Severus Snape sat at the edge of Bruce Mulciber’s bed, his robes slightly rumpled from the day’s lessons. The flickering light of the dormitory’s single candle cast long shadows across the room, making everything feel quieter than it was. Bruce, his lanky frame sprawled across the bed, fiddled absently with the top button on Severus shirt.
“So,” Bruce began, his voice casual but with a hint of something deeper, something that Severus knew was there—unsaid, but not unnoticed. “What are you going to do after Hogwarts, sev?”
Severus gave him a sideways glance, his lips pressed into a tight line, and then turned his attention back to the flickering flame. “Potion master,” he muttered, as though the words alone were a mark of both ambition and a certain solitude.
Bruce chuckled lightly, tossing the Quaffle in the air and catching it. “I can see it. You always were the one who could brew up something even the teachers couldn’t manage. Half the time I wonder if you’re brewing something… dark.”
Severus didn’t react, but he could feel the weight of the implication. There was a time when he might have bristled, when he might have responded with something sharp, but Bruce was different. Bruce, despite his often carefree attitude, knew Severus better than anyone.
“I just want to master it,” Severus said, his voice low but steady. “To create something that lasts. Potions aren’t like charms or transfigurations. They’re permanent, if done right. That’s what I want. To be remembered for something real.”
Bruce shifted on the bed, tossing the Quaffle aside. “Yeah, well, I’m thinking of something a little more… flashy, you know?” He grinned. “Quidditch. I’m gonna play professional. I’ll be a beater for one of the big leagues, make a name for myself, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll win the damn Cup.”
Severus raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Quidditch? Really? A game for children.”
Bruce smirked. “It’s not just a game, Snape. It’s a bloody passion. You wouldn’t understand. You’re too busy with your potions and whatever dark stuff you’re brewing in your little lab.”
Snape’s gaze darkened, but Bruce knew better than to push him too far. He reached over, clapping Severus on the shoulder with a rough affection.
“I’m serious, though. You’re gonna be a master potions maker, and I’m gonna be flying through the skies. We’ll be rich, and famous, and…”
“And what?” Severus asked, almost surprised by the sudden shift in tone.
Bruce’s grin softened, his eyes unfocused for a moment as if imagining a future beyond the confines of Hogwarts. “And we’ll have a place together. A flat or a house. Somewhere quiet where we don’t have to worry about bloody school rules or bloody professors.” His voice grew more earnest. “Maybe even… have kids. You know, one day. Not now. But… eventually.”
Severus snorted, but there was no malice in the sound. He knew Bruce’s dreams weren’t quite as far-fetched as they seemed. The idea of a life after Hogwarts was becoming more real now, as their final year slipped through their fingers like sand.
“Children?” Severus muttered, shaking his head. “You’re dreaming again, Bruce.”
Bruce sat up a little, a more serious edge in his voice. “No. I’m serious. I think we could make it work. You with your potions and me with Quidditch. We wouldn’t even need to be in the spotlight all the time. Just a quiet place, where we can—” He hesitated. “Where we can live our lives. Together.”
Severus stared at Bruce for a long moment. It was an odd thought, a life outside of Hogwarts, without constant tension, without the looming presence of their House’s expectations or the war that seemed to pulse in the background. For a second, Severus allowed himself to imagine it—peace, however fleeting it might be.
“I think,” Severus began slowly, “that it’s a rather ridiculous idea, but…” He paused. “But I suppose… maybe one day, I could see it.”
Bruce’s grin returned, wide and full of that infectious confidence. “I knew you’d come around. We’ll figure it out, love. It’ll be a hell of a ride, but we’ll get there.”
Severus let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, but his expression softened, and for a moment, he didn’t feel so alone in the world. He didn’t know if he could ever truly embrace Bruce’s vision, but the idea of it… of having a future that wasn’t just about potions or dark arts… it was a thought he could entertain. Maybe. Just maybe.
“Yeah,” Severus said quietly, “maybe we will.”
Severus Snape shifted his weight on the edge of the bed, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge of his robe. He was so close to the life he envisioned, the one where his potions would be lauded, where his knowledge would earn him respect, but Bruce’s words—careless, but genuine—lingered in his mind. The future, he realized, wasn’t so clearly defined. It wasn’t just about mastering the cauldron, perfecting each brew, it was about something else. Something more personal.
Bruce sat up fully now, stretching his long arms above his head, the muscles of his back rippling under his shirt. The firelight cast a soft glow on his features, giving his usual cocky expression a rare softness.
“You don’t have to make up your mind right now, you know,” Bruce said, noticing the quiet shift in Severus. “You don’t have to decide whether you’re going to move in with me, or have kids, or… any of that.” His voice softened, as though searching for the right words. “But I think it’s something we can build toward. Together.”
Severus let out a slow breath, unwilling to admit that the notion of partnership, of building something with someone, was both comforting and terrifying. He had never imagined a life where he relied on anyone beyond himself.
His childhood had taught him that—reliance on others was weakness. But Bruce, for all his bravado, had never once made Severus feel weak. There was a certain steadiness to him, an unspoken promise that no matter how dark things became, Bruce would be there—flawed, perhaps, but there.
“I suppose,” Severus said, his voice quieter now, as though confessing something even he hadn’t fully realized, “it’s not the worst idea I’ve heard.”
Bruce grinned, the light returning to his eyes. “Of course it isn’t,” he teased, nudging Severus with his shoulder. “You know, you’ve always been the hardest person to convince of anything. But deep down, I knew you’d come around. And when you do, I’ll be waiting.”
Severus scoffed but couldn’t suppress a slight smile. “You’re impossible.”
Bruce chuckled, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the canopy above. “Maybe. But I can’t be the only one with dreams, right?”
Severus, lost in thought, let his gaze wander to the narrow window. The moonlight cast a faint glow on the grounds of Hogwarts. The familiar towers, the walls that had held them together for seven long years, seemed distant now—like something he was slowly starting to leave behind. The world outside felt much bigger. And the thought of stepping into that world, alongside Bruce, felt almost… natural.
He glanced at Bruce again. His friend. His partner, even if the word had never quite fit before. Bruce Mulciber was nothing like Severus. Bruce was brash, loud, confident—everything Severus had once tried to keep buried within himself. But they understood each other. They always had, in ways that others didn’t. Despite their differences, they made sense together.
“Do you really think we could… manage it?” Severus asked after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the question itself was one he hadn’t been brave enough to ask until now.
Bruce propped himself up on one elbow, his face serious for the first time that evening. “I don’t think, sev. I know.” He looked at him, his eyes steady and unwavering. “We’ve already made it this far, haven’t we? After all the crap we’ve been through at Hogwarts? After everything? We’re still here. And whatever comes next… I think we can handle it.”
Severus felt a weight settle in his chest—both heavier and lighter than he had expected. Bruce’s confidence, though sometimes maddening, was something Severus had come to depend on. The thought of facing the world beyond Hogwarts with Bruce by his side, forging a future out of what they knew now, seemed almost possible.
“I never thought… I’d consider anything like this,” Severus admitted, his voice distant as though the words themselves surprised him. “I’ve spent so long thinking about my work—my potions. I never thought there could be more.”
Bruce gave him a playful shove. “Well, that’s because you’re a bloody workaholic. Honestly, love, sometimes I wonder how you survive all that silence you keep up. You need a bit of noise, a bit of life.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Life?”
Bruce’s grin returned, brighter now. “Yeah, life. You can’t spend your whole existence in your dungeons, brewing up all that… whatever you brew. There’s more to it than that. You need… moments like this. Relaxing, talking about the future, dreaming.”
“Dreaming,” Severus repeated with a hint of sarcasm. “That’s not something I’m good at.”
Bruce’s expression softened again, and for a moment, Severus saw the sincerity in his eyes—the side of Bruce that not everyone got to see. “Well, maybe it’s time you started, then. Start dreaming about things that are… not so dark. About us. About a place where we can both be… more than just Slytherins or students. Where we can be something else. Together.”
Severus exhaled sharply, the weight of his own thoughts almost suffocating. But Bruce was right. Maybe it was time to start considering a life beyond Hogwarts, beyond the walls of expectation and the shadow of the war that was bound to find its way into their lives, no matter how hard they tried to avoid it. Maybe it was time for something else.
“Maybe,” Severus murmured, his voice almost tentative. “Maybe we could try it.”
Bruce’s eyes brightened, and he grinned again, but this time, there was a tenderness to it. “That’s all I’m asking for, sev. Just a maybe.”
The conversation drifted into silence after that, the weight of the future hanging in the air between them like an unspoken promise. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, but inside the dormitory, in the dim light of the candle, Severus allowed himself to imagine—just for a moment—what life might look like beyond the walls of Hogwarts. A life that wasn’t filled with potions or Quidditch matches, but with something simpler, something far more human.
And, just maybe, it wasn’t such a bad thought.