SEXUAL CONTENT - Mature readers only please.

Authors note - I debated weather or not to post this chapter because I'm having a hard time weaving the story properly. I hope it doesn't give too much away :(

Let me know what you think of the 'scene' please, and thanks so much for reading, hope I don't freak you out lol.

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Saturday, October 31st,

Diary entry, turning point:

For some reason, I don't dream. I can't remember the last time I actually saw anything but blackness when I lay down. I just go to bed at night and wake up in the morning; the time in between just seems to...not exist. Like my bank account that never runs out and certain words like 'potions' that just won't stop echoing around...it's all so strange, episodic. It's even hard for me to simply imagine things when I shut my eyes in the daytime. I can't remember what my mother looked like, or the things that have happened to me recently.

This, I write first thing Saturday morning while fighting a headache.

By lunchtime...my diary is blank and I don't remember writing anything down at all, but the headache lingers.

I only remember the clouds outside my window, passing peacefully through the blueness between. My only thoughts are of Professor Snape and how I might find him at the dance.

He's the only thing...the only thing I need to think about at all.

Nothing else matters.

"We showed up together, it would be strange not to have a dance." Harry follows me into the hall outside the ballroom. "You have danced with everyone but me."

The halls are gilded and yellow, silver and black, blue, red and green. You open any page from a 'Carnival' informative from Venice and the whole of the ballroom all the way to the ends of the school lawn would be decorated nearly identical and equally extravagant-like a dream. Students in varying states of dress-up effort drift in through the doors, gather around the banquet strech or dance under the chandeliers. I think them like a crowd of ghosts, long dead, shimmering under the crystalline scatters of light, casting ethereal shadows onto the walls; their masks like make-believe shrouds sent to confuse me.

I've recognized some of the faces and eyes underneath the endless shrouds that I've danced with, but not the one I'm questing for.

I feel like I'm failing his challenge.

"I'm sorry, Harry." I place one hand on the stone wall and the other on my flushed cheek. "It's too hot in there and I'm wore out, I need a minute to myself."

The truth is, I've felt off all day. And it's not just my head that won't stop pounding. I was taking a shower and grew so dizzy I nearly fainted. I feel like I should be ill, but I have no temperature and something just keeps telling me I'm fine, in the back of my head...I'm fine.

"Okay." Harry guides me over to a bench under one long, cathedral window. "Do you need anything?"

I chuckle. "I need you to go have fun, find Ginny and ask her for a dance. I danced with all those guys so that Ginny would think I wasn't interested in you." I saw her skulking around and watching me. The look she gave Harry as he sat alone at our table let me know I was doing it right. "She'll want to dance with you, trust me. Just go find her...I'll be alright in a minute."

I watch Harry disappear into the teeming ballroom before sneaking off down the hallway and into the darkened wing of the school. The farther away from the party I get, the better I feel, the sharper my senses. I pass by locked classrooms that seem to stretch eternally. I don't remember the school being so big, or confusing-like it's deliberately steering me in the direction I'm not supposed to go.

Or, perhaps, in the direction I am supposed to go.

I stop at the doors that lead to the back lawn. One of them is propped open so I step outside into the dark. Like a spell that has a dainty hold on my wrist, I feel tugged into the night. I hear laughter and giggling from a bush nearby and see Oliver Wood and the dark haired girl from the frat party with their hands all over eachother.

Or perhaps they are ghouls shrieking in the night. I have a bad feeling.

Their faces blur into something twisted and devilish, the robes embroidered with the emblem of a griffin billow out from their forms to spook me. They take long, ragged breaths in the frigid air and it makes me feel hollow. My bare feet are frozen to the ground...which is covered in a deep layer of snow. The thin nightgown I'm wearing is scratchy.

The ghouls twist at at the sound of someone shouting and a flare of light; they run away into the sky. Cowards.

Something glints in my periphery, decorations-no, a vicious metal fence-outlines and blocks the entrance to the deplorable hedge garden so that students won't go in there, or make their way to the rickety boat house by the lake. It's a sign that the invisible hand gestures violently to, as if telling me that is where I have to go, like it's life or death that I do so. I chalk all this surrealness to the atmosphere of the party and swat off my incessant, imaginary guide. "You, sire, are really stupid."

My head lolls to the side and I barely catch myself from falling off the bench.

I blink and take off my mask to rub my eyes. Did I fall asleep?

Like in my dream-no...I shake my head. I don't dream...yes, I do, what a silly thought-something catches my eye and I look over to the ballroom doors just in time to see a figure dance by with someone. The figure, tall and imposing, is dressed in all white, his hair is draped regally over his shoulders like a waterfall of starlight, shimmering silver, and his blank mask covers all but his lips, jawline and eyes. But it's not the magnificence of his attire that I hone in on, it's the dark irises that meet mine when he spins his partner into the crowd.

A beckoning glance over his shoulder as if to say, 'have you given up already?' or, 'what are you doing out there in the dark, Miss Howell? Come to me.'.

I can hear that deep sardonic tone of his even when he says nothing-it ignites a fire in my belly.

I affix my mask again and slip back into the suffocating heat rolling off the foray of bodies in hot pursuit-this time, the party does not drain me and my headache is totally gone. As I weave in and out, skirt around and sometimes shove my way through all the people, the Professor remains just out of reach.

It irritates me to no end. I thought this was supposed to be a challenge to weed him out of the others, which I've done, now it feels like he's taunting me, pressuring me to break.

So I stop to wait for him, attempting to lay a trap, just in time for a waltz to strike up.

Where they were disorganized before, the dancers quickly pair up and form into lines. I'm exposed, alone on the middle of the dance floor amid a whirl of colors. I try to escape, but everytime I do, the music changes and the dancers barricade me in again.

I'm about to barrel my way through, when my hand is caught by a white glove with long fingers that envelop mine, pulling me flush against the hard body to which it is attached. Before I can think, I'm whisked off into the frenzied waltz. The glove's pair rests steady against the small of my back where the bodice of my sleeveless dress meets the explosion of black feathered tulle at the top of my rear. I gape up at the person leading me and straight into those black eyes, seemingly backlit with something darker than usual.

It's thrilling.

I swallow hard and focus on not tripping, letting the music and the Professor guide me. I can't look away from his eyes as the tension in them grows with the final crescendo of the waltz. Like a string pulled too tightly, when the song stops, he snaps. A wicked grin tugs at the corner of his unmasked lips and, like he had in the woods, he tugs me out of the ballroom-this time in full view of all the students. But if they noticed, or knew it was the brooding Professor Snape dressed in his opposites dragging me off, I didn't see.

My low heels click loudly and irregular on the flagstone floor in stark contrast to the silent methodical ones of the Professor as he leads me through a twisting series of halls and doors. "Where are we going?"

He says nothing as we cross a threshold I didn't see and barrel down an old set of stone steps. I'm utterly lost, letting all my faith and trust gather where my hand is held by his. The farther he leads me, the more excited I become.

Suddenly we stop near a set of familiar wooden doors to the right, and the one for the stairwell outside his chambers. As he unlocks the door and ushers me inside, I feel slightly afraid. He brought me to his room.

And my frisson of fear is justified by the way the Professor turns to look at me. He slips his hand out of my grip and once again, pulls me against him. He removes his mask-which the silvery wig is attached to-dropping it to our feet in a silky mop and dips his head. I close my eyes, my pulse slamming against my neck. I expect him to kiss me but he doesn't, so I open my eyes. He looks so serious.

"This is what you wanted?" He breathes against my face, a lock of his hair falling over his eye. "From the second we met?"

I take a brief second to think about it, about the way he posed the question as if he was uncertain of my resolve. He wants my consent, but he is giving me one last out. If I say no now, I know I'll never get another chance like this. All those glances and burning desire laced in each of our encounters would be for nothing.

I nod. "Yes."

"Then I hope you are prepared." He crashes his lips to mine, his tongue sweeping inside. I moan, loving the pain of his bite when he pulls back. "I'm not going to be gentle with you."

Instantly, I feel the tug of my zipper being pulled down my back. He steps back and watches as my dress falls into a bunch at my feet. I watch him watch me, a hunger so voracious in his eyes as they wander up my legs to where the black garter belt is clipped into my stockings and onward to the strapless, lace bra in equal black as the garter.

I shiver, feeling sexier than I have in my entire life.

I was finally on display for someone whom I actually wanted to see me this way.

"Do whatever you want." I pant.

He makes some sort of split second decision before I'm scooped up, his hands gripping the back of my thighs hard. I gasp, clasping at the collar of his outfit. Before I can react, He tosses me onto his massive bed. I let out a surprised yelp, bouncing slightly into a sitting position.

"Turn over onto your stomach, Rhetta."

I flush red at the use of my first name, unaccustomed to it and because if I do as he says, I'll be quite vulnerable. Still, I obey, shifting to my knees and turning to lay on my stomach. Not a second later, his gloved hands slip my heels off. They are tossed aside and I curl my toes as I feel those same gloves sample the skin where the stockings expose my thigh and up, over the globe of my rear.

"On your knees." He pats one cheek firmly and I scramble to push up onto all fours.

"Ah!" I scream when I feel him force my legs apart and grip the crotch of the lace panties under the garter. I whip my head around just in time to see unhinged savagery on his face-true to his un-gentle promise. He locks eyes with mine and in one yank, he rips my panties off.

I shudder violently from the sting.

His hands grip my hips, flip me over and yank me to the edge of the bed. I look up as he hovers over my body, positioned between my legs so I can't close them. One hand skims over my belly and up to my chest. He finds the clasp in the center of my bra and snaps it open. The cups fly to the sides and my breasts fall shamelessly out in a slow bounce.

His eyes darken when he sees the way my nipples pucker into tight peaks under his gaze. He takes in every detail, making me feel like the most desirable thing in the world. I can't take it, I need him to touch me.

"Taste them." I bite my lip as I bring my hands up to his, pulling his glove off. "Touch me."

His stare locked with mine, the Professor slips his hand between us and parts my aching sex with his fingers. When he finds me wet, his jaw clenches and that savage control seems to shatter, hanging on by a thread. "I want you to beg."

"Please." My head falls back onto the luxurious bedspread, my hips shifting, searching for friction. I want to beg him, I want to please him. "Professor...please touch me."

I twitch as he finds my most sensitive spot and plunges a finger into me. He hooks and drags it over and over through me as his thumb works it's magic. I've never been touch like this, as if he knows the precise rhythm to move, the right pressure to use. I've never came by anyone's effort but my own. I want to tell him that, but I think he might already know from the way my body is reacting with a mind of it's own. With a groan, his teeth find my nipples and he pulls one into his mouth, sucking hard before moving to the next one. I cry out, my body writhing under his as I shove my hands into his hair and encourage him.

Only seconds later, I can no longer control myself as with one final swipe over my clit, I barrel into an orgasm so intense my vision blurs. My back bows off the bed and the Professor soaks it all in greedily. "Professor!" I collapse down again, my chest heaving.

The Professor stands up, bringing his glistening fingers to his lips. I tremble as he licks my orgasm from them one by one. "You're sweeter than I imagined." He smirks, smacking his lips. "Speechless?"

"You…" I swallow, unsure if I should ask this question because it seems stupid. The man here with me now is a man unrestrained, so unlike the man I'm used to. But the Professor waves me on as he slips his other glove off and begins to unbutton the vest over his tunic. "Have you done this before?"

His hand stops briefly but continues it's path along the many buttons. He avoids my gaze and I wonder if I've ruined the moment, but then he looks at me and I see that the desire there has not diminished. "I've been with one other woman before."

I cock my head to the side. "How are you so...good with your fingers then?"

"It's not practice in this sense," He gestures to my near nudity, the stockings and garter belt all that's left of my clothing-besides my mask. "In my mind, I've thought of a thousand ways to bring you down. with you, only you, can I let it all go."

I swallow, buzzed by his statement. "Did you have much practice with your other partner?" I go to sit up to help him with his buttons, but he pushes me back down with a firm glare. I pout and that amuses him.

"Enough questions." He shucks the vest from his shoulders along with his shirt, revealing pale skin and a tight, toned chest and firm abdomen. I feel a full body clench when I slide my gaze down to where he is straining against his trousers. "I don't need practice to know how to deal with you."

Emboldened, I blink innocently at him. "And how are you going to do that?"

Heat courses through me when, without any hesitation, the Professor whips his belt off, wraps the leather around his fist and frees himself from his pants. The bright white slacks fall from his hips and I gape when I see that he is completely bare beneath them. He was prepared.

I imagine, if he had cornered me in a hall instead of bringing me here, he might have ravaged me against the wall without removing a scrap of our clothing-but still destroying my panties probably.

I feel my eyes widen when they land on the thing I've fantasized about for a long time. An impressive sight, and capped with dark hair, he grips the base of his cock and strokes his pale, taut girth softly, his heavy lidded eyes appraising me laid out for him.

I feel beautiful and more aroused than I have in my entire life.

"Look at you there, boneless in my bed." He bends down and retrieves a condom from his trousers, opens it and swiftly sheathes himself. "Are you ready for me to show you how I'm going to deal with you, Miss Howell?"

The sight of his fingers working the condom down engorged shaft has me salivating. I bring my hands to my sex and pet the swatch of neatly trimmed, dark blonde hair above it. His nostrils flare primally, he takes a step forward and plunges deep within me, to my very core. My eyes shoot wide in surprise at how blissfully painful it feels to have him there. A strangled scream escapes my throat as he pulls out and then slams back in.

"I told you." Professor Snape growls, gripping my wrists and pinning them above my head. I feel him work the belt off his hand and secure my wrists with it. I briefly wonder what the point of the belt is, but I like the way it feels to be at his mercy. "Now that you are here, little tease, you are mine."

I tug my wrists apart to test it, the leather biting into my skin, but the belt doesn't budge. "I'm yours, Professor."

Still seated deep within me, he shifts us so that we are near the intricate headboard and hooks the belt to it. His hands slide down the delicate flesh of my under arms, roughly over my breasts to grip the jut of my hip bones. He pulls almost all the way out and slams back in with such force it shakes the heavy bed with an unexpected squeak.

My cry is muffled by the decor in the room and the Professor's lips, but nonetheless loud. With every thrust, I feel more and more helpless, more and more like I belong to him. He angles my hips just right that his cock drags over a spot so far inside me I wouldn't have ever guessed it existed. Over and over, he milks what he wants from my body, giving me everything I ever desired.

"Harder." I beg, sliding my legs up his and wrapping them around his hips so that I can match him thrust for thrust.

"You are a wild one." But the look in his eyes says he is the wild one. Something told me I was fulfilling something inside him by letting have me like this, and it only urged me onward, taking his violence in stride.

I'll have bruises in the morning. I think, and then I fully hope that it's true.

I feel myself coming to the edge again when he presses his hips flush against mine and takes a long drag across my flesh, across that spot inside me too. Once more and I'm spiraling into bliss, my mouth moving unintelligibly. Through my orgasm, I feel him becoming frantic in his movements, losing control as his hands slip over my sweat soaked skin. With a hiss of my name, he pulls from me, rips the condom off, collapses onto one hand to support himself and spurts his climax over my stomach in a hot explosion.

Dazed, I watch the way he strokes every drop from himself, making sure all of it lands somewhere on my skin, painting it...claiming it.

For several extended moments, we both marvel at the rapidly cooling liquid on myself, the way my chest rises and falls and my heart beats a crazy tattoo against my ribs.

Then the heady charged atmosphere fades. The Professor doesn't meet my eyes as he silently unhooks the belt and rubs the blood back into my hands and wrists. I feel apprehension creep into my shaking body. I can't move because I'm so spent and I feel like he might abandon me now.

I'm totally lost. I blink, seeing a dark and empty room expanding around me, the Professor gone, footsteps echoing around me off the high walls. Strangely, I smell the sterile scent of a hospital before I crash back into his scent and the vivid glimpse into whatever that was fades.

Surprisingly, the Professor smiles down at me, guarded, before he lifts me bridal-style into his arms and carries me to his bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I relax and remind myself that everything is fine. I'm with Professor Snape, I trust him.

But I can't shake the feeling that something strange is going on.

And this time, I have to hold on to it.