Winters Cloak | S.S

42 | Blue Sky

Severus leaned down to plant butterfly kisses on the exposed flesh of your sensitive neck, his hands worked seamlessly in unbuttoning the top of your collar. And you let out whimpered moans as his delicate touches were driving you insane.

But your hands drove into his black silky locks, pushing his head back, gently.

"I need to go." Your words came out much more breathless than anticipated. He had you holding your breath in as he worked his magic, these tingling sensations burned a new desire for him. But you knew this wasn't the right time.

His drowsy eyes were replaced by concerned ones. As if he had done something wrong.

"Please. Stay for a moment longer." He pleaded. His cheeks had blood rushing to his pale visage and you grew tempted. To stay here with him. But you knew the longer you did, the more you would want to kiss him.

And then, your impulsivity would shine.

"No, I need to control myself." You huffed. He raised an eyebrow. "And you need to control yourself too! You are my professor—"

"I can be other things too." He leaned in. Desperation nagging at him.  "Anything you want me to be." He was trying to persuade you.

And it took you a lot of strength to decline.

"Absolutely not. Dumbledore needs us all to cooperate." Your hands grabbed his cheeks and he nodded, a small pout present on his light features. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you said you'll make it up to me but now is not the time. Unfortunately. If I had known we were to meet at the Great Hall tomorrow, I would have let you consume my mind."

His eyes narrowed. He shut his eyes, furrowed brows frustrated at the sudden situation. And then exhaled softly, opening his dark oculars to meet yours again.

"Detention." He licked his lip. His hands cupping your cheek. "You have detention with me today, dungeons as usual, L/N."

It completely caught you off guard, that he was the one initiating romantic sparks between the two of you. When normally, you had tried your best to capture his attention.

He was always unpredictable.

"Fine!" You pushed his hand back in annoyance and with a flustered face. He seemed satisfied with that response, smugness coat his darkened features.

—

The Great Hall's atmosphere felt sullen. Its aura had changed drastically. The pretty yellow candle lights that hung by invisible threats from the ceiling—no longer flickering in joy, yet, from suffering. A glowing symbol of all those lives lost in the devastating mingling of the death eaters and Voldemort.

And it was visible from the dreaded expressions majority of the students held. As you walk slowly past them, a wave of nausea hit your core. Trembling hands clutch your stomach. Holding back, you try to calm yourself.

Shit. Why do I feel like throwing up at the worst times possible?

But that feeling on edge was gone by the instant you felt a warm hand clasp your bony shoulder. Professor Snape, you concluded, as his calloused thumb twiddled on your upper arm, he was whispering something. And like a magical spell he wove into your heart, the nausea sensation replaced with butterflies that ached for him.

But he had to go, his raven oculars left yours as he strutted up ahead. To his designated spot by the Professors.

You can read my mind, but how did you sense what I was feeling, Snape?

"Hey." Louise took hold of your forearm, pulling you toward her. "You alright? Snape did something." She questioned, eyes scanning yours.

"It was nothing of concern." You cut to the chase, trying to shake your head away from the thought of not being able to save London. But it was impossible not to think of him. You finally caved in. "I was...weak. I let London die. Just like that. I can't help but want to go back and change the timeline. To bring him back, to hear him laugh once more. And I felt nausea stir inside of me as I could sense the grief in this hall, reminding me of the day of his death."