One month.
For an entire month, Severus Snape felt like a rabbit being hunted by a hawk.
That gaze was everywhere.
He first noticed it three days after the incident in the library. He was sitting at the end of the long table in the Great Hall, cutting a sausage on his plate.
Suddenly, a sharp, prickling sensation hit the back of his neck. It felt almost physical.
He froze. The hair on his neck stood up. He turned around instinctively.
At the Ravenclaw table, Ileana Thorne was elegantly stirring her porridge with a spoon. She did not seem to be looking his way at all.
Was it an illusion?
He frowned. He told himself not to be conceited. What happened that day was probably just a tiny accident to her.
The second time happened during Potions Class.
He was focused on brewing a complex Draught of Peace. It required perfect heat control.
The gaze returned. It was like an invisible beam of light. It pierced through the dim light and the thick steam of the Dungeons. It focused right on his face.
This time, he did not look back.
But he could feel it. There was no malice in that gaze. There was no mockery. There was none of the usual disgust people had for his greasy hair or his old robes.
It was a pure, steady stare.
His hand shook. A single drop of Leech juice fell half a second too early.
The potion in the cauldron let out a soft "pop." The color shifted from a perfect emerald green to a murky, dark shade.
He pressed his lips together in frustration. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his silver knife.
This was the stupidest mistake he had ever made in Potions.
And yet, that gaze remained on him. It was as if she were recording his embarrassment.
After that, Severus Snape could no longer ignore it.
In the library, when he buried his head in an ancient book about hexes, he felt the gaze through the gaps in the bookshelves.
In the corridors, when he passed James Potter and his gang, he felt the gaze coming from a nearby window.
Even on a gloomy afternoon, when he escaped the Dungeons to stand by the Black Lake, he felt it. As the cold wind blew against his face, he caught a glimpse of those amber eyes in the misty willow trees on the opposite shore.
'What does she want?' Severus asked himself a thousand times.
He thought about rushing over to confront her. He even practiced the conversation in his head.
'Thorne, why do you keep looking at me?'
He could imagine her response. She would lift those beautiful, distant eyes and speak in that cold voice.
'Looking at you? Sorry, Snape, I was just looking at the slugs behind you. I was studying their habits. Don't misunderstand. You aren't nearly as interesting as a pile of slime.'
Just imagining that scene made him feel a sense of suffocating humiliation.
He had no evidence. She was too subtle. Every time he turned around, she looked away as if nothing had happened.
If he confronted her, he would just look like a delusional, attention-seeking fool.
But... how could that feeling be fake?
Whenever that gaze landed on him, he remembered the touch in the library. It had been so brief it felt like a hallucination.
He remembered the cool, soft feeling of her hand on his. He remembered the strange heat that made his body stiffen but felt oddly comfortable.
Thinking of that moment made a wave of heat rise from his spine. It spread through his entire body.
The tips of his ears would turn red. His heart would skip a beat and then race.
He could still feel the spot on his hand where she had touched him. Even after many days, the sensation remained.
It made him feel panicked.
And... secretly, it made him feel a tiny bit of joy.
He realized he was getting used to it. He even began to look forward to the moment that gaze would arrive.
That gaze was different from everyone else's.
The gaze of James Potter and Sirius Black was full of provocation and disdain.
The gaze of other Slytherins was full of judgment and contempt.
Professor Slughorn looked at him with appreciation, but he only appreciated his talent, not the person.
Lily Evans looked at him with kindness, but it was mixed with warnings and a sense of pity. That made him feel uncomfortable too.
Only Ileana Thorne's gaze was pure.
There was no pity. There was no disdain. There was no curious staring or looking down on him.
That gaze pierced through all his defenses. It ignored his ill-fitting robes, his greasy black hair, and his gloomy face.
It looked straight into his soul. It saw his obsession with magic, his hunger for knowledge, and the pride he hid deep inside.
In her eyes, he wasn't "Snivellus." He wasn't a poor half-blood wizard. He wasn't a lonely Slytherin.
He was just him.
Severus Snape.
Today, he found a quiet corner in the deepest part of the library again.
He opened a notebook about the advanced Patronus Charm, but he couldn't read a single word.
He knew she was nearby.
He could feel that familiar gaze. It was coming through the gap between two rows of bookshelves, resting quietly on him.
He didn't look up. He didn't feel nervous or annoyed.
Instead, he felt a strange sense of peace.
It felt as if all the noise and malice of the world disappeared under her gaze.
The whole world was just him and her. There was a silent connection between them that only he could feel.
He looked down at his hand. The hand she had touched.
Slowly, almost without thinking, he used his other fingers to gently brush over that patch of skin.
His lips, usually pressed into a thin, hard line, softened.
A strange, unfamiliar warmth spread from the corners of his mouth. It startled him.
He immediately pressed his lips tight again to hide the feeling. He acted as if he were covering up a massive secret.
That gaze was becoming an addiction.