WARNING: This is a slash story, which means it contains male/male erotic content involving consenting adults. If you're not of legal age or are offended by such material, please go find something else to read.

Title: Walking 'Round in Women's Underwear
By: Diana Williams
Email: diana@slashcity.com
Website: http://diana.slashcity.com
Rated: NC-17
Category: Humor, Romance, First Time
Summary: What, exactly, does Severus Snape wear under those robes? Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest, Challenge # 63 – Cross-dressing Snape.
Warning: Kinkiness warning - cross-dressing
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, which is too bad as I'm sure I could find something useful for them to do. J.K. Rowling owns them.
Notes: This story begins during "Prisoner of Azkaban" following a certain DADA class, and continues over the following three years. This story is kind of kinky but there's only silliness, nothing dark. Underwear from several other HP stories make a guest appearance in this story, for which I claim no credit. The Wizardizer boxers are, unfortunately, my own idea. 1st Story in the "Lacy Things" series.

Lacy things, the wife is missing
Didn't ask for her permission
I'm wearing her clothes, her silk pantyhose
Walking 'round in women's underwear

Severus Snape stalked through the corridors of Hogwarts, his robes billowing menacingly behind him as he walked.  Students took one look at the stormy expression on his face and quickly dove out of the way, rather than risk being the one on which the Potions Master decided to vent his ire.  Filch attempted to intercept Snape and received a look that made even him pale.  Professor McGonagall reconsidered her decision to consult the Slytherin Head of House regarding detention for one of his students, deciding it was safer to just decide the matter herself.  Even Peeves made himself scarce.

Snape entered his chambers and slammed the door shut behind him, locking and warding it against intrusion, then went straight for the shelf where he kept the scotch.  He splashed a healthy amount into a glass and knocked it back.  It burned its way down his throat, burning away the bitter taste of mockery.  He downed another shot, and the sounds of sniggering were muffled.  A third, and his tattered dignity began to reweave itself.

Snape carried the glass over to the mirror on his wardrobe and critically studied himself in it.  He was no beauty – he'd known that for years, known and accepted it.  Menacing – that was far, far better, and over the years he'd built his image and his reputation to almost legendary proportions.  Students blanched at a single raised eyebrow and wet themselves at a sneer.  They told tales of him to their younger siblings, and he'd caught more than one First Year looking at him with terror as they waited their turn at the Sorting Hat.  Even young Slytherins regarded him with awe and fear, and he'd accepted it as his due.

And it had all been destroyed in the space of an hour.

He gulped down the rest of his scotch and looked around for the bottle.  "Bloody, impertinent Neville Longbottom," he muttered.  "And that sodding, thrice-damned werewolf."  He poured himself another drink and took a swallow.  "Years of work – wasted!"  He waved his arm tragically, not even noticing that he was sloshing his scotch on the table and floor.

Snape stalked over to the mirror again, glaring into it.  "I don't see what's so ridiculous, in any event.  I've got enough panache to carry off anything, even a dress."  He stared at his reflection again then, fueled by liquid courage, came to a decision.  He stripped off his robe and tossed it on a chair, then pulled out his wand.  A wave and a muttered charm, and his high-necked shirt and trousers were transformed into a dress, also high-necked and long.

Snape studied himself critically in the mirror.  "I don't see what's so bad," he muttered.  "Certainly nothing to laugh about."

"Well, you're not a sharp stick in the eye, but you're no beauty, either," said the mirror.

Snape glared at it.  "I don't recall asking for your opinion."

"I'm giving it, all the same," the mirror continued.  "And you haven't got the right foundations."

Snape blinked.  "Foundations?"

"Underwear, dear.  You're all bunched up fore and aft, and you've got no chest to speak of."

Snape glared at the mirror again, incensed.  "I have a very fine chest, I'll have you know!"

"Right," the mirror said dryly. 

"Anyway, what would you know about it?" Snape said, attempting to regain his dignity.

"More than you, that's for certain.  I belonged to Professor Digitalia before you."

Professor Digitalia, now there was an image worth remembering, Snape thought fondly.  She had been the Potions Master when he was in school – had been his inspiration, really.  The things she had done with a cauldron were truly amazing.  She'd always been impeccably dressed, too, in high-necked black dresses under her robes, and the way she'd made her robes swirl…

"Are you going to listen to me, or are you going to drool all night?" the mirror asked caustically.

"Hmm?  Oh.  So sorry.  You were saying?"

The mirror gave a long-suffering sigh.  "I was saying that you need the proper undergarments to carry off a dress like that.  Bra.  Panties.  You know."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Snape said as he attempted to reassemble his dignity enough to stalk across the room.  Which was bloody hard since he could barely walk in the sodding dress – and how did the scotch get all the way over there?

If the mirror could have rolled its eyes, it would have.  "Of course you don't.  You were too busy playing mediwitch with the other boys.  Madame Digitalia told me all about the time she caught you and two other Slytherin boys in the Prefects' bathroom –"

"That'll be enough insolence out of you!" he snarled.  "Besides, that was all Lucius' fault."  His mouth wouldn't work right, slurring Malfoy's name disgracefully, and he realized he was incredibly thirsty.  He reached for the bottle of scotch and refilled his glass, then turned back to the mirror, wand in hand.  "Any more cheek and I'll shatter you.  I don't expect seven years of bad luck will make a bit of difference to me, one way or another."

"Now, let's not be hasty," the mirror said quickly.  "Perhaps if I just showed you what I was talking about?"  The mirror hastily changed from showing his reflection to displaying a pair of lacy black panties and a bra.

"I will most certainly not wear anything of the sort!" Snape said indignantly, raising his wand again.  The mirror hastily wiped the image and replaced it with one of a serviceable black bra and panties.  Snape paused and studied the image.  "Now that's more like it.  And you say it'll help my – the dress lie better?"

"Most assuredly."

"Hmm," Snape said, studying the images.  He waved his wand and surveyed his image in the mirror.

It sighed.  "The bra is supposed to go under the dress, Professor."

"Right."  Snape flushed.  He'd known that.  Certainly he'd known that.  It was all just new and confusing, that was all.  He waved his wand again and the underclothing settled against his skin under the dress, replacing the briefs and undershirt he'd been wearing.  "Bloody hell," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in place.  "Are they supposed to itch like this?"

The mirror sighed.  "They're not supposed to be made of wool, idiot."  Receiving his glare, it hastily said, "Try silk."

Snape changed the fabric, and he had to admit that it felt better.  Much, much better.  As a matter of fact, the silk felt downright delicious against his skin.  He turned sideways, studying the lines of the dress, and had to admit that it looked much better.  Except…he frowned, then made a slight adjustment with his wand, filling in the cup of the bra just a bit.  Not enough to make him look like a tart, just enough for definition.  Yes, that was more like it.

"Much better," the mirror said smugly.  "See, what did I tell you?"

"That'll be quite enough," Snape said sharply.  At least, he hoped it was sharply.  His mouth was still feeling peculiar – probably the trifle they'd served at lunch.  He'd thought it tasted a bit off. 

Snape raised his glass and saluted his image in the mirror.  "Severus Snape, you are a damn sexy bitch."  He ignored the snort from the mirror and went in search of the scotch again.  Good looks like these deserved a proper toast.

*********************

Snape woke to the realization that sometime during the night, someone had broken into his private rooms and cast a full body bind on him, then placed an Engorgement charm on his head and tongue.  It also felt, from the tenderness of his scalp, that they had attempted an Instant Scalping hex – he didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that it hadn't worked.  Since he couldn't seem to remember any of the events of the previous evening, it was possible that an Obliviate charm had been cast as well.

That, or he had gotten pissed and had a bugger of a hangover.

Snape pushed himself into a more or less sitting position and tried to focus his eyes enough to see the bathroom, with the vague hope that he could find the Pepper-up potion in the cabinet.  Failing that, he could stick his head under the tap and pray that he drowned.  There – that blurry opening in the opposite wall.  That must be it.  He got up and staggered in that direction, swearing as he realized he'd been hit with a Jelly-legs curse as well.  He smashed into something solid and swore again.

"Having a little trouble this morning, are we, dear?" said a smug voice from under him.  He managed to pry his eyes open another fraction of an inch and saw that he had mistaken the mirror on the wardrobe for a doorway, and was now sprawled against it.  And the bit of reflection he saw went a good ways towards waking him up.

He was wearing a dress.

"That's it!  When I get my hands on the sodding prick who did this to me, he'll wish he had detention!" he snarled, "I'm going to rip off his balls and make him – er."  It suddenly occurred to him, through the haze, that he'd done this to himself.  Although he couldn't for the life of him remember why he'd done it.  He shuddered.  He wasn't sure that he wanted to know.

A wave of his wand – which had somehow rolled under a chair – and he was back in his normal robes.  Although – now that he came to think about it – there was something funny going on underneath.  Surely the top of his robes didn't stick out like that normally? 

He unbuttoned his shirt and peered underneath, blinking as he saw that, instead of his usual white undershirt, he was wearing a ladies' brassiere.  A black ladies brassiere.

"What in bloody hell – "

And now that he thought about it, his Y-fronts didn't normally feel like this, sleek and silky against his skin.  Silk.  He groaned as another memory filtered through the haze. 

"What in the name of Merlin was I thinking?  No, the answer is obvious – I wasn't thinking." 

"Can't be that bad, love," the mirror said, and there was a definite lasciviousness to the tone.  "Give us a look, then."

Snape glared at the mirror.  "Belt up.  This is primarily your fault, you know."

There was an almost audible sniff from the mirror.  "I wasn't the one on a bender," it said self-righteously.

That reminded Snape that his head was still aching and his mouth felt like something had nested in it.  He resumed his aborted journey to the bathroom, sighing in relief as he found there was, indeed, a Pepper-up Potion in the cabinet.  Ingesting it, he felt somewhat better and decided that a shower would enable him to function in a more normal fashion.  He turned on the water and began stripping off his clothes, a process that came to a complete halt when he reached his new undergarments.

He flushed with unaccustomed embarrassment at the thought that he had actually put these – these things on.

"I must have been out of my bloody mind," he muttered, transforming them back into their normal state.  He stripped them off and tossed them into the laundry basket and then, on second thought, transferred them to the rubbish bin.  There was no way he'd be able to wear those ever again without remembering this humiliating episode.  And he intended to forget it as soon as possible.

**********************

Six Months Later

Severus Snape sat Dumbledore's office and tried not to squirm.  It was bad enough that he had to be there in the first place, like some First Year who'd been caught doing something he ought not, without letting the Headmaster misinterpret the cause of his fidgeting.  Certainly it wasn't because he felt any guilt over the matter.  Sirius Black was a murderer, had been a murderer all those years ago.  And as for Remus Lupin…

The door behind him opened and Snape straightened, grimacing slightly as his undergarments shifted against chaffed skin.  Once he was finished with Dumbledore, he was going to confront the House elves and find out just what they'd been doing to his laundry. 

For the past few months, he'd become aware of an increasing discomfort in regard to his underclothes, a discomfort that had reached nearly agonizing proportions over the past week.  He'd had to abandon wearing vests because of the way they irritated the skin on his chest, and he would have discarded his pants as well if it weren't for the fact that the wool of his trousers would be even more uncomfortable against his privates.  It was nearly enough to make him wear only his robes with nothing on underneath, if he hadn't been concerned about the thick wool abrading the already sensitive skin, not to mention the cold drafts from the dungeon floors.  And more than once, he'd had a fleeting thought about those silk underthings he'd worn on that not-to-be-remembered night…

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said, sitting down behind his desk.  "Sorry to have kept you waiting.  I was just seeing Remus off."

Snape wrenched his thoughts back to the matter at hand.  "No need to apologize, Albus.  In fact, if you're busy, I can come back another time – "

"Sit down, Severus," Dumbledore said, and there was a hint of steel in his voice that made Snape abandon his effort to stand without protest.  "I understand that there was an interesting rumor circulating among the Slytherins this morning."

Snape forbid himself to blush.  He was already regretting the impulse that had made him snap out the truth to the House Prefects that morning, but between his fury over Black getting away and the near-constant irritation from his underwear, he was finding it increasingly difficult to control his outbursts.

"I am very disappointed in your recent behavior, Severus.  Very disappointed."

Snape winced and he discovered a sudden fascination with the toes of his shoes.  He hated when Dumbledore got that tone in his voice, the sorrowful-yet-stern one that told you with more than words just how much you'd failed him.  He'd heard that tone twice before in his life – once when he was sixteen and again when he was twenty – and he'd hoped to never hear it again. 

"I believe I asked all of the staff to keep Professor Lupin's condition in the strictest confidence.  The fact that you deliberately disobeyed my orders out of a petty need to exact retribution leaves me with no choice but to file a letter of censure in your permanent file."

Snape's head jerked up and his eyes widened.  He'd expected a carpeting, but a disciplinary letter?  He prided himself on his spotless file here at Hogwarts – no unexcused absences, syllabuses turned in on time, class marks up to date at all times – as if it could balance out the less-than-spotless record the Ministry held on him.  "But Albus – "

Dumbledore's eyes behind his glasses weren't twinkling.  They were stern, with no hint of the kindness that had made a twenty-year-old Death Eater break down, sobbing his repentance, in the Headmaster's arms.  "Do you deny that you were the source of the information?"

Snape swallowed hard, and wondered if Dumbledore would believe him if he said his underwear made him do it.  No, the man would probably send him straight to St. Mungo's.  He dropped his eyes to study his shoe tips again.  "No, Headmaster."

"And that scene in the Infirmary – do you have any justification for the way you lashed out at Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger?"

Snape closed his eyes.  "No, Headmaster."

He heard Dumbledore sigh.  "Severus, I know there are – bad feelings between you and Sirius, and I gave up hoping that either of you would change years ago.  But I thought that you and Remus were friends at one time."

And I had thought that we were more than friends, Snape thought bitterly.  Memories of sweet kisses in the restricted section of the library, furtive fumblings in darkened doorways, the aching joy of hearing his name gasped as liquid heat gushed into his hand…and then the humiliation of having his feelings thrown back in his teeth, the knowledge that it had all been a sick joke.

Roughly, he banished the memories and said, harshly, "As if the Marauders would allow me to befriend any of them."

"Severus, child, that was eighteen years ago.  Don't you think it's time to let go of the past?"

"I didn't see any indication that Black had let go of it.  Oh, sorry, I forgot that noble Gryffindors are allowed to retain their grudges.  It's only Slytherins who are evil for doing the same," he said bitterly.

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "Very well, Severus.  You may go.  However, you might want to consider whether you are being entirely fair in that old matter, or if you are blaming one who was innocent of wrong-doing."

Innocent? Snape thought with a snort.  None of the Marauders were innocent, not even Remus Lupin.  Snape stood up, resisting the urge to tug at his clothing, and stalked out of Dumbledore's office.  On his way down to the dungeons, he had plenty of time to shake off the guilt Dumbledore had managed to make him feel and to stoke the fire of his temper. 

It is all Potter's fault, Snape muttered bitterly to himself.  One moment, he had been at the top of the world, finally revenged on his old hated rival.  For once, it was a Slytherin who was the hero, rescuing Potter and those other two idiots and capturing Black single-handedly.  In his moment of triumph, he had even been gracious towards his enemies, convincing the Minister that the three students had been operating under the Confundus spell instead of having them suspended as they so rightly deserved to be. 

And then it had all fallen apart.  He didn't know how Potter had managed it, he just knew that somehow he had.  And Dumbledore knew it, too.  Dumbledore had stood there, and let him make a fool of himself in front of the Minister, and had laughed at him.  Just like all those years ago, when Snape's accusation of attempted murder had been brushed aside.

A keen sense of injustice filled him and he very much wanted to take it out on someone else.  Since classes were over for the day, he altered his path to take him to the kitchens. He would have a few things to say to the House Elves about the laundry situation, and they would sincerely regret toying with Severus Snape.

********************

One Month Later

Snape sank into the hot bath water and sighed in relief.  The term was over and the last of the brats had left for the summer.  Before him lay eight weeks of freedom, eight weeks of not having to bother with imbeciles who couldn't even be trusted to boil water in their cauldrons.  Eight weeks of not having to answer inane questions or read the rubbish his students passed off as homework.  He could even forgo the dubious pleasure of his fellow professors' company at mealtimes by eating in his rooms.  Yes, it would be good to have peace and quiet for a change, to be able to devote his time to research and reading. 

He frowned, recalling that his stock of potion supplies was running low.  A trip to Diagon Alley was called for, just as soon as he could manage to walk comfortably.

The house elves had denied all knowledge of changes to his laundry soap and, in fact, had been so upset by his charges that they had nearly ruined the end of term feast.  As a last resort, Snape had reluctantly turned to Madame Pomfrey for medical advice, although he had only revealed the rash on his chest to her.  Poppy had been perplexed but had given him several salves to try.  Nothing, however, seemed to work.  Poppy had even had the nerve to suggest that the rash might be psychological rather than physical in nature.  Snape snorted.  As if there was a good reason why Snape would suddenly be allergic to his underwear.  It was undoubtedly due to the inferior quality of the garments in question – really, no one seemed to take pride in workmanship any more.

He scowled and sank deeper in the water.  I'll bet Lucius Malfoy doesn't have this problem, he thought sourly.  Malfoy, who'd always had the best that money could buy, whether it was brooms or boxers.  He remembered Malfoy walking around their dorm room in those ridiculous silk boxers and sneered.  Lucius and his affectations.

But maybe silk boxers were something to look into.  Since Lucius hated anything Muggle, they had to be something he'd found in Diagon Alley. He frowned, trying to remember whether he had seen anything like them in the store where he normally bought his Y-fronts, and had a vague impression that he had.  Perhaps a trip to Diagon Alley was called for, sooner rather than later.

******************

Severus looked over the array of brightly colored underpants on display and shuddered.  It was disgusting, the things people would put on their bodies.  And it appeared that the majority of wizards in the world had absolutely appalling tastes, to judge by the quantity of boxers bearing Quidditch team logos, rude sayings, not to mention patterns that made him nauseous just looking at them.  Didn't anyone make anything in basic black anymore?

"May I help you, sir?"

A perky looking young witch was smiling idiotically at him, and Snape refrained himself from hexing her on the spot.  He gestured at the display, curling his lip, and said, "I don't suppose you have anything more tasteful than those, do you?"

The saleswitch glanced at the colorful pile of boxers and blinked.  "They're the latest fashion."

"Perhaps," Snape sneered, "but I don't fancy having a quaffle emblazoned across my arse.  Nor does the slogan 'Wizards' Wands Have More Power' appeal to me.  And as for this one," he gestured at the display model which was sporting a pair of white boxers with a pink bunny on it.  "I fail to see the point."

"The Wizardizer Bunny," the saleswitch said helpfully.  "It keeps going and going and…" Her voice trailed off as Snape raised an eyebrow, and said defensively, "It's very popular with the young wizards."

"Indeed," Snape said frostily.  "I am neither young nor do I desire to be popular.  I merely desire pants that will not make me bilious when I look at them."

The perky look was fast fading from the saleswitch's face.  "Maybe we have something plain in the back," she muttered.  "One moment while I look."

Snape watched her run into the back, then turned away to peruse the other merchandise while waiting for her return.  Sighting a pair of Bertie Bott's Beans boxers, he hastily turned away with a shudder, and his eyes were caught by another display.

It was on the other side of the store, the part clearly labeled No Wizard's Land by the sheer volume of lace and ribbons, the place no sane wizard would enter unless hounded by a spouse demanding a special present for her birthday or Christmas. 

It was the women's lingerie section.

And there, on the display model in the center of the room, was the most perfect thing Snape had ever seen.

It shimmered like the surface of the lake at Hogwarts on a moon-dark night.  It glistened with the dark, mysterious promise of the Somnium Purpura potion, just after you'd added skullcap and black cohosh and were breathlessly waiting to add the purple betony.  It clung to the artificial form like a siren clinging to her rock and called to him just as sweetly…

"Sir, I found a few pairs of plain silk boxers in the back."  The saleswitch was back, her high-pitched voice grating on his ears.  "There's black, green, blue, red, and dark purple.  Would you like them all?"

"Yes," Snape said absently, then realized what she'd said.  "Not the red."  He'd be damned before he wore Gryffindor colors.  "The others, though."

The saleswitch smiled, restored to perkiness by the sale.  "Yes, sir.  Will there be anything else?"

"No," Snape said.  He reached for his coin pouch but the siren song stopped him.  "Yes.  What's that?"

He pointed at the object of his new obsession, and the young woman turned to look.  "What?  Oh, the tap set."

"Tap set?" Snape frowned.  "What would you tap in that?"

To his surprise, the girl giggled.  "Oh, you are funny, aren't you?"  She led the way over to the display, talking as she moved, and Snape had to follow closely to keep her from shouting across the store.  "That's just what they're called.  This is camisole top and these are French knickers.  The finest black satin with just a little hint of Belgian lace.  Scrummy, isn't it?"

Snape flushed slightly at finding himself standing in the middle of the Witch's Lingerie section, having the fine points of a set of women's underthings pointed out to him.  "Mmm," he managed.

"They make a very nice birthday present," the young saleswitch said hopefully.  "For your wife or girlfriend."

Snape's flush deepened.  "I'm afraid I don't - know her size."

"Oh, nothing easier!" the young woman said eagerly.  "It comes in Small, Medium, Large, and Extra-large, so we should be able to guess.  How tall is she?"

"Tall," Snape said automatically.  "About my height.  And rather slender."

The saleswitch sorted through a shimmery pile of black satin and pulled out two items.  "These should be just about right, then," she said, holding them up.  "Would you like me to gift wrap them?"

No, I want to wear them out of the store, idiot!  Snape jerked his head in a single nod and the saleswitch beamed at him.  "Wonderful!  It'll just take a few minutes."

Ten minutes later, Snape exited the store clutching a parcel containing ten silk boxers - the blasted saleswitch had snuck in the red ones and he'd been too flustered to correct her - and a garishly wrapped gift box.  He strode immediately to the Floo connection and muttered, "Hogwarts", completely forgetting his original mission to purchase potion supplies. 

Once safely back in his dungeon, he tossed the box into the corner, mentally berating himself for being barmy enough to purchase the bloody things in the first place.  He carried the other parcel over to the bed and unwrapped it.  Silk gleamed at him and he touched the black pair on top with appreciative fingers before hastily shedding his clothing so that he could pull them on.

The silk felt just as good against his skin as he remembered, and a hint of a smile touched his lips.  Oh yes, much better.  He strode over to the mirror to get a look and the smile broadened.  Severus Snape, you are one sexy bastard. 

The mirror appeared to agree as it gave a wolf whistle and something between a purr and a growl.  "Nice.  Very nice."

"Thank you."  Snape could afford to be magnanimous in victory.

"Too bad there's no one else around to enjoy the view," the mirror said smugly, as if determined to get the last word.  Snape gave it two fingers and stalked off. 

**************************

One Month Later

Snape stormed into the dungeon, slamming the door behind him and warding it with a particularly virulent set of hexes.  "Alastor Moody!  Is Albus completely insane?  If he doesn't succeed in scaring the students out of what few wits they have, he'll more than likely get one of them killed!" 

He went straight to the shelf where he kept the scotch and poured a stiff drink.  He'd been avoiding the stuff since that not-to-be-remembered night but this news required fortification to bear.  Glass in hand, he slumped in his chair and stared grumpily into the fire.

Despite rumors to the contrary, Snape didn't covet the DADA position – that was merely part of his cover as Dumbledore's spy.  His true passion was for potions and he would never willingly give that up.  But he loathed incompetence in anything, and the last few DADA teachers had been nothing but complete failures.  Quirrel – a fool and, as it turned out, tool for Voldemort.  Lockhart – a vain, simpering poof without the slightest bit of knowledge.  Lupin – well, all right, Lupin had been a halfway decent teacher, for a werewolf.  At least he'd known his subject, even if he was appallingly lax with the brats and encouraged Potter in all sorts of foolishness.  And now Moody.  Not that he wasn't knowledgeable about the Dark Arts – Snape grudgingly admitted that Moody had been one of the best Aurors in his time.  Suspicious and distrustful of everyone, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, Snape thought as he sipped his whiskey.  But the man had more than a few bats in the attic and had no business teaching impressionable children.  Of course, some people had said the same thing about him, but the fact of the matter was that he'd even welcome back Lupin in place of Moody.

He quickly banished that thought, glancing around the room to find something other than the damned werewolf to occupy his thoughts.  His eyes fell on the gaudily wrapped package in the corner and he frowned.  What in the name of Merlin…  Recollection came back and he flushed, looking hastily away.  It didn't work.  Now that he'd recalled the contents of that box, the siren call issued forth again.  In vain, he tried to focus his thoughts on his latest experiment, or the article in Cauldrons Quarterly, or –

It was no good.  His mind refused to relinquish the image of shiny black satin and he growled as he pushed himself out of the chair.

Very well.  I'll take one look at it, and it'll turn out to be far inferior to my memory of it, and I'll throw the damned thing in the rubbish.

He tore off the paper and threw it aside, then opened the box.  Black, black, black as night, shimmery as ink, and so cool to the touch... He was holding it his hands, rubbing it against his cheek, before he quite knew what he was doing.  He couldn't help it, the beautiful thing just begged to be touched.  Begged to be fondled.  Begged to be…worn.

Robes hit the floor, followed by shirt and trousers, then boxers.  With reverent hands, he picked up the knickers and stepped into them.  They slid up his legs and over his narrow hips, settling into place around his waist as if made for him alone and he had to take a deep breath before he could pull the camisole over his head. 

Snape moaned.  Had anything else ever felt so perfect?  He shifted his legs slightly and the soft, slick material caressed his arse and teased his prick.  He lifted an arm and his nipples hardened under the sweet torment.  It was absolute bliss.

Snape moved over to the mirror and gasped at his reflection.  He knew that black looked good on him but this was – spectacular.  The sheer, unrelieved black made his pale skin luminous by contrast.  The clinging fabric emphasized his long, lean limbs in a way so sensual that his body responded enthusiastically.  He groaned at the feeling of the material sliding over the head of his prick and saw his nipples harden in the mirror.  Experimentally, he touched his swollen nipples through the satin, rubbing the fabric over them, and that was all it took.  He came harder than he could remember coming in his life, so hard that he collapsed to his knees while the world spun dizzily around him.

He knelt on the floor, panting and shaking, trying to recover his balance.  In a smirking tone, the mirror said, "Was it good for you, too, dear?"  He lifted his head to glare at it but couldn't organize enough brain cells to utter a scathing retort.  It was all he could do to stagger into the bathroom to clean up.

He'd definitely have to try that again.  Once he remembered why breathing was a good thing.

*********************

All too soon, the tranquility of the summer was disrupted by the chaos of returning students.  To make matters worse, there was the idiotic Tri-Wizard competition everyone was going on about.  Really, it was hard enough to get the cloth-headed imbeciles to concentrate on important matters such as classes and homework under normal circumstances, but with this nonsense about champions and trials and such, he'd be lucky to pound anything into their heads this year.

He scowled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.  And, of course, Harry Potter had to add to the chaos by getting himself added to the list of champions, despite the fact that he was too young by far.  The boy had protested that he hadn't added his own name and, reluctantly, Snape had to admit that the idiot was probably telling the truth.  Someone else had done it, but for what purpose?  Ill, his senses told him, but at whose direction?  And if someone had it in for Potter, why had he passed the first two Trials?

He finished his ablutions and returned to his bedchamber to get dressed.  It was Friday, the day he had come to anticipate over the past few months.  The day when he gave into his dark desires.  The day when he allowed himself to wear black satin under his robes.  And nothing else.

With great care, he dried himself thoroughly so that no dampness would mar that first delicious slide of satin over his body.  The garments were already lying on the bed, waiting for his caress, but first he picked up a leather cock-ring and fastened it in place.  It was a necessary precaution; the first three times he'd worn the satin knickers, he'd come in them before he'd even left his rooms.  With the ring safely in place, he could allow the slow build of pleasure over the gloriously long day, anticipating the moment later tonight when he'd come back to this room and bring himself to ecstatic release.

He held his breath as he slid the satin pants up his legs, reveling in the thrill as if it were the first time.  The camisole ghosted down over his chest, kissing him more tenderly than any lover ever had, and he closed his eyes to savor the perfect moment.  Regretting that there wasn't more time to relish these sensations this morning, he pulled his robe on and fastened it closed, slipped on his shoes, and then gave himself a critical once over in the mirror.  A smile crooked up the corner of his mouth as unholy amusement shone in his eyes.  No one would ever guess that underneath the austere black robe, Severus Snape was walking around in women's underwear. 

But he knew it.  Every movement made the slick fabric caress his body, inciting it to sinful pleasure.  Every time he swooped down on an unsuspecting student, he was aware of the delicious friction against his skin, and his delight in stripping away house points doubled.  Every sneer directed at his students and fellow faculty members held a double meaning, for none of them - not Potter, not Dumbledore, not even Moody with his eye – knew his dirty little secret. 

He felt more alive than he had in years.  And even the information that Voldemort might be seeking a way back couldn't change that.

************************

He should have known it wouldn't last; nothing in his life ever had.  That his enjoyment had lasted almost two years was more than he should have expected.

Snape prowled around the edges of his classroom, snarling at any Seventh year foolish enough to raise his or her eyes from the exams he had handed out on their first day back from Easter break.  He was in a foul mood with no sign of things improving in the near future.

Voldemort was indeed back and, although he had yet to make any definitive strike, it was clear that he was drawing in his faithful Death Eaters as well as increasing their ranks.  The wizarding world became increasingly nervous while the Ministry blithely continued to ignore the threat.

And as for Voldemort's unfaithful followers?  Karkaroff's body had been discovered shortly after the Tri-Wizard competition, executed in typical Death Eater style.  Snape had undertaken a mission to sound out the loyalties of some of the other Death Eaters – and had nearly been killed for his trouble.  It seemed Voldemort was unwilling to trust the former Death Eater-turned-spy, and when Dumbledore found out Voldemort had issued a death warrant against Snape, he had virtually forbidden him to leave Hogwarts' grounds. 

To make matters worse, his one solace was now no longer available to him.  After nearly two years of lovingly frequent use, the satin undergarments had fallen apart.  Snape had mourned their loss more deeply than he had mourned the death of his former associate, Karkaroff. 

And, trapped here as he was, there was no way for him to obtain replacements.  While Dumbledore was more than willing to procure any little thing he needed, Snape balked at the idea of revealing his fetish to the Headmaster.  His trial attempt at Christmas to get Dobby the house elf to obtain boxers to replace his increasingly threadbare stock had yielded a collection so hideous as to make Snape abandon any thoughts of entrusting a more delicate mission into the house elf's hands. 

To add insult to injury, Albus had insisted that Snape keep a closer watch on Potter this year.  Although Moody – the real Moody – had consented to remain at Hogwarts for another school year, Albus had asked Snape to give Potter additional instruction in the Dark Arts that year.  Snape had grudgingly obeyed, and over the past six months Potter had proven willing to learn this subject, even if he did have an annoying habit of running head-first into danger.  Drat the brat, he was more trouble than the Weasley twins combined. 

Speaking of which…the pair of them were sitting with their heads together over some sort of magazine when they should be concentrating on the exam he'd just passed out.  He moved toward them with quiet stealth, pouncing with great delight.

"Misters Weasley," he purred, delighted with an excuse to exercise his bad temper as he snatched away the magazine.  "I see you've found something more interesting than your Potions quiz to occupy your attention.  I believe I'll just hold onto this for you.  And 10 points from Gryffindor – each."

"But, Professor – " George (at least he thought it was George) protested, trying to snatch back the magazine. 

"Twenty-five points."

"Professor Snape, you don't understand – " Fred said.

Better and better, Snape thought.  "Would you care to make it fifty points, gentlemen?"

Both Weasleys sat back down, scowling silently, and returned to their quiz parchments.  Snape tossed the magazine on top of his desk and continued his prowl, feeling almost cheerful.

He didn't think any more about the magazine till later that evening when a knock came on his door as he sat grading the exams.  "Come," he said absently.  Dumbledore, he thought with irritation laced with affection, come down to discover why Snape hadn't put in an appearance at dinner.  Really, the man worried about him entirely too much.

"Professor?"

Drat and damn, the Weasley brats.  "Close the door, gentlemen.  From the outside."

Footsteps approached him.  "Professor, we were wondering…"

He didn't even look up, just dipped his quill in red ink and continued marking.  "No, you may not have your magazine back.  The Quidditch world will have to go on without you having up to the minute information on it."

"It's not – it's not a Quidditch magazine, Professor."  Was that a stammer?  Curiouser and curiouser.  Snape lifted his head and looked up at the pair, noticing that they were fidgeting in their anxiety. 

"Indeed?  And what sort of magazine was it, then?"  One of them muttered and he said, "A little louder, if you please."

Fred sighed.  "A sex toy catalog, Professor."

Snape raised an eyebrow.  "Really, Mr. Weasley.  Whatever would your mother think if she knew what you read in your leisure moments?"

"We didn't get it for that," George said hastily.  "We've started a business – Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – and there's information in the back, listings of places to advertise."

Snape snorted.  "Right.  And I suppose you'll tell me next that you read PlayWizard for the articles.  Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourselves for bringing such material into Hogwarts.  What if one of the younger students got hold of it?  What if your younger brother saw it?"

"He'd faint dead away," Fred muttered.  "Little prat's a bit of a prude."

Snape repressed an amused smile – he'd thought that of Ron Weasley for the past five years.  "Out.  And I recommend checking out more reputable ways to market those disgusting abominations of yours."

"Yes, Professor," the pair said resignedly and shuffled out of the room.

Snape gave an amused snort and shook his head.  Well, no matter what else you said about the Weasley twins, they were never boring.  He wondered if he would miss them when they left school in a few months, always assuming they passed their NEWTS.  He capped his inkbottle and set down his quill, then picked up the magazine.  A lurid drawing of a dildo shaped like an alien was prominently displayed across the front page and he shuddered, then tossed it into the rubbish bin.  After a moment's thought, he fished it back out – it certainly wouldn't do for Filch to find it his office and think it was his.  Better to burn the thing and be done with it.

He picked up the magazine and headed back to his rooms.  A flick of his wand and a fire ignited in the fireplace while candles lit around the room.  They caught the gleam of a silver tray on the table by his armchair and Snape snorted in amusement.  He knew Albus wouldn't let him get away with missing a meal and, truth be told, he was starting to feel hungry.  He'd just toss this rubbish and get on with it.

As he started to toss the item on the fire, the movement made a few pages flip back and he caught sight of something that made him snatch it back. 

Something in black satin.  No, someone in black satin.  A male someone in a black satin something.

Damn, but the Weasley twins were correct – there were advertisements in the back of the bloody thing.  Although he sincerely doubted this was the kind of help they'd been seeking.

The heading read: "Transformation – the ULTIMATE catalog for the Discriminating Cross-dressing Wizard".  The model was sporting some kind of slinky one-piece outfit and on his legs were the most incredible things Snape had ever seen.  Long, and black, and silky-looking, and attached by straps…

Snape realized he was staring when the wizard in the picture winked at him coyly and blew him a kiss.  He slammed the magazine shut, aware of the unusual heat in his cheeks, and fell rather than sat down in the chair.  Forgotten was the tray on the table and his hunger.  All he was aware of were two things:

One - he apparently wasn't the only wizard in the world cross-dressing

Two – there was a place from which he could order these items without leaving Hogwarts!

He flipped open the magazine again, just to make sure that the advertisement gave a mailing address, not a store location.  The wizard gave him a cheeky little wave and he flushed again, closing the magazine just as quickly.  Then he sat back in his chair and pondered the possibilities.

First, he had to get his hands on a catalog but he could hardly have it sent to "Severus Snape, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry".  He would need a false name, and a postal box, and a way to get the mail from the box to Hogwarts.

Absently, he began chewing on one of the sandwiches on the plate as he thought about the possibilities.  False name – that was no problem.  Back when he'd been doing spy work for Dumbledore, he'd set up a second identity in case he ever needed to go into hiding or send information to Dumbledore when it was too dangerous for "Snape" to do so.  His double even had a separate account with Gringotts.  However, the postal box was another matter entirely.

A smile crossed his face, the first in weeks.  Of course. It was perfectly simple.  All he needed was Dumbledore's help.

***********************

Shrewd eyes studied him from across the Headmaster's desk, although the disconcerting twinkle in them made Snape uncomfortably aware that Dumbledore had ways of knowing the truth without Veritaserum.  "You need a postal box in Hogsmeade," Dumbledore repeated.

Snape made his eyes meet the Headmaster's steadily.  "Yes, Albus.  Under the cover name I set up years ago.  I have need of certain materials – for my research – and if they were knew who these materials were going to, there might be - problems."

"Poisons introduced into the materials or the packaging, that sort of thing?"

"A possibility."

Dumbledore nodded.  "I see no problem.  You will not, of course, go into Hogsmeade to retrieve the items yourself."  The tone of his voice brooked no disagreement.  "Perhaps Hagrid could be persuaded to serve as courier."

Snape winced at that idea.  Hagrid's heart might be in the right place, but Snape was reluctant to trust him with delicate items. And there was the distinct possibility that Hagrid would stop in at the Three Broomsticks for a nip and forget his parcel, leading to it being opened and discovery…Snape shuddered.

"No need to trouble Hagrid," he said hastily.  "I expect that one of the house elves would be more than willing to perform this small errand."  Dobby.  He owed Snape big for that boxer mess.

"And you'd trust a house elf with your – potions?"

Snape shrugged.  "In this case, do I have a choice?"

"Very well," Dumbledore said.  "I shall take care of the matter today.  Order your supplies, Severus."

Snape nearly grinned at that news.  Only the realization that Dumbledore would probably have a fatal coronary should he do so kept his smile down to a prim quirking of his lips as he rose.  "Thank you, Albus."

"No need to thank me, child.  I'm happy to do my small part to keep you…content."

Snape pondered those words on the way back to the dungeon, and wondered exactly how much Dumbledore knew about everyone's business at Hogwarts.

*****************************

The catalog arrived two weeks later.  Dobby popped into his classroom in the middle of the afternoon and announced, "Dobby is getting package for Professor Snape, sir.  Just like Sir asks Dobby."

"Good."  Snape itched to snatch the plain brown wrapping from the house elf's hands but the Sixth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were trickling into the classroom.  He cursed the fact that it would be two bloody hours before he could look at his catalog and sighed.  "Put it in my room, Dobby, please."

Dobby beamed from ear to ear.  "Yes, Professor Snape, sir.  Dobby is taking good care of Professor Snape's package, sir." 

The house elf popped out again, and Snape sighed and rubbed his temples as he turned to his class.  "Today we'll be looking at catalogs…I mean, we'll be cataloging poisons and their antidotes."  He gestured vaguely at their books as they stared at him, open-mouthed.  "Well?" he said irritably.  "Get on with it!"  Heads immediately bent over textbooks and parchments.  Snape collapsed in his chair and tried not to watch the hourglass.

Two hours later, freed at last from his final class of the day, Snape went directly to his room.  The catalog was lying on the table by his armchair, the brown wrapper undisturbed.  With a sound that might have been mistaken for pleasure, Snape tore off the cover and settled in to read.

He emerged an hour later, slightly dazed, mostly confused, and completely aroused.  Teddies, corsets, bustiers, suspenders, stockings, gaffs - who knew there were things like these available in the world?  And why hadn't he found out about them earlier?  He felt more than slightly aggrieved; his sex education classes as a student had definitely not prepared him for this.  Come to think of it, his years as a Death Eater hadn't, either, although he was starting to have serious questions about Lucius, given a few things he remembered from their school years. 

He shook his head dismissively.  That didn't matter now.  He had a list to make out.

**************************

The arrival of the first package happened to coincide with the start of summer vacation, and Snape felt a fever pitch of excitement as he thought of what waited to be unwrapped in his rooms once the last of the brats was out the door.  Not that all of them would be leaving – Potter was remaining behind, in spite of having been invited to spend the summer with the Weasleys.  Dumbledore had refused to give him permission, however, fearing for his safety away from Hogwarts. 

Once he'd seen that last Slytherin out the door, Snape hastened down to his dungeon rooms and stared with hungry eyes at the package sitting on his bed.  It was a large box – Dobby had fairly staggered under the weight – and Snape tore into it eagerly.  Inside were several parcels ranging in size, but it was the box on top that caught his immediate attention.

"The Basics" it said simply, in elegant, creamy lettering on a solid black background.  With hands that shook slightly in anticipation, Snape removed the cover and carefully lifted out the parchment sitting on top.

"Welcome to the wonderful world of cross-dressing!" it began.  "Enclosed you will find all you need to embark upon a Journey of Discovery…"

Snape rolled his eyes and scanned for an index.  Finding the item he was looking for, he touched his wand to the listing and the parchment unrolled to the proper page. 

"Before putting on stockings, one should ensure that one's legs are at their smoothest, to prevent snagging.  There are two avenues for doing this: Non-Magical and Magical.  Our customers report that, as far as Magical means are concerned, Charms require a high level of expertise and Potions have unsatisfactory significant side effects." 

Snape snorted – probably attempted by inept fools who should never be allowed near a cauldron.  There was hope for Longbottom yet, career-wise.  "Therefore, we recommend non-magical methods for removing unwanted leg hair:  Shaving, depilatory lotions, and waxing.  All the items you need to try these methods are included in your kit.  Refills are, of course, available through the catalog."

Snape looked into the box and found a razor, a lotion bottle, and a block of wax.  He looked dubiously at the wax and set aside the lotion, distrustful of a Muggle lotion, then picked up the razor.  At least he knew how to use one of these – it couldn't be that much different from shaving his face.  He shed his clothes and headed for the bath.

An hour later, with numerous rivulets of blood running down one partially shaved leg, he conceded that there must be some trick to leg shaving that he couldn't grasp.  He entertained the brief thought of consulting one of the female staff members about the matter, but concluded that he couldn't even begin to determine how he would approach the subject with Xiomara or Minerva.

Depilatory lotion next, he decided, and carefully read the instructions on the bottom.  For external use only.  Apply in a thin layer over the area, wait five minutes, then rinse off.

Simple enough, Snape thought, and carried the bottle back into the bathroom.  Standing in the tub, he opened the bottle and poured it liberally over his partially shaven leg.  Fire seemed to dance up and down his leg, and he repressed a shriek as he hastily grabbed the showerhead accessory so he could rinse the viscous stuff off.

Bloody hell! he fumed silently.  Not only couldn't the idiots brew a potion to save their lives, but they had failed to put the proper warnings on the bottle about not applying to open wounds!  He would definitely be corresponding with the company about this.

Still determined to achieve his goal, Snape limped into the bedroom and grabbed the block of wax.  The instructions called for him to melt the wax in a small pot or cauldron and then, using the small brush (included), cover the area with a thin layer of wax.  Once dry, one simply peeled the wax off.

Snape nodded, assembled the required equipment and, once the wax was melted, carried the pot and brush back into the bathroom.  The wax was a bit hot as it went on but not unbearably so, and he was feeling justifiably smug as he finished painting his hitherto untouched leg.  Now all he had to do was wait until the wax dried and remove it.  He picked up the latest copy of Cauldron Quarterly and occupied himself with reading it until a careful probe showed him the wax was dry.  He set aside the magazine, firmly gripped an edge of the wax, and pulled.

His tortured scream was heard throughout the entire dungeon and sent even the Bloody Baron into hiding.

********************

Dumbledore looked up as the Potions master limped into the Great Hall for the evening meal.  "Something wrong, Severus?" he asked genially. 

The look Snape gave him would have frozen a basilisk.

*********************

Snape threw out the razor, the lotion and the wax.  A trial attempt at putting on a stocking without shaving left him with ladders all the way up one leg and the knowledge that smooth legs were essential for success.  But he wasn't a potion master for naught – he immediately began working on a concoction to remove the hair from his legs without damaging his skin. 

He was in the middle of his third potion, the one he was certain would be successful, when Dobby popped into his room to tell him that Dumbledore needed to see him immediately.  Scowling, Snape reduced the heat on the potion to a low simmer and headed up the stairs.

He entered Dumbledore's office, a slight frown on his face.  "What is it, Albus?  I have a potion at a very delicate stage – oh good God.  What is he doing here?"

Remus Lupin was sitting in one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk.  He raised an eyebrow, an amused expression on his face, but said nothing.  Dumbledore gestured towards a chair.

"Please sit down, Severus.  Remus is here because I asked him to come.  In fact, I've asked him to consider taking up the position as Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor again."

Snape scowled as he sat down.  "And what do you think the parents of your students will say about a werewolf teaching here?"

Dumbledore gave him a very sober look.  "Considering what's going on out there, that's the least of their worries."

Snape had to agree.  Matters with Voldemort were heating up and the Ministry had no longer been able to deny that he was back.  So far, the targets of Death Eater attacks had been small and isolated, but no one doubted that they would escalate.  Most parents would just be relieved to have their children in a safe place, and with the Wolfbane potion, Lupin was relatively safe.  And truthfully, Snape would be glad to have a capable DADA instructor there to take up Harry Potter's training.  Snape had enough on his plate with worrying about his young Slytherins, wondering who had taken the Dark Mark and who might be tempted to do so over the coming year.

Of course, he wasn't about to agree with Dumbledore out loud – it would ruin his image, and the old fool was always happier when he felt he'd manipulated Snape into doing something against his will.  So he let his scowl intensify and said, "I see you've already made up your mind.  Why invite me up here at all?  Why not just announce it at our next staff meeting like you usually do?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at him.  "I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to vent your spleen in private."

Snape jerked his head in Lupin's direction.  "Hardly private, Albus."

"Don't mind me," Lupin said easily, the amused look still on his face.  "Pretend I'm not even here."

"Would that it were true," Snape retorted.  "If there is nothing else, Albus – "

"Actually, there is something else," Dumbledore said, standing up, "but I must leave you for a few minutes – an urgent matter I must attend to."

Before Snape could protest, Dumbledore had disappeared through the fireplace.  He glared at the disappearing green flames and muttered, "Urgent matter, my arse.  He's up to something."

"I believe he thinks we have issues we need to resolve," Lupin said. 

He stood and turned so he was leaning his butt against the desk, crossed his arms and gave the impression he was looming over Snape.  Snape hated to be loomed over. 

He stood up and snapped, "Issues?  What issues?"

"This, for instance," Remus said, and before Snape could blink, the werewolf had knocked him to the floor with a right cross to the jaw.

Snape lay sprawled on the floor, his hand cupping his throbbing jaw, and stared up at the werewolf.  Remus stood there, breathing hard, his eyes intent on Snape, his fists clenched and ready to punch him again should Snape give him the slightest provocation.  The Potions master was surprised by the sheer strength of the slightly built man – surprised and, oddly enough, aroused.

"Bloody hell, Lupin, I think you broke my jaw," he said, working it tentatively.

Lupin relaxed slightly but didn't look contrite in the least.  "At least admit you had it coming.  That was a nasty stunt you pulled last time I was here, telling the Slytherins what I was."

"You're quite right," Snape said readily, still working his jaw.  "I was a complete and utter prick.  Although you'll probably be surprised to find it boosted your popularity among my Slytherins, if not among their parents.  If it'll make you feel better, you can hit me again."

Lupin stared down at him for a moment, then burst out laughing and held out his hand.  "Damn, but I had forgotten your twisted sense of humor, Severus.  Got you into more trouble than not, didn't it?"

"Mmm," Severus said, accepting his help up.  "From your friend, Black, mostly.  I do hope you've left your mangy companion at home this time.  I have no desire to deal with fleas on top of everything else this afternoon."

Lupin's eyes narrowed slightly.  "Sirius is on a mission for the Order.  I haven't seen him for several months.  And, for your information, we don't share a home."

"Oh?  One was under the impression that you two were joined at the hip, if not at other places."

There was a flash of anger in Lupin's eyes and for a moment, Snape thought he was going to be knocked down again.  He was aghast to realize his body was eagerly responding to that idea, and uttered a silent prayer of thanks for robes and all they hid.  Then the anger was gone, replaced by Lupin's usual mask of mild good humor. 

"Jealous, Severus?" Lupin said softly.

"Of you and Black?  Please.  Even in my worst Death Eater days I had better taste than to go for that cur."

A hint of a smile touched Lupin's lips, and his eyes were bright.  "I didn't mean that you were jealous of me being with him, but rather the other way around."

For a moment, there was a hint of the intriguing boy Remus Lupin Snape had known during those all-too-brief months when they'd been working their way toward becoming lovers.  Snape's breath caught in his throat.  Then Lupin looked away, towards the fireplace where Dumbledore was emerging, and the spell was broken.

"So, I take it the matter is resolved, gentlemen?" Dumbledore asked, and Snape knew that the shrewd eyes had detected both the bruising on his cheek and Lupin's knuckles.

"For now," Lupin said, smiling at Dumbledore.  "If you don't mind, Albus, I'd like to find Harry and give him the good news personally, as well as a birthday present I have for him."

"Of course, of course.  And I shall expect you to stay for the feast tonight as well.  I understand the house elves have a surprise for young Mr. Potter's birthday as well.  Dear me, I can hardly believe he's sixteen already."

Snape shook himself out of his dazed state, carefully avoiding looking at Lupin again.  "Yes, well, time flies and all that," he said sharply.  "I have work waiting for me.  Albus, if there's nothing more, I'll take my leave."

"Certainly, my dear boy, but don't forget about the feast tonight."  His eyes twinkled at Snape.  "I'll drag you out of the dungeons myself if I have to."

The hell of it was that Snape knew Dumbledore would.  He snarled in response and exited the office, moving with rapid determination through the castle and deliberately not thinking about brown eyes.

The potion was simmering nicely when he got back to his workroom, and the routine of carefully preparing and adding ingredients calmed him down.  There – the potion was thickening and turning the proper shade of cream.  He extinguished the flame and carefully strained the potion, then set it aside to cool.

While he impatiently waited for it to be cool enough to test, he thought back over that scene in Dumbledore's office.  The image of Lupin standing over him, his fists clenched and a determined look in his eyes, sent a jolt of arousal through his groin again.  Of course, it didn't mean a thing.  It was just the surprise of the attack, coupled with the fact that it had been years since Snape had experienced anything but the company of his own hand.  Coupled…that created another image that made him instantly hard: Lupin crouched over his naked body, fucking him into the floor.  He scowled and banished the image, turning back to his potion.  Yes, it was cool enough to test now. 

He carefully brushed a few drops of the potion onto the back of his left arm and watched it intently.  No rash or swelling, no itching or irritation – good.  He waited a few minutes, then wiped the solution off with a damp cloth.  Hair came with it, leaving the place on his arm bare and smooth.  Snape smiled, picked up the bottle, and headed into the bathroom.

An hour later, Snape sat on the bed and studied the "Basics" scroll again.  Carefully gather the fabric of the stocking until you reach the toe area.  Place your toe in the center of the stocking toe, then carefully ease the material over your foot and up the leg.  Sounded easy enough, but the destroyed pieces of silk on the floor were testimony to the fact that it was anything but easy.

He took a deep breath and let it out, concentrating on remaining calm.  He'd faced down monsters, other Death Eaters, not to mention the most sadistic academic review panel in the history of the Academy when going for his mastery in potions.  He could do this.

Carefully, he picked up another stocking and began gathering it in his hand, then eased it over his foot to the ankle.  So far, so good.  Without relinquishing his firm but gentle hold, he drew the stocking up over his calf.  Perspiration broke out on his forehead but he ignored it, gritting his teeth as he reached the critical area – his knee. 

"Steady on," he murmured, easing the fabric over the knee and up the thigh.  With slightly trembling fingers, he attached the top of the stocking to the garter and then breathed a sigh of relief.

It was perfect.  No snags, sags, or ladders.

Feeling more confident after his success, Snape picked up the other stocking and repeated the process.  This time he was able to appreciate the sensual aspects of the experience.  The silk was cool and smooth as it slid over his equally smooth skin.  It clung with delicious tension to the muscles of his calf, kissed his knee with sensual delight, and erotically tickled the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. 

It was the most erotically charged experience he'd ever known.

With both stockings firmly fastened to the garters, he carefully stood up and walked over to the mirror.  The dungeon floors were cool under his stocking feet but he didn't notice as he stared into the mirror at his reflection.

He looked incredible.

Snape let his eyes travel up his body.  Sheer black stockings encased his long, pale legs, making them look even longer.  Narrow black elastic drew his eye up his thighs to the black lace garter belt framing his narrow hips.  His eyes dipped briefly to study the black silk encasing his groin, lingering on the firm mound there.  Yes, his libido was definitely enjoying the view as well.  His eyes traveled upward, to the final sensual delight – a short black corset.  It hugged his chest, emphasizing his slender waist and leading the eye back downward.

"Well, aren't you something?" the mirror said appreciatively.

Snape smirked.  "Thank you."

"And who exactly is it that you're tarting yourself up for?" it asked.

"No one," he replied shortly.  "And I'm not tarting myself up."

If the mirror could have snorted, it would have.  "Right.  You're trying to try to tell me that you went to all that trouble, just to go sit through another boring dinner with your boring colleagues?  You're hiding something from me."

"Nothing to hide," Snape said coolly, pulling on his robes and carefully fastening them.  "The fact is I'm about to spend an abysmal evening watching the entire faculty and staff fawn over that wretched Potter brat, while I simultaneously endure the presence of Remus Lupin.  Under other circumstances, I'd be inclined to poison myself."

"And you're not because…"

Snape pulled on his shoes, then surveyed his image in the mirror with satisfaction.  "Because I'll be sitting there, among my colleagues, knowing that underneath my robes I'm wearing this."

With a flourish of his robes, he swept out of the room.

*****************************

"Lupin, I am perfectly capable of seeing myself to my own room."

As frostily as this statement was delivered, the fact that he looked as pale as death and was leaning against the dungeon wall as he fumbled with the locks on his door somehow failed to make an impression on Lupin.  As Snape took an unexpected nose-dive toward the dungeon floor, he heard Lupin growl and felt unexpectedly strong arms scoop him up.  Lupin then kicked open the unlocked door and marched inside as if he owned the place.

"What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Lupin?" Snape demanded.  He considered struggling, but weak as he currently was, thought it would be too humiliating to lose that fight.

Lupin had an exasperated look on his face as he deposited Snape on the bed.  "For Merlin's sake, Severus!  You were nearly blown up by Dobby's fireworks at Harry's birthday party, you refuse to go to the Infirmary – at least let me make you more comfortable."

"I'm fine," Snape snapped, trying to sit up.  He fell back on his pillow with a groan, then glared at Lupin's "I told you so" expression.  "If you want to help, you can fetch the purple potion on the shelf there."

Lupin walked over to the desk and scanned the potions, picking up one.  "This one?"  Snape nodded, and Lupin carried it back.  Snape grabbed the bottle, then pointedly ignored the werewolf as he drained it.  He closed his eyes as he felt the potion immediately begin to ease the pain.

"Much better," he said.  "You can leave now, Lupin – I'm not in any danger of popping off."

Lupin was looking at him with a peculiar expression on his face – or maybe it was Snape's eyesight acting up, a residual effect of the potion.  Snape felt quite warm suddenly, as if he was flushed all over.

"I think I better see you settled first," Lupin said slowly.  He moved to the bottom of the bed, to Snape's feet.  "Let me get these shoes off."

Snape stared down the length of the bed, his mind hazy from the potion.  Lupin was unlacing his shoes and there was some reason why that was bad, but he couldn't remember what it was for the life of him.  Then Lupin pulled off his shoe, and his eyes widened as he drew in a surprised breath. 

Snape remembered.  He closed his eyes tightly and wished for a Killing curse to strike him.

"Severus?"  Lupin's voice was unsteady, and Snape steeled himself for the laughter that was certain to erupt any minute.  "Are you wearing – stockings?"  Snape tightened his lips, refusing to answer, but it didn't matter because Lupin was tearing off his other shoe.  "Bloody hell."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you're in a hurry to rush off and have a good laugh about my sick perversions," Snape said bitterly, "so you'll pardon me if I don't – " He broke off, aware that a pair of warm hands had ghosted over his feet and up his calves.  He glanced down the bed to see that Lupin was staring at his lower legs in fascination, running his hands up and down the silky material.  Snape bit back a groan at the sensation and managed to growl, "Lupin, what in blazes do you think you're doing?"

"Incredible," Lupin murmured, his hands rucking up Snape's robe as he bared Snape's knees.  "I had no idea standing over a hot cauldron all day could make legs look so sexy."

"Lupin, I would appreciate it if you would quit pawing my - " Snape began, acidly, then Lupin's words penetrated and his jaw dropped.  "I beg your pardon – did you say sexy?"

"Yes," Lupin murmured.  He drew Snape's left foot onto his lap. "Sexy and beautiful."  Lupin's hands continued caressing Snape's leg, as if learning the shape of his calf.  If the firm mound Snape's foot was resting against was any indication, Lupin was finding his explorations arousing. 

Snape had been called many things in his life, but "sexy" and "beautiful" had never made it onto the list.  His lovers hadn't considered it necessary to seduce him with words and foreplay.  Hell, he'd counted himself lucky if his past lovers had remembered to prepare him before sliding home.  And he was certain that his legs had never been the focus of any appreciation, much less such extended foreplay. 

For foreplay it was, without any doubt in Snape's mind.  Lupin had lifted Snape's right foot now, rubbing his face along the inside of Snape's stocking-clad calf.  "Smooth," he murmured appreciatively.

"I use a potion – less stubble than shaving, and less painful than waxing," Snape said without thinking, then snarled at himself.  What a completely idiotic thing to say!

"Of course," Lupin said, amusement in his eyes.  He slid his face down Snape's leg until his cheek rubbed against Snape's ankle.  "I like the results."  He slid forward again, his hands ghosting up the inside of Snape's legs to his knees again.

"Lupin – "

"Remus."

"Lupin," Snape said firmly.  "What exactly is happening here?"

A grin formed on Lupin's mouth.  "I should have thought that was obvious.  Been that long since you were last seduced?"

Snape sneered at Lupin.  "I don't need a pity fuck."

"I wasn't offering one," Lupin replied, his grin widening.  His hands pushed Snape's robes higher, baring his thighs so that the tops of the stockings and the garter belt straps could be seen.  "Mmm, nice," he murmured.

Snape's eyes narrowed.  "Don't try to tell me this is some secret fetish you've had for years."

"I don't appear to be the one with the fetish," Lupin pointed out, his hands continuing to caress the silk-encased skin.  "But I do like the results."

For the second time that night, Snape's jaw dropped.  "You like – What?  Are you insane?  You discover I'm wearing women's undergarments under my robes, and you just say you 'like the results'?  Do you think I'm gullible enough to believe that?"

Lupin lifted one of Snape's feet and pressed a kiss against the ankle.  "I don't think you're gullible at all.   I think you're just about the sexiest man I've ever seen.  And I'd like to see more of you."

Before Snape could demur, before he could move, Lupin's agile fingers had unbuttoned his robes and spread them open.  "My God," he breathed, taking in the feast laid out before him.  "You are incredible."

Snape was finding it hard to breathe.  "You are insane," he returned, trying to keep a firm grip on his senses, which wasn't easy as Remus – no, Lupin - was fondling the skin between the top of his stockings and his knickers.  A stray finger brushed against the firming mound of his genitals and he couldn't help moaning.  "Oh, God."

"Like that, do you?" Lupin asked, amused.  He leaned over and laid a series of kisses along Snape's belly right where the corselet ended.

"Tell me you don't want this," he murmured, "and I'll stop."

"I – " Snape began but couldn't finish.  He wanted this.  But how could Remus Lupin possibly want him?  "I don't disgust you?"

Lupin looked up at him, a wolfish gleam in his eyes.  "Does it look like I'm disgusted?"

"Dammit, Lupin!  Can't you give me a straight answer?"

"Severus," Lupin said seriously, "I've always found you very attractive.  Why do you think I spent so much time with you during our fifth year?"

Snape's face shadowed slightly.  "You know what I thought."

Lupin nodded.  "That I was involved in a plot to humiliate or even hurt you.  I wasn't, you know.  Not then, and not now."  He leaned down to kiss Snape, a possessive kiss that made the Potion master's toes curl.  "Are you going to tell me to stop?"

Snape's internal battle only lasted a few seconds.  He'd wanted Remus Lupin back when they were Fifth Years together.  He'd wanted Remus Lupin when he'd turned up two years earlier as the DADA instructor.  He'd wanted Remus Lupin earlier that day when the werewolf had stood over him in Dumbledore's office, his eyes flashing.  And now Lupin was here, apparently eager to have sex with him.  It didn't matter that it was just because Lupin was titillated by Snape's undergarments, and it didn't matter that it would only be once – he'd deal with those issues tomorrow, when he was alone again.  All that mattered right now was that he had Remus Lupin here in his bed and he intended to make the most of the situation.

He pulled Lupin down into an intense kiss, deciding that it was better than any verbal answer he could give.  And apparently it was good enough because Lupin growled and took possession of the kiss in a way that made Severus feel breathless and dizzy with anticipation, something he hadn't felt for years.  He felt a moment of jealousy toward Sirius Black, suspecting that he was the usual recipient of this incredibly focused attention, swiftly followed by unholy glee at poaching on the smug bastard's territory.

Or perhaps, he reflected as Lupin appeared to grow extra hands, it was the werewolf doing the poaching.  Lupin's fingers were busily working loose the front lacings of the corset while another set of hands were caressing his prick and his thighs.   And then a questing mouth found the hard nipples underneath.  Snape gasped as sharp teeth worried one of his nipples.   

"Oh, God!"

Lupin chuckled and licked the nub he'd been torturing and went to work on the other one.  "Like that, do you?  I know something you'll like even more."  His mouth trailed down Snape's chest and across his belly, and then he moved down abruptly to suck at Snape's cock through the fabric of the tight knickers he was wearing.

Snape's eyes rolled back in his head as he gasped, "Remus!" while grabbing for Lupin's head.  Lupin chuckled and the vibration against his cock made Snape even harder.  Lupin continued sucking on his hardening prick through the fabric, teasing Snape until he was nearly foaming at the mouth.  He was barely aware of fingers tugging down his knickers before a warm mouth engulfed his erect prick completely.

Snape felt as if his brain had exploded as his climax engulfed him.  He was vaguely aware of Lupin continuing to suck until he was drained, and then the werewolf was crawling back up his body to kiss his mouth.

"Are you all right?" Lupin asked softly.

"Mmm," Snape murmured, cracking open his eyes to see that Lupin was grinning down at him. "You?"

"I'll wait 'til you've recovered." Lupin nibbled at his earlobe, and Snape shivered with delight.  "I intend to have my wicked way with you, Severus Snape."  As Lupin rocked, Snape could feel the still-hard prick through Lupin's robe.  "Feel that?  I intend to shove it up your arse so hard you'll see stars."

"Oh, God!" Snape moaned, and his prick jerked with a pulse of arousal.  He scrabbled at Lupin's robe, trying to find the buttons to open it.  "Please!"

Lupin chuckled and shifted off of Snape so he could strip off his robe.  He tossed it on the floor and skimmed out of his boxers.  "You're such a slutty little bottom, aren't you?" he teased.  "So eager to get a proper buggering."

"Yes," Snape hissed, rolling onto his belly.  "Yes, dammit!"

Lupin laughed and he leaned over to kiss the back of Snape's neck, then worked his way down Snape's spine, over skin and corset.  "God, I love the way you look.  You already have the most incredible arse, and this makes you look so damned sexy."

"Are you going to talk all night or are you going to do it?"

Another chuckle from Lupin.  "Up on your knees."  Snape quickly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, arse in the air, and Lupin planted a kiss in the center of one cheek.  "That's my good little bitch."  He slid the knickers down to Snape's knees and slid a knee in between his legs as he rubbed his prick against the crack of Snape's arse.

Snape snarled, "Put it in me, dammit!  Now!"

Lupin frowned.  "You're not ready and I don't have anything – "

"I don't care – use blood, spit – I've had worse."

Lupin smacked Snape's arse cheek hard.  "Not from me, you haven't, and you won't."  Snape didn't say anything and Lupin's fingers touched his face.  "Severus?"

"Lubricant's in the drawer," Snape said hoarsely, trying to keep from choking on the lump in his throat.  It was stupid to feel emotional just because Lupin didn't want to fuck him dry.

Lupin nuzzled the side of Snape's face.  "It's all right, Sev.  I'm here now, and everything's going to be different, I promise.  No pain unless you want it.  And tonight, no pain at all." 

Snape frowned through the sexual haze enveloping him.  There was something in Lupin's words that was a little frightening.  But then Lupin was brushing oil-slickened fingers over his opening and Snape forgot everything but the need to be penetrated.

Lupin was murmuring something as he stretched the opening, and Snape barely caught the words.  Something about concentrating on what he was doing, about how Lupin was going to fill him completely and drive him out of his mind.  Snape growled and rocked back, trying to drive those fingers up higher inside him.

"Easy, Sev.  You're so tight – it's been awhile, hasn't it?"

Damn if he was going to get into a discussion about past lovers, Snape mentally snapped.  He rocked back against Lupin's fingers, forcing them deeper, and Lupin chuckled. 

"Eager, aren't you?  All right, then." 

Fingers were removed and a warm, blunt object pressed against Snape's opening.  He wanted to push back again, impale himself on the solid length, but firm hands held him still.

"At my speed, Severus," Lupin said firmly, smacking Snape again on the arse.  Snape groaned and wiggled, and Lupin laughed softly.  "Like that, do you?  I'll have to remember that for the future."

"You're a damned tease, Lupin," Snape growled.

"Remus," he corrected, pressing slowly inward.  He kissed Snape on the back of the neck.  "I want you to call me Remus, understand?"

Snape groaned at the slow invasion of his body.  "I'll call you anything you sodding well want as long as you fuck me, dammit!  Hard!"

Lupin slid the rest of the way in and growled in Snape's ear, "Be careful what you wish for, Severus."  He pulled back out and slammed back in quickly, and Snape howled and bucked against him.  Lupin held him in place, bruising hands on his hips, but Snape didn't care.  He felt so gloriously full and it had been so long and he was so close…He reached for his prick, only to have his hand batted away. 

"Mine," Lupin growled possessively, wrapping his own hand around Snape's prick.  He pulled at it twice and that was all it took.  Once more, he could feel his climax washing over him, and he pushed back hard on Lupin's cock as he shuddered.  Vaguely, he was aware of Lupin biting his shoulder and his desperate thrusts, and then Severus collapsed onto the bed.

When he finally returned to some level of consciousness, he was aware of the aching emptiness inside his body and the emptiness of the bed beside him.  His heart sank – he hadn't expected Lupin to run out of the place so fast, although apparently the werewolf had.  He damned himself for even his slight expectations.

A sound nearby made him turn his head, and he was surprised to see Lupin come out of the bathroom with a cloth in his hand.  He blinked and said the first thing that came into his head.

"I thought you'd gone."

Lupin gave him a look of exasperated amusement.  "Just as far as the bathroom for a flannel to wash us up."

"There are cleaning spells for that, Lupin," Snape said pointedly. 

Lupin grinned and crawled back into the bed.  "I prefer the personal touch with my lovers.  And I think – considering what we just did – that you can call me Remus."

Snape stared at Lupin in shock.  "Lovers?  You think of me as a lover?"

Lupin frowned.  "Of course I do.  I don't do casual relationships, and I doubt that you do, either."

"So I should just accept you because I'm not likely to get a better offer?" Snape asked, sneering.

"You should accept me because I'm the one who loves you."

Snape was stunned.  "You – what?"

"I love you, Severus Snape.  And I want to be your lover, unless the thought of a werewolf for a lover disgusts you."

"Don't be an idiot," Snape snorted, then flushed as he realized what he'd just revealed. "I mean – I didn't think – you aren't obligated - "

Lupin frowned again.  "What do you think this whole evening has been about?"

Snape shrugged.  "Curiosity.  What it would be like to shag a deviant, cross-dressing bastard."

Lupin grinned at him.  "Abso-bloody-amazing, that's how it was.  And something I intend to do again and again and again…"

Snape snorted.  "You have an over inflated opinion of your sexual prowess, not to mention your stamina, Lupin."

"Remus," Lupin corrected as he tossed the flannel aside so he could pull Snape into his arms and kiss him.  "And I intend to disprove those words, but first I have something to tell you.  I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable to hear it or not, I'm still going to say it.  I love you, Severus Snape, and I'm not going to let you get away from me this time."

"Oh, good," Snape said on a sigh, not even noticing that he'd spoken. 

"Better than good," Lupin said, kissing Snape thoroughly, until Snape felt like his bones had melted.

"What about Black?" he murmured, when he could get his brain functioning again.  Which wasn't easy because Lupin was already half-hard and rocking against him again.

"What about him?" Lupin asked absently, feasting on Snape's neck. 

"Are you – you know."

Lupin frowned.  "No.  Sirius is completely straight.  And if we were, I certainly wouldn't be in bed with you.  I'm completely faithful to my lovers, and I expect them to be faithful to me." 

There was a warning in that tone, a possessiveness to it that oddly enough excited Snape.  "They aren't exactly beating down the doors to get into my bed," he said dryly. 

"More fool them," Lupin retorted.  He nibbled at Snape's earlobe and the potions master shivered with the renewed stirring of arousal.  "There's just one thing I want to ask you to do for me."

"What?" Snape moaned, spreading his legs to better accommodate Lupin between them.  He lifted his hips and hooked a stocking-clad ankle around Lupin's back to encourage him to come closer.

"Wherever you got this from," he said, indicating the corset, "I want to take a look at their merchandise.  I fancy seeing you in something red."

"Red?" Snape said with a snort.  "As in Gryffindor red?  Not bloody likely, unless you're very, very persuasive."

Lupin grinned and rocked against his lover's body.  "Oh, I can be very persuasive, all right.  And I'm more than willing to devote my full attention to the task of convincing you.  After all, neither of us has to be anywhere for a full month."

He slid into Snape's body, still slick and stretched from earlier, and Snape bit back a moan.  Lupin's persuasive techniques were very, very good and Snape had a feeling that being convinced was going to be an extremely enjoyable process.

 End