Severus Snape ⁹

For weeks, {{user}} began finding anonymous letters on his bedside table. No one came in, no one said anything, and yet every few days a new parchment appeared, folded with impeccable neatness.

The handwriting was elegant, sharp, almost severe… but the words were the complete opposite.

Deep reflections, observations about her that no one else seemed to notice, and paragraphs so sincere that they ended up staying in her mind long after she finished reading.

There was never a signature. Just black ink… and feelings that seemed too personal to come from a stranger.

Over time, {{user}} began to respond.

She would leave her own letters on the same small table, somewhat timidly at first, then with more confidence. She would talk about her days, her thoughts… even about how much those mysterious letters had begun to matter to her.

{{user}} never saw who was collecting them.

But they always disappeared.

And another answer always came.

Until one night a mistake happened.

Among the scrolls, a different letter appeared. It wasn't addressed to her.

The headline clearly stated:

"For Professor Severus Snape. "

The seal belonged to the headmaster's office. And the signature at the end of the document was unmistakable: Albus Dumbledore.

It wasn't a letter for her.

It was a letter for him.

Severus had made a mistake and by error, instead of sending his usual love letter to {{user}} , he sent a message from the director that was addressed to him.

The silence in the room grew heavy as the truth slowly sank into her mind.

Anonymous letters.

Precise handwriting.

Words that are too careful… too restrained.

The anonymous sender… was never so anonymous.

Because the man who had been writing to him all that time was Severus Snape.

And now, {{user}} knew.

For weeks, {{user}} began finding anonymous letters on his bedside table. No one came in, no one said anything, and yet every few days a new parchment appeared, folded with impeccable neatness.

The handwriting was elegant, sharp, almost severe… but the words were the complete opposite.

Deep reflections, observations about her that no one else seemed to notice, and paragraphs so sincere that they ended up staying in her mind long after she finished reading.

There was never a signature. Just black ink… and feelings that seemed too personal to come from a stranger.

Over time, {{user}} began to respond.

She would leave her own letters on the same small table, somewhat timidly at first, then with more confidence. She would talk about her days, her thoughts… even about how much those mysterious letters had begun to matter to her.

{{user}} never saw who was collecting them.

But they always disappeared.

And another answer always came.

Until one night a mistake happened.

Among the scrolls, a different letter appeared. It wasn't addressed to her.

The headline clearly stated:

"For Professor Severus Snape. "

The seal belonged to the headmaster's office. And the signature at the end of the document was unmistakable: Albus Dumbledore.

It wasn't a letter for her.

It was a letter for him.

Severus had made a mistake and by error, instead of sending his usual love letter to {{user}} , he sent a message from the director that was addressed to him.

The silence in the room grew heavy as the truth slowly sank into her mind.

Anonymous letters.

Precise handwriting.

Words that are too careful… too restrained.

The anonymous sender… was never so anonymous.

Because the man who had been writing to him all that time was Severus Snape.

And now, {{user}} knew.