The Phoenix

Chapter 1

Beauty and the Jobberknoll

He looked up from his desk and gazed, no, it was definitely a glare, down upon his class of seventh years. He did not mind his final period. These students were mostly Slytherin, and both head girl and boy of Slytherin house were in the room, keeping the other students in line, which left him very little to do other than teach. His features softened as his eyes fell upon the head girl. She was quiet. She was reclusive and studious. In fact, until this year he had failed to notice her, much like all the others. She rarely spoke, but she did not seem to need to in order to keep the girls in line. And she was quite pretty. Beautiful, really. Her sun-kissed skin, hair auburn with glints of red and gold that shone when the light hit it-just so. Her eyes, slightly hooded and a deep, deep blue that almost looked black. Surrounding the iris were streaks of gold, resembling the rays of the sun which extended from the blackness. He caught himself staring at her for longer than he intended. He quickly looked around the room to be sure no one had taken notice, and being reassured, he set back to grading papers. The booming bell sounded throughout the castle and its grounds, signaling the end of class. Professor Snape let out a sigh, which sounded slightly heavier than intended, and stole a glance at his house's head girl's backside as she turned to gather her things. He intended to follow her with his eyes as she walked out the door, but she turned back around and began advancing towards his desk. His eyebrow raised involuntarily as she leaned ever-so-slightly over his desk. He gave a quick glance around the room to find that the last of the students had left. Only she remained. She held in her hand her textbook, she was looking down at it and had appeared not to notice his leering. He noticed just then that that was exactly what he was doing. He frowned at the pang of guilt he felt. He knew all about the poor girl's past, and still had the audacity to see her in that light? What kind of man was he?

"Professor?", She turned the book around so he did not have to view it upside down.

He simply raised his brow to let her know she had his attention. 'Perhaps more of it than she had anticipated.', he thought.

"The textbook says that the Mandrake Restorative Draught returns people who have been Transfigured or cursed to their original state, right?", he watched her and gave a slight nod in agreement, "Well, I was just wondering…" His eyebrow lifted once more, "Since the instructions for producing the potion aren't in this particular text, can you give me the reference for a book that does include it?". Snape leaned back in his chair. His shoulders relaxed. "Miss Melor, had it occurred to you to search the library, rather than waste my time? I've half a mind to give you detention. Perhaps grading first year students' monotonous and unimpressive essays would deter you from doing so in the future?", he inquired. She paused, but only momentarily as she could not allow her curiosity, it was more of a necessity, to be snuffed out with an empty threat. He had never given her detention, and she highly doubted he would do so, as she had waited to ask him in private. All of her questions were asked in private. Asking questions that might seem stupid or not included in the curriculum in front of the other students is what warranted detention. Especially in a double class such as this one, which included Gryffindors. "Yes, sir. I looked not only in the library here… but also in my grandfather's library in Gwynedd." He had been to the castle at Gwynedd. He knew how extensive the old man's collection was, and had included a great number of rare, often very dangerous volumes. He was an infamous potions master, now senile, demented, and a recluse. He showed interest at the mention of the coveted library. She knew he would. She was rather hoping he would give her the instructions on how to make the potion in exchange for a chance at visiting such a place. "Of course not. He would have no need for such a thing. Perhaps you should ask Professor Mcgonagall about it." She frowned. She had such a lovely pout. Her lips seemed fuller and her high cheekbones were more evident. Her eyes were ever so slightly teary with frustration. Not enough for anyone to notice, except that he had been taking notice of many things he perhaps should not. "I did. She referred me to you. I promise I would not have bothered you had I not exhausted every possible resource. I'm sorry, sir. I really didn't mean to be a bother." Feeling she would not get what she had come for, she clutched the book to her chest and turned to leave. He caught her sleeve as she took her first step towards the door. "Wait." His voice was tempered with intrigue, and what could be confused with...lust? Had she not know better, of course. His deep, smooth, throaty bellow was seductive and misleading. She was sure he never meant to sound that way. It was simply part of his disposition. She stopped dead in her tracks. He came around the desk, and approached her from behind. He placed his hands on her shoulders and whispered throatily into her ear, "You forgot what you came for, Miss Melor." She closed her eyes and let out an involuntary whine of frustration. He paused, trying not to notice the oh so slight, soft and high-pitched moan. He simply couldn't think of her this way. He was, after all, all she had. The only one she had ever been able to rely on. Especially after he discovered her patronage. He shook it off. He took a step back, allowing his hands to linger as they lightly ran down her arms. He left her there, eyes closed, breath shallow and hands shaking. She heard the footfalls as his heavy boots made contact with the stone floor. She heard the door to his office, followed by the sound of his footsteps as he approached her once more from behind.

He reached around and held the small book in front of her. She only felt his arms wrap around her and his chest on her back as he leaned forward. She squeezed her eyes shut further, her breathing was heady and she still hugged the textbook to her chest, her fingers turning white from her fierce grip. She could feel his breath on her neck and didn't know how much more she could take. 'Just do it already,' she thought.

He inhaled deeply. She smelled so sweet, of Jasmine and clary sage. Her smooth hair felt so soft on his cheek. Her sweet breaths smelled sweet, like strawberry ice cream, but what caught his attention more so was the sounds she was making. Soft, sweet notes rose from her chest, struggling to escape in a familiar, enticing song. He hated to interrupt such an enchanting aria, but knew he could tease her no further, for fear or the consequences, and her innocence. He just wanted to take her, his sweet Rosalyn, right there in the dungeon.

"Here. Take what you need from it. Just remember to return it…eventually." She opened her eyes and saw the tome. She took it, stacking it with her textbook and hugged them to herself. She turned around slowly, hesitant. She was faced with his chest, then she looked up slowly, noting his strong chin, thin lips, the breath from which smelled of spearmint and lapsang souchong tea. Her gaze hovered there a moment, needing to swallow suddenly when thoughts of kissing him raced through her mind. She finally worked up the courage to look him in the eye. "Thank you." It was barely more than a whisper. He felt the words touch his face like a soft, sweet wind. And no sooner had the words left her lips had he turned and was walking away from her, returning to his previous task of grading papers. She stood for a moment, then nodded in disbelief to no one in particular, huffed harshly then left.