Author's note: This story is very intense, and includes adult subject matter such as self-harm. Please proceed with caution. I want it noted that I am in no way endorsing the act of self-harm, and if you find yourself involved, please seek out help.

This story is based loosely on the three temptations of Christ mentioned in the Bible, which will explain some of the title names. It is a plotline that I have been wanting to work with for awhile now, but have only just managed to do so. Please enjoy.

Chapter 1: Awakening

The dungeon rested somewhere between childhood and self-realisation. I had not yet known the spectrum of true emotion until the grip of his madness began to take a hold of me. He had been starved for a light to descend in his favor, but was strewn a heavier burden instead; and proved, most unfortunately, that his cross was too hard to bear.

I was but a child: fiery, smitten, and untouched by life. My greatest fear was not demise, but my newly arisen sexuality and its ever straining reality, pushing me into an uneasy debate between logic and lust.

I took a breath, releasing it slowly into the empty pockets of air around me. Professor Snape was late, which was not a tentative position he often took, and it weighed on my mind. Looking about, it seemed that most of the students were elated to have the extra hour to talk, including Harry and Ron, but I had nothing to offer and kept to myself.

The only light that graced us in the cold dungeons came from the dimming sun, which cascaded through the ceiling-high windows in an unceremonious fashion. The walls were washed pale in gloom: beige from stone and gray from soot. It was probably the first time I had really seen the chamber with a critical eye.

It made me feel small.

The door opened in a fury: Professor Snape immerged from the shadows of his hidden world, robes whipping lightly behind him as he led himself to the front of the room.

"We will not brew today," he muttered before reaching his desk. "Take out parchment and quills; no books allowed. I want an essay turned in to me by the end of class on all the different types of boils a wrongly concocted potion can make."

"He's in a cheerful mood today," whispered Ron.

"And I want complete silence!" Snape bellowed. "Mr Weasley, ten points from Gryffindor!"

"Thanks Ron," snapped Harry.

"Would you two shut up?" I squeaked, eager to start my essay.

"Miss Granger, another ten points from Gryffindor."

Giving Harry a distasteful glare, I straightened up in my chair, determined to ignore any distractions. But all I could think about was Snape. He had been spending more and more time, both in and out of class, watching me. I found myself needing to know at all times if I was being watched. At first it was flattering, but it had become something more, something I didn't yet understand.

I looked up at him then and watched him until he turned to meet my gaze; he had the air of an impatient man, his eyes breaking my skin with their sharpness. I tried to focus on the essay, but his gaze distracted me.

I used all my strength to look away, down to the parchment, the ink, the letters I drew so forcefully in an attempt to keep my mind from wandering. I could feel his eyes still locked on me, making me sweat nervously; tiny droplets falling to my page in slow motion.

Ron nudged me under the table, a quizzical look on his brow. I shook my head and glanced back up at Snape. He was focused wholeheartedly on the stack of parchments before him. I released the tension in my shoulders, feeling the burden of his stare lifted.

I finished the essay just short of the end of class, bolting from my chair in a great hurry. Harry grabbed my arm in the hallway as he and Ron tried to keep up.

"Late for something?"

"No, sorry," I said. "Just wanting some fresh air."

"That was brutal," said Ron.

Harry nodded vigorously.

"What do ya say we play a bit of Quidditch before bed?" asked Ron.

"You're not serious?" I asked. "It's nearly dark. You won't be able to see the snitch."

"Nonsense," said Ron smugly. "We've got Harry!"

"I'll round up some more players!" Harry yelped in excitement before darting off down the hall.

"Come watch?" Ron asked; an innocent gleam in his eye.

I gave him a questioning glare.

"You said you wanted fresh air."

I shrugged, defeated, and followed him out to the courtyard.

I watched for awhile: their brooms swishing, swooshing, and swaying about in the night air. I even illuminated sections of the courtyard as it was needed. But as the night air grew thick and stale, I pondered on a much more carnal game.

I could still feel his gaze. It pushed through the distance between us, ready to devour me. I was elated. The churning of my stomach was unlike any illness I had ever encountered; its effects flowing sharply down my sides.

I closed my eyes and, gulping loudly, tried to calm the ready storm inside. I could almost sense him near me: the robes whipping in the wind of his flight, the hair as black as midnight, and the sneer as cold as ice. Never before had a professor had so much effect on me. I worried that I was losing control.

"You too, Miss Granger."

A hand landed hard on my shoulder then, and I jumped up in alarm.

The small Quidditch game had ended and the players were leaving the field, sulking as they went. Harry stood near, partially turned my way, as if in waiting.

"Come on now, to bed with you," said the voice again.

I looked up into Professor McGonagall's face; her arms folded and eyebrows dipping deep into her nose. It seemed we had stayed longer than strictly allowed. I hurried after Harry and followed him to the common room, away from the chilly night air.