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Severina's earliest memory was all screams and cruelty. Her father, red-faced with rage, shouting at her mother—calling her a witch, accusing her of cursing him with another "freak" of a daughter.

That was the day she ran. Away from the noise, the hate, the sharp edges of a home that had never really been one.

And that’s when she met Lily.

Lily Evans—glowing like something from a storybook. Her red hair caught the sunlight like flame, her freckles danced across her cheeks like constellations, and her dress moved with the wind as if it were stitched from air itself. She was beautiful. Ethereal. The kind of girl stories were written about.

Severina had been instantly captivated. And deeply envious.

Standing in front of someone so radiant, Severina felt like she didn’t even belong in the same world. Her own hair was uneven and too short, her clothes hung awkwardly on her bony frame, and her nose—far too large for her face—seemed to be the only feature people ever noticed. Lily had even mistaken her for a boy at first. Not that Severina blamed her. She was plain. She was forgettable. Just as Black had once said, like it was fact carved in stone.

Then came James Potter.

He had walked into her life all fire and laughter, confidence and charm. He was everything Severina wasn’t. Warm, magnetic, endlessly alive. She had fallen—just a little—almost immediately. But of course, he only had eyes for Lily. Everyone did. Who wouldn’t?
Next to her, Severina was just... there.

She might’ve accepted that, if he hadn’t gone out of his way to insult her. An offhand comment about how Slytherins were “all rotten.” She’d felt something burn in her chest. Her mother had been a Slytherin. She was a Slytherin. So she’d spoken up—and James hadn’t liked that. He didn’t like being challenged. That had been the beginning of the war between them.

From then on, every day felt like a battle. She was too Slytherin. Too half-blood. Too odd. Too dark. Too… wrong. They used every flaw as a weapon. And not just Gryffindors—students from every house joined in. She became the outcast no one wanted.

And yet—despite everything—Severina still liked James. She didn’t understand why. He could be cruel, egotistical, insufferably arrogant… but he was also brave. Loyal. Sometimes even kind. He was a Gryffindor to his core—righteous and chivalrous and smart when he chose to be.

But through it all, there was Lily. Her only friend. The only person who didn’t treat her like something to be avoided or ridiculed.

But it all crumbled.

One word. One mistake. One betrayal.

Her friendship with Lily shattered, just like that—one insult, and all of Severina’s apologies meant nothing.

Then Sirius tried to kill her.

And James—James—saved her.

It had changed everything.

Not that they spoke about it. James couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore. Maybe he regretted helping her. Maybe he just wanted to forget it ever happened.

The taunting, the pranks—they stopped. But so did everything else.

No Lily. No James. Just silence.

Just Severina.

Alone, fading into the background like she always feared she would. Like she’d always told herself she deserved.

<3

The Whomping Willow used to be her sanctuary.

Tangled roots, whispering leaves, the hollow space beneath—once, it had felt like hers. Safe. Hidden. Silent.

But after that night—the Shack, the betrayal, the howling—she couldn’t even glance in its direction without her stomach twisting. So she found a new place.

Not far from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, nestled between shadow and frost, was a crooked tree overlooking a half-frozen pond. It was quiet here. Out of sight, far enough from the castle to be alone, close enough to Hogsmeade that she wouldn’t stumble into anything with teeth and a taste for human blood. She made sure of that now. She didn’t want any more encounters with the likes of Lupin.

Severina settled beneath the gnarled limbs, the bark rough against her back. She pulled out her well-worn potions book—ink-stained, dog-eared, filled with her own notes scrawled in the margins like whispered defiance. She flipped through its pages, correcting what the authors had gotten wrong and adding her own formulas in careful, looping script.

The cold bit at her fingers, but she didn’t mind. She’d never had proper winter robes, and she doubted she ever would. But her heating charms—modified, extended, clever—kept her warm enough.

Besides, the snow didn’t judge her. It didn’t whisper behind her back or throw hexes when no one was watching. It simply fell. Quiet and indifferent.

She liked it that way.

Then—snap.

A branch cracked nearby.

Her head snapped up, all thoughts vanishing.

Wand drawn, hand steady. “Who’s there?”

No answer.

“I swear, if this is another one of your pranks—” Her voice rang sharper now. “Come out, or I’ll hex first and ask questions never.”

But what stepped from the trees wasn’t a student.

It was a stag.

Massive, antlers like bone-carved branches, eyes dark and steady as it looked straight at her.

Her grip loosened, and a breath escaped her lungs. “Just a bloody deer,” she muttered, lowering her wand.

She tucked it away and hesitated, then reached out a cautious hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said quietly. “Sorry. I’m just… jumpy.”

The stag didn’t move. In fact, it took a step back.

She let her hand fall. “Yeah,” she said, softer. “Didn’t think you’d like me either.”

She sat again, the cold seeping into her legs now despite the charm. She opened her book, tried to read the same sentence twice. Then again. It didn’t stick.

“Look at me,” she said aloud, voice flat. “Talking to a deer. That’s where we are now.”

She didn’t look up again—until she felt the nudge.

A gentle pressure against her arm.

Her eyes lifted. The stag had returned. Closer this time. Close enough to touch.

Carefully, she reached out and laid a hand on its fur. It didn’t flinch. Just watched her with those dark, still eyes.

She smiled, a small, unpracticed thing. It felt foreign on her face.

“You’re not afraid,” she murmured. “Why not? You should be. Out here—there’s always something hunting.”

The stag lowered itself beside her, calm, unmoving.

She glanced at its antlers, gleaming with frost like a crown.

“Royalty in the woods,” she said. “Majestic. Strange company for someone like me.”

She spoke in fragments after that. Little thoughts, small memories, half-formed ideas. Nothing important. Nothing heavy. Just… words. And the stag listened.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel the need to vanish.

Eventually, the sun began its slow descent, setting the snow aglow with shades of gold and gray. She stood and brushed the flakes from her robes, the warmth of the moment already beginning to slip away.

“I should go,” she said quietly. “Before something else finds me.”

The stag looked at her. Still silent. Still there.

“Thanks for listening,” she added. Then, almost playfully, “You’re a better companion than most people I know.”

She gave it one last pat between the antlers—then turned, and walked slowly back toward the castle.

The stag waited.

Watched.

Only when her figure had vanished between the trees did it move again.

Its shape shimmered—limbs stretching, antlers retracting, fur giving way to skin and shadow. A moment later, James Potter stood where the creature had been.

He exhaled slowly, gaze still locked on the place where she’d disappeared.

Then, wordless, he turned and made his way back to Hogwarts.

 

<3

The library was nearly silent at lunch. Most students were packed into the Great Hall, filling it with noise and movement, but here—between the tall shelves and fading candlelight—only the scratch of quills and the occasional cough broke the quiet.

Severina sat alone, her posture stiff, her potions textbook open but untouched. Her eyes flicked over the page without absorbing a single word. Her mind was elsewhere.

She kept thinking about the stag.

The way it had stood by the frozen pond, calm and unafraid. How it let her touch it, how it stayed, listening, like it understood. She could still feel the texture of its fur against her palm—warm, alive, comforting. Who knew the world still had space for something
that gentle? Even if it came from an animal.

A small, fleeting smile tugged at her mouth.

She wanted to go back. To sit by that pond again. To see him.

But then—don’t be stupid. It was a stag, not a bloody kneazle. It wouldn’t be waiting for her. If anything, it had stayed out of pity.

No matter. That place was her spot, stag or no stag. She’d go back anyway.

A snort from across the table shattered the moment.

“Ugh. That is disgusting.”

Severina looked up, her expression immediately hardening.

Avery lounged across the table, sneering. “Didn’t think Snape could smile. Creepy little thing, isn’t it?”

Mulciber let out a low chuckle. “Figured her face would crack if she tried.”

Severina’s jaw tightened. Her fingers curled around her quill.

“Mulciber. Avery,” she said coolly, “Madam Pince must be losing her hearing, because who’d have guessed she’d let squealing pigs into the library.”

Avery’s smile vanished.

In one sharp motion, he stood and reached across the table, grabbing her wrist hard.

“Watch your mouth, bitch,” he growled.

Pain bloomed along her arm, but Severina didn’t flinch. She met his eyes, cold and unyielding.

“A half-blood like you should know your place,” Mulciber added, leaning in with a sneer. “Wouldn’t want anything… unfortunate happening, would we?”

“Let’s get this straight,” she whispered with icy clarity. “You wouldn’t even step foot in this library if I wasn’t here. So—what do you want?”

Avery’s grip tightened once more, then released with a shove.

“You’re lucky you’re not useless, Snape,” he muttered.

‘No, you’re lucky I am,’ she thought, but said nothing.

Mulciber smirked. “Potion essay. Two feet. Due Friday.”

Severina raised an eyebrow. “Then you’d better pay.”

“Relax,” Avery said, tossing a few Galleons onto the table. “We’re not poor like you.”

Mulciber leaned in one last time. “Here’s a tip: buy some soap, shampoo...and maybe, I don’t know, clean clothes.”

Their laughter followed them as they walked off, leaving Severina alone with the weight of the coins and the dull ache in her wrist.

As the library door swung shut behind them, silence reclaimed the space—except for the dull throb in Severina’s wrist where Avery had grabbed her. She rubbed at the red mark, jaw tight, eyes unfocused. Their laughter still rang in her ears like an echo she couldn’t scrub out.

She didn’t stay long after that.

By the time the castle quieted and most students had retreated to the Great Hall or their common rooms, Severina had slipped through the back corridors, heading toward the one place no one would follow. Her cloak was thin, but she pulled it tighter anyway, hugging the warmth of her modified heating charm.

The forest greeted her like it always did—cold, silent, and honest.

Snow crunched underfoot as she reached her hidden spot near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The twisted tree stood sentinel over the frozen pond, and she settled beneath it with practiced ease.

Her fingers still brushed absently over her wrist. The pain had dulled, but the weight of their words hadn’t. The insults. The smirks. The reminder of what she was—half-blood, poor, overlooked.

She thought about how she rushed through showers to avoid being mocked. How her robes never quite fit right, her shoes always a bit too worn. How even her silence seemed to offend people. And yet, here she was, still doing Mulciber and Avery’s work.

Not because she owed them. Not even because she feared them.

Because she needed the money.

Every sickle counted. She’d been saving quietly—hoarding whatever she could, Galleon by Galleon—to afford her Potions Mastery after Hogwarts. No one would sponsor someone like her. No fancy name, no pure bloodline, no connections. Just her wits, her wand, and her ambition.

She could sacrifice comfort. She already had. She could skip meals. She already did. She could stomach working for pigs like Mulciber and Avery—because that gold meant potion ingredients, secondhand books, maybe even an exam fee. That gold was survival. And someday, freedom.

She stared out across the pond, mind drifting to the house on Spinner’s End. Now that her father was dead, it was hers, technically. But it didn’t feel like something she wanted. Not really. The walls were soaked in bad memories—shouted words, broken things, silence that never healed. Still, it might help her save. Rent-free, at least.

A soft sound snapped her from her thoughts.

A creak of a branch. A shift in the snow.

Her breath caught.

And then she saw him.

The stag.

“You came back,” she murmured.

 

He stepped from between the trees, regal and calm, his dark eyes meeting hers. Without hesitation, he moved to her side and lay down beside her, just like the day before.

She blinked, stunned. She hadn’t expected him to return. Why would he? He was just an animal. She hadn’t even brought food.

But still, he stayed.

She didn’t speak right away—just reached out, cautiously, and touched his fur. Warm. Solid. Real.

They sat in silence, and for once, it didn’t feel lonely.

Eventually, she pulled out the parchment Avery had tossed at her. The ink, the quill, the assignment. She’d get it done before sundown. Better to finish it now than hear their whining later.

As she dipped her quill in the ink, the stag nudged her wrist gently—right where the red mark still lingered.

She noticed. “Oh… that,” she said, as if it were nothing. “Avery and Mulciber. They were just being themselves. Grabbed me when I mouthed off. But it’s fine.”

“They need the essay,” she added, shrugging. “They won’t hurt me too badly while I’m still useful. And I need the coin.”

The stag held her gaze, unblinking, then turned his head away—like he understood but didn’t approve.

She smiled faintly. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? Letting people like that shove me around for a few sickles.”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t ask for something,” she whispered.

But he stayed.

And somehow, that made her feel just a little less hollow.

 

<3

 

James hadn’t planned on going far. He just needed air—something sharp and cold to cut through the mess in his head.

Classes were dragging, his friends were restless, and ever since that incident in the Shrieking Shack, he couldn’t shake the image of Severina Snape's terrified face. The way she’d curled into herself, like she expected to be broken.

He told himself he wasn’t the reason for that.

Then again, he’d told himself a lot of things over the years.

So he wandered, past the castle grounds and into the treeline, shifting into his stag form halfway there—just for the comfort of it. Running on four legs made it easier to think. Or not think.

It was the silence that made him stop.

By the edge of a frozen pond, just beneath a gnarled old tree, sat a lone figure hunched over a book. Black hair like spilled ink. Thin shoulders pulled in tight against the cold.

Severina.

James froze mid-step, hidden behind a thick trunk, watching.

She hadn’t seen him yet.

She wasn’t sneering. Wasn’t glaring. No wand out, no armor on. Just… existing. Quietly. Carefully.

She flipped a page, scribbled something in the margins, and chewed on her lip, brows furrowed in focus. Her fingers were red from the cold, her robes too thin. James felt something twist in his gut.

He had never seen her like this. Not really.

The Severina he knew spat poison, threw hexes before words, and seemed to thrive in the shadows. But this girl… she was exhausted. And completely alone.

He didn’t mean to stay, but something kept him rooted.

You’ve done enough, a voice in his head warned. Just leave.

He took a step back—too loud.

A branch cracked beneath his hoof.

She whipped around, wand raised in a blink.

“Who’s there?” she snapped, voice sharp but trembling. “Come out, or I’ll hex first and ask questions never.”

James hesitated, then slowly stepped out from the trees, lowering his antlers. He didn’t want her to feel threatened.

She stared.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Just a bloody deer.”

Her wand lowered. Her posture eased.

And then, to his astonishment, she held out her hand.

“It’s alright,” she whispered, voice gentler now. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

James didn’t move at first. Part of him was too stunned. The other part… didn’t know what to feel.

She thought he was just an animal. And somehow, in this form, she trusted him more than she ever had as a boy.

And maybe that was fair.

He watched her for a moment longer, then cautiously stepped forward.

If this was the only way to be near her without walls—then so be it.

She smiled. Smiled. And stroked his fur like he wasn’t a monster, like he wasn’t the boy who once laughed while she cried.

They sat together as the light faded. She talked. He listened.

And James Potter realized that maybe he didn’t know her at all.

But he wanted to.

 

He didn’t mean to come back.

That was what James had told himself all day—between classes, in the corridors, even as Sirius ranted about how dull it was with no one to hex. He had a dozen better things to do. A dozen better people to care about.

But here he was again.

The stag moved soundlessly through the trees, hooves crunching faintly in the snow. He knew this path now—the slope of the land, the way the frozen pond caught what little light was left in the sky.

And there she was.

Severina Snape. Same place. Same posture. A shadow in the shape of a girl, hunched over parchment, quill in hand.

She hadn’t seen him yet.

James lingered for a moment beneath the trees, watching again. She looked thinner today. Tired. Her face was paler than usual, the kind of pale you only got when you weren’t eating enough. There was a tremble in her fingers as she dipped her quill again.

He stepped forward slowly.

This time, she didn’t jump. She just glanced up—and when she saw him, she blinked, once, then let out the faintest breath.

“You came back,” she murmured.

He didn’t understand why, but those three words warmed something in his chest.

He moved closer, lowering himself beside her just like before.

And for a while, nothing was said. The quiet stretched between them, natural now. She returned to writing, occasionally muttering to herself as she worked through Mulciber and Avery’s essay. Her quill scratched fast, furious.

Then he noticed it.

When she reached to grab her inkwell, her sleeve slipped back—and there it was. A red imprint on her wrist. Angry and fresh, like fingers had been wrapped too tightly around her skin.

James flinched.

She noticed. “Oh… that,” she said, as if it were nothing. “Avery and Mulciber. They were just being themselves. Grabbed me when I mouthed off. But it’s fine.”

Fine.

He stared at her, unmoving.

“They need the essay,” she added, shrugging. “They won’t hurt me too badly while I’m still useful. And I need the money”

Still useful.

Something ugly twisted in James’s chest—fury and shame rolled into one. It was one thing to hear about it. Another to see it.

And he had no right to be angry—not after the years of torment he and Sirius had thrown her way. But somehow, watching her rationalize this like it was normal, like it was her job to endure it—it made his stomach turn.

She didn’t ask for comfort. Didn’t look for it.

Instead, she went back to her parchment, the wind tugging at her hair. She didn’t flinch when he nudged her arm gently with his nose. Her hand found his head again, brushing softly through his fur. Her eyes were still on the page, but her touch was grateful.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t ask for something,” she whispered.

James lay still beside her, overwhelmed by the ache growing in his chest.

He hated himself a little more in that moment.

For not noticing sooner.

For being part of the reason she flinched when anyone got too close.

And for knowing that if he revealed who he really was now—she’d recoil, or worse… she’d be right to hate him.

So he stayed silent.

Just a stag, curled beside the girl he once swore was nothing.

But now… he wasn’t so sure anymore.

 

<3

 

James stormed into the dorm and slammed his trunk shut harder than necessary.

Sirius looked up from polishing his wand. “What’d it do to you?”

“Nothing,” James muttered, flopping onto his bed.

Avery. Mulciber.

He could still see it—that red mark on her wrist, shaped like fingers, like possession, like power—and she’d brushed it off like it was no more than a scratch.

Because to her, maybe it was normal.

That thought made James feel sick.

But what made it worse—what made him furious—was that he didn’t have the right to be furious.

Because Avery might have grabbed her wrist… But James had humiliated her for years.
Had laughed. Mocked. Let Sirius do worse. Called her names. Drew attention to her like she wasn’t a person—just a target.

He was no hero in her story.

And yet… he wanted to protect her now. And that, more than anything, made him feel like a hypocrite.

Still—that mark.

It had been a long time since James Potter had felt guilt burn this deeply. Even longer since he'd felt shame.

But he wasn’t going to say anything. Not to her. She wouldn’t believe him. And she sure as hell wouldn’t want pity from him.

So he did what James Potter always did when words failed:

He planned a prank.

 

“Oi, Prongs.”
Sirius flopped into the seat beside James, grinning like he already knew something was up.

 

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” James asked, casually buttering his toast.

“That I’m-about-to-cause-chaos-and-maybe-get-detention look,” Sirius said, popping a grape into his mouth. “Don’t deny it.”

Remus frowned slightly. “Is this about the prank you were whispering about yesterday? Because if it’s on the Slytherins again, maybe skip it this time.”

James only smirked, saying nothing.

Truth was, they didn’t need to know.

They’d think it was just James being James—causing a scene, stirring the pot, having his fun.

Let them think that.

Let everyone think that.

The Great Hall doors creaked open.

Two hooded students shuffled in, hoping to go unnoticed.

They failed spectacularly.

Gasps and snorts erupted down the Gryffindor table. Then laughter.

James didn’t even have to look to know it had worked.

But he did look. Just once.

Avery and Mulciber were now sporting troll-green skin, exaggerated noses, swollen eyelids, and hair that had grown into twisted curls that reeked of Dungbombs. They looked like something out of a nightmare—and smelled worse.

They were trying to argue, but every time they spoke, they let out high-pitched squeals.

Sirius choked on his juice. “Oh, that’s brilliant,” he wheezed.

“I knew it,” Remus muttered with a resigned sigh. “You did do something.”

James just leaned back in his chair, gaze flicking briefly to the Slytherin table.

Severina sat still, untouched by the laughter. But her head tilted slightly, just enough to hear the noise. Her eyes didn’t flicker toward the chaos.
But she also didn’t seem surprised.

James allowed himself a small, private breath of satisfaction.

He didn’t need credit.
He didn’t need her to know.

Just this was enough.

For now.

 

<3

 

“Have you heard? They say if you so much as look Snape in the eye, you’ll end up cursed with bad luck.”

“Snape? As in that Snape—the gloomy Slytherin girl the Marauders used to torment? The one who had a Gryffindor friend until she blew it?”

“That’s her. A group of Gryffindors teased her, and that night fireworks went off under their beds. Nearly set the dormitory on fire. And then those Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls who spread rumors about her—woke up covered in boils. Even the Slytherins weren’t spared. Remember those two boys who turned green? They’d cornered her in the library the day before.”

“Sounds like pranks to me. Probably the Marauders again. And besides, all of them were bullying her first.”

“Then why does every bit of bad luck circle back to Snape? It’s not like anyone’s defending her.”

“Do you even know anyone who talks to her? Other than that Gryffindor girl she insulted? She’s like a black cat—cross her path, and you’re doomed. No wonder people steer clear.”

Behind the bookshelf, Severina’s jaw tightened. She had come to study, not to listen to her life dissected like a ghastly bedtime story. Snapping her book shut, she stepped out.

“Ahem.”

Both girls spun, paling when they saw her.

“If you’re going to gossip,” Severina drawled, “at least check your surroundings first. Otherwise, you end up looking rather stupid.” She rolled her eyes and swept past, catching one of them whisper in horror, “Oh God, what if she cursed me just now?” The other groaned and buried her face in her hands.

 

James hadn’t expected to find Severina here—not brooding under a tree or hunched over parchment as usual, but… singing.

And not badly either. She sang softly, mournfully, each note carrying like a spell. Hidden in his Animagus form, James froze, unsure whether to interrupt or flee. She noticed him anyway.

“You could come closer,” she said without looking, and when he did, she reached down to stroke his fur, as though the stag were her confidant. She kept singing until the last trembling note faded into silence.

“My mother used to sing that,” she murmured, staring into the distance. “She’s gone now. I’m not as good as her… or Lily. But sometimes I sing when it’s too quiet. It makes me feel less alone.”

James’s chest ached.

“They say I bring bad luck,” she went on, her tone steady but her eyes shadowed. “I don’t mind. At least people leave me alone. It’s quieter that way. Though… lonely.”

The word hit him harder than he expected.

“I miss Lily,” she whispered. “She was my only friend who truly accepted me, and I ruined it. She won’t even hear my apology. And—” her voice faltered “—as much as I hate to admit it, I even miss James. He embarrassed me constantly, but at least… he noticed me.”

James nearly choked. She missed him?

Her next words made his blood roar in his ears.

“He’d hex me if he knew but… I think I like him.”

James’s thoughts scattered. Did she just say—?

She looked sideways at him, her voice quieter now. “Do you think if I were pretty, he would like me back?”

 

Her gaze lingered on the stag’s dark eyes, searching them as though she could see beyond the antlers and fur, before turning away again with a bitter laugh.

“Who am I kidding? He only has eyes for Lily. No one’s more beautiful than her… I think so too.”

James’s chest tightened, but he stayed still, the frost crunching faintly under his hooves.

He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more—her confession, or the ache in his chest at hearing it. Lately, he found himself looking for her, watching her, listening in ways he never had before. But would it make any difference if her face were different, if she had Lily’s smile or anyone else’s grace? He didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

What he did know was that there was something in her voice that reached him, something fragile beneath the sharp edges, and it made him feel guilty… and curious… and strangely restless.

 

<3

 

The Room of Requirement had conjured itself into a dusty labyrinth of clutter—broken desks stacked like barricades, toppled wardrobes, shelves heavy with tarnished trinkets.

“Brilliant,” Sirius muttered, kicking a cracked teacup across the floor. “You dragged us out here for a junkyard.”

“Not junk,” James corrected, sweeping dust from a chest. “Useful things. We just have to look.”

Peter sneezed violently. “Useful? It’s all cobwebs and filth!”

“Prongs.” Remus’s voice was low, even. He’d been watching James since they stepped inside, suspicion sharpening his tone. “Why are we really here?” Remus sidled closer, “You’re hiding something. Sirius doesn’t notice, but Peter does. So do I. Your pranks aren’t random anymore.”

James opened his mouth to retort—but then froze.

Footsteps. Quick, uneven.

“Filch?” Peter squeaked, ducking behind a wardrobe.

Severina slipped inside, pale and muttering under her breath. “Where is it… where is it…” She was clutching her satchel with white-knuckled hands, rifling through it with frantic urgency.

The Marauders exchanged baffled looks.

“What’s she doing here?” Sirius whispered, incredulous.

“Looking for something,” Remus murmured.

James didn’t answer. His eyes followed her, his pulse oddly quick.

Severina darted forward suddenly, spotting something on the ground. Her book. She seized it with a sigh of relief—then froze as a loud thud echoed through the room.

The boys stiffened too.

Another thud. This time closer.

Her gaze snapped to the tall, sheet-covered cabinet at the far end. Dust plumed as it shuddered violently.

The sound was heavy, deliberate. She froze, listening. Thud. Thud. Not pixies. Not furniture. Something trying to get out.

Her eyes tracked the sound to a tall cabinet swathed in a dusty white sheet. It shuddered again, rattling on its crooked legs. Against her better judgment, she stepped closer and tore the fabric away.

A warped, curved cabinet stood before her, its mirrored front reflecting her pale face. The handle was shaped like a twisted man’s face, grimacing.

The mirrored cabinet gleamed, handle twisted into a man’s leering face. The door burst open, and a figure lurched out.

The Marauders recoiled instinctively—but James went rigid.

It was a man. Tall, broad, belt coiled in one hand, bottle in the other.

From the dark stepped a man Severina thought she’d never see again. His boots struck the floor heavily, belt coiled in one hand, a bottle glinting in the other. The stench of cheap ale seemed to choke the air, though she knew it was only memory.

Her chest constricted. No. No, this isn’t real.

But her father’s voice cut through her like a lash

“You pathetic little wretch,” Tobias spat, voice low and venomous. “Thought you could crawl away and forget me? Thought death would keep me from finding you?”

The words dragged her back in time—small, powerless, cowering in corners while his rage filled every shadow of the house. Severina’s wand hand trembled so badly she couldn’t raise it.

“He’s dead,” she whispered, as if saying it aloud could shatter the illusion. “You’re dead…”

He advanced, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the cornering of its prey. “Just like your mother—weak. Stupid. She begged, remember? Begged, and I still watched the life drain out of her. And now you’re all that’s left of her filth.”

Her breath hitched, tears pricking her eyes. Don’t listen. It’s not him. It’s not.

Severina staggered back, wand hand trembling. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”

He tilted the bottle, shards of glass glistening. “You think anyone wants you? Not the Gryffindor girl. No one. You’re nothing but a curse they can’t wait to be rid of.”

Her knees buckled. Every word sank deep, not because it was true, but because it echoed the whispers she already feared in her own heart.

From the shadows, the Marauders watched.

Sirius’s sneer faltered. What the hell is this? That’s Snape’s boggart? Her father? For once, the usual bite in his thoughts gave way to something unfamiliar—discomfort.

Peter clutched Remus’s sleeve, eyes wide. “Is it— is it real?”

Remus’s jaw was set, eyes narrowed. Not real. It’s a boggart. But the way she’s looking at him… Merlin, it might as well be.

James couldn’t breathe. He had seen boggarts before—clowns, spiders, Dementors even—but this was different. This wasn’t a creature, this wasn’t a nightmare pulled from fantasy. This was her truth. Merlin, what did she live through?

Tobias raised the broken bottle, jagged edge flashing. “I should’ve finished you long ago. A mistake, letting you live this long. I’ll fix it now.”

The man lunged. Severina stumbled back, foot sliding on the slick of spilled ale. Pain shot white-hot through her side as she crashed onto broken wood, and a cry ripped from her throat.

“Severina!”

Her vision blurred, blood soaking her robes. Through the haze, she saw a shape charging between her and the monster—antlers lowered, fury incarnate. The stag.

And then another voice, firm and steady, cutting through her fear: “Riddikulus!”

The bottle, the belt, the man—warped and twisted. Tobias’s snarl collapsed into a puff of smoke, sucked back into the rattling cabinet. The door slammed shut, and silence fell heavy in the room.

Severina’s head lolled, her last sight a flash of antlers and desperate eyes before darkness claimed her.

 

<3

 

James’s lungs burned. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His arms shook with the weight of her, but it wasn’t the weight that terrified him—it was the warmth bleeding out of her and onto his robes. Severina was losing too much blood. Every step toward the infirmary felt like miles.

Why hadn’t he acted sooner? Why had he been so focused on curiosity, on watching, instead of helping?

Now she was slipping away because of his hesitation.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Peter’s shrill voice cracked as they burst through the doors.

“Keep your voice down, do you want to wake the wh—” Pomfrey froze, her face blanching. “Sweet Merlin—on the bed, quickly! Stomach down. Hurry!”

They obeyed without question. Blood smeared across the sheets.

Pomfrey’s eyes narrowed on them. “What have you boys done? Can’t you leave the poor girl in peace for once—”

 

“It wasn’t us!” Sirius blurted, panic roughening his voice. “A boggart—it—it came out of a cabinet. She fell. She’s—she’s—” He faltered as his eyes stuck on the spreading stain across her back.

Pomfrey muttered a curse under her breath, ripping open the back of Severina’s shirt with practiced hands. Her wand swept, sealing tissue, knitting vessels. Still, the blood kept welling before finally slowing.

The Marauders, silent now, couldn’t stop staring—not at the wound, but at what had been revealed beneath it. Faded lines crisscrossed her back. Old. Layered. Countless.

“Scars,” Remus whispered hoarsely, as if naming them made them heavier.

Pomfrey’s face was grim. “Remus, fetch the Headmaster. And her Head of House. Now.”

He didn’t argue. He was gone in an instant, the door banging shut behind him.

 

When Dumbledore and Slughorn arrived, Severina lay pale and motionless beneath a sheet, Pomfrey hovering close.

“How is she?” Slughorn demanded, wringing his hands.

Pomfrey exhaled slowly. “‘Not fatal—but she’s lost too much blood. And with her anemia, recovery will be slow.. A few days, perhaps longer, before she wakes.”

Dumbledore’s eyes, usually twinkling, were weighted now with sorrow as he looked down at Severina. “And the boggart?”

Remus spoke, voice careful. “It was… her father. A Muggle, drunk, with a belt and a bottle. He called her and her mother—” He broke off, throat tight. “He called them freaks.”

James’s stomach turned, a cold sickness rooting deep. He’d thought he knew cruelty. He hadn’t. Not like that.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore murmured, gaze lingering on the unconscious girl.

“Child abuse,” Pomfrey said sharply, voice edged with anger. “Scars spanning from what looks to be age five. The freshest… within the last year. Likely stopped with his death.”

Slughorn paled, lowering himself heavily into a chair.

Dumbledore’s mouth thinned. “And the wound tonight?”

“She slipped. Onto broken wood, after liquor spilled. The boggart conjured the rest.” Pomfrey’s lips pressed tight.

Dumbledore stood silent for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the unconscious girl, then lifting to the four boys. His eyes were grave, not angry, but weighed with something heavier.

“You did not cause this,” he said at last. “And you did well to bring her here quickly. That may have saved her life.”

Relief flickered across Sirius’s face—only for Dumbledore’s tone to harden.

“But you did witness something you were never meant to see. Something private. Pain such as this is not a spectacle, not a story to be told in corridors. It is a burden she carries, and now it rests—uninvited—on your shoulders too. How you choose to carry it will define you.”

James swallowed. The words pressed harder than any punishment could.

Dumbledore’s gaze swept over them one by one. “No detentions. No loss of Quidditch. What I expect of you is harder than that: silence. Compassion. And vigilance. If Miss Snape is to recover, she must not be haunted by whispers of tonight. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

The room was very still.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Remus answered quietly, and the others nodded.

Dumbledore gave a single nod, his eyes softening as he turned back to Severina. “Good. Then let us hope she wakes soon.”

Dumbledore moved toward the door, Slughorn trailing, but paused to glance at James.

“Oh—and Mr. Potter.”
James looked up, heart thudding.

“Deception clouds truth. Best not to bury yourself beneath it.” Dumbledore’s gaze lingered, heavy with meaning, before he swept out of the room.
.
The doors shut behind them, leaving the infirmary in heavy silence.

Remus turned to James, his voice low and firm. “Explain.”

James closed his eyes, guilt pressing down like stone. He wasn’t sure he could.

 

<3

 

Sirius lounged across his bed, arms behind his head, eyes fixed on James. “So that’s where you’ve been sneaking off. I thought you were nicking off with some mystery girl.”

James frowned. “You’re not angry?”

Sirius shook his head. “After the stunt I pulled on her? No. If you feel guilty, I get it.”

Peter, perched at the edge of his own bed, tilted his head. “Are you sure it’s just guilt, though? Could be… something else.”

Sirius snorted. “What else would it be?”

“Affection?” Remus said mildly, though his eyes flicked curiously toward James.

“You’re joking,” Sirius scoffed. “James has been hopeless over Evans since second year. People don’t just switch feelings overnight.”

“You literally said earlier you thought he was sneaking off with someone,” Peter pointed out.

“Lust, Wormtail. Not love,” Sirius fired back with a grin.

Remus raised his eyebrows, gaze settling on James. “Well? What do you think?”

James dragged a hand through his hair, staring at the canopy above him. “I… don’t know. Haven’t figured it out yet.”

He didn’t mention Severina’s confession. That was hers, and it wasn’t theirs to know.

“Best figure it out soon,” Peter muttered, pulling his blankets up. “Before you make things worse.”

The dorm fell quiet, but James’s thoughts did not.

 

The curtains around Severina’s bed parted with a soft rustle. She lay tangled in sweat-damp sheets, her face pale, lips parted as though caught mid-whisper.

James checked the bandages at her side. Still sealed, thank Merlin. But her skin burned under his hand, feverish.

He dipped a towel into the basin, wrung it out, and gently brushed it across her brow, down her cheek, her throat. She stirred faintly, trapped in dreams, but didn’t wake.

James sank into the chair beside her, his hand finding hers. Her fingers were limp, but the contact steadied him.

He wasn’t lying earlier. He didn’t know what this was. Not yet. All he knew was that the sight of her here—fragile, fighting some unseen battle even in her sleep—made his chest ache. He wanted her to open her eyes, to curse at him, to argue, to live.

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

James’s head snapped up. Lily stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded tight.

“I could ask you the same,” James said sharply. “Didn’t you end things with Severina?”

Lily’s eyes flashed. “And whose fault was that? And since when do you get to call her by her first name—or hold her hand?”

Heat rushed to James’s face. He pulled his hand back. “Well, no offense, but you don’t get to call her that anymore either. And what I was doing—wasn’t your business.”

“Oh, I see,” Lily said, voice cool. “Finally moving on from me, then? Tired of rejection? And here I thought I was your soulmate.”

James’s chest tightened. Why did everyone keep assuming—? “Anyone would get tired of hearing ‘no.’ But I don’t—” He bit off the words, then forced them out. “I don’t fancy Snape. And Lily—don’t flatter yourself. If I ever did start liking someone else, it wouldn’t be because of you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Me, flattering myself? That’s rich, coming from you.”

“And you two should not be in here disturbing my patient.”

Madam Pomfrey’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

James shot to his feet. “Sorry, Madam Pomfrey. She… she had a nightmare. Fever too. Could you give her Dreamless Sleep?”

Pomfrey’s glare softened slightly. “I’ll see to it. Now, out—both of you.”

 

The walk toward the Great Hall was thick with silence until James finally muttered, “Sorry. I know you care about her. But I can’t forgive that you left when she needed you most. Even if it was my fault—you two had years of friendship. One mistake shouldn’t have ended it.”

Lily’s face tightened. “You’re right. I was proud. Too stubborn to forgive. I thought I was always the good one, but I wasn’t. When I heard she was here… I realized how wrong I’d been. She’s my best friend, James. I can’t lose her.”

She hesitated, then looked at him squarely. “But I need to know—what happened between you and Severina?”

James rubbed the back of his neck, guilt gnawing at him. “It’s… complicated. I’ll explain later.”

They reached the Great Hall doors. Lily stepped inside, but James lingered behind, staring at the stone floor, the echo of Severina’s limp hand still pressed against his palm.

 

<3

 

James had never hated words so much.

They poured out of him in a rush—Remus’s near-mauling last year, his own stag disguise in the forest, every petty prank he and the others had pulled on students who tormented Severina. He told Lily everything.
When he finished, silence stretched thin between them.

Lily’s eyes were wide, then furious. “You absolute—” She bit the words off, breath shaking. “You think this makes you noble? You humiliate her for years, then lurk around in disguise like some twisted guardian, and expect me to—Merlin, Potter, I can’t even look at you right now.”

She turned on her heel and stormed away.

James sat there long after she left, stomach knotted, wishing he could peel back every word and shove them back inside.

 

But the next morning, she was waiting for him outside the Great Hall.

“I’ve thought about it,” she said briskly.

James braced himself for another outburst.

Instead, Lily folded her arms. “You’re going to tell her the truth. Soon.”

James blinked. “You—what? After everything I told you—”

“Don’t mistake this for forgiveness,” she cut in. “I’m not helping you. I’m making sure she gets what she deserves: honesty. She has a right to know. And it’s not my place to tell her. You’re the one who owes her that.”

Her voice was sharp, but her eyes softened just for a second—enough to make James wonder if there was more behind her words. Before he could ask, she was already walking away.

 

Three long days passed.
Severina still hadn’t woken. Pomfrey explained that her body had shut down to repair itself—blood loss, exhaustion, malnutrition. “She’ll recover,” the mediwitch said, “but it will take time.”

Time. James hated time.

Every afternoon, between classes, he found himself in the infirmary. Lily sometimes came too, standing silently at the foot of the bed. But James was the one who lingered, hour after hour. He sat at Severina’s side, watching her chest rise and fall, searching for the smallest twitch of her fingers.

More than once, she was so still he thought she’d stopped breathing. Panic would seize him until Pomfrey shooed him away or until she shifted faintly in her sleep.

He couldn’t stop replaying everything—her voice singing in the woods, her confession she never knew he overheard, the sight of her crumpled and bleeding. He would have given anything to rewind.

On the fourth evening, James was hunched in the common room, staring blankly at a chessboard Sirius had abandoned. He didn’t even notice Lily until she burst through the portrait hole, hair windblown, eyes bright.

“She’s awake.”

The chessboard clattered to the floor as James shot to his feet.

Sirius started to rise too, but hesitated. “Best you go. She won’t want us there.”

Remus only nodded, face unreadable.

James didn’t wait another second. He bolted for the infirmary, heart hammering, one thought repeating in his skull—

Her eyes. Open.

At last.

 

<3

 

James slowed as he reached the infirmary doors, nearly leaving Lily behind. Through the crack, he caught sight of Severina propped against her pillows, speaking in low tones with Dumbledore and Slughorn.

For a moment, relief rushed through him — awake, alive — but it was chased quickly by dread. Now that she was conscious, what did he possibly have to say to her? They weren’t friends. Not really. He lingered at the threshold, frozen.

Lily stood stiffly beside him. Her face was pale, her eyes flicking toward Severina but never quite settling on her, as though afraid to step closer.

Dumbledore, of course, noticed them at once. His gaze softened. “I fear I’ve already stolen too much of your time. Rest, Miss Snape. We shall speak again.” He inclined his head to Slughorn, then to the two Gryffindors waiting awkwardly in the doorway, and swept out.

Severina’s eyes — sharp despite the pallor of her face — shifted to them. Her mouth curled, humorless.

“Well. There’s a combination I never thought I’d see. Unless, of course, the two of you finally got together the moment I was out of the way.”

James flushed. “That’s not—”

“We’re not dating,” Lily said quickly, bristling. “I’d never—Merlin, Severina.”

“Relax,” Severina drawled. “If you’re not here to flaunt your new romance, then why? To gloat? To see how pathetic I look?”

“Severina!” Lily’s voice cracked, wounded. “We came to check on you. To—apologize.”

Severina laughed, sharp and cold. “Apologize? For what? I thought this was all my fault.”

Lily flinched but pressed on. “For not forgiving you sooner. For being so bloody prideful. I missed my best friend and was too stubborn to admit it until—” She swallowed. “Until I nearly lost you.”

Something flickered in Severina’s eyes, but she smothered it fast. “The nerve of you,” she hissed. “You left me to choke on it alone, all of it. Childhood friend, you say? And one insult was enough to break us? You taught me, Lily, that even the people you’ve known longest can’t be trusted.”

Lily’s eyes glistened, but she didn’t look away. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not now. But I’m not giving up on making it right.”

Severina turned her face toward the window, hiding whatever storm raged behind her expression. When she finally spoke, her voice was brittle. “You’ve said your piece. You can go.”

Lily hesitated, then whispered, “Good luck,” to James, and quietly slipped out, leaving him alone with Severina.

Her gaze snapped back to him, hard as flint. “And you, Potter. Don’t insult me by pretending you’re here out of concern. What do you want? A thank-you for saving my miserable hide again? Dumbledore says I owe you two life debts now.”

James’s throat tightened. “I don’t want your debt. I was worried about you. And… I need to apologize too. For everything. The bullying. The lies.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Severina snapped. Her voice was sharp enough to cut. “Not your apologies, not your guilt, not your pity. Keep it.”

James faltered, but pressed on anyway. “Do you remember anything before you passed out? After the boggart?”

She frowned. “I remember slipping, bleeding… and then—” Her eyes narrowed further. “A stag. Shoving the boggart away. Lupin shouting the counter-curse. Which makes no sense, because a stag has no business in a castle hallway.”

James’s voice was low. “And before that… do you remember telling me about Mulciber and Avery? About them hurting you? Threatening you? Paying you off for homework?”

Her face froze. “What—” She broke off. She hadn’t told James. She’d told…

Her blood went cold.

The stag.

Her gaze snapped to him, fury igniting. “You. You vile, despicable bastard.”

“Severina—”

“You tricked me!” Her voice shook with rage. “You slithered in under a false skin and wrung my secrets out of me. Was it funny? Did you share them with Black and Pettigrew? Did you laugh about it?”

She pushed against the mattress, fumbling for her wand, but her weakened body betrayed her. James caught her as she stumbled, and she lashed at him with fists instead.

“Let me go!”

“Snape, listen to me!” James pinned her wrists gently but firmly against the sheets, breath ragged. She twisted and kicked, trying to wrench free, but he held on, desperate.

“Stop fighting me and just hear me out!” His voice cracked with urgency. “I never told them. I never told anyone. Not a word. I swear.”

Her eyes burned, refusing to believe. She turned her face away, still straining against his grip.

James leaned closer, forcing the words out in a rush. “I only wanted to understand you. To see you without all the walls. And it wasn’t mine to take, I know that, but those nights—Merlin, they changed me. You changed me. And I’ll spend as long as it takes proving that to you.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, shutting his eyes tight as she still struggled beneath him. “If you don’t believe me, brew Veritaserum. I’ll drink it.”

For once, Severina froze. The fight left her limbs, though her eyes still burned with fury. His voice was raw, unpolished, too sincere to be feigned.

And it terrified her.

“Mr. Potter!”

Pomfrey’s voice cracked like a whip. Both of them jolted, James springing back guiltily. The mediwitch stormed in, hands on hips. “Manhandling my patient? Out. Now.”

James stumbled to his feet. He cast one last look at Severina, who was glaring at him like she wanted to both curse him and demand more.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured, before hurrying out under Pomfrey’s glare.

Left alone, Severina sank against the pillows, pulse racing. She hated him. She wanted to hate him. And yet Pomfrey’s words echoed in her ears: He sounded very sincere, dear. Perhaps give him the chance to atone.

And that — that was the problem.

Because part of her wanted to.

 

<3

 

Severina was kept in the infirmary longer than she liked. Madam Pomfrey insisted her body was “catching up” after months of exhaustion, and every time Severina tried to argue, the mediwitch merely folded her arms and asked if she planned to collapse in the corridors again.

So she stayed.

James Potter stayed too—far more than she wanted him to. Every afternoon, like clockwork, he arrived with notes from class, chatter about Quidditch practice, or rambling stories that filled the silence she refused to break. At first, she tried to snap at him, to drive him away. He never listened. Eventually, she stopped trying; Madam Pomfrey would chase him out soon enough.

He spoke as though she were listening. Sometimes about Sirius, who he swore he was keeping on a leash. Sometimes about the pranks he wasn’t pulling anymore. Once, when she accused him of taunting her—of dangling his knowledge of her feelings in front of her like bait—he only looked stricken. “I’d never do that,” he’d said, voice low, almost hurt. “Not to you.”

And against her will, the sharp edge of her anger began to dull. She told herself it was because she was too tired to keep it honed. But some small, treacherous part of her wondered if it was because his apologies felt real.

Lily came too, at lunch. She sat by Severina’s bed, unpacked sandwiches, and talked as though the months of silence had never happened. Severina tried to freeze her out, but Lily—stubborn as the Gryffindor she was—only smiled, even through the guilt that lingered in her eyes.

The warmth Severina thought long dead—the warmth she’d felt the day she first met Lily, or the day her Hogwarts letter arrived—began to stir again. She hated it. She didn’t trust it. She didn’t trust either of them. Surely there was some other motive. And yet…

She never told them to stop coming.

 

A few nights later, when she finally slipped out past curfew for a breath of air, she heard the inevitable sound of someone jogging behind her.

“Snape!” James’s voice, annoyingly earnest. “It’s after curfew—what are you doing out here?”

She turned slowly, one brow arched. “Well done, Sherlock. Nothing gets past you.”

“Sherlock?” He blinked at her.

“It’s a Muggle thing. Don’t strain yourself trying to figure it out. And whatever I’m doing—it’s none of your concern.”

“Actually, it is.” He puffed a little, still catching his breath. “I’m a prefect. Headmaster didn’t take the badge, since—well—you know.”

“Of course not,” she muttered, acid dripping from her tone. “Still the golden boy.” She turned on her heel, robes snapping.

“Wait—where are you going? I’ll let you off the hook, but you still have to tell me.”

She stopped so suddenly he almost collided with her. She tilted her head, eyes glittering with disdain. “Generous of you, Potter. But let’s get one thing straight—I am not some damsel waiting to be rescued. If you’re desperate to play the hero, find someone else who’ll swoon over it.”

He bristled. “Could’ve fooled me, with the number of times you nearly get yourself killed wandering out here alone.”

Her jaw clenched. For a moment, she looked as though she might snap back. Instead, she simply threw her hands up, turned, and stalked off down the corridor.

James followed in silence, keeping pace.

 

The corridors were hushed, moonlight striping the stone floors when James caught up with her.

“The Prefects’ bathroom?” His voice was half-tease, half-genuine surprise.

Severina stopped, turning just enough to fix him with a look. “What? Surprised I bathe?”

James nearly said yes—because it would’ve been the easiest jab in the world—but something in her glare warned him off. He swallowed it down. “Not that. Just… midnight isn’t exactly peak bathing hour.”

Her sigh was soft, tired. “The fumes from potions cling. My hair, my skin. Takes hours to scrub out, and it’s easier when no one’s around. Besides…” She hesitated, then said flatly, “The other girls stare. At my back. Easier to avoid it.”

James’s stomach clenched. He remembered those scars, the ones she never spoke of. Anger flared hot in his chest, useless against a man already dead.

Severina’s mouth twitched. “Planning to follow me in too, Potter? Guard me from a lecherous ghost?”

He flushed scarlet. “N-No! I’ll just—wait out here. Shout if you need me.”

Her lips twitched, but she said nothing more, slipping through the door with practiced ease.

James leaned back against the wall, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Why did he keep doing this—showing up, hovering, looking out for her like some bloody hound? She’d hex him if she knew half the thoughts circling his head.

 

When she finally emerged, hair damp, steam clinging faintly to her robes, James pushed away from the wall. The faintest trace of something floral drifted past him.

He almost commented, then bit his tongue. Too familiar. Too much. Instead, he fell into step beside her.

She gave him a side-eye. “You’re still here.”

“Prefects don’t clock out,” he muttered, aiming for casual.

Her snort was soft, humorless. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not here out of duty.”

James didn’t argue. He couldn’t. And so they walked in silence, the only sound their footsteps echoing against the stone.

At the dungeon stairs, he cleared his throat. “Want me to—”

“No.” Her answer was sharp, final.

He closed his mouth. Nodded once. “Goodnight, then.”

And for a fraction of a second—before she swept into the shadows—he thought he saw something flicker across her face. Something almost softer than disdain.

Almost.

 

<3

 

The next morning, Severina arrived in the Great Hall later than usual, her satchel slung across one shoulder. She kept her head down, intending to slip past the Gryffindor table unnoticed, but fate had other plans.

“Snape!”

James’s voice carried, as it always did. He half-stood, waving her over like they were old friends. Severina froze mid-stride, the eyes of half the Hall suddenly prickling at her back. She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

To her surprise, Lily was the one who stepped in, tugging at James’s sleeve. “James,” she said under her breath, but just loud enough for Severina to catch, “don’t shout at her like she’s a lost cat.”

That earned a brief flicker of amusement from Severina, though she buried it beneath a scowl. She turned deliberately toward the Slytherin table, ignoring them both.

She had barely managed to sit when Lily appeared beside her, balancing her own plate. “Morning.”

Severina stiffened. “You’re at the wrong table, Evans.”

“I’m aware,” Lily said brightly, setting her plate down as though she belonged there. “Thought I’d try a change of scenery.”

Several Slytherins glanced over, bewildered. Severina muttered, “Do you have a death wish?”

“No,” Lily replied calmly, buttering her toast, “but I have a stubborn streak. And I’d rather not let you avoid me forever.”

Severina’s fork clattered against her plate. “Avoiding you spares us both.”

“It doesn’t spare me,” Lily said, voice gentler now. “And it doesn’t spare you either. You miss me, even if you won’t say it.”

Severina opened her mouth for a scathing retort—but nothing came. She snapped her jaw shut and focused on cutting her eggs with far more force than necessary.

From across the Hall, James watched, trying not to stare too openly. When Lily caught his eye, she gave the smallest shake of her head: not now. He frowned but obeyed, turning back to Sirius and Remus, who were busy arguing over toast.

By the time breakfast ended, Lily had coaxed a few short, reluctant answers from Severina about her schedule for the day—complaints about double Potions, a dry remark about Slughorn’s syrupy favoritism—but it was more than she’d gotten in weeks.

Later, in the corridor outside Charms, James found his chance. He timed his walk so that he fell into step beside Severina just as she emerged from the classroom.

“You know,” he said casually, “for someone who claims to hate my company, you keep ending up near me.”

Severina shot him a withering look. “You’re like a persistent fungus, Potter. Hard to get rid of.”

“Charming,” James said with a grin, undeterred. “But if I’m a fungus, then you must secretly like mushrooms.”

She stopped in her tracks, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “…That was the worst analogy I’ve ever heard.”

“Good,” James replied cheerfully. “Means you’ll remember it.”

Severina huffed, turned on her heel, and strode toward the stairwell. James followed a few paces behind, not close enough to crowd her, but close enough that she knew he was there. And though she didn’t admit it—not even to herself—she didn’t tell him to leave.

 

Snow had been falling steadily since dawn, blanketing the castle grounds in white. By late afternoon, the sky glowed a pale silver, the kind of light that made every breath cloud in the air. Severina tugged her cloak tighter as she crossed the courtyard, her boots crunching against the thin layer of frost.

She would have cut through one of the side passages to avoid the crowd returning from Hogsmeade, but a familiar voice called after her.

“Snape! Hold up—your scarf’s dragging in the snow.”

Severina turned sharply. James Potter jogged up, red-cheeked from the cold, hair windblown and dusted with flakes. He bent without waiting for permission, lifting the trailing end of her green-and-silver scarf off the ground before she could snatch it back.

“I can manage my own clothing, Potter,” she said icily.

“Clearly,” James replied, shaking off the snow. “But I’d rather not watch you freeze half your neck off.” He offered the scarf back, his gloved hands brushing hers briefly before he stepped aside.

Severina narrowed her eyes. “You always need to play the gallant hero, don’t you?”

James grinned. “Not always. Sometimes I just like not watching you catch pneumonia.”

She snorted, turning toward the covered walkway that overlooked the lake. The water was beginning to crust with thin ice at the edges, and the air was sharp with the promise of more snow. She expected him to veer off toward Gryffindor Tower, but his footsteps followed her, steady as her shadow.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than tail me?” she asked without looking at him.

“I was heading this way anyway,” he lied easily, then amended with a sheepish shrug, “Well, mostly.”

They walked in silence for a while, their boots crunching against the frosted stone. The quiet wasn’t unbearable, not like it used to be. It was… awkward, yes, but not sharp. Severina found herself listening to the muffled hush of snowfall, almost forgetting James was beside her—until he spoke again, voice unusually subdued.

“Does it… feel strange? Coming back after all that time in the hospital wing?”

Severina hesitated, gloved fingers brushing frost from the railing. “Of course it feels strange. Everyone stares. Whispers. As though I’d grown a second head.”

James glanced at her profile, at the faint flush in her cheeks from the cold. “Let them whisper. They don’t know you.”

“And you do?” she shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

James didn’t answer at first, just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “I’d like to. Properly. Without masks or hexes or… stag-shaped lies.”

That startled a laugh out of her, dry and sharp. “Careful, Potter. That almost sounded genuine.”

“It was genuine,” James said simply, meeting her eyes despite the frost in her gaze.

She held it for a heartbeat, then turned away, watching the snowflakes drift down onto the lake’s dark surface. Something inside her softened, though she hid it with a sigh. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” James admitted, and for once he didn’t grin. “But I’m not giving up.”

The snow swirled thicker around them, muffling the world to a quiet cocoon of white. Severina adjusted her scarf, this time careful to keep it from trailing, and walked on. She didn’t tell him to leave. And that, James decided, was victory enough for now.

 

<3

 

The Gryffindor common room was warm with firelight, the smell of singed cards and butterbeer corks drifting lazily in the air. Sirius and Peter sat cross-legged on the rug, an exploding snap deck crackling dangerously between them, while Remus had claimed the armchair nearest the fire, nose buried in a book.

The portrait hole creaked open, and James strode in, grinning, a folded letter dangling from his fingers.

“Evening, lads. Big news.” He held the parchment aloft like a trophy. “Mum’s throwing a Christmas party—proper fancy, catered, the works. She wants me to invite some friends.”

“Bloody brilliant,” Sirius muttered without looking up from his hand of cards. “Trapped in another bloody Black-adjacent gala, only with Potters instead. I hate formal parties, Prongs. All the politeness, the fake smiles. I’ll suffocate.”

“You already live at my house,” James reminded him with mock sweetness. “So unless you fancy freezing in the shed, you’re coming.”

Sirius groaned theatrically, tossing down his cards so they fizzed in a little puff of sparks. “Fine. But I’m wearing the most scandalous dress robes I can find.”

“Do it,” James said cheerfully. “Mum will be thrilled.”

Remus, without glancing up, gave a mild shrug. “As long as there’s a decent spread, I’ll manage. When?”

“Twenty-third.”

“Sorted,” Remus murmured, flipping a page.

Peter perked up. “Will there be pudding?”

“There will be mountains of pudding,” James assured him solemnly.

“Then I’m in,” Peter declared, satisfied.

James turned as though to leave again, but Sirius snapped his head up, suspicious. “Oi, hold it. You just walked in, dropped your news, and you’re legging it? Sit down and lose a round first.”

James hesitated at the doorway, one hand still on the frame. His grin faltered. “Can’t. I’m going to see Snape.”

The crackle of the fire suddenly seemed loud. Sirius’s eyes narrowed, and Peter gawked openly. Even Remus looked up this time, marking his page.

James cleared his throat. “Look… I know what you’re thinking. Believe me, I’ve thought it myself. But I just—I need to be sure. About her. About me.” He forced a crooked smile, the bravado thin around the edges. “When the time comes, I hope you lot will back me up. Yeah?”

And before any of them could answer, he ducked out, the portrait hole swinging shut behind him.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Then Sirius dragged a hand down his face, muttering, “Merlin save us. My best mate, falling for Snape. I didn’t think I’d live to see it.”

Remus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His tone was quiet but firm. “If it’s real, we stand by him. That’s what matters.”

Peter nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course. If James wants it, I’ll follow.”

Sirius huffed, staring at the fire. “Doesn’t mean it’ll be easy. I hate her guts. But… he’s my brother. So I’ll bloody well try.”

Silence lingered again, thick as smoke—until Peter piped up, eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Wanna make a bet? How long ‘til Prongs admits he’s in love with her?”

Remus snorted, returning to his book. “Days. Maybe less.”

“Ugh, please, give me months,” Sirius groaned, throwing himself back on the rug. “At least let me pretend I’ve got time before my world collapses.”

“The party,” Peter said brightly, scooping up the snap deck. “I give him till the Christmas party.”

The cards popped between them, and though Sirius groaned again, the corner of his mouth twitched.

 

<3

 

The snow had thickened overnight, lying heavy across the grounds in a blinding white sheet. By the time lessons ended, the courtyard was nearly empty, the cold biting too sharp for most students to linger. Severina, however, found herself beneath the stone cloisters, hunched over a book, quill scratching in the margin. The quiet suited her. The solitude, even more so.

But her peace didn’t last.

“Severina.”

The voice was soft, cautious. Lily Evans stood just beyond the archway, scarf wound tightly round her throat, breath clouding in the winter air. She looked hesitant, almost guilty, but determined.

Severina’s eyes narrowed, though she did not lift her quill. “Evans. Don’t you have someone else to pester?”

Lily ignored the bite. She stepped closer, snow crunching beneath her boots. “I brought you these.” She held out a small packet wrapped in brown paper. “Honey biscuits from the kitchens. You always liked them.”

Severina didn’t reach for it. “Bribery? Pathetic.”

Lily’s hand faltered, then lowered. She set the packet on the bench anyway. “Not bribery. Just… something I thought you’d want.”

Silence stretched, punctuated only by the caw of a distant crow. Severina turned a page deliberately, refusing to acknowledge the offering. But her eyes flickered, just once, toward the packet.

The next day, Lily tried again. She sat beside Severina in the library, quietly sliding a stack of fresh ink and parchment toward her. “I thought you might be running low,” she murmured.

“Do I look like a charity case?” Severina snapped, though her hand betrayed her, brushing the parchment with a lingering touch.

“No,” Lily said gently. “You look like someone who deserves better than being alone.”

Severina froze, jaw tightening, but she said nothing.

For a week, Lily’s persistence didn’t falter. She waited outside classrooms, saved Severina a seat at lectures, brought her tea during late nights in the library. Each time, Severina rebuffed her—cold words, sharp glances, walls built high and strong.
But cracks had begun to form.

One snowy evening, Severina was leaving the library when she heard hurried footsteps behind her. Lily again, of course, clutching two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. “It’s freezing. Walk back with me?”

Severina stopped in the shadow of the archway, lips curling into a sneer. “Why do you keep doing this, Evans? Do you think persistence will buy forgiveness? That if you trail after me long enough, I’ll just give in?”

Lily’s breath caught in the frosty air, but her green eyes didn’t waver. “No. I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I don’t want you to think I don’t care. Because I do. You were—are—my best friend, Severina. And I hate myself for letting my pride ruin that.”

The words hung heavy between them. Severina’s chest tightened painfully. She wanted to scoff, to dismiss it as sentimentality—but her voice trembled when she spoke.

“You left me when I needed you most,” she whispered, barely audible. “You… you looked at me like I was nothing. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

Lily’s eyes shone, unshed tears glinting in the torchlight. “I do. And I regret it more than anything. I can’t take back what I did, Severina. I can only keep trying to prove that I won’t abandon you again.”

Severina’s throat burned. She turned sharply away, blinking hard, but the tears came anyway—hot against her frozen skin. “I don’t want your pity,” she hissed, though her voice cracked in the middle.

“It’s not pity,” Lily said, stepping closer. Her voice softened. “It’s love. I love you, Sev. I always have. I just… let my anger get in the way.”

For a long moment, Severina stood rigid, fists clenched. Then, slowly, trembling, she let out a shuddering breath.

“Merlin help me,” she muttered, voice breaking, “but I’ve missed you.”

The words tumbled free like something she’d been holding back for months. Lily’s face crumpled with relief. Carefully, cautiously, she reached for Severina’s hand. This time, Severina didn’t pull away.

They stood there in the snow, silent, the fragile bridge between them finally rebuilt—not whole, not yet, but strong enough to hold.

 

<3

 

The next afternoon, the Three Broomsticks was packed with students eager for one last butterbeer before the train ride home. Laughter and chatter bounced off the wooden rafters, candles flickered above crowded tables, and the smell of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon hung heavy in the air. Outside, snow swirled in fat flakes, painting the cobblestones white.

Severina sat by the frosted window, chin propped in her hand, watching groups of students bustling past with rosy cheeks and bright smiles. They were eager to see their families, to be swept up in holiday cheer.

But her mother would not be waiting at King’s Cross.

The ache pressed in, sharp as ever. If fate had chosen differently—if Tobias had gone first—she might have had one Christmas of peace. She and her mother might have decorated the house together, brewed a simple potion as a gift, or even knitted scarves by the fire. Instead, all of it lived only in the cruel realm of what ifs.

“Two butterbeers!”

Severina blinked out of her thoughts as Lily slid into the seat across from her, cheeks flushed from the cold, and set two foaming mugs on the table.

“Here,” Lily said cheerfully, nudging one toward her.

“Thank you,” Severina murmured, wrapping her hands around the warm glass.

“Are you sure you want to spend the weekend with me and not with your other friends?” Severina asked quietly, though her voice carried no bite.

“Of course I do,” Lily replied at once. “You’re my best friend, Sev. My priority. I’ve missed this—and I’ve missed you. I want to make up for all the times I wasn’t there.”

Severina hummed but said nothing more, taking a sip instead.

“So,” Lily went on brightly, “what are your plans for the holidays?”

“I’ll be staying here. Studying for NEWTs.”

Lily gaped at her. “Studying? Over Christmas? Sev, that’s absurd—we’re only seventeen once! NEWTs are months away.”

“I want all O’s,” Severina said simply. “The better my marks, the better chance I’ll have at an apprenticeship. I’ll need a master to take me on.”

“And how exactly do you plan on paying for that?”

“I’ve some money saved, though not enough. I’ll find work this summer. Spend less on myself.”

“Oh, Sev…” Lily’s expression softened with quiet ache. “You don’t have to worry so much. Things will work out. Come home with me for Christmas. Please.”

“I can’t.”

“Pretty please?” Lily leaned in with exaggerated pleading eyes. “You can bring your books, I promise we’ll study together.”

Severina arched a brow. “And how exactly can you promise everything will work out?”

“Because I have a hunch,” Lily replied with a small grin.

Before Severina could retort, a familiar voice chimed in.

“Hey there, girls.”

James Potter loomed at their table, hands shoved into his pockets, his messy hair as incorrigible as always. His grin was easy, though there was tension beneath it.

“Potter,” they both said flatly.

Severina’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

“Cold as ice, Snape,” James teased. “You wound me.”

Lily crossed her arms. “This is a girl’s day out. Get lost, Potter.”

James raised his palms in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just one question.”

“What is it?” Severina’s voice sharpened.

“Do either of you have plans for the 23rd? My parents are hosting a Christmas party at our place. Formal, of course. I’d like you both to come.”

Lily’s eyes lit up instantly. “A party? That sounds wonderful! We’ll—”

“Rejected,” Severina interrupted, taking a steady sip of her butterbeer.

Lily whipped toward her, scandalized. “What? Sev, why?”

“What do you mean why? I’m not stopping you. But I’m not about to stand around in some polished manor full of nobles, pretending I know the rules of etiquette. Even if I did, I still wouldn’t go. I’ve studying to do.”

Lily groaned and dropped her forehead into her hand.

James frowned slightly, though he forced a smile. “Just… think about it, yeah? No pressure.” He gave a small nod and backed away, disappearing into the crowd.

As soon as he was gone, Lily sat up and fixed Severina with a glare. “Severina!”

“No,” Severina said, firm and unbending, reaching again for her butterbeer.

 

<3

 

The pond lay half-frozen beneath the pale winter sun, a thin crust of ice scattering light across the clearing. Snow muffled every sound, save for the scratch of Severina’s quill against parchment where she sat, cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

The crunch of boots broke the silence. She tensed, eyes narrowing before he even spoke.

“I knew I’d find you here,” James said, brushing snow from his hair as he stepped into the clearing.

Severina’s quill stilled for a heartbeat. Then, without looking up, her voice came sharp and dry,

“What a surprise,” she drawled without looking up, “you didn’t come bounding in as a deer. Tired of grazing, were you? Tell me, what side effects come with your little trick? Do you chew cud now, crave salt licks? Shed your antlers when the season’s done? Pettigrew makes sense enough—rats don’t need disguises. And Black…” she allowed the faintest curl of a sneer, “does he chase his tail? Bark at squirrels? If I toss him a stick and tell him to sit, will he beg for a treat?”

James barked a laugh. “First off, if you told Padfoot to sit, he’d probably try to bite your wand arm clean off. And second—remind me never to tell you secrets again.”

He lowered himself onto the snow a few feet from her, leaning back on his hands. “Always working,” he smirked faintly, watching her quill move. “What is it this time? Some grand new potion? A way to make homework write itself? Merlin knows I’d pay you for that one.”

“Stop talking and leave.” Her tone was clipped, irritated.

James didn’t. “You know, most people would take a break in weather like this. Maybe have a hot drink. Maybe sit somewhere less likely to freeze their quill solid.”

Severina’s jaw tightened. “Unlike you, I don’t waste time.”

He tilted his head, studying her face, pale in the winter light. “Or maybe you don’t know what wasting time feels like.”

That earned him a glare sharp enough to cut, her black eyes catching the reflection of snow. But she didn’t hex him. She just bent back over her parchment.

James fell quiet then, content to sit with the steady sound of quill on parchment and the snow flurries melting in his hair. After a moment, he flicked his wand, shaping the drifting flakes into little figures that spun lazily in the air—tiny stags, owls, a lone wolf. When one crumbled apart, he caught the briefest flick of Severina’s eyes toward it before she snapped them back down.

Finally, James shifted closer, careful to leave space between them. His voice, when he spoke again, was softer, almost carried by the wind.

 

“You don’t have to like me, Snape. I get it. But… let me sit here. That’s all.”

Severina said nothing.

James reached into his cloak, pulled out a small wrapped bundle, and set it gently on the snow between them. “Brought you something. Sandwich from breakfast. You barely touched your plate.”

“I don’t want it.” Her eyes stayed on the parchment.

“You should,” he said, tone maddeningly casual. “You’ll make yourself ill again, and Pomfrey will blame me, and honestly, I don’t need the lecture.”

“I said no.”

James nudged the bundle closer. “One bite, and I’ll shut up for ten whole minutes.”

She didn’t move.

“Fine—fifteen. My final offer.”

Still nothing.

“Merlin’s beard, Snape, you drive a hard bargain. Twenty. Twenty minutes of peace and quiet. Do you know how rare that is from me?”

Her quill scratched on, steady, until at last she exhaled sharply, snatched the bundle, and cast a crisp Finite over it before biting.

James raised his hands in mock surrender. “Really? You think I’d hex your food?”

“Is that so hard to believe? After all the things you and your friends have done to me?”

“…Touché,” he admitted, watching as she finally took a bite.

And though she didn’t look at him, though her face gave nothing away, James’s grin spread slowly, warmth blooming against the cold.

James smirked but kept his promise, silence stretching between them like a fragile truce.

 

Twenty minutes later, James cleared his throat.

“So. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Admit it — best deal you’ve ever made.”

Severina’s quill paused mid-stroke. “You lasted exactly nineteen minutes and forty-two seconds.”

“Oi, I counted twenty-one. Round up for generosity, Snape.” He grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “Besides, I had to make sure you didn’t keel over from starvation. You ate it, which means I win.”

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, eyes back on the parchment.

“True. But entertaining. Which makes up for it.”

She didn’t answer, but her lips pressed tight, not quite frowning, not quite amused. James, taking the crack in her wall for a victory, brushed snow together with his wand until two lumpy little snow figures formed on the frozen ground. One scowled with a crooked twig mouth; the other had a ridiculous grin plastered across its face.

“Look,” James said proudly, nudging them together so their twig-arms touched. “It’s us. Though I’ll admit, I might’ve made you prettier in snow form.”

Severina’s eyes cut toward the snowmen for a fraction of a second before returning to her parchment. “Inaccurate. You’re missing the hex marks I’d carve into yours.”

James chuckled, pleased she’d bothered to reply at all. “Ah, but that would ruin the artistry. You don’t critique a masterpiece while it’s still being sculpted.”

She exhaled sharply, as though debating whether it was worth wasting the breath to argue further.

“About the party…”

Her head jerked up, eyes narrowing. “No.”

“I didn’t finish.”

“The answer is still no.”

James only smiled, maddeningly patient. “So you’ve decided then? No hope for me at all?”

That earned him a sharp, incredulous look. For a heartbeat, Severina seemed on the edge of hexing him. But something in his tone—earnest, not mocking—stalled her hand. She pressed her lips together, grabbed her quill again, and bent back over her parchment.

He flopped onto his back in the snow, arms folded behind his head, a grin spreading across his face.

“But do you know who my mum invites every year? Half the best potion masters in Britain. Slughorn himself shows up—looking ridiculous in his velvet robes, but still. And St. Mungo’s always sends someone. You’d have more connections in one evening than most people get in a lifetime.”

Severina hesitated, the quill’s tip pausing mid-word.

James caught it, and his grin softened into something gentler. “You’re always talking about apprenticeships. About sponsorships. You want doors to open? This is one of them. No one would dare look down on you there—not when you walk in as my guest.”

She gave a sharp snort. “And why would that matter?”

“Because I’d make them see,” James said simply. No bravado, no smirk—just certainty.

For the first time all afternoon, Severina didn’t have an immediate retort. She set her quill down carefully, staring at the ink-stained nib.

James let the silence stretch, then added lightly, almost teasing again, “Besides, you’d get free food. Better than the slop the elves serve us most days. Proper pudding. I saw you eyeing the cherry pie last week—don’t even deny it.”

Her lips twitched, barely noticeable, but James saw it. Saw it, and bit back his own grin so he wouldn’t push her too far.

“…I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

James flopped back into the snow with a triumphant groan. “Progress! Merlin, it only took me twenty minutes of my best material.”

She rolled her eyes, but this time, she didn’t tell him to shut up.

 

<3

 

The train rocked gently as it sped through the snowy countryside. The windows were misted with frost, blurring the fields of white into shifting shapes. Severina sat with her chin resting on one hand, her dark eyes fixed on the patterns of ice spiderwebbing across the glass. A book lay open on her lap, but she hadn’t turned a page in nearly twenty minutes.

Lily bustled into the compartment carrying two steaming cups of cocoa from the trolley, her cheeks pink from the cold.

“I knew you’d hole yourself up in here,” Lily teased lightly, handing one cup to Severina.

Severina accepted it with a curt nod. “Too loud in the other compartments.”

“Too loud, or too full of people you’d rather hex?” Lily teased again, but there was no malice in her voice—just a tentative warmth that still felt new between them.

For a moment, they sipped in silence, the only sound the whistle of the train and the muted laughter from the corridor.

“So,” Lily finally said, leaning forward eagerly, “have you decided?”

Severina didn’t look away from the frost on the window. “About what?”

“The Potters’ Christmas party. Don’t play dumb.”

Then Severina sighed, setting it aside and folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I… may have decided to go to the party.”

Lily lit up, her grin immediate and unrestrained. “Sev, that’s wonderful!”

“It’s not for the party,” Severina cut in quickly, her tone clipped. “It’s for the people who’ll be there. Apprenticeships don’t fall into your lap — you know that. If Potter’s family entertains potion masters and St. Mungo’s specialists, then… I’d be a fool not to take advantage.”

Lily leaned forward eagerly. “You won’t regret it.”

Severina finally turned, arching an eyebrow. “You sound suspiciously excited about this.”

“Because I am!” Lily admitted, grinning. “And because—” she dug into her satchel, cheeks flushing “—I was prepared for you to say yes.”

She placed a neatly wrapped box in Severina’s lap. Emerald parchment, tied with a red ribbon.

Severina blinked. “What’s this?”

“An early Christmas present. Open it.”

Inside the box wasn’t anything Severina expected.

Folded with care, was a floor-length, one-shoulder gown of rich emerald fabric. Its layered tiers fell in soft cascades, catching the light with a subtle sheen that made it seem almost enchanted. Alongside it lay a white winter cloak, lined in satin, its edges
embroidered with silver thread like falling snow.

Severina stared, throat suddenly tight. “Lily, I can’t—this is too much.”

“It isn’t. And it isn’t about James either. This is about you,” Lily said firmly. “You deserve something beautiful. You deserve to walk into that room and be seen for who you are, not for what people assume.”

For a long moment, Severina said nothing. She only ran her fingers over the fabric, silent snow still rushing past the window.

 

<3

 

The Potter manor was alive with warmth and light, its halls strung with garlands of evergreen and enchanted candles that floated near the ceiling, glowing like captured stars. A band of musicians played lively carols in the far corner of the grand hall, their music spilling into every room. Children dashed off to a side chamber filled with toys and sweets, while adults clustered in groups, their laughter ringing above the gentle clink of glasses. Silver trays of champagne floated effortlessly among the crowd, pausing politely when a guest reached for a drink.

Everywhere Severina looked, the guests gleamed in finery—robes woven with charmed embroidery, gowns that shimmered with enchantments, suits cut in sharp lines enhanced by subtle magical flourishes. The air itself seemed rich, touched by magic and wealth.

Severina tugged at the hem of her gown, suddenly aware of every fold of fabric. Lily had chosen it carefully, and she knew it was elegant, but compared to the extravagant nobility she felt terribly underdressed. The thought burned at her, and she instinctively clutched the edge of her white cloak tighter around her shoulders, reluctant when an eager house-elf popped up at the entrance to collect it. Lily slipped out of her golden coat with ease, handing it over with a smile, while Severina hesitated before finally surrendering hers. Without it, she felt strangely exposed.

They hadn’t come alone. Lupin and Pettigrew had accompanied them to the manor, insisting on showing the way. Severina would have preferred otherwise, but Lily outvoted her, and against three voices she hadn’t stood a chance.
“Why don’t you girls have a look around while we find James and Sirius?” Lupin offered politely.
“Correction,” Peter piped up, his eyes fixed on a passing tray of canapés. “While you look for them, I’m heading to the buffet. Don’t wait up!” And off he went, leaving Lupin to sigh and excuse himself with a small, apologetic smile before disappearing into the crowd.

That suited Severina fine. The fewer Marauders in her orbit, the better.

She and Lily drifted through the hall, each taking a champagne flute from a floating tray. Lily steered them past a group of Slytherins in regal dark robes, her nose wrinkling, but Severina lingered. Not all were hostile, and a few inclined their heads politely when she approached. Old names, old families—connections worth remembering. They spoke civilly enough, and Severina found herself in conversation while Lily quietly melted into another cluster of friends.

After too long on her feet, making the same polite remarks again and again, Severina slipped away, looking for somewhere quieter.

And then she collided with James Potter.

The impact startled her, the brush of his shoulder against hers sharper than she expected. She began to murmur an apology but faltered when she looked up. James was taller than she remembered, the light from the chandeliers casting a warm glow over his features. His messy dark hair caught a golden edge, and his hazel eyes—why did they have to be so bright, so intent?. She scolded herself fiercely—Merlin, Snape, get a hold of yourself, you’re gawking at Potter of all people.

“Sorry,” she whispered at last, her voice quieter than she meant.

But James didn’t reply right away. He stared, struck dumb, as if he’d never seen her before. Seconds stretched, and Severina shifted uneasily, heat creeping to her face.

“Quit gawking, Potter. I must look dreadful to you.”

“Try gorgeous,” James said, the word tumbling out before he could stop it.

Color flared across her cheeks. She wanted to scoff, to dismiss it as another line—but the way he said it, almost breathless, made something in her twist uncomfortably.

James’s jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides. For a moment, he looked as though he might explode, but then he forced in a breath, steadying himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentler. “I’m sorry. I should be a better host—come on. Let me show you around.”

Against her instincts, she followed.

James introduced her first to his parents, both warm and welcoming, and then to a circle of relatives. To Severina’s horror, James wasted no time praising her skill in potions, calling her one of the brightest witches at Hogwarts. But his indiscretion turned to fortune when his aunt, a sharp-eyed woman with a respected reputation in alchemy, took immediate interest. She spoke of apprenticeships, even offered a trial once Severina finished school. Severina, stunned, accepted gratefully.

Later, James led her into a long hall lined with portraits of past Potters, their painted ancestors grumbling indignantly as James spun absurd stories about their “heroics.” Severina found herself startled into a small laugh when one particularly stern ancestor threatened to hex him if he didn’t stop.

Just as James turned to her, clearly preparing to ask for a dance, a shrill voice cut across the room.

“Jamie! You promised me the first dance!”

A tall, blonde girl swept up, her accent lilting, French, her pout well-practiced. Genevieve. She was beautiful, perfectly poised, every movement dripping with the kind of charm Severina never cared to master. And the way she leaned against James—familiar, expectant—set a sharp little thorn deep inside Severina’s chest.

The jealousy startled her. Ugly, uninvited. She bit it down hard. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s nothing to you.

“I—I apologize, Genevieve,” James began awkwardly. “Can it wait—?”

“No! You already delayed once,” she insisted, slipping her arm through his.

“It’s fine,” Severina said quickly, her voice clipped. “I was going to rest anyway.”

James looked at her, apologetic, before Genevieve dragged him onto the dance floor.

Severina forced herself to watch only briefly before turning away. She shouldn’t care. She absolutely shouldn’t care. Yet Genevieve’s smug smile lingered in her mind, and Severina’s thoughts kept circling back to James—the way his hand had steadied her, the way his eyes had softened when he looked at her. She scolded herself with every step she took away from the hall. Don’t be a fool. Don’t fall further. He’s James Potter.

Turning away, she searched for escape, her eyes catching on a set of glass doors leading out to the gardens.

The cold air was a relief. Snow lay thick across the grounds, muffling the world in white. Drawing her wand from the hidden pocket Lily had insisted on sewing into her gown, Severina cast a warming charm over herself and made her way toward a pavilion by a small pond. Enchanted lilies still bloomed on the water despite the frost, glowing softly in the dark. She slipped into the gazebo and sank onto a bench, stretching her aching feet and sighing.

Cold air bit at her skin, but the stillness was a relief. Snow blanketed the grounds, soft and white beneath the pale lanterns strung along the paths. She made her way to a pavilion by a small pond where enchanted lilies still bloomed, glowing faintly against the frost.

Severina sank onto a bench inside, stretching her sore feet and letting out a sigh. The winter wind cut through her gown, and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. For a moment, she let her eyes close, but James’s face intruded again, unbidden—his smile, his ridiculous hair, that breathless “gorgeous” still echoing in her mind. She clenched her fists, furious with herself. Stop it. You cannot afford this.

Then warmth settled around her shoulders—real, heavy warmth. Severina’s eyes flew open, and she found James standing before her, his own jacket draped carefully over her. He looked down at her with that same maddeningly gentle smile.

“Done already?” she said sharply, though her voice lacked its usual bite. “And here I was enjoying your absence.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said simply.

“Where’s your blonde shadow? Did you abandon her again? Careful—she might pout herself into an early grave.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous,” she snapped, far too quickly.

James only smirked, then knelt before her and extended a hand. “May I have this dance, milady?” His voice was softer now, almost earnest, his hazel eyes catching the lantern light.

Severina froze. Every instinct told her to pull back, to end this before she slipped further into something she couldn’t escape. But his hand waited, steady, patient, and her heart betrayed her resolve.

Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his.

 

The snow crunched softly beneath their feet as James drew her into the center of the pavilion. Moonlight spilled across the marble floor, turning the air silver. A faint echo of music carried from the manor, muffled by distance, but James didn’t bother with his wand. He simply placed one hand at her waist, the other holding hers, and began to sway.

For a while, neither spoke. Their movements were slow, deliberate, Severina’s steps cautious against the stone. She kept her chin slightly lifted, eyes refusing to meet his, as if the sheer act of acknowledging him would weaken her resolve.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” James said at last, voice quiet, almost teasing.

“I’ve managed a waltz before, Potter,” she answered coolly.

“Severina Snape, secretly a dancer. Who would’ve thought?”

She gave him a sharp look. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re tolerable at best.”

James grinned, unbothered, his thumb brushing lightly against her hand. “Tolerable? That’s progress. Usually, you call me insufferable.”

Her jaw tightened. “I still might.”

“Then I’ll take tolerable while it lasts.”

The silence stretched again, broken only by the whisper of the wind around the pavilion. James studied her face, the way the moonlight softened her features, the rare hint of warmth in her eyes when she forgot to guard herself.

He swallowed. “Severina… I need to tell you something.”

Her gaze snapped to him, wary. “If this is another attempt at humor—”

“It isn’t.” His voice was steadier than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve tried to joke, to push, to win you over in ways you’d never allow. But this—this isn’t a joke.”

Her steps faltered, and she frowned, suspicion sharpening her tone. “Then what is it?”

James tightened his hold slightly, keeping her close. “It’s me. My feelings. For you.”

Her heart jolted, but she scoffed, almost angrily. “Don’t. Don’t mock me like this. Do you think I’ll fall for a prank so easily?” She tried to pull away, but his grip at her waist and hand held firm.

“Severina—look at me.” His voice was raw now, stripped of bravado. When her dark eyes finally rose to his, she saw no smugness there, no laughter hiding at the corners. Just naked truth.

“Ever since that day in the forest… not as me, but as the stag.” James’s voice was low, steady despite the storm beneath it. “You were different with me then. You weren’t scowling, or throwing curses, or building walls around yourself. You talked to me. You touched me. You let me see you. Just you. And for the first time, I realized you weren’t who I thought you were. I realized how wrong I’d been. All those years.”

He swallowed, his breath misting in the cold. “And ever since, it’s been you. Every day, every hour — just you. The way you look right through me, the way you shove my food away, even the way you hex me when I’m an idiot. And the thought of almost losing you—Merlin, it nearly broke me. It only makes me want to try harder. Because I see you now, Sev. And I don’t ever want to stop.”

She froze, lungs tightening as though the air had turned to glass. Instinct screamed at her to lash out, to sneer, to shove him away before the words could settle into her bones. But his voice — raw, unguarded — made her falter.

James leaned closer, not closing the distance, just enough that she could see the trembling honesty in his eyes. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not even asking you to feel the same. I just need you to know that I—” his voice caught, then steadied — “I love you, Severina Snape. And I won’t take it back. Not now. Not ever. No matter how long it takes. No matter how much you hate me for it.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs, traitorous, cruel. She wanted to spit in his face, hex him until he regretted every syllable, scream that he had no right to put this on her. But her body betrayed her, pulse racing, breath shallow.

Her heart twisted, furious at itself for beating faster. Because beneath the scars, beneath the years of venom and betrayal, something inside her still ached for him. Still remembered. Still wanted.

And she hated — hated — that she couldn’t deny it.

 

James’s words hung between them, heavy as snowfall, fragile as glass. For a long time, Severina said nothing. The silence stretched, sharp and suffocating, broken only by the rush of her own breath.

Then she moved. Shoving at his chest with trembling hands, as if she could push away the heat in his eyes, the weight of his confession. “Don’t—don’t say that to me,” she snapped, though her voice cracked like brittle ice. “You don’t get to love me, Potter. Not after everything.”

He caught her wrists gently, not to trap her, but to keep her from vanishing into anger. “I know,” James said hoarsely. “I know what I’ve done. The hexes, the cruelty, the arrogance. I can’t undo it, Sev. I can’t change who I was. But I’m begging you—don’t throw this away just because you think you have to hate me.”

Her eyes burned. She wanted to spit venom, wanted to say I do hate you. But the words wouldn’t come. Her voice shook instead. “You think it’s that simple? You think I can just… decide not to feel anything? I’ve tried, James. I’ve tried to bury it, to hate you enough to kill it. But it doesn’t work.”

He stilled, breath catching, hope flickering like a fragile flame.

“I can’t change how I feel for you,” she whispered, each word like glass scraping her throat. “But don’t think for a second that means I forgive you. I don’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Something inside James unclenched at those words, relief breaking through his chest. His grip loosened, sliding from her wrists to her hands, holding them as though they were something sacred.

“That’s enough,” he murmured. “Merlin, that’s more than enough. I don’t need forgiveness right now. Just… just don’t shut me out anymore.”

For once, she didn’t pull away.

James’s breath shook as he searched her face, drinking in every flicker of uncertainty and defiance. His voice lowered, softer, careful. “Sev… may I? Just once. A kiss. Nothing more, I swear it. If you say no, I’ll never ask again.”

Her chest tightened, torn between fury and the ache that had never really died. Slowly, as though dragged against her will, her gaze lifted to his.

“I hate you,” she whispered, though her grip didn’t leave his hands.

“I know,” James whispered back, trembling. “But maybe… not entirely.”

And she didn’t stop him when he leaned in.

 

A week passed after the Potters’ Christmas party, and the memory of that night lingered like frost that refused to melt. James, true to his word, didn’t push her again for forgiveness. Instead, he sent a small gift to Severina — a sleek set of silver potion stirrers engraved with runes to regulate temperature, the kind of tool only someone who truly paid attention to her obsessions would think to choose. There was no note, only a scrawl on the wrapping: For your craft, not your temper — J.P. She scoffed aloud when she opened it, but tucked them carefully into her case all the same.

When the holidays ended and they boarded the Hogwarts Express, fate (or Lily’s careful maneuvering) placed James and the other Marauders in the same compartment as her. Lily and Severina had reclaimed their easy rhythm of conversation, while James, sprawled lazily across from them, slipped into a steady stream of quips and offhand compliments aimed squarely at Severina.

She responded with clipped retorts, narrowed eyes, and muttered “insufferable” under her breath more times than she could count. But she didn’t leave. And every now and then, despite herself, her lips twitched at his antics — quickly smothered, but noticed all the same.

The Marauders caught it too. Sirius arched his brows in disbelief, Remus hid his knowing smirk behind a book, and Peter just shook his head. James, of course, basked in every tiny crack in her defenses, leaning into it with shameless delight.
It wasn’t forgiveness. Not even close. But something had shifted — subtle, fragile, undeniable. Slowly, painfully, the space between Severina Snape and James Potter was no longer just a battlefield. It was becoming something else.

 

By early January, the castle was still blanketed in snow from the holidays, icicles hanging like glass teeth from the eaves. Most students shuffled back into routine with little thought, but Severina had kept to herself more than usual.
It was her birthday. January ninth.

She had told no one. She never did. Birthdays weren’t worth remembering in the Snape household—at best forgotten, at worst a night of shouting and fists. She preferred to let the day pass quietly, unnoticed.

But Lily had noticed.

That morning in the Great Hall, Lily had sat down beside her with a smile and slid a small parcel wrapped in brown paper across the table. “Happy birthday, Sev.”

Severina had blinked, stiff in surprise. “How did you—”

“I always remember,” Lily said simply, and nudged it closer. Inside had been a set of fine quills—sleek, well-balanced, and far superior to the patched ones Severina normally used. A practical gift, but chosen with thought.

Severina had muttered a thank-you, awkward and quiet, but the warmth lingered long after breakfast.

Still, she spent the afternoon where she always did: at her secluded spot overlooking the frozen pond at the edge of the forest. A book lay unopened beside her; instead, she watched the faint reflection of the gray sky ripple across the ice.

The quiet didn’t last. Boots crunched over the snow behind her.

“Morning, Snape.”

Her jaw clenched. “If this is another one of your tiresome missions, Potter, spare me.”

James dropped into the snow beside her anyway, brushing frost from his sleeve. He looked irritatingly pleased with himself. “Lucky for you, I came with a purpose.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Which is?”

He leaned back on his hands, casual as ever. “To wish you happy birthday.”

She went very still. “What?”

“January ninth,” James said easily. “You didn’t think I’d notice, did you?”

Severina’s grip tightened on her cloak. “Who told you?”

“No one. I asked around, pieced it together.” He reached into his cloak and placed a small, neatly wrapped box in her lap. Green paper, silver ribbon. “Happy birthday, Severina.”

She stared at it like it was cursed. “If this is another prank—”

“No prank,” James interrupted, his grin softening. “Just a gift. For you.”

Her fingers hesitated over the ribbon. “Why?”

“Because you deserve one,” he said simply. “Because maybe—for once—you should have a birthday that isn’t awful.”

The words hit sharper than she liked. Against her better judgment, she untied the ribbon, peeled back the paper, and opened the box. Inside lay a set of potion vials—crystal-clear, finely made, each stopper engraved with runes for preservation. Professional quality, the kind apprentices used.

Her throat went tight. She traced one of the vials with her fingertips, testing its weight. Balanced. Perfect.

“Potter…” Her voice was sharper than intended, but low. “These are expensive.”

James only shrugged. “Worth it. Thought you’d use them better than anyone else.”

She wanted to tell him to stop. To sneer, to shove it back into his hands. But she didn’t. Instead, she turned her face toward the pond, hiding the heat rising in her cheeks.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“Maybe,” James said with a grin. “But at least now you’re impossible with proper potion vials.”

She rolled her eyes, but the box stayed firmly in her lap.

 

<3

 

By mid-February, Hogwarts had transformed into something Severina found utterly revolting. Charmed roses hovered in the corridors, shedding petals that vanished before they touched the ground. The Great Hall ceiling dripped with pink and scarlet hearts, courtesy of Flitwick’s questionable sense of humor. Even the staircases hummed faintly with romantic enchantments.

Severina escaped, as always, to her frozen pond at the edge of the forest. The stillness here was hers, a reprieve from all the giggles and sighs of infatuation echoing through the castle. She spread parchment over her knees, quill scratching furiously, though her thoughts were far from steady.

Boots crunched over snow. Again.

“Morning, Snape.”

Her quill paused mid-stroke. She didn’t look up. “If this is another one of your charity missions, Potter, save us both the trouble.”

James dropped into the snow beside her, brushing frost from his cloak. He was grinning like an idiot, as usual. It only made her scowl deepen.

“So.” He leaned back, voice deliberately casual. “Valentine’s Day is coming up.”

Her eyes flicked to him, sharp and unimpressed. “And this is relevant to me… how?”

“Because,” James said, lowering his voice in mock-conspiracy, “I was hoping you’d say yes.”

Her brow arched. “Yes to what? Murdering you in cold blood? Then yes.”

He laughed. “Close. To being my Valentine. My girlfriend.”

 

The quill snapped between her fingers, ink blotting across the parchment. Severina stared at the broken nib, then at him, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” James spread his hands, grin slipping into something earnest. “Sev, I’ve made a fool of myself more times than I can count for you. But this—this isn’t a prank. I like you. I’ve loved you for months now. And I’m just… asking you to give me a chance.”

Her pulse hammered in her ears. Anger was easier, safer. “You think you can fix years of torment with flowers and cheap words? That I’ll forget the curses, the insults, the way you—” Her voice snagged, throat tight.

James’s tone softened, quiet but steady. “I don’t want you to forget. I don’t want to erase it. I want to prove I can be better than that. That I can be someone who stands with you, not against you. Just… let me try.”

Severina froze. She wanted to tell him to get lost. To hex him into the snow and walk away. But she couldn’t—not with his eyes on hers, raw and unguarded in a way she’d never seen before.

She turned away, staring at the frozen pond, her voice clipped. “You’re impossible, Potter. Absolutely impossible.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s not a no.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

But when his hand brushed lightly over hers, she didn’t pull away

 

The Great Hall fire burned low, painting Lily’s hair copper in the shadows. Severina sat stiff-backed in the armchair across from her, cloak still dusted with snow.

“Well?” Lily pressed, sensing something in her friend’s expression. “You’ve been frowning at the same stitch in your notes for ten minutes. What happened?”

Severina hesitated. Her pride screamed say nothing. But Lily’s gaze was unrelenting, and at last, she exhaled sharply.

“Potter asked me to be his Valentine. His—” she swallowed the word like poison—“his girlfriend.”

Lily’s quill slipped from her fingers. “He what?” Her face flickered between outrage and disbelief. “After everything—after years of hexes and torment—he has the audacity—” She stopped herself, lowering her voice when she caught the way Severina’s hands twisted in her lap.

“But you didn’t say yes… did you?”

“I didn’t say no.” The admission was clipped, begrudging, almost bitter.

Lily blinked. Her protective fury warred with a surprising rush of warmth. “Oh, Sev…” She leaned forward, her voice softer now. “I want to hex him into next week for daring to even ask you. But—I also saw the way he’s been looking at you. And Merlin help me, I think he means it.”

Severina’s jaw tightened. “That’s what scares me.”

 

James sprawled across his bed, arms behind his head, grinning like a fool.

Remus looked up from his book, eyebrows raised. “All right. What’s put that look on your face?”

James hesitated only a second before blurting, “I asked Snape to be my girlfriend.”

Peter’s deck of cards went clattering to the floor. Remus blinked in surprise. Sirius, however, shot upright so fast his hair nearly smacked the headboard.

“You what?” His voice cracked like a teenage choir boy.

“She didn’t hex me,” James said smugly. “Didn’t say no, either.”

Peter’s eyes bulged. “And you’re still alive?”

Remus closed his book slowly, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

But Sirius only groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Out of all the girls in this castle… it had to be Snape. Merlin, Prongs, give me strength.”

James only laughed, stretching out again, heart lighter than it had been in years. For the first time, Severina Snape wasn’t just his rival, or his obsession. She was his—or close enough.

“And before you say anything,” James added, propping himself on one elbow, “I actually confessed back at the Christmas party. Last month.”

“What?” Sirius gaped.

“Yep. Laid it all out, no pranks, no games. She didn’t throw me into the pond, so I took that as progress.”

Peter’s grin spread slow and wicked. He turned to Sirius and Remus, rubbing his hands together. “Pay up, lads. I told you he’d crack before New Year’s.”

Remus groaned, fishing a few coins from his pocket, while Sirius muttered darkly about betrayal and poor life choices as he handed over his share.

James smirked. “Glad I can be the source of your gambling losses.”

Remus gave him a long, steady look. “Just make sure you’re also the source of her happiness, James. She’s been through enough.”

Sirius huffed, slumping back against his pillow. “Fine. But if you hurt her, Prongs… I’ll hex you myself.”

James grinned, unbothered. “Fair enough.”

 

<3

 

The February night was bitter, frost crunching underfoot as James led Severina down a lantern-lit path just beyond the castle grounds. Most students were crowded into Hogsmeade, noisy taverns spilling over with couples, but James had insisted on something else. Something quieter.

“Stop grinning like that,” she muttered, clutching her cloak tighter against the February chill.

James glanced at her, utterly unrepentant. “What? Can’t a bloke be happy on Valentine’s Day?”

“You look like you swallowed a love potion.”

“Maybe I did,” he said with a wink. “Side effects include staring at you too much.”

She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but her ears burned beneath her hood. “Merlin, you’re absurd.”

“Only for you,” he said cheerfully.

They reached the edge of the lake. To Severina’s surprise, James had charmed the spot — fairy lights twinkled across the bare branches, reflecting in the frozen water, and a small blanket was spread over the snow with a basket perched on top.

Her steps faltered. “You dragged me out here… for this?”

“Well,” James rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish, “the Three Broomsticks didn’t exactly scream romance. And Madam Puddifoot’s…” he grimaced, “no chance in hell. Thought you’d prefer something less… frilly.”

Severina eyed the setup, suspicious. “And what’s in the basket? Don’t tell me you tried cooking.”

“Oi!” James feigned offense. “I’m reckless, not suicidal. It’s Honeydukes and a couple of bottles of butterbeer. Safe.”

She sat, more out of exasperation than agreement, muttering about frostbite as she tucked her cloak tighter. But when James passed her a warm butterbeer and the lights flickered gently across the lake, her scowl softened — if only slightly.

He leaned back on his hands, watching her rather than the stars. “This is better, isn’t it? Just us. No crowd. No one to glare at me when I say I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else.”

Her quill-sharp tongue wavered, caught somewhere between a retort and silence. Finally, she settled on, “You’re hopeless, Potter.”

“Yeah,” he said easily, grinning again. “Hopelessly yours.”

She nearly choked on her butterbeer, turning away so he wouldn’t see the way her lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough to make James’ grin soften into something quieter, something real.

 

For a while, they sat in silence, sipping. The hush of the grounds stretched around them — muffled laughter drifted faintly from the castle, but here it was only the creak of frozen branches and the crunch of their boots in the snow.

James broke it first. “Funny, isn’t it? If someone had told me two years ago I’d be sitting out here with you, I’d have laughed in their face.”

Severina raised a brow. “You’d have hexed me, more likely.”

“True.” He winced, running a hand through his hair. “I was… an arse. Still am, probably. But I’m glad things are different now.”

Her gaze lingered on the lake instead of him. “Different doesn’t mean better.”

James didn’t argue. He only leaned a little closer, voice softer. “Maybe not yet. But I’m trying. You know that, right?”

Severina’s fingers tightened on the neck of her bottle. Part of her wanted to bite back, to remind him that trying didn’t erase the years he’d made her life miserable. But the look in his eyes — unguarded, earnest, almost boyish in its stubborn hope — weakened her resolve.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“That’s practically an admission of affection coming from you.”

Her lips twitched despite herself. She turned away quickly, pretending to adjust her cloak.

The silence stretched again, heavier this time, weighted with something neither of them wanted to name. James shifted closer, his knee brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. She didn’t move away.

When she finally glanced at him, their eyes locked. His grin had softened into something steadier, warmer. It made her chest ache in a way she didn’t want to admit.

“Sev…” His voice was low now, almost uncertain. “Can I…?”

Her throat tightened. She should say no. She should hex him, laugh in his face, remind him that she wasn’t some silly girl who fell for pretty words. But her body betrayed her — leaning ever so slightly toward him, breath caught.

He didn’t push. He only lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair from her face with careful fingers, giving her every chance to pull back.

She didn’t.

Their lips met slowly, hesitantly — not the fierce, desperate kind of kiss either of them had imagined, but something gentler. Fragile. Like testing unfamiliar ground.

Severina froze for half a heartbeat, then melted into it before she could stop herself, the warmth of him chasing away the bite of winter. Her hand curled in his cloak, grounding herself against the dizzy rush of it.

When they broke apart, James’ forehead rested against hers, his breath misting between them.

“Happy Valentine’s, Severina,” he murmured.

She glared half-heartedly, cheeks flushed. “Don’t push your luck.”

But she didn’t let go.

 

<3

 

The weeks that followed Valentine’s settled into a rhythm that felt both strange and inevitable. James and Severina didn’t make any grand declarations, but there was no denying the shift between them. They lingered together more often — in shadowed corners of the library, by the frozen lake when no one else braved the cold, tucked away in empty classrooms where silence stretched comfortably between them.

At first, their time together was marked by quiet conversation — Severina grudgingly answering James’s endless questions, James listening with a focus that unnerved her. Slowly, the conversations became easier, softer. He made her laugh despite herself; she made him think harder than anyone else could.

And when words ran out, when the quiet between them grew too heavy, it turned into something else. Their first kisses after Valentine’s were tentative, testing, but soon deepened into something fierce, something that left them both breathless. James never pushed — but every time, Severina found herself giving a little more, letting her walls slip brick by brick.

No one else knew the whole truth, not yet. To the rest of Hogwarts, they were still James Potter and Severina Snape — Gryffindor’s golden boy and Slytherin’s dungeon bat. But in stolen moments, in whispers and touches, they were something different. Something neither of them quite dared to name yet.

 

<3

 

As winter gave way to the hesitant stirrings of spring, James and Severina carved out hidden spaces in the castle and grounds where the rest of the world couldn’t reach them.

Their first refuge was the forest, the same clearing overlooking the pond where she had once met the stag. It became theirs. The pond was half-frozen, rimmed with glassy ice that caught the pale light. Severina sat on her usual stone, parchment abandoned at her side, when James dropped down beside her.

“You’re brooding again,” he said.

“I was studying.”

“Brooding,” he insisted, leaning close enough to make her scowl. She meant to push him away, meant to snap at him for crowding her space—but instead she found herself staring at his mouth.

James noticed. His smirk softened, and before she could gather her wits, his hand brushed against her cheek, tentative. “Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t.

The kiss was hesitant at first—awkward, almost—until Severina tugged him closer, frustration and longing tangled into one sharp motion. What should have been brief stretched on, heat burning against the cold air, until she pulled away, breath ragged.

“You’re vexing,” she muttered.

“Yet you kissed me back,” James grinned, his lips still pink from it.

 

The greenhouses came next. Between rows of enchanted plants, in the hush of twilight when only the hum of magic filled the air.

It was quiet inside, the air damp and heavy with the scent of earth. Moonlight filtered through the glass, silvering rows of sleeping plants. Severina bent over a pot of asphodel, muttering a charm, when James slipped behind her.

“Romantic, isn’t it? Nothing says ‘date night’ like dirt under your nails.”

She whirled on him, wand half-drawn, but his grin stole her irritation. “You’re lucky this isn’t venomous.”

He leaned on the table, closing the gap. “Maybe you’ll hex me. Or maybe you’ll do this instead.”

He caught her lips before she could reply. The kiss was softer this time, almost reverent, his fingers brushing her sleeve as though testing permission. Severina stiffened, then melted despite herself, her hands curling into his cloak.

When they broke apart, she glared half-heartedly. “This is hardly proper.”

James only kissed her again, deeper this time, until propriety was the last thing on her mind.

 

But it was in the abandoned classrooms where everything truly shifted.

Dust motes floated in the dim light, the desks shoved haphazardly against the walls. Severina leaned back against one, arms crossed, glaring at James as he rambled about Quidditch strategies.

“Why do you always talk so much?” she cut in.

“Because if I don’t, you’ll hex me into silence.”

“Not a bad idea.”

He stepped closer, his grin lazy. “Or you could just shut me up this way.”

Before she could retort, his mouth was on hers—harder, hungrier than before. This kiss was nothing like the forest or the greenhouse. It was heat and teeth, her hands gripping his shoulders, his arm sliding around her waist to pull her flush against him. The desk behind her creaked as she clutched its edge, her pulse roaring in her ears.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads touching, both breathless, James whispered, “You drive me mad.”

Her lips parted to answer, but no words came. For once, Severina Snape was speechless—except for the way she pulled him back down to kiss her again.

 

The air in the abandoned classroom was thick with dust, silence broken only by their ragged breathing and the faint groan of the old desk beneath Severina’s weight. James’ hands roamed from her waist up her ribs, greedy now, no longer tentative or testing, and she gave him no reason to hold back. Her cloak slipped to the floor, pooling in shadow, while her fingers tangled in his hair and dragged him deeper into the kiss, demanding more.

“Mmh—” she gasped when his mouth left hers, tracing fire along her jaw, down the pale stretch of her throat. He sucked there, teeth scraping lightly, and she arched against him, the sharp edge of the desk biting into the backs of her thighs.

“You’ll bruise me,” she muttered, but her voice came out breathless, needy.

“Good,” James growled against her skin, his hand sliding lower, gripping her hip through the thin fabric of her robes, pressing her firmly to the hardness straining at his trousers. “Let everyone wonder who left their mark.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she pulled him back to her lips with a hunger that had nothing to do with propriety. The kiss broke wet and messy, Severina’s breath shuddering out as his hand slipped beneath her robes, fingers skimming bare skin where stockings ended. The sharp hiss she gave at the touch only urged him bolder, his thumb teasing the sensitive crease at the top of her thigh until she was trembling.

“James—” she tried for sternness, but the sound came out a whimper, betraying her.

He grinned against her mouth, kissing the noise away, before his lips trailed downward again, toward the open collar of her blouse. Buttons popped beneath impatient fingers, the stiff fabric parting to reveal the curve of her breasts. His mouth closed over one, tongue circling, sucking until she let out a strangled cry, clutching his head to her.

“Fuck—” she gasped, the word ripped from her, raw and shocked at her own abandon.

Her legs parted without thought, wrapping around him, pulling him closer still. He ground against her, every line of his body pressed to hers, and the desk groaned under the frantic rhythm. Each kiss, each desperate touch burned hotter, deeper, until Severina forgot everything beyond this room, this boy, this impossible craving that had sunk its claws into her.

She bit his lip when he kissed her again, drawing a low moan from his throat, and when he whispered her name like a vow, she yanked him down once more, sealing their mouths together, needing him, needing this, not caring what came next so long as he didn’t stop.

The desk rattled beneath her as James pressed harder, their mouths locked in frantic hunger, teeth clashing, tongues slick and desperate. Severina clung to him as though gravity had ceased to matter, her nails clawing shallow welts across his back through the fabric of his shirt. His hands were everywhere—palming her breasts, tugging at the waistband of her skirt, shoving cloth aside with the impatience of a boy who’d wanted this for far too long.

The fabric bunched around her hips, baring her thighs to the chill air, but his hands were scorching as they slid higher, dragging over the lace that covered her cunt. The damp patch there gave him pause only long enough for a wicked grin.

“So wet for me already,” he muttered against her lips, voice hoarse, thick with disbelief and triumph.

“Shut up,” she hissed, but her legs tightened around him, her body betraying her completely.

His fingers pressed against the thin barrier of her underwear, rubbing slow circles that made her hips jerk helplessly. The friction had her breath catching, her lips parting in soft, unwilling moans. When he slipped beneath the lace, sliding against her bare slit, her head fell back, a sharp gasp tearing free.

“James—ahh—” she tried to scold, but the sound dissolved into a whimper as one finger eased inside her, slick and tight, curling just right.

“Merlin, you’re gripping me already,” he groaned, kissing the hollow of her throat, sucking until her skin flushed dark. “You feel fucking perfect.”

His thumb toyed with her clit while his fingers thrust deeper, each movement wringing new noises from her that she could barely recognize as her own. The desk creaked with her frantic bucking, her thighs trembling as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.

“Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—” she gasped, clutching his shoulders as though she might fall apart without the anchor of his body.

He didn’t. He drove her higher, faster, until the pressure broke. Her climax hit with a raw cry, her body clamping around his fingers, convulsing as waves of heat rolled through her.

Her moans filled the dusty room, muffled only when he caught her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing every sound, refusing to let her retreat from the storm he’d conjured.

But James wasn’t finished.

Her head spun as he yanked his trousers open with frantic hands, the hard length of him freed, brushing hot against her thigh. Her eyes flew wide, half from shock, half from need, and when he ground against her slick folds, the thought of propriety vanished like smoke.

“You want me,” he growled, forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged, his cock sliding wetly along her slit. “Say it.”

Her pride wavered, but the throb between her legs left her no strength for denial. “I want you,” she whispered, then louder, desperate. “Fuck me, James.”

His control shattered. With one sharp thrust he buried himself inside her, filling her so completely she cried out, nails digging into his skin as her walls clenched around him.

“Ffff—fuck, Severina,” he gasped, shuddering against her as he stilled for a heartbeat, overwhelmed by the tight, pulsing heat of her.

“Move,” she snarled, half-command, half-plea, and he obeyed, pulling back only to slam in again, the desk shrieking under the punishing rhythm.

Each thrust drove her higher, her cries raw, unrestrained, echoing off stone walls. His mouth found her breast again, tongue lashing her nipple, teeth scraping, while his hips ground relentlessly into her. She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, urging him deeper, her body greedily clenching with every stroke.

The wet slap of skin against skin, their mingled groans, the frantic creak of wood—everything blurred into fever. She was already oversensitive from her first orgasm, every nerve alight, and yet the build came again, fierce and undeniable.

“James—I’m—ahhh—” she couldn’t finish, voice breaking as her body seized around him, climax tearing through her with violent force, her cry muffled against his mouth when he kissed her.

Her release dragged him with her. He drove into her twice more, hips jerking as his rhythm broke, a guttural moan torn from his throat as he spilled inside her, hot and thick, buried to the hilt. His body trembled with the force of it, forehead pressed to hers, sweat and breath mingling.

For long moments they clung together, still joined, Severina’s chest heaving, James’ weight pinning her against the desk, the raw scent of sex thick in the air.

Only then, with his lips brushing her temple, did he whisper hoarsely, “Mine.”

And for once, Severina couldn’t summon a single protest.

 

<3

 

Severina swept down the corridor, robes trailing like a shadow behind her. The Headmaster’s meeting had run long—Dumbledore could still talk circles around a room even in old age, and she loathed it. Her patience had been worn thin by the end.

A fourth-year bowed his head respectfully as she passed. “Good evening, Professor.”

She gave him a curt nod and turned left, her stride carrying her straight toward the potions classroom.

Inside, two students were already waiting. They sat at opposite desks, as far apart as the room allowed, studiously pretending the other didn’t exist.

Severina exhaled through her nose. “Apologies for my delay. The Headmaster was… talkative.” She took her seat behind her desk, fixing the boys with her black-eyed stare. “Cauldrons. Corner. Clean them properly—by hand. No wands.”

Neither boy complained, though their silence was heavier than any protest. They set to work, shoulders stiff, studiously ignoring one another.

Severina pinched the bridge of her nose. This was not how she had imagined things when she first introduced them.

Draco Malfoy, her godson. Harry Potter, her son. The pair had been at each other’s throats from the moment they’d met. And yet… beneath the barbed words and icy glares, she could see it: concern, reluctant respect, something neither would admit aloud.

Severina smirked faintly despite herself, remembering the ridiculous bet she and Sirius had lost to Peter Pettigrew. She had wagered that Granger and Parkinson would be the first of their lot to find their way together—surely girls would talk things through sooner than boys. Sirius, ever the dramatist, had insisted it would be Harry and Draco, claiming they were a mirror of James and herself. Both had been wrong. To everyone’s shock, it was Pettigrew’s wild card—Ron Weasley and Blaise Zabini—who ended up together first. Since then, Severina had never dared bet against Peter’s uncanny instincts.

A grumble broke her thoughts. “Mum, we’re done.”

Her son’s untidy hair fell into his glasses as he turned. Every inch James—except for the black eyes he’d inherited from her.

Severina gave him a sharp look. “Potter. How many times must I tell you? In this classroom, it’s Professor.”

“That makes no sense,” Harry muttered. “You’re a Potter too.” Still, at her glare, he gave a sulky, “Fine.”

Draco smirked faintly at Harry’s pout and asked if he could leave. Severina granted it with a flick of her hand, but when Harry started after him, she stopped him with a single word.

“Stay.”

Harry frowned but obeyed, shifting his weight onto one leg in that insolent way that reminded her far too much of James at his age.

“What now?” he asked.

“Your Aunt Lily,” Severina said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “has asked for permission to spend the weekend with you and Teddy.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Please tell me she’s not driving, Mum.” His voice cracked in sheer panic as his fingers gripped the edge of her desk.

“Of course not,” Severina replied dryly. “I told her plainly that I’d like my son to return in one piece.”

Harry sagged with relief. Even Lupin had groaned at the prospect when Lily first suggested it. As the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus already had his hands full keeping his own son in check. Teddy Black-Lupin had inherited Sirius’s mischief and Remus’s cleverness, a combination that gave his father a permanent headache. Detention had become Teddy’s second home—administered, with no small amount of frustration, by Remus himself.

Harry, though, was another matter entirely. He was every bit his father’s son: reckless, chivalrous, and annoyingly charming. Quidditch came to him as naturally as breathing, and he had already made a name for himself as a Seeker under McGonagall’s watchful eye. Yet he was hers too—Severina’s—down to the coal-black hair and eyes. Worse, he had inherited her temperament: stubborn to the point of folly, sharp-tongued, and given to biting sarcasm that often made her want to throttle him and beam with pride in equal measure.

Still, there was one trait that warmed her every time she saw it—Harry excelled at Potions. Her subject. Her craft. For all his James-like recklessness, when he stood at a cauldron, he was precise, patient, and brilliant.

“Go on, then,” she said finally, softening enough to wave him toward the door. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you in class tomorrow.”

Harry grinned, gave a cheeky salute, and slipped out.

Severina pressed her fingers to her temples. Essays still towered in a pile before her, only half-marked. She reached for her quill—

The floo roared to life.

“Auror Potter,” she said, tone cool, as her husband stepped from the flames. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

James brushed soot from his robes and crossed the room in a few strides, grinning. “What, can’t I see my brilliant wife once in a while? I hate going home without you and Harry.” He leaned down, stealing a kiss before she could scold him.

“Once in a while is one thing,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you come nearly every day.”

James only smirked. “Padfoot does the same with Moony.”

Severina muttered something unrepeatable and reached again for her quill, though her lips curved despite herself.

James dropped into the chair across from her desk, folding his arms on the table like he had every intention of staying put. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to admit you like me being here.”

She arched a brow without glancing up. “You’ll be buried before I say it.”

“Then at least I’ll die happy.” He grinned, utterly unfazed by her glare.

The room settled into a companionable quiet—her quill scratching steadily, his fingers drumming an idle rhythm against the wood. After a few minutes, James reached over and snagged one of the essays from her pile.

“James,” she snapped, “if you think you’re marking my students’ work—”

“I’m not,” he cut in, leaning back in his chair as he squinted at the parchment. “But I am going to point out that this kid can’t spell ‘bezoar’ to save his life.”

Despite herself, Severina snorted. “Put it back before you smudge the ink.”

He did, sliding it carefully into the pile, then leaned forward and brushed his knuckles over the back of her hand. “I’ll sit here quiet. Promise. Just… let me stay.”

She didn’t look up, but her voice had lost its sharpness. “And what good would that do?”

James leaned across the desk, brushing his lips lightly over her knuckles before she could pull away. “It reminds you you’re not alone.”

Her sigh was exasperated—but not entirely so. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

She rolled her eyes, though a faint smile betrayed her. He stayed where he was, stubborn and steady, until finally her quill dipped again, the silence between them warmer than the fire in the grate.

James tilted his head, watching her in the glow of the lamp light, and thought—as he had every day since—that this was their story. Messy, stubborn, unexpected. Born in frost, remembered always as their once upon a December.