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
- 30
- 31
- 32
If Snape had expected Freya to simply hide in the hospital wing, he was sorely mistaken. She made no attempt whatsoever to avoid him, which he found rather unsettling. In his opinion it would have been far more polite of her to steer clear of places he frequented when the majority of students were in class, such as the library, where he once found her completely immersed in a copy of something called “Hexe to the Hearte” by Georgiana Smethywick. When Freya caught him looking, she’d snapped the book shut, and ducked out of the library with her eyes glued to the floor. He’d considered following her, but pride prevented him. Soon after, he discovered that the grounds were unsafe as well. As Freya slowly recovered from her injuries, she developed a habit of sitting in the courtyard with charcoal and paper at the ready, in defiance of the steadily dropping temperature.
Madam Pomfrey had quickly given up hope in her attempts to dissuade this behavior, and had simply thrown her hands up in defeat when she’d asked Severus to intervene on her behalf. Doubtless, the mediwitch had ulterior motives, and wished to see them reconciled, for his health if for nothing else. As annoying as he found this, one look in the mirror was enough to see why she’d be concerned. His features were even sharper, and his cheeks hollow. He had lost weight as well, and his already billowing robes hung even looser on his lean frame. Students avoided him, even his own Slytherins, for looking into his black eyes was like staring into a deep, fathomless well.
His voyage through Freya’s memories haunted him in unexpected ways. Damn Dumbledore to hell for making him relive those moments, for forcing him to confront those unpleasant truths. In a single moment of foolish pride, he had destroyed everything Freya had worked for. The aconite blade. The slow poisoning. The starvation. All of it wasted because he couldn’t remain hidden. On top of this humiliation, she had saved his life. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive her for that. Dumbledore’s words after the fact still haunted him. Sometimes I really do think the hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Slytherin.
Little by little, Freya improved. A week crept by. Not a word passed between them. In spite of the autumn chill, she was often seen by the black lake, recreating the landscape. Inevitably, the paper had been replaced by canvas, which to his growing alarm, had been provided by Charlie fucking Weasely of all people. His stupid, freckly face had split into an annoyingly handsome grin when he’d arrived in person to deliver his get well present. The way Freya’s eyes had lit up was enough to have Severus muttering a low “confundus” in the young man’s direction, causing him to stumble awkwardly over his words. Unfortunately, this seemed to have the disastrous effect of making Charlie look adorable. Freya’s lips had twitched upward, and Severus cursed his mistake.
Her face had softened considerably, as though some sculptor had added a bit of clay to her cheekbones and smoothed them into soft peaks. The excellent cooking of the Hogwarts house elves had done wonders for her figure, and Severus knew that he was not the only wizard to have noticed. She kept receiving appreciative glances from male students, and he remembered suddenly with growing alarm, that Freya was actually closer to their age than she was to his. He once found himself staring down a seventh year boy who had been bold enough to ask her for help on his DA essay, a homework assignment which he was now destined to fail.
Nothing, it seemed could be done about her hair, however. After the events of Malfoy Manor, several spots had been singed by curses, and one afternoon she hacked it short so that it now hung to her chin. The dramatic change turned even more heads, and she developed the unsettling habit of tousling it absentmindedly. Severus had considered making a nasty remark about it, then realized he was simply itching for her attention like some idiot school boy. Why he could not simply tell her that he liked the change, that it emphasized her high cheekbones and made him want to kiss the back of her neck, he did not know.
He knew that he missed her, but Severus Snape had already asked for forgiveness twice, and this time he knew that more words would not fix what he had said. So, he watched her carefully from a distance, trying to muster up the courage to approach her. At one point they had even been about to cross paths in the corridor, but if any words had been prepared, they’d caught in his throat, and he found himself stalking past, unable to meet her eyes if she even had looked his way, which was uncertain.
Nights were the worst. Visions of his own blood spattered face, seen through her memories kept him up at night. Dread surrounded him, engulfing him like a shroud, and when he did manage a few precious hours of sleep, his nightmares were plagued with shadows and blood and glistening, yellow fangs. It would have been beneficial to simply speak with her, as a person who had lived through the same night, and yet he still felt sick, deep down in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about broaching the subject. Severus Snape no longer knew what he wanted from this cold, cruel life. But he knew that he still wanted her. He wanted that sweet, warm night at Grimmauld place, the only time he’d properly slept with his wife. Severus could still feel the weight of her, how she’d gone limp in his arms. He could still hear Remus’ screams, could feel the echo of his own pleading in his eardrums. It was difficult to reconcile those memories when she now appeared so docile, bundled up in her brother’s oversized cardigans, being walked through the halls with Poppy at her elbow.
As much as her health had improved, there was a sadness written on her face that offset the determination in her eyes. She rarely smiled. Clearly, she wanted to get better, and would not allow his cruel words drag her down. It annoyed him when Tonks arrived one morning to take Freya into town to buy a new wand, which he knew was irrational. Something about it made him long for the normalcy that others enjoyed, but he knew how absurd that was. Of course she’d want to go shopping with her friend, and not the black hearted bastard who’d called her a ‘cunt’ and made her cry. Still, seeing her pick herself up and make the painful trek from the hospital wing to the edge of the lake every morning made him frustrated in a way he did not understand. ‘Brooding’ is what many would have called it, although he knew that Molly Weasely would have called it ‘pining.’ It was better this way, he kept telling himself. She had hurt him. He had hurt her. The larger the gap between them, the safer they both were. Yet he couldn’t help but dwell on those nights when they had stayed up late, scribbling back and forth in their twin journals.
Soon enough, Freya accrued an audience in the form of curious students who seemed to find it hypnotizing to watch her paint. The way the pigment began as simply pure color, and then morphed into imagery after a few confident brushstrokes seemed like its own special sort of magic. She did not have any true pupils until one day Luna Lovegood boldly brought her own supplies and plopped herself beside her in the grass, gazing up at her former DA teacher with owlishly large eyes. Without even looking, Freya had whisked out her new wand, a slender instrument of gleaming rowan, and conjured a second easel. Luna had positively glowed with delight as Freya handed her several of her own brushes. Snape observed this with an odd, constricted feeling in his chest. They painted in silence for several minutes.
“Try standing back from the canvas a bit more.” Freya finally said gently. “Don’t be afraid to use your entire arm. A blank canvas is a perplexing thing, so no need to get wrapped up in details just yet.”
“Fat over lean?” Asked Luna cautiously, referring to the oft-repeated lesson of using thinner paint to begin with, then layering thicker pigments on top. Freya shrugged indifferently.
“I never bother. Call me a rebel.”
“So…I can do what I please?” Luna sounded far more grounded in this question than Snape had ever heard her as he watched stoically from the courtyard. Apparently Freya had accidentally discovered a subject that the young witch took very seriously indeed.
Again, Freya shrugged, this time with an amused smile. “Well, they say the painting will last another hundred years that way. I say, hang that. It’s your bloody painting. If anyone doesn’t like it, tell them to boil their fat heads.”
Luna still looked uncertain. Freya stopped painting, and gave her a smile so wide and radiant that the breath caught in Severus’ lungs and he knew for certain that yes…he was still madly in love with his wife. And he would do anything to have her back. She cocked her head at an angle, and studied Luna for a moment.
“I remember those creatures you used to draw in class.”
“Professor Snape took ten points from Ravenclaw when he saw…” Luna fidgeted uncomfortably.
“Professor Snape can go boil his fat head too, for all I care.” She snarled. Severus’ quiet moment of self realization dissipated, and he thought about storming over to give her a piece of his mind, but knew that she would probably thrust that paintbrush straight up his nostril. “I used to draw all the time during class. His class, especially. I’ve always been a far better listener when I have something to do with my hands. I’d bet ten galleons that you’re the same.” Luna nodded emphatically.
“The foreshortening in that blibbering humdinger you sketched on the back of your essay on counter-curses!” Freya shook her head admiringly. “Marvelous! You already possess a far greater understanding of compositional theory than most adults. So yes, Luna. You can do what you please. There are no rules in art. Only guidelines.” She gave Luna a smirk, and Snape watched as the young witch stared, her eyes shining in rapture. No teacher had ever praised her in this way. “For your next piece, might I recommend removing white from your palette as an experiment? I think the results would be fascinating.”
This continued for another week. Her number of students grew. More than once Snape found himself eyeing them from his balcony, muttering sound enhancement charms so he could listen in on these improvised lessons.
“Miss? Might I borrow some blue, for the lake? I’ve run out.” One student quipped.
“You may, but if I were you, I’d take a close look at that lake today.” She mused thoughtfully. “Are you certain it’s blue?”
Hannah Abbott stared thoughtfully at the lake for a moment. “I…I suppose it’s actually more of a…greyish green?” She sounded uncertain.
“Hm.” She mused enigmatically, her lips curling into a rare smile. Without looking back, she tossed a tube of green paint to Hannah, who caught it with a triumphant smile. “Forget what you know. Trust your eyes. Learning to paint from life is really about learning how to see.”
Snape snorted in annoyance at the absurdity of such lessons, but still he found himself listening in every evening, until on one occasion, Freya actually abandoned her own work, and arranged the students in a circle to draw Tonks, who seemed to take great pleasure in taking ridiculous poses for them, changing her face with each one to amuse her friend, which made him realize he hadn’t heard her laugh in ages. Teaching again seemed to make her happier. Her eyes had already lost some of their sadness. Freya circled the students thoughtfully, watching them draw for several minutes until they were more or less complete.
“Good. Now take out your wands, and siphon as much away as you can.” She said, amusement dancing on her lips at the wave of shock and suppressed outrage from her students. To Severus’ amazement, however, they actually did what she asked and drew their wands, erasing what they could of their masterpieces. “Now draw her again.” Muttering in annoyance, they began anew. Fifteen minutes later, she stopped them. “Get rid of it. Erase everything.” This time there were angry protests as students refused to destroy their work. She shrugged. “Do what you want. I won’t force you.” This had the desired effect. Still frowning, they did what she asked. Thirty minutes later, she stopped them, but they sighed collectively with relief when she simply had them step back to admire their work.
“There!” She exclaimed happily. “Look at the risks you’ve taken, knowing that I might ask you to erase your work! Look at the paper itself! You’ve all done the best you can to eliminate your previous drawings, but you see, you can’t. Not entirely. The paper has history now. Look at the movement you’ve created! Only two drawings later, and you’ve all improved remarkably! Well done!” She positively glowed. It was the happiest he’d seen her in weeks.
Snape watched her, this time from a shadowy cloister, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. Freya beamed at her students and waved at them to continue. At that moment, a great grey owl swooped low, it’s speckled wings beating the air as it hovered before her. The wistful expression on her face vanished in an instant as she held out her hand and plucked the letter from its beak. Muttering a quick apology to the students, she clutched the letter to her chest, quickly gathered up her things, and to Severus’ alarm, began to quickly make her way toward him. He whipped out his wand, and muttered a quick disillusionment charm. The thought of what she might do if she learned he had been spying on her made him cringe, and the shudder that rippled down his spine had nothing to do with the sensation of his body becoming something close to invisible.
As soon as Freya thought she thought she was alone, she sank to her knees, and fell back against a pillar, closing her eyes. Her breathing became hard and fast, and her skin broke out in a sweat. Snape stared, wondering what he should do, but he knew he was the last person who would be able to comfort her. If anything, revealing himself might make it worse. He recognized the symptoms of a panic attack, but was genuinely uncertain how to help. Freya’s supplies as well as the artwork itself fell clattering to the stone floor of the cloister as she buried her head in her hands, her shoulders heaving. Snape clenched his fists. She looked vulnerable. Nothing like the woman he had fought alongside. He could not allow it.
His wand was in his hand. The cheering charm was the faintest whisper on his lips. Perhaps it was not the giggle inducing magic that would have earned him top marks in Flitwick’s class, but her breathing steadied. Her eyes closed, and the bow of her lips curled with contentment. This was it. His moment to approach her. The wand was already aimed at his temple to alleviate the disillusionment charm.
“Freya?” Tonks had followed her, and although her voice was gentle, Freya nearly leapt out of her skin, accidentally knocking over a jar of dirty turpentine as she did. The heady, pine like scent filled the cloister as Snape bit back a curse, and ducked back behind the pillar, trying not to breathe too loudly. Freya spat something very rude about Merlin’s mother as she drew her wand to clean up the mess. Rubbing at her eyes blearily, she looked up at her friend, who smiled warily. “Darling, you’re not well.”
“I’ll be fine.” Freya sighed. “I just need time.”
“You’re not fine. You need help. Someone who understands.” Tonks sank to her knees in front of her friend, her face surprisingly calm. “I’ve been where you are right now. You’ve experienced serious trauma, not just physically, but in your mind as well. Freya, if you want…” she bit her lip, uncertainly. “There are…certain memory charms…”
“No.” Freya whispered, terrified. “I can’t forget.”
“It would only be temporary.” Tonks urged carefully. “Then we could see about getting you some real help. They’ll bring back the memories one at a time, but in a controlled environment. It does help.”
“I can’t forget.” Freya’s eyes were closed in intense concentration. “I have to live with what I’ve done. I know I can’t fix it.” She reached out, and clasped Tonks by the hand. “I’ve hurt the people I love the most, and…” without meaning to, he heard her next, horrified thought. He’s still out there. When she opened her eyes again, several fresh tears that had been clinging for dear life to her lashes finally fell. “I’m so sorry, Dora.”
Tonks chuckled sadly. “I forgave you the moment I saw you in the hospital. Now I just want you to get better. Don’t worry about me.”
“Sev…” Freya began, his name catching in her throat. “I fucked up, Dora.” She whispered. At being mentioned, Snape drew himself closer into the shadow, suddenly regretting his choice to spy on her. This conversation was personal, and it was wrong to listen, but he just couldn’t help himself.
Tonks understood, and snorted derisively. “Who cares what that man thinks?”
“I care.” Freya admitted.
“Well, you shouldn’t.” Tonks stood, and placed her hands on her hips. “I’m sick of that bloody Slytherin. Look, he made choices too. Do you understand? He didn’t have to get all tangled up with the Malfoys. It wasn’t your fault he was there that night. Merlin’s bollocks, Freya. Do you realize that if you were a man, you would be worshipped as a hero? As it is, if Severus Snape wants to go on blaming you for his actions, he can shove a comet two sixty straight up his arse. And I own one, so I know how splintery they are. ” Freya stared up at her, then to his great annoyance, began to giggle. “That’s right. Fuck him, Freya. Fuck him, and the broomstick he rode in on.”
Freya’s smile was weak, but it was there. “Fuck him.” She murmured, swiping the back of her hand across her tear stained cheeks.”
“Now, what’s that you’ve got?” Tonks pointed at the letter that was now crumpled in Freya’s fist. Looking rather sheepish, she handed it to her friend, who scanned it rapidly, then lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “Freya, this is wonderful! You didn’t tell me you’d applied for a job!”
Freya blushed. “I didn’t. Remus sent it for me.”
“Ah.” Tonks’ face fell a fraction at the mention of the werewolf. Then she glanced at Freya hesitantly. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“I suppose I’ll find out.” Freya sniffed
Tonks reached down and seized her friend by the elbow, hauling her to her feet. Then she pulled her in for a fierce hug. “We’re going to celebrate. No, I insist. I’m sick of seeing you cooped up at Hogwarts. Tonight, I’m going to take you to the Three Broomsticks. We’re going to fill you up with bangers and mash, and some of Rosmerta’s best meade. My treat.”
“Hot chocolate?” She asked hopefully.
“That goes without saying.” Tonks smirked. “Tonight you’re going to be fat and happy, and you’re going to forget all about that greasy prick.”
Freya grinned. “I love you, Dora.”
“I love you too, you stupid cow.”
They giggled, and Snape watched with narrowed eyes as Tonks threw an arm around her, and marched her back outside, where they were greeted happily by a small army of students, eager to show her their progress. He couldn’t bear to watch anymore.

Longbottom’s essay was perfect. Frowning intently, he scoured it for missing information, but astonishingly, the boy had touched upon every single point that Severus had wanted. The Kappa is a Japanese water demon, though they can be commonly found in Mongolia. One might appease their appetite for human blood with the gift of a cucumber inscribed with the name of the giver, but in the event that a wizard does not have a cucumber handy, it is possible to trick the demon into bowing, thus spilling the water that fills the depression in it’s concaved head. It was terribly unlike Longbottom to turn in an assignment that was not only factually accurate, but perfectly spelled. He might have thought Hermione Granger was behind it, but he had learned to sniff out her particular style, and was quick to deduct points if he suspected cheating.
Severus knew why the essay was flawless. Clearly she had helped him.
The sudden knock on his office door that night was timid. He suspected a student was behind it.
“Enter,” he sighed as he reached for Lavender Brown’s homework instead. As he viciously crossed out a misspelled word in green ink, the door creaked open, and a head of sleek black hair poked nervously inside. “Miss Parkinson. Is something amiss?” He peered across the edge of the parchment at the Slytherin prefect. She was frowning thoughtfully at her shoes. “No need to be nervous,” he added with precision, rather than gentleness, thinking that perhaps this interruption had something to do with Draco.
“I heard voices from the kitchens.”
“Ah. Hufflepuffs.” He muttered scornfully. “Dunderheads, the lot of them. I would have thought you would be able to handle such foolishness, Miss Parkinson. Simply wait for them to show themselves and deduct points. Fifty I think should do the trick.”
Her mouth twisted into a nervous grimace. “Sir, I thought I should tell you…they sounded like grown up voices. I didn’t know what to do.”
“I see.” Severus replied shortly. Pansy blushed, clearly feeling foolish. “You did well. Ten points to Slytherin. No need to trouble yourself. Continue your rounds. I will deal with them. Most likely some of my colleagues have decided to share a night cap.”
When he reached the enormous painting that guarded the kitchens, he heard a faint crash, followed by a great deal of cursing and laughter. With a beleaguered sigh, he reached up, and gently tickled the plump, shining pear in the painting. It quivered in a silent giggle, and the painting swung forward to allow him passage.
It was like someone had summoned a snowstorm. Above, the phalanx of copper pots swung ominously, threatening to crash on top of him at any moment. An enormous sack of flour had burst open, and the fine white powder hung in the air like fog, making him cough. He cursed, and covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his robe. The house elves were nowhere to be seen, most likely hiding, yet among the swirling white, three very giddy, and very drunk figures were laughing helplessly, hanging onto each other as they struggled not to slip on the floor, which of course was now covered in fine sediment.
Charlie Weasley lost the battle clumsily, taking Freya down with him. Together they fell like a box of quaffles. Tonks tried to pause for breath, but ended up snorting loudly, making them laugh even harder. They had not even noticed him. Jealousy coiled deep in his gut when Freya reached up and ruffled Charlie’s ginger hair, sending tiny puffs of flour into the air. Charlie was looking at her with puppy dog eyes. When they tried to stand back up, Freya accidentally knocked over a bottle of milk. It shattered instantly on the stone floor.
“Freya you twat!” Tonks was gasping from laughing so hard. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. All three of them reeked of firewhiskey.
“That. Is. Enough!” The words rang in a voice that would have had even his most fearless Slytherins shivering. It was the voice he used when he was prepared to send a student to the headmaster for expulsion, when standard punishments were simply not up to the task. Charlie’s face bloomed scarlet, and his smile wavered. Tonks and Freya turned to stare at him, then looked at each other, and burst into fits of laughter once more. He could feel his cheeks burning with anger and the sort of emasculating humiliation that can only be felt when two women are sharing a joke at a wizard’s expense. “Stop it at once,” he growled. This only made them laugh harder. “I SAID STOP.” He swiped through the air with his wand, cutting through the swirls of flour, and in an instant, the room was clear. Tonks bit her lip to keep from giggling, and the effort began to turn her face purple. Freya seemed to be trying to look anywhere except at Severus. She had flour smudged on her nose. It was adorable.
“What POSSIBLE excuse could the three of you offer for this?” He gestured accusingly at the floor, trying to ignore the fact that Freya’s skin was flushed from alcohol and that she looked entirely too kissable for her own good. Charlie was still eyeing her hopefully, and Severus imagined setting his hair on fire.
“Seemed a nice time for a cuppa!” Tonks managed to say with a passably straight face. Freya actually had tears in her eyes from trying not to laugh.
“Nymphadora,“ He growled dangerously. “Surely there are places in Hogsmeade more suited for this behavior? The gutter, perhaps?”
            “Well, Snivellus, if you must know,” Tonks’ use of the hated childhood nickname made him grit his teeth. “We’re celebrating. You see, our lovely Freya recently lost…” She eyed him up and down, weighing him up. “Oh I dunno. Eighty kilos?”
            Freya tried to stifle a grin at this insult, which had him seeing red.
“And what about you?” He rounded on her. “Have you no respect? Are you really so incapable of controlling yourself? This is a school. Haven’t you done enough?” It was said out of jealousy. He was self aware enough to realize that. Freya glared at him and crossed her arms. There was a challenge in her eyes that intrigued him. Oh, he had missed this.
“Oi!” Charlie started indignantly. “That’s uncalled for! We were just havin’ a bit o’ fun, mate!”
The wand was in his hand before he knew what he was doing. “VOMITARE VIRIDIS.” He snarled. The effect was instantaneous. Charlie’s face turned a sickly green, and there was a loud roiling in his belly. He clamped a hand across his mouth.
Severus glowered down at Tonks, who looked both shocked and furious. “If I were you, I’d take Weasley to the toilet, unless you want to scrub vomit out of the floors for the rest of the night. Not you, Miss Lupin.” He snapped when Freya tried to help Charlie off the floor. She opened her mouth to retort, but Charlie doubled over, heaving violently with both hands clamped over his mouth. Tonks gave her a very apologetic look that clearly said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can” as she seized Charlie around the shoulders and hurried him out of the kitchens. The enormous painting swung closed.
            Freya whipped out her wand, ready to extoll justice for her friend, but either she was too tipsy, or Severus was simply too ready for her. “Expelliarmus.” He snapped, extending a hand to catch the wand deftly in his long fingers. Her cheeks flushed furiously as he held it up for inspection, and he couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Hmm. Rowan, is it? And the core?”
            “Give it back.” She said darkly, ignoring the question.
            “Why, so you can get back at me for hexing your little ginger fuck toy?” He snarled with controlled animosity.
            Freya’s eyes widened with outrage. “That’s not…” she stammered. “I mean, Charlie’s not…That’s none of your bloody business!” She lunged for her wand, eager to snatch it back, but she was shorter than him and he held it easily out of reach.
            The knot in his stomach seemed to relax a bit. “Oh? Hasn’t he managed to seal the deal yet? Or is Weasely just not man enough for you?” He teased.
            Freya laughed mirthlessly. “You’re unbelievable.”
            “Not at all!” He proclaimed with mock sincerity. “I simply thought you’d have better taste.”
            “I’ve never had good taste in men.” She snapped.
            “You wound me.” He chuckled, holding the stolen wand even higher when she lunged for it again.
            “Really, Severus? Isn’t jealousy a bit petty at this point?”
            “Don’t flatter yourself,” he snarled. “Jealous of Weasley? Hardly.”
            “At least Charlie is kind.”
            “He’s a lumbering troll with the intellectual capacity of a brick.”
            “He is NOT! Merlin’s balls!” She ran her fingers through her hair, accidentally making herself look rather harassed in the process. “I don’t need to justify my friendship with Charlie. Not to you.”
Snape flicked her new wand experimentally, and pointed it at one of the cupboards. Out flew a bottle of brandy, and he caught it, yanking the cork out with a smirk. He eyed her carefully as he took a long swig, and saw the way she watched his throat bob up and down with every gulp. It warmed him immensely. “He’ll never be able to please you,” he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You must know that. I expect you’re simply playing with him out of pity. Or boredom.”
            “I wouldn’t do that to him.” She snapped. “I just want…”
            “Oh please, astonish me.” He interrupted sourly.
            “I want to forget.” An angry flush had crept into her cheeks. “Just for a little while. I want to feel normal. Like maybe I’m not…”
            “Not what?”
            “…A bad person.”
            It was like a rogue bludger to the chest. “I see.” He demurred, studying her intently. “Is that really how you think of yourself?”
            She frowned at him, and tried to push past him with her eyes on the door. “You know what? Keep it. I’ll buy another one.”
            “Oh I don’t think so, Miss Lupin.” He flicked out his own wand. “Protego.” The shield charm blocked her path, and she stumbled backward, landing rather awkwardly on her bottom. When he extended a hand and hauled her back to her feet, their bodies made momentary contact. It was like lightning rippled through him. They hadn’t touched like this in ages. Clearly she had felt it too, but she stepped away quickly, her face reddening. She appeared to be fighting to control her breathing, and he stared at the rise and fall of her chest with hooded eyes.
            “What do you want, Severus?” She growled, sounding immensely frustrated. His smirk was salacious as he circled her slowly, eyeing her up and down. “Is this a bloody joke?” He reached out, and tugged playfully on a lock of her hair, watching it spring back into place. She scoffed in amazement. “It is. You’re making fun of me.”
            Snape chuckled, “You still want me.” He teased, reaching down and pinching her bottom. She jumped at the touch, then muttered something thickly, under her breath. “What was that?”
            “I called you a son of a bitch.” She repeated.
            “An accurate assessment,” he purred, noticing the way her fingers were fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, as if suddenly self-conscious. “Tonks scrounged up some of your old clothes at last, I see. Why you’re still wearing that bloody cardigan is beyond me.” He arched an eyebrow. “You should take it off.” Freya shivered at the rough growl in his voice, and seemed to be weighing her options with some uncertainty. “You want to forget, do you?” Severus purred. “I can help you there. Take it off.”
            She gazed up at him intently. There was heat in her eyes, but also resolve. “This doesn’t change anything?”
            The words annoyed him, but he shrugged indifferently. “Naturally. We’re simply two adults choosing to indulge in my favorite form of hedonism. Unless of course, you don’t think you can handle me?”
Her eyebrows shot up at the challenge in his voice. After a moment’s consideration, she nodded, her lips pursing ever so slightly. Watching him carefully, she unbuttoned the cardigan slowly, her fingers trembling a bit. He inhaled sharply. Madam Pomfrey’s salves had worked wonders on her. The skin on her bare shoulders was rosy, and healthy again. Beneath the cardigan she wore a sleeveless top of peach silk, alluringly soft. It vexed him that she had worn it for a night out with Weasely. He smirked at her, and watched her fidget beneath his gaze. “A funny thing, firewhiskey,” he shrugged off his outer robes, and tossed them nonchalantly onto the kitchen island. Then, as she stared, he began to roll up his shirtsleeves, calmly, methodically. He drew irresistibly close. She blushed as she stared. “It tends to draw the blood from the brain, concentrating on the extremities. Do you feel warm?”
            She nodded, utterly entranced. He slid the brandy bottle in her direction. When she drank, a rogue droplet escaped her lips and made its way down her throat. His dark eyes marked the trail of wetness and without another thought, he reached out and swiped her lower lip with his thumb, then snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned.
            “Good. Now tell me honestly, Miss Lupin.” His heart was racing. “Are you aroused?” She finally looked up at him, and her gaze was so full of longing that he shivered. She nodded, slowly, and he smiled with immense satisfaction. One arm encircled her waist, as he drew her close enough to feel his length stiffening in his trousers. “I’m going to enjoy this, witch. Now bend over, and lift your skirt for me.” He murmured gruffly. Freya gasped, staggering a bit as a wave of arousal made her dizzy. Luckily, he caught her, chuckling as he did.
            She shook her head, confused, and blinked up at him. “You’re playing games with me.”
            He leaned in, centimeters away, so close to kissing her. His member throbbed almost painfully, but he pulled away. “You’re overthinking this.”
            “You said you wished you’d never met me.” She added.
            “Forget what I said.” He growled sharply. “Right now, I want to see you bent over that table. Do you want your wand back or not?” She lifted an eyebrow at him, and he knew that if she wanted to, she could take it back by force, but arousal was pooling between her thighs, and she was fuzzy headed, staring at his mouth with growing hunger. As further encouragement, he reached down, and gently squeezed the ever-growing bulge in his trousers. Her eyes shone with want. “You’ve made a mess of the kitchens. You’ve interrupted my work. Turn around. Bend. Over.”
She bit her lip, contemplating her options. Desire won out.
Severus stifled a groan when she turned her back to him, and placed both hands on the edge of the table, glancing back at him with a doe eyed expression that actually made him take a moment to control himself. “Lower. I want your ass in the air.” He smirked to himself as she pressed her face to the cold marble. “Lift your skirt. Both hands.” He tapped his lips thoughtfully with the tip of her wand, then began to chuckle. “Sweet Merlin, you’re just dying for it, aren’t you?” Her panties were soaked. He amused himself for a moment by lazily trailing his fingers up the back of one creamy white thigh, listening to her bite back a whimper. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this.” He rapped her bottom sharply with her own wand. She gasped, elated. His fingers teased her through the fabric, and she shuddered deliciously. “I want to ask you some questions.”
He spanked her. Not too hard. His aim was ultimately to please her, not to punish her. She moaned very softly. “Is that all you want?”
He gritted his teeth against the white-hot shiver of lust that electrified him at the question. “For now.”
SMACK. Harder this time. She hissed pleasantly, then sighed when he soothed her flesh with his warm hands, then giggled drunkenly. “Whatever you say, Professor.”
SMACK.
“Do you like this? When I treat you this way?”
“Yes.” She sighed.
SMACK.
“I’m so hard for you, witch. You look so good. Have you noticed the older boys ogling you?” His fingers slipped past the panties, and entered her, excruciatingly slowly. The sound she made at his touch was positively sinful.
“No…I haven’t.” She admitted.
“Liar.” SMACK. “Even in those atrocious cardigans you look so sweet. What do they know?” SMACK. “You’re dangerous.” SMACK. “Gods, look at you. You’re so desperate.” She was wriggling a bit, eager for further penetration. SMACK. “Do you want my cock?”
“I do. I want it so badly,” she mewed.
“One more question first.”
“Anything.” She pleaded.
“Did you ever think about me? Even once? Do you think about me at all?” He asked softly. There was a pause.
“I try not to, these days.” She admitted.
SMACK. Her bottom jiggled pleasantly, beginning to turn pink.
“Hardly seems fair,” he growled. “All things considered.”
SMACK.
“Fair?” She gasped. Suddenly she turned around, seizing his wrists. Her eyes were bright, and wild. She was sitting on the edge of the table, and his face was in her hands. Severus flinched, feeling quite exposed, even though she was the one with her skirt above her waist. “It isn’t fair. Nothing is bloody fair. Did I think about you? How can you be so obtuse? Of course I thought about you. My head was filled with you. I saw your face every bloody time I closed my eyes. ‘Fair?’ I was going to die! I knew that. I accepted it. Do you understand? It was only a matter of when. I never wanted this, Severus Snape. I wanted to keep getting to know you. I wanted to learn all of the strange, wonderful things about you that no one else knows. You’ve seeped into my veins like one of your bloody potions, and in spite of everything, I wanted you, and I hate Dumbledore, and Vidarr, and You-know-bloody-who so much for taking that chance away from us. When I woke up in St. Mungo’s, I was so desperate to see you, but I knew the moment you came that it was too late. I wanted to go back to where we were, but right now I…I just can’t.” She sounded so tired. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. You don’t want this. You don’t want me. You said so.”
“You listen to me, witch.” His growl was deep, and sensual. “I nearly lost you. I came so close. So don’t tell me what I want right now. I know what I want. I want you. On this table. Right fucking now.” He leaned in to seal her lips in a kiss that made them both gasp at the intensity. She moaned desperately, as he parted her thighs and crushed her body to his, every cell electrified, ready to tear off her panties and claim her for his own, safe and warm, without fear, without death, killing loneliness and despair with endless passion. All this was at the tip of his tongue, and he was ready to spill everything, to confess that she still held a place in his heart. What came out instead was, “I want to fuck you.”
“No.” She gasped, gently pressing him away. His mouth fell open, thunderstruck, but he stepped aside, watching as she hopped off the table. “Not like this. I’m not done healing.”
“You seemed perfectly healthy a moment ago.” He complained.
“Not from fighting. From you.” She staggered for a bit, but held up her hands to stop him when he tried to help her. “You broke my heart, Severus Snape. I don’t think you even thought twice about it. I’m sorry, but it’s just not enough.”
“I want you.” He said again, rather stupidly.
She arched an eyebrow. “And? ‘I don’t have to like you to fuck you.’ Your words.”
Severus winced, then chuckled somewhat forlornly. “Alright. Point taken.”
“You’re an excellent seducer. Always have been. But I need more than just a quick fuck right now. I need a friend. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to find Dora and Charlie. I’m going to fix that horrible jinx you used on him.”
“Oh no. Please don’t tell me you’re going to shack up with that meat headed Weasely.” He groaned.
“If I did, it would be none of your business.” She scowled, placing her hands on her hips.
“We’re still married!” He snarled incredulously.
“I signed those papers,” she shrugged. “Not my fault if you haven’t sent them.” She smoothed out her skirt, and held out a hand. “My wand, please.”
“Well, it just so happens that I’ve…” his mind tripped over the words, trying to think of the right thing to say. “I’ve…decided to forgive you.”
The look on her face was enough to tell him that he’d said the wrong thing. She snapped her fingers. Her wand flew out of his grasp, answering instantly to its master, and she plucked it neatly out of the air. “How kind of you.” She made a very complicated gesture, and in an instant, all the residual flour on the floor had disappeared. “I think we’re done here.”
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Spy vs. Spy