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James was halfway out the door, the cool gust of air from the corridor hitting him in the face when Professor Slughorn’s voice echoed across the room, calling him back.
“Potter, would you be a dear and fetch young Snape?” Slughorn said, his tone light but with an edge of irritation. “He hasn’t arrived yet, and class has already begun. He’s usually quite punctual.”
James groaned inwardly. Slughorn’s fondness for Snape was no secret, and James couldn’t understand why the professor kept tolerating his presence in class. Snape was insufferable—always one step ahead, always smug, always acting like he was better than everyone else. If it were up to James, Snape would be left to his own devices, but the thought of Slughorn docking points or giving him a disappointed look was enough to make him sigh in resignation.
“Fine,” James muttered, his voice thick with reluctant annoyance. He turned on his heel and trudged back into the corridor, shivering slightly. The cold seemed to bite through his robes today, the chill of the castle seeping into his bones.
He hadn’t gone far when something dark caught his eye, stark against the icy stone floor.
Someone was sprawled out at the base of the staircase leading toward the dungeons, motionless.
James’ heart jumped into his throat.
He rushed forward, already dreading what he’d find. The moment he got close enough, recognition hit him like a bludger to the chest.
Snape.
The telltale mop of ink-dark hair, the small, too-thin frame—and, more distinctly, the pair of twitching, pointed ears peeking through his messy curls. James had never met anyone else with ears like those, thin and sharp, shifting with every flicker of his emotions.
“Oi, Snape?” he tried, nudging his arm with the toe of his boot. No response.
Shit.
James knelt quickly, reaching out to roll the smaller boy onto his back. Snape’s head lolled to the side, revealing an ugly red mark blooming on his forehead. His face was pale—too pale, even for him. His hands were icy cold when James grabbed his wrist to check for a pulse.
“Bloody hell, you idiot,” James muttered, feeling the faint but steady thrum beneath his fingers. He was alive. Just out cold.
He hesitated for all of a second before scooping Snape into his arms. He barely weighed anything. Was he always this light? It was almost alarming.
He took off running down the hallway, he had never run so fast in his life.
Snape’s unconscious body was surprisingly light in his arms, making it almost too easy to carry him as he sprinted toward the hospital wing. The snow was still coming down in thick, icy sheets, the castle corridors freezing and slick beneath his boots.
“Oi, move!” he barked at a group of second-years blocking the way. They scattered as he rushed past, his arms tightening instinctively around Snape’s smaller frame.
His hair was damp from the snow, strands sticking to his forehead where a nasty bruise was already blooming. His face was pale, his breathing too shallow for James’ liking. But his ears—those strange, twitchy ears—still flicked every now and then, and that was enough to keep James from outright panicking.
“Madam Pomfrey!” James called as he burst into the hospital wing, his voice sharp and urgent. “Snape took a nasty fall—he hit his head on the stone steps outside the dungeons—”
Madam Pomfrey turned immediately, eyes widening at the sight of the unconscious boy in James’ arms. “Lay him here, quickly!” she ordered, gesturing to an empty bed.
James moved fast, carefully lowering Snape onto the mattress.
“What happened?” she demanded, already pulling out her wand to assess the injury.
“Slughorn sent me to find him when he didn’t show up for class,” James explained, standing at the foot of the bed, still slightly out of breath. “Found him on the ground outside the dungeon. Must’ve slipped on the ice and smacked his head when he went down.”
Madam Pomfrey frowned, waving her wand over Snape’s forehead. “Mmm. Concussion. Nothing too serious, but he’ll be out for a little while.”
James exhaled in relief. “So he’s gonna be alright?”
“He will be fine after some rest. Though I imagine he will have quite the headache when he wakes up.” She tutted as she summoned a vial of pale-blue potion, tilting Snape’s head back slightly to coax a few drops between his lips. “Honestly, this castle is a menace in the winter—slippery floors, treacherous stairs—it’s a miracle more students don’t end up in my care every day.”
James huffed. “Right? You’d think they’d put down some anti-slip charms or something.”
“One would think.”
Madam Pomfrey carefully adjusted Snape’s blanket before casting a final diagnostic spell. His breathing had steadied, his ears flicking weakly at the touch of magic.
“There,” she said at last, standing up straight. “He should wake in an hour or two. In the meantime, he needs to stay warm and rest. You may return to class, Mr. Potter.”
James hesitated.
His job here was done. Snape wasn’t dying. He should leave.
But for some reason, his feet stayed planted where they were.
Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow.
James cleared his throat. “I’ll just, uh… stay until he wakes up.”
The mediwitch gave him a skeptical look but said nothing, simply nodding before walking away to tend to her other patients.
James sighed and pulled up a chair beside the bed, crossing his arms as he settled in.
He didn’t like Snape.
But he didn’t hate him enough to leave him alone in the hospital wing, either.
------------------------------------------
James had never sat in a more awkward silence in his life.
He slumped in his chair, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the dull torches on the walls and Snape’s still form on the bed. The minutes dragged, the only sound in the room being the occasional rustle of Madam Pomfrey’s robes as she moved about.
Snape hadn’t stirred yet.
His ears twitched occasionally, but he remained out cold, his sharp features unusually soft in sleep. James had never seen him like this—quiet, unguarded. It was weird.
He tapped his fingers against his arm impatiently.
Maybe he should just go. Snape would be fine, and it wasn’t like he was going to wake up and thank him or anything. He’d probably just scowl and call him a stupid Gryffindor like always.
But just as James was about to stand, Snape shifted.
His breath hitched, his brow furrowing slightly. His fingers curled weakly into the blanket, and for a second, James thought he was waking up.
“Mmm…”
Snape mumbled something.
James leaned forward. “Oi. Snape?”
No response.
But then—
“Mama…?”
James froze.
Snape’s voice was quiet, hoarse, barely above a whisper. His head turned slightly to the side, his ears flicking, his lips parted just enough to let the word slip out again.
“Mama?”
James swallowed.
Snape was still out of it, his eyelids fluttering as he shifted restlessly against the pillow.
“Mmm… ‘glt bardan…” (Said I'm cold) he mumbled, the words slipping into something James didn’t understand. His voice was slurred, thick with sleep and whatever potion Pomfrey had given him. His hands clutched at the blanket, like he was trying to pull it tighter around himself.
James hesitated.
Was he dreaming? Or was he actually trying to call for his mum?
James glanced around, but there was no one else nearby. Madam Pomfrey was in the far corner of the room, tending to a different patient.
Snape shifted again, his ears twitching weakly. “Mama…”
Then, just as quickly as it had started, his body went slack again, his fingers loosening their grip on the blanket as he slipped back into deep unconsciousness.
James exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.
Well.
That had been… unexpected.
He sat back in his chair, watching as Snape’s breathing evened out again. His hair was still damp from the snow, his expression peaceful but pale.
James frowned.
Snape had never struck him as the type to call for his mum in his sleep.
But then again… he supposed he didn’t really know Snape, did he?
----------------------------------------------------------------
Severus woke up feeling like someone had cracked his skull open and left him to freeze in the snow.
A groan slipped from his lips as he shifted under the heavy blankets, every part of him aching. The air was too cold, the light too bright, and his head throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to it.
It took him a moment to realize where he was.
The hospital wing.
He barely had time to process that before a voice cut through the haze.
“Finally.”
Severus flinched.
His ears twitched as he turned his head, blinking in confusion at James Potter sitting beside him, arms crossed, watching him with something that looked like reluctant concern.
Severus stared.
Then groaned again, dragging a hand over his face. “Why are you here?”
“Because you nearly cracked your skull open like an idiot,” James replied, leaning back in his chair. “Slughorn sent me to find you when you didn’t show up to class. I found you unconscious outside the dungeons. On the ground. In the snow.”
Severus groaned louder and turned his face into the pillow. “You should have left me.”
James scoffed. “Yeah, right. You think I want to explain to McGonagall why I let you die in the snow?”
Severus didn’t respond, just curled further into the blanket, ears twitching irritably.
James sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You, uh… kept mumbling in your sleep.”
Severus stilled.
“What?”
“You kept calling for your mum.”
Heat rushed to Severus’ face.
His long, pointed ears twitched, then flattened back against his head. “You’re lying.”
James held up his hands. “Swear I’m not.”
Severus scowled. “I hate you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” James muttered, waving him off. Then, after a pause, he asked, “What were you even doing out there? Why were you running?”
“Because it’s cold,” Severus muttered bitterly, pressing his fingers against his aching temple. “Everything in this damn castle is freezing. And dangerous.”
James raised an eyebrow. “It’s just snow, Snape. You act like it’s trying to kill you.”
Severus exhaled sharply, ears flicking up before drooping in sheer frustration. “It is trying to kill me.”
James blinked.
“What.”
Severus pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “I hate this. I hate snow. I hate ice. I hate cold. I walk, I slip. I run, I slip. I breathe, I slip! It— it betrays me!”
James let out a short laugh. “It betrays you?”
“Yes!” Severus snapped, glaring at him. “No one told me it was this bad. No one told me I could die from falling on ice!”
James rolled his eyes. “Obviously you’re not supposed to fall.”
“I didn’t know it was this serious!” Severus burst out. “This is only the fourth time I’ve seen snow in my life!”
James’ mouth opened slightly.
“Wait. What?”
Severus sighed. “You heard me.”
“How have you only seen snow four times?” James asked, baffled.
“Because I am Egyptian, Potter,” Severus muttered, rubbing his arms. “It doesn’t snow in Cairo. It isn’t cold like this. It rains. Sometimes it’s windy. But this? This is wrong.”
James just stared at him.
“Huh.”
Severus groaned. “Do not look at me like that.”
James smirked. “You’re seriously this bad with snow?”
Severus shot him a look. “You try going outside without a coat, see how well you do.”
James chuckled, then tilted his head. “So that’s why you’re always freezing.”
“Of course!” Severus huffed, his ears flicking in irritation. “This castle hates me. There’s no warmth anywhere. Even the fire is cold.”
James laughed at that. “Fire’s not cold, Snape.”
“Feels cold to me,” Severus muttered, glaring at the ceiling.
James shook his head in amusement, then frowned slightly, watching Severus’ ears twitch as he spoke. They moved when he was irritated, perked up when he was startled, drooped when he sighed. It was… kind of fascinating.
“You know, your ears move a lot.”
Severus stiffened.
Then slowly turned his head, eyes dark with warning.
“Potter.”
James smirked. “It’s kind of cute.”
Severus made a strangled noise and immediately covered his ears with his hands, cheeks burning red.
“Get. OUT.”
James laughed all the way out of the hospital wing.
--------------------------------------------------
Severus hated everything about this.
The hospital wing smelled too clean, his head still ached, and worst of all—he had to endure James bloody Potter seeing him in such a pathetic state.
Madam Pomfrey had kept him for two days, fussing over him and making sure the swelling on his head went down properly. She had tut-tutted at him for not wearing a thicker cloak and had forced him to drink so many disgusting potions that he was fairly certain he’d never get the taste out of his mouth.
When she finally let him go, Severus all but bolted, eager to get back to his dorm.
Except…
The moment he stepped out of the hospital wing, he nearly walked straight into James Potter.
Severus froze. His ears twitched.
James blinked at him, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh. You’re finally out.”
Severus scowled. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” James said quickly, then hesitated. “I just—whatever. You look less dead, so that’s good, I guess.”
Severus narrowed his eyes.
James had been waiting for him.
Why?
Severus didn’t trust it. Potter never waited for him unless it was to hex him.
He folded his arms, glaring. “What do you want?”
James rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’m not here to mess with you, Snape. Just…” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m still not sure how you managed to nearly kill yourself just by slipping, but try not to do it again, alright?”
Severus scoffed. “You think I want to?”
“Knowing you? Who knows?” James smirked, but it faded after a second. “Just—be careful. You still look like you might drop dead if the wind blows too hard.”
Severus’ ears twitched sharply. “I will be fine.”
James didn’t look convinced. His eyes flickered over Severus’ too-thin cloak, the way his shoulders were hunched against the cold, the way his ears twitched ever so slightly as another gust of freezing air hit them.
With an exaggerated sigh, James reached into his bag and pulled something out.
“Here.”
Severus barely had time to react before something soft and warm was shoved into his hands.
A scarf.
A Gryffindor-colored scarf.
Severus recoiled instantly. “What—? No. I do not want this.”
James rolled his eyes. “I’m not asking you to keep it, just wear it until you get back to your dorm, idiot.”
Severus glared at him, but his fingers curled around the fabric instinctively. It was warm.
Too warm to give back right away.
James seemed to take his silence as an agreement because he stepped back and shrugged. “See? Not that hard. Now go on before Pomfrey comes out here and yells at me for standing in the cold.”
Severus hesitated for another second before finally muttering, “Fine.”
Then, before James could say anything else, he turned and hurried away, ears still twitching.
James watched him go, shaking his head.
"Hopeless."
-------------------------------------------
James slumped onto the couch in the Gryffindor common room, stretching his legs out and resting his arms behind his head.
Across from him, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were watching him expectantly.
“Well?” Sirius finally asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did Snivellus survive, or is Slytherin going to hold a grudge against you for letting one of their own freeze to death?”
James rolled his eyes. “He’s fine. Still scrawny, still grumpy, still acting like the entire castle is personally trying to kill him.”
“It kind of is,” Remus muttered, flipping a page in his book.
James pointed at him. “That’s exactly what he said. Swears the ice is out to get him.”
“And you didn’t just hex him while he was down?” Sirius asked, only half-joking.
“Merlin, Sirius, I’m not that bad,” James said, exasperated.
“Debatable.”
“Shut up.”
Sirius smirked. “So? Did he say anything interesting?”
James hesitated.
Then, with a thoughtful expression, he said, “Did you know he’s only seen snow four times in his life?”
Three pairs of eyes blinked at him.
“What?”
“Yeah.” James leaned forward, rubbing his chin. “Says he’s Egyptian. Didn’t know it got this cold in Britain. He was shivering, Sirius. I swear he almost started crying about it.”
Remus frowned. “I did think he was dressed too lightly for the weather.”
“That’s his problem,” Sirius said with a shrug. “He could get a better cloak if he wanted to.”
“Could he, though?” James countered, tilting his head. “I dunno, Pads. He looked proper miserable out there.”
Sirius made a face, clearly reluctant to care.
Remus sighed. “If he’s that bad in the cold, he’s going to get sick.”
“Or crack his skull open again,” Peter added.
There was a brief pause as they all remembered exactly how James had found him.
Another gust of wind outside made the windows rattle.
Remus shook his head. “We should do something.”
“Oh, sure,” Sirius said dryly. “Let’s just give him a nice, warm cloak and watch him hex us for it. Brilliant plan, Moony.”
“Not give,” Remus corrected. “We’d have to be subtle about it. If it feels like pity, he’ll never take it.”
“So what? We just throw a cloak at him and run?”
James hummed in thought.
Then he smirked.
“Or.”
Sirius groaned. “I hate it when you start your sentences like that.”
“Or,” James continued, ignoring him, “we do what I already did.”
“Which was…?”
James stretched lazily. “Lent him my scarf. Didn’t ask for it back.”
Peter blinked. “You gave him your Gryffindor scarf?”
“Yep.”
“And he took it?”
“Yep.”
Sirius sat up. “Wait, really?”
James smirked. “He grumbled about it, but he didn’t give it back. That means he’s cold enough to take whatever warmth he can get.”
Remus nodded slowly. “So… if we just leave a scarf or a cloak somewhere near him, he might take it?”
“Exactly.”
Sirius was still frowning slightly, looking conflicted. “This is Snivellus we’re talking about.”
James raised an eyebrow. “You want him to drop dead of frostbite? Because if he cracks his head open again, Slughorn’s sending you next time.”
Sirius groaned dramatically. “Fine, fine. But if he throws it back in our faces, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”
James grinned. “Deal.”
It was a terrible plan.
Or, at least, that’s what Sirius had said multiple times before they even left the Gryffindor common room.
“He’s going to think it’s cursed,” Sirius muttered as he crouched beneath the Invisibility Cloak, barely resisting the urge to elbow James in the ribs. “Or poisoned. Or some elaborate prank to make him look like an idiot.”
“Which is why we’re not giving it to him outright,” James whispered back, eyes locked onto the small, hunched figure sitting alone at the far end of the courtyard.
Severus Snape looked as miserable as ever, curled into himself, thin arms gripping his too-light cloak as a sharp wind howled through the open stone archways.
His ears twitched violently against the cold.
“He’s shivering,” Remus noted quietly, frowning.
“That’s the whole reason we’re here, isn’t it?” James murmured. He shifted slightly, adjusting the scarf in his hands. It wasn’t Gryffindor red and gold this time—that had been too obvious. Instead, he’d nicked a plain, thick wool scarf from Peter’s trunk.
(“Hey!” Peter had protested when he first realized, but James had waved him off. “It’s for a good cause, Wormy.”)
Now, standing under the cloak with the others, James took a deep breath. “Alright, here goes.”
He stepped forward, slipping out from beneath the cloak as smoothly as he could.
Severus, predictably, tensed at once. His head snapped up, sharp black eyes narrowing in immediate suspicion.
James held up his hands. “Relax, I’m not here to fight you.”
Severus didn’t relax.
James rolled his eyes. “Look, I just—I noticed you’re still freezing your arse off.”
Severus’ ears twitched. His jaw tightened.
James ignored it. He reached into his bag, pulled out the scarf, and tossed it onto the bench beside Severus. “There. You can use it or not. Don’t care.”
Severus eyed the scarf like it might bite him. “Why?”
James huffed. “What do you mean, why? It’s bloody freezing, that’s why.”
Severus’ fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t reach for it. His glare deepened.
James sighed dramatically and stepped back, raising his hands again. “Fine, Snape. Sit there and turn into an ice block, see if I care.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
The second he was back under the cloak, Sirius was on him.
“That was terrible.” Sirius hissed.
“Oh, shut up.”
“No, really, I mean it. That was the worst attempt at kindness I have ever seen—”
“Will you two be quiet?” Remus whispered harshly. “Look!”
They all turned.
Severus was still staring at the scarf.
He glanced around quickly—checking for an audience, no doubt—before reaching out and hesitantly picking it up.
Severus hesitated, fingers curled around the thick wool.
It was warm. Really warm.
His eyes flickered around the courtyard, ensuring no one was watching. Then, slowly, cautiously, he pulled the scarf around his neck and tucked it under his cloak.
The warmth was immediate. It seeped through his frozen skin, chasing away the miserable chill that had settled in his bones for days.
His shoulders relaxed.
A quiet breath slipped past his lips as he adjusted the fabric, pulling it up higher until it covered the tip of his nose. His long, pointy ears twitched, then jumped slightly as warmth reached them, too.
He let out a small, pleased hum.
Without thinking, he tucked a few strands of his hair behind his ears, the soft fabric brushing against his jaw as he did so.
Then—before he could stop himself—a smile flickered across his face.
A small one. Barely there.
But a smile nonetheless.
Under the Invisibility Cloak, the four of them stood frozen, staring.
James had expected Snape to take the scarf eventually—he’d bet on it, actually—but what he hadn’t expected was the way the smaller boy reacted to it.
The moment Severus tucked the scarf under his cloak and felt the warmth, his entire body seemed to loosen, like he’d finally been able to stop bracing against the cold. His sharp features softened, his shoulders lowered, and—Merlin help them all—his long, pointed ears twitched before suddenly jumping up in what could only be excitement.
“Did you see that?” Sirius whispered, eyes wide.
“Shut up,” James hissed back.
They watched, captivated, as Severus pulled the scarf up higher until it covered the tip of his nose. Then, still cautious, still quiet, he tucked his hair behind his ears.
And then—then—he smiled.
It was barely there. A tiny, fleeting flicker.
But it was a smile.
Peter inhaled sharply. “I’ve never seen him smile before.”
“Me neither,” James muttered, feeling an odd twist in his stomach.
Sirius, of all people, was staring.
“That was actually kind of—” he started, but James elbowed him before he could finish.
“Don’t ruin it.”
They stood there a moment longer, watching as Snape curled into himself, snuggling deeper into the scarf like it was the best thing he’d ever felt in his life. His ears flicked again, shifting with his moods—first drooping slightly, then perking back up.
Sirius made another choked noise.
“Alright, that was—”
“Shut. Up,” James whispered, still grinning.
Then, as quietly as they could, they turned and slipped away, leaving Severus to his warmth.