Wandless Excerpt: The Clearing
I’ve decided to post a chapter from Wandless that doubles as a one-shot pretty well. No major spoilers, but it captures the vibe of the story for anyone wondering if it’s for them. 💚
Summary: An accidental soul bond has left Heather experiencing Snape’s memories in her dreams—each one more vivid than the last. Tonight, she finds herself in a moonlit clearing in the Forbidden Forest, watching through his eyes as a teenage Severus teaches Lily Evans to cast her first Patronus. What should be a triumph becomes something far more painful.
Word count: 3087
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The forest was dark.
That was the first thing—darkness pressing close, branches catching at my robes as I moved. My feet found uneven ground, roots and soft earth, and I was walking—no, pushing—through dense undergrowth, arms raised to shield my face.
Where am I? The Forbidden Forest? The trees are—
She's going to think this is stupid. She's going to see it and think I've gone soft and she'll laugh and—
The thoughts slammed into mine like a door thrown open. Not mine. His. Sharper than last time—not just emotion bleeding through, but words, fully formed, cutting across my own like a second voice in my skull.
I tried to steady myself, unprepared for the assault of it—his thoughts tangling with mine, crowding out my own before I could finish them.
She? Who is he—footsteps, someone's behind me—
—have to get there before she loses patience. If she turns back now I'll never—
His anxiety flooded through me, drowning my own thoughts mid-sentence. I grasped for my own awareness, tried to hold onto something—I'm Heather, I'm dreaming, this is his memory—
Almost there. Just past the ridge. It looked better in the afternoon, the light was—what if it doesn't look the same at night? What if—
It was like trying to read in a windstorm. Every time I reached for a thought of my own, his swept it away—louder, more urgent, more present than anything I could hold onto. He wasn't just feeling anymore. He was thinking, and his thoughts filled every corner of the space between us, leaving no room for mine.
I stopped fighting.
It wasn't a decision, exactly. More like the moment you stop swimming against a current and let it take you. I let my own voice go quiet—stopped trying to narrate, stopped trying to observe, stopped trying to be me—and let his mind rush in to fill the silence.
The forest sharpened around me.
Branches clawed at my sleeves as I pushed through the undergrowth, one arm raised to keep them from my face. The ground was uneven—roots catching at my feet, damp earth giving way beneath my shoes. Behind me, lighter footsteps picked their way along the same path, slower, more cautious.
Almost there. Just past the fallen oak. The canopy opens up ahead—I remember.
I ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, holding it back without thinking. The footsteps behind me quickened to catch up.
"Sev, how much further?" Her voice carried through the dark, half-amused, half-impatient. "If we get caught out here—"
"It's just ahead."
She'll see it and she'll understand why I brought her here. She will.
"You said that five minutes ago." A twig snapped behind me. "I'm serious, if we get caught—"
"We won't get caught." Sharp. Too defensive. The flicker of irritation wasn't at her—at myself, for sounding like I was snapping when I was only nervous. Stop it. Don't ruin this before it starts.
I pushed through a dense tangle of bracken, thorns snagging at my robes, and then—
The trees fell away.
Moonlight poured into a clearing ahead, silver and cool, flooding the space like it had been waiting for us. Grass grew thick and soft across the forest floor, scattered with small white flowers that seemed to glow in the pale light. The canopy had opened above—a wide, ragged circle of sky letting the night in, stars flung across it like salt on dark glass, so bright after the darkness of the forest that I had to blink.
Hellebore. That wasn't here before. Better, even.
I stepped into the light. The air was cooler here, cleaner, the closeness of the forest giving way to open sky. Behind me, the footsteps stopped.
"Whoa."
I turned. Lily stood at the edge of the clearing, one hand still raised where she'd been pushing a branch aside, her lips parted. The moonlight caught her hair and turned it silver at the edges, the red muted to something darker, richer.
"Sev, this is beautiful." She stepped forward, her gaze sweeping the clearing—the flowers, the open sky, the moonlight pooling in the grass. "How did you find this?"
Third year. Following moonpetal shoots through the east ridge. Wasn't looking for anything like this—just needed the stems for a draught. But then the trees opened up and—
"I have my ways." The smugness sat warm in my chest, and I let it. She was impressed. She was here, in the place I'd found, the place no one else knew about, and she was looking at me like I'd given her something precious.
Good. This is good. This is how tonight is supposed to go.
Lily wandered further into the clearing. She tipped her head back, looking up at the open sky, and for a moment she just stood there—moonlight on her face, her eyes closed, breathing it in.
Remember this.
She turned back to me, smiling. "It's really something, Sev." She glanced around once more, then pulled her wand from her robes. "But we should get started. If someone notices we're gone—"
"No one will notice."
She gave me a look—the one that meant you don't know that—but didn't argue. She rolled her wand between her fingers, the wood catching the light. "All right, then. Show me."
I drew my own wand. The weight of it steadied me.
"The movement is precise," I said, raising it. "A slow arc—not a flick. Like this." I traced the motion through the air, deliberate, controlled. "You let the intent build through the motion. The incantation comes at the peak."
She watched, her eyes tracking the tip of my wand. Then she raised her own and tried it—too fast, the arc collapsing into a sharp upward jab.
"No." I stepped closer. "You're rushing it. The power comes from the buildup, not the speed. Slower. Like this."
I demonstrated again. She tried once more—better, but the wrist was wrong, the angle too steep.
"Your wrist," I said. "You're breaking it at the top. It needs to stay fluid. One continuous motion."
She tried again. Still not quite right.
Just show her. Go stand behind her and guide her arm through it. That's all. That's just teaching.
I moved behind her. Close enough that I could reach her wand arm, close enough that the smell of her hair hit me—something floral, faint, warm.
Focus.
"Here." My hand found her wrist—light, careful, barely touching. I guided her arm through the arc, slow, the way it was supposed to feel. "One motion. Don't break it."
She let me lead her through it once. Twice. On the third pass, something clicked—I felt the resistance leave her arm, the motion becoming her own.
"Good." I let go. Stepped back. Breathe. "Now. Think of your happiest memory. Hold it in your mind—let it fill you completely. And then the incantation: Expecto Patronum."
She nodded, rolling her shoulders once, settling into her stance. She closed her eyes.
And smiled.
She's ready. She's going to do it. And then she'll tell me what the memory was, and—
"I'm ready," she said.
I stepped back to give her space.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Silver light erupted from the tip of her wand—not a wisp, not a shield, but a shape, bright and whole, bursting into the clearing like it had been waiting to be called. It landed on four slender legs, head raised, ears pricked. A doe. Silver and luminous, its light casting long shadows through the hellebore.
Of course. Of course it's a doe. I knew it. I knew that's what it meant.
The doe stepped forward, delicate, impossibly graceful, and bounded across the clearing. It trailed light like water, silver pooling in the grass where its hooves touched down.
Lily spun to face me, her eyes wide, her mouth open, and then she laughed—bright, startled, disbelieving—and threw her arms around me.
Everything stopped.
Her hair was against my jaw. Her arms were around my neck. She was warm—so warm—and shaking slightly, laughing into my shoulder, and my hands didn't know what to do. They hovered, useless, before settling—barely—against her back.
She's—this is—
"I did it!" She pulled back, gripping my shoulders, her face inches from mine. Her eyes were shining. "Sev, did you see? I actually did it!"
"I saw." My voice came out strange. Rough. "First try. That's—that's exceptional, Lily."
She beamed. The word hit exactly the way I'd meant it to—I could see it land, see the pride bloom across her face. She let go of my shoulders and turned to watch the doe, still bounding through the clearing, and the warmth of her hands faded from my robes like something I'd imagined.
She came to me. Not Potter. Not anyone. She asked me and I taught her and she did it perfectly and she—
Remember this. Remember exactly this.
"I knew yours would be a doe," I said.
She turned back, curious. "How did you know?"
"I... just had a feeling."
She tilted her head, studying me for a moment—something flickering behind her eyes that I couldn't quite read. Then the doe circled back toward us, silver light washing over her face, and she smiled and let it go.
"It's beautiful," she murmured, watching it fade. "It felt like... like laughing. Does that make sense?"
I know.
The doe faded, its silver light thinning to mist, then nothing. The clearing seemed darker without it.
Lily let out a long breath, still smiling. She sank into the grass, tucking her legs beneath her, her wand resting across her lap. I lowered myself beside her—not too close.
"So," I said. Casual. Controlled. "What memory did you use?"
Say it's me. Say it's us. Say it and I'll—
"My dad, actually."
The words landed quietly. Simply. Like they were nothing.
"Your dad?"
She nodded, tucking her wand away. "You remember what happened with Mulciber and Mary in the library? Before Christmas?"
Don't.
"When I got home, Mum was furious about the letter. I expected that." She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "But Dad—Dad's quiet when he's angry. Scarier than Mum, honestly. I spent the whole train ride rehearsing what I'd say. How I'd explain it."
She was quiet for a moment.
"He was waiting on the platform. And I started talking—trying to justify it—and he just... pulled me into a hug." Her voice softened. "Didn't say a word for the longest time. Just held me. And then he pulled back and said, 'I'm proud of you, Lily. For standing up for your friend. Don't ever stop doing that.'"
She looked at me. Her eyes were bright—not with tears, but with something luminous and sure.
"That's what I used," she said. "That feeling. Like someone sees exactly who you are and thinks it's enough."
My hands found the grass beside me, fingers pressing into the earth. The clearing was quiet without the silver light. The warmth from her hug was gone. The smugness from the clearing was gone. Everything I'd built tonight—the walk, the flowers, the lesson, the way she'd thrown her arms around me—all of it rearranged itself into something I couldn't hold.
It wasn't me. The memory wasn't me.
"Sev?" Lily's voice came from somewhere beside me, gentle. Concerned. "Are you all right?"
"Fine." The word came out flat. Clipped. Smile. Say something. Don't let her see.
"You've gone quiet."
"I'm just—" Think. "I'm surprised, that's all. I thought you'd use something... bigger. More dramatic."
She laughed softly. "What, like defeating a dragon? It doesn't work like that, does it? You said it had to be something real. Something felt."
I said that because I thought—
"And anyway," she continued, "it was big. To me. He said he wasn't mad about the detention—just happy that I stood up for my friend and protected her from someone who was going to hurt her." She paused. "And Mulciber was going to hurt her, Sev. I know you don't like hearing that, but he was. And I'd do it again."
The name landed like a stone dropped into still water.
"He wasn't going to hurt her." The words were out before I could stop them. Sharp. Defensive. "He was posturing. That's what they do—they talk. It doesn't mean anything."
Lily went very still beside me.
"He had his wand pointed at her face."
"That doesn't mean—"
"He told us we'd regret it. That we'd get what was coming to us." Her voice had changed—the warmth gone, something harder beneath it. "You weren't there, Sev. You didn't see the look on his face. That wasn't posturing."
She's exaggerating. Mulciber runs his mouth—everyone knows that. He wouldn't have actually—
But the thought felt thin. Paper-thin. And beneath it, something I didn't want to look at.
"They would never hurt you," I said. "They know you're—"
Mine.
"—my friend."
The word hung between us, wrong-shaped. Too small for what I'd meant. Too small for what I'd swallowed.
Lily stared at me for a long moment. Something shifted in her expression—not anger, not yet. Something sadder.
"And Mary?" she said quietly. "She's not your friend. Would they hurt her?"
I didn't answer.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and full of things I couldn't say. The clearing felt smaller than it had before—the moonlight thinner, the flowers less bright. Like the whole place was contracting around us.
Lily looked away first. She pulled a blade of grass from the ground, twisting it between her fingers.
"Let's stop talking about this," she said. "I'm tired of fighting about it."
The silence settled between us like something solid. I could feel her waiting—waiting for me to say something, to fix it, to pull us back to where we'd been ten minutes ago when she'd been laughing in my arms.
Say something. Anything. Don't let it end like this.
"Show me your Patronus," she said.
The words hit like cold water.
No. She'll—no. I can't.
The thought slammed shut. A wall, dropping fast and hard, locking everything behind it.
"It's..." I reached for the excuse. "It's not working well right now. Doesn't come every time for me yet."
"Really?" She turned to face me, the tension from the argument already softening into curiosity. "But you said you figured it out."
"I did. It's just—inconsistent." Stop talking. The more you say the worse this gets. "The theory is sound. The execution needs work."
She studied me for a moment—that look she had, the one I could never hold for long.
"Well, maybe it's your memory," she said. "What are you using?"
The image flooded in before I could stop it. Her. By the lake, the afternoon sun dappling through the trees. Lying on her stomach in the grass, her schoolbooks forgotten beside her, her hair flashing copper in the light. Laughing. That laugh—bright and unguarded, the kind that made everything else go quiet.
Not that. She can't know that. Think of something else—
"When Professor Slughorn commended my Wit-Sharpening Potion," I said. "Last term. He said it was the finest he'd seen from a student in years."
It wasn't even a good lie. Too specific to sound natural. Too academic to fuel a Patronus and she'd know that—she was too clever not to.
Lily tilted her head. "That made you happy enough to cast a Patronus?"
"It was a significant achievement."
She didn't believe me. I could see it—the slight narrowing of her eyes, the way her mouth pressed together like she was choosing not to push. She knew I was lying. She just didn't know about what.
"Well," she said slowly, "maybe we should try to figure out something else. Something stronger."
There's no salvaging it now. Can't confess after an argument—she'll think I'm doing it to win her back. And if we stay here she'll ask about the Patronus again and I'll have to show her and she'll know—she'll see it and she'll know and she'll laugh—she'll think it's pathetic, she'll—
The thought cut off. I wouldn't let it finish.
"Another time," I said. "Like you said. Someone will notice if we don't get back soon."
Lily didn't move right away. She sat in the grass, her wand still resting across her lap, looking at me. Not angry. Not frustrated. Something worse.
Disappointed.
Like she'd been waiting for something—all night, maybe longer—and had just watched me choose not to give it to her.
Her lips parted. For a moment I thought she was going to say something—push back, demand I stop deflecting, ask me what was really going on. And part of me wanted her to. Part of me wanted her to force it out of me so I wouldn't have to be the one to say it.
She closed her mouth. Looked away.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Let's go back."
She rose to her feet, brushing grass from her robes. The moonlight caught her face as she turned toward the tree line—soft, pale, her expression already smoothing into something she could carry back through the castle without anyone asking questions.
But I'd seen it. That flicker before she'd put it away. Something I couldn't name, except that it had been there and now it wasn't, and it was my fault.
Lily turned toward the trees, and the clearing began to thin—the moonlight dimming, the flowers losing their shape, the edges of everything softening like watercolors left in the rain.
Wait—
A sound. Sharp, wrong, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. Not the forest. Not the dream.
A knock.
The clearing shattered. Lily's face—that last expression, quiet and closed and already walking away—scattered like light on broken water. The forest, the flowers, the sky, all of it folding inward, collapsing—
I gasped awake.
My room. My bed. The dark ceiling above me, the hearth cold and black. My heart was hammering, my breath coming in shallow pulls, and the dream still clung to me—moonlight, hellebore, the ghost of his panic still thrumming under my ribs.
Another knock. Harder this time. Deliberate.
I threw the covers back, my hands unsteady. Grabbed my robe from the chair and pulled it on, fumbling with the tie as I crossed the room. My mind was still half in the forest—his thoughts still tangled with mine, the weight of his shame still pressing against my ribs.
Who—
I opened the door.
Snape stood in the corridor. Not composed—not the careful, controlled mask I'd come to expect. His eyes were sharp, dark, cutting past me into the room before I'd fully registered who it was.
The same dark eyes I'd just been looking through.
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