Severus Snape Oneshots

Warm Snowflakes

Warning: Depression and brief mentions of death

You sit in the office connected to the potions room as you look through the tiny window at the top of the wall, just barely able to see the outside world through the deep dungeons. The two windows were only about eighteen inches wide, the overall height barely reaching a foot. Snowflakes are falling, the thin kind where they don't quite stick- melting as soon as they touch the ground. The entire room is silent except for the sound of Professor Snape writing, the sharp quill scratching the paper. His handwriting was like a Mozart symphony- every now and then it would sound more aggressive and faster paced. That meant that he was grading a first year's illegible handwriting or a seventh year's half-assed report. 

Unblinking, you keep your eyes fixated on the tiny white specks that continue to fall at a steady rate. Sometimes you'd like to imagine that you were one of them. Easy going, nearly invisible, and free. In a way, it was like you already were one... Unique, yet not special... You fade alongside your peers, hitting the ground silently before disappearing altogether. 

But what is that ground, exactly? What defines itself as a "low point"? How can you tell that you have reached rock bottom already? Because you have a feeling that you have already reached that point. But unlike the snowflakes, they disappear within seconds- at most, minutes.. But you are still there.. Laying on that pavement, ready for you to melt away completely. As if you never existed in the first place. 

Was that rock bottom an existential crisis, or death? 

Professor Snape continues writing as you numbly watch the snowflakes in silence. You had stayed in his room because you didn't want to be alone. Of course, you didn't tell him the reason. Though, he probably already knew it anyway.

You can't even feel the minutes go by, except for a faint stinging in your sinuses that you choose to ignore. 

"Y/N!!!!!!" A voice shouts with a pounding sound. 

You jump in your seat with a gasp, your eyes slightly widening. You quickly look over to your professor who sits at his desk. His curled fist was resting atop his mahogany desk, him likely being the one that made the pounding sound. 

His anger slower dissipates to confusion and concern as his face slightly falls, something changing in his eyes. His eyes slightly narrow, though not in his (normally) frustrated way- rather observantly.

"Professor?" You quietly whisper, blankly looking at him. 

"I have called your name multiple times..." He trails off, leaning forwards as he clasps his hands together on his desk. 

"What is the matter?" He sternly, yet calmly asks.

"N-Nothing, Professor.. I was just looking out the window." You awkwardly reply, fidgeting with your hands. 

"For ninety minutes straight? I thought that you had been struck with the imperious curse.. Let me guess, your landscaping observations somehow explain the wet hue to your cheeks and eyes?" He states, lifting a brow as his dark brown eyes search your face questioningly. 

You hadn't even noticed that you were crying. Come to think of it, that was likely why your sinuses had a burning and tingling sensation. You stutter out a few indecipherable words, unsure of what to say. Instead of mustering out a reply, you turn your head away from his gaze. 

You hear him sigh as he scoots out his chair away from his desk. It scrapes against the wood as you hear him stand up, his notoriously thundering footsteps now mere whispers as he approaches you. He takes a seat in the lounge chair across from you. He sits in silence for a moment, almost as if waiting for you to engage the conversation.