Chapter Title from "Storms" by Fleetwood Mac. MA - smut warning

The door to the dungeons slammed with a massive bang, causing Rhiannon's Aguamenti spell to release water more like a spraying elephant rather than the controlled pour she had intended. The spray soaked the bouquet of narcissus she had transfigured in her earlier "boomerang to bouquet" lesson, leaving her lovely blooms in a wilted heap.

She looked up to see Severus fluttering in like an angry bat. He poured himself a glass of firewhisky and immediately plunked down with it by the fireplace, after hastily removing his teaching robe. Rhiannon glanced at the clock on the mantle.

"I suppose it's five o'clock somewhere?" she asked with an attempt at lightheartedness. Snape responded with a grunt.

Rhiannon closed her Charms text and stood, smoothing the thin, flowing white dress she had chosen to wear that day. It was her favorite, with large bell sleeves that fell to her elbow. She had placed one of the white narcissus blooms in her hair before they were destroyed. It was a look somewhat like a wood nymph — probably a bit silly— but she could imagine herself strolling to the Forbidden Forest and having a dance among the trees. Today was her birthday, and she wanted to at least feel beautiful and free, even if she wasn't.

"Are you all right, Severus?" she asked tentatively. It wasn't like him to come "home" during the middle of a school day. Most days she didn't even see him in the morning— usually only after dinner, and only for a bit before he had to make rounds and ensure the students minded their curfew. They usually worked late into the night, beginning with defensive spells, while at their sharpest, then either reading together by the fire or brewing a potion. Rhiannon found that she enjoyed either option; he would sometimes read to her, in that mesmerizing voice, if it was a text they were to discuss together. If not, they both would study their respective material, Rhiannon often finding herself looking up to watch the way the shadows danced on the harsh, concentrated countenance he wore; she could see the wheels turning in his mind as he absorbed and synthesized what he read.

Of course if he chose to work on Potions on any given night, a thrill would instantly shoot through her, and Rhiannon would try to control her eagerness as she sprang to the tiny brewing room. Never in a million years would she have imagined finding Potions exciting, but never would she have expected to complete a brew quite literally in the arms of a dark, brooding Potions Master, his voice vibrating in her ear as he directed and critiqued her work. His earthy scent filling her senses, the warmth radiating from his body— to a normal person it might be extremely distracting— but to her, it lulled her into a state of calm, focus, submission. Somehow he knew, almost from the beginning, how to reach her.

But it wasn't love. Attraction, infatuation, mystery — appreciation for him empowering her to be better. But not what she felt for Sirius Black. Sirius weighed on her heart in the background of her every thought. Wondering if he was ok, if he missed her, what it would be like to be with him again. Dreaming of seeing the world with him, holding his hand, hearing his laugh, watching his soft blue eyes sparkle. What she felt for the two wizards was so completely different that her mind almost felt justified in feeling both, although the she knew the end game would have to be one or the other. And it would be Sirius. It had to be. But that didn't erase the fact that every touch of Severus's hand, every low utterance of a word, every tingle he sent through her was like a drug she couldn't quit.

Rhiannon realized he'd never answered her, instead just staring into the flames. She walked over and laid her hands on his shoulders, massaging him gently. He promptly shrugged her off.

"Stop!"

"Severus Snape, let me take care of you. You're obviously under stress." Her hands returned and he shrugged her away again.

"I'm your teacher."

"Yes, and you touch me all the time. During lessons. Your point?"

"That's a method. To get you to pay attention."

Rhiannon laughed. "Pretty sure you might end up in Azkaban with teaching methods like those."

"I would never touch a student."

She smiled and leaned near his ear, resuming the massage. "See? You admit I'm not a student. Then you're not my teacher, by default. So let me help you relax."

Snape opened his mouth to protest again but Rhiannon covered it with her hand. She shivered a bit at the brief feel of his lips on her skin. She could only imagine the tremors that would course through her if his lips were to really touch her.

"Shhh, just relax," she commanded him. Her hands traveled from his shoulders to his neck, moving his long hair aside to work on the tension she found knotted there.

Severus reached for his wand with an Accio - and a potion bottle flew into his hand from a cabinet on the wall. "Use this," he muttered.

"Your collar is too high— take off your jacket or it will get ruined."

He looked back at her with a frown but obeyed. Rhiannon drew in a breath of anticipation. She had never seen him without the buttoned frock. Left with only his white button-up shirt he looked different— more relaxed, but also more fragile. She took the liberty of releasing the top three buttons to loosen the collar a bit, to better reach the skin of his neck. She applied the oil he had summoned to her hands, rubbing them together to smell frankincense, peppermint, and lavender. Slowly Rhiannon worked them into his neck, smoothing her hands down to his shoulders and back. His pale skin was warmer than one would imagine based on appearance, and the muscles of his neck and shoulders were strong— and very tense. She heard him give a low grunt and she knew his eyes were closed under that curtain of black hair.

Rhiannon placed a hand gently on his forehead and coaxed him to lean back, rubbing what was left of the oil onto his forehead and temples. His eyes remained close and she ran her thumb over the contours of his face, which were etched with years of stress and strain.

"Does that feel good?" she asked.

Snape opened one eye. ""Do you want me to grade you, Miss Aspenfell?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed. "A simple yes/no will be fine."

He straightened back up in the chair and stood, re-buttoning the top of his white collar. "Yes, thank you. Now I believe you have Arithmancy still, yes? I see the book has not left the shelf today."

Rhiannon nodded, a little disappointed to see him buttoning back up. She stopped his hand as he reached for the black jacket, surprised at her own movement.

"Are you leaving?" she asked.

"I have a class in 45 minutes. I only came down because Umbridge decided to observe my last class and interrogate and undermine me in front of my students. I thought it best to come down here and quell any murderous urges before returning to the classroom," he said dryly.

"Well, are they quelled?" Rhiannon asked, holding the jacket to assist him as he shrugged into it.

"The murderous urges, yes," Severus replied tightly. Her heart skipped. She noticed his eyes roaming up and down her white dress as he worked to fasten his tiny black buttons one by one. She bit her lip and dared to look down below the last button at the bulge that had formed in his trousers. Just like that day he'd pinned her to the wall at Grimmauld Place, she felt her own desire rush down instantly. She wondered how he'd react if she just laid down on the sofa and spread her legs, but before she could move he disappeared to his bedroom with the door clicking behind him.

Rhiannon gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. She knew she could just go to her own bedroom and do the same, but she was losing patience with that alternative. It was like throwing droplets of water on a raging fire. She marched to his door and knocked rapidly.

"Severus?"

No answer.

"Severus, please?" She knew her voice sounded pained, but she was. Intensely so.

To her shock the door opened, only a crack, only his head and arm visible as he handed her a small vial.

"Use this," he told her, his black eyes surveying her up and down once more. "It will help."

"But I —..." The door slammed shut again.

She removed the dropper from the bottle he gave her and examined the liquid inside. It was a deep ruby red and smelled of jasmine, vanilla, dark berries, and an elaborate mix of things she couldn't quite place. And what to do with it exactly? It was a bit strange for him to give a potion with no instructions; he was usually so precise. Was it meant to eradicate desires? If so, Rhiannon wished she had known about it a long time ago. It probably would have saved her from quite a few poor choices.

She carefully placed a drop on her forearm for a quick test, not sure if it was topical or ingestible. After rubbing it in gentle circles for a few seconds she realized that erasing desire wasn't its intended purpose at all. The potion caused an instant heat to spread, heightening the sensitivity of her nerve endings on the arm where she'd placed it.

What the actual fuck? she thought. Snape had given her a potion to make her more turned on? Rhiannon realized quickly his true intent. It was to help her more easily reach full satisfaction on her own. Rather than be thankful, she was just angry. That was his solution for what they felt between them? Throw potions at the problem and hope it went away?

Indignantly, she slipped onto the cool leather of the sofa just outside of Snape's bedroom door rather than opting for her own room. Although she was certain he had cast a Muffliato over his own space to keep her from hearing anything, she would not be returning the favor. And if he happened to enter the living room on his way to class, then so be it. He could push her away, but he damn well was going to see, and hear, what he was pushing.

It didn't even take twenty seconds for her to realize this was no normal aphrodisiac Snape had given her. Upon applying the oil Rhiannon quickly removed her hand, shocked not just at the sensation but at the actual presence of Severus, still dressed and there with her on the sofa, his head buried between her legs, his nose, lips, and tongue working in exquisite combination. She gasped and threw her head back, completely overtaken.

Actual presence? No, it couldn't be. It was not imagined...but also not real. She saw him, she felt him— god, did she ever feel him— the man was truly gifted with his mouth. Her breath started coming in fitful bursts, and waves of heat coursed through her. Her body was absolutely certain he was there, her hands now tangled in the long black hair that tickled her thighs, but the back of her mind knew it was an illusion. He had never emerged from behind the heavy wooden door with its unyielding iron lock.

Rhiannon's mind was grasping at both facts and feelings, trying to gain understanding of what was happening to her, but she was spinning out of control at the same time.

You're imagining things...imagining it all. Imagine Sirius. Yes, change it...now. She opened her eyes to still see Severus there, straight black hair dark against the pale white of her dress, his face awash in pure pleasure as he tasted her. She couldn't change the fantasy. It was unequivocally him— real but not real. How? She couldn't think anymore. Couldn't question. All she could do was ride the burning inferno mounting inside her.

"Severus!" she screamed breathlessly, not the least bit ashamed if he heard. He had to know what he was doing to her. Her body had been rigid, rising up to meet him, and now she sunk back into the cool leather, aware of every muscle as it relaxed and brought her back into the realm of normal. She was keenly aware of her heartbeat and breath, the intricate colors of the stone ceiling tiles above her, the crackling of each flame in the fireplace. It was if she was slowly being reintroduced to real senses as opposed to whatever plane of existence she had just been a part of for the past few minutes. Of course Severus was gone — he had been the moment she hit her peak, leaving her to come down on her own. Rhiannon glanced at the door— still shut— then at the open bottle on the table. She promptly put the stopper back in. Whatever it was, it was precious— and terrible. It shouldn't be spilled or squandered.

Rhiannon awaited Snape's exit with anticipation, though she had no idea how to even look at him now. Did he know everything somehow? She shuddered a little thinking of the sheer amount of magic something like that entailed. For the first time she was understanding the depth of power Severus wielded as a wizard. Even if he hadn't created it, just executing it alone would be far beyond the ability of most. It couldn't be just a potion— it had to have spell work woven into it as well— complex enchantments. It was Dark— or was it? Most witches and wizards would consider it so, and it frightened her. But at the same time mesmerized her.

She jumped when she heard the click of the door. Severus was in his teaching robes, securely buttoned to the top, hair combed, looking as if nothing had happened. Had it? Rhiannon truly didn't know. He handed her a tattered red book, open to a fancy lettered page with a drawing of a nude woman dancing out of a cauldron.

"Study the potion while I am gone this afternoon," he instructed her. "We will be making more tomorrow night."

Rhiannon found herself back in the shaking and stuttering state she had been in during their encounters at Grimmauld Place. "W-what about tonight?"

"We are not working tonight," he responded silkily. "And we will dine together."

Rhiannon's stomach fluttered and she tried not to let her expression give away her excitement. "What are we doing?"

"Well, I imagine we will be eating. That's what one normally does when dining together, yes?" He arched an eyebrow at her before heading towards his office and classroom.

"And Miss Aspenfell?" He turned back slightly.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do not change your clothes. I find I'm rather fond of the dress." He made a point to lick his lips just slightly before exiting.

Rhiannon felt a rush of color to her cheeks and she couldn't help but let a small squeal of excitement escape. Many men had yearned for her over the years, but she never wanted anyone's desire like she wanted Severus Snape's. Maybe because he withheld it so well, maybe because his power as a wizard was nearly unmatched, maybe because of the indescribable connection she'd felt to him since she first opened her eyes to his after waking from the Cruciatus curse. To have him finally admit the slightest bit of attraction validated her like nothing ever had before. She looked to the clock on the mantle and counted the hours until he would return. Somehow she would have to focus on her studies for three more hours and resist the urge to imagine what might transpire between them that evening.

Recalling the book Severus had handed her, she turned her attention to her assignment for tomorrow.

Eros Absentia - a complex mix of potion and spells by which one may couple with their desired lover when circumstances may not otherwise allow, be it due to distance, forbidden love, other relationship commitments, or similar seemingly insurmountable obstacles. To be effective, the potion must be brewed precisely with zero error, and both parties must be willing participants in the execution of the spell. One participant acts as the Authority— mentally specifying the act that will take place (through spellcasting) and maintaining the willpower needed to sustain the vision through completion. The other participant (the Supplicant) willingly agrees to clear the mind and receive the vision put forth by the Authority. This agreement can be as simple a declaration as a fervent "please", where the desire is clear. Both the Authority and the Supplicant must apply the Eros Absentia potion to activate the spell, and it is essential that the potions used by both are taken from the same batch of brew. Effects are more powerful if both parties are involved in the creation of the brew. Physical distance does not seem to impact the intensity of the spell, with records of successful casting occurring up to 800 miles apart as of the time of this writing, so long as the potion component is crafted according to the careful prescriptions set forth in this text.

While an observer of the Eros Absentia may describe its effects as sinister in appearance (one would only be able to see the movements and hear the sounds of one of the participants, thus making it appear as if the participant is coupling with a spirit), the mutual consent of the spell removes many of the aspects traditionally ascribed to Dark sexual magic. However it must be remembered that the actions conjured, while pleasurable and arguably preferable to forced abstinence completely, are in fact illusions; the realization of such, often as immediate as the moments following climax, can have the unwanted side effects of depression and compounded frustration, giving way to desires more intense than those the spell was originally designed to eradicate in the first place. Care should be taken to consider this fact before experimenting with Eros Absentia.

Rhiannon flipped to the front cover of the book, the title of which was "Black Magic Spells of the Americas". It made sense that a spell such as this would be born out the puritanical culture that seemed to sweep so much of her homeland. She wondered how many young lovers had sought refuge in the enchantment after being forbidden by parents, churches, or society at large from indulging their feelings for one another.

She wondered how Severus had stumbled upon the book. Sirius had warned her that the Slytherin had arrived at Hogwarts armed with more knowledge of dark magic than most seventh year students. And of course he was a high-ranking servant to the her father for years and still acted in his stead; his knowledge of the Dark Arts must be varied and vast. Instead of terrifying her, the prospect elated her far more than it should. The feeling he had just given her, as her "Authority," the powerful trembling he had caused her whenever he visited the Order, and the delicious rush she felt during their potion-making — was it so different than her love for Sirius because it was actually an attraction to Snape's darkness? Was it ingrained in her very cells, this insatiable pull to embrace the dangerous and the unknown?

Rhiannon knew the answer was yes. Half of her belonged to the Dark Lord. His blood was hers. What on earth did this say about her?

It says you're a Thunderbird. Free as the wind. No, Rhiannon, you ARE the wind. You always have been, blowing in the direction your spirit wills.

It wasn't light or dark by intent, only by interpretation of those in the path of the storm. She wondered if her father often felt the same.