Unexpected Fate (Severus Snape x Reader)

𝟏𝟓 - 𝓦𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓽𝓮

The snow outside had settled into a quiet, undisturbed blanket, muffling the world beyond. Inside, the house remained still, save for the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth.

I woke early, slipping out of bed and making my way to the kitchen. The air was cold, but the promise of coffee and a warm breakfast was enough to shake off the lingering chill.

Rummaging through the fridge, I found eggs, bacon, and a loaf of bread. Simple, but sufficient. The sizzle of bacon soon filled the kitchen, the scent curling through the air, familiar and steady in a way that contrasted the strangeness of the morning.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway, slow and deliberate.

Snape entered, his expression composed, unreadable as ever. His long, dark robe shifted with each movement, his posture rigid, carrying the same distant air he always did.

"Good morning," I said, keeping my tone light despite everything.

"Morning," he replied curtly, his voice cool, detached. He moved to the table without another word, settling into a chair as if this were just any other day.

I set a cup of coffee in front of him. "I've made breakfast if you're hungry. There's bacon, eggs, and toast."

Snape gives a brief nod, his eyes flickering toward the food. "Thank you. I suppose that will suffice."

I take a seat across from him, pouring myself a cup of coffee. The silence between us is thick, filled only by the quiet clink of cutlery against porcelain. He occasionally glances at his newspaper, unfolding it with precise, deliberate movements.

I clear my throat, attempting to ease the quiet. "How are you feeling today? Any better?"

Snape looks up, his gaze as sharp as ever. "Considerably. The fever has passed, though I still feel somewhat weak. The potion you brought has been effective."

I offer a small smile. "I'm glad to hear that. If you need anything else, just let me know."

He inclines his head slightly, a gesture somewhere between gratitude and mere acknowledgment. "I appreciate the offer, but I am quite capable of managing on my own."

I nod, understanding his need for self-sufficiency. "Of course. I'm just here to help until the weather clears up."

He doesn't reply, simply turns back to his newspaper, his focus intent—whether on the words or the comfort of routine, I can't quite tell.

After breakfast, we retreat to our respective spaces. I spend some time perusing old books, losing myself in their worn pages, while Snape remains in his own part of the house, occupied with whatever private pursuits keep him engaged. The hours pass in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of paper or the faint clink of porcelain. The house feels as though it exists in a state of suspended animation, each of us anchored in our own solitude.

As evening falls, the air grows colder, the dim light casting long shadows across the walls. I decide to prepare a simple dinner with what little remains in the kitchen. It isn't much, but it offers a semblance of normalcy. When the table is set, I wait, though I expect little in the way of conversation. True to form, Snape appears, eats in silence, and then disappears once more, retreating into the quiet corners of the house.

The stillness of the evening is almost tangible, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire. I settle into the solitude, listening to the rhythmic dance of the flames, until a faint sound draws my attention.

Snape emerges from his room, moving with quiet purpose. Without a word, he crosses the room to a small cabinet, retrieving a bottle of dark amber liquid. His movements are deliberate as he pours a generous measure into a glass.