Severus stood in front of the mirror, fastening the final button on his suit.
It was a muggle suit—dark charcoal in colour, finely tailored, sleek. The sort of thing that, once, he'd never have even considered wearing. But now… it looked good. Surprisingly so. The crisp lines fit his shoulders perfectly, and the vest beneath hugged his frame without being tight. It brought out the angles of his face, the definition of his jaw, the length of his limbs. His reflection stared back at him, composed, elegant.
Polished.
He almost didn't recognise himself.
He didn't often indulge in vanity. He never had the luxury to. But there was a still moment, just then, when he had to admit—grudgingly—that the mirror offered him the image he had always wanted to project. He looked like someone the world might actually believe in. Someone the Ministry could respect. Someone people might follow.
The old Severus had worn threadbare robes and a sneer. This Severus wore a well-fitted muggle suit and a still, unreadable face.
This was deliberate. Every part of it.
The suit wasn't just a preference. It was a strategy. A statement. The wizarding world valued tradition, but it also revered progress when it came dressed in certainty. Dressing like this—sharp, clean, modern, gave him an air of professionalism. It also distinguished him from a traditional wizard which was the image he wanted to project. If he proclaimers to have a muggle upbringing, then few would ask questions. But if he tried to proclaim ties, then there will be further questions on affiliations and all. All of it was mapped out already in his mind. Something polished and diplomatic. Something difficult to dismiss.
He had received the photo from Fleur three days ago; a carefully posed image of her dress, with a cheeky little note written beneath in French, asking him to try and 'complement her colour palette, non?'
Quite a demand. But she'd phrased it with a playful air, and there was a grace in the way she carried herself that made it less of an instruction and more of a shared plan.
He could have declined. Easily. And part of him had wanted to. This was already an uncomfortable arrangement—the idea of attending the ball with Fleur Delacour, seventeen and radiant, while he was… well. Seventeen in body. Thirty-seven in mind. And sometimes, a bit of both at once. The inconsistency gave him headaches. Hormones and a teen mind further messed his mental mathematics.
But he had said yes. Mostly because he had given his word. And Severus Snape—no matter what version; kept his word. Besides, Fleur was a sharp girl. Cleverer than she let on. There were worse allies to make.
Still, it felt odd. She was young. Young in a way that reminded him painfully of how far removed he was from youth, even if his reflection said otherwise. Still, he would be lying if he said that his teenage body didn't find her attractive. Long silver hair with a perfect face with perfect features. Smooth skin, angelic eyes and laughter, gorgeous and jaw dropping figure with good assets. He would be lying if he admitted that she wasn't desirable.
He sighed softly and adjusted his cufflinks. Subtle. Not flashy.
The mirror showed him a stranger he was still getting used to. A stranger with the old features of his mother's line, strong cheekbones, clear skin, deep-set eyes. The old Severus had been haunted. This one looked like he belonged somewhere.
It was… disconcerting.
He stepped back from the mirror, took a breath, and rolled his shoulders once. It wouldn't do to show any nervousness. Not tonight. He had to carry this performance all the way through.
The Yule Ball wasn't just an event. It was a test. The world was watching him now. Ever since the Wolfsbane success—no, not just success. The miracle—he had been at the centre of a media storm that hadn't let up.
Letters poured in by the dozens every day. Some glowing. Some scathing. Some threatening.
There were howlers. Praise from foreign Ministries. A letter from a werewolf in Greece who claimed to have cried for the first time in years.
Others were less kind. Accusations of disrupting magical purity. Tampering with the natural order. A particularly furious old pureblood had gone on a rant about the 'rights of werewolves being the first step to the fall of wizarding decency.'
Severus had read them all. He burned most. But some he kept.
And someone; he still didn't know who had leaked that he lived in the Leaky Cauldron.
It had been chaos after that.
Poor Tom had been overrun. Strangers knocking on doors at odd hours. Journalists camping at the entrance. Petitioners. Crackpots. Curious students. Former werewolves. Anti-werewolf groups. People who wanted cures for other things. People who wanted to offer him money. People who just wanted to see his face.
He'd tried to leave through the front once and barely made it two steps before being mobbed.
In the end, the Ministry had stepped in. Two Aurors had been assigned to him of course. Amelia Bones had sent them without asking. He hadn't protested.
Tonight, though, he was determined to move alone.
He left his room quietly, ignoring the stacks of unopened letters piled neatly beside the fireplace. He had wards on all of them. If there was anything dangerous, the spellwork would alert him.
The hallway outside was empty.
He moved quickly, silently, down the stairs, avoiding the creaking ones out of habit. The floo in the private back room was already pre-connected to Hogsmeade. No public fire. No observers.
He stepped into the green flames and murmured the destination under his breath.
"Hogsmeade Station."
The spinning began, familiar and dizzying.
He emerged seconds later, dusting ash off his jacket and straightening his collar. The night air in Hogsmeade was crisp, and the sky above was dusted with faint stars. Snow layered the rooftops in soft heaps, and the hum of activity from the castle in the distance could already be heard faintly—the music, the laughter, the energy of something festive.
He adjusted his coat and began walking toward the castle gates.
Every step felt deliberate. Measured. Critical for some reason.
He wasn't just going to a ball tonight. He was walking into a world that now saw him differently.
The boy genius. The potion savant. The miracle worker. The mystery. They saw what he let them see.
And tonight, he would let them see a poised, sharp, well-dressed young man who just happened to be escorted by a beautiful witch. Let them speculate. Let them talk. Every whisper added to the image.
But deep inside, Severus knew the truth.
He was still trying to figure out who he was.
________________________________________
Fleur tried not to let the nervousness show on her face, but it was difficult. She shifted her weight from one heel to the other, arms crossed over her pale blue gown, the silken fabric shimmering faintly under the enchanted lights above the entrance. Her long silver-blonde hair had been pinned with diamond-like flakes, each strand curled with delicate perfection. She looked stunning, poised as ever—but her eyes kept darting toward the stairs.
He should have been here by now.
Her hands were folded in front of her. She told herself she wasn't nervous. But her heart felt like it was drumming against her ribs.
To her left, Viktor Krum stood stiffly, arms crossed, his date looking a little unsure next to him. Viktor kept glancing at the girl clinging to his arm—Hermione Granger. Fleur had only seen her in passing before, the quiet bookish one from Gryffindor. Now she wore a soft lilac dress and had frizzed her hair into smooth curls. It suited her, Fleur admitted begrudgingly. She might not have been striking, but the way Krum looked at her made it obvious he didn't care for looks alone. Well, she was beautiful when put effort on her appearance.
"Hermy-own-ninny," he said slowly as he looked down at the girl, "iz cold here. You vant to go inside?"
"I'm fine," Hermione replied, looking around with wide eyes, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air. "Really."
Fleur bit her lip, her eyes shifting towards Cedric Diggory and his date—Florence Heckyl giggling quietly together. And Harry Potter… he was here too, with that pretty little Ravenclaw, Cho Chang.
But her own partner, Severus Blackwood, was nowhere to be seen.
Everyone had their dates.
Everyone except her.
A terrible thought crept up her spine again. What if he doesn't come?
No. She pushed it down. Non, il viendra. He will come. Severus Blackwood was many things—strange, mysterious, brilliant—but not someone who would break his word.
Still, her hand tugged at the edge of her gloves in agitation.
Just then, Professor McGonagall swept in from the hallway. Her tartan robes looked pressed and proper, but her expression was anything but calm.
"All champions and their partners should be lined up by now," she said briskly, then paused. "Miss Delacour, where is your date?"
Fleur's mouth opened slightly. She couldn't lie—he wasn't here. But she couldn't say she'd been stood up either.
Fleur froze, cheeks colouring slightly. "'E is coming," she said quickly, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. "'E said 'e would be 'ere."
McGonagall checked her watch, sighing. "Well, he has less than four minutes, and we must begin the opening dance. I do hope so. It would be quite the scandal to delay the event. We must keep to schedule."
Whoosh.
A sudden gust of air swept through the Entrance Hall, rustling gowns and sending cloaks fluttering. Heads turned as a column of black smoke came streaking toward them like a bullet through the air. Fleur's breath caught in her throat.
McGonagall reacted instantly, drawing her wand with lightning speed. So did one of the Durmstrang professors who had arrived there. The champions stiffened, stepping in front of their dates.
But before she could act, the smoke spun mid-air, swirling tightly—and in the blink of an eye, it reshaped.
From the dark cloud, a man emerged. Tall, composed, dressed in a perfectly fitted black muggle suit with a pale white shirt beneath. His black coat trailed slightly behind him as the smoke dissipated completely, leaving nothing but stunned silence in its wake.
His posture was composed, but Fleur could tell by the slight curl at the edge of his lips and the relaxed shoulders that he was confident.
He brushed a hand through his dark hair as he looked around, then smiled at McGonagall as if nothing strange had just happened.
"Am I late?" he asked lightly in his smooth British accent. Fleur had to admit. His voice was so sexy. She could listen to it for hours and still not help being enchanted by the smoothness.
He looked… breathtaking. Regal, even. The suit made him seem taller, sharper. His cheekbones caught the light just right, and his dark hair, slicked back but a bit tousled from the flight, gave him a rakish look. His dark eyes scanned the group with calm precision before settling on her.
Fleur exhaled sharply. Her heart slowed down, and a wave of relief washed over her so hard she nearly staggered.
He had come.
McGonagall blinked, her wand still raised. Even some of the champions looked confusedly at him.
"And who might you be I presume?" she said cautiously, eyes narrowing as she looked at him.
Fleur stepped forward quickly as she walked to take her stand. "'E is wiz me. 'E is my date."
Severus turned to her, eyes flicking over her dress. His smile softened, and he reached for her hand, lifting it slowly. Without missing a beat, Severus took her hand, lifted it gently, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Forgive the delay, my beautiful and gorgeous date. Hogwarts just has far too many hallways."
Fleur blushed hard. She hadn't expected him to be that smooth. He was blatantly praising him like there weren't people around them.
"I wasn't expecting… you to fly here," McGonagall said, still holding her wand, though her posture had relaxed. Her tone was more curious than accusatory now. She clearly didn't recognise him, so did many.
Severus turned to her with polite charm. "Severus Blackwood, at your service. I'm here as Miss Delacour's date." He offered a slight bow.
Around them, people immediately started to murmur.
"That's him, isn't it?"
"Blackwood… the Wolfsbane guy?"
"Blimey, he's the one from the Prophet! They say he made a werewolf turn back."
McGonagall blinked, then gave him a tight-lipped smile. "An honour, Mr. Blackwood. I confess, I wasn't informed."
"I must admit, it's quite the honour. Your work has been… quite talked about." McGonagall praised genuinely with a smile. Severus smiled back at her. Clearly, those who appreciated magical arts knew the importance and necessity of his work.
Severus inclined his head slightly, ever the image of polite charm.
"I wasn't planning to attract so much attention," he said lightly. "But breakthroughs tend to misbehave."
McGonagall chuckled. "I didn't know you'd be accompanying Miss Delacour."
"I kept it quiet," Severus replied smoothly. "Too many headlines lately. Thought it best to have something… personal remain personal."
"Understandable," she nodded. "Well, you're just on time."
Severus smiled. "I nearly lost my way. Hogwarts is deceptively vast. Had to… improvise." He gestured faintly to the fading smoke.
"I must say," McGonagall murmured, "it's not every day I see someone arrive by flight. Without a broom."
Fleur beamed beside him, basking in the collective awe. It felt good though. He was just so better than other wizards.
"How did you fly?" Harry cut in, looking deeply skeptical. "Without a broom, I mean." Besides him, his date looked equally curious too.
"It's impossible," Hermione said from beside Krum, eyes narrowed and intrigued with wonder and frustration alike. "That kind of magic just doesn't exist."
"You can't do that," Hermione added, frowning. "There's no charm or spell that allows sustained flight without an object or beast."
"It vos like dark smoke," Viktor muttered, watching Severus carefully. "How you do zis?"
Even Cedric was staring half-curious, half-impressed. "You've got to admit, that was wicked."
Fleur looped her arm through Severus's, tilting her chin slightly with pride. "'E is very… resourceful."
Severus gave a small shrug. "It is an invention of mine." Severus replied cryptically with a smile.
Fleur leaned in and whispered to him in her heavy French accent, "Zat was… gúd, ét waz quite ze entrance."
He whispered back softly. "I was almost afraid I'd be late. And that you'd be furious."
"You didn't 'ave to do all zat dramatic entrance," she said, glancing sideways as everyone's attention remained on them.
"How else was I to arrive next to the most radiant witch of the night?" Severus teased back with a smile.
She flushed again, biting her lip as she tried not to grin.
Ahead of them, Hermione Granger was still muttering something about magical limitations.