Snape And Cats

The accident happens when you are fifteen, on a stormy autumn night. That’s all you remember.

Your parents – and the healers – fill you in of course, on multiple occasions, but it’s all you remember. You don’t remember the curse hitting you, or the masked woman casting it at you. You don’t remember being rushed to St. Mugos or being in ICU for almost two weeks.

What you do remember is a healer telling your parents that you may suffer from short term memory loss. That it’s an uncommon curse that hit you that night and that with time, it will hopefully go away.

It doesn’t.

At first, it’s hard. At first, it’s just about everything. You don’t remember what you had for breakfast. Don’t remember how you got to class, or what the next one will be. Over time, though, you, your parents, and your healers come up with a few methods to help you remember certain things. Making lists helps the most, as does setting alarm clocks.

And the healers aren’t wrong. Your memory does get better over time, but it doesn’t go back to normal. And by the time you are seventeen, of age and finished with school, they’re pretty sure that it’s not going to get much better.

The thing about your memory is that you cannot choose what you do or do not forget. It’s not something that’s set in stone. There’s no equation to say who and what you will remember the next day and what you won’t. Sometimes they’re simple things like names. And sometimes, after meeting a person enough times, you eventually remember them. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes on bad days, you forget the people you’ve known for months and then on good days, you remember them again, clear as day.

On bad days, you have difficulty remembering where you put your wand and must set an alarm clock to remind yourself to take your medication, to eat lunch. On bad days you sit outside on a bench, pounding angrily on your head, because you can’t remember where you are, how you got there and how the hell you’re supposed to get home.

Thankfully you have more good days than bad. Thankfully, you have a few friends that have been around since before the accident – once you can remember – and they help you through the rough days.

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You meet Severus when you’re twenty-three. Or well, you’re pretty sure you do, anyway.

You start working at The Three Broomsticks, Rosmerta being your older sister, has no problem hiring you and you live together in the small flat above the pub. You find out right away, that bar tending is something that comes easy to you. Something that you can work with.

You make lists of all the whiskeys and beers available and tape them behind the counter just in case you forget. And after two years of working there, it’s very rare that you do. When a customer orders a drink, you make sure to either make it immediately, or write it down so you don’t forget. And while it’s challenging, especially on busy night, it helps. It helps to work somewhere fast-pasted. It helps to work somewhere where you to be on your toes.

You happen to meet Severus on a relatively busy night.

Saturdays are always busy, at least during the school year, and while you’re not the only barmaid working, you’re swamped. Thankfully, Rosmerta is back there with you, helping and reminding you if you forget something, which thankfully is few and far between. You’re having a good day. Saturdays are good days.

You’re in the middle of making a drink for a regular when a young, blonde man, as well as a couple of other people take the three open seats on the far end of your side of the counter.

"I'll be with you in a minute," You call, finishing up.

And then you forget.

Someone else in front of you orders a drink and you begin to make it before you glance to your left again.

Shit.

"Sorry about that," You say, once you finally make it to the far end of the counter, "What can I get you guys?"

The blonde orders for the three of them. And while it's something easy - just three Butterbeers - you scribble it down quickly on your notepad, just in case. As you walk away, you hear one of the three of them remark on it -

"She really needed to write that down?"

- and have to bite your tongue. While you’ve dealt with your fair share of bullying over the years because of your memory, you still have a hard time not saying anything back. You have a hard time not picking a fight with someone twice the size of you.

"They're not worth it," Rosmerta always tells you, as if you don't remember the million other times, she's said that to you. And while you know she's right - how are they supposed to know? - You still can't help the way it makes your blood boil.

You make the mistake of setting the notepad down after taking their order, mind too focused on ways to tell them off, and it takes you almost five minutes before you remember. Thankfully, they're still waiting, and you rush over with their drinks, without even so much as a "sorry" or any other kind of parting word. Rosmerta would be disappointed, but you don't care. They were rude.

As you turn to walk away, you hear another one of them grumble -

"Jesus. Took her long enough."

- and you’re about to turn on your heel, but a voice stops you.

"You can at least try not to be such a dunderhead and show some manners." The silky voice drawls angrily. You turn around to see a dark-haired, handsome man sitting next to them, fire whiskey in hand. You can’t remember serving him.

“P-Professor Snape, I –we…” The blond splutters.

“I can distinctly remember that I have taught you better.” He narrows his eyes at them before hissing, “Now pay for your drinks and leave before I forget myself.”

They do as they were told, and you internally thank the stranger.

At the end of the night, You and Rosmerta are closing when she chuckles softly to herself.

“What’s so funny?”

“Severus,” she says, holding a small piece of parchment up. You raise an eyebrow as in ‘who?’ and she explains. “The one that told of these jerks earlier. He’s a regular. You should recognize him by now.”

It takes a second for you, but eventually you remember. How could you forget about that uncomfortable encounter? “What about him?”

She hands you the parchment, allowing you to read it for yourself. “Seems like he likes you.” She remarks.

You sigh, snatching the paper from her hand and look down on it. And scrawled ot in a spidery handwriting is a small note, it reads, “Sorry about these jerks. I tried to teach them better.”

You snort and fold the parchment neatly to place it in your robes.

“A regular, you say. Is he a teacher at Hogwarts?”

“Yes. Severus Snape. I remember him from his school days. A nice bloke. But he never happened to have many friends and there were rumours he was a death eater…” She mutters.

A chill runs down your spine at the word death eater.

“But these rumours pretty much died after he started working at Hogwarts. No one truly believes Dumbledore would have hired a death eater.” She laughs and turns to look at you, smiling.

“He should be around your age, maybe a little bit older. He is pretty cute, isn’t he?”

“I don’t even remember what he looked like,” You respond, rolling your eyes.

“Really?” Rosmerta asks, suddenly feeling bad.

You can’t help the grin that stretches across your face at that.

“Oh, you asshole!” She yells, smacking you with her tea towel.

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The next day you open the pub by yourself, and not even thirty minutes later, a tall handsome man with long black hair walks in and sits down.

You abandon the rag you use to wipe down one of the tables and take your place behind the counter, sans-notepad. “What can I get you?” You ask, leaning slightly against the countertop.

The man eyes you for a moment, as if expecting something else, before he clears his throat. “I, uh – Just a Butterbeer, thanks.”

You retrieve his drink for him, take his money and as you’re about to go back to cleaning you’re interrupted.

“I’m sorry again,” The man says, catching your attention and causing you to turn around, “About last night.”

You furrow your brows in confusion, racking your brain for something – anything –

What did he do last night

Before giving up.

“What happened last night?”

The man stares at you for a moment, mouth open, before he groans, “Oh Merlin, you don’t even remember. Now I’m just the asshole who’s reminding you.”

You can't help but smile slightly at his obvious discomfort. He seems nice – slightly grumpy and maybe a little stressed - but nice. And though he seems like he's in agony, apologizing for something that you don't even remember, you decide to milk it. He is pretty handsome, after all.

"Trust me," you joke, "I don't remember a lot of things."

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The third time you see him, you remember his face, but not his name. It's on a Friday night, before the pub gets busy, and he's there alone. As usual, you assume.

You chat with him for a minute - just small talk - all while trying to force yourself to remember his name. You remember that smile, his cheekbones, and his dark eyes from the last time you saw him but not his name. Of all times for you to forget something...

You want to smack yourself, but thankfully, someone greets him with his last name and his first name hits you like a truck, repeating it in your head, over and over again -

Severus Snape. Severus Snape. Of course, it had to be a weird fucking name.

Rosmerta comes in to close that night, and when she walks behind the counter, she grins wide at you.

"Oh Merlin," You mutter, "What's that look for?"

"Nothing," she says as she passes you, but her grin doesn't fade. "Severus is here."

You role your eyes. "I'm aware of that."

"Just thought I'd remind you," She teases back. And when it earns another eye-roll from you, she adds, "He's checking you out."

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The fourth time that you see him, you still can't remember his name.

And the fourth time you see him, Severus asks you out.

"I-I just wanted to know if m-maybe you wanted to get coffee or something or-" he’s saying, all nervous, and stuttering, and while it's flattering and of course you want to say yes, all you can think of is the fact that you can't remember his name. That you don't even know how many times you talked to this guy now. You know it's a few, and you know that he is a teacher at Hogwarts but that's all you can remember, and eventually, you reach up, pinching the bridge of your nose and closing your eyes tight.

Severus seems to take that as his cue to stop talking, and your eyes immediately fly open.

"I'm sorry-" Severus stops, but you cut him off.

"I'm sorry," You insist, "But what's your name again?"

And while - for a split second, there's that tell-tale hint of worry in his eyes - he manages a smile, and says, "Severus."

"Severus," You repeat, remembering something your healer told you -

Repeating someone's name at least three times after you meet them helps you remember it.

- "I'd like that, yeah."

Severus’ eyes widen, as if your answer catches him off guard. "You-"

"Yeah, I'd like to get coffee with you," you confirm.

By the end of your shift you have set an alarm for two-o-clock on Tuesday -

Date with Severus. The handsome teacher from the pub.

- you note in your little notebook.

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Severus is an absolute gentleman. And throughout the date, your previous suspicions of him being an intelligent, interesting man are confirmed. You’re happy and talkative and bright and he’s reserved but listens carefully to anything you say. And as you talk, you can't help the way that your eyes linger on his lips or hands or even his hair, as if trying to memorize him. 

And as you talk, sitting in a little corner of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, you start dreading a certain part of your conversation more and more. You start dreading it because you really do like Severus. He's got a good sense of humour and an even better taste in literature and he wants to travel too and -

And you hate dates, because at some point, you have to decide if the person is someone you'd like to keep seeing. And at some point, you have to tell them about your memory. And sometime after that point, the person in question decides that they don't want to see you anymore.

After a couple of hours - long after your coffee has gone cold and you've run out of new things to talk about - you realize that you’ve reached that point.

You open your mouth to say something, but Severus speaks first.

"Look, I don't want this to come off as too forward," He starts, "And if you're not interested I’d understand completely. But I really would like to see you again. Outside of your work, obviously."

And your heart absolutely sinks.

You clear your throat, "I uh, I actually need to tell you something, first."

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When you get home early that evening, you shut the door behind yourself and sink to the floor, head in his hands. Rosmerta is up from the couch within seconds, crouching down in front of you.

"(Y/N)?" She asks softly, "Is everything okay?"

You just groan in response.

"Did he-" She starts, but you cut her off.

"He's fucking perfect," You mutter through your hands, and at that, Rosemerta lets out a laugh.

"So, I take it the date went well?"

You nod against your hands, still hiding your face. "More than well."

"Okay..." She says, cocking her head to the side, "So what's with the little fit about?"

It's silent for a few beats while you compose yourself before you pull your hands away, muttering, "I don't want to fuck it up."

"(Y/N)," She groans, "You're not going to fuck it up."

"I might not, but this might," You reply, pointing at your head. And though Rosmerta doesn’t say anything in response, you know very well from experience that it’s a possibility. Even though Severus had seemed completely fine with it, even asking a few questions, wondering what he could do to make things easier for you, there’s still a possibility that your memory could ruin things. There’s always that possibility.

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Thankfully your next two date fall on good days.

When Severus shows up at the flat, you answer the door with a smile, letting him in without missing a beat. And while you ask a few questions that you already asked on your first date, Severus doesn’t even mention it. He doesn’t even bat an eye. He just repeats his answers, as if it was the first time that you asked.

And when Severus brings you home after dinner – thankfully remembering the way to the flat when you draw a blank at first – he walks you to the door, fingers lingering on your arm for a few seconds.

"I had a great time," Severus says, and Merlin it's so cliché it hurts.

Even you catch it, smirking before asking, "So is this where we kiss or...?"

And with a small smile, Severus shrugs - "I guess so," - and leans down, hand soft on the side of your face, and places a quick kiss on your lips.

On your third date, you watch some movies and while you're sitting close on the couch, Severus’ hand resting easily on your leg, something hits you.

"We've kissed already, right?" You ask, turning to look up at him, and to your relief, the look on Severus’ face isn't of disappointment. It isn't a look that says "oh, Merlin she's already forgotten."

No, instead, it's a wide, endearing smile before he nods. "Yeah, we have."

You nod, vaguely remembering it. It had been cliché, outside of your flat door. "Refresh my memory?" You try, and at that, Severus actually laughs.

"How many times have you tried that line?" He asks, even as he leans in close.

You shrug and deadpan, "I don't remember."

And to your relief, Severus’ smile only widens. "Oh," He says, voice lowering as he tilts your chin up, just slightly, thumb running over your jaw, before sealing your lips with his.

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Your fourth date ends in tangled limbs and out of breath gasps, and Severus pressing a wet kiss onto your temple as he rolls off you, sweaty and gross, but also still attractive as ever. you watch the way the muscles in his back move as he reaches over for his wand to cast a cleaning spell. You find yourself staring, eyes following the slope of the small of his back, down his cute butt...

Severus sighs happily, rolling over to face you again.

You mimic him, propping your head up on your elbow. You find your eyes mapping out Severus’ lean chest as well, down his neck, noting the way his collar bone juts out, just like his hipbones and -

"Eyes are up here," Severus teases softly, and you glance up, smiling.

"Sorry," You mutter, "Just storing it away."

And he flashes you a sly little grin, glancing at the clock over his shoulder. "We've got some time before your sister gets home," He says coyly, "If you want me to refresh your memory."

You chuckle, "You think I need it?"

He nods in response, leaning in to press a quick kiss on your lips. Then another. "Definitely," He murmurs in between pecks, "You know, just in case."

The morning after your fourth date, however, begins with you rolling over in your bed - expecting a big, empty space to your right, and finding another body lying peacefully next to you. Your eyes fly open, your hand coming up to cover your mouth before a scream could escape, and you immediately scoot backward so fast that you actually fall off of the bed with a loud thud.

"Fuck," You mutters, "Fuck, fuck-"

You rip one of the blankets off your bed when you realize that you’re completly naked on the floor and quickly wrap it around your chest, just as the man in your bed stirs, turning over.

"(Y/N)?" He asks, silky voice sleepy, “You alright?”

"Rosy!" You call, voice wavering, even as you make eye contact with him. And while he isn't bad looking - and while you are certain that he's in his bed for good reasons - you can't for the love of God remember who he is or how he got there or what happened last night, and that terrifies you. It always has. The worst days are the days that you can't remember the entire day before. The worst days are when you can't remember someone that you’ve met multiple times.

Your bad days have been the cause of many breakups, and though you don't know the context of the man in your bed, you already know that it's safe to assume that this episode - that you on the floor, on the verge of a panic attack - will more than likely scare him away, too, just like everyone else.

Thankfully, a half-awake Rosmerta bursts through the door, pausing for a moment when her eyes come to rest on the half-naked Severus in your bed, before making her way to you. You’re on the ground, clutching the blanket around your body and gasping for air, eyes wide, body trembling.

"Hey, hey," She murmurs, kneeling in front of you, holding onto your arms, "you’re alright, it's okay. Deep breaths. Can you do that? Take deep breaths for me."

"Is there anything I can do?" Severus asks quietly from the other end of the room, and without even looking up, Rosmerta replies.

"You can get dressed," She says, eyes still on you, "And get me a glass of water, please."

"Hey..." She breaths, catching your chin with her fingers when you start to breathe heavy again, gaze lingering on Severus for a second too long, "Look at me. You're alright, okay?"

You nod shakily, sucking in a few quick, deep breaths, "Okay."

"Do you remember anything?" She asks, he hands rubbing up and down your arms softly, soothingly.

You shake your head back and forth in a fast, jerky movement.

"Nothing?" She asks, just to be sure.

"No," you rasps, "I don't know who that is, I don't-"

"Shh, it's okay," She coos, "It's alright, you'll remember, just give it time, okay. This has happened before, remember?"

You nod shakily, "I know."

"So you'll be alright, just take deep breaths," She instructs. There's a rustling on the other side of the room and she glances up to where the dark-haired man stands in the doorway. He doesn't step foot in the room, though, for fear of overstepping some invisible line, and though you don't remember him, not yet, he can't help but like that.

He doesn't look hurt or angry, just concerned.

Rosmerta convinces you to take a hot shower -

"Maybe it'll clear your head."

- and while you’re certain that it won't help as much as she hopes it will, you do need a shower. You feel gross and sticky, and just the thought of why makes your head spin and your stomach feel sick.

While you’re in the shower, Rosmerta waits with Severus in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee.

"I can leave," he says quietly, looking down at his mug, "If I need to."

She eyes him carefully at that, as if she's heard those words before. And hell, she probably has. "Do you want to leave?" She asks at last. The question is laced with plenty of unspoken words, the most prominent being “If you leave now, don’t plan on coming back.”

And while Severus is quiet for a moment, he's certain when he answers with a soft, "No."

"Then you don't need to," She replies, shooting him a smile as she sits down across from him at the table. "If you have any questions, now is the time to ask."

Severus takes a deep breath. He knows that Rosmerta is used to this. She's used to seeing people that get freaked out by you and your memory and your episodes, but Severus isn't one of those people. He's not freaked out. Concerned, but not freaked out.

"Is she going to be alright?"

She smiles, "Oh yeah, she'll be fine. She bounces back pretty quick nowadays."

"And she'll-"

"Remember you?" Rosmerta supplies, seemingly reading his thoughts, "Yeah. I can't guarantee that she will today, but yes, she will."

Severus nods, and it's quiet for a moment before Rosmerta is speaking again.

"Snape."

"Hmm?" He looks up, and to his surprise, she looks incredibly serious, hands gripping her coffee mug tight.

"Are you serious about this?" She asks, eyes narrowed, "About her?"

The question catches him a little off guard and he stammers for a moment when he answers, "I uh - yeah. Yeah, I am."

She watches him for a few seconds, expression unchanging, as if trying to read him, and it hits him hard - though he had already suspected it - that this isn't the first time that you have been through this. That it's not the first time that she's been through watching people get scared off by her sister.

"I'm not going anywhere," He says, keeping eye contact as he speaks, "Unless she asks me to."

You don't ask him to.

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Six months later you start writing the notes to yourself.

Severus is at your flat or the pub more often than not, and one evening he sits down next to you in the living room as you’re pulling a new composition notebook out of a bag and writing "Severus" on the front of it in big, black letters.

"What are you doing?" He asks, handing setting you coffee in front of you at the table.

"Making a list," you mutter, as if it's a no-brainer. You open the notebook up to a fresh page, but don't begin writing anything yet.

"A list about me?" Asks Severus, reaching out to thumb at the notebook.

You nod. "When uh... When I was recovering, the healers said that making lists and writing notes to yourself can help you remember things easier."

"So, you're making a list about me," he repeats, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yes," you reply in an exasperated voice, "And if you keep asking that, the first thing that's going in this list is 'Severus Snape is an annoying little shit.'"

Severus chuckles, "language -"

"Yep," You bite, scribbling something on the paper, "That's it. You asked for it."

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Most days are good days. Most days, you remember Severus, especially after you've been together for over a year. Most days are good, but that doesn't mean that you don't have a bad day every once in a while. It doesn't mean that you don't have a lapse in memory every once in a while, blanking on the name of the attractive man sitting next to you on the couch.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Sev," he says, before you even have the chance to get the question out one night while you're watching some muggle movie. He rests a hand soft on your knee, sparing you a soft smile, "Severus Snape, to be exact." He's had to answer the question a small handful of times now, enough to know when it's coming.

And your mouth curls up into a small smile as well - of course, how could you forget Sev? - and you mutter out a quiet, "Nice to meet you, Sev," before he shushes you, earning a laugh from Rosmerta, where she sits on the other couch.

Most days are good days, but that doesn't stop you from waking up some mornings, in bed next to Severus, mind drawing a blank. Sometimes, you'll remember him - you know who he is - but you don't remember anything about him, and that's when your notes come in handy. On those mornings, you will climb out of bed quietly, tip-toeing across the room to your desk where you open a drawer and pull out the small, beat up composition notebook.

You always flip to the most recent page - those seem to jog your memory the best - and smile.

On one particular morning, you roll over, eyes blinking open slowly, and vision taking a moment to focus on the sleeping form next to you. You know it's Sev.  you've been dating for... A year now? Year and a half? You can't quite remember, but you also can't remember his favorite color right now either. Or where he lives.

Did he move in with you? Is he just staying the night?

Without hesitation, you roll sleepily out of bed, making your way over to your desk and flipping open the notebook. The most recent page is from the previous evening, and you smile as soon as you see it.

"You love Sev's hipbones. Seriously, you fucking love that shit. If he's sleeping right now - which he probably is - look over there. I can guarantee that you'll be able to see them. Now tell me you don't want to fucking kiss them. I'm right, aren't I?"

You snort at your own note, but still glance across the room toward Sev's sleeping form. Sure enough, the blanket over him is high enough to cover his groin, but low enough to expose his lean hips, and you can't help but agree with your note. You did write it, after all.

You flip to the page before it, just for something else to read.

"You love him. And in case you're wondering who I'm talking about, he's the tall, handsome, grumpy looking guy that you're probably freaking out about being in your bed right now. It's okay, you want him there. Just go get back in bed and cuddle up next to him. You love the way he clings onto you when he's asleep, even if it does suffocate you a little sometimes. Go give him a big kiss for me or something."

And while your brain is still struggling to catch up - are Sev's eyes black or brown? – you stand up, stretching, and returns to bed.

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After one great night in particular, almost two years after you start dating, you get home late and the first thing you do is go straight to your room and pull out the notebook, before you forget.

"Severus asked you to move in with him to his chambers in the castle today " You write, unable to hide the smile.

“And I know this isn't really a journal or a diary, so to speak, but I needed to write this down for you, just in case. Because you're not allowed to forget this one. You've been dating for almost two years, now, by the way. So congratulations.

Seriously, though, Sev is the best thing that's ever happened to you. He's sweet and caring and has stuck with your sorry ass for this long. He lets you joke about your memory and doesn’t get mad and kisses your head like it'll make you get better, and sometimes you believe him. It does help.

So, needless to say, you're moving in with him as soon as possible. Rosy will be upset, but she'll be happy. She loves him too.

Now, if you're freaking out and reading this some morning or whatever and have no idea where you are or who he is, it's okay. You're home, and you love him. Now go kiss him for me."

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Most days are good days. Most days, you have something good - or something funny or something embarrassing - to write in the notebook. And after over two years of mostly good days, you have to buy a second one.

Some days are bad, though. Those are the days that you wish you could erase from your memory forever. You wish you could forget the way that you just lost it one night, while in bed with Sev, hips arching up, up, up, when suddenly, you couldn't remember anything. When suddenly, you just drew a blank. When you didn’t recognize the face of the man above you, saying your name in soft, breathy moans, leaning down to press a kiss to your neck.

Rosy wasn't there that night, and you had been hysterical, but Severus had been there, calm and cool and collected as ever, helping you calm down, just as Rosmerta had taught him. He stays with you, even when you scream at him to get out, and he shows you the notebook, promising you that you'll remember again soon.

Most days are good days, though, and you are eternally grateful for that. It seems that every day you're together, it becomes easier for you to remember, to retain information. Every day that you're together, it's easier for you to wake up in the morning, roll over on your side and place a soft kiss on lips of the man lying in bed with you.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," you murmur one evening, limbs tangled with Sev's underneath thin sheets. Your fingers trace up and down his back, dipping down into his lower back then moving back up to his shoulders.

He smiles, "Probably be significantly less confused some mornings."

You groan in response, closing your eyes. "I was trying to be cute, you know," You mutter, rolling over onto your back, untangling your legs from Sev’s.

He rolls over as well until he's half on top of you again and kisses you quickly a couple of times. "Sorry," He mutters, grinning.

"You better be," You tease, "Don't make me write another embarrassing note about you."

Most days are good days. Most days are easy, comfortable, full of love.

Some days are bad, though, and that's inevitable. Thankfully, you have certain pages bookmarked for those days. Simple pages that read something along the lines of:

"You love him. Trust me."

Or,

"Severus Snape is an annoying little shit."

Or your personal favourite, a page you add a little more than five years after you start dating.

Dark clouds fill the high ceiling of the great hall, reflecting the weather of the windy autumn raging outside. The clouds look as if they would burst at any moment and rain down an incredible amount of water. An unpleasant feeling if you look too long. In contrast, the hall, whose walls reflect the great laughter of the children and the serious conversations of the teachers, looks like a place of bliss.

As always, the tables are set with a wide variety of dishes, from roast with rosemary potatoes to fish with vegetables. You have taken your usual place between Minerva McGonagall and Pomona Sprouts and are following the herbology teacher's exciting story. Pomona has an incredibly amusing way of telling the most humdrum story in such a way that you can't stop laughing, and under normal circumstances you would have fallen under the table laughing at her story about another student fainting while repotting mangroves, but today your mind is on someone else. You noticed the absence of the potion master a few minutes ago. Professor Snape was usually seated on the far end of the staff table. From your position you normally could discreetly take a look at him before blushingly lowering your head again. You’ve been crushing over the dungeon bat since the first day you started teaching at Hogwarts.

There was something about that black cladded man that has your heart racing double time. His high cheekbones, deep onyx eyes and wonderfully hooked nose… You love his appearance. Though it’s not conventionally attractive, there’s certainly an appeal to it. But it’s not just that. There is just something about him in a way that gets you all swooning. The way he commands a room simply by entering it. The way his black robes flatter behind him in this majestic, mysterious way. His intelligence, his dry sarcasm, his voice, his hands. Oh, Gods his hands –

“Are you quite alright, dear?” You turn to see a look of concern plastered all over Minerva’s face. A deep blush settled on your cheeks; you were totally lost in thoughts there for a second. “Ah yes. Just… ehm…a mild headache.” You gave her a weak smile and she lets it go resuming eating and engaging in another story with her colleague.

The most embarrassing part about your crush is that Professor Snape never even noticed you. You barely exchanged a word with him before and when you did try to engage a conversation with him, his answers would always be short, clipped and sometimes even dismissing. It’s quite obvious that this behavior is partly just who he simply is. But you often witnessed him talking to Minerva. Their conversations always seem light and easy going. Snape likes the elder witch, and you just can’t help but feel jealous about that. You know that he wouldn’t possibly harbor romantic feelings towards her, but still; you would give up your right hand simply to talk to him once like they do. So, you just settled to swoon over him from a distance. Which today, due to his absence, is impossible.

A light frown settles on your features. You noticed some time ago that he has a habit of skipping meals sometimes, but it doesn’t mild your disappointment. Pomona catches your distraction and follows your eyes to the empty seat on the other side of the table.

“Severus skipping meals again?” She asks. “Too bad. I was hoping to catch up with him about some herbs he needed from my greenhouse.” Minerva suddenly chokes on her meal, coughing frantically. She takes a sip from her goblet and clears her throat. “I guess you won’t be able to that. I’ve heard that Albus –” she stops in her tracks to take careful look at the headmaster, as if to check if he’s listening. “Send Severus on a mission.” She finished.

“A mission?” You ask without being able to keep the curiosity off your face. “In the middle of the term?”

“Ah yes.” Minerva seems suddenly very interested in a piece of potato on her plate. “Apparently it’s something very urgent.”

A nervous laugh leaves your throat. “Sending someone on a mission… It sounds like Professor Snape is some sort of spy.” You muse. “How long will he be gone and who’s going to take over his classes?” You try not to sound too eager. Mission failed successfully. Thankfully no one seems to notice.

“Oh, I don’t know, dear.” Minerva says, “I guess it depends on how long he needs to fulfill his – duties.” There’s something about the way she talks that makes you think she knows something you don’t. Which she probably does. The familiar feeling of jealousy settles in your stomach again along to the pitiful feeling of not knowing how long your crush will be absent.

“As to who is going to substitute for him. I guess we’ll have to work out a schedule.” The elder witch adds thoughtfully. “Would you be able to take over some of his lessons?” She asked and you nodded. Of course, you did.

With that the both of you worked out a schedule after dinner. You would take over Professor Snapes lessons on Monday afternoons and Thursday and Friday mornings. McGonagall and Professor Flitwick would take the rest. You feel oddly close to the potions master on this behalf. Taking over his lesson. Being able to teach within the dungeons he marked as his. It also gives you the chance to prove yourself to him. If you can keep his class under control and even manage to teach some of the stuff on the curriculum, you are sure it would impress him. You will have to prepare this weekend. Thank the Gods it’s Friday.

You are walking down the endless halls of the Castle towards your chambers. It’s a rather chilly night, in the middle of November. Wrapping your robes closer to your body you resume your journey, when you see a black cat on one of the windowsills opposite to your chambers. That’s strange. You’ve never seen this cat before and normally the students’ cats are either near the dormitories or stealthing in front of the kitchen in hopes of getting some leftovers from the house elves. 

It’s sleeping peacefully when you approach it. The poor thing must be freezing, you think. The cat’s ears start perking up the moment you step too close, and its eyes open slowly. A sleepy expression settles on its features, and you suddenly feel bad for waking it.

“Hello little one” you say lowly, carefully reaching a hand for it to sniff it. But the cat ignores it completely. It slowly settles on its feet regarding you carefully. You take it as a sign to stroke it, but the moment you extend your hand the black cat hisses dangerously. Taken aback you remove yourself a few steps from it. Could it be a stray? No, the fur looks to clean and shiny. “Who do you belong to?” You ask, but the cat merely rolls its eyes and settles back in its former sleeping position. You weren’t aware that cats could roll their eyes, nor did you know they could be this expressive with their features in general.

“Aren’t you cold?” You tried again “You could come in, you know? My chambers are right here” Gesturing towards the doors you notice the cats’ ears are moving again. You managed to catch its attention then. “I could make you a makeshift bed and get the house elves to send some food for you.” With that the cat opened her eyes again regarding you carefully, but not daring to make a move.

“Or not.” You say, taking a few steps towards your chambers. “Stay here, in the cold, all hungry with no one to cuddle.” You open the door carefully, not to disturb the cat. It pretends to not hear you, but you can see its ears moving. “Last chance” you say before stepping into your chambers. As if on cue, a cold draught passes the halls and the cat abruptly stands and gracefully jumps off the sill, before making its way towards your chambers. There’s something about the way it carries its tale, so majestic, it reminds you of a certain someone. You quickly shake that thought.

Of course, it had to be the new professor who finds him. He didn’t know it was her chambers he decided to take a nap next to, otherwise he would have chosen a different place. There’s just something about those newbies he didn’t like. They’re just too enthusiastic, too naïve. It’s just annoying to Snape. Most of them are gone after a year anyways since they’re mostly the new DADA teachers. That’s why he normally avoids them like a plague. This one might be one to stick around though.

You’re teaching History of magic as a replacement for the old Binns. The dullest subject in Hogwarts if you ask him. So, he simply assumed that you must be dull, or at least boring, as well. But the students seem to take a liking in you. You even managed to warm a few students to your subject. Some started calling it their favorite after your arrival. He wondered how you managed it. He never asked about it.

And now he finds himself in your chambers. In one of your armchairs to be specific. You’re rummaging in your closet to find some things for his ‘makeshift bed’ and Snape takes the opportunity to take a quick look around. Your chambers are not really how he imagined them. (Not that he was ever specifically imagining them)

The interior is tasteful, with a queen-sized bed, a few cupboards, and armchairs. A fancy sofa in the corner along with a large bookshelf next to it, a comfortable place to stay in on rainy days with a book. Snape takes a closer look at the books and recognizes a few he read himself. Good taste in literature then, he thinks. Not that it matters.

You have all sort of Knick knacks lying around. There’s no order in your belongings, but it’s not exactly chaotic either. Something in between. A few plants here and there, many pictures of family and friends. Nothing special, but he likes it anyways. It’s a place some would call cozy. Too bad he won’t be staying for long. But your offer of warmth and food was one he could not reject. It was freezing in the halls and Minerva wouldn’t let him back inside her office after she kicked him out.

“Ah Ha’! There we go.” You exclaimed suddenly and pulled out a fluffy blanket along with some pillows. “This will do.” Crossing the room, you sit down on the floor next to the armchair Snape settled on. “Do you like it here? Shall I put the bed here?” The way you talk to him, makes him want to fetch his teeth. The unnatural high pitch, like you’re talking to a infant or a –

Cat.

He represses the urge to roll his eyes at his own thoughts and simply jumps from the chair to make room for the bed. It looks quite cozy when you’re finished, he has to admit. As he eyes the bed you quickly take the opportunity to grab him and set him on his new bed. The next thing he knows is your fingernails scratching him delightfully behind his ears and the unasked purr escapes him again. Gods this feels heavenly, even better than when the old headmaster did it.

Snape loses himself for a moment and simply enjoys the sensation when you giggle prettily. “So, you are a cuddly one.” The purr stops. Snape suddenly feels caught. Embarrassed. In his human form, he would be blushing to the fullest. A frown settles on your features, and you regretfully withdraw your hands. “Let’s get you some food, hm?”

A few minutes and a huge amount of turned down canned tuna later you realize that Snape prefers his food cooked and humanlike. You shrug when you plate him a portion of the casserole leftover from dinner and shriek delighted when he starts eating it.

“You have a very interesting taste for a cat.” you muse. “But I wouldn’t bother with tuna either if I’m being honest.” For the first time that evening you take of your robes and hang them in your closet, sighing tiredly. You’re left in a simple dress that hugs your curves beautifully and you tie your normally lose hair in a messy bun. It looks quite flattering. The way the lose strands frame your face makes your high cheekbones more prominent.

“You know, I should probably give you a name, don’t you think?” Snape feels very annoyed of the prospect of you giving him a name. But he just keeps eating, pretending he hasn’t heard you. “At least until I’ve found your rightful owner.”

A thoughtful expression settles on your face as you regard him. “Well, I don’t need to look twice to see that you’re a male. It’s written all over your features.” You gesture vaguely at him. “Since you like the casserole so much, what about ‘Casserole’?” His tail involuntarily snaps at this idea and your giggles ring through the room. “You’re right! That’s just silly.”

You hum while thinking of a better name. “You really remind me of someone.” You say and a rosy tint appears on your cheeks. “But Professor Snape will probably kill me if he finds I named a Cat after him.”

The cat’s ears perk up at this. Professor Snape. As if I’m her teacher. But he never offered you to call him by his first name, he guesses. A feeling of regret settles in his guts. He ignored you instantly without even giving you a chance and here you are offering him nothing but caring warmth. Offering this to a cat! Not you, you idiot! It doesn’t matter, he decides and makes a mental note to be nicer to you once returning to his normal self.

“I think I’ve got it.” You exclaim excitedly. “I’ll call you ‘Midnight’! It fits perfectly with your fur.”

“You insufferable, arrogant…”

Well shit! This time he really managed it. He brought Minerva McGonagall to her limit. Ever since Snape started teaching at Hogwarts, he wondered how much it would take for Minerva to fully lose it. Because no matter how many boundaries he overstepped, that woman always managed to stay put. The witch would simply purse her lips, say something flat and leave.

But this time her head turned dangerously red, and the insults just seem to keep spilling out of her mouth. Apparently, all it takes to bring that vicious side out of her, is to question her ability to keep an order in her office. An odd reason to snap, Snape thinks. But perhaps this was simply the last drop it took after the potion master purposely tried to enrage her over the last two weeks.

It started as an experiment. He was bored and curious. But now that he reached his goal Snape feels suddenly very ashamed of himself. He respects Minerva with his whole heart. She’s been a mentor to him over these past years, almost like a mother. And here he is, purposely hurting the elder witch simply to satisfy his own curiosity like a silly child.

He opens his mouth to apologize but Minerva merely raises a forbidding hand while her other hand clenches dangerously around her wand. She rambles on about how respectless he behaved these past days and Snape is sure that she’s about to hex him. His own hand finds his wand within his robes on instinct. And he’s right. Within seconds the woman raises her wand and fires of a wordless spell in his direction.

The wizard is fast enough to block it, but the spell hits the large mirror in the corner of Minerva’s office and reflects it right back at him, hitting him in the chest. A weird feeling spreads where the spell hit. Suddenly the room starts to spin, and every piece of furniture becomes much larger. Snape has to look up to see the smug smile on Minerva’s face. Has she shrunk him?

The wizard also registers many new smells and sounds. It’s like his senses are on overdrive. Suddenly Snape realizes that he’s on all forth and looks down to see he has paws instead of hands and feet. His head turns to the mirror. If his normal sunken face would be reflected, it would have been paler than usual, but instead, he sees a black cat looking back, mimicking his actions.

The shock was apparent on the cats’ face and Minerva couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. “Well finally you get what you deserve, Severus” She says “Remember when you said that I couldn’t even manage a simple transformation spell last Monday? Well, there you go.” The witch turns to walk around her desk, sits down and starts fondling a bunch of parchment before shooting an amused smile at Snape.

“If you think you’re so much better at everything than me, then I suggest you try to turn back into your human form by yourself. I mean, I wouldn’t want to mess it up.” Minerva is well aware that it’s almost impossible for a non-Animagus to simply transform back without being able to wave a wand or say the spell. But that’s exactly the point. She recognized the game Severus was playing lately and he definitely needs to learn his lesson. Let him wander around like a cat in the castle for a while. Gives him time to think!

Snape tried to argue but nothing, but a pathetic meow leaves his throat. Minerva seems pretty pleased with herself. “Go on.” She says waving him off, “You may leave now!”

What? She does not really expect him to leave in this state! Snape lets another annoyed meow escape his throat before slinking towards Minerva’s desk. The soft pads of his paws feel weird on the hard stone floor and his movements are silent even though he’s trying to stomp with rage.

With a light swoosh Snape manages to land in front of Minerva on top of her desk. He hisses at her, his tail swaying nervously behind him. Strange how natural it feels to use that new body part. “Oh no, no, no! Such a bad little kitty.” Minerva mocks him “C’mon now. Shoo!” She gestures him to move off her table, but he won’t budge. She just has to transform him back, right now!

A loud knock sounds at the door and soon Dumbledore enters the room. Thank the Gods, Snape thinks. At least someone reasonable enough in this castle to help him out of his pathetic state. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle as he scans the Situation in front of him. Snape scrambles to his feet, or paws, and almost runs towards the elder Wizard calling “Help me, headmaster!”, but the other man hears merely a strangled growl.

“Got yourself a new friend, I see.” Dumbledore calls and bends down to give the cat a little scratch behind his ears. The cat hisses at him and takes a few steps back. “Not a friendly one” he muses. “Where did you find it, Minerva?”

“Oh, I saw him right outside the castle and took him in. We have so many cats here, I thought one more stray wouldn’t matter anyway.” She said with the most innocent voice she could muster, and Snape shoots her a vicious glare.

The old wizard chuckles. “You always had a heart for strays, didn’t you?” He can’t be serious right now. Snape lets out a frustrated growl, but the sound leaving his body sounds almost cute.

“You know, Minerva,” Dumbledore leans down again and grabs the cat before it can escape. He cradles it in his arms and starts scratching its head. Involuntarily, a low rumble leaves Snapes throat. He’s purring. “This cat reminds me of someone.”

“Oh really?” Minerva doesn’t look up from the assignment she started marking, feigning innocents.

 “Doesn’t it remind you of a certain dungeon bad?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle as he shoots Minerva an amused look. He knows, Snape thinks hopefully. His hand doesn’t stop scratching and the cat can’t stop purring. It just feels so nice, damn it!

“Well, now that you mentioned it, I can see the resemblance.” She smiles “Maybe Severus would be interested in this Cat. As far as I can remember, he doesn’t have any pets.” Minerva’s eyes find Snape’s and a hiss escapes him.

“What a wonderful Idea!” Dumbledore exclaims. He sets the cat back on the floor and makes his way to the door, already leaving the office.

“Albus?” Minerva calls and Dumbledore turns to face her once more. “Why did you stop by again?” The headmaster chuckles. “Oh right. I just thought I heard something off in here. Thought I should take a look. But apparently everything here is just perfectly fine.”

The old wizard shoots the cat a very amused look and winks at Minerva.

 “Well then, Have a nice evening.”