Professor Severus Tobias on RolePlayer.me - www.roleplayer.me/severustobiassnape Professor Severus Tobias
Potions Master and Head of House Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Male
59 years old
St Johns Wood, London
United Kingdom

Last Login:
June 16 2019

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     Professor Severus Tobias's Details
Characters: Professor Severus Tobias Snape
Verses: Harry Potter
Playbys: Alan Rickman
Length: Multi Para, Para
Genre: Fantasy, Movie, Supernatural,
Member Since:September 07, 2018




[[Have some dreamy summer music for inspo.]]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKeJ90p3z0E



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In Which the World is Filled with Ghosts  (view more)

The Origins of Magic | Severus Tobias   (view more)

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   Professor Severus Tobias's Blurbs
About me:
Who I'd like to meet:

Professor
Severus Tobias Snape





+Multi-Para Player
+All Eras including Post-War
+Canon & AU
+Some Mature Content
+See 'Journal' for Rules and Writing







"If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world,
paid a high price for living too long with a single dream.
He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves
and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is
and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass.
A new world, material without being real,
where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air,
drifted fortuitously about...like that ashen, fantastic figure
gliding toward him through the amorphous trees."
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

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ᵖʳᵒᶠᵉˢˢᵒʳ wolғ

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𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍.

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BAD COMPANY.

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✘ σutlαw

𝓋𝑜𝓍 𝓅𝑜𝓅𝓊𝓁𝒾.

sɢᴛ. ᴍᴄᴄᴏʏ

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eric




Professor Severus Tobias's Friends Comments
Displaying 10 of 74 comments (View All | Add Comment)
Harry Potter

Jun 12th 2019 07:58


Professor, 
There seems to be an issue in the Slytherin House...
You may want to go deal with it before I murder them.
-
Potter
ᴍᴇʀᴇᴅɪᴛʜ ᴍᴄᴄᴀʟʟ

Mar 24th 2019 16:41


The smile on her face slightly faded, noticing Severus’s upset countenance. It made her feel guilty, guilty that she couldn’t help him feel better. He’s always suffered from the traumatic abuse his father inflicted on him when he was a kid, and she felt the need to help him. 


At one point, she wanted Sev to move in with her and her family to get away from his horrific father... but Petunia did everything in her power to not allow that. She always wanted to be his hero, to comfort him. It was her duty to bring him out of the darkness he was so enthralled of. 


Without thinking a second time, she put her hand softly on his cheek and looked into his dark brown eyes. Her other hand came to the side of his hair, slightly brushing it. She looked down, “I wish I could take that pain away from you... it hurts me to see you suffering. We’ve had our ups and downs...” She cringed when she remembered the time he called her a mudblood, but did her best to forget about it. “But in the end, I know you’ve learned. And I’ll always love you for it. As a friend, of course,” she laughed. 


She let go of him, walking to the side of the garden. The coolness of the air invigorated her senses. “I mean, if things were different... if I hadn’t met James, I mean, we may have even been married with kids. But what’s not meant to be, isn’t.” She looked back at him, smiling, “But I’m sure you’ll find yourself a lovely person. I’m sure they’ll defeat your demons with you, Sev, hopefully help you like I wasn’t able to.” 

ᴍᴇʀᴇᴅɪᴛʜ ᴍᴄᴄᴀʟʟ

Mar 24th 2019 14:19


It was at one point that Severus’s dreams drifted into a beautiful garden. The essence of flowers were refreshing, and the colorful lily’s were spread out wonderfully. The magnificent marble pillars in the background accentuated the appearance of a heaven. It was peaceful, to say the least. 

But something else made it even better. In that moment, a familiar red haired woman appeared in the garden - Lily Marie Evans herself. She was dressed in a white flowly gown that complemented her curves. She had her famous blood red hair that made her pale tone pop out more. She wasn’t the teen that she had used to be... she was a grown woman. 

“Sev...?” She said, shocked. The man had the obsidian black hair, his black robes down to his knees. This man that had been her best friend for years before their falling out. She quickly walked towards him, a smile forming on her face. “It is you!” 

Without a second question, she found herself wrapping her arms around him and pulled him into a warm embrace. It was unknown whether or not she was aware of him and Harry’s relationship. It was merely a dream, after all; but one thing was certain, and that thing was that she had dearly missed this wonderful friend of hers. 
Nefertari ~Belle of Mirkwood~{FOS}

Mar 17th 2019 01:30


(Thank you, I appreciate it, and may you find your Music of the Night during dreams descent. )

-smiles slowly, gently..and wraps her arms around his endearing lanky frame, reluctant to let him go- Professor.. -says muffled into his chest- 
"Mumblumumble..I love you." 
Nefertari ~Belle of Mirkwood~{FOS}

Mar 17th 2019 01:10


(It is so beautiful..so very beautiful!
I love how you delved into you delved into the story, and that Wand! -swoons)

Will write soon..meds kicking in ♥
IC:Professor, may I embrace you? --miles in innocence-
Nefertari ~Belle of Mirkwood~{FOS}

Mar 15th 2019 13:45


Tomes, tomes, tomes..she seemed forever indulged in them, when not at his side or conversing over important matters. She felt respected by him, though his fuse seemed short with the younger crowd...as she called them. Potions was an art, as well as an advisable medicine for many means. She wished to perfect her Potioneering, as well as read upon constant lore from many eras of Time. Thanking him again and again, she followed his careful instructions, listening every now and then to his knowledgeable business in the shoppe below.

...And speaking of time, she wished it would stand still while they sat together in thought, but she also wished she knew what was on his mind. Finger sliding gently from his chest to caress his sleeve, and retreat for her arms to fold and hands clasp together upon the table, Nefertari watched her Angel in admiring curiosity; eyes following him carefully as he went to slip a long, black box onto the table before her. She glanced down at it, hesitating but a little before fingers traversed to caress the top cover of it. "Professor?" She spoke quietly, glimmering pools watching for the slightest of response from the thin length of his lips. "What have you brought to me?"

She inquired earnestly, fingers tickling the top still, as her spirit was eager to learn just what lie inside.
Cosmo the Good Boi

Mar 12th 2019 10:13


[Smiles and wags tail happily]
Nefertari ~Belle of Mirkwood~{FOS}

Mar 7th 2019 17:56


The shoppe was small, but more than sufficient. Lodgings were more than she could have ever asked for, and Nefertari even offered to gather what necessities of Potion ingredients the handsomely pale, gaunt man would need..both so she may grow in the arcane Arts, and to show her neverending appreciation of him. Did he see her studying him as well as the kale and gillyweed brought in? 

If not, she would never tell. As far as any finding out where she, one of the last of her kind, was lodged...there was something about him which told her he could be trusted. 

One particularly dreary morn, she invited him to dine with her..fixing him pancakes and sweet strawberry muffin tarts, with pumpkinspice  juice to waylay hopefully his thirst. "I thank you dearly for your company and protection, as well as wisdom provided." Berry stained lips curved up softly upon dainty angular jawline, and she leaned in close to him at unawares while eating, scented as an orchid garden with fresh wisteria wishing in the upstairs window's breeze. " I would bet..you have been wondering who and what I am? Or why, I have come here in particular?"

She paused, looking at him in wistful seriousness. His narrow black eyes luring her in without effort, bringing her to fold her arms together in intrigue of him. "Well, besides your forlorn soul weary as it called to mine across time, I suppose it is your wisdom and charm that drew me here. Rather, to your World. My heart, my Elven heart, speaks only for one when called, whether yours knew of this forseen union or not. It is the Way of my people..and I felt you hurt as I did." 

She lowered her gaze slowly, gently bringing her index finger to touch upon his chest. Gingerly, as though afraid to alarm him. "I have seen much of us as I dream."
Nefertari ~Belle of Mirkwood~{FOS}

Mar 1st 2019 14:19


(Will write tonight on mobile. No distractions. -crosses heart-)
нerмιone

Feb 18th 2019 16:55


The air smelled sweet as it coolly enveloped around Hermione Granger's slender form. Scents of butter, cinnamon and freshly baked bread wafted through the Parisian neighborhood that she found herself in. The apartment she was renting for the two-week long stay in the city, a mere 10 minute walk away from the district known as Le Marais. She found herself her most mornings. Something about the quintessential "French" feel that it gave off. Age old buildings, breathtaking architecture and innumerable bakeries to choose from. The historic district of the city was one of her favourite places to sit among and thus far, she had frequented it every day since her arrival. On this, the sixth morning of her stay, she chose a new bakery. One with a few cast iron tables and chairs lining its entry outside. A true boulangerie  by definition because it made fresh bread onsite. This would be the one of her choosing. Something new, she thought. To the common tourist, France was simply the place known for its bread and pastries. And though true, to a certain degree, Hermione knew better. She came here before, as a child with her parents. Ever inquisitive then and able to carry on small conversations in French, she befriended the individuals tending the counters when she and her parents would stop into a bakery along the way for a baguette or two, to take along on their walking journey for the day. She recalled the conversation she had with one baker, in particular, in which he said that every batch of bread starts out with the same ingredients but that no two bakeries would taste the same for each batch was a labour of love. And love to one, tasted different to the maker. It was an interesting concept but one that left her feeling skeptical, until the next morning, when they were walking along the Seine and bought another baguette. The same ingredients, yet a completely different taste. 

"Bonjour." Hermione greeted the young man at the counter, smiling before proceeding with her order. "Je prend un croissant, un tarte aux fruit...mm..." she paused, brown eyes scanning the display counter for the available options. A brightly glazed raspberry tart practically screamed her name, making the voice for her. "...framboise et un, café s'il vous plaît. Merci." Upon placing her order, she then made her way outside, nostrils flaring in reflex to the pleasant aromas that filled the space around her. For most, the day was only just beginning. It was barely 9 o'clock in the morning. Tourists were still readying themselves for a day of sightseeing and the general working public were already at their respective professions for the day. To her immediate right, a man in his 60's, at least. Face hidden by the morning paper as he made his way through some sort of pastry. To her far left, a young couple, basking in one another's company and clearly madly in love. For a fleeting moment, it made her think of Ron.  The man she left behind in London. The man, with whom, she began her first real romantic escapade. Together for almost three years before she, as a young adult, decided to break it off with him. Citing an unwillingness on her part to settle into a life of young married bliss. Without a shred of doubt, Hermione loved Ron; he was her first real everything. A serious relationship, a sexual encounter and a foray into adulthood. Yet, he drove her utterly mad. Not the kind of madness that one could simply forsake and forget about, owing it to someone's personality that was easily brushed off after a period of cooling down. No. It came to a point where every damned thing he did drove her into a frenzy of disrepair. She couldn't coddle him anymore. The two of them needed space, despite his pleading that he would change. Hermione moved out of his flat in London and set out on her own, determined to see the world from her own eyes. Anxious to make mistakes on her own and learn from it, whatever she could. If the two of them eventually found their way back to one another, then fate would have it so. Until then, she vowed not to look back and embraced this new take on life with equal parts of optimism and trepidation. 

Before she could allow her mind to be consumed by thoughts of Ron, her concentration was broken by the young man who took her order just minutes before. "Pour vous, Mademoiselle." If Hermione didn't know any better, the smile he gave her before retreating back inside the small shop could have been construed as a mild form of flirtation. He was handsome enough in that foreign sort of way. But Hermione's intentions were so far beyond anything romantic, let alone her judgment was off when it came to advances of he opposite sex, she just smiled in return and thanked him with a gracious nod of her head. The delectable baked goods on the plate before her and the strong cup of French coffee soon proved themselves as the necessary, mindless distraction she needed to begin her morning right. On her slate of things to do later that day was a visit to the Notre-Dame Cathedral and the Place Dauphin, followed perhaps by a bit of sightseeing and local shopping. For now, however, this was perfection. Tucked deep inside the confines of her leather satchel, fully equipped with the Undetectable Extension Charm, a read she was eager to get her fingertips on the moment she checked it out from the Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève; one of the most visually stunning libraries that she ever set foot inside. Whenever she traveled to new lands, she made a point to visit at least one or two libraries in the city that she found herself in. Paris was no exception. And when she had the time and ability to check a book out while staying there? Even better.

Most people reserved books about fiction. The latest best seller or a classic novel that transported them back in time. Unless a scholar or university student, rarely did someone ever read academic journals books purely for pleasure. That is, unless your name was Hermione Granger. Sure, she liked losing herself to the romance of Jane Austen or the written poise of Shakespeare just as much as any. Her bookshelves back home houses D*ckens and Bronte, C.S. Lewis alongside George Orwell. But among them, were books on Muggle science and magical potion making, the history of magic and a complete list of herbs for nearly every ailment possible. In her bag, however, a new journal published on newly speculated properties of the Lavender plant. She knew of the usual, primarily essential oil related; an anti-inflammatory, a common antiseptic and for relaxation purposes but she read in other books that it could possibly help with insomnia - a most unfortunate condition that plagued her still in present day. Suppressed memories of the post-traumatic experiences of war. Nightmares never truly evaded her, nor did an uninterrupted sleep. If the latest studies proved even a semblance of accuracy among trials, she was willing to try it. Eventually, she would leave Paris for other parts of France and knew that lavender fields were in beautiful abundance in the Provence region of the country. Perhaps she could visit a farmer before he or she began their harvest and they would allow her to purchase some samples for her own use. Really pick their brain about the plant and its properties, as well as its growing patterns. Hermione knew enough about Herbology but not enough about Horticulture. 

Chewing her way through a buttery mouthful of croissant, Hermione's fingers began to delicately flick through the pages of the journal. It consisted of several contributors but one, in particular, really caught her attention. There was something about the way the words that peaked her interest. They weren't just any words or paragraphs wrought with unnecessary educational jargon. Each one flowed with a remarkable elegance. Every sentence managing to stay fluid and stimulating. Complex enough to capture her attention, yet smooth enough to engage even the most amateur of readers. Not an ordinary feat, to be able to write with elaboration and simplicity all at once. This epistler of knowledge wrote about their own night terrors and their experience with sleepless nights due to a traumatic event. Furthermore, that, through varying dosages of lavender oil, they experienced a heightened sense of calmness. Along with an acute improvement in brain function. They went on to state that their research was not conclusive and future iterations were going to take place but that their findings suggest a correlation between the usage of lavender oil and a diminished existence of insomnia. How fascinating, Hermione thought! 

At the bottom of this particular passage, the name P. Beaumont, University of Cambridge.

Hermione may have received her schooling from Hogwarts but she was no stranger to the prestigious Muggle universities of the world. Harvard, MIT, Stanford and closer to home, institutions like Oxford, St. Andrews and the University of Edinburgh, to name a few. Some known for their programs in Law or Science, others for their courses on English Literature or the creative arts. The University of Cambridge, especially revered for its research. It showed up in countless articles that she read over the years. Naturally, she then began to wonder who P. Beaumont was. A professor? A hired research assistant? A student, applying their knowledge to a doctoral thesis? Such a surname was foreign to her. At least in the case of written word. She knew of one. The famed Charles Beaumont. Most noted for his works of speculative fiction. A genre she didn't pursue much but knew of, nonetheless. 

"P. Beaumont..." she spoke quietly to herself before taking in a cold sip of coffee. Lost to time, a quick glance down to her wristwatch and she suddenly realised that she had spent the last hour, lost to the pages clung tightly in her grip. Of course she would be the one to immerse themselves into an academic paper on the healing properties of lavender. It couldn't be something like Anna Karenina or The Great Gatsby. Typical Hermione. Utterly engrossed by the world of research and factoids. The findings in the journal appealed to her, yes. But more so, their author. The way they wrote. The manner in which the words married to one another. The talent in presenting normally mundane data to be something completely fascinating. Forget her afternoon excursions into some of the city's iconic landmarks. She had to find out more about this intellectual and perhaps a way to contact them to send her applause. 

Naturally, the library yielded nothing. Not a single, scholarly journal from a one P. Beaumont or anything to suggest that he or she had written more. Her broken French as she tried communicating with the librarian may have contributed to unrequited quest but that was only a minor part. Despite her exhaustive efforts in thumbing through every imaginable combination of the Dewey Decimal System to find the curious P. Beaumont, results evaded her. With nothing left within the deep recesses of her clever mind, she proceeded to do the only thing she could possibly devise in a circumstance like this. Hermione found herself an empty table, rummaged in her satchel for a notebook and ballpoint pen and then composed a letter in the hopes that it would fall into the right hands.

To whom it may concern,

My name is Hermione Granger. Recently, I read an article published in the Cambridge University Press (ISSN: 1463-2048), The Use of Valerian, Lavender and Other Herbs in Neuropsychiatry. 

A truly fascinating read by Dr. Ivan Sawyer but my curiosity peaked when I read the contribution by author, P. Beaumont. As a self-professed avid learner and reader, I was keen to find more from the aforementioned journalist but to my dismay, I have been unavailable to find their name associated with any other written works.

Please, if at all possible, pass along my esteem to the accomplished scholar. Their research has intrigued me and I would be forever grateful to be apprised of more, in the future. I have enclosed my home address at which I can be reached for future correspondence should the university ever feel obliged to inform me of future publications in this discipline.

Fondly,

Hermione J. Granger

Upon finding her way to the nearest stationery shop, she purchased an envelope and stamp. Scrawling the address of the University of Cambridge, Att: Deptartment of Medicine, Hermione placed the sealed envelope into the letterbox and quite literally crossed her fingers. No doubt, a far off hope to receive any sort of reply. Research departments of universities were likely inundated with letters from hopeful individuals, yearning to have their latest discovery published. Letters like hers, asking about an author who purposely requested an implied anonymity would surely go unanswered. 

At least she tried, she thought. Any and all deliveries sent to her cottage back in England were forwarded to by secret owl post each Wednesday.  

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