Chapter Two: Dark Desires
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter Universe; that honor belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I thank them for the inspiration, however. Also, this story contains sexual and other adult themes, hence the M rating.
Once out of the room, Ophelia let out a deep sigh of relief. She could almost feel the ache of her bruised pride from having to beg the condescending wizard to rescue her "Such a damsel in distress," she hissed at herself. "Pathetic!" She hated the vulnerability she felt and even more, she hated that it was stemming from the same patronizing man that use to tear her confidence apart potion by potion for seven years of her life. She had always been poker-faced with him back then, but his mocking tone never failed to have its desired effect even if she never let it show. But he was a very powerful wizard, she had always known that fact, and she had admired his abilities even then. It was as though power oozed from every pore.
It was obvious that he never had a passion for teaching, but she never doubted his passion for potions or power. Despite his hostile teaching methods, she had learned a great deal from him. Her outstanding N.E.W.T. scores had lead to her acceptance into the magical healing apprenticeship at St. Mungo's, for which potions was held in strong regard. Unfortunately, she had never started the program.
She told herself in those days, that his harsh attitude and sharp tongue was a way of disguising his true talents. But he could not hide it from her, just like Dumbledore could not hide behind his jovial, impish qualities. She could sense it intuitively; she knew of their strength and deep powers without question. Her mother had told her it was part of being a good healer, appreciation of the strength of the spirit as well as the body.
She finally understood her meaning now, as the man in the other room had a physical body on the brink of failing, but his will was strong. If she could only get him to channel it towards healing and not begging for death, she knew his physical wounds would heal quickly and completely.
She filled a basin with warm water from the cauldron in the fireplace. She grabbed a clean rag and her mother's medical bag and walked back into the infirmary where her patient was resting, a look of pain embedded on his features. He opened his eyes as she sat down on the bed beside him, setting her supplies on the nightstand. She glanced out the window on the far side of the room.
"If you insist on further bothering me, I suggest you be quick about it. My head is pounding and I would much prefer to be alone," he hissed.
The sun would be setting soon so she grabbed the candle from the stand. Her hand hovered over the wick and she whispered "Imcendia," as she closed her eyes in intense concentration. A flame weakly flickered to life beneath her palm. Snape's eyes widened slightly. She wondered if he was even slightly impressed by the small display of wandless magic.
As if reading her thoughts he said in his deep, velvety voice, "Impressive." There was only a small hint of sarcasm in his voice.
She smiled softly, ignoring his tone. "Not really. It took me years of practice, and I am only successful half of the time. I have a book of matches in my pocket just in case." She paused as she though of the countless times she had spent wasting hours practicing that little trick. "But thank you…"
He nodded but said nothing more. She could sense he was in pain. She grasped his hand in hers, and her fingers searched its rough surface for the fleshy area between his thumb and index finger. Once on target, she applied a firm pressure and held tight. He did not resist her but his eyes stared at her questioningly.
"It will take the edge off your pounding head." She continued to squeeze until she felt some of his tension release indicating her success. "I can mix a migraine elixir later if you would like."
"An interesting approach," he responded as he closed his eyes again. "If one is without a wand, I suppose."
Ophelia mentally counted – two half-compliments in as many minutes. This was not the Professor Snape she remembered. Then again, neither were the strands of grey beginning to show in his jet black hair, or the gaunt frame and pained features that lay on the bed beside her.
After a few minutes she released his hand. "May I… um, undress you, Sir?" She asked as she reached for the buttons of his tattered robes. She felt a blush rise in her cheeks as she mentally chastised herself for not being more eloquent.
His eyes opened, and she could tell he was amused by the pink hue of her face, but he did not embarrass her further. He simply nodded as he reached to assist her with the process. Ophelia could not help but feel the intimacy of this moment as she relieved the man in bed next to her of his clothing in the soft glow of the candle light and the setting sun. Her cheeks continued to burn.
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She seems so innocent, Snape thought as the young healer carefully removed his garments one button at a time. He doubted she was as she seemed, however. Her touch was like that of a lover, gentle but determined, but the pink hue cast across her cheekbones showed her motives were of something other than pleasure. Part of him enjoyed the sensations of having a lovely witch undress him in the evening glow. Her features were soft in the candlelight. This primal part of him wanted to reach out and grasp her, pull her close, and seek comfort from her body. While the tingling in his loins agreed, the ache of his abused body would not allow it.
He groaned in discomfort as she pulled him forward, slipping the dark robes from his shoulders revealing his white, sweat-stained undershirt. He flinched in pain as her delicate fingers touched his throat tracing the puncture wounds on either side. Her eyes met his, and he got the distinct impression that she was putting together the details of what was suppose to have been his final moments.
She reached into her bag on the nightstand and pulled out a vial and some cotton balls. She poured the ointment from the vial onto the cotton and pressed it against his wounds. He hissed at her as the scent of lemon and comfrey filled his nostrils. "When did this happen?" She demanded suddenly breaking the silence.
"Right before the end…" He cringed as she pressed harder against his wounds.
"Her venom is powerful. How did you survive?" Now Snape knew he had read her correctly but still did not understand from where she had gathered her knowledge. He sensed this girl had some dark secrets of her own, and this drew him to her. He must know what she was hiding.
"Years of imbibing my own potions, I am assuming." She nodded as she reached back into the bag and pulled out a bottle of tablets. She poured several into his palm, and he chewed them, recognizing the immunity boosters. They would likely do little against the venom, but he supposed they could not make it any worse. Next, she pulled his dirty undershirt over his head with a surprising finesse. "You have undressed many men in your time, Miss Dyson?" He raised an eyebrow.
She flushed deeply, "Mostly in a professional capacity, Sir." She glared at him as she pulled out a stethoscope from the bag. She placed the earpieces in position and extended the other end to his chest. She listened quietly as she moved the instrument across his body, listening to the sounds of his heart, lungs, and bowels. She then returned the stethoscope to the bag and dropped a few drops of lemon juice into the warm water in the basin she had brought with her. She dipped the rag into the water and then rang it out. He watched as she flinched when her blistered palm contacted with water. Serves her right. He touched his wand hidden away within his robes.
With a scientific thoroughness and an experienced eye she inspected his skin dragging the warm damp cloth after her wandering fingertips. She palpated each bump, bruise, and scar starting with his wrist and moving up his arm and across his chest. She meticulously wiped away the dirt, sweat, and blood that had been caked to his skin for days.
"Your ribs are broken here and badly bruised here," she declared after a few long minutes. "Without my wand I'm afraid they will take a while to heal on their own, but they will heal." He nodded and flinched as she compressed his tender, damaged anatomy. She apologized as she continued with her task of cleansing and examining his body.
Snape's breathing slowed, and his eyes closed as he took in the moment which ended much too quickly. His eyes flashed open as he felt her nimble fingers working the closure of his pants. A familiar tingling reappeared deep within his gut as he pushed her hands away. "I am not entirely helpless!" He spat at her in annoyance.
She apologized again. "I can leave you with the basin if you prefer." He would prefer to feel those talented fingers working their way up his legs, onto his thighs and into more sensitive territory, but he nodded his head. "Yes. That would be best." She nodded and quickly left the room.
He was alone with his thoughts as he slipped out of his dark trousers, at least what was left of them.He tossed them aside with the rest of his garments. What has gotten into you? Pull your mind from the gutter! Such thoughts about any woman, especially former students were not something he was accustomed to experiencing. He fished his wand from his robed and tucked it into the bed beside him. He reached into the basin for the cloth and dragged in up his legs as he listened to Miss Dyson's movements in the other room.
His muscles screamed with each movement, but the warm cloth was soothing. He deserved each painful throb. This was all only a small price to pay considering he did not even deserve the air he was currently breathing. So many deaths weighed heavily on his soul, but worst of all was that image of the last moments of Albus Dumbledore which were burned into his memory.
His rational mind told him it was ridiculous due to the circumstances of that death, but he blamed himself for not being able to find a way to stop the slow death of his mentor before it was too late. He was also sickened by the twisted sense of revenge that he had drawn upon in order to accomplish his dark task.
He cringed at the memory, but the only way he had been able to look the Headmaster in the eyes and shout the words of the Unforgivable Death Curse was to blame him for her death. Dumbledore had promised to keep her from harm, but he had failed, therefore he should suffer the same fate. He sighed as he swallowed back another wave of nausea.
Snape finished his task and threw the rag back into the basin as he relaxed back against the wall, pulling the sheets over his now nearly naked body. He wondered again about how and why he had survived the fatal bite of Nagini and also postulated on the possible sequence of events that lead to the death of the Dark Lord. He found himself wondering about the fate of Lily's son. Surely, he had perished as Dumbledore had foreseen. His heart ached at the image of those beautiful green eyes that he had thought would be the last sight he saw. He cursed himself for being so emotional, but those eyes continued to plague his thoughts as he drifted into a fitful sleep.
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Ophelia was hard at work in the kitchen of the cottage. A fresh pot of stew cooked over the fire, its scent filling the room, and a freshly stacked pile of wood sat nearby. Her mind raced as she ground and pungent collection of herbs with her mortar and pestle, a near empty glass of wine was within her reach. "Don't be ridiculous, Lia," she said to herself as she took another long drink of wine. She found herself wondering if she had detected a hint of arousal in her patient earlier.
At some superficial level the young witch was very aware of the effects her appearance had on men and had used them often to her advantage. Of course, she was mostly oblivious to her appearance, especially when it had been years since any male other than her father had had the pleasure of observing her beauty.
Ophelia shuddered as her stomach turned slightly with the memory of the last male to look upon her with eyes filled with lust.
It had been nearly four years since she'd encountered the reptilian features, but she could still feel his rough touch on her cheek and hear his voice hissing in her ear. "With the help of your mother, soon I will regain my former strength, and your beauty shall be my reward." The Dark Lord then flooded her mind suddenly with images of his hideous form twisted around her body, and she felt her body wretch as she vomited. Laughter had erupted from the Death Eaters that had congregated within the same kitchen in which Ophelia now worked, covering the soft sobs of her mother in the background. She also received a death stare that threatened to rip her intestines onto the floor then and there from one haunting female Death Eater. "Now now… You will get used to it…" he laughed a dark laugh as he stroked her hair.
Her father hid her away after that and started the rumor that she had left to complete her studies in America. Lord Voldemort had returned to her property only once since that time, less than a week ago, before staging the attack on Hogwarts. Thankfully, he was unaware of her presence, hidden away in the well behind the cottage. She cringed to think what would have happened if she had been discovered.
She sighed in frustration and gulped down the rest of her wine as she ground the herbs into the mortar with more force. It was twisted thinking, but she found the idea of having such an effect on her former potions professor extremely appealing. Are you really that lonely?! She grabbed an empty vial and poured the freshly ground mix into it. She stoppered the vial and added to the collection of other vials in one of the many cupboards of the kitchen.
She sighed again as she moved across the kitchen and filled a bowl with some stew. She sat down at the large table at the center of the room and stared out the window as the last of the evening sun disappeared under the horizon.
After only a few bites she stood back up and went about preparing a bowl of stew, some bread, and some fresh tea for her patient. She then carried the tray to the next room. "Sir?" She waited at the doorway, but there was no response. She repeated herself but still heard nothing so she entered the room and placed with tray on the nightstand.
Reaching down, she touched the hand of the sleeping man. He did not stir as she reached for his wrist to feel his pulse beating strong. She then glanced at his chest as it rose and fell. She counted the rate of his breaths and also allowed her eyes to wander across the sinewy pectoral muscles and onto his subtly defined abdominal muscles. She swallowed hard and mentally cursed herself for the inappropriate thoughts drifting through her head. You really are that lonely… She licked her lips as she resisted the urge to allow her hands to follow the path of her eyes. Instead, she reached a hand out to touch his shoulder and shook him gently as she leaned in to get another look at the puncture wounds on his neck. "I've brought you some food. Please eat."
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Snape felt her presence at his bedside. His nostrils were filled with the smells of beef stew and the red wine on Miss Dyson's breath. He did not want to open his eyes and lose the vision of the green eyes still strong within his thoughts, but the girl's presence was something he found comforting to his tortured psyche. He opened his eyes finally. As his vision focused he was taken by surprise by the thick lashes covering the sapphire glow of the eyes that were centimeters from his own. Her gentle smile seemed to brighten the candle-lit room.
He cleared his throat. "Your kindness is misplaced but appreciated, Miss Dyson."
"You are very welcome," she stated as she moved the tray onto his lap. "How are you doing?" Her concern for him seemed genuine despite her selfish motives.
"Small talk is a nonproductive endeavor," he sneered. He never understood the need for others to always insist on knowing how everyone was all the time. It seemed like a silly question that was only destined to receive useless answers.
"A subjective inquiry to your health status is not small talk considering your current position as my patient." She retorted boldly which surprised him as he detected a tone of injured pride. He felt a momentary guilt, but also relief that the girl would not realize the effect she was having on him.
"I did not intend to survive this War. Death was to be my reward. Pardon me for being less the enthusiastic to be here talking about my current state of being." He resisted the childish urge to roll his eyes.
She laughed and Snape was taken aback. What could possibly have been so amusing about that rather blunt suicidal ideation? He glared at her and she quickly silenced, still smiling. "Well Professor, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Sir, but not only did you survive this War but you emerged a victor. And after a few days here with me, I believe you will be a little more optimistic about the future. Now eat!"
He studied her quizzically as the words sank into his mind and then into his soul. She was correct. Despite the tragic events he had been part of for too many years, he had fought for the winning side. The rest of the World may not believe the killer of Dumbledore a hero, but the most evil wizard of all known time would never threaten the Wizarding world again.
He swallowed hard as he glanced down at his inner forearm where the faded Dark Mark reminded him of all he had been through. He then looked at the attractive witch waiting patiently for him to respond as she leaned against the wall, arms folded in front of her.
He grabbed the tea cup and slowly took a long sip appreciating the flavor. "Perhaps all is not lost," he admitted finally and her smile widened making her even more lovely. He then leaned into the tray and took a bite of the stew. He almost gasped as the delectable intensity of the flavors overtook his senses. He could not remember the last time he had eaten anything but bland slop meant only to fulfill his energy needs and foul potions meant to make his existence tolerable. "My compliments to the chef."
"There is plenty more if you wish," she nodded and started cleaning up near the bed. His eyes followed her as she flitted about the area removing the basin and dirty rag and picking up his clothing. She looked at the garments in disgust. "These are hardly worth repairing, but I think I can find some replacements for you." He did not respond but continued to indulge in her stew, comparing it to a well made potion; the flavors mixed seamlessly together but were still distinctly detectable.
She left the room again, arms full. Snape watched the sway of her hips as she disappeared. For the first time since Lily Evans, he felt a desire to get close to this intriguing female. You old fool! He chastened himself in the same tone he usually reserved for his students. She would never want an ornery, washed-up git of a creature such as you…she will reject you… as Lily did.
His heart sank. He would never deserve such a prize as her anyway. Fate had never been kind to him; why should that change now? He continued to enjoy the stew and bread. The rich flavors never dulled as he emptied the bowl. He could already feel the strength starting to settle into his war torn, exhausted body.
Miss Dyson returned, a smile on her face, as she saw his empty tray. "Would you care for some more?" He shook his head and yawned deeply.
"I will leave you to rest then. I will be in the next room if you need anything." She took the tray from his lap and left a glass of water on the nightstand. Then she left the room, pausing at the doorway. "Good night, Professor." And for once those words did not insight bitter fears in his head and actually provided some sort of comfort as sleep overtook him almost immediately.
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A/N: I want to hear your thoughts. Do you find this chapter believable? Thank you!