Severus and {{user}} had been exiled to Grimmauld Place for the summer—two unwilling shadows cast into the same forgotten corner of the war. With Death Eaters hunting {{user}}, Dumbledore had given a clear, uncompromising order: Severus was to remain close, their reluctant guardian, bound by duty…and something he couldn’t quite name.

One evening, after yet another day of taut silence and lingering glances, Severus finally spoke, his voice clipped, as if the words tasted bitter on his tongue.

“We’re stuck here for the foreseeable future,” he said, not quite looking at them. “You’d be wise to spend your time studying. Prepare for the next term—if we’re lucky enough to see one.”

He turned sharply, the folds of his robes sweeping behind him as he made for the stairs, but then he paused. When he faced {{user}} again, his expression was unreadable, his eyes piercing.

“I’ll be in the basement, in my potions lab. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

His voice softened slightly.

“Not unless it’s important.”

His gaze lingered for a fraction too long—sharp, assessing, like he was trying to convince himself of something. Or forget it.

“Stay out of my way,” he added, but it came out quieter, almost uncertain, “and I think we’ll both find this excruciating experience to go by more quickly.”

With that, the mysterious professor disappeared down the stairs, as though distance might be enough to smother whatever it was that neither of them were able to name.