The Witch

She catches me looking at her and I send her a glare. Her green eyes twinkle and she gives a brilliant smile. “Butter, Sev?” she asks, and looks at me enquiringly.

“No thankyou, Professor Rosenberg,” I reply frostily. “And I would prefer it if you either stopped abbreviating my name or addressed me as Professor.”

She looks a little crestfallen and I secretly rejoice. She has been teaching at Hogwarts for five months and I have to come to the decision that, as Professor Dumbledore appears to find her teaching methods satisfactory, it is up to me to encourage her to leave Hogwarts. Hogwarts is no place far an American Wicca, especially in such troubling times. Minerva sends me a harsh look after Rosenberg had turned away, so I suspect that she is aware of my intentions. I smirk at her and turn back to the Daily Prophet.

It is as uninformative as usual. An article detailing the transfiguration of a woman into a cow has somehow made the front page. Skimming to the names I read that it is Crabbe Senior’s wife. In my opinion, the transfiguration made no difference to her. I flip to the death notices, which I actually find quite an interesting read. Rosenberg notices and makes some catty remark about it. It is out of character for her; perhaps she has finally caught on to the fact that I enjoy making her life a misery.

I sneer at her. “Why, Professor Rosenberg, you should be thanking me. I am only checking to see if your friend Miss Summers’ luck has finally run out.” The school is constantly abuzz with rumours about the slayer, thanks to Rosenberg’s talent with story telling. The students are always talking about her, even in my classes, and I have found that it severely interrupts their learning ability, weak though it usually is. I watch with interest as Rosenberg’s face goes red and she looks as if she wants to curse me…

I decide that it is in my best interests to quickly leave the table. I gracefully sweep down the hall and my mood is brightened considerably when a little Hufflepuff hides underneath the table.

* * *

I am awoken that night by Dumbledore. Whilst I dress, he explains that two students had ventured into the forest. When the little fools didn’t come back their roommates became worried and told a prefect. He explains that all the teachers will be searching the Forest in pairs. “Who is my partner?” I ask, grabbing some Pain relief potions from a cupboard.

“Professor Rosenberg,” The Headmaster answers, and stifles my protests with a hand. “I have no time for your immature nonsense,” he snaps, “two students are missing, an I feel that their lives are far more important than your petty jealousies!” He is angrier than I have seen him for quite some time, and so when he turns and storms out of my quarters I follow meekly behind.

Petty jealousies? I believe my fears for the welfare of the children in Rosenberg’s classes well founded. No doubt those children in the Forbidden Forest are wishing now that Severus Snape taught them DADA. Kindness and understanding are all very well but they don’t teach protective spells.

Rosenberg is waiting at the edge of the forest. She’s got a torch in her hands. If she believes that that will be of any help in the forest she is in for a serious shock. Muggle technology will not find the children. I think that she’s borrowed one of Hagrid’s cloaks, judging by the fact that it’s dragging on the ground and the head shields her entire face. She almost looks cute- I mean, she looks as if she’s shrunk in the bath. She ignores me and glances instead to Dumbledore. For some odd reason I feel slightly put out.

“Where should we search, Albus?” She asks, pushing back the hood impatiently with a hand. The strong wind is playing havoc with her hair, and so I tell her to tie it up else it will become caught in the branches of twigs of the Forest. She gives me her very best glare and I suppress a grin. Some of my amusement must have shown in my face though, for Dumbledore snaps at me, “Severus, this no laughing matter!”

“I know it isn’t,” I say, irritated.

Dumbledore has divided up the forest into large squares. Ours forms part of the far border of the Forest. I voice my doubts about the students making it that far, but I am ignored again.

After a few more minutes of discussion, Rosenberg and I are given a Portkey for our square. As we hold the old Heinz tin our hands touch, and after I have gotten over my slight revulsion at touching her, I find that it is not as unpleasant a feeling as I had previously thought.

The familiar tug at my navel causes me to hold on the Portkey more firmly as we move from the outskirts of the Forest to our square. As soon as our feet are on solid earth again Rosenberg drops the tin and stumbles behind a bush to be sick. I consider walking over to her and holding her hair back or something, but my Slytherin common sense prevails and I stay where I am.

After what seems like an age she returns from behind the tree. I give her a harsh look and say smoothly, “Portkey travel does not appear to agree with you, Professor Rosenberg.” She narrows her eyes before turning and surveying the area around us.

“Are you ready to start searching?” I say abruptly, and she nods. I take out my wand and look around cautiously too. We are in a small clearing. Huge trees, tall enough to block out the moon, are all around us. Some straggly plants are around, but there are no flowers or grass. Obviously there is not enough sunlight for them to grow. If the students are here they will most definitely be in need of assistance.

“Well?” I say impatiently and turn around to see what Rosenberg is doing. I let out a cry of surprise. She is sitting cross-legged on the ground.

“What on earth are you doing?” I say angrily and stride forward, ready to pull her up. She doesn’t look up at me, but instead pulls out some bottles and herbs from her oversized cloak. “I’m doing a location spell to find the children,” she explains quickly, and arranges the herbs in an ornate pattern.

I wait silently. I know little about Wicca magic, and I do not know whether this ‘spell’ will work or not. The Forbidden Forest is a far different environment than what she is used to. The forest itself is full of magic and enchantment, and things ordinary wizards and witches cannot begin to even comprehend. There are beings dwelling in here as old as the forest itself, and almost as powerful. A location spell is very likely to backfire and then we will find ourselves in deep trouble.

Suddenly the herbs ignite into flames. Rosenberg gives a little shriek and jumps up. I swear under my breath and quickly mutter a spell to make the fire go out. I should have known better than to trust her and her magic. “I know another one,” she mutters apologetically, but wilts under my glare.

“Actually, Professor, I would rather we did this my way. One accident is enough,” I say, sneering.

Her eyes widen, and secretly I smile. Finally, my wish for her to leave is getting through to her. The American will be back where she belongs by dawn. I’ll wager my honour as a Slytherin on it.

She opens her mouth to say something and an arm wraps around my chest. Cold hands move my head up, baring my neck to a vampire whom I cannot see but I can feel. My wand falls to the ground and in the dark I can’t see where it is. I kick out at the infernal vampire but I miss, my foot hitting air instead. The vampire descends to my neck, and at the moment I can feel fangs scraping across my jugular the vampire disappears in a cloud of dust. I collapse pathetically onto the ground.

“Sev, are you all right?” A frantic voice says, and Rosenberg drops to her knees in front of me. She has a stake clutched tightly in her hand and I realise that it is to her that I owe my life. I am not sure which is worse; the fact that I couldn’t save myself, or the fact that a diminutive Muggle did. I sit up, and put my hand to my neck. There is a small trickle of blood there.

She’s still talking. “I’m so sorry, I was just so surprised, my mouth seemed to stop working, I’m so sorry, I’ll contact Headmaster Dumbledore-”

“No!” I said loudly, and staggered to my feet. I don’t think I could handle the embarrassment if Dumbledore knew how close I had come to being killed. “I had a shock, that was all. Now, let us find those imbeciles who had the arrogance to think themselves ready for the Forest.” I give her a little sneer, to show her I am back to my customary self, but she doesn’t appear to see it.

After some searching I retrieve my wand. Rosenberg is still fussing over me like a mother hen. It’s nice, in a strange way. Horrified at the route my thoughts are taking, I stalk rapidly off to the right, into the dark forest. With any luck she’ll forget all about the vampire, but I know that this is just wishful thinking.

“Professor, hurry up,” I call back to Rosenberg. “Lumos.” I mutter softly. Instantly the previously dark forest is thrown into golden light, and Rosenberg is trotting by my side, alert.

“I didn’t think you had vamps here,” she says.

I snort. “There are vampires all over the world, Professor Rosenberg.” I say with scorn. “Surely you, of all people, should be aware of that?” She blushes and turns her face away. We walk in silence for a few minutes as I draw up my courage. “Thankyou,” I say gruffly, “for saving me.”

“It’s what I’ve done since I was about sixteen,” she says. “Saving people, I mean, not saving you, because I’ve only known you for five months and you know, you live in England and-”

Her babbling is actually rather endearing, I suppose, but eventually I stop her by clearing my throat loudly.

“Oh, sorry, I was babbling,” she says, stating the obvious. “You have to stop me when I do that,” she instructs me, and smiles.

For the next few hours we search together side by side. I am used to being alone, but working with Rosenberg is surprisingly pleasant, and, though we keep a watch for more demons as well as the morons who got lost, we talk as well. We have some common interests, potions mainly. Usually the only people I have to talk about potions with are the dunderheads I teach. It makes a nice difference to talk to someone I grudgingly admit has a good brain.

A cracking sound announces the arrival of Dumbledore as he Apparates in front of us. “Good news, Severus, Willow,” he says jubilantly, in answer to our questioning looks. “We’ve found them!”

“Are they okay?” Rosenberg asks worriedly.

“Michael has a broken wrist and some bruises and Therese has a nasty gash across her head and a bit of concussion, but other than that they are quite alright.”

“Oh, thank God,” Rosenberg says, obviously relieved.

“Yes, we’ve owled their parents and they’ll be here in a few hours. I advise you two to get some sleep though; you’ve been out here for a while.” Dumbledore reaches into his pocket and pulls out some of that Muggle sweet he likes so much. I refuse mine, but Rosenberg accepts with a beam on her face.

As soon as we had taken another Portkey back to Hogwarts I remember my position as Potions Master and Slytherin Head-of-House, and so I do not bid Rosenberg good night. Instead I turn and begin to swiftly walk to my quarters in the dungeons, leaving Rosenberg looking puzzled, confused and a tiny bit hurt.

* * *

Now that Rosenberg is so close to being dismissed as the Professor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts, I find that it does not give me as much pleasure as I thought it would. Actually, I feel rather miserable.

It seems that the idiots that went to the Forbidden Forest did so with a reason, albeit a ridiculous one. Professor Rosenberg, the silly girl, had mentioned some of the various demons that dwelt in the Forest. Rosenberg had also jokingly remarked in class how some of them could one day become demon-hunters or aurors, and perform a similar job to the Slayer. Impressed with the tales of Miss Summers and her accomplices, the children had got it into their heads to imitate her and slay some demons of their own. Their parents, furious about the fact that their children slipped throw the doors of the school and into the Forest unnoticed, focussed on Rosenberg as the unfortunate person to bare the blame.

Now the parents have announced their intention to go to the school board and convince them to dismiss Rosenberg. Of course, this will make me become the prime candidate for the position.

I toy with the flute of the wine glass I hold in my hand as I make up my mind. I can let Rosenberg lose her position and gain the job I always wanted; or I could stay as Potions Master and help Rosenberg keep her job. I have rather a lot of influence with the school board. I drain my glass in one big gulp and, getting up, I cross to rack where my cloak is hanging. It’s no contest, really.

Rosenberg is waiting for me at the gates of the school when I Apparate back. Her face is pale and drawn, and she looks as if she has been crying. She looks up at me, half-hopeful, half full of trepidation. I wonder if I ought to keep her in suspense, but she looks so miserable. I give her a curt nod and a small smile and brush past her. However, two small arms wrap around my chest and Rosenberg gives me a huge hug.

“Oh, Sev, how can I ever thank you?” She asks, and her smile covers her entire face. I stand still as a statue, unsure what to do with my arms. I haven’t been hugged in a very long time. I think she realises this though, because she steps back.

“Please forget about it,” I say quietly, and I start to walk back to the castle. She runs to catch up with me and, putting a hand on my arm, turns me around to face her. I sigh. “Please, Professor Rosenberg-”

“Willow,” she says.

I purse my lips slightly but in the end I say, “Willow, I would appreciate it if you would let me resume my way to the castle.”

“You saved my job,” she says, not moving her hand from my arm, her beautiful green eyes intense.

“You saved my life,” I reply. “That is a wizard’s debt. I am only trying to repay it.”

Her face falls. “Than it wasn’t because you-”

I look at her impassively and her hand falls away from my arm. She looks like she is about to burst into tears, and so I turn on my heel and walk as quickly as I can to the dungeons. Somehow, I feel that this situation is all my fault. Again.

Minerva caches my arm at the end of the staff meeting the next day. “A word, if I may, Severus,” she asks.

I stand aside to let the other staff members through the door and wait. When everyone has left she closes the door behind her. “I’m ashamed of you, Severus,” she says. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that.

“What?” I say, surprised.

“What you did to Willow,” The Scottish witch said, advancing on me. “I would have thought better of you, Severus, playing with the girl’s feelings and then doing nothing about it.”

“I have no idea what you mean!” I say, genuinely surprised. “The girl’s feelings?”

“You’ve been unusually nice to her, you got her job back for her, you don’t snap at her so much…”

“I was just being nice,” I grind out, waiting for Minerva to get to the point. “Is that so very unusual? And what about her feelings?”

Minerva sinks into one of the chairs and stares at me. “You really don’t have any idea, do you?” All the wind seems to have gone out of her sails.

I look at her blankly.

“She thinks you’re in love with her, dolt!” Minerva gives an exasperated cry.

“But…I’m not…” I say but then I stop. Am I? Why am I being nice to her? I was never like this towards James Potter.

And then the truth dawns on me, and I blanch.

Oh, God help me. I think I’m in love with Willow Rosenberg.

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