mere seconds after swallowing. You snatched a napkin and quickly brought it up to your nose so that it wouldn’t drip on your white uniform shirt. 

 

“Now the counter,” George encouraged.

 

You pushed it past your lips and chewed hurriedly, eyeing the cloth beneath your nose as the bloody blot had grown significantly in size. The taste of the nugget was pretty good, and there was a spice in there that was familiar but that you couldn’t quite place, but it was just on the tip of your tongue. When you swallowed, you felt a tickling sensation high up in your nose, like you needed to sneeze, but it didn’t come. Instead, you wiped your nose one last time to get that last of the blood that you could feel and pulled it away. Several pairs of eyes watched your face, waiting for any spontaneous spray or sudden trickling, but none came. 

 

“It worked?” Fred questioned in disbelief. “It worked! Brilliant, mate!” he exclaimed to his brother.

 

“Right on, twins!” the first boy cheered. “Put me down for three boxes when you finish them, yeah?”

 

“You got it!” Fred smiled. “This is amazing! Fred, how about next we—”

 

“Uh-bup-bup-buh—hold on, you two,” you interjected, looping your arms lovingly over their shoulders and drawing them to you. “I am very glad and proud that you managed to create a successful product, however, you two really need to put developing these Skiving Snackboxes on hold until the school year ends. Put your effort into getting your potion grade to a passing level before you devote any more time to your secondary activities.”

 

“But Y/N, we’re so close to perfecting the packaging. We just need to figure out the logo and modify the packaging, and we’re all set!”

 

“I know, but how do you plan on making more products and opening your dream shop after graduating from school if you can’t even make it into Advanced Potions? Most potion teachers require an EE or O to qualify for the class. Not to mention, you need to pass an examination after Hogwarts to acquire the business license to sell home-brewed products.”

 

“We do?”

 

You raised a brow. “Yes. I thought you guys already did your research on this sort of thing since you seem so damn passionate about it.”

 

They shifted awkwardly in their seats. “Well, we only really scoped out the average rent of a business in Diagon Alley and potential ingredient suppliers around Great Britain.”

 

“Well, that’s the least of your worries for now. Tell you what,” you dropped your voice to a more private volume. “If you get your end-of-year potion grade up to a passing level after final examinations, I will give you 15,000 galleons (3,000 USD) to cover the down-payment of a shop in Diagon Alley.”

 

They gawked. “Wha—Y/N—Tha—How—”

 

“Get your potions grade to at least an A, and I’ll deliver the money this summer. Deal?” You offered your hands to them before they could dwell on it longer. Without any more hesitation, without spending another second thinking about how you had that bit of coin lying about, they shook your hands eagerly.

 

“You’ve got a deal,” they smiled challengingly.

 

“Good. So you know this means Quidditch is going to be less of a priority for you in the future, right?”

 

Their smiles faltered as they did not take their favorite sport into account. “Yeah,” they hummed begrudgingly. “Yeah, we know…”

 

You smiled to yourself, drawing them closer and giving them a peck on the head each. “Sorry, guys. It’s called work-life balance. You’ll get used to it.”

 

Sun streamed in through the arched windows of the upper floors as you and the seventh years walked to your morning DADA class, excited for the lesson planned. Granted, it was a lecture, and while most students would have preferred something more practical-based, like nonverbal duelling, today’s lesson was something very relevant for you and something that truly piqued your interest within the wizarding world. 

 

WARDS

 

One, lonesome word scribbled on the wheeled-out black chalkboard, centered for all to see. It was an interesting cranny of wizarding magic that truly made you want to learn more about magic, security, and how they played a role in the most prominent events in the development of the wizarding world. 

 

You sat closer to the front than you normally would, but still off to the side, setting your floo plant by the open window to give it some needed sunshine.

 

The door to Lupin’s office at the top of the stone staircase creaked open, and you could see he was paler than usual, his neck shining with a bit more sweat than usual. He walked down the round staircase with more caution, more patience for himself, before taking his place in the front of the classroom, bearing more than just a casual amount of weight on his desk as he leaned back on his palms and forced an easy-going smile on his face. But the strain, however, was visible to you. The effects of the approaching full moon were close to peaking, tomorrow being his transformation day.

 

“Professor Lupin, are you alright?” A perceptive Ravenclaw student asked. “You look…er…afflicted.”

 

All eyes were now focused on Lupin, staring at him both curiously and critically. Lupin, who seemed not at all panicked by the analysis, simply replied, “I am…not feeling my best, but I am managing. Myself and a friend went out for a bite last night, and I wound up with food poisoning.” It was a smooth lie, a very believable one.

 

Sympathetic murmurs echoed from the students in a wave, at least from those who knew what food poisoning was.

 

“What’s food poisoning?” An unsuspecting pure-blooded Hufflepuff asked.

 

“It happens when someone consumes food that’s been contaminated. You get real sick and throw up a lot,” another, more knowledgeable student, supplied.

 

“I’ll be fine, everyone,” Lupin said, regaining the class's attention. “I might have to pause every now and then, but otherwise, I’ll manage,” he asserted, albeit with a trembling quality in his voice. “Now then, wards…” He flicked his wand, and the word on the board cleared away, leaving a blank slate. “Can anyone here tell me what a ward is?”

 

All hands rose upwards. Lupin, playing eeny-meeny-miny-mo with his eyes, settled on a Gryffindor boy to answer. “Yes, Mr. Raywood?”

 

“A ward refers to a type of protective enchantment that is meant to protect a specific area or location for an extended period, more often than not for security reasons.”

 

Lupin nodded. “That is correct. For those of you interested in becoming aurors, there will be situations in which you will come across wards cast by witches and wizards who are in hiding. In standard auror training, you’ll eventually learn how to detect them, how to recognize them, and, more importantly, how to break them. Mr. Raywood, can you give me an example of a ward?”

 

“The first that comes to mind is the Muggle Repelling Charm. If any non-magic person got close to the vicinity of the enchantment, they’d remember something urgent to do and leave. I know they use it all the time to hide the location of Quidditch Cup games from muggles and whole shopping districts like Diagon Alley and other magical schools like Hogwarts. ”

 

“Very good.” Lupin flicked his wand once more, and the name wrote itself on the chalkboard, off the left side and smaller, suggesting more was to be written beneath it. “Let's keep going, then. Who else can give me another one?”

 

Hands went up again, and this time, Professor Lupin called on a Slytherin girl. 

 

“There’s the Imperturbable Charm. It creates an invisible, protective barrier around whatever you cast it on and also muffles any sounds coming from within. My mother tells me many of the conference rooms in the Ministry of Magic are protected with this charm for privacy and security.”

 

“Another fine example,” Lupin responded, and the name was added to the board.

 

The class continued to list names of wards paired with a brief lecture provided by Lupin for each of them. One that was particularly interesting to you was a protective charm in Gringotts that allowed only Goblins to pass through to prevent security break-ins. The only thing that could take it down was a well-placed Imperius Curse on a goblin, who then had the means to remove the charm. The blackboard was filled with all sorts of names, one circled for you all to study up on for NEWTs, 

 

“There is one last ward I’d like to bring up, but I am curious to know how many of you are familiar with it. I’ll tell you all what it does, and whoever knows the name of it, feel free to raise your hand,” he instructed before taking a breath. The ward is an ancient and powerful spell used to hide things or places or to conceal secrets inside an individual's soul. The witch or wizard who housed the secret was known as the Secret Keeper. A dwelling whose location had been protected by this spell was then invisible, intangible, unplottable, and soundproof. The only way to then know of the thing being concealed is through the revelation of the secret keeper.”

 

Your hand was the only hand to go up, much to Lupin’s surprise. “Miss L/N?”

 

“It’s called the Fidelius Charm,” you responded, drawing the attention of the other students.

 

“May I ask how you know of it?” Lupin inquired.

 

“I know of it because I myself am a Secret Keeper. My house has the ward on it, as I live in a well-populated muggle neighborhood, and my family has always valued complete privacy.”

 

“You live in the muggle world?”

 

“Yes. Unlike most half-blood families, we never relocated to a wizarding neighborhood or half-blood family-friendly areas. I also have the Caterwauling Charm on the property, should someone manage to get past the Fidelius Charm.”

 

“I see. Very interesting, y—” He suddenly paused, closing his eyes, his hand curling around the fabric covering his center as he leaned more of his weight back on the desk, a wave of pain rolling through him. The way he grimaced and checked the clock on the wall told you that he was at his limit for the moment.

 

“Class, I know we have a little over five minutes, but I think I’ll need a little bit more time to recompose myself before the next class. You may all go for the day. Your homework is to pick one of the wards written on the board and write 12 inches on the subject,” he managed to grit out.

 

Scraping chairs echoed around the classroom as students reluctantly rose from their seats, bags in hand, but nevertheless did as they were told, many bidding the professor “feel better” and “don’t push yourself too hard” as they exited the classroom. You purposely delayed your movements, tucking your floo plant in your arm as the last person exited. 

 

“Let's cancel our experiment session this weekend.” You stated. “The timing is horrendous, and I can see that this cycle is particularly grueling.  You should take the two days to recover.”

 

“I think…” he started, pausing for a moment to rub at his temples as a headache began to build. “I think that is a wise idea,” he finished and plodded over to his desk. His hand dipped into the drawer and pulled out the notebook dedicated to the sessions, holding it out to you. “After all, it is Hogsmeade weekend. Time perhaps better spent with friends.”

 

You approached, carefully taking the book from him and putting it into your bag. Your eyes flit over his aching form, the way he wanted to clutch at his head, his stomach, everywhere they radiated with gnawing pain. “Have you taken a pain-relieving potion?”

 

“Yes, but it appears to be ineffective,” he rubbed at his eyes, practically collapsing in his chair. “My head, back, and stomach are all ganging up on me this time.”

 

“Hmm.” A thought came to mind. A rather silly one, but you didn't see how it could cause much harm. “I have something for you, I think you should try.”

 

Professor Lupin only looked up when he heard what sounded like rattling, your hand concealing a small white bottle as you poured two orange colored pills into your hand.

 

“What is that?”

 

“Over-the-counter no-maj medication. I always keep a bottle in my bag. It tackles the exact pain locations you just spoke of.”

 

“Miss,” he sighed. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t believe muggle medication is going to be as effective as potions made by our esteemed matron.”

 

“You never know unless you try, Professor,” you shrugged. “And besides, it’s not like it’ll worsen your situation,” you contended, holding out the pills to him. “Humor me. Think of it as an experiment.”

 

He seemed hesitant for a few more moments, understandably so; it’s likely he’s never taken muggle medication before, but he seemed desperate enough for relief and took them from your hand, tossing the pills back into his mouth and swallowing. 

 

“They should start taking effect in about 30 minutes. I’m curious to see if this does anything, so I’ll swing by after dinner to check up with you.”

 

“Is this what my life has come to? Being reduced to an experimentation subject?” he called out jokingly as you began to depart the classroom.

 

“Yes, sir! That's absolutely right!” you chuckled, giving him a two-fingered salute. “Feel better!”

***

 

He was being weird again. 

 

Professor Snape was always weird, though, wasn’t he? But today… Today was different. He wouldn’t look at you, save for the quick eye contact you two made when you entered the classroom for your last class of the day, before proceeding to avoid your gaze as if you were Medusa. 

 

He was also ignoring you when you raised your hand. Now, that could have been a coincidence, but not when you saw the way his eyes completely skipped over you. 

 

What the hell was his deal today? It wasn’t because of the cloak thing, was it?

 

Was it?

 

…

 

Oh.

 

Oh, it so was!

 

You groaned internally. He probably realized he left his cloak with you and was being self-conscious and weird about it. Or regretting last night’s entire interaction altogether. However, he’s left his cloak with you before and hadn’t gotten all avoidant about it in the past. So what was up this time?

 

You know what? Not your problem. You’re not going to put your energy towards that. Let him stew and be a child. Until he starts being rude to you about it, he can wallow until he snaps out of it. Maybe you’ll hang onto the cloak for a bit longer as punishment and let him marinate some more.

 

Despite feeling his hesitant gaze on you in the last few seconds of class, you brushed it off without hesitation as you exited the class and let your mind enter a more relaxed state for the next hour or so before you’d eventually enter study mode after dinner.

 

Once you reached your dorm, you immediately shed your uniform like a second skin and went to take a shower, seemingly scrubbing the remnants of today’s lecture-packed day from your scalp as you took a long, hot shower, the heat of the water relaxing the tension in your shoulders. The thick fabric of an oversized turtleneck sweater trapped the heat from your shower in your body, and you shimmied and wiggled to yourself within the fabric, reveling in the secured warmth that combated the colder temperatures of the castle. 

 

The castle's foot traffic was busy around this time; students were either on their way to the Great Hall for dinner or to meet up with friends before the filling meal. Clusters of spatially unaware students chatted, taking up unnecessary space in the corridors; impulsive younger years ran, weaving through students, not caring about the risk of tripping or running into someone on accident, and of course, like you, students just trying to get their third meal of the day.

 

“Think you’re funny, do you?” an irritated voice sneered from up ahead, and as you rounded a corner, a body was shoved into you. Instinctually, your arms crossed over their front, steadying them against you. Your eyes zeroed in on two boys who appeared to have done the shoving, two Ravenclaw first years who were taller than the familiar coconut-headed boy in your arms. At the sight of you, their confidence fell, paling slightly before hurriedly taking off, blending into the crowd before you could do anything in retaliation to them.

 

You allowed your arms to slip away from Neville as he exhaled in relief. “Sorry about tha—” he started to say as he turned, but the words died on his tongue when he saw it was you he had pushed into. He gulped, his face flushing in embarrassment, but at least the fear he had on his face the first time he interacted with you wasn’t there. Well, mostly not there.

 

“Oh—er—S-sorry, Y/N,” he stammered out, avoiding direct eye contact with you.

 

You lifted a brow. “You’re apologizing for being pushed?”

 

“Uh—w-well…”

 

“It’s alright, Neville,” you said gently. “It’s not like either of us knew it was going to happen.”

 

The boy grew silent, rubbing awkwardly at his arm. You flicked your gaze over him, passing him by to continue on your way to dinner. “Y’know, at some point, you’re gonna have to learn how to roar back at them. Speaking as someone who got into loads of fights as a kid, nipping it in the bud early will save you from grief further down the line.”

 

“U-Uhm!” he nervously called out to you, making you stop in your tracks some feet ahead. You turned back to the boy, his lips twitching as he worked up the courage to say what was weighing on his mind. “I… I heard that you tutored students at the beginning of the year.”

 

“Yes,” you hummed. “That’s correct.”

 

He pinkened, playing with the hem of his robe. “C-could… Could we meet in the library later? I-I could use some help in Potions.”

 

You tilted your head at him slightly. “We can, but I have something I need to check up on after dinner first. If you’d like, we can meet around 7:30. Does that work for you?”

 

“Yeah, sure, I can do that.” Neville suddenly looked hopefully, the meekness leaving his voice if not for a moment.

 

“Alright. Bring your textbook and whatever homework you were assigned. I’ll see you then.”

 

Neville nodded sheepishly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards for just a second before he trotted off, his form becoming lost in the sea of students just seconds after. You exhaled slowly, lacing your hands together behind your back as you continued on your way. If only he had the courage that his house was known for. Inside the classroom, Neville had potential. You’d seen his last Potions paper. He understood enough to be adequate, but you could tell there was a block; his peers chiselling away at his self-confidence, his nerves, Snape…

 

The boy could use some confidence and perhaps a tutorial on how to throw a proper punch before you graduate.

 

Your dinner consisted of a hearty tomato soup, butter rolls, grilled mixed greens, and a few cookies for dessert, the feeling of fullness making you a touch sleepy but also adding to the warmth of your form. You jokingly patted your own stomach like you were Santa who had eaten a plate full of cookies as you rose from your seat and departed from the Great Hall to check on Professor Lupin, who you assumed chose to eat dinner in his office, taking notice of his absenc,e the teachers in attendance.

 

Paintings greeted you softly, as did the transparent ghosts who wandered around the upper floors as you ascended to the DADA professor’s classroom. A few wary Gryffindors and Ravenclaws eyed you for your presence in their territory, but none questioned your reasoning for lingering in the area. A soft yellow glow came from the underside of the door to the classroom, faint conversation slipping past the thick wood. Black was probably in there with him. Your knuckles rapped against the heavy wood, and the conversation behind it suddenly ceased, followed by a scuffling sound and the firm shut of another door inside.

 

“Come in,” Lupin’s voice called.

 

The handle clanked as you thumbed down the latch and pushed it open, the classroom illuminated by a high-up chandelier and a few candles on his teaching desk. He stood there as you had seen him do before at the end of this morning’s class, palms gripping the edge, leaned back with an easy smirk on his face, although this time he didn’t seem as obviously pained as he had earlier in the day.

 

“Ah. It’s just you, Miss,” Lupin sighed.

 

You hummed affirmatively. “In the flesh.” 

 

Arf! Arf!

 

Sirius’s loud but somewhat muffled barks sounded from the other side of the door that led into Lupin’s chamber. The door rattled a bit as Sirius had trouble opening the door with his mouth, but it soon pulled back some inches, allowing him to happily nose his way through the opening and trot down the curved staircase. He panted enthusiastically, galloped over to you, woofing some more, and jogged circles around you, his tail wagging back and forth aggressively. Lupin’s expression shifted to that of amusement at the sight of Sirius’s excitement, especially when his friend flopped on the ground before you, asking for belly rubs. You didn’t move in the slightest, raising a brow at the dog before returning your attention to the lycanthrope. 

 

“How were your afternoon classes? Did the meds provide any relief?”

 

Sirius shifted in front of you, rising from his animagus form into his human self. “Have you no heart?” He gaped dramatically with a smile, putting a hand to his chest. “You see an adorable dog lying at your feet, wanting affection, and you offer it nothing?”

 

Your expressions remained blank at that, your eyes subtly flicking over him. “I’m more of a cat-person,” you responded.

 

“Uh!” Sirius reeled back, playing into a look of offense, turning to his friend. “Heartless, this one is.”

 

Lupin smirked, the scene before him bringing back a sense of nostalgia, the banter not so different from when he was younger and his friends were still together.

 

“Now, now, Sirius. Mind your manners unless you want to be gobbled up like that poor auror,” Lupin jested. 

 

Sirius huffed at you. “If only! Just when am I going to see this patronus in person?”

 

“The more you ask, the more I’ll deny you the opportunity, Black. Professor,” you repeated. “How were the meds?”

 

“They were…surprisingly effective,” he admitted, pushing off the desk, straightening with his hands clasped behind his back. “The pills did indeed take a bit of time to kick in, but when it did, the pain dulled significantly, and I felt rather…light.”

 

“You took pills, Mooney?” the animagus frowned.

 

Lupin nodded. “The pain-relieving potion Madam Pomfrey gave me had little to no effect.”

 

“You’ve never taken muggle medication for your pains before,” Sirius murmured, his voice tinged with worry. “This cycle must be a rough one. But I’m glad they worked.” He cocked his head curiously at you. “Why did they work and not the potion?”

 

You shrugged, sitting back on the nearest desk. “There could be many reasons. My guess is his body has built up a tolerance to the usual pain reliever he takes, and since he’s never ingested acetaminophen in muggle medication, the effects feel stronger than if he were a regular consumer of it.”

 

The foreign word had him blinking dumbly at you. “Uh-see-tuh-min-uh-fin?”

 

“A pain-relieving agent,” you supplied. “The good thing, Professor, is that you can get those pills from practically any store. Just don’t mix them with alcohol and don’t take more than six in twenty-four hours.”

 

“Speaking of alcohol…” Sirius waggled his eyebrows at his best friend, which earned him a look that was lightly scolding, as if to say ‘patience.’

 

“Wolfsbane first, Padfoot. You wouldn’t happen to be delivering that as well?”

 

You shook your head. “Not tonight. That’s—”

 

Knock. Knock. Knock .

 

“…Professor Snape’s job,” you finished in a murmur.

 

Lupin cast a wary glance at Sirius, who soured at the impending arrival of the school’s potion master. “Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to be here,” you thought to yourself, pursing your lips while eyeing the door. Today’s weirdness aside, you were aware of the volatile tension between the three men, and it wouldn’t be wise to bear witness to any insult slinging. Then again, Snape might just ignore you like he had done all of Potions class.

 

Just as Lupin called out to grant Professor Snape entry, Sirius wordlessly positioned himself to stand at your side for some unknown reason rather than remaining where he was; the three of you previously formed a semi-circle. The door opened, Professor Snape’s black silhouette filling the doorway, and Wolfsbane potion clutched carefully against himself. 

 

And for the first time today, Professor Snape actually looked at you. Rather, he glared.

 

Severus clenched his jaw at the sight of you and Black standing next to one another, far too close for his liking. He already abhorred the idea of Black being here, and now, you were here with Black, sitting comfortably atop a desk and not looking at him, your eyes finding more interest in the flickering candles and cracks in the stone walls. 

 

“...I’ll go fetch the goblet,” Lupin announced with slight hesitance, turning and walking up to his quarters.

 

Immediately, the room grew thick with tension, something charged as if tempers could explode at any second. But Sirius remained silent, still at your side as Snape took calculated steps forward down the center aisle of desks, his eyes never moving away from you or Sirius. And there was a smugness, too, that you could feel from Black, like he, too, was planning. Plotting.

 

“You don’t need to be here for this, Miss L/N,” Severus remarked strictly. “Surely, Lupin can survive without your company.”

 

“Nonsense,” Black interjected, like he was ready to do so, waiting for the professor to take some kind of bait, with a particular glint in his eye. “Y/N has been excellent company. And thoughtful, too, to check up on her professor during a particularly aggressive moon cycle.”

 

Sirius’s elbow brushed against you lightly, and you frowned faintly but still decided to stay out of it for now. 

 

Severus’s expression hardened even more, nose wrinkling slightly in irritation. And why was Black so comfortable addressing you by your first name? Had you permitted him to do so?

 

The sound of Lupin’s approaching footsteps drew your attention. You eyed the goblet in his hands as he descended down the stairs. It was ornate and heavy-looking, the material resembling aged copper. 

 

“You don’t drink it straight from the bottle?” you questioned.

 

“No, a goblet’s full ensures I consume enough,” Lupin replied, touching down from the staircase.

 

“Hm.” You patted the tops of your legs, moving up off the desk and feeling for the medication in your pocket. “Well, you can keep these. I got plenty more for myself,” you said, tossing the bottle to your DADA professor. His hand shot out to catch the small white bottle, the pills clacking as the bottle landed securely in his palm.

 

“That’s really not necessary. I’m sure tha…” Lupin trailed off, frowning down at the bottle as he read off all the foreign ingredients, warnings, and detailed instructions. “Ehm…what exactly do you have these for, Miss?”

 

A light, almost superior smirk found its way onto your face as you crossed your arms. “My monthly cycle.”

 

It felt as though all the air in the room had been sucked out. Severus, who had no idea what the context of this conversation was, stayed quiet, but his eyebrows quirked in confusion, awaiting further explanation. Lupin, who was equally perplexed, seemed to go dry in the mouth at the fact that he had taken medication that you used to ease your menstruation. Sirius’s reaction, however, was far different than the other two men.

 

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He belly laughed, pointing at his friend as if he were a child in elementary school. Lupin’s lips pressed together, a pink hue dusting his cheeks. “You hear that, Moons? She had you taking period pills!” The laughter didn’t stop bubbling, Sirius’s eyes crinkling in amusement as he clapped a hand over his friend’s shoulder. “Want me to run down to the store and get you some rags? Maybe a bra for you as well?” He jeered.

 

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, and began to take your leave.

 

“Enough, Sirius…” Lupin grumbled, taking the potion from Professor Snape and transferring it into the goblet. But Sirius didn’t let up, his laughter dying down to a quieter volume. 

 

“Oh, come now, don’t be so emotional,” he prodded with a cheeky grin. 

 

“It’s a wonder you have any friends at all if this is how you regard someone in pain,” Severus derided, superiorly.

 

Sirius snapped his head to Severus, his amused expression falling into flat, angry offense, the provoking glint in his eye growing stronger. The animagus was loyal to a tee and had always been there for Lupin through thick and thin, always helping him through his pains in and out of school or when he was going through less than ideal financial ruts. To imply that he was a bad friend angered him greatly. “Says the man who doesn’t have any,” Sirius growled, his grey eyes searing into Severus’s black ones. “But what would you know about it anyway, Snivellus? You ran off the only one you ever ha— mmnph!”

 

Sirius was unable to conclude his growing tirade as the corner of his mouth transfigured into a zipper, zipping to the opposite side and even manifested a lock, sealing his mouth shut. The man tried to speak, tugging harshly on the zipper, but to no avail as he stared daggers at Snape, whom he assumed was responsible for this bit of magic. Lupin watched on in surprise, slowly drinking the Wolfsbane, choosing not to say anything. He admitted Sirius had it coming.

 

Severus took a slight step back at Sirius’s dramatic, almost tantrum-like movements as he watched him attempt to curse him out through closed lips while holding his wand up to his mouth to counter the spell. Despite being glad it happened, he hadn’t performed that spell. And Lupin was too busy nursing his goblet. So then…

 

His head whipped over his shoulder. Had it been another second later, he’d have failed to see you tucking your wand back up your sleeve and the tail end of your oversized garment sweeping through the doorway and out of the classroom.

***

 

You kick your shoes off, flopping dramatically on your bed and groaning into the pillow, one leg hanging off the bed. You and Neville’s tutoring session ran all the way until 9:30, allowing both of you to return to your common rooms in time without scrutiny. The two of you had gone over a lot, starting with the basics, strengthening his fundamental understanding of brewing methods, the ingredients he had come to know, and the potions he had difficulty with. Neville was a smart boy. It’s not as though he was a bumbling, clueless oaf who didn't know a ladle from a spoon. He could read instructions. He could understand the effects of each ingredient. At the end of the day, it was performance anxiety, something you offered to work with him on later, to which he accepted.

 

But boy, did he have a lot of questions.

 

Just as the floating feeling of getting too comfortable in your bed started to hit you, something lightly tapped against your sock-covered foot. You pushed yourself up a bit, peering over the edge of the bed. On the ground near your hanging leg was a paper snake, tapping its snoot against your big toe.

 

A note from Professor Snape.

 

You pressed your foot to the ground, allowing the creature to slither up your limb and onto the bed. Once it approached your face, you booped its snoot with your finger, causing the paper creature to unfold. The message inside was brief.

 

“Your shutting up of Black cost Slytherin twenty points. I’m told it took nearly an hour for him to figure out the counter.”

 

That was it. No disciplinary message. No chiding. In fact he left much room on the paper below his own message.

 

You snorted. He wants you to respond.

 

Grabbing a sparkly midnight blue-inked pen, you begin to write.

 

“Shame. I was hoping for a more permanent outcome. Interesting that you mention house points. I passed by the hourglasses before curfew, and the Slytherin points were the exact same as they were a few hours ago. Didn’t coincidentally give a student twenty points for breathing correctly, did you?”

 

Signing your name, you folded it back up and sent it on its way, watching it wiggle beneath the crack of your door and out of sight. Considering the time it takes for the paper snake to get down to the dungeons and for him to send it back, that is, if he chooses to reply, you figured you had a little over ten to fifteen minutes before you’d hear back. In the meantime, you made yourself a cup of hot chocolate with some instant hot cocoa mix you had, resisting the urge to conk out early from the mixture of tiredness in your body, the warmth of the drink, and the comfiness of your clothes.

 

As you had predicted, it did take just over ten minutes for a new snake to appear.

 

“Perhaps. Then again, a lot can happen in a matter of a few hours.”

 

A smirk tugged its way on your face. Cheeky bastard . 

 

“I’m sure…”

You paused, lifting the pen away reluctantly for a few seconds before continuing. 

“By the way, I came into possession of your cloak again. Honest to god, I thought it was a blanket. I didn’t realize what it was until this morning. If you’d like, I can have Runey deliver it to you, or I can hold on to it and return it to you tomorrow. Best to decide quickly before I change my mind and hold it for ransom.”

Just as he had with the first snake, you left room on the bottom for him to respond however he wanted to and sent it off. When the snake returned, well… His message back was nothing you were expecting. Two simple words. An instruction. An order. It made you sputter, blush, and, honestly, a bit flustered.

 

“Keep it.”

 

What? You frowned down at the note. Keep it? What did he mean by that? Like, keep it as in “keep it until morning, when you could return it to him?” Or keep it as in… keep it. If the latter, why? You had plenty of long and thick layers that kept you warm. You didn’t need a cloak. Why would he want you to possess it?

 

You’re overthinking this. He surely meant that you should keep it with you until you had a chance to return it. Sending Runey would run the risk of frightening Filch, after all.

 

Right…

 

…Yeah.

 

You peered over at your bag, where a bit of the cloak stuck out, wrinkling your nose in annoyance, despite the redness that spread onto your face.

 

Demon cloak.

Chapter 65: Professor L/N

Summary:

Lupin isn't feeling well enough to teach, and the teachers are facing a scheduling predicament. Who ever shall help?

Notes:

Another long one. A google doc hates to see me coming 💀

16 years old

 

You breathed a sigh of relief when the door shut behind you, untying the apron you had forgotten to remove before getting into your car and driving home. It was covered with flour and dried frosting, and you could feel it dusted along your hairline, too.

 

Your summer job was nice, working part-time at a local bakery from seven in the morning to two in the afternoon. It wasn’t something you’d gotten out of necessity, but rather to counter the monotony that came with having so much free time. It gave you something to do on the days when your mind was pulled toward too many things at once, or nothing at all. Plus, it felt good to use money you actually earned, instead of just taking from a bank account.

 

Of course, your father wasn’t home, it being the middle of the afternoon. Though it seemed like he wasn’t really home much these days. You both were more like roommates now with your own schedules, and you didn’t talk much anymore, that is if you ever saw him. Especially since he didn’t send you letters while you were away. It hurt. You did see remnants of him sprinkled around, though. A cup left on the drying rack, pairs of shoes swapped out by the front door, something marked on the calendar in the kitchen. It was like living with a ghost: there, but not.

 

Even though you had just gotten done with your job, you still felt like baking something. Something personal. A dessert for later.

 

The house filled with the scent of warm chocolate banana bread, tempting you to dig in, but you held off, telling yourself to wait until after dinner. Feeling a wave of fatigue roll through your body, you clomped up the staircase, intending to take a nap.

 

However, just as you passed his study, the door opened. Apparently, your father was home; you just didn’t know it. Always quiet. Always working. He halted immediately, lips parting in surprise, not expecting you to be just beyond the doorway. You merely glanced at him, continuing on your way. If he went downstairs, he’d likely find your work apron in the kitchen, and that would be how he found out you had a job now. You didn’t feel like speaking to him right now, wanting to take your nap instead. His eyes followed you all the way until you turned into your room, shutting the door behind you.

 

When you woke up, your face was flushed with pillow creases, and you were a little disoriented, and ironically still tired, but an hour had passed by, and if you slept any longer, your sleep cycle tonight would be shot.

 

When you went back downstairs, your ears were pricked, listening for the sound of movements, clinks of utensils, anything that was a sign of his presence. But this time, he was gone. Moving into the kitchen, you had the thought of checking the contents of the fridge to see if you needed any groceries.

 

But then, you stopped. 

 

On the counter, where you had left your banana bread to cool and your dirtied work apron was a note sitting next to the loaf that had clearly been sliced into, the edge removed. You moved toward the folded paper, picking it up and opening it.

It’s good.

Two words. Two words were all he spared you. He dug into your dessert, and this is what he leaves you with.

 

Two goddamn words.

 

You crushed up the paper, tossing it into the trash.

 

Bastard.

***

 

The sky was a gradient transitioning from pale yellow to a typical baby blue as the sun officially declared it to be morning. The dewy grass brushed along your lower half; your pace unyielding, but your gait becoming staggered. The muscles in your legs burned every time your feet hit the ground in heavy thumps, and your ragged, heavy gasps for air squeezed your lungs like nails digging into balloons. Even though you were sweating like crazy, it felt ice cold in your body, dampening your back, collar, and pits in darkened stains against the gray sweatshirt. You had gone for an early run again, a feeling of unshakable anxiety waking you up before dawn, and it still clung to you upon waking up again from a bit of dreamless sleep.

 

You didn’t know what it was this time. There were no nightmares last night, and the weekend was just around the corner, something to look forward to. You had briefly considered the source to be your worry for Lupin and the full moon, but you never worried for him with such intensity before and didn’t see why you would now. He had Black with him, as he had in the past. So, where was it coming from?

 

Whatever it was, it gnawed on you, gripping you like paranoia had when you thought someone was watching, waiting to attack again. It whispered to you as you got dressed, dropped Professor Snape’s cloak off at his classroom door, and took to the fields. Something bad was going to happen. Something terrible and out of your control was going to take place. Even though you could never truly run from these thoughts, it made you feel better, made those thoughts quieter.

 

You hadn’t seen Black this morning, and to be honest, you doubt he’d be leaving today. In the time Lupin had been here, he’d been able to teach on the day of the full moon, but this one seemed very hard on him. Someone else would probably be teaching his classes today, and Black would probably remain by his side all day. You wondered who that would be.

 

Despite having finished your morning run, you still panted harshly through your nose, and your heart beat wildly as you felt your blood rush through every single part of your body. The coolness of the corridors helped chill your body and flushed face, eliciting goosebumps on the exposed parts of your legs. While the throbbing in your extremities persisted, it started to ebb, almost in tandem with your pulse.

 

Just as you rounded a corner and began to think about what might be served for breakfast, you bumped into something. Or someone. All black robes, the smell of lavender and musk invading your nose, dark hair… Professor Snape. You stumbled back, feeling a rambling apology crawl its way up your throat as he stood straight, blank expression on his face. 

 

“Ah—Sorry, Professor—” You sidestepped around him and continued on your way. “Didn’t mean to bump into you—”

 

“Miss,” he called to you firmly, stopping you in your tracks. You bit your lip and slowly turned to face him, and your eyes nearly fell out of your skull when you saw that he was holding the cloak you had returned this morning in his hands, held against his torso. It was hard not to let your gaze linger on it.

 

“You were outside, I take it?” Severus asked, but by the looks of your state, he already knew the answer to that.

 

“Yeah… I went on a run,” you replied softly.

 

His eyes briefly flit over your form, noting the sweat stains, the slickness of your face, and your pink cheeks.

 

“Clean yourself up and make your way to Professor McGonagall’s office. There’s been a situation…and it requires your presence,” he drawled.

 

Something bad is going to happen. Something terrible and beyond your control. You tensed, anxiety gripping you once more. “A situation?” you repeated, hushed.

 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he muttered impatiently. “Bathe yourself quickly. The other professors and I will be waiting for you.” 

 

And then he was gone, apparating away with a crack.

 

You blinked, staring at the spot he had stood in a moment ago, the silence of the hall engulfing you. What could possibly be going on so early in the morning? Did Black and Lupin rat you out to Dumbledore? Were you about to be collectively punished for using a (relatively) harmless spell on Lupin’s friend? Pressing your lips into a thin line, you shoved your hands in your sweatshirt pocket, gripping the lining of the fabric tightly as you descended back down to the dungeons. Your mind stirred and swirled, the anxiety building once more, more prominently than it had earlier when you arose from slumber. 

 

Like your run, the shower helped a little, but it didn’t completely eliminate your anxiety, your hands wringing one another. The first few students had begun to roam the halls. You didn’t look at them, and they didn’t look at you, your anxiety invisible to them, but if nargles were visible? They’d be swarming around you like mosquitoes on a muggy night in Florida, buzzing doubts into your ears, drawing you closer into uncertainty. The portraits that lined the corridor leading to her quarters murmured faint greetings to you, but they fell deaf on your ears as you mentally prepared for whatever was behind the ever-approaching oak door.

 

Your steps came to a halt mere inches from the threshold, your hand raising, drawing back for a moment, before hesitantly knocking on the door.

 

“Come in…” a voice that was most definitely not Professor McGonagall's called. It was Dumbledore’s.

 

The handle creaked down under the gentle pressure of your palm, the door pushing forward to reveal the unfamiliar interior of Professor McGonagall’s office. It was well lit with natural light, unlike Professor Snape’s, with furniture made of red mahogany wood, two very large, comfortable-looking armchairs facing a generous hearth, and bookshelves packed with so much reading material you thought the woodwork might burst if one more book were to be added. Positioned around the room were jars filled with quills, as if vases holding a bouquet, far more than one realistically needed, unless she had a habit of misplacing them. Then, you could believe it…

 

Your teachers, except Professor Lupin and the addition of Dumbledore, stood around idly in a semicircle, their eyes falling on you the moment you entered the office. Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall each held a mug of a steaming, warm beverage, coffee or tea, most likely. Next to them were Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick, and Professor Snape stood off to the side, enjoying his bubble of space by one of the windows.

 

“Good morning, Miss,” Dumbledore greeted gently, sensing your dimly festering anxiety.

 

“G’morning,” you murmured as you looked down at the floor, leaning back on the door and shutting it with a thunk, your hands finding purchase by your legs, fingers drumming and thumping away on the sides of your thighs.

 

“No need to be so nervous, Miss!” Flitwick chirped as he came to your side, his morning enthusiasm far too bright for you, as he guided you to a wooden chair some feet from you. “You aren’t in any trouble.”

 

“Yes, quite the contrary,” Dumbledore resumed. “We’ve requested your presence here because we’d like to ask a favor of you, and you are more than welcome to decline if you don’t find it agreeable.”

 

The anxiety in your chest didn’t lessen at that, but it certainly shifted to suspicion, the feeling making itself known on your face. “What is this favor?” you asked with skeptical eyes.

 

“As you know, the full moon is today. Lupin finds himself incapable of teaching at the present time and will be residing in his quarters for the majority of the day. That leaves us down a professor for the day, and puts us in an odd predicament when it comes to scheduling. Normally, we’d have another professor or two fill in, but it seems our schedules and the other professor’s schedules are out of alignment and don’t offer gaps at the time that Lupin’s lessons take place. I’d take over all of Lupin’s lessons myself, but I’ll be occupied with a meeting at the Ministry regarding final examinations.”

 

“Are you going to ask me what I think you are going to ask? You want me to take over Lupin’s classes?”

 

Dumbledore smiled lightly, allowing a beat to pass. “Not quite. We’d like to ask you to teach Potions.”

 

“Potions?” your eyebrows quirked, and you flicked your gaze to the brooding professor, who was vehemently ignoring your eyes, before you looked back to the Headmaster. “Why Potions? Does that mean Professor Snape would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

 

“Yes and no. We understand it would be easier to have one person substitute instead of complicating it by adding you into the mix, however, Professor Snape trusts very few people with his classroom. The only other person available to take over Potions is Professor Trelawney, but…”

 

“She nearly poisoned the students with a gas cloud the last time she filled in,” Professor Snape cut in bitterly. “I will not let her near a cauldron so long as I have a say in it.”

 

“Anyhow,” Dumbledore continued. “It also wouldn’t be fair to ask you to teach those in your grade as well when you are still learning the curriculum. The plan we have in mind is that Professor Snape will teach the first three classes in DADA, while you will be teaching the first, second, and third-years in potions. I should be back from the Ministry in time to take over the remaining DADA classes and for you to attend your scheduled lessons.”

 

You stayed quiet for a bit, taking in the information laid before you. “So…I’d be teaching the Weasley twins as well…” you eventually said. 

 

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips in response. “Yes, you would be. But if you agree to this, Miss, we expect you to take this seriously.”

 

“If you agree to it, yes,” Professor Sprout hummed. “It would be understandable if you don’t want to. Hogsmeade weekend is here, and it would be a shame for you to use such time to catch up on missed lessons.”

 

“No, no— It’s…it’s alright,” you assured. “I wasn’t really planning on going to Hogsmeade anyway, so if this helps you guys out for the day, then…I’ll do it.”

 

“Wonderful!” Dumbledore clapped, and you swear you saw Professor Snape breathe a sigh of relief out of the corner of your eye. “Now then, if you’re going to teach, Miss, you’ll need to not only act the part but look the part as well.”

 

You paled.

 

“What?”

 

It was then that Professor McGonagall rose, and for the first time, you noticed that tucked against her lap, now hanging on her arm, were folded clothes. Professor Sprout moved with her as well, a Cheshire grin spreading onto her face.

 

“Come now, did you think we were going to let you teach wearing muggle jeans and an oversized jumper?” Professor Sprout teased. “If you are to teach, you are to dress accordingly,” she said, her and McGonagall taking your upper arms and moving you toward the isolated bedroom and bathroom.

 

“W-wait—what—hold on—” But your feet complied with them because you knew you didn’t have the heart to shove them off of you. However, it didn’t stop you from sending a ‘help me’ look to Professor Snape before the door to the other room closed behind you.

 

“Are you sure you are alright with this, Headmaster?” Flitwick inquired. “A seventh-year teaching three classes?”

 

“Miss L/N is the same age as when Severus started teaching.” He paused, taking a few seconds to think to himself before speaking again. “And besides, this will not be her first time teaching Potions.”

 

Professor Flitwick cast a look of surprise at Severus, and Severus’s expression turned to one of warning at Dumbledore. “What do you mean?” Flitwick pressed on. 

 

“Back in December,” Dumbledore began with light amusement. “There was a mishap with Severus that left him incapable of teaching until the effects of his predicament wore off. Miss L/N took his place with a bit of polyjuice,” he explained, sparing the details of the feline transformation for Severus’s sake.

 

“Polyjuice?” Flitwick was aghast. “Wha—When in December was this? I didn’t suspect anything to be amiss during that month!”

 

“Not long after their impromptu Hogsmeade visit,” Dumbledore supplied.

 

“Merlin…” Flitwick shook his head in disbelief. “She must’ve had your mannerisms down to an art form for no one else to notice.”

 

Severus crossed his arms, huffing with a light roll of his eyes, tuning out the rest of their conversation, waiting for the three women to return.

 

Some more minutes passed before the shuffling on the other side of McGonagall’s bedroom grew louder, and the door finally swung open. The two older women exited first with almost smug satisfaction etched on their faces. A few seconds later, you appeared slowly, moving through the doorway, hands clasped tightly behind your back, moving with quiet grace, and Severus’s breath caught in his throat.

 

They weren’t robes, but they weren’t strictly muggle clothes, either. Instead of your sweatshirt and jeans, you now wore a white long-sleeve button-up, the sleeves fitted at your wrist but loose and relaxed on the remaining length of your arms. A ribbon tie sat securely on your collar, its color matched that of the long, corseted a-line skirt, the lace lining of the underskirt peeking out an inch or so past the skirt’s hem. It was a simple outfit, one that looked lovely on you, but he didn’t dwell on it for long as he was soon filled with annoyance toward the skirt’s color.

 

“Miss, you look very nice,” Dumbledore complimented.

 

“Yes! Very lovely!” Flitwick chirped, to which you covered your face to hide your embarrassment.

 

“They are Professor Burbage’s old clothes from when she was around Miss L/N’s age,” Professor McGonagall explained. “She lent them for use if Miss L/N said ‘yes’ to your proposition.”

 

“It’s red.”  

 

All eyes flicked over to Severus, whose nose was wrinkled in displeasure, his own gaze fixated on the skirt.

 

“And?” McGonagall pressed.

 

“ Gryffindor red,” he nearly growled. Flitwick and Sprout subtly glanced at one another and rolled their eyes, knowing what was to come between the two rival heads of houses.

 

“That’s how the skirt was when the clothes were given to me. I assure you, I am not toying with you by having Miss L/N parade around in rival colors,” the Gryffindor head of house said, dismissively.

 

“Really? Then you wouldn’t mind if the color was green?” With a subtle flick of his wrist, the red began to bleed away into green, starting from the hem and moving upward.

 

“Severus!” she practically squawked. “You can’t just use magic so hastily like that on a woman’s clothes. You could’ve vanished the skirt entirely!” She made a motion with her wand, and the potion master's spell started to undo itself, but not without a fight, the red and the green pushing back against one another. Suddenly, a large blot of deep blue began to spread from the side,  overtaking the other colors completely.

 

“Fillius!” the rival heads of houses admonished. 

 

“I think she would make a great Ravenclaw, don’t you, Pomona?” The part-goblin professor waggled his eyebrows at the Herbology professor. She snorted into her palm, restraining herself from indulging in Flitwick’s attempt to stir the pot.

 

Dumbledore, who was ignoring the bickering between the teachers, tilted his head at you, sensing your deepening discomfort at having to stand here, beheld like a zoo exhibit. Though you were covering your eyes, he managed to breach the barrier of your mind and whispered to you.

 

“Are you alright, Miss?”

 

“I am very uncomfortable… I-I…I really want to get a pair of shorts o-or tights… Something for underneath…” 

 

“I see. I can feel more anxiety with you today than usual. Is there something else you’d like to tell me?

 

“I don’t know, the usual, I guess I…I woke up this morning feeling off. The run helped some, but it came back again. It just feels like something awful is going to happen. Or maybe it’s a placebo effect from Lupin’s full moon.”

 

“Hm.” He felt around your mind some more but didn’t find anything of significant cause. “Just try to relax. You’re safe. Take a Calming Draught if you need to. And follow my lead.”

 

“The color of her attire is irrelevant.” Dumbledore’s gentle yet authoritative voice silenced the mild arguing. “What matters is that she has agreed. Miss L/N, why don’t you retrieve any last-minute items you feel will help you get through the lessons and meet Professor Snape in his classroom so he can prepare you for the day before we all convene for breakfast?”

 

You lowered your hands, curling them into fists down by your side, and nodded silently. Dumbledore tipped his chin, granting your silent permission to leave, and you did so without hesitation, exiting swiftly out of the office, your footfalls echoing audibly through the castle halls, leaving the teachers to mentally prepare themselves for any potential mishaps.

***

 

Severus paced back and forth idly in his classroom, waiting for your impending visit. Yesterday’s cloak that he had found suspended in mid-air like a petrified ghost in front of his door now hung over the back of the chair of his classroom desk. Upon finding it this morning, everything flooded back to him, how you had turned in for the night two days ago with it on your shoulders, how he had instructed you to keep it, something he regrets telling you now and still doesn’t know why he did it. Thank Merlin, you had interpreted it the other way and returned it to him when you were able to.

 

His mind flashed back to when you stepped out wearing the outfit bestowed upon you. You looked so gentle and…charming, like a young woman who baked sweets for a village. He’s seen you all the time before in white with your uniform shirt, but…this was different. 

 

And curse his heart, it would not slow down.

 

The handle of the door to his classroom jiggled a little before it was pushed down, and the door clicked open. Severus ceased his pacing, his eyes snapping to the threshold of his classroom. 

 

His pulse persisted. 

 

You had adjusted your attire. What once was a skirt that was practically a rainbow blotch when you left was now fully green, much to Severus’s satisfaction. But now, your white shirt, which previously made you look amicable and maidenly, was ink black , as were the visible sections of your lower legs, clad in equally black tights blending into black boots. The black made you appear strict, radiating a quiet power that would certainly make students pay attention. Your demeanor was also more confident, the opposite of your bashful, earlier self in white.

 

He, honest to Merlin, couldn’t answer with any certainty which version he preferred at the moment.

 

“Slytherin enough for you?” you said with a raised brow, noticing his staring and slightly dazed expression.

 

“...Yes,” he responded with the faintest clearing of his throat as he not-so-successfully tried to keep his eyes elsewhere. “I wasn’t expecting any alterations to your attire, however…”

 

“White isn’t exactly an intimidating color when it comes to clothes.” You made a point of letting him see your eyes wander over your robes. “As you would know.”

 

He merely nodded subtly, making his way over to his desk to fetch the lesson plans for today. “You’ll be instructing the third-years, second-years, and first-years, in that order,” Severus drawled. “These are their lessons for today. Each of them will be learning a new potion, and the homework has already been decided. The third years will be learning the Wide-Eye Potion, the second years will learn the Fire Protection Potion, and the first years will learn the Hair-Raising Potion. I have no grand speech to you about teaching properly. All you’ll need to do is give the necessary lectures and make sure no one blows their eyebrows off or poisons the class, and you’ll manage, seeing how you know where everything is and the proper safety procedures…”

 

You smirked. “Won't let that Trelawney thing go, won’t you?”

 

“No,” he gritted. “She could’ve killed them all. Never again.”

 

Awwww. It was like watching a mother snake throwing a fit over her babies.

 

“Right. Got it. What about disciplinary actions if anyone is unruly or disruptive? I’m not exactly you this time, and some might take advantage of that. Can I take points?”

 

He stared blankly at you for a brief second, his eyes vaguely narrowing. “I suppose the privilege can once again be granted temporarily. Restrain yourself from handing out detentions. I’d like to enjoy my weekend.” 

 

“Sure,” you chuckled easily. “Ah, and yesterday, Professor Lupin used the excuse that he had food poisoning to cover for his afflicted behavior, so if anyone asks, I’m just going to say it worsened.”

 

Severus sighed softly, mulling it over. “Very well. I’ll relay the same information if questioned.”

 

You nodded, satisfied, your hands clasped together behind your back. “I know today’s structure isn’t the most ideal with Lupin being ill, but I hope you get some satisfaction out of teaching DADA today. I was told within the first day of my enrollment that the position was something you were interested in.”

 

He swept past you, his cloak brushing the side of your arm. “I’ve taught here for many years. This will not be my first time substituting for the class,” he replied, almost dismissively at first. “But…” he stopped at the door, half-turning to face you. “It is…favorable when the students are older.”

 

Ah. His way of telling you that he was looking forward to it.

 

He tilted his head toward the corridor. “Come. We’re late for breakfast.”

 

Of course, they stared. They all stared. Never mind the fact that it wasn’t the school uniform. You were wearing a skirt, for god’s sake, something hardly anyone ever saw. The twins watched you curiously from their own table but didn’t trot over to question you about it. H/G/N and other older Slytherins, however…

 

“YOU’RE WHA—”

 

You had practically lunged across the table, pressing your palm to her mouth. She stared back wide-eyed at you, blinking a few times in disbelief, before you withdrew your hand and explained everything to her and those closest. A few laughed at the fact that Snape was “finally getting what he wanted,” while others were concerned about you having to teach your years who might not take you as seriously as they would Snape. Little did they know you had already done this before.

 

Now, you waited by your lonesome in the empty Potion classroom. The storage room was unlocked, the cauldrons were clean and ready for use, and the tools were set in their proper places. Everything was ready. And your anxiety, for now, was gone, thoughts of today’s lessons occupying your mind instead. With Snape being absent, you found your audacity rose, eyeing his classroom desk mischievously. He always either sat there staring straight at the students as they walked in or was positioned front and center, imposingly, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. But you weren’t him. Therefore, you’d be yourself.

 

Slowly, as if he were there watching you, you rounded to the other side of the desk, trailing your fingers along the wood, as if putting on a show, and sat down in the chair, kicking your legs up on to his desk and crossing them, like you owned it, as if you were a queen and this was your throne.

 

Hehe..

 

Shuffling noises made themselves known just beyond the doorway, and when the first student stepped in and made eye contact with you, they did a visible double-take as you smiled nonchalantly at them. 

 

“What the…?” They started to stay but didn’t finish, as they were pushed forward by the students behind them as a result of their lingering in front of the doorway. The same thing happened, one after another, murmurs of confusion…

 

“What?”

 

“Is that Y/N?”

 

“Where’s Snape?”

 

“Why’s she sitting at his desk?”

 

“What the bloody hell is going on?”

 

When the twins walked in, their eyes practically bugged out of their heads, and they trotted over to you. 

 

“Y/N?! What are you doing here, love? Bloody hell, you look great!” George greeted. 

 

“And where’s Professor Snape?” Fred followed.

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything in a moment. Go have a seat, you two.”

 

“Oh, trust us, Y/N,” Fred grinned cheekily. “We aren’t worried. We’re thrilled.” He squeezed the tip of your boot like a bicycle horn before he and George trotted over far too enthusiastically to their seats. You sighed internally, the chair creaking as you removed your legs from the desk and stood up. Even after the late bell rang, the whispering didn’t die down until you stood center in front of the class, taking a deep breath and entering ‘teacher mode.’

 

“As you can see…” You started with an air of authority. “I am not Professor Snape. Since this is your first class of the day, I don’t doubt that the news hasn’t reached you. There has been a temporary change in the teaching today. I’ve been asked to teach a few of Professor Snape’s classes in order to relieve a bizarre hiccup in the staff schedule today.”

 

Tom raised his hand. “Yes, Tom?”

 

“Where’s Professor Snape?”

 

“Professor Snape is currently, and will be, covering some of Professor Lupin’s classes today. Professor Lupin, as some of you may or may not know, got food poisoning recently, and it has since worsened, and he finds himself incapable of teaching at the present time.”

 

“Professor Snape is going to teach our DADA class today?” Carina interjected.

 

“No. Dumbledore will resume Lupin’s classes after lunch. Ideally, he’d have covered all of them, but it’s my understanding he was business at the Ministry for most of the morning. There was no one else today who could’ve possibly filled in, even for a little, and with Professor Snape covering his classes, the only person available to cover Potions would have been Professor Trelawney.”

 

The whole class collectively shuddered and grimaced, memories of her ineptitude in their first year coming back to them.

 

“Which is why I’m here. Professor Snape and the Headmaster have enough trust in me to get you through your lessons, along with the first and second years, so when they asked, I accepted.”

 

“Doesn’t that mean you’re missing your lessons?” George frowned.

 

You clicked your tongue. “Yes. But it’s alright. I’m quick to bounce back. And besides, this seems like a far more entertaining way to spend my day,” you smirked. “However, just because Professor Snape isn’t physically present doesn’t mean you all get to lollygag. He’s still here in spirit.” You curtsied dramatically. “Just in a skirt.”

 

They all chuckled. Tom raised his hand again

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do we have to call you Professor, or miss, or ma’am?”

 

“I’d really rather none of the above. My first name is fine. Also, I apologize in advance if I do not know all of your names. Now then,” picked up the lesson plan for the third-years from the desk. It was titled “Wide-Eye Potion” and contained important notes about the content he wanted you to cover, the reference pages to use when lecturing, and when to break them for brewing. “According to the lesson plan here,” you moved to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and began to write. “I will be teaching you all the Wide-Eye potion.”

 

You finished your writing with a fat underline of the name.

 

“Before we really dive in, does anyone want to take a stab at guessing what this particular potion does? No points will be taken if you’re wrong.”

 

Some hands went up, and a few were reluctant to trust your promise. Your eyes ultimately fell on the Ravenclaw girl toward the front.

 

“Yes, Miss…?”

 

“Hawthorn. Ivy Hawthorn,” she pushed up her glasses. “Based on the name, I assume it’s a concoction meant to keep the drinker awake for a certain period of time.”

 

“That is correct.” You nodded and offered her a encouraging look. “Anything else you might like to add?”

 

“Well, I know we haven't quite learned about sleeping draughts yet, but perhaps the Wide-Eye Potion is a counter for them?”

 

“Also correct. Five points to Ravenclaw.”

 

Ivy smirked with pride, writing down her successful guess, as did the other students. You felt a wave of something subtle roll through you. Satisfaction, perhaps. Maybe… Yes. It was the control you had. They were all listening, all writing, all waiting for you to continue.

 

“It is true, sleeping draughts like Dreamless Sleep are taught much later in your sixth year, and for good reason, only those capable of getting into Advanced Potions should be trusted in brewing such potions with harsh consequences if brewed incorrectly. However, the Wide-Eye Potion is less dangerous. It is typically offered in doses by the hour, 75ml for one hour, as is the case with Sleeping Draughts. I, for one, am very familiar with the Wide-Eye potion. As someone who lives in America, I usually take a Wide-Eye when I’m traveling internationally so that my sleep schedule can adjust more easily. And anyone here with older siblings currently studying for OWLs or NEWTs, believe me, they are very familiar with using this potion to pull all-nighters. So, if I wanted to keep myself awake for 12 hours, how much would I have to drink?”

 

While a few attempted to do some quick multiplications, a Gryffindor boy raised his hand. “Yes?

 

“Liam Quinnley, and 900 mL.”

 

You nodded. “Good. 5 points to Gryffindor.”

 

Gasps echoed around the room.

 

“What?” you frowned. “What’s wrong?”

 

“You...” A Slytherin girl began in shock. “...You gave Gryffindor points.”

 

“So?”

 

“Professor Snape never gives Gryffindor points. Won’t you get in trouble?”

 

You smirked, “Unlike Professor Snape, I don’t possess a bias towards my own house. Anyone, regardless of house, is deserving of the opportunity to earn points.” Even if they don’t matter. “And if he has a problem with me giving points to my house rival, perhaps he should’ve verbalized so before putting me in a position of power.”

 

“Merlin’s beard, she’s better than him already! I think I’m in love!” Another Gryffindor boy clutched his heart dramatically.

 

“Flattery will, unfortunately, not earn you points. Two points from Gryffindor.”

 

The Slytherins smirked somewhat victoriously, the Gryffindor boy blushing and clearing his throat, but still giddy that his house got points from you regardless. You picked up the textbook from Snape’s desk.

 

“Let’s continue on then.”

 

For the next half hour, you lectured them on the history of the Wide-Eye potion, touching upon the key points stressed by professor Snape, notable figures involved with the potion, its effects on wizarding society, how it played a role in developing other useful potions commonly used at St. Mungos, and provided them opportunities to earn points with fair questions. It was kind of nice to be able to just talk at them, knowing that they were listening, that they had to listen. The remaining forty-five minutes of class was allotted for brewing the actual potion, leaving just enough or, not nearly enough time for someone to re-brew, depending on when they screwed up.

 

“I want you all to remember: If you have even the slightest hesitation when it comes to an instruction or you would like clarification, speak up, no matter how small a concern it may be. You won’t get docked for asking for help, and the last thing I would want to happen is for someone to get hurt because they are too hesitant to seek guidance. Is that understood?”

 

“Yes, Professor,” they all said in unison, mostly out of reflex, but the twins were looking you dead in your eyes, and you knew they had said it on purpose. You cringed internally.

 

“Right. Get to work, then. I’ll be walking around, checking in, and adjusting techniques if needed. The usual rigmarole.”

 

Stools scraped as students moved to gather their ingredients, the classroom swarming with new vigor, and the air hissing to life as flames were lit and cauldrons were filled, light steam wafting from each station. When you meandered about, you tried to give them all as much space as possible, sticking more towards the wall and surveying the space like a lion on a rock, unlike Professor Snape, imposing and hovering, almost like a vulture, waiting for a slip-up. You corrected techniques and reminded them to make sure all ingredients were prepared before progressing any further in the potion. One Hufflepuff accidentally messed up majorly early in the brewing process, and with enough verbal reassurance from you, they started a new brew with more focus than before.

 

The twins were surprisingly diligent as well. Sure, they still murmured something cheeky to you as you passed by, but otherwise, they remained attentive to their potions, not distracting each other and joking around. They had actually taken your advice about being better in Potions seriously.

 

One by one, students begin to announce their completion of the potion, bottling and labelling their results, and setting them on a side table near the storage room where you had instructed them to put them so that Snape’s desk wouldn’t become crowded. They also didn’t need you to remind them to clean up after themselves, taking their sullied cauldrons to the bin to let them soak. 

 

By now, nearly everyone was finished and sat quietly in their seats, the last student turning off the basin faucet and joining the others as well.

 

‘Is everyone here finished?”

 

They all nodded silently. You frowned a little, eyeing the clock on the wall. There were just under ten minutes left in class. 

 

“Well, congratulations. You all finished with time to spare. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves or brush up on notes for your next class.” 

 

They didn’t need to be told twice, a few tossing ‘thank you’ your way as they began chattering with friends, some switching seats in order to do so. 

 

“That was great, Y/N! You should teach every Potions class from now on,” George grinned as both of them trotted up to Snape’s desk to invade your personal space.

 

“By the looks of it, I don’t think anyone turned in a poor potion either,” Fred commented, eying the table where the completed potions sat.

 

“No need for the flattery.” You waved dismissively. “I didn’t do anything special.”

 

But Fred went on. “No, really, you did wonderfully. I don’t think I’ve seen everyone so relaxed in Potions before, and so close to final exams as well. Snape expects us to have it perfect on our first time learning to make a new potion. A lot more pressure in comparison…”

 

“He’s like a vulture, staring down over our shoulders like we’re mice,” George scoffed.

 

“I’m glad you and your peers were comfortable today. The other teachers were a bit worried you all would want to goof off without Snape being here.”

 

“Oh, we very much would,” they smiled mischievously, squeezing your hands, “but not when you’re in charge.” Fred plucked at the material of your sleeve. “Now, please explain how you’ve wound up wearing such an outfit.”

 

You grumbled lowly. “Your head of house sees fit that I am to dress like a professor if I am to teach like one.”

 

George nudged his brother. “That’s got Professor McGonagall written all over it!”

***

The other two classes went well, except for a few minor hiccups, but still, well.

 

You gave the same introductory speech about the change in the teaching schedule today for both classes, and they all seemed to welcome the fact that you were their teacher. You didn’t know any of the second-year names, so they all had to pretty much introduce themselves anytime they answered a question.

 

You taught the second-years the Fire Protection potion, and quite a few times, you had to lower the flames of some students' cauldrons so that the potion wouldn’t spoil. Overheating the potion ironically diminished its fire-protecting abilities. At the end, you offered to demonstrate the effects of a well-brewed potion, giving points to a student who volunteered theirs. A second-year Slytherin offered theirs up, one you deemed to be worthy of an ‘O.’ You consumed it, your body tingling as the effects made themselves known, and stuck your hand into a high-burning flame. They all marvelled and clapped for the student, the Slytherin earning themselves 10 points for volunteering their potion.

 

Neville was delighted to see that you were teaching today instead of Snape, his usual rigidness and deflating when you had explained the change in teachers for the morning. And by the looks of it, Ron certainly wasn’t complaining as well. Their bushy-haired friend, however, was a bit more skeptical. A change in staff, even for the morning, made her feel wary about what this meant for the content that was supposed to prepare them for final exams.

 

“Who can tell me what the key ingredient in the Hair-Raising potion is that causes one’s hair to stand up on end?”

 

It was a trick question. Most would answer porcupine quill because they stand upright in all sorts of directions on a porcupine’s body, but the answer was actually…

 

The bushy-haired girl’s hand shot up lightning quick. “Yes, you?”

 

“Hermione Granger, and the key ingredient is Billywig sting. Those who are stung by billywigs often find the hairs near the afflicted area standing on end, like when one gets goosebumps, but when consumed in a potion, it makes the hair on your head stand up,” she said with the diction of an adult.

 

Ah, so she’s Hermione Granger. Looks like you finally got to put a face to the name.

 

“That is correct. Five points to Gryffindor.”

 

Like the third-years, their reactions were just as dramatic. Up was down, left was right, day was night. Neville’s jaw had dropped so low you could shove a Remembrall in there.

 

“Sorry, would you like me to take them back?” you questioned, putting on a mask of strictness. Of course, all the Gryffindors let out ‘no’s,’ ‘sorry,’ and ‘that’s alright.’

 

The same warning was given about asking for help when you sent them off to begin brewing. You watched distantly, circling around, going back and forth from grading a few potions from previous classes to inspecting the current classes' work. A few students requested assistance, and everything seemed to be going all right. Granger was a bit embarrassed by the fact that you had to remind her to put her hair up and out of the way, a momentary lapse in judgment on her end.

 

“Y/N?” Neville called for you, looking incredibly nervous. You moved across the room to the boy, hands linked together behind your back.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I-I—erm—I,” he stuttered, his hands wringing nervously over one another in his lap as he looked at his potion. “I think I-I might have m-messed up.”

 

You stepped to his side, looking at the cauldron for yourself. Everything appeared to be normal. The color was on point, the flame was at the right height, and there was no excessive bubbling…

 

“What do you think you did wrong?”

 

“It’s too thick. I think I put too much oil in it,” he answered with a dejected look on his face, using the stirring rod to feel the thickness of the brew. But he hadn’t put it in very far, holding the rod at a rather shallow height. Ah…

 

“Neville,” you chuckled. “Your potion is perfectly fine. You haven’t messed.”

 

He looked at you, bewildered. “I haven’t?”

 

You shook your head, smiling, and moved your hand to cover his and moved the stirring rod further down into the cauldron until the tip nearly touched the bottom.

 

“Now give it a swirl.”

 

Neville swirled the rod carefully as you told him to, and his expression changed quickly. “It feels thinner!” he exclaimed.

 

“Tell me, Neville,” you reached for a spare beaker. “Have you ever heard of ‘density’ when pertaining to liquids?”

 

“No…” he murmured.

 

“In simple terms, density refers to how compact a substance is. The two liquids you’ve used in your potion are water and oil.”  You used your wand to magically fill the beaker with water. “However, the two are not known to mix very well together because oil is less dense than water, and less dense liquids rise to the top.” You poured a little bit of the extra oil he had set aside into the beaker with water. The oil clumped up when it hit the water and rose back to the top. Neville watched on curiously at the demonstration.

 

“I didn’t know that,” Neville said.

 

“ ‘Cause it’s no-maj science. And this is one of the few potions taught at Hogwarts that uses oil. Your potion is fine. You just weren’t putting your stirring rod in deep enough to feel the actual consistency. You were just checking the oil near the top.”

 

“S-so, I’m alright? I’m not in trouble?”

 

“You’re alright, Neville. Carry on with your potion.”

 

Now, you didn’t see his face as you turned to check in on other students, but the sigh of relief he let out was fairly audible, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling more.

 

Soon, the class ended, with some students’ hair fluffed up from heat or slick with potion fumes, ties slightly eschewed, and robes resting off shoulders. Cauldrons were set aside, potions bottled, and flames turned off, the students awaiting your final instruction. 

 

“Before I let you all go, I’m going to select a potion to use for demonstration.”

 

Several hands shot up, followed by ‘oohs’ and ‘use mine’ at least from those confident their potion was perfect. You let your eyes wander around the room, pretending to weigh your options.

 

“Let’s see,” you began. “Eeny meeny miny—Neville.”

 

All eyes snapped to the boy, who, despite your assistance earlier, tensed up in reflex, thinking he was going to get picked on or degraded in front of the class. You held your hand out for his bottled potion. He gave it to you slowly, his own hand trembling from nervousness. You popped the cork off and undid your hair from when you had tied it up earlier, letting the locks hang down. Making sure not to let your lips touch the rim, you waterfalled a portion into your mouth and swallowed. The class waited in bated breath, as did Neville, but two shades paler.

 

Five seconds later, you felt your scalp tingle, and your hair shot up towards the ceiling. Surely, you looked like a cartoon character in a comic book, dramatically reacting to something scary. The glass giggled and clapped for you and Neville, a smile spreading onto his face as he blushed.

 

“Well done, Neville. I give you an EE. The taste could be a bit sharper with just a little more powdered Billywig stingers. But still, well done. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

 

His friends clapped him on the back, murmuring praise, and the boy's expression shifted to one of shock. He had never earned points in potions before. To Neville, it always felt like Snape had a vendetta against him, like Snape wanted him to fail just so he had a punching bag. But you had guided him without judgment, encouraging him, and he had succeeded. It was overwhelming, to say the least. 

 

The bell thrummed deeply through the dungeon walls.

 

“Alright, that’s it for today. And according to Professor Snape, your homework for tonight, due on Monday, is…” You picked up the lesson plan for third-years. “Ten inches of parchment on the Hair Raising potion and to review pages 289 to 299 to prepare for next week.”

 

Stools scraped and bags rustled as they all got their schoolwork together and moved their final results to the requested location.

 

“Thanks, Y/N!”

 

“You’re a great teacher!”

 

“I wish we could have you again!”

 

“See you around!”

 

They all bid you goodbye, trotting out the door, stomachs no doubt rumbling in anticipation of lunch. At least you thought that was all of them. With your back turned to the door as you neatened up the array of newly placed potions, you flinched when you felt a pair of arms wrap around you from behind.

 

“Thank you,” Neville mumbled.

 

You felt your heart pound from the surprise, but it quickly relaxed when you realized it was just Neville. You reached a hand behind you and tussled his hair. “No worries, Neville.”

 

“Really. I-I mean it,” he said, pulling away, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the fact that he had just hugged you. “I-I usually dread coming to Potions, but today was actually…great,” he managed to utter in a jumble, shifting his weight awkwardly with a small boyish smile.

 

“I was merely treating you all the way I believe you should be treated. Nothing extravagant. But I am glad I was able to ease you today.” You tilted your head curiously at him. “I can't help but ask, as the twins mentioned something similar to me, but did you feel more at ease because you didn’t have Professor Snape breathing down your neck?”

 

Neville flushed pink, nodding.

 

“Hm. This weekend, would you like it if I taught you a potion? See how you do again in a less overwhelming environment?”

 

He beamed. “Yeah…Yeah! That’d be great! What potion?”

 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” You flicked your chin at the door. “You should go to lunch now. I’m sure your friends are waiting for you to catch up.” 

 

With one last grateful ‘thank you’ whispered under his breath, he bounded out the door, his footfalls growing quieter and fading into the distance as he caught up with his housemates. You let out a soft sigh. Finally, alone. The lessons, over. It was only three classes, and yet you felt drained. It felt entirely different from when you were teaching as Snape. You didn’t need to maintain a facade, adjust your mannerisms, be measuredly more callous, sneer, and scowl… It was just you. A more professional version, but still, you. It was rather like a mass tutoring session in that way, instructing in your own style, with the intent of teaching effectively.

 

You paced leisurely about the room, tucking stools back where they belonged, rearranging cauldrons on a drying rack for more effective cleaning, throwing away balled up bits of scrap paper or discarded notes detailing secret messages to friends, and wiping down the stations of any residual liquids and powders.

 

The warm water of the basin faucet running over your hands triggered another palpable wave of fatigue in you as you cleaned the last few discarded tools in the sink. After three classes in a row, the thought of going to the Great Hall for lunch, a place filled with chattering students and noisy cutlery, filled you with dread. Honestly, you’d rather sneak food from the kitchen and go take a nap to recharge during your free period that followed lunch. Your social battery was dead, and you needed quiet. Solitude. With the growing ringing in your ears from all the noise of the classes you just had, it was a wonder that Snape didn’t eat every meal in his office.

 

And these clothes… 

 

You began tugging at them, as if they were suddenly suffocating you. You needed to get out of these damn clothes. Out of the skirt. Into pants.

 

Crossing the room swiftly, you flung the door open, turning quickly to close it behind you before intending to set off down the corridor, but almost ran into Professor Snape again, who was about three strides away from the door himself. He raised a brow at your sudden exit from the classroom. 

 

“You weren’t in the Great Hall—” he started to say, but you didn’t let him finish, pressing your lips into a thin line, trying to fight the heaviness in your mind, and moving around him. You knew why he was there, to ask why you weren’t at lunch yet and how classes had gone, but you didn’t want a conversation. Not now. Not yet. 

 

“Not now,” you uttered out hurriedly. But he saw the conflict on your face, despite you ducking your head down. 

 

“Miss—” He reached a hand out to stop you, but it only grazed your arm as you dodged further and began to jog away. 

 

“Later, okay..?!” You called back over your shoulder, refusing to let your voice warble in any way. “Just…later…!” Your voice echoed off the dungeon corridor as you disappeared from his sight around a corner, leaving him standing there, confused as ever.

 

Your hands clenched and unclenched, the ringing in your ears getting louder, the skirt swishing more frantically as your pace hadn’t slowed. A few of the older students who lingered around the entrance to the common room greeted you, but you had ignored them, muttering the password and slipping in through the door without even an acknowledging nod. As soon as the door to your room shut, your movements became hasty, almost frenzied as you removed your, untying the corseted portion of the skirt and shimmying it off, practically tearing off the black tights and blouse and throwing the borrowed clothes on to the chair until you were left standing in your underwear, panting as the cool air rippled over your skin.

 

With the clothes off, you felt some heaviness in your mind shed off too, your heartbeat calming, and the ringing dying down too as you exhaled a shuddering breath. You weren’t in the right mindset to where those clothes to begin with and the only reason it came roaring back was because there was nothing else to distract you after the last class ended. Now, you could be alone and rest. Think properly.

 

You swallowed thickly, eyeing your bed with deep longing as you plodded over to it and slipped under the thick covers, tucking and cocooning yourself with Runey in your clutches, letting the compression soothe you into a state of calmness. And as you inhaled the faint scent of vanilla, nuzzling into the stuffed runespoor, you felt sleep overtake you, lulling you away from your thoughts of earlier and away from reality entirely.

***

 

The quill rocked lazily in Severus's hand as he stared down at the grade sheet before him, observing the results of today’s lessons in Potions. It was the start of his own free period now, Dumbledore getting back just in time to resume the rest of the DADA classes, so he thought he’d check to see how his students fared. They had all done adequately, not a single poorly brewed potion to be found amongst the younger years. It both filled him with pride for your teaching ability and his Slytherins, but also brewed suspicion because even Longbottom had produced a potion of decency. Not only that, but you gave him not just an A, but an EE. At first, he thought you might’ve just been generous, and perhaps that generosity bled into all the other grades. Not even he had a day in all of his nearly two decades of teaching where at least one student didn’t produce an inadequate potion. He thought back to how the clumsy boy didn’t even flinch or shrink away as he usually did when they had the misfortune of passing each other. No, the boy was on cloud nine, grinning amongst his friends who had commented about the pleasantness of Potions today. Severus even checked for himself, and harrumphed at the correct consistency, color, smell, and effect, the only issue being the taste. 

 

And damn it, as much as it pained him to admit, you had been right to give him that grade.

 

Now, he thought of you, how you dodged him today, ten minutes into lunch. He sensed deep uncertainty from you, and the strained expression of your face told him something was wrong, or that something had happened. You left no notes for him about any unruly behavior or disrespectful comments from the students. But something had happened to make you go all avoidant on him. 

 

A knock echoed from the classroom door, stealing his attention momentarily. It was either you, another older student with a free period, Sprout or Fillius wanting to know how today went. “Enter,” he called loud enough from the desk in his quarter, his voice carrying through the open office door.

 

He could hear the classroom door open with a clunk, followed by a few hesitant footsteps.

 

“...Hello?” 

 

He recognized your voice, wondering where he was. “In here,” he answered, setting the quill down and rising from his personal desk, clasping his hands together behind his back. The patter of your shoes grew closer until you stood on the threshold of his office. His eyes flit over your form, noting how you changed from the teaching outfit forced upon you back into your school uniform. Your demeanor was more relaxed in comparison to earlier, your face calm, and a certain lightness radiating from you. However, he detected a touch of nervousness.

 

Your hand gripped your wrist more tightly behind your back, an apology for avoiding him earlier, sitting on the tip of your tongue. And when you opened your mouth to speak—

 

Guuuuuuurrrrrrggggllllllleeee…..

 

You blushed at the embarrassingly loud growl your stomach had let out, a result of you missing lunch. You were going to go into the kitchens after you woke up from your nap, but you wanted to get this conversation with Snape out of the way first. He offered you an unimpressed look, raising his eyebrow.

 

“You didn’t eat lunch,” he accused without any actual malice in his tone.

 

“No,” you responded meekly, fidgeting with the buttons of your shirt.

 

Severus huffed with a light roll of his eyes. Of course you didn’t. “Woodsy,” he called aloud to the air. A house-elf appeared in a crack some feet away, wearing a black tunic and what you could classify as equally dark pants that hid the knobby knees and lower half of the house-elf's body.

 

“Yes, Professor Snape?” Its voice was mellow, not high-pitched like Dobby’s, but not exactly ancient and gravelly either. 

 

“Fetch another plate for Miss Y/N,” he instructed. The house-elf looked at you, only just now registering your presence. It bowed to you, murmuring an ‘of course’ before disappearing again.

 

Your fingers picked at the side of your pants amidst the silence once more. “I’m sorry…for earlier.”

 

He tilted his head a bit, waiting for you to continue. And you did. 

 

“I was…very uncomfortable with the clothes and needed to get out of them, and I was tired, and hungry.” Your hand rose and began to scratch at one of your scars while your gaze fell to the floor. “And teaching three classes in a row without much of a break drained my social battery, and the thought of even talking to someone or eating in the Great Hall where it’s loud—”

 

He cut off your ramble by closing the distance between you both, his large hand covering yours and drawing it away from your head.

 

“Don’t scratch,” Severus scolded quietly. He followed this by lightly moving you to the side so he could shut the door behind you. “And you hardly have anything to apologize for,” he said as he moved back to where he originally stood.

 

“I just…thought you might’ve been miffed. Without context, I could see how it might’ve been…rude,” you breathed out.

 

“Evidently, I caught you in a moment when you were overwhelmed.” He turned. “That’s not your fault. It’s not as though you cursed me out.”

 

You bit the inside of your cheek, reluctantly nodding in acceptance that your behavior wasn’t offensive to him after all. “Still feel a bit pathetic,” you nearly whispered. 

 

The house-elf reappeared by your side, tugging at your pant leg to get your attention. You looked down and took the plate from it, bidding it with a ‘thank you, sir’ before it departed with another bow.

 

“Have a seat,” he gestured with a cock of his head toward the sitting area, before he paced into the kitchens.

 

You claimed one end of the triple-cushioned couch, allowing him the choice of the armchair or the other end of the couch. The sound of ceramic clinked in the kitchen, and you guessed he was making tea or something, and you were proven right when he returned shortly with two mugs in his hand. You didn’t actually like tea, but…it was his tea, and you guessed making it for others was something of a rarity…so you drank it. 

 

“I presume you had a nap earlier?” Severus asked, sending the cup over to you with magic, the tea landing carefully on the coffee table in front of you. His eyes flicked to the available seating left, and he chose the armchair adjacent and closer to you.

 

“How’d you know?” You answered, swallowing your current bite of food.

 

“You seem more well-rested than you did this morning. And you have pillow creases on your face,” he declared, settling into the armchair.

 

You reached a hand up, fingers feeling along your face, and snorted. Indeed, there were creases on your face, especially your left cheek.

 

“Uh…yeah,” you chuckled easily. “As soon as I got out of those clothes, I pretty much crawled into bed right after and woke up when free period had just started.”

 

Seeing you smile, if only for a moment, made him feel better. Plus, he was able to get what he wanted, even if it wasn’t the original plan, which was you, in his office for lunch. Today was one of those days when he also didn’t want to deal with the noisiness of the Great Hall and let his mind settle in the privacy of his office. And in his mind, the ideal outcome…may or may not have included your presence. Being around you calmed him. He would’ve convinced you to remain in his classroom or office on the basis that he needed you to tell him how classes went, and it would’ve somehow ended up with you eating here too. He thought that the chance had slipped through his hands as a result of your worn state, but thankfully, you hadn’t eaten, and he was only pretending to be somewhat disappointed when your stomach rumbled loudly.

 

“And it’s not pathetic,” he stated softly.

 

“Hm…?”

 

“What you said earlier. To feel that way. I frequently escape to the dungeons to avoid…socializing after classes. Especially with meals…”

 

“Oh… I see…” you nodded commiseratively, looking down at your plate, a bit surprised that he revealed that part about himself to you.

 

“Tell me how the classes went,” you heard him say, quickly changing the subject before it could be picked apart.

 

“They went well…” You hesitated ever so slightly to continue as you felt the pressure of legillimency between your brows. He began to pull images relevant to your answers to the front of your mind. He wanted to see how you taught today. “Ehm…many of them were thrilled to find out I was teaching today. No one misbehaved, they all paid attention in the lecture portions, there were no mishaps with the cauldrons, they cleaned up without needing me to tell them to, no one brewed anything inadequate, at least in my opinion… A few needed a bit more guidance than others, but still, no bad performances.”

 

In your mind's eye, he saw the way you had provided plenty of opportunities to earn points in the lecture portion, politely corrected students when their techniques were off, and giving them all room to breathe, circling the perimeter of the classroom and every so often flitting to each table like a bee would, hovering from flower to flower. He also saw the way you aided Neville, giving him enough guidance to show him where he was mistaken and allowing him to continue on his own with confidence he had never seen from the boy.

 

“Well done, Neville. I give you an EE. The taste could be a bit sharper with just a little more powdered Billywig stingers. But still, well done. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

 

Severus pulled himself from your mind, frowning into his mug. “You gave Gryffindor too many points…” he muttered.

 

You took another bite of food, tilting your head in mock curiosity at him. Is that how you want to play, Professor? “What makes you think I gave them points?” you offered with a smirk.

 

He tensed, just enough for you to see it, his eyes flicking subtly at nothing as he searched the air for an explanation. “I passed by the house points on my way down here. They’ve earned more than they usually do.” A lie, but one he knew you wouldn’t be able to nitpick.

 

‘An obvious lie,’ you thought. But whatever. He can have it his way. You shrugged nonchalantly, “Someone had to cushion the inevitable loss of points in your classes this morning.” You felt him side-eye you when you said that, but you continued, setting your plate down on your lap. “How was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

 

Severus lowered his mug, reflecting on this morning’s lessons, a mix of theory and practicals. He much preferred teaching the practicals when it came to DADA, as the act of lecturing was almost all the same for any class. When it came to demonstrating spells, however, it felt satisfying in a way that stroked his ego, made him feel like a student again when he succeeded in performing or inventing a new spell in private. Only this time he had eyes on him watching in curiosity. In veneration.

 

“It was…different from Potions,” was all he said at first. 

 

“And?” you prompted.

 

“And it was a…satisfying few hours of teaching. Less noise, no cauldron fumes making the room feel muggy,” he murmured. “The fifth-years learned about Ghouls and protective enchantments, the seventh-years received a lecture on concealment charms, and the lesson with the sixth years was particularly constructive—”

 

“Oh wait, don’t tell me,” you scrunched your eyes close, thinking back to what you learned last year. “Sixth year—late April—something with spells… Ehm—Oh! Nonverbal duelling!” You opened your eyes with a patient grin, waiting to hear if you were correct or not.

 

“That’s correct,” he replied. “I had them pair off and practice casting against one another, though I’m fairly certain some of them only succeeded by whispering the spell beneath their breath.”

 

“Ah, I see. And when you say ‘pair off,’ was it with partners of their choosing or did you put Gryffindor students against Slytherin students?”

 

The two of you stared at one another, a knowing beat of silence passing through the air.

 

“There is nothing wrong with fostering friendly competition between house rivals…” he answered with a subtle smirk. 

 

You laughed, rubbing at your eyes. “Constructive lesson my ass . You just wanted to watch some Gryffindors get thrown around like rag dolls.”

 

“If they don’t want to get knocked around, perhaps they should cast their spells better,” he claimed matter-of-factly with light teasing in his tone.

 

You scoffed quietly with a smile, looking to the fireplace. “You’re ridiculous…”

 

“As are you. I never gave you permission to give points, let alone to Gryffindor.”  

 

He wasn’t actually mad at you at that moment. It was only pretend. A little teasing.

 

“No, you didn’t not give me permission to give points. That’s an entirely different thing,” you declared triumphantly, and of course, he rolled his eyes at that. 

 

“As I said: Ridiculous woman…”

 

You reached for your mug, using it as a means to hide the growing grin on your face and the blush that crept up your neck. It was rare for the two of you to ever talk in private like this unless it was a weekend or for brewing Wolfsbane. You missed the thinly veiled jabs amongst the quietude and comfort of his office, too occupied with studying and watching distantly over Lupin. It was a shame, there wouldn’t be many of these opportunities left, except in letters. Oh yes, you planned on bothering him through mail after you graduated, and you hoped he would be accepting of it, too. You had accepted the fact that his affecting of you meant your subconscious had finally deemed him to be significant enough to you that you weren’t just going to let him go when you left Hogwarts. Maybe you’d meet up with him now and then, if he ever had the time. 

 

You hope he would want to, anyway…

 

Severus carefully observed the way you bashfully hid your smile behind the tea and the way your ankles rolled from side to side in contentment. The fact that you were even smiling… You had no idea what it did to him inside, to know that you were enjoying yourself here, in his office, just talking. Both of you had done this before, and in the past, he had thought, ‘Of course, she wasn’t uncomfortable with it, otherwise it wouldn’t keep happening.’ But to see you enjoying the moment, enjoying being in… his… company, it expelled doubts that crept on him now and then; doubts such as ‘she only tolerates you’ or ‘this only happens because she’s afraid to tell you “no,”’ and so on. He wished these moments would happen more often, but he was a busy man. 

 

And you’d be graduating soon…

 

There was a twinge of sadness in his chest. You’d be gone, running around in your Muggle clothes, enjoying life, doing great things with your magic. Would your future, outside these walls, spare any room, even just a scrap of thought, for him? Letters even? He should be so lucky to ever hear from you once you leave Hogwarts. Would you even want to hear from him? How did the international mailing system even work?

 

He could only hope that you’d want to hear from him.

***

 

“Attention, all students, please return to your dormitories at once. Prefects, please lead any housemates in your vicinity to back to your common rooms and remain there until further instructed.”

 

Something bad was going to happen. Something terrible and out of your control was going to take place.

 

Chapter 66: Lupin's Labyrinth

Summary:

A potion wasted, a transformation gone wrong... Who will save the day?

Notes:

Ya'll know I had to do it.

ALSO. I will be making edits to some past chapters, inserting some memories regarding reader's father. I have a chapter coming up that I feel won't read very well unless I make some additions. I'm sorry if this annoys anyone and interupts the flow of what we've come to know. Thus is the consequence of making up a story as I go, ay ya y ay... But, this will also be good for those who stumble across the series for the first time. At the time of writing this note, I've edited three chapters so far: 4, 12, and 25! I'll have more edited when the next chapter is put out, and of course, I'll let ya'll know what has been edited like I have with this note.

Anyways, enjoy this chapter!

“Attention, all students. Please seek shelter in the nearest classrooms, offices, or common rooms. Anyone who is already in a safe location should lock the doors and remain in place until instructed otherwise. I repeat, do not roam the halls, lock the doors, and keep safe.”

 

It was so sudden, the way your unfounded anxiety had come rushing back to you when Dumbledore’s booming voice echoed all throughout the castle. The day proceeded normally after you eventually left Professor Snape’s office, using the rest of your free period to catch up on your missed lessons and attend your two remaining classes. Dinner was uneventful as well, and you had eventually found yourself in your common room, studying with a few older housemates, trying to get a jump on homework that had been assigned to be finished over the weekend. Your hand was beginning to cramp, fingers smudged with pen ink, when a thick magic seemed to permeate the air, making your skin crawl. And then, the sound of Dumbledore’s voice echoed through the castle, his voice reaching every corner and cranny as if he were speaking to all of you in your heads.

 

All eyes met, flicking, locking, searching for clarity. Of course, the natural reaction was doubt. Was something actually happening? Was there a real threat present in Hogwarts? Or was this a sick joke cooked up by a mischievous student? Maybe Peeves had managed to steal someone’s wand at was trying to stir up trouble?

 

Lock the doors?

 

Seek shelter?

 

Don’t roam the halls?

 

“H/G/N?” Someone asked the head girl, who was studying along with you. “What’s going on?”

 

But she did not respond, not immediately, at least. Quickly abandoning her work, she ran over to the common room doors, throwing them open and looking frantically out into the hall. She spotted in the distance, a few students who were already nearby wandering around, doubling back with newfound urgency, H/G/N motioning to hurry toward her. They jogged past her, looking around with the same confusion everyone else possessed, the same questions no doubt running through their head.

 

“Don’t close the doors yet,” one of them insisted, panting slightly. “There are more nearby.” 

 

She nodded, fully stepping out into the hall now, nervously spinning her wand in her grip. 

 

The once calm and quiet Friday evening had become unsettling, with no new information following Dumbledore’s announcement, not a single bit of clarity. One by one, more students of all ages began to return within the next ten minutes, before it was collectively agreed upon by those present that the doors would be shut after the number of students that had returned waned. The rest had likely sought shelter in other locations in the dungeons, or maybe with the Hufflepuffs.

 

“Everyone!” H/G/N called. “Out of your dorms, out of the bathrooms. We need to do a headcount and determine who is missing.” 

 

Students peeked out from their rooms, where they originally went to calm down, and collected in the common room, all of you arranging yourself by year. She went around the room with a piece of paper and quill, jotting down the names of those currently absent. 

 

“Sir Lazarus,” a seventh-year prefect asked the one portrait who was displayed near the fireplace. Sir Lazarus was a French swordsman with long, luxurious, brown, curly locks, an elegant mustache that curled into thin tips, and donned purple and silver robes, complete with a feather hat. He sat in a chair, sharpening his sword as if preparing for a battle. “Do any of the paintings near your other portrait know anything?”

 

“Hmm…” Sir Lazarus perked up, leaning his head toward the outside of his frame. “I don’t know, Mademoiselle. But the other paintings are very disturbed! Animals are growling, babies are crying, and the men are whispering amongst themselves. What has them all so upset, I cannot say.”

 

‘It’s Lupin. It has to be Lupin,’ you realized, rubbing at your heart, trying to calm your pulse. The timing was too coincidental. It’s the full moon, the last day he needed to drink his Wolfsbane, and something happens that makes Dumbledore send out a castle-wide announcement? It had to be. Had he missed the window to drink his Wolfsbane? Did he drop the potion? Is he in the DADA classroom right now, tearing up the furniture? 

 

What about Black? He’s usually there. What if…he is stuck there with him?

 

What if Lupin had gotten to him already and mauled him? Or did Black manage to take shelter in Lupin’s office?

 

Or worse…what is Lupin transformed and got out of the classroom? What if he were roaming the upper floors right now? What if he had gotten to a student?

 

Meanwhile, the Slytherins’ clamoring increased.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“Is there another boggart in the castle?”

 

“Did someone break into the castle?”

 

“Is this a drill?”

 

“Did Peeves do something stupid again?”

H/G/N’s jaw was stuck in a lowered position as she tried to come up with a response that would suffice. “I don’t know what is going on at the moment, but if Dumbledore says we should remain here, then here is where we will remain.”

 

It did not have the intended effect, the concerns shifting into demands for answers.

 

“What about my brother? He’s in Astronomy!”

 

“And my little sister! She’s usually hanging around her friends on the upper floors right now!”

 

“My friends went to Hufflepuff to—”

 

 And you, you were spiralling just as much, your mind automatically going to the twins.

 

Where were they? 

 

badump-badump-badump

 

Were they safe?

 

Badump-badump-badump

 

What if Lupin ripped the painting off the Gryffindor common room and got to the twins and everyone else?

 

Badump-Badump-Badump

 

Or were they already dead?

 

BADUMP-BADUMP-BADUMP

 

And Black…what was—

 

“Y/N!” H/G/N's voice pulled you out of your head. You inhaled sharply, catching her eyes and shoving your trembling hands into your sweatshirt pockets. 

 

“Yeah?” you replied quietly.

 

“You got to teach for a little today. Do you have any idea what’s going on? Did the professors mention anything at all to you?” 

 

All eyes focused on you, a glimmer of hope flashing across their faces, a chance for answers.

 

Yes. Professor Lupin’s a werewolf. He’s probably running around the castle. Sirius Black might be dead. Students may be injured or mauled. 

 

“...No,” you breathed. They all deflated. “But…I don’t imagine Hogwarts would go on lockdown unless their a real danger present. This is not a prank.”

 

H/G/N visibly shuddered. A heavy silence blanketed the air because to them, the person who they considered to be the eyes and ears of the castle, not knowing what was going on, unsettled them.

 

“So we're just…supposed to sit here and do nothing?” A sixth-year asked aloud, vacantly. 

 

Devastated looks were exchanged. Some of them had siblings and friends unaccounted for at this very moment, wondering if they were safe from this undetermined threat that had them all seeking refuge in the common room. 

 

“Surely we can do something! Can’t you prefects go out together and find a teacher to tell you what’s wrong?”

 

“No,” H/G/N shook her head. For all we know, this threat could be in the dungeons as we speak. It’s too big a risk.”

 

“But—”

 

“No one…leaves…the common room,” she commanded, almost in a hiss. “I’m aware, well aware, of what you all are thinking about now, about your friends or siblings, but the bottom line is we don’t know what we are up against here, and I will not allow you to put yourselves in danger by disobeying Dumbledore. Whatever it is could be life-threatening,” she exhorted. “So everyone just…sit tight. We’ll get through this.”

 

No one argued it anymore, resigning to the fate of being left in the dark, not knowing what was happening beyond the door, if their friends were safe… Everyone broke off into groups, some attempting to resume homework to take their minds off the threat, some attempting to go to bed early as it eventually reached curfew. A few struggled to hold back fearful tears for unaccounted family or friends from Slytherin and other houses. About twenty Slytherins were missing, presumably hunkering down in abandoned classrooms, the library, or with staff.

 

You had isolated yourself in your room, trying to control the anxiety that was practically rocketing as you sat on your bed, hugging Runey to yourself. Something in you, some doubtful voice, nagged that Black played a role in Lupin’s failure to consume his Wolfsbane. It’s not as though one forgets something so important, so vital in their day-to-day life. Black mentioned drinking the last time you saw them, right before Lupin consumed his potion…

 

You swear if they both got drunk—

 

Knock knock knock.

 

Someone rapped on your door, the sound of it distant and muffled in your hazy mind and your heart pounding. You didn’t say anything, didn’t grant whoever it was entrance nor deny them, only running your hands over your face, trying to control your shaky breathing. Nevertheless, the door opened. H/G/N stood in the corner of your vision, changed out of her school clothes and into what you presumed to be pajamas or loungewear. 

 

“Hey,” she greeted. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

 

You inhaled deeply, willing your heart to slow for just a few seconds, and nodded against your hands. H/G/N closed the door behind her, playing with a piece of her hair, but after really looking at you for a bit longer, she frowned, noting how you had your face buried in your hands.

 

“Are you alright?” She questioned lightly, taking a few measured steps toward you.

 

“M’ managing…” You muttered, still covering your face. “Just worried about the twins. What…What did you want to talk about?”

 

An apprehensive expression made its way onto her face, pressing her lips together and crossing her arms. “I know I asked you earlier, but I thought I’d ask again in private. Do you have even an inkling of what’s happening? Even a suspicion?”

 

“I don’t know what’s happening. But…they wouldn’t send us to the common rooms like this unless our safety or lives are threatened, like if a dark wizard or creature got into the castle…” You began to tremble, your voice cracking. “I’m afraid for the twins. I know they love to wander around the castle at night. I have no idea if they made it back to their common room or not. And even if they did, the only protection the Gryffindor common room has is a painting.”

 

Her eyes softened at you, but the face she wore was still very serious, taking in your suggestion of what was possibly happening beyond the doors of the Slytherin common room. She climbed onto the bed, crisscrossing herself behind you, running her fingers through your hair, gathering it up, and beginning to French braid it to distract you from your obvious distress. 

 

“Dumbledore is one of the world’s most powerful wizards in history. Whatever it is that’s happening, I’m sure he and the teachers can handle it. At least, I can say that we Slytherins are safer in this labyrinth-like part of the castle.” Her fingers deftly twisted the sections of hair. “But I understand why you’re worried, Del is stressed about her youngers siblings. She and the others are “soothing their nerves” in front of the fireplace with a bottle of firewhiskey.”

 

You snorted, your state of momentary amusement bringing a smile to the head girl’s face as she finished off the rest of your hair. 

 

“You know…you can join us out there. You don’t have to wallow alone here. There’s no consequences for being hungover on a weekend either.”

 

“I’m not much of a drinker. You know this.”

 

“True, but maybe one drink will help you relax. Ease all the thoughts roaring behind those eyes of yours.” Her eyes searched your desk for some kind of tie or scrunchie. “You have a hair tie?”

 

Your hand automatically went to your bedside drawer and pulled out the snake cuffs Professor Snape had gotten you. You hadn’t worn them much since the biting incident, but you were in no mood to reflect on it anymore.

 

“Oh, cute!” H/G/N took one of them, feeding the end of the braid through it and pushing the cuff up until it sat securely, holding your hair in place. “Join us if you want. No pressure.” She squeezed your shoulders, removing herself from your bed and leaving you by yourself. Your eyes drifted from the door to different points in your room, your mind lost, that terrible feeling of helplessness clawing at you, sending your thoughts into darker realms. And sitting here, entertaining such thoughts certainly wasn't helping you cope.

 

Maybe a drink would help.

 

You padded out of your room, noting the heavy quietude of the common room. The only people present were a handful of seventh years, about eight of them sitting around the lounging area by the fireplace. The rest of the students were either asleep, trying to sleep, or sought privacy in their own dorms to do their worrying for the night. The eight of them, H/G/N included, all held cups to themselves.. Del looked as though she had just finished crying her eyes out, lids puffy and the whites now pink. The others didn’t look much better, older brothers and sisters with grim expressions, their minds thinking of younger family members who may or may not be safe. The Slytherin keeper, Silas, was among them too, his eyes locked onto the floor, gripping his cup with both hands, slouched in an armchair. He had a younger brother and sister, the brother in Slytherin, the sister in Hufflepuff. He didn’t know where either of them was.

 

H/G/N smiled weakly at your arriving presence, trying to keep everyone's hopes up, but the situation had taken its toll.

 

“All of you are missing siblings?” you murmured aloud. None of them responded verbally, only sniffing or nodding melancholically. 

 

“Lazarus still hasn’t heard anything,” H/G/N informed, clenching her fists in frustration. “This is what happens when we only have one painting. We’re cut off from the rest of the castle. We don’t know anything. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw have at least five. They probably know exactly what’s happening while we’re left to stew.”

 

They grew silent, all eyes locked to the floor in devastation, tracing the rims of their cups. 

 

And you couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“This has gone on long enough,” you declared, striding into your room. H/G/N and the others looked up curiously, listening to the sounds of loud rummaging as you yanked open the drawers of your potion stores, slotted beneath your bed, glass vials and jars clinking loudly. You returned with just as much urgency in your steps. 

 

“Y/N? What are you doing?’

 

“I’m going to help.” You drew your wand to your side.

 

“What?! No, I can’t let you go out there—”

 

“I’m not,” you interjected, producing a few potion vials. They all blinked in bewilderment, watching you settle on the floor against the sofa that faced the fireplace, snatching a throw pillow and placing it beneath your rear. “I’m about to try something very risky, and by risky, I mean I could have a seizure, a stroke, maybe even a heart attack.”

 

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” H/G/N asked, concern lacing her voice.

 

“I’m going to send Runey to help the teachers with whatever is going on, but there’s no way I can do it naturally, not with my current mood. However…there might be a way to…force it. An experimental way.”

 

“Force it? How?”

 

“Elixir of Euphoria. I’ve never tried making Runey solid with the potion in my system before, but now is as good a time as any. I’ll also need to take a vial of Wide-Eye as well to keep me awake. I can’t risk falling asleep and losing focus. But…these potions are both stimulants, and combining them may have fatal results, but the dosage isn’t a lot, so I could be fine…”

 

“Y/N, no, you shouldn’t—”

 

“I’m doing this. I can’t sit here wondering if the people I care about are hurt or not. I can’t watch you all be miserable as well. Better I get hurt than dozens of other students…”

 

H/G/N was speechless, torn between wanting to tell you that this act of selflessness wasn’t worth it and thanking you for giving them some hope by volunteering to help. The others, despite your warning of this combination of potions, seemed to be in support of it, scooching away from where you sat to give you some space. 

 

“Patrick, I need your tie, please,” you declared, holding your hand out. He nodded, removing his tie obediently and placing it in your hand. “I am going to summon my patronus now. No one is to talk to me, touch me, or distract me in any way once he is solid and until he returns to me.” 

 

H/G/N nodded reluctantly, as did the others.

 

You tied the tie around your head, sitting on your forehead as you summoned Runey. It was shaky, and took you three attempts with a powerful enough memory of you and Ada, and even when you finally got him out, he was ghostly. You sent him off to the side, phasing through the glass that separated you all from the Black Lake, and watched you, glowing dimly. Popping the corks off the two vials, you downed them in quick succession, licking your lips.

 

Your blood practically vibrated, the potions quickly taking effect as your eyes opened more, a faint ringing in your ears, and a smile pulling on your face, a snicker escaping you. Runey glowed more intensely, shining brighter and brighter with blueish-white light, illuminating the dark water around him until finally, his outline snapped with perfect clarity, even pressing his snoots against the glass to show that he was solid.

 

“It worked,” a disingenuous chuckle escaped you, and the fact that this had worked did fill you with some genuine happiness. You took a third vial from your pocket and offered it to H/G/N. “If I start convulsing or have a seizure, force this down my throat. It’s Draught of Living Death.”

 

“O-Okay…” she replied, holding the vial carefully. “Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?”

 

“100% positive. If anyone gets hurt or dies tonight, and I didn’t do anything to stop it, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

 

And with that, you cast a spell around your head, deafening yourself to the world, missing the way H/G/N murmured ‘good luck’ to you as you pulled the makeshift blindfold down over your eyes. 

 

Alright, bubba. Listen to me carefully. Professor Lupin has turned into a werewolf and is on the loose. You know Professor Lupin. He is our friend we see on the weekends. You know his scent. Right now, he looks a little different, but his soul still smells the same to you. I’m going to send you to Dumbledore. Break whatever windows or doors you need to. When you meet him, tell him, “I’m safe in the common room. Runey is at your disposal.” You are to listen to him. Do as he says. If he sends you to find Professor Lupin, you are to capture him only, not kill. Do not use your fangs. And do not let any harm fall on students or teachers if you can help it. If you capture Lupin, take him to the Whomping Willow, and make sure he goes through the burrow. You know the layout of the school. My knowledge is your knowledge. Go now…

 

Runey rumbled to himself, air bubbles streaming out his nostrils as he did so, and swam upwards, disappearing from the others’ view. And as Runey moved further and further toward his mission, you let yourself fall deeper into happy fuelling memories, lost in the sound of Ada’s quiet laughter.

 

***

 

“How did this happen?”

 

“Where is he?”

 

“We had an argument, the potion spilled—”

 

“Why wasn’t the door locked?’

 

“Oh, the students! We need to warn the students—”

 

The earlier frantic shouts and questions swarmed the Headmaster's head, his mind addled with fear for the students as his focus remained pinned to the Marauder’s Map. He stood in the wreckage of the classroom, the desks toppled over, papers strewn about, claw marks scratching along the wooden floor, a result of Lupin’s transformation and confrontation with Sirius Black. The two men had a drink in the evening, by all means, not a crime, but it still had an impact. Sirius, with a loosened tongue, said something foolish. He knew the man certainly had a knack for wagging his tongue. From what he understood, Lupin took offense, and the two bickered. 

 

And then, the potion Lupin had been nursing spilled. A knock of the desk, a slip of the fingers, neither of them quite remembered in the moment. The potion was gone, wasted, sealing Lupin’s fate, and they hadn't realized it was the potion that had spilled and not a glass of firewhiskey until it was too late. 

 

Far too many names floated around the map to keep his apprehension about the situation at bay. The students had done as instructed, hunkering down in spaces like the library, classrooms, offices, and common rooms to keep safe. However, those in abandoned classrooms were still at risk. Lupin could pick up on their scents and break into the rooms, maul them, kill them… As soon as he received a patronus from Black, he sent out the castle-wide announcement and summoned all heads of houses to the DADA classroom, as they were the ones allowed to apparate within the castle. And now, he watched them move on the map. 

 

His instructions were clear. He assigned each of them a handful of students to retrieve and get to safety. He sent Black to assist Minerva, Fillius went with Pomona, and Severus insisted he’d be alright on his own. Upon finding a student, they were to apparate them to their respective classrooms until all were retrieved.

 

He knew what the students might be thinking. They were curious. They were afraid. They were worried after classmates, siblings, friends… Hufflepuff and Slytherin didn’t have as many portraits as the other common rooms did, no solid lines of communication, and likely wouldn’t know anything until the morning. They all must be terrified.

 

Then, something rattled against the closed windows of the DADA classroom, causing Dumbledore to look up from the map and eye them, listening. Waiting. 

 

BOOM!

 

It was like a battering ram had struck the wooden shutters, and they flew inwards, smashing the glass window to pieces, the shutters splintering and falling off the frames completely. And there, hovering on the other side, staring at Dumbledore with curious, beady eyes, was Zeus.

 

“Runey,” Dumbledore called aloud.

 

Zeus pushed his way through the window, wiggling and squeezing until he got just enough of himself inside to be at the same level as Dumbledore. The old wizard placed a palm on his snoot as Zeus opened his mouth.

 

“....I ..I..m…sssa…aaafe i..in the co..ommon ro…oom,” the message rang out like a loud disembodied whisper, hissy, but still, your tone was there. “Ru…uney…is…a.at…yo..ur…dispo..osal.” A short, firm message, confirming your safety and informing Dumbledore of the purpose of sending your patronus. You had given him a tool. Assistance. A way to end this threat without further risking the lives of the teachers. After all, werewolves can see in the dark, and the teachers needed to have their wands lowly lit to see what was in front of them. Meaning, Lupin would spot them before they could spot him.

 

“Oh, Y/N,” the headmaster sighed, both in concern and appreciation, stroking the creature, earning him a puff as the headmaster. “Now, which one are you? Themis?...Zeus?”

 

The head rumbled at the name. 

 

“Zeus,” Dumbledore repeated, removing his hand from the head. “The school is in trouble. Professor Lupin is…not himself at the moment and is wandering the grounds.” Dumbledore accio’d Lupin’s now-shredded sweater to himself and offered it to the runespoor. Zeus snuffled it, lapping his tongue over the fabric, getting familiar with the fresh scent. “I need you to find him.” Dumbledore looked at the map. “He is currently on the first floor, the same floor as Severus, and somewhere near the Muggle Studies classroom. Do you know where that is? Do you…understand?”

 

“I..If you ca..apture Lupin ta..ake him to...o the Who..omping Wi..illow, and ma..ake sure he go..oes through the bu..urrow… Yo..ou know the la..ayo.utt of the scho..ool. My kno..owledge is yo..our knowledge…”

 

“Excellent,” Dumbledore breathed, feeling more assured by the creature. “Go now. Find him.”

 

Three floors below Dumbledore, Severus roamed the halls with intense vigilance, the wand from his light kept to the lowest level possible, ears listening, trying to pick up on the faintest breaths or footsteps, and eyes flicking to every crevice, every corner, every armor statue he passed along the way.

 

This whole situation was madness.

 

Despite his fear for the school, for the students, he felt a sense of vindication. He knew that allowing Black around the school would eventually cause trouble, and here it was: the school on lockdown because Black couldn't keep his provocative mouth shut and because he was too cowardly to remember to lock the door to the DADA classroom before hiding in Lupin’s quarters.

 

There were too many students hiding in abandoned classrooms, too many opportunities for Lupin to pounce. He had insisted on going alone, not wanting to think about the safety of an additional person at his side. He had already located five students, apparating them to his classroom for safety. But his apparating stamina wasn’t unlimited. And every time he apparated with his mind occupied by thoughts of students getting mauled, he risked splinching. He could feel it in the way the magic shook around him when he apparated, warning him to focus up or risk injury. But there was hardly any time to think about it, hardly any time to pray that he wouldn’t come face to face with the werewolf roaming the castle.

 

He had to find them.

 

He wouldn’t let any of them get hurt.

 

His next assigned locations were the abandoned classrooms on the first floor. And there were plenty of them. Dumbledore told him nine students in the area were hunkering down in said classrooms. But it was risky. Despite Lupin’s instincts in hunting, catching on to the scents that pervaded the halls, his brain would be telling him to go outside, to follow the beckoning call of the moon to the Forbidden Forest. In other words, Lupin would be moving downstairs.

 

Towards him.

 

Another reason why he insisted on going alone. He didn’t want to risk other teachers’ safety if Lupin managed to descend without encountering the others. And…if he ended up having to use any lethal spells on the lycanthrope, he wouldn't be judged in the moment.

 

The light from his wand caught on to the first unused classroom he could find. A short jiggle of the handle told him it was locked, which likely meant there was a student inside. Good… They had done as instructed.

 

“Alohamora,” he muttered, and the door clicked audibly. And just as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

 

“Flipendo!” 

 

Severus had barely ducked out of the way of the spell, the magic hitting the wall by his head and exploding into shimmering nothingness. He glared at the caster in the near total darkness and could make out a 1st-year Slytherin boy, crouched behind an overturned table, wand aimed directly at him.

 

“Professor Snape?” he gaped.

 

He stuffed down his frustration of nearly being hit by a spell. “Come here, quickly!” he urged in a harsh whisper.

 

“W-what’s going on?” The student asked nervously, trotting out from the furniture.

 

“There’s no time for any questions. Grab onto my arm. Now.”

 

The student furrowed his brows in confusion, but still, he obeyed. The world warped and spun for both of them, the Potions classroom snapping into existence. They both stumbled as their feet hit the floor. ‘That one was barely stable,’ Snape thought to himself. The other students who sat clustered at a potions station whipped their heads over to the two of them. The boy he apparated with barely had time to question what had happened or why he felt like throwing up as he spotted a few familiar faces. He made a beeline for them, wrapping eachother in a fearful and relieved hug as the potion master disappeared once more. 

 

Eight more students.

 

Deeper into the rarely visited corners, further into corridors without intersections, fewer paths to take for escape…

 

His footfalls were perfectly silent, each step a calculated move to keep him hidden as he moved cautiously yet precisely. If Lupin was nearby, one loud scrape of his shoes could mean death. Any portraits in the area remained unmoving, just as afraid to take any damage themselves. Every passing second wound him up further and further, his shoulders rigid, outstretched arm locked in a casting stance.

 

And while he hoped every student was able to get themselves to safety, he especially hoped you had managed to get into the common room, password protected and unreachable to Lupin. If any harm came to you as a result of Black’s tomfoolery, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He clenched his unarmed fist.

 

If any harm befell you tonight, he’d make Hogwarts was Black’s final resting place.

 

The next abandoned classroom came into view. With a flick of his wand, the doors unlocked and opened, his dark silhouette filling the doorway. Two female students, fourth years, a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor, sat on the ground side by side, hugging their knees, leaning against what he presumed to be an old professor’s desk. Their breaths hitched at the intrusion. Before either of them could let out a peep, he brought a finger to his lips, silencing the girls, and beckoned for them to get up and come to him. Once they were close enough, he grabbed on to them, apparating them both to his classroom.

 

Slowly but surely, he was able to locate the rest of them, one by one, two siblings in a pair, in more secluded parts of the floor, his unease growing with every step he took. 

 

They had all been ready for the door to be broken down, for something to get them, and he had his wand at the ready to block spells after the first time it happened.

 

As he apparated back onto the first floor, he felt a searing pain split on the side of his jaw, biting back a pained noise as warm liquid trickled from the torn flesh. 

 

Splinched. A four-inch gash. Deep.

 

It branded itself on his jaw, trailing partially down the underside to his neck. It was going to happen sooner rather than later, his stamina having waned significantly. But it was hasty of him, too. He should’ve fetched a potion for himself to help recover his stamina before apparating back to the first floor. Now, he feared apparating again would result in worse injury, loss of limb, even. And if that was to happen, it might as well be with the last student on his list beside him.

 

She was a first-year Hufflepuff, the younger sister of one of his older Slytherin students, tucked away near a corner of the castle. He needed to hurry to get this student to the safety of his classroom so he could recover from his lost stamina before returning to Dumbledore. 

 

Ignoring the pain, he hurried through corridors, his stride light but determined, ears trained to pick up the faintest of sounds that weren't his own footsteps. Every turn took him to less familiar territory, his internal mapping of the area becoming a little less certain, the only upside being that his route brought him near windows that let in natural moonlight, which meant he could see what was ahead before taking another step forward.

 

His eyes caught his last destination for the moment, a storage room no one would guess was there unless you went looking for it or stumbled upon it accidentally, like tonight. It held old classroom furniture and spare books, much like the Room of Requirement, but much smaller. If he recalled correctly, Arithmancy used to be taught there a long time ago. 

 

Muffled crying sounded from the other side of the wooden door, but it stopped as Severus pushed down on the handle. As he stood in the doorway, he swept his wand around the space in front of him. There, in the corner, his illuminated wand caught on to the snivelling girl, curled up in a ball underneath a table in the corner, half-concealed by a tablecloth that partially draped over the top. Her wet eyes scrunched from the light, and yet, they quickly widened when she realized who it was.

 

“Miss Juniper,” he murmured, recognizing her vaguely as the younger sister of one of his older Slytherins.

 

She sniffed harshly, wiping away her tears, reluctantly crawling out from the table as Severus strode toward her. “Professor Snape…? What’s going on? Why are you blee—”

 

“There is no time to explain, Miss. You need to come with me, quickly now,” he insisted, holding his hand out to the girl. Her hand trembled as she placed it in his, and as she did so, Severus closed his grip and attempted to apparate.

 

Severus felt the surface of his body blur and pull, but it wasn’t right, his being shifting back into place like releasing a taut rubber band. He tried again, concentrating harder on performing the spell, but it didn’t help, his frustration only made it worse. 

 

“What are you doing?” Miss Juniper whispered, feeling the odd spatial distortion.

 

He curled his hand tighter around his wand. It was no use. There was too much fear and not enough stamina to successfully apparate, probably barely enough to cast decent spells. And now he had a bigger problem: getting the girl back to his classroom or her common room on foot.

 

“Follow me,” he ordered lowly, releasing his grip on her. “And be as quiet as possible.”

 

She trailed him without question, out of the dusty, cluttered storage room and into the equally cold corridor. Severus looked left and then right, debating on the route to take. Would it be safer to traverse one way to the Master Staircase and descend to the common room? Or, take the staircases that connect the floors individually, and move through the labyrinth of the dungeons.

 

But then there was no time to think, his breath catching, and his blood running cold.

 

He heard it.

 

The scraping of claws against stone.

 

A nasty, snarling pant that reverberated in the air.

 

A long, imposing shadow stretching on the floor and bending up the wall.

 

There, at the end of the hall, Lupin stepped into view, effectively blocking the latter route. He was a foot or two taller in this frame, pale, border yet angular. His teeth were bared, snout wrinkled aggressively as he sniffed the air with a persistent growl, his posture somewhat curled over and his lanky arms slightly bent inwards, as if to protect his center. The thin wisps of hair that littered what was mostly flesh and muscle caught the moonlight, as did his eyes, gleaming menacingly as his head turned, locking onto the witch and the wizard standing in the middle of the corridor. Lupin drooled, a louder growl building in his throat, turning into a rough ‘hagh’ and then—

 

“AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The howl echoed off the walls of the castle, surely reaching even Ravenclaw Tower. Severus felt like he was a teenager again, back in the Whomping Willow, the howl a promise of death. Miss Juniper, too struck with fear to let a word slip past her quivering lips, tugged on his sleeve, urging him to do something. But all that came from the Professor was…

 

“Run.”

 

Severus grabbed her arm, forcing her to move with her as they both began to flee. And the sight stirred something in Lupin. The need to chase—the thrill of the hunt—the eventual sinking of teeth into warm flesh, pumping with blood… He lunged, kicking off after them on all fours, each step he took scratching into the stone his intent to kill. His speed built quickly, and Severus could hear him coming, hear him gain on them, the distance closing.

 

He cast a spell over his shoulder, the red light of the Expelliarmus crashing into Lupin, hitting him square in the shoulder. But it was weak, not enough to launch Lupin back much, only making him stumble and roll to a brief stop. Lupin let out a snarl of frustration, shaking his body like a wet dog getting out of water before continuing after them.

 

They did not stop, not for a single moment, Severus pulling the girl along when faced with intersections. Severus did not stop firing spells behind him, doing whatever he could to widen the distance between them and Lupin. When Lupin caught up again, he bellowed, “Incarcerous,” summoning robes that bound themselves to Lupin, first around his legs to send him toppling to the ground and then connecting to his arms and wrists, like a hog set to be barbecued. But Lupin was strong, very strong, snapping the rope around his arms with a hard jerk of his arms and shredding the bindings on his legs with his claws. Every spell fired, every attempt to evade him, riled the werewolf up, making him madder and madder, stronger and stronger. He endured spells meant to make him stumble or recoil in pain, and chasing after Severus and the girl with more tenacity than before. 

 

And Severus’s magic was waning. Combining the fact that he was fully sprinting, his ability to cast effective spells was faltering significantly. He could feel it in the way the magic left his wand, the impacts weak against the werewolf, the path of his casting shaky and losing control.

 

And his refusal to use dark magic, magic that had the potential to be fatal to Lupin, was starting to become enticing. As they turned around yet another corner, they ran through a hall lined with armor stands, each knight holding a weapon, a few had spears, one a mace, another a sword and shield. He could hear Lupin’s heavy pants following after them, closer and closer. It felt like Lupin was practically breathing down his neck, one swing of his razor-like claw away from having his back sliced open. And he waited until Lupin rounded the corner to before swishing his wand. 

 

“Piertotum Locomotor!”

 

The knights all snapped their heads towards the werewolf, armor screeching sharply. It was a dark charm, meant to reanimate statues and armor stands, bringing them alive and attacking what they deemed to be a threat. Their limbs creaked, wrenching themselves free from their posts, hopping off their elevated, carved platforms, readying their weapons and getting into defensive poses.

 

Lupin roared, chest puffed, drool flying off his teeth, and drawing his arms back to swipe. The first swing just missed the closest armor stand that carried the mace. That knight took the opportunity to swing, but Lupin dodged, swinging a second time. This time his claws hit the knight in the side, detaching the top half from the bottom half and sending the fallen knight clattering to the floor. Despite this, another knight, one armed with a spear, got close enough and stabbed Lupin in the thigh. Lupin howled in pain, striking the knight with a furious swipe of his claws.

 

The frenzied howls and roars echoed further and further behind Severus and Miss Juniper as the knights did their job distracting Lupin. He knew, deep down, Lupin would eventually tear through them, perhaps enduring a few injuries along the way, but he certainly wouldn't die. No, Lupin was too big, too strong. But he cast the spell anyway to buy time. Miss Juniper, however, was breathing heavy now, her little legs unable to keep up with his running stride forever. And just as he was going to direct her down another hall, she slipped, a sharp cry wrenching from her throat as she crumpled to the ground. She had sprained her ankle, and by the sound of it, it wasn’t by any means mild.

 

“It hurts…!” she cried, attempting to stand, but it was no use. She couldn’t put any weight on it.

 

There was a loud clattering sound at the far end of the corridor behind him. A piece of metal flew into view, hitting the wall and bouncing all over the floor, rolling to an eventual stop. The head of one of the knights. Lupin came bounding around the corner, skidding for a moment and nearly smacking the wall himself, barreling at full speed. 

 

Severus wasted no time, casting a Feather-Light spell on Miss Juniper and scooping her up. The girl gasped in surprise, her arms instinctively looping around his neck for security as he fully sprinted. The arched threshold to the Master Staircase was just up ahead. He could see the stones of sectioned steps shifting and swivelling, the low hum of the magic that allowed them to move so growing more audible as he grew closer and closer. But Lupin was getting closer, with each stride, and he closed the distance yard by yard, foot by foot. And when Severus finally got to the platform that would allow him to step off onto a moving staircase, his heart dropped as he nearly fell over the edge, stumbling to a stop.

 

No…!

 

The closest swivelling section of stone steps had passed, swinging out to another hall entrance off to the side. He just missed it.

 

His pulse thundered in his ears as a thick feeling of dread took hold of him, making his limbs feel heavy as he slowly turned around, facing the werewolf that was galloping toward him with impossible speed. It seemed Miss Juniper just realized what was about to happen as well, and buried her face against the professor's shoulder, accepting her fate, a sob wracking through her.

 

They were about to die.

 

Severus never thought he’d end up in this situation twice, staring down the barrel of death at the hands of a werewolf. Everything suddenly sounded far away, his heartbeat muffling, replaced with a high-pitch ringing. There was an unnatural feeling of…acceptance. He has never been much for anyone. The students hated him. Perhaps they’d be glad to see him gone. There were very few he could call a friend. Besides a few teachers and the Malfoys, who would mourn him, really? He hadn’t left much of an impact on this world. Maybe some cruel twist of fate would bind his soul to the castle, leaving him as a ghost. And he didn’t… There was no one that…

 

“Ridiculous man…” Your amused face flashed in his eyes, chuckle echoing between his ears.

 

His grip loosened slightly on the first-year in his arms. 

 

There’d be no more of that.

 

Lupin’s rabid snarls grew louder and louder, the gleaming yellow of Lupin’s eyes more visible as he got closer and closer, until finally he leapt in a high pounce, claws stretched outward, jaw wide open, fangs ready to sink into flesh. Severus braced himself, anticipating death, praying that maybe the first bite was a well-aimed and to the neck, something that would kill him in seconds, and then—

 

FWOOOM!

 

It was like when one stood close to a train platform as the train went by. A rush of air, the very force of it blowing him back. A blur of bright blueish-white, and Lupin was gone. Severus blinked, his knees almost giving out as he inhaled raggedly, the adrenaline making him shake. Miss Juniper still clung to him, but when she realized they hadn’t been tackled and mauled, she peeked out, tears falling down her face as Severus took hesitant steps to the intersecting hall where the light had rushed from. Peering down one side of the hall, he saw Runey, somewhat scrunched up, trying to give room for all of his heads to wriggle around.

 

In Morpheus’s mouth, Lupin thrashed about like a child throwing a tantrum, claws reaching up and trying to scratch the runespoor’s eyes, but the creature simply blinked, unbothered by the defiant behavior.

 

“Runey?” Severus called out. 

 

Zeus and Themis perked at the professor, rumbling puffs escaping them, but Morpheus growled, reminding them all of what they needed to accomplish first. Zeus hissed, taking the lead and moving them back toward Severus, who stumbled back against the wall, giving the creature room to slither by. Lupin growled, trying to swipe at them, but it was no use, too high off the ground to actually harm them. Zeus poked through the same threshold that Severus and Miss Juniper had attempted to exit through earlier, followed by Morpheus and Themis, who had to squeeze their heads on top of each other just to get their necks through. They soared past the moving sections of stone stairs, hovering down to the ground level and slithering into the Entrance Hall before disappearing from sight. 

 

Severus quickly followed, hopping onto a descending section of stairs that allowed him to reach the ground floor as well.

 

“Severus?” he heard, before Pomona and Filius stepped in from another corridor, looking between him and the monstrous patronus that moved past them. Pomona’s eyes locked onto the crying girl in his arms. “Miss Juniper!” She yelped.

 

“Take her,” Severus immediately demanded, approaching the two teachers. 

 

“What happened? Why is the runespoor out and about? Are you two alright? Severus, you’re bleeding—”

 

“Take her!” he practically shouted, thrusting the girl into Pomona’s arms, the girl now clutching onto her head of house for dear life as Severus swept past them both, chasing after the runespoor.

 

The soft breeze of the night tickled the ends of his hair, somehow less cold than the way his blood ran when Lupin revealed himself. In the distance, he could see the runespoor slithering toward the Whomping Willow. He was operating on pure adrenaline at this point, his legs burning as he jogged through a covered stone bridge that led into steeper fields, plodding heavily on the uneven ground toward the sentient tree.

 

Up ahead, Morpheus threw Lupin to the ground, the werewolf rolling to a stop right in front of the entrance to the burrow. Sensing an odd presence, the Whomping Willow sprung to life and began to swing its massive branches out at whoever was there. But Runey was quicker, Zeus and Themis chomping down on the two large, arm-like branches and holding them in place, preventing the tree from moving much.

 

Despite looking like a puppy in comparison to Runey’s size, Lupin growled and snarled at the creature, lashing out threateningly at the patronus. But Runey was not having that. An unsettling crackling sound filled the air as Morpheus’s spikes flared out all along his body, making him look even bigger. His usually full pupils narrowing into razor thin slits, the lip of his jaw curling disturbingly as two impossibly large fangs unsheathed. Morpheus pulled back sharply before lunging in Lupin’s face, roaring. 

 

Severus had to cover his ears at the hair-raising roar. It was like a dragon’s roar mixed with a screeching siren that rattled his brain. Even though it only lasted less than ten seconds, the sound still echoed in his ears. The once huffing and puffing werewolf, now coward to the ground, looking as small as possible, shaking and whimpering. In fact, Lupin was so scared, he had peed—yes, peed—the fact only notable by the trickle of liquid that caught the moonlight  between his legs before he crawled backwards, down the burrow entrance of the Whomping Willow. Morpheus was quick to follow, slotting as much of his massive head into the entrance as possible, hissing maliciously at the werewolf until Lupin had meandered far enough down the passage to the Shrieking Shack to his liking.

 

Eventually, Morpheus pulled back and his spikes relaxed, snorting and shaking his head, like he was in disbelief at the situation, before the other two heads released their grip on the willow’s branches.

 

And then they looked at him.

 

Severus was too dazed with the events of tonight to react properly to the giant runespoor slithering over to him. All three heads dipped in low snuffling over his form, doting on him, making sure he was alright. Only when Themis lapped over the gash on his jaw did Severus flinch and push the creature’s head away. They blinked at him, pupils full, rumbling away like cats, and giving him one final puff before slithering away.

 

“Wait…” Severus called after them hesitantly, but they did not stop. In fact they only moved faster, gaining speed until they lifted themselves up in the air, flying above the trees and cutting over a portion of the forest towards the Black Lake. He stood there watching the runespoor get farther and farther away, becoming a mere squiggle until finally the creature dove below the surface of the lake. It was only then did he realized what the creature was doing. It was returning to you.

 

To the window of the Slytherin common room.

 

He needed to see you.

 

And even though his legs felt like they’d give out underneath him, he ran, cloak billowing behind him.

 

Up the hill.

 

Through the stone-covered bridge.

 

Into the castle.

 

Through the corridors.

 

Down the staircase to the dungeons.

 

Storming through the dark halls.

 

And finally, through the common room doors.

 

On the other side of the room, he heard low, chuckling. Standing amongst the communal seating was H/G/N, holding your wand, but she wasn’t the one laughing. Her eyes met Severus’s, and despite the hundreds of questions she had running through her head, she only managed to utter, “She’s bleeding.”

 

He strode across the room over to the conglomerate of couches and armchairs, coming to a halt beside H/G/N. You sat on the floor cross-legged, back pressed against the couch with a makeshift blindfold over your eyes, giggling lowly like you were thinking of something highly amusing. And then there was the blood. It trickled from your nose, over your mouth, and out of your ears, trailing down your neck and into the collar of your sweatshirt, creating a bloody rim. It wasn’t enough blood to make him believe you were in immediate danger, but it was still an alarming, unsettling sight, alluding to an impalpable threat.

 

Severus's eyes noticed the vials lying on the ground by your legs, his brows furrowing even more at the few drops of liquid that rested in the glass. Evidently, you had consumed potions.

 

“What did she take?”

 

“She said she drank Elixir of Euphoria and Wide-Eye, to keep her from losing focus and falling asleep, and so that her patronus wouldn’t fizzle out.”

 

His hands curled into tight fists, eyes widening, nostrils flaring. You foolish girl, that combination of potions could stop your heart! 

 

“Um… She also gave me this.” She presented the clear, corked liquid to him. He took the third vial from her as she explained thoughtfully, “She said it’s a vial to give her in case she started seizing…or worse. I’m not sure if this,” H/G/N gestured to you, “is considered ‘worse.’ She also cast some sort of deafening spell on herself, so she can’t hear us.”

 

He took the vial from her, pocketing it before kneeling in front of you, shifting the tie off your eyes and tossing it to the side. Your eyes were closed, pupils shifting slightly back and forth beneath your lids like they would in deep sleep. Severus cast a countering spell around your head and placed a hand on your shoulder, shaking you lightly.

 

“Miss L/N,” he said in a tone that was unprecedentedly gentle in accordance with H/G/N.

 

Your lids fluttered open, revealing your blown-out pupils, the lazy smile on your lips not faltering for even a second. Your gaze, while hazy and very unfocused, remained on him, slow blinking as you tittered away. 

 

“Hm-hm… Professor Pretty Hair…”

 

Beneath his dark locks, Severus’s ears burned in a mix of flusteration and discontent. H/G/N, despite the seriousness of the situation, couldn’t help but snort into her palm. She couldn’t wait to tell you that you had called him that once you were in a more sober state.

 

Your head lolled toward H/G/N, breathing shakily, eyes shifting down to your wand, clutched in her hand. “...Is it over?”

 

Runey had indeed come back, which is why she had taken your wand from you in the first place. She didn’t want to see you bleed anymore from potential magic strain. She looked to Severus, who had given her an imperceptible nod. “Yes,” she replied. “It’s over. Runey did whatever you told him to.”

 

“...Good,” you murmured. “Fantastic…” You uncrossed your legs, digging your heels and bracing your hands against the floor, and tried to push off, but your arms wobbled heavily. You were too drained to even get up properly, and stumbled back down onto your rear. Severus’s arm moved quickly as if to stabilize you, but he caught himself mid-jerk and forced his hand back down to his side. 

 

“H/G/N,” he started, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. “With the threat being taken care of, it would be…appreciated…if you went to my classroom and escorted the group of students who are occupying it back to their respective dormitories. No doubt they would like to return to their siblings and housemates.”

 

“Oh,” her eyes widened, relief flooding her, knowing that some were able to find safety here in the dungeons, hoping that it included at least one of Del’s siblings. “Yes, yes, of course, sir!” H/G/N handed him your wand, retrieving her robe that she had placed on a nearby chair, shrugging it on quickly. “Thank you, Y/N. You didn’t have to do what you did, but still, thank you,” she bid hurriedly, jogging out of the common room, leaving the two of you alone.

 

Severus exhaled heavily, a tired weight settling on his shoulders. “That was reckless,” he scolded in a mutter.

 

You frog-blinked at him, your tongue poking out to wet your lips, but your brows came together as you did so. “I taste like metal,” you stated faintly.

 

Rolling his eyes subtly, he knelt down and used his thumb to swipe at the blood that trailed down your chin, presenting the smeared redness to you. “You are bleeding. From your ears and nose, which is precisely my point. You are lucky you are not convulsing on the floor or dead .”

 

You merely giggled—of course you did—too addled by side effects to not find whatever he would say amusing.

 

He huffed, his eyes sweeping over your form one last time before decidedly moving closer to you, casting the Feather Light spell on you and lifting you up bridal style. When you realized what was happening, registering the position you were in and the fact that you were held against his body, you squirmed feebly in his grip, feeling your face flush. A whine of protest broke through the artificial chuckling as you pushed a hand against his chest to create distance. 

 

“Nuh—don’t—”  

 

“You can’t walk, Y/N,” Severus asserted in a peremptory tone, his hold tightening on you, almost warningly. “You’re too weak to do so, and you need to be taken to the Hospital Wing. This is non-negotiable.”

 

You pressed your lips into a thin, suddenly too bashful to even look at him, and nearly pouting at the fact that he had to carry you, at least while you were conscious and aware of it. But, reluctantly, you obeyed, ceasing your pathetically defiant movements and stilling in his arms. Severus side-eyed you warily, testing you, waiting to see if you’d try to break out of his hold with more force, but you didn’t, instead crossing your arms, accepting the circumstances. 

 

And then the giggles returned.

 

“You’re impossible,” he sighed, and began to move.

***

 

The corridors were quiet, A good quiet. Peaceful now. Free of werewolves. Free of fear. Severus’s walk was slow, unhurried, and leisurely, like he was purposefully drawing it out. Truthfully, he was. It’s not as though you were dying. And he was tired, so why not take it slow? The route was one he knew H/G/N wouldn’t lead any of the students down, leaving the two of you alone for the duration of the trip to the Hospital Wing. Your low chuckling hadn’t ceased just yet, but they were getting fainter, easier to suppress should you want to speak. He was able to focus more clearly now with Lupin away from the castle, you safe, in his arms.

 

And still, his heart didn’t relax.

 

“We’re twins,” you mumbled. 

 

He turned his head slightly toward you, brows tugging together slightly in confusion. “Excuse you?”

 

“We’re twins. We’re both bleeding.” Your fingers reached up, grazing along the splinch wound. His breath hitched from both the wound’s ache and your touch, but he covered it up with a harrumph.

 

“It would be wise to keep your hands to yourself,” he contended.

 

“Hypocrite,” you countered softly, and your fingers didn’t leave. “Is this Lupin’s doing?”

 

“It’s from apparating too much. Too sloppily.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

For a brief moment, he thought that was that. He assumed you’d moved on, losing interest in his small injury, but that was far from it. The next thing he knew, he felt the torn skin tingling, the lip of the cut shifting together, fusing into a tight line, and effectively closing the wound. His steps came to a screeching halt, looking at you, aghast. Had you just used wandless healing magic on him?

 

“There. Better...”

 

Now, when one is healed, one usually says ‘thank you,’ some offering of gratitude, but his bitterness got the best of him.

 

“Do not use magic. You are in a weak enough state as it is,” he uttered gruffly.

 

You snorted, not put off at all by his tone. “Wandless magic won’t kill me. If anything, the earful I’ll get from Madam Pomfrey tomorrow will…”

 

“An earful you deserve,” he commented.

 

Both of you fell into a brief silence once more. A dull ache began to throb in your knees, and it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that Snape’s arm was slotted beneath them. You swung your legs slightly.

 

“It’s gonna rain tomorrow…” You declared with a faint smile.

 

Severus’s brows quirked. “And just what makes you think that?”

 

“Because muh’ knees hurt…”

 

“Your aching joints are because you have sat cross-legged for a significant amount of time.”

 

“Nuh… It’s gonna rain tomorrow….”

 

“In what way does your pain connect to tomorrow's weather?”

 

You could explain to him how it’s a no-maj thing, how barometric pressure decreases when rainy weather approaches, causing joint tissue to expand and putting internal pressure on joints, making them ache. But…he doesn’t really get stuff like that anyway. And would he care, really?

 

“...I just know…”

 

He sighed pointedly. “You just…know.”

 

You nodded lazily.

 

“Once again, you astonish me with your gifts, Y/N—gifts mere mortals can only dream of possessing. How grand it must be to be all-knowing.”

 

Just as you were about to counter with something witty, you felt your heart slow abruptly and a heaviness fogging your head, making you shudder, and the urge to laugh vanishing, shifting into something stronger, something…colder. Severus felt the tremor, eyeing you critically, and tightening his grip. 

 

“I don’t feel so good,” you informed him in a near whisper, an unstoppable tear building in the corner of your eyes and falling down your face.

 

“That would be the aftereffects of the potions you took,” he explained. “You’ve forced your mind to be happy and energized, and now you’ll have to deal with being depressed and tired.”

 

Your breathing slowed, steady tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes, eyes that rolled up slightly, your lids feeling heavy, wanting to close and stay closed. Severus jostled you enough to get you to open them wide once more. 

 

“You need to try to stay conscious, just for a little longer,” Severus urged.

 

“..s…ard…y’too warm…” you slurred sleepily, letting yourself lean more of your weight against him, and the heat that had settled in his ears jumped to his neck and face.

 

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Don’t make this harder for yourself…”

 

“Entertain me then... Occupy my attention... Just …talk…”

 

“What do you propose I speak of?” he asked dryly.

 

“I dunno,” you murmured, fingers absentmindedly playing with a button on is robes. “About…Black. You went to school with him. Tell me an embarrassing story about him.”

 

Severus scoffed. The last person he wanted to think about was Black. Black deserved to be hexed for his foolishness. But if speaking of him would keep you awake for a little while longer, then so be it. 

 

“Fine,” he obliged, racking his mind for a few memories of Black where he was the target of mockery. His mind settled on a memory from fourth year. “One year, a few days before the Yule Ball occurred, Black had attempted to ask a Ravenclaw girl to be his date using his broom to sky-write the message.”

 

“I’m guessing that went poorly...”

 

“Indeed. He had miscalculated his movements in the sky and greatly butchered the girl's name, accidentally spelling something vulgar instead. The girl ended up slapping him when he returned to the ground, and publicly rejected him.”

 

“What was her name…?”

 

“She was a muggle-born witch named Blair.”

 

You blinked, a faint smirk tugging on your face despite the persistent tears. “And what did he spell instead…?”

 

“I think you know what he spelled.”

 

“I wanna hear you say it...”

 

“No.”

 

Your shoulders shook with breathless laughter. “Bitch, will you go to the Yule Ball with me...?” you hummed.

 

The hand that grasped your knees squeezed in censure. “Language,” he admonished. 

 

You tittered silently. “Another one.”

 

His lips pursed, thinking again. This time, he went back further. “In his third year, he had attempted to court a girl a year older than him who was already in a relationship. Unfortunately, it had worked, but her partner at the time found out and cast a spell on Black that made him bald for about a week until Madam Pomfrey was able to reverse the effects.”

 

This time, you snorted, some light returning to your eyes, but it was a losing battle, your lids becoming too heavy for you to fight anymore.

 

“...m’ tired,” you whispered, closing your eyes, no longer trying to keep them open.

 

Severus observed you, your face close. You were significantly more relaxed now, at ease when you gave in. It couldn’t be helped then. Tonight and the morning were going to be rough for you mentally when the aftereffects peaked. Hopefully, you’d sleep through most of it tomorrow, spared of nightmares. Perhaps when he got you to the Hospital Wing, he could slip you a Dreamless Sleep.

 

“Rest,” he said softly in admission, acknowledging that he couldn’t keep you awake anymore. What he didn’t expect, however, was the way you shifted, your shoulder slotting against his, your head pressing into where the gash along his jaw once was. His heart hammered in his chest. You were so close.

 

And he wasn’t fighting it.

 

When he felt your weight become more slack, he knew you had fallen asleep. And as both of your forms moved away from the moonlight streaming in through the windows, disappearing into the darkness of the castle, he reluctantly pressed his head back against yours, exhaling deeply as his hold tightened on you protectively.

 

With promise. 

 

With reverence.

 

And with gratitude.

 

Chapter 67: Like Father Like Daughter

Summary:

Following the werewolf attack, father, daughter, and honorary fun-uncle are reunited.

Notes:

I'M SO SORRY THIS GOT DELAYED. I forgot I still needed to write more flashback memories to add for the buildup. This is actually half of the original chapter because it was just too big, and I needed a safety net. I've always got some real-life stuff that takes precedence, so there's that too. The next release shouldn't have as big a wait

Somewhat proofread I apologize for any mistakes or missed content warnings

I used Deepl for the Italian. Italian readers/speakers let me know if I messed up somewhere

 

See chapter 33 and 45 for two new memories :)

Grey clouds painted the cold, dawning sky. The rising sun was no match for the thick layer of moisture that made the day appear so dreary. On every window, drops of water began to tap lightly, rolling down in thin streaks as the sky began to cry with rain, as if processing the events of last night alongside the students. The cold air seeped into the dungeons, a type of cold that made sleeping into the morning difficult without waking up early from shivering first. And if that didn’t wake the students, surely the eventual thunder would.

 

Severus didn’t sleep much. Perhaps only a few hours, but he wasn’t in a fit state to do so peacefully. And how could he? He and Miss Juniper almost died. If it wasn’t for Runey, he’d have been taken from this world already. For some time, when he eventually returned after a quick debrief with Dumbledore, he simply plopped down on the couch, a high-pitched ringing in his ears, clenching and unclenching his hands to stop the tremor building in his arms. Memories from his teenage years flooded back, and he could feel his breathing turn ragged, but he was able to occlude just enough to prevent a full-blown panic attack.

 

He doesn’t remember going to bed, but it was early when he woke up, some time between five and six in the morning. Coffee did very little to counter his heavy eyelids throbbing with fatigue as he stared vacantly out the window at the rain, wrapped up in his cloak and a scarf for extra warmth. You were right about the weather.

 

His steps to the Hospital Wing, much like last night, were unhurried. He knew you were in good hands and likely in a deep sleep. Madam Pomfrey didn’t react much when he brought you into the Hospital Wing, fast asleep, Miss Juniper also asleep somewhere on the opposite side of the room. She had merely huffed, giving Severus a look of exasperation. When it came to you, she figured you had committed some act of selflessness that went too far. And she had been right, after confirming no werewolf-related injuries, of course.

 

And then you had a seizure. 

 

‘A mild one,’ Pomfrey had claimed, but it had happened before he was about to lower you onto the mattress. You had begun shaking lightly, and it turned spastic in seconds, and he had all but dropped you onto the mattress as you jerked out of his hold, plopping haphazardly on to the hospital bed. Pomfrey was able to hold you down while he managed to feed you the vial he was given by H/G/N, having to grip your chin more harshly than he would’ve preferred to. The convulsions had ceased within a minute after you had consumed the vial, and Pomfrey was quick to perform a checkup on you, assessing blood pressure, heart rate, and your breathing, before deducing the severity of the event. 

 

“This is going to be a long night for her,” she declared solemnly after Severus had informed her of what you had done earlier in the night. On top of the seizure, she had explained that she wasn't able to give you any Dreamless Sleep, which greatly vexed him, but he knew why she couldn’t. The seizure counter itself was already a sedative. Any more potions like that in your system could have adverse effects. If there were any nightmares to be had, you’d have to face them. 

 

After Pomfrey had removed your shoes, leaving your socks on, they had adjusted your position so that you were on your side, facing the wall. A house elf was summoned to retrieve the stuffed runespoor, the elf barely able to lift the heavy creature in its frail arms when it returned. The runespoor was arranged to press against you in your hold, manually placing your arms around it before you were cocooned in several blankets.

 

Madam Pomfrey had allowed him to linger, to gather whatever assurance he needed from looking at you, but she did not retreat into her quarters despite it being late. Instead, she flitted about, setting up a few more potions and beds in case anyone else with injuries were found. He had stood by, almost like one would in vigil, his hands gripping the fabric of his trousers too tightly beneath his cloak, anger flowing through him. He was angry at Black and Lupin for being careless. Angry at Dumbledore for allowing the mutt to even visit Hogwarts at all. Angry at you for being so bloody impulsive. 

 

Had your body had a harder time processing the potions you had consumed, you could’ve ended up trading your own life for his.

 

His footsteps echoed quietly off the stone walls as he approached the Hospital Wing once more, in the quietude of the early morning. Treading along in short, hurried steps from an intersecting corridor was Professor Flitwick, in his hands folded clothes and a few potions.

 

“Fillius?” Severus called out, his voice slightly deepened from tiredness.

 

Flitwick stifled a yawn. “Good morning, Severus!” 

 

“Where are you off to?”

 

“To the Whomping Willow. I believe…” he looked around briefly to check that students might have been wandering around. “...you-know-who…might have transformed back by now. Madam Pomfrey sent for me to make sure he is clothed and escorted to the Hospital Wing. I heard he was also injured as a result of a dark charm you used.” 

 

There was a note of disbelief in the Fillius’s voice that made Severus’s inner walls rise a little, his eyes narrowing defensively.

 

“And?” Severus drawled, awaiting some noble speech about the ethics of using dark magic.

 

For a moment, nothing was said, Fillius’s eyes flicking over Severus for a few seconds until he exhaled.

 

“...Good man,” Fillius commented with a nod and continued on his way. 

 

Severus’s brows knit together. Of all the possible reactions, the last he was expecting was wholesome, passive, by-the-book Fillius Flitwick to approve of his use of a dark charm. Perhaps only because he was trying to save Miss Juniper at the time.

 

The doors to the Hospital Wing groaned open as he entered. The curtains that covered the tall windows were drawn open, but the rain made the interior appear duller from the lack of light. Dumbledore, already awake for the day, stood near your bed, hands clasped behind his back, unmoving as he observed you. The old wizard didn’t turn or shift as Severus approached, his shoes scuffing quietly on the stone floor until they came to a halt a few feet next to the man.

 

Your form changed a little. The blankets were pulled over your head, truly cocooning you from the world, and you were curled up a little more, your body wrapped tighter in the cloth and pressed to the wall with the runespoor.

 

“The paintings tell me you and Miss Juniper nearly died last night,” Dumbledore claimed softly. There was no grimness, pity, or anger. Just…acknowledgement.

 

“…Yes,” Severus replied quietly.

 

The headmaster exhaled deeply, his hands fidgeting slightly behind his back before slowly turning to the man. “Tell me what happened,” he urged gently.

 

Severus remained silent for a few moments, his body language mimicking Dumbledore’s as his fingers clasped one another lightly behind his back, hidden by his cloak.

 

“Miss Juniper and I were fleeing while I distracted Lupin for a bit with a spell, but she slipped and injured herself. I had to carry her, but the delay made us miss the moving staircase that would’ve allowed safe passage. I froze up…” he curled his fists in frustration, “because I knew that even if I double-backed to make a different turn, he’d have caught up to us anyway. We only lived because of…” Severus trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line as he forced himself to look away from your sleeping form. He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder, his body tensing slightly in reflex before relaxing.

 

“I’m glad you’re still with us,” Dumbledore murmured sincerely. His hand squeezed lightly. It was as big a gesture as he would give, as he knew that’s all Severus would tolerate from him.

 

And as expected, Severus stayed silent.

 

Dumbledore let his hand drop. “Today is going to be a…complicated day. Come breakfast, I’m sure the entire school will be aware of what was lurking in the halls last night. Owls will be sent to parents, a few, no doubt, working in the Ministry. I expect aurors will be sent to investigate the school by lunch.” He linked his fingers together in front of him. “I’m going to make an announcement at breakfast and…admit it was a werewolf.”

 

“What about Lupin?” Severus questioned, not much out of concern, but out of curiosity.

 

“I’ll say it was a stray to throw suspicion off of Lupin, Miss Juniper, and Miss L/N. Luckily, there is a secret passage with an entrance near the Forbidden Forest. We can blame it on that, although I’m sure the aurors will force me to collapse it.”

 

“You believe students will suspect Miss Juniper and Miss L/N?”

 

“Anyone resting in the Hospital Wing, yes. Rumor mills never cease to run, even when evidence is present.” Dumbledore licked his lips slightly. “And another thing… I’ve written to someone who is going to remove Miss L/N from the school for some hours.”

 

Severus whipped his head back to Dumbledore, seemingly appalled, but kept his voice steady. “…Why?”

 

“First, to help with the side effects. Actively cheering her up will be more efficient in comparison to simply waiting it out, and Merlin graced us with the perfect weather to do so. And besides, I know for a fact she’ll be happier outside the castle. And secondly, I’d like to spare her from being interrogated while in her miserable state. She doesn’t need that.”

 

“Madam Pomfrey will throw a fit.”

 

“As it so happens, Poppy agrees with me. But, true to her nature, she will require an additional check-up from Y/N upon her return.”

 

Severus’s jaw shifted in antsiness. “When is she to be retrieved?” 

 

“Around eleven. Those going to Hogsmeade will have been escorted. And she’ll return sometime in the afternoon.”

 

Your covered form began to shift and twitch, muffled sounds of restlessness coming from beneath the layers of blankets. Dumbledore ambled over and pressed a hand on your side, the easy pressure stilling you and presumably pulling you away from a dream that had grown unpleasant. 

 

“And to answer the question I know you want to ask,” he said, lowering himself to sit on the edge of your bed. “Black will no longer be welcomed back to the castle to comfort Lupin with his pains for the remainder of the school’s term.”

 

A weight lifted off his shoulders just knowing that. This was all Black’s fault anyhow. Barring him from the grounds was the least that could’ve been done. He could only hope that Lupin would also not be allowed to teach next year. “Good,” Severus replied.

 

Dumbledore looked back at you, hand still running over you, almost paternally. “Her recollection of last night may be fuzzy. However, I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether you want to tell her Runey saved you. I sense it might not be an easy thing for you to admit to her, so it’s your decision.” 

 

Severus only nodded. Should he tell you about what happened? He was still mad about it, horrified that you knew the risks and still did it anyway. When you are better, he’ll smack you upside the head the second he has the chance.

 

“You should try to get a few more hours of sleep, Severus. I know you need it.”

 

“As do you,” he countered, noting the heaviness around the old man’s eyes.

 

“I know, but I’ll be the one who’ll have to answer to the students and aurors soon. You should rest more and prepare yourself for the onslaught of questions from your snakes.” 

 

Severus huffed. He was never a big fan of Dumbledore fussing over him. “Fine,” he muttered, his black robes fluttering behind him as he swept out of the Hospital Wing. At this point, why not? He’ll delay his breakfast until later. And he knew Dumbledore was right. His Slytherins will grill him for answers, especially after Delilah Juniper reunites with her younger sibling and tells the rest of Slytherin what happened. 

 

There was still a layer of anxiety clinging to him, not yet shaken off from last night. Lupin’s snapping fangs and lanky form still lingered in his mind. As did the blood dripping down your nose and ears…soaking into your jumper, your giggles turning to tears.

 

He dragged a hand down his face with a deep sigh.

 

Get it together.

***

 

A werewolf.

 

The students couldn't believe it. A werewolf had gotten into a castle. When Dumbledore finished his announcement at breakfast, some students started sniffling all over again, imagining a worse fate where their friends and siblings could’ve been turned or eaten, and immediately went to hug them. Almost all of them believed Dumbledore’s explanation. It was an old castle. Entrances and exits, whether hidden or not, can degrade over the years, especially for a place as ancient as Hogwarts. It wasn’t that unfathomable that a creature from the Forbidden Forest had gotten in. And, as expected, some weren’t as placated, believing that perhaps the werewolf was a student, or even a member of the staff.

 

And truly, the difference was quite split.

 

Elmira Juniper.

 

The Slytherin first year was not accounted for in the head count, and she claims she was rescued by Professor Snape and suffered a sprained ankle from tripping at some point in the night. Multiple teachers and Madam Pomfrey confirmed this to be true. And Delilah defended her sister fiercely, claiming that she would hex anyone who would dare to spread any nasty rumors about her.

 

Professor Lupin.

 

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The person whose job it is to deal with dark creatures. The perfect individual to send to help remove the werewolf. He lies in the Hospital Wing, conscious with an injury to his left thigh, claiming to have sustained it “fighting the werewolf.” He was fawned over, many hoping it hadn’t been a bite, especially a few older girls who may have had crushes on him, who clustered at the end of his bed. He assured those who asked that it wasn’t a bite, just a claw mark. 

 

And then there was you.

 

Curled up in a bed that was up against the far wall, you remained cocooned and hidden from the world, your ailment a mystery to most. All of Slytherin was behind you. You had been present for the headcount, and the fact that Runey was sent after and captured the werewolf meant that it couldn’t have been you. 

 

However, it was a matter of what people wanted to believe. Maybe Slytherin could have been lying about you, or maybe Elmira wasn’t as innocent as she, Delilah, and Professor Snape claimed her to be. Or, perhaps Professor Lupin wasn’t afflicted with food poisoning or a part of the werewolf extraction team.

 

Whatever the case may be, it didn’t erase the fact that your, supposed, actions last night were appreciated. On a table placed at the end of your bed were get-well cards, treats, and notes from some claiming they’d bring you goodies back from Hogsmeade. Fred and George, upon hearing you were one of two students in the Hospital Wing, took off like gunshots. They were so concerned with you that they didn’t even register Lupin’s presence at first. When they attempted to put their hands on you and roll you over, Madam Pomfrey stopped them and told them you were uninjured. You were just in a much-needed deep sleep as a result of some potions you had consumed to force Runey out while in a stressed state. They stayed for as long as they could, helping themselves to a chocolate frog left for you (they knew you didn’t like the enchanted treats). Fred managed to remove the layer of blankets that covered your head and braided your hair. George read to you in hopes that a part of you could hear him and was comforted by it.

 

When Professor Snape visited the Hospital Wing again at 10:45, this time slightly more rested, Elmira Juniper had left, after much begging to Madam Pomfrey from her older sister, and Lupin was now occupying a bed, reading a book and ignoring Severus’s withering glare. Dumbledore and Pomfrey conversed quietly in the corner by a remedy cabinet. It seemed you hadn’t moved much, still wrapped up and concealed. This time, however, you were barely awake, a fact confirmed by Madam Pomfrey. Some minutes ago, she had given you a potion to rouse you. Right now, you were simply hermiting. Brooding. Wallowing in the artificial sadness that wrapped itself around you like the blankets did.

 

And then, the doors to the Hospital Wing slammed open.

 

Alfonso Moretti was boiling with anger, red smoke from the cigar in the corner of his mouth puffing around him furiously in a dragon-like manner as he strode into the Hospital Wing, coat still dripping from the rain. His eyes flit around the wing, registering your DADA teacher in a hospital bed, your head of house, and the headmaster. The three people whose job it was to make sure you were unharmed when incidents like this occurred.

 

“You three,” he seethed, running a hand over his slicked-back hair, closing in on them, “have some explainin’ to do.”

 

Dumbledore clasped his hands together politely. “Mr. Moretti—”

 

“How the hell do you let a fuckin’ werewolf get into the school? Is security simply non-existent around here?!” Alfie glared derisively at them before casting his ire at the DADA teacher. “You seemed quite competent when I met you at the Ministry, but it appears I was wrong if it means a student havin’ to do the job for you,” Lupin said nothing, simply looking down at his blankets in shame as Alfie then turned to Severus. “And you. Those potions better not have come from you—”

 

“Mr. Moretti,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice cut through the air authoritatively, silencing the auror. Her gaze could surely turn a man to stone. “Your frustration is completely understandable, but I will not have you smoking in my Hospital Wing. Put. It. Out.”

 

The auror and the healer stood locked in a silent stare, eyes wide and pointed. Alfie’s seething pants didn’t slow, but his expression began to soften in respect for the matron, the flaring of his nostrils easing a little. He plucked the cigar from his mouth, stubbing it out against his sleeve and slipping it into his coat pocket.

 

“Apologies, Madam,” Alfie murmured.

 

“The potions did not come from Professor Snape, Mr. Moretti,” Dumbledore explained. “They were Miss L/N’s. She consumed them of her own free will, knowing the risks of what she was doing. It was her own idea.” 

 

He balled his hands into fists, frustration returning to his face again, but he had more restraint now as the initial wave of rage passed. “And just how did a werewolf get into the school in the first place?”

 

“It was a stray from the nearby forest. We believe it has either wondered or was led in by a student sneaking about, breaking curfew,” Dumbledore lied smoothly.

 

But Alfie wasn’t so easily swayed. “Oh, yeah, yeah, and I’m the Queen of England. A stray… ” he spat dryly. Despite often being seen as a loudmouthed brute, he was quite clever, to the surprise of many. “You know what I think? I think someone in this school wasn’t managed properly, and that someone was able to run amok and put the lives of everyone in the school at risk.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And of course, you won’t confirm or deny, medical privacy and all,” he sneered. “As long as Y/N isn’t to blame.”

 

Alfie’s eyes found your sleeping form, bundled up in blankets, as if preparing to transform into a butterfly. His expression grew careful, the bitterness slipping away quickly.

 

“There are many students and teachers who will vouch for her should this become a Ministry issue,” Dumbledore assured, as Alfie approached your bed. “The students will think what they want about her, but the fact is that she saved multiple lives last night.”

 

The man grunted as he sat on the bed, feeling pride and dissatisfaction waging war against each other. You foolish girl. How dare you do exactly what he did, putting your life on the line for strangers? He tugged the blankets you had pulled over your head out of your grip, peeling them back until your face was revealed. You had tears leaking from your eyes, and your brows were pulled together, as if stitched in a frown. He carefully placed a hand on your shoulder and shook you gently.

 

“Y/N…”

 

.

.

.

 

Everything around you was dark, an endless void of black that was neither comforting nor distressing. It was just…there. Heavy and certain. It physically wrapped itself around you, holding you like a hug, which should have made you feel eased, but it didn’t, because the heaviness was in your brain, too. It made you feel…hopeless. Was this a dream? A coma? Death?

 

Why bother even thinking… You leaned into the force that held you. 

 

Time felt unfathomable. It could have been minutes, days, months…Sometimes, images of people who seemed vaguely familiar showed themselves before disappearing seconds later. Soft laughter and indiscernible whispers followed after, never quite graspable, nor were each whisper the same.

 

And then, for what felt like eons, you simply saw the masked devil. They just stood there, unmoving, but their outline blurred and flickered like a worn VHS tape did on your television. It felt as if you looked away for even a second, they’d teleport right in front of you and start strangling you. And so both of you just watched each other, guard up and unmoving, until finally they vanished.

 

Eventually, the darkness lightened, not like how morning light illuminated a room, but physically lightened. The feeling of misery still clung to you, but it wasn’t as paralyzing. You heard voices again, muffled to your ears, but at some point it grew louder. Angrier. 

 

Your eyes managed to creak open for just a second, registering the fact that you were on a bed and a wetness trailing down your face, before closing them fully.

 

God, whoever was yelling needs to shut the fuck up. You curled in on yourself.

 

You felt a light pressure on your shoulder, someone jostling you, and calling your name.

 

“Y/N…”

 

Go away…

 

“Y/N… It’s me… Alfie…”

 

Alfie…

 

You inhaled deeply as you summoned the energy to open your eyes once more.

 

Alfie?

 

This time, it wasn’t the darkness of covers over your face that greeted you, but the stone walls of the Hospital Wing. You cringed at the change from darkness to natural light, covering your eyes with a softly curled fist.

 

“There she is,” Alfie cooed, unprecedentedly soft.

 

“Alfie…?” you slurred, your voice raspy and thick with sleep. Your arms trembled as you attempted to sit up, and you felt a sharp pain slice through your ribs, making you wince. You felt very dehydrated. Tears kept dripping down your face no matter how much you tried to blink them away.

 

“You hurtin’ anywhere?”

 

“M’thirsty…”

 

“Well, where’s your wand at, ya silly goose?”

 

You made a non-committal grumbling sound, leaning forward into him. He hugged you warmly, your forehead resting against his shoulder while your own arms lay loosely in your own lap. Alfie’s eyes darted around the nearby area, spotting your wand on the bedside stand. He accio’d it to himself and tucked it in the center pocket of your sweatshirt.

 

“We got Dumbledore’s permission to take you out of the school for a few hours.” He murmured into your hair. "It's rainin’ even harder in New York. Want to go to a restaurant and get some brunch? Maybe a hot chocolate?”

 

“Mhm…” 

 

Alfie chuckled in amusement, casting a glance at the four other adults. “Food-motivated, this one is.” His smirk faltered, however, when he saw only four adults. “Y/F/N, where the hell are ya? Drop the spell already. It’s a school full of teenagers, not those schmucks at work.”

 

There was a disembodied sound of rushing air as a man faded into existence a foot next to Madam Pomfrey, making the matron jump. On instinct, Severus flicked his wand from his sleeve.

 

The man was dressed like Moretti. Trench coat style robes, beneath it a white button-up, and a dark tie. He donned black leather gloves that fit his hands like a second skin. His hat was removed, showing the salt and pepper of his hair, though his face still remained far younger than when most wizards started greying. Severus wagered that the man was probably just breaking into his fifties. He was tall, too. Slightly more than Severus, so as tall as Lupin. Lanky too. 

 

And his eyes…

 

They were piercing, yet muted in color, as if they started out like a newspaper until a drop of a second color was added. The same as yours. His expression was fixed indifferently, but a coldness lingered. The familiarity became clear.

 

This was your father. 

 

As his unsettling gaze landed on you, there was only a twitch of his jaw and hand. No smile. No affectionate greeting or softness, seemingly no desire to hug you like Mr. Moretti was. Just observing, his pupils subtly flicking between you and his work partner.

 

“Hello, Mr. L/N,” Dumbledore greeted quietly with an unusual amount of politeness that surprised even Severus, the restrained kind that veiled his true feelings toward the statuesque man. 

 

Your father simply looked at Dumbledore, nodding subtly before directing his gaze back to you. Just staring. Nearly unblinking.

 

You knew he was there, watching. But you didn’t care to lift your head from Alfie’s shoulder.

 

Everyone in the wing was silent, watching this strange interaction unfold with slight discomfort. It was clear to Severus that this man wasn’t exactly the social type, nor demonstrative either. One could say he might be saving such informal gestures for later, out of sight of the staff. Still, you’d think one would show a little enthusiasm for seeing their daughter after being months apart, yes?

 

But your father was acting like seeing you in the Hospital Wing, the aftermath of a werewolf roaming the school, was hardly anything to blink at, unlike Moretti, who acted like Severus expected other parents would in this situation. Your father should be livid. Outraged. Either with you for your actions or with Dumbledore. Something—anything—and yet he remained practically emotionless.

 

Severus bit his cheek. After hearing about how seemingly inattentive your father was in your youth, his impersonal demeanor at this moment greatly irritated him.

 

Alfie cleared his throat. “Right. Eh, what time d’ya want us to have her back?”

 

“Sometime this afternoon. Before dinner,” Dumbledore answered. “I don’t imagine the aurors, if any, will take all day.”

 

“Alright then.” Alfie patted your back. “Let’s get going.”

 

“Mmmnnn…” you whined irritably, leaning on him further and wishing to go back to sleep.

 

Despite the smirk that came to his face, he wasn’t going to let you have your way. “Hey, c’mon now. I know you’re tired,” he said, rising from the bed and tugging on your forearm. “But we gotta go. Besides, you should be thrilled. You get to run around the no-maj world just like you want to.”

 

“Mmnn…” You protested more weakly. You really did love the rain… And you’d get out of this godforsaken castle… You began to move yourself off the bed.

 

“There we go now,” Alfie encouraged as you stood up, but still choosing to lean some of your weight against him.

 

Severus and Pomfrey shifted in discomfort, although Pomfrey’s concern was more visible on her face. You had just roused from deep sleep and were still feeling the effects of the potions you took last night, and now you're being swept away from the castle, just like that? You needed to rest more, not walk about in a rainy, crowded city, doing god knows what for hours. But he couldn’t object; he wasn’t in a position to. Both these men superseded his authority in the hierarchy of people in your life. 

 

“Her clothes,” Severus thought to bring up. “She’s still in yesterday’s clothes.”

 

Alfie, your father and Dumbledore eyed you up and down, noting the oversized lounge clothes. “Yes, I suppose she needs to change,” Alfie muttered.

 

“I can take her,” Severus followed. “Down to the Slytherin common room, that is… It wouldn’t be wise to have two unfamiliar aurors enter without warning.”

 

Alfie narrowed his eyes slightly, but instead of commenting on it, he simply looked at Dumbledore.

 

“I agree. And the dungeons are indeed difficult to navigate. If it is agreeable with you two, Professor Snape and Miss L/N can meet you both in the cloisters of the courtyard.”

 

This time, Alfie looked at your father with a raised brow. Once again, the man nearly nodded, finding nothing suspicious about the proposal.

 

“Alright,” Alfie grouched, murmuring a “bring your mask” to you before urging you toward your head of house.

 

You doddered toward him slowly, tears dripping down your chin and onto the ground, each feeble step worsening his concern over the situation, but he didn’t have a choice but to just deal with it. Severus only offered his arm to you when you stopped directly in front of him, eyes nearly closed all the way. You leisurely wrapped your hand around his elbow and felt the world twist and turn as you did so. 

 

The two of you reappeared in front of the doors to the common room, two young students passing by the area letting out a “blimey!” but continuing on their way. He didn’t say anything to you, letting you turn and mumble your way through the doors. As soon as you left his view, however, he apparated again, this time to his office.

 

Those present looked up from their books, gasps and murmurs instantly filling the room. They tried to talk to you, to thank you, and question you about the details of last night, some taken aback by your barely functioning state as you weaved through them, until the door to your bedroom shut behind you. For a good minute, you just stood in your room taking deep breaths until you summoned the energy to move again. Placing your wand on your desk, you shed last night’s layers and looked around your wardrobe through your bleary sight.

 

International travel meant going through customs, which means the presence of lurking journalists. Journalists with cameras. Now, you were used to going around wearing whatever you wanted. However, this was before the interview, the interview that connected you as the daughter of the head of the Wizarding Bureau of Intelligence and Capture. And like it or not, you needed to represent. You wiped at your eyes, skimming your fingers along your clothes, carefully selecting each layer from shoes to scarf. It needed to keep you warm, make you feel secure, but also look professional. Everything was all black, at least for you under layers. Black lace-up boots, black pants, a random t-shirt, the one part of you that would still be…well…you, a thick black turtleneck on top, and black gloves. But the coat, the coat was something else. Unlike your usual rainwear, this coat actually fitted your form, hugging the sweater to you, and making you feel warmer. The base color of the coat was beige with dark horizontal and vertical pinstripes crossing every inch of it, the front clasped together with two black buttons. And to finish the outfit, a plaid scarf matched the coat.

 

As you looked in the mirror and put your hair up in a neat up-do, you couldn’t help but think that this outfit was something Narcissa might wear if she were a no-maj. But maybe with a black fur as well.

 

Severus stopped shifting the vial in his fingers when the doors to the common room creaked open once more. Out you stepped in attire he wasn’t quite expecting. You actually looked put together and…professional, like you yourself worked in the Ministry. The coat was very different from the layers that usually kept you warm when the weather was cold. It hugged your form, pressing a dark turtleneck you had on tighter against you. If it weren’t for the fact that you were leaking tears, you’d surely radiate a quiet sense of strictness and confidence with this outfit. 

 

He performed a double check: bag hanging from your shoulder, coat, scarf, gloves, umbrella, which you begrudgingly held down by your side, and mask in the other… Sufficiently dressed. 

 

After glancing around for any wandering students, he held the vial out to you. “Take it,” he said. It contained the infamous immune booster he gave you when the weather was poor.

 

Your gloved fingers brushed his as you took the vial from him with about as much enthusiasm as someone getting a rabies shot. You closed your eyes, new tears rolling down your cheeks as you popped the cork off and tilted the contents back, letting the batter-like substance coat your tongue. The taste was something you had gotten used to by now, so you didn’t grimace or cringe at the substance. 

 

The ‘thank you’ you gave him was practically a whisper, barely there like a soft breath, pressing the vial back in his hand. He pocketed the glass, holding his other arm out to you.

 

Both of you snapped into the courtyard.  The sound of drumming rain hitting the stone ground filled your ears. Your father was standing by a cloister arch, watching the rain while Alfie tried to stubbornly relight his cigar, muttering curses at the moist air that hindered it.

 

“Ready?” Alfie uttered as his eyes flicked up to you and Professor Snape, his cigar finally lighting, a curl of red smoke burning from the end.

 

You nodded silently, slowly approaching them while bringing the mask to your face, strapping it around your head. Severus watched quietly as your father turned back around, scooting over so that you could put yourself between the two men, both offering you an arm. And as you looped your arms around each of theirs, the last thing you saw through the eyeholes of your mask was Professor Snape watching you. Something lingered in his eyes, something unresolved, like there was something he wanted to say, but didn’t have the guts to. 

 

And then, he was gone.

***

 

Traveling from London, England to Manhattan, New York was smooth, or about as smooth as it could get. Getting through the Ministry was a breeze, the three of you only earning some stares of curiosity or familiarity as you all strode through without stopping, following Alfie’s lead as he was the most confident traveler of you three. The three of you presented your government-sanctioned wands and were able to use the Vanishing Cabinets without issue. 

 

Customs at MACUSA was…less smooth. When the cabinet ceased its shaking, your father had disappeared, or rather, went invisible, for he knew what to expect when the doors opened.

 

The traveling auror greeted you three, or two, politely as you stepped out from the cabinet. Some travelers near the front of the line eyed your mask oddly, but no one said anything. Alfie’s eyes scanned the people around him, along the polished, chiseled walls, past the lines of people. You could feel your father’s body heat right next to and slightly behind you, using you as a buffer. Wizards in dark robes wearing hats like Alfie looked up from beneath their rims. Their eyes widened just a little before moving toward him, and when Alfie made eye contact with them, he cursed under his breath.

 

“Alfonso... Alfonso!” They barked, approaching.

 

“For fuck’s sake…”

 

They surrounded you in a way that still allowed for you and Alfie to stride forward, following along and more so crowding Alfie than you.

 

“Where is Y/F/N? We were supposed to review the new capture and retrieval testing initiatives.”

 

“Did you check his office?” Alfonso blanked.

 

“Of course I did. He’s never there when I need to see him.”

 

“And he was supposed to introduce himself to the new recruits two weeks ago!” Another wizard interjected irritably.

 

“And approve the upcoming investigation in Turkey!” A third one groaned.

 

“So, what do you want me to do about it?” Alfie gruffed. 

 

“Tell us where he is!” the first wizard replied in exasperation.

 

“How the hell am I supposed to know? I’m not his keeper.”

 

“Bullshit! You’re his partner. The two of you are practically attached at the hip.”

 

Alfie rolled his eyes. “He went to spend some time with his daughter. A werewolf managed to get into her school and cause an uproar. He didn’t mention where they’d be. On purpose,” he added with a harsh glare.

 

“His daughter? That girl with the runespoor patronus?”

 

“Yes, yes, her.” Alfie waved at them dismissively. “Y/F/N won’t be gone all day. You can harass him all ya want when he returns. Now get outta my face.”

 

The group of wizards grumbled bitterly, but backed off, leaving you, Alfie, and your father to continue on your way to the main floors without issue. “ Every fuckin’ day with this…” Alfie muttered beneath his breath. 

 

No one else attempted to interrogate Alfie as the three of you navigated from customs, taking the stairs down from floor to floor instead of crowding into a lift, and reached the bottom floor where the large commemorative statue stood. As did the people ahead of you, the three of you commiseratively patted your hand on the tops of a chiselled shoe, paying your respects to the girls. Most of those killed during the Salem Witch Trials were around your age. A few men, too, but women were the main victims. So many teenage girls who had their futures snuffed out all because they dared to behave unconventionally in the face of religious doctrine, or “dared to seduce a farmer or butcher,” even though the girls were just existing and the wives were insecurely throwing around accusations, or because of simple misogyny and social stigma. A terrible era…

 

You could see the gilded door up ahead that would lead you out of the building. Your father removed his invisibility spell, both of them casting a charm on their clothes, turning their robes into American-cut suits. You removed your mask, tucking it away into your bag for now. 

 

“Alfie. Cigar,” you hissed as you all reached the threshold and shuffled through it. Alfie hummed and managed to change his cigar’s smoke from red to gray just before the three of you strode through the bright light that represented the other side.

 

The doorman on the other side, who was essentially the gateway keeper for MACUSA, tipped his hat at you with a slightly knowing smile. You were instantly greeted with the bustling sounds of inner city life, the Woolworth Building standing proudly behind you. Fabulously dressed men and women entered and exited through the main revolving door in a constant stream, a door that was positioned next to the single exit door the three of you had smoothly come out. Thank goodness for no-maj repelling spells that discouraged them from paying any mind to you.

 

You opened your umbrella, and instantly, without request, your father took it from you and held it between you both. It was logical, he was the taller one, but also because he wanted to. Alfie opened up his own umbrella, cursing the rain for trying to once again extinguish his cigarette. On a day when it didn’t rain, Manhattan was beautiful during spring, the parks lush and green with life, trees in full blossom, and petals littering the suburban streets. MACUSA itself was positioned in an ideal location, close to the World Trade Center, the Brooklyn Bridge, City Hall Park, and not far from Chinatown either.

 

Well…ideal for this time of day. The sun had just gotten done rising, and the crowds were practically non-existent in comparison to what they would be if it were the same time at Hogwarts. But even if it was, Alfie was headstrong and socially indestructible, and pushed you both forward regardless to get a move on. The three of you settled into a stride, a man on each of your sides. Neither you nor your father had said a word to each other yet, but both of you could sense each other’s gratefulness that the noise and foot traffic were at a minimum right now. Usually, it was an introvert's hell, vehicles that roared by and honked too loudly, crowds of people that were almost shoulder to shoulder with little spatial awareness, a sense of constant urgency in the air…

 

Some people stared at you, but not in the way those at the Ministry had. It was more out of curiosity, eyes flitting up and down your outfit, at the men at your sides, and then back to you. It was then that you realized you might’ve looked famous or rich. Well, you were both in the Wizarding World, but… It was in a different sense, as if Alfie and your father were looking after you and you were some celebrity being guided through your day. To be fair, the coat you had on was expensive and certainly looked it, and with your hair pinned up expertly and neatly out of the way, it was understandable. And hey, you were walking on Broadway Street. Celebrity sightings weren’t uncommon.

 

“This way.” Alfie guided you and your father through a crosswalk toward a high-end-looking Italian restaurant whose name you definitely couldn’t pronounce. The signage above the lengthy awning was in gold, fancy cursive. White and red flowers and ivy crowded and crawled around it. Even though there was outdoor seating, no one sat there due to the weather. Two wall lanterns on each side of the door glowed a soft yellowish orange through the rain, and through the windows, you could see the cozy interior glowing with the same soft light as well.

 

There was no one in the restaurant, likely due to the fact that they might have just opened for the day. There was a perceptible warmth inside the establishment as your father and Alfie put their umbrellas in a holder by the door. The interior looked like a speakeasy, with polished dark wood floors, plush leather chairs, and booths. A lengthy bar stocked with all sorts of bottles that clearly hadn’t opened yet remained unoccupied, but soft conversation between workers carried slightly through a back door. On the walls were a tasteful amount of artwork, black and white photographs of the city in the 1920s, as well as snapshots of patrons who dined at the establishment back then.

 

The back door that led to the kitchen creaked open, and a man in his sixties wearing a dark button-up up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, crisp black slacks with a white apron around his waist. His face lit up when he saw the three of you. 

 

“Alfonso! Buongiorno!” the man greeted, pacing over. He shook Alfie’s hand happily.

(Good morning!)

 

“Buongiorno, signore.”

 

Ah. So Alfie knew this man. They seemed friendly, though you doubt the owner knew Alfie was magic.

 

“Y/F/N, Y/N, this is Tommaso, the owner of this wonderful establishment. Tommaso, questi sono alcuni miei amici.”

(Tommaso, these are some friends of mine.)

 

Tommaso switched to English. “Ah, very good! Any friend of Alfonso is a friend of mine!” he grinned, but his smile fell when he saw leftover tears dribbling from your eyes. “Cosa c'è che non va, cara?”

(What’s wrong, dear?)

 

“Her dog died this morning,” Alfie answered, and based on that simple lie, you assumed the man was wondering why you were crying. You wiped at your tears with your sleeve, willing them to stop. “Very unexpected.”

 

Tommaso’s expression saddened in understanding. “Ah… I’m sorry, dear. Death is never kind to us.” He clapped his hands, and a little bit of flour flew off them. “How about some cappuccinos and brioche to cheer you up, yes? It’s on the house.”

 

“Grazie, Tommaso. È molto bello.”

(Thank you, Tommaso. That’s very nice.)

 

The owner smiled once more and guided the three of you to a table tucked away in a corner, giving it an air of privacy despite being the only customers here for the moment, and disappeared into the kitchen. You could hear him giving an order to the morning staff as you settled into your seat, placing your bag on the floor beside you. You peeled off your gloves, folding them together and stuffing them into your pockets.

 

“It’s your professor, isn’t it?” Alfie questioned lowly, his tone lacking anger, instead laced with seriousness.

 

You didn’t respond, staring vacantly at the table, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.

 

“The Defense Against the Dark Arts one, I mean. The one in the bed.”

 

Your father looked at you, too, awaiting your response. Still, you didn’t explain. 

 

“You don’t have to answer. I know it’s him. It’s obvious now.” Alfie sighed to himself, shaking his head. “The fact that he was recovering in the Hospital Wing aside, he had dirt on his neck. He was outside last night. Probably slept there.”

 

Your lips parted hesitantly. “He’s…a fantastic teacher. And his fiancée is an exceptional auror. Not much older than me,” you said quietly. There, you did it. Defending him without outright confirming his lycanthropy. It was the best you could do. It was having the conversation without actually having the conversation. What you said essentially translated into: “Don’t report him to the Ministry. The students love him, and his fiancée could lose her job and fall under scrutiny from mere association.”

 

“Relax. We don’t have the jurisdiction. As long as you're safe… And don’t pull a stupid stunt like that ever again,” he lightly kicked your calf underneath the table.

 

A different employee came out with your cappuccinos, brioches, and three menus for you all to look at. Shortly after, Alfie excused himself to use the restroom, leaving you, your father, and an intense, awkward silence at the table.

 

Your father laced his fingers together on the table, glancing at you, his jaw shifting stiffly. “...How’s school?”

 

You gave him a vicious side eye at the sound of him addressing you. “Really? How’s school? Three years of virtually no contact, and that’s what you want to talk about? Not ‘are you feeling okay’ or ‘anything I can do?’ or ‘I’m sorry?’” You scorned.

 

His expression tightened, his thumbs running over one another, and his gaze averting slightly.

 

You sighed, rubbing at your eyes. “School’s fine. I’m nearly done. Can’t wait to be out of there.”

 

Your father nodded, reaching for his cappuccino and drawing it to himself. “…And are you okay?”

 

You did the same, drawing your cup and brioche to yourself. “Physically, yes. Mentally, I’m…managing… I’ll be better when I graduate. Feels like a cage there, sometimes…”

 

He hummed quietly in soft understanding, a more natural silence falling between you.

 

Your relationship with your father had always been unconventional to others and complicated in a quiet sort of way. Nevertheless, strained. You saw him less and less growing up, you were always at school, and him always at work. You two were more like roommates in your house. There could be days when the two of you were together all day, and then you could go a week not seeing or hearing him. MACUSA always required his involvement in something, his approval of policies and missions… He was always needed. And very much by you. But, you had seen how life pried him from you day to day, how it stole him away from dawn until dusk. “ He did important work,” you told yourself as a child.

 

And so, with all the free time you had at home, you had decided to take care of yourself. Ease his burdens. Don’t become another thing he had to mind, even if it was his job to . You learned to make yourself breakfast in the mornings. Sometimes he’d stumble upon you doing so and would grab the cereal on the high shelf for you so that you didn’t break your neck balancing on a chair. Of course, after that time, you simply started storing it in a lower cabinet. Then you learned basic house chores since you didn’t have your magic yet, like doing your laundry, taking out the trash, doing the dishes, and changing the sheets on your bed. Yes, you were a little hyper-independent thing. This wasn’t to say that your dad didn’t do these things for you before, but in your eyes, it became unnecessary for him to do so once you learned. 

 

But still, you needed him. The days you got sick, but hid it from him, wishing he would innately know and come to your aid like a super-dad. The times when the house was so hauntingly quiet at night, when you had turned the TV off, wanting someone to read to you, when a heavy thunderstorm happened, and it sounded like the world was ending, when you needed to do proper grocery shopping and couldn't decide what foods suited you…

 

He wasn’t there. You never asked for him, but you shouldn’t have had to…right? He should have been checking in on you, being nosey and over concerned like every other parent. Doting.

And because he wasn’t, it felt like he didn’t want to be around you. Like you were another checklist he didn’t want to bother with.

 

“…I was in Russia when it happened. Your…assault,” your father said quietly.

 

“Doing what?” you muttered against the lip of your cup.

 

“Supporting an investigation. MACUSA was hunting down traffickers who have been capturing and attempting to crossbreed rare and dangerous creatures. They were transporting them using abandoned train tracks.”

 

Your fingers twitched against the ceramic. “You could’ve written to me.”

 

He took a small sip of his drink. “…I know.” The first bit of emotion finally broke through his usually indifferent tone. Remorse. “Your Headmaster sent a letter explaining what happened. I had sent one back, saying I wanted you removed from that school.”

 

You snapped your head up at him. He did what? “Dumbledore never mentioned that.”

 

“I had a feeling he didn’t. His reply could be summarized as “It’s her last year. We shouldn’t disrupt it,” and he had a point, but I didn’t want anything else like this,” he gestured to you, “to happen. Honestly, I’m a little surprised you didn’t unenroll yourself.”

 

You blushed in embarrassment, shielding your mouth with the cup as you felt a burning behind your eyes. “I… didn’t want to disappoint you or Dumbledore. He…” You set the cup down. “He’s very different from the Headmaster of Ilvermorny. He understands my…quirks and I value his opinion greatly.” Your throat suddenly felt very dry.“I thought…that you didn’t care about what had happened…or about…me. You never wrote directly to me about it…or any other time before… Even just to ask how I was. Not even during Ilvermorny,” your voice cracked.

 

Something else flashed in his eyes. A shift to that of guilt, his shoulders tensed, and his demeanor became withdrawn as he felt it grip him tightly. “I—”

 

“Whew! That’s much better,” Alfie declared as he plopped back down in his seat, effectively slicing through the melancholic energy between you and your dad. Both of you swallowed and looked away from one another, knowing this conversation wasn’t over, and seeking solace in the menus.

 

 

Chapter 68: Secondary Intention

Summary:

Continuation of the previous chapter. Grab some tissues, ya'll.

Title based off an interesting medical term I found.

Notes:

Three new memories! Please see chapters 54, 59, and 65! (I moved the memory that was previously in Chapter 65 "Professor Y/N to chapter 18 "the First Snow" as I felt the placement was off)

Alfie didn’t pick up his menu as he already knew what he wanted and took a hearty gulp of his drink. Your eyes moved aimlessly over the menu, passing over the names of drinks and dishes without really thinking about it as you felt the aftereffects try to drag you back into a miserable state. At one point, you had let the menu fall out of your hands as you slumped against the table, but Alfie and your father nagged at you that you needed to eat, and eventually, Alfie just ordered you two servings of Ratatouille Toast with Fried Eggs to make up for your lack of breakfast.

 

“So…” He kept his voice a little lower than before as more patrons had entered the restaurant, and who knew if any of them were also secretly magic. “How exactly did last night happen? Dumbledore’s letter wasn’t very elaborate.”

 

Both their gazes settled on you, waiting for an explanation. You set your fork down with a clink, swallowing the bit of egg in your mouth.

 

“I was in my common room when it happened. There was an announcement that boomed throughout the castle. Dumbledore’s voice. It told everyone to find safety in the nearest common room or classroom and to lock the doors and not venture out into the hall. I figured out pretty quickly what had happened. But…a few of our housemates never made it back. And I have friends who were much closer to Lupin’s classroom when it happened and…I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to them. I had no idea if they ever got to safety last night or not, or if they were chancing it in bathrooms or getting incredibly lucky in the halls. So, I did something about it.”

 

“While on potions,” your father murmured.

 

You nodded. “Yeah. I was tired and scared and…well…those aren’t ideal conditions to have a solid runespoor. And I figured since I have the power to actually do something about it, I should.”

 

“You risked your own life drugging yourself like that.”

 

“I know. It seemed logical at the time. I’m one person in comparison to tens of kids who could’ve gotten bitten or killed. Seemed worth it to me.”

 

Alfie sighed in disapproval, muttering to himself. “It wouldn’t kill you to be selfish now and then. You’re too important.”

 

“I don’t owe the world shit with my magic.”

 

“You’re too important to us,” Alfie repeated, glaring at you like the notion should have been obvious. And it should have. You shrank in your seat.

 

“…well…I’m alive…so…” you mumbled, not quite believing him.

 

“Mi stai uccidendo… How did this professor end up skipping out on his medication?”

(You’re killing me…)

 

“Well, I have a sneaking suspicion it has to do with a friend of his that’s been given permission to help him with his cycle. The potion probably got knocked over or something. Which sucks,” you sighed. “Takes me a while to brew just one…”

 

Alfie’s brows shot up. “You’ve been making his Wolfsbane?”

 

“Er…more so Professor Snape, but usually help when it’s asked of me.”

 

He chuckled. “Well, look at you! Brewing’ like a big girl. That’s a pretty impressive potion to manage.”

 

You flushed with shyness. “Anyways…It was definitely an accident. Lupin has always been on top of taking it since he started teaching at Hogwarts this year.”

 

“And who is this friend that interfered?”

 

“It’s…Sirius Black.”

 

Alfie became deathly quiet, and your father’s expression imperceptibly soured.

 

“Sirius Black… As in… the Black Family, ” Alfie gritted, trying not to burst a blood vessel.

 

“Yes… Sirius Black and my teacher are good friends.”

 

“Just like your Potions professor and Lucius Malfoy are also good friends. Why do these Sacred Twenty Eights keep tryin’ to butt into your life?”

 

“What do you mean, ‘keep butting in?’” Your father inquired.

 

“Apparently, the Malfoy family has taken an extreme likin’ to your daughter.”

 

“Not romantically,” you interjected. “They've been nothing but friendly. But…um…Regulus Black might have proposed to me. And a Rosier… And Crouch’s son…”

 

The fork in Alfie’s hand bent at the head from his thumb in anger.

 

“I said no, obviously!” you assured. Making sure no one was looking, you cast a spell at his fork to put it back in shape. “As if it would ever work.  Not with my personality.”

 

“Wouldn’t that be somethin',” Alfie snorted. “For you to date one of them only for them to be rudely awakened by the fact that you’re basically a no-maj.”

 

You stuck your tongue out at him cheekily, smiling slightly as you bit into your brioche.

***

 

True to Alfie’s proposal, the three of you did end up quite literally running around New York, even with the downpour. You went into shops, admired the architecture of famous buildings, explored the catacombs of the Basilica of St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral, and visited a few museums, much to Alfie’s disgruntlement. He was outvoted two to one in wanting to see a boxing match instead. Finally, you ended it with a walk in Central Park. 

 

There was hardly anyone out since it was raining and gloomy, only a few walkers along the perimeter with dogs in rain ponchos, and the two men felt confident enough to charm their clothes back. At one point, Alfie broke off from you and your father to go feed some unbothered ducks pieces of his leftover brioche, leaving you and your father by yourselves. He tapped your arm to get your attention, meeting your gaze with a somber expression as he gestured with a tip of his head to a lone gazebo some ways in the distance that faced the lake.

 

The weight of what was about to happen bore down on you, your throat growing dry as you followed him to the structure. You were finally going to have that conversation, one that was going to end in tears. Perhaps some relief, but definitely tears. You cried easily when emotional, and this was going to be a very big talk.

 

The elevated wooden floor creaked beneath the weight of you both, the light, misty air tickling your cheeks, and the smell of damp wood filling your nose. Your father drew your umbrella to a close, wrapping the flap of velcro around so that it was secure and settled down on curved bench-like seating. You did the same as well, lowering yourself slowly, leaving a foot or two of space between you both.

 

You could feel your insides twist and tighten from the impending exchange as the silence grew between you, only filled in by the “ shaaa” of the rain, your heartbeat racing, and fingers digging into your forearms. Your father, next to you, began to bounce his leg slightly, his own anxiety.

 

“I…” he began almost in a whisper, a hand fidgeting with his sleeve. “I don’t…know where to start.” 

 

Your eyes throbbed, the tell-tale burning of tears already happening. 

 

Don't cry. Don’t be a child. Don't. Cry.

 

Your lips barely parted, your breaths shallow and shaky.

 

“Why are you even here?”

 

“…Because you could’ve died, Y/N. It was a situation that never should have happened in the first place.”

 

“Oh, so my almost dying is what it takes to get your attention now?”

 

He winced, but it was totally deserved. 

 

“Or are you just trying to do damage control to make yourself look like a good dad to your co-workers now that they know you have a daughter?”

 

He squeezed his hands in his lap from frustration, unable to compose his thoughts properly. “That’s not it.”

 

“Then why? How come you didn’t write or visit me sooner? Why does it take a life-or-death situation to make you care?”

 

“I always cared,” he insisted, still not looking you in the eyes.

 

You laughed humorlessly, a sob clawing its way up your throat, shaking your head in disbelief. “Admit it already.”

 

“...Admit what?”

 

“That having me was a mistake.

 

There. You did it. You finally said it. You finally voiced the fear that had been living inside of you for nearly a decade, the thought that echoed in your mind when you were alone in that house, wishing for someone to properly be there.

 

Your dad flinched. “What?”

 

“I know she’s with you, in Long Island,” you spat coldly. “I know she moved all her stuff when I went off to Ilvermorny. I know she doesn’t want me. I don’t think she ever wanted me. I barely have any memories of her. Only the sounds of her coming in and out of the house. But you… You were…all over the place… Holed up in your study… Holed up at the MACUSA… At the Ministry… Bringing random co-workers into the house… And you just…left me alone.”

 

Your voice cracked, and you leaned over your lap, pressing the butt of your hands into your eyes. “When I came home from school, you…barely talked to me. And on the weekends, you were so…quiet and… I know you struggle socially, but…was I just, like, a houseplant to you? Something you gave minimal attention to, enough to keep me alive?” 

 

“I…Y/N… No, not at all…” your father breathed shakily. 

 

You kept going. “Do you know how many fights I got into at no-maj school? I had to heal myself countless times, coming home with a busted lip or a bruised face! And the sick days! I nearly collapsed when I had to make meals when all I wanted was for someone else to take care of me! I was basically raising myself!”

 

Your nails dug harder into your arms. 

 

“I know you know how cruel kids can be, even more so with wands. I was so scared when I had to go to Ilvermorny. It felt like I was walking into a school where everyone had a gun! You knew I was terrified of the possibilities of magic, especially the Imperius Curse, and you sent nothing! No letters! No encouraging messages! No questions about my well-being, which, by the way, was a miserable four fucking years!”

 

“I know you were, and I-I’m sorry,” he contended, his tone calm, but apprehensive. “The headmaster would send word about your conflicts at Ilvermorny and—

 

The revelation that your father was aware of the altercations involving you at school made you feel like you had been hit by a truck. “You knew?!” you snarled, exasperated. “You knew, and you still didn’t write to me?!”

 

He froze, the muscles in his neck shifting as he swallowed thickly. 

 

“I wanted to write–”

 

“But you didn’t! You sent me nothing! Jack. Shit!” you hissed. The first sob finally broke through, wracking your body in a full-on jerk.

 

“A-and the summers! You’d be go-one weeks at a ti-ime and you never even told me in advance! I know the world doesn’t sto-op when dark wizards are on the run, but you could’ve let me know when you’d be away!”

 

You practically jumped from your seat and removed your coat and a hurried frenzy. You then ripped the sleeve of your turtleneck from the seam of your right shoulder all the way down to your wrist, bearing the ugly scar on your upper arm to him in full.

 

His eyes honed in on it, widening, his Adam's apple bobbing, and jaw dropping at the sight. He visually traced the way it blotched and branched off like a twisted tree root spreading on your upper arm, blotched with red and white tissue.

 

“You were supposed to be there! For the injuries! For the potion mishaps! For me! You were supposed to be looking out for me!” you heaved.

 

He stood too. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Why didn’t you say something about how you felt? About any of it?” 

 

“HOW COULD I?!” you exploded, and he actually took a step back. “I was a child! You always shut yourself away in the study! Never asked me if I was alright! Mom left! I was obviously a nuisance to her, and I thought I was a nuisance to you! That you wanted nothing to do with me! That I was just a bother!” The tears came out uncontrollably once more, and your voice was fully warbling. “I knew you…y-you were important at work…a-and that you were always ti–ired and I—hic—to be a bother! I didn’t want to be a-another thing you had to deal with! I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you cared anyway! And I shouldn’t have had to speak up—hic—or ask you for this stuff because you’re my dad! You’re supposed to innately do these things as a parent and be there for me! Be in my business! Be curious! Be nosey! Concerned! Act like a dad!” 

 

You wiped your eyes with your forearm. 

 

“How was I supposed to feel wanted or cared for when you barely even made an effort to know me?” you sobbed coldly. “You don’t know how long I’ve kept these feelings buried. How I locked myself away in my own head.”

 

Your father’s expression hardened, he himself trying not to cry, his jaw clenched and hands inching up, wanting to reach for you. “Don’t tell me—”

 

You stepped back, keeping the distance between you, your body fully trembling now. Not from the cold. From the feeling of vulnerability.

 

“I did. I learned Occlumency. To make the hurt go away. To feel something other than loneliness. Unheard. Unwanted. Unloved,” you whispered. “It made everything quiet and farther away. I liked it. I liked it too much , and did it so often that I got stuck in my own head. For weeks, I felt nothing. I barely ate—barely did anything because I thought I had no one to turn to—no one who cared enough—no one to help me get out of it in time before I went to Hogwarts. I had to do it myself.” You took a stuttering breath in clenching your left hand into a fist. “ I boiled my own hand and risked the loss of it just so I could feel again.”

 

His face broke, completely, in what seemed to be the first time ever for you, a look of absolute sorrow. His shoulders slumped all the way down, his mouth silently falling open at a loss for words, like he had just witnessed a murder. The sight of his changed demeanor disturbed you, simply because you weren’t used to it. But you didn’t waver.

 

“I needed you. You needed to be present, to be there. And I just don't get why you would bother to have me in the first place if you weren’t going to give a shit.”

 

It was a lot, the feeling of unloading this emotional weight, and it left you shaking. Your father trembled too, but for the opposite reason. Because he had so much he wanted to say, so many feelings that were clogged inside of him too, feelings he didn’t know how to properly express. Not with his mind going a mile a minute trying to process your words.

 

Suddenly, it all became too much for you. The sadness, actual, authentic sadness, coiling tighter around you, not wanting to let go. And your father was trying not to break… How dare he look at you like that? How dare he, not when you were the one suffering from his absence and lack of action? This whole thing, going out with them, speaking with him, was a bad idea. You shouldn’t have gone with them to the restaurant. You should’ve broken off when you had the chance to find a gateway location and book it home. You needed to leave. You needed…space.

 

“Nothing to say, as usual,” you hissed bitterly, snatching your bag and whirling around.

 

“Y/N—”

 

You ignored him, striding out of the gazebo, the rain pounding down on you, soaking into your turtleneck as you left your coat behind. Sobs tore through you, raw and unrestrained, your tears mixing into the rain as you clomped through the grass, picking a random direction, one that pointed to a fountain far in the distance. You hated this. You hated feeling like this, helpless in a fight for something you shouldn’t even have to scream for to begin with. And here you are. Still suffering. Still without answers, feeling like a child once more, wondering why he didn’t love you enough to give a damn.

 

Your legs all but buckled beneath you as your rear met the soaked pavement that rimmed the fountain. In the center of the fountain, an elevated angel knelt, wings spread and praying over you. You balled yourself up against the fountain, one arm wrapping around your legs, the other tangling in the back of your head as you rocked back and forth, heaving and hiccuping, letting the rain drum down on your head. The sensation, unfortunately, did very little to ease your despair

 

Pathetic.

 

You should’ve been over this. After all, you’ve long accepted this reality.

 

And yet, here you are… Coming undone from the mere sight of him.

 

You’re not quite sure how much time had passed, probably only minutes, though it felt much longer, as you let wave after wave of melancholy roll over you, the hard patter of rain filling your ears. Your hair was pretty much soaked, as were your clothes, clinging to you heavily. Your throat ached something fierce, feeling dry and worn from all your crying.

 

Stupid.

 

Pathetic.

 

Burden.

 

“You’ll get yourself a nasty cold if you sit out here like that,” A voice said, the sensation of rain striking your body pausing as an umbrella shielded you. Alfie stood next to you, a dismal, knowing expression on his face, the muscles in his jaw tight.

 

You didn’t look up, nor did you respond, just sucked in a shaky, unsteady breath, trying to contain your sobs. He shifted slightly so that he was facing the same direction, looking out at the expanse of the park and buildings in the distance.

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you hate him. He’s made quite a mess of things, not writing to you,” he sighed. “But… He does love you.”

 

You audibly scoffed at that.

 

“He really does, Y/N. And I know it doesn't seem like it, but think about it. You’d think he’d break international laws for a person he doesn’t care about? That he’d grant you access to all the money you could possibly need in this lifetime? That he’d hide your magical trace while you were in no-maj school? I know he was piss poor at communication sometimes. Believe me, every time I asked if he had written to you, and every time he flashed me a guilty look, I wanted to knock his block off,” he grumbled. “Be that as it may, he does care about you.” He stepped closer so that his dry pants pressed against your shoulder, a small act of comfort to ease your shaking and so that the umbrella would cover you both.

 

“In his office at MACUSA, his desk is lined with pictures of you, charmed so that only he and I can see them. I catch him staring at them all the time when he’s supposed to be listening to reports. Many of them are you as a tiny thing, doddering about the backyard with absolute mischief in your eyes or settled in his lap,” he hummed. “And he’s kept all of Dumbledore’s letters. Your headmaster has sent lots of updates to him since you started going there. And he reads all of them. Hasn’t thrown a single one out.”

 

Alfie took a deep breath.

 

“His job is very demanding. Mentally so. He tends to lose himself in these investigations, especially when the team is close to locating dark wizards. I have to remind him often to go home at a decent time. And he thinks about you constantly, but I know that isn’t an excuse to not find a minute or two in the day to pick up a pen and send a letter.”

 

He briefly pulled his cigar from his mouth and puffed out red smoke. 

 

“I know he’s…odd. Always has been. People at work certainly think so. And I know you know it too. He’s not..er… inclined to behave like other people. He keeps his emotions to himself in a way that's kind of creepy, like a statue stuck with one blank expression. But he’s also like you in that he bottles his feelings too, until it’s too late. He’s only got a few people in his life, so…please…just give him a chance to at least explain himself and hear him out. The last thing he wants is to lose you for good.”

 

He nudged you with his shin. 

 

“He’s comin’ this way…”

 

Slowly, you dragged your face up from your knees and looked over them. Many yards away, a large leopard holding your coat and umbrella in its mouth padded toward both of you in measured, patient steps. 

 

“He’s going to get us all dragged to magic prison,” you tutted.

 

“Eh. It wouldn’t be the first time an animal escaped from Central Park Zoo.”

 

You watched with narrowed eyes as the leopard moved closer through the downpour, your father’s pace growing more hesitant the closer he got to you. When he reached the border where the grass touched the cement, you wrinkled your nose and averted your gaze down and away. 

 

“Give him a chance,” Alfie reminded you before he moved to settle on the other side of the large, round fountain to give you two some semi-privacy. 

 

Your father stared at you in his animagus form, stopped short of the cement, head dipping at you in uncertainty, assessing you. Finally, he moved on to the path, his steps slow. Unsure, yet determined. He moved in close, past your legs and directly at your side, his muted eyes searching your face as he let out a feline chuff. You didn’t acknowledge him, not even when he brought his face to yours, his rough, sandpaper tongue licking the tears on your face, and a few licks along your hairline too. He drew back, tucking your coat and umbrella on the fountain ledge behind you before rotating in place like a dog would. He sat down next to you, his form shifting from that of a spotted predator to a well-dressed man.

 

Like you, Y/F/N didn’t mind the rain much, not discomforted at all with the way the grounds' wetness seeped into his slacks. He found colder weather to be more comforting, especially snow.

 

Begrudgingly, you heeded Alfie’s plea, letting the silence permeate between you and your father, allowing him more time to gather his thoughts. You could see him fidgeting with himself in your peripheral vision.

 

Then he stilled.

 

“You weren’t a mistake,” he asserted, his voice low and hoarse, more controlled, but still loaded with gloom. “I’ve never thought of you as a mistake, and I don’t regret having you.”

 

Certain.

 

Final.

 

“I can’t…fully defend your mother and her choices. When we were together, we were very happy, and to most people back then, the next step was to share that happiness and…start a family. However, it was…complicated. It was only about a decade after Rappaport’s Law had been repealed, and even so… there were very few mixed families that existed in the States. Most of them yielded magical children, one or two families birthing squibs… Your mother was nervous, as I was the only wizard or magical person she had ever encountered. And she had doubts, rightfully so, about giving birth to a child that was most likely magical, how much extra work it would be on top of her busy job that she loved.” 

 

He took another breath, and for a moment nothing came out, as he mulled over his words again. He licked his lips before continuing.

 

“So… I made a deal with her. I told her that if you turned out to be magical and if raising you got to be too much, I would do all the work. I would do all the things that weren’t medically required for her to do. That I would take care of you myself.”

 

He paused momentarily at the way your body flinched, and your face blanked, as if an important puzzle piece had been put into place.

 

“And when you were born, it was fairly obvious you were magic. When you cried, the doctors’ hair turned bright green. It was the one time your magic made itself present before it hibernated until you were nine. That, on top of rising in the ranks at work, is why she wasn’t exactly present since then.”

 

He reluctantly reached for your forearm, tracing its way to your hand and grasping it. You let him guide it to sit between you, his grip gentle yet grounding.

 

“I adored you, Y/N. The day you were born to the first day you went off to kindergarten were my favorite years of raising you. While your mother was at the hospital, I got to be at home with you almost all day, away from all the nonsense I usually had to deal with when working in the office. You were such an easy baby, and when you learned to walk, the first thing you wanted to do was go outside and explore. When you learned to talk, you were so curious about both worlds. I answered all your questions, no matter how silly, and I could see in your eyes just how eager you were, how you absorbed everything around you. I knew you’d grow up to be a smart girl.”

 

He squeezed your hand.

 

“Not long after you started school, I got a promotion at work. I became more involved in running investigations, but I was still able to be home when you were let out. You’d always babble about what you learned and how your teacher complimented your ability to pick up on things. And I saw it too. I could feel your eyes on me, watching as I did things around the house, like making your meals or when you did your homework in the study, as I finished up on reports.”

 

He swallowed, his tone shifting from wistful to something deeper. Something more regretful.

 

“Then I was made Head and…things changed. I was still able to be home for you, constantly floo’ing back and forth when needed. And then…I don’t know, you turned eight and started to become more independent, which I’ve read was normal…” 

 

His thumb lightly stroked the side of your hand.

 

“You might not have known it, but I did always try to look out while I could especially when you were insistent in your acts, like putting charms on the chairs so that they never fell over because I knew you liked to stand on them to reach for high-up things, anti-shock spells around the outlets and the electronics, flames that automatically lowered when it felt a hand get near, any other proactive spells like those during the times I wasn’t always in the room. I thought it was strange how independent you were, always self-starting any activity, even when you wanted food. I didn’t question it because I thought you were just ahead of the curve, developmentally speaking, and that you could be trusted. Then you got your magic and…continued to do your own thing. You excelled in school, were developing your own sense of self, and showing you were responsible and…I was assured I didn’t always need to have an eye on you and that I could spend the amount of time expected of me by my co-workers at MACUSA. But…I know now…I was away too much, and there were things I definitely should not have let you do on your own, like brewing.”

 

His hand trembled slightly in yours.

 

“You became…quieter, more…reserved after I was made Head. You stopped freely sharing your thoughts about the day unless I asked.”

 

You began to shake again, and he felt it. He adjusted his grip, squeezing a bit more firmly, as if that small gesture could possibly keep you from breaking.

 

“Then you went to junior high and became a teenager and…I wasn’t quite sure how to talk to you anymore. I thought the change in your behavior was just you growing up, or maybe you wanting nothing to do with me—”

 

A broken whimper escaped you.

 

“And it was like I blinked, and you were off to Ilvermorny, and I thought I was too late to properly fix things—”

 

He broke. 

 

The muscles in his neck flexed as he swallowed, his lips pressing together tightly to stop the quivering of the corners. The first set of tears leaked from his eyes, mixing with rain, and both of you were now crying.

 

“I’m sorry.” His voice was hushed and strained. “I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for the way things went. I shouldn’t have pulled away like I had, even when you grew up. Had I known you were dimming yourself for my sake—” His voice faltered. He let go of your hand and moved his arm to wrap around you and draw you to him. Much to his relief, you willingly turned in his hold, tucking your face into the crux of his neck and shoulder, falling apart against him, crying as more sobs wracked through you. He drew you as close as he could manage, wrapping you in his arms, soaked in the rain. 

 

“I never wanted to make you feel that way, that your existence was a burden, that you had to worry about me . I should have been more involved, even when you and work changed. I should have kept engaging with you. I should've written to you at Ilvermorny and Hogwarts. I should’ve been home more in the summers.”

 

Your hand rose and gripped his collar, curling tightly into the fabric.

 

“I never wanted you to feel like you couldn’t tell me anything anymore or that I despised you, especially when you were hurt.”

 

His hand trailed up, holding the back of your head protectively. His fingers felt the raised scar that ran up the center of your skull, and his expression darkened slightly. He kissed your temple, making you shiver and involuntarily press closer.

 

The two of you sat there for some time, letting the rain drum down on you, both soaked to the bone. He just held you, kept you grounded as your sobs began to die down and your crying quieted. Even when it subsided altogether, he didn’t shift, only continued to rub up and down your back. You weren’t thrilled to find out that it had all been in your head, but given the circumstances at the time, what else were you supposed to think?

 

“I want to be there for you, especially with your patronus being a part of the picture. I want to make sure you aren't taken advantage of, and can properly deal with people without repercussions,” he murmured against your hair. “Please, tell me it’s not too late. Please…”

 

God, you wanted to forgive him so badly. It hurt to think that some of this was all in your head, a result of your perspective as a child. You wanted him back in your life again, but something was holding you back. Despite how well he explained himself, imploring that he loved you infinitely, there was still doubt. After all, he did choose your mother over you once you could practically take care of yourself, albeit at an age that was too young to be doing everything at.

 

You pulled away, moving to stand up. Your father quickly followed suit. Your hands balled tightly into fists as you kept your gaze on the ground. 

 

“What hurt most is that you chose her. I spent most of my summers alone because you chose her, the woman who tossed aside her own kid because she decided she loved her job more and thought a kid was too much work, over me, when you knew I was suffering.”

 

His hands tentatively rose to your forearms before he closed the distance more resolutely, drawing you into a tight hug. Your arms wrapped around him as well, not necessarily out of forgiveness, but because you craved the contact from him.

 

“I can’t apologize enough for that. But…I love your mother. Very much so. She understands me in a way I fear no other potential partner probably ever will. We both have our busy schedules, but the time that we have to see each other is wonderful. I know it’s selfish of me that you have to deal with the fact, given the circumstances. I feel very guilty about it, but…I want you both in my life.”

 

Of course, they had a life before you. A deep history. You couldn’t ask him to stop loving her, no matter how much it baffled you. How he could still love her after doing what many would consider to be despicable, you didn’t know. Fear of loneliness, maybe. Or low self-esteem. It’s not like what he said is false, either. Knowing how he is and his tendency to be people-avoidant, it wasn’t a recipe for dating success, especially considering how often people marry for money or power. And if he already had a wife he loved, what’s the point of asking him to give that up when you don’t even care for the woman?

 

“I don’t want a relationship with her,” you muttered into his neck. “I don’t want to see her or know her. She’s dead to me.”

 

“That’s fine. I won’t make you. I just want to be in your life, that's all. If you’ll have me…”

 

“That depends…” Your voice then suddenly turned strict. “Why are you avoiding your responsibilities at work?”

 

You could almost feel the way he grimaced to himself. “I am evading certain… bothersome people. Sometimes, I’d rather they just slip me the necessary work under my door and leave me be.”

 

“Well… You can either avoid work or me, but you can’t be doing both those things.”

 

He pulled back from you suddenly, his eyes searching your face, eyebrows raised in question. It took all your might to hold back any lingering doubt and anxiety, looking away and mustering a nod, one that he knew you meant. 

 

I forgive you, but for the love of God, don’t let it happen again. It might kill me.

 

A sharp exhale punched out from him, as if the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders. He held your face and placed a long, tender kiss on your forehead, murmuring many ‘thank you’s’

 

Alfie’s relaxed footsteps came rounding along the fountain, his face relaxed, but you caught something lurking in his gaze.

 

“All good here?” He asked as he came to your side, glancing between you and your father.

 

“Yes,” you hummed quietly.

 

“Good.”

 

And then, without warning, he gut-checked your father.

 

“OOHF!” He doubled over against Aflie, who went to steady him immediately after punching him hard in the stomach. 

 

“Alfie!” you exclaimed frightfully.

 

“N-no…” your father wheezed, staggering a little as he began to straighten slowly, hand pressed to his center. “No—I deserved that—it’s alright, Y/N.”

 

“Damn right, you do. You’re lucky I only punched you in the stomach. Seven fucking years…” Alfie growled. “And get back under an umbrella, both of ya. We gotta head back now.”

 

Your coat was sopping wet now, but it didn’t matter. You shrugged it on, and your father cast a charm to evaporate the wetness from your layers before tugging you close to him under the umbrella, and the three of you went to exit the park.

 

“Fucking finally…” Alfie mumbled against his cigar.

 

***

 

In the misty distance, Hogwarts peeked through the rain like the dark silhouette of a soul wandering through purgatory, the castles forming barely distinguishable through the rain against the already gray sky. By now, you were sure that the students had been guided back from Hogsmeade, and there was no need to worry about anyone else spotting you with two aurors deep in the fields. Thunder rumbled smoothly in the sky, like the deepest note on a base being plucked, bringing some comfort to you despite what was to come next. The questions… The concern… Niceties that made you uncomfortable when they came from people you didn’t consider friends.

 

They stuck by your side all the way along the path that led from the gates until you reached the border where the stone courtyard bled into wet grass.

 

“Well, this is it,” Alfie muttered flatly, staring at the castle with light disdain, like it owed him money. He sniffed dryly, “Wish we could’ve had ya for the whole day.”

 

You hummed sadly, letting your fingertips drum lightly against your legs.

 

“Nervous?” your father asked, to which you nodded. “Why?”

 

“I just…” Discomfort swam in your gut, your insides feeling taut. “I don’t want to deal with…people. The sympathy, the questions…”

 

“Like father, like daughter,” Alfie mused, putting a hand on your back. “Don’t you have friends now who’ll want to see you?”

 

“I guess, but…everyone else….” You looked down at the ground, trailing off with a frown.

 

“You could wear your mask.” 

 

“I wear it often. They’ll know it’s me.”

 

“Well, then do what I do: keep walking and tell ‘em to fuck off. Last night was rough. You’re allowed to have some peaceful solitude,” he declared, pulling you into a hug. You leaned into it, hesitantly wrapping your arms around him, testing your own self-restraint. Shoving down the urge to stay wrapped in someone’s arms for hours was…manageable. At least at this moment. The last thing anyone wanted to deal with was someone who was overly clingy, right? But the feeling was tripled when you stepped into your father’s embrace. 

 

Because you had missed him. So much.

 

You exhaled shakily, fisting his clothes tighter. Don’t cry again… You’re tired of crying… 

 

“I love you. I'll write to you soon,” he murmured against your hair, holding you tighter. “I promise.” 

 

You nodded against him, shyly mumbling a “love you too,” fighting the tears that welled and the ache in your throat. If only you had the whole day with him, to talk more, and show him what you like. You’d just have to wait a little longer, and then you’d be free.

 

He kissed your temple and pulled back slowly, handing over your umbrella to you. 

 

“See you in the summer, Y/N,” your father bid, Alfie nodding along agreeably.

 

With an unsteady breath, you nodded back, slowly turning from them and walking into the courtyard. Behind you, both your father and Alfie turned into their animagus forms, your father his leopard form, and Alfie his grizzly bear form, plodding through the rain and away from the castle, leaving you feeling significantly lighter in your mind and more ready to deal with the aftermath of your actions.

Chapter 69: That's Life

Summary:

Reader returns from her outing and deals with the storm of feelings that come her way

cw: panic attack

Notes:

IM SOOOOO SORRRY I got stuck on re-writing the panic attack scene like a bajillion times :((((((

It was instant.

 

Eyes all over you.

 

In shock.

 

In admiration.

 

In concern.

 

Students in sets of twos or threes whispered to themselves and (not so) subtly pointed your way as you strode through the Entrance Hall, but none of them actually had the balls to come up to you or call your name. Instead, they stared at you like you were an exhibit. Or a circus show.

 

Come one, come all, and witness the crazy runespoor girl who stopped a loose werewolf and almost killed herself in the process.

 

You hoped the urgency in your step and rigid posture radiated as much “fuck off” energy as possible. But even if you didn’t want to speak to anyone right now, you didn’t exactly have a choice. Madam Pomfrey was expecting you, and most likely Dumbledore. And you wanted to see the twins, and maybe check in with Professor Lupin to see how he was doing.

 

And also…

 

Your jaw clenched. 

 

Was it necessary? He saw you this morning, so wouldn’t it just be redundant? Or would not letting him know make you a bad friend…? Or was it not that serious, in that he wouldn’t…care that much? Was it…reasonable to assume such a thing?

 

Ugh. Curse his enigmatic behavior.

 

The doors to the Hospital Wing were propped open, expecting Hogsmeade or Quidditch shenanigan-related injuries. Madam Pomfrey stood before one of the medical cabinets, doing an inventory check of her supplies, when she caught you at the edge of her vision, lingering hesitantly at the entrance to the wing.

 

“Miss,” she breathed, motioning for you to come inside. “You’re back. Come, have a seat.”

 

You followed her to one of the beds and sat down on the plush mattress, the frame creaking slightly beneath your weight. She drew her wand from her robes and began performing a check-up on you, her brows pinched in concentration. She checked your heart rate, blood pressure, eyes, ears, and performed a few wandless spells that made you feel like sneezing.

 

“You had a seizure, you know,” she murmured as she felt your forehead, suspicious of the fact that you had been out and about in the rain.

 

Your eyes widened slightly. That was news to you. “When?”

 

“Last night. Just after Professor Snape brought you to the Hospital Wing. It gave us both a fright.”

 

“I don't remember feeling anything. Only…sleeping…I guess.”

 

“To be expected,” she nodded, pulling her hands away from you. “Do you still feel heavy? Tired? Like you carry all the world’s misery inside of you?”

 

“A bit tired, but…no. I’m all cried out.”

 

“Good.”

 

Then, she accio’d a rolled-up copy of the Prophet and smacked you across the head with it like you were a dog who had peed on the carpet. The action only made you flinch lightly.

 

“What on Earth were you thinking?!” she reprimanded, voice echoing loudly off the stone walls. “Taking Elixir of Euphoria and Wide Eye at the same time while summoning a patronus? Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be alive right now?! You could’ve suffered brain damage, or have organ failure, or worse, died! You can’t just throw yourself on the chopping block like that. You aren’t invincible!”

 

“I just wanted to help—”

 

“And your desire to do so is noted, but drugging yourself to boost your magic is not the way to go about it, especially when it puts your life at risk,” she argued.

 

“I know what I was risking,” you contended. “That’s why I did it. There were many kids from our house missing, and I wanted to do something to help. You have to understand, I didn’t want any of them to get bitten or killed! I’m one person, Madam. Better to lose one than many.”

 

She bristled at that, crossing her arms at how easily you were willing to just throw yourself away like that, like you hadn’t an ounce of self-preservation. She didn’t see it as selfless. She saw it as stupid. Perhaps it was the healer in her that made her think so as well. “Surely, you did not think that Dumbledore hadn’t sent out help for the students who were outside their common rooms? We have protocols for these sorts of occurrences!”

 

“How was I supposed to know? We have one painting in the Slytherin common room! We didn’t know anything!”

 

“Even so, the fact that you readily threw yourself into chaos like tha—”

 

“It was logical.”

 

“It was asinine!” Pomfrey cut you off. “Did you think that no one would care if you got hurt or died?”

 

The question felt like you were being cattle prodded right in the heart. When you had done what you did last night, not once did your mind think about who would’ve cared, because you thought the answer was obvious. ‘No.’ Because that’s what you were used to thinking for so long, especially after your friendship with Ada ended. And perhaps, even after a few years of knowing the twins, you were still insecure with your relationship with them, because they were so much younger than you, they’d move on easily after you graduated. Jakob and H/G/N still felt too new for you… And Professor Snape…

 

You bit the inside of your cheek, putting the thought away for now.

 

“No,” you admitted meekly. “No, I didn’t.”

 

There was a shift in her gaze, a flicker of her eyes when you said that, her shoulders dropping a little, and her brows pulling away from one another. Did you truly think no one would have cared or concerned themselves over you? 

 

She exhaled sharply. “Well. As the school healer, I care. As does Dumbledore. I’m sure Professor Snape—”

 

Your stomach flipped.

 

“—wouldn’t be too thrilled about losing someone with your talents. And the twins would probably blow up the castle in a blind rage, had your heart stopped. There are people who do care about your well-being, Miss L/N. So please, stop walking through life as if people don’t.”

 

Dumbledore. You had forgotten about Dumbledore. Your stomach clenched as a beat passed. Oh my god, you had forgotten about Alfie. He’d blow up the world if something more serious had happened.

 

“Have you spoken to Dumbledore yet?” the matron questioned.

 

“No. I just got back.”

 

“You should see him. I imagine he’ll want to have a chat with you.”

 

You nodded solemnly to yourself, smoothing your palms along the mattress before standing up. Your eyes wandered over to the bed where Lupin was earlier this morning. 

 

“You discharged Professor Lupin?”

 

“Tentatively discharged him. Men and their stubbornness... His fiancée is here with him for the day, and he’ll be walking around with a cane for the next week.”

 

Tonks is here… That’s good.

 

“It seems to me that you were able to sleep through most of the effects. And your pulse is regular for now. I suppose you may go see Dumbledore and enjoy the rest of your weekend. Do try not to put yourself into any more dangerous situations, Miss,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I don't enjoy seeing you in one of these beds.”

 

You didn’t need to be told twice. You hopped off the mattress, striding out of the Hospital Wing, narrowing your eyes at those who clustered just out of frame of the Hospital Wing entrance, sneakily listening in on your conversation when Madam Pomfrey started yelling.

 

High up in the Headmaster’s Office, Dumbledore stood at the large arching window that gave him a generous view of the landscape, drowned in a downpour of rain and gray skies. His hands remained clasped behind his back as he looked out thoughtfully. Today had gone as smoothly as he could have hoped with the aurors. They came to the school, only three of them, and questioned Dumbledore about the timeline of events last night. The present staff and Elmira Juniper were questioned about what they saw, answering their questions to the best of their ability. Despite your absence, your name was cleared quickly from any suspicion when the use of your patronus was mentioned. After all, it would be impossible for anyone in a werewolf state to use a wand or any form of magic.

 

He wasn’t thrilled about having to collapse one of the secret passages. Granted, it wasn’t in use, at least to his knowledge; he doesn’t doubt some students have happened upon it over the years and used it to sneak about, but it was still a part of Hogwarts history. It was a shame to shut it down, all to support a lie. He was grateful, though, for the timing of Hogsmeade weekend, allowing the students a chance to recuperate emotionally and give the aurors more wiggle room to do their job around the school. 

 

Soft raps sounded on the ornate door from behind him, interrupting his train of thought. He half-turned to the door. “Come in.”

 

The door slowly pushed open, revealing your still, rain-soaked form. Dumbledore’s hands unlinked from behind, falling to his sides as you stepped into his office. You gently closed the door behind you, somewhat avoiding eye contact with him out of reluctance, and slowly approached the center of the room. He followed suit, albeit more confidently.

 

“I just got ba—”

 

You were pulled into a gentle hug, one you could escape easily if you wanted to, his hand splayed on your upper back. You swallowed, hands rising hesitantly, wanting to hug him, wanting to reciprocate, but… You let them fall back down to your side, clenched, and you leaned your weight against them.

 

“I’m sure it doesn’t bear repeating that you shouldn’t do that again,” Dumbledore said mildly. When you hummed against him, he pulled back, the usual glimmer returning to his eyes.

 

“How was your outing?”

 

Your lips parted slowly. “It was… productive. But, I think it would be better to see for yourself.”

 

Dumbledore raised a brow at you, silently asking for confirmation, which you returned with the lightest of nods. He retrieved his wand from his sleeve, lifting it to your temple and pressing gently. His voice was low, yet clear, when he chanted the spell, simultaneously drawing the wand away. The memories of your outing were drawn in a taut, ethereal string. It was nearly a foot in length before it disconnected itself, dangling like a wispy hair at the end of his wand.. Dumbledore took a moment to acknowledge the length and how much it glowed, usually an indicator of its intensity, before finding a particular stone on the floor and pressing down on it with his foot. A cabinet swung open, revealing a pensive that hovered toward the old wizard, the mysterious luminous substance swirling eerily.

 

He swished the memory off his wand, letting it fall like a feather into the pensive, dissolving into a crystal-like pool, whispering with the fragments of your day. His hands came to clasp together behind his back once more, casting one last look your way before leaning his head down into the pensive.

 

The scenes played out in succession quickly, your mind pre-selecting key moments to show him when the spell was cast. A quiet and very awkward conversation at a restaurant, a few moments when you shrank in on yourself when your father stood close to you while observing some paintings from the 1800s, how you avoided interaction in the catacombs, keeping your eyes on the name templates embedded in the wall instead of looking in his direction, putting more space between you while the three of you went to see the Statue of Liberty…

 

Then a park. 

 

Huge. Obscured by rain. Barely anyone was out and about.

 

In real time, you shifted awkwardly in the office while waiting for Dumbledore to finish up. You wondered what he would say about…well…your breakdown. At the time, it had felt raw and…all-encompassing. Perhaps he would feel the echoes of it.

 

There was a change in his demeanor, a creeping tension that drew his shoulders taut. His hands squeezed together more tightly behind his back. Then, moments later, they relaxed, his shoulders lowering once more, before removing himself from the pensive altogether.

 

Dumbledore was slow to turn around, but when he did, he had a mystified expression on his face, one that made you feel like you were beneath a spotlight.

 

“What?” Your hands cradled your elbows nervously.

 

His eyes flicked back and forth over your face, lips parting slightly. “It seems your heart is bigger than mine,” he said softly. “I would not have forgiven him.”

 

“I haven’t,” you answered just as quietly. “I want to, to stop feeling resentful, but I know I shouldn’t. Not yet. He has a lot of make-up to do. And I’m tired of pretending that I can go through life without wanting him to be a part of it. We’ve got to start somewhere.”

 

Dumbledore grunted, gently guiding the pensive back into place and closing the cabinet.

 

“May I take a look?” He asked. You didn’t need clarification from him to know what he meant. You tapped your temple, giving him the green light to enter your mind and make his evaluation. He did so silently, and it would’ve looked like he was just staring at you to anyone else. There was no intrusive sensation, no prodding to make you feel his presence. He simply looked. Sensed.

 

“It’s…” he started in a mutter. “Different.”

 

“Different?” 

 

“Yes. A good kind of different.” This time, you actually felt him probe, feeling the boundaries, where things blurred… “I’m not sure how to describe it.”

 

“...Are you able to try?”

 

He pressed his lips together, attempting to compose something you’d be able to grasp. “Usually, when I observe your mind, everything…moves…rather chaotically, not as a result of any control, of course. Some of your thoughts, feelings, and memories blip in and out quickly, like a sky of twinkling stars, or drag for a while like an Aurora Borealis. This time, something about your mind feels more consistent…like how a rising sun or moon is hardly faster or slower day-to-day.”

 

Your lashes fluttered slightly as you felt the internal force trace lightly somewhere in your head. It made your ears twitch.

 

“More…certain.”

 

The feeling faded, and Dumbledore blinked as he removed himself from his mind, the answer coming to him. “Your confrontation with your father has allowed you to let go of a significant amount of doubt.”

 

  Your eyebrows quirked together. Huh. That…certainly was a thought. You did feel more assured after your interaction. And his letter was something you were looking forward to. Perhaps…he was right.

 

“Yeah… I think so. I…I don’t think he was lying. ‘S the most emotion I’ve seen from him in years.”

 

“Hm. Well. I hope he keeps to his word. I imagine you have a lot to tell him—catch him up on your shenanigans.”

 

“Yeah,” you chuckled lightly, playing with the sleeve of your coat. “I might have to write it all down in a book, like a diary, and send it to him that way.”

 

He tilted his head curiously. “Or you could send him a vial.”

 

A vial? “Pardon?”

 

“A vial. Of memories. The ones you’d like for him to see. You’d need a potion if you intend to send him a lot, assuming he doesn’t have a pensive. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you to brew.”

 

That caught your attention. You didn’t know such a potion existed. 

 

He caught sight of that look in your eye, a warm smile creeping onto his face, glancing back and forth between you and a bookshelf on the other side of his office.

 

“Would you like me to show you?” he asked, to which you nodded happily, pressing your lips together to smother your smile.

 

You followed after him eagerly as he retrieved a book from the bookshelf and motioned you over to his desk to read along with him, flipping to the page and reading it aloud to you. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched your demeanor, the way you linked your hands behind your back, shifting as you barely suppressed your anticipatory wiggles and fidgeting, how your eyes shone with your curiosity when presented with something new to learn, your anticipation…

 

Dumbledore sighed internally. He’d never said it out loud before, but you were very much like a daughter to him, one he never had. Had that been the case in the past, he’d have liked her to be like you: kind, intelligent, fair-minded to both worlds, in love with nature, and enthusiastic to learn. It troubled him when you had come to Hogwarts jaded and inured. The ability was certainly there. You just needed guidance. And so he stepped in. It wasn’t the first time he offered a little extra attention to a particularly troubled student. There have been a handful of students who were in dire need of it in the past, those who went through terrible, awful things. But it was different with you—a first—because the two of you had shared a vice: an over-indulgence in Occlumency, resulting in locking oneself in one's mind, that left you more susceptible to it after breaking it the first time. He had done so a few times in the past, all accidental, of course. The last time it happened was decades ago, after defeating Gellert Grindelwald, and before that, when Ariana died. 

 

This shared connection was probably why he felt paternal toward you, filling two roles, really.

 

He snorted lowly to himself while you were distracted by something in the book.

 

Oh, Gellert. You’d curse me if we ever had a child like Y/N.

***

 

The piece of parchment detailing instructions on brewing the potion necessary to send memories to your father remained folded stiffly in your pants pocket. Along with it, the name of a book related to the potion’s intent, he thought, you might have an interest in. You decided not to confront him about the supposed letter your father had sent, vying for your removal from Hogwarts. The response was something you likely could have predicted, something along the lines of wanting to ensure that you finished your schooling properly or that the few years you spent here weren’t all for not, which you could agree with on some level. Maybe you’d remember to ask him about it at the end of the year, if you remembered to.

 

And that wasn't at the forefront of your mind at the moment. No. It was the twins. Your boys. Just because they weren’t in the Hospital Wing when you woke up doesn’t mean you weren't worried. For all you know, they could've been chased into a classroom, Lupin banging on the door until Runey dragged him away. Lupin could wait. You needed to see them. Now.

 

The hem of your coat billowed lightly in your determined stride. A few older students had tried to engage with you, some you had classes with, but you offered them nothing as you continued to traverse through the seventh floor. 

 

Eventually, you reached a corridor whose end broke off into two directions, but in the center was a large painting, a portrait of the Fat Lady. Had you known her real name, you’d have preferred to call her so. Her painting and attire looked like something out of the neoclassical era, and there were only two things you knew about her: she was an aspiring opera singer when she was alive, and she was very stubborn about whom she let into the common room.

 

You could hear her attempts at trying to break a wine glass in her hand, starting low and climbing in pitch, her off-key attempts making you wince as you grew closer.

 

A few other students coming back from the library cringed as well, lingering outside the common room, waiting to be let in despite repeated attempts to tell her the password.

 

“Shh-shh-shh!” The Fat Lady dismissed another student just as you broke through the thin crowd of students gathered around the entrance. “ uh-Uh-UH- UHHHHHHH—”

 

But she didn’t get to finish, despite the glass trembling in her hand. You had stepped forward, gripped the edge of the frame, and unceremoniously ripped it open, the painting swinging and slamming against the stone wall. 

 

Those watching gasped, and the Fat Lady wasn’t happier about it either. 

 

“MY GOODNESS, HOW RUDE!” she shrieked from the other side, scandalized. You didn’t dwell on it, didn’t care to hear her squabbling. 

 

You emerged from the stone entrance, catching the attention of those who lounged in the common room, avoiding the dreary weather as the fireplace roared away.

 

“Y/N?” Nicholas, who had been sitting in a plush armchair, looked up and greeted. “Hey!”

 

“Yeah, yeah—hey—hi—where are the twins?” You hurriedly answered.

 

“They’re in their dormitory,” he frowned slightly. “Are you—”

 

But he didn’t get to finish as you had strode past him the second he said ‘dormitory.’ You climbed the stone staircase that led to the dorm rooms, steering to the left where the boys’ side was.

 

Fred and George sat at their respective desks, scribbling away in their notebooks, thankful their dorm mates had gone to the library. But the quiet ceased to last, the door to the shared room bursting open, making them jump in their seats. When they turned and saw you standing in the doorway, slightly panting from having run up the steps, they scrambled from their seats.

 

“Y/N!” they said at the same time. You met their pace, striding forward until your bodies collided, arms wrapping tightly around one another, ignoring the dampness of your clothes.

 

“We heard,” Fred rambled against your shoulder. “I mean, Merlin, Y/N, I can’t believe you used your patronus like that!”

 

“Nearly gave us heart attacks when we found out you were in the Hospital Wing.”

 

“I was so worried,” your voice caught in your throat, and you squeezed them tighter. “Please, tell me the two of you were in a safe place.”

 

“Yeah. We were in the library, brushing up on Potions like you suggested. There were loads of us in there. Pince even barricaded the doors. How did you know it was a werewolf?”

 

You hated to lie to them, but you had to. “The paintings. Sir Lazarus has two portraits. I took potions to help with keeping Runey stable.”

 

“Is that why you had a seizure?” George asked. “Pomfrey told us you had one right after you were brought to the Hospital Wing.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I…wanted to ensure he stayed solid so that there weren’t any last-minute mishaps.”

 

They both pulled back, raising a brow at you. “You mean like your seizure?” They deadpanned, admonishingly.

 

A pained noise of embarrassment escaped you, but they let it go, only glad that you were alright.

 

“You know you saved a life, right? Some first-year in Hufflepuff. I heard she got cornered, and your patronus got the werewolf just in time.”

 

What?

 

George winced. “By the look of your face, it sounds like none of the teachers told you. But it’s true. Actually, I think her older sister is in Slytherin. Did no one mention this to you?”

 

“No…I…I’ve been away from the castle since I woke up and…I just got back.” You felt your stomach twist uncomfortably. “I think I need to sit down…”

 

“ ‘Course,” they said, guiding you over to George’s bed.

 

The three of you took refuge there for some time, drawing the curtains around the four-post bed to give the three of you some privacy. You told them about where you went, who you were with, and what you saw back in the States, and answered any questions they had when you brought up a no-maj topic that was unfamiliar to them. In return, they explained what had happened right after you left. Aurors had come to the school, investigating the events of last night, and more importantly, how one even got into the school. They questioned students, teachers, Filch…and didn’t find much. You thought for sure Lupin was going to be discovered and hauled off. Apparently, Dumbledore had managed to convince them, and most of the student body, that it was a stray that had gotten into the school. In the end, a secret tunnel that connected the first floor and the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest was forcibly collapsed, a fact that greatly irritated the twins. It was a passage they used frequently.

 

It wasn’t long until all of you fully settled, crammed together on the bed more comfortably. You sat up against the frame with Fred sitting between your legs, his back to your chest as he read his book. George was to your right, his side pressed against your side, and his temple resting on your shoulder as he read his own book. Your book hovered above George’s knees. The three of you stayed like this until dinner, and even then, you didn’t part. After last night, it was very much expected of you to eat with your house, to chat with H/G/N, but you wanted to be with the boys. Just for a little longer. 

 

“Oi! Stop staring at her, yeah?” George sneered at one part of the Ravenclaw that was watching you a bit too much for the twins' liking. 

 

“It’s alright, guys. It’s inevitable.”

 

“Inevitable, my ass. You deserve to eat in peace,” Fred grumbled.

 

“Maybe so, but Hogwarts rarely offers the luxury of privacy.”

 

A head of honey blonde hair rose from the Ravenclaw section and bounded over to where you, Fred, and George sat. Jakob’s golden retriever energy was palpable from a mile away, and you sensed his presence before he put his hand on your shoulder.

 

“Y/N! You are back!” he beamed.

 

“Yes, I am,” you reached up and patted his hand. “And still kicking.”

 

“Ja. I heard you had a seizure. Are you okay? Vas zat because you used your patronus?”

 

“I’m alright. And somewhat. I took some potions to help boost my magic last night. It messed with my brain a bit.”

 

“Oh,” he frowned momentarily before his smile returned. “I’m glad you’re okay. Did you like ze candy I got you from Hogsmeade?”

 

“What candy?”

 

“Ze candy I left at ze foot of your bed in ze Hospital Wing.”

 

Your brows knitted together. “I didn’t see anything there when I left this morning.”

 

“You got some cards and treats,” Fred informed through a bite of food. “From a bunch of students. We left you something, too. I wonder if Pomfrey moved them somewhere before you woke up. Maybe check your room? She once had a house elf deliver cards meant for me when I was in the Hospital Wing for a week.”

 

“I got you a lollipop,” Jakob smiled. “It changes flavor vith every lick. Is very sweet.”

 

“And we ate the chocolate frog that someone gave you because we know you don’t like charmed candy,” George whispered to you.

 

You gave George a knowing smirk before returning your attention to Jakob. “Thank you, Jakob, that’s very kind.” The boy merely nodded back, grinning more broadly, before trotting back over to his table. A radiant ball of sunshine he was.

 

There was another presence you could detect. One that was the opposite, stern and brooding, gaze piercing into your head. 

 

Him.

 

You peeked up at the staff table and—

 

Yep. Professor Snape was staring right at you.

 

And he did not look away when your eyes met his.

 

His gaze was…intense, like he was trying to figure out whether you were actually sitting there or if you were just a figment of his imagination. You could guess the choice of words he had for you regarding last night. And your memory of them wasn’t clear. You remember summoning your patronus, some time passing, Snape coming into the common room, and then…nothing. Just waking up in the Hospital Wing. Did the two of you talk? Or did he just scoop you up without a word and deliver you like a gift-wrapped patient for Madam Pomfrey?

 

You pressed your lips together and looked away.

 

Severus was only slightly annoyed that you didn’t see him after you returned.

 

Only slightly.

 

In the few hours before dinner commenced, he had gotten a message from Pomfrey’s patronus, letting him know you had returned and gotten examined by her for any lingering afflictions, of which she found none. ‘Good. You had the sense to listen to the matron’s instructions,’ he had thought at the time. He wasn’t on Hogsmeade duty and was around the castle when you returned. He saw you too, ascending the Grand Staircase, but too far away for him to get your attention without shouting and disturbing the students traversing the corridors. So he let you carry on, assuming you were going to see the twins.

 

Then a few hours passed. And truly, he felt like a pouting schoolboy, a testament to how pathetically soft he had become. 

 

Were you simply just going to keep him waiting until the next day to grace him with your own confirmation of return? And he knew— he knew— that feeling this way was rather immature for someone in his position. The twins were your best friends. You were likely worried sick about their safety during Lupin’s escapade. You had every right to spend as much time with them as you wanted for your peace of mind.

 

Still, what of his? You could’ve sent a note.

 

His eyes found you the moment you entered the Great Hall, feeling his shoulders lower in relief. Your hair was slightly darker, still a little damp from being in the rain, and you didn’t seem as ragged as you did this morning when you woke. That was good. Until…

 

You went to the Gryffindor table. 

 

Not good.

 

You might not have noticed it, but he could see that Slytherin was a bit disappointed, the older students’ eyes tracking you to the opposite side of the room as you went to sit at the rival table. Their discontent wasn’t speculative, either. For some time today, he had to answer to students who had been asking if you were around and when you’d be back, only for them to be met with “She’s away from the castle.” After what you had done last night, shouldn't you sit with the house that would have appreciated it the most?

 

Then, your eyes met his. 

 

Not a casual, fleeting glance. A purposeful redirection of your focus.

 

He didn’t look away. No smooth averting of his gaze down to his plate or to “randomly” strike up conversation with his seat neighbor. He wanted you to see his suspicion . His discontent . His relief. Furthermore, why weren’t you eating? During the meal, you hadn’t so much as filled your glass or taken a bite from a roll.

 

You looked away.

 

Though your stomach grumbled, you held off on eating the takeout that remained nestled in your bag, as you wanted to eat in private, without speaking to anyone. But you remained present for the twins. You wanted to have this time with them before you would need to shut yourself away to catch up on school work. You did your best to make it last, to focus on what they were saying, nodding along. However, when you found your ears ringing slightly and your focus being pulled away by every little noise around you, you knew it was time to go.

 

“Y/N?” you hear George’s voice.

 

“Hm?”

 

“You’ve got that look in your eye like you're in another dimension. You alright?”

 

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

 

Fred narrowed his eyes a little. “You know, if you’re…uhm… “social battery” is low, we won’t hold you hostage. We know you’ve had a busy day.”

 

Oh, bless them for being so understanding of you.

 

“You guys sure?” you hesitated, rubbing your palms against your lap.

 

“ ‘Course!” said George. “Go do your thing. And we can always hang out tomorrow.”

 

You winced, feeling guilty of what you were about to say. “I don’t think I’ll be able to. I’ve got a lot of studying to do.”

 

“What? We won’t be able to hang out at all? ” they gaped.

 

“I guess we can study together , should both of you want to, but yeah… My free time tomorrow will be extremely limited.”

 

Their shoulders dropped in disappointment. Even though it was nearing the end of the year, and they knew both yours and their time wouldn’t be as flexible, they still wanted to have hope. But now, you have to face the aftermath of volunteering your services for the professors the day prior, on top of your regular workload. It irked them because soon you’d be graduating and would only get to see them when school was out. But they understood. After all, they’ve been behind before with work and are familiar with the sacrificing of free time to get back on track.

 

“Well…alright then. But don’t break your brain again by studying too hard. Can’t you spend the whole weekend in the Hospital Wing, can we?”

 

That quip brought a small smile to your face. “No. We certainly can’t have that.” You rose from your seat, tussling the twins’ hair before slinging your bag on your shoulder and taking your leave.

 

You felt the eyes of many Slytherin students on you as you left, glancing their way and making eye contact with H/G/N, who offered you a warm smile. You returned it quietly with one of your own and a nod of your head before passing over the threshold.

 

The ringing in your ears began to fade when you left the Great Hall, exhaling deeply as you entered the Entrance Hall, surrounded by portraits who had settled for the evening, conversing lowly with themselves. Speaking of paintings, Dumbledore mentioned that there would be three new additions to the Slytherin common room after H/G/N explained last night’s dilemma. It was a fair ask, too, since the other common rooms had more than just one  

 

“Good evening, Mademoiselle~” a smooth French voice called to you. You paused in your step, looking around for the owner, and saw Sir Lazarus waving at you from an ornately carved frame.

 

“Oh.” You approached the painting. “So this is where your other painting is.”

 

“Indeed!” He stood from his velvet chair, drawing his sword, lightly swishing it about, as if practicing sparring against an invisible opponent. “I saw what you did last night—quite the ability you have. And I’ve seen many strange performances in my day.”

 

“Some have called my 'strange' performance incredibly reckless.”

 

“Strange…reckless… They are fair qualifiers,” he commented, before pointing his sword at you. “But I believe noble is the correct descriptor. There is nothing more noble than self-sacrifice in the face of danger.”

 

You tilted your head at him. “Is that how you came to pass?”

 

“Yes.” His expression turned serious. “My dear brother, who was far too young, was challenged to a duel. One that would’ve surely ended in the loss of his life. I took his place. My opponent was…more precise.” He lunged forward, thrusting his sword in a straight line. “Stabbed right through the heart.”

 

A sympathetic hum sounded in your throat. “I’m sorry.”

 

Lazarus clicked his tongue, his chest puffing out more confidently. “Nothing to be sorry for, Chéri. He lived to be 147. A life well lived. Even if I had known my fate, I would’ve done so anyway. The things we do for love.”

 

“Love didn’t have as big a role in my intentions. It just seemed….logical.”

 

“Ah, but you care. A general love and concern for the people surrounding you. And it’s a good thing you do. You saved two lives yesterday!”

 

Your brows came together.

 

“Two…?”

 

He nodded. “A girl. Young. A first year, I think. And Professor Snape, of course. He was with her. Had her cradled in his arms when they got cornered. The other paintings,” he gestured with a tip of his chin to an elevated entrance within the Grand Staircase, “tell me your patronus swooped in just in time!”

 

…What?

 

“Professor Snape…was with her?”

 

“That’s what I heard.” Lazarus frowned, noticing how your expression became shocked and tight. “Are you alright, Mademoiselle? You seem pale…”

 

“I… I-I’m…” you swallowed before quickly bowing your head politely, fighting the sudden tension in your chest. “Good night, Sir Lazarus.”

 

Wasting no more time lingering, you swept away from the painting, feeling a sudden heaviness wreak havoc on your body, your blood buzzing and the ringing growing louder once more. 

 

…badump-badump-badump-badump…

 

No. Please. Not now. 

 

That piece of news seemed to be the last nail in the coffin, your body and mind finally catching up with the harsh reality of what transpired. It reminded you all too well of why you were averse to magic and the wizarding world in the first place, because people got hurt. Poisoned. Mauled. Hypnotized and assaulted. Cursed. Killed with a single chant.

 

Professor Snape nearly died.

 

Had you hesitated for even a second longer in casting your patronus, he’d have been killed.

 

Because of Lupin. Because of Black…

 

Magic…

 

Your heart began to beat so hard and quickly that it hurt, like something sharp was driving through your ribs, jerking with every thump of your pulse.

 

Fuck…You really did care about him, didn’t you…

 

All of a sudden, it became extremely difficult to breathe; another force present in your chest, a crushing weight that made your lungs feel tightly bound. Tears quickly began to fill your vision, blurring your surroundings, all while you tried to force yourself to breathe, only for it to come out as shuddering heaves and broken gasps.

 

Your steps faltered as you moved unsteadily through the corridor to the outside cloisters, hoping for the smell and sound of heavy rain to calm you down. It did a decent job at partially obscuring the thoughts that roared in your mind, but not much else. And your clothes, you became hyper-aware of the thick layers that now suddenly felt too suffocating. 

 

“…Mffh…” Something sounded far away in your muffled hearing, but you didn’t turn and acknowledge the source, too focused on taking in gulps of air and fumbling with the buttons on your coat. Your clammy fingers kept slipping from the buttons, and after the fifth attempt to undo even one button, you decidedly tore open the coat in one swift motion, the buttons snapping off and falling to the ground. And just when you had finally shrugged off the coat and thrown it onto the low cloister wall, someone touched your shoulder.

 

You inhaled sharply, whipping around and away from the presence, almost slipping on the wet stone as you did so. 

 

Oh, god.

 

Professor Snape was there watching you, brows pulled tightly together, mouth parted, perturbed by the way you had violently spazzed away from him. He was watching you. Watching you having a panic attack. About him. About…

 

“Miss?” Severus asked once more, taken aback by your current state, and how you reacted to a slight touch. You seemed all over the place. Distraught. Breathing far too quickly and heavily. “Are you alright?”

 

Mortification and self-loathing took over you at once, sending your panic to greater heights. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me having a panic attack. Don’t look at me having a panic attack about you. Don’t perceive me as something to trouble yourself with. 

 

Pathetic.

 

Nuisance.

 

His eyes darted all over you, taking in your every movement, every strained sound you made, your whimpers, your uneven, ragged breaths, and the expression on your face. It quickly became clear to him what was happening. 

 

“Y/N,” he started lowly, attempting to edge closer to you. “Are you having a panic atta—”

 

You staggered back, your mind screaming, ‘No! No touching!’  and he raised his hands back in acceptance. “I-I’m—fi—ine,” you croaked out pathetically, through unsuccessful gulps of air.

 

Severus was not at all convinced. “You are not fine. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have that look of doom on your face,” he asserted formally, slowly lowering his hands. He took an experimental step towards you, and this time you didn’t jump back. “You are having a panic attack. Allow me to help you.”

 

“Don’t to—”

 

“I won’t touch you. Not yet. But you need to listen to me.”

 

Your arms crossed over your body, fingernails digging harshly into the space above your elbows, and nodded.

 

“Good. Now, I wouldn’t normally condone this, but I know cold water on the neck helps. So, I want you to take one large step back.”

 

You did so, without protest, stepping back through the cloister opening so that you edged the line of the courtyard and the cloister halls. Rain pounded down on your head and shoulders, the coldness of the water on your neck sending a jolt down your body. The shock of it heightened your awareness of your surroundings, your feelings, bringing a little more clarity to the otherwise blurry heaviness that dragged you down.

 

“Keep breathing, Y/N,” he instructed, slowly inching toward you again to lessen the distance. 

 

Little by little, it started to become easier to breathe, but the paranoia and quickness of your heart persisted. It was still difficult to focus.

 

“You’re doing well.” He stopped a few feet in front of you. “Now, I want you to tell me three things that you can see.”

 

Three things that you can see? Your lungs ached with effort. “Th-there’s nothing arou—”

 

“They don’t have to be significant or stand out,” Severus interjected. “Just anything you can see.”

 

“U-um,” you blinked rapidly through the rain, and your heaving breaths, eyes darting around the space in front of you. “M-my pinstripe coat on the cloister,” you whimpered.

 

He nodded. “Keep going.”

 

You sniffed heartily. “...the wet stone around us…a-and…your black robes.”

 

“Very good,” he murmured. He took another step toward you. There was only a little over two feet of space between you now. “Three things that you can hear.”

 

Your nails relaxed on your arms, and your breathing had lightened a bit in intensity. 

 

“The rain… Um…the torch crackling on the wall behind you… And…my heartbeat in my head.”

 

It was then that your heartbeat decided to relent, the hammering pace slowing into an ebbing thud, and your throat felt less tight now. 

 

Severus moved even closer, and he was well into your personal space now. His hands rose slowly, covering yours and uncrossing them so that they remained gently cradled between you both and no longer digging painfully into your limbs. You didn’t flinch away, as he had hoped.

 

“Three things you feel.”

 

You swallowed thickly, feeling heat crawl up your neck, and hung your head a little,

 

“The rain on my skin… Your hands… And a whole lot of embarrassment,” you muttered.

 

An amused sort of huff escaped him, but his expression was no less serious, and he pulled you back out from the rain so that you were no longer assailed by water. He released your hands, only for them to retreat to your head.

 

“Don’t look at me,” you declared bitterly, tugging at your turtleneck collar and bringing the material over your face. However, he saw that your ears, uncovered by the dark cloth, were very red.

 

Severus tilted his head slightly in thought. You had presumably thought your panic attack was something to be embarrassed about. But he understood. He shared…similar feelings about them when they occurred in the past. Once again, he touched you, his fingers resting on your wrist. Not tugging, just grounding.

 

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. I’m fairly certain no one else saw.”

 

Your head shook side to side, briefly, but aggressively, insistent in concealing yourself. He pressed his lips together. He wasn’t going to push or force you. What good would that do either of you? 

 

“May I apparate us?”

 

A nod came this time. The motion was hesitant, and he wasn’t sure if it was because you wanted to or assumed you had no choice. He knows he can be imperious. At the very least, he just wanted you out of public view to talk. His office was only a convenience.

 

His fingers brushing along the sensitive underside, making you shiver slightly, moving upwards, and indicating his intent to grasp your hand. You lowered your hand from your head, allowing him to take hold of it. His warm hand wrapped around your cold one, his other accio’ing your coat to him. He squeezed once in warning before you felt the surrounding space contort and spin.

***

The ambience of the rain disappeared, but the cold was still present, this time in the depths of the dungeons. His hand let go of yours, slotting your coat into your palm, and you heard him move past you, likely toward his personal brewing station and where the cabinets and cupboards stood. You neither sat nor moved, standing still in whichever spot both of you had landed. There was the sound of a squeaky hinge, followed by a few clinks, before you heard his quiet footsteps approach you once more

 

“Here,” Severus uttered.

 

You hesitantly brought down the collar of your turtleneck. The vial he held out to you was…just that. A vial. Not a whole potion. Based on the color, you guessed it to be a Calming Draught.

 

“It’s small,” you observed, grasping the vial, your fingers brushing his. 

 

“You seem to have mostly calmed. I didn’t want to give too much.”

 

It made sense to you, so you didn’t question. Immediately after you downed it, however, he presented you with a second vial. The familiar immune-booster. 

 

“I was barely out there,” you contested, slightly slurred, as the Calming Draught began to work almost immediately.

 

He raised a challenging brow at you. “Were you, or were you not, ‘running around New York in the rain,’ as Mr. Moretti put it?” When you offered no response, he plucked the empty vial from you and gave you the booster. You consumed it without further protest, much to his relief, wiping away the tiny dribble with the back of your hand.

 

“I don't want to pressure you…” He declared softly, pocketing the empty vials. “But I would like to know what caused you to start panicking, so it doesn’t happen again. Especially if you're outside and alone.”

 

You scoffed. “You say that as if you have any power in stopping such things.”

 

He raised a skeptical yet challenging brow, taking another step toward. “Enlighten me, then. Do I?”

 

Even though you were grateful that he had helped you, you didn’t owe him any answers, didn't owe him those feelings, that part of you. Yet, shouldn’t he already know? Did he not assume that it had to do with Lupin’s wandering around the school? Sure, he doesn’t know it directly involved him nearly dying, but the idea that people in general could’ve been mauled didn’t come to his mind? That a transformed werewolf lurking in the halls is fucking scary?

 

You didn’t look at him—god, no—anywhere but him , instead on the floor, praying he didn’t pay too much attention to the redness in your face. Your free hand found the collar of your turtleneck, tugging it up to cover your mouth, feeling too shy for your own good. 

 

“I had spoken to a painting after dinner. Before it happened,” you mumbled. 

 

“And?” Severus probed.

 

“A painting said that…y…..erly…ie…”

 

“I can't understand you if you continue seeking refuge in the collar of your clothes, Miss.”

 

You scrunched your eyes closed in frustration, releasing your hold on your turtleneck and repeating yourself. “A painting said…that…you nearly died.”

 

His eyes widened, and he stiffened. It almost looked like he was going to take a step back. The space between you was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. And because of this tense silence, you suddenly felt the need to smother it.

 

“A-and a first year, too, and reality just…caught up to me, and it…also brought up my complicated feelings about magic and the world of magic in general,” you added, fingers drumming sporadically against your leg. “It was…too much.”

 

And when you managed to glance and study his expression, it wasn’t giving much away as to what he was thinking. He seemed… surprised…? Somewhat…? 

 

Severus seemed to remember himself when your eyes narrowed at him slightly. He straightened, hands gripping themselves a little tighter behind his back, and his expression slipped back into his usual cold neutrality.

 

“Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” he drawled, matter-of-factly.

 

Oh, how he regretted those words when they left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to sound so… detached. Dismissive. You had shrunk slightly, your brows twitching together in offense and lips parting, like you were going to protest, but you didn’t. You only turned to leave. 

 

“Right. Obviously,” you muttered cynically, moving toward the office door. “How silly of me to have a panic attack.” 

 

“Miss—”

 

Clank.

 

The door was shut definitively, bringing the moment to an end. He stared at the door for a good minute, playing back his poor use of words over and over in his head. ‘ Brilliant, Severus,’ he thought to himself, sighing in frustration, rubbing the space between his brows as he paced back toward his desk. Bloody brilliant. Way to make her feel invalidated.

 

The chair creaked slightly as he settled himself at his desk, attempting to distract himself with grading, but to no avail. Of course, you found out about what happened. With the hundreds of paintings and mass of students, why was he surprised? He rested his elbows on the surface, palms smoothing over his face from his jaw to temples, cradling his head, and fingers threading through his hair as he felt his cheeks flare with unexpected warmth. 

 

You cared about him. Truly cared to the point that you had a panic attack over it. Over him.

 

He buried his face in his forearms, hiding the blush from no one in particular, a low groaning noise rumbling from his throat.

 

Merlin…

***

 

The smell of a burning vanilla pecan candle enveloped you in a soothing state as you began your homework, your damp clothes swapped out for loungewear. Outside your room, the other older students partied, a night of revelry to sweep away the lingering disturbance of last night. They cheered when you entered the common room, praising you, Del throwing her arms around you in a fierce hug, almost sobbing into your shoulder. H/G/N and others begged you to join, but to their disappointment, you had to decline, explaining how your substituting for Professor Snape had put you behind in your schoolwork. 

 

Behind you, the alleged cards and treats sat organized on top of your trunk. You hadn’t read them yet, but you would eventually. Your pen glided smoothly on the parchment, the introduction of your Charms assignment coming together slowly but surely. And yet, your mind kept drifting back to him. His words.

 

They had hurt a little. Not that deep-cutting or low-blow kind of hurt. It had simply felt… invalidating. Part of you believed he didn’t mean to sound like that. After all, it’s his usual cadence, and you were trying to keep in mind Narcissa’s remark about him not being good with verbal expression. And surely, he sympathized? He was there that night, after all. The one running from the werewolf. Was the situation not scary for him, too?

 

And then there was the part of you that was feeling spiteful, that was less lenient with him. He should have some sensitivity. And he’s a grown man, for god’s sake, who's probably dealt with worse occurrences with students. He should know how to control his tone.

 

Just as you were about to start another new sentence, you heard a familiar crackling pop behind you. You threw your pen down on your desk.

 

“I know that you did not just apparate into my room—” you cut yourself off, mid-whirl, when the apparater behind you was not the Potion Master, but his house elf. You recognized it from the dark clothes it wore, similar to Professor Snape. You vaguely remembered its name… Woodsy or something.

 

“Oh. Hello.”

 

The house elf shifted in place. “Hello,” it murmured.

 

You stood from your chair, crossing your arms. “It’s not very polite to suddenly apparate into a girl’s room. I could’ve been changing, y’know.”

 

Woodsy’s ears reddened and slightly flattened back, like a cat’s ears would, grumbling to himself. In his hands, he presented a potion to you. Around the bottle was a loop of twine, holding a piece of folded parchment against it. You raised a brow.

 

“He sent you to deliver a potion?”

 

“Yes,” it uttered softly, before it disapparated suddenly, having completed its job. An elf of few words, you supposed. Like him.

 

You paced over to your bed, plopping down on the mattress and turning the bottle over in your hands. It was a bigger potion. The liquid was purple, but tinted with a blueish murkiness. Maybe two potions combined? Removing the note from the twine, you unfolded it and began to read.

“Two parts Dreamless Sleep mixed with Draught of Peace. Yes, I’m quite aware of the hypocrisy of giving you a combination of two sedatives. Don’t stay up and overwork your brain. None of the material will fully stick. Drink this and go to bed. It will guarantee 10 hours of proper rest.”

The following lines were scribbled out harshly, unreadable, like someone had redacted material from a classified document. But the last line, the one written in smaller print, like he was trying to hide himself, was legible.

“Thank you for saving me.”

You flushed, an exasperated huff flew past your lips. Bastard. He was exhausting as he was endearing. Tilting the potion about your hand, you read the note again. Ten hours of sleep meant that you’d need to take it now to wake up on time for breakfast. You knew he was right about the material not sticking. You’ve always known that it’s better to be up earlier to study than to stay up late, but most of the time, you couldn't help your night owl tendencies.

 

Turning off your wall lamp, you slipped beneath the comforters and uncorked the bottle, sniffing it lightly. The lavender and wormwood of the Dreamless Sleep were prominent, overpowering the Draught of Peace, yet you could detect the scent of what you would describe as the morning after it rained. Fresh and calming. You brought it to your lips and drank, the cool liquid going down rather easily, the consistency thin, water-like. With a gentle thump, you set the empty bottle down on the nightstand and waited for the effects to kick in, assessing yourself. 

 

The Draught of Peace was the first to kick in, making wiping clean your anxiety about today and the low noise that had been buzzing in your forehead since the panic attack. It was replaced with a warm, honey-like fuzziness that made you feel boneless. Your eyelids grew heavy as the Dreamless Sleep began to take effect. Knowing you were going to lose consciousness soon, you turned on your side, wrapping yourself up with your runespoor and a cocoon of warmth. As you felt yourself slip away, you sighed deeply into the pillow, thinking of textbooks, the post-rainy morning to come, and long, black, billowing robes.

Chapter 70: Lessons and Letters

Summary:

Following the events of the werewolf attack, Reader throws herself back into schoolwork and receives some letters from family, friends and...foe

Notes:

holy moly, almost a month since I last posted 💀

might have to break the next one into two, it's like 12k plus. We'll see.

Your eyelids fluttered open slowly the next morning, your knees cracking as you groaned and stretched, barely able to make out the perimeter of your room in the darkness. Rolling onto your back, you cast a glance toward your bedside clock. Six thirty. Exactly ten hours of sleep, as Professor Snape had claimed. You slept great. A deep, rich sleep that promised a day's worth of focus and productivity. With a clearer head now, you've come to accept that the potion was his apology. It was odd, though. Whenever he did something wrong in the past, physically, like when he scratched you when he was a cat or stared at your scars, he was able to utter an apology. But when he says something wrong? Any social skills he has fly out the window.

 

After a shower, you got your belongings together, double-checking that you had everything you could need for today. Your books, writing tools, whiteout, your music, some snacks, your planner, a sweater in case it suddenly gets cold, though you doubted it, and your floo plant. 

 

You were on a strict schedule today. Eat breakfast, then make your way to the library. Give yourself a fifteen-minute break halfway between then and lunch. Eat your lunch, and then return to the library. Halfway to dinner, you’d migrate to the Professor Sprouts territory and ask if you could resume your work in one of the greenhouses so you and your plant could get some actual sunlight. If not, you’d go to one of the abandoned classrooms in the area and sit your plant on a windowsill. You’d resume work until dinner, and then any time after that will be dedicated to reading or light review. The reading would theoretically put you in a sleepy mood, and you should be able to go to bed without needing a potion.

 

When you left your room, you were not expecting to see anyone lingering about in the common room. Yet, you spotted some familiar figures passed out on the couches, limbs clumsily sprawled about and openly drooling, a few stray bottles littered about. You smirked lightly in amusement, approaching H/G/N, who was lying on her stomach in last night's clothes, one arm hanging off the couch and brushing the ground.

 

“H/G/N~” you greeted softly, lightly shaking her shoulder.

 

Her face pinched in displeasure, eyes scrunching as she groaned, haphazardly batting your hand away.

 

“Get up,” you chuckled. “The younger years are gonna be up and about any minute now.”

 

“Hm’oh fuck…” she mumbled against the couch cushion. She attempted to push her upper half off the furniture, only to wince, her hand flying to her forehead. 

 

“Hungover?” you asked.

 

“Mhm…” She managed to get herself into an upright position, body sagging against the back of the couch, looking pale and pained as she rubbed her temples. 

 

“Sit tight,” you sighed lightly and turned back toward your room. “I might have some emergency hangover helpers.”

 

“Del…”

 

“Del?” you repeated, trying to keep your voice at a volume that wouldn’t disturb her.

 

“One for Del too,” she uttered, gesturing to her friend. You didn’t even see Del at first, but she was crammed into a leather chair at an angle that did not look comfortable for her neck.

 

“I’ll see what I’ve got.”

 

When you returned, you came back with, to their luck, two hangover helpers. The relief on H/G/N’s face when the potion settled was instant; her brows relaxing and a little bit of color returning to her skin. You vanished some of the mess around the common room as H/G/N went to wake Del and the others up so that they could freshen up and get to breakfast. By the time you were all sitting at breakfast, H/G/N’s appearance and demeanor had done a total one-eighty, back to her brightly composed self with the help of some concealer, as if there was no carousing to be had the prior night. Of course, that didn’t stop her from eating a hearty helping of eggs and sausage.

 

Again, she had asked if you had plans today, and you once again mentioned that you’d be studying all day, to her displeasure. Seems she wanted to hang out.  

 

“ All day -All day?”

 

“Well, I’ll give myself a few breaks throughout the day, but otherwise, yeah…” You pushed around your eggs, cheeks tinging a slight shade of pink. “But… If you find yourself unoccupied in the middle of the afternoon…I plan to take my floo plant outside for a bit of fresh air in Professor Sprout’s territory if you wish to join me with your own plant… And I have snacks…”

 

“Really?” A smile crept onto her face.

 

“Mm..”

 

“Yeah, okay, sure! I can bring my Herbology notes from the class you missed.”

 

You blinked. “Oh. Um… Thanks, but…I don’t really like to use other people’s notes.”

 

She gasped in mock scandalization. “Are you saying you don't trust my note-taking abilities? Me, who has an ‘O’ and makes Herbology my bitch?”

 

“No, no, I don’t think you have bad notes or anything. It just doesn't absorb properly if I don’t read from the book and write them myself.”

 

She hummed, understanding your line of logic. “Alright, then. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

 

The air above was filled with shrieks and chirps, the morning mail arriving on time as usual. A few swooped down to the teacher’s table, perching in front of their owners’ friends. The owls, meant for students, flew above, simply dropping packages, envelopes, and rolled-up copies of the Prophet down to the students who waited with ready hands.

 

H’G/N caught a copy of the Prophet, pulling at the twine that held it together. When her eyes flicked over the front page, she let out a slightly exasperated huff. 

 

“The Ministry works fast,” she said, flashing you the front page of the newspaper. It was a picture of Hogwarts Castle, the headline reading “Werewolf Invades Hogwarts, No Students Harmed, Security Called Into Question.”

 

“And… I don’t know if you heard…” She leaned in from across the table. “But people have been saying things. About you.”

 

“When are people not saying things about me?” you muttered. 

 

“This is different. It’s no one in our house, but there’s talk from other students that… you’re the werewolf.”

 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not exactly possible for a werewolf to summon a patronus while transformed.”

 

“That’s what we were saying, but you know how people are. They think that Snape told Elmira to lie about your patronus being involved, and that Lupin defeated you.”

 

“That’s—”

 

Wait. Your brows twitched. Perhaps…it was better to let them all think that. Let them think you are a werewolf. It would give Lupin’s cover story more credibility and throw suspicion away from him. If your identity was called into question and the magical government booted you from the school, then…oh well. You could take your exams through one of the government education programs.

 

“That’s…fine,” you finished. “Let them talk.”

 

“Really? You’re okay with that kind of rumor floating around?”

 

You raised a brow, setting your fork down and lacing your fingers together. “Nothing will change. I’ll still be the American transfer who disappears into the woods to practice ‘strange magic’ and wields a beast with a flick of my wrist. Only now, I’ll have ‘werewolf’ tacked on.”

 

Uneven footsteps scraped across the stone from somewhere off to the side, and you heard your name being called.

 

“Miss L/N.” It was Mr. Filch, looking uncertain with Mrs. Norris on his shoulders, ears flattened and pupils blown wide. “Could you follow me?”

 

“...Yeah… Sure…” You glanced at H/G/N who frowned and shrugged in response.

 

Maneuvering yourself from the seating, you slung your bag on your shoulder and followed after the caretaker. 

 

He didn’t say much during the walk, simply leading you through the Entrance Hall and down a familiar corridor to the courtyard. Turning into the cloisters, he ceased his steps and gestured to a corner where the cloister’s architecture intersected. Sitting on the ledge, feathers twitching in the light morning breeze, was a large bird, bigger than Professor Flitwick. It sported gray and black colors and had two clusters of feathers on its head that resembled cat ears, staring at you with golden eyes. In its large, hooked beak was a letter with the MACUSA seal. 

 

“It ain't exactly an owl, so I assumed it was for you, since you’re the only American,” he gruffed. “M’ not sure what this bird is.”

 

“It’s a Harpy Eagle. And you’re right. It’s definitely for me. Thank you, Mr. Filch.”

 

He nodded slightly, turning and grumbling away about Mrs. Norris almost being snatched up for breakfast.

 

You approached the bird cautiously. Besides pukwudgies, eagle species were very commonly used by MACUSA employees instead of owls, or so you heard. The bird didn’t screech or flap its wings when you pinched the letter. It allowed you to pull the paper away delicately, only blinking. It seemed like a pretty chill bird for its intimidating size. It lowered its head toward its talon, scratching itself on the back of the head before rotating around, and taking off, flapping away, up high, and into the distance.

 

Your thumb caught the lip of the envelope, breaking the seal of the letter. You slid the paper out, unfolding it, and smiled when you saw the handwriting. 

 

It was from your father.

Dear Y/N,

 

This letter is long overdue. I know it’s only been a day since we last saw each other, but I wanted to write as soon as possible. Don’t mind the bird. They are a very tolerant species. Her name is Wisteria. 

How are you? How have your last few years of school been? How are your friends? I hope the fallout from the werewolf incident hasn’t sparked too much controversy. If anything happens at a ministerial level, I’ll ensure that you are immune to it. 

I want you to tell me everything you feel like telling me. What you get up to, what you want to do in the future, what you like… I want to know you all over again. I don’t want my knowledge of you to be trapped in time as a little girl. I’ve missed far too many years with you. If it’s too much to send as a letter, feel free to record yourself and send a cassette. 

Also, I plan on using some vacation days at the beginning of summer. I’m thinking Holland. No-maj Holland, of course. I’d like for you to join me. It would be just the two of us. Your mother won’t know.

I miss you. I hope to hear back as soon as possible, but if you need time, I understand.

I love you.

Dad

***

 

Dear Y/N,

 

I heard about the werewolf incident at Hogwarts, and Severus told me that you were hospitalized. Are you alright? I am disgusted with Black right now, though not surprised that he had a hand in this. He always had a knack for producing chaos. I’m not thrilled that Dumbledore is allowing Lupin to continue for the rest of the year. However, I understand how inconvenient it would be to find a professor to take over the remainder of the course. 

While Draco still loves learning about the Dark Arts, he’s started taking an interest in Herbology, thank Merlin, and asking about the plants we have around the property. I feared that subject would be something he’d be rather bored with at Hogwarts. I’m hoping his interest will translate into acceptable brewing skills, too. 

Write back soon!

Narcissa

Dear Narcissa,

 

I’m fine, no serious lingering injuries. I was hospitalized due to a seizure. I had taken a combination of potions to “boost my magic,” so to speak, when I was using Runey to subdue Professor Lupin, and my body reacted poorly to it when I strained my mind. I’m told I saved a young girl and Professor Snape. They’d been cornered, and Runey got there just in time. I can sense he has mixed feelings about the fact. 

That’s good to hear about Draco. Herbology and Potions go hand in hand, as I’m sure you know. If he is interested, I could recommend a few books for him to check out.

Y/N L/N

 

P.S. Tell him to stay away from a plant with oval-toothed leaves and hair all over it. It’s stinging nettle, and it hurts like a bitch.

You finished writing out your reply to Narcissa, sealing it and tucking it away for now, as you urged yourself to resume your work. Focus, focus, focus. You were so close to finishing that Charms paper and were on pace to complete what you were hoping to get done. You were on the conclusion now, which was just a summary of all the main points you explained, but you always hated reiterating what had already been said in papers, especially when you had to paraphrase.

 

“The Sunlight Charm lends itself as a helpful spell in fending off Devil’s Snare, blackouts, and its use in battle serves as a more than admirable passive way in distracting and subduing an opponent. If prepared, the caster could temporarily blind another witch or wizard, allowing for aurors to make safer arrests or an easy win in a duel, creating an opening for a binding or immobilizing spell to be cast. Precise wrist motions allow the caster to control the brightness of the spell, allowing the caster to dim or brighten the light produced as they please. If wielded meticulously and combined with other condition-based charms, it can be used to regulate environmental conditions, specifically in greenhouses, providing automated efficiency and sustainable plant care.”

 

There! You sighed, throwing your pen down and rolling your wrist around. One down, four to go. You eyed your watch, and sure enough, it was time for your first break.

 

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the incomparable Y/N?” A voice chirped, ignoring the rules in the library about speaking quietly. Fred and George rounded a corner on a bookshelf, grinning widely. 

 

You smiled at them. “Hey, guys.”

 

“Already chained yourself to the table?” George quipped, as they both threw their bags down on it like it personally offended them.

 

“Yeah, but I’m taking a break at the moment.”

 

“Brilliant.” They took a seat, lightly drumming their hands on the table. Wrappers crinkling and shuffling about sounded from Fred’s bag as he pulled out what was essentially a magical version of cheese puffs

 

“You’re begging to get kicked out of the library,” you commented as Fred opened the bag as quietly as he could manage. 

 

“Oh, you’re telling me you didn’t bring snacks?” he challenged.

 

“No, I did, but only to eat outside so that I wouldn’t get any crumbs or saliva on the books.” You slipped your Walkman ear muffs on and lowered your head into your folded arms. “Or cheese dust.”

 

During the duration of your first break, the twins took turns playing paper football with one another and tossing pieces of their own snacks into each other’s mouths. All while looking over their shoulders to make sure no one was looking to snitch on them. When you arose, their moods became attuned with yours: studious and calm.

 

It was quick, like a snap of your fingers, or in this instance, the sound of the cover of your Transfiguration textbook hitting the table. The snacks were tucked back into their bags, though still open so they could sneak bites now and then, their books were out, and their quills scratched away. 

 

Sometimes, the three of you didn’t need to speak to enjoy or be grateful for each other’s company. Just knowing that the other was there was simply enough. In a space where talking too loudly could get you in trouble, it was certainly a warming notion. Plus, you could scold them with just a look. And you did, a few times, when they got distracted or were doodling little drawings and showing them to one another.

 

The three of you studied and worked on your assignments until lunch, where you ate alongside each other, only to resume classwork immediately afterward. Aria and Jakob found you three, and you joined you three, Jakob occasionally asking you to translate something for him. The twins left halfway between lunch and your second break to pursue other activities, while you and your fellow seventh years continued to study until your second break came and went. 

 

Your footfalls pattered out of the library, bag slung over your shoulder and a floo plant in hand, and you nearly collided with H//G/N and her floo plant, as she had come to find you—a happy accident.

 

Professor Sprout was pleasantly surprised to see you both in the area, and even happier to see that both of you were diligently providing your plants with some much-needed oxygen and sunlight, considering you both were dungeon dwellers. Unfortunately, there was little to no space in the Greenhouses at the moment that was safe for you, either because they housed plants that were dangerous even when idle, or because she was unpacking and rearranging supplies. But, by the lower set of greenhouses that sat in the grassy side of the threshold, was a cluster of barrels and gardening supplies that hadn't been moved since the rainy days came. The surrounding grass was long and lush, sporting pale flowers. An ideal place to nest and study.

 

Both of you placed your plants on top of the barrels and settled, arranging your bags and books around your laps. 

 

“I can see why you like to frolic out here so much,” she commented, rolling her legs back and forth. “The grass is so soft and clean!”

 

“Well, it just rained,” you remarked. “But yeah, it’s usually nice out here.”

 

You pulled out your planner, flipping over to the schedule you had written for yourself to go over what still needed to be done. There were a few options to start with, but when you went over the prompt for your DADA assignment again, your face fell.

 

“Oh, fuck me.”

 

“Y/N, buy me dinner first!” she joked. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I just read over the prompt for the Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment, and I didn’t realize how much reading I’d need to do for it.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. I suppose it doesn’t help that you had two days taken away from you. But, you didn’t think you’d actually catch up on five assignments in one day, did you?”

 

“I mean… Kind of…”

 

She hummed. “I don’t think anyone could manage that, Y/N. Not even with your smarts. Honestly, though, and no offense to him, but screw Lupin. Considering you saved him from further injury, I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to give you an extension or relieve you from the assignment altogether. You should speak to him later.”

 

You pursed your lips. Perhaps you should. And that could be your opportunity to question him about why he hadn’t consumed his Wolfsbane.

 

Since you were in the area, both of you worked on your Herbology assignment. You did end up using her notes, but only as a reference to make sure you were recording the important things. H/G/N must have been a toss-and-turner in bed because she shifted about a lot when she did schoolwork. She started up right, like you, leaning against a large burlap sack of what you assumed from smell to be the lavender seeds used to start the garden in the distance. Then she began to slouch, her body lowering to the ground. Next, she was on her side, propping her head up on her hand and laying the book on the ground. Then, on her other side. Then, on her back, while holding the book up in the air. And eventually, she lay perpendicular, so her head rested on your lower thigh, close to your knees. When she had done so, she looked both pleased and amused at the fact that you let her touch you in this manner, not that there was anything weird about the context.

 

Both of you would chat briefly when either of you needed clarification, shared snacks, ordinary girl talk…

 

“You hear that?” H/G/N asked at one point.

 

“What?”

 

She gestured vaguely in the air, and your ears pricked.

 

“…experiment…ivy extract to the roots…”

 

“…need to control…evels in the evening…”

 

Voices. Professor Sprout and Professor Snape. They were somewhere around, probably walking around outside the upper greenhouses, voices carrying just audible enough through the air.

 

“Your shadow’s here,” she snickered.

 

You frowned at the pages of your book. “He’s not my shadow,” you murmured.

 

“He is,” she asserted. “It’s practically impossible for the two of you not to be around the same part of the castle. It goes against the laws of nature. Or would you rather I call him ‘Professor Pretty Hair?’”

 

You choked on your breath. “What?”

 

“That's what you called him when he came to haul you off the Hospital Wing.” She grinned at you like a Cheshire cat.

 

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no… You felt your face flush. “Please tell me you’re lying.”

 

“Nope! You did,” she snickered. “But you were pretty out of it. I don’t think he got offended.”

 

Shit. It’s not as if he didn’t know before that you liked his hair, but the fact that you said it out loud made you want to curl up into a ball and melt into the ground.

 

You heard the voices get clearer, not like he was moving in your direction. But somewhat closer. Then, way off to your left, you saw him and Sprout enter your peripheral vision, rounding a greenhouse, their backs to you. H/G/N lifted herself from your legs and settled onto her stomach, watching the professors through the grass.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Observing,” H/G/N stated. “I’ve never seen him out in the wild like this before. I want to see just how differently he acts outside the classroom.”

 

You lightly rolled your eyes to yourself, continuing on with your note-taking. H/G/N stayed as still as possible, watching the two professors, the way they stood, talked, with familiarity. 

 

“My lip-reading isn't perfect, but Professor Sprout definitely just made a dirty joke. Oh my god, he’s smiling,” she hissed-whispered to you. “Oh, wait, that’s just a smirk, but still, I didn’t think he was capable of anything other than a scowl. Does he smirk like that when you guys hang out?”

 

“Sometimes, but I don’t keep track.”

 

As you refocused on your work, movement in the distance caught your eye. They were students, young ones, curiously looking at the recently constructed gardens that were already sprouting, thanks to charms applied by Professor Sprout. You could see why they might have been drawn to it. It was new, after all, but also unlike any ordinary garden. The holes where the lavender seeds had been placed in were covered in sand, and even then, there were charms directly above them to filter the amount of sunlight it let in. Due to this, the lavender section looked like filled-up potholes. 

 

Lavender was particularly tough to grow, let alone germinate, and preferred more Mediterranean conditions. But with Professor Sprout’s magic and expertise, she was already much farther along the growth timeline.

 

One student planted their feet on the middle slat of the fence for an extra boost to peer over at the garden, pointing and gesturing for their friends to witness. You had to admit it was an endearing sight, seeing young students becoming interested in nature, whether it was natural or not. That was, until the student on the fence threw their legs over and plopped onto the other side, while another one opened the gate. What felt like the need to observe suddenly felt like the need to intervene.

 

“H/G/N, do you know if those kids are in Slytherin?” you nudged at her with your foot.

 

“Kids?”

 

“Yeah, there. In the new garden.”

 

She craned her neck over her shoulder to see where you were pointing and swivelled around to look for herself. “Oh,” recognition rang in her tone. “No, they’re not. That’s the Golden Trio.”

 

You quirked a brow. “Golden Trio?”

 

“Yeah. That know-it-all Granger girl, the Weasley Twins' little brother, and Professor Snape’s least favorite student of all time, Neville Longbottom. The name’s ironic, of course. They’re always getting into some sort of mess, nothing serious, but often enough for them to have a reputation with the teachers. Though I think Professor McGonagall secretly loves them or something, them being from her house and all.”

 

Huh. You narrowed your eyes on the trio. You hadn’t even recognized Longbottom in his regular clothes.

 

“They’re not supposed to be in there.”

 

She looked between the three students and the Professors, who had yet to notice the trespassers. “Are you thinking of doing something about that?” she asked.

 

You bit down on your bottom lip in thought before clicking your tongue. “I don’t really feel like moving.”

 

“Alright.” Her expression grew more conniving. “So don’t move.”

 

You flicked your eyes toward her in question. Her gaze shot to where your wand lay and then to you, waggling your eyebrows. Ah.

 

“If I do that, I’ll give ourselves away, and you won’t be able to spy on Professor Snape.”

 

“Not if you join me down here,” she patted the space beside her, as if it were a cushion on the world’s most comfortable couch.

 

“Fine.” Your eyes needed another break from your textbook anyway.

 

Setting your work aside, you got into an army crawl position alongside her, peaking out through the elongated grass. Wand in hand, you stuck it out in front of you, concentrating, and chanted the patronus charm with a swivel of your wrist. “Expecto Patronum.”

 

Runey bloomed from your wand, stretched out through the grass, hardly having a moment even to blink or acknowledge his surroundings before you had sent him instructions to retrieve the three students who were trespassing amongst the new garden. While you kept your eyes on Runey slithering further and further away, H/G/N watched the professors. They overlooked Runey until he was about halfway to the garden. Neither professor called your name at the moment to determine your location, focusing more on the runespoor and where it was headed.

 

“Oh, he sees the trio,” H/G/N reported. “He’s walking toward the garden.”

 

Severus wasn’t sure which it was that caught his attention first, the sight of Runey suddenly appearing in his peripheral vision, the sound of the monstrous creature moving through the grass, or the heightened presence of magic in the air that made him shiver. Regardless, the creature was present. ‘And it shouldn’t be,’ Severus thought to himself. Professor Sprout was also too struck at the moment to question its presence as her attention was soon drawn, along with her colleague’s, to the newly constructed garden where three familiar students intruded. Severus scowled instantly, recognizing the three troublemakers, and began to stride through the grass.

 

The trio didn’t see the runespoor until it was too late, and even then, Hermione was the first to recognize the beast. It stopped at the other side of the fence, raising its head and towering above them. The two boys only noticed when the creature’s figure cast large shadows over them, making them turn. They barely had time to react before Runey stretched his heads down, scruffing the three of them by the back of their clothes as they yelped and screamed, and lifted them out of the garden.

 

Severus met the runespoor halfway with the students in its mouths, and with the way he had let the runespoor bring them to him, lowering the students in front of him, one would think he was controlling the creature.

 

“Well, well… What do we have here? Three Gryffindors trespassing into a garden that doesn’t belong to them,” he drawled challengingly. “How typical.”

 

“Professor, we were just—” Hermione started, but was cut off by the potion master.

 

“Don’t… lie to me,” he demanded warningly. “I could see the three of you, clear as day, pacing about within the perimeter.”

 

Professor Sprout stopped at his side, finally having caught up with the man’s long strides, her robes shuffling as she halted.

 

“Professor, I did give Mr. Longbottom here permission to enter the garden for his own observation,” she declared. Her gaze then turned stern as she looked at Neville’s cohorts. “However, I did not grant Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley the same privilege.”

 

Ron cast a sour look toward Neville, as did Hermione. “Neville,” the girl protested. “You should’ve told us we had to stay behind the fence.”

 

“I-I didn't think that… I just…” The boy couldn’t find the right words to explain himself, and instead looked down at the ground that was just out of reach from his feet. “I’m sorry, Professor Sprout.”

 

The Herbology professor sighed to herself. She wanted to be mad, but she had a soft spot for Neville Longbottom and knew this transgression was not born from any malicious intent. “While I understand and admire your desire to share your interests with your friends, permission to be around certain plants at Hogwarts is to be taken seriously. Those sprouts are in a very delicate state right now.”

 

“I’m sorry, Professor Sprout,” Neville repeated quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“I should hope so,” she hummed. “Ten points each from Gryffindor.” 

 

Severus nodded to himself, satisfied with that punishment.

 

“Er, Runey,” Sprout addressed the patronus. “Could you set them down, please?”

 

Runey obliged, gently placing the three students onto the ground. As soon as their shoes touched the grass, they scurried off, not wanting to stick around and somehow get themselves in even more trouble. However, Runey did not disappear as the professors had expected, since it completed its task. Instead, Themis moved in close to Professor Snape, flicking his tongue out at one of the hands that rested at his side.

 

Severus made a disapproving grunting noise, whipping his hand away from the creature. But Themis, still fretful about the recent events, fully closed the distance, bunting his nose into the professor's stomach. He stumbled slightly, mistakenly grabbing onto the head for balance, making Themis rumble pleasantly. 

 

Sprout tittered to herself at the sight, looking at Morpheus and opening her arms for him. Morpheus crooned happily, accepting her invitation and slotted into her own hold. Every time Severus took a step back from the creature, it followed, pressing its snoot into his stomach.

 

“Themis seems fond of you,” Sprout commented, scratching along Morpheus’s jaw.

 

“This creature should not be out and about so soon,” Severus growled. “She shouldn’t be straining herself. Not after what happened.”

 

He pushed himself away from Themis, glaring at the head irritably, before swivelling his gaze around. You were nearby.

 

But as he moved back toward where he came from, his body lurched, his cloak choking him from behind as he was held back. He looked over his shoulder and found that Themis, not wanting him to go just yet, had bitten down on the end of the billowing cloth.

 

Severus wasn’t having it, drawing his wand from his sleeve and aiming it threateningly at Themis, who got the message instantly. His jaw parted, and the cloak was released, Themis shrinking back in an almost cowering manner, and rumbling an implacable sound.

 

H/G/N snickered next to you. “Are you telling Runey to mess with Snape?”

 

“Nope. That’s all him. Themis and Morpheus can be a bit too friendly sometimes.”

 

When you saw Professor Snape point your wand at the patronus, you decided it was time to put him away.

 

“Oh, shoot, he’s headed this way.”

 

That was somewhat true. He wasn’t directly walking towards the two of you, but he looked like he was going to scope out the area and eventually come across you two, especially if he planned on using his tracking spell.

 

“Stay down,” she both giggled and whispered. “Let’s see how long it takes for him to find us.”

 

You tittered good-naturedly, crawling back to your book and rolling onto your back, immersing yourself in your book. H/G/N shifted her positioning as well. If he were to find you, he might as well do so while both of you appeared studious. The seconds dragged by, both your gazes flitting along the text, but not really reading, ears trained on every shuffling sound in the surrounding grass. With every passing moment, they grew closer and closer, until…they stopped.

 

You didn’t dare lower the book just yet.

 

“If spying on professors and summoning beasts is what both of you call studying, it’ll be a miracle if you pass your NEWTs.”

 

H/G/N burst into a fit of giggles, letting her book fall into her chest as she hysterically slapped the side of your leg. You bit back a smile behind your book, her amusement infectious.

 

A strange yet vague sense of familiarity swirled in the professor's chest, reminding him of when he walked the halls of Hogwarts as a student. Every teenage boy’s biggest fear then was walking by a group of girls and them suddenly giggling, making them wonder if they were laughing at them or not. It sometimes happened to him, and given how often degrading rumors had spread around him, it wouldn’t surprise him at all if they had been snickering about him.

 

“And just what is so amusing, Miss?”

 

“Hm-hm,” She sat up. “We just didn’t think you’d find us so quickly.”

 

Severus slightly raised a brow, as if her comment was an insult to his ability to be vigilant.

 

When you felt his stare through your textbook, you lowered the reading material onto your stomach. One arm went behind to support your head. The other stretched out to the side and played with pieces of grass.

 

“Hello,” you greeted gently.

 

His jaw ticked subtly, but you saw it. He was annoyed.

 

“You shouldn’t use your patronus so soon after what happened.”

 

 No greeting. Just right to the point. You bit the inside of your cheek. Whether he was hiding behind his sternness because H/G/N was present or because he was genuinely irritated could be debated. Right now, you were restraining the urge to be a menace, or “insolent,” in his words. You could say, “I’m not on any potions right now,” or “What’s the fun in that?” or “But Runey misses you.” But again…H/G/N. So…

 

“Okay.” It was brief. Soft and paired with a nod, nor did it sound sarcastic at all, just accepting of his authority.

 

Severus's brows knitted slightly, not expecting your compliance. Rather, he assumed you were going to make a spectacle out of this conversation for your housemate’s amusement. Or, were you holding back because of her presence?

 

His eyes moved over both of you and your books, each of you currently working on different classes. “Is there any particular reason why the two of you have decided to burrow in the grass for your studies? Surely, you’d be more productive in an organized setting, like the library.”

 

“Mhm.” You sat up like H/G/N and leaned against the nearest barrel. “We’ve both got plants that need air and sunlight.” You pointed with your pencil to the two potted plants that sat on another barrel. “And the fact that we reside in the dungeons isn’t very conducive to healthy plant growth, so we decided to study out here for a bit.”

 

Ah. He straightened imperceptibly. He hadn’t even noticed the floo plants with your names on them sitting nearby. There was so much randomly potted flora around the greenhouses that he thought they were Professor Sprout’s. So much for vigilance and being perceptive.

 

“I see,” he remarked quietly. “Carry on then.” Severus turned to leave, but not before adding, “And try not to get distracted again.” 

 

His cloak swished behind him dramatically from his sharp exit, his strides long but relaxed as he traversed back toward the upper greenhouses to attend to other business.

 

“Well,” H/G/N said with a smirk. “That was short.”

 

“Yeah,” you picked up your book. “He’s not particularly talkative. Unless it’s to ask questions.”

 

“Really? I feel like it should be the opposite, since he dominates the classroom with lectures and criticisms and all.”

 

Well, you’re also here so… “I mean, he’s still just as witty. But…yeah…I don’t know.”

 

“Hmm.” H/G/N shrugged agreeably, thinking that sounded accurate enough. The grass rustled as she adjusted her position, opening her book up and reading a new chapter as an easy silence fell over both of you once more.

***

Before dinner, you found Neville and apologized to him, saying that the potion session would have to be on a different day, one where you were less overwhelmed. He understood completely, said not to worry about it, and that you guys would find time for it later.

You found your opportunity to talk with Professor Lupin after dinner. He left the meal with an unsteady gait, not used to the cane whatsoever, the way he walked almost reminding you of Alastor Moody from the Ministry of Magic. You followed after him, slipping away from your table, your footfalls quiet.

 

Lupin departed from the Great Hall with only a half-filled stomach, finding that he could no longer tolerate the stares, pitying or admirable, from his students any longer. It was a bloody miracle that he was still employed, but that could be out of convenience, so that the students still had a teacher to finish out the year. Dumbledore could void his teaching contract come next term. Quite frankly, he should. As much as he liked teaching, this was bound to happen at some point. A slip-up. Something going wrong with the potion. Students being put in danger.

 

His cane thunked against the ground as his thoughts began to swirl.

 

How will he face his students tomorrow…

 

Thunk.

 

He doesn’t deserve to have someone like Tonks at his side. She doesn’t need him dragging her down…

 

Thunk.

 

Perhaps that spear should have just gone into his heart, not his thigh…

 

Thunk—

 

The bottom of his cane caught onto a rift in the uneven stone flooring, and he felt the move sideways in his grip, his bad leg buckling beneath him. Reflexively, he braced himself on his bad leg, which shot pain all the way through his thigh, and he hoped that the impact of hitting the floor wouldn’t scrape up his hands too much.

 

But it never came.

 

A pair of hands supported his cane-holding arm and side, holding him steady, and lifting slightly, allowing me to regain his balance.

 

“Thank you,” he said as he steadied himself once more and rose to his full height, but when he looked over at his supporter, his face fell. 

 

It was you.

 

There was no malice in your expression. It was blank. Passive. You let your arms drop from him.

 

“Oh… Miss L/N…” His jaw tightened. “Ehm… Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” you murmured, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “...Is it possible we could talk?”

 

He visibly stiffened at the request, averting his gaze from you.

 

“I understand if you don’t want to…”

 

“No. I… We should. I, at the very least, owe you that after what happened.”

 

You nodded mildly. “Alright.” Your fingers pinched and toyed with the inner lining of your sweatshirt. “Lead the way.”

 

The walk to his classroom was quiet, understandably so. Both of you were saving your words until you reached your destination. And Lupin, though this was to be expected, looked troubled, like he was thinking of all sorts of different scenarios behind his solemn gaze. You, on the other hand, were calm. You had plenty of time to rationalize this conversation, to pick your words carefully. And really, you just wanted clarity.

 

The door closed behind you both with an almost ominous clang, Lupin plodding through the center aisle of desks toward the front of his classroom. He set his cane on the top of his teaching desk before carefully maneuvering around the other side and settling into his seat with a slight groan.

 

You took your place on one of the nearby desks, sitting on the edge, moving your hands from your pockets to clasp each other lightly in your lap.

 

“I heard you got stabbed,” you began matter-of-factly. “Is that why you have the cane?”

 

“Yes,” Lupin answered grimly. “I don’t remember much, just flashes, but apparently, Severus was in a dire enough situation where he felt he had to utilize a dark charm. Something involving the armor stands in one of the corridors.”

 

“Mm.” Your thumbs rolled over one another. “I don’t remember much either.”

 

He nodded in understanding.

 

“But…I’m not mad.”

 

Lupin’s eyes snapped upward, not expecting you to say such a thing.

 

“Not at you. Not really. Obviously, you weren’t in control of yourself after you transformed, and I know you’re too paranoid about the students’ safety to accidentally miss a dose.”

 

He swallowed thickly. 

 

“You are also not responsible for me winding up in the Hospital Wing with you. I chose to drink that combination of potions, and I suffered the consequences. It was my decision. My doing. Not yours.”

 

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he leaned his head against his hands. “You should be mad.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You should be,” he insisted more firmly. With more grit. Pain. The rawness was there, held back by the grip of professionalism he was attempting to maintain. “I know Sever—Professor Snape is. Everyone else should be. Dumbledore most of all…”

 

“It’s not like you wanted all of that to happen, to maul Professor Snape or that girl. So why should I be mad?”

 

“Because we almost lost them,” he said hoarsely.

 

“And if we did,” you continued coolly. “Who do you think I’d blame? Certainly not you. No, I’d blame Sirius Black.”

 

The muscles in his neck rippled, his jaw working with some unnamed emotion.

 

“Tell me I’m justified in my anger towards Black, Professor,” you demanded quietly. “Tell me what happened that night.”

 

Lupin was quiet for a few moments before he allowed his hands to fall, crossing his arms over one another on the desk, his eyes still keen on avoiding you.

 

“He came to visit, as he usually did. We ate in here, drank a little. Nothing excessive. At least, on my part…” He exhaled wearily. “Somehow it got onto the topic of his social life. His love life, specifically. We had disagreed about how he was…going about certain things. When we bicker or argue, he can be rather dramatic with his hands. He was standing too close to my desk, and his hand knocked over the potion. We tried to salvage it, and we ended up wasting too much time debating what to do. The shops were closing or closed, and for all I know, you and Severus could’ve whipped up another. But…it was too late. The transformation came earlier than usual, and it began before we could go to the Whomping Willow.”

 

“So it was Black’s fault.”

 

“He didn’t mean to knock over the potion—”

 

“And you didn’t mean to transform, and yet, here we are. Just because it was an accident doesn’t mean he is entirely absolved of his carelessness.” You sighed exasperatedly. “God, the next time I see him, I’m going to kill him. At least tell me that you’re mad at him as well.”

 

“Of course I’m mad at him. This isn’t the first time his carelessness has gotten someone hurt. But… He’s my best friend, and I know he didn’t mean to. If he knew anyone got hurt, he’d be beside himself with guilt.”

 

“You got hurt,” you declared. “I don’t doubt he knows that Professor Snape and Elmira didn’t end up getting hurt, but does he know about you? How you’re walking with a cane right now because of him? Even if you weren't stabbed, transformation hurts, as you know. Bones breaking and deforming, muscle stretching… That in itself is enough damage. Not to mention, you might lose your job. He deserves to feel horrible.”

 

You sighed, rubbing at the space between your eyes.

 

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do because he’s not my friend, and whatever happens between you guys is your business, but if this kind of recklessness is common when he drinks, or when he’s angry and drinks, I’d consider reevaluating whatever boundaries you have with him.”

 

Lupin looked down at his desk, his lips barely parted, but nothing came out. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Or maybe, he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but just not to a student. Not to you. So you’d leave it at that for now. If he felt like sharing, you’d listen. Eventually.

 

You pushed off the desk, but hesitated before you went to turn and take your leave.

 

“Should I go into Wolfsbane research when I graduate, and find a better solution, you’ll be the first I’ll send it to.”

 

Quickly, almost reflexively, he scoffed.

 

“Sorry, was that amusing to you?

 

It was your tone that made him look up once more. It was harsh. Serious. There wasn’t a hint of joking in your expression either.

 

“I’m not kidding. It’s…something I’ve been considering as a path after school. And with my shitty luck this year, the pendulum is bound to come swinging back the other way.” You took a step closer to his desk, one loaded with finality. “You’re a good teacher, Professor Lupin. It would be a shame to lose someone like you because of something you have no control of.”

 

The air between you was tense, heavy with something reverent. With intent.

 

Lupin, not knowing how to take being on the receiving end of such a hefty promise, whether you actually intended to follow through or not, only murmured, “alright.”

 

You nodded lightly. “Alright then.” You turned to leave, making it about halfway down the aisle of seats before you stopped, remembering. “Oh, and one more thing. I won’t be able to turn in the current DADA assignment on time. I had accumulated too much schoolwork due to the whole subbing thing and being removed from the school, and I had to sacrifice something to finish my other tasks. Sorry.”

 

“That’s okay,” he said softly. Still dazed. “By all means…take your time.”

 

You replied with a breathless thanks, and left him to reflect, his mind disturbed and eyes swirling with conflict.

 

When the door shut behind you, you sighed to yourself, leaning against it for a moment. What a mess this was…

 

“Miss?”

 

You turned your head to the familiar voice. Professor Snape stood some feet away, paused like he was in mid-step, as if he himself was coming to the classroom as well. That was probably the case. Yet, he didn’t seem confused by your presence.

 

You pushed off the door. “Oh. Hello. Again.”

 

He narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing in Professor Lupin’s classroom?”

 

“I wanted to talk to him about…” your voice dipped lower as you fiddled with your bag strap, just in case there were students about, “two nights ago.”

 

Severus’s expression relaxed a little.

 

“I just wanted to know…what had happened. Like, with the po—

 

“Let’s not talk about this here,” he cut in, not harshly, but just firmly enough, emphasizing how important discretion was when talking about Lupin and his lycanthropy.

 

Right.

 

“I’m afraid this conversation will have to be tabled for another day, then,” you remarked, beginning to move toward and past him. “I have to go to the library and catch up on the rest of my school work.”

 

As you passed him by, you felt a light touch on your arm. His fingers rested on your forearm, just above your elbow, making you stop.

 

“What class?” he questioned.

 

“Ehm, I mean, multiple, I guess. Mostly reading, but I still have a writing assignment to do.”

 

Severus merely raised a brow, as if to reiterate the same question that you hadn’t quite answered.

 

Your cheeks heated in embarrassment. “Potions,” you muttered.

 

“How convenient,” he drawled mildly, clasping his hands behind his back. “That being the case, then… I invite you to finish the rest of your work in my classroom. It would kill two birds with one stone. You could resume your work, and we can discuss the…incident.

 

You pursed your lips. “Do you even have the books I need for this assignment? Besides my class textbook, of course.”

 

“Yes.” His reply came swiftly, as if the notion that he didn't possess certain materials with a foolhardy assumption. Your nails picked at the stitching of your bag strap.

 

“Alright. I’ll join you.” But before you took another step, you paused. “Wait, don’t you need to speak with Lupin?”

 

“No. I was retrieving you. To…talk.”

 

“How’d you know I was in the DADA classroom?”

 

“I saw you depart with Professor Lupin and merely assumed,” he gruffed and tilted his chin slightly as he turned, indicating for you to follow. Though his expression was the same as usual, you failed to detect the sense of triumph radiating from him as the two of you began your walk to the dungeons.

 

Honestly, no one even batted an eye anymore when both of you were seen walking together. The sight might as well be as ingrained as seeing the ghosts that drifted lazily through corridors. Sure, they might’ve glanced at you two, but no one openly stared or gawked anymore, wondering how you tolerated his presence, or how he, yours. 

 

Down through the castle, you both descended to the dungeons. Like with Lupin, you had remained silent, heeding Snape’s words, not even to engage in a bit of small talk on the way down.

 

With a slight twitch of his fingers, you heard the door to the classroom unlock ahead. When he pushed the door open, he stepped inside and held it open for you, waiting for you to enter. You had to hold back a snort at how unnecessarily gentlemanly it was.

 

“Continue,” he said, shutting and locking the door behind you.

 

“The potion,” you resumed, “I wanted to know what went wrong, if it wasn’t an effective brew—”

 

“It was not our fault,” he all but growled, swooping toward his teaching desk.

 

“Didn’t think it was. Was just trying to keep an open mind,” you replied, raising your hands defensively as you paced over to your usual spot. “I actually assumed it had something to do with Black, as I don’t find him being here and Lupin transforming to be a coincidence. Figured something dumb happened. Lupin confirmed it.” You set your bag on the station. “Books?”

 

With his wand, he opened his office door. A few books floated out some seconds later, levitated across the room, and settled by your bag.

 

“Thank you.” You rearranged them to your liking. “He told me what happened in his office. The drinking, the arguing… Stupid. Should I ever be unlucky enough to run into Black again, I’m gonna neuter him like the little bitch he is.”

 

At the mention of the word neuter, Severus experienced a flash of that dream he had regarding you—how you slammed your foot into Sirius’s crotch and defended him. How you had gotten so close and…

 

“Language,” he muttered, pushing away the remnants of the dream. The way he had said it made you glance over at him, the corners of your mouth curling despite your pursed lips. The lack of reproach behind it told you it was automatic, not earnest. He agreed with you.

 

You reached into your bag, retrieving your parchment paper and a notebook for composition planning. However, as your fingers touch the cover of your textbook, he spoke again.

 

“Do you remember it?”

 

You looked up from your work. He stared at you with a genuine curiosity, his brows pulled together in faint concern. Based on prior context, you assume he meant the patronus-werewolf event. “Do I remember what happened that night while on potions?” you clarified.

 

He nodded

 

“Not really. There were blips, that I know. I recall taking the potions before putting a blindfold on and summoning Runey. I don’t remember at all what I thought about as time passed, just the feeling of floating down a warm, syrupy river. Then, you were kneeling in front of me… Then I woke up in the Hospital Wing.” You clicked your pen rapidly a few times. “Why do you ask?”

 

Severus bit the inside of his cheek. So you had no recollection of what you said or did?

 

“…I was merely curious. It’s…not important.”

 

But something about his hesitant expression told you that wasn’t the case. You felt nervous all of a sudden. 

 

“Did I say something embarrassing? Or…inappropriate?”

 

“It’s insignificant now, Miss.”

 

“You can’t just bring that up right as I’m about to start an assignment. I’ll be distracted now. Just tell me what I said. For my own sanity.” You leaned forward, imploringly.

 

Severus huffed, tapping his fingers against the surface of his desk apprehensively. “You made a comment implying that…you find my hair to be…preferable.”

 

Oh. That . “Ah…yeah. I know about that already.”

 

“You do?”

 

“H/G/N already told me. Anyways… I’m sorry if what I said made you uncomfortable.”

 

“It’s alright. You were understandably inebriated.”

 

“Yeah, but…you’ll remember.” You rubbed the spot between your brows. “And it’s not like being on potions is the same as lying.”

 

Severus felt heat crawl up his neck. As did you. It felt like the air in the room grew a hundred times heavier.

 

“Anything else?” You quickly followed.

 

Yes. “No,” he remarked. Perhaps it was best not to tell you about you touching and healing his face. “That’s it.”

 

You swallowed thickly, nodding. “Good. That’s…good.” You reached for the textbook again, flipping through it until you got to the right page. But you just couldn’t shake the awkwardness that clung to you like sweat.

 

“Thank you…” You found yourself saying quietly. “For being around…when I had my…panic attack.” You rubbed the skin of your left hand. “Normally…I go through stuff like that alone.”

 

Severus’s eyes flicked over you, how you laser-focused your eyes down at your work, yet the pinkness in your face betrayed your nerves. “It was no trouble,” he declared, gently. “It would have been unkind if I were to have simply ignored you in such a state.”

 

TAP TAP TAP.

 

The moment was broken up by the sound of something tapping on the glass windows. You both turned your heads to the windows at the back of the classroom. 

 

TAP TAP TAP. 

 

Professor Snape rose from his desk while you attempted to begin your work. Whatever was tapping on the glass didn’t stop until he fully crossed the room and opened the window. A blur of feathers leapt past him, the wing tip brushing his nose as it flew through, all the way over to you, landing on your shoulder. A dark owl.

 

You stiffened when you felt sharp claws latching onto your shoulder. You had guessed it to be a bird, but you were shocked by the specific bird that was on your shoulder. 

 

Dionysus. Black’s owl. And in its mouth was a letter.

 

“I thought you didn’t own an owl,” Severus remarked, moving from the open window to you.

 

“I don’t.”

 

“And yet, this owl seems familiar with you.”

 

“It’s…Black’s owl.”

 

Severus’s jaw tightened, his eyes widening in lowly simmering anger. “What?”

 

You reached up and plucked the letter from the bird’s beak, and when it was free, the bird hopped off your shoulder and onto the station, perching. Waiting.

 

“Why is he sending you mail?” He gritted, and suddenly, he was right next to you.

 

“I don’t know…”

 

You broke the Black Crest seal stamped into the wax, pulled out the folded parchment paper, and began to read. Based on the potion master’s silence, you presumed he would read it over your shoulder with you.

 

The letter read as follows:

Dear Hydra,

 

Remus relayed to me what happened after he awoke from his transformation. He told me you were in the Hospital Wing alongside him, that you had used your magic to debilitate him, and that you had a seizure. You were very brave to risk yourself like that. I’m glad to hear he wasn’t horrifically maimed or gained a new scar. He’s always been self-conscious about them. Unfortunately, I’ve been barred from entering the school for any reason for the duration of the school year. Minnie and Dumbledore are furious with me. Rightfully so. I imagine you might be, too, given you and Snivellus brew for him. But I’m glad you're okay.

Hope to hear from you.

Sirius “Padfoot” Orion Black

 

“Delusional,” you muttered. “He’s delusional.” Black really does think you’re his friend despite how sparsely the two of you interacted over the break, calling you by that stupid nickname, badmouthing your friend in writing. Not to mention that he didn’t seem to care that Snape almost lost his life, too. Inconsiderate, arrogant, bastard. 

 

And next to you, you could feel the anger radiating from Snape like a furnace. How dare Black write to you, speak to you with such familiarity? And that nickname. Hydra. It was almost like a brand. A brand for that arrogant, bullying group. Prongs. Padfoot. Moony. Wormtail.

 

The sound of you tearing out a piece of paper from your notebook pulled him from his frantic rereading of the letter. 

 

“You’re responding?” he objected bitterly.

 

“In a way,” you answered.

 

Your pen glided along the paper in a flurry of frustrated movements, and it comforted him to know you were angry too. But strangely, you weren't writing; you were drawing. And it was rather clear to him what it was you were portraying.

 

Taking up nearly the entirety of the page was a cartoonishly drawn middle finger, displayed directly in the center of the page. And just below the knuckles, you had scrawled your name. No greeting. No words. Nothing. Just a name. With clear intent.

 

And then you offered him the pen. He didn’t take it, just stared at you cringing at the imature illustration.

 

“I know you want to. I don’t know the entirety of your past with him, but I know you hate him. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. And you should even more so after he spilled the Wolfsbane.”

 

His eyes flit between you, the pen, and the drawing. The entire act was juvenile. Entirely unnecessary. A response shouldn’t be composed whatsoever. But the part of him that loathed Black’s existence wanted to.

 

“C’mon.” That damned mischievous smirk curled onto your face. “Sign it, sign it, sign it,” you chanted, quietly. It sounded like a whisper. 

 

And to your surprise, he did. He plucked the pen from your fingers and scribbled his name next to yours, soundlessly, and slapped the pen down and strode over to his desk, muttering something about a “stupid nickname.”

 

Quietly, you folded the drawing into three equal parts, sliding it into a new letter you had transformed from another sheet of paper, wetted the seal, and closed it. Dionysus took the offered letter gingerly, chirping once before leaping off your station and flying through the window, soaring into the night sky, and off to London, England.

Chapter 71: The Cauldron Killer

Summary:

Reader wrestles with her feelings about Severus and Professor Lupin, and has a proper tutoring session with Neville Longbottom.

Notes:

Decided to split it into two. Severus and we will be nudged slightly closer again next chapter '3'

You were starting to look at him more. Consciously. Actively.

 

In the moments that you two occupied a room together, like class or meals, your gaze panned to him, hesitating, before finding a new target.

 

And you knew why. Of course, you knew why.

 

He could have died. You could have lost your friend. He wouldn’t be standing at the front of Potions classroom giving stern-faced lectures, swooping through the halls like a large bat, or finding you in the fields with that unprecedented gentleness lingering in the deep black of his irises. While your fretful assessing glances at him were understandable, you found the fact to be maddening as you could not have been more obvious about it.

 

You caught yourself every time, and were nearly caught by him as well. But you wondered: we’re Professor Snape’s similarly watchful glances, or full-on stares, a result of the similarly dangerous event that happened to you at the end of October? Was he still worried after all this time? Or did he generally consider you to be a walking-talking risk for injury?

 

Or was it for other reasons? Like Narcissa had mentioned. Curiosity…

 

Regardless, your eyeing of him unnerved you, and it had already been a few days since the incident, so you really ought to stop.

 

He’s fine. Lupin’s fine. You’re fine.

 

Everyone is fine.

 

But you couldn’t help your protective nature. To watch from a distance.

 

The same went for Lupin, too. After your conversation with him, it seemed a little easier for him to look you in the eye, or even in your direction. You noticed every hitch in his gait, the restrained winces and clenching of his neck muscles as he saved face about the pain he was experiencing in front of his students. The way his knuckles whitened around the top of the cane.…

 

Your respite from these emotions was your schoolwork. Being behind was your light in the tunnel. It forced you to focus, to shove that antsy energy to the back of your mind and instead focus on spells and dark creatures. That fateful DADA assignment. It kept you chained to the library these past few days, as did the next set of class assignments. Though as you got closer to graduating, the intensity of the assignments began to lighten, dwindling to review or even just reading. But every teacher was different.

 

Over the past two days, you hardly had any outside time to yourself. Yes, opportunities arose, but you had chosen to spend them in the library to get back on track. Professor Sprout was all but happy to let you keep your floo plant in one of the greenhouses to get some sunlight, along with some other students. It turned out that there were many who shared similar concerns about providing their plants with enough fresh air and sunlight, given their busy schedules.

 

It was Wednesday now, and you were caught up. That didn’t necessarily mean that you didn’t have any work to do; it just meant that you were ready to take on this week's portion of studying and homework. You’d plan on filling the time with studying, of course, but with some leniency. It meant you could take your floo plant out into the field with you, and maybe do some practical application of your recent lessons. Charms and whatnot…

 

This morning, when you sat down at breakfast, you internally went over the work you had to do, combing over your free time and structuring it to align with the reading and writing you’d need to accomplish. You chomped down on some bacon as you scribbled away in your planner. You’d also need to figure out a good time to help Neville, like you promised. But as you wrote, your attention kept moving away from your planner up towards a certain someone at the teacher’s table.

 

Professor Snape sat between Professor McGonagall and Professor Burbage, the three of them engaged in a conversation, speaking between bites of food. Burbage and McGonagall seemed to agree, while Snape, who was rolling his eyes, was likely trying to maintain a stance. One thing you noticed was how rarely he used his hands during conversation. They either remained on the surface in front of him, or were clasped in some manner, behind his back, or interlaced in front of his stomach. He could be talking about something he was passionate about, and still probably wouldn't be demonstrative about it.

 

Then he looked at you.

 

Your eyes darted back down to your planner. Shit. He definitely saw you. You scratched at your scalp a bit. You have to stop this. He’s fine.

 

Severus had noted a peculiar shift in your behavior recently. A nervous, fussing energy. 

 

It started happening after you had left his classroom Sunday night. Monday morning, at breakfast, he felt someone looking at him. Students were known to glance up at the teacher's table often, but this wasn't that. It was a lingering stare. One with weight. One he could sense from the farthest parts of the room. 

 

Yours. 

 

The first few times, he didn’t look up. He assumed they were one-offs. Nothing to worry about. But then, when it persisted during class, he began to pay attention.

 

In class, you did so between stirs of your potion. He felt it, but he was never able to catch your eye, only the tail end of your irises flicking to another target. It persisted when you had finished up and used the remaining time to go over schoolwork. But even if he wasn’t able to catch your eye, he could see it. The way your form was rigid, how you gripped your writing tool too tightly, your fingers drumming anxiously on the station. He could feel your anxiety. Your worry.

 

About him.

 

And it made him uncomfortable.

 

Not an inherently bad uncomfortable. The feeling only served to highlight how foreign it was for someone to feel concerned about him. Specifically, someone who wasn’t a colleague. While mildly flattering, it made him feel rather self-conscious. He never enjoyed the feeling of someone fussing over him. That implied that there was something about him that needed fixing. Or something to be pitied. That he took issue with. 

 

Yet, your approach was distant. It was just watching after all. Like a guardian angel. Or just as a friend. And even if he confronted you about it, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. 

 

He’d know. 

 

Because he did the same to you all the time.

 

And just now, as he stood his ground in a discussion between himself, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Burbage in which he was defending his stance on proposed changes to round routes through the castle, he felt it. Your stare.

 

He flicked his eyes to your usual seat and—

 

There. You were watching. You had quickly looked away, probably hoping he didn’t catch you, but he did.

 

Tsk. He could’ve prodded, but he didn’t. ‘Fine. Keep stealing glances if it means quelling your anxiety, you ridiculous woman.’

 

***

 

Despite your worry for Professor Lupin, he was much better than he was when you saw him on Saturday. His jaw wasn’t clenching as hard, less of his weight was being put on his good leg, and he even went half the lesson without using the cane, more so using his desk as a stabilizer when he intended on pacing thoughtfully while lecturing. The potions Madam Pomfrey was giving him must’ve been very effective for him to recover this as quickly. Normally, that sort of thing requires a little physical therapy.

 

When you had turned in your DADA assignment, he accepted it with a faint smile and a tip of his head, though his eyes still somewhat avoided yours. You guessed the shame was still lingering. But that was fine. You wondered if he and Sirius had exchanged letters in the few days that passed regarding the incident. Or if Lupin even had the desire to speak with him at the moment. Thankfully, Black hadn’t yet responded to you and Professor Snape’s crude letter. You hope he had taken the hint and would leave it at that.

 

With your third and last class done, you burst from the open corridor out into the upper lawn where the greenhouses were. First years still lingered in the area, loitering or slowly trickling out to their next destination. You weaved past them, returning a nod to those you recognized. Elmira gave you a little wave, wrapping her other arm more tightly around her very healthy, tall plant.

 

Greenhouse 7 was lined with the floo plants, basking in the light of the open windows, twitching in the slight breeze. Everyone had their names written on their pots, some including nicknames for the plant itself, a choice you had abstained from when you received your sprout. The most comical one to you, ‘King Flooington the Second.’” You imagined its owner didn’t take very good care of King Flooington the First.

 

You ambled over to your floo plant, admiring how much it had grown in the time that you had it. A thorough inspection of the plant’s stocks, stems, and leaves confirmed that no aphids or other bugs had gotten to the plant. Sticking your bare finger in the pot’s soil, you felt the dryness two inches downward and reckoned it was time for its watering. As you looked around the greenhouse for a watering can, the sound of strained grunting coming from somewhere outside got your attention, the sound carrying through open windows. 

 

Moving to the doorway, you looked around and saw Neville Longbottom by Greenhouse six, attempting to get into a bag of fertilizer, but was struggling with the weight of it.

 

“Hi, Neville,” you greeted.

 

Neville, who had disrobed and was in his white uniform shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looked up from the heavy bag, his eyes wide. Not from fear or nervousness, just surprise. He had stopped looking at you with fear. The fact warmed your heart.

 

“Oh! Hello, Y/N,” he greeted with a little smile. His cheeks were fairly pink from the effort he’d been putting into moving the burlap bag, and the fact that it was a warm day. “What are you doing here?”

 

“My classes are all done for the day, and I’m checking in on an assignment of mine.” You tilted your head at him. “Wha’dya need that fertilizer for?”

 

“For a plant, Professor Sprout gifted me. It needs its  first dose of fertilizer.” Neville rose from his kneeling position and retrieved a pot you hadn’t noticed by his side and approached you. He angled the pot toward you so you could see what looked like a pale bulb half protruding out from the dirt.

 

Your brows came together at the sight of the unfamiliar fauna. “What is it?”

 

“It’s a Mimbulus Mimbletonia. Professor Sprout says they're rare and thinks I can get it to be fully mature by my fifth year!”

 

“It’s twitching.” 

 

“Yeah, they do that. And once it's a bit bigger, it’ll start producing spines and Stinksap,” he explained, smiling fondly at the plant.

 

“Ah. So it’s kind of like a cactus.”

 

“Right! It's part of the Cactaceae family.”

 

You hummed. “You’ll need fertilizer with a low nitrogen count. There’s an already opened bag in here if you want to use that instead. It should be right for your plant.”

 

“Really?” He went to take a step toward the entryway, but hesitated. “I’ve never been in Greenhouse 7 before. Sprout always told us that’s where the more dangerous plants are for the older students.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Usually. But not this month. She rotated them to 6. The plants in here are harmless. Follow me.”

 

As you both entered the greenhouse, Neville looked around, soaking in his surroundings. It looked just like the other greenhouses, spatially speaking, but there was a noticeable sense of peace when he took into account that the plants currently being housed didn’t pose a threat. Following your direction, he went over to a large bag of opened fertilizer propped in the corner by a few shovels, grabbed a handful, and carefully distributed it around his baby mimbletonia.

 

“Is there a watering can around here? I need to—oh! Never mind! Found it.” On the lower shelf of a workbench, he located one already filled with water, and generously watered the twitching plant. 

 

“Bring that over here, will ya? I need to water my plant, too.”

 

Neville tucked his mimbletonia in the crook of his elbow and trotted over, watering can in hand, and offered it to you.

 

“What plant are these?”

 

“It’s Floo,” you said, watering your plant. “This is our final plant care assignment of the year.” 

 

His eyes widened in familiarity. “Floo? As in floo powder?”

 

“The very same.”

 

“I had no idea floo was made from plants.”

 

“Mostly,” you clarified. “It goes through a refining process where, I imagine, they mix other materials in with it. But, yeah. Plants..”

 

“Woah…” His eyes moved along the rows of healthy, leafy plants, his mouth curling in amusement at the nicknames scrawled onto most of the pots. He looked at yours, watching how carefully you touched your plant, how serious your expression was. You handled your plant like it was made of glass, like one movement too fast could break off the leaves. He wasn’t sure why the sight transfixed him. Maybe, because all he’s ever heard about you were the warnings, the off-handed comments about your hobbies, your closeness with the scariest teacher at Hogwarts. Seeing your gentleness, the version outside of what others said about you and your brief tutoring session, surprised him. When your eyes darted to him, feeling his stare, he blushed and looked away. 

 

“Um… So, you said your classes were over for the day?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“I-I have a free period right now. Could you…maybe help me with some potions stuff while we have the time?”

 

“Your free period’s now?” You asked, and he nodded.  “Yeah! Yeah, absolutely we can.”

 

“Brilliant! There’s a potion that we’re supposed to review again later in class, and I want to make sure I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Strength Potion.”

 

“Ah. Yeah, I’m very familiar with that one. I keep a vial with me sometimes when I go out and about. How about this: let’s both go back inside and get whatever we may need and meet at the large stand-alone oak tree that's in the fields. That’s kind of my hangout spot whenever I have free time. Then, we’ll get started.”

 

“That sounds great,” he beamed, already excitedly making his way to exit, but paused and jerked back around again. “Oh, can I bring Trevor? I want him to get some fresh air.”

 

“That’s fine. As long as he won’t be a distraction.”

 

“He won’t—I promise—he’s very mellow,” he declared hurriedly, his shoes kicking up grass blades as he rounded the corners of the threshold and disappeared, his thumping footsteps fading away into the distance. A smirk tugged on your lips as she shook your head lightly to yourself. Amusing kid.

***

 

Fifteen minutes later, you had found yourself back outside in the fields, changed out of your uniform clothes into a t-shirt, cuffed knee-length overalls, and outdoor boots. Slung on your shoulder was your schoolbag, but on the other was another, one that carried brewing ingredients and supplies. The strap was thick and the bag rectangular, almost like a cooler, that bumped against your hip. Up ahead, Neville was waiting for you beneath the tree, fidgeting with the toad that perched on his shoulder. When you called for him, he braced a hand over the pet so that the whiplash of facing you wouldn’t send the pet flying. 

 

“You changed your clothes,” he observed, glancing at your attire.

 

“No classes left, so no point in wearing a uniform.” Both of you settled in a flatter part of the grass under the tree, laying a tarp-like cloth down that you had charmed to be fire-proof for him to brew on. “So, tell me about your troubles with this potion,” you hummed as you began to empty your bags.

 

“Well… My first go at it was…horrible. Didn’t even get halfway before the cauldron exploded that day. Snape really wrung me out. I haven't brewed it since.”

 

“Mm.” You set a few books down on top of each other. “Not surprising. It’s a temperamental potion, considering one of the ingredients is the head of a Fanged Geranium. Do you remember what exactly you did to cause such a reaction?”

 

“No. Not really. It was a while ago. Before Christmas break.”

 

“That’s alright. Here,” You gave him the potion kit-bag. “Everything you should need to brew is in there. Hand me your notes on this potion first, and then go ahead and set up your brewing station.”

 

Neville nodded, shuffling his schoolwork around in his bag before he found his notebook for Potions. The two of you switched off, and he began to remove your portable potions kit and brewing ingredients at once as you thumbed through the notebook. Thankfully, he was proactive enough to date his notes, so finding the section of the Strength Potion didn’t take very long.

 

And they were very…

 

Plain. Plain and insufficient.

 

Almost everything was bullet-pointed, which wasn’t inherently bad, you did that too, but that was it. His notes didn’t consist of anything else. There were no drawings, no word banks, nothing highlighted, circled or underlined. You checked his notes for everything else, for potions, ingredients, lectures, and still, it was the same. There was nothing visually exceptional that would help make the connections required of him to successfully brew without fumbling or hesitating in his actions. 

 

“Neville, I’m…concerned about your note-taking style. It’s all just…a wall of text.”

 

His shoulders rose to his ears as he unrolled a velvet wrap that held Potion knives of different sizes. “...Taking notes while Snape lectures is…hard. I never know what's important and what's not, so…I try to get all of it. And the class feels…too intimidating to ask questions.”

 

You frowned to yourself. Well, that’s no good. “I understand if you need to bullet point in order to keep up with lecture notes, but what about when Professor Snape tells you all to prepare for and read up on a potion a few days in advance?”

 

Neville didn’t seem to have an exclamation for that, his face only flushing in embarrassment. “I guess I’m just a rubbish note-taker. I’ve only ever done it that way.”

 

“Not after today, you won’t be. Here, take a look.” You grabbed your notebook for Advanced Potions and tossed it his way, the notebook landing with an unceremonious whump next to him. “Those are my notes for Advanced Potions. I want you to look at the differences.”

 

With a carefulness that bordered on reverence, he gingerly picked up your notebook and flipped to a random entry, only to be bombarded with organized chaos.

 

“Merlin’s beard.”

 

It was a lot of visual information at once, a cacophony of words, blocks of color, and drawings, and yet, there was a structure. The name of the potion took up the entirety of the header, while the space immediately beneath it lay a concise excerpt citing the creator, the date it was created, and an explanation of its purpose. Below that was a myriad of facts, or general things you thought to be important, similar to Neville’s notes. However, the commentary was vandalized with a myriad of circles, underlined snippets, blocks of color slicing through ingredient names, all while surrounded by annotations or doodles in the margins, some illustrating the very ingredients referenced. It was a lot to digest, visually, and he noticed that the colors were not random. There was one color to highlight crucial terms, one to note the effects like ‘burns’ or ‘freezes,’ and another one to capture the brewing steps.

 

Though organized, it came off as a graffitied diary.

 

“This is…a lot to take in… It's... You draw on your notes?”

 

You shrugged. “I’m a visual learner. It helps. My notes are like this for all my other classes, too.”

 

Neville mumbled something incomprehensible to himself as his eyes kept reading along your notes.

 

“Sometimes my lecture notes look more like yours, but I’ll go back with the textbook after class and refine them to look more like those. It’s not a big deal for your notes to be the way they are if Professor Snape has you brewing immediately afterward. Lack of time is understandable. But, once your classes are over for the day, I highly recommend going back and touching them up. It definitely helps when you are studying for final exams.”

 

“I don’t know if I could ever get my notes to look like this. I’m not really an artist, either.”

 

“You don’t have to. Everyone has their own way. Buuuut,” You reached into your bag and pulled out a few markers, holding them out to him. “I encourage you to use some highlighters with your notes. Assigning color to information has helped me greatly in remembering things.”

 

“Really? You’re giving me your markers?”

 

“Oh, I have loads more. Don’t worry about it,” you smiled reassuringly.

 

“Thanks,” he replied faintly, putting the markers in his own bag.

 

“No problem. For now, why don’t you go ahead and get started? I’ll be right here, reading and brushing up on my own work,” you declared, reaching for your Charms notebook.

 

“Huh?” His eyes snapped to yours as he set up the portable Bunsen burner and cauldron stands. “Y-you’re not going to watch me?”

 

“Do you think you need watching?”

 

“Well… It did explode last time…”

 

“Clearly, there was a misstep last time. Look, I’ll be watching, but I won’t be watching, y’know? I firmly believe that you have performance anxiety when it comes to brewing, and I think the fewer eyes on you, the better, hence why I brought you out into the fields and away from the castle.” You flipped open your notebook to your most recent lesson. “I want you to go at your own pace. If you're worried about missing a step, write them down and cross them off one by one as you complete them so you’re not vandalizing your textbook. If you’re unsure about the quantity of turns or ingredients, you can look at the textbook as much as you want. You can even talk to yourself. Repeat the steps under your breath. Count. Even though the Potions classroom seems quite foreboding and restrictive, you can, and should, do whatever you need to do to feel like you can succeed.”

 

Neville just stared at you, jaw dropped and eyes glassy. He didn’t know what to say. 

 

“Don’t get weepy on me, Neville.”

 

“N-no, no, it's not that.” he blinked rapidly, looking down and away. “I just… I feel stupid now. All the times I could’ve saved myself from humiliation if I had just done something as simple as…the things you said.”

 

“It’s your first year at Hogwarts. You’re still learning how to navigate this kind of schoolwork. Don’t beat yourself up. All you can do is move forward and try to do better.”

 

His lips pressed together in a tightly drawn line, nodding and reaching to ignite the flame of the magic Bunsen burner. “Right… I’ll get started then.” Neville reached up and removed Trevor from his shoulder and set him down on the cloth, the toad waddling over to you and settling near your bag, narrowing its eyes to sunbathe.

 

To your delight, the first sounds that you heard beyond your Charms textbook after he filled the cauldron with water were not chopping, slicing, or grinding, but writing—a soft, gentle scrawl. With a quick flit of your eyes, you saw that Neville had taken a spare piece of parchment and was transcribing the instructions in his Potions textbook. 

 

He was taking your advice.

 

Then he reached for the potion’s knife, something you knew was a part of the first step, but—

 

“Neville. Ingredients.”

 

“Huh?” He pulled his hand back.

 

“The ingredients. Pull out exactly what you need from the jars first before you begin prepping them so that you don't get confused about the quantities.”

 

“Oh—um—right—” He fumbled about the jars in front of him, but was able to unscrew them and pull out the exact quantity required before taking a few moments to steady himself once more and resume. 

 

Cue the muttering.

 

It was under his breath. Quiet. Reading from the textbook and instructing himself. “Cut the Fanged Geranium into eight equal pieces…” was the first step he read aloud, followed by the sound of the potion knife rocking through the plant and thunking against the cutting board.

 

He was careful. A little shaky from nerves, but focused. And when he was done, he scratched off the step. 

 

This continued on for the entirety of the brew. You listened in on his muttering, every scratch of his quill against parchment, every thunk, scrape, clink, and stir of his actions… You read, feeling his gaze flit up to you every few minutes or so in case you were scrutinizing him. One time, you purposefully met his eyes, and he snapped his gaze back down, blushing in embarrassment, and you playfully told him to focus.

 

You only really checked in with him about halfway, when you asked if he was doing alright and if he had any questions, but to your surprise, he said “I think I’m alright,” without looking up from his work and kept going.

 

As he was getting closer to finishing, your attention had moved away from the book, watching his hands, watching his face twist in concentration when he reviewed the book, the little bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face… His desire for this potion to be a success was strong, his determination admirable, and something you hoped would continue once you left this place behind. 

 

Trevor gurgled at the same time Neville had finished his final stir, setting the rod down, frantically scanning over the crossed out steps, then at the potion, back at the steps once more, and then to you.

 

“I think…I’m done,” he announced, nerves edging his voice into something still uncertain.

 

Snapping your book shut, you let your book fall, careful to avoid stepping on Trevor as you rose, pacing over to Neville and looking down at the cauldron. 

 

“Bottle it,” you instructed. “It’s hard to discern the color against the black cauldron.

 

With a silver ladle, he scooped some into a bottle the size of a soda can. Against the metal of the ladle and through the clear glass of the bottle, you could see that the potion was a saturated orange, like molten lava.

 

Neville wrung his hands nervously as you brought the potion toward your face, assessing its quality.

 

“The color is correct. Saturated…” You wafted the open air above the potion toward you. “Smells accurate, too… but the best way to confirm its quality is to test it.”

 

His eyes widened. “You’re going to drink it?”

 

“Yes. Why, do you want to?”

 

“N-no no.” He waved his hands at you. “You go ahead.”

 

And so you did. Blowing on it to cool it down a little, you tilted the orange liquid back into your mouth, scrunching your nose at the taste, but only because it tasted like tea, which was how it was supposed to taste. The boy waited with bated breath, watching you, as if you were going to explode after drinking the potion. 

 

You felt a tingling warmth spread through your limbs. The cuffed fabric of your overalls tightened as your thighs gained a bit more mass and tone. Your arms didn't fill out your shirt since it was loose and oversized, but you could feel the mass of your enlarged muscles beneath. Your forearms felt harder, too, and you flexed your fingers, rolling your shoulders as you mentally assessed your body. It felt…stable. Familiar, like with your own brews. There were no side effects that you could note right away. You didn’t feel dizzy or weak, nor did your limbs suddenly begin to spasm from random nerve firing, a common side effect with an ill-brewed Strength Potion. 

 

It was, dare you say, perfect.

 

“Feels good,” you hummed, rolling the sleeve of your non-scarred arm up and making a muscle. He laughed nervously at the sight. “I don’t sense anything off with this potion, and my body absorbed it well. Neville, I’d say this was a perfect brew.”

 

His fidgeting hands dropped to his side, his face lighting up in disbelief. “Really?”

 

You raised a humorous brow at him, before silently stepping toward him, and scooping him up without any charms, like he weighed nothing.

 

Neville instinctively gripped your shirt collar, a deep blush spreading onto his face.

 

“Believe me now?”

 

“Y-yes,” he stammered out. “Do I weigh anything to you right now?”

 

“Nope! It’s like holding a bunch of grapes,” you chuckled, before carefully setting him down. “I’m serious, Neville. This was a fantastic brew. If you do this again in class, and Professor Snape doesn’t give you an ‘O’, I’d say it's because he can’t stomach the thought of giving a Gryffindor an ‘O.’”

 

“O-oh, I don’t know. I mean, I want to do just as good in Snape’s class, but he’ll be watching me, like he usually does.” He lowered his head toward the ground, kicking at the tarp wrinkles. “I freeze up, my thoughts get all jumbled, and…I don’t want to mess this potion up in front of him again.” He began to pick the sides of his nails. “I wish… I could be more collected in class. More precise and…skilled. A Potions god, like you. That way, people will stop calling me a screw-up or a ‘cauldron killer’, and Snape will stop glaring at me like I’m a nuisance. ”

 

The weight of his confession hung heavily between you two; his vulnerability lay bare for you. And it struck you just how much Neville trusted you to expose himself in such a way.

 

“Look at me, Neville.”

 

He did so, slowly. Your left hand migrated leisurely across your body, brushing the hem of your right sleeve, before carefully tugging it up to your shoulder. His attention went immediately to the scar, his breath hitched, and his eyes were large in shock.

 

“I am not a Potion’s god. I got this injury because I thought I was just that, that I could take on something more advanced. And I still make mistakes to this day.”

 

You let your sleeve drop, and the spell was seemingly broken, the boy blinking rapidly, and looking back at you.

 

“You’re eleven, Neville. You’re not supposed to have everything right. If you did, you wouldn't be in school, learning how to do these things.” You sighed. “Deep down, I’m sure he’s extra strict because Professor Snape cares about everyone’s safety, and he doesn’t want them to get hurt. I think he could stand to be more courteous in his teaching, and I hope one day he realizes that someone is going to get seriously hurt because they were too afraid of being judged by him to ask for clarification or additional education. And you’re not a screw-up, Neville, because you just proved to me that you can do this. You have the focus, you have the delicate hands to do so, and most importantly, you care, which is more than I can say about half the students who just go through the motions trying to get in and out of Potions class.”

 

The encouragement stunned him, his ears turning pink, and his mouth parted slightly, not knowing what to say. You took his hands carefully in yours, and the blush jumped to his cheeks.

 

“Do you know what a mantra is?”

 

“I don’t…” he mumbled.

 

“It’s a saying. A message you repeat to yourself. Something that grounds you. Motivates you. Keeps you calm. I think having one for Potions class would serve you well.”

 

Neville nodded. “If you think so… What should I say?”

 

You lifted your eyes to the sky, thinking, swaying your linked hands together back and forth. “How about… ‘I am capable, I am learning, and I will grow.’”

 

There was a glint of something in his eye that told you he found it agreeable, before nodding shyly. 

 

“Say it,” you instructed.

 

“I am capable, I am learning, and I can grow.”

 

“Will grow,” you corrected.

 

A small smile tugged on his lips. “Will grow,” he repeated.

 

In the distance, the school bell thrummed, signalling the end of the free period. 

 

“I should get going,” Neville declared, letting go of your hands and hurriedly gathering his belongings. With a wave of your wand, the contents of the cauldron disappeared, and your portable kit, packed itself away neatly, the zipper zipping itself shut.

 

“When you’re all done with your classes, come tell me how Potions went at dinner. I want to know how you did.”

 

“Yeah. Sure,” he agreed breathlessly. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he began to set off in a stride. 

 

“Neville,” you called out, before he could get far.

 

He whirled around. “Yes?”

 

You held the toad out to him, Trevor’s eyes cracked open and limbs splayed and slotted between your fingers. “Don’t forget Trevor.”

 

He made a move toward you like he was going to retrieve Trevor, but his brain seemed to be playing tug-of-war with him. “Could you… Could you look after him? I won’t make it to class on time if I bring him up to my room first, and I don’t want to have him wriggling around in Potions class.”

 

“Oh, yeah, sure. I can do that.” 

 

“Thanks,” he bid with a quick nod, and took off jogging toward the castle. “I’ll see you later!”

 

“Later,” you called back, watching the boy disappear further and further until he reached the courtyard. You sighed softly, bringing the toad up to your face, staring into its now fully opened eyes. “ ‘Sup.”

 

“RIBBIT.”

Notes:

A lot has been happening in the world right now. I anticipate some interruptions in my life within the coming few months. I'll be looking for a new job soon, but fic updates should hold steady.

Ask your LGBTQIA+ friends how they are doing and hug them.

Fuck ICE

Trans rights forever

Side note: apparently, the birth rate dropped to an all-time low, and the government and corporations are crying about it. Iconic behavior on our part, ladies. 💋