Severity
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters and world portrayed in this fan fiction. I own nothing except the story itself. I make no money from writing this, and do it purely for entertainment.
Summary: Seventeen year-old Severus Snape is tired of being laughed at and picked on. Desperate to fit in, he invents a new potion that will bring out the hip "inner Sev". Problem is, he can't get him to go away. Murder, sex, and mayhem at two Snapes for the price of one.
Rating: Strong R for graphic violence, adult language, and implied sexual situations.
A/N: I was born in 1982, so everything in the 'seventies' world that I write is what I've gleamed from movies, internet research, and my mom. If anything is off- blame it on my not having been born in the day before the day.
This story is inspired by and loosely based on two other stories: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and The Nutty Professor (which was, incidentally, also inspired by Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as well). Reviews are appreciated, since they feed the Author's creative muse.
Chapter ISomething's Gotta Give
The Great Hall was always buzzing at lunch. Usually the gossip was of little interest to Severus Snape, since he was a frequent favorite piece of news to chew over with the special of the day, but today was a bit different. His cold black eyes stayed resolutely down on his plate, as he carefully cultivated the usual cold mask of indifference his face assumed whenever Narcissa and Bellatrix filled Lucius in on the climate and tidbits floating around the school.
In reality, this afternoon, he was anything but indifferent.
"…and then they were holding hands when they were walking back from Herbology." Narcissa informed her own beau, her blue eyes- the color of a clear winter morning- had flicked over to glance at the Gryffindor table as she finished her revelation. Snape's eyes inadvertently followed, spying the pair currently engaged in a shameful display of public affection. His eyes narrowed with hatred as he watched the red headed mudblood giggle while Potter fawned endlessly over her.
Lucius raised a perfectly trimmed light blonde brow before taking a sip from his goblet. When he set it down he spoke in his usual smooth, impossibly cultured, manner. "That is hardly evidence of anything, Cissa."
Narcissa Black sniffed disdainfully as she folded her arms, still regarding the couple openly. "I've known for years that little mudblood was nothing more than the house slut. She's constantly seen hanging around Lupin and Pettigrew." Narcissa tapped the tabletop as she pursed her lips in thought. "I mean she's always on about that liberation crap the muggles spout. Mother told me they burn their undergarments in protest." Narcissa's eyes lit up with a manic light. "I bet she's not even wearing anything under her robes right now!" She proclaimed in a scandalized tone.
Snape rolled his eyes towards the enchanted ceiling before ripping apart his sandwich. Evans was a lot of things, but she wasn't a tramp. Especially given how long Potter had chased after her skirt. There wasn't a girl at Hogwarts, even most of the Slytherin's, who would've played hard to get with Potter.
Bloody wanker.
The lanky boy scowled darkly down at his plate, suddenly tossing the remnants of his lunch away. The thought of how easily Potter and Black seemed to get everything made him sick to his stomach. They constantly played pranks on everyone, hardly ever getting in trouble for anything. They tried to kill him, and all Dumbledore had done to his precious Gryffindors for attempted murder was a month of detentions. Every girl at the school swooned when they walked by. Even Pettigrew had managed to find a Hufflepuff flighty enough to put up with him. They had money, intelligence, talent, looks, and a charisma that could charm pixies out of their trees.
Snape himself, on the other hand, had nothing. His late father, may he rot in hell, had squandered all of his inheritance gaming, drinking, and wenching. His genius was often frowned upon by the Professors- since it tended to lean towards the Dark Arts. His only talent involved hexes and curses that would put him into Azkaban. Snape was a tall, skinny boy with a large nose, greasy black hair, and beady black eyes- hardly the teenage girl's dreamboat. As for his personality, it was dark and broody at the best of times, violent and threatening at it's worst.
The only thing Severus Snape excelled at above all others was his studies. Not even Evans could compete with him in Potions. Unfortunately, academics weren't everything. They failed to bring the recognition he craved, and definitely hadn't won him any popularity contests. The friends he had only tolerated him because he was useful.
Most distressing to him, since his fifth year at least, was that he had never had a single girlfriend. Not one. To any teenage boy in the middle of puberty- with his hormones going decidedly bonkers- it was a constant torture. He looked, but couldn't touch. If he was caught looking, the response was enough to make him wish for a noose and a high rafter. He had never kissed a girl. He had never even touched a girl aside from the occasional accidental brush in the hallway.
And his favorite fantasy, the clever little fireball, was with Potter. It was enough to make Severus Snape choke on his own damn bile. Just once he'd like to be the one everyone respected and wanted to be around. Just once he wanted to have every girl coyly fluttering her eyelashes at him with a come-hither stare. Just once he'd like to humiliate Potter and Black so badly they had to hide their face for a week in shame.
Snape thought life was completely and utterly unfair.
He glared with no small amount of jealousy at the Gryffindor table. Evans was still giggling away happily, trying to swat Potter's hand away from her plate. Black, god's gift to women, was busy grinning at the forever cowering Pettigrew as he tossed some sort of crystal ball up into the air- catching it effortlessly as it succumbed to gravity and fell back down. Lupin, a wolf in sheep's clothing if ever there had been one, was laughing at some joke Rivers was enthusiastically telling with great flaps of his arms.
How could idiots like them ever become the most popular kids in their school? Snape sighed quietly and turned back to his lunch as Lucius and Narcissa continued discussing the Ravenclaw's latest mishap in the library. Having no interest in their gossip any longer, he easily tuned them out as he continued to wallow in his self-pity. Blaming every problem he had ever had in his life on the Gryffindor four.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to see Black pull Potter away from Evans and nod over in his direction. Had he seen it, he would have hauled ass out of the Great Hall. He'd seen that look many times, and it never amounted to anything fun for him.
It wasn't until Lucius sharply elbowed him in the ribs that he bothered to bring his mind back to the present. He looked over at the blonde with an irritated scowl. "What?!"
Lucius smirked slightly before tilting his head towards the Gryffindor table. Snape automatically turned to look- paling slightly as he saw his two nemesis making their way towards him with infuriating little grins of mischief on their faces. "Fuck." He said succinctly, summing it all up rather nicely. Narcissa giggled lightly, hiding her mouth with the back of her hand. Snape sent her a withering glare anyway, before turning to warily watch the duo's progress towards the Slytherin table.
"Lunch and a show." Lucius muttered, causing a fresh peal of laughter from the girls.
Snape had to struggle to keep from grabbing the smug bastard's ponytail and slamming his face into the table. Repeatedly. As good as it would have made him feel, Crabbe and Goyle were seated right across the table. Besides, he had more important things to worry about.
"Hey Snivellus." Black sang as he approached, now tossing the same round crystal back and forth between his hands. "How's it going?"
"Why should you care?" Snape shot back automatically. If Black was playing the friend's card- he had something bad planned. Snape was instantly on guard. Had he been a cat, his ears would be lying flat against his skull with all his fur on end.
"Oh, you know. James and I," he nodded towards Potter who gave a jaunty little wave, "just thought we'd ask. See if anything interesting was going on. That sort of thing."
Snape narrowed his eyes in warning. "Nothing's going on. So sod off."
"In a second." Black replied, glancing over at James as if for conformation. The shorter boy nodded again, in agreement. Black regarded Snape with a wide grin, showing off all his straight pearly white teeth. "Rumor been going around that you and Amelia Bones are together."
Snape regarded Black calmly. When he answered, his voice was deadly soft- the only warning either would get. "I don't know who's spreading those lies around, but that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say, Black." He leaned forward, black eyes flashing with menace. "And that's really saying something."
Black and Potter exchanged another grin. "Oh. So you're not seeing anyone then?" Black asked casually.
Snape choose not to answer that, instead picking up his pumpkin juice and taking a measured sip. Hoping that if he ignored them they'd simply go away.
To his exasperation, Black didn't seem to take the hint. Or, more likely, didn't give a damn. "Cause see, James and I, we thought we'd offer our expertise. Sort of a charity thing, to help our fellow student body."
"I don't want anything from either of you." Snape retorted hotly. "So fuck off."
"Well, don't you want to hear what we were going to do for you?" James asked, his head tilted.
"What part of 'fuck off' don't you understand?" Snape snarled, slamming his goblet down.
James held up his hands in supplication. "Woo there, Snape. Mellow out."
Black continued the pace of their irritating conversation. "Here's the thing. We're going around to all the seventh year guys who are still virgins." His smile was mocking in its sincerity. "See if we can't help them out of their predicament."
The snickers began immediately, and Snape felt his cheeks heat up. His mind was sputtering indignantly, trying to figure out some sort of retort. Unfortunately, they had just jabbed at one of Snape's biggest insecurities. His mind was blank, and he could only stare up at the pair in mute horror as his housemate's soft laughter rang in his ears.
Potter went on. "But first, we have to be absolutely certain that they are virgins. Cause there are a lot of guys who might take advantage of our generosity. Sirius found this orb laying around, it's a chastity orb by the way, I'm sure you know what it does."
The snickering grew into chuckles and outright giggles. He realized most of the Great Hall's attention was fixed on them now. His ears were beginning to join his cheeks in burning bright red.
"Ah, you do then. For anyone else-" Potter raised his wand, and Snape automatically reached for his, but Potter didn't point his wand at Snape. Instead, he lifted it to his own throat. "Sonorus." Snape inadvertently cringed away as Potter's voice filled the Great Hall. "The Chastity Orb glows a bright white whenever a virgin touches it. If the holder isn't chaste, then it doesn't glow at all. So let's see how you've managed on your own, Snivellus."
Black then threw the orb with so much force in his arm, usually used to bat at bludgers, Snape had no choice but to catch it or risk getting his skull cracked open. He stared in absolute fury coupled with humiliation as it began to glow so brightly, it nearly blinded him.
But as if that wasn't enough, oh no- not for the Marauders, the Orb must have been charmed. His palms began growing a veritable shrubbery of thick black hair.
The laughter was ringing off the walls.
"We have a winner! The last Virgin Wanker in Hogwarts! What lucky lady would like to give him a hand?!"
Snape dropped the orb onto the table, grabbed his school bag, and ran from the Great Hall before he had a chance to hear the response. But as he sped by, he heard gagging sounds and many feminine 'I don't think so', 'gross', and 'loser'. Somewhere behind him, Potter's laughter- amplified by the Sonorus, seemed to chase him all the way out the doors.
Snape slammed them shut behind him, collapsing against them for a moment as his chest heaved. He looked down at his hands, wishing in the next moment that he hadn't, before running once more.
He ran past the entrance of the dungeons, his feet echoing down the corridor as they smacked against the stone floor. He flew down the staircase, taking them two at a time, until he landed and sprinted off again.
The dungeon was a labyrinth of twisting corridors, a maze he knew very well. It was the only place relatively safe from the Gryffindors, since none of them were eager to enter the serpent's lair. He rushed past the prefect bathrooms, unable to enter even if he wanted to, and past the Slytherin Common Room. He ran until his lungs burned, going into the deepest heart of the dungeons. He ran straight towards the wall when the corridor he had followed led to a dead end. He went right through the stones as if he were nothing more than a ghost.
At the moment, he wished with all his might he was.
It wasn't until he reached the heavy iron door, pulling it open, that he felt safe. He closed it behind him, turning the lock, and collapsing down to the floor. Snape bent his head, nearly resting it in his hands, when he stopped to stare in renewed horror at his palms.
Snape screamed his throat raw. Broke everything he could get his hands onto. He hadn't been so utterly humiliated since the time Potter pulled his underwear down. The dark room, with tables lining the walls and a small storage cabinet in the corner, became a disaster area. He overturned two of those tables. Tossed a few chairs at the wall, smashing them to splinters. Shattered every single vial and bottle that sat on the high shelves. He was in the process of trying to pull the cabinet down, when he realized what he was doing.
His shoulders rising and falling with tremendous energy as Snape shook with violent tremors, he gazed around at his destroyed laboratory. "I'll show them." He promised softly, gazing down at the glinting pieces of glass that sparkled like stars in the torch light. "I'll show them."
•·.·´¯`·.·•
Everyone noticed the change in Snape after that fateful afternoon. He was more withdrawn then ever, his large nose buried inside large Potion texts that would have made their own Potion Professor's head spin. Few were really concerned; few hardly paid attention to Snape- other than to make sure they stayed far away from the strange gangly boy. But to those who did make it their business what the Slytherin was up to, they were concerned.
Snape was planning. Snape was planning something big. It was an obsession, and he was spending more time scribbling down ingredients and theories than he did in trading insults with the Marauders. He didn't even so much as blink an eye when Potter and Black were given a weeks detention with Filch for their display. He didn't even appear to care.
But two people did care a great deal. Lily Evans and Remus Lupin watched with growing concern. Neither one particularly liked Snape personally, he was a difficult and moody boy whom had a nasty tendency towards violence coupled with a fascination to the Dark Arts both found disturbing. Their reasons for taking an interest were completely different, but the did share a common concern for his well being.
Lily Evans made it her business to defend everyone who was treated unfairly. And, although her new boyfriend James had greatly mellowed since the last year, he and Sirius still made Snape their primary target. Lily had not spoken to James for two days after the incident. It had been horribly cruel, and completely undeserved. She eventually forgave James when he promised to leave the Slytherin alone for a little while, and not do anything so drastic ever again.
While Remus Lupin, on the other hand, had a personal interest in Snape's well fare. He had, after all, nearly killed him two years before. It left Remus feeling indebted. Snape had never really bothered Remus personally. In fact, before the Shrieking Shack they were on something of agreeable terms. He never considered himself a friend to Snape, since the boy didn't really befriend anyone, but he didn't have the burning dislike James or Sirius had for the unpopular boy.
So the two quietly observed Snape whenever they could. Trying to determine if his instability was about to erupt. The way they thought about it, was Snape would either do one of two things. One was, he would end up casting Unforgivables at random students if his livid fury every finally lost control. Remus especially noticed the occasional manic and vengeful glint in Snape's black eyes. The other option was that he would succumb to depression and try to hurt himself. It was no secret that Severus Snape was a very unhappy boy.
Eventually it got to a point where Snape stopped paying attention in classes. Remus had once managed to get a seat behind him in Defense, and saw- to his amazement- Snape was still working out potion theories instead of taking notes on a spell that was certain to be on their NEWTS. In Potions, he seemed distracted. Although Snape could brew a bone mending elixir in his sleep, he no longer seemed to pay the meticulous attention to his potions he always had shown before.
And then, one day nearly three weeks after the fiasco in the Great Hall, Remus caught Snape stealing from the school's potion supplies. He stared at Snape in the tiny room, and Snape seemed to narrow his eyes in daring as he pocketed the ingredient. Remus had simply pressed his lips together into a disapproving frown before letting Snape walk by him.
Lily, meantime, noticed his absence during dinner. He was also gone from his usual corner haunt in the library. She'd actually seek him out when most of the students were outside enjoying the autumn weather, but he was nowhere to be seen.
The only thing either one of them could think he was doing was some type of advanced project for Potions, or studying harder for his Potions NEWT. Either way, in the end, they could find nothing either one felt confident enough to use to point out his odd behavior to a Professor. But they both had the feeling that whatever Snape was up to no good would come of it.
•·.·´¯`·.·•
Snape watched the rat run around inside its wheel with a triumphant burst from his heart. It had worked. The first seven batches had been complete disasters. One had even managed to turn one of his test rats inside out. It hadn't been the prettiest of sights.
He then reached inside the cage and picked the rodent up with one hand. He cupped it, soothingly murmuring to the creatures as his other hand began stroking the rat's head. It had shown no adverse affects in the week of observation. In fact, it was showing quite the opposite. His metabolism, virility, activity, appetite, and muscle mass was all up at least sixteen percent by his calculations. The rat also seemed to be a bit more intelligent than it's control brother. Overall, he was quite pleased with the results.
A crack rang out in the lab as he twisted the rat's slim neck. The animal stopped moving instantaneously, and Snape carried it over to the dissection tray. He hummed a nameless tune under his breath as he began taking blood samples. The humming turned into whistling as he picked up his scalpel and made the first incision.
The dissection was slow going, since he had so much to compare. The rat's brother had already been opened, and he carefully compared the color and size of various internal structures. He also made notes in his sharp spidery scrawl onto a piece of parchment for posterity. It took three hours of carefully precise slicing and snipping, but eventually he had removed and examined every internal organ and structure.
He found no abnormalities.
Removing his gloves with a resounding snap, a broad grin was spread over his features. He had succeeded. Although, under normal circumstances, a responsible Potion master would undoubtedly run several longer and more involved tests before actually going for the trial run, but Snape had neither the desire nor inclination to be that patient. It could take years, and he didn't want to wait that long. The weather was already turning from the crisp, colorful, autumn into winter.
And he wanted to become King of Hogwarts by mid December.
Snape began cackling gleefully. It was perfect. He had been so careful, so thorough, there was no way anything with this last batch could have been in error. The secret smile, the very slight curl to the corners of his lips, was permanently fixed onto his face as he turned to the simmering cauldron. It's contents were a bright yellow, the color of daisy petals, which was exactly as it should have been. He stirred the potion a few times to test its consistency. Not too thick, and not too watery- a perfect and happy medium.
The smile grew slightly as he pulled the ladle out, and poured the potion into a goblet he had brought down into his lab from breakfast. The potion smoked, falling down the side of the golden rim and down his hand like a lover's warm breath. He turned to the eviscerated rats on the table beside him, raising the goblet in salute. "Cheers."
The instant the potion hit his tongue; he realized the name 'Ambrosia' was well bestowed. It had a heady sweetness that left him greedily gulping down every drop with little difficulty. The warmth spread from his throat and stomach to every nerve ending, making the boy temporarily drowsy as he pulled the goblet away from his mouth. He smacked his lips in appreciation, as if he had just sipped down a fine wine, before languidly setting the goblet onto the table.
He then stood still, waiting.
After fifteen minutes, he began examining his hands. He didn't feel any different.
Twenty minutes passed. His foot began tapping in irritation. The changes should have begun instantaneously.
Thirty minutes and he began pacing back and forth in the small room anxiously.
Thirty-five minutes saw him pulling at his greasy black hair.
He was seated at the table before his dead rats after fifty. His finger resuming the tapping his foot had done earlier.
An hour and a half, and he was swearing. He picked up the goblet and hurled it across the room, watching with satisfaction as it slammed into the opposite wall, bouncing off and rolling about the floor. He heaved a great sigh, dropping his head down into his hands. "Damnit," he muttered angrily. "Maybe I needed a bigger dose?" He wondered, thinking aloud as he pulled his notes across the table towards him.
His eyes were quickly scanning his tiny and compact notes, when the fluttering began. Snape paused, looking up as he placed a single hand against his stomach. "Slight nausea," he noted, his voice barely above a whisper. Ever the academic, his hand reached for the quill, intending to mark the time and his reaction.
Just as he picked the long black quill up, his fingers began to spasm and curl like talons. He gasped, eyes tearing as the pain seemed to grip at every muscle in a manner reminiscent of Cruciatus. The quill fell from his fingers, which were to busy clenching and relaxing with every jolt of pain he took no head of it. His arms encircled his stomach. Snape curled up like a fetus before he tilted so far to the side he lost his balance and toppled off the chair and hit the floor on his side.
The spasms became accompanied by a burning that felt as if his entire body was on fire. He continued swallowing at the air, like a fish plucked from water, only whimpering as the pain became so unbearable that he couldn't even manage to push enough air from his lungs to scream. His eyes were pinched shut, his lips quivering, and every muscle drawn as taught as a bowstring.
And then the changes began.
He couldn't see what was happening to his body, but he could feel it. His nose felt like it was sinking in on itself. His chest was pulsating, pushing, and stretching. His hair was also growing, and it felt as if someone was yanking it from his scalp one millimeter at a time.
Just as quickly as it began, it disappeared. The burning melted away. His tremors ceased, while the cramps in his stomach stopped entirely after a final weak pulse. His breathing returned to normal.
Snape's eyes slowly fluttered open. He rolled onto his back and blinked up at the ceiling. The cracks looked back down at him without comment, offering no answers. For a moment, he thought he was going to die and now-
Now he felt absolutely marvelous.
He sat up, springing from the floor with ease. He looked down at his body, and swore that he had just filled out. He searched out a mirror, finding a lengthwise full body mirror near the wall by the door, covered in a black sheet. He took the corner and pulled it off.
Severus Snape squealed like a delighted four year old at the reflection staring back at him.
It was him- but not. The eyes were the same black orbs, but that damn honker of a nose that had been the bane of his existence had become thinner. It was still long, but it no longer stuck out like a giant at a Goblin convention. Instead it was slim, pointed, and very aquiline. Rather fetching, with an aristocratic flare.
And his nose wasn't the only thing that had changed.
His face was no longer sunken. His features were still rather sharp, and the angular shape remained, but they were softened. In fact, as he examined them, for the first time in his life he would even dare to call himself extraordinarily handsome- beautiful even. Snape's hair no longer fell in greasy black clumps, but had grown thicker and cascaded over his shoulders. He laughed in childish delight, enjoying the sight of two rows of perfectly straight teeth that were a dazzling white. Then, as he narrowed his eyes slightly, he saw his lips had become a bit fuller as well.
His skin was no longer a yellow tinted sallow, but pristine alabaster. There were no blemishes, no marks, only smooth and flawless. He ran his hands, which surprisingly remained much the same as before, down the front of his shirt. Yes, he had definitely filled out.
Feeling like it was Christmas and he was opening his present, he hurriedly unbuttoned it, and peeled it off.
Snape's jaw nearly hit the floor.
He was not bulky, but he was much more muscular. Instead of being gangly, with his ribs poking out prominently, he was lean and solid. He flexed his arms, and smirked at the pleasing mass that rose solidly. His pectorals stood out prominently, leading down to a flat, rippled, washboard abdomen. He continued flexing, enjoying the sudden strength and vigor that seemed to be running through his body. He felt wonderful. Unstoppable. Strong. He turned to watch his back muscles work, he really couldn't get tired of watching the newfound muscles ripple and bounce, when he noticed his butt seemed to have also firmed up quite a great deal. Turning back around, he quickly glanced all around the room a bit shrewdly, before he cupped his hand over his privates.
"Holy shit!"
The potion had, apparently, worked very well.
•·.·´¯`·.·•
The Oogle was a popular wizard's club in London. People enjoyed gathering under the disco ball that shimmered light as it spun from the ceiling. The walls were enchanted, and every possible color zipped around on the white walls in different patters. Sometimes they formed recognizable pictures, like hearts or silhouettes of dancers, but usually they just spiked with the beat to form more abstract patterns. The dance floor was always packed with bodies moving en mass to a rhythm set by whatever song was playing at the time.
It was set at a constant temperature, ensuring that if one worked up a sweat, it was from the heat of your partner. Smoke plumed up to the ceiling as Stella's and Johns alike smoked imported cigarettes. Different perfumes mixed to throw a heady scent into the air that acted like aphrodisiacs. People smiled and laughed, and everyone had a good time. Drugs flowed steadily through, and half the patrons were likely to be on some sort of new concoction as they stayed up through the long hours of the night the club was open.
Disco was at its height of popularity, even in the Wizarding world, and the normal robes were tossed aside for skin hugging polyester and luxuriously sliding silk. Wizards wore the same suits and tight slacks that flared at the ankle in the popular bellbottom style were dressed to impress. The witches wore short dresses that hugged their curves, in metallic colors, or pantsuits that left little to the imagination. Everyone was on platforms or heels, and everyone was certain he or she was the grooviest person in the club.
Evena was no exception. A natural blonde with lovely thick locks were feathered in the popular Farrah Fawcett style, curling away to frame a heart shaped face with large blue eyes heavily covered in eye shadow and with ruby red lips that glistened under the lights. She had chose to wear a two piece-pant suit that worked well with her tiny waist, showcased her flat stomach, and showed so much skin that she needed her fur coat as soon as she went outside. The fabric was stretchy, but felt like silk. The top was tied just under her breasts, while the pants hung low of her hips, emphasizing the length of her legs before they flared out at the bottom to demurely cover the arch of her feet and ankle of her open toed platforms.
She was a knock out, and she knew it. Already she had met quite a few men anxious to become better acquainted. Still, she was out with a friend, and had no desire to follow anyone home. In fact, as it grew near eleven, she was nearly anxious to be off. Her glass sat empty beside her, as her eyes watched the dancers on the floor a way off from the bar.
She let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes when she failed to spot Angelina, turning instead to stare at the bottles stacked behind the bar on their shelves. She briefly considered counting them, before rolling her eyes again. Eleven o'clock on Friday night, at The Oogle, and she was bored enough to contemplate counting bottles.
"Is this seat taken?"
The voice seemed to go straight to her spine, causing pleasant shivers following after the rich deep tone that flowed like silk, with enunciation that suggested refinement. She turned her head, and nearly knocked over the empty glass in front of her. It seemed tall, dark, and handsome had finally found her.
Unlike the rest of the men in the club, who choose to dress in various bright colors or settle for white, he was dressed entirely in black. Only a pair of slacks that showed off a set of legs so long they put hers to shame. A silk shirt, opened from the collar to midway down his torso, showing an impressive set of muscles and smooth white skin. His face seemed young, but the eyes bespoke a confidence of years, and full illustrious lips were twisted into an amused grin as she unabashedly took in the sight before her with proper appreciation.
"Well?" He asked again, humor infused in the words.
Evena blinked a few times, before going to work. "No. Not yet."
"Good." He responded, sitting in one graceful motion. He glanced down at her empty glass before shaking his head slightly in reproach, attracting her attention to his black hair that looked as if it would feel fabulous to run her hands through. A long pale finger tapped the side of her empty glass. "That's a shame."
"Yes." She agreed, taking the small straw and stabbing the cherry that remained behind. She raised it to her lips and began unabashedly playing with it.
The man gave her a wry smile, before raising his hand towards the bartender, waving a galleon, which got the man's attention very quickly. When he reached him, talk dark and handsome pointed to Evena's empty glass. "Two of whatever it the lady was having. And, give her a few extra of those cherries, hm?"
The bartender nodded before moving away and quickly filling their order. Evena finally bit the cherry off and smiled at the man. "You have a name?"
"Of course." He answered, taking his glass from the bartender as he set the Galleon down on the bar. He stirred it a few times, before plucking the straw out. He then lifted the glass and took a long drink, draining half the glass. He nodded as he put it back down.
Evena sipped at her own, and waited for the name. When he continued smirking at her in silence, she gave in. "And your name is…"
"Sev," he answered easily, tilting his face to regard her. "And you are?"
"Evena Davenport." She said, lifting her hand. He caught it and lifted it to his lips, turning it at the last moment to kiss her wrist. He then inhaled sharply.
"I had wondered what that extraordinary scent was." He murmured in a sultry voice full of promise.
Evena nearly melted off the barstool, completely smitten, and feeling for the first time that night she might take up a proposition if offered. As if reading her mind, Sev's lips twisted into that scintillatingly dark smirk.
•·.·´¯`·.·•
Snape's head hurt.
He groaned as sunlight from somewhere was streaming through his bed curtains and right onto his face. He lifted his hands, pressing the palms into his eyes to black out the sunlight. His mouth felt dry, and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth as he tried to get some saliva going.
"Mmm."
Snape froze as a body, a very soft body, shifted next to him. His hands slowly moved from his eyes as he opened them, and gazed over to the side where the pleasant warmth was coming from. There was a woman draped across him. A red headed woman, a red head who had a striking resemblance to Lily Evans- although whoever this was she was definitely a bit older than Lily.
Then, his foggy mind felt fit to inform him there was something moving on his other side as well. His head turned on it's own accord and he blinked as he stared down at another woman. A blonde woman.
And Merlin in knickers they were both naked. Thinking on that, he lifted the blanket and noticed that HE was naked too. "Oh fuck." He muttered.
Snape carefully pried the red head's arm off his chest, he had no idea who the hell she was, and sat up- slowly. It was then he saw that he wasn't in bed with just two women. A brunette, with a long shapely leg hanging off the side of the mattress, was beside the blonde. Snape gaped at the extraordinary sight, before roughly pinching his arm.
He failed to wake up.
"Oooookay." He whispered to himself, completely in awe. He then began the agonizing task of crawling out of the bed. He really didn't want to, but since he had no fucking idea what was going on, he thought it might be best to get the hell out of—wherever he was at. He gazed around as he finally stood next to the bed, taking in the wallpaper covered walls and the sunny window. There was make-up table next to a sturdy oak dresser, covered with moving photos he briefly looked over.
Whoever these women were, they didn't know each other and they didn't know him. Snape shook his head hard, before reaching for his clothes. Or- at least- he thought they were his clothes. They were men's clothes, but they were nothing he owned. He pulled on the slacks and shirt, wondering if they were some other guy's.
He then wondered if any of those women had husbands. The thought prompted him to forgo leaving a note in favor of just leaving.
He made his way out of the bedroom, through a hallway, and into a living room. Finding the fireplace near the sofa and loveseat, he briskly strode over. There were Champaign bottles and four glasses on the table, as well as a few garments strewn on the floor. He tried not to think about it as he found the floo powder and quickly threw it down as he stood in the fireplace. "The Three Broomsticks."
The journey didn't take long, and by the time he stumbled out into the pub, he started to remember a bit of yesterday. He had taken the potion. He recalled that quite clearly. Then, things were a bit muddled. He remembered leaving the lab, and Hogwarts, and going someplace with…money? Hm. And then- well it was just a blur. He'd gone through stores, and a club of some sort. And…
Wow.
He fished through those memories, fingers twitching as he recalled sights and sensations and- dear Merlin could people actually bend that way? He shook his head, amazed, and gazed back at the fireplace. Wondering if he should go back. Then, realizing he had no idea whose house he was at, he sighed in loss before wandering his way through the tables of the pub.
The potion was a definite success.
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More to come…