Ensnaring the Senses

J. K. Rowling is the goddess of the Potterverse. All belongs to her and her associates. No money is being made from this endeavor.

A/N: I find writing in first person, present tense to be truly difficult for me. So, naturally I have to push myself to do just that. And as to the length of time this story covers, your guess is as good as mine.

HBP spoilers ahead.



Ensnaring the Senses

~Sight~

Why can’t I stop watching the man? I mean, just because he moves like a jaguar under those robes. But still, there’s no reason why I should be obsessed with watching the greasy git.

And once again I force myself to remember that it was because of him that Dumbledore is dead. Yeah, I know, he made an Unbreakable Vow with Malfoy’s mum, but still the bastard should have found a way around it. After all, he is the ultimate Slytherin. Aren’t they renowned for their ability to slither their way around the rules? But here it comes again; Hermione’s voice in my head telling me that the Headmaster was dying anyway and that at least this way Snape could continue to spy for us. Once again, I conveniently push the memories of that night in the cave, the Inferi and that horrible potion to the back of my mind. I am not ready to face my own involvement in the events of that night just yet.

A shift in the air alerts me to the fact that the man is moving about the room again. And now he is turned away from me and reaching for an upper shelf and another book. The back vent in his dueling robe pulls open and I catch a glimpse of trousers stretched across a tight arse and lean legs. Shaking my head at the image before me, I quickly turn back to one of Salazar Slytherin’s personal journals and try to focus on the entries handwritten in Parseltongue.

~*~

I can feel the boy, no young man, watching my every movement. I can almost sense his thoughts as he struggles to remain quiet in my presence. Snorting to myself, I realize that Potter has no reason to trust me. After all, I spent years ensuring that the brat would look to me with loathing.

There were too many risks to allow the boy to see me as anything other than an enemy. Unfortunately for me, some of my fellow Death Eaters had long suspected me of being somewhat less than loyal to our Master, and they had spent much time and energy watching me. And that included involving their children in their spying endeavors.

My hand trembles as I recall that long ago conversation with Albus and his suspicions that the Dark Lord was not dead, but merely in hiding. Even now, I cannot think of my friend and mentor without feeling the terrible tightening in my chest. No matter how many times I attempt to assure myself that my actions that night on the Astronomy Tower saved the old wizard much pain and anguish, I know that I can never forgive myself for killing him. Albus had worked for months to convince me that I was doing him a favor by killing him, that it was in effect what the Muggles called a mercy killing. Mentally sneering, I know that the wily old wizard was also counting heavily on the fact that my actions would securely cement my place in the Dark Lord’s ranks.

Shaking off the morose thoughts, I return to my search for relevant tomes among the shelves. Potter is working on translating Salazar’s own journals in the hope that something useful in our fight against the Dark Lord may be found. Fortunately, the brat has at least grudgingly accepted that he must work with his most hated former professor if he is to finally defeat my ‘Master’.

But still, must the brat have grown up into such an alluring figure? Now that he is an adult in the Wizarding World, the Potter progeny has taken to wearing form fitting clothing that serve only to entice the eyes and ensnare the senses. But no, I cannot harbor such thoughts about someone who only sees me as a hated enemy.


~Hearing~

The man moves almost silently around the room, only the rustle of his robes gives away his position. Again I am struck with the fluidity of his motions and his innate grace. Mentally shaking myself, I decide I have spent far too much time around the greasy git.

But now he is speaking. Velvety words flow like wine from those thin lips and the nuances play with my senses. Shaking my head, I try once more to pay attention to the words and not the voice. I really don’t need the man telling me that the space between my ears is a wasteland of ‘unmitigated and useless grey matter’ again. Sometimes I swear the git stays up late at night thinking of new ways to insult me and my parentage and my very existence and my… well, you get the idea.

But my body seems more than willing to ignore the urgings of my brain as I feel myself responding to the dulcet tones of his rich baritone voice. I imagine his voice is like steel wrapped in honey. Before I can help myself, I wonder what it would be like to hear soft words of comfort and adoration coming from that mouth.

Once again I struggle to remain focused on the words, but it is too late. He slams the book he is holding down onto my desk and I jump back in surprise. How was it that I had missed his presence so close to me? Looking up into his face, I can see the frustration of the past few months burning in his eyes. Gulping, I mumble my apologies and try to put my confused feelings off to the side for now. But I know that later tonight I will be pondering all this while I lay sleepless in my bed.

~*~

The brat shifts once again in his seat. And while he has thankfully been quiet for the most part, it seems apparent that my senses are acutely attuned to every slight movement and sound from my former student.

Reining in my wayward thoughts, I begin lecturing the brat on the information I have found in this rather obscure tome I managed to acquire some time ago. Midway through my dissertation, I realize that Potter has a glazed look in his eyes, signifying that I might as well be speaking to his desk. Finally, I allow my frustrations to show through as I show less care than I should with the book and slam it heavily on Potter’s desk. I smirk inwardly at his show of surprise at my actions. Our eyes meet and I can clearly see that the boy understands my emotions at the moment.

Now the brat is speaking, in that soft, smooth voice of his, mumbling some sort of apology. Though my features remain stoic, my mind betrays me. When had he grown up? When had his voice changed from that of a child to that of a man? Forcing myself back into the moment, I realize it would be all too easy to simply listen to the nuances and inflections of that melodious voice. But there would be time enough later to ponder these strange emotions the boy … man engenders in me.


~Smell~

As I force my wayward mind back to the lecture on Horcruxes I am receiving, I can’t help but notice the scents surrounding the dark haired wizard standing before me. There is always the faint odor of potions and potions ingredients clinging to the man’s robes, and perhaps the man himself. Years of brewing potions in class with strange and often disgusting ingredients had inured me to the disagreeable smells, and yet somehow, on him they smell right. These smells belonged to Sev – Snape.

Deciding that I am definitely losing it now, I try to ignore the signals my nose is sending me. Snape waves his arm as he explains a point and I catch the heady scent of sandalwood and something fresh and earthy. I catch my breath as I realize that this is the scent I have come to associate with the snarky man. When did I start to notice these things about the man I should hate with all my being?

Briefly closing my eyes, I reluctantly accept that I wouldn’t mind exploring more of this man’s unique smells. When had this happened, I ask myself, panicking now. When had I become attracted to the man who had killed the man who was like family to me? When did I first lose my mind? I pointedly ignore the small voice that adds, ‘and your heart’.

~*~

I vaguely realize that I am still talking about Horcruxes, trying to get the brat to understand the finer points of what he will be facing, but my mind is otherwise engaged. Once again Potter smells of a sunny day and crisp leaves with an undercurrent of sage. The scents are intoxicating to my senses and I secretly curse my large nose and its ability to pick up even the faintest of aromas.

I gesture, making a point in my lecture even while inhaling the delicious smell that is uniquely Potter. Belatedly, I realize that this is the smell I spend my days searching for, that only when I smell the man can I relax and know that he is all right. Stiffening slightly, I wonder when I had lost myself to the brat. When had he become so important to me that I cannot sleep at night unless I recall his particular scent? When had I succumbed to all that is Harry?

~Touch~

I run my hand through my hair as I realize the truth. I am falling for the snarky bastard. I am falling for Snape. Suddenly, with that realization, comes the knowledge that I want nothing more than to touch the untouchable. And yet my infamous Gryffindor courage falters at this thought. I dare say Snape would hex me six ways to Sunday if I were to try to get near him. My heart lurches at the thought that I might never get to feel those strong, lean muscles underneath my hands.

Suddenly, everything Dumbledore had ever tried to tell me about Sna… Severus makes sense to me. All these years I have spent hating the man have only served to delay the inevitable. I am in great danger of losing my heart and soul to a man who would likely love to crush both beneath his heel. Destroying the Horcruxes and facing Voldemort seems ridiculously easy compared to the daunting task of winning Severus Snape’s heart.

And yet even as I think this, I know that I will try. I simply cannot walk away from this, not now, not ever. I am too much a Gryffindor for that. But perhaps it’s time to put my Slytherin side to work as well…

~*~

Closing my eyes briefly, I know that I am truly lost. And somehow I think that Albus anticipated this very thing when he arranged for Harry and me to work together so closely. The old man knew that others could just as easily teach the boy what he would need to know, but I believe that Albus had just this in mind when he left his will stating that I was to be Potter’s sole tutor after his death. My fr – friend had even managed to set up an unplottable cottage where we could safely meet away from the prying eyes of the Dark Lord and his followers.

Of course, Harry also had to be careful to keep his association with me from the knowledge of his friends and colleagues. My position as a spy is simply too precarious for anyone else to know the truth of my supposed innocence. For innocent is far from what I feel. I killed Albus Dumbledore. I could not deny this fact even if I wanted to. Though I know that I did what I had to do, I bear his blood on my hands.

Suppressing a shudder, I wonder if Harry could ever find it in himself to forgive me my sins. Could he ever look beyond the darkness in my soul to see the man I hide behind my masks? Would I ever have the chance to touch this pure soul sitting before me? Could I ever have the absolution only he could give me?

~Taste~

Even before I could realize I had made my decision, I am standing and crossing the space between us. Now I stand before him, watching him for any sign that he will hex or deny me. Seeing only the unreadable expression in those impossibly dark eyes, I slowly raise my hand to brush against his cheek. I feel as if I am trying to tame a wild animal and feel just as unsure as to whether I will succeed or not. When no biting remark meets my boldness, I reach up to brush my lips softly against his. For long moments nothing happens and I begin to think I have made a grave mistake. But then, slowly I feel him shift and his lips open beneath mine. His hands pull me close and then we are kissing and I get my first true taste of this enigmatic man. Cloves and spice burst upon my tongue and I delved in deeper for more. I know now that I could never get enough of this man. Just how much he will allow me remains to be seen, but for the first time since Albus Dumbledore died I feel real hope.

~*~

I am brought out of my thoughts when I notice that Harry is now standing in front of me. He softly caresses my cheek, and I have to fight to keep from leaning into that small touch. I find that I am holding my breath as I await this stubborn Gryffindor’s next move. I have my answer when he raises himself up to kiss me on the lips. For once I am too stunned to immediately react. After the briefest of battles with my insecurities, I open my mouth and pull the young man to me. The kiss deepens and I taste chocolate and cinnamon in his sweet mouth. In that moment I know I am utterly lost. I belong to this man now. For I will willingly follow him to the depths of hell and beyond if only I can taste him again. The torch has been passed and for the first time since I was forced to murder the man I loved as a father I feel whole and healed.

~The End~