Chapter 10
Severus Snape dreaded apparating back to Hogwarts on this cold January morning. Scotland is worse than England with its weather. Far too cold, too icy for his liking. He is newly forty and his bones are feeling his age, especially with winter. He’d much rather be entangled with you, in your comfortable bed, touching your soft skin.
He tried to not wake you this morning, but those damn wood floors creak. It wasn’t even five in the morning, but reminded him that you go to the bakery early almost everyday, to start baking. You got out of bed and made you both tea and biscuits. He left you a dozen conjured roses, then you sent him off with a basket of muffins, and a goodbye kiss, which he still tastes on his lips.
Snape places the enchanted clock he procured on one of Albus Dumbledore’s many decorative shelves and taps it with his wand. A brow arches when the clock chimes and everything becomes magically dusted. A purchase well done. He wanders to the desk, thinking about how much longer he will have to sit in Albus’ golden chair, continuing his position as Headmaster.
“Severus,” the portrait of Albus Dumbledore speaks. Snape doesn’t move, just looks with his eyes at the portrait above the desk. Albus raises his brows to him.
“This must be the first year in a very long time you did not spend Christmas holiday at the castle,” the portrait speculates.
Snape hums in response. He doesn’t like how the bloody portrait knows that. “Would you care to share how you spent it?”
Snape sits down and grabs the stack of papers he needs to tend to, purposefully ignoring the portrait. He flips through, searching for a document he hopes is here - the list of possible new Headmaster’s. He drops the papers when he doesn’t find it. Minerva ought to know. He stands, cloak swaying, and strides to the door with your basket of muffins in hand.
He finds himself loitering in the staff lounge. He rarely comes here - but he needs to catch Minerva before breakfast begins. She routinely drinks a cuppa and reads the Daily Prophet before going to supervise the Great Hall in the mornings. He places the muffins on the staff table, then sits in a chair by the fireplace, grabbing a fresh copy of the paper.
Last Death Eater Captured with the Help of Severus Snape and Aurors, Sentenced to Life in Azkaban
Snape rolls his eyes. When will they stop mentioning him. And why didn’t Potter just take the credit? He did not need to reveal he aided the capture. He skips the article and reads the Potion’s Updates section. He’s halfway through it when the door opens - only Madam Pomfrey walks in.
“Severus!” she greets, clearly shocked to see him sitting in the staff lounge. Snape raises his head and nods curtly. She bumbles into the room, pouring coffee for herself. “Who brought these muffins?” she wonders, grabbing one. “They’re delicious,” she boasts.
Snape raises the paper over his face and smirks. She walks over to Snape and slaps the paper down from his face, making him lean back. “Bloody hell, Poppy!”
She points a finger at him, scoldingly. “You missed your appointment at St. Mungos!”
Snape raises a hand defensively, then holds the paper up. “I’ve been busy catching Death Eaters,” he points out. And shagging a beautiful, young woman, but he doesn’t mention that. Her eyes soften and she straightens up.
“Come see me after dinner. I will give your treatment,” she says, calmer, and kinder. Snape nods once, murmuring a thank you. Thankfully, the staff door opens again and it’s Minerva who bustles in this time. Snape stands, clearing his throat. She grabs her cuppa and the paper, sitting at the table.
“Good morning, Minerva,” Snape greets. Minerva looks up, stricken with shock, and Madam Pomfrey gasps lowly. Is it that so fucking shocking to hear Snape say good morning ?
“Severus, good morning to you, too,” she greets, leaning towards him. “How was your holiday?”
Snape leans against the table, waving his hand back and forth - waving away the polite conversation. “You promised me the list!” Snape reminds, impatiently.
Minerva rolls her eyes now. “And I will have it. It would help if someone else helped me do the interviews,” she says, snidely. Snape points a finger to himself.
“I am not in a position to do that. I didn’t even want this bloody job,” he reminds.
Minerva sighs, knowing that already. “Severus, even when we do find a replacement, they cannot start until the next school year. You would have to finish out the year,” she points out.
Snape runs a hand through his hair. He didn’t realize that! “The decision is up to me, isn’t it?” Snape asks after a moment. Minerva nods. “Then, you will be Headmistress. I do not want to hear your excuses about how old you are. Albus had two decades on you,” Snape decides. He almost adds that if Albus had not been cursed by Voldemort’s bloody Horcrux, and Snape not agreeing to kill him, he’d probably be eating sweets and doing just swell.
Minerva stands when the castle bells begin to ring - breakfast begins in five minutes. She shakes her head. “We will speak about this later, Severus,” she demands, then whisks out of the room.
Snape groans, then disapparates back to the Headmaster’s office. He settles back into the desk, planning to hide out in the office for the day and work on paperwork. He glances at the new, shiny enchanted clock - seven fifty eight in the morning. It’s going to be a dreadfully long week without you. If he can manage to sneak away on Wednesday’s, it will be more manageable. He is embarrassed to feel how much he already misses you. He tries to imagine you, baking your little heart out, greeting customers with your sweet face and kind smile. He hopes you have a happy and easy week.
You sigh, feeling absolutely knackered after you finally close the bakery. Monday’s are always so busy with large orders and everyone needing their pick-me-up to start their work week. Your hands and back hurt. A nice hot bath and bottle of wine are in your future. After cleaning and prepping for tomorrow, you finally are heading out the door. Just one quick stop to drop off last week's cash at the bank, and you’re home free.
After locking the bakery door, you turn towards the direction of the bank, walking through a fresh layer of snow on the sidewalk. You zip your coat up and shove your hands in your pockets, beginning to briskly walk - it’s fucking cold. You cut through a long alleyway between blocks, shortening your trip. When you emerge from the backstreet, you immediately notice two scruffy looking men leaning against the building to your right. You cross the street immediately, paying them no mind. It’s getting dark out and you have roughly two thousand pounds in your purse. You just need to make it to the main road, where there are more street lights and people.
“Miss!”
You tense and look over your shoulder, seeing them coming towards you - local drug addicts, they seem like anyway. “No, thank you!” you call out, hurrying down the sidewalk. You reach into your purse and grab your pepper spray, hearing their feet behind you now.
“Stop!” one commands, pulling at your coat. You turn sharply and hold up your pepper spray.
“Fuck off! I mean it!” you warn. They both raise their hands in what seems like surrender and stop moving. You slowly take a step back, slip on the icy curb, and fall back into the road. You groan and hear them scuffle towards you - they want your bag. You spray one in the face when he leans down towards your arm, where your purse is secured. The other, who moves quickly, kicks you square in the face. The back of your head impacts against the street and your vision instantly blurs. Not a second later, you hear a car horn beginning to blare. Reaching a hand up to your head, you hear tires squeal to a stop just feet from you.
“Get the fuck outta here!”
Your vision clears and you see, not surprisingly, Cole. He jumps out of his truck, dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, and slams the door behind him. You sit up slowly, wincing - your head is throbbing terribly. The two men stand around, squaring off, one wiping his tearing eyes. Cole steps between you and the men now, beginning to crack his knuckles.
“Do you speak English? Bugger off!” Cole yells, then flinches at them and they take off running. You sigh in relief when you find your purse is untouched.
“You alright, [first name]?” Cole asks, holding a hand out. You grab him and he tugs you up, placing a hand on your side.
“I don’t know, is my nose broken?” you ask, looking up at him. He shakes his head, then leads you to his truck. You lean against it, rubbing the back of your head - it’s already forming a large knot.
“Your nose is bleeding,” he informs. He goes to the cab of the truck and reaches in, then returns with some napkins. You pinch your nose, shaking your head in frustration.
“Come on, get in, I’ll give you a lift,” he offers. You stand there for a moment, then walk to the passenger side of the truck, opening the door. Once you hop in, Cole begins to laugh. You turn to him, with a napkin on your nose, waiting for him to tell you why.
“I was just fucked up and you helped me, now you’re fucked up and I’m helping you,” he says, laughing. “Just funny how the world works.”
Oh yeah, so fucking funny. You lower the napkin and mock his laugh and he immediately shuts up. “Where to?” he asks, clearing his throat.
“The bank,” you murmur, glancing at the clock. “Hurry, they close in a few.”
He salutes you, stupidly, and begins to drive down the road. He turns at the stop sign and pulls up to the bank. You get out of the truck, carefully, and hurry inside to deposit your cash.
When you come out, you feel light headed, and bloody sore. You walk up to Cole’s window, nodding towards the direction of your house. “Can you drop me at my house?”
He waves you in and you get back into the truck. “Of course. I’m not that rude,” he murmurs, turning around and driving towards your place.
“Thanks,” you say after a moment. “For helping me out.”
“No problem. Didn’t even know it was you. Just seen those assholes harassing some lady,” he explains.
You nod, shutting your eyes as the roads sway in front of the truck. He pulls into the driveway and comes to a stop.
“Do you need help inside? What if you have a concussion?”
You wave him away, smiling. “Don’t worry, my granddad is home, he…” You stop speaking, glancing at him, a little surprised you said that. Maybe you are a little confused. Cole tilts his head to the side, then shakes his head.
“You’re going to come to the pub for a few hours. I’ll drop you off later. Someone ought to watch you?” he suggests.
You sigh, wanting a bath, or at least a shower. “What about that boyfriend of yours? Can he come over, then?”
You shake your head. “Nah, he’s working,” you sigh. Cole puts his truck in reverse and smiles.
“Come on, I’ll make you some food at the pub,” Cole offers.
Snape lays in his bed chamber, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. It must be nearly midnight. He wishes you were beside him. He got back late to his chambers, didn’t call you because of the time. Poppy kindly treated his neck wound Nagini left. Each week, he thinks the medi-witches will find a way to cure it, but then is always let down. It is a wound like Arthur Weasley’s - a bite. But his wound was treated in a timely manner. Snape’s bite was left unattended for several hours, being kept alive by Poppy until it was his turn to be treated by the mass of healers that came to Hogwarts aid after the battle.
Perhaps you are awake. It isn’t odd for a man to call his significant other. If anything he can leave a voice message. Snape stands, walks to the cloak hanging on a hook on the wall, and grabs his phone. He goes to dial you, but has no service. He slips on his cloak and strides to the window, opening it. Ice cold air rushes in and he winces at it, then plants a foot on the windowsill. He vaults himself out of his bedchambers and into the air, having no problem standing in the open air. With great ease, he soars upwards, watching his mobile. When he finally gets two bars, he clicks on your name to dial you.
Snape is planning his voice message when you pick up the phone. Immediately his eardrum is filled with dull music. Pub music.
“Severus! How are you?” you greet.
Snape furrows his brows. “I am fine, thank you,” he says, almost formally. “Are you at the pub?”
You laugh lightly. “Yes, actually. It’s a long story, I can tell you all about it in a couple of days. I think I had a small concussion, but I’m good now.”
Snape’s eyes widen and his free hand tenses into a fist. What happened to you? “Cole is going to take me home…” he hears you move slightly. “…and leave immediately,” you whisper.
Snape purses his lips. He trusts you, there isn’t a need to doubt. “Fine. Do you need me to do anything for you? I can be there now, take you home myself,” Snape offers.
You laugh, seemingly blowing him off. “No, don’t trouble yourself, you’re working and so far away,” you point out.
Snape doesn’t want to push himself on you. You seem to have it handled - you’re an adult, he needn’t escort you home like a child.
“Okay. Take good care. I will see you Wednesday,” Snape bids.
“I can’t wait,” you say, which makes Snape’s lip curl up. “Go to sleep, for God's sake,” you command, sweetly.
He hums and hangs up the mobile. He quickly flies down to the window and glides in, touching back onto the floor. After shutting the window, disrobing his cloak, and drinking a dreamless sleep potion, he returns to bed and follows your order to go to sleep.
It is nearly one in the morning when Cole pulls back into your driveway. Tomorrow will be hell on earth at the bakery. You unclip your seatbelt and turn to old, smiling.
“Thanks for your help, again. And for the food,” you murmur.
Cole smiles back at you, reaching over and touching your knee. “No problem, [first name].” He rests his hand on your knee for a moment, then says, “if you need help at the bakery, I’m a quick learner. If anything I can stock and clean,” he murmurs.
You laugh out loud once. “Do you really want to work at the bakery?” you wonder. He removes his hand from you and sighs, looking rather nervous.
“I’m behind on my rent. I’ll be evicted soon if I don’t catch up,” he admits, almost embarrassed. Your eyes soften. He didn’t want to reveal that last night when he offered to help out at work. You touch his arm, getting his attention.
“Well, this is great news, I’ve been needing someone actually. Just been procrastinating putting out help wanted flyers. Come in tomorrow, we’ll say nine?”
Cole smiles widely. “Yeah, perfect! See you then,” Cole says, gratefully. You open the car door and hop out of the truck. You look up at him, gesturing to his outfit. “Slacks and a decent shirt. The Metallica shirt can stay home,” you suggest. Cole nods and salutes you again.
“Yes, boss!” he replies, grinning.
“Good night,” you murmur, laughing, shutting the truck door. You walk to your door and unlock it, striding in. You kick your shoes off and lock the door behind you. You stand in the foyer before slowly pacing to the living room entrance.
You look in, where your grandfather used to sit all of the time, seeing it empty. You can’t believe you said your grandfather was home. The thought of it, though, brings tears to your eyes. You don’t want to think about him, and how sick he was, how much he suffered, how he is gone, how badly want him back. You walk to the kitchen and find the half filled bottle of scotch, pulling the cork out. You take a few drinks of it, then your stomach threatens you so you stop.
You lean against the kitchen island, waiting for the alcohol to help, to numb your feelings. The urge to want to harm yourself washes over you. Anything to stop the grief, even for only a moment, to stop the compulsive obsessing over your grandfather. You lean over the sink, glancing down at a knife sitting inside. Slowly, you reach down, hand hovering over it. Instead, you turn on the cold water, and shove your head beneath the faucet.
After drenching your head for a few minutes, you shakily reach up and turn the water off. After wringing your hair out, you grab the bottle of scotch and take another large drink. Your cold head makes the sadness drift away, but anger replaces it. You don’t want to waste the alcohol, so you sit it down. Instead, you shove the vase of Severus’ beautiful roses he magically left you off the counter. It shatters loudly and the roses scatter over the glass and water. You don’t know why, but it makes you feel better, breaking something. A nice buzz washes over you shortly after. You make your way upstairs and quickly shower, then collapse into bed.
Shutting the large oven in the bakery kitchen, you dial in time for the timer, then go to your purse. You grab two Tylenol and take it with a drink of coffee. You’re sore, it feels like you’ve been hit by a bus. You spend the early morning filling orders and stocking the display cases with baked goods.
You’re open about an hour when Thomas, your grandfather’s friend, comes by to pick his order up. You emerge from the kitchen with it, handing it to him over the counter.
“My god, [first name]! What happened?”
You gesture to your face. “This?” you sigh and shrug. “Fell on the ice on my way to the bank last night, it’s not too bad,” you assure. His eyes widen.
“Be careful. You ought to hire a helping hand around here, you know, to do petty work like that,” he says, then chuckles. You smile, nodding.
“I actually did, Cole, from the pub. He starts today,” you inform, laughing.
Thomas nods approvingly. “He’s a strong looking young man. He can do the truck for you now,” he suggests. You purse your lips, thinking how that is a good idea.
“Louis wouldn’t want you spending all your time here, anyway.” The mere name of your grandfather makes your stomach twist. “You used to do the poetry show at Wine and Dine every week, I never see you there anymore,” Thomas points out.
You look down, not knowing what you would even write about for the poetry shows. “Well, once Cole is trained, maybe I’ll get back into it,” you say, half heartedly. You don’t plan on it - you just want this conversation to be over with. Thomas reaches out and pats your arm, thanks you, and goes on his way.
A few customers scatter across the bakery, drinking coffee and eating fresh muffins and scones. You stare out the window, wishing Severus was here at the countertop, doing the crossword and chatting with you. A pleasant smile washes over your lips when you see Cole walking down the sidewalk, towards the bakery. When he comes in, his attire surprises you - pressed black slacks, a light green dress shirt tucked in, and shiny black shoes. He’s even combed and styled his hair, it’s usually messy.
“Good morning!” he greets, walking up to the counter. You gesture to the bakery.
“Welcome to the Three Bridges Bakery,” you joke. “Come on back, I’ll show you around.”
Cole nods and steps back behind the counter. You gesture to all of the display cases. “Scones,” you tap the first showcase. “Biscuits,” you tap the second one, then move to the last. “Muffins and anything else.”
Cole nods slowly, looking a bit nervous. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of things eventually. I don’t expect you to know much of anything for the first week or so,” you joke.
Cole laughs, following you back into the kitchen. You show him the walk in fridge, the pantry, storage closets, ovens, dishwasher, and every other little thing.
“Am I going to be…baking?” Cole asks when you finish.
You shrug, not really caring if he does or not. You laugh to yourself, then say, “If you want to learn, you can come to class. I’m teaching Severus. You don’t have to bake, if you don’t want to. I need help with the truck, organizing and cleaning the kitchen, keeping the tables and chairs wiped off,” you explain. Then you hold up a finger. “And also taking the cash to the bank each week.”
Cole laughs now, nodding. “Sounds great. Thanks so much again, [first name], I owe you one.”
You smile small, then hear the bells on the door ring. You wave at him to follow you. A regular comes in, smiling.
“Good morning, your usual?” you ask, politely. He nods, then meanders to a table. You explain the cash register to Cole now, and it’s pretty straight forward. You tell him the customer's order - a black coffee and blueberry scone. You open the drawer under the countertop, revealing the cheat sheet for prices. You made this a few months ago, after your grandad died. You couldn’t focus well the first couple of weeks, kept forgetting the prices of the items.
“Oh, this is handy,” Cole boasts, grabbing it. He types in the correct amount for the items and takes his cash. You walk to the coffee that is kept on a bar behind the countertop. You explain the different kinds and creams and foams. You show him how to make an expresso for the guest and hand it to him to bring out. He sits it on a serving dish with a napkin, looking at you for approval. You nod, waving him away.
The rest of the day is surprisingly easier. You do not have to work as hard as you typically do. You and Cole share a few laughs while he picks up on the day to day. It’s nice. You wonder what your grandfather would think. Would he approve of the local bartender working in his bakery?
While you’re cleaning up behind the counter, Cole wipes down the tables. “This place is quite pretty,” Cole mentions as he cleans. “Still has the rustic feel, but you’ve updated it.”
You nod, looking down at the new floors that were installed last year. There is new paint and new tables and chairs as well. You suppose you went a little awry with the insurance money and inheritance you received. The bakery deserved an update, though.
“You could do a lot of things here,” Cole adds. “Totally offer alcohol. I have my alcohol license,” he grins. You shake your head, brushing him off.
“The bakery makes good money without those things,” you admit. “Besides, it would be more work that I would not want to do.”
Cole laughs, agreeing. You open the cash register and check the tallies for the day. Once you find no discrepancies, you take all of it and tell Cole to follow you back into the kitchen. You step into the walk in fridge and kneel down to the bottom shelf, moving a bag of flour to the side to reveal the small safe.
“At the end of the day, all money goes in here,” you say, unlocking it with the code. “In the mornings, take two hundred pounds out for the register. We pay the truck driver fifty pounds and Devin, the florist, fourty. The window washers come Friday, we pay them twenty.”
He pulls out a little note pad he’s been writing on all day, nodding. You tell him the code for the safe and advise him not to write that part down. You put the flour back in its spot and stand, smiling. You’re done almost an hour early today. Wonderful.
“That’s really it. I’ll have to get you a spare key for the door from my place,” you explain, stepping out. You lock the back door and both of you collect your coats, then head to the front door. Cole steps out and holds the door for you. As you lock it, he clears his throat.
“Listen, [first name], I know this is a lot to ask, but is there any way you can give me an advance?”
Your brows raise - you didn’t think he was going to say that. You think for a moment, then shrug, nodding. “I don’t see why not. I do know where to find you, so I could track you down if you screw me,” you warn.
Cole shakes his head. “I don’t plan on ever doing that to you, or anyone else for the matter,” he assures. You check your watch. “Run me to the bank and take me home, and you can have an advance.”
Cole nods, smirking, and you both walk to his truck parked behind the bakery. Once you’re heading down the road, Cole clears his throat. “Do you not have your driver's license?” he quietly asks.
You scoff, slap the top of his leg. “Yes!” you inform, a little offended. “I just don’t drive! I live so close, there is no need,” you murmur.
Cole nods. “Uh, when it’s thirty degrees you shouldn’t walk home!” he says, in disbelief. You chuckle as you arrive in front of the bank, then hop out of the truck. You head inside and get him a month's worth of pay. You will admit you’re paying him more than you should, but times are hard for him, if you can give him a break to catch, you might as well.
You leave the bank and step back into the cab of the truck. You will admit, it is nice to be in a warm vehicle. When Cole pulls into the driveway of your home, you hand him the envelope of cash. “This is for a month,” you inform. He sighs, relieved.
“Thank you so much. I can come in earlier if you need me to tomorrow,” he offers. You shake your head.
“We are closed Wednesdays. And, usually on Sundays we close early,” you inform. Cole nods. You get out of the car and wave at him, smiling. You unlock your door and step into your house. As you sit your things down and take your coat off, you find it oddly cold inside.
You walk to the thermostat and see it’s fifty six degrees in here, with an error message flashing. You groan and immediately wish you were anywhere but in a cold house right now. After finding the tool box, you open the basement door in the hallway and step down the creaky stairs. You have to fix the furnace.
It went out once last winter. Your grandfather was too sick that day to help you. He laid in bed and talked you through what to check to see what was wrong. Then, while you were with the furnace, he taught you what can break and how to fix it. He always told you, with a smile, that you don’t need a man to fix things for you. You smile fondly at the memory of him telling you that.
Your knelt in front of the furnace, rewiring a burnt out wire, when you sense something around you. Maybe it’s your grandfather, laughing at you for spending so much time fixing such a simple thing. For good measure, you glance behind you, and in front of the washer and dryer stands Severus Snape, cloaked in black, watching you closely. You jump, of course, knock the toolbox over, scream for a moment.
“Jesus, fuck!” you yell, holding your chest. Severus smiles softly and approaches you.
“Apologies,” he greets, kneeling beside you. He smells heavenly - lavender, paper, and some odd spice you can’t name. You wrap one arm around him, pulling him towards you. Severus wraps both of his strong, long arms around you. You’ve missed him.
“Hi,” you whisper, then lean your head back to look at him. He leans his head down to yours, then kisses your lips gently.
“Hi, pretty,” he murmurs, a small grin on his face. Your cheeks rush with blood. You gesture to the furnace.
“Furnace broke, but I’m almost finished fixing it.”
He reaches into the tight sleeve of his left arm and retrieves his wand. He taps it and says, “ Reparo .” You watch the wires you had apart connect back together to the correct ones. Your brows raise and you giggle when you hear the heat kick back on.
“Wow, you’re so talented,” you laugh. He rises to his feet and helps you up. He spins his wand around and the tools go back into the box and the furnace cover goes back on.
“It’s nothing, really,” he brushes off. He gestures to the stairs, wanting to get out of the basement. You both head upstairs and you shiver - your house is so cool. Severus holds his wand out and, without talking, heat rushes past you, warming the house. You’re surprised - magic is very versatile.
“I thought we weren’t going to see each other until tomorrow?” you wonder, heading to the kitchen. Severus follows behind you, nodding.
“Yes, I’ve just dropped in to check on you. And discuss my plans for us tomorrow evening,” he explains.
You smile. “I’m all better, no more concussion,” you assure. He nods once.
“I wish to take you to a nice dinner,” he informs. “What sort of food would you prefer?”
You purse your lips, then say, “Italian.” He hums in response. You hold up a finger.
“What about what I wish to do? You need another baking lesson,” you inform, smirking. “What time can you be here?”
Severus shrugs. “Four in the afternoon, most likely,” he replies. You clap your hands together once.
“Wonderful. We’ll make something to bring to your coworkers again,” you say, excitedly.
Severus rolls his eyes, then shrugs. “Whatever you like,” he walks to you and places a finger under your chin, raising your head up. “Wear something special,” he whispers.
Heat runs up your neck, to your face. “Something sexy?”
you ask, placing a hand on his chest. He hums an approving sound. “Something revealing?” you add, then run your hand down. He snatches your hand before you get close to his waist.
“Don’t get too handsy, darling. I have to go. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes,” Severus warns. You shrug, reaching down again, but he wraps his hand around your wrist now, tightly.
“I can make you cum with my mouth quicker than that,” you confidently inform. Severus stares down at you with intensity you can’t measure. He raises your wrist up, making you stand on your toes, then forces you to lean over the kitchen island. You gasp, looking over your shoulder, seeing him glaring now.
“You need to learn how to listen to simple instructions,” Severus groans. He pins your arm behind your back, and with his other arm, he tugs your pants down. You gasp again when you feel his hand caress your bare bottom.
He takes it off your skin, then spanks you lightly, but it startles you, so you yelp. He leans down over you, leaning into your ear.
“Surely you can take more than that,” he says, grinding his hips into you. You moan now, feeling his cock becoming hard. He stands back behind you, then guides the hand he’s pining down to his waist. He presses his covered cock to your palm. You sigh, trying to wriggle your arse against him. Instead, he pins your arm behind you again and spanks you more intensely. You throw your head back, feeling your heart race. He repeats the action, harsher. Then again, harsher. You yell out now, feeling your arse sting. He rubs gently now over your skin, shushing you quietly. He kicks your legs apart and his fingers slide between your folds, teasingly.
“You like this?” he asks, demandingly. You sigh in pleasure. He teases you, rubbing his fingers over your core, but not applying enough pressure to please you. His free hand comes up to your head and gathers a handful of your hair, pulling roughly. You gasp - a moan and a yelp in both. “Answer me, you little whore,” he commands.
“Yes, I like it,” you sigh, wiggling your hips side to side. He stops all movements, remaining silent. Your brows press together. Your mind is racing. He wants something else. “Yes, sir , I like it. Your fingers feel so good, sir ,” you whine. He groans, grabbing your hand again, putting it on his clothed cock. He thrusts into your palm and begins playing with your cunt again. He exhales deeply when you wrap your hands around the length of him.
“Please, please, sir,” you beg, laying your hot head on the cool island countertop. His breathing picks up and he shoves two fingers into you, instantly curling inside of you. You arch your back, moaning loudly. He pumps into you, once, twice, a third time, then removes his hands from you. He adjusts himself, clicking his tongue. You try to get up but he places a hand on your back, keeping you leant over.
He leans back over top of you, breathing against your neck. He presses his lips to your ear. “You ought to listen to simple instructions next time, you could have had an orgasm,” he lowly informs.
You gape, then force yourself up, gawking at him. He chuckles lowly and stands up straight. “Tomorrow, maybe, if you behave,” he toys.
“Severus!” you complain, irritatedly. You take a step towards him but he disappears before you can get to him to strangle him. You run your hands through your messy hair, then pull your pants up, shaking your head. You’re still turned on, majorly. He knows how to tease you. You sit down on a barstool, trying to decompress.
Snape sits with an uncomfortably stiff manhood for the entire duration of the meeting between the Heads of the four Houses, three school governors, and Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. They meet in a chamber off of Minerva’s office, in an empty teaching room, save for the round table and chairs. There’s a large, half moon window that brings in moonlight. A few candles float around the group, lighting the room up.
Attendance has been hard - much like Snape’s cock currently - with Muggleborn students. Though, apparently twenty some odd Muggleborn children have just signed up to attend Hogwarts next year, after Minerva assured their families that the Headmaster of Hogwarts assisted in the capture of the last Death Eaters.
“What great news, eh, Headmaster?” Kingsley asks. Snape nods curtly, remaining silent. This makes Kingsley laugh, he glances at everyone around the round table. “Snape’s just the same as he was before the war. Quiet unless fueled by anger.”
Snape stares at him and clears his throat. “I’m not the same at all,” Snape reflects, voice low. Kingsley raises his brows, waiting for Snape to speak more.
“How so? You rarely comment during our meetings, just like the old Order meetings,” Kinglsey admits, laughing lightly.
Snape straightens in his chair, shrugging once. “I am not in constant fear of my life, for once.” This makes the table go eerily silent. “All of you have something against me, do you not? You walk on ice in front of me. Whisper behind my back. Call me a renowned war hero, but it doesn’t change the fact that I killed Albus. You all know I hate this job, hate being his replacement. It should have been Minerva, and we all know this.”
The room feels like it shrinks around Snape. He hates this feeling. It developed after he was out of the hospital, after Voldemort was defeated. He feels like he is suffocating. Like he’s being squeezed too tightly.
“Minerva will replace you next year,” Kingsley begins. “Then you’ll be free to do as you please. Forgive my comment, Headmaster, I didn’t mean to start an argument.”
Snape scoffs, thinking. He continues on, in no certain order. “I do not need to lie to the most evil wizard ever recorded in our history. I don’t need to invade the minds of innocent people. I can bloody sleep more than an hour at a time. I vividly relive Charity Burbage’s murder. And despite despising being Headmaster, I do enjoy the work,” Snape reveals, though wonders why he is going on with this.
Snape leans back and crosses his legs at the knee, then waves his hand at them. “I’m even seeing a muggle and she’s teaching me how to bake, for Merlin’s sake. So if any of you think I am still a blood supremacist, maybe that information will help sway your minds otherwise. I am not the same. I haven’t been since the Potter’s were targeted. Even more so now that the Dark Lord is vanquished.”
Kingsley slowly leans back, examining Snape, then offers a firm nod. Minerva inhales excitedly. “I knew it! I knew you having a mobile like the muggles meant you met someone!” She leans towards him, grinning. “I have to meet her!”
Snape rolls his eyes, then glances at the clock. “Is this meeting over?” Snape inquires. Kingsley, who seems to have been humbled, nods. Snape stands first, sweeping towards the door.
“Severus!” Minerva calls out, hurrying after him. Snape ignores her, wanting to retire for the evening. “Severus Snape, you wait right there!”
Snape halts on her command, as if he’s back in school and she’s still his professor. He looks down at her - she’s crossing her arms. “Tea in my office.”
She waves her hand over the doorway in the corridor and it creaks open. Snape runs a hand through his hair, trying not to be annoyed. Reluctantly, he strides in and she follows right after. Snape takes a seat at her desk and she quickly prepares hot tea.
“Sleeping draught in yours?” she wonders from the kitchenette. Snape shrugs.
“Why not,” he replies, unamused. She comes to the desk when it’s finished and sits a tray down with tea and biscuits. She pours a cuppa for each of them, then settles into her chair. Snape sips on his tea, glancing at her. Her head sits in her folded hands - she is waiting patiently.
“What do you want to know?” Snape demands. Minerva gestures to him.
“Tell me about how you met, for starters!” she hurries.
Snape leans back and hums to himself. “It was when I was tracking the rest of the Death Eaters. I searched all night during the holiday, and needed some coffee. I happened to be flying over the town she lives in. She runs a bakery. I was an arse. She threw it right back at me.”
Minerva chuckles. “I like her already,” she beams. Snape scoffs a laugh out of his lungs. He shrugs, thinking about you. “I went back the next day. She was the only one who treated me normally, you know? Since before the war,” he wonders.
Minerva stares at him, then nods. Even she can admit that their relationship is different. They dueled each other. They aren’t equals now. Snape is her boss. He never talks about the war or what he did. It’s still too raw. Too tender.
“She’s pretty. A little young. Smart. Feisty. Kind. Very, very kind. She doesn’t judge me, either. I thought it’d make her run away, telling her everything wrong and bad I’ve done. She felt sorry for me. Fucking sorry. ”
Minerva’s eyes soften. “She sounds wonderful, Severus.”
Snape nods. “I think she is wonderful. She has a sad life, however. Both her parents died when she was young, so her grandparents raised her. Her grandfather died last summer and her grandmother is in a memory home. She runs the bakery her grandfather started, by herself. I don’t think she knows how to heal from the loss of her grandfather. And I don’t know how to help her,” Snape explains.
Minerva frowns. “That would be difficult,” she murmurs. “When are you seeing her next?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. I am going to reserve a dinner in the London Magical Underground. At Maurice’s.”
Minerva raises her brows. “That’s expensive. Very nice there, I hear.” Snape nods in reply. She reaches out and touches the top of his hand, staring at him with so much emotion, Snape becomes uncomfortable.
“You know, I never had children because I consider all of my students my children. You were my student once,” she begins, speaking meaningfully. Snape’s eyes look down, he merely nods, understanding what she means. “I should have given far more detentions to Potter and Black. I should have threatened expulsion for everything they did to you, Severus.”
Snape’s throat tightens and his chest begins to ache, so he does the only thing he is good at - Occluding. “I was biased, because they were in my house,” she admits. “I was better after the lot of you graduated. I was harder on my students in Gryffindor, and it made them better in the end. But, it doesn’t change everything they did and got away with, at the cost of your happiness. So, please forgive me. And I will forgive you, too,” Minerva speaks.
How she knew that forgiveness is what Snape wanted from her, he will never know. She doesn’t owe him an apology, though. “Okay,” Snape manages.
She smiles. “Well, off to bed. Find a day soon to introduce me to…”
“[First name],” Snape informs, standing from his chair. Minerva sighs happily at the mere mention of your name. “Don’t plan on it soon, I’m still getting to know her,” Snape explains.
Minerva huffs as she walks him to the chamber door. He steps out into the hallway and turns to face her. “Thank you, Minerva,” he doesn’t move for a moment, but then slowly wraps one arm around her back. She quickly returns his kind gesture. “Good night,” he bids, letting her go. She returns to farewell and shuts the door.
Water pours over Snape’s head in the large shower in the Headmaster’s suite. You wash over his mind, of course, you do. He’d probably have let you suck his cock earlier, had he not been in a rush. He groans at the mere thought of you on your knees in front of him, sucking him off. How would you do it? Eagerly? Patiently? Would you be polite or whorish? You did it so well in the shower at your house, your mouth and throat felt heavenly. Not like other women he’s allowed to pleasure him like that.
Snape glances down at his cock, which is stiff again. He sighs, shutting off the water, then gets out of the shower. He slips on his nightshirt and goes to the bed, sitting down on it. He grabs his aching cock, stroking it for relief.
Gods, he wants you now. Wishes he could see you. Hear you moan. Then, an idea strikes him while his hand is around his length. He motions his hand and a pensieve floats into the chamber. He extracts a memory and throws it in, then leans over it.
The first time you ever had sex with Snape, it was quick and sloppy, but felt bloody good. Snape is in that memory now, watching you and your beautiful body bouncing up and down his cock. Your facial expression alone is enough - your eyes clouded in pleasure, your mouth hanging open, your hair swaying. How did he get so lucky to find you in a bakery?
He pulls his head out of the pensieve and begins to furiously jerk himself now. He recalls your little moans and whines from this evening, when he was ruthlessly teasing you, how you crumble at his mere touch. It’s, not surprisingly, enough to make him breathe out heavily, nearly moaning. He stands from the bed, holding onto one of the posts of the bed frame with his free hand.
[First name], [first name], [first name]!
He gasps when his cock begins to spasm. Warm cum pours from the tip of him. He groans, throwing his head back, panting. He kneels onto the bed now, breathing, still euphoric. After a few moments, he collects himself. He waves his wand to clean up the mess, then falls on his back. The thought of you, and probably the sleeping draught, takes him to sleep quickly after.
Your nan paces around her suite, mumbling to herself, expertly ignoring your presence. She’s having an episode, this isn’t a common occurrence for her, but she has had them in the past. She seemed to dress herself and do her hair just fine today.
You merely sit on the loveseat, a container of scones you made for her sitting beside you. You’ve been here for an hour already, but she hasn’t calmed down. She was always so calm and collected, before her memory went to shit. It’s a different kind of hurt when someone you’ve known your whole life no longer recognizes you.
“Nan?” you finally speak, placing your book down beside you. She doesn’t acknowledge you, just merely paces to the shelves next to the telly, beginning to reorganize her books. “Nan, please talk to me again,” you sigh.
You lean your head back on the couch cushion, shutting your eyes and sighing. She’s pacing again. But closer to you now. When you feel her sit beside you, your eyes flutter open.
“You’re not Diane,” she murmurs. Your eyes widen at the mention of your mother. You shake your head at your nan. “You’re…[first name],” she tries, rubbing her head. You smile now, nodding.
“Yeah, I’m your granddaughter,” you reply. She leans back and looks around, then back to you. “Where is Louis? He doesn’t visit. He put me here, because of my mind, he ought to visit,” she complains.
You swallow, not knowing what to say. You should tell her while her mind is somewhat here. You reach out and grab her hand, staring at her anxiously. She stares back at you, looking at you like she used to. It takes you several minutes. “You know, Nan, granddad got cancer,” you finally say, your voice wavering.
Nan shakes her head once, gripping your hand with both of hers now. “No, I don’t want to know,” she quickly says. “Don’t say it,” she replies, sadly.
You look down in your lap as your chest becomes tight. Tears slip from your eyes, down your nose, landing on your jeans. Your nan lets your hand go, but leans into you gently, rubbing your back just how she used to.
“I suppose I’m the lucky one, eh? I’ll forget this soon,” she murmurs. You press your face into her shoulder, beginning to cry now. You wish you could forget. She shushes you, continuing to console you. “It’s alright. We are so lucky to even be given life on this earth. I just hope he is somewhere with your mum and dad.”
This throws you over the edge now. You’re on the verge of a nervous fucking breakdown and now wish your nan would go back to her crazy pacing. She slowly leans back, rubbing the side of your arm now.
“You saved grandad, you know. If you hadn’t existed, he’d have fallen apart after your parents died. We both would have,” she promises.
You cry for a few minutes, and when wiping your eyes, you look up at her. She smiles gently at you, then pulls her hand away - her eyes seem distant now. She glances down to the scones in the container.
“Did Louis make these?”
You stare at her, wondering why life is like this. Why would any god make people physically or mentally ill? Is this to punish you for being a shitty granddaughter while growing up?
“Yeah, nan, he did.”
You’re braving the cold winter wind on the walk back to your place when your mobile begins to ring. You pick up, asking “hello?”
“Hey, [first name]!” Cole greets.
“Hey, what’s up?” you ask.
“Well, I’m at your place, and you seem to be away. I’m here for the baking lesson.”
You stop and begin to rub the bridge of your nose. You stayed too long visiting your grandmother. You don’t have time to even get ready for Severus now. You’re so stupid.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Cole. I’m on first and Circa street. Can you come pick me up?”
“Of course. I’ll be there in a few,” he replies, then hangs up.
You sit Cole in the living room with a cup of coffee while you prepare the island with cooking supplies and ingredients. Your mind won’t slow down with thoughts of your grandparents - grief, sadness, anger - so you stick your MP3 player in your back pocket and the earbuds into your ears to help quiet your mind.
This afternoon, your students will learn how to make basic fudge. It’s simple and quick, which is good because you need to get yourself a shower and find a dress for dinner with Severus.
Quickly and quietly, you sit out mixing bowls, spoons, and aprons on two barstools. Then, to save more time, you divide ingredients up into the correct portions. This is making you somewhat happy. You like sharing your baking knowledge with people. It’s something you’re good at, anyway.
While returning supplies to the pantry, you feel a gentle hand press against your shoulder. You turn your head as you slide a bag of chocolate chips back onto the shelf. Severus stands there, staring down at you, neutrally. You take your headphones out of your ears and smile.
“Hi,” you greet. His brows pinch together subtly, then both his hands come out to grab your face.
“You’ve been crying,” he immediately notices, thumbs coming up to caress under your eyes. You exhale, shrugging.
“It’s fine,” you reply, walking out of his hands and back into the kitchen. You force a smile and gesture to the island. “We have another student, by the way.”
Severus strides to you, grabbing your wrist from where it is in the air. “It isn’t fine. If you need time, I don’t have to be here.”
You furrow your brows, feeling like you’ve done something wrong. Not everyone wants to be alone when they’re sad, at least you don’t think so. You mostly do, but not now, not today. You don’t want to be alone with your mind. The thoughts of hurting yourself are more frequent when you’re alone.
“Please don’t say that,” you whisper. Severus opens his mouth to speak, but Cole beats him to it.
“Didn’t even hear ya come in! Nice to see you,” Cole greets, walking into the kitchen, to Severus. He holds his hand out, to shake Severus’ hand. You stare at him, wondering if he will. He glances at you with his dark eyes, then proceeds with the handshake.
“I’ve hired Cole at the bakery, so I thought it’d be a good idea if he joined us.”
Severus scoffs. “Joy,” he feigns, striding around the bar stools. You instruct them to get comfortable and to put their aprons on. It makes you smile when they put them on, they both look cute.
The lesson begins and ends peacefully. You and Cole manage to laugh a lot, while Severus remains quiet and reserved. He must not like being around people he doesn’t really know. Cole’s baking was surprisingly good - you’ll be bringing yours and his fudge to the bakery to sell. Severus’s fudge, however, didn’t really turn out well. He scoffed when you told him he didn’t stir it enough while it was hot.
You walk Cole out and bid him a good evening, telling him you’ll see him tomorrow at work. You return to the kitchen to find Severus magically cleaning up.
“You don’t have to do that,” you speak. Severus shrugs, merely waving his wand. You grab the aprons and return them to the pantry, sighing. You feel exhausted though you’ve done nothing physically difficult today. When you emerge from the pantry, Severus is staring at you, silently telling you to talk to him.
It’s relieving to realize you can begin to tell what he wants or needs by his posture and facial expressions. It’s been almost a month since you met him. You feel like it’s been longer.
“I visited my grandmother. It’s just difficult. She mainly just stares and doesn’t speak. Lately, though, the staff says she’s been pacing around and mumbling. Then, sometimes she’s normal, she knows things. She asked about my grandad and I tried to tell her, but it was so hard for some reason. I felt like I was going to get in trouble,” you explain, leaning against the oven.
Severus walks to you, touches your arm gently. “It isn’t your fault,” Severus assures. “He was very sick.”
You nod, knowing. “I do feel like… I killed him, sometimes,” you admit. He moves closer to you, but you step away from him, shaking your head, crossing your arms and rubbing them furiously. You stride to the living room and sit down on the couch, feeling sick.
“[First name],” Severus gently says, following you. He gestures to the seat beside you, asking permission to sit. You don’t reply, but he sits down anyway. Moments pass and you seem to calm down. You raise your head to look at Severus, who’s watching you closely.
“When it was his time, he knew, I knew. He wanted all of the morphine. I could tell he was in pain. So I did what he asked. And he…” you begin, then shut your teary eyes. “He just slipped away, and so quick,” you whisper.
You use your arm to wipe your eyes, bringing you knees up to your chest now. “I should be over it, right? It’s been six months, it shouldn’t hurt for this long,” you complain.
Severus hums a deep tone of disapproval. “I don’t think grief has a timeline. If it did, I surely wouldn’t hurt anymore,” he speculates.
You wipe your eyes again, laughing once. “Yeah, you’re right,” you breathe out. Severus leans down towards you, with one arm wanting to hold you. You slide your knees off the couch and embrace him lazily. He sighs when your bodies press together.
“You know, you’re the first person I’ve wanted to touch so freely like this,” Severus says into your ear. You rest your head into the crook of his neck, kissing it gently. He chuckles lightly, pulling back.
“Ticklish?” you wonder. He shrugs, dark eyes staring at you. You could look at him forever. His dark, long hair framing his face, his ivory skin, dark eyes with a hint of a wrinkle, strong, hooked nose. “You’re pretty,” you blurt out. Severus scoffs now, rolling his eyes.
“You are. I wouldn’t date an unattractive guy,” you inform.
Severus leans down to your lips, brushing his against them.
“You’re far more pretty,” he says, then kisses you. You sigh pleasantly, sucking slowly on his lips. He groans, sliding one hand down your back, gripping onto your waist. He presses his chest to yours, tilting his head and opening his mouth. You do the same and his tongue sweeps against yours. You place a hand on his face, caressing a finger against his jaw line. Severus groans, kissing you hard one more time, then pulls away.
“You still want to go to dinner?” he asks, staring at you. Your face and neck are surely red, it’s how you get when he touches you. He likes it, you think, because he always smirks at how you react, at how you’re so responsive.
“As opposed to?”
He shrugs. “Dinner or dinner,” he says, cheekily. You cock your head, wondering why. “I had to bribe the restaurant for a reservation. It’s quite the popular establishment.”
You purse your lips, then stretch your arms into the air. “I better go find a dress, then.” Severus nods.
“I could always help you,” he offers. You stand up, giggling.
“Last time you helped me, you made me keep trying on dresses just to watch me get naked over and over again,” you remind.
“Well, yes, I find you very easy to look at,” he replies. You blush again, heading to the stairs. Severus stands up to follow you, but you tell him to wait here while you get ready. He reluctantly obeys.
After showering, doing your hair and makeup, and finding a rather sexy dress, you walk down the stairs to return to Severus. He’s examining your bookshelves and has a book in hand, dressed in a somewhat shiny cloak with his hair freshly brushed.
“What do you think?”
He places the book in his hands back on the shelf, then turns to you. His eyes slowly trace down your body, then back to your face. He walks to you, placing a large hand on the fabric of your dress, just under your breasts.
“I like your hair up. You have a lovely neck,” he compliments, staring down at it. “I don’t think I’ll be able to take my eyes off you all night, Miss [last name].”
You grin, stupidly. “I have a proposition for you, if you’re up to it,” he reveals.
He reaches into his cloak, revealing a velvet bag. You tilt your head, slowly reaching for it. You open it and gape. “Severus,” you say, stunned. He grins, licking his lower lip.
“It will be fun,” he assures. “Shall I help you with it?” You swallow and nod once. He removes the vibrator, then leads you to the sofa. “Bend over,” he commands, lowly.
You lift up your dress and bend at the waist over the couch. He kneels, groaning, tracing his hands up your stocking covered legs, slipping a finger underneath one of the garters holding the stockings up. “Lovely,” he compliments, then pushes your thighs apart. He pushes your panties to the side and places the vibrator against your folds, where it nestles against your opening and clit. He adjusts your panties back over it, securing it against you. He stands up and fixes your dress, then seizes your arse with his hands. He leans against you, leaning into your ear.
“I am going to enjoy playing with you this evening,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear.