snakes and celebrations
January 8th, 1976
8.30pm
The night was as cold and damp as before, with the forest cloaked in a pale, silver mist. Severina and Sirius trudged along the familiar path, their footsteps echoing in the quiet of the Forbidden Forest. Last night’s detention—gathering food for the ailing manticore cub—was still fresh in their minds. Now, as Professor Kettleburn’s lantern swung ahead of them, the professor’s gruff voice cut through the darkness.
“Miss Snape, Mr. Black,” he barked as they reached a clearing, “I trust you managed to complete yesterday’s task to my satisfaction. Unfortunately, it appears the cub has not improved. You will repeat the assignment tonight. I expect the same precision—and no more lost limbs.”
Black muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as he glanced at Severina. “Again? I swear, if I have to pick up another jar of slime, I’m going to lose it.”
Severina kept her expression impassive, though irritation prickled at her nerves. “You didn’t pick up any last time, anyways.” She hissed. She had spent last night meticulously gathering fungi and insects, whilst Black stood about chattering on about the unfairness of the task, though he didn’t do anything himself. Now, to do it all over again.
They moved back into the forest with the same list Kettleburn had provided, which was scrawled in messy handwriting and, as if mocking their ordeal, unchanged from the night before. The forest seemed to echo with their reluctant sighs. Severina’s mind raced in familiar patterns: every step measured, every movement precise.
They reached the mossy clearing where the manticore cub’s enclosure lay. The cub was there, weakly stirring in its corner, and the task was clear: replenish its food supply.
“Let’s get on with it,” Severina said tersely, her voice steady despite the annoyance bubbling underneath.
Black grumbled, trailing behind her as they set off to collect the necessary items. Their first stop was a familiar patch of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the base of an ancient oak. Severina’s careful fingers began gathering the fungi with methodical precision, each one inspected and aligned perfectly in her enchanted satchel. But as she worked, she couldn’t help but notice Black’s constant muttering of discontent.
“Bloody insects, bloody fungi—if I have to do this all over again, I might as well be cleaning cauldrons!” he complained, his tone a mix of sarcasm and genuine irritation.
Severina shot him a sharp look, silently willing him to be quiet. “At least I don’t enjoy it,” she replied coolly, focusing on the task at hand.
They continued through the undergrowth, their path marked by the damp scent of earth and decaying leaves. As before, Severina soon discovered a cluster of wriggling blood slugs hidden beneath a patch of moss. With practiced precision, she levitated them into a small glass jar, each movement exact and controlled—an effort to reclaim the order she so desperately craved in the chaos of detention.
Black watched her, his eyes flicking over the container. “You do love your neat little collections, don’t you?” he teased.
“Unlike you,” Severina shot back, her voice low and edged with irritation, “I prefer not to wallow in filth.”
“Nothing filthy about this body, Sevvy.” Black motioned to himself.
Severina wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’ve already told you not to call me that.”
“And that just makes me want to do so that much more.”
They moved deeper into the forest, the bickering continuing, following a narrow, winding path. The air grew cooler, the sounds of the forest shifting from chirps and rustles to an almost eerie silence. It was then that a soft hissing broke through the stillness—a sound that made Severina’s pulse quicken. She froze, her eyes darting around until she caught sight of a flash of movement among the ferns. There, coiled silently on a bed of damp leaves, lay a small snake with iridescent scales that shimmered in the moonlight.
Her stomach fluttered unexpectedly—a mixture of alarm and an odd sense of curiosity. The snake was clearly in distress; its movements were sluggish, and it lay unnaturally still in one corner. Severina’s meticulous nature took over. “That’s not on the list,” she murmured, kneeling carefully beside it. Her fingers hovered over her wand, but she hesitated, conflicted by the task at hand and the unexpected creature before her.
It was dying - she knew, and it would die unless she did something about it.
Sirius’s voice broke through, laced with mock indignation. “What have you got there, Snape? Going to rescue every miserable creature you see?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes flickered with genuine interest.
She ignored Black, who was suddenly lurking over her shoulder, to reach out and gently prod the snake. She realized that it wasn’t dangerous, merely frightened and in need of care. Its slow, sluggish movements indicated a poisoning, most probably a bite from another snake.
She decided then: perhaps the snake would be useful in some other way. Nikolai adored snakes, and she could almost see his face light up if she presented this little creature as a gift. Carefully, she extended her wand and cast a gentle Confining Charm, coaxing the snake into a small, transparent container that had materialized from a neat flick of her wrist. Her movements were exacting—each motion precise, each incantation measured—so that not a single scale was out of place.
“Aparifors.” She whispered.
Black watched, a smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “You’re something else, Snape. Not only do you have the nerve to stand up to them, but you’re also turning into a bit of a snake charmer.”
“What can I say,” she retorted coolly, “I am a slimy snake after all.” The faint satisfaction in her tone was evident even as her eyes briefly betrayed a small, reluctant smile.
His eyes flickered with something hesitant- regret maybe, but it couldn’t be, not from black.
“Snape-“
“Let’s just finish this off.”
They continued gathering the remaining items for the manticore, but the snake remained the focal point of her thoughts. Every now and then, her eyes would linger on it, and in those moments, she imagined Nikolai’s delighted expression. The idea softened the edges of the evening just a little.
By the time Kettleburn returned, the satchel was filled with a carefully curated collection of fungi and insects. The manticore cub’s enclosure now contained a bowl of food that promised nourishment, but it was the snake—nestled safely in its container—that consumed Severina’s thoughts.
Their task complete, Kettleburn’s gruff voice echoed once more from somewhere ahead. “Still alive? Good enough. Off you go!”
Without another word, Severina turned toward the castle, her satchel heavy with the night’s work. Sirius, still trailing, muttered, “That was almost fun.”
She shot him a withering look. “I’m sure standing around for two hours chattering about nothing is always thrilling for you, Black.”
He only grinned wider, as if to defy her. “You know me so well!”
As they neared the castle doors, their earlier banter dwindled into silence.
With a final muttered remark about digging through dirt, Severina stepped into the castle, leaving the cold forest behind, and the night’s chill gave way to the warm glow of familiar corridors.
Severina stepped back into her dorm room after her shower, the warm glow of enchanted lanterns a welcome contrast to the chill of the forest. She closed the door quietly behind her and exhaled a long, shuddering breath. On her desk lay the small, transparent container she’d carefully secured in the forest—inside, the snake rested motionless.
She lifted the lid with deliberate care, her fingers steady despite the tremor of exhaustion still echoing from the night’s detention. The snake was small—no longer than her forearm—with iridescent scales that shimmered like droplets of dew in the low light. Its sleek body, a mix of deep emerald and subtle hints of gold, moved imperceptibly as if it were breathing. Its eyes, dark and unblinking, seemed to hold a quiet intelligence, both mysterious and vulnerable.
For a long moment, she simply watched the snake. In that silent vigil, her mind drifted back to the night in the forest—the relentless task, the bitter banter with Sirius, and even the strange comfort of working through something so tangible, so messy. The snake, with all its slick, graceful beauty, had become a symbol of something unexpectedly precious amid the punishment.
It breathed softly, the healing charm she had cast over it previously working its magic. She had been right then- it was poison that had been ailing the small creature.
Her thoughts shifted, and she couldn’t help but picture Nikolai’s face lighting up at the sight of it. That image brought a reluctant warmth to her chest. This creature, though small and slimy, was something she could offer to him
Setting the container down carefully, she traced the smooth contours of its surface with a fingertip. She knew that later, when she presented the snake to Nikolai, he’d be delighted—perhaps even fascinated by its glimmering scales and the story behind it.
As she sat there, the quiet ticking of an old clock on the wall filled the space, each tick a reminder that, despite the chaos of the night, time continued to march on. In that gentle, rhythmic pulse, Severina felt a small measure of resolve.
Tomorrow, the ninth of January, would undoubtedly bring new challenges, but for now, she allowed herself this moment of calm—a fragile peace she could nurture, even if just for a little while.
With a final, lingering glance at the snake, Severina gathered her things. She tucked the container away in a safe spot on her desk.
——-
January 9th, 1976
The day had started as any other. Severina rose at the same time as always, went through the motions of her morning routine—straightening her books, ensuring her uniform was impeccable, counting the buttons as she fastened them one by one. A quiet ritual, a necessity. She didn’t acknowledge what day it was.
She hadn’t intended to, at least.
But the knowledge of it lingered in the back of her mind as she stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast, a subtle weight pressing against her. She had never cared for birthdays, not in the way others did. Celebrations had always felt superfluous, unnecessary. What was there to celebrate? Another year had passed—one step further into a future she had no certainty of, one step deeper into the responsibilities that pressed so heavily upon her shoulders.
Still, she could feel the expectant glances thrown her way, the small knowing smiles from a select few, and it made her restless.
It wasn’t until halfway through dinner, when most students were still enjoying the feast, that she finally allowed herself to acknowledge it. A quiet word from Charity at the Hufflepuff table had set things in motion, and before she knew it, Severina was being led away from the Great Hall by Lily, Charity, and Aurora, their steps winding down the corridor until they stopped before a familiar painting—a massive still-life of fruit.
Lily reached out and tickled the pear, grinning as it squirmed under her fingers and transformed into a handle.
“You’re going to love this,” Charity whispered as the door swung open.
The warmth of the Hogwarts kitchens enveloped them immediately, the scent of fresh bread and spiced cider hanging in the air. The house-elves bustled about, their small hands deftly stacking plates, stirring cauldrons, and fetching trays of food for the few students who had late-night cravings.
Severina blinked in surprise. “You—”
“We didn’t throw a party, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lily interrupted with a teasing smirk. “Just a little something. It’s apparently tradition.”
Severina narrowed her eyes. “Tradition?”
“Of course,” Charity chimed in. “Rory and I always sneak down here for our birthdays, and now you’re part of it.”
“I didn’t agree to that,” Severina muttered, but there was no real bite to her words.
Aurora, ever soft-spoken, smiled as she gestured toward one of the long wooden tables. “Sit down. We won’t make a fuss, I promise.”
Reluctantly, Severina complied, sliding into a seat as the house-elves bustled around them, eager to help. Within moments, a tray was placed before her—hot cocoa, warm pastries, and a small, perfectly frosted cake. The sight of it made something tighten in her chest.
Lily reached into her bag and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped parcel, placing it in front of Severina. “Go on, open it.”
Severina hesitated, glancing at the package as if it might bite her. Slowly, she undid the ribbon, her fingers moving with precise care. The paper unfolded to reveal a soft, finely woven scarf in deep green—Slytherin colors, but with delicate silver embroidery along the edges. It was simple, but Severina could tell immediately that it was well-made, chosen with purpose.
Lily shrugged, a hint of pink rising to her cheeks. “You’re always cold.”
Severina ran her fingers over the fabric, her throat suddenly tight. She swallowed, then nodded once, fingers tightening around the gift. “Merci, Lily.”
Charity, grinning, shoved her own gift toward Severina next. “Mine next! You’re going to love it.”
Inside the box was a quill set—pristine, elegant, the kind that never dulled or smudged. Severina exhaled sharply through her nose. “You know me too well.”
“Of course I do,” Charity said smugly. “I have to witness your compulsive rewriting of notes every day. This will at least make it neater.”
Aurora’s gift came next—a carefully folded parchment. Severina opened it, frowning slightly before realization dawned. It was a star chart, hand-drawn, the constellations shimmering with faintly enchanted ink. A small note in the corner read: The darkest nights have the brightest stars.
Severina stared at it for a long moment, something twisting deep within her.
“You always look up at the sky when you think no one’s watching,” Aurora murmured. “I thought you might like it.”
She did.
And then, before she could say anything, a familiar voice cut through the moment.
“I hope you’re not planning on hoarding all the cake, Severina.”
Severina turned sharply. Nikolai stood in the doorway, Isabelle at his side. They both wore matching grins, the kind that spelled trouble.
“What are you doing here?” Severina demanded, though there was no real heat to it.
“Charity told us,” Nikolai said smugly. “Did you really think we wouldn’t show up?”
Isabelle, quieter, stepped forward and placed a small, wrapped parcel in Severina’s lap. “It’s not much,” she said, a little shyly, “but I made it myself.”
Inside was a simple silver charm—a tiny snake curled into itself, enchanted to warm slightly at her touch. It wasn’t expensive, wasn’t grand, but it was something Isabelle had clearly put effort into.
Severina’s heart clenched. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Nikolai, never one for sentimentality, shoved a small, crudely wrapped package at her as well. “Mine’s better, obviously.”
It was a tiny, enchanted fox figurine, its tail flickering as if caught in an unseen breeze. Severina let out a quiet laugh.
For the first time that day, she truly smiled.
It was small, fleeting, but it was there.
The rest of the evening passed in quiet warmth. They talked, they shared stories, they let the hours slip away in the soft glow of the kitchen. Severina didn’t feel suffocated by the attention—not this time.
It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t loud.
But it was real.
And as the night stretched on and Severina headed off to her detention that night, she found herself lingering in the corridor just outside the Great Hall.
Mulciber offered a hesitant smile as he passed her, and she returned it. “Happy birthday, Severina.” He nodded, before joining his friends at the other end of the hallway.
The detention that night was the same as the last two, with odd comment from Black and a snarky retort from Severina. They walked backed to the castle together in silence, the echoes of their footsteps and short puffs of breath being the only sound heard in the quiet of the night.
That was when she heard it—softer than anything else that night, just a quiet murmur as she turned towards the dungeon.
“Happy birthday, Snape.”
She turned, brow furrowing slightly.
Sirius Black was already walking away, hands shoved into his pockets, his voice flippant as ever. But there was something different in it—something that didn’t quite match his usual taunting lilt.
Severina didn’t respond.
She didn’t need to.
She simply watched as he disappeared around the corner, then turned and made her way back to the dungeons, the warmth of the scarf still wrapped securely around her neck.
Later that evening, as Severina took a brief respite in her own dorm, an owl delivered a letter, pecking incessantly at her window. She unfolded it carefully—her Maman’s elegant handwriting spilled across the page, a mixture of affectionate admonishments and soft encouragement. Along the margins, Élodie’s scribbles and a tiny, imperfect drawing of the family filled her with a bittersweet tenderness. Reading her mother’s words—“Even in solitude, you are never truly alone. Our family is with you always, and my heart beats with yours, no matter the distance.”—a lump rose in her throat. For one precious moment, the burdens of her responsibilities softened under the warm glow of familial care.
Maybe birthdays weren’t so bad after all.