Frost in August

by Lady Gold

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Harry Potter because I do not. I do, however, own Eloise Fairchild, my OC. Don稚 kidnap her, please.

A/N: This story takes place before the Golden Trio arrived at Hogwarts.

Dear Journal,

I have decided to record for you the definition of a word each day. Today's word, dear journal, is infatuated. transitive verb

: to cause to be foolish : deprive of sound judgment

: to inspire with a foolish or extravagant love or admiration

Here is an example of its usage in a sentence: The childish young Ravenclaw girl was, indeed, infatuated with the bat of the dungeons, also known as Professor Severus Snape.

Yours,

Lo

Shaking pale fingers ran through hair that was neither brown nor blonde, yet caramel shade in between, as the young student waited for her professor to enter the dungeons. Her teeth were imbedded in her lower lip as she tried to block out the chatter of the Slytherins and fellow Ravenclaws around her. Paper birds and butterflies flew past her nose, and the overall chaos of the classroom made her dizzy. She rearranged the objects on her desk: a shiny new cauldron, perfectly pointed quills, and a delightfully thick sixth edition Potion Textbook. Everything had to be perfect, exact, and precise. All for him. The young girl promised herself that she would impress him this year, insisted on believing that he would acknowledge her eagerness to please.

The mind-numbing buzz of the students was cut short by a resounding bang, and Eloise repressed her sudden urge to smile. She recognized the sharp raps of his shoes against the stone floors, as he walked in an ironic march to the commanding post that was his desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the inky feathers of his hair, beak-like nose, and fluttering black cape. Just the way he demanded silence of the class without saying a single word made the girl shiver. She closed her eyes and focused on the scent that lingered in the air after he had left, this being the strong scent of mint leaves, old parchment, and ink. The class watched as the man with the morose mien pivoted on his heel to face the class, his thin arms crossing over his chest. Eloise found herself leaning over her desk slightly, eager to hear what the man had to say.

"You are...he drawled, looking utterly bored, 渡o longer in first year, or the four years following that, you are in your sixth year. If you have any sense ingrained in your minds from what I have taught you during the previous years, you will open your books immediatly.

Eloise痴 fingers brushed over the binding of her pre-opened text; she knew his game, and she knew it well.

"Place a dram of the Elixir of Euphoria on my desk at the end of this class. Begin."

Eloise's fingers danced with excitement as they skimmed over the vials on her desk. She found it ironic that this would be the first potion that he assigned the class to make due to its effect on the people who drank it. This particular elixir induced a strong sense of bliss in the drinker who, if the potion was brewed incorrectly, could end up on top of his or her desk singing show tunes, whilst giggling incessantly. It was if the brooding professor wanted to die a slow and painful death.

The girl began her potion and settled into the consuming abandon she felt whenever she brewed, a sense that noting else was real in the world. She watched intently as the potion turned several different colors through out the process. Add one equally cut faerie ring mushroom and the potion will turn its appropriate shade of sunshine yellow ,her textbook read. She took one skeptical gaze at said mushroom and worried her lip between her teeth.

She knew from previous years of learning that faerie ring mushrooms were as delicate as the pixies that made them, not suitable for cutting. Eloise knew she should follow directions, but something just didn't seem right about cutting such a fragile ingredient. Lifting her bowed head, Eloise glanced towards the front of the dungeons where Snape was giving a fellow Ravenclaw who had tipped over her cauldron a withering glare. Bold shouts and exasperated sighs enveloped the students in a stressful haze of confusion while attempting to brew the potion that induced happiness. Rolling the long white sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows, Eloise decided to ignore the hum drum and continue on with her work.

She did have someone to impress, after all. As she rolled the mushroom between her thumb and forefinger, she caught sight of dark robes beside her and her pulse began to quicken. A hand with five pale digits wrapped around the edge of her desk, and Eloise pondered that they looked like that of a poet or composer. Hands that were strong yet elegant, that would be seen peeking from laced velvet cuffs, not dark plain garbs. The hand, much to her dismay, disappeared along with the person it was attached to, her professor finding someone else to prey upon. Eloise grabbed the knife and decided to go with her first assumption, not matter what the rules stated.

She slid the mushroom over with one finger and flipped the knife so that the blade was faced downwards. She then slowly crushed, not cut, the mushroom with the side of the blade and out from it came a sparkling pale yellow substance. Eloise with a self-satisfied smirk stoppered the liquid and slowly let it drip into the potion, which shifted from its mint green stage to the desired sunshine yellow.

Eloise brushed a few sweaty strands of dark gold hair out of her tired eyes, before dropping into her seat with a sigh. Everything was somewhat peaceful for the fatigued student, that is, until Norton Smith, a stone-faced Slytherin jumped upon his desk and threw his thin arms into the air belting out the first notes of a Smoking Cauldrons song, while flinging his arms around his frame in an imitation of a guitarist. A few girls around him started to dance uncontrollably, giggles filling the smoky air with overdosed mirth.

Of course, they had to taste their potions when the directions specifically told them not to do so. Yet Eloise couldn't really judge them for that particular fault. The professor looked disgusted, pacing about the room docking points from any one on their desks or in song, this being more than half the class. Eloise glanced at her potion one more time and noticed something strange. The elixir was more of a marigold, as were the potions in the cauldrons around her. In her mind, she imagined her copy of Bartlby痴 Book of Potions and Elixirs. Page 245, one must use peppermint oil to lessen the effects of a strong potion or elixir, three drops shall suffice

With the vision of the text in her mind, the girl stood up from her chair and pushed past the many students dancing about and laughing without restrain. Eloise was grabbed by the waist by Norton and spun in circles about the room, her vision growing muddled. When she was finally able to pull past Norton and push past the multitude of unruly sixth years, Eloise finally reached her destination: the professor's cabinet. With a turn of her head, she could see the man she so adored slumped over behind his desk, waiting for the effects to wear off his euphoria-overdosed students.

A twang of pity hit her heart as she hesitated to open the cabinet door. She couldn't possibly take advantage of his weary state, could she? Yet again, he would very much respect a student who could get their work done correctly and at any cost. With that last thought Eloise ducked into the cabinet and retrieved the oil.

Severus Snape was having a terrible day. He truly should have known better than to assign the Euphoria Elixir on the first day of sixth year classes. His lips curved into a snarl as he lifted the third Elixir to his beak-like nose for testing.

This one smelled sugary sweet, like muggle fairy floss, along with an underlying scent of baby powder. This one belonged to that Smith boy, he observed, placing the sickly sweet mixture aside. The man grew light-headed with the scent of each new sugary mixture, all of the potions being made too strong. Sparking vials of dandelion yellow mocked him as he continued to grade the unsatisfactory elixirs. Finally after so many tests, he reached his last potion: number thirty-two.

Unstoppering the vial he held it to his nose and squinted his eyes, preparing to be once more revolted. Instead a soothing scent of warm honeysuckle, dew, and cherry blossom reached his senses.

With one sniff more, he could smell a singular sharp tinge of mint. Someone had done their research. Before he could read the name etched upon the glass vial, a piece of hidden parchment fluttered to his desk. It read as so:

Prof. Snape,

One should crush not cut a faerie ring mushroom. Peppermint needed to soothe affects of elixir. I used exactly three drops of the peppermint oil in your cabinet to compete the potion correctly. A new vial of the ingredient for you will arrive by owl this Thursday.

-Fairchild

Fairchild? Who was Fairchild? The potion master痴 dark brows furrowed as he tried to remember a student by this surname. Then it came to him: Fairchild was the timid sixth year Ravenclaw who never uttered a single word in class. He cold vaguely remember a pale heart-shaped face, jaw- length dirty blonde hair, and worried wide eyes. This was a very different person it seemed that the writer of the note. The note sounded mature yet polite, strong and sure-footed. Wanting not ponder the oddities of a rather intelligent student, Severus Snape swiftly inked out a small note on a fresh piece of parchment and attached it to the vial. Maybe the demure Fairchild deserved another glance.

A/N: This is the part where the author begs for reviews ;)