The American Assistant (Y/N x Severus Snape)

Chapter 8 - Nightmares and Shame

You carefully trace the tip of your wand around the news article in in the Daily Prophet, making sure not to cut any words by mistake. You grab the part of the prophet, raising it to your eyes, reading it again. A muggle gardener was found dead last week in Little Hangleton - it appears to of been the killing curse. There isn't a picture of the body, just a moving picture of the gardens outside of an estate of some sort. The article didn't state the name of the muggle man, just that he must have been dead for quite sometime. You lay the paper inside your drawer, on top of other prophet clippings you've been collecting, then slide it shut. You glance up at the clock on the wall of your chambers, seeing it past eight in the evening. Snape has agreed to come grade with you at nine, so you have time to brew a dreamless sleep potion.

Standing over the cauldron in your small kitchen, you stir in the lavender and chamomile, seeing it shimmer a light purple. Your sleeves are pushed up and your hair is back in a messy pony tail, and you can feel sticky sweat form on your forehead. You smile at the consistency of the potion, turning off the burner, letting it simmer until it cools. Your dexterous fingers begin to slip the herbs back into their containers when you hear three gentle knocks come at your door. You glance to the clock, seeing it fifteen minutes until nine. Your lip twitches in annoyance as Snape is early. You grab a washcloth and turn on your sink, wetting it.

"Come in." You murmur.

You wipe your face as Snape opens your door. He silently strides to your desk, sitting down exams. As he sits down in one of the seats opposite of your chair, your furrow your brows, but don't say anything. He's never not sat in your desk chair. He glances behind his shoulder, looking at you, his brows knitted together.

"Why are you making dreamless sleep potion?" He inquires.

You toss your rag in your sink, then rinse your hands off. You grab your faded flower teapot and fill it with water. You smile to yourself as you prepare tea.

"Your nose is not that good." You murmur.

You can't believe it - Snape is several feet away, but can smell the potion?

"Is that why I am running low on lavender?" He asks.

You shrug, watching the water begin to boil.

"If it's an issue, I can replenish it over the holiday." You reply.

You hear him stand and begin to walk towards you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he leers over your shoulder. You turn your head slightly, feeling his hair brush against your face. His dark eyes are examining your potion. You shrug him off your back, rolling your eyes.

"I've been making it long enough to know it looks fine." You inform.

Snape scoffs lowly, stepping beside you now, mixing the potion.

"I suppose it's average quality. How long have you been taking them?" He asks.

He turns his head towards you when you don't reply.

"Are you going to the ball on Christmas?" You ask.

Snape purses his lips and strides back to the desk, subtly annoyed at your avoidance of the question. You aren't going to tell him you've been taking the potion every other night since you started working here. They're not addicting, but stopping them after being used for long periods of time will cause you to have your worst nightmares.

You grab the tray of tea and scones you picked up from Hogsmeade yesterday and stride over to your desk. You sit it down on the edge and take your seat.

"You weren't at dinner?" Snape asks.

You look across the desk to him. He's staring at you intently. You shift in your desk chair, adverting your eyes to your lap. You grab your quill and ink pot, wanting to begin to grade, but before can dip your quill into the ink, Snape slams his hand on yours.