#snapecentric

[liv2post]

Fever Dreams (One Shot)

I wanted to do a sick-fic one shot and saw a couple mutuals floating around how a sick Severus Snape would behave, so here is my version.

@frequent-apple

Summary: Severus Snape comes down with an infamous man cold and you take it upon yourself to nurse him, as you always have. While having a fever dream, he confesses his love for you.

Word Count: 4.5k

Read on AO3 here

“Severus?” You knocked on his chamber door. “Are you alright?”

The potion master hadn’t shown up for breakfast this morning and missed a meeting scheduled with the other Heads of Houses and the Headmaster. Minerva had asked you if you knew where Professor Snape was, you and the dungeon bat were known amongst the teachers as being closer to one another than anyone else. Just when you were about to tell her ‘no,’ an owl swooped through the corridor and perched on the Transfiguration teacher’s arm, a small slip of parchment paper in its mouth that said one word: “Sick.”

And here you were now outside of his chambers, worry needling into you as the professor had now missed his second meal of the day. 

“Go away…!” You heard from the other side of the door, muffled and strained as a coughing fit followed.

“Severus, it’s me, Y/N.” There was no response this time, not even coughing, and instead of waiting for another curt dismissal you pushed open the doors to his chambers and stepped inside. 

Severus, who was slightly hunched over and trudging toward his kitchenette in an attempt to make himself tea with a blanket wrapped around his form, glared at the door when he heard it open and shut. A sheen of sweat had built on his forehead and it looked as though he hadn’t slept well, the pigment beneath his eyes a bit darker while his paleness was even lighter. His bones ached with each step he took in the cool dungeon air.

“I did not say you could come in,” he growled at you, though his eyes had slightly softened at your presence. You, however, looked back at him with just as much sternness, for you knew that right now he was all bark and no bite. Severus Snape was going through his infamous man-cold.

You’d known Severus for a long time, and both of you were from the same house, though you were one year younger than him. The two of you had bonded the following year after the untimely demise of his relationship with his former best friend. With both of you being the best brewers in your years, he held a mild level of respect for you and willingly offered you advice for your OWLs while he focused on his NEWTs. On top of this, the both of you were prone to injury, often treating yourselves or one another, that is when you managed to get Severus to let you. While he was picked on or got into fights, your injuries accumulated from Quidditch matches or simply practicing too hard. Being the only girl who was let on to the Quidditch team, you felt the need to prove yourself, especially when the other teams targeted you, deeming you as a weakness. Fortunately, that did not stop you from helping Slytherin win.

Once more, you were attempting to help the man since you returned into his life as a colleague four years ago, both of you now in your early thirties. Having known him for so long, you knew what was to come of this. Severus would go through three moods when he was sick. Stubbornness, whininess, and clinginess. It was a very predictable cycle as you were always the one to help him when he was sick. Once you get past his stubbornness, it will be easier to help him.

“I’m aware,” you simply replied back, stepping forward. “I was with Minerva after you missed the staff meeting. We both saw your owl. Consider yourself lucky that it is me down here and not her.”

Severus scowled to himself and turned his face away, his hair curtaining his expression. “I’m fine,” he grouched.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you’re the absolute peak of health right now. You should totally be on the cover of Witches and Wizards Weekly.”

“I’m. Fine,” Severus snarled. “I don’t wish to be bothered, so kindly return to whatever other duties you have.”

“Severus, you missed both breakfast and lunch and you look like you just rolled out of bed. You’re not fine. You need food. Potions. And perhaps a ba—”

“For Merlin’s sake, woman!” he snapped defensively. “I’m not some sniffling weakling who will perish as if I’ve come down with the black plague! I don’t need your incessant worrying and mollycoddling! It’s bad enough I have to deal with this congestion, must I deal with you too? Leave!”

His outburst caused a tickle in his lungs to trigger another coughing fit into the crook of his elbow. You simply crossed your arms, face impassive as he stood there, abashed at the ill-timed coughing fit. This was nothing new for you, however. This was just the beginning of dealing with a sick Severus Snape.

“Are you done?” you questioned calmly, like a mother waiting for a child to finish up with their tantrum. “I’m not here to take away your autonomy, Severus. As always, I just want to help and I am not leaving until I get you better. The only way you are getting me out of here is by wrestling me through the doorway, and we both know I’m stronger than you at the moment.”

The man clenched his teeth, seething at your unwillingness to let him take care of himself as he scornfully swept back to the kitchenette to make himself tea, not wanting to deal with you at the moment.

You summoned his house elf, palming her the instructions to a soup recipe you had in mind when you heard Severus was ill. It was a soup that had always made you feel better when you were sick.

While Severus worked on making his tea, you idly examined the state of his office. By the looks of the papers and scrolls strewn about his desk, he had much grading to do this weekend. There was no way he’d be able to put a significant dent in it while in his current condition. Slipping quietly into his bedroom, you observed the way in which the covers were thrown eschew. A sweaty silhouette was imprinted on his sheets from where he laid fever-stricken, the duvet layers too much for him to handle with pajamas on. Crumpled tissues littered the bedside stand and you could see a thermometer that displayed his last recorded temperature around 102. With a wave of your wand, the used tissues vanished into nothingness, and a cleaning spell was applied to the surface of the nightstand. In a few minutes, you managed to get a new set of sheets onto his pillows and mattress and swapped out the duvet cover for a different one.

When you returned to the living area, he had just lowered himself down onto the couch with a mug carefully clasped in his hands and sniffing sharply every few seconds. Just then the house elf apparated in front of him, carefully placing the soup on the coffee table and disappearing once more. Severus cast a disparaging look at the meal before shifting that look to you.

“Chicken noodle,” you stated. “Eat it. It’s good for you.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Severus derided.

You kept your tone forbearing as you moved toward his personal brewing station and opened various cabinet doors. “I know.” Bottles clinked against one another as your hand snaked between corked vials and remedies in search of head-ache relieving potions. When you found the ones he had in stock, you sighed when you saw that they were expired by now. Muttering to yourself, you begin to retrieve various ingredients.

“What are you doing with my potion ingredients?”

You didn’t look at him as you gathered a few brewing tools and filled a cauldron with water. “Eat your soup, Severus.”

His nostrils flared at you, nose scrunched up in both offense and defiance as he childishly refused the soup. However, he couldn’t help his rumbling stomach in any other way, the consequence of not eating his first two meals worsening his headache and making him feel more tired. You had positioned yourself so that you’d be brewing while facing away from him, hoping that it had the intended effect of encouraging him to eat while you had your back turned.

And to your relief, it had worked as a minute or so later you heard quiet slurping from behind you.

Your hands moved in rapid succession, finely chopping, grinding, and peeling various ingredients before plopping them into the cauldron. The sounds emanating from the brewing station were symphonic within the quiet office, you the conductor as you arranged and controlled them to your precise liking. You’d made a headache-relieving solution for him before, the usual symptoms of his colds being achy bones, shivering, congestion, and a headache. Severus remained slouched on the sofa, bowl of delicious soup, though he refused to comment so, resting on his stomach as he watched your figure working away at a potion. Based on what he could tell from the ingredients you had retrieved it looked to be something for his headache.

“Cold…” you heard muttering from behind you.

You did not take your eyes off your work. “You or the soup?”

“...Me.”

Flicking your hand behind you, a wandless ‘Incendio’ lit the fireplace, the flames roaring to life. While the heat wasn’t going to help his fever whatsoever, it would placate him and his shivering as you suspected he had now breached the whiny stage. 

Severus tugged the blanket around him tighter and shifted along the cushions toward the fire. “What’s taking you so long?” he grumbled.

“It needs to simmer,” you informed him softly. He glowered at that, his eyes following you as you disappeared into his bedroom once more.

In one of the bathroom cabinets you found a bottle of eucalyptus oil that you were certain would help with his congestion. With a few squeaky turns of the faucet handle the bath began filling with lukewarm water, not enough to eat him but just cool enough to help bring his temperature down without causing too much discomfort. The air quickly smelled like eucalyptus when the oil drops began to intermingle with the water. You adjusted the temperature slightly the more it filled up into the bath was full, the surface swirling ever so subtly with the oils and a thin layer of foamy soap from a small amount of body wash you added.

The potion was ready when you returned, feeling daggers thrown your way from Severus’s stare. You ladled some into a cup for him, turning around and looking at him expectantly. “Come and get it.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Just bring it over to me.”

You shook your head, saying, “No. You’ve got to get up anyway to get into the bath after you drink this.”

Severus rolled his eyes, exhaling in irritation before he, with some effort, was able to push himself up off the sofa and walk over sluggishly to you. He took the cup from you and eagerly guzzled the freshly brewed concoction, his head feeling a bit lighter within a matter of seconds of swallowing the potion. 

With a delicate touch, you gently placed a hand on his back and guided him toward his bathroom with, thankfully, no resistance on his end. 

“It’s filled up already. I put a bit of oil in there to help with your congestion. Holler if you need anything. Otherwise, try to stay there until you get too cold. I’ll be out in the living area.” 

The door to his bedroom clicked and he was alone once more. He sniffed heartily, slowly undressing from his pajamas which felt quite gross against his clammy skin, and was greeted with the smell of eucalyptus when he opened the bathroom door, the fragrance soothing his stuffy nose and relaxing the persistent tickle in his chest. As carefully as he could manage, he stepped inside the tub and lowered himself, sighing at the warmth of the temperature.

Being alone in the tub left him with nothing but his thoughts, sinking himself lower until his hair just barely touched the surface. For as long as he could remember he had always taken care of himself, refusing help from others as he did not want to be seen as weak. But, no matter how much he rebuked you, you’d always find a way to help, even if it was something as small as placing a bandaid on a cut when he had nicked himself with a potion’s knife in his seventh year. You were always so determined to help when he was indisposed and he was always determined to refuse even though you had a perfect record so far of pushing past his stubbornness and scaling his wall of self-preservation. No matter how big of a grumpy asshole he was to you, you had so much patience for him. Deep down he was immensely grateful for it.

When the water turned cold and he felt the shivers return, he pulled the drain plug and rose from the bath. Just the feeling of being cleaner improved his mood, even more so when he found a set of soft lounge clothes and socks waiting for him folded neatly on his bed.

His bed that now had a fresh pair of cool, clean sheets and a different duvet cover.

Your ears perked slightly at the sound of Severus’s bedroom door creaking open as you set aside another graded Potions paper. While he soaked, you had received a fever-relieving potion from Madame Pomphrey, organized his desk a little bit more, and started to tackle the assignments that needed grading. 

“What are you doing?” His voice was light, much calmer now in comparison to his sharp mulishness earlier. You ignored his question as soft footsteps approached you. 

“How do your sinuses feel?”

“They have improved,” he replied faintly.

“And your head? Chest?” He gave you an affirmative hum in response. Without looking up from the papers, you held out the potion to him. “Madam Pomphrey sent this. It’s a fever-reliever that should help regulate your temperature with a little bit of cough syrup mixed in there.” 

He took the potion from your hand and tipped the contents back into his mouth, setting the empty bottle by his workstation. A dull cooling sensation spread in the center of his forehead. You could feel his eyes settle back on to you, anticipating his clinginess to kick in at any moment now seeing that he was in a better state mentally and physically. 

“What are you doing?” Severus asked once more, placing a hand on the back of the chair, his fingers pressed against your shoulders. 

“A bit of your grading since you’re in no state to be doing so. You should be resting.”

“I won’t be able to fall asleep with that bloody soup in my stomach now,” he complained quietly.

“I didn’t say sleep, I said rest. Grab a book or something and go read in bed. I’ll be here if you need something.”

Dissatisfaction lapped at him, his lips pursing in indignation as he no longer wanted to be separated from you by a room. As if a switch flipped, his mind sought for you now, wanting you close, wanting you to care for him. His fingers moved forward, his whole hand settling on your shoulder.

“N..x t… m...” His voice was practically a whisper. 

You smirked coyly into your palm, but you did not show your cards. “What was that?”

His ears grew warmer and it wasn’t the fever’s doing. “Grade next to me,” he murmured. “In the bed.” You feigned a sigh, which made his fingers twitch in apprehension but was relieved when you pushed the chair back and stood up, grabbing a stack of papers with you. 

The two of you settled in on the bed, him beneath the covers and you on top. He had a little difficulty breathing through his nose when lying on his back, so he opted to lie on his side, facing away from you with a book levitating in front of him. Even though he couldn’t see you, knowing you were there and feeling the dip in the mattress behind him made him feel more relaxed, so relaxed in fact that almost half an hour later, you heard the sound of the book unceremoniously hitting the ground and soft snores coming from him. He had fallen asleep.

Time ticked on as you looked over paper after paper, the scratching of your quill and Severus’s occasional mumbling filling the air. You suspected he was having a fever dream, stirring every so often and quietly uttering incoherent words and phrases. You’d place a hand on his back to calm him, silencing him for some time before it started up again. At one point, he pushed himself up on his elbows and shifted on to his back, looking about the room like he was confused.

“Severus?” you said, seemingly gaining his attention. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t respond. His eyes were barely open, fluttering as he looked dumbly at you. You deduced that he was in a half-sleep state, probably still dreaming. What shocked you, however, was what he did next. Severus had shifted onto his other side so that his body was facing you, wrapping his arm around the middle of your thigh and spooning your leg with his forehead nuzzled against you.

“...love you…”

His soft snores filled the air once more. 

A sinking feeling of sadness filled your chest. “His words weren’t real. He is having a fever dream,” you told yourself. You had believed there was no possibility of him loving you, no matter how much you wanted it. His heart had died with Lily. He loved her so very much and you had heard from Slughorn a few years after you had graduated that Severus was a wreck when she had passed. You remember sending Severus letters wanting to meet only to never hear back from him, resourcing to find out how he was doing through others. 

After the first two years of being reunited with him, you fell in love. Though loving Severus Snape was like loving a defensively feral cat that was also whorishly attention-seeking, his attempts at veiling his perceived vulnerabilities amused you and you found his wit charming. Despite the friendship the both of you had reignited, you kept your feelings down when they had developed into something more, convinced that he would never love you in return.

So… With a heavy heart, you accepted this disingenuous expression of closeness and continued grading.

***

Severus scrunched his eyes, inhaling sharply as he slowly roused from slumber. He was met with the covering of a pillow, his arms wrapped around it tightly. Rubbing the bleariness from his eyes, he looked at the other side of the bed. Though you were no longer there, the evidence of your sitting there with him was pressed into the top of the covers. His chest tinged with sadness at your absence.

Faint shuffling noises echoed through the slightly ajar bedroom door. When he stood up from the bed, he found his headache and lung irritation to be nearly gone, though he still felt a bit warm in the head and his nose was still a bit stuffed.

He entered the living area and his heart fluttered when he saw that you were still here in his office.

“Y/N,” he called, his voice much less hoarse than before.

You thanked the house elf that had brought you Severus’s dinner before it disapparated. “You’ve been asleep now for about two hours. How do you feel?”

“Better,” he replied, but his brows knitted together at your somewhat dispirited tone. You did not show your face, instead choosing to gesture to the food that had been set on the coffee table. “I had a house elf bring you dinner. Since you are feeling better, I think it would be best if I tended to my other duties now,” you said, raising the butt of your palm up and wiping at your face, but Severus was not dimwitted. Even from behind, he knew what that movement was. You were wiping away a tear.

“Are you alright?” Severus asked softly, carefully approaching you.

“I’m fine. I’ll have Madam Pomphrey send you another fever reliever before you go to bed tonight.” You began to move toward the door. “Feel better, Severus.”

“Wait!” he strode across the room and grabbed your wrist, just firm enough to get your attention as your other hand froze around the door handle. “Y/N… Please, tell me what’s wrong.” His eyes flit over you, concern lacing his voice as he slowly rotated you so that you were facing him. Your eyes were indeed red from crying, though your gaze was averted to anywhere but him.

“It doesn’t matter,” you muttered. “It’s not something you could fix.”

His hands moved up to your shoulders, squeezing lightly. “If… If it's something I did…please tell me. I know I’m…not the easiest person in the world to deal with…so I’m sorry if I’ve worn you down or offended y—”

“You said you loved me.”

The revelation felt like a slap to the face, his breath hitched in his throat, a cold shock flooding his veins as he stared back at you with widened eyes.

He said what?

You swallowed thickly. “I doubt you even remember. You were having a fever dream and mumbling to yourself. At one point you rolled over, looked at me and said that you loved me before falling back to sleep.” You paused, allowing him the chance to say something, but he was silent and tense. His reaction, or lack thereof, further squashed your courage and you tilted your head down even more. “I know you didn’t mean it for me,” your voice warbled now. “I’m sure you were dreaming of Lily or your mum. You loved Lily like she was the only being in the universe, so you don’t have to worry about me misundersta—”

The next thing you knew your face was buried in the crook of his neck, his strong arms wrapped around you. The tears rolled down your cheeks unbidden but you restrained yourself from sobbing, your throat tight and achy. “Please don’t pity me, Severus,” you said weakly, not quite believing the sincerity of his action. “Don’t pity me or offer me platitudes… I can’t…”

“I don’t pity you, I love you,” Severus gritted out, trying to fight the shakiness in his own voice as he felt like crying as well. He buried his nose in your hair, attempting to ground himself with your sweet scent. “I… You’re right, I do not remember saying that to you, but I was dreaming of you, Y/N.”

You inhaled shakily. “You were?”

“Yes,” he murmured, the thumb of the splayed hand on your back stroking back and forth. “You were taking care of me in my dream. I do love you, so much, Y/N. Even though I don’t deserve your affection in return. I know I’ve taken your compassion for granted for quite some time.”

Your mind was still reeling from his confession. He loved you…and you loved him… Your arms slowly rose and wrapped around his back as you pressed yourself into him more, reveling in his hold. He sighed into you, feeling a heavy weight off his shoulders. “I don’t blame you for thinking I didn’t return your hidden feelings,” he murmured. “Lily’s death was hard on me and I didn’t think I’d love again, but truthfully, I haven’t thought of her in years. You’ve plagued my mind ever since you returned to Hogwarts.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, drawing you back so he could look at you once more. His hand came up and cupped your cheek, swiping away at a stray tear. Heat bloomed on your face when you saw the longing in the deep, inky pools of his eyes staring back at you. They flicked back and forth between your lips and your eyes and when he slowly leaned in…

“Severus,” you said, stopping him by placing a hand on his chest, knowing what he wanted to do. “You’re still sick,” you proclaimed gingerly.

The man groaned in frustration, but the last thing he wanted to do was to get you sick as well, opting to instead rest his forehead on your shoulder, the resulting giggle from you a soothing balm on his soul.

“Please, stay,” he pleaded quietly.

Your fingers traced through his scalp. “It wouldn’t be wise to inhale the same air as you overnight, Sev.”

“Just until curfew then.” He held you tighter, emphasizing his want for your presence as he began shuffling the both of you toward the sofa.

“Alright,” you hummed, pecking the spot above his ear. “Until curfew.”

***

“Goodbye, everyone! Make sure to review the last two chapters before class tomorrow.”

A new week of classes had begun and Severus seemed to have gotten over his cold by then as you saw him walking about the corridors despite not attending breakfast in person. When you saw each other during lunch, the both of you made an attempt to sit beside one another, but Flitwick had unknowingly put that wish to rest when he took the other remaining seat beside you. It was the end of your final class now, and the students filling out the door one by one. You sighed quietly in relief when the last student exited and began to tidy up the classroom. A crumpled ball of parchment here, dirty shoe prints there…

Twenty minutes later, you heard a knock on the heavy wooden door just as you sat down to get a jump on grading papers with a steaming mug of tea.

“Come in,” you called, taking a generous sip.

The door opened and there stood your previously needy patient, his dark silhouette filling the doorway. The sight of him made your heart flutter as he slowly stepped into the classroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.  

“Hi, Severus,” you smiled lightly. “I was a bit worried this morning. You didn’t show up for breakfast.”

“I felt a bit dizzy this morning, so I elected to eat in my office,” he explained mildly. “Otherwise, my cold has cleared.”

“Oh, that's good! I’m glad you’re better now.” 

A moment of silence passed between the two of you. The potion master didn’t move forward, only shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous schoolboy, as if he needed permission to do anything else than that. Adorable.

“Severus…” spoke lowly with a gentle smile and stood up from your chair, holding your arms out in a ‘come here’ gesture. That seemed to be enough encouragement as he strode forward, each step more determined than the last. He brought your face to him, eagerly pressing his lips to yours. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, returning the kiss with equal fervor. One of his hands moved to the back of your neck, keeping you there he stole kiss after kiss from you, years of pent-up affection and love flowing between the both of you. You felt him smiling against your slips before the both of you broke apart for much-needed air, resting your foreheads against each other as he mumbled.

“Thank Merlin for fever dreams.”

[heavyhitting]

love seeing @snapecentric in my notifs liking my obscure heavances posts if i ever draw snape shit again I'll be doing it for snapecentric and snapecentric ONLY

[exlibrisseverus]

Snape & Music 🎼

The coloration is not quite finished yet due to lack of time. At first it was planned as a sketch, but somehow I got the drive to do a full illustration. I have made a few very small additional changes, but I will leave it as it is. Also check out @snapecentric's podcast. Thanks for commissioning me. ☺️💝

[swallow-the-bird]

Now I can look at you.

In his final moment, he saw not only those emerald eyes but also the young Severus from years past: at eleven, he held his first true friend, brimmed with fantasies and hopes for the future, and still believed in the magic of miracles—that they would embark on their journey to Hogwarts together.

Twenty-seven years later, at thirty-eight, he shed his last tear at Hogwarts. At long last, he could gaze back at the boy of yesteryear with peace.

“Now I can look at you.”

PS This is a drawing for a Snapecentric activity to celebrate Snape's birthday.

Regarding the sacrifices and final choices Snape made, I’ve always believed that they cannot be fully encompassed by mere love for Lily. Rather, they represent the ultimate answer drawn from a lifetime of experiences.

What is termed as repentance is a conviction, unshakable and uncompromising, refined from past mistakes—a faint echo of the vague hopes for this world that once rooted quietly in a young boy’s heart, strong enough to lead him to a martyr’s fate.

I would also like to think that Professor Snape has finally found freedom and peace. He will always remain one of my favourite characters in Harry Potter!

[madfantasy]

Icy Joy

Commissioned by @snapecentric❤️🖤❤️🖤

4.12.2024, Commission Mani

[sleepybradipo]

studying for N.E.W.T.

Thanks to @snapecentric for the idea!

[nyx-greenwood99]

Falling snow

Commission for @snapecentric thank you so much for your help! I was able to pay rent this month thanks to you 🥰♥️♥️♥️

[maphy-art]

Art for @snapecentric 💜🐍

Thank you for trusting me. It was unusual to work without a specific task. But at the same time I had room for imagination.

[severus-snaps]

potions master @snapecentric

[snarrybang]

Fellow Snarry lovers...

The time has come for the SnarryBANG!'s 2024 gift exchange!

Art? Fic? Podfic? Bookbinding? All forms of creativity welcome!

Your mission:

> Sign up here before May 26! Give at least three different prompts, PLUS you have the option of putting up your works for a remix/fanwork created from your own Snarry works!

> Anonymous matches sent right after! You will know who your giftee is, but not your creator (they are different!). You can get in touch anonymously with your giftee via their askbox or anon guest comment on AO3 if you have questions, to say hi, just to squee... :D

> Creation time until July 24 ! Pick at least one prompt to create at least one work (no maximum;-). 2000 words min for fic and podfic. The 2000 words can be split between different works, but a single work is minimum 1000 words.

> Posting: You will have until July 24 to post in the unrevealed, anonymous AO3 collection. If you do not have an AO3 account or don't want to post there, you can submit your work to this blog here (no Tumblr account needed).

> Gifts revealed (anonymously) on July 31st! Posts will be made here on Tumblr by the mod. De-anon about 2 weeks later.

Any questions? Check out the Exchange FAQ on Tumblr (open in a browser tab) or DW, and if you can't find your answer you can send this blog an ask, leave a message on DW, or reach me via Discord.

Spread the word: hit that reblog button!!

@houseofsnarry @snapecentric @hpffwritersguild @consistentsquash @thebigbangblogproject @fandomweeks @eventfeed @hpfests

Gorgeous banner by @ac1d6urn!

ID under the cut

Severus scrutinizes Harry, who is face to face with Severus' patronus, a silver doe with bright green eyes swooping in with the magic whirlwind resembling a winter blizzard. Both Harry and the doe are mesmerised with one another. The tip of Harry's index finger is over the tip of Severus' wand. Harry is holding up lily of the valley blossoms below the doe's chin. Harry's cravat is green with white decorations to match the flowers. Severus' expression is stern and attentive. Behind him, bats descend from the top of the drawing. A tree stretches its branches behind Harry. They are enveloped in sunrise pinks and blues of the sky. A full moon hovers between Severus and Harry's figures, with a solitary shadowed spec of a bat against its yellow glow.

[bbluxart]

Another commission down! This time a smug snape for @snapecentric ! Thank you so so much!

[mrs-snape5984]

Oh my gosh, I’m free again! The ice cone of shame is finally gone!

I want to thank you all for your support and your love! Everyone, who reblogged and liked @vulnus-sanare ‘s post, everyone, who sent an email to tumblr and everyone, who consoled me with some personal words… you are gorgeous!!!

Thank you, @vulnus-sanare, my dearest friend! I don’t know, how many times you’ve endured to hear me whine about my blog this week. You are wonderful and I’m delighted to call you my friend! Love ya! 🖤

Thank you for everything,

@preciousthelmadonna, @exlibrisseverus , @postmariannizm , @overgrownbat , @opalchalice , @snake-queen7 , @sideprince, @sleepybradipo, @aoshimasss , @dranna , @nevaeh-snape , @madfantasy , @hannisimp , @take-care-with-your-glasses , @parumleo , @mamawolfsmith87 , @aureum-lepus , @serenanight87 , @cheeseyguilteyplayzures , @tozunaki , @snakeorsquid , @chocoramo-cow , @capyside , @high-sea-husbands , @kasey776 , @ottogatto , @acydpop , @snapecentric , @charlotterhea , @relativedamage , @batwingsrosa , @ace-aussie-asshole, @slytherinmagic38 and @everchem !

You all brought some light into my darkness!

[moonlightdancer26]

I’d love blog recommendations!!

good to know :) (also i saw your previous ask, all i can say is 😭😭😭)

1. for starters, me lol

2. @halfblood-princes-crown (wifey)

3. @half-blood-slytherpuff (reblogs a lot of great Snape content)

4. @smilingformoney (funny, huge Alan Rickman fan + ff writer)

5. @snapecentric (i think the url speaks for itself lol)

6. @sideprince (reblogs a lot of Snape meta posts)

these are some of my current favourite Snape blogs off the top of my head, I haven’t been spending as much time on tumblr as I have before so it’s been tough seeking out active Snape blogs lately. I hope to find some more! and enjoy your time in the Snapedom, anon, I’m always here if you have any questions or thoughts <33

(Also if you’re a Snape blog and reblog/post a lot of Snape content, you can comment on/reblog this post so anon can see! @ anon, check out the reblogs and replies in case someone comments!!)

[snapeysister]

"I'm still standing, better than I ever did

Looking like a Hogwarts teacher

Feeling like a vengeful git!

I'm still standing, seems like I will never quit..!

Being Albus' master agent,

Feeling like an idiot.

I'm still standing, seems like it will never end...

Looking like true survivor -

Feeling like I'm truly dead..."

Severus Snape

@snapecentric

[jmwdoesthings]

Knots - a Snape commission for @snapecentric.

So I recently set up buy me a Kofi, in which @snapecentric bought two for me (and they were delicious, thank you), and to commemorate this first step on my journey and give my thanks, here's the little commission Snapecentric requested (after I offered!).

The prompt: Snape brewing wolfsbane for Lupin. And perhaps having thoughts.

And he does brew wolfsbane for Lupin, but not before there's some ghostly intervention upon the matter, along with some almost-spilled poison.

Here you are, Snapecentric! Cheers!

---***---

It was seldom that Severus Snape hesitated, for he was not a man of tripping or stumbling in and over his thoughts. In truth, he hadn’t hesitated for over thirteen years. His hand hadn’t jumped once, never. He hadn’t even sneezed unexpectedly. It was ridiculous, really, how other people had noticed this long before he did, noticed to the point where he wasn’t really regarded as human any more, just some sort of shell for the spirit of malevolence and vengeance, something which even the ghosts were convinced that he was. That fop of a Gryffindor ghost with the ruff had even remarked under his nose one night that he reminded him of his old executioner. The ghost obviously hadn’t seen him standing against the wall as he glided past with the Fat Friar, splashed against the shadows in his cloak when the nightmares and stifling regret had finally gotten the better of him and wanted to tear out his organs through his mouth in the middle of the night. 

Now, staring down at the smooth, cool collection of water inside the iron curves of his cauldron, Severus didn’t blame Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington; he gave him the full, silent credit for making such a keen observation. 

Heavens, he thought briefly, the thought a mere spider’s thread amongst the tangle of ropes and knots in his head, he was pathetically meagre. It was sad, quite so - he wouldn’t have looked any better even if he somehow managed to stop his bones from almost poking through his skin through the act of regular eating. He was ugly. It had to be said.

But that wasn’t the reason he tripped and struggled in his tangle of notions as he stared at the cauldron he had set up for this task. He had long gotten used to his own appearance, even with the lack of mirrors in his usual places of being. It was the fact that he was supposed to be brewing wolfsbane. 

Wolfsbane. Wolfsbane! Wolfsbane. 

Damn the substance.

Severus straightened, tearing his eyes away from his troublesome reflection, then placed two middle fingers aside his temples and tried in vain to soothe their pulsing. No, it wasn’t exactly that. Wolfsbane was useful to many, and ingenious enough for a young Severus Snape to have many times marvelled at the creativity of the witch who had discovered its make-up. 

No, it wasn’t the substance itself - it was the fact he was supposed to be brewing it for Remus Lupin. 

For Remus Lupin. 

For damned, scorched, scratched, blasted Remus Lupin. 

Severus Snape wasn’t a man for doing things without feeling nor registering them either, his thoughts and movements one like the body of water in the cauldron in front of him, but tonight, his hands had begun to work without him realising. He blinked at them now, the slender, bony things, littered with pink and white scars and burns from youthful errs and mistakes, as they mashed and crumbled leaves and dropped the right amounts of plants and dead things into the compound, and waved his wand, regulating the purple flames which sprang up beneath the belly of the cauldron and began to caress it so that the liquid bubbled and boiled.

He concentrated again. All was sufficient.

Then his thoughts came back in full force and his fingers clenched as he and the whole process drew to a stop. The blood in his veins pulsed once, painfully hot and jolting. The breath in his throat stilled as the faint, purple glow of the mixture in progress subsided.

Black hair slipped from behind his ears and dangled in his vision as his head bent, thoughts whirled and combined into a pool of festering, boiling red, concentrated somewhere deep within his left breast, lodged painfully between the vena cava and the aorta of his heart as it pulsed and clenched and, against what should have been, kept him alive enough to function. 

Perhaps it would have choked him to death and that would have been a merciful end to it all. He was already turning pale. Perhaps there would have been no wolfsbane brewed that night, no werewolf harnessed within the DADA professor, no attempts to chase and catch sleep, if it hadn’t been for the faint sound of one clearing their throat somewhere to his left, that tore him out of the volatile trance and made his fingers loosen on the material of his robes above his chest. 

There was another ahem. 

“I would strongly advise against that.”

Severus Snape looked up. He fed the paused breath into himself, then released it. Upon seeing the faint, silvery outline of a rather fat and obscenely good-natured looking ghost in a habit, he scowled. 

“What are you doing here?”

It came out sharp and strangled, but this room was his office after all, located in what was commonly considered Slytherin Territory by those within the castle walls. Therefore, the Fat Friar had no business in coming into it as a Hufflepuff patron, and Severus had not a single toss to give about the fact that he could simply be passing through the walls for convenience. There were other offices about to conveniently pass through, more than a dozen, in fact - rooms, corridors, blasted broom cupboards, closets - yet the Fat Friar was here, certainly not doing that, but watching him carefully with his eyes shining with the relative complacency of two yellow candles, similar to the ones currently floating above his head. 

“What do you want?” he snapped again, refusing to soften his tone. 

The ghost tilted his head, and glanced at him from under his translucent, sparse brows. 

“And you?” he said quietly, flicking his head towards the cauldron hissing faintly before him, sending the air above it shifting with heat. “Is that what you want, Severus Snape?”

Snape gritted his teeth. It seemed that he was still holding onto his wand. The Fat Friar glanced down at the long, black thing just as he did and sighed. 

“You have changed a lot, Severus Snape, and you don’t even realise.”

Severus scoffed to hide the bafflement. Perhaps if he was anybody else, he just might have considered being touched to be taken into consideration by a soul so foreign to his own.

“How regrettable,” he said, cocking himself in a little bow of mocking apology. “And how very endearing to see that you care, oh benevolent spirit.”

The Fat Friar only shrugged, then he glided forward until he was but a few steps away. 

“You have nothing to apologise about,” he murmured. “Many things can sadden an old soul, especially one which cannot, sadly, find its way home.”

Severus watched him with his lips twisted. He gave a muted snort and turned away from him, back to what he was meant to be doing before the black inside the walls of his heart finally got the better of him. He picked up a glass bottle full of something that was certainly not meant to go into the cauldron, then snorted again and placed it back with a tink.

The Fat Friar refused to leave, and kept watching him as he struggled and snatched at the reins attached to himself, one of the many knots. 

“I take it that you did not offer to aid Remus Lupin with his problem?”

“Do all ghosts have a habit of pretending they know little about the castle’s affairs?” Snape muttered under his breath.

“It’s just a form of making polite conversation,” the ghost said with a kindly smile, then withdrew his hands from his sleeves and pointed into the surface of the potion. “But if you like everything to the point, so be it.”

Severus would have remarked wittily upon eternity clearly getting boring, if he was now to be pestered by the Hufflepuff ghost as a form of amusement, when he followed the point of the stubby finger and felt the reins he had just managed a grip on jerked out of his hands. He froze.

The Friar inclined his head at the image.

“Look at what you would have done,” he said, looking down too, “had I left you alone to be devoured by what you keep and sustain within yourself.”

In the cauldron, in the reflection of the strange, dark, purple pool, was Remus Lupin. His roughened hand was loosely fitted over an empty glass; its surface had cracked under the impact of its consumer slipping from his chair. His eyes were dead. He wasn’t moving, as he lay on the floor, with his veins standing out upon his forehead and neck.

“Poisoned?” the Fat Friar voiced softly, nodding. “It seems so. Not even you would have suspected it.”

Severus broke out of the ice that had enclosed him and felt himself step straight into raging fire instead.

“Garbage,” he managed to spit out, his fingers twitching, but there was nothing to hurt, for his fist would have gone straight through the Friar’s fat head. “My magic has never been let loose without my consent, and I have made wolfsbane so often that-”

“That you wouldn’t have noticed your emotions infusing it with your intentions as you moved without thinking.”

The Friar had the audacity to look him in the eyes. It took a chest-wrenching effort to keep his eyes in place to meet them, which made him even angrier and set his blood on fire.

“After everything, Severus Snape…” the oblivious fool went on, “After all that death, that hurt, that grief… Is that really what you want for him?”

The cauldron exploded, because Severus had turned it over. There was a hiss as the purple flames beneath it were doused by thick liquid, a metallic CLANG, then another, as the container hit the floor. An acrid, sour smell filled the room, thick enough to clog up blood flow and to tinge it red, as the purple goo spread and trickled into the cracks between the stone tiles.

“IS HE THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS SUFFERED?” he yelled for all his renown in keeping emotion in check. “IS HE A SAINT? IS HE WITHOUT FAULT? DID HE NOT INFLICT SUFFERING UPON …” 

Upon me? Upon ME?

“...UPON OTHERS?”

The Fat Friar stared down Snape’s wand, whose tip was at his nose, then at him.

“I think,” he began quietly, “that Remus Lupin was one of the better ones in your story. More so than his friends.”

Severus hurled his wand at him. It spat out a fistful of sparks as it clattered against the wall, then flames sprang up upon the stone floorboards as it rolled to a stop, somehow setting them and itself on fire.

“Do not,” he began, his voice trembling as much as his finger pointed at the friar’s face was, “ever, ever mention them to me again.”

Severus clashed at the silvery gaze until he regained some control over himself, then he turned and marched towards where he had cast aside his tool. The flames died down when he approached - the wand that had burned was cool to the touch when he reclaimed it, and it soothed him.

“Remus Lupin was as much at fault as his friends are,” he spat, as he finished brushing his finger along it, then waved it at the cauldron, vanishing the pitiful mess. “He made no move to stop them from making anybody’s life hell.”

“Do you think they would have, if he did?” the Friar said, the disapprovement in his face less infuriating and more amusing, now.

“Oh, it was a very comfortable choice to make,” he said with a smile. “One that guaranteed him acceptance within his circle of abderite friends, and fun for all the damned family into the bargain.”

“Remus Lupin is a werewolf, Severus Snape,” the Friar cut in, firmly. “And as much as I disapprove of their actions, he had nobody but his friends that would go to such lengths to protect him from the rest of the world.”

Something made Severus halt in front of the now-pristine cauldron. He felt his shoulders square, rigid.

“From nothing but misery and pain, he suddenly gained the world,” the Fat Friar continued. “From fear and solitude, he gained friends who would have died for him, should he fall into mortal peril, and who lit up his chest and made it warm, after years of it being cold and quiet. If you were in his position, you wouldn’t have thrown it away for a boy you didn’t even know. To you, your friends would have been the very essence of what made life livable, and any chance of what your intervention could have damaged between you, rendered your actions out of the question.”

Severus couldn’t help it, because he felt as though his back would break if he didn’t - he grasped the edges of the cauldron to keep himself upright and contain the swooping sensation of his organs. His shoulders sagged helplessly. In the slits of his vision, he saw his knuckles going white as he clutched it. His head spun.

“Well then.” he rasped out into the empty cauldron’s echoing belly, feeling completely numb as he remembered his own world getting cold, cold, cold, then dead, and staying like that since without as much as a candle flame to keep him looking for… something. “It’s good that at least some of us had a chance of grasping the world at other people’s expense.”

He was going to be sick. He was going to be sick - he had to sit, but the nearest stool was a staggering three meters away.

He thought the Friar would speak again, but he didn’t, though he felt the silvery presence firm and solid behind him along with the silvery light spilling over the back of his ankles. After a moment, he felt something blocking it and pressing against the back of his legs, which was good, because he sank onto it as soon as his knees gave way instead of onto the floor. At least he managed to uphold some of his dignity.

“Leave,” he managed, from under his hands as he covered his disobedient face, feeling it true and raw beneath his fingers, something he never wanted. “You have accomplished what you sought.”

“Not quite,” he heard him say, gently. “I never intended to hurt you.”

Oh, ah, ha, ha. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Snape never intended anything either. Nobody had intended anything against him, ever. 

The ridiculousness of those words was enough for Severus to snicker. It was a hollow, papery noise.

“One of my favourite fairy tales,” he breathed, sitting up, one arm still around himself to keep himself in place. “It makes up for every unsolicited move against me. It’s good that it is repeated so many times, especially recently - perhaps a few times more and I’ll find solace within it. It is everybody’s intention, no doubt. The little scraps they can, they want to offer me.”

He heard an intake of breath. 

“I-”

“Spare it and leave.”

“You must-”

“I said, leave!”

After silence had long had its say, Severus spoke again. 

“There is nothing you can say that will appease me. Don’t attempt it. I will make the damned potion… It will remain untouched and free from my influence. The werewolf will live another day.”

But the Friar had gone. Severus was alone, and only a single wax candle burning remained, floating above him, the last protester in the hold in saving the room from the inevitable plunge into darkness. 

He found himself oddly soft and feeling, and now that there wasn’t anybody to see him like that, he breathed out and made a flailing attempt to sustain it. He sat back, tilted his head upwards, and stared up at the flame, trying to understand what it was like to throb with warmth, for limbs to brush others’ limbs without flinching; trying to taste the yellow and rich that fell in invisible waves upon the vicinity of his office and made it worth using in this late hour.

Perhaps it would taste like rich butter, this yellow light, he thought.  Like Mother’s buttered toast.

His breathing was hard and heavy. He dragged a hand down his face and tried to convince himself that it wasn’t helpless and lost, then reached up and plucked the candle out of the air. He held it tight, felt its unwavering warmth bleeding through the cold of his fingers as he grasped it.

Severus stared at it until he could feel his heart beating again. Beating just a little bit, and it was hardly detectable, but beating nevertheless, raw and still moving. There was a pulse in his neck. His fingers were becoming warm. 

And against all odds and all darkness, to the tired Severus Snape, this light was somewhat tolerable.

End.

---***---

I really enjoyed writing this - it was fun - and I like wisdom from ghosts. Even if they don't exactly do what they intended to, at the end of the day.

If anybody else wants anything written, I'll set up commissions soon (probably for after Christmas), as well as what I do and don't write. Meanwhile, DM me for more details and you can support my little dreamboat here! (So I can publish my own book and become a full-time creator!! <3)

So, if you fancy a chat with Severus Snape, or any other HP (and other, which I will state later) characters, or want to comfort them, or perhaps witness a conversation between them, or see what they would be doing if in the regency era... DM!

Thank you :) Best!

- Jotemvu ☕

[madfantasy]

"Dear dear😈"

Severus Snape knows your secret. He's probably going to pester Albus with it for a whole afternoon (Commissioned by @snapecentric 💛💛)

22.7.2023, Commision/Support Maniii