Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Author's note: In which I attempt to answer the age old question, "What does the underground art scene look like in the wizarding world.?" No? Just me?
Please review. The lack of feedback is making me sad.

At 5:45 the following evening, Severus received a note in his office.“Meet me by Hagrid’s hut in 15 minutes.” He contemplated his wardrobe for a minute, then finally decided on the most casual outfit he owned, which was a black button up dress shirt with silver snake cufflinks, and a dark velvet waistcoat. His trousers were also black, with very subtle grey pinstripes that made his long legs seem even longer. He cut an impressive figure. Severus Snape simply did not do t-shirts and jeans.
            At precisely six o’clock, he found Freya leaning against a tree, smoking one of Professor Sprout’s brown, specially blended cigarettes, the kind meant to elevate the toxicity of her blood should they encounter a ravenous vampire somewhere along the way. She wasn’t doing a terribly good job of it, as she kept coughing and glaring at the thing with utter disdain. Snape grinned and plucked the cigarette from her fingers, leaning over her and resting his elbow resting against the tree. He took a long, practiced draw from it, noticing the way she watched his mouth as he did. Lifting an eyebrow, he shamelessly looked her up and down. Freya was wearing a soft hooded jacket over a black lace camisole and a tantalizingly short skirt that would have been ill fitting for the cold weather, if not for her black woolen stockings. He swallowed hard at the sight of her shoes, tall slender black boots that laced all the way up to her knees with precarious three-inch heels. On her head she wore a knitted cap to ward off the chill, but her bright red hair fell to her shoulders in ringlets. Her lips were stained scarlet, and as he had finished his pull from the cigarette he couldn’t resist leaning in to press his own lips against them, tasting them gently, teasingly. When they pulled apart, she sighed, and blew out the residual smoke. His cock stiffened at the sight.
            “If we keep that up we won’t make it very far.” He mused.
Her lips curled into a slightly wicked smirk. “That doesn’t matter much, where we’re going.” And she took his hand, and apparated.
They arrived in a very dark and dingy alley covered in graffiti, and it was raining. He frowned at the enormous black wooden door with its jumble of scrambled letters scratched into it. For a wizard bar, it didn’t seem very well hidden.
“Muggles don’t really come here.” She said, as if reading his mind. “The ones that do are usually looking for drugs…and they usually get them.” She added ominously.
Freya drew her wand, and pointed the tip at the letters until they rearranged themselves to form the words “The Locke.” It swung open, and they were set upon by a tall gangly wizard with long, sleek brown hair wearing a white t-shirt with the word “mud-blud” scribbled onto it, and a poorly rendered drawing of a hand giving the middle finger just beneath it.
“What’s the password, chicka?” He asked, looking her up and down.
“Fuck off.” She replied. To Snape’s amusement, the man stepped aside and let them through. He was immediately assaulted by a bombardment of stimuli. The lights shifted between a full spectrum of colors, although the atmosphere itself was quite dark. Blood red fabric lined the walls, and there were enormous cushions strewn haphazardly on the floor. Several people were smoking hookah pipes or playing wizard’s chess, or taking advantage of the dark corners to snog their partners. A woman with a third eye tattooed on her forehead and a tiny white corn snake slithering through her fingers greeted Freya and kissed her on both cheeks before slinking off to rejoin her friends. People were ogling them, and whispering to each other. Suddenly, this seemed like a very bad idea. Clearly Freya was better known than he’d realized, although he seriously doubted Barty Crouch and his gang would make an appearance. It felt reassuring when he discretely fingered his wand, which he kept hidden up his sleeve these days.
A band consisting of three blue haired women and a drummer that looked to be part troll was playing very loud punk music, and the people who weren’t dancing feverishly, (although at times the dancing looked more like fighting) were lounging on sofas or large overstuffed armchairs. More than one couple was openly snogging here as well, and he glimpsed a back room where he was certain they were doing far more than that. An elderly wizard with a long blonde beard and a falcon perched on his shoulder shouted something alarmingly at them in Russian, but Freya simply nodded at him and he grinned, hints of gold glinting in his teeth. Out of nowhere, three triplets with unnervingly red eyes stepped up to him and pressed their bodies uncomfortably close. One of them offered him a pipe with a strange purple stone smoldering inside the bowl, but Freya whirled upon them and hissed something inaudible that sent them retreating into the shadows.
“Friends of yours?” He asked wryly. She winked at him and took him by the hand, leading in the direction of the bar. He openly admired the curved of her arse for a moment before asking, “However do you walk in those things?” Referring to her boots, which now seemed dangerously high. She leaned against the bar and held up two fingers.
“Trade secret.” She replied. “It involves placing one foot in front of the other. Severus leaned in close and barely traced her jawline with his long fingers.
“I’m glad you’re comfortable in them, because you’ll be wearing them later when I’m fucking you so hard you scream.” She shivered at this, then leaned in and placed a warm kiss on the side of his throat, grazing him gently with her teeth. He shivered as well.
The man tending the bar suddenly gave a great shout of delight at the sight of her, and leaned over to give her a small hug and a peck on the cheek. He was heavily tattooed and his bottom lip was pierced. He was also incredibly handsome, with curly dark hair and silky brown eyes. “Hello, Sean.” Freya said. Severus felt a small pang of jealousy at their familiarity, but then the man looked at him, and eyed him up and down appreciatively.
“Did you bring this for me, Freya? You know how much I like tall dark and brooding.” He asked with a roguish wink. The corners of Snapes’ mouth twitched in amusement.
“Sorry, luv. I’m not done with this one yet.” Freya said, grinning rather possessively.
“Ready for the show? Nervous?” He asked. Freya fixed him with an almost wild grin that reminded Severus strongly of the night she’d tried to bite him in the hospital wing. “What’ll it be, darlings? You’re not paying tonight.” The bartender asked.
“You’re a treasure, Sean. Did you know that? Two dragon cunts, please.” She replied, fixing Severus with an amused look when his eyebrows shot up at the name. “Trust me, everything else here tastes like diabetic troll piss.”
“That’s…specific.” He mused. “I didn’t realize you’d be performing tonight.”
“In a manner of speaking.” She said carefully. “I owe Sean a favor. He got me out of a tough spot not long ago and well…I’m good for business, you see.”
“Does Dumbledore know about this?”
“You know.” There was almost innocence in her reply.
A “dragon cunt” turned out to be bright red liquor, so called because it came with what looked like a maraschino cherry engulfed in blue flames. Freya plucked hers out and wrapped her lips around it, extinguishing the flame fearlessly in a way that made his eyes darken lustily. He glanced around. People were watching them, or else trying not to look like they were. He fixed her with a smoldering sort of look that normally would have come with detentions or a loss of points. Then he removed his own cherry, ignoring the flames that licked his fingers, and held it up to her. She laughed, and sucked it slowly off its stem in way that would make a grown man blush, clearly not caring who was watching. When she bit her lip, he leaned in and kissed her, deciding that he didn’t care, either. Damn the risk, and damn the onlookers. It was oddly tantalizing to have an audience. He slipped his arms around her waist and was about to kiss her neck, when they were interrupted by a smooth, drawling voice.
“Severus?” He knew who it was before he even looked up. Freya winced, ever so slightly, and took a large gulp of her drink.
“Lucius.” He replied, smirking dangerously at the tall, magnificently blonde wizard who was now watching them with keen interest. The man wore tight leather breaches and a white dress shirt with a dark grey waistcoat, and he was tapping his lips with the head of his silver cane thoughtfully.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to…?” Lucius began, but trailed off when Freya turned to look at him, resting her elbow nonchalantly on the bar.
“Mr. Malfoy.” She inclined her head politely, but Severus heard the edge to her voice, even if he did not.
“Miss Cerise. How lovely to see you again. Or is it Lupin now? I’ve lost track.” He sneered, but his eyes were roving up and down her body shamelessly, lingering on the green collar with interest. “Well well, Severus…I had no idea you were into that sort of thing.” The delicate way in which he emphasized the word “thing” set Severus’ teeth on edge. He did not know if he was referring to her collar, or to Freya herself, but neither would have surprised him.
“Presently no, but the night is still young.” He replied smoothly. Freya snorted with laughter, and Lucius fixed her with a strange glare, but suddenly she wasn’t looking at either of them, but rather at something that was happening behind them. The music had begun to pulsate deliriously.
“How’s Cissa doing?” She asked in a bored tone.
“Narcissa is fine.” He said in a warning tone, his jaw clenching, as though Freya were about to reveal something she should not, and suddenly refusing to meet Severus’ gaze.
“She ever tell you about that night in Brussels? Always good for a laugh, that one.” She winked, and then sipped at her drink. “Ever notice how people with the most to lose have the most skeletons?” She asked. Lucius winced at this, then to Severus’ surprise, began to chuckle. He leaned in and pecked Freya on the cheek. Severus watched with keen interest, carefully sliding his wand from sleeve to palm where he could quickly flick it into action should the conversation sour.
“How are you, darling? Hogwarts treating you well?” Lucius asked almost kindly, but Severus knew the difference between genuine affection, and the sort of polite conversation one uses when they wish to keep their enemies close. Freya pursed her lips and gave the deatheater an enigmatic smile.
“As well as could be expected.” She said coolly. Lucius chuckles as though they were sharing some private joke. It was a wise answer that gave nothing away.
“And that…brother of yours?” He asked politely, but there was an insult hidden behind the words. Freya snorted disdainfully, and Severus wasn’t entirely sure whether she was acting scornful for Lucius’ benefit or not. She did not answer right away. She was staring at the enormous blank canvas that was being erected on the far wall next to the band. Paint and brushes were being set out, and the dancers were being encouraged to make their marks as they pleased. Freya grinned at them, and downed the rest of her drink while Lucius called the bartender over and ordered three shots of firewhiskey.
“I don’t have a brother.” She finally said. Severus watched her with fascination. In an instant, her manners had completely changed as if she were attending a masquerade ball instead of a seedy wizarding nightclub. Most people would not have noticed, but Severus was a master of this game. She was being interrogated, and she knew it.
“That is a pity.” Lucius mused, not sounding at all sorry to hear it. “And what about your latest benefactor? Barty Crouch the younger, wasn’t it?” Severus was careful to mask his disgust, not liking Lucius’ tone one bit. The blonde wizard was either looking for information, or he was prodding Freya in sensitive areas to see how she’d react. This time, she sneered with open derision.
“Bastard still hasn’t paid me.”
“Oh dear. You did several commissions for him, didn’t you? Is that what you’ve been doing for the past year? Narcissa wondered why you didn’t write.” At hearing this, Freya shrugged.
“You know how it is, Lucius. Once you start becoming successful, everyone wants a piece of you.” She replied arrogantly. Severus sensed the insult beneath the words. At that moment, their shots arrived. Lucius’ mouth twitched, as though he wasn’t sure what to make of that. Nothing like a taste of your own medicine, is there, Malfoy? Snape thought. Freya handed a shot to each of them, and held hers out for inspection. “What shall we toast to?”
“To old regimes…and to new?” Lucius said.
The bartender overheard and shouted. “Oi!” and pointed to a sign over the bar that read “NO POLITICAL DISCOURSE.” Freya laughed, and Severus smirked. “
“Ahh. To old friends then?” Lucius said somewhat miffed. They nodded
“Indeed.” Severus muttered. They clinked shot glasses, and downed them. The whiskey was foul and overly sweet. Lucius made a disgusted face and Freya winked at Severus.
“I told you so.” Her eyes flickered back to the crowd massing around the giant canvas, which now had little spots of color but was still mostly blank. He tilted her chin toward him, and kissed her softly, not caring one bit that Lucius was watching. She moaned a little, and parted her lips to taste him, but he pulled away. There was a spark of desire in her eyes. He chuckled and looked pointedly over her shoulder at the canvas. “Go, my little witch. Show me what you do.” She beamed at him, and the two men watched as she walked confidently through the crowd of witches and wizards, who fell quiet at the sight of her.
“Well, Severus I’m not sure I can say much for your taste, but she is a curvaceous little thing.” Lucius commented silkily. Severus downed his drink, instead of responding.
Freya paused before the canvas, now spotted with bits of color, only for the span of a heartbeat, then picked up a large can of bright blue paint, and heaved its entire contents onto the surface in an enormous, sweeping arc. The crowd roared its approval, and surged forward. The band started playing again, and the music was fast and loud. A strobe light went off, casting a feverish glow on the dancers. Severus watched, hypnotized as Freya removed her jacket and tossed it into the mob that fell upon it greedily as she turned back and began to push the paint around with her hands, not even bothering with a brush. Lucius sneered in disgust, but Severus found it utterly fascinating to watch her in her element. Nothing mattered. The crowd, the music and the lights all failed to distract her.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. ” Lucius drawled, ruining the moment. “Although you look at her like a lusty schoolboy. A bit pathetic, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“We…enjoy each other.” Severus replied carefully.
“Clearly.” Lucius sneered. “Have you ever seen one of her shows? Narcissa and I bought several pieces from her two years ago. Cissy adores her.” He said. “They’re good, but her performances…” He paused, and Severus then noticed that a hush had fallen over the crowd. “Ahh. There she goes.”
The strobe light stopped, and Freya turned to face the crowd. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. The music began as a low, rhythmic pulse that vibrated through the very floorboards, and when it grew louder, he felt it reverberating in his chest. His eyes widened when she hooked her thumbs beneath the hem of her camisole, and slowly lifted it over her head. He did his best not to react, as he knew that Lucius was watching him just as much as he was watching her. The audience moaned in appreciation, many of them gasping, or giggling. All eyes were on her. Even the snoggers in the corners had stopped to watch. Her expression was inscrutable as she reached behind her, and unzipped her skirt ever so slowly, arching her back and pushing out her chest as she did. He felt a shiver of lust, but this was a different sort of desire. This was a desire shared by many. Several sets of eyes raked over her exposed skin, but as sensual as they undoubtedly were, there was a sort of purity in her movements, as though she was stripping for a bath, and not for a crowd.
The skirt fell to the floor, and his mouth went dry. Her brassier and panties were black and velvety, and she wore a garter belt to hold up her stockings. The bra did not have straps that hung on her shoulders, but rather they criss crossed across her ribcage. Freya had always been rather pleasant to look at, not flawless by any stretch of the imagination, but now she held an ethereal glow. Power emanated from her very skin, hypnotic to anyone with magical abilities. This was not the submissive witch that he knew. This woman was very different. She oozed with dark magic that left a metallic taste in the air.
His cock strained painfully against his trousers, and as he stared, he saw the tattoos on her arms and shoulders begin to glow ominously. At first he thought it was a trick his mind was playing on him, but then he saw that there really was a halo of white light, pulsating from her body. The air flickered around her like the shimmer of a bonfire. She moaned heavily, rolling back her head, flicking her hair over her shoulders, and the audience seemed to shiver and sigh with her. Her eyes fixed on a young woman in the crowd, and she silently beckoned to her with the crook of a finger. The witch stepped toward her, utterly transfixed. Freya smiled at her and whispered something into her ear, causing her to shudder. Then suddenly, she reached down, grabbed a bucket of dark blue paint that had been sitting on the floor, and upended the entire thing over Freya’s head, slowly like some sort of baptism. It pooled slowly in deep glugs, coating her hair in shining wet pigment. Severus stared, not knowing what to think, but at the same time, transfixed. A very unusual feeling was creeping over him, a pleasant tingle that began in his scalp.
The sensation slowly worked its way down his body until his skin felt electrified. He watched the paint wash over her face in vibrant sheets at first, then it slowed to a trickle, forming countless rivulets in the curves and valleys of her body. The marks on her skin were glowing fiercely, and the halo that radiated from them was now touching her audience. People all around him were starting to moan in a highly personal way. Some of them began rocking back and forth with their eyes closed, and he knew why. Whatever magic she was using on them, it felt like a hundred fiery tongues swirling over his most sensitive parts, edging him toward bliss. Lucius actually sighed with pleasure. It felt incredible, but Snape focused all of his attentions on Freya. She smoothed her hair back with both hands, wiping some of the paint from her face, and in that instant he could see that she was in enormous pain. The magic she was focusing her energy into was siphoning pleasure into the crowd, but was utter torment on her own body. He stepped forward, wanting to cry out, wanting to shake her by the shoulders until she stopped this madness but Lucius blocked him with his cane and hissed at him.
“Not yet.”
The light quickened its pulse, and steam began to rise from Freya’s flesh. Members of the audience began to cry out, obscenely, orgasmically. She raised her head, and a scream of agony tore from her throat. There was a blinding flash, and a roar like an inferno, and suddenly her body flew back into the canvas in an explosion of cerulean blue droplets. All of the paint coating her skin burst into a swirling cloud around her. People gasped in shock and muttered to each other, but as the droplets began to settle, they started to exclaim and applaud. Freya was suspended in front of the painting with her arms stretched out, and behind her, the pigment that had tarnished her flesh moments before had exploded into the image of enormous, feathery raven’s wings, and for a moment, she was the darkest of angels. The applause became an eruption, and a stampede of people rushed closer to a get a better look, many of them gesticulating emphatically. Somewhere a light went off with a pop, and two large wizards were seen wresting a large camera from a seedy man in a leather jacket. Severus thought back to the magazine he had burned at Grimmauld place only nights before. Art or pornography, indeed.
Freya, her skin and hair now entirely clean, dropped down amidst the crowd, who surprisingly, seemed to have completely lost interest in her. They were too entranced by the painting she had left behind to notice her pulling her clothes back on in the corner. Severus watched her, enjoying this display every bit as much as her performance. He grinned as she stumbled, trying to pull her skirt back on over her boots and stockings.
“A waste of magic, if you ask me.” Lucius suddenly sneered, although Severus had seen the look of rapture on his face earlier. “The dark lord will want her eventually. You do know that.” Severus stiffened, his stomach churning. Their eyes slid to meet each other’s, and he was forced to acknowledge the statement with a stiff nod. “Freya does have her charms, but still…I wouldn’t get too attached.” Severus raised an eyebrow at him, careful not to let his true emotions on his face. He had considered this possibility before, but he had hoped her relationship to him would be enough to protect her. It was a vain hope. Voldemort had been trying to win the vampires to his side, and Freya had once been given as payment for that. Her escape from them had jeopardized the entire deal. He knew it, and Lucius knew it, no matter what games he was playing. “Do enjoy her Severus. While you can.” He added slyly, then turned back to watch Freya, who had reappeared, paint splattered and smiling. An attractive young witch who was certainly not Narcissa Malfoy sidled up to Lucius who grinned, and allowed himself to pulled away into that other room.
“Nice to catch up with old friends isn’t it?” She asked smoothly.
“We’ll need to keep an eye on him, I think.” He muttered darkly.
“Oooh are we going to do a bit of espionage? Want to sneak back there and watch Lucius get his nob polished?”
            “We could take pictures, and send them to his wife for Christmas.” He added.
            “There’s a thought.” She held up two fingers to Sean the barman, who nodded. She watched him carefully as his eyes roamed over the painting she’d just completed.
            “A fascinating piece. What do you call it?”
            “Cruciatus.” She murmured.
            “I see. Remarkable.” He mused. She lifted an eyebrow.
            “How so?”
            “The symbolism of causing yourself pain for the enjoyment of others. Allowing them to literally humiliate you by pouring paint over your body, furthering their voyeuristic pleasure, but in the end, the pleasure stops, the pain releases you, and thus…” He pointed at the wings. “Rebirth, and redemption, or if we associate the raven’s wings with certain mythologies…madness.” She stared at him.
            “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my entire life. I just really like blue.” She said blankly. They burst into laughter, together, and he found himself soon wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, laughing harder when she stumbled a bit and had to hold onto him for balance. The alcohol was finally getting to their heads. Still giggling, she raised herself on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “It turned out pretty enough, but nothing could be better than the way your arse looks in those trousers.” He scoffed at her, then caught the eye of a couple of witches who were staring at him in open admiration.
“People are watching us.” Severus said jerking his head in their direction. Freya looked at them, and rolled her eyes.
            “They’re watching you.”
            “Only because I’m with Freya Lupin. Or is it Cerise? Any other names you like to go by?” He asked, highly amused by the blush that spread across her cheeks.
            “Some people call me ‘whore.’” She said softly
            “Only I get to call you that.” He was surprised by the possessiveness that tinged his own voice.
            “You know, about the other night…what you did with the magazine. It was very…gallant.”
            This sentiment surprised him. Before he could respond, Sean brought them their drinks, but as he set them down, he leaned in close to mutter to Severus. “Watch out for your friend there, mate. The blonde one. He’s been trying to get me to put somethin’ in her drink since you came here. Real piece of work.” Fury bubbled up inside of him, and he took a moment to calm his nerves. Sean looked at him knowingly, then sauntered off to serve a gaggle of young witches who were just dying for a round of tequila. Freya cocked her head at them. They were now watching them, and giggling.
“Told you. You have fans.” She said, clearly annoyed.
“What are you on about?”
“Please. You’re the sexiest thing in this place.” He stared at her in utter disbelief, and she grinned. “Come off it. You look like a tall dark glass of ‘fuck me.’ I’m aware that I can only keep you for so long. I’ll just have to make the best of it before some cute little thing steals you away.” This had perhaps the opposite effect than she had intended. He scowled darkly, thinking about what Lucius had said. ‘Enjoy her while you can.’ “Is everything alright? Look, I’m sorry that Malfoy was here. I didn’t think this was his scene.” She was making it worse. Snape had a sudden mental image of her the night she’d fallen from the tower, possessed and seemingly dead on the ground. He stared at her, seeing the worry etched on her face. Lucius’ threat should not be taken lightly, but for now…”Dance with me.” He said suddenly. The music ebbed to a slower song as he grabbed Freya by the hand and pulled her irresistibly onto the dance floor, becoming lost in the crowd. The smell of cannabis was strong here, and it made his head feel light. Freya was struggling to keep a very foolish smile from her face, and she bit her lip when he drew her close. “Don’t do that.” He said.
“Do what?” She asked, genuinely surprised.
“Hide your smiles. If you’re happy with me, I want to see it.” He held her hand in his, and wrapped his other arm around her waist as they moved rhythmically to the music. It was a bit old fashioned, the way he held her, but some of the other witches, and a few wizards were swooning a bit at the sight of them. She hesitated, but grinned shyly up at him. He pressed closer and felt her shiver. “You’re cold.” He said, smoothing a hand up and down her bare arm to warm her.
“Not exactly.” She whispered. Severus bent his head to kiss her, and felt her smile against his lips. Emboldened, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and lowered her into a dip. There were a few wolf whistles from the surrounding dancers, and Freya giggled into his mouth. When he brought her back up, he placed both hands on either side of her face, and kissed her even harder for a moment before pulling away. “Damn you.” She whispered. They continued dancing, moving their hips together in a way that made her eyes flutter closed. He traced her jawline with his fingers, and pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, feeling her pulse quicken at his touch. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder, and he hissed slightly before capturing her lips again, sucking gently and groaning into her mouth. Eyes did not follow their movements, here. They were surrounded by bodies, protected by a wall of undulating dancers. Her lips trembled with want as he gently nibbled the lower one. “Merlin, what are you doing to me?” She whispered suddenly, pulling away. He gaped at her in surprise as a server brought over a tray of shots and offered them to her. She took two, and downed them both before placing the empty glasses back. Over her shoulder, he suddenly spied Lucius watching them intently with a smirk he did not like. Sean was watching them too, with a look of utter horror on his face. Snapes eyes narrowed as Freya shook her head in bewilderment, and her eyes glazed a bit. She began to sway dangerously. “Those tasted worse than before.” She slurred.
“Shit.” He muttered. He took her by the hand, and maneuvered her through the thickest part of the crowd which was now pulsating frantically with the music. There was a back room next to the stage, hidden by a scarlet curtain. He pulled her through it, and she slumped against him, giggling. Severus peered through the curtain and saw that Malfoy had vanished. Something wasn’t right. He barely registered that Freya was unbuttoning his shirt, until she smoothed a cool hand across his chest. Snape grabbed her wrist and yanked it away, causing her to pout. There was an old torn up sofa and Freya flung herself down on it, and gazed up at him deliriously.
He tried to ignore her. Lucius was up to something, but he was nowhere to be seen, now. There was a soft moan behind him, and when he glanced over he saw that Freya’s skirt had hiked up scandalously high, revealing the tops of her stockings, which were held up by two black garter straps. She sighed, and he dug his nails into his palms, trying not to think about the erection growing in his trousers. This was neither the time nor the place for such things. They were in danger. He could smell it.
Freya giggled again, and said “It’s so hot in here, Professor Snape…I feel funny.”
He stared at her as she propped herself onto her elbows, and suddenly, her eyes rolled back into her head and she began to shudder alarmingly. Severus rushed to her side, and placed a hand behind her head. “Fuck.” He cursed. She went limp in his arms. Spittle, tinted red with blood began to froth from between her lips. “FUCK.” He lifted her up over his shoulder. Just then, the club went dark. There were screams of panic from the others, and from between the curtains he glimpsed dark figures in among the crowd. Turning on the spot, he apparated, silently praying that there weren’t any charms in place to prevent their escape.
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