Promises (Temporarily on Hiatus)

It was Christmas morning at Hogwarts. The Great Hall was hung in scarlet and green, a large evergreen tree decorated with baubles and tinsel. All of the faculty and assorted students were seated around a large circular table, chatting amiably with each other and passing dishes around. I had taken care to avoid both Faire and Snape, as I didn't want to sit next to the former and thought it imprudent to set myself next to the latter. Instead, I had Professor McGonagall to my left and Professor Flitwick to my right.

I missed my family terribly. Though Snape had been accurate in his assertion that my parents had never been particularly warm or doting, I did love them. I missed them, longed to see them. Though they had betrayed me with the betrothal, I wanted to be near them, if only to ease my restless mind.

There is something about tradition that soothes a person; it's familiar, it's reassuring, it’s a marker that lets a person know: you’re home and you’re safe. We always went to mass in the morning, the one said in Latin, of course. Mummy and Father never approved of it being said in the vulgar tongue. After Mass, we’d apparate home and sit around a warm fire, opening presents with silk bows and shiny paper. And the food! Ham, mince pies, soda bread, puddings, Christmas cake, and a savoury, plump goose. And my siblings, whom I hadn't seen in three months; little Caoimhe with her rosy cheeks and curls and baby Murtagh, a gurgling, cooing thing. I missed them. And my nurse, Fiona, who had always been so kind to me, who had practically raised me, looked after me, tended to me when I was sick, taught me folk songs, plaited my hair. I missed her.

"Are you all right, Harper?" Professor McGonagall chirped. Her accent was strikingly familiar; she sounded so much like Fiona, who hailed from the Scottish Highlands. I concluded rather quickly that I would have to stop reminiscing, lest I melt into a puddle of sentimental mush.

"I'm fine, Professor." I smiled at her and took a bite of a roasted parsnip. Suddenly, the owls arrived, hauling heavy loads of presents for the children. I looked up in search of Éammon and smiled when I saw his smooth, brown wingspan circling above. He slowed and dropped a few small parcels and one large box in my lap before flying off. Everyone seemed to receive some sort of delivery, whether they were presents or only letters. Just before I was about to open my first gift, I heard a squeal. It was a pitiful sound, like a piglet being torn from the mother sow. I looked up to see Professor Sprout clutching a letter, sobbing silently. McGonagall sprang up and hurried to her side, mouth set in a grimace. She placed her bony hands on the stout woman's shoulders and scanned the epistle for the cause of the outburst. Sprout dropped the paper and it fluttered into a pool of gravy, as McGonagall led her away. A young Hufflepuff picked it up.

"She's been sacked," the little boy whimpered, clearly concerned about his Head of House. Snape bolted up and hurriedly read the letter before marching off after the two other Professors. The rest of us sat in silence, eyeing each other warily. Had anyone else been let go? My eyes locked with another professor.

Sinistra stared at me intently, eyes fixed on mine, as she swilled a heavy goblet of mulled wine. I don't know why her gaze was so concentrated; I had only taken Astronomy until my third year and barely knew the woman. When I caught her staring, she didn't look away, but instead furrowed her well-shaped brows and narrowed her already half-lidded eyes.

I looked away, disconcerted, and began opening my presents. The first two were drawings done by my siblings. I think they were supposed to be of us at the park, but I couldn't tell if I was the figure that looked like a potato or the peanut. The next gift was from Fiona, which was a large spiced cake with buttercream frosting. The last, I could tell, was the journal. Every year for Christmas, my parents bought me a new notebook. I didn't chronicle my day to day life, though it came in handy when I was jotting down assignments and other things on my to-do list. I peeled the wrapping back and in bold, gilt script the cover read, “How to Please Your Husband by Gillian Featherflit." I flushed at the rather suggestive cover of a witch with strikingly large breasts and a low cut set of robes bent over, lips pouting and eyes wide. She blew a kiss at me and blinked her lashes. I hurriedly pulled the wrapping over it and glanced furtively around.

Thank God nobody saw it.

I tried to push my chair back but bumped into something before I had moved far. I glanced up and saw Sinistra staring down at me. She had clearly seen the book and was smiling a cruel sort of smile.

"Excuse me, Professor," I said coolly, refusing to be intimidated. I stood up and looked down my nose at her. "Happy Christmas," I offered, nonchalantly as I could manage, before sauntering off, all the while trying not to break into a sprint and wondering what would possess my mother to send me such... filth.

Of course, I knew why; I just didn't want to admit it. We were poor. The money had run out and all we had was our name, which was a detriment in itself. We had nothing, really. And the only hope my family had of keeping our lovely home and any dignity we still possessed was for me to marry a wealthy man from a prestigious family. We just want what's best for the family. My mother's words rung in my ears. If I mucked this up, if I couldn't "please my husband", the Harper family would be ruined, effectively driving us back into the Delaney’s grasp once and for all.

"Miss Harper." I jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Hello, sir," I returned as brightly as I could muster.

Snape was half-hidden in the shadows, skulking there like a shadow himself. "Is something the matter?"

No.

If I couldn't say "no" at least I could think it. I nodded and handed him the book. He snorted derisively and handed it back to me.

"I think I'm going to burn it," I explained.

"Don't. We'll have a laugh tonight perusing it. Be in my chambers at nine tonight. I have a... gift for you."

"Sir, I haven't gotten you anything! I—"

"I'm sure we can work something out." There was a roguish gleam in his eye and an impetuous little smirk twisting his mouth.

"All right, Professor, nine it is."

He glanced up and down the corridor, making sure that no one was around, before slapping my arse and sending me on my way.

--/--

At nine o'clock, I stepped into Snape's office and tapped softly on the stones of the wall. They melted away to reveal dark wooden door, and I tapped again. Snape was silhouetted in a weak halo of light. He really was so striking; such a strong brow, classic nose, and his cruel, cruel mouth! The way it curved, always set in a stern grimace or arch little smirk. He pulled me inside and slammed me against the wall. Before my head could crack against it, however, he slipped his hand behind it and pressed my mouth hard against his. It had been a week since I'd been with him; my throat felt hollow, eyes pooled, hips pressed against his in some primal impulse. I had never seen him so impassioned or fervid; even when brewing a potion, his favourite endeavour, he was calm and reserved. But it would be a lie to say that it surprised me, this almost violent avidity. I couldn't deny his... sadistic tendencies, as I had experience countless examples of his cruelty first hand. Even the thrill he derived from verbally criticising others was enough to give him a charge. And though I had enjoyed all previous demonstrations of his dominance over me, the intensity of this latest assault frightened—as well as excited—me.

The ferocity, the cruelty of his mouth on my neck, his fingers inside of me, hand playing on my bottom, back, and breast. I was so passive about it all. Stood there, stock-still, arms limp; though, he didn't seem to mind. I was also silent; didn't moan or vocalise. Living in such close quarters, like the dormitories, taught a girl to keep quiet or suffer the humiliation of being discovered by the others. Though there was no one around to hear us, it was a habit that I could not break.

"Professor," I finally objected when I felt his thumb press against the tight ring of muscles of my posterior. "What are you doing?"

"It is my Christmas gift," he explained distractedly, still fumbling around under my skirt.

"Nnn—" My throat seized up, and I broke into a fit of coughs; I had forgotten about the oath.

Snape released me and let me catch my breath. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I grumbled.

"That's what I thought. Did you bring the book?"

I sighed, reached into my satchel, and removed the offending novel before tossing it over to my professor.

"What would possess them...?"

"Well, technically, I'm supposed to be entirely inexperienced, sir." I bit my finger and blinked my lashes at him.

"I thought you said your... virtue, sor lack thereof, wouldn't be an issue," he muttered, flipping through the pages of Ms. Featherflit's enchiridion.

"It won't be." I nibbled on a loose nail. "It won't be."

"Here," Snape snapped, thrusting the book under my nose. I took it from him and read the chapter heading: Buggery.

"Nnn—" Cough, cough, gasp, heave. I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat.

"I hope you learn soon," Snape sighed, removing a heavy cloak from a nearby armoire. "It is not a pleasant sight. Read."

I did as he instructed:

Men are insatiable things; always longing to be stimulated in new, fresh ways, each more depraved than the last. If you wish to keep your husband—that is, in your bed and not some other witch's—it is imperative to remain open-minded about trying things that may initially repulse you.

If your husband is insinuating that anal sex (or buggery, as it is commonly called) is something he would like to try, you must remain calm. Initially it may be a frightening or even a nauseating thought, but you must remain in control of your emotions. Hasty reactions and presumptions can earn you a severe reprimand from your husband and drive him into the arms of another witch.

However, when done properly, it can be an enjoyable experience for both you and your husband. If you are unfamiliar with the act, there is also a chance your husband may be as well. Therefore, I have included a step by step—

"You don't need to read the entire chapter, Miss Harper," Snape snapped, tugging the tome from my hands.

"I was just getting to the good part."

"Yes, well, put this on." Snape thrust a thick, black velvet cloak at me. "The cloak and nothing else."

"Sorry?"

"You heard me."

I almost retorted with a snappish "no" but was able to restrain myself. "Why?"

"It will ruin the surprise if I tell you," he chided mockingly.

"Fine. What about shoes?"

"Let me see them."

I stuck my foot out, and he wrinkled his nose distastefully.

"Oh, those are hideous; we should burn them."

"Nnn—" I shrieked as my throat swelled and stamped my foot. "I hate this!"

Snape rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers; my clothes were gone. Hastily, I wrapped the cloak around me and pinned it snugly in front. "More wandless magic?"

"Yes, obviously. Now, how good are you at glamouring faces?"

I felt a twisted little grin creep onto my face and picked up my wand from the floor. "Let's see how you would look as a blond, sir."

--/--

Severus and I strolled briskly down a narrow alleyway, shoes padding dully against the cobblestones. I almost let out a loud giggle when I glanced up at Snape, who currently sported dirty blond hair, a soft pink mouth, and an unremarkable nose; it had taken some wheedling for him to yield, but eventually he did. As an incentive, I had to agree to glamour myself to his liking. I frowned at the large breasts that appeared to hang weightily off me and the heavy black mane that cascaded from the crown of my head. My skin was smoother, less flecked with freckles, eyes dark, lips thicker. It was such a strange sensation, looking in the mirror and not recognising yourself. All in all, I had done a spectacular job.

A damp fog spilled into the alley, snaking its way into my cloak, making it heavy and difficult to drag along.

"Are we almost there?"

Snape nodded sharply and turned down a narrow mews, counting the number of wide wooden doors under his breath. We stopped quite abruptly in front of a faded green aperture, and Snape rapped curtly on the rough wood. He drew me close to him, and I leaned against his arm; it felt so good to be touched, to have an arm wrapped around my waist. The door opened slowly with a muted groan and a slender hand snaked into the moonlight. Snape removed a pouch from his pocket and dropped it carelessly into the outstretched palm.

"Sev’rus?"

"Hello, Vivian."

A rosy, round young woman stepped out into the air and wrapped her arms around Severus, effectively pushing me out of the way. I pursed my lips but remained silent as she continued to embrace him.

"How did you know it was me, Vivian? My... companion is quite skilled at charms."

Companion?

"Oh, well your eyes," she purred. "She didn't change your eyes. And you always tip so nicely."

"Charming; now let us in."

The flirt wiggled inside, and Snape followed. I barely made it in before the Vivian girl slammed the door shut and drew the heavy beams across the entryway. Snape drew his wand and removed the glamour before thrusting the rod back into his robes. As I was trailing behind Severus, I felt a sharp tug on my cloak; the clasp came unfastened, and the material slid off my shoulders.

"Ooooooow," Vivian cooed, foot pressed on the hem of the cloak. "Look at 'er. She glamoured too?"

"Yes," I snapped viciously, scrambling to pick up the fabric.

"Bet you a galleon 'er tits aren't really that 'uge, Sev’rus."

"Oh, do shut up," I snarled.

"Behave yourself, Miss Harper," Severus warned.

"Yes, Miz 'arper. Be'ave. Merlin, those shoes are ‘ideous, aren’t they?”

I nibbled the tip of my tongue.

Stupid, uneducated girl.

"Vivian, leave us," a high, clear voice rang out. The juicy young thing pouted for a moment before shrugging and walking away, counting her sack full of change.

I turned slowly around and met eyes with the woman that had dismissed Vivian a few moments earlier. She was a pretty witch, about the same age as Severus, with short white-blonde hair and thin eyebrows. She was dressed efficiently in a pair of dark trousers, starched white blouse, whose sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, and a wriggling tape measure hung around her neck. Her most distinguishing feature, however, was her striking American accent.

"Hello, Severus." She smiled, but there was a certain wryness to the gesture that immediately made me think that she and Severus had a lot more in common than just a similar taste on clothing.

"It has been too long, Mona," Severus returned. "But as you know, I've been busy as of late."

"Ah yes, of course. I must say that I was away for the duration of the action, back home. But I have heard stories of your involvement..."

"Precisely; they are stories, nothing more."

"Enough chitchat, Severus. Where's your new... thing?"

"Thing?" I inquired tartly, stepping into the weak light of a few lighting fixtures.

"Miss Harper, I suggest you behave yourself around Ms. Frémont. She will not hesitate to reprimand such impudent behaviour."

"That was one time, and I was drunk... very drunk. At the present moment, I'm only slightly buzzed. Well, Evelyn Harper, come here so I can get a good look at you." I stepped closer to her and tilted my head upward. "Lose the cloak."

I pursed my lips and slowly dropped the garment to the floor. I couldn't help the blush that crept across my cheeks as she looked me up and down and tutted.

"You've glamoured her to look just like—"

Snape cleared his throat loudly, and the woman fell silent. I turned to glare at him and ached to know exactly who he had chosen to model me after.

"Ms. Frémont—"

"It's Mona, dear." She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and led me into a large studio space. "I don't know why Severus is always so pompous."

I sniffed. "Nor do I."

"I like this one, Severus. She has... spunk, moxie. Some of the other girls you've brought me were so insipid."

"Don't give the girl any ideas, Mona; she's saucy enough as it is."

"Go pour yourself a drink and leave us girls to take care of business."

"What is your business?" I cut in.

"I'm a corset maker or a corsetière, if you want to get technical."

"Oh," I responded, both surprised and delighted. Mona pressed her fingers against my cheek, and I shivered. Suddenly re-realising my nakedness, I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Sorry, cold hands. All right, dear, why don't you remove that, er, little glamour so I can get a better look at you."

My wand was tucked in a pocket on the inside of the cloak, and I trotted over to retrieve it. As I was bending over to fish it out of the fabric, I heard two, almost simultaneous, sighs.

I turned around and saw both Severus and Mona swilling glasses of red wine, leaning against one another.

"Did you glamour her bottom as well?" Mona inquired, as though she wasn't talking about anything more that the weather or Quidditch scores.

"No, that's all hers," Severus replied, equally detached.

"I'll drink to that." They clinked glasses and each took a long sip.

"You two can stop ogling now." I waved my wand and the glamour melted away.

"Oh!" Mona chirped. "Oh, I think I like."

She seized my hand and spun me around slowly. "Go away, Severus." she swatted her hand carelessly in his direction. He obliged, settling himself in a weathered armchair and thumbed through a copy of Scrivener's Quarterly. I sighed softly at the sight of him, settled nicely in the chair, one leg draped over the other, long fingers wrinkling the edge of the periodical.

"Evelyn," Mona spoke softly, gently touching my forearm. I turned towards her, embarrassed that she had caught me staring at him.

She led me away, into an area with better light. There was a large, tilted desk with rectangles of crisp white paper spread across its surface.

She rummaged through a bin of what appeared to be thin, streamlined quills. "You really like him, don't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," I muttered.

"You do. I can see it in the way you look at him, the way you act around him."

"Oh..." I wasn't sure how to respond; it was the truth, but it was discomforting that it was so apparent.

"I think he likes you, as well—no. Perhaps he likes you, I don't know. But he respects you, I think, and that’s something to hold onto.”

"How can you tell?" I traced the grain of the wood table with my index finger.

"I’ve known Severus for a long time; I can just tell. Now go stand over there. That's it. Don't move."

I stood as still as I could, arms flat along my sides and legs a suitable distance apart. Quite suddenly, I realised how comfortable I was being nude. I attributed this to Mona, who had such an ease about her, such a careless sort of grace.

"You really have a lovely figure, Evelyn," Mona commented distractedly.

"Oh, I really don't."

"You do. Your hips flair just nicely from your waist and your legs are exquisite... Stop distracting me." She grinned mischievously.

I offered her a half-smile, glancing down at my figure. She was mistaken, of course. I was gangling and weedy with wide, angular hips, small breasts, and a round arse that seemed depressingly out of place on my otherwise flat frame. People tried to console me by explaining that I was statuesque, inciting me to pose the unanswerable question, who wants to look like a statue? Other’s would patronise me, explaining that it meant “majestic”. Mountains, whales, and other large, hulking objects were majestic; apparently, I fell into that category as well. At the tender age of seventeen, the concepts of poise and aplomb were foreign to me. I didn’t believe that I was comely or alluring; freckles, the arch on the bridge of my nose, a wide mouth. I was plain and tall and lacked grace. But my professor made me feel good and pretty and as though I was something desirable. I had a ways to go, but Severus’s interest in me had a transformative effect; it was slow progress, but headway nonetheless.

I looked on transfixed as Mona sketched, her eyes rapidly moving from me to the page and back. A web of thin black lines spread across the page, and the witch would occasionally plop the nib into the inkwell before continuing her work. Eventually, Mona finished, and she beckoned me over to take a look.

She had done three drawings total. The first was of me in an iridescent pink number with cream eyelet trimming the bottom and sweetheart neckline. There were delicate ribbons that swam across the bodice and the enchanted drawing turned to reveal they laced up the back as well.

“Normally, silk ribbons aren’t the best material to lace with, but I’ve charmed some to work. Now this one,” she slid another paper in front of the first, “is black French lace over a layer of blue tulle with a black square of lace at the front. You’d look stunning in it” The drawn version of myself looked stunning anyway; the corset really was a masterpiece, from what I could tell, and the sketch, although done hastily, had somehow managed to capture the intricacies of the lacework.

“Now this last one, dear, Severus will not choose. It is far too… dominatrix, for lack of a better word.” My eyes widened slightly as this one, which instead of covering my breasts, scooped under them and thrust them upward. It was done in black leather and thick cording. “It’s called an underbust corset... I think that’s self-explanatory though. Anyway, take these over to Severus and decide amongst yourselves which one you want, then I’ll take your measurements, and then, I believe, we’re done.”

“Thank you, Mona.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I ambled slowly toward Severus, who was staring distractedly into the fireplace. The empty wine glass sat on a nearby table and reflected the flickering glow of the fire. I stood in front of him for a few moments without saying anything and eventually he acknowledged me. Severus pulled me onto his lap, and I draped my legs over the armrest.

“What do you think?” I asked him, resting my head back on his shoulder. He placed his hand atop my head and absently smoothed my hair before cradling the nape of my neck.

“Mona always does produce exquisite sketches. Though, I don’t know what she was thinking with this one.” The last comment was in reference to the leather corset, and the drawing was quickly tucked behind the others. “Which one, Evelyn?”

“I hardly know. I think you should choose.”

“This is your gift.”

The fact of the matter was I couldn’t say no. “I like the blue one.”

“Good choice; that would have been my pick.”

“Look at you two.” Mona was standing in front of us with her arms crossed, hip thrust out to the side. “Such a lovely picture. Are you sure you won’t let me draw you, Severus? You’d be such an interesting model.”

“Mona has been trying to convince me to do a sitting for years,” he explained.

“And I don’t know why you won’t oblige me. Come here, Evelyn.”

Mona’s enchanted tape measure snaked its way around my waist, breasts, hips, legs, and other assorted body parts before settling around Mona’s shoulders once more.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she pronounced.

“Mona will you also add to our order some basques, waspies, stockings, suspender belts, and the like.”

She nodded. “Of course. Have a lovely night, you two. Now where has that Vivian run off to...?”

“We’re staying here for the night, Evelyn.”

“But what if someone notices I’m missing?”

“They won’t. I conjured up a doppelgänger and left it in the dormitories. It will be gone by morning, so we’ll have to hurry back. Anyway, I doubt that any of the faculty or students will be so inclined to sneak into the Slytherin girls’ dormitories.”

“All right... Thank you, Professor, for the gift. I love it.”

“It is as much as a gift for me as it is for you. Now come along; I think Mona has fixed us a bed up in the loft.”

The entire living space was so lovely in my opinion; done in wood and stone, warm, with sturdy furniture. Our bed for the night was a worn looking mattress, but the sheets were newly pressed and the pillows soft.

I wetted my lips and sighed softly before sinking down onto the mattress. I pulled up the bedclothes around me, but Severus would have none of it. He tugged the sheets from my form, staring at me. I could feel his gaze roving and fixing on my flesh and colour flooded to my cheeks.

“It’s impolite to stare, you know.”

Severus dropped down next to me without a word. He was on me quite quickly, mouth resuming its previous task of drawing up welts on my neck and fingers playing insistently at my wet slit. I loved his weight on me and that he was clothed and I was not. The vulnerability of my position and my own submission excited me to no end.

“Wait,” I muttered. “What if... what if they hear us?”

“I assure you, Mona and Vivian are thoroughly distracted and won’t pay any mind to us.”

He pressed his mouth against mine once more, tongue thrusting inward and probing mine. We were both breathing heavily and made a serious effort to remove his clothing. I couldn’t help but laugh at the futility of the endeavour; it was almost impossible to unfasten all those buttons in the dim light of the loft. I snatched my wand and undid them with a quick flourish. Eventually, his clothes were discarded on the floor, and I was free to admire my professor’s pale frame; for a few moments, anyway, as I was soon distracted by the sight of his erection pressed against my thigh. I stuck my tongue in my cheek and made a lewd gesture before dropping my mouth down to It. Some time had transpired since I had taken him in my mouth, but I recalled his previous criticisms. Mouth tight around it, cover the teeth, and suck. Hips thrust forward, sending It farther into my throat. A choke, a cough, a moan gurgling up from my throat. I don’t know why I loved it so much, but I did. Knowing that I was making him happy, made me happy.

“On your hands and knees, Miss Harper.”

The moment I had been dreading; I did as he instructed and screwed my eyes shut. “Just get on with it.”

“Sorry?”

“Let’s not prolong this any more than we have to. Just stuff it in. I mean, I don’t know how you’re going to get it up there.”

“Miss Harper, I have gotten it ‘up there’ numerous times in the last week. What are you talking about?”

“Buggery. What are you talking about?”

I felt Snape rub himself against my dripping sex before sliding in a little ways. “If you don’t stop talking, Miss Harper, I will not hesitate to gag you with my cravat.”

I didn’t doubt him and promptly pressed my lips shut.

Severus rubbed my thighs soothingly, pressing into my sex little by little, each advance eliciting a sigh of satisfaction on my part. I let my eyes sink shut, relishing the feel of him within me, the way his thighs touched mine, long fingers curled around my hips.

His pace was agonisingly slow, drawn out, languid almost. I was confused as to why he wasn’t just going at it in a dizzying frenzy like he had previously, but remained silent. The ache grew, spread through my stomach, pulsed. I had no idea such languorous motions could cause this sort of madness. I pushed back against him, which earned me a sharp smack on the arse and a warning to stay still. Certainly, I would go mad if he didn’t move any faster! My breathing became laboured, thighs cramped up, and my sex—thousands of pinpricks perforating my centre, throbbing warmth radiated, snaked, toes curled, a crescendo. Snape’s thumb pressed against the tight ring of muscles that I had so vehemently defended and sank in easily. I puffed and came excruciatingly at the hands of my professor.

But he had yet to find his completion and began to build up the pace. The sounds were so vulgar; slapping, panting, a wet sort of slurp. And his digit was still in my bottom! The humiliation of it all, the dirtiness of it, all made me even slicker. He slammed into me repeatedly, the new angle this position afforded both hurt and increased the pleasure a hundredfold. He fingers flicked my clit viciously, swimming in circle around it, rubbing. Once again, I climaxed and Severus followed soon after, a final push sending him over the edge. A mixture of a groan and a roar seized up from his throat as he spent himself into me. I was pressed into the mattress, crushed under his body, feeling thoroughly owned, but I didn’t mind. I loved his weight on me, though eventually I had to push him off. Hair clung to skin, as did the sheets our own perspiration sealing our flesh in a sticky embrace. My head draped on his chest, his hand on my hip, and just the breath of my name on his lips. I drifted off to sleep, perfectly content.