Chapter 3
Severus has the uncanny feeling that he’s just awoken something. As if some terrible beast has been lying in wait and he’s only just now earned its calling card— a single black button, which he now flits between his fingertips, placed where a jar of Angel’s Trumpet once sat in his storage closet.
After months of relative silence, of ‘Sir’s’ and ‘Miss Granger’s’ and ‘Of course, Headmaster’s,’ something has distinctly shifted. Yes, she has marked this as a Beginning, with a single black button and a stolen jar of toxic blooms.
A Beginning… but of what?
He rises from his chair with a heavy sigh, his eyes flitting to the clock as if he doesn’t already know exactly what time it is, and slips the button into his pocket.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Enter,” He calls, carrying his chair to the open area next to his desk.
“Must I tell you every time to remove your robe, Miss Granger?” He snaps after catching sight of her.
“I—“ she starts, her brow furrowing before she quickly smoothes her features. “No, Sir.”
Severus props one leg on his knee as he sits across from her, watching as she sheds her robe and neatly drapes it across a nearby chair.
“And your sleeves,” He orders, resting his head against two fingers at his temple.
She quickly rolls up the sleeves of her button-down and looks up at him expectantly— barely an inch above her wrists, as she always does.
His jaw clenches.
“Begin.”
Stepping forward to the small table between them, Miss Granger plucks the parchment from its surface and immediately sets to work.
She was the only returning eighth year that elected to take Potions. And upon learning this, the hateful little thing had soon requested private lessons with none other than himself, knowing very well he could not refuse without incurring the great ire of Minerva McGonnagall who made sure to warn him as much. Only the best would apparently do for the lauded war heroine— Slughorn is likely still licking his wounds.
So Severus sits here as she brews, offering the occasional cutting critique and glaring a hole into her skull because he knows that she can feel it itch and prick across her skin. She’s gotten better at fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze, much to his dissatisfaction.
His eyes stray downward as she chops away at ingredients with her lip caught between her teeth. Her tie is missing, an unusual stylistic choice for her, as are the buttons that remain undone at her neck.
Severus looks up from the fraying black thread where a button should be, oblivious to when her movements had gone still. She had been watching him, the lovely pink now staining her cheeks at odds with her seemingly unperturbed gaze.
“Have you anything to say of what occurred this morning?” He finally asks.
“The sign, you mean?”
Her eyes narrow as Severus merely arches a questioning brow in response.
Just this morning, just as Severus had entered the Great Hall for breakfast, a suspicious banner had unfurled behind the staff table.
‘TRAITORS WILL PAY’— Scrawled in a bloody red ink with the dark mark writhing endlessly behind it, serving as yet another decisive blow to the illusory peace many find themselves clinging to within these castle walls.
Miss Granger appears to consider him a moment before dropping her gaze and resuming her work. “I suppose they ought to be careful,” she murmurs, barely audible over the quick and rhythmic thuddingof her knife against the cutting board.
“Yes… I suppose they ought.”
***