You didn’t say anything. You didn’t move away either. You both stayed quiet, pretending nothing was happening—though deep down, you both knew it was.

Then, without looking at you, Severus shifted his hand just a bit. Just enough for his fingers to brush against yours. It wasn’t an accident. He meant it.

You felt it. That small touch made your stomach twist. You didn’t pull back. You glanced down at your hands, his fingers still right there, almost like he was waiting to see if you’d allow it.

"Does this intrigue you too?" you asked quietly, not teasing—just asking.

He didn’t answer right away. Then he muttered:

"Yeah. Too much."

That was all it took. You slightly curled your fingers, and he noticed. Slowly, deliberately, Severus interlaced his fingers with yours. No rush, no drama—just a solid, real move.

He didn’t let go.

"I didn’t think this would happen," he said after a moment, barely above a whisper.

"Me neither," you replied.

You sat like that, hands locked on top of forgotten books, hearts beating in a rhythm neither of you understood yet.

He wasn’t the type to talk too much, or to reach out. But that night, he didn’t pull away. Even when you both left the library, he walked close beside you, hands in his pockets—but he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

And the way he looked at you said it all: This wasn’t just friendship anymore.