Unexpected Fate (Severus Snape x Reader)

𝟔𝟗 - 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓼

The days blurred together, time slipping away like sand through my fingers. Months had passed, though it hardly felt like time had moved at all. And for nearly a year, the situation with Severus had been reduced to silence. Whatever words we exchanged were sharp, laced with resentment, spoken only when absolutely necessary—and often filled with accusation rather than understanding. We avoided each other when we could, pretended indifference when we couldn't.

Since that time behind the curtain, neither of us had dared to cross that line again. No stolen touches, no whispered demands, no reckless moments of surrender. Whatever had burned between us had been forced into embers, buried beneath duty, battle, and unspoken restraint. But I felt it in every glance, in the way his eyes lingered too long, in the way my breath hitched whenever he was near. The memory of it clung to us, a shadow neither of us could escape.

The Carrows thrived in this new Hogwarts, in a world where their authority went unquestioned and their punishments were met with fearful submission rather than resistance. They wielded their power with sadistic pleasure, feeding off the fear they instilled, their cruelty sharpened by the knowledge that there was no one left to stop them.

But more than anything, they thrived on spectacle. They wanted an audience, craved attention, and relished proving how effortlessly they could break those who dared to stand against them.

That was why, the moment I stepped into the Great Hall that evening, I knew something was wrong.

The usual hum of dinner had vanished, replaced by a silence that pressed down on the room like an oppressive weight. Students sat stiffly at their tables, their movements small, careful, as if afraid to draw attention to themselves. The clinking of cutlery against plates seemed deafening in the hush. Most of them kept their heads down, avoiding eye contact, but a few stole quick, nervous glances toward the staff table.

Toward Amycus.

He stood there with a grin that made my stomach tighten. It was the kind of grin that preceded pain.

Beside him, a student stood stiffly, their back to me, their shoulders so rigid it was clear they were fighting the instinct to shrink.

A cold dread coiled in my chest.

I had seen this before.

Amycus let the silence stretch, feeding off the tension, the anticipation of what was to come. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow, deliberate, thick with mockery.

"Attention, everyone," he drawled, his voice cutting through the hush like a blade. "It seems our dear friend here has forgotten how to properly address his superiors. A shame, really."

The student flinched. A small, almost imperceptible movement, but I saw it. Their hands were clenched into fists at their sides, white-knuckled with the effort to remain still.

I didn't think.

I moved.

I strode forward, each step measured, purposeful, my pulse pounding. Around me, dozens of eyes darted toward me—some filled with hope, others with fear.

"Stop it." My voice rang out, sharp and unwavering.

Amycus turned toward me, his grin widening, amusement flickering in his gaze. He was enjoying this.

"Professor (L/N)," he purred, tilting his head. "Come to join our little lesson?"

I met his gaze steadily. "I see no lesson here. Only cruelty."

His lips curled, his fingers twitching ever so slightly around his wand.

"Careful, Professor," he murmured, voice thick with mockery. "You sound dangerously close to insubordination."