Raven Eyes
Chapter I: The Secret Seduction of Severus Snape- Part 1
~*Modified from its original version. I'd forgotten to add some things…*~
Disclaimer: All characters but Prof. Wingebatte Ving-ah-bat are property of JKR. My apologies to her for any damage done to her precious characters. I'm warning you ahead of time, this is my first HP fic, and probably the last, as far as that goes. Without further ado, brace yourselves.
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When the Boy Who Lived was about to begin his fifth year at Hogwarts…
The head of Slytherin House walked briskly through the cold stone hallways at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with his robes billowing behind him like great clouds of black smoke. He was not looking forward to this day, at all, as it was today that he would meet the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in the banquet hall. Albus Dumbledore had called for him, very early that morning, bustling into his chambers with a swish of deep violet robes and muttering apologies into his great silver beard: "Please forgive the intrusion, Severus, but the new DADA teacher will be arriving, shortly, and I should like to have every housemaster present to make her feel more welcome."
Snape groaned, suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and sat up in bed. "Alright, Albus, give me a few moments to dress myself. I'll be down in a minute." Dumbledore smiled cheerily and pushed up his gold-rimmed half-moon glasses with a withered finger.
"Splendid. See you in the Great Hall."
"I'm quaking with excitement," said Snape's silken voice, positively dripping with sarcasm as he reluctantly flung off his warm black velvet coverlet and swung his legs over the side of the huge four-poster. He thought it odd that a new teacher should arrive at such an early hour, before the sun had even begun to rise, but he said no more on the matter as he prepared for the meeting.
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No acknowledgement of the Potion Master's presence was given as he walked through the doors of the Hall and up the center aisle to the teacher's table. When he'd taken his seat, Professor Dumbledore finally greeted him, hurriedly, before returning to his conversation with Minerva McGonagall about some insignificant thing or another. Snape thought he caught the word "fudge" but with Dumbledore's infatuation with candy it was difficult to discern whether he was in fact referring to chocolate or the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Both possibilities were equally probable.
The seat beside Snape was empty as usual at the start of the new school year, as it was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who always assumed that position at the table, and every year there was a different person sitting there. Snape didn't fully comprehend why Dumbledore repeatedly denied him this job that he had so craved for years. He was tormented every year as yet another DADA teacher left the school in some way or another and was replaced by someone other than himself. The Headmaster knew fully well just how badly he desired this job, but the old man never yielded to his insisting, no, his pleading to allow him the position. Sometimes he thought the wizened wizard was just being stubborn and difficult, but even Snape knew better than to judge Albus Dumbledore in such a way.
Snape stared out over the empty benches that stretched across the enormous room and sighed. Tonight they would be filled with noisy, disruptive, know- it-all wizards and witches in training. He really would have preferred if Dumbledore had simply called the school year off and closed Hogwarts until they had the current situation well under control. The current situation being the resurrection of Lord Voldemort and the reassembly of his Death Eaters. The students' safety as well as the staffs' was in question, and having such a large amount of wizards and witches all congregated in one place without the proper protection, well that was just ludicrous, in Snape's opinion. Yes, Dumbledore had hired a special group of wizards from a security branch of the Ministry who were trained in defense against the dark arts, but it just wasn't enough. He wanted to continue to do his real job instead of messing around with cheeky children, but Dumbledore insisted he stay and teach.
The show must go on, Severus, he would say when Snape voiced his concerns. I must ask you to trust my judgment. Should I need you, have no doubt that I will call for you.
Snape's original position had been resumed, that summer when he was sent to spy on his former compatriots at their various hideouts across Great Britain and beyond. It had not been an easy job and he'd only managed to locate eight out of some thirty of them, and no vital information had been provided from these few individuals. The Death Eaters appeared quite inactive, though Snape had known appearances to be deceiving on a number of occasions, and went with his instinct in supposing that they were simply biding their time in secret, as Voldemort had done for the last decade and a half. They were planning their rise to power. Voldemort was probably sending them instructions by way of Animagus messengers and loyal servants, though only a few of these remained. Of course they were planning something, but what, how, who, when…Snape had been unable to overhear any specifics, but not for lack of effort. The Death Eaters simply hadn't mentioned anything of real importance, which was very wise on their part.
This mission had taken nearly the entire summer, lasting from the day after the last term ended (he'd packed the night of the Leaving Feast) to a week before the start of the next, leaving the potions master very little time indeed with which to prepare a proper lesson plan for that term.
In short, he was disgruntled and exhausted and overwhelmed, and would have so loved to just stay in bed for the rest of the day. For the rest of the year. He didn't hate his job all the time, but some things made it pretty near unbearable. His students, for example. He downright despised some of them, as they gave him no end of grief, causing him to be all the more bitter and strict, which was ironically the very reason for the student's misbehaviour, to begin with. Either Snape failed to realize this or refused to acknowledge it, because his method of teaching, deportment and attitude never changed, no matter what.
He had more important things to worry about than teaching thick-headed teenagers, but he wasn't planning on disobeying Professor Dumbledore, though he was convinced that it may very well have been for the benefit of them all if he did. He was sick of being tied down but he owed it to Dumbledore and was prepared to stay loyal till it was no longer required of him, even though his instincts told him otherwise.
But before Snape could think one more bitter thought, a figure appeared in the high doorway at the opposite end of the room. Snape squinted his shining raven eyes so as to get a better look at the face to whom the figure belonged.
"Come in, Professor Wingebatte," bellowed Dumbledore in his warm and friendly voice.
As the figure walked toward the table Snape could see that it was distinctly female in the way it moved, the shape that it took. As she came nearer, still, he could see her face more clearly, and eventually he could see that it was nothing short of drop-dead gorgeous. He noticed her flashing green eyes and pouting, red mouth before the inferno of red hair that framed this pale, soft-looking face, making a perfect picture of it.
Though her skin itself looked soft, the expression she wore was quite stiff, not entirely different from the appearance of her most enthralled beholder, Severus Snape.
She was standing directly before the long table, now, a suitcase in one hand, a wicker basket in the other, her long black cloak swishing gracefully at her ankles.
"Come, sit down, my dear," said Dumbledore with a smile.
"Thank you, Professor," said the young woman in what sounded to Snape like a hint of a Transylvanian accent.
"Leave your luggage on the step, there, it will be taken care of, presently." And with that, the Headmaster clapped his wrinkled hands and the bags disappeared. "You'll find them a little later in your chambers." The mysterious woman smiled and flashed her emerald eyes in Dumbledore's direction before taking her seat in the high-backed chair to the left of Snape.
He knew that the polite thing to do would be to greet his new colleague, perhaps shake her hand, but Snape only pretended to be interested in the grain of the wood in the table, below him, running a slender finger along the smooth, polished wood directly before him. He didn't really want to offend her, it was just rather awkward for him…besides, it was not exactly in his nature to be hospitable to anyone, no matter how charming or good- looking, and everyone sitting at the table knew this, perfectly well.
"Everyone, this is Professor Veronika Wingebatte. She will be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year." It may have just been his wandering imagination but Snape could have sworn that he saw Dumbledore shoot him a wayward glance as he said "Defense Against the Dark Arts," and he scowled.
Everyone around her murmured their salutations. All but Snape, who sat leaning forward over the table, looking bored and irritable as ever.
"Aren't you going to say hello?" Wingebatte purred in Snape's ear after she'd finished shaking hands with everyone else around her.
Snape shot her a near-glare out of the corner of his eye, looking at her through a few stray strands of greasy ebony hair that had managed to creep their way across his sour face.
"Hello," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, but a cold, cruel- sounding whisper, nonetheless. She grinned, showing two abnormally large and pointed canine teeth just beneath her upper painted lip.
"Not quite the hello I was looking for, but it'll do." Snape was left wondering what exactly she had meant by that as she turned around to face the front of the hall.
Dumbledore went on with the pleasantries, explaining how to get to this part of the school and that, what times the meals took place…
"Not that you really need that information…" What was that supposed to mean? No matter.
Snape had stopped paying attention ages ago, but what brought his attention back to the old wizard was the mention of his name.
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore?" he asked, turning his head ever so slightly in the Headmaster's direction.
"I can see no better person to show our new cohort to her chambers than you, Severus."
"Ah…" began Snape, wanting so to protest, but he stopped his words on the tip of his tongue and swallowed them. He stood up from his seat, pushed in his chair, carelessly and took a few steps away from the table. "Won't you follow me," he said, not looking at the person to whom he spoke.
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Snape walked out of the Great Hall, quickly, a cold sweat threatening to break out over his brow. He felt foolish for shutting out Dumbledore's words and letting his own thoughts run rampant as he made his way into the main hall, completely unsure of his destination. Why hadn't he listened? Now he hadn't the foggiest idea of where the woman's chambers were located! Had the old wizard even mention where they were? His fellow teacher, though having been at Hogwarts only about three quarters of an hour was already a distraction to him. And not just because of her beauty.
Suddenly, he felt as though his mind were being invaded. He felt like he was not the only one inside of his head, but just as soon as the sensation had occurred, it stopped.
"My room is in the dungeons, sir," came the velvety voice from behind the flustered Potions Master, startling him out of his contemplations.
"I know where it is!" he barked, immediately embarrassed by the sharp tone of his voice. "I know where it is," he repeated, more quietly, this time. The young woman only smiled and said in that disturbingly seductive accent, "But of course you do."
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Snape did not require the assistance of a candle or torch as he made his way down the dark and winding staircase that led down into the dungeon. His chambers were down here, after all, and he knew the way just as well in the dark as in broad daylight.
The pair walked past the door to Snape's bedroom, past his classroom and past his office to yet another dark corridor, leading to what Wingebatte would soon discover to be her room, her classroom and a small office, which was less than half the size of Snape's.
"I assume this is where Dumbledore means for you to stay," he said, looking around into the near pitch-blackness that surrounded him. He could scarcely see the young woman's pale face, but he could hear her breathing, steady and rhythmical just a few feet to the left of him.
"It will do, perfectly," she said, touching her companion's shoulder, causing him to jerk, slightly.
"Perhaps I should have thought to bring a candle so that you can find your way about," he said, stepping further away from her. Her touch had made him feel cold, even through the layers of fabric which he'd adopted as his uniform.
"Don't worry your pretty head about it," she said, her voice like honey. "I can see quite well, ispo facto."
Snape sniffed and cleared his throat. He felt the sudden urge to bolt back into the black void behind him, just to get away from this eerie woman. There was something very odd about her, indeed, and though he was rather attracted to her, she made him feel uneasy. Perhaps it was simply because of the attraction that he felt this way, but he thought it was most likely more complicated than that. He'd had crushes, before, in his years as a student at Hogwarts, but they'd never felt so alien and strange as this. Then again, it had been quite awhile…
"Well, I'll leave you to unpack your things and get your classroom in order," he said, quickly, hoping to make a swift, smooth departure without further conversation.
"Indeed," said Wingebatte with a grin that though Snape could not see, he could feel, along with her piercing green eyes on his back, and it was all that he could do to keep from sprinting out of the chamber and into the sanctuary of his office.
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Snape did not like being afraid. Fear was his least favourite of all the miserable emotions one could feel. It had worked against him one to many times, causing humiliation and self-loathing, and his ever-lingering dreary disposition. Actually, the more he thought about it, all his emotions ever did was work against him, in some way, or another.
What was it about that woman that made her so odd? She was different from any witch he had ever encountered, and Snape did not like that with which he was unfamiliar. It made him feel uncomfortable and ignorant, and who likes to feel that way?
He began to sum up what he'd noticed about her, what had seemingly stuck- out from the rest of her appearance. (Well, two of the obvious protrusions, and rather large, in this particular case, being exempt.) There had been the eyes; they seemed abnormally green and sharp, their pupils perhaps smaller than what they should be, but then again Madam Hooch had similar eyes…
But then there were the teeth. The thought that they were perhaps just a bit longer and sharper-looking that those of most people skipped across its mind but did not linger for very long, and he was soon convinced that they were fangs of some kind.
His heart skipped a beat when he'd come to this assessment. Please, not another werewolf! he thought to himself, shamefully. He didn't want to relive that particular bad memory that was still haunting him after all those years.
She arrived before dawn, he thought, curling an index finger beneath his chin, and her chambers are located in the darkest part of the castle…but that doesn't necessarily mean anything, so are mine. "Hmm…" he said aloud, stroking his bottom lip with his thumb, as was a habit of his when in deep contemplation. I think I'll wait awhile before I go jumping to conclusions, said the moral part of him. He forced the other part to remain silent as he finished organizing his classroom. He hadn't changed much of anything inside the dim room, last summer, so organization was a simple and quick task, just as he liked it.
Chapter I: The Secret Seduction of Severus Snape- Part 1
~*Modified from its original version. I'd forgotten to add some things…*~
Disclaimer: All characters but Prof. Wingebatte Ving-ah-bat are property of JKR. My apologies to her for any damage done to her precious characters. I'm warning you ahead of time, this is my first HP fic, and probably the last, as far as that goes. Without further ado, brace yourselves.
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When the Boy Who Lived was about to begin his fifth year at Hogwarts…
The head of Slytherin House walked briskly through the cold stone hallways at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with his robes billowing behind him like great clouds of black smoke. He was not looking forward to this day, at all, as it was today that he would meet the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in the banquet hall. Albus Dumbledore had called for him, very early that morning, bustling into his chambers with a swish of deep violet robes and muttering apologies into his great silver beard: "Please forgive the intrusion, Severus, but the new DADA teacher will be arriving, shortly, and I should like to have every housemaster present to make her feel more welcome."
Snape groaned, suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and sat up in bed. "Alright, Albus, give me a few moments to dress myself. I'll be down in a minute." Dumbledore smiled cheerily and pushed up his gold-rimmed half-moon glasses with a withered finger.
"Splendid. See you in the Great Hall."
"I'm quaking with excitement," said Snape's silken voice, positively dripping with sarcasm as he reluctantly flung off his warm black velvet coverlet and swung his legs over the side of the huge four-poster. He thought it odd that a new teacher should arrive at such an early hour, before the sun had even begun to rise, but he said no more on the matter as he prepared for the meeting.
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No acknowledgement of the Potion Master's presence was given as he walked through the doors of the Hall and up the center aisle to the teacher's table. When he'd taken his seat, Professor Dumbledore finally greeted him, hurriedly, before returning to his conversation with Minerva McGonagall about some insignificant thing or another. Snape thought he caught the word "fudge" but with Dumbledore's infatuation with candy it was difficult to discern whether he was in fact referring to chocolate or the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Both possibilities were equally probable.
The seat beside Snape was empty as usual at the start of the new school year, as it was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who always assumed that position at the table, and every year there was a different person sitting there. Snape didn't fully comprehend why Dumbledore repeatedly denied him this job that he had so craved for years. He was tormented every year as yet another DADA teacher left the school in some way or another and was replaced by someone other than himself. The Headmaster knew fully well just how badly he desired this job, but the old man never yielded to his insisting, no, his pleading to allow him the position. Sometimes he thought the wizened wizard was just being stubborn and difficult, but even Snape knew better than to judge Albus Dumbledore in such a way.
Snape stared out over the empty benches that stretched across the enormous room and sighed. Tonight they would be filled with noisy, disruptive, know- it-all wizards and witches in training. He really would have preferred if Dumbledore had simply called the school year off and closed Hogwarts until they had the current situation well under control. The current situation being the resurrection of Lord Voldemort and the reassembly of his Death Eaters. The students' safety as well as the staffs' was in question, and having such a large amount of wizards and witches all congregated in one place without the proper protection, well that was just ludicrous, in Snape's opinion. Yes, Dumbledore had hired a special group of wizards from a security branch of the Ministry who were trained in defense against the dark arts, but it just wasn't enough. He wanted to continue to do his real job instead of messing around with cheeky children, but Dumbledore insisted he stay and teach.
The show must go on, Severus, he would say when Snape voiced his concerns. I must ask you to trust my judgment. Should I need you, have no doubt that I will call for you.
Snape's original position had been resumed, that summer when he was sent to spy on his former compatriots at their various hideouts across Great Britain and beyond. It had not been an easy job and he'd only managed to locate eight out of some thirty of them, and no vital information had been provided from these few individuals. The Death Eaters appeared quite inactive, though Snape had known appearances to be deceiving on a number of occasions, and went with his instinct in supposing that they were simply biding their time in secret, as Voldemort had done for the last decade and a half. They were planning their rise to power. Voldemort was probably sending them instructions by way of Animagus messengers and loyal servants, though only a few of these remained. Of course they were planning something, but what, how, who, when…Snape had been unable to overhear any specifics, but not for lack of effort. The Death Eaters simply hadn't mentioned anything of real importance, which was very wise on their part.
This mission had taken nearly the entire summer, lasting from the day after the last term ended (he'd packed the night of the Leaving Feast) to a week before the start of the next, leaving the potions master very little time indeed with which to prepare a proper lesson plan for that term.
In short, he was disgruntled and exhausted and overwhelmed, and would have so loved to just stay in bed for the rest of the day. For the rest of the year. He didn't hate his job all the time, but some things made it pretty near unbearable. His students, for example. He downright despised some of them, as they gave him no end of grief, causing him to be all the more bitter and strict, which was ironically the very reason for the student's misbehaviour, to begin with. Either Snape failed to realize this or refused to acknowledge it, because his method of teaching, deportment and attitude never changed, no matter what.
He had more important things to worry about than teaching thick-headed teenagers, but he wasn't planning on disobeying Professor Dumbledore, though he was convinced that it may very well have been for the benefit of them all if he did. He was sick of being tied down but he owed it to Dumbledore and was prepared to stay loyal till it was no longer required of him, even though his instincts told him otherwise.
But before Snape could think one more bitter thought, a figure appeared in the high doorway at the opposite end of the room. Snape squinted his shining raven eyes so as to get a better look at the face to whom the figure belonged.
"Come in, Professor Wingebatte," bellowed Dumbledore in his warm and friendly voice.
As the figure walked toward the table Snape could see that it was distinctly female in the way it moved, the shape that it took. As she came nearer, still, he could see her face more clearly, and eventually he could see that it was nothing short of drop-dead gorgeous. He noticed her flashing green eyes and pouting, red mouth before the inferno of red hair that framed this pale, soft-looking face, making a perfect picture of it.
Though her skin itself looked soft, the expression she wore was quite stiff, not entirely different from the appearance of her most enthralled beholder, Severus Snape.
She was standing directly before the long table, now, a suitcase in one hand, a wicker basket in the other, her long black cloak swishing gracefully at her ankles.
"Come, sit down, my dear," said Dumbledore with a smile.
"Thank you, Professor," said the young woman in what sounded to Snape like a hint of a Transylvanian accent.
"Leave your luggage on the step, there, it will be taken care of, presently." And with that, the Headmaster clapped his wrinkled hands and the bags disappeared. "You'll find them a little later in your chambers." The mysterious woman smiled and flashed her emerald eyes in Dumbledore's direction before taking her seat in the high-backed chair to the left of Snape.
He knew that the polite thing to do would be to greet his new colleague, perhaps shake her hand, but Snape only pretended to be interested in the grain of the wood in the table, below him, running a slender finger along the smooth, polished wood directly before him. He didn't really want to offend her, it was just rather awkward for him…besides, it was not exactly in his nature to be hospitable to anyone, no matter how charming or good- looking, and everyone sitting at the table knew this, perfectly well.
"Everyone, this is Professor Veronika Wingebatte. She will be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year." It may have just been his wandering imagination but Snape could have sworn that he saw Dumbledore shoot him a wayward glance as he said "Defense Against the Dark Arts," and he scowled.
Everyone around her murmured their salutations. All but Snape, who sat leaning forward over the table, looking bored and irritable as ever.
"Aren't you going to say hello?" Wingebatte purred in Snape's ear after she'd finished shaking hands with everyone else around her.
Snape shot her a near-glare out of the corner of his eye, looking at her through a few stray strands of greasy ebony hair that had managed to creep their way across his sour face.
"Hello," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, but a cold, cruel- sounding whisper, nonetheless. She grinned, showing two abnormally large and pointed canine teeth just beneath her upper painted lip.
"Not quite the hello I was looking for, but it'll do." Snape was left wondering what exactly she had meant by that as she turned around to face the front of the hall.
Dumbledore went on with the pleasantries, explaining how to get to this part of the school and that, what times the meals took place…
"Not that you really need that information…" What was that supposed to mean? No matter.
Snape had stopped paying attention ages ago, but what brought his attention back to the old wizard was the mention of his name.
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore?" he asked, turning his head ever so slightly in the Headmaster's direction.
"I can see no better person to show our new cohort to her chambers than you, Severus."
"Ah…" began Snape, wanting so to protest, but he stopped his words on the tip of his tongue and swallowed them. He stood up from his seat, pushed in his chair, carelessly and took a few steps away from the table. "Won't you follow me," he said, not looking at the person to whom he spoke.
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Snape walked out of the Great Hall, quickly, a cold sweat threatening to break out over his brow. He felt foolish for shutting out Dumbledore's words and letting his own thoughts run rampant as he made his way into the main hall, completely unsure of his destination. Why hadn't he listened? Now he hadn't the foggiest idea of where the woman's chambers were located! Had the old wizard even mention where they were? His fellow teacher, though having been at Hogwarts only about three quarters of an hour was already a distraction to him. And not just because of her beauty.
Suddenly, he felt as though his mind were being invaded. He felt like he was not the only one inside of his head, but just as soon as the sensation had occurred, it stopped.
"My room is in the dungeons, sir," came the velvety voice from behind the flustered Potions Master, startling him out of his contemplations.
"I know where it is!" he barked, immediately embarrassed by the sharp tone of his voice. "I know where it is," he repeated, more quietly, this time. The young woman only smiled and said in that disturbingly seductive accent, "But of course you do."
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Snape did not require the assistance of a candle or torch as he made his way down the dark and winding staircase that led down into the dungeon. His chambers were down here, after all, and he knew the way just as well in the dark as in broad daylight.
The pair walked past the door to Snape's bedroom, past his classroom and past his office to yet another dark corridor, leading to what Wingebatte would soon discover to be her room, her classroom and a small office, which was less than half the size of Snape's.
"I assume this is where Dumbledore means for you to stay," he said, looking around into the near pitch-blackness that surrounded him. He could scarcely see the young woman's pale face, but he could hear her breathing, steady and rhythmical just a few feet to the left of him.
"It will do, perfectly," she said, touching her companion's shoulder, causing him to jerk, slightly.
"Perhaps I should have thought to bring a candle so that you can find your way about," he said, stepping further away from her. Her touch had made him feel cold, even through the layers of fabric which he'd adopted as his uniform.
"Don't worry your pretty head about it," she said, her voice like honey. "I can see quite well, ispo facto."
Snape sniffed and cleared his throat. He felt the sudden urge to bolt back into the black void behind him, just to get away from this eerie woman. There was something very odd about her, indeed, and though he was rather attracted to her, she made him feel uneasy. Perhaps it was simply because of the attraction that he felt this way, but he thought it was most likely more complicated than that. He'd had crushes, before, in his years as a student at Hogwarts, but they'd never felt so alien and strange as this. Then again, it had been quite awhile…
"Well, I'll leave you to unpack your things and get your classroom in order," he said, quickly, hoping to make a swift, smooth departure without further conversation.
"Indeed," said Wingebatte with a grin that though Snape could not see, he could feel, along with her piercing green eyes on his back, and it was all that he could do to keep from sprinting out of the chamber and into the sanctuary of his office.
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Snape did not like being afraid. Fear was his least favourite of all the miserable emotions one could feel. It had worked against him one to many times, causing humiliation and self-loathing, and his ever-lingering dreary disposition. Actually, the more he thought about it, all his emotions ever did was work against him, in some way, or another.
What was it about that woman that made her so odd? She was different from any witch he had ever encountered, and Snape did not like that with which he was unfamiliar. It made him feel uncomfortable and ignorant, and who likes to feel that way?
He began to sum up what he'd noticed about her, what had seemingly stuck- out from the rest of her appearance. (Well, two of the obvious protrusions, and rather large, in this particular case, being exempt.) There had been the eyes; they seemed abnormally green and sharp, their pupils perhaps smaller than what they should be, but then again Madam Hooch had similar eyes…
But then there were the teeth. The thought that they were perhaps just a bit longer and sharper-looking that those of most people skipped across its mind but did not linger for very long, and he was soon convinced that they were fangs of some kind.
His heart skipped a beat when he'd come to this assessment. Please, not another werewolf! he thought to himself, shamefully. He didn't want to relive that particular bad memory that was still haunting him after all those years.
She arrived before dawn, he thought, curling an index finger beneath his chin, and her chambers are located in the darkest part of the castle…but that doesn't necessarily mean anything, so are mine. "Hmm…" he said aloud, stroking his bottom lip with his thumb, as was a habit of his when in deep contemplation. I think I'll wait awhile before I go jumping to conclusions, said the moral part of him. He forced the other part to remain silent as he finished organizing his classroom. He hadn't changed much of anything inside the dim room, last summer, so organization was a simple and quick task, just as he liked it.