songbird1309

[songbird1309]

Paper Cut

A/N: Hello! This is the first thing I've ever posted on Tumblr, so I'm hoping this goes well🤞 Also, this fic was originally inspired by an old Irish jig so I'll attach a URL if you wanna take a listen.

Summary: After expecting yourself to spend the entire winter break in solitude, you get an unexpected request to visit your potions master. (Works with any gender)

Warning(s): My writing skills...

Word count: >2,300

https://open.spotify.com/track/32AoNRoaOV2xb4YZcFaqi2?si=7_rYzfPCSY6Bp4p-WeHdhw

If you had thought rationally for even a single second before going to the shore, you would've been able to add two and two together. In other words, you would've realized that it would be far too cold to accomplish any form of finger picking, either good or bad. Unfortunately, rationality was far in between with you these days, and those fingers of yours were left hovering over the steel strings of your guitar without an occupation. “Stop shaking,” you demanded yourself, scrutinizing the uncontrollable tremor of your hand. “You're not even cold.” Clasping your hands together in an attempt to worm them up, you looked at the distant family from the corner of your eye.

A father with his two young sons walked along the rocky shore with thick layers on, each of the boys trying to prove who could get closest to the crashing waves without getting their shoes wet. You narrowed your eyes at the father, questioning his parenting skills. You shook your head and let out a huff of discontentment, whispering to yourself, “It's fucking freezing and this is where you choose to take your damned kids?”

What I would give to use incendio right now…

The sleeves of your jacket were going to have to suffice for the meantime. Though, clinging the hems of the sleeves into your tight fists didn't achieve much other than putting only a small amount of feeling back into your fingertips. You were beginning to think the family was never going to leave and the wand you had brought with you would be of no use to you.

The murmuring of the two boys suddenly grew louder but not due their closer distance to you, but instead due to their enthusiastic reactions to a distant black dot flying just above the water. Upon realizing what exactly the spot of blackness was, you understood why they'd be excited about it. It's not often you see a black owl flying amongst white seagulls. Especially when you consider that the only black owl in the U.K. belonged to Professor Snape. While one child had an untamable grin on his face, the other hid behind his father as the three of them watched the owl land atop the log you were sitting on.

“What's the reason for this, huh?” You asked the bird, though he remained unphased much like his owner even as you reached over to grab the letter next to his claws. You rested your chest over your guitar as you opened the envelope, your attempt causing you to yelp in pain. “Ack-” As you pushed your thumb beneath the envelope's tongue from one side to the other, the edge of the paper unpleasantly sliced the skin over your knuckle. A second later, blood was already leaking out of the wound and a small drop fell onto the letter before I could prevent it. You quickly placed the small cut in between your lips as you pulled out the letter to read it, the few words hardly obscured by the damp blood stain.

“See me as soon as possible.

S.S.”

You skipped the part where he wrote ‘Hope your winter break is going well’ or ‘Sorry for the unwarranted interruption to your free time’. Maybe he meant to write it and forgot.

Shaking those nieve thoughts aside, you glanced back at the owl, meeting his dull gaze with a raised brow. “Right now?” Even if Snape's owl could answer your question, he wouldn't stick around long enough to do so, leaving you with no choice but to pack up your guitar and find somewhere secluded enough to apparate back to the castle.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

What little frustration you once had quickly melted away as warmth immediately enveloped your body, somehow making your ‘warm’ layers suddenly feel cold against your warming skin. Looking around, you found yourself right back at Hogwarts, within the walls of the potions classroom and as you stood idle, you took note of the professor's absence within his own classroom. You'd be lying if you said you weren't already imagining yourself having to play a game of bloody hide-and-seek just to find the man.

The heat that pleasantly warmed the left side of your body, however, prompted you to look towards his office, the opened door and faintly flickering light from within suggesting that a game of hide-and-seek wasn't going to be necessary. Walking over, you found him sitting at his desk with his head leaning against his propped up hand and a pile of opened books in front of him. He had the fireplace lit, likely due to the dungeon's natural cold temperatures being drastically augmented by the winter. “Professor,” you said as you stood just outside of his office. “I got your letter.”

When his gaze shifted up from his books, he noticed multiple things at once, first being your muggle attire, second being the large guitar shaped luggage you carried with you and finally, the blood stained letter you held in your other hand. “Did my letter find you in the midst of a brawl, Y/L/N?” He asked dryly, noticing the blood on your thumb.

“No,” you responded just as dryly as you took slow steps inside of his office to bask in more of the fire's warmth.

“Why have you not healed it yet?”

You tilted your head in confusion and in turn, he nodded to the cut on your thumb. “Ah- Well, I was around muggles when it happened. I got it when I opened your letter.” You stood your guitar against the wall before walking further into his office, making your way to the chair in front of his desk. “So did you need me for something?”

“Not exactly.”

Once you sat down, he took the bloodstained letter out of your hand and placed it to the side before gently pulling on your wrist so that your hand would be closer to him. He frowned in disapproval as he felt just how cold your skin was. “I take it you were outside.”

“I was.”

“Not leisurely, I hope?” When you didn't answer, his eyes shot up to yours for a brief moment, giving you a scolding glare. “Foolish child.”

With his hand still around your wrist, he lifted his other one to your thumb, his pointer finger keeping it slightly elevated while his thumb pressed against your nail so he could closely inspect the injury. “How did you manage to cut yourself by opening a bloody envelope?”

“It can't be that hard to imagine how.” You were slightly taken aback by his commanding assessment of such a minor injury but nonetheless, you indulged his concern, taking a mental note on how warm his fingers were against your cold hand. “This is why people use max stamps, Professor. Think about all of the people you've sent letters to who've gotten paper cuts because you refuse to use wax stamps.”

“This is evidence of your clumsiness, Y/L/N, I assure you. Not the benefits to using wax stamps.” He released your thumb but kept his grip around your wrist to keep your hand from moving as he casted a cleaning spell on the small wound. Gradually, the dried blood surrounding the area began to vanish and the distance between the edges of skin began to close, leaving only the faintest red line as proof of the cut's previous existence. After a quiet moment, you took your hand back and rubbed the newly healed skin on your knuckle, your thoughts slipping to the lingering warmth around your wrist where he had held it. When he heard you mutter a ‘thank you,’ he simply nodded in acknowledgment, letting a comfortable silence fill the air between the two of you. He didn't seem all that eager to enlighten you on his reason for having you here, instead, he quietly allowed the warmth of the fire to engulf your cold self while he started putting his books away.

“Has your Christmas been pleasant?” You asked as he was turned to his bookshelf. When you got no response, the air became awkward and you assumed you didn't speak loud enough. You faced the fire with slightly flushed cheeks, too embarrassed to repeat yourself.

“It's been bearable.” He placed a small box on his desk. Its surface was a matte black and lacked much character. “Open it.”

With a puzzled expression, you met his gaze before looking down at the box, your hand slowly reaching for it. “What is this?”

“What does it look like?” He asked with a raised brow.

Is it not painfully obvious?

You took the small box in your hand, giving the professor one more glance before lifting the lid. Within the box was a bracelet. Its design was simple with its shape resembling a thin three stranded braid made up entirely of a dark metal material. With a slightly widened grin, you looked up at your professor who was still on his feet, intently watching you. “You got me a gift.”

“I gave you protection.”

His line of words came out like a sudden embrace, the implications of his desire to have you protected feeling slightly jarring, though undoubtedly assuring. “Is it charmed?”

“Yes.” He finally sat back down. “Protego Maxima.”

After putting the box back on the desk, you slid your compressed palm through the narrow bracelet, observing it as it dangled around your wrist. “Well, you gave this to me on Christmas, so it's definitely a gift.” Your bashful smile was presented proudly to Snape and he could feel himself wanting to mirror it. “Thank you,” you said.

“Merry Christmas, Y/L/N.” He actually let the corners of his lips lift into a subtle grin.

“Merry Christmas, professor.”

You looked back down at the bracelet around your wrist as you turned it around with your other hand, the texture of the small braid feeling pleasant against your skin. “If I'd known we were exchanging Christmas gifts, I would've brought yours.”

“There's no nee-”

“Actually,” you interrupted, standing from your chair. “I'll just get it now.” Before he could say anything, you apparate away and his office was enveloped with silence once more.

Upon apparating back into your family's house in Galway, you immediately felt the difference in temperatures which caused a chill to run down your spine. You rushed into your old room and found the narrow, dark brown box containing your professor's gift laying on the window sill. As you walked towards the window, the sound of the cat caught you off guard, his ‘meow’ amplified by the quietness that consumed the house. He laid peacefully on the pillow you were clinging onto when you woke up this morning and you started to feel guilt slowly tearing at you. The cat usually shared this house with the rest of your family who were currently spending the holidays at your grandparent's house in Scotland. Even if you felt like you were just his cat sitter, you were still the only other warm body in the house.

And you had the nerve to leave him to his lonesomeness.

“I'll be back soon, boy,” you assured regretfully, petting the underside of his chin before taking the box and apparating back into the professor's office.

Snape was just as he was when you left, his gaze lingering over the flames and his thumb gently tapping against the wood of his desk. When he heard you return, he looked over and let out an inaudible sigh when he saw you'd come back with a box in your hand. “Give it here, then.”

You sat back down on your chair that was still warm and placed the box on his desk, sliding it closer to him with a certain mischievous glint in your eyes. His distasteful gaze studied the box as it inched closer. “When you see it, just-” You paused. “The timing is a coincidence, that's all.”

After giving you a suspicious glare, he took the box in both hands and used his two thumps to pop the lid open. Upon seeing what the box contained, he felt a tug at the corner of his lips. It was good timing, indeed.

“A wax stamp.”

“Look at the design on it,” you said, trying but failing to calm the grin on your face as you pointed to the head of the silver stamp. His reaction was just about what you could've expected.

The professor placed the box down with the stamp in his hand and he turned it over to see the finely engraved design of a two headed snake. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it at an old thrift shop near Galway.”

“A thrift shop,” He repeated almost condescendingly. It was another muggle thing he wasn't entirely familiar with.

“It's the kind of shop that sells whatever people have pawned off or donated.” You silently watched him for any signs that he was pleased with the gift, but his face was too difficult to read. “And if you still prefer to send letters without wax stamps, I'm sure it would sell nicely.”

Hearing your absurd suggestion, he narrowed his eyes at you. Even if he wasn't already planning on using it, he wouldn't be so insensitive as to sell it for mere coin. There was too much value in the simple fact that you had given this to him. And considering your hands would likely benefit from using it, there was no question. “Nonsense. If it means you'll no longer be giving yourself paper cuts, Y/L/N, I'll make good use of it. Consider your clumsiness my incentive.”

“My thumbs appreciate it.”

The two of you shared the space in comforting silence, letting the fondness that came from exchanging gifts with each other sink in. If not for the fact that this was your first real social interaction since the beginning of winter break, this moment may not have felt as uplifting to you, not to mention a little daunting. You would've never believed that you'd be spending Christmas day with the potion master and, undoubtedly, it felt rewarding having grown this close with him.

[songbird1309]

I'm glad someone said it!

Lemon 🍋 skunked 🦨