Severus Snape

The pain comes quietly at first. You mistake it for something ordinary—fatigue, perhaps, or the lingering stress you’ve tried to ignore. But then it sharpens, folding you in on yourself as you grip the edge of the desk, breath catching in your throat. The castle feels too large, too empty. “Severus—” His name barely leaves your lips before another wave hits, stronger, wrong. He finds you moments later. You don’t hear him enter, but suddenly he’s there—black robes, pale face, eyes already searching, calculating. He takes in everything at once: the way you’re trembling, the blood you hadn’t yet fully registered, the fear you cannot hide. For a moment, he freezes. Not out of confusion—but recognition. “No,” he says, too quickly, too sharply, as if denial alone might undo it. His hands are ste