It started with his hands.

You weren't sure exactly when it started, but it had been early on in your apprenticeship when you realized that in all of your years at Hogwarts, you had never actually seen Snape brew a single potion. In the classroom he was an instructor, an observer, but never a demonstrator. It was not until your apprenticeship began that you got to witness a true Master at work.

The terms of your apprenticeship were simple, but left you almost completely devoid of a social life. Any time you had a free period in the day, you were expected to spend those hours in the Potions classroom, where you would usually pass the time grading tests and essays. Occasionally you were given more interesting jobs, such as assisting with lessons for younger students, or your personal favorite, dissecting preserved animals and harvesting their organs for ingredients. Most of the time you were left on your own to complete these tasks; Snape trusted you, and under his tutelage you had become adept at your job.

But your proper education took place on Saturday evenings in the dungeons.

Apparently, the reason you'd never actually witnessed Snape brewing anything, was because he had a private potions lab, its door hidden behind one of the many shelves in his office. You'd spent six and a half years visiting that damn office and never once had you even suspected-… Well. The man clearly valued his privacy. The lab was spartan and basic; two work tables, four cauldrons, and several cupboards and cabinets containing various instruments and tools needed for preparing ingredients.

Every Saturday, you would arrive precisely at eight o'clock after dinner, and would proceed to spend the next four hours brewing potions with your professor. Typically, these sessions were spent restocking potions for the Hospital Wing; endless cauldrons full of Pepperup Potion, Calming Draught, Dreamless Sleep and Essence of Dittany. Rudimentary, but essential. These necessary infusions were concocted in three of the available cauldrons. It was in the fourth cauldron where you worked on your more… ambitious projects.

But whether you were working on a simple Hiccoughing Solution, or attempting the month long process of making crystal clear Veritaserum, the one constant factor in your education was that Severus Snape was a savant. Never once had you opened a text book in his classroom; you had always taken down his notes from the board. In fact, you had six composition books worth of them, and were working on a seventh. The same could be said for his private lab. He worked from memory alone, never once having to crack open a book to find a recipe. The only book to be found in the lab was his personal grimoire, a thick, brown leather-bound book where he'd written down his own formulations for countless potions. He allowed you to use it as reference (every other published potions text was rubbish in his experience) and you handled the tome with the utmost reverence and respect. He'd apparently improved nearly every single potion found in both standard and advanced level textbooks, either making their brewing simpler, or increasing the effectiveness of the potions themselves. Small deviations in timing, stirring, preparation or temperature were the keys to turning a basic potion into something extraordinary.

Equally as impressive as his mental prowess, however, was his technique. Everything he did, from the slicing of delicate herbs to the measuring of volatile liquids, was so exact, so controlled, it was like watching an automaton. And it was during these observations of his methods that you started to take notice of his hands. Because they were bloody beautiful.

At first, you chalked it up to the artist in you. The way he worked was something akin to art, after all, and you were predispositioned to find beauty in all that you saw. And his hands… Delicate bones wrapped in translucent gossamer, laced with blue veins, tipped with trim nails. Long and slender, like pale spiders creeping over the worktable you shared, they were precise with a knife, powerful with a mortar and pestle, graceful with a stirring rod. Like the conductor of an orchestra, every movement was carefully chosen to elicit the greatest effect.

To the point that you couldn't stop thinking about them. You'd officially dedicated two pages of your sketch book to an intimate study of his hands. Human anatomy had never been your strongest suit, but you were devoted to capturing their elegance on paper. From his finely boned fingers to the cuff of his shirtsleeves ending above the knuckles, you'd committed their sharp angles and smooth lines to memory. But his hands had only been the beginning.

Over the last six and a half years, you had become increasingly comfortable being around him. You felt like you knew him well. Or at least as well as he would allow you to. But quiet nights in closed quarters had you noticing things you'd never picked up on before. Things that may have been negligible to the casual observer, but had you utterly captivated. The curved nip of his narrow waist in his impeccably tailored frock coat. The sharp cut of his jaw usually hidden behind a swath of shiny hair. The way he couldn't keep his fingers off of his goddamn mouth when he was deep in thought. It was becoming distracting, honestly, the way he pinched and traced and tugged at his lips. It forced you to watch both his hands and his mouth… and… and...

Now there were eight pages in your sketchbook, entirely devoted to him. You refrained from drawing his full visage (god forbid anyone peruse your art and get any ideas), but bits and pieces of him were scrawled across the paper, staggered between pages of your usual fare of flowers and mushrooms. Hands and boots and buttons and hair. You'd tried to convince yourself that it wasn't totally creepy. That you were simply inspired by a unique individual, and you would never deny yourself the influx of creativity, especially for a subject matter that was not in your usual repertoire.

But that would make him your muse. And that meant… Well. You'd been denying it for years, hadn't you? But there was really just no way around it any more.

Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad… You're hot for teacher.

This realization wasn't entirely unexpected, but finally admitting to yourself that you had a bloody crush had been rather alarming. You wondered at first if it was just infatuation; that you were so impressed with his abilities that you found yourself idealizing him through rose colored glasses. But one look through your sketches proved that not to be the case. Severus Snape was not a handsome man; you weren't so disillusioned as to think he was anything but ashen skin and oily hair and crooked teeth and a hooked nose. But those were exactly the aspects which you had drawn in such loving detail, because even if they weren't conventionally attractive, you still found them endearing.

And indeed, it had never been his looks that drew you in, but his words and actions. The way he treated you. The way he'd been silently taking care of you for years now, and continued to do so. Your life at Hogwarts had become overwhelming. In your seventh year, you had so much homework to do, so many tests to take, so many friendships to maintain before you all graduated and went your separate ways. But the second the door to his lab slammed shut behind you, you found yourself in beautiful serenity. The hours spent in the dungeons, with him… they were like meditation by potion making. You didn't have to think about anything happening on the floors above you. It was just you, and him, and softly simmering cauldrons with shimmering fumes. Whenever you were with him, you felt safe and content. And no one else had ever given you that.

Admitting to yourself that you did, indeed, have a (bloody) crush on your Professor, had thankfully not hindered any of your interactions with him. You had always been eager prove yourself, so you did not suffer from the typical bumbling of someone trying to impress. You were grateful to be skipping that stage of attraction. You also weren't naïve. Realistically, you knew that absolutely nothing would come from this. He was your professor, and you were his student. You weren't delusional; you knew that these feelings would never see the light of day. They certainly would never be returned. It was inappropriate at best, and immoral at worst. You just… didn't know how to love him. You knew you would never actively pursue these newfound feelings (were they really so new?), but you couldn't find it within yourself to suppress them either. It left you in limbo.

But somehow, you didn't feel badly about it. If limbo was the space between exquisite ecstasy and profound suffering, then… frankly, you didn't mind floating there. You cherished the time you got to spend with him, when the banter was easy, even if the study was intense. He would always be intertwined with your future, with the rest of your life, because he was teaching you the skills that would pave the way for it. You would happily settle for neutral, if it felt this peaceful and warm.

Peaceful… Warm… when did it get so warm…? The dungeons were freezing it wasn't supposed to be…

You sucked in a startled breath at the sound of your hourglass timer rattling on the table. Entire body jolting, you winced as you peeled your face off of the wooden surface it has been smooshed against. You blinked blearily, fumbling to reach out for the timer, to turn the blasted thing off, but your arms were tangled up and you couldn't move fast enough and-

The gentle press of a hand between your shoulder blades immediately settled your struggling, and you peered up uneasily as Snape leaned across the work table beside you. Silencing the hourglass with a wave of his hand, he plucked up a small dish of meticulously counted beetle eyes, and poured them into the nearby cauldron, where your Strengthening Solution turned from a pale, sky blue to a bright, vibrant turquoise. Staring dumbly at the faintly glowing potion, you put together what had just occurred, and you groaned with dismay.

"Have a pleasant nap?" Snape asked, his voice almost sing-songy with amusement as he patted your shoulder, before stepping back to the other side of the work table and perching himself on the stool beside yours. Groaning again, you made to bury your face in your hands, but your arms were still tangled up in copious amounts of black wool and oh god he'd put his teaching robes around you. You stared down in bewilderment at the drape of black fabric cocooning you. Teakwood, clove bud, coriander. Peaceful and warm…

He really wasn't making this easy, was he?

"Why didn't you wake me?" you whined groggily, finally extracting one of your hands from its confines and rubbing your face. You could still feel the indentations and ridges from where you'd fallen asleep on the roughhewn wooden table. God, how long had you been out?

"If you were tired enough to pass out in the middle of a brewing session, I imagine you needed the rest," Snape replied easily, though there was now an edge of concern to his voice. Turning away from his own cauldron to face you, his arms crossed over his thin chest, he studied you with a critical eye. "If these private lessons are taking a toll on your health, I can arrange something else-"

"No!" you interrupted quickly, and Snape's eyebrows flew up his forehead at your vehemence. You hadn't meant to sound so zealous, but the last thing you wanted was for these lessons to end. "No I mean, they aren't. Taking a toll." You shrugged your shoulders, absently pulling his robes tighter around yourself, savoring the warmth. You had no intention of returning them any time soon. "Honestly, coming down here is the only thing I look forward to anymore. It's… everything else…" You waved your one free hand in an all-encompassing motion, and he seemed to glean your meaning.

"They are called Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests for a reason," Snape explained, and you grinned at the hint of sympathy in his voice. He was certainly speaking from experience. "Only a few more months, then you'll be free."

And just as quickly as your smile had appeared, it melted away. That was supposed to be encouraging, you knew. That the rigor of tests and school and academic obligation was nearing an end. But even in such light terms, it only served to remind you that your time left here was becoming short.

Snape frowned, his thick brows furrowing together as he leaned against the work table, dipping his head in an attempt to catch your eye. "If you ever need a night off…"

Your melancholy smile returned, touched by his concern, but you shook your head. "I don't know what else I would do with my Saturday nights," you teased, though you weren't even remotely lying. That was probably kind of sad, but it was the truth. There was no place you'd rather be. "But thank you, sir."

Snape eyed you doubtfully for a few moments longer, before sighing reluctantly. "Very well. But I insist that you tell me if it does start having a negative impact on you." You nodded in agreement, and he returned it, before he uncrossed his arms and used his wand to Accio a box of empty jars with cork stoppers from a crate across the lab. "Are you quite awake now, Miss Goode?"

Your smile widened, no longer sad, but pleased. "Yes, sir," you nodded, and you finally had to relent your grip on his robes. Slipping it from your shoulders, you shook out the dark raiment before holding it out to him.

Taking the cloak from your hands, Snape replaced it with the box of jars. "Splendid. Start bottling. Sprout needs those for Monday." Professor Sprout was in the process of cultivating some young Devil's Snare, and intended to give the Strengthening Solution to her unlucky students as a precaution. It seemed like a fair countermeasure, but wasn't just chilling out the best way to combat Devil's Snare? Not fighting against it? Either way, it wasn't your class so you didn't really care. You just knew you had brewed the best damn Strengthening Solution of your life. Even if you'd fallen asleep during the simmering stage… woopsie.

You started uncorking several of the bottles as Snape strode towards the door, hanging his teaching robes up on a set of hooks affixed to the wall. "I think it's time we talk about March," he said suddenly, and you fumbled one of the bottles, hot-potatoing the glass as it nearly plummeted to the ground, before grasping it with both hands and clutching it to your chest. God! Why did he always do that?

Setting the jar down with trembling fingers, you held back the piece of your mind you were tempted to give him. "The Society meeting?" you asked, knowing that the clarification was pointless. That was the only thing happening in March, after all, and it was a scant three months away.

"Indeed. How very astute of you," Snape drawled, and you had to physically refrain from rolling your eyes, as he had returned to your side. Taking his place back on the stool beside yours, he cast a stasis spell over the potion he'd been brewing (something experimental, he wasn't giving to details, yet) before leaning an elbow on the table and placing his cheek in his hand. He watched you idly as you began to ladle globs of bright blue potion into the jars.

"Headmaster Dumbledore has informed me he has secured us two beds at the Atticus, all on the school's tab," he began, his voice businesslike and his expression bored. "And since the hotel is a stone's throw away from Kings Cross, we'll be taking the Hogwarts Express. We'll be leaving on Friday morning, arriving on the night before the meeting begins, and returning Sunday night after closing ceremonies. We should be back in time for classes to begin on Monday."

You frowned at this information, forcing a large cork stopper into the wide rim of the first jar. "Wouldn't it be easier to just Apparate?" you asked. It sure seemed like a lot of unnecessary logistics. It was going to take three days to attend a meeting that would last less than 48 hours? And almost two days' worth of that time would be spent on a train?

There was a long beat of silence, and you glanced over at your professor curiously. Snape seized his opportunity. "Do you know how to Apparate?" he deadpanned, and your mouth fell open with an offended grunt.

"Of course I do!" you retaliated, and your ire only grew as one of his eyebrows crept further up his smug face. "You know I passed my-"

"I'll rephrase the question," Snape countered dangerously, lifting his face from his hand and narrowing his eyes to slits. Your mouth snapped shut. "Do you know how to Apparate without splinching yourself?"

Your hand unconsciously flew to your right ear. "That was one time!" you protested, cupping your hand around the organ you had once accidentally left on the other side of the Great Hall, earrings and all.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, but Snape was very clearly fighting down his own mirth, a grin struggling to form on his lips. "We're taking the train," he said with a note of finality, and you deflated with a mopey frown. You turned away from him then, ladling potion with renewed vigor, and popping in corks so tightly that Professor Sprout was going to have a difficult time opening them manually. "Don't you pout at me," he warned sternly, already fed up with your theatrics, which was a real laugh coming from him. "Licensed or not, I'd prefer us both to get there in one piece, thank you."

You sighed, your cheeks burning red at his admonishment, but you nodded again, unenthusiastically. "Yes, sir," you mumbled, still sounding petulant. But Snape seemed pleased enough with your compliance, and didn't press you further.

"Do you have any questions for me?" Snape asked finally, starting to place the filled potion bottles into the box the empties had been stored in. There was only a few more bottles worth of potion left in the cauldron, and you took your time scooping it out as you considered his question. You'd been quite happy to let him and Dumbledore handle the whole thing. Your mother had indeed sent letters of permission to both the Headmaster and your Head of House, consenting both to the trip, as well as to allowing Professor Snape to be the one to accompany you. Despite your opposition to taking the train, in favor of testing your own Apparation abilities, you trusted all parties involved to make the right decisions for you. Really, the only thing you were worried about was… everyone else.

"Do you know who's going to be there?" you asked finally, sliding the next bottle over to him. Your fingers brushed as he took the jar from you, and you shivered a little. It… sure was cold in the dungeon.

"I can't say for sure," Snape replied thoughtfully, placing the bottle into the box absently as he mulled your question over. "I only ever attended one of these things in my youth." You frowned at that. The man was scarcely 30 if your calculations were correct, but he spoke as if his 'youth' had been a lifetime ago. "I was… disenchanted to discover that it's barely about potions and more about making and maintaining social connections. Not much use to me back then, but it should be invaluable to you now. All I know is that Horace Slughorn will be there, so I have no doubt that the guest list will be impressive. He tends to surround himself with the best of the best."

You shivered again, but not the result of an errant touch this time. You grimaced a little as you filled the final bottle, pressing in the cork and placing that one into the box yourself. "I don't mean to be offensive, sir," you started hesitantly, treading lightly. "But… Horace Slughorn kind of sounds like a creep." You were afraid that there was a chance that Snape and Slughorn were close, and you certainly didn't want to get on either of their bad sides.

But Snape barked out a short laugh, and your tension drained. Your smile was bordering on dreamy at the sight and sound of it, but you quickly sobered yourself up as he confirmed, "You aren't wrong." He waved his wand over your cauldron, banishing the dregs and Scourgifying the rest. "However, I assure you that despite his favoritism and penchant for collecting people who may be useful to him, he's harmless."

You really weren't sure if this made you feel better or not. Just the words, 'collecting people', made you feel a little uncomfortable. Like maybe you hadn't been invited to this thing based purely on your raw talent. Maybe Slughorn was going to expect favors of you in the future, were you ever to make it big in the field. Not that that mattered, you certainly weren't entering into this for the recognition. But the idea that someone might think that you owe them anything for the contacts you were about to make seemed… unsavory to you. It made you all the more grateful that Snape was to be your chaperone.

"If you say so," you sighed, and pulled back the sleeve of your jumper, checking the thin oval shaped watch your mother had given you for Christmas a few weeks prior. Keeping track of time had become a major priority during your last school year, and the amethyst colored clock face told you that it was nearing midnight.

"I do say so," Snape retorted, and you glanced over to him with a tired smile. Tired from the length of the day, and tired of his sass. He nodded placatingly to you, before turning away and heading towards the door leading to his office, box of your Strengthening Solution still in his hands. You sighed with relief as you slipped off of your stool, knowing you had been dismissed for the evening. Stretching your arms above your head, you arched your body backwards, feeling your stiff bones pop with gratitude, and Snape made a small noise of disgust from his office. You laughed at his apparent revulsion, and considered cracking your knuckles as well, but it was too late to be goading him like this. Silently following him into his office, you bid each other goodnight, before parting your respective ways.