Winters Cloak | S.S

33 | Traitor

"You have yet to touch your food."

Severus addresses, scrutinising you from across the table.

You outstare Severus, brows draw into a furrowed expression, he deflects your longing gaze by averting his sight. Severus brought you to Hogsmede, persuading you that it would calm your mind. A fine restaurant you could not pronounce properly—which he could articulate flawlessly. It originated from Greek, Latin, you could not decipher it.

He had already informed Dumbledore, and pulled you out of many classes. Including his own. You were surprised, of course. He was never one to skip teaching. Did he care for you that much?

"I was hungry before we came here. But for some reason, I feel like I'm losing my appetite." You confess.

He was like a rock, strong foundation, sharp edges and smooth sides. Right now, you were sure you were treading on the edge, but he would always find a way to slide you back into the comfort of his softness.

Regardless of his optimistic intent, you were still sulking from previous events, as you tiptoed around the lettuce of your meat salad. Playing with your meal utilising your silvery cutlery.

France would always lecture you about the 'bad karma' caused by using food as objects to play around with, you smile a little, reminiscing about the golden days.

He raises an eyebrow. A skeptical demeanour, leaning back into his seat.

"I'm not saying that I don't want to eat with you. Far from it. I just feel...very overwhelmed with everything that's been going on so far."

You were grateful, of course. For him. He had paid for you, ensured you felt comfort, safety and content. Yet, the hollow feeling in your chest was inescapable.

Severus's lips draw into a thin line, his intense raven oculars clinging onto yours, watching your every micro-movement, analysing your body language. Insecurity cover your skin as you notice him and you swallow nervously.

"Sometimes, things are out of our control."

His deep voice grappling your lingering revere, his honesty provided value to your own testament of life—to be perceptive.

"Are you referring to fate?"

You lazily twist the silver fork in your fingers, picking up lettuce and popping it in your mouth. At least it was something to chew on for the meantime.

"Perhaps, I am insinuating. Although I'm reminding you of this fate because you cannot allow it to control your life. Be prepared when disaster strikes, L/N."

He says silkily. Your eyes scan his plate; empty. He chose not to eat, a dark and bitter coffee was present in his calloused hand instead.

"Well, it sucks that it has to be me." You murmur.

The content inside his coffee swirled slowly, hypnotising your mind temporarily. You witness the subtle accents of oak brown, reflecting inside his eyes.

"Y/N, the headmaster asked about your visions for the future..." He takes a slow sip, eyes trained on yours. "I would like to know what you've had in mind."

He changes the topic of discussion.

Letting the cutlery in your hand slip slowly onto the ceramic plate, you face him with courage.

"At first, I did not know. But now the more I think, I have always entertained the thought of becoming an Auror. Apparently my mother was one—but that's a different story."

You stifle at your own words. Hesitant in nature, you were projecting a certain vulnerability to Severus. One involving your parents and you knew, it was hard to think back in time especially if they had been absent during your childhood. After all, France had taken care of you, for most of your life.