The cold air bit less cruelly as we parked just outside the wards and cloaked the cars once again, their engines now silent, their memories etched into the city behind us like tire streaks and legends.
Jon and I stood in the darkness beneath the outer towers of Hogwarts. The castle was still asleep, none the wiser about the chase that nearly set London on fire—or the fact that its sternest professor had left behind six women with broken hearts and smeared lipstick.
Jon glanced sideways at me, eyebrows raised high enough to rival Dumbledore's.
"I still can't wrap my head around it," he said slowly. "Six women. Six. And you just—what did you even say to them?"
I feigned a shrug, though I couldn't stop the corner of my mouth from twitching.
"A man's charm comes in many forms. Timing, tone, and torque."
Jon gaped at me. "You flirted with the precision of a sniper. I swear one of them moaned when you said 'Later, ladies.'"
"It was the drift that got them," I said, checking my reflection in the side mirror. Still perfect. "The Jaguar speaks a language of seduction."
He groaned, laughing. "I don't care what kind of language that was—you just cast Avada Kedavra on their self-control."
We started walking, cloaks on again, heading through the hidden tunnel into Hogwarts proper.
"Don't ever tell anyone," I muttered.
"About you being a borderline race-god and seduction icon?" Jon chuckled. "Mate, I have to tell someone. Daphne won't believe me, but she deserves the story."
"Then I reserve the right to mention this to Diana."
Jon paused mid-step. "...Diana?"
I raised a brow.
"Are you that drunk that you forgot about her already?"
"Nah man, just a conformation," he muttered. "Because if you steal Daphne's heart with your shameless car wizardry, I'm coming for you."
"I thought you were 'too young' to pursue her?"
Jon smirked. "I changed my mind."
Back in my private chambers, we slumped into the armchairs beside the fireplace. The glow of enchanted logs filled the room with flickering orange light, casting long shadows like silent companions.
I poured us another drink.
"To madness," Jon toasted.
"To keeping it secret," I replied.
We clinked glasses.
"So let me get this straight," Jon said after a deep sip. "You drove through six barricades, avoided a helicopter spotlight, did a spinning drift pickup flirt maneuver that would make Bond retire—and then managed to not wrinkle your coat?"
I gave him a sly look. "Wrinkles are for amateurs."
"I'm going to be haunted by this. Like—years from now, I'll hear a tire screech and see your stupid smug face surrounded by sparkles and perfume."
I chuckled into my glass. "Maybe I'm just... multifaceted."
"You're something alright." He leaned back. "Also, I want your hair routine."
"No."
"I'll bribe you."
"With what?"
"I have... access to the kitchens."
"Tempting."
"Also I might know a perfect place in London where you can buy a gift for Diana as you are going to ask her for a date tomorrow."
I raised a brow. "...Continue."
The fire crackled. Our laughter settled into silence. Jon gazed at the flames, and I found my eyes drifting too.
"This was a good night," I said quietly.
He nodded. "Yeah. I think... I think this is what peace feels like."
I looked at him. For a moment, we weren't teacher and student. Not assassin and spy. Just... two lost souls who found a moment of freedom behind the wheel.
"I think," I added, "we should make this a tradition."
"Firewhisky. Forbidden rides. Secret flirting competitions. With beer and cigar."
"Boots heist?"
He burst into laughter. "YES."
I leaned back, the heat washing over my face.
"Merry Christmas, Jon."
"Merry Christmas... Professor."
Next Morning,
It started smoothly.
Jon and I had driven back into Muggle London with the precision of a secret mission. He was clad in a charcoal button-down and black boots, radiating smug energy like he was auditioning for a spy movie. I, meanwhile, was suppressing heart palpitations under my all-black ensemble—coat, gloves, and just enough cologne to suggest I knew how to shop at Boots.
We parked outside Diana's shop in Notting Hill, the Jaguar purring low. The December sky was crisp and cool, snow lightly dusting the sidewalks. Jon stepped out first, dragging me by the coat like I was a reluctant teenager.
"Alright," he muttered, hands on his hips like a stage director. "Remember: you're cool, mysterious, effortlessly charming, and today—today, you're going to ask out a woman without setting anything on fire."
"A low bar."
"And yet one you constantly threaten to limbo under."
The bell chimed softly as I entered Raven & Rose, Diana's modern bookstore nestled between a vegan café and an overpriced perfume boutique.
She was at the counter, rearranging a stack of glossy, minimalist poetry books that looked suspiciously like Muggle Horcruxes. Her bookstore smelled like vanilla and paperbacks.
She looked up. And smiled.
"Professor Snape, looking rather... unbuttoned today."
"Just Severus here," I murmured, trying not to sound like I was reciting my own eulogy.
Jon, of course, was hovering in the corner, pretending to read a book titled Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance while whispering: "Smooth. So smooth. Silk scarf levels of smooth."
Diana tilted her head, eyes twinkling. "So what brings you to my corner of chaos?"
I cleared my throat. "I thought perhaps we might talk. And… maybe lunch?"
"Well, well. A man who brings charm and a calendar."
She leaned in slightly.
I hesitated for a beat, then reached into the inside pocket of my coat.
"I was… going to wait until after lunch. But…" I offered the small velvet box, black with silver edges.
Diana arched an eyebrow, accepting it gently. "Should I be worried? If this starts ticking, I'm running."
"It's not explosive," I said dryly. "Merely sentimental."
She opened it—and gasped softly.
Inside lay a necklace. A slender silver chain with a single sapphire pendant that shimmered like bottled moonlight.
"For Christmas," I said quietly.
Her fingers hovered over the gem. "Severus… this is gorgeous. You… you didn't have to—"
"I wanted to."
She smiled—then immediately turned the tables.
"I'll wear it to lunch. But only if you admit you're secretly romantic."
I cleared my throat. "I'm not."
"You gave me a literal star on a chain."
I leaned in slightly. "Then perhaps I'm just very good at hiding what I want most people to never discover."
That shut her up. Briefly. Her cheeks turned pink.
Jon whistled softly behind the shelves. "That's it. He wins. Professor Flirt strikes again."
She clasped the necklace around her neck, fingers brushing the pendant. "Well then, Professor Flirt… lead the way."
Just as I was about to offer my arm, the bell above the door jingled again.
In walked Hermione Granger.
Jon tensed. I nearly choked on air.
She was bundled in a scarf the size of a quilt, nose buried in a nonfiction book, humming as she approached the counter.
She paused. Looked up. Stared.
"Excuse me," she said politely, looking directly at me. "You look really familiar. Do you shop here often?"
I stared back. Calm. Collected. Absolutely screaming inside.
Jon swooped in like an angel with tactical sarcasm.
"Here—oh! No, no, this is Simon. My Uncle. Architect. Vegan. Collects weird clocks. You probably saw him in a Muggle architecture magazine."
Hermione narrowed her eyes and muttered. "He really looks like Professor Snape."
Jon gasped theatrically. "You go to Hogwarts too?! Wait, let me guess—Gryffindor?"
She lit up. "Yes! First year."
He beamed. "I knew it. It's the energy. So much main character energy."
Diana burst out laughing.
Hermione turned to her, whispering like a co-conspirator, "But honestly, our Potions professor? Total git. Always scowling. This guy? Way too charming to be him."
Diana snorted, nearly dropping a pen. Jon wheezed.
I, meanwhile, tried not to combust on the spot.
"Do you need help finding anything, dear?" Diana offered sweetly.
Hermione shook her head. "Just picking up something for Christmas break. Thank you!" She shot me a final skeptical glance. "You really do look like him."
Jon stage-whispered, "Don't feed his ego."
Once she left, the silence collapsed. Diana leaned on the counter, wiping her eyes.
"I think you just had your first case of mistaken identity comedy in a bookshop."
I buried my face in my hands. "She called me a git."
Jon clapped me on the back. "And she's not even wrong. But hey—you've got your shot now."
Diana turned to Jon, still smiling. "That was impressive improv."
Jon shrugged. "Comes with the territory. I'm Jon, Jon Bonds by the way. Friend of the dramatic vampire here."
"Diana Rockford. And thank you for saving his secret identity."
Jon winked. "I take bribes in chocolate or bookstore vouchers."
She laughed. "You've got style. If you ever want to pick up a shift here, let me know. You'd blend right in with the chaos."
"Tempting." Jon glanced at me. "Alright, Romeo. You've got a lunch date to secure."
I turned to Diana.
"So. As the man formerly mistaken for a scowling bat… would you care to join me for lunch? Somewhere without books, and preferably without Hogwarts students?"
She smiled. Not teasing this time. Just soft.
"I'd love that."
Jon raised a victorious fist in the background.
And for once, I didn't tell him to put it down.