It was deep in the darkest hours of night when Severus Snape, the most
feared professor of the school, walked toward the dungeons and his
private chambers. After returning from a Death Eaters’ meeting where he
had been tortured by the Dark Lord, he needed a Draught of Peace and
Pepperup Potion from his private lab. He needed be there as soon as
possible.
Damn it, he thought. Why have I become the Dark Lord’s favourite toy as
of late? Does he suspect something, and that’s why he tortured me so much
with the Cruciatus?
Snape stopped at the junction of two dark corridors, mulling his thoughts
over in his mind as he rested his weary body for a moment. Surely he
wasn’t the only person to have fallen under the suspicions of the Dark
Lord lately?
“Damn it, Severus, you must have a screw loose ,” he uttered aloud, his
voice echoing harshly in the stone corridor.
Shaking his head, he forced himself away from the wall and continued
ahead to his dungeon chambers.
Although it was well after midnight, Professor Snape wasn’t the only
person moving about the castle. Professor Dumbledore was always up, of
course, waiting to ensure his safe return from the Dark Lord and
wondering about the future of the wizarding world, but there was another
person, too.
In the common room high in one of Hogwarts’ towers, Gryfffindor’s little
know-it-all, Hermione Granger, was sitting in her favourite armchair by
the hearth. Her Advanced Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts texts
were open in front of her, and although she appeared busy, she wasn’t
reading either of them. She had no ability to concentrate on her studies
over the past few days, and no thoughts for her books.
Suddenly, she had found herself falling in love with someone.
How is it possible, with all the people in the world, that I fancy HIM?
Damn it! It’s totally ludicrous! I can’t have these feelings for him, she
thought silently.
Aloud, then, she scolded herself, “Granger, stop being so mental and get
back to studying for your N.E.W.T.s. You want the best marks possible!”
She sank back further into the comfortable armchair and made another
attempt to concentrate on her books.
Meanwhile, Snape had made it to his lab and retrieved his potions. Then,
moving from his private lab to his chambers, he sat down in his own
armchair by the hearth.
Drawing his wand, he murmured, “Incendio,” A fire sprang up in the grate,
and he ordered a glass of wine from the house-elves to disguise the
bitter aftertaste of the potions, which he drank quickly with a grimace.
Although he was tired, sleep would not come with his mind so full of
thoughts, so he stared into the fire for a time, thinking.
Why am I so distracted lately? Why can’t I stop thinking about HER? Damn
it, do you honestly think she would ever… you, the greasy bit, the bat
from the dungeons; a sarcastic, insufferable, unpleasant Death Eater. He
snorted at the absurdity of the idea.
“Whatever happens,” he warned himself aloud, “you must act as though
nothing is amiss. You cannot allow anyone, but most especially HER, to
realise something has changed.”
Setting his jaw, he rose from his chair and went to his bedroom, where he
tossed his frock coat over the chair and removed his shoes. Too tired to
undress any further, he sank into bed and drifted into a restless sleep.