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rose2jam · 3 years ago

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Dream Sequence - Act 1, Scene 9, Easy Dreamer

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Ship: Severus Snape x Reader/OC

Story Summary: Your name is Gwendolyn Goode. You’re a bright Hufflepuff with a knack for potions, and this is the story of how an understanding and trust between yourself and Professor Severus Snape slowly evolves over the years into mentorship, friendship, and eventual romance.

Scene Summary: 7th Year. You and Snape finally arrive at the meeting for the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. You make some new friends. "Easy Dreamer" by Kendall Miles

Length: 10,467

Rating: T, mostly for language

Warnings: A new character is a creep with no concept of personal space

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Master List

First Scene

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The sun had set on London by the time the Hogwarts Express finally pulled into Kings Cross station, and it was utterly disorienting to be standing on a deserted Platform 9 ¾ in the freezing darkness. Disembarking the Hogwarts Express was usually accompanied by the shouts and squeals of hundreds of other students, the eager waving of relieved parents, and the shining face of your mother as she called out to you from the crowd. There were warm embraces and tender moments of families reuniting. But on this gloomy, frigid March evening, where the snow had melted into dirty slush and the wind howled through the platform arches, all you had was your coat, your bag, and Professor Snape.

The train ride had been dreadful. Not that there was anything wrong with the company. Indeed, Snape had been a perfectly pleasant traveling companion; chatting when appropriate, followed by a comfortable silence as the conversation dwindled down. He’d read the Daily Prophet, then switched to a potion’s periodical, before abandoning reading all together to simply watch the countryside roll past. At one point he’d gone over your résumé with you, and had used a charm to create several copies, which you now had stowed in your bag, ready to hand out upon request. No, Snape had been the least of your worries. It was the goddamn waiting that had nearly driven you insane.

As mentally tough as you considered yourself to be, when it came to matters of your future, you were always extremely anxious. The fear that you weren’t fit to do anything, either in the muggle or the magical world, was so crippling that it sometimes made you sick to your stomach. And the thought that you might manage to royally fuck up this weekend was a particularly nauseating one. You had tried to draw, to read, to study, with very little success in all three categories. You took an embarrassing number of trips to the lavatory, mostly as an excuse to get up and walk around the nearly empty train, but also because you constantly felt like you needed to pee. You knew it was just nerves, but it was better than sitting around and squirming in front of Snape, who blessedly had nothing to say about the matter. You really owed him so much for how often he just let you be a twit without comment.

Now that you were finally here though… you honestly didn’t feel much better. You knew the sensation would pass once you actually got there. Once things finally got started, your usual confidence would return. That was always the way, wasn’t it? Spend days (and weeks, and months) anxious and worrying about a big event or appointment or test or something, but once it finally arrived, and then when it was over… You’d look back and wonder why you’d been so wound up in the first place. You were sure that would be the case this time… right?

The wind whipped at your hair, and you realized you were too cold to be worrying about it right this moment. You fumbled to do up the toggle buttons on your afghan coat as you followed after Snape, who was wasting no time making his way off of this godforsaken platform. While you had made an effort to wear muggle clothing for the journey, Snape hadn’t bothered, his traveling cloak billowing behind him as dramatically as ever. But then again, it was London; there were odder fashion choices on every street corner. Stuffing your aching hands into the wool lined pockets of your coat, you fell into step beside your professor.

“Y-You said it wasn’t f-far, right?” Your teeth were chattering, and your breath was misty in the frozen air. The night only grew colder as you departed from the well-lit train station. It wasn’t that late, and there was still a fair amount of people out on the streets despite the cold; it was still a Friday night, after all. It probably wouldn’t be in good form to attempt a warming spell in front of so many muggles…

“Not far at all,” Snape replied easily, and you pouted as it appeared that he wasn’t even affected by the chill. No wonder he’d opted to wear his Dracula cape; it was probably charmed against the cold as well as the rain. He had glanced over at your stuttering and shivering, and you didn’t like the way he arched that stupid brow of his.

“You aren’t cold, are you?” he asked, his voice so heavy with mock concern that you were momentarily speechless. You screwed up your features into the harshest glare your frozen face could manage, but really, you couldn’t even be mad at him. Mostly you were mad at yourself, for wanting nothing more than to drape yourself in those warm woolen folds with his arm about your shoulder again… Okay, your face felt a little warmer, now. This is fine.

Snape huffed a little laugh, his breath puffing from between his lips. It was hard not to watch. “You were the one who insisted on muggle fashion over function,” he chided, but as he did so, he lifted his hand and placed it delicately on top of your head. And almost instantly you were enrobed in permeating warmth, like slipping into a hot bath after being caught out in the rain. And you certainly hoped that it was his magic, and not merely the effects of his touch, that had you sighing with relief. His ability to use wandless magic never ceased to amaze you. “Better?” he asked quietly, and you nodded your confirmation as he pulled his hand away.

“Yes, thank you,” you murmured, though you still kept your hands deep in your pockets. Warming charms didn’t last forever, and you really hoped he’d been truthful when he said the hotel wasn’t too far. Looking around to get your bearings, you were shocked to find yourself in a distinctly shabby part of town. There had been bright street lights and crowded sidewalks just moments before. But now… It rather reminded you of the side street the Hog’s Head had been down; derelict buildings with boarded up windows and doors. Broken glass and overflowing rubbish bins littered the street, and you were passing an alleyway that was cordoned off with crime scene tape. That… That was a little alarming, and you drifted closer to your professor, your arm bumping his as you glanced around anxiously.

“Nearly there,” Snape promised you, and though you were thankful for the verification, it didn’t make you feel any safer. Your wand was up your sleeve, and you were wondering how long it would take you to retrieve it from the layers of clothing under your coat. Perhaps sleeve concealment was not the best place to stow your wand, though you’d been doing it for years. Maybe that’s why magic folk preferred cloaks and robes to jackets and coats. You were pondering the alternatives when Snape came to a halt beside you, and you immediately followed suit, peering up at the building before you.

Gazing at the façade, you physically blanched with a muted choking noise. The building looked condemned; crumbling bricks, rusted railing, shattered windows. There were faded, official looking ‘Keep Out’ and ‘No Trespassing’ signs every few yards, and the walls had been tagged with neon orange spray paint reading ‘DEMO’ in great big letters. The twisted coils of burnt-out neon tubing hanging from the vertical marquee overhead read ‘The Atticus,’ much to your horror. This… was your hotel for the weekend.

Your face was white as you watched Snape ascend the short flight of stairs up to the main doors. Following cautiously, you stood close beside him, noting that the doors were, in fact, both chained and padlocked. Bloody fantastic. But Snape seemed to know what he was doing, as he so often did, and after extracting his wand from his own sleeve (show off), he tapped at the lock in some sort of rhythmic pattern that reminded you of Morse code. And like watching a video in fast forward, the chain and padlock were suddenly dissolving into rust, falling from the door handles and clattering to the concrete steps. Not nearly as impressive as gaining access to Diagon Alley, but at least that was located behind an inn that wasn’t actively crumbling to the ground.

“There better be a five-star hotel behind these doors,” you whined, glancing back over your shoulder at the silent, deserted street. No one had followed you. No one was even loitering. All of which you were grateful for, but none of which made you feel any more comfortable with the situation. You were already anxious; you didn’t need to add ‘being shanked inside of a burnt-out hotel in bloody Camden’ to your list of worries.

“Four stars, at least,” came Snape’s dry retort. You turned back around to find the door opened for you, and you were momentarily dazzled by what you found beyond the threshold. Where there had once been eerie, silent darkness before, there was now warm, golden light and the bustling sounds of friendly hospitality. It was utterly bizarre, to be seeing such an extravagant hotel lobby on the inside, while the outside appeared entirely decrepit. Even after nearly seven years, you were still amazed by magic sometimes. You couldn’t help but smile widely, your apprehension melting away.

“I’d give it a solid four and a half,” you teased, your demeanor brightening considerably as Snape ushered you through the doorway. He kept his hand on the small of your back as he led the way, and you were appreciative, because there was a distinct risk of getting lost in here.

The lobby of The Atticus was larger than seemed possible from the building’s dimensions on the outside, but that was a typical magic thing, you guessed. Everything was scarlet, from the Persian rugs on the white marble floor to the velvet flocked wallpaper with elaborate floral patterns. And everything that wasn’t red, was either deep mahogany wood, or pristine gold filigree. There was a lush embroidered carpet that ran the length of the room, marking the path from the front doors to the registration desk. On either side of this path were small sitting areas, plush leather armchairs clustered around low wooden coffee tables in front of ornate fireplaces, some of which had people stepping out of them at regular intervals. And nearly every one of these tables was occupied by a group of wizards, some of them smoking pipes and cigars, giving the lobby a hazy sort of feel through all the red and gold. You’d never been in a luxury hotel in your life, but four and a half stars felt like an understatement.

Snape did not tolerate your wonderment for long, leading the way through the lobby towards the registration desk, where a small line was formed. You wouldn’t let his impatience dampen your curiosity though, as you peered around the large room, glancing at the faces of the various people, wondering how many of them were here for the Society meeting. They all appeared to be older men, which wasn’t exactly surprising, but… maybe a little disappointing. Potions had never really struck you as being a ‘man’s world’, but you were certainly outnumbered here. You saw very few female faces among the chattering guests. You tried not to worry about that. There was nothing to be worried about. If potions was a male dominated field, then that was reason enough for you to be here, as it gave you even more to prove.

A slight pressure on your back made you realize you were dawdling again, and you stepped forward at Snape’s insistence, his hand still firmly planted on your back, keeping you close. You relished the warmth of that simple touch, the way it grounded you to the present moment. It never made you feel uncomfortable, never suggested that his intentions were anything but pure. And you cherished that, because it made you feel safe. Cared for. You wondered if that’s what it might have felt like, if you’d ever had a male figure to look up to when you were younger.

The line at the reception desk wasn’t very long, but the people ahead of you already had impatient scowls on their faces. Both clerks behind the desk looked exhausted, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for them; clearly the increased number of guests was taking its toll. You winced and looked away as one of the patrons at the front raised her voice to such a high pitch, you feared the ornate chandelier overhead might crash to the ground. You had no interest in watching the carnage.

To the left of the front desk were two fireplaces, and you got the impression that these were reserved specifically for making calls; a man in lilac robes was bent over on all fours, his head completely engulfed in bright green flame. Not the most dignified position to be in, especially in public, but he did have a cute arse… You glanced away quickly, heat crawling up your face. Way to be a creep, Gwen. Just beyond the fireplaces was a set of bifolded glass doors with brass hinges, and while you instantly recognized them for what they were, you were utterly baffled as to what they were doing here. They were telephone boxes. Old fashioned ones by the looks of them. Beyond their glass windows you could see the antique looking telephones, with rotary dials and woven fabric chords and everything.

“Are those real phone boxes?” you asked suddenly, looking up to your professor, and you were momentarily stunned to find a look of deep annoyance there. Your mind flew as you tried to determine what you could possibly have said or done to elicit such a reaction, but then you realized his eyes weren’t on you at all. Rather, they were trained on the front desk, and the apparent showdown taking place between the haggard hotel employees and the disgruntled diva that was holding up the line. It seemed he’d barely even heard you.

“Are… what?” Snape blinked, returning his attention to you as his features morphed from irritation to confusion. You smiled sheepishly, and pointed over towards the glass booths, and it took him a moment longer to comprehend. “Oh. Well, of course they are,” he frowned, looking back to you dubiously, as if severely questioning your intelligence. “What do you mean ‘real’ phone boxes? What else would they be?”

You narrowed your eyes at the harsh edge to his voice, but refrained from saying anything critical; his aggravation wasn’t really with you. You did shrug your shoulders though, rolling your eyes in exasperation. “I don’t know!” you exclaim, gesturing towards the glass doors. “It’s not going to turn into an elevator or some nonsense if I go step into one?”

You thought this was a perfectly valid concern, and after a moment’s consideration… Snape seemed to agree. “Fair point,” he grumbled reluctantly before shaking his head, greasy tendrils swaying about his face. “But no, I don’t believe they’re anything more mundane than muggle telephone boxes.” He pressed his eyebrows together, returning his attention to you. “Why do you ask?”

You hesitated then, the half formed thought you’d developed upon seeing the booths finally taking shape. Glancing down, you pulled back the sleeve of your afghan to look at your watch. It was sort of late, nearly 9 o’clock in the evening, but you were certain she’d still be awake, if she wasn’t working. “I was thinking about calling my mother,” you admitted finally, returning your eyes to his. “I promised her I would send an owl when we arrived, but if those are connected to actual phone lines…” Snape comprehended easily, nodding his approval of your idea, and you found yourself appreciative of your shared blood status once again. You had tried to explain how telephones worked to one of your pure-blood girlfriends a few years ago, and while she had managed to give you a ring over the summer, she had been speaking into the wrong end of the handset the entire time, and the conversation never got very far.

“Go ahead,” Snape insisted, glancing up towards the front desk, where the diva was being sycophantically appeased by two managers who looked like they licked boots for a living. “We won’t have our rooms for another hour at this rate,” he growled with a heavy sigh before finally nodding his acquiescence, jerking his chin towards the glass doors. “Wait there for me when you’re finished, alright?”

“Yes, sir!” you agreed eagerly, before slipping out of your place in the queue and walking towards the glass doors. Lilac Robes was still bent over in the fireplace, and you made a valiant effort not to glance down as you walked past him, though he was squirming around rather animatedly. There must have been quite a lively conversation happening on the other end of that Floo. Rubbing your hand over your face, you tried to discourage your grin and cool down your cheeks. Get it together, Gwen.

Slipping into the booth, you sat down on the little bench before pulling the bifolded doors shut, when it abruptly became very quiet, the doors completely blocking out the noise of the lobby beyond. So maybe they weren’t perfectly muggle and mundane. That was fine by you though; the sudden silence was a welcome reprieve for your nerves. You were right in your assumption that the boxes were old fashioned. Antique seemed like an even better word. But aside from the braided chord and rotary dial, most charming of all was a small, framed sign hanging from the wall, that gave explicitly detailed instruction on how to properly (and politely) use a telephone. Wizards were precious.

You required no instruction though, and you picked up the handset from the cradle, holding it to your ear and sighing with relief as you heard a dial tone. No need to deposit coins then. They truly were ‘complimentary for all guests wishing to contact muggle friends and family’, as was indicated by the sign. Though you don’t think you’d ever used a phone with a rotary dial in your life, the automatic recall of your lifelong home number came quickly to your fingers. You took deep breaths in time with the ringback tone as it buzzed away in your ear. It was a Friday night, and she was a bartender after all. Would she be working? She always got enough hours to make decent money, but she’d never had a consistent schedule. You wracked your brain, trying to remember the number for the pub-

A clatter from the other end of the line made you jump, but any fright dissolved instantly at the words, “This is Vivian.” Your mother’s voice was flat and impatient, which told you she was expecting to be called in to work against her will, and she was ready to put up one hell of a fight about it.

You smiled widely despite the cold greeting. It was just so good to hear her voice. “Hi, Mum.”

“Gwen?!”

And then you were laughing, delight bubbling up at the sudden shift of your mother’s voice from tough determination to absolute shock. You nodded, but realized she couldn’t see it, so you vocally confirmed, “Uh huh!”

“Oh my god, Gwen!” Now she was laughing too, her voice softening, the edges smoothed away by relief, not only to hear your voice, but also probably because you weren’t her boss. If you closed your eyes, you could picture her in the sitting room of your flat, her mass of wavy brunette hair up in a messy clip, wearing her long flannel pajamas with little sheep on them that she saved for the winter months, along with a crocheted blanket around her shoulders, the one she’d cobbled together out of scraps of yarn from other projects, so that it was an absolutely absurd mix of colors and textures in neat little zigzags. You could hear music in the background, so she was probably listening to records instead of watching television. And if she was listening to records… She was probably baked into next Tuesday. No wonder she had no desire to go into work. Typical Viv.

Both of your giggles tapered off after a few moments, and your mother sighed happily, apparently just as pleased as you were at hearing her voice. “I’ve been waiting for an owl to peck at the kitchen window all night,” she explained, and you could hear her moving around through the speaker. “But this is way more convenient.” The music suddenly swelled as she seemed to near the record player (Beethoven? She must have been anxious), before the volume was turned down low, and she instantly launched into mom-mode. “Where the hell are you calling from? Are you in London? Are you at the hotel? How was the trip? Tell me everything!”

You were giggling again, and you tried to remember all of her questions as you compiled your answers. “Yes, I’m in London. And I’m calling you from, get this, an antique telephone box, inside of the most luxurious hotel I’ve ever seen in my life. They’ve got them for guests who want to call their muggle relations, but it’s like sitting inside of a time machine. It’s got a rotary and everything.” You distractedly ran your fingers over the curve of the dial, slotting the pad of your thumb into each of the little finger holes. “It’s really beautiful here. I wish I could take pictures or something to show you. I’d suggest visiting sometime but… let’s just say, I’m really glad the school is picking up the bill.” You shook your head. You were rambling, but you imagined your mother nodding along with you on the other end of the line. “Oh, and the trip was dreadful. I felt like I needed to pee the whole time. It was the worst.”

You hear soft giggles from the other line, and you rubbed your face in shame. “Aw, Pumpkin, come on,” she admonished, and you smiled at the nickname. You always liked ‘pumpkin’. “You’re gonna do fine. Attend a couple of lectures with a bunch of old fuddy-duddies, and then blow them away at that party tomorrow night. Your sunny aura is going to shine so bright. Among other things.” Her voice dropped conspiratorially at this last suggestion. You could practically hear her waggling her eyebrows. “Did you get the dresses?”

You groaned, dropping your face into your free hand as you did so. Your cheeks felt red hot beneath your fingers. “Mum, I’m looking for a job, not a husband.” Sliding your hand away from your face, you instead rubbed the back of your neck as you peered through the glass panes of the door. Snape had finally made it to the front desk, but he didn’t look particularly happy. Not that he ever did. “But… Yes. I got the dresses. I decided to go with the green one.”

“So conservative,” she teased. “But I suppose it was always your favorite. I think I still have a photo of you playing dress up in it when you were five or something.” You cringed slightly, knowing that your face was also smeared with red lipstick and black eyeshadow in that picture. “I wore that dress to a winter formal when I was seventeen too, you know.”

“I’m eighteen now, mum” you reminded her, and smiled widely at her agonized sigh. A smile which disappeared instantly as you caught sight of Snape stalking towards you, an absolutely murderous look on his face. Your breath caught in your throat, and you cupped your free hand around your mouth and the receiver. She was muttering something about never reminding her of her age, when you cut her off. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Looks like Professor Snape has our rooms, so I should probably get going.”

“Okay, Sugarpie,” she sighed dramatically again, but her voice was still laced with relief at having heard from you at all. “Thanks for calling me. I’m working the rest of the weekend, so ring me at the pub if you’ve got a chance, alright? You remember the number?”

Damn. No. You didn’t remember the number. But Snape was hovering outside the door now, and you could feel the seething hatred radiating off of him from behind the glass. “Yeah, of course,” you lied. “I think the weekend will be pretty jam-packed, but I’ll try to call again before we leave on Sunday. If not, I’ll send you an owl when I get back to Hogwarts, okay?”

“Alright, Honeybun…” She didn’t sound too pleased with your non-commitment, but relented all the same. “Have fun this weekend, and be safe. I love you, Gwen.” And even having Snape standing so close, with so much displeasure seeping off of him, you couldn’t fight back your smile from the warmth of her words.

“I love you too, mum,” you said quietly, and you sat there a few moments longer, even as you heard the click from the other end, followed by the persistent buzz of a call interrupted. Finally hanging up the handset, you took a deep breath, trying to hold on to the steadying calm that hearing your mother’s voice had brought you. You allowed that calm to fortify your nerves as you stood to face whatever inconvenience had befallen your professor, and probably yourself. Sliding the bifold doors open, you stayed standing in the tiny room as Snape turned to face you from where he stood beside the door. “What’s wrong?” you asked quickly, a frown deepening on your face, matching his own scowl.

Snape looked slightly taken aback by your abruptness, but quickly realized that his expression must have been quite transparent. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, he closed his eyes in an attempt to set his features back into neutral territory. You took the opportunity to step out of the telephone box, sliding the door shut behind you as you stood before your professor. “When Dumbledore told me that he had reserved two beds, I had been under the impression that he had meant two rooms.”

This confession hung in the air like a lead balloon, and it crashed to the ground just as quickly as you understood exactly what he meant. And in all of your years of blushing in front of your professor, none had ever been quite as profuse as the one scalding your face right now. “I’m… guessing the two beds are in the same room?” you clarified stupidly, and Snape removed his fingers from his nose, glaring down at you quietly. Right. Duh. “Does the hotel have no other vacancies?” you tried hesitantly, trying not to further incur his wrath.

“They’re full up,” Snape hissed, his words clipped as he turned his glare back out to the groups of witches and wizards clustered about in the lobby, as if they were personally responsible for this mishap. “Not surprising, as this is a popular event. But Albus made these arrangements months in advance. I don’t understand why that meddling old fool would-” He seemed to catch himself, and his hand returned to his face, rubbing his forehead agitatedly as he took a heavy breath. “I understand that the situation is less than ideal. I can try to find other accommodations for myself somewhere nearby-”

“What!? Why?” you cut in quickly, your eyes widening with the beginnings of panic. Was he really about to leave the hotel so that you could have the room to yourself? He looked over to you uncertainly, and though you were positive your face was still feverishly red, your features were quite serious. “The whole point of you coming with me was so I wouldn’t have to be here alone.” You glanced around the lobby yourself, and your blush finally began to recede at the idea of being left on your own. There were so many people, people you didn’t know, and while you took no issue being around strangers, the very last thing you wanted was to be stuck here without someone who had your back. “You said the room has separate beds, right?” You crossed your arms over your chest defensively, looking down at the space of red carpet between your boots. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

There was a pause, one that lasted longer than necessary, and you knew he was doing the thing. You closed your eyes and sighed petulantly, quite on purpose in order to express your irritation, before opening them again and meeting his eyes with your own narrowed ones. His brow was arched to truly worrisome heights, and this time his glower really was for you. “Really?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “You don’t see what the problem is?”

You sighed with exasperation and threw your hands up. “I don’t care!” you professed, reaching the peak of your frustration. “I’m an adult. I’m not worried about how it might look or whatever. Besides, Dumbledore made the reservations himself. Obviously, he trusts you. And I…” You swallowed thickly, your fervor simmering down to something more subdued. “I trust you, too. You’ve never given me any reason not to trust you.” You let your hands fall back down, fidgeting with the wooden toggles of your coat. “I just don’t want to be here by myself. Please.” You glanced back up at him, a little afraid to let him peer into your head if that was his intention. But you just put your desire to have your chaperone close by at the forefront of your mind. “I promise, I don’t care. Even if you snore or something.”

Your poor attempt at humor had the desired effect, as Snape dropped his head with a snort. He proceeded to rub at his forehead, clearly taking his time to process your request. You knew you were asking a lot. Snape probably wasn’t expecting to be the one most uncomfortable with the idea. He clearly thought you would be the one to insist he buzz off somewhere else for the next two nights, and maybe he was right. Maybe you should have been more concerned about rooming with a male teacher. But you stood by your conviction; you were an adult, by all accounts, and you trusted him so explicitly, you had no doubt in your mind that he would do nothing to betray that trust. You’d been building it for almost seven years now. He wasn’t going to hurt you. He was going to keep you safe.

“Dumbledore did make the reservation,” Snape muttered quietly, seemingly to himself, and you nodded in agreement. That was like, extra insurance or something. A third party was aware of the situation, and that third party was Albus freakin’ Dumbledore. Snape sighed heavily, and reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a key hanging from a braided golden tassel. Holding two ends of the tassel between his fingers with both hands, he pulled them sharply apart, and the tassel magically split into two, with a key dangling from each of their ends. It was like watching a muggle magic trick, and you smiled in appreciation as he held out one of the keys to you. “We’re in room four-twelve,” he informed you, his voice still hesitant, but you took the key from him gratefully, slipping it into the pocket of your afghan. “Do you want to call your mother back? Inform her of the situation as well…?”

He sounded entirely disinclined to even make the suggestion, but the fact that he was suggesting it at all was reason enough for you to believe that it was unnecessary, because it was clearly meant to make you feel more comfortable. You shook your head, a small smile on your lips as he gazed down at you reluctantly. “It’s alright. I’m sure she’d be fine with it.” And that was no exaggeration, either. That woman was too perceptive, and you already suspected that she knew too much. There was no question of where you’d gotten it from as a child.

Snape released one last withering sigh, before seeming to accept the circumstances he found himself in. “Let’s head up then,” he suggested wearily, and you felt sort of bad for your insistence now. Despite any affection you held for the man, your intentions were pure. You didn’t see this as an opening to be alone with him; indeed, you’d had that opportunity every Saturday evening for the last seven months. You truly just didn’t want to be alone at this function, and you weren’t perturbed by the idea of sharing sleeping quarters with him. However… you understood how bad this would look for him, if anyone were to question the arrangement. You decided not to make a big deal out of it, and if anyone asked, you would remind them that you were an adult, and your relationship with him was purely professional. You’d insist to anyone who challenged it that Snape was a goddamn gentleman. It wouldn’t even be a lie.

Following blindly behind your professor through the lobby, you actually plowed right into his back as he came to an abrupt halt. You had been so lost in your thoughts that you were completely disoriented by the sudden stop, but it only lasted for a moment, before you heard a gruff voice call out, “Severus, my boy!”

You could actually feel the muscles of Snape’s back tighten under your hands, and you quickly pulled yourself away from him, taking a step back and to the side to peer around him at the approaching owner of the voice. And try as you might not to openly gape, you were sure your eyes were wide at the sight of this odd, fat little man. If you’d thought the phone boxes were a blast from the past, this man had been transported from even further back, if his enormous moustache and wardrobe choices were any indication. That was an honest to god velvet smoking jacket he looked ready to burst out of, not to mention the matching slippers. Slippers! In a hotel lobby! The only thing missing was a cane and a top hat, and he’d be the monopoly guy.

You were wondering who had the balls to be calling your professor ‘my boy’, when Snape extended his lean hand out to the man’s chubby one, where they met in a firm handshake. “Professor Slughorn,” Snape greeted cordially, and you nearly choked on your sudden gasp, coughing into your elbow in a poor attempt to disguise it. This was Slughorn? This balding, velvet lined walrus of a man? Goo goo g’joob? To think you’d been worried about him. He looked like the rich, eccentric uncle that nobody in the family talked about anymore. You could totally handle this guy.

You stood politely to the side and watched as Slughorn clapped his other hand over Snape’s, patting it genially. “Oh please, I’m not a professor of anything anymore. Call me Horace.” He spoke as if he and Snape were old friends, but the cold stoniness of Snape’s face suggested that this familiarity was only one sided. Snape finally extricated his hand, covertly wiping it on the hip of his frock coat as Slughorn continued to prattle. “I’ve been enjoying my retirement thanks to you! But I must say, I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I believe you haven’t attended a meeting since you graduated, correct?”

Snape appeared mildly uncomfortable with this line of questioning, but answered politely all the same. “Indeed. It was… never really my scene, as you can imagine. However, I must confess I am not here on my own account.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, which meant you could no longer eavesdrop from behind his shoulder. Taking the hint, you sheepishly stepped around to stand beside him, and he held out his hand in your direction, as if presenting you to an esteemed panel of judges. “I’m chaperoning Miss Gwendolyn Goode.”

You swallowed anxiously, not only because you were suddenly faced with the man you could possibly owe your future career to, but also because you were quite certain that was the first time Snape had ever said your first name out loud. Your heart fluttered rapidly, but you were given little time to savor the moment, as Slughorn turned his attention to you, as if noticing your presence for the first time. And you were pleased to find his expression to be one of sheer delight.

“Ah-ha! So, you’re the potions prodigy I’ve heard so much about.�� Slughorn held out a meaty paw, and you took it graciously as he shook your hand with both of his. You were almost a full six inches taller than him, you realized as you peered down into his pink, whiskery face, while Snape towered him by a foot. “I’m Horace Slughorn, my dear. It’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“Likewise!” you exclaimed cheerfully. And you found that you didn’t even have to force it like you feared you might. Slughorn’s merriment was oddly infectious, and you couldn’t help but be flattered by his words. Prodigy? Since when? “Thank you so much for the invitation. It’s truly an honor to be here.”

“Not at all, my girl! Not at all!” Slughorn patted your hand much like he did Snape’s (was it his signature move?) before finally releasing it, instead gripping the lapels of his burgundy smoking jacket. You resisted the urge to wipe your hand off on your coat, as you didn’t have a nice Dracula cape to conceal the slight like some people. “When Albus told me of your impressive O.W.L. score, I knew you’d be a right shoo-in for the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers.” He winked with his gooseberry green eyes, before leaning in conspiratorially. “Been working on that résumé like I suggested?”

“Yes sir!” A little thrill shot through you, a shiver of both anticipation and dread, as you pulled open your messenger bag to retrieve one of the copies Snape had made for you. Would it be enough? You’d worked so hard these past months, mastered so many potions that would make the other seventh year’s heads spin. Would it impress your potential future employers? Would it impress Slughorn? This would be the first test, wouldn’t it? You held out the sheet of parchment with all of your achievements and credentials (Snape had insisted on parchment, as it was more traditional), before proudly explaining, “I’ve been apprenticing under Professor Snape all year.”

The pleased look on Slughorn’s face as he took hold of your résumé suddenly morphed into one of utter shock at your words. “Apprenticing?” he asked, sounding nearly gob smacked as he turned from you to Snape, who stood casually nearby with his arms folded across his chest, watching the entire exchange carefully. “I didn’t know you took on apprentices, Severus.” You had to hold back a laugh, because frankly you had felt the exact same way when Snape had first made the suggestion to you last September.

Snape for his credit did not miss a beat, as if expecting this criticism. “I don’t. But Miss Goode is a phenomenally talented witch,” he explained coolly. “I’d yet to have a student worthy of the position before she came along. She has exceeded all expectations.” Ah, yes good. You were blushing again. Wonderful. Hearing his unadulterated opinion of you never failed to make your head spin, but at least you weren’t bursting into tears this time, like you usually did when he praised you like this. You were still deeply touched by his honesty though. And it was obviously making you look good.

Slughorn looked quite impressed with this profession, and his earlier shock was once more replaced with an elated smile as he turned his attention back to you. “Well, my girl, that sounds like a ringing endorsement to me!” he chortled, beaming down at the parchment you’d provided, before peeking towards your bag. “Mind if I have a few more of these? I’d be happy to hand them out on your behalf.”

Oh, you hadn’t been expecting that. Was… that a good idea? Or was that just going to indebt you to this man even further? Glancing over to Snape for confirmation, he shrugged a sharp shoulder before nodding once, and you sighed with relief. See? This was why you needed him here! Opening your bag, you pulled out a few more pages of parchment, before holding them out for Slughorn to take. “Thank you very much, sir,” you sighed appreciatively, practically breathless with your gratitude.

Slughorn smiled up at you as he folded the papers in half, sliding them into an inner pocket of his jacket. “Please, it’s Horace!” he insisted, and you nodded your agreement, but knew you were going to keep calling him ‘sir.’ “Now, Severus, are you all checked in yet?” he asked, suddenly sounding much more businesslike than before. Snape even looked somewhat apprehensive at the shift in tone. “I’ve got a few past members of the Slug Club rounded up for a drink in the bar. Even the Malfoy’s are-”

But you never got to hear what the Malfoy’s were, as Slughorn was interrupted by the abrupt call of a new voice, one that you could only accurately describe as smarmy.

“My word, is that Severus Snape, or do my eyes deceive me?”

Everyone collectively turned towards the owner of the voice, and your face burnt scarlet as you watched Lilac Robes approaching from the direction of the fireplaces. Oh, god damn it. He was handsome too. He looked like he’d just stepped out of an Oscar Wilde novel, with his cupids bow mouth, dazzling blue eyes, and perfectly coiffed golden hair. You swallowed thickly; he was an artist’s dream, and you surreptitiously looked him up and down as he sauntered over. It was clear by the flawless grin on his face and the way that he carried himself in those impeccably bespoke robes that he knew he was gorgeous too. The only blemish to mar his perfect façade was a smudge of black ash on his (beautifully sculpted) cheekbone. He had been bent over in that fire for an awfully long time…

He was the absolute antithesis of Severus Snape, and you were left wondering how these two men could possibly know each other.

“…Lockhart,” came Snape’s stony reply, and it took your brain an embarrassingly long time to give this name meaning because… what the hell? Lockhart? As in Gilderoy Lockhart? As in six-time Dailey Prophet Best Seller Gilderoy Lockhart? As in Jesus tap-dancing Christ how did you not recognize him Lockhart? He was only on the front cover of every single one of his books. Of course he was Gilderoy Lockhart! In your own defense though, the real thing was just so much more vivid than those sepia toned dust jackets could ever suggest. It was a crime to photograph this man in only black and white. Snape had said that Slughorn liked to surround himself with the best of the best, but you hadn’t been expecting a goddamn magical celebrity. Despite being utterly star-struck, you were still deeply confused as to how the hell these two knew each other.

Snape remained entirely motionless as Lockhart came to a stop beside him, clapping a perfectly manicured hand onto Snape’s boney shoulder and greeting him like a childhood friend. “Good to see you again, old boy!” Lockhart exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear as Snape’s eyes slid over to the hand on his shoulder, his face lined with contempt. “I say, I don’t know whether to greet you as my old school chum or as my Potions professor!” Lockhart continued, giving Snape’s shoulder a brotherly pat. “I suppose not many could say they’ve had the pleasure of having you as both!”

Your eyes volleyed back and forth between Lockhart and Snape, and the depths of your disorientation only intensified at this bizarre proclamation. They’d gone to school together? You supposed that made sense, though it was clear that Lockhart was a good deal younger than your professor. Indeed, young enough that at some point Snape had actually been his professor as well. You tried to do the math, but Slughorn had apparently found his opportunity to insert himself back into the conversation.

“Ah yes, that’s right!” Slughorn exclaimed, only looking a touch surprised by Lockhart’s declaration. “I left before your final year at Hogwarts didn’t I, Gilderoy?”

“Indeed you did, Old Sluggy!” Lockhart confirmed with a melodious chuckle. “Indeed you did. And while leaving your N.E.W.T. students in Severus’ completely capable hands was a difficult transition after years of your excellent instruction, I still passed the class with flying colors!” He winked to no one in particular, and Snape looked moments away from gnawing off the hand that was still firmly gripping his shoulder. You feared that Lockhart would be lucky to escape this exchange with all of his fingers. “But listen to me, going on and on about myself. How are you doing, old chap?” he asked Snape, giving his shoulder an eager shake. But he didn’t wait for a reply, nor did he seem to actually expect one, because suddenly his attention was on you. “And who, may I ask, is your lovely companion?”

Oh god. Oh god. You knew your face was highly colored by now, and everyone could see it and this was stupid. You knew you shouldn’t be so flustered but you were way out of your element. When you’d come to this hotel, you had been under the impression that the guests attending the meeting would all be normal people. Sure, people you’d never met, but also people you’d probably never heard of. You’d scanned Snape’s potions periodical on the train, mostly trying to memorize names under the published articles, considering the fact that you might very well be meeting some of them, and knowing their body of work would make a good impression. You could deal with fussy old professors and newly minted healers. You could handle normal people. But none of them had been Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile winner three year’s running. And god, was it charming. Not to mention you’d been unabashedly staring at his arse earlier and Gwen, please! Focus!

Lockhart at least didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by how obviously ruffled you were; maybe he was used to seeing it in other witches. Slughorn was watching with a quiet amusement that made you want to groan out loud in your embarrassment. And Snape… Well, Snape was making no move to answer Lockhart’s question. Indeed, his earlier look of murderousness had returned, and all of that ire was trained directly at Lockhart, who had wisely removed his hand from Snape’s vicinity at last. But now that hand was reaching out and taking yours. And now it was lifting your hand to his face. And now he was- oh god, oh my god.

“Uhm. I’m. G-Gwendolyn Goode,” you stuttered out pathetically as he kissed the back of your hand. You don’t think any guy you’d ever fooled around with had done something like that, and it was a surprisingly effective move. His lips were a whisper of silk against your skin and you had to swallow hard to keep from making any embarrassing noises.

“It’s an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Lockhart all but purred, brushing his thumb over your knuckles as he kept hold of your hand. “I’m quite sure that I need no introduction?” he teased with another wink, and you shook your head stupidly because no, no he most certainly did not. “I’m surprised to see such a fresh young face at an event like this! At least no faces younger than mine.” And you couldn’t help but agree with him. From what you’d glimpsed of the attendees and other guests, you were quite possibly the youngest person in the building. But that didn’t mean you didn’t belong here.

“I’m a seventh year at Hogwarts,” you explained, becoming a little defensive. Despite being momentarily flabbergasted by Lockhart’s presence, you still had a job to do here, and that was to impress everyone you came across. Your future could lay in the hands of any one of these people. Maybe even this man... That ridiculous train of thought was derailed at the sight of Snape glowering from over Lockhart’s shoulder, and you quickly sobered up from your daze. “And I’m, um, Professor Snape’s apprentice.”

“Are you really?” Lockhart asked, his voice suddenly dropping its pretense of interest, jarring you slightly. He finally released your hand before glancing over his shoulder at Snape, one of his fine blonde eyebrows creeping up his forehead. “You must be quite the gifted little girl then,” he acclaimed, and just like that, the unctuous quality of his voice had returned. Looking back to you, that flawless grin was back on his face, and he sidled up to you, throwing one of his arms over your shoulders and leaning in furtively, though he spoke just as loudly as before. “I know from experience that Severus is no easy professor! But of course, I learned a great deal in my time at Hogwarts, and I earned my place here in the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Just a few years ago I gave a lecture on an antidote I invented and perfected for a slow-acting venom I’d been stricken with in Romania. Though I’m sure you read all about it in my second book, Gadding with Ghouls.” He poked one of his fingers against your shoulder to mark his inflection, before waving the same hand dismissively. “Ah, but that was six whole books ago! Practically a lifetime. Will you be attending Horace’s party tomorrow night?”

You were thrown off kilter by his sudden change in subject matter, as well as the arm that was still holding you firmly against his flank. You were overwhelmed with the scent of English Leather, and it was a little disappointing that you were able to pinpoint the fragrance so acutely, because it smelled cheap and dated. Surely Lockhart had better taste than drugstore aftershave? You must have appeared bemused, because Slughorn answered the question for you by proudly piping in, “Yes! She’s got an invitation.”

“Splendid!” Lockhart professed, before patting your shoulder genially and finally releasing you from his hold. “Well, I have got to be off,” he spoke generally this time, straightening out his robes and vest unnecessarily. “Can you believe they misplaced my room reservation? I’ve been chewing out my assistant over the Floo for the last 10 minutes. So hard to find good help these days.” He moved to Slughorn then, taking up the man’s hand for a shake, before patting it in a mirror image of what Slughorn tended to do himself. “I’m afraid I’ll have to miss the lectures tomorrow, Horace, but I’ll certainly be back for your little shindig tomorrow night. Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” He returned his attention back around to you, and hit you with another wink and brilliant smile. “And I look forward to seeing you again, Guinevere.”

Your face fell flat along with your voice as you corrected, “Gwendolyn.”

But he hadn’t even heard you as he made his way importantly towards the front doors of the hotel, throwing a “Ta-ta!” over his shoulder and disappearing into the crowd. He hadn’t even so much as looked at Snape before exiting, and you were all left in an uncomfortably awkward silence at his sudden departure. You weren’t sure how to feel just then, having gone from awe-struck to uneasy in a matter of moments.

“We should be getting to our rooms now.” You jumped slightly, looking over to your professor, and you felt your heart plummet at the sight of the scornful lines still etched into his face. It didn’t take a genius to guess that Snape was no Gilderoy Lockhart fan, but you felt like… well… you just wondered if maybe you had contributed to that disdain. Was he mad at you? Was he mad at Lockhart on your behalf? Or was he…

“Yes, yes! Of course!” Slughorn bustled, nodding with understanding as he stepped aside, no longer standing in the way of your path towards the elevator. “You two get settled in. But do consider coming down for that drink, Severus. I’d love to catch up with you.” He patted Snape’s elbow in a considerably more genuine gesture than Lockhart had managed to pull off, before turning to you. “And Miss Goode! I’ll see you tomorrow morning for the first lecture, yes? Damocles Belby will be here to talk about the advancements he’s made with his lycanthropy potion. It should be riveting.”

You weren’t sure if Slughorn was being facetious, but your eyes actually lit up upon hearing this. You’d been following the work of Damocles Belby ever since you’d skimmed that potions magazine in your fifth year. Any trepidation that had built up from your interaction with Lockhart seemed to evaporate at the news that you might actually get to meet Belby. “Yes, sir! I’ll definitely be there.”

Slughorn smiled amiably, before nodding both to you and Snape with a cordial, “Good night, you two,” before making his way towards what you expected was the bar. Silence settled around you again, and it was only the flutter of black from the corner of your eye that alerted you that Snape was stepping onto an elevator without you. You spun and walked quickly in order to catch up with him, and your heart sank again as you glimpsed the dour expression that remained on his face. He seemed… really upset. Your anxiety continued to rise as you slipped into the elevator beside him, and you were left in true silence when the doors slid shut.

You watched the little arrow on the floor indicator slowly pivot from ‘L’ to ‘1’, and the tension in the small space was making you feel queasy. If you didn’t say something, you were going to be sick. “You don’t like Lockhart?” you asked quietly, a question that was clearly more of a statement. You didn’t look over at him after asking, keeping your eyes firmly on the arrow above the door, because you were apprehensive about what you might see.

There was a pause. ‘1’ to ‘2’. ‘2’ to… “He barely scraped by his Potions N.E.W.T.’s with an Acceptable,” Snape answered monotonously, almost sounding bored, and you pressed your eyebrows together in confusion. He’s… mad because Lockhart over exaggerated about his grades? “In fact, he barely got an Acceptable in all of his classes at Hogwarts,” Snape continued, and you finally did glance over to him then. His eyes were also trained on the floor indicator above the door, but his glare was still firmly in place, and his disdain was palpable. “He was unremarkable and painfully average in every single thing that he did. Which is why I remain utterly baffled by, and critically skeptical of, his success.”

Your mouth fell open slightly as you watched him, and you got the sneaking suspicion that Snape was jealous. You looked away from him then, down at your boots, and pondered this development. There of course was the chance that Lockhart had been a poor student. That didn’t mean he hadn’t absorbed any information over the course of his education. Hollingsworth was a good example of this; he wasn’t a bad brewer at all, as long as Snape wasn’t actually in the room at the time. Indeed, Lockhart had an impressive body of published works outlining his many successful ventures, some of which you’d actually read. And sure, a great deal of it was also probably exaggerated, as extravagance seemed to be one of Lockhart’s favorite things. But taking a little literary liberty to pad the pages of a book wasn’t a crime, right? You’d never gotten the impression that success and acclaim was something Snape cared about. Indeed, he actually made a valiant effort to ensure that no one liked him.

So… maybe he was jealous about something else.

The elevator came to a halt, the grates sliding open smoothly, and you followed Snape through them onto the fourth-floor landing. The décor mirrored that of the lobby, all lush carpets and flocked wallpaper and exquisite paintings, but it did not share the lobby’s scarlet hue. Instead, everything on this floor was cerulean, and the shift in color palette alone made you feel calmer than before. You wondered if the other floors were different colors as well. You might have to explore later. Following Snape down to room four-twelve, you pulled back the sleeve of your coat and sighed through your nose as you checked your watch. It had gotten late, and you were dead tired. But you were also starving. You were wondering if the hotel had room service when you realized Snape wasn’t moving. Wincing slightly, you turned your face to his, where you were pleased to find that his distain had vanished, but it was now replaced with apprehension.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked, point blank, holding up his golden tasseled key.

Oh… Oh right. You were still sharing a room. That was a thing that never stopped being a thing. You did your best not to mirror his trepidation, instead managing a little smile before nodding. “Yes. I’m sure. I haven’t changed my mind in the last twenty minutes. I promise.” Snape’s uneasiness morphed instantly into exasperation, and you covered your mouth you mask your snickers as he rolled his eyes, turning back toward the door. He slid the key into the lock, and you wondered if anything odd or magical was about to happen... and were a little disappointed to see that it was just a normal lock. Boring.

You followed Snape into the room, and the first thing you noticed was that it was dreadfully cold. That warming charm from earlier must have worn off, and you pulled your coat tighter around yourself as Snape went about turning on lanterns and charming a fire into the fireplace. Thank god. As promised, the room did indeed have two beds, and you quickly laid your claim to the one closest to the window (and the fireplace), tossing your messenger bag onto to the duvet before moving over to the fire in an attempt to warm yourself.

You took a quiet moment to scan your surroundings. It was a beautiful room, just as lavish as the rest of the hotel. The carpet was a deep navy, and the space around the fireplace was sparkling marble. The walls were a standard cream color, but the oil paintings of oceans and ships continued the lovely blue motif, as did the copper patina ceiling tiles. The beds themselves looked unbelievably welcoming right now; large and plush with cobalt quilted duvet covers and multitudes of down pillows. There was a small night table between the two beds, a writing desk across from them, and back towards the entrance were two doors that must lead to the closet and bathroom. Oh god, a hot shower sounded good too…

Snape was removing his traveling cloak, and had enlarged a shrunken black leather weekender, which he’d placed on his own bed and was now stuffing the cloak into. “I… think I’m going to take Slughorn up on that drink,” he explained stiltedly, and your face fell a little, but you nodded. You tried not to feel slighted, that he wanted to turn around and leave already, but you thought you understood. Maybe he was uncomfortable with the whole situation. Maybe he feared that you were uncomfortable with the whole situation. Maybe he was still seething over the exchange with Lockhart. Whatever it was, you didn’t mind if he went and got a drink; maybe it would loosen him up.

Snape made his way to writing desk beside the fire, picking up a thin, blue book, with the words ‘The Atticus, Amenities’ stamped in gold onto the leather cover. He held it out to you, and you took it curiously before he explained, “Room service. Get something for dinner. And order absolutely anything you want, regardless of price. Dumbledore is paying for everything, and I am more than happy to make him pay.” Your eyes widened as you flipped open book, a grin spreading over your face at this phenomenal act of pettiness. Good to know that Snape hadn’t lost the ability to properly handle a minor inconvenience in the sassiest way possible.

“Yes, sir!” you assured him with a small salute. Walking over to your bed, you sat down with a bounce as you scanned the menu, but you weren’t really gleaning much from it as you watched Snape adjust his frock coat in the mirror attached to the closet door. “Will you be late?” you asked, trying to gauge how much time you might have to indulge yourself. You were thinking fish and chips, and then a shower, before finally passing out for the evening. Maybe you could be in bed before he even came back, sparing you the embarrassment of revealing your own yellow and black flannel pajamas with the little bees on them that your mother had given you because they were just so Hufflepuff. Yeaaaah. That sounded perfect.

“I might be,” Snape answered honestly, which you appreciated. “The…” he swallowed, and twitched his head awkwardly, as though he was loath to say what he had to say. “The Slug Club was Slughorn’s group of exceptionally talented or well-connected students back when he taught at Hogwarts,” he explained, and you set the small book in your lap as he now had your full attention. What an awful name for a club! “He mentioned that the Malfoy’s might be here. They’re… old friends of mine so… who knows how long this could go on for.”

Silence ensued, and this time, you were the one who managed to get Snape to look at you before you were inclined to speak. Your mouth was hanging open, shock apparent in your features as he turned to face you. “What?” he demanded, his frown deepening.

“You… You have friends?” you asked in mock awe, but you couldn’t keep up the charade for long. You squealed with laughter as you held up the amenities booklet as a shield, just as a decorative throw pillow was magically hurled in your direction.

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A challenger approaches ;3c

Also #DumbledoreShipsIt

Thank you for reading!! Leave a comment down below and I'll love you forever!

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Next Scene ==>

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#Severus Snape #Pro Snape #Snapedom #Snape Community #Severus Snape x Reader #Severus Snape x OC #Snape x Reader #Snape x OC #Dream Sequence

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