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Saturnine by marared [Reviews - 3]

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A/N:

This is a gift-fic/character study written for a friend. I am an unabashed realist; as much fun as fantasy can be, I wanted to explore how Snape - the bitchy, misanthropic, repressed Snape - might behave in the context of a relationship. Furthermore, I wanted to explore what sort of woman would be interested in bitchy, misanthropic, repressed Snape in the first place - and who could hold his attention. Yay motivations!

And because it's meant to focus on character, I glossed over a lot of the sex, although there are plans to expand on at least one sex scene to the purpose of characterization.

I set this about five years prior to "Sorcerer's Stone" to avoid any unnecessary collision with canon events, although book #7 might conceivably fill in those years.




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


“Bollocks,” Snape muttered, closing the cabinet doors with a clack. “Eugenia!”

A few moments later, his assistant, a small and squat woman of forty or fifty, hurried into the room, brushing soil and leaves from her robes.

“You called me, sir?” she asked, nervously wringing her hands.

He looked her over and scowled. “You’re filthy.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just in the back pulling weeds and bugs from the garden. I’ll have a wash when I’m done, but there’s still a -”

He held up a hand and she fell silent. “Never mind your excuses.” He set a jar upon his desk and pointed imperiously at the chair in front of it. She obediently sat down. “I was under the impression when I hired you,” he began, taking a seat on the opposite side, “that you were an experienced herbologist. It appears that I was misled.”

She blinked stupidly. “Sir, I don’t understand.”

“See for yourself!” he snapped and slid the jar in front of her. Narrow brownish leaves that had been rolled into neat cylinders were covered with speckles of bright red fungus, and her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“This was one of your projects last month. As you can see, it is ruined. What have you got to say for yourself?”

“I – sir, I thought I -”

“Clearly, you thought wrong. Dispose of this.” He pushed the jar at her, stood up, and briskly dusted off his waistcoat. “When you’re done, you may leave, and your pay will be docked for the cost of more saxervum and for my inconvenience in acquiring it. And should you botch any further assignments, you shall be released from my employment forthwith, sans letter of recommendation. Is that clear?” She nodded, eyes cast down, and she gingerly reached out towards the jar. Snape suddenly slammed his hand down on top of it, and she flinched back. “I’ve changed my mind. I cannot afford an unreliable assistant. You are sacked, effective immediately.”

“But – but – sir!” Her voice quivered with panic. “Please, I’m terribly sorry, I would like another chance. There will be no more mistakes, I swear.”

He jerked his head towards the door. “Out.” She closed her mouth and hastily made an exit.

“I don’t bloody have time for this,” he muttered to himself as he turned to the cabinet, pulled his wand from his sleeve, and said, “Impedio anguis!” Pewter smoke wound its way through the polished brass handles of the cabinet and solidified into a snake with bronze and black scales, which promised to bite the fingers off any unauthorized hands. He lifted the jar and looked at its mouldering contents with disgust. “Nearly a Galleon’s worth of the stuff, beyond salvage, and nearly every potion I must brew this month requires it. Now I’ll have to go to Dunkelwald’s for more. Damn.” He set the jar down and tapped it with his wand. “Evanesco.” Its contents vanished.

He swept over to a window and lifted the splotchy velvet curtain that shrouded it. Hazy sunlight burst through, illuminating dusty particles stirred by the heavy fabric. Snape winced and let it drop. “To the apothecary, then.” He retrieved his cloak from the back of a chair and, with a practiced swirl, put it on, and Disapparated with a pop that made a sleeping owl flutter irritably in his cage.


He Apparated into an alley set aside for wizards to arrive and depart without disrupting the flow of traffic on the main street, nor disturb any passing Muggles. The sun, freed from its usual cloak of clouds, mercilessly beat down on the village, and he lifted the hood of his cloak over his head. It had been enchanted with a Cooling Charm that made all air passing beneath its fabric a comfortable 20°C, but the sunlight was still intolerably bright, and he pushed open the narrow iron gate and hurried across the cobbled street to the apothecary.

Hanging above the store was a wooden sign that read Augustus Dunkelwald, Herbalist and Chemist, and when he opened the door, a tinny chorus of bells rang to the tune of “Awake, My Heart!” Snape stepped inside and shut the door, which cut off the bells.

The temperature wasn’t much cooler, owing to the veritable greenhouse of potted plants everywhere. A carefully reconstructed alligator skeleton was hung on the wall above the main counter, where the apothecarist was carefully measuring rankly fresh foetidissima onto a wobbly old scale. Grates, knives, beakers, flasks, rubber tubes, and bowls were stacked neatly on top of cabinets that had dozens of tiny drawers labeled with spidery handwriting. Long shelves magically reinforced against bowing lined one entire wall from floor to ceiling, filled with alphabetically arranged vessels mostly of glass, and some of ceramic, brass, and stone; whatever was needed to safely preserve their contents, whether they were plant, mineral, or animal – or something else besides.

Snape glanced over the labels until he found the jar with saxervum – which was empty, holding only useless crumbly bits. He set the jar back on the shelf with a resounding clunk and turned to the counter. The needle jumped as Snape slapped his hands down, and Dunkelwald closed his eyes briefly in irritation before he stood upright.

“Yes, Snape, what can I do for you?” He pushed his spectacles up onto his nose.

“Saxervum,” he said smoothly. “Your container is empty. Have you got any prepared, perhaps in the back?”

“Terribly sorry; I’m afraid we’re out,” the apothecarist replied with a dismissive nod and bent over once more.

Snape hooked one finger into the edge of the scale and dragged it down the counter. “Are you quite sure? You see, I have a great need for several ounces of it.”

The apothecarist picked up the scale and put it back down where it originally had sat. “As I’ve already told you,” he said, voice crisp with annoyance, “I haven’t got any, and yes, I’m quite sure.”

“You aren’t holding out on me, are you?”

Dunkelwald folded his arms across his chest. “If I had any, I would be happy to sell it to you, if only to get you out of my store. But as it happens, I was bought out the other day, and I have not had the opportunity to collect any more.”

“Have you any plans to do so in the near future, or will you still be inhaling those foul flowers?”

Gnarled fingers drummed on wood polished smooth with years of use. “I’m a busy man, Snape, as are my assistants. I will be happy to let you know once I have it in stock again. However, by the time I have the opportunity to collect and dry it, you could have done it yourself.”

“Do I look like a bloody herbologist? I brew potions; I don’t pick plants. That’s why I had an assistant – who, lamentably, proved to have much less experience than she claimed.”

“Fired another one, did you?” Dunkelwald tsked. “Well, I’m afraid if you want it that badly, you’ll just have to do your own dirty work.” He pointed to the corner of the room at a doorway blocked by a heavily embroidered and tasseled curtain. “Through there, you will find my assortment of books. I do not remember precisely where and when to collect saxervum, but amongst them is a reference book that will tell you. Now if you will excuse me, I have other customers who require my assistance, and work I would like to complete.” He gestured at the foetidissima.

Snape squared his shoulders and gave the apothecarist a lingering, malevolent look, then turned and strode over to the doorway. Brass hooks scraped on wood as he pushed through. The room was small and square, with bookshelves and cupboards lining most of its entire perimeter. A lone window admitted sunlight, and with a wave of his wand the curtains swooshed over it, throwing the room into shadow. A second wave, and cheap tallow candles on a small corner table flickered to life. He tucked his wand back into his robe and perused the spines of several books with narrowed eyes. Upon spotting a likely title, he pulled a tall and narrow leather-bound tome from its shelf.


A Practical Guide
on the Location and Harvest
of Rare Magical Plants

by Melinda Nimblefinks



The title was imprinted on the front in gold leaf that was disintegrating around the edges. Several pages were marked with faded green silk ribbons, and he gently opened the book, flipping through flimsy pages until he found the one he wanted, and tapped an entry with his index finger. “Saxervum, most often found growing on the lee side of gravestones, particularly those more than three hundred years old. Potency is greatest when harvested during the waxing moon. By gravestones, of course; why not?” The book even provided an illustration, although it looked as if it were drawn by a scribe with palsy. He inspected the shelves again and pulled out another book, this one with lunar charts, and leafed through that as well. Ah, a spot of luck in a day full of annoyances: the moon was nearly full, and there was an old cemetery not far from town. He could collect what he needed right away, although he would still lose several days waiting for it to dry for maximum efficacy.

Snape snapped both books closed, wrinkled his nose at the musty aroma that burst out of the pages, and replaced them on the shelves. He brushed out of the library and, with a withering glance at the apothecarist, exited out onto the street.


* * *



The cemetery was several centuries old and rambled across several acres. There wasn’t much order to it, having expanded only at need. Most of the trees had been cut down to make space, but a few ancient oaks were left, which along with thousands of gravestones cast long shadows across the slope. Vandals had knocked over several stones, and unattended by a regular caretaker, weeds had grown high in many places. Snape crouched down, tucked his robes out of the way, and carefully parted the tangled stalks next to a stern angel with wings spread wide and arms raised to the heavens. According to the description from the book, saxervum grew close to the ground, often in the shadow of rocks or other fallen objects, and he found one under a greenish, heavily weathered stone nearby. With a small knife, he cut its stem close to the ground, but left enough that it could continue blooming. He wrapped the long, whip-shaped plant around his hand, then slipped it into a pouch at his waist. After searching around the immediately neighboring graves and finding nothing more, he pushed himself upright on a wobbling stone.

There was a small mausoleum, three meters or so, flanked by a vine-wrapped oak that proved to be an excellent source: Snape found four more plants clustered there. Even the Cooling Charm couldn’t compensate for the heat now, so he shrugged out of his cloak and laid it carefully between the iron spikes of a fence that surrounded the marble building. His cuffs were already stained, he noted with irritation. He looked around to make sure no one else was nearby, then rolled up his sleeves. He dug in his pockets for a leather thong and tied his hair back out of the way, but several tendrils pulled free when he knelt back down to cut the saxervum, and they were soon plastered to his cheeks with sweat.

As he finished coiling the plants and putting them in his pouch, he heard a voice. He looked up sharply, narrowing his eyes, and strained to hear over the breeze rustling through grass and leaves. It was a woman, on the other side of the mausoleum, and from the quick staccato breaths, it sounded as if she were sobbing. Snape hastily rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs, then crept around one corner and peeked around the next, wondering if he had inadvertently stumbled on a funeral, or an anniversary visit to a beloved relative.

His breath caught in his throat. The sobbing was not of grief; it was of lust. The woman had her back against the tree, skirt rucked up around her waist and her legs wrapped around the undulating hips of a man whose trousers were at his knees. Her head was bowed over his, and her dark hair sparkled with copper and red highlights in the evening sun. She was fair of skin, with a faint dusting of freckles and full breasts freed from an unbuttoned blouse. Two pairs of shoes lay forgotten on the ground by the fence.

He quickly took a step back, out of sight, and chewed on a fingernail. His first instinct was to challenge them in the name of all that was decent, but when he looked around the corner again, she had leaned back against the tree and was reaching above her head to grip the trunk, and any thoughts he had of interrupting or even of walking away fled his mind. He knew he shouldn’t look, but that was all he could do as she sighed and hummed. She put her arms around the man’s neck and pressed her cheek to his ear, riding higher.

Snape pulled at his collar, barely able to breathe – and the movement caught her eye. Her gaze was blurred with lust at first, but it suddenly locked with his – and she smiled a slow, evil, sultry smile with just a bit of tongue peeking between her teeth. Still watching him, she reached down and fondled her nipple. His heart nearly stopped. She turned her head to bite her lover’s ear, and - while the spell was momentarily broken - Snape turned away, whipped out his wand, and Disapparated with a crack.


* * *



On more than one occasion the following day, he caught himself staring off into space, visualizing tangled hair and clenched toes. He was so distracted that he nearly ruined the new batch of saxervum himself. Resigned to getting nothing accomplished, he forced himself to concentrate long enough to finish the saxervum preparation, put it aside to dry, then set about cleaning.

As he waved his cabinets open and sent several vials flying inside to neatly stack themselves on shelves, it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen his summer cloak recently. The last time he could recall having it in his possession was at the apothecary.

“I’m becoming as scatterbrained as my students,” he grumbled to himself. Need for comfort warred with misanthropy: he thought of leaving the wretched thing there to be stolen, but he would have to wait until the start of term to have another cloak enchanted by the professor who was most adept at the charm. With a long-suffering sigh, he took out his wand and Disapparated once again.

Snape silenced the bells as soon as he opened the door to the apothecary.

“We still haven’t got any saxervum,” Dunkelwald said without preamble, not even looking up from his scales.

“I have a sufficient supply now, no thanks to your inadequacy,” he answered coolly. “The local graveyard had plenty – which I stripped, so you may find yourself looking farther afield once you feel the need to replenish your supply. I’m afraid they won’t grow back until the spring. By any chance, did I leave my cloak behind yesterday?”

“You were wearing it when you left.”

He thought backwards, frowning. “Ah yes, so I was. Well then. I won’t waste any more of your precious time.”

“Most kind of you. Good afternoon.” The nod was polite, but the look was baleful, and just to be peevish, Snape flicked his wand at the bells, which promptly started jangling in a nerve-wracking cacophony.

He wondered as he shut the door behind him how the man could possibly remain in business when he couldn’t even manage a consistent supply of his stock. The shop in Diagon Alley was much more efficient, but it was a bother to make the trip out there when school was not in session. If he couldn’t locate any saxervum locally, however, he supposed he might have to make the trip to London anyway.

He rounded a corner to the alley from whence he had arrived, and realized that, lost in thought, he’d gone one too far. He turned around, and promptly collided with a young woman who stepped on his toes and bounced backwards.

“Watch where you’re going, you clumsy -” he began irritably, then stopped abruptly as he saw her face.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry!” she exclaimed. “You turned so quickly, I couldn’t step out of your way in time.”

Snape stared. Brown hair, freckles on her nose, and a wicked smile slowly spreading across her face. “Bloody hell,” he said, unable to conceal his consternation. “It’s you.”

“It is I!” she agreed. She was, fortunately, fully clothed, wearing dark grey robes with beaded trim. She was taller than he had imagined, at eye level with his nose. Spectacles on top of her head held her hair off her face, showing clear hazel eyes, and she was still smiling. “Fancy that; you’re just the person I was looking for.”

One eyebrow shot up. “Do tell.”

She cocked her head to one side. “Must you look at me like I’m one of your students, about to tell you a clever story about why her homework wasn’t done?”

The second eyebrow joined the first. “One of my – you know who I am?”

She reached under her robes and, from an enchanted inside pocket, pulled out his cloak, neatly folded. “You left this behind in your haste to leave the cemetery, Professor Snape. This is why I was looking for you. I apologize for going through your pockets, but it was the only way I could find out who owned it.” She held it out to him, and he snatched it out of her hands and clutched it to his chest, staring suspiciously at her. “I wasn’t ever a student at Hogwarts, myself.”

“No? You’d fit right in with the rule-breaking rabble there.” Snape busied himself inspecting the pockets and brushing imaginary dust off the fabric. “Where is your fellow nymphomaniac? Awaiting you for another public rendezvous?”

“Oh no,” she replied blandly. “I expect he’s gone home to his wife.”

He wasn’t accustomed to anyone so blatantly ignoring bait, let alone provoking him in return. “You’re not the slightest bit embarrassed, are you?” he accused.

“Certainly not,” she replied. She was still smiling, and it was beginning to irritate him. “Should I be?”

“Should you be? I caught you fornicating in public like randy teenagers, and you wonder if you should be embarrassed? Your morals leave much to be desired.”

“Hush your mouth,” she told him, sticking one long finger in his nose. He took a startled step backwards, and she stepped after him. “You think you’re so high and mighty, but you’re a great bloody hypocrite. You stood there and watched us, for several minutes, and you snark at me about morals?” She punched her finger into his chest, and he backed into a wall.

“I was only there a moment,” he snarled, pausing to toss out an Imperturbable Charm before they attracted the attention of passers-by. “I merely went to investigate the noise you two were making and stop you before you shocked some poor, unsuspecting, grieving family.”

“Liar.” She smiled a predatory smile. “You tripped my Perimeter Charm. I know exactly how long you were there. You might not admit it even to yourself, but you stood there and watched us, and you enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed it?!” He was incredulous. “Two young fools flagrantly breaking the rules of public decency, and you think I enjoyed it?”

“I’d bet my broomstick that you would have taken his place if you could.”

To his credit, Snape didn’t splutter. “You have a laughably elevated opinion of yourself,” he informed her. “I prefer women with more subtlety.”

Her eyes narrowed. Without warning, she shoved him against the wall and pressed her hips against his.

“Just as I thought,” she whispered, the smile back on her face. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He grabbed her by the arms and kissed her violently.

He had only intended to call her bluff; he expected that she would push him away, hit him, and flee, and he could go back to business as usual. Instead, after an instant of surprise, she grabbed fistfuls of his robes and kissed him back, opening her mouth and pushing her tongue against his, and he found he wasn’t quite so interested in frightening her off. He released her arms and cupped the back of her head, sliding his fingers into her hair.

Touché,” he murmured when his breath returned. He could still taste her coffee-flavoured gloss on his lips. His thumbs caressed the curve of her jaw and her ears. Her lips were swollen from the impact, but her eyes were lit with a mixture of glee and arousal. “I hope you’re not expecting a reenactment up against the wall,” he said in her ear.

“That would be tempting the fates a bit much,” she agreed. He let go of her, and she took out her wand and Apparated them both out of the alley.


* * *



Robes and other articles of clothing had once lay puddled on the floor of the bedroom, but sometime while they were distracted, a house elf had gathered them up, folded them neatly, and placed them on a chair next to the door. Snape was on his back in her bed, with celadon sheets pulled up to his chest and his hands tucked behind his head. His gaze was vaguely fixed on the canopy above, and there was half a smile on his face. She had gone to her vanity to brush the tangles from her hair, wearing absolutely nothing. It was a blatant appeal to his senses, but Snape didn’t mind. The sun had set long ago, and the room was lit only by two small candles, which turned her bare skin golden and her hair gleamed red.

“You’re looking decidedly smug,” she said, putting down the brush and looking over her shoulder at him.

“As well I ought,” he replied. “It’s not every day a woman takes me home without even telling me her name.” He paused. “What is your name?”

Her shoulders vibrated with laughter. “I wondered when you would ask. My name is Felicita Reed.” She gave him a half-bow from the stool.

“Are you always in the habit of sleeping with men you’ve just met, Felicita?” he inquired smoothly.

“Believe it or not,” she said, “you’re the first.”

Snape cleared his throat with a noise that sounded suspiciously like “Ha.”

“It’s true.” She got up from the vanity. He had quite a view of curves before she flopped onto the bed on her belly and laid her head on her forearms. “First impressions are misleading, as you well know. I’m merely very friendly with the men I am sleeping with.” She turned to her side, reached out, and drew an index finger down his nose. He twitched away and rubbed it. “But if you’re just fishing for compliments -” he snorted again – “you are truly a unique experience for me. I don’t believe anyone has ever looked at me quite the way you did when I first saw you.”

He propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a stern look. “If you start talking about love and singing birds and springtime walks in the park, I will dump you out of the bed and leave.”

“No, no, it wasn’t like that at all,” she said hastily. “I wish I could explain better what I saw in your eyes, but I suppose there isn’t any need to do so now.”

He turned to his side and pillowed his head on the palm of his hand. “So you tracked me to town for the sole purpose of charming me home, did you?”

“Well, no, not really,” she confessed, also turning onto her side. “It just worked out that way. I wanted to return your cloak, and to see if I had been imagining things – or if you were just some peeping Tom.”

Snape wrinkled his nose. “Just some peeping Tom,” he repeated disdainfully. “Such balm to the ego.”

“Random voyeurs are part of the fun, you know – it’s the whole thrill of getting caught. I pay them no mind. You were different. I can’t tell you why; I just like the way you look at me.” She put a hand to his face and traced the prominent line of his cheekbone and jaw with her fingertips, then kissed him. He took her by the shoulder and firmly pushed her over onto her back, then flipped the sheets back and lowered himself so that his hips fit into the cradle of hers.

“That’s nice,” she sighed. After a moment, neither of them had anything coherent to say.


He watched her sleep for a little while. He had dressed already, but he was compelled to stay just a little longer to look at her with her arms tucked around a pillow and her hair fanned out everywhere. On his face was a look of bone-deep satisfaction that bordered on triumph. He pulled his collar higher to hide the bruise on his neck, then Disapparated back to Spinner’s End.


* * *



No longer plagued by obsession, Snape resumed work with a renewed vigor. He did not expect to see her again; women did not typically come back for more, nor did he seek them out. Consequently, he was surprised when she turned up on his doorstep two days later, but he couldn’t say that he was displeased to see her.

“Severus,” she said with a smile when he opened the door.

“Come in, quickly,” he said, pulling her over the threshold and flinging the door shut behind her. A flick of his wand, and a charm soaked into the door with a red glow. “It discourages prying eyes,” he explained when she looked at him quizzically.

“I see.” She put her hands on her hips as she looked around the sitting room. “Needs a bit of a dusting,” she observed, blowing at a cobweb in a corner.

“I am mostly only in residence during the summer holidays; the rest of the time I make my home at the school. As such, it’s quite pointless to hire a maid.” He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her curiously.

“Am I disturbing you?”

“It’s a bit late to be asking that now, don’t you think?” he asked dryly. She looked a little abashed, and he softened his tone. “It’s nothing that can’t delay a while.” He gestured at a couch. “Sit down, please. Tea?”

“Yes, please. Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said as chipped cups and a dented tin pot over a small burner appeared on the coffee table before her, “but surely the school pays you enough to live in a nicer neighborhood than this?”

“They pay a sufficient wage, I suppose, but I’ve only been teaching for a few years,” he answered, sitting beside her. “But it has one thing of great importance to me, and that is privacy. No one comes here, except the occasional Muggle brats who throw eggs at doors.”

“So private that you need to cast spells on the front door to ensure it?” She took the steaming cup that he presented to her and set it aside to cool.

Snape sipped his tea. “Extra precautions never hurt. And, as I’ve said, I’m not here most of the year, so I have no need of a swankier residence. I prefer to shunt the extra money into more important things.”

“Books and supplies for your potions?”

“Among other things, yes. And what do you do for a living? Do you live all alone in that house?”

“The house is my family’s; I inherited it. Right now, it’s just me and the elves. I’m a purchaser for a major company. They tell me what they want; I’m in charge of acquiring it. I haggle with suppliers over prices and travel all over Europe to inspect shipments and make sure everyone has what they need. Sometimes they ask for things as mundane as furniture, but I’ve been sent as far as Africa in pursuit of more exotic requests.”

“An excellent career for someone of your… gregarious nature,” he said delicately.

“I’ve had to stick my wand up a few noses to get what I want, but yes, I’ve been quite successful in the position.” She picked up her teacup, sat back, and set the saucer in her lap. “They’ve given us a three week paid vacation this month, and I’ve just been lounging around, having a grand time doing absolutely nothing.” She took a sip.

“Apart from sex in the local cemetery.”

She grinned. “It was cheap entertainment.”

“And what brings you to this dreary part of town while on holiday?” he inquired softly. “More… cheap entertainment?”

Felicita blinked, then she cleared her throat and gave him a wry smile. “Well, I wouldn’t call it cheap…” She took his hand and placed it on her breast. It was warm, the fabric was slightly damp, and her nipple rose under his thumb. Sweat sprang out on his forehead as coherence threatened to abandon him once more.

“At least you're honest,” he said, looking at his hand and forgetting about the cauldron simmering in the other room.


He escorted her up the rickety stairs into his bedroom, which was small and spare, with little more than a narrow bed with a green woolen coverlet, a wardrobe, and a desk in it, and an old, tatty rug thrown over the creaky floorboards. She reached up and began unfastening the small buttons of his vest at his throat, slowly, one by one, until she had it undone and pushed off his shoulders. She then untucked his shirt and undid that as well. Snape was conscious of his thin chest as the shirt dropped onto the floor, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her lips were pressed to the hollow of his throat, and he bent his head to inhale the scent of her hair.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know,” she murmured. Snape tensed, and she paused in her kisses to look up at him. “That came out badly. I meant -”

He silenced her with a kiss before she said something stupid and took a firm grasp of her backside with both hands, pulling her against him. She gasped softly.

“Is that more what you had in mind?” he said in her ear.

“That’s an excellent start,” she said, somewhat breathlessly, “but don’t stop there!”


Snape was roused from the netherworld of near-sleep by the squawk of springs as Felicita sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The candles had burned low, and they flickered wantonly. He watched through his eyelashes as she stretched luxuriously, fingertips nearly reaching the ceiling, then padded over to where his shirt lay on the floor, picked it up with her toes, and flung it over her shoulders. The hem fell past her hips and the cuffs hung to her knuckles, but he thought it looked better on her than it ever had on him. She disappeared for a few minutes, presumably on a jaunt to the loo, and when she returned, she wandered around the bedroom, touching everything: the robes hanging from the corner of the wardrobe, the quills and the empty bottles and the parchments on the desk, the heavy curtains with their moth-eaten hems.

“Stop that!” he grumbled when she started peeking into drawers as well. “Leave those alone and come here.”

She came back to the bed, and when he lifted the cover, she scooted underneath it with him. He lay on his back, and she lay on her side against him, arm propped on his shoulder.

“You’re nosy,” he told her.

“Yes, yes I am,” she agreed, and she playfully reached out and tugged his earlobe. Snape slapped her away so fast that she overbalanced and fell out of the bed, landing on the floor with a muffled thump.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded, staring at him.

“Don’t ever touch my ears,” he told her furiously. “Ever.” He had sat up, and his eyes were black with barely-restrained fury.

“Had them hexed a time or two, did you?” she inquired, eyebrows raised. She disentangled herself from the sheet and got to her feet.

His wrath dissipated as quickly as it had started, and he couldn’t quite look at her. “Boxed,” he said gruffly. “Repeatedly, as a child.”

“Oh.” She sat down on the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You had no reason to.”

“Well. I shan’t do that again.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then her eyebrow twitched again. “Just how sensitive are your ears?” she asked and leaned forward. Snape went stiff as a board. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch them.” She peeled his hair away and pressed her cheek to his. “Not with my hands, anyway.” His hand was on her waist, and his fingers twitched, but he didn’t object. Even the hardest of hearts wasn’t immune to a naked girl with her breast pressed to his, kissing his ear. “That’s not so bad, is it?” she whispered after a moment. He didn’t answer, and she gently took his face between her hands and drew him close for kisses. He pulled her into his lap and settled back against the wall, with one arm around her back and the other hand on her hip.

“Women haven’t treated you very well, have they?” she asked, brushing her thumb over his brow.

“What makes you say that?” His voice went distant.

She shrugged. “Just the way you act around me. Sometimes you touch me like you’re afraid I’ll push you away, like you’ve been rejected or had your heart broken. You don’t really strike me as the sort who has regular relationships with women -”

He sat up abruptly, dislodging her off his lap. “This is ridiculous.” He grabbed her wrists and stared her down, eye to eye. “Listen, and listen carefully, for I shall not repeat myself on this subject ever again. Consider yourself fortunate that I allow you to share my bed. Do not take that as an opportunity to analyze me. I am well aware of my faults and I do not need to hear them from you. I want nothing else from you, do you understand?” He enunciated the last three words with great precision.

“I understand,” she answered, somewhat subdued. “I’m sorry; it wasn’t my intent to offend you.”

He sighed. “I’m aware of that. Just know that it makes me very irritated when people pretend to understand me.”

“I see that,” she said wryly. “All right then: I promise I shall never pry into your secrets again.”

“My secrets keep themselves. All I ask is that you accept me for who I am now and forget about who I might have been. It isn’t any of your concern.”

“Fair enough,” she said. She took hold of his hands for balance and rearranged herself so that she was sitting between his thighs, legs flung casually over his hips.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, exasperated.

She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “I have ideas,” she said.

A few girls had tried that look with him. Most had run weeping from the classroom. It had an entirely different effect when the look came from a woman who was not only not a student, but bare as an egg, clad only in long dark hair that glinted in the diffuse light that filtered through the curtains.

“I think,” he murmured, reaching for her, “that I have a few ideas of my own.”



- to be continued

Saturnine by marared [Reviews - 3]

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