This is a fanmade fiction, and neither I, nor Severusx, do claim ownership of JK Rowling's work. All rights to the characters found in the Harry Potter series belong to their rightful owner. Sev owns the Trist, however, and I did take some liberties of my own, but still, don't sue us, please! D: "I don't know how you did it, but you may as well use these persuasive skills of yours to make my eldest daughter see the proper way, don't you? After all, she is quite fond of..." "And what exactly are you implying, Edmund? ...Fine, I will watch over the girl, but I promise nothing." Edmund Trist & Severus Snape, September 1st, 1982. Bewitch My Mind A 1x1 roleplay presented to you by: Severusx and Aureate Aura The Scottish weather was obscenely fair and the stars grotesquely bright that night as the starry eyed simpletons that called themselves his students filled in in an haphazard manner into the Great Hall of Hogwarts School and Wizardry for the Welcoming Feast that was held in their dubious honor. These snot-nosed cretins looked cheerful, carefree, even, as they chit chatted about their useless existence while his heart was still in agony over the death of his beloved Lily. His soul yearned for the cold touch of death, to be liberated from this grueling existence and to finally be allowed to be by his first love's side as it did ever since that cursed night when his whole world shattered like a crystal phial upon the cold stone of his dungeons when he learned he had led his beloved friend to her death. I could not be, however. No, it was far too merciful for wretched, poor and filthy Snivellus, far too good for someone who had the brand of a madman's upon his forearm. He would have to make due with drinking nightly doses of dreamless sleep potions and a liberal amount of firewhiskey when neither his new employer nor the banes of his existence were there to witness his weakness. That way he could nearly fool himself... but not quite. Never enough, this was the story of his life. The glum dark wizard was pulled out of his dark thought when his unfocused dark gaze caught the entrance of the other female weighting upon his tormented mind. This one was a few years younger than he, and quite alive still. Yet, she still was as out of his reach as any other ever was, Snape remembered morosely. It did not matter what he wanted, for no one would want him back, not truly. Both his father and these blasted marauders had made sure he knew that. Lesson learned, bastards that they were. As such, the gaunt young professor turned back to his plate and awaited the end of this farce of a celebration, laid in wait for the time he could escape this odious pit of naivete and lick his still stinging wound in peace. Alone, as he had always been. ... The next morning... His latest batch of skelegro potion was bubling softly in his private laboratory as Severus let his seventh year NEWT students into his domain, not wasting time with empty niceties and getting right into the material he had to teach. There was no time to waste, for mastery of the delicate and enchanting art of Potions was a slow and rather tricky process. More so when one was so full of hormones as the teenagers he had to teach. As such, with a wave of his wand, the board filled itself with elaborate and neatly written instructions as the tall master of the dungeons took his seat behind his desk. "I expect each of you to have completed your summertime project adequately, as well as to have studied ahead for this lesson if you are ever to have the merest chance of earning your NEWTs for this subject. Now, enough chit-chat and get to work." With a sneering glare at the assembled students, from all four houses, though he was secretly pleased to see that most of them were his Slytherins, Snape turned his coal-colored gaze towards the pile of summer homework he was to grade, the pile of poorly phrased idiocies obtained from his third year Hufflepuff/Gryffindor class half an hour prior.