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My Favorite Place
My favorite place hasn't always been the same over the years.
At first, it was the garden at the house on Privet Drive. Since I can remember, one of my main responsibilities while living with my aunt and uncle was to take care of the backyard. I generally couldn’t go much to the front yard, as Aunt Petunia claimed that the neighbors were always watching and might see me. And being seen meant they would ask questions about me that neither my aunt nor Vernon wanted to answer. But the backyard was enclosed by a wooden fence that, due to my height, was perfect for shielding me from curious eyes while keeping Aunt Petunia’s flowers alive.
I had to prepare breakfast, tidy up Dudley’s room (without touching any of his toys), and dust the entire house before heading to the garden to water the flowers, pull out the weeds, and make sure there were no pests that could harm the plants. This used to be an exhausting job, but I must admit it became my favorite refuge. During that time spent outside, I was completely alone. Uncle Vernon was at work, Dudley was at school, and Aunt Petunia was busy keeping the house and front yard spotless. Although I also went to school, I frequently missed classes because they often claimed I was sick when, in reality, I was just left at home doing chores. However, that detail didn’t bother me too much. The truth is, I was constantly bullied at school (there were kids who were bothered by my mere existence), so I never felt safe there.
On those days and weekends when it was my turn to go to the backyard, I was happy. I was alone, with no one yelling at me, insulting me, or hitting me. I wasn’t in the darkness of my room under the stairs, and if I stayed still enough, I could hear some birds singing as they got close, unaware of my presence.
Even in winter, when I had to go out to clear the snow and repair the fence (because Vernon could get too tired if he tried to fix it himself), even with the biting cold that wrapped around me more than the old, holey coat the Dursleys gave me, I still preferred to be there than anywhere else.
The backyard of Privet Drive was my first favorite place: I felt peace, calmness, and safety there.
But my favorite place changed when I was eleven: my bed at Hogwarts.
It may sound ridiculous, but the first night I lay on my bed and closed the curtains, my eleven-year-old self thought I could die happy. I had never had such a comfortable bed or a space to call my own. Even during those first summer holidays, when the Dursleys gave me Dudley's old room, I still believed that my bed in the Gryffindor dormitory was the best thing in the world.
Although that first night at Hogwarts I had dreams that bordered on nightmares, nothing could erase the initial happiness I felt before falling asleep. Later that year, if I had a bad day, I found comfort in knowing that my bed would be waiting for me at night, and I could pull the curtains closed to find the peace I needed in that moment. Even in my second year, when Hermione taught me a spell to reduce the sounds that seeped through the drawn curtains, my happiness multiplied.
I never minded sharing a room with the other boys because I knew that at least in that space, I had something that was mine, and that couldn't change. I think the others noticed that it bothered me a lot when one of them climbed onto my bed, even if it was just to play or something. My bed was my favorite place, and I didn’t want anyone else to be there.
My bed at Hogwarts was my favorite place for a couple of years until, in my third year, I met Sirius. Sirius wasn’t my favorite place—he was just my favorite person. Back then, I didn’t think I could categorize a person as a place, but later I understood my mistake.
When I learned the truth about his imprisonment and Pettigrew, and when he hugged me for the first time, it felt like I had my family back—the one that had been torn away from me so long ago. After Hermione and I freed him from Azkaban, he had to go into hiding. But one summer day, a week before my fourth year began, Sirius seized the chance when I was supposed to be home alone while the Dursleys visited some relatives. He took me to Grimmauld Place. He never told me how he found out about that opportunity, but his expression made me realize he hadn’t been as far from me as I’d thought.
He took me to one of the rooms and told me it would be mine, assuring me it would always be ready for the moment we could finally live together. That day, we talked for hours in that room—me lying on the bed and him sitting on the floor, laughing about something I can’t even remember. From that moment on, that room, where I only got to be a few more times, became my favorite place, even more than my bed at Hogwarts. I dreamed of returning to that room, talking to my godfather without time limits, without having to go back to Privet Drive, and without worrying about Voldemort.
It was my favorite place until my fifth year, when Sirius died. I can't describe the overwhelming pain I felt in those moments, nor do I want to try. When I returned to Grimmauld Place some time later (since it was still the headquarters of the Order), Dumbledore explained that the room had sealed itself after my godfather’s death and that even Kreacher couldn’t get in. I had a feeling that maybe I could open that door—that a touch of my magic might be enough to see the room that belonged to me again. But I didn’t. The truth was that just imagining what was inside filled me with sadness and anger. My once-favorite place had become a place I hated.
Grimmauld Place burned down some time later, and with it, that room.
Recalling all of this, something I often overlook comes back to me. Perhaps it's because I don't even know how to explain it myself—I never really understood how I felt at that moment. It was the same year I met Sirius. On the night of the Whomping Willow incident, when Snape confronted my godfather and Remus, something felt different. Even now, fifteen years later, Hermione still scolds me for attacking a teacher and reminds me how close we came to losing a lot of points because of it. I’m not sure if she remembers that we were attacked by a werewolf that night, but her most vivid memory seems to be that.
As for me, it’s not something I regret. At the time, it was the only thing I could do, and even now, when Hermione brings it up in front of Snape, I just smile and shrug. But that’s not what left me (or still leaves me, as I said, I’m still unsure about how I felt) feeling confused.
It happened when we went out and Remus saw the moon, transforming into a werewolf. Snape came out, looking like he was ready to kill me (or maybe just take points from all of us, as Hermione thought), but he froze the moment he saw the werewolf. Without thinking twice, he stepped in front of us, using his own body to shield us. And that was… it was…
Having spent so much time with the Dursleys, I wasn’t used to displays of affection or protection. And while, in those three years, my friends had shown me they’d risk everything for me, Snape—up until that moment—had only ever looked at me to make sure I knew just how much he despised me.
From the Potions Master, I’d gotten nothing but insults—and the loss of plenty of points.
Hermione kindly reminded me that Snape had saved my life on multiple occasions since my first year, but I had always felt like he did so because the headmaster had ordered it. However, this time, it felt so different...
At that moment, when all I could see was his back, I felt... the same way I did the first time I lay in my bed at Hogwarts. For a few brief seconds, I couldn't move, but not because of what truly mattered in that moment.
When I thought about it a few days later, I preferred to convince myself that I had simply confused the fear of the moment with the unexpected protection of someone I didn't expect. That was easier than thinking too much about it.
Classes and interactions with Snape, however, were never the same for me. I was still a complete disaster in his class, and he continued insulting me and deducting points, but I kept searching his eyes for something, even though I didn’t know what.
Then Sirius died, and there was nothing else I could think about.
During my sixth year, something happened that might have changed a lot if things had been different. Dumbledore called me to his office one April evening during dinner, and after offering me chocolate cookies and tea from Timbuktu (I still don’t know where that is), he raised the hand that had been wrapped up all year and showed it to me without any bandages. His fingers were blackened, like they were dead, and whatever it was seemed to be creeping up the rest of his arm.
Despite my many questions, the director didn't say much—he never did. Of what little he told me that night, he only asked that, no matter what happened, I should trust Severus Snape. He must have seen my displeasure at that because he assured me that there was no man he trusted more, and that I should trust him as well. He also promised that he always wanted the best for me and that he regretted not always achieving that. I suppose those words should have given me a hint about what would happen that year when his lifeless body fell on the grounds of Hogwarts after Snape's wand cast the Killing Curse.
It took me a month, or maybe more, to convince myself that what I had seen was not Severus Snape killing Albus Dumbledore, but merely one of the director’s twisted plans coming true. Even after I learned that Snape had only ended Dumbledore's suffering and helped Draco in the process, I could only think that both the Potions Master and I had always been mere puppets in a war that showed no mercy.
At that last meeting with the director, he had given me a small button, telling me that I should never part with it and that, if it ever got warm, I should find a room alone or a place away from others. Despite being overwhelmed by everything that was happening, I obeyed and always kept the button in my pocket.
I kept that button when I chased Snape through the forest after he had ended the headmaster's life, on the same night I discovered he was the Half-Blood Prince. I saw his mocking smile, felt the spell from his wand knock me to the ground, and watched him approach, taunting my naivety. In my mind, the headmaster’s words fighted with my urge to kill Snape. And in the middle of it all, a thought crossed my mind and made me want to kill myself either: I wanted to hug him. Or rather, I wanted him to hug me, to wrap me in his arms and tell me everything would be alright. I had raised my wand, ready to curse him, but that thought froze me. And I swear, by anyone who might be listening, that in that very moment when my thoughts betrayed me, I saw a different gleam in his eyes. Concern, perhaps.
I didn’t attack him, and he left. If it hadn’t been for Ron and Hermione’s support, I feel like I would have fallen apart easily, as everything was often too much for me. The days went by so quickly that I remember very little about the days leading up to Bill's wedding. It was a happy day while it lasted. Then came the news of the Ministry’s fall and our escape.
Then the days turned into planning, staying alert, and surviving. I didn’t have much time to think about anything other than Voldemort, Horcruxes, or death. But one cold night, while we were camping in the Dean Forest, the button in my pocket warmed up. I left the tent and moved as far away from my sleeping friends as possible, and I knew I was alone enough when Severus Snape appeared in front of me.
I noticed he was thinner than he had been that last night we saw each other. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper, and he wasn’t wearing his cloak. I could swear that the stain on the collar of his white shirt had to be blood. What I couldn’t tell was whether it was his or someone else’s.
Snape was only a few steps away, but he neither moved nor spoke. I think he was waiting for some reaction from me, perhaps for me to attack him. And if I had seen him a few days earlier, while I was still processing the death of the headmaster, I probably would have done just that.
“Is there something you want to say, Mr. Potter?” he asked without moving from his spot.
“Dumbledore told me I should trust you. And that’s what I’ll do, for now.”
It was the first time in my life that I saw the Potions Master let out a sigh, looking almost human. I even noticed that he appeared more tired than I had ever seen him before. Unexpectedly, that night he shared more with me than I ever thought he would. I came to believe that Dumbledore might have asked him to do it after his death, but the truth is, I think Snape just wanted to tell me the truth. He never confirmed it no matter how much I asked, but I’m sure of it.
He told me about Dumbledore's final curse, the remaining Horcruxes, and, most importantly, that I was one of them. Just like when Snape defended us from Remus, I didn’t know how to feel at that moment. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but several nights I had been kept awake by the thought that I might not survive the war, and the more I thought about it, the less fear I felt about that possible future.
Even so, the information threw me off balance for a few seconds, and I swear that if Snape hadn’t caught me, I would have fallen to my knees. As I said, the thought of a probable death wasn’t new to me, but now I had confirmation that I had to die to end the war.
One thing I can say is that on that occasion, there was no confusion in me regarding one thing: Severus Snape's arms. It took me a few seconds to realize that, to stop my fall, the Potions Master had wrapped me in a tight embrace. And I must say, the sense of security I felt in that moment was something I hadn’t experienced even in the Dursleys' garden, or in my bed at Hogwarts, or—though I’m embarrassed to admit it—in my room at Grimmauld Place.
The contact broke when I pulled away as if his arms were burning me and assured him that I was fine. He left shortly after, and I returned to the tent with Ron and Hermione, but I couldn’t sleep.
I saw Snape again weeks later, once more at night and as far away as possible. By then, we had managed to break into Gringotts and destroy Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. We only had three Horcruxes left: Nagini, a Ravenclaw artifact we still didn’t know about, and me.
That time, he stayed longer. We stood together amidst the shadows of the forest. I told him about what we had done, and he provided some information. He spoke slowly, with his deep voice, as if he were thinking about something else. I understood everything he said, but I must admit that I wasn’t as focused as I should have been. My mind was consumed by only one thought: to be back in Severus Snape’s arms. I was even grateful for the darkness of the night that hid my visible blush. At some point, without thinking too much, I took a step forward. He fell silent, and through the shadows, I could see his expression change; he seemed expectant. I looked down, frightened, and he left.
When we saw each other again, a couple of months had passed.
Ron had managed to gather some information about what was happening while we were in hiding, and among that, he had briefly spoken with Ginny. Through her, we learned about the control over Hogwarts, the mistreatment by the Death Eaters, especially the Carrow brothers, and Snape. Ginny had always been a sharp girl, especially since she was from one of the main families in the Order. So, it wasn’t a surprise to me when she told her brother, “I think Snape is helping us, but I’m not sure.” I had mentioned to Ron and Hermione the conversation I had with Dumbledore before his death. But I hadn’t shared all the details, so they didn’t entirely believe that the Potions Master was protecting the students in his role as headmaster.
But when I saw him again—same forest, same spot, same darkness—something convinced me that Snape was doing his best. Even in the blackness of the night, I noticed that he appeared thinner since the last time I saw him, paler, with more pronounced dark circles under his eyes. I suppose I must not have looked well either, judging by the look he gave me as soon as he saw me.
“Mr. Potter.”
“Professor Snape.”
Even though he was no longer my professor, it was hard for me to think of him any other way. And being honest with myself, I think I’d never held more respect for Snape than seeing him standing there at that moment, shouldering more of the burden of the war than most people knew.
He briefly mentioned some of Voldemort’s plans, but since he had been the only one to really take the time to talk to me about the war, I was grateful to him.
“The unknown Horocrux turned out to be a diadem,” I started to tell him as he fell silent. “Ginny found it in the Ravenclaw tower, and we destroyed it.”
Snape raised an eyebrow, and a slight twitch seemed to turn his lips into a small smile, but I couldn’t tell if it was sarcastic or genuine happiness. “So that’s why Miss Weasley disappeared from the castle for two days.”
“She’s a good girl.”
“I suppose your regard for her is high, given your relationship.”
Hermione had always told me that both Ron and I were a bit slow to pick up on hints. She mentioned it because, apparently, I hadn’t realized from the start that Cho liked me long before she got together with Cedric. But I can assure you that at that moment, alone with Snape in the Dean Forest, something made me quickly understand what the man was trying to say.
“We’re not together.” That phrase escaped my lips so quickly I barely had time to process it. “She’s like a sister to me; I’d never see her any other way.”
The man raised an eyebrow again, and I swear by Merlin, he seemed unsettled. But his expression had taken on the serious tone that was so characteristic of him.
“I don’t have another girlfriend, if that’s what you’re thinking.” That was another phrase I didn’t have time to process. But for some reason, I didn’t want him to leave with the impression that I had someone special. “I’ve even realized that I like boys.”
Snape opened his mouth, paused for a few seconds without saying anything, then closed it again and needed a few more seconds to try to speak.
“I didn’t ask that, Mr. Potter. Why do you think I’m interested?”
The truth was, since the last time I saw Snape in the forest, a thought had been circling my mind so persistently that I’d decided if my fate was to die, I shouldn’t fear anything more than that.
“I’m going to die in this war.”
“Most of us will, Potter. Don’t think you’re special.”
"Most people know there’s a chance of dying. Now I’m certain it will happen to me. And to you as well, am I wrong?"
"That’s none of your business. You stick to your part, and I'll handle mine."
"I just want to ask you a favor."
Snape looked annoyed, but he made no effort to leave. Perhaps it was that very thing that gave me the courage to do the stupidest thing I had ever done.
I just want a hug. That was what I wanted to say, but I knew that if I gave him time to process the situation, the thing I longed for might never happen. So, I closed the distance between us and hugged him. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on his chest, realizing only then the difference in our heights. My heart was racing, and even though I was sure he would push me away and probably curse me out soon, I was happy. My senses were overwhelmed by his scent, and every part of my body close to him felt electrified. And just when I thought it would be over soon, I felt something I would never forget: he became my happy place.
Instead of pushing me away, his arms wrapped around me. One encircled my waist, the other rested around my shoulders, and I felt his fingers brush gently against my neck. An electric jolt surged through me from head to toe, and he must have felt it too, because he held me even closer.
I felt at peace again, safe. I didn't want that moment to end. I felt myself tremble, though I wasn't sure if it was from the excitement or the fear of having to part ways. I dug my fingers into his back to stop the trembling, and I heard myself whisper an apology for gripping his shirt, but I didn't pull away. I felt his fingers brush my neck and his deep voice whisper something I couldn't quite understand, but he didn't move away, and that was all that mattered to me.
I would have been happy with just that, as it was more than I could have hoped for. But at that moment, as my desire to hold him was being fulfilled, another, stronger desire arose that I couldn't control. I lifted my face, and he was so close that I could easily lose myself in the darkness of his eyes. And I kissed him.
The first person I kissed was Parvati Patil, or rather, she kissed me. It was something that took me by surprise. At the end of the Triwizard Tournament ball, she asked me to come with her because she had something to tell me. She kissed me quickly behind a corridor— a swift kiss that left me no time to react. Then I realized she just wanted to have her first kiss too, and even though our date had been a disaster, she preferred it to be with me to "get ahead" of her sister. Or at least that’s what she mentioned.
The second person I kissed was Cho. The kiss with her wasn't quick or surprising. We were alone in the Room of Requirement, and the truth is, I liked her a lot. She came closer, placed her lips on mine, and I returned the kiss. Unfortunately, it wasn't what I had hoped for. Perhaps it was the lingering guilt over Cedric's death between us, or maybe it was something else, but it never happened again, and I didn’t miss it.
The third person was Ginny. It was shortly before Sirius’s death. She took my hand, turned me around, and kissed me. I returned the kiss for a moment, but then we pulled away, and after a few seconds, we both burst out laughing. Neither of us wanted to repeat that, and we ended up just as we should have: as friends.
The fourth kiss came three months after Sirius’s death. Sometimes I felt so overwhelmed by everything that I would go up to the Astronomy Tower at night to think. More than once, I didn't think at all; I just cried. It was on one of those nights that Seamus came in and found me in such a pitiful state.
"So this is where you come at night," he said, coming to stand beside me. Without warning, he kissed me gently on the lips. "It's an old trick from my family to stop the crying," he added when I looked at him, confused. Later, I found out it was a lie.
Seamus and I kissed four more times. Maybe with him, I discovered that I felt better kissing guys than girls, or maybe I just confirmed what I suspected and was afraid to test. There was nothing between us beyond the desire to kiss, and when he told me he wanted to go out with a Hufflepuff girl, we promised to keep what had happened a secret.
Severus Snape then became the fifth person I kissed. Not only that, but he was the first one I initiated the kiss with. His kiss was unlike any I had experienced before.
When our lips met, I was afraid he wouldn’t respond or that he’d pull away in disgust, as either outcome was possible. I was pushing my luck beyond unimaginable limits, and I couldn’t complain if it was too much for him. But his lips moved over mine with a quick, forceful intensity, as if he were desperate. As if he had longed for this too.
I didn’t think much more than understanding that he kissed me that way for the same reason I dared to hug him. We both knew we were going to die; we were both alone. We both needed this.
But I understood and accepted that Severus Snape’s arms brought me a peace I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt that neither the war, nor any Death Eater, nor Voldemort could reach me while I was in those arms.
His hand on the back of my neck slid further up, tangling his fingers in strands of my hair. All I could do was cling to his shirt, as if that could somehow keep it from ending. And after who knows how long, the hand on my waist found its way under my shirt.
Beyond the kisses, I hadn't been intimate with anyone. Seamus and I had once reached inside each other's shirts during our last kiss, but that was it. So when Snape made his advance, his cold fingers brushing against my back, a shiver ran through me as I realized what could happen. Still, I didn't back down. I didn't want to leave this world without experiencing what I'd been longing for, and it was very unlikely we would have another chance.
I felt him gently lowering me to the floor as his mouth continued to ravage mine. I could feel his body pressing against mine, one hand resting on my waist while the other caressed my hair. My hands seemed to realize they needed to do more than just cling, and I began to stroke his chest over his shirt.
I protested when he left my lips, but soon sighs escaped me as I felt his mouth explore my neck with a more gentle yet intense touch.
With trembling hands, I managed to open his shirt, and although I felt his resistance, he couldn't suppress a sigh when my hands caressed his bare chest.
I'd heard about how some guys' first experiences went. Everyone said it was a strange thing, and whether you were a guy or a girl, it hurt quite a bit if you were on the bottom. I wasn’t afraid of the pain. What could be more painful than dying? And I'd already accepted that path. I didn’t care if I felt like I was burning in hell; I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that moment. But even though my mind was prepared, my body tensed up when Snape unfastened my pants.
He pulled back slightly and looked me in the face, and something in my expression seemed to give me away.
“How many times have you done this, Potter?”
I considered lying, sensing that he might stop if he knew the truth, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
“This will be my first time.”
I tried to make my words sound convincing, to make him understand that this was something I wanted. Snape closed his eyes, exhaled, and lowered his head to hide his face in my neck. His body shifted to my left side, and I realized he wouldn’t continue.
“I want to do this.”
“I can’t take something like that from you,” he said after a long silence. His deep voice and breath against my neck made me shiver.
“It’s just sex.”
“Not the first time, Potter.”
“Either way, it will be the only time. I’ll die soon. You know it as well as I do.”
At some point during that exchange, I noticed my eyes welling up and my voice breaking, but I refused to cry at that moment. I felt Snape's hand, which had been resting on my waist, move to caress my chest. I turned my face to the left, and he looked me directly in the eyes.
“Not like this,” he whispered before kissing me again. This time the kiss was gentle, but it carried the same urgency as at the beginning.
I didn’t understand how I had fallen asleep, but when morning came, I was lying near the tent with my wand close by. I convinced my friends that I had just stepped out for some fresh air and accidentally fallen asleep. For a moment, I thought it might have been a dream, but I could still taste Snape’s lips on mine.
I saw him again when I returned to Hogwarts. Seeing McGonagall pointing her wand at him nearly made me jump to his defense, but I knew it wasn’t the time for everyone to know he was on our side. So much happened after he escaped that it sometimes feels like a dream. I spent another night in my bed at Hogwarts, but it wasn’t the same. Even on the cold ground of the Dean Forest, I had felt safer, having been in Snape’s arms.
Then the battle began.
Bodies sprawled on the ground, blood, screams. I saw Fred fall, as well as Remus and Tonks. I lost count of how many friends fell. Then I saw Snape. It was almost a hunch that drove me to the greenhouse, to find my teacher’s body lying on the ground, bleeding. I knelt beside him and felt my life slipping away with him. He gave me some memories that I gathered in a small vial. Hermione urged me to perform some spells I don’t remember clearly, but she promised me she would keep him alive as long as possible.
I searched for a Pensieve, viewed the memories, and cried. There were things I already knew, but others were new. I had to understand so much in such a short time that I felt nauseous.
I went out looking for Voldemort, and then I died.
Or so it seemed, but Dumbledore gave me the chance to come back. Or was it my choice to come back?
Then Voldemort died.
The final battle sometimes drifts through my mind in a hazy, shapeless way, making it very difficult to recall certain details, no matter how hard I try.
I spent a month in St. Mungo’s; Severus Snape, five. They wanted to lock him up in Azkaban as soon as he got back on his feet, but my intervention and the testimonies from the Order managed to clear him of all charges. During that time, we barely saw each other, and when we did, he would give me neutral looks and short phrases, but he never gave me the chance to look him in the eyes. He always seemed evasive, as if there were somewhere better to look than at me. I thought maybe he was regretting what had happened between us. Why wouldn’t he? Now that death was no longer looming over us, it made sense that he would feel ashamed of having stooped so low with the child of the man who had caused him so much suffering.
Severus Snape returned to Hogwarts as the Potions Master. I found out that McGonagall had offered him the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but Snape declined. Later, I discovered it was because his battle wounds would prevent him from being a worthy opponent, and he wasn’t willing to risk losing to any seventh-year student if he had to teach something.
As for me, for a while I didn’t know what to do with my life. The idea of becoming an Auror fell away when I realized I no longer wanted to encounter blood in my path.
Ron, on the other hand, joined the academy, and I must say that years later, he is one of the best Aurors in the magical world. Hermione decided she wanted to teach, and she took tutorials with McGonagall, eventually becoming the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor two years later. At least during those two years, McGonagall not only taught her the subject but also helped her to be a bit less strict with her lessons (just a little), which allowed her to quickly become an excellent teacher.
I spent nearly half a year doing nothing. I lived with the Weasleys and spent my days helping Molly and Arthur with whatever they needed, reading Quidditch magazines, and trying not to get bored until Ron came home from his training sessions and told me all about his day.
I felt a twinge of envy watching him do something he enjoyed, because I also wanted to find that something for myself. Then one day, almost a year after I had become a slacker, he asked me if I had given any thought to my future.
We were in his room. I was sitting on the bed while he sat on the floor with his legs crossed. That scene stirred a sense of nostalgia in me, and I had to focus to give an answer.
“Nothing I think of doing feels right to me.”
“Why not focus on the things you enjoy and decide to do them?”
“Because it wouldn’t be anything worthwhile, would it?”
“Worthwhile?”
“Yeah, like you being an Auror or Hermione teaching. I thought about Quidditch, but I don’t really want to play if it feels like an obligation. I’m not smart enough to be a Healer like Draco, and…”
His laughter interrupted my words, and he had to take a deep breath before speaking again.
“Harry, who told you those are ‘worthwhile’ things? You do know you can do anything you want, right?”
Ron wasn’t as foolish as many believed; in fact, he used to be much smarter than me. I had this idea that the magical world would always expect a lot from me, so I needed to do something that would be enough for them. But he was right. There was no longer anything that posed a threat to me; I could do whatever I wanted.
I thought a lot about it, and in the end, I realized that there was something I truly liked and could dedicate myself to: flowers. As I mentioned before, my favorite place used to be the Dursleys’ garden, and I have to say I did a great job there. Plus, Molly was always delighted when I helped with her garden, saying she’d never had flowers as well cared for as when I assisted her.
So it felt almost natural when I opened my own shop. With the help of a Muggle friend of Arthur’s, I found a two-story building where I could set up the shop on the ground floor and live above it. I realized I needed to do a lot of research; liking plants and flowers wasn’t the same as being an expert in them. The apartment also had a large area at the back where I could grow whatever I wanted with a little help from magic.
I won’t deny it was a bit complicated, but I was happy with what I had achieved, even though there was still something I desired. Severus Snape hadn’t faded into the background of my life, but I understood that I was not important to him and I had to accept that. Or at least, I wanted to. Because when Hermione told me she’d like to see me at Hogwarts to discuss something, I can’t deny that a part of me was thrilled at the thought of seeing the Potions Master again, even if it was from a distance.
It was a Sunday at lunchtime. My friend was waiting for me at the edge of the grounds with a smile and took my arm as soon as she saw me. Am I a bad friend if I admit that I don’t remember the conversation with Hermione very well that day? All I could think about was that I might get a chance to see Snape again. But, even though we walked through the corridors to Hermione's office and strolled around the lake for a while, there was no sign of Snape. I stopped by to greet the headmistress, as I hardly saw her either. Both of them invited me to stay for dinner, and although I thought it might be a good chance to see him, the truth is, the students still looked at me as if I had three heads, and under that kind of scrutiny, there was no way I’d be able to exchange any words with the Potions Master.
I said goodbye to both of them and assured Hermione that she didn’t need to accompany me to the apparition point. What I didn’t expect was to run into Severus. He had just appeared a moment before I did. He was holding a small box with the McBury seal, a well-known potion’s supplies shop in Hogsmeade.
We stood there staring at each other, and I felt his gaze was more intense than he probably intended. Or was it just my imagination?
“I own a shop.”
I had been desperately trying to think of something to say so he wouldn’t leave right away. Although, I suppose I should have started with a greeting first. He raised an eyebrow before speaking.
“McGonagall told me, against my will. It seems you’re doing quite well, Potter.”
“Did you know that many flowers are involved in potion-making? For example, daisies are commonly used in potions for hives.'"
“Don’t you think that’s something I’m already aware of?”
“Would you like to see my shop then? You know, maybe there's something that might interest you."
If I analyze that conversation carefully, I realize that everything I said was just foolishness. I understand it wasn’t the best approach, and I was risking too much by daring to invite Snape so brazenly to my home. But in him, I saw a spark of something I can’t quite explain, and to my surprise and delight, he replied: “I suppose I could go see if you have anything…. interesting”
I had to control my nerves. We agreed that he would come on Saturday afternoon, once he’d finished all the exams and essays he had to grade for the week. It felt like that week lasted an eternity.
Even though I knew he wouldn’t arrive until after five, that Saturday I woke up so early that the sun hadn’t even risen yet. I made sure the house was spotless (in a way I’d never cleaned before) and changed clothes three times because nothing I put on felt right. But why was I so nervous? A part of me knew that maybe something could happen between us, but the other part, the reasonable one (and I’ve never been very reasonable), told me that I was probably just reading too much into it, and that Snape was really only interested in the plants.
Still, when the time came and he knocked on the store door right on time, I had to rub my hands against my jeans to wipe away the sweat.
He showed up in black trousers and a matching shirt, and even without his cloak, he looked so good in my eyes that I felt my own t-shirt was inadequate. Nevertheless, I showed him all the flowers and plants I had, even taking him to the backyard garden. And despite his apparent reluctance, he had to admit that I was doing an excellent job and that I could actually provide him with something he might need.
As I felt the tour coming to an end, I asked him if he’d like to have some tea. I wasn’t ready to let his visit end so soon. I thought he’d ask why, since he’d already seen everything he wanted, and I was prepared to say I needed help with a potion (though my foolish mind hadn’t figured out which potion to mention beforehand). But he surprised me when he said, “I’ll accept your invitation, Mr. Potter, if you have something stronger”.
I nodded so vigorously that I felt my neck might snap, but I didn’t waste any time, and we both headed up to the second floor. At the top, there was a small sitting area with just a sofa, a coffee table, a fireplace, and a shelf full of Quidditch magazines and books on plants, flowers, and Herbology. There was also a small kitchen, fully equipped by Mrs. Weasley with everything needed, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. One of the bedrooms contained pots, gardening tools, and other supplies. The other room was mine.
Settling into the small sitting room, I pulled out a bottle of Irish whiskey Charlie had given me as a housewarming gift. I’d only opened it once before, just to taste it, and it was so strong that I had to drink water to wash away the taste. Severus, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the drink, downing it without a hint of a grimace, unlike me.
We sat at opposite ends of the sofa, and he continued asking about the shop in general. I asked him about his classes at Hogwarts, and he complained that every year, students seemed to compete to blow up more cauldrons. Perhaps because of the whiskey, I didn’t realize I was sitting a little closer to the center of the sofa than I should have been.
I don’t remember when the conversation shifted to something more personal, but at some point, I felt there was no space left between us on the sofa—his leg pressing against mine, his hand very close to my thigh, not pulling away. I leaned in more, and through the haze of alcohol, I could feel his breath against my face. He wasn’t moving closer, but he wasn’t pulling away either, and at that moment, I understood.
When a shadow of fear crossed his face, I understood why he was acting the way he was and why he had been trying to avoid me during those months of the trial. He was afraid of my regret.
I closed the small gap between us and kissed him again with the same desire I had two years ago. He didn’t hesitate for a second to respond, and suddenly I found myself wrapped in his arms.
When I felt his hands slip under my shirt, I whispered, “my room,” though the words came out in a breathless gasp, and I’m not really sure how he understood me.
I wasn’t willing to pull away, but he guided us between kisses toward the bed. The room was dark. I felt my back hit the mattress and his body position itself over mine. One of his knees pressed between my legs, his mouth finding mine again, and his arms at my sides, creating my happy place once more.
It’s strange how perspectives shift depending on the situation. Two years ago, when I was certain I was going to die, I didn’t care about losing my virginity on the cold forest floor. But now, with no immediate threat from any crazy killers—or so I hoped—my nerves were even greater this time.
My shirt disappeared, and I unbuttoned his shirt. When his hands started unfastening my pants, my body tensed, just like it had that day in Dean’s forest.
He looked at me, and through the light from the sitting room filtering in through the open door, I could see the same expression he had back then. But he didn’t need to put his doubts into words for me to respond the same way I did that night.
“This will be my first time,” I said firmly.
“I imagined you’d have plenty of options for this occasion.”
“I had already chosen someone a couple of years ago, but that person decided to wait.”
That first time hurt, a lot. I bit his shoulder and I dug my nails into his back, but the pain was just as intense. Still, I must say he was as gentle as he could possibly be. He stopped several times, kissing my cheeks and caressing my back with a tenderness I never thought Severus Snape was capable of.
The next morning, I woke up with lower back pain and doubts. The pain didn’t ease until I took a potion, and the doubts faded once I realized I had woken up in his arms. I lifted my head and saw his face partially covered by his hair. His eyelids fluttered slightly, and I knew he had woken up.
We both seemed to be waiting for the other’s reaction, but Severus Snape had protected me my whole life; I understood it was my turn to move forward until he put a stop to it. So I kissed him, and he kissed me back.
We kept what we had a secret. However, I told Ron and Hermione a few months after that first night because they wanted to know who that special person was who kept me smiling every day. None of them believed me at first, but once they realized I was telling the truth, they had different reactions. Ron almost fainted, taking a whole day to utter another word. Hermione, on the other hand, said, “It makes sense, both of you have a lot in common.” I always thought she and Dumbledore were similar; both knew too much, and one couldn’t figure out how.
The rest of the Weasleys found out at Christmas when Mrs. Weasley asked me to bring my partner to the Christmas Eve dinner, as it was clear I had one. Though I thought their reaction would be similar to their son’s, they both seemed more than satisfied with my choice. Arthur told me that Severus had always looked out for me and he was sure he would continue to do so. Molly said she had always invited the Potions Master to dinner, and he always refused, so now he wouldn’t have an excuse not to come.
The other Weasleys were startled the first time they saw us, but they soon got used to it.
When the magical community found out, we were in the news for several weeks. On one occasion when I visited him at Hogwarts, I might have gotten a little too close. Perhaps a student saw us. The thing is that the press found out one night, and the next morning every magazine was talking about us. I was used to that sort of thing, but Severus had to endure fan mail during those days: some asking him to take care of me, others threatening him with death (which wasn’t very wise considering he was an ex-Death Eater/Order spy). But the biggest speculation was about how long we would last. Most thought we wouldn’t last more than a year, maybe two, because we were so different from each other.
Eight years later, Severus Snape and I are still together. We moved to a house near Hogsmeade so he could get to Hogwarts more easily. I still have my shop, and I even expanded it upstairs. We’ve been through a lot, some good and some not so much. But I believe we still have plenty of time together, and that’s what matters.
And I can say without fear of being wrong that when I’m in his arms, it’s my favorite place in the world.
THE END