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ms-snape · 1 month ago

Note

Hello, can you just write severu x reader? Some angst but fluff at the end? She’s try several times makes first move but he is just Severus. He won’t realize until she stop with trying to get to him. Thank you.

Title: Too Late?

Warning: Angst

Words Count: 3000+

Masterlist

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Professor Y/N L/N loved the quiet, the calm of the Hogwarts greenhouse. The smell of damp earth and the soft rustle of leaves were her comfort. It was a sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in the careful tending of magical plants, and a place where she could allow her thoughts to wander — especially to him.

Severus Snape.

She didn’t quite know when it had happened, or how it had grown so deeply rooted in her heart, but somewhere between the late-night faculty meetings, the shared glances in the staff room, and the way his voice lingered just a bit longer than necessary when addressing her, Y/N had found herself hopelessly in love with him.

It was ridiculous, really. She, the soft-spoken Herbology professor, with her love for nature and her quiet kindness, had fallen for the cold, brooding Potions Master. He was a man of sharp words, dark eyes, and a demeanor so cold it could freeze the very air around him. His silences spoke volumes, and his gaze could pierce you, if you weren’t careful.

Yet despite the distance, despite his icy exterior, she had tried. Tried, again and again, to show him that she was different. That she could be something more. That she cared. But he didn't seem to notice.... Or at least pretended not to....

It was a Tuesday morning, and Y/N was working diligently in the greenhouse, tending to the mandrakes. The plants had been quite active lately, and their cries were always a challenge. She hummed softly as she carefully repotted one of the mandrakes, the soft clink of her trowel against the ceramic pot soothing in the otherwise quiet room.

She hadn’t heard him approach.

"Professor L/N," came his voice, low and familiar.

Y/N’s heart stuttered. She straightened quickly, wiping her hands on her apron, trying to hide the flutter of nervousness in her chest.

"Professor Snape," she said, smiling a little too brightly. "I didn’t hear you come in. How can I help you?"

His black robes swished around him as he stepped into the greenhouse, his eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned the plants. His gaze flicked over the mandrakes, the fanged geraniums, the bubotubers. He was a master of his craft, of course, but the world of Herbology wasn’t one he usually paid attention to. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth when he stood so close.

"I’m just inspecting your work," he said, his tone sharp but not unkind. "You’ve been… diligent."

She nodded eagerly, pleased by his praise, though she wasn’t sure if it was meant as one. "I’m always happy to share what I know, Professor Snape. Perhaps I could show you some of the more—"

"No need." His voice was clipped, dismissive. "You are doing fine. Just make sure the plants don’t become too… unruly."

She bit her lip, her smile faltering, but she kept her voice steady. "Of course. I’ll keep an eye on them. Would you like to join me for a cup of tea after your rounds? I’ve been experimenting with a new blend of chamomile and valerian root. It’s quite calming."

The words hung in the air between them like a delicate thread, fragile and vulnerable.

Severus Snape didn’t respond immediately. His eyes flicked over her face, as if searching for something in her expression. His lips were thin, his brow furrowed slightly.

"I do not have time for tea, miss Y/L/N." His tone softened, but it was still cold. "I suggest you spend more time with your plants than offering tea to your colleagues."

She blinked, feeling a pang of hurt pierce her chest, though she quickly masked it with a polite nod. "Of course. I understand. Maybe some other time, then."

He didn’t say anything more. He simply turned and walked away, his black robes sweeping behind him like a shadow.

Y/N stood in the middle of the greenhouse, staring after him, her heart sinking. It had been the same every time.

A week had passed since that encounter in the greenhouse. The morning had been busy with classes, and now Y/N found herself in the staff room, going through some notes and preparing for the afternoon lesson. It was always the same. She would prepare, she would smile, and yet the reactions from Severus were always cold.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door opened, and Severus stepped into the room. His black eyes flickered over her, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. They both knew why he was here — the weekly staff meeting was starting soon.

Y/N straightened and greeted him with a polite smile, as always. "Good afternoon, Severu. How was your morning?"

He gave her a curt nod. "Uneventful."

The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Y/N had tried to fill it once with a conversation about a rare plant she had recently discovered, but he had barely acknowledged it. His eyes were always distant, always elsewhere.

She didn’t know why she kept trying. Why she kept hoping that one day, he might see her. That he might realize that she wasn’t just another colleague, another face in the crowd. She didn’t know why she thought her kindness might be enough to break through the fortress he’d built around himself.

But despite it all, she kept trying.

As the staff meeting started, she sat across from him, her attention on the various discussions about upcoming events, but her thoughts were elsewhere — on him. Always on him. His sharp profile, the way his fingers drummed on the armrest of his chair, the occasional glance in her direction.

She could feel his eyes on her at times, though she couldn’t be sure if it was just her imagination. She didn’t have the courage to look up and meet his gaze, but she always felt the weight of it, a silent pressure.

A few days later, after another failed attempt to make him notice her — a carefully chosen compliment, a smile, a lingering look — Y/N had had enough. She had poured her heart into her attempts, trying to show him that she wasn’t like the others. That she could understand him, if only he would let her. But he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t let anyone in.

It was a quiet night in the castle, and Y/N found herself walking through the hallways toward her quarters. She had spent the entire day in the greenhouse, putting in extra hours, hoping to take her mind off the frustration of the past few weeks.

The door to her room creaked as she entered, and the warmth of the fire that crackled in the hearth greeted her. She closed the door softly behind her, leaning against it for a moment, her heart heavy.

She had tried. She had been so kind, so patient, so open. But Severus would never look at her the way she had hoped.

Tears stung her eyes, though she didn’t let them fall. She wiped her face quickly, determined not to let the hurt consume her. She wasn’t going to chase someone who couldn’t even acknowledge her efforts.

No more trying.

The next day, Y/N was different. She kept to herself more than usual, focusing entirely on her work, her plants, the students. She had stopped making any attempt to speak with Severus, stopped offering him tea or trying to catch his eye.

And it didn’t take long for Severus to notice.

He wasn’t sure when it started. At first, he thought it was a fleeting thing, just another mood, another oddity in her usual demeanor. But when the days stretched into a week, and he saw her pulling away from him more and more, it began to gnaw at him.

He didn’t understand it.

Why did her absence bother him so much? Why did the sight of her avoiding him, walking past him without so much as a glance, make something in his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain?

He found himself watching her from afar, noting the way she no longer lingered in the staff room, no longer made small talk, no longer gave him those tentative smiles. The warmth that had always seemed to radiate from her was gone.

It bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Severus sat alone in his office late one night, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the stone walls. His mind was racing, and for once, the calm, measured pace of his thoughts seemed to have been interrupted by something… something unexpected.

Y/N.

Her absence.

Why did it matter? Why did it hurt?

He had spent years perfecting the art of indifference, of never allowing himself to feel anything that could be used against him. And yet, here he was, unable to focus, unable to keep his mind from wandering back to her.

The way her eyes sparkled when she spoke about her plants. The soft way she laughed. The way she cared for things. For him, in ways he couldn’t understand.

It was then, in the quiet solitude of his office, that Severus Snape realized something that terrified him.

He missed her.

And he had no idea how to fix it.

Severus Snape sat in his darkened office, staring into the flickering flames of the hearth, his mind a turbulent sea. The realization that he had been ignoring Y/N’s feelings — that he had pushed her away in his usual cold, dismissive manner — had only just hit him, and the weight of it was suffocating. He had been too absorbed in his own self-imposed isolation, too locked away in his fortress of bitterness and skepticism, to notice what had been so painfully clear to everyone else.

Y/N was gone.

Her warmth had disappeared from the corridors, from the staff room, from the greenhouse. And the coldness in his heart, which he had always managed to keep at bay, now gnawed at him like a hungry animal.

But he didn’t know how to fix it.

The door to his office creaked open, and Severus was momentarily startled from his thoughts. He raised his eyes, expecting to see the usual ghostly figure of one of the students needing a late-night potion or a missing assignment. Instead, it was Minerva McGonagall, her stern features softened by concern.

"Severus," she said, her tone unusually gentle, "I thought I might find you here."

"Minerva," he replied with a slight nod, though his voice was edged with weariness. "I trust there's a reason for this unannounced visit?"

Minerva didn’t immediately respond. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, her movements deliberate, and her gaze sharp as always. She had been his colleague for years, and over that time, she had come to understand him more than most. But there was something different about her today, something perceptive in the way her eyes followed his every movement, as if weighing something heavy.

"I need to speak with you, Severus," she said, her voice quieter now. "And I believe you need to hear me out."

Severus tilted his head, his interest piqued. "I’m listening."

Minerva took a deep breath before sitting down opposite him. Her hands folded neatly in her lap as she began, carefully choosing her words.

"I've noticed the way things have been between you and Y/N lately," she started, her gaze steady but soft. "And I’m sure you’ve noticed, too. She’s been… distant not only to you but to everyone."

Severus stiffened, his chest tightening. "I hadn’t noticed," he replied, though even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow. He had noticed of course. How could he not? The absence of her smile, the quiet that surrounded her every time they crossed paths — it was impossible to ignore. He had simply been too afraid to confront it.

Minerva’s gaze softened with an almost imperceptible sigh. "Of course you noticed, Severus. But I don’t think you understand why she’s been avoiding you."

He frowned, his brows knitting together. "She has her reasons, no doubt. But if it’s something about my behavior, then it’s none of your concern."

Minerva leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a quieter, more direct tone. "Maybe not but it is your concern, Severus. Y/N has been avoiding you because she’s finally given up. She cares about you more than you realize — more than you’ve ever given her credit for. She’s been trying to show you that for months."

Severus recoiled slightly, as if struck. "What are you talking about?"

Minerva’s eyes softened, though there was an unmistakable firmness to her words. "Y/N is not the kind of person to wear her heart on her sleeve. But she’s a kind woman, a generous soul, and she’s been trying, in her own quiet way, to get your attention. She’s been patient, thoughtful, and kind, always offering you small gestures — a smile, an invitation, a word of encouragement — things she knew you needed, even if you didn’t ask for them. But you never noticed. You’ve always been so consumed by your own… distance, your own walls, that you failed to see how much she cared for you."

Severus felt something twist inside of him, sharp and painful. He thought of all the times he had dismissed her, all the times he had pushed her away. The little moments, the fleeting glances, the kindness she had shown him without asking for anything in return. The realization hit him like a jolt of electricity — he had been blind. Completely blind.

"She’s given up, Severus," Minerva continued, her voice full of quiet understanding. "She’s stopped trying. And that… that is what you’re feeling now. The absence of something you took for granted. But you need to realize something — it’s not too late. If you want her to stay, if you want her to know how much you care… then you need to show her. You need to show her before she walks away completely."

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable. Severus’s mind was whirling, and his stomach churned with regret. He couldn’t let her go. Not like this. Not when he was finally starting to understand the depth of his own feelings.

Minerva stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch surprisingly gentle. "Don’t waste any more time, Severus. I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. She deserves to know how you feel. If you don’t tell her now, you may never get the chance again."

Severus nodded, his face grim but determined. He had no more excuses. He needed to act.

It was late in the evening when Severus finally made his way to the greenhouse. He had spent hours pacing his office, turning Minerva’s words over in his mind, until he had worked up the courage to do what he should have done weeks ago.

Y/N was there, as always, amidst the plants that seemed to bloom brighter in her presence. She was kneeling beside a potted plant, carefully tending to its roots, her back turned to the door.

For a moment, Severus hesitated. His heart was pounding in his chest, and for the first time in a long while, he felt vulnerable. His pride had kept him distant for so long, but now, standing in front of her, it felt like he had nothing left but the raw truth of his feelings.

"Professor L/N," he said, his voice low but steady.

Y/N’s head snapped up in surprise. She looked at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. "Professor Snape," she replied quietly, her voice just as cold as it had been the past few weeks. "I wasn’t expecting you."

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to step closer, the sound of his boots on the stone floor loud in the silence. "I owe you an apology, Y/N."

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she stood, brushing her hands on her apron. "You owe me nothing, Professor."

Severus shook his head, the words rushing out before he could stop them. "No. I do owe you something. I’ve been… blind. I’ve ignored you, pushed you away, and I’ve been foolish. I’ve taken your kindness for granted and never once thought to reciprocate it. I never realized how much you… how much you meant to me." He paused, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. "You were trying, weren’t you? Trying to tell me how you felt, trying to show me you cared. And I—"

Y/N’s expression softened, though there was still a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Severus, you don’t have to do this," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "It’s too late."

"No," he said, his voice more insistent now. "It’s not too late. I was a fool, and I’m sorry. I don’t expect forgiveness, but I can’t stand the thought of you walking away because I didn’t see what was right in front of me. Please. I—"

Y/N took a step closer, her eyes searching his face, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Severus saw something in her eyes that wasn’t guarded. Something warm. Vulnerable.

"You don’t have to apologize," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I didn’t think you’d ever see me like that. I gave up, Severus. I thought you didn’t want me around."

Severus reached out, his hand hovering just in front of her as if afraid to touch her. "I was wrong. I was so wrong."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the greenhouse was the soft rustling of leaves, the distant hum of magic in the air. Then, with a gentle but firm motion, Severus reached out and took her hand in his. His heart raced, and for the first time, he allowed himself to be vulnerable — to let her see what had been hidden behind the icy walls he had built for so long.

Y/N’s gaze softened, and she squeezed his hand, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but instead, she just looked at him — with warmth, with understanding.

And for once, Severus didn’t feel alone.

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ms-snape · 3 months ago

Note

Can we do something platonic? Reader is a wallflower, basically almost all the time is in the sidelines and no one notices her, she’s accepted she’s not that bright or that pretty but snape notices she’s actually good at potions and in his own way tries to encourage her potential

Title: Noticed

Warning: Plaronic relationships, a bit of angst, insecurity

Words Count: 2900+

Masterlist

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Y/n had grown used to the way people never truly saw her. It was like living in a haze, watching life happen around her but never being a part of it. Day after day, she sat quietly in the back of classrooms, observing the way others interacted, laughing, whispering, and forming connections she knew she’d never be part of. No one looked twice at Y/n—not even once most of the time.

She wasn’t like the other girls at Hogwarts. She wasn’t pretty, or at least not in the way that people admired. Her hair didn’t catch the sunlight like golden threads, her eyes weren’t the kind that sparkled when she laughed (if she ever did), and her smile didn’t light up the room. In fact, she rarely smiled anymore. There wasn’t much to smile about.

Her grades were fine—never the top of the class, but she managed to stay afloat, drifting somewhere in the middle where she neither failed nor excelled. The professors didn’t call on her often, perhaps forgetting she was even there. It was fine. Y/n had learned to accept her place on the sidelines.

There was a dull, heavy ache that lived deep inside her, a quiet sadness that made her feel small and invisible, even in her own skin. She had stopped trying to stand out. What was the point? She wasn’t clever like Hermione Granger, who everyone admired for her intellect. She wasn’t as daring as the Gryffindors, or as cunning as the Slytherins. She wasn’t even as quirky as Luna Lovegood, who, though often teased, was at least memorable. Y/n was just… there.

She spent most of her time in the library, hidden behind towering shelves of dusty books. She could go entire days without speaking more than a few words. It was easier that way—easier to blend into the shadows, where no one could see how much it hurt to be invisible.

And then there was Potions class.

Y/n wasn’t sure what it was about Potions, but the quiet, methodical nature of the subject suited her. She liked the precision, the way each ingredient had its place and purpose. It was one of the few things she felt competent at, though she would never say she excelled. She followed the instructions, brewed her potions, and handed them in without a fuss. Professor Snape never paid much attention to her, which, in her mind, was a good thing. He was intimidating, with his sharp gaze and cutting words, and she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his infamous temper.

But then one day, something changed.

It was a particularly dreary Wednesday afternoon, the dungeon classroom colder than usual. Y/n had taken her usual seat at the back, her cauldron bubbling quietly in front of her. Today, they were brewing a particularly tricky potion, and though she had followed the instructions carefully, something wasn’t right. The mixture in her cauldron was a shade too dark, and the scent was off, a sharp tang that shouldn’t have been there.

She frowned, stirring the potion with a sense of growing frustration. It was always like this—she always got close, but never quite right. The other students seemed to manage just fine, their potions shimmering the exact color described in the textbook. But hers… hers was always almost right, always just a bit off. Just like her.

“Miss Y/l/n.”

The sound of her name startled her, the wooden spoon clattering against the side of her cauldron as she looked up. Professor Snape was standing beside her, his dark eyes fixed on her potion with an expression that could have been disgust or disappointment—she wasn’t sure.

“Are you incapable of following simple instructions?” he asked, his voice low and cold, the words like a blade sliding between her ribs.

Y/n felt her face flush with embarrassment, her throat tightening as she stared down at her hands. “I—I thought I was,” she mumbled, hating the way her voice wavered. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she braced herself for a scathing remark. But instead, he waved his wand, and the potion stilled. “The essence of wormwood was added too early,” he said, his tone brisk but not as harsh as she’d expected. “And you’ve allowed the fire to burn too hot.”

Y/n nodded mutely, feeling a fresh wave of disappointment wash over her. Of course, she’d messed it up. She always did.

Snape glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Try again,” he said, his voice quieter this time. “And pay attention to the process, not just the result.”

She blinked, looking up at him in surprise. He didn’t walk away. Instead, he stood there, waiting, as if he actually expected her to succeed. It was strange—no one had ever given her a second chance before. No one ever waited for her.

With trembling hands, Y/n began again, carefully adding each ingredient as Snape watched. She adjusted the flame, measuring the powdered asphodel with a precision that bordered on obsessive. This time, she didn’t rush, didn’t try to simply get through the motions. She focused on each step, feeling the rhythm of the potion as it began to brew properly, the color shifting to the soft, translucent silver it was meant to be.

For the first time, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in a long time—pride. Small, tentative, but real. She glanced at Snape, half-expecting him to criticize her again, but instead, he gave a curt nod.

“Better,” he said, his voice cool but not unkind. “You have the capability. You simply lack the confidence.”

Y/n blinked in surprise. “Confidence?” she echoed, disbelief creeping into her voice.

Snape raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing. “You doubt yourself at every turn, Miss Y/l/n. That is why you fail.”

His words stung, but not in the way she had expected. It wasn’t the sharp, cutting sting of insult, but the uncomfortable prickle of truth. She did doubt herself. Constantly. Every time she brewed a potion, every time she sat in class, every time she walked through the halls of Hogwarts, she felt like she wasn’t enough. Like she was nothing.

“But I—” She paused, unsure how to explain the weight she carried. “I’m just… not like the others.”

Snape’s expression didn’t soften, but there was something different in his eyes now, something that almost resembled understanding. “The world does not require you to be like everyone else,” he said. “It requires you to be competent. And you are, if only you would believe it.”

Y/n swallowed hard, her throat tight. She didn’t know how to believe in herself. She had spent so long fading into the background, so long being unseen, that she didn’t know how to be anything else.

Snape must have sensed her hesitation because his tone shifted slightly, becoming less cold. “You are not as invisible as you believe, Miss Y/l/n. Some of us see more than we let on.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she had heard him right. Not as invisible? It was impossible. How could someone like him—someone so brilliant and intimidating—even notice someone like her?

But there was no hint of sarcasm or cruelty in his voice. He wasn’t mocking her. He wasn’t trying to tear her down. He was simply stating a fact.

For the first time in a long time, Y/n felt a flicker of warmth spread through her chest. It wasn’t enough to chase away the darkness that lingered in her heart, but it was something. It was a start.

Over the next few weeks, Y/n found herself paying more attention in Potions. She stayed behind after class sometimes, quietly cleaning her station while Snape graded papers or arranged ingredients for the next lesson. He never said much, but every now and then, he would glance her way and offer a terse comment, correcting her technique or advising her on how to improve.

It was strange, this new dynamic between them. Snape wasn’t exactly kind, but he wasn’t cruel either. He didn’t treat her like she was worthless, like she was just another faceless student. He noticed her. He saw her. And that alone was enough to keep her coming back, to keep her trying.

One afternoon, as she lingered in the dungeon long after the other students had left, Snape spoke again.

“You’ve improved,” he remarked, not looking up from the parchment he was grading.

Y/n, who had been tidying up her cauldron, froze. “I have?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Do not sound so surprised, Miss Y/l/n. You are capable, as I’ve said before.”

She hesitated, her heart beating a little faster. “Why do you… care?”

It was a bold question, one she immediately regretted asking. But Snape didn’t seem offended. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, regarding her with those dark, penetrating eyes.

“I care,” he said slowly, “because I have no interest in seeing wasted potential.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and meaningful. Y/n swallowed, nodding slightly as she absorbed what he had said. For the first time in her life, someone had seen something in her. Something more than mediocrity.

As she left the dungeon that day, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The shadows that had once consumed her felt a little less suffocating. She wasn’t there yet—wasn’t whole, wasn’t healed—but maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t so invisible after all.

---

Y/n’s days continued in much the same way after that, but something had shifted. She still sat in the back of her classes, still kept her head down in the halls, and still spent hours in the library with her nose buried in books. But there was a new sense of awareness that came with it all—a realization that, perhaps, she wasn’t as invisible as she had always believed.

In Potions class, that subtle connection with Snape continued. He never praised her directly, never showered her with compliments or made grand gestures of approval. But there were small moments—glances exchanged over bubbling cauldrons, a word of advice spoken in his curt, indifferent manner—that told her she was being watched, acknowledged, and, in his own way, encouraged.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough. Enough to make her feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as insignificant as she had always thought.

It was a rainy afternoon when everything came crashing down.

Y/n had been keeping her head above water for weeks now, but the constant weight of her isolation, the crushing sense of being unwanted and unnoticed, never fully went away. The little spark of hope that Snape had ignited in her didn’t banish the sadness that clung to her like a second skin. It didn’t erase the countless nights spent lying awake, wondering what was wrong with her, or the gnawing feeling in her chest that whispered she wasn’t enough.

That day, it all became too much.

The lesson had been going well—she had even managed to brew her potion correctly on the first try—but a small mishap had occurred near the end. Another student had bumped into her table, causing her cauldron to tip slightly, spilling part of her completed potion onto the floor. It was an accident, but it felt like an omen. One small mistake, one tiny moment of chaos, and everything fell apart.

“Careless,” Snape had muttered under his breath as he passed her table, not bothering to stop and inspect the damage. The word was a knife to her chest, sharper than it should have been. He hadn’t even looked at her.

Careless. It echoed in her mind long after class had ended, long after she had cleaned up the mess and left the dungeon. That one word, spoken so casually, was enough to undo the fragile sense of self-worth she had been building.

By the time she reached the solitude of the empty corridor, the tears were already falling. She hadn’t cried in weeks, not since she had first felt that spark of hope, but now it was back—the overwhelming sadness, the feeling of being so small, so insignificant, it felt like she was fading away entirely.

Y/n slipped into an abandoned classroom, the door creaking shut behind her as she sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. The tears came harder now, spilling down her cheeks in quiet, desperate sobs. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep pretending that things were getting better, that she wasn’t still drowning in her own loneliness. What was the point? No one cared. No one even noticed.

She had no idea how long she sat there, her face buried in her arms, letting the tears come in waves. It wasn’t until she heard the door creak open again that she realized she wasn’t alone anymore.

“Miss Y/l/n.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she quickly wiped her eyes, scrambling to stand up. She recognized the voice immediately, that low, authoritative tone she had come to know so well. Snape.

She turned to face him, her breath catching in her throat as she saw him standing in the doorway, his dark eyes narrowed in his usual expression of mild disapproval. He didn’t speak for a moment, just looked at her, his gaze sharp and piercing as though he could see right through her.

“I— I’m sorry,” Y/n stammered, her voice thick with the remnants of tears. “I didn’t mean to— I was just—”

Snape raised a hand, cutting her off. “There is no need to explain yourself,” he said, his tone devoid of any softness. “I am not here to reprimand you.”

She blinked, confusion washing over her. “Then… why are you here?”

For a moment, Snape said nothing, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite read. Finally, he stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. His presence filled the small space, and Y/n felt her heart race in her chest. He wasn’t angry, but there was something heavy about the way he looked at her, something that made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

“I noticed you left in a rather… distressed state,” he said slowly, his voice careful. “And I find myself compelled to ask if you are… well.”

It was such a strange question, coming from him. Snape, who was always so cold, so distant, was standing in front of her, asking if she was well. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

Y/n shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I highly doubt that.”

The bluntness of his words caught her off guard, and she felt a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. She tried to hold them back, tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it was no use. The dam broke, and the tears came again, harder this time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I don’t know why I’m like this. I just… I can’t…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. The weight of it all—the loneliness, the self-doubt, the crushing feeling of being unwanted—it was too much. She didn’t know how to explain it, didn’t know how to put into words the way it felt to live in her own skin.

For a long moment, Snape said nothing. Then, to her utter shock, he stepped closer, his voice low and steady.

“Miss Y/l/n,” he said quietly, “you are not as invisible as you believe.”

Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat, and she looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes. “I feel like I am,” she whispered. “I feel like no one sees me.”

Snape’s expression softened, just the tiniest fraction. “That is where you are mistaken.”

He didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer her any grand reassurances or platitudes. But there was something in his voice, something in the way he looked at her, that made her believe him. Even just for a moment, she believed him.

Y/n wiped her eyes again, sniffling as she tried to regain some semblance of composure. “I don’t know how to… not feel like this,” she admitted, her voice small.

Snape watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.

“It is not about being noticed by others,” he said quietly. “It is about recognizing your own worth. You are capable, Miss Y/l/n. Far more capable than you give yourself credit for. And it is time you begin to see that.”

The words struck her like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the fog that had clouded her mind for so long. It wasn’t a grand declaration, wasn’t a promise that everything would be okay. But it was something—a lifeline, a thread of hope in the darkness.

Y/n nodded slowly, her heart still heavy but just a little lighter than before. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Snape gave her a curt nod, turning toward the door. But before he left, he glanced back at her, his dark eyes holding hers for just a moment longer.

“Do not give up on yourself,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

And then he was gone, leaving her alone in the quiet room. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/n didn’t feel completely alone.

Because maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as invisible as she had always thought.

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