Story Title: Petunia the Petulant
Chapter Title: Severus's Faery Queen
Author's Note: A scene I've been wanting to write for a while. (As I said in the beginning, I did not deliberately mean to give Severus Snape a foot fetish; I just picked something about Petunia that I thought might make her unique.) Enjoy!
Severus's Faery Queen
"I hate you."
"It worked, didn't it?" Lupin gave Severus a toothy grin. "I was right, wasn't I? I mean look at that performance!"
They were standing in the aisle close to the wall of the makeshift theater, where much of the audience was still on its feet applauding and whistling in the hopes of getting an encore. The lights were coming back on, however, and the students and teachers were redirecting the guests to the reception just outside.
Lupin was wearing a brown and maroon suit that was miles nicer than anything he was usually seen in. The cummerbund alone seemed to take a few years off him. His reddish, shaggy hair was combed back neatly and shone. But more than anything else, his eyes were bright – with tears of joy, or surprise, or all of the above…it was impossible to tell. But his expression was mirrored by everyone in the room – even Severus. Severus's eyes seemed bright and far away, and for those who knew him, smile or no, they would have said he looked at least contented.
"I can't believe I actually said the word 'proud.' You know," Severus said, turning to Lupin with an air of accusation, "I thought she was the reason I've gone soft; I'm starting to think it's you."
"Oh, come off it, Severus. This is a triumph! If ever there was a time to be proud, this is it! Isn't it?" Lupin was practicing bouncing on the balls of his feet. Although always pretty good-tempered, rarely had been seen so animated.
"Humph." Snape lifted a glass of champagne from a floating platter making its rounds. "I don't know. Perhaps you're right." Lupin just shook his head. He, like most everyone else who was part of Hogwarts, could not stop grinning. Severus was lost in thought; for him, Petunia's dance had not yet ended.
"-you did that, Severus! That's your girl out there! Your protégé!" Lupin was saying excitedly, as if he hoped his emphasis would be contagious.
"-What?" Severus said suddenly, turning to him. "My…What do you mean?" His eyes were piercing, but there was a hint of fear or panic in them. Lupin must have noticed because he brought his celebratory tone down a few notches.
"I said her triumph is as much yours as hers. She did that wonderful performance because of you. You have every right to be proud of your work, not just hers."
"Yes, indeed," said Severus, seeming to no longer be looking at him so much now, as through him. Lupin squinted.
"You seem to be in a bit of shock, my friend. Perhaps I don't appreciate the impact this sudden success is having on you. But when it catches up to you, I hope you'll join the party." Lupin raised the drink in his hand to Severus, smiled, and turned to follow the rest of the crowd into the reception. Little by little, the seats were blinking out of existence. The box seats all along the vaulting arches were already gone, having emptied first. The entire stage area was slowly being redecorated, magically transforming into a great, open ballroom. Around it stood small, round tables covered with shimmering tablecloths. There were no chairs; the setup seemed meant to encourage people to mill around and converse in small groups.
Severus finished the drink in his hand and looked around, bewildered. The energy in the room seemed overwhelming. He put the glass down on one of the tables and began scanning the room. There, across the aisles, all the students were circling around Petunia, who had apparently just emerged from her dressing room. Aside from a scaling down of the makeup and the change into a long, close-fitting evening gown, she was otherwise much the same as she had been on stage. She beamed happily at them, as everyone seemed to be all exclaiming at once at the tops of their lungs.
"Merlin's beard," Severus muttered. "It's a wonder they can hear each other at all." He strode over to the little group, which parted to make room for him when he arrived. Each of their faces turned to look at him, smiling and expectant. Petunia smiled shyly; she knew she had killed the performance, but she hadn't yet seen his reaction to it. Severus could tell that at that moment, his opinion seemed to be the only one than mattered to her. Get yourself together, he told himself, and gave a very Snape-ish nod and what might pass for a polite smile.
"Petunia."
"Headmaster."
He held his arm out and gently took her elbow. "There are many powerful people here who would like to make your acquaintance. Will you come with me?"
Petunia nodded and took his arm with her white gloved one.
"Yes, professor. Pardon me," she said to the crowd of students, and Severus steered her away and through the crowd. He could feel the tension in her light grip; she had taken his arm mechanically, clearly looking to him for cues on social behavior. It was an oddly intimate gesture, completely outside of their normal interactions with each other. But Severus knew how to play a room and was used to doing the social niceties people expected in various high-class social settings. He'd had a lot of practice going through the motions. She would have to learn to do the same.
"Professor-"
"What is it?" he said idly as he looked about the room to see which guests he recognized.
"Never mind," she said softly. Something in her tone made him stop and look at her.
"What is it, Petunia?" Her eyes were downcast. She seemed unable to look at him.
"It's nothing. I…don't want to fish for compliments or anything. I just wondered if you were…pleased. If we succeeded in what you hoped." He had known that he was going to have to comment on her performance eventually, so he'd been going over several responses in his head since the curtain had fallen. But he still did not know what he should say.
"Do you need me to say it?" he said finally, looking at her. She looked up and met his eyes.
"I suppose not, no."
"But that's not true, is it?" He heard himself saying. "You do care what I think, don't you? But do you remember what I said to you before you took the stage?" She nodded, and her eyes shone with what might be held back tears.
"You said no one could take away what I've achieved."
"Not even me."
"I know."
"But you still need to hear it."
"I don't need to, Professor. But I would certainly like to."
Snape sighed dramatically, as if he were being terribly put upon.
"Very well. You were exquisite," he said. This part he had rehearsed in his head. "You heard the thunderous applause from the audience. They adored you. And – though originally, I had not intended to put on an evening at the opera when we first began our partnership, I must say I am glad it turned out the way it did. It was a beautiful performance, and it sent the right message." Beautiful was not a word that anyone to expect to be part of Snape's vocabulary.
That did it. Joyful tears spilled from her eyes as she beamed at him.
"Thank you, professor," she choked, as he reached quickly for a handkerchief and thrust it at her, mortified.
"Come now, you have an adoring audience to meet, and many people who want to talk to the muggle woman who became a talented witch. You can't go with your face all smeared and simpering like a schoolgirl. Remember…you are here to command respect. For yourself, for me, and for all of Hogwarts."
Petunia nodded fervently as she dabbed around her eyes. She blinked a few times, took a deep breath, and composed herself.
"Then let's go, professor," she said decisively, and took his arm again.
That's my girl, he thought, and immediately cursed Lupin for putting that particular phrase into his head. Wonderful.
Petunia quickly took to her role as part diva, part socialite. She smiled gracefully, listened, and gave clever answers to everything that was said to her. Snape watched her charm person after person: international diplomats, ministry officials, collegial scholars from other institutions, hardened wizards and witches who had seen battle, and even, to her credit, the most hard-won families who secretly still cared about blood and "purity."
It was that accomplishment that really impressed Severus, and he felt rather smug. His previous fears that she would be silly and emotional were quickly assuaged with every conversation she entered. She knew when to greet people, when to join in, and when it was time to leave and go somewhere else. She was a natural aristocrat. This was truly refreshing for him, and he found himself saying little and enjoying the ability to observe rather than be the one making the social small talk he so detested.
It was about a third of the way into the reception, which was to begin clearing out at midnight, that he realized Petunia might very well have gotten a confidence boost from the endless parade of drinks that were offered to her by men young and old. Her face had started to flush, and her smile seemed more natural and unguarded. Her voice, though still at an acceptable volume, was beginning to rise, and when she laughed, it was with full bodied hilarity.
By now Snape had successfully introduced her to all of the strategic connections he'd considered critical for the evening; all people who were specifically interested in Snape's work, his theories, and what were the implications of Petunia's magic for the future of the wizarding world. She was starting to sway in place. She had to be exhausted, even if she were having too good a time to be aware of it herself.
"Petunia," he said quietly, when they were out of earshot of any guests, "You've done an excellent job this evening, and you could use some rest. Perhaps it's time for you to retire."
"Oh? Oh, all right," she said loudly, looking a little disappointed, but she continued to smile broadly at anyone who walked by. "May I walk you to your quarters?" Snape asked, hoping he would not have to persuade her. He would, if necessary, stupefy her and carry her off for her own good.
"Hmm?" She said distractedly, and he realized that she had barely registered his words.
"Come on then," he said, put an arm around her shoulders and steering her from the hall. She wobbled a little bit, but even now her tipsiness was charming. He must get her out of sight before it went beyond charming and into embarrassing. Snape saw McGonagall as he walked Petunia from the hall, and went over to her.
"I'm going to take our star pupil to her room," he said, giving her a significant look. McGonagall took one look at Petunia's flushed face and answered with a look of her own that said That seems like a very good idea.
"Very well. I'll have the house elves check in on her about midnight."
"That would be most helpful."
"Good night, Petunia. And congratulations on a very special evening. You've really made us all proud." Professor McGonagall beamed.
Petunia gave her a silly grin as they continued to the dungeon steps. He hoped she would be able to navigate herself without tumbling down the stairs. That's the last thing I need; to be seen man-handling the star of the evening, he thought wryly.
Petunia chatted happily about all the people she had met and the things they'd said to her, and about all of her fears before the evening, and how they were all cast away by this or that excellent moment. She seemed to be convinced that the conversation was a mutual one, although Severus was mostly listening as he helped her carefully down the stairs.
A couple of times she seemed about to stagger on her thin high heels. He was half tempted to have her take them off before they continued, but she made it all the way to the bottom without further incident. If there was one thing iconic about Petunia Dursley, it was those ridiculous high heels she was always wearing, clicking about the Hogwarts halls. Everyone always knew when she was coming or going.
They finally reached her suite in Slytherin house, and he let her flop onto one of her couches by the fireplace. The fire had gone mostly out, so he reignited it with his wand, and in no time had a nice warm blaze going. That should keep her comfortable enough until the tipsiness wore off, he thought. At that moment, as he heard a couple of Slytherins pass by the partially opened door, he noticed how protective he felt about Petunia. He was always concerned about her safety, her health, and the influences around her, as much as he was her discipline and work. More than anyone had ever been, she was his student, his protégé as Lupin had said, after all. And he had been right. She was his….He shook that thought away. Bloody Lupin.
"Well," Snape looked around as Petunia slouched luxuriously on the couch and fanned herself. "You should be all right for the evening. Some water, perhaps, should be - " He trailed off and conjured a tall glass of fresh water on the table next to her. Petunia was still smiling, but she said nothing, merely humming some of the music from her dance. There was an oddly interested but unreadable expression on her face. He ignored this, putting the glass into her hand and lifting it to her lips.
"Drink, please," he coaxed, and she did so obediently. She put the glass back down and started shifting her legs awkwardly. Snape looked down and saw that she was still wearing the delicate shoes, which now looked rather tight and uncomfortable.
"I don't know much about ballet, but your feet must be very sore after all that exertion. You don't want to fall asleep in those, Petunia," he cautioned.
"Don't trouble yourself, Professor. I'll be fine," she said with exaggerated reassurance, touching his arm with unusual familiarity. She is undoubtedly sloshed, he thought, a little embarrassed. He sighed.
"Here, let me help you," he murmured.
He knelt down and lifted one of her feet to take off the shoe, which she had been trying to slide off. He had just removed it and put it on the oriental rug when he froze, still holding her ankle and bracing her foot on his knee. It was as if time around him were slowing down and coming to a full stop; his heartbeat thudding loudly in his head, and his breath became fast and short. What the devil…?! Severus started to panic. For Merlin's sake, Severus, you act like you've never seen a woman's feet before. Exasperated with himself, he started to let her foot gently down…but as he felt the warm contact of his skin against her stocking, he couldn't seem to do it; he did not want to break that contact. It was too soon. Too soon for what, exactly? Still, whatever else everyone might say about him, Severus believed himself to be a gentleman, and this was a matter of pride. He had just started moving again when Petunia moaned, sending a shockwave of excitement through him.
"Mmmmm…You were right. They are sore," she complained. Though he did not have much personal experience with women the area of flirtation, it was obvious to him that she was doing that maddening thing such women do, when they wanted something from you but refused to directly ask for it. He looked up at her and, without really thinking, began to move her foot around gently as he'd seen Madame Pomphrey do to someone with a sprained ankle. Petunia watched him contentedly, seeming to enjoy this attention. He rubbed his thumb along the bottom of her foot with the slightest pressure, and she sighed and threw her head back onto the couch. "That is wonderful," she gushed, writhing just enough to give him another bolt of desire.
Now that he knew he was giving her pleasure, Severus saw no reason to stop now. Still, he was glad she was no longer looking at him, because he was convinced all his thoughts were completely betrayed by his face. He commenced massaging her foot in both of his hands with a sort of reverence and felt a lump rise in his throat. He could not remember the last time he had touched a woman like this. He was not even sure he had ever touched a woman in any way like this.
Severus's heart was pounding louder in his ears. He rubbed and kneaded her foot firmly but gently, listening to her breathing, and her occasional sigh. Having received her permission, he took his time now, and gazed at her small foot in his hands. It was so elegant and strong, yet small. Such a beautiful arch. No wonder she always wore such uncomfortable shoes. She had beautiful feet to show off. And her ankle, and her calf…he admired the curve of her leg up to where her dress lay rumpled over her knees. She was not indecent; he would not have allowed that…and yet, Severus felt inexplicably breathless at the sight of every inch of her.
When her foot was warmed from his touch, he put it gently on the floor and took her other foot, removing her shoe and giving it the same attention. He was focused on his work now, gazing at it lovingly with the devotion of worship. That is what it felt like; he was helpless to resist his arousal, and the way it made him feel completely unable to think or be in control of his body's response. Instead he surrendered to it, abandoning himself to a terrified bliss, knowing that this moment was once in a lifetime for the likes of him, anyway. He wanted to savor and appreciate every moment with deep, deep gratitude.
"Professor, if I didn't know any better," she said looking at him coquettishly, "I'd say you look like you want to kiss my feet." She grinned, and her eyes fluttered and closed again when he did not answer. Severus absolutely would have liked to kiss her feet and do a number of other things as well - none of which would be appropriate to confess. He maintained the gentle pressure, the touch that was just short of sensual – just at the line between romantic and platonic.
How intriguing it was, he reflected, how just the right amount of the right substance would remove a person's inhibitions. Petunia flirting with him was not something he had ever thought to prepare for, and he did not know how to respond. Her sudden confidence unnerved him. He felt as if something was expected of him, but he did not know what it was or how to fulfill it. He dared not try. He said nothing.
Petunia put her head back again and murmured, "That feels wonderful." Her other foot was now warm too, and he put it down and stood up, still afraid to look at her.
"There," he said softly. "Hopefully you won't be too injured tomorrow. You were…wonderful, Petunia, truly wonderful," he blurted suddenly. He felt a strange compulsion to cry. That was odd. Everything felt odd. Everything was so extraordinary about this moment, so sacred, so – He could not find the words. But he knew it was past time for him to go if he did not want to risk being disrespectful. Perhaps he had already overstayed.
"Mmm…thank you Severus," she said softly, and her words dragged out as she drifted off to sleep.
"Good night, my dear," he whispered, knowing she could not hear him and would never know what he'd said. He backed away, gazing at her, taking in every bit of the image. Her delicate dress, her small form, her sleeping, contented face with its flushed cheeks, her eyes and hair sparkling with jewels – and he thought she looked like a faery queen dozing upon her throne. He soaked all of it in, committing the scene to memory. How rare a moment. Someone like he could never afford to take such a moment for granted. It would likely never happen again.
Severus left and closed the door softly, peeking through it to make sure he had not woken her. He stood there, his hand on the door still, leaning his head against it and closed his eyes, waiting for his breathing to become normal again. Any moment now a house elf might appear and see him behaving so strangely, but he just needed a moment to recover. When he finally left Petunia's door, he knew without a doubt that he was hopelessly in love with her.
