Isn't He Lovely-Professor Snape

Year 6 Pt 6

The cold rain stung against my skin, intertwining with the gusts of wind that seemed determined to tear me apart. Their laughter reverberated, a cruel chorus amplifying the dread that gripped me. Life itself seemed suspended, teetering on the edge of a precipice.

"LET ME GO!" I pleaded, my voice swallowed by the storm.

"As you wish," they retorted in an eerie unison, callously releasing their grip. Time elongated into an agonizing descent, the world blurring into a chaotic whirlwind as I plummeted into the unknown. The echoes of their laughter pierced the air, mingling with the symphony of rain and wind, marking the sinister moment my fate was sealed.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𓋼

I blinked my eyes open, greeted by the soft glow of night. Relief washed over me—thank goodness it was nighttime. The room was dimly lit, and I could feel a thin blanket enveloping my legs. Madam Pomfrey had removed my sweater, leaving me in a comfortable wrap around my chest and cozy shorts.

"Are you alright?" A voice resonated through the room.

"P-Professor?" I gulped, surprised that he was back. My heart fluttered slightly, grateful for his presence.

"Yes. How are you feeling?" He sounded genuinely concerned.

"I'm okay, had a bad nightmare. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving me. I don't know how I'll ever repay you," I said, my eyes welling up with gratitude.

"I couldn't lose my best student now could I? Which reminds me, where is my 7 page paper?"

He better not be serious. I have never heard him joke before, well I hope this is a joke.

My eyes widen after he spoke, "I-I haven't- "it's a joke Miss. Donnelly" he snickers

"Oh, well,-" I laugh " I'll get on with it soon, sir. I don't want to miss out on too much of class," I chuckled nervously.

"Yes, yes, very well. You should go back to sleep, Miss. Donnelly. You need your rest," he advised, beginning to rise. However, I reached out, grabbing his hand, squeezing it, and playfully tugging him back down.

"Thank you for being with me when I was in my coma. I was conscious for a bit, and it was soothing to hear your voice," I shared my gratitude, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. As he looked at me with a hint of surprise, I let go of his hand and closed my eyes, sinking back into the comfort of my makeshift sanctuary.

*****************************************

A soft smile graced his lips, grateful for the comforting shroud of darkness concealing the emotions that danced in his eyes. His fingers gently intertwined with hers, savoring the warmth and comfort that holding her hand provided. The connection felt intimate, a silent solace in the quiet hospital wing.

He lingered, watching over her, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. The echoes of the accident played in his mind like a haunting melody. He recalled the game, the prowess she displayed as an athlete, and the sinking feeling in his heart when he witnessed her fall. The worry etched on his face mirrored the depth of his feelings for Niamh, a sentiment he couldn't entirely ignore.

Regret lingered in his eyes as he wished he could have done more to save her, to prevent the cascade of events that led to the hospital wing. Gazing at her, lying there with an aura of peaceful vulnerability, he couldn't shake the guilt that crept into his thoughts.

His eyes traced the bruises and cuts that adorned her face and body, each mark a testament to the ordeal she had endured. A profound sense of remorse settled within him as he marveled at her strength. His thumb gently caressed her hand, an unconscious gesture conveying both a tender reassurance and an unspoken apology.

Leaning down, he whispered words of promise, "I'll protect you as long as I'm alive." His voice, a soft murmur in the quiet hospital wing, carried a sincerity that transcended the darkness.

Tenderly, he pressed a gentle kiss on her hand, a silent pledge sealed with a touch. Slowly releasing her hand, he sat there for a moment, looking over her once more.

As he rose from the chair, his gaze lingered on Niamh's peaceful form. The room seemed to hold its breath, a quiet sanctuary of healing. Snape's thoughts were a tumultuous blend of concern and contemplation.

His steps were measured, each footfall echoing with a sense of responsibility. The door creaked softly as he closed it behind him, enveloping him in the dimly lit corridor. The weight of his worry for Niamh, the echoes of the accident, and the promise he made coalesced into a heavy burden.

The castle corridors were silent, save for the distant hum of magic. Snape walked with a deliberate pace, his mind consumed by thoughts of the resilient Gryffindor. The flickering torches cast shadows on his face, revealing the conflict within.

As he navigated the castle's labyrinthine passages, Snape's internal monologue played out like a whispered soliloquy. He couldn't shake the image of Niamh falling during the Quidditch match, a moment etched into his consciousness.

His emotions, usually guarded with precision, danced at the edges of his stoicism. Snape found himself questioning the boundaries between duty and personal attachment. The promise he made echoed in his mind, a silent vow that resonated beyond the confines of the hospital wing.

In the quiet solitude of the castle, Snape's thoughts became a complex tapestry of concern, introspection, and an unforeseen connection. As he disappeared into the shadows, his journey continued through the castle's winding corridors, his thoughts intertwined with the enigma that was Niamh Donnelly.