I find myself staring intently at my book, attempting to use every ounce of willpower I posses to not look at Potter. It should be said that I am failing miserably. My eyes darted between the text I'm reading and the boy who's diligently working on his homework. He has already finished one assignment and is just starting yet another.

"Is there something you want, Professor?" he asks, looking at me.

A part of me wants to simply hold his gaze. But I look back down at the book. "I want that door to open." I snarl. I want it to open so he can leave and I won't have to sit through this hell.

Potter chooses to elaborate further for me. "That's not going to happen unless the temperature goes down in this room." He murmurs.

I glower at him, noticing the mirth in his voice. Just what is so bloody funny? I glower at him as I speak. "Pray tell Potter. If a spell couldn't open it, what will?"

"When the air cools down in here," he dips his quill in the ink and starts writing, as if his explanation is so simple.

I look at him like he's crazy. Just why would the temperature have to cool down so the door could open? The door should be opening now, so I'm not in this situation! However, I have not yet sunk to the point of desperation that I would blast my classroom door to fragments with a 'Reducto' spell.

He sighs, lifting his quill from the paper, as if dealing with a small child. "When something gets too hot, it expands, in this case, the wood. The wood expanded so much from the heat that it's pretty much jammed into place. And since it is resulting from magical means, I'm not really that surprised that the door didn't open. This is all basic…" his words trail off. "Never mind, Sir." He starts to write in silence.

"Basic what?" I demand; he has caught my attention, despite the somewhat patronizing tone in which he was talking to me.

"Basic science. But that's a Muggle thing, so, like I said, never mind, Sir." He doesn't even look up as he speaks. He pulls at his shirt collar, offering a tantalizing glimpse of skin underneath as he undoes a few buttons. "I hope this gets fixed soon. I'm about ready to roast in here."

'I hope it doesn't.' The lascivious thought wanders lazily through my mind. 'I'd prefer it if you took the shirt off.'

I tighten my jaw grimly, focusing on the text in front of me yet again for Merlin knows what time this night. The properties of fennel roots and their practical applications. The properties of fennel roots and their practical applications. The properties of fennel roots and their practical applications. I shake my head slightly; I've been rereading the same sentence and yet it looks so foreign to me. Then, a growl of a stomach echoes through the room.

It certainly isn't mine. I look at Potter who is still working intently. It must have been his stomach. Even I myself am feeling a bit peckish now. I rise from my chair and head into my office. With a few flicks of my wand, I have two small plates with cookies on them, and two goblets with milk. Before I can even think of anything else, I put my wand away back in my pocket, pick up the two plates and goblets and head back out. I deposit mine on my desk before striding over to where Potter is sitting.

"Fuck it!" he swears angrily as he glares at his broken quill nib.

I can't stop the thrill that goes through me when I hear such a word coming from his lips. I think I have stopped walking.

He starts digging urgently through his schoolbag. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I don't even have an extra quill on me."

I clear my throat; it suddenly closed up on me. That breaks through to Potter. He looks up at me startled. I place the plate and cup down beside his parchment. I start walking to my desk to fetch another quill. "Your growling stomach makes it difficult to read, Potter. I almost mistook it for a Kneazle growling. Shut it up so it doesn't distract me from my reading." I toss the quill on the desk before going back to my own.

Potter is staring at the milk and cookies with a rather strange look on his face.

"For Merlin's sake Potter, wipe that ridiculous expression off your face. Yes, they are cookies and I am not trying to poison you." I mutter, picking up a cookie from my own plate. "Now go back to your work before you irritate me further."

Potter, thankfully, remains silent and turns his attention to the milk and cookies. I try to read but find myself surreptitiously looking up at him. I just about choke on the bite of cookie that was going down my throat. One cookie was already gone, and his fingers were covered in milk and crumbs.

And does he do? He licks them.

Perhaps this was a bad idea. Only Potter could make eating a cookie seem like such a sinful delight. The way he slowly licks his fingers clean after each and every one before giving the next cookie the same treatment. And the look of unadulterated bliss and enjoyment on his face as he takes each bite. He's still got five more to go. I'm eager and loathe for him to finish off that plate.

It's bad enough that I'm sitting here, doing my best to maintain my cool demeanour in this boiling room, while he sits there, like the forbidden fruit that he is. And as I sit here, watching him lick his fingers slowly with that pink tongue of his and seeing the look on his face, I can't help but wonder what those features will look like when contorted in ecstasy and lust.

'Not a good idea, Severus.' I berate myself. So I am debauched; I'm perfectly capable of living with that and quite happy to.

When he first came in here for detention, everything had been going fine. Until he had to open his mouth to inquire to the heat of the room. So I gave the simplest response I could. Better than some venomous reply that I would normally give. Flitwick had been generous enough to place Warming charms on the room, so a temperate air would make the dungeon classroom bearable. I am not the heartless beast that some of my students make me out to be; just an ornery grouch.

But that wasn't enough for Potter. It was as if he actually was in the mood to talk. Wonderful. He wishes to talk while I must sit here and watch him. Watch him sitting there in that black shirt that is gently moulding itself to his body and those pants - I think Muggles call them jeans - which are all too snug and show off his firm arse all too well. So long as I don't get up or look at him, I might be able to dispel the raging hard on that I now have.

Thankfully, he's finished eating the cookies now, and downs the rest of milk in one gulp. Now he's burying himself back in his work. Thank God for small mercies. If there is one thing to be said about Potter, he's stopped shirking off some things and actually started working harder than before.

It did surprise me that he managed to pull off an 'Outstanding', however grudgingly he wrung it from me. There was very little I could refute on his paper, and so gave him the according grade. At least, there is still some hope for him and Weasley. They were by far, the most atrocious students I had. Or maybe they were simply because I gave them hell and never took my eye off them for a moment.

Walking through the aisles, inspecting potions as you go is no easy task, especially with some of the dunderheads that I have had to teach. Having the object of your desire only a few feet away doesn't help much for one's disposition. I'm sure he's noticed me either ignoring him or speaking with him in a much harsher tone. And he simply doesn't give a damn.

How do I know this? Quite simple; I used to act the exact same way when Ceryates was my Potions teacher. If my students see me as horrid, they would despise that man as much as everyone despised Umbridge. These brats don't know quite how lucky they are to have to deal with me. I am infinitely more preferable to that ghastly old man.

I can see it even know, from the words he spoke to me. The knowledge, the surety, he possesses that blankets him like a shield.

Potter has changed since his outburst in Dumbledore's office. How were any of us to know that he was that disillusioned? Quite an actor; he's fooled the entire wizarding world like that for quite awhile. It makes me almost gleeful to know that there is a darker side to the boy, the brooding side that is coming out more and more. He's silent, more withdrawn and becoming something of a loner. I'll even bet my prized herb garden in Snape Manor that he's lonely, lonely as hell.

I close my eyes and focus on the text in front of me before my mind can start wandering down the path of alleviating the boy's loneliness. Yes, read the text and I can still be rid of the raging hard on that I was trying to rid myself of. It was working quite well, until I heard slight scrape.

I look up and almost curse my eager loins. Potter is walking to the door, his arse moving temptingly as he walks up to it almost lazily. I close my eyes, trying to exercise some control, but it simply isn't working. I open my eyes and looked back at my book hastily, hoping he didn't catch me.

"I'm actually tired early for once." Harry said. "I'm normally asleep by one in the morning."

Drat. I watch as he bundles up the robe he stripped out of earlier and makes an impromptu pillow for himself. This is the point where I prove just how big a git I truly am. "Thank you for that useless bit of information. I always wanted to know your sleeping habits Potter. I was merely wondering why you'd attempt to open the door when you know that it can't be opened." At least I managed to put some usual derision into it.

He shrugs while adjusting the pillow. "I want to sleep now, which I typically do in my own bed far away from here. But since I can't, I figured I'd make do here as best I can. Unless you couldn't tell that I was making a pillow, Sir."

See? There it is; the same nonchalance that helped me get through the years with Ceryates. The blanket of protection. But I must, as always, be the villain that he loves to hate. "Aiming for yet another detention, are we Potter?"

"If it's anything like this one, I'll get more work done in one night than in two, minus the scrubbing the vials." He pauses as if thinking something over. "Go on, give me another detention if you like, Sir."

My my, he does have a mouth on him. A rather delectable mouth that looks rather kissable in the torchlight. 'No Severus,' I chide myself harshly. 'You know what you have to say to him.' Of course it doesn't involve the words 'bed', 'fuck' and 'as long as the night lasts', as I would have preferred but I have to say it. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence. Obviously, you think that you are still above the rules. I do not tolerate or condone insolence, Potter. I made a slight exception due to these…circumstances, but you seem quite intent on pushing your luck."

He shrugs once more, which is infuriating and endearing at the same time. "No, I just realize how petty, futile and stupid some rules are." He stifles a yawn. "But I'll stop if it bothers you so much, Sir." He paused, staring at a flickering torch. "I really am sorry Sir."

Just what on Earth is Potter talking about now? "For what?" I manage to put some vexation in; now he'll still say it, and think I'm only slightly irritated.

"For looking into the pensieve when I shouldn't have." He murmurs, staring at the torch, unwilling to meet my eyes. "I had no right to intrude like that, to invade your privacy, your pain. I…I guess, on some level, I was desperate to know who my parents are from someone who wasn't their friend, to see them in another light, that I wasn't exactly thinking straight." He lapses into silence for a moment. "What the hell am I doing?" he mutters to himself. "I shouldn't have brought it up again. Sorry Sir." He mumbles.

He doesn't leave me with much time to reply, since he encases his head with a Silencing charm and turns away from me. I, however, am simply sitting here quite taken aback, and unsure of what to say. To be sure, I was enraged at the time and rightly so. He had intruded on something I specifically didn't want him, of all people, to see. So when I saw him in the pensieve, I saw more than red. I was more than livid and I most certainly didn't want to see him again.

I know I made the last few months of that particular year hell for him, but I am and can be a vindictive person by nature. It wasn't until the summer, after Hogwarts had emptied and I found the solace of the quiet halls once more that I was able to calm down sufficiently and look back.

The boy had never known his parents. And so, was almost starving for any information he could get on them, be it good or bad, bitter and jaded or bright and cheery. I think it was then my view of him changed slightly. There are not many students who would take the risk he has, much less peering into the memories of an ornery Potions teacher like myself. If he learned to temper that courage with some common sense, he would be much more tolerable and maybe if he wasn't so insolent all the time.

Though, I certainly wouldn't mind punishing him for that.

I cut off that particular train of thought, and close my book silently. I can still remember a time when I was his age, shunned by the world in a much more obvious way. His ostracism from society is particularly virulent. When people want a martyr, they love them, idolize them and then send them off to die for their own good without so much as a passing thought.

It's quite a selfish view. I think Potter is realizing just what it is the Wizarding world wants from him. And he wants no part in it.

With a sigh I rest my book down on my desk and look up to find Potter, fast asleep, slouched on a desk. I walk up to the door and try to tug it open once more. It's still wedged tightly shut. I'll have to remember to speak to Flitwick first thing in the morning when I get out of here about this warming charm. I would have been out of here long ago, and far from this particular situation, save for the fact that I have absolutely no Floo powder.

I walk over to Potter's slumped form and pick him up. He makes a slight sound in his throat, nestling in closer to me. I pause, trying to stop the foolish pounding of my heart. The boy is fast asleep. 'You are getting far too old,' I think to myself. 'To act like a lovesick fool.'

I make my way into the office, which is large and roomy, with more than enough space for a desk, a comfortable couch, a large fireplace, bookcases, a workspace and a spare cot for the nights when I am too exhausted to make it to my own bed. I managed to place Potter on the bed gently, not waking him up.

I stalked over to the couch feeling rather grumpy. As if I would be in a good mood when the one person I've ever wanted is sleeping a few feet away from me, totally unaware of the feelings I harbour for him.

I reluctantly take off my own robes, draping them over them the armchair. As much as I don't want to remove that concealing article of clothing, I certainly refuse to sweat away to nothing, which will undoubtedly happen if I do leave it on. I close my eyes as I sink down to the couch gratefully. Even my pants feel too sticky, but I would like to maintain a shred of dignity.

So here I am stuck in a darkened room with Potter no more than a few feet away from me. This must be fate deciding to kick me around a few times and have a good laugh at the expense of my dignity and libido. But I slowly start to drift off, dreamily noting the scent, wafting from Potter's direction, of milk and cookies.