Another Kind Of Magic - A Severus Snape Fanfiction

Intruder

Professor Snape sat upright in bed, his wand at the ready. He had heard something in the corridor. It couldn't have been one of the ghosts, he clearly had perceived footsteps that were echoing through the dungeon. Someone was down here, and he would find out who.

Carefully as not to make a sound, he slipped out of bed and into his robe, the wand tightly clutched. Whoever the intruder was, that person would very soon be very sorry for sneaking around at night in Severus Snape's part of the castle.

Quietly he left his chambers and nearly glided down the hallway, checking every dark corner. After a while, however, he let his wand sink and furrowed his brows. There was no one. Not even Peeves.

How odd, he thought, as he opened the door to the potions classroom. He hadn't really intended to search for the possible intruder there, since it was an unlikely hiding spot; it was more out of habit that he entered the room and strode to his desk.

The potions master pressed his lips together in annoyance as his eyes fell onto the roll of parchment. So that's what the ominous person had been doing. As he straightened it out and recognized the feminine handwriting, he felt his blood begin to boil in rage. Seriously, that girl had some nerve, trespassing several school rules just to turn in that ridiculous assignment he had given her to prove a point. What was wrong with her? Couldn't she hand in school work on the day it was due, like everyone else? She truly knew how to push his buttons.

In order to calm his surfacing anger, he plopped down onto the chair and massaged his temples. Why did she do those things to him? Did she want him to die an untimely death due to hypertension that would ultimately result in a heart attack? And most importantly, why did he allow it to bother him so much? Why couldn't he just shrug it off?

Severus sat there in the darkness for a few more minutes, trying to ward off the headache that was painfully announcing its arrival. Finally, he stood and returned to his chambers, somehow forgetting that he was still clutching his student's essay.

When he realized it, though, he was already in his bedroom, about to free himself of his robe again. He growled slightly, but decided it couldn't hurt to get this aggravating task over with. It would spare him some frustration tomorrow. So, he settled back down in bed, pushing a Slytherin-green pillow between his head and the dark, wooden headboard, and began reading.

Why it is rude to stare at people

He was about to accio a quill and some red ink, when his jaw dropped. What on earth ... ?

Professor Snape rubbed his eyes viciously, since he was sure that the words he had just read couldn't have actually been on that parchment. Unfortunately, all his eye-rubbing didn't help; the words didn't change, nor did they form another meaning; and for some reason unknown to him, his heart began pounding heavily in his chest, as he studied the girl's writing.

Why it is rude to stare at people

I should be elaborating on that topic, but I can't concentrate. My mind constantly wanders off to the man who gave me the assignment in the first place. It was meant as a punishment, and that it truly is, just not in the way he intends it to be. I don't mind writing about silly nonsense such as this, or should I say, I wouldn't mind if he would just acknowledge my efforts once in a while. However, I am just too aware that he hates me and never will approve of anything I do. This is the worst form of punishment anyone could ever receive. There is no doubt he detests my presence. Why else would he treat me this way, when all I ever want is for him to give me a friendly look, maybe even a smile? But who am I kidding, he doesn't smile. Ever. The only time I saw a hint of a smirk on his face was last year, when Slytherin won the House Cup, even though he had taken so many points from my House over the course of the school year because I blew up several cauldrons. I know I'm really bad at potions, but this is mostly due to the fact that I simply cannot think straight when he is around. Being in his class and being subjected to his critical looks all the time messes with my brain. It can't function like this. It was especially bad last week, when we were supposed to brew Pepperup Potion. He stood behind me the entire time, towering over me and just waiting for me to make a mistake, which I of course did. When I was about to add the third ingredient, he caught my wrist, preventing me from dropping it into the bubbling liquid. "Do you want to end up in the infirmary?" he snarled with so much disdain in his voice that my mind went completely blank. I think he was mad that I didn't respond at all; but I couldn't. These cold, scornful looks of his are worse than anything, and he keeps shooting them at me, even if I just happen to pass him in the hallways. There must be something about me that completely rubs him the wrong way. If I only knew what it was, then I could try to change it. And then maybe, only maybe, he would stop being so hostile towards me. But since I will probably never find out, this whole predicament is going to continue until I leave Hogwarts. I wish it didn't bother me so much, but it does. It hurts.

The potions master had enough. With a swift motion, his long fingers crumbled up the parchment and furiously threw it into the fireplace that was located opposite his bed, where bright, crackling flames eagerly devoured the written words, emitting a few golden sparks here and there.

He got up and poured himself some firewhisky, which he downed instantly.

She was right, he had to admit. He couldn't stand her presence. Just seeing that weird color of her hair was enough to put him in a foul mood. It was red, and yet it wasn't. Depending on the amount of light that fell on it, it seemed to change its shade from red to black constantly. This fact alone bugged him so tremendously that he would have loved to take House points from her each time he had to endure her presence. And those eyes. Light honey ... or no, they were more of a caramel hue. The way they followed his every step, his every movement, how transfixed they were on him in class. Gods, it was unnerving. Not to mention her smooth skin that seemed way too perfect. More than once had he caught himself in just the right moment when he stood behind her in class, right before his fingers were about to graze over the soft nape of her neck.

Oh, how he hated her. He couldn't bear to be around that insolent witch, who was so clumsy that he actually should pity her. Never before had he met anyone so butterfingered in his entire life. She was a disgrace to the fine art of potion making. What had he ever done to deserve being stuck with such an un-teachable student? Moreover, what had she been thinking, writing such a letter to him? What did she hope to achieve with that kind of disrespect? The professor was fuming over her audacity, and as much as he cringed at the thought of speaking to her alone, he was definitely going to address that tomorrow.