nysa!

Requests are open!

However, it may take a few days to respond/write them as I work during the day and write when I get home.

I currently do not write smut but will eventually in the future as I get used to a posting schedule.

I write for multiple fandoms that will be listed, but will not write for fandoms I am not apart of as I have a fear of mischaracterizing your favorites ;-;

Will not write about triggering topics in a sexual way. (i.e. rape, eating disorders, etc.)

Fandoms! (List may increase).

Harry Potter

Jujutsu Kaisen

My Hero Academia

Stranger Things

Star Wars

HxH

Hello! Requests are totally fine! It took me a little while to get to this but I hope you enjoy it! I actually really enjoyed writing this, I've never written Minerva before so this was fun.

A/N: Just in case someone may be interested, this story was written while listening to "As The Years Go Passing By" by Gary Moore. I may or may not have alluded to that song towards the end ;)

I've mostly proof-read and did a once-over on this story so pls forgive any typos lol T-T

s. snape ⇢ a matter for the deputy

Pairing: Severus Snape x Professor!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Tags: No warnings! POV Shift

Summary: Minerva notices something a little out of the ordinary with Professor Snape. Mere curiosity turns into surprise as her suspicions are confirmed.

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Hogwarts always managed to feel a touch claustrophobic in the first semester, its corridors crowded with students in every stage of hurry. The youngest drifted through with the meandering steps of half-dazed toddlers, overwhelmed by the castle’s unpredictable nature, while the older years moved past them with ease, long accustomed to striding through its winding hallways.

Minerva, herself, was all too familiar with weaving through the sea of students as she made her way toward the Great Hall, her steps unbothered. Robes swished around her in a constant tide as she rounded the corner into the courtyard, her thoughts already shifting to the list of tasks waiting before her next Transfiguration class.

Her eyes drifted across the leaf-strewn courtyard—autumn had always been her favored season—when her gaze caught on a familiar, dark silhouette cutting through the crowd.

Ah, Severus. Good time to follow up with his decision on implementing the Draught of Living Death in his seventh-year curriculum.

The transfiguration professor gathered her robes in one hand as she began to cut across the courtyard, angling toward Severus with the determination of someone who had seemingly witnessed an unattended classroom. She intended to catch him before he disappeared into the dungeons; who knew when the man would decide to surface again.

She quickened her stride, but halfway across the courtyard, her steps faltered.

Someone was walking beside him.

You.

Minerva slowed just enough for the moment to register in her brain. She had seen the two of you together before—passing conversation in staff meetings, an occasional shared table in the teachers’ lounge, she had once even witnessed a walk shared between the two of you early on the grounds one Sunday morning. However, none of that raised her brow quite like this.

Because Severus wasn’t simply walking beside you.

He was listening to you.

If anyone was as observant about body language, it was the Deputy Headmistress. She noticed how his head was tipped slightly in your direction, a gesture she had seen him refuse even the friendliest of colleagues. His face was tight with concentration, though absent of the usual scowl or irritation that accompanied it. There was no pinched scowl, no quiver of disdain threatening to slip from his tongue. He was incredibly focused. As though he were memorizing every word coming out of your mouth and filing it away in that labyrinth of a mind he tried so hard to keep locked.

His long strides—those impatient sweeps of his coat that usually sent students scrambling out of his path—were noticeably slower. He adjusted his pace to match yours without seeming to realize it, the two of you falling into a balanced rhythm that looked practiced.

Then Minerva spotted the books in his arms.

Textbooks on your subject. A stack of them tucked neatly under his elbow. Severus Snape carrying another professor’s materials was not something she had ever expected to see in the daylight, much less without coercion or complaint.

She let herself drift closer, keeping her footsteps light, careful not to disturb whatever rare alignment of stars was making Severus behave like a civilized human being in public. Minerva couldn’t help but notice every little thing.

The slight angle of his shoulders toward you.

The faint lowering of his guard.

The way his eyes, normally cold and indifferent, softened by a fraction when you spoke.

Minerva’s lips twitched, just barely.

Well now.

Without breaking the flow of conversation or making any particular show of it, he shifted the textbooks in his arms and pushed the door open with his other, holding it just wide enough for you to slip through.

You offered a quiet thanks.

He answered with an equally quiet hum—more acknowledgment than dismissal—before following after you.

Minerva slipped through the closing door just as it swung shut, the quiet echo of her heels joining the low murmur of students shuffling between classes. Ahead, she watched you veer off down the right-hand corridor in confident stride, textbooks now tucked under your arm as you disappeared around a bend.

Severus, however, remained.

Quickly catching up to him just beyond the entrance hall, Minerva’s heels clacked louder against the aged stones.

“Professor Snape,” she lilted evenly. “May I have a word with you?”

He stopped at once. There was no irritation in it, nor cutting remark, only a brief assessment before he gave a curt nod and turned to follow her. Whatever else that could be said of him, Severus Snape did not shirk professional summons.

They walked in silence through the corridors, the castle humming faintly around them. Minerva did not rush to fill it. By the time they reached her office, the stillness felt deliberate rather than awkward.

She shut the door behind them and turned.

“You were unusually conversational today,” she remarked lightly, a glint of amusement cast upon her face.

Severus’ expression shuttered immediately. “If you’ve summoned me to comment on my conduct in the corridors,” he replied coolly, “I find it—”

“I haven’t,” she interrupted, unbothered. “Sit.”

He did, folding himself into the chair with his usual severity. “Then what is it you wished to discuss?”

“The Draught of Living Death,” Minerva said. “Specifically, its placement in the seventh-year curriculum.”

His gaze sharpened. “It is well within their capabilities.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she replied smoothly. “But capability is not the same as capacity. NEWT’s approach, Severus. Every department is demanding excellence. I want to ensure we are not asking them to sprint when a measured pace would serve them better.”

“They are not children,” he said flatly.

“Some of them still are, but they are all students on the brink of exhaustion.”

A thoughtful silence followed. Severus considered her words, fingers steepled, expression unreadable.

“I will not dilute the instruction,” he said at last.

“I would never ask you to,” she countered. “Only to consider timing. Excellence requires clarity. A mind pushed too hard is careless.”

A pause. Then, his chin dipped.

“I will adjust the schedule,” he said.

Minerva smiled, just slightly.

After a few seconds, she gathered the parchments on her desk, aligning their edges neatly before laying them back down. The matter of the Draught had been settled quickly and cleanly, exactly as Severus preferred.

“There’s one more thing,” she said, almost as an afterthought.

He looked up.

“You’ve been more accommodating lately,” she continued, tone even, observational rather than pointed. “It’s noticeable.”

She did not elaborate. Did not explain herself. She simply moved on, reaching for her quill.

Severus felt the faintest flare of irritation, sharp and unwelcome. “If that is meant as a criticism—”

“It isn’t,” Minerva said, cutting in once again, not looking at him. “Merely an observation.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

He said nothing further, because there was nothing to refute. Accommodating was not an accusation. It was not even inaccurate. That, perhaps, was what unsettled him.

As Minerva’s attention shifted back to her paperwork, his thoughts drifted to earlier in the day. To the courtyard. To the conversation he had engaged in longer than necessary, with more patience he cares to show any of the other staff. He had listened instead of redirecting. Had answered your questions without being dismissive. Even adjusted his pace without realizing he had done so at the time.

None of it had been deliberate.

And yet, all of it together formed a picture he did not care to face, that he hasn’t faced no matter how many years have gone passing by.

He had been aware of the gradual shift long before Minerva ever spoke of it. A closeness that had grown quietly. Shared routines. Conversations that lingered past their original purpose. A familiarity he allowed because it felt earned, safe even, until it didn’t.

He had told himself it was habit. Collegial respect. Nothing more.

Minerva’s voice drew him back.

“You needn’t look so defensive,” she said calmly. “I’m not suggesting you to have done anything improper.”

“I haven’t,” he replied at once.

“I know,” she said simply. “If I thought otherwise, this would be a very different conversation.”

That, more than anything, gave him pause.

She studied him for a moment, then continued. “But you are not as inscrutable as you believe, Severus. You never have been. You simply rely on the assumption that most people aren’t looking closely.”

His jaw tightened. “And you are?”

“I’m observant,” she corrected. “It comes with the position.”

The silence stretched once more. He found, to his irritation, that he did not feel accused—only seen. And that was far worse.

“If my conduct has become conspicuous,” he said carefully, “then what, precisely, are you implying?”

Minerva tilted her head slightly. “I’m not implying anything. I’m merely acknowledging that something has changed.”

He exhaled through his nose. Years of restraint pressed in on him all at once—the careful distance he’d always maintained, the rules he’d written for himself and followed to the letter. He stowed them away.

“And what do you suggest I might do?” He asked lowly.

The question hung in the air.

Minerva blinked.

It was a subtle shift—a fraction of a second where her composure broke—but it was there. She had expected more deflection. Dismissal. Irritation.

“Do?” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said, voice steady despite the tension coiled beneath it.

For the first time since the conversation began, Minerva looked genuinely surprised.

“I hadn’t thought you were looking to fix anything,” she admitted.

Severus did not look away.

“On the contrary,” he said. “If I am being…careless, I would prefer to know how to proceed without compounding the error.”

Minerva regarded him for a long moment, something softer entering her expression.

“Well,” she said at last, folding her hands together, “that depends entirely on whether you believe it is an error at all.”

“If I believed my actions to be a mistake,” Severus said evenly, “I would not have allowed them in the first place.”

Severus was quiet for a long moment after that. The admission hanging between them, heavier than he had intended.

Minerva watched him carefully. “How long?”

He stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“How long have you been…allowing this?” She wasn’t being cruel. Simply curious.

His fingers curled against the armrest. He didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to hand her ammunition to dissect him further. But Minerva had always had a way of pulling truths from people, no matter how much they wanted to keep it buried.

“Years,” he said finally.

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Years?”

“Three.” He exhaled, the sound sharp through his nose. “Perhaps longer. I stopped keeping track.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, exactly, but still managed to press against him all the same.

“I convinced myself it was nothing,” he continued, voice low. “Professional respect. An appreciation for competent conversation.” His jaw tightened once more. “It became…increasingly difficult to maintain that particular delusion.”

“And yet you tried anyway,” Minerva offered.

“Of course I did.” There was no hesitation there.

“Why?”

Severus looked at her then, something flickering behind his dark eyes.

“Because wanting something doesn’t entitle you to act on it. Because there are rules. Boundaries that exist for good reason.”

“Boundaries,” Minerva repeated slowly. “Or walls you’ve built?”

He said nothing.

She leaned back in her chair, studying him with that same sharp gaze she’d used when he was still a student sitting across from her. “You do realize, Severus, that your actions have been telling a story all along, whether you’ve meant them to or not?”

His throat worked. “I have not acted inappropriately.”

“No,” she agreed. “But you’ve acted like someone who cares deeply and is terrified of what that means.”

The words struck like stones.

Severus looked away, his gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder. His hands were still.

Minerva let the silence stretch, just long enough for the weight to settle. Then, she leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk.

“Maybe it is time to do something,” she said. “Not some grand romantic gesture—we know that’s not who you are. But through intention. Through choosing to act instead of waiting for coincidence to do it for you.”

Severus’ expression shifted.

“You’re suggesting I should be more…” He trailed off.

“Direct,” Minerva supplied. “Stop waiting for the right moment and start making one.”

He was quiet for a beat. “And if I’m—”

“Wrong?” She finished. “Severus. You’ve spent three years waiting. Do you truly believe you’ve misread this?”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. He wanted to argue. Wanted to list all the reasons why he could be wrong, why this could go poorly, why it was safer to do nothing.

But he couldn’t.

Minerva tilted her head slightly, considering him. “Surely there’s something you’ve noticed. Some detail you could act on. Be more direct with.”

Severus frowned, his gaze dropping to the desk as his mind turned over the suggestion. Years of passing through observation—he had plenty of details. Too many, perhaps. The way you took your tea. The subjects that made your eyes light up. The routes you walked.

He stopped.

A flicker of realization, there and gone in an instant.

“Yes,” he said quietly. Almost to himself.

Minerva’s lips twitched.

He stood and moved toward the door, his hand already on the handle when he paused. Turning back, just slightly.

“Thank you, Minerva,” he said, voice low. Then, after the briefest beat: “Though in the future, I would prefer you to keep your observations—and your nose— firmly planted in someone else’s affairs.”

There was no bite in it. Just enough edge to feel like himself.

Minerva smiled. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Pairing: Severus Snape x Professor!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings/Tags: Sexual Themes (nothing explicit) 18+, mutual (squint at first) pining, one-shot, herbology professor, small age gap (~4 years)

Summary: On Christmas Eve, Severus Snape needs a simple ingredient from the greenhouses; unknown to him, the ingredient he needs is a very strong aphrodisiac grown only at Hogwarts. Feelings that he convinced himself to be only irritation reveal themselves as something a little more... complicated.

A/N: This is my very first post haha! I've had this idea in my head for a little while. I feel it necessary to say that this takes place about mid-80s when Snape is in his mid-20's while the reader is early 20's. I hope whoever may read this will enjoy it!! I feel like there are some things to improve on but time will tell!

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Moonlight glittered through the high windows of the dark, damp dungeon, illuminating a singular figure draped in black. In the latest hour of the night was when Severus Snape always found himself hunched over a bubbling cauldron. Not that he would complain—he preferred the solace of what he had always known.

Potions never startled him.

They never shifted beneath him.

They never asked him to change.

Severus hated change.

In his years of working at Hogwarts, he’d grown accustomed to the routine he’d carved out for himself: attend breakfast, teach Potions, skip lunch, hand out detention, attend dinner, and stay up until ungodly hours of the morning.

Every day the same.

Every day predictable.

That was until recently. Life, in its usual cruelty, had found a new way to upend his peace.

Winter had swallowed the castle whole, pressing silence against its drafty stones. Normally, Severus welcomed the quiet of December. The holidays emptied the corridors, muffled the echoes of his past, made the castle feel… bearable.

But not this year.

Almost immediately, the routine he had so carefully crafted over the years fell apart at the seams with the arrival of a new Herbology professor in September. And now, with the castle blanketed in snow, Severus found himself spitefully unused to your presence.

The absence of students during the holidays only made matters worse. With fewer bodies filling the corridors, it felt as though his chances of avoiding you diminished entirely. No matter where he went beyond the safety of his dungeons, there you were—impossibly, infuriatingly present.

You— the professor with unbearably kind eyes and ever-consuming smiles, who greeted each student with an enthusiasm that could rival a Niffler discovering a treasure chest. It irritated him endlessly.

But worst of all, he couldn’t avoid you no matter how hard he tried. Potions and Herbology were frustratingly intertwined, and you were the gatekeeper of nearly every essential ingredient he required to do his job.

Which is how he found himself heading to the greenhouses tonight, striding through the damp, cold corridors in the late hours of Christmas Eve.

Severus tried, rather stubbornly, to reason with himself. Surely, you wouldn’t be awake at this hour—especially on a holiday. He knew precisely which ingredient he needed and exactly where to find it; all he required was the faint hope that you wouldn’t be in the one greenhouse he had to enter.

If the universe had even a shred of mercy, he could slip in, gather the berries, and slip back out without anyone the wiser. Especially you, with your bright eyes.

But naturally, the universe had never been on his side.

———

Night had settled over the greenhouses, the warm glow of enchanted lights casting soft pools of illumination over the magical flora. Your attention was held on a delicate Moonlace Orchid, its pale petals shimmering faintly in the lamplight—a gift from one of your Hufflepuff students.

It wasn’t unusual for you to be awake this late, but it wasn’t often, either. You could blame the flower if you wanted, though the truth was simpler, sleep rarely found you during the long, quiet winter holidays.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as your fingers brushed the smooth, round petals. The buds glimmered faintly, like sunlight dancing across freshly powdered snow.

The soft click of the greenhouse doors made you start slightly, though your hands didn’t falter on the glowing flower. You hadn’t expected anyone to be here at this hour—not tonight, not on Christmas Eve. Your eyes lifted just enough to catch the shadow slipping through the doorway, moving with careful steps. Whoever it was had clearly assumed the greenhouse would be empty.

You lightly clear your throat, drawing the attention of a figure all too familiar as it moves across the greenhouse. He falters slightly as he nears the towering branches that stretch toward the glass roof.

Dark eyes lock on yours.

“I did not… expect anyone here.”

“I can tell,” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Annoyance flickers across Severus’ face before he turns back to the towering branches in the corner. Slowly, you rise from your spot by the Moonlace Orchid and make your way toward him.

“What brings you here so late, Severus?” you ask from behind. If your presence startled him, he gave no sign.

Instead, he remains silent, as if trying to will you out of existence.

After a beat of silence, he replies, voice clipped, “One might ask you the same.”

His back is still to you, head inclined toward the bare branches. You could almost imagine his steely gaze willing the bark to produce whatever he sought.

You huff softly, amused. “Would you at least tell me what it is you’re looking for? After all, I am the one who plants everything in here.”

Severus tilts his head back, raven hair shifting to reveal dark lashes that frame his onyx eyes, narrowing just slightly before he concedes.

“Mistletoe berries.”

For a moment, you think you’ve just heard Severus Snape make a joke—his first ever, perhaps. But when he holds your gaze with the same cool seriousness, you realize he is not joking. Bewilderment blooms in your mind, your thoughts scrambling to connect the pieces.

Why does the most anti-social man I’ve ever known need mistletoe berries on Christmas Eve?

Preoccupied with an impossible notion, your words trip over themselves. “O-oh, yeah! Of course.” You step toward the opposite side of the room. “I moved the mistletoe over here because the plants weren’t getting as much sunlight in that corner, though I can’t say I see much of a difference now. Maybe—if I moved them to the east wall…”

You trail off, realizing your rambling is likely of no concern to him.

Without a word, Severus steps in front of you, entirely ignoring your monologue. His right hand reaches for the nearest mistletoe, plucking the berries and dropping them into a wide jar tucked beneath his cloak.

As his cloak shifts, the scent of spearmint mingled with a faint trace of wood smoke drifts over, and heat prickles through you at the unexpected familiarity.

Wait, what?

Your stomach flips. Reeling, you step back, closing your eyes for a brief moment to steady yourself.

You shake your head, trying to clear the sudden heat rising in your cheeks. It’s late. You’re tired. Hormones. Just the winter, that’s all. Anything to explain why your pulse has gone rogue and your thoughts feel scrambled.

You take a slow breath, forcing your mind elsewhere, focusing on the soft glow of the Moonlace Orchid, not the faint smell of him lingering in the air.

And yet… even as you tell yourself all of that, your mind wanders. You notice the curve of his shoulders, the way his cloak shifts with each step, the dark glint of his eyes—even when he’s ignoring you. Over the past few weeks, you’ve felt it creeping in, inexplicably, whenever he’s near: aflutter, a pull, a warmth that makes you catch your own breath.

He turns finally, slowly, eyes narrowing as they sweep over you. He pauses, letting his gaze linger just long enough for your pulse to continue sporadically. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in the way he studies you that makes your stomach twist.

“You look… unwell,” he says finally. “Are you about to faint, Professor?”

You blink, shaking your head as though that would erase the truth your body is betraying. I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s late, I’m tired, I— you force the thoughts down, pressing your hands together, willing your racing pulse to slow.

His lips press into a thin line, and his eyes narrow further. “Do not lie to me. You are trembling. Look at you.”

“I—It’s nothing,” you murmur, fumbling for composure. Every word comes out too breathy, too fast, and you mentally curse yourself. Banish these ridiculous thoughts. Focus on the flowers. The orchid. Anything but him.

He steps closer, just enough to make you aware of the heat radiating from his body. He doesn’t seem to notice anything more than your supposed weakness. “Stop fidgeting. Compose yourself,” he says sharply, irritation edging his tone. “You’re acting ridiculous.”

You can’t think straight. Your mouth moves before your brain can catch up, and your feet drag you away from his imposing figure. “Back off, Severus.”

You turn away quickly, bracing your arms against the edge of a potting table, your head tucked between your shoulders. It’s as if your body has a mind of its own, possessed by the raging hormones of a teenager.

And then it hits you, all at once.

How could I be so stupid?

Glancing back at Severus, you don’t meet his eyes, knowing anger is surely painting his face. Instead, your gaze drops to the jar in his hands—the one holding the mistletoe berries he had just plucked—and you notice something. One of the berries had been crushed, its juice staining the inside of the container. The sharp, sweet scent begins to fill the air, and with it, a sudden flush rushes to your cheeks.

A sharp pang of regret stabs through you, and before you can stop it, the words spill out. “I should’ve left after showing you the berries, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

You take a steadying breath, avoiding his gaze as much as possible. “Take the berries to whoever you need them for, Severus. I’m sure they’ll be more useful to you there.” The words are out before you can stop them, and as soon as they leave your lips, you feel your heart drop.

What the hell am I even saying?

You can’t stand another second in his presence—you’re only embarrassing yourself more. Without waiting for his reaction, you turn sharply on your heel and push through the greenhouse doors, your breath coming fast as you step out into the cold, biting night. Snowflakes cling to your hair as you hurry away, each step away from the greenhouse feeling like an attempt to escape the weight of the moment.

———

Steam fogs up the bathroom mirror as the water drips down your face, the heat seeping into your skin, but it can’t chase away the uncomfortable realization still gnawing at you. You stand there, leaning against the cool tiles, your mind replaying the words from years ago like a broken record.

Professor Sprout’s voice rings clear in your head, despite the years since she’d spoken them:

“When extracting mistletoe from the branches of Crab-Apple trees, be very careful not to puncture or break the berries. Mistletoe berries are a special kind of aphrodisiac, though their effects are only felt when there is already a pre-existing connection or emotional inclination.”

You groan, thumping your head against the shower wall in frustration, the coolness a sharp contrast to the heat spreading across your skin. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Your mind whirls, trying to block out the implications. Feelings for Severus Snape? The same man who’s barely spared you a glance all semester? The one who’s treated you like an inconvenience in his otherwise perfectly regimented life? The one whose every word drips with disdain whenever he does speak to you?

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away, but it refuses to go. You don’t feel anything for him. You can’t. He barely even notices you. You’re just another professor at Hogwarts, another annoyance in his carefully constructed routine. Right?

The droplets of water on your skin feel colder now, though you’re sure it’s just the chill from the bathroom air. You close your eyes, the mist from the shower swirling around you, but it does nothing to calm the heat that’s already spreading across your chest and neck.

A few minutes later, you found yourself cozied in your favorite chair by the fire, a book in hand, letting the warmth of the flames dry your hair. Your head was spinning, and the last thing you wanted was to think about Severus again, but there you were, doing exactly that. You tried to focus on the book in front of you, but your mind kept wandering back to the greenhouse, back to him, and back to those damn berries.

Just as you were trying to lose yourself in a paragraph, a brisk knock on your door jolted you from your thoughts. You froze, the book slipping from your hands, heart skipping a beat.

Frowning, you pushed yourself up, crossing the room quickly. You cracked the door open, eyes meeting a shock of raven-black hair before they flicked up to meet his darkened gaze.

Severus Snape stood there, looking as composed as ever, though his presence seemed to fill the doorway, imposing and heavy.

You were caught off guard. The last person you expected on your doorstep was him, especially after the situation at the greenhouse, and there was no way you could hide your surprise. You awkwardly tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear, eyes dropping to the floor.

Severus cleared his throat, his voice smooth but with a hint of an edge. “They were for a potion.”

His words didn’t register at first. A potion? You blinked, still processing his unexpected arrival.

You stared at him, confused. “A potion?”

Severus’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The mistletoe berries. They were for a potion.”

“Oh,” you said slowly, the realization dawning on you with a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Right.”

It was clear that Severus was growing impatient, but you couldn’t help it.

He exhaled, almost as if he were begrudgingly sharing an explanation. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I feel it’s necessary to clear up the misunderstanding earlier… for your own sanity.”

You blinked, feeling that strange flutter return to your chest. “I see,” you muttered, unsure how to follow up.

You wanted to leave it at that, to walk away from the whole conversation, but the awkward tension in the air made it impossible to escape. Severus wasn’t going anywhere.

Trying to clear your thoughts and regain some semblance of composure, you clear your throat and gesture toward the empty chair by the fire. “Would you like to sit and have some tea, then?”

Severus gives you a tight nod, his gaze flicking briefly to the chair before he strides into the room. His movements are purposeful, as always, and yet there’s something different in the air now—a quiet intensity.

He walks towards the chair you had been sitting in by the fire, eyes catching on the book you had abandoned on the armrest. It sits there, its pages still open, the words now irrelevant as your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Severus seats himself in the chair nearest to the fire, his expression unreadable as he watches you prepare the tea.

You take a slow breath, finally glancing at him, but only for a moment. “I wasn’t expecting you to… come here,” you murmur, unsure how to break the silence.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his attention flicking briefly to the fire. “Nor was I expecting the… misunderstanding in the greenhouse,” he says, his voice cool but still not entirely comfortable with the situation.

You nod, though the knot in your stomach tightens, reminding you of the heat in your cheeks from earlier. You try to push the thought away—try to remind yourself that this is just about clearing things up. Nothing more.

His fingers brush yours briefly as he takes the cup from your hands, a simple contact that sends a small jolt through you. You immediately look away, feeling the pulse of warmth again, but not from the tea.

“So… you said you were using the mistletoe berries for a potion?” You prod lightly, trying to keep your voice casual.

A scowl deepens on Severus’ face, his dark eyes flickering to yours for just a moment before his gaze hardens. “Yes. A forgetfulness potion. As you should know, the only reason I collect ingredients from the greenhouses is for potion making. It is, after all, my job as Potions Master.” He leans forward slightly, his voice lowering. “Not for the use of unprofessional… pleasure activities.”

Heat rises in your cheeks, and you feel a pang of shame. “You’re right,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “I shouldn’t have assumed. It was late, and… well, never mind.” You pause for a second, trying to shake off the awkwardness. “Though I am correct in assuming you’re aware of the properties that mistletoe berries carry, yes?”

Severus narrows his eyes at you, his lips thinning as he processes your question. His gaze shifts away briefly as he contemplates, but then he responds slowly, as though weighing each word. “I… am aware of the basic properties of mistletoe berries for their use in my craft. My knowledge extends to the fact that magically grown mistletoe berries act as an aphrodisiac when consumed orally, rather than a poison, as most Muggles believe.”

You nod, not surprised by his knowledge. “Normally, yes,” you reply, your tone thoughtful as you glance away from him, staring into the fire. “However, the mistletoe berries grown here in the greenhouses are… a special variation.” A pause. “They grow on Crab-Apple trees, which alters their aphrodisiac properties slightly.”

Severus doesn’t interrupt, but you can see him taking in your words, his gaze steady. You clear your throat before continuing, choosing your next words carefully.

“The berries grown here at Hogwarts are… stronger than normal. Instead of being affected only by oral consumption, all it takes is the smallest puncture—or in our case, a crushed berry—to release the aphrodisiac compounds. The very smell of them, when present, enhances pre-existing sexual feelings or emotional inclinations.”

The weight of your words hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, Severus only looks at you, his expression unreadable.

“And,” he starts slowly, “I accidentally crushed one while jarring the berries.”

You nod, not sure if you should be relieved or embarrassed. “Yes.”

There’s a pause, a stretch of silence thick with the unspoken truth. Severus clears his throat. “And those were Crab Apple berries.”

You nod again, just a small movement, but it feels monumental in the quiet of the room.

His eyes hold yours for a beat longer, and then, in that voice of his—always so dry, yet somehow now laced with something that you can’t quite place—he asks, “Was your reaction in the greenhouse… caused by the crushed berry?”

Your breath catches in your throat. The question lingers, and your mind races, caught between the need to respond and the part of you that still wants to pretend none of this is happening.

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out at first. The weight of his question is almost too much to bear. Slowly, you find your voice, but it’s shaky, a breathy whisper. “I… I think so,” you admit, your voice barely audible over the sound of the crackling fire. “But that… that doesn’t change anything, Severus. It’s just… it was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

Severus leans forward slightly, his fingers tightening around his teacup as though the warmth is the only thing keeping him grounded. His expression is tight, but there’s something in his eyes—something flickering beneath the surface—that betrays the storm of thoughts roiling within him.

“To make this perfectly clear,” he says, his voice low, as if he’s forcing himself to stay composed. “I came here to clarify that I was using the mistletoe berries for a potion, not… not using them for any sort of sexual activities.” He emphasizes the words, his lips curling into something between a sneer and a grimace, but his gaze doesn’t waver from yours.

You nod, swallowing thickly, trying to steady your pulse as the air between you thickens. “Right. Of course,” you mutter, rubbing your thumb along the rim of your teacup, still avoiding his gaze. “I understand—”

His voice slices through the air like a blade, sharper now, the irritation evident. “But now you’re telling me that this,” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, his hand cutting through the space in front of him, “this… situation, is a result of the mistletoe berries enhancing our already existent sexual inclinations?”

The words hang in the air like a storm cloud, and you feel your throat tighten, your heart skipping in response. The way he says it—like that—makes something shift inside you, a sudden, unsettling clarity creeping in. His question feels like a challenge, like he’s daring you to admit something you’re only just beginning to understand.

You blink, the words hitting you harder than expected. “Excuse me?” you manage, the heat rising to your face as confusion churns in your stomach.

Severus breathes in slowly, but there’s a tension in his posture, in the way his shoulders stay rigid. His eyes are dark, searching, almost predatory in the way they lock onto yours. “Is this not your conclusion?” he asks, his voice growing more clipped, a cold edge creeping in. “That the berries affected us both equally? That the… reaction we had in the greenhouse was because of them?”

You freeze. A sudden realization floods your senses like a rush of ice water. You thought he was unaffected. Hell, you were sure of it. The only reason you could explain your own reaction was the berries—that was the only logical way to account for it. But Severus? He had seemed… so composed. So detached. Almost indifferent.

A small, tight laugh escapes you, but it feels wrong, forced. “I… I thought it was just me,” you murmur, your voice faint, the words stumbling out before you can catch them. You clear your throat, trying to steady your breath. “I thought you were fine. You didn’t—”

You stop, suddenly aware of how exposed you’ve become. You don’t even know how to finish the sentence. How can you even say it? You bite your lip and try to push it back, but the truth is out, hanging between you like a weight.

The implication lingers in the air, thick and charged. Your pulse races, your thoughts scattering in all directions. You were sure you could handle this conversation, but now that it’s spiraling, you’re unsure where to go next.

He leans forward, and you feel the weight of it, the subtle shift in his posture. His gaze doesn’t leave you for a second. You almost can’t breathe under the intensity of it. There’s something simmering beneath the surface, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

The room feels small now, the space between you two electric. The seconds drag on, stretching impossibly long.

Severus lets out a soft exhale, a barely-there sound that you could easily miss if you weren’t paying close attention. His gaze flickers downward for a brief moment, his jaw tightening again before he looks back up at you, his eyes ever-darker than before. “I find it… interesting,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost thoughtful, “that you assumed I would be unaffected by something as potent as mistletoe berries.”

His words hang there like a challenge, and you find yourself frozen, caught between the desire to look away and the magnetic pull of his presence. You’ve never seen him like this—this close, this engaged. It’s as if the air is thickening with something unsaid, something dangerous.

“I…” You struggle for words, but they all feel wrong, inadequate. “I didn’t think…” you start, but then the truth settles like a stone in your stomach, and you stop, suddenly aware of just how much you’ve misjudged.

The silence stretches again, taut and electric, before Severus speaks again, his voice almost a growl. “And now?”

It was an invitation. Severus’s tone left no room for misinterpretation, not even the shy kind. He leaned forward, knees canted outward, black robes splaying as if to clear more territory. His gaze darted along your cheekbones, then lower, then up, making you acutely aware of every inch of yourself. The warmth along your skin was dizzying.

You shifted in your chair. The wood creaked, and the sound was obscenely loud in the hush between you. You tried to keep your voice steady. “I-I don’t… I mean, I’m not sure-”

Severus scoffed, but there was no real derision in it. “You have an imagination, I should hope. Or is that, too, a casualty of your… socialization?” The last word came out sharp, but his attention on you didn’t waver. A strand of his hair had fallen loose, and now it hovered somewhere between his jaw and his collar.

You considered what answer he wanted, and what answer you had. “I have an imagination,” you managed, sounding less cowed than you’d expected. “Just… not the right frame of reference, apparently.”

His presence is overwhelming, the heat radiating from him a tangible force that presses against you, leaving little space for breath. His knee brushes against yours, a touch that sends a shiver through your spine, the intensity of it making your heart race.

“Then perhaps we might… correct that.”

The words are low, thick and with something unspoken, they settle in the air between you like a promise you can’t ignore. Your thoughts scatter, but somehow, in the chaos, you’re here—right where you want to be.

With a trembling hand, you slide it from the armrest of your chair, fingers lightly brushing the dark fabric of his trousers, tracing a line up his thigh. You move down slowly, away from your chair. The tension between you both pulls tighter with every inch of distance you close, until your hand slides all the way up and finds its place at the center of his chest, holding him there, grounded.

Folding your legs beneath you on the ground, you position yourself between his legs, spread in his chair. Your gaze remains locked with his, the deep onyx of his eyes pulling you in deeper with every beat of your heart. A soft whisper leaves your lips.

“Severus…”

The sound of his name is almost like a plea, a quiet question hanging in the air.

His hands move before you can process it, gentle but firm, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing the skin of your cheek as he tilts your head up to meet him. There’s something in his eyes—a quiet fire—something you never expected to see from Severus Snape. But it’s there, unmistakable.

A warm finger begins to trace the soft flesh of your lower lip, your own gaze dropping to his mouth as your left hand slides across his thigh to his hip, your right hand still resting on his chest.

“Please,” you sigh into his caress.

Severus leans closer, his breath warm against your lips. His eyes flicker from yours to your mouth, as though testing the waters. His gaze is intense—like he’s waiting for you to make the first move. But in the space between, in the silence that fills the room, neither of you speak. The only sound is the pounding of your heart.

And then, he’s there. His lips brush against yours in the lightest of touches, a whisper of contact that sends a jolt of electricity down your spine. You freeze, just for a moment, your body catching up to what’s happening. You lean into him, pressing your lips more firmly against his. His hands slide from your face to your neck, goosebumps trailing in their wake.

But then, something shifts.

The tension between you cracks open, and the kiss deepens. His lips, once slow and cautious, begin to press against yours more firmly, with purpose. His fingers tighten around your neck—not painfully, but enough to show his control, as though he’s done holding back.

Hello, all!

I am totally new to posting on Tumblr but I've been here to read fanfictions since 2015 lol. I created this account to post my own one-shots that I write, among any other things that I'll feel the need or want to blog.

My pen name is Nysa and I am 20! I love anime, gaming, and crocheting. Obviously I love to read fanfiction of all kinds, though I tend to lean heavier into looong slow burn plots (usually 300k+ words) with a dab of smut ;)