— You didn’t expect Severus to sulk over a potion.

It had started a month ago, when Dumbledore approached him with a request—to brew Wolfsbane for Remus, the newest addition to the staff. You knew the moment the name was mentioned that Severus would decline. His past with the Marauders still haunted him, the bitterness stitched into his memory like an old scar that wouldn’t fade. He’d looked Dumbledore in the eye and simply said, “Ask someone else.”

So you did it. You volunteered without hesitation.

At first, it was purely professional. Remus was polite, soft-spoken, and surprisingly easy to be around. Grateful, too. He’d thanked you often, offered to help clean, and even stayed after one evening just to chat about potioneering advancements. Friendship bloomed in the quiet. Nothing more. But you started noticing a change in Severus.

He grew tense whenever Remus entered the staff room. His hands stiffened around his tea whenever the two of you laughed. And tonight, as you graded parchment by candlelight, Severus paced the room, arms folded, jaw clenched.

“I suppose he’s your friend now,” he muttered.

You looked up, startled. “Who?”

“Lupin,” he snapped, not meeting your gaze. “You spend more time with him lately than with your own husband.”