Unexpected Fate (Severus Snape x Reader)

𝟓𝟎 - 𝓓𝔂𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓬𝓼

The low hum of quills scratching parchment filled the classroom, mingling with the occasional rustle of pages as students worked through their essays. The topic for today was complex: the political ramifications of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and the tensions it caused between the wizarding and Muggle worlds during the 17th century. I had spent the first part of the lesson discussing the historical context—how wizards had sought isolation, the resulting political turmoil, and the cultural shifts that emerged from such secrecy.

As I moved between the desks, I glanced over the students' work, offering quiet guidance where necessary. The room was tense with focus, and I couldn't help but feel a slight pride in how engaged they were with the topic.

Then, as I reached Harry's  desk, I noticed something odd. His essay, which should have been full of thoughtful analysis on the political impacts of the Statute, was barely started. His quill hovered above the parchment, but his gaze was fixed on something else.

I leaned in, my eyes narrowing slightly as I saw the book he was holding beneath his desk. It wasn't a history textbook, nor was it related to any of the assigned readings. It looked like a much older tome—its edges worn and its pages yellowed with age.

"Harry ," I said softly, my voice calm but laced with curiosity. "I trust that book has something to do with today's discussion on the Statute of Secrecy?"

His eyes widened as he quickly moved to close the book, clearly caught off guard. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he stammered out an explanation, but I could see the flicker of unease in his gaze.

I gently approach his desk and, without a word, take the book from his hands. His eyes widen in surprise.

"Harry," I say, my tone firm but not unkind, "you can pick this up after the lesson. For now, please focus on the class."

Harry looks a bit flustered but nods in understanding. "Sorry, Professor (Y|L)," he mutters, trying to refocus on the lesson.

The class progresses and I try to keep my mind focused on the lesson at hand. The students seem engaged, and the lesson passes by in a steady rhythm. When the bell rings, signaling the end of the period, the classroom buzzes with the usual chatter and shuffling of feet as students collect their belongings and head out.

As I tidy up my desk, my eyes land on the book Harry had been holding earlier. I hesitate for a moment, my fingers grazing cover. It's an old, somewhat battered book, clearly not one for students—certainly not a textbook.

Curious, I pick it up, intending to return it to Harry, but as I glance around the room, I realize that the classroom has emptied, save for the lingering silence and the scattered papers on the desks. Harry is nowhere to be found.

The classroom gradually empties, the last of the students leaving with quiet chatter and hurried footsteps, their voices fading as they disappear down the corridors. Soon, all that remains is the quiet hum of the school, the faint tick of the clock on the wall. I'm left alone with my thoughts, the weight of the lesson still lingering in the air.

For some reason, I can't shake the feeling of intrigue as I pick up the book again, turning it over in my hands. The cover feels strangely warm, and I can't help but wonder who exactly the "Half-Blood Prince" is. Maybe it's an old, forgotten wizard—someone with a legacy tied to potions that I've never heard of.

It's fascinating...until the sudden, sharp knock at the door breaks my concentration. I jump slightly, my heart skipping a beat,

For a moment, I freeze, staring at it in my hands, my heart racing. The knock comes again, firmer this time, and I quickly tuck the book into the drawer of my desk, sliding it closed with a soft click.