Sevreus Snape scowled with his usual acid facial expression as his class of thick-skulled third years snaked their way out of his classroom. They chattered and pushed one another in the late October chill through the gaping doors, excited about the upcoming Halloween ball, no doubt high on sugar already from early elicit holiday treats they were supposed to be saving for their countless midnight feasts. He listened to the sounds of babbling teenagers echoing off the walls outside for a few moments until it truly died away. He didn’t want to risk closing the doors and settling down to mark his papers, only to be disturbed by a pre-pubescent dunderhead who had left their bag or quill.
No-one returned so he locked the doors and went back over to his desk and took a seat. It was at that time of year when the nights were dark early and though it was only four o’clock, the sky was already inky-blue and he needed to light a few candles so he didn’t have to strain his eyes whilst marking.
He dipped the tip of his quill in the inkwell and poised it over the topmost piece of parchment. The writing below stared back up at him. It was joined up writing written in a fluid purple ink. He noticed the name at the top of the paper and let out a soft sigh. He closed his obsidian eyes and let the quill rest back in the inkwell.
Snape felt an internal storm brewing and forced himself not to think about her, but thoughts were gathering like angry clouds within his mind already. He opened his eyes and looked at the handwriting below, the parchment dry and lifeless, quite unlike the author who had written the essay, in his hands.
A few nights ago he had made love to her in his bed, covered her teenage body in bottles of red wine, splashed her with fragrant alcohol. He hadn’t intended it to be this way; but he found his resolve was getting weaker. He remembered with a slight shudder the fine contours of her soft feminine form highlighted by the soft glow of candles, as she sat astride him. It was not supposed to be this way. If they were ever going to have any kind of relationship together, he had intended it to be strictly slave and master. But when he had taken her into his bed and fucked her, it had felt somehow different. Something burnt his fingertips when he had touched her, something that told him this was all a bad idea and that he was a silly, stupid old fool to be messing with such things. It had started off as planned, he had whipped her and degraded her in one of the old dungeons below the school, the one which still hoarded old torture equipment and he had used it. Then he had made her piss in a bucket and bite into a raw onion.
His shame surfaced briefly but he forced it back down inside him again. He would not let this girl control him. He could not let her huge blue eyes, soft red lips and tender caressing body make him into something he was not. But thoughts of pain in his heart were changing and he suspected that the next time he spent the evening with her, things would not be the same as last time.
If he could simply tell her that he loved her and have done with it, he would. But he had made it quite clear when they started this little affair that he wanted nothing but sex. That was not true.
She was wholesome and beautiful and she looked at him with such adoration in her ocean-wide eyes that his heart literally leapt when she looked in his direction and sank when she looked away. A memory of their first night together came back to haunt him; her bent over his lap, bottom bared for his entertainment, his palm striking the slightly wobbling peach below. He put a hand to his forehead and stared at the wood of his desk instead of her homework, which served as nothing but a painful reminder of what their official positions were to one another.
He did not and would not love her. She was a student, one that would be very successful as a graduated witch but only if he did not interfere with her any longer. He should have left it after the first time he had fucked her on the desk in his dungeon office, not that there should have even been a first time to begin with. She just teased him so much before that. Still, he thought, even if all went wrong and she turned her back on him and ended their times together, at least he had a few sordid memories to sit and feel smug over in the future, perhaps with a glass of the same wine he had poured over her body. He had made love to her twice, no fucked her twice, what was the difference anyway? And god he was being cruel to the lovelorn girl. Anyway, she deserved it for making him hurt so badly. Every class he taught her, every time he spoke her name when taking the register at the start of class, all he could think of was her porcelain coloured breasts or what she looked like from behind when he had attacked her from the rear on his desk. And those thoughts offered no comfortable reminder of conquered lust, they only chided him with reminders that she was not his and that she could have anyone she wanted in the whole school. She probably just thought he was a sad old man who would give her something a little harder than the boys her age could manage.
Was she his toy or was he hers?
He growled to himself and glanced at her homework again. He marked the first three points in her essay wrong just to spite her for being so perfect. But then he found himself lost in thought again. A memory of wine collecting in a fine river between her splendid cleavage came back and he pushed it away.
He had to stay focused, otherwise things would get very complicated. Things might go wrong. If he gave too much away, then what could he expect to get back? Love just never worked out that way and he didn’t know if he could handle the pain of rejection on top of the pain he had suffered over years of solitude. If all she wanted was fun and sex, then he could handle that. But if she wanted him to love her and be a perfect man, that elusive thing that all girls her age wanted, then he did not honestly know if he could be that person she needed.
But how he wished he could be. He wasn’t an ordinary man and couldn’t pretend to be anything other than that. He had a lot of secrets and a lot of pains that would not go away. But when he was with her, when she looked up at him and hung on his every silken word at his feet, willing to do whatever he wanted, he felt free.
The smell of the burning wicks in his chambers, the tang and full bodied taste of wine and woman on his tongue had stained his mind much in the same way the expensive alcohol had stained his bed sheets that night. She had drank from his bellybutton. Shades of grey and highlights on her skin had merged into one as she sat atop him and he had felt like something was wrong, like he did not deserve to have that delightful creature pleasure him so. What had he done in his empty life that made her want him? Fate could be most gracious at times as well as cruel it seemed. She was like an exquisite oil painting, like a piece of Muggle religious art; their Madonna, resplendent in dewy eyed innocence with a halo of stars above her insanely beautiful head.
And he had shut the door in her face when the night had concluded, sent her packing with a few words of affection to keep her interest alive. When she had gone, he cleaned the sheets and made fresh bedding with the aid of his wand. But he could not get in there. Changing the sheets he had crucified her on had been a regretful enough affair. He would have slept in there while it was still soaked, just to smell her soft smell while he slept if the smell of alcohol wouldn’t have branded him so. His fellow Professors would think he was an alcoholic or something. The thought made him smile when it lead him to think what they would think in addition to that if they knew he had been boffing one of the seventh years. He didn’t have to think for too long about what their reaction would be.
She controlled him and had done so for some time. Admitting it to himself made him want end the cycle of violence and humiliation that he had so far forced upon her. He wanted to lay with her and kiss her and let her just listen for day after day to all he had to say. All the secrets he had, all the things he had learnt in his unusual lifetime. He wanted to pour his heart into her ears and into her soul. He wanted her to care about him and not to get bored with him. To want to know more about him, to give him the opportunity to learn new things and have new experiences, to be within the company of someone else.
His thoughts regressed to girls of a similar age he had known in his youth. Prostitutes with yellow rancid teeth and the sisters and cousins of friends of his at the time. They had been passionate enough in their need to see him come and yes, they had even been attractive enough for him to leave the lights on, but something had been missing. It was something small and unexplainable, yet somehow vital. Now it was more vital to him than ever before. It could be a look that spoke volumes in compassion and understanding, or some body language which you could read and read well, discovering you had the ability to do that being the vital thing. But whatever it was, this girl who he spanked and chastised had it and enthusiasm about it to boot. When he taught seventh year classes that included her, he could see only her in the room, as though all the other pupils had vanished, or that they had been filtered out with some strange kind of smoke. She always looked so fresh and seductive, even when just studying or pouring potion ingredients into her cauldron. Her face illuminated from the shimmering green lights beneath, sparkles in her eyes.
It was just that everything about her was different. The way she wore her simple black pointed Hogwarts uniform hat. It was just tilted slightly to an angle where it looked a little cheeky, like she had been up to no good and had just plonked her hat on at any old angle. The way she pinned up her school skirt to show that vital extra few inches of thigh. She had started doing that a couple of years earlier and he had noticed alright; though he had scolded himself countless times for thinking about it. She was just such a wantable little hussy. And he had control over her, which was another part of the attraction. She obviously thought something of the icy old Potions Master to do as he said, especially the types of things he had her doing. It wasn’t right, but he just hated her so much at times for making him feel that way. It wasn’t fair. He almost hated her for it, but then realized with a strange feeling inside what a thin line there was between love and hate and began to understand more about what his feelings were for the girl.
There was of course that side of him that wished for nothing but sex from her. She was after all, a very attractive schoolgirl who adored him, she offered both flattery and visual pleasure at the same time. But there was so many other things she offered, probably without even knowing it. He often felt in life that no-one listened to him; but she did. In the classroom when he rumbled on about the correct way to stir certain potions, or some similar subject, she sat and looked straight at him with such a striking difference in her attention from the rest. The others in the dungeon, the indifferent pupils who to him had no reason, sat with a glazed, bored expression on their faces. But she had always looked at him with this curious mixture between the way a starving woman would look at a slab of Honeyduke’s chocolate and like the way a truly fascinated student would look at her Professor; hungry for knowledge. He actually wanted to teach her all he knew about the subject he taught as well. He usually resented teaching but he found on reflection that that was probably to do with the fact that all his students hated him. He knew she didn’t and that she really did want to know all about what he had to say. It almost made him feel nervous when he hovered a vial of something or other over his cauldron at the front of the class to demonstrate a reaction. He knew she was watching him and it made him feel strange. Like he was a young man again.
He finished marking her paper and shoved it roughly to the bottom of the pile. It had put him in a bad mood and he couldn’t face the feelings he was having. He found that now whenever he tried to do something, his mind was flitting back to sordid images of her; naked and smiling like a cat. The feeling of her hair between his fingers; like locks of spun silk. The navy of her eyes, shadowed in charcoal effect around the sockets, lashes long and curling, the blue sparkling like it were sprinkled with turquoise glitter. He stood and shoved the pile of papers away, gathering his cloak about himself. He blew out the candles and left the room, he needed to get away. He would go to his private rooms and try and study there.
But he had to stop when he remembered how the memories of this illicit affair were imprinted on every square inch of his chambers as well. Now everywhere he looked within that cobweb and midnight spun room, all he remembered was the way she had looked about the place when she had been in there, with curiosity and wonder. She had told him that night she was curious about sin. Said that she always ended up being drawn towards things that are bad. Was she referring to him or what they did when they were together? He rested his back against the cold stone of the corridor wall and looked down the direction that lead to his chambers. They had walked that route together.
One final memory stabbed him in the dark before he continued on his journey home to a lonely night at his desk with books and parchment. The candle flames that undulated around them when he had made love to her. Nothing more and nothing less.
The change in the heat, from yellow to white. Volatile fire; it was beginning to burn brighter within him.
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