Madly, Deeply (Snape × Male Reader)

II

It is, as the Great Hall slowly filters of its students, off to bed with sleep taking over their senses, that I aim to make my way to the quarters assigned to me by the headmaster. My wand stays at my pocket, poking at my leg with every other step as I, too, make my way from the hall.

For the most part, I find myself following the house heads as they trudge along down the corridors with their students in tow - the castle is huge; winding pathways almost like a labyrinth in which one could get lost.

The tip-tap of my footsteps echo against the stone walls as I pace down to follow the corridor to its end. Before long, I find my way out and into the courtyard, where the baring trees sway with the wind that brushes up and against my skin.

I must've taken a wrong turn, because eventually, I find myself trudging along a dark passageway lined with snoozing portraits. My left hand clutches at the grip of my wand, but before I can pull it out to light my way, the end of my foot trips over a bump in the flooring. The ground is hard and brutal against my joints as it grazes me from the impact of the fall; I point my wand in front of me, but the chill that engages my body very nearly paralyses me with something akin to fear - "Lumos!"

A great white orb emerges from the tip of my wand, very nearly blinding me as I squint against the light. I quickly bring myself to stand and dust myself off. There is nothing in my way - no obstacle, nothing that shouldn't be at my feet. One of the portraits peels open his heavy lids, permeanent scowl prominent on his features as he glares in my general direction. I whisper a quick apology before continuing on my way.

Ahead of me is a large, open window that showcases the east wing of the massive courtyard outside. Apparently I hadn't travelled all that far, at all, and it's as I'm slowly regaining my bearings that I pause. Behind me, the echo of swift, rhythmic footsteps. I can't yet tell if I'm hearing a student or member of staff, but I keep on my way, doing my best to keep focus as I'm met with a winding staircase.

***

"The Dark Arts are not a subject to be taken lightly, you hear? You're here today because Professor Dumbledore demands that you meet his expectations by learning to defend yourselves. We don't want any of you getting hurt."

The crowd of glass-eyed students look to me like fish - mindless and blank. First lesson, first day, second year; that's sure to leave a lasting impression, as each child sat at their desks yawn and blink with a mind to get back into their beds.

I turn to the chalkboard provided to me, ash-white stick scratching at the coarse surface. "For those of you that don't remember, my name is Professor L/n. I was born of a muggle father and my mother is a Potioneer."

Silence. Someone turns to whisper.

"Wingfield," I call out the student. His hair is a bright orange, otherwise black robes decorated with linings of yellow. "Can you tell me the difference between a hex, a curse, and a jinx?"

The Hufflepuff turns to face me, and his face flushes with hesitation.

"No? Anyone else?"

A rather frazzled Gryffindor raises her hand. She gives a thick swallow upon my acknowledgement. "A... jinx is a spell that prevents another person from performing a task, and a hex is a spell that causes short-term effects that don't really do much harm."

I give her a gentle nod to continue, but she shakes her head, quietly shrinking into her seat. I continue on from where she left off, "And a curse is used to seriously maim or injure, even to kill. Ten points to Gryffindor-"

We are interrupted by a sharp knock to the door.

I call for the person to come in, and in steps a cloaked figure, dressed head-to-toe in black. I recognise him as the professor who had caught my eye the previous night. "Professor. What can I do for you?"

He says nothing, simply glares daggers at one of my students. His voice is low, almost a purr as he tilts his head. "I don't recall you being scheduled for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sheffield, especially not-" he pauses, folding his arms against his chest- "first thing in the morning."

A hard silence ensues. You could cut the silence with a knife.

"Why- why don't we take this outside," I rush, coming to the student's row where they are just about standing. My hand guides them at the back, but I am cut off by the professor in the doorway.

"No need," he speaks, each word uttered articulate and slow, "I'll make sure that this student is... appropriately punished."

Each head has turned in our direction, and all of a sudden, my students don't look so tired. I follow their curious eyes, and return my gaze to the Potions master. "I think we need to talk this through - could have been a timetable mixup, a bit of confusion, perhaps. I'd prefer it if we did."

Slowly, silently, the professor gives a cock of his brow. "I don't think you're really in any position to be making demands, now, are we? I'll get to the bottom as to why this student has decided to vacate your class instead of mine, and they will be dealt with as I see fit." His words seem to carry a certain sibilance to them, almost as though some putrid venom has crept up from the depth of his throat.

After a moment of silence, I hand the student over. My voice comes out quiet as I am almost belittled by the man's authority, and it's now that I've become almost painfully aware of the class that watches me. "Very well."

The raven-haired male doesn't utter a word more as he grips Sheffield by the shoulder, and sweeps them away to Merlin-knows-where.

Awkward, tense, I clear my throat. "Turn to page 246 of your textbooks. Today we'll be studying dueling and how to disarm your opponent should the need arise."