𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 / 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒 / 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐖𝐒

𝟏𝟒 - 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟓

You couldn't help but feel silly as you toddled down the first-floor corridor on your way to class. Peter insisted that the two of you take the underclassman route to avoid being seen and or potentially overheard by the other Marauders or—Godric forbid—anyone at all associated with the Black family. You completely agreed with him up until you arrived and found the corridor nearly flooding with first years less than half your size.

If anything, your efforts to go unnoticed only attracted more unwanted attention.

"Potions and Transfiguration. Those are your biggest obstacles," Peter said, voice hushed as you turned a corner and nearly collided with a gaggle of first-year Hufflepuffs. A disgusted look fell over his face and he whisked them away as you two walked. "Shoo, get! Ever wonder why it took us 'til fourth year? Your brother couldn't pass Potions for the life of him. The entire ritual is useless unless you know exactly what you're doing."

Children blinked up at you with eyes wide and rounded. You smiled absently down at them, nodding along as Peter spoke and laughing as he did somersaults to avoid knocking into any sticky-fingered eleven-year-olds.

The two of you had become impossibly close over the two weeks that passed since he found you digging for scraps in the restricted section. He traded much-needed advice for help with his History of Magic paper, though knowing Peter, you were sure he would have been eager to help you either way.

"Potions and Transfiguration," you parrot, committing his words to memory.

"You'll need proficiency in both if you ever want to start the first step before the holiday." The belltower chimed and the crowds grew even denser as the underclassmen began running toward their next class. You remembered what it felt like to feel so small in a castle so large and winding. You didn't even pay mind to the little Ravenclaw who nearly knocked you down, leaving a string of rushed apologies in her wake.

"And you do, by the way," Peter stressed, finding an empty alcove at the base of a narrow staircase and guiding you toward it by the hem of your robes. "Once Christmas is passed, there'll be no time. Not with exams. If you need to wait another year, I—"

"I will be perfectly fine, Petey," you assure him, setting a hand on his shoulder. He almost melts into your touch, the weariness instantly fading from his shy smile. He's been unbelievably tense lately and you suspected that someone was giving him a hard time about spending every available moment at your side, guiding you through the steps of your potential transformation.

Whether or not he believed you, the second chime of the bell commanded him to start his dead sprint toward the Astronomy Tower. "Our spot after lunch? I finally found that book I told you about yesterday."

You nod and wave until his head of short dirty blonde hair disappears from sight. Nothing you said could have been heard over the loud hum of conversation bouncing off the walls of the corridor.

All the way up the stairs, you find yourself lost in a train of thought. Potions and Transfiguration. You had fine marks in either class, but did you really need to take any chances? The way Peter made it sound like your life was on the line didn't really make you feel any more sure of yourself than you were when the thought first came to you spontaneously in the Gryffindor common room.

The old unused stairwell spat you back out in an equally crowded upperclassman hallway, though this time populated by people of similar size. The second bell had no impact on the lax atmosphere here and your peers gathered in pockets along the walls, chatting casually about their everyday dramas.

A patch of empty space caught your eye and you peered past a tight pod of Gryffindor students to see Severus Snape leaning flush against the stone wall, head ducked deep into the pages of a well-loved, fabric-bound book. Everyone seemed to be avoiding him like the plague, going out of their way to leave ample space between his private bubble and the rest of the packed corridor.

In Transfiguration, it was easy to say that you were at the top of your class. But Potions, on the other hand...

You stopped dead in your tracks, a hopeful grin plastering itself across your face. No one knew Potions quite like Severus Snape.

As swiftly and casually as you could, you tucked your satchel into your side and came up behind him until you could clearly see the words on the yellowed page over his lean shoulder. "Aren't you going to be late for class?"

The book snapped shut in a clap of thunder and Severus whipped his head around with the faded blue cover clutched protectively against his chest. His eyes were wild and panicked before they met yours and he smiled briefly (the gesture seeming to creep up on him out of nowhere) before immediately checking behind you for any sign of your brother. While he assured himself that James was nowhere to be found, you took your opportunity to finally read the flaking silver words printed across the front. 

"Potions?" you chirped, nervously fiddling with the leather strap of your satchel. "Don't tell me you're nervous about the test."

The first midterm of the year — a timed, partnered potion-crafting demonstration. Graded by professor and peers. Bella had already cornered every last Slytherin in your class to sway their opinion of your performance, but Slughorn would still surely outweigh the words of your colleagues. 

"No," Severus gulps and awkwardly tries to let the object hang down at his side before changing his mind and pinning it to his chest with his arms folded over it like a shield.

Your smile grew and dug the toe of your black dress shoe into the flagstone. "Good. I was thinking maybe we could make Blackfire Drought. I made a single dose as an extra credit assignment last year but if that's too advanced—"

"Blackfire Drought?" the name spills out of him like he's been waiting all his life to say it. "That's with...salamander's blood and wartcap powder?"

You didn't think your plan could go any more perfectly. "Yes."

He looked around the corridor once, the ghost of a smile gracing his pale lips. "I am...familar with it."

"Oh, good! Slughorn will like that. I'm sure he holds some favor over us yet. If I'm not mistaken, we're the only ones who haven't set our cauldron on fire this term."

Your little joke made him duck his head and a wisp of black hair fell over the bridge of his tall nose. You cursed at that voice inside your head that commanded you to tuck it back along with the rest of his loose curls.

"Listen," you sighed, kicking the spot where the wall met the floor. "I was actually wondering if you'd maybe be interested in tutoring me?" The notion makes you feel silly even before it leaves your mouth.

Severus raised a slim black eyebrow at you and you put up your hands, immediately backtracking. "Not that I need tutoring! I know that we're the top two students in the class. I just–I want for us to stay there." You bit down hard on your bottom lip. This was actually going much worse than you anticipated. "So...study group?"

He looks worried for a moment before you open your mouth once again. "Just me. James will not be in attendance." Nor was he in attendance of any of the tutorings that McGonagall or your parents set aside for him ever in his entire career as a student.

The silence between you grew on the border of uncomfortable for a handful of seconds before he nodded — so shallowly that you almost wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for the subtle shifting of his hair. It wasn't exactly the thrilling acceptance of your proposal that you'd been gunning for, but knowing Severus, a nod was likely the most exuberant response you would ever see from him.

"Delightful," you said, trying not to look too pleased with yourself as you step backward in the moving wave of students. "We can talk later in class? To set up times and such?"

He nodded once more, this time seeming much more sure of himself. You turned away, hand still raised in a shallow wave as you bid your potion's partner adieu. All the while, skipping down the long, stone corridor, you silently scratched an item off of your evergrowing to-do list. 

(A/N: I accidentally wrote Snape like Edward Cullen lmfao but I'm vibing hard with it. Also, this chapter was definitely not written in last second because I saw a sexy edit of my Snape fancast on tiktok. If i could share, I would. He speaks french. FRENCH. Ugh. Farewell!)