Severus Snape had been holding it together for years.
Not well, perhaps. Not gracefully. But he had held.
And what did he have to show for it? A dungeon full of students who despised him, a spying position that would likely get him killed, colleagues who poked into his business as though he wanted company, and a bloody kettle in the staffroom that never got cleaned despite the fact that he had left several passive-aggressive notes.
The kettle situation was the worst of them all.
So, when Albus suggested a trip to the Hog’s Head for a drink, Severus—who was on the precipice of snapping—allowed himself to be dragged along.
The inn was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old wood, fire, and something distinctly animal-like. Severus barely listened to whatever nonsense Albus was droning on about as he stared down at his untouched drink.
Then, something shifted in his periphery. A small movement near the fireplace.
He looked up.
A goat.
It was curled up near the hearth, a scruffy thing, staring blankly into the flames with the detached serenity of a being that had never been assigned detention duty. It did not have to lecture dunderheads about not setting their robes on fire. It did not have to endure Flitwick’s well-meaning but unbearable attempts at small talk. It did not have to hear Minerva sigh dramatically when he glared at her for using his tea leaves.
It was free.
Severus exhaled through his nose and stood.
“Severus?” Albus asked, pausing mid-sentence.
Severus did not respond. He moved across the room, purposeful, his long cloak sweeping behind him. He knelt beside the goat, his hands carefully slipping beneath its small frame.
The goat gave the slightest noise of surprise before settling.
Severus straightened, lifting the animal into his arms, adjusting it slightly so its hooves wouldn’t catch on his robes.
Then he turned and walked toward the door.
The entire inn fell silent.
“Severus,” Albus called behind him, amused but wary.
Severus kept walking.
“Severus, put the goat down,” Albus tried again, a trace of concern creeping into his voice.
Severus did not put the goat down.
From the bar, Aberforth squinted toward the door, clearly only now realizing something was amiss. “Oi!” he barked. “Is that my bloody goat?!”
Severus tightened his grip on the animal, which blinked up at him in apparent indifference. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Aberforth’s eyes narrowed. “Boy, I have known you since you were a snot-nosed teenager skulking after my brother. I know when you’re lying. That’s my goat.”
Severus turned slightly, looking at him with calculated indifference. “You really ought to get your vision checked, Aberforth. You’re not as young as you used to be.”
“Severus.*” Albus’ voice was firmer now.
Severus held his ground.
“I need it,” he said at last.
Albus sighed. “You don’t—”
“I need it.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Albus stepped forward and reached for the goat.
And Severus—who had survived years of emotional repression, years of pretending things did not affect him, years of standing before the Dark Lord without so much as flinching—chose to break.
His face twisted. His shoulders shook. And before he could stop himself, a great, shuddering sob ripped through him.
Albus froze.
Aberforth swore under his breath.
“Severus—”
“Why must you take everything from me?!” Severus wailed, dramatically pulling the goat closer, its small head now tucked under his chin. “Why, Albus?! What have I done to deserve this?!”
The entire inn was staring now.
Albus hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to call his bluff.
“I have nothing,” Severus continued, fully committing now, voice thick with staged devastation. “Nothing, Albus! No friends, no warmth, no peace! I cannot even have a cup of tea because Minerva never cleans the kettle!”
Aberforth made an incredulous sound. “This is about a kettle?!”
“IT IS ABOUT EVERYTHING!”
Albus sighed, rubbing his temples. “Severus—”
“I AM A BROKEN MAN!” Severus bellowed. “And you would take from me the one thing that has ever brought me joy?!”
“It’s a goat!” Aberforth snapped.
“IT’S MINE NOW!”
At this, Albus sighed again, more deeply this time. He took another step forward, hands outstretched in a placating manner.
“Severus,” he said, calmly, gently, as though trying to soothe a wild animal. “I think perhaps you are… overwhelmed. If you just put the goat down, we can talk about this.”
Severus sniffed, blinking tearily. “If I put it down, you’ll take it away.”
Albus hesitated. “I—”
“I KNEW IT!” Severus wailed. “You don’t care about me at all!”
“Aberforth, just let him have the bloody goat,” Albus muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Aberforth sputtered. “Let him have—?”
Albus turned to face his brother fully. “Do you really want to be responsible for this?” He gestured vaguely to Severus, who sniffled pathetically into the goat’s fur. “Because I would personally prefer never to see him cry again.”
Aberforth stared at him. Then at Severus. Then back at Albus.
Then, with the heavy, exhausted sigh of a man who had officially given up, he waved a hand in defeat. “Fine. Take the damn goat.”
Severus sniffled once more for effect, his fingers curling protectively around his newfound Emotional Support Goat. “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.
Then, clutching his prize, he swept dramatically toward the door, stepping out into the cold winter air, the warm weight of the goat still in his arms.
Victory had never tasted so sweet.
⸻
One Month Later
Severus Snape was in possession of a goat.
This was a problem.
Not for him, of course—Horace was a delight, a beacon of comfort in his wretched existence, a source of warmth in his cold, dead heart. No, the problem lay with everyone else.
Because everyone else seemed to believe that his Emotional Support Goat was not a valid addition to the Hogwarts faculty.
“Severus,” Minerva said carefully, pinching the bridge of her nose, “you cannot bring a goat into the staff room.”
Severus, sitting stiffly in the corner with Horace curled up beside him, raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because it’s a goat, Severus!”
“He is a faculty member,” Severus corrected, stroking Horace’s ears. “More competent than most, I’d wager.”
Horace let out a sleepy baaa.
Flitwick, perched on a chair beside him, clasped his hands. “He is quite adorable,” he said cheerfully.
“Do not encourage this,” Minerva snapped. “Severus, you are a professor at the most prestigious magical school in Britain—you cannot—” She gestured wildly at the goat. “You cannot have a pet goat following you around the castle!”
Severus’ expression darkened. “Pet?” His voice went low, dangerous. “Horace is not a pet, Minerva. He is a companion. A confidant. A source of stability in my otherwise miserable existence.”
Minerva threw her hands in the air. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake!”
Pomona, who had been sitting quietly with her tea, cleared her throat. “I think it’s nice,” she said. “Severus deserves some happiness.”
Severus lifted his chin, smug. “Thank you, Pomona.”
Minerva scowled. “You’re all insane.”
“Oh, come now, Minerva,” Dumbledore said lightly, twinkle in his eye. “Horace is quite harmless.”
“He ate my lesson plans!”
Severus frowned. “That sounds like a you problem.”
Minerva took a deep breath, her eye twitching. “Severus.”
“Yes?”
“Remove. The goat.”
Severus narrowed his eyes. “Make me.”
Minerva lunged.
⸻
Horace became a fixture in Severus’ life.
He followed him down the halls, trotting faithfully at his heels. He curled up under his desk during lessons, chewing quietly on bits of parchment. He sat beside him at meals, nibbling on whatever Severus slipped onto the floor.
The students, at first, had been wary.
“Why does Professor Snape have a goat?”
“Don’t question it, mate. He’ll take points.”
But after a few weeks, Horace had become a legend.
“Petting Professor Snape’s goat before an exam gives you good luck,” a Ravenclaw whispered in the library.
“No, it’s if the goat headbutts you,” a Hufflepuff countered. “It knocks the stress out of you.”
“I heard McGonagall tried to get rid of it and Snape cried until Dumbledore let him keep it.”
“He cried?”
“Like, full-on tears, mate.”
The Slytherins, of course, embraced Horace as one of their own.
He had his own corner in the common room. A tiny Slytherin scarf. A custom gold nameplate on Snape’s office door that read: Professor Horace Snape, Emotional Support Faculty Member.
And if anyone dared to insult their Head of House for his unusual attachment to a goat?
Well.
Let’s just say that the last person to mock Professor Snape was still trying to remove bubotuber pus from their robes.
⸻
It was late one evening when Dumbledore found Severus sitting by the Black Lake, Horace curled up beside him.
The sky was clear, stars shimmering above them, the gentle lapping of water filling the silence.
“You seem… happier,” Dumbledore said softly.
Severus didn’t respond immediately. He ran a hand absently over Horace’s fur, fingers curling gently into the scruffy strands.
“I have something that’s mine,” he murmured at last. “Something that isn’t tied to war. Or duty. Or… expectations.” He swallowed. “Just something… good.”
Dumbledore watched him for a long moment, then smiled.
“I’m glad, my boy.”
Horace let out a sleepy baaa, and Severus, for the first time in a long while, felt something close to peace.