(Snape's Perspective)
The first Saturday afternoon of September found Snape alone in his shadowed dungeon, surrounded by the familiar embrace of stone and silence. A stack of fifth-year essays lay before him on the desk, "Orli Waters" penned in careful script across the topmost parchment—one he had deliberately placed there.
The office held the hushed stillness of a crypt, broken only by the occasional soft pop of wall sconces struggling against the perpetual gloom. Though autumn sunlight blazed somewhere far above, the underground chambers remained forever shrouded in twilight. Weak lamplight carved out a small circle of visibility around his desk, leaving even the office door—mere steps away—lost to darkness.
I should light more lamps when Orli arrives. She always prefers brightness.
The thought surfaced unbidden before reality crashed over him like ice water—she wouldn't be coming. He had terminated her weekend duties.
Habit was a merciless master. Snape's knuckles drummed against the desktop in measured beats as his eyes drifted shut. Five years of weekend afternoons seemed to unfold behind his eyelids like pages in a forbidden book.
Orli stealing glances at him while he marked essays, thinking herself unobserved behind his towering desk.
Her hands encased in those worn reddish-brown gloves, methodically shelling seedpods, dicing roots, grinding herbs to perfect consistency.
The graceful curve of her neck as she bent over the stone basin, washing ginger root with sleeves pushed back to reveal pale, smooth forearms.
The way precisely portioned ingredients would appear at his elbow during brewing sessions, each measurement flawless, each timing impeccable...
Her contemplative silences. Her questioning looks when curiosity overcame caution. Her rare, brilliant smiles. Even her flashes of righteous anger. And that night—that night—when she had melted against his chest like she belonged there.
At least he had reclaimed her. Snape's eyes opened as he exhaled slowly, the breath ghosting past his lips. He could almost taste the phantom sweetness of her hair's cool fragrance.
What madness had possessed him in France?
He had resolved to sever all ties, to drive her away with surgical precision. He had wielded cruelty like a blade, cutting deep enough to ensure she would never return.
In his arrogance, he had believed himself capable of returning to the hollow existence he'd maintained for over a decade—heart encased in ice, emotions buried beneath layers of bitter pragmatism. Even if she never spoke to him again. Even if they passed like strangers in corridors. Even if she sought comfort in another's arms...
Perhaps someday, when the war's ashes had settled, she would marry someone worthy of her light. Bear children who inherited her brilliance. Live the golden life she deserved. While he... he would likely be nothing more than an unmarked grave in some forgotten corner of the world.
That would be the rational outcome. The right outcome. He had repeated this litany until the words lost all meaning, but in the end, he discovered a terrible truth: he had overestimated his capacity for logic and catastrophically underestimated the depth of his feelings.
Every day, every night, every heartbeat had become an exercise in exquisite torture. The agony of her absence clawed at him with relentless hunger, threatening to shred what remained of his sanity. In his darkest moments, diseased fantasies had taken root:
He could spirit her away to some hidden sanctuary, a place that existed beyond maps and memory. Find her a house filled with light and books and everything that made her smile. Cast a Fidelius Charm with himself as Secret-Keeper, ensuring no soul could ever find them. She was brilliant enough already—what need had she for more schooling? There, in their perfect prison, she would be safe. Protected. His.
Forever and always, his alone...
The sheer madness of his own thoughts had shaken him to his core.
Only then had he understood the devastating truth: he was utterly incapable of maintaining distance from her. One week—one week—of separation had driven him to such irrational behavior that he'd publicly singled her out in class, manufactured reasons to keep her after lessons, all for the desperate chance to exchange a few precious words in private.
If he continued down this path, forget protecting her—every person in the castle would witness his complete unraveling.
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