I, Snape

A Trip Down Memory Lane

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don’t recognize.

A/N: This story if written with two P.O.V.s—Omniscient (c’est moi - your megalomaniac author/narrator Aprilgrey) and Snape’s. We will be cutting back and forth. In addition, the Prologue takes place after Snape has been turned into a cat. However, about half of the story will be relating the events that led up to Snape’s becoming a cat. Clear? Good, have fun with it!

”Farce is that in poetry which ‘grotesque’ is in a picture: the persons and action of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false.” --Dryden. Like he said, this story is a farce.

From the Prologue:

I knocked on her door. She briskly opened it, “Severus? What do you want?” Her voice oozed with mistrust, yet she didn’t slam the door in time. I had a leg and a foot into the room and I took this for a good sign. &&
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I was quite pleased that I had made it this far. I held up the bottle and two wine glasses. “To old times?” said I with the half-grin that she claimed she loved many years ago.

“What are you after, Snape?” Hooch narrowed her golden eyes.

“I’m wounded. What does it look like? A dove with an olive branch? A celebration that the Dark Lord is gone and our lives can return to normal? Or perhaps…?” I purposely left the question dangling along with a raised eyebrow. tha that’s right, Hooch, get intrigued. Yes, my little hawk, you see the bait in front of you, now. Take it!

“Well, a drink to old times, perhaps,” she said hesitantly.

YES!

I use my favorite wine opening and pouring charm and the cork shoots through the air as the wine and glasses levitate. Delicately, a fountain of wine rises from the bottle and streams perfectly into the glasses floating on either side. She smirks. She always liked that charm. I remember every detail, every like, and every peeve. I know how to please this woman.

I remove a glass from where it is hanging in mid-air and hand it to her. My heart is going very fast as I look into her eyes. So many years have gone by and yet she has kept her looks nicely. I lick my lips after taking a sip of the sweet rich wine. She watches the movement of my tongue. Then, she sits and I follow after her to her settee.

“This is an awfully nice vintage,” states Hooch.

“Yes,is.”is.” Hooch is probably bluffing, she’s a butterbeer drinker and only likes to pretend that she knows wines. Still, it IS an awfully nice vintage so maybe she has learned a thing or two over the years. Suddenly I feel a cold finger of panic trace down my spine. It has been so very long since we’ve been together and I’m not sure what to say next.

“Tell me about Azkaban,” she says. No, I won’t tell you, I feel like screaming; however, I remain calm. Don’t ruin things by becoming emotional, I tell myself, stay light. This is a seduction.

“Just about what you’d expect. Five star cuisine, marvelous views…” I stand up and begin to pace. “Those Dementor Maitre d’s are a bit hard to put up with, expect to be tipped for everything.” I’m finding it hard to breath. My pace speeds up. “Of course the beds were quite lovely—goose down, don’t you know.” The room starts to spin. I hear her call my name but it sounds from very far away…

When the room comes back into focus, I discover that I am in her bed with a cool flannel being pressed against my face. I begin to snarl and get up. Damn. Did I faint? Some Casanova moves there, Snape.

“Stay down, you idiot,” ah yes, the tender love song of the Hooch. I note that my robe has been undone and my socks and boots are off. I suppose that’s one way of getting into a woman’s bed.

“Hooch?”

“You had a panic attack,” she gives me a strange look. “I’m sorry, I guess it’s too soon to talk about it?”

How about never? Yes, never would be too soon. I can’t help but glare at her. Severus Snape does not have panic attacks. I do not panic… I was a Death Eater. I lived by my wits. I want to lash out at her, hurt her for asking such an incredibly stupid and tasteless question. That’s it for the evening-- I want out. I try to get up but she pushes me back onto the bed. Her hand is on my bare chest. It feels cool and soothing. Arotirotic.

“Your heart is still racing.” She massages my chest. I close my eyes, remembering how she used to do that back when, back when… Why is my life like this?

She continues to stroke my chest, I suppose in an attempt to calm me. It has quite the opposite effect.

“Hooch,” say I, in a voice neither silky nor smooth.

“It’s been a long time,” she says wistfully.

“Yes, it has.” I try to match her tone of voice exactly. I would not want her to change a t, ex, except to massage a bit lower. As if reading my mind, her strong, sure fingers draw a line following my chest hair down to my stomach.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight.” She looks so sad. “You were always too thin to begin with. Someone should take care of you.” She leans down over me and places a light kiss on my huge ugly nose.

I reach up for her shoulders and bring her down to me. Her sweet, ripe mouth settles on mine and I groan. I flick my tongue against her lips and she parts them. I roll over her and continue to kiss her mouth, her chin, and then her throat. I’ve entered paradise here. I thought I’d never get back in, that I had been exiled forever, but I’m back. She’s in my arms and I feel her start to grind her hips against me. I unbutton her robes, while kissing her and then I reach up under her camisole. Her breast under my hand is still perfectly tight and exquisitely pert. I break off the kiss to push her robe off of heouldoulders. Quickly, I shrug out of mine. It’s just us in our underwear now. I suckle her breast through the silk of her top while my other hand travels along her torso to her thighs.

I hear her gasp as the heat and the wet, raw silk rub against her nipple. I feel her arms caressing my back and then move down to my buttocks. She’s pressing me into her, urging me to get on with things. I remember how she’s an impatient lover. I could spend the entire night just licking her breasts. However, the message is clear, get on with it.

I roll off of her and unpeel her camisole. Once more I indulge in rubbing my face against her lovely white pillows, inhaling her fresh smell of soap and talcum powder. She reaches her fingers into the waistband of my underwear and I take the time to help her release my erection. For a moment I spy her uncertainty: she is unsure whether to caress it or take it into her lovely mouth. Instead she brings her knickers down and off of her legs. Wryly I think to myself about how she always did want to get onto the main event-- later we’d be able to take our time. Whatever, whatever she wants, I wish to provide it.

I position myself between her thighs and she opens herself wide for me. I view her and for a second wonder how much trouble I would be in if I were to take a little detour and suckle her sweet bud. She gives me the look, and I know it’s not worth it. Later. She is anxious to couple; I sigh and ease myself into her liquid warmth. She thrusts up to meet me and I am deeply embedded in her.

She is an athlete who has never broke training, a woman of iron discipline and will. In theory I could simply stay fixed over her and let her totally control from her bottom position. But no, I work with her, our sexes repeatedly meeting and separating. I almost lose control when I feel her inner muscles start to milk me. I smile and then groan with pleasure. Yet another of her talents that I had forgotten!

I use my hand to press hard against my groin to forestall a climax. She watches me with her secret lovemaking smile. She knows that I would never leave her behind. I nod and we start again, but this time I feel an inner tremor signaling that her time is fast approaching.

Her face becomes a mask of passion, all bared teeth and straining focus. Again, I feel the mini ripple of her inner muscles presaging her imminent orgasm.

“Come,e foe for me now,” I whisper in her ear, thrusting deep and hard into her center. She whimpers and I plunge into her mercilessly, desperate to feel her release. Her nails scrape my back and she crosses her legs behind me, clamping her thighs up high against my hips. I continue to pound into her, sweat slickening our bodies and speeding our movements as we repeatedly slam against one another. Her whimpers become short cries.

“Say my name, please, say it,” I rasp.

“Remussssss!!!!” she screams and her body pulses and throbs around me. It is too late to stop myself from the act. Tumbling into the chasm, I spend myself richly and deeply into her unfaithful body. I’m sobbing, and I’m not sure if it is because of the intensity of my release or the painful awareness that I am a stand in for another. I am shaking and covered in perspiration. My mind flees from this so painful knowledge so recently acquired, and for a while I know no more.

I awaken to her not so gentle shaking of my shoulder. She has thrown a blanket over me, but I still shiver with reaction.

“You can’t sleep here,” she tells me.

“What? Can’t sleep here? Why ever not?” My teeth start to chatter.

“I haven’t finished packing. I need the bed.”

“Packing?”

“You sound like an echo. Of course. I told you this morning at breakfast. Damn. I knew you weren’t listening. You said you were but you weren’t. You missed the announcement while, well, when you were in you know.”

I sit up and face her. “Hooch, tell me now.”

“The Holyhead Harpies has a opening for an Assistant Quidditch Coach. I have to leave tomorrow morning.”

“But, but…” I feel dazed and then angry. She called out the werewolf’s name-- blast it. She made me believe that we were starting over, but she was, was. “What the hell’s going on?” I barely keep my voice above a whisper. I want to hex her.

“You said for old time’s sake. Well, we did it for old time’s sake and now it’s time for you to leave.”

A sense of unreality sweeps over me. She doesn’t love me; she didn’t wait for me. I hear the ghost of the Dark Lord laughing it up. “Mudblood,” he says, and the word unbidden springs from my lips.

“What did you call me?” her eyes glistening with fury. I feel horrified. It was the Dark Lord who said it, not me.

“Nothing. I didn’t say a word.”

“Yes, yes you did. How dare you, Severus Snape, bas bastard.” She goes for her wand.

“And how dare you! With Lupin!” I can’t stop myself from spitting venom. “He’s not even human. That’s bestiality. When did you and he?” She stares at me. She’s not going to tell me.

Almost against my will, I reach out and take the information that she refuses to impart. I creep into her memories of the loathsome creature and discover that he’d become her lover during his time as DADA professor five years ago. And that she had hated me at the time for being the cause of his resignation. And that the past five years give him more claim to her than I ever had. Tonight was nothing more than a sympathy shag. Her eyes widen and her rage doubles as she realizes what I have forced from her.

I struggle to retrieve my wand from my robes lying on the floor, but I am too late. She points her wand at me and mutters a few cryptic words. Her door gusts open and I am lifted up, out and slammed against the wall opposite her doorway. The back of my head hits the stone behind me and a rainbow of stars explodes before my eyes. My back is scraped against the wall as I slither to the ground. Her door bangs shut.

I sit there in shock. While my balls shrivel and pull up from contact with the castle’s cold stone floor, I hear a nasty little chuckle.

“Well, well, Severus. She threw you out, again. Just like old times, eh? Let me see, what was it, fifteen or was it sixteen years ago?” Flitwick rubs his tiny hands together in glee. “She told me all about it. How you came to break up with her, but forgot to tell her until after you’d had done the dirty. Right?”

The little arsehole is having a wonderful time at my expense. Pity I don’t have my wand on me. I simply glower at him.

“And funnily enough, you were starkers the last time, too,” he sniggers. “Well, shall I again charm one of my robes large enough to fit you? Can’t have you scaring the ghosts, can we now?”

“Fuck you, Filius.” I get up and stalk away with as much dignity as I can muster. I hear his malevolent little titter fade behind me.

On my way to the dungeons, I do indeed scare a couple of romancing Hufflepuffs (I take 50 points each), and 3 house elves and Filch winds up in the infirmary for a week with hysterical blindness.

By the next day, there isn’t a staff member at Hogwarts or an adult in Hogsmeade who hasn’t heard the story from that savage Lilliputian twit.

A/N: A big thank you to my reviewers, Jean, Giova, Kiri, Rilla, Irol, Nesscafe, Andrian, Amethyst, and ShagstheDustMop

Next Chapter: Hermione and friends devise a plan.