No one likes the bitter...
Severus watched out of the window, head resting against the frozen window pane, observing a darkened figure on the black grassy grounds. Severus' gaze swivelled across the newly illuminated ground, bathing the figure in a lining of warm, glowing gold. Her face could be made out by the dim light of Hagrid's cabin far below. She sat on the lush grass in the cold, surrounded in a coating of frost in the smarting night air.
Severus could see the moon in half tonight as he sat, in the dark, alone on the windowsill, looking down wide-eyed and suspicious at the darkened vision of beauty below him. He noticed every shiver, every dragons breath; he observed each movement she made as she waited, in the dark, alone on the stiff black grass. Severus was so intent upon the girl he almost didn't notice the second figure, sweeping gracefully across the grounds. He turned his head slowly to follow the new arrivals track. By the thin slivers of golden light shed upon the grounds, and the light reflected upon them by the half-moon, Severus could watch the scene in silence. The girl's delicate hands swiftly whipped her hood back as she stood again; allowing her beautiful, red locks to cascade over her shoulders and pretty, frozen, smiling face. The second figure quickened over to her, and Severus caught a glimpse of his face as he swept through the light. Severus tilted his head frowning. He recognised the glistening black mop of hair; that taunting, grinning mouth; that air of innocent malice... Severus' glassy eyes widened beneath a drape of glossy hair, as he glared in slight disgust at the two figures, now locked in an eternal embrace, lost to all around them; the bitter midnight air pierced them, like the bitter sting of what Severus regarded below him on the harsh cutting grounds of Hogwarts.
He tore his eyes slowly from the lovers' greeting; his galling heart a lonely gaol to emotion. Shivering slightly, he came down from the sill clambering cautiously yet with ease back to the floor, returning to his candlelit studies. Half-written work and open book lay upon the solid table waiting still for Severus' quill. As though there was no interruption, Severus took his seat, nosed his scarf back over his face, and continued his work; distinctly more stony, and unresponsive than ever...