The weight of expectation.
The days continued to drag on, each one a repeat of the last, as the heat of Cairo simmered outside and the apartment remained their only safe haven. Severus, despite his small stature, seemed to take up more space in the cramped flat than any of the others combined. It wasn’t just his physical presence—it was his quiet, oppressive authority, the way he moved through the apartment like someone who belonged, like someone who was in control.
The others were still adjusting. James had finally given in and was trying his hand at mimicking the local accent, though it still sounded painfully British. Sirius, ever restless, had started to pace more, his sharp eyes scanning every corner of the flat for something, anything, to do. Peter had taken to reading the medical textbooks that Severus had left scattered about, though he was clearly more interested in the pictures than in the actual content. Remus was more thoughtful, his head constantly turning as he tried to make sense of their situation. But all of them were still, in Severus’ eyes, terribly out of place.
Severus himself didn’t seem to mind the quiet much. He spent hours in his room, his textbooks spread out in front of him, his lab coat hanging over the back of a chair. The acceptance letter into the medical school hanging in the frame next to his bed was a quiet reminder of who he was, of the life he was carving for himself away from the chaos of Hogwarts and the dangers that still lingered in the magical world.
One afternoon, as the heat outside seemed to radiate through the walls of the apartment, Severus emerged from his room, his dark eyes scanning the room like a hawk. The four boys were lounging around in various states of discomfort, but Severus hardly spared them a glance as he passed by. Instead, he grabbed a thin, worn notebook from the small table near the door and began to flip through it, muttering under his breath.
“Severus,” James called, propping himself up on one elbow from where he lay sprawled on the couch, his eyes narrowing as he watched their host. “We’ve been here for ages. You can’t keep hiding out in that room. We need to get out of here. The streets—”
“Will kill you if you’re not careful,” Severus interrupted, his voice cold and clipped. He turned to face James, his small frame almost dwarfing the taller boy with the intensity of his gaze. There was something unsettling about how Severus could fill a room despite his height, something magnetic about the way he carried himself. His presence made the rest of them feel just a little too large, a little too obvious.
Sirius snorted, flipping through a local magazine absentmindedly. “I’m starting to think we’re not going to learn anything useful sitting in this flat all day.”
“You’ll learn when I say you’re ready,” Severus snapped, his lips twisting into a thin, cold smile. He glanced down at the notebook in his hand, flicking it open to a specific page before glancing back at the others. “Until then, you’re all a liability. There’s no room for mistakes here.”
The four boys sat up at that, their attention suddenly fixed on him. Severus didn’t raise his voice, but there was something in his tone that made them tense up—a certain finality in the way he spoke. It wasn’t just about their safety anymore; it was about survival. The Death Eaters were still out there, hunting for them, and Severus was their only lifeline.
Remus, always the more thoughtful of the group, exchanged a glance with James, then turned his gaze to Severus. “We don’t want to be a liability. But we need to know what we’re doing here. We need to blend in. Teach us.”
Severus hesitated, as if considering whether he should impart any more of his knowledge to them. His sharp eyes flicked to each of them in turn, the disdain barely hidden behind his cold mask.
“You’ll learn,” he said slowly, “but it won’t be easy. The streets here are filled with people who know how to spot an outsider. They know the signs—the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you look.” His gaze flicked over them, and they all felt it—the subtle, almost imperceptible way his eyes traced over their clothes, their mannerisms, like he was already cataloguing their mistakes.
“Get up,” Severus ordered, his voice brokering no argument. “I’ll teach you something today, but you need to pay attention. And no backtalk.”
The four boys shuffled to their feet, James grinning in spite of himself. “What are we learning, then? Egyptian etiquette?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Severus snapped, already pulling a small duffel bag out from underneath his desk. He tossed it at James, who caught it without thinking. “You’ll be coming with me.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Where to?”
“To the market,” Severus replied curtly. “I’m going to show you how to blend in. If you don’t, the whole lot of you will stand out like a bunch of sore thumbs. It’s better that you learn now, or else you’ll be walking around like tourists the whole summer. And trust me, that’s not something you want.”
With a quick motion, Severus grabbed his own bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He glanced up at them again, and for a brief moment, the four boys saw something in his eyes—a flicker of something that wasn’t just annoyance, but a sharp warning.
“You follow my lead,” Severus said, his voice low, a hint of authority creeping in. “If you step out of line, we’ll be caught. I don’t need to remind you what happens then.”
They followed him out of the apartment, stepping into the narrow street below, where the world felt both overwhelming and strangely unfamiliar. Cairo was alive with sounds, smells, and movement—a chaotic energy that was both dizzying and intoxicating.
Severus led them down the street, walking at a brisk pace, his small frame seeming to vanish into the crowd. He didn’t look back at them, his steps deliberate, the weight of his presence felt in the way he moved through the street with purpose.
The four of them, much larger and more conspicuous, tried to follow his lead. Sirius, despite his natural confidence, found himself hesitating, his eyes scanning the crowds in a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. James stumbled over the uneven pavement, his accent thick and noticeably out of place. Peter, for once, seemed too self-conscious to say anything, his eyes darting nervously around them.
But it was Remus who noticed it first—the way people looked at them, as if they could sense their foreignness. There was a subtle discomfort in the air, a sense that they were being watched.
Severus didn’t stop. He kept walking, his head held high, his posture flawless. He was small next to them, but in this moment, he felt more powerful than any of them. They were the ones trying to blend in, trying to adapt. But Severus had already done this. He already belonged here.
He was home.