Part 6 ~ The Greenhouse
A rich, earthy smell penetrated the thick air. Even if you were to search every facet of the planet, you could find no place that has quite the same pungent atmosphere as a greenhouse. Everywhere you step you are surrounded by the aroma of dirt and earth and life. Although the interior is damply warm, it is also shadowy and dim. Yes, there are few things in life more pleasantly intoxicating than a trip to a greenhouse.
This trip was going particularly well, too. Professor Snape lifted a handful of potted herbs to his long nose and inhaled deeply, allowing the spicy odor to fill his lungs. He especially loved to visit the greenhouse after classes, when there were no pesky students scuttling about. Being extremely susceptible to injury from the sunlight, he almost never ventured outside the castle during the day except for when he paid visits to Professor Sprout's herbs.
Few people realized the connection between Herbology and Potions, but the two studies were closely linked. Unless one doesn't mind explosions or strange diseases, one had best have an extensive knowledge of herbs before attempting a difficulty potion. Snape himself had sheer mastery of the theories and facts of herbology, but he had never come close to displaying anything like Professor Sprout's knack for tending plants. He never much cared for the live stuff, with its springy resilience; it always seemed determined not to cooperate. He greatly preferred dealing with them after they had already been plucked, dried, and silenced forever.
Snape peered through the nearest window, whose clear plastic panes made the October sun appear warped and twisted. In spite of its slight deformity, he could see that it was sinking low on the horizon. He probably should have headed back a while ago, as he still had several second-year essays to grade. He hated second-years. The only students more clueless were the first-years, but the second-years thought highly of themselves since there were these people below them. Because of this, he particularly enjoyed angering them. Perhaps it was his divine duty to keep people in their place. Maybe he should assign an absurdly difficult potion sometime soon and watch them agonize over it. He was running low on beetle eyes and kudzu root, though…
He had just come to the conclusion that he should make a trip down to Hogsmeade the next week for some supplies when he reached the bottom of the stairs that led into the hall to his living quarters. Although the accommodations given by the school left little to be desired (a monstrous wardrobe; a personal washroom and bathtub; a huge, canopied bed complete with thick drapes of richest velvet—dark green, in Snape's case), professors were encouraged to bring items, even whole pieces of furniture from home, since they in fact made their home at Hogwarts more days of the year than not. Snape's stoic nature led him to a rather cynical dislike of any kind of emotional fluff in his living quarters, so there was little décor of any sort in his room; however, there was one piece of which he was most fond, despite the fact that he rarely used it for its intended purpose.
The looking-glass suited his fancy perfectly; through the years it had lost its sheen and was now very dull, and the frame had aged similarly, its once bright polish now blackened by tarnish in the crevices of the intricately swirling pattern. It was to this piece to which he was inevitably drawn whenever he entered the room, for some reason quite apart from vanity. Every person has at least one hobby in which they delight but would be humiliated to have anyone else witness; Snape (though he would never admit it) enjoyed practicing ominous or sneering facial expressions. This time, however, he could not seem to even bring his lips into a casual snarl, for somehow discontent was buried deep within his heart. Oh, it wasn't like he was ever completely content—after all, he had to deal with second-years on a daily basis. Egads, did he hate second-years. But this kind of unrest was different, and it had been gnawing at the edges of his mind all day. He had hoped that a trip to the green house might quash the feeling…and it had, for a moment, but that moment had been tauntingly fleeting.
He turned his head this way and that, examining the sharp angles of his face. No matter which feature he focused on, though, the displeasure continued to grapple with his senses at the back of his mind. Up until this day, he had always been oddly fond of his unnaturally pale skin; it gave him a somewhat unearthly appearance that he rather liked. So why was it now that he found himself glaring into the tarnished looking-glass, feeling somehow inadequate?
It's that damn—NO. He dashed the thought from his brain before he even had time to finish it.
Sighing, he turned to see a stack of essays piled on his nightstand. Why the hell had he brought them up here earlier?! It was bad enough that their filthy parchments filled his office—what had he been thinking, that they'd look better if he took them to his bedroom? With a whisk of his arm, he scattered the pile away. He was in a foul mood. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to shut himself out, to gain some peace from those stupid … second-years.
Or perhaps from the cacophony in his head. His turbulent emotions had suddenly turned volatile, and everything displeased him. He hadn't felt exactly this way in a long time and didn't know what to—well, he know what he FELT like doing. He rather wanted to scream. Not scream exactly, because that was a noise of weakness…but to somehow let out all his frustration at the inescapable discontent creeping in on him in one mighty roar.
Instead, he irritably jerked the drapes together around his bed and fell into a fitful sleep.
A/N: Yes, I know I've been a jerk and I haven't updated in forever. At least I'm still working on the story!! Clearly I haven't abandoned it!