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
- 8
- 9
- 10
When Severus opened his eyes, they were standing in the snow just outside of the forbidden forest. Hagrid’s light was on. He pounded on the door, bellowing until it swung open with a bang. The enormous boarhound Fang began to bark madly. Severus didn’t bother explaining, but pushed past the gamekeeper with enormous strides, and carefully placed Freya’s limp body down onto the dining table. Hagrid gaped at them in shock but instinctively placed his large, gentle hands beneath Freya’s head to keep it from knocking against the hard surface. She was twitching violently now, her limbs thudding rhythmically against the table again and again. Her skin was clammy, and bone white.
“HAGRID…” He stared wildly at the gamekeeper. “POISON…PLEASE.” Severus Snape, who prided himself on his control over his emotions and his ability to keep a cool head in the midst of chaos, suddenly realized that possibly for the first time ever in his adult life…he felt helpless. His mind, capable of memorizing a thousand remedies to a thousand and one potions was blank. Terror gripped his heart in a clenched fist. She was going to die, and it was all his fault. There were crashing noises as Hagrid went to his kitchen cupboard, and began pushing things roughly aside, not caring that some of them fell to the floor.
Suddenly the half giant thrust an open jar under his nose, then reached down to prop Freya into a sitting position, holding her mouth open with his fingers. She was shivering so hard, that he had to wrap an arm around her to keep her still. Snape plucked a shriveled bezoar from the jar, and shoved it between her lips. Hagrid clamped her mouth closed, and laid her back down again. The young witch undulated unnervingly as though she was about to choke. “Come on, Freya. Swallow it. Please. Please.” He looked up helplessly. Hagrid was staring at him, utterly shocked by the unusual amount of emotion the normally stoic wizard was showing. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. He repeated the thought in his head like a mantra, until finally, they heard a weak cough. “Ohh Merlin...” Snape groaned with palpable relief, and sat down at the table, running his fingers through his hair. It was done. Her eyelids fluttered, but only barely opened.
“It’s alright, Freya. Yer safe.” Hagrid said softly.
“The…the hell?” She mumbled feebly, and attempted to rise.
“No no. You stay there. Don’t try an’ get up.” He grabbed a pillow from the sofa and slid it under her head.
“What…happened?”
Severus shook his head, not knowing how to answer. Hagrid frowned down at them, then said softly. “Well Freya, Professor Snape ‘ere just saved your life.”
“Severus…safe?” She whispered. Snape grabbed her hand reflexively, and pressed his mouth to it.
“I’m fine. We’re both fine.”
“Heh…I’m not…a very good spy, am I?” She stared at him for a moment, then her eyes rolled back and she passed out, her head hitting the cushion with a dull thud. The sleep was unnatural, but they both knew that she was out of immediate danger. When Hagrid asked what had happened, Snape shook his head, unable to answer.
“You saved her, Hagrid. If you hadn’t had that bezoar…” He stared guiltily at Freya, and smoothed a lock of hair from her pale face.
“Always keep ‘em handy. Never know if you’ll get bitten by somethin’ nasty.” Hagrid grunted, then gave him a long, hard look. “When are you plannin’ on tellin ‘er?” He asked quietly.
“Tell her what, that she may never be able to leave Hogwarts again without someone trying to murder her?” He spat, suddenly furious, but not at Hagrid. He should never have allowed her to leave the school grounds. He’d sensed it the moment they’d entered that club. She was too well known in the wizarding underground, and Lucius had poisoned her, clearly thinking he’d be rewarded for her death. She wasn’t safe, even with him.
“Look ‘ere, Snape. Freya’s a friend o’ mine, and she’s had enough trouble. I’m not stupid. I saw you the night that…that thing insider ‘er showed itself. I saw your face just now. You weren’t just worried about ‘er, you were terrified. If you feel some sort o’ way…” The giant was looking at him with a pitying expression. It angered him. He didn’t want pity.
“Shut up.” He hissed.
“Fine.” Hagrid looked down at Freya’s still face, concern crinkling his broad features. Her skin was damp with sweat. “She’s not in the clear just yet. Want me to take ‘er to the hospital wing?”
“Poppy’s gone for the holiday. I have the necessary things in my chambers. I can brew her the proper antidotes from there.”
“If I let you take ‘er there…” The large man eyed him sharply, his voice growing cold and more deadly than Snape had ever heard it. “You won’t be takin’ advantage of her. Do you hear me? I’ve seen the way you look at her. Like she belongs to you. She doesn’t.” He gaped at him. “I want your word, Snape.” Severus struggled internally for a moment. Did Hagrid really think so little of him?
“You have it.” He said finally, knowing there was no way in hell he’d be taking her otherwise. As gentle as the half giant normally was, he knew he’d be a fool to challenge him. Luckily, Hagrid grunted in acknowledgment, then lifted Freya off the table, cradling her as easily as he would a child. “After you, Professor.”
There was a heavy silence as they made their way to the dungeons. When Freya was safely lying on top of his bed, and Hagrid had been sufficiently assured that no harm would come to her, Severus pointed his wand at the ornate marble fireplace, and the logs within crackled to life, filling the room with a warm orange glow before he began leafing through his numerous books on poisons and their remedies. After several minutes, he closed the one in his hand in frustration. If a bezoar had saved her, then the threat of imminent death was over, but something was itching in the back of his mind. He busied himself by filling a small basin with water and mopping the sweat from Freya’s brow with a clean washcloth. She was so still it looked as if she’d been carved from marble, even with her red hair spilling across his pillow. The scarlet stain on her lips now seemed garish, and he carefully wiped it off. She looked younger, like this, and it unnerved him.
Having several years of teaching under his belt, Severus’ chambers were much larger than Freya’s. His floors were covered in plush green oriental rugs, and there were two black leather armchairs by the enormous fireplace. Severus’ bed was an impressive beast of a thing carved from dark cherry wood with a silky emerald green coverlet. The adjacent room was his private laboratory, and every available inch of wall space was filled with books. Despite its place in deep within the bowels of the castle, it lacked the damp chill that often permeated the dungeons.
Freya mumbled something in her sleep, and he was immediately at her side. Her clothes were now drenched in sweat, and she was shivering dreadfully. There was a brief moment of panic in his gut as he undressed her, pulling off her boots and rolling the stockings down her legs. He felt a twinge of shameful desire in his lower belly, and a stirring in his groin as he carefully removed her brassier. Then he gently wiped her skin down with the damp cloth, paying particular attention to her chest and forehead, which had become very warm. After a moment of rifling through his closet, he found his softest white dress shirt, and carefully pulled it onto her now trembling body, buttoning it a little more than halfway up. When he drew the coverlet up to her chin, she mumbled again, but he did not understand the words. He lowered his ear to her mouth and listened harder. The words were not English. They sounded like German. “Nein.” She whispered. “Nein.” His stomach clenched. Who was she pleading with? “BITTE NICHTE! MUTTER!” She screamed, and sat up. Her eyes opened, but they did not see him. He grabbed her by the shoulders, but she fought him off, slapping at his face. “Make them stop. Mutter.” She whimpered.
“Freya, it’s just me, you ridiculous woman!” He snapped in frustration, not knowing how to soothe her, but to his dismay she began to cry. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs wracked her body, and Snape wrapped his arms tightly around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He held her that way until the trembling stopped, and when he laid her back down, she had passed out again, gently snoring as though nothing had happened. He had seen these kinds of night terrors before, and indeed, had suffered from them himself. Severus returned to his books to look through every kind of poison that might cause this kind of trauma, tearing through the pages frantically, until he saw an illustration that made him pause. It was a bottle in the shape of a naked woman, and suddenly he remembered where he’d seen it before. Freya had bought one at Borgin and Burkes that day he’d followed her into Nocturne Alley. It was a potion meant to control unwanted dreams. Potent, but the withdrawal from such a potion could be nasty business. His stomach lurched when he read the description. This was not a symptom of poisoning. She was suffering from her own foul memories. He pulled an armchair over to the bed, and rubbed at his temples.
That night, he brewed several potions, knowing that it was likely she’d suffer from the worst kind of hangover when she woke up. Several times, she lashed out, scratching at invisible terrors as hot salt tears rolled down her cheeks, still very much unconscious. Snape would carefully wipe them away with the hem of his sleeve, and tuck her back in before resuming his work. Occasionally her body would shudder, and she’d just moan pitifully. The sound was a dagger in his ribs. For a moment, he wished that he were a different sort of man. A kinder one, perhaps. The kind of man who would know just the right words to say that would bring her comfort. Finally, after he had completed a fresh batch of draught of living death, he woke her as gently as he was able. She stared at him, and for a moment she did not know who he was, but when he said her name, she relaxed instantly. He held the potion to her lips, and she drank.

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

Something touched his arm, and he awoke with a start. His wand flew into his hand, and his eyes snapped open. Freya was awake, and she was frowning at him. He’d fallen asleep in his armchair.
“How are you feeling?” She asked timidly. He snorted in disbelief.
“Lucius Malfoy tried to murder you, and you want to know how I’m feeling?”
“Heh. Should have let him.” She said with a wry grin. “My paintings would be worth twice as much. Sean could retire!”
“That’s not funny.” He snapped.
“It is a bit.” She argued. Then, she looked around, curiously. “Are we in your chambers?” He ignored the question.
“How long have you been taking somnium tenebris draught?”
“What’s it to you?” She snorted.
“Freya, somnium tenebris is a highly addictive potion. I know you suffer from night terrors, but that swill from Borgin and Burkes will only leave you susceptible to more psychic attacks, and the longer you take it, the worse the dreams will be when you stop.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” She lied, albeit poorly.
He sighed irritably. “You do know that at the moment, you happen to live in the same castle as a rather brilliant potions master? If you had come to me at any time, I could have…”
“What?” She interrupted with biting sarcasm. “What would you have done? Checked under the bed for monsters?”
“I can help eradicate your nightmares, but it will take time. Freya, you’re suffering from serious post-traumatic stress. ”
“Don’t be boring.” Her eyes narrowed at him disdainfully. “I thought you weren’t like them.”
“I’m nothing like Lucius Malfoy.” He snarled angrily, knowing that this was not strictly true.
“I didn’t mean the bloody deatheaters. I meant the order.” She sneered. “They always want to fix me too.” This took him completely by surprise.
“I see nothing that needs fixing, only a woman who needs to sleep properly every so often. You’re brother is a fool.” He said quietly, his features softening.
“My brother was right. You want to know the terrible truth, Severus? I don’t want the nightmares to stop. I want revenge.”
“You’re acting childish.” He snapped. She glared at him, but he stood wearily and retrieved three vials of potion. “You’ve survived the night, but we can’t know if there will be residual side effects without knowing which poison you’ve imbibed, though merlin knows you’ve got enough substances in your body now. Take one swallow of each twice a day until they’re gone.” He watched as she closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the headboard in a moment of dizziness, then uncorked the first one. “Start now.” She took a sip, then looked at him bitterly.
“I’m sorry our first date didn’t go so well.”
“Our first…” He gaped at her. “You’re mad. Do you realize that you should be dead? Why on earth would you be worried about…?”
“Severus.” Her voice became very quiet. “Why do you think Lucius tried to kill me last night?”
“I…I don’t know.” Snape lied, not liking the direction this conversation was going. “I’m going to find a house elf to fetch you some breakfast. We’ll see if your stomach can handle it.”
“Severus. Look at me. Please.”
“No.” He croaked in a hoarse whisper.
“Why would Lucius want me dead? I’m a friend to his wife. I teach his son. He has no reason to poison me, unless…”
“Be quiet, witch. Let me think.”
“You can think all you like, but you know that Dumbledore will insist.”
“I know what you’re about to say, and my answer is ‘no.’”
“You don’t have a choice. Lucius saw us together. He will tell your master. I don’t know when, but sooner or later you must present me to him.” Her smile was so maddeningly calm as she reached out to touch his face, but as soon as her fingers brushed his skin, he suddenly seized a vial of potion and hurled it across the room as hard as he could. It smashed against the fireplace mantle, and a flurry of purple fumes swirled darkly for a moment before dissipating. He clenched his fists, chest heaving as hot shame poured over him like molten wax. He should never have gone with her to The Locke. He should have tried to keep her from performing in public.       “Severus. I made a promise to Dumbledore to do whatever it takes. I’ve been making my bed for years, and now I must lie in it. If you don’t give me to them, your position will be compromised, and that cannot happen.”
“Don’t. Just…don’t.” He ran his fingers through his hair, then rubbed his eyes. There was a solution to this. There had to be, even if he didn’t see it right now. They would torture her. They would almost certainly kill her. When he looked back up, she was looking at him strangely. “What?” He snapped.
“Nothing, I just…I’m surprised that you care so much.” She said, frowning. He gaped at her in surprise and disgust.
“You think I don’t care whether you live or die?” He asked coldly. She shrugged.
“I think that we have a job to do.” There was such defeat in her voice that he went to her side, and sat back down in his leather armchair by the bed.
“Listen to me, witch.” He reached over and lightly touched the collar around her neck, then tucked a rogue lock of hair behind her ear. “I am not…sentimental. I will not pretend as though my desires for you are not purely physical, nor should you expect our relationship to…”
“We don’t have a relationship.” She interrupted venomously, jerking her head away from his touch. “Do you think I don’t know what this is? Don’t insult me.”
“Then don’t make accusations.”
“I haven’t accused you of anything.”
“Don’t insinuate then.”
She took a deep, weary breath. “Look, thank you for saving my life. Again. I truly appreciate the effort, and Merlin knows we’ve had some fun together, but the truth is…I highly doubt that I will survive this war.”
He punched the headboard. It made a loud, ominous cracking sound that reverberated throughout his chambers and she jumped, so startled that her hand instinctively reached for a wand that was not there.
“Don’t…don’t you ever…” He breathed. She stared at him with wide eyes and he knew he had shocked her, which made him even angrier. How could she think her life was all but over when he could still feel the ghost of her touch at all hours of the night? When her words, whether kind or scathing echoed in his skull? When he could still taste her lips, even now? “I don’t know what they did to you, or what you had to do to escape, and I don’t care. I don’t care what you, or Albus, or your stupid brother thinks. Your life…it matters. To me.” She gaped at him, and he could see the question in her eyes, but he was grateful that she did not ask. He reached out, and forced his fingers to stop trembling as he gently touched the collar around her neck. “I gave this to you as a mark of possession, but you do not belong to me. You may attempt to throw your life away on some foolish mission, but know this witch…” He gazed so intently into her eyes that it was almost a glare. “I will try to stop you.”
She lunged for him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him with a sweet sort of desperation, as if she were tasting his very soul, as if he were the only man on earth. His heart thudded against his ribcage and he groaned as blood rushed to his groin so quickly it made him dizzy. He placed a hand on the back of her head and matched her with bold, urgent sucks, their tongues probing sinfully. Fingers danced around the nape of his neck, and then they were fumbling to unbutton his shirt, nails raking gently across bare skin. Lips thrumming, he smoothed his hands up her bare thighs and they spread willingly for him. His fingers slipped across wet folds and she trembled, her lips still locked with his. When he applied a gentle pressure to the sensitive nub of her clit, she wriggled her hips with a tiny pleading sound and broke the kiss only for an instant, moaning sweetly for him before he hushed her with another. Merlin, the effect he had on her. His lightest touch had her quaking with want.
With his free hand, he unbuttoned his fly, and withdrew his quivering erection, all the while pleasuring her, feeling a swelling of pride as she mewed and gasped in gentle elation. A lock of hair fell roguishly across over her eyes as she panted, staring at him with primitive hunger, and he thought that the sight of her, naked except for his dress shirt, was sexier than if she’d been wearing the most expensive lingerie. Still seated, he took her by the hand, and pulled her irresistibly onto his lap. She reached between her legs, and wrapped her fingers gently around the base of his cock, swirling her hips wantonly so her nether lips teased the swollen tip. Smirking slightly, she lowered herself excruciatingly slowly so that only the head of his manhood penetrated. A deep, lustful growl rumbled in his chest, and he bucked his hips sharply, hoping to end this torment, but she giggled and pulled away. Then, she sank her fingers into his hair, and jerked his head back sharply, exposing his throat to her. He grunted at the sharp pain, but his dick throbbed in response as she lavished his neck with soft, wet kisses.
“Damn you, witch.” He whispered. When she bit into the sensitive flesh, he uttered a small guttural cry, which quickly turned into a hiss of pleasure as she lowered herself onto him, impaling herself exquisitely. Freya groaned in rapture as his thick cock stretched the walls of her pussy, filling her completely. She reached up to unbutton her shirt to reveal her breasts, and he gladly took a nipple into his mouth, causing her to hum with delight as she began to ride him, slowly, blissfully undulating her hips into his. He sucked gently at the sensitive flesh, swirling his tongue around it eagerly before releasing it with a wet popping sound, then latching onto it again, nipping it sharply with his teeth. He loved the way her tits bounced as she fucked him, and the way they filled his hands when he caressed them. She whispered his name, and there was such a deep lust in her voice that he almost came. He reached around to cup her ass with both hands, holding her still while the sensation ebbed away, trying to focus on anything but the way she was wriggling, so desperate to be filled again. He did not want to finish just yet. When she leaned down to whisper in his ear, he kissed her collarbone.
“Look into my mind. I want you to see.”
His eyes widened in surprise, then he groaned with elation as she sank onto him again, enveloping him in that sweet, wet warmth. She was inviting him into more than just her body. He hesitated. This was a level of intimacy he had never experienced. “Are you certain?” She nodded, biting her lip, and he flicked out his wand, which was still in his sleeve. “Legilimens.” He whispered.
And then, he was inside of her. Not only physically, but mentally as well. In his mind’s eye he watches a memory of her, lying in the hospital wing as he interrogates her. She’d forgotten the hypnotic quality of his low, impossibly smooth voice. He feels the way her stomach flutters at the sight of her old potions professor. She wants him, even when he draws his wand on her.
Freya began to ride him faster, her pussy making soft wet noises as he entered her. She squeezed her eyes shut as she gave him another glimpse. He marveled at her control. In the next vision, she’s sitting in class, a young woman who’se just come of age, watching him with a dazed expression, fixating on his every word, staring at his long fingers and imagining them inside of her. She squirms in her seat, trying to ignore a twinge of desire she does not fully understand. Now he’s standing over her, inspecting the contents of her cauldron, sneering lusciously, unaware of the wetness that pools heatedly between her thighs, just from being near him. None of the boys at school have ever made her feel this way. Severus groaned as he felt her walls flutter and clench around his girth, and he grabbed her ass with both hands, driving himself hard into her wet cunt, causing her to cry out in pleasure.
“More.” He snarled. “Show me more.”
She was fucking him so hard now, rotating her hips with every rise and fall, her clit rubbing sweetly against him every time he was fully sheathed in her. At the same time, he was her voyeur, watching flashes of memory; intimate moments of her life, letting him feel the frenzy of her own desires, which she had harbored secretly for years. As her orgasm began to build, welling up inside of her like a bubble about to burst, he caught a glimpse of something else. There’s a painting in her room. It shows an elegantly coiled serpent among a mass of roses, and the serpent has his eyes, but she is destroying it, flinging turpentine onto the canvas until the colors bleed into nothing. He pulled her in for another searing kiss, and when she came, he slapped her ass hard, causing her to cry out. She fucked him through it even as he body quaked, her teeth bared in a lustful sneer, until his cock became impossibly hard, and release broke over him like a wave, his cum spurting with incredible force. A ragged moan tore from his throat as she slumped against him, reveling the tickling sensation of his member losing its hardness inside of her.
Freya rested her forehead against his, and then…more memories flooded his vision until he was completely immersed in them.
She’s a teenager, restless and hormonal, attending her first underground show in London, and Barty Crouch Junior is watching her with a desire that is almost hostile. He says all of the right things. All of the lovely nonsense that every young witch wants to hear. He’s older than her, and more experienced. She is putty in his hands. She trusts him. Her heart flutters as he gives her her first taste of firewhiskey, dipping his long elegant fingers into the sweet liquor and telling her to suck them. Her eyes are so innocent, and later when he takes her virginity, she tells herself that this is love, even when she feels disgusted with herself. So naïve. She will not see him again for another year. Heartbroken.
More shows. More painting. Italy. Germany. Some people love her, and others hate her, but she doesn’t feel shit. There are new drugs to try, and besides, her sexuality isn’t going to explore itself. She makes it all the way to Delhi, where in the middle of the night, she feels something choking her, an invisible force trying to snuff the life from her body, but it makes her cum so hard it’s difficult to fight it. Her neighbors drive her from her temporary home. They are afraid, and they should be. After that night, she is never the same. Darkness licks the back of her mind. Always. Her paintings become more beautiful, and yet more sinister. She crosses into Russia. Vodka. Paint. Vodka. Paint. She takes a lover, but he senses that something is wrong with her, and he is right. There is a presence in her body, and it is feeding on her, trying to make her do things. Dangerous things. Fun things. The lover disappears one night, but she couldn’t care less. This will not do. She seeks an ancient druid living in the forests of Denmark. He makes her wait, shivering in the snow for three days before he agrees to teach her how to make the symbols on her flesh, the old way. He rubs the woad into her cuts, and then the thing inside is trapped, for now.
Then, a show in Bruges. Wealthy patrons. Old money in cocktail dresses. Whispers of a dark lord returning. They find her amusing. A novelty. Unaware that one should always beware of artists, for they mingle with all classes of society. She writes to Dumbledore. A feeble act of redemption. Proposals are made. Letters are stolen from dark bedchambers. A knife in the dark. Then, she sees Crouch at a gallery opening, and once again, he says all the right things. The old feelings return. “Stupid”, she tells herself. He explains that he’d had no choice but to leave her that first time and that he was on a very important mission for a very powerful man. He gives a place in his home. She paints. For a while she is something like happy. He brings his friends over, and she listens to their conversations, and writes to Dumbledore. Then his friends want to be her friends too. They like to watch. They all like to watch. They call her “Cerise” for the color of her hair. Then, Barty introduces her to Lucas Frend. He’s a tall man with white hair, the leader of a feared gang, and Bartemius wants her to make him happy. He wants her to offer her flesh, in return for power. She refuses. He hits her, for the first time. She runs, and stays for a time in a hostel, where an owl finds her. Her mother has died. The tears burn her cheeks. She writes to Dumbledore.
Market day. She knows it’s foolish to go outside, but she goes anyway. Fenrir Greyback is there. He knows her scent. Then, darkness.
“Freya.” Snape murmured, pulling out of her mind sharply. She gasped at the sensation, then looked at him strangely, and he knew she was afraid of what he might think, but it was too late for that. Quietly, she slipped from his lap, and sat back on the bed, considering her next words carefully.
“I killed him. Their leader.” She confessed quietly. “It took almost a year. They used to feed on me, just a little bit every night, to keep me weak.”
“How did you do it?” He asked gently.
“Wandless magic. There was nothing to do in that cell besides practice. I nearly lost my mind in there. They experimented on me, you know. They wanted the succubus inside of me. It spoke to them. My body was just an inconvenience. One night, he had my wand with him. He was going to snap it in front of me…”She snorted. “As if that made a difference. He could have snapped my leg and I wouldn’t have given it up. “
“And then what happened?”
“I disarmed him.”
“And then?”
“I used a curse to rip his heart from his body. It tore out of his ribcage and I caught it. Then I stabbed it with my wand. His heart, it…screamed when it died.” She spoke so bluntly, with a quirky, almost girlish thoughtfulness that it took a moment for the words to sink in. Then, to her surprise, he began to chuckle.
“That’s how you escaped? Bloody hell, woman.” He laughed even harder when her eyebrows shot up. “No wonder Dumbledore made you Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”
She considered him silently, and then a small shy grin stole across her lips.
“You don’t think I’m mental?”
  “No more than I already did. How on earth were you sorted into Hufflepuff?” He asked, voicing a question that had been puzzling him. Freya gave him a very quizzical look, as though the answer was obvious.
“I wanted to be in Hufflepuff.”
“You what?” Snape was unable to keep the disdain from his voice.
“Well, the best thing about being a Hufflepuff, is that there are so few expectations, I think.” She was smiling wistfully now. “It’s easy to be yourself when you’re in a house that’s so inclusive. Also the common room is next to the kitchens. Always a plus.” Freya winked at him.
“I see.” He replied with a faint grin. “Come to think of it, I do have a few Hufflepuffs in my classes who are…adequate, at brewing potions.” She giggled at this, and he felt a small twinge of pride at making her laugh.
“I’ll admit, I have a bit of a soft spot for my Slytherins.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Do you?”
“It can’t always be easy, being in Slytherin, can it? I know you’re all fiercely proud of your house, as you should be, but sometimes I expect…” She hesitated. “Well, I can’t imagine it’s always pleasant, being sorted into ‘the bad’ house. To have that reputation thrust upon you when you’re eleven.” He stared at her. “Of course, I think all that blood status nonsense is complete rubbish, but people do tend to forget that when Salazar Slytherin was alive, muggles were trying to burn us alive. It’s not hard to see where the prejudice comes from. I mean, once you separate the house from the student, you realize that’s a child you’re looking at.” She frowned at him. “I like to think that my Slytherin students benefit from a touch more kindness.”
“Oh god, you really are a Hufflepuff.” He groaned.
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Spy vs. Spy