𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐲

Cold. Intimidating. Surly. 

Those were the words commonly used to describe Severus Snape. 

So imagine one’s surprise when it was found out he was married. 

“What?” 

“You’re barkin’…”

“There’s no way anyone would marry that git.’

How could anyone marry, let alone tolerate someone with his personality? Could such a person really exist?

Well…yes.

You, his former classmate and someone he hadn’t reconnected with until ten years after graduation, had managed it. His friend, one of the few classmates at Hogwarts he tolerated, who had been there for his trials and triumphs, who still made time for him despite their nearly opposite schedules, managed to chip away at the ice and severity he projected towards those he was wary of. His mask. His protection.

And beneath it, he was a certified yearner.

It felt like an invisible, aching pull toward you when you were in the room that made his hands clench and unclench in desperation. And it drove him mad. 

His eyes would lock onto you like you were a crystal ball that could tell him all the secrets of the universe. They’d trace your face, your fingers, the curve of your clothed back, memorizing every inch of your being. The things he wanted to touch. Hold. Kiss.

But he never allowed himself the luxury so easily. That is to say, he never initiated. 

If you had ever come up behind him and wrapped your arms around him or placed a kiss on his cheek while he was making tea, then by all means, he would return it tenfold. But taking the initial step to begin with was something he never did. 

Severus had the lesson beaten, quite literally, into his head that men who showed vulnerability and a need for the softer things made them weak. Made them pathetic. That it didn’t make him a man. It was a different story with sex. Society perpetuated that demanding and taking it, as dubious as that was, attributed masculine value to him. Of course, he never exercised such brutish behavior, nor agreed with it. 

When it came to wanting your affections in general, however, the shame he had learned from a young age had always overpowered his want for it. He often suffered in silence, vibrating with the desire to swaddle you in his cloak-clad arms and litter your face and neck with kisses. So when you’d floo into his office to stay with him in the evenings and on the weekends, he felt he was forced to stand there and wait for you to give him that lovely smile, set your things down, and draw him into a hug and a kiss rather than approach you himself.

Then, it happened. 

A business excursion. 

You weren’t originally meant to go, but someone had fallen ill, and you were their substitute. You’d be gone for a week in Italy. Italy. A country where men were raised to be very demonstrative with their affections. Where you could, quite possibly, be stolen away from him by someone with well-groomed hair and sinful compliments. But there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was see you off and murmur words of encouragement to you before he would be officially deprived of your presence for seven gruelling days.

***

The shift was immediate. 

Severus was more curt to his colleagues and harsher in his classes, his frustration mounting with every day that passed. Dumbledore had assumed something had happened between the two of you, a disagreement or fight of some kind that left him more brooding than usual. When Severus was questioned on it and answered that you were to be away in a different country for a week, the two older staff members shared a knowing look of amusement. The man was merely missing you.

Every evening, by himself, he spent in front of the fireplace, a book he would attempt to read discarded in his lap, and his head propped up on his fist, staring into the flames. You being gone forced him to think about how many moments in the span of your relationship he had wasted when he could’ve pressed his lips to yours or when you had finished organizing a cabinet, and he could’ve turned you around and slipped his arms between yours and held you close. He would never tell you this, but he missed you so badly that by day two, he had enlarged a pillow to be your size, wrapped it with one of your cloaks you had left behind that smelled strongly of you, and spooned it at night during the entirety of your absence.

On the last day of your planned trip, he had spent the entire evening after his final class pacing about his office, unnecessarily rearranging books and decorations for the millionth time, anything to keep his mind off the impatience that ate at him like termites on wood. He was acting ridiculously, and he knew it. Surely, he was not this needy, that he wasn’t creating indents in the stone floors from how intensely agitated his footfalls were. But he was at his breaking point.

Damn propriety. He needed you.

When his floo crackled with green sparks, his head snapped toward the childed masonry. There were a few more firm pops, and suddenly, WHOOSH! Green fire erupted upwards for just a second before vanishing, and in its place stood you. 

It took him no longer than two seconds to cross the room. 

You stepped out of the floo, hardly having a moment to set your suitcase down and look for your partner, before you were wrapped in warm black cloth and a pair of lips pressed firmly against yours. 

You gasped against the kiss, taken aback by the abruptness of it until you realized it was Severus, but then your brain short-circuited further, that this was also Severus initiating. You had never minded that he didn’t, as he was always receptive to you, and his nature with most other people was more reserved, but this was still a pleasant surprise. 

His mouth moved against yours passionately, his movements desperate, yet devastatingly precise in how his lips molded against yours. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand pressing your back and the other threading in your hair, keeping you right where he wanted for now. You melted cooperatively against him, a fact that greatly relieved Severus as you matched his mouth with pleasurable hums, arms looping around his neck. 

After a good minute or two, you just barely managed to separate from him to get a few gulps of much-needed air, pink-faced and panting the first syllable of his name before his mouth was back on yours, unwilling to separate for longer than even a moment. This time, while keeping his lips on you, his hands grabbed your waist and guided you hurriedly to the couch, where he hit the edge of the cushion and plopped down, dragging you with him, and manhandling your body to straddle his lap with your torso, pressing against his. 

You were stunned by this sudden bout of forwardness from him and subtly wondered if this would turn sexual at all, but his hands travelled no lower than your waist, and to your relief, as you were a bit tired and just wanted to relax despite missing him. 

You did your best to keep up with the way his mouth worked against yours, intoxicated by this desperate version of him that sought you without hesitation. You had noticed in the past the way he always seemed to wait for you to hug or kiss him, and not always easily; sometimes with great, visible restraint; his hands flexing at his sides were always the sign that he was trying very hard to contain the yearner in him he tried to hide deep down. But he wasn’t hiding it now. 

The next time you separated, it was he who eased you back by your shoulders. Both of you were practically heaving, pink in the face as you attempted to catch your breath. 

“That was a nice welcome home,” you chuckled breathlessly, cupping his face. It was an innocent statement, and really, just slipped out. Using humor to break the tension was always your go-to. However, it had the opposite effect.

Severus made an expression you could only label as him “clamming up.” His breath stilled, jaw tightening, and his eyes flicked down and away at some unknown point. It was the face he made when he was confronted over something he knew was his fault when the two of you argued. His throat bobbed a little, and his hands jumped from your shoulders to your waist with, you assumed, the intention of moving you off him.

Well, you weren’t going to have that.

Before he could apply any pressure, you caught him off guard and surged forward, pressing your body fully to his, your weight making him sink deeper back against the couch cushions as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. 

He froze.

“I missed you,” you had decidedly murmured into his ear, one arm resting on his shoulder, the other looping up so your fingers travelled up the base of his skull and scratched soothingly on his scalp, a move that never failed to make him relax. 

The tension in his body from his own self-doubt began to ease somewhat, his arms coming to hesitantly wrap around you once more.

“I thought about you every day,” you continued. “And uhm…I’m sorry if you missed any of your cloaks for the week.”

Severus found his voice again. “My cloaks?”

“Yes. I…I took one from your wardrobe before I left. Just to have at night.” You blushed furiously and added far more quietly. “It was awful not being able to feel you in the bed.”

Inside, he melted at the fact that you had missed him to such a degree. That the pull toward one another was very much reciprocated. He buried his nose into your hair, sighing and tightening his hold on you.

“I missed you as well. Your absence at night was…similarly torturous.”

“Oh? Did you do anything similar to what I did?” you asked jokingly. And yet, you had felt him flinch. It was subtle, but there. Enough to tell you the truth in place of his lack of response.

You began to lean back up. “Severus, if I go to your bedroom, will I find—” Your face met his shoulder again as your head was pressed unceremoniously back into place.

“Don’t,” Severus grunted, and you could feel the heat that blazed up his neck against your forehead. He was embarrassed enough as it is. “You already know. Just…stay here,” he beseeched quietly. “Please…”

“Of course,” you whispered, with a slight laugh. “At least until my knees go numb.”

You had meant it as a joke, but Severus took such things very seriously, especially if he intended to keep you pressed against him for as long as he could. He encouraged you to sit back a little before helping you move into a more comfortable position with you sitting sideways in his lap with your head still coming to rest in the crook of his neck. Your fingers played with his hand, bringing it up to your mouth and kissing his knuckles individually. 

“I know it was torturous for you,” you said quietly. “I know you have these…reservations when you want to love up on me physically. That you feel the need to wait until I do it to you.” You kissed the back of his palm and let his hand come to rest in your grasp. “And that’s alright, if it’s nerves…or you’re just self-conscious. I get it. I still love you all the same. As long as I never make you uncomfortable with my spontaneity—”

“You don’t,” Severus muttered against your hair, placing a soft kiss on your head. “You never do. Don’t ever stop. Otherwise…” 

He leaned his chin against your head. 

You boarded your carriage, footman John helping you get in. Your mother followed you. John closed the carriage.

Your mother turned to face you. "Are you not excited, my dearest?"

You nodded. "I am, Mama. I just have this uneasy feeling. It is a new town, new people. I suppose it is normal to feel uneasy, is it not?"

Your mother grabbed your hand with a soft smile. "You will be fine, dear. I know you will do better than you think."

Her words made you feel more at ease, yet you were still on tenterhooks.

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The moment you stepped out of the carriage, it was as though you stepped into a ball out of fairytales.

The mansion was huge, and it was so beautifully decorated that it stole your breath. You stared at the lights that adorned the front porch. Realizing that you looked like an idiot, you followed your mother into the house, looking around nervously.

Eventually, your mother left you alone so she could get acquainted with other mamas of the ton, who could potentially have sons who can court you.

You stood by the lemonade table, unsure of who to speak to. The room was full of laughter and music, yet you felt out of place. You took a glass of lemonade and drank it too quickly, hoping it would steady your nerves.

It didn’t.

Your thoughts drifted back to the crow you had seen the night before, perched on the tree outside your window. It had been still and watchful. Since then, uneasiness had followed you, as though it meant something inauspicious.

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After some time, the noise of the ballroom became too much.

You stepped outside for some air, letting the cool night calm you. When you returned, you walked through the manor, looking for your mother so you could leave.

Lost in thought, you didn’t see him, and you bumped into a gentleman.

"Oh! My deepest apologies, Miss!" He exclaimed, stepping back.

You looked up, only to meet his greyish-green eyes. You were stunned by the beauty of this man. He had a sharp jaw and light stubble, his dark hair neatly set back. His eyes were steady and serious, giving him a calm, almost intense look. There was a quiet confidence in the way he stood.

You swallowed before giving him a short curtsey. "Forgive me, mister."

The handsome man gave you a gentle smile. "Your name, may I ask?"

You introduced yourself. The man nodded, before he looked at you head to toe. "Are you new to town, Miss Dutt?"

"Yes. My family and I moved in the other day."

The man nodded again. "I am Jaskirat Mazari-Singh, pleasure to meet you," he introduced.

"Mazari-Singh? Are you the Earl, then?" You asked, curiosity getting to you.

He shook his head. "My brother is the Earl."

You nodded. All of a sudden, the string quartet began playing a gentle tune, and you saw people pairing up for the dance.

Jaskirat's gaze followed yours, and he turned to face you, extending his hand. "May I have this dance, Miss Dutt?"

"Yes," you replied, putting your hand in his as he guided you to the ballroom.

He pulled you close gently, guiding your hand to rest on his shoulder, while his is on your waist. The two of you swayed to the music, his moves surprisingly smooth. You didn't think a man like him would like to dance, let alone be fluent in it.

After what felt like eternity, the dance came to an end as partners bowed to each other. Jaskirat asked if he could fetch you some lemonade, and you agreed.

Once Jaskirat returned, you took your time admiring him. He was a gentleman, and you definitely understood that he wasn't a rake.

"Thank you," you mumbled.

Jaskirat turned to face you, raising an eyebrow while his lips curved up. "For what? The lemonade or the dance?"

"Both," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

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"How was your evening, my dear?" Your mother's question snapped you out of your thoughts.

You let out a sigh, plopping down onto your bed before removing your gloves. "Tiring. I was bored."

She raised a brow, smirking. "Bored? Well, I saw you dancing with a handsome gentleman tonight, surely it wouldn't have been that boring?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "Mama! We were just dancing! It is not like he will begin courting me the next day."

Your mother laughed. "Darling, do not underestimate yourself. You are a Dutt. Dutts are known to have an irresistible charm."

You raised a brow, crossing your arms over your chest while a sly grin pulled at your lips. "Huh? So, tell me, Viscountess Dutt, did you use your " irresistible charm" to get acquainted with any Lord?"

Your mother gasped. "Mind your words, young lady!" Despite her words, heat rushed to her cheeks.

You chuckled, and she smacked your shoulder before helping you out of the gown.

✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

You took out your journal, sitting down by your desk before beginning to write.

"Dear diary, today I met a gentleman at the ball. His name was Jaskirat Mazari-Singh. He is quite handsome, and I know for sure that he is not a rake.

I did not feel uneasy around him. His eyes were otherworldly. One could get lost in his greyish-green eyes.

He mentioned having a brother, who was the Earl of Mystic Falls. I suppose his name was Hamza Mazari-Singh. I was very intrigued by Jaskirat. He possessed such grace, yet he seemed very mysterious.

I would love to know more about him. I might call on him tomorrow."

✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

You stepped out of your carriage, your palms getting sweaty inside your gloves. John guided you toward the entrance of the Mazari-Singh house, and you thanked him.

John rang the doorbell. The butler of the Mazari-Singh house welcomed you in.

"Your name, Miss?" The butler asked. You introduced yourself as he went to call Jaskirat. You were told to wait in the drawing room.

You walked around, inspecting the paintings. The Mazari-Singhs had exemplary taste.

"And what is this pretty lady doing in my drawint room, may I ask?"

You whipped around at the deep, guttural voice. Taken aback from the sudden proximity, you took a step back from the man.

His dark hair fell to his shoulders in loose waves, and a thick beard framed his face. His features were strong, and his eyes were steady and intense. There was something about him that made you feel intense, perhaps the amusement in his eyes as he saw you staring at him.

His eyes. They were the same like Jaskirat's.

He's the Earl of Mystic Falls, Lord Hamza Mazari-Singh.

He raised a brow, a smirk forming on his lips. "I appreciate the staring, my lady, but I would like to know your name."

You blinked, averting your gaze from his face as you cleared your throat. "Uhm... May I ask where Mr. Mazari-Singh is? I called for him."

He nodded. "Ah, yes, my brother. He should be back by now. You must be Miss Dutt."

You furrowed your brows. "How... Did you know my name?"

He shrugged. "Jaskirat told me about you."

"I didn't... See you at the ball last night. Weren't you supposed to be there?" You asked.

He chuckled. "I got caught up with some business in Sussex. My brother had to host the ball."

"Oh. What of your parents, then? If I may ask?"

Before Hamza could answer, Jaskirat walked into the drawing room.

"Hamza," he mumbled under his breath, visibly tensing as he noticed his brother standing beside you.

"Hello, brother." Hamza, on the other hand, was anything but tense.

Your eyes darted back and forth between the brothers, sensing that perhaps they weren't in the best of terms.

"Uh, I think I should take my leave. I have my sister's dance lessons to attend to," you excused.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, my Lord." You curtsied before Hamza.

You walked to the exit of the drawing room, curtseying to Jaskirat. "Mr. Mazari-Singh."

You left the mansion, not wanting to acknowledge the tension between the brothers. The same mysterious feeling that clung to Jaskirat was there with Hamza too. You could sense it the moment you were near him, an ominous aura that was quiet but impossible to ignore.

- end of chapter one -

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Mystic Falls.

A town you hadn't heard much of. It was said to be a quiet, peaceful town, with residents known for their great hospitality and kindness.

The town was also known for their unwavering faith in supernatural entities. You found that faith stupid. After all, such entities were a myth. Right?

You stepped out of your carriage, taking in your surroundings. A beautiful neighborhood indeed. You turned, helping your mother.

"Mama! Will we be attending balls?" Amara asked, her tone laced with enthusiasm. You chuckled at your younger sister's words.

"My dearest, you are not of age yet," your mother replied, smiling softly.

Amara pouted. You put a palm on her shoulder, making her look up at you. "Sister, do not worry. As soon as you are of age, I shall take you to a ball," you paused, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "and introduce you to some fine suitors."

Amara giggled, and you shushed her. Your mother walked toward your new house, your footman following her as he carried your luggage.

Shifting to Mystic Falls wasn't just for nothing. The manor you were moving into was in your father's will. You remembered your father telling you stories about Mystic Falls, though very vaguely. He had spent his childhood here before moving to London.

His death was an odd one. His body was drained of blood, and the investigators suggested that it was an animal attack.

It had been a year since his death. Your mother and Amara were starting to move on, yet you couldn't. You remembered the days when your father would sit you down and talk to you about vampires and werewolves and supernatural things.

You would listen, just to make your father happy. It's not like you believed in them like your father did. You knew that as much as your father was fascinated with these supernatural beings, he would not hesitate to kill them.

All of a sudden, you felt a chill run down your spine. You swallowed, ignoring the feeling before following Amara into the manor.

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You sat down by your desk, opening your journal before taking your quill. A sudden gust of air caught you off guard as you looked up at the window. A crow, perched upon a tree branch, staring right into your room.

You stood, walking over to the window before shutting it. It was odd, the way the crow was staring at you. You shut your journal and turned the light off, tucking yourself into bed.

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"The Singhs?"

"The Mazari-Singhs," your mother corrected you, before continuing, "they have invited us to a masquerade ball. How exciting, is it not?"

You shrugged. "I suppose."

"It would be lovely to have another Indian family in the ton, wouldn't it? Ah, I almost forgot, we should drop by the modiste this afternoon, we need to get you a dress!" Your mother exclaimed, setting her teacup down to clap her hands together in excitement.

You managed a weak smile before going up to your room. Once inside, you exhaled. Your mother seemed to be settling in well, since she got invited to a ball hosted by one of the most reputable families of the ton.

You were curious. It was the first ever masquerade ball you would attend. Multiple questions raced through your mind.

Would you meet someone? Will you be able to fit in like your mother? Will you find a suitor?

The more you thought, the more anticipated you became.

Surely nothing would go wrong, right?

- end of prologue -

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