Witch and the hothead 19
Severus
Since arriving, I've had this nagging feeling that Hermione's role here will go far beyond being the peacemaker. After our visit to Ana's and the tense council meeting, my suspicions only grew stronger. I'm almost certain she's going to be imprinted on—and it will be by the wolf who's been pushed to the shadows, the one they all seem to avoid acknowledging.
It wasn't just the council meeting that tipped me off. I've been quietly piecing together thoughts and emotions from the council members and the pack, and it's clear that the united front they try so hard to present is little more than a façade. The council members see this wolf as a liability, someone whose independent thinking challenges the harmony they claim to value. Among the pack, opinions are divided, though some, like Jacob, Jared, and Sam, see him as an outsider—arrogant, uncooperative, and unwilling to contribute to the reservation like the rest of them.
The way they view Paul reminds me so much of how people view Hermione. With her sharp mind and complete disinterest in changing herself to fit in, she's often seen as a threat. The situation with Kingsley only proves this: anyone with a mind of their own, unwilling to adapt to a unjust system, is always deemed dangerous by those in power.
This became even more evident during the bonfire. I overheard whispers circulating through the gathered group. The trio's distrust of Paul seemed to stem from what they saw as his unwillingness to fully participate in the rituals that bound the pack together: skipping dinners, refusing to volunteer, and, most damning of all, carrying himself like he thought he was better than the rest.
Even the alpha, usually composed, let a flicker of resentment slip through. It wasn't hard to see that he harboured an underlying grudge—one born of the assumption that Paul believed himself smarter and superior to the others.
But years of working as a spy have taught me one critical rule: never base your judgments on someone else's opinions. People's biases are unreliable, and I've learned the value of watching and waiting before forming conclusions. This wolf—Paul—intrigued me, the view these people have on him is what I have experienced all my life.
Not everyone in the pack viewed Paul with contempt, though. Embry, Quil, and Seth carried more nuanced perspectives. They respected Paul, even if they were wary of him. From their scattered thoughts, I could tell they acknowledged his strength and trusted him as a fighter. Deep down, they knew that, when it truly mattered, Paul would have their backs in a crisis.
In some ways, they even related to him. They, too, didn't always enjoy the tightly woven dynamic of the pack—especially the constant dinners and the ever-present imprints. The youngest, Seth, found it awkward and boring to play house with people he was forced to interact with because of the wolf. He craved his own space, wanted to be out with his friends, playing video games and doing things that didn't revolve around pack politics.
Embry also struggled with these gatherings. One of his memories slipped through—a conversation at one of the pack dinners where Jacob had spoken about the role of women as imprints. Embry hadn't agreed with the increasingly outdated and troubling views being pushed by the alpha and supported by the council. That memory unsettled me deeply, especially knowing that Hermione had been spending time alone with these individuals.
Quil's feelings were the most jarring. He carried a strong resentment toward both the alpha and the council, and I felt myself freeze when I saw why. The reason was hauntingly simple: Quil had imprinted on a four-year-old girl. His thoughts were a chaotic mix of disgust and confusion, a turmoil he kept buried beneath his goofy exterior. He struggled daily with the reality of his imprint—a child—and the immense weight of what it meant.
The pack's talk about a woman's role infuriated him to his core. It filled him with rage to think about the innocent little girl, who clearly saw him as a fun big brother, being expected to lose her freedom someday. The idea that she was supposed to grow into some kind of meek housewife for him when she came of age made his stomach churn.
Another person who captured my attention was the female wolf, Leah. She was silent and withdrawn, keeping to her brother's side all night. When an older woman approached her at the beach—someone I later learned was her mother—she slipped away as if she couldn't bear to be in the same space. The avoidance was deliberate, and the anger etched across her strikingly beautiful face was undeniable.
I couldn't help but wonder how the wolf gene affected her as a woman. First, there were the outdated gender roles imposed by her alpha—expectations that seemed even more stifling in the context of the pack. And then, biologically, what did shifting mean for her? It wasn't exactly the kind of question I could just walk up and ask, but the thought had been on my mind since learning about her. I'd never heard of a female shape-shifter before.
My eyes drift to her again. Even in her anger, she's strikingly beautiful. I groan inwardly, frustrated with myself. I should be ashamed for letting my thoughts wander like this—fixating on someone so much younger than me—but no matter how hard I try, I can't keep my eyes from straying back to her every few minutes.
When she wasn't staring blankly into the distance, she was glaring daggers at the alpha and his imprint, her expression brimming with raw resentment. It made me wonder what role she played in the tangled web of relationships here and why she carried such visible animosity.
One thing became clear as I watched the interactions that night: even though Hermione and I had gained the council's approval to stay on the reservation, uncovering the full story wasn't going to be simple. Everyone here wore a mask, and beneath it lay fractures that threatened to break the pack apart. Figuring out how Hermione fit into this fractured picture was only going to get more complicated from here.
As I walk toward my temporary potions lab, a faint ripple of thoughts slips through the wards catch my attention. These thoughts don't belong to anyone I recognize at first, but it doesn't take long for me to piece together who they belong to—Paul.
His mind is chaotic, a jumble of emotions that shifts quickly. It is as if he's struggling to sort through his own feelings, tangled with the instincts of his wolf. Despite the turmoil, one thing is loud and clear: both man and wolf wanted Hermione.
The realization makes me smirk. I mentally pat myself on the back for figuring it out. I had suspected that he would show up sooner rather than later and that's why I dropped the suggestion to Hermione that she should use a glamour over her eyes to minimize the risk of an imprint.
Naïve, she didn't think much of it at the time, probably assuming I was being overly cautious. She hadn't considered that only one wolf remained, since she'd already met the others during the council meeting.
But based on Paul's thoughts slipping through the wards, I knew their first meeting would happen today. When Hermione came by to say goodbye before heading out, I reminded her to apply the glamour.
As the day wore on, I couldn't stop mulling over my actions. Was it fair of me to interfere? To potentially delay or hinder an imprint from happening? Was I being selfish, or was I protecting Hermione from a situation she wasn't ready for? The questions gnawed at me, but I pushed them aside, focusing instead on the one thing that never failed to calm my mind—brewing.
The hours passed as I worked in the lab, replenishing my stock of essential potions and drafting a list of experimental brews I wanted to test out. One idea in particular occupied my thoughts: Nagini's venom. It was one of the deadliest substances in the world, and during the attack on Arthur Weasley, the antivenin I created had saved his life—and mine, when I was later bitten.
But could I take that work further? Could I create antidotes for other kinds of venom? For example, vampire venom? The possibilities were intriguing, and the challenge of it filled me with a rare sense of excitement. If such a potion were possible, it could change everything for those caught in the path of those creatures.
Engrossed in my brewing, I lost all sense of time, skipping lunch without a second thought. It wasn't until my stomach growled so loudly that I lost my focus that I finally decided to call it a day.
Assuming Hermione won't be back for a while, I keep things simple and made myself a grilled sandwich. With my plate in hand, I settle in front of the TV.
Television isn't new to me. Growing up with my deadbeat Muggle father, I've spent countless hours watching it, though back then I thought it was a waste of time. Books were always the better option—more stimulating, more worthwhile. But the advent of new technology and the sheer variety of content available now changed my perspective. Being able to watch whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, was a perk I had to admit I appreciated.
As I flip through channels, my mind wanders back to Hermione and Paul. Their paths were crossing today, and no matter what precautions I had put in place, fate have a way of carving out its own path. For now, though, I have no choice but to wait and see how it would unfold.
completely engrossed in a documentary about the American Civil War when I hear a frantic male voice calling my name. The urgency in his tone jolts me upright. It sounds close—too close—which instantly set me on edge. My hand instinctively goes to my wand as I open the door, and what I see makes me pale.
A towering young man stands there, Paul and he is carrying Hermione in his arms. She looks nearly unconscious, her face twisted in a pained grimace, her hands clenched into tight fists as though she is fighting something. Panic surge through me as I try to get her attention by calling her name, but there is no response. I quickly motion for him to come inside. As he crosses the threshold, her head loll and she fully lose consciousness. For the first time in a long while, a deep, suffocating dread creep over me.
Paul places her carefully on the sofa. Without a second thought, I sprint upstairs to grab a few potions. When I return, he is kneeling beside her, his face etched with worry. His gaze met mine, and I hear the jumble of anxious thoughts running through his head, thick with fear and helplessness.
I immediately cast a diagnostic spell over her, my chest tight with anticipation. When the spell finishes, my shoulders sag in relief, and I let out a deep sigh. "Her magic has gone haywire," I explain to him. "Her body likely just shut down to protect itself from the outburst. It's not harmful, but… it can be incredibly uncomfortable—and sometimes painful—when it happens."
Paul's features soften with relief, though the tension in his posture remains. As he leans closer, he gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind Hermione's ear. The moment his skin brushed hers, I feel it—a pulse of magic that practically hums in the air. His eyes dart to mine, wide with recognition. He'd felt it too.
A smirk tugs at my lips; there is no doubt in my mind now. If I hadn't intervened, this man would have imprinted on her today.
Not wanting to leave things unsaid, I gesture for him to follow me to the kitchen. As I put on a pot of coffee, the guilt begins to gnaw at me. Was this surge of magic some kind of backlash—a result of the glamour blocking nature from taking its course?
Behind me, I hear him sit down, his movements slow and heavy with unease. Turning toward him, I mask my emotions and fix him with a steady gaze.
"We have a lot to talk about, you and me, Paul Lahote," I say evenly, watching his eyes widen. A curse flies through his thoughts.
I almost laugh. Secretly, I'm pleased that I still have this effect on people—even a shape-shifter clearly uneasy about the conversation to come.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and offer him one, but he declines with a shake of his head. His posture tense, his body coiled as if ready to either flee or fight. His thoughts filter through my senses in fragmented whispers:
Going to make me leave.
It's my fault.
Never good enough.
This makes me pause. I let out a soft sigh, realizing I've been right not to judge him by the council's view—or even the murmurs from some of his pack members. What I sense isn't maliciousness or recklessness, but someone lost and lonely, longing to belong. Not so different from my younger self, I think grimly.
"First of all," I begin, breaking the silence, "I want you to know that what happened to Hermione is not your fault. If it's anyone's fault, it's probably mine." His head jerks up at that, confusion flickering across his face.
"I interfered where I should have stepped back, and I'm guessing that this"—I gesture toward Hermione, still unconscious on the sofa—"is the consequence of me trying to stop fate from playing out as it should have."
He frowns, glancing at me before his gaze shifts back to her. His entire body trembles, and I can see him struggling to hold back a torrent of emotion. Once again, I reassure him gently. "She's okay, you have my word."
I take a calming sip of my coffee and decide to probe further. "What happened when you met her?"
He hesitates, then begins telling me. His voice is low, almost a growl, as he describes their meeting in the library. He tells me how he helped her with her work, his tone sharpening as he mentions the vampires. I don't miss the slight flare of his nostrils or the tension in his shoulders when he recounts how he sensed her fear and nervousness about meeting them.
I study him carefully. He looks torn. Letting out a soft breath, he leans back slightly and sighs, the sound heavy with frustration.
"Just tell me what's going on," he says, his tone a mix of impatience and desperation. "I need to know what this means—for me, for her. I'm tired of guessing."
Bracing myself, I nod. The truth is going to be hard, and I can only hope I won't be facing an enraged wolf by the time I'm finished.
"Since I arrived here, I've had a gut feeling that Hermione's role in all of this is more than just temporary," I begin cautiously. "This property… it's so heavily loaded with magic that it makes me uncomfortable, and I'm not easily shaken," I mutter the last part, almost to myself. "Magic is a complex thing. I've realized there must be a reason the land reacts so strongly to her presence here."
Paul's brows furrow, confusion flickering across his face, but he remains silent. Encouraged by his attention, I press on.
"Things kept stacking up, and during the council meeting, everything just clicked for me." His posture stiffens with intrigue, and I meet his gaze with a measured look.
"What I say next might upset you, so please… just listen and let me finish." I pause to gauge his reaction, and when he nods reluctantly, I press on.
"I don't know if Hermione told you much about magic—or the abilities some of us have."
"She mentioned a few things," he says. "Told me you can protect your mind, and that you magical folks can hear people's thoughts—especially you."
I incline my head. "That's true. I have a natural talent for Legilimency. It allows me to read thoughts, sometimes even without meaning to if someone's emotions are strong enough. At the council meeting, their thoughts were… loud. It became clear to me that you're seen as a problem. A threat, even."
His shoulders slump at my words, fists clenching as he takes a deep breath. I give him a moment to process before continuing.
"They view you as too much of a free thinker. Someone who isn't easily swayed by their authority. That makes you dangerous to a small community that has, for centuries, survived on the unquestioning trust of a select few."
His jaw tightens, his knuckles turning white where his fists rest against his knees. But he doesn't interrupt, so I continue. I leave out the pack since it's not my business, and I figure once they find out he has imprinted, he will find out anyway.
"My theory about Ana's decision to keep you out is this," I begin carefully. "is that, If you had stepped inside, looked at Hermione, and imprinted on her, the council would never have accepted her. They likely would have forced her to leave or made you swear some kind of oath before letting her stay."
Paul's eyes widen as he looks over at Hermione, his expression shifting from shock to a deep, disappointed frown.
"Yeah, that might've been true…" he mutters, his voice low and tight. "But you're wrong. I didn't imprint on her."
I take a deep breath, steadying myself for what's about to come. The truth isn't going to be easy for him to hear—or for me to say.
"That," I say slowly, "is what I meant when I said it's my fault. I had this gut feeling you would imprint on her, so I… interfered."
He blinks, his frown deepening.
"I made sure she used a glamour. It's like a magical layer that conceals or changes someone's appearance. Hermione has a glamour over her eyes."
Paul stares at me, disbelief clear in his expression.
"So I wasn't imagining it," he says, his tone calm but tinged with accusation. "That faint shimmering I saw in front of her eyes—it was real?"
I nod. "It was real. Tell me, Paul—do you and your wolf feel a connection to her? A pull?"
His cheeks darken slightly, and he nods, looking down at his hands.
"And when your skin touched hers," I press, "did you feel anything? Did anything… happen?"
Paul's head dips in another nod. "She comforted me," he admits quietly, his voice soft but steady. "I was angry—about the leeches—and she calmed me down. It's something we've been told only an imprint can do."
I nod again, the pieces fitting together as I watch his face. There's a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes now, and as he turns his head to look at Hermione, his expression softens. The longing in his gaze is unmistakable.
"She'll wake up soon," I murmur, watching the way he stare at her, almost as if the world around him had fades away. "And when she does, we'll finally let fate take its course." I promise him, and he smiles. His posture relaxes, and I catch a glint of something hopeful in his eyes.
"If your theory is right, I'm forever grateful," Paul says, his voice earnest. "I've suspected for a while that they've had a problem with me—more than just my outbursts and temper from when I was younger. I've learned to control myself as I've gotten older."
I nod, watching him carefully. "Yes, so far, I haven't seen anything that resembles the stories I've heard about you. Honestly, I was bracing myself for a violent encounter with a wolf when I told you I interfered with the imprint," I ad with a chuckle.
Paul lets out a laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement as a grin spread across his face. He leans in slightly, looking more wolf than human in this moment.
"Oh, don't think you're out of trouble for that just yet," he teases, but his eyes hold no anger—only humour. I laugh, the tension easing between us.
We talk casually after that, and I take the chance to ask more about him. As he shares bits of his life, I begin to see why fate matched Hermione with this man. He's intelligent, emotional, but also exceptionally logical in his thinking.
His past, though, is another story. He speaks of losing his mother at the age of nine, living alone ever since. His words are quiet, almost painful, and something in me shifts as I listen.
Now that I know this part of him, I feel a deep, burning anger toward the council and his packmates for judging him so harshly. They haven't seen the real Paul and his struggles—and all they see is a free thinker who doesn't fit their mould.
It makes me angry.
And it makes me think about my life and how similar our lives are despite such different worlds.
I hesitate for just a second before telling him the short version of my upbringing—the wrong choices I made, and the situation that nearly cost me my life. His posture stiffens, and his body trembles with anger when I tell him about being manipulated by one wizard I thought cared for me and then being abused by another.
"Why is it always the people with the worst agendas who end up on the high seats, abusing power over others?" he growls.
I agree, and we sit in silence, each of us occupied with our thoughts. The time ticks away, and I can see him getting antsy, so I suggest he go out to Hermione's car to grab the groceries.
"I suspect she'll be hungry when she wakes up." I haven't even finished speaking before he's out the door.
When he returns, he places the bags on the counter and put Hermione's tote bag on the dining table, he then pulls out the map of Forks they had been working on and he fills me in on everything, and I nod, impressed by his tactical skills. I tell him as much, but he just shrugs it off. Still, I can tell my words affected him.
I start preparing dinner and glance at the clock. She's been out for over an hour now—that should be enough time for her body to recuperate.
Paul is sitting at the table, staring out the window, lost in thought. I walk over to Hermione as she rests on the sofa and cast a diagnostic spell again. It shows no abnormal magical activity, and I let out a relieved sigh.
I feel Paul's presence behind me as I cast a finite to cancel the glamour over her before stepping back and motioning for him to move forward. He hesitates for a second.
I place a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever happens, you should know that I approve, and I really am sorry."
He nods and ducks his head as he moves forward. He kneels down again his hands reaching for her but he stops and rests his hands on his knees.
I step back and out of view before I cast a rennervate.
Paul
I hear Severus cast a spell in the background, but once he removes the glimmer concealing her face, it's like seeing her for the first time all over again—even though her eyes are still closed.
Her eyelids twitch slightly, her long lashes resting against her skin. Carefully, so as not to startle her, I reach out and take her small hand in mine. The moment our skin touches, sparks shoot up my arm again. At least that hasn't changed, I think. But as I sit there, watching her stir, doubt begins to creep into my mind.
What if Severus is wrong? What if nothing happens? What if it's just her magic creating this spark, and I've imagined the connection all along?
Before I can dwell on the thought, a small sigh escapes her lips, and I hold my breath. Her eyes flutter open, blinking up at the ceiling, a look of confusion clouding her face. Then, as if moving in slow motion, her gaze finds mine—and the world stops.
I'm glad I'm already sitting down because the intensity of the moment sends a wave of energy coursing through me, so overwhelming that I might have fallen over otherwise. My ears buzz, and I feel my wolf howl with joy inside me.
Without the glamour concealing her, her eyes are even more striking. The golden flecks shimmer, glowing faintly, and the brown of her irises is lighter, more vivid.
Her mouth falls open as she exhales softly, and in that moment, every thought, every doubt evaporates. All I feel is a happiness so intense it's unlike anything I've ever experienced before.
Gently, I let go of her hand and raise my own to cup her face. Smiling, I whisper, "Hello, little witch."
.
.
.
.
And then they lived happily ever after...
Hah, just kidding. Bu Y!
Was anyone worried he might not imprint?
Paul and Severus's budding friendship is something I'm genuinely excited to explore further, almost as much as the growing relationship between Hermione and Paul. There's so much potential there, and I can't wait to dive into it.
Do you think the council and the pack are going to be a problem? Because I can already feel some drama brewing.
Thank you all so much for your kind and encouraging words. I'll probably take a short break over the weekend to recharge, but don't worry—I'll be back next week, ready to continue this journey with you all.
Take care, and see you soon!
(I'm going to update my Pinterest with pictures that follows the story, I hope you want to check it out ! Witchinblackk is the name of my account)