thread by thread

by goodd4ys

Summary:

he was born blind. the world thought that meant he couldn’t see. but there are things only he can sense—and some people fear that most.

Notes:

hello it’s me again (sorry).

Chapter 1: prologue

Summer 1969

 

“Are you blind?”

The girl says it with the soft horror of someone who hasn’t quite learned how to hide it yet. Not unkind. Just startled.

The boy on the riverbank doesn’t turn his head. He sits cross-legged in the grit and gravel beside the oily flow of the water, hands resting on his knees, back to her. His coat is too large, fraying at the sleeves, one of the elbows patched together with tape. 

He must have heard her. 

The sun is a smudge of gold behind the clouds, and the whole street smells of factory smoke and old rust. Lily Evans shifts where she stands, one foot grinding into a bottle cap buried in the dirt. She feels like she’s stumbled into something private. Sacred, almost.

“I saw you climb over the fence,” she says, quieter this time. “You nearly tripped on the post.”

“I didn’t.” His voice is flat.

“You did.”

“It’s new.” He muttered.

She doesn’t know why, but she smiles.

He turns, just enough for her to see him properly. Pale face. Bruised looking shadows under his eyes. And his gaze - wrong. Unfocused. Not quite facing her, like he’s listening more than he’s looking.

“Your eyes are black,” she says, before she can stop herself. “Like… ink.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Mine are green. Like a lime.” She offers. There’s a long, crackling pause between them. The river mutters on, dragging plastic bags and dead leaves along its back.

“I’m Lily. Evans. I live up the hill. The house with the purple door.” She nods towards the slim brick house with marigolds in the window.

He tilts his head. Like a bird, she thinks. Sharp and small and cautious.

“I know.”

“You’ve been watching me?” She says, mock-scandalised.

“No.” His mouth twitches- just barely. “I hear you. Every day, when you walk past the rail.”

Lily takes a step forward. “And what do you hear?”

He shifts slightly. His fingers dig into the gravel, like it helps him anchor himself. “You laugh really loudly. You and your sister argue. You hum when you think no-one’s listening.” His lips twitch again. “Elvis seems like your favourite.”

Lily stares at him, stunned.

A full, startled kind of laugh. “Well,” she says. “I guess you know everything, then.”

He doesn’t reply.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” She says, brushing her fringe from her face. It always gets in the way, but Mum likes it cut short.

“I do.” He replies. A pause. “Sometimes.”

“Well, I guess I’m lucky I found you.” She sits down in the gravel beside him without asking. “Petunia talks too much.”

That gets another flicker of a smile. Small. Almost embarrassed. His hands are splayed out in the dirt like he needs to feel the shape of the world through them.

“Do you come here every day?” She asks.

“When I can.”

“Why?”

“It’s quiet here.”

Lily nods, like she understands. There’s a silence after that. Not uncomfortable- just long. Wind stirs the weeds. The river gurgles as something heavy sinks under.

“Do you want to see something?”

She looks at him surprised.

He doesn’t wait for her answer. Just leans forward, palms flat to the dirt, and whispers something under his breath- words she doesn’t know. Words that feel wrong and old, like they’ve been scraped from the bones of the earth.

And in the space between his hands, the dirt shifts. Pebbles rise. Float. 

Her breath catches. They hover- spinning, dancing- like they’re weightless.

“What- what is that?” She whispers.

“Magic.”

She stares, eyes wide, heart pounding. “That’s real?”

He nods. Doesn’t smile. It’s not a trick to him. Not a performance. It’s just… what it is.

The stones drop all at once.

She stares at the ground. Then at him.

“I can do things too,” she says, suddenly breathless. “Weird things. I- I made Petunia’s hair stand up once when she said I was freakish. Mum thought it was the carpet. Static.”

He nods again. “I know.”

She doesn’t ask how. She doesn’t want to. It feels like he already knows too many things.

But she doesn’t feel afraid. 

“You’re a witch.” He says.

“And you’re…” she begins, then trails off. Her gaze catches on the shadows under his eyes. The too-large coat. The way his hand trembles, just barely, when he rests it on his knee.

“You’re lonely,” she says instead.

He flinches. Just a little. But he doesn’t deny it.

Lily reaches out, impulsively, and takes his hand. It’s small and bony and cold, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Not anymore.” Lily says.

Lily doesn’t say anything for a while. She just holds his hand, her thumb brushing faintly over the ridge of his knuckle like she’s memorising it. She doesn’t know why. Just that she should.

A gull cries overhead. The wind shifts.

“What’s your name?” she asks, finally.

He hesitates. Then, quietly: “Severus.”

“Severus what?”

“Snape.”

She nods, like it suits him somehow. “That’s a good name.”

He doesn’t answer. But she sees the way his head dips slightly, like her saying it means something.

They sit like that until the factory bell rings for shift change and the river stinks worse with runoff. Severus pulls his hand back gently, brushing the dirt from his palms. He moves carefully, like someone always halfway to being struck.

“You’ll come back?” he asks, not looking at her.

“Yes,” she says, standing and brushing gravel off her shorts. “You’ll know it’s me.”

He tilts his head. “Because you’ll be humming Elvis.”

She grins. “Exactly.”

Chapter 2: chapter one

Notes:

a couple scenes of our faves!!

They sit on the back step of the Evans’ house one afternoon, warm sun on their knees, the air smelling faintly of compost and sun-warmed brick. A dog barks a few streets over. Lily’s hair is loose today, and the ends keep brushing his arm when she leans close.

Severus sets the battered book between them. The spine is split. Some of the pages are warped, as if they’ve been rained on. His fingers trace the cover like it’s precious.

“This is Practical Potions for the Prepubescent Witch,” he says, reverent.

Lily squints. “Looks ancient.”

“It was Mam’s.” He pauses, like that means something more than it says.

He runs his fingers over the blank page. Then, softly, carefully, he murmurs the incantation.

The air goes very still. Then the paper begins to ripple faintly under his touch, as though a drop of water struck the center and is working its way out. His fingers slide across the surface and find the subtle bumps raised there—freshly transfigured Braille.

Lily stares, amazed. “You made that?”

“Me mam did. The spell, I mean.” He shifts a little, self-conscious. “She said she didn’t invent it, but she had to tweak it. Most of the versions she found were too weak, or they fell apart after a few pages. This one holds longer.”

“She taught you?” Lily asks, voice soft.

He nods. “When I was little. She wanted me to read books like other children. She said just because we can’t afford the fancy versions doesn’t mean I should be left behind.”

Lily touches the page gently, like she’s afraid she’ll ruin it. “That’s incredible.”

“She doesn’t do much magic anymore,” he says after a moment. “She gets too tired.”

Lily’s quiet. Then, almost reverent: “Do you think you could teach me? Not just the spell. The reading.”

He tilts his head toward her. “Braille?”

She nods.

Severus hesitates, then grins—small and sharp-edged, but real. “All right. But I’m strict.”

She grins back. “Good. I’m clever.”

 

She learns slowly.

It frustrates her—Lily is not used to not being good at something. He listens to her huff and fumble through the alphabet, her fingertips grazing the raised dots with maddening care.

“This is impossible.”

“You’re reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard,” he deadpans. “It’s not meant to be easy.”

She punches his arm. “Don’t be smug.”

“You’re just mad I’m better at it.”

“You’ve been blind, you’ve had a head start.”

He laughs, soft and surprised. “You’re getting better.”

She grins. “I’m going to be brilliant.”

“I know.”

“Can I ask something?” Lily says, after a while.

“You usually do.”

She grins, then frowns a little. “What’s it like? Not seeing, I mean.”

He doesn’t stiffen, not quite—but something folds in on itself. A breath pulled tight.

“Don’t know,” he says after a moment. “It’s like asking you what it’s like to see.”

“I guess so,” she murmurs. “Still... I just wondered.”

He’s quiet, but not angry.

“People talk like they think I’m missing something,” he says. “But I don’t know what colours are. Not really. I think I miss light, though. Even if I’ve never seen it. It’s like… I know it’s meant to be there.”

He pauses. “People sound different in the sun. I can tell when someone’s in shadow. It makes their voice sharper.”

She watches him. “You notice everything, don’t you?”

He shrugs. “I have to.”

 

---

 

She tells him one day that she has twenty-seven freckles.

“Thirty if I’ve been in the sun,” she adds, thoughtful.

He tilts his head. “That doesn’t seem like enough for a redhead.”

“I don’t care what you think,” she retorts. Then, after a pause, “You should know that I hate my nose.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It turns up at the end.”

“That sounds like a good nose.”

“It’s not.”

He can hear her scowling. It makes him smile.

“Mine’s worse, I think. It… broke a couple years ago.”

Lily hummed lightly. “Yours is great, Sev. Very regal. Like an Italian prince.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. But his smile lingers even after the wind shifts.

She nudges his arm with her shoulder. “One day, I’ll teach you to walk like one.”

He nudges her back. “You’ll have to teach me what they look like first.”

She doesn’t laugh. “I think they look just like you.”

 

---

 

The kettle was just beginning to hiss when Lily came bounding through the back door, all flushed cheeks and flying hair.

“Mum, we’re going up the hill for a bit, alright? Severus wants to show me a trick he’s been practising.”

Rose turned from the sink, wiping her hands on her apron. “Back before supper,” she said automatically, even though she knew Lily wouldn’t be far. She never strayed far when Severus was with her.

He came in a few steps behind Lily—quiet as always. He took off his shoes at the door without being told, set them neatly side by side, and folded his hands in front of him like a little gentleman.

Rose’s heart clenched.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she said, her voice softer for him. “Would you like a biscuit before you go?”

Severus blinked, just once, his head tilted slightly toward her voice. “Yes, please,” he said politely.

She gave him two.

He always used his hands carefully, like he was measuring out space that didn’t belong to him. So careful not to knock things over. So quiet it made your chest hurt.

Lily was already rattling on about something—some spell they’d read in one of the books that Eileen Prince had lent Severus. But Rose only half-listened. Her eyes stayed on the boy as he reached, slowly and confidently, for the edge of the counter and then down to the plate of biscuits she held just at his level. His fingers brushed hers, and she didn’t flinch, even though they were freezing.

“Thank you, Mrs Evans,” he said, and Rose smiled.

“You’re always welcome, love.”

She meant it.

How could she not? He was so small. Eleven now, but thin and breakable, always in that tattered coat no matter the weather, his hair falling in front of his face. He’d grown it longer since they first met—shoulder-length now, and Rose thought it suited him. Covered those bruised-looking eyes, the ones that never quite looked at you, even when you were right in front of him.

There was a silence when the back door closed behind them, and Rose stood for a moment at the sink, staring out into the garden. Harry came in then, humming under his breath, paper tucked under his arm.

“They off again?” he asked, reaching for the biscuit tin.

“They’re always off,” she replied fondly. “It’s like they’re sewn together.”

Harry grinned. “That boy’s a strange one, but clever. Quiet.”

“Too quiet,” she murmured. Then, after a beat, “Did you know Tobias threw him out of the house last winter? Lily told me. Eileen didn’t even know he was gone until morning.”

Harry’s face darkened. “Bastard.”

Rose didn’t disagree. She leaned on the sink and watched the garden, even though the children were long gone over the hill.

“He’s blind, Harry. And that man hits him. It’s all over his body, if you know where to look. And he never complains.”

There was a long pause behind her, filled only by the tick of the kitchen clock and the distant whistle of the kettle. Then Harry came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist.

“He’s not our son,” he said quietly.

“I know.” Her voice was just as soft. “But if he were—” she broke off. “I think Lily’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Harry pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Then we just make sure she stays that way.”

Rose nodded, but her eyes were damp. She turned off the kettle.

Notes:

next chapter is looking quite long so bare with me guys. hope you enjoyed this one and don’t be afraid to comment :)

Chapter 3: chapter two

Notes:

the longer chapter i’ve promised!!

The Evans house was noisy that morning, filled with the sounds of clattering pans, the hiss of the kettle, and the overlapping voices of three women—Lily, her mother Rose, and Petunia—bickering over toast and what kind of socks counted as “proper.”

Severus stood at the bottom of the garden path, the low hum of traffic far behind him, gravel shifting under his shoes. The birdsong was clearer here than at home. No mill smoke in the air. Just the green smell of watered grass and the faint, waxy scent of marigolds from the front window boxes. He reached out and found the iron gate by memory, fingers brushing cool metal. The latch clicked easily under his hand.

He didn’t need to count steps anymore. He’d walked the path enough times to know its rhythm: six steps from the gate to the front stoop, a slight slant in the paving where rainwater always gathered, then the edge of the doormat, scratchy under his soles.

He didn’t knock.

The door opened before he could lift his hand. “Severus!” Lily’s voice was warm, tugging.

He ducked his head as he stepped inside, the scent of toast and fried tomatoes hitting him at once. Rose’s voice called from the kitchen, cheerful and bright.

“Take your shoes off, love. Mind the cat!”

“I don’t think you have a cat, Mum,” Lily muttered, nudging him gently by the elbow as he moved aside for her to close the door.

“She means the umbrella stand,” Petunia chimed, a bit drier. “It’s shaped like a tabby. Sort of. If you squint.”

He grinned faintly and reached down. The ceramic was cool and smooth, shaped like a curled tail. He stepped around it.

The Evans' hallway always felt strangely big to him—like the ceilings were just slightly higher than they needed to be. The smells helped: beeswax polish, fresh laundry, something floral from the bathroom upstairs.

Rose leaned out of the kitchen. “You hungry, Severus?”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs Evans.”

“Oh, none of that. I’ve told you to call me Rose.” She ushered them in. The table was already set.

He didn’t sit until Lily’s hand found his sleeve and tugged him toward the chair he always took—second from the end, with the wonky leg that creaked slightly under his weight. He’d learned it the first time by accident. Now it helped orient him.

Petunia rolls her eyes at them all from across the table but doesn’t say much. She’s dressed nicely, in her own way—she insists she’s only coming to London for the shops.

“Ready?” Lily asks, bouncing in place. She smells like soap and toothpaste and something faintly floral. Severus nods.

He hasn’t brought much. Just the satchel and the coat and his mother’s wand, wrapped carefully in cloth and tucked inside a battered tin pencil case. It’s all he owns that matters.

They pile into the car a few minutes later. Lily’s pressed up against the window in the backseat, pointing things out as they pass, even though Severus can’t see them. It doesn’t matter. He likes hearing her talk.

“Corner shop’s shut today. Oh, there’s Mrs. Catherby—her dog’s wearing that ridiculous jumper again. I swear it’s got pom-poms.”

He smiles, quiet. Harry hums along to the radio as they turn off the estate and head toward the station. The sky is grey, clouds hanging low like wet wool, but Lily chatters like it’s summer.

They reach the platform just past eight. The train is already there, huffing steam into the chill morning air.

Severus has never been on a train before.

He’s startled by how alive it feels—the hiss and rattle of it, the slow metal clank of something heavy being connected further down the line. When he climbs aboard behind Lily, he grips the railing tighter than he means to.

The Evanses find a quiet set of seats in one of the middle cars. Harry and Rose take the row behind them, murmuring about travel times and weather forecasts. Petunia sits stiffly with her arms crossed, pretending not to watch Severus. But she doesn’t say anything rude. Not today.

Lily nudges Severus into the window seat, even though she knows he can’t see out.

“Don’t worry,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll tell you everything.”

He doesn’t reply, but he smiles faintly. The seat rocks gently under him as the train begins to move.

At first, it’s just a hum. Then a lurch. Then they’re gliding—no, rushing—forward with a speed he’s never felt before. His fingers press against the edge of the seat, anchoring himself. Everything feels strange and fast and new.

“There’s a bridge coming up,” Lily murmurs beside him. “We’re going over the river. It’s all brown and sludgy. Like if you stirred gravy into tea.”

He huffs a laugh.

“Now there’s fields. Lots of sheep. Alien marshmallows.”

He turns his head slightly toward her. “What do sheep look like?”

“Fluffy clouds with legs. And creepy little eyes. They definitely know something.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his grin widens.

They pass through the countryside in a blur of Lily’s descriptions and train sounds—clacks and whistles and the faint vibration of the floor under their shoes. At one point, she leans over to tuck his coat sleeve back where it’s bunched awkwardly, and he lets her.

“You’re quiet,” she says after a while.

“I’m listening,” he replies.

She nudges his arm. “To me?”

“To everything.”

The train whistles again. Severus sits back, closes his eyes, and lets it carry him forward.

 

 

 

The rhythm of the train slows. The clatter softens to a lull, the wheels sighing against the tracks as the city begins to rise around them—brick and metal, glass and wire. Lily’s voice trails off somewhere between describing a funny-looking billboard and wondering aloud if they’ll see any double-decker buses.

Severus leans his head lightly against the cool glass. The window hums faintly under his temple. He listens—to the squeal of brakes, the hiss of the steam, the dull murmur of other passengers gathering their things. To Lily’s breath, close beside him. Steady. Familiar.

There’s something strange and slow in the quiet between motion and arrival.

He feels it like a held breath.

A soft shift in gravity, a pause before things change.

In the seat behind them, Harry is rummaging in a bag for tickets. Petunia sighs with exaggerated boredom. Rose hums along to a tune stuck in her head. All of it folds together like a patchwork quilt of sound and warmth, anchoring him. Making it real.

The train shudders once, gently, and comes to a full stop.

Lily reaches over without a word and brushes a bit of lint off his shoulder. Her hand lingers for a second.

“You ready?” she asks.

He nods.

She takes his hand. Not because he needs help. Just because she can.

And together, they step into London.

 

The platform is louder than Severus expects.

He tightens his grip on Lily’s hand instinctively—there’s a swell of movement around them, footsteps echoing off the stone, sharp announcements crackling overhead, and the high-pitched squeal of a child in some far-off direction. Somewhere, someone drops a case, and the thunk of it startles him enough to flinch.

“Sorry,” Lily says quietly, adjusting her hold on his fingers. “We’re just going straight through. Come on.”

He follows her through the crowd, his other hand ghosting along the wall when he can find it. The air smells different here—brake oil, old stone, a hint of newspaper ink and rain on concrete. The floor changes underfoot: tiled, then smooth, then rough again near the exits. He keeps his steps measured, focused.

It helps that Lily keeps talking.

“Careful—there’s a suitcase sticking out here. Petunia nearly tripped on it.”

“Can’t say I’d mind that,” he murmurs back.

She laughs, low and conspiratorial, and he feels it bloom warm in his chest.

By the time they reach the main concourse, the sounds have spread out, higher ceilings swallowing up the din. Harry leads the way now, calling occasional directions over his shoulder. Rose hurries to keep pace, her heels clicking unevenly. Petunia lags behind them all, arms folded, unimpressed by everything.

“Nearly there,” Lily says, giving Severus’s hand one more squeeze before letting go.

They descend the stairs to the Underground, the air growing cooler, damp with stone dust. Severus has never been below the city before. The train had been new, but this—this is something stranger still. A warren of tunnels and tiled walls, the distant shriek of trains coming and going like something caged and restless.

Lily leans close as they wait on the platform. “Next stop’s Tottenham Court Road. Then we walk.”

He nods. She doesn’t have to explain. He likes the sound of her voice—especially when it wraps around facts like they’re secrets meant only for him.

When the tube arrives, Severus lets the rush of air hit him full in the face. It smells of dust and old metal and too many people. He climbs aboard behind Lily again, holding tight to the pole as they sway forward.

By the time they reach the street level, London is fully awake. Car horns. Distant shouting. A shop radio spilling music into the open air. It’s overwhelming—but not in the way he feared. It’s almost like standing too close to a fire. Too loud, too bright, too fast—but warm. Alive.

They walk for several minutes—Lily narrating turns, curbs, window displays, odd passersby—until they stop outside a rather ordinary-looking pub squashed between a record shop and a bakery. Severus can smell the yeast and sugar from next door. The door in front of them creaks slightly on its hinges.

“The Leaky Cauldron,” Lily whispers. “It’s real.”

He doesn’t speak. He can feel it—magic in the air like a low note in his bones. The door opens under Harry’s hand, and for the first time, Severus steps into a wizarding space.

It smells of pipe smoke and old wood, of something faintly herbal and bitter. Someone is laughing. A chair scrapes across stone. A cat yowls from somewhere above.

And then—

“Ah,” says a voice, “first-timers?”

A pause.

“We’re looking for Diagon Alley,” Harry says, a bit unsure.

“Course you are,” the man replies, cheerful. “Right this way.”

 

The wall shifts open with a low grind of stone on stone.

Severus hears it first—feels it, even, in the soles of his shoes. Then comes the rush of air, like stepping through a door into another world. On the other side of the bricks: noise. Not the blunt, predictable kind of Cokeworth streets, but something layered and strange. Bells jingling in impossible rhythms. Footsteps that crack like twigs. A bubbling, clinking sound he can’t place, like glass breathing. Magic.

He doesn’t realise he’s stopped moving until Lily bumps into him from behind.

“Sev?” she says softly.

His fingers have curled tightly into his coat. The sounds rush in fast and sharp—the scent of ink and herbs, smoke and something sweet and metallic. Someone laughs nearby, and it echoes oddly, too bright and too close.

A step ahead, Rose is already exclaiming about the shops, and Harry’s voice carries behind them, pointing out something about exchange rates. Petunia makes a sniffing noise, unimpressed, but doesn’t say anything cruel—not out loud.

Severus stands, rigid, on the edge of Diagon Alley. It’s too much. Not loud, not exactly, but layered. The air feels thick with magic, thrumming against his skin, and for a terrible moment, he feels like he’s about to fall—not physically, but inward, into something too big to grasp.

A hand finds his arm.

“Come here,” Lily says gently, tugging him sideways.

She presses him to the wall just beside the entrance, where the stone is cool and still slightly damp from the morning. The bricks are real. Solid. He can feel the grit of them against his back. It grounds him.

They stand there a moment—just the two of them, close enough that her shoulder brushes his. She doesn’t speak again, not right away, but he knows she’s there.

He takes a slow breath.

Another.

The magic still hums, but it’s bearable now. A rhythm under his skin instead of a scream.

“You alright?” Lily asks, quiet.

He nods once. “It’s… different.”

Her hand lingers just a second longer on his sleeve. Then she lets go.

“Wait until you smell the ice cream shop,” she says with a smile in her voice. “It’s like walking into a strawberry. Come on. Mum and Dad are heading toward the bank.”

He hears Petunia sigh somewhere behind them. Then: her Mary Janes clicking away, sharp and dismissive.

They move deeper into the crowd, and the noise swells—clinking glass, footsteps slapping unevenly on stone, dozens of conversations overlapping like stormwater rushing through pipes. Severus’s hand finds Lily’s sleeve again. She doesn’t mind. The fabric is familiar, grounding. He grips it tightly.

The air is thick with sensation. The scent of ink and polished wood, parchment, smoke, and something sweet that curls unpleasantly in his nose—syrupy, sharp, like toffee gone sour. The air hums. Not with sound exactly, but with magic. It coils everywhere, vibrating faintly against his skin like electricity before a thunderstorm. It's more than he’s ever felt at once. It's too much.

Lily leans into him slightly, her shoulder a quiet reassurance against his arm.

“Step left,” she murmurs. “Cart in the way.”

He sidesteps without thinking, trusting her voice more than the cacophony around him. Somewhere nearby, a child shrieks in delight, and fireworks crackle overhead—he flinches, instinctively ducking his head. Too bright, too loud. His thoughts snag.

There’s a pulse behind his eyes, like his brain is trying to piece things together too quickly. Sounds blur into a wash. Sensations spiral.

He lets go of Lily’s sleeve.

“Sev?” she says quickly, catching his hand. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

Lily stands in front of him, blocking the rush of passersby, her hands still wrapped around his.

“You alright?” she asks softly. “Do you want to go back?”

He shakes his head. He wouldn’t even know how. And he doesn’t want to—not really.

“It’s like…” He swallows, trying to find the words. “Everything’s shouting at once. All the magic. I can’t—can’t sort it out.”

Lily nods. “It’s loud for me too,” she says. “But you’re not alone, okay? You’ve got me. You’re doing really well.”

He lets the words sink in, steadying his breath. His fingers curl a little tighter around hers.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” She squeezes his hands once more, then releases them gently.

The first shop is Gringotts.

Even before they reach the steps, Severus draws up short. There’s a sound—scraping, deliberate. Not shoes. Claws. The faint creak of something leather-bound, the hush of fabric that isn’t quite robes. Then a voice, smooth and sharp-edged, greets them at the door with clipped syllables that sound like they’ve been minted rather than spoken.

Inside, the air is cold, metallic. Magic hums like a current beneath the marble floor.

Coins clink. Ink scrapes across parchment. A spell is murmured—low, bureaucratic—and it flicks across his skin like cold water. He tenses.

They don’t go down to the vaults. “Just an exchange,” the goblin mutters. “It’ll be enough.”

But deep beneath their feet, Severus hears it—the distant rattle of carts speeding through stone tunnels, echoing up through the bones of the bank.

Outside, the world warms again. Cobblestones sun-soaked, air sweet with the strange tang of enchantment. A breeze finds his face and he lifts his chin into it—not to see, but to feel the sky.

Lily hasn’t stopped talking.

“This one sells cauldrons—oh, look, Sev—this one’s wobbling like jelly—no, feel that—”

She seizes his hand and presses it against the copper lip of a cauldron. It shivers faintly beneath his palm, as if it’s restraining some barely-contained panic.

“Do we want that?” He whispers.

“Not unless you like cooking with mild terror.”

He huffs a quiet breath that might almost be a laugh. She pulls him onward, fingers laced through his without hesitation.

Petunia walks a few paces behind them, her footsteps stiff, mouth set in a thin line. She hasn’t said much since the bank. When she does speak, it’s quiet and clipped—“That’s absurd” or “They let children buy these things?”—but she hasn’t asked to leave. Not yet.

Harry and Rose seem caught between awe and exhaustion. They keep stopping to marvel at floating inkpots or enchanted display windows, then hurrying to catch up.

When they reach the robe shop, it smells of old starch and even older velvet.

A witch with measuring tape slithering around her shoulders claps her hands. “Who's first, then?”

Lily volunteers, hopping onto the footstool with both feet at once.

The tapes snap to attention and begin to spin and wind around her limbs, muttering numbers. Lily giggles as they tug at her elbows.

Severus stands off to the side, quietly twisting his fingers into the hem of his sleeve. He doesn’t plan to step forward.

But then the witch says briskly, “Next.”

There’s a pause. He doesn't move.

“Well, go on,” Lily says, nudging his arm.

He shakes his head. “I’m all right. I’ve got me Ma’s old things.”

A pause. A heavy kind of pause.

“Your mum’s?” Rose asks gently. “She was a witch.”

He nods, and that’s all.

“How old are they?” Harry adds, careful but firm.

Severus shrugs. “They’re fine.”

There’s a long silence, and then Rose says, soft but not uncertain, “No, love. We’ll get you a new set.”

He stiffens. “You don’t have to do that.”

“We want to,” Harry says, quiet but steady.

“You don’t even know me,” Severus mutters.

“I know what a kind young man you are. I know Lily loves you,” Rose replies. “That’s enough for us.”

His chest goes tight. “No, really. I don’t need anything. I’ve got robes at home, and—”

“You’ve got robes that don’t fit,” Lily says flatly.

“And sleeves that are more fray than fabric,” Rose adds.

Severus’s jaw tightens. He takes a half-step back. “I said I’m fine.”

The witch behind the counter clicks her tongue. “We’ll do two uniform sets. Shirt, trousers, robe. Shoes if he needs them.”

“You can’t,” he says, and his voice drops. “You can’t. My dad—”

Rose’s voice softens, but doesn’t waver. “He can’t stop you from taking anything we gave you to school, Severus. We can keep them at our house and Lily will pack them for you.”

His mouth opens and closes.

Harry steps in, firm but kind. “Let us do this. Just this. You’ll need more than you think.”

Severus’s hands curl into fists at his sides. He doesn’t know how to be seen this way—doesn’t want to be seen. Not like this.

Finally, he says, very low, “I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

“Of course you will,” Harry replies. “But not today.”

They measure him in silence.

The tape is cool and quick against his skin. When they slip the robe over his shoulders, he’s surprised by the weight of it—heavy and unfamiliar. It smells of starch and dust and something older, deeper, like forgotten velvet in a locked trunk.

It settles over him like a new skin.

At the wand shop, the air is thick with varnish and ozone. The bell above the door sings like a spell itself—too sweet, too sharp.

He doesn’t need a wand. Not yet. His mother’s is in the satchel, tucked inside the tin box he keeps near always.

Still, Ollivander pauses in front of him.

“Yew,” the old man murmurs. “Unusual. Fierce wood. For a boy so quiet.”

Severus says nothing.

Lily tries three wands. The fourth hums to life in her hand like it recognizes her. Willow, dragon heartstring. The air zings when she touches it, and Severus feels the crackle as if it sparked against his skin.

They emerge into late afternoon with arms full and hearts fuller.

Outside, the air has changed again—sweeter now, filled with the scent of sugar, ink, and sun-warmed stone. Somewhere, a broom whooshes overhead, trailing laughter in its wake.

“Come on,” Harry says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Let’s sit for a bit.”

They settle at the edge of the fountain near the ice cream parlour. Harry insists on paying. Petunia refuses to eat anything “made by wizards” and stands stiffly beside the bench, arms folded like a soldier.

Rose gets vanilla. Harry gets rum-raisin “just to try it.” Lily picks strawberry, of course—“pink’s the best flavour, obviously”—and Severus, after a pause, agrees to vanilla.

They sit with their legs dangling, dripping ice cream on their napkins.

Lily takes a long lick of hers, then sighs dramatically. “So,” she says. “Still think you’ve been dreaming?”

Severus hesitates.

Then: “No,” he says. “It’s… more real than I imagined.”

Lily leans toward him, elbows on her knees, voice lowered like she’s sharing state secrets. “And we haven’t even started school yet.”

He can’t help it—he smiles. Just a little.

His hand drifts to the edge of his satchel, to the tin box inside. The wand he hasn’t dared to use in months, his mother’s last true gift.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Beside him, Lily hums under her breath. Petunia shifts her weight and looks away. Somewhere behind them, the magical world spins on—brooms, owls, laughter, spells. The clatter and chaos of a life he thought he might never be part of.

But he’s here.

And for the first time in years, Severus feels it—not just the ache of wanting, or the dream of belonging.

But the sharp, sudden pulse of possibility.

The sun dips behind the crooked rooftops. Shadows lengthen across the stones.

And Severus Snape, blind boy from Spinner’s End, cradling books and dreams in his arms, dares to believe in something very close to joy.

Notes:

the evans family love severus like he’s their own, i love them so much. he might have come off a little bit rude when they offered to pay for him, but he’s just defensive and doesn’t want to accept charity, which rose and harry know. but they also know they can’t let him go to school in a witches old uniform, and therefore they would cut into their funds a little to help out their daughters best friend.

anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Chapter 4: chapter three

Notes:

apologies, this chapter would have been released earlier but my device has decided to completely crash on me and for some reason everything is ten times harder on a phone.

anyways hope you enjoy this chapter!

The night before Severus Snape would leave for Hogwarts, the house was quieter than usual.

Tobias was passed out in the sitting room. Eileen, moving softly in the cramped kitchen, summoned a battered, half-melted candle to hover between them. She held her son’s hand in both of hers, smoothing her thumb over the growing calluses on his fingers.

"You'll have to be clever, Sev," she murmured, voice low enough not to wake anything or anyone that might ruin the moment. "Clever and fast. And careful."

He didn't nod. He simply listened, the way he always had when it was just the two of them.

"There was a boy," she said. "Long ago. Before I was born. A pureblood, older than your grandparents. Blind from the cradle — and yet... no one dared pity him. They said he could walk through Hogwarts Castle in the dark without a stumble. That he heard the world sing when others heard silence."

Severus frowned, mouth tightening.

"How?"

Eileen smiled faintly. "Old magic. Forgotten, mostly. But not lost."

She reached for her wand — the one she had already promised to him — and laid it carefully across Severus’s palms. It was lighter than it looked, the wood worn smooth by years of use.

"It’s not grand magic," she said. "It’s... a sense. A thread you pull between yourself and the world. Your wand helps to cast it out — like a spider spinning silk. Very thin. Very soft. You must feel your way along it."

She leaned closer. Severus caught the faint scent of her soap — something cheap and bitter.

"Say Sentius ," she whispered. "Clear and steady. No need to shout. It listens best when you are quiet."

Severus curled his fingers around the wand. He raised it slightly, feeling absurd — foolish. And yet, he trusted her more than he trusted the ground under his feet.

He swallowed. " Sentius ," he said, steady and soft.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then, a ripple — warm and strange — unfurled from the tip of the wand. It brushed over the kitchen: the battered table, the empty chair, the little lopsided jar on the counter. Severus stiffened, sharp and still. He could feel them. Not as pictures in his head, but as pressure points in the dark, like stars outlining a constellation he could walk between.

"Good," Eileen said, and there was pride in her voice, rare and real.

He let the magic drop. It left him a little dizzy, as if he'd sprinted up a flight of stairs without breathing.

"It'll get easier," she promised. "But it tires you now because you're young. The magic isn’t settled in you yet."

Severus nodded once, sharp and serious.

"And remember," she said, her voice low and urgent, "Never use it in a crowd. Not if you can help it. Never when you're afraid. And never where someone might see too much."

Her hands cupped his, strong and certain.

"You are not weak, Severus," Eileen said. "You have never been weak. Remember that when they try to tell you otherwise."

He did not speak. He didn't need to.

Between them, the candle guttered, and the tiny kitchen seemed to hold its breath.

The platform smelled of smoke and something sweet—maybe roasted nuts from a vendor—and the sounds of owls and voices rang high in the cool morning air. Severus paused just at the threshold of the brick barrier, his hand curled loosely around Lily’s sleeve. He could feel the fine, cool texture of her robes, freshly pressed that morning.

"Ready?" Lily whispered, bouncing slightly on her toes. Her hair smelled of lavender shampoo, familiar and comforting.

Severus gave a small nod. His stomach twisted in a mixture of excitement and dread. He hadn't dared tell her, but the idea of barreling blind through a solid wall still filled him with quiet terror.

Mrs. Evans' voice cut in gently. "Remember, both of you, it's just a step forward. Straight ahead. Don’t hesitate."

Severus heard Lily suck in a breath. Then, before he could second-guess himself, she took his hand and tugged him forward.

The brick was cool against his fingertips—and then it wasn’t. For half a heartbeat, he thought he’d smash into stone, but the world shivered around them like a curtain being drawn back, and the air changed. The scent of smoke grew sharper, undercut with the clean smell of metal and old magic.

They stumbled out onto a bustling platform. Somewhere in front of them, the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express hissed and belched steam into the air.

"Sev!" Lily gasped. "It's real. It's all real."

Severus grunted, feeling the vibration of the ground beneath his feet as students and families bustled around. Somewhere to their right, a boy laughed loudly. A cart clattered over cobblestones.

Mr. and Mrs. Evans hurried through the barrier after them. Severus could hear the tremble in Mrs. Evans’ breathing as she pulled Lily into a tight hug.

"Oh, my darling," she whispered fiercely, pressing her face into Lily's hair. "Write to us. As often as you can."

"I will," Lily promised, her voice muffled against her mother’s shoulder.

Severus stood awkwardly to the side, unsure if he should move or give them privacy. Mr. Evans clapped a warm hand on Severus’ shoulder.

"You too, Severus. We'll be waiting to hear from you," he said, and there was no mistaking the genuine affection in his voice.

Severus ducked his head. "Yes, sir," he muttered, the words thick in his throat.

Mrs. Evans, still clinging to Lily, finally let go and turned toward him. Without hesitation, she pulled Severus into a hug too, quick but fierce. He stiffened at first, but then let himself be folded against her, awkward and tense.

"You take care of each other," she said, brushing his hair back from his forehead the way a mother might.

Severus didn't know how to answer that. He just nodded, clutching the worn strap of his satchel tighter.

"And don’t be afraid to ask for help," Mr. Evans added. "You're both brilliant. You’ll be just fine."

Lily wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, laughing a little. "Mum, Dad, we’ll be back before you know it."

Mrs. Evans smiled wetly. "I know. I just— It's such a long time."

They stood together a moment longer, the four of them, amid the chaos of trunks and owls and smoke.

The final whistle shrieked through the air, high and sharp.

"You’d better get on," Mr. Evans said, clearing his throat. "Go on, Lily-flower. Severus."

They clambered aboard the train together. It smelled like old fabric and wood polish, with a metallic aftertaste in the air. The hallway was narrow, and Severus kept close to the wall, fingertips trailing along the brass rail as Lily led them along the corridor.

“Here?” she asked. “This one’s empty.”

They stepped into a compartment. Severus let out a slow breath. The seat was scratchy wool, and the window pulsed with light and warmth. He sat stiffly, folding his hands in his lap, ears straining to pick up the shape of the room.

And then the train was moving.

Severus felt it first in the floor: a low clunk and then a steady rumble that passed through his shoes, up his ankles, into his spine. The compartment window hummed gently, and something behind his ribs shifted — not fear, exactly, but unease. Even with Lily beside him, even with the scent of coal and wool and warm iron wrapping around them like a heavy blanket, it felt like the world had tilted.

He sat stiff-backed, hands folded in his lap. Beside him, Lily shifted and sighed, blowing a breath through her nose.

“We’re really going,” she said.

“Yes,” Severus murmured. “No turning back.”

He’d only been on a train once before — the trip to London, when the Evanses had taken him along for Diagon Alley. Then, he’d pressed his hand to the window glass and listened to the world whip by, astonished at how far the earth could fall away beneath wheels. This time, the magic in the air was thicker. The chatter in the corridor behind their compartment sounded younger, louder — children bubbling with nerves.

He could sense her watching him. Always watching, gently. Lily fidgeted with her skirt, the stiff new robes folded neatly in her lap, and Severus could hear the soft creak of her polished school shoes tapping against the floor.

The door banged open.

Two boys entered as if they owned the place — the first one with a quick, confident stride and a snort of a laugh, the second a half-step behind, radiating a sort of restless energy that filled the space immediately.

“Everywhere else is full,” said the first boy, his voice smooth, amused. “Mind if we sit?”

Lily looked up. “No — that’s fine.”

They flopped onto the bench across from them, the first boy dropping his trunk unceremoniously by the door with a thud . The other had the sort of voice that suggested he grinned more than he spoke.

"I’m James Potter," the first boy announced. "That’s Sirius Black."

Sirius gave a loose wave, not bothering to sit up properly.

Severus said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line.

James didn’t seem to notice. "First-years too, right? You lot reckon you’ll be in Gryffindor?"

Before Severus could answer, Lily said politely, "We don’t know yet."

"You want to be in Gryffindor," James said, as if it were obvious. "It’s where the best witches and wizards go. Everyone knows that."

Severus snorted before he could stop himself. A sharp, disbelieving noise.

James’s head whipped around.

"You got something to say?" James asked, his tone half-challenging but still amused.

Severus turned his head slightly toward him, face blank. "Not really. Just that you sound like an advertisement."

Sirius let out a huff of laughter, but James bristled.

“You’ve got a problem with Gryffindor, then?”

“No,” Severus said coolly. “Only with arrogance.”

James made a noise — half laugh, half scoff — but it had a sharp edge. “Coming from you? In Muggle clothes, looking like you just rolled off a bin lorry? Alright, Snivellus.”

“Don’t call him that,” Lily said immediately, her voice hot.

James ignored her. “What are you even hoping for — Slytherin? They’ll eat you alive in there.”

“I can take care of myself,” Severus said, quiet but hard. His hands stayed folded. He didn’t move. “I don’t need you to narrate my life, thanks.”

Sirius grinned. “He’s got a mouth, this one.”

“Yeah, but not much else,” James muttered.

Lily stood up.

“Get out.”

James blinked. “What?”

“I said get out ,” Lily repeated, stepping in front of Severus like a wall. “Find another compartment. You’re not welcome here.”

“You’re joking,” said Sirius, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not,” Lily snapped.

She sounded so furious that neither boy tried to argue. Sirius made a mock bow as they stood.

“Enjoy your cozy little corner, then.”

“Come on, Sirius,” James muttered, dragging his trunk with a bit more force than necessary.

The door slammed behind them again.

For a long moment, Severus and Lily just sat there.

"Idiots," Lily muttered finally.

Severus relaxed back into the seat, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"At least now we know who to avoid," he said.

Lily grinned. "And it’s not just you being prickly."

"I’m not prickly," Severus said with mock offense.

She snorted. "You are very prickly."

He couldn’t help it — he laughed, soft and short. Some of the knot of tension in his chest unwound.

There was a brief silence, the kind that only comes after too much noise. Severus shifted in his seat, fingers brushing over the hem of his worn shirt.

“I should probably change,” he murmured, quieter now.

“Oh!” Lily perked up, reaching for her own bag. “I have your robes here — my mum folded everything. She said she wasn’t sure how much room you’d have left in your trunk, and it all smelled a bit like the airing cupboard, so she freshened it.”

He nodded, his throat tight for a moment. “She didn’t have to.”

“She wanted to,” Lily said, handing him the neatly bundled bundle. “You’ll feel more—like you belong, I think. In uniform.” He heard her shuffle around. “I won’t look!”

Severus stood, careful to orient himself to the edge of the seat and the latch of the door before clicking it shut. He knelt beside the bundle, fingers trailing over the soft wool, following the lines of stitching, the familiar weight. He changed swiftly but methodically, his movements deliberate. The robes slid over his shoulders like a second skin, heavier than his Muggle clothes, but warmer. More protective. His fingers found the fastenings one by one.

When he sat back down, Lily gave a small approving sound.

“You look like a proper wizard now.”

Severus smirked faintly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A little while later, as the train thrummed steadily beneath them and the early tension had long since faded, Lily glanced over at him.

“You’ll tell me if you get tired or need help, right?”

“I’m fine,” Severus said automatically.

“I know,” she replied gently. “But still.”

There was a pause. His fingers tapped once against the seam of his trousers, as if weighing the words in his mouth.

Then, more quietly, he said, “I have a spell. To tell where I am. It’s called Sentius .”

She turned fully toward him. “You… already learned a spell?”

“My mum taught me,” he said. “Last night. It’s… it’s hard. I have to keep it going in my head. If I lose focus, it stops working.”

“That’s incredible,” she breathed. “What does it… do? Does it show you things?”

He shook his head. “No. Not exactly. It sort of… maps the space around me. I can feel where things are — walls, furniture, doors. People too, if they’re close enough. But it’s more like… pressure, or motion. Not sight.”

Lily blinked slowly, trying to imagine what that might feel like. “So you can always tell where things are?”

“As long as I’m casting it,” he said. “But it’s tiring. And noisy places make it harder. It’s not perfect — but it’s better than nothing.”

“I wish I could do something like that,” she murmured.

“You probably will,” Severus said. “Once we start lessons. You’re good.”

They sat in a companionable quiet for a few moments, the hum of the train and the rhythm of the tracks creating a soft backdrop to their thoughts. Lily fiddled absently with a loose thread on her sleeve, her mind still turning over the idea of Severus learning magic — real magic — long before school had even started.

“Your mum must’ve been brilliant,” she said softly.

Severus nodded once. “She was.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Lily didn’t press.

The train screeched to a halt, jolting Severus slightly in his seat. Around him, excitement surged like a sudden wave—children pushing back the sliding doors, voices raised in thrill, and the sharp hiss of steam releasing outside the windows.

Lily stood at once. “Come on, Sev! We’re here!”

Severus reached for his satchel with one hand, then subtly slid the other up his sleeve and whispered, “Sentius.” The warm flicker of the charm lit briefly under his skin—silent, unseen by anyone else—and a muted thread of sensation spread through the stone floor beneath his shoes, mapping the direction of motion around him.

He stood, careful not to lean too much on the swaying wall, and let the pulse of footsteps guide him forward. He didn’t need the charm for long, just enough to move with the crowd in the right direction. When the pressure of students around him signaled the bottleneck at the exit, he reached out, and Lily instinctively took his hand.

They stepped down onto the platform together. The air outside was thick and cool, the scent of lake water and pine sharp in Severus’s nose. It felt different than Cokeworth—cleaner, brisker, more alive. Around them, children chattered and stumbled and shouted. The hiss of the train echoed and then faded behind the rising sounds of new voices.

“Firs’-years! Firs’-years this way!” came a booming voice that rolled over the platform like thunder.

Severus startled slightly, but Lily grinned. “That must be Hagrid.”

“Hagrid?”

“He’s huge,” she whispered. “He’s got a lantern the size of a frying pan—oh, and a beard like… like a mop. But he’s smiling. He looks kind.”

Severus nodded faintly, focusing more on the direction of the voice. He didn’t reignite Sentius —he could manage now, guided by Lily and the press of bodies. They trudged down a winding path, dirt and gravel underfoot. Branches brushed his sleeve. Somewhere ahead, the sound of lapping water began to swell.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called.

The crowd clustered at the lakeside. Severus let go of the charm completely now—it had been fading on its own anyway—and released a soft breath. A faint headache hummed at the edge of his skull, but nothing intolerable. He tightened his grip on Lily’s hand.

“You okay?” Lily asked, tightening her grip on his hand.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “Just tired.”

The gentle lapping of water grew louder as they moved forward, down a gentle slope. Severus couldn’t see it, but he could hear the boats knocking gently against the shore. Someone let out a sharp yelp to his right, followed by a splash and a chorus of gasps and laughter.

“Oh! Someone fell in!” Lily whispered. “Hang on—oh my God , Severus—the water, it—something’s moving—”

“Don’t panic,” Hagrid called calmly. “Squid’s got ’em—look!”

There was a sudden whoosh and an eruption of water. Lily laughed, astonished. “It—he’s just been plopped right back onto the shore. That must’ve been the giant squid. It’s huge , Severus.”

Severus gave a dry hum of amusement. “At least someone’s making an entrance.”

They stepped carefully into a boat—Lily guiding his hand to the rim, then to the bench. Two other students clambered in after them, shifting the balance. Severus settled himself, knees drawn in slightly, the bottom of the boat slick beneath his shoes. Lily sat beside him, her cloak brushing against his arm.

The boat rocked as someone pushed off, and they glided forward with a small lurch. Gasps and murmurs erupted all around them as the castle came into view, high above on the cliffside.

Severus could feel the awe rolling off Lily like heat. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “There are so many towers—one of them looks like it’s just hanging in the air. And it’s all lit up, glowing over the lake. It’s huge , Sev.”

“Everyone off, mind yer step!” Hagrid bellowed.

Lily climbed out first, then turned and offered her hand. Severus took it. His boots found the stone edge of the bank and the grass beyond it. The ground sloped steeply upward. Others around them were beginning to scramble up the winding path that led toward the looming silhouette of the castle.

“Let me,” he murmured, slipping his wand from his sleeve. “ Sentius. ”

The world flared to life again—soft-edged but usable. A twisting path, framed by iron gates ahead and a high wall beyond that. He could feel the closeness of the others climbing the hill beside them, breath fogging in the cool air. Trees rustled nearby—some nervous creature darted ahead of them.

Lily was talking quietly, half to herself. “You can see it even better from here. The big front doors must be twenty feet tall. I think—yes—there are more torches now. They're lighting up as we get close.”

A high cry echoed over the hill behind them—an owl circling low, wings brushing the wind. Then the clang of the gates as they were swung wide open.

“Keep up, everyone!” Hagrid called again. “Don’ want any stragglers!”

They passed under the great arch of the outer courtyard, the flagstones echoing underfoot. A few students murmured in awe. Severus’s senses flared—he could feel the looming structure ahead, thick stone and heavy doors and something old that settled in his bones like a presence. He wasn’t sure if it was magic or fear.

He let go of the charm again. “ Finite. ”

Lily must have felt the slight falter in his step. “Almost there,” she said, giving his hand the lightest squeeze. “You okay?”

He nodded, jaw tight. “It’s big.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

The crowd of first-years gathered tightly around the doors. Somewhere nearby, Severus could hear the soft creak of hinges and the shuffle of robes. The scent of stone and wax drifted out from the threshold. Every sound, every whisper, was amplified now, bouncing off the walls around them.

And then the doors opened.

Warm light spilled out from within, thick with the scent of beeswax, woodsmoke, and polished stone. Severus felt it rush over him like a tide—the warmth, the weight of centuries in the air, the quiet hush of a place steeped in magic. His senses strained to orient him. The torch flames crackled somewhere high above, casting dancing heat across the flagstone floor as they stepped inside.

The great entrance hall stretched out around them, high-vaulted and cavernous. Footsteps echoed sharply in the silence. Someone near the front gasped.

Then came a clipped, precise voice. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

Severus turned slightly toward it. She didn’t raise her voice much, but it carried, firm and commanding.

“I am Professor McGonagall. In a few moments, you will each be Sorted into one of the four Houses. While you are here, your House will be like your family. You will attend classes with your House, eat with your House, and sleep in your House dormitory. The Sorting is very important. Please follow me.”

Her footsteps led them across the entrance hall and through another set of doors. The murmurs from the other first-years died down. Severus could hear nothing but shuffling feet and the swish of cloaks. He let go of Lily’s hand and slipped his wand into his palm.

“ Sentius, ” he breathed.

The corridor sprang into clarity—long and narrow, echoing slightly. The presence of a vast room opened up ahead—larger than anything he’d been inside before. He felt the density of it: dozens, maybe hundreds, of people already seated, warmth from candlelight or fire, tables that stretched from wall to wall. A single narrow path led between them to a small wooden stool near the front, with an odd shape perched atop it. The Sorting Hat.

The sensation was overwhelming—so many presences, all watching. The air buzzed.

He cancelled the charm as they stopped. “ Finite. ”

Lily reached for his hand again.

“I’ll help you,” she whispered, just in time for McGonagall to speak again.

“When I call your name, please come forward and sit on the stool. The Sorting Hat will decide which House you belong in.”

There was a moment of stillness, then—

“Avery, Edmund.”

Footsteps passed close by. A pause. Then the Hat called out, “SLYTHERIN!” and a table burst into cheers.

Names were called one by one. A few quick Sortings, one or two longer. Severus heard the name “Bones, Edgar,” followed by “HUFFLEPUFF!” and a wave of claps.

“Evans, Lily.”

He stiffened.

She gave his hand one last squeeze, then let go.

Her footsteps clicked against the stone, slow and steady. Then silence.

Ten seconds passed.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

Then: “RAVENCLAW!”

The applause was loud and bright, but Severus didn’t hear it. A knot had formed in his chest. He’d been so sure she would be a Gryffindor. It would’ve suited her—bold, sharp, quick to defend. But Ravenclaw… Ravenclaw was fine. Not hostile to Slytherin. Not tangled with Potter and Black and their inevitable nonsense.

He let out a quiet breath.

When she passed by again on her way to the Ravenclaw table, she brushed his arm in passing. It grounded him.

More names. He stopped tracking them. His legs felt like iron.

Then: “Snape, Severus.”

The whisper spread across the Great Hall. It wasn’t just the name—something about the sound of it seemed to ripple. A shiver passed over his skin. He stepped forward, wand ready.

“ Sentius. ”

He found the stool with precision and dropped the charm as he sat.

The hat was tugged down over his head.

“Ah,” a dry voice purred in his ear. “Curious… but clever. Very clever. You’ve known your path a long while, haven’t you?”

Severus said nothing. He thought very clearly: Just get on with it.

The Hat chuckled.

“Well then. No argument here. SLYTHERIN!”

The hat was lifted. The Slytherin table erupted with applause.

Severus slid off the stool, breath held tight in his chest.

He murmured again, “ Sentius. ” The path to the cheering table glimmered with orientation markers—people standing, hands clapping, an open seat tucked between two warm outlines.

He reached it without faltering. Dropped the charm. Sat down.

And finally, he let himself exhale.

The wood of the bench was cool beneath him, worn smooth by years of robes and hands. Severus sat still, spine straight, and allowed the buzz of sound to fill his ears again. At the Slytherin table, cheers were winding down, replaced by quiet murmurs, sleeves brushing sleeves as students leaned to talk.

Someone nudged him.

“Snape, was it?” a voice to his left asked. The tone was curious, not unfriendly. Young, male.

“Yeah,” Severus answered, soft but steady.

“Wilkes,” the boy offered. “Edmund Avery’s down the table, the loud one. I’m right here. And this,”—he gestured with a jerk of his thumb—“is Rosier.”

Severus turned slightly. He couldn’t feel a hand extended, so he nodded instead. “All right.”

“Where’re you from?” Wilkes asked, mouth probably full. “You don’t sound northern.”

“I am,” Severus said simply. “Just don’t talk like it much.”

“Bet you’re Muggle-born,” Avery said, loud and abrupt, his voice cutting down the table like a knife. “You’ve got that sound. That ‘my parents wear polyester’ voice.”

A few snickers followed.

Wilkes snorted. “Ignore him. He thinks half-bloods are a personal insult.”

“Don’t care,” Severus muttered. His fingers curled in his lap.

He felt Rosier’s presence shift slightly beside him but still didn’t speak.

The Sorting continued. Every few names, another burst of clapping would ripple down the tables. Occasionally, a student lingered on the stool longer than the others. One girl cried when the hat sent her to Gryffindor.

Severus lifted his head as McGonagall finally called, “Zeller, Marius.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

A final cheer. Then the scraping of the stool being pulled away. Then a beat of silence—thick, charged, and expectant.

And then a voice boomed from somewhere near the high table. “Welcome!”

Severus flinched. He hadn’t noticed the man arrive.

The voice belonged to someone older, grander. A bit mad, but powerful. Dumbledore.

““To our new students: welcome. To our returning students: welcome back. Another year lies before us, full of potential, full of magic—and, I hope, full of learning. Though I confess, not all learning will come from your textbooks. Some of it will come from arguments in corridors. Some from laughter in common rooms. Some, perhaps, from detentions—though I recommend a lighter hand on those.”

He paused again, more solemn now.

“You each belong to a House, yes—but remember, that is only one part of who you are. Bravery may sit in Gryffindor, cleverness in Ravenclaw, loyalty in Hufflepuff, and ambition in Slytherin… but you are not the sum of one word alone. You are more than that. And Hogwarts—this castle, with its secrets and stories and ghosts who grumble—is here for all of you.

“So learn your passwords. Be kind to the portraits. Treat the staircases with caution, the suits of armour with respect, and the house-elves with decency. And above all—look out for each other. No matter the colour of your tie.”

A hush held the room for a long moment. Then—

“Now, a few start-of-term notices,” Dumbledore went on lightly, the mood easing again. “The Forbidden Forest remains forbidden—which, I am told, needs reminding every year. Mr Filch would like me to inform you that any jokes involving dungbombs, shrieking cocoa mugs, or enchanted chewing gum are to be left at home. The list of banned items is now three and a half scrolls long. I don’t recommend challenging him on this.”

A few students laughed.

“And lastly,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling beneath his half-moon spectacles, “try not to fall into the lake. The squid is easily startled.”

He clapped his hands once. “Now then, let us eat!”

In an instant, the tables groaned under the sudden weight of food. Severus smelled it before anything—roast chicken, potatoes rich with butter, sausages in thick gravy, peas soaked in garlic. The scent was almost dizzying. Plates clattered, students gasped, and the talking began in earnest.

A fork brushed his arm.

“Here,” said a voice—Rosier, again. Not warm, not unfriendly—just observant. “You look like you’re going to sit there till it’s cold.”

Severus turned slightly. “What is it?”

“Roast chicken. Potatoes. Gravy. They’ve got peas and carrots too, but I’m not touching those.”

He hesitated. “I—thanks.”

Rosier gave a vague grunt, like it didn’t matter either way, but nudged the plate a little closer. “Figured you couldn’t see where it landed. You’ve been tracking everything with your wand since the platform.”

Severus’s spine went rigid.

Rosier added, “It’s clever. Doesn’t glow or buzz like a normal spell. Yours?”

He nodded slowly. “My mam’s.”

Rosier didn’t press. Just shifted to make room and dug into his own plate.

Severus reached forward, hands slow and careful, and found the edge of the plate.

No one else seemed to be paying attention.

Across the Hall, someone laughed, loud and high. Severus turned his head slightly. The Ravenclaw table. He could feel Lily’s presence over there—faint but unmistakable. Like a candle he knew by scent rather than sight.

Wilkes jabbered on about something—a cousin in third year who swore the ceiling would rain on them if they asked it nicely—and Severus let the chatter wash over him, silent. 

Rosier had figured it out so easily . He must find a way to hide the spell more, make it more discreet.

He ate slowly. The Sentius charm was still tugging at the edge of his magic—he wasn’t using it now, but he felt its drain still in the base of his spine. He was tired, but not overwhelmed. The kind of tired that came with importance.

 

The feast ended in a quiet shimmer of magic—the golden plates cleared, the candles floated higher, and the chattering voices of the Great Hall swelled as students began to rise from their benches.

Rosier nudged Severus lightly. “Come on,” he murmured, tone casual but low enough to pass for friendly. “Stick close.”

Severus nodded and rose carefully, his fingers grazing the bench for balance. He didn’t speak. There was no need. Rosier didn’t offer his arm this time—just stayed a step ahead, and when the crowd shifted, Severus could feel his presence, constant, guiding by movement rather than touch.

They filed out behind the older Slytherins, and the castle greeted them with a hush of stone corridors and cool air. The high ceilings and echoing steps made it feel impossibly vast. Somewhere far off, a bell chimed. Then came a sudden, commanding voice ahead.

Lucius Malfoy stood tall at the front of the group, pale hair shining faintly in the torchlight. His prefect badge caught the light like a piece of silver armor. He raised a hand, and the group quieted instinctively.

“First years,” Lucius said smoothly, his voice calm, clipped, and practiced. “Welcome to Slytherin House. I expect you’ve all heard the stories. Some of them are even true. You’ve been sorted here because you have potential—cleverness, ambition, and the sense to keep your heads down until you know when to speak.”

A ripple of uneasy silence followed. The corridor was still except for the quiet drip of water in the distance.

“This house has high expectations. We hold ourselves to standards above the rest of the school. That means discipline, discretion, and pride. We don’t shout. We don’t stumble. And we don’t fail.”

A pause. Then, more gently, almost like a smirk in his voice: “Follow me. Quickly.”

He turned, robes whispering over the stone floor, and the first-years followed in a quiet cluster. The path sloped downward, deeper and colder, and Severus could smell algae in the cracks of the stone. The air grew damper as they moved further beneath the castle, the chill clinging to his sleeves. Rosier moved steadily beside him, not talking, not helping, just quietly watching.

After a short while, Lucius came to a stop in front of a blank wall of stone.

“This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room,” he said. “You’ll be given the password weekly. This week’s is Salazar .” As he spoke the word, the stone melted away with a low grinding sound, revealing an arched doorway beyond.

Lucius didn’t bother to look back as he stepped through. The first-years followed, and Severus felt the air shift—colder, stiller, and filled with the faint smell of the lake.

The common room unfolded before them like a shadowed palace. The ceiling was low and vaulted, the walls lined with carved stone arches and windows looking directly into the dark water of the Black Lake. Greenish light filtered through the glass, shifting like mist. A fire crackled in the large hearth, but even that seemed to burn with a green-tinted glow.

“Settle in. Boys to the left, girls to the right. You’ll find your trunks waiting for you,” Lucius said briskly. “Don’t loiter.”

And then he was gone—disappearing into a hidden stairwell without another word.

Rosier didn’t wait for an invitation. “This way,” he said under his breath to Severus, brushing his shoulder again as he turned toward the boys’ staircase.

They climbed up together, and the dormitory was simple but solid—stone walls, five four-poster beds, each with hangings in deep forest green. The trunks had been brought up and placed at the foot of each bed. 

Severus stood near the edge of the dormitory, one hand on the doorframe, his other curled loosely at his side. The soft, echoing chatter of the other boys blurred into the background. He murmured, almost under his breath, “ Sentius. ”

The charm flared behind his closed eyes—silent, precise. The space unfolded in his mind like a breath held too long: five beds, carved and curtained, each one placed like teeth in a wide, dark grin. Four of them had already registered as warm, occupied. He could feel the disturbances around them—bags set down, robes slung over posts, the faint shimmer of living movement.

One bed, toward the back left, was still untouched. No impressions of footsteps near it. No voices brushing by.

That one.

He stepped carefully, the sense of space tugging gently behind his ribs like a guiding string. His shoulder brushed a bedpost on the way, and he tilted slightly, adjusting. Rosier’s voice murmured from somewhere across the room, low and dismissive in response to something Avery had said.

Severus said nothing. The charm was beginning to strain. He could feel it now, a tightness behind his eyes, a weight in his limbs. He let it fade as soon as his fingers brushed the edge of the empty bed.

The linens were smooth and cool under his hand. He sat down slowly, reaching to confirm the space was his alone. No bags, no scattered cloaks. Just crisp fabric and the faint scent of cedar polish.

Severus swung his legs up and lay back, staring at nothing. He could hear the rustle of Rosier’s movements across the room, quiet, efficient. The floor creaked faintly under Mulciber’s weight as he moved toward his own bed.

Curtains were already being drawn shut around him like dominos falling.

With one last, slow breath, Severus reached for the heavy velvet near his head and pulled his own set closed.

The world dimmed. Quieted.

He lay still, the darkness as complete and familiar as always, but for the first time in his life, it didn’t feel like Cokeworth pressing down on him.

It felt like something entirely new.

And it felt like his own. 

Notes:

get ready for a time skip!! thanks for reading.

violet

Chapter 5: chapter four

Notes:

took me a while to be happy with this chapter, but i hope you can enjoy it!!

There was smoke in his lungs and frost in his blood.

The world returned not all at once but in shards, cruel and bright. A scraping against the edge of his skull. The whisper of starched linen. A faraway voice that split like water on glass.

“—verus. Severus.”

He flinched. His breath caught. The bed under him was too soft.

“Don’t—don’t touch me—!”

He sat bolt upright and was met with the weight of the world collapsing in around him. The scent of antiseptic, the rustle of a curtain, the ache behind his eyes—he gagged, throat dry, hands blindly reaching.

“Don’t—don’t let him—!”

There were hands on him, now, but gentler. Not restraining. A familiar voice, low and calm, almost annoyed: “You idiot. You used it. In a crowd.”

Evan.

He was here. He was here, and so was—

“Sev,” Lily said, her voice too thin, “you’re at school. You’re safe. It’s all right.”

No, it wasn’t. Nothing was all right.

He couldn’t find the edges of himself. The darkness wasn’t just behind his eyes—it was in his head, thick and clotted. His magic howled, raw and overdrawn. His chest heaved. Something was pulling at his ribs—fear? Guilt? The echo of his mother’s voice?

Never in a crowd. Not if you can help it. Never when you're afraid. And never where someone might see too much.

He’d broken every rule. Every one. He had been in Hogsmeade Station. People everywhere. Cold hands. Footsteps. Shouting. And he’d—he had reached —let the charm drag his magic out of him like a scream. He didn’t remember anything after that.

A woman’s voice cut through the haze.

“—need to calm him down. I can’t give him a sedative without knowing—Miss Evans, what happened to him?”

There was a rustle, and Lily’s voice, desperate: “We need to tell her. He’s going to—”

“No,” said Evan sharply. “Not unless he says so.”

“Rosier—”

“ No. You know he wouldn’t want—”

Severus caught only fragments before he slumped sideways, body refusing to hold its own weight. The sounds dulled to murmurs. The shadows rushed in, heavy and cold.

A moment later—or an hour—there were fingers brushing his wrist. A quiet spell, a pulse of magic not his own.

Then a hand folded around his, grounding.

Evan again.

He didn’t say anything. Just stayed there, anchoring him to the world.

---

The world returned slowly, but it didn’t make sense.

Sheets. A blanket, scratchy with fresh laundering. The faint hum of torches behind drawn curtains. Somewhere, softly, the sound of quills scratching parchment. He was in the Hospital Wing.

He didn’t remember getting here.

His body ached. Not just bruises—though those sang from his ribs and back and shoulder—but something deeper, threaded into the bone. His magic pulsed like a warning, thin and sickly, ebbing low. He was cold.

He stirred. A chair creaked beside him.

“You’re not dead, then,” Evan said, voice flat.

Severus let out a ragged breath. “...Not yet.”

A pause.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

Severus turned his head slightly toward the sound. “You were with me?”

“You collapsed in the bloody carriage , you idiot. I caught you before your head cracked on the floor. You know how hard that is when someone goes boneless ?”

There was no heat in it. Just that familiar dry edge, trying to disguise the thrum of fear underneath.

Severus swallowed. “I had to—there were too many people—I couldn’t—”

“I know,” Evan said quietly. “I know.”

Another pause. Severus could feel him sitting forward, arms folded on the bed.

“You used Sentius when you weren’t meant to ,” Evan said. “Didn’t you.”

He gave the smallest nod.

Evan muttered something under his breath. “...You don’t get to be smug next time I nearly faint in Potions, you know that?”

Despite everything, a weak smile flickered over Severus’s face. “Deal.”

A moment passed before the curtains rustled. A soft gasp—then a voice, brisk and gentle, one Severus recognized faintly from last year.

“Mr Snape. You’re awake.”

Madam Pomfrey.

Her hand ghosted over his forehead, checking for fever, brushing back the sweat-damp hair.

“Do you remember where you are?”

“Hogwarts,” Severus said. “Hospital Wing.”

“Good. You had a collapse before the carriages reached the gates. You were severely magically depleted, and your body was in shock. Mr Rosier and Miss Evans brought you here, along with one of the upper-year prefects.” She hesitated. “You have extensive bruising. Deep bruising. You need to tell me what happened.”

His chest went tight.

Evan didn’t say anything.

Pomfrey’s hand stilled. “Severus?”

“I fell,” he murmured. “At home.”

It sounded pathetic even to him.

Pomfrey exhaled through her nose. “You’ll stay here overnight. Possibly longer. I’ll need to run another diagnostic when your magic stabilises.”

There was a rustle as she reached for a chart.

Evan leaned closer again. “You want me to tell her?” he said, so low only Severus could hear.

Tell her. About the charm. About the bruises. About the blindness.

Everything in him shrank. His stomach curled inwards like dry paper.

“No,” he whispered.

Evan didn’t argue.

Madam Pomfrey tutted softly, mostly to herself. “Your system’s still unstable. Mr Rosier, I’ll allow you to stay a little longer, but don’t overtax him.”

“I’m not talking,” Evan said. “He doesn’t even like talking to you .”

She gave a faint, fond sigh. “Fine. Ten more minutes.”

The curtain swished gently closed.

Severus let himself breathe. He didn’t want to think about home. About the darkness behind the bruise. About his mother’s voice and the awful way she’d looked at him when he staggered to her lap with blood in his mouth.

Evan was quiet for a long while.

Then, almost casually, he said, “Well. First day of fourth year. You’re already trying to die.”

Severus gave a weak, rasping laugh.

Then, very suddenly, Evan leaned forward—and pressed a kiss to his temple.

It was nothing, really. Barely there. Like how one might pass a note in class or slap someone on the back. Like they hadn’t done it before. Evan was always over physically affectionate, and Severus was used to it by now.

Severus felt heat crawl up the side of his face.

“I’m not crying,” Evan said in a flat voice. “Don’t be weird about it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Good.”

Madam Pomfrey returned with a potion for his blood pressure. “This one’s bitter, but it’ll help your heart stop trying to climb out of your chest.”

She uncorked it and stepped to the bedside. “Hand, dear.”

Severus reached out—and missed.

Not by much, but enough. His fingers swept air, closing on nothing.

Evan caught his wrist and steered it toward the vial in one smooth movement, like he’d done it before. “He’s just knackered,” he said quickly. “Didn’t sleep on the train. Not properly, anyway.”

Pomfrey didn’t answer. She watched Severus sniff, then tip the vial back and drink it without hesitation, then reach to place it back on the bedside table—too far to the left. It teetered on the edge. Evan snatched it just before it toppled.

The silence that followed was heavy with suspicion.

Pomfrey stepped forward. Not harshly. Not accusing. Just… gently closer.

“Severus,” she said carefully, “when was the last time you had your vision checked?”

Evan shifted where he sat.

Severus said nothing.

The lines around her mouth tightened. “You never tracked my eyes. Not once. And when you woke, you stared through me like I wasn’t there. I’ve been a mediwitch for twenty-seven years. You learn to notice things.”

Severus’s hand curled in the blanket.

“I’m not here to punish you,” she added. “But I am here to care for you. And I can’t do that if I’m left in the dark.”

“It’s none of your business,” Severus said, low and brittle.

“Like hell it isn’t,” she said sharply, but not unkindly. She softened again almost immediately. “What if you'd fainted on the stairs? What if you’d fallen off the platform, or into the lake? You’re relying on that charm too much. It’s draining you—any fool could see that.”

Evan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “He manages,” he said. “Better than most.”

“Manages,” she echoed. “So no one knows? None of the professors? Not even your Head of House?”

“No,” Severus muttered, his face taut. “And they don’t need to.”

Pomfrey let out a quiet breath. “You poor boy.”

“I’m not—”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” She reached out but stopped herself from touching him. “You’ve been doing this alone a long time, haven’t you?”

Severus looked away.

Evan answered for him. “Yes.”

A long pause stretched.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said at last. “Not unless you ask me to. But I need to be able to protect you. That’s what I’m here for.”

Severus’s throat bobbed.

“I won’t write it down,” she promised. “I won’t make a scene. But you’ll come to me if you’re ever hurt. You’ll let me look after you. Agreed?”

“…Fine,” he said after a beat. “But no one else.”

“No one else,” she echoed.

She moved to tidy up the tray, giving them privacy. As she turned away, Evan leaned slightly closer to Severus and murmured, “She’s alright, you know.”

Severus didn’t answer, but he didn’t argue either.

Later, the ward emptied of voices. The clock ticked in slow, deliberate pulses. Severus’s bed creaked as he shifted. Somewhere nearby, a student coughed faintly. The curtains whispered against stone.

He tried to sleep.

It was a mistake.

Magic flared behind his eyes — or where his eyes used to mean something. The Sentius charm surged back to him in a fractured, jagged loop: children shrieking, robes brushing his shoulders, dozens of footfalls ricocheting around his skull. The air had snapped , the way it does when too many spells collide at once. He heard someone scream his name — not Evan, not Lily, someone else.

There was a flicker of something impossible: light — a pulse, a shape — not a full image, but like a flare bursting in darkness. Then pain.

He gasped awake. His fingers were clenched in the sheet, knuckles white. Sweat beaded at his hairline.

The mediwitch passed, paused, and touched his shoulder. “Alright, love?”

He nodded, barely.

The light filtering through the high windows had gone gold, casting long slants across the white linens and potion vials. Severus lay still, one arm across his chest, half-listening to the gentle clinks of Madam Pomfrey moving somewhere nearby.

Then came the creak of the door and a sharp, familiar intake of breath.

He didn’t turn.

“Sev?”

Lily.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his face tilted toward the wall. “Thought you were with Sinistra.”

“She’s covering Herbology notes for me.” Her footsteps were soft as she approached. She didn’t sit right away, just stood there. “Rosier said you were awake.”

“So you came running.”

“Of course I did.” She finally sat down. “You scared me half to death.”

He didn't respond. The silence pressed between them until she broke it again, voice softer. “Why didn’t you say anything? When we got to King’s Cross?”

Severus hesitated. “Didn’t want to ruin your morning.”

“You were limping, Severus.” Her voice cracked. “I thought maybe your bag was heavy—my dad said you looked pale and tired but I told him not to worry—”

“I was tired,” he said gently, trying to deflect her rising guilt. “That’s all.”

“You couldn’t even walk right.”

“I’ve walked worse.”

She went quiet. He could feel her eyes on him.

“I should’ve noticed. I should have. I sat next to you the whole way on the train.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Lily.”

Her voice came low. “Yes, I did. I left you there.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have.” Her voice broke on the words. “You’re my best friend, Sev.”

He turned toward her then, slowly, blinking against the late light. “You’re mine.”

That quieted her.

After a long pause, she said, “What happened? Did he—was it because of the mill?”

Severus looked away.

“I heard my parents talking in the car. About the layoffs. They called it a cull.” Her hand crept toward the edge of his blanket, her fingers twitching with uncertainty. “Was that it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, flatly: “Wrong place, wrong time.”

“Did anyone see? Do they know?”

“Evan does. And Pomfrey—figured it out.”

“Is she going to tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Are you sure ?”

“I asked her not to.” He paused, then added, with rare gentleness, “She listens.”

Lily finally reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’d still hex the dickhead if I could.”

A faint, wry smile twitched at his mouth. “Get in line.”

She didn’t let go of his hand for a long time.

---

The Hospital Wing smelled of porridge and antiseptic.

Severus sat upright slowly, muscles stiff. Morning bustle had begun — footsteps, clinking dishes, a mediwitch humming off-key.

Pomfrey returned with crispness in her stride. “Feeling better?”

He nodded. “Fine.”

She passed her wand over his chest. It tingled. She frowned faintly.

“Your core’s holding — but frayed. Don’t push too hard.”

“I need to go.”

“I assumed as much.” She didn’t argue. Just handed him a stoppered vial. “If the world starts to tilt again — drink it. And try not to cast anything more strenuous than Lumos until Thursday.”

He nodded. She glanced at him, hesitated, then said, “I could arrange for a cane. Just for the first few days.”

“No.”

She didn’t press.

He left mid-morning, careful with every step. Evan caught up halfway down the corridor.

“God, you look like you crawled out of your own grave.”

“Thanks.”

“Want me to carry you? I’m told I have good arms.”

“Drop dead.”

They walked the rest in silence.

The Slytherin common room breathed cold and green. Light filtered through the lake in shimmering curtains. Stone walls curved inward, enclosing the room like the inside of a shell. A low fire hissed. Laughter echoed.

Severus’s world narrowed to footfalls and damp.

Avery sprawled on a couch like a lounging cat. “Well, look who survived.”

Wilkes grinned. “Rosier carried him in. How romantic.”

Evan flopped beside him. “He was unconscious, Wilkes. But sure, let’s make it about you.”

Mulciber said nothing. Just watched.

Severus stood, expression blank.

Avery smirked. “What curse d’you use, anyway? That big of a collapse must’ve been flashy.”

“No curse,” Severus muttered.

“Mm.” Avery leaned back. “Must’ve been all the mud in the crowd at King’s Cross. Filthy magic in the air.”

Wilkes rolled his eyes. “You’re boring when you try to be clever.”

Evan kicked Avery’s shoe lightly. “Don’t mind him. He gets like this when he’s not the center of attention.”

He caught the scent of worn leather and the sharp tang of ash—someone had been smoking near the fireplace recently. The weight of the room shifted with faint movement; a figure was sprawled on one of the sofas.

Severus turned toward the dormitory staircase, tugging on the jumper Madam Pomfrey had forced him into. 

He heard Rosier follow behind him as he reached the dormitory door. The hinges creaked a little as he pushed it open and slipped inside. The air in the room was warmer, scented faintly with potion wax, parchment, and something citrusy—Avery’s aftershave.

Rosier followed him in and shut the door gently. His voice lowered, less biting now. “You gonna tell me what really happened?”

“No.”

“Mm.” Rosier walked a few paces, his footsteps soft on the carpet. “Pomfrey said you fell.”

“She’s a good liar.”

A beat passed. Severus moved toward his bed, counting the steps with practiced ease. His hand skimmed the bedpost—he knew which one was his by the smooth nick in the wood halfway down the frame.

Rosier said, “You want the balm?”

Severus paused. “You nicked some?”

“She told me to give it to you, actually. I’m very charming when I want to be.”

There was a small thump on the duvet near his hand. “You find it?”

Severus reached slowly, locating the small jar by touch. “Got it.”

“Want help?”

He hesitated—then gave a slight nod.

Rosier came closer, the mattress dipping with his weight. Severus lifted his jumper carefully, baring the bruises across his ribs. He didn’t need to see them; he knew where they were by the fire-like ache each time he breathed.

Rosier’s fingers were cool, spreading the balm in quiet, efficient movements. When he reached a particularly raw spot, Severus winced.

“That fucker,” Rosier murmured. “He really did you in.”

“Lost his job. Took it out on me.”

Rosier’s voice was darker now. “Bastard.”

Severus didn’t reply. The silence felt heavy—but not uncomfortable.

When Rosier finished, he replaced the lid with a soft click , and then said, low, “I didn’t tell the others.”

“I know,” Severus murmured.

He heard Rosier stand, stretch, cross to his own bed.

Alone now, Severus reached up and felt for the velvet edge of the curtain. He drew it shut, sealing the night behind.

Notes:

fourth year has begun. more of lily and evan soon, and even some new faces next chapter!! hope you enjoyed and thanks to anyone who has commented or left kudos, they mean a lot to me!

Chapter 6: chapter five

Notes:

aiming for chapter updates every saturday, but no promises! i am back to school (after five long weeks) so my schedule is a lot busier.

The corridor outside Slughorn’s classroom was cool and low-ceilinged, the smell of stone and something faintly damp curling in the air. The Gryffindors were already gathered—Potter and Black leaning against the wall like they owned it, voices pitched just a little too loud.

“I heard he’s got a private lab for the ‘exceptionally gifted,’” Black was saying. “Probably just means the ones who don’t blow their eyebrows off.”

Potter grinned. “Or the ones who brew their shampoo right in the cauldron.”

Lupin chuckled softly—half-hearted. Pettigrew snorted too loudly, then coughed to cover it.

“Ah,” Rosier murmured beside Severus, tone light. “The lions are yowling.”

Severus kept walking, his steps smooth even without magic, his face set. He could feel the heat of their attention, the smirking weight of it, aimed mostly at him.

“Oh look,” Potter said, still grinning, “Snape survived the train. Thought maybe you’d melted.”

Severus tilted his head slightly, sensing the wall a few feet to his right. “Shame you didn’t. I might’ve missed the silence.”

That earned a small snort from Rosier beside him. Wilkes gave an exaggerated “Oof” of appreciation.

Black pushed off the wall. “Tell me, Snivellus,” he drawled, drawing out the old nickname like it was still sharp, “do you keep your wand in that bat’s nest on your head or just your secrets?”

Severus didn’t react, but Rosier’s tone turned frostier. “Jealousy's a terrible look, Black.”

“Must be exhausting,” Avery said with mock pity, “waking up every day and still being you.”

Slughorn’s door opened at last, and the old professor beamed out at them.

“Ah, my fourth-years! Right this way—yes, yes, let’s get settled. Plenty of ingredients to discuss!”

The crowd shuffled in. Rosier touched Severus’s sleeve lightly, a signal rather than a guide, and they followed.

The Potions dungeon was warmer than the hall, lit by floating lanterns that made the bottles on the shelves gleam like jewels. A dozen cauldrons sat ready at each pair of stations, and the scent of something sharp and earthy hung in the air.

Rosier’s hand skimmed Severus’s elbow as they moved to an empty bench near the front, one of the last good seats not yet taken. Slughorn was bustling about already, waving his wand to set the blackboard writing itself in looping script.

“Ah, yes—pair off, everyone! Today’s a simple infusion base. Easy enough to start with, though you’d be surprised how often it goes wrong—”

Severus’s hands moved before the instructions finished forming. He trailed his fingers over the tools—cauldron rim, pestle, the little dish of dried calendula. Rosier hadn’t even reached for the ingredients yet.

“You want to crush these dry, not wet,” Severus murmured, just for him. “The petals get bitter otherwise.”

Rosier raised an eyebrow, amused. “I defer to the expert.”

To their left, Potter and Pettigrew had already lit their flame too high. On the other side of the room, Wilkes muttered curses over a split vial.

But Severus moved with surety—measuring by touch and memory, the mortar sliding against the stone bench, the scent of rosemary sharp in his nose. He didn't need sight. This was his territory.

Slughorn meandered by, and his round face lit up. “Mr Snape! Merlin’s beard, that looks textbook already. I daresay you’ve not gone rusty over the summer, hmm?”

Severus dipped his head, polite. “No, sir.”

“And Mr Rosier—helping or simply admiring?”

Rosier smirked. “Bit of both, sir.”

Slughorn chuckled. “Well, keep it up. I’ll expect great things from the both of you.”

The compliment made a few students glance over—Lily, from her bench near the front with a Ravenclaw boy; Lupin, quietly working alone; Black, scowling toward the bubbling mess Potter was stirring.

Severus felt none of it. Just the heat of the flame and the steady motion of the spoon in the brew. The world here had rules, and he was fluent.

 

---

 

The paddocks lay beyond the greenhouses, down a gentle hill that softened under the weight of autumn fog. The grass was wet underfoot, and Severus could hear the squelch of shoes dragging through soil. Mist clung to the fences like lace, and somewhere a hippogriff shrieked in the distance, unsettled.

Severus hated open spaces.

He hated the way his footsteps sounded wrong—hollow and aimless without walls to echo them—and he hated how far voices could drift. It made direction slippery. Heightened his nerves. Normally he would’ve drawn on Sentius to orient himself, but Pomfrey’s stern warning still echoed in his head:

One week, minimum. You burned through your core, Severus. Your spellwork will fracture if you force it.

So he walked beside Rosier.

Or rather, behind Rosier, who spoke low and lazily over his shoulder as they made their way to the field.

“Three more steps down. Little drop there. Nothing dramatic—just don’t twist your ankle.”

“I can manage,” Severus muttered, annoyed more at himself than anything.

“Sure you can,” Evan said mildly, then added with the slightest smirk, “Doesn’t mean I won’t stop you from face-planting into cow dung.”

They were the last to arrive. The Gryffindors had already gathered near the fence, the usual cluster of voices unmistakable—Potter laughing too loudly, Black muttering some joke that had Lupin and Pettigrew huffing behind him. Wilkes and Avery had already joined Mulciber near the front, jeering at the beast Kettleburn was hauling from the small barn: a Janus goat, horns curling back from both heads, bleating in irritated harmony.

“Now, now!” Professor Kettleburn hollered over the din. “No crowding the specimen! Respect personal space, and please remember what happened to poor Digby last year—he’s still walking funny!”

The Slytherins snickered. The Gryffindors groaned.

Severus stayed just behind Rosier, listening. Sorting. Counting. He could tell where Potter was by the rhythm of his obnoxious foot-to-foot shifting. Black’s voice cut sharper, more sarcastic. Lupin’s was quieter—still low, still trying to sound neutral.

They were too close.

“Lovely. Lions,” Rosier muttered. “First Potions, now this.”

Severus didn’t respond.

“Today, we’re studying pack cognition in magical herd animals!” Kettleburn gestured wildly toward the creature. “The Janus goat is fiercely loyal to its family and extremely sensitive to mood. Pairs only, stand quietly, and for the love of Merlin, no sudden moves.”

As the students stepped forward to pair up, Severus heard a voice behind him, dry and drawling:

“Bit nervous, Snivellus? Thought you liked creatures with more than one head. Makes you feel less lonely.”

Black. Of course.

Severus turned sharply toward the sound. “Fitting, considering you and Potter share the same singular brain cell.”

“Hey,” Rosier said smoothly, stepping slightly between them. “Is this the part where we pretend to be clever or just annoying?”

Potter made a theatrical noise of protest. “Oh, relax. We’re all here to learn about magical goats, not magical gits.”

A few students laughed—Gryffindors mostly. Severus felt the heat crawl up his collar but stayed composed.

Lupin’s voice cut in, hesitant but not quite quiet enough. “Leave it, James.”

Severus snapped, “You always say that after they open their mouths, Lupin.”

Lupin fell silent. Not from guilt—just out of that same tired discomfort he always showed when caught between loyalty and conscience. Severus could practically feel it radiating from him.

Black grinned, undeterred. “Come on, Moony. Snape’s just jealous he doesn’t get to comb the goat himself.”

“Merlin’s sake,” Rosier muttered. “You lot never shut up.”

“Evan,” Severus murmured, low and sharp. “Don’t bother.”

Rosier gave the smallest nod, then turned his shoulder subtly to block Severus from view.

Kettleburn bellowed again, calling pairs forward to observe the goat’s movements. The group began to break off in twos. Avery grabbed Mulciber. Wilkes was still teasing a Hufflepuff who’d wandered over to the wrong field. Lupin, reluctantly, had been snagged by Pettigrew.

Which left Severus and Rosier standing alone by the fence.

“Lucky us,” Rosier said breezily. “No drooling lions, no jabbing elbows. And we get the quiet end of the beast.”

The Janus goat stared at them both, chewing slowly. Its left head blinked. Then its right. Then both heads tried to bite the wooden gate at once.

Rosier snorted. “Incredible specimen.”

“Don’t get too close,” Severus said, tone dry. “It might mistake your hair for straw.”

“Jealous of my shine?” Evan said. “Don’t blame you.”

They stood in silence for a while. The goat shifted. Somewhere across the field, a student shrieked—someone had likely tried to pet it without warning. Kettleburn’s voice rose in exasperation.

“Hey.” Rosier’s voice had dropped slightly. “You alright?”

Severus tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t insulted me properly in ten minutes. Starting to worry you’re going soft.”

Severus gave a short huff of breath. Not quite a laugh. “Maybe you’re just not worth the effort today.”

“There’s the bastard I know and tolerate.”

A beat passed. The goat snorted.

Rosier’s voice turned quieter, just for a second. “They’ll keep doing it, you know. Potter. Black.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to ignore it every time.”

“I don’t want you stepping in every time.”

Rosier didn’t argue. Just shifted closer, his shoulder brushing Severus’s for the briefest second, as if grounding him.

“Fine,” he said. “Then next time, I’ll just hex them from a distance. You can pretend it wasn’t me.”

Severus smirked faintly. “Coward.”

“Strategist.”

They were dismissed early. The Gryffindors peeled away first, laughing too loudly about nothing in particular. Rosier lingered at Severus’s side as they walked back up the slope toward the castle, boots squelching in the mud.

Halfway up the hill, someone called Severus’s name. Lily.

He paused as she jogged to catch up, breathless and pink-cheeked from her own class. "Hey," she said, frowning. "You alright?"

"I’m fine," Severus said automatically. Then, dryly, “You’ve got dirt on your cheek.”

She blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “You can’t see my cheek.”

A pause. Then she burst out laughing.

"Deflecting again," she said, amused now. "Classic."

He couldn’t help the slight twitch of his mouth. “It usually works.”

Rosier cleared his throat behind him. “I’ll wait.”

Severus tilted his head. “Don’t. Go on.”

But Rosier didn’t move.

Lily leaned in slightly. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m managing.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, but she only said, “Lunch?”

He nodded.

She squeezed his arm lightly and let it linger for just a moment before walking off.

Severus turned back. Rosier hadn’t budged.

Severus exhaled. “Let’s go.”

And they walked in silence the rest of the way up, the wind tugging at their robes and the castle looming, cool and grey, above them.

 

---

The greenhouse doors hissed closed behind Severus as he stepped carefully across the threshold, humidity wrapping around him like a damp wool blanket. The air was rich with the scent of peat, compost, and the faintly cloying sweetness of blooming puffapods. He took slow, measured steps, keeping one hand lightly grazing the wood-paneled wall until the texture beneath his fingertips told him he'd reached the edge of the central workbench.

From somewhere near the front, Professor Sprout’s voice boomed over the bustle: “Right, everyone! Mix it up today—Slytherins with Hufflepuffs. I want you sitting next to someone not from your house, please. No exceptions! Learning happens better with fresh soil, as I always say.”

A collective groan rose from the Slytherins. There was a scrape of stools, the shuffling of bags, and the familiar sound of Avery’s voice behind him: “Don’t pick a chatterbox, Snape, or I’ll never get your notes again.”

Severus didn’t reply. He reached out subtly and tapped the edge of the stool beside him, waiting for the seat to be claimed. Within moments, someone flopped into it with an exaggerated sigh and the slap of parchment hitting the table.

“Oh, finally. Every seat was taken by people I’ve known for years.” The voice was bright, quick, and already halfway into a monologue. “Charity Burbage. You’re Severus, right? I like your name. Very... brooding. Is it Latin for something dramatic?”

Severus tilted his head slightly in her direction. “No,” he said.

Charity blinked. “You sure? Because it sounds like it should mean ‘dark prince of midnight’ or something.” She leaned in closer, elbows on the table. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“I don’t see the point when you’re doing it for both of us.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ha! A sense of humour and cheek. I knew I picked the right one.”

She bumped her shoulder lightly against his, not noticing when he subtly leaned away to re-center himself. He was listening—counting movements, mentally plotting the room, his internal map fuzzy with the leftover strain of the last week. The Sentius charm was still off-limits, and Pomfrey had been very clear about that.

Sprout began explaining today’s assignment—Snargaluff pods, something about pulp extraction and handling the vines without losing fingers. Charity didn’t seem especially focused.

“I once saw one of these things whip a third-year in the face,” she whispered conspiratorially, poking at the vine nearest them. “Right in the eye. Swelled up like a balloon. It was horrifying. I laughed for hours.”

Severus said nothing, reaching for the shears carefully. His hand brushed empty wood.

“Oh—sorry, they’re here.” Charity reached across him and tried to place them in his hand. He didn’t react in time. Her fingers tapped his wrist, then the blade hit the table with a soft clink. “Er... they’re just there—”

He found them himself with a precise movement, sliding them toward him in silence. Charity gave him a curious look.

“You alright?” she asked. “You didn’t quite—” She stopped. “Never mind. I’m a bit rubbish at passing things, I think. Or you’re really fast. Mysterious.”

Severus didn’t respond. He crouched slightly over the pod, fingers ghosting the edge of the thick, rubbery bulb before pressing the blade in. The trick was pressure, not speed. Let the thing shriek, if it wanted.

Charity studied him out of the corner of her eye, clearly debating whether to push the conversation further. Then she brightened again. “So, you weren’t at the feast. Were you really in the hospital wing all that time? What happened?”

“Just exhausted myself,” he said, flat.

“Doing what?” she asked, too curious for her own good.

“Charms work.”

“Charms?” she echoed, impressed. “What sort of charms put someone in the hospital wing?”

He cut neatly through the pod. “Ones you shouldn't do in a crowd.”

She let out a low whistle. “Cryptic and reckless. You're not going to turn out to be secretly cool, are you?”

“I thought I already was.”

Charity blinked, then laughed. “Alright, that was funny. And fast. You’re sharp.” She reached up to tuck a puffapod flower behind her ear and winced. “Ugh, is there dirt on my face? It feels like there’s dirt on my face. Tell me I don’t have dirt on my nose.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Severus said, without thinking.

“You wouldn’t know?” she repeated, confused. “But you’re looking right at—”

She stopped. Her smile faltered, just slightly, and he could feel the beat of awkward silence stretch between them like a rubber band.

“I mean—maybe you didn’t notice,” she said quickly, brushing it off. “I’m probably imagining it. You’d say something, right?”

“I’m not in the habit of commenting on noses,” he said, tone dry.

Charity snorted and the moment passed, easy as that. “Fair enough.”

They worked in companionable silence for several minutes after that, with Charity humming to herself and Severus quietly handling the shears with surgical precision.

When class ended, she stood and bumped her hip into the bench as she reached for her bag. “Ow—stupid table—anyway, this was fun. You’re weird. I like weird. See you next week?”

Severus gave a slight nod. “Maybe.”

She grinned and headed off, already shouting to someone across the greenhouse about how she’d nearly lost an eyebrow to an angry pod.

Severus lingered behind for a moment, fingers still curled around the shears. The vines had stopped moving. The air smelled like earth and silence.

He liked her.

God help him.

 

---

 

The Great Hall buzzed with easy chatter, the scent of roasted squash and warm bread drifting lazily over the four house tables. Silverware clinked and plates scraped gently as students tucked into their midday meal.

Severus arrived at the Ravenclaw table with purposeful steps. It wasn’t unusual—he often ate with Lily when schedules aligned, and no one in Slytherin seemed to care. Rosier had run his fingers across his shoulder on the way in before claiming a spot among Wilkes and Avery. No drama. Just rhythm.

Lily looked up as Severus sat down beside her and gave him a fond, crooked smile. “There you are. I saved you the good bread. None of that crumbly crust nonsense.”

Severus reached out and found the roll she guided his hand to, still warm. “You do spoil me.”

“I try,” she said sweetly.

Aurora Sinistra was already seated across from them, her lunch carefully arranged in sections like a colour wheel. She wore her usual dreamy expression, but her eyes tracked Severus with quiet interest.

“Sprout paired us off with someone from another house. I got stuck with Alfred Dipple. He thinks fungi are a conspiracy.”

“They are,” Lily said through a mouthful of greens. “They’ll take over the world.”

“Give it a decade,” Severus added. “We’ll all be wearing mushroom hats.”

Aurora laughed softly, the sound light and slightly faraway. “You joke, but Dipple genuinely thinks mushrooms can talk. He asked me if I could hear them.”

“And could you?” Lily asked.

“No,” Aurora said solemnly, “but I told him yes, and now he thinks they’re racist.”

Severus gave a short, surprised laugh. Lily nearly choked.

When the coughing subsided, Severus lifted his goblet. “Thank you for never sitting me with Dipple.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Lily said, smug. “I care about your wellbeing.”

He took a sip of cider, letting the warmth settle in his chest. Aurora had already turned her attention back to her neatly quartered carrots, humming a few notes of a tune under her breath. She often did that—not aimless humming, but something thoughtful, like she was solving a puzzle in her head.

He found it comforting. Predictable, even.

“I like your new robes,” she said suddenly.

Severus hummed. “You can’t even see my robes under the table.”

“Yes, but I saw you walk in. Very sharp. You look like someone who makes their own poisons.”

Lily choked again. “Aurora!”

“She means it as a compliment,” Severus said dryly.

“I do,” Aurora replied serenely.

From across the Hall, the Slytherins were still mid-conversation. He could hear Evan’s voice now—low and clipped, probably arguing with Mulciber over something idiotic. Severus didn’t mind not being over there. He’d join them at dinner, or in the common room later. This, here, was easy.

“So what did you do in Potions?” Lily asked.

“Made everyone else look like idiots,” he replied, reaching again for the roll she’d handed him.

“Show-off,” she murmured fondly.

“Only when it counts.”

Aurora smiled without looking up. “He’s honest. That’s rare.”

Lily reached over and squeezed Severus’s wrist briefly, warmth sparking in her touch. “He’s my best friend,” she said softly.

Severus didn’t smile, but he didn’t need to. “You too.”

Lily’s voice faded as they parted at the stairwell, Aurora’s laughter echoing lightly behind her. He lifted a hand in vague farewell but didn’t look back.

The castle cooled around him with every step—air shifting from bright and bustling to still and subterranean. He trailed his fingers along the wall, mapping his way by stone and silence, the same way he does when the castle is mostly empty during holidays.

By the time he reached the common room, the noise of the upper floors had dulled to a low murmur. Inside, voices blurred together—cards snapping, someone flipping through pages, the scrape of a quill too sharp on parchment.

Severus slipped through the space between it all, unnoticed.

He sat down near the fire, the heat brushing his knees, and let his bag fall at his feet. The leather was still damp from the grass outside.

He rested his hands in his lap. For the first time all day, no one was watching.

And for now, that was enough.

 

Notes:

introducing charity and aurora 😜😜

i appreciate all the readers on this fic, so thank you if you have commented or left kudos, it means a lot! hope you enjoyed this chapter

Chapter 7: chapter six

Notes:

apologies, i know i said saturday updates but i was out with friends friday and saturday, then at dance on sunday and had to prepare for a mock today, so i have been really busy! half term next week though so next two chapters should be out fairly quickly! hope you enjoy

The flames under the iron cauldrons shimmered faintly against the damp walls, throwing gold light across stone and steam. Slughorn was clapping his hands together, booming cheerfully about the properties of Sleep Draughts and their tendency to backfire into paralysis potions if brewed too quickly.

Severus already knew all of it. Had brewed it half a dozen times last year for practice. But today, even the familiar steps felt slow and wrong. His hands weren’t moving right.

He crushed valerian root with slow, deliberate pressure, feeling the subtle drag of the pestle—too light, too shaky. His wrist ached from gripping the stone. The grinding sound was off-rhythm. The classroom buzzed with idle conversation, knives chopping stems on wood, glass clinking, flames hissing. It all blurred together, scraping at the edge of his focus.

Someone behind him let out a shriek of laughter. It burst too loud in the middle of everything. Severus flinched.

“Careful, Snape—don’t bruise it,” Slughorn called jovially from the far end of the room. “We want calm dreams, not cracked teeth!” A few students laughed—mostly Gryffindors.

Severus didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if Slughorn was trying to be kind or simply loud.

“Adding now,” he muttered to himself, feeling along the bench for the powdered asphodel. The vial was where he left it—but his hand caught the edge too roughly. It tipped.

The powder spilled faster than he expected, hissing as it hit the liquid. His cauldron hissed and frothed up with sudden bright green bubbles.

"Fuck—" he hissed under his breath, jerking his hand back.

A second later, there was movement beside him.

“Stop. You’re about to ruin the whole thing.” Rosier’s voice, low and sharp. He reached across Severus, turning the flame down beneath the cauldron by just a notch. Then he slid a clean stirring rod into Severus’s hand and swapped out the spilled vial for a fresh one, his fingers brushing Severus’s wrist in the process.

"Suppose even Prince Snape can have a rubbish day,” he muttered dryly, more to himself than to Severus.

Severus didn’t say anything. Just gripped the rod and stirred.

The potion hissed again, resisting correction. It needed to settle—he knew that. It just felt like the whole room was watching him, even if none of them cared enough to look.

The smell was wrong too. More burnt edge than herbal depth. He knew that was the mistake.

Slughorn bustled past a few minutes later, leaning over Rosier’s cauldron and beaming. “Perfect! Rosier, look at that clarity—top marks, if you bottle it correctly.”

Rosier grunted something noncommittal.

Slughorn turned to Severus next, a little more hesitantly.

Severus moved aside half a step to give him space. He didn’t need to look to know the color was too thick.

“Ah,” Slughorn said, not unkindly. “Well—everybody gets a bad one now and then. No harm done, my boy. You’ll brew better next time, eh?”

It was meant gently. Severus knew that. But it still landed like vinegar.

He gave a curt nod, saying nothing. The lesson ended not long after.

As the students packed away their supplies and jostled toward the door, Rosier didn’t move right away. He leaned on the table, watching the last swirl of his potion in the bottle, then glanced sideways.

“You’re off,” he said again, low enough that no one else would hear. “Been off all week.”

“I’m fine,” Severus said tightly.

Rosier didn’t reply. He didn’t press. Just shouldered his satchel and fell into step beside him as they left the room, keeping his voice low.

“You need to go see Pomfrey?”

“No.”

“You should.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Rosier snorted softly through his nose. “Right. That’s why you look like you’re about to faint in a bloody potions lab.”

They passed under the arch into the hallway, the cold air of the corridor hitting Severus like a slap. It helped. Slightly.

“I don’t faint.”

“Mm. Could’ve fooled me. Your hands were shaking like a first-year on broomsticks.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah,” Rosier said. “And now you’ve got me in your ear about it, so maybe don’t make it worse for no reason.”

They walked in silence for a few moments. Severus didn’t shake him off. He didn’t tell him to go away. He just listened to the rhythm of their boots on the stone, the sound of students further ahead, the echoing emptiness of the corridor behind them.

When they reached the junction near the main stairwell, Rosier nodded upward.

“I’m going to Charms,” he said. “You should go see her.”

Severus didn’t answer.

Rosier lingered just a second longer than he needed to. Then he was gone.

---

The hospital wing was warm, too warm after the sharp-edged corridors of the dungeons, and empty but for the soft clink of glass somewhere in the back. The air smelled of potions and floor polish. Clean things. Safe things. Severus stood just inside the threshold for a moment, his shoulders tense, hands buried deep in the sleeves of his robes.

His pulse still hadn't settled since Potions.

He hated this. Hated the silence after a stumble. Hated that Evan had seen , had murmured something soft under his breath and helped , and that Severus hadn’t had the strength to shrug him off.

Worse — Evan had told him to come here.

And worse still — Severus had listened.

“Mr. Snape,” came Madam Pomfrey’s voice at last, from behind one of the shelves. Brisk but not unkind. “Is this a social call, or are you finally here to let me do my job?”

She emerged a moment later, apron dusted with powdered herbs, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She stopped a few feet away when she saw the stiff set of his shoulders.

“You didn’t fall asleep in class again, did you?”

“No.”

“Collapse?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Pomfrey didn’t move forward. She crossed her arms, watching him. “Then why are you here, Severus?”

He flinched at the use of his first name. It wasn’t casual. She said it when she wanted to cut through the layers of things he wrapped himself in.

“Evan told me to,” he muttered, and hated himself for how small it sounded.

She raised an eyebrow. “Well. Evan Rosier giving sensible advice. There’s a sign of the apocalypse.”

He almost smiled. Almost.

“Come on,” she said softly, and stepped beside him—not touching, not rushing, just there .

She didn’t grab his arm, didn’t steer him like a child. Instead, she tapped her wand once against her clipboard. “Second bed on the left. Eight steps straight, then reach right.”

He counted them out as he went— one-two-three —his Sentius charm humming faintly at his wrist as he gauged the space.

When he reached out, his fingers brushed the cool metal frame.

She didn’t speak again until she had waved her wand slowly down his frame, letting it pause at the center of his chest. He could feel the pull — the magic brushing near his core.

“You’ve improved,” she said at last. “Not recovered, but improved. Enough.”

He tensed. “Enough for what?”

She sighed — the kind of sigh that comes after careful decision, not frustration. Then, softly:

“You may begin using Sentius again. Lightly. No more than once or twice a day for now, and not under stress. And never—never, Severus— never in a crowd.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure you do.”

He said nothing.

Pomfrey pulled a stool over and sat in front of him, lowering her voice. “I’m trusting you. That’s not something I do lightly. I know what that charm means to you, and I know why you rely on it. But if you burn out your core again, it won’t just be exhaustion next time. You could strip your body of magic altogether.”

He nodded once, tightly.

She hesitated, then said more gently, “You’re stubborn, Severus. You’d let your hands shake off your arms before you asked for help.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Pomfrey leaned forward slightly. “You’ve hidden too much for too long. I’ll not ask you to announce anything. But when you’re here, you don’t need to hide. Do you understand me?”

Something in his throat went tight. Not painful—just unfamiliar.

“I don’t want... special treatment,” he said stiffly.

“This isn’t special treatment. This is what care looks like.”

He hated how that landed. Like the words didn’t know where to sit in his body.

Pomfrey reached forward, briefly adjusting his sleeve where it had bunched at the wrist. “You’re not weak for needing rest. Or help. You’re strong for surviving what you did. And I see that, Severus.”

It was almost too much. He nodded, barely.

She stood, businesslike again. “Your colour’s poor. You’ve lost weight. I’ll have the elves send you something hot every evening until I say otherwise.”

“Is that a punishment?”

Pomfrey gave him a dry look. “No. But if you prefer I frame it as one, I’m happy to oblige.”

He let out the softest huff. Not quite a laugh, but it tugged at the corner of his mouth.

A curtain to his left stirred faintly in a breeze that wasn’t there. Behind it, the shuffle of movement—then stillness again.

Severus’s head tilted slightly. He could feel the shape of a presence. Not Pomfrey.

She followed his gaze—her mouth tightened, just a little.

“He’s resting,” she said.

“I know,” Severus replied quietly.

She didn’t elaborate. Neither did he.

“I’ll go prepare your salve,” she said instead, with a glance at the shelves. “Don’t move.”

When she walked away, her heels tapping softly over the stone, Severus let himself lean forward a little, elbows on knees, hands folded.

From the other side of the curtain, a voice—quiet, hesitant—broke the hush.

“...Severus?”

He stiffened.

“It’s me,” the voice added after a beat. “Remus.”

Of course it was.

Severus didn’t respond. Not immediately. The name curled cold behind his ribs.

Lupin coughed lightly — a tired, raw sound — and said, “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just… heard you come in.”

Still, Severus said nothing.

“You alright?” Lupin asked, more gently this time.

It made his skin prickle.

“You’re not usually up here,” Lupin added, trying for something like conversation. “You alright?” he repeated.

Severus gave a short, clipped reply. “I’m fine.”

Lupin shifted. The sound of bedsprings. A wince. “Madam Pomfrey’s good. She won’t tell anyone, if you’re—if you don’t want people knowing.”

That landed awkwardly, like a guess he knew he shouldn’t have made.

“I don’t need reassurance from you,” Severus muttered. “Go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

“I don’t do that.”

“No?” Severus asked, bitter. “Funny. I could’ve sworn I’ve walked past you for three years while your friends made hex practice out of me.”

Silence.

Then Lupin, quieter: “I know.”

It was a strange thing, the way he said it. Not defensive. Not an excuse. Just... a tired truth.

“I don’t like what they do,” he said. “But I don’t always stop them.”

Severus snorted faintly, a humorless sound. “You think that makes you better than them?”

“No,” Lupin said softly. “Just... less brave.”

Severus wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Another silence stretched between them. Lupin seemed to sense the tension, but didn’t withdraw. He stayed.

“I—” Lupin hesitated. “I’ve noticed you in Potions. You’re—really brilliant at it.”

Severus’s brow creased.

“Today you seem... not yourself,” Lupin added quickly. “Are you—was it something with the spell?”

That stopped Severus. He sat up slightly, head tilted.

Lupin continued cautiously. “I’ve seen you working spells in class sometimes. Small ones. Like—like they help you track things. I thought maybe it was something like that. And you didn’t use it today.”

The back of Severus’s neck prickled. A tight knot of tension wound itself inside his chest.

“I didn’t say anything,” Lupin added. “I won’t.”

“Don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor,” Severus said, voice low and sharp.

“I’m not.” A pause. Then: “Just wanted you to know. I see you. Even if they don’t.”

It was too earnest. Too gentle.

Something inside Severus recoiled.

He lay back, pressing his elbows into his knees as though the floor might swallow him whole. He wanted the conversation to end. Wanted the curtain between them to be more than fabric.

“You should sleep,” Severus said coolly.

A beat passed. Lupin didn’t reply. Just the faint rustle of sheets and the soft, aching rhythm of his breath.

Then, just before the silence truly settled:
“You smell like clove and ash sometimes,” Lupin murmured. “Is that—do you brew that yourself?”

Severus blinked. The question was too soft, too strange, too—

“I mean—it’s not bad,” Lupin said quickly, flustered. “Just… I noticed. That’s all.”

Severus didn’t answer. He lay still, stunned for reasons he didn’t understand.

Eventually, Lupin stopped talking.

But the weight of the words lingered like smoke between the beds, thin and difficult to place.

Severus didn’t shift when he heard her return — just sat there, spine rigid and elbows still braced on his knees, the phantom weight of Lupin’s stare lingering long after the boy had turned away.

Pomfrey’s footsteps softened as she approached. She didn’t speak at first, only pressed a small jar gently into his hand — the glass warm from the fresh brew, the lid lightly tacky with ointment.

“For the bruising,” she murmured. “Twice daily. It won’t interfere with your core.”

He curled his fingers around it. “Thank you,” he said, barely audible.

There was a long pause, a kind of hush that wasn’t uncomfortable, just full of things unspoken.

“I’ve put a subtle tracking charm on you,” she said quietly. “Only me. It will fade in a week. I’d rather know if you collapse again.”

Severus didn’t protest. His jaw tensed once, but he gave a single nod.

She exhaled softly — not quite a sigh. “Back to your dormitory, then. Slowly.”

He stood with care, tucking the jar safely into his pocket. She didn’t take his arm this time, but her voice stayed near.

He followed the instructions without complaint. Her final words met him as the door eased shut behind him: “If you’re struggling again, don’t wait until someone has to send you.”

The corridor was cool and quiet as he moved down through the dungeons. His palm ghosted over the smooth stone wall, fingers light but steady. The Sentius charm stayed dormant in his sleeve, though he ached to use it — the magical pressure still raw in his chest like an over-tuned string.

By the time he reached the common room entrance, he was tired in a way he couldn’t name. The password left his lips like muscle memory, and the door opened with a low hiss of magic.

Inside, the dormitory was silent. The other boys must still be in class. Someone had left a jumper draped over the back of a chair, and a textbook lay open on a trunk — a half-finished star chart sketched in neat silver ink across the page.

Severus let out a long breath and set the salve jar gently on the edge of his bed. His fingers drifted to the seam of his pillow, where he’d once stitched a faint thread into the edge so he’d always know which side faced the wall.

He sat down heavily, letting the quiet settle around him.

---

Severus sat cross-legged on his bed, his back to the headboard, the soft rustle of parchment and the brush of his fingers against the pages the only sounds in the room. A stack of books leaned precariously on the trunk beside him, one open on his lap, notes scrawled in tight, slanted handwriting.

The door slammed open.

Evan Rosier entered in a cloud of frustrated energy, boots echoing on the stone floor. His bag thudded hard against the bedpost as he dropped it, shrugging off his robes in one impatient motion. His shirt collar was rumpled, sleeves shoved to his elbows. He didn’t speak at first—just crossed the room and shoved open the tall, narrow window near his bed with a clatter.

Severus didn’t look up. “Something foul bite you on the way in?”

There was no answer at first. Just the soft click of a tin opening, and the crinkle of rolling paper. Then the scrape of a match against the stone.

Evan lit the cigarette with a steady hand, the flare of the match reflecting faintly against the glass. He leaned against the windowsill, exhaling a ribbon of smoke into the late afternoon air. His jaw was tight. His silence louder than it needed to be.

Severus caught the scent of cloves and ash and thought—not for the first time—that Evan had picked up the habit from his sister. Pandora Rosier had always sounded like trouble when Evan talked about her. A few years older, sharp-tongued, and once suspended from Beauxbatons for charming all the uniforms translucent. It made a strange sort of sense.

Severus paused mid-sentence. “You’re angry.”

“Mm,” Evan muttered, gaze fixed out the window. Smoke curled around his fingers. “Not at you.”

“Well, obviously ,” Severus said dryly, lowering his finger and setting it across the spine of his open book. “You stomped in like a thunderstorm and nearly broke the window.”

Evan’s voice came in hot. “Stupid bloody Slughorn.”

“What is it this time?” Severus asked, setting down his book.

Evan threw himself down into the armchair near the fire and scrubbed both hands through his hair. “He took ten points off my essay. Ten. For being too ‘flippant.’ Apparently ‘moonstone makes you hurl your guts out’ is ‘an unacceptable tone.’”

“Didn’t Wilkes rhyme his entire essay last week?” Severus asked.

“‘There once was a wizard from Kent…’ Yeah. Slughorn laughed. Me? I get ‘disrespectful to the dignity of the discipline.’ ” Evan mimicked the professor’s pompous voice with exaggerated scorn.

Severus huffed once in amusement, closing his book. “So you’re disgraced, then. Slandered for your prose.”

“Exactly.” There was the soft flick of a lighter. A crackle. Then the warm, sharp scent of clove smoke began to fill the room, spiced and heavy like burnt cinnamon.

Evan moved to the window, where the glass was slightly fogged from the evening air. “If he wants dignity so badly, maybe he should read his own bloody memoirs. That man makes potions sound like he’s seducing them.”

Severus let himself smile faintly and pushed upright on his elbows. “What’s it like?” he asked.

“What?”

“Smoking. Ma says it’s bad for your lungs.”

“Your Ma’s right. My sister taught me. Said it made her feel dangerous. I just liked setting things on fire.” Evan turned a little. Severus couldn’t see him, but he could feel the pause — that breath of silence where the air thickened and shifted. “You’ve never tried?”

Severus gave a small shake of the head.

“Well,” Evan said, already padding over. “Want to?”

There was something strange about the offer — light on the surface, but beneath it a kind of current, tugging faintly. The room felt smaller suddenly, more private.

Evan held out the cigarette, guiding Severus’s hand to take it. “Small drag. Don’t—yeah, just—gentle.”

Severus brought it to his lips, trying to mimic what he’d heard, and inhaled.

His throat caught fire.

He doubled over with a harsh, awful cough, hand flying to his chest as he choked on the smoke. “Bloody hell—”

Evan laughed, low and helpless. “Oh fuck , you absolute disaster.”

“That’s—” Severus coughed again, eyes watering though he couldn’t see. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever done to myself. And I once brewed pepperup without a cauldron lid.”

“ Merlin ,” Evan said, wheezing. “That was tragic. Okay, right, come here. I’ll show you how to cheat.”

Severus, still grimacing, heard Evan take another drag, and then step closer. He could feel it — the slight pull of warmth, the shift of air as Evan came to stand just in front of him.

“All right?” Evan asked. 

Severus nodded, wary. “I’m not doing that again.”

“You’re not. It’s called shotgunning.” Evan sounded smug. “I’m doing the hard part. You just stay still. And inhale.”

Then — soft, so soft — Evan cupped Severus’s jaw in one warm, firm hand, his palm roughened from wand calluses. Severus stilled. He could feel the warmth of Evan’s body so close to his own, just a breath away, and something fluttered low in his chest.

The cigarette burned between Evan’s fingers. He could smell the smoke now in full — cloves, ash, the sharp sting of it mixed with something warmer that was just Evan .

A second later, Evan leaned in.

It was nothing like Severus had imagined kisses might be. There was no awkward bump of noses, no sharp confusion of angles. Just warmth — lips pressing against his, slow and sure, and then parting.

Severus’s own lips parted almost involuntarily. He felt the barest gust of warm breath. Then Evan exhaled, and the smoke curled past his teeth and into Severus’s mouth, rich and burning and impossibly strange. The sensation wrapped around his tongue, his throat, and he inhaled out of instinct.

It didn’t burn the same way this time.

It was smoother, heavier, like swallowing a velvet ribbon. He tasted cloves and char and the faint bitterness of tobacco, but mostly he tasted Evan — something quiet and hot and sharp like lightning.

His lips lingered against Severus’ own. Not long, but longer than it needed to. Long enough for Severus’s fingers to twitch where they rested on his lap. Long enough for his breath to hitch. Long enough for him to realise how close they were, how solid Evan’s palm was against his cheek, how gentle .

And then Evan pulled back.

Severus stayed utterly still.

The air was thick. His lungs were full of clove and smoke and something he didn’t have a name for. He could still feel the shape of Evan’s mouth on his own.

The cigarette burned faintly between them.

Evan’s thumb brushed the side of Severus’s jaw once — barely a graze — then dropped away.

Evan blew a final stream of smoke toward the open window, flicking ash from the edge of the cigarette with casual grace. His tone was light, as if he hadn't just kissed his dorm mate—or held his face like it meant something.

“You can keep that one,” he said. “First time deserves a trophy.”

Severus didn’t answer. His fingers curled slightly into the blanket beneath him, grounding himself. He could still feel the faint warmth of Evan’s touch, the taste of smoke on his tongue, the soft, steady press of lips that had not been clumsy or teasing.

But he said nothing.

Evan stretched with a soft grunt, joints cracking. “Horrendous day. I swear Sprout’s trying to kill us. Nearly took my hand off with that spined vine thing.”

Still nothing from Severus.

“You’ll be pleased to know Pettigrew dropped his cauldron again in the hallway. Slid halfway down the stairs. I think he cried.”

Severus blinked slowly, lips parted just a touch. His chest still felt strange. Stretched.

He could hear the soft creak of Evan’s footsteps crossing back to his side of the room, the rustle of fabric as he tossed his shirt onto his trunk, then rifled through his drawers like nothing was unusual at all.

Severus swallowed, but didn’t lift his head. His mind kept dragging him backward—Evan’s weight shifting in front of him, the soft heat of his palm against his jaw. The pressure of it. The moment before.

It hadn’t been a joke.

Or maybe it had. He didn’t know.

But still, he didn’t speak.

Evan sighed dramatically. “Right. I’m going to steal toast before Wilkes gets to it. If I die on the seventh-floor staircase, avenge me.”

Another pause. Then a tousle of his hair in passing— deliberate , light.

And then the door swung open and clicked shut behind him.

Severus sat motionless, heart pounding in his throat, cigarette still cradled in his fingers. It had long since gone out.

He lifted it slowly, almost absently, and pressed the filter to his lips.

It tasted like ash and something he didn’t have a word for.

Notes:

i freaking love madam pomphrey.

really hope you guys loved the moment at the end there, i’ve been wanting to write that for so long ahah. evan is such a cheeky bastard and sev is so confused.

hope you enjoyed and of course talk to me in comments or on tumblr!!

love violet

Chapter 8: chapter seven

Notes:

moving towards the christmas break😛
i don’t think i made it clear at all hahah but each scene is a snippet of the day from monday to friday. if any mistakes are spotted do let me know (i am betaless!). i will try to update midweek but no promises - but hopefully!

The rain had been falling since dawn. Not the kind that crashed loud and fast like summer storms, but a softer kind—persistent and silver, like someone had drawn a veil over the castle and left it there. It pattered faintly against the high library windows, casting cold light through warped glass onto the long tables and narrow stone aisles.

It was just past first bell—too early for most of the castle to have wandered in yet—so the hush of the library remained unbroken but for the occasional turn of a page, a quill scratching faintly in the distance. Severus had claimed the far alcove—his usual one—before breakfast, slipping into it like a secret.

The stone bench beneath him had long since gone cold, but he didn’t mind. He had his cloak curled underneath, knees drawn up, the too-long hem of his robe trailing near his boots. The air smelled of old wood polish and a little like mildew. Faintly musty. Familiar.

In his lap sat a thick book bound in peeling green cloth— Foundations of Theoretical Spell Construction, Vol. III. It wasn’t in the library’s catalogue; Lily had pressed it into his hands the day before with a murmured, “You’ll like this one. The author’s mad as anything.”

She’d slipped something between the pages too. He could tell the moment he touched the binding—her magic lingered. Warm, humming faintly beneath his fingers like something just alive.

Severus found the parchment by feel alone. Thin, a little creased at the edges. It smelled of citrus ink and the faint tang of rain-damp satchels. He smiled before he even read it.

The charm she’d used—the tactile spell—wasn’t perfect, but it worked. She must’ve learned it just for this. The bumps shifted softly beneath his fingertips, pulsing into braille under his touch. He read slowly, his thumb curling gently into the margin.

Astronomy last night was a bloody disaster. I think my partner thought Saturn was Mars (he didn’t correct me when I asked, and then panicked halfway through the drawing). Oh, and he elbowed my ink clean off the tower. If you see a black smear down the side of the Astronomy dome, that’s me. I’ve borrowed from every Ravenclaw I know. How’s Wilkes? Still alive, or has he finally exploded?

Severus’s lips twitched—just faintly—and he let his head fall back against the wall behind him. The alcove hummed with warmth and quiet.

He murmured his reply charm low under his breath, wand just grazing the corner of the parchment: a pulse of his own making, simple and secure. The note shimmered with heat for a heartbeat, as if exhaling.

Don’t lend out your ink next time, Lily. Not everyone’s as pure-hearted as you. Wilkes nearly destroyed the dungeon yesterday. I think he might’ve actually meant to.

He brushed his fingers along the edge to seal the message, then tucked it gently back between the pages. He would leave the book where she’d find it—top shelf of the Charms section, fifth from the end. It was their little ritual.

Not just in his pocket, but behind his ribs, a strange and slow warmth humming beneath the chill that never left his fingers.

Somewhere in the distance, a second-year knocked over a chair and was immediately scolded by Madam Pince. The clock above the desk struck eight-thirty with a soft chime. Severus sighed, adjusted the weight of the book, and curled further into the alcove.

He would have to move eventually. But not yet.

Not just yet.

 

---

 

By the time Severus reached the classroom—steps measured, hand brushing the wall as he moved—he could already hear the scrape of stools and the clatter of cauldrons being set into place. Slughorn’s voice floated over the din, amiable and rotund, calling for “excellent teamwork today, yes, let’s have no bubbling disasters this time, Mr. Macdonald—oh, very good, Miss Prewett!”

A familiar voice cut across the chatter: “Bat Boy! You're late, I think the cauldron's crying.”

Wilkes.

Severus didn’t need to see him to picture the look on his face—eyes wide with mischief, probably up to his elbows in something dangerous already. He followed the sound of Wilkes’s voice, counting the benches from the doorway, one hand trailing along the edge of a desk until his fingers brushed the fraying sleeve of Wilkes’s robe.

“You are not touching that cauldron without supervision,” Severus said flatly.

Wilkes made a delighted sound. “Too late. I’ve already done several things I shouldn’t.”

Severus set his satchel down on the bench and began unpacking his kit by touch—wooden stirring rod, capped glass phials with distinct charms to differentiate them, a soft cloth-wrapped bundle of powdered ingredients. He tapped the edge of the instruction slate with his wand and murmured a quiet Praesigno , conjuring a subtle whisper of the recipe into his ear. Slughorn had stopped handing him parchment entirely by now.

“Where’s Rosier?” he asked, turning slightly toward the warmth of Wilkes’s shoulder.

“Abandoned you,” Wilkes said dramatically. “Slughorn’s got him chained to Avery. A true punishment pairing.”

Severus tilted his head, amused. “They’ll kill each other.”

“Or worse. Bond.”

As they worked, Wilkes offered a running commentary that was about seventy percent nonsense. “Right, now we need crushed valerian root... or was it crushed vermin root? Not sure, I’ll just guess—ow, that’s acidic—”

“Give me that.”

Wilkes obediently handed it over, and Severus smelled before identifying. “Valerian,” he confirmed, already measuring it into a ceramic bowl.

“Perfect. And now,” Wilkes said grandly, “for my special touch.”

There was a pause. Then: shhhk . A tiny sound of something being shaken out of a vial.

Severus froze. “What did you just do?”

“Nothing,” Wilkes said, in the exact tone of someone who’d absolutely done something.

“What did you just do.”

Wilkes leaned in. “Okay. Hear me out. Bit of chilli powder.”

Severus slowly turned his head in his direction. “You added spice to a sedative.”

“Right? To counterbalance the lull. Soothing with a zing. It’s groundbreaking.”

“It’s catastrophic,” Severus corrected, already angling his wand toward the cauldron. The potion had begun to emit a high, whining bubble, and the scent rising from it was... alarming. Sweet, acrid, and tinged with smoke.

A second later, it burbled like a clogged drain.

Severus flinched instinctively at the temperature shift in the air— heat , rising rapidly—and cast Protego in a sharp breath. A translucent shimmer sprang up just in time. The cauldron belched a gout of scalding steam and something like flame—but the shield held, catching the worst of it.

Wilkes gave a low whistle. “Oooh, that one had flair.”

From across the room, Potter’s voice rang out—loud, drawling, unmistakably smug.

“Oi, Snivellus, grease your cauldrons better next time! Whole dungeon’s gonna go up in smoke.”

A ripple of laughter followed, mostly from the Gryffindor side. 

Severus didn’t respond. He never did, not to Potter. Instead, he kept one hand on the edge of the bench, grounding himself. The heat was dissipating now; his shield charm hummed faintly, still holding firm.

Wilkes leaned in conspiratorially. “Did I almost poison us?” he whispered. “Worth it.”

Severus sighed, dropped the shield, and muttered a cooling charm into the cauldron. “One day,” he said, with the calm finality of someone stating a prophecy, “you’re going to accidentally brew mustard gas.”

“And you’ll be right there with me, Bat Boy,” Wilkes said cheerfully.

Severus turned his head. “Call me that again and I’ll hex your kneecaps backwards.”

Wilkes seemed unbothered. “Love that for us.”

Just then, Slughorn waddled past, pausing briefly at their bench. “Everything coming along nicely, boys?”

The potion still hissed faintly in its cauldron, releasing soft curls of red steam. Wilkes, ever the picture of innocence, gave a beatific smile.

“Splendidly, Professor.”

Slughorn squinted. “Smells a bit... peppery.”

Wilkes clapped a hand over the top of the cauldron. “Incense for focus, sir.”

“Ah, very resourceful,” Slughorn said vaguely, and wandered on.

Severus let out a long breath through his nose and began, carefully, to ladle the ruined potion into the discard flask. Wilkes reached for a new phial and began prepping again.

“I’m doing it properly this time,” he promised.

“You’re going to burn your eyebrows off,” Severus said.

Wilkes gave a delighted hum. “Maybe. But if I do, I’m dragging you into the flames with me.”

Severus shook his head and let himself smile.

 

---

 

The stone steps under Severus were still warm from the day, but cooling fast. He sat with his elbows balanced on his knees, head bowed just slightly, listening to the wind shift through the open courtyard. There weren’t many students out anymore—most had disappeared into the castle hours ago, drawn back by dinner and curfew and the promise of fires in common rooms. But Evan hadn’t gone in. Neither had he.

Some part of Severus suspected Evan had waited.

The scrape of boots on stone told him Evan was pacing again. Not with urgency—just movement for movement’s sake, restless the way he sometimes got in the evening, like he needed to burn something off or he'd never sleep. Eventually, he settled again beside Severus, dropping down into a familiar sprawl. A moment later: the click of a lighter, the brief, sharp scent of tobacco catching fire.

Evan took a drag, then held the cigarette between his fingers for a beat before he offered it out.

Severus didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

“You don’t have to keep sitting out here,” he said quietly, turning his head toward the warmth of Evan’s body beside him. “You’ll freeze.”

“You’ll freeze first,” Evan replied easily. “You haven’t got anything under that coat but bones and unresolved trauma.”

Severus gave a dry little breath of a laugh, not quite humor. “Fair.”

A long pause settled between them, broken only by the wind curling against the high walls and the low rustle of ivy on the bricks behind them.

“Snape,” Evan said eventually, voice lighter now, but not flippant. “Did something happen?”

Severus didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure how to.

Evan didn’t press, but he didn’t move either. The silence felt purposeful now, not accidental. Severus traced the seam of a crack in the step beneath his fingers, then finally shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Not really.”

Evan’s tone shifted again—quiet, but careful. “You’ve been... I don’t know. Not quiet, exactly. But you keep doing that thing where you vanish behind your own face.”

Severus’s mouth twitched faintly. “What thing?”

“The thing where you say you’re fine, but you look like you’ve been hexed in your sleep.”

There was no judgment in the way Evan said it. Just recognition. Familiarity. Like someone reciting a weather pattern they’d come to expect.

Severus leaned back, slow and tired. His shoulder brushed Evan’s as he shifted.

“My father,” he said, finally. “The night before I left.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to.

Evan didn’t say anything. But a beat later, he passed Severus the cigarette again—silent, steady—and this time Severus took it. The filter was warm from Evan’s mouth. He held it between two fingers, inhaled carefully, then let the smoke slip free on the exhale. His fingers didn’t tremble, but only just.

They sat like that for a while. Not talking about it, but not not talking about it, either.

Eventually Evan said, “You should tell Pomfrey. About what happened. About... other things.”

Severus shook his head once, slow. “You know I can’t.”

“You can ,” Evan said. Not pushing. Just stating it plainly. “You just won’t.”

Severus didn’t answer.

Evan let the silence breathe again, then changed the subject. “Lily still sending you love letters in braille?”

The question came without edge. No sarcasm, no teasing—just a quiet kind of curiosity.

Severus exhaled. “She’s trying out a new charm. Softens the paper so it’s easier to feel.”

“Course she is.”

“It’s not—”

“I know it’s not like that,” Evan said. “You don’t have to explain.”

There was something in the way he said it. Something softer than usual. Not quite possessive, not quite resigned. But something like understanding, edged with a trace of something he hadn’t put into words yet.

Severus passed the cigarette back. Their fingers brushed this time—brief, but intentional. Neither of them moved away.

“Wilkes asked if we’re—” Evan began, then stopped himself, laughing once under his breath. “Never mind.”

“What?”

Evan didn’t answer right away. Then, with a sigh: “He thinks you’re mine.”

Severus’s mouth went dry.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said,” Evan replied carefully, “that if I had to explain you to Wilkes, he’d combust.”

Severus snorted once, surprised. “He probably would.”

They both looked forward again—though only one of them could actually see the sky bleeding to ink above the towers, the stars just starting to show through.

“I don’t mind if he thinks that,” Evan said, after a long pause. His voice was lower now, quieter. “Just so you know.”

Severus’s pulse ticked up once, sharply.

He didn’t reply.

But he didn’t move away, either.

 

---

 

Severus moved quietly, as he always did when alone—steps deliberate, wand lightly brushing the seam of the wall beside him, counting the turns in the corridor by the texture of the stone and the small hum of residual magic left behind from generations of students. The dungeon halls were still and mostly empty at this hour; most students had retreated to the Great Hall for an early dinner.

Which was why the voices caught him off guard.

Low, clipped. Close.

He stopped just before the junction where the corridor curved, shoulders going still. He knew both voices immediately.

Avery. And Mulciber.

They hadn’t noticed him—he could tell by their tone, by the way neither lowered their voice nor shifted position. His back pressed lightly to the wall, he tilted his head just enough to catch the words echoing off stone.

“You need to stop wasting time,” Avery said. “Your father’s expecting you to prove yourself this year.”

Mulciber said nothing at first. Severus could almost hear his jaw clench.

Avery continued, voice smoother now, but cooler. “They’re watching. You know that. Everyone’s watching now. We don’t all get to choose, you know.”

A pause.

Then Mulciber’s voice, low and grim: “I know.”

Severus didn’t move. His heart was steady, but his fingers tightened slightly on his wand. He couldn’t see the expressions on their faces, but he didn’t need to. That tone—the one Avery had just used—it had surfaced before, threaded through certain conversations in the common room. Conversations Severus had made a point of not participating in. Slippery phrases like obligation , and blood duty , and the old ways .

Always couched in respectable, clever words. Never overt. Never nameable.

But unmistakable all the same.

Severus knew Avery’s family had connections. Deep ones. Old ones. The kind that sent letters in thick parchment sealed with a serpent crest, the kind whose expectations were never written down but carved into marrow.

And he’d known Mulciber long enough to recognize the strain in that single, reluctant reply.

They’re watching.
We don’t all get to choose.
Prove yourself.

Severus stood very still.

The corridor smelled faintly of something scorched—an alchemical spill, maybe, or an old charm burned into the stone. It reminded him, unpleasantly, of home. Of the soot-lined kitchen at Spinner’s End after one of Tobias’s rages, when Eileen hadn’t been quick enough with the mending spell.

Avery’s voice again, now lower, more distant. “You’ve got one year, maybe two. That’s it.”

Footsteps began to move off.

Severus pressed closer to the wall, waited until the sound had completely faded before he stepped forward, careful and silent.

He didn’t make a sound until he was well past the bend in the corridor, his wand slipping back into his sleeve, one hand brushing the carved dip in the stone to orient himself.

He didn’t like eavesdropping. But he’d learned the hard way: sometimes the most important things were the ones people didn’t mean for you to hear.

Avery was dangerous in the way rich boys sometimes were—clever, charismatic, born into something powerful and convinced of its inevitability. He didn’t need to threaten to get what he wanted. He just needed to imply.

And Mulciber—Severus didn’t dislike him, but he didn’t trust him, either. There was something sullen and stormy under his skin, something that made him pliable under pressure.

What worried Severus most wasn’t that Mulciber might listen. It was that Mulciber might agree .

He walked on, slower now, lost in thought. They were all being watched—Avery wasn’t wrong. But they weren’t all watching for the same thing.

Severus didn’t plan on proving himself to anyone. Not that way.

Let them think he was quiet. Let them think he was cold, observant, neutral. If that kept him safe, if it gave him time—then so be it.

He had no intention of joining the old ways.

But he had every intention of surviving them.

 

---

 

The common room was quiet, dimly lit, and unusually still for a Friday. Somewhere overhead, laughter echoed faintly—muffled by stone walls and the heavy tapestry that covered the dormitory stairs. The Quidditch team had won their match that afternoon, and the celebration upstairs had long since bled into something louder and drunker.

Severus sat alone in the corner armchair furthest from the fire, legs curled up, robes pulled loosely around him. The warmth of the hearth didn’t reach him fully here—it lapped faintly against his boots and fingertips, but he preferred this distance. It gave him space to think.

He sat now with his knees tucked loosely under him, a book resting against his leg—but he wasn’t reading.

Instead, his fingers moved across the small slip of parchment tucked behind the front cover. A note, spelled in braille—the dots delicate, light, Lily’s hand unusually careful in the way she pressed the charm into place. She must have practiced. That thought alone made something twist in his chest.

He read it slowly, his thumb tracing each sentence.

“Please come. Just once. It’s warm. It smells like cinnamon.”

She’d cast the braille charm again, carefully, and the letters were easy to follow—tiny raised dots under his fingertips, charmed to hold the pressure of her magic in a way that made them almost warm .

He smiled faintly. She’d only needed to see the charm once in a book before figuring it out. Show-off.

Still. It meant something.

He folded the note quietly and held it for a moment, thumb resting on the corner. The fire gave a low hiss as it shifted behind the grate.

Lily had asked him again last week, voice quiet and a little impatient, but not unkind, never unkind: “Just think about it, alright? Mum says you wouldn’t have to do anything. Just come. Just once.”

She’d said it in that fierce, casual way of hers—like it wasn’t a big deal, like it was a thing that made perfect sense. She’d looked at him as if it was the simplest offer in the world.

She didn’t know how heavy it felt.

He could hear the way she’d said it, still. Could picture the way her voice softened when she talked about her home: the clatter of mugs, Petunia rolling her eyes in the hallway, the silly blinking lights her father charmed to flicker in time with music. She had said once—half-laughing, half-nostalgic—that her house was always too warm in winter, and she loved it for that.

Too warm. Too full. Too safe.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. It was that he wasn’t sure he’d survive it. Not as he was.

He didn’t want to see pity in her mother’s voice. He didn’t want to stand, cold and awkward, in a kitchen full of other people’s love. He didn’t want to be the boy Lily had saved.

A soft sound pulled him from the thought.

Evan dropped onto the armrest beside him, just enough to knock the chair slightly. His jacket slipped down one shoulder, the worn leather catching faint heat from the fire as he sprawled across the cushion like he lived there.

He smelled faintly of firewhisky and cold air, sharp and sweet all at once.

“Being a ghost again, Snape?” Evan’s voice was low, lazy, and just a touch slurred.

“I prefer the term solitary .”

Evan gave a soft huff. “You’d make a terrible ghost. You’d knock into things. Moan too dramatically.”

Severus didn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth tipped, just barely. “Glad you’re sober.”

Evan leaned his head back, exhaling. “I’m fine . Wilkes, on the other hand, tried to ride down the banister on Avery’s broom. They’re upstairs reattaching the chandelier.”

Severus sighed and folded Lily’s note once more, slipping it into the pocket of his robes. “And you abandoned them out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I abandoned them because someone’s about to get hexed and I’d rather keep my eyebrows.”

The fire cracked, softer now. The common room had settled into something quieter, gentler.

A pause, and the scrape of Evan adjusting his posture.

“You going home for Christmas?”

The question landed hard in Severus’s chest. He answered too fast. “No.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. He didn’t need to say anything for Severus to know that expression. He could feel the pause that followed it—measured, knowing, but not unkind.

But Evan didn’t press. He never did, not unless something mattered.

Severus folded the note in half, then into quarters. The parchment was soft with wear now, creased from too many re-readings. He didn’t tuck it away just yet. Just held it loosely in his palm.

“I thought she’d convinced you this time,” Evan said eventually. His voice had lost the teasing edge—it was too honest now, too gently curious. “Evans. She’s asked you before, hasn’t she?”

“Every year.”

“And?”

Severus tilted his head back against the wall. The stone was cool behind him, grounding. “I don’t belong there.”

Evan made a small scoffing sound. “That’s bollocks.”

Severus didn’t reply.

In truth, the idea of it terrified him. Lily’s house with its cinnamon and its radio and her mum who still offered to buy him new school robes even though he’d always said no. Her father with his too-kind voice. The warmth. The colour. The life.

It was everything he didn’t have words for. And everything he didn’t believe he could carry without shattering something important.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want it.

It was that he wasn’t sure he could stand in it and still be himself .

He could still hear Lily’s voice from the note—so bright it made his chest ache.

“You don’t have to do anything, Sev. Just be there. That’s all. We’ll have a quiet corner, and you can read. Mum’ll probably knit you something awful. Please come.”

He folded the parchment again. Slipped it into the inside pocket of his robes. Didn’t answer it.

Not yet.

“Hey,” Evan said softly beside him, nudging his shoulder just once. “You don’t have to tell me. Just… don’t sit here acting like you don’t have anywhere to go.”

Severus let the silence stretch a moment longer.

Then, quietly: “I’m staying here.”

Evan didn’t argue. Just stayed where he was, shoulder pressed lightly to Severus’s. He smelled like fire and something clove-sweet, and the whole room felt more real with him in it.

Neither of them spoke for a long time after that.

Eventually, the fire burned low, the noise from upstairs faded, and the common room filled with the soft, old breath of the lake pressing against the glass.

Notes:

i can’t stop writing the evan/severus moments, please let me know if you think it’s moving too quickly 😭

hope you enjoyed this chapter!! plot thickens in the next couple chapters 😏

Chapter 9: chapter eight

Notes:

apologies, i was going to update on wednesday, but it got so busy and i also had to edit and upload for dotd. but weekly saturday update is here!

The scent of parchment and enchanted beeswax drifted through the quiet upper gallery of the library. The air was dry and still, the kind that held the quiet too tightly, like a breath waiting to be let out. Severus sat cross-legged at a study table far from the main floor, a place tucked between old shelves and stained-glass windows, where sound muted and students rarely wandered. He liked it here. No footsteps, no sneering remarks from Slytherin peers, no Gryffindor laughter. Just the stillness and the faint, comforting hum of magic clinging to the wood and stone.

The Braille overlay spell buzzed faintly through his fingertips, translating the spidery old ink of a book whose cover he’d traced until he knew every nick in the leather. The pages whispered with age, brittle in places, but well cared for. He read slowly, the way one might trace a charm across someone’s skin, one letter at a time, letting it sink in.

The stairs creaked. Then again.

He didn’t look up—didn’t need to.

“Don’t fall asleep in here,” Lily called softly. “I’m not dragging you back to the dungeons again.”

“You didn’t last time,” Severus muttered. “You got Evan to do it.”

“Semantics,” she said breezily, kicking the door closed with her foot. “He owed me.”

He could hear the grin in her voice and resisted the urge to mirror it. Books rustled, straps creaked, and then she was across from him with a sigh, her bag slumping to the floor. The familiar smell of her shampoo—herbal and a bit sharp—mingled with old paper and wax polish, a scent he always associated with comfort, like finding a jumper you forgot still fit.

She unpacked in a practiced flurry: her Charms textbook, two slightly squashed scrolls, a squat ink bottle, and a pumpkin pasty wrapped in napkin. Severus heard her settle in, her knees knocking lightly against the underside of the table.

He knew her rituals. He didn’t have to see her to know that she’d already pushed her sleeves up and twisted her quill once between her fingers, a quick flick she always did before she started writing.

Outside, wind fretted against the windows, the glass ticking gently like it was trying to be let in.

“You’ve read that thing five times,” Lily said eventually, her voice low, almost thoughtful. “Don’t you want to read something that doesn’t make you scowl?”

“It’s not the same book.”

“It sounds the same. Pages, brooding silence, occasional ominous sigh.”

He gave the faintest exhale of amusement. “It’s on magical residue. Traces spells leave behind. Not charms theory. Older.”

“Oh,” Lily said. “That’s the one Pomfrey asked about, isn’t it?”

He hesitated just long enough for her to notice.

“Maybe.”

She didn’t push. She rarely did when it mattered. Just leaned back and let the silence settle again. For a while there was only the slow scratch of quills and the low, distant voice of Madam Pince scolding someone for folding a page.

Sometimes he wondered how she always knew when to speak and when not to. It wasn’t some empathic magic. She just… paid attention. Most people didn’t. Most people never noticed when his hands trembled slightly after casting too long. Or that he angled his head to pick up echo more precisely when navigating stairwells. But Lily did. She saw things.

Lily eventually broke the silence again. “Aurora thinks I’m good at Charms.”

He tilted his head slightly. “She said that?”

“She said I’ve got a ‘mind like quicksilver’ and then asked if she could borrow my notes for Tuesday. So—grain of salt, maybe.”

“That’s quicksilver logic.”

Lily laughed, and Severus could hear the crinkle of her eyes when she did. He liked that sound. Her real laugh—when it wasn’t meant for someone else’s benefit. She didn’t laugh much like that around other people anymore. Not since third year.

“She’s lovely, though. Always looking out the window like she’s expecting someone to come back for her.”

“She ever say who?”

“She says it’s a secret.” Lily paused. “She also said stars speak to her sometimes, so.”

“She’s odd,” Severus said.

“Not in a bad way.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not in a bad way.”

He could picture it: Aurora with her chin in her hand, gazing out at the stars as if they owed her an answer. He’d noticed her once during Astronomy—head tilted, as though listening for something beneath the wind. There was something strange and silvery about her. Not like Lily. Lily was fire. Aurora was moonlight.

Lily picked up the pumpkin pasty and bit into it with a soft hum. “She can do that moonlight-lighting spell already. Flitwick hasn’t even introduced it yet.”

“Did she teach you?”

“She tried, but I couldn’t get it right. She says it’s different depending on your intent. Mine apparently is too forceful. I kept getting this silvery blast instead of a glow.”

“You always do everything like you’ve got something to prove.”

Lily scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

He didn’t reply, but his mouth curved. She could always find the hairline cracks in his silence and wedge herself in. And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to like that she did.

He reached for the book again, letting his hand rest over the open pages as if trying to draw something from the parchment. The words still lingered in his thoughts—old spells and residual echoes, the idea that magic didn’t always go quietly.

Lily exhaled after a long pause, brushing crumbs from her lap. “You know who I don’t like?”

“No.”

“Charity Burbage.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What’d she do?”

“She’s too nice,” Lily muttered. “Like in that way where it’s suspicious. Always patting people’s arms and calling them love and telling them how beautiful they are even when they’ve just had a cauldron explode in their face.”

Severus smirked. “She did that to you?”

“No, to Mary. And Mary loved it, which somehow makes it worse.”

“You’re allowed to like people, Lily.”

“I do like people. Just not ones who smile that much.”

“Then you must despise Hufflepuff.”

She snorted. “You’d think, wouldn’t you?”

He liked that about her. That she had opinions that didn’t fit neatly into categories. That she didn’t take people at surface value, even if she made fast friends. He could trust that about her—her judgment, even when it was flawed, was never thoughtless.

They sat in contented silence again, two outcasts by habit if not quite design. The wind had grown louder, rattling in the gaps of the stonework. Lily started gathering her things.

“They’re floating pumpkins in the Great Hall again,” she said. “Aurora wants to nick one for the dorm.”

“Of course she does.”

“She’s relentless.”

Severus closed the heavy book with a soft thump. Something inside crinkled. He stilled.

Lily caught it too. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.”

He ran his hand lightly back across the pages, fingertips catching on something thin and brittle tucked between chapters. A folded slip of parchment.

Not a library tag. Too old. The edges flaked slightly under his touch. The Braille spell flickered to life, whispering each line to him in low, patient rhythm.

Not all spells fade.
Not the deep ones.
Blood and intent leave traces that linger.
Life taken—or saved—echoes.
If he lives, he must never know why.
It will follow him anyway.

At the bottom, a single initial pressed hard into the ink. A looping capital: P.

Severus read it twice. Then again.

He felt the air shift—not physically, but somewhere in the marrow of things. Something old had been stirred by that note, something resting just out of reach. He didn’t like how his chest tightened.

“What is it?” Lily asked, quieter now.

He folded the parchment slowly, pressing the edges back together with care. “Nothing.”

“Sev—”

“Just someone’s notes. Scribbles. Doesn’t make sense.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed—he could hear it in the way her breath hitched—but she let it go. For now.

She always knew when to let him lie, too.

He tucked the scrap into the inside cover of the book before sliding it back into his bag.

“Come on,” she said eventually. “If we don’t go now, Wilkes will eat all the roast potatoes again.”

“Tragedy.”

“I’ll hex him if he does.”

“I’m sure he’ll be terrified of your aggressive seasonal energy.”

Lily bumped his shoulder with hers. “You love my seasonal energy.”

“No,” Severus said, rising carefully, fingers brushing the edge of the table to orient himself. “I tolerate it. It’s a very refined difference.”

“Well, my seasonal energy got you a chocolate cauldron in your trunk last night, so maybe shut it.”

He smiled faintly, shouldering his bag.

They moved down the stairs side by side, Lily casually narrating the line of portraits in the stairwell for him as they passed. “That one’s moved again—old wizard in the tartan shawl. He’s pretending to be asleep, but he winked.”

“Creepy.”

“Oh completely. I winked back. Equal footing.”

 

---

 

The castle was winding down for the night, her ancient bones creaking in the quiet. Severus moved with practiced silence, fingertips grazing the cold stone wall as he navigated the lesser-used corridor behind the Charms staircase on his way back to the Slytherin common room. The scent of dust and torch smoke clung to the air. Somewhere far off, a door clicked shut. Closer—laughter.

He froze mid-step.

Voices. Familiar ones. Just ahead, echoing faintly from the dark alcove near the base of the Transfiguration stairwell.

“…you lot are completely mental,” came Remus Lupin’s voice—low, clipped, strained. “Could we not do this in the middle of the bloody corridor?”

Severus edged to the side, tucking himself behind a pillar with the kind of fluidity that came from years of needing to be overlooked.

“Oh, relax, Moony,” Sirius Black’s voice floated lazily through the air, all arrogant lilt and indifference. “It’s nearly curfew. Who’s going to be creeping around this hallway besides old Filch, and he’s half-deaf.”

Severus’s lips curled. Prat.

“You say that now,” James Potter muttered, “and next thing we know, we’re getting hexed into next week by McGonagall for ‘inappropriate hallway discussion of lycanthropy.’”

Lycanthropy?

Severus’s blood chilled.

“Exactly!” Lupin hissed. “Would you shut up ?”

Something in his voice—raw, frightened—made Severus’s skin prickle.

“I’m just saying,” Black went on, clearly enjoying himself, “we ought to start calling it what it is. It’s not like we’re not all very aware of your furry little secret.”

Furry little secret ?

Severus went still as stone. His fingers pressed lightly to the wall, his mind already rifling through what he knew—or thought he knew—about Lupin.

Sick, once a month. Pale. Always tired afterward.

He’d dismissed it as chronic nerves. Maybe anemia. But now…

“Sirius—” Lupin started.

“What?” Black sounded unrepentant. “You said it yourself—full moons are hell, right? You practically chew through the bedposts. We should at least get to joke about it.”

Full moons.

Severus’s heart gave a single, hard thud.

Werewolf.

It was absurd. It had to be. But—

“He didn’t mean anything by it,” Pettigrew put in, voice trembly and overeager, like he was trying to patch a leak in the middle of a storm.

“It’s not about meaning anything, it’s about discretion,” Lupin bit out. “We’re in a hallway .”

A brief pause.

“Oh no,” Black said mockingly. “We’re in a hallway. The portraits might hear.”

“They do,” Potter muttered.

“They gossip,” Lupin added. Then, quieter: “Please. Just drop it.”

Severus caught a crack in that last word. There was real fear there, raw and exposed.

He felt it like a scent in the air—something wrong, something bleeding at the edges of a lie. And the other boys didn’t care. Or worse—they thought it was funny.

They didn’t know what it was to be vulnerable. Not really.

“We get it, mate,” Potter said suddenly, his voice softened. “Really. We’ll be careful.”

Severus didn’t miss the shift. It was protective, reflexive. The way Potter always was around the people he actually liked.

“Speak for yourself,” Black muttered. “I like living dangerously.”

It was then that Black paused.

“…Did you hear that?”

Severus didn’t move. He knew how to disappear when he had to. Years of practice.

The others stopped behind Black, footsteps quiet on stone.

“Hear what?” Potter asked.

“Someone’s here,” Black murmured, closer now.

Severus pressed his shoulder into the wall. His wand was in his pocket, but he didn’t reach for it. Any sudden movement would be worse than waiting.

A beat of silence.

“Probably a mouse,” Pettigrew offered weakly.

Another step closer. The soft rustle of Black’s robes.

“Let’s go , Sirius,” Lupin hissed, voice sharper now.

Severus could picture him—tense, jaw clenched, eyes darting over his shoulder.

Black gave a faint chuckle. “Maybe it was a mouse.”

Then footsteps again, moving away. The murmur of conversation picked back up, fainter, and then they were gone—vanished around the bend toward Gryffindor Tower.

Severus waited three whole minutes before he moved.

When he did, it was silent and careful, each footstep deliberate. His mind was already working—turning over every phrase, every inflection.

Furry little secret. Full moons. Hell.

Werewolf. It was too far-fetched. Too absurd. Dumbledore wouldn’t let something like that in.

Would he?

He slipped through the shadows, down the staircase and into the depths of the dungeons. The chill returned with each step—stone corridors growing colder, darker, familiar.

He moved more confidently now, hand glancing just barely against the left wall, counting doorframes. On the fifth, he turned sharply and murmured the password under his breath.

“ Vermiculus. ”

The stones shifted with a shuddering scrape, and the wall peeled open.

Inside, the Slytherin common room was low-lit and hushed. He could smell the lake damp clinging to the walls, the faint traces of firewood and burning wax. A fire was crackling low in the hearth — he could feel the warmth of it on his face as he passed.

He heard the murmur of voices from students scattered through the space. The scrape of a quill. The shuffle of cards. Someone’s laugh, quickly stifled. He moved quickly, quietly, steps deliberate, navigating by memory. His fingertips brushed along the bookshelf as he turned, counting his paces until the shift in acoustics told him he’d reached the stairwell to the boys’ dorms.

The stairs coiled up in their narrow spiral. He felt the cool brass of the banister under his hand, the worn dip where years of students had gripped it before him. The scent changed subtly at the top — more closed in, the faint mix of parchment, bedding, and aftershave marking familiar territory.

He pushed open the dormitory door and stepped inside.

There were four voices inside already.

“Back just in time,” Avery’s voice announced lazily from somewhere left of center. “Curfew bell’s about to ring.”

Severus didn’t bother replying, just walked forward, letting the charm and the memorized layout guide him toward his bed. He passed a trunk — Wilkes’, by the smell of shoe polish and ink — and turned when he reached the subtle dip in the floorboard. His fingertips met the familiar texture of his own blankets.

Wilkes was bouncing something rhythmically — probably that stupid soft ball he liked. The faint fwump of it hitting his hand came again and again. Avery had something small clicking in his lap, probably fiddling with his wand again. Mulciber gave a snort and shifted, the squeak of mattress springs under his weight.

Severus could feel Rosier before he heard him speak — just the faint shift in the air to his right, the subtle hint of cigarette tobacco.

“You eat?” Rosier’s voice was low, meant just for him.

“No.”

“You should.”

Severus shrugged one shoulder, sitting down on the edge of his bed and unlacing his boots by feel. “Not hungry.”

Rosier didn’t press, but Severus could hear the slight exhale from him — maybe a sigh, maybe just smoke leaving his lungs. It was hard to tell.

“Library again?” Wilkes asked.

“Mhm.”

“Bet you’ve read everything in there twice.”

“Most of it’s not worth a second go,” Severus muttered, tugging off his second boot.

“Bet you dream about footnotes,” Avery said.

Wilkes snorted. “Wakes up muttering in Latin. Furunculus corpus inflammare. ”

“Fire boils your bum,” Rosier translated dryly.

That made even Severus huff, just a quiet breath of amusement through his nose. His fingers moved easily to the clasp of his trunk. He’d packed everything methodically. Pajamas were second layer, middle left. His hand found the familiar fabric in two seconds flat.

The Marauder conversation was still circling in his mind like an echo spell.

Furry little problem.
He’ll be out again next week.
Hospital wing—again.

There was something there. Something wrong . Something they weren’t saying out loud — and Lupin had been furious . He’d tried to shut them up.

He stood and moved toward the changing screen, brushing his hand along the bedpost as he passed it. Wood, worn smooth. Everything in this room was marked for him — not with names, but with memory.

He could hear Avery and Mulciber bickering now about Slughorn’s Club. Wilkes had joined in, occasionally dropping some absurd claim about what purebloods did in secret.

“You planning to sleep with that cigarette still stuck to your face?” Severus murmured as he returned to his bed.

There was a faint grin in Rosier’s voice. “Maybe.”

Severus shook his head, running a hand through his hair. His ribs ached faintly, the phantom sting of bruises just beginning to heal.

“Oi, Snape,” Avery called. “You get that Potions essay back?”

“Not yet.”

“Reckon you’ll get another Special Recognition or some crap,” Wilkes muttered.

“Hope you enjoy Slughorn naming his next jam after you,” Mulciber grumbled.

“Snapeberry,” Wilkes suggested, snickering.

Rosier muttered, “That sounds like something you’d find in a fungus drawer.”

They kept laughing. The mattress springs shifted again — someone rolled over. Severus folded his robes carefully over the end of his trunk, sitting back down slowly. His hand curled in his lap.

And he thought again about what he’d overheard.

The timing. The way Lupin disappeared every month like clockwork. The nervous tension in his voice. The way Black had noticed someone was listening. It had been deliberate, that change of tone — the teasing edged toward baiting.

Severus tilted his head slightly, listening to the rhythm of the dorm settling for the night. The others were still joking, still flinging careless insults.

But his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.

There was a secret in this castle. And it was big enough that three boys thought it was funny and one boy was terrified of it being found out.

He didn’t know what it was yet.

But he would.

Notes:

lily and severus are just the cutest and i had to include some fluff for them

i am so buzzed for next chapter😋😋severus does not know what he is about to get into!!

Chapter 10: chapter nine

Notes:

hi so i found out there’s a very high chance i have dyslexia

He didn’t go down to the feast.

The idea of it had flickered once — a passing thought as the bells echoed through the dungeon corridors, and laughter rose from the common room like steam — but it had evaporated before he even stood. Too busy, too loud, too many moving bodies. Too many reasons to look occupied when he couldn’t look at all.

Instead, he stayed.

Evan had paused in the doorway earlier, not long after the torches dimmed to that soft, shifting blue that meant the lake was beginning to press colder against the stones. He hadn’t said anything at first — just stood there, the loose hang of his sleeves brushing lightly at his sides with each breath. The air shifted faintly when Evan leaned his shoulder against the frame.

Then came the sigh. Not exasperated — thoughtful, maybe. Weighted, but not heavy.

“You’re thinking about something,” Evan had said. His voice was low, more observant than accusing. “Don’t get too lost up there.”

Then the quiet click of the door. Footsteps moving away — light and even, the kind of stride Evan took when he’d made up his mind not to push. That alone was its own kind of care.

Now the dormitory lay hollow and still. Stone archways, curved ceiling, all of it swallowed in a soft hush that only deepened as the castle above emptied itself into the Great Hall. Magic hummed through the walls like a heartbeat. Somewhere to the left, the lake creaked gently against the outer stones — a sound more felt than heard, the slow groan of cold pressure shifting against enchanted supports.

Severus sat cross-legged on his bed, fingers curled around a folded scrap of parchment, worn now from being handled too many times. His thumb brushed its edge. Again. Then again.

He’d found it the day before, stuffed inside a battered volume in the Potions section, one of those books so warped with age that the spine had curled inward like a closing fist. Metaphysical Transmutations. Not the kind of thing students tended to read unless they were hunting for something no professor would ever assign. He hadn’t been looking for it. Not really. But some part of him had followed a thread of intent through the shelves, and there it had been.

The note hadn’t been hidden. Just placed. Waiting.

The parchment was dry, almost fragile at the corners. The ink had dulled to a reddish-brown, rusted with time, bleeding slightly at the edges where water or tears or time had blurred the script. The writing wasn’t complete. It looped and broke, paused mid-phrase, continued elsewhere in the margins. Not a spell, not properly — just fragments, impressions. Someone’s forgotten working notes. Maybe someone desperate.

But the last line had lodged itself deep in his mind and refused to move.

He ran his fingers once more across the fold, then set the note down beside him. The book was already open — his hands had found the place easily, page marked with a thin, brittle ribbon that stuck slightly when touched. There was a scent there, iron and must, the way old blood sometimes lingered in stone. Someone had left a trace of themselves on this page — not ink, but salt. Maybe not deliberately.

The passage was short. A third of a page, half-obscured by years of smudged margin notes and one deep watermark that curved in like a bite. The header was simple: Ossilegium.

He traced the word once with the back of a knuckle. Bone-weaving.

It wasn’t in common use. Not any more. But the theory persisted in certain corners — the kind of magic that stabilised crumbling magical structures. Bones as anchoring forms. Spells housed in something physical to keep them from fracturing under pressure. It had been used in spell-bound foundations, old wandmaking theory, necromantic research before it was outlawed.

There were references to permanence. To memory stored in shape. Reinforcement of damaged magical forms — sometimes vessels, sometimes bodies. Sometimes something in between.

It wasn’t meant for the living, not specifically.

But it didn’t forbid it either.

The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders loosened slightly. He breathed in, long and low, and exhaled through his nose. The air in the dorm was colder than it had been earlier. The torches had guttered low in their brackets. He hadn’t noticed.

The magic curled under his skin, warm and unfamiliar — not agitated, not angry. Just awake. Like it had been listening, too.

Then the door creaked.

The noise cracked sharply through the stillness. Severus’s wand hand twitched before he’d even thought to reach for it, his breath halting in his chest.

He nearly jumped — wand hand twitching, breath caught — but the footsteps were too clumsy to be anything but familiar.

“Spooky down here on your own,” Wilkes said as he stepped fully inside, letting the door shut behind him with a theatrical click. “Like a crypt. Except with more footlockers and fewer tortured souls.”

Severus turned his head slightly. “Don’t let the Bloody Baron hear you say that.”

“I’m hoping he does ,” Wilkes replied cheerfully, crossing the room in a few unhurried strides. “Might spice things up. The feast was insufferable. One of the ghosts tried to float through a treacle tart. I think it hurt him. ”

There was a soft thud on the bed — Severus reached out and caught it by reflex. The scent hit first: tart and clean, skin smooth beneath his thumb.

An apple.

“I figured you hadn’t gone,” Wilkes went on, plopping down beside him. “And I figured you wouldn’t eat anything orange on principle.”

Severus sniffed faintly. “They’re not cursed.”

“No,” Wilkes agreed, “but they are pumpkin-shaped , which is worse. I’m convinced the House Elves are conspiring against us. Every dish had a face.”

“Tragic,” Severus murmured.

Wilkes stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands. “You should’ve seen what they made Slughorn wear. Orange robes. Orange . The man looked like a dying sunset. Mulciber said he looked like a cheese wheel with gout.”

“That’s cruel.”

“It’s also accurate.”

Severus took a small bite of the apple. Cold. Crunchy. His stomach, which had stubbornly insisted all day that it wasn’t interested in food, was now re-evaluating.

“Any decent gossip?” he asked, mostly so Wilkes wouldn’t try to fill the silence with more ghost stories.

“Hmm…” Wilkes squinted theatrically, thinking. “Oh. The Fat Friar is apparently mad because he got confused for a table decoration.”

“Understandable.”

“Also,” Wilkes added, “Rosier said if he had to sit through another Hufflepuff rendition of Halloweens of Yore he was going to self-immolate.”

Severus blinked. “He stayed for the performance?”

“Didn’t mean to. Got trapped by Professor Sprout handing out honey cakes. He said it was like being hugged to death.”

There was a pause. Wilkes nudged Severus lightly with a foot. “You alright?”

“Fine.”

“You’re not. But alright.” Wilkes stood with a grunt. “Right. I’m off to see if anyone at this school finds me charming. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.”

“If I come back engaged to a ghost,” Wilkes called, already halfway to the door, “you’re invited to the wedding.”

“Can I bring a date?”

Wilkes snorted. “Only if it’s a banshee. I want someone to scream during the vows.”

The door creaked again, then clicked softly shut.

Severus was alone again.

He turned back to the book, apple cradled in his palm.

 

---

 

He sat cross-legged on the stone floor now, knees aching slightly from the cold. His wand lay balanced across both upturned palms, its weight familiar but oddly inert. Like it, too, was waiting.

The room around him had stilled. The torches beyond the door hissed and popped, but it was distant — distant enough to be forgotten. The dormitory had a way of turning into a cave when it emptied out. The walls drew in. The ceiling seemed lower. The lake murmured occasionally against the stone, but even that sound felt buried, like it was underwater twice over.

He flexed his fingers, once. They tingled.

This was only a test.

Not the spell itself — not the full process. That would be idiocy, even by his standards. He wasn’t attempting transfer. No anchoring, no invocation, no actual tethering. Just the scaffolding. The structure of the charm, the way a frame might be built before anyone considered putting weight on it.

He’d done his due diligence. He had read, re-read, traced it out on parchment three different ways. There were notes from the original caster—half-legible, but meticulous—hidden in the margins of the page he kept returning to. And the logic did hold, even if it whispered instead of shouted.

He muttered through the syllables under his breath, lips hardly parting. No theatrical wand movements. Just sound and breath and the whisper of intention.

“Ossilegium.”

His wand jolted once—just enough to shift against his palms. It bent cold. A pulse, not of temperature, but sensation —wrong and bright and undeniable.

Then it flowed up his arms.

He inhaled.

Not pain. Not yet. But sharpness . Awareness.

Bones.

His bones.

He felt them rise beneath his skin like struts. Long and fine and strange. Each curve and seam. The places where they didn’t quite sit right. Where his wrist still bore the slight bow of old injury, never healed properly. Where his ankle turned in just enough to make walking a calculated thing. Where one rib on the left side jutted forward further than its brothers, pressing against the inside of his shirt like a blade. They were all there, suddenly, vividly — not as concepts, but as reality.

He could feel the humerus meet the scapula. Could feel the hollowness of his marrow, the jointing of each vertebra.

There was something… beautiful in it. Terrible and pure. Like a diagram rendered in light and frost, and he was seeing it from the inside out.

He opened his mouth — to say something, he wasn’t sure what — but nothing came. Just breath, caught and thin.

And then, all at once, came the emptiness .

It was like something had reached through his spine and scooped out everything inside. Not pain, exactly, but absence. A thrum of cold ringing deep through his chest. The magic turned inward and hollowed.

He tried to move. Just to shift his hand, to flick the wand, end it —but nothing responded. His limbs were lead.

The spell hadn’t completed, but it didn’t need to.

His vision didn’t black out so much as tilt . The room fell sideways. His head struck the floor with a dull sound that barely registered.

And then—

Nothing.

 

---

 

He woke to warmth.

Not heat — warmth. Layered, dense. Heavy blankets tucked up beneath his chin, his own pillow beneath his cheek, and the faintest pressure behind his ribs that told him he’d been laid here. Carried, even. He could smell the dormitory: wool, stone, lake-water. Old wood polish. Smoke.

For one blissful second, he wondered if he’d only dreamt it. That the spell had been a fevered invention, or some half-doze theory playing out in the dark of his skull.

Then he tried to move.

The ache arrived all at once. Bone-deep. His entire body lit up with the memory of being hollowed, of his skeleton yanked to the front of his awareness and left humming there like struck glass.

He didn’t gasp — it was more like a staggered breath, dragged through his throat with effort.

There was a second presence. Breathing steady. Paper rustling.

He tilted his head toward it, just enough to hear the shape of the sound more clearly.

Rosier.

Lying beside him again. Not touching, but close. The bed shifted every so often, lightly — the scratch of graphite on parchment, a flex of his shoulder, a breath.

He was drawing. Or pretending to.

Evan didn’t speak for a long time.

Then: “What the hell is wrong with you.”

Not sharp. But not soft, either. Flat. Clipped.

“Merlin, finally ,” Wilkes said from the foot of the bed, voice pitched far too loud. “I was about to start taking bets on whether you’d slipped into a potion-induced coma.”

“Or a self-inflicted one,” Avery muttered from his own corner. “Rosier dragged him up there like a bloody damsel in distress.”

Severus shut his eyes briefly.

Mulciber grunted. “Told you he was too pale to live.”

“ Enough ,” Evan said, sharp enough to slice the air clean.

There was a long beat of silence.

Then the curtains closed again — not hastily, not with annoyance, but slow. Deliberate . Evan’s hand, likely. Pulling them closed one by one. The light dimmed, and the air folded in around them.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Evan said softly.

Severus winced, swallowed. His throat felt like dust. “It was just a test.”

“I know what it was,” Evan said. His pencil scraped a little harder. “And I know you didn’t do it right.”

Severus said nothing.

“You didn’t eat. You didn’t sleep. You stayed behind while we were at dinner, and then you—” He cut himself off. Breathed hard through his nose. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Severus turned his face further toward him. His voice came out quieter than he meant it to. “You stayed.”

Evan didn’t answer right away.

Then, with acid softness: “What was I going to do? Leave you drooling on the flagstones?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were cold. Not breathing right. I thought you’d—” He broke off again. “You’re such a bloody idiot.”

Severus reached out without thinking. His fingers brushed skin — Evan’s wrist — then curled into the edge of his sleeve, the soft weave of cotton that was always slightly too nice to be school uniform regulation. He didn’t know why he did it. Just that something in Evan had twisted, and Severus felt the need to catch it before it turned to something else.

“I didn’t think it would… work that well,” he said.

Evan let out a sharp breath, full of something he didn’t say. He set the sketchbook down on the bed beside him. The mattress creaked.

Then he leaned in.

Severus registered it only as a shift in air and heat, and then Evan’s mouth was on his. No hesitation. Not a brush — a kiss, firm and warm and furious. His lips moved once, slow, then again — and then it was over.

Evan pulled back, breathing a little too hard through his nose.

“You really are an idiot,” he said.

Severus couldn’t reply. His thoughts were chaos, tangled and thrumming. His lips tingled — his hands tingled. His bones, his ribs, the hollow of his spine — everything felt exposed and feverish and alive .

Severus lay absolutely still.

His heart had picked up a bizarre, frantic rhythm that made no sense. His brain tried to evaluate it like an equation: input, output, intent, interpretation — but he couldn’t assign values. Evan’s action didn’t map to any of the expected variables.

A kiss like a shrug.

Severus’s fingers twitched under the blanket. He didn’t ask. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t dare .

Somewhere across the dormitory, Avery’s voice broke through again, barely muffled by his bed curtains.

“I’m telling you. There’s movement. Nott’s brother said things are shifting. Something big’s coming. Something permanent.”

“Could we not,” Wilkes groaned, “plot the rise of wizard fascism while I’m trying to sleep?”

Severus didn’t reply. He barely heard them.

He still felt the echo of the spell — the shape of his bones drawn in magical wire, humming faintly under his skin.

But more than that, he felt the press of Evan’s mouth like a brand. Just a breath. Just contact. But it was still there.

And Evan had gone right back to sketching, like he hadn’t just scrambled Severus’s entire nervous system.

He turned slightly toward the warmth beside him. Said nothing. Let the moment sink into the silence between them, full of questions he didn’t have the courage — or foolishness — to ask.

Notes:

one of my favourite things about severus is how smart he is. but how dumb he is the same time. like he marvels over this brand new spell he found and dissects it like a little genius then goes and experiments it on himself!! with no one else present. he’s so ugh i love him.

also evan?? wtf dude

Chapter 11: chapter ten

Notes:

ok so hi. i know i haven’t posted in a while but i’ve been sooo busy (epq deadlines, end of school activities, ucas applications, birthdays - i’m 17 now!! - and best of all holidays). apologies for the delay in chapters for all of my fics! thank you for everyone leaving comments ahah i see them all (will reply asap). take this chapter as a meagre apology. happy reading!

In the days leading up to the winter break, Evan had barely let Severus out of arm’s reach.

It was subtle, at first — a touch to his sleeve in the corridor, an offhand comment about skipping lunch in the Great Hall, a warm shoulder pressed too casually against his as they sat tucked in the library’s quieter corners. But then it sharpened. Evan refused to let him walk alone to Astronomy; sat beside him even when Rosier joined the Gryffindors at the back of the dungeon to argue over spell recoil theory with Mulciber and Molespar. He brushed off Lily when she appeared at Severus’s elbow between classes with an expression like a drawn breath, and talked so quickly and aimlessly on their way down to Potions that Severus could barely finish a thought.

Severus didn’t mind it. Not entirely. He knew what it was. The days before the holidays always did this to Evan — made him restless, almost nervous, as if Severus might disappear if left unwatched for too long. It was the same every year. Three winters now that they had done this: Evan boarding the train, Severus staying behind.

Lily found it irritating. “I’ve been trying to get a moment with you for a week,” she said one morning, voice low and just bordering on snappish, “and he never leaves you alone.”

Severus had shrugged. “You could always walk with me.”

“I do walk with you,” she said. “He just walks faster.”

They’d made up that evening in the library — Lily sliding a warm mug of spiced cocoa into his hands like a peace offering, murmuring something dry about Wilkes’ inability to tell time. But even then, Evan’s presence clung to them like smoke. He lingered in Severus’s awareness no matter how far off he was, too sharp to ignore.

And now, the morning of the departure, the dormitory was quieter than usual.

Sound moved differently when most of the bodies were gone — less rustle, less echo. Less breath.

Severus sat cross-legged on Evan’s bed, fingers running along the hem of a jumper Evan had stuffed into his trunk, then pulled back out again, then tossed beside him.

“You’re taking this one,” Severus said, tone flat.

“No, I’m not,” Evan replied. He was zipping the side pouch closed. “It itches.”

“You wore it for three days straight last month.”

“Out of spite,” Evan said. “You said it looked dreadful.”

“Well I think it’s quite obvious I’m not the best judge of what looks good, am I?”

“You still said it.”

Severus huffed and folded the jumper anyway. He didn’t hear a protest, so he set it gently on top of the trunk’s contents and pressed it down. Evan’s hand brushed his as he reached for the latch.

There was a pause.

“You’ll be fine,” Evan said, a little too casually. “Without us.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

Evan grunted. “Didn’t say you were.”

But his hand lingered near Severus’s, thumb brushing against his knuckles like he didn’t want to let go just yet. His voice softened as he added, “You’re not eating biscuits out of that tin Pomfrey gave you, are you?”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Swear it.”

Severus tilted his head. “You’re going to make me promise not to eat biscuits?”

“They’re for mana depletion. They taste like despair. If you run out, owl me. I’ll send real food.”

Severus gave a noncommittal shrug. That would require asking.

A faint pause followed — filled only by the creak of the trunk lid, the click of the lock. Then the bed dipped as Evan sat beside him.

He didn’t say anything. Just leaned in a little, nudging Severus’s arm with his own.

“Don’t fall asleep in the library again,” he muttered. “You snore.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

And then, with no warning and no shift in breath, Evan pressed a kiss to his forehead — warm and dry and brief, but more than nothing.

Severus froze. Not out of shock exactly — just the faint hum of there it is again , like a note struck on a piano he hadn’t realised was out of tune. Evan’s touch stayed with him longer than the kiss itself. He felt it in the air between them.

“Try not to hex the fireplace this year,” Evan said. “I don’t think it’s out to get you.”

“Still watching me sleep, are you?”

“Someone has to.”

Then Evan stood, and the sound of his cloak snapping around his shoulders broke the silence.

They didn’t make a thing of the goodbye. Not really. Severus walked him out of the dungeons, and Evan talked the whole way — nonsense about train snacks and which prefect would likely break protocol first on the journey home. Severus didn’t say much. He just let Evan talk.

By the time they reached the front steps, Lily was already there.

“Thought I’d catch you,” she said. There was a crispness to her voice that wasn’t quite unfriendly. “You leaving too?”

Evan said, “Tragically, yes.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“Barely,” he replied. “Think of me as you drown in parsnips and family arguments.”

She snorted. Then, to Severus, gently: “Still not coming?”

Severus gave the faintest shake of his head. “It’s practically tradition now.” Fourth year in a row she had asked for him to come back with her for Christmas. Fourth year in a row he had refused the comfort of the Evans’ household in favour of the quiet cold of an empty castle.

“You know there’s always room.”

“I know.”

She stepped a little closer. Her voice dropped. “Mum said she’d make the whole dinner meatless, just to tempt you. And you could charm the snow off the drive again. Dad still doesn’t know how you do it.”

There was nothing hostile in her voice. No hint of pressure. Just the familiar warmth of Lily: steady, unflinching, trying.

And he hated that she always offered. That she never made him explain.

“You’ve got your own family, Lily.”

“That includes you.”

He didn’t answer that.

Evan cleared his throat, loudly.

Lily gave him a look that might’ve been affectionate, or maybe just exasperated. Then she turned back to Severus and hugged him — quick and tight, her scarf brushing against his cheek.

“I’ll owl you,” she said.

“I’ll always reply.”

And then she was gone, her footsteps crunching in the thin snow on the stone steps. Evan followed after a beat, his own steps trailing behind — lighter, but more pointed. Severus stood still, listening to both of them vanish.

The wind picked up. It curled under the edge of his scarf.

It smelled like smoke. Evan had left it with him.

 

---

 

The castle, with nearly all its students gone for the holidays, settled into a quieter rhythm — like it exhaled slowly, easing the weight of a busy term off its ancient bones. The usual bustle had drained away, replaced by stillness that seemed almost alive in its own way.

Severus noticed it most in the staircases. The usual sharp shifts and sudden jolts beneath his feet had softened. The stairs barely moved now, as if respectful of his careful steps. Portraits that normally grumbled or whispered passed judgment on crowded days were now muted, their voices hushed and reverent, as if they spoke in the kind of solemn tones reserved for grand libraries or silent cathedrals. Even the suits of armor had ceased their clattering games, standing like silent sentinels unnerved by the unusual calm.

He liked this.

Not the cold — the winter draughts bit deep, and he’d wrapped himself in a threadbare blanket, its weight familiar and oddly comforting. Not the loneliness exactly, either. More the vast space left behind when the noise faded. Space to think without interruption. Room to move without eyes tracking or words crowding the air.

And so he wandered.

Some part of him always wandered in winter. Perhaps it was the memory of Eileen’s voice reading softly in candlelight, the scent of herbs steeping in tea, the slow hush of their living room on bitter nights when Tobias was gone. Or perhaps it was habit, now, in this new place where he was always watching his footing, even without sight. He learned by touch, by temperature, by air shift — by the way magic hummed in some walls and not in others.

His fingers brushed the stone as he walked. Rough edges, familiar grooves, the subtle rise of archways. He knew the third step outside the Arithmancy corridor dipped slightly right; that the fourth floor had a patch of warmth near the old tapestry of Blenkinsop the Bewildered — not from a fire, but some old, forgotten enchantment still pulsing like a heartbeat.

His footsteps were careful and quiet, muffled on the stone floors. He took the longer paths between meals, avoiding the few scattered students in the halls. The castle had settled into winter; the air was sharp and clean, biting at his exposed throat. More than once, his fingertips brushed the rough stone of the walls, mapping their ridges and indentations like a blind cartographer. The texture grounded him in a world without sight. Archways passed beneath his hands, stairwells beneath his careful feet, each familiar and unchanged, reassuring in their permanence.

He had to admit, even without Evan’s teasing commentary or Lily’s bright chatter echoing nearby, it wasn’t unbearable being alone. Not yet, at least. Maybe just for a day or two.

The Great Hall felt strange in its emptiness. Mealtimes were sparse affairs now — a handful of early-years, their voices low and cautious; a few older students Severus had no names for, drifting in like shadows. A tense prefect here, a Ravenclaw girl muttering her lessons under breath while nibbling toast there. 

Only half a dozen students remained in the entire castle.
And Severus was one of them.

He didn’t use the Sentius charm. Not lately. Not since that night in the alley. It still twitched under his skin, still called to him like something hungry. But he didn’t draw the wand. Not for something so small as walking. Not when his hands still shook sometimes after.

“Crutch,” he muttered once, when his fingers caught on a chipped section of wall near the charms wing. “You don’t need it. You’re not some invalid.”

It didn’t sound convincing.

He stopped apologising for feeling tired weeks ago — but the fatigue curled in behind his ribs all the same, dull and constant. Mana depletion, Pomfrey had called it. Dangerous in some. More dangerous in him. He hadn't told her everything, of course — not about what he saw when he used it, or what it took when it pulled. He’d only said enough to earn the biscuits and the warning.

Now, he kept the charm buried. Like the rest of it.

And still, something in him felt... worn. As if he’d been hollowed out and stitched back together too quickly. He'd slept badly three nights in a row. Dreamed of smoke again. Hands in his hair. Firelight on his skin.

He tried not to think about it.

Instead, he wandered the halls, fingers trailing stone, lips dry from the cold, and mind drifting back to the library — to the book he hadn’t returned.

It had been misfiled behind three copies of Transfigurative Lineages and Ritual Bones , and the spine was all but unreadable — but the magic in it had hummed like a tuning fork when he opened the cover. Some old theory on residual traces: spellwork left behind on materials that had once absorbed magic deeply enough to “remember.” And there, near the back, barely legible: Prince .

He hadn’t dared ask about it yet. Hadn’t even told Lily. But something in the pages stuck with him. Like the spell was still bleeding through the parchment.

The Marauders had noticed him reading the book before — probably why they used it in that ridiculous hex-trigger prank in the library last month. Typical.

He didn’t trust them. Any of them. 

His fingers curled briefly into a fist. The scar on his wrist from earlier that term — when he’d used the charm in panic and paid for it — still itched when he was cold.

He wandered until lunch. Then, avoiding the main hall, he cut through the narrow passage near the Trophy Room and tucked himself into the small study nook behind the Charms corridor. It was warmer there, just barely. The fire had been left lit in the grate — probably by a house-elf — and someone had left behind a mug half-filled with something sweet and spiced.

He didn’t touch it.

Instead, he settled on the windowsill, spine pressed against the stone, and opened the book he’d brought: On the Metaphysical Flow of Magical Currents: A Study of Pre-Wand Channeling. It was dull, but technical, and he needed the distraction. His fingers moved over the embossed diagrams, frowning at the clumsy renderings of node points and runic tethering he was struggling to follow. Not because the material was beyond him — far from it — but because the author had bungled the theory, relying too much on clumsy alchemical models to explain a transfer that was clearly metaphysical in nature. Severus found the errors maddening.

His fingers gripped the spine of the book tightly as he reread the same passage for the third time, voice low and dry as he muttered his scorn.

“False equivalency,” he said, biting the words off in clipped syllables. “You can’t tether ethereal flow through a strictly material component. That’s not how metaphysical seepage works. Idiot.”

He flipped the page sharply, tearing the corner. A brief scowl tugged at his lips.

He wasn’t tired exactly — though a strange hollow feeling lingered beneath his ribs, a subtle dryness, as if some vital substance had been drained and not quite replenished.

Faint footsteps echoed somewhere nearby. Light. Hesitant. Uneven. They moved past and away, but Severus didn’t try to place them. He couldn’t see, after all — and guessing at their origin wasn’t worth the effort.

Probably just that twitchy second-year who kept darting through the library, always in a hurry, as if they’d left something forgotten and urgent behind.

Severus didn’t care.

He closed the book with a soft thud into his lap, lifted his face toward the chill drifting in the window, and said nothing.

 

---

Without the usual echo of a hundred voices, the silence became something structural — a vast hollowness that clung to the rafters and pooled between the tables. A few scattered sounds broke it: a fifth-year clearing his throat too loudly; the anxious, bird-like murmuring of three second-years; the distant scrape of a fork against ceramic.

And Severus, of course. Silent as ever.

He’d chosen the farthest corner of the Slytherin table, practically pressed up against the stone wall. The bench was cold beneath him, the scent of scorched porridge and peppermint clinging faintly to the air. He’d just located a slice of toast, overdone and brittle in his fingers, when he heard the voice.

Too bright. Too close.

“Mind if I sit?”

He didn’t bother lifting his head. No good pretending he hadn’t heard. Too late for a quick exit now.

“It’s a long bench,” he said flatly.

A pause — then the unmistakable shuffle of robes as someone slid onto the bench far too near.

“I’m Gilderoy. Lockhart. Ravenclaw. Second year.”

Severus chewed. Swallowed. “Congratulations.”

A laugh followed, sharp and too loud for the size of the room. Severus suppressed a flinch.

“You’re Snape, right? I thought so! I’ve heard about you. You’re in Slughorn’s advanced potions group, aren’t you? That’s brilliant.”

He focused on buttering the toast. Slowly, precisely. If he didn’t respond, maybe the boy would take the hint and choke on his own enthusiasm.

“I read your notes once,” Gilderoy went on. “Well — I mean, I found them. Not yours personally. Someone said they were yours. You’d rewritten half the instructions. All these corrections in the margins…”

Severus paused, knife halfway to the toast. His voice, when it came, was clipped. “That was private.”

“Oh —! No, I mean, someone copied them. They said—”

“Don’t make a habit of reading things you don’t understand.”

Silence, thank Merlin.

Or nearly.

“…You really don’t talk much, do you?”

Severus took a slow sip of his tea. “And yet the castle still stands.”

Another breathless laugh. “You’re funny. I knew you would be. Not in a, you know, jokes way. But you’ve got that… brooding, clever air.”

Merlin preserve me, Severus thought. He reached out for what he hoped was the jam jar, spread it in a vaguely toast-shaped smear, and resisted the urge to stab his fork directly through the table.

“I stay for the holidays too,” Gilderoy said breezily, as if they were sharing some private affliction. “Mum says I’m too sensitive for travel. Dad agrees. Honestly, I think they just want the house quiet. But I don’t mind. Hogwarts is better when it’s empty, isn’t it?”

“It’s quieter,” Severus replied, which was not the same thing.

“I like that you’re quiet. It’s sort of mysterious. Like you’re always thinking about something important.”

Severus set his toast down. “I’m thinking about how long it will take for you to run out of breath.”

The boy laughed again, entirely unaffected. “You’re not very chatty, are you?”

“And you’re very loud.”

“Thanks!”

It wasn’t a compliment. But apparently no one had informed Gilderoy of that fact.

He kept talking, undeterred. A winding tale about his dormitory — how cold the stones were, how the bed curtains didn’t quite close, how he was sure the castle was playing tricks on him. Severus made no effort to respond. He just ate, slowly, with the grim focus of someone ignoring a buzzing fly.

And still — still — the boy didn’t leave.

By the time Gilderoy finally paused long enough to take a bite of his eggs, Severus had drained the last of his tea, pushed his plate aside, and stood.

“You’re going already?” Gilderoy asked, surprised.

“I was here before you,” Severus said.

“I’ll walk with you—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Maybe later then!” Gilderoy called after him, far too cheerily. “We could go to the library together! I’ll be there all afternoon!”

Severus didn’t answer.

He swept out of the hall in brisk, confident steps, the chill of the corridor rushing to meet him like a second wind. The enchanted snow beyond the high windows continued to fall — silent, immaculate, unbothered by the noise of human stupidity.

He didn’t smile. But something in his brow relaxed, just slightly, now that he was alone again.

 

---

The library was quieter than usual — and that was saying something. With most of the school gone, it had taken on an almost sacred hush, thick as the dust that curled in the sunlight through high, frost-rimmed windows.

Severus had found his spot again: back against the wall, knees drawn up, book balanced at an angle only comfortable if you knew how to hold it without needing to see the diagrams. He’d read the same section three times. The fourth time he rewrote it in his head, just to see if it made more sense that way.

It didn’t.

So when the creak of the doors opened behind him and a too-light, too-hopeful set of footsteps pattered inside, he knew exactly who it was.

For God’s sake , Severus thought.

“Oh,” said Lockhart’s voice, far too cheerfully for the setting. “You’re here again. Brilliant.”

Severus did not dignify the observation with acknowledgment. His fingertips trailed the bottom edge of the page, as if turning it might drive the boy away.

“I brought my theory journal,” Lockhart said, dropping into the chair beside him with the graceless confidence of someone who had never once been told no . The bag he slung onto the table let out a mournful squeak — probably a self-inking quill trapped under too many loose scrolls. “I thought maybe you could look at it.”

“No.”

“Just the first few pages?”

“No.”

“I’ve got a diagram of a defensive charm that reflects spells back at the caster. I called it Voltarum . Rolls off the tongue, don’t you think?”

Severus turned a page in his own book, slowly. “Sounds like a shampoo.”

“I haven’t tested it yet, obviously,” Lockhart continued undeterred. “But I think with the right wand movement—”

“You’ll set your eyebrows on fire.”

“That only happened once.”

Severus paused. Raised an eyebrow in the vague direction of the boy’s voice. “You’ve done this?”

“Well — no. But I drew it properly. Look.”

Something dropped onto Severus’ lap. He flinched.

“Here! You can borrow that one. Took me all term.”

Severus didn’t move at first. The object — a notebook, by the feel of it — was bound in something sticky, and the edges were rough with what seemed like glitter. He grimaced, wiping his fingers subtly on his robes. The thing had the unmistakable stench of glitter glue and cheap ink. He could feel dried clumps along the edge — ridged lines, doodles raised like welts across the cover. One corner had bent backwards like a curled crisp.

“Don’t worry if you don’t follow the math at first,” Lockhart said quickly, already leaning on the edge of the table beside him. “It’s experimental, obviously. Mostly theoretical. But there’s a real logic to it once you get past the dueling bits. Well, the dueling is part of the theory, actually. I worked that out in the Astronomy Tower.”

“I’m not reading that.” Severus said flatly.

“You haven’t even opened it.”

“I can tell what’s inside.”

Lockhart didn’t answer at first. A quiet shuffle. The sound of pages turning. Then: “I made notes in sparkly ink,” he said, tone hopeful. “But only because I ran out of normal ink. You don’t have to judge the glitter part.”

Severus bit back a sigh. The glitter part was currently seeping into his robes.

“The bit on page nine is probably the most important. Or maybe fifteen. Actually — no, twenty-seven — that’s where I define Memorino . It’s a spell I came up with for, you know, catching memories. Like if they’re about to slip out of your head.” He paused, then added proudly, “The name is Latin. Well — sort of.”

Severus let his fingers rest against the edge of the page. The paper was dented and uneven — not printed, but hand-written. A few raised ridges suggested messy doodles or diagrams. He could feel where the ink had bled through. The front cover was lumpy under his palm. He imagined it looked exactly like it felt: obnoxious.

Still, despite himself, he didn’t push it away.

Lockhart leaned over, and Severus could smell the sugar from his breakfast still clinging to his sleeve.

“Did you want me to — I can talk you through it!” Lockhart offered brightly. “I mean, the diagrams are hard to understand. That one there’s me dueling a memory-wraith. I made up the wraith part, but the stance is real. That’s based on classical posture theory — see, right there where I’ve got both wands—?”

“You drew yourself holding two wands,” Severus said flatly.

“Well. Yes.”

Severus sighed. “Is this meant to be a journal or a fan letter to your own imagination?”

“Both?” Lockhart grinned. “It’s an evolving project.”

He meant it. Every word. There wasn’t a scrap of irony in his voice. Just pure, unwavering belief in the strange thing he’d made.

Severus should have been disgusted. He was disgusted. But he was also… curious. Against his better judgment.

“You tried to build a memory charm without arithmantic grounding?” Severus asked.

Lockhart perked up. “You can tell?”

“It’s awful,” Severus muttered. “Like a house built upside down.”

“Okay but—does the house work ?”

“No.”

“Could it, though?”

“No.”

A pause. Then Lockhart leaned in and whispered, “What if I added a swirly line to the end of the wand movement?”

Severus finally turned his head toward him. “What do you think a swirly line does?”

There was a hopeful pause.

“It makes it fancier?”

Severus let out a long, slow breath. “You’re going to end up in the hospital wing.”

“But with style,” Lockhart said brightly.

From across the library came a sudden, sharp snap of a book slamming shut. Madam Pince’s voice followed, crisp and cold:

“Mr. Lockhart, if you raise your voice one more time in this library, I will hex your tongue to the spine of that abomination you call a journal.”

Lockhart immediately clamped both hands over his mouth.

Severus, despite himself, smirked.

A minute passed in relative quiet. Lockhart began to scribble in his book again — Severus could hear it. The scratch of quill. The occasional under-breath hum of approval at his own notes. It was irritating. It was very irritating.

And yet…

“You should try cross-referencing your memory spell against fourth-year theory texts,” Severus said after a moment. “Rote retention and concept anchoring aren’t interchangeable.”

Lockhart squealed like he’d just been handed a birthday cake.

Severus immediately regretted saying anything.

 

Notes:

ok so hope lockhart didn’t freak you out lmao. lockhart’s obviously a walking disaster in canon, but i’ve always thought he wasn’t completely stupid — just deeply insecure, painfully performative, and better at branding than actual magic. in this version, he’s not a fraud yet — just a second-year with too much glitter glue and not enough shame. he’s irritating, wildly persistent, and occasionally (accidentally) insightful. which, you know, is fun to write.

unfortunately for him, severus isn’t having a single second of it.

 

also anyone reading ‘no defence left’ i would love to hear what you want to see in the fic (like ending wise) because i am second guessing myself and writers block is hitting hard.

Notes:

as this fanfic is about a blind person, and i am not, i have done as much research as i can into the experiences of a blind person. although there will be certain things that will apply differently to severus, as he is a wizard, and also because there are some things that relate later to the plot line, please do let me know if i make a mistake with anything or write anything that offends anyone. this is obviously an unlikely thing to happen, but i am writing this just in case i cause harm to any community.

i have added the pairing! i changed my original plans for the fic (storyline wise) so i decided to tag it anyways as it will be revealed in the next couple of chapters!

rambling, i apologise. tumblr is goodd4yss.

chapters will get longer, i promise :)