My homicidal attempt on the 'Fly on the wall' Challenge by Smo, at the WIKTT Archives.
-Story Disclaimer: This story is based off characters and locations owned and created by J. K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Publishing, Warner Brothers or any other company that own copyright to the Harry Potter series. The story may include characters and locations owned/created by other parties including but not limited to Joss Whedon, George Lucas, Lucasfilm, Fox, Paramount, Random House, Penguin Putnam, Inc., Ballantine Books, and a variety of other people. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
She would later recall on this part of her life as a Professor and think of it as fate. She really didn't believe in coincidences. Things must happen for a reason no matter how unimportant or mundane. Fate was cruel and twisted, she believed as she sat - or what she believed to be sitting – in the glass jar she resided in.
No, no, this – this is Karma. Karma and my past has came back to bite me on the arse. Both cheeks shall not be left unscathed. I stick that nasty little brown nosing beetle in a jar for a few weeks and now the world is fixing its equilibrium. Well she got what was coming to her, the conniving little bint.
Over the past week she had had a lot of time to think about things: life, her blackmail list, shopping list, book list, why cheesecake seemed to be an important role in some peoples lives, how to obliterate ones self – things like that.
This really takes the biscuit with being the most disturbing and oddest thing that has ever happened to me. Moldeface's defeat aside, this is going to be haunting my sleep for a long time.
Hermione had worked on other things too aside from everything else.
Like how I'm going to wring Mundungus Fletcher's scrawny tic marked neck and snap his puny little –
Yep. She knew who to direct all that pent up anger towards. He was the reason she was tuck in this jam jar, in this form and in Severus Snape's quarters.
Thinking back on it now, she wondered how she could have been so stupid.
All I wanted to do was to gather some books and grade my 4th years essays.
I had been walking through Grimmauld Place, searching all the rooms for books that could have been salvaged. The place had been abandoned since my 6th year and apart from me, Harry and Ron tearing the place up to look for the hidden Horuscuxs the place was in utter chaos. No doubt Death Eaters had finally made their move one night before the big battle and trashed the god begotten house, even more so when they found it devoid of human life.
Books weren't evil, it was the people who used them for such that were. The Black library was big and not everything had centred around the Dark Arts but even those books I was looking for.
Finishing the search in the upper areas I made my way down to the ground floor where the study was when I stopped, my hand stilled from turning the door knob. Rustling could be heard within.
The war had been over for a good few years now, the 4th anniversary of the Dark Lord's defeat had been and gone just the other month. Naturally, Death Eaters, those who had survived the final confrontation had either fled in self preservation, been jail or, like some more loyal sheep, killed themselves. Even as the years past though, there was still a small amount of Tom Riddles followers unaccounted for in the spare jail cells within Azkaban.
Pulling out my wand, I readied myself to charge in and apprehend the intruder. I had counted to three and forcefully swung the door open with a bang. I had hoped to frighten the person long enough to scatter their wits and to hex them silly.
But it was somewhat anticlimactic to see Fletchers ratty arse bent over a small cabinet and jump about a foot in the air upon my rather dramatic entrance. Snape like, if my years at Hogwarts was anything to go by.
"Honestly!" I exclaimed in relief and disgust. The man didn't care who he stole from, friend or foe, his grubby claws managed to find a way to it.
He tried to straighten up and kick a sack under the nearest chair. For a life-long thief you would have thought he'd have learnt some subtlety wouldn't you?
"What's up Granger?"
"I could ask you the same question, Mundungus. Any respect for the dearly departed?" The words were out of my mouth before I could think. 'Bugger.'
"Could ask you the same question." He replied some what snidely, nodding at the books sticking out the top of my bag.
It really didn't occur to me that we were technically doing the same thing.
We eyed each other crudely for a while.
"Alright Granger, how 'bout we 'elp each other out, eh?" he had said.
My eyes narrowed, "Like what?" I had asked.
He smiled a rotten toothed smile and I think idly how my father would have had a cardiac arrest at the sight – God rest his soul.
"I give you any books that I find and you elp me ter take some of em curses off these trinkets. Bad for business and all that."
My eyes had travelled to the bag he tried to hide from me, half under the chair. It didn't look that big and I was sure there were a few book like shapes prodding from the inside, jutting out. He couldn't have found anything else of real use or valuableness – the LeStranges would have taken anything of real value out of here.
I weighed my pros and cons. Big books for small de-cursing. I shrugged a fools shrug.
"Deal?" He asks me.
"Deal" I confirmed.
To my luck and surprise, inside his shabby little bag was a lot bigger than what appeared to be, 'Damnit', but on the plus side Mundungus did have quiet a lot of books for me so the price seemed fair.
He gave the books to me and then pointed to the bag as he made his way to the door saying "Get started on 'em and I'll go get the others I saw." At my questioning look he added, "Didn't look like theys were worth nothing." and shuffled out of the room.
Shrinking the books I placed them in my robes pocket (really, right now, I'm wondering if I still might have them on me.) and start to look through Fletcher's 'Haul'.
Ech! Honestly, no wonder the LeStranges left the stuff there. They may be totally mental but their not that barmy to have wanted to take a jar full of dead magical bugs.
The only people I could think that may have wanted this 'merchandise' would be Knockturn alleys regulars. Or Snape… his office is a death 'thing' / pickled 'thing' exhibit. Just right for the 'Thing' himself.
I pulled out more and settled them on the coffee table between the two sofa's.
A shrunken house elves head – poor thing – what looked like a bust, if her painting was anything to go by, of the 'dearly turpsed' Mrs Black – the old hag – a few odd bits and bobs of vanity ware – 'needed it didn't she' – but what did attracted my attention was an odd intricate drawing of a family. I wasn't surprised that it was a drawing of a snake pit but the fact that at the bottom it was signed – 'Sirius Black'. I knew then and there that I couldn't let Mundungus sell this to some seedy old hag, so I decided to start on that one first before he got back.
Honestly it never occurred to me not to take it out of its frame and handle it directly. It never occurred to me that a toddler Sirius would have jinxed his belongings – in the long lived tradition of this family, apparently. (If I could slap my head just now I would have at my own stupidity but I settle for bashing it against my glass prison.) Because when I touched the picture directly with my hands – that's when this all started.
The sensation was horrible, I'd never know how to describe it all. Too many things were happening at once that my brain buzzed terribly. From what I remember, the skin that touched the picture began to tingle, then the feeling gradually started to make its way up through my fingertips and up my arm but as it ascended the tickling sensation turned into that of a feeling of bugs crawling under my skin. Think of a horrible slimy centipede: legs scuttling, crawling – hundreds of them – under your very skin – your flesh, slowly making its way further and further along our tendons, veins and arteries, now double that feeling by a thousand.
At a point I was so terrified and disgusted by the feeling that I almost took my wand to my arm and diffindo'd it off. Disabilities be damned – the feeling of bugs crawling all through my arm grew, spreading and I dry heaved.
Scuttling, crawling and squirming. All through my body, under my flesh, under my scalp, crawling around my organs.
Vaguely I thought I was going to go mad until I felt my bones creaking. It was like Apparation; the feeling of being tightly compressed from all sides, but as it turned out it probably wasn't just a feeling.
Then for a blissful moment – it all stopped. I was panting heavily and beads of sweat ran streams down my body – until the crawling and squirming started again faintly, it was beyond disgusting I'll tell you that. I tried to reach for my wand, thinking dimly that it would end with an 'finite incantatem' or if that didn't work; stupefying ones self was always another option. But it was then as I reached for it that I realised, instead of just my right hand going for my robes pocket, I had three. Yes you heard right. Three right arms. I would have screamed at this point if I hadn't already but I stared in an awed horror and waved them back and forth a couple of times.
I might have gone a bit barmy then I admit, but rightly so. Though because of my current situation I know I wasn't and am not.
My attention was drawn from my newly acquired appendages when the Apparation feeling began again and I had the oddest thought of shirking. After a moment I realised I was. Stupid really; how could you not know if your shrinking or not? Pretty hard to miss.
My skin started to feel hard and cold. My sight became hindered by something in my line of vision – like when you hold up your hand between your eyes to stop someone from jabbing them; or so I'm told.
That day was not my day – hell it's not even been my year. Mundungus is going to know pain when he meets the business end of my wand. Speaking of said 'intended victim', he chose that moment to shuffle into the room, I could feel the vibrations on the floor before I heard him. And I heard him alright, it was like a giant echo in the room.
"Granger? Well I'll be buggered, she left – what happened to Gryffindor honour? Swotty little cow." He had said once he didn't see me. The manky prick. 'I didn't exactly choose to be subjected to this nasty little jinx you ugly old fart!' I realised then he couldn't hear me – 'Bugger'
He started to put his 'haul' back into his ratty bag when he sees the jar of bugs on the floor with the picture – "Trash my find why don't cha, cow." He muttered.
'Oi!' I growled.
Honestly, without a mirror I don't have a clue what that jinx did to me.
I know I'm about the size of Tom Thumb, not human, have multiple appendages – I think I'm some sort of insect – I cant really sit down, just stand, cant be heard by any people and cant move my neck; actually I don't even think I have one. I have the creepy feeling that I've turned into one of the creepy crawlies that I felt squirming about under my skin earlier.
I was a little bit hidden by the leg of one of the drawing room chairs in the study so he didn't see me until he started picking up his things.
"Cricky, what do we got's 'ere?" he stretched a grubby – but gigantic though – claw like hand towards me and gently picked me up. I tried to scamper away but I just wasn't use to the form I was in.
I fitted right into the palm of his hand and he gave me a thorough looking over.
"Couldn't have gotten out of the jar – all dead" He muttered to himself as he gave the jar in his other hand a good rattle then rummaged in his pockets. And to my absolute horror he pulled out another jar with an assortment of more bugs – live bugs, some not even normal – and dropped me into it.
So from what I can gather, Fletcher collects rare or odd bugs for potions, apothecaries (non - reputable mind) as well as pilfering from people and my jar and 'roomies' were sold to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts and my current employer. Joy.
Thankfully none of my fellow 'inmates' have tried to eat or kill me – yet (do I sound hopeful?) – but the two at the far side have been rutting about for hours. I mean come on!
Some times I can hear what their saying, its probably the only thing they can; they aren't exactly built for conversation, I'm thinking. I hear things like 'Mate' and 'feed' was another as one of the Hannibal lector characters tore what I presumed to be his neighbours head off and slowly digested it.
Eee, I'm so thankful that I seem to earn the respect of getting my own little jar now. Though the hell of how that came to be was – lets just say I shant be forgetting it for a long, long while to come.
It was vile and I do mean vile in the extreme.
It happened in the first few days here in the Headmasters quarters. I had managed to stay as far away from the rest of my fellow companions as far as the jar allowed. Thankfully they seemed to want to keep the distance between ourselves as well much to my added relief at the time. Whatever I am seems to make them cautious. Most are smaller than myself though there are two that could probably challenge my height – lector being one of them.
I tried not to sleep for to long or too deeply – less they try to digest me but exhaustion wore me out on what I presumed was the third day. I woke up abruptly to the feeling of something nudging my side and snapped wide awake and looked to the source.
Egh, the words were being repeated everywhere and so was the deed. One of the only things they think about: 'Mate'. I thought I might hurl. It was like a close up and personal discovery channel. For whatever reason they all had the inane thought, at least I believe their capable of thought, to have an orgy today and not caring about species it seemed as the thing nudged my side again. I couldn't move my head round so I turned bodily and came face to face with my 'intended'.
I think he was a crossbreed between a beetle and a fire crab – at least it looked to have the common traits of them both but I really didn't think of it at the time.
A hopeful 'Mate?' was all I got as he tried to mount me. I scuttled away but he persisted.
'Mate.' If a bug could sound demanding and remind me vaguely of Ronald Weasley – he did.
'No!' I stated. I really had no idea if he could understand me or hear me. Well I could so I assumed so.
Well it didn't matter because he either did or didn't or just didn't care because he tried to move into position to mount me again.
I really couldn't tell you why I did it or how. It seemed like I did it at light speed. My primal bug instincts – must come with the package – kicked in because I vaguely remember yelling 'Fuck off!' and lunging at him, then all of a sudden he had no head and I could taste something akin to chicken lingering in my mouth.
I think I spewed for an age after that but you wouldn't know now because there was nothing left by the time those sick vultures cleaned it up. Odd thing is I really didn't notice the face that was glowering angrily at me till I scuttled back over to my corner.
'Ah!' It wasn't just me that screamed – quiet a few of the others did as well.
Snape was glowering angrily at me, probably because it was really a rare beetle/fire crab crossbreed I'd just decapitated.
Honestly I could see the man's pours at this distance and size! Huge black beady eyes fixed on me with large furry black caterpillars for eyebrows curving down into a scowl.
Next thing I knew the lid's opening and I'm out on a cutting mat struggling for dear life.
'Snape if you dare put that knife to me I'll come back to haunt your ugly arse!' I screamed with all my might.
He tried to hold me down – successfully – as I squirmed and rolled about. After a while I realised that nothing was happening, no metallic feel of his knife and no movement on his behalf on trying to still me. I risked looking up into his face to see what was wrong – well really that would be a bad description, I mean I was damn glad he wasn't trying to chop me up into itty bitty bits right at that moment but it was just … odd that he hadn't done it by now – and I saw an odd emotion on the cold hearted bastards face: Sympathy and pity!
His grip on me loosened a bit as I stopped struggling and returned his stare. I saw my chance and took it. I scuttled away and tried to hide – unsuccessfully – behind more jars and books. He picked me up again and dropped me into another jar – my recent home – all for me, no horny little bugs to decapitate.
It was all so odd. Well what's not odd about my current situation – even by wizarding standards.
Snape was leaning on the table, arms crossed and looking at me. The sympathy was still there which was really unnerving. I thought I could see a flicker of knowing as well. Not that he knew it was me but for my situation: my life hanging by someone else's decision.
Then he picked my jar up and carried it over onto his desk. "Can't have you mauling anymore of my potion ingredients" he had said.
I think I had just learnt something new about Headmaster Severus Snape at that moment.
Oh! Here he is. He had a Ministry meeting today with Percy Weasley: I saw it in his journal entry on the desk – I am now fluent in reading upside down.
I feel bad for Snape: Percy tried hard not to let him get this position. Even though everything had been righted years ago after the war. Lots of people had been opposed to letting their children come back to Hogwarts when he became appointed as Headmaster but after a meeting with the parents and Minerva McGonagall most of the children came back. He doesn't show it or tell anyone but I think it really got to him. He seemed more distant: he never once insulted me during that time.
I never liked the man. He was always mean, bitter and vile. After the war he did ease up a bit on that. His hair and skin became cleaner from not slaving over cauldrons all day long.
I still respected him through out it all. I mean you don't have to like someone to respect them. After working with him though and seeing him from this perspective, I'd like to think that I've learnt a great deal about the man… also the backround checking I did on him helped a lot in that area.
Oh dear, he looks upset. He has a habit of talking to himself when he's upset and alone so I have a good feeling that I'm going to find out the cause.
"Of all the stupid, irresponsible…" He paced around his room for a bit, muttering expulsive. The man has a good vocabulary, I'll give him that. I wonder who he's ranting about.
"They can't even find one witch! One bloody witch who fucks off to who knows where without notice! Sonofabloodyshittyfuckingarsebuggeredwhore! The incompetents! 'Where did you last see her Mr Snape?' I cant fucking remember. Even if I did you bloody half wit she isn't fucking there now is she? Oh no, no no no, I locked her in the dungeons somewhere. I don't care that she can't do her duties or the fact that I have to hire someone else part time to replace the wench to teach. She's staying there because I'm an evil bastard." He gave a mocking cackle, "- stupiddamnbloodylittleshitfacedcretin." He finished by muttering into his hands and sank into is chair by his desk.
Over the course of that rant I'm suspecting that the aforementioned 'witch' and 'wench' in question is me.
I feel slightly bad for causing him this much grief. I really do. He does have enough on his plate to deal with as it is and Percy is probably having a field day with my disappearance which means that obviously he'd be questioned, maybe suspended and have Harry and Ron on his case. Those two wouldn't miss a chance to cause hell for Snape or even to get him in Azkaban. They'd use this as an excuse aswell I bet, even though we haven't been talking for about 4 years. Gits. I swear if they do anything to him: when I get out – and I will find a way, I hope, I'll mane them and hex their dangly bits to the start of their urinal track, on the inside, and hopefully – well depending on who's perspective its from – their nerves will regenerate and each time they need to pee its excruciatingly painful. Only because they have no right to use me as an excuse of course.
But, it isn't like I had planned this little 'vacation.' He can help me carve up Mundungus if he likes. I'm actually surprised he didn't mention firing my derriere. I'm wondering who will be my replacement. Now that makes me worry that I'll never get out of this jar and be stuck as a bug in Severus Snape's rooms for the rest of my life – however long a bugs life may be or until be decides that he needs me in a potion.
Part of me really hopes that a transfigured bug is as good as the real thing in potions so as not to ruin the work but the other part hopes gleefully that it explodes in his face: karma for killing me for it, albeit unknowingly. I'm hoping it wont come to that though.
Being in my own little jar, on top of his desk has given me a really good view of his rooms.
When I first came to work here I was floored by the living space provided to the professors. They were small. Not claustrophobic type of small but by castle standards they were. Even the Headmasters rooms were only a teeny bit bigger. All consisting of one room excluding the bathroom.
Snape's room consisted of an alcove in the top left corner, furthest from the door, big enough to fit a good sized single bed in the length wise against the wall. Across from that on the opposite wall was the door leading to the bathroom. The wall connecting both corners held host to a large fireplace made of ancient stone just like the Castle itself. Infront of that was a wingback chair and a smallish two seater sofa made of monk leather of worn quality but well cared for.
He had a desk sitting at an angle facing out to the rest of the room in the bottom left corner, where I'm currently residing right now. My jar is sitting on the furthest left corner on the desk closest to the alcove. On the wall with the door to the bathroom and the actual Headmasters office are top to bottom shelves filled with assortments of books, ingredients, potions and the odd nick nack.
I haven't seem him in here that much really, in here. Each time he does come into his room he always looked haggard. I'm starting to realise why Minerva retired so early. Albus probably never did any of his proper 'paper pushing' duties as Headmaster. I had heard once or twice her grumbling over her morning tea about shoving all those paper up his arse. I was obvious 'his' arse was Dumbledore's arse. Quite sick really seeing how he's been dead for a few good years now and his ghost had moved on after Severus Snape's trial.
Everyone was stunned when he casually floated through the trial room doors and up to the witness stand. The minister and the Wizigamont were reluctant to let Snape go on the account of 'I told him to do it.' But after much deliberation and my testimony he was a free man.
They couldn't argue with the fact that, during the time leading up to the final confrontation with Voldemort, Snape was sending me information the Order would need. More importantly, clues to destroying the Horuscuxs. At the time I was baffled to why he'd send me the notes but then again once I had proper time to think about it I could see why. Harry wasn't telling the Order about the 'Riddle' infested objects, so that left me , Ron and Harry. I felt a bit upset that I was basically 'Well it was you or be buggerd' – it wasn't because of my abilities, because he liked me nor my intelligence that he picked me – I was basically the only one who follows new information like a mule with a stick and a carrot.
I recognised his writing straight away. It was odd not seeing it scribbled all over my friends essays in red ink.
Harry and Ron fell out with me for standing in Snape's defence and keeping my job after he became my employer. They hold a grudge like a barnacle holds onto a rock. Their only just being civil to me now because of Ginny and Molly gave them too much abuse. Bless.
I may dislike Snape and he may definitely dislike me but I wasn't going to quit just because he became my employer: My Gryffindor stubbornness wouldn't let me and plus, I was here first – well technically he was but after the war was a new era so in my books I was. I liked my job – still do (masochist aren't I?) – and I was not in all the 7 Hells going to work for the Ministry of Magic.
Anyway, back to the present.
'Oh! He's moved – where did he go?' I scuttle round clockwise in my little jar. Ah, he's pacing infront of the fireplace. You would think I'd feel the vibrations of him pacing up and down like that – I could feel it when the new charms teacher had came in one day. It was like mini tremors to me and he was such a scarecrow of a man – minus the scare. But no, he moves so silently and softly even in a rage or tantrum. Kind of like his voice really. Its beautifully deep but he knows how to use it – a low whisper of a threat to a pupil has them straining their ears to hear him and heightens their nerves even more making them a puddle liability. But then again there are times when he just looses it and screeches like a banshee – my third years a good example of that . He did it quite a lot if I remember correctly that year.
He's really graceful. Really he is. It's in so many things he does. Hmm… Oh dear lord! Gah – it's starting to get really annoying when he does that. I got caught out yesterday by that. He was sitting at his desk writing away and then got frustrated – as you would if you had to write up something that happened a good 30 years back – jumped out of his chair and strode to his bed, all the while stripping. At first I thought he was in a rage, he was so violent tearing off his clothes. I was shocked and just – stared!
I'm embarrassed but I couldn't help it. No really I couldn't.
I swear, if he ever finds out that I'm the bug he's been sympathising with and undressed infront of – hell, showed some flicker of what he'd call 'weakness' I'd be pushing up daisies in an instant – irony being that I despise daisies. Or atleast be put under an unbreakable vow to never describe/tell/show another human being/elf/dog/cat/living thing what I've seen and heard as long as I live: which I bet if he had his way wouldn't be very long.
I think Tonks would have been pleased to know that she'd have won the boxers or briefs bet she, Ginny and Luna had going.
I was smart enough not to get involved because Snape eventually found out about it. They seemed to forget that the man had been a spy for the better part of 20 odd years. Poor Ginny couldn't even look at Harry for a week and Luna had never been so jumpy in all the time I'd known her. I never even wanted to know what he said or did to them. Tonks seemed unaffected though: Curious.
Fortunately or Unfortunately, depending on who you are, all I saw was his rear end before he pulled his boxers up again and jumped into bed.
It's the same as before but I'll just turn away incase anything unexpected pops out. One of the things I've learnt about Severus Snape is that he values his privacy very highly. Remember I mentioned that new charms teacher? Well see he wasn't ameant to be sauntering anywhere near the Headmasters rooms. The bullocks thinks he's gods gift to the world I swear. I know Minerva hired him because after the war there wasn't a whole load of applicants to fill in the missing positions but surely anyone's better than this imbecile. God – its Lockhart all over again. I use to wonder why, when Snape became Headmaster, he didn't just sack the twit. The man was slicker than an oil spill and even less environmentally friendly, what with the amount of hair care products and charms he probably uses: I think (or is it just wishful thinking?) a black holes going to open up around his head and we'll be rid of him…well his head would plug it wouldn't it? His egos big enough. But then I realised that he, Snape, was afraid that there'd be no one else to fill the position because of not wanting to serve – well be employed by Severus Snape: ex-Death Eater/Spy/Unpleasant man/Use to be most peoples evil Potions Master/Dumbledore's Killer – too many.
Bertha in Muggle studies quit I remember. So did the Ancient Runes Professor – McDougal I think his name was: Guy who looked like he had a pole up his anal and a rusty one at that.
You know… I really never thought much about how hard it's been for him till now. He's always had my respect but it takes guts to not just hide away from it all that he's had to put up with and do.
Wow, a new kind of therapy. Maybe I could use it on upstart students? Hmmm… not the Slytherins no: they'd plan revenge if stuck in a jam jar for a week with their Professors, not to mention Draco would have my head on a platter for Snape, garnish and all. Well actually that's thinking if Snape doesn't slaughter me out right once I get out of this Jar.
I'm rambling: back to my main point of Severus Snape's privacy and the Charms teacher. Well when Snape saw him after coming out of the bathroom he was livid. I mean really. Enough that there was colour in his face. I've seen him like that before: In the Shrieking Shack for example but that was more of a deranged quality.
The man was terrified as Snape rounded on him, there was a puddle on the floor afterwards and I don't think it came from the newly showered Headmaster. Seeing how I cant get out of this jar and Snape hasn't commented on him I can only guess what has become of the idiotic trouser wetter.
I cautiously scuttle round to see what he's doing now. Ah, he's already in bed. I glance at the clock on his desk. Well that's an early night for him. The day must have been too much for him. I wonder, when I get out ( not thinking with 'If's ) that id be able to make him let me help him with all the paper work Dumbledore left behind. He must feel obliged to do it all. There's loads: its as if no headmaster or mistress had ever done any paper pushing at all… I'll have to ask the portraits about that. Hmm…
Oh! What? Ah, I must have dozed off… What's that sound?
I peer into the inky blackness of the room. The noise seed to be coming from Snape's bed. He's had nightmares before – well only once in the time I've been here. Oh… OH! Dear lord, Ah… O-ok its not a nightmare. It sounds like he's – he's… Oh god he is as well to.
The rooms pitch black but I can see him so clearly: I really should look away and locate me ears to block out the sound. Oddly I cant bring myself to. Bugger. Ah – ok I'll never say that word again, now that I've thought of the many innuendoes of it, all including tonights entertainment… ew.
Karmas going to have a field day with me: I'm turning into a dirty Voyeur! What's wrong with me?! I know people have fantasies of beastery but this is ludicrous!
Funnily enough, as I'm saying this I'm still watching him.
He's took off that awful greying nightshirt and his quilts sliding off his chest. He's put on some weight since the war ended but he's still whip thin. It's all this paper work I swear, if he's just – Ooh, oh the covers are stating to slid off his bent legs from the movement and jerking.
Sliding, sliding… nearly… Ah! No! His left legs blocking my view!
Wait – What?! Oh ok I'm seriously going to get some counselling. I'm turning into a bloody pervert. A pervert, might I add, who's perving on Severus Snape – God he can go on forever, hmm.
I sigh in defeat and disgust. Turn away and try to block out the noises he's making. Well, we all know who I'm going to be having erotic dreams about now, don't we?
I moan to my self: the jar seems to echo the sound of his hand hitting skin. If he continues at this rate, its going to be a very long night.
AN: Pfft HAHAHahahaha – not Hermione's month. I'm sorry this Challenge submit is 4 days late – for some reason Over on the WIKTT archives it wasnt letting me submit it -- odd.
If you like this first part then Review cause it'll make me type up the others a lot more faster for your enjoyment:P
Alas it's not Beta'd all mistakes are mine alone.