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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost	By : Veresna Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 18697 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4: Patiently Receive My Medicine

Celia lay for a long time in a drowsy, half-awake state. She knew that she was in her own bed, and that she was warmly covered and was not beset by any physical discomfort. But it simply seemed beyond her strength at the moment to open her eyes, although she felt at the same time that further sleep eluded her. She was also vaguely aware of the fact that there was something she should be worried about-that perhaps she really ought try to open her eyes and look about her. But just what she was supposed to be concerned about remained unclear, and she was left with only a nebulous, hazy fear nagging in her brain that she really should fight this sleepiness and force herself into full consciousness.

She made another effort to open her eyes, and found this time that she was able to pry them open, managing at the same time to turn onto her right side. She registered that it must be nighttime, for there was no daylight shining through the windows. And that the lamp on the table was still lit, although the flame was set quite low, allowing only a gentle illumination of the objects upon the bedside table.

She raised up on her elbow and squinted at the alarm clock that was situated at the back of the table. It was a few minutes past two in the morning, she observed, raising a hand to her eyes and trying to wipe the sleep out of them. She remembered that she was concerned about the rent, and the particulars of her encounter with the young redhead seemed clear enough to her. But, as for the rest of the evening, her thoughts seemed disoriented and jumbled, and she grunted in irritation as she struggled to recall what had happened. Her gaze fell upon another object that was sitting on the tabletop, and she stared at it for a moment, absolutely perplexed as to what it was and what it was doing there. It was a bottle of some kind, but surely not one of hers, was it?

And then she froze, her eyes suddenly widening in shock and apprehension as her memory suddenly returned. No, not hers-Snape's! She sat up with a jerk, suddenly and completely awake as she turned to look back over her shoulder at the other side of the bed.

It was empty. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief and then shook her head in irritation. Did she really think Snape was the type that would lounge about in the bed of a whore after he was done with her? She gazed anxiously around the room for a moment. But the bottle that he had left behind on the table seemed to be the only evidence that he had ever been in the room. His clothes were gone and the apartment seemed eerily silent. He must have dressed and left immediately after she had-

She frowned as she struggled again to remember just what had happened. He had given her something to drink and she had passed out, it seemed. She wondered why he had bothered to drug her, if not to get rid of her altogether. She lay back down for a moment and contemplated the ceiling. Oh well, who was she to question his motives after all these years? He was the Potions Master, after all. Perhaps he just liked demonstrating his facility with elixirs as well as using his other physical and magical powers to dominate the defenseless young women he preyed upon. Although-

She suddenly sprang up again, her heart beating wildly as an awful thought occurred to her. He wouldn't be hateful enough to have left and taken the money with him, would he?

With a cry of frustration, she tossed the covers back and struggled to get out of the bed, finding that while her mind was finally clear of the numbing effects of the concoction she had drunk, her body was still responding rather slowly and sluggishly to the commands her brain was issuing to it. Her feet, in particular, seemed almost trapped under the weight of the covers. She fought for several seconds to finally work them free, during which time she almost began to suspect that he had tied her up again. But she looked down in bewilderment when they finally emerged from under the blanket and she was able to swing them over the side of the bed.

What the hell?

She blinked in astonishment. She was now wearing a pair of her oldest and ugliest black Oxfords, the scuffed and worn ones that she knew had been relegated to the very back of her closet for some time. And her calves were encased in a pair of heather-grey knee socks.

She blinked again. He had gone prowling through her closet and drawers and dressed her in this while she was lying insensate upon the bed? And then she belatedly noticed that the rest of her body was no longer bare.

With a sigh of disgust, she jumped out of the bed and headed towards the dressing room, both impatient and fearful of seeing what he had done to her. She paused in shock at the doorway and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

"What is it dear?" the soft voice said, anxiously.

She shook her head and continued to gawk at her own image. And then she began to slowly walk towards the mirror to get a better look at his handiwork, her mouth still open in shock.

The only thing he hadn't managed to conjure up, it seemed, was the appropriately colored jumper. But, the rest of the uniform was painstakingly replicated. A pleated charcoal skirt, a black and yellow striped tie, and a white, long-sleeved shirt. There was even, she suddenly realized, a Hufflepuff crest upon the breast pocket. A standard issue Hogwarts uniform.

He had even redone her hair. Although it was still light blonde in color, he had managed to plait it into two braids on either side of her head. One side was secured with a piece of black ribbon, while the other side was tied in yellow. And her face had been scrubbed clean of makeup. If not for the visible rise of her breasts underneath the blouse, she might have thought he had even managed to make her twelve years old again.

She shook her head back and forth slowly. Was this his idea of a joke? What a sick, twisted bastard he was. She was now more scared than ever that when she went out into the other room, the tray would be empty. She raised her hands slowly to the necktie, loosening the knot and her fingers struggling to untie it so she could tear it off of her neck.

And then the door leading from the living room to the bedroom suddenly banged open, and a soft, low voice called out from the room beyond.

"I am waiting, Miss Graham.

Sweet Merlin, he was still here!

She cupped her head into her hands and moaned softly, forcing herself to take in some deep breaths. She choked back another cry of despair as she raised her head and contemplated her reflection. With shaking hands, she straightened and tightened the necktie and tucked the shirttail of her blouse into the waistband of the skirt. Then she turned and walked with grim determination into the other room.

She had half-expected to be walking straight into the old dungeon classroom. Instead, she saw that he had made only a handful of changes to the room to transform it into his own domain. There were snake-shaped candelabras distributed throughout the room, and a large carpet decorated with the Slytherin crest had been rolled out upon the floor. And in the place of her old and tattered couch was a large sofa, upholstered in black leather. Directly opposite this piece of furniture was a matching, massive, throne like chair, its dark, heavy wood carved into delicate, intricate designs. And seated in this chair, his dark eyes glinting malevolently, was Snape. He was fully dressed, she noted, even to the point of donning the frock coat again.

He had never appeared more venomous and intimidating. His elbows were perched upon the arms of the chair, and his chin was resting upon his entwined fingers, watching her carefully. She and her fellow classmates had always thought he was rather bat-like in appearance, but now she swore that she had never seen anyone look more like a coiled, predatory cobra, ready to strike at any moment.

She glanced briefly around the room. The silver tray was still filled with the money. Except that now the Galleons were neatly stacked into four tall rows.

"Do you know what is the only thing that is worse than earning a detention with me?" he asked, quietly, not moving from his position as he regarded her.

She shook her head and forced herself to take a few steps closer to him so that she was standing behind the sofa, facing him.

"It is to be late for a detention with me," he informed her.

"Detention?" she asked, feeling completely bewildered once again.

"Miss Graham," he began, abruptly sitting back in his chair and allowing his arms to fall to the side. "One does not leave my classroom in the middle of any lesson, much less a midterm examination, without expecting to earn a detention for her presumption. Did you really believe you would not eventually be punished for your transgression?"

She nodded as she finally understood his meaning. She dropped her head and stared down at her fingers for moment, shivering as a wave of fear and apprehension ran over her. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

"Please," she whispered.

"I beg your pardon?" His tone was icy and disbelieving.

She opened her eyes and forced her legs to move again, walking slowly around the sofa to stand directly in front of him. She stared down at the tips of his boots as she took in another breath, slowly allowing her eyes to rise up his body until she could see his hands. They were now clenched angrily around the arms of the chair.

"Please don't do this," she said. She closed her eyes again and when she opened them she was staring up at the wall, over his head.

"I need," she began, and faltered, blinking back her tears. "I need" she repeated, "twenty Galleons in order to pay my rent tomorrow." She bit her lip, and felt her toes and fingers curl as she tried to screw up the courage to continue. "You've been here for nearly four hours already," she continued, shuddering as she heard the tone of desperation creep into her voice. "I've at least earned that much, haven't I?" she asked. She found her eyes drawn to his face and saw that it was expressionless and eerily white.

She found herself sinking involuntarily to her knees. "Look, if you want to fuck-"

She stopped as his eyebrow rose slightly at the the last word. She clenched her fingers around her knees and corrected herself. "If you want to take me again," she said, "any way that you want, fine," she offered. "And you can take the rest of the money with you. Just leave me the twenty Galleons," she pleaded. "But don't make me do this." She shook her head. "I can't do this," she whispered, as she felt the tears start to run down her cheeks.

"Miss Graham," he began.

She shuddered again. Her vision was blurred, so she couldn't see his face. But his voice was steady and pitiless.

"I should think that you, as a student of mine, would know better than to expect that tears and pleas will move me," he said. She felt, rather than saw the cool, mocking smile upon his face as he said that.

She struggled to bring herself under control as she nodded.

"Yes sir," she whispered.

"You have entered into a contract with me," he warned her, ominously. "And we have already discussed the terms under which I have agreed to remain here and what the consequences will be should I leave without obtaining full satisfaction, have we not?"

She nodded again and raised her head to look at him again. His arms were now crossed angrily over his chest.

"Then, may I suggest that you arise and go sit on the sofa so that you may begin serving your detention?"

She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and arose to her feet. She wordlessly seated herself upon the couch.

"Now then," he began, uncrossing his arms and idly studying his hands, "I think we should begin with an apology and an explanation, don't you?" he asked, raising his face to gaze at her with disdain.

She stared back at him as her mouth worked dumbly for a moment. "I'm not sure what you mean," she finally admitted.

He sighed in exasperation and threw back his head to stare at the ceiling. "You are to apologize to me for leaving the classroom without my permission and explain to me exactly why you felt compelled to depart."

"I'm-I'm sorry, Sir," she said, her hands beginning to twist in her lap as she searched for the words, "I had no right to leave the room without your permission."

"Indeed not," he snorted. "And why did you leave?" he prompted.

"Because I botched the potion so badly," she replied.

"Well, that's not an unusual occurrence for you now, is it?" he snorted.

"The cauldron melted!" she gasped, struggling to keep her eyes from tearing again.

"Yes, it did," he retorted. "And made a fine mess all over the table and the floor in the process." He paused and sneered at her again. "You might at least have remained and cleaned up the remnants of your disaster."

She nodded mutely again.

"Why did it melt?" he asked, suddenly.

"What?" she asked, screwing up her face in confusion.

"What did you do wrong?" he demanded, spitting out the words one at a time as if speaking to a wayward toddler. "Why did the potion fail and your cauldron liquefy itself? I want an exact explanation, Miss Graham."

"I don't know," she protested, angrily. "It was twelve years ago-"

"It was yesterday!" he thundered, rising to his feet.

She shrank back on the couch as he paced over to her, his face rigid with anger.

"It was yesterday, Miss Graham," he repeated, his tone cool and commanding. "You are twelve years old, and I am your Professor and the incident occurred yesterday." He paused and glared down at her. "That is your part, n'est ce pas?"

She blinked uncertainly. "What?"

Allowing himself a small sigh of exasperation, he stepped back and began to quote: "All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts."

Celia shook her head slowly. "That's Shakespeare, isn't it?" she whispered.

He grunted and brought his hands together three times, in his most derisive manner. "Oh, congratulations, Miss Graham. That much, at least, has finally managed to sink through that dense skull of yours."

She blushed and dropped her head in embarrassment again.

"And, may I be so bold as to assume that you now realize which role you are assigned to play this evening?" he queried.

She stared back up at him and swallowed. "Yes, I do," she replied.

"Good," he noted shortly. He crossed his arms and frowned down at her. "Did you read the instructions thoroughly before beginning to prepare the potion?"

"Yes."

"I beg your pardon?", he said, tilting his head forward as if he hadn't quite heard her.

"Yes," she reiterated, trying to sound more confident.

"Yes, sir," he corrected, sounding quite annoyed.

"Yes, sir," she repeated, obediently.

"Did you use all of the correct ingredients?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you measure and prepare all of the constituents properly?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you followed the directions to the letter?"

"Yes, sir." Her voice was rising and becoming more agitated with each answer.

"Well," he said, dropping his hands to the side, "Then what possible explanation is there as to why the potion failed so miserably? What is the only thing to which we can attribute this failure, Miss Graham?"

Her hands were clenched at her side as she fought not to cry again. She shook her head and refused to look up at him.

He took a step closer, so that his legs were actually brushing against her knees now. "What was missing, Miss Graham?"

Her whole body suddenly slumped, as if she no longer had the will to fight. "Magic, sir."

"Ah, yes," he said, putting his fingers under her chin and raising her face upwards. "Without the proper exercise of magical ability, there is no hope of controlling the combustible reaction induced by the amalgamation of the products within the cauldron. That is where you failed, is it not?"

She nodded and he withdrew his finger. Her head drooped downward again.

He leaned over her. "A lack of intrinsic, necessary magical ability. That is why you failed all of your examinations, no?"

"I didn't!" she exclaimed. "I didn't fail anyone else's class-just yours!"

"Oh, yes, you do superbly well in your other classes, don't you?" he mocked. "Tell me, Miss Graham, how many times a week does Professor McGonagall bring you up to the head of the class so that you can demonstrate your extraordinary powers of Transfiguration? And I suppose that Madam Hooch has begged you to try out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team since you're such an outstanding flyer? And your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher-I dare say he already has plans to personally train someone with your exceptional powers to be an Auror?"

He snorted again. "Even the head of your own house, Professor Sprout, can hardly bear to look at you, can she?" he said, bending down to hiss in her ear. "I've seen that look of pure contempt and disgruntled annoyance on her face every time she has had to transport you to the hospital wing because one of the plants has attacked you. You can't even manage to repot a Mandrake by yourself, can you?"

She began sobbing again and covered her ears with her hands, trying to shut him out. He sneered and grabbed her wrists to pull her hands away.

"Dear Merlin, even Flitwick pities you," he said. "Just the other day in the staff room, I overheard him telling Hagrid that one of his second years had taken three tries before finally being able to manage the simplest of Charms. He is simply dreading having to try to teach her anything more complex." He raised his eyebrows. "I wonder to whom he could have been referring."

He raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "Which pathetic, imbecilic, untalented little witch could he have been talking about, do you suppose?"

Her sound of her sobbing intensified for several seconds. And then she looked up at him, hate and pain gleaming in her eyes.

"How can you bear to do this?" she asked, quietly. "How can it give you such pleasure to hurt me-to hurt anyone-like this?"

To her surprise, he suddenly sank to his knees and studied her face quietly for a moment. And then he smiled a small, victorious grin. "Because it takes great skill and expertise to inflict such pain upon another. I flatter myself that I have perfected and elevated it to a form of art, Miss Graham. And well I should-for I have studied it assiduously for many and many a year."

He placed a hand on either side of her and leaned forward to slowly recite:

"Yes, I have gained my experience,
but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples,
extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's
contemplation of my travels, in which my often
rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness."

She stared back at him, lulled by the rhythm and beauty of his voice, but not able to fully comprehend the meaning behind the words. He raised his right hand up to her cheek and began to stroke it lightly.

She reached up and tried in vain to push his hand away. Instead, he tightened his fingers around her chin.

"You know, of course, that the Death Eaters are quite upset about the number of Mudbloods and Half-Bloods that are contaminating our population," he said, his voice deceptively friendly and conversational. "But, to my eyes there is another, equally serious problem." He arose to his feet, maintaining his tight hold on her chin and forcing her to stand as well.

She stared up at him, unable to tear her eyes away from his face as he continued to speak. "There is a Mudblood at Hogwarts right now. An insufferable know-it-all and show-off. But, I must admit," he said, smiling grimly, "She is a most talented and intelligent being. I fully expect that, should she survive the eventual purging of our race, and is thrown back into the Muggle world, she will acquit herself quite nicely." A look of pure disgust crossed his face. "But whatever shall we do with Squibs like you?" he asked. "You don't deserve to live in our world." He paused again and shook his head. "But you'd never survive in their world either, would you?"

He abruptly released his hold and she found herself sinking back onto the couch. "Whatever shall we do with you, Miss Graham?" he repeated. "What are you fit for? What occupation could you possibly pursue?"

She stared down at the floor, and made no attempt to answer him.

"Are you chilled, Miss Graham?"

"What?" she asked, startled.

"Are you cold?", he asked, tilting his head to the side and allowing his eyes to run up and down her form.

"No," she said reluctantly.

"Really?" he said, studying her closely. He smiled and dropped to his knees again, his right hand stroking gently against the fabric of her blouse. "Your nipples are exquisitely erect," he purred.

She looked down and saw that, somehow during their talk, the white material of her blouse had softened and thinned and was now clinging against her skin. And that her nipples were indeed, hard and pointed, and showing clearly through the flimsy cloth.

"If you are not cold, you must be very aroused," he observed.

Celia drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes as he raised both hands to her chest and beginning to rub and fondle the hard nubs.

"You have very nice breasts, Miss Graham," he noted, pausing in his movements. He allowed himself a quick, ironic smirk. "Especially for a twelve year old," he added.

He suddenly removed his hands and sat back on his haunches. "Show them to me," he commanded.

She opened her eyes and hesitated for just a moment before raising her hands and pulling her shirt out from the waistline of the skirt. With shaking hands, she began to unbutton the blouse. As she reached the second-to-the-last button, he suddenly raised his hand, stopping her.

"That is sufficient," he murmured. "You needn't unbutton them all," he explained, upon seeing her puzzled look. "Scoop them out and show them to me," he ordered.

She pulled the fabric aside and did as he requested, working her breasts out through the gap and allowing them to jut out against the tight cloth. She closed her eyes again as he reached out and slowly stroked at the soft skin. He ran his fingertips over them slowly, giving especial attention to the nipples again before turning his hands over and rubbing her with his knuckles. And then he reached out and ran his hand slowly up and down the necktie that hung between her breasts.

"Very nice," he whispered. He reached out and grabbed onto the ends of her braids, using the bristly hair at the end to circle and tease the nipples. "What a pretty little girl," he mocked. He sat back again and she felt him move his hands down between her knees. "And now spread your legs for me, Miss Graham."

She swallowed and allowed him to force her knees apart.

"Lift up your skirt, please."

She nodded and brought raised the fabric up to her waist, sitting back slightly as she did so.

"You have no underwear on, Miss Graham," he observed, his voice full of feigned indignation.

"No, sir," she replied, her eyes staring, unfocused, at a point somewhere over his left shoulder.

"You are a slattern, Miss Graham, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," she answered.

"A slut, a whore, a trollop, a hussy, and a harlot," he whispered, as his palms began to run up and down the inside of her thighs. "And that is all you are fit to be, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

He raised his hands to her braids and this time she felt him undoing the ties and then using his fingers to loosen the tresses so that the curls cascaded down her front again.

"What a pity you left Hogwarts when you did," he said, moving his head downward and flicking out his tongue to lick against her breasts. "It would have been exquisitely enjoyable to fondle you this way when you really were a teenager, during an actual detention," he commented, lifting his head back up to catch her expression of shock.

"I do that, you know," he continued, moving his hands underneath her blouse and forcing her to lean forward against him. "Every year at least two or three of the students lose their virginity to me. They give up their maidenhead to me lying on my couch,-" He moved his left hand back down to caress between her legs again. "-or kneeling on my rug-" He bent down and kissed her gently upon a vein that was pounding wildly against the skin of her throat. "-or bending over my desk."

He raised his face and began to suck and nibble at her lower lip. "Just like this," he murmured, and then his mouth closed over hers for a long and passionate kiss.

"No," she hissed suddenly, as he drew back again. "You don't!"

He narrowed his eyes and scowled at her.

"You don't," she repeated, shaking her head. "Whatever else Dumbledore may allow you to do, he would never allow you to do that."

"The Headmaster is not quite as omnipotent as you believe," he sneered.

"Besides," she added, a small, unhappy chuckle escaping from her lips. "If you were really able to do that, you wouldn't need to visit a paid tart to get your jollies."

To her surprise, he began to laugh and arose to his feet again. "Congratulations, Miss Graham," he said, bowing down before her, "You are absolutely correct in that assumption. However, you can't fault me for taking advantage of the opportunity to live out at least a few of my little fantasies," he smirked. "But, I am afraid that we haven't quite finished this little scenario. There is one other thing that I require you to do for me as long as you are so delightfully disheveled."

He thrust one of his hands into the pocket of his frock coat and brought out a small jar. "Here," he said, twisting off the lid and handing the opened vessel to her.

"And what do I do with this?" she asked, apprehensively.

He smiled broadly as he removed the long coat again. He settled into his chair and allowed his fingers to drift down to his fly, unbuttoning it as he continued to smirk at her. "Smear it on yourself and masturbate for me," he replied.

She gulped and dipped the fingers of her right hand into the ointment. It was, she saw, as she began to use her thumb to rub the lotion against her fingertips, not quite as colorless as she had first thought. There was the slightest hint of pink in its translucent appearance, and as she continued to massage it back and forth she became aware of a subtle rose-like fragrance. And, as she proceeded to smooth the ointment over her skin, she felt it change in temperature and texture. The viscous, cool liquid seemed to thin and warm as she continued to play with it, inducing a slight but noticeable tingling sensation to her flesh. She began to wonder how it would feel when applied between her legs.

"Do I need to be more precise in my instructions, Miss Graham?"

She blinked and raised her head to look at him. "No, sir, I was just-"

"Enough!" he interrupted, abruptly rising to his feet again. She shrank back slightly as she saw him retrieve his wand from his pocket. But he contented himself with a wave in the direction of the nearest candelabrum, which blazed forth with renewed brilliance. Then he stood aside and gestured at the chair with his wand and it obediently slid several feet forward.

"Reposition yourself so that you are kneeling, please," he ordered. "With your legs spread nicely."

She nodded and took the position he had requested, pausing to raise her skirt up over her waist. He seated himself again, and stretched out his long legs, raising them up so that his boots were resting on the sofa on either side of her knees.

"I might as well have an excellent view of the proceedings," he murmured, as his hands wandered back down to his own crotch.

She dipped her hand back into the ointment and then carefully set the jar on the cushion beside her. She snaked her left hand down between her legs and gently held the outer labia apart so that she could apply the ointment with her right hand. She gasped at the sensation engendered by the first drop of the lotion as it contacted the tender, thin skin. She swallowed again and began to rub it more vigorously, amazed at how the texture of the ointment was changing yet again. It was still slippery and oily, and yet it seemed thicker than it had before, as if it were reacting with her own lubrication. She took in a deep breath and found her fingers wandering back to the jar, eager to scoop out more and apply a heavier coat. This time, she inserted two of her fingers into herself, gasping again at the warm, tingling sensation.

"Oh, that does feel good, doesn't it, Miss Graham?"

She opened her eyes and stared at him as she nodded her assent. Her eyes drifted down to his fly and saw that he was already stiff with arousal. And that his right hand was casually stroking himself as his left hand curled around his balls.

"It is a pity, isn't it? I'm sure most of your clients-most men in general, in fact, lack a true appreciation of the exquisite beauty to be found between a woman's legs. That a woman being aroused undergoes a remarkable transformation as the blood surges to that most responsive area. How she swells, reddens and moistens as her desire intensifies."

She pulled her fingers out and began to stroke against herself in rhythm with the cadence of his voice.

"How her engorged clitoris begins to peek out from its little hiding place,"

She allowed the tip of a moistened finger to brush gently against this very spot as he spoke, and found herself moaning. With another groan she closed her eyes and threw her head back, spreading her labia farther apart, rubbing firmly on and around her clitoris.

He allowed her to continue the motion for some time before raising his voice in a rebuke.

"Now, how many times must I tell you to keep your eyes open, Miss Graham?"

"I can't," she protested.

"Why not?" he asked, raising up his right foot and rubbing the leather of the boot along her torso, rocking gently against the side of her breast for a moment. "You are a whore, aren't you?" He dropped the foot back down onto the couch. "Do you really wish me to believe that you retain the slightest remnant of modesty?"

"But, it's so intense," she explained, struggling to keep her eyes open as her fingers worked feverishly away.

"Well, then play with something else for awhile," he suggested, dryly.

Her eyes fell on his large cock, now so hardened and swollen that it was threatening to slap up against his stomach. She made the slightest movement forward, but was instantly halted by his voice.

"No!" he intoned firmly. "You do not get to play with this...yet," he smirked. He took in a deep breath and forced his own hands down to his thighs, rubbing them firmly back and forth along the dark cloth of his trousers. He nodded in the direction of the jar. "Rub some of that on your nipples now."

She gave a cry that was half frustration and half anticipation as her hand moved towards the jar again. She applied the ointment to her jutting peaks and gasped in exhilaration again as the warm, tingling sensation spread out upon this already-aroused flesh. She forced herself to keep her eyes open and stared at his face as she brought both hands to her breasts, massaging and pinching at the nipples, feeling her thighs trying to rub against in each other in frustration as her excitement grew.

With a grin, he retrieved his wand from his pocket once more and waved it at his own foot. The boot and sock underneath it disappeared and he slowly began to rub his bare foot along her outer thigh. She looked down and noted that his toes were very long and narrow, and that the nails were neatly trimmed and shaped.

"Oh, please," she said dropping her hand and trying to urge him to move his foot between her legs.

"Keep your hands where they were, Miss Graham," he warned. "And I shall endeavor to give you satisfaction there."

She raised her fingers back to her breasts and felt him move his foot to the other side of her leg, stroking softly along her inner thigh for a moment before heading in the direction of her slick, gleaming pussy. She pressed down against the top of his foot and he began to move slowly back and forth, her wetness quickly coating onto his skin. And then he raised his foot up and managed to grasp her clitoris between his large and second toe and stroke against it firmly. Releasing his hold, he moved his foot downward again, moving his toes rapidly against her labia as he pressed firmly.

She moaned in frustration as he suddenly jerked his leg away. She dropped her right hand back down to her groin and began to circle the swollen nub frantically as she inserted two fingers into her vagina again.

He laughed quietly. "You definitely look as if you are need of a larger probe," he observed, as she added a third finger.

"Yes," she hissed, feeling both infinitely excited and thwarted.

"Ah," he replied, nodding in understanding. "I did find a rather nice-looking dildo in one of your drawers while I was searching through them. I suppose you are one of those women who find it hard to obtain release through clitoral stimulation alone? You require something pressing into your vagina as well?"

She nodded her head and looked hungrily at his throbbing erection.

"Can one desire too much of a good thing?", he mused out loud. And then he shook his head, "Well, I suppose you have earned this." He pointed with his left hand at his cock as he gestured with his other hand for her to come to him.

With a cry of relief, she rose off of the sofa and climbed onto his chair, her fingers grasping his thick member. But before she could lower herself down upon it, he suddenly grasped her wrist tightly and drew her hand away.

"But, only," he qualified, as she moaned in frustration again, "If you let me put a finger up your arse at the same time."

She nodded and panted slightly before replying, "Yes, fine, just let me-" And then there was long, contented groan as he finally allowed her to impale herself upon him. She grasped the arms of the chair and began to excitedly push against him, stroking up and down rapidly.

"Accio jar!" he called, and she saw the object go sailing past her and into his open hand. With a smile, he dipped his fingers into the ointment. She forced herself to stop moving for a moment as he slowly began to move his right hand over her buttocks, caressing the skin lightly with his hand as his finger sought out his objective. He circled her slowly, probing gently.

"Relax," he hissed, "It doesn't need to hurt, especially with this lotion."

She nodded and concentrated on not fighting against him, feeling the muscles slowly relax and stretch, his finger slowly but surely working all the way up in to her. She gasped again as the warm, smooth ointment began to be rub into and stimulate the lining of the orifice.

"All right?" he murmured, brushing his lips against her throat.

She nodded and began to slowly move again. He took her right hand with his left and slowly forced it down between their two bodies. "Keep rubbing yourself there," he instructed. Within seconds, she found herself moving up and down rhythmically again, enjoying the triple sensation of her own fingers upon her clit, his prick sliding in and out of her and his finger making small, circling movements in her anus. Her movements became more rapid and frenzied, and it took only a short time before she found herself slamming down against him, removing her hand from her suddenly too-sensitive clit and clawing at his chest as her orgasm shook through her and she screamed in pleasure.

"Not quite so loud, please," he hissed, suddenly moving his left hand up to clamp over her mouth. "I didn't put a sealing spell on this room," he explained, grumpily.

She found herself beginning to laugh hysterically, the disgruntled look upon his face adding to the unreality of the situation. And then, as she raised herself off of him, she suddenly realized that he had not climaxed.

Without a further word, she slipped down onto her knees and opened her mouth to take him in again. This time, he raised no objection when she raised her hand to stroke along his shaft as she sucked upon the end. And then she took him deep into her throat, her tongue swirling firmly around him as she suckled and swallowed, cupping one hand under his balls as she massaged his leg with the other.

She felt his fingers entwine in her hair and urge her to move faster.

"As a weasel sucks eggs", he murmured. But she allowed herself a small smile at the depth of huskiness in his voice. And then she heard him groan and felt his legs stiffening, the heels of his boots driving into the carpet as his prick begun to vibrate and spurt. And this time she swallowed the cum quickly and easily.

She allowed him a few seconds to collect himself and then drew back and stared up into his face. His eyes and mouth were closed and he was breathing in deeply through his large nose. She noticed for the first time that, when in repose, the corners of his lips curled up just slightly, belying the fact that his mouth seemed perpetually curled into a sneer.

A moment later that very expression of jeering superiority was firmly plastered upon his face as he opened his eyes and stared down at her.

"That was much smoother than the first time," he noted. "I suppose you are capable of learning after all."

"Have I finally earned my forty Galleons?" she said, brushing her hair back behind her ears.

"Amazingly, you seem to have exceeded my expectations," he admitted. "In fact-" He paused and considered the matter for a moment, "I think you may even have earned a little tip."

She squinted up at him, suspicion showing clearly upon her features.

"Oh, don't worry," he muttered, his head tilting downward as he turned his attention to buttoning up his fly, "You will enjoy this." He stood up and held out his hand, helping her to her feet. "Now," he said, gesturing towards the uniform, "go take off those things and take a quick little shower." He eyes moved upwards over her body until they settled on her face, "And then redo your hair and makeup again. Just a subtle touch of cosmetics this time, please-not that coat of harlot's paint that you had on before," he clarified.

Still wary of what he was planning, she turned and made her way back towards the bedroom. She quickly stripped off the remnants of the uniform, hearing sounds from the other room as he apparently returned it to its normal appearance. Once she had removed the clothes, she hesitated for a moment, wanting to toss them into the garbage. But, with a shrug, she ended up throwing them into the dirty clothes hamper instead. And then she continued on into the dressing room.

"He's still here?" whispered the mirror, as she passed.

Celia nodded helplessly in reply and trudged on into the bathroom to take her shower. When she emerged from the steamy cubicle, wrapped in a towel, she saw that the door between the dressing room and bedroom had been closed. She sat down at the small table and began to apply her makeup.

"What is he doing?" she asked, quietly.

"I don't know, dear," the mirror replied, "He came into the bedroom and shut the door right after you went into the shower."

Oh, great, more fun and games. Didn't the man ever get tired?

The door swung open as she was applying her lipstick-a shiny, pearly-pink shade this time instead of the loud, scarlet color that she usually wore. She looked up at his reflection and saw that he was studying her quietly, his hands clasped behind his back. She noticed that his long, greasy black hair, which usually hung rather lankly about his face, was now tied back into a neat queue.

"You know," he said finally, "Considering what you looked like as a girl, you have grown into a remarkably pretty young woman."

"Thank you," she murmured, tossing the lipstick back on to the table, choosing once again to ignore the insult hidden within the compliment. She stood up and turned to face him. "And what is my wardrobe this time?"

"This," he replied, bringing his right hand out from behind his back and tossing something to her. She caught it and held it out in front of her. It was a beautiful negligee, a combination of white lace and dark pink silk. And it certainly wasn't one of hers.

"You've been transfiguring things again," she noted.

"Yes," he admitted, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms in front of him. "You had an interesting assortment of the dowdiest flannel sleepwear it has ever been my misfortune to see, thrown in with a collection of garish and tawdry see-through lingerie." He shuddered and shook his head. "I thought this was much more becoming," he added, nodding at the gown in her hands.

"I'm still amazed it isn't black or green," she noted. "You seem to be partial to those."

He frowned. "I doubt that you will ever be worthy of wearing the colors of Slytherin," he jeered.

"Even after I've had the Head of Slytherin shoved down my throat and rammed up my cunt?" she rejoined, angrily.

He shook his head sadly. "Do most men really find such language exciting?" he asked, contemptuously.

"Yes, as a matter of fact they do," she said, advancing towards him. "They also like my perfume and my clothes," she added, proudly.

"Has it never occurred to you might aspire to something better than the ignorant, unwashed masses that frequent Knockturn Alley?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "You know that some ladies of your profession manage to elevate themselves to the station of courtesan rather than common street walker. But, it does take a bit of panache to attract a better clientele."

"Better clientele?" she repeated, angrily. "Like Mr. Snake-head, perhaps? Oh, he was very refined, very witty and very erudite-while he beat me to a ruddy pulp with his bloody walking stick!"

"Did he?" he said, frowning slightly and not looking particularly surprised.

"Yes," she retorted angrily.

"Well, he is the exception to the rule in more ways than one," he murmured, musingly.

She stared at him in confusion.

"At any rate," he shrugged, "I do want to be out of the neighborhood by morning's light-so please hurry up and get dressed so that we may begin." He turned to walk out of the room.

"No matching underwear to go with this?" she muttered under her breath as he left.

"It would be a waste of time," he answered, not bothering to turn back. "I'd be tearing it off you in a few minutes anyway."

She stared at the door as it closed behind him.

Dear Merlin, what kind of potion was he using to dose himself? Was he really going to screw her again?

She slowly unwrapped the towel and went to hang it on a rack in the bathroom. And then she returned to the dressing room and donned the nightgown. She smoothed it out over her hips and stood back to look at herself in the mirror.

"Lovely," breathed the mirror.

She stifled the urge to begin laughing hysterically at the comment. It was the exact word that the mirror had complimented her with when she had stood before it hours ago in her tight red dress. She reached for her brush and stroked the bristles through her freshly washed and dried hair, leaving it to flow in its natural curls. She studied her image. The description seemed much more accurate now. In fact, she looked young, attractive and damn near virginal. She could almost pretend that she was a new bride, on her honeymoon, just about to step into the next room and consummate her marriage.

She blinked and shook her head. Where on earth had that thought come from? Had Snape slipped her another potion when she wasn't looking?

She stepped closer to the mirror and frowned, dully aware that there were tears in her eyes again.

"I'm not lovely," she whispered. She took in a deep breath. "I am a whore and a harlot, a slattern that men amuse themselves with and then throw back into the gutter, where I belong."

"No, you mustn't-" began the mirror. But Celia was already opening the door and striding into the room.

She walked straight to where he was sitting on the edge of the bed and leaned over, placing her warm mouth over his. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he returned the kiss, allowing her tongue to slide into his mouth and sucking on it gently. She pushed him backwards, intending to straddle him, but found that he was rising to his feet, shoving her away.

"No," he said firmly. "You get to lie down first," he said, quietly, gesturing towards the bed.

She stared past him at the bed, noting that there was a large heap of pillows stacked near the headboard.

"What?"

"Lie down," he repeated. "I prefer that we both be comfortable if I am to do this properly."

She hesitated for a moment and then sat down on the bed and reluctantly raised her feet, sliding over to position herself so that she was sitting back against the pillows and her knees were raised in the air

"Here," he said, moving onto the bed. He had another pillow in his hand, a large, fluffy one and he indicated that she should raise up and allow him to place it beneath her hips. And then he positioned himself at her feet and began to slowly and methodically roll the nightgown up over her legs until it was above her hips.

"So to your pleasures," he whispered, and she felt his warm hands urging her legs apart and his hot, moist tongue flick against the skin of her inner thighs.

She stared at him in amazement. "Are you going to-to go down on me?" she asked, rising up in surprise.

His dark head arose from between her legs and he bestowed a look of pure scorn upon her. "The word is cunnilingus, Miss Graham. Derived from the Latin cunnus, referring to the vulva and lingere, of course, referring to the act of licking."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you that you had earned a reward. And I sincerely doubt that you have ever had the privilege of experiencing cunnilingus performed correctly." He smiled broadly. "I do desire you to sing,"he added, chuckling. "And you will, Miss Graham, you will," he continued, smugly.

"You're very sure of yourself," she said, laying back against the pillows.

"Oh, come now, you must be assured by now that I never do anything by half measures," he murmured.

She gasped quietly as she felt his fingertips graze very softly against her inner legs, teasing and tickling them gently. And then his tongue again, licking, sliding, tracing figures and designs all along her skin. Slowly rising along her leg, creeping inexorably up towards her genitals, his fingers and tongue constantly in movement, dancing along her flesh. Then he suddenly raised his head circled his tongue gently into her navel, pressing firmly as he rimmed it. She moaned and clenched her legs, feeling the moist heat arising within her as his mouth started to move downward.

He continued to lick firmly as he trailed his tongue downward, and she felt his thumbs press ever so gently against her genitals as he impelled her to spread her legs wider. She moaned again as she felt his hot breath waft against her groin.

"Seeking the food he eats
And pleased with what he gets," he murmured.

His mouth was so close to her, and his voice so deep that she swore the mere timbre was causing her pulsing flesh to vibrate.

And then he began to lick-so softly, so gently, against her inner lips. His tongue working in between them slowly and methodically, gradually urging them far apart as he began to thrust in. And just as swiftly he suddenly drew back and began to flick and lick softly again. He slid his tongue down and up the crease again and then raised his hands and began to gently peel the lips apart, seeking her clit.

"Oh, gods," she murmured, as she felt his warm breath drift across the nub of tender, aroused flesh. And then she felt his tongue flicking rapidly and gently against it. She felt her hands flex and claw at the sheet and her hips raise up slightly as he continued to tease it. He maintained the motion for a long time and then he moved downward again, his nimble tongue lapping at the stream of wetness that was beginning to drip out of her. When his mouth moved upward again, she felt her clit being gently cupped and stroked as he rolled his tongue and captured it deftly and gently with the groove.

Her moans turned into a series of pants and cries.

"Come, warble, come," he enjoined, moving his mouth to the side and beginning to lick, suck and nip gently all over her mons.

When his mouth returned to her nub, he circled it firmly with his tongue and then bent down and sucked it into his mouth, holding it securely between his teeth as his tongue continued to flick against the tip. She raised up again and grasped at his head, twining her fingers into his long black hair and clutching at him desperately. He released his hold and she groaned softly.
With a chuckle, he moved his tongue back into her, this time positioning himself so that his large nose was continuing to bump and stroke against her clit. She began to move her head rapidly from side to side, feeling an overwhelming excitement building up within her.

When he raised his head again, he began to suck her clitoris gently at first and then he began to move it in and out of his lips, pulling and pushing at it with his mouth and tongue so expertly that she swore it was like a prick moving into and out of pussy. As her cries began to rise in volume and pitch again, she looked down and saw that his eyes were wide open and trained upon her face, registering every subtle twitch and grimace.

He abruptly released his hold and rose up over her body, his hands stroking up over her hips and breasts as he moved. His mouth closed over hers and the smell and taste of her own wetness overwhelmed her senses. And then he was back between her legs, his fingers thrusting into her, seeking and finding a responsive site as his tongue returned to work on her clit. She gave in to her desire and felt herself being moved closer and closer to the edge.

Then he raised his head and whispered again, "Come hither, come hither, come hither."

As his tongue circled around her nub again, she suddenly felt her back arching and her hips heaving forward, as her scream resounded through the air.

"Oh, Merlin," she whimpered, as she fought to bring her breathing and heartbeat back to normal again. "That was unbelievable."

"Thank you."

She glanced down at him. He was smiling smugly and looking very pleased with himself. He propped himself up on his hands and looked down ot her.

"As a matter of fact," he said, running his tongue over his lips, "One of my former lovers declared that I was proof that reincarnation exists."

Celia frowned down at him, wondering what he meant.

"She said that I must have been a Lesbian in a former life, because she had never before been with a lover who liked eating pussy as much as I did," he explained.

She stared at him for a moment and then threw her head back and started to laugh. But, in mid-chortle she suddenly found herself gasping for breath. He had moved down between her thighs again, raising her legs up and over his shoulders. And as he began to probe with his fingers and lick with his tongue she found, to her amazement, that she was peaking once more.

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

She lay on her back, exhausted and spent, having experienced not one, but three orgasms in quick succession. Snape was still lying between her legs, but his head was pillowed against her stomach. She had undone the tie holding back his hair and her hands were absentmindedly stroking his long black tresses as he gazed, unseeing, at the wall. She moved slightly so that she could look at the hands of the clock.

"A little after five o'clock," she murmured.

Snape's expression remained pensive and somber. "Are you throwing me out?" he asked, quietly.

"No, you just said-"

"That I wanted to leave before daylight," he finished, pushing himself up and moving to sit on the side of the bed.

"Yes," she said, pulling her nightgown back down over her legs. It was so strange, she mused. No matter what the circumstances, there always seemed to be this inexplicable awkwardness at the end. Even though Snape had been so different from any other client she had ever had, this still seemed inevitable.

He was still sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, staring down at the toes of his boots. "How many lovers have you had?" he asked, suddenly.

She blinked and shook her head. "I don't remember," she answered, tiredly.

He clucked his tongue in annoyance. "I did not ask you how many customers you have serviced, I asked for the number of your lovers. Surely, you can distinguish the difference?", he added, curling his lip.

"Oh," she sputtered. "Well, I've had three boyfriends, if that's what you mean," she answered. "None, lately, obviously," she added.

He snorted. "Obviously." He moved to prop himself up on his elbow and look down at her. "And did you experience orgasms with them?" he asked.

"Occasionally," she answered, vaguely.

His eyebrows rose up into the air.

"Rarely," she corrected.

His head tilted mockingly to the side and he cupped a hand around his ear.

"Once," she spat out, angrily, turning away from him.

She heard him laugh. "And I would assume that, before this evening, you had never experienced one with a client, am I correct?"

"Yes," she hissed.

"And, yet, tonight, with me you had-how many?"

"Four," she murmured, burying her head into the pillow.

"How many?" he asked again.

She sighed and turned back towards him.

There was another self-satisfied grin plastered over his face..

"Five," she admitted. She scoffed and closed her eyes for a moment. "You are an arrogant bastard, you know that?" she groused.

"Yes, so I've been told," he admitted. He shrugged. "I am also a marvelous lover. Or, so I've been told," he said, reaching out and stroking her face gently with his left hand. His eyes were hooded and thoughtful. "Poor Celia," he murmured, shaking his head, "You truly have not had much happiness in your life, have you?"

She shrugged her shoulders. She wondered if he was debating whether or not he should seek her out again. And she refused to allow herself to wonder if she should be flattered or terrified at the prospect of a return visit.

"But," she said, sitting up and smiling, "at least I'll always have the memory of tonight to sustain me." Her voice was light and mocking, and she was clearly trying to break the tension that had suddenly arisen between them.

He frowned and slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he said, quietly.

Before she could utter another word, he had raised up his right hand and aimed his wand squarely between her eyes.

"Obliviate."

Author's Note: No, this isn't the end. There is more to come.

Editor's note: the line where Snape describes himself as a Lesbian in a former life is an exact quote from a former boyfriend.
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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost