Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Spy vs. Spy	By : Sakuracelt Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 15746 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter, or any of JK Rowling's characters. This is just fanfiction, and I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
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Severus watched the Sorting ceremony with only mild interest. The great hall was full of overly energetic students who applauded loudly as each terrified first year learned which house they belonged to. Freya’s seat, which he’d deliberately placed next to his, was noticeably empty. Minerva Mcgonagall kept frowning over at it. As much as she liked the young witch, it was highly unprofessional to be late on ones first day of teaching. To his amusement, Harry Potter and his little gang seemed particularly puzzled by the absence of their new professor. No doubt they’d heard all about the Weasley’s encounter with her in Diagon Alley. Draco Malfoy kept trying to make eye contact with him, as if he’d be able to divine answers simply by looking at the head of Slytherin house. The news that he had been turned down from the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, and had been replaced at the last moment by Remus Lupin’s estranged sister had caused quite the scandal. The letters from angry parents were still piling up in Dumbeldore’s office. To many in the wizarding world, being related to a werewolf was almost as bad as being one.
            Snape had tried several times to catch Freya alone since their last encounter, but she was only too keen to avoid him, and had thus far done a very good job. Whenever he did see her, she was always with someone, her disposition maddeningly casual, as if nothing whatsoever had happened between them.   Dumbledore glanced over at him, his expression inscrutable, when the doors burst open, and Freya finally walked in, looking more than a bit disheveled. She was tucking her wand away like it was a private note she’d just been caught with. Every single head turned to gape at her. Her robes were black velvet with scarlet poppies embroidered on them, and the dress she wore beneath it was blood red and ended at her knees. Her boots were shiny black leather with buckles all the way up the front, and her hair was in a messy knot on top of her head. She looked as though she’d just come in from outside, where it was raining heavily.
            As she walked closer, clearly uncomfortable from all of the eyes on her, he saw the thin black choker around her neck. His gaze hardened at the sight of it, but it was not the same collar from the other night. She climbed the dais without so much as a glance in his direction, and leaned down to whisper something in Dumbledore’s ear. The headmaster winced slightly, then gave her a curt nod. Freya was about to turn away, when Severus swiftly stood, and pulled her chair out for her, dragging it noisily against the floor to get her attention. The silence between them was thick and heavy. He would not let her avoid him this time and she knew it. Freya looked up at him through dark lashes, and he felt a surge of pleasure at the heat of her gaze, but it was not lust in her eyes. Smiling woodenly, she swept over to his side of the long table, and took her seat. The chatter continued for a minute until Dumbledore rose to give his annual speech, but Severus wasn’t listening. He was watching her through the corner of his eye, but she was determined to pretend he didn’t exist. Her eyes kept flicking around the hall as if she was looking for someone. Severus reached over and poured water into her glass. When he offered it to her, she finally looked him in the face, and he saw the wariness in her eyes. A small, grateful smile twitched at the corners of her lips as she drank.
            “And may I present, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Miss Freya Lupin!” Dumbledore smiled broadly and turned to her.
            “Stand up, witch. Let them look at you.” He murmured to her. She did so graciously, and gave the students a genuine smile as they applauded, albeit somewhat hesitantly and amongst a great deal of muttering. Someone whistled loudly and she glanced, slightly horrified, in the direction of the Weasley twins, who were applauding very hard indeed. Her face became flushed. Severus was less than amused, but he couldn’t help but wonder how much she would blush the next time they were alone. When Freya tried to sit again, she gave a sharp scream of shock, and several students gasped in alarm. She reached down, and to everyone’s surprise, retrieved a very large, very unsightly toad, and held it up in astonishment.
            “Whose…?” She asked around her. A small groan was heard from the Gryffindor table, and Neville Longbottom put his head in his hands. Several other students laughed, but none harder than the Slytherins. Freya chuckled warmly and grinned at the toad, then stroked its head with her fingers as it sat, all fat and glistening on her palm. She held it as if it was a skull, and she was the prince of Denmark. It made an odd purring sound of contentment as she touched it gingerly under its warty chin. “And if I give you a kiss, will you turn into a prince for me?” The student’s eyes widened as they stared at her, some with horror, others in morbid excitement. They whispered frantically to one another. Surely she wasn’t really going to kiss it? Freya leaned in dramatically, eliciting more than a few gasps and giggles from her audience. Instead of a kiss however, she whispered a few words over the toad, and to the students’ delight, it stood up on its hind legs, placed a froggy hand on its tummy, and gave a little twirl like a ballerina. It finished with a very courtly bow, just like a prince would, then squatted back down into a warty lump. The students burst into laughter and applauded at this charming display of magic. The little first years were positively beaming up at her, looking much less frightened and far more excited. Even Neville Longbottom was smiling just a little when he approached the table, his face beet red. “No, darling. I just don’t think you’re my type.” She said sweetly to the toad, before handing it back to its owner. “I’ll be seeing you in class, I hope. Feel free to bring him with you.” She said kindly to the boy, who was trying very hard to ignore the taunts and catcalling of his housemates as he returned to them. Snape snorted derisively.
            “Parlor tricks? I thought you were the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, not some two knut street performer.” Severus said mockingly so that only she would hear. She ignored him, and muttered something over her water glass. The liquid turned a dark amber color, and she gave Minerva a little ‘cheers’ when the witch looked at her, scandalized but amused. “Whiskey? Really?”
            “Bourbon.” She gave him a halfhearted smile. “Not the paint thinner you Englishmen like.”
            “Yes, I’d noticed your accent. You weren’t raised with that werewolf were you? If I were to guess, I’d say you were born in Cavan.” He replied silkily, feeling like he was picking up some stranger in a bar, instead of attending a school feast. She raised her glass to him with a smirk that said ‘good guess, arsehole.’ And took a swig. Snape smiled, and muttered a quick charm to muffle their speech so that no one else would hear their conversation. He then leaned close and whispered to her. “You’ve been avoiding me, Freya.” Her eyes narrowed at this.
            “Caught on, have you?”
            “I do like your ensemble, witch. I do hope you thought of me while you were putting it on.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice so it was barely above a whisper. “Are you trying to tease me? It’s working, but I must warn you…when I see something I want, I stop at nothing until it is mine.” She stared at him with wide eyes, and looked as though she wanted to speak, but he continued. “I can still taste you, you know. You can keep avoiding me all you like, but I know desire when I see it. I’ll be patient, but when I finally take you, I will not be gentle.” To his pleasure, she closed her eyes for a moment, and fought to repress a deep shudder that made her gasp into her cup. She took another sip of bourbon. She wanted him, and he knew it. “That necklace you’re wearing. It suits you better than you know. I think that deep down…you want to be mine.” He said mildly, hoping to see her blush again. Instead she placed her glass on the table, and without a word, tugged the choker aside so that he could see the two tiny puncture marks on her flesh. He sat back abruptly.
            “Try not to react.” She said sharply. “There are holes in Hogwarts’ defense systems. One of them got in. They know I’m here.”
            “Where is it?” He hissed.
            “I left the body in a broom cupboard.” She said softly
            “You killed it!” He snarled, then stopped, noticing that some of the students were watching them with a great deal of interest. “Stupid girl. We could have questioned it. Where did it happen?”
            “Outside, by Hagrid’s hut. I was hoping to catch him before the feast. I made something for him. Ask Filch if you’d like. He saw the whole thing, and helped me move him.”
            “What did it want from you?” Snape asked darkly. She shrugged, and took another swig of bourbon. “I will inspect the body myself.”
            “Fine by me.” She replied with surprising ease. “I want nothing to do with it. I’m sick of vampires.”
            “Miss Lupin, I swear if you’re hiding something from me, I will find out.” He slipped his hand beneath the tablecloth and smoothed it across her thigh. Her grip tightened on her glass so hard he thought she might shatter it in her grip.
            “Your charms are impeccable, aren’t they? Yes, I’m sure you’re a very dark scary wizard and you’ll discover all of my terrible secrets. Happy?” She snorted sarcastically. His fingers crept beneath the hem of her dress. The soft flesh trembled beneath his touch, but she only glared at him. “I don’t trust you, deatheater.” She muttered. He scowled, but his fingers continued exploring until they reached the top of her stocking.
            “You left me unsatisfied, witch. Do you remember?” His voice was low and husky. “I am not a forgiving man. I intend to punish you for the insult. Would you like that, witch?”
            With a sudden fury, Freya stood up, and threw the remainder of her bourbon in his face. He blinked in surprise, and hissed sharply as the liquor stung his eyes. The hall went very still and terribly silent. Mcgonagall’s mouth fell open. Flitwick gave a tiny squeak of alarm. Even Dumbledore looked shocked. Hagrid, who was sitting nearby, cleared his throat awkwardly, and handed him a very large handkerchief. Severus snatched it angrily to dab at his now dripping face and robes. Freya’s gaze was scorching, and she suddenly reminded him of the filthy, bleeding witch who had fought him in the hallway and tried to bite him only a week ago. Her fingers were twitching, as if she desperately wanted to wrap them around his throat. Maybe she was mad after all.
            “Your timing is absolute shite. Do you know that?” She snarled at him furiously then turned to leave. A small cheer went up from the some of the bolder students at the Gryffindor table as she strode by, applauding her humiliation of their least favorite teacher. Snape glowered at her as he watched her leave. Teasing him was one thing, but humiliating him in front of students was another. He swore to himself that he would have his revenge.

                                                            *          *          *

            To his delight, Albus gave him exactly what he needed the following morning. When he asked Severus to “check in” on Freya during her first day of teaching, he’d had to fight a smirk, and when Albus had considered letting her know via fireplace, Snape had only been too happy to deliver the message in person. Now he was smirking as he knocked on the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. When Freya opened it, her eyes narrowed with instant suspicion, and it gave him great pleasure to hand her Dumbledore’s note. The time it took for her to read it gave him ample opportunity to admire the outfit she had chosen. The pencil skirt was jet black, and it hugged her hips like a shameful secret. She had removed her robes between classes, revealing a soft grey ruffled blouse that was sleeveless, but buttoned up just enough to show a bright green emerald at her throat. It was modest, but he’d have to be blind not to notice the way the ensemble accentuated her curves.
            “You want to sit in on my next class? Is that it?” She arched an eyebrow at him, her lips twitching into a sneer.
            “The headmaster only wishes to make sure you’re properly acclimated.” He sneered right back at her. There was a slightest hint of menace in his voice.
            “He still doesn’t trust me? Fine.” She said with a pained expression. “I won’t question Dumbledore’s orders. I know my behavior at the feast was…unprofessional. “ She glared at him again, so he’d know that was the closest thing to an apology he’d get from her. “I must ask that you disillusion yourself when my students arrive. You make some of them nervous. Can’t imagine why.” She said with a snort as she turned her back on him.
            He almost chuckled at that, but instead stepped through the door, and shut it behind him. “What about you? Do I make you nervous?” His voice softened, and he saw the immediate effect it had. She stiffened as he approached her from behind, his billowing black robes almost large enough to engulf them both. He placed a hand on her waist, and reached up to toy with a rogue lock of hair that had tumbled from its neat coiffure. He pressed himself into her, his hardness brushing the curve of her ass. She sighed in spite of herself. He knew only too well the effect he could have on women when it suited him. “I think I make you more than nervous, witch.” His lips grazed the nape of her neck. “I know how wet I make that tight little pussy.” She whirled around to face him, her palm raised to smack him in the face. He caught her wrist easily, and pinned it to her side. Gods it was so easy to get under her skin, and with only his voice and a few soft words. He lifted her chin deftly with two fingers so she would look at him. Her expression was angry, but her cheeks were flushed, and she was staring at his lips as though she desperately wanted to kiss him. He laughed at her. “It would be so easy for me to take you, right here.” To prove his point, he kicked her ankles apart swiftly, and caught her as she nearly stumbled. She gasped sharply. Her legs were now spread. Snape pressed her roughly against her large wooden desk, and place both hands on its surface, trapping her. He amused himself by leaning in and nibbling ever so gently on the flesh just beneath her ear, delighting at the way her breath hitched in her throat. “I’m going to make you suffer, you little minx.” He whispered. “It will be so sweet to hear you beg.” There were footsteps approaching the classroom, but Freya didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were hooded, and her lips parted. He traced her bottom lip with his thumb, which quivered, then leaned in as though to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed, but instead of crushing her lips with his own, he whispered a disillusionment charm, and stepped aside to a shadowy corner as the door opened, and students began to filter in.
            He watched with great amusement as Freya’s eyes snapped open with horror. She quickly smoothed nonexistent wrinkles out of her skirt, and then swept behind her desk to retrieve her robes which she tugged on somewhat agitatedly. She took a moment to collect herself, and when she turned back around, she was smiling as though nothing had happened. Her eyes flickered over her students. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Snape watched with great interest as they all took their seats.
            “Everyone settled? Good.” She walked to the front of the class, and to everyone’s surprise, grabbed an empty student’s desk, turned it around to face the class, then sat down, looking expectantly at the bewildered faces in front of her. “My name is Freya Lupin.” They stared at her. “Miss Lupin’ is fine. ‘Freya’ is fine, too.“ Some of the students gaped at her while others looked at each other uncertainly. “Yes I know that’s not very proper, but you know…if you’re ever attacked, chances are whoever’s trying to hurt you won’t ask for permission first.”
            Without warning, she took something from her pocket, and threw it viciously at Ronald Weasley, who held up his book in front of his face just in time. The chocolate frog bounced harmlessly off of it and landed on his desk. Ron looked up at her, stunned. She nodded in approval. “Nice use of a textbook as a shield! Good reflexes too. Spells are nice, but sometimes the quickest option is to grab the nearest object and bash them in the face with it. The chocolate is yours, by the way.” She smiled warmly at him and he grinned. Some of the students were looking slightly alarmed, now. Snape saw Malfoy rolling his eyes with a loud snort, but she ignored him and kept talking to the young redhead. “What’s your name, freckles? ”
            “Uh…Ron Weasley.” He muttered, blushing at the nickname she’d used.
            “What’s something you’re good at, Ron?” She asked. The students looked at each other with confusion. Malfoy snorted again and muttered something nasty causing some of the slytherins to giggle. “C’mon out with it. What are you good at?”
            “Um…well I…I’m a fair keeper.”
            “For the Gryffindor team, yeah he’s really good!” Harry Potter added loudly, clearly annoyed by the way Malfoy was sniggering. Snape sneered in disgust.
            “Oooh I’m not surprised!” Freya said kindly. “You blocked my frog easily enough! And you, the lady with the lovely curls, who are you and what are you good at?” She nodded at Hermione Granger.
            “Um…well. I suppose I’m rather good at writing.” The young witch started, shyly. “You know, just essays and stuff!” She blurted out. Pansy Parkinson shrieked with laughter at something Malfoy said.
            “Ooh, a novelist! Very nice.” Freya said with genuine interest. She suddenly swept over to where Malfoy was entertaining his friends with buck-toothed imitations of Hermione. Without a word, she placed the heel of her boot on the edge of his desk, and pushed it sharply. It made a horrible squeal against the stone floor as it moved Malfoy bodily, only a couple of inches. He looked up at her as though he were about to say something snarky, but the frosty look on Freya’s face told him that would be a very bad idea. “And who are you, blondie?” She asked with a tiny smirk. He straightened himself up, importantly.
            “Draco Malfoy. My father is-“
            “I’m not talking to your father, am I? What are you good at, besides interrupting my class?” She cut him off coolly.
            “I don’t see how-“
            “He’s good at being a wanker.” Someone from the Gryffindor side said just loudly enough for them to hear. Freya shot them a look of disgust.
            “Ohh I see what this is. Bloody house rivalries. Utter tosh.” She muttered, rolling her eyes. “Come Draco. What’s something you’re good at?” She asked again, more kindly this time. Draco’s face was turning pink as he struggled to think of something that didn’t involve being cruel to others. “It doesn’t have to be some grand accomplishment. What can you do?”
            “I’m pretty good with numbers.” He said softly, glaring around at his housemates as though daring them to laugh.
            “Very useful, Mr. Malfoy.” She replied. Draco grinned, in spite of himself. “Oh and the next time you write to your father, do tell him I said ‘hello.’” She murmured, clapping a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Snape stiffened at this bit of information. So she knew the Malfoys? “Let’s keep going! I want to know about my students. “
            She continued like that for some time, and Snape watched her carefully. She was very amiable with them, but had been quick to stop disruptive behavior when she saw it. Occasionally her eyes would flicker to the spot where he was, still disillusioned. He smirked to himself. She hadn’t forgotten he was there. Severus thought about how she’d clung to him as he’d kissed her in Nocturne Alley. He thought about the wanton way she’d wriggled against him, so desperate to be touched. He supposed captivity would do that to a person. Freya fluttered all around the room, learning her students’ names, until finally, her gaze rested on Neville Longbottom.
            “And I believe we’ve already met. Neville Longbottom, is it?” She asked softly. Someone on the Slytherin side made a croaking “ribbit” noise, and there were giggles from both houses. Neville looked very uncomfortable. “What are you good at Neville?” Everyone turned to look at him, expectantly. He just shook his head, not wanting to answer. Hermione Granger elbowed him sharply, and mouthed the word “herbology” at him, but he didn’t say it, as if he thought it wasn’t cool enough.
            “Nothing, really.” He muttered, cheeks flushing red. Freya’s brows knitted together in concern.
            “Who told you that?” She asked, somewhat sharply. “Oh nevermind. Someone worthless, I expect.” She added with a slight sneer. “Neville, everyone can do something.”
            “He’s quite good at-” Hermione started helpfully, but Freya motioned for her to stop. She wanted Neville to answer for himself.
            “Well I can…” Someone giggled loudly, interrupting him. He bolted upright and looked around, then looked up uncertainly. “I can make pasta puttanesca.” There were a few more giggles, but Freya suddenly looked very serious.
            “You can make food and you think that counts for nothing? “ There was silence as they considered this. “Ladies, take a good look at Mr. Longbottom. That is what we call ‘boyfriend material.’ Learn to spot them now. It will save you a world of trouble later.“ Longbottom’s face turned a lovely shade of magenta, but he was smiling as the girls around him gave him sly glances and giggled.
            Freya walked over to her large teaching desk, and sat on the edge of it as she looked at her students, who still didn’t seem to know what to think of their new professor. “Every single one of you is good at something, and as different as they may seem, they all have one quality in common. Resourcefulness. This is not a skill that I could ever teach you, but I can give you the tools you will need to learn it on your own. Many would like me to shield you from the dangers of the world, because they think you are children, but these are dark times we live in. You will not be children for long.” The class went silent. “Do forgive me. I don’t wish to patronize any of you, but I’m going to tell you something that I desperately wish someone had told me when I was your age. Right now, you feel invincible, even those of you have already seen action,” here she gave a small nod to the Boy Who Lived. “But no matter what house you’ve been sorted into, no matter how brave, loyal, cunning, or intelligent you are, some day…you will be tempted by the Dark Arts. I can teach you how to defend yourself from the nastiest creatures alive. I can teach you how to protect yourself from offensive spells. I cannot teach you how to resist that temptation. The dark arts are very seductive. It will offer you your heart’s desire. It will offer the easy road in a time when you are struggling. I cannot tell you which path to take, or even which one is right. All I can tell you, is that if you choose darkness…the price will be very great.” The silence that followed this was heavy. Freya sat down behind her desk like a proper teacher, and smiled. “Now…who can tell me the best way to counter an Oppugno jinx?”
            The class went very smoothly from that point. Freya was generous with her praise, and was quick to award points for correct answers. Finally, she asked them to begin writing an essay describing what they could remember from their previous Dark Arts classes, then settled behind her desk and began to write. Severus watched her coolly from his corner, wondering if she’d forgotten about him. Suddenly, he couldn’t resist, and whispered
            “Legillimens.”
            He caught several flashes, until one of Freya’s memories became quite clear. She was in an elaborate ballroom, all lit with candles, and in the memory she was wearing…His mouth went very dry. She was wearing a very tightly laced corset in emerald green, and the leather collar he’d seen in Nocturne alley. The garters that held up her stockings had tiny silver skulls clips, but they were stretched tight, ready to snap. She was standing, but her wrists were tied above her head, attached to a hook that hung from the ceiling. She wasn’t alone. There were people watching her. He recognized some of them. A dark figure in a finely tailored suit tipped a flask to her lips and she drank greedily, spilling liquid down her breasts. The man threw the flask aside, and kissed her hungrily, then drew a small dagger and used it to slice through her garters, sending the little skulls flying. She moaned heavily when he thrust his hand between her legs, but he placed a thin black riding crop between her teeth to stop her noises. The death eaters surrounding them laughed.
            Her mind snapped closed like a vice. Freya stood up, and hurled a jar of quills violently at the place where she knew he was standing. He leapt to one side, and the jar smashed on the wall, sending quills fluttering. The students gasped in alarm. A few of them screamed, but in the end they all stared at her. She was flushed, and breathing heavily.
            “Um…that’s all for now. No need to bring up your essays. I’ll get them. Class dismissed.” She said abruptly. The class shuffled out, nervously. Neville paused in the doorway.
            “Are…are you alright, miss?” He asked hesitantly.
            “Oh…oh yes I’m fine. Thank you.” She replied hastily. Neville nodded, then left.
            Snape removed his disillusionment charm, and she made a run for it. He caught her around the waist, and kicked the door shut as he wrestled her to the floor. “CALM yourself, witch!” He shouted. She slapped him in the face frantically, once again reminding him of the night they’d met. “So that’s it then? That’s how you infiltrated the dark lord’s followers? Merlin’s beard.” He ran his fingers through his thick black hair.
            “You…you had no right.”
            “No. I didn’t.” He replied with a small sigh. “Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on you, so yes I looked into your memories without your permission. I’m not a good man, Freya. Are you ashamed?”
            “What do you think?” She snapped.
            “You let him use you. Barty Crouch Jr. You let him do things you’d never let another wizard do…” He said softly, not without kindness “And in return you learned valuable information.” She nodded sullenly.
            “I learned names. There were powerful witches and wizards in the room that night. Muggles too. Wealthy ones who had no idea what their money was being used for. I found out who they were. I made them stop.”
            “You did well. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
            “I’m not ashamed because of what I did, Severus. I liked it. Petrificus totallus!” She hissed, sending him sprawling onto the floor. He stared up at her, unable to move as she crawled panther like, hiking up her skirt as she straddled him. A low groan tore itself from his throat at the delicious heat of her. His cock was straining against his trousers, threatening to burst free. She gave him a half crazed grin, and leaned down, grazing him with her breasts. He could feel her nipples hardening through her clothes. Her hair was disheveled, and her lips flushed scarlet. She stared into his eyes, and slowly, sinfully pressed a kiss to his lips that ended in a sharp nip on his nether lip. “You said you were going to torment me? Make me suffer? Fine. I deserve it. I’m already damned, you see.” She licked her lips, and he desperately wanted to feel them again, but she sighed, and stood up again, adjusting her skirt. “I’ll just leave you here, shall I?” She smoothed her hair down with her fingers, and gave him one last glare. “Oh, and if you try to enter my mind again, I’ll kill you.”
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Spy vs. Spy