“Severus?” Her voice was worn, the hours awake taking its toll. Her footsteps broke the silence though she tried her best to stay quiet. She felt that way every day now-- the pressure to keep quiet. It felt as if one misplaced step or ill-timed word would have her under deep scrutiny. The halls were so silent; She felt as if she was haunting them.
“One moment, Y/N,” She heard his voice rise to instruct, followed by a hushed conversation. One with Dumbledore. Or rather, his painting. Even in death he had a tight grasp on her life. On her husband’s. On Hogwarts and the whole wizarding world. The conversation must have closed; Her husband was stepping down the stairs of the office, his robes trailing behind him grandly. He looked like a Headmaster, in her eyes. Grand, mysterious, wise-- very wise. He was too mature for his age, always had been. She allowed herself, for a fraction of a second, to remember him then. Them then. What great potential they held. Now they spent their days holed up in Dumbledore’s office, hiding from the very wizards they were in control of.
“How much longer?” She asked, her hands immediately snaking around his forearms, fingers fidgeting with his buttons and robes. Something she did when anxious, something she does all the time now.
“The Dark Lord is becoming increasingly vigilant over Hogwarts,” His voice was so cold, Y/N felt like smoke would billow out of it like on a chilly day.
“What does he want us to do?”
Severus hummed. He had an exact answer to her question. He was holding it in his mouth like it would flicker out if he just held it long enough.
“Gather the students,” He grabbed her hands and placed them at her sides. He doesn’t want me to touch him. “We must find Potter.”
He nearly turned around before she caught his face. Her fingers splayed out over his skin, her eyes tracing every feature. Solemn eyes met solemn eyes.
“I love you, dear,” She choked out. There was a fault in her bravery. After years of deception, of loss beyond measure. The death of many friends, the stress manifested in her temples and spine— Her husband was the sane one. He reassured and listened and advised. His touch held solace. He didn’t touch her anymore.
He refrained from any interaction, anything inherently intimate. In public and in private, the two were closer to fellow Death Eaters than spouses.
It didn’t seem to affect him-- He continued his duties perfectly. On both sides, he was a faithful follower with a gleaming track record. Y/N couldn’t comprehend it. She was so full of rage, of fear, of a bubbling brew of both that racked her body with guilt. Who was she to feel such a way? She had few run-ins with Dumbledore, fewer with the Dark Lord. If her husband can bear the burden unhaunted, then she’d have to as well.
“Yes, Y/N,” He’d respond every time. Neither an agreement or disagreement. Simply an acknowledgement of her love. It used to make her cry; Now it fills her with joy.
The feeling surged in her chest, filling her limbs down to her fingertips and toes. Gathering the school was a simple task compared to others she had been required to complete in the recent years. The Great Hall was silent except for Y/N and her husband’s footsteps. They walked the length of the room, Y/N close to Severus’ left shoulder, angled slightly behind. The students stared at the stone ground. The days of smiles and banter in the halls had passed; No students dared to look Professor Y/N Snape in the eyes anymore. It used to make her sick with what once was; Now it reminds her she is a pinnacle point in a narrative larger than her.
Her husband, with a command over the students never seen before by Dumbledore or any other previous Headmaster, addressed the room. The faculty, the students, and the Death Eaters at the forefront of the Hall. He threatened, underscored the severity of hiding Potter. She used to tremble at the thought; Now she bears the weight of its severity with poise.
It was so jarring to hear the boy’s voice again. It almost didn’t register in her mind. She turned to see him, swathed in the Gryffinor robes she met him in. Six years ago. She had to disregard the smile that her muscles instinctively formed. She frowned. Her eyebrows contorted in a drastic angle. She was seething with anger that the boy before her would be dead in a matter of hours. And all she could do was stare at him.
He drew his wand. She did the same, her husband matching her form. The two stood against the boy who lived as if they would strike. Minerva, bless her heart, must’ve believed they would. She pushed Potter out of the way, taking an expertly concise position against them. She saw her husband falter and draw his wand back. Y/N leaned into her form. Her anger would prevail in this duel, she knew that much. Years of silent suffering would blast from her wand if she let her guard down for just one moment. She wanted to scream as she cast, put all of her energy into it. Her husband’s rigid stance reminded her of the situation at hand. They were to duel Minerva, a fierce teacher and even bolder friend. A mother to all students, even to the Snapes.
The couple extended their wands, blocking Minerva’s first attack.
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