Summary: Y/N is the Herbology professor who has worked in Hogwarts for a few years since Professor Sprout retired. She has never really interacted with Snape, until Dumbledore assigns the both of them to work on combined lesson courses to improve student engagement. Things seem professional, maybe with a hint of unspoken attraction simmering beneath the surface. Until one thing leads to another.
~~
Two days had passed, yet they hadn't spoke a single word about the arrangement. She was starting to worry. What if he didn't want to work with her? Was she that unbearable? Surely he had forgetton about it. She paced around her room, debating whether or not to go down to the dungeons and find him herself.
Speak of the devil. Her owl flew in the window, dropping a letter on her desk. She took a closer look, realizing it was just a small piece of parchment paper that read:
Professor L/N,
Come to my classroom in 10 minutes.
S.S.
She almost choked on her coffee. His handwriting was definitely nice. More than that, it was an elegant script, and she liked the way he wrote his "l"s in a loop. Her thumb brushed over his writing, smudging the fresh ink. Her heart thumped in her chest as she imagined Snape bent over his desk, writing the letter, writing her name. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Then she paused. What am I thinking? He's my colleague. Shaking her head, she folded the piece of paper paper and tucked it away, then grabbed her wand before heading down to the dungeons.
~~
She dragged her feet begrudgingly towards Snape's classroom, goosebumps erupting on her skin as a gust of cold wind travelled through the dungeons. She shivered, making a mental note to herself to bring a coat next time. She reached the wooden door to his office, hesitating slightly. Knock, knock, knock.
"Come in." His deep voice instructed from the other side.
She pushed the door open, the loud creaking of the rusted hinges made her cringe internally. She stood between the doorway, looking down at her shoes as she mumbled a "Hello, professor". "Sit", she raised her head slightly and saw him gesture to a chair across him. She hurriedly closed the door behind her and made her way towards him.
The first thing she had noticed about him was his reading glasses, which were rested on his crooked nose, threatening to slip further down. His onyx eyes were fixated on the mountains of papers in front of him. They were stacked neatly into piles, some littered wlith red crosses and scribbles in the same handwriting she had admired a few moments ago. His posture was ever more perfect, he sat upright in his wooden chair, legs crossing beneath the desk. She sat down across him, then looked down at her hands.
A moment of silence passed, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of scratching parchment. She figeted with her hands, clearing her throat, "So..Professor, is there anything-" Snape cut her off, "I sent that letter at exactly 1107 hours, I had expected you in ten minutes. It is currently 1115 hours, you sit and wait." He continued with his marking. "..Oh, alright then" She mumbled. What a jerk he is.
"Excuse me?" He looked up again, his eyes staring daggers into her soul. Her eyes widened. I swear I didn't say that out loud.. "I hope you realise that your thoughts are quite loud" Oh. He's a Legilimens. Shit. Her eyebrows scrunched together, "Please stay out of my head, I prefer for my privacy to be respected". He scoffed, removing his glasses, "I did not call you here to tell me what or what not to do. " She stood up from her seat, "We are here to work together, not bicker like children. I expect to be treated as an adult". He pinched the bridge of his nose and put down his quill, standing from his chair, "Let's just get this over and done with". God save me.
"I have the new timetable for this year, we have combined lessons on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. 1300 hours to 1400 hours for the sixth years, 1400 hours to 1500 hours for the seventh graders. I was thinking we could teach our separate subjects on Mondays and Wednesdays, I will be free to assist you if needed. Then on Thursday we could have half an hour each." She explained. "I will not require your assistance whatsoever, not after that stunt you pulled". He hissed. What? Oh.. She did in fact blow up a cauldron by accident back in sixth grade. "That was once." She grumbled. "Once is enough to blow up my entire classroom, I would advise you to stay out of my teaching. I will teach Mondays, you on Thursdays. And on Fridays we will have theory lessons in my classroom, understood?" She sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, "Alright. I will send a letter to Dumbledore to inform him of our plans."
She turned away, walking towards the door. Then he called out to her "L/N," before she could react, Snape appeared in front of her holding a small vile of potion, "Your hand," She looked down at her hand confusedly, realizing there was a gash between her ring and pinky finger on her right hand, with dried blood smudged around it. She hadn't noticed it before, it was probably from handing those thorny plants that morning, "Drink this, before it gets infected." She hesitantly took the potion from him, "Oh-I uh, thanks" Her cheeks flushed as their hands brushed ever so slightly, a jolt of electricity shot down her spine. Snape had merely nodded, his expression unreadable as he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. She had sworn she saw something more in his eyes: maybe concern, maybe kindness.
She shot him a small smile and pocketed the potion, before turning around and walking briskly out of his office. Walking through the halls, she felt another gust of cold wind against her cheeks. But this time, instead of the sharp, freezing sensation, her cheeks felt warm.
Maybe he wasn't that bad after all.
~~End
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! Feedback is always appreciated :)
Severus discovers Harry's secret and Umbridge's torture methods.
Prompts by @superfallingstars
A short pep talk from their captain was all the Slytherins needed; their cunning and resolve was enough to win the match. Severus watched the sea of green and silver march from the changing rooms, brooms grasped in steady hands. He addressed each player, translating his expectations with a curt nod before following them to the pitch. Red and gold opponents were stationed on the grass, their new keeper inciting jeers from the stands. His sister was in the seeker’s usual spot. Minerva followed Severus’s eyes, glaring at the satisfaction dripping from his sneering face.
“Good luck,” he smirked, turning away from the pitch. In the distance, the unmistakable shape of Harry Potter was moving away from the cheers and chants and heading in the direction of the castle. Severus was quick to follow him.
“Potter!”
The boy turned around as Severus approached.
“Is there a reason you are not at the match?”
“I have loads of homework,” he said, holding Severus’s stare. Severus raised his brow, then something caught his eye, his interest was caught on the back of Potter’s hand. A wound was healing there. It looked infected.
“Show me your hand, Potter.” The boy’s breath caught, and he pulled the sleeve of his robe as far down his hand as it would stretch. “Potter, I am not asking. It is not a request. You have three seconds to show me, or I will look myself.”
The first second, Potter’s gaze fell to the ground. The next second, he lifted his hand. Severus made a move to grab the sleeve. The last second, Potter pushed back his sleeve. Potter’s palm was warm in Severus’s, but the inflamed skin around the deep cuts was hot.
“What is this, Potter?” he muttered, “who did this?”
“Who do you think?” Potter scoffed, snatching his hand back. “And I don’t need your help. I’m dealing with it.” Clearly, thought Severus. He knew the witch responsible. A blood quill? And to use it on a student? Did Dumbledore know?
“Your hand is infected, you need to come with me now.”
Potter stood his ground.
“Again, Potter. This is not a request. You will become seriously unwell if we cannot treat it. How many times has this happened?”
“Every night for the last week,” he mumbled, looking at the wound himself. “I don’t remember how many lines I had to do.” Severus clenched his jaw, his lips tight in an anger he would direct at the evil woman later. “Potter, will you let me treat it? I cannot guarantee it won’t scar but this needs healing.”
"Fine,” Potter muttered in response.
Within ten minutes, they were sitting across from one another in the Potions Master’s office. Severus had taken the boy’s hand in his own and studied it under the light of his wand. Deep, angry lines hissed on his skin, there was a yellowing around each letter that needed attention. Silently, Severus cleaned the wound. Potter winced occasionally but remained rather stoic. Severus would look up into his determined eyes to assess for pain, but Potter hardly moved. When the words were saturated in dittany, they started to shy away from prying eyes, leaving a white cast along the back of his hand. I must not tell lies.
“That should be all, Potter,” Severus reached down to a small trunk that extended as it opened, revealing rows of potions and tonics. A rounder tub that resembled an ointment was placed on the desk in front Potter. “That’s for the scarring, it should help reduce its visibility.”
“Thanks,” muttered Potter, slowly taking the ointment. “What if I have another detention?”
“My advice would be to stop provoking the woman, Potter. If you cannot refrain from pissing her off, I will have you in detention myself. I may not use a blood quill, but you know very well how gruelling my detentions are.”
A shadow of a smile played across Potter’s face when he understood the sentiment behind the threat. “Thanks, sir.” Severus inclined his head pointedly to the door.
