Promises (Temporarily on Hiatus)

I sat at the window seat, palms pressed against the frosty glass. It was early autumn and already the air was becoming increasingly frigid, but I opened the window anyway. The breeze slid over my already chilled, goose-pimpled skin, dancing across the flesh. Disregarding the arctic temperature, I obstinately wore only a lace-trimmed chemise and my Slytherins robes over it. The Black Lake glimmered, a slab of obsidian with a bright white iris of light in the centre. It reminded me of his eyes: a deep void of crisp, clear night. The sky was unclouded, an onyx canvas dotted with scattered shards of glass, the moon a glimmering rondure that seemed to be just out of reach, its surface only centimetres from the tips of my fingers. I perched on the edge of the sill like a ghostly chimera, ready to disappear with the slightest breeze. I was insubstantial, light, free. And then vertigo set in; I backed away from the ledge slowly, fearing the drop that plunged before me; dizzy and slightly disoriented. I leaned back against the wall, shut my eyes, and sighed forlornly. The cadence of coarse fabric sliding against stone caused me to jump and turn to face whatever was lurking in the darkness of the niche.

“Miss Harper,” a figure crooned. “Do come closer; I want to be able to see your pretty face.” I moved towards the silhouette as though I were locked in some sort of hypnotic trance. “Kiss… thick… bite… punish…” the words only sporadically being processed as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I wanted nothing more than to see the creature whispering those mesmerising promises and soon was tearing at my clothes in an attempt to remove them. I was so hot, so hot, so hot! The fabric was stifling and I had to get the chemise over my head before I suffocated.

“Let me help you with that, Miss Harper.” Plumes of icy air wrapped themselves ‘round my throat as the creature’s breath spilled from its lips. Those same lips soon pressed themselves against the nape of my neck, arms snaking across my waist. Professor Snape was slowly lifting up the hem of my slip…

--/--

I woke up in a cold sweat, the entire alcove covered in a fine sheet of powdery snow.

It was a dream. A wonderful, illicit, explicit, fantastic, surreal dream. Wipe the drool off your face, Evelyn. You look a mess.

I stood up, brushed the ice from my robes, and dried them with a quick Haumadus charm. Wrapping my cloak tightly around me, I set off towards the Slytherin Commons in the hopes of drifting off on a leather sofa rather than on the brink of a large precipice. I was about to round the corner when a hushed conversation drifted up the hallway, the draft carrying the duo’s words farther than they would have liked. I quickly hurried into a niche in the wall, avoiding the loss of House points and detentions that I would have received.

“Hadrian, we must find a way to convince them. I’m not looking to start a coup here, just a willing transfer of power.” I recognised the voice immediately: the soft tone and Mayfair accent.

“Well you are going to have to do some serious coaxing, Lucius, you’re not the most popular bloke here; not many people are going to back you up.” Yaxley’s booming timbre was a contrast to the blonde’s sleek tones.

“Ah, but I am the richest.”

“You plan on bribing them?”

“They all live on strikingly meagre salaries, Hadrian. The cost of living is going up and most of them are looking to retire soon enough.”

“But Lucius, I doubt any of them would take it. There are some genuinely respectable professors on the payroll.”

“Oh they’ll succumb. And besides, I already have the support of one of them.”

“Severus?”

“Oh no. Haven’t bothered to ask him, but the three of us go back a ways, as you know. Not to mention the fact that he owes me.”

Just as I predicted: Malfoy planning on making this school into a fascist state. Oh God, if they find me… does Obliviation hurt?

I held my breath as the two men clomped by in their heavy leather boots. There was a pause as they passed the alcove.

“Wonder how all that snow got in,” Yaxley commented.

“Someone must have left the window open. As I was saying…”

Eventually their voices faded and I stepped out of my clandestine perch to hurry back to the safety of the dorms. I would inform someone of this matter the next morning.

As I turned the corner into the hallway (heading in the opposite direction of the men), I found myself face to face with the man who had just invaded my licentious, wayward fantasy. I blushed through the darkness at the recollection.

The tip of his wand glowed dimly, obviously using some sort of modified Lumos spell. He thrust the wooden rod in my face. I noticed that he was still in his robes, dark black buttons pressing against my chest. I took a step backward, and he opened his mouth to say something.

“I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do likewise,” I cut in. His jaw snapped shut with a sharp clack and he ground his teeth for a moment, contemplating my offer. A swift jerk of his head sent me skittering down the hallway, away to my nice warm bed and light-hearted because I just escaped a possible suspension or detention with Filch.

Eavesdropping does have its perks.

--/--

“Brilliant, Miss Harper! And on your first try too. Everyone note her technique and poise; her hand never falters, eyes never lose their focus. The Disillusionment is evenly dispersed and quite indistinguishable. Bravo.”

The entire class groaned, most of them rolling their eyes or making snide comments to their friends.

That’s none of my concern. They are all just jealous of my superior talent and proficiency at Charms.

“That was a marvellous display of magic, Miss Harper,” Arthur Weasley said brightly. He was dressed in faded maroon robes today, a blatant display of his loyalty to Gryffindor, my rival House. I thought that it was a bit rude of him to do so. I’d ask him to wear a more neutral colour later in the day and offer to charm any of his old robes if he didn’t contain the appropriate shades. So far, the entire shadowing business hadn’t been too bad. He asked me a few questions, occasionally commenting on my prowess at one skill or another.

I removed the charm from the textbook and tried to perfect the technique of making the object more “invisible” than “mirage-like.” As I practised different flourishes with my wand, the vertically-challenged Professor Flitwick sidled up to me stool in hand. Out of politeness, I turned my head as he climbed on top of the chair. Once he was settled, I turned and smiled at one of my most favourite professors.

“Miss Harper, I was wondering if I could have a word with you after class.” He must have noticed my look of dismay because he aged hurriedly, “You’re not in trouble. This is about your University and Apprenticeship Application.”

“Of course, I’d be happy to. Mr. Weasley, you’ll excuse us won’t you?”

“Yes, right. I shall see you in…?”

“Double NEWT Potions.”

Mr. Weasley looked quite dismayed and scribbled something on a notepad he carried around with him.

The rest of the class went by agonisingly slow: some children managing to make their books translucent, but not entirely Disillusioned, others turned them a muted shade of grey, and others somehow managed to make them disappear entirely… in a gulp of fire. There were several missing eyebrows that day. Eventually, the chimes went off, signalling the end of the morning’s classes and the beginning of lunch. I waved to Mr. Weasley and went over to Professor Flitwick. It was sad really: the man barely reached my hips. I sat down on the chair in front of his desk and waited for the man to reach the top of his enormous “booster seat.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“I’ll be brief, Miss Harper, I’m sure you’re not interested in sitting in this stuffy room for the entirety of your free period; especially not with double NEWT Potions next.” He squeaked a laugh and I followed suit. I admired him for his quick wit and gentle demeanour; Professor Flitwick never raised his voice or threatened idly, he never assigned an unfair amount of homework or withheld praise where it was due; this all being a stark contrast to Professor Snape’s teaching style.

“As I said, this concerns your U&A app, more specifically your decision as to what subject you’d like to major in.”

The entire process of attending University and becoming an Apprentice is a monumental travail, filled with pages and pages of paperwork and scrutiny. A student decides what subject he or she wishes to pursue in life and proceeds to apprentice in that subject, after some semesters of practical study under the tutelage of a Master, the now “journeyman” attends the University of their choice for around three years (depending on the difficulty of the subject; some take more time to master) and becomes a Master themselves. They can then take up a position as a professor somewhere with the title of “Potions Master” (in Professor Snape’s case) or “Transfigurations Mistress” (for Professor McGonagall). It was an unwritten rule that when the Master you studied under retired, you would be given their position.

“Ah yes. I have decided that I’m going to study… Charms,” I sung this in a melancholy, wistful tone.

“I understand, it’s your decision- wait! Did you say Charms? Oh Evelyn, I’m so pleased!”

The goblin man scurried around and shook my hand vigorously. I gave the man an affectionate pat on the head, and he eventually let go. A spasm of despair swept across his face momentarily.

“Why couldn’t you have been placed in Ravenclaw, my dear?”

I shook my head, but didn’t offer him much of an explanation.

“Won’t Severus- I mean Professor Snape be displeased that you’re not going to apprentice in Potions? He always expressed some interest in your future, specifically that you would pursue a career in his beloved subjects.”

Well, he shouldn’t act like a bastard every time I walk into class or accidentally slice my finger open. “You’re blood is not going to add to the effectiveness of the concoction. Try and keep your digits out of the way of the knife.” “Yes, professor, because I’m trying to cut myself.”

“He has never demonstrated an iota of interest in my future, to me anyway. In fact, I’m sure he’d make some caustic remark about my inept hands and dismiss the subject instantly. As further proof, he’s revising my application and hasn’t said a word about it. I adore Charms, professor, and I’m quite eager to study under you. And if you’ll excuse such crass language, professor, Professor Severus Snape can go ‘piss off.’”

Professor Flitwick seemed delighted by my impudence and was about to reply, when his face crumbled and smile swiftly fell to a sad little frown.

“I can do what, Miss Harper?” Snape’s voice resounded through the amphitheatre setting of the classroom. “I encountered Mr. Weasley in the hall and inquired as to your whereabouts, I planned on starting class early today, as you know we’re going to be making a rather difficult, time-consuming potion, and he informs me that you’ve been asked to stay after class. Naturally, I felt it was my responsibility to see what a member of my own House had done to warrant this and imagine my surprise when I walk in and hear said student bad-mouthing me and a fellow professor encouraging her. Really, I’m hurt.”

I was quite at a loss for what to do: apologise and admit defeat, or feign innocence and hope for the best. I chose the latter.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, professor,” I laughed. “We knew you were there all along, didn’t we professor?” I continued before Flitwick could muck things up more. “As though anyone could speak ill of you without you knowing it. I’ll see you down in the dungeons, sir, right after I go and have a spot of lunch; I’m terribly hungry.” I somehow managed to make my way out of the room without receiving detentions or getting my head ripped off. Oh, I hadn’t escaped his clutches yet; I had to face him on his own turf, which would be unpleasant, and Weasley would be rather useless in a skirmish.