Confessions from a Friend - Fluff
After graduating from Hogwarts in 1978, you spent many years working at Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecary in Diagon Alley. While you started off loving your job, it quickly became boring. Selling bat spleens and snake fangs wasn’t as fun as brewing potions like the ones you used to make in Professor Slughorn's class. You were one of his top students and a prominent member of the slug club. He had said you were destined for great things. Yet you threw away any chance of ever pursuing great things for a boy.
A boy who you hoped would wake up and see how much you cared for him. Sadly, for you that day never came. After graduation, you both went your separate ways. The one time you tried to send him an owl after not speaking for weeks, he never returned it. He stayed on your mind for many months after that, lulling you into a depressive state. Instead of going out and making connections, or pursuing a great career, you shut yourself up inside.
Eventually you ended up at the apothecary, and that’s where you had spent the last several years of your life wasting away your talents. Till one day, Albus Dumbledore showed up at the dingy little shop, and offered you a job as Potion’s master at Hogwarts. It took no convincing on his end. Not long after his visit, you were moving out of your small flat, and back into the castle you once called home many years ago.
➵
It was the night where students would finally be arriving. Which also meant it was the night of the welcome feast. You would finally get to meet the rest of the staff and see the students you would soon be teaching. Full of nerves, you put on your new set of robes, running your fingers over the soft fabric to smooth out any wrinkles. After checking your appearance in the mirror multiple times, spinning around to see all angles, you finally felt content.
You were one of the last teachers to arrive at the great hall. ‘I could’ve sworn I was early!’ You thought. Full of embarrassment, you made sure to keep your head down as you rushed over to the teacher’s table. Taking a seat at the end in front of the Ravenclaw table, you risked a glance to your right. Smiling up at you was your former charms teacher, Professor Flitwick. You returned his smile.
The doors of the great hall opened, and countless footsteps echoed around the room as hundreds of students marched their way in. They all took seats at their house tables, leaving room near the front for the new first-years.
The sorting ceremony was just as exciting as you remember. Whenever someone was sorted into your old house, you found yourself clapping extra loud. As the last student was sorted into Hufflepuff, Dumbledore stood up. A silence fell upon the room as everyone’s eyes, including yours, fell upon him.
"The very best of evenings to you!... Now… to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you..." As he spoke, you found yourself grinning from ear to ear. The realization of your new job finally hitting you.
“We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor L/N.” You quickly stood up, your cheeks flushed, as you gave a small wave to all the students who were now staring at you. “She will be taking up the position of Potions master.” With his statement, the word “Potions?” echoed around the hall. Several of the students were glancing at you then over to a spot in front of the Slytherin table. Murmurs and whispers had filled the room. Confusion was running through you. What’s the big deal?
“Professor Snape meanwhile” Dumbledore continued in a much louder voice. “Will be taking over the position of defense against the dark arts teacher.”
Students began talking among themselves again, but none of it registered. You were frozen in your chair, eyes wide and your chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. Snape?
The same man who had broken your heart all those years ago by remaining oblivious to your affections. You had spent what seemed like forever trying to forget everything about him. Though the mention of his name seemed to flood your mind with emotions. Emotions you spent years burying inside yourself.
Surely, you must have been mistaken. You definitely heard Dumbledore wrong. Maybe it’s just one of his family members. ‘Or his wife’ The thought brought along a sharp stabbing pain to your heart. You shook your head, almost as if trying to shake away your thoughts. Even if it was his wife, you wouldn’t care. ‘He means nothing to me anymore.’
Your pitiful attempt of convincing yourself was in vain. Your hands shook as you reached forward to grasp the wooden table. Using it as leverage, you pushed yourself forward slightly to try and take a glance down the table. There was a very large man concealing the other side. You were certain Snape had to be behind him. Unsuccessful in your tries of leaning forward, you leaned back in your chair, the front two legs lifting off the ground.
“A little more” you whispered to yourself, while still gripping the table. Leaning back even further, you finally saw what you were searching for. Long black hair, parted perfectly down the middle. Small curls peeking out near the nape of his neck. You couldn’t admire him for long, as your grasp on the table slipped. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Your hands desperately trying to regain your grip on the table. The sound of you and your chair hitting the ground booming through the great hall. You squeezed your eyes shut. Your body was burning with embarrassment, oh how you wish the floor would swallow you whole. Still lying on the floor, you heard footsteps approach.
“MISS L/N” someone shouted from above you. “Are you alright?” you cracked open an eye and was met with the concerned looks of many people standing over top of you. “Miss L/N, please. Are you alright?” They repeated. You turned to meet the worried eyes of McGonagall.
“I’m fine.” You murmured. McGonagall slipped her hand behind your back and eased you up into a sitting position. Students were crowding around the edge of the teacher’s table, staring up at you with concerned looks. ‘What a great first impression.’
You groaned and brought a hand up to the back of your head. A knot was clearly forming from where your head slammed against the ground. “Let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey” McGonagall said as she tried to lift you to your feet.
“I’m fine really!” You gave her your most convincing smile. “Just a headache. Really, I promise.” She studied your expression for a moment before sighing. “Alright. Then up you go.” She helped hoist you to your feet. Brushing off your robes, you turned to retrieve your chair from the floor. However, it was already right side up. Pale and thin fingers wrapped around the backrest. Your eyes dragged up the body of the man. When you finally met his eyes, your heart stopped.
Severus Snape looked just as he did when you attended Hogwarts together. The only difference was his hair was a touch longer, and his face had a few marks and scratches. A few wrinkles lined his cheeks. The biggest difference was his eyes. Still black as coal, they now showed no emotion. During your school days, his eyes always told you exactly how he was feeling. Whenever he had created a new charm or hex, they would glisten with excitement and eagerness. After he was taunted and teased by other students, they were filled with rage and hatred. The emptiness in his expression hurt you. Where was the man you once cared so much for? There were no traces of him left within those dead eyes.
He thrusted the chair forward. With a raised eyebrow he spoke coldly, “Already making a fool of yourself, Miss L/N?” He turned with a flick of his cloak and returned to the end of the table. You stood dumbfounded with your mouth ajar. How dare he.
You huffed loudly and plopped down ungracefully in your chair. Anger was filling your veins. You glared at the food that now dawned the table. Too disgruntled to eat, you just shoved things around with your fork until Dumbledore dismissed everyone.
➵
Weeks had passed since the start of term. Classes were going quite well. It was really easy for you to grow accustomed to teaching others. Many of the older students had expressed how much they loved how you ran your classes. It always filled you with pride.
Snape mostly gave you the cold shoulder. When he wasn’t outright ignoring you, he would mutter taunts under his breath.
“None of the students respect you.”
“You coddle them far too much”
“You call that satisfactory work? Maybe for a troll”
You let every insult roll of your back. It would’ve been incredibly easy for you to retort with ‘Funny how all your old students say they like me better.’ But you refused to sink to his level. Somedays you were quite thankful for his remarks. It helped you shove any feelings for him that arose with ease.
Today you were going to teach one of you third year classes, the antidote to uncommon poisons. You had your back to the class as you flicked your wand. The chalk lifted itself from the spot under the chalkboard and wrote out the potion and its ingredients.
“Can anyone tell me the difference between the antidote to uncommon poisons verses the antidote to common poisons?”
A hand shot up in the back of the class. You nodded at him.
“The uncommon one is…more powerful?” He spoke it as if it were a question.
“No. Both can only cure mild to moderate poisons. The only difference is as the name suggests. One cures common poisons, and the other cures uncommon ones.” The boy sunk back down into his chair, a flush on his cheeks. “Today we will be brewing the uncommon one. Recipe is on the board. Please get started.” You clasped your hands together and observed your class. Some students were pulling out their scales or setting up their cauldrons, others were gathering ingredients from storage.
The beginning of the brewing process didn’t require much of your attention so you returned to your desk. You spent a few moments checking over the potions of your previous class, writing down the grades for each student.
“Professor L/N!” a student called. You looked up from your desk. “Can you help us find the billywig stigs?”
➵
Class was nearing its end. You circled the room and checked everyone’s cauldron. Most were adding the last of their fire seeds. You peered into the cauldron of a Hufflepuff girl. The reddish orange color was bubbling gently. “Very good, Miss Bones. 5 points to Hufflepuff.”
As you walked around the room and gave your critiques you noticed a bit of commotion coming from the corner of the classroom. Quickly crossing over to the group of Gryffindor girls, you pulled them away from the cauldron. A small girl was stirring the potion, worry and fear evident on her face. You peered inside at the potion. It was a pale yellow and bubbling violently. You stepped behind the girl and watched her. “What happened here?” you questioned, leaning closer to observe the liquid.
“I-I’m not sure Professor.” Her voice was shaky. She reached over to grab a fire seed. “I just have one left to add. Maybe it’ll be ok.” She dropped in the seed and began to stir. Counterclockwise.
Still standing behind her, you watched as the liquid turned from a mustard yellow to pitch black. The violent bubbles worsened. Your eyes flicked to the board, and you quickly realized her mistake. She was leaning over the potion, trying to use her wand to calm the bubbles but her shaking hands struggled to do so. Sparks began to shoot up from the liquid, and before she could lean in closer to observe them, you quickly wrapped your arms around her head to pull her away. Just as you reached over the cauldron to cover her face, flames shot up from the mixture.
The flames brushed all over your arms and hands, a howl of pain leaving your lips. You could feel the hairs on your arms singe as you shoved the girl to the floor, away from the fire. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. Screams erupted from the students encircling the cauldron. The skin on your arms and hands felt tight. Every part of your body felt hot. As you panted, you dropped down to check on the girl.
“Are you okay?” You pulled her hands away from her face to inspect her. Your hands stung as you did so, but you had to make sure she was ok. Seeing her burn-free face, you return to your feet and let out a sigh of relief. Just as you were about to check on the others, Madam Pomfrey burst through the doors.
➵
Some hours later, you awoke in the hospital wing. Both of your arms were wrapped in white gauze. Small orange stains dotted them, spots from where the burn-healing paste had seeped through. You groaned and rolled over. Your knee bumped into something hard, and you hissed in pain. Someone's legs were resting near the edge of your bed.
“Are you determined to harm yourself in every way possible?” The deep baritone voice was all too familiar. You quickly rolled back over to the other side of the bed. Your back now to him. “I wonder what’s next. Maybe a misfired bat-bogey hex? No, I think it’s more likely you’ll drop your dinner knife on your foot and impale yourself.” He gave a small chuckle. Clearly, he was amusing himself.
“If you’ve only come to mock me, just leave please. I’m really not in the mood, Snape.”
“Snape?" He gasped, dramatically. "When did you become so sensitive, N/N?”
You immediately flipped back over at the sound of his old nickname for you. “W-What did you call me?” Your hands were now gripping the sheets of your hospital bed.
“N/N. Did the fire get your ears too?” He smirked and reached out to brush stray strands of your hair away to expose your ear. His touch sent sparks through you. Your face began to heat up as you flushed a deep red. “Looks like you might be getting a fever too. You’re burning up.” The back of his hand was now pressed against your forehead.
You laid there silent, watching as his eyes darted around your face. His hand now on your chin, turning your head from side to side as he inspected you. You found yourself staring at his lips. ‘I wish he would kiss me’ With this thought, fresh tears began to streak down your cheeks. The feelings you desperately tried to fight were rushing to the surface. You still cared about him deeply. You still loved him. After all these years. But why is he acting so concerned. It's not like he actually cares, he made that very clear by ignoring you for over 10 years.
“Why are you crying? Are you in pain? Let me get Madam Pomfrey.” His hand slipped from your chin. He rose from his chair and began to walk away. Without thinking, you snatched up his cold hand and pulled him back.
“No!” It sounded too desperate for your liking. “I mean, no I’m fine. I’m not in any pain.” You gave his hand a squeeze. Unconvinced, he slowly lowered himself back into the chair.
“Then why are you crying?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs.
“I….um…I…” You glanced around the room, desperate for an excuse to appear. In the bed behind Snape, there was a sleeping student in a Slytherin quidditch uniform. Perfect!
“Because I missed the first quidditch match of the year.” You tried to sound sincere.
You both sat in a moment of awkward silence before he finally spoke up. “If you’re going to lie, at least pick something believable. You hate quidditch F/N, always have. Remember? We would be in the library together while everyone else went to the games.”
“I’ve grown to like it.” You huffed and sat up within the bed. “I love a lot of things I used to hate.”
“Well, I guess you’re changing faster than I can keep up.” He had a ghost of a smile.
“I’ve changed a lot, Sev. But you wouldn’t know that” You didn’t mean to use his nickname. But the banter between the two of you had felt so natural, you easily slipped back into old ways.
“I guess you have.” A flicker of emotion crossed his eyes. Yet it was gone before you could decipher it. The words hurt you more than you would have liked to admit. You had hoped he would have picked up on your subtle dig. Either he didn’t or simply chose not to.
“I-I could tell you about the things.” You stammered.
“Hm? What things?” He asked as he snatched up the jar of burn-healing paste from the table next to your hospital bed.
“The things I love.” You stared down at your hands which sat in your lap. ‘Please please please pick up on the hint’ You refused to look up at him. If he looked at you, he might try and rush off to retrieve Madam Pomfrey again due to your scarlet cheeks.
“F/N, if you are going to bore me with topics about how you’ve taken up knitting, or cooking or something else boring, I’ll just stop you now. I have lots of papers to grade.” He was still fidgeting with the container of paste.
“That’s not it!” You cried out. Shoving your head into your hands you began to sob.
You felt a few small awkward taps to your shoulder. “There. There.” Snape said unconvincingly. “It’s okay.” The words didn’t make you feel better. He said it with such reluctance and uncomfortableness its clear he didn’t mean them. It only made you cry harder.
He let out a loud sigh. You felt his arms snake around your body, holding you in a strange hug. Your arms were trapped against his chest, making you unable to return the hug. He pulled away entirely too soon. Having him so close to you made you desperate for more contact. Hesitantly, you looked back over to him. He was once again fiddling with the container.
“If you wanna tell me, go ahead. I won’t laugh if it’s that important to you. What is it you love?” When you made eye contact, you could see the seriousness in his look. It was now or never.
You had loved and cared for Severus Snape for years. You spent all your free time trying to be as close to him as possible back when you were younger. Wherever he went, you tried to follow. He would come to you after one of his bullies messed with him, desperate for someone to talk to. Together you would sit under a tree, thinking up the best way to hex or jinx them. You would try your best to make him laugh. He tutored you in potions and in return you tutored him in herbology. You hoped one day, he would pick up on your not-so-subtle flirting, but her never did. Then he cut you off after graduation. You never got a chance to confess your love.
Thinking of the past made your heart ache. You should have told him you loved him many years ago, but fate has brought you both back to each other. Now was your chance to correct the mistakes of your younger self. You sat up straight, grabbed his hand that wasn’t gripping the jar of paste, and stared into his eyes.
“You”
The only thing you could register after the words left your lips, was your heart beating rapidly in your chest, and the sound of the glass jar of burn paste smashing onto the floor.