Weeks passed and I found myself unable to forget about the few stolen moments I had with my most unusual Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Our eyes would meet during class and I would blush, letting my hair fall over my face to hide the rosy color. He would stare at me as he sat at the front of the room, feet up on his desk as we would work. He rarely ever taught during class. He would come in tell us what we were going to study and then tell us where it was in the book. Hardly anyone ever asked him questions for fear. Only I would ever raise my hand and he would incline his head and walk back to my seat. He would lean over me, and I could smell him, the same smell that I had, that lavender and vanilla smell that made me think of home. All of my classmates would stare at us as I would ask him a question in a small voice and he would answer it harshly, as though he thought me the most stupid girl on the planet. Then he would rise up and as he was turning away I always caught the shimmer in his eyes that showed me that it was all just an act.

I was always the last to leave and the first to arrive in the mornings, he would often come staggering in and I would fight the urge to jump up and hug him, to tell him that he didn't need the firewhisky that I would help him feel better. I longed for more moments like the one we'd had by the lake. It still hurt to think of his tears. He had calmed himself and turned away from me walking back to the castle as though nothing had happened. I marveled at this man who was so broken, but still refused to have any help or love from anyone.

We never talked about that time, but I wished that he would sneak up on me again and we would have another moment together. I wished that he would just let me in again…if only for a moment.