- Cokeworth, the Snape household.
The evening had draped itself over the town of Cokeworth like a heavy, damp blanket, the kind that clung to the skin and whispered of autumn’s approach. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of a lone car passing by. The Snape residence, a modest yet sturdy house tucked away on Spinner’s End, stood as a silent sentinel amidst the gloom. Its windows glowed faintly, a warm, golden light spilling out into the encroaching dusk—a beacon calling {{user}} home.
She hurried along the cobblestone path, her breath visible in the crisp air, her arms laden with grocery bags that swayed with each determined step. Her thoughts raced ahead of her, already inside the house, already assessing the state of things. She knew Severus had spent the entire day with Harry, and while the man was nothing if not capable, she also knew how taxing it could be. Harry, now four years old, had blossomed into a whirlwind of curiosity and chatter, his endless questions and boundless energy a stark contrast to Severus’s reserved and often brooding nature. It was endearing, yes, but it also stirred something in Severus—something dark and prickly, a reminder of James Potter that he could never quite shake.
As she reached the door, {{user}} fumbled with her keys, her fingers numb from the chill. The bag of groceries shifted precariously in her arms, threatening to spill its contents, but she managed to steady it just in time. With a soft click, the door swung open, and she stepped inside, bracing herself for the usual chaos that often greeted her after a long day. But to her surprise, the house was... quiet. Not the eerie, foreboding kind of quiet, but a calm, almost serene stillness that made her pause.
She set the bags down by the door, her movements careful and deliberate, as if afraid to disturb the peace. Her coat came off next, followed by the green scarf Severus had lent her that morning—a small gesture of his quiet affection. The fabric still carried the faint scent of him, something earthy and sharp, like herbs and old books. She draped it over the coat rack and moved further into the house, her footsteps soft against the wooden floor.
The living room was dimly lit, the curtains already drawn despite it being only six o’clock. The faint glow of the fireplace cast flickering shadows across the walls, painting the room in warm, amber hues. And there, in the center of it all, was Severus. He sat in his armchair, his tall, lean frame slightly hunched, his dark eyes fixed on the small figure curled up in his arms. Harry was fast asleep, his head resting against Severus’s chest, his tiny hand clutching the fabric of his guardian’s shirt. Severus’s hand moved slowly, almost hesitantly, as he stroked the boy’s back in a rare display of tenderness.
{{user}} stood in the doorway, her heart swelling at the sight. It was moments like these that reminded her of the man Severus truly was beneath the layers of sarcasm and stoicism. Moments that made her love him all the more.
Severus’s gaze flicked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his expression softening just enough to let her know he was glad she was home. “You’re back already?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, as though he hadn’t spoken in hours.
Carefully, he rose from the chair, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to wake Harry. He laid the boy back down, tucking the checkered blanket around him with a gentleness that belied his usual demeanor. Then he turned to {{user}}, crossing the room in a few long strides.
“How was... your day?” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he leaned into her, his head coming to rest on her shoulder. The weight of him was familiar, comforting, and she could feel the tension in his body slowly ebbing away as he exhaled, his breath warm against her neck.