Lessons In Longing (Severus Snape X Y/N)

'Misplaced' Concern

After class empties out, I find an excuse to Hermione and linger behind. The room feels heavier now without the chatter, only the faint bubbling of cauldrons left behind.

I approach Snape, softer than usual.
"Are you... okay, sir?"

His shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly. His eyes flicker, widening a fraction before narrowing again.
"Perfectly, Miss L/N."

I raise an eyebrow, unconvinced.
"You don't have to tell me anything. But... I can tell you're more on edge than normal."

For a moment, he says nothing. His gaze finally lifts to meet mine, softer than the glare he wore during class, though no less guarded.
"Your concern is... misplaced, Miss L/N."

His words linger in the silence, sharper than they need to be, yet his tone lacks its usual bite. There's something frayed at the edges of his voice—fatigue, maybe.

I tilt my head slightly.
"Misplaced or not, it's still there."

His eyes narrow, though not in anger. More like he's... studying me.
"And what precisely makes you think you can read me so easily, Miss L/N?"

The question feels less like a rebuke, more like a challenge.

I shrug faintly, keeping my voice steady.
"I just notice things. Even when you try to hide them."

For a moment, his gaze holds mine. Too long. Then, with a faint scoff, he looks away, retreating behind his walls again. "Curiosity, Miss L/N, is a dangerous trait. Best you... restrain it."

But I don't miss the hesitation before the last words, like he almost said something else.

After a moment of silence, both of us not knowing what he say next,
"I assure you, my well-being is hardly worth sacrificing a meal for. Off with you, before your friends send a search party."

My lips thin into a brief smile. It's clear I don't want to leave, but I also don't want to test his patience. So I nod and head for the door.

Just before stepping out, I pause, my back still to him.
"I'm always here for you, Professor."

I don't wait for a response. The words hang in the air as I slip through the door.

The corridor is quiet, eerily so, my footsteps echoing in the stone hallway. My mind, however, refuses to settle. Why does he seem so on edge? Does he know he can trust me? Does he even want to? I know how closed-off he can be... and yet, for a moment, I thought I saw something else.

The instant I turn the corner to the Great Hall, the silence shatters. Chatter crashes against me, benches scrape across the stone flooring, forks and knives clatter against plates. The warmth and noise rush in, overwhelming.

I step inside, weaving toward my friends.

I slide onto the bench beside Hermione, offering a small smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. She glances up from her plate instantly, eyebrows knitting.

"You were gone a while," she says carefully.

Harry looks over too, lowering his fork. "Everything alright?"

I reach for the jug of pumpkin juice, keeping my movements steady.
"Yeah. Just... got caught up finishing something."

Ron, mid-bite, squints at me.
"What's with the face? Did Snape make you clean cauldrons or something?"

A laugh slips out, softer than I intend. "Nothing that dramatic."

They exchange looks, but Hermione doesn't press. She knows better than anyone when I'm hiding something, but she lets it go, for now.

As the chatter around us swells, I pick at my food more than I eat it. My mind drifts back to the dungeon, to the unreadable look in Snape's eyes, to the weight of the words I left behind. I'm always here for you, Professor.

I wonder if he believed me.

I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don't notice the dark figure himself at the staff table, his gaze fixed briefly in my direction. He observes the way I stir at my plate without really eating, the distant look in my eyes.

Then, as though nothing had passed between us at all, his attention slides away, walls rebuilt, expression unreadable.