Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Forty-Six
November Rain

Terror in Ireland!

The Dark Lord’s Death Eaters led a vicious attack
upon the Irish fishing village, Mearsboffin,
last night at approximately 2:37am after the
small village’s annual ‘Horrible Haunted
Halloween Fires’ event which
featured homemade
barnbrack cake
and the popular
Muggle game
snap apple.
The villagers
were
slaughtered by
werewolves
and then the
sea-side town
itself was
flooded by
a huge wave.
Several buildings
were destroyed,
all were flooded.

Local witch
Muireann Anubail
said that she was
awakened from a
deep sleep in her cliff-side
home by the shrieks of the villagers
being attacked. When she looked out of her
window, she witnessed werewolves breaking into
homes through windows and doors, aided by wizards
who stayed on the high cliff near her almost hidden home.
According to the shouts and cheers from the wizards, the werewolves
were led by the revolting and notoriously smelly Fenrir Greyback. Anubail
said that the wizards were dressed in black robes with white masks, like Death
Eaters and spoke of ‘the Dark Lord’. She also said that a tidal wave followed the
attack after the werewolves ran back up the village road. Anubail’s sister, Narbflaith,
reports that she heard several male voices from above their home enchanting the sea
to rise and cover the village. Neither witch was harmed; however, the mixed blood Finnigan and O'Flaherty families were killed.

In a combined statement, the Ministry Department of Magical Catastrophes and Department of Magical Law Enforcement announced that they will be working together on this very tragic, horrific event. The Muggle press has described the incident as ‘a tragic tsunami wherein a freak shiver of what looks to be shortfin mako sharks was carried through the huge wave and decimated the village while it was underwater.’

Hermione handed the newspaper back to Harry with a grim look. Ron stared down at his breakfast with an expression of sad worry that was mirrored by Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom. Fellow Gryffindor housemate, sometimes friend and rabid Irishman, Seamus Finnigan, had yet to return from Professor McGonagall’s office but they knew - they all knew - Seamus was an orphan.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Hermione,

Because I know you’ll ask, the answers are:
No, I wasn’t there.
No, we didn’t know.
We were an hour too late.
Snape wasn’t there.
There’s nothing you can do.
We will stop him.

I’m fine, just terribly sad. It was a nightmare. They’ve escalated a hundred times compared to what they did twenty years ago. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I can only pray that I never have to again. Sirius, of course, is angry that he couldn’t go. He’s convinced that, had he been able to, it all would have been averted – never mind that he found out the same time that I did. Oddly enough, he is calming down. The difference in his attitude between here and at Grimmauld Place is incredible. He is a thousand times better here, though I can’t say he’s relaxed. I suppose love keeps a man on edge even more than boredom.

Yours,
Remus


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Through the doorway to his study, she watched him pen a letter. He always looked so handsome and capable there, behind his desk. He looked like the man she fell in love with. Light streaming through the mullioned glass windows made his hair sun-bright and cast the most interesting shadows on his beautiful face. A wicked smile played on his full lips and his eyes, concentrated on the page before him, held a tempting promise. Surely even the fallen Lucifer had not been this handsome. Lucius was perfection.

Narcissa wondered what would happen if she photographed him. A slow, quiet breath escaped. He would do one of two things. He’d put down the quill and grin gleefully at her with a tease and an offer to strip for the camera – with her in the photos, too, or … she tried not to think of the “or”. The ‘or’ was always bad.

He’d gotten so much worse in the last few years: volatile, violent and competitive – even more so than before. The competition between the Dark Lord’s top men – and women - was ridiculous. They snipped and sniped at each other even as they did… what they did... around Britain. Each one wanted the Dark Lord’s favor – favor which always came to someone else’s detriment. At any time, one of them could be a favorite with special “privileges” and audiences with that monster – or they could be writhing on the floor in agony...or worse.

His hair darkened as a cloud passed outside the window. Narcissa watched and mused on who the letter was to. According to gossip, Lucius had excused Wren Stickly-Smythe from his bed. Narcissa was rather glad for it. Wren had recently been getting the idea that sending disdaining glances and shirty comments to Narcissa during social engagements was a good idea. In the end, Narcissa always won little battles like that and never bothered to respond in kind. The war was always hers simply because Lucius got bored with his toys – and Narcissa was not a toy. Perhaps she’d rub it in a touch and graciously invite the poor dear to tea sometimes next week. Offering investment advice would work as an enticement – it always did. No one ever refused that, not from her. Not when, as she heard it, the Dark Lord was singing her financial praises from the proverbial rooftops. Idly, she wondered when those praises would stop and she, too, would be writhing on the floor again, this time under the Dark Lord’s wand.

Narcissa was brought out of her reverie as Lucius wrapped and stamped the bulla with his signet and, after it cooled, gave Hercules, their owl, with his destination: Kiaya Roundtree at Hogwarts.

Before she was seen, Narcissa scooted away from the door as gracefully as possible. As she was moving, she thought that she saw a rat creeping under a curtain in the study, but didn’t want to go back and disturb her husband. So, Lucius was back to being fixated on that woman, was he? Narcissa shook her head. The gossip running rampant was that the potions mistress was seeing Snape – a fact Snape hadn’t minded mentioning in front of the Dark Lord.

Under her breath, Narcissa snorted. Severus Snape had the wench so, of course, Lucius wanted her. It was as simple as that. The girl was like a toy between two boys in a sandbox. Lucius; with his indefatigable sense of superiority, especially over ,“ugly as sin and poor as a church mouse Snape”; was spoiled and accustomed to getting everything that he wanted – especially if it meant taking it from the Dark Lord’s favorite son, Snape. No mind that the entire, ridiculously huge, Prince fortune would be Snape’s as soon as the man turned forty. Lucius couldn’t curry enough of the Dark Lord’s favor so, instead, did everything that he could to make Snape look bad. Narcissa hid her secret smile. Kiaya Roundtree had seemed nice, if rather bumbling and gauche, when they'd met. She almost felt sorry for the girl. Almost. In the end, though, if Lucius was planning a conquest between the thighs of another woman… well, he was leaving her alone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*


“My mum said that if one student fails an exam, then it’s the student’s fault, but if half the class fails, then it’s the teacher’s!” said Hufflepuff Emily Parlous, most emphatically.

“She didn’t go over any of that at all!” cried Eloise Midgeon.

“A test on the homework reading only? That isn’t fair!” whined Emily Parlous. Her grade on the exam had been the lowest in the class. Kiaya’s only comment at the top of the paper questioned if the girl had opened the textbook at all.

“Only Snape would give an exam only on the homework! I don’t even know what Golpalott's Third Law means!” whined Edina Moon.

Susan Bones said quietly, “It means that you can’t just shove all of the antidotes to the individual ingredients in a potion into a cauldron and call it an antidote for the potion.”

Midgeon stepped on the end of Miss Bones’ sentence, “Well I heard that she’s starting to mark like Snape so he’ll like her more.”

“Like her? Pansy Parkinson said that she saw them looking cozy last year.”

As they passed the Fat Friar in deep discussion with a painting of several nuns, Edina Moon shot back, “They sit at opposite sides of the head table now, though – and he practically stares daggers at her.”

“He stares daggers at everyone! I don’t think there’s a single soul that he likes. So, either they’re trying to hide an affair or he thinks she’s here to take his job,” said Parlous.

“I liked her dress today,” offered Susan Bones. She had scored the second highest on the exam and nothing to gripe about.

On her way to the dungeon after dinner, Kiaya was relieved when the Hufflepuff girls turned down their own hallway. They hadn’t noticed her following them from the great hall. She wouldn’t have eavesdropped on the students but there were only so many ways down to the dungeons. Kiaya had planned a lovely evening with a good book, a hot water bottle and a muscle unknotting spell but now the idea of relaxing was quickly being replaced with tears and chocolates and a note to remind her sixth years about bezoars as potion antidotes.

She castigated herself, both for the failing grades of her class and because she was a coward for not chastising the girls. What kind of teacher – what kind of adult - was she that she couldn’t manage to tell off a herd of sixteen year old Hufflepuffs?

She let herself into her rooms and collapsed into the nearest chair, lifting her feet to the seat of the chair and resting her head on her knees. Sometimes curling into a little ball helped to ease the cramps but now she had serious doubts that anything would. Her belly was in knots both because of the now-ubiquitous cramps and the nasty, nattering girls hadn’t helped a bit. Doubt filled her mind and tears welled, threatening to drip. The girls might have had a point. Kiaya had never given an exam on reading material alone. Maybe she hadn’t been fair. She had just been so annoyed at the obvious lack of reading in the pre-brewing review that she’d demanded all cauldrons to be exchanged for quills and parchment. Snape would have just let the children injure themselves and called it a ‘valuable lesson in doing your homework’ instead of reviewing the reading and feeding the precautions and procedures as Kiaya normally did.

Damn those girls! They should feel grateful that she was distinctly not like Snape. She didn’t yell or scream or spit. She didn’t force dunderheads to make potions they clearly weren’t capable of – potions that if prepared incorrectly would alternately turn their skin bright purple or give them a nasty case of spattergroit. No, all she did was not-so-subtly point out the virtues of doing one’s homework.

As for Snape… she couldn’t even look about him without feeling sick to her stomach. Kiaya avoided him like pestilence, even spending weekends and some evenings at home in Navarre Way or with her parents in Yorkshire. As she stretched her body out and sniffled back her tears, half lying in the chair to help with the pain, she gave herself a wry reminder that she didn’t have to work so terribly hard to avoid him, though. He stayed well away from her – not that he’d ever sought her out before this oh-so-literal bloody mess. That she was helping him so significantly and then to be subsequently ignored was hurtful, but she supposed that it really was for the better.

It had felt so good, though. Nothing that she ever did felt nearly as amazing as having his body pressed against hers. Nothing she managed with her wand ever satisfied her as much as his hands. And it would never, ever happen again. If that meant that she was going to die a virgin… she prayed that this mess would be over with soon so she didn’t have to even think about that.

As she unfolded herself to stand and stretch, there were knocks on both the door and the window. Secure that her rooms were hidden from prying student eyes, and praying that it wasn’t Snape, she unlocked the door with a flick of her wand calling “come in,” while she bustled to unlatch the window. A huge, damp, black and white striped owl hopped in as a large man clad in black glided through the door.

“You would do well not to open the door to an unknown again,” Snape said with a sour expression.

Face aflame and deliberately concentrating on untying the letter from the bird’s ankle to avoid looking at him, Kiaya said, “It had to be someone I knew. My door is as hidden as yours.”

“That is entirely beside the point. Someone could find out just by watching you. Be more careful,” he instructed.

An unbidden retort sprang to her lips and out before her brain even engaged, “Best not talk like that, someone might think you care.”

“No one that knows me would ever assume that.”

She glared at him and deliberately unsealed the bulla to read the letter. The regal looking owl stayed perched on the back of a chair obviously awaiting a response. Kiaya didn’t think that it looked very impressed with its surroundings.

Dearest Kiaya,

Please forgive my lack of attention in recent weeks. I have slowly been adjusting back to life at home after my terrible ordeal.

I must tell you that I am so disappointed that the Wizard’s Ball was canceled. I did so enjoy our stroll through the moonlit garden at the Minister’s home last year. I can only hope there will be another chance for just such a stroll soon. The minister and I are the closest of friends and I do think that I could wrangle a trip to Lower Slaughter on a clear night if you would join me.

I would very much like to speak with you soon. The minister and I have come up with a grand scheme for an incredibly novel fundraiser, replacing the ball this year, to benefit St. Mungo’s. I would appreciate your input and your assistance with this noble venture. Would you please reply with an affirmative date for our meeting to discuss this important matter? Alas, I know that such things are utterly frivolous when compared with your potions research but this fundraiser is near and dear to my heart.

Please reply with a date so that I may take you to dinner and offer my proposal, humbly begging for your invaluable assistance.

Always your servant,
Lucius Malfoy

Kiaya blinked and reread the letter. Suspicion vied with flattery. She eyed the owl, wondering if it would allow itself to be shunted back outside. Its talons were wickedly long and it looked particularly nasty.

“That’s the Malfoy owl, isn’t it?” Snape asked. His tone said that he already knew the answer.

Kiaya only nodded while staring at the signature with a slowly rising feeling of dread. An odd part of her brain was glad that Snape was actually in the room. When he held his hand out imperiously she floated the letter over without even the thought of refusing him.

He caught and scanned it with a grim scowl then opened the window. To the owl, he instructed, “She’ll respond later. Return to your roost.”

He Banished the letter and said, “Dumbledore has it now.” He ignored her incensed expression. “Have you received any other letters from Malfoy?”

“Not since the summer, no,” she replied.

“Why didn’t you inform me over the summer? What did it say? Do you still have it?” He stalked her across the room.

She curled her toes into her shoes, as though digging in to dirt for purchase. “I showed the letter to the headmaster and he convinced me to return this year because of it.”

Snape looked startled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kiaya crossed in front of her sofa, keeping it between herself and Snape. “It means just that. After a long discussion with Dumbledore about Mrs. Malfoy’s visit and Mr. Malfoy’s letter, plus talking about his ideas on what was needed at the school, I decided to rescind my resignation this summer.”

Snape stared at her, silent for several moments before offering a grudging, “I hadn’t been informed that you’d quit.”

Her smile was tight and her hands pressed over her lower belly. “Dumbledore changed my mind. Now, why are you here?”

His nostrils flared and, if possible, his lips got even thinner at her dismissive tone. He said, “The Fat Friar, via The Bloody Baron, informed me that you overheard several students discussing your inadequacies as a teacher. I came to make sure that you weren’t drowning your sorrows in anything stronger than tea and chocolates.”

Offended that there’d been even more gossip and that he’d heard about her … inadequacies and was now daring to assume she’d be damaging the potion out of self-pity, she barked, “What makes you think I’d be drowning anything?”

“Other than permanent hormonal mood swings?” he taunted. When she glared at him, he continued, “You’re soft.”

“I am not! I can…”

“Yes you are,” he replied before she could finish her sentence. “That’s why Basilton practically gave you to Dumbledore, so you would have a keeper.”

She looked into his fathomless black eyes and in an instant, knew that he was right, as though Snape had fed the truth directly into her brain. Mr. Basilton hadn’t really thought she could manage on her own – that much was obvious when she remembered the circumstances of how she’d been hired in the first place. Mr. Basilton had obviously thought she was incapable of caring for herself. Incapable, really, of anything but brewing a few potions, keeping his shop neat and making his dinner. He hadn’t given her the master’s cards; he hadn’t even given her the journeyman’s cards. She’d tried to believe the twaddle about keeping her on because she was smart but, now, looking into Snape’s eyes, she could see the truth. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed Mr. Basilton probably hadn’t even wanted to give her the shop and his accounts. The simple fact was she’d been the only one around – his own family line had died out years ago. She sank into the chair again and gave over to the doubts as the cramps twisted her belly into knots. She was a dreadful teacher – she’d just heard that from her students - and was only there because Snape needed a babysitter for his classes while he did whatever it was that he did. Not that he’d want her around otherwise.

So lost in her musings, dejection and pain, Kiaya never felt the tears sliding down her cheeks nor did she hear his muttered oath.

She was soothed by a charmed hot water bottle pressed on her belly, though, and blinked and chewed obediently when chocolate was pressed between her lips. She barely felt the thin, strong hands kneading her shoulders or the nonsense words he muttered to get her to stop crying. Nor did she feel when he buried his nose into her neck, inhaling the sweet, musky scent of her potion-induced pheromones; she didn’t see him reach down to adjust the angle of his penis in his trousers, either. As she drifted off into a spell-induced sleep, Kiaya never felt herself lifted into strong arms and placed very gently on her own bed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

During the day, Sirius Black moved a great deal - dashing about the yard and meadow while practicing hexes and spells with Remus, collecting their eggs from the barn, even when playing exploding snap and circular chess, he wiggled even if he just bounced his knee or tapped his fingers.

At night, though, he was very good at being very still for long periods of time. He never seemed to fidget when they sat together on the porch under the stars or, more recently, the rain. He just found a comfortable position and stayed in it – sometimes for hours.

When she mentioned it, he just quirked his half smile and said simply that it was best not to attract a lot of attention at night in Azkaban. She couldn’t find an answer to that so they sat quietly for several minutes, listening to the rain patter softly on the roof of the porch.

When she shifted again in the rocking chair, tightly wrapped in the blanket she wore over her robe and slippers, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just been a long day. There are idiots at the Ministry as you well know.” He chuckled and she continued as she stroked Berri, the cat curled up in her lap. “You’d think they’d figure out how to cover the Dynomagi departments at the Ministry and St. Mungo’s when one person goes on holiday without bringing in other contractors who have better things to do than their ‘civic duty’.”

“That would be far too easy. It is the government, after all.”

“I know,” she chuckled. “I just felt bad for Remus, who had to sit there all day as my babysitter. Everyone and his brother shows up when they find out that Kathryn or Wilhelmina aren’t there.”

“Why?”

“Erm, well, they aren’t as good at grabbing the darker colors as those in private practice.”

“Like you?”

“Sort of. I’m not really in practice anymore. I only do it for friends now, or when the Ministry pays me twice as much as they should to show up for eight hours.”

“Friends? Like Snape?” he sounded bitter.

“Yes, like Severus,” she said. “There used to be others, but Professor Grandpa put a stop to that.”

“When?”

She looked at him, taking in every angle and plane of his face. He looked so much healthier now. His face had filled out by eating regular, healthy meals. He wasn’t nearly as sallow and his hair and beard were neat. “When you left, that first time.”

“I’m sorry for that. I wish….”

They were silent again for a long time.

“I missed… miss my dog,” she said.

“If I could spend the rest of my life as your dog, I would.”

“I would have liked that,” she murmured, though there was no malice in her words.

Of course, because he was Sirius, he instantly transformed himself into the dog and crept up the stairs to rest his massive head in her lap. Berri just wiggled himself on to her other leg with nary a sniff. Of course, because he was Sirius, she tentatively stroked his ears. Quietly, she told him about what happened that night at the Ministry - how shattered she’d been, how she’d cried for days. She also told him about the conversation she’d had with Anne Mette, about inviting him back in to her life and the crushing disappointment that his death had caused. He listened, just as he’d done before, while she prattled on. Jasmine was proud of herself for not crying or screaming at him – it just wasn’t there, that flaming anger she’d had before.

The water clock struck one, long after she’d planned on sleep. She stroked his ears and buried her fingers in the fur at the scruff of his neck. He rumbled a contented sound. It made her wonder if he’d make the same sound if she did that in his human hair. Knowing what would happen, she said just that.

Of course, he transformed back into his human form. Still beside her, he knelt and slowly placed his head back into her lap. Berri, finally miffed at being supplanted, stalked into the house. Jasmine was hesitant to touch him but the temptation of his long black hair sliding over her legs, even through layers of fabric, was too great. It felt like the finest silk thread and made her catch her breath. Oh, to have this stuff wrapped around her naked body in bed. The image floated through her mind and lodged itself right in front. They both hummed in pleasure and sank into their own fantasies while staying completely aware of the other.

Wordless, they sat together, she in the chair and he on the floor, until the clock chimed half two.

“I have to sleep,” she murmured.

He nodded and lifted his head. His hair was mussed, like they’d just spent the last hour making love. His voice was a low rumble when he asked, “Do you have to go back to the Ministry or St. Mungo’s tomorrow?”

She shook her head and hummed a negative. “Jane Buckford is their on-call contractor now. I only went in as a favor because Jane had an appointment at her daughter’s school.”

He nodded and looked at her. She could see the desire in his rain colored eyes but … but nothing. The sight of him… the feel of him was turning her belly into butterflies. Shivering she stood up and wondered if he was having that effect on her or if her warming charms were wearing off. She bit her lip and said, “You could, erm, move up into the attic or even the couch, if you wanted. It’s cold out in the barn.”

He smiled and looked into her eyes from his place sprawled on the floor, “Thank you but I’m just fine out there.”

Hesitantly, she offered, “There’s also the daybed in my workroom but I’ll understand if you don’t want… the noise.”

Gathering himself up as well, Sirius stood, stroked a finger down her cheek and said, “I’ll sleep in the barn, Jasmine, until…”

“Until what?”

“Until I’m allowed to spend my nights in your bed.”

Speechless, all she could manage was a soft, “Oh.”

He quirked that half smile of his and repeated, “Oh. You should go to bed now.”

She nodded and whispered no louder than the wind, “Goodnight.”

A moment later, the front door was closed against the rain and his too-handsome face. As she leaned back against the door, biting her thumbnail, she glanced up, first at Arielle’s then Remus’s bedroom doors. Both were closed, thankfully. One hand dropped to her belly, pressing back the butterflies playing speed Quidditch after his comment. Jasmine mused on just how in lust she was with him and how easy it would be to fall in love with That Man and how much – and little - that he had in common with Severus - then stopped herself, shunning the thought; that way madness lies.

The murmured friendship that she and Sirius were building felt… good. The desire felt better.

He wasn’t forgiven but, well, he wasn’t exactly persona non grata anymore either. She rolled her eyes at herself. He wasn’t … ugh... she thought. She wanted him. Now, she knew so much more about him; assumptions and fantasies were quickly being replaced with … something. Facts, maybe. Reasons, too. Reasons to like him. Reasons to lust for him, only one of which was his looks. Deliberately, she stopped herself from using the word ‘Love’. It was far, far too much to even consider. ‘Like’ worked well. Lust worked better. He wasn’t some far-off school celebrity crush who wrote letters from a stranger to a stranger anymore. He was Sirius – the man who lived in her - she winced - barn.

Musing on words that begin with “L”, Jasmine checked on Arielle, gave Faust, Berri and Skeevers goodnight strokes and scratches and headed to bed.


The next day, Jasmine dwelled on Sirius’s choice of beds as she worked her loom, having completed her list of chores. She offered a distracted greeting when her great-grandfather poked his head into her workroom to announce that Arielle was home from the Nielson’s, Harry Potter and his friends were down from the school and that he’d watch over all of them. The click clack of the enchanted loom working was so in time with her heartbeat that it was soothing. The movement of the shuttle, back and forth, gliding up and down to pick up new threads, was hypnotizing. Jasmine loved this quiet time. She let her mind wander and float, deliberately not in the direction of Sirius or her bedroom, as cards of embroidery floss floated in the air, waiting to be used.

One of the ministry’s Dynomagi had gossiped that there was going to be a big announcement later in the week about The Replacement Event, as it had been dubbed after the Wizard’s Ball had been canceled. Jasmine figured that she ought to have some kind of supply of winter styled gowns and robes made up for it. If whatever it was, was going to be as big as the Wizard’s Ball, then there was going to be a huge rush on the shop. She wasn’t looking forward to the sleepless nights, though the promise of a few extra galleons did put a smile on her face.

Her fingers stitched a random design in the fabric. Her mind knew it was a rainbow of swirls over the bodice of the empire waist gown, but she wasn’t paying too terribly much attention to it. The motion was easy enough to become tranquilizing. Relaxed, she stitched away the morning.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kiaya chuckled at the absurdity of the letter and shook her head. Old Mr. Pilliwickle was out of his Vin Mariani a week too early again. It didn’t matter how often she told him to use the small glasses when he drank, Pilliwickle insisted on drinking twice as much as he should. He claimed that it let him invent more and longer. He usually went through a bottle a month like clockwork, but when he was hot on creating a new flavor, it might be only weeks. Mr. Pilliwickle insisted that ‘Pilliwickle’s Perfectly Precious Pickles, Pears and Pomegranates would only be Pilli’s Pickles if it weren’t for that nectar, Vin Mariani’. Mr. Basilton had been sure the man would ‘keel over anytime – he’s older than Abraham and Flamel put together’. The man had been drinking the coca-wine drink since 1895 and, as he claimed, nothing was stopping him now. Kiaya read the letter again and noted at Pilliwickle sounded no battier than he had nine years ago.

“You’ve been invited to dinner.”

Kiaya wheeled around. Snape stood in the doorway. Pasting a polite smile on her face, she wondered how long he’d been there. She certainly hadn’t heard him walk down the hallway. She also hadn’t noticed him leave her rooms the night before, nor did she have any recollection of putting herself to bed. She wasn’t sure what to think of what appeared to be Snape being kind.

“Be ready to leave in forty-five minutes. It’s raining, so dress appropriately. While we are there, you should seek Dumbledore’s counsel on how best to refuse Malfoy’s letter. It may be best if I simply refuse it for you,” he said and strode away without waiting for an answer.

Perhaps kind, but certainly still rude, she sighed. Since it was Saturday, Kiaya assumed that he was talking about Jasmine’s house. She allowed herself a quick moment to wonder how she felt about getting chummy with Jasmine while she was getting chummier with Snape – not that it would ever, ever happen again. She was sure there was some girl-rule about ‘thou shalt not get diddled by your friend’s ex-husband,’ but wasn’t sure. She’d never had many friends and had never been in the situation of getting diddled before.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Higher!” shrieked the seven year old, giggling madly in glee.

It was the first thing Jasmine heard when she emerged from her workroom Saturday afternoon. Relaxation turned to suspicion, which slid into outrage when she looked out of the window and saw Sirius holding Arielle tucked close to him on a broomstick. Ari was holding a Quaffle that looked almost as big as she was. Jasmine quashed the tummy flutter at the sight of Sirius and saw Harry Potter whiz by them, chased by Ron Weasley in the drizzling afternoon rain. Remus also sat on a broom as it hovered near Hermione Granger. Jasmine couldn’t hear what they were saying but Remus looked almost handsome as he smiled and leaned in to hear her.

Marching down the stairs, Jasmine muttered about the nerve of that man, taking Arielle up on a broom without her permission, especially in the rain. Arielle wasn’t at all experienced with broom travel and had no idea of how to hold on with her hands and legs. She could fall at any second. She was so busy grousing, Jasmine didn’t notice Dumbledore as he stepped directly into her path.

“Before you say what I'm sure you're going to say, please remember that I am responsible for helping to raise at least a quarter of our nation's children and might possibly know a thing or two about what is acceptable or not," said Professor Grandpa, looking down at Jasmine with a twinkle behind his half-moon shaped glasses.

“He didn’t ask permi….”

Dumbledore cut her off with a wave of his still black hand. The hideous ring he still wore was smattered with rain and glinted dully. “As Sirius is an excellent flier, I gave him permission. And as I am perfectly capable of catching her should there be a problem, which there won’t be because he’s treating her like glass, you’re welcome to allow her a little bit of supervised fun.”

Just then, a chime sounded from inside. The phoenixes perched on the porch railing looked at each other and one disappeared. Joe, the horse, and Glaistig, the goat, continued eating the jasmine vines.

From beyond the hedgerow, they hear the bird trill and chirp then Severus said, “Yes, Faust, it really is me…”

The bird sent up an outraged cacophony.

Dumbledore chuckled and murmured, “He’s so persnickety.”

“Fawkes, my apologies. You know Kiaya Roundtree. Please fetch Jasmine to open the plants.”

Jasmine narrowed her eyes and scowled, then stalked to the front door as quickly as her high heels could carry her. Fawkes popped in, right in front of her and trilled his approval of Severus and Kiaya. Faust whistled approval back at him. At least, Jasmine assumed it was approval since it certainly wasn’t disapproval – phoenixes had no problem voicing disapproval when necessary.

Jasmine grabbed the brazier from the table next to the door and waited for Severus and Kiaya. She’d prepared everything that morning, so there wouldn’t be a rush with all of the people around. There wasn’t time to school her face so she resigned herself to Severus’ interrogation.

Without fail, the first words out of his mouth were an impatient, “What’s wrong with you?”

She set the contents of the brazier to smolder and fanned the flames gently. As soon as the smoke started rising, Jasmine settled on a stool and started pulling threads of color. She didn’t need Severus getting involved in her pique. Knowing him, he’d use it as a reason to blast Sirius to hell and gone. Her answer was clipped. “Nothing.”

As Dumbledore greeted Kiaya, Severus answered, “Why do you bother? Just tell me and be done with it.”

Professor Grandpa chimed in, “I gave permission for Arielle to be on a broom with Sirius. She is having a grand time playing Quidditch with the boys.”

“What boys?”

Just then Harry Potter flew by chased by Ron Weasley, both laughing uproariously.

Severus lips thinned and he looked at his daughter. Glaring at the interlopers, he asked in a terribly controlled tone, “What’s wrong with it, other than the obvious?”

Plucking several strands of black floating around Severus’s knee, Jasmine said, “I’m just not a fan of brooms. You know that. I just think she’s going to lose her balance and fall.”

“Like you did?”

“I was tipsy and you weren’t holding me properly, thank you very much,” she answered waspishly and deliberately poked him while twisting her wand around another.

He grunted and bent down and looked her right in the eye. “Right.”

She only glared in answer.

“She’s fine, though her co-rider leaves something to be desired.”

“He has nothing to do with this! This is about her being up there at all.”

“She’s been on plenty of brooms with me. It has a Sticking Charm and,” he looked at Sirius with contempt, “he’s holding her fairly well.”

Nonplussed, she paused. “She has? You didn’t tell me that.”

“I didn’t know I had to. I am her father.”

“Well, I know that, but…”

“She’s fine, Jasmine,” Severus said very slowly, enunciating each word. His look at Sirius, though, promised a swift death if Sirius allowed Arielle to even squeak in fear.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, as if it was a royal pronouncement. When it came to quelling squabbling children, it was. He fished a piece of paper from his pocket. “Now, about this letter….”

Kiaya twisted her fingers together and waited. When Dumbledore looked at her over the rim of his glasses, she said, “It came last night. I haven’t answered it.”

Dumbledore tapped the letter against his blackened hand. “I would certainly like to know what this fundraiser is going to be.”

“You and the rest of our world. It’s supposedly some big secret, but Wilhelmina Pennyfeather said there was a rumor going ‘round the Ministry that formal wear would be needed. She’s reserved the first dress that I finish,” said Jasmine as she flicked her wand.

“Curious,” mused Dumbledore. A droplet of water clung to his half-moon glasses. “I haven’t heard from Cornelius lately. That is always cause for concern. It means he’s plotting something.”

“Malfoy is right in the middle of it. He’s been crowing about recent meetings with Fudge to discuss this fundraiser,” said Severus.

Dumbledore hummed.

“He’s going to use it to scoop Roun…” he looked at her, “ Kiaya into his clutches. He’s positive of it.”

"I think she should go to that meeting.”

"Headmaster, do you really think that's wise? He’ll just try to seduce her” Severus said, sounding more irritated than concerned.

"She can find out what he's planning, Severus. We may need all of the warning that we can get on this.”

"The little idiot won't find out anything,” he said with more prickle than venom.

Kiaya looked at him with loathing. “I’m standing right here.”

He shot back with a sneer, “That’s why I said it.”

"She's not an idiot, Severus, and you know it,” corrected Dumbledore.

Jasmine rolled her eyes and quietly said, “Severus, knock it off. You’re making my job harder – and you’re being an jerk.”

Snape growled and raked his fingers through his hair. “No, she's not an idiot, but she is young and has a mouth that's too big for the rest of her sometimes."

“Oh, thank you ever so much,” said Kiaya, mentally vowing revenge.

“That may be true, but if she's warned ahead of time, she won't get into much trouble,” said Dumbledore.

Jasmine wondered whose side he was on and shook her head. Dumbledore was on his own side, and no one ought ever forget it. She quietly worked, figuring that it might be best to keep her mouth shut lest she be stuck having dinner with Malfoy instead.

"Of course she won't get in to trouble. I'm going with her,” Severus pronounced.

"I never doubted that you would, Severus,” said Dumbledore with a benevolent smile tinged with triumph. “Just find out what's going on and we'll deal with it from there.”

A chorus of cheers sounded from around the corner and Dumbledore meandered away, looking pleased. Kiaya followed, leaving Snape and Jasmine alone.

As Jasmine continued working, she said, “You’re too hard on her.”

“No, I’m not,” came his automatic response.

“You’re being mean! It isn’t fair.”

“She needs it. She has to be prepared.”

“What on earth for?”

He shook his head in response.

She ‘accidentally’ poked his shoulder again. “Why are you being so cruel to her?” She had a sudden inspiration. “You’re acting like a little boy with a crush on a little girl.”

He waved her words away. “Shut up, Jas.”

She wasn’t quite sure what she thought of Severus and another woman. She knew that he’d been infatuated with Lily Evens Potter and she was pretty sure that he’d seen other woman since their divorce, even though they didn’t talk about it. Severus had feelings for Kiaya. That much was obvious. She wasn’t sure what they were, but they were there. Why hadn’t she seen it before? It was pretty obvious now that she thought about it. She bit the inside of her lip against the automatic jealousy that rushed through her. There was a small glimmer of happiness for him, though. He deserved joy - he was a good man who walked willingly into hell on a regular basis. He needed comfort and she couldn’t give that to him any more. Kiaya, though… Jasmine bit her lip. Had the blonde poisoned him with some love potion or something? She hadn’t seen Severus act like this before. Sneaking a glance at him, she found him looking at her with a single raised eyebrow.

“Are you done over thinking?”

She shot him a playfully poisonous look.

“Then leave off. First, it’s none of your business. Second,” he sighed, “it’s bigger than all of us. It’s going to get nasty – nastier – for everyone.”

“Because it’s not bad enough now?”

He nodded and said under his breath, in that silk and brandy voice that she loved, “Protecting her while she helps you is… necessary... but Malfoy wants her so now it’s an imperative. I’ve had to do a lot of dancing to keep him away even this long. The Dark Lord is under the impression that I have her for now - and the headmaster and I are going to keep it so.”

“Doe she know about all of this?”

“She knows about Malfoy’s infatuation but not his personality and not about anything else yet. It’s coming to a head, though.”

“Going to tell me when and what?”

He answered simply, “I don’t know yet, honestly.”

She nodded and grabbed a dark brown ribbon of color. “So what are you telling them? That you’re dating her?”

He crooked an eyebrow.

She knew. For goodness sake. He was playing at his stupid fantasies - the ones that she had had no interest in - with that nice girl. “You’re back to that weirdness, aren’t you?”

“It’s neither weird, nor any of your business,” he said with a quelling look.

“You’re telling them that she…”

“…Happily does what I ask her to do.”

“There’s more than just that from what I recall you saying.”

“Yes, there is - and not a stitch of it is your problem.” He looked down the long blade of his nose at her and said, “Leave it alone, Jas” then grumbled, “are you finished?”

Giving him a sour look, she put out the embers in the brazier and nodded grudgingly. She said nothing - he was right - it was none of her business what he did or to whom. She knew Kiaya had no idea of what she was in for.

Another cheer rose from the other side of the house. Together, they went to investigate, standing on the porch to avoid getting too wet.

“Daddy!” shouted Arielle from twenty feet in the air, waving madly. Her gyrations turned into a slip on the wet broom.

Jasmine gasped but Sirius held the squirming girl tight. He leaned closer and spoke to her, looking rather grim. Wide-eyed, Ari nodded. Jasmine couldn’t hear the words, but watched Arielle’s lips say, “I’m sorry, Sirius.”

He nodded and brought the broom to the ground; the other players taking his cue and landing as well. Once Arielle’s feet were safely on dirt, she looked back him for confirmation. As soon as he nodded, she darted toward Severus and threw herself into his arms, chattering about how much fun Sirius was at flying and the two goals that ‘she scored’.

Jasmine could see Severus’ jaw clench as he praised her newfound Quidditch prowess.

Throwing herself into the breech, Jasmine interrupted the hallelujah chorus to Sirius with, “Young lady, you did not come to get my permission to play on a broom.”

Surprisingly, Arielle’s eyes lit up. She twisted in her father’s arms and held out her hand rather imperiously. Obediently Sirius, grinning from ear to ear, walked over and handed her his wand.

Primly, she thanked him and then flourished the wand, “Orchideous!”

A bouquet of multi-colored daisies sprouted from the tip of the wand. Ari’s crow of triumph was serenaded with Jasmine’s exaggerated gasp of surprise and deep, male chuckles of amusement.

“Mama, for you!” she said grandly.

Jasmine was hard pressed to contain her grin with mock seriousness. She put her hands on her hips and asked, “And who taught you to do that, missy?”

“Sirius did,” she announced. When Dumbledore cleared his throat, she added, “And Professor Grandpa said that we’d probably need them.”

Jasmine eyed both men. Each wore conspicuously bland smiles, though Sirius’s was tinged with mischief and Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled just a little bit more than usual. Each looked ridiculous with rain in their hair and dripping from their face.

“Nicely done,” said Remus, looking just as bland as the others.

Sirius waggled his denim clad butt and grinned. Without breaking eye contact with Jasmine he said, “Woof.”

“Good boy, good dog,” said Remus with a straight face.

Sirius panted, his tongue lolling.

Jasmine rolled her eyes and accepted the flowers with exclamations and proper thanks. She hugged Arielle and asked, “And why would you need to give me flowers?”

Arielle’s grin exposed several gaps in her teeth when she said, “Because Sirius said that if you’re going to break the rules, you’d best be ready with a good apology after.”

Severus snorted his opinion.


Two hours later, conversation around the dinner table was stilted, to say the least. The students had been shunted back off to school, leaving Sirius listless but sliding hopeful glances at Jasmine. Remus was forlorn and Kiaya had to wonder if it had something to do with Hermione Granger. The cat, Berri, hadn’t left her lap since sneaking up a half hour earlier. Arielle chattered sleepily about her day. Kiaya didn’t know how Snape looked – she hadn’t made eye contact in hours. Jasmine kept looking between Kiaya and Snape with an inscrutable expression. She also took frequent, disbelieving glances at Sirius. Kiaya was just relieved that the students were back at school. She wasn’t quite sure that chatting with students, even Harry Potter, over dinner was quite allowed, though Dumbledore sat at the head of the table beaming at the brood over quiche and cous cous.

“Kiaya, what great plans do you have for this weekend?” he asked over Arielle’s near constant nattering.

Startled at being directly addressed, Kiaya replied, “Erm, I need to make a batch of Vin Mariani tonic for one of my old clients.”

“No.”

Kiaya stared at Snape, unsure that it … well, of course it had been him speaking. Who else would dare? “Excuse me?”

Snape said, “You’re not making Vin Mariani.”

Confused and slightly shocked, Kiaya asked, “But why not?”

At the same time, Arielle asked, “What’s Bin Mariami?”

“It’s a tonic,” said Snape

“What’s that?”

“It’s medicine and not for little girls to take,” he answered, his voice edging on lecturing.

“But why not?”

“Because I said so.”

As Arielle started her pout, Snape turned back to Kiaya and said, “You’ll inevitably inhale the coca, ethanol or resulting cocaine – none of which should be used in the potion that you are so graciously providing a key ingredient for.”

Kiaya doubted that Snape really felt that she was being gracious about anything. “But….”

“No. I’ll make it, you can paste your little label on it after I bottle it and clean up.”

She set her fork down and tried to ignore the cat in her lap and the interested faces around the table. She asked in the most sickeningly sweet tone possible, “And what are you going to do if I do, seeing as it's my job."

Snape smiled grimly, "I'll turn you over my knee and spank you until you can't sit down."

Kiaya gaped. Jasmine gasped, Sirius rumbled and Remus blinked while Dumbledore watched the children work it out between themselves.

Arielle piped up from the other end of the table "Oh, Miss Kiaya, you don't want a spanking from Daddy. He has hard, hard hands. You always hafta be good around Daddy and do what he says."

As Dumbledore, Remus and Jasmine chuckled; Sirius choked and said, “You could poison him, you know.”

Kiaya smiled sweetly. “I do know two hundred forty-two ways to do someone in, within twenty-four hours. I think what all of these hormones are doing constitutes a valid motive, don’t you?”

“Oh, indubitably.”

Arielle looked terribly worried and gasped, “No, no!”

Snape sneered, “Only that? You’ll need to study more to catch up.”

Jasmine hasted to reassure Arielle with a barely concealed grin, “They’re just teasing, baby. No one’s going to hurt your Daddy.”

Mopsy appeared next to the table, holding two pitchers, “Would the missuses and misters like another small beer or lemonade?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“God damn it, woman, you’d be a lot more attractive if you did what you were damned well told to!”

Kiaya tried to sound disinterested and unintimidated. “I have a job to do, regardless of your ridiculous threats last night. You and I both know that Bartholomew Pilliwickle is an addict, but there’s not a damned thing that can be done about it. Since he’s paying me, it’s best just keep him happy, quiet and playing with his pickles.”

“That’s not your most important job right now.”

“No? What exactly is my job? And what on Earth would make you think that I want you to think that I’m attractive?” she shot back.

His hand flashed up and tangled in her short hair. As he tugged her forward, he hissed, “This.”

She tried to avoid his mouth knowing that her self-preservation depended on getting back to her rooms untouched. She bared her teeth in a threat.

“I’ll bite you back, little kitten, and you know it,” he said against her lips. He breathed deeply the sweet, musky scent of her before crushing his lips to hers.

Moments later, when she was melted against him, panting with need, an orgasm building in liquid, languid tingles, he lifted his head. She chased his lips but he rose just out of reach. His eyes were hooded though his lips were swollen and red. He still held her hips tight against his, tight enough so that she could feel his erection pressed against her soft belly. His lips curved into an almost evil smile and he said in a tone that was sandpaper and silk, “I told you that I’d spank you if you disobeyed, didn’t I?”

The passionate fog slowly lifted from her brain. After … after that, he was going to…. No! She struggled in his strong arms. “I’m not a child!”

One hand caught her hair again, the other wrapped around her waist, keeping her still. “Thank the heavens for small mercies.” He pressed his mouth to hers again.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders; only his clothing saved him from bloody scratches. She pressed her breasts into his chest as his tongue ravaged her mouth. He held her head still, not letting her move her mouth under his.

Suddenly, he brought his hand down firmly against her derrière and squeezed. She moaned as shock mingled with her passion. It had barely hurt, but he’d definitely spanked her. It had felt more like a too-hard grab, though; a grab that she relished, despite her promise-to-self that this wouldn’t happen again. He was touching her and her orgasm was so close. Pressing closer, she tilted her hips into him and never broke the kiss.

The sting soon faded as her passion grew. She sighed into his mouth, ready to beg him to make her come. His hand landed again, shoving her hips into him. Oh, Circe, the sting was so sweet, shocking and slightly painful, but she was so close to what she wanted… what she needed.

He struck again, her inner muscles tightened almost painfully. More, she needed more. Ripping her mouth from his, she whimpered, “Please.”

He nipped her neck as he swatted her arse again. This time, it was harder and she squealed in pleasure-pain as she dropped her head to give his mouth better access to the flesh of her neck.

“Please what, little kitten?” His hand made contact again, but it was a gentle brush, not the sting that she suddenly craved.

He was torturing her! She knew it and a small part of her twisted brain loved it. She bit her lip and her heavy breathing was his only answer.

“Please what?” He struck again, much harder this time.

She expelled a silent sigh. It hurt but… it was good. She couldn’t express herself so she said nothing but pressed her thighs together and her hips into his. As he dug his fingers into her bottom, he growled low and deep into her neck. Goosepimples rose over her whole body, it seemed and she was helpless not to spread her legs. She moaned, “Oh, God.”

He gave a rich, dark chuckle, “No, not God.” He bit her shoulder. “Say it.”

She hissed pain and dragged her fingers through his hair. His name was long and sibilant, “Severus.” She opened eyes that she hadn’t even realized were closed and realized that her lips were pressed against his throat. She kissed his skin and bit down gently.

“Yes, that’ll do, for now.” He pulled her hair until she released and smiled down at her. Capturing her lips again, he dug his fingers into her hair and twisted until it almost hurt. Nudging her feet apart, he pressed closer, keeping her off balance.

Tearing her mouth away, she begged again, “Please.”

His grin was wicked. He repeated, “Please what?”

“More,” she ground out. She craved… she didn’t know what she craved - but she knew he did.

“More what?” He swatted her again – it was hard and fast. Her gasp seemed to please him. “More of that?”

She nodded, confused and desperate for his touch and the orgasm that she knew he’d give her.

“Say it,” he commanded.

“Please make me come!” She hated saying it. She hated needing him. She might have even hated him and what he did to her but… she lost all thought. Her panties were soaked and she could feel her muscles tight, pulsing and ready.

“Turn around,” he instructed and stepped back to watch.

She obeyed, trembling and still muddled. She faced the empty desks in the sixth years’ classroom.

“Lift the back of your skirts. Hold them behind your back.”

Glancing over her shoulder at him for reassurance but his face was blank except for expectation; she tugged the back of her skirts up, exposing her legs and bottom to him for the first time. Trembling in excitement, she sought his approval. A part of her was shocked that she needed it so very much, but she so needed that he liked what he was seeing – damp panties or not. Closing her eyes, she held her breath for a moment.

“Put your face on the table – your cheek.”

Silently, she bent forward and obeyed him. Her cheek pressed into the cool wood of the student desk. Her hands shook and she breathed deeply, but she didn’t let go of her skirts.

He slapped the cheek of her bottom over the plain white satin panties and said, “You don’t need these.”

She shook her head – she wanted them off, too. He brushed his hand over the satin and Banished her panties. Neither one of them gave the fabric another thought.

He rubbed her arse, a light, gentle stroke that both excited her body and soothed her mind.

“Part your legs. I want to see you,” he ordered in a husky voice.

She obeyed, exposing her cunt to him. Holding her breath, she waited, desperate for his approval and his touch.

“God,” he breathed reverently. “You’re a fucking fantasy.”

Her eyes opened and, though she trembled and needed, her smile was beautiful as she looked at him over her shoulder. No longer a mask of indifference, he finally looked like he wanted her. She murmured, “Please.”

Low and deep, demand sated for a moment, he murmured back to her, “Please what?”

She took a deep breath, knowing what he wanted. Moisture welled between her legs. She felt swollen and totally open, ready to accept him. “Please make me come.”

He was still for so long that, for a moment, she worried that he had done all o this to humiliate her and would refuse any second now. Her eyebrows drew together and her lips parted. “Do…”

“Quiet,” he growled and stepped closer. His hand lifted but, instead of the delicious pain that she was braced for, she felt the calloused warmth of his hand as it slid down the smooth curve of her bottom.

Inhaling deeply, she tensed her muscles as he explored her skin. His touch was tender. One finger slid down the cleft of her arse; she squeaked. Gently, he shushed her. Nimble fingers explored between her legs, brushing and stroking every bit of her. Never, though, did he dip his fingers inside of her, though her sighs and tiny moans sang her desire to him.

His other hand buried in her hair at the back of her head and she felt a helpless shiver in her belly. She gasped when he tugged but it wasn’t painful, instead, she felt both trapped and incredibly safe. The tug was just a reminder that she wasn’t going anywhere; it didn’t even lift her cheek very much.

She didn’t see his hand move from her bottom, but the stinging pain of his hand striking her arse made her cry out. Her flesh was on fire and she could feel a hot spot on her bum – she was sure there was a perfect red handprint. Soothing the shock and pain away with a caress, she could feel him admiring the heat and texture of his handiwork.

She tried panting away the urge to cry out but before it was gone, he struck again. No tender caress, the stinging pain and the absolute need not to break in front of this man made her bite her lip to avoid uttering a sound. His strikes were evenly timed though after the first few, she lost the ability to try and count the milliseconds between each. Every few spanks, he soothed her skin with a stroke and toyed with her swollen clit, bringing her to the edge before striking her round cheek again. Each stroke was a new sensation, forcing her body closer to orgasm. The pain and pleasure combined into an exquisite agony. She felt like her cunt was dripping wet. Twisting her hips, she tried to lift higher, seeking more of him.

She didn’t know that she was begging until he answered her.

Stroking her bottom then stroking her clit until she whimpered, he said, “Little kitten, I can’t, but fucking you is….”

She wailed her desire. She needed him to fill her. Desperate for him, she needed him inside her to ease the ache. Her cunt felt like it was gaping wide and swollen… ready for him. She wiggled her hips enticingly and he groaned.

“You respond like a cat in heat,” he murmured but it was more amazed lust than mocking. He leaned closer, inhaling her scent and groaning in want.

She wanted to reply that she was in heat and he’d done it to her with the potion but he struck and drove the thought from her mind before her brain could form the words. He shifted so that he could use both hands on her – one spanking, the other working her clit. Ready to shatter, she reached out to touch him. Daringly, she slid her hand over his hip and thigh to stroke the heavy fullness of his cock. Through his trousers, he was thick and hard and huge.

His fingers still working between her pink folds, he pressed his hand over hers, molding her fingers over his cock, through his trousers. Showing her how to touch him, he moved her hand up and down and growled low in his throat. She squeezed gently as she stroked. He responded by pinching her clit enough to make her cry in fierce pleasure and rain over his hand.

“I want you to make it clear that you’re mine when you see Malfoy. Understand?”

She nodded, whimpering her need.

He swatted her once again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes!”

“Good girl,” he said and made her shatter with a flick of his long, talented fingers.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Peter, welcome back, my friend,” said Voldemort in a jocular tone. He sat in the most comfortable chair in the house. It was the only chair in the room.

Peter Pettigrew tried to swish his damp robes like Snape but only managed to unbalance a candelabrum. Righting it clumsily and untangling the filthy brown fabric from around the stand, Peter stuttered, “Thank you, Master. I’m glad to be home. Hiding is so difficult these days.”

“Why is that?”

“Everyone is so vigilant, even for rats.”

Voldemort chuckled. “Even my Death Eaters? I wonder what they are protecting themselves from.”

“Just the Aurors, mostly. Scrimgeour’s office has had more raids in the last two weeks than in the last year, total. Thorfinn Rowle is still planted well into that office and he tries to contact your men before the rest of the Aurors arrive, but he’s not always able to reach each one. Selwynn’s flat was searched only yesterday – nothing was found but an interesting pornography collection.”

“Will Rowle be caught?”

“I don’t think so, Master. When I was hiding at the Malfoys, he and Lucius spoke via Floo. Rowle said that if he can’t contact the person directly, he has Thicknesse do it.”

“Good. I’ll commend Rowle when I see him.”

“And…”

“Yes, Peter?” It wasn’t impatient. Rather, it was a friendly invitation to settle in and share tea and gossip.

“Each speaks your name in hushed tones.” Peter said. At Voldemort’s careless motion, Wormtail dropped to the ottoman near his feet and made himself as comfortable as possible. “Each is scared of you but willing to do your bidding, according to the general chatter in each home that I visited.”

“Fear isn’t a bad thing, Peter, as long as there is trust in me. You’re sure that you weren’t seen?”

“Only by a couple of cats, Master.”

Voldemort chuckled. “Chased, were you?” When Peter blushed and nodded mournfully, Voldemort continued, “I’m sure the exercise was good for you! Now, tell me what else you learned during your time as a rat?”

“Malfoy abuses his wife.” Wormtail chose his words carefully. “Each incidence that I saw coincided with a certain unwillingness to serve you as I feel that you deserve.”

“How so, my friend?” Voldemort asked.

“The first time he struck her was after you insisted that the boy, his son, take the Dark Mark, even after Lucius said that it might cause trouble at school,” said Peter, describing an event just before school started. “The last time, he hit her with a Stinging Hex after you allowed Greyback to lead the attack on Mearsboffin, rather than Malfoy.”

Voldemort tapped his fingernail on his chair again and said, “That is most interesting. Malfoy is getting impatient and nasty when he doesn’t get what he wants, though I never see anything but his oily smile. I’ll have to keep that in mind, if only because the lovely Madam Malfoy generates a very healthy income for me.”

Wormtail tittered in response.

Voldemort changed topics, a tool he used to keep his servants off balance. “Who complained about Mearsboffin?”

“The Malfoy boy, who was told off by Lucius right quick and Yaxley.

“Why the complaints?”

“The Malfoy spawn because he’s a spoiled little shit and Yaxley, he said that it was his child’s birthday, Master.”

“And did you verify it?”

“Indeed I did, Master – and the crumb of cake that I took from the counter was also delicious.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After dinner, he stood in their office and motioned for her to write; she scowled and did as she was bidden, trying desperately not to blush.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Snape grumbled.

Kiaya looked at him. “What?”

“If you’re formal with him, he’ll think that you think that he’s better than you are and that you can be bullied into bed.”

Kiaya blinked and tried to digest that logic. She said, “Well, I didn’t want to be too casual and make him think that I like him.”

Snape grunted. Though skittish and embarrassed, Kiaya was feeling a lovely post-orgasmic bliss and so was willing to allow for Snape’s usual cross manner. Instead of snapping at him, or cooing for more of his attentions, she pretended to ignore him.

Thank you so much for considering me in your plans. I’m deeply honored

“You’re not honored.”

She clenched her jaw and spelled away the word.

… pleased that you consider me in some small way able to help in such a momentous project. I will be proud to help in any way that I can.

He glanced over her shoulder again. “You’re not proud. Make sure he knows that you’re doing him a favor by listening to his idea. Don’t commit.”

“Do you want to write this?” she held the quill out to him.

“No. Get on with it.”

She growled but it sounded more like a sigh.

I will be happy to meet with you to discuss your ideas and any part that I might play in aiding the fund raiser. I suggest Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop

“Use The Hog’s Head. Madam Puddifoot’s is too damned romantic. He’ll get the wrong idea.”

Cross now, Kiaya tossed the quill on her desk and turned her entire body to look at him as he loomed over her. “Would you please stop correcting me? I think I can manage to write my own letter.”

“No. Get used to it,” he growled.

“What gives you the right to tell me what to do?” she was shocked at his audacity, treating her like a student, especially after... this morning.

“You gave me the right when you soaked my hand this morning.” He swooped over her, took her jaw in two of his fingers and crushed his lips over hers.

Instantly, she melted for him.

The letter was finished and soon sent off, exactly as Snape wanted it written.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*


He sprawled naked in his own bed, ignoring the perpetual hard-on that he had around her. He was glad for the peace of night and only slightly glad to finally be alone. He’d kissed her senseless and then left before creaming his trousers – again. Deliberately staring at the canopy of his bed, rather than at the scrap of white satin near his feet, Severus mused on the day – and the woman that had caused his erection. Severus hadn’t planned for her panties to appear on his bed when he’d Banished them from her body that morning, but there they were.

He thought of her there, bent over one of the desks. Her sweet, round ass was red and hot from his hands. Her juices had dripped down those gorgeous legs – then poured onto the floor during her orgasm. She’d begged him to fuck her and his temptation almost got the better of him. He’d give his eyeteeth to sink hip deep into her and make her scream his name again. She’d be tight and hot and so fucking slick he’d be able to pound in to her forever.

He Summoned her panties just by crooking his finger. Bringing them to his nose, he inhaled deeply. His erection stiffened as he smelled the sweet musk of her cunt. The panties were the slightest bit damp still – they’d been soaked for him when he’d made them disappear. Acknowledging that half of the desire for her was the pheromones, he knew that the rest was because she was a spitfire with the body of some fantasy nymph. To be sure, her breasts were on the small side and her hair was short enough to be called ‘boyish’, but her trim little waist and nicely curved ass made up for it. He smirked and wrapped his hand around his cock. She talked too much; he wondered how she’d react to being gagged.

The thick flesh in his hand throbbed as he remembered the sound of his name on her lips. His thumb stroked over the smooth head of his cock as he imagined sinking deep into her forbidden cunt. He knew she’d be so hot that he’d come hard and fast – at least the first time.

His hand moved faster and his breath shortened. He closed his eyes, picturing her in the classroom, spread wide and begging. God, he loved the sound of her voice begging for him. Severus’s taut belly trembled at the sensations that he was generating and his fingers tightened as he stroked. In the back of his brain, he made a note to start giving the lady lessons in pleasuring him rather than stammering and running off after she’d recovered from her orgasm. His hand moved faster and his head fell back on the pillow. He pictured her in his bed, working his cock. The deep thrumming in his balls spread outward, heat flooded his body as his hand worked.

His face contorted as waves of pleasure erupted in his belly and his panted groan rumbled from low in his chest. His legs and belly taut, he stroked once more before the first jet of semen erupted from his cock. It spurted up and onto his stomach, followed by more; each stream was hot, thick as it splashed on his skin.

As his breathing returned to normal and his body cooled, he grunted. Thinking about sex with the little witch was pointless, he reminded himself as he mopped up the mess with her panties. Her lot in this insane game was to be the most sexually aroused virgin on the planet. His was to … well, his was to eventually die at the feet of one of his masters. He tossed her underwear into the laundry – the house elves could figure it out. Until he died, though – or was allowed to fuck her until she screamed, his job, as pleasurable or torturous as it sounded, was to keep Kiaya Roundtree, the desperate temptress and innocent slut, a virgin.