Teen Drama or "Are we sure there are no more Horcruxes, wife?"

Not Even the Bravest

February 2012

Sophie and Neville worked in the warm greenhouse in comfortable silence; the soft sunlight of that Saturday morning filtered through the glass panels, shining a white light inside the green-filled space, highlighting the contrast with the snow-covered outside.

Sophie stole glimpses of him as he worked, smiling and allowing her mind to play the many scenarios she'd already dreamed about, most of them involving her on her back on top of the long table.

She allowed the glimpses to become longer as he seemed completely oblivious to her eyes on him, his own focused on the delicate sprouts that he was repotting.

But then she heard: "Need something, Miss Sophie?"

His soft voice travelling the length of the Greenhouse and abruptly bringing her back to the present, now aware that he wasn't as oblivious as she'd thought.

"N-no, professor," she quickly replied, loving how he had stopped calling her 'Miss Snape' when they were working alone; 'Miss Sophie' sounded almost like a nickname – no one but he called her that.

Sophie looked back at the Vervain plant she'd been tasked to harvest the flowers of, trying her best to not be caught staring at him again.

_____________

Neville harvested the last grown Mugwort and put the long green aromatic plants on a basket for him to take to the Potions Lab later.

Although he had called her attention when he caught her staring, Neville couldn't stop his own eyes from darting to the young woman from time to time, trying to be as discreet as possible. Sophie's green eyes were on her task, her fingers picking at the small purple flowers with precision and care, putting each one inside a glass jar that, too, would be taken to the Lab before lunchtime.

He knew he shouldn't be looking at her, but he wasn't strong enough, he loved looking at her – and it seemed she liked looking at him just as much.

And Fuck if that didn't complicate things.

Sophie Snape wasn't a woman that he could just decide to court and date. She was, first and foremost, his student – fifteen years younger than him.

And her father was not a man anyone wished to have as father-in-law – less of all Neville.

So, he had convinced himself he could look, since he didn't seem strong enough to put a stop on that obsession he'd developed with the headmaster's daughter, but he'd never give her any sign of his interest.

And he was interested – completely, terribly, interested. How could he not? Sophie Snape could be young but she wasn't an ordinary seventeen-year-old, she stood out wherever she went; both her beauty and her last name made sure she always had eyes on her, and she was brilliant. He had no doubt she'd be a great healer.

She carried herself with her mother's grace and her father's aloofness and oftentimes condescension, walking around the castle like she couldn't care less about her classmates' opinions – which, he learned, was the truth – her delicate shoulders always straightened and her chin up, her presence depicting more confidence than any other girl her age had.

Not a girl. His inner voice reminded him. She's of age now.

Neville watched her wandlessly summon a chair and sit on it slow and gracefully, his mind going straight into the gutter, imagining himself on that chair, her round arse on his lap, his hands on her thighs under her skirt – not that she was wearing her school uniform that day; Sophie favoured jeans on the weekends, which only helped feed his obsession with her hips and overall behind.