Chapter 1 ~ Where Am I?
Shandra blinked.
Where the hell was she? The last thing she remembered was falling asleep reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It was supposed to be a children's book, but she found it interesting and compelling, particularly because of a Dark wizard named Severus Snape, who she felt didn't get enough exposure at all.
There weren't many black people in it, at least not main characters. But she found out in the series that color didn't seem to be an issue. Dean Thomas was a black wizard and dated Ginny Weasley, who was white. Most of the issues in the wizarding world seemed based on whether or not one had Muggle parents. There was definitely bigotry involved in those instances against the "Muggle-borns." Shandra could still identify with the trials those characters faced.
Shandra was thirty-eight years old, cocoa-colored, with brown eyes and black hair. She worked for the State at the local DMV. It was a fairly good job and she could provide for her family. She was considered an "independent woman." Unfortunately, that also translated into a rather lonely woman.
Shandra was no petite little thing. Her body was "thick," endowed with ample hips, breasts and ass. Her belly was slightly rounded, but that was to be expected, since she had two children from a failed marriage. Still, there was no lack of interest in her charms, but she couldn't seem to find the right man to start a serious relationship with. There was too much hurt from her previous marriage to an unfaithful husband. But a woman has needs, so, once in a blue moon she'd have a casual encounter with someone she found physically attractive.
It had been a long time between blue moons.
She fell asleep while reading about Snape's memories. JKR had killed him off, and Shandra cried about it. It was so unfair—and then to discover he had loved Lily Potter and she had abandoned him was almost too much to bear. It made sense he was so cold and cruel to others.
No one loved him.
Shandra, like millions of other adult females, believed she could have loved him, at least for a few hours. He was a guilty secret of hers. She lusted after a fictional character. It was embarrassing but every time she saw one of the Harry Potter movies, she looked for Snape. He was the reason she loved the series, and every time Alan Rickman appeared in his robes and wig, he was transformed and she was transfixed. What a beautiful voice he had. She could only imagine what he'd sound like during sex, purring over her, his pale body locked to hers, his lank hair swinging and his mouth twisted in lust as he rode her like a hippogriff.
Oh, goodness. What a thought.
Her children would ask her what parts of the movies she liked best and she'd always say the parts with Snape in it, which would horrify them.
"Snape's evil, Mom!" her twelve-year old-son would exclaim as his fourteen-year-old sister would nod in agreement.
"He's just misunderstood," she'd say in his defense.
"No, he's bad," they'd respond, and then they'd argue all the way home. Her kids couldn't understand why she liked Snape.
There was just something about the Dark wizard that tickled her fancy. Sometimes, she'd tickle her own fancy while thinking about him. Again, it was a guilty secret. A fantasy that could never happen except in her dreams.
But she wasn't dreaming now.
She looked around the room and saw a large fireplace with a small fire burning inside. Books rested on floor to ceiling shelves and covered every wall. There was a desk in the corner and a liquor cabinet, and the flooring was made of stone tile. Two armchairs and a small table rested before the fireplace and she was seated on a green sofa, dressed in her nightgown and barefoot. Her brown eyes widened as she looked at what was hung over the fireplace.
A standard with a green field and silver serpent.
"It can't be," she whispered, her heart beginning to pound. "It can't be."
"Usually, it couldn't be, Shandra," a silken voice purred.
Out of a dark doorway walked the wizard of her fantasies. Severus Snape—in the flesh. He stopped walking, cocking his head slightly.
"But—we're dealing with magic here," he added, his dark eyes drifting over her. "With magic, almost anything is possible."
A/N: A while back I received an email from a reader that asked me to have Snape engage a black woman. Why not? But I thought it would be hot if it was a woman from our world, an American Muggle with a Snape fixation. He attracts all kinds after all. So, I'm going to write it out. More to come (no pun intended). Thanks for reading.