"It will -- my heart will heal," Severus insisted, wrapping his other arm around Sappho now and giving her a squeeze. "I can assure you of that. It's already on the mend. That's part of what I was trying to say with that poem -- though in an awkward and heavy-handed way, apparently." He sighed, bending his head to peck her forehead again. Though at first, he wasn't quite certain he understood what she meant by saying he'd feel rushed if she attempted to express just how much his poem had touched her, soon enough it dawned on him: Sappho was in love with him.
Obviously, if she'd fancied him since first year, her feelings for him had to be strong -- likely every bit as strong as his feelings for Lily had been. And the idea was a bit daunting, granted, but not nearly as troubling as she seemed to think it would be. On the other hand, he didn't want her to say those words to him until he could well and truly say it back. Not until he could say it and mean it. Giving her another squeeze, Severus cleared his throat. "It's all right, Sappho. You don't have to tell me. I already know. I could see it in your eyes ... and rushed is the last thing I feel."