coldkidcookieneck

[coldkidcookieneck]

Title: All by Myself with Severus Snape and The Echo of the Past

Summary: Snape reveals a shadowed past with the reader’s mother, sparking a tense moment that blurs the line between forgiveness and fury.

Authors note: After much chaos, pill-throwing, and escape plans, the madness continues. More secrets, more magic, and definitely more Snape.Hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 and Part 7 here

Cross posted on AO3

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The first time you saw the potion, you thought you had imagined it.

A small, unassuming vial sat on your bedside table, glinting faintly in the dim candlelight. Blood-Replenishing Potion. The realization sent a strange ripple through your chest, an unsettling mix of emotions she couldn't quite pin down. You hadn't heard anyone come in. Hadn't seen him leave it. But there it was, nestled beside her wand, waiting.

You didn't touch it. Not at first.

Two more days passed, and the vials kept appearing.

Murtlap Essence. Healing Potion. Another Blood-Replenishing dose.

You never saw him place them. But you felt his presence, his gaze lingering just a second too long when you passed by him in the corridor. He never said anything about it, never asked if you was taking them. But the intent was there, woven into every silent offering.

At first, her anger had been a roaring fire, hot and untamed. The painkiller incident still burned in her mind—Snape's sharp words, his controlled fury, the way he had dared to dictate what you could and could not do with your own body. The humiliation of it all made your stomach churn. You had promised yourself that you wouldn't let him get to you. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply his actions had unsettled you.

And yet.

The sight of those potions made something inside you waver.

She hated the way it softened the edges of her anger like water slowly wearing down the stone. Hated that some part of her recognized what he was doing.

This was Snape's version of an apology.

Not in words. Not in direct admissions. But in quiet, practical gestures. A carefully placed vial. A reminder that he was watching. That he still cared, in his own infuriating way.

And it made you want to scream.

Did he think this was enough? Did he think you would forget everything just because he had shoved a few potions in your direction? He was still watching you like a hawk, always there, always looming. Every time you so much as glanced toward the door, he would be nearby, a dark presence in the corner of her vision.

It was suffocating.

You needed to breathe. You needed to be alone for once, without the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on you.

And yet... you still took the potions.

Snape had expected her to reject them.

He had imagined her taking one look at the vials and tossing them into the loo out of sheer spite. Wouldn't have been surprised if she had stormed into his study, fire in her eyes, and hurled them at his feet. But she hadn't. 

She had left them untouched at first, maybe thinking it might be laced with poison. And it was returned after a few hours but then he sent it back again to her room. Where in a few hours later the bottle returned empty.

That was how he knew she wasn't as unaffected as she pretended to be.

He once when passing her room saw it in the way her shoulders tensed whenever she spotted a new vial. In the way, her fingers lingered over the glass before she pocketed it.

She was thinking about it. Thinking about him.

Good.

He had been watching her closely—perhaps more closely than necessary. But he couldn't help it. Not after what he had discovered. The painkillers had been a problem, yes, but they had merely been a symptom of something much deeper. She had been reckless. She had hidden her suffering, bottled it up until it had nearly consumed her. And he couldn't allow that to happen again.

So he left the potions. Quiet, unobtrusive gestures. A compromise between his nature and his conscience.

She could take them or leave them, but she would acknowledge them.

And if he had learned anything about her in their time together, it was that she would resent him for it.

So be it.

He would rather be resented than ignored.

He would rather she hate him than risk losing her altogether.

Still, he knew her well enough to recognize the signs. The way she lingered by the windows, the way her fingers twitched at the sight of the front door. She was waiting. Planning. Looking for an opening.

He almost smirked to himself.

She was going to try to escape him.

And she had no idea how thoroughly she had already failed.

A knock at the door disrupted the heavy silence that had settled between them. The morning had been uneventful—if one ignored the suffocating weight of Snape's gaze trailing her every movement. Every time you turned a corner, he was there. Every attempt at even standing near the door, a window, the bloody fireplace—he was there.

But this? This was a disruption. A chance.

You were already moving toward the hallway when Snape beat you to it, sweeping toward the door with his usual billowing authority. You skidded to a stop, frustration rising again, but when he opened the door, your breath caught slightly.

"Ah, Severus," came the familiar, knowing voice of Albus Dumbledore.

The warmth in his tone contrasted against Snape's sharp demeanor, but there was something else there—a careful curiosity as his gaze briefly flickered past Snape to where you stood.

"Checking in, I see," Snape muttered, stepping aside with begrudging allowance.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, stepping inside and giving you a small, assessing nod. "I trust you are recovering well, my dear?"

You wanted to scoff. The answer was no, not when you felt like a prisoner in this house, not when the only company you had was a man who alternated between sharp glares and unsettlingly unreadable silences. But you nodded, forcing a small smile. You weren't about to ruin this moment.

Snape, however, narrowed his eyes at your response.

Dumbledore turned to him next, and suddenly the air shifted. "Severus, a word?"

You stiffened, glancing between them, but Snape—though clearly reluctant—inclined his head and followed Dumbledore toward the sitting room. Your pulse kicked up. If he was distracted, if you played this right—this was her moment.

Dumbledore wasted no time. "How is she really?"

Snape exhaled slowly, knowing this question had been inevitable. His fingers twitched at his sides as he glanced toward the hallway, where he could sense her waiting, listening.

"She is... stubborn," he finally admitted, voice carefully controlled. "Frustrated. She wishes to leave."

Dumbledore's knowing hum set his teeth on edge. "And you've been keeping a close eye on her, I presume?"

Snape's jaw clenched. "As is necessary. If she—" He cut himself off. If she what? Ran? Would that be so surprising? He had seen it in her eyes every time she glanced toward the door—the need to escape.

"Severus," Dumbledore said softly, pulling him from his thoughts. "Have you spoken to her?"

"I have ensured her safety," he replied, sidestepping the question.

Dumbledore studied him for a long moment before sighing. "Very well. That is not my only reason for visiting. I require several potions—ones I trust only you to brew."

Snape gave a curt nod. "I assume you need them promptly."

"Of course." A small pause. "It will take you some time, I imagine?"

Snape's fingers curled into his robes. "A few hours."

"Good." There was an edge of something unreadable in Dumbledore's gaze. "Then I will not keep you."

Snape inclined his head as Dumbledore turned back toward the hallway—where she was no longer standing.

His stomach dropped.

Dumbledore's expression remained carefully neutral. "Thank you, Severus."

But Snape barely heard him. His pulse had already quickened. Because the house—which had been filled with her presence every moment since the incident—was suddenly far too silent.

The cold air bit at your skin as you stepped outside. The moment the heavy wooden door shut behind her, a strange feeling bloomed in your chest—something between exhilaration and dread. It had been three days. Three days of Snape's ever-watchful eyes, three days of unspoken tension thick enough to suffocate her, and now you were finally, finally alone.

Your boots crunched against the frost-bitten grass as you wandered, arms wrapped around herself. The silence was intoxicating. For the first time since the break-in, there was no looming figure, no scrutinizing stare burning into your back, no potions appearing at your bedside like clockwork. You should have been angry about that, but instead... the memory gnawed at you.

He's been watching. More than that—he's been... caring.

You hated that it made something twist deep in your stomach.

Shaking your head, you focused on your surroundings, but your thoughts wouldn't let it be. Snape. Always Snape. You thought about the way he had been lately—less sharp, less cruel, more... restrained. There was still venom, still his impossibly high walls, but underneath it, there was something raw. A flicker of something that unsettled you more than any scathing remark ever could.

And then there was her mother.

A ghost from a past you barely understood, a woman whose choices had now come crashing down onto her shoulders. What did it all mean? What had she really done? Snape knew. He always knew. And You were going to find out whether he liked it or not.

A sudden sound snapped you from your thoughts—a deep, unmistakable voice calling your name.

Your breath hitched.

You turned your head slightly, listening. The rustling of leaves. A crunch of footsteps. The way the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

You didn't answer.

Your pulse thrummed as you took a slow step forward, then another. If you stayed silent, maybe he'd think you hadn't gone far. Maybe he'd turn back.

"Where are you?!" Snape's voice rang out again, lower this time, laced with something unspoken.

You swallowed hard.

Another step.

And then the snap of a twig.

You barely had time to react before a hand clamped around your arm, yanking you back. A gasp tore from your lips as you stumbled, nearly colliding with him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Snape's voice was a low, furious rasp. His grip was firm, and unyielding, his dark eyes burning with something you couldn't quite place.

You yanked your arm, but he held fast. "Let go of me."

"No."

Your chest heaved. "I just wanted some air—"

"You disappeared. Do you have any idea what could have happened?" His fingers dug in, his usual composure cracking. "I turned my back for a moment and you—" He cut himself off, inhaling sharply through his nose. "You are reckless. Utterly, impossibly reckless."

Something about his tone made your heart pound in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

"Why do you even care?" The words were out before you could stop them, spat like a challenge.

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might not answer. Then, in a voice quieter, rougher, he said, "Because I do."

The world felt like it had stilled.

He must have realized it too, because his grip slackened just slightly. You exhaled shakily, your emotions spiralling into a chaotic mess—anger, relief, something dangerous pressing against the edges of your chest.

You took advantage of his hesitation, twisting free from his hold. You took a step back, breathing hard. "Then tell me the truth."

Silence. The kind that screamed louder than words ever could.

His expression was unreadable, but you swore, for a moment, there was something almost pleading in his eyes.

"Come home," he said at last, voice low. "And I will."

The silence in the lounge was suffocating. The fire crackled in the hearth, but it did nothing to thaw the cold tension between you and Snape. He stood by the mantle, fingers curled tight around the edge as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flickered with something unreadable—anger, guilt, hesitation.

"You don't understand," Snape finally spoke, his voice low, but each word was weighted with something heavy, something dangerous.

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Then make me understand."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He had spent the past few days trying to bridge the chasm between you in the only way he knew how—silent acts of care, potions appearing in your room, an unspoken attempt at reconciliation. But now, standing here with your defiance scorching the air between you, he realized words were inevitable.

A long pause stretched between you before he finally said it. "Your mother was my friend."

The words sent a jolt through you. "What?"

Snape exhaled sharply, looking away as if the past was a ghost standing in the room with you. "She was my junior at Hogwarts. A Slytherin. She admired me. Followed me. She was—bullied, at times. I protected her. And for that, she saw me as something I was not. A hero."

You frowned, processing his words. "You mean—she looked up to you?"

He let out a dry chuckle, but it had no humour. "It was more than that. She believed in me. When I joined the Death Eaters, I did not tell her. I did not want her anywhere near that world. But she found out. And she—" His voice hitched, just slightly. "She made the foolish decision to prove herself worthy. She sought them out. She wanted to be recognized. I tried to stop her. She wouldn't listen."

Flashback—Snape's Mind 

The memory was razor-sharp, cutting through the years as if they had never passed. Lyra, standing before him, fury in her eyes.

"You think I can't handle it? You think I'm not strong enough?"

"This isn't about strength, Lyra," Snape had hissed. "You don't understand what they are—what they demand."

"I understand more than you think."

He had seen the hunger in her gaze, the reckless determination that mirrored his own when he had chosen that path. He had tried—Merlin, he had tried—to keep her from it, to push her away from the darkness.

But she had slipped through his fingers, just as she had always done.

End Flashback

You felt something tighten in your chest. "And?"

Snape closed his eyes for a brief moment. "She got in over her head. And I—had to get her out." His voice was quieter now. "I convinced her to go to Dumbledore. To leave that life before it consumed her."

Your breath hitched. "And that's when she met my father."

Snape nodded. "She was pregnant when she left. Your father helped her escape. They hid. They built a life. But before she left, she was assigned something—an important task. A potion. A recipe that the Dark Lord coveted. And now—" He met your gaze, dark eyes gleaming. "Now, with your mother gone, they want you."

A cold wave crashed over you. "You knew this. And you didn't tell me."

Snape flinched. "I was trying to keep you safe."

The room felt smaller, the air too thick to breathe. You took a step back, shaking your head. "No. No, you kept me in the dark. You—" Your voice wavered, something burning at the back of your throat. "You didn't trust me."

Snape took a step forward. "I—"

"You just wanted control. Like you always do."

"No." His voice was firm, almost desperate. "I was afraid." His gaze burned into yours. "Afraid that if I told you, you would do something reckless. Afraid that I would fail you, just as I failed her."

Silence. Thick, stifling silence.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thundering in your ears. The weight of his confession pressed down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs. But beneath it—beneath the anger, the betrayal—was something else.

Something unspoken.

Your chest tightened, and for a long moment, you stood there, taking it all in. Then, finally, you exhaled. "I forgive you."

Snape's eyes snapped to yours. He looked... stunned. As if he hadn't prepared for that response. As if he had expected venom, not a quiet surrender.

You turned on your heel and walked towards the kitchen. "I'm making dinner," you called over your shoulder. "You can help if you want."

You stood in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets with an air of quiet determination. The tension from earlier still lingered, but something had shifted. It wasn't sharp anymore—wasn't suffocating. It had softened into something more fragile, more uncertain.

You exhaled, gripping a jar of dried basil a little too tightly. This was insane, wasn't it? Minutes ago, you had been consumed with anger, ready to throw things, ready to fight him. And now—you were making spaghetti?

What was wrong with me?

It wasn't like you had forgotten everything he said, but... you didn't want to stay angry. It was exhausting, holding onto that much emotion. And maybe, deep down, a part of you never really wanted to hate him in the first place.

Snape lingered near the doorway, watching her as if she were some kind of anomaly. She was moving with purpose, pulling out ingredients, and setting a pot of water to boil. And she had forgiven him. Just like that.

It rattled him.

She had been furious, shaking with anger when he told her the truth about her mother. And now—she was here, cooking. Just like that?

His mind reeled. He had spent years carrying the weight of his guilt, preparing for the moment someone would finally hold him accountable for it. And yet, she had looked at him and let it go.

He didn't understand her. And that both unsettled and intrigued him.

A quiet sound of movement pulled you from your thoughts. You turned, catching Snape standing near the doorway, just staring at you.

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you going to stand there and stare at me like a hoodlum, or are you going to help?"

Snape blinked. He looked... thrown. Like he genuinely did not understand how she had gone from furious to casually bossing him around in a kitchen.

Good. Let him be confused. At least you weren't suffering alone.

You grabbed a knife and held it out to him, handle-first. "Cut the onions, Professor."

Snape eyed the knife as if it had personally offended him before reluctantly stepping forward. What in Merlin's name was happening right now? He had faced the Dark Lord, survived years of war, and spent decades mastering the art of Occlumency and control—yet here he was, standing in a kitchen, assigned to onion duty.

You turned back to the stove, stirring the pot. "We're making spaghetti. Don't mess it up."

Snape scoffed. "I brew complex potions that can alter the very fabric of life. I think I can manage chopping vegetables."

You smirked. Oh, he walked right into that one.

"Oh? So you admit you're good with a knife?" you asked innocently.

Snape shot you a glare so sharp it could've peeled the onions for him. "Don't test me."

You laughed—actually laughed.

What the hell was this? Why was this... fun? Why did this feel normal when it absolutely should not?

Snape was equally perplexed. The heaviness from earlier had lifted. The air between you wasn't hostile—it was light. It was strange, surreal even, but it was happening.

Minutes passed in companionable silence. The only sounds were the soft bubbling of the sauce, and the rhythmic chopping of Snape's knife against the cutting board.

And then—

"Twenty questions," you announced suddenly.

Snape frowned, pausing his work. "What?"

You turned to face him fully, leaning against the counter with a mischievous glint in your eye. "We're stuck in this house together. Might as well get to know each other."

Snape stared at you. Surely, you were joking.

"You go first," you continued, smirking. "What's your favourite food?"

Snape resumed chopping, clearly unamused. "I do not play games."

"You just did five minutes ago when you lost a battle of wits to an onion."

His knife hit the cutting board a little too sharply. You bit back a laugh.

Snape exhaled through his nose. "Fine. If it will get you to stop talking—"

You grinned. "Good. Now answer the question."

Snape sighed. "Shepherd's pie."

Your brows shot up. "Huh. Didn't take you for a comfort food guy."

He shot you a dry look. "It's efficient. One dish. All nutrients."

You snorted. "You're such a Potions master, it hurts."

He let out a chuckle. A real one. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. And for some reason, it warmed you.

By the time the food was ready, it almost felt normal. Almost.

You ate together at the small dining table, an unspoken truce settling between you. It was odd—sharing a meal, sharing laughter after everything that had happened. But somehow, it didn't feel forced.

When you were done, you cleaned up together, passing him dishes while he dried them.

And then—just as Snape was about to call it a night—

Without thinking, you stopped him and reached up, pressing a quick, fleeting kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you, Severus. Mum would be proud of you." You uttered breathlessly.

Snape. Stopped. Breathing.

The moment your lips left his cheek, you realized exactly what you had done.

Oh. Oh, Merlin. Oh, what the hell did I just do?

Panic set in.

The warmth of his skin had barely faded from your lips, but your body was already moving on autopilot—casually saying goodnight as if you hadn't just committed the single most unhinged act of your life.

Why did I do that?!

Your legs betrayed you. Instead of sprinting out of the kitchen like a normal person, you forced yourself to walk.

Like a completely normal, totally not losing your mind human being.

You could still feel his eyes on your back. Could still hear the deafening silence where Severus Snape, master of dry sarcasm and unimpressed glares, had just been utterly obliterated by a single, fleeting kiss.

Your heart was trying to escape your ribcage.

By the time you made it to the stairs, you broke into a jog. The second your door shut behind you, you let out a tiny, breathless laugh.

Then another.

And then—

You lost it.

The giggles turned into full-blown laughter as you spun around in circles like a lunatic.

What the hell was that?!

You had kissed Snape on the cheek.

You had kissed Snape on the cheek.

YOU HAD KISSED SEVERUS SNAPE ON THE CHEEK.

Your hands flew to your face as the laughter exploded out of you like a mad woman. You jumped onto your bed, kicked your feet, grabbed your pillow, and—

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The scream was entirely necessary.

You rolled onto your back, hugging your pillow to your chest, grinning like a complete and utter fool.

What did I just do?! What did I just do?!

Did you regret it?

No.

Should you regret it?

Maybe.

Were you currently grinning like a lovesick idiot instead?

Absolutely.

With one last, dramatic sigh, you flopped back against the pillows, arms spread out, staring at the ceiling with wide, dazed eyes.

The warmth of his skin still lingered on your lips.

Your heart was still racing.

And as you finally pulled the covers over yourself, you realized something truly terrifying.

You were going to sleep with a smile on your face.

Severus, meanwhile, stood frozen in the kitchen. His cheek still burned from where your lips had been. His thoughts were a tangled mess.

You had thanked him. You had forgiven him. You had kissed him.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his heartbeat too loud in his ears.

He needed to leave. Now.

Without another word, Severus turned abruptly on his heel and stalked toward his room, his brain still struggling to process what in Merlin's name had just happened.

As he reached his door, his hand ghosting over the doorknob, he let out a slow breath.

Your mother would be proud of him.

He closed his eyes. A bitter, foreign ache stirred deep in his chest.

"Foolish girl," he muttered under his breath, before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

Severus Snape was not a man prone to emotional instability.

He had spent a lifetime mastering control, wielding discipline like a finely honed blade. He had endured pain, betrayal, and war. He had walked the tightrope between life and death more times than he cared to count. And yet—

Yet here he was. Getting ready for bed and lying flat on his back. Staring at the ceiling. Thinking about a kiss.

His jaw clenched. The ghost of warmth still lingered on his cheek, an unbearable echo of the moment that had shattered the fragile balance he had so carefully constructed. It wasn't even the act itself—it was how effortless it had been. How natural. How utterly unguarded.

You had kissed him. Thanked him. And then dared to walk away smiling—as if you hadn't just upended his entire existence.

His fingers twitched against the blanket.

Damn it all.

The warmth of your touch still lingered, unwelcome yet undeniably there. And for the first time in years, something within him softened—just a fraction. A sliver of something unrecognizable, something dangerous. It felt like an illusion, fleeting and fragile, slipping through his fingers before he could grasp it.

And then—

Pain.

It lanced through his arm, sharp and searing, dragging him viciously back into the present. His breath hitched, his grip tightening over his forearm. The Dark Mark burned. Slow. Dull. Persistent.

The Dark Lord was angry.

The flicker of warmth from earlier snuffed out instantly, swallowed by the cold, merciless weight of reality. He pressed his palm over the Mark, jaw tightening as a fury that wasn't his own coiled through his veins.

Snape exhaled sharply, rolling onto his side as he willed the image away, as he willed him away. But the Dark Lord's presence was inescapable. Even here, alone in the quiet of his room, he was never truly free. Happiness, warmth—those were illusions. And illusions never lasted.

His fingers drifted, almost absently, to his cheek.

It was still warm.

Damn it all.

Elsewhere

A dimly lit chamber. Figures kneeling, trembling.

A scream tore through the silence as the Cruciatus Curse was lifted from a writhing body. The Dark Lord stood over them, eyes gleaming with pure malice.

"You are failures," he hissed, voice smooth but deadly. "You will find the girl. Or you will suffer. Again. And again."

The Death Eaters scrambled to bow lower, voices stammering their obedience.

Voldemort's lips curled. "Go. Bring her to me."

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[coldkidcookieneck]

Title: All By Myself With Severus Snape While Walking on Thorns

Summary: The reader simmers, fury coiling tight, while Snape weathers the storm—cold, unyielding, and one word away from ruin.

Authors note: My dear readers, thank you for your patience! I was caught up with assignments, but now that the semester's over, I’m back to updating. I’ve missed this story and am so grateful for you all—enjoy the chapter!

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem Reader

Warnings: Mild/Strong Language

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6 and Part 7 here

Cross posted on AO3

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Pain. That was the first thing that registered when you drifted into consciousness. A dull, persistent ache radiated from your wounds, a cruel reminder of the past night's events. Blinking against the dim light, your gaze swept the room, and the memories crashed into you all at once—collapsing, Snape’s furious scolding, and the suffocating weight of everything that had transpired.

A bitter taste settled on your tongue. Enough. You had enough.

Forcing yourself upright, you bit back a hiss as a sharp pain shot through your side. Every movement was a battle against your own body, but you refused to be deterred. With slow, deliberate motions, you steadied yourself, forcing shaky legs to cooperate. Your limbs protested, but you pushed through, clinging to the singular thought that had taken root in your mind: I need to get out of here.

Your eyes darted around the room, searching for your belongings. Quietly, you made your way to the door, pressing your ear against the wood, listening. Silence. Swallowing a sharp breath, you turned the knob and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, each step calculated to avoid making a sound.

Halfway down the stairs, a door creaked open behind you.

Your stomach twisted. No, no, no.

Without thinking, you hurried your pace, descending as quickly as your injuries allowed. Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else—until a sharp incantation rang through the air.

Colloportus.

The door before you sealed itself with a definitive click just as footsteps echoed behind you. A chill ran down your spine.

"And where do you think you're going?"

The low, silken voice cut through the silence like a blade. Your breath hitched. Snape.

Turning slowly, you met his piercing gaze. He stood at the top of the staircase, arms crossed, his black eyes gleaming with irritation—and something else. Concern? No, you refused to acknowledge that.

“Unlock the door, Snape.” Your voice was steady despite the fury boiling beneath your skin. You gritted your teeth and twisted the knob aggressively, willing it to open.

Snape descended the stairs with slow, deliberate steps, his expression unreadable. “You’re in no condition to be wandering off,” he said coolly, voice laced with that infuriating condescension. “Or have you suddenly developed a penchant for reckless decisions?”

Your fingers curled into fists. “Reckless?” A bitter laugh escaped you. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to just sit here and let you control my life?”

His jaw tightened. “And you think storming off like a petulant child disproves that?”

Your breath came fast and shallow. “Yes, and it’s none of your business whether I’m a petulant child or not! So unlock the door, Snape—now!”

You slammed your palm against the door, frustration mounting. Your vision blurred at the edges, pain flaring in your limbs, but you refused to back down. He was always like this—always looming, always controlling, always thinking he knew best.

Snape inhaled sharply through his nose, his patience clearly fraying. His hands flexed at his sides as if debating whether to physically stop you.

You weren’t going to let him.

Gritting your teeth, you wrenched the doorknob violently, twisting it over and over—until, by sheer force or stubborn luck, it snapped open. Without thinking, you bolted, ignoring the searing pain that clawed at your every step.

Snape’s voice rang out behind you, sharp and commanding, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t look back. You ran until you reached the familiar threshold of your home, your sanctuary, your escape.

You slammed the door behind you, chest heaving. Hands shaking, you leaned against the wood, pressing your forehead against its cool surface.

He wouldn’t follow. He wouldn’t dare.

…Would he?

Taking a deep breath, you turned around looking at the life you built in this house a few weeks ago nearly a month ago, and if someone told you that you would be facing all these things, you would have laughed at their face. So without reminiscing, you checked your wound making sure no bleeding or blood was seeping through the bandages, you started packing all the things and shrinking things into your luggage. After a while, done packing you just stood in the empty hallway took it all in one last time and started your way to Snape's house.

The journey back to Snape's house was a blur of stubborn determination and throbbing pain. You ignored it. You ignored everything—the ache in your limbs, the dull pounding in your skull, the raw sting of his words still echoing in your mind. By the time you stepped through the threshold, you felt as if the very walls were closing in, suffocating and familiar all at once.

Snape was waiting.

He was standing in the sitting room, his dark robes shifting slightly as he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. The tension coiled in the air between you like a storm about to break.

His voice, when it came, was measured, almost careful. "You shouldn't have left."

You didn't reply. You simply walked past him, eyes set forward, refusing to acknowledge the way his presence loomed like a shadow at your back.

"Reckless decisions seem to be a habit of yours." His tone was sharp now, cutting. "You can barely stand, yet you insist on—"

"I don't want to hear it." Your voice was flat, hollow.

Snape inhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. "You were injured. You could have—"

"I said I don't want to hear it, Snape."

You kept walking, ignoring the way his presence practically burned into your back. You didn't see his expression shift, the flicker of frustration warring with something else. Something heavier.

Snape clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching at his sides. He wanted to snap back, to demand that you stop acting like a foolish child. But the words never came. Because beneath the anger, beneath the irritation, there was something far worse—an unfamiliar, unwelcome sense of helplessness.

He had seen you bloodied. Collapsed. He had been the one to keep you from hitting the floor. And despite everything, despite his rational mind telling him that this was just another complication he didn't need—he had worried.

And now, you refused to even look at him.

Fine.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the staircase. If you were so determined to shut him out, so be it. He would not waste his breath.

The room fell into silence, thick and suffocating.

Then, the fireplace roared to life.

A swirl of green flames erupted, and from within stepped the unmistakable figure of Albus Dumbledore. His usual twinkle was absent, replaced by something far more solemn.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, surveying the room. "I see the air is particularly charged this evening."

You crossed your arms, unwilling to meet his gaze. Snape, now halfway up the stairs, stopped but did not turn around.

Dumbledore sighed. "Come now, my dear. I imagine you have plenty of reasons to be upset, but I must ask—do you truly believe Severus was trying to control you out of anything but concern?"

Your jaw tightened. You knew that. Deep down, you knew that. But it didn't change the way his words had cut, the way his overbearing nature made you feel trapped.

"I don't need his concern," you muttered.

Behind you, Snape scoffed.

Dumbledore's gaze flicked to him. "And you, Severus. Do you believe your approach was without flaw?"

Snape stiffened. "I don't see how coddling would have served any purpose."

Dumbledore hummed. "Ah, yes. And yet, here we are."

The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable. Finally, the headmaster straightened. "Regardless, this is not the time for division. The arrangements have been made—you both need to leave immediately."

You nodded stiffly, saying nothing. Snape merely swept past Dumbledore, heading to gather his things without another word.

Minutes later, you both stood in the centre of the sitting room. The portkey—a small, unassuming silver pocket watch—lay in Dumbledore's palm.

"Take care of each other," he said simply.

Neither of you responded.

And then, with a sharp pull behind your navel, the world around you vanished.

The safe house was beautiful.

Rolling green hills stretched as far as the eye could see, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. A quaint stone cottage stood at the heart of it, its windows glowing warmly, as if welcoming its new inhabitants. The air was fresh, crisp, tinged with the scent of damp earth and the distant hum of rustling leaves. It should have been peaceful. It should have been a relief.

But the beauty of the place did nothing to thaw the ice between you and Snape.

The moment the Portkey had released its grip on you both, you had taken a single glance at your surroundings and turned away, stepping into the house without so much as a glance in his direction. Your bag hit the nearest chair with a careless thud, the weight of it ignored as you stalked deeper into the cottage, disappearing into the first room you could find.

You refused to look back. You refused to acknowledge him. You had nothing to say.

Snape lingered at the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, his grip tightening around the handle of his own bag. His lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line as his dark eyes followed the spot where you had vanished.

Fine. If you wanted to act like a sulking child, so be it.

With precise, measured movements, he set his bag down beside yours—not carelessly, not in a rush. He would not storm after you, no matter how infuriating your behavior was. He would not give you the satisfaction of thinking he cared about this petty display.

But Merlin, did it grate on him.

He rolled his shoulders back, inhaling slowly through his nose, trying to quell the irritation threatening to claw its way up his throat. You were impossible. Infuriating. You refused to listen, refused to see reason. And yet, despite his frustration, despite his insistence that he did not care how you decided to sulk…

The silence was unbearable.

His fingers twitched at his sides before he clenched them into fists. There was nothing left to say. Not right now. If you wanted space, take it.

Let the silence speak.

And so, the Cold War began.

Days passed in strained quiet, an unspoken battle of wills filling every corner of the house. Meals were eaten separately. Any required communication was clipped, clinical, and necessity-bound. You moved around him as though he didn’t exist, and Snape, for all his patience, found his temper fraying more with each passing day.

He had faced impossible students. Endured the insufferable presence of dunderheads for years. Held his tongue against far greater provocations. But this—this—was different.

This was deliberate.

He could see it in the way you held yourself, in the calculated avoidance, in the way your eyes never quite met his. You weren’t just ignoring him. You were shutting him out completely.

Fine.

If you wanted to play that game, he would play it better.

But there was something else that nagged at him, something beyond the infuriating silence. At first, he had dismissed it as mere exhaustion. The aftermath of injuries. The adjustment to new surroundings. But then he noticed.

The subtle winces. The way your hands trembled when you thought no one was looking. The way you lingered near the cupboards longer than necessary. The way you refused to let him near enough to assess your wounds.

And then, the truth fell into his lap. Quite literally.

You had left the sitting room in a hurry that evening, brushing past him without a glance. Something slipped from your pocket, rolling across the floor with a soft clink. Snape’s gaze flicked downward, catching the glint of a familiar-looking bottle.

Painkillers.

Slowly, he bent down, picking up the bottle with careful fingers. Turning it over, his eyes narrowed at the dosage label. Far beyond what was safe to be taking for days.

His grip tightened around the bottle. His mind sharpened, pieces locking into place with a deadly kind of clarity. The lingering exhaustion. The pale complexion. The lack of proper healing.

You had been avoiding potions.

A slow, cold anger spread through him. This wasn’t just stubbornness. This was recklessness in its purest form.

Snape exhaled sharply, staring down at the bottle before setting it deliberately onto the nearest table. His jaw tightened, dark eyes flickering toward the hallway where you had disappeared moments ago.

Enough.

This war would end, one way or another. And you were about to learn that Severus Snape did not lose battles—especially not when your well-being was at stake.

You pretended he didn’t exist, and he pretended it didn’t bother him.

But it did.

You could see it in the way his fingers twitched when you ignored his questions, the way his jaw clenched when you turned your back on him. His patience was a fragile thread, stretched thin, ready to snap.

It was only a matter of time.

And then, the moment arrived.

You had been sitting in the lounge just trying to divert your mind from what has been happening around you by reading a book and while doing so you heard the door to the lounge being opened and in came Snape. In haste, to avoid any interaction with him , you quickly gathered your things and rushed out. 

You had been moving toward the stairs when the realization struck you like a slap—your painkillers. They weren’t in your pocket. Damn it.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the thought hitting you like a curse. You’d left them in the sitting room. With him.

You stopped dead in your tracks, muscles locking up. Every instinct screamed at you to leave it. To walk away and suffer through the pain. But the steady, gnawing ache in your ribs—the deep soreness in your limbs—mocked you. You needed them.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turned around, forcing one foot in front of the other. Step by step, slow and deliberate, as if Snape wouldn’t notice.

But he did. Of course, he did.

He was there, seated in his usual chair by the fireplace, shadows flickering across the sharp angles of his face. A glass of fire whiskey dangled from his long fingers, the liquid inside swirling lazily. He didn’t acknowledge you at first, but you knew—knew that beneath that impassive mask, he was watching. Always watching.

Your eyes darted across the room. The table. The floor. The chair. Where are they?

Then, movement. A slow, measured motion.

Your breath caught as Snape lifted his hand, tilting his wrist just enough for the firelight to catch—

The small, familiar bottle rested between his fingers. Label out.

Your stomach plummeted.

“You’re looking for these, I presume?” His voice was smooth, deceptively calm. But his eyes—his damn eyes—held something else entirely.

A storm. A question. A challenge.

Your pulse hammered against your throat. Stay calm. Stay in control.

“Give them to me,” you said, voice tight, controlled.

Snape tilted his head ever so slightly, scrutinizing you like an insect under glass. Assessing. Calculating.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to yourself?” His voice was quiet, but laced with something dangerous.

Your hands curled into fists. “I don’t need your opinion, Snape. Just hand them over.”

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stood. Slowly. Purposefully. Towering over you, his presence alone suffocating the air between you.

“You are not taking these again.”

The words weren’t just a command—they were final. Absolute. A cold, unyielding decree.

And something inside you snapped.

“Oh? And who the hell are you to decide that?!” Your voice rose before you could stop it, raw with frustration.

“The only one here who has a semblance of sense, clearly,” he bit out.

You laughed. A sharp, disbelieving sound. “Sense? Sense?! You have the audacity to stand there and pretend you care?”

His expression didn’t change, but the air shifted.

You saw it—the flicker of something in his gaze, a flash of something dangerous.

“I do not pretend anything,” he said, voice like a razor’s edge.

Your breath came fast, your chest rising and falling too quickly. “Then stop acting like I’m your problem.”

Silence. Heavy. Charged.

Then, in one swift motion, Snape lifted the bottle higher—

—and uncorked it.

Your eyes widened.

No.

“Don’t you dare—”

But he did.

Without hesitation, without a word, he tilted his hand—

And poured the pills straight into the fire.

A burst of blue flames swallowed them whole, sizzling into nothingness.

For a moment, you stood frozen. Staring. Disbelieving.

Then fury exploded in your chest, a white-hot, unrelenting force.

“You bastard!” The words tore from your throat as you lunged, shoving him back with all the force your battered body could muster. He barely staggered, barely moved, but your hands were shaking with rage. “You had no right!”

“I had every right,” he snapped, his voice now sharp, cutting. “Since you lack the sense to—”

“Screw you!” you snarled, stepping back, vision blurring with anger.

You turned on your heel and stormed to your room, slamming the door behind you. Your breath came in ragged gasps as frustration and exhaustion tangled together, and before you knew it, you collapsed onto the bed.

Tears of anger burned in your eyes, but you wiped them away furiously. You needed to leave. Not now—Snape was too close, too watchful—but anytime when he wasn’t paying attention. You just needed a moment of peace away from him.

And when the chance came, you would take it.

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[coldkidcookieneck]

✨Story Update | Part 6 is Here!✨

My dear readers, first and foremost—thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your patience, your support, and your kind words mean the absolute world to me. Every comment, every message, every ounce of love for this story has kept me going, and I’m beyond grateful for each of you!

I’m so sorry for the long wait—assignments had me in a chokehold, but now that my semester has ended, I’m free at last! I’ll do my best to update regularly and keep the story flowing.

So, without further ado— Part 6 is finally here! Snape is still impossible, the reader is on the edge, and the tension is thick enough to cut with a wand. Enjoy the chaos!

==============================================

Tagging the lovely @nousija as requested! Hope you enjoy the update!

[coldkidcookieneck]

✨ Update Alert! ✨

Hello my dear readers,

After much anticipation (and a rather unfortunate detour into the realm of academic responsibilities—alas, even Hogwarts has exams), Part 5 has finally arrived!

For those who waited ever so patiently and sent owls inquiring about its whereabouts—I solemnly swear I was up to no mischief (just buried in studies). Thank you for sticking with me!

Also, I’ve gone back and edited previous chapters, so if you wish to relive the angst, uncover new details, or simply prepare your heart for what’s to come—venture forth and give them a read!

Your support means a lot to me. Thank you for every read, comment, and kind word—it truly keeps the magic alive!

Now, off you go! Part 5 awaits… if you dare. 🕯️✨

[coldkidcookieneck]

Title: All by Myself With Severus Snape and Bleeding Truths

Summary: The reader uncovers buried secrets, clashes with Snape, and collapses—leaving fate hanging in the balance.

Author's note: Apologies for the delay—been tackling my studies and dodging rogue Bludgers of responsibility. But fear not! The story continues, packed with mystery, angst, and a certain Potions Master’s brooding glares. Hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,Part 6 and Part 7 here

Cross posted on AO3

================================================

The warmth of sleep still clung to you as you drifted in and out of consciousness, curled beneath the blankets in the quiet of your home. The night had settled deep, wrapping everything in silence.

Snape had drilled you relentlessly over the past few weeks, and exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. But you weren’t foolish enough to think you were ready. Not really. Not yet. The wards he had placed around your home offered some reassurance, a layer of unseen protection. And yet, in the back of your mind, a whisper of unease remained.

It wasn’t until the soft creak of a floorboard shattered the stillness that your eyes snapped open.

Something was wrong.

Before you could fully register the sound, rough hands yanked you from bed, a strong grip clamping over your mouth. Panic surged through you as you thrashed against the hold, but the attacker was stronger.

"Quiet," a harsh voice hissed in your ear, and you immediately recognized the lanky Death Eater from weeks before, dragging you toward the door.

Fear turned to blind desperation as you struggled, but a sharp shove sent you tumbling forward. The air was knocked from your lungs as you crashed against the wooden stairs, pain exploding along your back and arms as you rolled down. You barely had time to groan before a boot pressed against your ribs, pinning you in place.

"Stay down, and this will be over quickly," the voice growled.

Then the air crackled—Snape’s wards had been triggered.

A thunderous crash erupted from the front of the house as the door blasted open, sending shards of wood flying. The weight on your ribs lifted as your assailant turned, but it was too late.

Snape had arrived.

His wand was already drawn, dark eyes burning with fury as he took in the scene. Shadows flickered across his face in the dim light, his presence filling the room like a storm rolling in.

Fools, he thought coldly, wand tightening in his grip. They dare touch her?

"Get away from her," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The Death Eater lunged, but Snape was faster. A nonverbal spell sent the attacker flying backward, crashing into the far wall with a sickening thud. More figures emerged from the shadows—at least two more, their masked faces unreadable but their intent clear.

A jet of red light shot through the room, forcing you to dive behind a wooden worktable. Snape reacted instantly, his wand slashing through the air as he threw up a protective barrier. The Death Eaters moved in sync, trained for moments like these.

Snape calculated his next move with precision. His mind raced through the possible reasons. Retribution? A message? Or were they after knowledge? Did they believe she knew the potion recipe?

Another curse came hurtling toward him, and he deflected it effortlessly. He was outnumbered, but they were outmatched.

You gritted your teeth, your heart hammering against your ribs. You had trained for this, but facing it now was entirely different. The room became a storm of curses and counter-curses, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning wood and shattered glass.

Then pain lanced through your side.

A curse—one you hadn't seen coming—struck just below your ribs, right where the bruise from the earlier attack throbbed. A searing agony ripped through you. You bit back a cry, staggering as warmth spread beneath your fingertips where you clutched your wound. Blood. You knew that if Snape saw you injured, he would either send you away or shift his focus from the battle, leaving himself vulnerable.

You couldn't let that happen.

Gritting your teeth, you pulled yourself into the shadows, slipping behind the shelves where Snape stored countless ingredients and potions. If you stayed low and quiet, maybe you could be useful—maybe you could find something, anything, that could help.

Snape was about to counter a spell when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw you jerk forward—hit.

Pain lanced through your side, and Snape caught the way your body stiffened, the way your fingers instinctively clutched the wound before you forced yourself to move.

Foolish girl, he thought, a sharp pang of irritation and something dangerously close to concern cutting through him.

You were trying to hide it from him.

Of course you were.

Even in the middle of a life-threatening attack, you were reckless enough to put his safety above your own.

Stubborn, reckless, insufferable— Snape turned his attention back to the fight, —and yet, if she dies, I’ll never forgive myself.

You disappeared into the shadows, but Snape knew better. He knew you were hurt. Knew you were struggling to stay upright. And yet, despite the pain, you were still trying to fight.

Through the gaps in the shelves, you saw Snape moving with terrifying precision, his wand an extension of his will as he deflected and countered every spell thrown at him. His opponents were skilled, but Snape was ruthless. He was fighting not just to win, but to end this quickly.

And then you saw it.

One of the Death Eaters had veered off from the main battle, heading straight for your desk—your diary and scattered research notes. This wasn’t about potion ingredients or random theft. This was about knowledge. A clue from the past.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you reached for your wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape caught the movement in his peripheral vision just as the Death Eater reached for your diary. He had been turning to react when your voice rang out.

The Death Eater’s wand flew from their hand, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain through your side, and you barely managed to stay upright. They turned, locking eyes with you, and before you could react, a powerful Stupefy crashed into you.

Snape saw the price of it before you even collapsed.

The way your body swayed, the sudden paleness of your skin—

No—

The Death Eater struck first. The moment the light left your eyes, Snape was already moving.

Something cold coiled in his chest.

Anger.

A lethal, burning anger.

The Death Eater barely had time to turn before Snape sent them crashing against the far wall with enough force to break something.

Then he strode toward you, ignoring the remaining intruder’s attempt at retaliation. His wand flicked once—a barrier flared between them, cutting off their curses.

His hand gripped your wrist, searching.

A pulse.

Faint.

Alive, he thought, exhaling sharply.

He turned his head slightly, dark eyes narrowing as he faced the remaining Death Eater. They hesitated, just for a second.

They weren’t expecting this.

They weren’t expecting him.

"Leave," he said, voice ice-cold. "Before I let my temper dictate the outcome."

The Death Eater hesitated, their stance shifting ever so slightly.

Then, without another word, they Disapparated.

Silence crashed over the house like a wave. The only sound was the ragged cadence of Snape’s breathing.

He looked down at you, limp in his arms, blood staining his fingers.

You reckless, insufferable girl, he thought bitterly, but his grip on you tightened as if to anchor you to this world.

He had too many questions, too many suspicions swirling in his mind.

But for now, only one thing mattered.

Don’t you dare die on me.

You woke to voices—low, urgent, and unfamiliar at first. The pain in your side was dull now, like an echo of what it had been, but the stiffness in your limbs told you you had been out for hours.

And then you recognized one of the voices.

Minerva McGonagall.

Slowly, you cracked your eyes open, blinking against the dim candlelight. The warmth of a healing spell still lingered on your skin, and as your vision adjusted, you saw McGonagall standing beside Snape, her expression unreadable.

Another man sat near your bed—someone you had only heard of but never seen before in real life, only in papers and on chocolate frog boxes.

Albus Dumbledore.

Snape’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “You were reckless.”

You swallowed hard. “I—”

“You disobeyed me,” he continued, his voice laced with anger and something else. Something sharper. Something dangerous. “You could have been killed.”

“I was trying to help,” you shot back, your voice hoarse.

Snape’s jaw tightened. Foolish girl. Does she not realize how close she came to dying? His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to remain still. He could still see it—her crumpled form, the blood staining his hands as he checked for a pulse. The ghost of that fear still clung to him, though he buried it beneath his usual scowl.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “The intruders weren’t after mere ingredients. They were looking for something specific.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “They were after a potion—a formula they believe you possess. One tied to your mother’s past.”

Snape felt the words strike deep, as if a long-buried truth had been unearthed. Lyra’s past. His lips pressed into a thin line. He had known this would come back to haunt them, but not like this. Not with her daughter being dragged into it.

Your stomach dropped. “They think I know how to make it?”

“Not just think,” Snape said coldly. “They tried to take you.” His voice was sharper than intended, but he didn’t care. He needed her to understand the gravity of what had happened.

Your mind raced. Why would they think you knew about your mother’s potion? And more importantly, why did Snape seem to know so much about it?

Dumbledore nodded. “This potion, if brewed correctly, would grant Death Eaters the ability to turn invisible at will, allowing them to go untraceable in their... activities.”

Your breath hitched. Had your mother been involved in this? And Snape—how did he know? You glanced at him, searching his face for answers, but he looked away, his expression unreadable. But his silence spoke volumes.

McGonagall exchanged a glance with Dumbledore. “Regardless, this proves they will not stop. You are in danger.”

Snape clenched his jaw. Of course she’s in danger. She was always going to be in danger the moment her name surfaced again. He had spent years keeping his distance, letting sleeping ghosts remain undisturbed. And yet, despite every effort, fate had dragged her straight into the fire.

Dumbledore spoke calmly. “You must be moved to a safe location, and dear Severus here will be joining you too.”

Snape stiffened. “Do you expect me to play babysitter?” His voice dripped with irritation, but beneath it, unease simmered. Protecting her meant being closer than he wanted to be—to her, to the truth, to memories he had buried long ago.

“You are already involved,” Dumbledore said. “And whether you approve or not, she may be the key to uncovering what truly happened.”

Snape met your gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. She doesn’t even know the half of it.

You returned his stare, a suspicion settling in your mind. How did he know so much about your mother’s work? He regarded you briefly, something shifting behind his dark eyes.

Finally, he exhaled. “Fine.” His voice was clipped, edged with reluctance. “But let’s make one thing clear.”

He stepped closer, voice low and sharp. “You will listen to me. No more reckless heroics. No more foolish disobedience. If you want to survive this, you follow my orders. Understood?”

You swallowed hard but nodded. “Understood.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Then it is decided.”

With that, Dumbledore and McGonagall said their farewells, offering you one last look of quiet reassurance before stepping out into the night. Snape followed them, muttering something under his breath as he went to send them off.

The door clicked shut.

And then, silence.

When Snape returned, his expression was unreadable, but you had spent enough time around him to recognize the tension in his frame. It was as if he was bracing himself.

You weren’t about to let this go and demanded, "Why do you know so much about my mother's work?"

His expression darkened." This is not the time-".

“No. No more secrets.” You forced yourself upright, ignoring the way your body protested. “You’ve known things from the start. My mother, this potion—tell me the truth.”

Snape’s patience snapped. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

If she only knew the weight of the truth she was asking for...

“I think I do.” Your voice trembled, but you didn’t back down. “You’ve been hiding something from me since the beginning. I deserve to know—”

“You deserve?” His voice turned sharp as steel. “You have no idea what you’ve walked into. You think this is a game? That you can demand answers without understanding the consequences?”

“I almost died, Snape!” You shot back, hands curling into fists. “I have a right to know why! What my mother was involved in! What you’re hiding!”

His face twisted with something unreadable—anger, frustration, something deeper. Does she think this will change anything? That knowing the truth will make her safer?

“You are as reckless as she was.”

The words stung. “Maybe if you stopped treating me like a child and actually told me—”

“Enough!” Snape’s voice thundered through the room. “You think you can handle the truth? You can’t. Because once you know, there’s no turning back.”

Merlin help me, I wish she never had to.

Your vision swam. The anger, the exhaustion, the pain—it was all too much. A sharp, searing ache ripped through your side, and when you glanced down, your robes were stained red.

Snape’s eyes widened. Not again. Not her.

“Foolish girl—”

Your body tilted sideways, your strength finally giving out. The last thing you heard was Snape cursing under his breath before the world tilted and everything went dark.

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[coldkidcookieneck]

can I request part 5 of your current fic, I am actually shlurping it up

Aww, that makes me so happy to hear! 🥹 I’m working on Part 5, so don’t worry—more is coming soon!

[coldkidcookieneck]

One of my favourite authors just blessed us with a new story! Run, don’t walk, to read it! 👀✨

Hey,

I saw that you are thinking about writing and I got this idea that I really would like you to write. Since you wrote about Frank Benson, I have a request where he and his wife get caught by their toddler daughter doing something freaky!!!!!!! if you know what I mean 😜and they try to explain it to her. So yeah hope you can bring this to live.

Thanks in advance, my writer😉.

A/N hello hello, I love this idea and will do my best to live up to it Pairing: Frank Benson/ (first person) wife reader warnings: smut and a three year old Frank's solid arms wrapped around my waist while he rutted relentlessly into me. "So close love...oh fuck!" he trailed off in pursuit of his orgasm. His grunts we almost deafening in my ear and I gripped the sheets tightly to keep myself conscious. "Frank I am ohhhh oh...." I moan loudly and my legs tighten while my body convulses around him. His thrusts falter and slow as he reaches his peak. We lay in a quiet silence until our 3 year old daughter, Evangeline, speaks up, "Mumma, why are you and Daddy naked and making weird noises?" I sit up quickly and look towards the door where she stands holding her stuffed lion. "Evangeline, my sweetheart, why are you out of bed?" I pull on Frank's tee shirt as he hustles to get his underwear back on. "Cuz I had a nightmare. What were you two doing?" I sigh softly and scoop her up, Frank follows me as I carry her to her room. "Mama and Daddy were doing some adult things, when a mama and daddy love each other they do things together that you can learn about as you get older." I lay her down in her bed, and tuck her in. Frank presses a kiss to her forehead. "Daddy you make silly noises when you and Mumma do that. Stop being so silly." She scrunches her face in slight disgust. "I bet I can make Mama make silly noises." he murmurs into my ear, presses a kiss to my temple, and heads back to our room. I scoff softly and kiss Evangeline's forehead and I hold her tiny hand as she falls asleep. A/N personally I hate that this is not my best work, but I am doing my best to put myself out there, so I apologize if it is too short and unenjoyable but it is what it is 😭 Also should we see more of Evangeline?

[coldkidcookieneck]

Title: All by Myself with Severus Snape Awaiting the Battle

Summary: After a break-in, the reader discovers their mother's dark past and undergoes intense training with Snape to face looming dangers.

Author's note: For those who have been waiting for the update—thank you for your patience! I might’ve been caught in a time-turner loop, but here it is at last! Hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 and Part 7 here

Cross posted on AO3

================================================

The events of the previous night lingered in your mind like a shadow. Despite Snape’s gruff dismissal of the intruders as mere thieves, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it—something tied to the fragments of your mother’s mysterious past.

Snape felt the same. Though he would never admit it aloud, the attack had unsettled him. Not because he couldn’t handle a few desperate remnants of the Dark Lord’s regime—but because of the way the intruder had looked at you. The flicker of recognition in his eyes had been brief but unmistakable. And that meant trouble.

He had sent word to Minerva before dawn, using discreet channels. If something larger was at play, she needed to be aware. Yet now, as he worked in silence, he found himself irritated by your presence. Not because of your incompetence—though there was plenty of that—but because you were an unnecessary complication in a game he had thought long over.

The room was quiet save for the rhythmic bubbling of a cauldron and the faint scratch of Snape’s quill against parchment. He focused on his work with an almost ruthless precision, trying to push aside the nagging unease. You, however, were not so easily distracted.

You lingered by the shelves, pretending to organize jars, but your mind was elsewhere. Finally, you broke the silence. “Umm, Severus, may I call you that? And about yesterday…”

Snape’s quill paused mid-stroke. Without looking up, he nodded and replied “I trust you’re not about to waste my time with idle speculation.”

“It’s not idle,” you insisted. “Those intruders—they weren’t just thieves, were they? And you recognized my mother’s name. I think you know more than you’re letting on.”

Snape’s jaw tightened. He had hoped you wouldn’t press the issue. But you were persistent—like your mother. That, more than anything, unsettled him.

Your mother, he thought grimly, had been reckless in her youth, always drawn to dangerous ideas and dangerous people. The Carrington name was not one he had expected to hear again, let alone from you.

“Your mother,” he began slowly, “was… complicated. Brilliant, yes, but reckless. Her choices often placed her in the company of individuals who sought power above all else.”

“You mean Death Eaters,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Snape’s expression darkened. “She was never marked, but her allegiances were questioned. That is all I will say on the matter.”

You frowned, frustration bubbling up. “But why would they come here? What were they looking for?”

“Potion ingredients,” he replied curtly. “A common target for those with nefarious intentions.”

It was a lie—or at least, not the entire truth. Snape suspected there was something deeper at play, but until he had confirmation, he would not involve you more than necessary.

You weren’t convinced. There was something in his tone—something guarded—that made you suspect he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

Before you could press further, a sharp knock echoed through the house. Snape stiffened, his wand appearing in his hand almost instinctively. He gestured for you to stay back as he moved toward the door.

This time, you obeyed—mostly. Keeping a safe distance, you watched as Snape opened the door, his expression sharpening into something unreadable.

Standing on the doorstep was a woman you had never seen before. She was tall, her posture rigid with a kind of effortless authority. Her sharp features were framed by neatly pinned grey hair, and she wore deep green robes that looked both elegant and practical. But it was her eyes that caught your attention—cool, intelligent, and piercing, as though they could see right through you.

You had never seen her before, but Snape’s reaction told you enough. His posture stiffened just slightly, his usual irritation tempered by something you couldn’t quite place.

The woman’s gaze flickered to you briefly, assessing, before she addressed Snape in a crisp, no-nonsense tone. “Severus. May I come in?”

Snape stepped aside without a word, and the woman entered, moving with the kind of quiet confidence that made you instinctively straighten up. There was something about her, something that made you feel oddly out of place—like an outsider looking in on a world that had existed long before you stepped into it.

Who was she? And how did she know Snape? Maybe his colleague from Hogwarts?

You swallowed your questions, but they churned in your mind as the woman turned to face you fully this time, her expression unreadable.

“And you must be the assistant,” she said, her voice measured, though there was an unmistakable note of curiosity in it.

You hesitated. She spoke as though she already knew who you were, as though you were just another piece in a puzzle she had already figured out. But to you, she was a complete mystery.

“There’s been chatter among certain circles—rumours of activity tied to the remnants of the Dark Lord’s followers. I thought it prudent to inform you.”

Snape inclined his head. “And I assume you received my message, Minerva."

Minerva. You turned the name over in your mind, still none the wiser. But whatever this woman wanted, one thing was clear—she wasn’t just a casual visitor.

You stiffened beside them. “Wait—you called her?”

Snape exhaled sharply. “Obviously.”

Your stomach twisted. If Snape had thought the situation serious enough to call for outside assistance, then your suspicions were correct—the break-in had been anything but random.

The woman—Minerva—turned her attention back to you, scrutinizing you with an intensity that made you resist the urge to shrink under her gaze. “I assume this involves your young assistant?”

Snape let out a long-suffering sigh. “It seems she has an uncanny knack for stumbling into trouble.”

You bristled but said nothing, still trying to piece together who this woman was and why she spoke with such familiarity to Snape. There was something about her presence—calm yet commanding—that told you she was someone of great importance. But whether she was an ally or just another reminder of how little you truly knew about Snape’s world, you weren’t sure yet.

“What exactly happened?” she asked.

Snape gave a clipped summary of the previous night’s events, omitting the part where you had disobeyed his order to stay put. McGonagall listened intently, her expression growing more concerned with every word.

“This is troubling,” she said when he finished. “If they were targeting you specifically, it suggests they’re after something more than ingredients.”

“What could they possibly want from me?” Snape asked, his tone edged with irritation.

McGonagall hesitated, then turned to you. “Your mother’s name—Carrington. There are old records linking her to a rare potion, one thought to enhance certain… dark magical abilities.”

Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he went very still. He had considered the possibility, but hearing McGonagall confirm it only deepened his unease. If those fools were truly searching for remnants of such knowledge, then you were in more danger than he had anticipated.

For a fraction of a second, he seemed lost in thought—just long enough for you to notice the barely perceptible shift. The slight tightening of his fingers around his quill. The flicker of something in his eyes. Recognition. Not just of the potion, but of what it meant.

You blinked, stunned. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Few have,” McGonagall replied. “It’s been lost to time—or so we thought. If there’s any truth to these rumors, they may believe your family holds some key to recreating it.”

Snape exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fools chasing shadows,” he muttered at last, his voice clipped. He dipped his quill into the ink, resuming his writing with almost forced precision, as if the motion alone could dismiss the conversation. But you weren’t convinced.

McGonagall studied him for a moment before turning back to you. “Be that as it may, you’d do well to be vigilant. And I suggest you keep an eye on your assistant—if she’s connected to this, she may become a target.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling in.

After McGonagall left, the house felt heavier, the air thick with unspoken tension. Snape returned to his work, his movements sharp and deliberate. You hesitated, then approached him cautiously.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” you asked quietly.

Snape didn’t look up. “It’s likely.”

Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”

At last, he lifted his gaze, dark eyes locking onto yours with rare intensity. “We prepare.”

The following morning, Snape wasted no time dragging you into the duelling chamber he had set up in the basement. The room was dimly lit, its stone walls damp and cold, with a series of old duelling dummies propped against one side. A long, faded rug ran down the centre, marking the unofficial boundary of the duelling area.

Snape stood at the far end, his robes billowing slightly as he turned to face you. He studied you with a critical eye, noting your grip on your wand—too tense, too uncertain. This would be difficult. You lacked the discipline, the instinct, the ruthlessness needed to survive a real attack.

He had seen it before—people who thought they could handle danger, only to freeze the moment real threats bore down on them. He would not let you be one of them.

“Wand out,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

You swallowed hard and obeyed, gripping your wand tightly.

“This is not some fancy fencing or muggle fighting club,” Snape began, pacing in front of you with his hands clasped behind his back. “There will be no safe practice rounds, no cheering crowd to bolster your confidence. Out there, hesitation will get you killed.”

“I understand,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Do you?” he snapped, his dark eyes narrowing. “Because from what I’ve seen, you’re far more adept at stumbling into danger than actually facing it.”

He wasn’t just talking about last night. There was a recklessness in you, a stubbornness that reminded him of someone else—someone he would rather not think about.

Heat flushed your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. “Then teach me. I’ll learn.”

He halted mid-step, scrutinizing you. You were exhausted from the night before, shaken, yet still standing in front of him, demanding to be better.

Snape stopped pacing, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might relent. Instead, he raised his wand and fired a non-verbal spell straight at your feet.

“Protego!” you shouted instinctively, barely managing to raise a shield in time. The force of the spell sent you stumbling back, but you kept your footing.

“Too slow,” Snape said sharply. “Again.”

For hours, he drilled you relentlessly. He threw spell after spell, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. When you managed to block a Stupefy, he switched to Disarming Charms. When you deflected a jinx, he countered with a hex designed to knock you off balance.

You were sloppy. Your footwork was disastrous. And yet—

You weren’t giving up.

Most would have by now. He had seen fully trained wizards falter under less. But you kept standing, wand raised, even when you trembled with exertion.

“Focus!” he barked as you tripped over your own feet, landing hard on the stone floor.

“I am focusing!” you snapped, pushing yourself up and wiping sweat from your brow.

“Clearly not enough,” he retorted. “If this is the extent of your skill, you might as well hand yourself over to the enemy now and save them the trouble.”

The words stung, but you refused to let them break you. Gritting your teeth, you raised your wand again.

“Expelliarmus!” you shouted, aiming directly at him.

Snape flicked his wand effortlessly, deflecting the spell as if swatting away a fly. “Lousy." He narrowed his eyes. "Put some force behind it, or don’t bother at all.”

The hours stretched on, and your body screamed in protest. Your arms ached from holding your wand aloft, and your legs felt like they might give out at any moment. But every time you thought about asking for a break, Snape’s voice echoed in your mind: Hesitation will get you killed.

So you kept going.

By the time he finally lowered his wand, your shirt was soaked with sweat, and your breathing was ragged. Snape regarded you coolly, his expression unreadable. He let the silence stretch before speaking.

“You’re improving,” he said at last, though his tone was begrudging.

You blinked, startled. “Really?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he replied. “You’re still abysmally slow, and your footwork is atrocious. But you’re… less hopeless than you were this morning.”

It wasn’t exactly high praise, but coming from Snape, it felt monumental. You allowed yourself a small smile.

He saw the flicker of a smile cross your face, and he ignored the way it made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

“Rest,” he instructed, turning away. “We begin again tomorrow at dawn.”

You groaned inwardly but nodded, too exhausted to argue.

As he left the room, Snape exhaled slowly.

You were nowhere near ready. But if last night had proven anything, it was that you would need to be.

He would make sure of it.

The next day, Snape’s training intensified. He pushed you to the brink of your limits, forcing you to dodge, block, and counter until your muscles burned and your wand felt like an extension of your arm.

But it wasn’t just the physical strain—it was the mental exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm you. Snape’s sharp critiques, his relentless pace, and his refusal to acknowledge your progress made you question whether you were truly capable of mastering any of this.

Snape saw it in the way your stance faltered, the slight delay in your counters, the way your frustration simmered just beneath the surface. It was predictable. Expected. Most people broke under this kind of pressure.

And yet, despite everything, you didn’t quit.

That was the only reason he continued. If you had shown any sign of giving up, he would have told you to leave, to stay out of his way, to stop wasting his time. But you didn’t.

One afternoon, after yet another gruelling session, you found yourself sitting on the cold stone floor, your head in your hands.

Snape exhaled sharply. Pathetic.

Except… no. Not pathetic. Just exhausted. He knew the signs. He had been there once—pushed beyond his limits, forced to fight until his body refused to move. Until his only options were survival or death.

“Do you intend to wallow in self-pity, or will you stand up and try again?” Snape’s voice cut through the silence like a whip.

You looked up at him, your frustration boiling over. “Why are you so hard on me? I’m trying, but it’s never enough for you!”

Snape’s expression darkened, and for a moment, he nearly snapped back. Because the world is merciless. Because no one will care how hard you tried when you’re lying on the ground, wandless, bleeding out. Because I know what happens when someone isn’t prepared.

Instead, he stepped closer, letting his words settle like iron.

“Do you think your enemies will go easy on you?” he asked quietly, his tone cold but measured. “Do you think they’ll care that you’re tired, or that you’ve already given everything you have? They will exploit every weakness, every hesitation. And if you falter, even for a moment, they will kill you.”

He didn’t soften his words. He couldn’t. The world wasn’t kind. If you wanted to survive, you had to understand that.

His words hung heavy in the air, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. But beneath his harshness, you caught a glimpse of something deeper—concern, perhaps, or a twisted sense of responsibility.

You swallowed hard, but to his surprise, you didn’t look away. You didn’t shrink back or try to argue.

“I’m not giving up,” you said firmly, pushing yourself to your feet. “No matter how hard you are on me, I’m not giving up.”

Snape studied you in silence. The determination in your eyes, the set of your jaw—it was painfully familiar.

Foolish. Reckless. Stubborn.

Just like your mother.

He felt something settle uneasily in his chest.

“Good,” he said at last, his voice quieter now. “Because if you survive this, it won’t be because of luck. It will be because you earned it.”

Over the next few weeks, you began to see the results of your training. Your reflexes sharpened, your spells grew stronger, and you found yourself anticipating Snape’s moves before he made them.

One evening, during a particularly intense duel, you managed to disarm him—a feat you hadn’t thought possible.

“Expelliarmus!”

Snape’s wand flew from his hand.

Silence hung between you as the realization sank in. You had disarmed him.

Snape retrieved his wand with slow, deliberate movements, his expression unreadable. He turned it over in his fingers, eyes dark and unreadable. The fact that you had bested him—even just once—unsettled him more than he was willing to admit. He had trained you to survive, but had he underestimated just how much you had learned?

“Not bad,” he said at last. His voice was even, but something flickered in his gaze—calculation, scrutiny. Pride? No, not pride. He wouldn’t allow himself that. And yet…

You exhaled, a small, breathless smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t outright praise, but coming from him, it was enough.

But as Snape studied you, a weight settled in his chest. This wasn’t just about teaching you how to hold your own in a fight. Every spell you mastered, every hesitation you shed, brought you closer to something inevitable. He had set you on this path, and whether he admitted it or not, he had a hand in whatever came next.

The training wasn’t over, and the danger still loomed. But for the first time, you felt like you might stand a chance.

And as you squared off against Snape once more, your wand at the ready, you realized something else, you weren’t just learning to defend yourself. You were learning to fight for the future and the truth about your past.

Snape raised his wand, his gaze steady. Whatever you would find, whatever lay ahead—he couldn’t shield you from it. He could only prepare you.

And so, the duel resumed.

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[coldkidcookieneck]

Title: All By Myself and Much More of Severus Snape

Summary: What begins as a simple task for Snape leads the reader into a whirlwind of battles with forest creatures, intruders, and the ghosts of a family’s hidden past.

Author's note: At last, the brewing continues. Hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 and Part 7 here

Cross posted on AO3

================================================

The morning fog still clung to the air as you set off on your mission to find valerian root, Snape’s terse instructions fresh in your mind. He hadn’t exactly been forthcoming—"Look for pale pink flowers, thin leaves, and don’t bring me weeds,"—but you were determined to make good on your offer.

The streets of Spinner’s End were dreary as ever, but you ventured further, following a barely visible trail that wound into a small grove of trees at the edge of town. The deeper you went, the more the air seemed to hum with faint magic. A weathered signpost pointing to “Botanical Clearing” caught your eye, and you made your way toward it, stepping over tangled roots and patches of frost.

As you scanned the ground for valerian root, your fingers brushing the stems of unfamiliar plants, a soft rustling sound made you freeze. Slowly, you turned, your wand slipping into your hand. From behind a cluster of bushes, a large, shadowy figure emerged from the trees. It was a Grindylow, its green, spindly limbs slick with moisture, and its glowing yellow eyes fixed hungrily on you.

“Brilliant,” you muttered, fumbling for your wand. Of course, Snape had failed to mention the possibility of running into a water demon during your “simple” errand.

The Grindylow lunged, its webbed claws swiping inches from your face. Instinct took over as you shouted, “Stupefy!” A bolt of red light struck the creature’s chest, sending it staggering back.

But it wasn’t enough to stop it. The Grindylow snarled, circling you as you scrambled to steady your wand. You racked your brain for another spell when a sudden CRACK echoed through the woods. The Grindylow howled, its limbs twitching, before collapsing to the ground.

You turned to see Snape emerging from the shadows, his wand pointed at the now-immobile creature. His black robes seemed to blend into the darkness, and his expression was a mixture of irritation and begrudging concern.

“Did you think to prepare for this outing at all, or were you planning to duel every creature in the forest?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I didn’t know it would be so... lively,” you replied, trying to catch your breath.

Snape’s gaze flickered to the valerian root at your feet. “At least you found it. I suppose that’s worth something.”

Back at the house, you handed Snape the valerian root with a mix of pride and sheepishness. He inspected it closely, nodding once before setting it aside. “It’s a miracle you didn’t bring back dandelions.”

You bit back a retort as he began preparing the potion. The workroom was as precise and methodical as its owner, with shelves of neatly labelled jars and a cauldron already simmering over a low flame.

“Watch closely,” Snape instructed. “If you’re going to waste my time, at least learn something.”

You nodded, eager to prove yourself. He handed you a jar of powdered asphodel. “Add two pinches. No more, no less.”

You carefully measured out the powder, but as you tipped the second pinch into the cauldron, the jar slipped from your fingers. A small avalanche of powder fell into the potion, which immediately hissed and bubbled over.

Snape’s glare could have frozen fire. “Do you delight in chaos, or is it simply your nature?”

“Sorry!” you stammered, stepping back. “I’ll clean it up—”

With a flick of his wand, Snape stabilized the potion, though it now emitted alarming teal-coloured steam. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “One more mistake and you’ll scrub cauldrons until the next equinox.”

“Sorry!” you said, flushing. “I’m just—new to this.”

He sighed deeply, muttering something about “inept amateurs,” but he allowed you to continue, this time under his watchful eye. Slowly, you got the hang of the rhythm, and to your surprise, he even offered a rare bit of praise.

“Passable,” he said as you added the valerian root to the cauldron. “Barely.”

As the potion simmered, Snape began explaining its purpose—The Draught of Living Peace, a potion designed to calm even the most frayed nerves. His voice softened as he spoke, and you realized this was more than just a routine brew for him.

“Potions,” he said quietly, “require discipline. Patience. A level of control few possess.” He glanced at you. “Qualities you would do well to cultivate.”

For a moment, his usual sharpness faded, and you caught a glimpse of something deeper—an almost wistful pride in his craft.

Just as the potion began to take on its intended lavender hue, a loud crash shattered the calm from near the entrance hallway. Snape froze, his hand hovering over the cauldron before his expression hardened into sharp focus.

“Stay here,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. Before you could argue, he stalked toward the door, his wand gripped tightly.

Ignoring his order, you followed at a cautious distance, heart pounding. The source of the disturbance quickly became clear: the sound of muffled voices and hurried footsteps echoed through the house. Someone had broken in.

The intruders—two cloaked figures—were rifling through the sitting room, their wands drawn. One of them, a wiry man with a twisted sneer, was directing the other. “The potions storeroom will be in the basement,” he hissed. “Find it, quickly before that Snape comes.”

Snape emerged from the shadows, his wand aimed directly at the man. “I would suggest,” he said in a voice like ice, “that you reconsider your life choices.”

The wiry man flinched but then sneered, eyes narrowing. “Snape,” he drawled. “Didn’t think we’d run into you so soon. Still playing both sides, are you?”

Snape’s expression didn’t waver. “You assume I’m playing at all.”

The second figure—a younger woman—hesitated, her hand trembling as she pointed her wand toward Snape.

“Expelliarmus!” you shouted, stepping into the room. The spell caught her off guard, her wand flying from her grasp.

Snape shot you a sharp glare. “I told you to stay put,” he snapped, though there was a flicker of approval in his eyes.

The wiry man lunged for his wand, but Snape’s next spell hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him into the wall. The woman scrambled to retreat, but you raised your wand again, your heart racing.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, surprised by the steadiness in your voice.

With the intruders subdued, Snape wasted no time binding them with thick ropes that materialized from the tip of his wand. His expression was unreadable as he stepped closer to the man. “Who sent you?” he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

The man sneered, his lip curling. “You know who,” he spat. “And he hasn’t forgotten.”

Snape’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. He exchanged a glance with you, his expression unreadable but tense. She is so naïve.

But during this exchange, the man’s gaze flickered—just for a fraction of a second—to you. His eyes widened, a flicker of recognition flashing across his face. Doubt. Surprise.

Snape saw it.

His grip on his wand tightened instinctively. Damn it.

Before you could notice, Snape moved, pressing his wand to the man’s throat, his voice like venom. “Get out,” he growled, every syllable a deadly promise. “Before I make you regret it.”

The man chuckled but didn’t resist. He hesitated for just a beat longer, his gaze darting toward you once more. Snape didn’t miss the way the man seemed to hesitate, as if piecing something together—something dangerous.

This is bad.

The moment Snape released them, they Disapparated.

Silence crashed down over the room like a storm.

Snape’s gaze lingered on the door, his expression shadowed. “Thieves,” he said finally. “Nothing more.”

Lies. But necessary ones. She can’t know. Not yet.

He turned sharply toward you, his scowl deepening. “And what, exactly, was running through that reckless mind of yours when you barged in here barely knowing any spells to defend yourself?” His voice was sharp, but underneath it—buried deep—was something else. Something unspoken.

She doesn’t even realize what she’s done.

“Thank Merlin the one you knew actually worked,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You weren’t convinced. There was something in his tone that suggested this was far from random.

“Let’s return to the potion,” he said curtly, brushing past you. But as you followed him back to the room, the unease lingered.

Snape clenched his jaw, thoughts racing.

They know about her now.

And worse...

They recognize her.

This wasn’t over.

Not yet.

The room settled back into a tense rhythm as the potion brewed. To fill the oppressive silence, you found yourself talking, the words spilling out unbidden.

You spoke of your life in the Muggle world, your parents’ decision to leave the wizarding world behind, and your conflicting feelings about returning to a life you barely understood.

“My father always said magic was more trouble than it was worth,” you admitted, stirring the potion as Snape had instructed. “But part of me always wondered what I was missing.”

Snape was silent momentarily, his hands precise as he prepared the valerian root. “Your father was naive,” he finally said, clipped but thoughtful. “Magic is neither good nor evil—it is a tool. How you wield it determines its worth.”

His words resonated deeply, shifting your perspective in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Emboldened, you hesitated before adding, “My mother didn’t agree with him, though. She was... passionate about magic. She said she used to duel at school, that she was good at it.”

Snape’s movements stilled. Slowly, he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “Your mother’s name?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice. “Lyra Carrington,” you said, watching his reaction closely.

"Carrington." The name settled heavily in his mind, stirring memories long buried. He had not heard it in years, but the moment it left your lips, there was no doubt. Lyra Carrington—reckless, brilliant, infuriatingly stubborn. He had crossed paths with her more than once, always on the fringes of a war that had consumed them both. And now, her daughter stood before him, unknowingly stirring ghosts he had long tried to forget.

Snape’s jaw tightened, and his dark eyes flickered with recognition. “Carrington,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She was formidable. A talented duelist, though prone to recklessness. She had a... reputation.”

“Reputation?” you pressed, intrigued.

He didn’t elaborate, instead focusing back on the cauldron. “She was skilled. That much is certain. And a staunch supporter of her beliefs, even when they led her into... dangerous circles.”

You frowned, your mind racing. “Dangerous circles? What do you mean?”

Snape hesitated, his gaze darkening. “Your mother was known to associate with certain individuals during Voldemort’s rise. She was never formally accused of aligning with him, but her choices raised questions.”

The revelation hit you like a jolt. Your mother had always been a fierce, enigmatic figure, but this side of her past was entirely new to you.

“Is that why they left the wizarding world?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It would explain much,” Snape replied, his tone softer but still guarded. “Perhaps they sought safety—or redemption—in obscurity.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as you grappled with the implications.

Later, as the potion reached completion, you couldn’t help but ask, “Did you know her well?”

Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Well enough,” he said shortly, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or an echo of old wounds.

Before you could press further, he set down the stirring rod with a decisive clink. “The potion is complete,” he announced his voice back to its usual clipped precision. “Bottle it, and be careful not to spill a single drop.”

As you carefully filled the vials, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of uncovering the tangled web of your family’s history—and its connection to the man standing beside you.

When you handed Snape the final vial, he regarded you with a rare look of grudging respect. “Not entirely useless,” he remarked dryly.

You smirked, the tension breaking just slightly. “High praise, coming from you.”

Snape gave a faint scoff, but his expression softened almost imperceptibly. For the first time, you wondered if, beneath the harsh exterior, there was someone who understood the struggles of navigating a world fraught with shadows and secrets.

As you left for the night, you turned back at the door. “See you tomorrow?”

Snape didn’t respond immediately, but the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “If you insist on returning, try not to destroy my house.”

You smiled, noticing his smirk. Perhaps this was the start of an unusual, tentative friendship—or something more.

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[coldkidcookieneck]

Title: All by Myself and a Little More of Severus Snape

Summary: Reader tries to reconcile with her mysterious neighbour, Severus Snape after solo partying hard.

Author's note: Finally, after much brewing around, the sequel is out. Hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 and Part 7 here

Cross posted on AO3

================================================

The first rays of sunlight streamed through your window, but your thoughts were clouded with guilt. You thought cynically, what a good way to start your New Year. Laying on the bed, memories of your loud music and encountering your brooding neighbour, Severus Snape, kept replaying in your mind. You couldn’t shake the gut feeling that you owed him an apology - that's more than words.

Determined to make amends, you decided on something simple yet heartfelt: butter cookies and coffee. You weren’t a professional baker, but you hoped the gesture would smooth things over. Throwing off the covers, you shuffled into the kitchen, mentally bracing yourself for the challenge ahead. By the time the smell of butter and vanilla filled the air, your nerves mixed with a strange sense of curiosity about the enigmatic man next door.

You slid the tray of cookies into the oven and glanced at the steaming cup of coffee you’d brewed. It was a simple gesture, but you hoped it would convey sincerity. By the time the biscuits were golden and fragrant, you’d carefully arranged them into a small basket. Beside it, a flask of freshly brewed coffee rested snugly in its holder. You had enchanted the coffee to stay hot, a small touch you hoped he’d appreciate.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped outside and approached the dark, slightly foreboding house next door. The shadows of Spinner’s End seemed to linger longer around it, but you shook off the unease and rapped gently on the door.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed from within. When the door swung open, there he was—Severus Snape. His black robes billowed slightly as if stirred by a breeze that didn’t exist, and his sharp gaze pinned you where you stood.

“Yes?” he intoned, his voice as silky and sharp as you remembered.

“Good morning,” you began, your voice wavering slightly. “I wanted to apologise for last night. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I brought these as a peace offering.” You held up the basket, your fingers tightening nervously around its handle.

Snape’s gaze flicked to the basket and back to you, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he sighed and stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

You stepped inside, and immediately, a sweet, earthy aroma hit your senses. It was unlike anything you’d ever smelled—warm, herbal, and oddly comforting.

“Your house smells... unique,” you remarked, genuinely intrigued. “Like herbs and flowers. What is that?”

Snape stiffened, his expression sharpening. “I fail to see how that is any of your business.”

You held up your hands defensively. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just... it reminds me of something magical or maybe like potion brewing.”

His gaze snapped to you, his suspicion intensifying. “Magical?”, “Potion brewing?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous.

Realizing you’d let something slip, you hesitated before reaching into your pocket. Slowly, you pulled out your wand and held it up.” Hey, don’t get too hasty or jinx me. I know that you’re a wizard. Because yesterday when you were confronting me I saw your wand in your sleeves so obviously I’m a witch too,” you admitted. “Pureblood, technically, but I was raised in the Muggle world. My parents wanted to keep me away from... all the drama.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed further, though this time it was more in scrutiny than outright hostility. “A pureblood, living among Muggles,” he mused, his voice dripping with disdain. “How... peculiar.”

You shrugged. “It was my parent's choice. They taught me enough magic to get by, but I’m still learning. Hence the lack of finesse with things like silencing charms.”

Snape let out a low scoff, but his posture relaxed ever so slightly. “How fortunate for you, then, that your ignorance hasn’t resulted in catastrophic consequences. Yet.”

You chose to ignore the jab, instead glancing around his dimly lit home. Your eyes landed on a small cauldron bubbling in the corner of the room. “Is that what’s making the smell?” you asked, pointing.

He followed your gaze, then sighed. “If you must know, I am brewing The Draught of Living Peace. It is a delicate potion, one that requires precision and, he shot you a pointed look, —“the absence of disruptions.”

You winced at the reminder of your blunder but pressed on. “It sounds fascinating. How do you get it to smell so… comforting?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, though he seemed faintly amused by your curiosity. “The aroma is a byproduct of combining lavender essence and powdered moonstone. Satisfactory?”

“Actually, yes,” you said, smiling. “I didn’t realize potions could be so… delicate.”

Snape stared at you for a moment, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “Few appreciate the intricacies of potion-making,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You stepped closer, your curiosity outweighing your caution. “Could you show me? I’ve always been interested in potions, but I never had a proper teacher.”

He raised an eyebrow.“Your enthusiasm for potioneering is almost as dangerous as your disregard for silencing charms.” 

“Hey, I’m not that bad!” you protested, though you couldn’t help but laugh. “I can follow instructions... most of the time.”

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are relentless,” he muttered, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his tone.

As he turned back to his cauldron, he frowned slightly. “Blast it,” he muttered under his breath.

“Something wrong?” you asked hesitantly.

“I’m out of valerian root,” he said, half to himself. “And the apothecaries in this miserable town don’t carry it.”

Your face lit up with an idea. “I could help! I mean, I’m new here, but I’d love to explore the area. Maybe I could track some down for you?”

Snape raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “And what would you know about valerian root?”

“Not much,” you admitted. “But you could describe it, or I could take notes. Consider it part of my apology.”

For a long moment, Snape regarded you as though weighing the pros and cons of trusting you with even the smallest task. Finally, he sighed, his resignation evident. “Fine. But if you return with anything other than valerian root, I will hold you personally responsible for the consequences.”

As you took out a small notebook and began jotting down his description of valerian root, you couldn’t help but feel a small thrill of accomplishment. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Perhaps this strange, begrudging connection was the beginning of something—not quite friendship, but something nonetheless.

As you turned to leave, Snape’s voice stopped you.

“Don’t expect gratitude,” he said dryly, though his tone lacked real malice.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you said with a playful smirk.

Before you stepped out, you turned back to him. “By the way, I never introduced myself.” You gave your name before tilting your head. “And you are?”

Snape gave you a long, unreadable look before answering in his usual slow, deliberate tone. “Severus Snape. I am the Potions Master at Hogwarts.”

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[coldkidcookieneck]

Hi guys,

Since today is our darling Severus Snape's birthday. So why not reward my dear readers with a sequel to All by Myself and a Little Bit of Severus Snape to lighten up your days.

Part 1 and Part 2

Hope you guys enjoy reading and thank you for your supports💕

[coldkidcookieneck]

Title: All by Myself and a Little Bit of Severus Snape

Summary: Reader just moved in right next door to Severus Snape and gets in trouble with him over some music.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem Reader

Author's note: This is my first story and shot at writing this fanfic. Hope you guys enjoy it and Happy New Year Guys !!!!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 and Part 7 here

Cross posted on AO3

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The sun has just set by the horizon, casting long gloomy shadows along the quiet streets of the little town of Spinner’s End. Most of the houses were dark with no light and life in them, except for one - the home of a new neighbour, you. 

You had recently moved into town because of the expensive lifestyle you had faced living in cities like London. Here, you could have similar accommodations for much cheaper, allowing you to save some money for renovations. Moreover, you were a pureblood witch who had been brought up the Muggle way. Your parents, fearing for your safety and wanting to keep you away from the pureblood prejudices of the wizarding world, had chosen a quiet, hidden upbringing for you. Despite this, they ensured you received a wand and a solid grounding in magic so you could adapt when the time came for you to engage with the magical world. Now, here you were, transitioning to an unknown town and a fresh start.

Coincidentally, the house you bought was next to a person named Severus Snape, a figure you knew little about other than mere whispers and gossips of his mysterious dark character along with his infamous billowing robes that he seems to wear all the time. 

However, tonight you were in a celebrating mood and well spirited so you connected the enchanted gramophone-an heirloom that can be turned into a laptop when among muggles that play both Muggle and magical tunes-to the Bluetooth speakers you had enchanted to work with it, blasting your favorite tunes to celebrate the achievement of settling done after a long arduous week. Moreover, it was New Year’s Eve, so why not just ring in the new year spirits, you thought.

The bass echoed and thumped through the walls, the beats along with the bass filled the air, creating a stark contrast to the usual tranquility of Spinner’s End. Unbeknownst to you, Severus Snape was in his basement trying to brew The Draught Of Living Peace and the music was not aiding his effort in brewing it peacefully.

With a deep sigh and a furrowed brow, Snape slammed the knife he was holding with frustration down on the countertop. He could no longer bear to ignore the raucous and booming sounds from your house. Determined to put an end to this nuisance, he donned his robes and stormed out of his house, marching up to your front door. 

You were in the middle of a particularly energetic dance when you heard a very loud knock. Startled, you paused the song, quickly transfiguring the gramophone into the laptop, and slipped your wand in your sleeves when you went to the door. Who could it be at this hour? You opened it, only to find Snape standing there, looking pissed off and irritated. 

“Good evening,” you greeted skeptically, trying to mask the surprise with a friendly and jovial smile. 

“Well, it would be a good evening if you weren’t blasting that infernal music in your merry way when others are trying to accomplish meaningful tasks in their life.” he replied sarcastically, his voice dripping with irritation.” Do you have any idea what time it is?”

 You were flabbergasted by his words and glanced at your watch shrugging you said “ It’s not that late even. I didn't think it would be a problem seeing there’s not many staying on the street and your house was dark too so I thought maybe you were out. I didn't think it would be a problem.”

 Snape’s eyes narrowed further. “Well, it is a problem. As the music is preventing me from completing my work as it needs a modicum of peace and quiet.”

Realizing and feeling guilty for your mistake, you sighed apologetically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you and disrupt your work. I just got a little carried away with the New Year’s spirit”.

Snape’s stern expression softened slightly, though he still looked exasperated.”Just keep it down, would you?”

“Of course,” you agreed, feeling a bit sheepish. “ I’ll turn it off. I didn’t realize it was bothering anyone.”

With a curt nod, Snape turned and walked back to his house, leaving you feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity about your enigmatic neighbor. 

As you settled down for a quieter evening, you couldn’t help but reflect on the interaction. Despite his stern and dark personality, something was intriguing about Severus Snape. You absentmindedly slid your wand out and started twirling it as you mused. Maybe, as the new year began, this would be a chance to bridge the gap between your vastly different worlds. You smiled softly, thinking of ways to make amends or perhaps even find common ground with your mysterious neighbour.

As the clock struck midnight, you whispered an incantation that released a small burst of sparkling light—your own magical tradition for welcoming the new year.

You quietly wished yourself, "Happy New Year," hoping that it would bring new opportunities and connections—and maybe, just maybe, a peaceful relationship with the man next door.

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[coldkidcookieneck]

Newbie

Hi guysss!!!! I'm new here—actually not new using Tumblr but new in creating stories and writing here. I'm very excited for this journey and hope to have a good time here with everyone. PS: Please let me know if there's anything I can improve in my writing, and don't' be afraid to message me or just chat!!!! Can't wait to share my stories here for you guys.