/N For entertainment only, no profit being made. For those curious about such things, the Headmaster is Snape and the wife is Hermione. So obviously this piece is taking place well in the future ;) Inspired by the "Lust" challenge at the 30minutefics group at Livejournal--go check it out, it's fantastic! Oh, and if anyone knows of other stories featuring Phineas, please let me know. I'd love to read them.
If one wanted to be completely honest, it wasn't lust per say, rather, the memory of lust. He was left with few genuine feelings nowadays, certainly few as associated with physicality as lust. But Slytherin House did not hold too highly with honesty, and Phineas was a consummate Slytherin. With a most excellent memory.
She came to the Headmaster's Office quite often. Well, she had done that even as a student. But as the wife of the current Headmaster, she was there a madding amount. Arguing, reading, laughing, teasing. And the painting reacted the same way as the man, with indignation, respect, amusement, annoyance. Desire. Perhaps it was simply some unexpected side effect of the painter's magic--the Headmaster's own emotions bleeding over into the painting. Phineas gave a mental shudder at the thought of sharing feelings with any of the recently ended plague of Gryffindor Headmasters and Mistresses. Fortunately, he hadn't noticed the phenomena before, so perhaps it was something new. Perhaps he was simply so attuned to this particular Headmaster who was so like himself that it was only natural they should have the same taste in women. He rolled his eyes. As if a Slytherin desiring a Gryffindor could ever been seen as natural.
He'd tried dropping snide comments. "If you're going to follow her advice on every tiny point you should just hand over the office and be done with it." "Marrying a Gryffindor has to be one of the most ridiculous notions ever to enter your head. And considering some of your past choices, that is saying something." The Headmaster would simply smile in that droll way, so reminiscent of his own expression, and reply, "Why Phineas, if I didn't know better, I might think you were jealous of me. But would a true Slytherin ever fancy a know-it-all, muggle-born, Gryffindor?"
Jealous. Oh, yes, he was most certainly jealous. He had thought it would be better with a fellow house mate to commiserate with over the duties of office. A Headmaster without those blasted lemon drops and notions about bravery. A Headmaster who could properly reshape Slytherin House after the disasters of the war. But instead their similarities made it much worst. The life he was watching and advising was very much the life he wanted. The freedom to walk beyond five rooms. The freedom to retreat to isolation or to seek out company. The freedom to feel a girl's hand on his arm. His desire for the power of form was manifesting itself in the desire for the wife, he told himself clinically.
He was shaken out of his reverie by the sudden appearance of said wife. She stood in front of the desk, hands on her hips, head cocked back slightly to look her much taller husband in the eye. "Are you ever going to come to bed? I've been waiting for you for the past three-quarters of an hour and I don't intend to wait any longer."
"I am certain you will punish me properly for my neglect," the smooth voice replied.
"That is certainly my plan," she retorted with a grin.
"I confess an utmost curiosity in the details of your plan." He placed a hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the door.
And Phineas closed his eyes, and remembered.