SS/HP - PG-13 (Another practice run)
It was such a simple thing, really; the day I stopped believing Professor Snape was some sort of invincible, ruthless Wizard without a shred of humanity in his heart. I wasn't meant to see him, I'm certain. The spot he'd chosen was secluded and I happened to find it purely by chance. I stood there with my hands in my pockets, watching him perform a gesture I'd seen Muggles do countless times; smoking. No magic was involved. He slipped a green plastic Bic lighter from his robes and cupped his hand against the wind to light the fag in his mouth. It occurred to me that he must have gone into a Muggle store, stood there in line in his Muggle clothes to purchase a pack of cigarettes and a green plastic Bic lighter. It made me chuckle to think of the way he must have studied the little rack of Bic lighters before choosing a color that suited him, suited his House. But still, watching him inhale, then slip his free hand into his robes to warm it from the Autumn chill, I felt hypnotized. I wanted to see more of this side. This part of Snape that made him Human, almost Muggle, spitting the bits of tobacco from his lips while his gaze traveled the scenery without clear aim. It made me want to know him, know what else he did that made him Human.
Warm.
Alive.
His eyes somehow found me, and for a moment I was sure I caught a glimpse of embarrassment. He threw his fag to the ground and swiftly disappeared beyond the door. I never caught him smoking again. I guess I felt it was taboo. Intimate. Something I didn't want to pry into again.
But whenever I see him stalking toward the back of the castle, his fingers flexed and his posture stiff, I think back on the day I stopped believing he was a monster, and wish I smoked too.
END