Chapter Text
Unfortunately, It Was Professor Snape
There were many unfortunate things in Astrophe Krysthine Sylvestre-Delistier's life.
Being hopelessly, irrevocably, spectacularly in love with Professor Severus Snape ranked comfortably in the top three.
Right beneath *Gravity*.
Gravity had been her lifelong nemesis.
Gravity was relentless.
Gravity held grudges.
Gravity had absolutely no respect for personal dignity.
Which explained why, on the very first Potions lesson of Sixth Year, she managed to trip over absolutely nothing.
---
The Slytherin common room buzzed with first-day excitement.
Or complaints.
Mostly complaints.
"I heard Slughorn retired for good."
"He should've waited another year."
"I heard Snape's marking is even worse."
"It was already impossible."
Astrophe quietly buttered her toast.
Across from her, her dorm mate, **Lyra Rosier**, watched her with narrowed eyes.
"...You're smiling."
Astrophe blinked.
"I am?"
"You've been smiling since breakfast started."
"I have not."
"You sighed while looking at your timetable."
"..."
"...That could have meant anything."
"It meant Potions."
"It—"
"It absolutely meant Potions."
Astrophe looked back down at her toast.
"...Perhaps."
Lyra groaned.
"Oh, Merlin."
---
> Be normal today.
> Just...
> Be normal.
> Attend class.
> Brew potion.
> Leave.
> Do not stare at Professor Snape.
> Do not blush.
> Do not trip.
> This is a perfectly achievable list.
---
It was not.
---
The dungeon classroom smelled faintly of herbs, parchment and ingredients that would almost certainly dissolve flesh if mishandled.
Home.
Well...
Academically.
Professor Snape swept into the room precisely as the bell rang.
Black robes.
Expression somewhere between irritated and disappointed.
Which, Astrophe suspected, was simply his natural face.
"Books away."
The room obeyed instantly.
"We shall begin Sixth Year with a modified Draught of Clarity."
His voice was smooth.
Measured.
Calm.
---
> Why does he make *instructions* sound attractive?
> Focus.
> Potion.
> Ingredients.
> Root of asphodel.
> Stir clockwise.
> Stop looking at him.
> Astrophe.
> Stop.
---
"Miss Delistier."
Her head snapped up.
"Yes, Professor?"
"You have measured precisely half the required amount of powdered moonstone."
She looked down.
He was right.
"Oh."
"..."
"...Yes."
"I had gathered as much."
Heat rushed to her face.
---
> Wonderful.
> Excellent.
> Six minutes into the school year and I have already embarrassed myself.
> Perhaps I can transfer to Beauxbatons.
---
She corrected the measurement.
Carefully.
Very carefully.
Her potion shimmered a beautiful silver-blue.
Professor Snape paused beside her cauldron.
He leaned forward ever so slightly.
Examining.
Astrophe forgot how breathing worked.
"Hm."
---
> Was that a good 'hm'?
> There are different kinds of 'hm.'
> That sounded...
> Moderately approving.
> I shall treasure this forever.
---
He moved on without another word.
Astrophe released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"So far, so good," she whispered.
At that exact moment—
Her sleeve hooked the handle of her ingredient satchel.
The satchel slid off the table.
Instinctively, she lunged after it.
The stool scraped backwards.
One foot tangled in the hem of her robes.
"Oh."
The classroom tilted.
---
> No.
> No no no no—
> Not today.
> Please.
> I've been here for exactly—
> Eight minutes.
> Eight.
> Whole.
> Minutes.
---
She braced for impact.
It never came.
A firm hand settled around her waist.
Steady.
Strong.
The sudden halt stole the breath from her lungs.
Everything...
Stopped.
The dungeon disappeared.
The bubbling cauldrons vanished.
Even Peeves, somewhere in the castle, seemed to have respectfully paused his mischief.
Professor Snape was looking directly at her.
One arm around her waist to keep her upright.
---
> ...
> ...
> ...
> He's holding my waist.
> My.
> Waist.
> People write poetry about this.
> Somewhere, violins are playing.
> I don't know where they came from.
> Hogwarts doesn't even have violinists.
> They arrived anyway.
> Is this destiny?
> Is this—
---
"Miss Delistier."
Reality slammed back with alarming force.
"...Y-Yes, Professor?"
"If you have concluded your ongoing disagreement with basic balance..."
A pause.
"...kindly resume standing."
A few students snorted.
Someone coughed suspiciously into their sleeve.
Astrophe nodded so quickly she nearly lost her balance again.
"Yes, Professor."
He removed his hand immediately.
Stepped back.
Continued walking through the classroom as though nothing remarkable had happened.
Because, to him...
Nothing had.
One student had almost fallen.
He had prevented it.
End of incident.
---
> He let go.
> Naturally.
> Why wouldn't he?
> He is my professor.
> I am his student.
> We are not secretly betrothed because he prevented my skull from colliding with stone.
> ...
> Shame.
---
Beside her, **Rowan Selwyn** quietly slid three Sickles across the table.
**Cassian Vale** accepted them with a grin.
Astrophe frowned.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"It didn't look like nothing."
"It was educational."
"...Educational?"
"Rowan bet you wouldn't fall until at least halfway through class."
Rowan sighed.
"I had faith in you."
"You should never have faith in me."
"I've learned that now."
---
Potions continued.
Mercifully.
Astrophe managed to complete the remainder of the lesson without threatening her own survival.
Which, by her standards, constituted remarkable progress.
Professor Snape made his rounds one final time.
He stopped beside her cauldron.
Looked inside.
A long silence followed.
Finally—
"Excellent."
Then he walked away.
---
> ...
> ...
> He said excellent.
> About my potion.
> Out loud.
> In audible English.
> I am going to remember this until I am approximately one hundred and twelve years old.
---
The bell rang.
Students began packing.
Astrophe carefully gathered her books.
Very carefully.
Extremely carefully.
She would not trip twice in one lesson.
She stood.
Turned.
Walked confidently toward the door.
Her bag caught on the corner of the workbench.
It yanked her backward.
She windmilled spectacularly.
"Oh!"
Before she could begin another argument with gravity—
A hand caught her elbow.
Not her waist this time.
Just enough to steady her.
Professor Snape.
Again.
He looked at her for one very long moment.
"...Remarkable."
She blinked.
"...Professor?"
"I had not previously considered walking to be an advanced magical discipline."
The classroom erupted in laughter.
Even Astrophe laughed.
"...I'll continue practising."
"I should hope so."
He released her elbow.
She escaped into the corridor before her face could become any redder.
---
The moment she rounded the corner—
She leaned against the wall.
Closed her eyes.
---
> Well.
> That could have gone better.
> It also could have gone considerably worse.
> I brewed an excellent potion.
> I survived.
> He spoke to me.
> He caught me.
> Twice.
> ...
> I need to stop thinking about the catching.
> It was entirely professional.
> Entirely.
> Completely.
> Absolutely.
> ...
> He has very nice hands.
> ASTROPHE.
> Pull yourself together.
---
Inside the classroom, Rowan looked at Cassian.
"So..."
Cassian pocketed another coin.
"I'll move the betting line."
"What is it now?"
"Three falls next lesson."
"Too low."
"Four?"
"Four."
Across the room, Professor Snape finished collecting essays.
Without looking up, he said dryly,
"If the two of you have concluded your gambling enterprise, kindly leave my classroom."
The boys froze.
"...Yes, Professor."
The dungeon emptied.
Silence returned.
Severus Snape glanced briefly toward the door through which Miss Delistier had disappeared.
An exceptionally gifted brewer.
One of the finest in Hogwarts.
Utterly incapable of remaining upright.
He exhaled quietly.
"...Remarkable."
Then he reached for the next stack of essays, entirely unaware that somewhere down the corridor, Miss Astrophe Krysthine Sylvestre-Delistier was still internally replaying approximately three seconds of completely professional assistance as though she'd just lived through the final chapter of the world's most dramatic romance novel.