Severus Snape

The transition from the serene, wave-battered cliffs of Minami Iwo Jima to the drafty, sprawling chaos of the Scottish Highlands had been a shock to the system, but sitting here now, the cold stone of Hogwarts feels like home. A year ago, you were the enigma in the Great Hall—the sixth-year transfer from Mahoutokoro whose robes shimmered in a constant, brilliant gold. It was a color that commanded respect, a visual testament to your grades and your discipline. Now, as a seventh-year, that gold silk is no longer a barrier of intimidation; it’s the sleeve your partner habitually tugs on when they want your attention. The Great Hall is currently a battlefield of affection. Hovering cupids are misfiring arrows, and a cloud of pink bubbles is drifting lazily over the Gryffindor table. For you, however, the focus is entirely on the person sitting close enough that your different worlds finally feel like one. The Scene Your partner leans back, watching a stray enchanted lace heart attempt to nest in your hair. They reach out, gently plucking it away, their fingers lingering near your temple. "I still have the first note I tried to write you," they admit, a sheepish grin breaking through their usual composure. "I ruined three pieces of parchment because I was terrified I’d smudge your golden robes if I handed it to you. I thought if I breathed too hard near a Mahoutokoro student, I’d get an academic citation." They slide a small, clumsily wrapped parcel across the table toward you, their eyes meeting yours. "Happy first Valentine’s Day, officially. I know it’s not as elegant as the festivals back home for you, and we’ve traded the Pacific Ocean for a Giant Squid in a lake... but I hope the company makes up for the lack of scenery."

Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts arrived wrapped in frost and candlelight.

The castle windows were laced with delicate ice patterns, each one glittering like spun glass under the evening glow. Students filled the corridors in pairs and groups, laughter echoing off the stone as enchanted cupids flitted overhead, occasionally dropping parchment hearts that dissolved into rose petals before touching the ground.

You had almost avoided the Great Hall entirely.

Almost.

Seventh year had made you bolder—but nights like this still reminded you how much had changed since your transfer from Mahudao in sixth year.

Back then, you had arrived a mystery—foreign magic, foreign robes, foreign customs. The golden uniform of your home school had turned heads everywhere you walked, its silk panels catching torchlight like molten sun.

Tonight, you wore them again.

Not because you had to.

Because he once told you they were beautiful.

You stepped out into the courtyard instead of the Hall, breath fogging in the winter air. Snow dusted the hedges and marble benches, untouched except for a single path of footprints leading toward the gazebo near the Black Lake.

You followed them without thinking.

And there he was.

Severus stood beneath the gazebo’s arched roof, black robes stark against the pale snow. Someone—likely with far more romantic optimism than he’d ever admit to—had charmed the structure with floating lanterns. Soft golden lights hovered around him, reflected in the lake behind.

For a moment, he didn’t notice you.

He was holding something—small, silver-wrapped—turning it over in his hands as though debating whether to throw it into the water or keep it.

You stepped onto the wooden floor.

The boards creaked.

He looked up immediately, dark eyes sharp—then softened in a way only you ever saw.

“...You came.”

It wasn’t a question. More like relief he hadn’t meant to reveal.

His gaze lowered, taking in the gold of your Mahudao robes, the familiar embroidery at your cuffs.

A faint exhale left him, almost a laugh under his breath.

“I had hoped you might wear them again,” he admitted quietly. “Selfish, perhaps.”

Snow drifted through the open arches behind you, slow and silent.

For a moment, neither of you spoke—because this was new still.

Official.

No hiding in shadowed corridors. No pretending friendship when hands brushed.

Severus stepped closer, boots soft against the wood. He hesitated only briefly before reaching for your hand—gloved fingers cool but steady when they laced with yours.

His voice dropped, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it at school.

“My first Valentine’s Day,” he said, “that I do not entirely despise.”

A pause.

“...You are the reason.”

The silver-wrapped object remained in his other hand, now slightly crumpled from how tightly he’d been holding it.

Lantern light flickered across both your robes—gold and black standing side by side against the winter night.

He cleared his throat softly.

“I thought we might walk by the lake,” he murmured. “If you’re amenable.”

His thumb brushed yours—nervous, but intentional.

Waiting for your answer.

The Great Hall is a blur of enchanted pink confetti and hovering paper hearts, but for once, the magical chaos of Hogwarts feels secondary to the person sitting across from you. It’s hard to believe that just a year ago, you were the "Golden Transfer"—the sixth-year student from Mahoutokoro whose robes shimmered with that unmistakable, prestigious gold. Back then, you were a curiosity, a streak of dawn-colored silk in a sea of black wool. Now, in your seventh and final year, the gold of your robes has become a permanent fixture in the life of the person holding your hand. The Great Hall’s enchanted ceiling reflects a soft, rose-tinted sunrise as you both navigate your very first official Valentine’s Day as a couple. The Scene You’re tucked away at the end of your house table, a small space of calm amidst the sugar-high energy of the younger years. Beside you lies a small, traditional Japanese wooden box—a gift you brought from home—resting next to a pile of Honeydukes wrappers. "You know," your partner says, leaning in with a playful glint in their eyes, "when you first showed up in those gold robes, I thought you were either the most brilliant wizard/witch in the world or a massive show-off. I’m glad it turned out to be a bit of both." They squeeze your hand, their thumb tracing the cuff of your sleeve. "First Valentine’s Day. No pressure, right? But I’ve got to know—how does a Hogwarts celebration compare to February back at Minami Iwo Jima?" How would you like to proceed?

• Describe the gift you brought from Mahoutokoro.
• Share a memory of how you two went from "curious transfer" to "official couple" last year.
• Suggest a getaway to Hogsmeade to escape the pink confetti. Would you like me to describe the specific magical properties of your golden robes as they react to your current mood?