Part One

Co-(god)parenting a teenager with your (maybe?) ex can be quite the adventure

(O.W.L.s might be easier if you'd had the examiners as tutors since you were old enough to talk, Sirius)

So, for the mirror pattern, I'd been goofing around with attempting marbling with India ink and water, I made an awful mess but I had fun and the swirly pattern looks interesting

...okay, so I suppose Christmas in 1995 was on a Monday and if the winter break is generally two weeks long and starts on the weekend before Christmas, then maybe the first Occlumency lesson (on a Monday evening) was on the 8th of January and Severus Snape was not yet 36 years old, but, ah, time is wobbly etc.

Has Severus taken the role of "Godmother" faster than Harry has managed to adapt to Sirius' revelation/declaration? Maybe, yes, probably. Does Voldy demand student drama and gossip from Severus? Yes.

Part Two

Momo's self-indulgent AU

Premise: Single-parent Tobias Snape + Slytherin Lily Evans + same age!Narcissa Black

Comics/fics (more or less narratively chronological): 

"Bad Taste in Men (or the Femme Fatale Accidental)"

When Egbert "Omelette" Netterville, third year Chaser, managed to have all the bones in his feet mysteriously turned into jelly two days before the big Gryffindor versus Slytherin match, Lily Evans volunteered to stand in as substitute. If nothing else, she was sure she could keep James Potter off his game, she had a surefire plan to distract him in a pinch (after all, Lily Evans knew how to fly through the air and fall gently).

The dangers of her flavored lip gloss were entirely unforeseen

I mentioned this one in the WIP game back in October/November and finally got around to it just in time for Lily's birthday! I had fun with some different panel layouts this time

This isn't the first time Lily's "dunked on" Mulciber and it probably won't be the last.

The most stressful/baffling person I have ever met was this one frat bro guy who was allergic to pineapple, knew he was allergic to pineapple, and kept eating pineapple every chance he had- I did not understand him but I hope he's still doing okay out there. James just seems like the same sort to me, to go about trying to flirt with danger.

Unfortunately, Lily might feel guilty enough now to agree to a date in Hogsmeade

Reunions #2: Former co-presidents of "The Unofficial Hogwarts Drama Club for Amateur Theatricals" meet again. Sometimes the need to voice judgement derails the impulse to monologue

(Reunions #1)

“Hey, Sirius,” said James Potter, “Why has Snape got your scarf?" “The little asshole was whinging about being cold,” Sirius shrugged, unconcerned by the chilly evening air. “I thought he might gag himself but no luck yet.” “Huh,” said James.

“I still think it’s just a marketing ploy,” the little asshole swathed in woolen scarves said thoughtfully.  “Everyone knows he doesn’t sell firewhiskey to students and his butterbeer is near rancid, but once you’ve hiked all the way up here to check out the goat it’s almost a waste of time to not buy something.” “A giant goat is quite the statement given his, ah, past legal entanglements,” Narcissa said with the sort of obvious delicacy that teetered dangerously close to turning suggestive. “It really must be seen to be believed and the last few have hardly lasted any time at all.” “It looks so flammable,” Lily Evans gushed, bubbling with malicious anticipation. The best thing about the magical world, Lily maintained, was the sheer number of holiday traditions that eventually included lighting something on fire.  Her mother’s nerves had never been up for a proper Bonfire Night and Cokeworth’s Catholics weren’t the type to celebrate it either.

“Hey, Sirius,” said James Potter, “Why has Snape got MY scarf?" “Because Evans said it was cold and you gave her your scarf to be gallant and she then handed your scarf over to him” Sirius replied, without any worries over his best friend’s apparent memory issues. “Right,” said James.

“He’s bound to have put up some anti-arson charms on this one after the fiasco with Dumbledore’s pet phoenix last year and inexplicable triple lightning strikes the year before,” Severus scoffed.  “If it’s properly phoenix-proofed— and I doubt the rest of Hogsmeade would allow him to put another goat up that wasn’t properly phoenix-proofed— we’d need a miracle to burn it down without being caught.” “We’ve got the blessings of tradition with us, Sev,” Lily replied. “Can’t you see? The goat must burn again!”

“Hey, Sirius,” said James Potter, “Why has Snape got Remus’ scarf?" “Because I was foolish enough to take my scarf off inside and Snape picked it up and put it and just looked at me when I asked for my scarf back,” Remus interjected, slightly bitter at his ignoble defeat. “Gosh,” said James.

“Twice is hardly sufficient grounds to claim a tradition,” Narcissa opined. “Three is a far more magically significant number.” “So you’re saying it’s up to us to ensure the sacred fires once more hold back the darkness!” Lily said, full of pyromaniacal resolution. “I say it’ll take planning and proper intelligence gathering, neither of which I’m inclined to do while my mouth still tastes like something died in the Hog’s Head butterbeer barrels,” Severus sighed. “Let’s stop at the Three Broomsticks, Potter will buy us all a round of the special seasonal cinnamon spiced butterbeer, and we’ll work on preparations back at school.”

“Hey,” said James Potter.  “Why hasn’t Snape got—” “Unlike you all, I know better than to leave my clothes and stuff unattended in Snape’s vicinity,” Peter interrupted, smugly snug and cozy. “Oh,” said James. It really was quite cold.

It was not, Lucius thought, very funny. For one, he had no idea how a muggle-raised first year like Snape had managed to get into the sixth form dorm. Worse, the child had somehow managed to break into Lucius' warded wardrobe and absconded with a fine and feathery frock and proceeded to mock his prefect to the delight of his little mudb- Muggleborn friend.

On the other hand, in his foolish bid for drawling verisimilitude Severus had unwittingly just revealed he could be trained out of that atrocious accent and mutinous muttering.

Lucius expected he could have the child properly instructed and prepared for polite company within a year. Table manners could be taught and surely Severus could learn to eat his bagocris- whatever strange muggle dish that might be- with proper utensils. Lucius rather suspected the poor child ate with his fingers whenever unsupervised.

For Unofficial Snapetober 2023 prompt "Costume"

In part because Lily mentioned overcharging James in this comic (and I wanted to get something up in time for her birthday too).

Slytherin!Lily can overcharge rich purebloods for cheap muggle junk food as a treat, particularly if the fellow in question consistently rounds up when he tries to barter.  Severus can utilize vocabulary for fun and malice. Remus (who might not be able to resist temptation but won’t admit fault later) really wishes James would use some of his money to go to the store and buy some standards.

I think I made it in time for his birthday this year! Just a self-indulgent AU comic concerning a little bit of plagiarism/translation/localization in the name of getting some nice boots.  Let me know if anything is illegible

A few thoughts I’d had whilst doodling away:

1.) Why would purebloods speak with an RP accent?  I’m no linguist, but I like to think there’s probably a distinct wizarding accent- we’re talking about a small and fairly insular community, much of which goes to school together.  Maybe muggleborns bring in weird muggle slang that upsets the parental generations (...perhaps that’s been going on for a few hundred years...).  Maybe I just wanted Severus to make fun dear old Lulu

2.) In this AU, a second-year Severus, tired of getting pushed in the halls and down the stairs by those Gryffindor jerks, waited until the last Quidditch game of the year (Gryffindor vs. Slytherin) to meander his way up to the Gryffindor tower with a slew of questions for the Fat Lady.  What did she mean?  What did that vase of flowers represent? What was the social context in which her artist worked? How could she be understood? etc. etc. Two hours later, the triumphant Gryffindors all found themselves locked out of the tower as the Fat Lady had gone off in a bit of an existential tizzy. The victory party was subsequently cancelled, although the catering might’ve gotten redirected down to the dungeons.

3.) Maybe Lily doesn’t have the best judgement or good taste.  Maybe Severus’ standards are just too high.  I had fun coming up with titles that made me think “pulp sci-fi”

4.) “Potter is a jerk,” says Severus. “A jerk with a trust fund and a craving for muggle food,” says Lily. “If he’s willing to spend ten galleons on a stale bag of crisps I got for 5p three months ago, why shouldn’t I profit?”

5.) Keeping a secret from Severus for a whole day is a long time! Lily can only keep a secret from him if she keeps it a secret from herself too.

They looked, Lucius thought, a bit like a two-headed monster hunkered in front of the fire with that blanket around their shoulders.  They acted a bit like twins or some other two-bodied monster at times, odd for children that had to spill their blood before they could share it, but perhaps that was normal for mu- muggleborns and their ilk.  Two-headed creatures never survived very long, and Lucius suspected this two-headed creature would fall apart at the age when children began to differentiate. In the morning he might be cross to find they’d managed to swap uniforms again, but tonight it was a perfect evening to spend indoors and they were alive and there could be twice as many fireplaces as usual or something like that.

Narcissa, who was permitted to watch the upperclassmen play cards by dint of the blood she shared with Andromeda, treated the entity “Evans’n’Snape” with baffled disdain.  Of course Mr. Malfoy had to demonstrate a willingness to welcome those of inferior, or utterly absent, breeding if he hoped to be appointed Head Boy under the reign of dotty Headmaster Dumbledore, but Lucius rather seemed to have gone past welcoming and into outright indulgence.

Lily, for her part, was ready to toss another twelve logs into the grate and a straw effigy Severus had made to look like that Gryffindor jerk Potter.  Fire was such good fun.

For @snapecelebration’s Snolidays 2022 Week 1 “White Winter” prompts “Fireside” and “Snuggles”

“Uh, Professor, er, sir,” Harry stumbled over the seldom-used honorifics in his bafflement. “Uh, on your mouth…?”

“Lipstick, Potter,” Snape sneered, the expression all the more pronounced with the cosmetic assistance.

“Oh, uh, it’s, um, it’s black?” Harry hadn’t known lipstick came in anything other than his aunt’s subdued pinks or the vivid shades of red that Petunia considered sinful and salacious (and intolerably reminiscent of Lily to ever be permitted back into the precariously normal life of Number Four, Privet Drive).

“Very good, Potter,” Snape said sarcastically. “Twelve years old and you’ve learned your colors.”

That was pure nastiness and entirely unfair.

“I’m fifteen!”  Harry protested, which earned him a merely sardonic eyebrow. “Almost fifteen,” he amended.  “I’ll be fifteen on Monday.”

Harry longed to surpass Snape in sheer churlishness and considered pointing out that muggle men generally didn’t wear skirts.  Certainly not in Little Whinging.  Definitely not when Dudley and his gang were roaming the streets.

He’d seen plenty of oblivious wizards sporting spiffy new dresses as their muggle disguises at the Quidditch World Cup the previous summer (a lifetime ago, before Cedric was murdered and he hadn’t been able to stop it from happening).  But there was something peculiarly well-tailored and suspiciously well-worn about the Potions Master’s garb that suggested less “disguise” and more “daily wear”. He found that his brain was oddly unwilling to acknowledge the existence of Snape’s psychedelic cardigan. His mind kept trying desperately to wallpaper something sensible over the bizarre image his eyes insisted on perceiving.

“…nice skirt,” he mumbled.

“Thanks,” Snape drawled the false gratitude out with a smirk. “It has pockets.  Dipshit and Dumbass there were too excited to get on the road this morning and didn’t give me any time to do laundry.”

“Am I ‘Dipshit’ or am I ‘Dumbass’?” Sirius whispered loudly, grin gone well past manic.

“I believe Severus called me a ‘dipshit’ among other things for forgetting to take my Wolfsbane last year,” Remus replied thoughtfully, “So, Sirius, that probably makes you the dumbass.”

“I’m more of a hot piece of ass, but okay,” Sirius said with a wink. “Hi, Harry!”

“Hi, Sirius,” Harry said weakly, glad for the excuse to sidle past Snape.  “Uh, what are you doing here?” The Daily Prophet hadn’t said anything about Sirius being pardoned and news like that, while less of an urgent headline than Voldemort’s return, wouldn’t lurk about in the society pages or behind an advice column.

“Dumbledore told me to lie low at Lupin’s place,” Sirius beamed with an innocence so intense it could only be artificial.

“And, er, well, what with one thing and another, it really hadn’t seemed like a good time really to mention that I’d been, ah, evicted,” Lupin added, “…again.”

“Renting really seems like such a bother,” Sirius opined. “So I bought a house for Remus here.”

“Oh,” said Harry, who had witnessed Aunt Petunia compulsively twitching the curtains as she tried to discover how Mrs. Number Seven had eluded neighborly surveillance and, somehow, managed to sell her house to a person or persons unknown to the remaining residents of Privet Drive. “Isn’t that supposed to take a long time?”

“Building a home takes a lifetime,” Sirius said sagely. “Buying a house just takes money.”

Snape’s scornful snort brought Harry’s attention back to the least welcome visitor to Little Whinging.

“So, uh, why did you bring,” Harry gestured vaguely, unsure if the word ‘him’ could accurately encompass the snidest professor present, “Snape?” He’d rather noticed that Snape hadn’t lifted a finger to help Sirius and Lupin move any of the large boxes from the lorry into Number Seven.

“Severus knows how to drive,” Lupin explained gently. Sirius’ mouth opened, prepared to protest.

“Severus,” Lupin repeated, louder this time, “Has a valid muggle license to drive.” Sirius’ subsided.

“And I know how to hot-wire cars and lorries,” Severus added smoothly. “And,” Lupin echoed wearily, “ Severus knows how to ‘hot-wire’ muggle vehicles.”

“I’m learning to do that,” Sirius said helpfully, “I’m going to figure it out too.  I’ve nearly got it.”

“Talk is cheap, Black,” Snape scoffed starting to stroll in the last direction Harry wanted him to go, “I’ll believe you when I see some tangible results.”

“Wait!  Stop!” Harry wondered if he’d get in trouble for tackling a professor outside of Hogwarts.  It would be worth it, to try to alter Snape’s trajectory towards the front door of Number Four.  “Stop, stop, stop!”

For all Harry’s desperate scrambling, Snape maintained his lead.

“Please stop!” Harry begged as the professor hitched up his skirt slightly, “Use the bell!  You don’t have to kick the door in!” Aunt Petunia was probably at the door, surely she’d spied them across the street at Number Seven.

Snape kicked the door, already unlatched in Petunia’s nosy anticipation, open.

Aunt Petunia let out a shrill little scream.

“Hello, Piss-Tuna,” said Severus Snape, far more gleeful than he’d been even when Harry and Ron were facing the threat of expulsion after flying a car into the Whomping Willow. “You look as awful as ever.”

Piss-Tuna, Harry thought as his world tilted on its axis, Snape, Professor Snape, just called my aunt Piss-Tuna.  This can’t be happening.

“You—!” Her face was white, her eyes were wide, and Petunia Dursley, née Evans, practically growled in her outrage.

Harry found himself thinking that Brazil might be a very nice place to live. It was far away from Privet Drive, for a start.  He wondered what it would take to get there.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Tuney?” Snape’s foot had blocked the door from closing.  “I’m more than happy to have this confrontation on your front step if you’d prefer.”

“We, ah, brought some biscuits,” Lupin added. “Store bought. Assorted.  With chocolate.  Er, I’m, ah, we’re the new neighbors. So nice to meet you again.”

Petunia goggled at the lot of them.

She also stumbled back, which Snape seemed to take as an unspoken invitation.  Harry found himself dragged along in the professor’s wake, with only Sirius’ hand on his shoulder to steady him in the swift tide of strangeness.

“I can’t believe your taste in interior decoration deteriorated into this level of disgusting kitsch and doilies, Tuna,” said the man who decorated with floating dead things in jars. Severus surveyed the photos on the wall, on the mantle, on the little side table.  So many perfectly posed pictures of a happy family of three- mother, father, son- and a lock on the cupboard under the stairs. Narcissa had been absolutely right.

“Is that my jumper?” Harry jumped.  Petunia’s voice was high and thin and quite peculiar.

“You’ve really done a terrible job of raising Potter,” said Snape, and Harry bristled. Of course Snape wanted to criticize him, Harry had been expecting the criticism, but he loathed the thought of his two biggest critics were now sharing notes and combining forces.

“Not only is he, like the majority of students, a careless menace in the laboratory, but I have also wasted entirely too much of my already limited time deciphering his atrocious penmanship to correct insipid essay after insipid essay only to see the same flawed reasonings repeated week after week.” It was news to Harry that he was supposed to read the sea of spidery red notes Snape deposited on every essay.  It seemed rather unfair, given that Snape could fit five lines of text for every one line Harry wrote. The single “P”, or the occasional and welcome “A”, was more than sufficient in Harry’s view.

“That’s my jumper.” There was a touch of hysteria in Petunia’s tone now.

“He will be taking his O.W.L.s this year, his O-levels if you prefer,” Snape continued, demonstrating more confidence in Harry’s continued survival than Harry typically expected to hear from the Potions Master. “Unfortunately, his current record of scholastic mediocrity, his stubborn refusal to revise, and a peculiar incuriosity about magical theory does not bode well for his continued academic career.”

“You little bastard! That’s my goddamn jumper!” Petunia’s shriek derailed Snape’s momentum.  The unexpected profanity from his aunt made Harry’s brain stutter to a halt.

“Tuna,” Snape frowned, “We’re not here to discuss my sartorial decisions and I will never take wardrobe critique from you.  I only deigned to enter this suburban hellscape to discuss your horrendous failure to raise and parent Mr. Potter.”

“Biscuit, Harry?” Sirius offered, retrieving the tin from Remus.

“You stole my jumper!” Shockingly, Petunia’s epiphany failed to shatter glass.  Yet.

“Didn’t,” sniffed Snape.

“I thought it was Lily who stole my jumper!”

“She did. I just hid it for her.” 

“I bought that jumper myself!  I’d saved up!”

“Yes, I know.”

“It was for an interview!”

“We wanted to spare you the humiliation of being seen in public wearing such a hideous thing.  You even got that position, even if you didn’t keep it for very long.”

The biscuit was rather good, even without tea, and it was beginning to dawn on Harry that Snape and Aunt Petunia were more inclined to tear into one another than join forces against him. He felt oddly inclined to cheer for Professor Snape, despite the ranting about Harry’s scholastic shortcomings. Perhaps it was because Harry knew so little about his mother that every glimpse was a pearl he treasured.

“I want my jumper!” Did she learn that tone from her little Diddykins or had Dudley inherited that petulant demanding pitch from Petunia?

“And I want you to understand how your failure to nourish any academic inclinations Mr. Potter may have shown before the age of eleven may have rather dire consequences for futures beyond his own, but I fear we can’t all get what we want.” Remus handed Harry another biscuit before he could think to protest.

“Give me back my jumper!”

“Fine!” Snape finally snapped, fingers tearing at the buttons in wrathful haste.  “Fine, here!”

Petunia caught the cardigan with her face and a squeak.

Severus Snape looked like a stranger again, in the ratty, oversized band shirt, hair disheveled from the jumper’s passage.  Harry hadn’t seen the Dark Mark his professor had shoved under Minister Fudge’s nose in the Hospital Wing those few weeks ago, and he found himself oddly glad that the mark was concealed under a peculiar leather bracelet with metal studding.  A wand holster, perhaps.

“Are you prepared to face your shortcomings now, Tuney?” That dangerously silky tone was entirely familiar, and Harry took another biscuit before he was told to go serve detention during summer vacation.

“It smells like Cokeworth,” Petunia’s complaint was bitter, for she dreaded the day her neighbors discovered the lingering taint of the Cokeworth streets sullying their Surrey security.

“Hey,” said Sirius, who had gone oddly still.

“I wasn’t going to take it to Hogwarts, was I?” Snape said.  “It’s acrylic, you know that sort of stuff doesn’t hold up around magic.”

“Hey,” said Sirius.  “Hey.” His face was a rictus of delight, as pleased as Petunia had been put out. “Snape. Isn’t that, isn’t that my shirt you’ve got on?”

“Oh, oh,” snarled Severus.  “Not you too!”

"You’re doing great, Narcissa!” said Lily, “If you could just try turning a bit more to the right, you might run over your cousin!”

(Narcissa subsequently hit all four of the Gryffindors.)

Because I told @snapesnailtape (about a month ago) that I wanted to draw Narcissa riding a bicycle.

Severus is fifty pounds of trouble (and fun facts about gruesome topics) in a five pound bag.  Lucius developed a highly tuned “dad-sense” years before Draco was born.  He also developed quite a few gray hairs from the stress (but those are easy to hide when your hair starts out as nearly white).

Let me know if anything is illegible! 

A combination of prompts “Intervention” and “The Dark Lord” from @sxvxrxssnape‘s 2022 Snapetober Prompt List along with the prompt provided by @guljerry et al. (discord server) “Severus and the Malfoys having a fall themed party”.

Narcissa was rather dissatisfied with her letter to Lucius Malfoy.  She didn’t want dear Lucius to think of her as a callous and careless girl, but she didn’t want to alarm him unduly.  Severus would recover, Madam Pomfrey had assured them that his skin, at least, would regrow without scarring.  For his part, Severus was in an almost manic good mood (although that might have been due to being a little too high on pain potions...).

‘Do not fret, Severus merely burnt his face off in the name of thrift’, was a bit too perfunctory.

She knew, vaguely, that thrift was supposedly commendable.  At least, it was commendable in those who couldn’t afford anything better, like the current Weasley generation.  One mustn’t be a miser like dear old Muriel Prewett, after all.  She felt slightly guilty in finding Severus’ dedication to thrift as alarming rather than admirable.

“So, you see, Lily, I have finally SOLVED the problem of unwanted facial hair! Even after my skin regrows, I shall never have to purchase a razor again and the time I save, that would otherwise be wasted by Sisyphean shaving, shall accumulate rapidly and be put to intellectual pursuits instead!”

Madam Pomfrey really must’ve prescribed something too powerful.

Lily, who did not take kindly to anyone hurting her best friend (up to and very much including said best friend) took a deep breath and Narcissa realized her correspondences would need to wait for a quieter moment.

From @sxvxrxssnape‘s 2022 Snapetober Prompt List (here), Day 9 prompt: “Burn”.

Lily’s hair was the most fun and the bandages on Sev’s face were the most annoying thing to draw on this one!