Re-post of Legilimens

[tripperfunster]

Here is the first bit of my Sneville fic Legilimens. Sorry for posting this twice, but bryonyraven wanted to include it in a Neville newsletter and she needed it to not be linked to another site. :D

Summary: Neville is found to have surprising skills at legilimens. The Order asks Snape to help him develop them. Snarkiness ensues.

Warnings: NC 17, Violent memories of canon character deaths, some SS/LE, jerky Mauraders, excessive drinking and of course, boy/boy love!

LEGILIMENS Chapter One




“I would rather be defiled by house-elves!”

“Really, Severus, must you be so melodramatic?” She eyed him coldly and he returned the stare in kind.

“Minerva, do you honestly think that gormless half-wit is even semi-capable of learning such things? Merlin’s teeth, he’s practically a Squib!”

McGonagall drew herself up to her full height.

“Five years ago that…SQUIB saved Harry Potter’s life and goodness only knows who else’s down in the bowels of the Ministry. LONG before the likes of you showed up, I might add.”

After a moment she softened, “Severus, there are many of us among the Order who think that Mr. Longbottom has a wealth of talent that is yet….undiscovered.”

Snape looked unconvinced.

“You haven’t even seen him in three years,” she continued. “Just meet with him and see if you think there’s any hope there.”

She touched his shoulder imploringly, “Please, Severus, do it for me.”

Snape sighed. How could he argue with that? Minerva was probably the sweetest (yet toughest) witch that he knew, and although he thought she was way off-track on this, he at least owed her an honest effort, regardless of how…distasteful the task at hand might be.

And this is how he found himself waiting in the Potions dungeons for his least favourite (well, maybe second least favourite) student to show up for Legilimency lessons.

When Neville finally arrived, Snape paused for a moment before greeting him. Three years had made a surprising difference in the youth. He was a full head taller, giving him a couple of inches on Snape, but most striking of all was how that height had stretched out his entire frame, making him much leaner as well. He still retained the chubby cheeks that were legendary amongst the Longbottoms (from both sides of the family) and he still walked in a self-conscious, hunched over manner (also a Longbottom legacy) but, all in all, he was a much different person.

“Mr. Longbottom, I see that punctuality is still not your strong suit?”

Neville gave a shy smile and walked over to Snape, his hand tentatively extended.

“Professor. Th...thank you for agreeing to see me.”

Snape ignored the offered hand and instead crossed his arms over his chest.

“Trust me when I tell you, it is not due to sentimental nostalgia on my part.”

Neville gulped. Three years of distance did nothing to quell his old fears of Professor Snape.

“Yes, sir…I mean…No, of course not, sir. I…I expect this is somewhat of an inconvenience for you. I just want you to know that I appreciate your…help.”

“Yes, well we shall see, shan’t we?” Snape motioned for Neville to sit and then sat across from him so that they faced each other, knees almost touching. “Tell me what you have managed to accomplish so far.” He motioned to his head, with a small flourish, to indicate Legilimency.

“Well, it’s mostly been sort of by accident so far.”

“Shocking.”

Snape did not look surprised.

After a moment, Neville continued.

“Well, some mates and I were out for a pint at the pub, and well…I had to, uh, relieve myself, so I uh, well, I went in to use the loo, and the fellow beside me started talking to me.”

Snape’s eyes glazed over with sheer boredom.

“Except,” he continued, “that he wasn’t actually talking to me. I mean, he wasn’t moving his mouth. There was no one else in the room, just me and him, and I guess I could sort of… uh, read his mind, I suppose.”

“And what exactly did you see? His laundry list? Him thinking about his wife. Or girlfriend. Or both?”

Neville shook his head. “No, Professor, that’s the thing. He was thinking about killing someone.”

The glazed look left Snape’s eyes and he sat up a bit straighter.

“So I followed him out and I watched him all night, but nothing happened. When I asked my mates about him, they told me he was Bartholomew Henwin.”

Snape’s face flashed with recognition and intrigue.

“Yes, he was just recently released from Azkaban. Sentence overturned, from what I hear.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Neville. “When I heard about whom he’d killed…and why, it was precisely what I heard him ‘talking’ about in the men’s room.”

Snape thought a moment. “And you’re sure you hadn’t heard this, or read about it somewhere else?”

“Well,” Neville went on carefully, “I don’t think so. I mean, of course I heard
about the murder, but no details really. Just that it happened.” He looked into Snape’s dark eyes. “But this was like a daydream of them playing in my mind.” He looked away from Snape to the cauldrons bubbling on the counter. “A terrible…real…dream.”

“What exactly did you see, boy?”

Neville shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable.

“I don’t think, uh, I don’t think I can talk about it, sir.”

Snape pursed his lips and Neville shrank under his gaze.

“Come now, Mr. Longbottom. If you want to receive my assistance on these matters, you’re going to have to cooperate with me fully.” Neville shifted again, but continued.

“Okay, uh, I mean,” Neville sighed as he shifted and after collecting his thoughts, he continued. “He killed her, of course, but it wasn’t just that. He was…just so mean about it. I mean, not that killing someone is ever nice or anything ….but it was almost like he…enjoyed it.”

“Tell me what you saw, boy.”

“Okay. They were in a room together, in a house, I think. Her house. And she was doing something. Cooking? And he was behind her, and sort of came up and grabbed her. And she screamed….and then laughed, ‘cause I guess she knew him, and thought he was joking, except he wasn’t. Then he pushed her up against the wall, and she was still sort of laughing, but I guess he was sort of hurting her, you know, where he was holding her arms, so she started getting a bit mad and saying, like, ‘Okay that’s enough, knock it off already,’ and stuff... but he didn’t, and I could see, I mean HE could see that she was starting to get scared. And he liked it. I mean….he REALLY liked it.”

Neville nodded towards his own crotch to convey his message. Snape suppressed a snicker at the boy’s sober earnestness and nodded for him to go on.

“Well, er, he wasn’t there to…uh, rape her, although the thought did cross his mind. He was supposed to get some information from her, but the thing was… he KNEW she didn’t have it. He…t..tortured her and tormented her, and the whole time he knew damn well that she couldn’t tell him, because she didn’t know!”

Neville shook and his lip trembled with the horrible truth of it.

“So,” he continued, “after beating her, and terrorizing her, apparently just for the hell of it, he wrapped his hands around her neck…and strangled her….like a Muggle! And the thing of it is, he had his wand with him. He could have killed her with a hex, or a spell, but he did it with his hands because he LIKED the way it felt. He WANTED to see how it would feel to have her die under his touch.” His own hands were curled in front of him and when he finished speaking, he dropped them self-consciously onto his lap.

Snape considered him for a moment, then asked, “And did he seem to notice that you were in his mind?”

“No! Not at all! I mean, I was sort of freaked out, you know? Because, I thought maybe he was talking to me at first and all, but he didn’t even acknowledge that I was there.” Snape looked perplexed.

“Very odd.” He thought another moment, but then only added again, “yes, very odd indeed.”

When he did not explain further, Neville gently prodded him.

“Sir?”

Snape looked up, torn from his own private thoughts.

“Sir? What is very odd?”

Snape sighed impatiently. He would obviously have to explain everything to Neville Longbottom.

“Well, traditionally, when Legilimency is performed, the ‘recipient’ of the mind reading is, well, more than aware of it happening. It is usually an invasive and unpleasant experience. It seems that you were somehow able to look into that man’s mind without his knowledge.” He paused for a moment. “Was he exceedingly drunk?”

Neville thought back to that night. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, he wasn’t staggering around or anything.”

“Interesting,” was all that Snape would say. They sat in silence for what seemed an eternity, then Snape said sharply, “Do me.”

Neville jumped.

“You m..mean-“

Snape sighed impatiently, “Yes, Longbottom, perform Legilimency on me.”

“But I don’t-“

“Do it!”

Snape stood and Neville jumped up, knocking his chair with the backs of his knees and sending it skidding across the floor. He grinned and shrugged, embarrassed.

“Now,” Snape said, “I’m not going to use my wand or any other means of defense. Just concentrate on reading my thoughts. Ready?”

Neville nodded enthusiastically. He raised his wand, pointed it at Snape and yelled.

“LEGILIMENS”

Snape ducked slightly, from the force of the spell, and it shot past him, over his left shoulder and exploded a cauldron behind him, its purple contents splashing across the counter and on to the floor.

“The purpose of a wand, Mr. Longbottom,” Snape hissed, “is to direct and channel your power. You may as well be holding a fistful of Thidwick jelly, the way you focus…or don’t.”

Neville pointed his wand again at Snape’s head but this time, slowly, carefully said, “Legilimens.”

The Potions dungeon swam before him, then vanished. It was suddenly very dark and damp and when Neville’s eyes adjusted he could see that he was in a dark cavity, standing waist deep in something wet. He ran a finger through the thick liquid and it swirled around his hand in delicate silver threads. Underneath the fluid, an assortment of shadowy rocks were scattered about, glistening in the near darkness. Neville reached down, grabbed a stone from the silky fluid and held it to his head. Slowly, it opened before him and he was jettisoned into Snape’s bedroom chamber.

It was lush and plush with cushions framing the bed and rich curtains across the rough-hewn windows and draping the bed as a canopy. Neville was quite surprised. He hadn’t spent a lot of time imagining Snape’s bedroom but had just assumed that it would be more befitting a monk than an emperor.

Snape lay on the bed, the blankets twisted and disheveled around him. He rolled onto his stomach, paused a moment, then flipped over onto his back again. He closed his eyes for a second and then, with a loud sigh, threw off the covers and leapt nimbly from the bed. He grabbed a parchment and quill from his nightstand, frantically scribbled a few inches, then threw down the quill and crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up to his nose.

Then Neville was back in the murky water, and then dragged, seemingly backwards, into the Potions room, facing the real Snape. He sat up straight and smiled at the Potions professor, quite proud of himself. Snape regarded him a full minute before speaking.

“That was brilliant, Longbottom, you really do excel at the mundane.”

Neville’s smile evaporated.

“Any first-year could have accomplished such an impressively underwhelming feat. Kindly try again, and this time, find something that I actually give a whit about.”

“B..but I can’t…I don’t know how, Professor.”

Snape held his breath, apparently also trying to hold his temper. “Fine, I will do it to you, and *hopefully* you will gain some insight from the experience.”

“Are…are you going to be looking for things I don’t want YOU to see?”

Snape regarded the boy.

“Mr. Longbottom, I’m quite sure there is absolutely NOTHING that I would like to see in your thick, thick head.”

Neville wasn’t sure if he found this reassuring or not.

“Okay, sir. Go ahead, pick my brain.”

Snape smiled in a decidedly unfriendly way.

“It will be somewhat preferable to picking your nose, although I rather doubt it will yield anything more…substantial.”

Neville closed his eyes as Snape raised his wand to the boy and whispered, “Legilimens.”

Snippets of memories spun through Neville’s head, giving the distinct feeling of someone rifling through his mental drawers or perhaps flipping through a book of his mind, searching for a specific passage.

Being laughed at in school…

Receiving a tongue-lashing from Filch…

Falling asleep in History of Magic…

Visiting his parents at St. Mungo’s…

Receiving a present from his Gran…

His Gran…his Gran….



It was his Gran’s birthday, and the party had been ‘right smart’ (according to his dad). A great gathering of family in the garden with cake and balloons and his mum’s famous lemonade, thick with sweet chunks of pineapple and strawberries, but tart enough to pucker even Dad’s lips.

Cousin Monty had conjured up very clever bubbles in the shapes of jungle animals. When the iridescent elephants and lions and zebras would finally catch on a bit of tree branch or even Gran’s big vulture-topped hat, they would pop with a roar or trumpet or whatever else it was that they were supposed to sound like. All the kids would run away, as if for their lives, squealing and giggling the whole time.

Neville spent much of the time perched on his mothers lap. He liked the other kids but was a bit timid and preferred to stay close to her, helping out where he could. This usually irked Gran a bit. She felt him to be a nervous, awkward boy, but today was a special day and her focus was on the guests, not Neville.

Eventually, the sun began to set and the temperature in the garden cooled off, so the remaining guests came inside for tea and the last of the cake. Neville took his piece with him under the table, amongst the many pairs of feet, and ate it there, playing with his wooden pull-a-dragon. He had named it Bracken, and she was a fierce and protective dragon. Only he could play with her without being burnt to a crisp (or so he pretended) and she would watch over him while he slept, protecting his bedroom from all manner of frightening creatures.

One by one, the pairs of feet disappeared and eventually he was alone under there. His mother had charmed the dishes to wash themselves while she and his father spoke quietly about relatives, and who was doing what now, and where so-and-so had moved. Neville put his head down on the soft rug, closed his eyes and fell promptly asleep.

It was some time later when a loud ‘Pop!’ followed closely by a second one woke Neville up. He had been dreaming about the bubbles, shimmering and trembling as they floated past him, up through the trees. He sat up suddenly, confused. This wasn’t his bed, or his room. There were voices in the hall and some muffled yelling coming from his parents’ room.

Oh, right. He was under the dining room table. He grabbed Bracken the dragon, and peeked out from under the tablecloth. There were sparks and flashes of light coming from the bedroom hallway. Stifled shouts of ‘Expelliarmus’ and other indecipherable curses met his ears, and Neville realized, as much as any two, almost three year old might, what was happening. His parents were fighting the bad guys. He clutched Bracken to his chest and backed up under the table so as not to be seen.

He knew his parents were Aurors, whatever that meant, and he knew they were the ‘good’ guys, but beyond that was a mystery. He wondered if he should go out there and help them, but his mother had told him on more than one occasion, that if he was ever lost, scared or in trouble, he should stay put and wait for a trusted adult to help him. Well, he wasn’t lost, but he was certainly scared and possibly in trouble, so he sat tight, knees drawn up to his chest, holding Bracken in front of him like a talisman. It was simple. He would just wait until his parents made these people leave.

Then the world got very confusing.


The battle moved into the living room and with it came shouts and screaming, with fire balls and crashing dishes. Neville could mostly only see feet. There was much shuffling and running around as curses and hexes were sent and rebuked. Pictures were flung from the walls by misaimed spells and bits of broken china figures lay strewn about. Boy, mum was sure going to be angry about that. She had given Neville a Very Strong Talking To the one time that he had accidentally broken the arm off of a young porcelain lady who was holding up a mirror to admire herself.

His dad had done a pretty good ‘Reparo’ charm on her, but Neville felt he could still see where the arm had come off and been reattached. His dad even let him try some simple charms sometimes and, occasionally, they even worked! He could do a simple ‘Lumos’ with his dad’s wand and was even allowed to hold it when they walked around the garden at night, shooing away the gnomes. His mum taught him to “clean” anything that he might spill in the kitchen, and he quite enjoyed ‘washing’ the windows as well.

There was a loud bang on the table above him, and Neville shrank back against the far side, near the chairs. There was quite a struggle going on above him, and Neville closed his eyes and covered his ears as best he could while still holding tight to Bracken. Another loud crash, this one right beside him, and Neville turned to look. It was his mom. She was lying on the floor, half under the table, eyes to the ceiling. She was shivering and shaking like a funny windup toy that Neville had, except it wasn’t funny at all seeing his mum that way.

As her arms and legs flailed about, drumming an odd pattern on the floor, she turned her head slightly and looked at her son. Neville scrunched up his face and tried to not cry, but seeing his mum bouncing all over the place, clearly not in control of her own body, was Scary As All Heck. He wanted to go to her, to give her a hug, to make those horrible people go away. He made to get up and his mum caught his gaze; the look in her eyes made him sink back to the floor. She was still convulsing and flopping about, but her eyes stayed on him and she gave him a small wink. Neville reached out to touch her hand, but it was near impossible to catch. Suddenly, it flicked towards him and the palm opened revealing her wand. It rolled to the floor and her hand jerked back, bucking and bouncing as it had before.

Neville grabbed the wand and held it tightly in his small fist. He looked to his mum again and, with much effort, she smiled. A tear, tinged red with blood, slipped from one eye; he reached over her convulsing body and wiped it away. She grabbed at his hand, but missed, her madly shaking arm lacking control. Neville grasped her hand in his and squeezed. Hard. She squeezed back as best she could, then spoke to him. It was barely a whisper, more a mouthing of words, but he understood. It was something that both his parents had spoken about to him on many occasions. It was What He Was To Do in an emergency like this. “Do it,” she mouthed. Neville nodded, tears now flowing freely down his face. Despite her mutinous body, her eyes stayed locked with his. “Do it,” she repeated, urgency in her whispered voice. Neville couldn’t stop his tears.

“I will, Mum.” He whispered back, his vision doubled and tripled with tears.

He sat back from her and put her wand up in front of his face. She nodded her approval and Neville waved the wand up and down in front of him. Not taking his eyes from her, he whispered.

“Protego.”

The charm set up a protective layer around the boy and helped to shield him from harm. Neville’s mother watched as the spell took shape, making her son almost melt into the shadows around him, and then, with much effort, she rolled out from under the table and shakily crawled to face the intruders. There were more screams and eye-searing flashes of light. Neville clutched his dragon and his mother’s wand and waited. The house fell silent around him, and still he sat beneath the table and waited.

At dawn, when there was no help forthcoming, he took his mother’s wand and walked out to the garden, careful to give the bodies and the wreckage a wide berth. If he didn’t look at them, then maybe it would still be okay. He found a patch of dirt that was just beginning to be warmed by the sun and sat down cross-legged to wait for his Gran.




The floor was cold and a bit damp. Neville dragged his face across the stone, trying to get his arms under him so he could get up. Someone grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him to a standing position. He staggered a bit, but managed to keep his footing. When he looked up and saw Snape standing in front of him, the memory of his parents came flooding back and he choked back some tears.

“Longbottom, don’t dissolve into emotions on me. There is nothing I hate more than sniveling and blubbering.” Snape said the words, but there was no bite behind them, and his hand remained on Neville’s shoulder a beat longer than it might have otherwise.

Neville swiped at his eyes and tried to compose himself. Snape waited uncomfortably, apparently finding the far wall of the Potions room extremely interesting. When Neville had himself under control, he cleared his throat and stepped back, wand at the ready.

“I think we’ve done quite enough today, Mr. Longbottom. Perhaps we can try again tomorrow evening?”

Neville nodded, relieved. Snape busied himself, cleaning up the exploded cauldron with a flick of his wand. Neville gathered his things and headed to the door, but stopped short.

“Sir? Professor? I don’t have many memories of my mum. Er…Do you think that perhaps we could…you could try that again?”

“Goodnight, Mr. Longbottom. I will see you tomorrow.”

Neville smiled to himself.

“Goodnight, Sir.”


Chapter Two

The next day Neville was early. He waited nervously in the hall until Snape opened the door to let the day’s last class out. As the students filed by him, Neville grinned to himself. When did the second-years get so short? He rubbed his chin, feeling the coarse stubble growing there and chuckled. As the last student walked by him, Neville gave her a polite nod as she scurried away, her books clutched to her chest. As he entered the Potions room, Snape raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“You have quite a way with the ladies, I see.”

Neville laughed out loud and pinched his own chubby cheeks.

“Longbottom lady-killers, they call them.”

Snape stuck his tongue in his cheek and Neville blushed.

“Well, let’s have at it, shall we?” Snape squared off to Neville and raised his wand. Neville fumbled his wand from his pocket and raised it as well.

“All right, Mr. Longbottom. Today I want you to find a memory that is dear to me. Finding the sort of mundane mishaps is really no challenge and thus will not teach you anything other than the insipid drudgery that is teaching students. Do you understand?

Neville nodded but still looked uncertain.

“But, Professor, how will I know the difference?”

“Well, standing there gawking at me certainly won’t help now, will it? And I am particularly interested in your breaching me without my being aware.” Snape raised his head and closed his eyes, waiting for Neville to begin. Neville licked his lips and adjusted his wand grip, deciding exactly how to go about the task at hand. He looked squarely at Snape, calculating where his concentration would best be focused. The forehead? Or perhaps lower, right between the eyes. His wand wavered slightly as he noticed the fine lines on Snape’s face. Come to think of it, his once raven black hair was now streaked with grey. His angular jaw and strong nose were still as striking as they had been when Neville was a nervous first-year, but just now, standing there, eyes closed, face tilted up, he seemed so much more human, and so much less a monster than he had ten years before. Why exactly had he been so afraid of him anyway?

Then the jet black eyes snapped open, regarding him as a cat regards a rat and Neville jumped, pointed his wand and yelled.

“Legilimens!”






It was a warm spring night in his seventh year at Hogwarts and Snape and Lily had gone into the Room of Requirement to work on a Potions project together. They worked well as a team, and before long the cauldron was merrily bubbling away, small silver droplets leaping about the surface like tiny fish. Snape gave it a final stir and lowered the fire so it would simmer. Lily sat down on some velvet cushions near the window and patted the pillow beside her, motioning for Snape to sit as well.

She took out her wand and with a practiced flick, two frosty bottles of Butterbeer appeared before her. She handed one to Snape and said, “Now all we need is some entertainment.”

Snape took out his own wand and conjured up a trio of spotted mice. Lily looked at him quizzically. “How is that entertainment?”

“Patience, Evans, patience.”

He waved his wand over the mice and said, “Canto.” The mice burst into three part harmony and Lily clapped her hands in delight, giving him a look of admiration that made his heart practically leap out of his throat. Having her look at him that way made him feel both uncomfortable and exhilarated. She continued to stare at him and he blushed and looked away from her eyes.

And what eyes they were. Such a distinctive deep emerald. Almost backlit. Almost glowing. When she looked at him like that, he felt he could do anything, BE anything. He would rise to her expectations and exceed them. He would never, ever disappoint her. He would be a great wizard and do great things, and perhaps she would want to be by his side.

They settled comfortably together on the floor cushions, drinking their Butterbeer and watching the mice scurry about, still humming snippets of their tunes. Lily raised her bottle in a toast and Snape hesitated a moment then clinked his bottle against hers.

“What are we toasting?” he asked hopefully. She considered a moment, then with a scarce nod towards the bubbling cauldron in the corner, answered.

“To a successful partnership.”

“Here, here,” he replied and inched a bit closer to her. They both drank deeply.

“I have to say,” he told her, “I didn’t know to premix the crushed mother-of-pearl before you added it. I might have ruined the whole batch had you not told me that.”

“You did some pretty great stuff yourself. It was just brilliant putting canesberries in there instead of gullfruit. They have similar sugar content, but the canesberries dissolved much more quickly. I had completely forgotten that they were even an option.” She smiled and settled her green eyes on him again and reached out to touch his arm.

He raised his eyebrows and gave what he hoped was a humble shrug.

“I just hope the juice won’t stain, it’s left quite a mark there.” She took out her wand and passed it across the dark patch on his arm. The mark quivered, but did not fade away. She rubbed his forearm a bit more and Snape closed his eyes, feeling the heat of her. Not many people got this close to him, let alone the woman with whom he was so completely smitten.

“Severus,” she whispered. He kept his eyes closed and willed himself to breathe in a normal, relaxed fashion so as to not give away the frantic, panicked wild bird that was flapping around in his chest.

“Mmm?” he replied as casually as he could muster.

“Why me?”

His eyes flew open and he regarded her. Why her? Why her?? There wasn’t enough time in the day to answer that question. Her eyes. Aside from that electric green, they were also kind, and curious and more than a little mischievous. Her perfect little nose. Such a contrast to his long, noble one. And her mouth. Dear Lord, that mouth. So lush and soft. It would pucker with concentration while reading potions ingredients, then twist up with a sweet, crooked smile when inspiration struck.

“Severus, Hello?”

He was suddenly aware that not only had he been staring at her mouth, but an indeterminate amount of time had passed since she had asked the question. He met her eyes and then looked away guiltily. He cleared his throat and made to apologize, but his voice came out husky and foreign.

“Oh, I…uh….what?”

She smiled and Snape got the distinct impression that she knew exactly why he was flustered… and she was enjoying it.

“Why did you choose me as your partner on this project?”

“Why, Lily, you’re brilliant!” he said, almost surprised that it wasn’t as apparent to her as it was to him.

She flushed with obvious enjoyment, then batted her eyelashes and coquettishly purred, “Go on…”

Now he was flushed as well. Exactly how much could he say and not give away his embarrassing crush?

“You are precise and scientific. And you have an obvious gift for potions.” He answered lamely. Somehow, he didn’t think that saying “And I could take you in my arms and kiss your delicious, crooked smile until that cauldron boils down to just fumes,” would exactly be appropriate, but when he saw her disappointed expression and cocked eyebrow, he wasn’t exactly sure what he should have said.

“Wow,” she replied, “you know just what a woman likes to hear.”

He was about to protest when she shushed him with a delicate finger to his lips. “It’s okay, Severus, I feel exactly the same way about you.” And then she kissed him. It was soft and warm and exactly what he’d hoped it would be, but somehow so much better than he could have dreamed, and oh Merlin, it really was happening. Her mouth was on his and it was all he could do to quell his immense enthusiasm and not suck her entire face off. He had a horrible moment when he didn’t know what to do with his hands until they slid up to the curve of her jaw and to the softness of her hair and it all felt so right. He had previously worried about technique, but he followed her lead of long slow circles with his tongue and subtle nibbles along her lips and chin and jawline. She pulled back a moment to regard him.

“Chemistry, Severus, it’s all about chemistry.” Snape just nodded mutely. He did not trust his voice enough to reply. He instead pulled her closer to kiss her again, and she pressed against him willingly. “Talk to me Severus. I love your voice, it’s so velvety.”

He had been kissing her neck but stopped short. This wasn’t something that had ever come up in his many daydreamed scenarios about the two of them, and he was mortified that he would end up babbling “yes baby, oh yes” like the drivel from those wretched romance novellas that the teenage girls liked to read. Instead, he whispered huskily into her ear.

“Whatever would you like me to say?”

She leaned into him even more and rubbed her nose against his. “Tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me what you want.”

His eyes widened in mock-terror and she gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “No, I don’t mean talk dirty to me, you prat!” she giggled. “I mean tell me,” she said, placing her hand on his chest, “what you feel, inside.”
Snape took a deep breath and closed his eyes. She was nibbling his chin while his hands were still taking in the silkiness of her hair.

“I feel…..like my heart might stop beating.”

She was kissing his cheek and he could feel her smile against him.

“I feel….so unbelievably lucky. I feel…like I don’t deserve this.., deserve you, I feel…” and he began to tremble just a bit. “I feel…like if I don’t stop talking soon you will leave, and then I don’t know if I will be able to feel anything at all…” She covered his mouth with her own and he was ever so grateful. He had revealed entirely too much, and although he had been feeling this for months, somehow saying it out loud made it more real and more fragile. He exhaled deeply, almost a moan, as she let her hands wander farther than his chest. He went to push her away, but their robes had become entangled and her fingers continued exploring. She brushed against his trousers and he jerked away as if stung.

“NO!” Then more softly, “No, I can’t.”

She didn’t question him, but she didn’t stop either. She continued to kiss him and press her warm curves against him. He nuzzled her back, despite himself. Her hands moved back up to his chest; despite the robes and tunic that he wore, he was sure that his nipples might cut right through the material.

Lily sat up a bit, reached to the neck of her robes and unclasped them, letting them pool around her thighs. She wore a thin green blouse and simple trousers beneath. Snape stared at her flushed face, hooded eyes and swollen red lips and she returned his gaze evenly. Probably, he thought, she would see much the same in his own expression. She leaned towards him and unclasped his robes as well. Snape’s hands went defensively to his neck and he repeated his earlier plea.

“No, Lily, I…I can’t.”

There was that crooked smile again. She put her entire weight on him and began to kiss along his angular jaw. The feel of her on top of him was just about too much. Her curviness against his angles. Her soft, yielding flesh against his taut, tensing muscles.

“You can’t because …..you’re saving yourself for marriage?” she murmured seductively into his neck. “You can’t because….you’re having an equipment malfunction?” Her hand slid lower. “It doesn’t seem that way to me.”

Snape sat bolt upright and grasped both her hands in his own.

“No, no it’s nothing like that.”

A look of hurt and rejection clouded her face and he quickly added, “Oh sweet Hermes, it’s not that I don’t want to! Lily, you are so beautiful, precious and sweet, and dead, dead sexy. I want you! Oh Lord, do I want you!”

Her look of hungry desire returned and he had to fend her off again. “But, Lily, that’s just the thing. I want *you*. Not just *this*. I don’t want to rush it. I don’t want to tarnish this…wonderful moment with frantic groping. I want you to be sure that this is what you want. I want to be sure…”

“That you’ll respect me in the morning?” she asked sardonically.

Snape sighed with relief that his message was understood. “Exactly.”

She pondered for a moment, eyes off to the side, thinking. There were those lips, puckered in concentration, and then slowly, there was that familiar crooked smile.
“I appreciate that, Severus, I really do.” She reached up and smoothed a dark lock of hair from his cheek. “But can we still snog?”

An enthusiastic smile stretched across his regal face revealing a rarely seen dazzling grin. He pulled her in for a big hug and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Lily, my darling, I thought you’d never ask.”




It may have been an hour later, or as little as five minutes, but they both jumped when the door slammed open. Although they were far from naked, they clutched their robes around their chests in the surprise and the guilt that all snogging teenagers share. It was Snape’s worst nightmare and it would not be the last time that evening that he wished himself dead.

“James!” Lily squealed, her voice high with shock and shame.

“What the Hades is this all about?” James bellowed, striding arrogantly into the room. Sirius and Remus entered close behind him and Snape’s jaw clenched with both loathing and fear. This was not going to end well. Not at all. Sirius Black’s face was awash with glee and he practically danced from foot to foot, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

James grabbed Lily by the arm and yanked her away from Snape. She clung to the robes that they had both been holding, dragging them with her, and Snape was left wearing only his thin tunic and trousers. The bulge in his pants had shriveled and his balls had practically tucked themselves into his abdomen. He wistfully wished he could do the same.

“Snivellus!” Sirius sang, “And here, all this time, I didn’t think you LIKED girls!” Remus sniggered behind him. “And up until now,” he continued, “none of them seemed to like you either!” He cast him an exaggerated look of mock admiration, waggling his bushy eyebrows.

“What in Faust’s name did you do to her, Snape?” snarled James, covering Lily with the robes and wrapping his arms protectively around her.

“Get off it, James,” she said, trying to push her way out of his grip. “He didn’t do anything!”

“My arse he didn’t!” spat James.

“James, if it WERE your arse, something certainly would have happened!” Sirius shook his bum in Snape’s direction. The boys looked to each other, as if to gain courage, smiling, cheeks flushed with bravado. How far would it go? However would it end? Snape could see no safe way out.

“Shut up, Black.” It was barely a whisper, but it stopped the three in their tracks.

“What did you just say, Nancy boy?” James strode towards him, chest puffed out and eyes ablaze.

“My comment was directed at Black.” Snape dropped his eyes. He hoped it would make him seem submissive, but he was desperately searching for his wand. Remus must have read his mind because before he was able to say “Accio Wand”, Remus held his own wand up and yelled.

Snape’s tunic and trousers flew off him and he was left wearing only his undershorts. His hands instinctively flew to his crotch, while his eyes flew to Lily. She was hanging her head but her posture was unnatural. It dawned on Snape that she wasn’t avoiding his gaze because of shame; she was trying to suppress a grin. His mouth opened in shock. How could she? How could she, of all people, find this amusing? Remus sifted through the puddled clothes on the floor and fished out Snape’s wand. Snape was still staring at Lily, willing her to meet his gaze, but she seemed able to look anywhere but at him.

“Quit gawking at her, you scrote!” James pointed his wand at Snape and he pressed himself back against the cold stone wall, shivering. “I’ve half a mind to shrink that filthy Slytherin wank of yours into a raisin.”

“James, really! That’s quite enough!”

Snape looked to her hopefully but she still declined his gaze.

“He didn’t….it wasn’t…” she broke off, unable to find the right words.

“You stay out of this, Lily. I’ll deal with you later. Right now it’s between me and him.”

He strode over to Snape and leaned down so they were eye to eye. There was an anger, a brutality that he recognized and he swallowed hesitantly but did not drop his gaze.

Sirius still danced around them, right chuffed with the possibility of a fight.

“Watch out, James. If you get too close, he’ll try to snog you, too!”

“I’d kill him if he even tried.” James raised his fist in a threatening manner and Snape flinched, his hands flying to his face. James made to hit him again and Snape flinched once more. “Chicken-shit Slytherin coward,” he spat out and turned away in disgust. “And now,” he said, addressing his girlfriend, “what’s with the whore act, Lily?”

Lily opened her mouth to retort but was cut short.

“You don’t have the right to talk to her like that.”

All heads spun around to see Snape stretched to his full height, long fingers balled into fists, lean muscles taut and ready to spring, catlike. He was suddenly calm and unafraid. “Potter, you’re not even worthy to lick her boots!”

Remus looked bemused. “So, Snape, what gives *you* the right to lick….the rest of her?” Snape looked past them all to Lily when he answered.

“Because I love her.”

Sirius howled with delight and swooned dramatically on a nearby pouffle.

“Did you hear that? He looooves her!” He wrapped his arms around himself and made like he was smooching someone. “Oh Snape, Oh Yes! Oh my big, strong Sniv-Ell-Us! Dear God Yes! Yes!!....Oh wait a minute…” He leaned over the pouffle and loudly mimed puking his guts out.

James looked at Lily, searching her face, then turned to Snape.

“You may love her, but there is no way she would ever love a greasy little tosser like you. Get out, before I do something I’ll regret.”

He pointed at the door, but Snape stayed put. “Tell them, Lily.”

Lily looked at him sharply, mouth slightly open. That beautiful mouth, still red and puffy from kissing his own, snapped shut and remained that way. Snape waited patiently for her reply, but when none came, his look of confidence faltered along with his sense of balance. The room began to swim before him and he steadied himself against the damp wall behind him.

“Tell them.” He almost pleaded. “Tell them what you told me.”

Lily looked from Snape, to the others, and then back to Snape again.

“Severus,” she said, delicately shaking her head, “I’m sorry.”

“No!” he shouted, reaching out to touch her arm, but he was blocked by James who pushed him away roughly. He fell back and his head connected with the unforgiving stone wall, hard. He staggered a bit, but managed to not fall completely over, shaking his head to clear the fuzz.

“You stay the fuck away from her, pervert!” yelled James, moving to strike him again. Snape barely heard him over the blood pounding in his ears.

“Lily, please…” He reached out his hand again and James was on him. Grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him as a dog shakes a rat, his head making contact with the rough wall behind him. There was more commotion and yelling in the room, but he could make no sense of the noise. The others might have been grabbing at James to stop him, or they may have been joining in the fight, but in Snape’s mind it was eerily quiet.

The room seemed to contract and close in around him, and suddenly he was six years old again. He was standing on a low stool at the kitchen sink, elbow deep in warm, soapy water. The sun was pouring through the windows, glinting off the dirty dishes and the bubbles that clung to his arms. The window was open and the sounds of a dog barking and kids playing could be heard in the distance, and his little six year old mind thought that he too, would like to be outside. He would like to be anywhere but here. He could almost feel the grass tickling his feet and the sun burning down on his head, heating up his black hair until it felt warm enough to set his whole head on fire. Fire…Firewhisky. The sharp smell of it burned his nose and he instinctively pulled back, knocking a plate to the floor where it smashed against the scuffed linoleum.

His father’s drunken face appeared before him, and young Snape froze.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Snape crossed his dripping arms across his chest and whimpered softly.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“Sorry doesn’t buy new dishes, you pillock!” He smacked the boy and young Snape dared not move. The stool on which he stood was not sturdy, and he focused his concentration on not falling off. By the third whack he lost his footing and toppled over, cracking his elbow on the corner of the counter. He crumpled on the ground clutching his arm, willing the electric pulses to stop shooting up the length of it.

“How the hell any boy of mine could become such a simpering incompetent is beyond me! You can’t even handle woman’s work without breaking something and falling over!” He paused for a moment, deciding if another punch was due, or if it might be easier to administer a kick instead, when he noticed the boy was truly hurt. “Oh, sodding hell, are you okay?”

He wasn’t, but Snape nodded quickly. “Did I really hurt you, mate? I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

“No, I’m alright, really.” With much effort he let go of his throbbing arm and feigned a weak smile.

“No, I went too far, and I want to make it up to you. I want you to…feel better.”

He could already feel the sharp stubble ripping against his soft skin and the hands, rough, and uncompromising, grabbing and pinching and poking where they had no business going.

“Please Father, don’t.” He knew the words would fall on deaf ears, but he was compelled to form them anyway. He would continue to repeat them, almost as a mantra, until his father was done.

“DON’T FUCKIN’ TELL ME WHA’ I CAN AND CANNOT DO!” he roared, lifting the boy into the air and dragging him down the hallway. “You Goddamn, ungrateful, good for nothing, little piece of shit!” His father threw him on the bed and began to pull his own shirt over his head. Snape curled into a ball and put his hands over his face.

“Please Father, don’t…please father don’t…pleasefatherdon’tpleasefatherdon’t..”

“Don’t fight me, Severus. It’ll only be worse for you.” He pinned Snape down with one hand and slapped him hard with the other. Young Snape’s eyes rolled back in his head and he had the sensation of warmth and wet spreading across his crotch and legs. He had pissed himself. Again.

But he wasn’t six anymore.

He wasn’t in his father’s house.

He was, however, standing half-naked in a puddle of his own urine.

Sirius let out a loud guffaw. “Gordon Bennet! He’s gone and whizzed himself!”

“Don’t they housetrain the Slytherins before they allow them in?” sniggered James.

Snape’s head was hung low, but he chanced a peek through his lank hair at Lily. She was standing with her hands over her mouth, staring at his crotch. And she was laughing.

He slunk down into a crouch, wrapping his long slender arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees. He remained that way until the others left, until the shadows had grown long and night had fallen on the castle. Then he gathered up his robes and his wand, and made the long walk back to the Slytherin dormitories. It was long past curfew but when he bumped into Argus Filch in the hallway, the lanky teen shot him such a menacing glare that Filch shut his trap before uttering a single word. Even the portrait of the Mead Drinking Monk guarding the Slytherin common room door seemed to think better of saying anything and swung open to allow him access.



Now Snape was on the floor, on his hands and knees, shaking his head to clear it from the mental assault. His hand lost its grip on the slick floor and Neville sprang towards him to grasp him before he fell. Snape shook him off and managed to stand, if a little unevenly. He stood with his head down, clenching and unclenching his fists, and Neville moved back a step or two. That had been WAY more information than Neville had ever wanted to know, and he was afraid of the possible retribution coming his way.

Snape was still standing with his head down and eyes closed, still shaking his head in a disturbing, twitching sort of way. Only now he was also breathing in and out in short, rapid bursts, like a boxer preparing for a fight. Neville took another step back and felt the hard edge of a table press into his buttocks. He was trapped. His eyes darted from left to right looking for a passage, but there was none.

Snape slowly and deliberately made his way over to the boy and Neville prepared himself for the worst. When he was mere inches away, Neville closed his eyes and cringed, emitting a high pitched, “eeep!” He steeled himself for the blow or hex or whatever reprisal might be coming his way. Instead, the Potions master clapped him on the shoulder and gave his arm a hard squeeze.

“That was brilliant,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Bloody brilliant.”

Neville dared a peek and was startled to see the mix of emotions playing across Snape’s tired face. There was anger (wasn’t there always?) and distrust and a certain amount of bitterness, but there was something new and almost foreign as well. Pride?

Neville grinned sheepishly, still not sure if Snape was happy or mad.

“I never would have thought in a thousand years that you would have been able to penetrate me like that.” He looked at Neville, eyes glistening.

Neville mumbled an apology.

“Longbottom, did you hear what I said?” Neville reluctantly looked up to meet his gaze. “You have just accomplished what many highly skilled wizards have attempted to do and failed. That was better than any Death Eater has ever done. In fact, you went deeper than Lord Vol-” he stopped and regarded Neville who was seemingly still in shock. “You did very well. I am duly impressed, and it seems,” he said, “that I owe Minerva an apology. Excuse me.” And with that he swept from the room, cloak billowing out behind him. After a moment, Neville closed his gaping mouth, gathered his things and quietly left the room.

three more chapters to come!