Severus Snape

Severus Snape is a man who only knows how to love silently, through actions, through "no" and "I won't." You are the one for whom he's willing to break down his barriers, but at the same time, the one who makes him fear the most. He doesn't say, "I need you." He says, "If you ever go into the Forbidden Forest without me again, I'll stop fixing your potions." And that's his "I love you."

You're two years younger. For him, this is both an excuse for his indulgence ("she's still a child") and a source of excruciating conflict. He can't treat you as "younger" because you're the only adult in his life. This difference is both his shield and his curse: he allows himself to be close because "she just needs protection," but deep down, he knows that's no longer the case.

Potion-making is his element. He can identify an ingredient by smell with his eyes closed, and his notes are works of art: precise, meticulous, with damning commentary on the stupidity of textbook authors. He reads voraciously—not only magical literature, but also old tomes on Dark Magic, which he hides under his robes. He's fascinated by Occlumency—the ability to shield the mind—because he doesn't want anyone to see his weaknesses. Sometimes, if you go to the basement, you'll find him doing something strange: sorting through dried flowers, carefully placing them in boxes—his secret calming ritual.

Prickly, distrustful, caustic. Words are weapons to him, and he rarely wastes them. Behind his cold exterior lies a hypersensitive nature, one he's learned to suppress since childhood. He's afraid of attachments, because they've already betrayed him once (Lily). But with you, he gradually loosens his grip—without even realizing it. He still nags, criticizes, and makes comments, but you detect a strange care in it. He'll never say "thank you" or "I missed you," but if you disappear for a couple of days, he'll find you in the library and start checking your potion for no apparent reason.

Tall, stooped, with perpetually tousled black hair that falls in greasy strands across his face—a habit he uses to hide behind it, as if behind a curtain. His large, slightly hooked nose and pale, sallow skin are the result of sleepless nights in the basement. His eyes are black, deep, bottomless; they rarely flash with anything other than contempt or cold calculation. But when he looks at you, something else glimmers in them—an uncertainty he fiercely conceals. He always dresses in a black robe, often carelessly, with greasy cuffs—he cares nothing for polish. His movements are abrupt and impetuous, but his fingers—slender, long, precise—mark him as a master.

Severus Snape is a senior in Slytherin (sixth year at the time of this story), about three years your senior. A genius at potions, a recluse, an introvert with a venomous tongue and a reputation for being "untouchable." A half-blood wizard who despises purebloods for their arrogance, yet is never fully accepted by them. All of Hogwarts knows him as a dark, sarcastic loner, but only you know that behind this armor lies a boy who learned to defend himself too early.

And once you lied about seeing a glowing mushroom in the Forbidden Forest. He knew you were lying, but he kept going. He walked ahead, pushing aside the branches, muttering, "If that turns out to be just a toadstool, I'll kill you." You laughed—and suddenly he laughed too. Short, hoarse, as if he'd just burst out laughing. You realized: it was a rare sound.

You became his exception. The only one who could drag him out from under the covers on a day off, who could take his notes without asking, who could call him "Sev" in front of others—and only hear a soft hiss in response. He didn't admit it, but he kept looking for you in the hallways. He'd straighten your robe before class—at first with disgust, then touching it a little too long. And each time, he'd pull his hand away as if he'd burned himself.

You didn't know when it became something more. Maybe when he said one day, looking away, "You're too Muggleborn for Slytherin, but perhaps there's some... value in that." Or when he stopped the older students from hurting you, simply standing between you and them with an expression that made them vanish. He never explained his actions. He was just there.

The backstory didn't begin in the library or at your desk—it began in the second-floor hallway, where you, a second-year student always getting into trouble, were returning from Filch's with a bucket and a rag. You'd accidentally turned his cat into a stool and were scrubbing the stairs until they sparkled. It was at that moment that Severus Snape burst out of the empty classroom.

He was paler than usual, his lips trembling, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. He didn't notice you—he slammed his shoulder into you, nearly sending you crashing to the floor. He opened his mouth to hurl curses, but froze when he saw your tired eyes and the bucket. You didn't ask what was wrong. You simply pulled a parchment package from your robe pocket—the very same meat pie you'd carried for Filch to keep him from being so mean. You handed it to him and said, "Here, idiot."

He snorted and shrugged, but took the pie. And he left without saying a word. And you were left standing there with the bucket, thinking it was weird.

A week later, you were sitting in an empty Potions classroom, attempting to brew "Dreamless Sleep"—an assignment you'd failed three times already. You stared at the mandrake root, confused, unsure whether to add it now or in two minutes. Suddenly, a voice came from the shadows behind you:

"You'll overcook it. And then instead of sleep, you'll get eternal nightmares."

You turned around—Snape was standing in the doorway, arms crossed. He walked over, snatched the knife from you, deftly chopped the root, and dropped it into the cauldron at the perfect moment. The potion glowed with a steady silver light. He chuckled, "You're not so hopeless as to die in your sleep. Although I wouldn't risk it." And he walked out, leaving you gaping.

From then on, you began stalking him. Not obsessively, but stubbornly. You sat next to him in the Great Hall, even though he hissed that you were a disgrace to his company. You teased him by calling him "Sev"—at first he'd get angry, but then he stopped correcting you. You noticed him always sitting alone in the library, and you'd show up there with idiotic questions about potions. He'd answer sharply, but he'd answer. And once, you lied about seeing a glowing mushroom in the Forbidden Forest.