The castle was alive with the echo of winter — laughter in the halls, enchanted snow drifting past frosted windows, and the faint hum of carols you’d taught the choir for the upcoming Yule Ball.

You were tidying sheet music on the piano in the Great Hall when someone cleared their throat behind you.

You turned — and there he was. Professor Severus Snape, every bit as composed and intimidating as ever, though something about the way he stood, stiff and uncertain, made your heart skip the same way it had the day you’d first met him in line for the Sorting Hat all those years ago.

You still remembered that moment — two first-years, both too nervous to speak, bumping shoulders and mumbling apologies. You’d shared an awkward smile then, and though years had hardened him, that image of the boy with shy eyes never quite left your mind.

“Good evening, Severus,” you said, smiling softly. “What brings you out of the dungeons? Surely not a carol request?”

Severus gave a low sigh. “Hardly. I came to deliver… this.”

He extended a folded piece of parchment toward you. His long fingers trembled ever so slightly.

You took it, brows raised. “A letter?”

He muttered, “Of sorts.”

Unfolding it carefully, you blinked in surprise. It wasn’t his handwriting. His handwriting is oddly beautiful. It was unmistakably Professor McGonagall’s — also beautiful, but neat, elegant, but slightly impatient.

———

“You are cordially invited to accompany Professor Severus Snape to the Yule Ball. Formal attire required. Please do not refuse — it would be terribly bad for his mood (and the morale of the staff room).” — Sincerely, Severus Snape, and Minerva McGonagall.

———

You bit back a smile, glancing up at him. “So… you’ve taken to hiring a scribe for your correspondence now?”

A faint flush crept up his neck. “She insisted on… assisting with the presentation.”

“Oh, did she?” you said gently. “And let me guess — Dumbledore might’ve had a hand in this too?”

Severus looked away. “I may have consulted him regarding… etiquette. And phrasing.”

For a long moment, you just stared at him — the same Severus you’d known since that first awkward bump in line, now a man still terrible at showing affection, but trying. Trying for you.

You folded the letter carefully, smiling softly. “You could’ve just asked me yourself, you know.”

Severus met your eyes, hesitant but sincere. “I feared you’d say no.”

You stepped closer, your voice quiet. “After all these years, Severus… I think you should know I never say no to you.”

For once, he was speechless. A rare and precious silence.

Then, just faintly, the corner of his mouth curved upward. “I shall hold you to that, then. Saturday evening?”

“Saturday,” you confirmed, unable to hide the warmth in your voice.

As Severus turned to leave, the candlelight flickered softly across his face — and for a fleeting second, you saw that same shy boy from the Sorting Hat line, trying to be brave.

You smiled to yourself, tucking the letter close to your heart. McGonagall’s handwriting or not, the message had always been his.