Author's Notes: I'll be perfectly honest with you -- I'm getting tired of
fan fiction. I don't read it anymore, I don't write it anymore . . . I've
even losing interest in Harry Potter. I only went to go see "Chamber of
Secrets" seven times in theater which was incredibly disappointing. I can't
promise that these pieces will be finished (Although I'm rather fond of
"Szajha").
VI. Integrity
"Are you concerned about what the other Debutantes think of you?" Severus asks. We lie in bed together, watching a candle flicker tempestuously in the early morning draft. It spits at the ceiling and then recoils, hovering around the wick -- the center, the foundation.
"Yes," I reply, hesitantly. "Sometimes I worry."
My hair is coiled up tightly into pin curls. I fidget with one of the copper-plated pins -- Pulling it halfway out and then easing it back in.
"You're different than they are," Severus comments. "They're children, still burdened with the resentment of children." He idly pulls one of the pins out and watches a resilient curl fall into place. "You can't wallow in the tragedy of servitude. You accept your role -- That's the reason why you aren't fully accepted by the other Debutantes."
"I suppose," I sigh, leaning back against the headboard. "Tell me, what are we going to be working on today?"
"Today is reserved for relaxation," Severus remarks, plucking a few more pins out of my hair and setting them on the bedside table. "I'm arranging for refreshments to be brought up at around one o'clock in the afternoon. At three, Mattox will be coordinating the garments for the Bacchanalia." I grimace at the name -- "Mattox" -- and Severus laughs. "I know he's slightly off-putting at first but you'll grow accustomed to the Venustians. The evening, of course, is reserved for additional training."
I don't need to ask what Severus means by "additional training."
"I suppose it's time for a summons," Severus sighs reluctantly. He pulls on the braided cord hanging above the divan. A bell can be heard, clanging cumbersomely outside in the corridors. The door is flung open and Ron Weasley, brilliantly inflamed, strides into the room. He appears more riled than usual this morning. The rest of the Debutantes follow, somewhat cowed by Ron's passion.
Severus watches the procession with interest.
When the Debutantes are all settled, Severus begins: "There will be refreshments at one o'clock. Until then, converse amongst yourselves."
"Is that it then?" Seamus asks. "No training today?"
"A little later, Mister Finnigan," Severus replies. "A little later."
He extracts the final pin and tucks it away in a pocket.
*****
"Stylish," Ron huffs. He pulls one of my curls straight -- As if the dissolution of those ringlets could end this entire ordeal. The curl rebounds in its taunting nature. "So is this what you two do together at night?"
I would have to be deaf to miss the suspicion in Ron's tone.
"Ron, I don't know what you're thinking but . . ."
"I think you know perfectly well what I'm thinking -- What all of us have been thinking." Ron signals to the other Debutantes who bow their heads in silent agreement. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with Snape lately. And we've been thinking that . . ."
"Ron." I cut him off mid-sentence, not wanting to hear the rest of this tirade. "Ron, you need to understand what's happening to us."
"I understand perfectly well what's happening to us," Ron snaps impatiently. "I also know that you're adjusting quite well to this entire scenario, aren't you? You're refusing to even put up a fight! Where's the Harry Potter I know? Where's the savior of the wizarding world?"
"You can go on about this as long as you'd like, Ron, but we're not children playing on the front-line anymore," I declare. "We're prisoners of war."
Ron's eyes widen -- Cobalt rings around pitch. He's never thought of it in that light before -- not really. I can tell.
"Think of it this way, Ron: We've been captured by an enemy wizard -- Lord Voldemort. If we can successfully reinstate ourselves into the system as Debutantes, we will survive. If we fail and displease Voldemort, it would be all too simple to dispose of us. The savior of the wizarding world will go up in a puff of green light with the rest of you." I pause for a moment before continuing: "This is a life-or-death situation, Ron. Don't treat it like pittance."
Silence falls over the room for a moment while the rest of the Debutantes consider my words. As a last minute attempt at regaining his integrity, Ron snidely comments, "That's no reason to spend so much time with Snape."
No one pays any attention to him.
Severus Snape sits in the corner of the room, sipping on sweet brandy-wine and watching us carefully. Every so often, he'll jot down a quick note on a slip of parchment. He's like a researcher, observing specimens plopped onto microscope slide. I fleetingly wonder what kind of notes he's taking . . .
A sharp knock on the door interrupts my train of thought.
"Come in, Aquarius," Severus calls and the boy nudges the door open. He balances a tray of malted beverages in one hand and an arrangement of chocolates in the other. He sets the refreshments down on the table (which sits in the middle of the room) and wipes his palms on the front of his tunic, smudging white drippings against the fabric.
"Szajha, Mattox will arrive promptly at three."
The distaste invoked by the name "Mattox" is practically palpable. Even Neville Longbottom crinkles his nose and twists the fabric of his skirt in his fists. Aquarius smirks, remembering the Debutantes' first encounter with the Venustians, and bows deeply before the Szajha. Severus dismisses him with a nonchalant wave of his hand.
"Refreshments are served."
*****
Mattox arrives promptly at three, as promised. A horde of Venustians accompany him, weighed down with masses of silks and velveteen. The boy bows hastily to the Szajha, anxious to begin working on the awaiting Debutantes.
"A pleasure as always, Szajha," he trills. "There is no greater joy than creating the gowns for the Cockatrice Bacchanalia, let me assure you." We grimace collectively. He rises and begins to inspect us thoroughly -- taking note of where our assets need to be complimented and where our flaws need to be hidden from sight. He snaps his fingers and one of the Venustians hands him a blank scroll. Immediately, Mattox begins sketching out designs. He begins with Justin Finch-Fletchley.
"Try the neutral wool -- We need something that will fill him out yet will give him a streamlined shape." One of the Venustians holds up a piece of bleached wool in front of the young Hufflepuff and Mattox steps back, admiring the selection. "That will do. We'll use a silk chemise and then the overcoat will be made of the neutral wool. Make the overcoat in a classic empire style -- gathered at the waist, flared at the bottom. You know the type. Whoever is in charge of decorative designs, take note --" Another Venustian, the one in charge of decorative designs, pulls out a scrap of parchment and begins taking dictation. "I want something that will emphasize his virtue. This one's virtuous, isn't he, Szajha?"
"Well, they're all virtuous," Severus replies, lighting yet another cigarette and taking a long drag. He looks so divinely debauched like that -- All carmine lips and half-lidded eyes. "But this one is exceptionally sweet, yes."
"So we want a design that will stress his purity. Perhaps flowers . . . Yes, something like white roses trailing down the back of the overcoat, onto the train. You can do that with pearls and cross-stitching, can't you?" The Venustian nods -- yes. "Wonderful. On the front lapels, I want solid beading -- Pearls again, maybe a diamond interspersed here and there to add that sense of glamour." The Venustian nods in agreement. "Next."
And Justin Finch-Fletchley is pushed to the back as Colin Creevey shyly takes his place.
They continue on like that for a while -- Mattox barking directions while the other Venustians take careful notes, nodding their heads at the appropriate moments. Colin Creevey is deemed "too petite" and Neville Longbottom is "far too plump" (and, to compliment his "plumpness", Neville is forced to wear somber brown -- a fabric that somewhat resembles a burlap bag). Ron is designated as the "fiery" one and put in the traditional Gryffindor colors -- Red and gold. Seamus is "forgettable" and dressed accordingly.
"Hm, Harry Potter."
And it's finally my turn. Mattox walks around me -- rubbing his chin with the pad of his thumb. He circles around a few times, like a bird eyeing his prey. I fidget uncomfortably. He finally ceases his pacing and simply stares.
"You're the most beautiful by far," Mattox frowns, as if this were something negative. "Green bodice -- Laces going up the front." Something about Mattox seems much more hesitant now than when he began.
"What should the color of the laces be?" one of the Venustians inquires, pen poised over parchment.
"Black. We'll try a color scheme of green and black and see how that works out." Mattox picks up another scroll and begins sketching some tentative designs. "I want a full gown -- No train, cape attached to the shoulders of the bodice though. I want everything to be simple. No flourishes or gemstones -- He doesn't need them . . ." And Mattox just stands there for a moment, reveling in the task of outfitting me. I feel like something displayed in a shop window, being eyed by a passing pedestrian. For the first time, I understand what it feels like to be "the centerpiece of empires."
"Yes, that should do nicely."
*****
"I said once before that you would have to be especially well-learned in the art of sexual gratification. With the Cockatrice Bacchanalia only five days away, it is necessary to begin your training." Severus is perched in front of his vanity again -- How many times have I watched him looking at himself, seeing all of the parts but none of the whole? The eyes, the lips, the cheeks . . . Never the complete picture though. I sit nearby, worshipping his carefully-crafted beauty.
"Oh bloody hell," Ron groans, not bothering to hide his distaste. Neville looks at though he's going to bury himself under the carpet. Instead, he huddles up into a little ball, hiding his face in the folds of his skirt.
"Harry," Severus murmurs, holding out his hand. I don't hesitate -- I rise from my seat on the carpeted floor and I go to him. My erection presses against the fabric of my gown, making my arousal known to the world.
I remind myself to wear a fuller skirt in the future.
I immediately know what is desired of me. I sink to my knees before Severus, my Szajha, and I begin unbuttoning his robes. There's a stir of whispers from behind me. I can only make out bits and pieces of the comments but I can tell that the other Debutantes are shocked by my conduct. Apparently, I'm supposed to be proud and noble, refusing bitterly to have any part in this activity. Instead, I willing debase myself before the Szajha. I prostrate myself before him. I seek out ways to pleasure him.
I feel no shame.
I fold the fabric over, revealing his calves, his thighs, his cock . . . The silver ring latched onto his foreskin shimmers languidly in the candelight. I run my tongue over my lower lip subconsciously. "Severus." The word is hissed, syllables escaping between my teeth. I feel the palm of his hand press against the back of my scalp, twining his fingers into my curls.
I take the flesh of his thigh between my teeth and bite gently -- just hard enough to mark. His hand tightens around the cowl of my robe and he pulls me forward so that my lips are almost touching his cock. I take a deep breath, trying to force myself to relax. Then I lean forward and begin taking the entire length into my mouth and . . . I choke. I pull back -- gagging and wretching, rubbing the top of my neck with my fingers.
"Honestly, Harry," Severus sighs, obviously disappointed. "Well, I suppose this is why we're having these sessions after all. Look, you don't have to take everything into your mouth at once . . ."
"Bloody hell, I don't believe I'm hearing this from my Potions Professor," Ron exclaims, slapping his hands over his ears.
Severus glares at the insolent student before continuing. "Tease slightly -- not to the point of discouragement, simply to make the experience more interesting. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I cough. "Can I have a moment to catch my breath then?"
"Come here," Severus nods, patting his thigh. I slowly rise from my position on the floor and sit on the offered knee, wrapping my arms around his slender frame. He looks at the Debutantes, contemplating for a moment, and then he asks me: "If you could have any one of them, which one would you choose?"
I look at him blankly for a few seconds and then, it dawns on me. I blush -- bright crimson, all over my face.
"Well, um, I suppose . . ." I stare at the floor, not wanting to look any of the Debutantes in the eye at this moment. "Well, I really can't say then -- Never really thought about it . . . Um, maybe Ron?"
"Oh, now I am definitely not hearing this," Ron shouts, leaping to his feet and preparing to exit the room.
"Mister Weasley," Severus snaps and Ron halts abruptly. "He's not saying that you're his first choice among men, you know. He's simply prefers you to Neville Longbottom. You should think of this as a compliment instead of an insult."
"No," Ron proclaims. "He's my best friend and I should think of this as simply weird."
I can hear the shuffle of Ron's slippered feet as he walks across the floor, the rusty creak of the door on its hinges, and . . .
"Imperio."
I look up, startled by the spell. Severus sits there, eyes tightly closed in concentration. His hand is extended towards Ron -- pointing almost as a wand might. And I think we're all somewhat surprised when Ron ceases all movement and waits for the first command.
"Mister Weasley, come over here immediately."
Ron straggles over to Severus' bed, standing before the Szajha.
"You don't even have a wand," I mutter. "You're doing all of this without a wand."
"Debutantes aren't allowed wands," Severus states simply, finally opening his eyes and staring at the results of his work. "I'm not allowed a wand either. However, anything that can be done with a wand, can also be done without. It's simply more difficult. But don't tell any of the Death Eaters that . . ." Severus' lips arch up in a tight smile and I understand: They all think their doting Szajha is powerless. "Now, Mister Weasley, get onto the bed."
Ron shakes his head -- "no" -- but proceeds to climb onto the bed, resting his head on one of the down pillows. I know what's expected of me.
"I won't take advantage of him," I whisper to Severus, making sure that Ron and the other Debutantes don't hear.
"I'm not expecting you to."
VI. Integrity
"Are you concerned about what the other Debutantes think of you?" Severus asks. We lie in bed together, watching a candle flicker tempestuously in the early morning draft. It spits at the ceiling and then recoils, hovering around the wick -- the center, the foundation.
"Yes," I reply, hesitantly. "Sometimes I worry."
My hair is coiled up tightly into pin curls. I fidget with one of the copper-plated pins -- Pulling it halfway out and then easing it back in.
"You're different than they are," Severus comments. "They're children, still burdened with the resentment of children." He idly pulls one of the pins out and watches a resilient curl fall into place. "You can't wallow in the tragedy of servitude. You accept your role -- That's the reason why you aren't fully accepted by the other Debutantes."
"I suppose," I sigh, leaning back against the headboard. "Tell me, what are we going to be working on today?"
"Today is reserved for relaxation," Severus remarks, plucking a few more pins out of my hair and setting them on the bedside table. "I'm arranging for refreshments to be brought up at around one o'clock in the afternoon. At three, Mattox will be coordinating the garments for the Bacchanalia." I grimace at the name -- "Mattox" -- and Severus laughs. "I know he's slightly off-putting at first but you'll grow accustomed to the Venustians. The evening, of course, is reserved for additional training."
I don't need to ask what Severus means by "additional training."
"I suppose it's time for a summons," Severus sighs reluctantly. He pulls on the braided cord hanging above the divan. A bell can be heard, clanging cumbersomely outside in the corridors. The door is flung open and Ron Weasley, brilliantly inflamed, strides into the room. He appears more riled than usual this morning. The rest of the Debutantes follow, somewhat cowed by Ron's passion.
Severus watches the procession with interest.
When the Debutantes are all settled, Severus begins: "There will be refreshments at one o'clock. Until then, converse amongst yourselves."
"Is that it then?" Seamus asks. "No training today?"
"A little later, Mister Finnigan," Severus replies. "A little later."
He extracts the final pin and tucks it away in a pocket.
*****
"Stylish," Ron huffs. He pulls one of my curls straight -- As if the dissolution of those ringlets could end this entire ordeal. The curl rebounds in its taunting nature. "So is this what you two do together at night?"
I would have to be deaf to miss the suspicion in Ron's tone.
"Ron, I don't know what you're thinking but . . ."
"I think you know perfectly well what I'm thinking -- What all of us have been thinking." Ron signals to the other Debutantes who bow their heads in silent agreement. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with Snape lately. And we've been thinking that . . ."
"Ron." I cut him off mid-sentence, not wanting to hear the rest of this tirade. "Ron, you need to understand what's happening to us."
"I understand perfectly well what's happening to us," Ron snaps impatiently. "I also know that you're adjusting quite well to this entire scenario, aren't you? You're refusing to even put up a fight! Where's the Harry Potter I know? Where's the savior of the wizarding world?"
"You can go on about this as long as you'd like, Ron, but we're not children playing on the front-line anymore," I declare. "We're prisoners of war."
Ron's eyes widen -- Cobalt rings around pitch. He's never thought of it in that light before -- not really. I can tell.
"Think of it this way, Ron: We've been captured by an enemy wizard -- Lord Voldemort. If we can successfully reinstate ourselves into the system as Debutantes, we will survive. If we fail and displease Voldemort, it would be all too simple to dispose of us. The savior of the wizarding world will go up in a puff of green light with the rest of you." I pause for a moment before continuing: "This is a life-or-death situation, Ron. Don't treat it like pittance."
Silence falls over the room for a moment while the rest of the Debutantes consider my words. As a last minute attempt at regaining his integrity, Ron snidely comments, "That's no reason to spend so much time with Snape."
No one pays any attention to him.
Severus Snape sits in the corner of the room, sipping on sweet brandy-wine and watching us carefully. Every so often, he'll jot down a quick note on a slip of parchment. He's like a researcher, observing specimens plopped onto microscope slide. I fleetingly wonder what kind of notes he's taking . . .
A sharp knock on the door interrupts my train of thought.
"Come in, Aquarius," Severus calls and the boy nudges the door open. He balances a tray of malted beverages in one hand and an arrangement of chocolates in the other. He sets the refreshments down on the table (which sits in the middle of the room) and wipes his palms on the front of his tunic, smudging white drippings against the fabric.
"Szajha, Mattox will arrive promptly at three."
The distaste invoked by the name "Mattox" is practically palpable. Even Neville Longbottom crinkles his nose and twists the fabric of his skirt in his fists. Aquarius smirks, remembering the Debutantes' first encounter with the Venustians, and bows deeply before the Szajha. Severus dismisses him with a nonchalant wave of his hand.
"Refreshments are served."
*****
Mattox arrives promptly at three, as promised. A horde of Venustians accompany him, weighed down with masses of silks and velveteen. The boy bows hastily to the Szajha, anxious to begin working on the awaiting Debutantes.
"A pleasure as always, Szajha," he trills. "There is no greater joy than creating the gowns for the Cockatrice Bacchanalia, let me assure you." We grimace collectively. He rises and begins to inspect us thoroughly -- taking note of where our assets need to be complimented and where our flaws need to be hidden from sight. He snaps his fingers and one of the Venustians hands him a blank scroll. Immediately, Mattox begins sketching out designs. He begins with Justin Finch-Fletchley.
"Try the neutral wool -- We need something that will fill him out yet will give him a streamlined shape." One of the Venustians holds up a piece of bleached wool in front of the young Hufflepuff and Mattox steps back, admiring the selection. "That will do. We'll use a silk chemise and then the overcoat will be made of the neutral wool. Make the overcoat in a classic empire style -- gathered at the waist, flared at the bottom. You know the type. Whoever is in charge of decorative designs, take note --" Another Venustian, the one in charge of decorative designs, pulls out a scrap of parchment and begins taking dictation. "I want something that will emphasize his virtue. This one's virtuous, isn't he, Szajha?"
"Well, they're all virtuous," Severus replies, lighting yet another cigarette and taking a long drag. He looks so divinely debauched like that -- All carmine lips and half-lidded eyes. "But this one is exceptionally sweet, yes."
"So we want a design that will stress his purity. Perhaps flowers . . . Yes, something like white roses trailing down the back of the overcoat, onto the train. You can do that with pearls and cross-stitching, can't you?" The Venustian nods -- yes. "Wonderful. On the front lapels, I want solid beading -- Pearls again, maybe a diamond interspersed here and there to add that sense of glamour." The Venustian nods in agreement. "Next."
And Justin Finch-Fletchley is pushed to the back as Colin Creevey shyly takes his place.
They continue on like that for a while -- Mattox barking directions while the other Venustians take careful notes, nodding their heads at the appropriate moments. Colin Creevey is deemed "too petite" and Neville Longbottom is "far too plump" (and, to compliment his "plumpness", Neville is forced to wear somber brown -- a fabric that somewhat resembles a burlap bag). Ron is designated as the "fiery" one and put in the traditional Gryffindor colors -- Red and gold. Seamus is "forgettable" and dressed accordingly.
"Hm, Harry Potter."
And it's finally my turn. Mattox walks around me -- rubbing his chin with the pad of his thumb. He circles around a few times, like a bird eyeing his prey. I fidget uncomfortably. He finally ceases his pacing and simply stares.
"You're the most beautiful by far," Mattox frowns, as if this were something negative. "Green bodice -- Laces going up the front." Something about Mattox seems much more hesitant now than when he began.
"What should the color of the laces be?" one of the Venustians inquires, pen poised over parchment.
"Black. We'll try a color scheme of green and black and see how that works out." Mattox picks up another scroll and begins sketching some tentative designs. "I want a full gown -- No train, cape attached to the shoulders of the bodice though. I want everything to be simple. No flourishes or gemstones -- He doesn't need them . . ." And Mattox just stands there for a moment, reveling in the task of outfitting me. I feel like something displayed in a shop window, being eyed by a passing pedestrian. For the first time, I understand what it feels like to be "the centerpiece of empires."
"Yes, that should do nicely."
*****
"I said once before that you would have to be especially well-learned in the art of sexual gratification. With the Cockatrice Bacchanalia only five days away, it is necessary to begin your training." Severus is perched in front of his vanity again -- How many times have I watched him looking at himself, seeing all of the parts but none of the whole? The eyes, the lips, the cheeks . . . Never the complete picture though. I sit nearby, worshipping his carefully-crafted beauty.
"Oh bloody hell," Ron groans, not bothering to hide his distaste. Neville looks at though he's going to bury himself under the carpet. Instead, he huddles up into a little ball, hiding his face in the folds of his skirt.
"Harry," Severus murmurs, holding out his hand. I don't hesitate -- I rise from my seat on the carpeted floor and I go to him. My erection presses against the fabric of my gown, making my arousal known to the world.
I remind myself to wear a fuller skirt in the future.
I immediately know what is desired of me. I sink to my knees before Severus, my Szajha, and I begin unbuttoning his robes. There's a stir of whispers from behind me. I can only make out bits and pieces of the comments but I can tell that the other Debutantes are shocked by my conduct. Apparently, I'm supposed to be proud and noble, refusing bitterly to have any part in this activity. Instead, I willing debase myself before the Szajha. I prostrate myself before him. I seek out ways to pleasure him.
I feel no shame.
I fold the fabric over, revealing his calves, his thighs, his cock . . . The silver ring latched onto his foreskin shimmers languidly in the candelight. I run my tongue over my lower lip subconsciously. "Severus." The word is hissed, syllables escaping between my teeth. I feel the palm of his hand press against the back of my scalp, twining his fingers into my curls.
I take the flesh of his thigh between my teeth and bite gently -- just hard enough to mark. His hand tightens around the cowl of my robe and he pulls me forward so that my lips are almost touching his cock. I take a deep breath, trying to force myself to relax. Then I lean forward and begin taking the entire length into my mouth and . . . I choke. I pull back -- gagging and wretching, rubbing the top of my neck with my fingers.
"Honestly, Harry," Severus sighs, obviously disappointed. "Well, I suppose this is why we're having these sessions after all. Look, you don't have to take everything into your mouth at once . . ."
"Bloody hell, I don't believe I'm hearing this from my Potions Professor," Ron exclaims, slapping his hands over his ears.
Severus glares at the insolent student before continuing. "Tease slightly -- not to the point of discouragement, simply to make the experience more interesting. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I cough. "Can I have a moment to catch my breath then?"
"Come here," Severus nods, patting his thigh. I slowly rise from my position on the floor and sit on the offered knee, wrapping my arms around his slender frame. He looks at the Debutantes, contemplating for a moment, and then he asks me: "If you could have any one of them, which one would you choose?"
I look at him blankly for a few seconds and then, it dawns on me. I blush -- bright crimson, all over my face.
"Well, um, I suppose . . ." I stare at the floor, not wanting to look any of the Debutantes in the eye at this moment. "Well, I really can't say then -- Never really thought about it . . . Um, maybe Ron?"
"Oh, now I am definitely not hearing this," Ron shouts, leaping to his feet and preparing to exit the room.
"Mister Weasley," Severus snaps and Ron halts abruptly. "He's not saying that you're his first choice among men, you know. He's simply prefers you to Neville Longbottom. You should think of this as a compliment instead of an insult."
"No," Ron proclaims. "He's my best friend and I should think of this as simply weird."
I can hear the shuffle of Ron's slippered feet as he walks across the floor, the rusty creak of the door on its hinges, and . . .
"Imperio."
I look up, startled by the spell. Severus sits there, eyes tightly closed in concentration. His hand is extended towards Ron -- pointing almost as a wand might. And I think we're all somewhat surprised when Ron ceases all movement and waits for the first command.
"Mister Weasley, come over here immediately."
Ron straggles over to Severus' bed, standing before the Szajha.
"You don't even have a wand," I mutter. "You're doing all of this without a wand."
"Debutantes aren't allowed wands," Severus states simply, finally opening his eyes and staring at the results of his work. "I'm not allowed a wand either. However, anything that can be done with a wand, can also be done without. It's simply more difficult. But don't tell any of the Death Eaters that . . ." Severus' lips arch up in a tight smile and I understand: They all think their doting Szajha is powerless. "Now, Mister Weasley, get onto the bed."
Ron shakes his head -- "no" -- but proceeds to climb onto the bed, resting his head on one of the down pillows. I know what's expected of me.
"I won't take advantage of him," I whisper to Severus, making sure that Ron and the other Debutantes don't hear.
"I'm not expecting you to."