I accidently replaced this first chapter with a rework for a different story, sorry about the repost.
The dim Potion's classroom was little more than a blistering and hazy fog of cauldron fumes and oppressive heat as Severus Snape moved slowly and as silent as Death amongst the rows of tables. Although the November wind and rain rallied against the castle's thick walls, the dungeon room was as hot and humid as a sunlit day in the middle of August. Pungent scents filled the air while multi-colored streams of smoke furled in the sluggishly moving air, though the Potion's Master had little concern for his surroundings this afternoon. Perhaps his restlessness was due to the approaching holidays when he would be granted a brief repose from the blathering idiots his colleagues insisted on referring to as "the bright young minds of the future." If these were indeed the young minds that would one day be ruling the Wizarding world, Severus had little hope for the survival of his kind. Or perhaps he had simply grown weary of a monotonous life, in which every day was the same as the one that preceded it and that which would follow. Whatever the cause, it was undeniable that Professor Snape needed a change, a break from the unfulfilling duties he now served and the endless stream of pathetic children that trudged through his life in a blur of ineptitude and defiance.
Making one more lazy circuit of the room, barely having the energy to even humiliate a struggling Gryffindor, Severus was about to return to his desk and the mountainous pile of disappointing essays that awaited his slashing red mark, when something caught his attention. In the corner of his eye was a spark of brilliant and fiery red, a mass of wild spiral curls, each one as tiny and tightly wound as a cork screw. Ah yes, Miss Frost, the latest prodigy to grace these halls, though thankfully devoid of the Gryffindor brashness, though I am not entirely certain that Ravenclaw's are truly much of an improvement, he pondered as he detoured from his destination. Circling the room once more he came to rest at the back of the classroom, using his knowledge of the nuisances and secrets of the shadows to hide himself away if only momentarily. Ignoring the rest of the room enough that it merely lingered on the edge of his attention, soft and unobtrusive as a gentle spring breeze, he let his focus settle completely on the Ravenclaw seated across the room. The dim light of the several torches that flickered about the room alighted on the mass of her hair, Not so unlike the disastrous tangle of hair that graced another thorn in my side, he mused as he watched the light play upon that bright splash of red.
The young woman in question was Elizabeth Frost, known simply as Liz to her friends who knew that beneath the sharp intelligence known to run rampant in Ravenclaw, was a warm and caring personality that could easily turn the tears sadness of others into tears of laughter. But there was something that none of her friends knew about her, a secret that she had kept close for almost three years, a hidden secret that she guarded with her life and would never reveal to a single living soul, or dead for that matter, for everyone knew how much the ghosts and portraits loved to gossip. And it was at that moment that she was pondering this secret, her mind moving almost lazily over the jumble of thoughts drifting around the inside of her skull, each one like a tickling feather against her brain. The potion before her, bubbling not yet dangerously so on the table top, had long ago been forgotten while her delicate and pale chin rested in the warmth of her hands, her deep ocean blue eyes resting unseeing upon the Potion Professor's desk. So immersed in her thoughts was she that she failed to notice the subtle movement of the heated air around her, a cooling breeze surrounding her like icy fingers while a long and dark shadow fell over a corner of her desk. It wasn't until his silken sneering voice rang out in the cavernous room that Liz was effectively pulled from her consuming thoughts.
"Pray, do explain to me Miss Frost, why you would choose to pursue Newt level Potions if you plan to do little more than day dream in my classroom?" His voice was like a cube of ice sliding down her spine, raising gooseflesh along the lines of her body, and causing her muscles to tense in both fear and a hint of exhilaration.
"I… I…" she began in a stammering and weak voice, her blue eyes wide and wild like those of a rabbit staring up into the snarling face of a wolf. It was this expression upon the faces of his students that Severus both adored and despised all at once, that look of pure terror that caused the blood to drain from their faces, only to rush back a moment later with vengeance as embarrassment overtook them.
"Yes, Miss Frost?" he pushed as he adopted the typical stance of aloof boredom, his lithe arms folding across the broad expanse of his chest while a delicate and sleek black eyebrow arched questioningly. Anyone who had ever suffered through Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry knew that look all too well, it was often the look that would seal your fate and entail at least a week of detentions spent scrubbing out the vilest and most disgusting cauldrons known to Wizard kind. And now Liz was trapped beneath that look, searching her muddled mind for a response that would perhaps at least soften her punishment a little, for there was no true escape from the wrath of the Potions Professor.
"Kneazle got your tongue Miss Frost?" Professor Snape teased in an even voice that lacked even a hint of the humor his words foretold. When the silence stretched out another moment longer, becoming as heavy and thick as the heat that still streamed from multiple cauldrons about the room, Severus spoke once more in a crooning tone that was dark and rich like chocolate. "I thought not, I suggest that you get back to work on the lesson at hand, though I shall be amazed if you manage to salvage that mess" indicating with a sneer of contempt the thick brown sludge that had accumulated in the bottom of Liz's cauldron.
"Yes Professor" was all that Liz could utter in reply, the infuriating heat still blazing proudly in her cheeks like a flag of her humiliation while snickers rose up about the room. Professor Snape lingered for a moment longer, watching down the length of his crooked nose as Miss Frost rose solemnly to her feet and began investigating the catastrophe that had once been an Aging Potion. Heaving a sigh of frustration at her thoughtlessness she watched from the corner of her eye as her Professor moved away and turning sharply on his heel in a flurry of black robes barked at the rest of the room,
"Back to work class! Concentrate on your own potions or you shall be accompanying Miss Frost for detention tonight." A few groans and grimaces floated about the room as the rest of the students quickly found the preparation of ingredients and mixing of their own potions exceadingly interesting.
A sudden movement behind her and a heavy press of cool air against her back brought a surprised eep! from Liz's lips as she managed to fight off the urge to jump in fright. The scent of sandalwood and jasmine wafted around her, light and enticing as the Potions Professor hovered barely inches from her.
"Oh and Miss Frost, I assure you that you will find no universal secrets hidden in the view of my backside" he spoke slow and silken in her ear, the heat of his breath flowing over her once again florid and flushed skin, the warmth of his exhalations curling in the soft tendrils of her wild curls that brushed against the tip of his nose. "Eight o'clocksharp, do not be late" he whispered, his tone holding a mountain of promise that his words assured her would not be delivered upon. And then he was gone, moving like a stalking shadow, swift and silent, appearing moments later at his desk, his head bent down to mark the essays before him. For the briefest of moments Snape cast his obsidian eyes upwards to glance through the curtain of his inky black tresses to lock upon her, the barest trace of a grin curling the full softness of his lips before he once again focused on the parchments before him. Allowing her breath to flow past her lips in an unsteady shudder Liz glanced about the room furtively to see if anyone had seen the almost intimate exchange between them. Once she was satisfied that everyone had been far too interested in their own potions she felt a certain amount of tension flow from her body, though in its stead sat a heavy knot in the pit of her stomach as she thought of the evening that now lay ahead of her.