PROMPT: I love someone. She doesn’t love me.
The ache in his chest was all too familiar, though he believed himself to have forgotten the way longing seemed to burrow deep inside a body, all the way to the marrow of the bones. Disgusted with himself, Severus Snape stalked into his chambers until he found himself standing before his liquor cart. His mind reeled at the prospect of his reality—at what falling in loveagain meant for him.
Angrily, he took up the bottle of firewhiskey situated on his counter, uncorked it, and poured a haphazard finger into the glass tumbler he had summoned from a nearby cabinet. Without bothering to replace the stopper, he returned the bottle to its place on the counter before dropping heavily into his wing-backed chair positioned beside the fireplace. Severus stared into the flames that had been charmed to ignite upon his presence, watching them lick at the logs stacked neatly behind the grate. Bringing the glass to his lips, he ploddingly welcomed a serving of the spirits into his mouth, savouring the burn for just a moment, then ushering it down his throat.
“You damned fool,” he groused to the empty room.
Just as he was about to allow himself to fully revel in his self-pity, a knock at his door broke through the purr of the crackling fire.
Severus’s eyes flicked up to the door, his grip tightening around the tumbler in indignation. Though he was no longer the headmaster of the school, the castle still found him worthy of sharing its knowledge with him. With a familiar thrum through his magic, he became aware of who stood outside his chambers. Rising to his feet after a moment of delay, he took his time walking the short distance to the entryway, pulling the door open just as knuckles were about to begin their rapping once more.
“Minerva,” he addressed dryly.
A smile hinted at the corner of the witch’s mouth. “Hello to you, too, Severus.”
Snape rolled his eyes, stepping aside as he accepted that he wouldn’t be ridding himself of her company until she felt satisfied with whatever she had come for.
“Hello, Minerva. How might I be of service this evening?” His tone, though on edge, lacked the degree of acid he might have once spat, but the unmistakable jeer remained. He was not so ungrateful that he refused to acknowledge the headmistress’s kindness towards him; following the war, she had allowed him to resume his position as Potions Master of Hogwarts (his choice, no less, rather than teach Defense Against the Dark Arts), and despite the decade that had followed the Dark Lord’s downfall, time had not softened everyone’s perception of him in the Wizarding World.
“I need nothing from you, Severus,” McGonagall shooed. Her hand swept through the air in dismissal of his inquiries, a kindness glinting subtly in her eyes. “I simply stopped by to see how you were doing.” She had walked into his sitting room, waiting for further invitation before sitting down, which came in the form of Severus closing the door and joining her.
Her face held a gentleness she tended to reveal in private moments with him, when she could admit to herself her foolishness of the past. Snape found himself irritated when she displayed any hint of these feelings, and would never admit to himself that once the turbulence between them had passed, having someone who cared for him was rather nice. He didn’t offer her a drink as he settled back into his chair.
“You didn’t come to watch me drink, Minerva, so what is it?”
The corner of her mouth twitched up into an amused smirk, though it lingered there for only a moment before a quiet concern settled into the lines of her face. “You didn’t look well when you left the table after dinner this evening.” Her eyes settled upon the glass in his hand, seeming to have observed it as confirmation of her suspicions. She indicated as much with the next knowing look she gave him. “What bothers you, Severus? I ask not to pry—only to offer a friend an ear.”
Severus looked away, lamenting that there existed no grander reason behind which he could hide his temperament. Without answer, he brought the fire whiskey to his lips, downing the rest of it with a quick toss of his head.
“Severus—”
“It is nothing to involve yourself in, Minerva,” he snapped, giving her a pointed look. It was more a plea than anything.
“Perhaps it is not, but I am all too aware of your tendency to isolate yourself. While I appreciate where that trait of yours comes from, I do wish you would allow someone in every once in a while, for your own good.” McGonagall extended her arm to rest her hand upon his, giving it a resolute squeeze.
Severus still did not speak, though his gaze upon her indeed softened. Minerva felt her chest ache at observing the sadness he held in those dark eyes. His gaze swept down to observe the empty tumbler, desperate to avoid the vulnerability of eye contact. Though he had found himself more amiable to the prospect of friends over the years that followed the war, the burdens of his past were enough to leave him with plenty of scars not able to be seen.
“Severus,” the older witch prompted again, this time much gentler.
A long silence followed, and Minerva began to consider departing until Snape finally answered, “I love someone.”
Minerva felt her breath catch in her throat. No response came, which Severus perceived to be confirmation of his own fears—how foolish of him, how comical, that a man like him dare impose his pathetic, tainted love onto another, let alone to—
“Hermione?” Minerva finally asked, pulling Snape from his reverie. His veins seemed to fill with ice then, heart pounding in its desperation to force his surely-frozen blood through his body. His eyes jerked upwards, and without regard for his own wishes held his fear, demanding, screaming in their plea that he may not be so seen .
Severus said nothing, still as the darkness. Perhaps he would be able to dissolve if he simply willed himself away.
McGonagall’s hand, still upon his, squeezed once more, her sympathy shown plain on her face. “She has grown into a fine witch. You and her are rather friendly,” she encouraged, knowing she would need to tread lightly. She was met with a scoff—a biting sound that was drenched thick with self-loathing.
“Oh, come now, Severus!” She asserted, then, characteristic of the formidable woman he knew she could be. “You are friendly with each other, as much as you like to maintain that broody façade of yours. You get along rather well as colleagues, now, though it took a bit for you to warm up to her. She isn’t in a relationship any longer… I understand perhaps your history with her might pose some difficulties, but I am sure those can be worked through.”
Hermione Granger, now divorced from the youngest Weasley boy, had been working alongside Severus as the Ancient Runes professor for nearly five years. During this time, Severus had ruefully begun to find her somewhat tolerable, and through what he had convinced himself to be an obligation in return for her saving his life all those years ago, he allowed a civility to develop between them. He found now, that even with his skill, his Occlumency wasn’t strong enough to escape the nauseating regret of such a terrible mistake.
Though he no longer showed his fear so explicitly now, it still bubbled uncomfortably in his stomach as he addressed the witch before him. “Minerva… Please let it go. I don’t want to discuss this.” More exhausted than irritated, he withdrew his hand from beneath hers.
“Why not? It isn’t incomprehensible that she would perhaps reciprocate—”
“Because, Minerva! I love her!” The exclamation had burst forth from his mouth before he could stop himself uttering such a pathetic admission. A deafening silence followed, his heart thrashing violently in his chest. The hot flush of embarrassment washed over him.
“Besides,” he finally brought himself to speak, voice so quiet it was approaching inaudible, “she does not love me. She couldn’t possibly.” He ached for more whiskey, but remained unmoving.
McGonagall straightened her back, looking sharply at him as he had to her just moments before. “Well, she cannot love you back if you don’t give her the opportunity to.” Rising, the headmistress’s eyes scanned the space around her as what was surely another means of assessing his wellbeing, then finally fell back to the younger man sitting before her. Severus, even more quiet than usual, didn’t dare meet her gaze.
“You do her a great disservice to speak for her, Severus, when you haven’t any idea what that girl feels for you.” Minerva’s tone was stern, and when it was clear Severus was going to speak no further on the matter, a heavy sigh escaped her. She reached out a hand, resting it affectionately on Snape’s shoulder as an unspoken reassurance. He received it as pity.
Lingering for only a moment longer, she turned to finally leave him, heading towards the door. She said nothing else as she slipped from his rooms, the sound of the latch closing ringing loudly in his ears. Severus stared ahead, brows coming to knit together as he processed what Minerva had suggested.
‘No,’ he thought swiftly. ‘You must not hold such stupid hope.’
He rose to make himself another drink.