It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 21 – Bring me to life (part 1)


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“Have you seen a ghost?” Jay almost doubled over, laughing at his own joke, and Val was happily woofing along.

There was no sign of Snape when the ‘centaurs’ moved again, and Gerry had to bite her lip to get a hold on the panic stirring inside. “He is here, I’ll find him,” she repeated inwardly until she managed to calm down enough to look at her companions and comprehend what Jay had said. Even in her distraught state of mind, Gerry had to admit that the silly Muggle phrase, which was a common wizarding joke, sounded particularly funny in a room full of real and costumed ghosts of all shapes and sizes.

She smiled at them lopsidedly and shrugged, picking up her goblet. “Yeah, your grandma stopped by to say hello.”

The young wizards seemed to become hysterical at her reply, and Gerry thought there might have been more than simple punch in their goblets. That was probably why neither of them noticed what had just happened. Once more she looked at the spot, where she saw Snape, and bit her lip harder.

Gerry didn’t remember the rest of the ball. She was so intend upon seeing Snape again that couldn’t be distracted by much else. She vaguely recalled laughing with McGonagall, and exchanging greetings with the overly jovial Dumbledore, and that was just because the older witch was completely smashed, which was a surprising condition for the usually stern and composed professor, and the headmaster was dressed as a sun, and his outfit was hard to ignore.

The chat with Professor Flitwick stuck in her memory only because it hit a painful spot. The miniscule Charms professor, who also had a bit more to drink than he could safely handle, let it slip that Dumbledore was planning on having a discussion with her about her future employment at Hogwart, and, “Rumor has it, Albus has a very attractive offer for you. And so, my dear, when you come back in September, we will have to continue our Duel Club discussion, won’t we?”

Besides that, Gerry hadn’t noticed much about what was going on around her – what her companions were talking about, whom she danced with, and whom she was smiling at, or chatting with. All of her attention was concentrated on one task – finding Snape.

Unfortunately, other than several glimpses of someone tall and in black at the corner of her eye, she didn’t see him. Was he hiding from her or she was just overacting? Did he realize that she knew more about him than he wished she would, and was he planning some kind of vengeance? And if she saw him, what would she do?

At ten, the three younger years were sent to bed, and the Great Hall became considerably emptier. Still, Snape remained elusive. But when an hour later McGonagall announced that only sixth and seventh years were to carry on with the ball, Gerry felt a twitch of hope.

To her immense, relief she indeed saw Snape as soon as the displeased fourth and fifth years left the Great Hall. He was standing alone, the familiar scowl on his face, his arms crossed on his chest.

Gerry’s insides gave a flip. Oh, how she wanted to go to him right away, and… And what? Stupid girl. Was she in any need of public humiliation? With the way he usually spoke to her, she should keep all conversations with Snape private. Besides, between all her worries, and fears, and discoveries, she had never thought of what to tell him, and how to speak to him.

While Gerry feverishly rummaged through her mind in search of a good reason to go and talk to Snape, the wizard went to the corner of the Great Hall, where the bright light of Dumbledore’s costume shone. The two wizards exchanged a few words, the headmaster waved his hand over Snape’s head, and with that the Potions Master swept out of the room, sans his “romantic hero” costume. His black robes billowed last time and disappeared behind the entrance doors, when Gerry shook herself out of her stupor.

“I’ll be back,” she brushed off her companions, and ignoring their surprised outcries, rushed after Snape.


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When he regained his ability to think, Snape shuddered. He wasn’t sure if it was fury or fear. How could he have been so careless, so foolish, to expose himself like that? Now the girl knew, and those two bloody idiots would know soon enough. He himself gave them the weapon. A perfect weapon for ridicule. FU-U-U-UCK!

Snape took another raspy breath and swiftly headed to the other side of the Hall. He needed to strike first, so he needed a plan.

Two hours later, he still had no solution. To his absolute dismay, Snape simply couldn’t concentrate for long enough to conceive of anything remotely useful. The malicious voice in his head, the loud music, the swarms of overly exited hormonal teenagers, the vicious headache, the idiotic costume – it all mixed together to totally incapacitate him. Desperate, he felt like a drowning man, trying to grab something, anything, to pull himself above water, but his slippery fingers were of no help. If there was a hell on earth, Snape was sure that right then he was in the lowest levels of it.

But even worse was the knowledge that hell was a place Snape had frequented for years, and hence, being there was not a sufficient excuse for his current inability to reason. Disgusted with himself, Snape had to resort to hiding. Not that he ever marveled at rushing headlong into danger, but to be hiding from two twits and the slip of a witch was absolutely humiliating.

His task became impossible when the only students left in the Great Hall were sixth and seventh years. He knew there was no way around it - he had to flee.

“Headmaster, I believe the school would be better served if I start patrolling the dungeons now,” he offered to Dumbledore the first reasonable excuse he could find.

“Wouldn’t you like to enjoy our celebration for just a little longer, Severus?” the older wizard twinkled at him, and Snape frowned.

“I don’t…”

“I know, I know.” Dumbledore silenced him with a gentle smile. “But we haven’t seen you dance tonight.”

“Headmaster, would you do me the honors?” Snape dismissed the mention of dance and vaguely waved his hand over his costume.

“Are you sure? You look dashing in this…hmm…whatever it is.” The old wizard’s twinkle was simply infuriating. “Would you reconsider?”

“Headmaster.” Superior or not, he was a barmy old coot, and Snape wasn’t in the mood for his idiocy.

Finally, back in his own robes, he was out of the door in no time. He was crossing the Entrance Hall, almost running, to get as far away as possible from…

“Professor!”

Oh, no. Snape walked faster, but the next “Professor!” seemed to be closer, which meant she was running after him. Shit. He stopped and swirled around.

“What is it, Ms. Ardant?”

As he had concluded, the girl was running, and, when he turned to face her, she almost bumped into him. A strange feeling of déjà vu washed over Snape, but he willed himself to concentrate on the situation at hand. The memories had never done much good for him.

“What is it, Ms. Ardant?” he repeated with great impatience, looking somewhere over the girl’s silly hat and pointedly ignoring her struggle to calm her breathing.

“I need to talk to you,” the young witch finally managed. She took off the hat and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

Her hair, let free, fell onto her shoulders softly shimmering. Snape made an effort to ignore it. “I don’t believe there is anything we need to discuss.” He curled his lips in a practiced sneer, and then turned on his heel and continued on his way to the stairs. He might have been a bloody idiot, who couldn’t rein his emotions, but he refused to be easy prey.

“No, please wait, sir.” The girl was following him. “It is important.”

“Allow me to have my doubts,” he threw over his shoulder with as much contempt as he could muster. “Good night, Ms. Ardant.”

He walked, praying to whomever was willing to listen, to let him escape. To let him get away from this girl. To let him salvage the shreds of dignity he still possessed… To save him from having to look one more time into the warmth of the girl’s unbearably blue eyes.

Snape reached the stairs and began to march down. She wouldn’t follow him to the dungeons, would she?

“Professor, please.” Merlin, she was persistent, and no one was listening to his prayers. He reached the landing, stopped, schooled his features into an expressionless mask, and abruptly turned to her again.

“Ms. Ardant,” he hissed, “you will cease your absurd chase immediately. I have no time for…”

Suddenly, the girl swayed, sucked in a ragged breath, and her hands flew up in search of support, but before they found any, she began to slide down.

Without a second thought, Snape grabbed her by both arms and yanked her up. “What kind of games are you playing!?” He shook her for good measure, glaring down at her over his nose.

The girl blinked, her eyes unfocused, and gulped nervously. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Snape noticed how sickly-pale she was. Was Poppy’s care not adequate for her? Maybe she needed to get a thorough check at St. Mungo’s…

“Professor.” The maddeningly blue eyes were looking at him with unexplainable intensity. Shit. He had to concentrate. “Sir,” the young witch repeated, “I really need to talk to you.”

He braced himself, and spat, “Very well, out with it.”

“Can we talk someplace private?” she asked quietly. Snape quickly glanced around and frowned. They stood halfway between the Entrance Hall and the main dungeons’ hallway and could be seen from either. He was about to ask the girl where she would want to go, when it hit him – she was trying to lure him to some place, where her accomplices were waiting for them. Rage flared inside him – the Sacred Datura incident wouldn’t happen again - and he hissed, “Private?”

Without waiting for a reply, he dragged her behind the flight of stairs, to the wall, which vibrated slightly when he whispered a password, and then disappeared for long enough to let them through. Behind the wall was a long narrow chamber, a part of the chain of hidden passages, stairs, and rooms of the castle. Located directly under the Entrance Hall, it was intended as a storage room, but considering the amount of dust sitting on the tops of wooden boxes haphazardly thrown around, it looked abandoned.

Snape pulled the girl in and pushed her against the wall. “Is this private enough for you, Ms. Ardant?” His anger spilling out of him, Snape hissed, his face centimeters away from the girl’s. “Well, is it? Answer me! Is it?”

The light, which was coming from the Hall above through several small barred holes in the ceiling, didn’t quite reach the part of the room they were standing in. That was why it took Snape several seconds to get accustomed to the dark, and only then, he noticed that the girl was wincing.

“What is it, Ms. Ardant?” he asked in annoyance. The girls’ eyes flickered downward. He followed her gaze, and, to his absolute horror, realized that he was still gripping her arms rather harshly, and had been doing so since the moment he caught her falling.

He hastily let her go, and, bewildered and appalled, looked at his palms. He couldn’t have touched her of his own volition, could he have? He glared at the girl. “What are you doing? Is it your connection again?”

“Connection… What connection?” the girl stuttered, looking at him surprised.

“Oh, stop playing innocent!” He cried out, his anger prevailing over the other emotions pulsing through him. He planted each of his hands on the wall on either side of the girl’s head, his fingers splayed wide, digging into the stones to keep away the shaking. “The connection you bestowed upon me when you violated me with your ritual!”

“No, it can’t be.” The young witch’s eyes widened, blue irises appearing gray in the dark.

Suddenly, it occurred to Snape that he was absolutely right in trying to flee from the girl, and that it was a foolish idea to drag her there, let alone to stand so close to her, his nose almost touching hers.

But he wouldn’t back away. “What is it then? Another little game of yours, Ms. Ardant?” he spat, trying to revive the fire of anger that was wilting with every breath full of the aroma of vanilla and peach he took. “Are you having fun yet?”

“Do you think my idea of fun is to be this close to a person who hates me so much?” the girl whispered, her hand tugging on the red and white bandana that was wrapped around her neck. Snape’s gaze involuntary followed the movements of her fingers, then slipped up to the curve of her throat, moved higher, to her lips.

“I don’t hate you,” he murmured, his mind reeling, desperately trying to will his gaze away from the girl’s mouth.

“Could have fooled me,” she breathed out.

And then the hand that was playing with bandana went up, ghosted over Snape’s cheek, and moved further, to the back of his head, where it settled softly. The next moment he felt that hand gently nudging him forward, and he saw the lips he was staring at moving closer. Stunned, he looked up, and instantly was ensnared by the heat of the girl’s unbearably blue eyes.

“Ah,” a half-moan, half-sob struggled out of his parted mouth, and then he was lost.


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She ran after him, her heart pounding heavily. The dizziness was creeping up on her, but she kept on going, too afraid to lose him in some side corridor. At last he stopped.

“What is it, Ms. Ardant?” He was irritated and not hiding it.

Gerry was out of breath and struggling to say something, when she realized that she still hadn’t decided what to tell him. Besides, the feeling of déjà vu that swept over her was confusing and distracting. Her heart began to race. What should she say? I am worried about you? I am afraid that you’re going to kill yourself? I love you? Shit.

Finally, she took off her hat, wiped her forehead, and uttered to buy some time, “I need to talk to you.”

The cold gaze of his black eyes held none of the emotions she thought she saw there several hours before, at the ball. “I don’t believe there is anything we need to discuss.” He sneered at her, turned around, and walked away. Gerry felt like a jet of icy-cold fluid spread through her veins. What now?

She followed him across the hall, down the stairs, but her pleading with him was falling on deaf ears. Instead, Snape seemed to get angry. “Ms. Ardant,” he hissed, “you will cease your absurd chase immediately...”

She didn’t hear the end of his tirade, because suddenly the walls around her swayed, and the step under her feet tilted dangerously. Then everything turned into a blur, and she was falling.

When the dizzy spell passed, she found herself still standing, Snape’s long fingers digging into her arms. He said something about games. What games? She blinked, the world still fuzzy around the edges, and made an effort to concentrate. “It might very well be my last chance to talk to him,” she nudged herself mentally, searching for the right thing to say. If she just wouldn’t be so afraid to make a mistake. If he just wouldn’t stand so close. If his fingers would just stop burning her through the thin fabric of her shirt. If his black eyes wouldn’t watch her so intensely.

Finally, Gerry hazarded, “Sir, I really need to talk to you.”

His consent was totally unexpected. Before she had a chance to celebrate her little victory, however, she found herself being hauled into a dusty dark room by a very angry wizard.

“Private. He snapped at the word private,” her feverish mind supplied. What did it mean? Oh, Merlin, did she blow it? Was there anything she could do to remedy the situation? But before she found answers to her questions, he noticed that he was still holding her and got even angrier.

Trapped between an enraged wizard and a stone wall, in one of the hidden rooms of the castle, Gerry was completely terrified. That was it, her very last chance to speak to Snape, and she was ruining it with astounding ease.

“Think, stupid girl, think!” she screamed inwardly. “Remember, he left you stranded with no medicine for a second week in a row. Remember how he humiliated you in the potions lab. Remember about the brush-off he just gave you! Stop with your foolish swooning, damn it!”

But no matter how hard she tried, nothing worked, and she was left feebly parrying Snape’s attacks. But then, suddenly, through the haze and confusion, came a word he said – connection. Why would he think of it? It couldn’t affect him still, could it? Or could there be something entirely different?

Unnoticed, the air in the room became hot, almost unbearably so. It was hard to breathe, and Gerry’s hand went to the bandana tied around her neck to loosen it. But then it became even hotter, when for the second time that night, Gerry realized that Snape’s eyes weren’t as cold as they had been since she came to Hogwarts two months before. To the contrary, she felt his gaze burning her hand, setting ablaze her throat and lips as it went higher.

And then he whispered, “I don’t hate you,” and her whole world narrowed down the Potions Master’s ghostly-white face, that turned open and vulnerable as he uttered these words.

“Merlin…” she thought distantly. Her hand slowly went up to brush his cheek lightly, paused, and then glided further to settle on the back of Snape’s head. The wizard’s gaze shot up to meet her eyes, and her breath hitched at the sight of the smoldering fire raging in the dark irises over the remains of the guarding walls.

The next moments, while she was nudging his head gently forward, stretched to eternity. As if in slow motion, she saw several conflicting emotions rippling over the wizard’s thin face. And then she felt his breath stroking her face. And then she became aware of the slight trembling of his body. His half-pained, half-needy “ah” shattered her heart, and when their lips finally touched, she was falling again, but this time she was falling up.

His lips were soft and tender. Their careful caresses sent shivers all over Gerry’s body, making it tingle in response, pliant and eager for more. And when his tongue brushed tentatively over her lips, she scrambled to part them, anticipation flooding her veins. By then, she already felt somewhat lightheaded, but when the wizard’s tongue delved into her mouth, exploring, stroking, tasting, Gerry’s head began to swim, and she had to grab fistfuls of his robes in each of her hands just to steady herself. Still, she tried to reciprocate Snape’s ministrations, burned by desire that had remained buried since the previous July, and flared up at the first touch of Snape’s lips. The wizard echoed with more confidence.

This back and force kissing race was quickly becoming too much, too good for Gerry. Her legs were folding under her, and the only way she could remain upright was to practically hang on Snape’s bent form, her hands clenching his shoulders, the coarse fabric of his robes damp under her palms. Merlin, how could she live for that long without this? Without him? How could she be so naïve as to believe she didn’t need him to survive? Being with him was what she wanted, what she needed. What made her complete. What made her whole. This… It was like… magic.

When the need for air forced them apart, with an effort Gerry opened her eyes, which she didn’t even know she had shut. Right in front of her was Snape’s face so close that she moaned. His absolutely black eyes were wide and slightly delirious, roaming over her face. His normally sallow cheeks were flushed, and the lips, oh Merlin, those beautiful, tender, sensual lips… Before Gerry finished her thought, she sensed the dark-haired wizard making a move to back up.

“No, no, please,” she whispered with all the urgency she could muster. The situation suddenly was becoming too similar to the one she pained to remember and couldn’t forget. She couldn’t let him run away again. She wouldn’t survive one more torturous year without him. Her hands were now in a death grip on his shoulders. “No, please.”

“This is your idea of a prank,” he asserted quietly, the words coming out in warm puffs that touched her bruised lips.

“What? No, no!” she cried out. “Please…"

“A dare then,” he guessed. There was no malice, just a resolve in his voice. “You won.”

“No! No, please.” She had no idea what to say, what to do, and had to resort to begging. “Please.” She pulled him slightly towards her, and whispered against his lips, “Please.” Snape shuddered, and crashed his lips onto hers again.

This time around, the kiss had none of the tenderness of the first one. It was about force, and need, and teeth, and bites. As if Snape was branding her mouth, either to punish or to claim. And it was overwhelming, and scary, and perfect.

“Ow!” she reacted involuntary to one of the more enthusiastic bites.

He froze, and then slowly tried to move away, whispering, “Oh, gods… I am… Gods…”

“It’s okay,” she stopped him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Still, the pain in his eyes was so palpable, Gerry felt her breath catch in her throat. Oh, Merlin! She risked letting go of one of his shoulders, and brought the freed hand to his face. She carefully moved a stray strand of his jet-black hair to the side, and brushed her fingers over his flushed cheek. “It’s okay,” she repeated soothingly, as if to a wild animal. “Really, it’s okay.” With her thumb, she traced the contour of his mouth, and then shifted forward to touch her lips to his. When she moved back, she looked into his eyes and smiled at him.

During her ministrations, Snape remained rigid, watching her face eagerly, ready to be forgiven, ready to flee. But when he saw her smiling, he whispered, “I… You are…drunk.” There was no conviction in his voice, as if he only needed her one lame ‘no’ to free him from his doubts, from his fears.

Suddenly in front of her she saw a wizard who was neither the romantic hero of her dreams, nor the hated Hogwarts professor, but both of them, blended together in one man, Severus Snape. The man she loved.

Yes, his hair was too oily, and his nose was too big, and he was well-practiced at pushing people away, and his sneers were malicious, and he was ailing with some unknown disease, and her friends didn’t like him, and... And there were hundreds other reasons for concern. But none of them really mattered, because she knew that underneath it all was the man that she wanted, the man that she needed. The one who would walk with her in a beautiful English garden and kiss her breathless in a little cave. The one who would give her one of his secret smiles, which she just knew he kept plenty of stored somewhere just for her. The one who…

Gerry shook herself inwardly – he was still waiting for her response – and said quietly, “It’s not the wine. It’s you.”

“Oh, gods,” he uttered, his voice low and smoky. Merlin, he could melt her bones with his voice alone. Add to it the fact that his bottomless black eyes were ablaze with desire, trained unwavering on hers…

This time it was Snape who closed the distance between their lips, bending lower, enveloping her. Gerry’s body seemed to have been waiting only for this moment to shift forward so that it could arch shamelessly into the Potions Master hard form. Yes!


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He knew it was wrong. Exceptionally so. He, Severus Snape, didn’t kiss beautiful girls in dark rooms. Especially, girls he barely knew. Especially, girls that were about to get married to someone else. Bloody hell, he didn’t kiss girls period, and kissing Ms. Ardant was surely the stupidest way to start. It was just plain wrong. But out of all the wrong things he had ever done in his life, none felt so right. None felt so good.

Still, it was wrong. While he mapped the girl’s mouth with his tongue, marveling at the feel and taste of it, Snape knew that at any moment the girl would scream bloody murder, or cry. Either way, it was his fault, and he’d pay for it dearly. But he couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment. He was so used to living with guilt that the possibility of due retribution contented him rather than compelled him to action. Besides, his exhausted brain, overwhelmed with the situation Snape suddenly found himself in, was absolutely powerless to do anything to bring his actions under control. It just kept spinning around the same thought, “You can’t do that, you mustn’t do that, it is wrong.” And so it was his trembling body that was in charge, taking pleasure in something he never suspected he needed so desperately.

When they came up for air, he looked in disbelief at the girl’s upturned face, open and warm. Her eyes were closed, the long lashes trembling over flushed cheeks, but the lips remained parted, as if waiting for the continuation of the kiss. Something in Snape’s chest felt unbearably tight, and it surprised him so much that he didn’t notice right away when the girl’s blue eyes opened, filled with something that could be easily interpreted as desire. And she moaned.

“Bloody hell,” he thought, stunned, speechless. But then he shook himself inwardly. “Right, Severus, now you’re completely out of your mind, you idiot,” he sneered mentally. “Snap out of it!” He had enough humiliation for the night. And so, summoning the remnants of his senses, he braced himself, and made an attempt to move away from the girl.

Her begging he didn’t expect. Neither did he expect two burning grips on his shoulders. Then again…

“This is your idea of prank,” he told the girl. It had to be - she was a Gryffindor, and the Gryffindors were so very predictable.

The girl’s denial, however, was so vehement, it confused Snape. For a moment he wanted to believe her. But only for a moment.

“A dare then.” Well, it was one or the other. “You won.” He went for nonchalant, since cold would be completely implausible after the little display of his foolishness just moments before.

Suddenly, he was very tired. This game went too far. He didn’t want to argue any more, or prove anything. He just wanted this to end, so he could flee to the blessed emptiness of his rooms, and drink himself into oblivion. Let them laugh at him, and call him names, and do whatever those idiots do in their spare time.

He wanted to leave. But the girl was just too bloody close, and the tightness in his chest intensified, and his treacherous body was quivering with longing, refusing to accept the inevitable. So when the witch whimpered another ‘please,’ and pulled him towards her again, he snapped. Anger, lust, misery, need – all mixed together - burned through him like fire through a dry sprig, and he was kissing her again, hungry, demanding, needy.

She screamed in pain, and he froze. Oh, fuck, what had he done? Now it was the end. Now he needed to run.

But his feet felt heavy, and the witch wouldn’t let him go. “It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

What was she? Insane? He just bloody attacked her. Took advantage of her… Again. At least he had managed not to sully her with his touch, since his hands were still planted into the wall on both sides of girl’s head.

But the girl kept repeating ‘it’s okay, it’s okay,’ and then she kissed him. And then she smiled at him.

Snape was completely lost. He was looking into the maddeningly blue eyes, and felt as something absolutely unfamiliar to him, alien and scary at first, but exhilarating and alluring moments later, began to flutter deep in the pit of his stomach. It grew rapidly, and spread, rushing with his blood to every cell of his body. Hope…

“I… You are…drunk.” It was his last attempt to right the world. To make it a familiar miserable place. But the girl wouldn’t let him.

“It’s not the wine. It’s you,” she said, as if stating the obvious.

“Oh, gods,” was all he could say, taking a deep shaky breath. The tightness in his chest all but dissipated, and, suddenly, he knew there was no need to argue, or fight anymore. In one fluid movement he shifted closer to the girl, shielding her from the rest of the world, taking her into his, and brought their lips together. In response, the girl arched into him, and he shuddered at the touch.

All the gods above, if he could have ever imaged what it would be like to be with her! Their bodies meshed together, their lips and tongues like one tangle of delicious friction, Snape was quickly surrendering to the desire that he had so carefully hid and ignored for the past eleven months. Now, freed from its confines, it was overpowering him with such a delicious ease, he couldn’t wait to concede to. Pushing aside all of his doubts and fears, forgetting about his dignity and self-control, ignoring the nasty whispers of his little voice, Snape plunged deep into the unknown, and was lifted up to breathtaking heights.

Merlin, how could he have lived for that long without this? Without her? How could he have being so naïve as to believe he didn’t need her to survive? Being with her was what he wanted, what he needed. What made him complete. What made him whole. This… It was like… magic.

Minute after luxurious minute ticked away, but Snape couldn’t get enough of this sensuous, beautiful, sweet mouth that was offered to him so willingly, so unpretentiously. At times it was too much for him, and he would gasp for breath, and groan, but then plunge back into the kiss again as if afraid to lose a moment in being away from the welcoming mouth.

He could feel how the girl’s body trembled against his. He heard the soft ‘please’ that escaped her lips when they were not covered by his. He could smell the new scent – the sweet scent of her arousal – intertwined with the girl’s usual vanilla and peach aroma. And he realized he wanted more.

He risked leaving the girl’s enthralling mouth to spend a fair amount of time in caressing her delicate jaw line with his lips. Then, he moved to thoroughly lick her ear. Satisfied, he let his lips slide down, and fumbled around the bandana to taste the curve of her neck, disappearing into the collar of her silly Muggle shirt.

The girl tried to match his actions, and from time to time their noses would bump against each other, or their lips would land on unintended spots, or their mouths would open at the wrong time. And it would get awkward, and sloppy, and wet. And…perfect.

In one of his more lucid moments, Snape felt the witch’s fingers tugging at the collar of his robes. “No!” was his first reaction. Violently, he threw his head back, shaking her hands off in the process. The mere thought of her seeing even a glimpse of his uncovered body was enough to bring him back from wherever desire had taken him. No!

Pained, he looked at the girl’s face, breathing hard. “No…”

Her bruised lips formed a surprised ‘oh,’ and for a several long heartbeats they stood, motionless, his gaze locked with hers. And then, the witch moved one of her hands to her own shirt, and undid the top button. She wore nothing underneath. “Please,” her lips quirked, but no actual sound came out.

His gaze slid to the newly exposed expanse of white skin he hadn’t yet taste, and it took him only a moment to squash his trepidation before he greedily accepted the offer. The witch whimpered.
Oh gods...

Slowly, one button after another was undone, and Snape forgot yet again about his doubts, and fears, and anything else for that matter. He covered every revealed bit of skin with kisses and licks, and nibbles, his head swimming from the heat, and smell, and feel, and sound… And he wanted more.

He paused at each button, waiting for the witch to undo it, and then dove into the opening, hastily pushing the shirt aside, rushing to renew the touch. He took lengthy side trips to lave the little breasts, his tongue taking long swipes over the pointed nipples that he first grazed with his teeth. He counted her ribs with his kisses, and plunged into the small cavern of her navel as if it was a prize to be cherished.

By the time he reached the witch’s belt, he was completely consumed by the need for more. Still, he was terrified of looking up at the girl’s face, and just kept staring at the shiny buckle. He hadn’t even noticed that somewhere along the way he had dropped to his knees, dragging his hands down the rough stone wall. He didn’t care that his scraped palms burned, and his back ached, and his knees hurt. He wanted more.

The girl’s hands began to fumble with her belt buckle, and Snape finally took the chance of raising his head. His gaze was met by an inferno raging in a pair of grayish-blue eyes. The witch swayed slightly, and exhaled, “Yes…”

From that point on Snape awareness of the proceedings came in a series of disconnected flashes. He was up… The girl was in his arms, tiny, weightless, her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist… A wide dusty box… Strengthening and cushioning charms… A silencing charm… The witch’s small fingers tugging at his trousers fly... A thump of a boot fallen on the stone floor... Another one...

When he managed to pause, he was awarded with the most breathtaking view he had ever seen. In front of him lay a beautiful woman, her body bare save for the thrown-open shirt, and the red and white bandana around her neck. He stood over her, trying to will away his tremors, to calm his frantic heartbeat, his eyes roaming over the white porcelain skin, taking in every curve, and every line, and…

The witch’s arms went up to him, and she murmured one of her ‘pleases,’ and Snape couldn’t bear it any longer. He swooped down on her, kissing, and touching, and licking, and smelling, shivering at every hitched breath, and moan, and whispered ‘yes.’

When they finally joined as one, elated, Snape stilled, unable to breathe. He wanted this moment to last for eternity. But then the next moment arrived, and he wanted more. And he began moving.

He knew he wasn’t going to last. Every one of the witch’s rapturous ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh’s’ was driving him wild, and he wanted more. Every kiss he ripped from her lips in between lungfuls of air, heavy with vanilla and peach, fanned the flames of desire, sizzling in his veins. And he wanted more. Every move sent waves of pleasure through his body. And he wanted more.

And then the witch shuddered, screaming something he couldn’t decipher, because his own release was roaring through him. “Geraldine!” he cried out, and everything turned black.
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll