Thanks everyone, for the reviews. I understand your concern about the
Teacher/Student relationship thingy, and I assure you that I know what I
am doing, or actually, the characters know what they are doing, so don't
worry. Everything is in good taste.
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Chapter 5
After the incident at my aunt's party I was severely scolded for nearly the entire week afterward, but since the party had gone well otherwise, the scoldings weren't as bad as they might have been.
Besides, I felt invincible. Snape had given me so many compliments, not the conventional definition of compliment, but compliment nonetheless, that I felt I could take on the world. If Snape thought I was worthy of recognition, not only from Dumbledore, but from himself as well, then that was all that mattered to me. My aunt's harsh words could not cancel that out. I had learned from my mistakes of last year, however, recalling Franco's suspicions, so I kept my outward behavior subdued. Inside I was turning cartwheels. Believe it or not, if it hadn't been for the party, I don't think I would have fared so well the rest of the summer.
"Thank goodness," I sighed as Franco and I entered the Ravenclaw common rooms after the welcoming feast. "I'm so glad to be back here."
"Uh," Franco moaned as he collapsed into a cushy armchair. "I shouldn't have eaten so much."
"Franco, you do this every year. You eat your weight in food the first day back and then you complain the whole rest of the evening until I either knock you out or you vomit it all up again."
"I know. I just can't resist. My mum's food is so… healthy."
"I thought your mum was a good cook when I stayed at your place."
"She was just trying to impress you. She never cooks that way for us. Ugh, I'm going to bed," he attempted to get out of the chair but fell back, exhausted.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," I pulled him out of the chair by his hands and he hobbled off to his dormitory. "Good night, Franco," I called.
"Night," he answered feebly.
And so the first few weeks of the term passed by quietly and calmly. Nothing seemed to have changed from last year, which was both comforting and disappointing. I do not know what I was expecting, perhaps it was the childish part of me that hoped Professor Snape would come rescue me from my gloom, riding up on a white horse and whisking me away to a fairytale castle. Whenever I had these thoughts I felt guilty, disgusted, and embarrassed with myself. Snape had never really given me any proof that he felt any sort of affection for me, and besides even if he did, he couldn't act on it. He's your teacher, I told myself again and again. It wouldn't be right for anything to happen, and I don't want anything to happen! But always, the little voice of reason told me the truth. I did, in fact, like Snape very much, and I began to admit this to myself. Surprisingly, being honest with myself made me more comfortable around him. In class I no longer felt like jelly every time he walked past or examined my cauldron. I was not completely at ease, but at least I stopped holding my breath when I saw him.
"Oh, nuts," I swore as we were leaving the dungeons one Friday afternoon.
"What's wrong?"
"I forgot my notebook in the classroom."
"Don't make me go back there," Franco said with a shudder. It had been a particularly bad lesson for Franco, and Snape had tormented him for ruining his Boar's Blood potion, and spilling nearly an entire bottle of expensive boar's blood. He knew that Franco was my best friend, but probably kept up with punishing him just as severely as before to keep his image in check.
"Alright, go on without me. I'll see you later," I tried sound annoyed that he was deserting me, but really I was grateful. Perhaps I could have a word with Snape, as I hadn't spoken to him since August.
I knocked on the dungeon door but heard no answer.
"Professor?" I pushed the door open slightly and called. No answer again. I opened the door the rest of the way and walked in. Snape was sitting at his desk, hunched over some piece of paper. I couldn't see his face very well because his long hair was hanging in front of it, almost brushing the desk, but I could make out that familiar scowl.
I tried to quietly get my notebook and leave, but just as I was reaching for the notebook under the table, Snape looked up and saw me.
"Miss Cockerham!"
"I'm sorry, Professor!" I froze and gaped at him like a deer in headlights. "I just came back to get my notebook, I knocked but I don't think you heard me…"
"Obviously, I didn't," he snapped. My face fell. He hadn't yelled at me like this since the day he found out about his diary being stolen. All of the progress I made with him is gone, I thought, feeling my throat tighten and the tears coming to my eyes. And I don't know what I've done.
"Sorry," I choked and snatched the notebook and ran for the door.
"Wait," he got up from his desk quickly and grabbed my arm. I stood there for a moment, frozen, with his hand still clutching my elbow. I slowly turned around to face him and he loosened his surprisingly tight grip. "I was reading a letter," he lifted his other hand, showing me the piece of parchment that he had been clutching in it. I assumed this was an apology, or explanation perhaps, but I didn't understand. "Well, take it," he said impatiently.
"I-I don't think that it's any of my business," I stammered. I was feeling a bit anxious. Snape had an angry gleam in his eyes that I had not seen since that day in his office, and it made me almost afraid. Deep down I knew he would never hurt me, but I couldn't help feeling apprehensive.
"Take it, Meta," he said, more softly this time. "You'll find it interesting, I'm sure."
I didn't understand why Snape was letting me read a personal letter. It was very uncharacteristic of him. I almost wished that the old Snape was back, the Snape who hated me and would have simply screamed at me and told me to get out.
I took the letter, not wanting to try his patience any further. He turned around and began pacing the length of the classroom, looking down at the floor. I sighed and began to read the letter, though it was hard to make out the small, messy handwriting, especially since my hands were shaking.
Severus Snape,
This may come as a shock to you to be hearing from me after all of these years. You might have even thought I was dead, or wished I was dead, perhaps. But I am not, and there is a reason I am writing to you now, after all of these years. I do not know much about your character, but I hope you are a man who will forgive me for my tardiness. I would like to meet with you, to discuss some important matters. Please respond as soon as you can, giving a time with which you are available to meet with me, and where.
Much thanks,
Harold L. Shue
Harold Shue. Harold Shue. Where had I heard that name before? I stood there staring at the last line of the letter. Snape had stopped pacing and was looking at me, anticipating my reaction. Then, it dawned on me. Harold Shue was the boy Berthe had written about in her diary. He was the boy she had kissed, the boy she fell in love with, the boy who…
I looked up at Snape. He seemed to want me to be waiting for me to do something or say something, but I didn't know what.
"Harold Shue," I said quietly.
"Yes."
"Your father…"
"Yes," he said to me again.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, not really realizing what I was saying. I somehow felt like Snape had let me in to his life for a reason. I felt as if we were peers or colleagues perhaps, trying to solve a riddle or work through a problem.
"I'm not sure."
Snape? Not sure? Snape was sure of everything, all of the time. That was always a constant. He looked at me and I realized that he was, in his own way, asking me for help. I felt overwhelmed.
"What do you think he wants from you?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said slowly and ran his hands through his hair. He suddenly looked exhausted and old.
"I'm not sure if I trust him," I said honestly.
"I'm not either," Snape said walking over to me and taking back the letter. He read through it one more time and ripped it in half.
"I'm sorry. I've been useless," I said. Shame and frustration was rushing over me. Snape had come to me for help! He had given me his confidence, had let me peek into his private life, and I had failed him. I wanted to scream. I was sure that this would set me back with him, and that he would never trust me again.
"You've helped, actually," he replied sitting down in the nearest chair. He looked like he was going to fall asleep right there.
"Maybe I should go." I began to leave but he called me back once again.
"No, sit down," he said pointing to a chair at the table next to his. I immediately obeyed him and sat down, then wondered why. You act like a dog around him. Sit Meta, sit! "I'd… I'd like to talk to someone, and as you're the only one who knows about this, having read my mother's diary and all, you're the only one."
You're the only one. Not exactly heart-wrenching sentiments, but coming from Snape, this was almost Shakespeare. For the most part we sat in silence, but once in a while Snape would speak. He was thinking out loud mostly, reasoning through his father's motives. I would make sounds of yes, or no, trying to absorb everything that he was saying. Soon, my eyes began to feel watery and heavy. My legs felt like they were pieces of dead weight. I was sure that even if I wanted to get up and walk back to the common rooms, my legs would have failed me. I was not sure what time it was, or how much time had passed since I had been there, but I didn't care. I just struggled to stay awake and listen to Snape.
It was during one of the breaks in the conversation when I couldn't fight the sandman anymore. I felt my eyes closing and tried to tell them to stop. Don't fall asleep. You can't fall asleep. It was no use, they wouldn't listen. Don't close your eyes! They continued to close. It seemed as though my eyes were working on their own accord and my brain could not halt them. Stop! My eyes closed completely and I fell, sound asleep, out of my chair.
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Chapter 5
After the incident at my aunt's party I was severely scolded for nearly the entire week afterward, but since the party had gone well otherwise, the scoldings weren't as bad as they might have been.
Besides, I felt invincible. Snape had given me so many compliments, not the conventional definition of compliment, but compliment nonetheless, that I felt I could take on the world. If Snape thought I was worthy of recognition, not only from Dumbledore, but from himself as well, then that was all that mattered to me. My aunt's harsh words could not cancel that out. I had learned from my mistakes of last year, however, recalling Franco's suspicions, so I kept my outward behavior subdued. Inside I was turning cartwheels. Believe it or not, if it hadn't been for the party, I don't think I would have fared so well the rest of the summer.
"Thank goodness," I sighed as Franco and I entered the Ravenclaw common rooms after the welcoming feast. "I'm so glad to be back here."
"Uh," Franco moaned as he collapsed into a cushy armchair. "I shouldn't have eaten so much."
"Franco, you do this every year. You eat your weight in food the first day back and then you complain the whole rest of the evening until I either knock you out or you vomit it all up again."
"I know. I just can't resist. My mum's food is so… healthy."
"I thought your mum was a good cook when I stayed at your place."
"She was just trying to impress you. She never cooks that way for us. Ugh, I'm going to bed," he attempted to get out of the chair but fell back, exhausted.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," I pulled him out of the chair by his hands and he hobbled off to his dormitory. "Good night, Franco," I called.
"Night," he answered feebly.
And so the first few weeks of the term passed by quietly and calmly. Nothing seemed to have changed from last year, which was both comforting and disappointing. I do not know what I was expecting, perhaps it was the childish part of me that hoped Professor Snape would come rescue me from my gloom, riding up on a white horse and whisking me away to a fairytale castle. Whenever I had these thoughts I felt guilty, disgusted, and embarrassed with myself. Snape had never really given me any proof that he felt any sort of affection for me, and besides even if he did, he couldn't act on it. He's your teacher, I told myself again and again. It wouldn't be right for anything to happen, and I don't want anything to happen! But always, the little voice of reason told me the truth. I did, in fact, like Snape very much, and I began to admit this to myself. Surprisingly, being honest with myself made me more comfortable around him. In class I no longer felt like jelly every time he walked past or examined my cauldron. I was not completely at ease, but at least I stopped holding my breath when I saw him.
"Oh, nuts," I swore as we were leaving the dungeons one Friday afternoon.
"What's wrong?"
"I forgot my notebook in the classroom."
"Don't make me go back there," Franco said with a shudder. It had been a particularly bad lesson for Franco, and Snape had tormented him for ruining his Boar's Blood potion, and spilling nearly an entire bottle of expensive boar's blood. He knew that Franco was my best friend, but probably kept up with punishing him just as severely as before to keep his image in check.
"Alright, go on without me. I'll see you later," I tried sound annoyed that he was deserting me, but really I was grateful. Perhaps I could have a word with Snape, as I hadn't spoken to him since August.
I knocked on the dungeon door but heard no answer.
"Professor?" I pushed the door open slightly and called. No answer again. I opened the door the rest of the way and walked in. Snape was sitting at his desk, hunched over some piece of paper. I couldn't see his face very well because his long hair was hanging in front of it, almost brushing the desk, but I could make out that familiar scowl.
I tried to quietly get my notebook and leave, but just as I was reaching for the notebook under the table, Snape looked up and saw me.
"Miss Cockerham!"
"I'm sorry, Professor!" I froze and gaped at him like a deer in headlights. "I just came back to get my notebook, I knocked but I don't think you heard me…"
"Obviously, I didn't," he snapped. My face fell. He hadn't yelled at me like this since the day he found out about his diary being stolen. All of the progress I made with him is gone, I thought, feeling my throat tighten and the tears coming to my eyes. And I don't know what I've done.
"Sorry," I choked and snatched the notebook and ran for the door.
"Wait," he got up from his desk quickly and grabbed my arm. I stood there for a moment, frozen, with his hand still clutching my elbow. I slowly turned around to face him and he loosened his surprisingly tight grip. "I was reading a letter," he lifted his other hand, showing me the piece of parchment that he had been clutching in it. I assumed this was an apology, or explanation perhaps, but I didn't understand. "Well, take it," he said impatiently.
"I-I don't think that it's any of my business," I stammered. I was feeling a bit anxious. Snape had an angry gleam in his eyes that I had not seen since that day in his office, and it made me almost afraid. Deep down I knew he would never hurt me, but I couldn't help feeling apprehensive.
"Take it, Meta," he said, more softly this time. "You'll find it interesting, I'm sure."
I didn't understand why Snape was letting me read a personal letter. It was very uncharacteristic of him. I almost wished that the old Snape was back, the Snape who hated me and would have simply screamed at me and told me to get out.
I took the letter, not wanting to try his patience any further. He turned around and began pacing the length of the classroom, looking down at the floor. I sighed and began to read the letter, though it was hard to make out the small, messy handwriting, especially since my hands were shaking.
Severus Snape,
This may come as a shock to you to be hearing from me after all of these years. You might have even thought I was dead, or wished I was dead, perhaps. But I am not, and there is a reason I am writing to you now, after all of these years. I do not know much about your character, but I hope you are a man who will forgive me for my tardiness. I would like to meet with you, to discuss some important matters. Please respond as soon as you can, giving a time with which you are available to meet with me, and where.
Much thanks,
Harold L. Shue
Harold Shue. Harold Shue. Where had I heard that name before? I stood there staring at the last line of the letter. Snape had stopped pacing and was looking at me, anticipating my reaction. Then, it dawned on me. Harold Shue was the boy Berthe had written about in her diary. He was the boy she had kissed, the boy she fell in love with, the boy who…
I looked up at Snape. He seemed to want me to be waiting for me to do something or say something, but I didn't know what.
"Harold Shue," I said quietly.
"Yes."
"Your father…"
"Yes," he said to me again.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, not really realizing what I was saying. I somehow felt like Snape had let me in to his life for a reason. I felt as if we were peers or colleagues perhaps, trying to solve a riddle or work through a problem.
"I'm not sure."
Snape? Not sure? Snape was sure of everything, all of the time. That was always a constant. He looked at me and I realized that he was, in his own way, asking me for help. I felt overwhelmed.
"What do you think he wants from you?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said slowly and ran his hands through his hair. He suddenly looked exhausted and old.
"I'm not sure if I trust him," I said honestly.
"I'm not either," Snape said walking over to me and taking back the letter. He read through it one more time and ripped it in half.
"I'm sorry. I've been useless," I said. Shame and frustration was rushing over me. Snape had come to me for help! He had given me his confidence, had let me peek into his private life, and I had failed him. I wanted to scream. I was sure that this would set me back with him, and that he would never trust me again.
"You've helped, actually," he replied sitting down in the nearest chair. He looked like he was going to fall asleep right there.
"Maybe I should go." I began to leave but he called me back once again.
"No, sit down," he said pointing to a chair at the table next to his. I immediately obeyed him and sat down, then wondered why. You act like a dog around him. Sit Meta, sit! "I'd… I'd like to talk to someone, and as you're the only one who knows about this, having read my mother's diary and all, you're the only one."
You're the only one. Not exactly heart-wrenching sentiments, but coming from Snape, this was almost Shakespeare. For the most part we sat in silence, but once in a while Snape would speak. He was thinking out loud mostly, reasoning through his father's motives. I would make sounds of yes, or no, trying to absorb everything that he was saying. Soon, my eyes began to feel watery and heavy. My legs felt like they were pieces of dead weight. I was sure that even if I wanted to get up and walk back to the common rooms, my legs would have failed me. I was not sure what time it was, or how much time had passed since I had been there, but I didn't care. I just struggled to stay awake and listen to Snape.
It was during one of the breaks in the conversation when I couldn't fight the sandman anymore. I felt my eyes closing and tried to tell them to stop. Don't fall asleep. You can't fall asleep. It was no use, they wouldn't listen. Don't close your eyes! They continued to close. It seemed as though my eyes were working on their own accord and my brain could not halt them. Stop! My eyes closed completely and I fell, sound asleep, out of my chair.