The Potions Master

Chapter 7

 Several months later, my apothecary apprenticeship was coming to an end. While I was offered a paying job where I was, my heart was pulling me more in the direction of being a healer. I kept the job option open, but began applying to several hospitals, small or large. After much debate with myself, the last application I sent was to Hogwarts. I really didn't feel like seeing Severus, let alone being in the same castle at all times, but I knew that even just assisting as a nurse there would be a good move for my career. I was called in to several of the places for interviews, and to be shown my possible workspace. My interview at Hogwarts was scheduled for the day after the students left for the summer.

From the moment I could see the castle in the distance, my mind began to flood with memories. It had been four years since I last stepped foot on the grounds, but I suddenly remembered everything like it had been yesterday. The direction of the Quidditch pitch, and all the games that had taken place there. The warmth of the greenhouses. And despite everything, I let myself fondly remember the potions classes.

Madam Pomfrey greeted me warmly, and recalled the many times I'd come to her with questions about being a healer and to offer my help. The interview went smoothly, and she happily showed me around, bringing up a few of her own memories of injuries she'd treated during my time at the school. Only the amusing ones to think back on, of course — nothing of accidental poisons, severe burns, or other serious incidences.

As it all came to a close, Madam Pomfrey escorted me to the entrance hall. We were walking in the hallway adjacent to it when I saw Snape exit the staff room.

As he reached to close the door behind him, my heart leapt and, briefly forgetting my current disdain for the man, I called out for his attention. "Severus!"

He turned toward me, surprised, and said, "Carys. What are you doing here?"

The matron and I stopped walking, so as not to interfere with the conversation. I suddenly wished I hadn't caught his attention, and sort of fumbled for words.

"She might be working for me in the hospital wing," Madam Pomfrey answered happily. "We've completed her interview, and I was just escorting her out." Severus just looked at me for the moment before I spoke.

"May I speak with you for a bit?" I asked him, and waited.

"I was just heading to my office," he said. "We can talk there." Then, he turned to Madam Pomfrey and added, "I will see her to the door when we're done." She nodded to him, said her good-bye with a squeeze of my neck, and headed back to the hospital wing.

We returned to looking at each other for a brief moment before he simply turned around and started walking, his robes flowing behind him. I followed. We didn't say a word as we walked. My heart pounded. Once we entered his office, I took only a few steps in before turning around to face him.

As soon as the door was closed, I calmly asked, "Why did you stop writing me, Severus?"

He only half turned to me, his hand still holding the doorknob until right before he answered. "The Dark Lord had returned. I knew it was safer for you as Muggle-born if our correspondence ceased. The war has started, and it's still only going to get worse."

So, his instinct in the onset of war was to protect me. My heart began to soften. Satisfied with that answer, I asked, "You couldn't have put that in the letter?"

"It's complicated. For what it's worth, I didn't want to hurt you."

I didn't want to argue his intentions, so I softly responded, "well, you did. I hated you."

"Do you still hate me?"

I looked at him in the eyes, then shook my head and replied, "No." I uncrossed my arms to show my sincerity.

We remained silent. He slowly walked ahead of him and to my left, until he got near the shelves on that wall. He didn't look for or do anything, but seemed to be staring off into nowhere for a while.

"The Amortentia: who was it for?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Sorry?"

"That day in your seventh year, you were alone in the potion-mixing room and you made a love potion. Who was it for?"

God, he remembered. "I told you: no one."

"Why did you make it? Who were you thinking of?"

The way he was asking those questions— my god, he knew. He was letting me know without saying the actual words that he knew. I still wasn't absolutely sure, but I answered with the simple truth.

"You." My heart beat so hard, I could swear he heard it. My palms grew sweaty, and I thought I might be sick. But he didn't seem surprised.

I thought he said, "I was in love once," but he sort of mumbled it. He continued to stand there for a while. He cocked his head slightly in my direction and down at the floor; his eyes looking around and his lips slightly parted, as if deciding what to say next.

"That red hair. Those green eyes." Wait. Was he talking about me now? "Always wanting to see the good in me. My friend. Then, I hurt—" He stopped before he finished the thought. I wanted so much to say something, to say I forgave him for hurting me, but no words came.

He turned straight to me and continued. "With this war, we may never speak again after today." My heart began to break at those words. Properly break.

"Unless I get the job here," I said, hanging onto hope.

"Indeed, but you might not." He said it with a sort of finality. I tried desperately to hold back my tears. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I tried shaking my head, but it may have looked more like nervous twitching.

When I opened my mouth to try and say something, all that came out was a single sob, but it was enough to release me from my frozen state. I walked toward him — slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed when he also stepped forward. We reached out our arms and embraced each other.

He held me tightly to him as my tears soaked his shoulder. After a minute or so, I said, "I'm going to miss you terribly."

Before he replied, his hand reached up and caressed my head, and he put his face in my hair. "And I you." He spoke softly.

We remained like that for about another minute. By then, I'd stopped crying, and breathed deeply and slowly as I held myself against him. As he pulled slightly away, the hand on my head gently brought my face up to meet his gaze. Never before had I seen his dark eyes look so soft and warm, yet pained. I didn't resist when I felt the urge to kiss him. It was just a little more than a peck — full on the lips, but quickly breaking away to gauge his reaction. He looked mostly unfazed, then resumed the kiss.

We quickly found a rhythm, and I melted against him. It felt so right — like the pain from all the years of unrequited love and fearing his rejection was all worth it for this moment. I felt so wanted, so needed, in his strong embrace.

Eventually, our kisses had grown more passionate, and he had me up against his desk. When we both realised where this was leading, we reached for our wands — he cleared the desk, and I enchanted the door so no one could enter.