Unexpected Fate (Severus Snape x Reader)

𝟑𝟑 - 𝓕𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓻

It was no surprise that the first lesson with Professor Dolores Umbridge was met with a notable lack of enthusiasm. Her rigid, bureaucratic demeanor and the peculiar approach she took to teaching quickly became a topic of discontent. The students emerged from her class with furrowed brows and downcast expressions, sharing their disappointment in hushed tones. Whispers of her failure to teach practical Defense Against the Dark Arts, focusing instead on dull theoretical principles, spread rapidly.

By the end of the day, as the sun began to set and cast long shadows across the castle grounds, I wandered through the corridors, reflecting on the growing disquiet. The air seemed heavy with an unspoken tension, a reflection of the unease that had settled over the school.

As I rounded a corner, I noticed Harry Potter standing alone near a window alcove. He was staring intently at his left hand, which was clenched into a fist. His usually confident demeanor was absent, replaced by a pained expression. He shifted uncomfortably, and I could see a faint tremor in his hand.

Worry prompted me to approach him cautiously. "Harry?" I called softly, trying not to startle him. "Is something wrong?"

Harry's head jerked up, and he quickly attempted to hide his hand behind his back. "Oh, hi," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the strain in his voice was evident.

I studied him closely, my concern deepening. "You look like you're in pain. What happened?"

"It's nothing," he replied hastily, forcing a casual tone that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just... had a rough day."

I wasn't convinced by his attempt to downplay his discomfort. "Harry, if something's wrong, you should tell me. I can help."

Harry's gaze darted around, ensuring that no one was within earshot. He sighed deeply, and with a resigned expression, he finally extended his hand towards me. I gasped softly when I saw the words etched into his skin. The letters appeared to be written in a deep, angry red, forming the words "I must not tell lies."

"This—this is from Umbridge," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "She made me write lines in detention, but the ink... it etches itself into my skin. It's painful."

My heart sank as I looked at the torturous message inscribed on his hand. The sight was deeply disturbing. "This is cruel, Harry. We need to do something about this."

He shook his head, looking both defiant and defeated. "What can we do? She's got everyone afraid to speak out. I've tried to keep my head down, but it's getting harder."

I reached out and gently took his hand, careful not to cause him further discomfort. "You're not alone in this. We'll figure out a way to address this. There must be something we can do."

Harry nodded, though his expression remained troubled. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

As we stood there, the weight of the situation hung heavy in the air. The oppressive presence of Umbridge was already having a tangible effect on the students, and the challenges that lay ahead were beginning to take shape.

I knew I needed to talk to someone about the unsettling situation with Umbridge, and it was clear that I couldn't keep this to myself any longer. Just then, Minerva appeared at the end of the corridor, her usual composed demeanor slightly marred by the day's fatigue. I gave Harry a subtle nod, signaling him to leave, which he did with a reluctant but understanding glance.

Minerva approached, her sharp eyes noting the tension in my posture. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts. "Minerva, I need to talk to you about Umbridge's classes. The students are clearly unhappy with her approach. They say she's not teaching them anything useful for Defense Against the Dark Arts."