A/N: Hmm. First try at HP fics, I'm not a genius like many authors at WIKTT. A short little vignette. Possible second chapter. I've finally written something that isn't going to be have several chapters coming after it. (Thank God)
Title: Midnight Contemplations
Chapter One: The Potions Master
By: DarkDracon0
A dark man sat behind a desk at the end of the dungeon in which he called a classroom. Many would have called it a torture room. There was a small stack of essays lying in front of him, awaiting his attention.
Severus Snape, the Potions Master of Hogwarts, stared at the essay at the top of the pile. It was written in neat handwriting, looking very much the professional work of a accomplished scientist. Even if all the essays were scattered over his desk, he would have picked this particular one out of all the others. For many reasons.
******
As I sit in my own classroom, I feel the usual coldness seeping into my very bones. I think I've always felt this cold. Just never thought of it. I've become used to it. Just as I've become used to looking in my very own mirror and stared at the reflection. Once, a long time ago, I looked much more different. I didn't have greasy hair or hooked nose that has been the object of many tossed comments and jokes in the corridors.
Once, I didn't have yellowed teeth. Or have such a bitter, cold look at what life has tossed onto my plate.
I don't think I can remember my life as a youth. Everyday, I see young adults milling about foolishly in the corridors and Great Hall. They are all so…Happy. Carefree. I think I used to be like that. I'm not sure anymore.
I was angry when I saw how they were. They were acting like children, laughing and joking amongst themselves even as there was a war brewing outside these very castle walls. Why didn't they see it? How could they stay this way when a evil so great threatened to tear our very lives apart?
I never found out. But I look at myself and do not see the young man I used to be or remember to be. I see an empty shell, waiting for death to take me into its arms and lead me out of this world. This world that I once loved. This world that now would rather neglect me rather than take notice. My physical appearance has assured that.
Years and years have passed by. I've seen so many students leave this classroom with looks of relief and gratitude that they are finally free of me. They don't realize how important it is for them to know and be prepared for the war. They just don't know.
Out of all them, there was only one that truly understood. I can recall the first time I saw her. The Sorting Ceremony, seven years ago. I saw so much promise in her, intelligence in her eyes as well as confidence in what she was doing and even in the way she walked. Purposeful strides, never meant to wander, but for reason. She was sorted into Gryffindor. I remember being so very disappointed… I saw Slytherin in her. If she had been sorted into Slytherin, maybe she could lead it back to its former glory. Slytherin once was a noble house. All of the students in Slytherin were clever, smart, and had not a whit of cowardice or bloated conceit in them. She would have lead them back to when all wanted to be in Slytherin. Where power was properly earned, not stolen or forced from.
One could always hope.
She was the best out of all them. Out of all the students I had ever taught, she was the most brilliant. I demanded her to be her best, to show me that she had guts as well as brains. To have the guts to actually dare to question me when so many would cringe away rather than speak to me.
Now I sit in my miserable excuse of a classroom, staring at her essay. It was supposed to be on the Veritaserum. I don't have to read it to know that it's perfect. Now I think again, it has been a long time since I first met her. And I think of my growing feelings for her. She's grown beautiful. I can describe her exactly. Long, glossy mahogany colored hair, with subtle streaks of blond and red. Tall. She can nearly stare at me at direct eye level. She was slim. Not an ounce of fat on that young body;. I know she does not overindulge. I know so because I watch her often in the Great Hall.
She'll never know what I truly feel. She'd probably be disgusted, or think it was some sick joke if I tell her. Or laugh and think it was a prank played on her by another student. At the though, my chest suddenly feels constricted. I can just barely breathe. After a few agonizing moments, I feel the constriction slowly loosen. I think I'm in love with her. I'm in love with Hermione Granger.
I love the way she writes, the small frown on her face when she's concentrating. The way she can smile at someone like me and make me feel like I'm worth something. That I'm not a evil, sadistic man. That I'm still alive. That I'm not a monster.
I can only hope. Because I have my dreams to warm me. And my love for her.
A/N: First try at Snape/ Hermione pairing. Be nice to me. Review, as usual. Possible second chapter.
Title: Midnight Contemplations
Chapter One: The Potions Master
By: DarkDracon0
A dark man sat behind a desk at the end of the dungeon in which he called a classroom. Many would have called it a torture room. There was a small stack of essays lying in front of him, awaiting his attention.
Severus Snape, the Potions Master of Hogwarts, stared at the essay at the top of the pile. It was written in neat handwriting, looking very much the professional work of a accomplished scientist. Even if all the essays were scattered over his desk, he would have picked this particular one out of all the others. For many reasons.
******
As I sit in my own classroom, I feel the usual coldness seeping into my very bones. I think I've always felt this cold. Just never thought of it. I've become used to it. Just as I've become used to looking in my very own mirror and stared at the reflection. Once, a long time ago, I looked much more different. I didn't have greasy hair or hooked nose that has been the object of many tossed comments and jokes in the corridors.
Once, I didn't have yellowed teeth. Or have such a bitter, cold look at what life has tossed onto my plate.
I don't think I can remember my life as a youth. Everyday, I see young adults milling about foolishly in the corridors and Great Hall. They are all so…Happy. Carefree. I think I used to be like that. I'm not sure anymore.
I was angry when I saw how they were. They were acting like children, laughing and joking amongst themselves even as there was a war brewing outside these very castle walls. Why didn't they see it? How could they stay this way when a evil so great threatened to tear our very lives apart?
I never found out. But I look at myself and do not see the young man I used to be or remember to be. I see an empty shell, waiting for death to take me into its arms and lead me out of this world. This world that I once loved. This world that now would rather neglect me rather than take notice. My physical appearance has assured that.
Years and years have passed by. I've seen so many students leave this classroom with looks of relief and gratitude that they are finally free of me. They don't realize how important it is for them to know and be prepared for the war. They just don't know.
Out of all them, there was only one that truly understood. I can recall the first time I saw her. The Sorting Ceremony, seven years ago. I saw so much promise in her, intelligence in her eyes as well as confidence in what she was doing and even in the way she walked. Purposeful strides, never meant to wander, but for reason. She was sorted into Gryffindor. I remember being so very disappointed… I saw Slytherin in her. If she had been sorted into Slytherin, maybe she could lead it back to its former glory. Slytherin once was a noble house. All of the students in Slytherin were clever, smart, and had not a whit of cowardice or bloated conceit in them. She would have lead them back to when all wanted to be in Slytherin. Where power was properly earned, not stolen or forced from.
One could always hope.
She was the best out of all them. Out of all the students I had ever taught, she was the most brilliant. I demanded her to be her best, to show me that she had guts as well as brains. To have the guts to actually dare to question me when so many would cringe away rather than speak to me.
Now I sit in my miserable excuse of a classroom, staring at her essay. It was supposed to be on the Veritaserum. I don't have to read it to know that it's perfect. Now I think again, it has been a long time since I first met her. And I think of my growing feelings for her. She's grown beautiful. I can describe her exactly. Long, glossy mahogany colored hair, with subtle streaks of blond and red. Tall. She can nearly stare at me at direct eye level. She was slim. Not an ounce of fat on that young body;. I know she does not overindulge. I know so because I watch her often in the Great Hall.
She'll never know what I truly feel. She'd probably be disgusted, or think it was some sick joke if I tell her. Or laugh and think it was a prank played on her by another student. At the though, my chest suddenly feels constricted. I can just barely breathe. After a few agonizing moments, I feel the constriction slowly loosen. I think I'm in love with her. I'm in love with Hermione Granger.
I love the way she writes, the small frown on her face when she's concentrating. The way she can smile at someone like me and make me feel like I'm worth something. That I'm not a evil, sadistic man. That I'm still alive. That I'm not a monster.
I can only hope. Because I have my dreams to warm me. And my love for her.
A/N: First try at Snape/ Hermione pairing. Be nice to me. Review, as usual. Possible second chapter.