Disclaimer: The majority of the characters do not belong to me. If you happen to meet someone you have not yet met in J.K. Rowling's books, then that character does belong to me. The storyline and ideas expressed here similarly belong to me.
This is an SSHG fan fic, so if you despise the pairing, I am warning you now: do not read and then send me comments saying that the pairing is disgusting. For those of you who are SSHG fans, or do not mind SSHG fan fiction – I hope you enjoy this one!
This fic is rated R for future chapters. It may contain language, violence, and yes, sex.
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Chapter 1It was a bleak sort of day; drops of water came down from the sky in a steady drizzle, and gray clouds blocked the ray of the sun, covering the earth in a dark cloak. The lush greenery of Hogwarts swayed in the slight summer breeze, sinking in places due to the softness of the mud beneath it. Rain beat persistently against a glass pane in the main doors to the castle, creating a monotonous tapping sound expressive of the dreariness of the day.
The man behind that window pane stood gazing at the actions of Nature; silent, absorbed, he stood almost entirely motionless. As the glass fogged up to the extent that it obscured his view of the grounds, he raised a long-fingered slender hand, drawing a small circle on level with his eyes, through which he continued to peer.
The man's brooding face was reflected in the glass, surrounded by waves of strikingly black hair that swept his shoulders. His somber dark eyes reflected a spark of light from the lit lantern in his left hand. His mouth was set in a thin, forbidding line, adding to the sinister look his hooked nose created.
The man was none other than Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, undercover agent for the Order of the Phoenix, and at the present moment, the man assigned to escort the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to her rooms as soon as he would see her apparate beyond the perimeter of the Hogwarts grounds.
"Severus, may I bother you to go out to the main doors a few minutes before seven? Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is scheduled to arrive at that time, and I would be very grateful to you if you took her luggage and escorted her to her rooms. I am, most unfortunately, obligated to leave now. I won't be back until after dinner, and I give you the responsibility to make her feel welcome and attend to her needs in my absence."
Dumbledore's intense blue eyes peered at Snape from the fire in the younger professor's room.
"Do I have a choice?" said Snape, evidently most displeased.
He was sitting in his study, in an elegantly-engraved armchair whose seat was draped in emerald green cloth. A thick tome was resting open on his lap. He had evidently been perusing it when the headmaster's head had appeared in his fireplace unexpectedly.
"No," replied Dumbledore calmly, "you don't particularly have a choice, since Minerva is busy organizing schedules for the new school year, and the rest of the teachers are supposed to arrive only tomorrow."
"Who is this new professor?" demanded Snape.
He had been denied the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher once again, and the fact that some unknown professor who wouldn't even be able to carry his own luggage to his rooms got the job irked him.
"Ask her, and I'm sure she'll tell," answered the old man, promptly disappearing from the fire without any further goodbye.
Professor Snape, with an aggravated sign, checked the time on an old mahogany clock handing on the wall above the fireplace. It was a quarter past six, and the clock steadily ticked the minutes away.
He slammed the book he was holding shut and threw it down on his desk.
So the new professor was a she. Some woman got the job instead of him. His angry thoughts raged inside his head.
There was a small cabinet in the corner of the room, with glass doors and brass handles. To this cabinet he strode with impatient large steps. Throwing its doors open, he wrapped his fingers around a crystal decanter, which was filled with an amber liquid that sparkled invitingly.
He poured himself a glass, examining it carefully as the liquid flowed from the container into the glass. Apparently, it passed the inspection and earned the man's approval, for he lifted it to his lips and with a stiff movement, tipped the contents into his mouth. He paused a moment, not moving as the burning liquid traveled down his throat.
It was at times like those that he was glad of the existence of firewhiskey.
The glass was quickly scourgified and returned to its place, and the man was returned (by his own will) to the armchair.
With a flick of his wand, the fire in the fireplace went out, and within a few minutes, the temperature in the dungeons went down to the familiar coolness that he was accustomed to.
His concentration having disappeared when the headmaster had popped in, Professor Snape abandoned his book and stood back up again.
He had more than half an hour before the arrival of the damned professor, but that time was not enough to become reabsorbed in his book or complete the lesson plans for the new curriculum. Due to the creation of new potions that were considered useful and important enough by the Ministry of Magic to be taught to students, Professor Snape had to alter his fifth, sixth, and seventh year lesson plans. This, apparently, was not the time for it.
Pacing back and forth, he waited until the clock indicated that it was a few minutes more than half past. He made his way out of the stone dungeons, grabbing a lantern on his way out.
The castle was deathly silent; there were no loud footsteps hurrying down the corridors–only Snape's steady soft steps, which sounded no louder than a cat's as the professor stalked through the hallways of the school. The chatter of exuberant young voices was conspicuously missing too–Snape's rhythmic breathing and the occasional curses he muttered under his breath were nowhere near as resonant as the sounds the students usually made. He walked freely through the school, not having to make his way through throngs of students.
And now, here he stood. The chimes of the Hogwarts clock rang out through the stillness of the evening, signifying the arrival of seven o'clock. He peered out into the distance, waiting for a figure to appear beyond the castle's gates.
A few seconds passed, noted Severus Snape to himself with ill-concealed irritation on his face.
If that woman thought she could be late and he would still be there, waiting to be of service to her, she was sorely mistaken, thought he. Dumbledore's command meant nothing to him once the appointed time would pass.
He wiped the glass pane he was looking through and let his eye roam the grounds.
A sliver of the moon peeked out from behind a collection of clouds, illuminating part of the ground.
Suddenly, a distant dark shape appeared in the spotlight of the moon. The person was wearing a black clock, which, despite the light of the moon, caused the person to have the appearance of standing in the shadows. Resting on the ground next to the figure were two round trunks, bolted securely, and a small cage with a rope attached to it. The other end of the rope was held by the hooded figure.
She (for we presume, based on Dumbledore's information, that it was in fact a she) was about to take a step towards the gates, but tripping over the cage, clumsily fell onto the muddy ground in a shameful heap.
Next chapter coming soon.
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