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You always seemed to know just what to say. Students entered your office feeling like failures and they left feeling like they could grow to rival Dumbledore in terms of skill. Well, perhaps that was hyperbole, but you really did have a way with words. You understood people and their problems, and even if you couldn't solve them all, you could help illuminate the way.
“You aren't ugly, Vera.” You said softly to the fourth year Ravenclaw who was sniffling in a chair across from you. The girl had been being bullied, mostly for her appearance and weight.
“Yes I am.” She hiccuped. “Elouise says so all the time.”
You thought for a moment and handed Vera a tissue. She took it and dabbed her eyes. “Elouise says so, huh?” You asked softly. She nodded. “I see. And why should you care what she says?”
“I don't know, she…she's really pretty.” Vera fidgeted.
“That may be, but does that give her authority over your self image?” You asked. Vera looked confused, and you knew you had to rephrase. “Elouise has no power over you unless you let her. What she says is cruel, meant to hurt. It isn't your fault that you're hurt by it. However, you can choose not to believe her.”
“It's hard.” Vera sighed, looking downcast. You smiled.
“It's hard not to let cruelty get to you, I know. It's far easier to be the cruel one. I promise you, though, that what she's saying has no truth to it. She's telling you you're ugly because she is struggling with something herself, she wants attention from others or tearing you down makes her feel better about herself.” You began, standing up from your chair and walking behind your desk, opening a drawer. “She doesn't even really believe herself, so why should you? She has no authority if she isn't secure in her attempt to hurt you.”
Vera stared at you, processing your words. She watched as you drew out an object from your desk drawer. You held it up. It was a hand mirror. Vera looked at herself in it and initially frowned, but slowly her face became neutral. She blinked a few times and sniffed. “You're right…why was I listening to her anyway…”
“Happy girls are the prettiest.” You said, giving her a warm smile. Vera smiled at the mirror. She thanked you and left.
As Vera closed your office door, you sighed. You sat at your desk and opened a book to keep yourself busy until your next appointment. Next you would have to talk to Elouise, hopefully you could help her with whatever she was struggling with…
The door swung open again, interrupting your thoughts. You looked up and saw Severus Snape standing in your doorway with all his familiar stoicism and gloom. He was holding two mugs, steam curling up from both. You closed your book and set it down on your desk.
“I see you've come alone, unaccompanied by knocking.” You teased sarcastically. Snape stepped into the room and set one mug on your desk, not acknowledging your words. The aroma of it was familiar, warm and comforting. “A mocha? Thank you…” you smiled.
“You seemed tired this morning, at breakfast.” Snape remarked.
“So did you.” You retorted, shrugging.
“Perhaps, but it's not unusual for me. You, on the other hand…” Snape's voice was a low, hypnotic drawl. He stood by your window and looked around the room, at your desk, the shelves and cabinets, and the two armchairs on the other side of the room.
The chairs were facing each other. Snape knew that you always used the one with its back against the door because the one closer to the window allowed the students to see the whole room, setting them at ease with that bit of control given to them. His dark eyes scanned the chair that was yours, picturing you consoling a student late at night after they had a nightmare or some other issue he'd find trivial. You never saw people's issues as trivial, though. Thus, you were tired today.
“So, what brought you here? Besides the coffee delivery I mean. Thanks again, by the way.” You looked up at him over the rim of your cup as you took a sip.
“A man can't simply pay a visit to a…colleague?” Snape said flatly. You knew he had nearly called you a friend. Your calm, friendly smile broadened into a grin.
“Sure he can.” You propped your head up on your palm as you leaned forward with your elbow on your desk.
“...You should really stick to your office hours.” Snape said, his tone casual and neutral. You didn't miss the trace of concern in it.
“Some of us don't have that luxury.”
“You choose not to.”
He was right. However, him being right didn't change the fact that you would make that choice again. A bit of missed sleep was of little consequence if it meant you could help a student. The two of you sipped your beverages quietly, savouring the few minutes you had of peace before a new task or meeting presented itself.
Snape finished his coffee, and he silently took your memory mug from your hand. “You have another whiner to comfort soon, I imagine?”
“Severus.” You frowned at him. He smirked faintly, just the most subtle curve of the corner of his mouth. “I have an appointment with Elouise Newsome in five minutes. One of yours. She's been bullying a Ravenclaw girl.”
“Is that so?” Snape's gaze hardened and he sighed. Bullying. No matter how hard he pushed his house, they always seemed to get caught up in such things. “Why didn't you tell me so I could discipline her?”
“Elouise might not learn from punishment. I want to get to the root of why she's bullying Vera so I can help her work through it. Besides, this is only the first reported incident.” You explained. Snape rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. He knew you wouldn't take kindly to his criticisms. He respected you, and had even conceded a few times that your methods had merit, but he still often considered you to be a bit too soft.
These chats were a regular occurrence.
He'd had his reservations at first when he heard of the new guidance counselor who would be starting. Snape had pictured someone more cheerful and optimistic, a group-hug, “let's meditate” type of person. Then he met you, a sharp, blunt instrument of conflict de-escalation and self esteem reconstruction. You were hardworking, yet lighthearted. Soulful, yet pragmatic. A balance of soft compassion and cutting wit. He appreciated that.
Your talent for always having something useful, poignant, or clever to say drew him in. Snape found himself always waiting to hear you speak. After a while, he began talking to you directly. He started by asking about his Slytherins when they had gone to seek your counsel, and you provided assurances that they were okay or warnings to keep an eye on them. You never told him the details, you said you had to preserve the students’ privacy. Conversation evolved over time to be more casual.
You were someone who's job was to help carry the burdens of others, and Snape's friendship gave you a break from that. Snape was a troubled, tormented figure, your trained eyes and ears could tell. However, in one of your first extended conversations, he had made quite clear that he needed no counseling. Or, as he put it, “I have no desire to open up and cry it out, so don't bother badgering me about it.”
You never did.
If he ever wanted to open up to you, he would. Besides, you wanted one relationship where you didn't have to do emotional labour all the time. Yet, you still hoped that someday, your bond with Severus Snape would deepen into something more profound…
The next day, you had to go to Snape's office to discuss an issue. Elouise Newsome had not shown up for her appointment. “Come in.” You heard Snape say flatly, with a hint of irritation after a few quick raps to his door.
Snape looked up from whatever it was he was working on and pushed the papers forward, as if he was rejecting them in favor of you. You stepped deeper into the room, and leaned against the wall next to his desk. “How's your day been?” You started.
“Uneventful.” Snape replied, flipping his hair out of his eyes.
“Good, so you aren't too irritated to help me with a Slytherin related issue?” You asked.
Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Ah, perhaps I was too presumptuous. “No, I'm not…barely. What is it this time?”
“Newsome skipped her appointment with me last night.” You explained further, “I don't want her to be given detention or anything, I was hoping you could…encourage her to make a new appointment. Because if she doesn't, she won't be able to avoid punishment if another bullying incident occurs.”
“Why don't I just have her scrub cauldrons anyway? The girl clearly has no intention of talking to you.” Snape gestured with a wave of his hand.
“I want to give her one more chance. She might be afraid.” You argued.
“You think I will set her at ease?” Snape raised a skeptical brow.
“Try.” You smiled at him. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.
“Wait, I…wanted to discuss something with you as well.”
You paused and gave him an inquisitive look. “Yes?”
Snape adjusted his sleeve and looked away, focusing on the stone paperweight on his desk rather than on you. You read this as a suggestion of nerves, or deeper thoughts. Whatever was on his mind was enough to make his composure falter. “A new café has opened in Hogsmeade.”
“Yes, I heard.” You waited for him to add on the relevance of his statement, a flutter of recognition in your stomach. This sounded like the beginning of an invitation.
“Would you perhaps like to…try it with me? This weekend?” Snape asked. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, then moved his gaze back to you. It was as if he was puffing himself up.
“That sounds lovely, yes.” You couldn't quite keep your smile from extending to nearly goofy levels, the corners of your eyes crinkling. Snape smiled, just a hint of one. You etched that smile into your memory. It was a moment of open expression that was rarely seen from your coworker.
Snape nodded. He turned back to his work and you left the room with a hop in your step. You told yourself that the invitation was painted with a platonic brush, but your heart didn't listen. Childhood feelings were bubbling to the surface…
In the back of your fifth year potions class, you sat. Slughorn's words were going in one ear and out the other as your attention was centered around a boy diligently writing notes. He sat in the row in front of you, one seat over so you could see part of the side of his face. He had long black hair down to his shoulders, tall, lanky. Severus Snape.
You admired the flow of rapid yet clean lines from his quill, the curling, feathered script. As you found yourself sighing, wondering what could be hidden in the mind of this quiet, solitary boy, you felt an ache in your chest. He didn't even know you existed, probably. His eyes were always on that red-headed Gryffindor girl. You didn't blame him, or hate her. She was indeed beautiful after all, and very kind from what you could tell.
Your thoughts were interrupted by Slughorn calling you out. “L/N, is the back of Mr. Snape's head really more interesting than my lecture?”
You responded quickly, your anxiety caged in your chest, tamed. A lie slipped from your lips smoothly. “No, sir, I missed something and I was trying to read his notes to get what I missed.”
Slughorn accepted this, and continued. However, Snape looked back at you, just for a moment. He gave you a gloomy glare and your heart rate skyrocketed. You looked down at your mostly empty notebook page and your grip tightened around your quill like the roots of a tree strangling a smaller plant. If only you could speak to Severus Snape with the confidence and ease you spoke to everyone else with.
—
The day of your outing with Snape came around, and you met him on the path to Hogsmeade behind the mass of students heading there, too. You caught up to him and matched his stride. “Hello.” You smiled.
Snape gave you a sidelong glance and slowed his pace just slightly. He didn't speak, but bobbed his head once to acknowledge you.
“I heard that the café has a lot of sweet stuff. I already ate lunch, but I might get a dessert with my beverage.” You said.
“You consume far too much sugar.” Snape narrowed his eyes.
You sunk your hands into your pockets and grinned. “Well, some people say cravings are your body telling you what it needs. Perhaps I need more sweetness in my life.”
“You're sweet enough already.” Snape scoffed, although he cracked a smile. You felt your heart skip a beat. I should reply with something clever or flirtatious. You tried to arrange such a reply, but none came.
Soon, you and Snape arrived at the café. You took your seats and absorbed the ambience. It was cozy, open. The lighting was warm. Your back relaxed against a plush booth as you looked over the paper brochure menu. “What looks good to you?” You asked Snape.
He was frowning at the menu as if trying to discern runes. “I don't know. These beverages all seem rather…complicated. Perhaps I'll just ask for a black coffee.”
“Oh, don't be so safe.” You chided lightheartedly. “Try something new for a change.”
“I don't want to choose something I'll dislike.” Snape closed the menu and folded his hands on the table.
“Then don't choose.” You suggested. Snape's brows flexed together in confusion. You explained your meaning. “Let me pick something. If you don't like it, it will be my fault.” You knew he hated making mistakes, so if you took the responsibility from him, he might be more inclined to step outside of his comfort zone.
Snape hesitated, but made up his mind. “...Very well. Don't pick anything that's loaded with sugar.”
You ordered drinks for both of you, and a creme brulée. When the drinks came out, Snape was pleasantly surprised to see a chai latte that in no way matched your sweet French vanilla with whipped cream. The dessert was placed between you with two spoons. You hadn't asked for two spoons. The waitress gave you a knowing smile before leaving.
“Um…do you want to share this with me?” You asked Snape, knowing he usually doesn't like sweets. He answered by taking a spoon. He waited, though. “What are you waiting for?”
“You want to crack the sugar topping, don't you?” He asked. Your heart felt like a warm, crackling fire. He was letting you break the top. It was so simple, yet so sweet. Again, words failed you and you nodded.
You turned your spoon to the side and brought it down against the burnt, crystalized sugar. It cracked, and its surface was marred by a white scar before you scooped up a bite, breaking it the rest of the way. You took the first bite. It was delicious, silky and sweet. Once you took your first bite, Snape took his.
The custard sat on Snape's spoon, slightly jiggly with a shard of the sugar poised atop it. He brought it to his lips and took the bite. You saw a tiny grain of the sugar stick to his bottom lip. You tore your eyes away as he looked up at you. “You've always had a staring problem.” Snape said, and you had to will your eyes not to widen.
So he did remember your school days. Even if he hadn't seen every time you were looking at him from across a room or from another desk, he saw enough occasions to make a mental note of it. You smiled and fashioned yourself a cool attitude.
“So do you. That glare of yours could petrify a basilisk.” You sipped your drink, then shoveled another bite of creme brulée into your spoon.
As the two of you shared your dessert, Snape began to complain about you taking all the topping. “Could you quit taking it all?”
“You don't even like sugar.” You said while taking an extra large section of the burnt sugar.
“I enjoy the balance between it and the custard- you little fiend!” Snape took the triangle of sugar off your spoon and cracked it in half. “I'll wipe that smirk off of your face if you're not careful.”
You laughed. “You're all bark and no bite, and you know it.”
“All bark and no bite? You haven't heard the students that compare me to the Whomping Willow.” Snape smirked. He pushed his next bite past his lips.
“At least they compare you to something beautiful.” You said. You didn't even think about it. That's probably why you succeeded at saying something almost flirty to the man for once. Almost, because Snape raised a brow.
“The Whomping Willow is beautiful to you?” He huffed with amusement, unconvinced.
“Yes. It's old and-” You cut yourself off. You basically just called him old. “I…don't mean to say…we're the same age, you and I. I meant that…” You sighed, resting your hand on your forehead. “Nevermind.”
Snape seemed more amused than offended. “It's beautiful because it's old?”
You calmed yourself and answered. “It's beautiful because it's old.” You repeated. “People have tried to cut it down or burn it down, it's been damaged from weather and from hitting things, a bloody car crashed into it…and it's still here. Despite everything, it still stands there, where it always has. Nothing can change the sway of its branches. It's beautiful because it is more than what's happened to it.”
Snape's eyes lingered on you for a long moment before he sipped his beverage. He ate no more of the creme brulée. “You can have the rest.” He said, his voice was softer.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I've had my fill.”
You smiled and eagerly ate the rest, enjoying the velvety custard and crunchy sugar. You were so focused on the taste of the desert that you didn't notice Snape release a barely audible sigh as his expression softened. You felt his foot nudge yours and you thought your foot had been infringing on his space, so you moved it away and said a brief apology.
A few weeks later, Snape caught you on the weekend in the library. You liked spending time there on the weekends, because there were few students. They preferred to go off galavanting around the grounds or at Hogsmeade. A few more studious or less sociable students were scattered throughout the large chamber, but none near you.
Snape passed a familiar chair by the history section, the one he had often occupied in his younger years. No one ever looked in the history section. No one but you. He often saw you walking the aisles, grabbing random books and putting them back without ever checking them out. He had guessed you were pretending to be interested in the books quickly. At the time, he assumed you were just weird, or watching him to get some kind of intel for his bullies. Now, he knew better.
The corner of Snape's mouth quirked up as he recalled your past behavior. He passed by the lonely chair that in hindsight, in the context of that particular memory, didn't seem so lonely anymore.
He found you scowling over a book, and assumed that whatever you were reading was bothering you. You were all curled up in an armchair, limbs in borderline unnatural positions. You closed the book as he approached. “Hi, Severus.” You greeted him.
“Hello.” He said, he leaned forward a touch just to see over your knees and get a glimpse of the title in your hands. It was just Macbeth. “I have never seen someone look so disgruntled reading Shakespeare before.”
“I'm not disgruntled.” You huffed. You saw Snape's brows arch and knew he wasn't convinced, so you changed your story to the truth. “I'm not disgruntled about Macbeth.”
“Then please, tell me what's made you look like someone just chewed your favorite quill.” Snape sat in the nearest chair. It was next to yours, but both chairs were tilted towards each other so as to nearly be facing. As you lowered your legs from their curled up position and planted your feet on the floor, the scene of you and Snape in your respective chairs mirrored the composition of the scene that usually played out in your office. The conversations you'd have with struggling students.
“Lockhart.” You spat. Your tone was a bit aggressive, as if you were accusing Snape of being the painted peacock in question. Snape exhaled an audible puff through his nose, amused by your irritation and the way your eyes flashed.
“No need to be so vague and…short about it.” Snape said.
“I'm not being short, I'm being…pithy.” You crossed your arms. Snape chuckled. It was a surprisingly warm sound, one that almost made you forget about the ridiculous git. Deep. Resonating.
“Pithy, more like pissy.” Came Snape's witty rebuttal.
“Doesn't matter what Lockhart did.” You sighed.
“I think it does.” Snape's tone grew more serious and he leaned forward slightly. “Normally you just laugh at his nonsense. It must have been something bad, if it's getting to you of all people.”
“He called you forgettable.” You pouted.
Snape blinked a few times. He had been called far worse by far better. “...And?”
“In the Great Hall after lunch, when you'd already left, the other professors started talking about memories from our time at Hogwarts. You came up and I started talking about how you would always give the most detailed and intelligent answers during potions class, and…” you trailed off, blushing as you admitted to paying close attention to him in class.
Snape didn't outwardly react, he just waited for you to continue, so you did.
“...And I asked the other professors who are our age if they remembered, and Lockhart said ‘Oh, no, I hardly remember Snape. He was always a rather forgettable chap’. I mean, seriously, who just goes around saying things like that?” You shook your head. “Arse.”
“Calm down. Since when do you care what he thinks? I certainly don't.” Snape said, his voice quite calm, contrasting your mood.
“I don't, but it just isn't true.” You struggled to explain why it bothered you.
“It is, I would wager. I kept to myself.” Snape replied. “I didn't make any significant mark on this castle during my education, besides being a punching bag.”
“You're not forgettable. I wouldn't forget you.”
Snape got up from his chair. He stood in front of you and searched your gaze. “Yes, you would, if you hadn't taken your post here.”
You stood up too. “Why are you so insistent on-” You tightened your lips. You knew you were about to dig into his psyche, and that he didn't like that sort of thing. Instead, you reassured him that you were serious about never forgetting him. “Severus, if I were a tree and you chopped me down, you could read your name in every ring.”
Snape stilled, and you heard a barely audible gasp. His eyes were fixed upon you, darting over your features. Realization dawned on you. I just did it, didn't I? I just told him how I feel…more or less. You felt fear bubble up and you squeezed your eyes shut.
With your eyes closed, the feeling of Snape's hand slipping into yours sent pleasant little tingles through your skin. He stepped closer, and you felt the warmth radiating off him. His voice was low as he spoke by your ear, quiet and almost tender. “You really do always know just what to say, don't you?”
You opened your eyes and looked up at him, just in time for him to kiss your cheek. You blushed and looked around. “Someone might see…”
“No one ever looks in the history section. Except you, of course.” Snape said, lightly teasing. Your hand tightened around his a little, and you rested your forehead against his chest. You groaned, both flustered and embarrassed.
“Have you known about my crush on you this whole time?” You asked.
“Not quite. I put it together a few months ago and examined my memories of you during our time here as students. Everything started to come into focus.” Snape smiled, a proper one this time.
“You knew, and you never talked to me about it?” You asked, while Snape took your other hand.
“I knew you'd open up when you were ready. So I gave you the space to…become ready.” He said.
“That's kind of my modus operandi, you know.” You laughed lightly. Snape pulled you forwards gently by your hands and into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you and you pressed yourself against his chest, sighing, releasing tension that had been twisted up inside you for many years.
“It's a good one, I've learned.” Snape held you and you felt his cheek flex against your head as he grinned. He was happy. That made you happy, too. “I adore you, you should know that.”
“Why?”
Snape laughed at you like the question was ridiculous. “You're so clever, so good at talking to people. You set people at ease and lower their guard, me included. And you have a way of saying things that…clears away dead roots to make room for new growth.” Snape combed the back of your hair with his fingers. “You have room in your heart for everyone, it seems. Even for a grouchy, cold man like me.”
“You're very easy to love.” You said. Snape cupped your face in his hands and you melted, your own hands covering his. It made your face squish a little.
“There you go again…” Snape shook his head. Then, he leaned in and his nose touched yours.
“Can I…persuade you to reward my openness with some of your own?” You teased, knowing he probably wouldn't. You didn't need him to tell you how he felt, though, you understood the general idea from his physical affection.
“I lack your skill with tree related metaphors.” He told you a bit more with another action, instead. He leaned in and kissed your lips, gently pressing his lips to yours. You moved yours back against his, reciprocating. It was chaste, but that did not mean a lack of intimacy. It was soft.
The kiss broke and you smiled like an idiot, staring into his eyes. “Pithy.” You commented on his blunt, nonverbal style of communicating his feelings.
“Just getting to the…heart of the matter.” He said, then loosened his hold on you. You'd both heard the sounds of someone nearby. You stepped back from him, but couldn't bring yourself to pull your hand out of his. You didn't miss his play on words, ‘heart’ meaning core, like the essence of what he was trying to convey. ‘Core’ like the core of a tree. The pith.
“Looks like I'm not the only one around here with a gift for words.” You smiled warmly.
“You inspire me, I suppose.” He shrugged. You waited until the footsteps you had heard faded into the distance and you leaned back in.
Your hand rested on the strong, sturdy surface of Snape's chest and felt the thumping of his heartbeat, the constant, rhythmic presence of him. Snape palmed your cheek and moved a leaf of hair out of your face before kissing you again. There amongst the books and wooden shelves, you told each other everything your voices hadn't said yet through the warm connection of your lips.