The first day of your second year at Hogwarts found you standing in the damp dungeons first thing in the morning, leaning against the wall next to the Potions classroom door, because you're an over-eager ninny with nothing better to do, apparently. You ought to be upstairs in the Great Hall right now, enjoying a leisurely breakfast as you compared schedules with your friends and shared stories of your summer vacations. Instead, you'd grabbed a slice of toast and ate it on your way down here, hoping to head off Professor Snape before first period, only to find the Potions classroom locked.

So you thought it might be prudent to wait for him, taking the time to study your new class schedule (you didn't even have Potions today) and finish your toast… But the man was still nowhere in sight. As the minutes ticked by, you found yourself in a horrible sort of limbo; if you left now, the whole endeavor would have been a waste of time, but you had already wasted so much time that waiting any longer seemed futile at best. Waiting for Snape hadn't turned out to be so prudent after all. But you'd really been hoping to catch him before classes began…

Maybe this whole thing was a stupid idea. Snape had warned you last year not to press your luck again, and you'd done well to heed this advice. You did the work, you studied hard, and through your own tenacity, had succeeded in receiving some of the highest marks in Potions for your year. You didn't believe that Snape favored you in any way, not like he did the Slytherin's at least, but you had laid the groundwork for a sort of mutual respect that had lasted through the term, and perhaps that had worked in your favor. You found that if you didn't give him cause to pick on you, he wouldn't. He hadn't given you any trouble at all, really, because you did as you were told, followed directions, and nailed every single potion you'd brewed in his classroom. And though he graded your work just as harshly as everyone else's, the fact of the matter was that you hadn't actually seen too many of those red pen marks on your papers last year.

But you had noticed that he'd switched back to quills and ink sometime in the spring. Of course, your natural reaction upon viewing this had been the brilliant plan to bring him more pens in the fall. It just seemed the proper thing to do. And when summer rolled around, you'd gone and done exactly that, though it had come at a steep and embarrassing price. While shopping for school supplies the week before your return, your mother had enquired as to why you felt you needed so many red pens. You had sheepishly admitted that they weren't for you, but for one of your professors, and this had been a mistake. Your mother had teasingly asked (SANG) if you were 'Hot for Teacher' and you silently cursed Van Halen while hiding your boiling face in your hands in the middle of the supply store. When you returned home, you wondered if you could actually curse Van Halen, as your mother proceeded to play the B side of '1984' on loop for the remainder of the day.

You most certainly were not hot for teacher. But you were admittedly curious about Snape, and you weren't the only one. There were so many wild rumors and accusations swirling about the man, and while some of them were absolutely absurd (Was he a vampire? Half dementor?), you also noticed that there wasn't much of an attempt to quell any of them either. It was as if he wanted these stories to circulate, to keep up his image as The Demon of the Dungeons.

You'd noticed last night at the feast that he'd undergone a wardrobe change as well. Last year he'd worn rather ill-fitting robes, usually with dark slacks and plain dress shirts. This year… While the color palette of black on black had remained the same, you'd never seen so many buttons on a frock coat, and had certainly never seen every single one of them done up like that. It must be absolutely suffocating, the only exposed skin being his face and his fingers, the hem of his sleeves ending just above the knuckles. It was an intimidating look, for certain.

But it just made you wonder what he was hiding.

Your mother often described you as precocious; too perceptive for your own good. She would also insist that she didn't know where you got it from, but you reckoned it had something to do with the fact that she spoke to you like you were an adult from the day you were born (with the exception of saccharine pastry based nicknames, of course). She tread a gossamer line between cool hippie mom and actual responsible adult, but the combination was a potent one. She raised you without pretense, never lying when you asked your questions, never sugarcoating the truth. The only thing she sugarcoated were cookies, and for that you were grateful. Your perception of the world was imbued with a stubborn desire for the truth, as well as an expectation to receive nothing but, and there was nothing you hated more than when you realized an adult was deceiving you.

Not that you thought Snape was deceiving you, specifically. But it seemed that he had some sort of agenda that included getting students (and everyone else probably) to actively hate him. And it drove. You. Bananas. That's not how teachers were supposed to be! You'd been friendly with nearly every primary school teacher you'd ever had, as well as most of your current teachers here at Hogwarts. Even if you disliked a teacher, it was probably because you disliked their subject, or their way of teaching. But you loved Potions, and Snape was actually a fine teacher if you paid careful attention.

It was everything else he did, the stalking about, the intimidation, the theatrics, which obviously made it difficult for some students to concentrate, that absolutely baffled you. It was as if he didn't even want to be a teacher. And maybe he didn't. Which again begged the question; what was he hiding? Or perhaps… rather… what was he hiding from? The clothes, the rumors, the insults. You recognized them all as defense mechanisms, but why they were in place, you didn't know.

Your mind often wandered back to that fateful meeting in your first year, where you felt as though you got a glimpse of the person Snape was under all of those barriers. You had no desire to make assumptions, but your questions about him still remained. Was he like you? A half-blood or something close? Did he also see the dichotomy between the wizarding and muggle worlds, and find it rather inane that Muggle technology continued to advance while magic folk remained in the dark ages? Why had he become a teacher at such a young age if he appeared to loathe the position? And why did he look so old, despite being so young? You acknowledged you would probably never receive the answers to these questions, it wasn't any of your business to begin with, but they still buzzed in your brain none-the-less. Enigmatic didn't feel strong enough a word.

You were startled from your musings when you heard quick, sharp footsteps echoing against the stone walls of the dungeon. God, finally. You had no idea what time it was, but you hoped that the warning bell for first period wasn't about to go off. You straightened up, fidgeting with the pouch of crystals that still hung from the strap of your bag, as you watched Professor Snape practically billow around the corner. Oh yes, the new outfit certainly had a dramatic effect. You imagined he'd be able to clear a path through any crowded corridor now, not that his glare alone wasn't able to do that before. His steps stuttered a moment upon seeing you there, the line creasing his brow hardening ever so slightly as he slowed his gait, advancing towards you unhurriedly.

"Miss Goode," Snape greeted stiltedly, stopping in front of the classroom door before crossing his arms over his chest, his robes draping around him like great bat wings. Yes, yes; very Lugosi. Maybe he'd had some cinematic inspiration. "I don't have any Hufflepuff classes today. Are you lost?"

Snape certainly didn't waste any time, unlike yourself. You wondered, again, if this had been a stupid idea. It seemed he was already exasperated by your presence, and you hadn't even opened your mouth yet. Smiling ruefully, you shook your head in response to his inquiry. "No, sir. Not lost. I wanted to see you before classes began. Is there time?"

Snape regarded you with a look of confusion, his brows pressing further together as he tilted his head with a tick of annoyance. He pursed his lips a moment before questioning, "Time for what, exactly?" Uncrossing his arms, he extracted his wand from his robes before muttering a spell to unlock the classroom door and stepping inside, leaving you standing in the corridor like a fool.

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly through your nose before you turned and followed Snape inside, staying a few paces behind so as not to be accosted by the billowing fabric that trailed him. You could just imagine stepping on the back of his robes and sending you both careening down the stone stairs into the classroom. When he reached the end of said stairs and looked back over his shoulder at you, you got the feeling that he hadn't actually expected you to follow him. And now you wondered if you should have. But steeling your nerves, you stopped at the bottom of the steps behind him and smiled once again, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt.

"I've brought you a gift," you stated easily enough, but the ferocity with which Snape rounded on you then was so startling that you actually did stumble on the steps. Your heels knocked against the bottom stair, and with nothing to grab on to, you fell back hard onto your arse against the top step of the small flight. The unforgiving stone sent a bolt of hot agony through your tailbone and up your spine, and you grimaced, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as blood roared in your ears. You felt your face burn red hot with both shame and suppressed tears, as any abrupt shock of pain always triggered that sort of childish reaction in you. You wanted to cover your face with your hands, but you kept them fisted tightly around the strap of your bag, willing yourself to keep it together. You did not want to cry in front of Snape.

There was a lull of silence that felt like it lasted an age, and even though your pain was already subsiding, the longer the silence stretched, the closer you felt to bursting into tears. You were finally broken out of your miserable daze by the surprisingly gentle touch of a hand against your elbow. You sucked in a sharp gasp as you finally opened your eyes, and it stuttered out slowly as you felt hot tears slip down your cheeks. You were staring down at Snape's shiny black shoes, and couldn't bring yourself to look up at him as he tugged on your arm.

"Get up," he commanded, though his voice had taken on a considerably milder tone. "Come on. You're alright." His gruff coaxing was actually soothing your nerves as opposed to fraying them, like maybe he wasn't totally infuriated with you, and you were finally able to comply, allowing him to pull you up with a little assistance on your part. You quickly swiped the sleeve of your robe across your eyes, wiping away any stray tears before hesitantly meeting his gaze. He looked… penitent again. Not openly, mind; his brows were still pressed together in a stern line, and his lips were still pulled down into a scowl, but none of it met his dark eyes, which were softer than you'd ever seen them. It was a stark contrast to the outraged glower that had sent you falling back onto your arse.

Releasing your elbow, Snape took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest once more as he considered you, and he did you both a favor by not mentioning what had just occurred. It was certainly a perfect opportunity to taunt you, but perhaps because it had been his fault, he chose to disregard it. Instead, he sighed, exasperation once again permeating his tone, but you felt there was a hint of indulgence in it as well, as if he were playing along for your benefit as an act of contrition. "A gift, you say?" he asked, his signature brow arch creeping up his forehead. "Brought a shiny red apple for teacher on the first day of school, have you?"

At this, you finally allowed yourself to smile again. It was small, and rather vexed on your own part as well, but he was playing nice, and so you'd accept the token of repentance. You knew a 'sorry' when you saw one. "It's not an apple," you clarified as you flipped open the flap of your bag. "But they are red." You produced a small bundle, four red pens held together by a length of black velvet ribbon tied in a prim little bow. They were nicer than the ones from last year, as those had been intended for your own personal use. These were of a much higher quality, and you'd paid for them with your own pocket money when your mother had continued to tease you about it. You presented them to him, your eyes shifting demurely away from his as you explained, "I noticed you ran out last year, so I just thought…"

He wasn't taking them. Your fingers trembled slightly as your smile faded away. Yeah. This had been a stupid idea. Your own brows pressed together in doubt as you finally chanced a glace back to him, and only when you'd made eye contact did he finally speak. "Miss Goode, you realize you're under no obligation to supply me with these, correct?"

Your mouth dropped open, your aggravation growing by the minute. "Of course. That's not why I-"

"Are you trying to bribe me?" he interrupted, any sympathy for you vanishing from his voice, replaced instead with genuine condemnation. "Curry my favor to keep you at the top of your class? It wouldn't be the first time a student has tried it."

"No!" you retaliated, fingers clutching into a fist around your proffered gift as you pulled them close to your chest. You were horrified and enraged that he was actually accusing you of such a thing. You were a Hufflepuff for god's sake! As if you had a single conniving bone in your body. You were so hurt by his allegation that you couldn't stop yourself from running off at the mouth. "I would never do such a thing! And I have no need to! I'm at the top of my class because I-!" You realized you were shouting, and there were angry tears stinging behind your eyes again. You shut them tightly and lowered your voice. "Because I'm actually good at it. I don't need your favor for that."

There was a beat of silence, the only sound being the heave of your labored breaths as you tried to calm yourself down. Opening your eyes again, you were once more staring down at his shoes, and this time you refused to meet his eye. You'd stand there all day if you needed to. But it didn't take that long. Voice still laced with suspicion, he began to question, "Then why would you-"

"Because!" you cut him off, so frustrated that you found your voice hiking up again. "Contrary to your apparent beliefs, I don't actually need an ulterior motive to try and be nice to you!" You tossed the pens onto the nearest work desk and turned on your heel, not even sparing him another glance as you stormed out of the classroom, your own robes billowing impressively in the process.

It wasn't until there were two floors between yourself and the Potions classroom that you realized how absolutely reckless you'd just been. Could a house have points taken away if they hadn't received any yet? It was only the start of term after all. Maybe Snape would just put Hufflepuff in the hole and you'd start the year out in the negatives. Were you going to get detention? What kind of punishment was there for yelling at a teacher?

You were unable to concentrate through the entirety of your History of Magic class (not unusual). You kept running the events of the morning over in your head, and all that you could think about was the fact that you'd probably just destroyed that foundation of respect you'd worked to build last year. You anticipated hell when you had your first Potions class later in the week, and you feared for your grades. You'd convinced yourself that Snape was indeed a perfectly capable teacher, and you weren't worried about your ability to brew. Any practical work would still be a breeze. But you wouldn't put it past him to nitpick every assignment, essay and test you submitted just so he could whittle your scores down to the lowest possible grade. And you felt he'd start picking on you again, treating you like an idiot just like he treated everyone else, despite your talent.

But what pissed you off even more was the fact that you felt bad. You thought your gesture had been kind. You thought that the respect you'd developed had run both ways. And damn it, you wanted him to like you! Because despite his cruelty, you thought you liked him too. He was sarcastic and nasty, but also clever and brilliant, and it was all just so morbidly endearing. You wanted to know what he kept hidden behind all of his masks and armor. You wanted him to think you were worthy of something, that you possessed the predisposition, that you appreciated the art and the science of potions. You didn't think there was anything wrong with wanting to be friends with a teacher. You'd done the same thing in primary school. You even felt like you were already friends with Sprout and Hagrid. Why should Snape be any different?

Because, apparently, he just was. A goddamn enigma. He was so intriguing and so infuriating that you didn't know which way was up with him. And the paradox that was Snape continued to puzzle you through the rest of the day, culminating at lunch time when you settled into the Great Hall with your friends, who had noticed your distracted mood, but didn't press you on it. The first thing you noticed were the hourglasses which held the house points, and the fact that Hufflepuff had just as many as any of the other houses. A little more than Gryffindor, but a little less than Slytherin, with Ravenclaw in the lead, for now. So… he couldn't deduct negative points? Because you had a hard time believing that he hadn't tried. Maybe he was waiting for Hufflepuff to earn a sufficient amount before taking them away.

The second thing you noticed, was that Snape was up at the teachers table, and he was ignoring you. Not unusual, but still troubling. He wasn't deducting house points, he wasn't shooting you dirty looks, and he wasn't marching over to give you detention for the rest of your life. You knew there would be consequences for your actions on this day. So where were they?

Your answer arrived by owl post. As the afternoon owls swept in, a tiny, dark owl you didn't recognize plopped a small scroll on top of your uneaten bowl of fruit. You snatched it up quickly so it wouldn't get wet, and narrowed your eyes at the owl as it took off. You were already in a bad temper. You didn't need bloody owls ruining your mail. Sighing, you looked down at the scroll, and your mouth went dry as you saw it was tied with a frightfully familiar black velvet ribbon. Your gaze shot back to the teachers table, but Snape was nowhere to be seen. He must have left. With trembling fingers, you pulled on the ribbon and let it flutter to your lap, before slipping the scroll under the table and unraveling it out of view.

Written in spidery cursive with smooth red ink, were the words 'Thank you for the gift.'