Severus Snape has so much of no control over his life. He also believes that now, more than ever before, he is a being without a soul; he believes himself to be no more than a wandering animal, no better than a mutt on the street — but completely better than a werewolf with a metamorphmagus lover, of course.
He probably believes this mostly because of his inability to cry at the passing — at the murder — of the late, great Albus Dumbledore. He sits and does not ask himself to keen or mourn or lament or weep, just to cry; and he finds that he cannot.
Severus Snape is a bad man, and he knows it.
The Dark Lord loves him, convinced Snape is his man through and through. And now, that Dumbledore is long gone, would it be understandable for him to give his life up once again to the great, no-nosed, power-hungry fiend? To take the Dark Mark without the grain of salt, to answer his calls with real love and loyalty in his dark eyes?
No, of course not. That would not do at all. Especially not after that task given him by the Dark Lord.
The first time he visits Hogwarts, he wears the body of one Neville Longbottom, a flask of the potion at his waist should he be deterred. This form was taken on with much grinding of teeth and grumbling—to himself, of course, and not to the Dark Lord who informed him that "the boy is dull and rather overlooked." The second time he uses an invisibility potion, not desiring to be in the body of any Gryffindor if he can help it.
It is ironic, then, that, as he thinks this, Lavender Brown rounds the corner. Or, is thrown round the corner by one aggressive Seamus Finnigan.
"Lift up your skirts, Lavender," he commands in his thick Irish accent, slurred by the husky sound in his voice driven solely by the want in his pants. He latches onto her mouth, hands wandering as she responds, pinned against the wall.
"Seamus, not that."
"Come off it, Lav. I know you're not a virgin."
"I am!"
"What did you do with Ron, then? Just some slap and tickle?"
"That's not your business, Seamus! Get off me!"
Snape doesn't know whether to be horrified that Seamus continues to pull at her skirts or that the sight of Lavender in distress is causing a bit of tug in his own usually calm pants. Were he not a wanted fugitive, a known "servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," currently invisible, and altogether out of place, he would charge right up and take Seamus off the waiflike girl immediately. For the moment, he watches in strange fascination. If she doesn't want him to have her, why is she lifting her legs as such? Does she arch because it is a natural thing to do so? The scientist in him comes out as he watches the display, mulling over the animal qualities of the human being in his mind.
It is not until Lavender screams and Seamus silences her with his wand that Snape realizes he really should do something about this whole business. Do the students usually come down this far in the wee hours of the morning to bump and grind? That is truly a sickening thought. He has to push the skeptic in him to the back of his mind, quickly formulating some way to help Lavender before Seamus gets his little Irishman to her pot of gold.
There is a moment where he thinks he can perhaps return to the body of Longbottom (he does, after all, have some potion on him) and enter as the dim lad, but that thought is eradicated by the sound of Seamus' zipper.
The spell is easy and rather harmless; it merely knocks Seamus out for a half hour or so. He waits for Lavender to regain her senses and figure out that there is no visible being in the immediate area to have cast such a spell (or any spell, for that matter), holding his breath as he quietly stands still, invisible. He waits, watching her curiously as she allows herself to slide her down the wall, her hair bunching and pulling and getting tangled on the way down. As she does so, her white and purple knickers push further down her thighs, almost to her knees. Seamus' Irishman had almost made its purchase, Snape notes with a snarl of his lip.
"I'm such a whore."
She does not say such a thing out loud, but she thinks it as loudly as possible, and Snape's mind picks it loud and clear. As he watches and she thinks, she puts her hands up to her face and starts to cry like a child with a skinned knee; and she rather looks like one, her knees up in the air, her feet out, her face red, puffy, and tear-streaked. He wonders if she has become a whore, despite her claims to being a virgin, which he knows to be untrue. Why, he took that from her last year.
Has she had any others since then? Snape cannot help his curiosity, and, as she cries, he slowly walks to her and crouches down quietly.
"Look at me, Lavender," he says in his deep voice, one she recognizes. She turns, staring at him as her eyes roam the air.
"Professor Snape?" her lips mouth, her voice silent from Seamus' magic. Several things float to the top of her mind: headlines, flyers, and warnings about her former professor swirling about behind those bright, empty eyes of hers.
"I am curious as to how good your word is."
It is then that he reaches out with his hands and grabs either side of her confused face, one he has touched and touched and used and remembers very well.
"Keep your eyes open."
She does, and he locks in on them, on the mind behind them. The first things that come to him are the recent Seamus attack, and another one, several weeks earlier, down in the kitchens. Why is she in the kitchens? A little more probing finds her binging and purging, finds her not eating regularly, finds her sleeping some nights with the House Elves, curled up in large, warm blankets. No memories of recent sexual encounters…he wonders how far and deep he would have to travel to find the one he took away. Would he harm her going that far and deep into her mind? Why not try it and see what happens? What's he got to lose?
He pushes farther in, rushing past family and friends to the dark ends of her mind, searching for a memory he knows must be there somewhere. Because now, after having seen her with Seamus, he begins to understand what jealousy over a woman is like.
Though he reminds himself, Lavender is no woman.
There! There is something; he spots himself in her mind and begins to focus in on that memory, to track it and trace it and open it and see what she remembers, how she saw it.
"Stop!" she thinks loudly, clearly, her head wriggling and pulling away from the invisible potion-stained hands holding it in place. "Please!"
She's begging, pleading, and Snape withdraws almost immediately, lingering on the far off memory that he's rather inclined to reach and tear open. As soon as he's out of her, she's got her wand to her throat, restoring her voice.
She inhales for what can only be a scream, and the invisible Snape rushes forward, covering her mouth with his hands. It is a rather difficult task, as she writhes and tries to bite him several times. That mouth has returned to its disrespectful state, and he summons his strength as a man and overpowers her, pushing her back against the wall in much the same position as Seamus was trying to achieve; it takes his entire body to keep her still. He should just obliviate her now and get on with his job, just a quick spell, and everything else is a hop, skip, and a jump away. Why is he concerned about her state of mind?
Perhaps he thinks he can tell her that he is not what they say he is, who they say he is. As she fights, inhaling and exhaling quickly, her heart beating like a rabbit's, he wants to shout out his predicament. He wants to have someone know the entirety of his situation.
"Let go! Stop it! Murderer!"
It is neither her terrified tone nor her aghast face that leads him to obliviate her; it is he last word, her last bit of diction that drives him past the point of wanting human companionship and to the place where it is not a necessity.
He does the decent thing of pushing her knickers back up before heading to his destination: the Headmistresses' office.
That night, in his bed at Spinner's End, he lies awake for a different reason. He has been too preoccupied as of late to think on that night between Lavender and himself. He closes his eyes after several moments, pulling every bit of it to the back of his eyes, every memory he can produce: Lavender in that uniform, bending and arching; Lavender without that uniform, whimpering and writhing underneath him. How thoroughly he had soiled her! How thoroughly she had forgotten.
As his mind wanders through that night, he allows his hand to wander down his body, and therefore he allows himself to enjoy something, which is a rarity as of late. If only she were here to clean up his mess.
Severus Snape is a bad man, and he knows it.
Several weeks pass, and the Dark Lord requires little of him, which is a rarity as well. Then, one night, there is a knocking at his front door. Wand at the ready, he opens it ever so slightly, asking roughly who it is.
"Is that any way to treat your lord and master?" comes the serpentine voice. Snape opens the door immediately, bowing low to allow the Dark Lord into the foyer.
"Forgive me," he says, looking down his long nose to the floor, trying to avoid the feet, the legs, the robes. He shuts the door, perplexed as to why the Dark Lord is out and about with that brown nose Pettigrew sniveling at his heels.
"Wormtail's location is none of your concern, Severus."
Like a trained monkey, he immediately wipes the thought from his mind, standing up and giving his lord an appreciative smirk.
"What are you smirking for?"
"I am merely surprised that you would come into such a Muggle place, my lord. Nothing more."
Snape can feel Voldemort snooping around inside his mind for a moment or two before he tells him that a splash of red wine would be a rather nice gesture and retreats to the sitting room. The former Potions Master sets to work in the kitchen immediately, pouring a glass for both himself and the tyrant in the other room, knowing it impolite and treacherous to give drink to Voldemort without drinking oneself; Voldemort would take it as an insult or a hint that the drink contains some sort of poison. So, Snape enters his sitting room shortly after, two glasses full of red wine in hand.
"Well done, Severus," he tells him, setting the glass on the end table. Snape remembers when he used to be disconcerted by the reborn evil's lack of nose and other facial features, but his face seems all too familiar now.
"Thank you."
He sits on the sofa, placing his wine on the table in front of him, looking at it as a focal point; it would certainly not do to stare. What did Voldemort want from him now?
"I have another task for you."
"Anything, my lord," comes the immediate reply.
"Again, Hogwarts. Again, Longbottom."
Snape cannot help but sigh; anything inside Hogwarts is infinitely less dangerous and harmful. And, again, he is stuck with the body of that witless wonder. But, perhaps, he will run across Lavender again…?
"I would very much like for you to kill the two Weasley children."
"Any particular method?"
"Poison, preferably," he replied after a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. "One that causes quite a bit of pain and attention."
"I will do so, then, my lord."
"I knew I could count on you."
And the Dark Lord toasts him and drinks to him, and Severus Snape feels his heart ache all over again.
The poison takes a while to brew; he wants it to be painful and as undetectable as possible, so it takes him nearly two weeks to get it just right. A few drops in both of the Weasley's drinks, and off they are to the great beyond. The thing is how and when will it be done? Being invisible will not do; the students know that they should be able to walk through air, and he will not risk being bumped into. Perhaps he can get someone else to do the deed for him, though, and so he devises a plan, takes the potion to become Neville Longbottom yet again, and heads for the school late in the evening. Hopefully Lavender will still binge and purge in the kitchens like he saw in her memories.
Severus Snape is a bad man, and he knows it.
In the more youthful body, he finds himself a bit spryer as he makes his way down the quiet, deserted corridor. Has he come on one of her nights; are they every night? He pauses outside the kitchens and hears the sounds of fussing House Elves.
Quickly, the door is opened and Snape steps back, reaching for his wand.
"Neville?"
He pauses again; that's right: he's currently Neville, and therefore he has nothing to fear. He stutters a bit and rubs his palms on his pants as he's seen the dense boy do before.
"What are you doing here?"
It is a very red-faced and weary-looking Lavender before him, her cheeks sunken in the dark light. She wipes her nose and sniffs, looking rather…ashamed, is it? Remembering quickly to charm his voice, he replies, "Oh, uh, I woke up hungry. Thought I'd come down for a bite. Uh, and you?"
"The same," she lies easily, wiping her hands shakily on her skirt. She looks sickly, looks ill, not the same, voluptuous, fun-loving girl she had once been. Her face, her stance, the arch of her back are all that of an older woman under much strain. So, the question of, "What's the matter?" is not only justifiable, but quite warranted.
"It's just…" she trails, turning and wiping her eyes before leaning against the wall. "Seamus."
"Finnigan?" he asks calmly, though inside he's quite enraged. That hormonal, pyromaniac Irishman taking his frustrations and desires out on Lavender, a pureblood who should be entirely out of his league. From Ronald to Seamus, her tastes have apparently gone downhill.
"Yeah."
"What's wrong with him?" he asks again, keeping his voice as level as possible.
"He's being an arse is all."
"Are you two not together anymore?"
"No," she replied immediately, shaking her head. "And yes. And…I don't know, Neville. All he does is hurt me. He just wants to shag me."
"Well, uh, why don't you shag him, Lavender?"
"Because," she starts, rubbing her nose with a bit of a sniff. "I think I feel attached to my…hum."
"Your what?"
"Virginity," she whispers, pushing her hair out of her face.
"You're a virgin?" he asks, raising his Longbottom eyebrows.
"Do you think I'm some sort of whore, Neville? Just because of Ron and I? What did he tell you in your dorm, huh? Tell you I let him in after the first week?"
"No, nothing like that; I'm sorry to upset you," Snape apologizes immediately.
"No, Neville, it's me," she insists quickly, waving it off and sighing, her face pained. "I just wish I could get it over with."
"What?"
"Losing my stupid virginity. Then I could just get on with it and shag Seamus silly all he wanted."
That's an interesting way to look at things, Snape thinks with a quirk of an eyebrow. And, because she is amusing him in the midst of his depression, he suggests, rather whimsically, "I could help you out with that."
"What?" Lavender asks after a long moment wherein she blinks and cocks her head confusedly. Her lips twitch, and her nostrils flare slightly as she stares at him with the most worrisome eyes. Does she think he's going to have at her like Seamus?
"You heard me," he says after a moment, the idea of Neville Longbottom engaging in sexual intercourse causing him to have quite the twitch in his left eye.
"Neville…Neville…I…what a strange thing to offer."
"Everyone says I'm a giving sort of bloke."
I'm losing my mind, Snape informs himself, uncertain of why he has suddenly switched gears. He'd come to get her to do his dirty work, possibly even put her under the Imperius curse if necessary. No one would ever think to track such a think to Lavender Brown. And now here he is, mulling over that night again and gracing Neville's face with the most wicked of smirks. Not that Neville's trousers aren't tightening around his straining groin or anything.
"Neville, I don't—we don't really know each other."
"What better way to get acquainted?"
"He has such funny teeth," she thinks, and Snape cannot help but laugh at the thought screaming behind her confused eyes. He needs a little laughter in his life, a little amusement, a little fun.
A little sex couldn't hurt, either.
"You'll get used to the teeth; you can't really see them in the dark," he says in the deepest voice he can conjure as Neville, closing the distance between the two of them. One hand pushes the door to the kitchens out to a person-sized gap. "After you."
With curious, slightly terrified eyes, she slips away from him and into the kitchens, calling out for the House Elves to leave her be.
"Neville, I…"
"Lavender, sit on the table."
"What? Neville?"
"Sit," he says this time in the utmost of commanding tones, and the blonde obeys immediately.
He must be completely bonkers; what would the Dark Lord have to say to such perverted thoughts and behaviours? Nonetheless, Snape shuts and magically locks the door, walks to her and pushes her knees out further with his legs.
"He has such funny teeth."
Again it floats to her mind, but this time he does not laugh. He is at a point where laughter is no longer needed, just the sex.
"They're really big."
One way to stop her from seeing his teeth is to draw her attention to something else, and so he places each Longbottom hand on her upper thighs, running them up her thin legs slowly. She's definitely lost weight, and she definitely needs to put it back on.
"I just can't stop looking."
"Lavender, stop staring at my teeth," he sighs; she hadn't been like this about his nose the year before, and it's certainly as big as the teeth he wears now. Her eyes venture away quickly, focusing now on his eyes. Can she tell someone else is behind them? Of course not; she's beautiful, not bright.
"Do you do this often?" Lavender asks quietly as his thumbs hook into her knickers. Foreplay be dashed, he simply wants it, and Lavender's the best he could do it with at the moment.
"Do what?"
"Sex girls up in the kitchens?"
"Not nearly as often as I probably should," he kids, then turns quite serious. "Now, Lavender, I want you lift your skirts high above your waist so I can get your knickers off."
"How does his voice get out past those teeth?"
That is the last he wishes to hear of teeth, and he darkens the room with a quick wave of his wand as she pulls her skirts up.
"Off with your top as well."
That comes off quickly enough, and though it is dark he can see her in his mind's eye.
"Neville, will it hurt?"
"Perhaps. Give me your legs and relax."
With a wave of his wand and a well-performed spell, he ensures that she will be as one barren during their encounter. He's always had trouble with kids; at least until they spread their legs.
Severus Snape is a bad man, and he knows it.
Snape knows things about Lavender that she does not know about herself and only because he erased it from her memory. So he knows how to angle himself, how to go at her; the only problem is that, being in Neville's body, he has a bit of a time adjusting to it before he can get the utmost and best experience out of shagging Lavender Brown on a table in the kitchens. Because, quite frankly, he never got to do that as a kid, and he feels he was missing out afterwards, especially when the name that passed her lips was "Neville" and not his own. Nevertheless, he lays with her on her makeshift cot in the corner, ignoring the House Elves as they prepare for breakfast, his not-quite-so-long fingers caught up and tangled in the blonde hair he is rather fond of. The taste of polyjuice is fresh in his mouth as he returns the flask to his side, sighing heavily.
Lavender inhales deeply in her sleep, readjusting herself against him. A small, girlish hand wanders to his Longbottom chest and slips in to allow her fingers to move across it in a way that causes Snape to shiver all over. They continue to move and feel, traveling downwards and undoing the remaining buttons on the way, pushing aside the uniform fabric with a seemingly skilled hand. Two fingers slip into the waistband just long enough to tease before again pushing the button out of its hole and gently taking hold of the zipper.
"Neville, I'd like to thank you," she whispers, her eyes still closed, as she begins to do this sort of nibbling, licking thing on the side of his neck that sends off sparks behind his eyes. He tenses as the small hand finds its way inside his underwear, breathing in heavily again. He is reminded of the night he shared with himself and the memory of Lavender at Spinner's End. Though, he must admit, the real Lavender is just as good, if not better.
She finishes and is thoughtful enough to fetch him a towel, though he could think of another way…he spots his moment just as she begins to braid her hair.
"Lavender?"
"Yes, Neville?" she replies, almost casually. What a strange girl.
"Will you look me in the eyes a moment?"
She leans down and obliges him, and his wand performs a curse he is not rather fond of.
"This goes into the drinks of both Weasley children, Lavender."
"Yes," she says after a moment, blinking her now more vacuous eyes.
"Do not let them see you do it. Do not make it obvious."
"Yes."
"And return here tonight, do you understand?"
"Yes."
Snape escorts her to her Common Room, making sure she still walks correctly, talks believably, and looks nothing more than tired. From there, he returns to his place at Spinner's End and sits anxiously in his armchair, too nervous to read and too calm to pace. He was never one to pace, not Severus Snape. He is one to bite at his nails and stare off at walls and think on dark things left untouched by most.
The sun passes overhead and disappears altogether, and still he remains in the same chair. It is not until some time past midnight that he dares go out again in the body of Neville Longbottom.
The wind has picked up, he notices, and he is quite appreciative of the warmth inside the kitchens. The House Elves talk quietly—or, as quietly as House Elves can—as they recognize him with strange looks and disappear to wherever it is House Elves go at night. He pulls his cloak around him closer, breathing in the heat of the kitchens as he waits quietly.
She arrives shortly after, nearly stumbling over a step. Part of him wishes to surge forward, but he remains stock-still in his spot near the corner.
"Lavender Brown, come here."
She obediently turns, walks over to him, and stands in front of him. Her eyes focus on something just past his shoulder, and she seems to sway as she stands.
"What happened today in school?"
Perhaps it is the cold way she explains it, or merely the look of indifference on her face as she does so, but something about the whole scenario makes Snape want to curl up and die. She starts out with her waking up, dressing, and going down to breakfast. In a sentence she sums up the scene: "I put the potion in their drinks, and they made noises and jerked around like something out of that shop the twins run until they stopped moving altogether because they were dead." Her only detail being a short description of how Ginny's hair had swept the floor when the famous Harry Potter cried over her and held her close, she quickly goes onto the arrival of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody and a metamorphmagus with strange, purple hair. In at lunch, out at supper. Snape cringes slightly at this, surprised he could get in, even as Longbottom. Her talk of the classes being cancelled because students were too distraught, and of the Headmistress barely letting them go back to their dorms causes Snape to ask, "How did you get down here, then, with all the extra security?"
Her answer?
"I hexed Filch and Mrs. Norris."
Is that laughable? It probably should be, and most likely is under normal circumstances.
"Is the Ministry being further involved?"
"It was not mentioned."
Snape sits on a stool, nodding and thinking to himself. What does this mean? How does he feel about being the instigator of the death of the youngest Weasley children? How will Arthur take it? He wonders about Arthur, because to wonder about Molly's reaction would pain him too much at the moment; just the thought of it would drive him batty.
Lavender stays in her spot and sways as he thinks, looking remarkably lifeless. Snape does not fancy this shell of Lavender, and so he sends her back to her dorms and slips away in the wee hours of the morning to collapse in that chair again, think, and perhaps eat or sleep if his stomach can handle it; it can, and he knows himself then to becoming closer and closer to losing his soul forever.
It is then that Lavender's body tilts forward and collapses with a loud thud, the side of her head hitting the floor quite audibly as she does so.
Snape is going completely crazy. You are out of your bloody mind, he tells himself several times in rapid succession. He locks the door behind him and throws off his wet cloak; of course it would choose to pour freezing rain at a time like this—the gods enjoy laughing at Severus Snape, as always. Why couldn't it rain on Slughorn, or Vector, or Filch, even? Why him? Why now?
He carries the limp, bedraggled body of Lavender Brown past his sitting room, through his kitchen and bed chambers, and finally stops in the bathroom. No need for modesty here, he strips off her soaked clothes and makes a noise of disheartenment at the sight of her pale face and slightly blue lips. How poorly she had responded to the curse! He takes it off immediately, running a tub of warm water as he sets her in it and disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with pumpkin juice and bread.
"Come out of it Lavender," he commands in his Longbottom body, pushing the goblet of juice to her lips, his other hand shaking her head gently as though to wake her.
It takes a bit of magic from the tip of his wand to get those blue eyes to open, and then she drinks without question. Once he is certain she is awake and no longer shivering from the cold, he leaves her to bathe, and waits in the kitchen.
"Neville? Where are we?"
And then there is the sound of the goblet falling to the floor, and Snape turns around. Lavender is clothed in one of his large, emerald green bath robes; her hair curls in its dampness, a good deal shorter with the volume and body added to the usually nearly pin-straight blonde tresses. There is something in her eyes—fear?
Now he realizes it; he has, in his waiting, become Snape again, no longer sporting the face and gargantuan teeth of Neville Longbottom.
"Miss Brown, I—"
"Stay away!" she shrieks, rushing back into the bathroom and slamming the door before Snape can reach her. He jingles the door handle and is not at all surprised to find it locked. "Go away!"
"Lavender, this is my house," Snape says rather blandly.
"I didn't ask to be brought here!"
"You needed attention."
"Give me to Madam Pomfrey!"
"Really, this is ridiculous."
"Leave me alone!"
Snape sighs as he unlocks the door with a wave of his wand and leans forward.
"No, no, no!" she screeches, pushing on the door with all of her malnourished might. He barely has to brace in order to push her back and slip in.
"Expelliarmus!" she shouts immediately, and he is bewildered by the wand in her hand. Had he been thoughtless enough to leave it in the pile of her clothes? Yes, he obviously had been. "Move away from me," she commands, shaking as she picks up his wand, pointing her own directly at him. He stays motionless. "I said move away!"
"Lavender, give me a moment to explain."
"Langlock!"
How positively ironic; his tongue fastens to the roof of his mouth on command of a spell he invented. However had she learned that one? Had it become popular at the school again? Although she had silence his tongue, his mind was definitely not fastened to the roof of his mouth, and so he gazed directly into those open, confused, vicious eyes and locked in on them.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
She shakes her head, shuts her eyes, and keeps her wand on him.
"Give me my wand, Lavender."
"Get out of my head!"
"Only if you give me my wand."
"No!"
"I have no choice, then," he informs her, and then he begins to tear through her memories like a starved rabbit in a garden. Speaking of rabbits, her pet rabbit is the first he zooms through; there are more: days in the lake, third year classes, her first fight with Seamus, snogging in the Common Room with Ron, and then there is one of himself, teaching. He stops at this one.
"I hate this stupid class. Lavender, do you have any…fig leaves?"
"Yeah. What are you doing tonight?"
"Homework for Lockhart."
"Oh," Lavender says casually, throwing in a bit of something into her cauldron. It immediately begins to boil.
"Lavender!" Parvati hisses. "It's supposed to get cold, not boil!"
"I don't know what I'm doing! I have no idea what these instructions even mean!"
"I know, but…Lavender! Watch it!"
She moves aside and watches as her cauldron makes several flatulent-like noises, coughing up puffs of purple smoke as it does so.
"Miss Brown."
The look on Lavender's face in her own memory is one of complete fear and annoyance.
"Yes, Professor?"
"If I were to assign you a potion that was to turn the colour of your name, I would make the announcement to the class. However, as I have made no such announcement, if would be wise for you to keep your potions as far away from the colours of your name as possible. At this point in time, it should be a bright—"
"Orange, I know," she interrupts, leaning into Parvati who whispers for her to hold her tongue. His (much younger looking, he notices) eyes narrow as he replies with, "Very good, Miss Brown. This potion is beyond repair, I am afraid. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for lack of consideration and pure vanity."
"Get out of my head!"
The amount of anger Lavender currently feels shocks Snape out of her head, but it does not shock the question of why such an incident in class is prominent in her mind. As though it is she who can read minds, she cries out, "That was the first time I lost points! All because you had to mock my potion and my name!"
The hex has worn off by now, and he quietly asks, "Did you hate me for it? Oh, and Accio wand!"
It flies to his hand obediently, and he holds it limply in case Lavender feels the need to practice some of her more advanced spells.
She falls to her knees, crying. He has apparently gone to something in her mind she wishes to have stayed forever closed. Her thin wrists wipe at her watery eyes, and he cannot help but feel a pang of sorrow for the waif when she asks in the most offended tone she could ever muster, "Why did you bring me here?"
He has been watching her sleep for far too long: he can close his eyes and still see her face, her fingers, her hair, and her body in great detail. Bundled up in several blankets on his bed, she sleeps soundlessly and soundly. The lewd thoughts he once berated himself for thinking about her are all too common in his mind now, and he lets them linger, encourages them—even smiles when he comes to one he finds particularly agreeable, such as Lavender reprising her role as a French maid with him in his own body, not in the body of Neville Longbottom. He would prefer to stay away and out of that body for the rest of eternity.
He stays with her until dawn, when he declares himself in need of food. The smells must reach her nose, for she comes to the threshold several minutes later, bundled up and bleary-eyed. She opens her mouth, and he expects her to ask for food, but she surprises him with:
"When you finish eating, will you come lie with me?"
Snape does not reply for many moments, which is just fine as Lavender is yawning and rubbing her eyes. When she looks at him expectantly, he merely nods, pushing his eggs around with his fork for want of movement: quite frankly, he is stunned speechless by this question.
She retreats, Snape quickly eats, and then he decides it best to brush his teeth in case anything occurs, in case she remembers something, or in case…well, it's never bad to have clean teeth.
Damn it, she's acting her gender, he thinks with a hint of irony as he enters the room and finds her with her back to him. Unsure of what to do, and how to do so, he sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed and stays there for what seems like an eternity.
"What'd you do with my wand?" she asks, finally breaking the silence which seems so awkward to Snape that he wishes to leave the room.
"It is in a high, safe place," he replies with a smirk, though she cannot see it.
"Do you have a Pensieve?"
"Yes, I do," he answers, unsure of why the question was asked. "Why do you ask?"
"You have a memory of me that I do not have myself."
Snape arches a brow at this, turning to look at the blanketed lump of Lavender Brown on his bed.
"Oh? Do I?"
"Yes, and I would like to know what it is."
"What if I do not wish for you to know what it is?"
"The school will recognize my absence sooner rather than later."
Snape breathes in deeply; this is true: with the recent poisonings, head counts and roll calls will be taken ever half hour or so, and Lavender has been gone for quite some time. What could it hurt now to show her? He could just obliviate it from her memory all over again, if he so pleased.
"Come with me."
His Pensieve is on the far end of his bedroom, and Lavender shuffles over in all of his blankets, watching with demanding eyes as he pulls it out of its hiding shelf and places it on the table. First, he retracts the memory on his wand and places the silvery, hair-like substance into the bowl. It swirls and seems to liquidate, and Lavender peers over very close. A bit of her hair falls just in front of her face, and he cannot help but reach out to push it back; she does not move or even seem to recognize this gesture, merely narrows her eyes and takes the Pensieve in for what may be her first time.
"Lean in very close, Lavender," he instructs her, searching her face for any sign that she is bothered by this miniscule physical contact. She appears to not care, and then is gone in the bowl of his memories.
He follows a few moments later.
She stands in his office, watching her past self enter the room. The look on the weary Lavender's face as she spots herself in the uniform is a thing of priceless beauty: she appears shocked that she was in such a thing, not because of its nature, but because of its tight fight. She circles herself, checking out her body from the perspective of one outside it, and she seems to approve.
Snape watches from the corner, his black eyes on the present-day Lavender. He has seen this memory enough times already: his was not taken away.
Lavender gives no sign of shock until she watches herself kneel in front of her professor, and then her cheeks turn that pink colour Snape found himself so fond of the year before. Her cheeks turn a vibrant colour of red as she watches herself do things to and with Snape that she thought herself inexperienced with and a virgin to. She circles the scenes, stands off and watches with wide eyes, open mouth, and a hand to cover her blushing face.
When he moves to take her out of the memory, she ignores him. When they arrive back in the present day, she immediately goes to the bed and curls up, her eyes still wide and her face still red. Snape puts his Pensieve away, worried about the thoughts in her head.
"Was that our only time…?" she asks after several minutes, her voice quite shaky.
"No."
"When else?"
"Neville Longbottom."
"You sneaking into the castle to shag!" Lavender accuses, sitting up quickly, her hair askew and about her like a lion's mane—a true Gryffindor.
"Not necessarily."
"What then?"
"I needed you."
"To shag!"
"To perform the Imperius curse on," he replied quietly, taking soft steps towards her. "You slipped a lethal poison into the drinks of the two youngest Weasley children, which caused their pain-filled deaths yesterday."
"You lie!"
"I wish I did."
Before Lavender can say another word, give Snape another look, or begin to cry for her innocence and the lives of her peers, there is a loud rapping from the front door, and Snape startles to a stand.
"Stay here," he instructs her, and she has no thoughts about disobeying.
When the Dark Lord enters his home, Snape immediately throws up all of his mental walls—but not quickly enough. Voldemort steals into his mind and rushes into the bedroom, alarming Lavender so much so that she actually faints. After a most effective Cruciatus curse, Severus Snape takes the Dark Lord Voldemort into his Pensieve. There he learns of what has taken place between the two; with a horrid cackle, he approves of Snape's obviously callous feelings of naught but desire and lust towards the foolish blonde, and the Dark Lord spares her so that Snape may "continue to utilize her properties."
He returns her to the school that afternoon and does not obliviate her: he will be visiting soon enough.