Chapter Three - I Don't Remember Asking You to Show Off

Chapter Three – I Don't Remember Asking You to Show Off

Isolde felt herself waning in Transfiguration on Monday morning. Once again, she had foolishly stayed up for the majority of the night, virtually prying her eyelids open in a desperate attempt to absorb as much as she could from her new, sublime muse...the unyielding Potions Master, who now lay secreted between her two emerald pillows, eagerly awaiting her return that evening.

She could not quite recall exactly when her eyelids had finally relented to sleep, but her dreams had been pregnant with dark chocolate kisses, wind-ruffled hair and electric frost-bitten fingertips. Inwardly, she cursed herself for her weakness: how could she have allowed herself...no, forced herself...to stay awake so long into the night, knowing that she had Potions the following day? Time and vicarious scolding had taught her that alertness was paramount in Potions.

Isolde blew small zephyrs of her own breath onto her face...a pitiful attempt to rouse herself for her next class. She had already raised her white flag to transfiguring the ostrich feather quill which lay mockingly in front of her; had already received the disappointed glance and head shake from McGonagall as she strode by, murmuring, "That's not like you, Isolde."

Damn. She had to snap herself out of this state of drowsiness, knowing too well that Professor Snape's tongue would be laced with a much more acidic commentary. She could not let that happen. She could not disappoint him. Would not.

Making a swift exit out of the classroom, Isolde allowed herself a hurried detour to the girls' bathroom to splash her face with water, if not to wake herself up, then to bring herself down from her girlish levity...the delusional voice that told her she was different from the rest, that she did receive unseen glances of desire when her eyes focused on her bubbling cauldron.

Her heels clipped urgently against the damp stone passageway toward the Potions classroom. Isolde revelled in the temperature drop, allowing the ribbons of freezing air to wrap around her, eliciting a false sense of alertness. False or not, she would need all the concentration she could muster if she was going to survive the lesson.

A murmur of conversation met her ears as she drew closer to Snape's door. Her fellow N.E.W.T. students congregated before the barrier of oak, their whispered conversation an eclectic combination of academia and the upcoming Yule Ball.

Isolde inwardly groaned. Her weekend spent in the loving embrace of the fictional Potions Master had completely wiped all thought of the ball from her mind.

"Oi! Snake! Get into a fight with a hag?"

Isolde scowled at the all too familiar voice of Marius Spencer. A seventh-year Ravenclaw, the tall, dark-haired boy had been her best friend since first year. Terms of endearment were not exactly the Ravenclaw's forte. Nevertheless, his rather cruel outer shell hid a soft heart, and the steaming cup of black coffee he handed her was evidence enough of this.

"Best skull this before Snapey-kins arrives."

Isolde accepted the coffee with a derisive smirk. She was convinced that one day Snape would hear Marius's less than kind nickname and the Ravenclaw would end up in detention until the end of term.

The caffeine was just what she needed, and once the tar-like liquid was swallowed, Marius swiftly transfigured the mug into an ink pot, winking at his friend.

"So, care to tell me why you look like crap?"

Isolde groaned. "Stayed up late."

Marius cocked a dark eyebrow, his twinkling periwinkle eyes indicative of a certain headmaster. "Smutty romance novel late or sexy time with a certain Hufflepuff late?"

"Hufflepuff?"

"Rumour has it that a certain Cedric Diggory is going to ask you to the Yule Ball."

Isolde's features were twisting into an expression of horror when the oak door creaked open, dark eyes peering out from the domain within.

All thoughts of Cedric Diggory were brushed from her mind as a delectable baritone filled the air.

"Enter."

The irony was that one single word from his crooked lips roused Isolde more than the collective efforts of the icy cold water, the potent cup of coffee and the witty jibes of her closest friend. Saturated with images from The Potions Master's Mistress, Isolde had to make a resounding effort to put one foot in front of the other and enter the classroom, bowing her head beneath Snape's long, arched arm as it held the door ajar.

She had not anticipated the rogue edging on his sleeve to graze her arm as she shuffled past, and it took every measly scrap of resolve not to gasp from the pure intensity of its contact with her skin. Her arm tingled long after it retracted its teasing caress.

"Ah, home sweet home," Marius cooed sarcastically as he greeted his desk on the second row, mockingly stroking its discoloured surface. "My old friend..."

Isolde could not help but flash him a wry smile as she seated herself beside him, summoning her copper cauldron and careworn copy of Advanced Potion Making from her bag.

"Thank you, Mr Spencer, for delighting us with your heart-warming reunion," Snape remarked dryly as he strode down the central aisle towards the front. Isolde stole herself a drawn out blink, aching to feel the cool, enticing flutter of air against her bare legs as his robes billowed behind him. "I am surprised," he paused characteristically, locking eyes with Marius, "that it has forgiven you for your clumsy mistreatment of it last week. Let's try to keep the ingredients inside the cauldron today, shall we?"

"Sorry, Professor," Marcus replied with surprising genuineness; clearly, he had not expected Snape to have witnessed his sardonic display.

For the briefest of moments, Snape's eyes appeared to dance over Isolde as she meticulously arranged her equipment on her own desk's surface. Her stomach would have leapt if she had noticed.

Fumes engulfed the classroom: dancing clouds of toxic, poisonous colour laced with the corrupted smell of ill-brewed ingredients. It was a noxious concoction, seeping into the weave of their robes, latching onto hair follicles, absorbing into the skin. Shrieks permeated the air as cauldrons twisted into unrecognisable blobs of smoking metal.

Despite the uttermost chaos surrounding him, Severus Snape remained relatively calm as students stirred and prodded mixtures of varying thickness, none of which resembled the Arachnid Antidote. Its simple name often brought smirks to the faces of N.E.W.T. students; they would dive straight in, only briefly noting the exhaustive list of instructions. Such a rash approach was disastrous, and the potion was often the ruin of even his finest Potions students. He would set it without warning - a simple test to derive who was worthy of further note. As of yet, in his fourteen years as Potions Master, only six N.E.W.T. students had produced a tolerable antidote.

Several students shot Snape a fearful look as he purposefully swooped around the classroom, his curled lip hiding a far more analytical approach. He allowed himself a quick glance toward the second row, noting that Spencer's cauldron was on the verge of bubbling over. Hardly surprising; the boy may have been a Ravenclaw, but he lacked subtlety, an attribute necessary for serious potioneers.

Miss Hamilton, on the other hand, was the only student in the room who had yet to add an ingredient to her cauldron. Its copper belly remained cold, lifeless, while the petite brunette stooped over her copy of Advanced Potion Making and scribbled manically upon a piece of parchment. Every so often, she would move from her notes to the preparation of her ingredients, which she would slice, crush or dice with precision, her silver knife dancing in the dull lantern light. Each morsel was weighed, each scrap of information quickly scratched down in her notes. Fascinated by the girl's meticulous preparations, Severus crept closer.

"One hour into the lesson and your cauldron remains untouched. Care to explain, Miss Hamilton?"

The physical reaction of the girl was almost as delightful as watching her careful movements. Despite the crackling, bubbling and shrieking that filled the dungeon, he heard her deep intake of breath. Grey eyes widened as she twisted her neck to look at him.

"ProfessorSnapesirIwas-!"

The words spilt from her mouth in a tirade of nervous syllables.

"Miss Hamilton, if you wish for me to understand you, I implore you to speak articulately."

Ah yes, he was being cruel. The girl's face hardened, eyes becoming cold. All nerves dissipated.

"It is a complicated potion, sir," she snapped. "I am simply analysing all of the ingredients, their purposes and their use within the antidote before starting to brew. If you would prefer that I blew up my cauldron like everyone else...?"

Severus made sure to hide his humour behind a cold veneer, his thin lips curling into a sneer. "Five points from Slytherin for your cheek, Miss Hamilton." As the girl paled, he continued. "However, you are quite correct. A potion such as this requires deliberation. Twenty points to Slytherin for your attention to detail. Should your potion be acceptable, I will reward you an additional twenty."

As Severus strode to the next row, Isolde heard yet another reckless bang from the back of the room; she couldn't help inwardly embracing herself for her thoughtful planning. Even though her professor had not even touched her, she felt electrified by his comments. Everyone knew Professor Snape did not deliver praise readily, and his promise of twenty more points filled Isolde with even more determination to succeed.

"You disgust me," said Marius as he haphazardly stirred what could only be described as thick gloop inside his cauldron. A simultaneous grin told her he was joking.

"And what do you mean by that?" Isolde challenged him as she compressed the heads of her foxgloves with the edge of her knife. The pale purple tint in each leaf darkened as the flower's natural fluids were forced to the surface. She feigned ignorance, but knew exactly what her friend was referring to.

"Twenty – points – to – Slytherin – for – your – attention – to – detail," he mimicked in a quiet whisper, purposefully punctuating every word in imitation of their professor. "Urgh, could you get any more sickening, Isolde? Give the rest of us a chance, will you?"

"And how is it my fault if the rest of you recklessly dive into a world of ineptness by not properly reading the instructions?"

She was jesting, of course; she and Marius had teased each other since first fear about their somewhat conflicting approaches to academia, but part of her could not help feeling rather smug. A promise of forty points from Snape in the same day was akin to any other teacher declaring their undivided love: high praise indeed, and Isolde was more driven than ever to receive her reward.

Her preliminaries complete, Isolde checked everything against the list of ingredients one more time before finally beginning her potion. Stealing a quick glance at the worm-eaten clock in the corner, she noted that she had just under an hour left.

oOoOoOo

"You have five minutes remaining."

Snape's smooth baritone trickled over the strung-out class, bringing Isolde temporarily from her haze of concentration. The potion before her was still as glass, and equally as transparent, revealing the scratched bottom of her copper cauldron through its eerily calm depths. The solution did not bubble nor smell. If it were not for the gyrating swirls of lilac steam dancing across its surface, one could mistake it for water.

The silver stirring rod shook slightly in her hand, pressure biting at her nerves, her mind focused on the final set of instructions. Stir anti-clockwise three times. Stir clock-wise once. Stir anti-clockwise seven times. Leave for three minutes. The rod sizzled slightly as she submerged it in the liquid.

"One, two, three," she muttered under her breath, movements smooth despite her nerves. "One. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven." By this stage, she could almost feel the penetrating gaze of Snape on her form. Silence reigned. It was if the whole class, even those cradling the remnants of their trusty cauldrons, were watching her.

Three minutes until the results would be settled. Three minutes until she would know if she would be rewarded the additional twenty points. If she were to be honest, it was not necessarily the points she coveted, but rather his praise. She yearned to hear subtle compliments spilled from his usually caustic tongue, wrapped in the intoxicating tones of his velvet voice. With bated breath she watched the cauldron, admiring the subtle change from clear to opaque. The liquid bubbled quickly, before turning a vivid shade of turquoise. It was a peculiar sight...a mixture of chemistry and magic that both intrigued and terrified her, like the man who taught the subject. When Snape ordered them to cease working, the potion had reverted to its water-like state.

Snape made his way around the class, attacking some with his tongue, letting others leave with nothing but a disapproving glint in his eyes. His features remained passive upon sighting Isolde's clear brew. The silence was now so stifling, she was sure he could hear the unsteady thrum of her heart against her ribcage.

"Twenty points to Slytherin, Miss Hamilton. Please remain behind."

Isolde gulped, taking little comfort from Marius's sympathetic tilt of the head. As her exhausted classmates rushed from the room, nerves were replaced by fear. Oh, she knew Snape would not punish her for a perfect potion. She was simply terrified at being in the same room with him...