Y/N and Oliver were best friends. They had known each other their whole lives. Not to mention they were neighbors. But going to Hogwarts changed everything. He is Gryffindor. She is Slytherin. Rival Quidditch Keepers. The friendship is gone...
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Y/N
I'm all out of draught of peace. I have to get more from Professor Snape, but what am I going to tell him? Slytherin is all done for the quidditch season. I could use my OWL's coming up as an excuse but I don't know if he will care about that as much as he does the outcome of Slytherin's chances at winning the quidditch cup.
Standing outside of his classroom door I can't bring myself to turn the handle. Class isn't in session so it's not like I'm going to run into anyone else. I just have to get to courage to go in. But courage is something I'm lacking a lot of lately.
There are footsteps against the stone floor that I hear behind the door. He's in there. I make a slight turn of the knob then let go. He's never going to believe me this time. I need that draught though. The lack of sleep is starting to get to me. My focus in class is starting to wane and I'm afraid it's going to start affecting my grades.
The footsteps get closer to the door and I jump back when it opens. Professor Snape is standing in the doorway staring at me.
"Can I help you with something Miss Y/L/N?"
My hands start to shake and I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears. "I was..."
He doesn't take his eyes off me as I place my hands behind my back and clamp them together, trying to calm the tremors.
"Yes?" he says, slow and drawn out.
"I was hoping to get some more draught of peace," I blurt out. No turning back now.
He narrows his eyes at me, "Why do you need more?"
There is the question. The one I was dreading. Should I be honest with him? That I can't sleep, or hardly get through the day due to my crypalling anxiety and depression over what happened to me. What I let happen.
"I can't sleep," I say.
"Lots of students can't sleep Miss Y/L/N. If it was a true concern for you, I would recommend going to see Madam Pomfrey," he says with his eyes still narrow like slits.
I shake my head, "She can't help me."
"Have you asked her?"
The discomfort in me is rising. I'm dangerously close to disclosing what this is all about, but I can't do that.
"No, but I know she can't," I mumble. My hands are squeezed together so tight now that I can feel a cramp starting to come on.
He looks me over once, then moves aside, "Come in. I'm not giving you the draught of peace without you telling me the real reason."
I walk past him and into the classroom. What am I going to do? He wants a reason and I don't have one to give him. At least not one I want him to hear. He walks around me and over to his desk, where he sits down and rests his hands on the wooden surface.
