Orion's Pointer

The next day was the breath out.

Snape circled the room of students like a bird of prey, pointing out mistakes and shortcomings in a steady, acidic stream. He'd slept poorly the night before and so was especially ratty that afternoon. He rubbed at his left arm surreptitiously with the knuckles of his other hand. It felt like he'd whacked his elbow hard against the stone wall. As he had feared, the efficacy of the painkiller was lessening. Perhaps the new strain of Kelp's nightshade would help.

Snape watched Parr shift her jaw in that strange manner for the fifth time that lesson and frowned as she spoke to Dian with her head tipped up and to one side, left eye squinted slightly. Dian had been courageous enough to remain as Parr's Potions partner despite the strip-tearing Snape had given them both a few weeks back. Their efforts were... satisfactory, he determined reluctantly. Perhaps it was time to split them up.

He was just sweeping back to the front of the classroom to give the five-minute warning to finish up their potions when a pain like searing jagged metal shot through Snape's forearm. He flinched automatically and obviously, left shoulder dropping as the muscles along his side tightened in reflex, an inhalation hissing through his gritted teeth. Hard on the heels of that came a smash of glass behind him.

Swirling towards the sound, Snape found all heads turned towards Parr and Dian. Parr had her left arm bent up, fist clenched by her shoulder. Dian had both arms raised up away from her own body, head turned to the side, face scrunched up, splashes of ox blood up her blouse and down the front of her skirt. Shards of glass littered the bench and the floor like transparent teeth that had gone on a flesh-ripping frenzy.

"Oh, God, Opal, I'm sorry," said Parr, distress plain on her features. "The jar slipped from my hand. Are you alright?" She uncurled her left arm and touched Dian's shoulder tentatively.

Heads swung round to look at Snape, awaiting the inevitable backlash. Parr just bent down to pick up the broken glass from around Dian's feet with her fingertips, setting the pieces on the bench with a shimmering tinkle that seemed ridiculously loud in the hushed classroom.

Brows furrowed at the continued silence.

Snape waited until Dian bent to help Parr clean up with mess. "Miss Dian, I suggest you concern yourself with finishing up your potion. It will be the last you make with Miss Parr, so ensure it's a good one. After all, it'll be costing Ravenclaw thirty points."

Groans erupted around the room.

"I suggest silence unless you feel thirty points isn't enough!" he barked at them. "Four minutes. Get on with it!"

Snape watched the students give the blood splash a wide berth as they finished up, bringing the sample flasks up to the front of the room and scuttling away like rabbits, giving him an equally generous circle of personal space. Parr was futilely trying to mop up the ox blood with a handkerchief, but the fabric had already soaked up as much of the crimson as it could. She wiped the remainder into a small circle and made to take off her school robes.

"Dismissed," Snape hissed at the students, and they deserted the classroom in a blurred flurry of arms and legs.

Parr balled up her robes and moved to soak up the rest of the blood on the floor.

"Leave it."

She looked up at his words, forehead rumpled and mouth down-turned. They stared at each other for some moments, black into fading green. The metallic smell of the spilt blood hung heavy in the air like a portent. Snape toyed slowly with one of the buttons on his coat with his middle finger, his face inscrutable. Time passed.

Parr started to fidget.

Snape said nothing. He just ran the length of his finger over the button, back and forth.

Parr began to sweat.

He stared at her meditatively, enjoying her discomfort... waiting.

Parr opened her mouth to speak, but Snape got in first.

"That was very clumsy of you, Miss Parr," he said softly.

The woman shifted her jaw. "A lapse in concentration, Professor," she replied in a slightly hoarse voice.

Snape raised an eyebrow elegantly. "A risky thing to admit. Are you certain it wasn't something else?"

Parr's eyes dropped from his face to the hand in front of his chest, his finger still sliding across the button. Her lips thinned before answering. "I can't imagine what you mean, Professor." She raised her eyes again and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

Snape ran the tip of his tongue over the sharp point of a back tooth and narrowed his eyes at her. "Really?"

Parr wrinkled her nose and didn't respond.

The trailing of fabric over stone sounded suspiciously like scales over dry earth. Parr's head tipped back to look up at him. Her height was greater than normal for her, but he still managed to loom over her with the years of practice of doing it to others.

Parr's nostrils flared briefly.

Snape's finger left his chest and extended towards Parr. The pad touched the underside of her chin and with a slight pressure tipped her head back further. He could see the natural grey of her eyes pushing the green into a circling border at the limits of the irises, flecks of darker colour shifting as her pupils contracted. He bent closer.

"Open your mouth."

Her eyes blinked a couple of times before complying. The ends of his long, black hair brushed her face, the tip of his nose nearly touching hers. He slid his other fingers under Parr's chin to tilt her head a fraction to one side.

"Take it out."

Parr blinked the question at him, her eyes slightly crossed from his closeness.

"Take whatever it is out of your mouth, Miss Parr," Snape repeated stonily and let go of her chin.

She dropped her gaze from his, shifted her jaw, and spat the bezoar into her palm. It glistened wetly.

"I expect students to enter and exit my classroom with nothing more in their mouths than what they formed themselves, Miss Parr," Snape breathed at her. "Do I make myself clear?"

Parr dragged her lower lip under the top one, removing the sheen of moisture that had been there. "Perfectly clear, Professor."

Snape held out his hand. Parr sighed, blotted the bezoar on her sleeve quickly and placed the cherry-sized concretion of hair into his palm. He curled his middle finger up to touch the underside of her hand, stopping her from drawing it back. She looked up at him questioningly.

There are four ways to open a locked door: use the key, force it open, pick the lock, or knock. A fifth way not available to most is to slide under it, something that Snape was particularly gifted at. His mind slithered down the barrier and made for the gap.

Parr's pupils dilated abruptly, and she snatched her hand back, breaking eye contact.

The distant sound of many footsteps down the corridor heralded the approach of the next class. Parr shoved her scrunched up robes and her books into her bag and turned away. She paused and cleared her throat.

"You're standing in the ox blood, Professor," she said in a flat tone and hurried out of the classroom.