Chapter 9
Two weeks had passed since Narnia had collided with Snape in the corridors and he had not spoken a word on the matter. The fact that he remained silent about his knowledge of her potions skills somewhat surprised her, but she found his secrecy more nerve racking than if he would have announced what he knew to the entire school. She knew it was not a matter of his forgetting about the incident. His silence ate away at her and even though she maintained her composure in his presence, she found it hard to remain nonchalant under the scrutiny of his glare. Sitting next to him at dinner was sometimes easier than passing by him in the halls. She didn't have to suffer his piercing glances while at his side. Narnia knew he was aware of her anxiety and his silent tactic was working. What he didn't know was how little Narnia was concerned about him telling anyone.
Despite this tension between them, Narnia didn't let it affect her resolve to learn more about potion making. Even though Narnia had made it through the fourth year potions book, the process became frustrating at times. She found it simple to study the ingredients and instructions, but she knew the act of making each potion was where she lacked and until she had that practice, she felt that she was just wasting her time. She knew the only way to achieve this was to go to Snape and ask for use of his materials. This was not a possibility Narnia was willing to consider.
Narnia had retreated to the solitude of her room after dinner that evening. Since her arrival at Hogwarts, she had been delighted with sunny autumn days, but today had been dreary, rainy, and cold. The idea of sitting by the fireplace all evening had been lingering in her mind since her morning classes and by the end of the day she could think of nothing else. Once she had entered her quarters, she slipped into her nightgown and threw her bathrobe around her for the extra warmth. She loosened the bun in her hair and her long auburn tresses cascaded to her waste. She grabbed the potions book she had been reading and settled into an oversized chair next to the fire. She sat staring at the dancing orange and red flames, feeling relaxation settling in throughout her body. Looking down at the potions book, she sighed heavily. "Why am I doing this?" she asked herself. As she thought about the events of the past two weeks, she found herself surprised at how she had been reacting to all of it. A thought kept popping up in her mind and Narnia always dismissed it as quickly as it came to her. Why should she concern herself with how Snape sees her? Why did that matter to her? "This is ridiculous," she mumbled to herself and chuckled. "Enough of this." She laid down the book and looking at it, said, "You're going back to the library tomorrow."
Entranced by the crackling of the logs in the hearth, Narnia hardly noticed the knock on her door. Wrapping her robe around her, she made her way across the room. Opening the door, she was surprised to see Snape standing on the other side.
"Severus," Narnia faltered. Snape was the last person she expected to see at her door. She realized that she had never addressed him by his first name and wasn't sure why she had picked this moment to do so. Snape remained silent, briefly, and as if pulling himself from a far off thought, spoke swiftly and to the point.
"If your interest in potions remains as it was two weeks ago, then you will be in my office tomorrow evening at seven o'clock. Do not be late." Just as he turned to leave, Narnia called him back.
"Professor?" Snape slowed and turned to face her. Narnia cleared her throat. "I realize that in this instance I am in need of your expertise and I am grateful for your willingness to assist me. However, I would make one request."
Snape glared at her. Narnia continued, choosing her words carefully, wanting to avoid confrontation. "In order for this arrangement to be successful, I think a healthy respect for one another should be present. After all, we are colleagues."
Narnia knew thoughts were stirring behind Snape's eyes. However, he shared none of them with her and she was thankful. She understood how his words could hurt. "Will that be all?" he asked, his voice displaying his irritation with her comment. Narnia nodded in acknowledgement and he departed.
Shutting the door behind her, Narnia made her way to bed. It had been two weeks since she had asked for his assistance and he had just now approached her about the matter. She clenched her teeth. By asking for his help, she had presented him with the chance, yet again, to put her on pins and needles. A thought occurred to her. That was what she had been doing. Handing him opportunities to intimidate her. "No more," she thought.
As she lay staring up at the canopy of her bed, Narnia scolded herself for investing so much concern in what Snape thought of her. She knew it was causing some of her problem. It was clouding her head and her judgement. He had shown no difference in how he treated her before and after he discovered how little she knew about potion making, but this assessment didn't reassure her. Why did she care what he thought? Since the night of the Sorting, she had found herself wanting to make a good impression on him and so far she wasn't faring so well. She sighed. "I'm acting like a sixteen year-old," she muttered, slightly disgusted with herself.
Exhausted from picking it all apart, Narnia rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. An image of Snape standing in her doorway flashed through her mind, suddenly. It had been subtle, but for a fleeting moment, Narnia had hoped he would slide his arm around her waist and indulge her by touching his lips to hers. She had felt this before, in the corridor, when she had accidentally walked into him. Her thoughts had surprised her as quickly as she had thought them. He had reached out and steadied her, firmly, but not in a harsh manner. There had been several occasions over the past two weeks where she had to stir herself from daydreams, in which she kept picturing herself close to him, wondering what it would be like.
Narnia pulled her pillow over her head trying to suffocate her thoughts. Snape had repeatedly treated her as if she were no better than the dirt under his shoe. Why was she feeling this way about him? It didn't make sense. What was it about him? As irritating as his manner could be, she couldn't help but think that there was more to him than what he showed. Perhaps she was mistaking feelings for simple curiosity. Why had she wanted to kiss him though?
Narnia knew that thoughts such as these would not do if she was going to be working so closely with him. She must be honest with herself. Oddly enough, she was attracted to him and now she had to find a way to suppress it. Spending time one on one with him did not seem to be a likely solution to the problem, quite the opposite, in fact. The risk of her feelings being revealed was too great. If he were to ever find out how she felt, he would certainly make life uneasy for her. She would simply show up tomorrow evening, thank him for his willingness to assist her and inform him that she had given it some thought and had changed her mind on the matter.
Narnia wasn't sure exactly when she drifted off to sleep or for how long she slept, but dark still covered the world outside, when she awoke quite suddenly. She had enjoyed two weeks of uninterrupted sleep. She had dreamed, of course, pleasant dreams of home and Gran and things of a whimsical nature, but nothing to awake her in such an abrupt manner. When she hadn't dreamed of him again, she thought the worst. Each time she found herself in that forest, running for him, the man raising his wand had always began to mutter something, and even though Narnia woke up before hearing what it was, she knew he had intended to kill. Seeing the same scene in her dream tonight gave her a small bit of hope. He had to be alive, somewhere. Again, she had almost reached him and she wondered what would happen if she actually ever did touch him. She slid her legs over the edge of her four-poster bed, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. There was no need to write this in her journal, nothing in the dream had changed. Dreams of him had repeated themselves before, so it was not unusual, but something was different this time.
Two weeks had passed since Narnia had collided with Snape in the corridors and he had not spoken a word on the matter. The fact that he remained silent about his knowledge of her potions skills somewhat surprised her, but she found his secrecy more nerve racking than if he would have announced what he knew to the entire school. She knew it was not a matter of his forgetting about the incident. His silence ate away at her and even though she maintained her composure in his presence, she found it hard to remain nonchalant under the scrutiny of his glare. Sitting next to him at dinner was sometimes easier than passing by him in the halls. She didn't have to suffer his piercing glances while at his side. Narnia knew he was aware of her anxiety and his silent tactic was working. What he didn't know was how little Narnia was concerned about him telling anyone.
Despite this tension between them, Narnia didn't let it affect her resolve to learn more about potion making. Even though Narnia had made it through the fourth year potions book, the process became frustrating at times. She found it simple to study the ingredients and instructions, but she knew the act of making each potion was where she lacked and until she had that practice, she felt that she was just wasting her time. She knew the only way to achieve this was to go to Snape and ask for use of his materials. This was not a possibility Narnia was willing to consider.
Narnia had retreated to the solitude of her room after dinner that evening. Since her arrival at Hogwarts, she had been delighted with sunny autumn days, but today had been dreary, rainy, and cold. The idea of sitting by the fireplace all evening had been lingering in her mind since her morning classes and by the end of the day she could think of nothing else. Once she had entered her quarters, she slipped into her nightgown and threw her bathrobe around her for the extra warmth. She loosened the bun in her hair and her long auburn tresses cascaded to her waste. She grabbed the potions book she had been reading and settled into an oversized chair next to the fire. She sat staring at the dancing orange and red flames, feeling relaxation settling in throughout her body. Looking down at the potions book, she sighed heavily. "Why am I doing this?" she asked herself. As she thought about the events of the past two weeks, she found herself surprised at how she had been reacting to all of it. A thought kept popping up in her mind and Narnia always dismissed it as quickly as it came to her. Why should she concern herself with how Snape sees her? Why did that matter to her? "This is ridiculous," she mumbled to herself and chuckled. "Enough of this." She laid down the book and looking at it, said, "You're going back to the library tomorrow."
Entranced by the crackling of the logs in the hearth, Narnia hardly noticed the knock on her door. Wrapping her robe around her, she made her way across the room. Opening the door, she was surprised to see Snape standing on the other side.
"Severus," Narnia faltered. Snape was the last person she expected to see at her door. She realized that she had never addressed him by his first name and wasn't sure why she had picked this moment to do so. Snape remained silent, briefly, and as if pulling himself from a far off thought, spoke swiftly and to the point.
"If your interest in potions remains as it was two weeks ago, then you will be in my office tomorrow evening at seven o'clock. Do not be late." Just as he turned to leave, Narnia called him back.
"Professor?" Snape slowed and turned to face her. Narnia cleared her throat. "I realize that in this instance I am in need of your expertise and I am grateful for your willingness to assist me. However, I would make one request."
Snape glared at her. Narnia continued, choosing her words carefully, wanting to avoid confrontation. "In order for this arrangement to be successful, I think a healthy respect for one another should be present. After all, we are colleagues."
Narnia knew thoughts were stirring behind Snape's eyes. However, he shared none of them with her and she was thankful. She understood how his words could hurt. "Will that be all?" he asked, his voice displaying his irritation with her comment. Narnia nodded in acknowledgement and he departed.
Shutting the door behind her, Narnia made her way to bed. It had been two weeks since she had asked for his assistance and he had just now approached her about the matter. She clenched her teeth. By asking for his help, she had presented him with the chance, yet again, to put her on pins and needles. A thought occurred to her. That was what she had been doing. Handing him opportunities to intimidate her. "No more," she thought.
As she lay staring up at the canopy of her bed, Narnia scolded herself for investing so much concern in what Snape thought of her. She knew it was causing some of her problem. It was clouding her head and her judgement. He had shown no difference in how he treated her before and after he discovered how little she knew about potion making, but this assessment didn't reassure her. Why did she care what he thought? Since the night of the Sorting, she had found herself wanting to make a good impression on him and so far she wasn't faring so well. She sighed. "I'm acting like a sixteen year-old," she muttered, slightly disgusted with herself.
Exhausted from picking it all apart, Narnia rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. An image of Snape standing in her doorway flashed through her mind, suddenly. It had been subtle, but for a fleeting moment, Narnia had hoped he would slide his arm around her waist and indulge her by touching his lips to hers. She had felt this before, in the corridor, when she had accidentally walked into him. Her thoughts had surprised her as quickly as she had thought them. He had reached out and steadied her, firmly, but not in a harsh manner. There had been several occasions over the past two weeks where she had to stir herself from daydreams, in which she kept picturing herself close to him, wondering what it would be like.
Narnia pulled her pillow over her head trying to suffocate her thoughts. Snape had repeatedly treated her as if she were no better than the dirt under his shoe. Why was she feeling this way about him? It didn't make sense. What was it about him? As irritating as his manner could be, she couldn't help but think that there was more to him than what he showed. Perhaps she was mistaking feelings for simple curiosity. Why had she wanted to kiss him though?
Narnia knew that thoughts such as these would not do if she was going to be working so closely with him. She must be honest with herself. Oddly enough, she was attracted to him and now she had to find a way to suppress it. Spending time one on one with him did not seem to be a likely solution to the problem, quite the opposite, in fact. The risk of her feelings being revealed was too great. If he were to ever find out how she felt, he would certainly make life uneasy for her. She would simply show up tomorrow evening, thank him for his willingness to assist her and inform him that she had given it some thought and had changed her mind on the matter.
Narnia wasn't sure exactly when she drifted off to sleep or for how long she slept, but dark still covered the world outside, when she awoke quite suddenly. She had enjoyed two weeks of uninterrupted sleep. She had dreamed, of course, pleasant dreams of home and Gran and things of a whimsical nature, but nothing to awake her in such an abrupt manner. When she hadn't dreamed of him again, she thought the worst. Each time she found herself in that forest, running for him, the man raising his wand had always began to mutter something, and even though Narnia woke up before hearing what it was, she knew he had intended to kill. Seeing the same scene in her dream tonight gave her a small bit of hope. He had to be alive, somewhere. Again, she had almost reached him and she wondered what would happen if she actually ever did touch him. She slid her legs over the edge of her four-poster bed, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. There was no need to write this in her journal, nothing in the dream had changed. Dreams of him had repeated themselves before, so it was not unusual, but something was different this time.