Chapter 4
Potter came to my office at seven o'clock Saturday night knocking right on the hour. I permit him entrance.
"Pail and mop," I say, motioning to them. "Filch has been cutting corners. He says it's his rheumatism," I add with a nasty smile. Filch doesn't have rheumatism.
What? He used to torture me along with everyone else when I was a student. He was younger and quicker but he's gotten nastier.
Besides, mopping counts as a typical detention task. Mostly, I had my students clean cauldrons and leech tanks. But that was when I was potions master.
Potter ignores me and picks up the mop, sloshing it around the bucket before splashing it on the floor, mopping up the tracks left by the students.
I catch myself staring and turn back to the homework I really should be grading.
I cannot have him. He's my student. I cannot have him. He's my best friend's son. I cannot have him. He's underage. I cannot have him. I cannot have him. I cannot…
I close my eyes, massaging my temple.
I cannot have him, so what is the point in wanting him?
I look up at Potter's back. He is so absorbed in his work he does not notice me staring at him.
Why the hell did I fall in love with him? When the hell did I fall in love with him?!
Stop it, you fool!
I return to the essays. Nothing. I can't concentrate. I set the one in my hands down and stand. Potter looks up.
"Keep working," I bark, striding out of the room. I walk down the hall, just pacing around, trying to take my mind off Potter in my room, concentrating on his task.
I could have taken advantage of the situation. I could have…I couldn't dare do it, though. My conscious would not allow it.
I lean against the wall, trying to calm down. Bloody hell, I'm going mad! The last time I was in love, it hurt more than I thought it should have. Now I am in love with my last love's son.
I cover my face. I have to regain composure.
An owl screeched at me, drawing my attention. He was one of the school owls and he held a letter out to me. I approached to make sure it was not confused. It was not. My name was on the envelope.
The tawny owl flew off back to the Owlery.
I opened the letter.
Dear Professor,
Roses are red. Violets are blue. I want you to know I love you.
Truly,
Your Secret Admirer
There are no words for this…pathetic letter.
There's a PTO. I turn the letter over.
I know it's sappy, but I didn't know what else to write.
That's more pathetic than the letter itself.
I look at the writing again. Perhaps I can identify the culprit. But I can't recognize it at all. Is it from a first year? No…by now, I know each and every one of their handwriting.
Whoever wrote this must have used a charm to keep me from recognizing their handwriting.
Smart.
I pocket it, deciding to return to the room. The floor is almost done.
"Watch your step, Sir," Potter says. "Floor's very slippery."
I slipped in much worse, but I manage to get back to my desk without slipping. Potter sets the mop down. "Is this good enough?"
I survey the room.
I used to love having him in detention because I was sure to have well cleaned cauldrons. And a clean cauldron is a good cauldron.
I nod my head.
He almost slips on his own work trying to escape.
"Got a date?" I ask.
"No," he scoffs at me, closing the door behind him.
But there's still the matter of this…secret admirer.
#
The letter sits on my desk. I debate whether to burn it or try to figure out my admirer's identity so I can squash this infatuation of theirs before it gets out of hand.
It's Sunday and Potter has his team practicing for their next match. I spy them from my office. He's very good. That's no secret. If only he had been in…
I will not go there.
No.
His broom glides through the air. He rises higher, looking for the snitch. He must have spotted it because he dives toward the ground, then up, his broom twirling. His arm reaches out and grabs the snitch before diving down for a landing.
I lean back in my chair watching the miniature figures of the Gryffindor team get in a circle as Potter reviews their plan against Ravenclaw next game.
I need to calm down. Fantasizing about Potter isn't going to help matters. Still, scenario after scenario pours in and out of my head.
However, reality is harsh.
The fantasies say I can have him, all of him, in every way.
The reality is I'm not allowed to even touch him or speak to him in a way that is not platonic.
Fuck my life.
The Gryffindor team goes to the locker rooms. My attention goes back to the letter from the admirer. I throw it into the fire. I'll probably get another letter if they're as serious as they seem to be.
If not, then I won't get another letter.
Hopefully it will be the latter.
I want to scream from the frustration alone.
Before I go to get something to eat, another owl arrives at my office and I take the letter from it, ripping it open.
My last letter was awful! I decided to try again, Professor.
I love you. I can't explain why or how or when. I wish I could, but I'm still scared and I'm afraid if I do you might find me out. I'm not quite ready for that.
Professor Snape, I know I'm not the best or your favorite, but lately I have been going mad with thoughts of you. To be honest, I am still scared. I'm scared because I'm afraid of you. I am in awe of you. You who are so strong…you give me hope and strength.
You are my inspiration and you always have been, despite your cruelty. I am so madly in love with you every bit of me hurts.
I want nothing else. I never wanted anything so badly.
Professor Snape, I love you.
~SA
Well this is anything but good.
It's already bad enough I have to deal with my feelings for Potter. I haven't the energy for everything I do already and some.
I set the letter down and wave my wand over it, waiting to see if the charm will break. It doesn't. Whoever my admirer is, he or she chose a high level spell. So he or she is smart. I'm impressed.
I try another spell more powerful than the last.
I let a few minutes pass for the charm to wear off before I look at it again.
The letter has become a pile of ash.
I sneer at it. They're much smarter than I thought.
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ashes. Is there a way to restore it?
I decide to not even try.
I stand and go to the kitchens to get something to eat. I pass by the Gryffindor team, laughing and joking as they return to their house. I glare at them and they pass me by without looking at me again. I watch them go, my gaze on Potter's back.
He looks back at me over his shoulder.
I turn away, almost snapping my neck as I do, and stride down the hall.
"Professor Snape!" he calls after me. I don't stop, but pick up pace. "Wait up!" He catches up. "Is something bothering you?"
"The only thing bothering me," I cross my arms, "is my growling stomach, Potter. Get out of my way."
He steps aside and follows.
"Will you go back to your house?"
"I'm hungry to. We're heading to the same place, so we might as well go together. Right?"
"Potter…"
"What? It's not like we haven't eaten together in the kitchens before."
"You were eating. I was getting some tea," I growl, "Hardly what I'd call eating together."
"Well, then, what's the harm? Do you want to eat with me or not?"
I look at him and sigh.
"Might as well," I say, "as we are going to the same place."
Potter smiles. "Thought so."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
