Work Text:
You don't even make it to the Gryffindor table before James has you in a headlock.
“Gryffindor! I knew it!” he crows, practically dragging you off your feet. “Brilliant choice. Inspired, really. I mean, it’s in the blood.”
“Gerroff, James,” you hiss, elbowing him hard enough that he finally lets go, laughing.
Sirius Black whistles down the table. “Another Potter. We’re doomed.”
You roll your eyes, fixing your robes as you drop into the only open seat. It’s only your first night, and already, you’re ‘Potter’s little sister’ to everyone who matters. You pick up your goblet and drink deeply, wishing you could vanish into it.
Thats when you spot him.
Not because he’s loud or smiling or trying to be seen but because he isn’t.
He sits alone at the Slytherin table, shoulders hunched, dark hair hanging like a curtain around his face.
His plate is mostly untouched. His head is bowed. He looks...out of place.
Like he’s already figured out the world has no interest in making space for him.
James is beside you, laughing loudly with Sirius about something you barely hear.
You’re supposed to be celebrating.
You’re supposed to be excited.
Instead, your eyes keep flickering back to the boy in green and silver.
You don’t even know his name yet.
But your heart tugs strangely in your chest—sharp, unexpected.
Like you’ve just stumbled onto something you’re not meant to touch, but can’t look away from.
In your first Potions class, you learn his name.
Severus Snape.
He sits three rows down, ink-stained fingers moving quickly over parchment.
He’s good.
Brilliant, actually.
You notice how fast he jots down notes. How his brow furrows in concentration. How his mouth twists, almost smiling, when Slughorn praises him.
No one else notices.
They’re too busy snickering behind their hands, throwing paper at each other, whispering names you don’t like.
You find yourself defending him before you even realize it.
When Sirius makes a joke about greasy hair, you snap, "At least he’s paying attention."
James throws you a look—half confused, half amused.
You ignore it.
You don’t care.
Not when Severus looks up, just for a second, and you swear he smiles.
The first real moment happens in the library.
You drop your Charms textbook with a loud thud, wincing as Madam Pince glares from behind the desk.
Before you can bend to pick it up, someone’s already there.
Long, slender fingers brush the spine.
Severus Snape straightens, holding the book out to you without a word.
Up close, his face is sharper than you expected. Pale, serious, with eyes that seem to burn right through you.
"Thanks," you mumble, flustered.
He gives the smallest nod.
Almost like he’s not used to being thanked.
Almost like he’s not used to being seen.
You open your mouth—say something, anything— but he’s already gone, disappearing between the stacks.
Still, the warmth lingers in your chest long after he’s gone.
You find yourself looking for him after that.
In the corridors. In the library. At meals.
Sometimes you catch him staring too, quickly looking away when you notice.
Sometimes you imagine what it would be like to sit beside him instead of across the Hall.
Sometimes you wonder what he’d sound like laughing.
James teases you about daydreaming. Sirius makes faces behind your back. You let them.
You don’t tell them your daydreams have nothing to do with Gryffindor Quidditch victories or pranks on Slytherins.
You don’t tell them your heart races faster when you think about a boy with ink-stained hands and tired eyes.
You keep it quiet.
It's weeks later when you’re wandering back to Gryffindor Tower after a disastrous study session (you still can’t get that feather to bloody float properly) when you spot a sliver of candlelight spilling out from under the library doors.
Curious, you push them open.
There he is. Same table. Same hunched shoulders. Same deep focus.
You hesitate. This is stupid. You should go.
Instead, you slip inside and take the seat across from him.
He looks up slowly, suspicion flashing across his face.
“You’re James Potter’s sister,” he says.
“Unfortunately.”
Something flickers in his eyes—amusement? disbelief? You’re not sure.
“Shouldn’t you hate me?”
You shrug. “Maybe I should. But I don’t.”
He huffs a small, disbelieving laugh, then ducks his head, hiding it behind a curtain of hair.
You smile to yourself and crack open one of your books.
You don’t say another word for the next hour, but somehow, you leave feeling like something important just happened.
It becomes a pattern.
Unspoken meetings in the dead hours of night. Shared silences. Snatches of conversation about classes, spells, potions. His sharp wit makes you laugh. Your stubbornness makes him roll his eyes in fond irritation.
You keep it hidden from James, from Sirius, from everyone.
Not because it’s wrong. Because it’s yours.
Because you know no one else would understand
And that’s how it all began.
It’s been five years now since that night in the library. Since he looked at you like he didn’t know what to make of you, and you smiled anyway.
Five years since your little crush turned into love for him.
Five years of stolen moments. Quiet laughter. Shared secrets.
Five years of friendship no one knows about.
Not James. Not Sirius. Not Remus, even though you think he suspects.
Certainly not Lily, who’s been drifting further from Severus with every passing term.
But you—you’ve stayed. Even when he pulled away. Even when he said he didn’t deserve to have anyone.
The library is nearly empty, the candles burned down low to nubs, the sky outside ink-black.
You’re supposed to be studying.
Instead, you’re sitting too close to Severus, knees brushing under the table, pretending not to notice how he’s looking at you.
"You're not concentrating," he says, voice low and dry.
"Neither are you," you shoot back, trying for lightness but failing miserably.
His lips twitch—half a smirk, half something softer.
He leans in a little, close enough that you can smell the faint sharpness of potions clinging to his robes, the worn leather of old books.
You tilt your chin up without thinking.
The world shrinks to the space between your mouths—an inch, a breath, a heartbeat.
You could kiss him. Right now.
You want to.
He freezes, studying you like he’s memorizing your face, like he's terrified and desperate all at once.
For a second, it feels inevitable.
Then a floorboard creaks somewhere in the stacks.
He jerks back like you burned him, eyes darting to the door.
You sit there, heart hammering, lips tingling with a kiss that didn’t happen.
The moment slides between you, thick and heavy and undeniable.
Neither of you says a word.
You turn back to your books, pretending your hands aren’t shaking.
He does the same.
But it’s too late now.
You both know something's changed.
The next day, James corners you after lunch.
“You’ve been off lately,” he says, arms crossed. “Everything okay?”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, James. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”
Sirius laughs. Remus doesn’t.
You feel their eyes on you long after you walk away.
Later you find yourself sitting with Severus in the old greenhouse, knees bumping under the low wooden bench, the only light coming from your shared wand resting on the windowsill.
The world outside is silent. The castle's asleep. But you’re wide awake.
You're arguing—again.
About something stupid. Some half-forgotten Potions theory from class.
"You’re wrong," you insist, poking him in the ribs.
He catches your hand easily, fingers wrapping around yours in a slow, deliberate movement.
You should pull back.
You don’t.
Instead, you stay like that—caught between stubbornness and something thicker, something heavier that you’ve both been pretending not to feel.
His thumb brushes across your knuckles absentmindedly.
It’s such a small thing.
But it makes your whole body go still.
You look up at him.
He’s already looking at you.
The argument dies in your throat.
All you can hear is the rush of your own pulse.
He leans in a fraction.
Enough to make your breath hitch. Enough that you could pretend it’s nothing if you wanted to.
You don’t want to.
Your free hand lifts instinctively—tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips.
He closes his eyes like he’s in pain.
When he opens them again, you see it—laid bare for the first time.
Want. Fear. Hope.
"You should stop me," he says, voice rough and uncertain.
You don’t move. You just whisper, "Don't stop."
And that’s it.
He closes the distance.
The kiss is nothing like you expected.
It’s clumsy. It’s too hard at first, teeth bumping awkwardly.
You both laugh, breathless and nervous.
Then he tilts his head, and you tilt yours, and suddenly— it's right.
His mouth moves against yours with a kind of desperation, as if he's been holding back for too long and doesn't know how to be gentle about it anymore.
You slide your hand into his hair, tugging him closer.
He groans quietly into your mouth, his other hand finding your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.
You kiss him back like you’re afraid you’ll never get the chance again.
When you finally pull apart, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours.
Neither of you speaks. There’s nothing to say.
The first kiss should have been enough.
It should have been a fluke—a mistake to laugh off, bury under awkward silences and mumbled excuses.
It should have ended there.
But it didn't.
Instead, it ignited something.
Something that had been smoldering between you for years, waiting for the right spark.
Now, every look lingers too long. Every brush of hands feels electric. Every stolen second alone turns dangerous.
You crave him like oxygen. always have.
And judging by the way Severus watches you when he thinks you’re not looking, the way his hands twitch at his sides like he’s fighting himself—he craves you too.
It starts small.
A kiss stolen in the shadows of a stairwell. A hand slipping under your robes to squeeze your hip before disappearing into the crowd. A whispered, "Meet me tonight." against the shell of your ear that makes your knees go weak.
You both know it’s reckless. You both know it can’t stay hidden forever but it’s already too late.
You’re too far gone.
And the taste of his mouth still clinging to yours is all the excuse you need to chase it again.
The corridor is abandoned except for you and Severus, hidden half behind an ancient suit of armor.
Your back slams lightly against the stone wall as he presses into you, mouth moving hungrily against yours, hands braced on either side of your head.
You wind your fingers into his hair, tugging him closer, swallowing the broken sounds he makes against your lips.
Footsteps echo from somewhere down the hall.
You both freeze—lips still barely touching, breaths harsh against each other's skin.
Severus pulls back just enough to whisper against your mouth, "Later."
You kiss him once more anyway, fierce and reckless, before darting away in opposite directions.
And again.
You slip into the back corner of the library, pretending to search the dusty shelves.
Severus is already there, hidden in the shadows between towering bookcases.
No words.
Just his hand catching yours, pulling you into the gloom.
He cages you between the shelf and his body, kissing you before you can even breathe.
It’s slow, deep, burning.
Your hands slide up under his open robe, tracing warm skin and the sharp bones of his hips.
He bites back a low sound when your hips brush.
You both know this is insane. You both don't care.
And neither of you is going to stop.
The greenhouse is humid, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming moonflowers when he asks you to be his girlfriend. You barley have said yes before Severus grabs your waist, hoisting you up onto the long wooden worktable.
You wrap your legs around him automatically, pulling him flush against you.
His mouth is frantic against yours, fingers digging into your thighs.
Your hands trail under his shirt, feeling the sharp contrast between damp fabric and burning skin.
A pot clatters to the floor behind you.
You both freeze, staring at the door.
When no one comes, he just growls low in his throat and kisses you harder.
Like he can't stand being careful anymore now that he can call you his.
You push open the portrait hole as quietly as you can.
The Fat Lady mutters grumpily under her breath, but you slip through before she can scold you properly.
It’s nearly midnight.
The common room is dark, save for the dying embers in the fireplace. Chairs pushed askew, books forgotten on tables. Silent.
You breathe out slowly, easing toward the girls' staircase—
"Where were you?"
The voice cuts through the dark like a knife.
You jump, spinning around.
James sits in one of the armchairs, half-sunken into the cushions, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glinting in the low firelight.
Waiting.
Watching.
"I—I was in the library," you lie, too fast.
He arches a disbelieving brow. "Library closes at ten."
"Studying," you mumble, heat prickling at the back of your neck. "Lost track of time."
James stands slowly, unfolding himself to his full, infuriating height.
"You've been disappearing a lot lately," he says carefully, like he's testing the waters. "Skipping meals. Staying out after curfew. Coming back looking like—" He gestures vaguely at you—your wrinkled robes, your tangled hair, your flushed cheeks.
You cross your arms defensively.
"So what? I'm not allowed to have a life?"
"Depends who's in it," he says, voice sharp.
You meet his gaze stubbornly.
He narrows his eyes. Searching your face for something you won't give him.
Finally, he shakes his head, disgusted.
"Whatever," he mutters, brushing past you toward the boys' staircase. "But if you think I'm not paying attention—you’re wrong."
The words hang behind him like a curse.
You stand there long after he’s gone, heart hammering.
James is suspicious.
Too suspicious.
James lounges in one of the worn-out armchairs in the Gryffindor common room the following night, tossing a Chocolate Frog in the air and catching it lazily.
You’re supposed to be upstairs.
Asleep. Safe. Instead, you’re nowhere to be seen.
Again.
"You know," Sirius says, grinning as he drops into the chair beside him, "if you’re so worried about her sneaking off, we could just check."
James frowns. "Check what?"
Sirius smirks, pulling a folded, worn piece of parchment from his pocket.
James' stomach sinks.
The Marauders' Map.
"Always knew you were paranoid, Prongs," Sirius says easily. "Now you can prove it."
James hesitates—guilt flickering in his gut but not enough to stop him.
He taps the map once with his wand.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The parchment comes alive under his hands, black ink curling into familiar hallways and stairwells.
Dots labeled with names begin to appear all over the map—some clustered in dormitories, some roaming late through the castle.
He scans quickly.
No sign of you in Gryffindor Tower. Not in the library. Not in the Great Hall.
His stomach knots tighter.
Then he sees it.
Severus Snape Y/N Potter
In an abandoned classroom.
Far from everything else.
He doesn't think. He shoves to his feet, knocking the chair over, map clutched tight in his hand.
"Where are you going?" Remus asks sharply.
James doesn't answer.
He’s already gone, heart hammering, fists clenched.
Already sprinting down the stairs, across the courtyard, through the darkened halls.
Already knowing—knowing—that whatever he finds won't be something he can ever unsee.
Already furious.
You had once again sneaked out to meet Severus in the abandoned classroom where you always meet now. You had found it by accident after looking for a quiet place to make out in peace.
He’s already there, leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, hair falling into his eyes. He looks every bit the dark, dangerous secret he’s always been—and he is all yours.
You slip inside without a word. His wand flicks. The door shuts with a low thunk.
You set your books down noisily, pretending you don’t see him watching you.
Pretending you’re not vibrating with the need to touch him.
He crosses the room in two long strides.
“You’re late,” he says quietly, but there’s no real bite to it.
“Did you missed me?“ you tease, smirking.
He shakes his head, that small, private smile you love flashing across his face.
“You have no idea how much.”
His fingers skim your sleeve first. Testing. Asking.
When you don’t move, he steps closer.
His hand slides down your arm slowly—slow enough to make you shiver—and tangles his fingers with yours.
The kiss is inevitable.
You lean into him, your mouth finding his easily, naturally, like you were made for it. His hands come up to cup your jaw, tilting your head just right, deepening it.
And when he kisses you properly—really kisses you—you forget how to stand.
Your back hits the desk. His robes are cool against your legs as he presses between them. His fingers slip under your shirt, tracing your ribs lightly, making you arch into his touch.
He breathes your name against your throat.
You tug at the buttons of his shirt, frustrated when they don’t come undone fast enough. He laughs—quiet and strained—and pulls it over his head instead, leaving him gloriously rumpled and flushed.
You run your hands across the planes of his chest, savoring the way he shudders under your touch.
"Severus," you whisper, pulling him closer.
He groans low in his throat, like he’s barely holding himself back.
He lifts you onto the desk properly, standing between your knees now, and drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, the hollow at your throat. His teeth scrape lightly over your skin, making you gasp.
His hands are everywhere—your hips, your back, your thighs. opening your shirt.
You cling to him, kissing him harder, needing more.
Your shirt is pushed open, your skirt hitched higher around your waist. You feel him against you, hard and trembling with restraint, and it hits you how close you are to not stopping this time.
He breaks away long enough to mutter, "Tell me to stop."
"I don't want to," you breathe, pulling him back.
You want this. You want him.
Completely.
His hand slides up your thigh, hesitating only a second before moving higher.
You gasp against his mouth.
He curses under his breath—your name twisted into something desperate—and then he is laying you back against the desk with heartbreaking care.
You feel his hands fumble with the button of your skirt—
The door crashes open with a bang so loud it rattles the old windows.
You barely register the sound—too wrapped up in Severus, in the heat of his mouth on your neck, the desperate clutch of his hands on your hips.
You gasp, shoving Severus back instinctively.
He freezes.
And you turn—already knowing.
Already dreading.
James stands in the doorway, wand drawn, face contorted with something worse than rage.
Betrayal.
James' gaze flicks between you, taking in every disastrous detail. And then he moves.
Fast.
He barrels across the room and shoves Severus back with both hands.
"GET YOUR BLOODY HANDS OFF HER!" James roars, voice cracking.
Severus stumbles but doesn’t fight back, hands raised, palms open.
"James, STOP!" you cry, scrambling off the desk, yanking your shirt closed with trembling fingers.
He doesn’t even look at you.
"You slimy little bastard," James snarls at Severus, wand jabbing at his chest. "How long has this been going on, huh? How long have you been sneaking around with my sister like some—some filthy—"
"Don’t!" you scream, shoving James back now, standing between them. “It’s not what you think—”
"Not what I think?! I caught you practically shagging Snape on a classroom desk!“ He got even more furious saying it pulling you away from Severus and bringing himself between the two of you again.
"We're together, James!” you shout, chest heaving. “We've been friends since my first year. We didn’t expect to catch feelings.“
James flinches like you hit him.
"You—you let him touch you For Years?! That greasy git?!"
„Don’t talk about him like that! I love him!" you shout.
It rips out of you before you can stop it.
The words hang heavy in the air.
Severus speaks then, voice low and broken: "I love her too I won’t hurt her…“
James rounds on Severus.
"You think loving her matters?" he spits. "You really think that matters?! after what you said to Lily?! You truly think you are worthy of my Sister!? You think loving her makes you deserve her?!You don't even deserve to breathe the same bloody air as her!“
Severus recoils.
Not from James.
From the truth he already believes.
You see it hit him like a curse.
Hard.
Final.
You step toward him, desperate, reaching out.
“Sev—”
He shakes his head once. Sharp.
He bends to scoop up his shirt from the floor with shaking hands, not meeting your eyes.
"Severus," you plead, grabbing his arm. "Please. Don’t—"
He pulls away like your touch burns him.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." he says, voice cracked and broken.
And then he shoves past you both and bolts out the door.
You lurch forward without thinking.
"Severus—!"
You’re halfway to the door when an arm wraps around you, dragging you back.
"Y/N, STOP!" James snaps, voice urgent, tight with anger.
You thrash against him, struggling, fighting to break free.
"Let me GO!" you scream, kicking and shoving, but he won’t loosen his grip.
"Just listen to me!" James hisses into your ear. "He’s not good for you. You’re upset—you’re not thinking straight. Whatever he told you it was just to ruin you."
"I’m thinking clearer than I ever have!" you sob, fists pounding uselessly against his chest. "And you—you’re the one who ruined it!"
James pulls you back harder, trying to force you to face him.
"You’ll thank me someday," he says, voice trembling. "I—I had to. I couldn’t stand there and watch you throw your life away on—on him."
You whip around, shoving him back with both hands.
"Thank you?" you repeat, voice rising. "You think I’ll THANK you for this?"
You step forward, shaking with fury and heartbreak.
"You didn’t save me, James," you hiss. "You broke me."
James' mouth opens—maybe to defend himself, maybe to argue.
You cut him off.
"You have NO right," you shout. "No right to decide who I love. No right to tear him down in front of me. No right to rip apart the one thing that made me feel like I wasn’t just—just some extension of YOU!"
Your voice cracks completely, the sob ripping out of you.
"He loves me," you choke out. "And you—you made him think he was a monster for it."
James grabs your wrists, trying to steady you, but you wrench away.
"He left because of YOU!" you sob. "Because you couldn’t see anything but your own damn hatred!"
James looks stricken.
"Y/N—"
You turn away from him, chest heaving, heart aching so badly you don’t know how you’re still standing.
"I love him," you whisper again, broken and quiet now. "And now he’s gone because you made him believe he shouldn’t have ever touched me. Like being with me and loving me is wrong…“
The Gryffindor common room is nearly empty when James hauls you through the portrait hole.
The fire burns low, casting long shadows across the floor.
Sirius is slouched on one of the couches, tossing a Gobstone from hand to hand.
Remus sits nearby, a book forgotten in his lap, brows furrowed.
They both look up when you enter and freeze.
You’re pale. Empty. Your clothes rumpled, your hair a mess, your face so hollow it doesn’t even look like you anymore.
You don’t say a word. You don’t even look at them.
You just walk—no, stumble—across the room and up the girls' staircase without stopping.
The dormitory door clicks shut behind you.
The silence you leave behind is deafening.
James stands there for a second, fists clenching and unclenching, breathing hard like he’s just fought a war.
Maybe he has.
"What the bloody hell happened? Who did she sneak off with?" Sirius demands, sitting up straight, the Gobstone forgotten, rolling onto the floor.
James turns, jaw tight.
"Snivellus" he spits.
Remus' eyebrows pull together sharply.
Sirius whistles low. "Snape? Seriously?"
James paces, dragging a hand through his hair.
"Had her pinned against a bloody desk," he snarls. "Half-dressed. Hands all over her—"
Sirius swears loudly, jumping to his feet. "You should’ve cursed his bollocks off!"
James shakes his head violently. "I should’ve killed him."
Remus stays silent. Watching. Thinking.
"He must have messed her up badly the way she looked like" Sirius presses, jaw set.
James doesn’t answer at first. When he finally speaks, his voice is raw.
"She said she loves him."
The words hang in the air, ugly and unbelievable. Sirius looks like he’s about to vomit. Remus just sits there, silent, pale, staring at the stairs you disappeared up.
Not at James.
Not at Sirius.
"She’s not thinking straight," James insists, half to them, half to himself. "She’s innocent. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. He—he’s twisted her around."
Sirius nods fiercely, fanning the flames. "Exactly. She’ll realize. She’ll thank you for saving her."
James nods along with him, desperate for someone to agree.
Remus just watches the fire crackle and die, his mouth a thin, worried line.
Finally, he speaks—quietly, too quietly.
"I don’t think she’s going to thank you, James."
James freezes.
"What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"
Remus looks at him—really looks at him—and sighs.
"I think you just broke something you can’t fix."
No one says anything after that.
The fire guttered low. The common room swallowed in shadows. The world tilting under their feet—and none of them knowing how to stop it.
And upstairs, behind a closed door, you cry into your pillow for the boy who ran—and the brother who pushed him away.
Next morning everywhere you go, one of them is there—leaning against the corridor wall, “casually” reading a book by the portrait hole, “just happening” to walk into whatever room you’re in.
If you so much as glance toward the dungeons, Sirius is suddenly cracking a joke, slinging an arm around your shoulders and steering you in the opposite direction.
If you take too long at dinner, James nudges your plate toward you, frowning like you’ve committed a crime by not eating.
You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You sure as hell can’t slip away to find Severus.
At first, you try.
You sneak toward the library after dinner:
Sirius appears two corridors over, yawning theatrically.
You slip out early from Charms:
James is waiting outside the classroom door, arms crossed.
It’s suffocating.
Eventually, you stop trying.
You stop talking. You stop laughing. You become a ghost in your own life—going to classes, eating mechanically, staring through people when they speak to you.
You exist but that’s all.
You don’t even bother looking for Severus anymore.
Because when you catch the briefest glimpse of him—across the courtyard, by the greenhouses—you see it.
The wreckage.
He’s thinner, paler. He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t speak unless forced. Doesn’t meet anyone’s eye.
If he sees you in the hallway, he turns sharply and disappears down another corridor.
Like you’re poison now. Like loving you hurt too much to bear.
The castle feels wrong without him. Without you.
Without the part of yourself you gave him and can’t get back.
One evening, after a long, miserable dinner where James and Sirius chatter loudly about Quidditch like everything’s fine, you excuse yourself early.
You climb the stairs alone, footsteps hollow on the stone.
You reach the dormitory, shut the door softly behind you, and collapse onto your bed.
You lie there fully clothed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the laughter drift up from the common room below.
It doesn’t feel like your laughter anymore.
You don't even recognize the girl they think they’re protecting.
And miles away in the dark corridors of the castle, Severus Snape leans his forehead against the cold stone wall and wonders why letting go hurts worse than holding on ever did.
It’s another miserable evening in the common room.
You sit by the fire, pretending to read, staring at the same page for half an hour.
James and Sirius are across the room, laughing too loudly about something stupid, like the world hasn’t cracked open and swallowed you whole.
You don’t laugh. You barely breathe.
Remus watches you. He watches the way your shoulders sag lower every day. He watches the way your eyes stay dull, unseeing, unfocused. He watches the way you shrink smaller and smaller until you barely take up space at all.
And finally, he’s had enough.
He stands up abruptly crossing the room and sits down across from you.
When you glance up, startled, he says it—simple and quiet:
"Go to him. He is at the old Astronomy Tower."
You blink.
It takes a second to even register the words.
Behind him, James and Sirius whip their heads around like they’ve just heard a curse word.
"What?!" James explodes, half-rising from his seat.
"Have you lost your mind, Moony?" Sirius demands.
Remus doesn’t even turn. He keeps his gaze steady on you.
"You heard me," he says calmly. "Go to Severus. I saw him go there after dinner I am sure he is still there."
You open your mouth—whether to argue or cry, you don’t know—but James storms over before you can speak.
"Remus, you can't be serious!" James hisses. "After what he did—after what she almost did—"
"He didn’t force her," Remus cuts in sharply. Still quiet but deadly.
James flinches.
"You two," Remus says, voice low, "have been watching her like a bloody hawk. Controlling her. Smothering her. And look at her now."
He gestures to you.
You sit frozen, hands clutching the book in your lap so tightly your knuckles are white.
"She's not better off," Remus continues. "She's not happier. She's breaking apart. It's YOU she needs saving from and not Severus"
James' mouth opens.
"She is perishing in front of us. Obeying you and it's killing her." Remus says, louder now, anger crackling just under the surface. "And you call that protection? Her being heartbroken just so You can be happy?"
Sirius shifts uncomfortably, looking away.
James stares at you like he sees it for the first time—the hollowness in your eyes, the defeat carved into your face.
It hits him like a blow.
Remus stands, taller than you’ve ever seen him, voice steady and firm.
"You love him," he says to you. "And he loves you."
You shake your head, tears burning in your eyes. "It's to late...He left—"
"Because he thought it was what you needed," Remus says gently. "Because James made him believe it."
He steps closer.
"You deserve to be with the one you love, happy." he says, soft but fierce. "Not trapped in someone else's idea of who you should be."
He glances at James now, full of steel.
"Go. Be with him and if anyone tries to stop you again," he adds, voice dropping dangerously low, "they'll have to answer to me."
James stiffens. Sirius stares at the floor.
Remus turns back to you.
"Go," he says simply. "Don't waste another bloody second and don't ever let go again."
And for the first time in weeks—
You feel like you can breathe again.
You don’t say thank you. You don’t say goodbye. You just run—faster than you ever have—out into the night, chasing the only thing that’s ever made you feel whole.
The castle is dark and empty when you run. Corridors blur past you.
Your chest aches with every breath, shoes slap against the cold stone floor but you don’t stop. Not until you reach the place you need.
The old Astronomy Tower.
The one place where the world always felt just a little farther away.
You shove the heavy door open and spill onto the stairs.
Up and up, higher and higher, heart in your throat.
And there slumped against the far wall, knees drawn to his chest, head bowed—
Severus.
For a long moment, you just stand there.
Frozen.
He looks so small. So broken. So far from the boy who once argued with you over Potions essays and sneaked kisses behind dusty curtains.
You take a trembling step forward. He doesn't look up.
You whisper, "Severus?"
He flinches like you hit him.
"You shouldn’t be here," he says hoarsely, voice raw from disuse or crying—you can't tell.
You move closer anyway.
He finally lifts his head. His eyes are bloodshot. Haunted.
And full of so much guilt it nearly floors you.
"I left," he says brokenly. "I left so you could find better. You should Hate me."
You shake your head furiously, blinking away the tears blurring your vision.
"I could never hate you," you whisper.
He laughs then—a terrible, hollow sound.
"You should," he mutters. "Your brother was right. I’m—I'm nothing. I’m—"
"Stop," you say sharply, dropping to your knees in front of him.
He tries to look away. You grab his face between your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze.
"Don't you dare," you whisper fiercely. "Don't you dare let him make you believe that."
Tears spill down your cheeks, but you don’t let go.
"You are mine," you say, voice shaking with the force of it. "You are good and you are brilliant and you are everything to me."
His hands tremble as he grips your wrists.
"You deserve better," he chokes out.
"I don’t want better," you snap. "I want you."
Something crumbles in him then.
You feel it. The last wall cracking and falling apart between you.
He surges forward, crushing his mouth to yours—desperate, broken, real.
You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, closer until there's no space left between you.
Tears mix with the kiss, but neither of you cares.
Not anymore.
You’re here. He’s here.
And that’s all that matters.
When you finally break apart, panting, foreheads pressed together, you whisper the only thing that matters:
"I love you."
You feel him shudder against you.
"I love you too," he whispers back, voice wrecked.
"And I’m not leaving," you promise. "Not ever again."
He pulls you into his arms then, holding you so tightly it nearly hurts.
You hold him just as tightly back.
Two broken pieces, fitting back together.
And for the first time in weeks—you feel whole again.
The grass is cool beneath you, the spring air sharp and fresh.
You sit cross-legged under one of the big oaks near the lake, a book open across your lap. Severus leans against the trunk beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours with every shift.
He’s reading too—or pretending to.
Mostly, he keeps glancing at you from under his lashes, as if still half-convinced you might vanish if he looks away too long.
You lift your head and catch him staring.
"What?" you tease, cheeks warm.
He just shakes his head, smiling in that small, secret way only you ever get to see.
"Nothing," he says. "Everything."
You reach up and brush a strand of hair out of his face.
He leans into your touch without thinking, eyes fluttering shut.
You kiss his forehead—slow, lingering.
He wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you closer until you’re half in his lap, laughing breathlessly.
"You’re ridiculous," you murmur against his temple.
"You chose me," he reminds you, voice full of wonder.
"Always," you whisper.
For once, there’s no fear. No hiding. No need to look over your shoulder.
Just you and him.
And the sunlight weaving between you like a blessing.
You don’t even hear them at first. The crunch of footsteps across the grass. The shift in the air.
Severus stiffens beneath you.
You twist to look.
James. Sirius. Remus.
Walking back from the Quidditch pitch, laughing and loud—until they see you.
Then everything stops.
Severus’ body tenses even more under your hands. You feel the old fear rising in him—automatic, instinctual. He shifts, like he might pull away.
You don’t let him.
You tighten your grip around his waist, leaning in, pressing a kiss just under his jaw.
You stay.
You don’t hide. You hold him in the open and dare anyone to take him from you.
James' mouth tightens. Sirius’ jaw clenches.
Remus lingers back, watching, unreadable.
Severus doesn't move. Neither do you.
After a long beat, James looks away first.
He turns, stiff and silent, walking on without a word. Sirius follows, slower, frowning.
Only Remus pauses.
He meets your eyes across the space.
And he smiles. Soft. Certain. Proud.
He nods once—small but full of meaning—before jogging after the others.
Severus slumps slightly against you, breathing out shakily.
"They didn't—" he starts.
You kiss the corner of his mouth.
"They won't," you promise.
He threads his fingers through yours.
And together, you watch the lake sparkle in the late afternoon light.
Free.
Seen.
Loved.
At last.