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Did Severus Snape see himself in Theodore Nott? Maybe, maybe not.
He did, however, understand how you could loathe your classmates and despise the immaturity in your peers.
To his surprise, Nott was adept in potions. He purposefully sat in the back of the classroom closest to the ingredients, cauldrons, and sink avoiding any contact with anyone. At least one student cared about his craft; a twinge of happiness flickered within Snape at the thought.
If Nott put in as much effort as he did mouthing off and sneaking a smoke in the corridors, he might become a less than competent potioneer. This is only if he tries, if his parasitic father doesn’t get to him first, and if Nott doesn’t succumb to loving another dreadful witch or wizard.
These days, just hoping for the best will do little to nothing.
Snape walked around the classroom observing pitiful young minds attempting to brew Felix Felicis. Longbottom’s was a murky green colour, Finnigan’s blew up, as usual, and Potter, Saint Potter, was grinding the same eggshell he started with an hour ago.
His Slytherins weren’t any better. Parkinson's tie was askew and Zabini refused to get his hands dirty. Ultimately, he only expected Malfoy and Nott to produce adequate potions, and as expected Nott was—taking directions from Malfoy?
Snape’s lip curled at the sight.
Maybe dark times were closer than expected.
“Malfoy. Nott. No partners.”
“Professor Snape, sir. I was, um, just helping Theo. I’ve already finished brewing my potion.”
Malfoy inclined his head towards Nott, whose eyes remained focused on his whisking.
“And your brewed potion is where, Malfoy?”
Without a word, Malfoy produced his Felix Felicis. Snape inspected the vial, it was the perfect viscosity and transparent appearance.
Snape raised his brow and offered a grunt of disdain.
“Very well, but leave Nott. If he can’t follow directions, no need wasting your breath trying to save him.”
With sullen eyes, a quiet persona, and dishevelled clothes, his godson was under deep stress attempting to fulfil a request for the Dark Lord, but nepotism would not present itself in his classroom.
Snape turned away from the sickening display of friendship, returning to his desk, cape billowing behind him.
“Finish brewing. Bottle up your potions and bring them to the front. You’ll receive your grades next class. Do try to study before entering my classroom like floundering fish again.”
Students formed a line to present their work. Granger was first, amenable. Malfoy’s showed promise. Weasley’s, pitiful. Longbottom’s, useless.
“After this dreadful display of potioneering, Longbottom, you will need a vial of Liquid Luck to receive a Dreadful N.E.W.T score,” Snape snarled.
Neville’s head hung low as he filed in line with the students rushing to exit Snape’s classroom. As usual, Nott was the last to leave.
Snape refused to look up at the pure-blood. “Not terrible, Nott. Maybe if you weren’t distracted you’d receive a higher compliment.”
“Right, sir.”
The door slammed behind him, echoing in the silent room.
Snape sighed.
He went through three inkwells while critiquing the students’ work, and then banished the vials with a quick Evanesco.
Each class following was worse than its predecessor. How can students mess up a Pepperup Potion? Even the Department of Mysteries couldn’t answer. However, Nott no longer sat at the back of the class by himself, and when given the opportunity had a partner.
Malfoy.
More often than not, Malfoy maintained a faraway look in his eyes, his tailored robes hung off his body, and he avoided speaking directly to anyone except Nott.
Just dreadful.
Nott always showed disinterest in the work of his peers, so his fascination with the Malfoy heir was baffling. Everyone in Slytherin knew what the Malfoys were up to. The information was unavoidable, yet Nott’s loyalty didn’t waver. Malfoy continued to seek out his attention, and Nott in return endured his incessant ramblings.
During the following class periods, Snape could make out the faint sound of rustling parchment, quills scratching, and even hushed whispers. Over time, he could pick out the sounds in an instant, his own irritating siren call.
Each period, Snape’s lip curled further up in disgust as Malfoy and Nott remained steadfast in progressing their relationship.
When Snape would walk past them, they’d huddle together exchanging hushed words. Touches would linger when ingredients passed between them; there was a tense unspoken agreement between the two.
If Snape saw Malfoy, then Nott was close by. Nott sat next to Malfoy in the Great Hall encouraging the latter to eat. Before Malfoy would speak, his gaze would flicker to Nott for assurance. As much as Malfoy took a liking to Nott, Nott sought after him with as much intensity.
Did Snape have an obsessive interest in the lives of his students, especially the Slytherins? Maybe, maybe not.
Nonetheless, the inseparable pair nauseated him. At every turn, Snape forcibly witnessed their blatant flirtation and looks of longing. Inescapable, he’d sneer at their repulsive display of shared infatuation.
And yet, Potter thought Malfoy partnered with Nott to recruit more students to take the Dark Mark.
Disgusting.
During the final class period before the end of term, while students completed an in-class essay on the long-term effects of a Dreamless Sleep Potion, Snape had had enough. He pinpointed the exact moment— when he was reminded of Lily and his failure to protect her.
“Draco,” Nott had whispered.
“What is it now, Theo?” Malfoy sneered.
“I want you to know, I don’t care what happens tomorrow. Just come find me after you do it. You’ll still be Draco to me. Nothing has to change.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“Why does it matter?
Nott placed his hand in the centre of the desk, brushing it against Malfoy’s. The latter recoiled in response.
“I need to know that you’re safe,” Nott murmured.
Malfoy stole a glance at Nott’s hand, still on the desk.
“Nothing will be the same after this. Besides, I’m sure they’ll have more exciting work for me to do right after,” Malfoy snarled.
“You’ll always have me. Please, Draco, just say you’ll find me.”
Nott moved his hand closer to Malfoy, avoiding his pained eyes, but Malfoy noticed. He took in a shaky breath and mimicked Nott’s action.
“Some way, I’ll find you, Theo.”
“Promise?”
Malfoy caressed the back of Nott’s hand, curling two fingers around Nott’s pinky.
Leaning down, Malfoy stared into Nott’s eyes and softly added, “Always.”
Nott’s eyes shuddered when Malfoy squeezed his finger; he inhaled a painful breath.
Snape’s heart clenched.
“Malfoy, see me after class,” he bellowed.
Both pure-bloods jumped. Malfoy whipped his head to look at Nott, concern pooled in his eyes, but Nott nodded in reassurance.
“Yes. Um, of course. Right, professor, sir.”
Students continued to work on their essays.
Once dismissed, students leapt to leave the room, slamming the door and leaving a timid Malfoy in front of Snape’s desk. Snape moved his gaze from his parchment to witness Malfoy’s lame attempt at standing upright.
“You wanted to see me, Professor?”
“Yes, Malfoy. Don’t. Mess. It. Up.” Snape went back to grading.
Silence enveloped them.
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“You know I hate to repeat myself, Malfoy, however, to ensure we understand each other. I said, ‘Don’t. Mess. It. Up.’”
Malfoy stood, his jaw agape. He seemed to understand Snape’s unique expressions of satisfaction, but when it came to direct orders, not so much.
“But𑁋”
“Goodbye, Malfoy.”
Snape raised his wand opening the door and Malfoy shuffled out sending another bewildered look to his Head of House.
“Idiots,” Snape snarled to an empty classroom.
Did Malfoy mess it up? Depends on your definition of it.
Malfoy mended a Vanishing Cabinet and Death Eaters infiltrated the halls of Hogwarts. Dumbledore was dead. Students ran, parents were enraged, and there was no end in sight. The Dark Lord was back.
Darkness loomed over Hogwarts and Great Britain at large for months to come. The Carrows relished in the fear they instilled. Blood and ash became customary scents, and screams were lullabies.
Nott remained at school but was detached, avoiding his father. Malfoy attended lessons as he pleased, adhering to orders given by the Dark Lord. Malfoy and Nott finding each other was fate, but Malfoy was right, after that catastrophic night nothing was the same. The hushed whispers stopped, and looks of admiration turned into scowls. No one could know what they shared to keep the other safe.
They were no longer bright-eyed children with silver spoons in their mouths but men hardened by pain, anger, death, and a madman. The dark side wouldn't win, at least Snape hoped.
The beacon of light did come, though unfortunately for Snape, it was Harry Potter, again, this time storming Hogwarts.
The battle was unprecedented, Snape knew he’d die, but when Nagini attacked him, he didn’t expect the world to stop. The silence was deafening. His suffering was coming to an end; it was over.
The touch of death was nothing he could have prepared for. His heart rate slowed, each inhale of breath was excruciating, and his muscles were on fire. This pain was worse in comparison to the Cruciatus Curse when each of his bones snapped, shattered, and healed on an endless loop.
In his final moments, Potter rushed in, squeezing his wound, shaking, and checking for a pulse. Snape understood Harry would be the last person to see him alive. As he stared down death, he couldn’t help but think of Lily.
For years Snape pined for her; he was entranced by her intelligence and beauty. She defended him against bullies while he explained the wizarding world to her. With earnestness he partnered with her in shared classes; he admired that her passion for potions mirrored his. He sought after her in the corridors, the courtyard, and Great Hall longing to listen to her and share hushed secrets. Inseparable, he craved her attention; she offered him a kindness he had never known, a beacon of hope.
Harry really did have her eyes.
As Snape withdrew, he knew time had run out; he couldn’t rewrite the past or find his true love.
Snape wondered if maybe under different circumstances, they would’ve had a chance.
Funny, at every turn, Snape begged for death but now, when finally faced with it, were the circumstances as he predicted? Lying in a pool of his own blood, seeping into the bricks of Hogwarts? Snape didn’t want to die, now— his suffering, a life debt, the bloodshed, and war needed a purpose. He had to know it meant something.
Thank Merlin and Morganna for Hermione Granger.
Within her purple beaded handbag, Granger pulled out her own vial of antivenom. Together she and Potter leaked it into his mouth. Coughing, Snape tasted iron and his voice was strangled. Every muscle ached and his lungs constricted with each breath.
He could tell the real pain had yet to come, but he’d manage until he could get some help. Dying was easy; staying alive was excruciating.
The saviours of the wizarding world rushed out, bringing the end closer. For the next hour he didn’t move an inch, he waited for the final call, holding his breath.
Harry Potter died and was resurrected again. The light won.
Still, wondering if Malfoy messed it up?
Snape watched the wizarding world rebuild itself after the war. While there was pain, people began to move on. Families healed and bonds were formed. His students rose to the occasion and focused on their futures, including Nott and Malfoy.
Nott completed his mastery in potions with high praises and accepted a position at a local apothecary, at Snape’s recommendation; while Malfoy was stripped of his inheritance at Lucius’ insistence, he was relentless in his auror studies and exams. Then, he was promoted to Senior Auror along with his partner, Potter.
Presently, Snape was in attendance of the union of Draco Lucius Malfoy and Theodore Thoros Nott in a small ceremony at a chateau in France. On a warm summer evening, Snape presided over the bonding ceremony in the chateau’s garden while guests sat, enveloped by fresh roses.
Only close family and friends were at the ceremony: Narcissa Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Adrian Pucey, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Andromeda Tonks, Teddy Lupin, and Luna Lovegood. This union was far from a surprise as both wizards made their intentions with each other known following the war.
Last in line, Snape waited to congratulate the couple standing arm in arm, still inseparable as ever. He approached them with a look of disinterest, frowning.
“Well, Mr. Malfoy-Nott, obviously you didn’t mess it up.”
Draco contorted his face and stared at Snape. In return, Snape rolled his eyes, he tilted his head at Draco’s better half who was speaking to Parkinson, unaware of their conversation.
Draco’s eyes landed on Theo; his breath hitched. With widened eyes, he turned back to find a smirking Snape.
Draco then used his champagne glass to hide a shy smile and his blush, nodding at Snape's sentiment. Theo merely smirked when his husband squeezed his waist.
“Now, just don’t muck up this marriage,” Snape added.
Without another word Snape swiftly headed back to his table with the unfortunate Potter; he silently wished they sat him with Zabini and Lovegood.
The couple took centre stage in the garden for their first dance, the sunset cascaded upon them.
Snape chanced a glance at the slow-dancing couple; the look of longing they had in their eyes ages ago was still there.
Snape couldn’t help his twisted smile as he stared into his drink. The abhorrent thoughts of nostalgia crept in as he remembered his post as Hogwarts’ potions master.
Did Snape believe the dark times were over? Maybe, maybe not.
But if he took the past into consideration, then regardless, Draco and Theo may stand a chance.