autumn | severus snape

sixty one

They sat in Severus's personal quarters, sunlight slanting through the windows and painting warm patterns across the floor. Ana was curled up on the loveseat, her knees pulled to her chest, eyes flicking between the three adults in front of her.

Ophelia sat closest, legs tucked beneath her, trying not to show how tightly she was gripping the cushion in her lap. Severus stood behind her, leaning against the wall with arms crossed in a deceptively relaxed pose, while Draco perched on the armrest of the chair across from Ana, one foot tapping lightly on the floor.

"I know it's a lot," Ophelia said gently. "But we just want you to have some peace. You get to choose what that looks like."

Ana nodded slowly, chewing at the inside of her cheek.

"You can stay with me and Severus," Ophelia continued. "You'd have your own room, of course. And... I'd be right here. Always."

"I'd help with your charms work, if you'd like," Severus added, his tone quiet but sincere.

Ana looked up at him, blinking. "Really?"

He gave a small nod. "Your sister told me you were curious. I thought we might... experiment with safer spells first." His mouth twitched, almost a smile.

Ophelia glanced up at him, and her heart squeezed. He didn't often try with others. But he was trying now, for her sister. The tenderness in his voice, the patience in his offer, it was enough to make her fall for him all over again.

Ana looked at Draco next. "And where would we go?"

Draco smiled faintly. "There's a place up north, by the sea. It's quiet. Isolated. I've been going there since the war ended. No one would bother us. We could read, take walks... no expectations, just rest."

Silence settled for a moment. Then Ana whispered, "I don't know how to be normal anymore."

"You don't have to," Draco said, his voice gentle. "You just have to be."

Ana took a shaky breath, her fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater. "I think... I think I'd like to go with Draco."

Ophelia swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. "Okay."

"I just... You've done so much already and I don't want to be a burden," Ana added quickly. "Not to you and not to—"

"You could never be a burden," Ophelia said, her voice breaking as she reached across and took Ana's hand. "You're my sister. I love you."

"I love you too," Ana murmured, squeezing back. "You understand?"

Ophelia nodded, even though it ached. "Yes. Of course I do."

Severus stepped forward, resting a hand gently on Ophelia's shoulder, steadying, grounding. And in that simple gesture, she felt his quiet support wrap around her like armor.

Ana looked down at her hands, then back up at her sister, her voice quieter but steadier this time. "But I want to come visit."

Ophelia's breath caught, and her smile bloomed like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "I would love that." She reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind Ana's ear. "You tell me when, and I'll be there waiting."

Ana leaned into her touch for a moment, her eyes shimmering.

Behind them, Draco gave a quiet nod of approval, and Severus's hand tightened slightly on Ophelia's shoulder, a quiet promise that she wouldn't have to wait alone.

As Draco stood and offered Ana his hand, helping her up with surprising gentleness, Ophelia watched them with something between pride and grief. She would miss her sister terribly.

But healing wasn't always a shared road.

And sometimes love meant letting go, for now.

𖠇

The cottage was smaller than she imagined, tucked deep into the edges of the forest near Spinner's End, quiet and unassuming. The kind of place that could disappear in fog or memory, just as Severus always seemed to.

But when Ophelia stepped inside, something about it felt... steady. Not warm, not exactly, but real. Solid. Like him.

Books lined nearly every wall, their spines worn, pages dog-eared and annotated in cramped handwriting. The air smelled of ink and parchment and faint traces of something earthy, dried potions ingredients, most likely. There was a fire crackling softly in the hearth, and though the room was dim, it didn't feel lonely. It felt lived in.

Severus watched her as she set her trunk down by the door, his expression unreadable.

"This was my home," he said quietly.

Ophelia tilted her head. "Really?"

He nodded his head once. "The house in your neighborhood was too well known... to the wrong people and the right ones. It was a second address. A decoy, I suppose. I couldn't risk being found too easily. This was somewhere to vanish to. It's not much," he said gruffly.

Ophelia walked to him, stopping just a breath away, her lips curling into a soft smile. "It's perfect."

He looked like he wanted to argue with her, maybe out of habit, but her eyes held his, steady and unrelenting, and whatever protest he might have had dissolved on his tongue.

They stood there for a moment, suspended in that quiet domestic uncertainty, two people who had survived too much and trusted too little, trying to find a way to share the same space without falling apart.

Then Severus nodded toward the back door. "I prepared the garden," he said, almost awkwardly. "For your plants. Or... whatever you need."

Her heart squeezed, and she leaned forward, rising on her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Thank you."

A long pause.

"I want this to be more than a place to hide," he said. "And I want to share it with you, if you'll have it."

Ophelia smiled. "I already know what to plant in the garden. You're stuck with me."

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile threatening to appear.

"Then I suppose we'll need stronger wards," he said dryly.

She rolled her eyes. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said."

"I'll try to be less charming," he muttered, but his arm curled around her waist, pulling her close.

Severus's other hand drifted to her neck. His thumb traced light shapes on her throat, his index finger resting just under her jaw, guiding her mouth towards his.

"Severus.."  she whispered.

His name barely left her lips before his mouth found hers, slow, deliberate, like he was still learning how to be gentle. How to want something without destroying it.

Ophelia's fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself as the world fell away around them. He kissed her like a man starved, but still cautious, still aching. There was reverence in the way he held her, as though she were something sacred and breakable and his all at once.

When he pulled back, just slightly, their foreheads touched, breath mingling between them.

"You don't have to be scared anymore, Severus," she said softly, her eyes searching his.

His fingers tightened slightly at her waist. "I know," he murmured, though the words felt like a confession rather than a comfort.

Then, more quietly, like he didn't quite trust himself to say it again, "I know."

She kissed him again, not out of desperation, but promise, and felt the tension begin to melt from his frame, slow and subtle. Like snow thawing after a long winter. There were no more masks left to wear. Just the two of them. Just breath and skin and the impossible grace of beginning again.

That night, she unpacked her books next to his, planted herbs in the window box, and curled into his side on the worn couch, her head on his shoulder as they watched the fire burn low.