Title: As Caterpillars Are To Butterflies
Author: Deirdre Lavena
Disclaimer: This story's author does not claim to own any of the characters, concepts, or ideas originating in J. K. Rowlings' Harry Potter novels. No copyright infringement intended. No harm intended. Material is offered to the public free of charge—not for profit. This piece of fiction is the sole property of the author and cannot be copied, sent, or reproduced without permission of the author.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Malfoy
Summary: Love can be found in the most unusual of places and in the coldest, darkest of hearts.
Author's Note: The original was much longer, but not the sort of thing you can post on this fanfic site, hence all the foreshadowing I was too lazy to take out. Heh. First time writing in second person—mind telling me how I did?
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Sly and cunning. That's how the Prefect described your house as he led the first years down the dungeon stairs.
You've known that you were going to be in Slytherin your whole life, from the first time you saw the Dark Mark cast by a masked man in a white hooded robe to that one moment that would define your whole life, that one fateful moment when the Sorting Hat was placed on your head, and before it even touched your slick, bleach-blonde hair, yelled, "Slytherin!" The "s" was harsh and the tone disguised years of loathing.
And you smiled.
It was a sick, twisted smile, and you know that—you were trying to make a good impression, and it's obvious you did: you seemed to release some kind of evil vibe, just like your father, and you liked that.
That same smile was shared by the majority of the male residents of the Slytherin House as a gaggle of Slytherin girls emerged from the dark dungeon corridor.
Crabbe and Goyle shoved two small, innocent little Gryffindor girls who occupied the seats directly next to yours.
Innocent your arse.
That same smile was shared by the majority of the females in the Slytherin House as Snape turned around.
"Class," he said in his stone cold voice, the one that never quivered and yet gave you chills down your spine.
"Class," he said, and you smirked.
"Class," he said, and silence fell upon the room.
Third time's the charm.
"Today we will be discussing the Truth Serum and its affects on things… less than human."
—
"Malfoy." A voice you knew all too well. The speaker's mouth twitched as he approached his student's—victim's—desk.
"Your father told me about you long before you arrived here, boy," he said, his voice low and cold. You liked the cat-and-mouse game, so you allowed him to continue.
"And here you are." His fingers dragged along the table as he spoke. "Detention with Professor Snape."
His breath was warm as it ticked your neck and the chills ran down your spine to a place you didn't expect them to go.
And he smiled.
You had never seen him smile before, and what came next was surprising.
But the most shocking part of all was that you allowed him as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.
No, it was that you enjoyed it.