A Vague Shadow
Prologue

Written by: Malchik (glow_flavored_nail_paint@mogenic.com)
Disclaimer: All recognized characters are (c) JKR. Your head is infested with dust bunnies if you think I own anything of importance.
A/N: Whoo! Written partially because I love HG/SS fics. And partially because I wanna make like bunnies and fuck Alan Rickman, but that's another issue all together o_-
While this chapter is indeed short and not centering around the main characters and not really indulging in the story line, I did, however want to open this kinda artsy-fartsy. Mmm. Not so descriptive writing. *drool* Plot bunnies will be revealed in Chapter One (which is being worked on now, shag you).
And... this is my first fan fic. Please be gentle... *hears a whip crack* Or not... O_O

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Becky was a Fifth year Ravenclaw. She hated Snape, probably more then all of the Gryffindors combined. He was mean to her and her house mates. That might not sound like a lot, but this was Snape. Being mean was his art, something that he could execute with the very best precision. She wouldn't doubt it if someone told her he made You Know Who cry. So, this lead Becky to question herself. And her subconscious.
Her dreams were so... vivid, so erotic. She would have better orgasms then the ones she had when she consorted with her boyfriend. And all of the pleasure she felt, every drop of it, came from the hated Professor Snape. Well, her subconscious's version of Snape, at least. His hands and mouth would move all over her, making her scream and cry. Not out of turmoil, however. It was just... everything felt so good.
Her dream-Snape knew what he was doing. Just like in class, he had a very talented tongue. Only in her dreams he wasn't scolding clumsy first years. He was there with her, and only her. And it seemed his sharp wit and meanness were forgotten as he pleased her in the most primal way.
When she dreamed these dreams, everyone was so far away. There were no classes, there were no other students. She even allowed herself to forget that he was a teacher. Just as long as the pleasure continued, she didn't care.
She couldn't even remember her name until she awoke, wrapped in her sweat drenched sheets. Although sometimes she didn't awake by natural means. Her room mates would rouse her because of the noise she'd make, ranging from heavy breathing to out right screaming. But always, no matter when she woke, she'd be sated. And as her mates gave her curious glances, question her sly smile, she'd just shrink into herself, trying to savor what tid bits she could.
Snape, dream-Snape or not, was the best lover she had ever had. It didn't matter that he was only in her head. It didn't matter to her that the real Professor Snape was a nasty git or that she'd be teased endlessly if others knew her dirty secret. Because the dreams were just so good. If she had the chutzpa, she'd scream during lunch in the Great Hall, declaring that she had wet dreams about Snape and enjoyed it.
They were also pretty damn fulfilling, those dreams. So fulfilling in fact, that she wanted to have them every night. But unfortunately they came and went as they pleased. She never knew when one would occur, which added a slight thrill to the whole thing. Every dream was like a present, a gift of mass proportions.
The dreams would fade a little before breakfast, the whole sordid thing becoming mottled and muted in her head. Which, she guessed, was a mixed blessing. She didn't know how she'd react to the potions Professor if the dream was so vivid in her memory when ever she saw him.
But, speaking of the devil, the dreams actually made her realize how... sensual the man was. She didn't know if it was just because of the wonderful things that dream-Snape could do, but she honestly thought he was kind of... sort of... hot as hell. In that greasy, evil, 'oh my god he's gonna kill me' sort of way.
If the opportunity arose in waking life to fuck the man senseless, she'd probably turn it down. But not with out some serious thought and sweating.
Now that she thought of Snape as a sex bomb, she noticed little glances other students, mostly female, would cast in his direction briefly. They looked at him, eyes full of lust that she felt only she could know. But of course, it wasn't like they'd go catatonic. The glances were small, and everyone seemed to try to wash what they were thinking of out of their head. Becky never understood that part.
She her self, with a few bold others, would border on flirting with their glances. He never looked like he noticed, but she knew he did. She new he just wasn't acknowledging them. And why should he? They were just lowly students, while he was the orgasmic Professor.
Becky pulled her night gown over her head and turned down the bed. "Hey Beck." One of her room mates muttered. "Sweet dreams." She smiled coyly, repressing a giggle. Climbing beneath the covers, Becky could hardly wait until sleep claimed her.