Severus Snape Oneshots

In•sub•or•din•a•tion (?)

Warning: Mentions of mental illnesses and mistreatment of those w/ emotional/psychological conditions.

"Ms. Y/L/N." A tap is heard on your desk.

You flinch at the sound and growl in your throat, trying to muffle it with a fake smile.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?" You squeak out, trying to ignore the student that was loudly chewing their gum a table away.

In a weird jerking motion, your head cocks to the side, your chin jutting out to the right as though a bug just crawled in your left eardrum. Accidentally doing it once more, you try to disguise it as a hiccup. 

"That's the third time I've called your name. You haven't even started your paper. Is this going to be a prob-"

You can't hear her over your anxiety-filled state, the heel of your sock sliding down your foot, a small hole in your robe that is creating a draft, some kid is messing with his quill and making horrible sounds with it, that one kid is still chewing, amongst other things.

"I see I've lost your attention aga-"

"I can't focus!" You interrupt in a voice that sounds like a mix between whining and anger.

"Do not speak to me that way, Ms. Y/L/N I am your teacher and you are a fifth year who is capable of being polite."

"I-I..." You groan and put your fingers in your ears.

Standing up, you begin to pant in your overwhelmed state; "I have to go."

You remove one finger from your right ear to pick up your bag, shoving papers in it with one hand, leaving your quill behind.

"Y/L/N, if you walk out of that door, you're buying yourself a detention with Professor Snape in the dungeons at 5:00!" The woman exclaims in disbelief at your behavior.

You harshly shake your head and keep rushing forward, ignoring the stares of your confused and concerned peers. Using the right side of your body to open the large oak door, you rush down the hall.

---

"

"Aww, they throw books at you too? Poor little Gryfi-"

"Bugger off, Myrtle." You whisper, just loud enough for her to hear you.

Ignoring your request, she continues with her incessant and pointless chatter, until you pick up a soggy book that someone had left behind in the abandoned bathroom and chuck it at the annoying ghost girl.

Letting out one of her ear-splitting screeches, she floats into one of the stalls and disappears down one of the toilets.

Annoying ghost. . .

You think back on the events that had occured in the past hour and groan in frustration, putting your face in your hands.

You hadn't meant to sound rude to McGonagall. That wasn't your intention. She was quite fair for the most part and you couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed.

Your anxiety has been insane and nobody seems to understand what it's like, not even a little.

Professor Flitwick had been more patient with your lack of focus, but a bit more concerned with your lack of attendance.

Your stomach has been bugging you in the morning, making it hard to keep food down. The thought of school isn't uncommon to be paired with that sick feeling.

How could you explain to your teachers that you couldn't attend classes due to the fact that your roommate used too much perfume, the other took too long in the bathroom, making you have a breakdown at the thought of being late to breakfast, and that you accidentally scraped your fingernails against your sheets.