Sleep, dear
There had been small signs, all of them barely noticeable to most but unmistakable to the sharp eye of the veteran professor. There was, of course, the slight tilting of his head whenever there was a pause in the conversation, or the pace at which he was turning the pages of his journal, slower than usual, with the occasional rereading of the same paragraph. Of course, Severus made no objection to a second reading immediately after the first if he thought he had missed something, or not been mindful of the style or tone - it did happen a bit more, naturally, when he read fiction in another language. But this was a potions journal, in English. In such circumstances, going back to a paragraph right away could only be explained by the will to express criticism in the most acerbic tone, which he had not done once since they had sat down.
She could add to these observations the rapid blinking and the squinting eyes on a face devoid of its usual scowl, when the two always went hand in hand. She was familiar with it all: she acted the same whenever she was fighting off sleep, most often during Friday-night detentions. As for the scowl... Albus claimed she and Severus shared a very similar one. Very off-putting, he said. With a calculating air and "flaring nostrils". She denied it vehemently; Severus, however, had simply said he had learnt from the best.
So, Severus was tired, as per usual sleep sleep-deprived, apparently to such a degree he could no longer hide it. He could have gone back to his quarters, taken a nap - it was four in the afternoon, classes were over. But apparently it had not crossed his mind, or if it had he had decided against it for some nonsensical reason partening to pride or misplaced professionalism.
Minerva studied him, then gazed at the rest of the staffroom, quiet, slightly warmer than usual, devoid of any presence but theirs. She wondered if, left alone for a quarter of an hour, the room would not seem to Severus safe enough to rest his eyes for a few minutes, or so he would think.
"I forgot Irma told me she wanted a word yesterday", she said, putting the tests she had been grading back into her old teacher bag. "I should pay her a visit now."
Severus raised an eyebrow, although he did not raise his eyes from his journal.
"If it pertains to the behaviour of any of your lions, good luck to you - she will show you no mercy".
"I am aware. Can you believe she accused me of turning down the corner of a page last month? I am convinced that if I ever stand trial before the Wizengamot, things will not be as serious as she made them to be".
This time Severus looked at her, a slight grin on his face. "And had you turned down that corner?"
Minerva paused near the door, her hand on the handle.
"I am only human. Besides, Severus, you of all people have no right to judge me on the matter."
"I assure you it was not my intention. There are a number of books in the restricted section that have been charmed to shout a warning specifically addressed to me whenever a quill approaches them. I take a certain pride in that, it must be said."
She went for a walk, a nice wee stroll outside as it was a sunny day of spring. She kept an eye on her watch - the light made it rather hard, too bright, most unscottish - 25 minutes later, squinting still, she was back at the staffroom's entrance. She arrived, luckily, just a few seconds ahead of Albus and Pomona, and gestured towards Filius and Poppy who were trailing behind.
"Severus might be asleep", she said quietly, opening the door with great care.
"What?" Pomona exclaimed.
"Shush."
Albus snuck in beside her, eyes twinkling and mouth shut. She acknowledged him with a complicit glance.
The Potion Master, as she had planned, was fast asleep, curled up at the extremity of the sofa, looking so young she was taken aback for a few seconds; then, putting herself together, she flashed a satisfied smile.
"Poor dear's tuckered out - it's only Thursday, mind!" Pomona whispered.
"He still needs afternoon naps."
"He is 27, Poppy."
"That is what I am saying."
"Well, doesn't that make him a grown man?"
"So he says."
"Should we shut the curtains completely?"
"Of course Poppy is right. No grown man looks this adorable when asleep."
"Do not ever let him hear that coming out of your mouth, headmaster."
"So you believe Albus should fear the feral kitten's wrath?"
"I am rather inclined to think so."
"He still doesn't take his coffee black."
"Perhaps because he doesn't like it that way?"
"Filius, you sweet summer child. You think he would not drink black coffee, if he could bring himself to? Such an easy way to flesh out his brooding persona?"
"A persona gone with his signature scowl, if I may add. Just look at him."
"Pomona dear, stay quiet if you want that scowl to be gone for a moment longer."
"And wish to live a moment longer."
"Filius, what has Severus one to you?"
"All of you, shutup", Minerva whispered sharply, putting a finger before her lips as if she were talking to first-year students.
The room instantly went quiet, and she focused her attention back on the sleeping man. His too-many essays were on the verge of falling to the floor and making a most unwelcomed sound; swiftly, she removed the pile and thrust it on the nearest table, with the dexterity only a cat animagus could possess. She turned back.
"Albus, do get me a blanket, the boy seems a bit c-", she started, but the older man, one step ahead of her, held out a neatly folded blanket he usually kept at arm's length from his own designated armchair. It was, naturally, outrageously purple, and she could swear she had seen him wearing it a few times.
Without a sound, the headmaster handed her one side of the blanket while he held the other - they unfolded it neatly and let it fall gently on Severus' huddled form, tucking the corners with remarkable expertise. Severus groaned slightly in his sleep, then turned his head in discomfort.
They all held their breath: ten, twenty seconds passed in utter silence and immobility. Then, finally, the younger man seemed to settle and sighed in his sleep. They all did with him, letting out a collective sigh of relief, and retreated by the door.
Minerva, who alone remained by his side, tucked a loose strand of black hair behind his ear, the gesture ever so soft and motherly. She glanced at Albus, who nodded approvingly.
"Give the boy another chance, Minerva", he had told her 5 years ago, after a particularly rough first year for Severus. "You might one day get attached."
"Attached?"
Behind him, a concert of whispers had arisen again. He joined reluctantly, although he kept looking in Severus' direction, his piercing eyes unusually softened.
The boy was not scowling in his sleep, that was a refreshing sight; but neither was Minerva as she finished to arrange the pillows for him. That, he thought, was even more noteworthy. And so they looked alike again...