Title: Student/Teacher Conference
Author: Ginny Powell
Feedback: Helpful suggestions greatly appreciated.
wmginnypowell@yahoo.com
Rating: PG, if that
Disclaimers: I don't own the characters or the setting, I'm not making any
money off this, just trying to work a tiny bit of my own magic.
Summary: A short, sweet Snape romance. It's a lucky girl who can see
through Snape's façade.
Jill:
Looking back on it now, it's so obvious. And yet I never realized it.
There was that time in fourth-year when I came in late but he didn't take points off Ravenclaw. Sure, he got mad and yelled and lectured the whole class on punctuality, but he didn't take points off. I thought I was so lucky, that he'd just forgotten.
It was about that same time that I remember he first took points off Slytherin, when that bastard Draco Malfoy wouldn't stop teasing me. Everyone was shocked that he would take points off his own house, but also thrilled; Draco really deserved it. Now that I think of it, it's probably no coincidence that that was the year I suddenly had breasts and hips. I remember being so embarrassed, coming back from summer break and finding my clothes were too tight, my skirts too short. In fact, I think that's what Draco was teasing me about.
And just a minute ago, he was standing right next to me, telling me what a good job I did on my potion. He never does that to anyone else. I was too busy thinking about how tall he is, how solid he felt against my shoulder, to think about it at the time. But now. There's only one conclusion I can come to.
He wants me. Maybe as much as I want him.
Snape:
Stupid! What was I thinking?! I shouldn't have done that, stood so close to her, gotten a whiff of her musky perfume, felt the heat rising off her body. But I couldn't help it. She's so. I must control myself. I've managed it for these long years, and I can manage it for the few more weeks until her graduation. When she'll leave me forever.
What is it about her? No student has ever affected me like this before. They come in here as ignorant children, and even as they grow, I still think of them that way. But she. If she was only beautiful, or only talented, maybe she wouldn't have gotten to me. But she's both, and I just can't get her out of my mind.
I remember when she was a first-year, all teeth and unruly hair, and so shy. But even then it was obvious she had a talent for potions. Always the best student in the class. And then there was that year she was suddenly a woman. She's learned to fix her hair and makeup since then, and they certainly enhance her natural beauty, but even without them she'd be an enchanting witch, even if she were completely naked, the wind whipping her hair back-
I'm staring at her again. Got to stop that. Yes, I'll pretend to check that idiot Neville Longbottom's work. He couldn't get a potion right to save his life. And it may come to that on the final exam. Jill will do wonderfully on the exam, as usual, I'm sure.
No, don't look over there again. Someone will notice. Not her, though. She's never noticed my interest all these years, much less returned it. Lucky for us both. I'd be fired, and she'd be at least embarrassed, at worst expelled. Just a few weeks. A few more weeks, and the temptation will be gone. Merlin, but I'll miss her.
Jill:
He's moving to look at all the others' work now. I watch his back, let my eyes travel up those long legs whenever his robes move aside. I've gotten good at watching him when he can't see me doing it. I notice that he doesn't stand so near to anyone else, doesn't offer praise. And he keeps glancing furtively at me. I must be right - he has feelings for me.
How could I have been so blind? All these years of pining for him, but being too shy to show it. And telling myself he would never, ever return my interest. And now, here it is only a few weeks until my graduation. And then I'll never see him again. Never know what might have been. I've wasted so much time. I won't waste any more.
Snape:
I know I shouldn't, but I can't help stealing yet another glance. I've gotten to know the back of her head well over the years, the silky fall of chestnut hair down her back, the graceful curve of her neck when she wears her hair up.
But it is not the back of her head I see this time. It's her face. She's looking right at me. I can't tear my eyes away from this unexpected treat. But it's alright; in a moment she'll look away, shy as she is.
She's not looking away. She's staring right at me, and is that her mouth curving into a smile? Dammit, Neville has a question. I must answer or call attention to what is going on. And when I look back, she has returned to her work.
Did what I think happened just happen, or is it just wishful thinking?
Jill:
Oh my, oh my, oh my! I can't believe I just did that! But I am so glad I did! Be still my heart, but that was not a normal teacher/student glance. Uh uh. But now what do I do? I guess it's his turn to make the next move.
But what if he doesn't? Class will be over soon. I can't bear the thought of leaving it like this, this not knowing. But what if I'm wrong, what if he doesn't want me? I'll just have to be subtle. Like he's been all this time.
Snape:
Class is finally over. I can dismiss them. The urge to ask her to stay is so great, I have to turn my back and grip the lectern with white knuckles. I hear the sounds of footsteps and rustling paper recede into the hallway; I can finally relax. I turn back to begin preparation for the next class.
And she is there. At the door, looking decidedly undecided. I can but stare at her, undecided myself whether I want her to stay or go. No, that is not true. I want her to stay, but I know it is unwise. And out of my hands, as she is moving towards me now. I take a deep breath, hoping I can make my voice steady.
"Is there something I can help you with, Miss Miller?" Not bad, though definitely missing it's usual gruff, gravelly edge. I can never seem to muster it for her.
Jill:
"I, um-" I can't seem to get it out, the several half-formed plans in my head all mixing and interfering with each other. As I open my mouth to try again, another voice supercedes mine.
"Oh, good, I've caught you, Professor. Could you whip up some healing potions? There was an accident in Care of Magical Creatures, and I'm all out of superstitch." It is Madam Pomfrey, obviously in a hurry, so much so that she thankfully doesn't seem to have noticed the strange look Professor Snape is giving me. I murmur something about turning that homework assignment in as soon as possible and beat a hasty retreat. I swear I can feel his eyes burning into my back as I flee.
For the next few days, I can hardly eat or sleep. I find myself looking for him everywhere, but when I find him I invariably turn away, embarrassed. I must speak to him, I cannot go on like this, not knowing, not telling. But how can I get him alone? I shall die if we are interrupted again. And if by some chance I do get to talk to him, what can I say? What if I am wrong?
By the time the next class rolls around, I have screwed up my courage and made some decisions. I hurry to arrive before the rest of the class. But the previous class is delayed, my chance denied. It is the worst class period of my life. I make several stupid mistakes, which I can see he has noticed and yet does not remark upon. I try to be comforted by this additional evidence of his regard for me, but it only makes me feel more keenly my inability to express myself to him.
Then suddenly it hits me. The perfect plan. My sleeping potion is useless, anyway. It takes very little effort to "accidentally" tip the cauldron over. Please, please figure it out, I try to send my thoughts to him.
Snape:
I can't believe what I'm seeing. I've had no opportunity to speak to her since we were interrupted; she actually seemed to be avoiding me, which I told myself meant I was very wrong about her feelings for me. But then today - she kept inexplicably misjudging her ingredients, so any interaction would have had to have been negative, and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But I have been watching. And now I am sure she deliberately caused that spill. As the students around her attempt to skip out of the way, many not quickly enough, causing several numb spots on arms and legs, I use the distraction to meet her eyes. I find them pleading, as though she fears I shall punish her. But she need have no such fear. Would that I might hold her instead, comfort her in her obvious distress. But we would have to be alone for that.
Ah. I believe I finally understand.
"Miss Miller, this clumsiness is inexcusable. You will remain after class to clean it up."
She nods and tries to look abashed, but I can see she wants to smile. I, too, have a hard time covering my feelings. I send the rest of the class out as soon as possible - many to Madam Pomfrey - and they leave with gratifying speed. She is just finishing the cleanup when I return from locking the door.
Jill:
He's just standing there, watching me. If I were any other student, I'm sure he would be berating me up one side and down the other. But he isn't. He looks puzzled rather than angry, and I can't blame him. There is no proper course of action available for him. I shall have to continue to take the lead, until we are free to truly be together.
"I'm really sorry, Professor, I don't know what's wrong with me today."
"You haven't been quite yourself for several days, Miss Miller. Is there something you'd like to.talk about?"
"Yes. I, um-"
Snape:
Oh, no, she's going to clam up again, when she worked so hard for the chance to speak to me. I want to hold her, tell her everything will be okay, that she may confide in me, about anything. But or course I can't. I silently compose what I want her to say - words of love, devotion, I-know- it's-wrong-but-I-don't-care. But at the same time, those scenes terrify me. I can feel myself sweating in the cool of the dungeon.
"I guess I'm worried about graduating," she finally says. Somewhat disappointing. But at least there is a safe reply.
"You've nothing to worry about, Miss Miller, with your NEWT scores, you can pursue whatever path you desire." Telling choice of words, there. Must be more careful. "You could even join the Ministry of Magic."
"Yes, Dumbledore has already said he would recommend me, but that route just doesn't seem very.satisfying to me." Hmm, her words may be giving away her intentions as well. I hope. "I was thinking about something to do with potions, as I enjoy then and seem to have some aptitude. Today not withstanding. So I was hoping you might have some suggestions, as I like to think of you as my mentor."
Suddenly I am not sweating. I am cold. "Mentor" is not a word I was expecting. I don't believe I've ever heard the word used in reference to myself before. Then again, the other words I was thinking of are just as rare. I look down at my hands to hide the disappointment in my eyes.
"Well, I'm afraid I have little experience with careers outside the academic field, Miss Miller." I risk a look up. She is gazing upon me with something like adoration, though alas for a mere mentor. Well, if that's what she wants, I can give it to her. Would that I could give her so much more. "However, you might be interested in attending a conference this summer. There are often interesting opportunities available at such gatherings."
"That sounds perfect!" She does indeed look very happy. That is some consolation, at least.
"I'll have the information for you by next class."
"Thank you, Professor." She looks as though she wants to say something else, but before she can, we both become aware of sounds in the hallway. By the incredible noise level, I would guess they are first years.
"My next class seems to have arrived."
She nods and turns to pick up her things. I walk her to the door in silence. It is not until I am lifting the latch that I wonder what the rabble outside will make of us, in a locked classroom, alone. I put on my stern face and glare at each student as they pass by, hoping to discourage conjecture.
Jill:
I push against the tide of first-years, trying to keep my face blank, when inside I am smiling broadly as a plan hatches. I almost let it show when a fellow Ravenclaw I know in passing stops me.
"What did he keep you late for?"
"Oh, I spilled something, had to clean up."
"You okay?" She really looks concerned.
"Yeah." I try to look as I think another student would look after a dressing down by Professor Snape, but reassuring enough that she will let me go. It works. When I am finally free of the oncoming tide, I let myself smile, not even caring that I will be late for Charms.
The next few days, I am again not myself, but toward the completely opposite pole as before. My plan is coming clear, and I spend my time daydreaming - and night dreaming - about it endlessly. I smile at odd times, like when Ravenclaw loses a Quidditch match to Slytherin. I cover by saying I'm just so happy to be graduating soon.
My next Potions class finally arrives. I wait patiently through the whole thing, but he doesn't bring me anything. My spirits are beginning to flag a bit as I gather my books, stalling for time, hoping to get in another word. I don't dare try the same tactic as last time. Finally the last other student is moving toward the door, and I look up to see Professor Snape moving toward me.
"Here is that information we discussed," he says as he hands me a card. I glance down at it, see the moving type flash "Potions Parley".
"Are you planning to attend the conference, Professor?"
"Yes, I will be presenting, actually, on the uses of wolfsbane."
"Great!" I can't help it; I smile broadly. "See you next class, then."
I am still smiling as I enter the hall to find a few fellow students waiting for me.
"What was that about?"
I explain, and they look shocked.
"I would never want to see Snape outside of school."
"Yeah, after I graduate, if I ever see him again, it will be too soon."
I say I want to work in potions, try to steer the discussion away from Snape personally and to career choices in general. But inside I'm thinking that they are so unlucky, not to know the Potions Master as I do. Or at least, as I hope to.
As soon as I can get back to my dorm, I read the conference card thoroughly, carefully compose a letter, and take it straight to the owlery.
Snape:
I should be relieved. She only wanted me as a mentor, to help her along in her career. Of course I am happy to do that. Such a talented student, I can truthfully recommend her in any capacity. But it also means my temptation, my suffering, does not end with the end of term. No, I must control myself much longer, through the conference at least, perhaps through years of helpful counsel. With each encounter bringing both the greatest pleasure and the keenest pain. Such exquisite agony. I know I must cut it off as soon as possible, but how can I bring myself to do it?
Yet perhaps she is already done with me. Since I gave her the conference information, there have been no more carefully orchestrated encounters, no invitations to give her detention. No precious moments alone, that I both dread and pine for. Only the occasional mysterious smile, or glance across a crowded room. I live for such moments though I know I should turn away.
And now our last moment as teacher and student. It is, at last, exam day, and it is her turn to try the antidote she concocted for the mystery potion I have given only the vaguest clues about. It is actually a blackening potion, as several others have found out to the detriment of their rapidly shriveling fingers, and falling grades. Not Jill, though, I am certain, even as I watch her consume the elixir with no ill effects. I praise her effusively as I pass out my own antidote to the less talented. I can allow myself at least this, this one chance to show her how much I think of her before others, though I must pretend my praise is only for her work. Her beautiful smile is ample reward.
And then it is over. She is gone, walking out of my classroom and perhaps my life without a backward glance, surrounded by admiring friends. Perhaps I kid myself there. Perhaps they are more than friends. Perhaps there is one whom she can love freely, someone in her own age group, her own house, her own league.
Yes, I must cut this off, or die of the pain. A few more days, that's all I have until the conference, when I'll see her again. A few more days to get a grip on myself. A few more days to convince myself to let her go.
Those days pass quickly. Before I know it, it is time. I Apparate to the conference from a point far enough outside Hogwarts' grounds to avoid its restrictions, and find myself in a line of others waiting to register. It is a Muggle hotel, but the organizers have taken the entire building so we are free to be ourselves. Even the staff seems to be wizards, many of them young enough to be students at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons. When I reach the front of the table, I am told someone will show me to my room. I turn to my escort.
It is Jill.
"Hello, Professor," she greets me cheerily. My heart thuds in my chest at this unexpected meeting.
"Miss Miller. You are working here?" It sounds so banal to my own ears, I'm sure it must sound so to hers as well.
"Yes, they needed quite a few people, trying to make the place completely Muggle-free and all."
I can think of no more to say as we head for my room. It seems the wrong time and place to say what I had planned. And I am distracted by watching her walk up the stairs ahead of me.
We reach my room, she opens the door with a strange rectangular piece of plastic, ushers me in, then follows, closing the door behind her. Good, now I can say what I need to, get this over with. I turn.
And she is there. Her arms are around my neck, her face close to mine.
"Jill!" For a moment I am stuck, my good intentions warring with my secret desires. But it is no contest. My desires win, and I pull her to me. Our lips meet.
She melts against me, moaning deep in her throat, her eyes closed. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, the most erotic. I can feel my usually carefully controlled body responding in ways I'd thought lost to me. It is too good to be true. Irrationally, out of habit, I fight it.
"We mustn't." I push her away, but gently; there is hardly any strength left in my trembling limbs. I sit on the edge of a conveniently located chair, lest I fall.
"And why mustn't we?" She kneels before me on the floor, touches my knee. I shudder and look away. Has she any idea what she's doing to me? "I am no longer your student, Prof- Severus. We are finally free to be together, now that I know you feel for me as I do for you."
Perhaps even more than her words, the sound of my name on her lips persuades me. I can feel the ice around my heart melting, the bonds I put on it myself peeling away. Perhaps it can be real, perhaps she really does want me. I turn back to her.
Jill:
He is turning to me, gazing down at me with those deep, dark eyes. I smile encouragingly, see his lips waver as though he has forgotten how to smile. I shall fix that, I promise myself. I shall devote my life to reminding him how to be happy, or teaching him if he never learned. He reaches his arms out to me, and I slide up into his lap.
"We have so much time to make up for."
Jill:
Looking back on it now, it's so obvious. And yet I never realized it.
There was that time in fourth-year when I came in late but he didn't take points off Ravenclaw. Sure, he got mad and yelled and lectured the whole class on punctuality, but he didn't take points off. I thought I was so lucky, that he'd just forgotten.
It was about that same time that I remember he first took points off Slytherin, when that bastard Draco Malfoy wouldn't stop teasing me. Everyone was shocked that he would take points off his own house, but also thrilled; Draco really deserved it. Now that I think of it, it's probably no coincidence that that was the year I suddenly had breasts and hips. I remember being so embarrassed, coming back from summer break and finding my clothes were too tight, my skirts too short. In fact, I think that's what Draco was teasing me about.
And just a minute ago, he was standing right next to me, telling me what a good job I did on my potion. He never does that to anyone else. I was too busy thinking about how tall he is, how solid he felt against my shoulder, to think about it at the time. But now. There's only one conclusion I can come to.
He wants me. Maybe as much as I want him.
Snape:
Stupid! What was I thinking?! I shouldn't have done that, stood so close to her, gotten a whiff of her musky perfume, felt the heat rising off her body. But I couldn't help it. She's so. I must control myself. I've managed it for these long years, and I can manage it for the few more weeks until her graduation. When she'll leave me forever.
What is it about her? No student has ever affected me like this before. They come in here as ignorant children, and even as they grow, I still think of them that way. But she. If she was only beautiful, or only talented, maybe she wouldn't have gotten to me. But she's both, and I just can't get her out of my mind.
I remember when she was a first-year, all teeth and unruly hair, and so shy. But even then it was obvious she had a talent for potions. Always the best student in the class. And then there was that year she was suddenly a woman. She's learned to fix her hair and makeup since then, and they certainly enhance her natural beauty, but even without them she'd be an enchanting witch, even if she were completely naked, the wind whipping her hair back-
I'm staring at her again. Got to stop that. Yes, I'll pretend to check that idiot Neville Longbottom's work. He couldn't get a potion right to save his life. And it may come to that on the final exam. Jill will do wonderfully on the exam, as usual, I'm sure.
No, don't look over there again. Someone will notice. Not her, though. She's never noticed my interest all these years, much less returned it. Lucky for us both. I'd be fired, and she'd be at least embarrassed, at worst expelled. Just a few weeks. A few more weeks, and the temptation will be gone. Merlin, but I'll miss her.
Jill:
He's moving to look at all the others' work now. I watch his back, let my eyes travel up those long legs whenever his robes move aside. I've gotten good at watching him when he can't see me doing it. I notice that he doesn't stand so near to anyone else, doesn't offer praise. And he keeps glancing furtively at me. I must be right - he has feelings for me.
How could I have been so blind? All these years of pining for him, but being too shy to show it. And telling myself he would never, ever return my interest. And now, here it is only a few weeks until my graduation. And then I'll never see him again. Never know what might have been. I've wasted so much time. I won't waste any more.
Snape:
I know I shouldn't, but I can't help stealing yet another glance. I've gotten to know the back of her head well over the years, the silky fall of chestnut hair down her back, the graceful curve of her neck when she wears her hair up.
But it is not the back of her head I see this time. It's her face. She's looking right at me. I can't tear my eyes away from this unexpected treat. But it's alright; in a moment she'll look away, shy as she is.
She's not looking away. She's staring right at me, and is that her mouth curving into a smile? Dammit, Neville has a question. I must answer or call attention to what is going on. And when I look back, she has returned to her work.
Did what I think happened just happen, or is it just wishful thinking?
Jill:
Oh my, oh my, oh my! I can't believe I just did that! But I am so glad I did! Be still my heart, but that was not a normal teacher/student glance. Uh uh. But now what do I do? I guess it's his turn to make the next move.
But what if he doesn't? Class will be over soon. I can't bear the thought of leaving it like this, this not knowing. But what if I'm wrong, what if he doesn't want me? I'll just have to be subtle. Like he's been all this time.
Snape:
Class is finally over. I can dismiss them. The urge to ask her to stay is so great, I have to turn my back and grip the lectern with white knuckles. I hear the sounds of footsteps and rustling paper recede into the hallway; I can finally relax. I turn back to begin preparation for the next class.
And she is there. At the door, looking decidedly undecided. I can but stare at her, undecided myself whether I want her to stay or go. No, that is not true. I want her to stay, but I know it is unwise. And out of my hands, as she is moving towards me now. I take a deep breath, hoping I can make my voice steady.
"Is there something I can help you with, Miss Miller?" Not bad, though definitely missing it's usual gruff, gravelly edge. I can never seem to muster it for her.
Jill:
"I, um-" I can't seem to get it out, the several half-formed plans in my head all mixing and interfering with each other. As I open my mouth to try again, another voice supercedes mine.
"Oh, good, I've caught you, Professor. Could you whip up some healing potions? There was an accident in Care of Magical Creatures, and I'm all out of superstitch." It is Madam Pomfrey, obviously in a hurry, so much so that she thankfully doesn't seem to have noticed the strange look Professor Snape is giving me. I murmur something about turning that homework assignment in as soon as possible and beat a hasty retreat. I swear I can feel his eyes burning into my back as I flee.
For the next few days, I can hardly eat or sleep. I find myself looking for him everywhere, but when I find him I invariably turn away, embarrassed. I must speak to him, I cannot go on like this, not knowing, not telling. But how can I get him alone? I shall die if we are interrupted again. And if by some chance I do get to talk to him, what can I say? What if I am wrong?
By the time the next class rolls around, I have screwed up my courage and made some decisions. I hurry to arrive before the rest of the class. But the previous class is delayed, my chance denied. It is the worst class period of my life. I make several stupid mistakes, which I can see he has noticed and yet does not remark upon. I try to be comforted by this additional evidence of his regard for me, but it only makes me feel more keenly my inability to express myself to him.
Then suddenly it hits me. The perfect plan. My sleeping potion is useless, anyway. It takes very little effort to "accidentally" tip the cauldron over. Please, please figure it out, I try to send my thoughts to him.
Snape:
I can't believe what I'm seeing. I've had no opportunity to speak to her since we were interrupted; she actually seemed to be avoiding me, which I told myself meant I was very wrong about her feelings for me. But then today - she kept inexplicably misjudging her ingredients, so any interaction would have had to have been negative, and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But I have been watching. And now I am sure she deliberately caused that spill. As the students around her attempt to skip out of the way, many not quickly enough, causing several numb spots on arms and legs, I use the distraction to meet her eyes. I find them pleading, as though she fears I shall punish her. But she need have no such fear. Would that I might hold her instead, comfort her in her obvious distress. But we would have to be alone for that.
Ah. I believe I finally understand.
"Miss Miller, this clumsiness is inexcusable. You will remain after class to clean it up."
She nods and tries to look abashed, but I can see she wants to smile. I, too, have a hard time covering my feelings. I send the rest of the class out as soon as possible - many to Madam Pomfrey - and they leave with gratifying speed. She is just finishing the cleanup when I return from locking the door.
Jill:
He's just standing there, watching me. If I were any other student, I'm sure he would be berating me up one side and down the other. But he isn't. He looks puzzled rather than angry, and I can't blame him. There is no proper course of action available for him. I shall have to continue to take the lead, until we are free to truly be together.
"I'm really sorry, Professor, I don't know what's wrong with me today."
"You haven't been quite yourself for several days, Miss Miller. Is there something you'd like to.talk about?"
"Yes. I, um-"
Snape:
Oh, no, she's going to clam up again, when she worked so hard for the chance to speak to me. I want to hold her, tell her everything will be okay, that she may confide in me, about anything. But or course I can't. I silently compose what I want her to say - words of love, devotion, I-know- it's-wrong-but-I-don't-care. But at the same time, those scenes terrify me. I can feel myself sweating in the cool of the dungeon.
"I guess I'm worried about graduating," she finally says. Somewhat disappointing. But at least there is a safe reply.
"You've nothing to worry about, Miss Miller, with your NEWT scores, you can pursue whatever path you desire." Telling choice of words, there. Must be more careful. "You could even join the Ministry of Magic."
"Yes, Dumbledore has already said he would recommend me, but that route just doesn't seem very.satisfying to me." Hmm, her words may be giving away her intentions as well. I hope. "I was thinking about something to do with potions, as I enjoy then and seem to have some aptitude. Today not withstanding. So I was hoping you might have some suggestions, as I like to think of you as my mentor."
Suddenly I am not sweating. I am cold. "Mentor" is not a word I was expecting. I don't believe I've ever heard the word used in reference to myself before. Then again, the other words I was thinking of are just as rare. I look down at my hands to hide the disappointment in my eyes.
"Well, I'm afraid I have little experience with careers outside the academic field, Miss Miller." I risk a look up. She is gazing upon me with something like adoration, though alas for a mere mentor. Well, if that's what she wants, I can give it to her. Would that I could give her so much more. "However, you might be interested in attending a conference this summer. There are often interesting opportunities available at such gatherings."
"That sounds perfect!" She does indeed look very happy. That is some consolation, at least.
"I'll have the information for you by next class."
"Thank you, Professor." She looks as though she wants to say something else, but before she can, we both become aware of sounds in the hallway. By the incredible noise level, I would guess they are first years.
"My next class seems to have arrived."
She nods and turns to pick up her things. I walk her to the door in silence. It is not until I am lifting the latch that I wonder what the rabble outside will make of us, in a locked classroom, alone. I put on my stern face and glare at each student as they pass by, hoping to discourage conjecture.
Jill:
I push against the tide of first-years, trying to keep my face blank, when inside I am smiling broadly as a plan hatches. I almost let it show when a fellow Ravenclaw I know in passing stops me.
"What did he keep you late for?"
"Oh, I spilled something, had to clean up."
"You okay?" She really looks concerned.
"Yeah." I try to look as I think another student would look after a dressing down by Professor Snape, but reassuring enough that she will let me go. It works. When I am finally free of the oncoming tide, I let myself smile, not even caring that I will be late for Charms.
The next few days, I am again not myself, but toward the completely opposite pole as before. My plan is coming clear, and I spend my time daydreaming - and night dreaming - about it endlessly. I smile at odd times, like when Ravenclaw loses a Quidditch match to Slytherin. I cover by saying I'm just so happy to be graduating soon.
My next Potions class finally arrives. I wait patiently through the whole thing, but he doesn't bring me anything. My spirits are beginning to flag a bit as I gather my books, stalling for time, hoping to get in another word. I don't dare try the same tactic as last time. Finally the last other student is moving toward the door, and I look up to see Professor Snape moving toward me.
"Here is that information we discussed," he says as he hands me a card. I glance down at it, see the moving type flash "Potions Parley".
"Are you planning to attend the conference, Professor?"
"Yes, I will be presenting, actually, on the uses of wolfsbane."
"Great!" I can't help it; I smile broadly. "See you next class, then."
I am still smiling as I enter the hall to find a few fellow students waiting for me.
"What was that about?"
I explain, and they look shocked.
"I would never want to see Snape outside of school."
"Yeah, after I graduate, if I ever see him again, it will be too soon."
I say I want to work in potions, try to steer the discussion away from Snape personally and to career choices in general. But inside I'm thinking that they are so unlucky, not to know the Potions Master as I do. Or at least, as I hope to.
As soon as I can get back to my dorm, I read the conference card thoroughly, carefully compose a letter, and take it straight to the owlery.
Snape:
I should be relieved. She only wanted me as a mentor, to help her along in her career. Of course I am happy to do that. Such a talented student, I can truthfully recommend her in any capacity. But it also means my temptation, my suffering, does not end with the end of term. No, I must control myself much longer, through the conference at least, perhaps through years of helpful counsel. With each encounter bringing both the greatest pleasure and the keenest pain. Such exquisite agony. I know I must cut it off as soon as possible, but how can I bring myself to do it?
Yet perhaps she is already done with me. Since I gave her the conference information, there have been no more carefully orchestrated encounters, no invitations to give her detention. No precious moments alone, that I both dread and pine for. Only the occasional mysterious smile, or glance across a crowded room. I live for such moments though I know I should turn away.
And now our last moment as teacher and student. It is, at last, exam day, and it is her turn to try the antidote she concocted for the mystery potion I have given only the vaguest clues about. It is actually a blackening potion, as several others have found out to the detriment of their rapidly shriveling fingers, and falling grades. Not Jill, though, I am certain, even as I watch her consume the elixir with no ill effects. I praise her effusively as I pass out my own antidote to the less talented. I can allow myself at least this, this one chance to show her how much I think of her before others, though I must pretend my praise is only for her work. Her beautiful smile is ample reward.
And then it is over. She is gone, walking out of my classroom and perhaps my life without a backward glance, surrounded by admiring friends. Perhaps I kid myself there. Perhaps they are more than friends. Perhaps there is one whom she can love freely, someone in her own age group, her own house, her own league.
Yes, I must cut this off, or die of the pain. A few more days, that's all I have until the conference, when I'll see her again. A few more days to get a grip on myself. A few more days to convince myself to let her go.
Those days pass quickly. Before I know it, it is time. I Apparate to the conference from a point far enough outside Hogwarts' grounds to avoid its restrictions, and find myself in a line of others waiting to register. It is a Muggle hotel, but the organizers have taken the entire building so we are free to be ourselves. Even the staff seems to be wizards, many of them young enough to be students at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons. When I reach the front of the table, I am told someone will show me to my room. I turn to my escort.
It is Jill.
"Hello, Professor," she greets me cheerily. My heart thuds in my chest at this unexpected meeting.
"Miss Miller. You are working here?" It sounds so banal to my own ears, I'm sure it must sound so to hers as well.
"Yes, they needed quite a few people, trying to make the place completely Muggle-free and all."
I can think of no more to say as we head for my room. It seems the wrong time and place to say what I had planned. And I am distracted by watching her walk up the stairs ahead of me.
We reach my room, she opens the door with a strange rectangular piece of plastic, ushers me in, then follows, closing the door behind her. Good, now I can say what I need to, get this over with. I turn.
And she is there. Her arms are around my neck, her face close to mine.
"Jill!" For a moment I am stuck, my good intentions warring with my secret desires. But it is no contest. My desires win, and I pull her to me. Our lips meet.
She melts against me, moaning deep in her throat, her eyes closed. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, the most erotic. I can feel my usually carefully controlled body responding in ways I'd thought lost to me. It is too good to be true. Irrationally, out of habit, I fight it.
"We mustn't." I push her away, but gently; there is hardly any strength left in my trembling limbs. I sit on the edge of a conveniently located chair, lest I fall.
"And why mustn't we?" She kneels before me on the floor, touches my knee. I shudder and look away. Has she any idea what she's doing to me? "I am no longer your student, Prof- Severus. We are finally free to be together, now that I know you feel for me as I do for you."
Perhaps even more than her words, the sound of my name on her lips persuades me. I can feel the ice around my heart melting, the bonds I put on it myself peeling away. Perhaps it can be real, perhaps she really does want me. I turn back to her.
Jill:
He is turning to me, gazing down at me with those deep, dark eyes. I smile encouragingly, see his lips waver as though he has forgotten how to smile. I shall fix that, I promise myself. I shall devote my life to reminding him how to be happy, or teaching him if he never learned. He reaches his arms out to me, and I slide up into his lap.
"We have so much time to make up for."