Hogwarts, Dungeons, Slytherin Head of House Chambers
The final bell of the school year echoed through the stone corridors of Hogwarts, signaling the start of summer and a wave of freedom that every student eagerly anticipated. It was a time when they could cast off the burdens of homework, escape the watchful eyes of their professors, and indulge in the carefree days of their break.
But this freedom wasn't just for the students. For the professors, it meant freedom from the constant demands of teaching and the chaos of young witches and wizards. With the castle emptying out, they could return to their own lives, reconnect with family and friends, and enjoy a quiet, uninterrupted summer—far from the exuberant energy that usually filled the halls.
At least, that's what it meant for most professors. For the Head of Slytherin House, summer was no such relief. Severa Snape had no family waiting for her, no warm reunions or joyful gatherings. Her relatives were either dead or locked up in jail, and the few friends she had were consumed by their own lives, busy with families and responsibilities that left little room for her.
So, summer for Severa meant returning to her cold, run-down house. Exchanging her formal robes for baggy, threadbare clothes, retreating into the shadows of her lonely home, and drowning her sorrows in firewhiskey. The days would blur into each other, one drink after another, as she tried to numb the pain of isolation, the ache of a life that felt like it was slipping through her fingers.
And this summer, she planned to be no different.
That was until her office door swung open, the sudden movement forcing her to look up from the stack of papers she'd been pretending to focus on. A familiar head of blonde hair appeared, and Severa's eyes narrowed slightly in surprise.
"Narcissa, what brings you here?" she asked, watching as the elegant pureblood witch closed the door behind her and, with a sigh, flopped down into a chair. The action was anything but ladylike, entirely uncharacteristic of the poised and polished Narcissa Malfoy. Yet, it wasn't the first time Severa had seen even the most refined purebloods let their guard down around her, behaving more like carefree children than members of prestigious families. It was a phenomenon she had long since stopped trying to explain.
Narcissa leaned back in the chair, her usually pristine hair slightly mussed as she regarded Severa with a look of fond exasperation. "You, my dear, are not spending another summer wallowing in that dingy old house of yours. It's high time you did something for yourself, and I'm here to make sure of it."
Severa raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-skeptical. "And what, pray tell, do you have in mind? Another one of your lavish galas or tedious Pureblood gatherings?"
Narcissa shook her head, a mischievous smile curving her lips. "Nothing of the sort. I'm talking about a real escape, Severa. Somewhere far away, where you can leave all of this behind for a while. Iceland, perhaps. I hear the landscape is breathtaking, and the isolation might do you some good."
Severa blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. The idea of traveling, of leaving behind her routine of self-imposed misery, was both tempting and terrifying. "Iceland?" she repeated, as if testing the word on her tongue.
"Yes, Iceland," Narcissa confirmed, her tone leaving no room for argument. "A place where no one knows your name, and you can just be. You deserve this, Severa. And frankly, I won't take no for an answer."
Severa hesitated, the walls she had built around herself wavering as she considered Narcissa's words. The thought of breaking free, if only for a little while, stirred something deep within her—a longing she hadn't acknowledged in years. But could she really allow herself such an indulgence?
"Narcissa..." Severa began, her voice laced with uncertainty and a hint of amusement. "What money would I use for this 'trip' of yours? Being a professor doesn't pay nearly as well as it should." She couldn't help but think back on the countless nights she'd considered marching up to Dumbledore's office to demand a raise, only to resign herself to another restless night instead.
"I'd be happy to fund it. Or," Narcissa added, a mischievous glint in her eye, "you could always use the money Bruce left you."
Severa scoffed at the suggestion, rolling her eyes. "I refuse to use Bruce Mulciber's money just so he can find another excuse to shower me with unwanted attention. And I refuse your money too. I'm not some charity case, Narcissa."
Narcissa leaned forward, her expression softening. "Severa, it's not about charity. It's about giving you a chance to breathe, to live for yourself for once. But if you insist on being stubborn, there are other ways. You're resourceful—you'll find a way to make it work."
Severa crossed her arms, still wary but unable to deny the small seed of temptation that had been planted. "And what if I do go? What then? I return after a summer of gallivanting around Iceland, only to find myself back in the same miserable routine."
"Maybe," Narcissa acknowledged, her voice gentle, "but maybe not. Sometimes a change of scenery is all it takes to see things differently. Besides, who knows what—or who—you might discover along the way?"
Severa's gaze drifted to the window, where the darkening sky mirrored the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. She knew Narcissa was right—deep down, she knew she couldn't go on like this forever. But the idea of leaving her comfort zone, of embracing the unknown, was daunting.
Still, the idea of Iceland, with its remote landscapes and quiet beauty, called to her in a way she couldn't quite ignore.
"I'll think about it," Severa finally said, her tone noncommittal, though the spark in Narcissa's eyes suggested she'd already won this battle.
"That's all I ask," Narcissa replied, smiling as she stood up. "And if you do decide to go, know that I'm just a Floo call away."
As Narcissa left the room, Severa remained seated, her mind racing with possibilities. For the first time in years, the idea of summer didn't seem so bleak.
Standing up, she moved toward her fireplace, her steps hesitant. She reached for the small jar on the mantel, grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, and stepped into the fireplace. She may not have liked Bruce Mulciber in that way—far from it—but his money could certainly come in handy now.
"Gringotts Bank!" she called, throwing the powder at her feet. In an instant, emerald flames roared around her, and she felt the familiar, dizzying rush as the world spun past in a blur of green light. Moments later, she was stepping out of a fireplace in the main hall of Gringotts, brushing soot from her robes.
The goblins eyed her with their usual blend of curiosity and disdain, but Severa paid them no mind. She approached the counter and cleared her throat. "I'd like to make a withdrawal from my vault," she stated, her voice steady, betraying none of her inner conflicts.
The goblin behind the counter raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Vault number?" he asked, his tone clipped.
"Vault 617," she replied. The goblin glanced at her, then jotted something down in a ledger before gesturing for her to follow.
She followed him down a series of narrow corridors and rickety staircases until they reached a cart. As they sped through the underground tunnels of the bank, Severa's thoughts turned back to Bruce. She hated the idea of using his money—she hated feeling like she was accepting his advances, even indirectly. But if this was the only way to break free, just this once, then so be it.
The cart screeched to a halt in front of her vault, and the goblin jumped out, unlocking the heavy door with a flick of his long fingers. The door creaked open, revealing piles of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, along with a few heirlooms she had no interest in.
Severa sighed, stepping inside and grabbing a small pouch. She filled it with just enough to cover her travel expenses and maybe a bit extra, but no more. She would not owe him anything more than what was necessary.
As she turned to leave, she felt a strange sense of liberation. Maybe this was the start of something new. Maybe this was the summer she would finally learn to live—for herself.