"There is a box of ingredients to sort awaiting you attention on the table nearby, miss Hawthorne."

Just at the damned right moment, Emma thought, for her palm was very close to reaching the man's to grab a hold of it almost unconsciously. He would have to be the stupidest or most ignorant on the planet to not notice the very obvious gesture and the girl quickly leaned back and away from Severus. A lump went down her throat with a struggle and Emma quickly got to her feet, slightly dizzily and as if almost about to fall to the ground. She found her knees weak and the heart still trying to regain its steady beat. Oh how she just couldn't get a grip on her feelings that overwhelmed her whole body and soul, and manipulated her to her torment, one time having her completely indifferent towards the case whilst the other giving her the hardest of times controlling the wave of emotions she held for the man.

"Yes, sir," grabbing her schoolbag Emma headed the old wooden table set in the far corner of the office, somewhat hidden behind a chest of drawers and a few odd-looking objects the girl did not pay attention to. She was about to take the seat with a slight disappointment when Snape's voice echoed in the chamber again.

"Miss Hawthorne?"

"Yes?"

"I only need them labeled, actually. Everything is inside the box." Even though his tone did not show any sort of a sympathy – and was rather dry and completely emotion-less – Emma realised that again she was given some extraordinary treatment which she most probably did not deserve after her embarrassing attempt to lock her own lips with his in a deep, meaningful kiss. The girl only nodded, taking a seat at the table. The light was insufficient, so she pulled out her wand without much thought and cast the lumos spell. Within seconds Emma realised she was not to use her wand at any time during the detention, but somehow the spell did not really bring her Snape's attention. Emma sighed and put the wand between her teeth as she reached for the jars and paper plaques.

Two hours must have already passed because her back hurt mercilessly as she tried to lift herself from slouching above the table to sit up straight. Emma winced and moved her body around insignificantly, looking around to adjust the eyes to the distance. She noticed Severus focused on his own paper work, most probably yet another pile of homework or some ingredients orders, or just something Emma didn't really care for anyway. However, when the man heard her shuffle in her chair, he lifted his head insignificantly and looked her in the eye.

"Are you done, miss Hawthorne?" he asked in a monotonous voice, slightly tired and bitter. The girl glanced at the jars and vials set before her in neat rows – all with a label on them – and turned to look back at the man.

"Yes, sir," she responded and soon grabbed a bag she left thrown across the stone floor, bringing it close to her. "May I leave?"

The look in Emma's eyes must have been pitiful, for the man nodded and merely looked away from her, as if their previous conversations did not matter at all. Emma slowly got to her feet and opened her mouth wanting to speak, but no words came out. She decided to just finally leave; after all, tomorrow they would meet again to spend the time in silence – him doing his own work and her whatever she was told.

"Good night, professor," Emma spoke before heading the door. When no response came, the girl left the office and made it straight for the Ravenclaw tower, which was a significant journey from the underground parts of the castle. She was absolutely exhausted both with the work of detail and the thick, awkward relationship between her and Severus – if there actually was one to speak of – and her only wish for now was to get a decent amount of sleep and finally meet all of her friends together.

She reached the top of the spiral staircase leading to the common room. The bronze eagle atop of it seemed as steady as ever, which came to Emma as a surprise. It would usually start asking riddles right away, whenever someone was around or even if it merely traced something moving nearby. That's why the lack of reaction made the girl suspicious.

"Good evening," Emma said quietly and furrowed her eyebrows when no response came again. "May I get inside?"

"Can you?" the eagle finally moved fluently, turning to look right back at Emma from its heights.

"I certainly hope so."

"Then tell me, child," the statue leaned in and its beak twisted in an unnatural smile, lit only by a scarce candle light and that alone made Emma shiver a bit. She was not in mood and definitely not ready to use her intellect at that point in her life after the emotionally draining time spent with professor Snape. "What has one eye but cannot see?"

Emma leaned against the cool stone wall and quickly racked her brain for the connections, but it felt as though her own brain was denying her the access to its treasury. The girl moaned silently with disappointment when the answer wasn't coming. After what felt like an eternity spent in a chilly corridor, Emma finally opened her eyes and looked back at the statue.

"A needle," was her answer.

"Very good indeed! Come on in," the eagle whistled and moved out of the way to let the girl inside the common room.

The place was as quiet as ever with everyone already in their beds fast to sleep, including the people living in the paintings that hung all around the spacious round chamber. Emma did not stop to wonder like she always would and headed straight to the girls' dormitory, hopeful to just sink in the pleasant, soft bed without even taking her clothes off. As soon as she made it to the door, an odd noise reached her ear – something as if a heavy glass object falling down on the carpet, kind of a muffled thud. The girl stopped for a mere moment to then enter the dormitory, shrugging as she almost run to her bed. Her roommates fortunately had some very strong sleep.

The mattress felt heavenly as Emma felt herself drift off to sleep. Eyes closed, the warmth of the blanket divine, the silence soothing... when suddenly a thud reached her ears again, making the beautiful fragile net of silver dreams shatter and getting the girl to sit up straight immediately. She clenched her teeth and rolled the blanket around herself completely, covering her head as well.

There was nothing else but to surrender to a deep sleep.

Emma woke up the next morning feeling the weight of her body dragging her down onto the softness of the mattress. The sun was rising, hanging just above the horizon in the distance and the singing of the birds was audible even through the thickness of the stained glass windows. The chilly air hoovered over the floor as the girl let her feet dangle over the bed, her mind not yet ready to fully take in the day. It was the first Saturday this school year that held the long-awaited trip to Hogsmeade and had it not been for a short note left by Emma's bed, the girl wouldn't have known – after all the only matter occupying her mind was what had happened the previous night.

Down there, in professor Snape's office in the dungeons, where she had opened up about her past to him and the way he had taken it in with a reaction so different than what she would have suspected something had changed for both of them. The imagery of the occurrence remained drilled into Emma's in the dormitory were still asleep. Emma quietly left the chamber and headed into the Ravenclaw common room to see almost no one around.

A slight smile of relief appeared on her narrow lips and she rapidly crossed the hall as the dust particles danced in the first sun's rays breaking through tall windows inside. She clutched at her bag – a letter she wrote was waiting to be sent before anyone stops Emma. It was of highest symbolic importance and supposed to be delivered the very sam day to that one person...

As Emma was following the path leading to the owlery – the strong wind blowing out her long hair in many directions – she was pondering very intensely about the rightness of that decision. Wasn't it easier to actually talk to the person of interest in personagain instead of pouring out her soul onto a piece of parchment just to leave it present in this world for longer?Who knows what happens to the letter – and to her – after it is read. She was no longer afraid of being suspected for there existed no tangible reason for anyone deciding so of her fate.

What Emma feared was that the mental connection that had been born the night before would break without return. The matter was so delicate. So metaphorical. It had no value in neither of their daily lives. It was merely there to use as some food for thought as for connecting two souls that had been struggling with a similar issue for some time now – with one of the souls deeply... in love? With the other. The natural reaction to experiencing such a tender emotion – and feeling – was a dire need of contact. A dire need of connecting the fate of herself and him. It might have been too ideological given that Emma had not yet experienced that feeling of true love towards someone.

In this particular case, rather than love, it might have been an idealisation of the other, which she was quite aware of. But in any case, being a creature of feeling and a creature of holding her values high, Emma had no other choice in life but to follow this certain path of trial and error to see if that smallest chance for success that might or might not be there could be taken and turned into success. Was it her new aim in life – to pursue a seemingly unreachable connection with someone who might not be even fully aware of her actions towards him? Apparently, yes. And she would rather think it a true feeling rather than a way to fill in a huge gap that screamed lonelinesswith every step she took.

Emma wished she knew exactly what she wanted to achieve, but there was nothing specific. She merely wanted to link herself with someone. Studying still mattered, as did her friends – with whom she wanted to spend some more time badly – but this... highest aim she was now pursuing became her new piority. Was she going mad? No, certainly not. Just a mere dreamer, with her dreams big. And her stubbornness to check all the possibilities of success so strong that nothing could stand in her way now. This sudden strike of determination felt like a drug, injected straight into her vein, giving a massive energy shot.

The owlery smelled bad. Not even the friendly attitude of the owls inside could make up for the inconvenience of being inside there. Emma approached one of them with a snack in one hand and a letter in the other and as soon as the latter was attached to the strap, the bird was given food. A quiet poohoo meant it was ready to go and after a split-of-a-second double thought Emma let the owl free from her hands that were holding the animal down and she took a deep breath, breathing the air out as her head shot back. She stood there for a moment with her hair being swept up by the blowing wind and finally left the place, hurrying downstairs and towards the castle to attend the pre-trip gathering.

The courtyard was already full of people. Emma looked around for a minute or two and finally – to her delight – spotted a familiar figure. A chubby girl with hair that looked more like tangles of branches than actual hair immediately summoned Emma to her.

"May!" she cried and, unlike her usual self, Emma wrapped her arms around the girl and embraced her strongly, burying her face into May's shoulder.

"Oh, Emmie!" the other gasped and quickly returned the hug. "I was waiting for you. I knew you would rather go to Hogsmeade than stay in that boring common room of yours," May chuckled as Emma pulled away. "I was dying to see you but somehow all the things got complicated and we couldn't visit you properly, and I've been feeling so guilty and worrying about-"

"It's fine," Emma looked right into her friend's eyes, reassuring the other. "It's not that I was dying for visits anyway, you know me after all... Also the certain matter is on my mind to the point of me neglecting the rest of the reality," she lowered her voice without any real purpose, but somehow talking about the issue with other people around didn't seem a good idea. "I wish I had refused that potion... it wouldn't have led me the way it had. I would be better off just watching him from distance and creating all that fantasy world inside my brain than actually meeting him in person... and in detention!" Emma sighed slightly and felt May's piercing look on her, the analysis intense.

"You will have to tell me about yesterday in detail..."

The two of them walked through a massive gate out of the castle area alongside the crowd of students each dressed warmly enough to protect themselves from a raging wind. The chilly atmosphere and the mist-covered landscape enrolling before them as they rode in carriages gave off a ghostly vibe, having Emma and May cuddling to one another inside the vehicle. Opposite of them sat two unknown boys and neither paid much attention. The muddy road took them straight to the village and after a few moments all students were left to themselves at the main street."Let's visit the Duke's first and then the Broomsticks. I've heard madame Rosmerta prepared a huge batch of some new liqueur," May grabbed Emma by her hand and both the girls headed their chosen direction.

Later that day, with her heart pounding as though it was about to pop out of her chest through her throat, Emma sat by the furnace in the girls' dormitory. With shaking hands she began to open a small folded piece of parchment that an owl had brought her; the bird had been waiting for her outside a window next to her bed, which is quite unusual, for owls usually bring mail at breakfast. Now the envelope felt heavy as a stone in Emma's hands. It contained words which her heart had been dying for ever since she had left the dungeons. And yet right now... something as if a strike of intuition seemed to be stopping her in her actions.

"Come on," she mumbled and struggled to force her hands to continue unfolding the letter. Finally the parchment unfolded fully and Emma took a deep breath. Her grayish eyes rested upon the narrow handwriting covering the whole surface of the paper and a lump appeared in her throat.

Miss Hawthorne,

I will try to convey my message to you shortly and to the point. I thought I had made my point clear back then during our conversation, Apparently, you insist to dig in the field which isn't yours to take interest in. You even go as far as to actually send me a letter. This is riddiculous, miss Hawthorne, and it will most certainly not make me change my mind. I am not in any way – as you put it – obliged to grace you with a sobbing story in return for your sudden emotional outburst of honesty. Things do not work like that in this world. You never get anything in return for what you do for people. You never get appreciated enough. You never get noticed for what you do even when you make someone's wish come true. People only notice you because you are useful for their own purposes, not because they care about your miserable existence. Learn to accept this hard truth, miss Hawthorne, and stop bothering me more than you already have. I expect to see you in two days time at the usual hour in my office. And you will spend your detention in silence.

Severus Snape

So... she was perfectly right. She was right to the point she couldn't even believe. Yes, he gave her an answer that was more than enough to satisfy her curiosity. After all, Emma did not need details of his story – at least not yet – because she only tried to figure out his current mental state; whether or not he was indeed grieving something deeply. And his letter only allowed her to fully acknowledge the scale of the problem. Severus Snape was a troubled man and completely out of touch with his emotions, casting them aside as though he became some sort of a machine that wanted to survive – not live – in this world as though it was constructed as one huge mechanism of things always happening the way he could predict.

But sadly for Severus Snape, where people are involved the mechanical attitude does not comply. And Emma was a stubborn person. Stubborn enough, engaged enough and loving enough that she swore that she would rather die than quit this riddle. It seemed as though her life regained a higher purpose. She wasn't sure, however, if it was a thing to be happy about. But then again, Emma Hawthorne was prepared for both a massive disappointment and sorrow. Her hopeful and persevering nature would not allow her to sink into that bottomless pit too deeply for a prolonger period of time. After all, that riddle would be the only thing to pull her out. And she was ready.

Even if Severus Snape couldn't care less about her existence, Emma swore she would forever be attached to that man's cause.