Chapter 1: Minds of the desired

She was my student, and it never should have gotten this far.

I really wouldn't have even thought about her if it weren't for the fact that she had come back to complete her seventh year. I wouldn't have noticed her if it weren't for the fact that I only accept students who achieved an 'O' on their OWLS for NEWT level potions. I wouldn't have even talked to her if it weren't for the fact that she never talked in class; didn't even raise her hand to answer anymore. His mind corrected him though. You're full of shit, Snape; you've noticed her since beginning of sixth year when she came back to school in September. You even asked Poppy how well she had recovered from having Dolohov's calling card slashed across her chest.

He was my professor, and it never should have gotten this far.

I really wouldn't have even thought about him if I hadn't come back for my seventh year. I wouldn't have noticed him if it weren't for the fact that he survived the war. I wouldn't have even talked to him if it weren't for the fact he noticed I never talked in class; didn't even raise my hand in class anymore. Her mind corrected her though. You're full of shit, Granger; you've noticed him since the first DADA class in sixth year when he slapped Harry to the ground in that lesson.

She was my student.

I watched her. I watched her in class as she sat with her head down, her curls falling over her face as she worked. I watched her watching me when my head was bent and my hair fell forward, covering my face. She had this annoying habit of pushing the hair that fell over her face back behind her ear and shoulder, exposing her silky neck where I could just notice her pulse beating beneath the skin. Watching her pulse beat made my own pulse beat faster.

He was my professor.

I watched him. I watched him in class as I sat with my head down. His hair would fall gracefully from his shoulders to hide his face. I would watch his eyes as they stared resolutely down at his desk. When my hair would fall forward covering my face, I would turn my eyes in his direction. He was watching me. He always watched me. He watched me with eyes that were as black as infinity. I would follow his face from his eyes, down to his jaw, and then his neck. I could see his pulse beat in his neck, just above the collar that hid his scars. Watching his pulse beat made my own pulse beat faster.

She was my student, and it never should have gotten this far.

I would roam the classroom watching the deplorable efforts of the students save one. Her. Her potion would always be perfect. I would try to time my arrival at her table for when she was about to add another ingredient to see if I could shake her confidence. For confident she was. That was another thing I noticed when I watched her. Every movement of her hands was perfect, effortless. No ingredient was ill-prepared. No ingredient was added at the wrong time. Whenever I arrived at her table, I would notice her breathing quickened and became shallow. Her pulse beat even more quickly under the skin of her neck. Because of this her scent would intensify, and I would inhale it. She wore Jasmine. It was enough to ensnare my senses and drug me. I had to do something. I could no longer deny the witch was driving me to distraction.

He was my professor, and it never should have gotten this far.

He would roam the classroom barking at the other students as they attempted their potions. He would eventually come to my table, and it was always when I was ready to add another ingredient. It was as though he wanted to shatter my confidence, to make me slip up. I never did. I worked very hard to ensure my hand movement mimicked his own, which were flawless. I prepared my ingredients just like he did; perfectly. I memorised when he added ingredients to be sure mine were never added at the wrong time. But when he came to my table, my pulse would quicken even more, my breath would become faster yet shallow. I would inhale as deeply as I could. His scent was intoxicating. It was so uniquely him; Bergamot and potions ingredients. I could no longer deny the wizard was driving me mad.

She was my student. I could no longer deny I wanted her.

He was my professor. I could no longer deny I wanted him.