autumn | severus snape

four | disaster

Ophelia watched as he carefully added liquid to his concoction, stirring and then leaving it to rest.

"Did you always know you wanted to be a teacher?" She asked.

He thought for a while, Ophelia knew because he always looked straight ahead with his mouth slightly parted when he was.

"Yes," he finally said.

"So you were always interested in teaching and potions when you were younger?" Ophelia knew she shouldn't ask more personal questions, she knew that he would snap at any moment. But she just couldn't help herself.

"I was good at it," Snape said and started to work on a new ingredient.

"But what were you interested in?"

"Why do you care?" He stopped cutting the ingredients and looked directly at her.

She felt like her heart skipped a beat when he did, like he had gotten into her bones.

Ophelia shrugged, "I guess I don't."

She let out a sigh and decided not to push any further, it would be a long day.

𖠇

A loud noise woke her up and she turned around to see a book lying on the floor behind her. She quickly snapped her head to the person standing in front of her.

"Did you just throw a book at me?" Ophelia spat at him.

"Next time you're not paying attention, I will not miss," Snape replied coolly.

She narrowed her eyes in his. "I don't know what your problem is, but I'll bet it's hard to pronounce," she hissed.

"Get out," Snape said through gritted teeth.

"What? No!"

"Get out, Miss Delisle, before I do something that will bring me enormous satisfaction," his eyes were on fire and he was approaching her in a very threatening way.

"No, I'm supposed to learn how to brew the Wiggenweld potion," Ophelia said, meeting him halfway. He was taller than her, so she had to turn her head up in order to get in his face. She didn't want him to think that he could terrify her like his students at Hogwarts. "So teach me, Professor."

Snape didn't answer, he just kept staring at her with his eyes narrowed and eyebrows twitched in anger. He licked his lips and her eyes automatically glanced down at them. It was only for a quarter of a second until her eyes were back on his, but he noticed, oh he noticed.

"I don't care whose daughter you are, you will obey my rules," he seethed.

"They all fucking say that," she sneered, "that they don't care whose daughter I am." She glared up at him, "yet everyone does, otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"And what would he think if he saw you now?" Snape bit back.

She gasped, a real gasp this time, no sarcasm. She tucked her hair behind her ears and frowned. He realized then that he had struck a nerve.

"You know what, Snape?" She stepped away from him, heat radiating off her in waves, "why don't you go fuck yourself."

She left him standing in his potions lab, shocked from the words that had rolled off her tongue. He was fuming as he decided to run after her. Never had he been spoken to in such a manner from one of his students, and he'd be damned if he let her get away with it.

"Get back here," he growled.

He stopped her in the middle of his living room, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back harshly. Her chest landed with a thump against his, she let out a few shaky breaths, not prepared for the impact.

"Let go," she said through gritted teeth.

"You will leave when I tell you to leave," he seethed.

You told me to get out, she wanted to tell him, but found herself unable to. She tried to break free from him, but his grip was strong, like he was holding on with everything he had. She looked up at him, her nose almost touching his. She could taste his breath on her mouth, smell the sandalwood on him and feel the anger radiating with each heaving breath.

"If you don't want me to punch you in the throat," she warned him, "take your hands off me."

Snape's grip tightened. "I do not have time for spoiled, little rich girls," he growled, "believing they have the right to behave in any way they please, as daddy will come to the rescue should it end badly."

Ophelia blinked away the tears, "where is my wand, Snape?"

"When you learn to respect me, Miss Delisle," he spat, "then, you will have your wand back."

Ophelia had never felt so much rage in her entire life as she did when she turned away from him and traveled through his living room. She couldn't control it, her parents tried and sometimes succeeded. They pushed her into passivity against her will, it only enraged her more. That was what they expected, however. Show your anger and they'll drug you into compliance.

That wasn't the only emotion that wasn't allowed in her parents home. They weren't used to natural people anymore, haven't seen one in so long, except the muggles they'd pass on the street. Most of the time she would bury it, conceal it, but they found with her rage she is trouble best ignored, left alone until signs of submissive behaviour were offered. Should she demand acknowledgment of her pain, she could expect their counter-rage, the scorn of last resort to put her back in her box.

But should she ever see an exit, though, even the tiniest glimpse of freedom beyond those walls, she'd let her anger flood out all at once. The rage she kept inside would be her ticket to freedom.