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Severus Snape sat rigidly in the Minister’s Box at the Quidditch World Cup, arms tightly folded across his chest, his expression more venomous than usual as the deafening roar of spectators reverberated throughout the enormous stadium. He felt distinctly out of place amid the richly dressed wizards and witches whispering excitedly around him, most of whom cast cautious glances his way but wisely refrained from approaching. Even the most foolhardy knew better than to provoke the famously acerbic Potions Master—especially in his current condition, eight months pregnant and with a temper sour enough to curdle milk.
Shifting irritably in the velvet-upholstered seat, Severus adjusted his deep emerald robes to better accommodate the pronounced curve of his stomach. "What momentary lapse of judgement persuaded me to attend this circus?" he muttered darkly under his breath.
The answer, as irritating as it was predictable, was James bloody Potter.
Severus’s narrowed, black eyes swept down to the pitch below, where James was sauntering across the neatly trimmed grass with infuriating ease. He wore the sleek black-and-white uniform of the Montrose Magpies, emblazoned prominently with the silver magpie crest on his chest. His Nimbus 1700 rested casually against his shoulder, and even beneath the glare of the enchanted stadium lights, his hair managed to maintain its perpetual, windswept disorder.
James was swarmed by a cluster of eager supporters, children proudly waving miniature Magpies flags, excited witches and wizards thrusting parchment and quills toward him for autographs, and several fans fluttering their lashes shamelessly in his direction.
"Pathetic," Severus sneered softly, though he couldn't quite tear his gaze away. The uniform hugged James’s athletic frame perfectly, accentuating broad shoulders and toned legs, and the confident way he moved was as captivating as any spell Severus knew. His traitorous heart sped up slightly at the sight.
He’d rather swallow a cauldron full of undiluted bubotuber pus than admit such nonsense, even privately.
"Enjoying the view, Severus?" came an obnoxiously cheerful voice from just behind him.
Severus spun in his seat, scowl deepening as he glared daggers at Ludo Bagman, the organiser tasked with supervising the Minister’s Box. "I advise you to mind your own business, Bagman," he spat coldly.
Bagman, either exceptionally brave or extraordinarily dim, simply chuckled and leaned casually on the railing. "Can’t blame you. Potter’s quite the lucky bloke, though I'd wager you’re luckier tonight, eh? Minister’s Box—prime seats to watch your husband's finest hour."
"I assure you, Bagman, I am not in the mood," Severus snapped icily, his fingers twitching with barely restrained magic, the promise of a particularly unpleasant hex evident in his glare.
Bagman swiftly raised his hands in surrender, his grin faltering just a bit. "Right you are. Message received." He backed away hastily, disappearing quickly into the crowd.
Returning his gaze reluctantly to the pitch, Severus noted with mild irritation that James had finished with the fans and was now looking directly up toward him. With an audacious grin, James offered a small, impudent wave, before gesturing proudly to his broomstick and then theatrically pointing toward Severus’s rounded belly.
This one's for you, he mouthed clearly across the distance.
Severus rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation, yet despite himself, the corners of his mouth twitched upward into the faintest of smiles.
The match was exhilaratingly fast-paced, the air thick with excitement as players soared across the pitch at breathtaking speeds, executing precise manoeuvres that sent the crowd into wild cheers. Severus, however, found himself increasingly distracted, his hands instinctively resting protectively over his pronounced belly as the baby delivered an enthusiastic kick.
“You seem uncomfortable,” observed a calm, deep voice from his side.
Severus glanced over, mildly startled, to see Kingsley Shacklebolt seated a few rows away, observing him thoughtfully. "Is it really so obvious?" he asked dryly.
“Only to someone paying attention,” Kingsley replied, a faint, knowing smile curving his lips. “Your scowl is deeper than usual—and that’s saying something.”
Severus sighed irritably, his eyes flicking over the frenzied spectators. “This entire event is absurd. I shouldn't even be here; I should be brewing potions at home in blessed silence, rather than...” He gestured dismissively toward the roaring, flag-waving crowd.
Kingsley chuckled softly. “But then you’d miss Potter’s moment of glory. And him showing off, expressly for your benefit.”
Severus made no immediate reply, his gaze drifting inexorably back to the pitch. James was expertly dodging between two opposing Chasers, his Nimbus dipping and weaving gracefully through the air, a triumphant smirk on his face.
By halftime, Severus’s patience had begun to fray dangerously thin. The cacophonous noise, the stifling heat, and the persistent ache in his lower back were all becoming unbearable. Worse yet, his stomach growled loudly in protest at having been neglected.
James, who was now busy speaking animatedly to a cluster of reporters on the sidelines, looked up just in time to catch Severus’s glowering stare from the box.
“What’s the matter?” James mouthed, his expression suddenly anxious.
With exaggerated impatience, Severus pointedly tapped his belly, then mimed a dramatic eating gesture.
Suppressing a laugh, James quickly nodded and signalled acknowledgment before jogging over to the nearest concession stand. Moments later, a house-elf appeared in the Minister’s Box carrying a large tray laden with an assortment of snacks—hearty meat pies, steaming pumpkin pasties, ice-cold butterbeer, and even a selection of crunchy pickles.
Though Severus refrained from verbally thanking the elf, he did incline his head approvingly toward the pitch, where James was already beginning his warm-up routine for the second half.
Taking a grateful bite of a meat pie, Severus grudgingly conceded to himself, Potter might be insufferable, but at least the man knew how to ensure he never went hungry.
When the final whistle echoed through the stadium, the Montrose Magpies had secured victory, with James scoring the winning goal in a spectacular dive that sent the crowd into an ecstatic frenzy. Severus surprised even himself by joining the applause.
James, ignoring his teammates' jubilant calls to head towards the locker room, made a beeline straight for the Minister’s Box, broom still gripped firmly in one hand. Security grudgingly stepped aside, allowing him to bound eagerly up the stairs.
“Sev!” James called triumphantly, eyes bright with exhilaration.
Severus offered a token glare, muttering sourly, “You're positively dripping with sweat.”
James laughed off the complaint, sinking down beside Severus and gently placing a hand over his rounded belly. “Did you see it? I promised I’d win it for you—for both of you.”
"Congratulations," Severus drawled dryly, though his lips twitched upward in reluctant pride.
James leaned forward impulsively, capturing Severus’s lips in a kiss that drew astonished gasps and scandalised murmurs from the onlooking spectators. Severus flushed crimson but didn't pull away.
“You’re absolutely insufferable,” Severus whispered harshly against James's smiling mouth.
“And that's precisely why you love me,” James retorted cheekily, eyes gleaming mischievously.
As spectators gradually started to disperse, James stood and extended his hand toward Severus. “Come on, love, let's get you home. You've had more than enough excitement for one day.”
With a weary sigh, Severus reluctantly took James’s outstretched hand, leaning into his husband's steady support as they navigated their way out of the bustling stadium together.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
Severus had reached his limit. He was thoroughly fed up—with the noise, the crowds, and the relentless cheering that grated mercilessly on his already frayed nerves. James, still flushed with excitement from his World Cup triumph, was positively beaming as they wove their way out of the packed stadium. Severus, heavily reliant on James’s supportive arm, wished desperately to return home, elevate his swollen feet, and slip into blissful oblivion.
However, their escape was abruptly thwarted by a throng of eager reporters and officious Ministry staff.
“Potter! Mr. Potter!” a journalist shouted, brandishing a Quick-Quotes Quill eagerly. “Just one photograph with the Cup, if you would!”
James laughed good-naturedly, turning toward Severus with a sheepish grin. “Just one quick picture, love. For the fans, you know.”
Severus shot him an acidic glare, his dark eyes practically piercing James’s soul. “Do I remotely resemble someone who enjoys posing for photographs?”
“You’re glowing,” James replied brightly, unfazed by the deadly glare Severus aimed his way.
Before Severus could unleash a scathing retort, the gleaming Cup was unceremoniously thrust into James’s hands, and they were hurried toward a hastily assembled backdrop. James proudly cradled the trophy, his posture confident and victorious, while Severus stood rigidly beside him, one hand propped firmly on his hip, the other protectively positioned over his pronounced belly.
“Come now, Sev, give the crowd a smile,” James coaxed gently, nudging him with playful encouragement.
Severus responded by baring his teeth in what could charitably be called a grimace, though it sufficed for the photographer, who quickly captured several images.
“Thank you, Mr. Potter! And congratulations, Mr. Snape, on the impending arrival! Such an exciting time for both of you!” enthused a journalist, scribbling notes feverishly.
Severus began to speak, his voice dripping venom, but James smoothly intercepted with a laugh. “We’re absolutely thrilled. It’s our first child. He'll likely be zooming about on a broomstick before he even learns to walk.”
The reporters descended into excited chatter, peppering them with countless questions about the baby. Severus, his patience finally snapping, tugged sharply at James’s sleeve. “We're leaving. Immediately.”
“Of course, love,” James agreed, still waving jovially to the press as he guided Severus carefully through the lingering crowd. “Cheers, everyone! No more questions, please—pregnant partner, coming through!”
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
Months Later
Harry had arrived, bringing with him a new brand of delightful chaos to the Potter-Snape household. Between endless night-time feedings and James’s enthusiastic yet consistently disastrous attempts at changing nappies, Severus was perpetually drained. Yet today, blessedly, Harry was with James, and Severus found himself savouring an all-too-rare moment of peace, sipping tea quietly in their cosy quarters.
That fragile peace shattered spectacularly when an owl suddenly swooped into the room, dropping a glossy magazine unceremoniously onto the tea table. Severus frowned, setting down his cup and eyeing the magazine warily. With mounting dread, he picked it up, his eyebrows knitting together as he scanned the lurid headline emblazoned across the front page.
“From the Pitch to Parenthood: Quidditch Hero James Potter and Enigmatic Potions Master Severus Snape Expecting First Child!”
His stomach clenched in irritation as he flipped swiftly to the featured article. And there it was—the damned photograph from the Cup ceremony. James stood proudly, grinning from ear-to-ear and clutching the trophy triumphantly, while Severus stood stiffly beside him, unmistakably pregnant and appearing thoroughly displeased. The article itself was overflowing with sickly-sweet praise for their relationship, breathless excitement about their impending arrival, and absurd speculations regarding whether their child would inherit James’s legendary Quidditch prowess or Severus’s formidable intellect.
His jaw tightened into a dangerous line as he snapped the magazine shut sharply. “James Potter,” he growled softly, each syllable dripping menace.
James, busy amusing Harry with an energetic game of peek-a-boo in the adjacent room, popped his head around the doorway, eyebrows raised innocently. “You called, love?”
Severus held the magazine aloft, his voice deceptively calm. “Would you care to explain this?”
James blinked twice, surprised, before breaking into an unrepentant smile. “Oh! They printed it already? Didn’t think it would be out this soon. What did they say? Was it flattering?”
Severus narrowed his eyes. “You knew about this?”
“Well…” James scratched his head sheepishly, stepping into the room. “They might’ve mentioned something about a piece. Thought it’d mostly be about the match, not so much...us.”
“They've called you a ‘hero of the skies’ and me your ‘mysterious potions prodigy,’” Severus drawled, voice dripping with disdain. “They’ve also made my pregnancy public gossip for the entire wizarding community.”
James stepped closer, raising his hands defensively, though his smile was far from apologetic. “Come on, Sev, it could be worse. You look brilliant in the photo, really. People will be chuffed to bits knowing you’re my—”
“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘baby daddy,’” Severus interrupted icily, eyes glittering with warning, “you’ll find yourself sleeping permanently on the sofa.”
James promptly shut his mouth, though his eyes sparkled with barely suppressed mirth. He gently scooped Harry into his arms, bouncing him gently. “At least they gave little Harry a lovely mention. Come on, love, we're practically wizarding royalty now—a proper power couple.”
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in resignation. “If I ever agree to attend another of your matches, you’ll swear on your broomstick there will be absolutely no involvement from reporters.”
“On my honour, Sev,” James promised solemnly, although the mischievous glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.
Severus sighed deeply, accepting Harry back into his arms and cradling him gently. “You’re utterly insufferable,” he murmured, the edge of his irritation softened by a reluctant, amused twitch of his lips.
“And you love me for it,” James replied cheekily, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against Severus’s temple.
Settling back into his chair with Harry happily gurgling in his arms, Severus cast one final, weary glare at James. “The sofa remains a very real possibility.”
James chuckled brightly, sprawling comfortably in the chair opposite. “Absolutely worth it.”