Niamh and the trio held their books, with Defense Against the Dark Arts shuffled on top. The other N.E.W.T. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws awaited outside the door, whispering excitedly. A few eyed their surroundings, then giggled.
Harry adjusted his glasses, as if utterly bewildered. Niamh detected a gap in time.
"Guys, what's everybody on about?"
Hermione opened her mouth as the door slammed open.
Everyone dropped their hushes, looking up at the dark professor.
"Inside."
A Hungarian Horntail skeleton suspended from the ceiling, shadows and crevices glowing in its bones from the candlelight. From all her years at this Hogwarts classroom, Niamh had worked under the radiance of the arched windows. All were shaded, blocking even the sound from the outdoors. If it weren't for desks, the stone walls and the new chilly air resembled a deep cavern.
Romantic, she thought.
"Still a bat cavern," someone from the Gryffindor end whispered. "Creepy."
Oh well. To each their own.
"I have not asked you to take out your books." Severus closed the doors, then moved to behind his desk. He turned to the class.
Hermione dropped her book into her bag, quickly kicking it beneath.
"I wish to speak to you, and I want. Your. Fullest. Attention."
Niamh stopped adoring the mini potions sanctuary in the corner. She turned her head slightly.
His black eyes bore into hers as he crossed his arms. "Miss Felicity. You have earned yourself detention with Filch. 5 points from Ravenclaw."
Why is he being so cruel? "But sir, I have choir practice---"
Severus swept towards her desk, infamously leaning in her face like he did to Harry. His teeth enunciated each word. "Fift. Teen. Points."
His cloak flapped at her desk as he swept before the class again. "The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible." He stroked each adjective with a loving caress.
Severus began describing the philosophy of proper defense, when a few students exchanged eye-contact, smirking. Terry Boot of Ravenclaw flicked a note towards the Gryffindors, to which Seamus caught. He quickly read the note, showed it towards the others, then stowed it in his pocket.
Hermione's eyes pleaded him to pay attention, but he laughed into his hand. The other Ravenclaws and Gryffindors pressed their lips together, holding back sound as they looked to Severus's back.
Severus stilled, drawing away from the board. He turned around, clasping his hands. His black eyes swept across the room, hovering about the Gryffindors. "What is the meaning of this?"
Everyone avoided eye contact with him, keeping their bodies as still and expressions as oblivious as possible. That wasn't difficult for Niamh. She had no idea why they laughed behind his back in the first place.
"Potter. Explain."
"Uh, I don't know." He caught Hermione's eye, who shot him a warning look. "Sir."
Severus flicked his wand. "Very well. 10 points from Gryffindor."
Broken mutters and groans filled the classroom. "You can't do that! He didn't do anything wrong," Ron argued.
"Until I hear a confession, I shall discipline as I please."
Severus swept to his desk again. "Now, as I believe, you all are complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of this defense method?"
After a few minutes of discussion, partnering ensued. Niamh deliberately sought out Seamus.
"Oh hi Felicity, um," Seamus peeled his eyes for his best friend Dean, but Neville already partnered with him. He took out his wand, aiming towards her as she did the same.
"Expelliarmus," he mouthed, parts of speech sounding in his whisper. The whole room filled with loud shuffling of feet to muffle the cheating at nonverbal practice.
"Protego," she mouthed back before the spell could send her wand flying into Severus's hair across the room. In all her guilt, Niamh hoped Severus didn't see her stoop so low to cheating. But truth be told, even Cho, an ultimate studious Ravenclaw, murmured a bit.
"Snape," she mouth, half-hushed.
He looked to Severus, who hovered over a cowering Neville. "Huh?"
She jerked her head to the professor's direction. "Spill the Veritaserum."
He gave her a quizzical look. She then realized that only her closer friends: the trio, the Weasleys, and Luna knew of her habitual personalized figurative language. "Spill the tea. What's funny about him?"
They each took one step closer, subtle enough to go unnoticed, but increase sound and confidentiality. "Petrifcus Totalus!"
"Well, on the way to the feast, I happened to---Protego---" he lowered his voice, deflecting her spell, "walk past here. Snape's door was left open a crack and, well, he conjured a Patronus!" Seamus eye's flicked towards Severus's direction as if noticing his voice sounded a bit above a whisper in his excitement.
Niamh fired another spell at him, trying to focus on the incantation as she had mentally done to conjure her own Patronus. "Oh?" She found that news rather normal.
"Yeah, who knew that bat was capable of feelings? He's like a Death Eater; they aren't capable of producing charms like that. Maybe he imagined crucioing Harry or something."
Ouch. Seamus had reasons to villainize Severus, given that he knew limited information on the man. Still. To question his capacity of emotion pierced her in the heart. Of course he had feelings.
Severus wept harder than any other professor.
"And I suppose he cast a bat Patronus?" Niamh shot her bitter, sarcastic tone back at him. With a whole class laughing behind Severus's back at his capacity to feel, she felt protective of the man she loved. How dare they mock him.
Seamus dropped his gaze, a little taken aback. "Er, no. A phoenix."
"Pardon?"
"A phoenix? You know, like Dumbledore's Patronus. But a smaller bird, with beadier eyes."
She was not dumb enough in the first place to assume he fancied the elderly headmaster.
It should still be a doe! Something about his doe went beyond Lily, Niamh could sense it. Even if Severus magically woke up from bed with Niamh in his thoughts, it should still be a doe. Yes, that doesn't make sense either. But nor do soulmates.
My Patronus should be a doe!
"Describe it." She swung her arm in another defense spell.
"Honestly, I only got a faraway glimpse. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as phoenixes go."
"So nothing looked wrong with it?"
"I mean . . . it was slightly blurry. But maybe I saw it from too far."
Niamh and Seamus continued to duel, slowly silencing. Now to master the act of stilling their lips. Soon the clock chimed, and as everyone hustled out, Severus assigned them homework of extra nonverbal practice.
"You coming?" Ron asked. Harry and Hermione stood expectantly, since she no longer had Potions with Snape, and her prior confusion on the class gossip. They all shared the same break, with Niamh's and Hermione's slightly shorter due to their class load.
"Later. I'll see you at lunch," she smiled.
With the empty classroom, the tension thickened between her and Severus, who flicked his wand at the board, clearing the lesson. A stack of papers laid neatly on his desk. She quietly wandered over.
Niamh pulled a chair across from his own. She reached over his arm towards the stack of papers. Severus caught her wrist, standing beside her. "What do you think you are doing?"
"Helping you grade." Niamh stared at him, bewildered.
"You are not qualified."
Niamh tried pulling her wrist from his grasp, but he clamped tighter. "I was thinking I could look at the first-year essays, at least."
"Miss Felicity. This is not Potions."
She softened her voice towards him. "I know that."
He pushed her wrist to her side. "Why don't you help Professor Slughorn, then?"
"Because I want to be here."
Severus stared at her. He kept staring, as if intimidating her out the classroom.
But Niamh kept herself there.
Eventually, he sat down and pulled the first sheet towards himself. She reached over his arm, again, quickly grabbing a small stack and pulling it towards herself. She dipped her quill, and began reading.
Unlike last year, Severus spared no attention to her. He used to steal glances; he used to collaborate at her side.
Niamh still wondered why he was so cruel on her today, why his hair actually looked greasy for once. She even reduced her breathing to a minimum, for fear he would snap at her.
Severus should be happy. He's immersed in the subject he loves most.
But she held fast. Love can have its complicated, ugly moments. It's still loving him for who he is, at all times. Finding something beautiful in even the darkest of times.
Yes, she held fast. Until Slughorn's potions class ended her break, that is. Niamh left silently, having a feeling speech would trigger an upset response. Severus had a lot on his plate.
Niamh walked into the Potions classroom, finding her seat as others found theirs. For the first time, Slughorn took down Severus's boards, exposing the Black Lake in the dungeon windows. Shining glimpses of Merfolk tails and large sea creatures lurked by.
Slughorn's enthusiastic voice quickly set the lesson in action. "Scales out, everyone, and potions kits, don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making . . ."
The classic scene unwinded before her, with Ron and Harry wrestling for the last two spare textbooks, one new, and one tattered.
Thus far, Niamh sat in the smallest of classes. Of course, more Ravenclaws sat here than the other houses, but that didn't stop her from choosing to sit beside the trio.
Niamh gazed over Harry's book in awe. She simply couldn't curb her curiosity. "Harry, can I see that?"
Harry gave her a quizzical look, then handed her the tattered copy. She opened the pages, running her fingers across the inky annotations.
Young Severus wrote in the most beautiful penmanship, the especially way he twisted his L's, S's, and T's. Lowercase h's dangled off the line; messy, but elegant. She brushed her nose against the pages, inhaling his scent of Cedarwood, lilies, and spilt potion.
Oh, if only Severus wrote in not one, but two books. How she would give to read from his famous notes all day, admiring him as a young scientist like herself.
"Um, we can trade if you want. I don't mind a newer copy." Harry tapped her freshly purchased book, his eyes looking at the tattered one in repulsion.
Sadly, she had to give that up for the greater good. And that was the least of her sacrifices. "No, you keep it," she handed the annotated copy back to him, "I like the smell of old books, that's all."
Slughorn introduced them to the bubbling potions. Before he landed on the most aromatic one, Hermione and Niamh's hands shot up in the air.
Slughorn paused, as if deciding who to call upon first. Niamh looked to Hermione, lowering her hand. You must be invisible, Dumbledore had instructed. Even the smallest of changes shifted reality.
"It's Amortentia, sir," Hermione said, while exchanging a knowing glance with Niamh, who had made her potion-making skill known with the whole school last year. "The most powerful love potion in the world. It smells differently to us in accordance to what attracts us, for example, I smell freshly mown grass, and new parchment and . . ." she trailed off with a heated face, avoiding Ron's oblivious gaze at the other potions in the room.
And I smell Cedarwood, parchment, ink, potions . . . and Sweet Sultan. The flower of felicity.
And an untold flower.
"Precisely, Miss Granger. Take 20 well-earned points for Gryffindor!" Slughorn strode to the last cauldron, dipping a tiny vial of golden liquid. He watched his students with great anticipation. "Any guesses on this one?"
Per habit, Niamh and Hermione shot their hands at the exact moment. As soon as Slughorn turned towards her, however, she lowered her hand, frustrated. Don't change reality! She reminded herself.
"Felix Felicis. Also known as Liquid Luck, which makes you lucky for a period of time depending on the amount you ingested." Hermione slightly raised an eyebrow at Niamh, as if wondering why Niamh refused to participate like she normally did. Usually top participation in Potions bounced between them, but now she let Hermione do so alone.
"Quite right, take another 10 points for Gryffindor. Now, beware of such a potion, for too much of a good thing causes recklessness and dangerous overconfidence. But taken sparingly, well, you might catch the perfect day. And this tiny vial," he presented it closer to all ogling eyes, "enough for 12 hours luck, is the prize I am offering today." He pointed to their books. "Page 10 of Advanced Potion-Making. Whoever brews the most accurate Draught of Living Death wins."
Everyone clashed and hushed, focused on perfecting their preparation as they set their cauldrons in place. After minutes, she crushed Sopophorous bean with the blade of a silver dagger, juices squirting all over the cutting board.
Diagonally across the table, Harry held the book to his glasses, then she did likewise, reading at once.
Niamh rejected most of the instructions in all honesty, simply using her intuition to guide her steps.
She tipped the cutting board into the cauldron, dripping all of it.
"The instructions clearly say to cut!" Hermione snapped.
As published in print, the potion turned a lilac shade. Niamh smiled. "I know." She dipped her ladle into a slow stir.
Hermione turned on Harry, arguing the annotator's merit.
Niamh's potion synced with Harry's at perfect speed. One more minute, and they'd tie in the win.
Plop.
Don't change reality! She dropped an extra bean.
". . . The clear winner! Excellent, excellent, Harry!"