Summary: Kinktober 2025, Day 5 - Husband/Wife kink
Pairings: Severus Snape x f!reader
Warnings/tags: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, MINORS DNI - Soft Severus, thoughts of marriage, Severus gets hot and bothered by someone calling you his wife
A/N: I struggled with naming this one, but overall I’m happy with how it turned out. I had a dream about Severus being married and just couldn’t shake it out, so consider this the result of that. Can either be viewed before or after the war :)
Masterlist
The streets of Hogsmeade were busier than usual for a chill autumn evening. All around you were students with their Hogwarts cloaks, darting from store to store, villagers idly chatting along the sidewalks, and leaves leisurely floating through the gentle breeze. You had convinced Severus to slip away with you, to have an afternoon just to yourselves and away from all the papers that needed grading over the weekend.
It had been a little over three years since you started this relationship with Hogwarts’ great potions master, and while the question of marriage had never been brought up, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t thought about it. The thought of Severus as your husband never failed to make you feel giddy with excitement. You wouldn’t dare push Severus towards the thought, though, knowing he’d bring it up whenever he was ready.
You linked your arm with his as you both wandered into The Three Broomsticks, seeking refuge from the chill autumn wind. His black cloak billowed dramatically behind him, as it usually does, before finally resting along his figure once he was out of the cool breeze. Madam Rosmerta acknowledged you both with her usual warm smile. “Ah, Professor Snape! And your lovely wife as well. Welcome back!” she greeted you as she wiped down the bar. “The usual table by the fire?”
Your steps faltered. Wife? You never told her that you were married before. Severus stiffened beside you, his grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly. You glanced up at him, expecting a sharp correction like he would carry out to his students, but he merely nodded curtly. “Yes, that will do.”
Rosmerta hurried off, oblivious, while you slid into your seat at the table across from the brooding professor. As you admired the warmth of the fire, you couldn’t help but notice Severus’s expression. His brows were furrowed, his dark eyes distant in thought.
“Wife?” you teased softly after the inn keeper had delivered you both a drink, nudging his knee under the table. “I’m surprised you didn’t correct her.”
He took a slow sip of his firewhiskey. “It seemed unnecessary. The woman prattles enough without encouragement.”
But there was something in his voice, a warmth beneath the drawl, that made your heart skip a few beats. You studied him, the way the firelight softened the sharp lines of his face, highlighting the stray silver strands in his black hair. “It didn’t bother you?”
He set his glass down with an audible clink. “Should it have?” he asked slowly, his gaze meeting yours. “We’ve been together long enough that assumptions are… inevitable.”
“I suppose you’re right,” you replied, finally taking a sip of your own drink.
—
Severus barely closed the door of chambers before his lips were on yours, his kiss hungry and fierce. His hands pulled you closer, pressing you against him as he mapped the curve of your waist, the lines of your shoulders. In his mind, though, he thought about what it would be like to be married to you. To wake up to you each morning in his bed, to have your laughter echoing through these cold stone walls, a ring shining on your finger as a declaration of his devotion. The thought made him deepen the kiss, a low groan escaping him.
You smiled against his lips, your own hands reaching up to undo the ungodly amount of buttons he had along his robes. “You’re imagining it, aren’t you?” you asked, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “Tell me, my love, what would it be like if we were married?”
He exhaled sharply, his dark eyes meeting your own as he busied himself with the fastenings of your own robes. “You’d be insufferable,” he said, but his tone was fond and tender. “You’d fill my shelves with unnecessary knick-knacks, beg that I leave my papers to come read with you only to wind up talking about my day instead, and overall, you’d be like an annoying bug that wouldn’t leave my office even if the door was left open.”
You laughed softly as he slid your robes off of you. “You’d love every second of it, though.”
He didn’t deny it, instead, he finished undoing the rest of the buttons of his own robes, letting them meet with yours on the stone below. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring your taste, savoring the way your body arched into his.
You guided him back, pressing him down onto the satin sheets of his bed, and he let you. He let your hands slide down his body and settle on his waist. He let you crawl your way over top of him and straddle his hips. He let you tease him by rubbing the fat head of his cock against your clit. And finally, he let you toy with his chest as you sunk down onto him, taking him inch by inch into your wet heat. His hands gripped your hips, gently guiding you as you rode him.
“You’d make such a good husband,” you gasped out, nails clawing for purchase against his skin as he buried himself to the hilt.
He groaned, low and deep in his throat, as his cock throbbed deep inside you. His own nails dug into the flesh of your hips, leaving small crescent marks in their wake.
You teased him by sliding up, stilling when it was just his tip left inside you, before circling your hips down with a breathy moan. “Such a good husband,” you repeated, continuing your teasing. “Letting me have you like this, letting me take care of you like a good little wife.”
A breathless whimper escaped his lips as his hips bucked up to meet your own, hands guiding you to go faster. A loud moan slipped past your lips as he angled himself to go deeper, to press against the bundle of nerves that rested inside you with each desperate thrust. “That’s it,” he cooed, fucking up into you with a precision that left you breathless. “My beautiful wife, taking my cock like you were made for it.”
You swore your heart stopped when he finally called you his wife, heat gathering quickly in your core. You leaned down, bringing him into a sloppy kiss, his tongue clashing with your own. The sounds of your wetness filled the room with each thrust, only adding more fuel to the fire in your belly. “Severus,” you gasped against his lips, hands tangling into his hair and gripping desperately at his shoulder.
“Yes, wife?” he hummed, his lips grazing your ear as he spoke, as if he knew the effect that one word had on you. Turns out, he did, for in the next moment he guided your hips as you came around him with a cry of his name. “That’s it, good girl,” he coaxed, gently guiding you through your orgasm as he picked up the pace, now chasing his own high as his thrusts grew sloppy. “You’re going to be a good little wife and let me fill you, yes?” he asked, titling your head up to meet his gaze, his aching cock throbbing against your pulsating walls.
You nodded, too blissed out to respond, but that was all he needed. He spilled into you, burying himself as deep as he could possibly go, a strained whine escaping from his lips. For a moment, you both stayed like that, joined together and breathless, basking in the afterglow. His hands rubbed soothing circles into your hips, before he pulled you up for another kiss, slow, sensual, but just as passionate.
“You did so good,” he praised, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. Gently, he slipped out of you, maneuvering you to rest beside him on the sheets. As if on instinct, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into your chest. Your fingers ran through his hair, which was now tangled as well as greasy, but you didn’t mind in the slightest.
“You treat me so well, my dear, my sweet husband” you hummed contentedly, smiling down at him as you pulled him in closer. Severus sighed, relaxing into you and your touch. Perhaps the idea of marriage would be coming sooner than he had thought, because for once in his life, he finally felt cared for, loved, and, dare he say it, happy.
Pairing: Fred Weasley x hufflepuff!reader
(works for any house really, except gryffindor for story purpose)
Summary: stuck in detention with Fred for a prank you never did, grants you the deal of a lifetime. Fred would help you get with your crush, Oliver Wood, and you get him with his, Gabriella Moon, in time for the Yule Ball. Though, as you spend more time teaching each other how to "flirt", complicated feelings start to arise.
Wordcount: 6.8k (got carried away and kinda wrote a mini fic 😭🙏🏼)
———
“This is entirely your fault,” you snapped, bending down to scrub at the sticky residue on the stone floor. “I had nothing to do with that prank.”
The potions storage room air reeked with the scent of something foul, probably from whatever concoction had spilled from the shelves earlier today. All thanks to that stupid explosion caused by none other than the twin's prank just outside the room.
You gestured around at the remnants of the prank—green goo still dripping from the shelves, a set of abandoned dungbombs rolling near the base of Snape’s desk.
Crossing your arms, you huffed as you glared at Fred, who was leaning against the wall with that insufferable smirk, clearly enjoying your misery.
Fred chuckled, tossing a sponge into the air and catching it lazily. “Yeah, yeah, tell that to Snape. You just happened to be there, hands covered in fluorescent goo, looking guilty as hell, which might I add, doesn't help with your case.”
“I was cleaning up the mess, Fred, not causing it” you gritted out, shoving the bucket closer to him. “Unlike you, who just stood there laughing while George ran for his life.”
Fred grinned, bending down to soak his sponge in water. “Ah, Georgie. Quick on his feet, that one. Maybe you should take notes for next time.”
Lucky for George, he managed to escape Snape's fury, leaving the stupendous detention task of reorganising and cleaning the entire potions storage room to the two of you.
“There won’t be a next time because I don’t do pranks,” you retorted. “Unlike some people.”
Fred gasped, pausing from squeezing the water out of his sponge, “No pranks? No mischief? Merlin, what a dull existence.”
You scowled, but your lips twitched. “Not all of us live for chaos.”
“You sure? Because you seem to enjoy my company a lot for someone who claims to be innocent,” he teased, turning his attention to scrubbing the fluorescent goop from the floor.
“Oh, shush If I weren’t such a good person, I’d leave this room right now and tell Snape about the other pranks you and George are planning.”
Fred turned to face you, holding back a doubtful laugh as he momentarily stopped scrubbing, “You wouldn't dare, Y/L/N.” his tone sprinkled with a hint of mockery.
You rolled your eyes, dipping your sponge back into the murky water. “Unfortunately you're right.”
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Because you secretly like me?”
“Because I’m not a snitch,” you corrected smugly.
____
An hour later, you were balancing on a stool, reaching for a jar of pickled salamander eyes while Fred stacked vials below. You glanced down at him, waiting for him to pass you more vials for the higher shelves.
A small played on his lips, Fred exhaled softly before handing you another vial, “Alright, since I do feel a tiny bit bad about dragging you into this, I’ll make it up to you.”
You raised your brow suspiciously. “How?”
Fred’s smirk returned. “The Yule Ball's coming up, right? I’ll help you get with whoever you want."
"In return, you promise not to rat me out about, oh, I don’t know, the prank in the Great Hall last week. Or the one from two days ago in McGonagall’s class. Or the—" He continued but you interjected swiftly.
Your eyes widened slightly, finally registering what he just offered. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” he said, placing another vial on one of the lower shelves. “You name the bloke, and I’ll be your personal matchmaking genius.”
"You're kidding." You pressed your lips together, skeptical.
"Am not." He affirmed, "Go on, the look on your face says you have someone in mind Y/N."
A slow grin spread across your face, but you hesitated. "No one in mind." You shrugged.
Fred folded his arms, eyeing you up and down before tilting his head to the side, "I'm sensing...someone....taller than you?" Yeah, no kidding.
Without thinking you retorted, "Yeah obviously he's taller than me." Your hands flew at the speed of light to cover your mouth while turning to face away from Fred.
You hoped to hide your flushness, but you ended up losing your balance on the stool in the process.
"Merlin, don't tell me you're quite literally falling for him." Fred quickly held your waist, steadying you before you could meet the ground.
You grabbed his shoulder for support before adjusting yourself and returning to your respective task of arranging the vials on the upper shelf.
You hadn't planned on telling anyone about your secret crush on Oliver Wood, but here you were, letting these words slip aimlessly out of your mouth.
Fred took your silence as an answer, curiosity lingering in the air.
"Ah, so there is someone on your mind." He pressed, "And who’s the unfortunate sod you fancy?"
You paused, feeling the heat of his gaze from below, "Oliver Wood..." You mumbled all too softly; even the house elves, with their sharp hearing abilities, wouldn't be able to decipher what you said.
Exhaling, you got down from the stool, standing in front of Fred and avoiding eye contact at all costs.
He took slow tentative steps toward you, bending down to your level so he could hear, "Come again?" You could feel his breath on your skin.
Your eyes found his, not registering how close he was, "Oliver Wood." Your face tainted a light shade of red.
Fred choked on air, a loud chortle escaped him, "Wood? The Gryffindor Captain, Mr. ‘Quidditch is My One True Love’?"
"Shut up," you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks. You placed a hand on his chest and shoved him away playfully, "Don't tell anyone! I'll vanish off the face of this earth if you do."
Fred laughed, shaking his head. “Blimey, you’ve got high standards.”
“I barely know him, but he’s just—” You sighed wistfully. “He’s so kind and driven and—”
“Obsessed with Quidditch?” Fred interjected.
“Yes, but in a dedicated way,” you said dreamily.
Fred snorted. "Merlin, alright, fine. I’ll help you. But just know that if I have to listen to you swoon over Wood for the next month, you owe me more than just detention duty."
You beamed. “Deal.”
“Good. Because I might need your help, too.”
You tilted your head, furrowing your brows. “With what?”
Fred leaned forward conspiratorially. “Gabriella Moon.”
"Gabriella? As in, my Gabriella?"
"I didn’t realise you had ownership over her," Fred mused. "But yes, your Hufflepuff friend."
You nodded, grinning. "Oh for sure, I can definitely help with that. Piece of cake."
Gabriella was in your house, a sweet and kind Hufflepuff, and you got along with her well. Setting her up with Fred should be a simple, easy, task.
"Alright, Weasley. You’ve got yourself a deal."
Fred held out his hand, and you shook it—sealing a pact neither of you realised would completely change everything.
"Our deal." He affirmed.
____
The deal meant spending more time together. At first, it was simple things—giving each other tips, practicing flirting, and being seen together enough to spark curiosity.
One evening in the Great Hall, Fred joined you at the Hufflepuff table. Your friends sat with you, but you were so engrossed with Fred, that everyone seemed to disappear into the background, feeling as though it was only the two of you in the hall.
Fred leaned in with a smirk after placing a dinner roll on your plate, which he knew you enjoyed pairing with butter. "Alright, say I’m Oliver—how would you charm me?"
You exhaled dramatically. "Fine." You turned to him, putting on your best smile. "Hey, Oliver, fancy seeing you here. Do you always look this good after practice?"
Fred chortled, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice. "Merlin’s beard, that was atrocious."
You gasped, smacking his arm. "It was not!"
"It was!" Fred wheezed, clutching his chest. "Try again, but maybe without sounding like a lovesick poet."
You scowled but tried again. "Alright, then. How about this—‘I hear you’re the best Keeper Hogwarts has ever had. Think you could keep me?’"
Fred blinked, then groaned throwing his head back. "Oh, that was painful."
You shoved his shoulder, laughing. "I hate you."
"Sure you do," he teased, winking. "Now, do I get a turn?"
"Go on, then," you challenged, crossing your arms.
Fred turned, propped his elbow on the table, and smirked. "Hey, Gabriella," he began, "are you a Snitch? Because you’ve got me chasing after you."
You stared at him, face scrunching up in disgust. It was as though you had just witnessed a crime.
He wiggled his eyebrows before taking a mouthful of peas, chewing as he awaited your response.
You burst out laughing. "Oh, that’s horrible. No wonder you need my help."
Fred's mouth dropped, "Excuse you, that was a good chat up. Thank you very much."
You both laughed, completely unaware of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs watching the way you two bantered—how Fred’s eyes softened when you laughed, how you bit your lip when he grinned.
You weren't super close to Fred, just casual friends, but you had to admit, these few recent days had you seeing him in a different light, he was more carefree around you, cheery, and you felt yourself coming out of your shell, all thanks to him.
You were confident in approaching Oliver now, and all the more excited for it.
____
"No, no! Merlin, Fred, you're going to scare the girl away if you look at her like that." The next few days were all about perfecting your tactics, anything to impress your targets, of course.
"Like what?" He sat beside you on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. It was a Saturday, and naturally, most students were either at Hogsmeade, outside, or sleeping in, leaving most of the space to the two of you.
"Again! Again..." You waved your hands, ushering him off the couch. "Pretend I'm Gabriella, and I'm sitting on a bench somewhere nice. You've just walked into the place, and you see her."
Fred straightened his shirt, retreating from the couch, before strolling over to you again, a devious smirk painted on his face, his hair slightly tousled and messy. He held his chin up high, and his arms swayed beside his lanky figure as he approached you.
"Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!" He beamed, pretending to act out the scenario.
"Wrong." You corrected, "Not Y/N, Gabriella." You flashed your brows, and he exhaled, walking away to take his place once again.
He strolled to you, once more, "Gabriella! Haven't seen you in a bit! What brings you here?"
You nodded, indicating he was doing a decent job so far, encouraging him to continue.
Fred plopped himself beside you, your knees were touching and he extended an arm around you.
"I"m good! This is my favourite place to unwind actually." You fake-mocked Gabriella, pretending to be her in this situation.
"Well, then I guess you'll be seeing me here more often, darling." Fred leaned in, you could feel his body heat against you, and you blinked before shaking your head.
"Darling? You barely know the girl!" You chuckled, and Fred's eyes glinted with awe as you threw your head back, he had not realised it, but your laughter ignited a warm honey like feeling in his chest.
"Fine, what about love? Baby? Babe?"
"No no, save those for when you're actually with her, but I suppose 'love' is a good place to start."
"Alright, love." He teased, and you playfully smacked him but an idea popped into your head, and immediately, you got into character.
"If you say so, Oliver." You pretended to act as if you would in this scenario with Wood.
Fred, still seated next to you, glanced down from your eyes to your lips.
You leaned in, tilting your head and gazing from his left eye, to his lips, then to his right eye. You smiled sweetly, blinking slowly as you gave Fred your full attention, staring at him with doe-like eyes, "So, Oliver, how was quidditch practice today?"
Fred gulped, eyes blinking rapidly as he coughed, "G-Good."
You smirked, lowering your voice, "I'm sure it would've been better if I was there with you." You bit your lip as you glanced at his lips.
"You should come to the next one." Fred responded softly, smiling as he leaned in, ever so slightly, one arm still wrapped around you, and you were fully within his proximity.
You could feel your breaths against each other; his scent crept its way to your nose, and you scrunched it. He smelt like fresh grass on a hot summer's day and clean laundry in the fresh breeze, something you'd never noticed before.
There was a moment of comfortable silence, but the portrait door clicked open, and some students returned from their trip to Hogsmeade.
"That was, uh, something I'd say if I was with Oliver." You quickly dismissed this, leaning back to a comfortable distance. Fred cleared his throat, and removed his arm, "Yeah, that was good. See, told you I was a good teacher."
You scoffed, "You? Please that one was all me."
"S'pose you are getting pretty good at this, annoyingly so, in fact." He hummed and you mouth dropped slightly,
"Is that a compliment?" You beamed, wiggling a happy dance in your seat.
"Don't get too cocky Y/L/N, I have yet to see you interact with him." Fred laughed, attempting to hide his awe for your little dance.
____
Days passed, and you found yourself spending an increasing amount of time at the Gryffindor table, supposedly to get closer to Oliver. But somehow, you always ended up next to Fred, bickering, laughing, sharing food.
People noticed—Hermione tried, and failed miserably to hide her excitement for you two, George outright smirked, Ginny started whispering to Harry, smiling at the thought of the two of you, Ron was amused at how Fred could pull someone as gorgeous as you.
Only you and Fred knew about your deal, to them, they saw this as a newfound friendship, alliance, even...romance? Hermione seems to think the latter describes your relationship perfectly.
You brushed it off, for you knew that you were only helping each other, and once the deal was over, you would go back to normal.
The topic of quidditch was no foreign topic at this table, Harry making remarks about how he'll confront Malfoy, Angelina and George talking about the Nimbus 2000, Oliver and Fred discussing a new game plan.
"Hey Y/N, why don't you come watch us at practice today after lunch, it'll be fun." Oliver invited you, and you blinked in surprise.
"I'd love to!" You chimed, "How could I pass on a chance to support the best quidditch team at Hogwarts?"
Oliver beamed, laughing softly at your enthusiasm, "Ooh careful now, don't want Hufflepuff's quidditch team to hear that now do ya?"
"Consider me an ally of both teams." You chuckled, and he grinned, smiling warmly at you.
"Surely you become an honourary Gryffindor for the day?" Oliver raised his brow, before taking a bite of his toast.
"Won't miss me too much when I switch back to Hufflepuff would you?" You teased.
"Then I'll just ask you to join Gryffindor again."
You were about to pour yourself some orange juice, but Oliver moved at the speed of light, "Here, let me." He poured a glass for you, then one for himself. "Fred? Some for you too?"
"Nah mate, I'm pretty full."
Fred silently watched the two of you interact; a part of him was happy and proud, seeing the way you effortlessly interacted with Oliver, but there was this foreign feeling inside him. Like a splinter poking him from the inside, if that were even possible.
His eyes darted from you, to Oliver, then back to you.
Each time you paid attention to Oliver, laughed at his quips, his charm, a small part of Fred wanted that attention from you, again.
He wanted you for himself.
Fred shook his head, dismissing all these thoughts, where were they even coming from? He knew one thing thought, he was being silly thinking about you like this.
However, Gabriella was starting to become a long-forgotten thought.
The only person consuming his mind lately, seemed to be…you.
Fred exhaled, taking a sip of his water, hoping to refresh his mind from whatever nonsense he thought about.
It didn’t matter anyway because after this deal was done, and you were happy with Oliver, that was it. You’d go your separate ways, well, mostly. That was, after all, the whole point of you becoming close with Fred.
"By the way, is it alright if I bring a friend?" You asked Oliver.
"The more the merrier!"
"I'll bring Gabriella." You whispered trying to contain your excitement, nudging Fred who was seated beside you.
He was quickly snapped out of his thoughts, "Oh, yeah, that'll be great."
____
Later that afternoon, you sat in the stands with Hermione, Gabriella, and Ginny, watching Gryffindor’s practice. Oliver was in his element—focused, determined, calling out plays.
Your eyes were glued to him, who looked impossibly handsome as he soared through the air, his hair ruffled by the wind. He turned, caught your gaze, and waved with that signature kind smile of his.
Your heart stuttered and a faint blush crept on your cheeks, moments like this only pulled you in deeper.
Part of the reason you fell for him, was that one day you were lost and he helped you find your way to class. Being younger than him, he felt the duty to lookout for his juniors, he was patient, kind and made you feel right at home when you felt lost. His kindness was just so endearing.
"Go Oli!!" You cheered, and Oliver waved at you again.
"Nicknames already?" Hermione, seated next to you, smiled knowingly and you chuckled as a response.
"Fred looks really determined today, isn't that a good look on him?" You nudged Gabriella, hoping to steer her focus onto Fred.
"Yeah, he does look kinda cute." She agreed, grinning up at him. "Also, thanks for inviting me Y/N, this is really nice." Gabriella turned to you, smiling sweetly. She was a kind soul, much like you, always helping others and making sure everyone felt comfortable. Of course guys would fancy her.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Fred. His red hair caught the sunlight in a way that made it seem almost golden, his strong frame relaxed but still commanding attention as he sat on his broomstick, laughing with George.
There was something about him today—maybe the way his sleeves were rolled up, or the effortless confidence he carried. And for some reason, your found your heartpace steadily increasing as you continued observing him.
No. No, this was about Oliver. You shook the thought away and focused on the Gryffindor Captain instead.
Moments later, Angelina, Oliver, and Katie flew over, beaming. “Oi, you lot! Come play a friendly match with us!” Angelina called, gesturing eagerly.
You hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know... I’m not really—”
“Come on, it’s just for fun,” Oliver encouraged, flying closer. His eyes met yours, playful and inviting. You wanted to impress him. So, against better judgment, you stood and dusted off your robes. The four of you made your way down to the grassy field, and used some spare brooms.
Ginny, Hermione, and Gabriella exchanged amused glances but joined in as well.
You borrowed a broomstick—the nearest one, which happened to be Fred’s. "Can I?" You smirked, turning to Fred who took a quick break, reaching into his bag for his bottle.
"Yeah yeah, if you break it I'll crack your head." Fred teased, before chugging his water. With that, you kicked off the ground, feeling the rush of wind as you soared into the air.
The game was lighthearted, filled with teasing and playful competition. You and Oliver found yourselves in the same airspace often, exchanging witty remarks and laughter.
It felt effortless, easy. Below, Fred stood watching, arms crossed, watching in amusement as you 'bonded' with Oliver. Though you weren't sure if amusement, was the right word to use here, seeing how he kept tapping his foot.
“You’re getting the hang of this!” Oliver grinned, flying beside you.
“I’m just trying to keep up,” you joked, glancing at him.
So caught up in the moment, you didn’t notice the Bludger hurtling toward you until it slammed into your shoulder with brutal force.
Pain exploded through your arm, and your broom wobbled violently beneath you. You gasped as your grip faltered, and before you knew it, you were falling.
The ground rushed toward you, and you thudded harshly on the grassy patch. Ouch.
Oliver flew down hastily, but before he could reach you, Fred was already there, kneeling beside you, face pale.
“Are you daft?” he scolded, voice tight. “Didn’t you see that Bludger?”
You winced, trying to sit up. “It wasn’t that bad—”
“Not that bad? You fell from twenty feet up,” he snapped, his hands hovering over you like he didn’t know where to touch in case he hurt you further. “You’re going to the hospital wing.”
Oliver finally reached you, eyes filled with concern. “You alright?” He looked from you to Fred, who was still kneeling beside you, jaw clenched.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, but Fred wasn’t having it. Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, ignoring your weak protests.
“You’re being overdramatic,” you huffed, but your heart betrayed you, beating erratically against your ribs as Fred carried you toward the castle.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he shot back, striding forward without a second glance at Oliver, who remained standing on the pitch, watching with an expression that hinted he had figured something out.
He observed as Fred held you close, furrowing his eyebrows slightly, "Hm." He was so sure that you and Fred were just friends, but the way Fred acted today made Oliver doubtful.
The others stayed back to practice, you assured them that you were fine, and that there was no need to come.
___
Madam Pomfrey fussed over you, muttering about reckless students and dangerous sports as she poured a bitter healing potion down your throat. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a full-speed hit,” she chided, waving her wand to mend the bruising on your shoulder.
Fred stayed beside you the whole time, leaning against the infirmary bed with that signature mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “So, you were trying to impress Wood, huh?” he mused, arching a brow.
“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks warming.
“Not my fault you nearly died doing it,” he teased, nudging you playfully. “Maybe I should give you some lessons on how to survive Quidditch.”
You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I should give you lessons on how to stop being so intolerable.”
Fred smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”
You laughed, the earlier pain fading into the background as the two of you fell into easy conversation.
He stayed with you the rest of the day until you felt better enough to head back to your dorm.
____
The next day, the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match had the entire school buzzing with chatter. The game was brutal, with Slytherin coming in close, though Gryffindor still came out victorious.
The moment the Snitch was caught, the stands erupted into cheers, the players celebrating mid-air before descending to the field. You watched Fred among them, his face lit up with triumph. When his eyes met yours, something unspoken passed between you.
And you weren’t so sure anymore if Oliver Wood was the one making your heart race.
You, Hermione and Gabriella made your way down to the team, "You guys smashed it out there." You chimed, clapping for the them.
"Couldn't have done it without your support." Oliver walked over to you, hi-fiving your hand which you extended for him.
"You played amazingly, especially in the second half! Fred—the way you hit the bludger right before it touched the ground, just, wow!" Gabriella beamed, waving her hands around expressively.
"Hey, all in a day's work." Fred expressed, cockily brushing his hands together which earned a giggle from Gabriella.
"You know, you should come to the party tonight, hosted by yours truly." Fred shuffled closer to Gabriella, extended his arms as he gave himself credit for hosting the party.
"More of a team effort actually, he just talks too much." Lee quipped, "But yeah, you guys should come. Gryffindor common room, at 7."
"We'll be there." Gabriella replied for the two of you, twirling her hair as she smiled sweetly at Fred.
You were happy for her truly, especially Fred, who was grinning back at her, engaging in a new conversation about what'll transpire at the party tonight.
You were happy. Yes, you were.
But, does someone who is supposedly happy for their friend, feel a pit in their stomach every time they watch them with their respective crush?
____
"How do I look?" Gabriella asked, gesturing to her outfit, fitted flared blue jeans and a yellow peplum top, with a yellow bow to accessorise.
"You look stunning, Fred's going to love it!" You chimed, "Oh wait, here-" You helped straightened her bow from the behind, "Perfect."
"Look who's talking, Oliver's going to swoon over you when he sees you in that black dress!" Gabriella stood beside you, looking in the full body mirror, shaking with excitement for the party.
The two of you made your way over to the Gryffindor common room, met with a few ravenclaws and fellow hufflepuffs by the portrait entrance.
It was no surprise that the common room was alive with celebration and merriment. You and Gabriella stepped inside, immediately greeted by George and Lee, who enthusiastically showed you around.
"Welcome welcome! You guys look great!" Lee hyped you two up, always the enhusiast.
Laughter, chatter, and the warmth of victory filled the space. As your eyes scanned the room, they landed on Fred and Oliver by the fireplace, who spotted you and beckoned you both over with bright grins.
After a while of lively conversation in the group, you and Gabriella naturally parted ways—her heading away to the couch with Fred while Oliver guided you to where his friends stood.
You chatted and laughed, but something felt off. Your attention was divided, and no matter how much you tried to focus on Oliver and his friends, your eyes kept finding Fred’s.
Across the room, you noticed his eyes constantly meeting yours, just as much as yours longed to find his.
You were snapped out of your gaze when one of Oliver’s friends playfully nudged you, shoving a drink into your hands. “Come on, have some firewhiskey on me! You’ve got to celebrate properly!”
"Oh wow, where'd you manage to get that?" You asked, curious as to how he managed to sneak in alcohol. Granted, he was older than you so it was fair to assume he was more daring when it came to liquor.
"I have my sources." The guy wiggled his brows, "Come on, drink up Y/N, join us!"
You hesitated. “I’m good, really.”
“Oh, don’t be a buzzkill. Just one!” He pushed again, grinning as if it were a challenge.
“I said I don’t want to.” Your voice was firmer now, but he rolled his eyes.
Oliver sensed your discomfort and interjected swiftly, “Knock it off Felix. She doesn’t have to drink if she doesn’t want to.”
"Alright alright, you're just a wee girl after all innit." Felix chuckled, "More for me then."
Wee girl? Merlin, who does he think he is? You scoffed to yourself, shifting closer to Oliver.
Still, the group laughed it off, and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, wanting to be anywhere but here. You excused yourself quickly, heading upstairs to a quieter gryffindor study room.
The party noise faded, and you sank into one of the couches, taking a deep breath.
A knock came at the door, before it slowly opened.
Truthfully, a wave of relief washed over you when you saw Fred entering, his usual smugness replaced with something softer. “Saw Felix being a git, it's safe to say he won't ever bother you again.”
Fred's implication that he had a word with Felix made you all the more relieved, you exhaled softly, nodding.
You smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
He stood at the doorframe for a second, inspecting your state before slowly walking over. The couch dipped upon the weight of him as he sat beside you.
“You okay?” He nudged you with his body gently.
You nodded, looking forward though you felt his gaze on you. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”
He listened intently, offering you the silence you much needed after the earlier commotion.
There was a pause before you turned to face him, “How’s it going with Gabriella?”
Fred shrugged. “Good,” he lied, then exhaled. “Alright, fine. She’s nice, but I think I bored her to death. She’s talking to Neville about some plants now.”
You chuckled. “Plants are fascinating.”
“To you, maybe. Not exactly my best topic,” Fred admitted. "Might buy a bouquet or two, but other than that I'm clueless."
"If you do, red roses are the way to go. She loves them, practically every girl does."
"Including you?"
"I adore them. Sounds a bit basic but they're a classic for a reason, they're just so...romantic." Your eyes glistened as you spoke about roses, dreaming of the day someone would buy you flowers.
"Noted, I'll pass a good word to Oliver." Fred chuckled, smiling at the way your eyes lit up, but his smiled disappeared when you frowned, a sigh escaping your lips.
“I think I’m losing it with Oliver. I feel like a total idiot for not drinking in front of him and his friends."
Fred shook his head. “Nah, you’re not an idiot....maybe a little, but not a full blown one." You slapped his arm playfully, but he continued, raising his hands in defence, "If anything, that makes you better than them. You don’t need to do anything to impress him, so what if you don't feel like drinking?”
"I don't think I'll face him again, if his friends hate me, he'll probably grow to dislike me." You groaned, burying your face in your hands.
"Nothing a little flirting can't solve," Fred was optimistic, attempting to cheer you up in this moment of despair, "Next time you see him, get more touchy. When you laugh, place a hand on his arm, lean on him, lean in to him...y'know, the usual."
"Ugh, in front of his friends?" You grumbled.
"All the better, shows you've got game." He continued to give you tips on how to approach Oliver again later, helping you plan your next move.
It was only fair of you to return the favour, leaning in slightly. “Right, so, lean in when you talk to her, like this,” you said, demonstrating the closeness.
Fred swallowed, blinking at you. “Like this?” He mimicked you, your shoulders were touching all the more, your face near his neck, his mouth a few inches away from your forehead.
You nodded, voice softer now. “And maybe say something like… ‘Your eyes are a remarkable shade of hazel, I never noticed how stunning they were until up close now. They sparkle beautifully in the moonlight, yet they manage to shine even brighter when you're caring.’”
It was meant for Gabriella. But as you spoke, something in your chest tightened. You were speaking to Fred. Really speaking to him. His hazel eyes met yours, and he leaned in once more.
His mouth parted slightly, as his eyes darted to your lips then back to your eyes. You found yourself leaning in too, your breathing became heavy.
Your heart felt like it was going to pounce out of your chest with the rate it was beating.
The air between you stilled as you both realised the weight of your words.
Before he could respond, the door creaked open. You and Fred jumped apart just as Oliver and Gabriella entered, looking at you both in confusion.
“There you are, we were wondering where you two had vanished off too.” Gabriella remarked, her eyes darting from Fred to you.
Your heart raced and Fred's face flushed a shade of red. Though completely innocent, if felt as though you were caught doing something you weren't supposed to be doing.
Flustered, you quickly went to Oliver, while Gabriella made her way to Fred.
The rest of the party carried on, fun and lively, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that lingered. No matter how much you tried to focus on Oliver, your gaze kept drifting back to Fred.
____
The anticipation leading up to the Yule Ball had everyone on edge. With the Yule Ball near approaching, the talk of the castle revolved around the ball; students asking each other to the dance, flowers being exchanged, and whispers filling the corridors.
You woke up that morning with only one name in your mind—Fred Weasley. It was irritating, really. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him. You liked Oliver. You were going with Oliver. And yet, Fred’s stupid, mischievous grin had invaded your thoughts like an unrelenting charm.
At breakfast, you sat with Gabriella at your usual hufflepuff table, chatting about the Yule Ball. She was gushing about how beautiful everything was going to look, the magical snowflakes, the ice sculptures, the romantic lighting. You smiled along, but your mind was elsewhere. Across the hall, Fred was laughing with George, but every so often, you swore you caught him glancing at you.
After your 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' class, you walked out with Harry, Ron, and Hermione when Oliver approached. He was holding a bouquet of red roses, his confident smile making you a blushing mess.
"Y/N," he said warmly, holding out the flowers. "Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?"
You paused, then beamed. "Of course, Oliver. I'd love to!" He pulled you in for a warm hug while students around you cheered, and whistled loudly.
You were happy—you really were. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? But as you took the roses, a strange heaviness settled in your chest.
Later that day, you found yourself with Fred, helping him prepare to ask Gabriella. You were ranting about Oliver, swooning over how charming he was. Fred, though smiling, was already fuming inside. He wanted to be happy for you. He wanted to believe this was all fine. But every word you spoke about Oliver grated on his nerves.
"Do you think Gabriella will like this?" Fred asked, holding up a box of assorted chocolates, changing the topic quickly after countless nods and 'that's great' as a response to you gushing over Oliver.
You turned to him, considering. "Yeah, she will, can't go wrong with chocolate. You got this, Freddie!"
"Right," he said, running a hand through his hair, looking more uncertain than usual. He was prolonging it, he knew it. He didn't want to ask her. He had someone else on his mind now. But what choice did he have? You were already going with Oliver.
When he finally did ask Gabriella in the courtyard, you cheered for him, clapping as she said yes. It was the right outcome—technically, you both won. And yet, watching Fred grin as he hugged Gabriella filled you with an unexpected wave of envy.
_____
The Yule Ball arrived in a flurry of excitement. You walked down the stairs with Oliver, arm in arm, dressed in your most elegant red gown. Across the entrance, you saw Fred with Gabriella. You both gave each other thumbs-up and smiled, though your smile never quite reached your eyes, nor did Fred's.
As you approached the entrance, Oliver and Gabriella walked in first, conversing with each other, leaving you and Fred standing alone for a moment.
Fred shoved his hands into his pockets before breaking the silence, "So…we both got what we wanted."
You exhaled, forcing a smile. "Yeah…we both got with our dates. All too smoothly, I might add."
You both chuckled, but there was an undeniable weight in the air.
"You look nice, cleaned up well for Oliver eh? Lucky bloke." Fred joked, though his voice was laced with subtle serious undertone.
"Hm, you don't look like a grindylow for once, I see you clean up pretty nicely too."
He chuckled softly, removing his hands from his pockets. Neither of you moved, it was as though a silent message of 'please stay here with me' was shared.
You hesitated before extending your hand. "Thank you, Fred. For everything."
He took your hand, shaking it lightly, but neither of you let go. There was a static, a spark, if you would, something both of you didn’t want to ignore. You both looked down at your touching hands, then back to each other.
Oblivious as to what the other party was thinking, the two of you decided to ignore it, let go, and move on, for the better, right?
"So, that's our deal done then?" you said slowly, though regretting it.
Fred swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah. I'll, uh…see you around school then."
Your heart clenched, but for the sake of the ball, you put on your best grin. "I'll see you around, Fred."
You then turned to Oliver who was a few steps ahead, extending his arm to you. As you walked with him into the ballroom, you turned back one last time.
Fred was still standing there. You waved. He waved back, smiling—but his eyes told you that there was something masked beneath that smile. Gabriella came up to him, and they walked inside together, you turned forward to let them have their moment.
The ball was everything you imagined—beautiful, magical, enchanting. Oliver was the perfect gentleman, twirling you around the dance floor, kissing your hand, your cheek, your forehead, even. He got you punch, held the door open, pulled out your chair, he was the ideal guy, truly ticking off all your boxes.
You smiled at him, but your heart was never quite satisfied, there was a space yet to be filled.
And you hated that you knew why.
Your eyes kept drifting to him. He was dancing with Gabriella, but his mind was far away. Uncomfortable. Lost.
You chuckled to yourself, shaking off this silly feeling, turning your attention back to Oliver, who was explaining about his latest tactics for the upcoming Quidditch match with ravenclaw.
____
Later that night, Oliver walked you back to your common room. He leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of your hand. "Goodnight, Y/N."
You lips curled up into a grateful smile, thanking him for the wonderful evening, but as he turned to leave, something inside you snapped.
If something was wrong, you needed to fix it. Merlin, what's the point in waiting? If something didn't feel right, your gut knew that you had to fix it right away. And this, was one of those moments.
You turned on your heel and ran in your red gown. Through the castle, past students, up and down staircases—you had no plan, no direction, just a need to find him.
Until you did.
At the main staircase, you froze. Fred was at the bottom, looking up at you. He was holding a bouquet of red roses.
Your throat tightened, immediately regretting your decision. "For Gabriella?"
Fred shook his head. "No." He stepped forward, "They're for you."
Your paused, holding your breath as he started walking up the stairs, to you.
"Y/N, I—" Fred hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "I don’t want Gabriella. I don't think I ever did, truthfully. I just…I wanted to be with you. And I was too much of a git to see it until it was too late."
Tears burned at your eyes. "Fred—"
"I don't care about the deal. I don't care about anything except you. I don't want to ever lose you Y/N. And if I have to watch you with Oliver one more time, I think I might actually go mental."
He was close now, the roses in one hand, the other reaching for you.
You let out a shaky laugh. "You're such a git, you know that?"
Fred grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek and tucking it behind your ear. "Yeah. But I’m your silly git, if you'll have me."
You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. You surged forward, crashing your lips to his, your hands gripping his suit. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.
It was passionate, desperate, hungry, everything you had ever wanted but had been too blind to admit. The kiss of two people who were starving and desperately in need of each other. Fred savoured every bit of your mouth, as though tomorrow would never come, ending with a sweet peck.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, a grin sprawled across that deviously handsome face of his, his hair messy but Merlin, it was such a look on him. "So, I take it that’s a yes, love?"
You laughed, leaning your forehead against his. "Yes, you fool."
Fred cupped your face, thumb brushing over your cheek once again. "Best deal I’ve ever made."
summary: Merlin knows that he didn't even have to lift a finger because Y/N Black would always choose Severus Snape in a heartbeat
words: 11.3k
────────── ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ─
Severus Snape sat in the stands, his black eyes fixed on the emerald blur darting across the sky. Y/N Black, his best friend, was captaining the Slytherin Quidditch team for the second year in a row, and as their Seeker, she was ruthless—fast, strategic, and relentless.
He knew her well enough to see past the composed mask she always wore. The way she clenched the handle of her broom just a little tighter and the sharpness in her turns. She wanted to win and she wanted it badly.
Sirius Black, her older brother and his tormentor, was in the Gryffindor stands, shouting her name in a mix of taunts and encouragement.
The contrast between them was stark.
While Sirius played for Gryffindor’s team with reckless, cocky confidence, Y/N’s approach was different. She was focused, calculating, and played to win rather than to show off.
Snape wasn’t usually one for Quidditch, but he had never missed a match she played in. He would never admit it, but watching her chase the Snitch, defying gravity with a smirk on her lips, was one of the few things that made Hogwarts bearable.
A flash of gold appeared near the Gryffindor goalposts, and without hesitation, Y/N shot forward, her broom slicing through the air. Snape leaned forward instinctively, heart pounding despite himself.
“Come on, Black,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the fabric of his robes as she closed in on the Snitch.
The Gryffindor Seeker, a wiry seventh-year, was just a few feet behind her, pushing his broom to its limit. But Y/N was faster. Snape had seen her fly countless times, had even watched her practice in secret when she thought no one was looking.
He knew her style. She didn’t lunge blindly for the Snitch. She was patient, calculated.
And then, just when it seemed like the Gryffindor Seeker might overtake her, she swerved at the last second, forcing him to adjust. That split-second hesitation was all she needed.
With a sharp dive, she stretched out her gloved hand, her fingers closing around the Snitch.
The stadium erupted into noise, but Snape barely heard any of it. His eyes were locked on Y/N as she straightened up, wind whipping through her hair, her triumphant smirk unmistakable even from a distance. She held the Snitch high as the Slytherin stands exploded in cheers.
Across the pitch, Sirius Black groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Bloody hell, Y/N! You’re supposed to be a Gryffindor at heart!” he yelled, though there was a grudging sort of pride in his voice.
Y/N turned her broom sharply toward the Gryffindor stands and, without missing a beat, flipped her older brother off.
Severus let out a rare chuckle, shaking his head.
That was Y/N Black. She was unapologetic, sharp-tongued, and effortlessly brilliant.
He found himself smirking as she landed, her teammates swarming her in celebration.
Part of him wanted to go down there, to congratulate her before the rest of Slytherin stole her attention. But instead, he simply watched from his spot in the stands, arms crossed, as she basked in her victory. She didn’t need his words to know he was proud. She would just know.
As Y/N landed, her teammates swarmed her, shouting, clapping her on the back, and ruffling her hair. She barely acknowledged them, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd instead.
Then, without a word, she pushed past them.
“Oi, where’s she going?” one of the Chasers muttered.
“She’s probably off to rub it in her brother’s face,” another laughed.
But they were wrong.
Y/N wasn’t heading for Sirius. She wasn’t even acknowledging the rest of Slytherin’s celebration.
She was walking straight toward the stands, straight toward him.
Severus Snape sat frozen for a moment, his arms still crossed, before hurriedly schooling his expression back into indifference. His heartbeat, however, betrayed him.
Y/N reached him, standing just in front of where he sat, her broom still clutched in one hand, the Snitch resting in the other. She tilted her head at him, her smirk sharp and teasing.
“You gonna congratulate me, or are you too busy sulking about whatever it is that you sulk about?” she taunted, breathless from the match.
Snape rolled his eyes. “As if I care about Quidditch.”
Y/N scoffed. “Oh, please. I saw you watching me.”
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You always do.”
Severus’s grip on his robes tightened, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You fly like an idiot. One wrong move, and you could’ve broken your neck.”
“Ah, so you were worried,” she teased, grinning.
“Hardly,” he muttered, but there was no venom behind it.
Y/N studied him for a moment before extending her hand, the one holding the Snitch. His brow furrowed in confusion as she placed it in his palm.
“A souvenir,” she said, shrugging. “For sitting through an entire match just for me.”
Severus stared at the Snitch in his hand, then back at her. His fingers curled around the cool metal, and for once, he didn’t have a sharp remark ready.
Y/N grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Come on, Snape. Walk with me before the team kidnaps me for some over-the-top victory party.”
And just like that, she turned, expecting him to follow.
With a sigh, one that was far too fond for his liking, Severus tucked the Snitch into his pocket and stood, trailing after her.
As they walked away from the roaring Slytherin crowd, Severus fell into step beside her, hands shoved into his robes. The Snitch sat in his pocket, its tiny wings twitching now and then, but he ignored it.
Y/N strode forward with that effortless confidence of hers, broom over one shoulder, head held high like she owned the castle. And in some ways, she did.
She was a Black, a Slytherin, a bloody brilliant Seeker. Everyone either admired her, feared her, or wanted to be her.
And yet, here she was. Choosing to spend her post-victory moment with him.
They reached a quieter corridor, the distant cheers fading behind them. Y/N finally exhaled, tilting her head back against the cool stone wall. “Merlin, I thought that match would never end.”
“You made quick work of it,” Severus muttered, leaning beside her. “Wasn’t even a challenge, was it?”
She smirked, eyes glinting. “Not even close.” Then, nudging him with her elbow, she added, “You enjoyed it, admit it.”
He scoffed. “I tolerated it.”
Y/N rolled her eyes but let it slide. Instead, she turned to him fully, studying him with an unreadable expression.
“You know,” she mused, “you’re the only one I actually wanted to talk to after that match.”
Severus swallowed, caught off guard. “Why?”
“Because you don’t treat me like I’m some bloody trophy,” she said simply.
“Everyone else is off celebrating me—but you just… I don’t know.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “You see me. Not just the captain, or the Seeker, or ‘Sirius Black’s little sister.’ Just me.”
Severus felt his throat go dry. He looked away, unsure what to say to that.
Y/N didn’t push him for an answer. Instead, she grinned, leaning closer. “So, since you’re such a dedicated fan now, you coming to my next match?”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I must.”
She laughed. It was bright, unapologetic, and it was the kind of laugh that made even his cold, guarded heart warm just a little.
“You must.”
Y/N pushed open the door to an empty classroom, stepping inside like she owned the place. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the stone walls, the only sound the faint echo of the ongoing celebration down in the dungeons.
Severus followed, closing the door behind them. “Skipping the victory party entirely, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Y/N tossed her broom onto an abandoned desk and hopped up onto another, swinging her legs.
“Please. If I stay any longer, they’ll shove Firewhisky down my throat and make me listen to Mulciber’s tragic attempts at flirting.” She smirked. “I’d rather be here.”
Severus leaned against the opposite desk, arms crossed. “With me?”
“With you.” Her voice was softer now, less teasing.
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he looked down, pulling the Snitch from his pocket and watching it twitch in his palm.
Y/N’s eyes flicked to it. “Like it?”
Severus huffed. “You forced it on me.”
She tilted her head. “But you haven’t given it back.”
He hesitated, fingers tightening around the Snitch. The truth was, he liked having it. A reminder that, out of everyone in that bloody Quidditch pitch, she had chosen him to share her moment with.
Y/N grinned, clearly pleased with his silence. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Rolling his eyes, Severus flicked his wand at the candles, dimming them slightly. The atmosphere shifted into a quieter and more intimate setting. The usual playful edge between them softened, replaced with something unspoken but heavy in the air.
She watched him carefully, then sighed, leaning back on her hands.
“You know, for someone who ‘doesn’t care about Quidditch,’ you sure looked invested today.”
Severus exhaled sharply.
“I wasn’t invested—”
“You were leaning forward in the stands.”
“I was watching.”
“You muttered something under your breath when I went for the Snitch.”
“That doesn’t—”
“You were worried about me.” Her voice was light, teasing, but there was something searching in her gaze.
Severus clenched his jaw. “…You could have broken your neck.”
Y/N’s smirk faltered just slightly. “But I didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.”
She studied him for a long moment, then hopped down from the desk, stepping closer.
“Sev.” Her voice was softer now, almost careful. “You do care.”
He swallowed hard. It was infuriating, the way she could see right through him.
“…You’re so annoying,” he muttered.
She grinned. “And you love it.”
Severus refused to dignify that with a response, but he didn’t move away when she plucked the Snitch from his hand, rolling it between her fingers before throwing it back at him. Severus put it back in his pocket.
Silence settled between them, warm and heavy.
After a moment, Y/N smirked. “So, since we’re skipping the party, what do you suggest we do?”
Severus glanced at her, at the flickering candlelight dancing in her eyes.
“…Stay here,” he said finally. “Talk. Until they give up looking for you.”
Y/N hummed in approval. “Sounds perfect.”
And so they stayed.
Severus sat on the edge of the desk, arms crossed as he fixed Y/N with a sharp look. “Have you even read the new Advanced Potions textbook yet?”
Y/N, who had settled comfortably into the chair beside him, legs draped lazily over one armrest, snorted.
“No, Severus, I thought I’d just wing it on my N.E.W.T.s.”
He sighed dramatically, pulling the book from his bag and flipping through the pages with an irritated sort of reverence. “Then you haven’t noticed the absurd number of errors in it.”
Y/N quirked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Errors? In the Slughorn-approved textbook?”
Severus scoffed. “Slughorn wouldn’t notice an error if it exploded in his face. Which, frankly, some of these might.”
He jabbed at a particular page with his finger. “Here. Draught of Living Death. Ridiculous instructions. If you follow them as written, the potion will be unstable and potentially lethal.”
Y/N leaned forward, peering at the text. “It says to stir counterclockwise seven times.”
“Exactly.” He flipped a few more pages aggressively. “And this one—Babbling Beverage? Why in Merlin’s name would they suggest stewing the rat spleens first? That ruins the consistency completely.”
Y/N grinned, resting her chin on her hand. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”
Severus paused, caught off guard. His fingers, which had been poised to flip to yet another grievous offense, hesitated over the pages.
“…It’s logical,” he said finally, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “Precise. Potions do what they’re supposed to if you follow the right process.”
Y/N studied him, something unreadable in her gaze. Then, she reached out and plucked the book from his hands.
“Oi—”
“Relax, Sev,” she drawled, skimming through the pages. “If you hate this version so much, why don’t you just rewrite it yourself?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You already know what’s wrong with it. Fix it. Make notes, change the instructions, do whatever you do with your creepy little personal experiments.” She smirked.
“Merlin knows you’d probably make a better textbook than this rubbish.”
Severus stared at her, lips parting slightly in surprise.
“…You might actually be onto something,” he admitted.
Y/N laughed, tossing the book back at him. “A rare moment of brilliance, I know.”
He rolled his eyes but tucked the idea away, running his fingers over the cover thoughtfully.
Maybe she was right.
Y/N smirked as she watched Severus flip furiously through the pages of the textbook, muttering to himself.
“This is completely wrong,” he grumbled, tapping the page with the tip of his wand. “They’re telling students to add crushed asphodel before the infusion of wormwood. That completely alters the reaction time. If anything, it weakens the potion instead of enhancing it.”
Y/N continued to rest her chin in her palm, watching him with amusement. “And what would you do instead, Professor Snape?”
Severus shot her a glare, but his irritation was undercut by the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. “I’d start with finely ground asphodel. Not crushed, because consistency matters. Then, let it steep after the wormwood infusion. That way, the properties mix properly instead of counteracting each other like whatever idiot wrote this thinks they should.”
Y/N whistled. “You really do think this book is a personal insult, don’t you?”
“It is an insult,” he snapped, flipping to another page.
“This is supposed to be advanced potion-making, not first-year-level incompetence. Look at this. Elixir to Induce Euphoria. The instructions say to stir clockwise the entire time. That’s idiotic. You need to alternate clockwise and counterclockwise to balance the infusion properly, or it’ll be too volatile.”
Y/N couldn’t help but grin.
There was something fascinating about the way he spoke when he got like this. It was sharp, passionate, as if the entire world should care about potion-making as much as he did.
“I have to say, this is the most passionate I’ve ever seen you about anything that isn’t glaring at my brother.”
Severus sighed dramatically. “If I didn’t have to waste my time dealing with him, I could actually focus on things that matter.”
Y/N chuckled. “So potions matter to you, then?”
He hesitated. “…Obviously.”
She tilted her head, watching him thoughtfully. “Then why don’t you make your own notes? Your own version of the textbook? You know more than half the idiots who’ll be using this, anyway.”
Severus was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the cover. Then, slowly, he reached into his bag and pulled out a battered old notebook, its pages filled with scribbles, corrections, and improvements in his precise, slanted handwriting.
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already started, haven’t you?”
Severus cleared his throat, flipping through the notebook as if he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “I just thought it would be useful to have the right information written down. For myself.”
Y/N smirked. “And for anyone smart enough to steal your book.”
He scoffed. “As if I’d let anyone get their hands on it.”
She grinned. “You’re a genius, Sev. You know that, right?”
He faltered for just a second, gripping the book a little tighter. “…Hardly.”
But Y/N just shook her head, leaning back. “Well, I think so.”
Severus didn’t respond, but he didn’t argue, either.
Instead, he went right back to ranting about the next mistake in the textbook. This time, something about a disastrous bezoar dosage and Y/N just listened, secretly enjoying every second of it.
Severus was mid-rant about improper bezoar usage when he noticed Y/N staring at him, a slow grin tugging at her lips. Her head still rested on her palm, her elbow propped lazily on the desk, eyes bright with amusement.
He faltered. “What?”
Y/N’s grin widened. “Nothing. Just enjoying the show.”
His brows furrowed. “I’m not performing.”
“You are,” she teased, tapping her fingers against her cheek.
“A very passionate, very angry performance about the dangers of incompetent potion-making. Quite riveting, actually.”
Severus rolled his eyes, closing the textbook with a sharp thud.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are, ranting to me instead of to your cauldron in the dungeons,” she pointed out.
He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the desk. “Because you actually listen.”
Y/N’s expression softened slightly. “Of course, I do.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Severus shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, not used to being looked at like that. Like he was worth listening to.
“…You’re staring,” he muttered.
“Observing,” she corrected.
He scoffed. “And what, exactly, are you observing?”
She tilted her head, studying him like he was a particularly interesting puzzle. “Just that you get this look when you talk about potions.”
He narrowed his eyes. “A look?”
“Mhm,” she hummed, lips curling. “Like the rest of the world disappears, and it’s just you and whatever ridiculous mistake you’re trying to fix.”
Severus hesitated, unsure how to respond to that. He’d never thought about it before. But the way she said it made his chest feel strangely tight.
Y/N smirked at his silence. “It’s kind of nice, you know. Seeing you actually care about something.”
He huffed, looking away. “You make it sound as if I don’t care about anything.”
“Well,” she mused, “besides potions, glaring at Gryffindors, and being thoroughly unimpressed with everyone else…”
She tapped her chin. “No, can’t say I’ve seen you care about much else.”
He shot her a flat look. “Hilarious.”
She grinned. “I try.”
Another pause. The candles flickered, casting soft shadows across the old classroom.
Then, Y/N’s voice was quieter, more thoughtful. “I like when you talk about potions.”
Severus glanced at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone.
Y/N shrugged, still watching him. “It’s nice hearing you talk about something that makes you happy.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came. Because no one had ever said that to him before.
After a moment, he cleared his throat, looking back down at his notebook.
“…It’s not happiness,” he muttered. “It’s just—logic.”
Y/N just smiled knowingly. “If you say so, Sev.”
And despite himself, Severus didn’t argue.
Severus sat back against the desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the cover of his notebook.
After a moment, he sighed and said, almost begrudgingly, “You played well today.”
Y/N blinked, then grinned. “Was that a compliment from Severus Snape? Merlin, I must be dreaming.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I definitely will,” she teased, leaning back in her chair. “Go on, say it again. Just so I know I didn’t hallucinate it.”
Severus huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m not repeating myself.”
“Pity,” she sighed dramatically. “Would’ve been nice to have it burned into my memory forever.”
He shook his head, but his gaze lingered on her, something softer in his usually sharp eyes.
“You were impressive,” he admitted after a moment. “Even Slughorn wouldn’t stop talking about how Slytherin finally has a proper Seeker.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Slughorn, huh? What about you? Were you impressed?”
Severus scoffed. “I’m always impressed by competency. And considering the rest of the team is mediocre at best, it’s fortunate you know what you’re doing.”
Y/N laughed. “High praise, coming from you.”
He glanced away, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It was… entertaining. Watching you completely humiliate Gryffindor.”
Y/N smirked. “So that’s what you enjoyed.”
“Obviously.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, I am the best.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “Now you’re pushing it.”
Y/N only grinned, nudging his knee with her foot. “Admit it, Sev. You liked watching me play.”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I admit it, will you finally stop pestering me?”
“Maybe,” she teased.
Severus exhaled, looking at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “…You were good.”
Y/N’s grin widened. “Knew it.”
He shook his head again, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite hide the small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.
Severus pulled his hand from his robe pocket, the small golden Snitch resting in his palm. The tiny wings fluttered weakly against his fingers, as if reluctant to leave his grasp.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he said, holding it out to Y/N.
She looked at it, then at him, and instead of taking it, she just smirked and leaned back in her chair. “Keep it.”
Severus frowned. “What?”
“Keep it,” she repeated, her voice softer this time. “So you’ll always remember me.”
His fingers curled slightly around the Snitch as he processed her words, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. “…Why would I need something to remember you by?”
Y/N grinned. “Because, Sev, someday I’ll be famous. Hogwarts’ best Seeker, a legend in the making. And when that happens, you’ll want to say you knew me first.”
He scoffed, but there was no real bite to it.
Severus looked down at the Snitch in his palm, the tiny wings brushing against his skin. He could have argued. He could have insisted she take it back. But instead, he closed his fingers around it and slipped it back into his pocket, letting the weight of it settle against him.
“…Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll keep it.”
Y/N smiled. “Good.”
And for the first time that night, Severus didn’t have a single complaint.
The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, but Severus barely paid it any mind. He sat at the Slytherin table, absently picking at his breakfast, still adjusting to the idea of carrying a Snitch in his pocket. Her Snitch.
And then, like clockwork, Y/N slid into the seat beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Morning, Sev.”
He huffed, not looking up from his plate. “You’re awfully cheerful.”
“I did win a match yesterday,” she reminded him smugly, grabbing a piece of toast. “And, you know, got a very rare compliment from a certain grumpy Potions prodigy.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to regret it.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” She smirked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Did you sleep well? You and your new prized possession, I mean.”
He stiffened slightly, but kept his expression neutral. “It’s just a Snitch.”
“My Snitch,” she corrected, taking a bite of her toast. “Did you put it somewhere safe?”
Severus exhaled through his nose, reaching into his pocket and subtly showing her the small golden sphere resting in his palm before tucking it away again. “Satisfied?”
Y/N grinned. “Very.”
He shook his head, turning his attention back to his breakfast, but he didn’t push her away when she leaned comfortably against him.
Narcissa Black sat gracefully across from them, her sharp blue eyes scanning Y/N with mild curiosity as she stirred her tea.
“You weren’t at the victory party last night.” It wasn’t a question. It was an observation, one laced with subtle judgment.
Y/N smirked, casually buttering her toast. “Oh, you noticed?”
“Of course, I noticed,” Narcissa replied, arching a perfectly shaped brow.
“You were the star of the match, and yet, no celebratory gloating? No basking in the glory of your own success?”
She tilted her head slightly. “Very unlike you, cousin.”
Severus huffed quietly, hiding his amusement behind his goblet of pumpkin juice.
Y/N shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”
Narcissa’s eyes flickered between the two of them before landing back on Y/N. “You did disappear rather quickly after the match…”
Y/N smirked. “What can I say? Had better company.” She nudged Severus with her knee under the table, earning an unimpressed glance from him.
Narcissa’s gaze sharpened, her lips curving slightly.
“I see.” She rested her chin on her hand, watching Y/N with something between amusement and suspicion.
“So, instead of celebrating with your adoring fans, you spent your evening somewhere, locked away with Severus.”
Y/N gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand on her chest. “Oh, forgive me, dear cousin, for prioritizing meaningful conversation over drunken debauchery.”
Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Please, you love the attention.”
“True,” Y/N admitted easily. “But I love annoying Sev more.”
Severus scoffed, not looking up from his plate. “How fortunate for me.”
Narcissa observed the two of them for a moment, then smirked. “Well, I do hope he made it worth your while.”
Y/N’s grin was immediate. “Oh, he did.”
Severus stiffened, glaring at her. “Don’t say it like that.”
Narcissa chuckled, sipping her tea. “Interesting choice of company, Y/N.”
Y/N just leaned back, perfectly unbothered. “Best choice, actually.”
Severus didn’t say anything but under the table, his fingers curled around the Snitch in his pocket.
“Anyways…Sirius came looking for you yesterday. Something about introducing you to his best mate, Potter. I think he fancies you,” Narcissa said, her tone light, but her gaze sharp as she watched Y/N’s reaction.
Y/N snorted, tearing off another bite of toast.
“James Potter? Fancies me? Please, Cissy, don’t insult my intelligence.”
“I’m serious,” Narcissa pressed, twirling a strand of blonde hair between her fingers.
“Sirius wouldn’t shut up about it. He kept saying how he thinks you and Potter would ‘get on brilliantly.’”
Severus, who had been silent up until now, suddenly gripped his fork a little too tightly. His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, staring at his plate as if it personally offended him.
Y/N sighed dramatically.
“And yet, somehow, I doubt James Potter would be terribly interested in me, given the way he practically worships Evans.”
Narcissa waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, well, maybe he’s expanding his options. You are the Black everyone actually likes, after all.”
Severus scoffed, finally breaking his silence. “Potter is an arrogant, brainless git. You’d sooner find a Kneazle getting along with a Manticore than have an intelligent conversation with him.”
Y/N smirked at his tone. “Aw, Sev, that almost sounded jealous.”
His scowl deepened. “I don’t get jealous.”
Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Right. And yet, you look like you’re about to hex your plate into oblivion.”
Severus set his fork down with deliberate care, clearly restraining himself. “I simply find it unbelievable that anyone would subject themselves to Potter’s presence willingly.”
Y/N chuckled, nudging him with her elbow.
“Don’t worry, Sev. If I ever lose all sense of self-respect and go anywhere near James Potter, you’ll be the first to know.”
His expression didn’t soften, but the tight grip on his robes loosened ever so slightly.
“See that you don’t,” he muttered.
Narcissa just smiled behind her teacup, watching them both with interest.
“As if Potter has a chance…” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Did he really think I’d choose him over Severus? He’s literally a bully, just like that Gryffindor of a brother of mine.”
Severus, who had been gripping his goblet a little too tightly, stilled at her words. His dark eyes flickered to her face, searching for any sign that she was joking. But she wasn’t. She had said it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Narcissa, however, only hummed, looking thoroughly entertained. “Oh? So you are choosing Severus, then?”
Y/N smirked.
“Obviously.”
She leaned into Severus slightly, her shoulder pressing against his. “Why would I waste my time with a Potter when I already have the best company?”
Severus swallowed hard, his face carefully blank but his fingers twitched slightly against the table. He knew better than to read into her words, but for the first time that morning, the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.
Narcissa’s smirk widened. “Interesting,” she mused, tilting her head.
“You’re lucky, Severus.”
Severus huffed, finally recovering enough to roll his eyes. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
Y/N grinned, resting her chin on her palm. “It is.”
And despite himself, Severus didn’t argue.
Narcissa took a slow sip of her tea, her smirk never wavering.
“Well, that settles it, then. I suppose I’ll have to break the tragic news to Potter—he never stood a chance.”
Y/N chuckled. “Oh, please do. And be sure to tell Sirius that I’d rather hex myself than date his insufferable best mate.”
Severus let out a quiet breath, his fingers still curled around his goblet.
“Speaking of your Gryffindor brother,” Narcissa continued, setting her cup down with a soft clink, “he was in quite the mood when I saw him last night. Apparently, he’s rather upset that you’re still spending all your time with Severus instead of ‘better company.’”
Y/N rolled her eyes, stealing a piece of fruit from Severus’ plate.
“Right, because his definition of ‘better company’ consists of Potter and Lupin and that other friend of theirs. No, thanks.”
Severus sneered at the mention of them, his grip on his goblet tightening again. “Black should concern himself with his own miserable existence and stay out of yours.”
Y/N smirked, popping the fruit into her mouth. “Agreed.”
She turned to Severus, nudging him with her knee. “But if he ever tries to drag me to the Gryffindor common room, do me a favor and curse me unconscious, yeah?”
Severus gave her a flat look. “I’d do it regardless.”
Y/N laughed, completely unbothered, while Narcissa shook her head in amusement. “You two are ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Y/N said, resting her head on Severus’ shoulder, “you’re still sitting with us.”
Narcissa merely smirked, watching the way Severus stiffened at the sudden contact, his ears just barely tinged red. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Once Narcissa had finished her tea and had her fun at their expense, she stood gracefully, smoothing out her robes. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is.” She shot Y/N a knowing look before glancing at Severus with the same amused expression. “Try not to let her get you into too much trouble, Severus.”
Severus merely scowled, but Y/N grinned. “No promises.”
With a quiet chuckle, Narcissa turned and left the Great Hall, her blonde hair swaying as she went.
The moment she was out of earshot, Severus finally spoke, his voice quieter than before.
“You didn’t have to say that.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Say what?”
Severus shifted slightly, his fingers brushing over his pocket where the Snitch still rested.
“That you’d choose me over Potter,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t believe it.
Y/N rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her palm. “But I would.”
He frowned, clearly skeptical. “It’s not a competition.”
“Well, if it were, you’d win.”
Severus looked at her then, really looked at her, as if trying to find the punchline in her words.
But there wasn’t one.
Y/N was being completely serious.
“…Why?” he asked after a beat.
Y/N tilted her head, her gaze softening just a fraction.
“Because I actually like spending time with you, Sev.” She nudged his knee under the table, smirking. “And because you’re my favorite.”
Severus swallowed, looking away as a faint redness dusted his pale cheeks. He wasn’t used to being anyone’s favorite.
“…Idiot,” he muttered, but there was no venom in his voice.
Y/N grinned. “That’s me.”
And for the first time that morning, Severus let himself relax, the weight of the Snitch in his pocket grounding him as he sat beside the only person who had ever truly chosen him.
After finishing breakfast, Y/N and Severus stood from the Slytherin table, grabbing their books and making their way toward the dungeons for Potions class.
Severus walked beside her, his usual scowl in place, but Y/N could tell he wasn’t actually annoyed. If anything, he seemed more thoughtful than usual, his fingers idly drumming against the spine of his Potions textbook.
Y/N bumped her shoulder against his. “What’s with the brooding? Thinking of new ways to make Potter’s life miserable?”
Severus scoffed. “I don’t need to think of new ways. He’s miserable enough just existing.”
Y/N laughed. “That’s fair.”
They arrived at the dimly lit Potions classroom, where students were already filing in. Slughorn, ever the enthusiastic professor, was scribbling today’s instructions on the blackboard.
Y/N and Severus slid into their usual seats at the back, setting their books down.
“Another partnered assignment today,” Y/N observed, glancing at the board. “Think Slughorn will have the audacity to separate us?”
Severus smirked slightly, his dark eyes flickering toward the front of the room. “He wouldn’t dare.”
And, as if proving his point, when Slughorn finally addressed the class, he didn’t even bother reassigning partners.
“Excellent, excellent! You may stay with your current partners,” Slughorn announced. “Today, we’ll be brewing a Draught of Peace! A rather delicate potion. One mistake and it won’t work at all.”
Severus rolled his eyes as Slughorn droned on about the potion’s properties. Y/N, meanwhile, leaned toward him, grinning. “Bet I’ll finish mine before you.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “You can’t even cut ingredients properly.”
“That’s slander.”
“That’s fact.”
Y/N huffed but still smirked as she flipped open her textbook.
“Fine, Professor Snape, you do all the chopping, and I’ll handle the brewing.”
Severus sighed as if this was the greatest burden in the world, but he didn’t argue. He never did when it came to her.
And so, as the rest of the class struggled, Y/N and Severus worked seamlessly, the usual banter filling the space between them as they brewed yet another flawless potion—together.
As usual, working with Severus was effortless. While other students fumbled with their ingredients, misread instructions, or hesitated over their cauldrons, Y/N and Severus moved like a well-oiled machine.
Severus meticulously chopped the ingredients, his precise, practiced movements ensuring uniform slices. Y/N, despite her usual teasing, took the brewing process seriously, stirring at the exact pace and adding the ingredients only when Severus nodded in approval.
“Steady,” he murmured as she carefully poured in the powdered moonstone.
Y/N smirked. “You act like I’m about to botch the whole thing.”
“Because you would,” he replied dryly.
Y/N gasped in mock offense. “Rude.”
Severus merely shook his head, a rare, almost amused look flickering across his features. “Just keep stirring.”
They continued working, the soft bubbling of their potion filling the space between them. Around them, students groaned in frustration as some had cauldrons emitting faint purple smoke, while others had turned a worrying shade of green.
Slughorn made his way around the room, peering into cauldrons and offering words of encouragement (or, in some cases, looks of deep disappointment). When he reached their station, he beamed.
“Ah, exquisite work, as always!” he declared, clapping his hands together. “Perfect color, perfect consistency. Well done, well done!”
Severus merely inclined his head, while Y/N grinned. “Naturally.”
Slughorn chuckled. “I daresay, the two of you make quite the brilliant team. Perhaps I should have you brewing for me.”
Severus scoffed, but his lips twitched slightly. “I am brilliant. You’re just lucky you sit next to me.”
Slughorn let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, you remind me of myself in my youth, Severus! Such confidence, such talent! If you ever have any interest in pursuing Potions beyond Hogwarts, I would be more than happy to offer guidance.”
Severus gave a polite nod. “Thank you, sir.”
Slughorn turned to Y/N. “And you, Miss Black. Remarkable work as well! Though I must say, I’m quite surprised you didn’t celebrate your Quidditch victory last night.”
Y/N shrugged, glancing at Severus briefly. “Didn’t feel like it.”
Slughorn raised an eyebrow.
“Ah, well. More dedicated to your studies, I see! Excellent priorities, my dear.”
He gave them both a final pleased nod before moving on to the next station.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Y/N turned to Severus. “See? Brilliant team.”
Severus exhaled, shaking his head as he began cleaning up their workspace. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late.”
And for the rest of the class, while their classmates struggled, Y/N and Severus sat back, their potion already perfected—just as always.
Severus sat with his quill resting idly between his fingers, his gaze flickering between his parchment and Y/N as she leaned over to copy his notes.
She didn’t even bother asking anymore. She just slid his notebook closer, turned her own to a blank page, and began copying down his meticulous handwriting with lazy, fluid strokes.
Severus should have been irritated. Should have snapped at her to take her own notes, to pay attention instead of relying on him.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he watched as she absentmindedly chewed the end of her quill, her brows furrowing slightly in concentration. A few strands of her dark hair fell forward, brushing against the parchment, and every so often, she tapped her fingers against the desk in an offbeat rhythm.
She had done this a hundred times before. Stealing his notes, ignoring her own half-written ones, leaning just a little too close without realizing it. But for some reason, today, Severus couldn’t look away.
“Sev,” Y/N suddenly said, not looking up, still writing.
He blinked, straightening slightly. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
His grip on his quill tightened. “No, I’m not.”
Y/N smirked, finally glancing at him from beneath her lashes. “You are.”
Severus scoffed, shifting in his seat, his expression settling back into its usual scowl. “You’re copying my notes. I’m simply making sure you don’t ruin them with your atrocious handwriting.”
Y/N gasped in mock offense, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest.
“Atrocious? Excuse me, I happen to have flawless handwriting.”
Severus snatched his notebook back, flipping it shut.
“It’s a disgrace.”
Y/N laughed, resting her chin on her palm as she gazed at him, entirely unbothered. “Then I guess you’ll just have to keep taking notes for me forever.”
Severus rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched slightly. It was just enough for Y/N to catch.
─ ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ──────────
The Slytherin common room was quiet that night, the usual chatter of students fading as most had either gone to bed or were off doing Merlin-knows-what in the castle. The fire crackled softly in the dimly lit space, casting long shadows across the stone walls.
Severus and Y/N sat side by side on the emerald-green sofa closest to the fireplace, books open on their laps.
Well, Severus was reading. Y/N was halfheartedly flipping through her textbook, occasionally tapping her fingers against the spine, clearly bored.
After a few minutes of silence, she let out a dramatic sigh, tilting her head to look at him.
“Sev.”
He didn’t look up from his book. “What?”
“I’m bored.”
Severus exhaled sharply, still not looking at her.
“Then go to bed.”
Y/N ignored that completely and shifted to rest her head against his shoulder.
“Nah. This is fine.”
Severus stiffened for half a second before forcing himself to relax. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, leaning against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, but it always caught him off guard.
“You’re distracting,” he muttered, eyes still on his book.
“I’m existing,” she corrected, smirking against his shoulder.
“Exactly.”
Y/N chuckled, and the sound was warm, familiar. She didn’t move away, though, and after a moment, Severus found himself leaning into it.
They sat like that for a while, the only sounds being the flickering of the fire and the occasional turn of a page.
“I’m stealing your notes again tomorrow.”
Severus sighed, closing his book. “Of course you are.”
And when she smiled, drowsy and content, Severus simply shook his head.
The common room grew quieter as the fire burned lower, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Severus had long since stopped reading, though his book remained open in his lap.
Y/N had gone still beside him, her head slipping from his shoulder. He glanced down just in time to see her shift, curling up slightly as her head now resting against his lap.
Severus tensed.
His breath hitched, his entire body going rigid as if moving even an inch would somehow wake her. But Y/N didn’t stir. She simply exhaled softly, her face peaceful, her arms tucked beneath her head as she settled deeper against him.
For a long moment, Severus just stared.
Her hair spilled over his robes, the firelight casting a warm glow on her features.
She looked… comfortable. Completely at ease.
He should wake her up. Tell her to go to bed.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he swallowed hard and carefully set his book aside. His fingers twitched as if debating whether or not to move, to touch her, but he quickly clenched them into fists, keeping them at his sides.
Merlin, she was infuriating.
Did she even realize what she did to him? How she invaded his space so easily, so effortlessly, like she belonged there?
Severus exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to lean back against the sofa. He couldn’t (wouldn’t) wake her.
Not when she looked like that.
So, instead, he sat there, unmoving, his heartbeat entirely too loud in his ears. And as the fire crackled beside him, Severus Snape did something he never allowed himself to do.
He let himself enjoy the moment.
Severus hesitated. His fingers hovered just above Y/N’s hair, as if touching her would shatter the quiet, fragile peace of the moment.
But she was there, asleep on his lap, her breathing slow and even. The firelight cast soft golden hues across her skin, making her seem almost unreal like something delicate and untouchable.
Severus exhaled, then, before he could think better of it, finally let his fingers brush against her hair.
It was soft. Softer than he expected. His movements were tentative at first, barely there, but when she didn’t stir but simply nestled deeper against him, he let himself continue.
He didn’t know why he did it. He had never been one for tenderness, never the type to comfort or soothe. But with Y/N, it felt natural.
His fingers threaded through her hair again, and his breath caught when she shifted slightly, a faint hum escaping her lips.
Severus stilled, his heart hammering against his ribs. But Y/N only sighed in her sleep, her body relaxing further against him.
His hand lingered for just a moment longer before he withdrew it, resting it tensely on the armrest.
This was dangerous.
She was dangerous.
Because if she kept doing this, kept looking at him like that, touching him like it meant something, falling asleep on him like he was someone safe, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend he didn’t want her.
And that terrified him more than anything.
────────── ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ─
The wind was crisp as Y/N and Severus made their way down the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade, the chatter of students filling the air.
It had been a few weeks since that night in the common room—since Y/N had unknowingly ruined Severus with her presence, her warmth, the feeling of her hair slipping through his fingers.
And now, here they were, walking side by side, the snow crunching beneath their feet as Y/N tugged on his sleeve.
“Come on, Sev,” she said, linking her arm through his as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You walk so slowly.”
Severus stiffened at the contact, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second.
She was touching him again.
And not just touching but rather clinging. As if she belonged there. As if she didn’t even have to think about it.
Y/N didn’t seem to notice his internal crisis, though. She simply grinned, leaning slightly into his side as they made their way toward Honeydukes.
“I don’t know why you even agreed to come,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder. “You hate sweets.”
“I don’t hate them,” Severus muttered, keeping his gaze firmly ahead, pretending that the warmth of her arm against his wasn’t distracting him.
“I just don’t see the point in wasting my money on sugar when I could buy something useful.”
Because Y/N was still holding onto him, and Merlin help him, he liked it.
The second they stepped inside Honeydukes, Y/N all but dragged Severus through the shop, pointing at various sweets with an excited grin.
“Oh, you have to try these,” she said, grabbing a handful of Chocolate Frogs.
“And these—” She tossed a few Sugar Quills into her basket.
“Oh! And definitely these.”
Severus sighed, crossing his arms as she piled more and more sweets into her basket.
“You do realize I never asked for any of this.”
Y/N grinned, completely unfazed. “That’s the best part. You don’t have to ask. I just know what you need.”
Severus scoffed. “And what exactly do I need?”
“Sugar.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “I—”
Before he could finish, Y/N grabbed a small chocolate and unwrapped it. Then, before he could protest, she held it up to his lips.
“Open,” she ordered.
Severus stared at her, unimpressed. “You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.” She wiggled the chocolate in front of his face. “Come on, Sev. Humor me.”
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
And yet…
He begrudgingly parted his lips just enough for her to pop the chocolate into his mouth.
Y/N beamed.
“See? Not so bad, right?” she teased, watching him closely.
Severus chewed, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he muttered, “It’s fine.”
Y/N gasped. “Fine? This is premium chocolate, Severus. Premium.”
Severus just shook his head, swallowing the chocolate. “Idiot.”
Severus sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. But when Y/N lifted the next treat to his lips, he didn’t resist.
By the time they left Honeydukes, Y/N had practically stuffed half a dozen different sweets into Severus’ mouth. Each time grinning triumphantly whenever he reluctantly accepted them.
Now, as they strolled back through Hogsmeade, Y/N happily munching on a Sugar Quill, Severus still tasted the remnants of chocolate and caramel on his tongue.
“I don’t know why you’re acting like you hated it,” Y/N teased, bumping her shoulder against his. “You ate everything I gave you.”
Severus shot her a flat look.
“You shoved it in my mouth. What was I supposed to do? Spit it out?”
Y/N smirked. “You could’ve said no.”
Severus scoffed. “Like you’d listen.”
She grinned. “Exactly.”
They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the cold winter air crisp against their skin.
Then, suddenly, Y/N stopped in front of a small tea shop, peering through the frosted windows. “Oh, let’s go in here for a bit. It’s freezing.”
Severus followed her gaze, immediately recognizing the shop. Madam Puddifoot’s.
His face twisted in disgust. “Absolutely not.”
Y/N turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because,” Severus muttered, glaring at the couples visible through the window, “this is practically a breeding ground for lovesick imbeciles.”
Y/N burst out laughing. “You would say that.”
Severus crossed his arms. “I refuse to set foot in there.”
Y/N, still grinning, hummed thoughtfully. “Alright. How about The Three Broomsticks instead?”
Severus hesitated, eyeing her warily. “And what’s the catch?”
Y/N linked her arm through his again, smirking. “No catch. Just butterbeer. And maybe, maybe, I’ll stop feeding you sweets for the day.”
Severus exhaled through his nose, pretending to be completely unaffected by the way she clung to him so easily.
“…Fine.”
Y/N beamed. “Good choice, Sev.”
And just like that, she pulled him along once more, her arm still wrapped around his.
The Three Broomsticks was warm and bustling with students escaping the cold. As soon as they stepped inside, Y/N led Severus toward a small table near the corner, away from the loudest groups.
She let go of his arm (much to his dismay, though he’d never admit it) and slid into her seat.
“I’ll order for us,” she declared before he could argue, already making her way to the counter.
Severus sighed, rubbing his temples. He should’ve known letting her drag him here would mean losing every battle.
A few minutes later, Y/N returned with two steaming mugs of butterbeer, setting one in front of him.
“There,” she said proudly, sliding into her seat. “A drink and a break from my relentless generosity. You should be thanking me.”
Severus rolled his eyes but accepted the mug anyway. “I didn’t ask for your generosity in the first place.”
Y/N smirked. “Quit your whining, Snape.”
Severus huffed but took a sip of his butterbeer. It was warm, sweet, and undeniably comforting, not that he’d ever say that out loud.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the warmth of the tavern settling over them. Every now and then, Severus found himself watching her like how her fingers curled around her mug, how she tapped her nails idly against the wood, how her lips pursed slightly as she took a sip.
It was maddening.
She was maddening.
Y/N suddenly looked up, catching him mid-stare.
Severus immediately looked away, clearing his throat.
“What?” he muttered.
Y/N tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You were staring.”
Severus scoffed. “I was not.”
“Liar.” She grinned, leaning forward slightly. “See something you like, Sev?”
Severus choked on his butterbeer.
Y/N burst into laughter, her eyes shining with amusement as he coughed into his sleeve.
Severus opened his mouth but before he could, a familiar voice interrupted them.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Y/N turned in her seat, her smile vanishing as she spotted the person standing beside their table.
Sirius Black.
And behind him—Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew.
Severus clenched his jaw, already bracing himself.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, little sister,” Sirius drawled, his lips curled in amusement. “And with him, no less.”
Potter elbowed him. “Guess she has questionable taste.”
Severus scowled, but before he could snap back, Y/N spoke first.
“If you came all this way just to be annoying, then congratulations, you’ve succeeded,” she said flatly, leaning back in her chair.
Sirius chuckled. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You could be sitting with anyone—and yet, here you are, stuck with old Snivellus.”
Severus’ fists clenched under the table, his face carefully blank.
Y/N, however, just laughed.
“You’re so predictable, Sirius,” she said, shaking her head.
“You think I care what you lot think?” She gestured between them lazily.
“If I wanted to sit with idiots, I’d let you all join us. But I’d rather not lose brain cells, thanks.”
Sirius raised his brows, clearly surprised by her sharpness.
Lupin sighed, giving her a wary look. “Y/N, you really don’t—”
“I do,” she interrupted, her tone unwavering. “Now, if you don’t mind, we were in the middle of something.”
Sirius scoffed, but Potter pulled at his sleeve. “Leave it, mate. Let her sit with her pet snake if she wants.”
Y/N’s eyes flashed dangerously. “At least he’s not an arrogant, self-obsessed git,” she shot back.
Potter’s smug expression faltered.
Sirius let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t realize you hated us that much.”
Y/N crossed her arms. “I don’t. But I hate this. The way you always think you can tell me what to do. Who to be around.”
“Sirius… I’m not you,” she murmured. “I never was.”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Fine. Whatever.” He turned to leave, pausing only once. “Don’t come crying to me when he betrays you.”
With that, he walked away, the others trailing behind him.
A heavy silence hung in the air.
Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “Merlin.”
Severus, who had been deadly quiet through the entire exchange, finally spoke.
“…Why did you do that?”
Y/N looked at him, confused. “Do what?”
“Defend me,” he muttered, his voice oddly unreadable. “Against them.”
Y/N frowned. “Severus, I’d defend you against anyone.”
The words were so simple, so obvious to her. But to him…
Severus stared at her, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.
And then, slowly he reached for his mug again, taking a long sip of butterbeer to cover the unbearable warmth spreading through his chest.
“…You’re an idiot,” he muttered.
Y/N grinned. “Maybe. But I’m your idiot.”
Severus scoffed, rolling his eyes.
But he didn’t argue.
Severus watched as Y/N slumped back in her chair, exhaling a tired sigh.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Y/N twirled the handle of her butterbeer mug between her fingers, her gaze distant.
“I was just thinking…” She hesitated, then let out a humorless chuckle. “I wonder how long I have before my father pushes me to some pureblood boy.”
Severus stiffened.
Her words settled between them, heavy and unspoken.
It wasn’t surprising, really. It was expected for someone like Y/N, from a prestigious family like the Blacks. Arranged marriages, strategic unions, keeping the bloodline pure.
But no lie, the thought of Y/N being forced into a life she didn’t want, with someone she didn’t choose made his stomach twist uncomfortably.
He swallowed, his voice carefully neutral. “…Do you have anyone in mind?”
Y/N scoffed. “As if it’ll matter. It’s not like I’ll get a choice.”
She tapped her nails against the table, sighing again. “I’m sure my father already has someone lined up. Probably some arrogant pureblood twat who thinks he owns the world.”
Severus’ grip on his mug tightened. Of course he does.
“You don’t have to do it,” he said quietly.
Y/N gave him a knowing look. “You know that’s not how it works, Sev.”
He clenched his jaw. Of course it isn’t.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, with a wry smile, Y/N nudged his foot under the table.
“Unless you want to marry me, Snape.”
Severus nearly choked on air.
Y/N burst out laughing at his reaction, but there was something in her expression like she was only half joking.
Severus forced himself to breathe.
“You really need to stop saying things like that.”
“Why?” she teased. “Does it make you nervous?”
Severus huffed. “It’s infuriating.”
Y/N grinned. “Good.”
But as she took another sip of her butterbeer, Severus noticed how her fingers curled slightly tighter around the mug. How her smile, bright and teasing as always, didn’t quite reach her eyes.
And he hated that.
Hated that she felt trapped.
Hated that, no matter what she wanted, the world would still try to dictate her fate.
Without thinking, he muttered, “I’d rather it be me than one of them.”
Y/N stilled.
Slowly, she set her mug down, her eyes meeting his.
“What did you just say?”
Severus hesitated. He hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t even realized he’d said it aloud.
But now that he had…He didn’t take it back.
Y/N blinked at him, and for the first time, there was no teasing, no laughter.
Severus exhaled sharply and looked away.
“Forget it.”
Y/N, however, did not forget it.
Instead, she just kept staring at him, something unreadable in her gaze.
Something dangerously close to hope.
Severus’ breath caught in his throat.
He turned to look at her, but Y/N was already staring at him with her eyes unwavering.
“No,” she said, voice quiet but firm.
“Tell me, Severus. Because I swear… if I heard whatever it is that I think I heard, then…”
She swallowed, her fingers curling against the table.
“I’d give it all up.”
Severus’ heart stopped.
For a moment, all he could hear was the low hum of The Three Broomsticks around them—the chatter of students, the clinking of glasses, the distant sound of rain beginning to drizzle outside.
But right now, none of it mattered.
Not when she was looking at him like that.
Like he was something worth choosing.
Severus exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak.
“Y/N… don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” she challenged, leaning closer.
“Because it’s impossible? Because you think I wouldn’t do it?” Her voice softened, gaze searching his.
“Because you don’t want me to?”
Severus clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists beneath the table.
Of course he wanted her to.
But she was a Black. She had a future already planned—one that had nothing to do with him.
But then, she was here.
Offering, choosing him, despite it all.
“Y/N… if you say something like that, you can’t take it back.”
Y/N gave him a small, lopsided smile. “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to.”
Severus hated how much that affected him.
Because the truth was—if things were different, if the world wasn’t what it was…
He’d choose her, too.
Slowly, cautiously, he reached across the table, his fingers barely brushing against hers.
“Y/N…” His voice was quiet, unsteady.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
But she only turned her hand over, letting her fingers lace through his.
“Sev,” she murmured, “I do.”
Severus stared at their intertwined fingers, his breath unsteady.
She wasn’t letting go.
Did she understand what she was saying? What she was offering?
Giving up her family’s expectations—for him? Throwing away a life of power, wealth, and status because of a quiet, half-spoken confession he hadn’t even meant to say?
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
His grip tightened slightly around her hand, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You’d really do that?”
Y/N exhaled, something relieved in her expression.
“I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
Severus felt something in his chest ache.
“I don’t want you to regret it,” he murmured.
“I won’t,” she said immediately. “But you have to tell me, Sev… if I gave it all up—my family’s expectations, the stupid arranged marriage—if I walked away from all of it…”
She hesitated, then asked, softer, “Would you want me?”
Severus inhaled sharply.
The answer was yes. Of course it was yes.
But admitting it and saying it aloud would make it real.
And if he let himself have this, let himself believe that someone like her could choose someone like him…
“I—” His voice faltered, thick with something he couldn’t name. “Y/N, this isn’t fair to you.”
Y/N let out a soft, exasperated laugh. “Severus, I’m the one making this choice. And I’d choose you. Every time.”
Severus felt his world tilt.
Every time.
He looked at her then and for the first time in his life, he let himself want.
Slowly, hesitantly, he raised their joined hands, pressing his lips lightly against the back of hers.
It was the smallest, softest thing.
But Y/N inhaled sharply, eyes widening because she knew. She knew what it meant.
Severus pulled away just slightly, his lips barely brushing against her skin as he whispered, “Then I’d choose you, too.”
Y/N’s breath hitched.
He held her gaze, his fingers still curled gently around hers, his lips still tingling from where they had touched her skin.
Y/N swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Say it again.”
Severus exhaled shakily. He didn’t need to ask what she meant.
“I’d choose you,” he murmured.
Her grip on his hand tightened, like she was trying to ground herself. And then, without thinking, Y/N surged forward, wrapping her arms around him.
Severus stiffened but only for a second. Because as soon as he processed what was happening, he melted into it.
His arms hesitated before slowly wrapping around her, his hand coming up to rest on the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair.
She smelled like fresh strawberry milk and ink and something inherently her, something warm and safe and entirely forbidden.
“I meant it, Sev,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“I don’t care about any of it. I just—” She pulled back slightly, her hands gripping the front of his robes.
“I want you.”
“Y/N…”
She shook her head.
“No, don’t try to push me away again. You want me too, I know you do. So tell me, Severus Snape—do you want me enough to fight for this?”
He would burn the entire world if it meant keeping her.
His grip on her waist tightened as he exhaled, slow and deliberate.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I’ll fight for it.”
Y/N’s lips parted slightly, eyes searching his. “You mean it?”
Instead of answering, Severus did the one thing he’d never allowed himself to do.
He leaned in, slowly and carefully, giving her a chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
And when their lips finally met, it was soft and tentative, like the two of them were still learning how to have this, how to believe in it.
But then Y/N sighed against his mouth, her hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer and suddenly, there was nothing hesitant about it.
Severus kissed her like he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life and didn’t know if he’d ever get it again.
Because maybe he wouldn’t.
Maybe the world would take this from him.
But not today. And maybe not ever.
Today, she was his. Tomorrow, she’ll be his.
Severus tightened his grip on her waist, searching her face as if trying to make sense of her words.
“You know you’ll get disowned for being with a half-blood,” he muttered.
But Y/N only laughed. A soft, amused sound, like the thought of it didn’t bother her in the slightest.
“At least my mother would have the pleasure of blasting my face off that stupid family tree,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She’s been dying to do it for years, anyway.”
Severus frowned. “Y/N—”
“No, Sev.” She reached up, brushing a strand of his dark hair away from his face.
“I mean it. My family doesn’t control me. Not my mother, not my father, not Sirius—no one.” Her voice softened as she cupped his cheek.
“I choose you.”
Severus inhaled sharply.
He had spent his whole life being a second choice. An afterthought. Someone people tolerated but never chose.
But Y/N… she wasn’t hesitating.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” he whispered, barely trusting his voice.
Y/N smiled. Smirked, actually. “I do.”
She leaned closer, eyes flickering between his lips and his gaze.
“Now, are you going to keep questioning my life choices, or are you going to kiss me again?”
Severus let out something between a sigh and a laugh before giving in.
He kissed her.
And this time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing.
Because, for once in his life, someone had chosen him.
As if she hadn’t just turned his world upside down, Y/N pulled away, settled comfortably beside him, and asked,
“So, tell me about that new potion you were working on.”
Severus blinked. “What?”
She smirked. “You were ranting about it last week, remember? Something about stabilizing the Wolfsbane formula? I was listening, you know.”
Severus stared at her, still reeling from everything that had just happened. The kiss, the way she had chosen him so effortlessly. And now, she was acting like it was just another normal afternoon between them.
But that was Y/N Black. She had always been like this. Unshaken. Unbothered. Acting like she hadn’t just kissed him like she meant it.
And Merlin help him, but Severus loved that about her.
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
Y/N just grinned.
Severus rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“Fine. If you must know…” He turned slightly, getting into his usual lecture mode. “The problem with the Wolfsbane Potion is its volatility when stored improperly. The key is stabilizing the aconite concentration without diminishing its effects—”
And just like always, Y/N listened.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded in quiet interest, and let him speak.
And for the first time in his life, Severus felt like someone truly wanted to hear what he had to say.
They had been deep in conversation—Severus explaining the intricacies of potion stabilization, his voice passionate, his hands gesturing slightly as he spoke.
And then, out of nowhere, he said—
“And did you know, for the longest time, I have had my eyes on you and you don’t even realize that I’m so in love with you.”
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.
She turned to him, eyes wide, searching his face for any hint that he was joking. But Severus was dead serious.
His dark eyes held hers, unwavering, like he had needed to say it. Like it had been clawing at him for years. And for once, he didn’t look like he regretted speaking.
Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again, completely caught off guard.
“You—” She let out a breathless laugh.
“You just say things like that in the middle of a potions discussion?”
Severus smirked slightly, but his voice was softer when he said, “I suppose I do.”
Y/N shook her head in disbelief, a grin tugging at her lips. “Sev—”
“I mean it.” His fingers twitched where they rested against the table.
“I have for a long time.”
Y/N’s chest ached.
Slowly, she reached over, threading her fingers through his.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m so in love with you, too.”
Something in Severus’ expression softened.
He squeezed her hand.
“Good,” he murmured.
Severus furrowed his brows as Y/N suddenly pulled away, tilting her head at him with a knowing smirk.
“Where’s my Snitch, Sev?” she asked.
Severus hesitated for a moment before reaching into the pocket of his robes, fingers brushing against the small, familiar golden ball. He had carried it with him every day since she gave it to him, unwilling to part with something so hers.
Wordlessly, he handed it back.
Y/N took it with a quiet hum, running her fingers over the cool metal before pressing it open with ease.
Severus watched as the delicate wings fluttered, revealing a small folded note inside. His stomach tightened—he had never opened it before. He hadn’t even realized there was something inside.
Y/N didn’t say anything. She simply pulled out the note, unfolded it, and turned it around for him to see.
Severus’ breath hitched.
There, in her familiar handwriting, were three simple words:
“I choose you, Severus Snape.”
His heart stopped.
And then it raced.
His lips parted slightly as he stared at her, eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation.
But she only smiled, pressing the Snitch back into his palm.
“Keep it for me, won’t you?” she murmured.
Severus swallowed hard, fingers curling tightly around the Snitch, holding onto it like a lifeline.
He had never been given something so precious before.
Summary: A one-shot of Severus Snape being an absolute yearner for you
~2k words
Cold. Intimidating. Surly.
Those were the words commonly used to describe Severus Snape.
So imagine one’s surprise when it was found out he was married.
“What?”
“You’re barkin’…”
“There’s no way anyone would marry that git.’
How could anyone marry, let alone tolerate someone with his personality? Could such a person really exist?
Well…yes.
You, his former classmate and someone he hadn’t reconnected with until ten years after graduation, had managed it. His friend, one of the few classmates at Hogwarts he tolerated, who had been there for his trials and triumphs, who still made time for him despite their nearly opposite schedules, managed to chip away at the ice and severity he projected towards those he was wary of. His mask. His protection.
And beneath it, he was a certified yearner.
It felt like an invisible, aching pull toward you when you were in the room that made his hands clench and unclench in desperation. And it drove him mad.
His eyes would lock onto you like you were a crystal ball that could tell him all the secrets of the universe. They’d trace your face, your fingers, the curve of your clothed back, memorizing every inch of your being. The things he wanted to touch. Hold. Kiss.
But he never allowed himself the luxury so easily. That is to say, he never initiated.
If you had ever come up behind him and wrapped your arms around him or placed a kiss on his cheek while he was making tea, then by all means, he would return it tenfold. But taking the initial step to begin with was something he never did.
Severus had the lesson beaten, quite literally, into his head that men who showed vulnerability and a need for the softer things made them weak. Made them pathetic. That it didn’t make him a man. It was a different story with sex. Society perpetuated that demanding and taking it, as dubious as that was, attributed masculine value to him. Of course, he never exercised such brutish behavior, nor agreed with it.
When it came to wanting your affections in general, however, the shame he had learned from a young age had always overpowered his want for it. He often suffered in silence, vibrating with the desire to swaddle you in his cloak-clad arms and litter your face and neck with kisses. So when you’d floo into his office to stay with him in the evenings and on the weekends, he felt he was forced to stand there and wait for you to give him that lovely smile, set your things down, and draw him into a hug and a kiss rather than approach you himself.
Then, it happened.
A business excursion.
You weren’t originally meant to go, but someone had fallen ill, and you were their substitute. You’d be gone for a week in Italy. Italy. A country where men were raised to be very demonstrative with their affections. Where you could, quite possibly, be stolen away from him by someone with well-groomed hair and sinful compliments. But there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was see you off and murmur words of encouragement to you before he would be officially deprived of your presence for seven gruelling days.
***
The shift was immediate.
Severus was more curt to his colleagues and harsher in his classes, his frustration mounting with every day that passed. Dumbledore had assumed something had happened between the two of you, a disagreement or fight of some kind that left him more brooding than usual. When Severus was questioned on it and answered that you were to be away in a different country for a week, the two older staff members shared a knowing look of amusement. The man was merely missing you.
Every evening, by himself, he spent in front of the fireplace, a book he would attempt to read discarded in his lap, and his head propped up on his fist, staring into the flames. You being gone forced him to think about how many moments in the span of your relationship he had wasted when he could’ve pressed his lips to yours or when you had finished organizing a cabinet, and he could’ve turned you around and slipped his arms between yours and held you close. He would never tell you this, but he missed you so badly that by day two, he had enlarged a pillow to be your size, wrapped it with one of your cloaks you had left behind that smelled strongly of you, and spooned it at night during the entirety of your absence.
On the last day of your planned trip, he had spent the entire evening after his final class pacing about his office, unnecessarily rearranging books and decorations for the millionth time, anything to keep his mind off the impatience that ate at him like termites on wood. He was acting ridiculously, and he knew it. Surely, he was not this needy, that he wasn’t creating indents in the stone floors from how intensely agitated his footfalls were. But he was at his breaking point.
Damn propriety. He needed you.
When his floo crackled with green sparks, his head snapped toward the childed masonry. There were a few more firm pops, and suddenly, WHOOSH! Green fire erupted upwards for just a second before vanishing, and in its place stood you.
It took him no longer than two seconds to cross the room.
You stepped out of the floo, hardly having a moment to set your suitcase down and look for your partner, before you were wrapped in warm black cloth and a pair of lips pressed firmly against yours.
You gasped against the kiss, taken aback by the abruptness of it until you realized it was Severus, but then your brain short-circuited further, that this was also Severus initiating. You had never minded that he didn’t, as he was always receptive to you, and his nature with most other people was more reserved, but this was still a pleasant surprise.
His mouth moved against yours passionately, his movements desperate, yet devastatingly precise in how his lips molded against yours. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand pressing your back and the other threading in your hair, keeping you right where he wanted for now. You melted cooperatively against him, a fact that greatly relieved Severus as you matched his mouth with pleasurable hums, arms looping around his neck.
After a good minute or two, you just barely managed to separate from him to get a few gulps of much-needed air, pink-faced and panting the first syllable of his name before his mouth was back on yours, unwilling to separate for longer than even a moment. This time, while keeping his lips on you, his hands grabbed your waist and guided you hurriedly to the couch, where he hit the edge of the cushion and plopped down, dragging you with him, and manhandling your body to straddle his lap with your torso, pressing against his.
You were stunned by this sudden bout of forwardness from him and subtly wondered if this would turn sexual at all, but his hands travelled no lower than your waist, and to your relief, as you were a bit tired and just wanted to relax despite missing him.
You did your best to keep up with the way his mouth worked against yours, intoxicated by this desperate version of him that sought you without hesitation. You had noticed in the past the way he always seemed to wait for you to hug or kiss him, and not always easily; sometimes with great, visible restraint; his hands flexing at his sides were always the sign that he was trying very hard to contain the yearner in him he tried to hide deep down. But he wasn’t hiding it now.
The next time you separated, it was he who eased you back by your shoulders. Both of you were practically heaving, pink in the face as you attempted to catch your breath.
“That was a nice welcome home,” you chuckled breathlessly, cupping his face. It was an innocent statement, and really, just slipped out. Using humor to break the tension was always your go-to. However, it had the opposite effect.
Severus made an expression you could only label as him “clamming up.” His breath stilled, jaw tightening, and his eyes flicked down and away at some unknown point. It was the face he made when he was confronted over something he knew was his fault when the two of you argued. His throat bobbed a little, and his hands jumped from your shoulders to your waist with, you assumed, the intention of moving you off him.
Well, you weren’t going to have that.
Before he could apply any pressure, you caught him off guard and surged forward, pressing your body fully to his, your weight making him sink deeper back against the couch cushions as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck.
He froze.
“I missed you,” you had decidedly murmured into his ear, one arm resting on his shoulder, the other looping up so your fingers travelled up the base of his skull and scratched soothingly on his scalp, a move that never failed to make him relax.
The tension in his body from his own self-doubt began to ease somewhat, his arms coming to hesitantly wrap around you once more.
“I thought about you every day,” you continued. “And uhm…I’m sorry if you missed any of your cloaks for the week.”
Severus found his voice again. “My cloaks?”
“Yes. I…I took one from your wardrobe before I left. Just to have at night.” You blushed furiously and added far more quietly. “It was awful not being able to feel you in the bed.”
Inside, he melted at the fact that you had missed him to such a degree. That the pull toward one another was very much reciprocated. He buried his nose into your hair, sighing and tightening his hold on you.
“I missed you as well. Your absence at night was…similarly torturous.”
“Oh? Did you do anything similar to what I did?” you asked jokingly. And yet, you had felt him flinch. It was subtle, but there. Enough to tell you the truth in place of his lack of response.
You began to lean back up. “Severus, if I go to your bedroom, will I find—” Your face met his shoulder again as your head was pressed unceremoniously back into place.
“Don’t,” Severus grunted, and you could feel the heat that blazed up his neck against your forehead. He was embarrassed enough as it is. “You already know. Just…stay here,” he beseeched quietly. “Please…”
“Of course,” you whispered, with a slight laugh. “At least until my knees go numb.”
You had meant it as a joke, but Severus took such things very seriously, especially if he intended to keep you pressed against him for as long as he could. He encouraged you to sit back a little before helping you move into a more comfortable position with you sitting sideways in his lap with your head still coming to rest in the crook of his neck. Your fingers played with his hand, bringing it up to your mouth and kissing his knuckles individually.
“I know it was torturous for you,” you said quietly. “I know you have these…reservations when you want to love up on me physically. That you feel the need to wait until I do it to you.” You kissed the back of his palm and let his hand come to rest in your grasp. “And that’s alright, if it’s nerves…or you’re just self-conscious. I get it. I still love you all the same. As long as I never make you uncomfortable with my spontaneity—”
“You don’t,” Severus muttered against your hair, placing a soft kiss on your head. “You never do. Don’t ever stop. Otherwise…”
💌Severus Snape x Herbology Professor(or intern/new professor)!Reader
💭SFW: Fluff, kind of slowburn ish, Snape falling in love for you, Snape asks you out at the end, reader being kind of oblivious to Snape’s feelings, McGonagall not so secretly rooting for you
A/N: This was a request I got a long while ago that I forgot to publish and then I accidentally deleted my entire inbox ago like a week and a half ago… oops. Still working on that Harry smut, energy has been finicky and I’m also running out of title names so…enjoy! Also I kind of made up herbs here so....I can't remember if everything mentioned is genuinely in Harry Potter. I got lazy, ok?
—
The last rays of sun filtered in through the greenhouse glass, casting long amber streaks across the rows of plants. The warmth of the day still clung to the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil and fresh herbs. You were bent over a tray of dittany, carefully snipping the mature stems, fingertips smudged green and brown.
A faint click of the door opening broke the quiet.
“I assumed this time of day would afford me some peace,” came the familiar drawl, dry as ever.
You didn’t look up right away, too focused on trimming the final sprig just so. “It usually does. But Pomona let me stay late—she’s already gone for the evening.”
You turned then, wiping your hands on the edge of your robe. “If you’re here for your asphodel, I set aside a few roots. The good ones.”
Snape paused, half-shadowed in the doorway, robes billowing slightly with the breeze that followed him in. “You’ve taken to preparing them for me now, have you?”
You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you don’t like when the third-years mangle it. Figured I’d save us both the trouble.”
He stepped forward slowly, eyeing the basket of sorted roots with a furrowed brow that wasn’t quite irritation. You knew that look by now—it was his version of…appreciation, maybe.
“You’re far too accommodating,” he muttered, reaching for the basket.
You tilted your head. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”
There was a beat of silence. He didn’t respond, not directly. Instead, he took the basket and turned away, muttering something that might have been “Hmph. At least someone here is competent.”
As he pushed the door open, you called gently after him, “You’re welcome, Severus.”
He paused again. Just briefly. Didn’t turn back. But the door closed a little more gently than usual behind him.
—
The last of the students had filed out in a flurry of parchment and scuffed shoes, leaving behind the usual aftermath—dried potions clinging to cauldrons, the faint scent of burnt lavender, and his patience hanging by a thread. Snape waved his wand with a practiced flick, vanishing the worst of the mess, but left the benches and shelves untouched.
He glanced at the time.
You were usually in the dungeons by now, carrying that blasted basket of herbs and trimmed ingredients like it was second nature. No fanfare. No knock. Just a soft rustle of robes and the gentle thud of the basket placed near his desk.
But the hallway outside was silent.
He paced once behind his desk, then again. Sat. Stood up. Adjusted the jars along the side shelf with more force than needed.
Ridiculous.
He had no use for distractions. Least of all ones that came in the shape of a professor too kind for your own good—offering him perfect snips of monkshood and bundles of fresh lavender, leaving little parchment notes in neat handwriting:
“Figured you’d want this batch—fresh from greenhouse three. ”
He still had yesterday’s note tucked under a stack of unused parchment, though he told himself it was only because he might need to reference it later.
Another glance at the time.
Then, as if summoned—soft footsteps echoed down the hall. A pause. The faint creak of the classroom door, opening just a bit.
Your voice, a quiet breath of warmth in the gloom:
“Sorry I’m late. I got caught up de-thorning the wandwood. Nasty thing today.”
Snape didn’t move at first. He just blinked at you from behind his desk, caught somewhere between relief and something far more irritating.
You stepped fully inside, brushing a stray leaf from your sleeve as you set the basket down. “I brought extra. Pomona said the next few weeks might be rough with the way the fluxweed’s reacting to the moon cycle.”
Still, he said nothing. Just looked at you. A little too long.
“…Is everything alright?” you asked finally, uncertain.
Snape cleared his throat. “Perfectly fine,” he said, voice clipped. “You’re late.”
You raised an eyebrow, more amused than offended. “Didn’t know you timed my deliveries.”
“I don’t.”
You only smiled, starting to turn to go. “Alright, then. I’ll be out of your way.”
But this time, he spoke before you reached the door.
“…I expect the same quality tomorrow,” he said, low and almost gruff. “If you’re planning to make a habit of it.”
You turned back, eyes bright with just the hint of a knowing smile. “Of course, Professor.”
And then you left. And he stood there for a moment longer than he meant to, listening to the echo of your footsteps as they faded down the corridor.
The kettle was whistling gently in the corner as you poured yourself a cup of tea, the clink of ceramic and quiet shuffle of parchment the only sounds in the room. A rare moment of peace between classes.
“Ah, there you are,” came McGonagall’s voice, crisp and familiar, as she stepped inside with a small stack of essays in hand. “I thought I saw you duck in.”
You smiled over your shoulder. “Just grabbing a quick cup. The third-years nearly destroyed my entire bench this morning trying to identify waterweed.”
She tsked sympathetically, setting her papers down and conjuring a second cup for herself. “Better yours than mine,” she murmured, then took a sip. “Though I must say—Herbology seems to be agreeing with more than just your students lately.”
You blinked, turning slightly. “…Pardon?”
McGonagall’s expression didn’t change much, but there was an unmistakable gleam in her eyes. “Severus has been… unusually tolerable these past few weeks.”
Your brows lifted. “Tolerable?”
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m quite fond of the man in my own way, but I’ve known Severus for decades. He doesn’t do pleasant unless something’s caused it—or someone.”
Heat began creeping up your neck, but you busied yourself with stirring your tea. “Maybe he’s just been getting more sleep.”
“I highly doubt that,” McGonagall quipped, then added more softly, “He’s been speaking quite highly of the new monkshood you brought in. Very precise. And I’ve heard him recommend your tincture preservation methods to Slughorn.”
You blinked. “He… recommended me?”
“Mmhmm.” She glanced at you over her glasses. “So whatever it is you’ve been bringing down to those dungeons—it’s working.”
You chuckled nervously, pressing the rim of your cup to your lips to hide your smile. “It’s just plants, Minerva.”
“Yes,” she said, tone far too knowing, “and perhaps something a bit more human than that.”
And with that, she turned back to her papers, utterly serene, like she hadn’t just thrown your morning into a tailspin.
Your knuckles tapped gently against the heavy door of his office. It was half open—rare. Even rarer that the flickering firelight within actually gave the place a warm glow.
“Come in,” came that familiar, velvet-dry voice.
You stepped inside, arms cradling the satchel of fresh-cut lovage and yarrow. “Brought your request, Professor.”
“Must you always call me that?” he asked, barely glancing up from his parchment. “We’re both professors.”
You smiled faintly as you walked closer, noting the way his hand had paused mid-sentence. “Habit, I guess.”
Snape looked up then—really looked—and his expression softened almost imperceptibly. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered. You never did.
“I harvested the yarrow early this morning,” you added, laying the bundle gently across a cleared space on his desk. “Before the sun fully crested. It’s more potent that way.”
He nodded, fingertips brushing the stalks like they were something rare. “Of course you’d know that.”
There was something in his tone. Not sarcasm, not dismissive. Just… low, quiet appreciation. It made your chest tighten.
“You always bring exactly what I need,” he said after a beat, voice even softer now. “Even before I realize I’ve run out.”
You shrugged gently, watching him with careful eyes. “That’s what colleagues are for.”
But he didn’t answer.
Instead, he stood.
He didn’t loom the way others claimed he did—no, this was different. Hesitant. Like he was standing on the edge of something he hadn’t allowed himself to want in years. Maybe ever.
“I’m not…” he started, then stopped. Frowned. Tried again. “I don’t do this.”
You tilted your head. “Do what?”
He stepped closer. “This. Whatever this is between us.”
Your breath hitched.
“I’ve watched you flit about this castle with a smile that could undo the very seams of a man’s restraint,” he said, voice low. “And yet, you never seem to notice the effect you have. On me.”
A silence stretched. You felt it crackling between you like static.
And then, almost shyly—almost—he reached out, fingers brushing yours. Testing.
“If I were to ask if I might… take you to Hogsmeade. Not as a colleague. Not as a favor.” His eyes held yours. “But as a man very foolishly falling for you.”
Your heart soared.
You stepped closer, letting your fingers slip fully into his hand.
“I’d say yes,” you murmured. “Even if you are a little foolish.”
His mouth quirked upward. Just slightly. Just enough.
And in the quiet of his dungeon office, for the first time in far too long, Severus Snape let himself feel hope.
𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶: Severus Snape x Professor Reader
𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙽𝚁𝙴: Fluff
𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃: 2k
𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: None
Summary: Severus bribes you to go to bed because you have a knack of overworking yourself.
Author’s Note: I got tons of Snape drafts in my memo, and this will be the first one to be released.
Severus Snape Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Counting Tales
Severus Snape stood by the door of your classroom, black robes barely stirring as the night wind breeze blew steadily from your slightly ajar window.
“Professor,” he said coolly, voice low and precise,
“you keep rather late hours for someone who claims the stars are more predictable than people.”
His gaze flicked to the scattered star charts and faintly glowing instruments in your office before returning to you, lingering a fraction longer than strictly professional.
“I trust I am not interrupting… or is solitude part of your lesson plan tonight?”
It had been the seventh night in a row that Severus came to check on you in your office in the Astronomy Tower, to see if you had worked yourself to death once again—or were in bed. The light underneath the door only confirmed it.
You looked up from checking essays. It was past twelve. You didn’t even realize it.
“Oh, no. I was just finishing up,” you said, despite the fact that you were still writing.
Severus knew you were studious. Well… what did you expect from a professor like you?
Snape’s lip twitched barely, almost imperceptibly, as he stepped fully into the candlelight. His eyes narrowed at the quill still moving across parchment.
“‘Just finishing up,’” he repeated softly, with a dryness that suggested he had heard the phrase far too often. “An assertion that would be far more convincing if your hand were not still writing.”
He moved closer, black robes whispering against the stone floor, gaze flicking to the neat, meticulous notes.
Of course they were immaculate. Classic studious Ravenclaw.
“It is past midnight,” he continued, voice lower now, but edged with concern he refused to name aloud. “Even the stars you so revere observe cycles of rest. You, however, seem determined to defy them.”
He paused beside your desk, not touching anything, but close enough that his presence was undeniable.
“You promised me,” he added quietly, eyes lifting to yours at last, “that you would not work yourself into exhaustion again.”
Then, more softly only for you.
“And I have made a habit of checking because you are notoriously unreliable when left to your own devices.”
You looked up at him. “Well… I know I promised you yesterday, but I need these done tomorrow,” you said.
Snape exhaled through his nose, the sound suspiciously close to a sigh. He folded his arms, one brow lifting with theatrical restraint.
“Ah yes. Tomorrow,” he said dryly. “That mythical concept academics invoke… whenever they intend to ignore common sense.”
He leaned closer, peering over the essays as though they personally offended him.
“Tell me, are these essays on celestial mechanics,” he murmured, “or an elaborate excuse to avoid sleeping at a reasonable hour?”
Then, with exaggerated seriousness, he tapped the desk once.
“I must inform you that the Head of Slytherin is prepared to take… drastic measures.”
A pause. His eyes flicked to the quill still in your hand.
“I could confiscate that quill,” he said flatly. He hesitated.
“Five more minutes,” he conceded, lips thinning as though it pained him. “Then you stop. Or I sit here and critique every grammatical error aloud.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Choose wisely, Professor.”
“I don’t want you critiquing the students’ essays you’d mark them zero if you read them,” you said. “What are you doing here?”
Snape’s mouth twitched again, this time unmistakably amused, though he tried very hard to pretend otherwise.
“An outrageous accusation,” he replied smoothly. “I would not give them zero.”
He paused, raising a brow as he looked at you.
“Several might earn a very generous two.”
He moved to the opposite chair and sat far too casually for a man who insisted he was only here out of duty. One long leg crossed over the other, hands folding neatly.
“As for what I am doing here,” he continued, tone carefully neutral, “I was making my nightly rounds.”
He lifted a brow, eyes glinting.
“And I noticed the Astronomy Tower was still lit… again. Which means you were either being abducted by a celestial entity,” he deadpanned,
“or ignoring your own well-being.”
His gaze softened just a fraction as it settled on you.
“I ruled out the former.”
He leaned back, glancing at the towering stack of essays.
“Besides,” he added lightly, “Minerva has begun to notice a pattern. If you collapse during breakfast, it reflects poorly on us both.”
Then, with mock severity
“So. Finish that sentence,” he said, nodding at your parchment. “Then close the folder.”
His lips curved faintly.
“Or I stay. And make unhelpful commentary about planetary metaphors until you surrender—”
“But there’s so much to do, and I have to finish the students’ essays tomorrow,” you cut him off.
“I could get coffee at breakfast. I promise I won’t collapse,” you said.
Snape’s sharp eyes caught the shadow of a frown, the way your words faltered mid-justification. He tilted his head slightly, lips pressing into that familiar thin line. The essays, the coffee, the endless rationalizations all irrelevant if you were going to wear yourself down.
Without a word, he reached for a leather-bound book from the shelf, flipping it open with deliberate care. The faint scent of parchment drifted toward you as he looked back, dark eyes softening just enough to betray… something he would never name.
“If you come with me right now,” he said, voice low, almost reluctant, “I’ll read to you. Out loud. Entirely for your benefit.”
He paused, letting the weight of the offer settle, then added with unmistakable emphasis:
“I do not do this for anyone. Ever. Certainly not for anyone who insists on arguing with me instead of sleeping.”
His gaze lingered on you measuring, challenging, coaxing—unspoken insistence threading through every word.
“Come. Or stay, and I assure you, the stars will be entirely unsympathetic to your poor choices. And you'll regret it....in the morning”
The book rested in his hands like a bridge between you, the soft flicker of candlelight catching on the spine, and for a fleeting moment, he looked almost… gentle.
Severus held your worn leather-bound collection of Muggle bedtime stories between his long fingers, tilting it slightly as if it were a rare treasure.
“It is… uncommon,” he said, voice edged with teasing, “to see this book around. And yet, here it is… in my hands.”
He shook the book slowly, a faint, mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
“I had hoped to read aloud the tale of a thief… in green tights I forget his name,” he added, eyes flicking to you, “but as you are not in bed, I suppose I’ll pass. I could have voiced the sheriff, you know.”
Your eyes narrowed, standing your ground despite the flutter in your chest.
“You think you can bribe me with an old bedtime story?” you said, lifting your chin. “I’m already—”
He cut you off effortlessly, the grin widening just slightly, eyes dark with mischief.
“…older ,” he said, voice dropping, “if I am to return to my dungeon and read it alone, I suppose you will never know how delightfully the sheriff’s indignation sounds.”
Your resolve faltered for just a moment before he tilted the book, holding it like a challenge.
“Robin Hood,” he said simply, and began recounting the thefts with his usual dramatic flair, slipping into voices for the Sheriff of Nottingham and the Merry Men.
Unable to resist, you finally relented, a smile breaking through your careful composure.
“Okay, okay… I’ll go to bed,” you said softly, sliding from your seat, surrendering to the warmth of the moment.
Snape’s smile softened, and as you left the office together, the tower seemed to grow quieter, the stars outside blinking down as if giving their blessing to this rare, stolen moment of peace and closeness.
You practically skipped to your sleeping quarters, sliding under the covers with the enthusiasm of a child being promised a bedtime story.
“All right. I’m in bed,” you declared, your eyes sparkling.
Severus allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible chuckle, the corner of his lips twitching. You looked like a child demanding a story—and somehow, it was endearing beyond reason.
He perched beside you, one shoulder brushing yours as he opened the worn leather book.
“Very well,” he said softly, voice low and smooth. “Since you insist on being treated like a child, I shall indulge you.”
He flipped the page deliberately, letting the candlelight catch the edges of the worn parchment.
The familiar lines of Robin Hood filled the quiet room, and he slipped into the story with surprising warmth, his voice deep and melodic as he narrated the daring thefts and clever tricks.
You snuggled under the blankets, eyes wide, hanging onto every word, and for a moment, Severus’s usual sharpness softened entirely.
“You do know,” he murmured, turning a page, “that you’re far too old for this… yet here you are, practically bouncing in bed like an eager first-year.”
“I’m not that old, and don’t lie—you do secretly enjoy Muggle bedtime stories!” you shot back, though your grin betrayed you.
“I… do not,” he said. He shook his head, lips twitching.
Severus continued reading, voice low and steady, narrating Robin Hood’s exploits with all the dramatic flair he could muster but it was clear that your eyelids were growing heavier with each word.
Eventually, despite your quiet protests and half-hearted attempts to sit up, you drifted into sleep, resting your head against his shoulder. The book slipped slightly in his hands, but he didn’t move.
Severus closed the leather-bound book carefully, setting it aside, and let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. He studied your sleeping face, the faint rise and fall of your chest, and the peaceful expression that softened every harsh thought he’d ever had about the world.
“Stubborn as ever,” he murmured under his breath, a rare softness in his voice.
He shifted slightly, careful not to wake you, adjusting so you could rest comfortably.
And for the first time that night, the Astronomy Tower felt warm, quiet, and almost… like home.
Severus remained awake long after you had fallen asleep, your steady breathing and soft movements against his shoulder keeping him rooted in place. He allowed himself to watch you for a few moments longer, the candlelight catching the delicate curve of your face and the way your hair spilled across the pillow.
His hand moved almost instinctively, gently tucking the blanket around your shoulders to keep you warm. He hesitated, thumb brushing lightly against your arm, before speaking in a voice barely above a whisper.
“You know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “it’s remarkable… how someone can be so brilliant, so stubborn, and still… so gentle. You have a way of being extraordinary without even trying.”
He paused, eyes tracing the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. A rare vulnerability slipped into his tone words he would never voice in daylight, words no one else would hear.
“And it’s Not just your cleverness or the way you see the stars. It’s everything else too. How you care, how you fight, how you make the world softer just by being in it… You’re… beautiful. Inside and out.”
Severus exhaled softly, the tiniest tension leaving his shoulders. He shifted slightly, making sure the blanket was snug over you, careful not to disturb your sleep.
“And… if ever there’s a day when you might see me as I see you…” he murmured, almost inaudible, “…I would consider it the most extraordinary thing in the world.”
For now, though, he stayed silent, content to let you rest, the weight of his admiration and quiet devotion settling like the stars themselves in the quiet of the Astronomy Tower.
