Chapter Text
GIRLS LIKE CHARITY Burbage did not talk to boys like Severus Snape.
With her perfectly styled hair, high-brand tailored school robes, and a smile that could charm even the most stoic of teachers, Charity Burbage was the perfect picture of everything that the upper levels of Hogwarts’s social hierarchy were supposed to be.
People like Charity Burbage were the kind that moved through the castle with an air of effortless confidence, their laughter echoing through the corridors as they passed. They were the ones who sat at the best tables in the Great Hall, always surrounded by a crowd of admirers who hung on their every word. They were the ones who were always invited to parties, their weekends always filled with social hangouts, always the center of gossip and attention.
It was everything Severus detested: the shallow, the frivolous, the meaningless.
There was an unspoken rule that people like Charity Burbage existed in a different universe from people like Severus Snape.
And for the last six years at Hogwarts, Severus Snape had mastered the art of avoidance. From the moment he first stepped foot in the castle, he understood that survival in this elitist hellscape meant keeping as much distance as possible from people like Charity Burbage. It wasn’t just a matter of preference; it was a necessity if he wanted any semblance of peace in a world where people like Charity Burbage, with their flawless exteriors and tendency to mock those who didn’t fit their mold, had all the power.
And yet, for some unfathomable reason, Charity Burbage was trying to talk to him.
The boats floated gently on the glassy black lake, casting rippling reflections of the towering Hogwarts castle which loomed above like a beacon of wonder. First years clustered together in twos, their eyes wide as they took in the sight of the castle from where their boats moved in the water. Some whispered excitedly as they spotted the giant squid from where they sat in their boats, while others stared up at the castle in awe, their breath catching at the sight of the turrets and towers piercing the night sky.
The upper years, by contrast, chatted among themselves, catching up after a summer apart. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated over the water, blending with the soft lapping of the lake against the boat hulls. The air was alive with the energy of returning students, all eager to settle into the familiar rhythm of Hogwarts life for another year.
Severus had always managed to avoid the bustle of the returning students, usually finding a way to sit alone in one of the boats, or even opting to ride along with Hagrid as the groundskeeper guided the first years to the castle. Solitude was his preference—a small bubble of quiet before the chaos of the school year began. But tonight, that bubble had been unceremoniously burst by Charity Burbage.
She had somehow slipped into his boat right as it had been going offshore, making it impossible for him to tell her to get off even if he’d wanted to. She sat with an infuriating ease, as if this were the most natural thing in the world, her smile directed at him with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
“So—”
“Don’t talk to me,” Severus cut in, his voice low and sharp.
He could feel the eyes of other students on them, glances thrown their way from the other boats. Fourth years and upwards were sneaking looks, their curiosity piqued by the bizarre social sight of Charity Burbage seated next to him—Severus Snape, the boy who, to all rights, wasn’t even scraping the bottom tier of Hogwarts’ much beloved social hierarchy.
The sensation of being watched made Severus’s discomfort even worse. He could almost hear the whispers that would follow this speculation about what on earth Charity Burbage was doing with him of all people. He stared straight ahead even as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, his anxiety making it difficult for him not to bite at his nails to gnaw away the irritation of this unnerving new situation.
Charity didn’t seem fazed by his bluntness. Instead, she tilted her head, as if considering something of great importance.
“Gee, Severus—” she said with a small laugh, pausing to ask, “can I call you Severus?”
Her tone was as casual as if she were discussing the weather, her voice carrying that unmistakable air of someone who had never been denied anything a day in her life.
“No,” Severus replied, his voice cutting through the brief silence with a cold, clipped finality. He had no intention of letting this conversation go any further than it already had.
But Charity seemed either oblivious to his discomfort or entirely uninterested in it. Instead, she pressed on, her voice a steady, syrupy stream that flowed with a practiced ease, as if she had done this a thousand times before.
“Sev, then,” Charity continued offhandedly, as though his protest hadn’t even registered.
The nickname made him bristle, the sound of it like nails on a chalkboard.
“Don’t call me that,” Severus snapped, his voice laced with a venom that made a few heads turn in the nearby boats. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he glared at her. Every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, ready to spring if she dared to continue.
But Charity wasn’t deterred. If anything, his reaction seemed to amuse her further, her eyes lighting up with a gleam of mischievous curiosity. She leaned in slightly, as though they were sharing some private joke, her smile widening.
“Sevy?” she suggested with a playful lilt, her lips curling into a smile that was both sweet and infuriatingly smug. “Russ?” She tilted her head, as if savoring the sound of each potential nickname. “Vere?” The last one was delivered with a light laugh, her eyes sparkling with a teasing glint. “I’m quite good at giving nicknames, you know.”
Severus stared at her, a look of averse disbelief etched across his sharp features. His hands curled into fists in his lap, nails digging into his palms as he tried to read through the Hufflepuff’s angle in front of him.
Why was she doing this? What could she possibly want from him? He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some new form of mockery, a game she and her friends had concocted over the summer. Was this the latest Hufflepuff pastime—humiliate Severus Snape before the school year even properly began? He glanced around, half-expecting to see her friends watching from another boat, stifling their laughter as they waited for the punchline.
“What do you want?” Severus gritted out, his teeth pressing down on each other as the words left his lips.
“How was your summer?” Charity asked instead, her signature smile never faltering, “Mine was fantastic, thanks for asking.”
“I didn’t,” Severus responded, his irritation growing with each passing second.
“What classes are you looking forward to this year?” Charity asked, her tone overly casual, as though they were just two friends catching up after the summer.
Severus didn’t even look at her. “None.”
She seemed to ignore the dismissal. “Potions should be interesting, don’t you think? You take that, don’t you? I heard you were top of the class. I dropped it the minute I had the chance. God forbid I have to suffer through those classes at NEWT level.”
So she was an idiot, Severus translated, his expression flat.
“Stop talking to me,” he said, the words unyielding.
His voice had the quality of a blade being drawn—sharp, heavy, meant to cut any further conversation short. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes fixed on the distant shore as if focusing on the castle’s silhouette would somehow transport him away from this unbearable situation.
Charity blinked at his dry tone, but continued, “Have you heard anything about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?”
"No," Severus's response was immediate.
“But you’ll have them, won’t you?” She asked, unfazed by Severus’s cold demeanor. She tilted her head slightly, answering her own question after a passing beat. “Of course you will. Your NEWTs concentration must be Arcane Studies, right? All that advanced Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Potions stuff. You’re really smart, so it makes sense.”
Severus’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking at her. Instead, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the horizon, where the castle loomed like a dark sentinel against the sky. His patience was wearing dangerously thin, and her persistence only served to deepen the resentment simmering just beneath the surface.
“No,” he deadpanned again, his voice cold.
He tightened his grip on the edge of the boat, his knuckles turning white as he focused on the rhythmic lapping of the water against the hull. The steady sound was a stark contrast to the growing unease twisting in his gut, but it did little to calm him.
Charity, seemingly oblivious to the tension radiating from him, continued to press on.
“Really?” Charity asked, blinking in surprise at his response, “I just thought—well, with how good you are at Potions, you must be aiming for something pretty impressive.”
Severus’s jaw clenched.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he finally turned to face her. His expression was flat, devoid of any emotion save for the thinly veiled contempt in his eyes.
“Stop talking to me,” he repeated, his tone carrying a sharpness to it, each word clipped and precise.
Charity only seemed to smile wider, her cherry-painted lips stretching as if this were all part of some entertaining game. The light breeze carried her flowery perfume toward him, a cloying sweetness that was almost suffocating in its intensity. Severus could feel the warmth radiating from her as she leaned in closer, her proximity making his skin crawl with discomfort. He fought the urge to shift away, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.
Her smile turned conspiratorial as she leaned in even further, her voice dropping to a whisper as though sharing a juicy secret.
"You don’t have many friends, do you?"
The question sliced through his irritation, transforming it into something sharper, more cutting. The wind blew a chill over the lake, ruffling Severus’s hair as he felt the low murmur of students growing louder around them. The soft splash of water against the boat mixed with the whispers of his peers, their curiosity piqued by this odd pairing. His teeth clenched, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing second.
A voice from a nearby boat suddenly shattered the fragile tension.
"Oi, Burbage! You need help? Looks like you’re in need of some rescuing!” a Gryffindor boy shouted, his tone laced with mockery.
Laughter followed, a few students snickering at the spectacle, their amusement only fanning the flames of Severus’s rising anger.
Severus’s face flushed with a deep crimson, the heat of it spreading from his neck to his cheeks as the taunting laughter echoed in his ears. He could feel every pair of eyes on him, dissecting him, scrawling on his skin. It was as if he were once again the scrawny, awkward boy from his first year, an easy target for the ridicule of his classmates.
Charity turned and flashed the boy a dazzling smile, one that quickly transformed into a sharp glare.
“Piss off, McLaggen,” she snapped, her voice losing its sugary tone for a brief moment before she turned back to Severus, all sweetness again.
Severus’s patience was wearing dangerously thin, his temper fraying at the edges. Every word she spoke, every movement she made, grated on his nerves like sandpaper against raw skin.
“What do you want, Burbage?" he sighed, his voice cutting through her pretense like a blade through silk. His dark eyes bored into hers, his usual mask of indifference barely holding together under the weight of his frustration.
"I already told you, or at least, what I was trying to tell you before I was so rudely interrupted—" Charity replied, her smile unfaltering as she met his gaze with infuriating calm. Her words were paced slowly, as if she were talking to someone particularly dense. "I want to be your friend."
The statement hung in the air between them, absurd and nonsensical in its very nature. Severus stared at her, his aversion clearly plastered all over his face as a silence hung between them.
“Bullshit,” he finally said, his voice low and flat. “You want to be friends with me?”
“Of course, Severus,” Charity said, smile still plastered on her face.
Severus turned his head slowly to look at her, his dark eyes narrowing with suspicion. His expression was a mix of disbelief and disdain, the kind of look one might give a particularly audacious liar. He studied her for a moment, taking in the overly sweet smile, the perfect hair, the effortless confidence that clung to her like a second skin.
“Really?” he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. “Charity Burbage wants to be friends with Severus Snape?”
Charity tilted her head slightly, her smile unwavering despite the sharp edge in his tone. “Mhm.”
The other boats had grown quieter, the whispering more concentrated, and Severus could feel the weight of the students’ stares on his back. Every second that passed with her in his boat only made his discomfort grow, feeding the flames of his anger. He could hear a few snickers from somewhere behind them—students amused by the bizarre spectacle of Charity Burbage trying to make small talk with him. He tried to block it out, focusing on the water lapping against the side of the boat.
In all the years Severus Snape had attended Hogwarts, he could count on one hand the number of times he had even exchanged a glance with Charity Burbage. Their lives operated on completely different frequencies, existing in parallel worlds that never intersected. He couldn't recall a single instance where they had crossed paths in any meaningful way, or a single reason why she would want to. She was the kind of person who inhabited the glittering upper echelon of the Hogwarts social scene—a place Severus had neither the interest nor the inclination to infiltrate. And somehow, completely out of nowhere, Charity Burbage, one of the most popular (and richest) muggleborns in Hogwarts, wanted to be friends with him?
The small boat they shared rocked gently as it cut through the dark waters of the Black Lake, the castle looming closer with every stroke of the enchanted oars. The night was cool, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, metallic tang of the lake.
“Why?” Severus asked, his tone demanding, his patience frayed. “Give me one good reason why you’d want to be friends with me.”
Charity’s smile didn’t falter; if anything, it widened, a laugh bubbling out of her lips as though she were enjoying a game that only she knew the rules to.
“What do you mean ‘why’?” Charity asked, her voice tinged with playful incredulity. She leaned forward slightly, her hands resting on the wooden seat in front of her, as if she were about to share a secret. “You could obviously use some.”
And as if he needed a reminder, there it was— proof that she was just like the rest of them.
Severus’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her, every muscle in his body coiled with barely restrained anger. The enchanted lantern at the bow of the boat cast an eerie, flickering light across their faces, deepening the shadows under his eyes.
“This conversation is over,” he declared, each word bitten through glenched teeth.
Charity’s smile wavered for the first time, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. She seemed to realize, belatedly, that her words might have landed terribly. But rather than back down, she quickly masked it with a seemingly effortless laugh, waving her hand dismissively as if to brush off the tension.
“Okay, okay,” she said, her tone light, trying to regain control of the situation. “Maybe that came out wrong. But seriously, there are plenty of reasons we could be friends.”
Severus arched an eyebrow, his expression darkening further. “Stop talking to me.”
“Okay look,” she said, shrugging her shoulders in that infuriatingly casual way she had. “You’re a Slytherin. And while I was on the train it dawned on me that I’ve never branched out before! And I don’t think you know this, but my father was a politician, and he always said it’s good to have friends in different circles. We can be like, what’s that phrase? You know, united we stand, divided we fall.”
Severus’s expression darkened, the disgust evident on his face as his lips curled into a sneer. “I am going to throw you off this boat.”
Charity didn’t miss a beat. She met his sneer with a grin, as if the threat were nothing more than a joke. “Fine. You’re good at Defense Against the Dart Arts. Really good. I could use some help with my homework. We could have study sessions together— wouldn’t that be fun?”
“You got a Troll on your placement exam last year,” Severus shot back, his aversion colored with incredulity. “You’re not in NEWTs Defense, Burbage.”
Charity shrugged again, utterly unbothered by his sharp tone and the fact that she was caught in a lie. “Okay, okay. How about this—”
Severus cut her off.
“Cut the bullshit,” Severus said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "Right now. Tell me what you really want, or I’ll toss you into the lake.”
This time, Charity’s eyes narrowed, her smile fading slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest. She tilted her head slightly, her smile reappearing as it played on her lips, as if considering whether or not he was serious.
“You wouldn’t,” she challenged, her voice cool, almost daring.
Without another word, Severus’s hand shot out, grabbing the strap of Charity’s bag and giving it a sharp tug. Charity’s eyes widened in alarm as she was yanked off balance, her feet slipping on the wet wooden slats of the boat’s floor. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, she teetered dangerously close to the edge, her arms flailing as she tried to regain her footing. The dark water below seemed to surge toward her, the icy wind whipping her hair around her face.
She screamed in shock, the commotion instantly drawing the attention of the other students in the nearby boats. Gasps filled the night air, echoing across the Black Lake as they watched in horror.
But Severus didn’t care. The buzz of their voices was nothing more than background noise to him, a distant hum that barely registered. His focus was solely on Charity, his dark eyes locked onto hers with a chilling intensity.
“Alright, alright!” Charity gasped, raising one of her hands in surrender as she gripped onto his arm with her other, trying to keep her balance. “Fine, just—just calm down, alright?”
Severus didn’t loosen his grip on her bag. If anything, he tightened it, eyes unyielding as he watched her struggle to regain her balance. Charity’s bravado, so evident moments before, was visibly shaken. Her eyes darted nervously from the dark water to Severus’s face, her usual air of confidence replaced with a jitteriness as the ends of her hair brushed on the water.
“Alright Severus, let’s not do anything drastic now,” she tried to bargain, her tone shaky but laced with a forced sweetness. “You really don’t want to get my hair wet, do you? It’s a fresh press. And come on, this outfit? It’s not exactly lake-friendly.” She cast a fleeting glance down at her perfectly pressed robes, the kind that were probably chosen with careful consideration, tailored specifically for her, and she spoke as if that detail would sway him.
But Severus wasn’t swayed.
In fact, he leaned in closer, tipping her further over the edge. The boat rocked more violently, the sound of the water lapping against the sides growing louder. Charity’s breath hitched as she grabbed onto his arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve in a desperate attempt to steady herself.
“Start talking,” Severus ordered, his grip on the strap of her bag unyielding, his dark eyes watching her every move, “Now.”
The other students continued to watch, their murmurs growing louder, more frantic.
For a moment, Charity looked as though she might snap at him, her eyes flashing with a boiling rage. But instead, she took a deep breath, her gaze locking onto his with a newfound seriousness.
“You know Mulciber, right?” Charity said, her manicured fingers still digging into his arm.
“Mulciber?” Severus repeated, his tone guarded.
Of course, he knew Mulciber.
Everyone knew Bruce Mulciber.
He was one of the most popular boys from Slytherin—a nonchalant presence who seemed utterly unbothered by the world around him. Tall and broad-shouldered, Mulciber carried himself with the casual arrogance of someone born into wealth and status. His family was New Money, one of those pureblood lineages that wasn’t in the Sacred 28, and instead had grown into wealth in their more recent generations.
On the Quidditch pitch, Mulciber was a force to be reckoned with as a Beater, known for his brutal, bone-crunching hits. His skill was unmatched, and he played with a kind of ruthless precision that made him both hated and respected. Off the pitch, he was no less intimidating— with his buzzed, tightly coiled hair and his amber eyes, dark sepia skin and his cool and distant demeanor. Yet, despite—or perhaps because of—his reputation, people still gravitated toward him, eager to be in his good graces.
But what the hell did that have to do with this?
“What does that have to do with anything?” Severus asked, his suspicion mounting.
Charity hesitated, biting her lower lip as her sharp blue eyes briefly darted to the water below before snapping back to his.
“I want you to set me up with him.”
Severus blinked, caught off guard.
Of all the things she could have said, this was the last thing he had expected to come out of her mouth.
Charity Burbage, Hufflepuff sweetheart (term used loosely), wanted Mulciber?
His expression furrowed even further as he stared her down, weighing her motives, wondering what kind of game she was playing. But she held his gaze, unwavering, her request hanging in the air between them like a challenge. The other students’ voices faded into the background as Severus processed her words, the absurdity of the situation almost making him loosen his grip.
Almost.
“What?” Severus asked slowly, his voice laced with disbelief.
Charity flashed him a strained but confident smile, her eyes narrowing slightly. She patted his arm with a practiced nonchalance, as if she were addressing a minor inconvenience.
“Would you mind helping me up now?” she said, her tone slightly winded. “Hanging off the side of a boat isn’t exactly my idea of a fun time.”
For a moment, Severus just stared at her, the absurdity of the situation rendering him momentarily speechless. Then, almost mechanically, he pulled her up, releasing his grip on her bag as his mind reeled.
Charity cleared her throat with dramatic flair, manicured fingers smoothing her hair and adjusting her uniform with exaggerated precision. She gave Severus a sidelong glance, her voice dripping again with the same practiced blend of syrupy sweetness.
“I heard,” Charity said, her tone affectedly casual as she met Severus’s gaze again, “from a friend of a friend, that you’re dormmates with Mulciber.”
Severus’s eyes narrowed, brows twitching as he stared at her.
How the hell did she know that?
No one knew he and Mulciber were dormmates. They weren’t friends, never spoke outside their dorm, and barely even acknowledged each other’s existence in the dorms. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, and Severus had made sure to keep it that way.
But somehow, she’d found out.
Charity continued talking, her words becoming a jumbled mess as she rambled on, trying to convince him to help her. Severus, however, barely registered what she was saying. He was too busy trying to wrap his head around the bizarre request, the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
Charity Burbage, of all people, wanted to be set up with Bruce Mulciber? And she wanted him to help her do it? It was almost laughable.
As she continued her desperate pitch, Severus drowned out her voice, his mind drifting as he tried to make sense of everything.
It was only when she finally stopped and asked, “So, what do you say?” that he snapped back to attention.
He stared at her, his expression unreadable as their boat gently bumped against the dock, signaling the end of their journey across the lake. The other students had already started disembarking, but Severus remained frozen in place, still trying to process the surreal turn of events.
Unbelievable, he thought.
Without hesitation, Severus stood up abruptly, his movements causing the boat to rock dangerously beneath him.
“What are you doing?” Charity asked, her voice tinged with curiosity, though she didn’t sound the least bit alarmed by his sudden decision.
Severus didn’t bother to answer her properly, his patience long since evaporated. He leaped out the boar, his boots splashing into the shallow water before sinking into the mud of the shore. He staggered for a moment, the wet earth clinging to his shoes, but he quickly regained his balance and pushed forward, away from the dock and the boat and, most importantly, away from Charity Burbage.
Behind him, the boat wobbled precariously from the sudden movement, and Charity instinctively grabbed the edge to steady herself. She called after him, her voice cutting through the growing noise as the other boats began to dock.
“Severus!”
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back. His long strides carried him swiftly away from the shore, the hem of his robes dragging through the mud, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to disappear into the comfort of his usual quiet, to lose himself in the crowd of students disembarking behind him, their excited chatter a dull roar in his ears.
But Charity was persistent. The moment she was on solid ground, she hurried after him, her steps quick as she called out, “Severus, wait!”
He didn’t slow down, didn’t even turn to look at her. “Leave me alone, Burbage.”
“That’s no way to talk to a friend,” Charity admonished behind him, trudging through the mud with sounds of despair, likely because she was getting mud on her shoes.
Severus didn’t even bother to grace that with a response, moving up the hill with a quicker pace.
“Hold on, Sev—” Charity called again, “come on, would you just wait a second!”
This time she reached out to grab his arm. Her hand caught the strap of his book bag instead, and with a sickening rip, the strap tore away, and the bag fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
A horrified silence descended over the nearby students, who had all seen the incident unfold. Severus and Charity stood on either side of the fallen bag, the whispers already beginning to circulate.
Severus’s heart sank as he stared at the bag lying at his feet. It wasn’t much to look at to begin with. The leather, once a rich dark brown, had faded to a dull, weathered hue, cracked and worn from years of rough handling. Patches of mismatched material covered the most battered areas, hastily sewn with uneven stitches that threatened to unravel at any moment. The straps, originally sturdy and reliable, now dangled precariously by a few stubborn threads, frayed and weakened from the constant strain. It had been barely holding on for years now, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, when it was all he had.
Charity, for the first time, seemed to falter.
“Oh…” she said awkwardly, the usual confidence in her voice replaced by a strained attempt at sincerity. “I’m… sorry, Severus. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t.” Severus cut her off, his voice immediate. He knelt down, gathering his things with a tense precision, stuffing the scattered books and potions ingredients back into the torn bag, ignoring the mud caking them.
“Let me help,” Charity offered, bending down to assist, but Severus shot her a look that made her freeze.
“Piss off,” he snarled, yanking the last of his things into the bag. “Just—piss off.”
Severus gathered his belongings into his arms, cradling them awkwardly against his chest as he struggled to keep everything from tumbling out of the battered bag. And without another glance at the Hufflepuff standing awkwardly in front of him, he walked off toward the castle. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the whispers that seemed to follow him, his boots sinking slightly into the damp ground as he forced himself forward.
What a way to start the fucking year.