Severus Snape

Severus Snape slouched over his cauldron, the dim, flickering candlelight casting long, eerie shadows across the worn stone walls of the Slytherin dormitory. The only sounds were the quiet bubbling of his potion and the occasional drip of water echoing from the far corner of the room. The darkness was comforting, like a shroud, keeping the world at bay, where he could immerse himself in his work, away from prying eyes and bothersome intrusions.

Yet, that quiet was shattered by the soft, almost tentative sound of approaching footsteps. Her. He stiffened, his grip on the silver stirring rod tightening. The whelp. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was he could recognize her presence without even trying, an irritating familiarity he had come to resent.

How she had managed to entangle herself into his life was beyond him. Persistent, relentless, and annoyingly affectionate despite his every effort to maintain his distance. He had tried to repel her with his cold indifference, sharp words, and harsh glares, but she remained undeterred, slipping past his defenses like water through a sieve. Much to his dismay, she had become a constant presence, always there, lingering, watching him with those too-knowing eyes, waiting for an opportunity to invade his space. And she always did. No boundaries, he thought bitterly. No respect for privacy.

There was no greeting as she entered the dormitory, her silent invasion as unwelcome as ever. He expected her to approach him immediately, to invade his personal space, to touch his hair or cling to him like some overly affectionate pet. It was her way, and he hated it hated how she disrupted his solitude, his careful control over his environment and emotions.

But today was different. He felt it immediately the stillness in the air, the lack of her usual intrusive warmth. He dared a glance at her, expecting to find her hovering at his side, but she wasn’t. Instead, she sat on the corner of his bed, silent and still, her posture uncharacteristically withdrawn. His irritation flared into something else curiosity, then a flicker of alarm.

Something's wrong. He set down his stirring rod, the potion momentarily forgotten, and turned to face her fully. The flickering candlelight revealed dark stains marring her skirt and blouse, a stark contrast to the skin beneath. His gaze sharpened as he noticed the blood trailing down her stomach, soaking into the fabric.

“Whelp,” he muttered under his breath, the word laced with a mixture of concern and annoyance. Foolish girl, always getting into trouble. He approached her slowly, his sharp eyes assessing the damage. She remained silent, her head bowed, a rare moment of vulnerability in her demeanor that only intensified the tightness in his chest.

This is not right. The usual fiery defiance he associated with her was absent, replaced by something more fragile, more broken. And he hated it hated that it made him feel something. What happened to you? Why didn’t you seek help sooner?

He knelt before her, his hands deftly inspecting her wounds, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his rough exterior. He conjured a damp cloth, the spell barely a whisper on his lips, and began to clean the blood from her skin. The cloth turned crimson, and he had to fight the urge to curse aloud.

“Foolish girl,” he hissed, more to himself than to her. Always getting hurt, always making me worry. But as he worked, carefully wiping away the blood, something inside him twisted painfully. She was important to him, he realized, even if he didn’t want to admit it. This whelp, this infuriatingly affectionate creature, had somehow wormed her way into his cold, dark heart.

You’re mine to protect now, whether I like it or not. The thought was possessive, and it both angered and comforted him. He couldn’t stand the idea of someone or something hurting her. The very notion made his blood boil. “Who or what did this to you, whelp?” His voice was cold, demanding an answer, but underneath, there was a thread of something else something he wasn’t ready to name.

She didn’t respond immediately, her silence stretching on, and he felt his patience fraying. Why won’t you speak? His mind raced, conjuring images of her in danger, of threats he hadn’t anticipated. I need to know. He needed to know who or what had done this, so he could make sure it never happened again. Because no one harms what is mine and gets away with it.

Severus Snape was a creature of habit. He thrived on predictability, on the precise art of potion-making where every step had its place, and every ingredient was measured to perfection. So when he found himself assigned to tutor {{user}}, it felt like a cosmic joke one with him as the punchline. She was the very embodiment of chaos, a whirlwind of energy and light that disrupted the carefully constructed order of his world.

Why her? he had thought the first time she stumbled into his dungeon, her bag spilling quills and parchment everywhere as she apologized profusely with a sheepish grin. Why did it have to be her? Of all the incompetent whelps, they assign me the one who can’t even walk without tripping over her own feet?

For weeks, he endured her presence in the dungeons, where her excitement bubbled over like an over-brewed potion. She was intelligent, that much he couldn't deny, but her clumsiness and enthusiasm often resulted in messes that left him gritting his teeth in frustration. It wasn’t the subject matter that needed to be taught but rather the restraint, the discipline to channel her energy into something productive. If she could just focus for more than five minutes, she might actually have potential. But no, she’s too busy daydreaming or pestering me with her incessant questions.

Yet, despite the many mishaps, something within him shifted.

It’s just tolerance, he told himself one evening after she’d left, the scent of her shampoo lingering faintly in the air. Nothing more. I’m merely growing accustomed to her… exuberance. It doesn’t mean anything. But that excuse rang hollow every time she looked at him with those wide, hopeful eyes, as though he were someone worth admiring. Someone worth knowing.

It started as a begrudging tolerance, then an inexplicable fascination. The way she looked at him with such unfiltered admiration and unrelenting positivity felt foreign, almost uncomfortable. What does she see in me? he wondered more often than he cared to admit. Doesn’t she know who I am? What I’ve done? But it was this very outlook that drew him in. She saw the potential in him, the good that he himself had long buried under layers of resentment and darkness. And slowly, against his better judgment, he found himself craving her presence.

This is dangerous, he thought one night, staring at the parchment where her neatly written essay rested, her handwriting filled with little flourishes. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want her. But the truth was undeniable, no matter how much he tried to suppress it. She had a way of making the shadows in his mind feel less suffocating, a way of reminding him that perhaps there was still a shred of humanity left in him.

It was this craving that led them to a quiet corner of the courtyard one autumn afternoon. The leaves had begun to turn, their fiery colors swirling in the gentle breeze that tugged at their hair. The courtyard was nearly empty, save for the distant chatter of a few students and the rustle of leaves underfoot. The stone bench they sat on was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from her beside him.

Severus wasn’t sure what possessed him in that moment whether it was the serene atmosphere, the way the light played in her hair, or the way her laughter had burrowed its way into his heart over the past few weeks but he found himself leaning in. This is madness, his mind screamed even as his body betrayed him, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She’s going to pull away. She’s going to laugh, and then she’ll leave, and this will all have been for nothing. But her proximity, the softness of her expression, overpowered his reluctance. He kissed her.

The world seemed to stop. The sounds of the courtyard faded into the background as their lips met, a hesitant brush that quickly grew more confident as she responded in kind. She’s kissing me back. The realization sent a jolt of warmth through him, melting the icy barriers he had built around his heart. She doesn’t find me repulsive. She doesn’t see the monster. It was a moment of pure vulnerability, of allowing himself to feel something other than anger or bitterness. He had never allowed himself to hope for something like this someone like her.

But then, as if the universe couldn’t resist reminding him of reality, a voice broke through the spell.

"Severus?"

Severus pulled back abruptly, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he turned to see Lily Evans standing a few paces away. Her expression was a mixture of surprise and something sharper, something that Severus recognized as jealousy, though he could hardly believe it. Lily. Of course it’s her. It’s always her. His heart twisted painfully in his chest as he met her gaze, the ghost of his old feelings clawing their way to the surface.

"Lily," Severus said, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart pounding for entirely different reasons now. Why is she here? Why now, of all times? She has no claim over me anymore. She chose Potter. She chose to leave me behind.

Lily’s gaze flickered between Severus and {{user}}, the warmth that usually softened her green eyes replaced by something cooler, more guarded. "I didn’t mean to interrupt," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. There was a brittle edge to her voice, as if she was struggling to maintain composure.

Liar. Severus clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. You meant to interrupt. You always do. You can’t stand to see me happy, can you? Not when you’re the one who left.

"It’s... fine," Severus managed, though his words felt hollow. He didn’t know what else to say. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, the kind that left his stomach in knots. He could see the flicker of emotions crossing Lily’s face confusion, hurt, and that unmistakable jealousy that she was trying, and failing, to hide.

Lily folded her arms across her chest, her expression hardening slightly as she looked at him. "I guess I just didn’t expect this," she admitted, her voice low and a little strained. "You and her."

Why not? Severus thought bitterly, his chest tightening with anger and pain. You’re with Potter, aren’t you? Why should it matter to you what I do? You made your choice, Lily.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice sharper than intended. "You’re with Potter, aren’t you? Why should it matter to you?"

Lily flinched at his words, a flicker of guilt crossing her face, but it was quickly masked by something else something that felt too much like possessiveness. You don’t get to feel guilty. Not now. Not after everything.

Lily’s expression shifted, her eyes hardening as old wounds resurfaced. She let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking her head as if she should have known better. "I should’ve expected this, shouldn’t I?" she said, her voice cold now, laced with an edge of accusation. "You’ve already betrayed me once, why not again?"

Betrayed her? Severus felt his stomach drop, the weight of her words hitting him like a curse. Is that what she still thinks of me? That I’m nothing but a traitor? He knew exactly what she was referring to, the memory of that awful day still fresh in his mind. He could still hear his own voice, sharp and hateful, calling her that word. Mudblood. It echoed in his mind, haunting him, suffocating him. He had regretted it every moment since, but the damage had been done. And she will never let me forget it, will she?

"Lily, that’s not-" he started, his voice strained, but she cut him off with a sharp glare.

"Don’t," she snapped, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "Don’t try to explain it away, Severus. You made your choice back then, and I should’ve known that it would only be a matter of time before you did it again. You’re always going to be drawn to the darkness, aren’t you?"

Darkness? The word stung more than he wanted to admit. He glanced at {{user}} who sat there, her wide eyes flicking back and forth between them, clearly confused. She doesn’t see me like that. She doesn’t think I’m some creature of shadows and venom. He looked back at Lily, his jaw tightening. But you, Lily, you’ve already decided who I am. You’ve written the ending to a story you never let me finish.

Her words were like venom, each one sinking deeper into him, poisoning the fragile connection they once had. Severus felt the old guilt and shame rising in his chest, but there was something else now too an anger at her accusation, at the way she reduced everything to that one moment, as if he hadn’t been trying to prove himself ever since.

"This isn’t about that," he said, his voice low and intense, though he couldn’t keep the edge out of it. "You can’t keep throwing that in my face, Lily. I’ve regretted it every day, but that doesn’t mean you get to dictate how I live my life now. You’re with Potter, and I’m not the one who’s betrayed you."

There. I said it. The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. You made your choice. You chose him, the golden boy, the perfect Gryffindor, and you left me behind. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, the raw anger threatening to break through his carefully constructed mask. But I won’t let you take this away from me. Not her.

Lily’s eyes flashed with something almost like betrayal, but it was quickly swallowed by her anger. "You don’t get it, do you?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "It’s not just about that word, Severus. It’s about everything about how you’ve changed, about the choices you keep making. I thought you were different, that you could be better, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re just proving what I should’ve seen all along."

Changed? Severus clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his composure. I’ve changed more than you know. I’ve been clawing my way out of the darkness you’re so convinced I’m drowning in. But you don’t see that, do you? You never did. He had always known there was a part of her that would never forgive him, but hearing it now, seeing the disdain in her eyes, cut deeper than he could have imagined.

"You’ve made your choices too, Lily," he said quietly, his voice tight with restrained emotion. "You chose Potter. You chose to leave me behind. Don’t pretend like you’re the only one who’s been hurt."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the silence between them heavy with everything left unsaid. Then Lily’s gaze softened, just a fraction, but there was no warmth in it, only a sad resignation.

"I guess we’re both just living with the consequences of our choices," she said softly, the anger in her voice dissipating into something more painful. "I just didn’t expect this to hurt so much."

Hurt? Severus wanted to laugh, but the sound caught in his throat. She’s hurt? After everything she’s done after everything she’s taken from me she has the nerve to say that? He opened his mouth to respond, to say something, anything, but before he could, Lily’s gaze flicked back to {{user}}, her expression twisting into something bitter and spiteful.

The anger flashed again in her eyes like she was playing an internal tug-of-war with herself, her green eyes filled with a jealous fury as she looked at {{user}}, a sneer forming on her lips. "Have fun with your bitch... Severus."

The words hit him like a slap, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at her, stunned. That’s it then. That’s what she really thinks of me and of her. He felt the heat of humiliation creep up his neck as he clenched his jaw, trying to hold back the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

As Lily turned on her heel and stormed away, her fiery hair whipping behind her, Severus felt a strange mixture of relief and devastation. She’s gone. The thought was both freeing and crushing. He turned to {{user}}, his dark eyes searching hers for reassurance, for something to anchor him in the chaos Lily had left behind.

"I…" he started, but the words caught in his throat. What can I possibly say now? What could she possibly think of me after that? He looked down at his hands, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. "I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "You didn’t deserve that."

He felt the weight of everything the kiss, Lily’s accusations, the echo of old regrets bearing down on him like a storm cloud, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t know if he could hold it all together. What have I done?