autumn | severus snape

sixty four

Severus stood in front of the mirror, buttoning the cuffs of his formal robes, the black fabric as pristine and intimidating as ever. Ophelia leaned against the doorframe, barefoot, holding his bowtie loosely in her hands.

"You're going to make every poor Ministry official quake in their boots," she said with a smirk, crossing the room.

"They should be so lucky," he replied dryly, but there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes as she came to stand in front of him.

"Here," she murmured, slipping the bowtie around his collar. Her fingers moved deftly, but slower than usual. She adjusted the knot with careful precision.

He watched her the entire time, his hands resting lightly on her hips. "You look beautiful," he said simply.

Ophelia glanced up at him, the corner of her mouth curling. "I haven't even finished getting ready."

"I know," he said.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the warmth that bloomed in her chest. "You're not so bad yourself. Very... terrifyingly elegant."

He smirked. "Exactly the look I was going for."

She stepped back to admire her work, brushing an invisible piece of lint from his shoulder. "You clean up well, Professor."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss Delisle."

Her smile faltered just slightly as she looked up at him. The quiet calm in his eyes, the way he always seemed to make space for her even when he didn't know what to say. The way she already missed him and she hadn't even decided if she was going to leave yet.

But it was inevitable.

"Ophelia?" he asked softly, sensing the shift.

She shook her head, forcing a light laugh. "Nothing. Just... don't get used to looking this put together. It's extremely suspicious."

He raised a brow. "I'll be on my worst behavior, then."

But when she turned back toward the wardrobe, her smile dimmed. That sinking feeling in her chest hadn't gone away.

Because beneath the celebration, the awards, the speeches and gowns, something heavier lingered, something she hadn't told him yet.

And she was terrified.

𖠇

The garden behind the Ministry had been transformed for the celebration, floating lanterns drifting lazily in the air, tables draped in rich green and gold, and music playing softly under the hum of conversation. People were laughing, embracing, remembering.

But Severus Snape wasn't listening to any of it.

He slipped through the crowd with quiet determination, scanning the faces until he saw the one he'd been looking for, Professor Pomona Sprout, standing near a table of enchanted blooms, laughing with an old colleague from the Herbology department.

He waited until the conversation lulled, then cleared his throat softly.

"Professor Sprout."

She turned, her face breaking into a wide smile. "Severus! You're mingling, should I be concerned?"

He almost smiled. Almost. "Only mildly," he said. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, curious, but she nodded and followed him a few steps away from the crowd, to a quieter corner near the flowering archways.

"Well," she said, arms folded across her chest. "You've got that look about you, Severus Snape. Like you're about to brew something dangerous or tell me you've adopted a magical creature."