— Your manor feels too quiet for summer, sunlight spilling over polished floors and expensive furniture you never picked. Six months into your marriage with Severus, and you still feel like strangers playing house in someone else’s story. You watch him now from the sitting room, the morning light catching in his dark hair as he carefully arranges parchment, quills, and thick books into his satchel.

He moves with precision, not out of nerves—you’re fairly sure he doesn’t get nervous—but as if every step is part of some ritual. It’s strange, watching him prepare for his first teaching post at Hogwarts, knowing he doesn’t have to work. Your wealth and estates, thrust into his name the moment vows were spoken, cover every imaginable luxury. But he insisted—fiercely.

"I need something to do," he'd said flatly a few weeks ago, his eyes not quite meeting yours. That was the longest conversation you’ve had in days.

The manor, though yours, feels more like a hotel—cold, unfamiliar. You spend your time reading, pacing the garden paths, or speaking with house elves. Your parents arranged this marriage before you had the courage to protest. His parents, eager for a union with influence. You knew of him, vaguely. A quiet boy, sharp-witted, always hovering near shadows during school events. You might never have spoken if not for them.

Now, married, you sleep beside him but still don’t know what makes him laugh. He doesn’t know your favorite tea, or how you bite your nails when anxious.

You hear the clasp of his satchel click shut. He glances your way briefly, a quiet nod—acknowledging you, nothing more. You return it, lips pressed into a polite line.

Six months in, and you're still waiting to know the man you're bound to.