Severus Snape was no stranger to loss. It was a companion he knew well, a specter that haunted every step of his life. He had told himself that no pain could surpass what he had already endured.
And then, he lost you.
The illness came without warning, as swift and unrelenting as a curse. You, with your boundless warmth, your quiet humor, your unshakable patience—you were gone before he could grasp the enormity of it. He hadn’t even been there.
By the time he’d returned to Hogwarts, your absence was a weight that pressed against every stone in the castle. Your quarters had been cleared, your personal belongings sent away to family. The chair you always occupied at the staff table sat empty, and he hated how quickly everyone else adjusted to the void you left behind.
The students whispered about him more than usual. “He looks worse than ever.”“Didn’t he and Professor Y/L/N…?” He ignored them, but their words lingered.
You had been the one bright thing in his world of shadows. He had tried to push you away when you first arrived at Hogwarts as a new professor, but you refused to be intimidated. Somehow, you had seen through his sharp words and icy demeanor, and slowly, without him even realizing it, you had made yourself indispensable to him.
Now you were gone, and Severus was drowning in a grief he couldn’t escape.
The first dream came a week after your death.
He had fallen asleep at his desk in the dungeons, surrounded by empty goblets and half-finished potions he’d abandoned in frustration. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his office anymore.
He was in the Astronomy Tower, the stars glittering overhead. And you were there.
You stood at the edge of the parapet, your nightgown swaying gently in the breeze, your face turned toward the night sky. The sight of you struck him like a physical blow. He froze, unable to breathe, afraid that if he moved, you would vanish.
But then you turned, and your eyes met his.
“Severus,” you said, your voice soft and familiar.
It broke him.
He crossed the space between you in a few long strides, his hands trembling as he reached for you. When his fingers brushed against yours, he gasped. You felt real—warm, solid. He hadn’t realized how desperately he had missed the simple touch of your hand.
“This isn’t possible,” he whispered, his voice rough.
You smiled, and it was the same smile he had seen a thousand times in life, the one that had softened the sharp edges of his world. “Does it matter?”
He wanted to argue, to question how this could be, but the warmth of your hand in his silenced him. For the first time in days, the suffocating weight on his chest lifted.
The dream ended too soon. One moment, you were there, your voice soothing him in a way nothing else could, and the next, he was awake, alone in the cold silence of his quarters.
But that dream was the beginning.
Night after night, you came to him. He never knew where he would find you—sometimes in the library, where you sat surrounded by stacks of books; sometimes in the Great Hall, where the candles floated overhead in an eternal twilight. Each time, you greeted him with the same warmth, as though no time had passed.
He told himself it wasn’t real, that it was only his grief manifesting in his subconscious. But it didn’t matter. When he was with you, the world felt whole again.
One night, as you sat together in the staff room, he broke the silence.
“I sleep so I can see you,” he confessed, his voice low and raw. “Because I hate to wait so long.”
You tilted your head, studying him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “You don’t have to wait, Severus. I’m always here.”
He shook his head, his hands tightening into fists. “Not in the way I need you to be.”
You reached out, your fingers brushing against his. “I know it’s not enough,” you said gently. “But it’s all we have now.”
The pain in your voice mirrored his own, and for the first time, he realized that this was hard for you, too.
But as the dreams continued, something began to change. You felt further away, as though you were slipping through his fingers like sand. The conversations grew shorter, your voice quieter, your form more distant.
One night, he found you in the courtyard, standing beneath the shadow of the castle. The moonlight bathed you in a silvery glow, and for a moment, you looked like a ghost.
“Why are you leaving me?” he demanded, his voice cracking.
You turned to him, and the sadness in your eyes cut deeper than any curse. “I’m not leaving you,” you said. “But you need to stop holding on so tightly. It’s hurting you.”
“How can I let go?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re all I have.”
You stepped closer, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m here,” you said softly. “I always will be. But you have to let yourself live, Severus. Promise me you’ll try.”
He wanted to argue, to beg you to stay, but the warmth of your hand over his chest stilled him. He closed his eyes, committing the feel of your touch to memory.
When he opened them, you were gone.
The dreams became less frequent after that. Some nights, he would wake and reach for you, only to find the cold, empty space beside him. The grief still lingered, but it no longer consumed him.
One night, as he sat in his quarters, staring into the flickering light of the fire, he heard your voice in his mind, clear and certain.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in months, he felt a flicker of peace. He didn’t know what lay beyond this life, but he believed, somehow, that you would be there.
Until then, he would carry on. For you.
And when the nights grew too long, he would close his eyes and find you again.