This is so wrong. I shouldn't be feeling like this, it's not allowed. It's not possible. And did I mention wrong?
Tell that to my heart. It seems to be working independently of the rest of the world. Heart, meet brain. Feeling, meet conscious, rational thought.
He's a Slytherin - sarcastic, mean and bad to the bone. A death eater in training. And worse still, he's a Malfoy - and everyone knows that there's no love lost between Weasleys and Malfoys.
But I've gone and done it anyway. I've fallen, and I've fallen hard. I'm powerless to fight it. I love him.
Top / © March 26th 2002
The Subtle Art Of Potions
The mixture was simmering nicely now, the surface erupting with small bubbles of hot air. It had turned from green to a deep purple through various shades of blue. This was it - the key stage in this delicate process; three drops of unicorn blood to be added at point when the potion turned from an inky purple to a midnight black. Too early and the potion would fume with steamy poisonous vapours; too late and the potion would react so violently that cauldrons had been known to shatter like glass. Such was the nature of the subtle art of Potions.
Top / © November 24th 2001
The faint beating of wings could be heard outside the great hall at Hogwarts, and very soon the first of the post owls swept into the magnificent hall, delivering their letters and packages. The students all looked up hopefully, expectantly; but Severus Snape kept his eyes fixed on the plate in front of him, poking despondently at his breakfast. He never got mail; and this day would certainly be no different. He hated Valentine's Day.
No one was more surprised than himself when an owl hovered briefly above him, then dropped a package into his lap. Despite himself, he smiled.
Top / © November 18th 2001