Severus sat at the edge of the Slytherin table, the green-and-silver silk of his robes still immaculate despite the warm clatter of the Great Hall around him. He was careful, always careful, a shadow among the chaos of students shouting and laughing, the clinking of cutlery echoing off the high ceilings. Normally he would have kept his distance from everyone but tonight, the curiosity that had wormed its way into him would not be denied.

Across from him sat the new transfer professor from America, her laughter ringing like a bell over the din of the hall. She leaned down toward a cluster of first-years who were clearly caught between embarrassment and delight at whatever mischievous remark she’d made. Her auburn hair caught the firelight, glinting like it had been touched by magic itself, and her eyes—so full of humor and sharp understanding—swept across the table as she gestured wildly with a fork in hand.

Even from a distance, Severus could feel it: the way the students adored her, the way they followed her wherever she went. She commanded attention without effort, without threat, without the cold intimidation Severus was so accustomed to. And that—oh, that unnerved him far more than he cared to admit.

He watched as she leaned back, chuckling at a joke one of the Gryffindor students had dared to make at the wrong time. She tilted her head, mock-glaring, and said something that made even the Prefects snicker, and the room seemed lighter somehow. He had tried to focus on his plate, on the neatly arranged portions in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to her. The curve of her smile, the tilt of her shoulders, the way her laugh carried and lingered, infectious and warm. He found himself leaning just a little closer, careful to make it seem accidental, as if proximity were natural and unforced.

He had watched her for weeks now, silently noting her habits, the way she encouraged students to think, to question, to engage. She wasn’t the rigid, authoritarian type Hogwarts often seemed to favor; she was sharp, knowledgeable, and utterly magnetic. And somehow, against every rule of decorum he usually clung to, he found himself wanting her attention, wanting even the smallest acknowledgment that he existed to her in a way more personal than student or colleague.

“Professor,” he said quietly, leaning just enough so his voice could carry without interruption, “you really have them wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”