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Chapter Text

A wet scent of mold lingered in the dungeons as you made your way to Potions class. You took a seat at the front of the room, relieved to finally allow your heavy bag to slump to the floor beside you. The sunlit classroom was filled with the noisy chatter of familiar voices causing a smile to tug at the corners of your lips. No sooner had you removed a brand new copy of Advanced Potion-Making from your bag than the chatter became faint and died out.

The wind whirled as Professor Snape stormed into the room, black cape billowing behind him, waving his wand. The few, tiny windows in the room snapped shut drowning out the natural light. The flicker of flames cast strange shadows on the Potions Master’s stony features.

“Congratulations,” his deep voice drawled. “As N.E.W.T. students you will, no doubt, be more than capable of arriving to my class… on time, Mr. Potter.”

Snape’s dark eyes fixed on the boy as he spat his name. Harry was in the process of sneaking quietly towards a seat at a table in the back when he froze at the mention of his name.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Snape retorted nonchalantly before droning on. “Let that be a lesson to anyone who thinks they can disrupt my class.” As Harry took his seat, the Gryffindors groaned.

While Professor Snape continued to list the various crimes that were punishable by detention, you began to play with the corners of the pages in your potion-making book. His voice was steady. You lifted the pages. His voice was precise. You let the pages cascade against your fingers. He sounded firm. You plunged your fingers between the pages. He sounded soothing. Your fingers recoiled. Perhaps it was the hours you had spent listening attentively to the Potions professor over the years that caused you to find the sharp tones in his voice soothing.

The room was momentarily silent between the end of Snape’s speech and the beginning of his instruction.

“Instructions for Draft of the Living Dead will be found on page 10 of your books,” Snape’s sharp voice pierced the cold silence. “You may begin.”

You shuffled through a mass of students pressing towards the wall that shelved the ingredients. You turned to page 10 as you waited your turn, scanning the list of necessary ingredients for this particular concoction. Infusion of wormwood, powdered root of asphodel, sloth brain, and sopophorous beans.

After collecting them you returned to your table. It was littered with beakers and vials. In solidarity amid the chaos stood a pewter cauldron. You got to work straight away. You mixed, poured and stirred. With the marks you received on your Potions practical at the end of term last year, you knew this would be a breeze.

You took some liberty with the strict guidelines provided by the book. The secret to your success in Potions lies in your ability to improve upon existing direction. In the Potions classroom you were an artist. An artist didn’t need rules to create something beautiful.

You finished brewing your Draft of the Living Dead long before class was scheduled to end. After attempting to provide some assistance to the other students seated at your table, you reclined in your chair and closed your eyes. Bubbling brews burst in the bellies of students’ cauldrons. A smoky vapor drifted from the flaring flames that heated the concoctions. The once frigid and stale air was now alive with the sounds and scents of potion-making.

You were snatched suddenly from your trance by the heavy sound of footsteps coming towards you. Your stomach fluttered and your cheeks felt warm. It was Professor Snape, who you desperately hoped was unaware that you had nearly dozed off. He stood tall over you, eyeing your potion. His expressionless features and strong presence were almost calming.

“Excellent work, Miss [Last name],” Snape cooed quietly to you before dismissing the class, interrupting any realisations you were having about how it made you feel to be near him. Though you had become accustomed to being praised by the Potions professor, its significance was never lost on you. Praise coming from someone who sought only to critique was a high compliment.

Relieved that Professor Snape was unaware of your momentary mental absence, you rushed to pack your things.

Chapter Text

The earth had nearly claimed the last rays of sunlight as you stood undressing and redressing in the star’s fading glow. Once in your night clothes, you climbed into bed. Your eyes were heavy from a long day of reading, writing, and careful studying. You longed for rest, but your mind was swimming with thoughts of your first day back at Hogwarts.

You recalled your success in Herbology this afternoon, browsing the library for anything that could help you in Transfiguration, and sneaking off to the girls' room with your friends during Charms. This last one brought you a smile.

Though you fought against it, you remembered Potions. You remembered Professor Snape’s soothing voice, his calming presence. You remembered how it felt to be praised by him. You were the only student competent enough to earn his approval.

You shook your head. You hated the way you thought about him. You turned over in your bed, trying desperately to forget. Perhaps remembering his unpleasantness would help. You grasped for anything the other students deemed unpleasant about the Potions professor. He didn’t tolerate rule breaking. Unfortunately you found that trait charming. He was quite cool and distant. Unfortunately that only made him more interesting to you.

You groaned and turned over again. At this rate you might need a Sleeping Draught. You seriously considered brewing one tomorrow, but hoped you will have stopped thinking about Professor Snape by then.

Reluctantly, you threw the covers off and climbed quietly out of bed. You felt around in the dark. You found your bag and rustled through it, allowing your fingers to grace the spines of the books within. You touched a stiff, smooth spine. Next you felt a soft, leather one. Your fingers finally came to rest on a book with a rough, woven cover. You grabbed it, snatched your wand from your nightstand, and returned to your bed

“Lumos,” you whispered as you pulled the blankets over your head. A faint bead of light emanated from the tip of your wand, making visible the small, purple book before you. The silver text on its cover gleamed in the light.

You opened your copy of Advanced Potion-Making and, for what seemed like hours, you pored over its contents. You read of the Elixir to Induce Euphoria and of Felix Felicis. The book touched on Transmutation and Alchemy. You grew increasingly tired until you finally curled up next to your open book and fell into a restful sleep.

***

After another long day of classes, you were pleased that it was finally time for dinner. You were greeted by a joyous hum of conversation as you entered the Great Hall and took your place among the rest of your house.

As you began filling your plate, your eyes wandered around the massive room. The deep orange evening sky above was speckled with floating candles. Each house table was crowded with students dressed in their dark robes and school uniforms.

Your gaze soon came to rest on the teachers’ table at the front of the room. Professor Dumbledore was seated at the middle in a chair that was taller and more elegant than the others. He ate and smiled while chatting with the professors on either side of him. At the far end of the table, Professor Snape sat quietly. He meticulously watched the students as though he was waiting for one of them to step out of line. His eyes were dark like the night, his raven hair curled gently around his cheeks, and his pale pink lips were pursed in a thin line.

You quickly averted your eyes, feeling guilty for the way you looked at him. For the time being you immersed yourself in conversation, eager to turn your thoughts away from your professor. You would definitely be brewing a Sleeping Draught tonight.

Chapter Text

When dinner was over you made your way to the dungeons. Being top of the class had its privileges. The Potions classroom was deserted and you set to work straight away.

In no time your cauldron was boiling furiously. The sweet aroma of lavender tickled your nose. You were both pleased and grateful that it managed to overpower the scents of the Flobberworm mucus. You added the valerian sprigs and began stirring, carefully counting the revolutions as you made them.

One. The cauldron’s bubbling contents swirled delicately. Two. The valerian melted into the potion’s warmth. Three. The liquid’s lilac hue darkened to a rich plum. Four. In this moment you were alone. Five. Nothing existed outside of your cauldron. Six…

“Having trouble sleeping,” interrupted a deep, familiar voice. You froze and looked up, nearly dropping your stirring rod. Professor Snape stood tall in the doorway, casting his impressive shadow over the stone floor.

“Yes, professor,” you replied, continuing to stir mindlessly.

“You have, undoubtedly, just ruined what would have been a perfect potion with your careless stirring,” he scolded sharply.

You looked down at your cauldron. Its flowing, royal purple contents had turned pale and were beginning to stiffen. The succulent scent of lavender faded and the air once more smelled of the wet dungeons. Your heart sank. The Potions Master’s interruption had caused you to lose count. In your startled state you had excessively mixed your potion. It was ruined.

You furrowed your brow in anger at your professor. Not only did he interrupt you to the detriment of your Sleeping Draught, but he was also the reason you needed to brew it to begin with.

Your expression seemed to communicate your frustration as it elicited an apology from Professor Snape, who seemed to mean it.

“Follow me,” he ordered before turning swiftly into the hall, his dark cape fluttering behind him. You hurried after him through the corridors and up the stairs, where you eventually came to a wooden door that you recognised as the potions storeroom.

Without a word Snape opened the door, went inside, and began climbing the ladder. After scanning the shelves, his hand came to rest on a glass bottle topped with an intricate stopper. Its contents were the rich purple that your potion would have been. It was a successfully brewed Sleeping Draught.

Once the Potions professor had returned to the floor, he turned to face you. He eyed you curiously before stretching out his arm to offer you the potion.

“Take as much as you need,” he instructed. You reached for the bottle, but he snatched it back just before you could take it.

“Return it to me when you no longer need it,” he added, allowing you to claim it from him at last. As you did your fingers brushed lightly against his, causing a slight blush to appear on your cheeks.

Snape seemed not to notice because he strode hurriedly away, waving his wand as he went. This caused the heavy wooden door to close in your face with a thud. You watched as the Potions Master disappeared around the corner.

***

You looked into the mirror as you brushed your teeth. Your tired reflection looked back at you, cheeks still pink with embarrassment. You remembered the way his fingers felt smooth and cold against yours. You spat and rinsed your toothbrush before returning to your dormitory.

The glass bottle stood on your nightstand next to your wand. It was heavy in your hands when you picked it up. You wondered whether Snape had brewed it himself. You wrapped your fingers around the stopper and tugged gently until it gave, releasing soothing scents of lavender into the air.

You hesitated before taking a sip. After returning the bottle to your nightstand you climbed into your bed and pulled the covers over your shoulders.

Why, after all this time, had you only just begun to notice Professor Snape? What had changed? You hardly had time to consider before the potion began to take effect.

Chapter Text

Charms after breakfast, Herbology after Charms, and a quick break before Potions—during which you were lounging in a plush armchair in your house common room after having just eaten lunch. You glanced at the hickory grandfather clock on the wall opposite you. Its golden pendulum swung steadily as you read the time. There were seven minutes left before class.

You swung your bag over your shoulder and rushed out the door. You ran through the busy halls and down the stairs, making it to the dungeons out of breath and with only a minute to spare. No sooner had you sat down and taken out your book than Professor Snape strode into the room.

“Today you will be brewing an Elixir to Induce Euphoria,” came his deep voice. “For instructions turn to page 16. You may begin.”

You had no need to turn to page 16. You remembered this potion from your restless, late night reading.

Once your cauldron was bubbling happily you began mixing the various ingredients. Shrivelfig was first, followed by porcupine quills, wormwood, and castor beans. As each component was added, your brew turned a bright, new color.

At the shrivelfig your potion turned a rosy pink. You stirred. The porcupine quills caused your concoction to darken into a rich, cherry red. You let it simmer. The wormwood stained the boiling liquid orange. You added the final ingredient, careful not to release the poison within, turning your cauldron’s contents a pale yellow. With a dash of peppermint, the faint yellow hue of your brew brightened. It was ready.

Professor Snape had been pacing the room, criticising and critiquing, when your cauldron caught his attention. His dark eyes meticulously examined its contents before turning to you.

“Peppermint?” he questioned. You nodded. Snape’s gaze fell on the copy of Advanced Potion-Making laying closed on your table. He stared at you curiously.

“Do you mind?” he ran the tips of his fingers over the book’s cover. You shook your head. He picked it up and flipped through the pages.

You weren’t sure what he expected, but his eyes widened ever so slightly in what might have been a look of surprise on his usually expressionless face. He replaced the book and stared at you once more.

“I couldn't have brewed it better myself,” he finally said before stalking away.

You could feel your cheeks growing warm as a small smile found its place on your lips. You didn’t need an elixir to induce euphoria when you had just received the highest possible compliment from the Potions Master.

You couldn’t help staring as Snape continued to circle the room. He eventually found his way to a table towards the back at which Harry, Ron, and Hermione were seated. He seemed pleased with Hermione’s elixir, disappointed in Harry’s, and utterly unimpressed with Ron’s failed attempt at potion-making.

“Remember, Mr. Weasley, we are trying to induce happiness, not death,” Snape chided Ron, who had ground his castor beans with a mortar and pestle, releasing their toxins into his potion. Ron turned red with embarrassment and rage.

“Another minute of this class and I will be trying to induce death,” he muttered under his breath to Harry and Hermione.

If Ron thought Snape couldn’t hear him, then he was frightfully mistaken. The Potions professor stared daggers at the Weasley boy, who stiffened in fear.

“Five points will be taken from Gryffindor,” Snape hissed. “And Mr. Weasley, you will stay after class to serve detention.”

Ron looked defeated as his friends, along with the rest of the class, began packing their things and leaving.

As you shoved your book in your bag and began clearing your table you wondered how it must feel to be scolded by Professor Snape. What would it feel like to have his dark eyes bore into you? How would his deep voice sound when it contorted with anger towards you? You were certain it would be frightening and concluded that you were happy not to spend detention with the Potions Master.

Chapter Text

Much like the rest of the school, you had been looking eagerly forwards to your first weekend back at Hogwarts. Now that it was finally here, you were happy to be on your way to Hogsmeade.

As you walked the fallen leaves crunched beneath your feet and were tossed about your ankles by the crisp autumn breeze. The tall, dark buildings clustered together in the distance lurched closer with each step until you inevitably reached them.

You wound in and out of huddled masses of students and professors. You weaved through the tight alleyways formed by cobblestone structures stretching towards the late afternoon sun.

It wasn’t long until you found yourself exactly where you wanted to be: standing in front of a large, wooden door underneath three old broomsticks. The door swung open when you pushed, and you were pleased by what you found behind it.

Nearly every table was occupied by witches and wizards who were bubbling excitedly with conversation and laughter. The air smelled so richly of caramel and vanilla that you could almost taste the Butterbeer that flowed from the kegs stacked on top of one another behind the bar.

You scanned the crowded room for familiar faces to enjoy a drink with. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were whispering in a dark corner. The way Draco’s eyes darted about the room told you that you were not welcome at their table. Luna and Ginny were giggling at the bar. It was likely they were gossiping about boys, which was not a discussion you were interested in having. Near the middle of the room you noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione chatting and drinking Butterbeer.

When Hermione noticed you she grinned and waved, inviting you to join them. You smiled back as you made your way towards their table.

“Hey,” you greeted as you took a seat next to Hermione, across from Ron.

“How’s your Transfiguration paper coming along?” Hermione asked.

“Not so great, actually,” you admitted. “I swear I’ve read every book in the library, but I’m no closer to understanding.” Hermione shot you a sympathetic smile that was vaguely reminiscent of a smirk.

“You could try the Restricted Section,” she suggested sarcastically.

“Don’t worry,” Ron assured you. “Hermione’s just jealous you’re better at Potions than she is.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron, who was being elbowed in the ribcage by Harry for his comment.

“What? It’s true,” Ron protested. You looked across the table at him. He looked more pale than usual and his eyes were puffy.

“You look awful,” you said. Ron frowned.

“Yeah,” he offered weakly. “Snape had me up almost all night scrubbing cauldrons. Didn’t take his eyes off me for a second, the git. Thought some Butterbeer might cheer me up.” He raised his mug and attempted a smile. You were filled with a strange jealousy that you couldn’t quite explain.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” Harry chimed in. “Seamus told me Snape had him cleaning the Owlery.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Ron conceded. “Can’t imagine all the bloody screeching.”

“Not to mention the smell,” Hermione added with a grimace.

“But at least Seamus didn’t have to deal with Snape for hours on end,” Ron countered, making sure everyone knew how awful his punishment had been. Harry and Hermione nodded in empathetic agreement.

You didn’t think Ron’s detention sounded terrible. You wouldn’t mind scrubbing cauldrons for a few hours, not if it meant you would be alone with Professor Snape.

Chapter Text

The dull scratching of quills on parchment could be heard as Professor Snape paced about the Potions classroom, his shoes clicking against the stone floor beneath his feet. Every student, with the exception of you, was carefully copying their professor’s words. You were more interested in the sound of his voice than in the things he was saying. The Potions Master could be divulging every detail of a decapitation and it would sound exquisite.

Snape was explaining the magical properties of the four basic alchemical elements. You had already read the section of your potion-making book that was dedicated to Alchemy countless times. You knew of Nicolas Flamel and the Sorcerer’s Stone. You knew of Golpalott’s Third Law for counteracting poisons. In fact, there wasn’t very much that you did not know about the history of Alchemy.

Snape had stopped talking and was now, quite obviously, staring at you. Your cheeks felt hot and you feared they might have been red.

“Perhaps you are so confident in your knowledge that you don’t feel the need to take notes, Miss [Last name],” Snape chastised, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Since you clearly know everything, why don’t you tell us which potion can be created using the Sorcerer’s Stone.”

“The Elixir of Life, sir,” you answered as the whole class turned to look at you. Snape bared his teeth, upset that you had managed to upstage him.

“And what is the name given to herbology-based Alchemy,” he countered, determined to put you in your place.

“Spagyric,” you said hesitantly, but correctly. Snape stared blankly at you for a few seconds before he began outlining the three main goals of Alchemy as though nothing had happened. You scribbled furiously on your parchment, certain to catch every word that fell from your professor’s mouth with the tip of your quill.

After a few minutes of thorough note-taking, you felt a light tap on your shoulder. You froze. You were not eager to upset Professor Snape again. When you were sure he wasn’t looking, you found that a piece of parchment folded into a little airplane had been bewitched to fly into you. You snatched it out of the air and turned to face the front of the room once more, relieved that the Potions Master hadn’t noticed.

You carefully and quietly unfolded the plane as Snape discussed the significance of Nicolas Flamel’s discoveries. The parchment contained a rather crude drawing in which Professor Snape was weeping in defeat. Beneath the picture were the words “Nice job” followed by Ronald Weasley’s sloppy signature.

If Snape caught you with this you wouldn’t be the only one in detention. Thoughts of Ron’s late night with your favorite professor resurfaced. You weren't going to let Ron have all the fun.

You pulled your wand from the depths of your robes and pressed its tip gingerly against the parchment.

“Incendio,” you whispered. The note was engulfed in crackling flames. After no more than two seconds, the parchment had been reduced to ashes, leaving black scorch marks on the table where it once sat.

The sound of the flickering fire and the smoky scent of burning paper did not go unnoticed by Professor Snape. You panicked when you realised your mistake. You had not only incinerated the note from Ron, but your Potions notes as well. Snape most likely thought you were causing trouble and showing off.

“Miss [Last name],” Snape pronounced every syllable of your name with precision. “Detention.”

Chapter Text

Students shoved notes and books in their bags, shooting you apologetic glances on their way out of the Potions classroom. You sat silent and still in your seat as the last, faint echo of footsteps in the dungeon corridors died out.

Professor Snape was at his desk. There were several tall stacks of yellowing parchment atop it and one big bottle of dark, red ink. His eyes wandered over the writing beneath his fingers as he scratched criticisms on it with his quill. He glanced contemplatively up at you before returning his attention to his work.

“Pull up a chair,” Snape’s low voice instructed absent-mindedly.

You stood and took your chair across the room with you, careful not to let it drag on the floor as you went. You placed it at the table opposite your Potions professor and took a seat. Snape grabbed a rather large stack of papers and dropped it in front of you.

“This should be easy work for you,” he taunted as he reached into a drawer on his side of the table and handed you a quill. You took it, dipped it in the ink, and pulled a piece of parchment from the top of the pile.

These must have been from one of Snape’s first-year classes. This essay was written on the Sleeping Draught and its effects. You remembered your encounter with Snape and thought of the bottle that now sat on your nightstand. A blush blossomed on your cheeks as you remembered the feeling of his skin against yours when he had handed it to you. You didn’t dare look across the table at him now, so you focused on the paper in front of you.

This particular student failed to mention the use of valerian in the potion and neglected to include that the sleep caused by the concoction was often dreamless. As you continued reading you noticed several other mistakes and shortcomings. By the time you finished looking the paper over, you had marked it up a great deal. Relatively satisfied with your work, you set it aside and grabbed the next one.

Before you could begin you saw Snape snatch the essay you had just graded. Your lips parted in protest, but you thought better and closed them. You watched the Potions Master closely. His eyes roamed the paper, drinking in the information and scrutinizing the notes you had written in red. He eventually put it back and returned to his own papers without a word.

You graded the essay in front of you. You graded another one. You graded three more. You snuck glances at your professor between papers as the stack dwindled. On occasion Snape looked over a paper you had finished grading, but found nothing to complain about.

Time went on like this until only one piece of parchment remained. Just as you were reaching for it a bell rang out signaling the end of your detention. You hesitated before grabbing it anyway. There was no point in leaving your work unfinished.

You read carefully, marking any mistakes when you came across them. You could feel Snape’s intense gaze on you. It was hard to bear and, after reading the same sentence at least five times, you looked up at him. When your eyes met his he looked startled and stood abruptly.

“You may leave,” came his hoarse voice. It was posed as an offer, but you knew it to be a command from the way he said it.

You retrieved your bag and left in a hurry, throwing a glance over your shoulder at the Potions professor as you left. He was still standing, staring at nothing.

Chapter Text

You reached into your bag to retrieve a velvet pouch full of Ashwinder eggs and a small, intricately carved wooden box containing tentacles from the back of a Murtlap. Pushing aside a vial of crushed dragon horn, you grabbed a jar that held fragments of what was once an Occamy’s eggshell.

You set these ingredients on the table next to the common rue, tincture of thyme, white squill bulb, and horseradish root that you had been able to collect from the shared ingredients stores.

Professor Snape had given his students the liberty to brew whichever potion they desired for today’s lesson. You flipped to page 43 in your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, where you knew you would find Libatius Borage’s instructions for Felix Felicis.

You had been eager to attempt this particular potion since you first read about it, and you now had the perfect opportunity. Before you could begin brewing, however, the Murtlap tentacles had to be diced, the squill bulb needed to be juiced, and it was very important for the Occamy eggshell to be ground into a fine, silvery powder.

You had just finished with the squill bulb when you noticed Snape approaching your table, his dark robes trailing behind him. After making sure the other students were off to a good start, his black eyes examined the ingredients on the table around you.

“Liquid Luck,” came his deep, lethargic lilt. “A difficult potion, even for you, Miss [Last name].” You smiled at his masked compliment and nodded in agreement as he stalked off.

Once your ingredients were ready you began the potion-making process. You let the concoction heat and simmer in turn, adding each component when the time came. You stirred vigorously until the bright yellow powdered rue, golden brown tincture of thyme, and pale orange horseradish root mixed together into a rich, golden liquid.

Most of the other students had struggled to create something as simple as a Wiggenweld Potion. You were quite proud and secretly hoped that your professor would be too.

You poured the shimmering contents of your cauldron into a tall glass bottle and stood behind a few of your classmates who were waiting to turn in their potions. When you reached the front of the line you approached Snape’s desk and handed him the bottle.

“Well done,” he said, taking it from you and scrawling what was undoubtedly an excellent score on your grade card with his quill. You were beaming.

“Wait for me to finish grading these,” Snape added, gesturing towards the assorted glass containers filled with various potions that littered his desk. “We need to talk.”

Your smile faded as you returned to your table to clean up the mess you had left behind. What did he need to talk to you about? Were you in trouble? Was this about his strange behavior during your detention? Did he know something? Question after question raced through your mind as you placed your personal ingredients carefully in your bag.

You sat down and watched Snape from across the now empty room. He picked up one jar after another, turning it over in his hands and attentively assessing its contents before writing down a grade. When he had finished examining each potion, rather than inviting you to his desk, he took a seat across from you.

This was very uncharacteristic of him and, though you imagined his intention was to make you feel comfortable, it made you quite uneasy. The tall, commanding man looked out of place seated at the students’ table.

“I want to first apologise for any… discomfort this conversation might cause,” Snape began, choosing his words carefully.

You searched his dark eyes for any hint that might reveal what he was thinking, but found none. Taking your silence as an acceptance of his apology, Snape continued.

“Correct me if I am wrong, but I suspect you have developed… an attraction towards me,” he almost whispered this last part. Your heart skipped a beat and you could feel blood rushing to your cheeks.

“How— How do you figure?” you said shakily.

“You’re quite talented, [Last name],” he said. “I find it hard to believe that you would sabotage yourself for no apparent reason.” You looked down at your lap, where you were fidgeting nervously with your fingers.

“Not only would I be lying to you, but to myself as well if I did not admit to finding your affection… ” he thought for a moment before deciding on, “gratifying.”

You met his gaze. You were shocked both by his words and upon finding that for once his features betrayed his emotions. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks were the slightest bit pink.

“Regardless, the rules are quite clear on this issue,” Snape continued unfazed. “And the punishments for breaking them would be severe.” You nodded apprehensively. He watched you for a few seconds before standing and returning to his desk.

“You may go,” he said.

You couldn’t help smiling to yourself as you practically skipped through the dungeon corridors on the way to your dormitory. Professor Snape had a crush on you.

Chapter Text

You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the sunlight that was streaming into your dormitory through tall, stained glass windows. Every bed in the room was already empty, you noticed as you sat up and threw your legs over the edge of yours. How your housemates managed to get up in the morning on a weekend you might never know.

Birds were singing cheerfully to one another outside. You wished you could join them, but your Transfiguration paper was due on Monday and you had only managed an introductory paragraph thus far.

After a quick shower you made your way through countless corridors before finally reaching the library. Rows upon rows of shelves were packed with leather-bound volumes. Once you had amassed an impressive stack of books, you found a small table in a deserted corner.

You set the stack down with a thud and slouched into a rickety, wooden chair. You were able to find a book called Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration and several volumes of Transfiguration Today. Of course you already had the help of your textbook, A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, but it didn’t do such a terrific job of explaining things.

You spent a few hours flipping through pages, carefully absorbing every word. After having read the same information explained in several different ways, you had no difficulty adding five paragraphs to your parchment once you finally got around to writing.

By the time you had finished the sun hung low in the sky, painting the library pink and orange. You were eager to get back to your common room for a game or two of Wizard’s chess, so you hurriedly stacked your books and rushed between shelves on your way to return them.

As you rounded a corner a great deal faster than was necessary, you ran smack into a tall, dark figure. The tower of books that had been secure in your arms toppled over and the thick volumes splayed open on the floor around you.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” you said, eyes wide in shock and terror as they looked up to meet those of Severus Snape, before adding a hasty, “professor.”

“If only you could take notes as quickly as you can run, Miss [Last name],” he seemed flustered, but was, evidently, still capable of a snide remark.

You couldn’t help smirking. Though his comment was clearly an insult, you found it amusing. This seemed to please him because he smirked back before stalking off, leaving you to collect the books you had dropped.

Chapter Text

When you walked into the Potions classroom you were surprised to find that the furniture had been removed, save for Professor Snape’s desk— at which he was seated— and a sturdy, stone pedestal adorned with a cauldron.

Upon closer inspection you noticed that the cauldron had been topped off with a lid. In your experience the only reason to seal a cauldron was when its contents had some effect on those who smelled it. The only such potion you could think of at the moment was Garrotting Gas, but you concluded that it was unlikely Snape would show something so dangerous to his students.

Once the rest of your classmates arrived, Snape moved from behind his desk to stand next to the pedestal.

“Five house points will be awarded to anyone who can correctly identify this potion,” he incentivised as he removed the lid and set it aside.

Smoke rose from the simmering cauldron in curly wisps. The only thing the potion’s appearance could be likened to was liquified pearls. It had the consistency of cream and sparkled like an opal.

“Amortentia,” you whispered to Hermione’s dismay. She lowered her hand and glowered at you.

“That is correct, Miss [Last name],” Snape said silkily. “Would you mind describing it for the class?” Your eyes shifted from the cauldron to your professor.

“It’s the most powerful love potion in the world,” you offered. “Although it would be more accurately described as an obsession potion. It smells differently to each person based on what attracts them, which is why you had it stoppered up.”

“Exactly,” he drawled, placing the lid atop the cauldron once more. When he did this some of the girls who had been lured closer by the potion’s aroma took a few steps back.

“Amortentia is powerful precisely because it smells so intoxicating,” Snape continued. “Many find themselves unable to resist despite being fully aware of the consequences.” You couldn’t help looking at him when he said this, and you blushed madly when you found that his dark eyes were looking right back at you. Snape tore his gaze away before going on.

“The most critical ingredients are Ashwinder eggs, rose petals, peppermint oil, moonstone, and pearl dust,” he said, causing the class to shuffle around in search of something to write with.

After a long-winded explanation of the brewing process, the Potions Master addressed his students one last time before dismissing them.

“There will be no practical portion of this lesson due to the possible risks,” he said. “Anyone interested in smelling the potion may stay.” You were quite interested, so you hung back with some of the other students as the room grew empty.

Hermione stepped up to the pedestal first. Her wavy hair fell around her face as she bent over the cauldron and inhaled slowly. When she stood back up her cheeks were pink and she shot Ron a strange look before they ran off together with Harry in tow.

You waited and watched as a few of your other classmates took turns smelling the rich, milky liquid. Eventually you found yourself alone in the Potions classroom with Professor Snape and the cauldron full of Amortentia.

You crept silently towards the potion, almost afraid of what it would tell you. Slowly and gingerly you leaned over the cauldron.

The curly tendrils of steam that rose from within tickled your nose with warm scents of fresh linen. You could also pick out a sweet, musky fragrance that reminded you of dusty, old books. Just as you were about to pull away, you caught a whiff of something earthy. You were breathing in the stench of dirty plant roots, moldy fungi, and bottled body parts.

You glanced at Snape. He was hunched over his desk, writing so furiously that you weren’t sure if he even knew you were there. You wondered whether it was truly potion ingredients that you thought you were smelling.

Chapter Text

Slytherin house anxiously watched Draco Malfoy dive towards a tiny, golden ball that was flitting unpredictably about the Quidditch pitch. Chasers and Beaters soared overhead, following the Quaffle and dodging stray Bludgers.

The Hufflepuff Seeker was oblivious to the Snitch, focusing instead on his teammate who was speeding towards the Slytherin goals, Quaffle in hand. Just as Hufflepuff were about to score, Malfoy caught the Golden Snitch, earning Slytherin their first win of the season.

The packed stadium erupted with applause and banners of green and silver were waved victoriously by cheering fans. Hordes of Slytherin students stormed the pitch to celebrate with their team. You wanted to be where the excitement was, so you followed them.

It was quite crowded but you managed to congratulate a few of the players. As you were preparing to leave, you noticed the Slytherin Head of House standing tall over his noisy students.

“Professor Snape,” you called out to him. He turned to you, waiting for you to reach him.

“Nice match,” you said once you stood before him, a blush spreading across your face.

He nodded curtly and marched off towards the castle.

***

You gripped your stirring rod tightly, dragging it through the dark liquid in your cauldron. The dungeon classroom felt a bit warm, but you weren’t sure whether it was because you were working hard or because you were nervous.

Professor Snape was pacing about the room and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. His rude behaviour after last night’s Quidditch match left you feeling rejected and desperate for approval, and the Potions classroom was the one place you were sure to get it.

Snape was examining with distaste the monstrosity that the student next to you had managed to brew. You had seen this particular student add a little too much fluxweed.

“Professor,” you coaxed gently. He looked up at you.

“Yes, Miss [Last name],” came his deep drawl.

“How does this look?” you indicated your potion, knowing full well that it was flawless.

“Excellent,” he said without looking at it. You frowned at him, but he had turned away too quickly to notice.

***

The clicking of your shoes against the stone floors of Hogwarts Castle disturbed the piercing silence of late afternoon. At this hour most underclassmen were in class and most upperclassmen were napping. You didn’t have the luxury due to your upcoming Transfiguration practical, so you had spent your free time in the library.

You were now hurrying through the corridors towards the Great Hall. You had lost track of time and didn’t want to be late for dinner. Many of the portraits stared curiously as you rushed by. They were also staring at a man walking several strides ahead of you, black cape trailing behind.

“Professor,” you called. Snape spun on his heels. He looked angry, but you couldn’t imagine why.

“Miss [Last name],” he said quite loudly and abruptly, before continuing in a low whisper, “If you try to flirt with me one more time, I will have you in detention for a month, and you’ll be doing far worse than grading papers.”

If he hadn’t sounded so menacing, you might have thought he was insinuating something. Snape seemed to realise this, because he shut his eyes and bared his teeth in agony. Upon regaining his composure he looked for a moment as though he wanted to say something else, but apparently decided against it. He simply turned away from you and strode off.

You felt like you had been slapped in the face. Had you done something wrong? Had you misunderstood him that night? Read too much into things? You wiped a couple of tears from your cheeks as you changed directions, heading towards your dormitory.

Chapter Text

As you ventured deeper into the dungeons the air grew bitter with cold. You wrapped yourself up in your cloak in an attempt to suppress a shiver. You wandered in and out of light and darkness in the spaces between the places where torches were mounted to the stone wall.

A week had passed since Professor Snape instructed you to keep your distance. You no longer answered his questions in class or greeted him in the halls. The only sort of interactions you had anymore were those frequent occasions when you would sneak a glance at him and find that he had been staring at you.

You had had enough. You were tired of the distance, tired of being avoided, tired of not knowing what was going on in the head behind those dark eyes you couldn’t resist. That’s why you were here, walking on despite the cold.

Only did you stop walking when you came to a tall archway outlined by a thick, gold trim inscribed with Latin. The room beyond the arch was darker than usual. The only source of light seemed to be an oil lamp sitting atop a desk in the far corner, illuminating a familiar profile.

You had expected to find him like this: grading papers. You crept slowly inside, nervously clutching your robes as you went.

“Yes?” came the Potions Master’s low, silky voice, aware that someone was there, but unwilling to look up from his work to find out who.

It shouldn’t have been too difficult to say what you had practiced countless times in your head; to tell him that no one made you feel the way he did and that you would never give up on him. Now that you were standing in front of him, however, actually making the words come out of your mouth seemed altogether impossible.

“May I please talk with you, professor?” you finally asked, trying not to sound desperate. Snape looked sternly up at you from his papers.

“You best watch what comes out of your mouth next, [Last name],” Snape warned. You swallowed hard and quivered anxiously.

“I— I want the truth,” you sputtered, abandoning everything you had rehearsed. “I want to know how you feel.”

“The truth,” he spat angrily, “is that it doesn’t matter how I feel. You are a student and I am your teacher. We could never be anything more.”

Why wouldn’t he tell you? Why was it so impossible for him to be honest? You didn’t dare press him on it. You were both silent, searching one other for answers.

“Can I ask something of you?” you said weakly.

Snape set his quill down and straightened up in his chair. He furrowed his brow and nodded, purely out of curiosity. What could a student possibly ask of him?

“Don’t make me stay away from you,” you pleaded.

“Perhaps I did not make myself clear,” he explained. “I do not have feelings for you, Miss [Last name].”

Why did he keep lying? You saw his affection every day in the little things. You saw it in his underhanded compliments, his playful teasing, and most of all in his hungry stares.

“Like hell you don’t!” you were almost shouting. “I see the way you stare when you think I’m not looking.” He looked taken aback, shocked by your outburst and enraged by your audacity.

“It doesn’t matter!” he bellowed, standing suddenly from his chair. You staggered backwards in fear.

“Why does it have to be like this?” you were on the verge of tears. “Why won’t you tell me the truth?” Several tears came streaming down your cheeks.

Snape’s expression softened slightly. For a few seconds he didn’t know what to do, but he eventually pulled a handkerchief from somewhere in his robes and offered it to you. You grabbed it and he let his hand linger for a moment before yanking it away.

You dabbed gently at your swollen eyes and turned away from him. Why couldn’t you control yourself? It was humiliating enough that your Potions professor was watching you cry, and the embarrassment was not lessened by the fact that you were crying over him.

“Let me escort you to your dormitory,” he offered quietly. “It’s almost curfew.” You nodded and followed your professor out of his classroom and into the dungeon corridors.

It was so unbearably dark that Professor Snape had to cast the Wand-Lighting Charm in order to successfully navigate to your common room. Your two sets of footsteps echoed through the otherwise silent chambers. Neither of you ventured to break the silence.

When you finally reached the entrance you held his handkerchief out to him.

“Keep it,” he instructed. You sniffled and wiped your nose on it.

“You sure?” you asked with a teasing grin.

“Quite,” he smirked at you before stalking off, leaving you in the dark. You watched his wand light grow faint and disappear around a corner before resigning to your dorm.

Chapter Text

The silence around you was deafening. Thoughts raced rampant through your head like a swarm of buzzing bees, but none of them were about the essay you were set to complete by the end of class.

Things between you and your Potions professor were as back to normal as they could be. He still wouldn’t admit anything to you, but he seemed to have taken your request as much to heart as he was capable. He had stopped telling you off for wanting to talk to him, to be near him, to earn his approval. He was still hesitant to be alone with you, but you were happy to be back in his good graces.

Although you were sure you wouldn’t be in his good graces much longer unless you could stop daydreaming and write your essay. It was supposed to be 12 inches on the intricacies of Veritaserum mentioned in last week’s readings, so far you had two.

It was hard to write about the potion when you had been wondering instead what Professor Snape might confess if you were to administer it to him. Would he reveal his feelings for you? Would he be willing to break the rules for you?

You stared contemplatively at him. He was oblivious, invested in whatever he was working on at his desk. You watched him for a moment and were struck by how handsome he was. His silky black hair hung around his face, his skin looked quite soft, and his eyes were deep and captivating.

You startled when you noticed his eyes. He was looking fixedly at you and it felt as though he could see everything. You snapped your head back to your parchment, feeling flushed.

In an attempt to make up for lost time you wrote as quickly as you could, which resulted in 10 inches of confusing commentary that was hardly legible. When the Clock Tower bell rang out you hastily scribbled as many more lines as you could manage before the last chime.

It was a sorry attempt at an essay and you knew it, but there was nothing else you could do. You had to turn it in.

Snape looked disdainfully at the parchment as you handed it to him, clearly unimpressed. Disappointing him was enough to make you feel ashamed. You turned to leave, but were shocked when Snape grabbed your wrist. His grip was strong and firm, but as soon as he had grabbed you, he let go.

“Do you have my handkerchief?” he asked. Your heart skipped a beat. Had you misunderstood him once more?

“I— I didn’t realise you wanted it back, professor,” you said with a pink tinge of embarrassment.

“You can return it to me tomorrow,” he said sternly.

You nodded and hurried out of the dungeon classroom, eager to escape the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You walked briskly through the corridors of Hogwarts Castle and up a fair few flights of stairs towards the Great Hall where you knew Neville Longbottom would be waiting for you. He was a very sweet kid and one of your few classmates who made N.E.W.T. level Herbology.

Both of you were quite keen on the subject, but unlike his, your interest stemmed from your passion for Potions. Knowledge of magical flora and their properties proved incredibly useful in the creation of various draughts and elixirs.

“Sorry I’m late, Neville,” you said. “I had a little trouble in Potions.” He raised a thick eyebrow at you and flashed an endearing, toothy grin.

“You had trouble in Potions?” he asked in disbelief. You gave a little chuckle.

“It was more to do with Snape,” your cheeks flushed with warmth as you said it, so you quickly changed the subject. “Black Lake or Forbidden Forest today?”

“The lake,” he answered. “I know it’s cold, but I’ve been reading reading Magical Water Plants of the Highland Lochs and it mentions some species I haven’t seen yet.”

“Well let’s find them,” you said enthusiastically, grateful for the distraction.

As you walked across the castle grounds, you resented not having had time to change out of your robes and into something a bit warmer, like Neville’s mismatched sweater and scarf. The bitter air nipped at your nose and gave you goosebumps up and down your bare legs. Of all the days you could have chosen to forgo wearing tights beneath your skirt, this might have been the worst.

When you reached the edge of the lake, you kicked your shoes off and removed your robe only to find that the bra you had picked out this morning wasn’t doing you any favors. You were painfully aware of your hard and very visible nipples underneath your white dress shirt.

Luckily Neville was too busy rolling up his sleeves and the cuffs of his jeans to notice, so you quickly slipped your robe back on. However, after deciding that you weren’t going to waste a trip to the Black Lake and that it would be quite impossible to wade into the water with it on, you took it back off and set it under a nearby tree.

You rolled up your sleeves and eased cautiously into the shallows after Neville, hoping he wouldn’t notice. The icy water lapped at your legs as you searched blindly for slimy vegetation. Every so often Neville would give a little exclamation of delight at some discovery of his, and eventually you were making discoveries of your own.

You found three different species of pondweed, of which you gathered samples, and one strange, mossy plant that resembled an onion. You weren’t sure what it was, but you decided to collect it in case Neville did.

Longing to cover yourself with your robe, you made your way hastily towards the bank. Before you knew what was happening, you felt a sharp pain in your toes that sent you reeling face-first into the water. You shoved your hands out to catch yourself, but they were scraped up by jagged rocks. The frigid water sloshed around you and stung like needles.

“[First name]!” you heard Neville cry out.

You scrambled to your feet and your classmate threw a helpful arm around your waist, guiding you towards land. Once you were sitting safely on a spot of soft grass, Neville wrapped your robe around your shoulders.

“What happened?” he asked anxiously.

“I m-must have t-tripped on a r-rock,” you mustered between shivers. Your clothes were soaking wet, freezing, and matted to your skin.

If you thought your shirt had been revealing before, that was nothing compared to what could be seen now. To make matters worse, Neville had definitely noticed. He was staring wide-eyed, his mouth hung open, and the tops of his cheeks and the tip of his nose were dusted pink.

“I suggest you cover yourself more liberally, Miss [Last name],” came a deliciously deep and silky voice.

You gasped when you saw your Potions professor standing nearby, and you were astonished by the color in his cheeks. Hurriedly and uncomfortably you wrapped your robes around your front and stood to your feet.

“W-What are you doing here, professor?” you asked, flushing with embarrassment.

“Returning this,” he held out your bag. You must have left it in his classroom when you rushed out. “See me after class tomorrow,” he added, shooting Neville a distasteful look before stalking off.

“I— I’m sorry,” Neville sputtered an apology to you, turning a deep shade of red.

“It’s fine, Neville, really. It was just an accident,” you tried to alleviate the awkwardness and embarrassment.

The two of you walked back towards the castle in silence. You wondered what Snape wanted to see you about, why he had been so blunt and cold, and why he had looked with such utter loathing upon Neville. You were sure you would never know the truth.

Chapter Text

Being distracted enough to mess up an essay was vastly different from being distracted enough to mess up a potion. The vast difference being that it was nearly impossible for you to mess up a potion, especially when it was something as simple as a Hiccoughing Solution.

The clear, yellowish concoction swirled in the bottom of your cauldron, a flawless creation and something you were proud to turn in. After what happened yesterday you wished you could have just turned it in and left, but Snape had asked you to talk with him and you needed to return his handkerchief.

You waited for your classmates to file out of the room before approaching your professor. This might have been the first time he wasn’t busy with paperwork when you tried to talk to him. He was standing tall in front of his desk, holding a familiar piece of parchment and presumably waiting for you.

“What is this?” he asked, waving the paper in his hand. You recognized it as the writing you had turned in yesterday on Veritaserum.

“An essay,” you answered with unintended sarcasm, quickly thereafter biting your tongue.

“I would hardly call it that,” Snape spat. You knew he was right and tried your best not to laugh. He was clearly upset.

“I’m sorry, professor,” you said. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“Perhaps if you spent more time studying and less time playing around in the lake with Mr. Longbottom it would not have happened to begin with,” he shot back angrily. The tips of his ears were turning red and his brow was furrowed in fury. You didn’t dare reason with him.

“I’m sorry, professor,” you said again.

“Leave,” he instructed.

“But, professor, I—”

“Before I say something I regret,” he snapped, cutting you off. You left in a hurry.

If anyone in Professor Snape’s class had to be confronted about their marks, surely it should have been Ronald Weasley, who you imagined had never brewed a decent potion in his life. Why had it been you?

***

Was it wrong to poison a teacher? Probably. Did you care? Not really. You tried not to think of it as poisoning, or about the fact that it was horrendously illegal. Maybe it was a bad idea, but there was no turning back now. All you had to do was find a private place to work.

The Potions classroom was obviously out of the question. Veritaserum takes a complete lunar cycle to mature, and there was no way a cauldron full of truth-telling potion would go unnoticed by students and staff for an entire month.

Moaning Myrtle could not be trusted to keep a secret, so you ruled out the deserted bathroom on the second floor as well.

You found yourself walking aimlessly through the halls towards some unknown destination, and you could swear you were going in circles. Eventually you collapsed with resignation on a bench in a deserted hallway somewhere on the seventh floor.

The silvery light of the full moon spilled through a tall window, illuminating an intricately woven tapestry hanging on the wall across from you. Eight gruesome-looking mountain trolls had been fitted into ballet skirts and were evidently being taught to dance. It was quite the sight.

You got up to inspect it more closely, but practically jumped when you heard a creaking sound that reminded you of hurried footsteps on an old, wooden staircase. It was a strange sound to hear, especially in a deserted, stone corridor.

Your heart pounded violently in your chest. The time you wasted wandering the castle left you out past curfew. If someone found you here you would be in huge trouble. You spun quickly around, checking for unwanted guests, but found none.

You did, however, find a pair of enormous, wooden double doors that you didn't remember seeing before. They were immaculate and likely something you would have noticed. There were two little, iron knobs. You grabbed one and twisted it, finding the door unlocked.

It was the most incredible thing you had ever seen. The room was massive. Shelves stocked with potion ingredients lined the walls. There was a long table at the back of the room littered with an assortment of vials, beakers, test tubes, and measuring equipment. A stack of dogeared potion-making books, some of which looked familiar, sat on a stool in the corner. In the middle of the room, sitting atop a sturdy, wooden table, were beautiful cauldrons of pewter, brass, and copper.

This had to be the Room of Requirement. Hermione told you about it last year when she was reading Hogwarts: A History for what must have been the hundredth time.

You made towards the back of the room and excitedly shuffled through the books. Among them were familiar titles such as Zygmunt Budge’s Book of Potions and Arsenius Jigger’s Potion Opuscule, but these were for beginners. You were more interested in a rather large, raggedy book called Moste Potente Potions. You knew it would contain the recipe you were looking for.

When you cracked open the leather cover, a cloud of dust was stirred up in your face causing you to sneeze. You instinctively reached into your pocket for the handkerchief Snape had leant you. It was still there because, even though you had cleaned it for him and brought it with you to class, he had sent you away before you could return it to him.

You wiped gently at your nose before tucking the handkerchief away and turning your attention back to the book. The recipe called for antimony, goosegrass, eel eyes, hemlock, and nightshade. A quick search of the shelves found you carrying five glass bottles, each containing a different ingredient, to the table in the center of the room.

The instructions were extremely meticulous and made the brewing process seem surgical. You followed them precisely. Three drops of tincture of antimony, five diced goosegrass stems, two eel eyes, and a ground sprig of hemlock. There were special directions for the final ingredient: nightshade. Three berries were to be added on the night of the waning crescent moon and three more on the night of the waxing crescent moon. The only thing left to do was wait, so you decided to head back to your dormitory.

The time you spent in the Room of Requirement had flown by faster than it seemed. A glance at your watch told you you had spent three hours in the room. It was nearly 2 a.m. You rushed down one torchlit hall after another until you rounded a corner and were plunged into darkness. You drew your wand.

“Lumos,” you said with as much volume as you dare.

You let out a little yelp when the space around you was illuminated, for you were not alone. Professor Snape was standing before you with a look of annoyance displayed proudly on his handsome features.

“Professor, I can explain,” you started shakily.

“Don’t bother,” came his deep drawl. “Ten points will be taken from your house and you will spend tomorrow evening in detention.”

“Yes, professor."

“Good night,” he said before turning away, leaving you smiling to yourself as you walked back to your room.

Chapter Text

As punishment for being out past curfew, Snape had tasked you with rewriting your Veritaserum essay. This time, however, it was to be two inches longer and you would receive no credit.

You secretly wondered if Snape knew what you were up to. It seemed unlikely, but the Potions Master was cunning, a Slytherin after all. You couldn’t shake the thought. Was this some masterful ploy to convince you to confess your crime?

You glanced across the dungeon classroom at your professor. He didn’t seem to be taking any notice of you. In fact, he was busy brewing a potion of his own. His thick hair was made frizzy from the heat of his cauldron and his lips were parted ever so slightly in exertion. His dark eyes were calculating as he meticulously measured each ingredient. Several beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead, but he wiped them away using his sleeve.

With a sigh and no small amount of effort, you buried your head in your parchment. You couldn’t let this happen again. This time you would make the full 14 inches and your writing would be coherent and legible. Maybe, just maybe, if the essay was good enough Snape might consider scoring it for you.

You dipped the tip of your quill in your inkwell and set to work. Having brewed the truth-telling potion just last night, you found that the writing went quite smoothly.

You remembered the strict order to which you kept in creating the potion: two goosegrass stems, one eel eye, one drop of antimony, two more goosegrass stems, one more eel eye, one more drop of antimony, one final goosegrass stem, one final drop of antimony, and a sprinkling of powdered hemlock to top it all off.

Providing a detailed list of those steps alone, including stirring and simmering instructions, brought your essay well within range of seven inches. After an explanation of the special directions for the nightshade berries and a paragraph on the importance of the lunar cycle in the brewing process, it was safe to say the essay was both complete and comprehensive.

You looked once more on Professor Snape, who was seemingly no closer to finishing his potion. He looked frustrated, his brow creased in concentration. He didn’t even notice when you walked over to him.

“I’ve finished, professor,” you said quietly.

“Not now,” was his stern answer.

“Can I help?” you offered gently. He took a moment to look away from his potion and deep into your eyes.

“Be my guest,” he scoffed, gesturing cynically towards his bubbling cauldron and crossing his arms over his chest.

At first glance you thought it was supposed to be some sort of healing solvent, but a closer inspection of the ingredients strewn about the table told you it was intended to be a poison. Though, judging by its bright green hue and the pile of sage leaves, it wasn’t nearly potent enough.

“You could always use dittany to overpower the sage,” you suggested, shifting on your feet under the scrutiny of his curious gaze. “In large enough quantities the dittany would be toxic,” you felt the need to explain.

“Obviously,” he finally stated.

The Potions professor disappeared into his store cupboard and returned with a dropper bottle labelled ‘Essence of Dittany’ in his spidery handwriting. You watched as, with practiced hands, he added the liquid and stirred in turn until the intensity of the concoction’s green color was lessened dramatically.

“Dare I say it’s perfect?” Snape considered as a furtive way of complimenting you. You favored him with a little smile, which he seemed to enjoy, and for a brief moment he looked relaxed. Soon, though, his look was replaced with one of animosity and he visibly stiffened.

“It would be wise for you to leave,” he said brusquely.

“Have I done something wrong?” you asked, frowning. Without saying anything he looked away from you.

You shook your head at him in disbelief and began searching your robes frantically for the tiny piece of fabric. When you finally found it you threw it at him. He bared his teeth at you, positively seething at your outburst.

“Here’s your bloody handkerchief!” you shouted, storming off before he could get a single word out. He would talk soon enough.

Chapter Text

Dean Thomas leapt with a yelp from his seat in the Great Hall. His bowl of tomato soup had mysteriously— or perhaps not so mysteriously— begun to bubble. The bright red liquid splashed violently from the bowl onto Dean’s pristine, white shirt as a result of the jinx you were muttering mischievously under your breath.

George Weasley, who was sitting next to you and looking on curiously, erupted in a fit of giggles.

“Oi!” Dean shouted angrily, noticing George’s amusement at his misfortune, which only caused the redhead to laugh harder.

“You have got to teach me to do that,” Fred called from across the table over his brother’s uncontrollable laughter. You gave him a big grin.

“Now do Snape,” George requested, stifling another hearty chuckle and tugging excitedly at the sleeve of your robe. Your stomach lurched at the mention of your professor.

“I don’t know, George,” you said, glancing across the crowded, noisy room at the Potions Master.

“Oh, please,” he begged, positioning his bottom lip in a pout and giving you big, brown puppy eyes.

“Fine,” you reluctantly agreed.

After a few seconds of furtively whispering your jinx, Professor Snape’s soup began to bubble in much the same way Dean’s had. Snape was too busy talking to the other professors to notice, and it didn’t take long for the tomato paste to explode in the unsuspecting Potions Master’s face.

George’s eyes grew wide and he began laughing so forcefully that you worried he might choke.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Fred said with awe.

“And got away with it,” George added, snickering.

You frowned as you watched Snape excuse himself. Part of you felt bad, but the other part thought your Potions professor deserved it for the way he had been dismissing you. Fortunately you weren’t given long to think on it before Fred and George were practically dragging you out of the Great Hall.

“[First name],” Fred began. “George and I have been thinking that your Potions skills are being wasted.”

As he said this the twins lead you through the deserted castle corridors along a path you had taken many times.

“What do you mean?” you asked as the three of you descended a staircase.

“We think your talents would be put to good use helping us expand our product line to include love potions,” George answered.

You raised an eyebrow at him as you passed a rather large window. You did a double take. The bright crescent moon perched high in the night sky was clearly waning. A sense of urgency overtook you. The Veritaserum, the nightshade berries, the Room of Requirement. You had to get there as soon as you could.

“We’re willing to pay you a fair few Galleons,” Fred incentivised, apparently under the impression that your silence meant you were uninterested.

“I’d love to, Fred,” you said slowly, distractedly. “Do you mind if we talk about it later? Now’s not really a good time.” You broke away and ran swiftly towards the other end of the hall, leaving the two boys puzzled.

You went as fast as your feet could carry you, up what must have been hundreds of stone steps and down countless torchlit passageways. Once you reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his dancing trolls you doubled over, panting exhaustedly.

Where was the door? The tall, stone wall was painfully bare. You paced nervously back and forth, examining the ground beneath your feet in careful contemplation. If you couldn’t get inside your potion would be ruined. You would have to start over. The hours you spent preparing the truth-telling serum would have been in vain.

Soon you heard a familiar creaking and the elusive entrance appeared. You let out a sigh of relief and flung the door open. It shut behind you with a satisfying thud.

You crept slowly amongst the ingredient shelves, allowing your fingers to trace an undulating line across the face of one glass bottle after another. Only did you stop when you came to a jar bearing the label, ‘Nightshade.’ You snatched it from the shelf and carried it towards your simmering cauldron.

When you reached into the jar you found the berries to be surprisingly sticky and slimy. You grimaced and removed three. By the time you finished adding them to your brew, your fingers had been stained black by their juices.

Unfortunately the Room of Requirement must not have considered that you might need to wash your hands, as it was unequipped with a sink. You frowned and tucked your hands away in your pockets before stalking out of the room.

You shuffled silently through the dimly lit halls, listening carefully for footsteps and looking around corners. Even in the relative darkness you managed to avoid being caught. You were quite pleased when you made it safely to your dormitory. After a long day of classes, studying, and rule-breaking you gladly welcomed sleep.

Chapter Text

Your shoes clicked against the stone floor, their volume enhanced by the emptiness of the corridors through which you walked. You were completely unsurprised to find not a soul in sight. Slytherin were currently facing off against Gryffindor in the most anticipated Quidditch match of the season, outside of the final.

Though you hadn’t planned it this way, you were grateful nonetheless that the match fell on the night of the waxing crescent moon. It provided an excellent distraction that ensured you would not be interrupted on your way to the Room of Requirement.

The only person who you imagined might even still be in the castle was Filch, but you weren’t worried about him. If he was nearby you would be alerted to his presence by Mrs. Norris well before he could reach you.

You bounced up an uneven flight of stairs and past a bronze statue of Boris the Bewildered looking quite disheveled, as one would expect.

As you were about to ascend yet another staircase, you were startled by a loud bang. You spun quickly on your heels to find that the green, wooden door to the Prefects’ bathroom had been thrown wide open. From it Fred and George Weasley emerged, struggling under the weight of a strikingly large black cauldron.

“[First name]!” Fred shouted excitedly, noticing you out of the corner of his eye. “Just the girl we wanted to see.”

“Oh, dear,” you muttered under your breath as they waddled towards you. The iron belly of the cauldron panged sharply against the stone floor as the boys set it down.

“We’ve just finished brewing our first batch of love potions,” Fred boasted proudly.

George dug through his bag and procured an enormous glass jar filled with a light, shimmery liquid.

“Why is it pink?” you asked what you believed to be a reasonable question, given that love potions were generally white. George feigned being offended.

“Because we were the ones to brew it,” Fred stated plainly. “You’re up next.”

“I’m flattered by your faith in me, really,” you quipped sarcastically. “But I need some time. I’ve got a lot going on right now.” You obviously couldn’t tell them just exactly what it was you had going on, but you hoped this would be enough to keep them off your back for a little while.

Fred and George exchanged a couple of meaningful glances.

“We were going to offer you 20 Galleons,” George said as he tucked the love potion back into his satchel. “But since you insist on being so stubborn, how does 30 sound?”

“Irresistible,” you answered with a smirk. “I’ve really got somewhere to be. We can talk more later.” You turned back towards the staircase.

“We’ll get you, [Last name]” Fred called as you hurriedly climbed one step after another. You would deal with them later. Right now you had other things to attend to.

The Room of Requirement was peaceful. There were no students chattering noisily, no demands, no expectations. It was an oasis to which you could escape, and where you were not required to dwell on the stressful thoughts that plagued you. All you had to worry about was you and your cauldron.

The jar of nightshade berries sat precisely where you left them: on the table next to your simmering batch of Veritaserum. You knew the drill. One at a time, you plucked three berries from the jar and dropped them carefully into your cauldron.

You smiled contentedly to yourself, but that smile soon faded and was replaced with a frown upon noticing that your fingers had once more been stained black. It took two days for the stains to disappear last time, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You rolled your eyes to yourself as you left the room.

The corridors were dark and quiet. The darkness was so complete that you had to navigate by running your hand along the rough, stone walls. The silence was so overbearing that your footsteps, though buffered by the soft carpet beneath your feet, resounded clearly in your ears.

For a split second you swore you could hear another set of footsteps competing with yours. Pausing for a moment and listening carefully proved that you had not been mistaken. Sudden panic surged through your body. You were not alone, and whoever was nearby was getting closer. You didn’t have time to react before the footsteps reached you and then ceased.

“Lumos,” came your favorite, rich baritone.

You were temporarily blinded by the brightness of the wandlight. As your eyes adjusted, your Potions professor’s face came into focus.

“Out past curfew again, [Last name]?” Snape chided. “You’ve just lost your house 15 points.”

“Fifteen?” you asked incredulously. “But last time you only took 10!”

“You’re lucky I haven’t been taking points for your petulant behavior,” he fired back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, professor,” you said lamely.

“You cannot deceive me, [Last name],” Snape said silkily. “The handkerchief, the soup. There seems to be no end to your contempt for me.”

Is that really what he thought? Surely, after everything, he knew that wasn’t true. You had been harsh, admittedly, but didn’t he deserve it? He toyed with your emotions and hid his feelings from you. He was getting, and would get, what was coming to him.

“I don’t— I don’t hate you, professor,” you offered quietly. “I think you know that.”

His eyes raked over your body, flicking finally to your hands. He directed his wandlight there and raised an eyebrow at you.

“Go to bed,” was all he said before walking away.

Chapter Text

The rusty springs coiled within your mattress creaked as you sat upright. You winced, worried that the disturbance might cause your sleeping housemates to stir. Your fellow students must have been heavy sleepers, for you were able to clamber to your feet unnoticed.

You tossed a robe on over your night clothes and slid into your slippers. Grabbing your wand, you made cautiously and quietly towards the door.

Firelight flickered on the walls outside your dormitory. You counted portrait after portrait snoozing contentedly within their frames as you wandered towards your destination.

Eventually you came to the makeshift potions laboratory with which you had become so familiar these past few weeks. The seemingly endless shelves of ingredients, the vast collection of relevant literature, and the quality potion-making equipment were all features you would sorely miss.

A faint sliver of light provided by the new moon fell on your simmering cauldron. The crystal clear liquid within sparkled under its dim, silvery glow.

Try though you might, you could smell no odor rising from your cauldron. This would be cause for worry with most potions, but was a good sign for Veritaserum. Colorless and odorless, your batch was a perfect brew.

With paramount attentiveness you syphoned what little of the potion existed into a vial. After stopping the vial with a cork, you tucked it satisfactorily away in one of your robe’s pockets. You briefly pondered cleaning up after yourself, but upon deciding that it was unnecessary, you left.

The journey from the seventh floor to the dungeons that lie beneath the castle was not a particularly short one. You had ample time to reconsider, but in the end decided that you had worked too hard to give up now, when you were so close to the truth.

The dungeon corridors were as dark and cold as ever. You hugged your fluffy robe close as you turned a corner, shivering.

Warm light spilled into the darkness from an open doorway at the far end of the hall. As you crept soundlessly towards it you swore you could hear a silent sob. You walked on, and as you grew closer, the light gradually brightened until you were standing full in its radiance.

You were not surprised to find your Potions Master in the room, but you were surprised that he was not grading papers, as was his late-night habit. Instead, he stood with his back towards you, looking out on the night through one of the few, small windows in the room.

“You best have an exceptional excuse for being out past curfew for a third time, Miss [Last name],” came Severus Snape’s deep, disinterested drawl.

“H-How did you know it was me?” you asked, dumbfounded.

An eternity seemed to pass before the Potions professor turned lethargically towards you. He was an unseemly sight to behold: tangled black hair wildly unkempt, stiff collar loose and unbuttoned, dark eyes heavy with sadness. There were streaks on his cheeks where several fresh tears had fallen. Two melting ice cubes were all that remained in the glass clutched shakily between his fingers.

“Have you been drinking, professor?” you asked quietly, though the answer was obvious.

He looked you up and down, searching, scrutinizing, irresolute. Next, his eyes locked invasively onto yours. They were rich and dark, mysterious. You wondered what secrets they concealed. You had almost forgotten that you now possessed the tool to find out.

“I’m here because I wanted your help with something,” you broke the dead silence, pulling the vial from your pocket. He didn’t inquire, only stared, so you went on.

“It’s an anti-venom,” you lied. “They usually taste pretty horrible, so I tried to make some improvements. I was wondering if you might try it for me.” You offered it to him.

Snape regarded you carefully, like he was assessing the risks, before taking the vial tentatively from your hand. He gently brushed his fingers against yours, with obvious intent. You blushed and watched expectantly, waiting for him to raise the glass container to his lips. It never happened. He almost looked amused.

“Did you really think you could poison me?” he asked nonchalantly, taking one wobbly step closer to you.

For a moment you thought your heart must have stopped beating. Everything came crashing down in one, swift wave. How could you have been so careless? You could be punished, expelled, imprisoned. You were completely at Snape’s mercy, if he even had any.

“I’m sorry,” you choked weakly.

Snape studied you with those dark, glassy eyes of his. He gazed so intently at you that you imagined he was memorizing every striation of your iris and the exact depth of darkness in your pupils. After moments of meticulous consideration, he finally spoke.

“You want to know the truth that badly?” his voice cracked. “I want you in ways I shouldn’t. I’m broken, and desperate with desire. I fear I cannot control myself when I am left… alone… with you.”

The bitter stench of alcohol hung heavy around him and enveloped you. He was so close— his lips mere inches away from yours— that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as he spoke.

“I don’t want you to,” you whispered, impressed by your own forwardness.

Snape looked once more into the windows to your soul. His black eyes were hungry, greedy with lust. You wished hopelessly that he would abandon his pride and give in to you. Alas, upon noticing his proximity to you, the Potions Master drew back.

“Surely I don’t need to list the reasons for which we cannot be together,” he spat sarcastically.

“Please, professor,” you whimpered longingly. “Take a risk for once. You have a chance to be happy. Damn the rules.” Snape’s brow was drawn in intense contemplation as he carefully studied you.

“Don’t try anything like this again,” he warned harshly. You nodded obediently and turned to leave. The Potions professor was a lost cause.

“[First name],” he called gently.

You were stopped in your tracks by the sweetness in his voice. You smiled sadly at the intimate utterance of the name he had never attributed to you before.

“Not a word of this to anyone,” he almost pleaded.

“Of course,” you solemnly agreed, leaving him to his liquor.

Chapter Text

Several warm, cheerful rays of sunlight seeped through the glass panelling of Greenhouse Three. Professor Sprout wandered between rows of potted plants smiling and helping confused students. You had never been so nervous or frightened for Herbology class.

Sitting before you in a terracotta clay pot, vines flailing wildly, was a vicious Venomous Tentacula. You stared apprehensively at the wriggling plant, half expecting it to lash out and wrap its thorny, poisonous vines around your wrists.

“It’ll be alright, [First name],” Neville encouraged, noticing your hesitancy. “Just put your gloves on.”

You smiled weakly at him and slipped your fingers into the dragon-hide safety equipment, wondering whether it was fair to call it “safety equipment” if it didn’t really make you feel much safer. Your hands might have been covered, but your neck was perfectly exposed, and those vines were plenty long.

“I don’t know about this, Neville,” your voice was barely a whisper as you brandished a pair of pruning shears. Your classmate chuckled and rolled his eyes at you.

“You know it can’t hear you, right?” he asked.

“Do we really know that?” you inquired skeptically, eyeing the plant suspiciously.

“Here,” Neville tenderly grabbed your hand. “Let me help you.”

He slowly guided your gloved hand towards the plant with his. You shut your eyes tight, unable to watch as you grew dangerously close to the threatening Tentacula. Neville gently squeezed your hand until, after a little resistance, your shears snipped off a dark green leaf. You cautiously opened your eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

“See,” Neville grinned, still holding your hand. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“I’m sure Miss [Last name] is more than capable of performing such a simple task as pruning a plant without assistance, Mr. Longbottom,” came Professor Snape’s low lilt from behind you. You inhaled sharply, and Neville, blushing madly, quickly let go of your hand.

You didn’t have time to respond before Snape was walking briskly on towards Professor Sprout. The two Heads of House had a brief discussion, after which your Herbology professor excused herself momentarily from the greenhouse.

As soon as the door shut behind her, the class erupted with chatter. You were shocked that Snape did not begin shouting angrily, deducting house points, or handing out detentions. Instead, his eyes roamed the room until they settled on you.

It was barely noticeable, especially from across the greenhouse, but you could have sworn you saw the corners of his thin lips turn up slightly in what might have been a smile. You couldn’t help grinning back at him, and were both surprised and pleased to note the slight pink coloration that rose in his cheeks.

You wondered whether he remembered the events of last night, the things he said, how vulnerable he had been. Did he remember what you told him then? Had he thought about it?

No sooner had the noisy chatter began than it died down when Professor Sprout returned carrying a bottle filled with snowdrop petals. She handed it to her colleague before continuing to instruct her students. Once he had what he came for Professor Snape left, but not without one last glance in your direction.

You couldn’t help smiling to yourself as you continued trimming the Tentacula.

Chapter Text

“You’re sure this is going to work?” Fred asked.

“Without a doubt,” you answered confidently.

You paced with purpose before a painfully bare stone wall on the seventh floor of Hogwarts Castle. You’d been trying this for about five minutes now and weren’t quite sure what was wrong.

“I swear it’s here!” you were getting flustered.

The rhythmic clicking of your shoes ceased as you stood stark still in deep thought. Fred and George offered you quizzical stares. You rolled your eyes and turned your back to them. They weren’t helping you think. After a few seconds you spun quickly around and gave a shriek of excitement that seemed to startle the twins.

“I want the two of you to think of a potions room filled with all of the equipment and ingredients we would need,” you explained. “Ready?”

They both nodded skeptically. You rolled your eyes again and began pacing once more. This time the entrance to the Room of Requirement appeared within seconds.

One look at the boys told you that you had impressed them. Fred’s mouth hung open as he raked a hand through his fiery red hair. George’s eyes had grown stunningly wide with surprise. You threw the doors open and led the Weasleys inside.

***

Three hours, two cauldrons, and much mixing and stirring later, the three of you emerged from the Room of Requirement proudly toting a sizeable haul of love potions. The sun must have set some time ago. Leaving the well-lit Room of Requirement for the halls of Hogwarts was like plunging into the darkness of a cavern on a sunny day.

Unfortunately, a constant and very conspicuous stream of praise from Fred and George echoed through the stone corridors as the three of you made your escape. Were they trying to get caught? Your fingers tightened around the neck of a flask full of creamy liquid as you hushed them. You were both pleased and surprised when they obeyed.

You tiptoed as quietly as you could through the winding halls of the castle, grateful for the occasional stretch of rug to buffer your footsteps. You were constantly and painfully aware of the presence of the Weasley twins. Fred’s footfalls were unnecessarily noisy and George would stumble in the dark every six or seven minutes like clockwork.

You turned left. You turned right. You descended a flight of stairs. After turning another left, you ran straight into something and gave a squeal as you were knocked off your feet. You could feel the blood rushing to your head. You had just barely been able to save your flask from destruction by twisting your body as you fell. You scampered to your feet with some help from Fred and George.

“Lumos,” came a deep, lethargic voice. A bright bead of light appeared at the end of a familiar wand. Its owner's dark eyes stared daggers at you.

“P-professor,” you stammered. “I can explain.” You didn’t have time to make something up before the Potions professor snatched your flask from your hand.

He watched you intently as he unstoppered it and brought it to his nose. He slowly drew a breath and his eyes fluttered shut. This was the first time you had ever seen him look relaxed. His lips parted and he hummed lightly. The moment didn’t last long. He inhaled sharply, furrowed his brow, then opened his eyes. They were fixed on you.

“Return to your dormitories at once,” he ordered angrily, still staring at you. “I will see the three of you tomorrow after classes.” He strode off with your flask.

“That could have been worse. He didn’t even take house points,” Fred muttered in disbelief as Snape, in a flutter of black robes, stalked off towards the dungeons.

You smirked to yourself as you made your way to your house common room.

Chapter Text

You frowned to yourself as you watched your classmates pack their Potions ingredients and rush to leave the cold Hogwarts dungeons. You weren’t so lucky.

During lunch Fred and George told you over and over again that you shouldn’t worry. They seemed to think this detention wouldn’t be so bad, but you knew better. Snape could handle your lame attempts to get his attention, but you could tell he was running out of patience for your rule-breaking.

You were so focused on nervously fidgeting with your striped tie that you didn’t even realize you were the last one in the room until Professor Snape was towering over you. You looked meekly up at him. You could see the wheels turning behind those dark eyes of his.

“I’d like to have a word with you before your accomplices arrive,” he said coolly.

You nodded, trying not to argue with him about the fact that the twins were the ones who had dragged you into their mischief, not the other way around.

“Your talent for potion making is obvious,” he said almost fondly, causing you to blush. “I would hate to see your opportunities squandered by this petty tomfoolery. I can only do so much to protect you.”

You stifled a laugh. Is that what he thought he was doing?

“Don’t think you’re so clever,” he hissed, any kindness in his voice gone. “You’ve made more than that silly little love potion. You could be expelled, or worse.”

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, but before either of you could say anything else, Fred and George burst into the room. They must have been in a hurry because both of their fiery red heads looked wild and they were sweating and panting. You couldn’t help but grin. They must have forgotten.

“You’re late,” Snape spat, not nearly as amused as you were. “Follow me.”

The boys smirked at you as the three of you followed your Potions professor through the underground castle corridors. The halls were empty and quiet save for the sound of your four sets of feet pattering against the stone floor.

Snape had brought you to the small kitchen down the hall from his classroom. One look around the room told you everything you needed to know about your detention. There were several precarious stacks of cauldrons by the sinks. Most of them were covered in sappy substances and residue. This was not how you wanted to spend your Friday night.

“You will not leave this room until they have all been cleaned... by hand,” Snape instructed.

Fred groaned and George rolled his eyes as Snape stalked off, leaving the three of you to your work.

“Do you think he’d be able to tell if we used magic?” Fred asked hopefully.

You nodded somberly as you rolled up your sleeves.

One filthy cauldron after another you scrubbed and scraped until you were able to wash away the stubborn grime. In an hour you only managed to clean nine cauldrons and your arms were aching. By the time you made it through the stack you were working on, your arms felt like they might fall off at any second. You were grateful for the help of the twins, who were much more successful than you and kept things lively by telling the most ridiculous jokes they could come up with.

You jumped when the Clock Tower bell rang out. It was time for dinner. You looked up from the pewter cauldron you were currently cleaning to see how many were left. There were only three more, one of which Fred was reaching for. You sighed in relief and finished up with the cauldron in front of you before grabbing another.

The 15 minutes it took for you to clean that last disgusting object felt like an eternity, but when it was finally over you sprawled out on the chilly floor, closed your eyes, and drew in a deep breath. George chuckled at you as he placed the last cauldron in the clean pile.

“Thank Merlin that’s over,” he said. “I’m starving.”

“Me too,” you huffed. “Should I go and get him?”

A nod from Fred was all the confirmation you needed to climb to your feet and venture down the hall to Professor Snape’s classroom. He was at his desk grading papers, his silky black hair hanging around his face. You cleared your throat and he looked up at you.

“We’ve finished,” you said.

He didn’t say anything. He got up, walked past you, and headed down the hall. You hurried after him, careful not to trip over his flowing black robes.

You waited as patiently as you could with the twins while the Potions Master carefully inspected your work. Once he seemed satisfied he turned to the three of you.

“I hope the next time you think about misbehaving you will remember this evening,” he gave you a stern look. “You may go.”

You had never been so relieved to get away from your Potions professor. You followed the Weasley boys out of the dungeons, up several sets of stairs, through countless corridors, and finally into the Great Hall. Your stomach grumbled and growled the whole way and you were too exhausted to say anything.

The room was far quieter than usual since dinner was nearly over. All that remained of the undoubtedly stupendous feast were piles of puddings and pastries. You looked around for your friends and spotted Neville sitting by himself with a copy of the Daily Prophet. When you sat down across from him he put the paper down and gave you a smile.

“Where have you been?” he asked curiously.

“I had detention with Snape,” you said more angrily than you meant to.

“How was it?”

“It was awful,” you told him as you loaded your plate with chocolate eclairs. “I was scrubbing cauldrons for hours.”

Neville grimaced at the mere thought of it.

“Lucky it’s the weekend, then,” he said.

You nodded as you took a bite. You noticed Neville’s plate had been cleared and remembered the Herbology homework your class had been assigned. Why wasn’t he studying?

“Neville, were you… waiting for me?” you asked, blushing a little.

His cheeks became noticeably pink and he smiled awkwardly.

“I just w-wanted to ask if-if you wanted to go to The Three Broomsticks with me tomorrow?” he stuttered nervously and his face grew redder.

You were shocked. How could you not have noticed that he was interested in you? Looking back now, you realized how obvious it was. To be fair, there was someone else who had been on your mind quite a bit.

Neville was sweet. He was always kind to you, incredibly intelligent, and pretty adorable if you were being honest with yourself. Maybe this was just what you needed to forget about Snape, who was obviously not going to let anything happen between the two of you.

“I’d like that a lot,” you smiled at him.

Chapter Text

It seemed like your entire wardrobe was scattered about your dormitory. Trousers were thrown across your bed, frilly tops lay crumpled on the floor, and a few dresses were even hanging from a curtain rod. You had been trying on clothes for an hour and you still weren’t sure what to wear on your date.

With a little help from your housemates, who could tell you were getting frustrated, you finally settled on a dress your parents bought for you last year. It hugged your body perfectly in all the right places, and it was your favorite color. You smiled at your reflection, fixed your hair a little, and took a deep breath before setting off for the courtyard where you were meeting Neville.

You couldn’t remember the last time you went on a date. It must have been two summers ago when that muggle boy who lived down the street asked if you wanted to get coffee. You had only agreed because he was devilishly handsome, but he turned out to be a huge bore. Since then you pretty much stopped caring about romance, instead focusing your efforts on your studies.

In any case, it had been quite some time since you had paid so much attention to your appearance, and you were uncomfortably aware of the stares you were receiving from some of the boys, and even a few of the girls, in your year who must have been surprised to see how you looked without your fingers stained with Potions ingredients or your hair frizzy from the humidity of a steaming cauldron.

When you reached the courtyard you were pleased to find the sun shining brilliantly in the bright blue sky. The warm air was broken on occasion by a gentle breeze. It was a beautiful day to be outside, and everyone on the castle grounds was eager to enjoy it. Groups of students huddled together, their gleeful gabbing reverberating off the stone walls.

You scanned the crowd for your date, who you found sitting by himself on the edge of the fountain, which was flowing in a steady, trickling stream. He looked up at you as you walked towards him, his emerald green eyes sparkling in awe.

“You look brilliant,” he beamed as he stood to greet you.

You couldn’t help but blush and mumble your thanks.

“You don’t look so bad, either,” you teased, trying to make yourself feel less awkward.

He was wearing a nice pair of trousers and a zig-zag patterned sweater that you imagined his grandmother must have knit for him. It looked as though he had unsuccessfully attempted to tame the mess of dark hair atop his head.

“Shall we?” he asked chivalrously as he extended an arm to you.

You chuckled at his old-fashioned gesture, gave him a nod, and took his arm in yours. Together you walked along the path to Hogsmeade. The trail snaked its way between vibrant, grass-covered hills, springing to life with blooming wildflowers. Birds chirped cheerfully in the treetops above and chipmunks chased one another playfully below.

“I have to admit I’m a bit nervous,” Neville confessed, seemingly embarrassed, as the two of you approached the village.

“Don’t worry,” you smiled shyly. “So am I.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Really,” you answered. “I haven’t gone out in a while.”

“It’s been 16 years for me,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Aren’t you 16?” you asked with a laugh.

“Yes,” he chuckled.

Upon reaching The Three Broomsticks Neville reached for the old, black wrought iron handle and pulled the heavy wooden door open.

“After you,” he offered politely.

You smiled at him and entered. The restaurant was bustling with students and teachers alike chatting noisily amongst one another. Fred and George were snickering between themselves at a table nearby. They waved excitedly at you as you walked in. George elbowed Fred when he realized you were with Neville, to which Fred responded by making kissing faces. You rolled your eyes at the red-headed twins.

Your heart skipped a beat and you froze in your tracks when you noticed a familiar black-clad figure seated alone at the end of the bar. You wished the creaky floorboards beneath your feet would open up and swallow you whole. You hoped to Merlin that your Potions professor wouldn’t notice that you were here with Neville.

Before you could begin to think of all the horrible ways this date might end if Snape saw you, Neville placed his hand gently in the small of your back and guided you towards what must have been the only empty table in the room. He pulled a chair out for you, then seated himself on the opposite side.

“Thanks,” you muttered, your face growing hot.

“Are you alright?” Neville asked.

“Yes,” you stammered. “It’s just… nothing… maybe we should get some Butterbeer.”

“Sounds good to me,” Neville agreed, waving down a waitress.

After a couple of drinks, the two of you were lost in deep conversation. Neville told you all about the tragic loss of his parents and his dreams of becoming an Auror. You discussed your shared interest in Herbology. He even allowed you to ramble on excitedly about potion-making, though you could tell he didn’t understand half of what you were saying.

Maybe it was the Butterbeer, or maybe it was your desperate desire to get your Potions professor off your mind, but all you wanted to do at the moment was kiss the sweet boy sitting across from you. He had been nothing but polite and gentlemanly to you all afternoon.

“Neville?” you asked, interrupting something he was saying about Goshawk’s Guide to Herbology.

“Yes,” he said.

You looked across the room to make sure Professor Snape’s back was still turned to you before saying, “Kiss me.”

Neville’s cheeks flushed pink and his eyes widened.

“A-are you sure?” he asked nervously.

You nodded and the Gryffindor boy leaned across the table to place a delicate kiss on your lips. He was soft and tasted of the sweet butterscotch concoction you had both been sipping. It was truly a lovely kiss, but you couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It didn't make your heart race or your stomach flutter the way your Potions professor does.

You pulled back and smiled kindly at Neville, who looked a little confused.

“Is everything alright, Neville?” you asked.

“Miss [Last name],” came a silky smooth voice you recognized as Professor Snape’s.

You nearly jumped out of your seat as you stood to face the Potions Master. His jaw was clenched tightly and the tips of his ears were burning red.

“I need to speak with you urgently,” he said.

“But… ,” you stammered and blushed, glancing at Neville, who looked bewildered.

“Now,” Snape ordered through gritted teeth.

Your heart felt like it was about to leap out of your chest.

Chapter Text

Snape grabbed a fistful of fabric at the back of your dress and used it to push you out the front door of The Three Broomsticks. Once out of sight from students and teachers, he wrapped his spindly fingers around your wrist so tightly you worried he might break it. The Potions Master practically dragged you into a narrow alleyway where he pinned you against a cold, stone wall.

Before you could register what was happening, your professor’s lips crashed roughly, greedily, desperately into yours. You half screamed, half moaned and your eyes widened in shock, then closed slowly as you leaned into the kiss. Snape’s lips stung as they moved against yours, undoubtedly from the firewhiskey he had just been drinking. The Slytherin Head of House pressed his body roughly against yours. You took a shaky breath and looked up into those deep, dark eyes of his. His thin lips contorted into a sadistic grin.

“I better not see you with that boy again, Miss [Last name],” he growled low in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” you cried, pushing him off of you, despite how much you were enjoying the touch and feel of him.

The Potions Master looked shocked. He opened his mouth in an attempt to soothe the situation, but no words came out. For the first time since you met him, Professor Snape seemed to be tongue tied.

“Where do you get off?” you shouted, not caring who might hear. “Do you get some kind of sick satisfaction out of messing with my head?”

Snape just stared at you blankly, dumbfounded. You wanted to slap that stupid expression right off his stupid, beautiful face. You could feel your cheeks growing hot and your eyes beginning to burn, tears threatening to spill over. You turned and ran.

***

You fool, Severus Snape thought to himself. You’ve ruined everything. Not that there was anything to be ruined to begin with. He had made it abundantly clear that nothing would ever come of the sideways smirks, starry-eyed stares, and flirtatious comments. He had convinced himself that it was harmless as long as nothing happened, but now something had happened, and it was his fault.

Snape wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. He wondered if she knew how tortured he was by the sultry looks she gave him in class, or the way she wore her uniform skirt just a little shorter than the other girls. Whether she was aware of it or not, the boys in her year could hardly keep their eyes off of her either. And for some reason, Snape was lucky (or perhaps unlucky) enough to be the object of her desire and affection.

He didn’t deserve her anyway, or so he told himself. She was too brilliant, too sweet, and way too drop-dead gorgeous for the mean old Potions professor. What did she see in him anyway? But seeing her in that dress, with Longbottom of all people, was too much for him to bear. He lost control. Was he supposed to sit back and watch someone else steal her away from him? He had finally resolved never to let that happen again, right before proceeding to ruin whatever chance he might have had with the girl.

I will not lose control again, Snape reassured himself, knowing full well how unlikely that was with you in the equation.

***

You flung yourself onto your dormitory bed, buried your face in your pillow and screamed, grateful that all of your housemates were out enjoying the beautiful weather. What the hell? you wondered to yourself. Severus Snape was the single most confusing, difficult, and fickle person you had ever met. He had done everything in his power to make sure nothing happened between the two of you, but as soon as you were ready to move on he changed his mind.

And what were you supposed to tell Neville? That you ditched him in the middle of your date because your professor couldn’t keep himself from kissing you? Not a chance. Snape ruined your date, made you cry, and then left you to figure everything out on your own. Typical. But what did you expect, really? There was a reason most of the students at Hogwarts couldn’t stand him, and you were starting to understand it. He was cold, bitter, and completely and utterly cruel and uncaring.

You rolled over and groaned. You had no idea how you were going to make it through Potions tomorrow. Before you could think of an excuse to get out of class your housemates entered your dormitory giggling giddily, bombarding you with questions about your date, and offering you a taste of the treats they had picked up from Honeydukes.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you mumbled, taking a jelly slug.

They didn’t push any further, instead setting up a game of Wizard’s chess. You played late into the night, almost forgetting your dating fiasco, until everyone began to grow tired and tucked themselves into their beds. The bunch of you lay awake for a while gossiping about boys and girls, professors and classes, and summer break. One by one your housemates began drifting off to sleep, leaving you alone to wrestle with your restless, racing mind. After a while, even your anxious thoughts couldn’t keep you awake any longer. Tiredness took over and you fell into a deep sleep.