Potions: What would a Girl Do without It?
By Slave4Severus
Disclaimer: I still do not own any of J.K.R. characters. Even though I wish I did.
Author's Note: If you can't remember the interesting dream Alanna had in chapter 14, I would advise to read that section over. Happy reading!
Five day old kippers.
Alanna tried to hold her breath while walking down the second floor hall for her detention that evening. She had been so furious after being evicted from her potions lesson that she marched directly toward the entrance hall and out into the fresh air. After an invigorating walk by the shores of the lake, she sat beneath a large oak tree, gazing absentmindedly over its rippling waters.
What had gotten into her? She had never been disrespectful to an authority figure before, but somehow the Potions Master brought out the worst in her.
And the best.
The small voice in her head whispered saucily. She cradled her head between her hands and rubbed her eyes furiously. This was turning out to be too much to bear. Not only were her hormones raging after their five-year dormancy, but also her body seemed to crave the attentions of a man. Any man, it seemed.
To top it all off she was alone. They had not even given her the proof she needed to bury her parents properly; and her blasted memory loss was not helping either!
She had risen from her spot and returned to a waiting Headmaster who had silently been waiting for her arrival only twenty feet behind her; her eyes met his wizened blue ones, realizing that her last attempt at leaving had made the man cautious. Escaping again would be tricky.
Dinner was another uncomfortable ordeal. Most of her housemates were torn between admiration for 'telling off the greasy old bat' and being miffed over the loss of house points. After Hermione had explained to her how the point system worked, she was tempted to roll her eyes in exasperation. The professors could not keep order amongst the students and thus created a system of rewards and punishments that were positively reinforced with a 'cup' at the end of the year that all the students vied for, creating a bloodthirsty animosity between the houses. Need she think more?
She ate the rest of her dinner in silence not wanting to look at the staff table where Professor Insufferable-and-Sexy graced the last chair. When the hour of her detention grew near she formally excused herself from the Gryffindor table and briskly walked out the door, numerous sets of eyes following her.
Before Alanna realized her predicament as to where this 'Mr. Filch' resided she heard Ginny call out to her beyond the double doors.
"Wait up, Alanna!"
She turned and watched the redhead run the short distance, catching up to her at the base of the staircase. They had made their way to the second floor, Ginny prattling on about Mr. Filch's unsanitary habits, usual punishments, and overall bad temper. At the mouth of the hallway leading to his office, she gave Alanna's arm a reassuring squeeze.
"Don't let him know that you detest the work. He will only ream you harder," she smiled encouragingly and pushed her toward the darkened hall.
'Ream?'
As she walked a few paces, a pungent smell hit her with a force of a thousand bricks.
Five-day-old kippers. Absolutely disgusting.
Alanna straightened her spine as she faced the old oak door leading to Mr. Filch's office, raising her curled fingers to softly rap on it. Her hand never made contact, as the door was ripped open from the inside with brute force, replacing it with the cantankerous form of the caretaker, who promptly sneered at her and gave her an assessing glare.
"Get in here, Flint! Professor Snape has told me all about you…"
He shuffled his grimy person back into his small room lit only by a single oil lamp suspended from the ceiling, its flickering light dousing the space into a dreary gloom. The smell, if even possible, had become more overwhelming, forcing Alanna's eyes to tear mercilessly while she attempted to re-swallow her dinner. A soft clanking noise caught her attention as she looked up at the ceiling for a closer inspection, finding various shackles, manacles, and chains hanging from the ceiling.
"You will not give me any lip, eh? Or the Professor will hear about it and will punish you worse than I will."
The man cracked a yellow-toothed smile around his patchy beard while his eyes danced with anticipation.
"Sit down over there," he pointed toward a rickety three-legged stool that had been wedged between one of the numerous file cabinets marked 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.'
Alanna sat down cautiously, careful not to lean her back against the dirty, stone wall behind her. With a good dose of trepidation, she watched him walk over to a small lever mounted on the wall behind his overflowing desk, and pull it firmly.
The deafening crash of metal chains hitting the stone floor made her jump out of her chair with a soft cry.
Her shock was interrupted by a mirthless chuckle. "The polish is over on the filing box, the rag is over by the rubbish bin."
She looked at him incredulously. Did he expect her to…
"Well, what are you wait for, gel? Get to work! And don't lemme see you do magic neither, or the Professor will hear of it!" He shuffled his feet over to his chair by the hearth and settled himself into it, stretching his legs out as best he could without wincing too much. He grabbed a snifter filled with amber liquid and brought it to his tight lips, while his eyes narrowed at her non-existent progress.
"Well? What's the matter, Flint? Too pureblooded for manual labor?" He cackled at his own little joke, while Alanna's eyes narrowed.
What was it with these people and wanting to do everything 'manually'? Why could she not just do it the normal way?
She quickly got to her feet and retrieved the necessary materials to clean his less than savory instruments of torture. With a sigh she kneeled on the floor and began cleaning the first pair of manacles, scrubbing at them fiercely as if the devil himself were looking back at her from the polished steel. The picture of the Potions Master flitted through her mind, forcing Alanna to grit her teeth and scrub all the harder.
'That insufferable brute!'
"What did you say?"
'Oh Merlin, did I just say that aloud?'
"I believe I just said 'That insufferable brute'," she said nonchalantly, while scrubbing away. What did she care what he thought of her.
"You dare to call me…me…insufferable?" His bloodshot eyes were bulging nefariously.
Alanna looked up in surprise. "Oh, no sir, not you. I hardly know you."
"Then explain yourself, gel!" Spittle and alcohol sprayed forth from his mouth coating the already filthy floor before the fireplace.
Alanna continued her polishing before responding. "I was referring to the man that calls himself the Potions Master in this institute. He is a right bastard, is he not?" 'A right sexy bastard with a heavenly voice and….
Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Filch's heavy coughing…that turned into spluttering…that turned into…giggles? Alanna looked up from her work, watching the man wipe away the tears that have been streaming down his face.
"You're different from the other Flint's that have come through my door, that I will give yeh." He shook in his head in amusement, his matted hair only moving a fraction in reply.
Alanna continued buffering, her eyes widening in surprise. "My father has been in your office?" She could hardly contain her curiosity.
A bark of laughter rolled forth from his sour face. "Your father, your uncle, your cousin. Even your mother has been here on occasion. Did hate those shackles she did, but then this is detention and not ruddy tea-time at Madam Puddyfoot's."
Alanna's heart tightened at the thought of her classy mother sitting in this office cleaning this heap of metal. The woman had never even so much as broken a nail around Alanna, let alone any type of manual labor, other than lifting the latest Society Witch catalogue.
"Your cousin on the other hand was a right nasty little blighter."
She could not agree more on that fact and nodded her head unconsciously.
"He'd get himself into trouble for being cruel to the younger years in his and other houses. Found him going through my cabinets one night," his eyes flashed with malice, "still remember his Nancy-boy screaming when he had to go into the Forbidden Forest to collect some potion ingredient for his detention."
Alanna had to bite her tongue before she actually laughed at his story. That would probably explain Marcus' unexplained fear of the forest around the manor four years back, when playing 'Catch-the-little-cousin-to-practice-your-hexing,' which was a favorite past time of his. On more than one occasion did Alanna run into the cooling darkness of the shielding trees knowing her dim-witted cousin was too frightened to follow her. She never appreciated being hexed with a jelly legs jinx, or rather, badly hexed with a jelly legs jinx, which usually ended up with her legs going numb, rigid and enflamed instead. Despite being a pure blood, Marcus had no grasp of the finer pronunciations of the Latin that charms and hexes required. On top of that, to say his knowledge of proper wand-technique was lacking had been a gross understatement.
Bloody lout was a menace!
"Your uncle was very similar while he was here, although he loved to ride on the coat tails of the powerful. Got him in right spots of trouble, it did. Had him scrubbing the floors in the Astronomy tower, they get quite grimy during the school year."
Mr. Filch took another swig from his half-empty glass before he continued, staring into the fire lost in thought.
"Your father was quiet. Only had him here three times or so," he chuckled softly, "I can still feel those eyes burning in the back o' me head."
He shifted his gaze back to where she kneeled. "None of them spoke ill of their Head of House though."
"Professor Snape is not my Head of House, sir, he is only my Potions professor," Alanna had moved on to the second pair of shackles.
"You got a lot o' guts to say he's only your Potions professor. The man will make your life miserable if you break the rules around him, be forewarned. He has already cast you off onto me instead o' heading the detention himself. On a Friday night no less!" He sneered at her again. "Better watch yer step, Flint."
"I am sorry that I am disturbing your evening, sir," she said in a small voice, a heavy burdening feeling befalling her.
Mr. Filch's face turned puce and he shook with suppressed anger. "Get back to work, gel, I am warning yeh! You'll be stuck in detention for another fortnight if yeh don't stop this m…"
"Brrrreeoowww!"
"Mrs. Norris?" His voice changed instantly to a sugary sweet whine, as they both watched the rather mangy and emaciated Mrs. Norris walk through the little cat flap by the side of the door. With a few more sugared words, he tried to entice the feline to come to him, but was silenced upon seeing his precious pet saunter over to the 'Flint delinquent' instead.
Alanna carefully laid down her work and ruffled her fur lightly, brushing her fingertips across the delicate ears and pert little nose. The purring that followed was deafening. With a soft thud, Mrs. Norris dropped beside her rolled on her back exposing her belly for a good scritch.
"What have you done to my cat?" Alanna looked up at the caretaker who had pulled himself out of his chair and now towered over her kneeling form, his fists tightly balled at his side.
"She is beautiful."
"Answer the question! Did yeh hex her? Do yeh take pleasure out of torturing poor, defenseless animals?" Mr. Filch's colour had turned an angry purple in his rant.
Alanna was outraged by his attack. "I beg your pardon!"
"You did something to her Flint! Look at her! This is not normal behavior!"
She looked down at the purring cat as it chose at this moment to yawn happily, stretch, and playfully batting at her robe; her lamp-like eyes lidded with content.
"But sir, this is the way cats normally act."
"Not my Mrs. Norris. She only likes to be handled by me, I tell yeh! She hates the likes of yeh and the rest of the blasted students, who kick her, lock her in closets and throw her down flights of stairs," with a quick gesture he stooped and picked up his familiar, pressing its thin frame against his chest.
She understood then that this most be the only friend the caretaker had. That poor little animal he held clutched as if his life depended on it had just chosen her affection over his; naturally, he would be jealous and upset. Her heart went out to him, but by the looks of Mrs. Norris, she seemed too fragile to make it through another winter; her death rattle purr being one indication.
"How old is Mrs. Norris?"
"I told you to get that hex off of her!" He snarled in response.
Alanna rolled her eyes at him. "Mr. Filch, I have not harmed or hexed your cat in any way, and am only concerned about her health."
"She is of no concern of yours, Flint!"
She took a deep breath and asked Merlin for strength. "I was only asking about her age because she is rather frightful looking. What have you been feeding her?"
"OUT! GET OUT OF ME OFFICE! I WILL TELL THE HEADMASTER OF THIS!" With one hand clutching Mrs. Norris, the other pointing toward the door and every major vein in his neck protruding in fury, Mr. Filch deliberately cut her detention short.
Alanna ignored him.
"Has she been sleeping a lot lately? Has her fur always looked dull and tangled? Have her habits changed lately?" She sighed in resignation. "Mr. Filch, I never prided myself in knowing a lot, but of one thing I am certain. Mrs. Norris seems to be sickly and I would like to offer my help to you."
Silence.
"I don't need anyone's help," he spat quietly.
She looked at the furry face that starred back at her from under his arm, still blissfully purring. "No, you do not, but Mrs. Norris does." She took a deep breath.
"Have you considered bringing her to Professor Hagrid?"
"I'm not letting that big 'ol sap near her! He could crush her to death with his bare hands," he grumbled sullenly, while shuffling back to his armchair by the fire.
Alanna turned, folding the rag she had been using, placing it and the bottle of polish on one of the filing cabinets. She was about to exit the room with her bag slung over her shoulder when his soft voice stopped her.
"She will be twenty-four in November. I have been feeding her fried sardines mostly, or leftover kippers from breakfast. Sometimes she catches her dinner along with the rest of the cats in the castle."
She looked over her shoulder at him. He looked frail in the fire light, stroking Mrs. Norris fur as if it were the softest, most expensive Egyptian silk.
"She's been sleeping a lot in the past months, napping in windows or in the Restricted Section on an old sofa. Her fur is becoming rather patchy in places, and she has been patrolling less with me lately. She used to be such a sprightly cat…"
Alanna swallowed heavily. "There is a potion that I think may help, if you would let me finish my detention in the potions lab…"
He looked to her sharply. "Don't do me any favours, Flint."
"I am not," she walked to the door. "You forget, I hardly know you."
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The owl descended fluidly over the sea of heads, finding its target, and diving in for the landing. With a graceful flap of its wings, it hovered and landed at the end of the massive table, soundlessly offering its cargo to the assigned recipient.
"What's this Draco? A love letter from your lady?" The dark haired wizard gave him a small smirk over his goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Your preoccupation with my letters has been rather alarming, Zabini," Draco arched a golden brow. "If I didn't know better, I would say your parents gave birth to a girl."
Blaise laughed at that. "In your dreams, Malfoy," he quipped, quirking a lop-sided grin at him before returning his attention to his evening meal.
Draco steeled his shoulders and focused on the letter that was offered to him by one of his fathers fastest owls, its scaly leg extended regally. With nimble fingers, he divested it of the letter, hardly noticing the bird fly off without waiting for an answer, and opened the envelope, pulling forth a sheet of Malfoy watermarked parchment.
"What is your father writing to you, Drakie?"
He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the insipid creature hanging off his arm, insisting that 'Drakie' was his new pet name. His father had insisted that he propose to Pansy Parkinson over the summer holidays, forcing him to furiously court the wench, while their mothers made the plans for an impromptu June wedding after graduation. How he hated his life at times!
He looked down at the petite blonde with a cold expression. "Family affairs, darling. I will meet you for patrol tonight," he brushed a gentlemanly kiss over her knuckles and took his leave. Her "But Drakie!" being ignored, as his long strides carried him out of the Great Hall.
Within minutes, he found himself surrounded by the blissful solitude of his common room, sitting in his favorite armchair by the fire. He thought about getting a glass of the expensive Fire whiskey he had received for his birthday, but decided against the impulse as he leisurely unfolded the parchment.
Draco,
The following needs to be implemented post haste; any defiance on your part will be punished severely. You will watch and monitor Hogwarts' new arrival over the next few weeks, making sure you get into her 'good graces'. Keep Pansy close, but do what you must to assure a connection to the other. If all goes as planned, you will not have to change your fiancé; be prepared however. The next Hogsmeade weekend is coming in two weeks. Make sure she is going.
Lucius Malfoy
Draco crumbled the parchment between his perfectly manicured fingers before throwing it into the flames. He hated being manipulated like this! On the other hand, this could mean a breach in contract with the Parkinsons, and he was more than happy to rid himself of that nuisance. He would get to Flint and make her privy to all of his charms without Pansy knowing a thing; besides she did not look as unfortunate as many other girls; and she was pureblooded to boot.
Thank Merlin he did not have to put the moves on Granger. THAT would have been a catastrophe. Well, he was not considered the Slytherin Sex God for nothing; he would give her four days to succumb to his wiles.
Draco's smirk was feral. Flint would be his for the plucking.
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Alanna walked briskly down the dungeon stairs, hoping to find an empty classroom to fulfill her needs for the evening. Her face was flushed and her palms were sweaty, partly because she was anxious about meeting Professor Snape, but also because of the looks she had gotten from a few Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw boys. Odd looks. The kind that made you feel naked and vulnerable. The kind that made you want to rip off your clothes and…and…and what exactly?
"Flint."
Alanna came out of her stupor and looked at a thirteen-year-old boy from Slytherin, nodding his head respectfully in passing.
Strange.
With a furrowed brow, she gave a quick glance over her shoulder before turning into another corridor, cutting him from her sight. With a small shake of her head, she turned her attention to the darkened hall, the flames in the wall sconces gradually turning green, turning down another hallway in search of the Potions lab. Had it not been here earlier? The sound of footsteps alerted her to three sixth year Slytherin girls coming down the hall, their voices muted and falling silent upon seeing her.
"Flint."
"Hey there, Flint."
"Have a nice evening, Flint."
'What the bloody hell is going on here?'
The girls passed her as she neared the Potions classrooms, all nodding courteously without missing a step, or ogling at her. Alanna turned around and watched them dumbfounded while they turned the next corner and walked out of sight. She had no idea what was happening, but these turn of events were infinitely better than the staring and the whispering.
Sooner than she thought, Alanna was faced with the three doors of the Potions classrooms. Her class was held behind the second door, and the younger years were behind the first…perhaps the third would be the right choice? She tentatively walked toward it and firmly clasped the doorknob, turning it silently.
Opening the door slightly, she peaked through the sliver of dim light emanating from the room.
Blissfully empty, thank Merlin.
Working as quietly as she could, Alanna retrieved the heavy potions book from her rucksack and clutching it to her chest before silently stepping into the muted classroom. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted the door to the storage closet at the front of the lab.
Soon a magical fire was burning beneath her cauldron, the light in the lab had been elevated, the book had been turned to the correct page, and fresh ingredients placed carefully beside her station. There was only one thing missing; distilled Australian tea tree oil. Although it was not difficult to acquire, her vial had been empty for a few weeks now. She had to remember to owl the Apothecary in London post haste to replenish some of her more elusive ingredients. Alanna hoped the school stores had what she was looking for, or rather a fresh supply of the product she needed.
Without second thought she walked toward the door of the stores, her mind filled with correctly preparing the potion. Alanna deftly turned the doorknob and was propelled backward by a surprising number of wards protecting it.
Wondering why the school stores would be this heavily warded she retrieved her wand from her sleeve and began the tedious work of decoding and lowering them. Although they were rather difficult, she managed to get past them ten minutes later, opening the door with a turn of her wrist and entering the pitch-black room beyond. As she stepped over the threshold numerous sconces flared to life, including a large candelabrum placed on a French walnut desk at the center of the spacious circular room. The focuses of the room were the three large golden cauldrons simmering away next to an arched worktable, fitted perfectly against the wall. The dying fire in the hearth sprang to life with a loud rush beneath a sparsely decorated mantelpiece; a huge empty frame above it was the only decoration. The dark and hazy room was replaced with glowing apricot warmth that utterly contradicted the person who brewed here.
She had stumbled across the brilliant private laboratory of the resident Potions Master.
That little rebellious streak she had running through her veins began pulsing hotly beneath her skin. Her eyes lit with the possibility of what could be hiding in the drawers of that alluring desk and the bubbling contents of each cauldron. She silently walked around the desk touching the stack of essays sitting in three neat piles before four different types of inkwells. Carefully leaning down she read one of the vigilantly scratched comments on the top of an essay.
'A disgrace such as this drivel makes me wonder if it has been a mistake to admit you into Hogwarts. I will personally evict you from my class if you…' Alanna could hear his sarcastic, silky voice echoing in her head. Her eyebrow arched at his snarky words. With encouragement such as this it did not surprise her that he was not very popular; not even his looks could make up for such a lashing.
Straightening her spine, she let the fingers of her right hand lightly trail over the silver brass handles of the first desk drawer, lightly pulling it toward her.
A soft gasp escaped her lips as her eyes fell upon a sleek silver mask, a very familiar looking silver mask. Her trembling hands reached and brought it closer to her face. How had the Professor gotten to her fathers mask? Alanna flipped it over and looked at it from both sides.
There was no doubt in her mind that this belonged to her father, having seen it in his hands on multiple occasions. He would only wear it when he was called on business; her mother had mentioned that it was to ensure her father's anonymity while negotiating foreign affairs. It did make sense, based on all the different Wizarding cultures around the world; a wrong look could deeply offend a foreign wizard.
The question, however, was what was the professor was doing with the mask?
Moreover, there was something else; Alanna could not quite put her finger on it. A flash of something familiar, of someone…standing before her… wearing… She blinked furiously in an attempt to focus her mind on that shred of memory that returned into the fog.
Alanna sighed in frustration, restoring the mask to its original position. She had a nagging suspicion that the good Professor was not being truthful with her. What had they said about her parents? They were killed by…she could not remember if they said or not. Her days in the infirmary were rather blurry as well. It was time that she did some serious thinking about the death of her parents. She would find their killer if it was the last thing she would ever do on this earth. By Merlin's wand, she swore to avenge them, followed closely by the lunatic who tried to kill her as well.
Her eyes fell upon a black book with the initials S. S. embossed upon it with shiny silver thread. She felt the hypnotizing pull of its calling pages, beckoning her to open and read what the Professor has hidden between its pages. She opened it to the first page with anticipation, reading the heading of the first entry.
'If you have acquired this book by means of thievery or any other underhandedness consider yourself cursed…'
The inscription continued for two more pages, hexing and cursing the reader for eternity if they were brave enough to continue beyond page three. Alanna smirked and began thumbing through its pages, finding new research methods and other privately scribbled notes on his art.
"Severus, I want you to know…wait, you aren't supposed to be in here!"
Alanna jumped in surprise, accidentally dropping the journal beneath the desk, while looking around the room for the origin of the voice.
"Do you know that you have trespassed into the Head of Slytherin House's private office?"
Alanna looked up above the mantel and looked at the elderly gentleman in the picture dressed in robes a few hundred years past the current fashion. His brown hair neatly coifed hair and dark beard trimmed with old English flair, his dark eyes were piercing her accusingly and his jaw set firmly in agitation.
"What is your name? So, I shall know whom to report to Professor Snape."
This was it. The moment she had been waiting for. The window of opportunity that would expel her from this school had opened oh so gloriously.
"I am Alanna Flint."
"Which house do you belong to, girl?" He placed his hands on his hips as he leaned down to inspect the colors on her robe.
"I am in Gryffindor, and who are you to ask me such a question?"
Her insolence both angered and intrigued Salazar. Leave it to a slip of a girl who had the characteristics of Gryffindor to stand up to him in this impertinent manner.
"I am one of the forefathers of Hogwarts."
Alanna pushed the desk drawer back in place and came closer to the painting for a better look.
"Ah, well, then you must know the fastest way out of this cast—"
A cold sense of foreboding washed over her body one second before a claw-like grip took hold of her right shoulder, squeezing her flesh painfully. Her body was forcefully turned around as her mind processed who had her gripped in a vice.
Her eyes connected with his raging obsidian depths, his lips contorted into a furious snarl while his left hand positioned itself around her neck. Again!
"We have to stop meeting like this, Professor," Alanna gasped through the tightening of her windpipe.
Severus could not remember ever being this enraged before.
He wanted to strangle her.
He wanted to beat her.
He did the next best thing.
He released her neck and grasped both her shoulders shaking her soundly, his face coming dangerously close to her own. "What do you think you are doing in here!" he seethed.
"I was not aware…"
"That is blatantly obvious!"
Her eyes traveled along the hard lines of his face, lingering on his slightly pursed lips.
"What else is becoming more obvious, Miss Flint, is the reason your parents felt the urge to hide you away from the rest of the world."
Alanna went rigid and stared into his eyes.
"If it were I, I would have locked such an abomination away myself, in hopes of never having to expose it to civilized society."
She swallowed hard, his words striking her deeply and planting a seed of doubt within. Her deepest and darkest fear lay unspoken between them, until…
"How ashamed they must have been of their only offspring," he hissed into her ear, his warm breath caressing the sensitive shell.
"Then again, you are the ideal representation of the Flint family," he sneered coldly. "A sharp tongue does not mean you have a keen mind."
Alanna was tempted to burst out into tears and snog him at the same time. In an attempt to avoid either, she desperately nibbled on her lower lip.
"Ah, yes here is the resemblance," he breathed icily. "As all the other Flints, you are insolent, dim-witted, physically and mentally inferior, and in strong need of a good thrashing for breaking and entering."
His face slowly changed into a glittering mosaic as her eyes filled with tears.
"I will ask this only once," his face only a few inches from hers, "What were you searching for in my office?"
"I was not…"
"Be very careful, Miss Flint. Lying will only get you closer to the well deserved thrashing I am only too happy to give you," his voice taking on a promising lilt. "Or perhaps, you have already taken something of mine that needs extracting from beneath your robes?"
A stifled groan escaped her throat, her eyelids drooping at the thought of his hands roving over her body in search of whatever he was looking for. She hated herself for being so affected by his presence, his words hurting her deeply.
"Do not dare touch me!"
Alanna was fighting a mix between rage, terror, and burgeoning desire with a good dose of hatred.
"And what exactly will you do to stop me, Miss Flint?"
Severus could feel her hot, angry breath on his face contrasting the chill that had settled over the dungeons. He was so close to her that his flaring nostrils could smell her unique scent.
Bloody Violets!
It awoke things in him other than rage and hatred. He could not place it. He could not bear it.
"I abhor you!" Alanna hissed through tightly clenched teeth.
"It seems we finally have something in common, Miss Flint." He replied, his voice cutting with surgical precision.
"Well, it appears that everything is under control here," Salazar chimed in, immensely enjoying the scene below.
"Not now, old man! I suggest you select another canvas to house you for the night," Severus glared over his shoulder sneering contemptuously.
"I thought as much, thus you will find me in the canvas in your quarters," he purred, emphasizing the last few words with a wiggle of his bushy eyebrows.
"Lecherous old coot!" Severus muttered to himself in disgust before turning his full attention back to his student.
"Your answer, Miss Flint."
"Are you sure that my inferior intellect will be able to fully explain my actions, Professor?" Her anger temporarily winning the battle over her other emotions.
"You do have a point there," he released the death grip on her shoulders and placed his right hand on her jaw.
Alanna gasped in surprise, trying to back away from the searing contact his fingers caused. She stepped into the wall, her body half covered by his black robes as he stepped forward, tilting her head and looking deeply into her eyes.
"I should have done this a long time ago," he rumbled silkily, piercing her with his onyx stare.
He is going to kiss you…he is going to kiss you…The damnable voice in her head tried to convince her that the only thing that would satisfy her were those deliciously close lips on her own. Unfortunately, he did something entirely different.
"Legilimens!"
Before she knew what was happening her surroundings swam in front of her eyes and vanished, replaced by racing images that sped through her mind blinding her to her surroundings. A stab of recognition penetrated her mind helping her focus her energies and slow down the steady flow of images from her childhood.
She was five years old, her heart bursting with happiness as her father presented her with her first training broom…She was seven, shaking the hand of a much younger looking Professor Correlius…She was eleven, her hair was being pulled viciously by her cousin Marcus as he back handed her, retaliated by a precise kick to the groin and vicious scratch marks on his cheek…
'Concentrate!' Alanna methodically cleared her mind and let go of her raging emotions. Her father had insisted on teaching her Occlumency over the years persisting that it would be a valuable lesson in guarding ones secrets. Not that she had ever mastered to shield her mind, but then her father was exceptionally skilled at schooling his thoughts and emotions, helping her retain enough to protect herself.
With a hard mental push, she shoved his probing mind from her own, her body shaking with exertion. He moved quickly, repositioning his hand to rest at the base of her throat and pressing her back into the wall. As he repeated the spell, Alanna could feel the scalding heat of his skin through the material of her blouse. Her breath caught in her throat while she stared into his eyes unblinkingly, a light movement of his thumb on her skin left her anything but emotionless. With a spark of energy, her body flooded with goose bumps.
Severus' anger had calmed to a medium boil as he cast he spell on her once more. Her mind had been spread before him like a feast to a starving man; the only thing he had to do now was find particular memories on Farrell's activities. Surprisingly enough, the little girl had actually mustered enough strength to force him from her mind; a feat that even Potter could not accomplish after multiple lessons. He had secured her limp body with his hand, pinning her upper body to the stone wall in order to force her eye contact. Within seconds, he was back in the swirling images that comprised her memories.
Although this time, it was different.
Blurred images passed him left and right, forcing him to concentrate harder on his goal. He could feel her trembling beneath his touch, unconsciously feathering his fingers soothingly over her sternum. Her valiant attempt at shielding her mind had been noted, but his patience was running paper-thin; with a final thrust, he broke into one of the passing images. He could hear her soft humming as the thick fog lifted, making way for candles that illuminated the memory.
He quickly scanned his surroundings and stared suspiciously at the white tiled walls and long mirror across from him. The soft sound of splashing water made him turn abruptly.
There, in an abnormally large Turkish bathtub, was Miss Flint her eyes closed and her head resting on a white, folded towel. Her hair had been swept up in a messy pile, a few long tendrils framing her face and dipping lazily into the hot water. Steam hung heavily on the heated skin of her face, her arms outlining the rim of the bath.
Severus took two steps back, shocked by what he saw. This had nothing to do with what he had been searching for!
Water was running over her shoulders in tantalizing torrents, the water pearling off her slick skin, the droplets finding their way to the valley between her submerged breasts, disappearing just as quickly.
How in the hell did he get into this memory!
He could feel the heat creeping up his high collard robes, making it infinitely harder to breathe. A graceful hand dipped into the water and gathered a copious amount of lilac bubbles, softly blowing them across the water.
With a murderous glare, Severus focused his energy on another memory. Thankfully, the Turkish bath disappeared in a swift blur replaced by swirling darkness.
A sharp tug pulled him into her next memory, his breath leaving him in shallow puffs, his eyes scanning the dimmed room for any type of movement. Severus furrowed his annoyance-streaked brow. What type of a memory was in a pitch-black room?
A sudden burst of fire lit every wick in the room, bathing it in soft, buttery light revealing a multitude of silk pillows and scarves draped throughout. A curious type of oriental music swirled and beckoned him further into the room. As his eyes adjusted to the ambiance, a soft tinkle of coins penetrated the swell of the music, riveting his attention to the very scantily clad woman draped in seductively swaying veils.
He watched her expert gyration of her curvy hips, enticing him with the soft swell of her rolling stomach, while her hands and arms beckoned in a dance of their own, swirling around her veiled face, and delicately caressing her skin above her breasts with the tips of her fingers. Severus quickly grew fascinated with the wisp of Slytherin-green material clinging wantonly to her with every inhalation.
A powerful surge of pure, unadulterated lust shook him to the core as those charcoal-rimmed eyes gazed at him passionately, eliciting two tiny spots of colour on his otherwise emotionless face. With a swift kick of her delicate foot, she pivoted on the ball of her right, presenting her bare back to him only covered by the glorious cascade of auburn curls, whose tips danced in the small of her back emphasizing her perfectly shaped derriere.
As the music grew faster, his heart slammed against his ribcage at the same maddening speed of the drums; his jaw clenched tightly in determination at the not so innocent flair of his carnal urges. A fire he had not felt in years slowly crept through his veins mirroring the effects that medi-chocolate had on shivering second years.
He watched her dance for what seemed ages, her twirling, rolling, serpentine motions perfectly executed, his eyes lingering on the swell of her full breasts. With a disgusted grunt, Severus averted his gaze in self-loathing...
'She is a student for Merlin's sake!'
...and finally noticed the rather indecent display of man perched on the pile of silk pillows. His nostrils flared dangerously as he examined the fair-skinned man at a distance. Clad in black silk pants and dark green sash he looked every bit like a bare-chested pirate, straining to keep from pouncing on her. A seedling of anger planted deep within slowly grew as he watched her dancing for the black haired, dark eyed, finely muscled thief!
Severus moved only a few inches toward the practically rutting couple, watching her breathe seductively over the rapier's perfectly chiseled skin. He narrowed his eyes at him, studying the lines and planes of his face, feeling angry disgust for the girl who had to endure such...filthy advances from a man at least twice...her...age...Severus looked at the man a little more closely. There seemed to be a number of shocking resemblances between the man on the pillows and his own person. His hair was longer and pulled back into a low ponytail, very dark eyes, slightly fuller lips than his own, same nose, and more defined musculature.
His mind raced with the possibility of having accessed one of her more vivid, hormone driven fantasies rather than an actual memory than involved a rather flattering representation of his own person. With a lingering gaze on her creamy figure, he shook himself mentally, feeling absurd and infuriated at his lack of discipline. He needed to release himself from her mind...
The light flutter of the green veil brought him out of his black scowl as he watched the man leaning heavily onto her lithe body, no doubt bruising her lips with his hungry kisses. Thoroughly displeased with his progress, Severus concentrated on the blackness that would expel him from her thoughts.
Her gasp for air stopped him.
Severus opened his eyes once more, and watched her panting for breath; his sordid doppelgänger had vanished. With fluid motion she rose, like a cat stretching its limbs, and homed in on him, swaying her hips to the music, her bodice tinkling as she walked toward him.
A secretive and knowing smile graced her full lips; too knowing. A smile that promised infinite pleasure, or in Severus' case infinite discomfort; the blue variety. He stiffened his resolve as she stepped closer gazing at him from beneath her black lashes, her hands ghosting over his clothed person.
"Tell me what you want, Professor," she purred softly before slowly running the tip of her tongue over her full bottom lip.
Severus groaned inwardly, his gaze never leaving hers. He found his body embarrassingly hard, heavy, and beaded with perspiration.
"You will tell me what your father has sent you here for!" He hissed at her menacingly.
Soft laughter rolled over him like warmed honey. "Is that truly what you wanted to ask me, sir?"
"Yes, you impudent chit, now answer the question before I get angry."
He could feel the soft swell of her breasts searing against this chest, as she seductively rubbed herself against him. "I shall answer anything you wish of me, Professor. Anything you ask shall be yours..."
His breath hitched slightly in triumph.
"...but...there is a price I require."
So close!
"And what may that be, Miss Flint?"
Her small fists curled into his robes and slowly pulled him toward her upturned face.
"I require an exchange..."
A finely shaped brow arched at her words.
"...simple really...my secrets...for yours," her lips came so close to his own that he could feel her breath hot and inviting on his own. His body screamed, begged to take her, while his mind harped to desist with this nonsense. He was torn between what was morally the right thing to do and what his male instincts commanded of him.
Chaos versus hunger.
His decision was made instantly.
Hunger won.
His mouth fastened on hers, crushing her lips with his own. His tongue slid sensuously over her lower lip demanding entrance. Her lips parted, and Severus deepened the kiss, caressing her tongue with his. He was devouring all she had to offer, his kiss urgent with promise of more to come, his hands tunneling through the mass of curls, cradling her.
Severus could not think or breathe; being fueled by burning desire coursing through his veins, his pulse roaring in his ears. In the recesses of his mind, he heard a cry of outrage that methodically worked its way into the forefront. To his dismay, he found that his conscience had not been buried deep enough to fully ignore and now reared its ugly head, condemning him for what he was doing.
He released Alanna as if she had physically burned him, his eyes snapping open with shock and disdain for what he had done. They were both standing back in his office, breathing harshly staring at each other. Alanna's half-lidded eyes and delectably swollen lips curled in a small half-smile. Severus cursed under his breath at the severity of what he had done, his self-loathing threatening to consume him fully.
Before he realized what he was doing, he had pulled his wand, pointing it at Alanna's chest, her eyes going wide at the implication. He saw no other way.
"Obliviate!"
Authors Note: I know, please don't flog me. I have good excuses to WHY I have not updated, but I hope this chapter made up for it. I am going to continue of course and will try to update sooner. If you see an update within the next few days, it's just me rewriting the first few chapters. THEY NEED IT BADLY, don't y'all think? THANK YOU to all of my faithful reviewers and all the new ones that have encouraged me to go on writing. This would never be possible without your great input. Special thanks to my beta MysticSong, who is just so diligent about proofing this for you guys...y'all should see it in the rough. LOL Also, Pink, my muse, who keeps me on my toes and loves to give me input on my writing. You are the best. LKLTB, girl you great too! On to the next chapter.