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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            Trejgul was becoming unbearably annoying. Not only had he taken to leaving dead mice in Severus’ shoes, he seemed to take great pleasure in waking him at the crack of dawn with loud, chortling mews to emphasize his displeasure. Growling in frustration, Severus flung the covers off himself, and stalked toward the cat, who had been clawing at the heavy wooden door. Usually, the enormous feline had no trouble going wherever he pleased, which had led Severus to consider asking Minerva if cats were capable of apparition, though he doubted she would appreciate the question. The way Trejgul stared smugly up at him told him that it was either out of spite, or amusement or both.
            “You want to be with her? Fine.” He grumbled, opening the door just enough to let Trejgul slip through. “But don’t come back here looking for kippers. You’re not getting any.”
            The cat’s nose was in the air, as if to say “I’ll get my fish elsewhere, thank-you-very-much,” and if it was possibly for a cat to swagger, he certainly did so from Severus’ dungeon chambers, his glorious fluffy tail held high.
            Snape knew there would be no going back to bed. Once he was up, he was up. Such was his curse. One glance in the bathroom mirror was enough to have him scowling. He looked terrible. His eyes were bleary and his chin spotted with stubble, visual proof that he hadn’t had a proper shave in days. Time to remedy that.
            Cupping his hands beneath the silver serpent headed faucet, he splashed his face with icy cold water to wake himself further, then swung the mirror open to retrieve his straight razor. Severus could have easily shaved himself by magic, but he found that doing it the old-fashioned muggle way provided him with a ritual that gave his mornings a sense of completion. As much as he’d despised his father, Tobias Snape had at least taught him this much. He could still recall the scent of his horrible aftershave as he’d given him this piece of advice. “Nothin’ like cold steel to remind you yer still livin.’ You remember that, boy.” True enough, even if the man had existed purely to terrorize his wife and son. Severus held the razor firmly, stropping it expertly against the leather strap that hung by the mirror. Fifty times. No less.
            Severus had always thought that if he were married, he would never in a million years behave as his father had. Surely he was still a better husband than that piss poor drunk who could never hold on to a job? He grimaced at his reflection as he balanced the razor on the edge of the sink, thinking again of the horrible things he’d said to Freya in the hospital wing. Perhaps not. Seizing the ceramic shaving mug, he began to whip the soap into a silky lather, using a stiff badger-hair brush. He would have loved to sic Freya on his father. He imagined the smirk that would have curled her lips as she’d have destroyed the man’s ego one witticism at a time, knowing that he would never dare raise a hand to so formidable a witch. If there was one thing he was sure of, it’s that his father had been a coward.
            Snape did not like thinking about his parents, but he did so now, as he lathered up his face with swift circular motions. What would his mother have thought of Freya? Eileen had gifted her son her pallid complexion, her magical abilities, and also her rare smiles, which he was sure Freya would have received at least occasionally. His mother had been aloof, and difficult to impress, yet he could easily imagine his mother teaching Freya how to carefully prune her impressive sage bush to ensure its longevity, and instructing her
on the proper methods to crush the leaves into an infusion to ease the delirium of a fever. Severus had been a sickly child, and his father was often too broke or too proud to take his son to a muggle doctor, forcing Eileen to become a sort of self-taught mediwitch. He could easily imagine a tentative bond forming between the two witches in spite of their differences. All this was fantasy, of course. His mother had been dead for years.
            The razor was ice cold against his naked skin. Reaching over his head, he pulled the skin of his cheek taught with one hand as he expertly glided the edge in gentle, downward strokes with his pinky resting on the tail of the blade to keep it steady. It was no good to rush this. Calm, methodical, and clean, letting the weight of the razor do most of the work. It was a handsome thing, an heirloom from his muggle grandfather, with a sleek mahogany handle. It quite possibly the only object he possessed from his past that held any intrinsic value, as the memory of his father’s shaving lessons was the only pleasant one he associated with the man.
Freya had a father still living somewhere, he mused. Lyall Lupin had once been a somewhat prominent figure, well known for his research on non-human spirituous apparitions. By all accounts the wizard was a mild-mannered man, but Snape knew that he had not spoken to his daughter in years, often wishing that she had been bitten instead of his preferred son. Snape wondered if he would ever meet the wizard, then thought perhaps it was best if he did not. He did not think he would interact well with any wizard who would happily ignore his daughter’s achievements, or fail to so much as lift a finger when she had been arrested.
            The water stung sharply as he rinsed his face, making his eyes water. When he reopened the cabinet to replace the shaving implements, he hesitated, then reached for an untouched bottle of aftershave that had been a gift from Pomona Sprout last Christmas. He’d never been one to wear scents, but considering his newfound mission to win back the affections of his wife, he supposed a light sandalwood aroma couldn’t hurt. To his pleasant surprise, he found that it soothed the sting considerably. He studied his reflection once more, and was satisfied that he looked…well, perhaps not better, but certainly cleaner, and far more alert.
            Snape dressed meticulously, selecting the outfit with far more care than he had in weeks. The waistcoat was a deep, licorice green, and the trousers very subtly pinstriped, which appeared to elongate his legs. Nothing could be done at the moment about the hollowness in his cheeks, so he compensated by throwing on a fitted black overcoat with silver buttons, rather than his usual robes, which had been swallowing his lean frame as of late. Once last glance in the mirror told him that nothing more could be done until he’d had his tea.
            Heads turned as he entered the great hall for breakfast, and it was no wonder. Even as peaky as he was, he still cut an impressive figure as he squared his shoulders to give himself the illusion of confidence. Smatterings of students chittered away happily, or poured desperately over last minute homework. Many of them eyed him with wary suspicion. It was rare these days to see Professor Snape for meals. Lately he had taken to having nothing but toast and pitch black Darjeeling in his office, but he supposed that would have to be remedied. The time for lurking was over. He had a witch to seduce. His heavy boots made a satisfying echo, even in the din of chattering students.
Freya was sitting with a group of Hufflepuff girls, who seemed to revere her as a sort of tragic heroine figure after her mysterious return to Hogwarts. Or perhaps they simply enjoyed having a witch to confide in who was not old enough to be their mother. Either way, Freya was happily gossiping as she knit what appeared to be some sort of tam, her eyes bright and mischievous. To his satisfaction, she stopped suddenly as he walked past, her glass of pumpkin juice halfway to her lips. He could feel her eyes on him, drinking him in. Trying not to smirk, he tossed his hair back from his face a bit, feeling emboldened by this tiny stroke to his ego.
            She was not the only one who noticed the change. Professor Sprout glanced at him, and whispered something to Professor Sinistra who actually giggled, and eyed him appreciatively. As he stepped up onto the dais to take his place with the other teachers, he gave her a courteous nod, which caused the witch’s cheeks to turn bright red. Freya regarded this interaction with pursed lips, then sipped her pumpkin juice as if she hadn’t noticed, allowing Susan Bones to once more regale her with a story about the handsome Ravenclaw boy whose smiles were making her consider signing up for the Gobstones club next year.
            Severus couldn’t resist. As he poured himself an enormous mug of tea, he glanced at her discreetly. “Legillimens,” he whispered as he took a sip.
            She dwells on the dream she had last night. Flashes of terror, of Vidarr’s cold, one eyed stare, of fangs dripping black. Her heart pounds in her chest and every instinct screams at her to flee into the darkness, but suddenly she feels a warm hand caressing the back of her neck, trailing heat down her spine, and a low, sultry voice whispers in her ear. “I can help you forget.” It’s like sinking into a hot bath. In an instant, she is relaxed. He makes her feel safe.
            Freya blinked, twitching slightly as though she’d just felt the ghostly touch of a cobweb somewhere on the back of her head. Careful, now, Severus thought. Wouldn’t want her to catch me peeking. Legillimens.
            Her potions master gently clasps the collar around her neck, the green leather one that had once been a sort of wedding present. “Such a pretty thing,” he purrs, breath hot against her skin. “And all mine. Are you going to be my good girl?” She nods, trembling with anticipation. He is shirtless, and she is staring at the smattering of dark hair that trails downward from his navel. This part of his body, where his hipbones create a sharp ‘v’ has always made her weak. “Say it,” he commands gently.
            “I’m going to be good,” she whispers.
            The caress he gives her is almost loving, though the smirk he wears is slightly cruel. “On your knees, then.”
            Her belly clenches, her pulse throbbing between her legs as she obeys.
            Severus withdrew from her mind carefully but abruptly, suddenly intensely aware of his now fully engorged manhood that now made sitting highly uncomfortable. She was fantasizing about him. Several nearby Gryffindors were staring at him, horrified, and he realized that he was smiling in that way that always seemed to terrify students. He wiped his face blank as he loaded his plate with bacon and eggs. Time for a little fun. Legillimens, he thought again, this time with a very different intent.
            The fantasy shifts seamlessly. She is sitting at the Hufflepuff table just as she is in life, and she suddenly feels the cool tip of a wand, lazily traveling up her thigh, lifting her skirt just enough to make her gasp. She clenches the cup of pumpkin juice with white knuckles, praying that no one will notice what’s happening at this very moment, beneath the table. Students continue their banter, blissfully unaware. Large, warm hands find her panties, and to her shock, tears them aside with unusual roughness, revealing her wet pink sex to the chilly air. Her eyes grow wide as saucers as she struggles not to react. The tip of the wand now rests upon her swollen clit, and a charm is whispered, hot against her flesh. The wand tip vibrates, hard and fast, making her suddenly, alarmingly breathless. It begins to move in gentle circles. She closes her eyes. “That’s it,” he murmurs in her mind. “Relax. No one will know, but me.” The vibrations send shivers up and down her belly. She knows that she is dripping.
            Suddenly the wand is replaced by a hot, wet tongue that laps at her firmly, eagerly drawing her right to the edge of intense pleasure. It swirls deliciously around her clit, but he does not neglect her slick opening, and soon two digits are sliding in and out of her, curling gently to stimulate that secret spot deep inside. He hooks his arms beneath her knees, spreading her wide, anchoring her so that she has no choice but to surrender to his hungry mouth. She grips the edge of the table, her thighs quivering as she begins to undulate, grinding against his face, so overtaken with the sensation that she’s blissfully unaware of what she’s doing. The licking stops. She tries not to whimper in protest. “Be still,” he commands in an amused, sultry voice. Sighing, she readjusts her position slightly, then does what he says. “Good girl.” She loves it when he calls her this, because they both know it isn’t true. It feels so, impossibly good to give up control, when lately it seems the weight of the world has rested upon her every decision. Something wonderful is building up inside of her, and every confident stroke of his tongue sends ripples of pleasure that she can feel in even the darkest corners of her mind. He is chasing away the nightmares, laughing defiantly in the face of death, replacing pain with pleasure.“This is mine,” he whispers against her. “All mine.” She is inclined to agree. Unable to help herself, she glances down beneath the table, and sees a dark head of silky black hair, bobbing up and down. Everyone thinks his eyes are black, but they’re not. They’re a brown so deep, it takes an artists’ sight to see the color. “Now come for me, like a good girl.” He leans in, and nibbles her clit, ever so gently. Sweet release.
            Freya did come. In real life. Not a full blown, eye rolling orgasm, but the soft, sudden kind that sometimes wakes a person during a lurid dream. Severus smirked into his mug of tea, but sipped it as if he couldn’t see the way her cheeks were pink, her eyes wide and shocked at the sudden intensity that had flared in her nether regions, forcing her to stifle to sharp little yelp, turning it into a rather forced cough at the last moment. He knew that he had outdone himself.
            “Are you alright, Miss Lupin?” Susan Bones asked, concerned. “Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey?”
            “NO.” Freya snapped, horrified. Then she smiled a little too kindly when the Hufflepuff jumped at the unexpected ferocity. “No, thank you Susan. I’m just…” She glanced nervously up at the dais, but Snape had just opened a copy of the Daily Prophet and was pretending to read disinterestedly as he ate. “I’m suddenly quite full.” She stood abruptly, and he was immensely pleased to see her legs wobbling.
            “You’ve hardly touched your food!” Susan frowned.
            Freya ignored this, and made for the exit, trying very hard to appear nonplussed as she did so. The temptation to follow her was exceedingly strong. Snape would have loved nothing more than to pull her into a shadowy conclave and tease her mercilessly until she begged for him to take her back to his chambers. Instead he forced himself to finish his breakfast, slowly. This required patience. Cunning. Strategy. He was, after all, the head of Slytherin house for a reason.
            The morning’s classes continued with little resistance. Here, he flourished, instructing his third year Ravenclaws to practice smokescreen spells until the dungeon was thick with swirling clouds. Then he taught his first years the very useful Periculum incantation, which would produce red sparks. This, he said, would come in handy should they ever become lost in the wilderness, or, if necessary, might be used to temporarily blind an adversary, should they be close enough.
            During his afternoon respite, he took the time to return a copy of Lunares Eclipsim by Stella Caellum to the library. Madam Pince peered at the book closely, inspecting it for damage before stamping it, and setting it aside, not bothering to check if it was late or not. Severus Snape always returned his books on time, ever since he was a student. Then she pulled out a very large tome, entitled The Symbolism of Flora by Venicia Stultus, and said “The book you requested, Professor Snape.” He gingerly plucked it from her hands, and tucked it away at once inside his robes. There were hardly any students in the library, as most were still in class, but it would not do for any to see that he had just checked out a book about flowers.
            Naturally he had known that Freya would be here. Lately she seemed to be reading quite a lot, with a propensity for fiction. He suspected that it was a relief to live in someone else’s head, to escape reality, even for a moment. However, he had expected her to be alone, and was highly irritated to find Charlie Weasley at the table across from her, pretending to read a book on dragon hatchlings, but not quite managing it. Annoyed that his vomiting curse had not frightened him away, Severus ducked behind a shelf, and pretended to peruse the books there, his wand hand itching when Charlie cleared his throat.
            “Ahem. Freya? Can I ask you something?”
            “Hm.” She said, still reading. Clearly she was too absorbed to listen.
            “I was…wondering…would you perhaps like to come with me to the next quidditch match? It’s Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, you know.” He said this last bit very quickly. When she didn’t answer, he leaned in closer. “Freya?”
            She jumped a bit, startled by his proximity. “I’m sorry?”
            “I asked if you’d like to watch the next quidditch game with me.” He repeated, his confidence wavering.
            “Oh!” She was surprised by the invitation. “Your brother Ron is on the team yeah? He’s ummm…” She winced, and Snape had to stifle a chuckle. Freya knew next to nothing about Quidditch.
            “Keeper.” Charlie answered, grinning in a way that Snape found rather patronizing.
            “Right!” Freya blushed, then perhaps to compensate for her moment of ignorance, said “Of course I’ll go with you!”
            “Excellent!” Charlie was clearly relieved. “I was Seeker for Gryffindor, you know.” Snape rolled his eyes, utterly disgusted.
            “Yes! I remember! You were very, um…fast!” It was clear that she had never actually watched him play. Charlie beamed at her, then seemed to see this as an excuse to talk quidditch, even though Freya obviously did not particularly care. Snape listened, feeling incredibly smug. This was going to be easy! Weasley was digging his own grave, and he didn’t even have to lift a finger!
            “-never won the cup, of course, but I’d say the Gryffindors have an excellent shot this year!” Charlie was saying. Freya’s eyes were already starting to glaze over, but she smiled politely. “Harry Potter’s been made captain, following in my footsteps, in a way. Not that I’m comparing myself to Potter!” He amended a little too loudly. Madam Pince glared in their direction, and he lowered his voice. “Merlin knows I’m not ‘the chosen one.’ Still, I was a ruddy good Seeker, even if we didn’t manage to crush Slytherin.” Snape’s grin widened at his bitter tone. “They say I could have played for England, but you know, I wanted to study Dragons, and that’s a far more stable career than professional athlete. Well, apart from the occasional burns.” Freya perked up noticeably at the mention of dragons. Charlie straightened in his chair, broadening his shoulders and placing one hand on his thigh, striking a very masculine pose. “Left five little ones back in Romania. Longhorns, you know. Beautiful. Dark green scales, and long golden horns. Some people like to hunt them for those horns.” He shook his head sadly. “That’s how their mum died. I found the nest by accident, took the eggs, brought them back to headquarters, kept ‘em warm and rotated them daily.”
“Poor things!” Freya mused. “Please tell me they’re alright?”
“Yep! Hatched ‘em myself!” He boasted, then leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “You can’t imagine how sore my cheeks were after three days of sitting on ‘em!” He winked roguishly.
Freya giggled, and Severus felt as if he was going to be ill. “They must miss you.”
Charlie’s chest puffed up with pride. “Nah, a few weeks of hand feeding and they were right as rain and already sick of me.”
“What did you feed them?” She asked, curiously.
“Ram’s blood and whiskey at first, then on to meat once their teeth grew in. Then I made the mistake of sharing my doner kebab with ‘em and they refused to eat anything else!”
Freya laughed again. “Your job sounds exciting!”
“Well, I’m no werewolf slayer, but yeah I suppose it is!”
The smile withered on Freya’s face, and her brow furrow with sudden confusion. She stared at Charlie with an expression of utter bewilderment, as if he’d just pulled off a mask to reveal that he was actually part Romanian Longhorn himself. “What do you mean?” She asked slowly.
“Oh, haven’t you heard the latest rumor?” Charlie winked cheekily, then made a dramatic sweeping motion with his hand, as if laying out a scene. “ ‘Freya Lupin, werewolf hunter!’” He laughed heartily. “The things they come up with! Honestly, the way some people are talking, you’d think it was…” His grin faltered. Freya had gone alarmingly pale. “Oh come on. They’re only rumors! It’s not as if you’d actually…Freya?” Her eyes had gone wide, staring at the table, unseeing. A cold sweat had broken out on her forehead, and her hands hand clenched into fists. “Freya,” Charlie said cautiously. “It’s not true, is it? I mean, your own brother’s a…”
“Miss Lupin,” Severus stepped out from his hiding place. It was time to intervene. “I’m afraid I must interrupt this little…” he lifted an eyebrow at Charlie, who shrank ever so slightly in his shadow, perhaps expecting another vomiting curse “…visit.” The challenge was clear in his voice, and Charlie heard it, rising from his seat to face Severus head on. Although he was shorter than Severus, he was far broader and more muscular.
“Look mate, this is a private conversation.”
“I am not your ‘mate.’” Severus replied with dark amusement. “Miss Lupin, please come with me. The headmaster has requested to see you.”
The mention of Dumbledore seemed to snap Freya out of her stupor. “Ah. Of course.” She rose so quickly that her chair clattered to the floor. Severus flicked his wand, and the chair righted itself. He could not resist giving Weasley a smug little smirk as he followed her out of the library.
They made it nearly halfway down the corridor when Freya stopped. “Dumbledore didn’t send for me.” She was looking at the floor when she said it.
“No,” he admitted. “Was I truly that obvious?”
“He usually sends a note, and delivering messages is beneath you.”
He smiled. “You know me well.”
“Well enough to know that you were probably listening in.” She didn’t sound angry, but when she finally looked up at him there was definitely a spark of annoyance.
“I may have overheard one thing or another,” he replied slyly, pretending to inspect his fingernails. “I didn’t realize you were a quidditch fanatic.”
The corner of her mouth twitched upward for a moment, betraying her amusement. “I like to think I’m open to new experiences.”
“One of several things I enjoy about you,” he leaned in close as he said this, his voice velvety.
She crossed her arms. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when I see something I want.” He replied slyly. Freya pursed her lips. He didn’t need to read her mind to know what she was thinking. You’re the one who wanted to split up, you arsehole. Time to tread carefully. “Trejgul misses you, I think.”
Freya snorted. “Bloody cat woke me up this morning.”
“Did he?” He feigned surprise.
She waved the feeble attempt to sidetrack the conversation aside. “Severus…”
“I know. I have no business meddling in your affairs with Weasley.” He thought it best to own up to this immediately. To his enormous surprise, she reached for him. Startled, he flinched, thinking maybe she was going to slap him, then realized that she had actually pulled him into an embrace. For a strange moment, he didn’t know what to do. At first, he looked about quickly to ensure that no students were around, then felt himself melting, This was, as far as he could recall, the first platonic hug he had experienced in years. Well, perhaps not entirely platonic, but he could hardly be expected to control the ripple of desire that enflamed him as her body made contact with his. He fought the urge to bury his nose in her hair.
“Thank you for cutting in when you did.” She whispered. When she pulled away, her eyes were bright.
He felt oddly breathless as he tentatively reached for her hand, and brought it to his lips. “My pleasure.”
She snatched the hand away, blushing furiously. “That being said, I’m sure you know that he didn’t really understand what he was saying.”
“Naturally.” He smirked, perhaps a little too knowingly because Freya shot him a suspicious look.
“I won’t have you following us to the Quidditch match, either. That vomitus curse you used was downright cruel, even for you.”
“He annoyed me.” He replied with a shrug. At the sight of her scowl, he held up his hands in mock defeat. “Fine! I submit! No more curses on Weasley!” Snape’s eyes glittered. “However, I shall be attending the Quidditch match.” When she looked as if she wanted to protest, he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “It is my prerogative as the head of Slytherin house to be in attendance, offering my support. Rest assured, I have no intention of sabotaging Weasley and what I’m sure will be a stimulating date.”
“It’s not a date.” She said immediately.
“Naivety doesn’t suit you.” Severus grinned. “You should cut him loose now before he starts to think he has a chance to slip inside your knickers.”
“Don’t be a pig. Charlie isn’t like that.” Her hands were on her hips. “He’s a gentleman.”
“No, he’s a man.” He corrected. “With a man’s appetites.”
“A man who came to visit me in the hospital wing. Insult Charlie all you want, but at least he was there when I was at my lowest.”
He flinched, then started angrily. “Oh? Was it Charlie Weasley who stood up to the bloody Minister of Magic himself when they wanted to force veritaserum down your throat? Did he come to your aid then?”
“Minerva McGonagall came to my aid.” She growled. “Dora came to my aid. How dare you take credit for that when they had to drag you by your ears?”
“I was fully prepared to represent you before the entire wizengamot! You fouled that up, if I recall correctly.”
“Why would I want your help after you turned your back on me?” Freya was shouting now, her eyes glistening with angry tears. Severus looked about, worried that someone would overhear, than tried to hold up a hand to quiet her, which only made it worse. “Don’t shush me. I was alone, and I was hurt. And where were you, husband? Holed up in your dungeon? I needed you.” The sudden passion seemed to aggravate the wound that was still mending in her side. She hissed as a spasm of pain suddenly overwhelmed her. He went to catch her, but she pushed him away. “No. You’re not going to use this as an opportunity to get back in my good graces.”
“Freya, I’m…”
“Oh, I’m ‘Freya’ again? After weeks of being ‘Miss Lupin?’“ She scoffed.
“I’m trying to fix this.” He intoned quietly. She stared at him. Clearly this was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “I’m going to take you to Madam Pomfrey.”
“I know the way,” she replied bitterly as she turned her back on him, and stalked off with her head held high. He watched her sullenly until she disappeared around a corner, then pinched the bridge of his nose. That had not gone at all as he’d expected.
Severus finished his afternoon classes with far more sourness. He thought it might cheer him to pair Neville Longbottom with Blaise Zabini as they practiced deflecting spells, but to his annoyance, the boy had vastly improved since last year, and not only blocked Zabini’s hexes, but managed to dodge a poorly aimed Furnunculus jinx that bounced off his shield charm and struck poor Parvati Patil squarely in the face. The Slytherins howled with laughter as she shrieked, and tried to cover up the horrible, pus filled boils that erupted on her usually flawless skin. Snape scowled blackly as he directed the sobbing Gryffindor to the hospital wing for a boil-cure potion. He had stopped keeping a supply of it himself, having grown sick of students badgering him to cure their pimples.
“There now, stop crying, girl! It’ll all be over in a jiffy.” Madam Pomfrey thrust the bright blue potion into Parvati’s hands. “Drink up. Quickly now! Merlin knows things could be far worse than a few boils.” She pursed her lips at him, clearly annoyed that he had not handled this little misfortune himself, seeing how boil-cure potion was simple enough for first years to brew. In an instant, the pustules had vanished, leaving her face flushed red from crying, but clear nonetheless.
“Back to class, Miss Patil.” Severus waved her aside. The bell rang, marking that it was too late, and classes had ended. He gave a great, beleaguered sigh. Parvati scurried from the hospital wing as if acromatulas nipped at her heels.
            “Professor Snape,” Poppy called icily, when he turned to leave. “It might interest you to know that Miss Lupin came to see me this afternoon.”
            “And?” He lifted an eyebrow. She huffed angrily, thinking that he was indifferent as usual. “Have her symptoms worsened?”
            She eyed him coolly. “Not worsened, precisely. Exacerbated by circumstances perhaps. She still suffers from the occasional spasm. I wanted to keep her overnight to monitor her, but she refused. She’s almost as stubborn as you!”
            “Did you offer her anything for the pain?” He asked thinly, not liking the way her eyes glittered with satisfaction, happy that he was finally taking an interest.
            “A satchel of tea to ease her headaches. My personal blend. I recommended a draft of dreamless sleep, of course, to combat the night terrors. She claimed to already have some.”
            “I find that highly unlikely.” He snorted.
            She threw up her hands. “Well then, perhaps it might behoove you to give her some!”
            “It might.” He smirked at her expression of utter disbelief. She had been trying for weeks to get Severus to lend a hand in Freya’s recovery, and had only received cutting remarks for her trouble. “If I am expected to lend an assist, it would be prudent of you to tell me where the patient in question now resides. I’ve been led to understand Miss Lupin is staying somewhere in Hogsmeade?”
            Poppy hesitated, and not without reason. Freya had not given the mediwitch permission to disclose her current living quarters with anyone, let alone her estranged husband, but Severus knew that Madam Pomfrey was relentless when it came to the welfare of her patients, and that she had become rather fond of the red haired witch, just as she was fond of Severus, whom she had nursed back to health on many occasions when he was still a child. “I heard she was staying with that Auror witch. They’ve taken the flat above the three broomsticks.”
            “I see.” He bowed ever so slightly. “If I decide to do as you’ve asked, I’m sure Rosmerta will be only too happy to oblige.”
            The look of instant regret on Poppy’s face was perfect. Snape chuckled to himself as he left.

Rosmerta was not terribly fond of the Potions Master, for the simple reason that whenever he chose to grace her establishment, students had a tendency to take one look at him, and walk out the door faster than you could say ‘butterbeer.’ She smiled at him, but it was a fixed, practiced smile.
            “Professor Snape. Always a pleasure. Just a firewhiskey tonight, or will you be dining in?” She was clearly trying not to seem too hopeful that he would choose a quick drink and then leave.
            “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I have business with one of the witches renting your room upstairs.”
            “Oh! Those two!” Rosmerta sighed. “They carry on like a couple of schoolgirls, they do! Through the kitchen, up the stairs and to the left. Mind the pots.”
By this, she evidently meant her vast collection of copper cookware, which had been ensorcelled to keep the kitchen more or less running constantly. Dishes scrubbed themselves in the enormous sink, while knives chopped vegetables as though wielded by invisible hands. There were no house elves at the three broomsticks. He had to admit, he was impressed by the spellcraft. As though sensing a human’s presence, the kitchen implements shifted aside to create a path for him, many of them midair on their way to the roaring ovens that dominated the entire wall to his right.
The creaky stairwell was lit by a single oil lamp. He made it about halfway up, before he froze. A sound reached his ears that made his heart clench in that horrible, icy fist of jealousy. Soft panting. Moans of passion. Male and female voices, joined in unison. There was no denying those sounds. His eyes fell upon the doorknob, and the striped sock that had been placed over it, a universal signal not to enter. Part of him wanted to blow the door off its hinges, to catch them in the act, to snarl in Freya’s face and humiliate her. How could she invite Weasley of all people into her bed? How could she have moved on so bloody quickly, when he still had trouble sleeping? Snape couldn’t do any of these things, of course. She was right. He had ended it, and he had no right to interfere with her love life, no matter how much it tormented him to imagine her in another man’s arms. Feeling furious and defeated, he clenched the bottle of potion that he had prepared for her, and turned to leave.
His heart leapt into his throat when he stepped back into the kitchen, and saw Freya, staring at him with a strange look on her face. When he exhaled, the relief was so overwhelming, it actually made him dizzy for a moment. Around them, the enchanted pots and pans continued their work as if no one was there. Frowning, Freya placed her assortment of paper bags onto the floor, and crossed her arms, drumming her fingers disapprovingly. “Severus Snape, I swear, if you followed me here…”
            “On my life, I did not,” he breathed. In a moment of weakness, he was tempted to fall to his knees in front of her, but he resisted.
            Her expression softened a bit. “Are you alright? Your cheeks are flushed.”
            “Ah…I…well, I…” He stammered, feeling somewhat humiliated and not at all his usual cool, collected self. “You’ve been shopping.” He said, rather stupidly.
            “New clothes. Dora lent me some money, said she couldn’t bear the sight of those cardigans anymore.”
            “I should send her a thank-you card.” He drawled, feeling more like his usual self.
            She pursed her lips, suppressing a small grin. “I needed new clothes for work. I got a job!”
            “Yes. Congratulations,” he added, remembering that he was not supposed to know this bit of news. “Where at?”
            “Flourish and Blotts.” She looked a touch nervous, but her eyes lit up at the prospect.
            “A wise move on their part. They could use an intelligent witch on their staff. Someone who can alphabetize properly.”
            “Merlin’s beard! Severus Snape just gave me a compliment!” Freya’s eyebrow was raised in mock astonishment. At that moment, there was a loud thud from the flat upstairs, followed by a stream of female giggling. Freya pinched the bridge of her nose. “For fuck’s sake. STILL?”
            “Ah, yes. That.” Snape tried not to laugh at the exasperation on her face.
            “That reminds me. What are you doing here, and how did you find out where I was?”
            He held out the bottle of potion. “Poppy expressed concerns about your sleeping patterns.”
            Freya took it, warily. “Poppy should learn to keep her mouth shut.”
            “Possibly, but she knows full well that my potions are stronger than hers, and she is nothing if not prudent.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “How long until they’re done, do you think?”
            She shrugged, blushing slightly. “Different bloke every week. Who knows how much stamina he’s got?”
            Snape cocked his head slightly, his smirk widening. “Does it make you jealous?”
            “Hardly.” She snorted, but her blush deepened as he drew nearer.
            Reaching up, his fingers toyed delicately with a strand of hair that had freed itself from her clip. “Just say the word,” he murmured. “and we’ll return to Hogwarts. You’re welcome to stay the night in my chambers. You’ve never seen the instruments I keep at my disposal. I regret that we’ve had so little time to explore. You’ll find I can be very creative.” She shuddered, and Snape saw the way she bit her lower lip. She was tempted. “I’ll take my time with you, witch. I will torment you with pleasures until you beg me to give you release, and after I’ve made you come in every possible way a man can make a woman come…” he tilted her chin upward, so that he could see the way her eyes had glazed over. “…you won’t need some silly potion to help you sleep.” He could see the turmoil behind her eyes. She was still reluctant, but he was more than prepared to wait. He wanted her to crawl back to him on her knees. Literally, if possible. “Then again…” he leaned in, his lips only a hairs breadth away from hers. He felt her sigh, warm against his mouth, and her eyes closed, enraptured, waiting to be kissed. “Perhaps not.” He stifled a chuckle. “We wouldn’t want to ruin Weasley’s chances, would we?”
            Her eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open as he swept past, grinning wickedly. As he left the kitchen, he heard her scamper up the stairs and pound furiously on the door.
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Spy vs. Spy