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peachigummi · 2 months ago

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bite 𓆚 tom riddle. p1.

summary: dearest tom made a promise to celebrate your birthday, but ends up forgetting. you low key give him the cold shoulder and threaten to break things off.

pairing: tom (if you squint, he's rather sensitive! and insecure!) x fem!slytherin! reader

warnings: nothing too crazy that I can think of. moderate angst. mentions of alcohol, intoxication.

note: reader is almost a like female version Tom in terms of being a brat with feelings. baby nagini appearance! no mention of "y/n", actually just once. indirect mention of Dune by Frank Herbert! (Read Part 2 here!)

word count: 6,554

(trust i will never perfectly proofread my work at this point)

please reblog, like & comment ! my god. ive had major writers block. but hey...please talk to me...tell me how you feel!

You hurriedly made your way down to the dungeons after your last class. You were excited to see Tom. You hadn’t seen him throughout the day and that wasn’t too unusual. Actually it was quite normal, but today was your birthday.

Over the recent years, the celebrations dwindled for you. There was barely anyone who congratulated you, let alone acknowledged it. Everyone was so engrossed in their own hectic lives, including yourself. There was no place to blame. It was something you cared less and less about.

Although, this year would be different, you had Tom. You had someone! You had been together for a handful of months, though it felt much longer than that. It was difficult to tell when it was official, especially with Tom, he never wanted to make it known if it was exclusive or not. He was always hesitant, distant even.

There was a point where you couldn’t handle the pull and push games, so you would try to move on from him. You quickly found that after you went on dates, the other person would miraculously turn up injured or afraid to approach you the very next day. It was a very stern talk with Tom after that pattern emerged.

It was your first serious relationship, hell it was probably his too. You cared for him, and you were pretty sure he cared about you even if he wasn’t the best at showing it. You would even go so far as to try and even say you loved him. Tom always stopped you from talking about your feelings aloud especially if it pertained to himself.

You had been studying with Tom on some mundane day when he suddenly asked when your birthday was. You looked curiously at him, no one had asked about it in a long time, but you didn’t hold out on informing him. “Good. Clear your schedule that day. Let’s do something special, just us two. I want to celebrate the day you graced this forsaken planet. I want to do something for you.” That was almost a confession of love from him. You had nearly lunged at him across the table to smother him in kisses. Instead you just nodded and continued on your paper, with a not so subtle smile.

Ever since that day you felt excitement for your birthday to come. You had your own personal countdown going in your head.

...

Tom opened the door, you almost could see the faint smile he had, fade. “Oh, hey. What are you doing here?” He starts to close the door, not so subtly. Alarms go off in your head.

“What?” You place your hand on the door, counteracting his movement.

He doesn’t even fight it, letting you open it. “Invading my space I see..” He mutters, and takes a slight step back, you see Mattheo and Draco, with what looks like shot cups in their hands. Mattheo raises his other hand to greet you. “Doesn’t matter, we’re about to leave.”

“Oh?” You say dumbfounded. You look around the room subtly, maybe this was an idea of a joke. He was horrible with jokes. You really had expected him to be alone, so you were surprised. You try to shake off the feeling. “Where are you guys off to?” You ask blandly, waving to his younger brother and nodding to Draco.

“Hogsmeade. To drink.” Tom, looks out into the hall before closing the door and facing you.

“Hmm…really?” You walk towards his desk, picking up a random item and just looking at it from different angles. “And the occasion?” You almost rolled your eyes at the item.

Tom eyed your every movement. The corner of his lip twitched, but he maintained his usual bored expression. “Is having a reason a necessity to drink?”

Draco snorted, “someone’s in a sour mood.”

“Just curious.” You ignore Draco. You hated the feeling you got in your chest. It was as if a cold gust brushed up against your heart, scrunching it into a raisin. There was a pause. “Can I take Nagini out for a walk then?” You ask changing the subject, “you hardly ever let her bask in the sun.”

Tom’s eyes almost softened at the mention of his precious snake. He looked at Mattheo and Draco briefly before returning to look at you, “I suppose. Just be careful and don’t go out too far.”

You push past Tom to get to the dresser where Nagini’s enclosure was settled on top of. You smile at the rather little but chunky snake. “Hi Nini, let’s get you some fresh air. Just us two.”

Tom couldn’t help but love watching you talk to Nagini in that way, but it irritated the way you emphasized ‘just us two.’ Almost as if you were deliberately pushing him out. It was his snake.

“C’mon Tom. She’s just taking the snake for a walk. What? Think she’s going to run off with it?” Draco breaks the silence once more. Tom shot Draco a look that made him pour himself another shot and turn his whole body away. Mattheo nearly smacked him.

“Might just.” Your back was still turned towards them. You got on the tips of your toes so you could open up the top of the tank and let Nagini wrap herself around your hand and up your forearm. “Since he’ll be out drinking on no special occasion.” You nearly roll your eyes again, but you do snort.

Clenching his jaw at your snarky comment, the anger began to brew inside Tom. He was about to bite back until he was interrupted by Mattheo. “Alright, we’re going to miss happy hour.” His younger brother put a hand on his shoulder and practically dragged him out of the door. Tom pushed Mattheo’s hand away from him.

“Don’t get into trouble.” Tom turned around, looking at your back.

“Ditto.” You mutter dismissively, not turning to look at them. Your full attention on Nagini, stroking her soft under chin where she liked it the most. Still, your chest ached. You hear the door shut with a bit more force than usual, making you flinch.

While the guys walked to Hogsmeade, Tom’s mind began to race. He couldn’t explain why he felt so irritated at that moment. He suspected it might be because you came barging in and asking too many questions, already seeming accusatory.

You on the other hand had stayed in Tom’s room for just long enough to make sure you didn't bump into his group while you thought of a route to take Nagini on.

You sigh, leaving your bag, then walking out the door. You watched as the little snake peered around in the hall curiously, “when was the last time little Tommy fed you?” You ask. “Let’s get you a nice field mouse shall we?”

Nagini looked up at you, her long tongue flicking. She coiled herself in a way so she would be more comfortable in your arm. She hisses in a way which you assume would be to say ‘thank god someone is going to feed me soon.’

You open your eyes and lean up on your elbows when you hear a rustling. You watch as Nagini makes her way back to you, the blades of grass slightly parting as she comes along. Her middle was much more full than before after her free hunt. “Looks like you got a good one.” You smile when she lifts her head up. You set your hand down so she could climb back up onto you. You sigh.

Nagini seemed to study your face. As even a snake could tell that you were upset. She flicked her tongue out, giving a soft and sweet little hiss.

“Would it surprise you to know that it’s my birthday?” You ask, petting the top of her head. You noticed a bit of blood on her mouth, with your sleeve you wiped her clean. “Our Tommy said he would plan something for me today. But I guess it was a lie. Or he forgot.” You knew, he wasn’t one to easily forget.

Raising her head slightly, Nagini gazed with a mixture of knowing and sympathy. Especially when you mentioned Tom.

You shrug, looking off into the distance. You were running your finger from the top of her head to her belly. “I mean, I don’t expect anyone to do anything grand…or anything at all. Especially for me, my birthday. But…” Sitting up straight, you take a deeper breath, an attempt to self regulate. “Tom said he had wanted to do something for me, and just poof he forgot it was my birthday.”

Nagini seemed to pick up on the change in your tone. She looked up at you with concern in her little reptile eyes. She let out another soft hiss. Curling up tightly against your wrist like a bracelet, she seemed like she wanted to provide comfort in a way only a serpent was allowed to.

The sun finally settled and disappeared, “I mean… imagine if I could be like the sun? Disappear for a while.” You shift on your knees and carefully get up. “We should get going, without the sun you’re going to get terribly cold.” You hold open the pocket of your hoodie, carefully inserting your arm inside with her clinging on. You smiled as her head poked out, keeping a watchful eye on you as you walked back into the castle.

...

It got colder as we descended back into the dungeon. You heard familiar laughs and snickers. “Speak of the devil.” You whisper, sticking yourself in a darkened dip in the wall, waiting for the guys to pass.

Tom, Mattheo, and Draco were making their way back to the Slytherin common room after maybe a few too many drinks. They were all laughing and stumbling, holding onto each other for dear life.

They turned down the same hall where you were hiding, you could hear them getting closer. You dared to take a peek, Tom looked somewhat cheerful, happy even. You felt guilty with how much it irritated you. You couldn’t make out the snippets of their conversation, despite how loud they were being. It was much too slurred. You ducked back in the corner, turning your face away from the light so they wouldn't notice you as they passed. Once their footsteps were past you you turned back. Tom movements were replaced with one that is loose, that he rarely lets show, much too fluid. Clearly he was inebriated, not so precise. You watch as they disappear through the Slytherin common room door.

You felt Nagini nibble on your finger, pinching it. You almost let out a sound, silently cursing. You knew the reason why she had done that. She was growing impatient, uncomfortable. “Alright, alright I’ll go now.” As much as you really didn’t want to, Nagini needed to get back to the warmth. You didn’t want to see Tom, not now.

Stubbornly making your way through the same door, you watch as they clumsily go up the stairs to the dormitories. You tensed, sensing how Tom would feel upon noticing that Nagini wasn’t back in her tank yet. What about me? You thought, if he’d even care to notice that too.

You carefully and lightly tapped on his door, not wanting to take him by surprise again. Looking down at Nagini, she barely had her head out of your pocket. One little ember eye, peering back at you.

The door opened.

Tom looked at you with an annoyed look, as if he was trying to process your presence. He studied you, not saying anything, taking in the sight. His eyes landed on Nagini’s little head. Tom turned his head to look at the empty tank on his dresser. Seemingly like he totally forgot you had taken her. So unlike his usual self. He turned back to you, his features hardening.

You didn’t say anything back to him, you only glanced behind him. Mattheo and Draco were near to the point of wrestling to take over Tom’s bed. You barely touch him when you slide into his room.

Tom didn’t like that you wordlessly walked past him, watching as you pulled Nagini out of your pocket. How you pull open her habitat, how you softly smiled at her as she slithered back down. He felt a mix of annoyance and something else he couldn’t pinpoint.

“Thanks for listening.” You say to Nagini. She flicked her tongue out, as if saying ‘you’re welcome.’ You watched as she coiled up comfortably under the lamp, settling for a slumber. You turn around, Tom was still standing near the door. “What?” You feign obliviation, “have a nice night out?” You ask him, noticing how he is trying to disregard just how drunk he was. You could tell by how he kept slightly swaying on the balls of his feet. His eyes were slightly glossy.

He smirked, but internally he felt like you were almost accusing him, as if you were challenging him with that question. He didn’t like it. “Nawh da it’ss any of yourp buzzziness, but yes.” His voice came out more slurred than he expected, he shook his dead and tried to really focus on the oncoming ordeal. “I did have a nice night.” He tried again, successfully locking in.

“Ouch, okay then.” You hold your hands up defensively, saying ‘my bad for asking.’ “I had a nice night too. Thank you very much.” You hold back a snort.

“Oh, did you now?” Tom took a step closer to you, not amused by your attitude. “Do, pray tell, what did you do on this ‘nice night’.” His voice began to drip with sarcasm.

He set himself up for this. “Not that it’s any of your damn business.” You copy his own words, but you still respond to his question, “I watched the sunset with Nagini on my birthday.” You cross your arms tightly. In your peripheral vision you saw that Mattheo pushed Draco in a manner to shut up and pay attention.

Tom’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the mention of your birthday, realizing dawning on his inebriated mind. “It’s your birthday?” he repeated.

“Yes, Sherlock.” You look up at him annoyed.

“You don’t need to be such a smartass.” He looked down at you, amused with how you weren’t afraid of being a bratty with him. Amused, but alas, he didn’t like it. “I knew it was your birthday. I just forgot to mention it. Big deal.”

“Oof.” You dramatically grab at your chest in outward pain, as if you had been impaled, “clearly.” You were actually hurt, irritated with how he turned against his word that he wanted to plan something special. Fucking liar.

You had cleared yourself of your schedule, of course beside your classes. Tom would never let you miss a single one. You could have attended one of your many clubs. You could have had dinner for one. You could have just spent the day, so much better off than how it was turning out. Day wasted indeed. You would have been much happier even had you both just ended up studying in the library, not acknowledging that it was your birthday. At least then you would have spent it together. Not fighting.

Tom rolled his eyes at your gesture, “Oh, don’t be like that.” Words coming out a bit sharper than usual. Mattheo and Draco remained silent, eyes bouncing back and forth.

“I’m not, but whatever.” You shoulder bump him a bit roughly this time, walking towards the door.

Tom stumbled a bit as you went by, he was already unsteady by how much alcohol he’d consumed. Scowling he turned, “where do you think you’re going?!” He snapped.

“To my room, it’s just another day after all, hm? Just any other regular night.” You rolled your eyes despite him not being able to see it, your back was facing towards him. You didn’t dare look back or else you might actually break this careful facade. That it didn’t bother you as much as it really did.

“Oh, so now you’re going to just storm off like a petulant child?” He taunted, his jaw twitching. He wouldn’t admit it ever, but you definitely had a way of getting under his skin.

“Fuck off.” You whisper, grabbing your bag and sling it over your shoulder. “‘Night Draco, Matty.” You say just to point out that they were still there, and that Tom was making a scene in front of them.

Tom’s eyes narrowed as you completely dismissed him, while addressing the other two in the room. It started to crawl up to him, that he was basically being challenged in front of them. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Happy bir-” You heard Draco begin to say, before a muted thump followed. Mattheo had smacked the back of his head, clearly taking his older brother’s side. You ignore Tom’s comment while fighting the urge to just slam the door behind yourself, so instead you carefully clicked it shut.

Tom wasn’t one to chase after someone, but he did debate whether or not to go after you. Though, with his mind and body not being at peak condition, he struggled to make a decision.

You quickly went down the stairs and up the other side to the girl’s side of the dormitories. Your eyes began to sting. Merlin, why did I bother with Tom? You thought all the way to your room. We were such a weird couple, but he was even more odd by himself.

...

The next morning you headed off to breakfast as soon as you could just to avoid Tom. You went to your usual classes without so much notice, even taking different routes to each. Not wanting to risk bumping into him.

All that effort just for nothing since you shared the last class with Tom. It was one of the few classes you shared with him throughout the week. It was potions and Tom was your only partner, everyone else was too afraid of him to share the brewing table. But it was their loss, you two were the best in it. You hoped he would ruin his perfect attendance.

Class had begun and Professor Slughorn looked curiously at the empty spot next to you, but began anyway. The sliver of hope you had dissipated when you heard the door barely creak, virtually unnoticeable to anyone who isn't expecting it. You felt the hair on your arm prick as you continued to stare at the front of the class. It was Tom. Of course it was him. Who else? It was a stupid hope to have. Mr. Perfect. You look down to rearrange your station as Slughorn kept talking.

Tom made his way over to you, a shadow in the midst of his peers. Tom’s own irritation flared up once more at your sight, acting as if you hadn’t noticed his arrival. He took the spot next to you, his presence ever so looming. “Why are you avoiding me?” he didn’t hesitate to ask, voice low and slightly hoarse from the previous night's drinking.

You didn’t bother to look, nor answer him. You just pull out a vial from your pocket and push it to his side of the table. “Drink it.” You mutter.

Tom hated that you continued to refuse to address him directly. He looked down at the vial, already knowing what it was. Tom begrudgingly snatched it and downed its contents, trying his best to keep a neutral expression. He nearly slammed the empty vial back down.

Despite how pissed you were, you were glad he didn’t question what he just was ordered to drink. You snatched the empty vial back.

“Mr. Riddle, if you were trying to get answers from a person who is avoiding direct questions, what potion would you make them consume?” Professor Slughorn brought Tom’s attention forward, walking towards our station.

Now that the effects of the hangover subsided, thanks to you, Tom was able to return to his usual razor sharp focus. “Veritaserum, sir. The truth serum.” He replied without missing a beat.

“Correct. How can one counteract its effects Ms. [Y/L/N]?” Slughorn looked expectantly towards you.

“Taking an antidote or being a gifted Occlumens.” You curtley answer.

“Precisely!” He smiled wide, “how many know about Occlumency or Legilimency?” He turned to face the class as a whole. A few of the students raised their hands. Tom, of course, knew about both and was beginning to be well practiced in each, but he chose to not raise his hand.

Slughorn briefly explained both, before continuing the lesson. “The truth serum can be dangerous if used for the wrong purpose. Not only that! But it takes a month to brew, and it’s critical that the conditions must be right.” He laughed.

Tom glanced over at you, yet you weren’t giving him the time of day. He wished he didn’t vow to keep himself out of your mind. How ironic that Slughorn would bring up Legilimency. You were the only one who knew he could do it. He would use it to get to know you better, up until you realized how he was getting the information.

Tom so badly wanted to use this power at this moment to know how you were feeling. What was keeping you away from him, apart from his fuck up. He hated this. How you were being cold to him. He wanted to see your smile. He wanted to be the reason behind it.

“For today, I would like each table to develop a potion to your liking that could be an alternative to the antidote to Veritaserum.” Slughorn pulled the chair at his desk so he could sit. “Once you present it to me, you are dismissed from today’s class.”

The class stirred with excitement. It was a rare opportunity to be able to work on their own potions, to experiment, and it was a bonus to be able to leave early.

Tom leaned slightly towards you, his voice low as he spoke. “Ideas?” He already had a couple, but he wanted to hear your voice. To follow your lead.

You closed your eyes briefly upon feeling his warm breath hit the side of your face. You almost hummed. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to sneak a wand in a scenario where you’d be forced into taking Veritaserum.” You began without looking at him so you didn’t notice how Tom’s shoulders slightly relaxed when you answered him. “Maybe something that will cause the same effects as Silencio. Something that could semipermanently shut the user’s mouth, or something to cause them to go mute.” You kept your voice low, it was a habit you two had. You both liked to keep your voices down so others wouldn't be able to follow your lead, to copy you. It almost felt like a regular day. Almost.

Tom raised an eyebrow, impressed by your slightly dark natured suggestion. He nodded, his mind already formulating ideas and ingredients based on your suggestion. “Temporary muteness could be useful. What about something to make their tongue swell? Might be quicker.”

“Quicker? More like risking the user in causing themselves to choke the whole time and eventually asphyxiate by blocking their own airway. So no.” You bent down to get your textbook, you hated using your textbook, usually you’d share Tom’s. He had amazing notes in the margins. Added pages dedicated to things he’d created and discovered by himself. It was incredibly helpful.

When he saw you open your own textbook, a small, almost unnoticeable smirk played on his lips at this decision of yours. He took his out and pushed yours out of the way. You roll your eyes, but open it up to the page you were looking for, “here this one.” You point at the page, shoving the book back towards him so he wouldn’t have to get in your space again. “Though, I think we can alter it. If you’re going to be in a situation where someone might dose you with Veritaserum…they can’t know that you will try to temper beforehand.” You explain, getting out the appropriate ingredients.

“Right. Something fast-acting. Imperceptible.” He nodded following where you were going. “Almost like a-”

“Tablet.” You both say in unison, causing you to look up at him before telling your body not to. Your eyes met, Tom’s softened immediately. You looked away, but you did feel the tips of your ears start to heat up.

“Yes, a tablet form instead of a clunky vial. It only takes a single drop of Veritaserum to work, and that’s a complex potion. So in theory, for something to just make you mute, you need even less of a dose.” You shrug, but it kind of made sense. “Even something small as a sprinkle on a cupcake could work.” You felt like Tom was about to interrupt you, but you didn’t allow it. Remembering a book you read once in which a character had a fake tooth that could release a poisonous gas to assassinate his enemy, if he were ever captured. “Something that the user can bite into at a given time, something that won’t dissolve until that moment.” You finish.

Tom was lightly drumming his fingers on the tabletop, “we’ll need some sort of binding agent.” You felt him look back at you.

“Yeah, don’t think about it too deeply. It’s kind of like making candy.” You finally say, it shouldn't be too complicated to do. Not at all. “We follow the regular steps, but then yes, add the binding agent at the end. Then figure out the correct dosage and then shape it.”

“We’ll need to test it.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you took it.” You snort.

“Very funny. You’d enjoy that wouldn’t you.” He grumbled, starting to handle the ingredients. But he actually was always the tester between the two of you. He didn’t dare make you take anything that could possibly make you sick or make you suffer through undesired effects if a potion was made incorrectly.

You begin to crush and roll some of the ingredients before adding it to the cauldron he had started. You become aware of how some of your peers were looking at you two. You look up, the majority seemed to still be at a loss to find something to brew for the assignment.

“Ignore them.” He muttered, his voice low. You nod, but it wasn’t a new thing. With how fast you and Tom worked, either in ideas or just brewing, people were jealous.

You conjured what looked like a piping bag, similar to what is used for pastries. “Do you remember what this is?” You dared to look up at Tom as he stirred the cauldron. It was a gamble to remind him of the muggle world.

Only his eyes moved to look over at you, “Of course I know what it is, id-” He almost called you an idiot but stopped himself, remembering how you aren’t on the best terms currently.

Your eyes narrow at him, “Well once the potion is finished, and after you add the binding, pour it in the bag and i’ll do the rest. I have a much steadier hand.”

He was going to challenge you, but it was nearly a fact. He was nearly always buzzing with anger that it minutely affected his movements. You had more of a delicate touch than him. The cauldron began to simmer, the liquid taking on almost a metallic appearance. He whispered something into the cauldron to let it rapidly cool down. He held the cauldron out towards the bag you held, “are you sure?”

“Pour it, Riddle.” With that, he did. The potion slid down slowly like honey, already coming together.

Professor Slughorn went to your station in curiosity, he didn’t ask anything, just watched. Once Tom pulled the cauldron away, you leaned in to tie the bag off and squeeze its contents towards the narrow end, cutting the tip off with a knife. With a steady hand, you start to make small steady rows on the surface of the work top. You heard Slughorn finally ask what you were doing, Tom briefly explained while you concentrated.

Tom looked away from Slughorn, watching you with satisfaction.

Since they were so small, the rows dried quickly. Tom handed you a small jar, just as you finished scraping them off the work top. They really did look like silver sprinkles. You gathered and poured them into the jar, returning the lid. Tom took it from your hands, slapped a label and handed it over to the professor. Not before holding a single small tablet, Tom was already anticipating Slughorn’s question if the little wonder worked or not.

You watch as Tom placed the tiny tablet between his front teeth, showing Slughorn and the class, who was now watching, before biting into it and swallowing. He opened his mouth to show it was gone. He made a motion that he cleared his throat, then his lips parted, as if he was explaining something, but not a single sound came out.

“Fascinating!” Slughorn said excitedly, looking down at his own personal jar Tom had given him, he held it up. “Class! Class!” He turned and explained to the class what you both had done once more. Returning to look at the pair of you, “I have to say, this is certainly ingenious.”

“Thank you professor.” You reply for the both of you. Tom still wouldn’t have said it if he wasn’t under the muted effects.

“You two are free to go off, just clean up yourselves.” He waved off, still saying how amazing it is to himself. You couldn’t help but smile and look at Tom, almost forgetting how mad you were at him.

Tom, on the other hand, began to feel a mix of frustration at his inability to speak. He looked at you with a slight glare, but it lessened when he saw your smile. Tom cleaned the station up with a flick of his wand. Then thought about the way you worked together so effortlessly. He bent down grabbing your bag and handing it to you. Your skin brushed against each other, his cold touch lingered on your skin like a searing burn. A stark contrast. You both went out the door, unsuccessfully avoiding the looks of the remaining classmates who longed to be dismissed early.

The hall was empty, with all the other classes still in session. Tom wanted to say something in the silence, but was forced to simply look at you with mixed emotions. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed you.

You look up at him, “I kind of like this, you all quiet and moody. Instead of being snappy and moody.” You shake your head, “we just had to give away all the tablets we made huh? Shoot.” You snicker, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

He rolled his eyes, letting out a huff of air, mouthing ‘shut up.’

“I don’t recall what the recipe said about how long the effects last? A couple of minutes? An hour? Hours? Days? Weeks?” You walk past him.

Tom pushed himself off the wall and followed you. Hating how he couldn't respond to your irritating commentary. You looked at him. ‘Hours.’ You read his lips again.

“Shame.” You respond by climbing up the steps. Your mind went back to last night, and you slowly began to get agitated. You sighed. Despite how badly you wanted to shut down, and shut him out. It was unhealthy to the relationship.

He easily kept his pace next to you, his eyes occasionally glancing at you. He saw the shift in how your body got rigid. Tom knew he needed to apologize, to try and fix the mess he made. He was caught up in his own thinking, his eyes widened when he felt you pull at his robe, guiding him to sit with you at a fountain.

“I’ll be fully taking advantage of this opportunity that you can’t talk. Okay? Okay.” You took a deep breath. You had to be the bigger person and try to explain your feelings. Why were we so terrible at it? Tom’s jaw clenched, sitting there silently, waiting for you to begin. Trying to steel himself for an expected onslaught.

“You were a massive jerk last night, Tom.” You say upfront, crossing your own arms. “A complete asshole, especially in front of Mattheo and Draco. This should have stayed private.”

He felt the irritation grow at your straightforwardness, but he appreciated it. He knew you were right, there was not a single thing he did that wasn’t out of line. He shifted uncomfortably, nodding. It was a conversation he couldn’t escape. A conversation that you both needed to have. Tom let out a frustrated breath.

“It was my birthday…” You say it much gentler in contrast. You unfold your arms, reaching one hand down to graze the flowing water of the fountain. “I hate telling people about my birthday, because I don’t think it's something that should be celebrated.” You felt your chest ache again.

Tom’s own heart sank, no it is something to be celebrated. He wanted to say.

“You said you wanted to do something, just us two.” You continued playing with the water. “I was looking forward to it for once.” You felt Tom shift, you saw him carefully gripping the edge of the fountain tightly. He wanted to desperately reach out to you, but he resisted.

“So when I…when I went up to your dorm and saw Mattheo and Draco there…or how you were surprised to see me or saying that it didn’t matter…that despite there being no occasion, you were going to get shit faced..” You rambled, unsure if you were making any sense at your recollection of the events. You stole a glance at him before turning back to look at the water. “It hurt my feelings.”

The guilt was starting to take a hold of Tom, his breathing became ragged, he desperately wanted to say something. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. But what could he say to you? No one ever celebrated his birthday. Though he didn't care about it.

“But it felt even worse…hearing you say that you did know it was my birthday, but that you just forgot to mention it.” You snort, “like it was just some other day. Some regular day.” You hate that your voice almost betrayed you by cracking. “I mean…it kind of is.. Nothing really to celebrate..but still.. I told you about it Tom. You gave me your empty words.”

That hit him like a ton of bricks. He really had brushed aside your special day. He wanted to say it was a mistake, that it didn’t really mean anything with his intoxicated state. But he couldn't even convince himself, so how would he convince you? Tom stared at his own hands, his knuckles white from gripping the edge.

“So..yeah..you jerk..” You take a few deep breaths, closing your eyes. An attempt to get yourself together. You look up at him, you pull your hand out of the water and flick him with the droplets. “Also feed Nagini some more, I took her to hunt for field mice but she ended up taking a bird I think. Her belly was huge.”

He gave you a confused look when you also brought up his dear snake, wiping the water off his face.

“So now that I got that off my chest, I wish you could say something back.” You confess. “It’s kind of awkward just having you be brooding there.”

Tom’s mouth opened once more, thinking sheer willpower will counteract the effects of the pill he took. He wanted to apologize, to explain himself, to make you understand his stupid, stubborn, and selfish mindset. He hated this feeling…the feeling of having no control. He hurt you.

“Maybe we…we should maybe take a..” I lingered on the thought.

Tom knew what you were going to say, and he didn’t like it. The idea of taking a break, of giving you space, made his heart twist with dread. He didn’t know if it was truly a break or something definite. Tom couldn’t risk being without you, not now, not ever. But he knew that you needed space to process your feelings. He had no other choice but to stare at you.

You finally looked at him, he just sat there, his expression giving nothing away. Making it hard to tell what he was thinking. He was always so goddamn blank. Cold. He was a shell of a person sometimes but - “God Tom, I know you can’t talk but…but show me something..anything..” Your voice finally broke. “Hug me, touch me.. At least try and reach out to me..” You pleaded.

His eyes rounded at the sound of your voice, the raw vulnerability in it. He scooted closer to you, his body tense. He didn’t want to hurt you further. Tom hesitantly reached out his hand, his fingers trembling with built up emotion. He tentatively touched your shoulder, patting it awkwardly. As if he was a stranger asking her to move over.

Your eyes fluttered at his touch, you looked at the point of impact. You’ve been together for how long now? And this was all you got when you tried to bring up the idea of taking a break. A hesitant touch. As if you were going to shatter, break even further. It irritated you, knowing Tom wouldn’t have done it if you hadn't asked him to. The idea hurt. He definitely would have just stayed gripping the stone if you didn’t call him out on his behavior. “Tom…” You whimpered.

Tom’s heart sank even further at the sound that came out of your mouth. The raw pain cutting through his exterior. Why had he needed to be prompted to show kindness, especially to you? His fingers finally gripped your arm, his touch becoming more possessive, as if pleading with you to not distance yourself from him.

The sounds of footsteps, creaking doors, laughter, and sighs began to erupt. The sounds of classes being dismissed for the day. Tom immediately reacted by pulling his hand away because God forbid him being caught in public showing any minute sign of affection. His hand was back at his side in a millisecond. His usual emotionless expression firmly in place as he avoided looking at you. He couldn’t face you.

The reaction made your heart cease to exist. You shook your head, getting up quietly yet swiftly, rushing in the direction of the dungeons. Leaving Tom at the fountain. You disappear with the rush of students who were thrilled to start their weekend plans. Everyone was too excited to notice the tears rolling down your cheeks at a rapid pace.

Tom had cracked his neck to watch you for as long as he could, his own heart heavy. His feet were like lead, completely rooting him in place. All he could do was sit there, feeling the weight of his stupidity.

#i miss attention #LOL #please interact with me #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle angst #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #slytherin boys #tom riddle one shot #slytherin #harry potter fandom

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deatheaterv · 6 months ago

Note

lol imagine Snape doesn’t die after nagini attacks him and he wakes up in the hospital and sees you, asks why you are there and you tell him “you dunderhead, I’m in love with you.”

DUNDERHEAD

pairing : severus snape x fem!reader

genre : fluff

summary : as in the request

severus snape blinked slowly, his mind clouded, the effects of nagini’s venom still lingering in his body. the world felt heavy, and everything seemed muffled. the gentle hum of the hospital wing, the soft rustle of papers, and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. but then he saw you.

you were sitting beside him, looking as if you’d been there for hours, though you made no move to leave. your hair, a bit wild as always, framed your face, and there was a softness in your gaze that he rarely saw from anyone, let alone someone as powerful and independent as you.

he tried to sit up, but his body protested, and he winced slightly. you noticed immediately, your hand gently resting on his arm to keep him down. “easy there, severus,” you said with a soft smile, though there was a teasing edge to your voice. "you’ve had a bit of a rough time."

snape’s brow furrowed in confusion. his voice was raspy when he spoke. “why are you here?” his usual biting tone was replaced with something quieter, almost vulnerable. “you should be somewhere else.”

you raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a playful grin. “somewhere else? you mean somewhere where i can’t tell you just how much of an idiot you are?” you teased gently. "not happening, professor."

severus blinked, surprised by your lighthearted tone. “don’t call me that,” he muttered, though there was no real heat behind the words. he didn’t know how to respond to you. how to respond to the fact that you weren’t running from him, but sitting there, staying. not out of duty, but because you wanted to.

you leaned forward, brushing some of your hair behind your ear, your gaze never leaving him. “i’m here because,” you paused, your smile softening, “i care about you, severus.”

he stared at you for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he processed your words. you didn’t ask for anything in return. you didn’t need him to say anything. you simply stayed. and that was enough.

“you’re a dunderhead,” you added with a sigh, clearly exasperated, though there was a warmth in your eyes that made his chest tighten. "how could you think i wouldn’t be here?"

snape’s lips twitched into something like a smile, though he quickly suppressed it. “i didn’t ask for you to stay,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it now. instead, there was a quiet longing he didn’t understand.

you rolled your eyes playfully, your hand brushing his as you adjusted your position. “you don’t need to ask. i’m not leaving you to brood in here alone.” you paused, then added softly, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

he wasn’t sure what to say, how to respond to you. he had spent so many years building walls, keeping everyone at a distance. but here you were, breaking them down one quiet moment at a time. and for once, he didn’t want to fight it.

“i don’t deserve you,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

you shook your head, smiling as if the idea was absurd. “that’s your biggest mistake, severus,” you said gently. “you do.”

he watched you for a long moment, the room feeling quieter, softer. maybe there was still too much between you two, too much unspoken. but for now, just this. just you.. was enough.

“well,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence with a smile, “since you’re awake, maybe we can stop calling you an idiot and actually talk about something fun.”

snape raised an eyebrow. “fun?”

“you know,” you teased, “like how i’m still planning to beat you at chess next time.”

a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “we’ll see about that,” he said, the flicker of amusement in his voice betraying the walls he’d so carefully built around himself.

and for the first time in what felt like forever, severus snape allowed himself to simply enjoy the quiet warmth of your presence.

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dearest-painter · 2 years ago

Text

Nagini!Reader just cuddling Harry when he’s had a rough time :). His school day his been rough and he goes to his mama then just hugs her, she knows that Harry is a bit stressed so she picks him up and hugs him humming a tune she used to him or sing to him when he was younger. He doesn’t care if people see he just needs his mama to comfort him :33

#Nagini!Reader

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mirkwoodshewolf · 2 months ago

Text

You're our son nothing can ever change that; Sirius Black x reader

*Author's note*

This literally only took me a few hours to write but I never got around to posting it cause I had me a long weekend outside of writing but finally I decided that after looking this fic over and fixing or adding in some stuff it was finally ready to post. Now this takes place during OOTP the 5th movie and both reader and Sirius are married and have a son who is in the twins year. I won't spoil anything else so I hope you all enjoy it :)

Warnings: Some angst (this hits right at Arthur Weasley's attack at the Ministry), some fluff, parental love and support (which ALL PARENTS SHOULD BE).

Taglist

@waddles03

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

@plethora-of-things

@psychosupernatural

@remussl0vers

________________________________________________________

I was heading upstairs to grab the boys for suppertime. Walking up the narrow-flights of stairs trying to avoid dear old ‘mummy-in-laws’ portrait, I swear if she lets out one more outbursts about my son or his friends, I’m burning her portrait to ash (I doubt Sirius would have anything to say about that).

That’s when I heard light sobbing from one of the rooms. I stopped in my tracks and kept as quiet as possible before I heard my son say.

“It’s alright George, you don’t have to be strong now.” It was then George’s light sniffling turned into a broken sob. My heart went out to the poor boy. Just recently his father had been attacked by Voldemort’s snake, Nagini and barely escaped with his life. Had it not been for Harry’s vision, I can’t imagine how the Weasley family would be having lost the most important man of their family.

Sirius and I had allowed the family to once again stay at Grimmauld Place while their father’s in recovery at St. Mungo’s. But it was the least I could do for them, after all the Weasley’s have done for me in helping me with raising Leo as a single mother. Even though no one would dare give me a second look because of who my husband was, Molly Weasley saw a struggling mother who needed help and she gave that to me.

And having raised Leo in the Muggle side of London (since I am half-blood) it had Arthur curious and he’d ask me questions in all that I knew about Muggles and how they live. Spending time with the Weasley family also meant I got to see their children grow up or being born, like I was there the day both Ronald and Ginny were born and got to hold them before being named their Godmother.

Having grown up alongside the Weasley family, Leo became close with almost every one of them (he and Percy had an on and off thing until Percy’s falling out with the family earlier this year) but I began to notice something.

Out of all the Weasley siblings, hell out of anyone in the world, my son seemed closer to George Weasley than anyone else. I began to notice the slight change in his demeanor around his and the twins 4th year together when I had suggested that he go and spend the rest of the summer over at the Burrow while I dealt with some things with the Ministry in regards to Sirius’ false imprisonment.

He was at first overly excited about wanting to stay there but at the mention of George’s name, he grew a bit quiet. At first I feared they might’ve had a falling out at school, or did a prank go too far? But soon I began to realize what my son’s true feelings for the second half of the mischievous Weasley twins.

And it truly shined by the time their 5th year came around. When word about Sirius’ escape was made public and everyone at Hogwarts was giving my son a hard time. So I sent my brother Remus a letter in hopes that he would keep an eye on Leo in case anything bad would happen and he’d tell me constantly about all the times he’s had to get the Weasley twins out of trouble, especially George who’d sometimes get violently physical towards the bullies of Slytherin.

The Yule Ball had also began to test my son as he felt anxious and fidgety from the letters he had sent me asking me if it was truly Mandatory for all students to attend the ball with a date. I told him that it didn’t matter if he had a date or not, so long as he tried to have fun and make the most of it. It was a rare chance for the other Wizarding schools to come together like the Triwizard tournament and he should at least make friends where he can.

Now I have to address the elephant in the room. My son is not a bad-looking lad, he is his father’s son after all. Black, bushy hair that sets in natural curls, a sharp jawline, and blue eyes. That boy is practically a splitting image of his father when he was in school (how else do you think I fell for the infamous Sirius Black).

However unlike his dad, Leo wasn’t a Ladies man nor a skirt-chaser. In fact he didn’t seem to have any interest in girls in that way. Don’t get me wrong, he has female friends and is close with them but he never seems to want to go beyond that. But when it comes to a cute guy (specifically a particular ginger-headed, brown-eyed lad), my son does a double take and his cheeks start to grow a light shade of pink.

The reason I say all of this is because I wish he could have that Gryffindor courage and come talk to me about this. He knows that there is nothing in this world that I would change about him but I also see it from his perspective, especially now. With Voldemort back, it’s only a matter of time before the muggles and—mudbloods (I’M SORRY IT SICKENS ME TO SAY THAT WORD) will be hunted down like before and slaughtered. Imagine what could happen if they found out about a young male wizard being gay.

I decided to make myself known as I went up to the door and knocked on it. There I saw my son and George quickly let go of their embrace as George quickly wiped away the tears from his face.

“Just wanted to let you boys know supper’s ready. Better go wash up before you chow down.”

“Yeah, thanks mum.” Leo said as he brushed a strand of his hair aside behind his ear. George stood up and when he went to walk out, I took hold of his wrist and turned him toward me. God this boy and his brother both have had quite the growth spurt.

“Your mum just came back with news about your dad. He’s doing much better and they might just let him out before Christmas Eve.” The heartbroken face of George Weasley started to morph back into the happy little boy I once knew him as. That spark of light returning to his eyes.

“Thank you Mrs. Black.”

“Ah-ah, what have we discussed before Georgie?” his lips quirked up into that infamous grin as he said.

“Thank you (Y/n).”

“That’s my boy, now go on and wash up.” I gave him a reassuring pat on the back before he left the room and I turned to my son. “You can use your father’s and my jointed bathroom.”

“Mum we’ve practically seen each other in our trousers.”

“No arguments. I think now it’s best we let George have some time alone to take a breath. Trust me. It’s not that he’s not appreciative of what you’ve been doing for him since receiving the news of his father’s attack, but let’s not suffocate him either.”

“But he’s been suffering in silence, mum. While Fred has been extremely vocal about what happened, George is—he’s just been so numb. I can tell he wants to cry but he can’t cause he doesn’t want to seem weak in front of Fred or the rest of his siblings, especially Fred.”

“I know. This hasn’t been easy on all of us, Arthur means so much to everyone, but you also got to let the person you love deal with their emotions their own way.”

“Wha-what? What? Love? Who-who said anything about love? I mean don’t get me wrong George and I are best mates but there’s no way I’m in—so what did you say we were having for dinner?”

“Lancashire hotpot, your favorite.”

“Merlin I love you mum.” He pecked my cheek before racing off towards the bathroom George went.

“Leo, our bedroom is upstairs.”

“Oh, right silly me. Yeah you guys get the top floor to yourselves.” He laughed nervously as he raced in the other direction. As he disappeared up the last flights of stairs I couldn’t help but shake my head lovingly.

“Now that reminds me of someone.” I heard Sirius’ voice behind me. I turned to look at him and pondered.

“And just who might that be?” I felt him bring me closer, our chests pressed together.

“Our boy may have gotten my looks but he inherited your personality. Only one girl has ever been that nervous when being caught in a love confession and that is you. The redirection of changing the question, reminds me of the day you finally confessed your feelings to me.”

“By confessed, you mean cornering me in the Common room and threatening me with the Tickling charm which you still used against me either way.”

“Brought us together, didn’t it?” I rolled my eyes and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Yeah it did.” I pet through his long black locks and stared up into the blue eyes that I had missed for 12 years ever since his imprisonment. “I really missed you Sirius.”

“Not a day went by that I didn’t think of you and Leo. It was you two that kept me sane in that dark, cold prison all those years. The dementors, tried as they did, to wipe out all trace of happiness within me failed. Because you two were kept in a different part of myself, and I vowed that I wouldn’t ever, ever let them find it.” I leaned forward and softly captured his lips with mine before he deepened the kiss.

I felt my back press against the wall of Leo’s room as Sirius’ hands began to wander over my sides but before we could go any further Leo’s voice spoke up.

“I thought the rule was that I couldn’t snog in my room and yet you guys can?” we separated and cleared our throats.

“Hey Leo.”

“Dad.” Leo greeted with a soft nod. “Now let’s go, I want first dibs at the hotpot before Ron gets all of it.” He then raced down the hall and I turned back to Sirius.

“He got his appetite from you. Next summer, you’re cooking all his meals. And I do mean all of them.”

“I learned from the best, I think I can manage an oven.” I softly scoffed but pecked my husband’s lips before taking hold of his hand and together the two of us walked downstairs to have our supper.

After supper was done and both Ginny and Sirius helped me clear off the table and everyone pretty much scattered off to wherever they wanted to all except for Leo and Geoge who were sitting in the living room together just chatting away.

I don’t mean to be a nosy mother, I never wanted to be those mother’s that just hover over their children as they talk with their friends or—potential partners but I couldn’t help it. Now I couldn’t hear what was being said between the two of them but I did see as George was presenting a knitted shawl with Arthur’s initials on it. My son admired the craftsmanship and I could see how George was nervously fidgeting as he and Leo continued to talk. Could—could George maybe just maybe……

“Don’t you just wish they could grow a pair and say it to each other?” I let out a yelp which soon caught the attention of both George and Leo.

“Mum? Fred? What are you both doing?” asked Leo.

“Seems dear old mum #2 can’t handle an apparition just like our mum. Seems to be jumpier than our own mum, eh Georgie?” Fred teased as he pulled me close to him.

“It’s one thing to prank our mum but I like (Y/n). Go easy on her Freddie.” I felt my cheeks flush as Fred took me aside and the two of us headed up the stairs. I then took over and lead him into his and George’s room and shut the door before snapping at him.

“What was the meaning of all that Fredrick Gideon Weasley?! I have the right mind to write to your mother to tell her—”

“You saw it too, didn’t you?” if there’s one thing I knew about both Fred and George was that very rarely did they ever speak in a serious tone.

There was no twinkle of mischief in Fred’s eyes as he looked at me while sitting on his bed. No cheshire grin spread across his face, not even his tone held any trickery to it. My anger immediately subsided and I covered up.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about?” Leo was my son and I will fiercely defend him from anyone, including those that’ll turn their backs on him if they find out.

“Oh come off it (Y/n). I see it, Ginny sees it, even Granger sees it. Harry and Ron don’t count because they’re too daft for things like this.”

“Wait you—you know?”

“The world has always seen the two of us together. Fred and George; the Weasley twins. Almost everyone sees us as one person split in two. Even our own mother gets us confused. Well one mum does.” There was the slight twinkle in his eyes as he gave me a soft smile at referring to me as his second mum. “But George…..he’s always been the more emotionally mature one than me. More sensitive not in a bad way but that he acts more on emotion than logic. Even when he tries to pull me back from going too far, if his heart is pushed too far, he explodes. And our fifth year proved that to me. Never have I seen him get so fiercely protective over someone outside the family.”

“Has he……and you can choose to not say anything since you are his brother but—has he ever said anything to you? About his feelings for my son?”

“I’m his twin brother, he doesn’t need to tell me anything. I just know.” I fiddled with my wedding ring and nodded.

“And you…….” Fred gave me a soft smile and stood in front of me.

“Leo is my best mate. Always has been and always will be. It doesn’t matter who he loves, so long as he’s happy.” Tears immediately fell down my face as I embraced the eldest twin and wept into his chest. I felt the rumble in his chest as he hugged me back.

“Thank you Fred. Thank you so much for accepting my son.”

“I’ll always have his back. Why else would we make him co-owner of our shop? Although could you maybe ask him something for me?” I looked up at him and he looked down at me, “I mean George is a good-looking chap but c’mon, he knows I’m the better looking one.” We both laughed as I wiped my tears away.

“Cheeky!”

“Is there any reason why I find my wife crying with one of the Weasley sons in a spare bedroom?” Sirius said from the door.

“Nothing you need to be jealous over.” I teased wiping the last remnants of my tears away. I turned to Fred and reached up to pat his cheek as I mouthed out, ‘thank you.’ He gave me a wink before walking out the door. “Sirius, we need to talk.” He looked at me worriedly as I lead him away from the twins room to our bedroom.

I sat us down on the bed and took his hands in mine.

“My darling you’re starting to worry me. When Leo had said that Fred had dragged you away after scaring you, I hadn’t expect to see after a potential small prank to see you crying.”

“You and James have scared me to tears in pranks before don’t be a hypocrite.”

“And that’s when I told James to not let our pranks on you go that far ever again.” I lifted his hands up and kissed the back of them.

“I need to talk to you about Leo.”

“What about him? Is he alright? Did something….”

“Sirius, Sirius he’s fine. I just…..need you to know something about him that I never told you about. And I didn’t say it earlier because I needed to be sure of it before I say it. But first I need you to answer me this, what did you promise him the day he was born?” Sirius tightened the grip of our hands.

“You’ve unfortunately had the pleasure of actually meeting my charming mother, but I’m ever thankful to Godric Gryffindor that you didn’t meet my father. He was everything a Pureblooded wizard was. Stern, abrasive, demanding, arrogant, thought he sat higher than everyone else in the room. But he was also abusive, cruel, and manipulative. Molded my little brother to be the Perfect Death Eater while shunning me for not even being sorted into the House our family has been linked with for over 10 centuries. I vowed to myself the day you got pregnant that I would never, ever turn out like him. I would love our child for whoever he or she was. No matter who they were, who they made friends with, what house they be sorted into, and who they would love.” I smiled and patted the back of his hands.

“Our son has grown up into a clever, strong young wizard. If you had seen it, you’d see just how smart and loveable he is. Everyone loves him.”

“I know. And I regret every day that I didn’t get to see that.”

“I know Sirius. But he doesn’t hold that against you. I told him of your innocence and why you did what you did that night. Hell we wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t come after us.”

“I’d do anything for you. Both of you. I couldn’t bear it if I had let Pettigrew taken you to Voldemort or worse Bellatrix.” I shuddered remembering his psychotic cousin and her torturous ways. I had been long-time friends with Alice Longbottom back in our Hogwarts days, I helped her get together with Frank. Now when I do see her, she doesn’t even recognize me nor does she speak a word. Just hands me little trinkets just like she does with her son.

“I know. And you know how you said he gets his personality from me? From how I redirect the question when I feel cornered to how I’m there to lend out a willing hand to anyone who needs help.” He nodded. “Well there’s another thing he got from me and most would say he shouldn’t have it.” I said the next phrase slowly for Sirius to understand.

He gave me his full attention as he fully turned to face me.

“It seems our son has fallen in love with his best friend.”

“But aren’t his two best friends the Weasley twins?” he asked me.

“Sirius.”

“Yeah?” I just kept my eyes on him. His brow furrowed confused before it softened and his eyes briefly widened as he began to realize what I was insinuating. “Oh.” He softly muttered. “Oh my.”

“Yeah, oh my.” I repeated. Sirius let go of my hands and turned to face the wall.

“Which one?” he asked.

“George. The slightly taller twin with the bump to his nose and mole on his neck.” Sirius was silent. The clock in the room was the only thing making a sound as we sat there before I said after a while, “Sirius?”

“I—I’m thinking.” Oh please Godric above Sirius don’t let this change anything about your son. “And how-how long has he…..”

“I began noticing it his fourth year. It was subtle stuff. Blushes whenever George’s name was mentioned.”

“Reminds me of you. Never have I seen your face go so red at the mention of my name before.” I shoved his arm as he laughed and brought me into his lap. “I said it 17 years ago and I’ll say it now, I’ll always love our son. No matter who he loves. I’ll be a better father than mine ever was.” I smiled and pressed my forehead to his and he nuzzled our noses together.

We kept quiet about our son’s budding feelings towards his friend and Fred was still his boisterous, jokester self. He, George and Leo kept working on ideas for their future joke shop; collaborating ideas, designing models and testing them out on themselves (although I wish they didn’t do the third thing. Puking pastilles disaster earlier before school started my poor baby was sick for a week.)

And when Christmas Eve finally arrived, Arthur Weasley was brought to the house and everyone was happy. The kids were all gathered around the kitchen table observing the old Black family Christmas tree as the enchanted Santa flew around between the table and the tree.

“There we go, daddy’s back.” Molly stated as she rolled Arthur Weasley’s wheelchair to the head of the table. We all clapped at his return, though beat up and bruised, Arthur Weasley still shone brightly with happiness and Christmas cheer. “Sit down, everybody sit down. That’s it, now presents.” Soon the gifts were passed out to all the kids.

“A nice big box for Ron.” Arthur praised as a big box wrapped in yellow wrapping paper with a red ribbon tied around it was set in front of him.

“Big box for you!” she then held out the twins gifts but couldn’t remember which color was meant for which twin. “Oh Fred and George, come on open up. I want to see your faces.” The kids unwrapped their gifts and my son saw his new additional Weasley jumper with his initials and a new beanie.

“Oh Molly, thank you.” My son thanked her.

“You’re very welcome Leo dear. Now then everyone let’s all open up (Y/n)’s presents for you all. Although you shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble (Y/n) dear.”

“What was it that you told me the first few years you started adding my son onto your homemade Weasley jumper list?” I said as I levitated my gifts over to everyone.

“It’s no trouble at all. One mother to another.” I nodded and set down each gift to everyone. For Hermione I got her some new advanced spell books that she could actually keep from the actual Hogwarts Library (Madam Pince owed me a favor from my days of helping her). For Ginny I got her a poster of her favorite Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies. I had given Ron some mittens that I had handstitched myself, the twins I gave matching beanies to match their newly gifted scarves and for my Leo I got him an art supply packet that included paints, markers, colored pencils, everything an artist needs as well as a canvas book to help keep his ideas together.

“Well, well seems there might be some competition in your needle work there Molly.” Teased Arthur.

“Oh no competition at all Arthur. She did very well for her first knitting, everyone say thank you to (Y/n).”

“Thank you Mrs. Black/(Y/n)/Mom.” The kids chorused.

“You’re very welcome kids. Now let’s clear this all up and have our Christmas toast.” The kids all cleared up the wrapping paper and bags from the table and started to pour their Christmas punch.

“Harry.” Molly exclaimed as she went up to him with his present. I took my wine and his gift and as Molly gave him a motherly kiss on the cheek, I came up and placed my gift next to hers and hugged him close to me.

“Happy Christmas Harry.”

“Happy Christmas (Y/n).” he said to me softly. He opened up both mine and Molly’s gift to reveal a new Christmas scarf and a new picture of his parents, Sirius and me at our joined wedding.

“Your father and Sirius refused to have their weddings separated. Drove me and your mother nuts. But it turned out to be a beautiful wedding. This happened just a year after Sirius and I had Leo.”

“You and mum look beautiful (Y/n).” I smiled and lovingly stroked Harry’s cheek before I took notice of Sirius standing at the doorway.

“She did indeed.” I smiled at him as he gave me a cheeky wink.

“A Christmas toast then! To Mister Harry Potter.” Arthur Weasley proclaimed. All of us turned to Harry with our glasses held up in our hands. “Without whom, I would not be here. Harry.” Arthur raised his glass of wine.

“Harry.” Everyone else chorused out.

“Harry.” Both Sirius and I finished before sipping our wine. “Leo, could your mother and I see you upstairs in your room? There’s one more additional gift we’d like to give you.”

“Yeah sure dad.” He said. Sirius and I looked at each other before heading upstairs into Leo’s room. I sat on Leo’s bed holding the small black velvet box in my palm.

“You sure we should be confronting him like this?” I asked.

“It’s not confronting darling, we’re just going to assure him that we love him no matter what. He knows you love him, and I’ve been working every day this past year to prove my love for him, now he needs to know that we support him. In every way he is.” I nodded then we soon heard his footsteps and he peeked inside and said.

“What’s going on here?”

“Come in and close the door behind you son. Family talk only.” Leo raised his brow anxiously but came inside and shut the door.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked slowly.

“No, no trouble at all. Least likely with me. We just wanted to give you this without any questions asked about its significance.” Sirius assured him as he came up to him wrapped an arm around his shoulder walking him towards me.

“Here you are darling.” I told him as I handed him the small black box. He held it in his palm before opening it up to reveal a small Lego figure of a firefighter with the helmet and jacket.

“Whoa, I hadn’t seen one of these since I was really little.” Leo said as he took the firefighter out.

“That’s because it is the same one you had when you were little. Out of all the Legos we gave up for donations, I held onto that little guy after all these years.” I told him.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because it really meant something to me. Do you remember when you were five years old and you told me you got this little guy stuck up your nose?”

“Not really no.” I smiled and stood up as I held my son’s hand that held the Lego firefighter.

“Well I do. I remember it like I was yesterday. Godric never had I been so scared in my entire life. I mean you got this little guy way, way up there. I don’t even know nor understand how you got him that far up.” Leo groaned embarrassedly as I booped his nose and the three of us had a laugh. “Had your father been there he would’ve just laughed his arse off while I took the tweezers and perform muggle surgery. No way was I gonna trust a healer with something like this.”

“You’re making that up.”

“No, no, no I swear on my life.” The two of us laughed. I looked down at the Lego that was held between my son’s fingers and held that hand between mine. “You—you always used to come to me for everything when you were younger. Or to just talk, you know. And I feel like now you—you don’t do that anymore. And I get it that there are some things you don’t want to share with your mother but I just—I miss that. I miss talking to you, like I really, really miss it. And I think, right now, we need to talk more than ever. Because things are getting—scary. A lot more scarier than Legos up the nose, you know?” Leo gave a light smile and shook his head as Sirius took over.

“Your mother and I never want you to forget that, okay? You can come to us for anything. And I know I haven’t been around for you, but I would’ve given anything up to have stopped myself so that I could’ve been the father you deserved. But I will tell you this, you won’t have a father like I did. You have a father that has and will always love and accept you for you who are.”

“Because there is nothing in this world, okay? Absolutely nothing that’ll stop your father and I from loving you. You’re our son Leo, nothing can nor will ever change that. You understand?” Leo’s happy mask soon dropped and his true colors shined.

His eyes began to water up and the fake, soft smile he had on plastered on his face since the second he walked in dropped and there was a quiver to his bottom lip.

“Yeah.” Leo choked out. “An-and I’ll always love you guys too.” Tears slipped down his face as Sirius and I kept our eyes on our son.

“We know, we know you do son. Come here.” Sirius and I sandwiched him into a hug as he wept inbetween us.

I could feel his body trembling as his tears stained my right shoulder but I felt his hand grip onto the back of my shirt just like he used to whenever he was truly afraid when he was little.

None of us said another word, just stayed in each other’s arms and was there for each other as a family.

Now I wouldn’t see it happen but I would receive a letter from Freddie about their grand exit from Hogwarts and how George and Leo really stuck it to the old bitch Umbridge by hovering side by side on their broomsticks and actually kiss each other before the entire fifth years before having one of their dragon fireworks chase Umbridge out.

Never have I been more happier for my son in finding true love with his best friend, and I know his father is proud of him too.

Even if—the two of us couldn’t live long enough to see their futures fully realized with Sirius dying at the Dept of Mysteries and I at the Battle of Hogwarts. But we’d continue to watch our son’s life go on with George at his side and us along with Fred would continue to love and support them from beyond the grave.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #harry potter imagines #fred weasley #george weasley #george weasley x oc male #dad sirius black x male oc #fred weasley x oc male #sirius black fluff

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weasleyreidstyles · 1 year ago

Text

Serendipity

chapter eighteen

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): angst, very little fluff (its there but barely!), canonical death, canonical violence, nightmare trope!, mentions of anxiety and allusion to a panic attack

series masterlist; previous part; next part

"Sirius had a brother-" you whisper, your voice betraying your sadness at the thought of the eccentric man.

"Yes. His name was Regulus Black."

"Regulus Black?" Enzo mumbles to himself, as if he was testing the name on his tongue.

"He was Slytherin's star seeker in the seventies." Blaise said in barely restrained awe. "People said that he was an enigma. Always quiet and observing."

"That is a bona fide assessment of my cousin." Andromeda's low voice sounded from the doorway, the head of her husband visible in the room behind where she stood. "He was always calculating something in that brilliant brain of his."

The smile on her face is as reminiscent as it is stricken with grief. Remus turns to her with the same look simmering in his chocolate irises.

"I don't understand." Pansy says quietly. "My father always said that he was enthusiastic about being a Death Eater. Him and his friends. That Voldemort trusted him implicitly. And you're saying he was spy the whole time?"

"That was the whole point of his undercover work." Remus mused with a grim look. "He was so trusted by Voldemort that he didn't even suspect that Regulus might be the one threatening to unravel all of his intricate work."

"If you knew of the horcruxes during the first war, why isn't it a widely known thing now?" Mattheo's deep rasp travels through you like silky butter, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Because we didn't implicitly know what Regulus was searching for. Not until Dumbledore told us of what he and Harry discovered in light of what happened when you," He looked pointedly in your direction, "reacted the way you did to the dark magic swimming in Miss Bell's veins. Every time Regulus would try, his Mark burned. None of us knew just how detrimental his searching was."

"But he succeeded, didn't he? If he found the one you say was a fake." Enzo asked your old professor, eyes alight with curiosity.

"There's more than one." Mattheo says, surprising you all, except Andromeda, who looks as if this information too wasn't new. "Several actually. There was my father's old diary, the ring, this locket-"

He pauses, head swimming with thoughts of the many possibilities.

"Nagini was always whispering about it in the years she'd turn up at Theo's home to torment me. But she always spoke in riddles. There could be more, there probably is more but I don't know what they could be. Something significant to my father, though."

"But how do they work?" Pansy asks, looking between Mattheo and the adults.

"He murdered innocent people to split his soul." Mattheo says resentfully. And though his face is expressionless, you read his shame as if it was there, clear as day.

"So that's how he survived? He severed his soul and tethered himself to the Earth?" Theo's head was slightly tilted to the side, eyes alight with curiosity.

The thought alone sends a wave of colossal dread through you all.

"We believe so, yes. But knowing just how many there are will be crucial if we are to win this war." Andromeda said quietly, before her husband entered the room with a bright smile, despite the stale tension that permeated the air of the tiny kitchen.

"Ready to go, love?" He questions his wife, voice laden with a love that hadn't faded in the years that you'd known the couple through your parents.

"Yes, dear." She mumbles, her hard exterior crumbling from her face for only a split second before the mask has slipped back into place. Ted kisses his wife on the cheek before gently moving her out of the way of the door frame where he comes to being you into a brief hug. One that you fall into without hesitation.

"Will you be alright out here on your own?" He asks you quietly and you nod your head, which is nestled on his shoulder.

"I'll be fine, Ted. Don't worry about me." Please be safe! Your mind is screaming the notion into existence.

Ted is in far more danger than you will ever be; not only was he a muggleborn, but Andromeda had a long list of estranged family members who would not bat an eyelid if Ted Tonks suddenly disappeared. In fact, they'd probably rejoice over his death, before making a martyr out of Andromeda.

He smiles at you in understanding, as if he knows what you don't voice out loud, before he turns you around so that you're both looking out of one of the kitchen windows.

"Just down that hill, about two miles away is a quaint little village. There's a café that is also a bookshop. I think you'd like it there if it ever gets too crowded here."

"Thank you." You say with a grin and he gives you a friendly squeeze before he makes his way back to his wife, who smiles softly at the two of you.

"I'll visit in a few weeks, to see if everything is still standing." Andromeda says, the ghost of a smirk lining her face as she looks between you and your usually raucous friends. Blaise and Enzo share conspiratorial looks, mischief gleaming in their eyes.

"I'll come back in a week with your first assignment. Give you all a chance to settle in." Remus says, nodding at the three newly anointed Order spies, which sobers the mischief, before he too bids farewell.

With a loud crack, they're gone.

~∞~

The following weeks were certainly odd, to say the least. It was almost like the six of you were on a neverending holiday on some days, spending your days roaming the little muggle village, but then on other days, reality would come crashing down, reminding all of you what was at stake.

It was usually Remus who delivered their assignments; it was always Remus who came once you sent your patronus to Headquarters alerting them of the boys' safe return.

About a month in, he'd arrived with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had eyed you all with barely restrained mistrust as Remus delivered the brief: find out where Charity Burbage was being held captive and do it quickly and carefully. Luckily there was a meeting scheduled for the end of that week that the boys were expected to attend.

They had left within minutes of briefing them and with a crack, Mattheo, Theo and Enzo had left for Malfoy Manor, leaving you, Blaise and Pansy to occupy yourselves in the meantime.

Hours later, after trying to stomach a lacklustre dinner amidst your shared anxieties, the three of you are huddled together in the living room, chatting quietly about the books you were reading, when the mistakable crack of apparition sounded in the silence of night, then three loud knocks branded the front door.

Blaise took it upon himself to see who it was, and upon seeing their sullen faces, let the three boys in.

Immediately you can tell that something bad has happened.

Enzo doesn't bother greeting the three of you like he normally does as he storms off upstairs to his room; Theo heads straight for the garden door, a pack of cigarettes already in his possession and Mattheo looks positively murderous.

Blaise and Pansy seem to come to an understanding and they go in opposite directions, towards where Theo and Enzo disappeared to, leaving you and Mattheo alone. He doesn't even look like he's present in the moment and your heart aches for him.

"Théo?" You ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. But it knocks him from his stupor as he takes hold of your hand in his, soft against his angry callouses. "Lets go upstairs."

He agrees gruffly, voice low and rough, eyes shining with the onslaught on unshed tears.

Slowly the two of you make your way to the bedroom you share, silence engulfing the two of you, leaving only the sound of your breathing to fill the space. When you enter the room, Mattheo practically collapses onto the bed, body spent from the sheer exhaustion of the evening.

"What happened?" You ask softly, sitting against the headboard and guiding his head into your lap. Mattheo keens into you as you run gentle hands through his unruly hair.

The tears flow shortly after you start and your heart breaks for him.

"She's dead." He says, his voice raspy, catching in his throat. "Professor Burbage is dead."

Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes fill with tears. Professor Burbage was sunshine personified. She always had a smile on her face despite what the Purebloods said about her affliction to muggle culture. She was beloved by all the muggleborns and the staff; was one of Dumbledore's favourites. And she was a valued member of The Orderof the Pheonix, as an emissary to the muggle authorities. She was a valuable member. Now she was gone.

"H-how did she die?" You whisper hesitantly, for you don't know if the closure of knowing would be worth it.

"My father-" Mattheo shuddered. "He set Nagini on her. He didn't even give her the mercy of a quick death."

Whenever his eyes blink shut, he can see the terror behind the teary eyes of the Professor as she stared between the four boys and Severus Snape while Nagini slithered towards her suspended body. He sees the way her eyes fill with dread as no one comes to her aid. Can see the moment of acceptance as her cries suddenly dull to a staggering silence.

He fears that he won't ever sleep peacefully again. The only saving grace is that you'll never have to witness something like it, if he has his way.

"Gods." You say in disbelief, and you hold onto Mattheo a little tighter at the thought. "We need to tell Remus."

"Not yet." He says and he abruptly sits up from his place.

"Why not? He asked you to find out what happened to her. He needs to know." You argue, but you can already see his stubbornness take effect.

"I said not yet." He retorts with anger painting his features. Your brows furrow in offence. He hadn't spoken to you in such a manner in months.

But you can see how his entire resolve has continued to crumble from the moment he stepped over the threshold. Sp instead of arguing back like you want to, for the sake of getting the information to Remus, you agree and wordlessly huide his head to rest in your lap once again.

"Okay. But as soon as we wake in the morning, I'm going to tell him."

Mattheo mumbles his response into the fabric of your leggings, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp.

He falls into a light sleep and you're content to fall asleep sat up with him, as long as he was peaceful.

~∞~

He's back there again.

In the seat at the right hand side of his father. When the three of them had arrived at Malfoy Manor for the meeting, Mattheo could feel an unmistakable shift in the air.

The way his father's face twisted into a sinister smirk made his insides curl in dreaded anticipation.

"My loyal followers!" He says, arms outstretched as he addressed the sea of Death Eaters who were watching their master in rapt attention. "I have a special treat for you all tonight."

The feeling of dread made Mattheo's stomach drop even further. He didn't need to look to see that Theo, Enzo and Draco felt the same sense of foreboding.

Voldemort wanders around the table, stopping behind where Lucius was sat, before he snatches the wizard's wand from the table with a deadly snicker of a laugh. Draco does not look at his father's humiliated expression.

"I have brought you all a little...gift of sorts."

With a flourish of Lucius' wand, and to Mattheo's utter horror, Charity Burbage appears in front of their very eyes, arms and legs bound together with a brutal looking rope and mouth magically gagged shut.

He feels sick.

He barely hears as his father mocks her, telling the Death Eaters that she was encouraging young wizards and witches to mate with Muggles, thus polluting the Wizarding World with more Halfbloods and Muggleborns all while she cannot defend herself or ask those she recognises for help.

All Mattheo can comprend is that Nagini has found her way towards her dangling prey and Charity's magically bound gag has been removed.

"Severus.." her pleading eyes fall on her old old. "Please! Help me!"

Snape's eyes have not moved from a spot on the wall behind her flailing body. They don't move from that spot as Nagini prepares to strike.

Mattheo grips the arm rests of his seat as he stares blankly ahead, the sounds of his Professor's shrieks and painful screams as her flesh is torn apart is all his can hear.

And then her screams turn into a familiar tone; instead of his Professor, it's you who is suspended above the snake. Your horrifying screams permeate every corner of his skull until its all he can hear.

You're begging him to help you, but he cannot move. His limbs are glued to his seat as his father laughs manically at your expense.

His mind won't even grant him to ability to block it out. Your screams are all he can hear until his father finally utters the killing blow.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Your body drops to a heap on the floor. And then, Nagini feasts.

Mattheo wakes with a start, only to be met by your wary face staring down at him. Gods he feels like he can't breathe.

"I know. I know." He hears your reassurance as clear as day, but he can't breathe.

You place one of his clammy feeling hands against your chest, where your heart beats calmly despite the gravity of the situation. He feels the way you exaggerate your breathing, hoping he can follow.

He does so and eventually he calms down enough to wipe the sweat from his hands and his forehead.

"You're okay. Your safe." You're still holding his hand to your chest, thumb stroking over the small scars that litter his knuckles.

"It was you." He mumbles breathlessly, tears falling from his onyx eyes. "You were in her place and I did nothing to save you. I couldn't save you."

Your heart breaks for him.

"Oh love." You whisper, pulling his body into your's and wrapping him into a tight hug. "I'm here and I'm safe. I'm not going anywhere."

"It felt so real." He says into the skin of your neck, his hot breath fanning iver your sensitive skin.

"It wasn't real, Mattheo." You reaffirm, moving so that your hands cradled both sides of his face, your eyes meeting his. "It was only a dream. I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" He hated that he sounded so weak...so vulnerable. But he could always be himself around you, could always count on you to make him feel anything but empty and numb.

"I promise you, Mattheo Riddle." you say, your lips tilting up with a slight smile that he mirrors. You press a light kiss to his chapped lips which he reciprocates in earnest.

Your souls ignite as one and it feels as if a weight has simultaneously been placed and lifted on your shoulders all at once.

Remus would be alerted in the next few hours, but for now, Mattheo let you guide him to a lying position where he layed safely in your arms.

He did not dream of your screams for the rest of the night, but it would haunt him for the rest of his life. That he was certain of.

~∞~

this one is so so so short but i've actually taken so long to get this one written up

also from this point theres just a whole lot of angst (just a little prewarning🫡)

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @benwadsworthsgf @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @hiireadstuff @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23 @y0urm0m12 @sbrn0905 @leona-hawthorne @whatsupb18

#serendipity series #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle x you #harry potter #mattheo riddle #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #enzo berkshire #angst no comfort

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writingpandagoth · 2 months ago

Note

I have a request 😄

I need lots of fluff.

Severus x fem reader. Severus is in hospital recovering from a bite from Nagini. Y/n comes to see him every day and one day he simply proposes to her.

Thank you. I love your work 🩷

Here it is!

I hope you like it!

After the Storm

The first time you are allowed to see him, the war is only two days gone.

The castle still smells of smoke and broken stone, and the corridors echo strangely underfoot — too hollow, too heavy with grief.

But the hospital wing is different.

It smells of clean linens and warm air and faint, bitter potions. It smells like healing.

And somewhere in the farthest bed, Severus Snape is breathing.

Alive.

You stand for a long moment in the doorway, your heart battering itself against your ribs at the sight of him.

He’s pale — ghost-pale — against the white sheets, dark hair limp and tangled over the pillows, his body propped up by a fortress of blankets and careful spells. The bandages around his throat and shoulder peek stark and angry through the loose collar of his hospital gown.

You grip the tray tighter in your hands — a small bowl of soup, some bread, a flask of water. Madame Pomfrey had suggested he might be able to eat something now. If he’s awake.

You cross the ward quietly, your shoes making no sound against the smooth stone.

He stirs before you reach him — a slow, sluggish roll of his head against the pillows — and his eyes crack open.

Black. Sharp.

Alive.

Your throat tightens.

"Hello, love," you whisper, setting the tray down carefully on the side table. Your fingers tremble slightly, but you don’t let them falter.

Severus blinks at you as if you’re something he doesn’t quite believe in. His mouth opens, closes. His throat works, a hoarse, broken sound escaping.

You’re beside him in a heartbeat, pressing your hand gently to his, threading your fingers together.

"It’s alright," you murmur, smoothing your free hand across his tangled hair. "You’re safe. You’re safe, Severus."

He swallows hard — and in that broken movement, you can see it all.

The fight he thought he lost. The death he thought had claimed him. The unbearable realization that he survived anyway.

Tears sting the backs of your eyes, but you blink them away.

Now is not the time for tears.

Now is the time for love.

You lift the spoon carefully to his lips, murmuring soft encouragements, and to your eternal relief, he accepts it without protest.

Small sips. Slow movements.

He eats because you ask him to. Because some part of him, stubborn and worn and beloved, still answers your voice.

You talk while he eats, your voice light and soothing, telling him the gossip Madame Pomfrey shared with you — about the Weasley twins sneaking forbidden sweets into the hospital wing, about Minerva threatening to hex anyone who tracked mud onto the clean floors.

Severus listens silently, his gaze flickering between your face and the window, like he’s learning the world again by your voice alone.

You don’t mind.

You would read to him from a dictionary if it meant keeping that look — that soft, dazed, alive look — on his face.

You stay until long after the soup is gone, long after the light outside the windows fades into soft, blue twilight.

Severus dozes in and out of sleep — short, fitful bouts where his hand tightens unconsciously around yours, like even in dreams he needs the tether of your touch.

You stay.

You stroke his hair back from his forehead when it falls into his eyes. You adjust his blankets when he shifts restlessly. You read aloud to him from the battered book you smuggled in — the one he always loved, though he would grumble about its "sentimentality" if anyone else asked.

He doesn't grumble now.

He just breathes, shallow and steady, the barest hint of color returning to his cheeks.

When Madame Pomfrey finally bustles over, clucking that he needs rest and you need it too, you press a kiss to Severus's forehead — so gentle you barely feel it yourself — and promise to return first thing in the morning.

He stirs, eyes slitting open.

"You'll come back?" he rasps, voice almost gone.

Your heart twists so violently it nearly takes you down with it.

"Always," you whisper, squeezing his hand. "I'll always come back."

He drifts into sleep still holding your hand.

You arrive early again — a tray balanced in your hands, a fresh basin of warm water floating quietly behind you with a simple charm.

Severus watches you approach with a scowl that has no real venom in it, his black eyes sharp but weary.

You set everything down and smile at him — bright, determined, utterly unmovable.

"You’re getting the full treatment today," you say lightly.

He grumbles something under his breath about "meddlesome witches" but his gaze softens when you lean in to brush your fingers lightly over his forehead.

"Breakfast first," you announce, lifting the tray. "Then a bit of pampering."

He narrows his eyes suspiciously but accepts the spoon you offer, eating without protest.

You chatter quietly while he eats — updates on the castle, a ridiculous story about Neville Longbottom accidentally setting a tapestry on fire, a description of the brilliant sunrise that morning.

Severus listens silently, only occasionally flickering his gaze toward your face as if memorizing every word.

When the tray is empty and set aside, you fetch the basin.

"Now," you say with mock sternness, "time for a proper wash."

He stiffens — barely — and you wait, patient, giving him the chance to refuse.

He doesn’t.

He simply exhales slowly through his nose and shifts forward so you can take the space behind him. Slowly he leans his head back a fraction of an inch, yielding.

Your chest tightens.

You warm the water again with a murmured spell and gather a towel at the ready. With infinite care, you begin to pour the first handful of water over his tangled hair.

Severus shudders faintly under the touch, but not from cold.

From something deeper.

You work the soap gently through the strands, massaging his scalp with slow, sure fingers. You hum under your breath — soft, tuneless — letting the room fill with quiet warmth.

Severus breathes in deeply, a shaky sound, and then leans into your hands as if pulled by gravity.

You wash every strand with reverence, feeling the heavy weight of it slick and shining between your fingers.

When you rinse away the soap and blot his hair carefully dry with the towel, Severus keeps his head bowed, his hands loose at his sides, utterly trusting you.

You comb his hair next — slow, deliberate strokes through the damp, softened strands.

No tangles this time. Just the rhythmic scrape of the comb and the sound of his even breathing.

He tips his head slightly into your touch, eyes closed, a line of tension easing from his brow that you hadn’t even realized was there.

You smile, your heart a molten thing in your chest.

At the far end of the ward, Madame Pomfrey pauses in her rounds.

She watches you for a long moment — you, cradling Severus's head between your hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world — and her stern face softens into something unbearably tender.

But she says nothing.

She simply nods to herself and moves on, leaving you alone in your small, sacred world.

When you finish, you lean down and kiss Severus's forehead, smoothing your fingers through his now-clean hair.

"There," you whisper. "Perfect."

Severus cracks open one eye — and for just a heartbeat, you catch it there.

Something raw. Something grateful. Something unguarded.

He says nothing.

He simply reaches out — hand trembling slightly — and catches yours in his.

You sit there for a long time, tangled together, the comb forgotten on the bedside table, the world outside the hospital wing a million miles away.

When you slip into the hospital wing the next morning, you find Severus already awake — propped against the pillows, a battered book open in his lap.

The sight stops you for a moment.

Not because it’s surprising — Severus was born with books in his blood — but because of the way he looks sitting there.

Alive.

Healing.

The deep bruises around his throat have begun to fade from purple to a sickly yellow. His skin, while still pale, no longer holds the gray undertone of near-death.

He looks up at the sound of your footsteps, and the stiff line of his shoulders eases — just slightly.

It’s such a small thing. A barely-there thing.

But you catch it.

Your heart squeezes with the ache of it.

"Morning, Professor," you tease lightly as you set your tray down on the side table.

He snorts, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"I thought I made it clear," he rasps, "that you are forbidden from addressing me by that infernal title."

"Oh, forgive me, Mr. Snape," you say, bowing with exaggerated care. "I’ll try to do better."

That twitch at the corner of his mouth lingers a little longer this time.

You settle into the chair at his bedside, lifting the tray — breakfast today is soft eggs, toast, and a flask of strong tea Madame Pomfrey charmed to stay hot for hours.

Severus eyes the food like a man offered a test he’s determined to pass.

"Eat," you say, tapping the spoon lightly against the rim of the plate.

He obeys.

Slow, careful bites. His throat still works awkwardly when he swallows, and every wince he tries to hide pulls at your heart.

But he eats.

You chatter quietly while he does — nonsense stories from the castle, old gossip from before the battle, ridiculous student tales you remember from when things were normal.

Normal.

The word feels foreign in your mouth — but good. Hopeful.

When he finishes, you tidy away the tray and pull out the book you’ve been reading to him — one of his favorites, a worn old collection of essays and fables he once pretended to find "tolerable" but you know he secretly adored.

You settle back into the chair, tucking your legs up underneath you, and begin to read.

Your voice fills the hospital wing — low, steady, soft.

At first, Severus listens with his usual guarded expression, face carefully blank, dark eyes half-lidded.

But as you read — slipping into the rhythm of the words, the cadence of familiar stories — something shifts.

You catch it out of the corner of your eye: A softening around his mouth. The barest upturn of the corners.

A smile.

Tiny. Unbidden. Real.

Your voice falters for half a breath.

You turn the page slowly, hiding your grin.

You keep reading, but you let your foot nudge his lightly under the blanket.

He scowls immediately — but the damage is done.

The smile flickers back to life, stubborn and unwilling, like a match struck against damp wood.

You glance up at him over the edge of the book and say lightly, "I saw that."

He narrows his eyes. "You saw nothing."

You lower the book just enough to smile at him — soft, wicked, achingly full of love.

"You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know," you murmur. "The war police aren’t going to come storming in because Severus Snape cracked a smile."

He huffs, annoyed, embarrassed — but his hand finds yours under the blankets without him realizing.

His fingers twine awkwardly through yours, dry and warm.

You squeeze back — once, gently — and he relaxes so slowly you almost miss it.

You keep reading.

You keep smiling.

And Severus — grumpy, brilliant, stubborn Severus — lets himself listen, lets himself smile, lets himself love you without fear for another day.

When you slip into the hospital wing that morning, the first thing you hear is Madame Pomfrey’s voice — sharp, exasperated, and unmistakably fond.

"Back in bed, Severus Snape, or so help me I'll tether you there myself!"

You pause at the entrance, hiding a smile.

Across the room, Severus is halfway out of the blankets, his long frame awkwardly hunched over, one hand gripping the side of the bed as if sheer stubbornness might win over his battered body.

Madame Pomfrey stands before him, arms crossed, tapping her wand against her palm in a way that brooks no argument.

Severus, for his part, looks utterly unrepentant — or tries to.

But you see it.

The faint flush climbing his neck. The way he ducks his head, refusing to meet her eyes. The way he scowls, deep and defensive, like a boy caught sneaking biscuits before dinner.

Your heart squeezes painfully at the sight.

Not with pity.

But with love.

Because this, too, is Severus — the proud, stubborn man who has learned to hide so well, now vulnerable enough to be cared for even when he pretends otherwise.

You cross the room slowly, announcing your presence with a small clearing of your throat.

Both heads snap toward you.

Madame Pomfrey’s face softens immediately. Severus’s scowl deepens, the tips of his ears turning suspiciously pink.

"I see someone’s been causing trouble," you say lightly, setting your bag down on the side table.

"I was attempting to stretch," Severus mutters, adjusting the blanket around himself with exaggerated dignity. "Not stage a prison break."

"Hm," you hum, unimpressed.

Madame Pomfrey huffs, her stern look returning.

"Stretching indeed," she says. "Trying to stand without support, without a Healer present, with half-healed wounds — idiotic is what it is."

Severus opens his mouth — probably to deliver some biting retort — but you cut in smoothly, reaching for the fresh bandages you brought from the infirmary stores.

"I’ll handle him," you say, flashing Madame Pomfrey a warm smile. "Change his dressings. Make sure he stays firmly attached to this bed."

Pomfrey sniffs but hides a smile of her own.

"Good luck," she mutters, before sweeping away toward the other patients.

You turn back to Severus, who now glares at you with narrowed eyes — but even that is half-hearted at best.

You perch on the edge of the bed, setting out the fresh cloths and antiseptic potions, and pat the blanket near his hip.

"Well?" you say sweetly. "Lay back, Mr. Escape Artist."

He mutters something vicious under his breath — something that might have involved "treason" and "insufferable woman" — but he obeys.

Carefully, you pull back the loose gown at his shoulder, revealing the neat, pale lines of healing scars. The worst of the wound is closed now, but the skin is still raw and tender-looking.

You bite your lip to keep from fussing, focusing instead on your work.

You clean the wounds with soft, steady hands, murmuring nonsense under your breath — the way you might soothe a skittish animal — and you feel Severus slowly, reluctantly relaxing against the pillows.

He watches you with those dark, impenetrable eyes, something unreadable flickering in their depths.

When you finish securing the fresh bandages, you lean down and kiss the uninjured side of his throat — a slow, lingering press of lips against warm skin.

Severus exhales a slow, shaky breath.

"Thank you," he mutters, voice rough, as if the words cost him something.

You lift your head and smile at him — soft, radiant, achingly full of love.

"Always," you say simply.

He stares at you like he wants to say something else — something bigger, something heavier — but whatever it is, it stays locked behind his teeth.

That’s alright.

You have time.

For now, you just settle into the chair beside him again, pulling out the book, and start reading where you left off.

Severus listens.

And stays in bed.

And — if you aren’t imagining it — rests his hand lightly against your hip, holding you there without words, without demands, just with the simple need to have you close.

You can feel it the moment you step into the hospital wing.

The air is heavier today — thick with something you can’t name at first.

Severus sits propped against the pillows, staring blankly at the far wall.

The tray of breakfast you had Madame Pomfrey prepare sits untouched on the side table.

The book you left yesterday is still lying open on his lap, pages ruffling in the faint breeze from the windows.

He doesn’t look at you when you approach.

He doesn’t scowl. He doesn’t grumble. He doesn’t even blink.

He just stares, hollow-eyed and silent, as if you aren’t even there.

Your heart clenches painfully.

You know this look.

You’ve seen it before — on the faces of survivors, of soldiers, of those who carried too much weight for too long and forgot how to set it down.

Today is not a day for chatter. Today is not a day for teasing or stories.

Today is a day for silence.

You set down your things carefully.

You murmur a soft spell to warm the tea that has long since gone cold.

You sit beside him, close but not crowding, and gently, patiently, you lift the cup to his lips.

He doesn’t move at first.

But after a long moment, he drinks — small, mechanical sips — his hand trembling faintly against yours.

You set the cup down and reach for the basin and cloths you prepared — not for washing this time, but for comfort.

You dampen the cloth and wipe gently at his face, his neck, his hands — not because he needs it, but because you need to touch him, to anchor him, to remind him that he is still here, still wanted, still loved.

He doesn’t react.

He lets you move him like a marionette, pliant and empty.

You don’t mind.

You keep going.

You comb his hair slowly, working through the soft strands with infinite patience, humming quietly under your breath.

You straighten his blankets. You press a kiss to the crown of his head. You hold his hand when you have nothing else to offer.

Minutes stretch into hours.

The hospital wing moves around you — Madame Pomfrey tending patients, the distant sounds of castle life filtering through the windows — but you and Severus are a world by yourselves.

You don’t speak.

You don’t push.

You just stay.

And somewhere, sometime, as the light shifts toward late afternoon, you feel it.

A shudder — small, violent — rippling through the body slumped against yours.

You look down.

Severus is crying.

Silent, wracking sobs tearing out of him like something he’s been holding back for a lifetime.

You don’t speak.

You don’t ask.

You just gather him into your arms, pulling him close against your chest, cradling his head under your chin.

He clutches at you — fists curling in your robes like a drowning man — and you rock him gently, whispering nonsense into his hair.

"I’m here." "I’ve got you." "You’re safe." "You’re loved."

Over and over, until the trembling starts to slow, until his breathing evens out against you, until his death grip on your robes eases into something softer.

He doesn’t pull away.

You don't let go.

You sit there, on the narrow hospital bed, tangled together, and you hold the shattered pieces of him with all the love you have to give.

Because this is what healing looks like, too.

Not just laughter. Not just softness.

But surviving the days when the weight is too much — and knowing you are still, always, loved.

It takes both you and Madame Pomfrey two days of gentle coaxing and stubborn looks before Severus finally relents.

Today, you bring him a cloak — one of his own, freshly cleaned — and drape it over his thin shoulders with slow, careful hands.

He glares at you as if this is all a terrible plot, but he allows it.

You smile at him, brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead.

"Come on, love," you murmur. "Time to see the sky again."

He grunts — a sound of grudging defeat — and braces himself against the bed.

You are there instantly, sliding your arm firmly around his waist, taking the majority of his weight without hesitation.

He stiffens, at first — pride battling weakness — but when his knees buckle slightly, he leans into you with a rough exhale and lets you bear him up.

"Steady," you whisper, squeezing his side gently.

Together, step by step, you make your way out of the hospital wing.

It is slow.

Painfully slow.

Every step costs him more strength than he would ever admit, and you feel the trembling in his body where it presses against yours.

But he keeps moving.

And you stay with him.

You guide him down the wide stone corridors of the castle, avoiding stairs for now, choosing paths bathed in warm light from the high windows.

At first, it is just the two of you.

And then — rounding a corner near the Great Hall — you hear them.

Voices. Laughter.

A small group of students coming toward you — fourth or fifth years, maybe — their arms loaded with books and parchment.

You feel Severus tense against you instinctively.

Old habits.

Old memories of snarling faces, of whispered insults, of students who feared and hated the man they thought they knew.

But today is different.

One of the students — a small Hufflepuff girl with ink-stained fingers — looks up and sees him.

Her eyes widen.

For one terrible, frozen heartbeat, Severus braces as if for a blow.

And then — she smiles.

Bright. Genuine. Grateful.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape!" she chirps, clutching her books tighter to her chest.

Another student — a Ravenclaw boy with a lopsided tie — lifts his hand in an awkward wave.

"It’s good to see you, sir," he says, and the sincerity in his voice is unmistakable.

The others echo the sentiment — nodding, murmuring soft greetings, faces full of respect, even something dangerously close to affection.

Severus stands utterly still at your side, as if stunned.

You squeeze his waist gently.

Slowly, stiffly, he inclines his head toward them — not smiling, not speaking — but you see the way his hands clench in your grasp, the way his breathing hitches almost imperceptibly.

The students pass by, disappearing around the corner in a cloud of chatter and parchment and the smell of old books.

You turn to Severus, your heart aching with tenderness.

He is staring at the stones under his feet, as if seeing them for the first time.

"They know," you say quietly.

He lifts his head slowly, looking at you.

"They know what you did," you murmur, brushing your fingers against his cheek. "What you risked. Who you really are."

Something fragile flickers in his eyes — something scared and vulnerable and overwhelmed.

"They’re glad you survived," you whisper. "So am I."

For a long moment, he says nothing.

And then — with a slow, shaking breath — Severus Snape lets his forehead fall against yours, his hand rising to cup the side of your face.

Not in passion. Not in weakness.

But in gratitude. In trust. In love.

You hold him there, steadying him not just with your body, but with your heart.

Together, you stand in the golden light of the castle corridors — survivors of a thousand battles, a thousand losses — learning, slowly, painfully, how to live again.

The hospital wing is nearly empty by the time you return that afternoon.

Most of the patients have been discharged. The beds are stripped and gleaming, the windows thrown open to the spring breeze.

It feels lighter, somehow. Cleaner. Full of life again.

You find Severus sitting up in bed, a thick blanket draped over his lap, a book open in his hands.

He looks up when you enter — and something new, something warmer, flickers in his eyes.

Not guarded. Not wary.

Just... Severus.

Yours.

You smile, setting your bag down, and move toward him.

Before you can even reach the chair at his side, he shifts — slow, deliberate — and lifts the blanket invitingly.

An invitation.

No words.

Just the silent offer: Come here. Stay.

Your heart stumbles over itself.

You slip under the blanket without hesitation, curling carefully against his side, mindful of the lingering bruises and healing wounds.

He wraps his arm around you immediately, pulling you close, tucking you under his chin.

His hand slides down your back in slow, lazy strokes, as if mapping the shape of you all over again.

You press your ear to his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart — strong, sure, living.

For a long, perfect moment, you just breathe together.

The book slips from Severus's fingers, forgotten, thudding softly onto the mattress.

He shifts again, nudging your head up with a gentle hand under your chin.

When you meet his gaze, there’s no hesitation.

He kisses you.

Slow, unhurried, devastating in its tenderness.

Not desperate. Not possessive. Just open.

He kisses you like a man who knows he is loved. Who knows he can love in return.

Your fingers tangle in the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, and his other hand cups the back of your head, holding you there, deepening the kiss.

When you finally break apart, he presses his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven, but not from weakness.

"I love you," he says — rough, hoarse — like the words cost him nothing, like they’ve lived in his mouth forever, just waiting for this day.

You smile — wide, aching — and whisper it back, brushing your nose against his.

He sighs — a sound so soft and content it brings tears to your eyes.

He keeps touching you — small, reverent touches. Tracing the curve of your jaw. Smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone. Threading his fingers through your hair.

Like he can't quite believe he’s allowed to do this now. That no one will punish him for wanting. That no one will use his love against him.

He kisses you again — and again — slow, languid, like you have all the time in the world.

And you do.

You stretch out together on the narrow bed, tangled under the blanket, his hand resting lightly on your stomach, your fingers curled around his wrist.

You read to him again — his voice hoarse but steady when he murmurs the words along with you, his breath ghosting warm against your temple.

Outside, the sun dips lower, painting the world in soft gold.

Inside, Severus holds you closer, kisses the crown of your head, and lets himself be happy.

Truly, freely, foolishly happy.

At last.

Late afternoon light spills across the hospital wing, soft and warm, brushing everything it touches in gold.

You sit cross-legged on Severus’s bed, one knee tucked against his side, adjusting the blanket over his legs for what must be the third time.

He huffs — a low, grumbling sound — but doesn’t stop you.

You smile to yourself, smoothing the edge of the blanket where it bunched near his hip.

He’s watching you.

You can feel it — the steady weight of his gaze — but you pretend not to notice, keeping your hands busy.

You reach for the basin on the table beside you, wetting a cloth with a simple spell to warm it, and gently wipe at his temples, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

"When you’re stronger," you say lightly, voice soft and meandering, "we should walk down to the greenhouses. I bet they’re overgrown by now. You’ll have to come supervise while I butcher basic herbology spells."

He says nothing.

You don’t mind.

You’re used to his silences — the way he listens with his whole body, even when he doesn’t speak.

You set the cloth aside, letting your fingers trail absently through his hair, combing it gently away from his face.

"And we’ll need to get you new robes," you add, grinning. "Half yours are probably torn to ribbons after the battle. Maybe even something scandalous — grey, not black—"

"Marry me."

The words tumble out of him in a rough, breathless rasp — startlingly loud in the quiet room.

You freeze.

The cloth slips from your fingers, falling forgotten onto the blanket.

Slowly, you lift your head, meeting his eyes.

He looks stricken — as if he didn’t mean to say it aloud, as if the force of the feeling ripped it from him before he could catch it.

Color blooms high on his cheekbones. His hands twitch where they lie useless against the blanket, clenching and unclenching. His mouth opens — as if to explain, to take it back, to apologize —

You press your fingers gently over his lips.

"Yes," you whisper.

His whole body stills.

You smile — wide and aching — and cup his face between your hands, brushing your thumbs across the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

"Yes," you say again, firmer this time. "Yes, Severus. Of course, yes."

He exhales a sound — half laugh, half sob — and turns his face into your palm.

You lean forward and kiss him — slow and deep and sure — feeling the way he clutches at you, the way he melts into you, the way the last brittle piece of him crumbles and falls away.

When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing raggedly.

"I didn’t—" he starts, voice shaking.

"I know," you murmur, stroking your fingers through his hair. "You didn’t plan it."

He squeezes his eyes shut, his mouth twisting in a grimace.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the soft hollow beneath his ear.

"That’s why it’s perfect," you whisper there.

He lets out another shaky breath and wraps his arms around you — careful but sure — pulling you fully against him.

You sink into him, burying your face against his throat, feeling his heart thudding wildly under your cheek.

No rings. No kneeling. No speeches.

Just love.

Raw and real and unshakable.

Just you and Severus, in the golden light, promising forever without fear.

The garden blurs into gold and green around you, the afternoon light pouring thick through the air.

You barely hear McGonagall's voice — "You may—"

Because Severus is already moving.

He surges toward you, trapping your face between his hands, his fingers trembling against your skin as he pulls you into him like a man starved for breath.

He kisses you before the words are even finished — hungry, rough, aching — like he's waited a lifetime for this single moment.

The world erupts in cheers somewhere beyond your hearing, but none of it touches you.

All you know is the feel of him — his mouth on yours, his hands cradling your face like something precious, his body leaning into yours with a desperation that breaks you wide open.

You gasp softly into the kiss, your hands fisting in the front of his robes, clinging to him, grounding him, loving him with everything you have.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests heavily against yours.

Both of you are breathing hard, trembling slightly, your hands still tangled like roots refusing to let go.

You barely realize when the soft strains of music begin behind you — a gentle, lilting melody, slow and old and full of memory.

Severus doesn’t speak.

He simply lifts your hand to his chest, over his racing heart, and slips his other arm around your waist.

You move with him without thinking — swaying slowly in the grass, his robes brushing against your skirts, your bodies locked so tightly together it feels like you might never find the edges of yourselves again.

You feel his breath against your hair — feel the way he presses kiss after kiss into your temple, your forehead, the curve of your jaw.

He holds you like something fragile and indestructible all at once.

Neither of you cares about the watching eyes, the murmured words, the distant clinking of glasses.

There is only this.

Only him. Only you. Only the fierce, aching, impossible love wrapped around you like the very air.

He presses his lips against your ear, his voice a broken whisper only you can hear:

"Always."

Your chest aches with the beauty of it.

You tilt your head back, meeting his eyes — dark and shining and so unbearably soft — and you kiss him again.

Slow now.

Steady.

Certain.

You dance and kiss and cling under the soft-falling twilight, two survivors bound by a love so stubborn, so unbreakable, that not even death could tear it apart.

You dance until the sky turns to velvet. You dance until the music fades. You dance until there is nothing left but the beat of his heart against yours, steady and true.

Forever.

Always.

#fanfic #severus snape x reader #severus snape #harry potter

131 notes · View notes

muiitoloko · 10 months ago

Note

Would you be able to do a Severus Snape story. One where his girlfriend is nervous about having sex with him, as she still suffers from issues she suffered at the hands of a man who thought cared about her but just wanted to abuse her. Severus completely understands and never pressures her, she tells him she finally wants to have sex with him and he takes his time with her and is gently with her due her abuser being a sadist when it came to sex and not preparing her enough. Then after they have made love, he cuddles up with her which is a foreign concept to her as her abuser just use to shove her clothes into her arms after he was finished. Severus telling her how beautiful she is, as her abuser also belittled her about her body.

if you aren’t comfortable with this idea, it is fine if you choose not to write this idea.

Title: Alchemy of the Heart

Summary: A story of transformation and healing, where Severus Snape learns that love, like magic, can mend even the most broken of souls.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your request! 🫶

Also read on Ao3

Severus Snape never thought he would find himself in such a situation—dating a Muggle, living a life that was so mundanely normal after everything he had endured. He scoffed at the absurdity of it all as he moved about the small kitchen in his modest home at Spinner's End, preparing dinner for himself and you, the woman who had somehow wormed her way into his life, despite his best efforts to keep everyone at arm’s length.

The irony was not lost on him. He, Severus Snape, a man who had spent his entire adult life hiding behind shadows and secrets, was now standing over a stove, chopping vegetables for a Muggle dish he barely knew how to make. He was a man who had survived the war, against all odds, only to be pulled back from the brink of death by none other than Harry bloody Potter. That particular twist of fate still rankled him. Potter had used the Elder Wand to heal the wounds inflicted by Nagini, saving his life and subsequently fighting to free him from Azkaban, where he had been imprisoned for a year. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing he owed his life and freedom to the very boy he had spent years despising.

Snape grimaced as he remembered the cold, damp cells of Azkaban, the Dementors draining every ounce of warmth and hope from him, leaving only a hollow shell behind. He had resigned himself to that fate, ready to be forgotten, to fade into obscurity. But Potter had other plans, of course. The boy who lived, the boy who couldn’t leave well enough alone.

And now, here he was, living in his old childhood home, the memories of his past haunting every corner, every shadow. But there was one new element in his life, something—or rather someone—who had become an unexpected comfort in this bleak existence. You.

He had first noticed you a few weeks after his release, moving into the house next door with your belongings piled into an old, beat-up car. You were a breath of fresh air in the stale, suffocating environment of Spinner’s End. Snape had tried to scare you off at first, his usual acerbic demeanor and cutting remarks meant to keep you at a distance. But you were persistent, infuriatingly so. You would knock on his door with some trivial request—a cup of sugar, a light for your stove, a missing ingredient for dinner. And every time, despite himself, Snape would begrudgingly oblige, always with a scowl and a sarcastic remark.

But you kept coming back. No matter how cold or curt he was, you would return, flashing that infuriatingly bright smile, your eyes sparkling with a warmth that he hadn’t known in years. Slowly, despite his best efforts, Snape found himself softening towards you, your presence becoming a constant, a fixture in his life that he didn’t entirely hate.

It had started as a reluctant friendship—if he could even call it that—exchanging a few words here and there, discussing the weather or some mundane topic. But then, one evening, you had invited him over for dinner. He had almost declined, the words on the tip of his tongue, but something in your eyes, a quiet loneliness, made him change his mind. And that night, as you both sat in your small, cozy kitchen, sharing a simple meal, Snape felt something shift between you. It was subtle, a barely noticeable change in the air, but it was there, and he knew you felt it too.

From that moment on, things were different. The awkwardness that had always lingered between you seemed to dissipate, replaced by a quiet understanding, a comfort in each other’s presence that neither of you could deny. The dinners became more frequent, the conversations more personal, and before long, those moments spent together turned into something more.

The first time you kissed him, it was hesitant, a brief brush of lips that left him reeling. He had pulled back, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, of regret. But all he saw was warmth, acceptance, and something deeper—something he hadn’t felt in years. And so, he had kissed you again, this time with more conviction, more certainty, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, tasting the sweetness of your lips.

But even as things between you grew more intimate, there was always a hesitance on your part, a reluctance to let things progress beyond those heated kisses, those moments of passion that left you both breathless. Snape had tried to be patient, tried to respect your boundaries, but there were times when he couldn’t help the frustration that simmered just beneath the surface.

It wasn’t until one night, after another round of heated kisses that left you both wanting more, that Snape’s patience finally wore thin. He had used Legilimency on you, a skill he had honed to perfection over the years, and what he saw left him reeling. Memories of your past, of a relationship that had been toxic, abusive, of a man who had used your body, your trust, against you. It made Snape’s blood boil with rage, a fury that he hadn’t felt in years, directed not at you but at the man who had hurt you.

He had pulled back immediately, ashamed of what he had done, of the intrusion, but he couldn’t erase the memories from his mind. He couldn’t forget the pain in your eyes, the fear that had lingered just beneath the surface, even as you tried to move on, to find happiness with him.

So he kept it to himself, burying the knowledge deep within, refusing to let it taint what was growing between you. He would wait, he decided. He would wait until you were ready to tell him, until you trusted him enough to open up, to share your past with him.

And then, one evening, as you both sat on his old, worn sofa, your head resting on his shoulder, you had finally told him. The words had tumbled out in a rush, your voice trembling with fear and uncertainty, and Snape had listened, his heart aching with every word. When you had finished, he had wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips brushing against your hair as he whispered words of comfort, of reassurance.

"Thank you for telling me," he had murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "You’re safe with me, always."

And that night, as you lay in his arms, Snape had made a silent vow to himself. He would never hurt you, never push you beyond what you were comfortable with. He would wait, as long as it took, until you were ready.

Now, as he stirred the pot of soup simmering on the stove, Snape couldn’t help but think back to that night, to the way you had looked at him with such trust, such vulnerability. It made his heart clench in a way that he wasn’t used to, a feeling that he had tried to bury for years but that now resurfaced with a vengeance.

You had come into his life like a force of nature, breaking down the walls he had built around himself, forcing him to confront emotions that he had long since buried. And while part of him resented it, resented the way you had made him feel again, another part of him—the part he tried to ignore—was grateful.

He heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind him and turned to see you standing in the doorway, your eyes bright with affection as you watched him cook. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the sight of you, so full of life, so full of light.

"You’re cooking," you said, your voice filled with a mix of surprise and delight as you stepped into the kitchen, your hands coming to rest on the counter as you leaned against it, watching him with those warm, trusting eyes.

"Don’t sound so shocked," Snape replied, his tone dry but not unkind as he turned back to the stove, giving the soup another stir. "I am capable of preparing a meal, despite what you may think."

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. "I never doubted it," you said, your voice light and teasing as you stepped closer, your hands resting on his shoulders as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "But I’m still impressed."

Snape felt a warmth spread through him at your touch, your lips against his skin sending a wave of heat coursing through his body. He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the warmth of your gaze, the affection that shone in your eyes.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone, and Snape turned back to the stove, his hands tightening on the spoon as he stirred the soup with more force than necessary. He couldn’t allow himself to get too comfortable, to let his guard down. There was still so much you didn’t know about him, so much he was keeping from you.

You didn’t know that the man you were dating was not just a simple recluse living in a small, forgotten town. You didn’t know that the man you had trusted with your secrets, with your heart, was a wizard, a man who had fought in a war that had left deep scars on his soul. You didn’t know that the man you had chosen to love was capable of things that would terrify most people.

And as much as Snape wanted to keep it that way, to keep you safe from the darkness that had consumed so much of his life, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. He could only hope that when it did, you would still look at him with the same warmth, the same affection that you did now.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand—preparing a simple meal for the woman who had become the light in his dark, shadowed world. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had to offer.

You moved closer to him, your body pressing against his as you wrapped your arms around his waist, your head resting on his shoulder as you watched him cook. Snape stiffened slightly at the unexpected contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed himself to relax into your embrace, the warmth of your body seeping into his own, calming the storm of thoughts that constantly swirled in his mind.

"Thank you, Sev," you murmured, your voice soft and sincere as you pressed another kiss to his shoulder, your lips lingering against the fabric of his shirt. "For everything."

Snape swallowed hard, his throat tightening at the sound of your voice, the sincerity in your words. He wasn’t used to this—this warmth, this affection. It was foreign to him, something he had long since resigned himself to living without. But now, with you, it was becoming a part of his life, and as much as it terrified him, he found himself clinging to it, desperate for the light you brought into his world.

He didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust his voice to remain steady, so instead, he simply nodded, his hand coming up to rest on yours, squeezing it gently in silent acknowledgment.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just a connection, a confirmation that he was here, with you, in this moment. Whatever it was, Snape felt a surge of emotion rise up within him, threatening to overwhelm him.

And then, as if sensing his turmoil, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips soft and warm against his, a gentle caress that made his heart ache with longing. Snape responded almost automatically, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperate need that he hadn’t felt in years.

The kiss quickly grew more heated, more urgent, as Snape’s hands roamed over your body, feeling the warmth of your skin through the fabric of your clothes. He could feel the desire building within him, the need to take this further, to lose himself in you, in the warmth and comfort that you offered.

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, you pulled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty.

"Severus," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly as you placed your hands on his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I… I want to be with you, but…"

Snape felt his heart clench at your words, the hesitation in your voice, the uncertainty in your eyes. He knew what you were going to say, knew what was holding you back, and it made his chest tighten with a mix of frustration and sorrow.

"But you’re not ready," Snape finished for you, his voice low and rough as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "And that’s okay, love. We’ll take things at your pace."

You looked up at him, your eyes filling with tears as you nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you savored the warmth of his hand against your skin.

Snape felt a wave of emotion wash over him, a mixture of love and frustration and something else—something deeper, something darker that he couldn’t quite put into words. He wanted you, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—push you into something you weren’t ready for. Not after everything you had been through.

So instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin as he whispered, "When you’re ready, I’ll be here."

You nodded, your arms wrapping around his waist as you buried your face in his chest, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. And in that moment, Snape realized that maybe, just maybe, he was.

As the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Snape couldn’t help but think of how far he had come, how much his life had changed since the end of the war. He had gone from being a man consumed by darkness and hatred, to a man who was learning to love again, who was finding solace in the warmth of a woman’s embrace.

But even as he held you close, the weight of his secrets pressed down on him, a constant reminder that there was still so much you didn’t know about him, so much that he was keeping from you.

And as much as he wanted to protect you from that darkness, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out.

For now, though, he would hold onto this moment, this brief reprieve from the shadows that haunted his every step. And he would continue to wait, as long as it took, until you were ready to take that next step, to fully trust him with your body, your heart, your soul.

Because for the first time in his life, Severus Snape had something worth waiting for.

You and Severus Snape sat across from each other at the small, worn kitchen table in his modest home. The room was quiet, save for the soft clinking of spoons against bowls as you both ate the soup he had prepared. The aroma of the dish filled the air, a comforting blend of herbs and spices that seemed almost out of place in the austere surroundings of Spinner’s End.

Snape watched you closely, his dark, piercing eyes never leaving your face as you took your first tentative spoonful of the soup. He appeared calm and composed, but there was a hint of something else in his gaze—an emotion that he carefully kept hidden behind his usual mask of indifference. You, oblivious to the scrutiny, tasted the soup, savoring the warmth that spread through you as you swallowed.

To your surprise, the soup was not just good—it was delicious. The flavors were rich and well-balanced, each ingredient perfectly complementing the others. You glanced up at Snape, your eyes wide with genuine admiration. “This is amazing, Severus,” you said, your voice filled with pleasant surprise. “I didn’t expect you to be such a good cook!”

Snape’s response was immediate. He rolled his eyes in a manner that was both exaggerated and entirely out of character, the motion so unexpected that it caught you off guard. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he affected a tone of mock offense. “What did you expect, then? That I would poison you with my lack of culinary skills?”

You burst into laughter, the sound bright and clear in the small, dimly lit kitchen. “No, no! It’s just—I mean, you never struck me as the type to… well, cook. You always seem so serious, so… severe.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but there was a glint of amusement in them that you hadn’t noticed before. “I am full of surprises, as you’ve clearly discovered,” he said dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he were fighting the urge to smile.

You tried to stifle your laughter, covering your mouth with one hand as you leaned forward, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Sev. I didn’t mean to sound so… rude. I’m just pleasantly surprised, that’s all.”

Snape’s expression remained impassive, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, if you’re going to be so disrespectful about my cooking, perhaps I should refrain from ever doing it again,” he said, his tone smooth and measured, though laced with a subtle edge of sarcasm.

Your laughter died down, and you looked at him with wide, imploring eyes, your lips forming a small, playful pout. “Oh, please don’t do that! I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He allowed the silence to stretch out, letting you squirm slightly under his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he set his spoon down and leaned back in his chair, his long, pale fingers steepled in front of him. “I suppose I can find it within myself to forgive you,” he said with mock gravity, his voice carrying that familiar, rich baritone that sent a shiver down your spine.

You grinned, relieved by the playful banter that had emerged between you two. “I promise to be more appreciative next time,” you said, your tone light and teasing.

Snape’s eyes softened slightly, and he allowed himself a small, genuine smile, though it was fleeting. “See that you do,” he replied, his voice carrying just a hint of warmth. He picked up his spoon once more, returning his attention to his soup, though you could tell he was still watching you from the corner of his eye.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the earlier tension between you having dissipated entirely. There was something soothing about the simplicity of the moment—the two of you sharing a meal, the quiet intimacy of the evening wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

After a while, you looked up at him, a thought crossing your mind. “Severus,” you began, your voice soft and curious, “you never really talk about your past. You’ve told me bits and pieces, but… I don’t really know much about you.”

Snape’s hand paused mid-motion, his spoon hovering over the bowl. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of something—uncertainty, perhaps?—in his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual inscrutable expression.

“What exactly do you want to know?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You hesitated, unsure of how to phrase your question without prying too much. “I know you were a professor—a chemistry professor, right? At a college in Scotland?”

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the version of his past that he had shared with you. “Yes,” he said, his voice measured. “I taught for many years.”

You smiled at him, trying to convey that you weren’t seeking to push him into sharing anything he wasn’t comfortable with. “It must have been… interesting, teaching. But I can’t imagine it was easy, especially with students who didn’t always appreciate your brilliance.”

Snape’s lips twitched at that, and he let out a soft, sardonic huff. “Indeed. Many of them were more interested in their own self-indulgent pursuits than in actually learning anything of value.”

You chuckled, imagining a classroom full of students cowering under Snape’s stern gaze, their attempts at chemistry likely met with his cutting remarks. “I’m sure you were a… challenging teacher,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your tact. “I was effective,” he replied simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him with genuine curiosity. “Do you miss it? Teaching, I mean.”

For a moment, Snape was silent, his eyes distant as if he were considering your question—or perhaps reliving old memories. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more reflective. “There are aspects of it that I miss, yes. The pursuit of knowledge, the satisfaction of imparting it to those few who were truly eager to learn… But the rest… no, I do not miss that.”

You nodded, understanding that there was much more to his past than he was willing—or perhaps able—to share. You didn’t press further, content to let him reveal what he wished in his own time. Instead, you reached out and gently placed your hand over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Sev,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with sincerity.

Snape looked at you, his expression inscrutable, but you could sense the shift in his mood—the subtle softening of his usual defenses. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice low and almost reluctant, as if the words didn’t come easily to him.

You both returned to your meal, the earlier levity now replaced by a quiet, comfortable silence. As you finished your soup, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment—a feeling that, despite everything, you were exactly where you were meant to be, with the man who, against all odds, had become so important to you.

And as Snape watched you from across the table, his dark eyes lingering on your face, he too felt a stirring of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years—something that, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t entirely hate.

Days later, you found yourself in a small, charming boutique nestled in the heart of town, dragging Severus Snape along with you. The place was a far cry from the dark, foreboding atmosphere of Spinner's End. It was bright, colorful, and filled with racks of clothing that seemed to almost offend Snape’s sensibilities. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fabric and a hint of perfume, and the light streaming through the windows made everything seem almost unnaturally cheerful.

Snape, however, was anything but cheerful.

He stood in the middle of the store, his tall, lean frame towering over the racks of clothing, his long black coat making him look like a shadow in a world of light. His greasy black hair hung over his pale, angular face, and his dark eyes were narrowed in a mixture of disdain and discomfort. He watched you with a glare that could have curdled milk, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"You cannot be serious," he growled, his deep, monotone voice cutting through the lighthearted chatter of the boutique. "I have no interest in—"

"Oh, come on, Sev," you interrupted, undeterred by his intimidating presence as you held up a bright, turquoise shirt, eyeing it critically before pushing it against his chest. "You can't always wear black. It's time for a change, don't you think?"

Snape recoiled as if you had just handed him a particularly venomous potion. "Absolutely not," he snapped, pushing the shirt away from him as if it were toxic. "I am perfectly content with my current wardrobe, thank you very much."

You rolled your eyes, clearly unfazed by his resistance. "You can't hide in black forever, you know. It’s time to add a little color to your life, Severus."

He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of stubborn defiance. "I see no need for such frivolity. I am not one of your... fashion experiments."

You grinned at his surly tone, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you rifled through another rack of clothing. "Well, maybe you should be. I think you’d look quite dashing in something other than black for a change."

Snape’s eyes narrowed further as he watched you, clearly unimpressed with the direction this outing was taking. "This is absurd," he muttered, though there was a faint trace of resignation in his voice as he realized that there was no escaping your determination.

And then, as if to test his resolve further, you pulled out a bright pink shirt from the rack, holding it up for him to see. "What about this?" you asked, your voice filled with playful innocence. "I think pink would really bring out the color in your eyes."

Snape’s reaction was immediate and visceral. His dark eyes widened in horror, and for a moment, it looked as if he might actually hiss at the offending garment. "Absolutely not!" he thundered, taking a step back as if the shirt were about to attack him. "I will not—under any circumstances—wear pink! No! No! No way! I’d rather die before wearing that!"

You burst into laughter at his dramatic reaction, clutching the shirt to your chest as you tried to stifle your giggles. "Oh, Sev," you managed between laughs, "you’re being ridiculous. It’s just a shirt!"

"It’s not just a shirt," he retorted, his voice laced with indignation. "It’s a deliberate assault on my dignity. Pink, indeed!" He scoffed, his nose wrinkling in disdain. "Do I look like someone who would wear pink?"

You stepped closer to him, your laughter subsiding as you held the shirt up to his chest again, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of challenge and affection. "You might be surprised," you teased, your voice softening slightly as you gave him a knowing smile. "Besides, I think you’d look quite handsome in it. It’s just for fun, Sev. No one’s going to see you."

Snape stared down at you, his expression unreadable as he contemplated your words. There was a long moment of silence as the two of you stood there, the bright pink shirt still held between you, an unspoken battle of wills playing out in the air.

Finally, with a resigned sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Snape snatched the shirt from your hands, his dark eyes glaring at you with a mixture of frustration and reluctant acceptance. "Fine," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "But if I look ridiculous, I will hold you personally responsible."

You grinned, practically bouncing on your toes with excitement as you watched him disappear into the dressing room. "I’m sure you’ll look fantastic," you called after him, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Several minutes passed, and you waited impatiently outside the dressing room, practically buzzing with anticipation. Finally, the door creaked open, and Snape stepped out, his tall, lean frame draped in the bright pink shirt you had chosen for him.

For a moment, you were stunned into silence. The shirt, against all odds, actually looked… good on him. The color, while a far cry from his usual black, brought out a warmth in his pale complexion that you hadn’t noticed before. The way the fabric clung to his lean form was surprisingly flattering, highlighting the sharp lines of his shoulders and chest.

But what really struck you was the expression on Snape’s face. He looked utterly resigned, as if he were bracing himself for some inevitable disaster, but there was also a glimmer of something else in his dark eyes—something that almost looked like amusement.

He stood there, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides, and then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he clapped his hands together, his expression deadpan as he waited for your reaction. "Well?" he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are you satisfied with your handiwork, or do I need to suffer through more of this torture?"

You couldn’t help it. You burst into laughter, the sound bright and joyful as you clapped your hands together in delight. "You look… amazing, Severus!" you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you stepped closer to him, reaching out to smooth the fabric of the shirt against his chest. "I knew you’d look good in pink!"

Snape rolled his eyes, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips that betrayed his own amusement. "I look like an idiot," he muttered, though the words lacked any real heat. "This is precisely why I do not allow you to choose my clothing."

You grinned up at him, your hands resting on his chest as you met his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "Well, I think you look quite handsome," you said, your voice filled with affection. "And besides, it’s good to have a little fun every now and then, don’t you think?"

Snape huffed, clearly unconvinced, but there was a softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before—a subtle acknowledgment of the fact that, despite his grumbling, he didn’t entirely hate the experience.

"Fun," he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he gave you a pointed look. "Yes, well, I suppose if nothing else, I’ve provided you with some amusement."

You chuckled, your eyes twinkling as you leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "You always do, Severus. You always do."

And as you both left the boutique, Snape still wearing the pink shirt with a mixture of resignation and reluctant acceptance, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. The man who had once been shrouded in darkness, who had built walls around himself so high that no one could penetrate them, was slowly letting you in—one bright pink shirt at a time.

Later that day, after the unexpected and rather amusing shopping trip, you found yourself back at Snape’s home. The small, dimly lit rooms of Spinner’s End were a stark contrast to the bright, colorful boutique you had dragged him to earlier, but there was a certain comfort in the familiarity of the old, worn furniture and the quiet, almost melancholic atmosphere that seemed to permeate every corner of the house.

Snape, now mercifully back in his usual black attire, sat stiffly on a low stool in the bathroom, his long legs awkwardly folded in front of him, as you fussed over his hair. The small, narrow room was filled with the scent of shampoo and the faint sound of water dripping from the faucet, the only noises breaking the otherwise heavy silence.

You stood behind him, your fingers working through the tangled strands of his long, greasy black hair, your touch gentle but insistent. The hair-washing had been your idea, of course—a suggestion made with the kind of playful insistence that you knew Snape could never fully resist, no matter how much he pretended otherwise.

Snape, for his part, was doing his best to endure the ordeal with what little dignity he had left. His dark eyes were narrowed in a mixture of discomfort and irritation as he glared at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink, his lips pressed into a thin line of discontent. Every so often, he would let out a low grumble, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

"Must you continue this charade?" he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he shot you a sideways glance in the mirror. "I’m quite capable of washing my own hair, you know."

You ignored his complaints, your fingers continuing to work through the soapy strands of his hair with determined care. "Oh, hush, Severus," you replied, your tone light and teasing as you gently massaged his scalp. "You’re just being grumpy because you know I’m right—this hair needs a good washing, and you weren’t about to do it yourself."

Snape let out an indignant huff, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of the sink as he tried to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. "I hardly think you’re qualified to make such judgments," he retorted, though the faint hint of amusement in his tone betrayed his true feelings. "And you’re taking entirely too much pleasure in this."

You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you leaned down to press a quick, playful kiss to the top of his head. "Of course I am," you admitted, your voice filled with affection as you continued to run your fingers through his hair. "When else do I get the chance to pamper you like this?"

Snape rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked any real heat. "Pamper," he repeated, his voice laced with irony as he met your gaze in the mirror. "If this is what you consider pampering, then I shudder to think what you would consider torture."

You grinned, your hands still working methodically through his hair, carefully untangling each knot with the patience of someone who had come to know him well enough to not be intimidated by his gruff demeanor. "Oh, Sev," you teased, your voice soft and affectionate, "I think you secretly enjoy this more than you let on. You just don’t want to admit it."

He scoffed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he turned his head to glare at you, though there was no real malice in his gaze. "I assure you, I derive no enjoyment from being subjected to this… this—"

"Indulgence?" you supplied, your tone light and playful as you met his glare with a knowing smile.

"Humiliation," Snape corrected, his voice heavy with sarcasm as he turned his attention back to the mirror, his expression once again settling into its usual stoic mask. "But by all means, continue with your… indulgence."

You shook your head, your grin widening as you continued to work through his hair, the strands slowly becoming less tangled, less greasy under your careful ministrations. "You’re impossible," you muttered, though there was no real heat behind the words. "But that’s part of your charm, I suppose."

Snape’s only response was a low, noncommittal grunt, his fingers tapping impatiently against the edge of the sink as he tried to maintain his patience.

After a few more minutes of combing through his hair, you finally felt satisfied with your work. You reached for a clean towel, gently wrapping it around his head as you began to dry the now-clean strands with a firm but gentle touch. "There, all done," you said, your voice filled with a quiet satisfaction as you stepped back to admire your handiwork.

Snape, however, was less than impressed. He reached up, his long fingers brushing through his now-damp hair with a frown, as if expecting to find some glaring imperfection. "Are you quite finished?" he asked, his tone a mixture of irritation and resignation as he glanced at you in the mirror.

"Not quite," you replied, your eyes catching sight of a single strand of white hair near the crown of his head. Your expression shifted from playful to curious as you reached out to touch the strand, gently pulling it free from the rest of his hair.

"Sev," you said, your voice filled with a mixture of surprise and amusement as you held up the white hair for him to see. "Look what I found."

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the strand in your hand, his expression immediately hardening. "That is not mine," he stated flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It must have gotten mixed in with my hair somehow."

You couldn’t help but laugh at his stubborn denial, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you dangled the strand in front of him. "Oh, come on, Sev," you teased, your voice light and playful as you met his glare with a grin. "It’s just one white hair. It’s nothing to be ashamed of."

Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes narrowing further as he snatched the strand from your hand, his expression one of absolute refusal. "It is not mine," he repeated, his voice filled with the kind of certainty that only Severus Snape could muster. "I do not have white hair."

You rolled your eyes, clearly amused by his adamant refusal to accept the truth. "You’re impossible," you muttered, shaking your head as you watched him carefully inspect the strand of hair, as if trying to find some evidence to support his claim.

"Impossible or not," Snape replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he tossed the strand of hair into the waste bin with a flick of his wrist, "I refuse to believe that I am… aging."

You chuckled softly, reaching out to gently cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against the sharp line of his jaw as you looked up at him with a mixture of affection and amusement. "Everyone ages, Sev," you said softly, your voice filled with warmth as you met his gaze. "Even you."

Snape’s expression softened slightly at your words, though he still seemed reluctant to accept the truth. "Perhaps," he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he glanced away, his dark eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had become so important to you, despite his stubbornness, despite his gruff exterior. "It’s nothing to worry about," you assured him, your voice soft and reassuring as you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I think it just makes you more distinguished."

Snape let out a low, skeptical grunt, his lips curving into a faint, reluctant smile as he met your gaze once more. "Distinguished," he repeated, his tone filled with a mixture of irony and amusement. "Is that what you call it?"

You grinned, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you nodded. "Absolutely," you replied, your voice filled with playful conviction. "And besides, it’s just one hair. You’ve got plenty of time before you have to worry about going gray."

Snape rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced by your reassurances, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he allowed himself to relax into your touch, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulled you closer, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he looked down at you with a mixture of desire and frustration.

"You’re entirely too pleased with yourself," he murmured, his voice low and rough as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering on your skin.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of his gaze, your heart quickening as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat. "And you’re entirely too grumpy," you retorted, though your voice trembled slightly as you spoke, the playful banter giving way to a sudden, undeniable tension that crackled in the air between you.

Snape’s lips curved into a small, dangerous smile, his eyes darkening with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "Perhaps," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, seductive growl as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, "you need to be reminded of why you shouldn’t push me too far."

Your breath hitched at the underlying threat in his tone, a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through you as his fingers tightened around your wrist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the steady, insistent pressure of his arousal against your thigh, and it sent a jolt of desire straight to your core.

"Severus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and uncertain.

He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly as he sensed your hesitation, the dark intensity in his eyes giving way to a quiet, almost tender concern. "You’re still afraid," he murmured, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire as he brushed his lips against your temple, the gentle gesture at odds with the possessive grip he had on your wrist. "You don’t have to be, love."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the weight of his words, the quiet reassurance in his voice making your resolve waver. "I know," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt, of hesitation.

But there was none. Only the dark, smoldering intensity of a man who wanted you—body, heart, and soul.

"I want this," you said, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke the words that had been on the tip of your tongue for so long, the words that you had been too afraid to say. "I want you, Sev."

A low growl rumbled deep in his chest at your admission, his dark eyes flashing with a mixture of desire and satisfaction as he leaned down to capture your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a possessive urgency that made your knees weak.

You responded eagerly, your hands tangling in his damp hair as you pressed yourself against him, the fear and hesitation that had held you back for so long melting away in the heat of his embrace. There was no room for doubt, no room for fear—only the overwhelming need to be with him, to feel him, to lose yourself in the pleasure that he offered.

Snape’s hands moved with a sure, practiced grace as he deftly unbuttoned your blouse, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pushed the fabric aside, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of your chest. He let out a low, appreciative groan as he took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire as he reached up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, his hands moving to your waist as he slowly began to guide you toward the bed. "I’ve wanted this for so long… wanted you for so long."

You let out a soft moan at the feel of his lips against your skin, your heart pounding in your chest as you allowed him to lead you, your legs trembling with anticipation as you felt the edge of the bed against the back of your knees. "Sev," you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of desire and uncertainty as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and vulnerable.

He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly as he sensed your lingering hesitation, his hands moving to cup your face as he leaned down to press a gentle, reassuring kiss to your lips. "You don’t have to be afraid," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he brushed his thumbs against your cheeks, his dark eyes filled with a quiet, tender concern. "I’ll be gentle, love. I promise."

You nodded, your heart swelling with affection for the man who had been so patient, so understanding, even as his own desire threatened to consume him. "I trust you," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you savored the warmth of his hands against your skin.

Snape let out a low, relieved sigh at your words, his lips curving into a small, tender smile as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his hands moving to gently guide you onto the bed. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet, sincere gratitude as he leaned over you, his dark eyes never leaving yours as he slowly began to undress you, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverent care that made your heart ache.

There was no rush, no urgency—only the slow, deliberate movements of a man who wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every kiss. And as he finally stripped away the last of your clothing, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him, you felt a sense of peace settle over you, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you for so long fading into the background as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace.

Snape took his time, his hands and lips exploring every inch of your body with a slow, deliberate care that made your breath hitch in your throat, the pleasure building with every touch, every caress. He was patient, attentive, always watching, always listening for any sign of discomfort, of hesitation, ready to stop at a moment’s notice if you so much as whispered a word of doubt.

But you gave him none. Only soft, breathless moans and whispered pleas for more, your body arching into his touch as he slowly, gently, brought you to the edge of pleasure, only to pull back, teasing you with the promise of release before finally, mercifully, giving you what you craved.

When he finally entered you, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust, his hands gripping your hips as he filled you completely, the sensation both overwhelming and exquisitely perfect. You let out a soft cry, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure that surged through you.

"Sev," you moaned, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and relief as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he began to move, his thrusts slow and measured, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

He let out a low, guttural groan at the sound of his name on your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he quickened his pace, the intensity of his movements matched only by the fierce, possessive hunger in his eyes as he looked down at you, his expression one of absolute, unbridled need.

"You’re mine," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his hips driving into you with a desperate urgency that made your breath hitch in your throat. "Mine, love. Always."

You could only moan in response, your mind too clouded with pleasure to form coherent words as you lost yourself in the sensation of him moving inside you, the steady, insistent rhythm of his thrusts sending you spiraling closer and closer to the edge of release.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you cried out in pleasure, your fingers digging into his back as you clung to him, the intensity of your orgasm leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent.

Snape continued moving inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic as the intensity of his own pleasure grew, his control slipping with each passing second. His dark eyes, usually so guarded and inscrutable, were now clouded with raw desire as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Where do you want it?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper, rough with the effort to hold back. There was a note of desperation in his tone, a plea for your permission, your acceptance, as he teetered on the edge of release.

Your mind was a haze of pleasure, your body still trembling from the powerful orgasm he had just coaxed from you. His question hung in the air, charged with the weight of what it would mean—for him to finally claim you, to mark you as his.

“In me,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but there was no mistaking the conviction in your words. “Cum inside me, Severus.”

A low, guttural curse escaped his lips, a rare crack in his usually controlled demeanor, as he buried himself to the hilt with a final, powerful thrust. The sensation of his thick length pulsing deep inside you sent a shudder through your body, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, holding him close as he found his release.

He came hard, his entire body tensing as he spilled himself inside you, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he held you in place, ensuring that every last drop was buried deep within you. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, mingling with the soft, desperate moans that escaped his lips as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, the intensity of it nearly overwhelming him.

“Mine,” he growled through clenched teeth, his voice rough with satisfaction as he pressed a bruising kiss to your lips, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his release. “You’re mine, love… all mine.”

You could only nod weakly, your body spent, your mind still reeling from the force of your own climax. The weight of his words, the possessiveness in his tone, sent a thrill through you, even as exhaustion began to creep in, your limbs heavy and languid as you lay beneath him.

Snape slowly pulled out of you, a low, satisfied groan rumbling in his chest as he watched the evidence of his claim slowly begin to seep from your body. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, the sight stirring something deep within him—something primal, possessive, and utterly inescapable.

But before you could fully process what was happening, Snape surprised you by shifting lower, his long, lean frame sliding down the bed until his face was level with your still-sensitive core. Your eyes widened in shock as you realized what he intended, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide to make room for himself.

“Sev—” you began, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and lingering sensitivity, but he silenced you with a look, his dark eyes glinting with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Be still,” he commanded softly, his voice a low, dangerous growl as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your inner thigh in a feather-light caress. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

You whimpered softly, your body trembling as he moved closer, his breath hot against your already oversensitive skin. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your most intimate areas, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure and discomfort through your body in equal measure.

“Severus, please,” you pleaded, your voice weak and breathy as you tried to squirm away, the overwhelming sensitivity making you want to pull back, to escape the onslaught of sensations that were too much, too intense.

But Snape would have none of it. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place as he buried his face between your legs, his lips and tongue seeking out the remnants of his own release mixed with your essence. The feel of his mouth on you, the deliberate, almost reverent way he cleaned you, was both too much and not enough, your mind spinning with the intensity of it all.

“Stay still,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a rough whisper as he continued his ministrations, his tongue lapping at you with slow, deliberate strokes that sent shivers of pleasure racing up your spine. “Let me taste you… let me taste what’s mine.”

You gasped, your fingers curling into the sheets as you fought against the urge to pull away, the overwhelming sensitivity making every touch feel like both pleasure and torture. Your body jerked involuntarily, but Snape only tightened his grip, holding you steady as he continued to work his mouth against you, his dark eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

He loved this—loved the way you trembled beneath him, the way your body responded to his touch even when it was too much, too intense. He loved the way your breath hitched in your throat, the way your nails dug into the sheets as you fought to keep still, to endure the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with dark satisfaction as he continued to lap at you, his tongue flicking against your clit in a way that made you cry out, your body convulsing beneath him. “So perfect… so responsive… I could do this forever.”

You couldn’t respond, your mind too clouded with pleasure, your body too wracked with sensation to form coherent words. All you could do was cling to the sheets, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as Snape continued to work his mouth against you, his tongue relentless in its pursuit of every last drop of your combined release.

“Sev, please… it’s too much,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and need as you tried to pull away, your body on the verge of another climax, the overstimulation sending jolts of pleasure and pain through you in equal measure.

But Snape didn’t let up. If anything, your pleas only seemed to spur him on, his mouth working you with renewed fervor, his hands tightening on your thighs as he held you in place, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

“You can take it,” he growled against your skin, his voice filled with a dark, possessive hunger as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re mine, love… every part of you. I’ll make you cum again… I’ll make you remember who you belong to.”

His words were your undoing. With a final, desperate cry, your body convulsed beneath him, your second orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent. Snape held you through it, his mouth never leaving you, his tongue continuing to lap at you even as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your release.

When you finally came down from the high, your body limp and exhausted, Snape slowly pulled away, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you, his lips curving into a small, dangerous smile.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark, possessive satisfaction as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

You could only nod weakly, your mind clouded by exhaustion and the overwhelming pleasure that had just coursed through you. Every muscle in your body felt heavy, spent, and as you lay there, trying to catch your breath, the reality of what had just transpired began to sink in. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart still pounding in your ears, as you waited for the inevitable.

You braced yourself for the cold distance that you had come to expect from your past—waiting for him to pull away, to turn his back on you, to push you away with a dismissive order, just like your ex-boyfriend used to do. The old fears began to creep back in, threatening to ruin the quiet afterglow that had settled over the room.

But Severus didn’t do that.

Instead, he surprised you. The bed shifted under his weight as he climbed in beside you, and before you could even process what was happening, he gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. His embrace was firm but comforting, his long, lean body molding perfectly to yours as he held you, his breath warm against your temple.

“Did you like it?” he asked quietly, his deep, monotone voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he were unsure of the answer. His hand came up to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you further. You could feel his lips brush against your forehead in a tender kiss, a gesture that was so unexpected, so out of character, that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the voice to tell him how much his gentleness meant to you, how much his care and concern had touched you. Instead, all you could do was lay there in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

When you didn’t respond immediately, Severus tensed slightly, his grip on you loosening as if he feared he had done something wrong. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet regret. “If I was too much… if I pressured you… that was never my intention.”

The sincerity in his words, the genuine worry that laced his tone, sent a wave of emotion crashing over you. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you had to blink rapidly to keep them from falling. The care he was showing you, the way he was so attuned to your feelings, was something you weren’t used to. Your ex-boyfriend had never asked if you were okay, never checked if you were comfortable or happy. But here was Severus, a man who had every reason to be distant and cold, holding you with such tenderness, such concern, that it made your heart ache.

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes. His dark gaze met yours, and you could see the worry etched into his sharp features, the way his brow furrowed as he waited for your response. He was genuinely concerned for you, genuinely worried that he had done something to hurt you, and the realization was almost too much to bear.

“I…” you began, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words, but all you could manage was a soft, choked sob as the tears finally spilled over, trailing down your cheeks. “Severus, I… I’ve never…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t find a way to explain the depth of what you were feeling. But Severus seemed to understand. His expression softened, and he gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb, his touch so gentle, so reverent, that it only made you cry harder.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. “It’s all right, love. You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I’m here… and I’m not going anywhere.”

The reassurance in his words, the quiet promise that he would stay, that he wouldn’t push you away, was more than you could have ever hoped for. You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you clung to him, your arms wrapping around his waist in a desperate attempt to hold onto this moment, to hold onto the safety and comfort he was offering you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest as you tried to control the sobs that threatened to overwhelm you. “I’m sorry for crying… I just… I’m not used to this. To someone caring.”

Severus tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you against him as he whispered, “You never have to apologize for your feelings, not with me. And you deserve to be cared for, love. You deserve to be treated with kindness… with respect.”

The words sent another wave of emotion crashing over you, and you couldn’t hold back the sobs that shook your body, the raw, unfiltered emotion spilling out of you as you finally allowed yourself to feel the depth of what you had been holding back for so long. Severus held you through it all, his arms wrapped around you, his hand gently stroking your hair as he murmured soft words of comfort, his deep voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you exhausted and drained, you pulled back slightly, looking up at Severus through tear-streaked eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying. “Thank you for… for being so kind. For caring.”

Severus gazed down at you, his dark eyes filled with a warmth that took your breath away. “I care about you more than you know,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “And I will always care. You’re safe with me… always.”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express how much his reassurance meant to you, how much his presence in your life had changed everything. Instead, you simply leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, pouring all of your gratitude, all of your affection, into that one, simple gesture.

Severus returned the kiss with a tenderness that made your heart swell, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a slow, deliberate care that made you feel cherished, adored.

When the kiss finally ended, Severus rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered, “You’re incredible, love. So strong… so beautiful. And I’m honored that you’ve allowed me to be a part of your life.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he spoke those words as if he truly believed them, made your chest tighten with emotion. No one had ever spoken to you like this before, had ever made you feel so valued, so loved.

“Severus,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you looked up at him, your eyes shining with tears. “I… I love you.”

For a moment, Severus didn’t respond. His dark eyes searched yours, as if trying to discern the truth in your words, and when he finally spoke, his voice was filled with a quiet, almost reverent awe. “You love me?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you repeated the words, letting them hang in the air between you. “I love you, Severus. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Severus closed his eyes, a soft, shaky breath escaping his lips as he let the words sink in. When he opened his eyes again, there was a vulnerability in his gaze that took your breath away, a raw, unguarded emotion that he had never allowed you to see before.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet, almost desperate sincerity. “More than I ever thought possible.”

The words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the wounds left by your past, filling the empty spaces in your heart with a warmth that you had never known before. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as you buried your face in his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your ear.

And as Severus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a protective, comforting embrace, you knew that this was where you were meant to be. In his arms, in his heart, in his life. And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly, deeply loved.

#alan rickman x reader #alan rickman #severus snape x reader #severus snape #harry potter

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