Isn't He Lovely-Professor Snape

Deathly Hallows Pt 7

As my consciousness begins to stir, a sensation of weightlessness envelopes me, and I find myself cradled in the arms of an enigmatic figure. Swiftly adjusting, my eyes focus, revealing the familiar contours of the raven-haired man – Severus. A wave of conflicting emotions surges within me, a poignant mix of longing and heartbreak.

An impulse to speak rises, but before words can escape my lips, he gently hushes me with a whispered "shh, go back to sleep," his warm breath tickling my ear. The tenderness in his voice only intensifies the ache in my chest, and tears well up, tracing silent paths down my cheeks.

Gently, he lays me back down on the bed, and in a poignant gesture, I lift the book – "War and Peace" – showcasing it to him, a silent plea for understanding and connection.

Acknowledging my silent request, Severus nods, taking the cherished book and carefully tucking it inside the folds of his dark robes. A bittersweet smile graces my lips, a fleeting moment of connection in the midst of turmoil.

Desiring to touch his face, a familiar source of comfort, my hand reaches out, but he recoils, his features contorted in an expression of profound sadness. A sudden click echoes in the room, and I realize with a sinking feeling that my hand is now shackled.

In a choked voice, Severus utters, "I'm sorry," a single tear tracing a solitary path down his cheek. My own tears flow freely, the pain of separation intensifying.

As he turns to leave, a guttural scream of frustration, anger, and heartbreak escapes my lips, reverberating in the confines of the room. "Why!"

He pauses momentarily, but without looking back, he continues his departure, walking through the door and closing it behind him. The echoes of our shared agony linger in the empty space.

That moment marked my breaking point. Collapsing onto the bed, I unleashed the floodgates of emotion. There were no inhibitions—only raw, unfiltered anguish. I cried until my throat ached, screamed until my voice waned to a hoarse whisper. In that vulnerable state, I grappled with the shattered pieces of my resilience.

I had believed in my strength, in my ability to endure, but the reality was harsher than I ever imagined.

As my body succumbed to exhaustion and my cries subsided, I found myself staring out of the window at the dawning sun. In the quiet aftermath, every thought, every memory, revolved around him. A passing bird triggered thoughts of him, even the chains around my hand seemed to echo his presence.

How could a single man be the source of both profound happiness and unbearable despair?

In the shadow of dawn, I closed my eyes, yearning to escape the cruel reality that threatened to consume me. The question lingered in my mind—was what we had real, or merely a fleeting illusion?

𓍊𓋼𓍊𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𓋼

Awakening to the cold, dark sky, two guards seized me, jolting me back into a reality that felt emptier than ever. The events of the previous night cast a shadow over any sense of purpose or desire for life.

Limp and unresponsive, I allowed the guards to drag me through the manor. The rooms we traversed held an eerie stillness, and the dim lighting accentuated the oppressive atmosphere.

As they unceremoniously dropped me onto the cold, hard surface of a table, the room came into focus. It was the same place where clandestine meetings unfolded, a space tainted by malevolence. Voldemort's presence loomed over me, and I assumed my position—hands raised, one knee bent, head turned away.