Chapter Text
Dear James,
I’m writing just to let you know that everything here is fine. Dad’s fully recovered and he’s back to his usual self, pottering around the garden and complaining about the weather, as always. I’m doing well too; things at home are quiet enough, and I’ve been keeping busy catching up on some reading and practicing a few spells.
I’ve been wondering how you’re getting on up at Hogwarts. How are things in the castle? And more importantly, how are you and Snape? I know things haven’t always been easy between you two, and I’d really like to know if you’re managing to get along a little better these days. I hope you’re both keeping out of too much trouble, at least!
Write back soon and tell me all the news. I’d love to hear from you.
Yours,
Lily
🦌۶ৎˎˊ˗ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ🐦⬛
The days that followed settled into a strange, easy rhythm; one that neither of them could have imagined possible just a week prior. They took meals together, worked side by side in the Potions lab, and even ventured out into the grounds occasionally, though Snape still drew the line at anything involving broomsticks.
James had wandered the halls for nearly an hour, growing steadily more bored. He had returned to the Gryffindor common room only to find it nearly deserted; the few younger students who had stayed behind had long since retreated to their dormitories, leaving nothing but the familiar crackle of the fire and the rustle of pages from a single second-year buried in a textbook.
James had paced the length of the room twice, flipped through a discarded Quidditch magazine, and even attempted to do some of his own homework, only to find his mind wandering.
With a sigh, he pulled the Marauder’s Map from the inner pocket of his robes, tapping it lightly with his wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”
The ink unfurled across the parchment, revealing the layout of the castle in intricate detail. His eyes scanned the labeled names, skipping over unfamiliar ones until he found the one he was looking for.
The dot was stationary, deep in the dungeons, in the very heart of the Slytherin quarters.
James frowned.
They had parted ways an hour earlier, Snape muttering something about “resting his eyes” before disappearing down the stone steps. It was early still so James was sure the other boy wasn’t sleeping.
James rolled the map up and tucked it away, a mischievous glint forming in his eyes. He was bored. Terribly bored. And if there was one thing he had learned over the past few days, it was that Severus Snape was far more entertaining company then being alone.
He hurried into his own dorm and reached into the bottom of his trunk and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, the heavy, shimmering fabric falling over his shoulders and rendering him completely unseen. A wide grin spread across his face.
This was going to be fun.
Navigating to the Slytherin common room was easy enough, he knew the route well enough from years of pulling pranks, though he had never actually entered before. The entrance was hidden behind a stretch of bare stone wall in the dungeons, marked only by a faint, carved serpent. James waited in the shadows, listening carefully, until he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.
A small, wide-eyed first-year Slytherin came hurrying along, clutching a stack of books to his chest, muttering the password to himself as he walked. “Pure-blood prestige,” he whispered, and the stone wall slid smoothly aside to reveal a dimly lit passageway.
James slipped in right behind him, silent as a shadow, and followed the boy at a safe distance until he turned off toward the lower dormitories. Once the corridor was empty, James pulled the map out once more to confirm his direction, then made his way deeper into the Slytherin quarters.
The air here was cooler than in Gryffindor, smelling faintly of damp stone and polished wood, lit by flickering green torches that cast long, dancing shadows across the walls. It was quiet, save for the distant crackle of a fire in the common room far behind him.
James stopped outside a plain wooden door, marked with a small, tarnished silver plaque bearing Snape’s name and a couple others. He listened carefully for a moment, hearing nothing but the faint scratch of a quill on parchment from within. Perfect.
He pulled the Invisibility Cloak tight around himself, turned the handle slowly, and pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.
The room was sparsely furnished, nothing like the warm, cluttered chaos of James’s own dormitory. A narrow bed stood against one wall, covered in dark, plain linens, while a heavy oak desk was pushed up beneath the only window, its surface covered in stacks of leather-bound books, glass vials, and sheets of parchment covered in Snape’s looping, spidery handwriting. A small fire burned in the hearth, casting a soft, golden glow over everything.
Sitting hunched over his work, was Snape. He was completely absorbed, his quill moving rapidly across the page, his dark hair falling forward to curtain his face, completely unaware that he was no longer alone.
James waited until he was standing directly behind the desk, then pulled the edge of the cloak back just enough to reveal his face and cleared his throat.
“Evening, Snivellus!”
Snape shrieked, a very high and sharp sound that was almost identical to the one he’d made in the Forbidden Forest. He jumped nearly out of his chair, his quill flying from his hand and clattering onto the desk, ink splattering across his notes. He spun around, wand appearing in his hand and pointing it directly at James’s chest, before he actually registered who it was.
His face went pale, then flushed a deep, furious red. He scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet, his chest heaving as he stared at James.
“Potter!” Snape shrieked, his voice cracking slightly before he regained control of it, lowering his wand but keeping it ready at his side. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here? How did you get in? Have you lost your mind completely?”
James let the cloak fall fully from his shoulders, grinning broadly as he leaned casually against the desk, hands in his pockets. “You looked like you could do with some company. And I was bored. Terribly bored. The castle is far too quiet without everyone here.”
“You broke into my room!” Snape hissed, though it was mostly just shock, and perhaps a little embarrassment at having been so thoroughly startled, again. “Do you have no concept of privacy? No sense of decency?”
“I didn’t break in,” James corrected, looking around with mild interest. “I used the front door. Very decent.”
Snape glared at him, though he was already putting his wand away and smoothing down his rumpled robes. “This is not a game, Potter! You have no right to be here! How did you even get past the entrance? You’re lucky I don’t raise the alarm! Why are you even here?”
“Looking to pass the time,” James said, wandering around the desk and glancing at the open books. “And you’re working again. You’re always working. When do you ever stop?”
Snape gathered his scattered quills and inkwell, moving them slightly out of James’s reach with a protective scowl. “When I have learned everything there is to learn. Which will take a great deal longer than your attention span usually lasts. Now, if you have finished your… intrusion… you can leave. I have work to do.”
“Work can wait,” James said, ignoring the suggestion entirely and instead pulling out the wooden chair opposite the desk and sitting down, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “It’s almost Christmas! We’re supposed to be relaxing. Enjoying ourselves. I’m bored, you’re bored, even if you won’t admit it, so let’s do something else.”
“I am not bored,” Snape said automatically, though he didn’t actually tell James to leave again, eyeing him with a mixture of suspicion and resignation instead. “And what exactly did you have in mind? More attempts to get me on a broomstick?”
“No,” James said with a laugh. “Though that was fun.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers. “I know. We’ll play a game.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “How very juvenile of you. What kind of game?”
“Questions. We take turns asking each other anything we want. It’ll be interesting. We know practically nothing about each other, really.”
“That sounds like a terrible idea. And a waste of time. I have no interest in telling you anything about myself, and even less interest in hearing about your privileged little life.”
“Scared?” James teased, grinning. “Afraid I’ll ask something you don’t want to answer?”
Snape’s jaw tightened. “I am not scared of anything you could possibly ask, Potter. I just see no point in it.”
“Then prove it,” James said, leaning forward. Snape stared at him for a long moment, weighing his options. “And if I refuse?” Snape asked slowly.
“Then I’ll just stay here and bother you anyway,” James said cheerfully. “I’m very good at talking. I can do it for hours. You’ll get so sick of my voice you’ll be begging to answer questions just to make me stop.”
Snape stared at him for a long moment, then let out a long, weary sigh, dropping back into his chair and rubbing a hand over his face. He looked defeated, like he knew he wasn’t going to get rid of James easily. “Fine,” he said at last, his voice flat. “But if the questions become ridiculous or insulting, I will not hesitate to throw you out myself.”
“Deal!” James beamed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’ll go first. What’s your favourite potion to brew?”
Snape blinked, clearly expecting something far more pointed. He considered the question for a moment, his expression softening just a fraction as he thought about it. “The Draught of Living Death,” he said finally. “It is complex, precise, and requires absolute focus. It is not something that can be rushed or done carelessly.”
“Sounds serious,” James said thoughtfully. “Alright, your turn to ask me.”
Snape’s lip twitched into the faintest of smirks, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Why do you always feel the need to show off?”
James shrugged, though the question gave him pause. “I don’t know. It’s just what I’ve always done. It feels good, I guess. To be good at something, to make people laugh. Though…” He trailed off, thinking of Lily’s words, of the way Snape looked at him sometimes. “I suppose sometimes I go too far. I’m working on that.”
Snape studied him, seemingly surprised by the honest answer. “Your turn.” he said quietly.
“What’s your favourite thing about Hogwarts?” James asked.
For a long while, they went back and forth, the questions starting light and easy, gradually growing deeper as the awkwardness faded and the tension loosened. James learned that Snape had taught himself basic potions before he even came to Hogwarts, using old books he’d found in his house. Snape learned that James had been flying almost as soon as he could walk, that his parents had encouraged it from the start.
They talked about favourite subjects, least favourite teachers, what they wanted to do after leaving school. Snape revealed he hoped to become a Potions Master, perhaps even work for the Ministry or open his own apothecary. James said he planned on becoming an Auror though he admitted that he always dreamed of becoming a professional Quidditch player.
The fire burned lower, casting longer shadows across the room, and the atmosphere had shifted entirely. Then James leaned forward again, his tone becoming a little more serious, a little more curious. “Why did you stay here for Christmas?” he asked quietly. “You said it wasn’t because of Lily. So why? Most people would give anything to go home, even if it’s just for a few days.”
The warmth that had been slowly building in the room vanished as if a door had been slammed shut. Snape’s expression shuttered completely, his eyes hardening, his posture stiffening. He looked away, staring at the dark stone wall, his jaw tightening.
“I told you,” he said, his voice colder now, clipped and distant. “It is none of your concern.”
“Come on,” James pressed gently, sensing he’d touched a nerve but not wanting to let it go. “We’re answering truthfully, remember? You asked me about showing off, I answered. It’s only fair.”
Snape’s hands curled into fists on the desk, his knuckles turning white. “It is not the same thing. That is trivial. This is—” He broke off, shaking his head sharply, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “This is personal. You have no right to ask.”
“It’s just a question,” James said, holding up his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to—”
“No,” Snape cut him off, standing up abruptly and pushing his chair back so hard it scraped loudly against the stone floor. “This game is over. You’ve had your fun, Potter. Now leave.”
James frowned, taken aback by the sudden change. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just curious—”
Snape looked at James, and for a moment, there was something raw and vulnerable in his eyes, but it was quickly buried beneath layers of anger and defence.
James hesitated, seeing the way Snape’s shoulders were tense, the way his fingers were still curled into tight fists, the way he refused to meet his eyes. He knew he’d pushed too far, crossed a line he hadn’t even realised was there. “Snape—” he started, his voice softer now.
“Leave,” Snape repeated, louder this time. “Get out. Now. Before I decide to make you leave.”
James stood up slowly, picking up his Invisibility Cloak and folding it carefully over his arm. He looked at Snape, who was standing rigidly by the desk, staring at the floor, his face a mask of cold detachment, though James could see the faint tension in his jaw, the way his breathing was still slightly uneven.
“Alright,” James said quietly. “I’m going and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Snape didn’t reply. He didn’t even look up. He just stood there, silent and unmoving, as James walked to the door.
James paused with his hand on the handle, glancing back one last time. He hesitated before pulling the door open and slipped out into the dim corridor, letting it close softly behind him. He stood there for a moment, staring at the dark wood, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and guilt swirling in his chest. He’d learned more about Snape in that one evening than he had in six years, but he’d also seen that there were depths he wasn’t ready to explore, walls that were still far too thick to break down.
Shaking his head slightly, he pulled the cloak back over his shoulders and made his way silently back through the dungeons, his mind turning over everything he’d seen and heard. Some things, it seemed, were better left to be revealed in their own time.
🦌۶ৎˎˊ˗ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ🐦⬛
James lay still in the snow, the cold seeping through his robes but feeling strangely distant, as if it belonged to someone else. Above him, the sky was a pale, washed-out grey— no sun, no stars, nothing to tell him where he was or how he’d gotten there. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t right; Hogwarts’ grounds were familiar to him down to every hidden path and gnarled tree, but this stretch of white was unknown.
He looked down, and his breath caught.
Severus Snape was straddling his hips, dark robes dusted with snow, his face pale and sharp in the diffused light. It should have been strange— more than strange, it should have been wrong, alarming, something that would have made James leap up and reach for his wand in an instant. But for some reason, it wasn’t.
There was no anger in Snape’s dark eyes, no sneer, no biting remark waiting to be spoken. Just a quiet, heavy sort of intensity, as if all the sharp edges between them had been smoothed away, leaving only something raw and unguarded.
“You’re cold,” Snape said, his voice low and soft, nothing like the cutting tone James was used to hearing. It sounded almost like concern.
James found himself nodding, his fingers moving of their own accord, reaching up to brush a strand of black hair away from Snape’s forehead. It was softer than he’d imagined, fine and slightly tangled from the wind. He kept his hand there, threading his fingers gently through it, and Snape didn’t pull away.
Instead, he leaned down, his dark eyes never leaving James’s, and the space between them narrowed until their faces were only inches apart. James could feel the warmth of Snape’s breath against his lips, could see the faint, almost imperceptible way his eyelashes fluttered.
This was mad.
But still, James didn’t move away. He found himself leaning up slightly, his heart beating a strange, steady rhythm in his chest, and Snape came closer, until their lips were almost touching, the air between them thick and charged with something neither of them had ever named.
James jolted awake.
His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, his face burning so hot he could almost feel the heat radiating off it. He lay there for a long moment, staring up at the canopy of his four-poster bed, the familiar red and gold curtains drawn around him. It had been a dream. Just a dream.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, mortification coiling tight in his stomach.
Severus Snape. Of all people.
He shifted, and immediately became aware of another, far more embarrassing detail: he was hard, a heavy, throbbing ache low in his inner thigh that made him flush even deeper. Merlin, what was wrong with him? It was probably just the cold of the dream, or the fact that he’d been stuck in close quarters with Snape for far too long. That was all it was. Too much time alone, too much quiet, his brain playing tricks on him. Nothing more.
James swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up quickly, ignoring the way his body protested, and pulled on his clothes with brisk, jerky movements. He told himself he was rushing to get to breakfast, not because he was desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the lingering feeling of Snape’s breath against his lips, the softness of his hair beneath his fingers. Definitely not that.
When he reached the Great Hall, the long tables were mostly empty, the enchanted ceiling glowing with soft morning light. His eyes scanned the room automatically, and before he could stop himself, they landed on the Slytherin table. Snape was there, sitting alone as usual, staring down at his plate with a dark, brooding expression. He looked exactly as he always did; grim, unapproachable, the very picture of someone who would rather be anywhere else. Nothing like the quiet, almost gentle figure from James’s dream.
James swallowed hard.
Usually, he would have made his way over there without a second thought. They’d started eating together after their evening’s spent together, bickering all the while but somehow finding it easier than sitting in silence. But today, the thought of sitting across from him, of looking into those dark eyes and remembering the way they’d looked in the snow, made James’s stomach twist.
Instead, he turned sharply and headed straight for the mostly empty Gryffindor table, sliding onto a bench near the end, far away from anyone who might try to talk to him. He grabbed a piece of toast and took a bite, though it tasted like ash in his mouth. He could feel Snape’s eyes on him but he didn’t dare look over.
Right. Snape was probably still furious about last night anyway. That was another reason to keep his distance.
He’d been meaning to apologize. He knew he’d been out of line, even if he did think Snape had been a little overdramatic. But now, with that strange dream still lingering in his mind, the idea of going over there and saying anything felt twice as difficult. He’d have to do it eventually, though.
James picked at his food, his mind drifting back to the dream no matter how hard he tried to push it away. It had felt so real; the cold of the snow, the weight of Snape above him, the softness of his voice.
Just a dream, he told himself firmly again.
But as he glanced up, just for a second, and caught Snape staring back at him from across the hall, his expression unreadable, James felt his face heat up all over again. He quickly looked down at his plate, his heart picking up speed.
Maybe he’d spend a little less time alone with Severus Snape for a while. Before his imagination decided to conjure up anything else even more ridiculous.
🦌۶ৎˎˊ˗ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ🐦⬛
James pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he stepped past the boundary line, the familiar warning sign of the Forbidden Forest fading behind him. The air here was colder, sharper, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. His breath plumed in white clouds before his face as he pressed forward, boots sinking slightly into the thin layer of snow that still clung to the shaded ground.
He had a plan. A good one, he told himself.
After the awkwardness at breakfast and the lingering embarrassment of that strange dream, he’d been desperate to find a way to make things right.
Midnight Snapdragons were hard to get. Which, James had decided, made them perfect. If he could find them, it would show Snape he was serious about apologizing. And more than that— they could brew another Heightening Mentality Draught together. The last time they’d made it, even through all the bickering, it had been fun.
James smiled faintly, recalling the exact words Snape had recited to him beforehand, as if he’d known every detail by heart:
“Midnight Snapdragons have dark purple leaves and bell-shaped flowers that hang downward. They emit a faint violet glow in low light. Look for the glow. And be careful not to step on the vines; they are incredibly sensitive.”
He paused for a moment, considering shifting into his stag form, it would cover ground much faster, and his senses were sharper as an animal. But he shook his head. Better to stay human; if he found them, he’d need his hands to harvest them properly, and shifting back and forth would only waste time and energy.
He pushed deeper, the trees growing thicker overhead until little daylight filtered through, leaving the forest in a dim, twilight haze. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours until he caught it: a faint, shimmering violet light through the trunks ahead.
He hurried forward, stepping carefully as Snape had warned, and there they were— clustered around the base of a great oak, their dark leaves almost blending into the shadows, their drooping bell-flowers glowing softly like captured starlight. It was beautiful, and rare, and exactly what he needed.
James pulled a small kitchen knife from his robes, he’d grabbed it quickly from the Great Hall that morning, and now, as he held it, he briefly wondered what kind of knife Snape was using last time they had found the Midnight Snapdragons, had he brought it from home? He brushed the thought aside. His kitchen knife would do the job.
He leaned in, steadying his hand, and carefully sliced through the thick stem just above the root.
The moment the blade cut through, a thin, sweet-scented vapor rose from the wound, swirling up around his face. James blinked. It smelled like honey and rain. The edges of his vision blurred, and the forest seemed to tilt gently around him.
Strange, he thought, trying to focus. I don’t remember them doing this.
Then the trees in front of him seemed to shift, and through the haze, he saw her.
She was standing a few feet away, her red hair bright even in the dim light, her expression soft and familiar. James’s breath caught. “Lily? But you’re—you’re back home for the holidays. What are you doing here?”
She didn’t answer, just smiled that kind, easy smile of hers, and James found himself taking a step toward her, forgetting the flower in his hand, forgetting everything but the sight of her. But before he could speak again, another figure appeared beside her—tall, dark-haired, grinning like he’d just pulled a brilliant prank.
“Thought you’d be here,” Sirius said, his voice echoing strangely, as if coming from far away. “You’re always charging off without thinking, Prongs.”
James shook his head, trying to clear it, but the fog only thickened. His legs felt heavy, unsteady, like they were sinking into the snow beneath him. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, though his voice sounded distant even to his own ears. “Just… just getting the ingredients. For the draught. For Snape.”
Lily and Sirius seemed to fade, their forms wavering like smoke, and in their place, the forest seemed to stretch endlessly, spinning slowly. James stumbled, his knees buckling, and he reached out to steady himself against a tree trunk that wasn’t quite there.
“Potter!”
It was unmistakable. That voice, sharp as a shard of glass but laced with something that sounded almost like alarm. James lifted his heavy head, and through the swirling mist, he saw him.
Snape was running toward him, dark robes flying, his face pale and tight with worry. This was the real Snape, the one who sneered and snapped, but right now, there was no trace of mockery, only urgency.
James’s legs gave way completely, and he collapsed backward into the snow, just as he had in his dream. But this time, the cold bit through his robes, sharp and real, and when Snape dropped to his knees beside him, there was no strange sense of comfort or softness.
“Idiot,” Snape hissed, though his hands were gentle as he caught James’s shoulders before his head hit the frozen ground. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking? You cut them wrongly, didn’t you?”
James stared up at him, the haze softening Snape’s sharp features, making him look less severe, more like the boy he’d seen in his sleep. His mind was still drifting, but he could feel the panic rolling off Snape, could see the way his dark eyes darted over James’s face, searching for something.
He’s worried, James realised, a faint, warm feeling spreading through his chest despite the cold. He’s actually worried about me.
He tried to smile, though it felt wobbly. “S’okay,” he slurred, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. “Didn’t mean to… make a mess. Got the flowers, though. For the draught. Apology. You said… said they glow. And vines are sensitive. Remembered that.”
Snape’s expression shifted, something he quickly tried to hide behind a scowl. “Of course you remembered the useless part and ignored the rest. One wrong cut, and the plant releases a mild neurotoxin that causes hallucinations and severe confusion. You’re lucky you didn’t pass out deeper in the woods where something worse could find you.”
James could feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision now, warm and heavy, pulling him down. But he didn’t want to go yet, not when Snape was looking at him like that, not when he could feel the solid weight of his hands on his shoulders.
“’M fine,” he murmured again, trying to lift a hand to reassure him, though it fell back weakly into the snow. “Don’t… don’t look so scared. Just… just tired. That’s all.”
He wanted to say more, wanted to apologize properly, to tell him he hadn’t meant to pry or upset him yesterday, but the words tangled in his mind. The violet glow of the flowers seemed to dim, and Snape’s face began to blur again, though he could still hear his voice, clearer than anything else, cutting through the fog.
“Stay awake, Potter. Do you hear me? Keep your eyes open.”
James tried. He really did. He focused on Snape’s dark eyes, on the way his hair fell across his forehead, on the faint, familiar scent of potion ingredients and soap that clung to him. I’m here, he wanted to say. I’m not going anywhere.
But the darkness was too soft, too inviting, and with one last, slow breath, his eyes fluttered shut, and he slipped away.
“James?”
James blinked his eyes open slowly, the first thing he registering was the soft, enveloping warmth that chased away the biting cold of the forest and the snow.
For a moment, he lay still, disoriented, staring up at a dark wooden canopy overhead that was distinctly not his own four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. His robes were gone, folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and instead he was wrapped tightly in a thick blanket, its fabric a deep, rich green that felt warm against his skin.
He shifted slightly, and the scent hit him, familiar and comforting in a strange way: dried herbs, polished wood, and the faint, sharp tang of potions ingredients. It was a scent he’d grown used to over the past few days, sitting across from Snape in the dungeons, working late into the evening.
Slowly, memory began to piece itself back together: the glow of the Midnight Snapdragons, the sweet vapor that had clouded his mind, the visions of Lily and Sirius, and then Snape, rushing toward him, his face etched with a kind of urgency James had never seen directed at him before.
He looked around the room, and recognition clicked. This was Snape’s dormitory. He’d only been here once before, the previous night, when he’d snuck into the Slytherin tower and headed for the dorms only to find Snape still working at his desk. The room was neat, much like James remembered it. Shelves lined with books and glass vials stood against the walls, and a small fire crackled gently in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the stone floor.
Just as he was trying to make sense of it all, he heard the creak of the door. It swung open, and Snape stepped inside, carrying a wooden tray balanced carefully in both hands. He looked tired; there were faint shadows beneath his eyes, and his dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. He was still in his usual black robes, though they looked damp at the cuffs, as if he’d been out in the cold.
Snape’s eyes flicked to James immediately, and he paused for just a fraction of a second before moving toward the bed. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice rough but lacking its usual bite. He set the tray down on the small bedside table. On it sat a bowl of steaming porridge, a cup of tea, and a small, clear glass bottle filled with a pale, shimmering liquid. “Drink this first.”
James pushed himself up into a sitting position, the green blanket slipping slightly off one shoulder. He took the bottle carefully, his fingers brushing briefly against Snape’s, and tipped it back. The potion tasted sharp and minty, with an underlying sweetness, and as soon as it hit his tongue, he felt the last of the fog in his head clear away, leaving him alert, though still a little heavy-limbed.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice sounding clearer now. He looked up at Snape, who had pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down, watching him with an unreadable expression. “What… what happened exactly? After I cut the flowers?”
Snape’s lips twisted into something that was half a scowl, half genuine exasperation. “What happened is that you cut it wrongly and inhaled the pollen directly— Midnight Snapdragons are not just rare ingredients, Potter. Their vapor induces vivid hallucinations and slows your body’s functions rapidly. Had I not followed you and found you when I did, you would have slipped into a deep sleep and frozen to death in that snow long before anyone else thought to look for you.”
James felt a flush creep up his neck, half embarrassment, half genuine relief. He’d known the forest was dangerous, but he’d been so focused on finding the flowers, on making a proper apology, that he’d never stopped to think about the risks. “Right. Well… thank you. I mean it. I’d probably be a popsicle right now if you hadn’t shown up.”
He paused, his brow furrowing as a new question took root in his mind. He looked at Snape, studying his face. “But… why were you there anyway? I didn’t tell anyone I was going.”
For a moment, Snape said nothing. His gaze drifted to the fire, and James saw the faintest, most unusual change cross his features; his pale cheeks darkened slightly, a faint pink flush rising high on his cheekbones. It was so unexpected that James almost thought he was imagining it, a leftover effect of the pollen.
Snape cleared his throat sharply, as if to cover the moment. “I noticed you leaving the castle heading toward the forbidden edge,” he said, keeping his tone as dismissive as he could manage, though there was a slight tightness to his words. “I was curious. You’ve been acting strangely all morning. It was obvious you were up to something. And besides…” He hesitated, then added, “You’ve followed me into the forest before, when you thought I was up to something. It seemed only fair to return the favor.”
James blinked, a small, surprised smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He had followed Snape more than once in their earlier years, suspicious of what he was doing, though lately it had been more out of curiosity than malice. “Fair enough, I suppose,” he said softly.
The smile faded a little as he remembered the other thing he’d wanted to say. He shifted, looking down at his hands for a moment before meeting Snape’s eyes again. “And… about the other night. When I came here. I’m sorry. I pried, and it wasn’t any of my business. About why you’re staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas hols instead of going home. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
The tension in the room softened, just a fraction. Snape studied him for a long moment, the usual sharpness in his gaze mellowing into something more thoughtful. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have pushed.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “But I appreciate your apology, nonetheless.”
He fell silent for a few seconds, then seemed to make up his mind about something. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but deliberate. “If you truly wish to make amends then there is one thing you could do.”
James raised an eyebrow, curious now. “Name it. Within reason, of course.”
“Tomorrow is the weekend,” Snape said, and to James’s utter shock, that faint pink tint returned to his cheeks, though he kept his chin raised defiantly. “Hogsmeade will be open. I intend to go to restock some ingredients and pick up a few things. I’d wish for you to accompany me.”
James stared at him, completely taken aback. For a second, he was sure he’d misheard. Accompany him? Go to Hogsmeade together? He felt a strange, warm flutter in his chest, something that felt suspiciously like the same feeling he’d had in his dream, mixed with disbelief. Was this… was Snape asking him out? Or was it just a practical arrangement? But the way Snape avoided looking directly at him, the way his fingers tapped lightly against his armrest as if he was nervous, suggested it was something more than just an errand run.
Despite himself, James felt his own face grow hot, a bright red spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling as awkward as he had after waking from that dream. “Oh,” he said, his voice coming out a little higher than he intended. “Right. Hogsmeade. Together.”
He saw Snape’s expression shift, as if he was already regretting the offer, his jaw tightening. “It is only fair,” Snape said quickly, his tone sharpening slightly to cover his own uncertainty. “You owe me after the trouble you’ve caused. And it would be… more efficient. With two people, we can finish faster.”
James let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly. He looked at Snape, at the way he was trying so hard to make it sound like a chore, even though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something else, and found himself smiling genuinely, the embarrassment easing into something lighter. “Okay,” he said, nodding firmly. “Yeah. I’d like that. I’ll come with you. Tomorrow.”
Snape blinked, clearly not expecting him to agree so readily. He cleared his throat again, regaining some of his usual composure, though the faint flush hadn’t quite faded. “Good. Then it is settled. Eat your breakfast and finish the potion. You need to regain your strength if you intend to walk to the village tomorrow without collapsing.”
James picked up the spoon, still feeling a strange, giddy warmth spreading through his chest.