snape laughing

elennare  asked:

First, I wanted to say that I love love love your Harry Potter fics and what-ifs! thank you so much for writing them :) And I also wondered if you ever written what if the Dursleys had refused to take Harry in?

When Petunia Dursley refused to take Harry in she forfeited his birthright protection, so Dumbledore took the baby to the safest place he knew: Hogwarts.

The applicable staff (mostly just… not Snape) took Harry in on a rotating schedule as he grew from baby to toddler to child. They traded extra credit for babysitting among the older students, and Harry grew up knowing a few dozen different laps that were safe and warm to nap in.

This was a Harry who grew up among books, among old transient walls and learned professors. They gave Binns night duty sometimes, and let him talk young Harry to sleep. This was a Harry whose world changed, on principle, daily. The stairs moved. The walls became doors. You had to keep your eyes open–you had to pay attention. So he did.

He grew up in a school. Knowledge was power, but knowledge was also joy. This was his sanctuary. There was magic in his world from birth.

“The castle will keep him safe,” said Dumbledore, when McGonagall came into his office to complain for the eighth time about Albus’s rather cavalier take on child-rearing. “That’s what it does.”

Then why do we bother with chaperones ever,” McGonagall said, tempted to shriek it. “Should we let all the children run about willy-nilly at all hours, or just the orphan waifs?!

“He’s not a student. He’s a ward of Hogwarts. It will take care of him, Minerva.”

McGonagall walked off fuming. A cat with spectacle markings followed Harry almost constantly from ages three through four. At some point McGonagall was far enough behind on her paperwork, and had seen enough suits of armor carry the kid back to his room, enough draperies lift off the wall and tug Harry away from edges, and enough stairs creakingly shift their slope for his tiny toddler legs. She gave a grumpy sigh, stole some of Albus’s lemon drops, and resigned herself to a magical world.

The Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower, didn’t really like boys but she liked children. She especially liked patience, and politeness, and Harry had been raised by McGonagall’s stern table manners, by Victorian portraiture and quite a few House Elves. He said please, thank you, and ma'am, and as a child he was very cunning in how he got bedtime stories and bedtime snacks out of most every adult he met.

The Grey Lady told the best stories, you see, the ones with riddles in them. You had to think and ask questions to get all the way through them. So he hunted her down with big patient eyes and plates of very smelly cheese, and she told him stories that made him think.

When Harry was stable enough on his feet to walk, and then to run, Sir Cadogan would race him through the castle, the knight scattering banquet tables and galloping across landscapes, twisting through the abstract gallery up on the seventh and a half floor. Harry stumbled and sprinted up stairways and didn’t notice for years the way Cadogan waited at the end of corridors for him to catch up.

Harry was a chubby-legged toddler, in this world–cute cheeks and stubby limbs. It’s a cute image, yes– but this is important. He was a chubby kid. He ate in a high chair on the teacher’s dais, getting peas and mashed potatoes on the adults beside him– Sprout laughed. Snape didn’t.

But this is important–Harry filled his plate. He wobbled up on little legs and grabbed biscuits from the table, slurped his soup, got marinara sauce on his chin and forehead and somehow behind his ear. When he was hungry, he ate. If he snuck down to the kitchens at night, it was for the adventure of it and nothing else. When he was hungry, he ate.

When he was four, they started letting him go sit down with the students. Bill Weasley, on route to be a prefect next year, took him under his wing and scrubbed his face down after meals. Harry was passed around the Hufflepuff table; theirs was the House Common Room he most liked sneaking into, with its barrels and cozy warmth. Nymphadora Tonks turned her nose a dozen different shapes to make Harry laugh, gurgling, as a toddler (and then a child) (and then for the rest of her life, honestly–it never stopped being funny).

The whole Ravenclaw table got distracted from meals, trying to solve riddles from a book one of their Muggleborns had smuggled in.Harry pushed his fork through his gravy, trying to draw out his thoughts but only making squiggles.

It was years before Harry sat at the Slytherin table for the first time–no one had ever set him down there, like they had with the others. But he liked green–it was the color of Professor Sprout’s greenhouses, where he went and napped sometimes in winter. It was the color of his mother’s eyes, from the little book of moving pictures Hagrid had given him when he was three.

All the Slytherin kids seemed big, but everyone Harry ever met seemed big–except for Flitwick, who was seeming smaller with every growth spurt. He leaned forward, teetering on the bench, and grabbed a chicken drumstick. “Hi,” he said, because he’d had a childhood full of tea parties with high portrait society– the French nobility and the tired housewife from the third floor and an old witch with her sleeve on fire but very particular table manners. “I’m Harry. What’s your name?”

By the end of the meal, they were flicking peas across the table with their spoons, like catapult projectiles. Harry had been unwelcome in so few places in his life, after he’d left 4 Privet Drive, that he simply didn’t expect it. He asked Warrington, a Slytherin with shoulders like a bulldog’s, to help him with the juice, which was too unwieldy for his kid-sized wrists. Harry sat there blinking, smiling, until Warrington took the jug and poured him a brimming glass.

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Happily Ever After // Remus Lupin

 A/N: Don’t ask me what this trash is because I don’t know. I’ve been doing Driver’s Ed shit all week and my brain isn’t functioning properly sorry if this is terrible lmao. I don’t have the energy to edit this either pls don’t hate me 

Originally posted by mrsgarfieldxo

Remus woke with a start. Sharp, loud cries echoed through the dark bedroom. He let out a tired groan as he rubbed at his eyes, moving your arm off of his bare chest. He did his best to gracefully scoot out of the bed without waking you. Your chin slipped off his shoulder and rested softly on the corner of his pillow. A sleepy smile grew on his face as you stirred a little, mumbling his name and smiling in your sleep.

The baby in the crib at the window let out a piercing cry, and Remus winced, glancing at you. You’d woken up, but he didn’t need to know that. You watched him pad the rest of the way over to the white wooden crib after mentally deciding you were still sleeping. He peered down at the baby, smiling gently at her for a couple seconds as he fumbled with a beautiful lavender throw Lily had made for your daughter draped across a rocking chair Remus’ grandfather had built. You watched him through squinted eyes and blurry vision as he lifted your daughter carefully from her crib. He swaddled her in the blanket, hushing her quietly and rocking her in his arms. He smiled softly at her, “Hello, my love. What’s the matter? Oh, sweetheart, stop crying. Nothing to fret over, angel. Daddy’s going to fix you right up.” 

You felt a smile grace your face as you watched Remus. You didn’t think you’d ever seen a more beautiful sight; your whole world standing together, painted in soft, pallid moonlight pouring through the open blinds. You watched Remus leave the room, coming back shortly with a bottle and your now quiet daughter. He took a seat in the rocking chair, lifting the bottle to the baby’s mouth. If she hadn’t been quiet before, she definitely was now. Remus gazed down at her, an expression full of love and adoration for the girl evident on his face. You wanted to giggle at the smile on his face; the ‘stupidly in love’ grin he always gave you. Your daughter finished the bottle up quickly, but still she remained restless. You frowned. A bottle normally put her right back to sleep. You contemplated getting up to give Remus a break, but then he began talking to the child, and as you listened, you decided you wouldn’t dare interrupt this.

“My beautiful little angel,” he whispered, staring down at her. He began to rock slowly. His fingers danced on the baby’s belly for a couple seconds. She laughed and Remus smiled wider. What a beautiful sound it was, her laugh. Your husband spoke again, “I was always a night owl, too. Your mummy though,” he paused to laugh, “well, that woman passes out at seven and doesn’t wake up until noon the next day. But, sometimes, she can’t sleep. It’s normal, darling, don’t worry. When Mummy can’t sleep, I always tell her stories. You want to hear a story, love? I believe you’re a tad too young to count sheep.”

Remus wiggled his fingers on your baby’s belly once more, causing her to let out a little shriek. “I’ll take that as a yes, then, Hope.”

Hope. You’d insisted on naming your daughter that. Not only was it Remus’ mother’s name, but it was exactly what Remus needed when she came around, and it was exactly what she delivered. After James, Lily, and Peter were killed and Sirius was taken to Azkaban, Remus had fallen into a deep hole of depression, and you couldn’t help him out of it. Most of your pregnancy was spent alone, and the stress of it all nearly killed you and Hope both, but you made it through. And when she was born, the twinkle in Remus’ eye return and with each passing day of having his child, he began to smile again and your hope for him to get better, his hope for a future, the hopes you shared for your baby and each other had been restored. That’s what your child was, pure hope.

You were torn from your thoughts as Remus’ silky voice filled the room again and the story began. “Once upon a time, there lived a princess; a beautiful, kind girl with the prettiest, fairest smile and a knack for loving things others thought unlovable. I know what you’re thinking, darling. This already sounds a lot like ‘Beauty and The Beast.’ Perhaps it is, in a way. The princess lived in a glorious castle called Hogwarts where she ruled over her people in the Ravenclaw Tower, a place for the witty ones. The castle was a big place full of magic and wonder. Her loyal knights, Sir James and Sir Remus,” he paused and giggled quietly at himself, “lived in the Gryffindor tower, a place for the bravest of them all. And down deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts lived a slimy little man named Snivellus, a mad sorcerer who wanted to see the downfall of the Princess Y/N and take her throne.”

You forced back a laugh. Serverus Snape was many things, but he was not a mad sorcerer and only got the chance to see your downfall once, before it was quickly taken care of. Remus continued, “One day, Princess Y/N was with her best friend, Hademar the Owl, in Hogwarts’ Owlery writing a note to her parents, who lived far, far away. Sir Remus was off with his mate Sir James, chasing after the fair maiden Lily Evans. Sir James was hooked on her, and always had a new plan to steal Lily’s heart, which almost always involved Sir Remus doing something crazy. And so, the princess was left unprotected by her brave knights giving Slimy Snivellus the perfect chance to use his latest terrible sorcery on her. While the brave knights tried to coax Lily Evans into going on a date to Hogsmeade with the poor, lovestruck, hopeless Sir James, Snivellus sat in a dark corner with his pathetic chemistry set, brewing up a terrible poison. He had the perfect plan to steal Princess Y/N’s crown. He would dip a fresh apple into his nasty concoction and trick the princess into taking a bite, putting her in a deep sleep for the rest of your life.” He laughed a little, “And knowing Princess Y/N, it was a pretty good plan. Her subjects wouldn’t have a hard time believing she’d retired from her princess duties to sleep for the rest of eternity.”  

You could tell Hope was dozing, but Remus didn’t seem to care. He continued his story. “Greasy Ol’ Sniv slithered up the steps to the owlery, a shiny red apple in his hand. Sir Remus was still distracted with Sir James’ shenanigans and was nowhere to stop the villainous creature. Snivellus approached Princess Y/N with a sly, disgustingly menacing smile on his face and offered her the apple. She reached out to take the gift. You see, Princess Y/N was very kind and always believed in second chances. But, as soon as she touched the apple, Sir Remus felt a sick feeling in his stomach. He knew something was wrong. So, he pulled out is magical map and searched for Princess Y/N frantically. Once he found her, he raced to the owlery, wand in hand. What’s going to happen, my love? Hm, Hope? Think Dad- Sir Remus can save the day?”

You shifted slightly, becoming uncomfortable. Remus glanced at you, but you shut your eyes quickly. When you opened them up again, he was finishing up the story. “Just in time, Sir Remus burst through the door and shouted a spell, knocking the poisoned apple out of the princess’ hand. She started to shout at Sir Remus, not letting him explain his side of the story before resorting to screaming, as usual.” You tried not to snort at that little comment. Remus just put on a stupid smirk and kept story-telling, “Sir James was right behind Sir Remus, sweet Lily hot on his trail. He put magical, unreakable handcuffs on greasy, slimy, disgusting Snivellus. Lily gave him a victorious kiss and Sir James nearly went into cardiac arrest. As for the princess, she’d stopped yelling and allowed Sir Remus some speaking time. He finished his explanation of why he’d saved her ungrateful, shouting life with a brave smile and the princess’ heart thumped out of her chest – her very nice chest. She jumped for joy and thanked Sir Remus a million hundred times. She gave him lots of thank you kisses, and thank you other things, and eventually told Sir Remus that she was in love with him. Yeah, she was so whipped, Hope. After begging a million times, the princess finally convinced Sir Remus to marry her. As for Sir James and the fair maiden Lily Evans, they had a big beautiful wedding and loved each other until the very end…and still do. The Hogwarts castle was a peace with its new Prince and Princess and Daddy and Mummy lived happily ever after.”

Remus kissed the top of Hope’s head. He stood up and placed the sleeping baby back in her crib carefully with a whisper, “The End. Goodnight, my love. Daddy loves you so much, Hope.”

With a yawn, he sleepily walked back to the bed, laying down carefully beside you. You pursed your lips and shuffled around, coming to lay on his chest after he’d burrowed back into the blankets. You smiled, “Princess Y/N, huh?”

Remus let out a loud groan before pushing your giggling figure off his chest, rolling over on his side and hiding his crimson cheeks. You laughed, placing a soft kiss on his cheek and wrapping your arms and legs around him, “Goodnight, my brave prince.”

anonymous asked:

"There is only one set of students from the Marauder era who we watch bully another student...who were routinely punished for it" I find it fascinating that you don't consider what happened to Mary Macdonald bullying. Or that no other such incidents occurred because we see no evidence of punishment. After all your insistence that the Marauders got away with their bullying? You've just underscored how they're the only ones we see face punishment.

Crikey, ordinarily I do have a lot of patience, but I am going to be frightfully rude and point out that literally everything you’ve asked was addressed in the original post, and you’re doing a rather wonderful job of misrepresenting what I originally said.

Seeing as you’re struggling, I’ll break it down for you.

1.  You’ve said that you find it fascinating that I ‘don’t consider what happened to Mary Macdonald bullying’.

…but I said no such thing..?

I did not comment on whether the Mary incident was bullying.  I said that there was nothing to suggest that Snape was involved in the Mary incident, and in fact, canon explicitly suggests that he wasn’t there.

2.  Then you say, “Or that no other such incidents occurred because we see no evidence of punishment.”

…but again, I said no such thing..?

The point that was being addressed was ‘did Snape attack Muggleborns’?  There’s nothing in canon to suggest that Snape attacked Muggleborns.   As I said, although anything we don’t see written explicitly is possible, it does not mean it was likely.  For example, if it was true, I would expect to see some evidence in canon - e.g. seeing James use it as a reason for him attacking Snape, or Sirius and Remus using it as a reason when talking to Harry.

But nobody does.  Therefore what I said was factually accurate - there is nothing in canon to support the claim.

3.  Your last point is, “After all your insistence that the Marauders got away with their bullying?”

…and crikey, this is becoming quite a theme but…I said no such thing.

If you really want to go down that path, then yes, it’s fair to argue that the Marauders did get away with their bullying - after all, Remus Lupin was made a prefect, and James Potter was made Head Boy…so they were hardly maligned for their behaviour even though they were punished.  I think there’s also a credible argument that the group were not sufficiently punished for their part in the werewolf incident, as the group are happy to set on Snape ‘for existing’ just a short while afterwards.

…but crucially, I didn’t mention any of that in the post.

Frankly, I can only assume that you sent this as an ask instead of reblogging the original post because if you’d quoted the whole post, everyone would’ve seen how flawed your commentary was to begin with.

All this bashing of ships like Hermione x Snape makes me laugh. What are you, the moral police? Trying to shame people out of their kinkiness, have you got no shame? Fellow problematic relationship shippers, stand up for your rights! I unashamedly ship Harry with Tom/Voldemort and love it with all of its problematic aspects. I love it BECAUSE of its issues. It’s INTERESTING and KINKY! I find normal, healthy ships to be BORING as hell. Desirable in real life, but nothing I want to read about!

anonymous asked:

Okay, a bit stupid question haha, but what would happen if (bi-snape) had a relation with a extremely handsome, muscled bearded tall guy? :3 and how would his enfironment react?

No one would dare mess with him, for many people would be utterly convinced that Snape has bedded a literal GOD, and none of them want to risk the wrath of a deity.


Name: I care for you
Pairing: Severus Snape x reader
Summary: the reader is one of the students that get back to Hogwarts after the war, and she asks Snape (for a few months) to teach her Legilimency until he agrees. So, during one of the classes, she accidentally enters his mind and ends up learning that the love for Lily Evans was not as eternal as everyone was told.
A/N: And it is a little drama, but I promise a happy end. And I may do series. But I have no idea if I should.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Snape greets you in the evening, once you enter the classroom with the heavy bag on your shoulder. “I see you still haven’t given up on the idea of studying Legilimency.”

“Why would I, sir? It is exciting to spend every evening here.”

“Now, I am doing you a favor, miss, but that is not a reason to keep cajoling me,” Snape smiles with a corner of his mouth, then takes his wand out. “If we are done with the courtesy, shall we begin?”

“Yes, sir,” you stand up and take your wand out, ready to have him rush through your thoughts again and again. Luckily, Snape didn’t mean to hurt you, so he never went deep enough to touch on the painful memories of the war and the tortures, but he does go through your dreams. Quite embarrassing every once in a while.

Legilimens!” and once again, you recent nightmare appears in front of you, and you feel that your legs start shaking from the repeating Crucio breaking your nerves. For some reason, recalling the Crucio does not hurt any less. A second later, Snape catches you, when you are about to fall on the floor, and helps you sit down. “Y/N? It is fine, I got you. I am sorry,” you breathe in, hissing something. Snape sits down next to you, looking at your face, frowning. “You still have this nightmare…”

“How did you guess?” you grumble, and momentarily regret it. “Excuse me, professor.”

“Y/N, I am not your Dean, but… Maybe you should see a professional to help you deal with these memories,” he hands you a glass of water, as you keep shaking your head, almost aggressively. “Y/N, you have same nightmare every night. Yet you keep coming here, so I keep making you live through it again. Do you care to explain why?”

“I want to be able to defend my mind,” you say dryly, standing up and taking your wand again. “Can we continue?” Snape raises his eyebrow, then stands up and points his wand at you.


Protego!” you cast your spell, unconsciously using same spell as the one Harry said he used, even though he never said what happened after that. And he should have - a second later, you slip into Snape’s mind and regret it even too much. You try to pull back, but get totally stuck in his mind. You look around, trying to manage to get out of a dream. It is a dream - they feel more detached than usual memories, you’ve already memorized it from your own mind. The picture is mostly blurry, except for the two people, standing in front of you and holding hands. Before you see the faces of the people, you get pushed out of Snape’s mind and end up on the floor. Before Snape manages to murder you, you start apologizing. “Merlin, I am so, so sorry! Professor, I really didn’t mean to do that.”

“It is alright,” he helps you up, keeping his eyes away. “When you tried to pull out, you started panicing, instead of slowly slipping out. That is why you got stuck. If I didn’t push you out, you would lose yourself… Don’t use Protego when defending yourself in this situation.”

“I am still sorry…” you realize that he is not mad for some reason, so you allow yourself to go further. “Your dream… it felt lonely.”

“Because I am,” he answers calmly, either too tired or too deep in his thoughts to respond as usually.

“Aren’t you married?” Snape smiles, as if you said a funny joke. “What?”

“Discussing personal life of teachers, aren’t we, miss Y/L/N?”

“Sorry…” you look away, and he sighs before explaining.

“I am not a man that a girl would want to marry,” he sits on the table, the hands crossed on his chest. “My scars, my past… It is quite a burden.”

“Oh, I am sure a lot of girls would love to put up with it,” you grin, thinking of your classmates that have developed a crush on him. “And I know what I am talking about,” Snape hums, and you smile. “One more time?”

“I think you’ve had enough for today,” Snape declines the offer, putting his wand away and suddenly turning to you. “Would you like a cup of tea? It does help after going through the nightmares again… I would hate to disturb your mind and then abandon you for Peeves to annoy,” you smile and nod, as Snape leads you into his room, not magically turns the pot on, and puts the herbs in the teapot. You look around, realizing that it may be the one and only time when a student is allowed in Snape’s chambers. It’s usual - ordered, calm, no fried frogs on the walls or burnt human faces. “Surprised that it doesn’t look like a monster’s cave?” you realize that he is laughing at you. Funny, Severus Snape is laughing at a student for expecting his chambers to be so human.

“No, not at all,” you lie, as he pours the tea in two cup and puts one on the table in front of you.

“No poison whatsoever,” he says momentarily. “Only valerian. You have to calm down,” you nod and take a sip, then look at the table, understanding why you are here.

“I won’t talk about it,” everyone’s been convincing you to talk about how you felt, tortured with Cruciatus for hours. Neville was the only one who understood probably - he simply sat by your side, holding your shoulders when you were trying to breathe after a nightmare. At some point, you just started meeting on the Astronomy Tower every night, as you couldn’t sleep, and he was just there for you.

“I know,” Snape answers calmly, drinking his tea. “But I don’t want you sitting with Longbottom on the cold stones every night. You will get sick.”

“Neville helps me.”

“No,” Snape states coldly. “He supports you. You need a safe place. Definitely not your own room in Gryffindor tower, the exact place where you’ve been tortured,” you flinch, and Snape frowns. “It’s been a year and a half. It is time for you to be able to trust someone.”

“I trust…”

“Neville, I know,” he nods. “Is that why you never let go of your wand?”

“You’re stalking me,” you murmur.

“I care for you, you little idiot!” he exclaims finally. “You don’t sleep, you don’t eat… I wonder how you still function.”

“I am functioning fine,” you stand up, attempting to leave, but Snape sighs and locks the door in front of your face. “Professor?”

“Y/N, stop being a child. Sit down,” you obediently sit down, your fist holding onto the wand, as if it’s your only escape. Snape notices it. “Girl, I am saving you. You have to let it go. Your nightmares get more and more intense, I find you outside, freezing in the winter, almost every night,” he sighs again, looking you straight in the eye. “I am sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s my blood, not yours.”

“I was the headmaster, I had to know that they were doing that to you. I was my responsibility. One of.”

“You saved everyone else,” you murmur. “Someone had to be… the spare.”

“You are not the spare,” Snape confronts you quietly. “Not one child in this school is,” you don’t say anything, finishing your tea. “I don’t want you to stay in the Gryffindor Tower,” you raise your eyebrow. “I have contacted your Dean, and she said that you can stay in my chambers until we find a room for you.”

“Your… chambers?”

“Yes. I have two spare rooms, as the chambers are always prepared for the married teachers that may want their families to live with them. You literally will have your own room,” you still stare at him, and Snape snaps. “For Merlin’s sake! Let me fix the mistake I made!”

“Oh… You think that this,” you point at your head. “Is because of you?”

“I was the headmaster, trusted by Dumbledore to take care of the children. Yet here is one that not only I couldn’t save, but the one that is still unable to have a normal life because of it,” Snape’s face becomes deadly serious, as he stares at you. “I will help you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he nods and stands up, handing you a key. A usual key, just like ones in the muggle world. “The left door is yours. Lock it, make it your own place. No one can enter this room without your permission, but you should feel safe.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmur.

“Promise me to sleep well tonight,” he asks you. “Just sleep. Drink tea if you must. Read or do whatever you do to fall asleep, but I have to know that you will get better,” you nod obediently.

“Thank you, sir.”

“It is my responsibility, miss,” he smiles slightly. “Good night now.”

“Good night, sir.”

anonymous asked:

Some headcanons or a story about how Lily ISN'T Snape's happy memory when he casts a patronus.

Great prompt, thank you.

This grew, and grew, and grew - not least because I started thinking about Snape’s assertion to Harry that a patronus wasn’t necessarily the best way to deal with dementors…  I hope you enjoy it.

Apologies for language.  There’s quite a bit of effing and jeffing.  Snape is a stressed young man…and well, Tobias is Tobias.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

Dumbledore eyed the pacing man curiously.  “Can’t do what, exactly, Severus?”

“This!” he yelled, flinging his arms out.  “This! Meeting like this in fuck knows where, with fuck knows who watching-”

“You believe we are being watched?”

“EVERYONE IS BEING WATCHED!” Snape’s black eyes blazed with fury.  “Every fucking one of us is at his beck and call,” he said, angrily dragging up his sleeve and brandishing his reddened Dark Mark in Dumbledore’s face. “At his fucking mercy.”

Dumbledore inclined his head.  “But surely you knew this when you accepted his sign into your skin?” he enquired, mildly.

Snape rolled down his sleeve and glowered.  

“Didn’t you?”

“…yes,” Snape finally admitted, his nostrils flared.  “But back then I didn’t think I was going to rat him out to Albus fucking Dumbledore, did I?!”

“Are you telling me that you’ve had second thoughts?”

“Of course not!” he snapped. Seeing Dumbledore’s unimpressed expression, Snape took a deep breath, and composed himself.  “…I just don’t think it’s wise that we correspond like this.” Snape stared intently at Dumbledore, daring him to argue.  “Sending an owl to my workplace with a location and time?  You surely can’t think this is safe?”

“…probably not.”

“And I’m no fucking use to you dead, am I?”

Dumbledore tried to hide his smile.  “No. No, you most certainly aren’t.” He thought for a long moment and then he nodded.  “Very well, Severus.  I believe you are familiar with Manchester?”

Snape gave a short nod.

“I shall meet you by the entrance to Oxford Road Station, next Friday, at noon.  If you cannot attend, please send me a howler about excessive Divination homework, and we shall postpone until a week next Tuesday.”

“And what if you receive an actual howler about excessive Div-”

Dumbledore peered at Snape over his glasses.  “Really, Severus?”

Snape gave another short nod, taking Dumbledore’s point.  “Just don’t open your post at breakfast,” he grumbled.  “I’m not sure I can disguise my voice suffici-”

“All howlers are delivered to my office,” Dumbledore interrupted.  “It doesn’t do for the students to see the Headmaster being publicly rebuked by disgruntled parents.”  He checked his pocket watch.  “Remind me, Severus, who was your sixth year Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? We go through so many.”

“Professor Crickswain,” Snape replied, quickly.  “She was good.”

“And I would be right in thinking that you covered dementors during that year?”


“I suggest you re-read your old textbook before next Friday.”

Snape gave a short, insincere laugh.  “Handing me over to Crouch, are you?”

Dumbledore returned his insincere smile.  “Not unless you give me reason.”

Snape hated side-along Apparation.  He hated not knowing where he was going; hated being at the mercy of someone else’s magic.  He stumbled as he and Dumbledore landed, and he immediately crouched down, trying not to throw up.

“A little too rough for you?”

Snape straightened, embarrassed and shook his head.  “I skipped breakfast, that’s all.”  He glanced around.  “Where are we?”

“Off the coast,” Dumbledore said, simply.  

Snape caught sight of the building in the distance and froze.  “Off the coast?  Off the fucking coast?”  His voice raised an octave.  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I assume you did the reading,” Dumbledore said, striding forward.

“I’m not going in there!” Snape yelled.

“You’re not,” Dumbledore replied.  “But one of the guards is coming out.”

“Is this a test?” Snape looked frantic as he saw the dark figure floating from the prison.  “I’m on your side!  I’ve told you everything, I swear!”

“I want you,” Dumbledore said, his wand firmly in his hand as he watched the dementor approach, “to utilise the techniques taught to you by Professor Crickswain.”

“Because I’m going to need them when I’m thrown in there?” Snape said, pointing his wand at the Azkaban building.

“Focus, Severus.”

The dementor swarmed over, and Snape took a deep breath as the dementor latched on to his face.  

Dumbledore watched in amazement as the dementor fumbled, and then attempted to drain Snape’s happy memories from him – but each time, it came away with nothing.  Snape was stood, stock still, his face blank, his eyes deadened. The dementor swirled around, and then swooped again – but still, it failed.

Agitated, it turned its attentions to Dumbledore, but before it could descend, Dumbledore pointed his wand and loudly cast, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Snape jolted out of his self-imposed trance as he saw a brilliant white phoenix shoot from the end of Dumbledore’s wand and successfully repel the dementor.  “A Patronus?”

The dementor retreated, and Dumbledore swiped his wand through the air, causing the Patronus to cease. He shrugged at his robes.  “Yes.  And what spell were you using, Severus?

“It’s a subsidiary of Occlumency.  It blocks access to your mind, so the dementors cannot feed on your thoughts.”

“You block your entire mind?”

“I put a wall around happy memories, and I push negative thoughts towards the front,” he said, quietly.

“You impersonate the effect that the dementor causes,” Dumbledore said, softly.  “Only, you do not allow the dementor access to feed on your happy thoughts.  Either your wall is exceptionally strong, or….”

Snape sniffed loudly.

Sensing his discomfort, Dumbledore swiftly changed the subject.  “I was rather hoping you’d use a Patronus.”

Snape barked a laugh. “I’ve heard about Raczidian, thanks.”

“And you place yourself on the same scale as Raczidian, do you?”

“…we both know that I have not been a good man.”

“I wish for you to try.”

Snape paled.  “I do not wish to be devoured by maggots.”

“Tell me,” Dumbledore said, “did Professor Crickswain set the work of Professor Catullus-”

“Spangle,” Snape finished, nodding his head.  “Yes.”

“And what do you recall of Professor Spangle’s work?”

Snape screwed up his eyes tightly, as if he was imagining the words forming on parchment.  “The Patronus is the awakened secret self that lies dormant until needed,” he recited.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. “A pertinent passage for you to quote.” He passed his wand between one hand and the other.  “A Patronus is the physical manifestation of happiness-”

Snape huffed.

“-and a true and confident belief in the righteousness of one’s actions can be enough to carry through a successful casting of the spell.”  Dumbledore looked intently at Snape.  “You do believe in your present actions, do you not?”

“Yes.”  Snape stared back fiercely.  “I’ve risked everything for this.  For you.  For her.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Then, I do not think you have anything to fear.  I take it you remember the appropriate spell?”

Snape nodded.  

“Then I shall recall the dementor.”  

“And if I fail?”

“I shall intervene.”

Snape gripped his wand tightly as the dementor floated over, and he fought the urge to fling up his well practised wall.  He drew in a breath as the dementor latched on, and he was almost overwhelmed as negative thoughts swarmed his brain.

It was so different to his experiences with his wall, where he was in total control of which thought lay where.  Now, every bad experience was flashing before his eyes, replaying in vivid technicolour; Sirius Black, his father, James Potter, his mother, the blasted werewolf, the OWL exam, Lily, Lily, Lily…

He shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts and in the corner of his eye, he could see Dumbledore’s anxious expression, his wand pointing towards him.  He knew he had to focus and he forced the usually hidden memory to the fore:

He lay on the grass, his feet bare, his oversized coat bundled up and placed beneath both their heads.  “But it’s ok - you can swap money at the special bank,” he said, knowledgeably. “It’s run by goblins.”

“Tell me about school.  Do we do normal subjects?

“Normal subjects?”

“Like History, and Maths, and Science?”

He grinned.  “Sort of, but magical versions.  So we do History of Magic, and Arithmancy, and Potions, which is sort of like Chemistry.”

“You know so much,” Lily said.  “Which do you think will be best?”

“Potions,” he said, confidently.  “When Da’s out, Mam sometimes puts a cauldron on.  She lets me slice and stir sometimes.”

Lily snapped upright.  “Really?  Can I come and see?”

“You want to come to my house?” he said, flushing, and twisting his hands awkwardly.


“I’ll ask,” he said, quietly.  His heart hammered a little faster in his small chest as Lily slid her hand into his.

“You’re the best, Sev.”  She smiled at him, and then suddenly, the scene spun.  The playground was replaced by castle walls, and her face shifted, and her features matured.  Her grin was replaced by a look of revulsion.  “You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.”

“No – listen – I didn’t mean-”

A blast of brilliant light caused him to recoil, and when he came to, he realised that Dumbledore had stepped in.

“Do you not remember the lesson?” he asked, gently, passing Snape some chocolate.

“Yes,” Snape said, shakily. “A single happy memory.”

“Then I must advise you,” Dumbledore said, seriously, “that your memory was not nearly happy enough.”

He hurtled down the empty corridor as fast as his short legs could carry him, the four Gryffindors in hot pursuit.  He dived through a doorway, and was astonished to discover that he’d entered the Trophy Room.  He spotted Lucius Malfoy in the corner peering through one of the glass cabinets, but before he could speak, Snape held a finger to his lips, and sprinted into the adjoining Armoury.

He weaved between the suits of armour, and nestled behind one furthest from the door, just making it into his hiding spot before James, Sirius, Remus and Peter burst through behind him.

“He’s got to be in here!”

“I thought I saw someone in the Trophy Room.”

“Snivellus wasn’t in the Trophy Room, Remus,” James argued, hotly. “We all saw him pile through the door.”

“Yes, come out, come out, Snivvy,” Sirius taunted, his wand drawn.

Snape’s foot shifted against a suit of armour, and the four boys whirled around at the noise.  

“Expelliarm-” Sirius started to shout, but then was wide-eyed as he couldn’t finish his casting.

James frowned, and tried to take over.  “Petrific-” He turned back to Sirius, and clawed at his mouth.

“Run!” shouted Peter, grabbing Remus’ arm and hurtling towards the door – but blocking the doorway was the taller, broader, and very much older, Lucius Malfoy, with his prefect badge gleaming on his robes.

“Well well well,” Lucius drawled.  “Four young Gryffindors roaming the corridors after curfew.  What do you have to say for yourselves? Black?”

Sirius shook his head, miserably.


James glowered, his cheeks burning red.

“Back to your common room,” Lucius said, decisively.  “All four of you.  Now!”  Remus opened his mouth to argue, but Lucius sneered.  “And do not think of taking a detour.  I shall be visiting Gryffindor Tower in five minutes for a discussion with Professor McGonagall.  Could you imagine her reaction if it was discovered that you were absent?”

The four boys miserably traipsed out of the Armoury.

Once they’d left, Lucius turned back to the suits of armour. “Impressive, Severus.  We are not usually taught nonverbal casting until at least fifth year, and only then if you have a competent Dark Arts teacher.” He hoisted the young boy from behind the suit of armour by his skinny arm.  “I did not recognise the spell you used at all.”

“It’s a sticking spell,” Snape said, breaking free of Malfoy’s grip, and brushing his robes down.  “They can’t cast nonverbally, so if I stick their tongues to the roof of their mouths, it stops them from using any spells against me at all.”  He looked up, shyly.  “And I cast it nonverbally so they can’t use it back.”

“My, you are a clever little thing, aren’t you?” Malfoy smiled, widely.  “Sit with me in the common room tonight.  I would like to discuss your inventive spells a little more.”

Snape smiled to himself as he followed the prefect out of the Armoury, out of the Trophy Room and down the corridor, a feeling of elation growing in his chest at the older boy’s words.  

But then, the memory shifted, and this time, he found himself cornered.  Four sneering teenagers had him pressed against the cold corridor wall, their wands pointed at his face.  “It’s a pity Malfoy left,” Sirius jeered.  “He always was your knight in shining armour, wasn’t he?”

“Riding in on his stead to save you, like the worthless princess you are,” James laughed, stabbing his wand under Snape’s chin.  

“But now you’re alone,” Sirius smiled, and he pointed his wand at Snape’s face, and then a spurt of bright light filled his vision…

“Not even close to happy enough,” Dumbledore said, passing him another piece of chocolate.  

Snape closed his eyes. “I don’t exactly have a wealth of memories to choose from.”

“You must have something, Severus,” Dumbledore said.  “Rest for five minutes, and think carefully.”

It was impossible.  Everything was tainted.  

His happiest memories contained Lily, but the dementor seemed to be aware of this.  It seemed to be revelling in his darker memories, gleefully drawing them to the surface and forcing Snape to re-live every second of his ex-best friend’s hatred, destroying the happy moments he was trying to focus on.

He watched, helplessly, as she turned her back in the corridor, scowled at him across the Great Hall, and ignored him in Potions. He grimaced as he saw her throwing her arms around James Potter as they were announced Head Boy and Girl to rapturous applause, and then that stupid slur screamed around his brain, over and over and over and over and over and over and over…

“I can’t,” Snape groaned.

“You can, and you will.”

He closed his eyes, and put Lily from his mind.

The first Quidditch match he saw Slytherin win.  When Slytherin won the house cup in 1975.  That time Regulus Black grabbed the snitch just as it was flying into James Potter’s outstretched hand…and Sirius broke his own broomstick out of frustration.

“Are you focusing on memories you personally experienced, or memories where you were a bystander?”

“Does it matter?”

“You should focus on your own successes.”

When he earned his first house points.  When he brewed his first perfect batch of Draught of Living Death. His first ‘O’ in Defence Against the Dark Arts.  The handwritten note from Slughorn, tucked into his NEWT results, which told him that despite stern competition, he’d scored the highest in the year in Potions.

He opened his eyes, and saw Dumbledore standing over him.  His expression was stern.  “The memories you are using are not powerful enough, Severus.”

“…I don’t have anything else.”

“You must.  Think harder.”

Snape pulled himself upright, and stood before the older man.  “What do you use?”

Dumbledore gave a small smile.  “You will not find inspiration for your own happiest memory merely by peering at mine.”

“I just want a hint. A clue.  An idea of the sort of thing I am looking for.”

“What have you used already?”

“School stuff,” Snape muttered.  

“Were you especially happy at school?”

There was a long pause. “I wasn’t especially happy at home either,” Snape grumbled.

“In such circumstances, it is common for witches and wizards to feel particularly elated when they received their Hogwarts letter.”

Snape shrugged.  “But I always knew I was going to Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful.  “And what about other groups that you may have gained admission to?”  

Snape looked horrified.

“Severus, the memory only has to evoke feelings of happiness.  There will be no judgement,” Dumbledore continued, his voice low.  “Did he make you feel happy, Severus?  When you laid your forearm bare before him, and invited him to brand you?  To own you?”

Snape stared at Dumbledore, dumbstruck.  His mouth opened and closed, but he didn’t make a sound.

“It didn’t feel good to be accepted by those you so admired?”

“…you want me to use the moment I was marked as the basis for my happiest memory?”

“Is it your happiest memory?”


Dumbledore smiled.  “Then, by all means, use something else.”

He watched anxiously as the dementor descended, and he screwed up his eyes.

He traced the printed words with his tiny fingertip, and held the large wand in his small hand.  He could feel the magic emanating from the wood; it didn’t feel quite right – as if it desperately wanted to play, but knew the boy holding it wasn’t its rightful master.

He flicked the wand, experimentally, surprised at how springy the light wood was – and then, with his tongue stuck into his cheek, he traced the words again. He could do this.

“Lum-ohs,” he said, seriously, but the wand didn’t respond. He paused, and peered at it, and then back at the book.  “Lum-ohs!” he repeated.

He frowned, and traced his fingers back over the words.  “Lum like lump,” he whispered.  “Os like logos.  Lum-ohs.  Lum-ohs!”

It didn’t work, so he placed the wand back down and flicked through one of the other books – and then he saw it, and his lips sounded the word out under his breath.  “Chaos. ChaOS.  Os like chaos, not os like logos.  Lum like lump, os like chaos.  Lum-os.  Lum-os!”

He picked the wand back up and swished it excitedly.  “Lum-os!”  

But still, the wand did not light.  Sensing he was close to his goal, Snape grabbed another book and flicked through it furiously.  “The moon cycles are called lunar…”  He trailed off.  “Not lu like lump,” he realised.  “Lu like lunar.  Looonar. Looomos!”

He grabbed the wand and pointed it upwards.  “LOOOMOS!”

The tip of the wand lit, and Snape excitedly jumped to his feet. He swished the wand, casting the light around the dark attic, and then he crouched down and referred back to the page. “To ex-tin-gui-sh,” he read, slowly, “your wand, the in-can-tat-ion is Nox.”  He grinned; that would be easy.  “Nox!”

And all fell dark.

He swished again.  “Looomos! Nox!  Looomos!  Nox! Looomos!  Nox!”  He spun around the attic, casting into dark corners, and then rapidly dousing the light. “Looomos!  Nox!  Looomos! Nox!  Looomos!”

But then his vision swirled, and the light grew stronger, and no matter how much he shouted, “Nox!” the room wouldn’t darken again.  “Nox, nox, nox, nox, nox!” he yelled, louder and louder, not caring if his parents would hear and discover his forbidden antics.

And then he realised that he was flat on the ground, sweat streaming down his face, still screaming the incantation.  Dumbledore was holding the dementor off above him.


“But it still wasn’t good enough.”  Snape groaned and covered his face with his hands, still brandishing his wand.

“Far closer.  You almost sent out a non-corporeal form.  What precisely were you thinking of?”

Snape eyed Dumbledore curiously, as he accepted a piece of chocolate from him.  “The first time I cast a spell.  When I was little.  I took my mother’s wand.”

Dumbledore nodded.  “A good choice.  Success is a powerful emotion.”


“…as we discussed, being accepted is perhaps even more potent.”

“No.  No.  I can’t use when I was marked,” Snape said, quietly.  “I might have been happy at the time…but not now…”

Dumbledore settled himself on the grass.  “Then rest, and think,” he said, indicating that Severus should sit next to him.  “Success and acceptance, Severus.  Success and acceptance.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Tobias slat his newspaper across the room.  “Just fuck off outside, will yer!”

“I ain’t done owt!” Severus yelled back, banging the fridge door loudly.

“Last three minutes of the fuckin’ match, and you come down ‘ere and send the radio funny with yer fuckin’ doo dah wotsit!”

“Toby,” Eileen admonished, sharply.  “Leave the lad alone.  He can’t help it.”

“You don’t do it with your fuckin’ magic powers!  Three fuckin’ minutes,” he complained, retrieving his paper from the floor, and scooping it back together.  “That’s all I wanted.”  

“Dunno what yer mitherin’ at,” Severus retorted, sulkily. “Won, dint they?”

“How’m I sposed to fuckin’ know, soft lad!  Fuckin’ radio’s knackered, thanks to you!”

“Severus, go back upstairs,” Eileen said, firmly.  “Tobias, you well know that the radio will be fine.”

“Yeah, when he’s fucked off it will be!”  Toby glared at his son, brandishing the now rolled up newspaper.  “Go on wi’ yer!  Fuck off!”

Severus looked up from his homework at the sharp knock on the door. “What d’yer want?” he called.

Tobias pushed the door of his son’s room open.  “Speak t’yer.”

Severus capped his ink, and put his parchment on the floor. He moved over on the unmade bed, silently indicating that his father could sit next to him.

“S’alright,” Tobias said, leaning against the doorframe.  “Yer mother says yer can’t help it.  That fuzzy stuff.”  He peered at his son.  “Yer never used to do that.  Just since yer been at that fancy school.”

“It’s one of the lessons,” Severus said, an impish grin creeping up his face.  “How to piss yer Muggle da off.”

“Yer a cheeky fucker.”  Tobias swung the door back and forth with his foot.  “Grow out of it?”

“S’pect so.”

“School goin’ good?”


“Behavin’ yersel?”



Severus nodded, and reached for his parchment.  “That it?”

“D’yer like it?”

Severus put the parchment back down.  “Better than round ‘ere.  Still school though, innerit?”

“Aye.”  Tobias gave a short smile.  “Not much fun, eh lad?”

There was a moment of silence, and Severus thought his father was about to leave, but then, he spoke again.  “D’yer all wear them funny dresses?”

“Robes, Da.”

“Yer mam don’t wear ‘em.”

“Not round you.  She’s got ‘em though.  In the attic. I seen ‘em.”

“Bit girly on a lad.  What’re them girls down the street gonna think if they see yer like that?”

“Not as bad as yer fuckin’ shorts,” Severus retorted.

Tobias looked down at his shorts.  “Georgie Best’s, these were!”

“Best before 1971.”

“Cheeky shite,” Tobias said, reaching forward to clip his son lightly around the ear.  “Bet yer don’t even know who he is.”

“I’m a wizard, not an ignoramus.”

Tobias paused.  “D’yer ‘ave wizard footy, then?”

Severus shook his head.  “There’s a game.  On broomsticks.  But it’s nothin’ like.”

“Yer prefer yer wizard stuff?”

“Mostly,” Severus said, quietly.  A brief flash of hurt covered Tobias’ features, but he quickly masked it.

“Right.  Let yer get back to it,” Tobias said, pulling the door shut.  A moment later, it swung back open, and Severus looked up, startled. “We’re playin’ on Saturday afternoon. In the cup.”


“Can yer try ‘an get ‘andle on yer witchy thing?  …don’t want to miss owt.”

“It’s a shame,” Tobias said, running a piece of bread around his plate, mopping up the juices.  “He used to like ‘is footy.”

“He isn’t going to dare come downstairs at all today after how you behaved on Tuesday night,” Eileen snapped, taking his plate from him and pushing it into the washing up bowl.  

“I apologised!”

Eileen gave him a hard stare.  “Did you actually say you were sorry?”

“More or less.”

Eileen huffed, and put the salt and vinegar back into the cupboard. “More or less.  He’s only here for a couple more weeks.”

Tobias looked uncomfortable.  “Can’t yer stop that witchy thing he does?  Then he could listen to the match.”

“It’s emotional,” she explained, wiping down the table.  “If he’s hungry.  If he’s tired.  If he’s upset.  If he’s worried.  If the team scores.  If they don’t.  If his father’s going to pitch a fit and scream at him for daring to exist.”

Tobias glared.

Eileen shrugged.  “He’ll grow out of it.”

“But not by kick off,” Tobias muttered.  He grabbed his keys, and his loose change.  “I’m going down the club.”

“That’s it,” Tobias announced the next morning, putting the phone down.  “Murphy’s lad can’t play, so we’re short.  Gonna ‘ave to call off.”  He peered at Severus, who was rummaging in a cupboard.  “Unless…?”


“Leave the lad be, Toby,” Eileen said, not looking up from her ironing.

“Yer used to be good.”

“Used to be.”  Severus opened the fridge door and stared into it.  “I ain’t played in years.”

“Get yer ‘ead out of the fuckin’ fridge.  Ain’t nowt in there for yer.”

“Yer tellin’ me,” Severus said, letting the door shut.  “I’m starvin’.”

“Can’t be,” Tobias huffed.  “Yer ‘ad breakfast half an hour ago.”

“Starvin’,” Severus reiterated.  “I eat way more at school.”

“Fine.  Play, and I’ll buy yer some chips.”


“What?” Tobias turned to his wife.  “I’m just offerin’.”

“It’s called bribery,” she said, sliding a neatly pressed shirt onto a hanger.  She stared at her son.  “Play if you want, but don’t let him guilt you into it.”

“What if we lose?”

“Don’t matter.”

“Still get chips?” Severus asked.

“Still get chips.”

“What if I play shit?”  His eyes narrowed.  “Still get chips?”

Tobias gave a half smile.  “Yer yer mother’s son, aintcha?  Yeah, yer still get yer chips.”

He wasn’t lying.  He hadn’t played football in years – not since he left the Muggle school and got on the train to Hogwarts.  His dad hadn’t been lying either.  He wasn’t half bad.  If he’d really put his mind to it, maybe he could’ve excelled at it – but then, he’d always known he was a wizard; he wasn’t interested in excelling at anything Muggle, because he knew he was going to drop it like a stone as soon as he reached eleven.

He stood on the rec, and juggled a ball between his feet, feeling awkward in his dad’s old shorts and baggy t-shirt.  He lost concentration as the team came past him, and the ball flicked a little far away.  He quickly cast a nonverbal Accio, and he almost laughed out loud when the ball curled back to his feet.  He’d never thought of using magic whilst playing before; he certainly didn’t have the power or the skill when he was ten.

But what made him laugh inside was the fact that he did it so naturally.  He really was a wizard.  No wand.  No verbal incantation.  He’d just reacted.  Severus kept on juggling the ball, a grin across his face.

“Yer playin’ keepy up?”  An older teenager, nineteen or so, crossed the field.  Severus vaguely recognised him.  Robbie’s lad.  


“How many?”

“Wasn’t countin’.”

“What’s the point if yer ain’t countin’?”

“Not played for ages,” Severus said, letting the ball drop.

“Ah, I remember yer.  Toby’s lad, innerit?  Yer be right.”

“Bloody hell.”  The captain of the opposing team moved through the bar to shake Tobias’ hand.  “This is yer lad, right?”


“Where’ve yer bin hidin’ ‘im?  United’s youth team?”  The captain shook his head.  “Yer’d be top of the league if he played every week.”

Tobias’ chest almost burst with pride as he clapped Severus on the back.  “Not bad is he, eh?  For a scrawny ‘un.”

“Bugger me, he could give old Georgie a run for ‘is money.” The captain took a long drink.  “Yer wanna get him signed up.  See a few scouts.”

“Nah,” Tobias said, smiling ruefully.  He ruffled Severus’ hair, as the lad sipped his ale.  “He’s all brains, y’see.  Takes after ‘is mother.  Goes some posh school up in Scotland.  Won a scholarship.”

“Some kids got it all, eh?” the captain said, raising his glass. “Well, good luck to yer lad.  And Toby, yer should be proper proud.”

“I am right that.  I am that.” The captain moved away, and Tobias turned to Severus.  “I ain’t like yer mam, lad.  Ain’t that much good wi’ words.  But I am right proud, even when I’m shoutin’ and carryin’ on.”  He drained his pint.  “Now, let’s get gone, and get them chips I promised yer.”


Dumbledore smiled as the creature danced out of the end of Snape’s wand, forcing the dementor backwards until it fled to Azkaban.  “Fantastic,” he said, clapping the younger man on the shoulders.  “I knew you could do it.”

Snape sat back on the ground, panting heavily.  The last few hours had taken its toll.

“Now watch this!” Dumbledore cast his Patronus, and the phoenix flew before Severus.  It paused, and then opened its mouth:  “Meet me in Diagon Alley at 7.30pm.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Snape breathed.  He laughed loudly, relief flooding him as he realised what the afternoon had been about. “That’s amazing.”

“Do not shy away from light magic, Severus,” Dumbledore said, quietly.  “It is your Dark Lord’s greatest failing.  He fears it.”  He placed his hand beneath Snape’s chin.  “This exercise today has proven what I already suspected.”

Snape took a sharp intake of a breath.

“You can walk the line.”

“The line?”

“Between Dark and Light.” His eyes twinkled.  “Perhaps between magic and Muggle?”

Snape bristled.  “…did you…”

“With me, Severus,” Dumbledore said, extending his arm – and then he Disapparated with a muffled pop.


Potions is the subject you hate the most. Snape don’t like you because you are a Gryffindor and one of the best friends of Harry. The two of you always tried to make the best out of the hours full of torture from Snape. You laugh the whole time about insider jokes about Snape and get kicked out almost every time. That doesn’t bother you, the one thing that does is the jealousy of your secret boyfriend Draco Malfoy. Seeing you with Harry like this makes him angry and gives him this strange feeling in his stomach.

After potions you waited until everybody left the room so you could go to Draco. The two of you always do that so you can have a little conversation. But this time Draco don’t seem like to talk to you. „Draco, would you like to meet this evening somewhere in the library?“, you ask and look at him but he doesn’t respond, „Draco?“ Suddenly he turns his head at you and looks very angry: „I guess you should meet Harry there. You seem to have a good time together.“
„Oh, Draco. Stop your jealousy.“, you simply reply and want to go faster to leave him alone but Draco takes your wrist and pins you against the wall: „We will meet at the library and I will show you to who you belong.“

anonymous asked:

Fun Fact: During the filming of GoF, Daniel and Rupert both accidentally spilled milkshakes in Alan's car. So when Alan got a new BMW, he strictly forbade either of them to go near it.

Bwahahaha….I am now imagining that commute into Hogwarts as their characters:

Snape: I am not happy about this arrangement. Do know that if I had my druthers, you’d be in a horse trailer behind my vehicle or, better yet, five thousand miles away.

Harry (muttered under his breath): Don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.

Snape: Don’t make me take points.

Ron: (mouths a swear word silently and Harry has to cover his mouth to stop from laughing).

Snape: So. Then. A few ground rules. No eating. No giggling. No farting. No horseplay of any kind. You will sit with your eyes forward and say nothing for the duration of this accursed trip.

Harry (raises hand): Um…sir?

Snape (exasperated): Yes? What is it, Potter?

Harry: Well, um…there’s a problem.

Snape (eye twitch): A…problem…

Harry: (sheepish) We actually spilt our milkshakes and it’s starting to drip on the floor…

Snape (at maximum sneer): MILKSHAKES?! 

Ron: Well you see, we had them in our pockets and-

Snape: (pinching bridge of his nose in exasperation): Why would you ever put milkshakes in your pockets?

Harry: Well you see, we had an Undetectable Extension Charm put on them just in case we got peckish…and…

Ron (finishing Harry’s sentence): we sort of forgot about them when we sat down.

Snape: (sarcastically) Oh. Great. Well if that’s all.

Harry (to Ron): He’s taking this surprisingly well.


Snape: (pulls out wand): This is going to hurt you more than it’s going to hurt me.

Harry and Ron pull out their wands, but Snape quickly disarms them and he Scourgifies the entire back seat and then casts a Full Body Bind on both of them.

Snape (turns around and starts the car): Ahhhhh….silence…blessed silence….

Will, Will, WiLLIAm Ferri
Will, Will, WiLLIAm Ferri
Dan, Dan, Dan GOOOw
Dan, Dan, Dan GOOOw
Will - Chrissy
Will - Chrissy 
Will - Chrissy 
Will - Chrissy 
Will - Chrissy 
Will - Chrissy 
Will - Chrissy 
Will - Chrissy
DAn gooOOOWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Singing a song all day long in Poooooooughkeepsie!  Yeah!