Harry Potter 50 Shades of Gray

Dusky pink skies soon gave way to the cool tones of night. The moon hung bright in the sky, and they had made it safely back to the entrance of the castle when Cyrna noticed a movement beneath the darkened arches of the opened doorway. She stiffened, and the Slytherins took notice.

As one, they drew their wands.

"Imagine my surprise when one of the Ravenclaw prefects told me that all of my first-years had gone frolicking outside about an hour or so before curfew like a bunch of foolhardy Gryffindors." Professor Snape stepped out of the shadows, speaking in a deathly soft voice, "Explain yourselves."

Everyone hastily put away their wands. Draco gulped—opened his mouth then closed it. Daphne jabbed him harshly, and he let out a little squeak. Professor Snape arched a brow, and Draco, despite the embarrassed flush in his cheeks, dared not look away. He cleared his throat, and said self-importantly, "Sir, it was an outing to improve house unity."

The darkness enunciated Snape's large, hooked nose as he stared down at them. "To improve house unity," he repeated smoothly.

People gave frantic nods.

At least they had learnt that a lie was more believable if everyone stuck to the same story. Severus paused, letting them stew in discomfort. "Very well then," he said when the dunderheads started sweating with anxiety. "You have five minutes to get to the dormitory. Now." His eyes flickered over one particular Slytherin—"Not you, Miss Raine."

Cyrna halted, wide-eyed with trepidation.

He waited till everyone else was gone before he continued, "This is the second time you've nudged the boundaries of curfew, Miss Raine. Did the previous incident tell you nothing about wandering around in the evening, unsupervised?"

But she had taken precautions this time: Voldemort wouldn't send Quirrell to attack a bunch of Pureblood Slytherins who were the children of his Death Eaters.

"Well?" he drawled.

"I brought more people this time," Cyrna said weakly, beginning to realize how bad it looked for someone who didn't share the same knowledge as her.

"You think that would have stopped whatever beast is out there that is killing the unicorns?"

It would, but she couldn't say so. Biting her lip, Cyrna remained silent.

Snape scowled. "Reckless, foolhardy. Have you no sense of self-preservation?"

Only too much to the point where I think it makes me a terrible person.

"I had better not see you, with or without company, again, out in the evening before this whole matter is settled," he said severely.

"Yes, sir."

Snape levelled one last glare at her before sweeping into the castle. Cyrna stewed in nervous silence as she trailed after the professor. When they reached the dorms, Snape turned abruptly towards her.

"The prefect told me that you had gone to harvest from the Spiky bushes?"

His expression gave nothing away. "Yes, sir. I collected twenty," Cyrna answered hesitantly.

"What for?"

She gave him a half-truth. "I wanted to practice extracting the emulsion after I heard Professor Sprout talk about it."

"... Extracting the emulsion." Severus took in the small raven-haired child before him. She clutched her bag, which the spikes were presumably stored, in a defiant grip. "That is third-year material, Miss Raine. What could you possibly need that knowledge for?"

"It's a technique that is needed for the wound-cleaning potion."

"Which is a sixth-year potion. So confident that you will make it into my N.E.W.T level class?"

Her eyes darted towards the dorms, and Severus smoothly moved to block her path.

"Those spikes are not to be handled by a child. You will turn them in to me now—"

"Sir!"

"—or you will meet with me in the potions room for your next five lunch breaks where I will supervise your extraction. If you are successful, I will allow you to keep the rest of the spikes. If not, I will have them returned to Professor Sprout."

She couldn't. She had to stay away from Snape and avoid his attention. But, like the first Potions class, she also couldn't help but draw closer to him out of the pure fascination of watching her favourite character come to life—no longer separated by a screen. Cyrna wanted to hide, but she also wanted his attention.

Severus watched impassively as she floundered. He had observed her in class after that first lesson, and the deftness of her hand in which she prepared the ingredients for the Gryffindor was unlike anything he had seen in his first-years. She would twitch faintly whenever the Gryffindor nearly made an error—as if she knew how to brew the potion perfectly, but couldn't be bothered to try. How contemptible it was that she was just like the others with a preference for the flashy wand-waving of other disciplines.

"The bag, Ms. Raine."

His censure was evident, and Cyrna felt rather glum because of it. Since he had refused the Soulflower, she hadn't even returned the favour owed; yet, she'd already disappointed him again. How did she always end up disappointing him when she had literally gone out of her way to avoid him? She had played down her skills, tried to make herself uninteresting—to appear as if she was someone who had the power, but was either too arrogant or lazy to apply herself. Someone he should hold in disdain, and not offer extra lessons to.

She was supposed to be one of the many dunderheads under his watch.

Was it the medical knowledge she revealed when she had tried to save the unicorn? Or had she slipped up somewhere else?

Cyrna should have been terrified. This was counter to her goal. But now that it had happened, she found that there was some anxiety, but the larger part of her was stupidly flattered—because there can be no disappointment without expectation.

He expected something of her.

He had seen her.

She wanted to prove him wrong, but she also wanted to prove him right.

Ah—

This was a bad idea, but she still owed him for saving her. He had told her not to lie to him again—which was impossible, but maybe—just this once—she could bare a truth to him? Delighted to have rationalized her poor decision, she thrummed with excitement at getting to do what she wanted. "Then I'll see you tomorrow at lunch, professor," she chirped, "Goodnight!"

Happiness, as pure as childhood innocence, bubbled gently inside her as she skipped into her dorm. It did not stem from a successful manipulation, nor was it the smug satisfaction she derived from her work. It was something simple, something softer.

Something warmer.

....

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