Ayla was not the first person to wonder if Severus Snape was a mind reader, nor would she be the last. It was, however, extremely unnerving. He truly was "tall, dark, and mysterious." Pandora would have a fit.
"He belongs on some bloody detective show," she muttered angrily as she grabbed Enkidu and walked out of the door. "Some bloody bad detective show."
She didn't know why her first meeting with the man she had earlier thought of as the most handsome man in the room irked her so much. She was used to mysterious people; she did, after all, live in Slytherin House. Still…something about this new Potions Master made her wary, and she didn't like it.
Especially when she couldn't get his face out of her mind.
You weren't supposed to crush on people you didn't like, she thought angrily as she turned down the passageway that would take her to the common room. You were supposed to crush on people you liked a lot, on people that didn't send out warning signals whenever you looked at them.
Perhaps, though, she was just being far too paranoid. After all, the man her mother was convinced was an insane madman after their good china turned out to be her uncle, who had decided to become extremely religious and changed his appearance. Maybe Professor Snape was just a mysterious person; someone who didn't like to share their deepest desires. She could relate to that.
That didn't explain why she felt like he could read her mind, though.
This was ridiculous. No one person deserved this much contemplation, especially not some sarcastic Potions professor whom she had only met once. It was time to think about something else. Something like…anything but Severus Snape.
That would make a good song title, if she could only—no! No, no, no! She was not writing songs about him! He most certainly was not that remarkable. Besides, writing songs were not her strong point. She'd make a fool of herself if she even attempted something mediocre.
That was, if she hadn't already.
Pandora and Alex weren't in the common room when she returned; in fact, the room was completely devoid of any sign of life other than the damned cat of Regul Hophicus. Some first-years were known to run away in fear of the cat, Monster, who most certainly lived up to his name.
After flicking her fingers at the hissing cat, Ayla went up the stairs to the sixth-years' floor and entered the door on the right. She was unsurprised to find that everyone in the room was asleep, and, after sliding Enkidu under her bed, she grabbed her bathroom bag and headed towards the showers.
Unlike the other girls in the year, Ayla preferred not to keep her toiletries in the bathroom. It wasn't as if she owned vast amounts of hair gel and mousse, or enough make-up to make McGonagall look twenty, so she really didn't need to keep it all spread over the bathroom. Besides, between the beauty products owned by Penny and Pandora, respectively, there wasn't much shelf or counter space to be found. There was, however, an extremely varied collection of beauty products, for neither girl would be caught dead using the same mousse or hair spray. Both had immediately thrown out their Spun-Tight Curling Potions when they both reached for the same bottle one Monday morning. Ayla had salvaged the potion, and found that tightly spun curly hair was a good look for her, even if it did take far too much time to achieve.
She closed the door that separated the shower stalls from the toilets and turned on the hot water in the far right shower, the one with the broken lamp. As a result of no one ever bothering to fix the lamp with a simple spell, it was thought to be dingy, unclean, and, "absolutely crawling with things that live in the dungeons at my manor."
Of course, it was useless to point out to Penny Lane that the Slytherin dorms were located in the dungeons of Hogwarts.
As no one in Slytherin wanted to get on the bad side of Penny (save Ayla), no one used that shower stall. Ayla, however, had found that it was the largest of the stalls, and after confirming that it was quite sanitary, had set to finding an alternate source of light. She had thought a waterproof candle would do, and it had proved to be perfectly adequate. Ayla preferred to keep this discovery to herself, and consequently always had an open shower.
After locking the door with a flick of her wand, she set her wand on the bench out of the water's reach, stripped, and stepped into the warmth. After washing her hair and body, she sat down so that she was leaning against the wall and closed her eyes, letting the water cascade over her.
She liked to do her most serious thinking in the shower, especially in this dark, secluded stall, where the only light was a dim, flickering candle. She even—odd as it seemed—spoke to the wall at times, though she never seriously expected an answer.
Sometimes, though, she had to talk, talk to anything---Ea, herself, the wall, her sock drawer—just something. She tried to rationalize that it was because her dorm-mates were so ridiculously self-centered, and that Bill just lacked the interest, and great con artist that she was, she had everyone in the world convinced that she was perfectly sane. And she was. But she couldn't fool herself, try as she might.
She was lonely.
Bill was great. He was her absolute best friend in the world, and she would do anything for him. Really, he was wonderful. Great personality, if a bit quick-tempered, lovely sense of humor, and shared her interests. Perfectly perfect.
But there were just things she couldn't talk about with Bill. And it wasn't the girl things—no, she let loose all of her feminine moaning on his poor red head. It was the intellectual things---books, classes, ideology, religion, muggle/magic interactions---that gave her so much trouble in finding a confidant.
And she knew there had to be someone in Slytherin House who thought the same way she did. Someone who loved to read, who loved to spend hours on end just thinking—thinking about whatever took their fancy---someone who could take a seemingly normal topic—like showers---and create an encyclopedia of questions and theories.
Someone who liked to question things, someone who liked to question people. Someone who didn't just take it for granted that when you waved your wand and said a few words, a fire arose out of thin air. Someone who wanted to know why the fire sprang up, how the wand waving and words led to that effect, what made it work. Someone who loved to analyze everything, everything from grass to magic to religion and back again.
There had be one person. Just someone.
And she had found that person, after long searching, and many nights in the showers.
It was Ayla Landau. Short, obstinate, cynical, lonely Ayla Landau.
And as much as she talked to herself, she never received an answer back.
Oh, yes, there were always Ravenclaws. Intelligent, wise, arrogant Ravenclaws. The ones that always seemed to know more---and naturally, why wouldn't they? They were, after all, the smart ones. Far too smart to consort with a Slytherin, of course.
The Gryffindors? Talk to a Slytherin? Even one that was best friends with Bill Weasley, prefect and shoo-in for Head boy? Of course not! The thought was horrendous.
And the Hufflepuffs? They didn't even require an explanation.
So Ayla, who seemed so self-confident that she needed no one, was lonely. And there was no one to tell.
Of course, these self-pity parties only happened in the deep, dark recesses of Ayla's mind. She was far too busy with other things to be sorry for herself. Sometimes, though, she wished she had a friend that she could talk about religion with. And sometimes, she wished that she could tell someone about the exciting new topic they were discussing in Arithmancy.
And, dependable and solid as it was, the wall was a horrible friend.
And, lost in her own thoughts of the moon and the stars and why they were there, her subconscious turned to Severus Snape. Again.
And she wondered what he had been like as a sixteen-year-old boy in Slytherin House. Did he too, long for someone to talk to? Perhaps, though, his housemates were not as shallow? And perhaps, though she sincerely doubted it, he had been shallow?
Had he been lonely? Had he been a smart, attentive student? Had he been flocked by females and adoring friends? What had he done before teaching? And why did the governors disapprove of his appointment so?
And why was he taking up so much of her time? Groaning, she pulled herself to her feet, turned off the water, and wrapped a fluffy green towel around her shivering body. Properly toweling herself dry, she pulled on her muggle-style sleepwear, grabbed her wand, and headed out the door, throwing her used towel into the bin.
She would take up his offer on a job, she decided, if only to prove that it was one of those unavoidable childish infatuations. And, though she wouldn't admit it to herself, she wanted to know what he was like.
***
The next morning seemed to pass in a blur for Ayla. She woke up, got yelled at by Penny, tuned out an earful of useless information from Pandora, got yelled at by Penny a bit more, said a tired hello to Alex, finally found enough energy to tell Penny off, and headed down to breakfast.
Most of the school was already down at breakfast, and Ayla cursed herself for staying up so late in the showers. It was hard enough for her to function in the mornings; doubly so when she hadn't a decent night's sleep. She was already behind schedule.
She sat down at the Slytherin table and gave herself some porridge and a piece of toast. She took a sip of tea and stared idly ahead, tuning out everything around her. It was far too early in the morning for her to tolerate Pandora's incessant chatter.
The sky on the ceiling depicted a cool, stormy morning. Ayla looked down at her timetable and noted with mild interest that she seemed to be spending a large amount of the morning outside. Care of Magical Creatures was first, followed by Double Herbology, then Transfiguration and Potions after the break.
Potions.
Her first class with Professor Snape, whom, she noticed after a quick glance at the Head Table, was not at breakfast this morning. That was odd. Perhaps he preferred to dine alone? But he had been at the feast the night before—although Dumbledore might've forced him to attend.
Her eyes turned toward the Gryffindor table, where Bill was sitting with two Gryffindors, Jasmine Ponte and Kent Hubert. Ayla found Jasmine incredibly arrogant and Kent incredibly foolish. The combination was unbearable. It didn't help that the two were dating. They were always sitting on each other's laps, displaying the sort of affection that made Ayla's stomach churn—true love didn't exist in any form, in her opinion, especially in the sickeningly sweet way that the movies showed. Ayla was the one who didn't cry at sappy movies—she rolled her eyes and laughed. She had always considered people who fell in love to be in the same category as idealists.
That was why her crush on Snape bothered her so much. It wasn't the fact that he was her teacher—everyone finds themselves attracted to a teacher on some level---it was the fact that she had had one brief, ten minute conversation with him, and she was already envisioning him in his knickers. Black, they were, and satin. With little green stripes, maybe. Or cauldrons. Did they make them with cauldrons?
This had to stop.
She would never be able to keep a straight face around him if she kept
thinking about what sort of underwear he wore.
But what if he wore briefs?
Absolutely furious with herself for not being able to control her own thoughts, she forced herself to listen to whatever Pandora was talking about. Something to do with Jungular again, it sounded like.
"…and he talked to me. He actually talked to me!" Pandora looked ecstatic. Her fork fell to the floor as she swept her hand across the table. "And it was like a dream come true!"
"More like a nightmare," Alex muttered under his breath. Pandora shot him an evil look.
Ayla grinned. "Cheers, Alex," she said, raising her goblet.
"Stop it, Landau." Pandora glared at the two of them. "You don't see me making any cracks about the Potions Master."
Ayla's heart sped up a bit, but she forced herself to keep her face blank. "Why should you?"
"Because you like him," Pandora replied, nudging her shoulder. "Come on, you know you do."
"Some of us have more important things to think about than the opposite sex, Boxer," Ayla said coolly, bending over to pick up the fork. "And you've dropped something." She slid the utensil across the table.
Pandora let it skid off the edge. "Are you telling me that you have no interest that incredibly handsome man at the staff table?"
"Other than the fact that he's to be my teacher, none at all," she lied. She took a quick look at the Head Table. Snape was indeed there now, seated next to Professor Trelawny. Professor Binns sat on his left, looking as tedious as ever. Snape appeared to be rather unhappy about the seating arrangements, and was giving Trelawny a look that would have frightened Satan himself. Trelawny, however, didn't seem to get the hint.
Alex looked at her appraisingly. "Really." He handed Pandora her fork. "Keep track of your silverware, girl. I'm not your personal Remembrall."
"Really." Ayla threw down her uneaten crust. "And now, my dear friends, I am off." She pushed back from the table. "Thank you for that incredibly enlightening conversation; you have altered my life in ways unexplainable." She grabbed her bag from the floor and slung it over her shoulder.
Pandora nodded. "Any time."
Alex rolled his eyes. "Why isn't she a Hufflepuff?" he asked quietly, so that only Ayla, who was pushing in her chair, could hear.
"Because the Hat knew she'd scare them all away," she explained. "See, with us, we just all ignore her, and she's no worse off." She winked at him. "And because her parents would have murdered her, and the Hat has a conscience."
"Yeah, well, I wish his conscience had put her anywhere but here." He looked at the female in question, completely oblivious to anything around her. "Why me?"
"Because your parents weren't Death Eaters," she answered. "And you're all the better for it."
She walked out of the Hall, feeling a bit odd. Something didn't feel right about the morning. She had a strange feeling of foreboding that frightened her. Not that she believed in Divination—not in the way that Trelawny taught it, anyway. She believed that all humans had a basic intuition that protected them, but a deck of cards with swords on them could not predict events in a human's life.
But something felt off balance…Pandora wasn't usually that fluff-filled, and Alex wasn't usually that impatient with her. And Oscar Jungular had not made one comment about her being a mudblood the entire morning. Not one.
She met Bill by the staircase. "Morning," she said. He was leaning against the railing, bag in hand.
"Running late, are we?" he asked, nodding at her.
"Don't even start with me, Weasley," she said, turning towards the doors that would lead them outside for Care of Magical Creatures. "Something's off."
He rolled his eyes. "Another one of your feelings, eh?" Bill was a firm disbeliever when it came to Divination or anything of the sort; he only took it as a favor to Ayla.
"Listen, the last time I had one of my 'feelings'," she said scathingly, "you fell off a Hippogriff."
He blushed bright red and kept his eyes on the ground. "Yes, well…what's wrong with the balance of the natural forces today then, hmm?"
"I'm not sure…but something doesn't feel right. You're exactly right about the balance part, in that way, at least." She sighed. "But Pandora was incredibly intolerable today—"
"More so than usual?" Bill couldn't stand any of Ayla's friends more than she could stand his.
"Oh, she's usually tolerable," she said, waving her hand. "I just usually block her out. But today she was acting downright idiotic—like she couldn't think properly. Or her head was full of air."
"I still hold to the cheese puff theory," he said with a grin. Bill had once said that Pandora's head must be full of cheese puffs, as no one with any brains would say the sort of things she said. For all her faults, though, Pandora could be extremely clever when she chose to, and manipulation was her strong point. She could make anything sound exciting---or horrible.
Ayla ignored him. "And Alex, who is usually more understanding of her, was acting like he was going to throw in the lake!" She stopped at the foot of the outside stairs. "And Jungular has not insulted me once today! Once!" She bent down and picked up a book off the ground.
"That is odd," Bill agreed, coming up beside her. "What's that?"
She flipped it over. "Dunno. There's no name." She looked at the title. "The Wisdom and Ideas of Plato."
"Plato?" Bill scrunched up his nose. "Isn't that a planet?"
Ayla scoffed. "No, you idiot! Plato was a Greek philosopher who lived in the fifth and sixth centuries B.C. He is one of the greatest philosopher of all time!" She paused. "I don't suppose you've heard of Socrates?"
Bill shook his head.
Ayla sighed. This was why she needed someone other than Bill to talk to. For she knew some of the wisdom and ideas of Plato, and had found them quite interesting. She had tried to discuss it with her mother, who owned the books from which she had found her information, but her mother was far too busy with work to discuss Plato with a child. And the words of Plato and Socrates were lost on her father, who was only interested in something if the Cell Theory applied to it.
They resumed the walk to Care of Magical Creatures. "Socrates was a great Greek philosopher. He dedicated his life to a religious mission given to him by the oracle at Delphi, but that's another story. Anyway, Plato was one of his disciples. Well, Socrates was executed on charges of corrupting youths, and Plato and some other disciples left Athens and traveled around the world a bit. Plato came back and founded his famous Academy, and taught there until he died.
"Plato and Socrates are considered to be two of the wisest men to have ever lived," she explained, brandishing the book at him. "And someone was obviously interested in what Plato had to say."
"A professor, obviously," Bill muttered.
"Is that meant to be an insult, Weasley?" she asked, glaring up at him menacingly.
He shook his head wildly. "No! But you're a hell of a lot smarter than most of the students, so if it isn't yours, it's probably a teacher's…"
She sighed. "You can stop flinching, Bill. I'm going to hurt you."
"You had that look in your eye, though," he said. "And I was not flinching! I was…"
"Protecting yourself from me?" she asked smartly.
"Yeah---no!" He shook his head furiously. "No, I was not protecting myself. I was just making sure that you…er…weren't moody. It is the first, after all."
She nodded, unconvinced. "Of course."
He nodded emphatically. "Yes."
She shook her head and smiled. "If you say so, Weasley. But just remember, I know things about you that I'm sure Charlie would be happy to put up all over Gryffindor Tower—"
His eyes widened. "You wouldn't."
She snorted as they reached the benches where Care of Magical Creatures met. "I thought you knew me better than that, Bill." She took a seat on the bench furthest from the outdoor podium and tucked the book in her bag. "You know I would in a heartbeat."
He laughed nervously as he slid onto the bench next to her. "But you won't." He froze at her expression. "Will you?" His voice cracked and went up an octave at the end.
"Not now," she said, laughing. "You sound like Michael Jackson."
"Hey, lots of people like Michael Jackson," Bill said defensively.
"It wasn't a compliment."
"Oh."
***
Ayla walked to Potions alone. She didn't much feel like explaining to Bill why Pandora had been making snide remarks about "a certain Potions Master" all during Care of Magical Creatures. He had been throwing her curious looks, and she had avoided him all the rest of the morning.
She made sure that she got there after someone else did, so that Pandora couldn't say something about the two of them being alone. After seeing that Jasmine and Kent had entered the classroom, she followed, trying to calm her stomach. She felt like she was six again, on the Screamin' Delta Demon in the theme park in muggle America. She had thrown up three times after she had gotten off, and once more after eating a cotton candy.
The Professor was seated at his desk, and he looked up as she entered the room. Their eyes met, and her heart did a flip. His eyes were fathomless; dark, deep pools of ink that drew you in and spun you around until you were so dizzy you had to look away, but you couldn't. You couldn't because they were so beautiful, and yet so dangerous at the same time. His eyes…
She shook her head. She could not spend all of Potions comparing his eyes to deep, dark pools of anything. Angered at her own lack of self-control, she took a deep breath and tore her gaze from his. She walked over to his desk and tried her hardest to look smart, if that was at all possible.
"Miss Landau," he said, nodding at her.
"Professor," she said, nodding back.
They stared at each other for a moment, his eyes boring into hers. She looked away before she started forming love poetry in her head.
He cleared his throat. "I expect you have an answer to my proposition." It wasn't a question.
She nodded. "Yes."
He stood, dropping his quill on the desk. "Good. I expect you here at eight-o-clock sharp tonight, then."
She nodded and turned to find a table, only to discover that Bill had already chosen a seat right in front. She quickly walked over to the table and slid into the seat next to him.
"What is it with you and that guy?" he asked as she rummaged in her bag for her books.
"I'll explain later," she muttered, setting One Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi on the table, along with The Art of Potions: Year Six. She looked through her bag again and pulled out a roll of parchment and a container of purple ink.
"Damn it," she swore, her face in her bag. "I could've sworn I put those quills in here…"
Bill tapped her on the shoulder. "Here. Just keep this one." He handed her a quill with a few feathers pulled off the end. She raised her eyebrow inquisitively.
"Dare I ask?" she said, holding up the quill.
"I had Binns last period," he explained, taking out his own books. "I didn't even notice I was shredding my quill until the feathers made me sneeze."
She nodded. "Ah. Still as tedious as ever, I presume."
"Worse," he said miserably, taking out his own quill and ink. "I know I shouldn't say this, being a prefect and all,"—he paused—"but History of Magic is just boring. All we do is take notes! Most of us sleep through it."
Ayla nodded. "Yes, I catch up on my own lack of sleep in that class."
He shook his head. "You really shouldn't. He gives hard exams."
She frowned. "That class, like all others, is a bore for me. I write down what he writes on the board and sleep through the rest. I do the same thing in every other class."
"Except for Transfiguration," he smirked, nudging her shoulder. "You can't possibly sleep in that class."
She paused. "No, I suppose I don't…I just can't seem to make my porcupine turn into a pincushion. Do you know how long it took me to make my match pointy?"
He laughed just as Professor Snape took his place at the front of the room, assignment book in hand.
"Hello," he began, and the class immediately fell silent. He spoke quietly, but his tone held an edge of authority to it. The effect was nearly overwhelming, and Ayla had to take a deep breath again.
"You have been placed under my care for the next hour," he said, eyes scanning the room, "in which I have been charged with the difficult task of teaching the magical art of Potions to a group of sixteen-year-olds whose small minds are filled to the brim with trivial rubbish. I don't expect any of you to have to presence of mind to appreciate the beauty of simmering cauldron, or the simple delicacy of a dangerous concoction.
"I do expect, however, for you to try your best to appear to be attentive, and I wish you the best of luck if I feel that you are not. I would suggest that you try to find some time in your inconsequential lives for this class; you will be tested frequently. I expect you all to take notes on anything I say and write on the board, as it will most likely be helpful when you must prepare Potions. I also expect you to do well on these tests and assignments; all the information and materials you need will be provided for you. There is no reason for any of you to do poorly in this class.
"I will not tolerate any intentional disruptions, and necessary disciplinary measures will be taken if such instances occur. I will not have any of you purposely ruining one of your peer's Potions, and horseplay is a very good way to lose a digit, especially around the fires."
After this speech the class all stared at him. Every single pair of eyes were focused on him; even Penny Lane had put down her magazines long enough to consider what the teacher had to say. Snape seemed rather pleased with himself; his sneer had turned into a smug half-smile, and he opened his book to take role.
"Boxer?"
Pandora, seated next to Alex at the table behind Bill and Ayla, eagerly responded, "Here!"
"Cannon?"
And so he continued, going through of the Slytherins. When he reached Ayla's name, he looked up, nodded at her, and said, "Miss Landau."
She nodded back, trying to keep the grin off her face. She had found his little speech quite interesting. He had made a show off calling them all idiots, yet seemed to expect a great deal. She found this hypocrisy odd but fascinating, and wondered what his motives were.
He finished the Slytherins and turned the page, and began with the Gryffindors.
"Akten?" all the way to, "Weasley?"
"Here," Bill answered, somewhat nervously. Snape turned his eyes on Bill, looked from Bill to Ayla and back again, decided he didn't want to know, and closed his book.
"Now. Can any of you tell me what I would get if I added Narmer's Solution to a cauldron full of wine that had been sitting out for a month?" he demanded.
Pandora shot her hand in the air. "Yes?"
"Wouldn't it just turn a wine-ish color?" she said, sounding pleased with herself.
Snape raised an eyebrow. "If that were the case, Miss Boxer, do you think I would be placing so much emphasis on it?"
She looked abasahed and didn't answer.
"Now, does anyone have a more thought out response?" he asked, sounding skeptical.
Ayla's analytical mind took over. All right, what does Narmer's Solution consist of? Water, Jenagal roots, baking soda, kint liver—
Baking soda?
Aged wine…isn't that the same thing as vinegar, more or less?
Ayla thought back, as though drawing upon a memory that wasn't hers, to a small classroom full of small mounds. They had mixed baking soda with red food coloring and added vinegar…
Model volcanoes, that was it! She immediately raised her hand, rather proud of herself for thinking of that.
Snape nodded at her. "Care to try, Miss Landau?"
She nodded. "Well, first of all, that wouldn't be particularly smart of you."
He leant back against the desk, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Please, elaborate," he said, not unkindly.
Bill tugged at her sleeve nervously, but she shrugged him off. I know what I'm doing.
"Well," she explained, "Narmer's Solution has a high concentration of baking soda. Mixed with that much amount of aged wine, which probably would have turned into vinegar by that point anyway, it would cause a huge explosion."
Snape stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes boring into hers. He was pleased with her! She could see it in his eyes, the way he half-smiled at her. He was pleased with her. She felt like hugging herself.
"Ten points to Slytherin," he said, "for the best answer to that question I've heard in a long time." He did not look away from her, and for a moment, she swore there was a connection between them. The next moment, however, he was pacing the room, sneer back in place.
"So. Why aren't you all writing that down?"
There was a sudden rummage for parchment and quills, and Snape caught Ayla's eye again. She gave him an innocent look, and he stared back, dark eyes glittering.
Ayla found this new Potions Master to be tough, sarcastic, and a bit on the mean side. And she felt herself falling even more under his spell, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
/N: I'd like to thank some people: Thanks to Itai, for coming to visit me in the hospital; thanks to people for reading this; thanks to Jann for the birthday wishes; thanks to Riley, who's own fic, Pawn to Queen, actually semi-inspired a bit of this (if only in a very indirect way); thanks to Josh, for being so incredibly supportive of my insane dreams, and thanks to Jay, who, even though he will never see this, is the best friend a girl could ask for (and a bit like Bill Weasley).
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do I wish anyone to recognize any characters found in the Harry Potter books as belonging to anyone other than J.K. Rowling, publishers such as Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Schoolastic Books, or Warner Brothers, Inc. I do not own characters found in any published works, and can claim only Ayla Landau and Penny Lane at the moment, and some others that will be introduced later. I also do not own any songs/bands/lyrics mentioned in the story, unless specifically stated otherwise.