Bittersweet and Strange

It had been a typical day for Severus Snape, filled with lack witted students and irksome colleagues. To top off the most extraordinarily irritating day he'd had in a long while, he was now forced to clean his own classroom as Filch was ill.

It was in the back of the room that happened upon what appeared to be a very old book with the word "Beauty and the Beast", written in gold leaf on the cover. The title seemed oddly familiar and curiously he flipped open and the book and read the first page, only to discover it was nothing but a common muggle fairytale.

"Rubbish", he muttered snapping it shut, and making his way back to his desk. Instead of throwing it away however, he put it in his briefcase, on top of all the other books.

As he sat at the desk in his office that evening, correcting the latest batch mediocre essays, his eyes strayed to the book he had unconsciously carried with him all day. Without much thought, and never really sure why, he pulled it towards himself and began to read, every few seconds mumbling words like "pathetic" under his breath. However, he found himself staring at the end of candlestick some hours later, as he looked from the book he had just finished. Snorting to himself he tossed it back into his briefcase and extinguished his candle.

Fairytales were the ridiculous invention of the muggle mind, completely lacking any merit what so ever, or so Snape told himself every time the story crept back into mind, wrapping its shadowy tendrils around his rational thoughts. For weeks the story haunted his every other moment, foiling every attempt at banishment. It refused to be driven from him, as though it had taken root in some unconscious stream of thought and had something to say on the subject. He hated it, the way the mythical love mocked him at every turn, especially in spring when love seemed to blossom over the entire campus and couples retreated to deserted hallways between classes.

The story followed him all the way out of the castle and down the path to the Quidditch pitch. He tried to lose it in thoughts of the upcoming match, of his house beating Gryffindor consequently Potter. He was unaware of the figure descending the intersecting path, turned slightly to the side, waving to someone.

The two collided with enough force to throw the girl to the ground. He glared at her after regaining his balance; she had fallen to the ground and was picking herself out of the mud.

"Granger, learn to watch where you're going!" He snarled at her. He was shocked when she stood up and glared at him.

"Excuse me sir." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Normally, he would have taken points for such brazen behavior, but instead he watched wordlessly as she walked away. When had those eyes grown so fierce? When had her voice become so hypnotic? When the hell had know it all Granger become a woman?

He avoided her the next few days, not daring to even look at her in class. Every time he glimpsed her deep brown eyes he felt an emotion he disliked greatly coursing through him, followed by a warm sensation that almost made him smile.

He did not know why he watched her now as she worked tirelessly over a long roll of parchment. Coward that he was, he was hidden behind a large bookshelf, peering between books at her, his breath burning in his chest.

When he thought she looked his he turned quickly and fled his post, only to run into the object of his adoration. This time however, she did not fall over, as he caught her in his arms. Hastily he let go of her and looked away as a blush graced his sallow skin.

"Professor…are you alright?" He dared to raise his eyes back to her, surprised to see the tiniest bit of concern showed in her expression.

"I'm fine." He tried to sound like his usual nasty self, but failed as his voice came out in barely a whisper, as he turned his head away again.

Hesitantly, a dainty hand reached towards him. Clutching her wrist, he drove her hand away from him, desperate to be left in peace. He must have gripped her hard though, because he heard her gasp in pain before he released her.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, held prisoner by her enchanting gaze. He could feel her emotions, tangible in the air between them, confusion, surprise, and, dare he hope, something else. His hand hesitantly caressed her cheek, making its way down to gently cup her chin, tipping her face upwards. His heart thudded loud enough that he was sure she could hear it. His mind in a fog, he slowly lowered his lips towards hers and kissed her ever so softly.

For a moment he knew peace and contentment, until remembered he was kissing a student in the middle of a library, a student who more than likely despised. He ripped his lips from hers and fled in horror of his own sin, his desire of the unattainable.

Fleeing to his office, he locked the door behind him before collapsing in a chair, shaking and feeling the unpleasant sensation of tears in his eyes. He was a fool; he'd never believe his own idiocy. Once again his eyes found the accursed book, the story of a woman who could look past surfaces and love that which was within. He flung the book across the room, hating it for its lies. There was no truth in fairytales, and no Beauty could ever love a Beast such as Severus Snape.