Things Change (or, Staring Causes Big Trouble)
by Silver Apples of the Sun
"A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid; love's night is noon."
Part One
I wish that I could hate him.
I hope, with all my heart, that my feelings go a hundred eighty-degree turn and stay in that direction, forever. I pray, with my knees on the ground and my hands imploring the heavens, that I won't want see his face ever again.
This should be fairly easy, I think. He is not a very likable person, after all, physically or in other terms. A horrible, acid-tongued git who last washed his hair twenty years ago. He smells different too, with the essence of those countless potions clinging to his black robes added with the damp odor of the dungeons.
Always black, his robes are.
"Ten points from Gryffindor courtesy of Harry Potter-", the loud, yet silky voice said, interrupting my train of thought. "-our local celebrity, who should learn to listen when a teacher is speaking in front of a class."
See?
As if on cue, the Slytherins sniggered and the Gyffindors groaned. Some of my housemates muttered explicit words in retaliation, which did not go unheard by the opposite camp – including their Head of the House. This caused Gryffindor more points, in Snape's utter delight. The oily bastard is practically dancing in glee.
Right, as if I care. Those points are not going to change nothing, nothing at all.
I glare at him, willing my eyes to look evil and angry. Only after his point-deducting spree did he notice my hard stare.
I can't help to feel disappointed, for unknown reasons.
"Complaining, Potter?"
"Not at all, Professor, not at all."
I would not have been so cocky before, openly disrespectful to teachers, even if the said instructor is Snape. Especially if the said instructor is Snape.
But things have changed. I'm not exactly sure when, or why, as more how, but they did. They have undergone a series of blinding transformations, slow and furious, each one too complex to determine if it for better or for worse.
"Very well. Then you wouldn't mind detention tonight on, let's say, eight o'clock?" Snape asked, a malicious smile playing on his lips.
"Eight o'clock is perfect, sir", I replied evenly.
His nostrils flare in outrage, and his eyes...his midnight eyes, black as ever, are unreadable...what is it?
Anger?
Anticipation?
"Another ten points from Gryffindor, Potter."
And so goes another Potions class. One by one the students filtered out of the dungeons, heading to their next classes. Ron and I had to hurry, since Trelawney's tower is quite far from here. Malfoy and the other Slytherins did not bother to step out of the room to badger me. "Oooh, Potter got a date!" was their juvenile taunt, along with smoochy noises.
A date. Quite so, Malfoy. Couldn't have put it better myself.
I let the insult pass, and try to make it through the day.
***
At exactly 7:56 PM, I find myself knocking against the heavy door of the Potions room. The sound of a muffled 'come in' was heard, and I go inside.
Snape is in there, looking as greasy and menacing as ever. "Follow me."
And he led me through the door in the back of the classroom, towards the storage room that houses every ingredient imaginable, and another door, which leads to his personal chambers. He once said to me that he does research and makes potions for non-academic purposes, sometimes lasting through the night, so it is practical if his bed and bathroom are near.
Snape casts sealing and silencing charms on the door, as I have seen him do many times before, and approaches me.
My nose gets a whiff of his distinct smell as he comes nearer. I do not move as he goes nearer still, a hand reaching out to touch my cheek.
And he kisses me. Again. And again, and again.
I wish I could hate him, but I could not. I tried, I really did. But I keep finding myself here, in his room, in his bed. Kissing back.
Ah, love. Maybe I should start halting all futile attempts and just embrace...this...
"I love you", I murmur to his ear, after all that has been said and done today. It was sighed so softly that it could have been carried away by the winds, if there were any in these dungeons.
Part Two
You thought that I did not hear you.
How little you of think of me, then. Foolish, foolish child. Do you not know that from the very beginning, I've been studying you? Scrutinizing your being from head to foot, sparing not even a single inch from my senses. I would have tasted you then, as I would do to test certain palatable potions, if not for the fact that my reputation would have been trampled in the mud if I did so.
I would look at you at every chance, every angle possible – from the staff table in the Great Hall, from class, even as you struggle with your books in the hallways. I was, and still am, an excellent spy, you see.
I saw you grow up, as impossible as it may seem. And gracefully did you mature, slow but sure. Quietly, so as not to surprise your friends, but positively growing. And not just physically, young Potter, but in other terms as well.
Just take your eyes. They become darker and darker, as if someone was digging a whole in that great expanse of green, making it deeper each day. I wonder who holds the shovel...Voldemort? Dumbledore? Yourself? Probably all of those put together.
I think have been too observant.
Foolish, foolish man.
It was too late when I realized that you were staring back. Boring your green orbs to my black ones, searching me as I did you. I became too absorbed with you, I think, that I neglected the physical.
Oh, Harry.
I have fallen in the bottomless pit. Forgive me.
It was then that things drastically changed, and it was too late that I noticed them. It's tragic that they are irrevocable.
And now, you are here in my bed, as you have faithfully been for months now.
I can tell that you are confused. Angry, even. But there is a reason why you kiss back when I touch my lips with yours, why you fight me over the cauldrons in class, why you find more rules to break.
Can't you see? It's dangling in front of you, presenting itself with open arms and you deny it.
The clock on my bedside table strikes midnight and it is almost time for you to go back to the Gryffindor towers. I untangle my arms from yours and try to wake you up, whispering in your ear.
"Harry, you must get up now. You need rest."
"S-severus?"
"Yes, go back to your dormitory now."
"Can I stay here?"
Silence. This the first time you asked this.
"Please?"
We can't change the past, and what have transpired before. Regrets? Yes, of course.
"Only for tonight."
Those who have fallen cannot choose, only grovel for scraps that have fallen from the dinner table.
"Thank you, Severus." You softly say, closing your eyes, and it was only moments later that I embrace sleep too, the state of equilibrium between life and death.
The End
Author's Notes: Revamped! A million thanks to those who reviewed. I have no illusions of grandeur, and am very surprised and glad that you people read my work. Again, sorry for my grammatical errors, English is a second language to me. And heavens forgive me for sullying the eternal words of Shakespeare!
Disclaimer: I own Harry and Sev. Really, they're mine.
*big thugs in white clothes arrive in an ambulance*
SilverApples: Danny! Joey! (referring to the thugs) You guys on a leave too? Great! We could hang out together, I know a good place.
Danny (thug#1): Erm, sorry, but were here to take you back...THERE.
SilverApples: What?! I still have two months of leave! Doc said it was alright!
Joey (thug#2): Sorry, but it seems that your files were tampered with. Back to the hole for you. *brings out a familiar-looking jacket)
SilverApples: Noooo!!!
by Silver Apples of the Sun
"A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid; love's night is noon."
Part One
I wish that I could hate him.
I hope, with all my heart, that my feelings go a hundred eighty-degree turn and stay in that direction, forever. I pray, with my knees on the ground and my hands imploring the heavens, that I won't want see his face ever again.
This should be fairly easy, I think. He is not a very likable person, after all, physically or in other terms. A horrible, acid-tongued git who last washed his hair twenty years ago. He smells different too, with the essence of those countless potions clinging to his black robes added with the damp odor of the dungeons.
Always black, his robes are.
"Ten points from Gryffindor courtesy of Harry Potter-", the loud, yet silky voice said, interrupting my train of thought. "-our local celebrity, who should learn to listen when a teacher is speaking in front of a class."
See?
As if on cue, the Slytherins sniggered and the Gyffindors groaned. Some of my housemates muttered explicit words in retaliation, which did not go unheard by the opposite camp – including their Head of the House. This caused Gryffindor more points, in Snape's utter delight. The oily bastard is practically dancing in glee.
Right, as if I care. Those points are not going to change nothing, nothing at all.
I glare at him, willing my eyes to look evil and angry. Only after his point-deducting spree did he notice my hard stare.
I can't help to feel disappointed, for unknown reasons.
"Complaining, Potter?"
"Not at all, Professor, not at all."
I would not have been so cocky before, openly disrespectful to teachers, even if the said instructor is Snape. Especially if the said instructor is Snape.
But things have changed. I'm not exactly sure when, or why, as more how, but they did. They have undergone a series of blinding transformations, slow and furious, each one too complex to determine if it for better or for worse.
"Very well. Then you wouldn't mind detention tonight on, let's say, eight o'clock?" Snape asked, a malicious smile playing on his lips.
"Eight o'clock is perfect, sir", I replied evenly.
His nostrils flare in outrage, and his eyes...his midnight eyes, black as ever, are unreadable...what is it?
Anger?
Anticipation?
"Another ten points from Gryffindor, Potter."
And so goes another Potions class. One by one the students filtered out of the dungeons, heading to their next classes. Ron and I had to hurry, since Trelawney's tower is quite far from here. Malfoy and the other Slytherins did not bother to step out of the room to badger me. "Oooh, Potter got a date!" was their juvenile taunt, along with smoochy noises.
A date. Quite so, Malfoy. Couldn't have put it better myself.
I let the insult pass, and try to make it through the day.
***
At exactly 7:56 PM, I find myself knocking against the heavy door of the Potions room. The sound of a muffled 'come in' was heard, and I go inside.
Snape is in there, looking as greasy and menacing as ever. "Follow me."
And he led me through the door in the back of the classroom, towards the storage room that houses every ingredient imaginable, and another door, which leads to his personal chambers. He once said to me that he does research and makes potions for non-academic purposes, sometimes lasting through the night, so it is practical if his bed and bathroom are near.
Snape casts sealing and silencing charms on the door, as I have seen him do many times before, and approaches me.
My nose gets a whiff of his distinct smell as he comes nearer. I do not move as he goes nearer still, a hand reaching out to touch my cheek.
And he kisses me. Again. And again, and again.
I wish I could hate him, but I could not. I tried, I really did. But I keep finding myself here, in his room, in his bed. Kissing back.
Ah, love. Maybe I should start halting all futile attempts and just embrace...this...
"I love you", I murmur to his ear, after all that has been said and done today. It was sighed so softly that it could have been carried away by the winds, if there were any in these dungeons.
Part Two
You thought that I did not hear you.
How little you of think of me, then. Foolish, foolish child. Do you not know that from the very beginning, I've been studying you? Scrutinizing your being from head to foot, sparing not even a single inch from my senses. I would have tasted you then, as I would do to test certain palatable potions, if not for the fact that my reputation would have been trampled in the mud if I did so.
I would look at you at every chance, every angle possible – from the staff table in the Great Hall, from class, even as you struggle with your books in the hallways. I was, and still am, an excellent spy, you see.
I saw you grow up, as impossible as it may seem. And gracefully did you mature, slow but sure. Quietly, so as not to surprise your friends, but positively growing. And not just physically, young Potter, but in other terms as well.
Just take your eyes. They become darker and darker, as if someone was digging a whole in that great expanse of green, making it deeper each day. I wonder who holds the shovel...Voldemort? Dumbledore? Yourself? Probably all of those put together.
I think have been too observant.
Foolish, foolish man.
It was too late when I realized that you were staring back. Boring your green orbs to my black ones, searching me as I did you. I became too absorbed with you, I think, that I neglected the physical.
Oh, Harry.
I have fallen in the bottomless pit. Forgive me.
It was then that things drastically changed, and it was too late that I noticed them. It's tragic that they are irrevocable.
And now, you are here in my bed, as you have faithfully been for months now.
I can tell that you are confused. Angry, even. But there is a reason why you kiss back when I touch my lips with yours, why you fight me over the cauldrons in class, why you find more rules to break.
Can't you see? It's dangling in front of you, presenting itself with open arms and you deny it.
The clock on my bedside table strikes midnight and it is almost time for you to go back to the Gryffindor towers. I untangle my arms from yours and try to wake you up, whispering in your ear.
"Harry, you must get up now. You need rest."
"S-severus?"
"Yes, go back to your dormitory now."
"Can I stay here?"
Silence. This the first time you asked this.
"Please?"
We can't change the past, and what have transpired before. Regrets? Yes, of course.
"Only for tonight."
Those who have fallen cannot choose, only grovel for scraps that have fallen from the dinner table.
"Thank you, Severus." You softly say, closing your eyes, and it was only moments later that I embrace sleep too, the state of equilibrium between life and death.
The End
Author's Notes: Revamped! A million thanks to those who reviewed. I have no illusions of grandeur, and am very surprised and glad that you people read my work. Again, sorry for my grammatical errors, English is a second language to me. And heavens forgive me for sullying the eternal words of Shakespeare!
Disclaimer: I own Harry and Sev. Really, they're mine.
*big thugs in white clothes arrive in an ambulance*
SilverApples: Danny! Joey! (referring to the thugs) You guys on a leave too? Great! We could hang out together, I know a good place.
Danny (thug#1): Erm, sorry, but were here to take you back...THERE.
SilverApples: What?! I still have two months of leave! Doc said it was alright!
Joey (thug#2): Sorry, but it seems that your files were tampered with. Back to the hole for you. *brings out a familiar-looking jacket)
SilverApples: Noooo!!!