Chapter Text
A faint yet hurried knock echoed through the chamber walls of a man with thick black hair. His robes brushed against the floor as his hands rested lightly on the quilt, the nib of his quill gliding across parchment in neat, deliberate strokes.
Severus Snape’s eyes flicked toward the door for only a moment. The knob twitched, then the door creaked open an inch. He looked back down at the parchment, continuing to write as if the intrusion were expected.
“To what do I owe your visit at this hour, Professor Slughorn?” His voice was calm, low, and precise.
“Well, I intentionally came here,” Slughorn replied with a sheepish smile, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “I thought perhaps you’d accompany me to the Three Broomsticks for a drink. It has been quite a long day.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
Snape did not stop writing. “I take it the students you usually pester for company were unavailable. So now you’ve come to me.” His tone was bone-dry.
Slughorn chuckled nervously. “Not at all, my boy, not at all. You know I value your company greatly.” His eyes darted to the potions lining the shelves. “It’s just that the others seemed occupied, and I’m dreadfully in need of a sip of firewhisky and a taste of pumpkin pasty.”
“Put that back,” Snape murmured, without even glancing up.
Slughorn froze mid-reach toward a vial. “Ah—yes, of course,” he said, quickly returning it to its place.
Snape finally lifted his gaze, dark eyes meeting Slughorn’s with a measured calm that made the older man fidget.
“Very well,” Snape said after a long pause. “I suppose I could tolerate it. I’ll join you, though I see no reason to find it entertaining.” He rose from his chair, sliding it neatly back under the table before striding toward the door.
Slughorn’s face split into a wide grin. “Splendid! Excellent choice, Severus.” He gathered his cloak eagerly, and within moments, both professors vanished into thin air.
---
A sharp crack echoed through the thick night air as they appeared in Hogsmeade. The crowd around the Three Broomsticks was lively and loud, voices overlapping in laughter and chatter. Slughorn shuffled toward the pub with enthusiasm, while Snape followed at a measured pace, his long strides parting the crowd with minimal effort.
Inside, Slughorn found a seat near the bar, already ordering a plate of pumpkin pasty and a tankard of firewhisky. Snape sat beside him, his expression unreadable as Slughorn began eating noisily.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Slughorn said through a mouthful of pie. “It’s been ages since I’ve had one of these.” He pushed another plate toward Snape. “Go on, try one.”
Snape declined with a curt shake of his head.
Slughorn sighed dramatically, taking another bite. “Well, more for me then.”
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Slughorn set his tankard down and turned toward Snape with a lowered voice. “Professor, I didn’t just bring you here for company. I need advice.”
Snape’s hand stilled around his glass. “I suspected as much.”
Slughorn leaned in, lowering his voice further. “I can’t discuss this at Hogwarts. Too many ears about. It’s about Flitwick. His health. He’s been overworked since You-Know-Who’s return. All those enchantments and wards—it’s taken a toll on him. Albus is worried.”
He fiddled with his waistcoat, glancing around before continuing. “Now there’s talk of bringing someone in to assist him, or worse, replace him.”
Snape’s expression remained impassive. “Then do not replace him,” he said after a pause. “Hire someone to learn under him. An assistant, not a successor. It keeps his pride intact and still relieves the strain. Dumbledore gets his reassurance, and Flitwick keeps his dignity.”
Slughorn blinked, impressed. “Brilliant as always, Severus.”
Snape finally reached for a fork and sampled a small piece of the pasty. “Hardly brilliant. Just practical.”
---
A week later, Hogwarts was alive again.
The Great Hall buzzed with laughter, the air alive with the energy of returning students. Candles floated above the long tables, their glow reflected in the polished silverware.
Among the faculty, a young woman sat at the staff table, hands fidgeting with her utensils. Verena Silverleigh was new, elegant, and visibly nervous. Her dark brown hair was neatly pinned, and she kept aligning her forks and goblet as if symmetry might calm her nerves.
The hall filled rapidly. At last, the candles flared brighter as Dumbledore rose from his seat, smiling warmly.
“Dearest witches and wizards, welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Before our feast begins, I have a small announcement.”
His eyes sparkled. “Professor Flitwick will be joined this year by an assistant to share his duties in Charms. Please extend a warm welcome to Professor Verena Silverleigh.”
All eyes turned toward her.
McGonagall nudged her gently. “Up you get, dear.”
Startled, Verena rose quickly, knocking over her goblet with a loud clang. A ripple of laughter passed through the hall. She smiled awkwardly and gave a small wave before sitting down again, cheeks flushed.
As the feast began, she poured juice for her neighbors in an attempt to recover. McGonagall nodded approvingly. Sprout thanked her with a warm smile.
Then she turned to the man beside her—pale skin, black robes, hooked nose, expression unreadable.
Snape’s eyes were fixed on his plate, his low voice carrying toward Professor Sprout. “Perhaps a draught of human transfiguration would suffice, if stabilized properly.”
Verena hesitated, then offered politely, “Would you like some juice, Professor?”
Snape looked up.
For a moment, time stopped. His gaze locked on hers, studying her face as though trying to place it. The air seemed to thicken between them before he finally extended his goblet.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
She filled it carefully and smiled. “I’m Verena Silverleigh.”
“I am aware,” he replied, tone clipped. “The Headmaster announced it minutes ago.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Right. Of course.”
For the rest of the meal, she stole discreet glances at him. There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself—controlled, deliberate, as though he were perpetually holding back a storm.
“Verena!” Slughorn’s jovial voice interrupted her thoughts. He waddled toward the table, Hagrid following close behind.
He plopped into the seat beside her, grinning. “Brought a few things for your classroom. Hagrid helped me pick them out.”
Hagrid handed her a bag filled with feathers and candles. “Figured yeh might be needin’ these.”
“Thank you,” Verena said, smiling warmly.
Slughorn leaned closer. “Between us, my dear, you’ve Severus to thank for being here. It was his idea you assist Flitwick.”
Verena blinked. “Professor Snape?”
Across the table, Snape coughed softly, setting down his goblet before standing and leaving without a word.
Slughorn carried on, oblivious. “Albus thought it best, and Severus agreed. Said you’d be a fine addition.”
Verena frowned slightly. “How did he even know me?”
Hagrid chuckled. “You were in the Prophet a while back, weren’t yeh? Somethin’ about Ministry work.”
She smiled faintly, though her mind lingered on Snape’s abrupt exit.
“How tall is he anyway?” she muttered under her breath.
---
The next morning, Verena hurried to the Charms classroom, arms full of books and feathers. Flitwick was already there, floating candles into place.
“The students will arrive any moment,” he squeaked.
“Yes, Professor. I brought extra feathers in case some get… accidentally exploded.”
He chuckled approvingly, and soon the room filled with students.
The lesson flew by. Verena’s voice grew hoarse from guiding spell after spell, but the spark in her students’ eyes was reward enough.
By the end of the day, she returned to her quarters, greeted by the flutter of an owl. A letter awaited her, sealed with elegant handwriting.
Loveliest Ver,
I can’t believe how empty this office feels without you. I miss your laugh. How was your first day teaching? Write me soon, my love.
– Rowan Thorne
Verena exhaled softly. She remembered their last argument, his anger, the slammed doors, the broken plate. And now he missed her. She folded the letter neatly, placing it on her desk before stroking her owl, Duchess.
A knock startled her. A timid first-year Slytherin stood outside, clutching her books.
“Professor Silverleigh? I had some questions about Charms,” the girl murmured.
“Come in, dear. Let’s go over them together.”
Hours passed as they practiced. When the girl finally smiled in triumph, Verena’s heart warmed. She offered to walk her to the Slytherin dorms, not wanting her to roam the halls alone.
The corridors glowed faintly with torchlight as they descended into the dungeons.
“Thank you, Professor!” the girl said, disappearing behind the stone doors.
“Professor Silverleigh.”
Verena turned sharply. Snape stood behind her, half-shrouded in shadow.
“Oh, Professor! Please, just call me Verena,” she said with a polite smile.
He ignored the suggestion. “May I ask what business you have in the Slytherin dungeons?” His voice was measured but carried quiet authority.
“I was escorting a student,” she explained. “She came to my chambers for help, and I couldn’t let her walk alone.”
Snape’s expression didn’t change, though something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. “Dinner begins at seven,” he said finally. “The buffet is punctual.”
And with that, he swept past her, robes trailing behind him like a moving shadow.
---
That evening, the Great Hall shimmered with candlelight once more. Verena sat at the staff table, nerves settling as conversation buzzed around her.
“Settling in?” McGonagall asked kindly.
“I’m managing,” Verena said.
Flitwick beamed. “She’s doing splendidly already!”
Snape’s low voice cut through their chatter. “One day does not define a career, Flitwick. We’ll see how long her optimism lasts.”
Verena smiled tightly. “I assure you, Professor, I’ve endured worse than overconfident first-years.”
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Letters already, Professor Silverleigh? Family?”
“No, not family,” Verena said softly. “My partner. Rowan Thorne. He works at the Ministry.”
Snape’s hand froze midair.
“A partner,” he repeated quietly. His tone was unreadable, but his eyes had gone colder.
“Yes. He writes often,” Verena said, smiling faintly.
Flitwick clapped his hands together. “How lovely! Long-distance is never easy.”
Snape said nothing more. His hand tightened around his goblet before setting it down with a soft clink.
He didn’t speak again for the rest of dinner, though Verena felt his gaze on her from time to time.