I, Snape

A Tale of Three Witches – part one


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


I was still licking my wounds over the unceremonious loss of my once true love. I have made sacrifices in this war—great sacrifices. Not the least is losing my Hooch to a savage, unthinking werewolf, a creature of great ill and dire qualities. A mongrel wizard. Well, I hope the half-blood will be happy with him. Maybe I’ll send them some of my patented mange remover and a flea collar.

Even worse was the way Flitwick managed to spread the news all over Hogwarts and Hogsmeade in record time. Odd that the largest, Hagrid, and the smallest – Flitwick, amongst us should also be the most accomplished in spreading tales. The only good in the past few days had been my giving detention to Potter and Weasley. This evening I found something particularly nasty for them to work on-- the drain traps of the potions lab’s sinks had something, we know not what, rather vile growing in them. I made the task of evacuating those drains a sort of farewell gift to them. And wouldn’t you know it? They acted almost virtuously about doing it, almost as if they had planned to have detention. Said that they wanted to sing Auld Lang Syne. We are in Scotland, but they were almost giddy, they were. So I gave them another detention for tomorrow night. That should sober them up. Still, I’m running out of nastiness for them to take care of. I’ll have to get creative; it’s just that at the end of the year there just isn’t too much going on.

I was on my second Fresca, yes it’s Muggle drink, but I really need to watch my figure now that I’m not suffering chronic indigestion from regular doses of Dark Lord Crutio, when someone came a-knocking at my dungeon door. It’s late enough that I don’t feel strange coming to the door clad in only a dressing gown and slippers.

I opened it and was stunned by the appearance of a gorgeous witch in a black satin something or other holding a large bottle of a Muggle beverage, I forget the name of it. Throwing caution to the winds, I allowed this amazing visitor to come in to my chambers.

She swept in and performed the same charm that I had used to impress Hooch. However this version included miniature fireworks accompanying the fountain of wine. Also, the cork made a much more impressive pop than it had with the Merlot and her wine was sparkling with bubbles. The mysterious stranger handed me a glass of the unknown beverage and I recklessly sipped it. It tickled my nose and I smiled.

“Oh, my Gods, Snape, you just smiled,” stated the woman. Her voice was disturbingly familiar.

“Trelawney, is that you? Are you using a glamour?”

“No glamour. In case you hadn’t noticed, the war’s over and it’s high time to take off the Halloween Ball costumes.”

I stopped. This woman is my enemy. Had been gleefully predicting my death for almost two decades. We despise each other. “Say, what are you playing at?y ary are you here at all?” I make my voice especially harsh and bitin hin her honor.

“And why are you still wearing black? You can drop the Death Eater routine; they are all dead.”

“I’m in mourning for my life.”

The Trelawney female’s mouth dropped open. “I didn’t know you read Muggle plays. Chekhov, well, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” I sneered, “I’ve never heard of him.”

“The Seagull. By Anton Chekhov, Act I Scene I.” I watched Sibyll sip her drink. “The schoolteacher Medvedenko asks Masha why she always wears black and she replies, ‘I’m in mourning for my life. I am unhappy.’”

I stare at her. Unblinking.

“Why the bloody fuck are you here?” I ask her this, hoping that I’ve now disrupted her Inner Eye past all hope of redemption. Instead, the idiot woman laughs at me.

“I heard about Hooch throwing you out.” Well, who hasn’t? “And seeing as you might be on the market for a little action…”

She clucks her tongue and leers at me.

“I don’t read Muggle plays and I don’t drink Muggle beverages.” I put down the flute glass with a determined look. I hope she will know that I am still, in some ways, a Death Eater and she should be scared, very scared.

She walks behind me and picks up the can of half drunk Fresca from my desk. “You’re losing your touch.” She whispers in my ear. Her breath thrills me, but I don’t let on. Nor do I let her realize that I find the scent of Vanilla mixed with Dragon Musk to be an incredible aphrodisiac. No. I’d rather slit my own throat first.

“I am not losiy toy touch, now get out!” I growl. I really don’t need to be insulted in my own dungeon.

She presses her body up against mine. “I’m not looking to be best bosom companions with you. Just a little roll in the hay,” she lilts seductively.

I start to panic. This woman is a predator and she has smelt blood. My blood… “Trelawney…”

“Call me Ssssibyll,” her hiss was perfection and would have aroused any Slytherin’s ardour.

“What do I have to do to get you out of here?” I say through clenched teeth. The grumpiness is forced: I am weakening under her assault on my senses.

And she reaches down into my dressing gown and grabs my package. The package. And squeezes, gently, in a light teasing, stimulating manner through my knickers.

I meet her eyes with shock, and she smirks, “Well, you asked.”

I find myself growing rock hard under her touch. And I’m beginning to understand. Sex with someone you hate could be… interesting. It could even be enjoyable? We despise each other and it’s-- exciting. I bend down and nip her ear.

“Now, you have it!” And after a moment she says, “My Gods, Snape are you blushing?’

Well, of course I’m blushing. Just because my skin is a bit on the sallow side, doesn’t mean I don’t blush. I drop one of her straps off of her shoulder and reveal her breast. Not as nice a breast as Hooch had. I do like them small and perky, but this one of Trelawney is quite large and yet doesn’t droop and the pointy brown tip does look inviting.

She gives me a big grin and says, “Be my guest.”

Really, she’s so—Muggleish. Obviously not a pure blood. Goodness, she might even be a… a… Mud, er… Muggle born. I don’t know why but this increases my lust three-fold. Dirty, filthy little, oh yes, I pick her up and take her to my bed. This might be a very good thing, indeed.

I remove the other strap from her shoulder and low and behold, I now have two, two count ‘em, two, quite large titties to play with, and, AND I discover that large has the added benefit of the sheer joy of being able to suckle both at the SAME time. You just can’t do that with perky.

I’m starting to get all sorts of new and creative ideas. I wonder what it would feel like to make a tunnel between her breasts and drive my Hogwart’s Express through Wo Would she find it too kinky? Would she be disgusted? But we already hate each other. Novel vistas reveal themselves to me.

“Sibyll,” I husk as I hoist open my robes and divest myself of my knickers.

“Hmm,” she murmurs with her eyes closed. She doesn’t seem to be in the least bit of a hurry to move on to the main event. Hmm. Not all women are Hooch…

“I was wondering.”

“Feel free to experiment, love. I’m doing just fine, Duckykins.”

Duckykins! I almost lose my erection along with my supper. I was a Death Eater, dammit. Reduced to Duckykins, indeed. I try to move my mind back onto the delights at hand.

“Accio, lubricant!” My bedroom drawer opens and my cut crystal jar of homemade broomstick polish comes into my hand. I lather myself up to see how it will feel to thrust myself between those two luscious mountains.

She opens one eye and spies the lubricant. I freeze and she positively squeals, “I know what you want!”

Does she? Does she really? Oooh goody, I mean, wonderful.

She turns and lays flat on her stomach. And then she presents her arse to me. I feel swept by a sense of vertigo. She wants it where? No, not there. But why? We can use a contraceptive charm. It would hurt there, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t like it done to me.

I freeze and start to go soft.

“Well, what are you waiting for? I love doing it Greek.” She humps the bed in excitement. I find my brain has frozen in alliance with the rest of me.

“Trelawney, I’ve never done it this way before.” I really want her ta-tas back.

“You haven’t? But you were a Death Eater! Buggery should come natural to you. Well, don’t worry. Just lube up and you’ll find out what it’s all about.”

NO! I don’t want to find out.

Damn The Daily Prophet trumpeting lies to the world about the sexual proclivities of Lord Voldemort’s followers. I should sue them for libel. No wonder everyone gives me such strange looks. They all think I’m some sort of pervert!

I’ve gone totally soft now and Trelawney is hitting me with a look. I don’t know what her look means – she’s not Hooch. By Merlin, I hope it’s not pity.

“Snape. Snap out of it! All right. It’s all right. It’s just that I’m saving my virginity for that one special man.”

I must have undergone Crutio one too many times!

“You are a virgin!” I declaim.

“The unicorns love me!”

I must look pretty stusittsitting here with my gob hanging open. And yet, to shut my mouth is quite beyond me.

“You don’t do sex the normal way?”

“Define normal.” She’s starting to look defensive. I quickly search for my wand in case she’s ready to throw hexes like Hooch does. Damn, it’s in the other room.

“Look, don’t be so shocked. Very often a seer loses power when she, well, give it up to a man. It happened to my great-great grandmother, Cassandra, well, she was absolutely brilliant until she got married and had her wedding night.

“Now, I’ve only had two good prophesies in my entire life, so do you think I’d risk losing whatever talent I ever had on a washed up loser lioursourself? No offense, but not bloody likely.”

I try to ignore the insults; after all we do hate each other. “No offense, but I’m not sticking it up there.”

Trelawney shrugged, “Well, so it’s not a total loss…” and suddenly her mouth is on my privates.

In shock, I lean backwards and close my eyes. This is new to it and me feels, um, this is new to me and it feels; well, there are no words.

I might actually come to like Trelawney. Ugh, I can’t believe I said that. But she is doing such amazing things with her tongue, that I find my breath quickly- coming- in short bursts-- and I’m gasping like the giant squid did-- when it accidentally beached itself! Oh Merlin, oh, she’s using her hands as well, in conjunction and, and…

I scream and hold her head, allowing my essence to spurt into her devouring maw! The orgasm goes on forever and she continues to vacuum me up, to the last aching drop. Not only have I spent, I feel as if I haven’t a bone or brain cell left in my body. I stare into her all too insufferably pleased with herself eyes. No words are able to emerge from my mouth.

“So,” she says as she readjusts her straps, “if you were to change your mind and want to discover the joys of backdoormanship…”

I summon up a scorn, which is both faand and trivial, “I suppose all you Muggle-born know about such practices.”

“Nice try, Snape! But my pedigree is probably better than yours and longer. We trace ourselves back to Rowena!”

She’s a pure blood! Oh wait, of course, that great-great grandmother of hers. But how did she? She’s done things to my body that I never ever imagined could be done! Pure bloods do such things? Oh, Snape, where have you been? I just have to ask, “But the Muggle drink and the Muggle literature?” I feebly sneer.

“I pulled down better grades in my Muggle Studies N.E.W.T. than I did in Divination. And both were Outstanding. Ha! You are looking at the new Muggle Studies teacher! After all with Firenze on the staff, I was just marking time until a new teaching slot opened up.”

Now I am upset. Even though she has seniority, I should have been notified that the post was opening. I could have applied. I’m a quick study; I could have taught Muggle this next semester. Oh Ye Gods, anything but another year of potions! It’s like that DADA thing all over again. Albus just won’t consider me for any other post than potions. Fuck!

Then it happens, for less than a minute, her face goes slack and she says, “Take the purple potion,” in a voice not her own. Oooh, I hate it when she channels. You never know what she is channeling and she always denies that it has happened. Just as quickly is bis back with us.

She studies me and notes my dismay with triumph. “Anyway, Duckykins, you know where to find me. If you change your mind -- Just whistle! You know how to whistle? Put your lips together and blow.”

I watch her leave. A deep, dark despair blankets my soul.

Yes, I bleed.

I blush.

And I also weep.


Many thanks for the words of encouragement and support! And a special thanks to my reviewers: Amethyst, Kiri, Rosmerta, Nesscafe, Lady Aidil, Jean Lamb.