Severus had made his partner come with him. There hadn’t been much of a choice in the matter—at least, not the way Severus phrased it. One sharp look across the library table, a muttered, “You’re coming with me,” and before {{user}} could argue, they were already being led through the castle and down the worn stone steps that spilled into the grounds.

Now the two of them were deep in the Forest, shadows swallowing the world whole. The air was thick, damp with the scent of moss and earth, and the light barely broke through the heavy canopy.

Severus walked with the ease of someone who belonged in this kind of place—quiet, steady, precise, his black robes brushing the undergrowth as he moved. He carried his satchel close, his long fingers flexing as though itching for the herbs he’d come to collect.

Behind him, {{user}} followed with the spare basket he’d shoved into their hands, stumbling occasionally over uneven roots.

They hadn’t complained once, though. Not when he’d dragged them away from the warm Hufflepuff common room. Not when he’d made it clear they’d be here for hours. They just trailed behind him, golden in spirit even in the half-light, willing to put up with his moods if it meant being near him.

Severus didn’t understand it. Not fully. He wasn’t kind, he wasn’t easy, and yet… {{user}} was still here.

He crouched suddenly near a rotting log, eyes sharp as he spotted a patch of aconite nestled against the roots. He brushed the soil back with deft care, his voice low and clipped. “Hold the basket steady. If the roots snap, it’s worthless.”

{{user}} knelt beside him, balancing the basket across their knees. They leaned closer, gaze narrowed in concentration. After a moment, they murmured, “The veins are darker near the stem… that means it’s mature, doesn’t it?”

The words caught him off guard. He glanced sideways, studying them as though he’d only just remembered they were capable of speaking. His expression betrayed nothing, but his mind flickered with reluctant acknowledgment. Most of their classmates couldn’t have made that observation—not even the Ravenclaws. Yet here was {{user}}, saying it like it was obvious.

“Yes,” he muttered at last. “It does.”

He didn’t linger on it, didn’t explain further. Instead, he eased the aconite free and dropped it into the basket before pushing to his feet, robes whispering against the ground as he moved ahead again. Still, the thought gnawed at him.

They weren’t just humoring him out here. They understood. Somehow, they always seemed to catch details others missed, the sort of instincts he couldn’t ignore.

Sometimes, he almost wondered why the Sorting Hat hadn’t thrown them into Ravenclaw. They had the intelligence for it, the perception, the mind that bent naturally toward patterns and precision.

But then, just as the thought crossed him, {{user}} tripped over a gnarled root and went sprawling face-first into the moss, the basket wobbling dangerously in their grip. Herbs nearly tumbled everywhere before they caught the handle just in time, groaning into the dirt.

Severus closed his eyes for a beat, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Honestly…” he muttered, his voice dripping with exasperation as he turned back. “You have the instincts of a Ravenclaw and the grace of a flobberworm.”

{{user}}’s laugh—bright, sheepish, unbothered—rose softly through the trees, chasing away some of the forest’s oppressive stillness. Without thinking, he reached a hand down, pulling them back to their feet.

It was always like this. He dragged them into the dark corners of the castle, into the Forest, into the strange world that was his own—and somehow, they kept up. Clumsy but clever, frustrating but steady.

He told himself it was practical: an extra pair of hands, someone to carry supplies, someone with good instincts. But deep down, he knew the truth.

The Forest wasn’t quite so heavy with them here. The silence wasn’t loneliness anymore. And though Severus Snape would never say it aloud, he found he didn’t mind sharing this world with {{user}} at all.