I tried to make a little Severitus comic. Let's just say I am not built for comics. I'm already inconsistent, and this just makes it atrociously obvious. Plus, I can't write for shit.
The scene idea was that Harry has been sent to live with Severus and is surprised at how different he is, not only to Harry's relatives but to how he is at school.
(Panel 1)
Harry: Will he be just as bad as he is at school?
Memory of Snape: Stupid boy! Out my way before you cut yourself!
(Panel 2)
Harry: This is such a bad idea...
(Panel 3)
Snape: *yapping*
Harry: No belittling or shouting... yet...
(Panel 4)
Harry: Wait, I get to sit AND eat with him? It looks good too...
(Panel 5)
Snape: What are you doing?
Harry: The cleaning...?
Snape: You don't do that here.
Harry: Oh.
(Panel 6)
Harry: I can't believe it. No shouting, no name-calling, no hitting. Not even when I dropped a few peas! It's so odd. Why is he suddenly so nice to me?
Basically, Snape refuses to be a monster in his own home.
I FINISHED!!! PLEASE SUBSCRIBE AND LIKE FOR MORE ANIMATICS 🤍✨ the support helps!
I really love the talk around harry having similar behavior and mannerisms as petunia and UGHHHH Anyways he deserves love and a family! Loved working on this 🙂↕️!
forever ago I came up with this idea where James, Lily and Severus own/frequent a ski lodge and raise Harry to learn both skiing and snow boarding
but i just never drew it
uh so here we go with some sketches
I learned to ski when i was little cause my mother insisted, and I really loved it. she learned when she was a kid because she just lived around a bunch of mountains
so lets just pretend Lily and Severus grew up somewhere with diverse terrain and also learned together as children
skiing has definitely earned the reputation of being a rich people sport/activity, and modernly I think ski lodges have a lot of nerve to charge what they do, but I never really saw it as rich people exclusive because of my mother
however, James certainly does it as a rich-people-sport
Lily and Sev reap the benefits of his bank account 1000%
I hope to do more with this au! but seen as it took me like 2 years to actually draw this idkkkk
One of my favorite moments from the Harry Potter movies is when Hermione smacks the hell outta Draco and Ron and Harry are like "!!! youre so smart i wouldnt have thought to just hit him!!" because like. i think i could win a magical fight but just head-butting them
anyways, thats kinda what inspired this, Snape being a little over-protective and deciding Harry needs to learn more then just magic defense. they are in the woods because... i wanted to draw a landscape OK (10 likes and ill draw them HAVING A PICNIC)
also an alt background!!!
annnnnddddddddd the reference
i havent ever really posted my art before, but oh my gosh!! ive gotten so much attention on my last 2 posts-- thank you guys so much it means the world !!! ive loved seeing like-minded found family lovers enjoying my stuff hehe
based on my lowkey horrifying experience with a guy a few months ago. i was like #lovebombed into oblivion, and amidst the intense affection he declared that he loved that I was trans (NOT AS LIKE A CHASER, IN A SWEET WAY, TO ALLEVIATE MY INTENSE GENDER DYSPHORIA.) and then promptly ghosted me, i shit u not, a week later.
SO TODAY WE'RE HEALING WITH SOME T4T NOTTPOTT.
T4T, if you're unfamiliar with the term, its just a relationship between two trans people, or the preference of a trans person to only date other trans people. this experience is definitely one that made me consider going t4t !! but like i said, healing.
I also just need to fill my little nottpott heart, I've finally introduced Theo in UTC but him and Harry remain platonic for the majority of the fic (or like, at least half, still working it out) so i need them to kiss.
enjoy my loves
Theo pov? 👀
modern au, t4t nottpott, 19/early 20s Harry and Theo, discussions/thoughts of self-harm, gender dysphoria, background severitus
word count: 2,427
---
Theo, sometimes, had a hard time looking at himself. As if his reflection was charged with electricity, and triggered whenever he laid eyes upon himself. He'd wince and flinch as if there was a physical jolt of warning. Do not look.
Which, in his opinion, would be completely fine if such electricity wasn't also charged in looking down at himself. His body, arms, legs, stomach, chest.
Electrocution.
Maybe longing for something that isn't there. Maybe hatred for what unfortunately was.
He could hardly wash his face, or shower. Change clothes, use the bloody bathroom without being reminded of exactly how he existed physically.
How he looked, how he was seen.
Theo, sometimes, had a hard time existing in his skin.
"Sometimes"—when he thought about it—really meant all the time.
So more than anything, he attempted not to think about it.
He would close his eyes to avoid whatever it was that seemed to grate at him. He showered staring at the ceiling, neglected to wipe away the condensation on the mirror as he washed his face, or did his hair. He covered the mirrors in his room, and shut his eyes as he changed, cringing as he squeezes into his binder, shuttering while putting in his packer.
It was miserable—but he didn't think about it.
Much.
Today something must be in the air. Today all Theo can think about is how much he hates himself.
He woke up and caught a glimpse of himself in the corner of his mirror. The shortest look at his growing hair, sunken eyes, and dark circles started some sort of internal spiraling.
His chest aches, and Theo knows he probably shouldn't wear a binder today. But the idea of going without makes his stomach turn so he hunts for the tight piece of fabric anyway.
It turned out all of his favorite clothes, all on the baggier side, were too dirty to wear. No one told him about the debilitating, never ending laundry pile-up when he turned twenty, but it always sneaks up on him.
Begrudgingly, he takes note in his phone to go to the laundromat later and finds something a little too tight for taste.
He tries to look for the bright side, he's seeing Harry later and Harry used to love this shirt on Theo. When they were sixteen and lab partners in Physics, it's got Spider-Man on it, Harry confessed that comics were a rare pleasure for him so it was something nostalgic, sentimental.
Theo usually loves the way Harry looks at him.
Today he doesn't know if he'll be able to stand it.
But he refuses to cancel, knowing theres no real reason for such dramatics.
He simply texts Harry about his laundry, warning him that he will be carrying his stupid little backpack-hamper all the way to Harry's house and demanding the other boy help fold.
Now that he thinks about it, Theo could change into one of the clean shirts while in his boyfriend's company.
He packs his things and leaves shortly after this revelation.
—
Theo knows Harry can tell something is wrong with him. He's been snappy and short with the other boy since arriving at Spinners End.
Snape was out for the rest of the evening, and was generally fine with Theo coming over. The man's vague threats if Theo were to "defile his son" weren't as effective when Theo had seen the man in bright fuchsia slippers. Harry had gotten them as a joke-gift for Father's Day a few years prior—attempting not to "make a big deal" out of the holiday, though he confided in Theo how much he wished for Snape to reciprocate (which the man clearly had)— and it seemed the man cherished the obnoxious footwear.
Snape was a big softie.
Not that there was much defiling going on today anyway. Theo had, quite awkwardly, dodged Harry's few attempts to kiss when he arrived. Turning away his head, squirming out of Harry's light touch.
It was sometimes hard—impossible—for Theo to experience affection when he hated himself so viscerally.
It came in waves, jolts of hatred and— and these terrible thoughts.
Theo wished for control over his body more than anything. How it acted, how it looked— how he acted and looked.
Cutting his hair stopped being enough. Going on T wasn't doing bloody anything, it seemed. He wanted to bisect his chest himself, some days. Theo would draw a dotted line across his chest, a rectangle over his left forearm, wondering if he wished hard enough that he would wake up with the right parts.
His chest and arms were selfish for taking up so much skin anyway.
He refused to damage the chunk of skin on his arm, though, just waiting—always waiting—for the day it might be put to good use.
Even if Harry was wired the same way—wrong—they didn't really talk about being trans. It was just something they knew about one another, took comfort in for safety reasons. The words always got stuck in Theo's throat when he even considered discussing his gender. Something in him was convinced that such conversations were meant to be private, kept to himself. As if he ever gave the idea much genuine, unbiased, contemplation.
What was there to say anyway?
I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself.
Shit conversation if you ask him.
A part of Theo is just as privately terrified that he experiences being a boy incorrectly—that this deep self-hatred doesn't mean a thing in respect to his gender at all. If he tells harry, or anyone, what if they look at him differently? With immense concern— with something to correct.
If Harry doesn't feel this way about how he is, where does that leave Theo?
Double broken? Double wrong?
So Theo keeps quiet, dodges kisses and hand holding, foot tapping, and knee touching.
How was your day, Theo?
Fine.
Have you eaten today?
Yes.
How long have you been binding?
Drop it.
It would be easier if Harry wasn't so tactile.
But Theo wouldn't trade that trait in him for the world.
—
Harry would never say it, but Theo knew that his attempts to avoid Harry's affection were beginning to hurt him. Which, was the last thing Theo wanted.
But how could he let his lovely boyfriend look at him, kiss him, hold him with such tenderness? Of which he didn't deserve? want? need? accept?
He can tell that Harry is on the verge of asking him about it.
Theo doesn't really think he has the words to answer.
Most of all he was anxious that his self-hatred might be misinterpreted as a dislike of Harry. They were in the same exact shoes. The dilemma of passing, if Theo were really to point out every flaw in himself, unload all that he constantly thinks about fixing, he knows all Harry would do is recognize the same traits in himself.
But Theo didn't hate those parts— he empathized with them, adored them, caressed the lingering softness of his boyfriends skin, the light tone of his voice. Traces the soft curve of his jaw, and buried his face into Harry's chest and belly.
How could anyone explain a thing like that?
The contradiction made his own head spin.
Harry is laying on top of Theo, full body weight compressed against him (all Theo can stand,) head curled up in the crook of his neck. His breath tickles Theo just slightly, but he hardly minds it.
Theo loves the rhythm of Harry's breathing. The comfortability of it. He knows that Harry doesn't really bind, doesn't really have to. He mainly wears sports bras and repurposed KT tape. So, his breathing is painfully regular.
He doubts Harry gets any stabbing pains in his ribs, twinges in his back, short huffs of breath.
Theo only just quells his jealousy.
He had been over for several hours now. On weekends like this, Theo loved to exist with Harry. Largely silently, or otherwise talking about everything, nothing. Harry would ask Theo to paint his nails, and they would light vanilla scented candles to mask the unfortunate smell. Crack a window. Listen to the world outside, but focus on each others breathing, humming.
Then they would lay together in Harry's little twin bed. Sit against the wall beside one another, watch something from Harry's laptop, take turns playing Minecraft because neither of them could stand a split screen.
Today they had only done Theo's laundry, sitting on opposite sides of the bed, and collapsing together once the task was complete.
The silence, for the first time in a while, carried tension.
Theo felt as if his self hatred was a tangible thing, buzzing in the air. The crackle of static electricity.
He feared, irrationally, that this lightning would strike Harry.
Maybe that Theo would burst into tears, or shout, or do something dangerous and all that would be left is Harry, terrified, or crying, or asking Theo to leave. Saying that Theo exists all wrong.
Likely feeling how tense Theo had gotten, Harry breaks the delicate silence.
"Theo," Harry breathes out, pulling himself up so he can look at Theo, arms braced between Theo's own. "Will you tell me whats wrong?"
Theo can't look at him. Avoids his face entirely, turns his head to the wall.
"I wish I could tell you—"
"You can; I promise to listen."
Theo almost says that's not enough. But that wouldn't be fair to Harry. Or true. Harry is enough, always— its Theo who can't open his mouth and have a bloody conversation.
Harry deserves so much better than Theo—someone with emotional range and openness.
Harry at least deserves Theo's effort.
"It's just bad today." Theo chokes out. He can already feel his face heating with shame.
Theo sits up, subtly pushing Harry father away from him so they both sit separately on the bed. Theo doesn't want to be looked at, let alone analyzed.
"What is?" Theo imagines Harry's eyebrows are furrowed. If Theo wasn't so distressed, he might spare a thought to how sweet Harry looks when he's confused. Might reach out a thumb to dissuade the wrinkle between his eyes.
Theo also realizes Harry likely knows what Theo means and is seeking for clarification rather than the outright answer.
Theo gestures towards himself. "This? uh— everything? Existing, waking up— its just." Theo doesn't want to say that he hates it (he does,) "It doesn't agree with me. At the moment."
Theo's speech is riddled with awkward pauses. His thoughts haven't been deciphered into words until they are deliberately spoken. It's the most frustrating thing in the world. It's the only way he was going to say anything.
Harry reaches out a hand to rub Theo's shoulder or back. Theo sort of flinches, jolting away from Harry's hand.
"Please don't touch me—right now." Theo asks a little desperately.
"Okay," Harry says simply, softly.
The silence returns as Theo tries to shake the feeling of being touched. It wasn't Harry, not at all. But being touched—it makes Theo conscious of his skin. It prickles under the attention, making Theo aware of how the fabric of his shirt, the fabric of his binder, wrapped around his torso. How the hair at the back of his head met his scalp, how the blanket tangles between his legs holding him in place.
Several minutes go by as Theo tries to shake this feeling, this awareness, and get a hold of the conversation, grasping at the words that had already been spoken, begging not to forget them.
He wants to try, for Harry.
Maybe a little bit for himself.
"It's ha-rd for me," Theo swallows thickly, "to let you…like me—or touch me— when I feel this way. I feel like, like I want to tear off my skin and take a cold shower.
"I want to destroy every mirror at my flat and—and cut off all my hair with the shards of glass.
"I feel so— helpless. I don't like to be seen like this. Or, at all.
"But at the same time— I cant imagine being anywhere other than right here."
Theo thinks he's shaking. He doesn't talk like this ever, he half wonders if he believes what he's saying—if he'll look back and agree with himself. But the idea that these thoughts, which come from somewhere so raw, could ever be wrong. He's more disbelieving of that idea than regretting his choice of words.
There's another round of silence between them.
Theo doesn't mind it. He has always loved to exist with Harry. That hasn't changed now. (Won't change, ever.)
Having the room to think before speaking is the closest to freedom that they have.
"Theo— I don't really know how to say this properly." Harry worries his bottom lip. "I love the fact that you're trans."
Theo feels gut punched, but Harry continues.
"We don't talk about it, but we still know how each other feels. I know its hard, i know. I want to be here for you however you need me."
Theo recognizes Harry's deliberate effort not to touch Theo throughout his whole sentiment. He's twisting his hands together in his lap, and Theo wants to kiss him.
Theo reaches for Harry's hand and just holds it for a while.
They both know there's nothing substantial to be done, they're both as far as they can be, currently, into their transitions. But Theo knows there's something significant here. Honesty and kinship.
Harry does know. Isn't that the whole point?
"I don't know what to say." Theo murmurs.
"Then don't." Harry replies as if it's the simplest thing in the world.
Theo reckons it probably is.
—
"You know you can always sleep over," Harry says softly. They're laying together again, side by side for once.
Theo nods.
"I know." Harry found a way to mention it every time Theo was over. He knew the other boy worried about him living alone, flat to himself. "You worry too much."
"M'not worrying," Harry yawns. "I want to spend the night with my boyfriend, hardly a crime."
Theo knows that Harry is smiling.
He smiles too.
"Mmm, I think Severus might kill me."
"No, no, no, I would protect you," Harry assures him. "He secretly likes you, swear."
"Yeah, Snape's a big softie."
Harry huffs a laugh.
"Don't think I can protect you from those fighting words, Theo."
Within moments, the two boys both fall asleep, limbs tangled, and hearts full.
fin.
notes:
wont lie, writing this gave me crazy flashbacks, but I truly think that to heal something you have to forgive yourself for experiencing it, and for fixating on it from then. For me, really analyzing the memory, and deconstructing it is how I am able to move on.
This moment is obviously made more tender by the fact that both Harry and Theo are trans, and the sentiment of Harry loving Theo's transness comes from a place of loving his own, and sharing the notion that you can love being trans as much as you can be loved for it.
reminder that i do drabble requests! yall istg i'll write anything u say
A Year in Unlearning the Trauma of 10th Grade Chemistry
everyone say "hi strange brown haired boy"
also little aesthetic mood board, my UTC Pinterest board goes crazy
read here:
Chapter 3. Something of a Staring Problem
--
preview:
Above all, it felt as if he was grasping at the sand of an hourglass, his chance of enjoying the class slowly seeping through his fingers and down some bottomless pit. Harry loved science, always had. He remembered small glances at television programs as he grew older, shows that featured test tubes and colorful liquids, chemicals and bubbling explosions. Chemistry.
A part of him had always been waiting for his turn to participate.
A foolish part, it seemed.
--
as i mentioned, this chapter did make me cry as i wrote it
it's just really taking me back, but this is the point, and we persevere
Chap 9 What a Sanctuary (for the sceleratus) in which Snape reveals to Harry what he himself has to do with the prophecy
If you want context for the black dog (NOT Sirius) and what Mcgonagall is doing here then you gotta read the fic :3
I decided against this alternate version of the chapter because 1. I wanted to add in Mcgonagall, spice up the story with canon characters and 2. too much too quickly. Out of character for the Snape I’ve written and doesn’t give way to later dialogues I have in mind for the next chap.
But another hug between them would be so nice :’} after the one in the last chap, I don’t think we’re getting another one very soon
