Hell's Last Lantern | A Severus Snape x OC Romance

Chapter Twelve

Later that week, Vela was approached by Hermione directly after Transfiguration class and dragged aside to a dark alcove. She spoke in a low, conspiratorial whisper once they were alone. "Listen, Ron and I are putting out some feelers to see if people might be interested in taking real defense lessons." Vela's brow quirked up in interest, "Real defense lessons? You mean, something other than lessons with Umbridge?" Hermione nodded, "Yes, we're thinking...well, he hasn't agreed to it yet and quite honestly we haven't even really talked to him about it more than once, but..."

Vela remembered their conversation at the Three Broomsticks and finished her thought, "Harry? You think he'd do it?" Hermione shrugged and sighed, leaning back against the stone wall. "I dunno, he's...not been himself. Ever since what happened with Cedric everything's been just a little bit worse. I mean, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is alive and roaming free, God knows where. And on top of that," she continued with increased vexation, "the Ministry is essentially running a smear campaign against Harry. I think it's really starting to get to him."

Vela nodded thoughtfully. "Understandably so. I mean your government is bullying a fifteen-year-old; that's kinda messed up." She arched her brow and Hermione smiled weakly. "Well...if you are able to convince him, I would love some useful defense lessons. I support what you're doing and I want to help if I can. That's the fourth kid I've seen leave her office in tears, this week alone," she said, nodding in gesture to a second year sitting under a tree in the courtyard and bravely wiping his tears with an angry pout on his face.

Hermione's brown eyes flashed indignantly at the sight, "That woman, I swear—" "Well, what's the verdict?" a voice was asking, its owner coming up the stairs, a bit out of breath and very dirty. "Ronald, have you been...rolling around in the mud?" Hermione asked with widened eyes and a scrunched nose at his muddy, disheveled appearance. He beamed, "Yep, pretty much. It's Friday—Quidditch." He crossed his arms proudly.

Vela still couldn't fathom how they managed to make their broomsticks fly, but she was grateful it was not part of the required curriculum for her.

"So, what do you think of our idea?" he asked again. "She's in," Hermione replied, smiling with a pleased expression. Vela nodded and queried, "Though...how do you plan on keeping it secret?"

Hermione's voice lowered again. "That's another issue...we obviously can't do it here at Hogwarts. There's got to be somewhere we can practice." The three talked it over for their brief remaining five minutes of break between classes then parted ways, each to their own next lesson.

Vela had managed not to be alone again, careful to stay in groups or near at least one or two other people. Professor Sharpp hadn't really approached her, but he did help her during potions class while everyone was brewing. He had guided her on her techniques and explained a better way, his hand resting gently on her back as he did, causing her to recall Snape's words.

"He's attracted to you, it's obvious...that's why he keeps putting his hands on your body."

She had glanced up and found Snape's seething gaze already on her and Sharpp from the opposite side of the room after he'd "corrected" Harry's apparently abhorrent brewing of the Draught of Peace she had learned only a few days prior with Snape. She felt guilty for getting a leg up on the other students, but at the same time, they'd all had years to study potions.

When his eyes had met hers, her heart almost stopped. How was he so observant that a negligible moment lasting less than five seconds amidst an entire classroom full of talking, working, brewing students had caught his attention? And what else had he observed?

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Late that evening after the rest of the castle had gone silent in slumber, she sat in Snape's office. For this particular lesson, Snape had instructed Vela to close her eyes and think of 'nothing' for thirty minutes, as if that were a simple request. She was beginning to notice that he gave complicated orders, simply. It gave one the illusion that they were foolish for struggling to fulfill his "simple" request, because when he gave his orders, it was done so casually, as if he was asking something easy of them.