Rich and Creamy
Chapter Three
Menacing
It was time for breakfast. Severus Snape changed into his clothes for the day, then went up the cold stone steps to the Great Hall.
The room was buzzing with excitement. Most of the students had heart-shaped boxes of candy, much like the box Snape had received. He wondered if any more, or if all of them, had spells similar to his, or worse: the same. Even the teachers seemed excited.
"You received a box of candy, of course?" Professor Vector asked conversationally, leaning around that year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to speak to him.
"Yes."
"Quite a surprise, wasn't it?" the older man chuckled. He was nearly as giddy as a student. Snape was amazed at the change a simple box of chocolates could make. If he'd only thought of such a thing earlier...
But, regretfully, it would not have had the same affect on that one particular boy. Snape knew he could be considered as being too harsh, on all the students. But it was the only way to prepare them for the world outside the castle grounds. If he was more approachable, he knew, his teaching would suffer. And it was the teaching above all that meant his worth.
"Minerva got a spell in hers," Vector went on through a mouthful of food. "I think Trelawney did as well. Such a nice girl! I remember when she was a student here... I don't mind mentioning that she was quite the looker in her time!"
Snape made some polite noise to show he was listening as he scanned the Hall. Heads were bobbing everywhere, hardly a mouth was silent. The lucky few who had received the spell were regarded with some envy by the other students. It was all well and good to be young and hopeful, to have the world at your feet, to know the bitter-sweet hope of love and love returned, and on this day in particular, to have the expectation of some momentous occurrence in that realm.
But Snape wasn't young, nor was he hopeful. All he could expect from a certain quarter was rejection and disdain. Were he to speak his mind and heart, he would be censured. Even though the boy was in fact of age, there was an invisible line that should not be crossed. The boy was a student. Snape was his professor. It was worse than tasteless. It was unethical.
He would never mean to use his authority to intimidate the boy. He would rather a full and heart-felt union, one of equals. And this was all he waited for. For the boy to graduate and move on, perhaps to leave his life for a time, only to return...
That was the way it should be.
Between all the yammering and bobbing, Snape couldn't see the object of his fears and desires. It was just as well. If he saw him right now, he might be forced by that accursed chocolate to announce his feelings right here, in the Great Hall. The boy would be embarrassed, certainly. And Snape would have to resign his post.
~*~
One other fear nagged at Snape all morning: that some student or, Gods forbid, a professor, would be moved by the spell to announce his or her intentions toward Snape. He both wished for and feared that eventuality. Everyone liked to feel appreciated and loved. But there was nothing he could offer in return, unless it was that one particular person.
Who had the charmed boxes? he wondered. He knew from Professor Vector that Minerva McGonagall had received one. No danger from that quarter. Though there had been a time long past when he had feared that there might be something more than just professional courtesy on her part.
Who else had Vector mentioned? Trelawney. He knew next to nothing about her private life. She had never seemed to show a preference for him, though. She remained in her tower like some princess of old, but not waiting for her knight. Did she prefer women or men? Did she prefer anyone at all?
Time to prepare for his classes. Snape worried and fretted over what to do about the later class. There had to be some potion, some charm, that he could use to get out of going to class. In desperation, he thought longingly of the Weasley twins' 'Puking Pastilles'. An hour or two with Poppy wouldn't hurt him any, and she'd only suspect some wayward student of pranking Snape's food. She would never suspect him of dosing himself.
But, he knew of no one who had the items at the school. They had banned possession of the things the year before when half the fifth years failed to show up to their OWLs on time. If there was one in the school, only the headmaster knew where it was.
He barely realized that he was humming an old tune his grandmother used to sing. It invoked memories of slender tubes, beakers, and long, tall glasses from his childhood when he would sit at the table in his grandmother's kitchen and watch her make up potions for his relations.
He could still hear movement around the school, so there was time to reflect a moment. Perhaps, after today, he'd have many hours for reflection. But right now, it seemed a stolen luxury.
There was something in the tune that stirred deeper memories. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Though he didn't know what it was, he knew it was his salvation - if only he could remember!
~*~
The first hour went along without incident. No one approached his most unapproachable desk. The second hour threatened something more. One of the boys from Hufflepuff had received a charmed box, and the object of his affections was in Ravenclaw. They had apparently avoided each other through their first class, but now, due to the exercise they were working on, they met face to face in the aisle.
In fact, the girl knocked the boy into the corner of a nearby workbench.
Snape felt for the boy. He was a nice enough boy, but not what one might call popular. The girl was absolutely lovely. And when they met, the entire class quieted down - everybody sensed what was going to happen.
"I'm sorry! Are you all right?" the girl said.
The boy looked slowly up into her eyes and Snape could see the agony of his struggles. He was about to speak, but if he did, he would bare himself to the ridicule of the class, of this girl.
"I'd take all the pain in the world for you," the boy replied, and immediately turned red.
Silence reigned. Snape stood up, prepared to stop what might be coming. The girl stood, embarrassed herself, while the rest of the class began to talk.
First they whispered, wind through the trees. Then they spoke louder, like the surf against the shore. Before the noise reached unacceptable levels, Snape broke in:
"IF..."
All heads turned in his direction.
"...you would be so good as to take your seats..."
He bored black holes through the two students still standing, the Hufflepuff boy and the Ravenclaw girl, and they retreated to their respective sides of the room.
"...we can continue with our lesson."
He could have asked if anyone else had a declaration to make before they moved on, but he decided to give the boy a respite.
And in so doing, he gave himself respite as well. His turn may come in just a couple of hours. And he didn't want to curse himself by deviling that poor boy.
He would have to begin. He cleared his throat, then cleared it again. Then, a light cough. But, the lesson had to be taught. Today was the day to learn, and tomorrow would be too late.
~*~
Severus Snape took a slender, age-worn volume off the shelf above his
workbench and turned the pages over until he came to 'Laryngeal Effusion'.
The book, Potions, Draughts and Libations (Just Like Grandma Used To
Make) had been given to him by his own grandmother when he first began
teaching. In fact, it was written by her grandmother after a lifetime
of producing such things as tonics to ward off fright before a test, and
draughts to strengthen the body before a Quidditch match. The particular
potion he was about to use had been used by his grandmother to shut his
grandfather up when he'd been speaking too long but not too well.
Continuity. Snape measured out the ingredients and thought of his family,
a long line of potions-masters and potions-mistresses for more generations
than he cared to count. All of them decent, hard-working people. They had
their faults, of course they did. What mortal being didn't? And yet, for
all their imperfections, none that he had heard of had ever even thought
what he'd often dreamed about - the arms of a young man...
A student.
More than the arms. Much more. Snape regarded the potion in the glass and set it aside. It would have to age through lunch, but there was time. Lunch would come first. Then the seventh-year NEWT Potions class. The slender glass up on the shelf where it wouldn't be disturbed for the next hour, Professor Snape swept out of his quarters and down to the Great Hall.
~*~
Nearly an hour later, he was back. It was almost time for class to begin. He reached for the glass.
Snape thought again of his grandmother, making up this very effusion when his grandfather waxed long. Years of long, tall glasses of the stuff, silencing the ramblings of an old man.
Who was the old man now? Snape thought as he downed the draught. At least he knew what he was doing and not subject to someone else's machinations.
~tbc~
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