The Dungeon Master: Chapter 1
My first six years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were uneventful, to say the least.
I wasn't exactly a part of the nightly common room banter my peers shared amongst themselves, nor was I a quidditch star (I couldn't even mount a broomstick). My hair fell to my shoulders in awkward sheets, my glasses always seemed to smudge, and my contributions to my house were hardly remarkable.
Well… that's not entirely true. My two claims to fame were the amount of points I racked up for Ravenclaw, due to my inborn affinity for academics, and the fact that I scored higher on my potions O.W.L.s than the rest of my year. Professor Dumbledore even told me I received the highest score the school had seen from its students in at least a decade.
Nevertheless, I wasn't a fifth year anymore, nor had I been in a long time; those days were far, far behind me. It was the first day of a new term, and my time at Hogwarts was coming to a rather impatient close. Thus, lodged deep into my avid, swollen heart, that clock ticked, tocked, pulsed, and pounded away as I entered the potions dungeon to commence my seventh [and final] year of school.
And, there he stood– ominous, wise, regal, looming, and painfully handsome: a divine concoction of man, bat, and vampire. The dark prince's presence both diminished and invigorated me at once, and before I knew it, I was eleven years old again.
At least, that's how I felt. And acted…
Apparently.
I was so stunned by our sudden, physical proximity that I sucked in an abundance of air. It's not that I didn't know he'd be waiting for us in the potions classroom for our first lesson of the term; he was the potions master, after all. It was more so that I forgot just how exquisite he was. Apparently, our reunion was more than enough to separate me from my womanly graces and demote me back to the shy, goofy, childish schoolgirl he still thought me to be.
How unfortunate for me.
In my defense, though, a very long, hot, tiresome, and lonely summer preceded that morning, and my mere, mortal memories failed to preserve the extent of his splendor during our time apart. Plus, anyone with eyes and a heart would've been caught off guard at the sight of him.
There was no debating it – his excellence was mythical. I wasn't even sure I could withstand it. Yet, I craved it, and I needed it more than I'd ever needed anything before.
I needed him more than I'd ever needed anything before.
None of that really meant much in the moment, though. As I already mentioned, the allure and grace of a freshly-blossomed, seventeen-year-old woman quickly eluded me upon catching sight of him. The excessive air I consumed proceeded to parch my mouth and catch in my throat, meaning that my first impression on him after my long summer of "late-blooming" wasn't quite as I hoped it would be. Instead, it was completely lost on the debacle that was me choking loudly on literally nothing for an entire, excruciating minute.
The radiant Poppy Arsenault strode into the classroom with her posse. "Freak!" she hissed viciously as she passed by me. Her lovely-looking minions giggled at her comment.
"Fucking Veela," I thought to myself through my horrific coughing fit.
Between my tired lungs, the mean girls' sniggers, and the scorching gaze of my beloved potions master, all I wanted was for that screwed up day to end.
Fortunately for me, however, Professor Snape had other plans.