Chapter 7
Severus Snape is a very light, very alert sleeper. The slightest noise will wake him up - a bird soaring by his window, rain falling on the roof, a neighbor's door opening. He has always taken pride in this ability for the simple fact that no one would be able to kill him in his sleep. He ponders this - how much of a light sleeper he is and how you, baker girl, are no longer in bed.
You should have woken him up from his sleep. Surely you did not merely walk out of your bedroom on the creaky wooden floors without alerting him. He ponders if he has grown lackadaisical. Then, he realizes he has never been comfortable with another human being in his adult life. Nowhere comfortable to fall asleep with them. Nowhere near comfortable to sleep so heavily that they don’t wake him.
He shuts his eyes and forces himself to remind him that it is a good thing not to be on edge. He no longer has to be on high alert every moment. He no longer has to shield his mind every waking moment. Lord Voldemort is dead. The rest of the Death Eater’s are captured. There is no need to be completely aware of everything around him anymore - it was exhausting to do so.
He stands from the bed and stretches his long arms above his head. A small smile forms at his lips when he inhales the pleasant scents of you. Pushing open the bedroom door, he clears his throat and calls out for you. You do not reply. You must be at work. Perfect.
Snape may not have to play double agent anymore between Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle, but the urge to spy still plagues him. What’s the phrase…old habits die hard? He begins in your bedroom, naturally. Sliding open the bedside table drawer, he sees it rather empty. A few cough drops, a bottle of muggle medicine, and a rectangular device with a headset. He slides it shut and strides to the closet.
He finds himself feeling the many dresses, skirts, jumpers, whatever else is hanging up. Your clothes smell like you, which is logical, you wear them. The long fingers of his hand gently brush against jewelry laying on the built in chest of drawers. Most of your jewelry Snape would describe as dainty - nothing is over zealous or screams at him. He continues going through the drawers - locating some rather scandalous underwear he has yet seen you in. Who did you wear this for?
After he gets through looking the rest of the room over, he pauses his search and questions what it is he is even looking for. He wonders about your past lovers. What could he find of theirs that would change anything? Still, he continues. The most exciting thing he discovers in the bathroom is a box of opened condoms. Snape did slightly panic at the thought of the unprotected sex he’s been having with you, until he came across a package of birth control that seems to be taken religiously.
After freshening up, he dresses himself and gathers his wand to apparate to the bakery.
Per your preference, he refrains from appearing right inside. He lands on the sidewalk outside of the brick building and pulls at the door. When he finds it locked, he realizes it’s still early and you aren’t open just yet. He knocks on the door and waits patiently.
You come out from the kitchen - your hair is up and poorly put together, you wear dark jeans and a sweater under your white apron. He gets the feeling of nerves deep in his stomach, the same feeling he frequently develops when seeing you. You unlock the door and pull it open for him. When he’s inside, you shut it and relock it.
“Morning,” you murmur, striding back into the kitchen. He takes a seat at the countertop, finding his eyes peering at you through the opening between the wall of the dining area and kitchen. He watches you go out the back door and pop back in with a box in your hands. Once you do it three times in a row, Snape stands and hesitantly allows himself back into your work space. You come inside again, holding a large box in your arms. Snape carefully takes it from you and sits it down against the wall with the others.
“Just a few more, I got it,” you murmur. He follows you outside anyway and sees a large truck with the trunk opened. Several boxes lie inside.
“Usually Frank helps me,” you inform, gesturing to the front of the truck, “but he slipped on some ice last week and broke his arm,” you explain to him. Snape looks around, then to the mirror on the truck. The driver is reading the newspaper. Quickly and discreetly, Snape withdraws his wand and waves it at the boxes. Each of them fly out of the trunk and float into the bakery.
“Severus,” you sigh, almost scolding him. He watches you walk to the driver and tap his door politely.
“Thanks, Frank,” you tell him. He nods and shifts the truck into drive.
“See ya next week, kiddo,” he replies. You force a smile and he drives away. Snape walks into the back door after you. You begin to open the boxes.
“Thank you for doing that, but you shouldn’t. Someone could see,” you say, lifting a bag of flour to the countertop.
“I am not an amateur at remaining discreet,” Snape informs, mildly. He watches you let out a long sigh and continue to unpack your inventory. “Shall I-“
“No, Severus. I’ve done it like this for years. I will continue doing it like this until I die or my arms stop working,” you cut in.
Snape purses his lips and retreats back into the bakery. Taking his normal seat at the countertop, he peeks at you through the window and, only when the coast is clear, summons the newspaper from the other side of the register. He only has a few minutes to peruse it - not that he overly indulges in muggle news, but he does find the literature and debate columns intriguing. He spots Narcissa’s owl swooping about the front door. He quietly gets up and strides to it, opening it. The owl swoops down to him and hoots - Snape quickly takes what appears to be the Daily Prophet from its leg. As it flies away, he opens it, finding a letter from her on top.
The Prophet really has no respect for privacy. Working on getting these off the stands, but I’m afraid it is already too late.
Cissa
Snape throws the note into his cloak pocket and doesn’t need to read the title of the front page. He’s plastered on it with you - in front of George Weasley’s store of all damned places. He’s killing that reporter. Bloody incel. Not only has his privacy been violated, other people will see and inquire about you.
He takes a step, wanting to tell you he is leaving. You appear to be in a grim mood. He ought to leave you be. He disappears and begins his march through the Ministry.
Severus has been quiet out there in the bakery. You’re thankful he is being patient. You know you aren’t the most pleasant to be around. It’s almost time to open the bakery. Maybe you’ll make him breakfast. It seems to be a tradition you’re starting, anyway.
You and your granddad would unpack the truck each week together. It was peaceful and calming for you. Now, it just reminds you he is gone. It would be easier if you had other family. Someone besides your memory impaired grandmother. Loneliness settles around you. The kitchen is empty. You peer out the window into the bakery to find Severus not sitting in his normal chair. Did you scare him off? On his birthday, of all days? You pace to the entrance and turn the sign to open.
Thoughts begin to race through your head. You have nobody. You are nobody. You’re unintelligent.. You’re a failure. You let your grandparents down. Maybe you should run away. Maybe you should die.
The thoughts don’t stop - your mind is not a merciful place. They continue through your slow morning, creeping around your mind, making it hard for you to work. You need to make yourself busy. Wandering back into the kitchen, you pull out a bag of flour. Baking will settle your mind. You hope it does anyway.
Snape let the Daily Prophet have a piece of his mind. He felt the vein in his temple throb after he was through with them, anyway. He was assured no one will pursue him further, but is always welcomed to comment and be interviewed. As he floos out of the Ministry, he vaguely remembers he missed his appointment at St. Mungos on Friday. That damned meeting with the Hogwarts governors went on forever. And then, there was you.
He lingers on the sight of your name on his cell. He already misses you. Wonders if you’re okay. Maybe he's been with you too much. You need space, surely, just like he does.
To pass the time, he decides to drop into Diagon Alley to see if Mr. Malfoy is up to any dubious acts. There is no sign of him, so Snape retreats to Borgin and Burke’s, which has been rebought by a distant relative who supported Harry Potter during the war. He’s a younger man but fancies dark magical artefacts, which Snape appreciates.
He strides through the aisles and examines anything that catches his eyes. He fidgets with a pack of bloodstained cards, finding the affects intriguing - if a player is cheating, it will cut gashes into their hands.
“Headmaster Snape!”
Oh, how he cannot wait to just be Snape again. Glancing over to the desk, he sees the new owner. He’s long forgotten his name. Snape offers a head nod in his direction.
“May I help you find anything?”
Snape paces further away from him. “Just looking,” he murmurs.
“We have a selection of normal artifacts and magical objects upstairs now,” the shopkeeper informs.
Snape ends up wandering up there. He finds a cleaning clock he decides to purchase. When it strikes twelve, it’ll enchant and clean the room it is in. Good for his office - if it collects anymore dust, he’ll be having allergies all year long.
He finds a pair of matching black candle sticks that act as portkeys. He could place one in your home and one in his. This way, you could come and go without the need of Snape apparating you. What use could you get out of having access to his tiny home, though?
After checking out, he walks down the alleyway. He catches Draco Malfoy’s blonde hair in the window of Flourish and Blotts. Without thinking it over, he whips the door open and walks in. Draco is looking at a book when Snape grabs him by the collar of his jacket. Forcing him back against a wall, Draco begins to struggle.
“Unhand me!” he begins, but doesn’t continue as he realizes Snape is his assailant.
“You!” Snape begins, pointing a long finger in his face. Draco flinches. “Will stop worrying your mother,” Snape informs.
Draco scoffs and bares his teeth at Snape. “Stay out of my business! Don’t you have a school to run?”
Snape lowers his face down to his, almost nose to nose with the boy. “Don’t you have a family name to fix?”
This makes Draco furious. He scrambles his hand into the inside of his jacket and withdraws his wand. This makes Snape laugh. He steps back and challenges him with his eyes.
“Go on,” Snape begs. “Do your worst. Surely you learned something from me.”
Draco keeps his wand aimed at Snape for a moment. Then, he runs past him and out of the shop. Snape collects himself and rights his robes. He turns to leave, but his foot kicks something on the floor - the book Draco dropped. Snape grabs it and glances at the title.
What Happened, How to Fix It is the title of the novel. Snape flips through it, finding it fitting for Draco. For himself. For you, even. Though, you can’t fix your parents dying or your granddad becoming terminal and dying.
He purchases the book and has it delivered to Draco’s townhome in London. After getting a cuppa and a meal at the Leaky Cauldron, he returns to Spinner’s End.
On your walk home, you call your nan’s memory care facility. She isn’t talking today and they tell you she ought to rest. You have no calls from Severus. Maybe he is celebrating with friends. You hope he is. You just aren’t in a good mood. You tend to blame the cold winter England is enduring for your emotions - but you know it isn’t the weather. You haven’t been right in the head for several months.
When you’re home, you try to take your mind off yourself with a book. When that doesn’t work, you dust the entirety of your house, then vacuum and mop. Cleaning doesn’t seem to do the trick. Your mind is spiraling down, drowning in thoughts you shouldn’t be having. You wish you had your grandad’s voicemails. You wish you had your grandad here. Why did he have to get sick? He was a good person. You wish it were you. You would have deserved it after being a terrible granddaughter for most of your life.
After putting away the cleaning supplies, you head into the kitchen and into the pantry. You kneel and shove some bags of sugar out of the way, finding some bottles of alcohol. You decide on the vodka.
Once you have a nice buzz going on, you take a very hot shower - probably too hot but you don’t care if it scalds you, it feels good, makes your thoughts more bearable. You wrap a towel in your hair and dress in an old, baggy shirt and underwear.
In your alcohol clouded mind, you decide you should bake a cake for Severus. You’re assuming he will come sometime this evening and he deserves a cake. Forty is a milestone birthday, right?
You decide on a three tier cake and make easy work of it. While it bakes, you make the frosting from scratch. Your granddad taught you the most delicious recipe. It’s sweet and thick but not too sugary. When you decide on the coloring, you almost choose purple because it is your favorite but decide on a forest green. While you whisk it in a bowl, you sip on the bottle of alcohol and your thoughts become dull and slow. Finally, your mind is halfway at peace.
Can it not be completely at peace, though? What would it take? Your fingers linger over the cake knife. You once found relief in self-inflicted pain - the first time you did it, you had just dropped out of college and your granddad was disappointed. There was something calming in the dullness of the pain, the warmth of freshly spilt blood. It made your head slow the fuck down. You pick it up and it only takes a moment for you to return it to the sink.
Music plays while you frost the cake, and you take extra care when writing on the top of it. You frost your little heart out until there are no imperfections - and it’s beautiful. Once you’re satisfied with it, you really want a piece. It looks very tempting. You also want Severus to see it. Has he eaten dinner? Maybe you can make him dinner as well.
You carefully place the cake in the refrigerator, then turn the oven on. You pulled out a steak from the freezer and are thawing it for Severus. After retrieving your phone, you call him, then sit it down and put it on speaker. You begin to cut up a clove of garlic. It rings three times before he picks up.
“Hello,” he greets, in a deep, sultry voice.
You grin at the sound of him. “What are you up to?” you ask, trying to sound cheerful.
He doesn’t reply for a moment. “I am at Narcissa’s, having a drink.”
You’re silent for a brief second as jealousy settles in. “Narcissa?”
“Yes, the woman you met at dinner-“
“Yeah, I know who she is. Happy birthday.”
You grab your phone and go to turn it off. You briefly hear him tell you to wait a moment before clicking the phone off. Did he not ask you to be his partner? Why is he at another woman’s house on his birthday?
You begin to dump the food you were preparing into the trash, shaking your head. It was too fast - agreeing to be in a relationship with him. Your last relationship was different from this. The guy was your age and didn’t have women for friends. You didn’t feel jealousy like this.
As you shove the steak back into the freezer, you hear that popping noise that happens when Severus apparates. When you shut the doors of the refrigerator, Severus is revealed, standing there in his normal black fit - you notice the color in his cheeks immediately. His face is flushed, probably from his drink with Narcissa.
“You can go back to your friend,” you begin, stepping away and around the island - if he gets his hands on you, you will cave. You’re sort of upset with him for leaving without a word and deciding to spend his birthday with another woman. His body slowly glides to face you as you walk into the archway of the kitchen and foyer.
“I don’t appreciate you hanging up on me, young lady,” he greets, striding towards you. You back up through the living room door, staring at him.
“Sorry,” you say, not meaningful, but annoyed. Severus scoffs, fully striding to you now. You scamper back and bump into the fireplace, grunting. Before you can dash towards the hallway to escape, he is in your space, placing his hands against the bricks of the fireplace, enclosing you.
“That’s a pitiful apology,” he murmurs. His dark irises look at you up and down, then return to your eyes. “You’re drunk,” he observes. You shrug.
“Buzzed,” you correct. He hums, leaning down towards your face. You duck under his arm and slip away from him. His fingers grasp at you, but you dance out of them.
“[First name!],” he practically growls. You laugh drunkenly, running back into the kitchen. You don’t hear him coming for you, so you look behind you. The entire house is silent before you hear the pop of an apparation. Severus’ arms wrap around you from behind.
You shriek as he lifts you with little effort. He slams you face first against a wall in the kitchen - he pins your hands above your head and presses into you from behind. He inhales slowly and breathes out, then lurches his head down so he can speak into your ear.
“Why are you running away from me?” he wonders, using the hand that isn’t pinning yours above your head to trace down the side of your body.
“You’d rather have a drink with your woman friend on your birthday instead of me!” you yell out, squirming beneath him.
“I, admit, miscalculated that decision,” he stubbornly states. “You seemed frustrated today. I wanted to give you space,” he explains.
“I was tired!” you make clear. You were running on just a few hours of sleep. “And, yes, I was frustrated! You performing magic left and right in the normal world isn’t okay.”
He releases your wrists now - your arms sorely fall to your sides. “I am always sure that no muggle is watching-“
“It doesn’t matter!” you shout, turning to face him. His dark hair frames his face, his eyes are regarding you with caution.
“What if someone sees and the wizard police come to erase their memories, then erase mine?! What if they ban you from me?!”
Severus scoffs, laughing once. “I’d like to see them try-“
“Can they do that?!” you cut in. Severus purses his lips.
“You are worrying too much,” he informs, bitterly. You raise your brows, waiting for an answer. His throat makes an annoyed noise and he waves one hand back and forth, like this topic is trivial.
“They have prohibited wizards from muggles in the past, if it interfered with the safety of the wizard world…it is not going to happen, [first name], I promise.”
You cross your arms and pace to the island of the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine. You uncork it and take a drink out of it, then go to the refrigerator.
“Close your eyes,” you command. He rolls them at you instead. “Close them.” He complies. You carefully grab the cake and sit it on the counter top. You find a single candle and put it on the top of the cake, then light it with a match.
“Okay…” you grab his arm and lead him to the island. “Now, open.”
His eyes flutter open - then they slightly widen in surprise. You smile at his simple reaction.
“Happy birthday!” you say, gesturing to the cake. When he doesn’t move, you pull out a stool from under the island. “Sit down. Make a wish and blow out the candle,” you encourage.
He laughs lowly. “You didn’t have to do this,” he points out. Out of habit, you rummage around the kitchen until you find the Polaroid camera that is always used for special occasions.
“I know. I wanted to, though…” you murmur. “Ah ha!” you breathe when you find the camera. You angle it at him and he gives you the most dreadful look.
“Don’t bloody be like that! Pose,” you suggest. Severus sighs and brings his arms up onto the island - he rests his head in both his hands and stares at the cake. You take the picture - this is as good as you’ll get from him - and lay the Polaroid out to develop.
After pouring two glasses of wine and cutting the cake, you watch him take the first bite. He slowly chews it, then swallows. He eyes you from across the island. You wait for him to speak.
“The best cake I’ve had by far,” he states. You smile widely and take a bite yourself. It is good - of course it is, you made it. After finishing and cleaning up, you grab the photo of Severus and examine it - he is very striking and beautiful in it. With a magic marker, you write his name and the year. You show him, boasting over it. You take it with you to the living room and find the birthday scrapbook. You flip it open and find the next new page.
Severus strides in behind you, watching you place the picture inside. You show him, smiling.
“My granddad would be so happy,” you murmur. You sit down on the couch and gaze at the picture of Severus. He lowers himself down next to you, holding his hand out. You sit the book on both of your laps and Severus flips it to the beginning.
His long slender fingers trace over the first picture - it’s of your parents holding you as an infant. You don’t remember them. They died when you were still a toddler. Severus points to your mother who you look a lot like.
“She was beautiful,” he compliments. You nod, agreeing. “What did she do?”
You smile. “She was a doctor at a hospital in the city. Worked mainly on an intensive care unit,” you reply. He hums at you, then points to your father. “He helped my grandpa run the bakery. When new technology came out, my grandad wasn’t the best with it. But my dad always helped him with that.”
“It’s a beautiful picture,” Severus compliments.
He flips through the next pages with you. Both of you laugh the older you get in the photos. You had a goth phase in secondary school. When he flips it closer to the time your granddad got sick, you take the book into your hands and shut it. Severus watches you intently as you put it back in its place.
“You miss him,” Severus states. You nod once, reluctantly.
“I didn’t think…it would be this hard,” you explain, returning to sit next to him. Severus leans back and relaxes, remaining silent. He wants you to talk to him. You are reluctant to open up to him. Maybe he’ll think you’re too whiny or just pathetic. You wring your hands together and swallow.
“Before my granddad died, I thought it would feel like my parents. That it wouldn’t hurt,” you begin, blinking to stop your tears from forming. “I’ve never experienced anything like this. It’s been six months but I feel as bad as the day he died.”
Severus presses a hand to your back, rubs up and down. “I just wish it were me,” you state. “He handled his daughter dying. He could have handled me dying much better than I’ve handled his death…” You look into your lap. “I feel like…on any given day I could just step in front of traffic or hurt myself badly enough to…”
You bring your hands up to rub your eyes. “It’s your birthday, I’m sorry. You needn’t hear me ramble.”
Severus cups your face with his hand, looking at you sincerely. “I do not think you are rambling. Have you ever talked to anyone about your grandfather? A friend?”
You shake your head. No. You haven’t. Who wants to hear about something sad? Poor you, your grandfather died. All grandparents die sooner or later. Sure, he had cancer, it was a bit tragic. Other people have it worse than you.
“We are partners… you can confide in me. I’m not only available in the bedroom.”
You laugh lightly at his joke. “I appreciate that. Tell me about your day.”
Severus' lip curls up wryly. “I saw Draco in Diagon Alley,” he begins, taking a large drink of wine. “I just wish that boy would go do something with his life. We…spoke, to put it lightly. Boy ran out of the shop.”
You thoughtfully nod once. “He’s just a kid still. He’ll come around,” you try to assure.
Severus purses his lips, unbelievingly. “I purchased a few items, had lunch at a pub, and stopped by my place. Thought of you.”
Warmth rushes to your cheeks. His hand reaches out to your face, he raises your chin with a finger. His dark eyes gaze into yours before he devours your lips with his own. Leaning against him and grabbing at his cloak, you sigh into his mouth pleasantly. His lips move like ocean waves - slow, consuming, compelling. It is almost like an art, how he kisses you. His hands grasp at the sides of your body, fingers stretching to feel every inch he can.
When your hand goes down between his thighs, he snatches your wrist and pulls it away. “Not tonight,” he murmurs, pulling away from your mouth. You almost begin to pout.
“No birthday sex?” you try to persuade.
“I’d just like to spend time with you. Talk, read, relax.”
Your brows press together in confusion. What man doesn’t want to be laid on his birthday? “Do you still like me?”
Severus cocks his head. “If I didn’t, I’d tell you. I surely wouldn’t be kissing you if I no longer found you enjoyable.”
You look into your lap. “I’m…not like you,” you murmur. “I don’t have magic.”
Severus leans back and studies you closely. “I’ve known from the moment I met you in the bakery that you were not magic, like I am.”
You stand, nodding. “Why would you want to be with me?”
“Would you like the truth?” he inquires, standing as well, towering over you. You turn your head up to look at him, then nod.
“You are a beautiful woman. You like to read and to be sarcastic. You were the first person in two long, dreadful years to treat me… normal. You didn’t hesitate to get angry at me for my rudeness. You actually bantered with me and didn’t lower your head and run away. You fascinate me. You have consumed my daily thoughts since the moment we first spoke.”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “Perhaps it is because you are not magic that I am fond of you. I dream of the day I no longer am Headmaster. The last twenty years of my life I spent lying and spying, hurting other people - other human beings, and using magic as the instrument to do so.”
Severus sounds remorseful. From your understanding, he helped save his school and the wizarding world. He grabs at your sides and guides you back to sit down on the sofa. He sits beside you and turns inward.
“So, you don’t want to use magic anymore?” you wonder.
Severus’ lip quirks up. “I did not say that. I merely wish to escape the castle, and everyone inside. I fooled them all, the students and staff. For many months, they believed me a traitor. Many of them now are unsure of how to act in front of me,” Severus speculates. He shrugs once, like there is nothing he can do about it now and gestures to you. “You…have been the one thing, the most interesting and meaningful thing that has happened to me in what feels like a lifetime.”
Your head lulls to the side with such heartfelt words. You reach forward with both hands and grab the lapels of his fitted jacket, then lean forward and press your lips to his, to which he responds by opening his mouth. Your tongues mingle and Severus’ hands come to your hips. He jerks you with ease onto his lap, then his hands spread your legs so you straddle him. He pushes his hips up and you feel his cock grow hard. You pull back from his lips and grin. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex?”
His hand runs up your back and he grabs the nape of your neck, tugging on it. You gasp and his lips press to your throat now, sucking harshly against the tender part of your neck. His free hand pulls downward on your dress, exposing a breast. As his lips lock around your nipple, your mobile begins to ring. Reactively, you move, to try to stand to fetch it. Severus grabs your hips forcibly, releases your breast from his mouth.
“I am more important than a phone call, young lady,” Severus whispers, dangerously. You laugh, about to nod and agree. His hand comes to your face and his fingers grasp your jaw roughly. “That’s funny, is it?”
Before you can even try to reply, your mobile rings again. You look at him seriously. He groans, then reluctantly frees you. You hold up one finger to him, then skip across the living room, through the foyer, and into the kitchen, giggling lightly. Before you can answer it, it stops. You glance at the number - you don’t know it, or at least, don’t have it saved in your new cell phone. Before you try to ring them back, four easy knocks come at the front door. Before you even take a step, Severus is already in the foyer, walking to the door. He keeps his wand concealed in his jacket but keeps ahold of it as he pulls the door open.
“You?” Severus blurts out, rather rudely. You do suppose whoever it is has interrupted the imminent shagging that was about to ensue. You peak over Severus’ shoulder and see Cole, your old classmate and bartender of the local pub. You shove Severus aside and turn on the lights in the foyer - Cole has blood dripping from his face.
“I tried to call, I’m really sorry to do this, you were the closest person I knew.”
You pull the door open and usher him inside. As he passes you, Severus glares down at you. You eye him back firmly, then follow after Cole.