Author's Note: Greetings. This is simply a small ficlet about a seventh year student, Constance Slater, and her Potions master. It's rated PG-13, which means if I pop your bubble of innocence…. Too bad. This is my first ficlet, and born of the inspiration to write between chapters of my novel fic, Memory Tainted. I dedicate it to my fellow Snape Kisser's and to my editor, who I could not write without. We're connected at the shoelaces. My hopes for this fic is to simply transport you away from life, and place you in her shoes for just a few minutes.

I do not own anyone in this ficlet except Constance, and everyone else belongs to the esteemed JK Rowling. I am also not making money from this. Thanks to all who read this, and please review.

Silent Devotions

The morning air was cool and dank, the dew gently soaking the hems of my robes as I walked across the spring grass, out of the forest. My footsteps were not alone though, for in front of me strode my Potions Master, whom I had been cultivating some wild roots with out of the edge of the forest. There were a few other students with us; a Ravenclaw boy, two Gryffindor girls, and another Slytherin like myself. We all intended on graduating with our specialty in Potions, and prided ourselves in our skills.

However, the others had no intentions whatsoever on appreciating the person who shared his knowledge with us. I confess this is more than likely why there are only five of us in a class of 150 studying Potions, but I found him to be an interesting, enigmatic person, if not a little harsh.

In my seven years of studies, I had yet to merit even a fraction of his talents, though I was often praised highly for my abilities. I would graduate with honors easily, very much thanks to the dark teacher. I worked with him for the last two years to better my skills, but I also ended up doing odd jobs for him. He said to clean this, I did so. He said to brew that, I did it as best I know how. If he wanted anything minced or diced, I did so without a single question. Somehow I knew he took notice of this, even if he had never said a word on it. I respected him more than I would let myself admit (even if we did get into arguments more often than not), because deep inside myself, I harbored an attachment to him.

I had studied him for seven years, the first five of which I had no idea why I was doing so. In my first year, I watched him in fearful awe, so scared of his biting criticisms that I watched myself sternly, never to do anything to deserve the negative attention. However, it found me out on it's own in my second year, and I received a detention for brewing the wrong potion. He breathed down my neck the entire time I served it, watching my every move, but I found his sharp remarks less painful than I would have thought. They served better to push me in the right direction, and I was a diligent student from that night forth, even though my hard work was showered in criticisms, and my potions always containing some flaw that he was quick to point out. I knew why I liked potion brewing though; it was a solitary act that required intense concentration and precision, something I was already in tune with, but it also carried the mystical element of self-satisfaction. However, I never understood my fondness of his lectures and his growling demeanor to the other students. Not until the end of my fifth year, a month before I started my specialization.

I was in class with my fellow Housemates, and we were making Comatose Concoctions when I accidentally knocked over a phial of powdered Mandrake leaves. It fell to the floor and shattered into a thousand glittering bits, a small pile of brown granules lying in the middle.

"Impudent, careless children! I said specifically to be mindful of the phials, Miss…. What is your name?" he seethed at me, at the scene in an instant.

"Slater, sir. Constance Slater," I replied with a bowed head.

"Yes, right. Well Miss Slater, please heed my directions prior to your childish endeavors." And with that, he stormed off to fetch me a pan and brush, and my heart shattered three times more than that phial ever would. I blinked angry hot tears out of my eyes as I swept the powder/glass mixture up and poured it into a trashcan, and I grew upset with myself for having no idea as to why I was so mad. When the bell rang for release, I took my books and left with a bowed head, unable to look at him though he was glaring at me.

That night, I sobbed into my pillow silently, a burning disgust for myself swelling in my heart. Why am I so upset? I've been scolded before by every teacher, I'm fifteen years old, I haven't cried in forever. I tossed and turned all night, wondering what my Head of House said that was so different this time. Besides the fact that I did care and that I was not impudent, I struggled with the answer until it hit me as the clock struck midnight. I wanted him to know my name better than anyone else's.

From that moment on, I knew why I enjoyed Potions so fully, and why I hung on his every word. Somehow, in my juvenile virtues, I had entangled the need to fit his idea of a perfect student. This somehow eased my confusion, but did not make things any easier. I decided to ignore it, that it would go away, and it was just silly hormones. Instead, I would strive to make one potion without flaws, a healthier goal than my twisted notion of my professor.

Shaking this memory from my head, I clung tighter to my satchel of roots and marched along behind him, hanging back slightly to hear what the other students were saying.

"…and then he said it wasn't good enough! I swear, I'll be happy when I'm out of here, and he's not glaring over my shoulder anymore…"

I sighed. I wouldn't be happy when I left here, not in the slightest. I had decided to apply for an apprenticeship at Durmstrang, because Professor Snape had already voiced an interest in taking the Slytherin boy as his apprentice, much to my bitter dismay. I convinced myself it was for the best though, and that I would fair well outside of this school. I had the form in my pocket and intended on getting his signature today.

Briskly, Snape turned around. "Alright, nothing more for this morning, but come to class prepared to work on Monday. Will my two Slytherins be helpful enough to carry in the other students' roots? I don't need every House's representative cluttering up my room." He waited as the other students dumped their roots into Travers' and my own satchel, then watched the other students walk to the castle in a fast-paced huddle with the rising morning sun lighting their way.

"Let's go," he said, and I fell into place beside my Housemate, following Professor Snape through the castle door, down a few well-known corridors, and descended into his dungeons. Torches always lit these cold rooms, for they received no sunlight and were never warm because of it. I used to smirk at the irony; my teacher was so well suited for this place, for it was cold and dark… he shouldn't have been though.

He stepped quickly through the hall and into his classroom, bidding me to shut the door behind myself. He told us to wait here while he got the crates from his office, so Travers and I hung back, not speaking. I wasn't fond of him, and he didn't have much to say to me anyway. I busied myself with looking around this familiar room that I would be leaving this year.

The classroom was neat and organized, well kept by its occupant. A cabinet sat in the back of the classroom, filled with evenly spaced jars of student ingredients. Seven rows of tables lay before it, with two chairs to each table, three tables in a row. Their surfaces gleamed black, randomly marred by a potion that had gone awry and damaged them. His desk sat in the front of the classroom to the side slightly, a dark gleaming wood and practical. Neat stacks of paper lined the edges of his desk, and a simple quill lay next to a black inkpot, ready to furiously grade the next assignment that dared to be turned in. The shelves around his desk proved to be more colorful, each containing some odd herb or organ floating in a jar. Their glassy surfaces glistened in the torchlight, setting off their array of colors.

The office door near his desk banged open as he carried in two small crates, setting them on a nearby table. He gave a little nod and we emptied our thick white and cream-colored roots into the crates, packing them neatly in so that they all fit, side by side like small scrolls of paper. He watched over us as we worked, then sealed the crates shut with his wand, and in a brisk voice, said, "That will do for now, but both of you need to come in for your extra courses before Wednesday. Don't forget and keep me waiting, I don't have time." And with that, he waved us off. My peer left the room gratefully, but I stayed behind, with him peering at me in something that bordered curiosity.

Once the door was shut, I pulled a folded paper from my pocket and handed it to him. He took it silently and glanced it over, a sneer forming on his lips.

"What do you want with this?" he asked darkly.

"I was hoping you'd sign it sir. Since the residency for Potions apprentice is filled here, I was hoping Durmstrang would have me," I said evenly, trying not to show the bitterness I held inside when I said someone else would be his help. I was better suited for the job, hands down, but it was his choice. He sat down at this desk and read the document thoroughly, while I stood before him, not fidgeting in the least.

Finally, he looked up at me, placing the paper on his desk between us. "I will not sign it," he said simply.

"Pardon?" I replied in disbelief.

"I will not sign it," he repeated, rolling his eyes.

"Sir, I need you to sign it. I need this position, where else am I going to go?" I said, remaining calm.

"I refuse to sign that, I might as well just hand you over to the Dark Lord himself and save myself the trouble of lifting my quill off my desk."

"I have good judgement, I can go there and remain as I am."

"That school is notorious for turning everyone and everything Dark. I'm not going to have my best student in league with such a thing, at least not through my condemning signature." His eyes bored into mine, and I felt a slight shock when he referred to me as his best student, though I was secretly pleased.

"I'm not the best, Travers is. You chose him as your assistant. I need to find a situation somewhere sir, and you're making this difficult. What am I supposed to do, would you prefer I beg for a position elsewhere?" I could feel the blood rising in my cheeks. Damn blush, don't do this to me.

"Would one of my Slytherins ever beg?" he said coolly.

"Professor, you know right well what I mean. I can handle myself just fine there, but it requires a signature. If you won't sign it, then there are other teachers who will." My voice was firm as my indignant side crept into it. Was I to leave here cold, alone, and destitute?

"Then why did you ask me first?"

"I would like your approval."

"I do not recall my approval being needed for such a thing. If anyone's approval will do, go ask anyone."

"Sir, I think your approval would mean more to the Potions professor there than McGonagall's. I would like your approval."

"But I'm not willing to give it."

"So I've noticed. In which case, I shall take my form and leave, because if my own Head of House doesn't care enough to sign it, then I will give up my care for his signature. Goodbye sir," I said, more blush spreading over my cheeks as I took up my paper. This was the first time I had been so worked up about something in front of him since my incident as a fifth year. I was usually very good at masking such things.

"I never asked him," Snape said quietly, remaining unmoved. I froze.

"What?"

"You need your hearing checked. I said that I never asked Travers."

"Well, I heard that, but… you specifically said that he would make a fine apprentice, and that's gentler speech than what is your norm, if you recall."

"Analyzing what I say too?"

"Sir, you also mentioned it to another teacher," I stated, ignoring his last statement. "And whether Travers gets the job or not is of no concern to me, I'm more interested in finding something for me to do."

"Then I suppose it would be no concern to you if I said that I would like you to fill it," he said plainly. I paused.

"Is that an offer or are we speaking hypothetically?" I replied.

"Very witty, Miss Slater. Would you like it formally then? Miss Constance Slater, would you be interested in a job as my apprentice, under the Headmaster's pay and under my supervision?" he sneered. I inwardly grimaced at his ability to make one wonder if he was sincere or playing you for the fool.

"In that case, yes, I would be delighted to fill the role," I said, not able to suppress the small smile that crept across my lips.

"You do not need to think about it?" he answered smugly.

"No sir," I replied, perhaps too quickly. I tried to recover. "This is a better situation than Durmstrang."

"I see. Well, off with you, I've got a lot to do and you've delayed me considerably," he replied, his interest in the conversation waning.

"I'm sorry. Goodbye," I said, turning and walking out of the room, knowing full and well he wouldn't reply. When I stepped out of his door, I sighed, happy that I had the job, but angry with myself for being so easily stirred. When I stepped to the stairs, I allowed myself to run my fingers through my hair and smile, then dash up the stairs.

I guess I never heard his door click shut.

~

A month passed, and I attended my classes without incident, and did my extra course work for Snape. Naturally, we didn't speak, I brewed and he graded. I wasn't too keen on talking at nights anyway, I was too tired. I never expect a word from him.

However, I had another after-hours assignment to do one Saturday night. All I had to do that night was brew a potion, one I knew was a slight challenge. I wore my black work robes as I always did, and brought my cauldron, carrying it without much thought by my side.

I entered his dungeon room and set up my cauldron at a table near his desk, because that was my station in class, and it would be too much of a bother to set up elsewhere. I put the cauldron down with a thunk and emptied it of the ingredients I brought, then lit the fire beneath it. From my wand, I filled it halfway with water, then pulled out the notes I had already made for this potion and began to follow the instructions, finding my ingredients from the cabinet and my own stores. As I began to add the first hippogryff feather, Professor Snape entered the room by flinging his door open, then shutting it promptly.

"Damn meetings, I do have other appointments," he growled to himself.

I shrugged. "I'm in no rush sir, and I don't require that you rush."

"That's not the point, the point is that I might have had to be somewhere. Besides, you're not supposed to be in here unsupervised anyway," he said, striding to his desk, seating himself, then beginning his grading.

I kept my council and bit my tongue from pointing out that I would have been reprimanded for waiting to start, but I just added a pinch of ground bat wings and continued, stirring the cauldron with a silver ladle from time to time. I worked in silence for awhile, mind wandering away while my hands did the work. It only returned when I had to figure out which ingredient came first, and even then I found myself forgetting that someone else was in the room as I puzzled silently.

"Bothered, Miss Slater?" came a cool, deep voice from my right. I looked up, startled, and remembering where I was.

"Oh, I was just thinking about something," I said, returning my focus to my ingredients. However, I heard the scraping of a chair across the floor and footsteps heading my way, very soon feeling his presence standing next to me. I didn't like it when he looked over my shoulder, and it was always when I needed to think the most.

"Tsk tsk, you should know this," he said quietly.

"Don't tell me then, I'll get it on my own," I stated. Then, I picked up a bottle of crushed Dire Wolf teeth and unscrewed the cap, poised to send just a sprinkle of it into the depths of my already blue potion.

"Miss Slater…" he taunted. "Are you sure?"

I looked over at him, smirked, then sprinkled it onto the surface of the potion, turning it a deeper blue. "I am now."

"And what if you hadn't been right?" he hissed, eyes boring into me.

"Then I'm sure you would have had something to say about it," I retorted. "Now sir, I don't mean to be rude, but I can't think properly when you're hovering over my shoulder."

"I may 'hover' wherever I like, this is my classroom."

"And it is my shoulder."

He smirked and stood back, though not going to sit down. I worked quietly, clattering my glass phials around the desk as I worked diligently, until I began to grind the gremlin nails in my mortar. I was stirring quickly before the fire got too hot, but they weren't powdering properly. The mortar jetted from beneath my hand when I hit a thick spot, knocking a phial to the ground, shattering it. I stared down at it, frowning, then went to get the dustpan, shaking my head.

When I came back, he had folded his arms in his robes of black and was smirking egotistically at me.

"Would you like to reprimand me now or later?" I said in defeat.

"Later, though I'll comment now," he replied, voice as deep as the night and smooth like the star-sprinkled, velvet sky. "You haven't done that since your fifth year."

"I'm touched that you remember," I sighed coldly. "Even years later, I'm no less of a klutz."

"You were less refined then," he commented.

"And lacking a last name worth remembering too," I said without thinking as I bent down to dust up my mess. When I realized what I had said, I made no movement to act as if I was ashamed of it, but swept the mess into a dustpan to empty later. I swept in silence, then left the pan on the floor and straightened up, spying a very blank look on his face, the look he uses when he doesn't want anyone to see what he's thinking.

"I knew your surname," he said quietly, though with purpose.

"No you didn't sir, you had to ask me. I remember."

"As do I. I knew your name."

I looked at him, completely puzzled. Why would he purposefully forget? He would never do anything to make himself look foolish or forgetful. Was it to spite me, to make me angry? My expression cleared, because I knew. He did it to press my buttons, as he did so very often.

Without a word, I went back to my cauldron, tipping the last of the ingredients in, then stirring it slowly with my ladle, as the heat of the fire grew more intense. It would be boiling soon enough, it was inevitable. Then the potion would be done.

Not looking at him, I continued on with my potion. He went back to his desk silently, taking up his quill and working. All the while, I was deep in thought. How strange it was for him to toy with me like that, what was he looking for? Was it some sort of twisted game, and I a form of his entertainment? Or perhaps he did this often to everyone, and I just ignored it… of all the things. I moved the ladle a little faster in frustration, staring hard into its depths. I might as well get used to it, I thought. I'll be putting up with it non-stop from hereon out. Biting my lip, I continued to stir until it began to boil, the surface rolling in turmoil, but shining up at me. It was a deep, dark blue now, and a lighter colored steam rose from it. Sighing, I put out the fire with a tap from my wand, then ladled some of my potion into a small phial, corking it quickly. I then took some larger glass bottles from a shelf near me and filled them with the potion for the first part of my assignment. It would be used later, as an ingredient for the lesser grades who could not make this by themselves, separate from their potion. When they were all filled, I walked to Snape's desk and handed him the small phial for grading, the second part of my extra course work.

He was deeply immersed in his work, making small yet violent red marks on his students' scrolls. Grimacing, I knew just the mere reading of their inaccurate answers would upset him. I therefore waited for him to finish patiently, standing in front of his desk, hands behind my back. After what seemed like forever, he set his quill down, threw the last scroll into the stack with a scowl, then picked up my phial.

He rolled it across his palm, looking at the coloring and the thickness with a critical eye. He then uncorked it to smell it, holding it under his nose for a second, then quickly corking it.

"It's too dark and too thin, but your faults shouldn't affect the quality of the students' potions," he said finally. "I give it ninety percent."

My jaw dropped. My potion was perfect, I knew it was perfect. It should have, at the very least, gotten ninety-eight percent, but ninety? My blood ran hotly through my veins, while I remained composed. "Sir, with all due respect, I think I deserve something higher than that. If you'd like to check the textbook…"

"I would not like to check the book, I know what a Magical Concentration Aid Potion is supposed to look like. If you care to recall, you're making this for students, and it doesn't need as much Lamia hair as what you put it, because it won't be resting on the shelf for very long," he said without missing a beat.

"So you took off ten percent because mine can last longer?" I snapped.

"Mind your temper. Yes I did."

"Ugh. I can't believe… ugh. You know… just never mind. Thank you, professor," I said, biting back my anger. Turning, I took my cauldron to the gargoyle in the back of the classroom and scrubbed it out as water spurted from the fountain's mouth. I'm right, my potion lacked flaws, he is just picking to be obstinate again. The cauldron was still warm, but it was manageable, and I was too irritated to notice. Ninety percent. I scrubbed the inside hard, rinsing it quickly then drying it with a simple spell. After this, I marched back to my station and began to fill my cauldron with my ingredients, perhaps throwing them in harder than need be. I didn't care that I was making more noise than I had ever made in class, and I didn't care that he was now standing in front of my desk with his arms folded across his chest, watching me. When it was all packed up, I grabbed up my bottles filled with my 'flawed' potion and set them on his shelf, not as neat or evenly spaced as the rest of his bottles were.

"Don't forget the phial you shattered," came a voice as I put the last bottle on the shelf.

"I won't Master," I answered, purposefully scooping every bit of emotion out of my voice except to emphasize Master. I marched past him back to my station, and took the dustpan up, going to dump it in a trashcan. Ninety percent. By the time I had come back, he had moved closer to the front of my table.

"Is there something you want?" I asked, voice still void of emotion.

"I was simply pondering on the point of my touchy apprentice, but no, I want nothing," he said with a smirk.

"I'm not touchy."

"Emotionally stable people do not become irritated at a fair grade," he replied.

"I'm stable, and it was not fairly given," I said, the anger creeping back into my voice.

"How so?"

"I didn't know when you were going to have them use it, for all I knew it could have been next year. I'm not a mind reader. And furthermore, it does not get more precise than what I brewed, but perfection is never good enough," I said scathingly.

"Perfection is impossible," he noted darkly. "And it's nice to see that you've redeveloped tone."

"Thanks for noticing. And even if perfection was achievable, it would never be good enough," I spat, picking up my cauldron. "You're…. Never mind. Goodnight."

"I'm what, Miss Slater?" he said as I took a step to leave.

To this day, I can still remember being so angry I couldn't see straight. Slamming down my cauldron, I stepped back to my desk, pressed my palms to the table, and leaned forward. "You're never satisfied with anything I do. I can never be good enough to reach your limitless standards, which no living mortal could overcome. I do everything I'm asked to do, no questions asked, and have for seven years, but that's not enough. You're constantly hovering over me, waiting for me to mess up. I would like to know what sort of power trip I'm going to be the fuel of before I take this job! What do you want from me?" I was flushed and my heart was pounding for my daring. I could see nothing on his face, he was masking it.

The following moment was a blur. The next thing I knew, my lips were pressed to his, or his to mine, or perhaps both. Either way, I felt a heated shock swooping through my body. My heart pounded, my cheeks burned with blush, my eyes were shut tightly, and my movements came from the depths of my subconscious mind, because I had no idea what I was doing. I felt tingles everywhere, and then an intensified shock, like lightening had pinned my feet to the ground and singed every nerve ending I possessed until my mind was fluttering. Our kiss was soft at first, shy and tentative as if we were both not sure of what we were doing, soft lips pressed to the others. However, it quickly grew stronger, until he was gently forcing my mouth open. I could taste him as his tongue flicked into my mouth; he tasted of strange herbs and tea, a pleasant mixture to me, but everything was beyond pleasant at this point. He slid his tongue against mine, causing me to deepen the kiss until it was almost crushing. I wanted to melt into him in the shadow of his ferocity.

I entangled a hand in his raven colored hair and whimpered when he pulled away. It was around that time that I remember I was supposed to be angry with him, but it didn't even occur to me that maybe I was still supposed to be angry. Not much was going through my mind except a juvenile 'Oh my god, I just kissed my teacher… or he kissed me…damn, that was good…'. I felt exceptionally guilty as I realized that all those twisted thoughts I had kept in the back of my head for years had just poured forth in less than half a minute's time.

"That should not have happened," he said, a strange sort of flash in his eyes. Fear maybe? Regret?

"I know," I replied. An uncomfortable silence formed. I knew what I wanted to do, but it was putting quite a bit at risk, maybe more than I should have been willing to risk, or more than he would think about risking. However, I had no boundaries anymore, I felt they didn't exist while I remained where I was.

I walked around the table, walking to the shocked teacher whose lips had so passionately captured my own moments before. I saw him clearly now; dark, unfathomable black eyes piercing out against pale skin, a strong aquiline nose, and the mouth which brought to mind his taste. In a moment, I saw him for who he was, and not what he pretended to be. He was not evil or snappish, but hiding and hurting. Standing in front of him, I whispered, "Sir?"

"Yes… Miss Slater?"

"To hell with it." And I leaned up and kissed him again, re-entering this strange world of unique bliss. He took a moment to decide whether this was going to continue or not, but ran his hands down my sides to rest on my back, pulling me close. I could feel a controlled strength in his arms, like he feared he might break me at any moment. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling more swept away than ever and now devoured with the need to touch and taste. With a few steps back, we hit the wall, to which I was pressed against in mounting excitement. He was entirely possessive about me now, one hand supporting the left side of my jaw, the other combing through my hair, then gliding its fingertips over my neck and collarbones. I moaned softly when he bit my lip, both of us beyond the point of no return.

I pulled back from him, losing myself in his deep eyes. Then, smirking, I ran my fingertip over his lips. "Sir," I said coyly.

"Don't call me that," he said, very clearly not wanting to be reminded of our statuses.

"Severus," I sighed, praised with a tender kiss. "My potion wasn't wrong, was it?"

"Is that what this is about?"

God, he's insecure. "No, I still need to know though." Slyly, I wrapped my hands slowly around his waist, toying with his belt. "Say it…."

He growled, pressing me harder against the wall. "It was fine." I grinned and shut my eyes.

"That's all I wanted." I had my one compliment. Still grinning, I kissed him again, immediately going weak at the knees. He removed my arms from his waist and pinned my wrists against the wall. "Severus…"

"Constance," he whispered back. "Not here."

"Where then?"

"I think… my rooms."

"Is that an offer or are we speaking hypothetically?" I said with a sly grin, feeling his open-mouthed kisses trail down my neck and his hands sliding from my wrists to arrest my hips, pulling them closer desperately.

He stopped and looked down at me, smirking. "Let's go." He turned to the door behind his desk, and I followed.

I always do what's expected of me.

~Fin~