The following classes surprised Aurelia. New students had joined her lessons, including several from Slytherin. These students wasted no time making their disdain known.
"How ridiculous this class is," one muttered, loudly enough for others to hear.
"How sad Muggles are, relying on things like light bulbs," another whispered, smirking.
The remarks were constant—small barbs meant to sting.
When Aurelia entered her classroom one morning, she found a note waiting for her on her desk.
"You don't belong here, filthy Squib."
She picked it up and glanced at it, her expression calm but her chest tightening. Without a word, she crumpled it and tossed it into the bin. The truth of the statement lingered in the air. She didn't belong here, not really. But she wasn't trying to pretend otherwise.
She cleared her throat and faced her class.
"So, when we connect this end of the wire to the battery," she said, demonstrating with a steady hand, "we complete the circuit, and the light bulb turns on."
As the bulb flickered to life, gasps filled the room.
"How did Muggles even figure all this out?" one student blurted out, wide-eyed with curiosity.
"Believe it or not," she said with a faint smile, "most discoveries happen by accident."
She walked between the rows of desks, her voice steady and calm. "Each table has a circuit to complete. The end result will determine your marks for today's exercise. Work together, and remember—no magic."
She moved around the classroom, observing. Her sharp gaze caught every detail. At one table, she paused.
"McClaggan," she said evenly, her tone carrying an edge of authority, "you're using magic."
The boy flushed bright red, stammering an apology. Aurelia said nothing more, simply moving on.
When the class ended, she collected the circuits and papers, sorting them into her bag. The room emptied quickly, but she lingered, pulling open a drawer in her desk. Inside were stacks of letters, neatly folded. She selected a fresh piece of parchment and began to write.
Each letter was addressed to her father, as though he were still alive. It was a ritual she couldn't let go of, a small comfort in the absence of his voice and guidance. She missed him with a pain that felt like an open wound, one that refused to heal.
When the letter was finished, she carefully placed it in the drawer with the others, closed it, and exhaled.
Later that evening, the castle buzzed with excitement for the Quidditch match. After dinner, students and professors alike streamed toward the stadium.
Aurelia found a seat in the professor's box, her expression neutral as she watched the teams enter the pitch. Slytherin received thunderous applause, their green and silver banners waving proudly in the stands. Hufflepuff followed, their house cheering with equal enthusiasm.
The match began with a roar of energy, players darting through the sky like streaks of lightning. Aurelia squinted, trying to follow the action, but the players moved too quickly, disappearing into the clouds or diving toward the ground.
"It's impossible to see what's happening," she muttered under her breath.
Beside her, Remus Lupin chuckled. "Not a fan of Quidditch?"
"Not really. It reminds me of football—another sport where it's impossible to see the ball half the time."
"Football?" he asked, intrigued.
"A Muggle sport," she explained, her tone distracted as her eyes followed a Bludger soaring high above the pitch.
By halftime, with Slytherin in the lead, Aurelia decided she'd had enough. She stood, smoothing her robes, and made her way down the steps. Halfway to the bottom, she realized she'd left her bag behind. Sighing, she turned and climbed back to the professor's box.
As she reached her row, her attention was drawn to a sudden commotion. A Bludger had veered wildly off course, hurtling directly toward Snape, who was seated with McGonagall, his attention elsewhere.
The crowd screamed in alarm, but Aurelia didn't hesitate. She rushed forward, grabbing Snape's arm and yanking him out of the way. The momentum sent her backward, and she landed hard on the wooden stairs.
The impact knocked the wind out of her, and for a moment, everything was a blur. When her vision cleared, she found herself staring up into Snape's face.
He was braced over her, one hand on either side of her head, his dark hair falling into his sharp, pale face. His black eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist. The scent of damp earth and something sharp lingered in the air around him.
A hush fell over the stands, punctuated only by the lingering echoes of the bludger's impact on the wooden railing behind them. Aurelia blinked, her breath catching as she took in the weight of Snape above her, his dark hair falling like a curtain around his face. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes burned with a mixture of something fierce—anger? Shock?—and for a moment, she felt utterly pinned, not just by his presence but by the intensity of his gaze. All she could focus on was the weight of his gaze, the tension in his jaw, the way his breath mingled with hers in the cold evening air.
"Are you mad?" Snape hissed, his voice low but biting as he leaned back slightly, giving her just enough space to breathe. His hands still braced on either side of her, their proximity making her acutely aware of the erratic thudding of her heart.
"Mad? You were the one about to be hit!" she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended as she struggled to sit up. "I was trying to help you."
"I didn't ask for your help," he snapped, his glare cutting.
"Well, forgive me for not wanting to watch you get your head knocked off in front of the entire school," she countered, her tone equally sharp. She winced as she moved, the ache in her back reminding her of her fall.
Snape's jaw clenched, his dark eyes narrowing. He finally straightened, pulling away and standing to his full height, his cloak billowing slightly as he turned to assess the damage the bludger had done to the stands. Someone in the stand was already magically repairing the damage.
"Your recklessness is astonishing," he muttered, offering her a hand almost as an afterthought.
Aurelia hesitated, glaring at him before finally taking it and allowing him to pull her to her feet. His grip was firm, his touch surprisingly warm despite his frosty demeanor.
"You're welcome, by the way," she said curtly, brushing herself off.
Snape's gaze flicked to her, his expression inscrutable. "Perhaps next time, you should consider staying out of things that don't concern you."
The audacity of his words made her blood boil. "Oh, I'm sorry, Professor Snape," she said, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "Next time, I'll let you get knocked unconscious. My mistake for caring."
His lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing, his silence more pointed than any retort he could have made.
Aurelia huffed, grabbing her bag from the row below where she had left it. "Enjoy the rest of the match," she said flatly, turning on her heel and heading down the stairs without another glance.
As she disappeared into the crowd, Snape watched her go, his expression still unreadable. Slowly, he adjusted his cloak, the faintest flicker of something—unease, perhaps—crossing his face before he returned to his seat, that was now fixed, ignoring the curious glances of the other professors around him.
McGonagall leaned in, her voice low but amused. "Well, that was quite the display, Severus."
Snape didn't respond, his gaze fixed firmly on the pitch as if nothing had happened. But the hand that had held hers kept flexing, the subtle movement betraying an agitation he refused to show.