Drowning In Sentiment

drowning in sentiment

pairing: Severus Snape/Reader

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: Severus is quick to break the distance between you, as he kneels down next to you and places a hand over your forehead. “You’ve been dosed with Amortentia and you thought it pertinent to send a letter?" His voice possesses a confusing mix of irritation, fury, exasperation, and something surprisingly close to concern.

The following snippet is meant to serve as the sixth part to my ongoing series featuring Severus/Reader.

word count: 4k | ao3 version

Warnings: non-consensual drugging (amortentia), vomiting, nausea, unconsciousness, sickness, medical fare (think the infirmary, medical recovery processes, etc.)

Disclaimer: I do not support or condone the actions and beliefs of HP’s author in any way whatsoever. I thoroughly believe in fanfiction’s transformative, restorative, and healing power. Therefore, I write HP fanfiction not to encourage the author’s beliefs, but instead to directly challenge and disprove her prejudice; I write to further strengthen, validate, and support minority identities that are harmed by She Who Must Not be Named’s dangerous ideologies. I'm not taking any questions, comments, or criticisms regarding this. Don't like it? Don't read!

It all starts at lunch. At least, that’s your most educated guess. 

You ate your typical meal and drank from your goblet—just like every other lunch. None of these occurrences should’ve been indicative of future turmoil. Yet, hours later, when you find yourself hunched over your desk with tunneling vision, shaking hands, and sweat along your skin, you have to come to terms with the fact that something likely happened at lunch. You’re no Potions expert, but you know the telltale signs of an Amortentia dosage when you see them.

You summon a piece of parchment and grab your quill, writing a quick letter to Severus and handing it to your owl. Your owl lets out a weak chirp, pecking your forehead in evident concern before flying away. Severus will certainly be able to brew the necessary Potions to get the Amortentia out of your system. Ordinarily, you’d simply walk over to his office—but you’re not very confident in your ability to walk at the moment. Indeed, the moment you had gotten up from your desk, you were hit with such an intense wave of dizziness that you fell to the ground. You’ve since managed to move back to rest against the wall behind you, closing your eyes in a feeble attempt to distract yourself from the feverish sensation at your core and your blurring vision. 

Meanwhile, Severus is grading papers in his office when he hears an owl tapping at his closed window. He huffs and turns around, tempted to ignore the creature until he recognizes it as yours. The Potions master gets to his feet and opens the window, only for the owl to nearly collide with his chest as it frantically flies at him. Severus frowns and takes the parchment tied to its leg. The message only deepens his frown.

Severus, Apologies for disrupting you. When you get the chance, would you bring me some potions to treat Amortentia dosage? They’re for a student.

Severus stares down at the parchment for a moment longer, unease prickling along his skin. He wonders why you didn’t simply come to his office to ask him in person. Even more troubling is the uncharacteristic slant to your writing. He can’t seem to get rid of the unfounded feeling of dread settling in his chest as he looks at your message. It’s innocuous, and yet… he knows something is wrong. 

Furthermore, if the Potions were for a student, then you’d likely supply their name—after all, Hogwarts faculty are trained to practice ultimate discretion when it comes to the health of their students. Your messy writing and the omission of the student’s information aren’t significant on their own; together, however, they unsettle him. Your owl bats him with a wing, breaking him from his thoughts. Your owl—which is usually quite calm—seems to be stressed, too. Quickly coming to a decision, Severus heads for the door to his office.

And in the time since you first penned the letter, you found yourself falling to the floor. You’re now lying on the ground with your back to the wall—sweat dripping down the back of your neck. Your clothes feel extremely constricting and you want nothing more than to run out of your office and find the person who slipped you the potion, the object of your affections, the target of your obsession- 

Suddenly, your office door is nearly thrown off its hinges as it slams against the adjacent wall. You look up at the sudden noise, only to find Severus standing in the doorway, looking truly menacing as he wears a furious expression on his face. “Severus,” you say. You don’t think you manage to successfully hide the relief you feel from your voice, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You don’t have the energy —not when your skin feels like it’s oozing off of you into puddles on the ground. 

Severus is quick to break the distance between you, as he kneels down next to you and places a hand over your forehead. “You’re the one who needs the potion,” he states. His voice possesses a confusing mix of irritation, fury, exasperation, and something surprisingly close to concern. “You’ve been dosed with Amortentia and you thought it pertinent to send a letter?”

“It didn’t seem pressing at the time.” You choke out, shivering and sweating at the same time. You feel like you’re stuck in quicksand—even a small gesture with your hand feels like an uphill battle against a powerful current. 

“Merlin,” Severus mutters. 

There are tears sliding down your cheeks now. You wipe at your eyes, your hands trembling beyond belief as your vision tunnels and sways around you. The professor leans closer and you flinch, guilt flooding through you when you recognize the instinct.

But Severus doesn’t seem to take offense. He’s staring at you with a clinical gaze, taking in all of your symptoms and evidently developing a plan in his head. He opens the satchel at his side with nimble fingers, grabbing an unfamiliar vial. “Take this,” Severus implores. At your blank stare, he continues. “Don’t make me force you.” The dark expression on his face suggests that he will do exactly that, if necessary. Not wanting to approach death, you bring a shaking hand to the vial. Expecting him to relinquish his grip, you bring the vial to your lips and tilt it back—only to realize that Severus’ hand hasn’t left the vial either, instead moving it to your lips and ensuring you don’t drop it. The potion burns as you swallow it and you cough briefly, shuddering at the awful taste. 

Then a weak, utterly humiliating sound wrenches its way from your lips. Your skin feels like it’s on fire. “Severus-” You try to say. Your words are garbled and your tongue feels far too thick to create anything coherent. In one last burst of energy, you try to reach out to him—only to succumb to the darkness creeping along the edges of your vision. 

You wake up in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing and, at first, you feel as if you’re a student. Then, the memory of what happened rushes back to you and you’re forced to remember that you’re a professor who was poisoned by a student. The thought unsettles you, so you try to distract yourself by looking around the space. 

To your surprise, Severus is sitting at your bedside, looking entirely unimpressed. The pinched expression on his face looks somewhat painful to maintain, yet his scowl is so deeply-set that it doesn’t even flicker in intensity. You try to avert your eyes, but it’s too late—he’s noticed you’re awake.

“...Hello,” you try. Severus arches a brow. For a long moment, there is nothing but a horribly tense silence that descends across the space. You glance around the Hospital Wing, relieved to find that there aren’t any students present. It’s embarrassing enough for Severus to be here—the last thing you need is for one of your students to be seeing you like this. 

His form is strung together with a silent fury. “What could have possibly possessed you to consume a gift from a student?” Severus eventually seethes. It takes you a few moments to process that accusation. 

“A gift from a student?” You then ask, your voice a little hoarse. You clear your throat before continuing. “Do you really think so little of me? I’m not that foolish.”

Severus stills. “Where do you suspect the potion was, then?” He asks carefully, clearly sensing the implications of your confession. 

“It must’ve been in my goblet during lunch.” You answer. 

Severus’s expression morphs from vicious fury to calculating precision. “That is… even more concerning,” he admits with a stormy expression. “I will speak to the elves about this.” He resolves. 

“Severus, that’s not-” That’s not necessary, you want to say. Except it sort of is. You don’t want anything like this to happen again—you don’t want to feel doubtful or suspicious of the meals in the castle. Severus must sense your thought process, because he continues as if you hadn’t said anything at all. 

“The offender will be expelled,” he asserts easily. “Since they are likely a student.” 

“Expelled?” You choke out, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Sure, you’re unsettled by the whole situation, but you don’t want to completely ruin a child’s future. Preventing them from returning to Hogwarts seems a little extreme. “Severus, expulsion is a little extreme. I don’t want that to happen; we can negotiate something less severe-”

“I don’t remember inquiring about your desires,” Severus states coldly, bringing you back to reality. You once again feel like you’re a student, as you’re coming face to face with the professor’s unflinching authority. You resist the growing urge to shrink back against the pillows at your back. “And need I remind you that administering Amortentia without explicit consent is a felony?” 

“No,” you sigh resignedly. You bring a shaking hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re still struggling to get a handle on everything that happened. It all feels like a blur. “I just… I don’t want to make this a big deal.” 

“This became a big deal when a Hogwarts professor’s life was endangered by a student’s foolish actions,” Severus asserts, raising a brow and challenging you to argue. You remain silent and, once he senses that you won’t voice any dissent, he continues. “Now, tell me who it was.” 

Somehow, that statement is what makes the reality of it all set in. You were so distracted by your symptoms that you didn’t stop to think and internalize the fact that a student was likely the one to do this. Someone in the castle wanted this to happen to you. At the mention of the culprit, dull grey eyes unwittingly come to mind. You’re suddenly hit with a horrible wave of dread and infatuation all at once, as the student’s visage appears in your mind’s eye. Even the thought of uttering their name is enough to summon the taste of bile. Every time you close your eyes, you see their cool gaze and shimmering hair and- 

You’re vomiting into the bowl at your side. When you’re finished, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and place your hands on the mattress, feeling the need to brace yourself. Severus vanishes the evidence of your sickness, which you are thankful for—the smell would not have helped your persistent nausea. He’s patiently waiting for your explanation, and it’s abundantly clear that you’re not going to be able to escape this. 

“Just-” You choke, shaking your head. It all feels like far too much. You take a shuddering breath, pretending not to feel as helpless as you do. Their name feels caught in your throat. A verbal admission is too much for you to handle right now. “Look at me.” You implore the professor. Severus understands quickly, as his eye contact with you quickly turns probing. You try to drop your Occlumency shields and summon the student’s visage to mind, showing Severus rather than telling him. The effort isn’t exactly difficult, given the potion that’s coursing through your veins. If anything, it’s harder not to think about the culprit. 

“Legilimens,” Severus says quietly. For a moment, it feels as if you’ve been plunged into ice water. There’s the faintest sensation of a frigid breeze rifling through your mind. Then, within moments, the professor’s looking away with thinly-veiled fury in his eyes. He seems moments away from walking out the door and interrogating the student, until a cough rips its way out of your throat and his attention is evidently thwarted. 

Severus squints at you before getting to his feet and approaching your bed. He places a hand to your forehead before holding your jaw and looking into your eyes, tilting your head slightly as he evidently looks for lingering effects from the potion. His hands are cool; you have to resist the urge to keep them pressed to your skin, if only because of the boiling feeling running along your skin. “I’ve provided a strict Potions regimen to ensure the Amortentia leaves your system,” Severus explains, his gaze flitting to the parchment on the bedside table. Then he looks at you sternly. “It is imperative that you maintain this regimen.” 

“Okay,” you say, too tired to argue or question him any further. You blink at him dazedly, struggling to clear your vision. The air seems to fall still. “Thank you, Severus.” Severus just nods, his right hand still cradling your jaw. The infirmary descends into a tense—but not uncomfortable—silence. 

There’s some bustling in the corner of the room. “You have another visitor,” Madam Pomfrey says, promptly breaking the strange moment that had been created between Severus and you. Severus leans back and nods at you, before making his departure. You watch him leave with conflicting feelings. 

“Albus,” you greet the headmaster, who walks into the room with a concerned expression.

“How are you faring?” Albus asks, settling at your bedside. 

“I’m fine, thanks to Severus,” you respond honestly. You’ve been better, but without his help, you’d be feeling much worse. 

“He seems worried, the dear boy,” Albus says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “He has been on edge since you fell unconscious.” 

“Oh.” You’re not really sure what else to say. Judging by the way Albus is smiling, he’s trying to tell you something. You just don’t know what it is. 

Over the next few days, Severus accompanies you to every meal. He always performs spells to ensure nothing has been tampered with. You want to be thankful for the thought, but at this point, you’re just frustrated that you have to go to such lengths. 

You’re slowly starting to recover. The Potions regimen Severus left you is dwindling down, as you take lower doses with each passing day. But there are still lingering side effects. Your hands still have tremors; your vision still has brief bursts of painful clarity. You still feel a little nauseated when thinking about the student who constructed this charade.  

The paranoia has to be the most debilitating aftereffect of all, though. You’re sure it’s a logical response to a near-death experience, but it’s making things rather inconvenient. Despite all the reassurance you’ve been given—by practically every member of the Hogwarts staff and several Ministry officials—it still doesn’t feel like enough. You still have moments when you can’t even stomach the thought of eating—meal times spent huddled in a corner of your office, shaking as you’re assaulted with the prickling sensation you’ve grown to associate with Amortentia. 

You start to think you’re getting better. But then you get up from your desk late one night, only to crumple to the ground like a broken marionette. You can’t even push yourself up to your feet—instead left to slowly fade away on the floor of your office. You’re commanding your muscles to move but they’re ignoring your demands. Your skin is licked with flames and sweat. Suddenly, your throat feels extremely dry. Your office is spinning around you and, within seconds, you’re slipping into darkness once more. 

There is a cool cloth draped over your forehead when you wake. You stare up at the ceiling, your vision slowly returning to you. You attempt to push yourself up to a sitting position, but the effort is annoyingly difficult. There’s an almost imperceptibly quiet noise of frustration, before you’re being helped up with a hand on your forearm and another at your side. Your breaths are labored once you finally sit up. 

When your vision finally starts to calm down, you find yourself staring into familiar black eyes. “Severus,” you say. Your vision is spinning a little, but not enough for you to miss the irritated furrow to his brows. 

“I distinctly recall ordering you to notify me if any of your symptoms returned,” Severus states flatly. He looks entirely unimpressed. And damn it, now you’re feeling guilty again.

“…I didn’t want to bother you.” It sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. Severus briefly looks to the ceiling, as if wishing for it to swallow him whole and end his life. He seems to be exercising a nearly infinite amount of patience; you can tell by how much time he takes to respond.  

“This is the second time you’ve taken the liberty of making that decision for me,” he says coolly. It’s clear there’s a lot more he wants to say, but he holds his tongue. Instead, Severus scowls and casts a diagnostic spell. “No fever.”

“That’s good.” You say weakly. 

“The dosage must’ve been high,” Severus then says, his brows furrowed. You can’t tell if he’s speaking to you or himself, at this point. “It should be out of your system.” But it’s not, you think. It’s not out of my system, and I’m scared. 

“Severus-”  You try to say. 

“It will fade soon enough,” he states. That’s as close to reassurance as you’re going to get. “Rest. I’ll ensure you’re awake to take your next potion.” He says sincerely. 

And so you rest.

Seeing you in this state unsettles Severus far more than he’d like to admit. He tells himself his concern is of a professional nature and nothing more. He’s concerned for his colleague; and the implications of this Amortentia incident. After all, the bare facts still paint a startling picture: a Hogwarts professor drugged by a student, in the Great Hall during mealtime. The castle has always been regarded as one of the safest places in the wizarding world; yet a staff member has been harmed within its walls. 

Severus expected you to show resistance at the thought of seeking out the culprit; he was surprised, therefore, that you allowed him to sort through your mind in his search. No one has shown him that kind of trust before. Yet you unflinchingly met his eyes, and implored him to look into the depths of your mind. 

Severus did nothing of the sort, of course. He did not want to betray your trust, and so his perusal through your mind was quick and purposeful. The unusually tangled web that structured your thoughts did not escape his notice, of course. He knows you to be a rational person; such disorganization is an indicator of a deeper issue. In your case, it is a sign that the Amortentia hasn’t been completely removed from your system. 

Severus spends an immeasurable amount of time brewing the potions needed for your treatment. Brewing is usually a tranquil experience for him. Yet, today, he’s lost in his thoughts as he prepares ingredients. Fortunately, for a wizard of his expertise, distraction will not truly affect the result. He does seem to be in the lab for longer than usual, but then again, he doesn’t typically have occasion for brewing these particular potions. If everything goes according to plan, Severus will not need to brew any more potions like this for you. 

When he’s finished with the first few doses, Severus breaks away from the lab and returns to his personal quarters. You’re reclined on the sofa, looking exhausted and…vulnerable. Severus tears his eyes away. Truthfully, he has never allowed someone into his quarters before. It’s strange. Severus was convinced he would dislike it—that your presence would feel like an intrusion. But he knew he would be able to care for your symptoms much more effectively if you were near. And somehow, the sight of you manages to alleviate some of his prior concerns. He’d daresay your presence comforts him. 

…Maybe the Amortentia was transferred to him, too. He scoffs at the unlikely thought, but decides to subject himself to a quick diagnostic spell just in case. As Severus suspected, there is nothing wrong. These strange feelings are entirely of his own creation.

You’ve been looking at him with such a trusting gaze throughout this healing process that it makes Sevwerus want to vomit. He immediately wants to roll up his sleeve and force you to take in the warped mark across his forearm, if only to dispel you of the notion that he is in any way deserving of your trust. 

He only averts his eyes from your sleeping form instead, his throat feeling tight. What is it about you that provokes such sentiment within him? Severus shakes his head quickly. He doesn’t have the luxury to contemplate such things at the moment; right now, your health is the priority. 

When he has a moment to breathe, Severus informs Albus of the culprit. It slips his mind, for the briefest of moments, that the headmaster is stubbornly idealistic—and sees the best in everyone. Indeed, he should have expected Albus to provide an alternative method of disciplining the child. 

“Suspension.” Severus states blandly, glaring at the headmaster. “You believe suspension to be a suitable punishment for the unlawful administration of Amortentia.”

“And what would you suggest, Severus?” Albus asks, his eyes twinkling. He’s setting a trap for him. For some reason, unknown to Severus himself, the headmaster wants him to argue. 

“Expulsion, of course.” Severus scoffs. He isn’t sure what the old fool is trying to do here. 

“I can’t imagine your colleague was quite pleased with that suggestion.” Albus remarks, that damned twinkle in his eyes still taunting him. 

“Not at first,” Severus admits with a scoff. “Of course, upon discussing the likelihood of a similar incident occurring, the suggestion was better received.” He crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I see.” Albus responds. There’s a thin smile on his face. 

“What?” Severus nearly spits. “A professor has been drugged. This is no laughing matter, Albus.”

“Of course not.” Albus says sincerely. “Alas, I fear you are correct. Expulsion would be the wise choice. I shall inform the boy’s parents at once.”

Severus’s jaw clenches in irritation. That was far too easy. Albus is never so easily persuaded; and yet, he conceded without much argument. Just what does the old man have planned? The Potions professor regards him warily. 

“No need to be suspicious, dear boy.” Albus reassures him. The reassurance only makes Severus more suspicious. “I’m only thankful that you have found tolerable company here in the castle.”

Severus glares at him for several moments. His jaw is clenched and his teeth are gritted. “And how is this relevant, exactly?” He manages to spit out.

“It’s merely an observation.” Albus surrenders. He senses Severus is growing tired of this conversation. “And how is our young professor faring?”

“I’m developing an enhanced regimen to eradicate the Amortentia.” Severus responds, thankful for an excuse to talk about something else. “I brought my colleague,” he borrows the words of the headmaster, “to my quarters, to ensure proper adherence to the regimen.”

“Your quarters?” Albus asks lightly. He looks rather pleased with himself. The Potions professor’s wand hand twitches. “That’s rather forward of you, Severus.” Severus’s jaw nearly cracks with how hard he grits his teeth at the remark. Albus is wearing a victorious smile; the Potions professor immediately steels his composure and stares right back at the man. 

After what feels like far too long, the headmaster relents. “Keep me updated, Severus.” Albus remarks, his expression returning to an appropriate concern. 

Severus nods jerkily, before making his escape. He is never quite certain when a conversation with Albus will morph into an interrogation; this time was particularly catastrophic. He takes a few slow breaths as he returns to his quarters. 

Unsurprisingly, you are awake to greet him. Before either of you can descend into empty small talk, you’re breaking through the silence. “You… don’t mind me being here, do you?” You ask, glancing around the room as if realizing your surroundings for the first time. “I can return to my quarters, I’m sure.”

“Given the return of your symptoms, that would be unwise.” Severus says after a moment. It takes him longer than he’d like to formulate a response. “I’m afraid I will have to be… inconvenienced by your presence a bit longer.” Yes, it is truly inconvenient—because you provoke such unusual feelings in him. Every time he sees you in his quarters, he has these horrible urges to embrace… domesticity. It disgusts him. 

“If you insist.” You say hesitantly. Neither of you decide to acknowledge the tension that has settled in the air. Severus promptly returns to asking you about your symptoms, in an attempt to ward off these strange sentiments that spring to mind in your presence.

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endnotes: I feel like Severus is in a perpetual state of disgust: with himself, with the world around him... sigh. he's very fun to write for, though.

I genuinely forgot I wrote this and was so happy to find it in my drafts again. And then a few weeks passed and I forgot about it *again.* When I stumbled upon it again, I was very surprised to find it 99% complete, bahaha.

anyways, thanks for reading! <3

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