Trust me, Professor (Severus Snape x OC)

53 • Twisted

Snape kept his arms around me for a bit. We both knew the moment he would let go everything was going to get serious quite quickly. Him even more so than me.

His chest was solid beneath my cheek, rising in slow measured breaths. For a second I wondered if this was our first long hug, because it felt new to me. Different.

But then his hands slipped away, fingertips grazing my back. And while his warmth lingered, the distance between us returned with a quiet shift of weight. Then he stepped back and his shoulders squared again — like he was closing himself off, or simply gathering the tension.

He moved to the kitchen table and looked at all the notes. «I know what we need to fix your father, but I would need to do it here», he explained finally, «I cannot risk interference from the staff at St. Mungo's».

«Why?»

«Well, this is specialised dark magic. But they follow standard protocols, and in this situation I think that will only worsen his condition. St. Mungo's has also been compromised before, and any leak about what has actually happened might be dangerous», he explained, his dark eyes not leaving the papers.

I huffed a breath through my nose and crossed my arms, gaze trailing over my father's scribbled notes. «So, we fix him and that's it?», I asked.

His mouth twisted. It wasn't quite a frown, but not really a sneer either — it was something more thoughtful and reluctant all at once. His fingers ghosted over one of the parchments, «no», he drawled and picked it up, «once we find out who is behind this then I have to-»

I grabbed onto his arm. His eyes lifted and met mine. He looked tired. «When I said I want you... I meant it, okay? So please don't tell me you'll do something dangerous then expect me to wait», I said quietly.

I could tell then that he wanted to argue. Tell me he could handle it. Anything. I knew he had quite literally handled so much in the past.

But then his eyes dipped to my hand on his arm, and back to my eyes.

«Help me look», he drawled, returning his attention to the notes, and so I let go, standing beside him. «If he was indeed writing something that upset someone-», he spoke quietly and paused, «then there must be something here».

«It might prove difficult», I mused, picking up a note with a detailed sketch of a Mooncalf, «my father didn't just write notes like normal people», I grimaced at the note and put it down, «he built nests».

«Nests?», he asked.

I nodded. «Messy piles. Half-thoughts. A one-sentence-on-one-page kinda thing. The next in a different book... you know. We can't chase this in a straight line. He never worked like that. I mean, unless he did some great self-development the past years and-», I stopped, realising I'd begun ranting, my voice cold and unforgiving, the annoyance rising within me.

Snape's hand moved, quietly, resting briefly at the small of my back. A grounding touch. His fingers barely pressed against me, but it was enough for my breath to catch and settle again.

«We'll let it find us then», he said, his voice low and steady.

I knew he didn't believe it worked like that. It definitely wasn't his way to approach things.

So I appreciated him so much more for it. I smiled faintly.

Snape pulled out a chair and sat down, clearing his throat and letting out a sigh, «we better get started then, Miss Lovegood».

I rolled my eyes at the name, but didn't comment on it — mostly because hearing it reminded me of the two of us back then, and that brought a flutter to my stomach and a curl to my lips.