Severus scanned his classroom, slowly from his desk. A dark and
menacing look peered out from his stern face. He carefully noted each
student, watching them mix their potions. A small sigh escaped his lips at
the constant failed attempts. Darting back down to his desk, his dark eyes
showed a hint of disappointment, not only in his students, but mostly in
himself. He lifted his body from his desk and began to walk around the
classroom, nodding at a few students from Slytherin, still with his usual
stern look. "What, might I ask, is this?" he asked, stopping in front of
Neville Longbottom's desk. A few students giggled.
"I-it's the, the potion, sir," Neville sputtered out, obviously frightened.
"No, no. This," he said, pointing to the dark cauldron in on the desk in front of Neville, "is not the potion. This, is a disgrace." For a moment he contemplated saying or doing more, but simply moved on instead, his eyes landing on Harry Potter. "Well, Mr. Potter," he said aloud before he'd even reached Harry's table, "let's see what you've got this time." Once again, there was laughter from a few Slytherin students. Harry said nothing, simply slid his cauldron forward for Snape to examine it. "Well," he began, about to speak, however, the bell rang and students were already up putting samples of their potions on his desk. He thought for a moment about keeping them there a moment, or saying something, yet once again decided against it. He turned quickly, letting his black robes swerve behind him. Sitting down firmly at his desk he made it a point not to watch his students go. To, instead, look very busy writing something down on a piece of parchment. He didn't know why he felt he had to do this exactly, he just didn't want to give in to the feeling that once his students were gone, he would again be completely alone. Assuming it was safe, he looked up, yet three students were still dragging behind. His eyes landed forcefully on one. The boy's messy, jet-black hair was fluttering around as he tried to force his potion into a sample container. His thin, pale frame, his mannerisms. Severus looked quickly away, trying not to think about the man, who that boy reminded him of.
The room was now empty, except for the multitude of heavy scents that lingered in the air from student's failed potions. Briskly, he thought about that fact. The fact that many of his students failed so miserably. He rested on this thought for a moment. It was because they didn't like him, he concluded. Still, feeling unsatisfied, he let a bit of what he was truly dreading seep into his mind. It was because he was a bad teacher. A terrible teacher. A teacher who played favourites and held grudges against the children of his enemies. A teacher who was too stern, too strict. That's why they all hated him. Now, a glint of saddness showed in his heavy, worn eyes. The look he wore on his face made him look battered. As if every ounce of pain he'd felt in his life was suddenly crashing down upon him. For a moment, he almost let himself succumb to the feeling. He almost, just, let go. Yet that was not his way. After years of shutting down, giving up on ever loving another human being or having someone care for him in return, he had grown tight and forced himself to remain without emotion. Some would believe he was simply bitter or angry, not that he didn't have reason to be. Yet after such a long time of being completely and utterly alone, of never having a soul to call a friend or a companion, the fact was, he'd simply shut down. Felt nothing. Pain was too strong of an emotion. It could only come from having lost something very great. Yet Severus never had anything to loose to begin with. Pulling his mouth tightly back into it's usual look, settled his eyes upon the potions before him and sighed as he began to grade each one.
"I-it's the, the potion, sir," Neville sputtered out, obviously frightened.
"No, no. This," he said, pointing to the dark cauldron in on the desk in front of Neville, "is not the potion. This, is a disgrace." For a moment he contemplated saying or doing more, but simply moved on instead, his eyes landing on Harry Potter. "Well, Mr. Potter," he said aloud before he'd even reached Harry's table, "let's see what you've got this time." Once again, there was laughter from a few Slytherin students. Harry said nothing, simply slid his cauldron forward for Snape to examine it. "Well," he began, about to speak, however, the bell rang and students were already up putting samples of their potions on his desk. He thought for a moment about keeping them there a moment, or saying something, yet once again decided against it. He turned quickly, letting his black robes swerve behind him. Sitting down firmly at his desk he made it a point not to watch his students go. To, instead, look very busy writing something down on a piece of parchment. He didn't know why he felt he had to do this exactly, he just didn't want to give in to the feeling that once his students were gone, he would again be completely alone. Assuming it was safe, he looked up, yet three students were still dragging behind. His eyes landed forcefully on one. The boy's messy, jet-black hair was fluttering around as he tried to force his potion into a sample container. His thin, pale frame, his mannerisms. Severus looked quickly away, trying not to think about the man, who that boy reminded him of.
The room was now empty, except for the multitude of heavy scents that lingered in the air from student's failed potions. Briskly, he thought about that fact. The fact that many of his students failed so miserably. He rested on this thought for a moment. It was because they didn't like him, he concluded. Still, feeling unsatisfied, he let a bit of what he was truly dreading seep into his mind. It was because he was a bad teacher. A terrible teacher. A teacher who played favourites and held grudges against the children of his enemies. A teacher who was too stern, too strict. That's why they all hated him. Now, a glint of saddness showed in his heavy, worn eyes. The look he wore on his face made him look battered. As if every ounce of pain he'd felt in his life was suddenly crashing down upon him. For a moment, he almost let himself succumb to the feeling. He almost, just, let go. Yet that was not his way. After years of shutting down, giving up on ever loving another human being or having someone care for him in return, he had grown tight and forced himself to remain without emotion. Some would believe he was simply bitter or angry, not that he didn't have reason to be. Yet after such a long time of being completely and utterly alone, of never having a soul to call a friend or a companion, the fact was, he'd simply shut down. Felt nothing. Pain was too strong of an emotion. It could only come from having lost something very great. Yet Severus never had anything to loose to begin with. Pulling his mouth tightly back into it's usual look, settled his eyes upon the potions before him and sighed as he began to grade each one.