A/N: Hello. Well, the usual, the caracthers are not mine and my English is far from good. I had this idea on a hot summer day here in Brazil, so I hope your minutes reading this simple plot are worth it. I may continue or not, I'm not quite sure. Have a good reading! ;)
Quite suddenly all of my actions resumed themselves in one: staring.
I couldn't help myself; I wasn't even able to tare my gaze away from it! Really pathetic, I know. The bookworm know-it-all and control freak of Gryffindor, out of control. My arms, legs and eyes didn't follow my orders, but was my heart and stomach that made me realize how much the situation affected me. There was more adrenaline and speed in them than in the Quidditch World Cup! My heart was the Golden Snicth itself, and in an absolutely make-me-sick romantic kind of way (which most certainly I'm not!), I saw it flying away from my hands, I lost him from sight, forever I suppose.
But you must be wandering: how so suddenly I came to this conclusion?
Well, is simple. You must have:
1°: An extremely and strangely more than hot end of summer day.
2°: A room with no windows in it.
3°: A caldron steaming in you face for the pass four hours.
4°: And last, but not least. Robes with a row filled with tinny little buttons.
If you haven't guessed yet, I'm talking about the dungeons. Which lead us to the person in question: Severus Prince Snape. Evil git, my professor for seven years, one of my tutors for two, my colleague in Hogwarts for a couple of months and for the last five minutes owner of my snicht. My seeker. Who would guess that someday I would be thinking about Quiddicth?
Certainly not Ron. Who, by the way, would be throwing-up if he saw what I'm seeing.
And again you ask: What in the name of Merlin could get my attention this way?
A drop. A single drop.
It wasn't meant for me to see it. But Minerva had to ask me to deliver a message for Snape about some cruel detention he gave to a crying Hufflepluff. And so I was, walking to his lab, thinking in a way to be the most straight forward with him about the message and get away from there as soon as possible afraid he would kill the messenger.
However, it didn't happen this way. From the moment I reached his door, strangely open, which by the way I was going to tell him, I stopped. There it was.
Born in some region between his not- so-greasy hair, at the top of his head. Hesitantly it started to fall, outlining his square forehead. By the moment it reached his creased eyebrows, marking his deepest state of concentration, I knew I probably was with my dunderhead expression because from that moment on it made the way trough the line of his masculine nose, the stronger and more masculine piece of his face. When it reached the end of his roman style feature, in that one or two seconds before it would fall, his face contorted itself with the tickling sensation. And then it dropped. To where I wasn't sure nor was I interested.
At that moment he noticed my presence, probably looking to a drooling young woman, which must be my case. Oh, sweet Merlin! I'm lost!