This story was supposed to be a one-shot with some kind of a clever conclusion, but I enjoyed writing it to the point I will turn it into a longer piece. I'm very glad I'm back to writing chapters instead of two-paragraph roleplay responses. Hopefully you enjoy this story.

Canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, the rest was made up for the needs of the roleplay. The story takes place five or so years before Harry arrives at Hogwarts for the first time.

The tapping sound echoed for a very brief moment and was lost in the thick mist that hovered over the courtyard of Hogwarts castle. The mist stole the shadow play as well as all the minor noises that were suddenly fading even in the distance. The only determined sound was the one of rough shoe heels tapping against the bricks as a silhouette was rushing down the ambulatory, towards the narrow bridge that led to the plains. It was still before sunrise and the only colours that painted over the sky were the dim ones, mixing with the rolling storm clouds that looked gloomy enough for the landscape opening before one's eyes if following the rushing silhouette.

She turned over her shoulder unexpectedly, causing the hair to messily cover her face and get into her mouth and eyes. She coughed heavily and felt the burning and almost exploding sensation to overwhelm her throat. Her stride was instable and she would stumble over her own feet every few steps. Heart was about to leap out of her chest as the girl pulled at her school sweater, feeling another wave of heat washing over her whole body. She felt she was suffocating. Another rapid look over the shoulder and the girl suddenly fell to the ground, landing brutally on her knees with a crackle and she clutched at her hair violently, the mad cough throwing her body in many directions. She felt she was losing it.

„Prof..." another insanely intense cough caused the lousy body of the seventeen-year-old to arch. „Professor..." the voice was lost in the mist. And she was so close.

Holding her arms out blindly in front of herself, the girl began to move forwards on all fours. The cough ceased for a few blessed moments and in that time the only audible sound around was that of a body being dragged across the cold stone floor. The world seemed to have been rid of all the noises.

„Professor..." she couldn't even call him properly, not to mention calling him loudly enough for him to hear.

She knew he would be there, he always was if he decided to give himself some time alone. His strolling path was always the same and it was perfectly visible from the Ravenclaw tower's dormitories. She herself, suffering from a minor insomnia, sometimes spent her sleepless nights on staring outside the windows if she wasn't reading.

If only she hadn't drunk that blasted potion! What kind of a desperate move was that? Not only a few minutes before midnight, just when she was on her way back to the girls' dormitory the very same group of the three six years stopped her right at the door and yet again tried to pester her. She was tired of the charity work she used to be doing out of good will, tired of checking the others' homework and constantly answering the questions. People did not respect her time. It was the high time it finally changed.

And on that blasted evening she finally reached to her counter side, pulling out the very egoistic self, telling them bravely there would be no more help ever. And it... worked. It worked so perfectly she just couldn't believe. She had never been good with assertiveness in her lifetime and seeing just how one step brought her what she'd been dreaming of for weeks now was so uplifting. And those girls seemed even nice. And then they decided to test her yet again, to her oblivion.

„It's only a potion we brew together. Come on, do you think we would try to harm anyone? Why?" was what they were saying as they pushed through her defense shield more and more, handing out a tiny vial towards her. „We think we owe you one, for the help and all," said a particularly nice one and Emma broke. Even though the tiny container was properly closed with a cork, the smell was coming out anyway, ensnaring her senses. „It's a get-better potion. We added the dark chocolate we bought at Honeydukes the last time we went there," a blonde one said, moving closer to her and smelling the potion along with Emma.

Why didn't she sense something was suspicious back then, at that very moment? Why didn't it click that people do not usually carry self-brewed get-well potions around with them?

It was too late to ask such questions. With every cough the body was experiencing a whole new level of electric-shock-like intense pain. She could barely move anymore. Did the girls want to poison her? Most probably no. She hoped they didn't. It would get them expelled... wouldn't it? With that thought she finally ceased to move at all, stretched over and across the stone floor in an unnatural pose, one hand covering her mouth, the other loosely curled into a fist somewhere by her stomach. The hot tears streamed plentifully down her cheeks and the dark hair randomly circled her face.

„Prof..." only a whisper escaped her throat before she blacked out. The only thing on her mind was that... he never came. Professor Snape never showed up there, in the place he would so often spent his time alone, strolling down the ambulatory and the narrow bridge that was visible from the girls' dormitory. Emma's hope brought her there in vain. He was the only person she would entrust this accident with. Not missus Pomfrey, not professor McGonagall. Not even her family.

Up until the beginning of the seventh year Emma Hawthorne never paid much attention to any of the teacher in terms other than what level of authority they seemed to have for her. Professor Snape was quite high on that list and he held impressive knowledge of the subject he led. Other than that, she would never dare to think of anyone, not to say him, in categories different that authority. She was too study-oriented that human relationship became somewhat a hardship and an unpleasant obligation to fulfill for her. But... something changed when she began to suffer from that minor case of insomnia.

She would stay up all night not more than five or six times per month and it would be purely caused by pressure. She would cope with that rather well, but only up until the seventh year. The closing of such an important chapter of her life and exams on her horizon brought her to a whole new level of stress.

The only relieving thought was that there must have been someone who shared her insomnia, whether on purpose or just out of pure coincidence. Someone who, just like her, kept their mind sharp in the middle of the night, finding it hard to just go to bed with the avalanche of thoughts going rapidly down their minds.

And that was when she noticed him. A black-clad silhouette strolling one night across the courtyard and entering the narrow wooden bridge, sometimes just stopping there to look towards the horizon. She would never see his expression and honestly she did not have to. There was something troubling that man and she could sense it from afar. It was not about his unpleasant personality, it was not about issues with students who disliked him and made fun of him; no. It was something deep. Emma felt sudden sympathy for the man, it struck her so suddenly she just laughed out loud one particular night and simply tried to push the thought to the back of her mind, but it just was there and did not want to leave. Such an absurd thought, to be fascinated and attracted to a teacher. But even since that night of realisation, the feeling had developed to the point Emma couldn't get him off her mind. She would think what was he doing at the least expected moments, she would imagine the ways of them meeting and having a down-to-earth conversation about... well, something. And, paradoxically, her grades went up even more. She tried to impress him with her knowledge. He never noticed. She would walk the same corridors he did. He never noticed. Emma tried to reason with herself – she was only another student, one of the thousands or hundreds of thousands who had been going through the school, literally. She might have been clever beyond expectations, but there had been many such students throughout the years in which Hogwarts existed.

They shared nothing in common, not yet. Nothing except that place, except the nights they would both stay up, one far from the other. Inside Emma's head it felt as if she was living out poetry or a very dramatic romantic novel. But that was the point, it was only inside of her head.

And in that moment, when she was laying in her bed and the get-well effect wore off, when she started to feel something was wrong, she – in a blink of an eye – jumped from under the covers, dressed and rushed to the courtyard, hopeful of finding him there to help. It was as if foreseeing. She knew that if he didn't help, no one would ever. And he wasn't there.

But there was a sudden sensation she felt inside herself. As if someone was rewinding her like a tape, as if her insides curled continuously. Was she... alive? Dead? Still fighting...?

I thoroughly hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please leave a review and let me know what I could improve or what you liked/disliked the most. Thank you for reading!