Two
The rest of my day had followed protocol. More or less. I went to class. I went to lunch. I went to dinner. And then I went to my room and studied. And then I yawned because I realized what an exciting life I lead. As I sat on my bed reading, 8 o' clock was fast approaching. I decided that it would be advantageous to sneak out for one more cigarette before heading down to the old dragon's lair, as he would most likely be keeping me until after hours, which meant he would have to escort me back to my dormitory. Silly school rules. I pulled on my cloak and ran a brush through my waist - length blonde hair. I put on a pair of flat black slippers which showed off the tattoo of a crescent moon on the top of my left foot, and made my ever solitary way down to the entrance hall, across the grounds, and this time, for a change of scenery, out behind Hagrid's hut. I spent a good long time smoking and staring up at the stars, not really thinking about anything. When I heard my watch, which I had set for 8 o' clock go off, I cursed myself. I was going to be late.
I tossed my cigarette butt out into the grass, stood, and jogged quickly back up to the castle. Once inside I made a quick left in the entrance hall and wound my way down into the gut of Hogwarts. Or perhaps I should say the bowels. Either way, I soon found myself standing outside the potions classroom. The door was shut, and locked, and I had received no answer when I had rapped. Perhaps Snape had forgotten about assigning me a detention. I certainly wouldn't have put it past him, given his odd behavior lately. I had just turned and was going to head back to my dormitory when I heard his silky voice from behind me, and saw his shadow fall upon the corridor where I stood.
"Leaving so soon," he asked snidely. I turned to face him. I had planned to shoot back some ignorant response designed to frustrate and enrage him, but felt my gut sink to my toes at what I saw clutched in his bony hands. My journal. I looked up into his face, which bore a sickening smirk. He had read it. That bastard. I tried to keep up my innocence ruse, but it was not working as well as I'd hoped given the fact that my face was slowly turning a very lovely shade of purple from the neck up.
"I would have thought, Miss McMathewes," he went on in that omnipotent voice which made me quiver with desire and rage at the same time, "that you would be looking forward to spending a bit of time alone with me. You clearly stated as much on page twenty four, I believe." I choked on the gum I had been chewing and coughed. I should have picked that book up earlier. Oh well. Not much I could do about it now. Except match his caustic comments and hope to keep up with him for the remainder of what promised to be a very long and uncomfortable evening.
He handed my book back to me, to my surprise, and proceeded to unlock the door. He then held it open for me as I slunk inside. Unfortunately, he was beginning to act more like the Snape I had come to covet. Once inside I was surprised to see an array of potions ingredients sprawled upon two separate workstations and two cauldrons sitting atop small fires, ready to brew.
"I thought I'd be doing some menial task with which you couldn't be bothered," I asked as I looked up into those obsidian eyes. Damn them for being so gorgeous. He furrowed his brow as if wondering the best retort before answering me.
"That would be far too easy," he answered with malice in his voice. "After all, you need to be punished, not allowed to get off with simple housework. That is why I have decided that you may brew my monthly store of Dreamless Sleep potion, whilst I tackle some other, more advanced tasks." He walked over to the cauldron closest to the wall then, and waved me over to join him.
"You'll find that all the necessary ingredients have already been laid out. This should prevent you snooping around in the store cupboard. I want you to triple the recipe I gave you in class, as I need to supply both myself and Madame Pomfrey." I looked up at him, realization melting across my features. I had caught him. He had just let a secret slip. And he knew it. So Severus Snape required a batch and a half of Dreamless Sleep each month? I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. That was probably why he always looked so overly tired. Why he carried such signs of stress upon that ethereal face of his. Whatever so aggravated him during the day carried over into his dreams. He must have done something really terrible, I mused.
I raised my eyebrow quizzically but he had merely returned my look with a frown and walked over to his own cauldron. I decided I'd best not grill him. We were almost even. He had read my diary and I had found out one very personal piece of information about him. I turned to my ingredients and began to powder my root of Asphodel. This was actually a rather complimentary task. He was placing his faith in me to brew a potion fit for his own consumption. I wondered how many of his students he would give this caliber of a task to. I hoped I was one of an elite few.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with potions, Dreamless Sleep is a very time consuming potion to brew. Once I had rendered all my ingredients, which had only taken about forty five minutes, I was faced with the daunting task of waiting for the potion to brew, stirring counterclockwise three times every hour to five hours. The idea is to keep it from coagulating while it thickens. It was now almost nine o'clock, which meant that I was going to be here until - two o' clock in the morning? That bastard. I cast him a sneer from across the classroom but he was too busy shredding nightshade to notice. Nightshade? Just what the hell was that crazy old bat concocting over there, poison?
I turned my attention back to my cauldron. Five hours was going to be a very long time to sit in silence watching my cauldron bubble and hiss. There had to be something for me to entertain myself with. Slimy pickled things in jars? No. First year exams, bottle of ink, and quill? Could be fun, but may land me back here for a weeks worth of Dreamless Sleep. Ew! Was that a stuffed Labrador in the corner or were the fumes from Snape's cauldron causing hallucinations? I shook my head and resumed my search.
There! On the far side of the room behind his desk. I spied a bookshelf. I wasn't sure if there would be anything of interest in it but it was certainly better than my other options. I hopped down from my stool and strode past Snape, my nose in the air, straight to the bookshelf. I didn't know if he was watching me or not because I didn't have the nerve to check, but he let me get nearly two feet away from it before stopping me. This surprised me. I didn't think any student had ever made it onto the dais upon which his personal desk sat.
"Miss McMathewes," he hissed. I stopped but did not turn to face him. "Just where do you think you're headed?"
I turned then, and faced his icy stare. "I was going to get a book to read while I waited for my potion to finish brewing," I told him matter of factly. As if he had just asked the stupidest question I had ever heard.
"And who told you that you could invite yourself to one of my books?"
I rolled my eyes then and crossed my arms, taking on a very irritated stance. "Professor Snape," I whined. "That potion is going to be brewing for five hours. If I don't have something to do with myself I'm going to be forced to find something to talk to you about. And I'm sure that that's not what either of us wants. Now I realize that you don't work, play, or share well with others but I think it would be to our mutual benefit if you let me read one of your precious tomes over there. If not for my sanity then for yours."
He sighed, going back to his work. "Very well then," he gave in. Gave in? What was up? This was really turning out to be no fun at all. But I decided that very few students ever got their way with him and so I turned back to the bookshelf and looked at my options. To my surprise my options were quite pleasant and I found it hard to choose. In the end I chose an anthology of Poe's works, surprised that the old dragon would ever give in to having a collection of Yankee muggle literature in his presence. Taking the book I made my way back over to my stool, plopped myself upon it, and began to read.
One hour and thirty five pages later I started at the sensation of breath in my ear.
"I believe you'll want to stir that potion of yours before you ruin it and have to start from scratch." I dropped the book as I jumped and heard it smack shut as it fell upon the cobbled floor. I wished it was me.
"That was rude." I had turned to face him and felt my heart flutter to see that his face - his lips - were mere inches from mine. Was this some sort of practical joke that he was playing with me, knowing that I had a crush on him? What a prick. I narrowed my eyes at him and did my best to ignore his stunning sneer as I hopped down from the stool and picked up my ladle. I stirred the potion as the directions had instructed and then turned to retrieve my book. His book. Whatever.
He had beaten me to it. He was holding it open atop one of his perfect hands and was skimming the page with the middle finger of the opposite hand. Bastard. Why did I like that word so much? I strode over to him and pulled the book down so he would be forced to look at me.
"I was reading that," I informed him as I took it from his hands. As I did my fingers brushed against his momentarily and I don't think I hid the fact that my breath hitched as I did very well. He smirked again. Why must he do that? He must know how absolutely irresistible he was when he did. He was teasing me, and he knew it. I pretended to take no heed of him as I resumed my perch upon the stool and began to read again.
"I should have known you'd go for an American muggle author," he drawled in that crushed velvet voice of his. Then he removed the book from my hands, turned it right side up, and replaced it. Damn him! He was determined to torment me. He could be such a harpy sometimes! Fine, if this was what he wanted then this was what he would get. I slammed the book shut and threw it down upon the workstation.
"Why," was my simple question. He looked confused, and so I repeated myself, more loudly this time. "Why?"
"Why what, Miss McMathewes?" He looked almost bewildered.
"Why do you insist on tormenting me? Why, after two years here, am I still the object of your insidious rage? Why?"
He smiled. Smiled? I had known this nasty old bastard for two years now and this was, I was quite sure, the very first time I had ever seen him smile. He looked ten years younger. He really ought to do it more often.
"Because you can take it," he answered as he turned and pretended to inspect my potion.
"So that makes it okay?" I could feel my rage building. He was admitting to being horrible to me for two long years. And why? Because I could take it? Well bully for me. Let's all just line up and take a shit on Acacia's grave. She can take it!
"It certainly makes it more fun," he answered darkly.
"Oh. So you take pleasure in causing emotional damage to your students? A regular sadist, you are." I crossed my arms and sulked. I needed a cigarette.
"I take pleasure in watching you exercise your wits," he corrected. "Most of my students," he went on, "will simply take my picking with a grain of salt and give me nothing in return. You, on the other hand - " he had somehow glided straight over to me and was standing directly in front of me without my even noticing, "you keep it up. You challenge me."
I felt fingers - long, soft, surprisingly warm fingers - on my chin and he was pulling my face up so that our eyes were level. I felt transfixed. Was it the fumes in the air? I wondered again what he was brewing over there on the other side of the room, and whether or not it was affecting my behavior. I felt somehow in a stupor. I blinked. He smiled again. He was exquisite.
For once, I had no idea what to say. Was this a joke? Was he waiting for me to confess my undying attraction to him so he could simply shoot me down as soon as I gave it? My eyes darted around the room, looking for some way to divert his attention, but I found none and he jerked my chin so that I would look back at him.
What was the matter with me? This had been a fantasy that I had entertained for two years. Two long years! But somehow it was now uncomfortable and strange. And as badly as I wanted him to stretch out and kiss me with those ample lips of his, I was quite sure that if he did I would faint. I could feel my face going paler and paler as the minutes went on, him staring at me, me returning his gaze.
And then, at our most perfect moment together, I lost my balance and fell backwards off of my stool. "Perfect," was my final thought before my head smacked with a sickening crack against the floor and everything went black.
The rest of my day had followed protocol. More or less. I went to class. I went to lunch. I went to dinner. And then I went to my room and studied. And then I yawned because I realized what an exciting life I lead. As I sat on my bed reading, 8 o' clock was fast approaching. I decided that it would be advantageous to sneak out for one more cigarette before heading down to the old dragon's lair, as he would most likely be keeping me until after hours, which meant he would have to escort me back to my dormitory. Silly school rules. I pulled on my cloak and ran a brush through my waist - length blonde hair. I put on a pair of flat black slippers which showed off the tattoo of a crescent moon on the top of my left foot, and made my ever solitary way down to the entrance hall, across the grounds, and this time, for a change of scenery, out behind Hagrid's hut. I spent a good long time smoking and staring up at the stars, not really thinking about anything. When I heard my watch, which I had set for 8 o' clock go off, I cursed myself. I was going to be late.
I tossed my cigarette butt out into the grass, stood, and jogged quickly back up to the castle. Once inside I made a quick left in the entrance hall and wound my way down into the gut of Hogwarts. Or perhaps I should say the bowels. Either way, I soon found myself standing outside the potions classroom. The door was shut, and locked, and I had received no answer when I had rapped. Perhaps Snape had forgotten about assigning me a detention. I certainly wouldn't have put it past him, given his odd behavior lately. I had just turned and was going to head back to my dormitory when I heard his silky voice from behind me, and saw his shadow fall upon the corridor where I stood.
"Leaving so soon," he asked snidely. I turned to face him. I had planned to shoot back some ignorant response designed to frustrate and enrage him, but felt my gut sink to my toes at what I saw clutched in his bony hands. My journal. I looked up into his face, which bore a sickening smirk. He had read it. That bastard. I tried to keep up my innocence ruse, but it was not working as well as I'd hoped given the fact that my face was slowly turning a very lovely shade of purple from the neck up.
"I would have thought, Miss McMathewes," he went on in that omnipotent voice which made me quiver with desire and rage at the same time, "that you would be looking forward to spending a bit of time alone with me. You clearly stated as much on page twenty four, I believe." I choked on the gum I had been chewing and coughed. I should have picked that book up earlier. Oh well. Not much I could do about it now. Except match his caustic comments and hope to keep up with him for the remainder of what promised to be a very long and uncomfortable evening.
He handed my book back to me, to my surprise, and proceeded to unlock the door. He then held it open for me as I slunk inside. Unfortunately, he was beginning to act more like the Snape I had come to covet. Once inside I was surprised to see an array of potions ingredients sprawled upon two separate workstations and two cauldrons sitting atop small fires, ready to brew.
"I thought I'd be doing some menial task with which you couldn't be bothered," I asked as I looked up into those obsidian eyes. Damn them for being so gorgeous. He furrowed his brow as if wondering the best retort before answering me.
"That would be far too easy," he answered with malice in his voice. "After all, you need to be punished, not allowed to get off with simple housework. That is why I have decided that you may brew my monthly store of Dreamless Sleep potion, whilst I tackle some other, more advanced tasks." He walked over to the cauldron closest to the wall then, and waved me over to join him.
"You'll find that all the necessary ingredients have already been laid out. This should prevent you snooping around in the store cupboard. I want you to triple the recipe I gave you in class, as I need to supply both myself and Madame Pomfrey." I looked up at him, realization melting across my features. I had caught him. He had just let a secret slip. And he knew it. So Severus Snape required a batch and a half of Dreamless Sleep each month? I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. That was probably why he always looked so overly tired. Why he carried such signs of stress upon that ethereal face of his. Whatever so aggravated him during the day carried over into his dreams. He must have done something really terrible, I mused.
I raised my eyebrow quizzically but he had merely returned my look with a frown and walked over to his own cauldron. I decided I'd best not grill him. We were almost even. He had read my diary and I had found out one very personal piece of information about him. I turned to my ingredients and began to powder my root of Asphodel. This was actually a rather complimentary task. He was placing his faith in me to brew a potion fit for his own consumption. I wondered how many of his students he would give this caliber of a task to. I hoped I was one of an elite few.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with potions, Dreamless Sleep is a very time consuming potion to brew. Once I had rendered all my ingredients, which had only taken about forty five minutes, I was faced with the daunting task of waiting for the potion to brew, stirring counterclockwise three times every hour to five hours. The idea is to keep it from coagulating while it thickens. It was now almost nine o'clock, which meant that I was going to be here until - two o' clock in the morning? That bastard. I cast him a sneer from across the classroom but he was too busy shredding nightshade to notice. Nightshade? Just what the hell was that crazy old bat concocting over there, poison?
I turned my attention back to my cauldron. Five hours was going to be a very long time to sit in silence watching my cauldron bubble and hiss. There had to be something for me to entertain myself with. Slimy pickled things in jars? No. First year exams, bottle of ink, and quill? Could be fun, but may land me back here for a weeks worth of Dreamless Sleep. Ew! Was that a stuffed Labrador in the corner or were the fumes from Snape's cauldron causing hallucinations? I shook my head and resumed my search.
There! On the far side of the room behind his desk. I spied a bookshelf. I wasn't sure if there would be anything of interest in it but it was certainly better than my other options. I hopped down from my stool and strode past Snape, my nose in the air, straight to the bookshelf. I didn't know if he was watching me or not because I didn't have the nerve to check, but he let me get nearly two feet away from it before stopping me. This surprised me. I didn't think any student had ever made it onto the dais upon which his personal desk sat.
"Miss McMathewes," he hissed. I stopped but did not turn to face him. "Just where do you think you're headed?"
I turned then, and faced his icy stare. "I was going to get a book to read while I waited for my potion to finish brewing," I told him matter of factly. As if he had just asked the stupidest question I had ever heard.
"And who told you that you could invite yourself to one of my books?"
I rolled my eyes then and crossed my arms, taking on a very irritated stance. "Professor Snape," I whined. "That potion is going to be brewing for five hours. If I don't have something to do with myself I'm going to be forced to find something to talk to you about. And I'm sure that that's not what either of us wants. Now I realize that you don't work, play, or share well with others but I think it would be to our mutual benefit if you let me read one of your precious tomes over there. If not for my sanity then for yours."
He sighed, going back to his work. "Very well then," he gave in. Gave in? What was up? This was really turning out to be no fun at all. But I decided that very few students ever got their way with him and so I turned back to the bookshelf and looked at my options. To my surprise my options were quite pleasant and I found it hard to choose. In the end I chose an anthology of Poe's works, surprised that the old dragon would ever give in to having a collection of Yankee muggle literature in his presence. Taking the book I made my way back over to my stool, plopped myself upon it, and began to read.
One hour and thirty five pages later I started at the sensation of breath in my ear.
"I believe you'll want to stir that potion of yours before you ruin it and have to start from scratch." I dropped the book as I jumped and heard it smack shut as it fell upon the cobbled floor. I wished it was me.
"That was rude." I had turned to face him and felt my heart flutter to see that his face - his lips - were mere inches from mine. Was this some sort of practical joke that he was playing with me, knowing that I had a crush on him? What a prick. I narrowed my eyes at him and did my best to ignore his stunning sneer as I hopped down from the stool and picked up my ladle. I stirred the potion as the directions had instructed and then turned to retrieve my book. His book. Whatever.
He had beaten me to it. He was holding it open atop one of his perfect hands and was skimming the page with the middle finger of the opposite hand. Bastard. Why did I like that word so much? I strode over to him and pulled the book down so he would be forced to look at me.
"I was reading that," I informed him as I took it from his hands. As I did my fingers brushed against his momentarily and I don't think I hid the fact that my breath hitched as I did very well. He smirked again. Why must he do that? He must know how absolutely irresistible he was when he did. He was teasing me, and he knew it. I pretended to take no heed of him as I resumed my perch upon the stool and began to read again.
"I should have known you'd go for an American muggle author," he drawled in that crushed velvet voice of his. Then he removed the book from my hands, turned it right side up, and replaced it. Damn him! He was determined to torment me. He could be such a harpy sometimes! Fine, if this was what he wanted then this was what he would get. I slammed the book shut and threw it down upon the workstation.
"Why," was my simple question. He looked confused, and so I repeated myself, more loudly this time. "Why?"
"Why what, Miss McMathewes?" He looked almost bewildered.
"Why do you insist on tormenting me? Why, after two years here, am I still the object of your insidious rage? Why?"
He smiled. Smiled? I had known this nasty old bastard for two years now and this was, I was quite sure, the very first time I had ever seen him smile. He looked ten years younger. He really ought to do it more often.
"Because you can take it," he answered as he turned and pretended to inspect my potion.
"So that makes it okay?" I could feel my rage building. He was admitting to being horrible to me for two long years. And why? Because I could take it? Well bully for me. Let's all just line up and take a shit on Acacia's grave. She can take it!
"It certainly makes it more fun," he answered darkly.
"Oh. So you take pleasure in causing emotional damage to your students? A regular sadist, you are." I crossed my arms and sulked. I needed a cigarette.
"I take pleasure in watching you exercise your wits," he corrected. "Most of my students," he went on, "will simply take my picking with a grain of salt and give me nothing in return. You, on the other hand - " he had somehow glided straight over to me and was standing directly in front of me without my even noticing, "you keep it up. You challenge me."
I felt fingers - long, soft, surprisingly warm fingers - on my chin and he was pulling my face up so that our eyes were level. I felt transfixed. Was it the fumes in the air? I wondered again what he was brewing over there on the other side of the room, and whether or not it was affecting my behavior. I felt somehow in a stupor. I blinked. He smiled again. He was exquisite.
For once, I had no idea what to say. Was this a joke? Was he waiting for me to confess my undying attraction to him so he could simply shoot me down as soon as I gave it? My eyes darted around the room, looking for some way to divert his attention, but I found none and he jerked my chin so that I would look back at him.
What was the matter with me? This had been a fantasy that I had entertained for two years. Two long years! But somehow it was now uncomfortable and strange. And as badly as I wanted him to stretch out and kiss me with those ample lips of his, I was quite sure that if he did I would faint. I could feel my face going paler and paler as the minutes went on, him staring at me, me returning his gaze.
And then, at our most perfect moment together, I lost my balance and fell backwards off of my stool. "Perfect," was my final thought before my head smacked with a sickening crack against the floor and everything went black.