Growing Pain

Growing Pain
by Vox Angel

Disclaimer: These characters are borrowed. No profit is being made from this work and no copyright infringement is intended.

Warnings: This fic contains teacher/student relations, self abuse, Dominant/submissive (D/s) pairing and other possibly disturbing themes. Please do not read if you may be offended by this subject matter.

Comments and criticism may be sent to: vox angel@hotmail.com
Please email if you would like permission to archive on another site.


GROWING PAIN

I was always a solitary boy. Growing up with no mother and a distant father will do that to you. From the beginning of my memory, I had always thrown myself into my studies; it was the one place where I could constantly excel. My social interaction was strained and limited, and I had no time for the trivialities of pureblood wizarding society, like ‘polite’ conversation, fashion (and sometimes even basic hygiene). My short temper and lack of interest in “normal” childhood pastimes made me an outcast almost from the beginning.

When I started Hogwarts, I believed things might change. I was sorted into Slytherin and thought it suited me. Crafty but standoffish; at the age of eleven, I welcomed that idea. I believed my abilities would be seen as an asset, and thus make me a part of the group. But I soon learned the true nature of the average Slytherin student. They were too focused on ceremony, fashion, money, breeding…all the things I cared nothing for. I just didn’t have the patience for the art of extensive grooming and haughty yet condescending speech. I pulled myself from bed each morning, threw on the nearest outfit, clean or not, and headed out of the dormitory with a book. I was viewed as an oddity within my own house, a presence to be tolerated, but not included. It was typical Slytherin philosophy; if someone had a use for me, only then would they interact with me, otherwise, I might as well not have existed. At 11, it made me a lonely boy, but I accepted it. My studies seemed enough for me and I threw every bit of energy I had into them.

However, as I grew older, there eventually started building another type of energy inside me. Energy that I had no outlet for and no way of dealing with. I believe puberty strikes the awkward hardest of all: shyness and loneliness turn into bitterness and resentment. I watched other students talking, laughing, forming friendships, holding hands, blushing as they touched each other. Each one filled with the same energy, longing, and desire that was now filling me; only they shared it with each other, while I thought mine might consume me.

At 15, I resolved that I would become a more social creature, attempt to form friendships and interact with my classmates. I awkwardly tried to imitate their behavior, talk about the same silly drivel they seemed to go on about for days. Of course, it didn’t work. Like a pack of wolves to the scent of blood, children can smell insecurity. They knew instantly that I was a pretender, and would not tolerate it. Even worse, I had now drawn unwanted attention upon myself. Before, I was simply invisible, a shadow in the background and nothing to be concerned about. But now, I was a joke, and there is no target more appealing to be the brunt of a joke than a person who wants to be accepted and isn’t. To be reclusive by choice is somehow acceptable, but to be forced into solitude is a capital offense.

The worst antagonists were Potter, Black and their gang of followers. They represented both the people I hated most and the people I most wanted to become. When girls walked by their group, they giggled and blushed, tossed their hair, and glanced suggestively at them with heavy eyes. Girls never paid me that kind of attention. If I drew their notice at all, it would be a blank, emotionless stare. To make matters worse, Potter and Black now took advantage of every opportunity to humiliate me publicly. I had drawn their fire and they were relentless.

I was filled with so much anger, a bottle of hormones and rage. Each time I was humiliated, my mind cried out to hurt something. My blood raced with fury and my skin seemed to burn. I just wanted to lash out, to make something feel pain physically, to hear my emotional screaming finally given voice. I knew I couldn’t direct those feelings onto another person, so I turned them on myself. The sight of blood, my blood, calmed me. I bought a special knife, to be used for only this purpose. I cut my arms, high on the forearm, just inches below the elbow. Sometimes I would cut sharp, shallow and fast, many times, one after another. Other times I cut slowly and deep and watched the blood run in thick streams down my arms and drip slowly off the tips of my fingers. The blood tickled as it splashed against my pale flesh. I liked the contrast of colors. Sometimes, I would hold up my arm and let the blood run down my face like tiny tributaries branching off from a central river. I looked at my face, covered in my own blood, and tried to imagine what I would look like dead. It always ended the same way, first the pain, then the blood, then furious masturbation until I spilled into my own hand and lay back in exhaustion. This was my ritual, almost a nightly occurrence. I felt like I couldn’t sleep without it. I had to hurt myself, had to feel something, had to find some way to release.

I became quite good with healing balms and potions. I always had something on standby in case one day I went too far. I created some original concoctions, improvements upon potions I found in books. I developed and brewed a balm that would get rid of minor to somewhat severe lacerations with one application in under an hour, no scarring. It was for this reason that I first became seriously interested in potion making. But I hated to heal myself unless absolutely necessary. I liked the tight, sore feeling of scabs scratching against my robes throughout the day. If anything happened during the day to upset me, I could grab my arms and squeeze. The ache would help relax me.

This had been going on for about a year, until one night shortly after my 16th birthday. I had locked and enchanted the bathroom door as usual. This was not atypical in the boys dormitory (all boys seemed to need their “privacy” on a fairly regular basis, so no one ever gave me a hard time). It was late when I finished and I hadn’t started the cleanup yet. I stood up and caught a full view of myself in the mirror. My black hair hung in thick dull clumps almost completely obscuring my face; only my large curved nose and mouth, with lips red and chapped from biting, were visible. My body looked angular and bony, and was stretched tight with thin, translucent-looking skin. And covering my sallow flesh were vivid streaks and drips of blood and semen. Freak, I thought to myself, why am I such a hideous freak? I felt guilt, shame, and the most intense self-hatred I had ever experienced. I threw my knife across the room and sank to the floor in a tight ball. I pulled my hair with clenched fists and felt hot tears flow down my face. I cried myself dry and then sat empty and motionless for what must have been an hour more.

When I finally moved, I walked tight-lipped and determined directly to the shower. I scrubbed the caked blood off and continued rubbing until my whole body was red and irritated from the friction. I thought if I could just strip myself down to the core, maybe I could start over, rebuild. I stepped from the shower and cleaned the bathroom to pristine white with one swish of my wand. I looked at my naked body and reached for the healing balm. I covered myself in it, felt the sting of the magic working, and breathed its thick herbal scent so deeply I became a bit light-headed. When the warmth of the magic finally stopped, I removed all the excess with my towel and turned back to the mirror. My skin was as white and seamless as the day I was born. My body bore no marks, no indication of my self abuse, and I felt like I had been born anew.

I awoke the next day and looked into the bright, cloudless sky. Today would be different, I would make it different. I dressed neatly and combed my hair until it hung straight and shiny on my shoulders and walked alone to breakfast. People looked at me a bit strangely and I managed a weak smile when their eyes caught mine. I could have sworn I even saw a girl or two staring in my direction, then turn away a little too quickly when I looked up. While walking through the courtyard, one of the Potter gang yelled a snide joke, something about me trying to look nice for my date with a hag, but I ignored every word and continued walking to the lake. I refused to let them upset me, I had recreated myself and they wouldn’t tear me down. For the next week, I ate, went to class, studied, and went to bed, just like a normal student. I had trouble sleeping, but I forced myself to lie still until boredom and exhaustion overtook me. I even talked to other students. I nodded respectfully to Lucius Malfoy and his friends, and he nodded back. He had always tolerated me more thost ost because his father and my father were business associates. He believed strongly in family influence and connections; he wouldn’t let me being an outcast ruin a potentially lucrative future relationship. His friends seemed impressed with my newfound interest in my appearance and acknowledged it with approving gestures before returning to their conversation. By the end of the week, I was even participating in sof thf the light chatter around mealtimes. I had very little patience for this sort of thing, but I knew what was expected of me and I would meet those expectations.

On Friday night, I was sitting in the common room studying up on some of the newest potions methods. Many of the other Slytherin students were out on dates or gathering in a more private area of the gardens. The weather had just started to turn cooler, and people wanted to get outside as much as possible before the snow came. A Slytherin 5th year named Cassandra Grey walked over to me casually and sat down. We’d never spoken before, but I knew a bit about her from gossip. She was a strictly average student with average looks, but had managed to make herself more popular by being a very “eager” date.

“Listen”, she began, “Severus, right? I need some help with my transfiguration paper.”

I just stared at her blankly for a moment. I had no idea how to respond. Seeing my lack of comprehension, she leaned in closer and whispered, “Look, I’ll be blunt. If you’ll write my transfiguration paper for me tonight, we can go out on a date tomorrow. You know, fool around or something.”

I blinked up at her again. It seemed so businesslike, services rendered for goods received. Not exactly the boost to my ego I had hoped for. On the other hand, she was smiling suggestively at me, and leaned in closely unher her scented hair was brushing my shoulder. After another few seconds of awkward silence, I stuttered out, “Um, y-yeah, sure, okay.”

“Great”, she said smiling, “We’ll meet here after dinner tomorrow.” And with that she handed me the assignment and strutted off to join a group of girlfriends leaving for the evening.

She was a year behind me, and I was far more advanced than even my own 6th year level, so the paper took only about an hour to write. Unable to concentrate on my own reading wh was was done, I tried to go to bed early. I stretched on my bed and closed my eyes, but my head was buzzing with activity and my body tingled with anticipation. I rolled onto my belly and felt my erection press into the mattress, harder every time I squirmed. It was a nice feeling, but it begged for more. I felt like my body was screaming to be touched, and I refused to give in. I was going to do this the right way, the normal way, with a girl on a date. I was going to have what others had, experience the shy playful fumbling strokes and caresses I’d seen other students doing in dark corners when they thought no one could see. When I finally drifted off to sleep, I dreamt of myself as a quidditch player, not a captain, but a beater or something else respectable. People cheered when I made a good play, and I left the field happy and smiling.

I remembered the dream when I awoke and thought it a bit funny. I really didn’t like quidditch, and certainly had no interest to play. My only real heavy physical activity was the dueling club, for which I practiced rigorously; my vicious and potent attacks were feared, but also respected, by my teammates. No, the quidditch dream was about something besides sports; it was about acceptance.

The day passed in a bit of a daze. Potter and company were still making jokes to each other when I passed, but they hadn’t tried any pranks all week. I felt better than I could remember and hoped the feeling would never end.

I spent an hour getting dressed and ready. I wore my best set of informal robes and made sure every hair was in place. I’d skipped dinner, so I walked straight down from my dormitory at 7:30 to meet Cassandra. She walked into the Slytherin common room about five minutes after me. She looked at me with a puzzled expression and said, “Wow, Severus, you actually look pretty nice”.

She grabbed my hand and started back out before I had a chance to respond. I’d practiced a series of “acceptable” complements to give, but she didn’t stop long enough to listen. She hadn’t dressed for the occasion and had just come straight from dinner to meet me. I noticed these things, but refused to let them upset me. She pulled me out of the building and around to a very secluded spot in the gardens. She took off her outer robe and stretched it out along a flattened patch of grass that lay alcoved within a group of hedges.

“I like this place”, she said knowingly, “lots of privacy”.

After a momentary pause, she got a concerned look on her face and said, “You have the paper, right?”


I nodded silently and reached for the parchment in my robes. She smiled brightly and tucked the paper into the pocket of her robe spread on the ground. She took hold of my wrist and pulled me down so we were both on the cloth. “I really, really appreciate this”, she said and leaned in to kiss me. Her lips pressed against mine and began to work vigorously. I had barely opened my h, sh, so her tongue felt wet and sloppy against my lips. When I did open my mouth, she thrust in and out quickly and gave a fake sounding moan. This was not what I’d expected. I felt unsure what to do with my own mouth and was having trouble breathing, so I pulled back from the kiss. She grunted nonchalantly and moved her mouth to my neck, where she began licking and sucking.

I liked the sound of her breathing in my ear and felt my body respond. My skin started to flush a bit and I let her wet tongue lick me for a moment. She stopped suddenly and tugged my robes over my head. She undid the buttons on my shirt and pulled me on top of her. I felt my body press nicely against her and her cool hands snake around my waist. “Come on”, she whined, “aren’t you going to do anything?”

She stretched herself under me and tugged me forward a bit with her hands. But otherwise, she lay still, waiting for me. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I pressed my groin to her thigh through our remaining clothes and started to grind. She smiled and started to moan and pant. But after a minute, she looked up and me and said, “Jeez, touch me or something. Haven’t you ever done this before?”

I needed her to take the lead, show me where to start, but she just lay still expecting me to take over. Finally, she grabbed both my hands with a roll of her eyes and put them over her breasts. I squeezed a little through the fabric of her shirt and began to move my hips again. She started back up with the moaning, this time louder. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the feeling: her leg pressed on my erection, her soft breasts under my hands, the feel of her fingers as she grabbed my back and gave little tugs.

But her body still lay supine and unresponsive, and her forced moans were drowning out my thoughts. I was concentrating so hard, I was beginning to sweat from the exertion. I sped up my hips, trying to keep the friction and momentum, but nothing worked, and finally I just stopped and collapsed on her with a pathetic whimper.

“What’s wrong with you,” she said in her most shrill, unbelieving voice.

“I-I’m sorry”, a managed to choke out before grabbing my robe and dashing back toward the castle. I thought I heard her cursing as I ran away at top speed.

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When I reached the castle, I headed down into the dungeon rather than to to the Slytherin common room. It was still early and many people would be around talking and socializing. I didn’t want to risk running into anyone right now.

I went to a section of the dungeon that was practically deserted. I had done some exploring here in my younger grades, and knew some tunnels so overgrown and unkempt that I suspected mine were the first living feet to walk them in a century.

I ran deep into the tunnels, and when I was sure I was out of range, I screamed my rage into the nothingness and listened to my voice bounce around the stone walls. The sound of my own scream made something break inside me and suddenly I was crying and gasping for breath. My chest felt so tight, it was like I was being squeezed to death. I started to pound my fists against the stone walls and felt the skin crack and scrape. The stones were moist and covered with a dusting of bright green mosses and fungi. My fists pulverized the gh inh into a paste and the sharp scent of mold, chlorophyll, and my own blood tingled in my nose. When my hands felt raw to the bone, I began to bang my head on the stone. Once, twice, and on the third time, I felt my forehead split open and blood poured out like a fountain. I finally turned around and let my body sink to the floor. The feeling of warm blood slicking down my face calmed me and I tried to regain control of my breathing. The taste of copper blood mixed with salty tears on my tongue made me grin sarcastically and I closed my eyes, still enjoying the sticky feeling dripping down my face.

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I awoke sometime later, I’m not sure how long, but I knew it was now the wee hours of the morning. I stood up and let a wave of lightheadedness pass before I began the long walk back up to the Slytherin common room.

When I arrived in more heavily traveled areas, I pulled up the hood on my robes to hide the dry, cracked blood still covering my face. I crept quietly along the shadows and made it back to my room without detection. I grabbed my “special” bag and walked straight to the bathroom, closing the door tightly behind me.

I looked in the mirror and stifled a laugh. The dried blood covered almost all of my face in thick stripes like a mask; I looked like a demon. I sat on the floor and tried not to think. I pulled out my knife and held out my arm. I pressed it firmly and dragged it as slow and deep as possible. Sweat prickled in my pores at the sensation and I felt all my senses respond. I made three more cuts just for the feeling before I was ready. Blood dripped from my arm in a steady rhythm and I spread the drops across my abdomen with my right hand. I continued to spread the moisture until I was gripping my erection. I pulled down hard and quick, enjoying the painful tug of skin. There would be no light teasing or gentle stroking now; tonight I yanked and squeezed as hard as I could until I finally sprayed a sticky stream all over my chest. I sat up and met my own glazed and distant black eyes in the mirror; I really hated myself.

My knees were ing ing a bit when I stood to clean myself off. I showered and used the balm to heal the wounds on my hands and head. I put just enough on the cuts on my arm to keep them from getting infected before I stumbled off to bed.

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I missed breakfast and lunch the next day. It was Sunday, so many of the students slept in. When I finally crawled down to dinner, I looked like hell. Several of the students grunted in my direction when I passed, but I just walked by and sat at the furthest end of the table. Most of the students just shrugged when they saw me. This was the Severus Snape they were used to anyway, not the anomalous boy who had suddenly appeared last week and now was gone.

I ate quickly and passed Cassandra and her friends on the way out of the hall. I thought I heard her say something like “lousy date”, but that was all. I suspected she wouldn’t be too eager to spread around the story of how she cheated on her transfiguration paper, so I guessed I was pretty safe from that extra added humiliation. I heard James and the others at the Gryffindor table practically howl with laughter as I passed, but I just kept walking until I reached my bed again. I fell asleep almost instantly and slept through until the sun woke me up the next morning.

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I skipped breakfast again the next day and simply prepared for my first class. I could have really hurt myself last night and wondered for a moment if I should try to talk to someone.

But who? Certainly not a student. And there were only teacheachers I had any real respect for: Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. And even if I did see them, what would I say? “I like to cut myself and then jack off…it’s the only thing in life that gives me pleasure”. Somehow, I couldn’t really envision that conversation. So I kept up with the routine as usual and started to my first class.

Later that day, I sat in Professor McGonagall’s class. I watched her walk around the room during lecture and our eyes met once or twice. This was unusual since I rarely looked up from my scribbling of notes in any class. I wondered briefly if shd nod noticed the change in me over the last week or if she even cared. But that thought faded quickly and I continued to watch her circle around the room. Her posture was perfect; she held herself confidently and imposingly. But her powerful presence came all from her attitude, for her body was actually very tall and thin. Still, she radiated a sense of power and authority. Her face was smooth, with high cheekbones and thin lips. Her hair was always pulled back tightly in a bun and topped neatly with a variety of hats. And her eyes, hidden behind thin rimmed spectacles, never seemed to betray any singly identifiable emotion. I wondered briefly how old she was. She couldn’t have been much more than 15 years older than me, which made her 31 or 32. But there was a sense of wisdom surrounding her that transcended age. I idly wondered what she was like, not just the teacher, whose extensive knowledge I respected, but the person behind it all. Then again, I thought sarcastically to myself, my people skills have never been good, so it really doesn’t matter.

Class was ending and people were beginning to pack their bags. I realized I was still sitting there dumbly and started to gather my things. Students had already lined up in a row to hand in papers on their way out. By the time I had my paper out and my bag packed, I was the last student in line. I watched her sitting calmly at her desk, taking each student’s assignment one by one. Finally, I stretched out my arm to give her my paper and didn’t notice how far up my robe sleeve had slipped. I had been so careless last night; making cuts much longer and deeper than normal. The ends of two angry red gashes were clearly visible as she reached out to take my paper. She looked at my arm and slowly tilted her head up to meet my eyes. Her expression was completely impossible to read; I didn’t see any trace of shock, anger, sadness…nothing. She just said, “thank you”, took my paper and placed it on the stack. I nodded with my eyes looking a bit panicky, quickly covered my arm, and scrambled to the door.

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For the next few days after that, I was afraid to do anything to myself. I had healed the gashes on my arm as soon as I got back from hlasslass and then waited for something to happen. Nothing did. There were no summons by the headmaster, no conferences called, and Professor McGonagall paid me no more or less attention in class than usual.

After a few weeks had passed, I stopped worrying about it. I starting the cutting again, but they were smaller and higher on my forearm. At first, I healed them every time, just in case. But eventually, I left the marks, multiple cuts forming criss-cross patterns up my arm, to scab and heal naturally. They itched and peeled, and once, I thought I saw McGonagall glance at me when I scratched. I later decided it was just my imagination.

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The winter break was fast approaching and the cold and snow had struck in full force. I heard many students talking about how glad they were to be going home. They were tired of being stuck inside the castle all day, and welcomed the chance for a change of scenery. I was happy in my own way too. I had received special permission to remain at school over the break, so I welcomed the peace and quiet of having no students around. I stayed over the holidays most years, but somehow, I was more grateful this year than ever before. The Potter/Black gang had played some particularly dangerous pranks over the last few months, one of which put my very life at risk. Afterwards, they had backed off, but I wondered how long it could possibly last.

Finally, I was in my last class before we officially broke for winter. It was McGonagall’s class and there were only a few students in attendance. She had given us a research assignment instead of an in-class exam, so most of the students had left school a bit early. The class was a review lecture only, for students wanting to get a bit of extra study and practice. When she finally signaled class over, she quickly called, “Severus, Jeffery, could you remain behind one moment.” Then she picked up a stack of parchment from her desk, which I was pretty sure were our exam project reports. She often made notes and asked revirevised papers to be handed in. It was this level of perfection that I had come to respect when I began attending her classes in my first year. “One moment, Severus,” she called to me and walked Jeffery into her private office behind her classroom. Jeffery, an overly pleasant Hufflepuff boy, emerged a moment later, smiling with parchment in hand. “Good luck, man”, he called to me as he exited the front door of the classroom.

“Come back please, Severus,” she called from her office. I picked up my bag and headed back into her office. I was quickly going over all my research in my head. I normally didn’t have to do revisions in her class, and I wondered what errors I could have made. I always selected projects several levels ahead of my grade, and I thought perhaps I had finally gone out of my lea Sh She closed the door behind me and asked me to have a seat. She walked to her desk and leaned against the front, facing memy cmy chair.

She regarded me for a moment as if in thought and theowlyowly removed her glasses. I began speaking to fill the silence. “About my research topic, Professor, I know it’s a little outside our in-class studies, but….”

“Actually, Severus,” she interrupted, “today I’d like to talk about this.” And with that she seized my left arm and yanked the sleeve up to my elbow. I was too stunned to react. I just stood there looking at my arm with my mouth hanging open. Ds ofs of marks marred the skin, from pale faint red lines almost healed, to ugly bright red welts still oozing a bit of blood.

“How long has this been going on”, she asked, and then awaited my response with a completely straight face and emotionless eyes. I was still in horrified shock. When I did finally open my mouth to speak, I made a terrible sound, a mix between a gasp and a gag, and felt the hot tears start streaming down my cheeks. After a moment of feeling tears hit my arm, I realized I wasn’t breathing and I made another gasping, choking sound. She let my wrist fall from her hand, and with that, I crumpled from the chair and hit the ground at her feet. I grabbed onto one of her legs and just started struggling for breath through my tears, each intake felt like it burned. When I could finally squeak out words, I just said “I’m sorry” over and over. She remained silent and unmoving and let me continue like this until I had myself a bit more under control. Finally, after my last “I’m sorry”, I said in my tiniest voice, “help me…” then I looked up at her face. When her eyes reached mine, I thought I saw something flash in them, a decision, a resolution, I wasn’t really sure.

She put a hand on top of my head and stroked my hair once before saying, “stand up”. I uncurlyselyself from the floor and tried to look her in the face. In her heeled shoes, we were the same height and she simply regarded me for a moment. My face felt red and puffy from crying. Then she reached both her bare hands up to my face and began wiping fluids off. She wiped my cheeks and under my nose, then rubbed her hands on her own robes to dry them. As she did this, she looked atwithwith a calmness in her eyes that helped to settle me as well. I worked hard to return my breathing to normal.

“Sit down”, she said again, and walked around to the other side of her desk. I did, but continued to watch her every movement intensely. “Take off your robes,” She instructed and I felt myself flush with a different kind of heat. I hesitated only a moment before unclasping my robes and letting them fall around the edge of the chair. I felt a surge of something powerful race through me and finally broke my gaze from her and cast my eyes down te fle floor in embarrassment.

I heard a rustle of her movement and realized was was removing her small, stylish witch’s hat and unpinning her hair. She let a wavy brown bundle of hair fall down her back, but didn’t take it all the way down. I struggled with my eyes and forced them to look her directly in the face. Her appearance had been softened by the change, but her expression was still solid and confident. She still exuded an unvoiced power.

My cheeks were flushed and I fought to keep my eyes up. She regarded me a moment longer, then without a trace of hesitation in her voice said, “Unbutton your shirt.” My fingers moved instinctively to the top button and started to work. My mind seemed to have gone blank and, when I was finished, I sat there dumbly with my shirt hanging open awaiting her next instruction. She began to walk out from behind her desk and said in a quiet, butssurssuring tone, “I’m going to show you something.”“Ope“Open your shirt and run your fingers gently over your chest”, was her next command, and my body jumped unquestioningly to obey. She stood directly in front of my chair as I slid the shirt down my shoulders and brought my fingertips to rest gently over my chest. I slowly dragged my fingers, just barely touching skin, across my chest to the other side. When they had gone as far at they could, I reversed direction and pushed diagonally down.

“Your skin is perfect”, whiswhispered, and with those words and the feeling of my own touch, my eyes fluttered cd. d. Strangely, I felt the heat of her gaze on me more intensely when my own eyes were closed. I basked in the intensity of it while I continued to trace gentle patterns over my chest and abdomen. I forced my mind to concentrate fully on the sensation of my fingertips. They were chapped and a bit calloused, so they scratched and tickled slightly as I circled each nipple slowly and alternated between the two. When I moved to my lower abdomen and began to trace the faint outline of muscles just above my belt line, I felt a pulsing, almost pounding heat wash over me and it was difficult to tell if it was coming from my own body, or radiating from Professor McGonagall’s position just a few feet in front of me. My breathing was slow and deep and my skin prickled sharply with a wave of cool sweat. For the first time, I became fully aware of my straining erection. I knew I bee been hard for a while, practically from the second she told me to undo my robes, but now was the first time it really called out for attention. I fought to ignore it and continued to simply caress my belly, but I must have started to shift uncomfortably in my seat.

I heard her begin to move around me, but consciously willed my eyes to stay closed. She stopped directly behind me and I felt her fingers touch my hair. I hadn’t had it cut in months and it hung in thick, tangled black ropes down my back. I felt her hands smooth gently over the length of hair, breaking apart some of the tangles along the way. I sighed contentedly at her touch.

She leaned down over me and said in a soft voice, “Stand up”. The tone may have been gentle, but it really left no room for question. I rose to my feet and she kicked the chair aside so that she was standing directly behind me and I could feel the heat radiating from her body.

“Show me how you lik tou touch yourself,” she said in a slightly stronger tone. I undid my pants quickly and they hit my ankles with a swish of air. I took a sharp intake of breath as my erection was freed into the cooler temperature of the room. My hand rose reflexively and I grasped myself firmly and began to stroke. I felt my body hum under the attention and again a wave of cool sweat spread across my skin.

I spread my own moisture around using long, slow motions and continued in a steady rhythm for several minutes. My leg muscles were beginning to twitch and my back started arching, but I still felt my orgasm was far away, unattainable and taunting.

McGonagall leaned in close to my ear from behind and whispered, “You are so beautiful. You should know how beautiful you are.” I unsuccessfully fought back a choked sob at her words and felt new tears sting sharply at my eyes and creep slowly down to my chin. I felt desperate now. I was sweating openly, my skin was flushed bright pink, my muscles all burned with effort, and my stroking became faster and erratic. I was searching, fighting, and straining for my release, but something was missing. Something was keeping it just out of reach and I let out a pathetic whimper of frustration.

Then I felt McGonagall take that final step behind me to close the space between us. She pressed her body against my back, and I felt her cool robes cling instantly to my wet skin. Her right hand wound itself around my side and her sleeve stuck to me while she spread her palm flat and rested it on my abdomen. She moved her mouth just behind my ear. My senses seemed to be overcome with her scent mixed with my own sweat, and I felt my eyes roll with the intensity of it. I heard her mouth open with a wet sound and she said in a clear voice, “Come for me. Now.”

My whole body seemed to seize up at the sound of her words, and I felt my heart pound and my groin tighten. For a moment, everything stopped, there was no breathing, no heartbeat, no movement, just an overwhelming rush of blood in my ears like the roar of water. Then I felt myself break. I let out a ragged cry and felt everything inside me start to pulse together. I dimly registered the wet, splattering sound of my semen hitting the cold stone floor as I gulped in huge lungfuls of air.

I attempted to slump forward in exhaustion, but McGonagall’s rigidly straight body pressed behind me and her arm wrapped tightly around my waist kept me upright. Every inch of my body pounded in rhythm with my pulse, and I slowly let go of my waning erection, which continued to throb pleasantly. The air around me still seemed to crackle with the remains of my energy and my body trembled slightly with the last of my release. I felt tears still leaking slowly down my face, mixing with sweat and landing in the corner of my mouth to taste. Finally, everything slowed and my legs became feeble and weak. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand.

She began to back both our bodies slowly towards the chair, now a few feet behind us. Then she lowered herself down and pulled me sideways on top of her. I was tall and thin, but not terribly light weight. It couldn’t have been comfortable for her, but I had no will or strength to argue. With my pants still around my ankles and my shirt still hanging from one arm, I leaned back into her and closed my eyes. “Rest a moment,” she said. Once again, she wiped my face clear of tears and sweat with her hand and then began touching my hair and straightening more tangles. My mind seemed to clear and I had no thought at all for a whilI’m I’m not sure how much time passed in this position. I don’t think I was sleeping, but I have no clear memories of the time either. I just lay there motionless until she eventually shifted and repositioned herself into a more upright posture underneath me.

“Look at me”, she said when she saw my eyes had opened. I twisted my head around to see her face. She looked calm, almost relaxed. Her hair was still swept back away from her face neatly. ly tly the long tresses of curls, pinned back, but now hanging freely down her back rather than in a tight bun, made her face look any different than she did in class. Her robes, however, were wrinkled and damp, and still stuck to my body in places.

She regarded me with an unreadable expression and blinked slowlyeraleral times. Then she grabbed my arm with the cuts, many of which were even more red and aggravated because of my sweat, and held it out in front of me. “This will not happen again. Do you understand\", she asked. I nodded slowly and said simply, “Yes”.

With that, she nudged me slightly and I took the hint to stand. I struggled with my pants for a moment, but shortly had myself covered and reached for my robe. When I looked behind me, she had her back turned and was brushing her robes straight to try and work out some of the wrinkles. She must have felt me looking at her, but she tucked her hair under her hat and put on her glasses again before turning around.

She looked at me so long in silence that I thought she wasn’t going to say anything more and I started for the door. Right before I reached the handle, she said, “I will be here again after dinner tomorrow evening.” It was said very businesslike, almost like she was confirming an appointment for detention. When I looked at her again, here face was still completely unreadable.

I nodded in comprehension and whispered, “thank you”, as I slipped out the door. Then I began the long, quiet walk back to my room.

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When I arrived at my room, I felt so tired I could do nothing but collapse into my bed. My sleep was untroubled and I slept on well into the morning. When I did finally awake, I was rested and content. But as I slowly came back to full awareness, I realized my skin was still sticky and itchy. I hadn’t cleaned myself yet and I squirmed uncomfortabl bed bed. When I finally rose, I grabbed my tin of healing balm and headed straight into the bathroom.

I stood in the shower and let warm water run over me. My muscles fully relaxed in the heat and I felt the pores on my skin open in the steam. My mind felt totally empty and at peace; a general sense of contentment seemed to wash over me along the the water. When I stepped from the shower, I immediately reached for the healing balm and applied it to my arm. The sting of the magic felt good and I watched all the marks slowly fade and disappear. The look of my clean, unmarred flesh made me feel complete somehow. I tried to pull a comb through my hair, but the tangles towards the bottom were so matted that I fiy gay gave up and finished getting dressed.

I grabbed up a book and headed from the dormitory. I was just a little too late for lunch, so I headed to the library to read and wait for dinner. The day passed slowly but my thoughts were untroubled.

By the time 6:30 rolled around, I was starving. When I reached the entrance to the great hall, I stopped momentarily by the open door. I’d forgotten, since most of the students were gone, they had replaced the house tables with onrge rge round table where the teachers and remaining students sat together at meals. I felt nervousness for the first time and hesitated. Then everyone currently sitting awaiting dinner turned to look at me standing by the door.

“Glad you could join us, Severus”, Professor Dumbledore called with a pleasant smile. I still couldn’t will myself to move and glanced uncertainly at Professor McGonagall. She gave a sharp but encouraging nod and I started walking toward the table. I sat between Professor Dumbledore and a second year Ravenclaw who looked even more petrified than I did.

I didn’t say anything during dinner. I just ate quietly and listened to the teachers making small talk. I glanced at McGonagall once or twice, but didn’t catch her eye again. When the meal was over, everyone rose and started leaving in pairs and groups, still chattering pleasantly. I walked backed to the dormitory and paced around my room, nervous for the second time today. I still had a little time to wait, and didn’t know what to do with myself. Finally, I decided to just start walking. I grabbed a book, in case I ran into anyone on the way over, and headed to the Gryffindor area of the castle.

When I arrived at the classroom, I walked back to her office door and knocked softly. I stood waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Just as I had convinced myself she wasn’t there, I heard light footsteps and the click of the door opening. McGonagall opened the door still wearing her outfit from dinner. Her lips curved into the tiniest smile at the expression on my face and she motioned me to enter.

We walked to the back of her office and stopped in front of a huge wall clock in the corner. She said a word quietly and the clock slid aside. I followed her into her private chambers and felt my face flush. I guess this wasn’t what I had been expecting. “Wait here”, she said and disappeared behind another door. I looked around shyly, trying not to be nosy. I felt like such an outsider here, like a trespasser. The main room was sparsely decorated and shelves lined the walls with all manner of magical devices. Just as my curiosity started to get the better of me and I began to walk toward one of the shelves, I heard the door open again.

She entered the room now wearing a comfortable set of house robes in Gryffindor colors. She led me into the bathroom and sat me in a wooden chair. She took a pair of scissors and cut off about four inches of tangled hair. When she was finished, she cleaned the fallen hair with a wave of her wand and motioned for me to stand up. She moved the chair aside and I watched her start the water in the bathtub before turning to face me again. Her feet were bare, so I now stood a few inches taller. She met my eyes for a moment, and then began to take off my robes and shirt. The muscles in my abdomen flinched when she reached for the clasp on my pants. My body reacted pleasantly to her touch, even though there was nothing overtly sexual about it.

When I stood completely unclothed, she took my wrist and led me to the water. I stepped inside and waited a moment before sitting down to allow my skin to adjust to the temperature. It was hotter that I was accustomed to. She took a large cup and dipped it in the water before pouring it over my head. She lathered my hair with a fl sml smelling soap and rinsed it clean. Then she took a comb and carefully tugged all the remaining tangles free. I don’t think my hair had ever been this clean before. Many times, I didn’t even soap it when I showered; I just let the water get it wet.

When she was done with my hair, she grabbed a cloth and told me to stand up. As I did, she took a bar of a strong smelling herbal soap and lathered the cloth well. She scrubbed my skin roughly while I stood motionless, moving only at her direction. I blushed a little when she bent me over and proceeded to clean thoroughly between my cheeks, but otherwise, I just relaxed and enjoyed the feel of another pair of hands touching me. When she finished, she dipped the cup again and poured water over me to wash the slick soap away. I looked down at the water in the tub and it was filthy. But I had never felt more clean as she took my wrist again and led me out of the tub. I watched the dark, foamy water swirl out of the drain for a moment as she wiped my body briskly with a towel.

She sat me back down in the chair and faced me toward her large full length mirror. My hair now hung straight and damp, just touching my shoulders. She picked up a brush and began to run it gently through my hair, working out the remaining dampness. As she did this, she began to speak in a soft voice. She told me I was beautiful, pointed out specific features that were attractive, told me I was sexy and desirable. My eyes started to sting and water, but I fought back the tears. I wasn’t going to let her see me cry again. But still I felt overwhelmed with emotion. No one had ever told me these things. No one had ever touched me this way. I felt a sense of worth for the first time in my life.

When she was done, my hair was dry and shiny, and I whipped it around in front of my face several times to smell her soap still on it. And I couldn’t remember my skin ever feeling this soft before. When I was done examining myself in the mirror, I suddenly became intensely aware of her standing behind me. She had removed her glasses and again proceeded to take down her hair. She still wouldn’t take it all the way down, but the long strands of wavy curls breaking over her shoulders made her look so much softer. I was struck again by how young she looked. She always exuded such an aura of knowledge and authority; it was easy to get a false sense of age. Even now, she still embodied power and confidence, but there was no denying her rigid beauty.

I was suddenly overcome with an undeniable urge to touch her, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t feel like I was able to initiate action with her and I had no idea where to start. I didn’t even know how to address her in this situation. I felt a sudden wave of heat and anxiety wash over me and decided I had to do something. I dropped to my knees in front of her and began to beg and plead to touch her. I’m not sure what words I used exactly, but I know they came out jumbled and in broken sentences. She looked down as me with a somewhat shocked and amused expression at my sudden outburst before waving me closer.

I crawled over to her, still on my knees. She grasped both my hands, placed them just below hnee,nee, and began to guide them upwards before releasing. I continued the motion. Her skin was incredibly soft and smooth and I moved my face in closer to fully appreciate her smell. As my hands moved higher, I realized she wasn’t wearing anything under the house robe. I felt a surge of heat hit my groin at the thought. When I reached her upper thigh, she pulled the robe up to her waist and tucked it in.

I now had a completely unobstructed view of the lower half of her body, my face directly in front of her apex. I was too awe struck to be embarrassed by the position. I tried to remember if I had ever even seen an accurate depiction of a woman’s sex that wasn’t a scientific diagram. I had definitely never seen it on another person, and certainly not inches away from my face in a brightly lit bathroom. Even in my fantasies, sex had always been abstract and the physical boundaries somewhat undefined.

I just looked for a moment before moving my hands closer. I cupped my palm around her first. Her curly hairs tickled a bit and I was amazed by the amount of heat I felt; the rest of her skin was cool to the touch. I wiggled my fingers around a bit and pushed past the hair to feel the skin inside. She was so soft and wet it almost didn’t feel solid as I moved my fingers. I reach my other hand over to push the hair aside so I could see. The skin was bright pink and rippled. I continued to push around the folntilntil, almost by accident, my middle finger slipped completely inside her. I let it rest there for a moment and closed my eyes, trying to fully capture the feeling of heat and moisture and enclosure. I felt my body react powerfully, and she must have seen it too, because she let out of breath of air almost like a tiny laugh.

I removed my finger and brought it to my nose, then my mouth. The taste was indescribable, so faint it almost had no flavor and yet there was definitely something there. Her scent reminded me of the smell of my own fluids, but just unique enough to be easily dientientiated.

She patiently let me explore on my own for quite a while before she finally began to instruct. She showed me where to touch, for how long, and how hard. She showed me a variety of strokes, tempos, and directions, and I had always been a quick learner. I told her I wanted to taste her, and she pulled my head forward to her sex. I mimicked with my tongue what she had taught to my hands. She didn’t make any noise, but eventually I felt her body tense and her breath catch, then release, before she pulled my head away. By this time I was so ready, I looked up at her face and begged with my eyes for relief. She nodded and said, “Now”. I grabbed myself and stroked three times before spilling at her feet.

I must have been there for hours. I’m not sure what time I left, but the aches in my body told me it was extremely late. When I got to my room, I collapsed on the bed. The smell of her soap on my hair, and her moisture still clinging around my face, lulled me to sleep almost instantly.

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When I arrived at breakfast the next morning, Professor Dumbledore commented on my improved appearance. I thanked him and attempted to hold the conversation for a few moments. I wanted McGonagall to see the effort I was making. And while she didn’t acknowledge me openly, I knew she was silently observing and encouraging me.

I spent every evening over winter break in her rooms. She showed me how to do everything I had ever tht oht of, and a few things that had never occurred to me. Her voice was soft but commanding, and she never seemed to get impatient with me. When she let me enter her for the first time, I was completely overwhelmed with the feeling of her around me. My body wanted to climax almost instantly, but I knew I wouldn’t until she gave the word. When she finally allowed me to finish, I came harder than I ever remembered coming before. She let me rest in her bed for a few hours after that, but she never let me stay the night. I felt more warm and safe in her bed than anywhere else, but I did not question her decision. I never really questioned her word; if she said it, then it was so. There is a tremendous amount of comfort and security in that.

The night before the students returned from break, she told me I couldn’t see her every evening once they arrived. She allowed me two nights a week and I nodded my understanding. She also let me know she expected my performance in school to remain top-notch, and I knew I would study relentlessly to meet her expectations and gain her approval.

The remainder of the school year was the happiest time of my life. I kept up my appearance and the other students responded positively (though I was never as clean on my own as when she bathed me herself and I spent the next day wrapped in her scent). Even Potter and Black left me alone ever since the incident that almost cost me my life. And I made a very conscious effort to interact well with my classmates. I was naturally shy, but the knowledge that she was watching and approving gave me courage.

The evenings we spent together were incredible and left me satisfied for days. I slept peacefully and untroubled, and therefore had amazing amounts of energy left to devote to my studies. It was a little strange when I attended my first class with her as my professor, but I was quickly able to mentally separate her into two distinct people, so I never became distracted during lecture.

The term rolled to a close and I was the top student among all the 6th years. When the other students began packing for the summer, I got a bit nervous. We hadn’t discussed what would happen over the break, so I showed up at her office unexpected two nights before the train left. She led me in professionally and sat me down in front of her desk. She explained that we would not be seeing each other over the summer. I could tell from her body language that she did not intend to take me to her rooms for the night. My blood ran cold and I felt like my heart was breaking; tears began to flow freely down my face. I met her and and saw them soften. She had intended to make a clean break before the summer; but seeing my distress, she took pity on me and guided me back to her private quarters. The night was sad and intense. Afterwards, she pulled me into her lap and stroked my hair while silent tears leaked from my eyes and dripped down her thigh. I told her I loved her along with several other incoherent ramblings as I tried to put my indescribable emotions into words. She remained silent but continued to stroke me until my eyes closed from exhaustion. When I awoke, I found myself wrapped warmly in her bed; it was the only time she let me stay through the night. I shook the sleep from my head and soon realized she was gone. I felt safe surrounded by her things and took my time getting ready to leave before creeping back to my room. I didn’t ser agr again before leaving to return home.

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The summer was quiet and lonely. My father was very old, and when he was well enough to leave his rooms, he kept himself secluded and concentrated on his business affairs. The Malfoy family paid one visit on a business matter and Lucius spoke to me briefly. He had just graduated that year and told me he had a proposition for me. I explained that I wasn’t very interested in my father’s business, but he insisted I should contact him after my graduation, if not sooner, so he could make the proper introductions. I smiled politely and silently dismissed the idea.

The summer passed slowly and I found myself missing my life at Hogwarts more than I would have ever previously thought possible. I was content to simply fantasize about my late night visits with Professor McGonagall for the first few weeks. But my body was now used to frequent contact, and it soon began to scream for attention. I tried hard to be good, to not touch myself without her implicit instruction to do so, but eventually my natural urges overcame my conviction. The first night I felt a sense of urgency and I stroked fast and hard. Most other nights I tried to pace myself and used painfully slow movements to make the sensations last. But every time, I imagined her soft, husky voice in my ear, guiding my movements. And without fail, when I heard her give the word, I would spill into my hand and feel my body tingle warmly at the thought.

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For three days before returning to Hogwarts for my 7th year, I could practically feel my body hum with anticipation. When the day finally arrived, I was more nervous than I had been during our first few encounters. I always felt calm in her presence, relaxed because I knew she was there to guide me. It was only when we were separated that I grew scared or insecure, and I hadn’t seen her for almost three months. But the somewhat frightening anticipation also seemed to add an excitement that made me distracted and hard throughout the entire train ride and dinner. Despite my academic performance, I had not been selected as a prefect for the year (because of my lack of social skills, I presumed). So I stayed with the rest of our house students long enough to learn the Slytherin passwords and make sure my things had been properly settled in by the house elves. As soon as students began gathering in groups to discuss their summer activities and new school schedules, I slipped quietly away without notice.

When I arrived at Professor McGonagall’s office door, I knocked and got no reply. I had a brief moment of panic before I realized she was probably still buith ith Gryffindor duties. I lurked around the hallway and in the boys bathroom close by for nearly an hour before I heard soft footsteps. I returned quickly to her door so I’d be waiting when she arrived. When she saw me, waiting and hopeful, her expression stayed solid, but I’m sure I saw a smile touch her eyes and play lightly with the edges of her mouth. She walked silently by me, opened her office door and allowed me to trail in behind her. When we got to the entrano heo her living quarters and finally stepped through, I felt like I was truly home. She must have sensed my need, which was becoming somewhat desperate, because the first words she spoke were short, simple commands that initiated the action. I responded eagerly and mustered all the discipline I had to ensure I would not become overly excited and release before she led me to it.

We spent almost four hours together that night. I lost count of how many times I climaxed, whenwhen we were done, my body was sweaty and sore, and my organ was so sensitive I couldn’t bear to touch it. She sent me away with a kiss on the forehead and an overpowering sense of contentment.

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I drifted through the next few months in a state of bliss. I spent two nights a week, and an occasional Saturday, with McGonagall. The mere thought of our nights together would get me excited and send hot waves through my body, regardless of where I was or what I was doing.

When the Winter break finally arrived, I was again filled with nervous anticipation. With most of the other students gone and few distractions, I was hoping to spend every night in her rooms as we had done the previous year. But when I showed up at her office door the first night, she greeted me with a cold, blank expression. When she made it clear that she wasn’t going to let me into her office, much less lead me back to her private rooms, I decided I had to say something.

“Um, Professor…I was hoping, I mean”, I began to stammer. I had no idea even how to address her properly in this situation and certainly didn’t know how to ask for anything. I felt like I was withering under her gaze and silently begged her with my eyes to take over the conversation.

“I don’t believe we have an appointment this evening, Mr. Snape”, She said coolly. She normally called me Severus during our time alone together, and reserved slightly more formal speech for the classroom. It was true, tonight was not one of our ‘scheduled’ nights, but I had assumed things would be different when break began. I opened my mouth to argue, plead my case, but felt my conviction fail at her hard eyes and determined expression. My heart sank but I didn’t protest.

“I apologize”, I said meekly before turning and walking slowly back to my room. I felt confused and agitatend snd spend a restless night twisting in bed.

Our “appointments” together over the remainder of the break, however, progressed normally enough. I soon willed myself to forget her refusal that first night and contented myself with the time she allowed me.

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The next semester stretched on, and I spent much of my time strenuously preparing for my exit tests and exams. I wanted to get as many N.E.W.T.s as possible to show McGonagall how hard I’d been working. I was so busy that I didn’t even notice at first when our nights together started to become fewer. We were down to less than once a week when it finally occurred to me.

The next time I showed up at her door, I was puzzled and determined to look for a way to bring the subject up. But when she led me to her rooms and we began, I felt my resolve dissipate and decided to let myself just enjoy the evening. We began, and she touched me a little herself at first, but mostly told me how I should touch myself. It had been a long time since she hadn’t allowed me contact with her. She stood back and watched with a somewhat detached expression as I stroked myself quickly, waiting for her word of release. But as time passed and the word didn’t come, I started to get desperate. I met her eyes with a pleading expression, but was unable to read any emotion on her face. I continued to stroke and felt heat building in my body, but there was no reaction from her. I began to involuntarily gasp and whine. My face started burning and I felt tears of frustration escape my eyes. I started to plead with her for release trough my ragged pants, but still no reaction. I was starting to hurt and feel delicate skin chaff under my strokes; I closed my eyes from her but continued to breathe the word “please” after every down stroke. It seemed to stretch on forever and I felt like I was going crazy, but my body just wouldn’t release until she said the word.

I was sure I was going to start bleeding soon, and opened my eyes in panic. I met her gaze and saw something shift in her eyes. She finally nodded slowly and gave the word. I spasmed instantly and roughly, and sank to my knees in exhaustion. When I regained control of myself and met her eyes again, I got the distinct impression I had disappointed her. She handed me my robes and I rose slowly from the floor.

She walked me to the door and I whispered softly, “when can I come back”? I couldn’t bring my eyes to her face as she gave me a date and time that was more than two weeks away. I felt like I was being crushed as I walked out the door and heard it close distinctly behind me. I didn’t know what I was doing wrong and tried unsuccessfully to keep the stinging tears from my eyes as I walked back to my room.

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I tried hard for the next two weeks to focus on my N.E.W.T. preparation. They were only a few weeks away, but I just couldn’t bring my mind to them. Instead, I obsessively went over every moment I had spent with McGonagall for the past year, trying to find my mistakes. I dredged up and pondered over every fault I had, physically, emotionally, psychologically…anything that would explain my worthlessness. When I finally made my way to her quarters for my appointment, I couldn’t imagine what value she had ever seen in me.

She met me stiffly at the door and let me into her office. When she sat me down in her chair, I felt my skin grow cold before she even began to speak. Her words washed over me in a wave, so fast and inconceivable I couldn’t make sense of them. I only knew one thing, she was dropping me, leaving me, abandoning me…I couldn’t even think of a word powerful enough for what was happening. My body felt empty and hollow inside. I had no blood, no tears, no breath, I was a discarded husk frozen in the moment.

When her rush of words ended, she stood leaning against her desk waiting for my reaction. I sat for several long moments before I finally opened my mouth to speak. As soon as I drew breath to form words, I felt life return to me, and suddenly I felt like I was being crushed. My blood returned, racing hotly to the surface of my skin, and my tears flooded my eyes. My lungs were being squeezed and I prayed that they would crush me now and finally put an end to me. When I was able to speak, I’m not sure what exactly came out. I told her I was sorry, I loved her and I knew why she didn’t love me, I was pathetic but couldn’t live without her. As the words and half-formed thoughts poured out of me, my body spilled from the chair and I grabbed blindly in her direction. I seized the bottom of her robes and tried to bury my face and hands in the fabric. I needed the feeling of the rough material dragging on my skin, something tactile that would bring reality back and make this nightmare end. I mumbled into her robes and begged her not to cast me away. And even as I did so, my sniveling disgusted me and I knew why I was unwanted.

When I finally calmed enough to look at her face, I saw pity and remorse in her eyes. And how could she not have remorse, how could she not regret ever being intimate with someone like me. She placed her hand on my head and kept it there until silence finally overtook me again. Her touch brought me pain. I felt conflicted, torn between wanting to bury myself so deep in her embrace that we no longer had physical boundaries to divide us, and wanting to push this unclean thing that was my body as far away from her as possible. Eventually, she pulled me to my feet and led me to the door. She spoke a few comforting words but my ears refused to hear them. But I did register her last words, “You’ll be alright” as she closed the door. But I knew nothing was further from the truth. This was the first time I could ever remember not believing her.

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As I was returning to my rooms, I felt a deadening take over my body that would last through the remainder of the school year and graduation. I passed the days in a trance, just going through the motions, but not truly registering anything around me. I did well on my N.E.W.T.s despite my lack of preparation during the previous month. I had no reason or drive now to excel, but my body reacted automatically to the examiner’s instructions since I had been preparing for this basically my whole life.

I tried cutting myself again, just once. It didn’t work; I couldn’t feel anything. I had cut my arm practically to ribbons before I finally stopped. I healed myself afterward only because I knew they would send me to St. Mungo’s if the wounds were discovered. The same thing happened when I tried to touch myself. I could beat myself bloody and feel nothing. It was only when I imagined her voice giving me the word that I could find release, and afterwards I would cry from the shame.

Something inside me began to twist and I felt myself fill up with anger. I directed it at almost anything and anyone around me, especially myself. My responses to people had always been snappish and wrapped with insecurity, but now, I lashed out with fury at even the smallest transgression. I reduced other students to tears for the slightest offense and delighted in their suffering. There were only two people fully safe from my vengeance. Professor Dumbledore, I decided, was a sentimental fool, but I could never bring myself to think any worse of him. I avoided him as much as possible during my last days at Hogwarts, and refused to meet his eyes when forced to be face to face. And McGonagall; I wouldn’t allow myself to think about her at all. I knew if she entered my thoughts clearly, she would somehow be tainted by my vile brain.

I left school to return home with an empty heart and a knotted soul. My father was so ill when I arrived that he wasn’t expected to last the month. I visited his room once upon my arrival and he died alone several days later. I let the house elves take care of the preparations. Over those days, I felt like I was adrift. I had no direction and no purpose. I contemplated suicide endlessly, but those thoughts through me even deeper into despair because I knew I lacked the conviction for even that. Time passed in a vortex until the day of my father’s funeral.

It was practically a social event. The house elves had prepared everything according to my father’s wishes, so no expense was spared as the pureblood aristocracy swelled into our home. Only people who were in good standing within certain groups received an invitation. The Malfoy family were the only people I recognized readily. Lucius arrived with a date, who I vaguely remembered from several years ahead of me at Hogwarts. Narcissa Black, I believe, related to Sirius, though I never actually saw them speak. I found it somewhat amusing that Lucius would bring a date to a funeral. I was busy slinking in the shadows trying to remain unnoticed. Only a few people here recognized me anyway, but the two of them headed in my direction as soon as they spotted me.

We exchanged brief pleasantries and Narcissa complemented my appearance. The house elves had whipped up an obscenely grandiose outfit and magiced me clean just moments before the first guests arrived. I snorted an acknowledgment as Lucius began to speak. He went on excitedly about some exclusive group he belonged to, and how they very much wanted someone with my talents to be involved. Apparently there was a movement going on to raise purebloods back to their rightful glory, or some such thing. I had never given a fig about pureblood society personally, but he insisted I meet with him the next week. I opened my mouth to refuse, but before I realized it, I had agreed to the meeting.

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The next few years passed in a blur. I joined with Lucius and the Dark Lord, and began assisting them with projects. When we started, it was just a group of pureblood zealots plotting ways to regain the “former glory” of ancient wizarding society. As for me, I was the potion specialist and charged with cursing magical items that were of utmost importance to the cause. Apparently, the hatred and anger bottled deep within me made my curses very strong and almost impossible to break. As the group began to mobilize, my skills became even more necessary and I began to receive a great deal of attention from the Dark Lord himself.

On the day the Dark Mark was burned into my forearm, I felt a surge of euphoria I hadn’t experienced since my first night in the bathroom at Hogwarts with my “special” knife. My body was suddenly infused with something stronger than pleasure and pain; it was power. I stared at it with wide, crazy eyes and watched the mark smolder continuously under the skin. I reveled in its constant ache and let its influence carry me through my days.

And there were women too. Now that I was part of something, a member of an important circle, they suddenly seemed to flock around me. I had relations with many women for the first year. Their fawning attentions made me feel cocky and strong. But every time things got intimate, something felt wrong. They were all too arrogant, too brash, too submissive, too lascivious…no matter what I tried, I just couldn’t bring myself to completion with them. We tried every position and went for hours, and eventually, I would fake my climax and feign exhaustion to make them leave. Afterwards, when I was alone, I would either force myself to sleep while still agitated, or I would stroke myself harshly and imagine her voice in my ear giving me the word to finish. And with my tension released, I’d fall asleep instantly while trying to keep my mind blank and not remember what I had done.

When the fighting first broke out, I was on the front lines. My dueling skills were still vicious and I was a prized asset to any raiding party. The skirmishes began with shopkeepers and wizards who had close muggle ties. We would attack to gain possession of a relic or magical item important to some larger agenda. Initially, the raids would happen incredibly quickly, and we would stun or otherwise occupy any opposition just long enough to obtain our target. I was amazed at the speed by which our assignments grew increasingly violent. Other Death Eaters began to torture and toy with people, and our missions became longer and more concerned with the views and backgrounds of the individual wizards we were attacking and less about a concrete objective. I barely remember when we stopped getting assignments and just started getting names. Or when we started using attacks that left permanent damage. But I do remember the changes in the faces of the other Death Eaters. Their eyes would glaze and their teeth would gnash just like a pack of rabid dogs before each mission. And during an attack, I would look around at the sea of blank white masks looking so calm and pristine, and imagine those monstrous faces hidden beneath while crisp waves of sarcastic laughter radiated behind each one…including my own.

But the thing I remember most clearly is the night I finally broke. I watched the Dark Lord torture a man beyond his sanity, then take him apart piece by piece for hours before finally delivering the killing stroke. I wasn’t sure exactly when I had become a monster, but it had happened. That night I finally snapped out of the haze of disillusion I had been living in ever since I left Hogwarts and joined with Voldemort. I spent that night tormented by the screams of the dying man and trying to come to a decision about what to do. In my dreams, my mind finally returned me to the only place I had ever felt even a moment of peace or happiness, Hogwarts. When I woke up, I knew I must return to Hogwarts, confess, and pray that whatever punishment came would somehow help cleanse my soul before it drove me insane.

It was so early when I arrived at the castle that the sun had just barely broken the horizon of the sky. The students were still in bed and a sense of peace surrounded the scene. I couldn’t just apparate to Hogwarts, but the long walk in the dark had helped settle my mind. As I entered the main gate, I felt a calm wash over me and I welcomed whatever absolution would be offered here.

I made the familiar walk to the transfiguration classroom and knocked lightly on the office door in the back. I heard footsteps instantly and I watched the door open as if in slow motion. It was almost surreal as McGonagall’s face was revealed. She wore the last few years well, but there was a weary look behind her eyes that comes from constant worry: the anxiety of war. She met my eyes and a look of extreme relief softened her face and she let out a breath she had been unconsciously holding. My throat was burning with my need to speak a confession, but before I could say anything, she said, “Follow me”, and took my arm to lead the way.

She held my arm tightly as we made our way to the Headmaster’s office, as if I would be revealed as a dream and fade away if she were to let go. She said the password, motioned me through the door, and pulled back so that I had to enter the room alone. Dumbledore was waiting for me with two cups of tea as I stepped inside. I realized then that he must have known of my arrival ever since my first step on Hogwarts’ grounds. Suddenly, I didn’t have the words to begin. Thankfully, he offered me a cup and began to talk. He told me of McGonagall’s confession the night they received news of my involvement with Voldemort, how she had blamed herself for my actions and asked to be removed as a teacher. He hadn’t allowed her to quit, and instead insisted that she must remain and use her position to rectify any wrongs she felt she may have committed. “And you must do the same”, he said, “but we shall discuss that further at a later time”.

It was then my turn to speak. I told him everything I had witnessed since I joined with the Dark Lord, down to the most tiny, insignificant detail. It was only when he prompted me to talk about myself and my own feelings that I felt emotion creep into my voice. With wavering words, I told him everything I had done. How intoxicating it had felt to use the dark arts unabashedly, how I began to loose myself in the wave of chaotic emotions that overtook the other Death Eaters, and how only the most grotesque act had snapped reality back to me. As I finished my confession, he said quietly, “I always knew you would come back to us”, and patted my arm reassuringly. I couldn’t meet his eyes; I only wish I could have felt as confident about that has he did. Only I truly knew just how close I had come to falling into darkness forever.

“You should rest now”, Dumbledore said with the most kind and gentle expression I had ever seen directed at me. For the first time, I felt like I knew what it meant toe a e a father. The door opened to reveal McGonagall still waiting in the corridor. My eyes had remained dry during my talk with Dumbledore, but as soon as I saw her face, I felt the tears begin to flow. She gathered me up in her arms and led me quickly down the hall and back to her room. With a wave of her wand, she posted a notice that her classes were cancelled for the day and uttered a powerful locking spell on the door.

We entered her private area and it seemed little changed in the few years since I was a student. My skin was still cold from the hours outside in the damp, and I began to shake slightly, feeling it for the first time. She stripped off my outer robes, shirt, pants, and shoes, and tucked me into her bed. I finally felt like I had come home. She took off her outer rode to reveal the sleeping dress she had undoubtedly been wearing before I arrived. She crawled in next to me and pulled me to her. I cradled around her and warmed myself with her heat while she stroked my arms and back with her hands to stimulate the circulation. Her first words brought about a new and powerful round of tears.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you”, she began. “I saw you struggling, saw you hurting yourself, and I wanted to help you understand your own worth and give you confidence. I wanted to help you see yourself the way I saw you, so much potential, so much ambition, so sensitive to the things around you.” She leaned in and touched my face as she whispered, “and so beautiful...I just needed to you see it.” I closed my eyes tightly at these words as if that might make me unable to hear them and understand the meaning.

Then the serious tone returned to her voice and she continued. “But I let things go too far. I wasn’t helping you anymore. You had just grown so dependent on me that you couldn’t do anything on your own. I knew I had to end it, let you break away and begin to live your life for yourself. But even after I realized this, I’m ashamed to say, I did nothing for a while”. Again she whispered, “I didn’t want to give you up”.

“I finally decided I had to do something so you would be able to leave school and continue on your own. I tried to guide you to your own...independence, but I realized that was a mistake.” I remembered back to our last intimate night together. I had been confused when she had pulled back, didn’t touch me and refused to say the word of release, but I realized now that she had been trying to get me to achieve it on my own, without her influence. She continued speaking, “I knew then that I would have to sever ties completely if you were ever going to be able to live your life and make your own decisions. But I drastically underestimated how much that would hurt you. When you left school and we received news of your involvement with Voldemort, I knew it was my fault.” With that, she took my arm and looked at the Dark Mark seared into my flesh; the one wound that was beyond healing.

When I met her eyes again, I saw tears slowly trailing down her face. I had never seen so much emotion in her expression or her words. And I certainly would never have thought that I could evoke that kind of response from her. For the first time I realized that, in her own way, she had loved me too. With that knowledge, I felt something inside me that had been cold and dead since my days at Hogwarts begin to live again. I had hope for the future, possibly for the first time in my life.

But now it was my turn to speak. My voice was ragged as I tried to explain clearly the flood of conflicting emotion that was spinning inside me. “It was not your fault...I failed you. I coulddo tdo the one thing you needed and function independently. You were the only thing that ever made sense and gave meaning to my existence.” I continued on disjointedly until finally we were both crying silently and clinging to each other, me for support and her for reassurance.

We spent the next day in bed, talking at first, then eventually communicating only through touch. I kissed her on the mouth, an intimate, sharing gesture that I would never have attempted previously, and we spent hours re-exploring each others bodies. She still took the lead, but wouldn’t allow me to fall back completely on her. I still needed her word to releabut but now, it seemed more like a request. The day passed slowly and I felt like we were living in a universe all our own.

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When it was finally time to leave the room, I felt like I was emerging from a cocoon. I was saddened by the loss of warmth and security that came from being locked safely behind those doors. But at the same time I knew I must break out if I was ever going to be free and live again. I much as I wanted to hide away forever, I knew better than most that there are some things in life that must be endured.

I spoke with Dumbledore and learned the price of absolution. I was going to have to go back, suffer silently through and participate in unspeakable actions and events. But this time I knew I could do it without breaking. This time I was working toward something, and there would be some meaning to ahe she suffering, mine included. I finally felt that there was some reason for my existence, some purpose I could fulfill. So I became a spy and allied myself with a cause I could finally feel affinity for.

The next few years were harder than I could have imagined. I watched countless people die on both sides. And though there were few in this life I counted as friends, I felt the loss of those who fell, knowing the world was irrevocably changed by the lack of their presence.

I stood by and watched while some of the vilest atrocities ever to be conceived in the wizarding world were committed. Some I might have been able to prevent if I had dropped my cover, and some I was helpless to affect. But either way, I felt parts of me harden and die from exposure to such events. The night Voldemort fell unexpectedly after his attack on the Potter home seemed somehow uneventful otherwise. His remaining followers were in shock, and most went into hiding or were quick to offer excuses for their involvement. The few pockets of hostile resistance that remained were quickly quieted and the wizarding world breathed a collective sigh of relief. Only a few of us felt that the struggle was not yet finished, but even we were relieved to have a break from the constant cloak of violence and death that had been draped over us for these last few years.

I underwent a secret trial and escaped any punishment for my actions because of the testimony of Dumbledore, who was one of the few surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix that knew of my involvement. After that, he took me under his wing and told me he wanted to help me rebuild some of what I had lost. I knew to some extent that the effort was futile; I had become knotted and twisted inside, and could never fully undo what I had become. But I wanted to try, so I accompanied him back to Hogwarts and accepted a position as Potions Master. And when I entered the grounds with him that first day, I truly felt that I was coming home.

We sat in his office those first few hours and discussed our concerns for the future. We both knew that Voldemort was not yet truly gone, and we mapped out some contingency plans if certain scenarios presented themselves. I told Dumbledore of my interest in perhaps one day taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes; it was after all, my strongest field. He refused, explaining that if Voldemort were to become a threat again, my position as DADA instructor may prove a liability for us and I may not be able to keep my cover and follow the Dark Lord’s orders without unacceptable compromises. I knew people over the years that followed suspected his refusal of that position to me meant that he didn’t completely trust me, but I always felt that he was trying to protect me. He knew how close I had come to losing myself in those early days with the Dark Lord, and he new how intoxicating unrestrained use of the dark arts can be, so he did not want to put me that close to the edge lest I stumble and fall. Knowing this didn’t make me any less bitter about not being able to preform the job, but somewhere I liked the idea that Dumbledore was watching out for me, ready to protect me even from myself.

When I finally emerged from his office on my first day as a Hogwarts teacher, my first destination was not my own classroom. I made the familiar journey to Gry Gryffindor area of the castle and into the transfiguration classroom. I knocked slightly on her office door and it opened almost immediately. She pulled me into a strong embrace and we both stood their for several moments, clinging to each other to affirm not only the other’s life, but also our own. We eventually broke apart and I followed her silently into her private rooms.

We had seen nothing of each other in the years since I had arrived that night seeking absolution. We knew that no one outside of Dumbledore must know of our involvement. It was extremely risky for both of us, and even the tiniest misstep could lead to discovery and death. When I left her that morning to begin my life as a spy, I feared it would be the last time we ever saw each other face to face. I do not often like to be proved wrong, but this was an exception. When I made my reports to the Order, she was always absent. And I was efuleful for that; I’m not sure I could have looked her in the eye and still do what I needed to do. My only assurance that she still lived was the fact that since she was such a powerful enemy to the Dark Lord, I knew her death would have meant a celebration. A celebration which, thankfully, never came. Once or twice I thought I saw her from the corner of my eye, fighting on the opposing side of the battlefield. I knew I couldn’t look twice, because if I actually confirmed her existence in any place and time, I would become distracted. And that one mistake could have consequences I didn’t want to fathom.

Our first night together was about affirming life. We both touched each other constantly, confirming with our senses what our minds were still trying to comprehend. We were alive, both of us, and after so long apart and so much loss, we still had trouble accepting that this was real. We didn’t speak for hours; we just let our bodies communicate on a level that rational thinking could not define. She still took the lead in everything and I followed...it was, after all, who we were. But I no longer felt as if I wanted to lose myself in her and become nothing. Now I was my own person and she was my guide. I surrendered myself to her and let her lead me to places I’d been dreaming about since she touched me the first time when I was still a 6th year student. But there was trust now, from both of us, and a connection that was unbreakable. There are some things that don’t fit neatly inside the parameters of words like “love”, but they still exist, despite their inability to be categorized or understood.

When our bodies were finally exhausted, we rested together for a few hours. She had her arm thrown over me in a protee gee gesture and I felt myself let down a few of the walls I had built and hardened to protect myself while with Voldemort. When we awoke together in the earl of of morning hours, we both gressressed, made some tea, and sat down for a talk. We knew our relationship must still remain a secret. So long as there was a threat from Voldemort, we simply could not take the risk of discovery. She insisted that I call her Minerva in public, since we were both teachers now. I said the name a few times, to get my mouth used to the word. And even though I was able to use her given name in public after that, I never used it when we were alone. It somehow still felt too casual given the nature of our private relationship. And we had to be extraordinarily careful when meeting. I developed the practice of stalking the hallway corridors all over the castle for hours each night, so students would not be surprised to run into me anywhere at anytime. And we continued with some other ways of coded communication that had been developed by the Order, but certainly came in handy for less ‘official’ missives.

And so I began my life as a teacher at Hogwarts. I was good at my job, but I was not likable. I sometimes even shock myself with the venom of my words and my desire to catch and punish misbehaving students. I’ve tried to let go of some of the anger thad tad taken root so long ago, but some scars don’t heal, and some defenses built so strongly that even their creator can’t break through. But despite my damaged personality, there is one place I can find some peace, one place that always makes sense. And late at night, I still knock on her door and allow myself, for a short time, to surrender my rigid control up to her and feed on her strength as she leads me down paths of discovery that sometimes surprise us both.