Behind the Looking Glass
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
2,214
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
2,214
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Secrets Revealed
The next morning, Snape was not in a good mood, which was mildly putting it indeed. He was never in a good mood and this was one of his worst ever. The house elves had told of his illness and he had been forced, just minutes earlier, to suffer through Madam Pomfrey’s clucking ministrations, and he had emerged from them in a very foul temper. Holly’s care and treatment he had received had been all he had needed; yet the Headmistress had sent Poppy to his chambers when he refused to go to the infirmary.
Sitting in his favourite chair in the staff lounge, he thought he would go mad if another person approached him to inquire about his health. They just could not see the answer to their questions sitting before them; it was as if they were blind to the fact he had recovered quickly, and what was worst they looked beyond his foul temper. Things were beginning to pile up on him, and it was becoming too much to stand. If he had to listen to one more commiseration and anecdote of the sickest day of anyone else’s life, he doubted he would be held accountable for his actions.
Springing from his chair before Madam Sprout could cross the floor with her look of concern to make her inquiry, and before he gave into the urge to throttle her, he did all but bolt from the room. He needed to find solitude – a place where he could gather his thoughts, and he certainly did not want to have to go to the dungeons to do it. In fact, he was beginning to get sick of the dungeons. He went to the library, left and went to the gardens, and found neither place to be satisfactory. He didn’t want to be in his chambers, he was sick of those as well. He stood in the middle of the garden, trying to think and all that kept coming to him was August Hollingsworth. It was Holly, who was competent and did not pressure him with mindless questions, and who did not feel a need to fill the air with useless chatter. As difficult it was to admit; it was Hollingsworth that seemed to care for him. It was then he realized he had a longing and a need for companionship. He needed someone with which he could be comfortable, and with whom he could be himself. Even though Snape now knew this was something he needed, he also agonized over with just whom he needed it from and this exasperated him immensely.
Stalking back into the castle, he had to find out. He had to know once and for all if the attraction and need he felt was real, or if he had really gone quite mad. Rounding the corner in the passageway that led to Holly's chambers, he soon stood at the door. He pounded on it non-too ceremoniously and waited. The door opened and he barged past Hollingsworth’s startled, “What in the-?”
“I have to know something… I must – or go mad.”
“Who in the hell do you think you are pushing your way in here uninvited?” Holly had not been in a good mood either, and this was just as good of a time to vent long–stored frustrations as any other.
“What?” Snape was taken aback at the attack.
“You have no right whatsoev-.”
“I need-,” he attempted to interrupt, but August Hollingsworth had just begun a well-deserved tirade.
“I could care less about what you need!” Holly shouted loudly.
“Now look,” Snape’s eyes narrowed a bit.
“Or what? Should I be waiting for the ‘or else’ bit?”
Snape in three large strides crossed back over to Holly, reached around and slammed the door shut, “No, you should be waiting for this.”
With one hand, he grabbed and pulled Holly close, firmly holding the slender frame about the waist to his own large body. He wrapped the fingers of his free hand in sandy hair, and bent to crush those petulant lips beneath his own. Holly struggled in vain, beating Snape about the shoulders with clenched fists. The kiss intensified, and deepened as Snape lightly flicked his tongue and eventually it darted inside as Hollingsworth’s struggles slowly ceased. The kiss became long and languid, and Snape’s grip loosened when the kiss was returned.
He pulled back and looked at Hollingsworth. He frowned slightly. There was something oddly different and confusing about the face before him, and he felt something tickly dangling from the corner of his mouth. He reached up and pulled it away. He stared at it not comprehending what it was. Gasping loudly, Hollingsworth clasped a hand over an open mouth, and wide-eyed with terror and shame, fled to the useless safety of bedchambers and slammed the door.
He stared at it some more, turned it over in his hand before he felt a prickle of realization of what he was seeing, and his lips began to twitch uncontrollably in mirth.
“Heh – hehe – hehehahaha….”
The laugh had a Herculean task fighting its way out, as Severus Snape never did laugh, or even had a reason to until now. It started slowly, with intermittent pauses, until it built up steam and lasted in earnest for quite some time. Becoming totally helpless with laughter, he soon fell over onto the small sofa with tears spurting from his eyes. He continued to laugh until he had become quite weak from it, as well as relief of knowing he had not as he had thought, become as ‘gay as a picnic basket’.
“Merlin,” he said to himself and pulling his kerchief out, he wiped his eyes dry. He held the fake moustache up with two fingers to examine it, and laughter threatened to over-take him once more.
Rising from the sofa, he carefully placed it upon the mantle and turned to seek out Holly. Opening the door, he peered into the bedchamber and discovered it to be empty. He followed the sound of soft weeping to the bath, where he found Augusta Hollingsworth, hiding in humiliation, sitting with her head on her knees and arms clasped about her legs in the tub.
He sat down on the floor next to the old-fashioned claw-footed tub and leaned back against the wall and asked quietly, “Why?” He continued to sit patiently waiting for her answer as she continued to weep.
“I’m afraid,” she said finally.
“Of?”
“Vladimir.”
“Who?”
“Vladimir Roshenko.”
Snape hadn’t heard that name in ages, and he was surprised to hear it most especially from her. Vladimir Roshenko was well known in the wizarding world for being a powerful Dark Wizard - known for his vast riches and all encompassing cruelty as well as his unwavering belief in Voldemort’s claim to power.
She looked up at Snape with a tear-stained face, “He beat me because he blamed me for his inability to perform on our wedding night, and when I recovered I had the marriage annulled. He swore he would hunt me down and kill me.”
Snape sat stunned. He couldn’t imagine any one marrying such a vile character, “Why did you marry him then?”
“I was betrothed to him – I had no choice. Our house was small and poor, and he easily convinced my father to arrange the contract. He was kind and generous, and turned into a monster once he thought he owned me.”
“And so, when your brother was killed, you became August Hollingsworth to hide from Roshenko.”
“Yes, I joined the Defenders to get away from him. August showed up during the fight at St. Mungo’s and I would have been killed if it hadn’ been for him. He sacrificed himself,” she bent her head to her knees as a fresh bout of weeping began anew.
His face unreadable, Snape turned to face her and tentatively placed his hand upon her head. He tugged gently at the sandy hair and it slowly came away. The charm it held, disappeared and a mass of strawberry blonde curls tumbled about her shoulders. He gently put his finger under her chin and raised her head. No longer was the face boyishly handsome; instead, the face was exquisitely chiselled, very feminine, and stained with tears. High cheekbones accentuated those startling blue eyes; porcelain skin replaced the slight tan that had been affected, and it was then he remembered the bumbling half-Veela from potions class. She was quite brilliant really; her only obstacle was the lack of self-confidence at the time.
“Why not Polyjuice potion… Wait - you’re allergic if I recall correctly,” He recollected the sneezing and hives she suffered just from mixing the ingredients.
She nodded, “Yes,” her voice had become soft and lilting despite her sorrow, and she was still not able to look him in the eye.
He sat quietly, letting her weep until she had exhausted her tears. Rising to bended knee he reached down, hoped it would allow him to, and gently lifted her from the tub. He carried her light body to the bedchamber and sat her on the edge of the bed, and knelt once more before her.
“I want you,” he said simply.
Her reddened eyes grew large; thinking all he wanted was to bed her and she opened her mouth to protest.
Sensing this, he gently placed a finger across her lips, “You misunderstand. I don’t want to just have sex with you. I want — to make love to you.”
Large tears formed in her eyes. They danced and bobbed on the ends of her lower lashes, shimmering in the morning light, before they fell copiously onto the back of his hand. Grasping her face, he kissed the tears that followed. They were salty, yet sweet as honey on his lips and he smiled inwardly as he thought, ‘the tears of a true Veela’s heart’.
His lips brushed across hers, and their eyes locked then he asked, “Do you trust me?”
“I trust you,” she whispered.
He removed the rest of her disguise, and he gazed in utter amazement at her truly astonishing beauty. He removed his coat and shirt as he still knelt before her, and he bent to kiss the tops of her creamy thighs as he ran his hands along her silky skin. Rising, he leaned Augusta back onto the bed, and he bent once more and breathed in that elusive scent he had difficulty identifying, and blew gently across the pale, soft golden-red curls of her mound.
She gasped involuntarily.
Slowly spreading her thighs, he sought her small virgin organ that he intended to claim as his own, and he teased and stroked it gently with his tongue, sending her gasping and climbing the heights of ecstacy. He then pulled and tugged it gently with is lips, before sucking it into his mouth and steadily circled it with his tongue until she succumbed to her first ever, and very violent orgasm as she loudly wept.
His arms under her shoulders and knees, he placed her properly onto the bed. He removed his trousers and lay beside her and waited as he held her, giving time for her body’s sensations to calm somewhat before he touched her again in her secret places. He knew a woman sometimes could not bear to be touched so soon after climax as her tender flesh would be too sensitive to endure it.
Feeling her body relax in his arms, it was a signal to him that he could proceed. Rolling her to her back, he bent to kiss her full breasts. Clasping his lips about her rosy nipple, he suckled as if seeking sustenance for his soul. He could not stop his hands from roaming about her body. He knew then, for he had not realized it until that moment, that he had suffered from a need – that the empty spot he had keenly felt and could not give a name to in his life for these last few years, was skin-hunger. He had deprived himself of skin touching skin and he fed that hunger like a starving man falling upon a bountiful feast.
He left the now reddened and puckered nipple behind, and sought out its mate, causing her to arch her back and release a trembling moan. He slid his hand down the length of her body, coming to rest between her legs, and he placed an inquisitive finger in her opening, and felt the resistance of her virgin flower hiding in her moist and slick folds.
His desire to make her his grew intensely, and spreading her legs further apart, he mounted her and continued to pull her nipple deeper into his mouth. His hot shaft throbbed and pulsed at her small entrance. He released her nipple from the captivity of his mouth and held her face in his hands, “Do you still trust me?”
“Yes,” she replied in a breathy voice.
He pushed firmly; she shut her eyes at the stinging pain as her thin membrane broke, and he slid his entire length deeply within her tight, moist walls. He dared not move just yet, for if he did, he would ruin it for the both of them as his own release was near. Laying on and buried within her supple body, he lightly nuzzled each of her breasts in turn, and soon her stinging pain faded and was replaced by hot desire. Feeling he could now move without immediate release, he wrapped his arm about her shoulders, and bore his weight on his free hand as he slowly began to move within her.
His thrusting became faster until he established a rhythm that he could sense was satisfying and comfortable to her. A warmth began to pool at the base of his organ as his sac began to tighten, and he bit his lip in an effort to control himself. He wanted her to come first, and soon feeling her body beginning to tense and prepare itself for orgasm, he forced her to open her eyes and look at him as he continued to pump steadily.
“Say it – say my name,” he commanded, his voice was thick and hoarse with desire and his own imminent satisfaction.
Her walls began to convulse and her hips bucked upward as she wrapped her legs about his muscular back.
He crushed her lips beneath his and commanded again, “Say it!”
“Ah! – Ah! – Severus!” She cried his name, tears leaking from her eyes and clasped him deeper with her heels; her nails raked his back as her tight walls pulled him deep as if in a desperate attempt to keep him prisoner within.
Giving himself over to physical sensations, with a swift, forceful, and final plunge, he threw his head back and with a roar of pent-up release cried her name repeatedly as his seed rushed forth and filled her gentle womb. He waited, breathing heavily, propped on his elbows until his spent shaft slowly slipped from her body, and feeling whole for the first time in his life, he rolled from her collapsing onto his back. He pulled Augusta into his arms and wrapped the tangled blankets about them, where they clung to each other for much of the day, as each had now become a badly needed anchor of stability and tenderness in the other’s life.