Professor Snape and the Cinnamon Bun
Professor Snape glared over his long, hooked nose at the monstrosity which lay at the edge of his work desk.
"A cinnamon bun," Snape scoffed, poking the edge of the fat thing with his quill. His nostrils flared in disgust at the pungent aroma of cinnamon and sickeningly sweet, sugary frosting that coated the desperately misplaced glob of holiday cheer. Who in the name of Merlin thought he would fall for this prank?
Seeing the dull white of a note tucked neatly under its partnered crimson plate, Snape hesitated his instinctual response to grab it. After all, it could be explosive. Whoever was responsible for this had decided to send along the 'Christmas cheer' and all that rabble. The gift just screamed delinquent student. Again Snape poked the pleasantly warm pastry in its side. No reaction. The contented looking pastry gleamed under the candlelight, almost seeming to wink at him, mocking him.
Pacing the floor with his sugary-tipped quill in hand, Snape growled as he glared towards the giggly ball of sugar, bringing his face so close to inspect it that he could feel the slight warmth of its body and the thick sweetness in its scent. Without realizing it, his mouth had begun to salivate. He licked his lips quickly, his eyes glazing over as he bent over the sugary bun distractedly, counting all the rings of dough which led to the top of its plump center. From its majestic peak, bubbling frosting trickled down its golden brown dough, just begging to be bit into ever so softly.
It wasn't until he heard the door to the classroom meekly creek open that Snape realized his mouth was buried in the glazed, cinnamon goodness. He snorted in shock. All his senses numbed from the utter panic of being discovered in this shameful moment of weakness. What had he been thinking!
Quickly shoving aside the plate behind a stack of papers, gulping down the remnants of his tasty treat, and hurriedly throwing himself down upon his desk chair, it almost appeared to the frightened third year--who had presently entered the room--that he had been expecting her. Snape stifled his panting breath, furiously attempting to ignore the remains of frosting left forgotten on the edges of his lips.
"P-professor Snape, sir?" the third year Gryffindor named Bellinda Terris trembled, "I came to retrieve my...my, um, log, sir."
"Indeed," Snape sneered, his voice carefully schooled to be calm as he swiveled around in his chair towards his student files, his long fingers, still sticky from the cinnamon bun, trailing over the bindings of each folder before deftly plucking the desired book from the stack.
Handing it to the relieved third year, Bellinda's face suddenly seemed to contort in a semblance of confusion as she sniffed the air, her large eyes widening in surprise as she stared at her potion teacher's mouth. There, on the very right corner, was a dried bit of frosting from the cinnamon bun, still shimmering under the oppressive gloom of his dungeon candlelight. Bellinda stifled a smile as she brushed off her book in a stalling gesture and stood now more confidently in front of her potions Professor.
"Is there something you find 'amusing', Ms. Terris?" Snape shot an hard look in her direction, and Bellinda's thoughts screeched to a halt. She coughed lightly.
"Um, no sir, I just...well, couldn't help but notice..."
Snape's tone was, if possible, even sharper than before, "Notice what exactly, Ms. Terris?"
She smiled hesitantly, and rocked back and fourth on her toes, "That you liked my present."
Snape scowled, "That I liked your 'pre-"
The world suddenly went very cold.
Fingering the edge of the plate from behind the stack of papers, Snape's hand clutched convulsively into a fist, and his lips went white with fury. "You--you did this?"
The little girl was suddenly stricken with fright, "Y-yes, sir."
"Why?" The word was spat so viciously that it seemed to the girl as though he had physically struck her, and she took a subconscious step backwards.
"I-I just wanted...w-wanted you to h-have--"
Snape's face clouded over in anger as he very near slammed his hand down upon his mahogany desk, "Spit-it-out, Ms. Terris!"
"I just wanted you to have a good Christmas!" the girl nearly cried, dropping her book and running from the room, her running echoing down the dungeon hallway.
Severus Snape stood still. Frozen. The candles surrounding his paperwork gleamed coldly as he made a move to once again touch the crimson plate, but retracted his hand quickly as an afterthought. The room was silent. Slowly, with a growing tightness in his chest, Snape's eyebrows creased together as he walked in front of his desk and picked up the fallen book. Rubbing his temples, and slumping into his chair, Severus deemed the time worthy for reflection.
Ms. Terris, while known for her liveliness and disruptiveness in class, was not a known trouble-maker. She was capable, like most Gryffindors, to excel in most subjects, but chose to divert her time to less important matters. She was loyal, from what he had observed, curious, and thoughtful; and this child, this one student, whom had only wanted to spread joy at this joyous time of year, chose to give a piece of her heart to a surly potions master, a potions master who delighted in taking points off her house at every given opportunity, assigning detentions freely, and terrorizing her classmates relentlessly.
Needless to say her faith in him was horribly misplaced. She was a foolish, stupid brat.
Then again, Ms. Terris was just like the rest of the Gryffindors, fool- hardy, honorable, and sentimental, but one thing she was not, he would admit, was devious in any respect.
Snape lightly touched the edge of the glossy plate.
He deserved no one's gift, let alone hers.
Popping a bit of fluffy, sweet bread into his mouth, he chewed silently. The note, still unread, lay resignedly underneath the said plate as he nervously picked it up. The card was no bigger than his thumb, no decorated drawings or silly frills along the edges--as he had more than half expected it to contain--but only two words scrawled across the expanse in a young girl's messy handwriting.
"Happy Christmas." he whispered. The tiny, unidentifiable clutching returned again to his chest as he looked resolutely through the shadows and towards the door. It appeared as though he owed Ms. Terris an apology.
Chewing a little more of the half-eaten cinnamon bun in his mouth as he walked, Snape found, much to his own astonishment, that in that far right corner where the frosting had earlier left its mark across his lips, the beginnings of a smile had begun to form.
Professor Snape glared over his long, hooked nose at the monstrosity which lay at the edge of his work desk.
"A cinnamon bun," Snape scoffed, poking the edge of the fat thing with his quill. His nostrils flared in disgust at the pungent aroma of cinnamon and sickeningly sweet, sugary frosting that coated the desperately misplaced glob of holiday cheer. Who in the name of Merlin thought he would fall for this prank?
Seeing the dull white of a note tucked neatly under its partnered crimson plate, Snape hesitated his instinctual response to grab it. After all, it could be explosive. Whoever was responsible for this had decided to send along the 'Christmas cheer' and all that rabble. The gift just screamed delinquent student. Again Snape poked the pleasantly warm pastry in its side. No reaction. The contented looking pastry gleamed under the candlelight, almost seeming to wink at him, mocking him.
Pacing the floor with his sugary-tipped quill in hand, Snape growled as he glared towards the giggly ball of sugar, bringing his face so close to inspect it that he could feel the slight warmth of its body and the thick sweetness in its scent. Without realizing it, his mouth had begun to salivate. He licked his lips quickly, his eyes glazing over as he bent over the sugary bun distractedly, counting all the rings of dough which led to the top of its plump center. From its majestic peak, bubbling frosting trickled down its golden brown dough, just begging to be bit into ever so softly.
It wasn't until he heard the door to the classroom meekly creek open that Snape realized his mouth was buried in the glazed, cinnamon goodness. He snorted in shock. All his senses numbed from the utter panic of being discovered in this shameful moment of weakness. What had he been thinking!
Quickly shoving aside the plate behind a stack of papers, gulping down the remnants of his tasty treat, and hurriedly throwing himself down upon his desk chair, it almost appeared to the frightened third year--who had presently entered the room--that he had been expecting her. Snape stifled his panting breath, furiously attempting to ignore the remains of frosting left forgotten on the edges of his lips.
"P-professor Snape, sir?" the third year Gryffindor named Bellinda Terris trembled, "I came to retrieve my...my, um, log, sir."
"Indeed," Snape sneered, his voice carefully schooled to be calm as he swiveled around in his chair towards his student files, his long fingers, still sticky from the cinnamon bun, trailing over the bindings of each folder before deftly plucking the desired book from the stack.
Handing it to the relieved third year, Bellinda's face suddenly seemed to contort in a semblance of confusion as she sniffed the air, her large eyes widening in surprise as she stared at her potion teacher's mouth. There, on the very right corner, was a dried bit of frosting from the cinnamon bun, still shimmering under the oppressive gloom of his dungeon candlelight. Bellinda stifled a smile as she brushed off her book in a stalling gesture and stood now more confidently in front of her potions Professor.
"Is there something you find 'amusing', Ms. Terris?" Snape shot an hard look in her direction, and Bellinda's thoughts screeched to a halt. She coughed lightly.
"Um, no sir, I just...well, couldn't help but notice..."
Snape's tone was, if possible, even sharper than before, "Notice what exactly, Ms. Terris?"
She smiled hesitantly, and rocked back and fourth on her toes, "That you liked my present."
Snape scowled, "That I liked your 'pre-"
The world suddenly went very cold.
Fingering the edge of the plate from behind the stack of papers, Snape's hand clutched convulsively into a fist, and his lips went white with fury. "You--you did this?"
The little girl was suddenly stricken with fright, "Y-yes, sir."
"Why?" The word was spat so viciously that it seemed to the girl as though he had physically struck her, and she took a subconscious step backwards.
"I-I just wanted...w-wanted you to h-have--"
Snape's face clouded over in anger as he very near slammed his hand down upon his mahogany desk, "Spit-it-out, Ms. Terris!"
"I just wanted you to have a good Christmas!" the girl nearly cried, dropping her book and running from the room, her running echoing down the dungeon hallway.
Severus Snape stood still. Frozen. The candles surrounding his paperwork gleamed coldly as he made a move to once again touch the crimson plate, but retracted his hand quickly as an afterthought. The room was silent. Slowly, with a growing tightness in his chest, Snape's eyebrows creased together as he walked in front of his desk and picked up the fallen book. Rubbing his temples, and slumping into his chair, Severus deemed the time worthy for reflection.
Ms. Terris, while known for her liveliness and disruptiveness in class, was not a known trouble-maker. She was capable, like most Gryffindors, to excel in most subjects, but chose to divert her time to less important matters. She was loyal, from what he had observed, curious, and thoughtful; and this child, this one student, whom had only wanted to spread joy at this joyous time of year, chose to give a piece of her heart to a surly potions master, a potions master who delighted in taking points off her house at every given opportunity, assigning detentions freely, and terrorizing her classmates relentlessly.
Needless to say her faith in him was horribly misplaced. She was a foolish, stupid brat.
Then again, Ms. Terris was just like the rest of the Gryffindors, fool- hardy, honorable, and sentimental, but one thing she was not, he would admit, was devious in any respect.
Snape lightly touched the edge of the glossy plate.
He deserved no one's gift, let alone hers.
Popping a bit of fluffy, sweet bread into his mouth, he chewed silently. The note, still unread, lay resignedly underneath the said plate as he nervously picked it up. The card was no bigger than his thumb, no decorated drawings or silly frills along the edges--as he had more than half expected it to contain--but only two words scrawled across the expanse in a young girl's messy handwriting.
"Happy Christmas." he whispered. The tiny, unidentifiable clutching returned again to his chest as he looked resolutely through the shadows and towards the door. It appeared as though he owed Ms. Terris an apology.
Chewing a little more of the half-eaten cinnamon bun in his mouth as he walked, Snape found, much to his own astonishment, that in that far right corner where the frosting had earlier left its mark across his lips, the beginnings of a smile had begun to form.