The lake shimmered in the pale afternoon light, calm and endless, much like the silence between you and Severus.

You’d been sitting together for nearly an hour, backs against a tree, school bags forgotten at your feet. This place had always been yours—a quiet edge of the grounds where no one really bothered to look. He read. You sometimes talked. Or watched the sky. Or just existed near him, which was enough.

At first, your friendship with Severus had been strange. He didn’t smile often, and he never quite looked you in the eye. But there was something else—something underneath all the shadows and quiet. He listened. He remembered the little things. He didn’t expect you to be anyone but yourself.

And somewhere along the way, you realized that wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted more.

You didn’t plan on saying it. Not really. But the longer you sat next to him, the harder it became to stay quiet.

“Sev,” you said softly.

He looked up from his book, eyes flicking toward you. “Hmm?”

You hesitated. “I like you.”

His brow furrowed, confused. “I know.”

“No… I mean—I like you. Not just as a friend.”

Silence.

It wasn’t the good kind. Not the soft, comfortable kind you usually shared.

Severus’s expression didn’t shift at first. Then his eyes narrowed slightly, his mouth pressing into a thin, unreadable line.

“…Why?” he asked.

That was not the response you expected.

You blinked. “What do you mean, why?”

He shifted uncomfortably, closing the book in his lap. “You don’t know me like you think you do.”

“I think I do,” you whispered. “You’re kind. In your own way. And you’re loyal. And smart. And—Merlin, Severus, I see you.”

You searched his face for something—anything—but he wouldn’t meet your eyes now. Something in his posture had changed, as if he’d suddenly grown ten years older.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Your stomach twisted. “Why are you sorry?”

He stood slowly, dusting off his robes, and then, as if dragging the words out of his throat, he said quietly:

“I like Lily. Not you.”