shostakobitchh

[shostakobitchh]

this is me on week 3. the puppy is 13 weeks. I have slept maybe 13 hours total.

[shostakobitchh]

Taransay, Scotland

@pauljwillson

[shostakobitchh]

hi i’m posting this while I have a second

I am in the puppy trenches. we’re on day 4 but HOLY SHIT I underestimated how much attention and time a puppy needs

anyway, that’s why I’ve been MIA. she is perfect and amazing and here’s a pic

okay it’s 4am and i just soothed her back to sleep, love u all I’ll see you on the other side 😅

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 11: returning shadow

The night is thick and quiet. 

Ariel lies on her side atop a nest of quilt and tangled sheets, eyes pressed shut though her mind will not surrender to sleep. The hush here is different from Hogwarts — no distant laughter or echoing boots, just the faint creak of wind through eaves and, somewhere below, the comforting shuffle of adults finishing tea downstairs. 

In another life, it would have been Lily and Snape, maybe — her parents. Ariel can picture it, Snape cramped into a chair as her mum laughs at some silly complaint he’s snarled out, his face smoothing over when she turns to hand him the cup — 

She keeps her breathing even, feigning the oblivion she craves.

The door hinges sigh as a cool breath of hallway air ghosts across her bare arm. She does not move — not even as familiar footsteps cross the rug and settle beside her.

Her heart lurches up into her throat.

A weight dips the mattress at her hip. 

Her father does not speak.

Instead, his hand reaches out and brushes a stray lock of hair back from her brow. His palm hesitates at her temple, hovering, brushing away one auburn strand after another as if by tidying these small imperfections he might erase all else that hurts her.

Ariel wills herself utterly still. She lets him believe she is lost in dreams because she cannot bear what honesty might require tonight — that she needs this too, this care doled out in secret. 

“You think I do not see you,” her father murmurs. “but you are all I see.”

For a long time he simply sits there, head bowed in silhouette against moonlit rafters. 

At last she hears him exhale — a shudder so soft it might be mistaken for sleep itself — and feels the bed lighten as he stands. She almost opens her eyes then but does not dare. 

And then he leaves her in moon-patched solitude — her hair still warm where his hand lingered — a loneliness gentler than any nightmare.

[shostakobitchh]

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 10: the echo of light

Three days later, Ariel descends to the dungeons with a Potions text clutched against her chest. She’s meant to start her practicum, timing her brewing schedule in the student laboratory so that she can be alone after days of strained silence with her father (again). The corridors grow colder as she navigates the familiar path, torchlight throwing her shadow long and wavering against damp stone.

She reaches for the door handle, then freezes. Voices drift through the heavy wood — her father's, low and measured, and another she recognizes with a jolt of unease.

Lucius Malfoy.

"— cannot afford such indulgences, Severus." Lucius’ cultured drawl carries an edge as sharp as broken glass. "The girl represents more than your personal failings."

"Choose your next words very carefully." Her father's voice drops to that dangerous register she knows too well — the one that precedes violence.

"Oh, I shall." A pause, then the soft tap of a walking stick against stone. "Your daughter has become quite the symbol, hasn't she? The Girl Who Lived, now revealed as the bastard offspring of the Dark Lord's most trusted servant. Do you imagine our former associates have forgotten? That they've forgiven?"

"Anyone foolish enough to move against her will find themselves in pieces." 

"As Belby did?" Lucius’ tone sharpens with interest. "Yes, I heard about your — enthusiasm. Tell me, did you enjoy peeling his mind apart? Or has fatherhood truly softened you?"

Ariel presses closer to the door, heart hammering. Through the crack beneath, she can see shadows shifting — two dark shapes circling each other like predators.

"Get to your point, Lucius, before I tire of this performance."

"My point is that your protective instincts have made you sloppy. Belby was merely the first — a test, if you will. There are others, Severus. Others who remember what we lost, who blame the child for the father's betrayal."

"Names." The word cracks like a whip.

"Would that I had them." Lucius’ voice turns silky with false regret. "But surely you've noticed the signs? The letters that arrive bearing no seal but reek of dark magic? Even now, I suspect, someone tests your defenses."

Ariel's blood turns to ice. She thinks of the unsigned notes, the feeling of being watched, Belby's fevered claims that he wasn't alone —

"If you know something —"

"I know only what whispers reach me in my greatly diminished circumstances." Bitterness seeps through Lucius’ words. "But I thought you should be warned. After all, we were friends once. Before you chose the winning side."

"I chose the only side that mattered."

Her heart squeezes uncomfortably. 

"Yes, yes, your tragic redemption.” she can hear Lucius’ eye roll. “How noble."

Footsteps approach the door, and Ariel scrambles backward, nearly dropping her textbook, but the footsteps halt, and Lucius’ voice continues, now tinged with something almost like genuine concern.

"Consider this a courtesy, Severus. One I extend despite your current allegiances. Watch the shadows. They remember what you've forgotten — that power abhors a vacuum, and the Dark Lord's death left such emptiness behind."

The door handle begins to turn. Ariel bolts, feet silent on stone as she ducks into an alcove twenty feet away. Her heart pounds so loudly she's certain they'll hear it echoing off the walls.

Lucius emerges first, silver-headed cane tapping a measured rhythm. He pauses, pale eyes scanning the corridor with predatory precision. 

For one terrible moment, his gaze seems to linger on her hiding place. 

Then he smiles — a cold, knowing thing — and glides away toward the upper levels.

Ariel waits, counting breaths, until his footsteps fade entirely. When she finally approaches her father's door again, she finds it standing ajar, yellow light spilling across the threshold like an invitation.

She doesn’t take the bait, and leaves instead, filing the conversation away for later.

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 9: nocturne in amber

The hush of the dungeon is broken only by the steady drip of wormwood into crystal vials and the low hum of flames beneath pewter cauldrons. Ariel sits at her usual bench, sleeves rolled to the elbow, brow furrowed as she stirs precisely widdershins. 

The potion in her cauldron glimmers a pale, cloudy gold — nearly perfect — and it will be. 

She narrows her focus, counting drops, feeling the swirl of thickened air, letting each careful task stretch out and fill her so there’s room for nothing else. The murmurs of other students fade to distant static. Only the gentle clink of stirring rod against cauldron, the faint, herbal sting of wormwood steam—these are real. These she can manage.

A shadow falls over her workspace.

Ariel doesn’t look up, but she feels it — the electric ache of being watched. Nott’s gaze is a steady pressure at the edge of her vision, intent enough for her knuckles to flush white around the handle of the ladle. It would be easy to snap at him — Why are you staring? — but she finds herself soothed by the certainty of it, the way he anchors her in place without a word.

He stands just close enough that his hip grazes the bench when he leans in, pretending to fuss with a rack of pipettes.

She fixes her gaze on the potion’s surface, refusing to look up though she can feel Nott’s attention like static across her skin. The memory of Belby’s grip hovers on her skin, raw and invisible. No matter how she scrubs or what bruise balm her father leaves by her bedside, it lingers — a hand at her throat in every shadowed corridor, a voice rasping filth just beneath the noise of the class.

She hates it. Hates that she lets it inside. Hates most of all that for one terrified heartbeat — pinioned against stone, pinned under fear — she’d gone still and almost let him win. She’d wanted to vanish, to close tightly as a fist and never have to be seen again.

And now Nott stands beside her — steady and silent — and she’s supposed to remember how to fucking open up — 

She risks a glance sideways. Nott is watching her without pretense now — his lips parted as if caught halfway to speech, hands braced on either side of the bench. His eyes soften when they meet hers, grey stormlight bruised by worry and want. 

Ariel wants him to reach for her — 

Until Snape’s voice cracks across the classroom like a whip.

“Mr Nott — am I to assume that your grade now consists of hovering about Miss Evans’ cauldron like an ill-trained house elf? Or have you simply forgotten that brewing requires even a mite of attention?”

Ariel jerks her gaze back to her potion, blood thrumming in her ears. The golden surface quivers — she nearly over-stirs, catching herself just in time.

Nott doesn’t flinch. He straightens slowly, the line of his spine stubborn and proud. “Just observing technique, sir. Evans is ahead of schedule.”

Snape lets the silence stretch — long enough for every student in the room to look up from their cauldrons, breath held as if waiting for a duel’s opening volley. “I see — were you planning to absorb skill by osmosis or is this another Slytherin innovation I’m meant to praise? Perhaps if I assign you remedial stirring, you’ll at last master the subtle art of not contaminating your neighbor’s work through sheer proximity.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter stirs at the back of the dungeon. Nott does not blink —  his jaw sets in that familiar, stubborn line.

“Ten points from Slytherin for dereliction,” Snape goes on, his voice flat. “and another five for the delusion that hovering near Miss Evans’ bench might somehow elevate your own performance.

Ariel reaches under the table, fingers closing around Nott’s hand, squeezing once — hard and sure. His thumb strokes the back of her knuckles. She feels the heat of Snape’s gaze drilling holes through both of them, but she doesn’t let go — not at first, anyway. 

The hour crawls by in a haze of stares and whispered calculations. When Snape calls time, Ariel sets down her ladle with unnecessary precision, refusing to meet his eye as she decants her potion into a labeled vial. Students form a line at the front of the classroom, vials clutched in nervous hands. Ariel waits until the last possible second before rising from her bench. 

Ariel forces herself not to flinch beneath Snape’s gaze. Instead, she places the vial squarely in front of him — hard enough that glass clicks against wood. 

“Here,” she says crisply. “Hope it lives up to your standards.”

Snape sets the vial down with deliberation. “If you wish for perfection rather than adequacy, I recommend less distraction in the future. I expect more from my apprentice.”

“If you want less distraction,” she mutters tightly. “stop using me as bait every time you need to prove a fucking point.”

She waits until she’s before she slips her hand beneath her collar and presses the locket’s rune. “Meet me. Astronomy Tower tonight. Please.”

There is no answer at first, just the faint tingle of magic humming against her throat.  

The reply comes at last: short, clipped, unmistakably Nott.

Understood.

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 8: when light is taken

“Do you have any conception,” Snape says, voice trembling at the edges with a fierce pride that frightens more than it comforts. “of what you are capable of?”

Ariel’s lips part, but no answer comes. The question hangs there — a challenge and a benediction. He tightens his hold on her hands, grounding her to the battered armchair and the stone-anchored world. 

“You fought him off.” His eyes burn into hers now, demanding she not look away. “You did not beg or plead. Most grown wizards — most Aurors — would have frozen. You not only fought back, but you broke his grip and turned his own violence against him. I’ve seen men kill for less than what you achieved on instinct alone.”

Ariel tastes old copper in her mouth and wants to spit, to cry, to rage at the unfairness of this — of forests and stairwells and men who think her body is a battlefield for vengeance or desire. She swallows it instead, jaw clenched. She wants to say it doesn’t feel like a victory. The words choke in her mouth. They taste like salt and old nightmares.

Snape’s hands wrap tighter around hers, the pressure just shy of pain, rooting her here, refusing to let her drift away into memory or shame. His voice is low but relentless, the words hammered out as if he has forged them in secret, over years, and only now dares to wield them.

“You do not see yourself,” he says. “Not truly. For all your bluster and temper and that reckless mouth you inherited from your mother, you persist in believing your strength is borrowed — some scrap salvaged from others’ heroics, or a mask you wear to keep terror at bay, but I know what you are made of. I have seen it since the moment you first defied me in this castle, small and furious and already carrying more scar than most adults I’ve known.”

She wants to vanish into the cracked seams between stones, or run until the lake swallows her up, but she can’t — not with his hands anchoring her and his voice carving through every trembling defense.

“My brilliant girl,” he murmurs, tucking her hair back, wiping at the tears that have begun to fall. “Oh, my girl.” 

Snape waits, then — patient, unblinking — refusing to release her hands until she meets his gaze fully once more. There is no pity there, only an iron glint threaded through with something softer — concern so fierce it resembles devotion.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Ariel whispers at last, the confession breaking loose in a rush of shame. “If I’d listened — if I hadn’t run from Tonks — she must feel awful —” 

“Nymphadora is a professional,” Snape interrupts, the words cutting off her spiral. “And she will blame herself, because she is fond of you, and because she is foolish enough to think Auror training equips one to anticipate every window, every turning stair.” He squeezes her hands tighter, the pressure just shy of painful. “You will not take responsibility for his actions. You are not at fault for another’s depravity.”

Ariel bites back another apology, throat thick with unshed tears. Her palms, sandwiched between his, are sweaty and cold all at once. She can feel it trembling beneath his skin — the fear, the rage, the helplessness he masks beneath the veneer of control. It ripples through their joined hands like some barely leashed current. 

Her hands stop their trembling for the first time since the corridor. A strange warmth floods her chest — not the old hollow radiance that left her brittle and burning, but something steadier, more substantial.

Snape releases her right hand only to reach for the vial again. He does not thrust it into her palm this time, nor press it upon her with a command thinly disguised as care. Instead, he uncorks it and extends it delicately toward her — an offering rather than an order.

Ariel accepts it wordlessly, downing the bitter potion in one swallow. Almost immediately, the throbbing pain in her throat and wrists begins to subside.

"The tea as well," Snape adds, nodding toward her forgotten cup. "I've added a mild Calming Draught."

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“I know. You won’t.” 

She nods and takes a sip to appease him for now. 

"He said he'd been watching me," Ariel says finally, her voice scratchy from the strain. "That Death Eaters have enemies. That this was — payback."

Snape inhales sharply, his expression briefly hidden by the curtain of black hair. For a long moment, he doesn't turn, his shoulders rigid beneath his black robes. When he does face her, his expression is carefully neutral, but his eyes burn with something ancient and terrible.

"Marcus Belby's father was killed during the first War," he says quietly. "Damocles Belby."

"The inventor of Wolfsbane," Ariel murmurs, recognition flickering through her exhausted mind.

Snape inclines his head slightly. "He refused to brew for the Dark Lord. His death was made an example of. I was present."

The implication hangs in the air between them. Ariel pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"So this was revenge. For something that happened before I was even born."

"The war casts long shadows.” 

Ariel stares into her tea, watching the ripples form as her hands tremble slightly once more.

"I will ask you one last time.” Snape tilts her chin up to look at him with one finger. “Did he touch you?"

She knows what he’s really asking. 

Ariel lets the question linger on her tongue, feeling the shape and heat of it, the plea and the terror and the fury that thread beneath. She thinks of Belby’s grip on her throat — too rough, too desperate to have done any more than bruise, of his hands clawing at her limbs but never slicking past her skin, of the place where violence had threatened but not conquered. 

“No,” she says. “He tried — I didn’t let him.” 

Snape rises in one fluid motion, crossing to the fireplace. His back to her, shoulders rigid as iron. "I should have killed him when I had the chance."

"And then what?" Ariel sets down her cup with a sharp clink. "You'd be in Azkaban, and I'd be alone. Is that what you want?"

"What I want is to ensure that Marcus Belby never draws another breath. What I want is to make him suffer as he intended to make you suffer." He turns to face her, his eyes fathomless. "But what I need is to keep you safe. Those two desires are — at odds."

"I'm not a child anymore. I fought in a war. I've faced worse than Marcus Belby."

"Have you? There are horrors in this world beyond the battlefield, Ariel."

She meets his eyes unflinchingly. "I know that. Better than most."

“Which is why you should have let me deal with him my way.” 

“No — I don’t want that.” 

A sharp, tense silence follows her words — so sharp that Ariel can feel it ringing in her very bones. She expects an explosion, but what comes is wearier. 

“Why?” 

"Because I'm afraid of what you'll become to protect me," she admits. "I've seen what happens when you're frightened for me. I remember what you did to Crouch — to Quirrell — to Lucius — would you like more names? I can do a roll call.”

Snape's jaw tightens. "And every single one deserved worse."

"That's not the point," Ariel says, running a hand through her tangled hair. "The point is that I can't bear to watch you destroy yourself for me. Not again. You deserve — rest.” 

Something shifts in Snape's expression — a softening around the eyes, a minute relaxation of the tense line of his mouth.

"You foolish girl," he murmurs, and there is something almost tender in the admonishment. "Do you truly believe I have any choice in the matter?"

He reaches out, hesitates, then gently brushes a strand of hair from her face. 

"I will always choose your safety over my soul," he says simply.

[shostakobitchh]

lily <3

i love her sm

[shostakobitchh]

COMMISSION

Hi everyone, I’m working toward a goal on Ko-Fi so I can finally move into a safer, more stable home for me and my son. Things have been really difficult lately with health struggles, financial pressure, and rent piling up, but I’m still holding on and doing my best. If you’d like to help, I’m currently open for commissions starting at $30. Every bit of support gets us closer to a fresh start. Thank you for being here. If you’ve supported or shared my work, I see it, I’m grateful, and it truly means the world.

I made a goal on Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/catinhoart

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Remus and Harry from chapter 14 of PoA

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Happy Hollidays from everyone’s favourite trio! And from me as well xD

More of my art in my tumblr and in my deviantart

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breakfast time

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right before the full moon

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Gosse Bouma

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"I can't fuckin' do this without you. I don't know where the fuck I'm going, what the fuck I'm gonna do." THE LAST OF US

[shostakobitchh]

little life update:

hi! I know I have been pretty inactive lately - I’ve really only been posting the severance of light updates weekly.

some of you know I’m an orchestra teacher, and the month of May is the busiest of the whole year for me. I have 5 performances for myself, and then I attend all the events of my amazing colleagues so I have been going nonstop. I still have 1 concert left, but I’ve had an amazing school year with my kids who are the literal best.

on top of all that I am also moving in a month and getting a puppy within 4 days of moving (I know, great timing, huh?). so Real Life had been pretty demanding. it’s all great stuff and super exciting, though!

a severance of light is still fully written and will continue to update every Saturday. as for splintering and aim & ignite, I haven’t really touched them, if I’m being honest. I haven’t really felt a pull to them since their last updates so they’ll be on a bit of a hiatus for now.

anyway, not dead, just tired. love u all ✨