Through The Looking Glass

Lucretia LeStrange leaned against the desk in Severus Snape’s dungeon office and sipped at a glass of wine languidly as another woman stormed out the door, a woman who had just claimed her love for the charismatic potions professor that Lucretia shared her bed with.

I used to think that only death could keep me from you, the woman had said to Severus.

Lucretia shook her head with a light smirk, and let out a breath of words, so quietly that he could not have heard her. “But I am death.”

There was a sly glint in her eye as she removed her wand from her robes and cast lazily at the door, a muttered ward that would reply, whenever there was a knock, a hiss of 'Come Back Later', in her own voice. No one was going to disturb them this night.

He paced the room like some kind of restless schoolboy, looking decidedly uncomfortable. She watched him for a moment, as he turned and made to speak, then kept walking, then opened his mouth, and closed it again. A smile twitched at her lips.

“There is no need to say anything, Severus. I had heard rumours in Hogsmeade about women coming and proclaiming their love to you...” He flinched very slightly at the word, and her reaction to it leant a chuckle to her voice. “You sound like you have had an intense week.”

He smirked at that last comment, then rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course - they all seem to believe I will reciprocate their undying love.” His tone dripped with honey-like sarcasm, then the expression on his face changed, and he arched one black eyebrow at her.

“Who exactly spread these rumours?” A sip from the wine glass in his hand, and those dark eyes drinking her in as his lips tasted the rich red liquid.

She bit her lip, considering. “I really don't know. The Hogs Head is hardly a place where people ask names of one another.” Swirling the wine in the glass and taking another sip, she began to wander lazily about the room, motion lending a visual of movement to the way her thoughts flowed.

“It amuses me, because they obviously don't know a thing about you if they expect you to answer them, and then, how could they possibly love you?” The smile upon her lips was ironic. “You can rest assured, Severus; I will never ask such a thing of you.”

Then she paused, a thought that had come to her mind earlier coming back to her. Her hand trailed along his desk as she took a few steps, then stopped, and turn to him, and darkness met darkness, as her gaze locked with his.

“There is something I would ask of you, though, Severus.”

He laid his glass upon the desk, and his eyes met hers. His voice was tired, and somewhat resigned. “I suppose all women want something. Isn't that what they’re made for, to pressure men into things they really don't want to engage in?” At that he chuckled a little, watching a flicker of something across her face that she wasn’t aware of until after she had done it. “...Such as love?” With that, he settled into his wingback chair and regarded her with those bottomless eyes. “What is it that you want?”

She smiled again, shaking her head slightly, watching him with an amused sort of intensity. “Not all women desire passionate declarations of love, Severus. Indeed, if you were the kind of man to make them, I would never have been attracted to you.” A subconscious hand lifted to her mouth, tracing a thumb over one of those sharp canines that so defined her. “No, that is never something I would ask of you...”

For a moment her attention faltered, her thoughts drew inside her once again and she stared blankly, and then she was looking at him again, adamant, sure, confident, bold.

“I would have your trust.”

He arched an eyebrow, and one of his eyes twitched, minutely. The look he gave her would have frozen lesser mortals, and his voice was dramatically harsh, dripping with sarcasm.

“Trust? You want my trust?”

She swayed a little under his reaction, though she had been expecting it. The colours in her eyes swirled deeper, and her gaze became a little more intense. She nodded very slightly at his not-a-question.

“I would like for you to trust me. I don't want the details of your existence, or to know confidential things... no... Something a lot more basic than that.” She watched him, but his face was a mask of composure as she spoke, a carefully constructed façade. She had no idea what he was thinking.

“I have bestowed mine upon you, Severus. I am not going to think you a fool and tell you that your ribbons or your arms around my wrists would restrain me if I wanted to be free, that is not what I am talking about... but perhaps you do not realise how much it frightens me every time I down that potion of yours... I would not do that if I did not trust you.” Her voice had lost its confident, arrogant air, and was simply imploring. “I only ask a similar thing in return. Do you trust me, fangs and all?”

She approached him carefully, beside his chair, merely a breath away from him, and extended her hand to him, palm up, an offering and a question. “Come with me...”
A glance at her pale palm, her wrist, shaking a little, though she was unsure if it would be noticeable to anyone other than herself. Never had one simple action given her such a sense of everything resting upon a knife blade... She was unsure what she would do if he turned away from her at that instant.

Forcing the shake from her hand, she averted her gaze from his for a moment, trying to allow him to think on her words without the intense pressure of her gaze.


Severus Snape stared at that pale hand for a long time, watching the blue veins pulse beneath the porcelain skin, despite the fact that he knew her hart did not beat in her chest. What kind of Dark Magic was this that kept her alive, what kind of beast in her veins? Did she rule it, or did it rule her? He had learned long ago that he could not trust anyone but himself, and yet…

His fingers lifted from his knee, and he hesitated. And yet…

What did she want of him, and what would she do to him? Where was she taking him, and was it folly to trust a vampire, could she control those urges that so ruled her? Her power terrified him, all things that trust would represent, letting up his control to her, control that had been the only thing to keep him upright in the darkest moments of his life.

As if from another body, from another level of consciousness, came the realisation that her breathing had become more shallow. Was she worried? Was that fathomless, ageless, fearless beauty worried by the time he was taking to consider her palm, worried that he would turn her down, and that would mean their end? He allowed himself to look up at her, into her eyes, into those dark beseeching orbs, and there was all the humanity, right there.

How long had he been with her for? Five months? How many times had they been together in that time, how many times had he slept by her side? Was that not trust enough? Were they not the most vulnerable moments of his existence? But then, he supposed, she was right, in a sense. His ribbons and his hands would never restrain her, and she lost control beneath his touch so quickly, yet she had never lost control of the beast within her, never touched him with those teeth in any more than controlled nips. Surely, if she had wanted to hurt him, she would have done it earlier. And this display, this yielding, it was obviously something she needed.

Was he strong enough to accept her beseeching challenge? Could he let her win, or think that she had won?

Severus Snape lifted his pale palm and laid it in hers.

She was warm. She had fed before she had come to see him. He was oddly reassured by that, by the scent of life on her breath as she leaned toward him, as her silken fingers traced across his cheek, and lifted to gently pull his eyelids down. Her voice was a whisper.

“Don’t open them until I say so.”
And as she drew him to his feet with that hand around his, he could feel her doing it, wrapping him with that vampiric magic, that hypnotic rhythm, cloaking him in warmth, and the sense of his own strong masculinity. He did not fight it, this time, it was ever so nice to surrender to, and since he had agreed, he would go all the way. He was not a man who did things by halves.

He could feel his feet on the stairs that lead to his chambers, and resisted the urge to open his eyes and watch where his feet were walking. She was pulling him along slowly, and he felt almost that her mental suggestions were placing his feet in the right locations, but of course he knew this office like the back of his hand anyway.

She was heady, spinning her magic about him, wrapping him up tighter and tighter in warmth and heat, pulling him into his chamber and standing with him for a moment, until he became aware of her nimble fingers working at the robe over his shoulders, that big billowing bat cape that gave him such a reputation, tossing it t the floor with a crumple of material that he could hear, so heightened were his senses. Painstakingly slowly the buttons of his coat, then her fingers flickering against his skin as she stripped his shirt from him. The cool air against his naked flesh made his nipples stand on end, and the feeling of her tongue swirling around each of them sent ripples of electricity down his spine.

Oh, how he wanted to open his eyes, but he would not. If he only had that tiny amount of control over himself, he would grip it tenuously. Instead he reached out blindly for her, hand going about her waist and splaying out across her back, pulling her against him

A light chuckle rattled against him, and she ground her hips to his for a moment, then removed herself from his touch, taking up his hand again. He heard himself groan. She pulled him in one direction, and it took him but a moment to regain his bearings, to feel the difference in flooring as they entered the bathroom.

“Lucretia…” His voice was a mutter.

He could hear the smile in hr reply. “Curious, Severus? Keep those eyes closed.” Then there were muttered words, and flashes of light behind his eyelids. What on earth?!

“Lucretia…” A warning tone in his voice.

Her fingers traced the muscles of his chest again, and she drew close to him, one hand tracing down to flicker over the bulge in his pants, steadily becoming more rigid with touch and thought. Her words hissed into his ear.

“Severus, the whole point of trusting me is that you do not need to worry about what is going on. There will be no lasting changes. I will not hurt you. Relax…” The last word trailed into a hiss, as her lips ran over his cheek, and found his, and she kissed him with a fervent intensity that he didn’t even know she could muster, pulling him against her and griding those hips into his. They fit together perfectly, and she exploited that completely. He was responding to her utterly.

And then she was gone again, spinning him around and pressing gently onto his shoulders. “Sit.” Her voice was sultry, rich, seductive. He allowed his legs to give way beneath him, and a soft chair caught him. Perhaps he could get used to a chair like this. The sound of running water, and her hand was on his forehead, pulling his head back, the chair reclining beneath his weight. His neck settled into something soft in its exact shape, and he felt her fingers rake back through his hair.

“All right, Severus, open your eyes.”

He was looking up at her, and those dark eyes met his with a twinkle of mischief. She was smiling, and her fangs glinted in the candlelight. It was unearthly, that beauty, the genuine human emotion in her eyes, painted in her expression, and then the porcelain skin, the gleaming teeth. Her fingers were in his hair; his throat was bared to her. A surge of fear that only served to increase his arousal roared through his veins like fire.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, whether to protest, comment or simply groan with pleasure, he did not know, but it was abruptly cut off as a jet of deliciously warm water made contact with his scalp. Whatever sound that had been going to come from within him, the one that passed his lips now was guttural, and it was pure pleasure. Her fingers raked back through his hair, ten soft tendrils that made small circles of pressure on his scalp, and the hot water moving about with its soft tickling rivulets, directed by magic, by her mind? Whatever, it was simply too divine to consider the mechanics of.

Her eyes swam around his, almost like being engulfed in liquid – engulfed in her. Tighter and tighter she wrapped him in her desire for him. She wanted him in ways that words could not describe. He arched his back against the chair and thrust his hips into the air, an unconscious act of wanton.

She leant close to him, and her words hissed into his ear. “You may have to lose the greasy git image for a few days.” Her fingers were gone, for a moment, and the scent f something soothing and herbal met his nose, and then her touch was upon him once again.

She was lathering shampoo through his hair, with fingertips massaging and knuckles kneading the tight knots of muscle at the base of his skull, and her lips, as light as the landing of a butterfly, tickling his forehead, his ears, the skin of his throat. By God, this was just about the most erotic experience he had ever had in his life.

The hot jet of water again, pounding against his skin, and then conditioner, and her fingers raking in, and back, and in, and back, long fingernails over his scalp, small moans issuing from between his lips, a wicked smile upon hers.

She chuckled as she sent the stream on hot water once again cross his scalp. “You, see, Severus, you’re just like us all… you like having attention lavished upon you.”

He couldn’t even begin to find words for denial, simply let out a growl which agreed with her and warned her not to tell anyone at the same time. She laughed at him again, and it inflamed him, sent his desire rocketing, because, somehow, even when she was laughing at him, it affirmed him to himself again. She wasn’t mocking him in a ‘hanging-upside-down-with-James-fucking-Potter-laughing-at-underwear’ way, it was genuine amusement, and the fact that she knew him well enough to find his antics amusing was more sexy than it was embarrassing.

And yet he still wasn’t touching her, still not an inkling of her body under his fingers, still that raging hardon distracting him, and still her hands upon him in a completely non sexual way. He was desperate.

She was towelling his hair now, and a soft, white, fluffy material fell over his eyes for a moment, obscuring his vision of her above him. A growl deep within his throat again. “Enough of this, Lucretia, you’re driving me insane.”

Her face was very close to his when she pulled the towel away, and a lock of red hair fell forward and caressed his cheek. “But therein lies the fun, Severus. We’re not finished yet.”

He moaned. “We’re not?”

“No.” She chuckled lightly and leant to kiss him, hotly and passionately and upside down, and it was just too much. He lifted his hand to grab the back of her head, twine his fingers through her hair, and pull her against his mouth. It shocked her, and the movement of her body that betrayed it gave him a thrill, and then he was pulling her against him, into him, and devouring her mouth. One of her teeth cut his tongue and leant a bloody quality to the kiss, but he hardly cared, and she didn’t seem to mind at all. Indeed, perhaps the blood would unleash the beast in her just a little bit, and she would take him in the only way she allowed herself too, ravish him, and forget this deliciously dreadful teasing.

But it seemed she knew his game, and in the next moment she had twined her fingers over his, in her hair, and pulled them away, and was looking down at him again. Her fingers caressed his cheek. “Patience, Severus.” He growled at her once again.

She turned away, and he lost sight of her all together, and a moment later her hands were caressing his throat, smoothing something over it and up over his cheeks. The scent filed his nostrils. Shaving balm. His own shaving balm. Another brief moment of none of her, and then she was wielding his razor above him. A cut throat, of course. No respectable pureblood wizard used a muggle razor.

Was that fear he felt roar through his veins, or desire? Perhaps both. She pulled his head back even more in the rest, and his throat was utterly exposed to her. A vampire with a razorblade at his throat. Oh, Merlin… He could not breathe.

And then it was upon his throat, and he could not move, could not moan, could not protest, could hardly even think of anything other than that blade on his throat, in her hands, tracing up the contours of his skin. There was a look of absolute concentration her face. Had she ever done this before? Fear. Fear, most of all. She could kill him with a shaky hand, with one instant of loss of control. And yet he could not move to protest, he was totally and completely under her control, in her hands. His life was in the hands of a vampire, right at this very moment.

If anybody had asked him at a later date, he would have denied until he went blue in the face that the thought was simply making his cock harder.

She left his Adams Apple to the last moment, and seemed to hesitate before she touched the blade to it. Her touch was infinitely careful, ands slow, and intimate, and he wanted to squirm, to writhe and groan and thrust his hips, but he could not move or he would be dead. He gripped his control with the very tips of his fingers, and his breathing came heavily out of his nose. Through the mask of concentration on her face, he saw the very left corner of her lips twitch into a smile.

And then it was done, and the blade had moved on to his cheeks, and less immediate danger. A rumble issued from his throat, and her smile broadened. Still, he could not move his face, so he was forced to remain still while she traced the blade over the rest of his face – cheeks, chin, upper lip. She did not cut him once.

A hot, wet cloth over his throat, over his face, wiping away the remnants of the balm, and then a soothing cream, rubbed between her hands for a little warmth, and smoothed across his skin. His skin was as soft as a baby’s, and so was hers. They were that much closer together, now.

He could not stand this any longer. “Lucretia…” his voice was hoarse with desire. She lifted his head away from the rest it was lodged in, and allowed him to sit up.

“Stay there for a moment, Severus.”

Around him she stepped, so she was standing before him, though out of reach of his touch. He hadn’t noticed before, but he did now, just how high the cut of her robes were, and how unusual that was. Their eyes met, and his gaze would have set her alight had he abilities like hers.

Watching him, eyes boring into his, her fingers went to the buttons of the robe and began to pluck at them. So long, it took, so very long… did he take that long to undress? Glimpses of creamy white skin as she plucked at it… what was she wearing under there?

And then she pushed it off her shoulders, words escaped him, breath escaped him, thought escaped him. She wore nothing. Nothing, that was, but a necklace. It was a glittering white gold snake at her throat, twined about her, with a string of emeralds teasing along its underbelly, and the end of its tail hanging at the point, wrapped about two larger emeralds that were about the size of grapes. It would have been too much with just about any outfit, but on her naked body, it was perfect.

“Severus.” The word slithered off her tongue like a serpent, and he wanted to be that snake, twined around her, touching her, adorning her. Did he look so perfect wrapped about her?

The bed was in the next room, but could he make it that far? Could he resist her that long? He was rising from the chair, and she was stepping toward him. Then they were about each other, and his hands were all over her, where they had wanted to be for the past half hour, gripping her buttocks and pulling her against his rock hard member, Tracing up her back, entwined in her hair, pulling her head back and hungrily devouring her throat. She was warm and malleable and butter beneath his fingertips.

He forced hr back, forced her out into the bedroom, over the tiles and onto the carpet and back, back, back until she could move no further, until the bed was at her knees. And he pushed her, and she arched back onto the covers, and he was falling atop her, and they were entwined about one another, and he was caressing every inch of her, throat and breast and legs and stomach and down, down, sliding to the floor, on his knees before her, meeting her eyes.

“The serpent in my garden of Eden, Lucretia. My turn to devour the fruit.” And his hands were locking in behind her knees, and pulling her legs part and her body towards him, tracing down her calves, caressing her ankles and down over her feet and back up again, slowly, paying along her thighs, and lowering his head to inhale her scent. He teased his lips along the skin of her thighs, and felt her quiver, the point of his tongue tracing small circles, ever closer to where she wanted him to be. His fingers, tracing along her folds, dipping within her, and parting her lips to grant access for his tongue, one long thumb finding the sensitive nub of her clitoris.


Merlin, I should tease him much, much more often… Her muscles ceased to support her and she dissolved into the bed, little moans escaping her lips under the expert ministrations of his tongue. His name was on her lips, and she hissed it with abandon, writhing under his touch and spreading her thighs wider and wider for him. His tongue deep within her, fingers circling her clit, closing her eyes and arching her head against the bed as stars began to burst before her eyes, until the world erupted around her and everything broke into little shards of light.


He was going to die if he didn’t have her soon, his erection was going to cripple him and he would never be able to stand again. The sound of her cries, his name with that amount of passion, it was a fervent as one of her caresses, and even more erotic because it wasn’t planned, it wasn’t conscious. He induced those cries. He joined her again on the bed, and his trousers were in the way, in the way, so horribly still on.

She stalked him up the bed, back onto his pillows, and he lay there, transfixed by her deft movements as she unbuttoned him quickly and looped her fingers into both trousers and boxers, and pulled. They came off in one fluid motion, and she hurled them over her shoulder, eyes meeting his, then lowering to his cock, swollen and aching and unbearably hard. Her movements were very much the predator as she slid forward and wrapped one delicate, long finger nailed hand around it, and began to stroke him, ever so slowly, eyes boring into his.

There were flickers of fire in those eyes as she caressed him, or was it just his eyes reflected in hers? His face contorted into a grimace of pleasure, and he moaned, arching into her touch, jerking off the bed when her other hand fell to cup his balls, fighting the urge to allow his eyes to roll back into his head, keeping them locked with hers.

“By God, Lucretia…”

He could not stand it anymore. He launched himself at her, and she was pinned beneath him. He caught her wrists in one hand, and the other snaked its way across her cheek as he kissed her, then down over her throat, a small circle around her nipple, which made her writhe against him, and then down, pushing her knees apart once again.

With a smile, he sheathed himself in her.

Heat, and pure, raw energy and desire, his hands on her breasts and her fingernails raking his back and her muscles clamping around him, drawing him in even as he slid himself out, pulling him deeper within her. Her head thrown back, and his lips on her throat, and shuddering and quivering and joint cries as they both erupted, and his seed spilled deep within her as she erupted around him.

They collapsed to the bed, sticky and hot and entwined, and her breathing slowed, and his heart pounded in his chest. With a small arc of the brow he traced his fingers over the snake at her throat, and glanced at the mirror across the room, which showed them as shadowy, tangled figures.

“Do I look as good wrapped around you as this does?” He glanced at their forms in the glass.

“Severus,” she purred, “You look a thousand times better.”

A World Of Wonderlands

Severus Snape drummed long, steady fingers against his desk. A potions textbook with a stamp from the restricted section of the library lay open before him, but he was not reading it. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon the window in his office that gave a view of the grounds, but he wasn’t seeing that either.

The vision he saw was entirely in his mind, a somewhat sordid fantasy, though you would not have known it from looking at him. He appeared deep in thought, contemplating a potion, and perhaps he was.

Slowly, a truly evil smile spread across his lips, and he lifted a quill from the desk before him, and reverently unrolled a scroll. His eyes fell to the page again, and he began to re write the potion on the open page, with certain modifications to suit the nature of the drinker.

A light chuckle shook his frame as he penned the last instruction, and closed the textbook. “Bewitching The Mind: Potions That Alter And Control The Senses.” Oh, this was going to be more fun than he had ever imagined.

****

“Bline, Lucretia?” Warmed from the heat of an intellectual debate, he circled the room like a predator, and Lucretia, for a moment, thought his movements odd. Then she shook off the thought and reclined into the chair languidly, allowing her crossed legs to fall to the floor, knees spread a little beneath her gown.

“Of course, Severus. What do you currently have in your store?” His eyes met hers, and travelled down her body, observing her subtly provocative position, and a smirk curled his lips as he turned back to the cabinet. She watched him lift a hand to trace his fingers over the bottles, caressing the contours of their form in much the same way that he would caress her.

His voice was like satin over her skin. “Hmm, I think I shall surprise you tonight.”

She chuckled. “All right, Severus, though don’t make it something old, please? I am rather in the mood for a young one tonight; they blend so voraciously with the wine.” She knew that topic made him shake his head, partly in amusement, partly in disbelief, as mortals did to one another when one mentioned a particular delicacy the other did not care for.

“Well, Lucretia, I can’t claim to be a connoisseur of this particular delight, but the patron of the Hog’s Head did inform me that you rather enjoy this blending.” With a wave of his wand, two tall wine glasses appeared on the side stand below the cabinet, and he removed one of the bottles from within it.

The liquid that tinkle into the glass was a rich burgundy, darker than wine, but thinner than blood. Even from a distance, it looked well made. Corking and sliding that bottle into the cabinet, he selected another for himself, a red without the vampiric addition.

“Enjoy, my dear.” There was something unbelievably seductive about the way he crossed the room, something that sent her body temperature swirling. The endearment was always used dryly. He was not one for pet names. He pressed the glass into her hand, and she swirled it about a little, drawing a thread of heat from the fire mentally to warm it. Bline was best just above body temperature.

He had resumed the seat he had been in all evening, and was watching her intently with some sort of hungry, predatory expression. She exulted in it, arching back into the chair, stretching one leg out as though it had become uncomfortable. He was the only man she had ever known who could ravish someone just by looking at them. A thrill of arousal raged through her.

Languidly, she lifted her gaze to meet his, and took a sip of the bline. Those black eyes were smouldering, and their gaze warred together. Another sip. The bline was vintage. Smooth, expensive, a Cabernet with a young, mature Anglo-Saxon male. Both the wine and the blood were in prime of life.

Her eyes sparkled. “Delicious.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Indeed.”

It was not unusual for him to look predatory, but this evening he looked positively vicious, and for a moment it gave her pause. Why had she not noticed it before? He was up to something.

Her lips twitched into a smile. “What is going through that mind of yours, Severus Snape?”


Severus could not keep the smile off his face, though he was sure it was a delighted, evil looking thing. Lucretia was a cluey, intelligent woman, but she was ever so easy to seduce. He supposed it was part of her nature, a vampire’s obsession with the flesh.

If Lucretia had hit upon his deep set issue with trust, he could safely say that hers was with control. As she had said to him herself, his hands holding her down or ribbons around her wrists would not hold her if she really wanted to be free, and she trusted him to tie her up, but only with the knowledge that if she really wanted to, she could throw him off her with those astonishing mental powers that she possessed. But he knew her past, he knew the violence in which she had been made what she was, and how would she react to being bound, completely bound, by a lover that she claimed to trust? He supposed he would find out shortly, since the scentless, tasteless potion he had laced her bline with would be taking affect within moments, to block the neurones in her mind that allowed her to control her vast magic without a wand, and sap her of that vast vampire strength. She would be entirely at his whim within minutes.


His smile disconcerted her. “What, Severus?” The smile on her face faltered, and his only broadened.

Suggestively he arched a brow at her, then glanced at the glass in her hand. “I think your bline is getting cold.” It was the last thing she had expected him to say, and her face showed it. She hated being unsure.

Glancing at the glass in her hand, she took a sip. Indeed, it had cooled a little below her preference. She reached out the tendrils of her mind to draw some more warmth from the fire.

And couldn’t.

It was as if those mental channels were simply not there, so complete was her inability to use them. She tried again, and again. Eyeing a candle over near the window and willing it to light. Nothing. Willing it toward her. Nothing. Her eyes widened in horror, and she shifted in her seat, as though looking for the missing abilities in the room around her.

Then her eyes returned to glass in her hand, remembering Severus’ reference to it, and she stared at it in horror. “Severus…” There was a definite note of panic in her voice.
He chuckled, and her eyes lifted to meet his. “Severus, what have you done?” She pushed the glass onto the table away from her, as though it was going to bite her.

It was his turn to recline lazily in the chair. He stretched, steepling his fingers and regarding her over the top of them. The predatory gleam had taken over his eyes.
“You don’t think they made me Potions Master for nothing, do you?”

Her hands were shaking; unbridled panic chased itself through her. She was suddenly very, very afraid. Helpless. The thought made her almost physically sick. She rose to her feet. He rose beside her.

He swept forward and his arms caught her wrists, pressing her back, back into the wall of the office, pinning her hands behind her back, catching them in one of his own.

“Severus, stop it!” Her voice was frantic.

He lifted a hand, his fingers stroked her cheek. “Calm down, Lucretia. You don’t think I’m going to hurt you, do you?” The smile on his face was not evil anymore; it was rather amused and genuine.

“Why, Severus?”

“A week ago, you asked me to trust you. I did. You held my life in your hands. You tell me you trust me, but you’ve never really had to, have you? You’re always stronger; you’ve always got those mental powers to fall back upon. You’ve never submitted… totally.” The last word became a whisper as his hand trailed down over her throat to caress the side of one breast, tracing a lazy circle into its centre to tease at her nipple.

A small noise in the back of her throat along with the quivering of her body beneath his touch gave away her wanton, and he chuckled, allowing his lips to flutter over the pale skin between ear and jaw. He nibbled at her, and she melted into his touch.

“How long will it last?”

He pulled away from her just enough to look into her eyes, so his hot breath caressed her face. “About twenty four hours. Now stop asking questions, I’m trying to seduce you.”

There was a smile on her lips. “Bastard.”

He hissed against her. “Hussy.”

His fingers plucked at the ribbon of her bustier, pulling upon it and twirling it about those long fingers. Slowly, much too slowly it unravelled, pulled from each small eyelet until her bodice gaped open, delicious exposures of the white flesh. He lowered his lips to her throat, and trailed them down over her chest, teasing with the point of his tongue, pushing the soft material of her gown aside to flicker over each of her nipples. His arms went about her, pulling her close. Her body arched against him. She felt the soft tendril of the satin ribbon wrap itself around her wrists, and a smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he pulled away.

“You’re coming with me.”

In a moment he shrugged the outer robe from his shoulders and swirled it about hers, hiding both her bound wrists and dishevelled appearance. Then he was behind her, pushing her toward the door of his office, and out into the corridor.

He seemed more anxious than she did about being seen in the halls, so roughly he pushed her and pulled her; lead her through the dark warren of corridors that was Hogwarts. She could never have found her way back. Hopelessly lost. All she knew was that they went up, then down. Her vampire senses could see well in the darkness, but all the corridors looked alike, and there were no landmarks. No doors. No rooms. There were parts of Hogwarts, Severus had said, that nobody ever ventured, and if you got lost in this labyrinth you could remain there until you died, or a ghost found you. Whichever happened first. But somewhere in the course of their travels they rose up above dungeon level, then down below it again. Lucretia could smell the moisture and the darkness, ever more impenetrable as they descended.

The air between them was electrified, and every time he brushed against her she quivered. His face was set in a stony mask, but he smelled of heated arousal. His walk was not his usual glide, but something more stiff legged, giving away what was hidden by that frock coat. He wanted her desperately. Being bound to his whim was delicious, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. The thought of being his slave was thrilling.

Finally, they reached a door at the end of a hallway. The very aura of the place was dark, foreboding. The predatory smile was back upon Severus’ lips. With a flick of his wand, the door opened into darkness. Another wave and a whispered word, and torches all along the walls burst into flame. Lucretia’s breath left her throat. If her heart had been able to beat, it would have jumped from her chest.

She had never considered that Hogwarts, while a medieval castle, would have had a torture chamber, since it was built as a school. But it did. By Merlin, it seemed it did. The door closed behind her, and she heard more muttered words as Severus locked and warded it. Some kind of explosion rocked her, part fear, and part arousal. What was he going to do to her in here? There was nothing she could do to stop him.

He turned to face her. Slowly he approached her, holding his hands behind his back in a parody of what he had done to her, a twisted smile upon his lips, a twinkle in his eyes. With a lazy yet rapacious pace he circled her, the hard heels of his boots echoing off the stone floor. As he passed behind her, he reached out to pull his cloak from her shoulders. She resisted the urge to turn as he circled, and follow him with her eyes. His movements stopped behind her, and she felt those burning eyes upon her. His clothing rustled, but in this echoing room she could not truly make out his location behind her. Still, she refused to turn, and betray her anxiety.

There was complete and utter silence then, for many moments. She could not hear his movement, could not hear his clothing. Nothing. Could he just be standing there, staring at her? Was he waiting for her to betray her thoughts, and turn? Her back stiffened in resolve. She would not.

Then his naked arms went about her body and she cried out, one pulling her against him so she could feel his nakedness with her bound hands, and the other sliding up over her stomach to roughly grasp at one breast, fingers working over her nipple. His mouth came down upon her throat in a wicked bite-kiss. She moaned in wanton, but could not move her hands to the places of him she wanted to touch. What followed was a groan of frustration as much as arousal.

His lips made their way down over her shoulder blades, down her back, to where the hooks of the dress held its unlaced bodice loosely to her form. One hand trailed her collarbone and the other still held her about the waist, as she felt a distinct pull against the fabric, and the hooks unclipping one by one. By Merlin, he was undressing her with his teeth. His fingers trailed down over her back as his head drifted lower and lower, and those rough fingers all but set her on fire. I seemed to take an eternity for the dress to be unhooked, but finally it fell to a pool of fine fabric on the floor. Beneath it, she wore only panties. The dungeon air was cool against her skin. It rose to gooseflesh only partly from the cold.

Wrapping a hand around her bound wrists; he pulled her backward in an unknown direction. She had only caught a momentary glimpse of the chamber before she had turned to see him lock the door. Wherever he was taking her, she had no choice but to follow.

She relied on him to guide her steps, around and away from the gruesome torture devices whose metallic surfaces gleamed in the firelight. Some part of this scene was so deliciously medieval that she forgot the year they were living in. He was an age old seducer, and she the young fledgling. Then he stopped behind her, and a hand on her shoulder brought her to a halt. He tugged at the ribbons again and released her wrists, twirling it in his fingers as he circles around her once again to stand before her. He was completely, shamelessly naked, and the candlelight caught the contours of his slim form wonderfully. His erection was huge. How he appeared to want her.

He simply stood for a moment and allowed her to feast her eyes upon him, until eventually her gaze was drawn to his hands, and the way he twisted and twirled the ribbon about them, the way the satin caressed his fingers as he twined it over them. Steady, talented, seductive fingers. She wanted those hands upon her. Then abruptly he released the ribbon, and she watched it coil and twist to the floor, falling like a satiny snake upon the stones. Her eyes rose again, and met his.

He advanced on her, and his hands caught her wrists again, lifting them as though she were in surrender. He pressed against her hard enough to force her back a step, and she came up against something cold and hard, at a slight angle. He pressed one wrist back against the surface, and she felt the cool smooth texture of a metal cuff bind her to it before he lifted the other hand and fastened it as well. Her pulse quickened, both fear and arousal.

He allowed his hands to drift briefly over her body as he bent down to take first one ankle, and then the other, trailing his fingers around them and then cuffing her feet, with knees slightly bent, hips raised a little. His eyes me hers again, and he lifted his hands to either side of her throat. One final binding, a metal choker.

A hiss of breath passed her lips. “Touch me, Severus.”

His eyes glittered. Those large hands fell onto her hips, softly stroking the skin of her sides as they slid up over them. Those rough fingers, the back of his knuckles, he allowed all to touch her. Then both his hands came up to cup her breasts, and slowly his thumbs began to trace over each nipple, around in circles and across the top, teasing and tantalising her. The pink buds hardened to granite. She waited for him to continue the ministrations of his hands, the caressing of her body in so many other places, bringing her higher into this arousal.

But he didn’t. His thumbs simply kept teasing ad tracing over her nipples, eyes locked with hers, endless circles. He kept up the same rhythm, the same pressure. The sensation was delicious, but it kept her arousal plateaued. She wanted to squirm and writhe against him. But she could not move. Her muscles twitched, her back tried to arch, but the cuff around her neck brought her up short.

“Merlin, Severus, do more than that.” Her voice was ragged.

He smiled, and spoke, though not once did his movements pause or waver. “Mmm, but your facial expressions are so lovely when I do this. And it’s driving you insane.”

“Yes.” She could not deny it. “Touch me more, Severus, or...”

“Or what?” He smirked. Circle and over, circle and over. She wanted to scream. “You’ll hurl me across the room with your mental powers? Or you won’t give yourself to me? I hardly think you are in the position to order me about.”

Fury flared within her, but at the same time, heat. Bastard. Bastard for doing this. Bastard for doing so much, and yet so little. Her skin was twitching, but she wanted to be on fire, she wanted to be dying of pleasure. She needed to be.

“Please, Severus. Please. Master. Please make me come.”

Something of the self control in his eyes broke as he heard her utter those words, and he leant close to her and covered his mouth with hers, ravaging her tongue and her lips and claiming the words into his mouth, claiming his power over her, for she could not even move her jaw enough to dictate any part of the kiss. He was completely in control of her body and her pleasure. At the same time, one of his hands began to slide down over her abdomen, and the other closed its fingers around her nipple in a hard pinch. She gasped into his mouth.

He pulled away from her, hand travelling up and behind her head, twining into her hair and pulling her forward a little, enough that the clamp around her throat pressed against her windpipe. The hand that had been travelling over her abdomen cupped her mound through the fabric of her panties, one finger pushing against the material over her entrance.

“Is that what you want, you hungry little whore? Is that what you want?” His voice was a growl.

She gasped at the touch, lifting her hips as much as the cuffs around her ankles would allow her. “Yes, Master. Yes, Severus. A thousand times yes!”

He claimed her mouth with his again, and his hand grabbed at the fabric of her panties and pulled. They tore from her body with a shriek. At once his hand was upon her, tracing up and down her folds, knuckle against her clitoris, teasing at her entrance, pushing inside her just a little to trace over the warmth of her insides, then pulling away again. She wanted to pull him in wither thighs, but she couldn’t. The most she could do was arch her hips, and only that minutely.

“Yes, yes, Severus! More!”

His voice hissed in her ear, and he twisted her right nipple for emphasis. “Call me Master again.”

She just wanted to feel him touching her more. “Yes, Master, yes! Please! I want your fingers inside me!”

Smiling, he plunged a rough finger into her depths, then a second, then a third, and his mouth descended onto her collar bone. She felt his teeth against her skin, and his fingers hungrily plunging inside her, twirling around and searching for her very core. When he found it she rewarded him with a harsh cry, bound hands grasping at the open air, toes curling and legs shuddering against their bonds.

Brutally his fingers plunged in and out of her, knuckle of his thumb griding against her clit. She felt herself shuddering around him. He lowered his lips to her breast ad sucked her nipple into his mouth, and the rough caress I his tongue together with his plunging fingers sent her over the edge, shuddering around and against him and crying out with mingled, semi coherent expressions of ‘Severus’ and ‘Master’.

She closed her eyes for a moment as her chest rose and fell and her body began to recover from the affects of orgasm. It was almost peaceful, against this thing, not having to hold herself at all. Severus moved away from her completely, and she made a little grunt of protest, but did not open her eyes.

Then they flung open as the entire world seemed to shift around her, and Severus could be heard to chuckle. He had turned a lever, and this rack, this table, whatever this was, had turned her so that she now hung in the opposite direction, with head towards the floor, and legs in the air. She could feel gravity pulling the blood down into her skull.

Severus stepped toward her. Her mouth was exactly in line with his erect cock. Unable to reach out and touch it, she simply parted her lips and allowed him to push it inside her mouth, using naught but her tongue, suction and teeth to please him. Slowly, he plunged in and out of her, slipping between her lips and down her throat as her tongue swirled about him and she sucked, teasing her lips along the head as he pulled away, tracing it with her tongue, then sucking him into her once again as he pushed forward. She could not see his face from her position, but the sounds that were coming from his lips were guttural. They told her she was passing this test with flying colours.

She felt his cock begin to twitch within her, and heart him grunt and remove himself. He whispered to her. “Not yet, Lucretia.”

Again he moved to the side and pulled the leaver, and she was swung up again violently, to find herself staring at the ceiling. He climbed over her this time, kneeling before her spread legs, and leaning down over her to lay his hand either side of hers. In his right, she noticed, he held an ornately carved dagger. By Merlin, what was he about to do?

“Severus…” The note of caution had returned to her voice.

He chuckled, and teased his cock along her entrance, earning a moan of frustration from her lips. “Do not question your master.” His tone, whilst playful, brooked no argument.
He rose a little away from her, and lifting the dagger, met her eyes. Not allowing those black orbs to leave her face, he touched the dagger to his chest, and drew along a bloody trail about two inches in length. Then he lent closer to her again, and moved within reach of her mouth. “Taste me, Lucretia, taste my blood.”

At once her tongue flickered out and caressed the wound. She felt the heat of it sizzle beneath her tongue, and he writhed on top of her, inflamed by the hot caress of her mouth, the erotic heat of a vampire’s tongue on a wound. His breath was ragged “Merlin.”

The knife clattered noisily to the ground, and he moved back down. His strong hands lifted her hips into the air as much as their bonds would allow, and he sheathed himself in her.

It was an explosion, an eruption, he pounded into her and she cried out with his caress, with his touch, fingers raking at her sides as he pulled her against him, pulled her against her bonds, sought to be within her more and more and more. She arched her hips into his, arched her back against him. The coil of metal about her throat cut off her air to breathe, but nothing mattered. Nothing mattered except this exquisite agony, the heat of their bodies, him filling her up inside, his cock expanding and contracting within her, his pelvic bone grinding against her clitoris. And then the apocalypse, the world ended for both of them. The earth shattered around her and he spilled deep within her, their cries echoing off the walls of the dungeon and back into their ears.

He collapsed atop her sweaty form, and lay there for a moment before lazily releasing all of her bonds. Finally, she pulled him to her, wrapped her form about his. His eyes were closed, and he allowed the affection, head resting against her chest. She chuckled lightly against him and he opened one eye to peer at her.

“What?” The surly tone was back, though his heart wasn’t in it.

She gazed about at all the other instruments of pain, torture and possible eroticism in the room. “Oh, nothing.” Her voice was lyrical. “Just I simply must remember the way through the castle to this room.”

This Flesh Is Only Flesh

Above Hogwarts castle, a full moon burst forth from the clouds.

In the Eastern wing, a scream rent the stillness of the hallways.

In the Divination tower, a shawl clad, insect like figure’s head turned suddenly as a grey light lit the room. In one of the polished crystals on her mantle, two shadowy figures emerged, and she turned in rapt attention to watch the full moon work its magic upon them.


It is dark when I enter the room, too dark to see. But there is a rug upon the floor, and then the stone stairs leading up to his chambers, and then carpet, and my toes cling to it as though I am guided by a rope. I know not what I am doing here, how I managed to end up here, or what I am expecting from this encounter. I know only that I care not for the consequences.

I seem to feel him as I come closer, as the bed emerges from the surrounding darkness as though there is light to illuminate it, but there is not. All is in shades of blue, the bed with its dark sheets, and the sleeping man within it, lying on his back, one arm above his head, black hair fanned over his face like the brushy tail of an animal, visible only a nose, lips – a boyish expression.

I wake with a start to moonlight, everything tinged blue. To a face I know very well, too well, staring down at me. Ludicrous! How did she enter my chamber?! No one can pass my wards, and even if they managed to, my sleep is light. But these thoughts are drowned by a heavy mind, and silenced by a kiss upon my lips. I feel satin skin and liquid hair upon me, and all thoughts are gone, killed, destroyed by this lush murderess.

“Lucretia…” I whisper as our lips part… “What…?”

But my fingers are upon his lips to silence his question. I do not want to hear it. All I want is him. All of him. No matter, anything else. I kiss him again, and it is both languid and demanding.

“Severus…” My own voice is a hiss, hardly recognizable, but it twists and undulates about him and draws him to me, against me. I slide about him over the bedclothes, and he rises to meet me, and our arms go about each other.

Voices, hisses, fragments. She is at once a spectre and a beast. Is she real? A hand over her cheek, sliding down over her throat to cup a breast, twirl my fingers about a nipple. Liquid gasp in my ear. Yes, she loves that. I feel a smile upon my face. First blood, perhaps, first gasp, one to me. A sly expression overtakes her eyes, blue tinged pools of darkness in this tangible moonlight.
She pushes me back into the sheets, and climbs atop me, grinding her body against my growing hardness. Throwing her head back to bear that pale throat of hers. Breath caught in mine.

Yes, this is like coming home.

Tossing me backwards onto the bed with a thrust of the hips, atop me in an instant, and a handful of hair in his hand, pulling my head back and devouring my throat with lips, tongue, teeth. I melt against him and he feels it, and smirks, as though he has won.

I grab his wrists with both hands and lift them above his head, so he must support himself over me lest he fall upon my form, and I bind him there not with scarves or chains but with the sheer strength of my will. Our gaze meets, and a challenge ensues.

Merlin, she knows exactly what I want. She knows just how much I want to dominate her and submit to her at the same time. And her hands… Merlin’s mistress! Sliding down beneath me, one hand twisting my nipple, licking it, blowing cool air against it. The other hand against my…

By Merlin, I’ve missed the feel of his warm manhood in my hand, missed everything about him. Missed those intense eyes that devour me. Missed that quivering self control and that stubbornness. But he gasps as I roll his balls in my palm then stroke up and down on his shaft. This game is all but over.

I can’t hold myself like this much longer. My muscles are straining to hold me up and I just want to dissolve into her. Saucy wench. She knew I’d not want to lose. I shan’t…

I bring one knee up between her legs, forcing them apart, bracing myself above her, and move one elbow down to support myself. My fingers trace over the satin nightgown she is wearing, as though she came straight from her own bed to mine. My mind begins to question this again, but is beaten down by the animal in me, in her, the single divided animal that wants to be whole again.

She knows how I love satin, how I love the textures of her, skin, clothing, hair, tongue. I pull the hem of the shift up and tear her panties away, finding her clitoris and pushing my thumb against it, fingers hungrily slipping into her depths.

He chuckles when he hears my gasp, conceited bastard. He feigns nonchalance but his body betrays him, as always. His rock hard cock means more to me than the smirk upon his face.

My hands on his shoulders, pushing him up, back onto the pillows, onto his back. I sit before him, and lift the satin shift from my form, pull the sheet out from between us, then climb atop him, onto his lap, bend to kiss him. Our tongues do battle, fighting for dominance. When I pull away, our eyes meet with such fierce intensity that it brings back memories of the vehement words we exchanged in anger. An anger that has abated but not been resolved.

I push all that away.

“Severus.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to fuck you.”

“Really. I hadn’t figured that out yet.”

“No. I mean I’M going to fuck YOU.”

And she does. She moves further up my legs toward me, and lowers herself to within inches of touching me. Then her hand wraps about me, and pulls my foreskin back. I watch her actions with fascination, and for a moment am distracted from the heady pleasure of this encounter enough to be intrigued, as she pushes herself against me and lets go the skin.

By Merlin! Her clitoris is inside the skin, against the head of my cock. She is inside me. She fucks me.

No nonchalance anymore. Finally I have him within me, against me, and I gyrate my hips slowly against him, careful to keep our bodies joined. My hand tangles in his hair and I pull him toward me. My breasts against his chest as I kiss him, sucking his tongue and pulling his lips between my teeth. Devouring him. He twists my nipple between his fingers. He knows I love it.

Why does she want me? What has made this overconfident, arrogant, ageless being want me? A question I’ve never been able to answer, and always one that has bothered me, no matter how much I want to banish it from my thoughts. As though there is always a miniature dark lord in the back of my mind reminding me that I am not good enough.

But I’m good enough for her. If this is not proving it to me, then what is?

He gasps under my ministrations.

“Why do you want me, Lucretia?”

Why do I want him? How can I possibly form an answer when my mind is so painfully, blissfully blank with such pleasure?

She smiles at me, and kisses me once again, not viciously but passionately.

“I want you because there are so many things wrong with you that you’re perfect.”

“Are you just telling me what you think I want to hear?”

“Probably. Just shut up. I want you to fuck me now.”

There are so many things wrong with me that I am perfect. If that is logic, then she is so perfect that she’s too perfect, and so she is even more flawed than I. Perhaps that’s why I want her so.

He throws me back onto the bed, then, and his eyes are alight with something like fire. His kisses ravish my mouth, and his cock pushes within me, fills me up and worships me. His fingers trail over me with the same fire I can see in his eyes. My eyes flutter closed for a moment as he grinds against me and my breath leaves my body, but I can still see his eyes on mine when they are closed.

She is velvet, then, velvet around me, and liquid beneath me, like molten gold, beautiful and luminous and moulding herself around my form. I feel her fingernails in my back and her legs about my waist, and I push deeper within her as though there is something there I might find, the deeper I go.

And the moonlight and the pleasure encircle us, and lift us from the ground, and we swirl in it. We are one beast, contorting and moving in a complicated dance, as the music in our ears grows louder and louder until it reaches a crescendo. We shatter.


Everything shatters.

In his chamber in the dungeons, the Potions Master wakes with a gasping intake of breath, hot all over, the sheets a mess with the product of such a heady dream. Euphoria quickly turns to bitterness, and he strips the linen from himself and pulls up the duvet, curling his body about itself and trying to quell the aching desire to not be alone. Trying to forget just how right everything felt, in the dream. He scowls into his pillow.

Across the castle, Lucretia LeStrange’s eyes shudder open and her vision adjusts to the darkness of her chamber. Drenched in the bedclothes, shaking from the aftermath of a powerful orgasm. Peeling the soiled sheets away from herself, she climbs from the bed and wraps herself in a gown, a shield against the cold coming now from both without and within. Wide awake, she walks to the window, and stares out at the full moon that illuminates the grounds with silvery perfection. Eyes come to rest on the Slytherin wing, the Potion Master’s chambers. It takes her several moments to register that the wetness on her cheeks is tears.

In the eastern wing, the howl fades to a whimper as the werewolf retreats to a silence inside his mind.

Professor Trelawney shakes her head and lays a palm upon the cool glass of her orb.

No doubt they will believe it was not real, now, that those things they felt were lies. When will people realise that it is the inner eyes that really see, the mind that really feels? This flesh is only flesh.




Author's Note: Lucretia fucking Severus was not my original idea. There is a similar scene in Peter Hoeg's Smilla's Sense Of Snow