I cannot help but glare at the male next to me and let my mind wonder.

How had my life come to this? How had everything changed so drastically, leaving me feeling as if I've been suspended over a pit of deadly snakes and that my demise will come at the most unexpected moment? One wrong move or one mindlessly cruel word, no matter how insignificant it may appear at the time, could send me falling to an ugly end at the jaws of vicious fangs.

I refuse to think of my so-called emotions as anything but, for how could anything capable of causing such pain be otherwise? Emotions, a pathetic crutch for the weak of heart and mind. Assuredly I have been cursed. There is no other explanation! How had this happened? Hmm… How… oh, yes.

The memory is clear as crystal. This was the beginning.

I have been trying to get him for years, but Albus is so unshakable. I remember first developing the urge when I was a young man fresh out of school, right after the first war had ended and I finally felt a modicum of safety. Albus had vouched for my loyalty and I was saved from imprisonment in Azkaban. It had been immense gratitude for the many things he had done for me and a growing fondness for the man himself that prompted me to accept his invitation to tea. Had I known what Albus had planned for that fateful meeting, I would have turned tail and sprinted away like the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels. At first, I suspected nothing of the man's treachery. Albus, perhaps more so than I could ever hope to be, is a cunning old codger.

Upon arriving to tea on that fateful day, Albus had immediately put me at ease by discussing neutral topics while we sipped at a fragrant tea gifted to him by the French Minister. It had been a pleasant experience and I'd found myself accepting another cup of the exotically spicy tea.

That precise moment, that moment I will forever despise, was the moment Albus showed his hand.

He went on and on about the benefits of replacing Slughorn, how my brilliance and success at potions brewing would be a major credit to Hogwarts. I clearly was not interested in his offer and voiced as much multiple times. With my freedom, I wished to pursue the creation of new potions for the magical communities of the world. I wanted to be known for what I could do, not for what I had been labelled. Still, even after the tea had been finished and I could leave, Albus had popped a lemon drop into his mouth. Smacking slightly at the acidic sweet and rolling it with his aged tongue, he had continued his speech. He knew I wasn't interested, but he kept jabbering on.

Gods, it had been infuriating.

There I was, trapped within the very office I had only ever been inside following brushes with Potter and his pack of animals and I could in no good conscience take my leave considering everything Albus had done for me thus far. Finally unable to control my building ire as the man listed all of the benefits a man of 'my position' could gain from the school's backing, including three months every year for personal research, I did the only thing I felt safe to do. After all, he had been making rather pointed comments about my previous interactions with the Dark Lord. I cannot be blamed for it.

I imagined the twinkly-eyed coot choking to death on his lemon drop.

The image had been so pleasurable, nearly orgasmic, I stopped paying attention to what he was saying. All I could focus upon was the enjoyable picture forever etching itself into the very walls of my mind, his face purple with breathlessness and his hands clawing at his throat in an effort to dislodge that disgusting candy.

I realise it is a very dark thought, but do not expect me to defend it. If there is anyone who has never had to be on the receiving end of one of Albus Dumbledore's little chats, I envy them. I quickly learned letting my guard down, even for such an enjoyable reprieve from the man's irritating words, would never again be tolerated or endorsed. Three months after that meeting, I became "Professor Snape to you, you insolent fool, and ten points from Gryffindor."

Yes, I have always hated Gryffindors. I cannot be blamed for that, either. As a Slytherin born and raised, an intense dislike for our rival house is simply an innate quality that cannot be quelled. Again, I cannot be blamed for that. I was predisposed for such feelings. Don't question it. Move on.

Over the years, I found myself again and again revisiting that same urge to see the blasted annoyance choke on his damned lemon drop. If he so much as offered me another… Gods, I'd choke him to death myself! My thoughts, I confess, are always boringly the same. 'Perhaps with this, he'll finally croak and leave me in peace.' The first time I ever debased myself enough to use crass language was in an effort to win my unvoiced battle, a behaviour I previously found to be unacceptable and deplorable. It was all for naught and I could have kicked myself, because a Snape never uses foul language or behaves in an ungentlemanly manner, especially for such reasons. Yes, I am more than aware that thought would cause a round of disbelieving laughter if heard by these insipid twits I'm forced to see daily, especially that ungrateful cretin that leapt forth from Potter's loins. Gods, I hate that little bastard… and those infuriating lemon drops, possibly as much as I hated myself in that moment.

"Albus, I've found myself entertaining rather lascivious thoughts about one of my own sex. Some of the things I conjure up with my mind would make a trollop blush. It is painfully embarrassing to admit such, but he is quite a fine piece of arse and I'd hoped you could dissuade me from wanting to bury myself ball's deep inside said arse."

"Oh, that's wonderful, Severus! I do hope you'll introduce us someday."

"Yes, naturally. Of course."

That would have been all fine and dandy, except the man wasn't real and Albus somehow knew. At the time, I still wasn't sure which sex I even preferred or if I even had any preference so having his approval only served to irk me further.

"Oh, and Severus? Don't worry about those thoughts. They are quite natural." Then he had the gall to wink at me and procured a small tin. "Lemon drop?"

The sharp sting of combined embarrassment and revulsion I earned from that incident still affect me to this day. How could they not, when Albus had admitted with no specific words at all what I had always suspected? Additionally, he had confessed having such thoughts were normal, implying he often had them himself! It had been mortifying to say something like that to the old man and worse to hear the same from him. Infuriating, disgusting, and unsettling were the three emotions I would apply to the situation. In fact, I still do.

For a week, I'd had nightmares of Albus visibly lusting after every man my mind could conjure, sometimes stroking a saggy bit of anatomy no old man should ever unveil after a certain age. The worst nightmare was the one where I had been his target. Dear Merlin help me for the wrongs I committed against that man that night. Through the long years, I had forgotten half of the curses I readily flung at him and his floppy manhood and though partially glad to have been reminded of them, I could feel no gratitude for the reminders. For the next three days, I woke up with vomit on my pillow and sweat on my brow. After that, I had gone out of my way to catch him unawares at the precise moment in an ill-conspired act of revenge. The nightmares had truly been one of the worst things I'd ever experienced and it was all his fault.

"I fear I've been doing something a bit unpalatable to proper society, Albus. I've found myself watching the young men here at the school with a new eye. My mind persists in wondering what it would be like to stretch each savoury sort over my desk and plunder their nubile bodies until their screams bring me to climax."

Again, I hated myself for even attempting such a crude confession as it had not been exactly true. I had noticed a male here or there, yes, because I am only human. Never, though, had I ever imagined any in such a way.

"How remarkable. I daresay your preference doesn't run too young, since you cannot stand childlike minds and behaviours, so I'm pleased to announce such liaisons would be acceptable. You need an outlet for your constant tension and a willing lover would hit just the right spot, Severus. Rather, knowing your dominating personality so well, you would hit theirs." He'd chuckled. Disgustingly. "Why, I well remember being a lusty young man such as yourself when I was your age. I give you my blessing and a cheerful good luck in your pursuits. Lemon drop?"

I remember leaving in a right snit, my stomach roiling in nausea. Gods! The embarrassment, once again, stung more than the man's refusal to simply comply with my wishes! Really, Albus makes it extremely difficult to surreptitiously harm him. It was- and still is- positively outrageous. He wouldn't even have to die to satisfy me at this point; I'd accept him turning purple and then blue before spitting up the offensive piece of pointless dental demise. I could not stand the constant failure so I did the only thing I knew would be successful.

I flat out lied.

"Headmaster, I would like to submit my resignation. I could not suppress my volatile urges any longer and sexually assaulted your Golden Boy during his detention last night. Though he made the prettiest little cries, I could not bring myself to cease my actions."

"Based upon some recent and rather unsettling conversations, I feel Harry may have enjoyed, ahem, being so defiled by your person. Honestly, the boy doesn't know when to stop talking and Ronald only exacerbates the problem by truth spells and unusual questions. I've had nightmares of the things that have fallen from his lips. Now, I refuse to discuss this resignation business further. Lemon drop?"

What would it take to bump off the old sod? The man was near and dear to my nearly cold heart, it is true, and I will sorely miss him when he finally chokes to death on his beloved candies. That is not to be mistaken. I would miss him. It is just an irritant that he hasn't done it yet. Years and years I have waited and tried, all to no avail! He refused to submit to my wishes. Yet another lie was born from the increasingly tangled web I was weaving. It was my hopes that it would at the very least make him cough and splutter around that disgusting candy.

"Albus, I need to confess something to you. Your little saviour, all of seventeen and still in school with no home or future planned ahead of him, is pregnant. The child is mine."

"Ah, I was wondering if he had told you yet. The poor boy refused to give me a name, Severus, but I already knew. Your disheartened admittance to being intimate with him ensured that. Yes, my boy, I'm overjoyed you'll be there to help raise the small boy he will birth you in a few short months. He is already eighteen weeks and has just started to show. Odd, that. I remember his dear mother showing much sooner. My congratulations to the both of you. Lemon drop?"

I'd left in a daze. It was one thing to lie about Potter being pregnant when it hadn't been real in my mind. Confronted with the situation in real life, I realised it was something I couldn't in all conscience continue to lie about. As much as it disgusted me, I couldn't sully the future of that boy's child by claiming, even if only to Albus, that I was its paternal father. Within a week, I had confessed lying about raping the boy and claimed I'd done it out of boredom, which was naturally a lie to cover the truth. Albus's blasted blue eyes had twinkled – bloody twinkled! – at me and he said he knew and Potter wasn't pregnant; they were… ah… bored, as well.

I again look down at the male beside me and scowl a little. Sodding thorn in my side.

No, I don't want the arse to choke. Well, that was a bald-faced lie. When the time finally came, I would carry to the grave the precious memory of Albus finally choking on his godforsaken lemon drops, willingly smiling every time it crossed my mind (which would be quite frequent enough to make all question the sanity of the suddenly-smiling Head of Slytherin).

Still, I do not think I wish for him to choke on them quite as much as I used to. I just do not wish to deal with the ramifications of such an occurrence afterwards. Such as the time…

"Is there any particular reason you're eating everything in sight?"

"I choked on a lemon drop and decided my days are safer without them. Without them, though, I find myself constantly hungry. Are you going to finish your blueberry pie?"

I love blueberry pie. I have always loved blueberry pie and I will always love blueberry pie, my love bordering on obsessive desperation to eat as much of it as possible when it's presented to me. I still loved blueberry pie with a passion when the last vestiges of my dessert were disappearing into the yawning maw belonging to that bastard, the small plate upon which my slice of pie stood having been forcibly pried from my white-knuckled grip moments before. Whatever vague sense of elation I felt from Albus finally getting what he deserved concerning those damned candies and also the irritation from having missed such a blessed occurrence immediately disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

He'd taken my blueberry pie.

Never before had I wanted to shove my boot so far up someone's arse as I had so dearly desired in that very moment. How dare he take my pie? I could have killed him. In fact, I would have if Potter had not come out of thin air and saved Albus's life, temporarily distracting me from my black mood with a vague comment about not giving up on the thing someone most desires. He'd shoved a bag of lemon drops into Albus's hand, handed me his own plate of pie, and climbed back down from the staff table so he could return to the Gryffindor table.

I could have kissed Potter in that moment. He had truly changed my life in an unexpected, yet nonetheless wonderful, way. He deserved the gratitude and pleasure a kiss from me would give him. Assuredly, it would have been the best thing he'd ever received. There was no doubt. Potter had brightened the day considerably.

I had some more blueberry pie!

However, since it wasn't my own slice of pie, I was still in a foul mood and probably would have bit the boy, instead of kissed him, just to get back at Albus's appalling cruelty. Seriously, who steals pie from someone else's hands?! Watching Potter walk away and feeling the plate in my hand, a sudden thought took root in my mind and became a truth I couldn't shake.

I realised I loved lemon drops.

No, they're still as wretched as Weasley's Quidditch socks (the smell has permeated the entire castle and will doubtless never fade) and I would rather eat my own vomit than have a lemon drop in my mouth. I loved them only because they ensured Albus would never again steal my pie.

Damn that man.

I interrupt my own thoughts when, for the third time, the male next to me catches my attention. I feel my lips press into a thin line as I reach out my hand and smack him on the back of the head.

"I do not recall petitioning you at any point to salivate on my pillow, Potter."

The boy runs a hand over his mouth, rolls over, and hisses at the obvious ache in his backside. Was I too rough with him last night? He seemed to enjoy it and hadn't once told me to stop…

"Did I fall asleep?"

"I would say the answer to that should be obvious even to you. I swear, you and Albus are both worthless sometimes. All you do is jabber-"

"You're still angry with him?"

"He connived against me, ruined yet another of my evenings without even being present, and lied about your pregnancy. Also, he stole my blueberry pie."

"Shagging ruins your evening?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. I can appreciate an evening of pleasure, even with one such as yourself, since I am skilled enough to compensate for even an untalented sod like Longbottom. I was referring to my present company."

"You didn't seem to mind my company a while ago."

"That is because I wasn't thinking straight. I was merely focused on reaching climax and you just happened to be the nearest willing body."

"Huh. Well, as long as you're not thinking straight, mind another round? I don't think you quite managed to make sure I couldn't sit for a week."

Despite the very slight pang of concern that statement caused, I shake my head in exasperation and sigh. The dimwit is smiling! How dare he?

"Roll over, boy, and shut up. I also insist you stop smiling if you wish for me to leave your arse somewhat intact."

"Three years with the man and he still treats me like a little brat," I hear him muffle into the pillow, his legs kicking open.

"You are a little brat."

"Yours, though?"

"I've yet to decide."

I pity the man who tries to steal him away before I've decided if I wish to keep him or not. He is mine and only mine until I choose. Any man who touches him before then will not survive the encounter. As I've mentioned, my so-called emotions are treacherous things. Jealousy, of all things, is shameful.

"You've been saying the same thing for three, long years."

"What did I just tell you?"

Indeed. Three years isn't nearly long enough to make a decision of such magnitude. I may need another twenty, thirty, maybe even seventy years to make an informed decision. I am nothing if not thorough. Until then, I plan to do as much experimentation and research with him that I can. The more information I have on him, the more certain I will be of my decision.

"Severus. Hey!" The brat's wiggling his arse at me! The absolute nerve of that boy. "Forget I was down here?"

"I do believe your impertinence deserves some punishment, Potter. I would brace myself if I were you."

"Make sure I learn my lesson, sir. You know how thick-skulled I can be sometimes."

"For once, I think I agree with you."

"Also, when we're finished in here and if I can walk, I feel like making some pie. Blueberry sound good with you? I may need your help standing, but I'll manage."

I may need longer than seventy years to decide. I am, as I said, a very thorough man.

FINIS