Idols of Perversity

Disclaimer: I am not JKR. I did not invent these characters. In my defense I am only misusing them for a little while.

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Hermione Granger was a teenaged girl, not wholly unlike others she knew. The primary difference, it seemed to her, was that she was slightly more organized and perhaps an iota more practical as well. All in all she was a fairly normal witch for her age, she assured herself yet again. She simply had more demanding matters on her plate - Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort, for instance, or NEWTS, to waste time on trivial concerns.Still, she was seventeen so she did sometimes allow her thoughts to stray to the male of the species: after class, and before dinner, to be precise. Being organized she made a point to set aside time for utterly frivolous thoughts, barring any unforeseen events. Hermione Granger\'s life was crowded with unforeseen events.

Hermione was currently taking her pick of Hagrid\'s pumpkin patch and feeling put out at the way her friends had run off and her her to survey the pumpkins on her own. Hagrid had actually offered each leg of the Gryffindor triumvirate their own from which to make a jack-o-lantern, only Hermione, though, was left trying to make a decision. Hermione was still attempting to find, not the perfect pumpkin, but the perfect future jack-o-lantern. She knew when she finally spotted it her pumpkin would be waiting for her to carve it\'s snarled lips, slit the orange flesh to reveal its fearsome eyes. She couldn\'t allow herself to get carried away and choose at random when the right one was in the patch waiting to be hers, all she had to do was find it. She had no idea how her friends chose so easily.


No, that wasn\'t true, she knew exactly how they chose and that bothered her more. Harry took the first nice even looking pumpkin he came across and Ron... all the choices looked the same to Ron. Her friend had many good points, but much as it galled her, discernment was not on the list.She realised she wasn\'t thinking about jack-o-lanterns any longer. Ron ogled every witch who crossed his path. If ever a boy was slave to his hormones, it was Ron Weasley. Honestly, he reminded her of her gran\'s spaniel, humping every shin he came across. Lavender Brown of all people.

The trouble wasn\'t Ron, exactly. The trouble was every boy she knew left her feeling as though she was looking for something that wasn\'t quite there. Rather like getting turned round in the library and realizing you were searching for arithmancy amongst the alchemical texts.

She was so intent on this thought that it took her several moments to recognize a strangely familiar laugh coming from the Forbidden Forest.

For Merlin\'s Sake, had some foolish students wandered in the forest on a dare again? That was the only thing that induced students to venture into the woods. It was inevitably the result of some foolish game of one upsmanship and the students in question were inevitably Gryffindors. It was definitely a black mark on the name of her house.

Hermione shifted the force of her annoyance from Ron Weasley to the hapless fools who were trying to lose all their house points in one go. Still, they sounded to be at the very edge of the woods. Perhaps she could get them herself.

Hermione rolled her eyes at yet another unforeseen occurrence.
A few steps into the trees and the voice seemed further away than before.Perhaps it wasn\'t a student after all, the forest was teeming with strange beasts and spirits.

She had almost decided to turn around and get Mr. Filch when she spied a flash of movement in the distance and heard that slightly nasal laugh again.She would proceed, but a touch more cautiously.

Creeping carefully forward Hermione concealed herself by a cluster of dark cedars when she spied the one thing she never imagined she would see in the forest - herself. It made no sense at all, yet there she was. Hermione Granger, as naked as a piece of peeled fruit, shaking her head and laughing. It made her cringe.

Then she heard a low smooth voice she would know anywhere. Professor Snape.

He was naked too.

She fought the desire to take away points from herself; she had seen a professor unclothed. More than that she had seen Professor Snape unclothed. It should have been awful; shouldn\'t it? The trouble was he didn\'t look bad to her at all. Nothing like she imagined.

Not that she imagined her potions master naked. Not regularly, at least.

There, in the forest, the rare penetrating ray of light dappling his skin, her professor kissed the hands of the witch who was not her. It was important that she remind herself it was not her hand he was kissing. Not her palm those sarcastic lips were smothering. Not her thumb that cruel mouth traced from base to tip and back to base again. Despite the fact that Professor Snape appeared to be making love to Hermione Granger, she was not a part of this. She was not entirely separate, all the same, it was only her form the witch was using.

With a careful eye she assessed the two of them, her professor and herself who was not herself. The false Hermione looked like her. She had her head , at least, and her general size and build, but the body was not exactly spot on.

She was uncertain whether it was a metamorphagus or some sort of conjury. The legs were incrementally shorter than her own and the breasts and bum somewhat more aggressive, though not cartoonishly so. What was interesting was that the skin appeared to be totally without mark while Hermione herself, her real self, that was, had moles and freckles dotted rather liberally over her body.

Professor Snape, if it was the real Professor Snape, was just as surprising. She had always assumed he wore such billowing robes to appear larger than he was. She was dead wrong. Liar. She wanted to scream at him. Liar. Liar. It was no cold emaciated ascetic whose lips curled into a wicked smile as he plunged three long fingers from his left hand between NotHermione\'s legs. The black headed hawk nosed figure was broad chested with sharp, well defined muscles in his arms and shoulders; stirring, grinding, chopping muscles of the sort that come from years of potions making. More than that his entire body spoke of both strength and indulgence, fleshiness accompanying the brawn iway way that she did not find the least bit unattractive. Holding her breath, Hermione edged around the side of the couple until she had a perfect view.

She considered exactly how she had come to the conclusion the Professor eschewed all but intellectual pleasures. Common wisdom considered him near anhedonic. She attempted to tally up the facts as best she knew them until she realized she didn\'t have any. Apart from a forbidding manner and a penchant for black she knew next to nothing of him outside his involvement in the order . All she had was a jumble of assumptions, impressions and conjecture.

The wizard before her was huge, his shoulders almost half again the span of hers. The muscles in his arms made her swallow hard. His entire body spoke of power as eloquently as any magic. She had just found the elusive quality that was lacking in her peers and the wizard she was watching had it in abundance, although she was no closer to naming what it was than before. Harry and Ron had muscles after all, and they never made her feel a thing. Boys invariably left her cold, no, worse than cold, they bored her. The same with men everyone assured her were attractive. If it weren\'t for the fact that other females made her skin crawl she might have been tempted to wonder if her true inclination was somewhat Sapphic.

Hermione at present had no doubt in her mind she was attracted to men.

Professor Snape\'s long right hand wove in and out of Nomionmione\'s hair, bending her head back in what looked like a painful embrace. Snape nuzzled NotHermione\'s cheek. His mouth met hers with a sort of vicious tenderness, her lips held gently between his crooked teeth.
His deft fingers traced her eyebrows, cheeks and chin as he stared into NotHermione\'s face. To the girl who watched, his pose seemed both hungry and worshipful. His little finger went gingerly into her mouth. She was surprised to note her professor had the beginning of a small gut.
There was something endearing about a bit of softness in a such a hard man.

Hermione figured that to be held the way her double was would be akin to drowning in flesh. Sex the way every adolescent imagines it, without misstep or self consciousness. His exposed body spoke of nothing so much as hedonism. This could no more be Professor Snape than the witch in his arms could be Hermione Granger.

Who was this metamorphagus who used her face so well?

As the professor ran his hands lightly up the witch\'s flank, her small pink tongue teased his nipple. She was so small beside him she need hardly bend to reach it. The professor groaned loudly.
It was shocking to hear her name from his lips.

Surely he knew that wasn\'t her.

There was only one rational answer - it was not him. It was only two strange forest spirits involved in a perverse game. Had to be.

He called her name again as the witch who was NotHermione slid her head lower, past the chest which Hermione now saw was not only nearly hairless but tattooed with a brilliant colored eye of Horus as well. An eye over his heart. Hermione felt as though it saw her in her leafy hiding place.

The pink-tongued witch (perhaps it was a glamour) traced the crescent of his navel before brushing her cheeks in the soft looking hair that grew thicker on his belly. He trembled. His hard penis arched at the witch\'s nearness.

\"Give me your face, Miss Granger,\" he said unsteadily.
Without hesitation the false image of herself swallowed her professor\'s member. He held her head down violently but she did not struggle, did not even appear to need to breathe. After a longer interval than Hermione was comfortable with, he slid from her mouth. Then back in. The motion was sinuous and fluent. It repeated two dozen times or more. The pale, dark-headed wizard arched his back and Hermione-the-watcher felt as though her heart were beating between her legs.

Without nicety Professor Snape shoved NotHermione\'s head away.

His penis waved arrogantly in the open air. Hermione was not an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but it was certainly larger than the scant few she had seen. Disconcertingly thick as well.
Without prompting, the witch who wore her face positioned herself on her hands and knees. The professor knelt behind her. It was unsettling and breath taking. He was too large. She was too small. There was a reason wolfhounds didn\'t mate with terriers.


He lingered as he took the girl, whoever she was, with apparent mindfulness, but that did not stop the real Hermione from wincing. NotHermione kept perfect time with the professor\'s body. His hands stroked her belly. His thrusts began to seem almost harsh to the girl who observed. Her doppelganger ought to be hurt by his size, strength , and abandon but NotHermione\'s face showed only pleasure. Professor Snape shut his eyes tight, the look of rapture indistinguishable from sorrow, or perhaps it was sorrow after all.

He spoke in a language she didn\'t understand; a tongue of loose vowels and lolling consonants wholly unfamiliar to her. What was he saying? The longing of it twisted in her chest. She had the feeling that if only she could comprehend what he was saying hidden worlds would be opened to her.

NotHermione only murmured \" More... more\" and met his thrusts with a greedy smile on her lips.

As before he stopped without warning, this time throwing himself backwards. There he lay half-sitting against the base of a tall tree, panting. His face blank again.

His partner, the one with the lying face, climbed astride him by unspoken agreement. Her activity was vigorous to say the least. Snape\'s long tongue twirled expertly over one nipple then the other as she rode him. A devilish light caught in his eye and Hermione was puzzled for a minute to see him dig a fistful of wet earth from the forest floor beneath him. With purposeful hand he painted a muddy spiral line on the jiggling breast before him. NotHermione bent backwards, her breasts pointing skyward, and laughed merrily. The professor took the opportunity to outline the moon and north star on her torso as well.

The Osram Ne Nsoroma: the male and female in faithfulness and harmony. Who ever had taken on Hermione\'s appearance, the professor loved her.

The only metamorphagus Hermione knew of was Nymphadora Tonks, but the idea of Tonks and Professor Snape was not one that sat comfortably in Hermione\'s brain. She told herself it simply was not feasible. Maybe it was and she lacked the pertinent facts. Perhaps she was jealous.

Jealous over Professor Snape? The thought was obscene. She couldn\'t be jealous. Besides it wasn\'t even the professor. It couldn\'t be. Then she saw it; the irregular burn from Neville\'s first serious accident in potions class, splashed across the back of his right arm. Suddenly the witch on top of him shifted slightly and she saw the Dark Mark inside his left arm. It was him.

She likely would have noticed it sooner if she hadn\'t been focusing on other parts of his anatomy.

Regardless of his partner in depravity\'s true identity, it was Professor Snape pretending at making love to her, Hermione Granger. The very notion left her feeling both proud and unclean. Professor Snape might be cold, harsh, and impossible to impress but those very qualities made finding him locked in passionate congress with her proxy all the more heady. It was as though she had received \"exceeds expectations\" in the subject of being female.

Without realizing it, the true Hermione had entered the forest clearing and now stood un-camouflaged before the lovers; her doppelganger and her professor.

The Hermione who was NotHermione peppered Snape\'s creased forehead with kisses.

\"I love you, professor. I love you,\" the impostor said.

Snape answered her lips with his own on her one unmarked breast, his long hands running the length of her spine.

\"The theory on the potential of right handed valmuri conch you put forth last spring was quite astute. I myself am researching the possibility you suggested,\" he said, though Hermione, the real Hermione, was amazed she could hear the words, spoken, as they were, into her double\'s chest. \"It was quite an impressive extrapolation.\"

That was rich. The essay Hermione had received back from Professor Snape had mocked her for idle speculation with only the most tenuous empirical basis. Without thinking, Hermione snorted.
A very startled Professor Snape turned his head toward her. She never imagined she would be able to inspire an expression of such utter terror in anyone, let alone the surly Potions Master. His kiss bruised- mouth fell open and he blinked, hoping she was simply an apparition.
Slowly, slowly, his companion turned her head to face Hermione\'s. Before her eyes the figure dissolved into a pile of leaves.

Professor Snape blanched and she watched in disbelief as he visibly attempted to draw his cast iron dignity up around him.

\"What the hell was that, Professor Snape?\" the words shot out of her mouth surprising her.

\"I would think \'the brightest witch of her age\' would be capable of recognizing a simple tulpa,\" he answered her unsteadily. \"Twenty points from Gryffindor for questioning a professor.\"

\"What are you doing here?\" she asked, unfazed by the loss of points. A tulpa? A material being created by the force of a wizard\'s imagination required a staggering amount of energy to call into being, much less maintain for any length of time. No wonder it disintegrated the moment she interrupted him.

\"The school staff are free to risk life and limb as they fit,\" he as as though he was dressed and in the middle of class and not naked except for a blanket of leaves. \"Though to my knowledge the forest is still off limits to students,\"

That was quite enough for Hermione. Without intention her fists slipped to her hips and she advanced on him. \"Sir, of the two of us, I do not believe I am the one who is misbehaving here.\"

\"Granger, this is none of your concern. Return to the castle immediately,\" he said sternly, his hands still folded neatly and strategically in his lap.

\"With all due respect, sir, no, sir,\" she said, a bit more strident than she meant to be. \"It seems to rather obviously concern me.\" She had enough self-possession to escape the petrification that threatened to over take her, However, her bravery did not extend far enough to allow her to meet his gaze.

She glanced at his face only long enough to see he was eyeing her warily.

\"Are you going to inform the headmaster?\" he asked sourly.

\"That I found the potions master in a compromising position with a pile of leaves?\" she said, hoping to put him at ease. Perhaps that was the wrong tack.

\"What do you want in exchange, Granger?\" His voice was painfully sharp.

\"Nothing,\" she answered on instinct.

\"You\'re a terrible liar. What do you want, Granger? I have taught you long enough to know when you are dissembling,\" he replied.

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. She had every right to be angry, more than that she had every right to be horrified and here he was heaping insult on injury; calling her a liar. She wasn\'t lying, was she? Unfortunately, she wasn\'t entirely sure. There was no way on Earth she would turn her teacher over to the headmaster for punishment but she did want something from him, even if she didn\'t know exactly what. Or perhaps she did know but simply didn\'t wish to admit to herself she would give anything to trade places with a pile of leaves.

She groped for one question among the dozens vying for supremacy in her mind.\"I want to know why, sir. Why me?\" she asked, curiosity over taking shock.

\"Desire is not a particularly difficult concept to grasp, is it, Miss Granger?\" He said as coolly as if he were in class, and as if the topic were cauldron thickness.

\"Are you...\" No, she couldn\'t ask him that, if he loved her. It was insane. Laughable. And his denial would be too terrible, although she wasn\'t sure why she knew it was true. The notion of scorn from him had suddenly moved from hurtful to devastating. She searched for a less consequential word .

\"Do you like me, sir?\" she asked.

\"Yes, Granger, I like you,\" he said as if the words were bitter in his mouth.

\"You\'re only cruel because of your position as a spy.\" she asked slowly.

\"Absolutely not,\" he said derisively. \"If I am ...less than kind to you, it is because you are seventeen years old and I ...am not.\"

\"I won\'t be seventeen forever,\" she said unsure what she was trying to say.

\"Indeed,\" he sneered. \"The year before this you were sixteen, the year before that fifteen.\"

\"How long have you felt this way, professor?\" she asked, a thought both sickening and appealing forming in her mind.

Instead of answering Professor Snape turned his head away. \"If you\'re quite done I should like to dress.\"

\"Do you love me, Sir?\" She asked the question she had promised herself she wouldn\'t.

Still turned away he answered, his whisper almost lost in the sounds of the wood, \"There is a golden light in you, I would have it for my own. Whether that is love, I could not say.\"

\"But why do this? The tulpa? It\'s demeaning, sir.\" She felt blindly for meaning, each word that came to her a surprise. She was ashamed for him, to resort to making love to a glorified puppet, because that was certainly what it looked like to her inexperienced eye; making love. \"If you were only a little kinder, sir, when I graduate you might...\" Had she just invited him to wait for her? She thought of the way the creature he had created professed its love to him. She thought of his hands on that conjured body. Such creations spoke only the will of their master. Did only their bidding.

He interrupted her with a gail of laughter. It was a horrible sound.

\"Traitor and spies are not notoriously long lived, Miss Granger. Have you considered the likelihood that I will be dead by the time you are old enough to know your own mind? Let us assume, against the odds, I survive the Dark Lord\'s destruction not only physically but mentally intact. How would you have me approach you? Exactly what have I to offer a witch such as you?\" His drawling voice was almost a taunt.

\"Yourself, of course,\" she answered in surprise.

\"Miss Granger, I am ill favored, ill tempered, and flat broke. I am also self-centred, arrogant, with a decidedly unsavory history and I have been told I tend to drool in my sleep.\"

\"You\'re brilliant and brave,\" she said defiantly.

\"Both traits which have conspired to bring about my current state of exultation,\" he said with a frown.
It was a strange turn their dialogue had taken, but in truth no stranger than the notion of conversing with a naked professor at all.

\"Sir?\" Hermione said her thoughts finally coalescing to a plan of action.

\"Yes, Miss Granger?\" he said.

\"Would you like a kiss, sir?\" she asked trying her best to sound level and adult.

\"I would like considerably more than that, Miss Granger, but I must decline your offer until such a time as your consent is meaningful,\" he said all mockery gone, jaw clenched tight.

\"Might not intelligence be taken into account when assessing the validity of my consent? Surely intellectually-\"

\"Give it up, Granger,\" he said sounding as perturbed as when he caught her helping Neville through potions class.

\"But, sir,\" she insisted.

\"There is no argument that I have not considered and there is no way around the fact that you are, for all practical purposes, a child, and I, beside being imperiled for the time being, am in loco parentis. Never mind the small matter that were the Headmaster to get wind of me touching so much as one hair on your tantalizing little head, my next destination would be Azkaban,\" he said with a frown.

It took a good deal of Hermione\'s self control not to do something truly rash like throw herself at him. Then it occurred to her. There was something she could do. She reached up to the small barrette that aided her in her losing battle against her hair. A few wiry stragglers clung to it still. With a token of that sort, a great wizard like him could recreate her form perfectly.

\"Take this, sir, please. It should make your facsimile a bit more realistic. My bum isn\'t nearly that big,\" she said in a weak attempt at humor.

She darted forward to press it into his palm. The skin of his hand burned hers like hot iron.

\"I wouldn\'t know,\" he said quietly. \"Your robes leave a great deal to the imagination.\"

With feverish clarity her course of action revealed itself to her. She began with her Gryffindor tie, hurling it carelessly into the pile where the professor\'s robes lay beside his wand, fighting the urge to stop and fold neatly. What was she doing? She didn\'t even undress in front of her roommates, yet here she was stripping not three meters from Professor Snape. She knew no logic in her behavior, only an undeniable sense of rightness. It was also very wrong. Not unlike sneaking into the restricted section under Harry\'s invisibility cloak during first year.

\"Stop, Granger,\" Professor Snape said softly.

She ignored him throwing her black robes atop his own.

\"Do not do this,\" he begged quietly.

It did not matter how he pleaded, she had stripped down to her bra and knickers so plain they might as well have been prison issue for all their seductive charm.

She knew he would not try to stop her. She stood between him and his wand and he would not advance on her, naked as he was.

\"Don\'t make the mistake of thinking you know me, Granger,\" he cocked his head and stared up at her through his perennially dirty black hair. One white fist engulfed the small hair clip.

\"I would know you if you would let me,\" she said quietly.

\"Are you going to finish?\" he asked .

\"I thought you wanted me to stop,\" she said.

He shrugged.

Feeling sick to her stomach, she reached around to unhook the back of her bra.

Snape nodded at her but his face was devoid of expression as she stepped out of her knickers. The sick feeling did not vanish, merely swirled and mixed with arousal at the possibilities that crowded her brain like baying hounds. She, Hermione Granger, had undressed before a grown man out of doors.

What if he touched her?

What if he didn\'t?

Silently he rose to stand before her, arms at his sides, but came no nearer.

Up close blue veins ran through his white skin like iron through marble. He was far from ideal. His jaw was softer than she had ever realized. She fought both the urge to trace the frown lines that formed a sharp parenthesis around his mouth and the desire to kiss his deep etched brow. His nose was every bit as large and crooked as ever. She knew he was fairly young for a wizard but still he had the look of one who has been battered by life, more than that he looked bone weary.

Beside him she was almost an unborn thing. Foetal. Not fully emerged as the witch she would one day be.\"May I tell you something, sir? Something personal?\" she asked.

He tipped his head in reply beginning to circle her guardedly, keeping his distance.

\"I always make the mistake of thinking I\'m going to matter and in the end I\'m always disappointed. I know we\'re all just so much scenery behind Harry, sir, but would I be wrong to think I might matter somewhat to you?\" she asked.

\"You would not be mistaken on either count,\" he said behind her. His gaze was like fingers on her skin. She was careful to avoid the black cipher that were his eyes for fear he would unlock something in her that could not be put back as it had been.

\"I\'m not as perfect as your tulpa,\" she said a hint of apology in her voice. She twisted to see him turn as well, circling her. His broad muscular back was tattooed with a rampant cobra; as fierce and glorious as the potions master himself.

\"You are real,\" he answered. It seemed in that moment to be the ultimate judgment of worth.

It was terrible and wonderful to stand under his scrutiny. Fear and arousal raced over her in turns. Both goose fleshed skin and painfully erect nipples tingled where a slight breeze licked them.

\"You know, Granger, were I a better man I would humiliate you and send you on your way back to the castle,\" his voice was low.

\"And if you were worse?\" she asked.

\"If I were but a shade more depraved than I am I would lick your pretty little Gryffindor cunt until you quite forgot this wretched school and your wretched little friends. Then I would whisk you away to some far off corner of the globe where the Dark Lord is little more than an ugly rumor and spend the rest of my days glorying in your mind and body, the Headmaster be damned,\" he said coming round to face her once more. He had spoken the words as if they were a death threat.

His coarse language was as shocking as icy water on her bare skin. She raised her face to his. She had never seen such utter despair on the features of any living being. His eyes were like a deep black well and she was a pebble forever falling and never hitting bottom. She wanted something from him she could not name and he wanted desperately to give it to her.

\"The end is coming isn\'t it? The final battle,\" she asked.

He nodded.

\"Do you know when?\" she asked, studying the surprising muscles of his shoulders. Her thoughts went unbidden to Atlas holding up the world. In a very real sense the professor had been holding up the heavens, protecting them until Harry was strong enough to destroy Voldemort. The scent of her own arousal and the damp earth filled her nostrils. If only he would come close enough to let her smell him perhaps that would make it seem more real. If only he would deign to touch her.

\"Only that it comes soon,\" he answered, \"and I will do as I must.\"

\"What do you mean?\" she said stepping toward him.

\"Annoying as I find him personally, Potter has a purpose and he must be allowed to achieve it,\" Professor Snape said stepping closer as well. \"An unexpected traitor in the death eater\'s ranks should prove enough of a distraction to afford him his chance. I must do all I can to keep my position.\"

\"I understand,\" she said knodding, imagining terrible things.

\"You understand nothing, which is safer for the both of us,\" he said.

With only an arm\'s reach between them, she found herself taking his right hand in hers.

His breath was coming fast , his only response a wince. \"You think my feelings permissible because you fancy yourself grown, Miss Granger, but when you are a woman you will see this for what it is,\" he said with a shudder.

\"And that is?\" she asked.

\"The pathetic and unnatural longing of a wizard who has been alone far too long,\" he said pulling his hand from her grasp and combing his long hair over his face with nervous fingers. \"When you are a woman, you will despise me.\"

She looked up and felt his body pulling her like a lodestone to a pillar of iron. \"I know what I want, professor. I want ...\"

\"No, Granger,\" he grasped hold of her roughly by the wrists, dropping the token she had given him. \"Do you hear me? No! Tempt me no longer,\" he bellowed doing all he could to avoid her body. Prodded on by his refusal, she lifted her face toward his, straining to kiss but he held her at bay.

\"What if one of us were to die?\" she begged \"I could love you, sir, I swear I could if you would only let me.\"

Quite by accident his erect penis brushed her belly.

Both professor and student went still, caught in the amber of sensation. Hermione felt like a skinned animal, her very soul raw in the open air. The professor\'s eyes seemed to grow large as he gasped, his mask of stoicism torn violently aside. His chest heaved.
He released her wrists with a ragged sigh.

\"We will have to see to it that we survive what is to come then, won\'t we,\" the professor said trying to sound brisk though his body still shook.

It was a promise that flew into her heart like a frightened bird. She closed her eyes, holding the future to her. When she opened them he was gone, her hair clip abandoned atop her now folded clothes. Perhaps he no longer required what it could give him.

fin.

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Thanks to Shiv for a good thorough beta and for not sticking a screwdriver through my ear