Chapter 6
Days drift by at home, and Severus finds himself actually enjoying them—who would’ve thought? The house has basically turned into a sentient bodyguard, lunging at Tobias every time he dares utter something unpleasant toward Severus or his mother. And honestly? Severus is thriving in the chaos.
His personal entertainment? Messing with Tobias. Oh, the little joys in life! He grows out his hair, styles it in ways that make Tobias grumble about ‘girly nonsense’ (his mother even offers to do it for him, which he surprisingly doesn’t hate). Then there’s the black nail polish—his usual look from his professor days—though this time, it’s not just for potion-related practicality like it was back then. That nail polish was actually a potion he created to keep his hands from staining and infecting his potions and less importantly, his health, from the overwhelming amount of potions he brewed consecutively. Nah, this Severus isn’t too worried about long-term health effects; he just knows it’ll piss Tobias off, and that’s reason enough.
Meanwhile, he and his mother have gone full potion-brewing mode, churning out every concoction they can think of. His mother even brings back some old favorites—potions for appearances, ointments, all that good stuff. They’re bonding. It’s disgustingly wholesome.
He also finally got rid of the bandage on his neck. The wound had healed, though, as Pomfrey had warned, it left a scar. Not that Severus was a stranger to scars—he had more than a few—but this one irked him. Not because of its size or placement (slightly off-center, maybe three inches long—four if he was being generous), but because of who had given it to him.
The fact that Potter was responsible for permanently marking him? That was an insult to his dignity.
It wasn’t even a cool, battle-hardened scar. No, every time he looked at it in the mirror, he’d be reminded that the biggest twat to ever exist had managed to land a hit. Utterly infuriating.
Severus even takes on a side quest: fixing their wardrobe. Now, he’s no miracle worker, but he is a perfectionist, so he uses wandless spells to stitch, patch, and de-stain until their clothes look almost respectable. Practically a fashion renaissance in the Snape household.
The real cherry on top? Severus casually flaunting magic in front of Tobias, just to watch the man’s blood pressure spike. It’s the little things, really.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. Now, here he is, packing up his freshly restored wardrobe, stuffing in the potions he and his mother brewed (keeping hers safely hidden in his room, because Tobias), and bracing himself for his grand return to Hogwarts.
Yay, indeed.
When Severus wasn’t busy fucking up Tobias’ day (a wonderful hobby, really) or spending time with his mother, his mind had the audacity to wander into topics he’d much rather avoid. Like, oh, the war. And Lily.
Lily Evans—his first and only real friend. And if that wasn’t pathetic enough, he had also come to a rather humbling realization: he had spent nearly two decades idolizing her, conveniently disregarding the parts of her that made her a person rather than some unattainable, red-haired saint. Ouch. As of right now, he had no idea how to interact with her like he used to—as a friend, an actual person, instead of some tragic lost cause. So, naturally, he added that to his ever-growing list of concerns.
And then there was the war. He knew about the Horcruxes—sort of. Not how many, not what they were, not how to find them, and certainly not how to destroy them. Which meant before he even considered getting involved, he needed research. A lot of it. And considering his track record, that research would likely consume months of his life.
All in all, he couldn’t even get a single week of carefree existence without his miserable, overthinking brain dragging him back into existential crisis mode. How delightful.
Just as Severus was zipping up his ever-reliable (and not just in the luggage sense) trunk, his mother walked into his room. He hadn't bothered closing the door—not out of defiance, but because, for the first time in years, he wasn’t afraid.
“There’s something different about you this week,” she mused, studying him like he was some particularly puzzling potion ingredient.
“I told you, Ma—puberty does weird things to teenagers,” he sighed, already exhausted by this conversation. She’d brought it up at least five times in the past week.
“No, it’s something else.” She stepped closer, her gaze soft but searching. “Not that I’m complaining… The last time I saw you smile this much, or even talk this much, was before Tobias found out about our magic.” Her lips quirked into a sad smile. “I missed this. I missed you—acting your age instead of trying to disappear out of fear.” She reached out, cupping his cheek, as if trying to confirm that he was real.
“Ma,” Severus murmured, leaning into her touch without thinking, “I missed this, too.”
She exhaled deeply, something shifting in her expression. “You don’t have to tell me what happened to bring this version of my son back to me. Just… promise I’ll get to see him more often.” And then, for the first time since he was a trembling, terrified child, she pulled him into a hug.
Severus had expected it to be awkward. He hadn’t hugged anyone since he was fourteen, and even then, it had been Lily—overdramatic over placing third in their year. But the moment his arms wrapped around his mother, he realized how much he’d missed this. How had he gone so long without it?
When he finally pulled back, he took a moment to really look at her. She seemed… better. Not great, but better. The dark circles under her eyes weren’t as harsh, her hair and skin looked healthier thanks to the potions they’d been brewing together. She was still far too thin, though—too many years of rationing food, of putting Tobias’ needs above her own. He had tried to help, filling the pantry with what he could buy using his tutoring money, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. He wondered if he could get the Hogwarts elves to prepare some food parcels for him to send home—now that Tobias couldn’t violently reject owls from their house, he had options.
“You know,” his mother said suddenly, reaching for his hair, “if you’re going to keep it this long, you might as well learn how to tie it up properly so it doesn’t fall in your face. Would you mind if I did it for you now?”
Severus didn’t mind at all.
Half an hour later—exactly when he had promised—Dumbledore arrived, knocking at the door with his usual, impeccable timing. This time, however, it wasn’t Tobias who answered. Instead, the door swung open to reveal Severus, standing tall, and a woman who looked strikingly like him.
“Ah, Eileen,” Dumbledore greeted warmly, his ever-present twinkle in his eye. “It has been far too long.”
“Professor, indeed it has,” Eileen replied, offering him a polite smile. “Apologies for not greeting you last time you were here. Though, I do hope you weren’t too offended by my husband’s… unusual method of welcoming guests.”
“Ah, yes.” Dumbledore’s smile faltered just slightly as he recalled Tobias’ charming hospitality. “I hadn’t realized that was his personalized greeting style. But—each to their own, I suppose.”
As he spoke, his gaze drifted to Severus, who was standing behind his mother, dragging his ever-trusty trunk behind him. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore lightened the load for his student.
“Severus, I must say, I’m glad to see you looking so well,” he remarked, eyes twinkling again. “I do hope your week was both eventful and restful.”
Severus smirked. “Oh, you have no idea, Professor.”
Then, turning to his mother, he said seriously, “Ma, expect an owl from me this week. If anything happens, anything at all, let me know immediately.”
Eileen rolled her eyes, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I doubt anything will happen—you made sure of that, didn’t you?” Her lips quirked into an amused smile. “But I’ll be waiting for your owl nonetheless. Now go on, before you make your headmaster wait any longer.”
Severus huffed, rolling his own eyes. “He doesn’t mind all that much… do you, Professor?”
Dumbledore chuckled, clearly entertained. “Not at all, Mr. Snape! Though, I would like to have a word with you once we arrive at Hogwarts—if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, why not?” Severus shrugged. “What have I got to lose?”
Eileen leaned in, pressing a rare kiss to his cheek. “Take care of yourself, love.”
Severus gave her one last nod before stepping out with Dumbledore.
And with that, they were off to Hogwarts.
Yet again, Severus attempted to masterfully step out of the Floo network in his teenage body. And yet again, he failed spectacularly. Hacking up a lungful of cinders, he cursed his fifteen-year-old self for still not knowing how to maneuver properly after a whole week of being back.
Dumbledore, looking far too entertained by this, performed the usual spell to clean off the soot clinging to Severus’ clothes and—most importantly—his lungs.
“Welcome back to school, my boy,” Dumbledore greeted cheerfully, as though Severus hadn’t just been assaulted by fireplace residue. “Now, I informed your professors of your absence, and, as unfair as it may be, they have generously provided me with all the work you missed over the week. It must all be completed before Monday, which gives you today and tomorrow to work on it.”
With that, he handed Severus a ridiculously tall stack of parchment.
Severus took one look at it and deadpanned, “Oh, joy. I simply cannot wait to start.”
“I’m glad to hear that!” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling far too much to be trusted.
Severus was still glaring at the parchment when Dumbledore continued, “I also wanted to follow up on something we discussed last week. Do you recall me mentioning that you would have the opportunity to assist a local potioneer in their research?”
Severus’ head snapped up. He did remember—and he had been looking forward to it. He nodded quickly.
“Well,” Dumbledore went on, “you’ll still be able to do that, but the potioneer in question has one small request before they agree to take you on. They’d like you to submit a paper, no less than five feet of parchment, on any potion of your choosing. You may include anything about it—so long as it is accurate, of course. They would like it a week before the winter holiday, and you’ll receive their response the following week.”
Dumbledore paused before adding, “Now, do keep in mind, this gives you a month to complete it, on top of your regular schoolwork.”
Severus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. A five-foot essay? Amateurs. He had endured much worse.
“Won’t be a problem, Professor,” he said seriously.
Dumbledore smiled. “Glad to hear it! You’re free to put your trunk away and change into your uniform. I believe you have enough time to do so before heading to the Great Hall for supper.”
Then, before Severus could escape, Dumbledore lifted his ever-present tray of sweets.
“Lemon drop?”
The way his eyes twinkled told Severus that the damn old man found this entire interaction amusing.
Fine. If he wanted to play that game…
Severus grabbed a handful of lemon drops, stuffing them into his pocket. “Thank you, Headmaster,” he said with an air of politeness so exaggerated it was practically dripping sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to have the paper finished in time.”
Then he paused.
The bowl was still in front of his face.
Dumbledore was still looking at him with that same insufferably amused expression.
Severus, keeping eye contact, reached forward and took another handful.
Dumbledore merely smiled wider. His eyes twinkled even more.
Severus decided he had lost this battle and promptly turned on his heel, marching out of the office as quickly as possible before the old man could twinkle him into another ridiculous conversation.
Severus’ walk to the dungeons was completely uneventful. The halls were mostly empty, meaning dinner had already started—good. The fewer people he had to deal with, the better.
After slipping into the Slytherin common room using the password Dumbledore had secured from Slughorn (because of course he had), Severus made a beeline for his dorm. He was hungry, damn it.
The dorm was mercifully empty, so he set his trunk down and started rummaging for his robes. But, because the universe clearly enjoyed messing with him, the door creaked open just as he was unfastening the latch.
Damn it. Could he not get one second to himself?
“What do you think you’re doing in my dorm?” came a gratingly familiar voice.
Mulciber. Again.
Severus briefly considered slamming the trunk shut and wielding it as a weapon—surely, the idiot hadn’t forgotten that lesson so soon? But he decided against it and fished out his robes instead.
“Did you not hear me? I asked what you are doing in this dorm,” Mulciber repeated, clearly getting angrier.
Severus rolled his eyes, got up with his robe in hand, and turned to face him. Immediately, Mulciber, Rosier, and Avery all froze, staring at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“In case you missed the plaque on the door, you big oaf, my name is on there too. I’m allowed to be here same as you three,” Severus said flatly, pulling on his robe and fastening it over his scandalous Muggle clothing. It was just dinner—he wasn’t about to put on the full uniform.
Rosier squinted. “Snape?”
“Who else would it be? Now move, I’d like to get something to eat before the elves take the food away.”
Mulciber, however, still wasn’t budging. He looked… weirdly flustered.
“Y-you can’t talk to us like that,” he said, voice tinged with something Severus couldn’t be bothered to figure out.
Severus met his gaze, unimpressed. Why is he acting like this? He can’t possibly be that mad I stood up to him.
“For Merlin’s sake, why do you look like that?” Mulciber blurted out, now visibly red.
Severus tilted his head. “Like what, Mulciber?”
“Just—!” Mulciber sputtered, looking as though he wanted to either punch something or sink into the floor.
Severus narrowed his eyes in amusement, recalling the very satisfying sound of his trunk making contact with Mulciber’s ribs. “Now, are you going to move, or should I get my trunk again?”
At that, Rosier outright laughed. Avery, who had been watching the exchange like a confused bystander, glanced between them as though realizing something he hadn’t before.
Mulciber, for his part, just flushed more.
Severus, officially done, shoved his way past them toward the Great Hall. He could hear the three of them whispering behind him, but he couldn’t care less.
Let them whisper. He was getting his damn dinner.
When Severus walked into the Great Hall, his feet automatically carried him toward the head table—because of course they did. Years of habit were hard to shake. But just before he could embarrass himself in front of the entire school, he caught himself and adjusted his path as smoothly as he could manage, veering toward the Slytherin table like it was totally intentional.
Absolutely no one saw that.
…Hopefully.
Finding the first available seat—one conveniently against the wall, with a decent view of the hall—he sat down and started filling his plate, grateful for the chance to eat in peace.
That, of course, lasted all of five seconds.
A sharp nudge to his right made him pause mid-scoop, and he turned, already halfway to a sneer—only to come face-to-face with Regulus Black.
Well.
That was certainly unexpected.
Regulus, alive and very much in front of him, blinked in surprise before breaking into a smirk. “Severus?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. His silver eyes flicked over Severus’ appearance, and then he did something entirely unnecessary. He reached out and touched his hair.
Severus froze.
“Decided to grow it out, huh?” Regulus said, inspecting a strand like he was some kind of hair critic. “And cleaning it, too? You do realize you once swore that was ‘a waste of valuable brewing time,’ right? Is that what the week away from school was for?”
Severus’ eye twitched.
“Reg,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. He wasn’t sure why that was what came out, but here they were.
Regulus’ smirk faltered. His face did something odd. It pinked.
“I told you,” he muttered, letting go of Severus’ hair (finally), “I don’t mind you calling me that— if I get a nickname for you too.”
Severus, against all logic, blurted out, “You can call me Russ.” It was a nickname they agreed on a month before Severus’ graduation in his old time, and one he genuinely liked.
Regulus lit up. Like, actually lit up.
“Really?”
Severus immediately regretted all of his life choices.
“Finally gave in, huh?” Another voice joined in, dripping with amusement.
He turned to see Narcissa sitting beside Regulus, watching them like she had just been waiting for this moment. She took a slow sip from her teacup before smirking. “I suppose all that whining does come in handy eventually.”
“I don’t whine. I have never whined in my life,” Regulus huffed, shooting his cousin a glare—his face now distinctly redder.
Severus decided, then and there, that he would simply pretend none of this was happening.
Yes.
That was a solid plan.
So, with the grace of a man desperately avoiding another mental breakdown , he focused on eating his dinner and completely ignored the two purebloods next to him.
Thankfully, he had always been quiet, so hopefully they don’t take it personally.
He made the grave mistake of looking up at the Gryffindor table.
Why? No idea.
But the moment he did, he immediately regretted it.
Because there they were.
Three pairs of eyes locked onto him like they had nothing better to do—the Marauders, looking as idiotic as ever.
They really couldn’t leave him alone, could they?
Severus sneered and shot them a glare, hoping that maybe—just maybe—they’d take the hint and mind their own bloody business.
They did not.
Each of them had a different reaction, Lupin, ever the polite one, at least had the decency to look down immediately, a bit of colour creeping up his face. Good. He should be embarrassed. Black dropped his usual slack-jawed expression just long enough to sneer and glare back before looking away quickly—so quickly it was almost suspicious. And Potter? Oh, Potter. The bespectacled menace continued staring—so intensely that Severus was starting to wonder if the idiot’s glasses prescription was simply that bad.
Surely, surely, if he could actually see the absolute hatred etched into Severus’ face right now, he’d stop staring.
…Right?
Severus scowled harder, just in case.
Potter did not look away.
Alright. Fine. Whatever. Not his problem.
Deciding they weren’t worth any more of his time, Severus pointedly turned back to his meal. He could still feel them looking at him every now and then, but he simply chose to ignore it.
Instead, he turned to Regulus.
“Reg, how’s Kreacher doing?” he asked, already bracing himself.
It was a terrible question. A horrible question. Because he knew —he knew —how much the younger Black adored his vile little house-elf.
The reaction was immediate.
Regulus dropped his argument with his cousin mid-sentence and turned back to Severus with a smile so massive that, for a brief moment, Severus feared he had just made a very critical mistake.
“I’m so glad you asked, Seve— Russ,” Regulus corrected himself, practically glowing at the opportunity to use Severus’ new nickname.
Oh. Brilliant.
“He’s been doing great! You know, during the summer—”
And just like that, dinner became one long Kreacher appreciation monologue.
Severus accepted his fate.
After dinner, Severus decided that going back to the dorms would be too much—too much effort, too much noise, and far too much Mulciber. His poor heart and head had suffered enough during that disaster of a meal.
So, he did what any sane, almost-40-year-old adult would do when they needed a break from the horrors of teenage life.
He went to sneak a smoke in the Forbidden Forest.
Growing up in Spinner’s End, cigarettes had been a common treat among the neighborhood kids— everyone ended up addicted eventually, and Severus was no exception. Even during his teaching years, he found himself reaching for a cigarette whenever he had a rare moment of peace—which, of course, wasn’t often, what with running an entire house and constantly saving Potter’s reckless arse from inevitable death.
He made his way to his usual spot without difficulty—decades of sneaking out had made the route second nature. Just as he unbuttoned his robes to retrieve a pack from his inner pocket, a low, familiar growl reached his ears.
Severus froze, eyes snapping up.
And there it was.
An unnecessarily large black dog stood before him, its glowing eyes locked onto his.
A very familiar black dog.
His gaze flickered slightly to the left. Sure enough, two poorly concealed pairs of shoes were poking out from under an otherwise-invisible figure.
Ah. So they were spying on him now.
That bloody invisibility cloak was utterly wasted on those idiots.
Severus exhaled slowly through his nose, schooling his features into something carefully neutral. Then, just to amuse himself—just to mess with a certain someone—he smirked.
Calmly, he lit his cigarette with a wandless spell, took a long drag, and prepared himself.
“Aren’t you a cute little thing?” he cooed, tilting his head slightly as he gazed down at the ridiculously oversized mutt.
The dog immediately stopped growling, ears perking up as its head tilted, confusion clear in its beady little eyes.
Severus fought back his grin. Oh, this is going to be fun.
Slowly, he crouched, bringing himself eye level with the dog—not that he had to crouch much, because, again, the thing was absurdly big.
With deliberate gentleness, Severus softened his expression, tilting his head in what almost resembled fondness.
“You,” he murmured, voice warm and affectionate, “have to be the most handsome dog I’ve ever had the pleasure of coming across.”
The mutt blinked, visibly taken aback.
Severus continued, voice still dripping with kindnes.
“Would a nice puppy like you enjoy a scratch behind the ears?” he asked, as if the idea of petting Sirius Black wasn’t the single most disgusting thought he’d ever had. “You just have to promise not to bite my hands off, alright?”
The dog hesitated.
Then, slowly, it nodded.
Oh, this was golden.
Severus took another drag from his cigarette before reaching out—and, with all the gentleness in the world, he began scratching behind the mutt’s ears.
Now, he wasn’t sure if this was a stroke of good luck or the worst thing that had ever happened to him, but Merlin help him, he had always wanted a dog.
…Unfortunately, the one he was petting right now was Sirius Black.
A fact which severely dampened the experience.
He scratched the dog's ears a few more times, watching in amusement as it clearly melted beneath his touch.
Finally, he withdrew his hand to remove the cigarette from his mouth.
The mutt whined.
Severus arched an eyebrow. Really?
“Aww,” he said, barely suppressing a smirk, “does the handsome, good boy want even more pets?”
The dog gave a single, enthusiastic wag of its tail before quickly stopping itself as though it had just remembered who exactly was scratching it.
Severus, greatly amused, reached up with one hand for another round of ear-scratching. At the same time, he put out his cigarette and vanished it with a flick of his fingers.
“I’m sorry, boy, but that’s all the time I’ve got,” he murmured, scratching one last time. “Have to get back before the teachers find me. Or worse—the Marauders.” He gave a dramatic shudder. “Do keep out of their way, won’t you? Those brutes would hurt you for no reason. You’ll know exactly who I’m talking about when you see them—just look for the four most idiotic-looking trolls you’ll ever have the misfortune of crossing.”
The dog made a sound that was suspiciously close to a strangled growl.
Severus patted his head.
“Well, take care now,” he said airily. “I’ll probably be back tomorrow, if you want to meet again.”
With one final, exaggerated scratch behind the mutt’s ears—for good luck, of course—Severus stood, dusted himself off, and turned on his heel.
As he walked away, he caught the sound of a very human-sounding huff from behind him, followed by a distinct thump, like someone throwing themselves onto the forest floor in utter despair.
Severus grinned.
Fucking with someone’s head was truly the best therapy in the world.
Severus was going to milk this for all it was worth.