Severus Snape's features were stony. The corners of his mouth were turned down and his brows drawn together, carving lines of deep concentration into his forehead.
He was staring, almost vacantly, through the silvery mist drifting in the ancient bowl of Dumbledore's Pensieve.
Severus wore the expression anyone probably would if they watched years of their bygone life storm by like the rush of train coaches. He was so engrossed in his archives that he wasn't even bothered by the sharp white light of the Pensieve that reflected into his eyes.
His stooped silhouette stood outlined against the darkened office, a tall shadow stretching back into the room.
He was attempting to cull his most violent and otherwise explicit or too personal memories before Holly would arrive for her first Occlumency lesson.
It was a quarter to six and he was making final precautions in favour of maintaining the privacy of his mind, especially since recent evidence – the attack on Arthur Weasley in the Department of Mysteries – attest that the girl shares some sort of unique link with the Dark Lord's mind. Her head was dangerous and evidently increasingly susceptible to His manipulations, which was alarming . . . more so since Dumbledore delegated the task of relaying to Miss Potter the crucial and subtle art of Occlumency to him.
Severus did not discover himself to be particularly entertained by the idea of dying both violently and prematurely, and so opted for protecting himself as best he could.
In any case, he probably couldn't get more involved than he already was.
Still, he understood why Dumbledore chose him as tutor for the girl. He has a notorious and hereditary gift for Legilimency and Occlumency, the natural ability to extract feelings and memories from the minds of others and a stone fist guarding his own mind from intruders.
Who better to teach Holly than the wizard with the most experience keeping the Dark Lord out of his head?
He pressed the sharp point of his ebony wand firmly into the curtain of slick black hair to rest against his temple.
His hair was tousled around his face and the strands caught flecks of light from the glowing stone basin as they swayed slightly in the shimmering air.
He directed his focus to control the spell and was simultaneously entranced by the memories flitting across his mind's eye as he dropped them into the ceaselessly moving mass below.
Breathing a deep sigh of relief as his head started to feel lighter with each discarded memory, it was like a great millstone gradually being lifted from his back.
He continued to purge secrets, most memories regarding the Dark Lord, past exploits of sexual nature and anything to do with James Potter. And so, both his worst and best remembrances fell into the ancient rune-covered basin.
Only as Severus called forth a final memory, did he realise he had been subconsciously saving it for last.
Feeling sentimental?
It was laughable and yet his pulse quickened as he brought the events to his mind's eye again.
He was severely conflicted as a result of the few minutes' worth of events . . . but to his great distaste, some ghoul inside him savoured the details in privacy all the same and he allowed the scene that has tortured him for the last seven days, to be remembered one last time.
666666
He had been patrolling the hallways of the fifth floor during his staff rounds near midnight when he heard the unmistakable whisper of parchment in fingers from the corridor stemming off to his left. Stepping to the side reflexively, Severus was determined to catch the rulebreaker red-handed.
Standing perfectly still for a heartbeat, his back brushing against the panelled wall beside the statue of Boris the Bewildered . . . two heartbeats . . . His cloak had snapped near his heels as he stepped sideways, and he feared that he had given himself away.
Then, out of nowhere appeared the head of none other than Miss Holly Potter, bobbing up and down the corridor towards the fourth door to the left.
The brass doorknob below the floating head turned impatiently, seemingly on its own accord.
"Pine fresh! . . . PINE FRESH!" she whispered urgently to the wood while glancing around, perhaps feeling his piercing eyes through the darkness. She almost fell headfirst into the chamber as the door suddenly swung inward.
The statue shielding him from view featured a lost-looking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands, the fellow provided him with a reasonably unobstructed view of the prefect's bathroom Potter was currently accessing both illegally and past curfew.
A thin strip of moonlight fell from the door she left ajar behind her, the line stretched over the carpets and into the velvet darkness of the sleeping castle.
How very much like her father. Totally irresponsible. What is she thinking?
He was considering how to best handle the situation when Holly pooled a suspiciously familiar invisibility cloak around her feet and kneeled to open one or two of the hundred golden taps surrounding the swimming pool-like bath. Her body was no longer invisible, and he took note of her muggle t-shirt, old jeans and a small vanity that she carried under her arm – in much the same way one would handle a quaffle.
He tugged curtly at his cuffs, readying himself to step out from behind Boris the Bewildered and invite her to detention over the next two Hogsmeade weekends along with confiscating the invisibility cloak he knew must have been James'.
He could feel a pleasant self-satisfaction fizzing inside him by now, as if he had just swallowed a pepper-up potion.
With a sneer, Severus started walking purposefully toward the door but stopped abruptly again.
In the moonlit chamber he saw Holly peel her t-shirt over her head, elbows now joined above her head.
His stomach turned, and his outstretched fingers faltered mid-air, hovering above the knob.
Her face was briefly hidden from view and his gaze dropped to pale breasts bouncing from their constraints.
The skin of her torso was snow-white, untouched by the sun and so obviously hidden away from all, her nipples too were fair and swollen as if stung by a bee.
She bent to turn the soap taps after quickly adding her shirt to the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. He could smell floral oils fragrant with cinnamon and lemon wafting through the chamber.
Severus looked away and back again instantaneously, trapped in renewed indecisiveness. His heart hammered painfully in his ribcage; he could feel the fingers of his right-hand quiver slightly.
Only mere seconds had slipped away as he stood outside the door, immobilized and very much as bewildered as the statue of the wizard behind him. He looked up and down the deserted corridor. No one was there.
Severus carefully observed that his first instinct was to burst in and command the girl to get dressed immediately and scurry off to bed. But instead, he found his mouth parched, as if it was filled with soil, his legs too heavy to move. He closed his eyes, his shoulders tense and pulled toward his ears. He had missed the window of opportunity, if he interfered now if would reflect more negatively on his own person. He would also be risking the delicate sense of trust he had tried, in his own twisted way, to cultivate during her years at Hogwarts.
His gaze returned hesitantly, the sliver of light coming from the door falling back across his face.
I had never even seen Lily . . . like this . . . But I have wondered many times . . .
He felt nauseous.
Lily-white skin, thin, willowy frame to the point he was able to count ribs and see abdominal obliques shifting like ropes under her skin. An unruly mane of black hair hid her shoulders from him, but he could see the lightning-bolt scar and two yellowing bruises on her upper right arm. Holly reached down a hand and popped the button on her jeans, the flesh of her small tits squeezed together between her arms . . . Struggling to tear his eyes away, Severus felt like his cravat is tightening around his neck, becoming uncomfortable.
This is wrong.
Abruptly, he shook his wand from his sleeve and pointed it at the door, making it swing shut silently.
He turned on his heel and swept toward the dungeons.
Portraits sped past, most of the occupants fast asleep, others stirring fitfully or snoring dramatically.
Only on the Grand Staircase did he dare close his eyes for a searing moment, the image of the half-naked girl branded into the back of his eyelids derailed him completely.
She's just a child he pleaded with himself.
Virgin another, deeper voice whispers, ignoring the first. Besides, it continued its unsolicited justification, witches younger than eighteen marry; laws are practically archaic in the wizarding world, after all.
For some reason he then also thought briefly of selected Dark Potions needing virgins' blood and how he only once managed to get a vial for sale.
At the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, he paused, shaking his head in disgust as he warily lowered a hand to adjust his cock, displeased and unsurprised to find that it stood half-rigid, no doubt inspired by the events.
Severus scolded himself viciously for the few seconds he had spent hovering when he should have either made his presence known and enforced school rules or just walked away.
He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh before he descended further into the bowels of the castle, black robes billowing around him.
It would not be the first time he spied at doors, he reminded himself of Trelawney's prophecy that fateful night at the Hog's Head.
And it always turns out to be a very bad idea . . .
Before he could recall the sleepless nights filled with shame and guilt he experienced following the event, the memory vanished altogether as if it never happened, his mind suspiciously untroubled. Severus dropped the final silver wisp into the basin and stood up, all too aware of the vulnerable state of ignorance he was in, now that all his most prized recollections were removed.