|Nasza twórczość/Our stuff |
| || |
|Gdzie można nas znaleźć/Where you can find us |
| || |
| Gości Online: 1|
Brak Użytkowników Online
Zarejestrowanch Uzytkowników: 4,299
Najnowszy Użytkownik: Anna12345
|Liczba odwiedzin Number of views |
| || |
|WAŻNA INFORMACJA |
|Jeżeli masz problem z zamieszczeniem komentarza, to prześlij go nam na PW albo na e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org
If you're from another country and you've registered, send us an e-mail with your login, so we can activate your account.
Nie wyrażamy zgody na kopiowanie i umieszczanie naszych ficków i tłumaczeń na chomikach itp.
Ariel & Gobuss
| Chapter 4 - "Stuck on you" |
Translation: Christina & Mary
Betareader: Aislin Avalbane
(We love you, girls!)
4. Stuck on you
It's like you're a drug
It's like you're a demon I can't face down
It's like I'm stuck
It's like I'm running from you all the time
The silence in the dormitory was interrupted by a sudden crack of a door hitting the wall. Then a thud came, as if something collided with a hard, wooden trunk. It was accompanied by a cry full of rage:
"I hate him!"
Harry Potter was standing by his bed breathing heavily, the memories of the Potions class, which ended several minutes ago, danced in his head, competing for first place. He could not decide whether he hated Snape for the humiliation of his friends, the nasty comments, the mental cruelty on him, or his hooked nose and greasy hair. He knew that he would regret the fact that in the end he had decided to go to that lesson, but he apparently forgot what a bastard Snape was.
Snape had surpassed himself!
Harry remembered struggling with the raging storm inside him when Snape was standing there calmly insulting Neville. He was well aware the man had wanted to provoke him but he couldn't do anything. He could only grit his teeth and clench his fists helplessly.
'I'm a coward! A bloody fucking coward!' he savagely thought of himself.
He wanted to say something, to do something, anything, to defend Neville, but the fear of looking into those bottomless, dark eyes; the fear of facing them was taking all his courage, pride and loyalty as a Gryffindor.
He was beginning to feel like Snape's gaze had been burning into him as he had sat there. But it seemed impossible for such a thing to happen. Perhaps it was a hallucination? Maybe he was going mad?
No! Snape was definitely looking at him. Only the look of such a vile Death Eater could make Harry shiver and feel icy cold chills, even if the Gryffindor had been feeling extremely hot at the time.
He had even dared a glance at the professor the moment Snape summoned the note sent by Malfoy that had been intended for him. He couldn't forget the expression on Snape's face when he read the note. On his ever-pale, yellowish cheeks, a delicate blush had appeared. Harry had never expected to see a blush on the Potions Master's face. I It was so difficult for him to realize Snape was capable of such human reflexes.
So what had Malfoy written on the note that had sparked such a reaction from Snape? It must have been something pretty awful to prompt Snape to take such drastic action. Harry was sure that this would go down in school history. Maybe he would even soon see a reference to it in Hogwarts: A History?
It must have been some kind of ruddy awful smut Malfoy had written on the note, but what exactly had it been that could have set Snape into such a furious rage he'd take points form his own house?
Well, if anything good had come from it all, it was it had forced Snape to forbid any mentioning of the incident. Of course Harry knew Snape had been guided more by the need to protect his own reputation than to defend Harry's. After the last few years knowing the man, if the Potions Master had suddenly begun to show interest in Harry's well-being, he would certainly recommend him be examined in Saint Mungo's.
Snape was a selfish git, and everyone knew it.
He remembered the satisfaction on Snape's face when he finally couldn't stand it any longer and looked at him. He remembered the frantic beat of his heart when he looked in Snape's eyes and saw a submerged spark, as if he wanted to read all the feelings that he'd ever experienced. But then there were so many, he could hardly tell them apart. He remembered that he was angry and frustrated and barely keeping himself from attacking Snape. But he had also felt a paralyzing fear and unstoppable shame when he remembered the incredibly strong desire which had invaded him after drinking the potion. And when Snape had gotten so close to him, for the first time since that incident, Harry looked him straight in the eye. It had been like a red hot whiplash, piercing him deeply and painfully. It smote him like and electric current. There were sparks, explosions and the blows of heat that bombarded him relentlessly. And everything seemed to be tangled with the overwhelming fever of hatred and rage. As if those feelings were linked together in a very strange way.
It was enough to push Harry over the edge. And when Snape had called on him at the end of the class to talk with him, Harry had fled out of need. He'd had to get away.
Mainly, he'd been afraid it was the note Malfoy had sent that Snape had wanted to talk about and Harry just couldn't handle that. He knew that his flight had probably only enraged Snape further, but at least he'd managed to escape the front line, leaving a frothy Snape by himself.
A smile of malicious satisfaction crept onto Harry's lips.
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts and his eyes darted to the door. The last few days which he had spent on constant hiding had given him some kind of instinct characteristic of a small, frightened animal.
Seeing Ron appear in the doorway, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, it's just you."
"Snape is a nasty bastard!" growled the redhead, throwing his book bag on his bed. "He always was, but he surpassed himself this last time! How could he do such a ruddy awful thing to Neville?" He glanced at Harry. "And to you. Well, I understand this is Snape, Death Eater and all, but even he must have a grain of compassion." Seeing doubt in Harry's eyes, the redhead sighed. "Well, yes. This is Snape. Git to the bone." Ron fell on the bed and looked at Harry. "By the way, the crooked-nosed bastard told me to give you this." He pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe and handed it to Harry.
"What is it?" Harry asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he took the elixir from his friend's hand.
Ron shrugged. "No idea. He said to rub it on your hand three times a day."
Harry frowned. What? "Snape gave you this for me to rub on my hand?"
"Strange, huh?" Ron looked at the vial with suspicion. "Reckon it's something created to control your hand and tell you to strangle yourself at night?"
The glare Harry gave him could cut glass.
"What?" Ron asked. "Fred and George told me about that when I was little."
"Whatever it is, I'm not using it. Not something from Snape." Harry rejected the bottle in disgust. "It probably is some sort of dark potion that will make my hand fall off. Just the sort of thing you'd expect from Snape."
"He said if he wanted to poison you, he would have done it long ago," Ron told him.
"Thanks, mate. You really lifted my spirits," Harry sarcastically drawled.
Ron blushed and looked away.
Harry thought for a moment.
Snape caring for his health and giving him a healing ointment somehow did not induce confidence in him. In general, it didn't induce any positive feelings. So far, Harry had only been met with hostility and hatred from Snape. Why the sudden change?
That evening, Harry decided, for the first time after a few days, to go down to dinner. Ron and Hermione had gone down first and checked things out and told him all the derogatory remarks about him had suddenly ceased. Also all the iconoclastic drawings covering the walls of the Common Room had disappeared. No one dared chance the wrath of Severus Snape, fearing they'd have it worse than Potter and Longbottom. Harry had learned from Hermione that Neville had gotten immediate medical care and had been in the Hospital Wing for several days. Madam Pomfrey, when she found out what had happened, had fallen into hysteria, which then quickly turned to rage. She'd declared she would throttle Severus Snape with his own cloak!
Ron burst out laughing, imagining this situation, but Hermione gave him a glare.
"This isn't funny, Ron! Professor Snape should be severely punished. This was cruelty to a student and should be treated as a very serious offense. The code of student rights -"
"Hermione," Ron groaned. "Is there any book in the world that you haven't read?"
Hermione shot him a scornful look. Harry stopped listening as his friends exchanged biting remarks. He looked around the corridor corner toward the Great Hall. He felt a little uncomfortable without the invisibility cloak, which he had not parted with in the last few days. He was exposed, perfectly visible for every unfavorable look and malicious smirk.
But at least the verbal taunts had ended. Those had been the worst. He was a bit surprised Snape's threat had been carried out so effectively.
Several third-year Hufflepuffs passed Harry, then, and threw him playful looks, but he didn't see the condemnation in the glances like he had before.
'But a few Hufflepuffs aren't Malfoy and his gang,' Harry thought, wondering what the Slytherins, which he recently so brutally treated, were preparing for him. He was pretty sure Malfoy wouldn't remit what he'd done to him and that he would find a way to get revenge on him. So he decided that from now on he was going to keep a sharp eye in the hallways when he was alone.
His appearance in the Great Hall resembled a theatrical scene. Suddenly there was silence and all eyes were on him as he stood between his friends. For a moment, he wondered if he could cope with it all, but someday he would have to face it. Better do it now. He swallowed and walked towards the table. He was feeling as if everything around him had frozen and the whole world was focused on him, overwhelming him, his feet nailed to the floor, unable to escape their scornful gazes. Suddenly, he wanted to turn around and flee; run as far away from the hostile face as possible, straight into the secure warmth of his dormitory.
However, one glance at the staff tale and at the looming black-clad figure sitting there gave him the bitter courage he needed to stand his ground.
He couldn't run from Snape forever. He didn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction.
He straightened himself up and walked straight ahead, ignoring the glances and whispers. Slowly, the atmosphere in the Great Hall began to clear and the students returned to their interrupted conversations. Harry sat in his place at the Gryffindpr table and felt like he could finally breathe, the noose of fear around him finally loosened. Ron and Hermione sat down next to him. For a while more, the whispers were still coming to Harry's ears but the students, seeing that, at least for the moment, Harry didn't intend to send Snape kisses or sensitive looks, or do other strange things, returned to their meals and to their own affairs.
Harry knew that they were all waiting for some sort of show, but he wasn't going to give them that satisfaction.
He grabbed a plate and angrily put some sausages onto it, along with mashed potatoes and pudding. While he was eating, his skin was burning with the glances cast by the other Gryffindors who, until recently, were his friends. Seamus and Dean pointedly moved away from the place where Harry was sitting, and every now and then they burst out laughing, glancing at him with disgust. Lavender and Parvati giggled, sending Harry amused, malicious smirks. Ginny sat in front of him but, in general, didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the table and her cheeks were blushing. Harry was grateful that she showed no hostility.
During dinner he was thinking of how he could talk to her, but he couldn't come up with anything. He really hoped Ginny didn't believe all the rumors about him. He'd heard a few. According to them, in his childhood, Harry was sexual abused, he often snuck out to rendezvous with Filch, and he was a sexually unsatisfied freak who loved to dress in leather, rape animals, and be whipped by the branches of the Whomping Willow. He guessed that Malfoy had come up with half of those rumors and his hatred for the conniving little ferret grew with every glance at the pale, contorted face with its malicious smile.
Before this whole terrible mess, Harry had had no troubles finding a girlfriend. Girls were constantly flirting with him and trying to get him to go out with them. Now ... Now it was like he was a walking plague. With a sigh, he glanced at Ginny.
For so long, he'd wanted to ask her.
Ginny was pretty, smart, likable. She had everything that every boy wanted and was always surrounded by a crowd of her admirers. But she was Ron's sister and that's why he had never dared to offer her anything. He had only hoped that after what happened in Potions, Ginny didn't hate him.
Swallowing his nervousness, he cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak to her, but then she looked up and Harry froze. Ginny looked at him with eyes full of painful reproach, as if she blamed Harry for all the evil that existed in the world. The look she gave Harry expressed deep disappointment and anger, as if her dreams had just crumbled to dust. Biting his lip and fighting the feeling of shame that moved to his cheeks, he looked away, unable to endure the sight. When he raised his eyes again, Ginny was no longer there. He knew it was not his fault, but he felt as if he was the worst pig in the world.
So it seems that any plans relevant Ron's beautiful sister are already over. And that no girl would ever look at him without the expression of disgust on their face.
'Well, maybe except for one…' Harry thought, turning in search of Luna. His glance fell on the staff table for a while and he almost choked on the pumpkin juice he'd been drinking, when he saw Snape's dark eyes looking straight at him. Flushed, with a rapidly beating heart, he turned immediately and looked at his plate.
Would he ever be able to look at that man normally again?
Every time he lglnced at him, before his eyes even settled on Snape, he saw back to that day in the classroom when he was under the influence of the Desideria Intima potion. And, in his head he heard his own voice:
Take me, Severus…
He remembered the feel of his throbbing erection and the burning desire within him. At the mere mention of the black, cold eyes, and the sinister aura, which had put his body in a state of feverish excitement, he was overwhelmed by fluttering heat and his flushing cheeks. He couldn't stop it. He supposed that these were the further consequences of the cursed potion and prayed he'd finally get back to being a normal, healthy teenager who flirted with girls, dated, played Quidditch, and had a circle of faithful friends.
Snape had destroyed it all!
"Harry, is everything okay?" Hermione's anxious voice made Harry break away from his thoughts.
"Something wrong with your food?" asked Ron. "You look like you are going to vomit."
"No, everything's fine." He tried to make his voice sound natural, but he didn't think that it came out very well, because Hermione was still staring at him intently.
"All right," said Ron, shrugging as he returned to his meal. Hermione gave Ron a glance. She probably thought that even if someone had screamed into his ear that something wasn't right, he still wouldn't have noticed.
"How's your hand?" asked Hermione, turning back to Harry.
"Much better," he replied, looking at the traces of minor injuries covering his right hand.
"Fortunately, Filch postponed your detention for this weekend," said Hermione, watching Harry's hand. "Otherwise, it would never heal."
"Oh, he certainly didn't do it out of kindness." Harry smiled crookedly. "He knew that with that injured hand, I couldn't clean up the lockers, not to mention to do it right."
Hermione looked at her friend compassionately.
"Oh, Harry, you really shouldn't have attacked Malfoy. Now you have even more problems."
"'Emione," said Ron with his mouth full of mashed potatoes. "Mafoy waf lufcy tfaf 'arry waf firft to get fim, not me." A few pieces of potatoes fell out of the redhead's mouth and landed back on his plate.
"Yes, he would beg you for mercy as you spit leftover food all over him," Hermione said with disgust, frowning at his poor table manners.
Harry, glad that his friends weren't torturing him further, looked at Malfoy. The Slytherin had detected the Gryffindor's look and gave him a hateful, superior glance.
There was something he didn't like in Malfoy's smile – it was dark and even more vicious than usual. Clearly he was planning something especially bad.
Shaking off the unpleasant feeling, Harry returned to his potatoes but, for some reason, he suddenly stopped being hungry. He wondered if he would start moving around the castle under the cover of his invisibility cloak again.
Cold radiating from the stones on which he laid.
Cool hands. A hot breath.
Stroke. Pain. Fear.
Eyes emerged from the darkness.
Harry woke up with a moan, clenching his trembling fists on the coverlet. He was dripping with sweat, shaken by the spasms of pleasure. He put his left hand under the blanket and, sensing his rigid erection, he wrapped his fingers around it and started stroking himself quickly in the state of an even stronger pleasure. He felt tears welling in his eyes as he involuntarily clenched his teeth and his toes, trying to recall the images from the dream, the images that put him in a such a strong state of intoxication. Through his sweaty body rough surges of pleasure passed, further compounded by the rapid moves of his hands and the tension in his loins that grew with every moment and made him tremble uncontrollably. He tried to keep that dream in his mind as long as he could; to not let it fade away.
He wanted to feel what he had felt a little while ago: heat and cold at the same time, fear and desire, pain and pleasure.
His hand sped up and his mouth opened in silent screams, trying to catch air. In his mind came the image of black, cold eyes, full of dark promise and sinister beauty.
Eyes that he had already seen.
Eyes that belonged to -
Harry came, screaming silently. His body was bent into a bow, and the surges of pleasure drenched each part of him, drowning him in a sea of pleasure, which made the tears fall from his eyes, rendering him breathless. All his muscles were braced and white, clammy liquid flooded his belly, thighs and linen.
Slowly, Harry's body relaxed as the last spasms of delight hit all his sensitive points, making him unable to control the shaking.
Harry's breathing calmed, but his heart could not. It was racing.
When the first rays of the sun fell into the boys' dormitory, Harry immediately opened his eyes.
He had a Plan.
A plan that would make him stop dreaming about those unearthly eyes and make things go back to normal.
He smiled to himself. People would run out of stupid rumors about him and he would be treated like one of them again. At least he hoped so…
The previous night, after waking up, he was in such extreme distress that he had seriously pondered over whether or not to take any therapy at Saint Mungo's. He even considered the possibility of escaping from Hogwarts and hiding in a secluded place where those bottomless eyes would finally cease to haunt him. He even thought about ways to stop sleeping, or steal Madam Pomfrey's Dreamless Sleep potion, but he realized it wouldn't stop his daydreams.
Fortunately, he'd managed to come up with a different solution and, somewhat relieved, he finally managed to get some sleep.
Now, with renewed hope in his heart, Harry dressed quietly, not wanting to wake up Ron and Neville. Dean and Seamus had moved to another bedroom. Some nonsense about not wanting to wake up with something hard up their arses.
Fully dressed, Harry slipped out of the Common Room and snuck through the hallway leading to the western tower. He didn't know exactly where to find the entrance to the Ravenclaw dormitory, but he remembered that they always disappeared in this area somewhere.
Hiding behind a corner, he stood and waited.
After few moments the first students started going down for breakfast. The girls went in flocks, laughing. Harry had tried, a few times, to figure out why girls always giggle when they move in groups of over two people. He suspected they probably laugh at each boy they met. It was, actually, quite unnerving. As he continued to watch and wait, several other students went with their noses glued to books.
Then, he spotted the one he'd been waiting for, a colorful character whose nose was not in a book, but in an extremely censured magazine entitled "The Quibbler".
"Pst! Luna!" he hissed, hiding behind the corner of the corridor and trying to make sure that nobody else could see him. She stopped and looked around uncertainly.
"Here!" Harry waved his hand for her attention. Luna smiled her unconscious smile and then went to the place where he was hiding. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadows.
"What are you doing here, Harry?" she asked in a dreamy voice. "At first I thought it was Nargles, but then I saw you. Have you often skulked on people like that?
"Luna," he interrupted her, wanting to get straight to the point. "I would like to ask you a favor."
"Me? Oh, Harry, it would be my pleasure." Luna leaned over to him. "Just don't ask me to show you the lairs of Calloused Sharamans. They're really nasty."
"No, it's not like that," Harry assured, trying to find patience with her eccentricity. "No," he repeated emphatically, trying to put into words what didn't want to go through his throat. "Luna… I would like to ask you if you would agree to be my girlfriend?" he finally managed.
If he expected a big surprise and a shy smile, a typical reaction to any other girl he proposed something like that, he had forgotten that Luna was not "any other" girl, and what for others was typical and ordinary, for her turned into something completely unpredictable. She only frowned and sighed loudly. "Oh, no problem. I thought it would be something more important."
Harry briefly wondered - as he had done so many times in the past - how this girl's brain worked. Luna was probably the only person in the whole school that could astounds him.
Well, maybe not quite the only one…
"So… you agree to it, right?" he asked for confirmation.
"Of course," she nodded, her radish earrings glinting in the light of the torches. "I'll willingly pretend that I'm your girlfriend, so that everyone will leave you alone."
Harry, amazed, looked at her wide-eyed.
"H-How do you know-"
"It's obvious," she interrupted him. "You wouldn't have asked me to be your girlfriend if you didn't need to."
Harry felt his cheeks flush. Embarrassed, he looked down and smiled apologetically at her. Luna replied with an indulgent smile, which is sent to a three-year old who rocked the boat.
The Gryffindor looked closely at the Rawenclaw standing in front of him.
Luna was really very pretty. A delicate, gentle smile always played on her lips. She had bright blond hair and big, dreamy blue eyes.
This was in stark opposition to the Potions Master.
Yes, it was a good choice,thought Harry, smiling with satisfaction. Luna would be his girlfriend, people would cease to regard him as gay and a pervert, and he would be allowed to return to his normal life. Maybe even fall in love with Luna.
Suddenly, Luna's eyebrows drew together and doubt appeared in her eyes. She leaned over to him and whispered conspiratorially: "If I am to be your girlfriend… Does this mean that we need to have sex with each other?"
"No! No, of course not!" Harry quickly denied, his cheeks burning again.
"Oh, good." She breathed a sigh of relief. "Because you're not my type."
Harry Potter, The Boy Who Wants Snape, had found a girlfriend. The news sparked heated discussions among students. Harry had suspected this was the reaction he'd get from them and was quite satisfied by it.
Among other things discussed about him and Luna in the corridors was that his girlfriend was the most eccentric girl in school. This was explained by the fact that only she could withstand Potter's perverted ideas.
The first time Harry walked with Luna through the corridors, holding her hand, people started whispering and pointing them with their fingers. He didn't pay any attention, though. Or at least he tried not to. He knew that, at the beginning of this charade, things would be difficult, but he believed that everything would, eventually, work out somehow.
He always tried to kiss Luna in front of as many people as possible. Never in an intimate and profound way, no. These were more gentle, quick kisses on the cheek and, from time to time, in the corner of the mouth. Luna's skin was sweet and warm, and her lips tasted of the sweetest toffee from Honeydukes.
Hermione, however, when she found out the truth about the plan, was outraged that Harry was using Luna, even after Harry had explained to her that Luna was in on it. Hermione didn't talk to Harry for the rest of the day and later had a talk with Luna about her sense of dignity. Ron had said that it was a good plan, which consequently led to Hermione not talking to him for the rest of the day as well.
Going out with Luna was like a trip to very abnormal zoo mixed with a Haunted House to which you were guided by a curator that had a conspiracy complex.
Luna was telling him, nonstop, amazing stories of unusual specimens of rare animals, and introducing Harry to the darkest secrets of the Ministry of Magic's plots, which were tracked down by her father, who risked his life for the information. Beyond that, though, she was a very good "girlfriend", She gave Harry handmade gifts, such as a medallion made with the crown of a bottle, charmed so that it would reveal all the invisible creatures that could harm. She allowed him everything, never complaining of the fact that he devoted too little time to her, or that he wasn't taking her on dates.
Harry felt that he couldn't get it better. Actually, sometimes he felt like he didn't even have a girlfriend and he was happy about that. Several times, it was true, he wanted to kiss her in an intimate way, but this was something he knew he could never do. Luna was nice, but she couldn't provoke any excitement, any thrill, or even an accelerated heartbeat. It bothered Harry, but he thought that maybe this was always the case in the beginning and that this would later change. At least he hoped.
He felt that his life had finally, though slowly, returned to normal, save one thing. A person actually. One who never gave him any peace.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the black, sinister eyes from his dream. And with them appeared the face. That face.
Horrified from the throbbing of his heart and glowing cheeks, his eyes snapped open. He panted, trying to calm himself down and focus on something else.
He realized that every time he forgot himself, his eyes wandered toward the staff table, where Severus Snape sat with an inaccessible expression on his face. Wrapped in his black cloak, as if he wanted to dissociate himself from the rest of the world, he cast a sinister look at all the students and professors. Harry tried to fight each one, but he felt that with every look thrown by Snape's steely eyes he had lost, and nothing could be done about it. Curiosity and a strange feeling that burned in his heart seemed to assume control of it.
Walking down the hall, he would embrace Luna and almost jump when he detected a fragment of a flashing black cape, which almost always proved to be the robe of one of the other students. It annoyed and increasingly worried him.
He cursed Snape, that stupid potion, his dreams, and mostly himself.
Before, he couldn't even look at the Potions Master, and now he was an eye-catching black silhouette every time he appeared in Harry's field of vision.
No, don't stare! he chastised himself, forcing himself to turn his head before Snape noticed something. He didn't always succeed. Sometimes, Snape's ebony eyes met Harry's emerald ones and then the only thing he could do was blush, cursing his hyperactive heart, and quickly look away, pretending that he was really looking into a completely different direction. He was too far away to read anything in Snape's eyes, but he didn't intend to anyway.
He wanted the man to disappear from his life. Along with everything that he had dreamed. He felt that with every glance at Snape, his hatred for him grew and was slowly approaching the border, which exceeded what Harry feared most.
After Monday's Potion class, the next would take place on Friday. Neville still hadn't returned from the hospital. Almost four days had passed.
Harry felt an indefinite uneasiness at the thought of the approaching Potions class. After what had happened to him, just thinking about the class brought him such horror that he wondered whether he would have enough courage to even attend it.
He was afraid.
He was afraid of Snape and what he could do.
He was afraid of himself and his incomprehensible reactions.
Fear overwhelmed his heart and lungs, seizing them, forcing Harry's legs to bend under him and his hands to tremble.
Why could he not escape the dreams?
Fresh visions of the heated, sultry dream still haunted him. For the third time he had dreamt about Snape, and for the third time he'd climaxed thinking about him. He even began to wonder how Snape's ever compressed, twisted in a scornful smile, pale lips tasted.
Certainly quite different than Luna's warm and sweet lips.
Shaking his head, Harry reprimanded himself for his way of thinking, but with less fury than usual.
"I wonder what Snape will come up with this time," Ron's voice broke through the mist of gloomy thought surrounding Harry's mind. "I hope he hasn't decided to poison me," he uttered, his face pale and clearly seen in the darkness of the corridor, from which Snape would soon emerge.
It wasn't a long wait.
Harry heard the footsteps of the rapidly approaching professor. The footsteps were striding, long and sweeping. Harry closed his eyes, listening to the noise. Only Snape walked like that. The sound if his footsteps were so characteristic that if he heard them in any other hallway he would always have known it as him.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a black silhouette already clearly distinguishable from the rest of the darkness. Snape seemed as if he were materializing from the gloom, part of the darkness himself, becoming a tangible shape. Only his face and hands stood out slightly from the all-encompassing black surrounding him. His cloak fluttered behind him, bringing to Harry's mind the vision that he emerged from the abyss of his nightmarish dream to persecute and haunt his helpless victim, enchanted by the dangerous beauty of imminent evil.
Harry realized that he was gasping and staring at the Potions Master as if he were seeing him for the first time.
What the fuck is wrong with me? he thought, shocked when Snape approached the front of the classroom waiting for the students. Harry turned his head in the opposite direction, so as not to look at Snape. The professor opened the door of the classroom without a word and waited until the students went in. Harry passed him, looking at his feet the whole time, but as he walked by Snape, a strong smell of potions ingredients mixed with something spicy, which emanated from the man, made Harry's head spin so he nearly walked into doorpost.
The Slytherins' burst out laughing and Harry flushed, quickly sitting down at his desk without looking around. He set his books and other accessories on the table, cursing himself for being so distracted.
Luckily, Snape hadn't said a thing.
"Harry, is everything okay?" Hermione asked, while peeling the fruits of Spiderish Cedar - one of the components of the Stretching Elixir, which they were preparing for today's lesson.
"Yeah, sure, everything's all right," he hastily replied, peeling, along with the skin of the fruit, a considerable amount of flesh.
"You don't look very well," she added, looking at her friend's face with an anxious gaze.
"Honestly, you do look as if you want to kill someone," said Ron, looking with horror as from the fruit Harry was peeling, only pit left.
"No I don't!" Harry hissed in protest, feeling like he'd probably explode from the inside. His hands were trembling and his heart had come up into his throat.
Every time, when Harry raised his eyes, he saw the man watching him with narrowed eyes. He suspected the Professor was planning something, and it bothered him terribly. For the moment, he hadn't done anything, but he was probably just waiting for the opportunity to publicly humiliate him again.
"Ouch!" Harry suddenly hissed, releasing the knife from his hand. He put the cut finger into his mouth.
"Harry, let me see!" Hermione took his hand and looked at the deep wound that was bleeding profusely. "What are you still thinking about that you can't even hold a decent knife?" she scolded him.
Harry grimaced in pain. The cut actually gave him hell, it pinched and burned. But he wouldn't go to Snape and ask him to leave class to be able to go to the Hospital Wing. And he was even more appalled by the thought that the professor himself would probably heal his hand.
"What's going on here?" The cold, steely voice reached Harry's ears just as he was covered by a dark shadow. He stiffened and his heart stopped beating, touched by a beam of inexplicable fear.
"Professor, Harry was wounded in the hand," Hermione began to explain, seeing that her friend had apparently forgotten how to talk. "Could you - "
"Potter!" Snape interrupted her, turning to Harry. "As usual, you can't just work without calling attention to yourself."
The professor's words reached Harry after a while, once they finally managed to break through the noise of his wild and erratic heartbeat within his ears and the fog of dread that had enveloped his mind. He wanted to say something, but it felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Before his eyes he saw a black robe with an endless row of buttons. He saw the cloak falling softly from the back and – oh god! – a pale hand with long fingers reaching out to him.
"Give me your hand, Potter." Harry almost squeaked at the rumbling voice of his professor.
In the corner of his eye he saw a wand, which appeared in the professor's other hand. He was unable to make any gesture, and stood there just staring in horror at Snape's outstretched hand.
The spicy scent of the man wrapped around him again and his head started to spin. Completely unaware of what he was doing, he raised his left hand. His gaze wandered up and encountered the burning gaze of black, fathomless eyes, which in his dreams always drove him to delirium. His trembling hand touched Snape' cold fingers.
What happened then left Harry dumbfounded.
His cock twitched spasmodically.
With surprise on his pale face, Harry felt a painful cramp in his loins. He realized he was in trouble and he couldn't do anything about it. He felt as if he were falling into a deep abyss of painful consciousness and nothing could save him.
Boundless astonishment burning in his wide open eyes made a shadow cross over the professor's face and, between his eyebrows, a wrinkle appeared.
Oh Merlin ... He knows, thought Harry in panic, looking away, pulling his hand away with a sudden jerk. He grabbed the knife and started peeling the other fruit.
"I-I-I'm fine. You don't n-n-need to - " He babbled. He thought that he would probably die of shame and horror. His voice faltered slightly with the last word, and he could actually feel Hermione's surprised look.
"Then don't bother me again, Potter!" snapped the professor, turning his back to him and walking away.
Harry felt tears in his eyes, his ego in pieces.
"What have I gotten myself into?" Harry miserably muttered to himself as he cleaned the seventh cupboard in a row. "Why did I have to lose control of my temper?"
He was tired, dirty and sweaty. Filch decided to make him suffer, since he had a chance to mistreat Potter.
Harry was doing the cleaning for two days. On Saturday, he decided to clean the cupboards in the lower levels of the castle and Sunday, the upper levels. There were only two cupboards in the dungeons left. Slamming the door on the seventh cupboard, he trudged out to find the next one.
The dungeon was cold, but Harry was hot and sweaty from all the scrubbing.
Why does my life have to be so buggered up? he thought, staring sullenly at the dust and cobwebs, covering every surface of the small room. He put the bucket on the floor and sighed deeply.
It's all Snape's fault! Had it not been for him and his cursed potion, I would be spending an enjoyable evening with Ginny, rather that wade through rat droppings and cobwebs!
Harry angrily began to sweep the trash and dust covering the floor with a broom and collect cobwebs from the ceiling and walls.
There is nothing attractive about him! Neither anything sexual!
He suddenly saw ebony eyes within his mind, gazing at him with superiority. He remembered he could feel a burning sensation when Snape's cold fingers touched his hand. An uncontrollable shiver passed through his body.
It meant nothing! Nothing at all!
What happened yesterday in class left Harry wanting to rip his hair out in despair. The more he thought about what had happened, how he'd reacted to Snape being so close ...
In addition, he still remembered the situation, when he met him after class in the hallway, and of course he had to drop his bag of books just in time, when the man walked beside him.
It was an accident! He didn't let the bag fall because he felt a fragment of the professor's cloak brushing him! His cock had shuddered then and Harry nearly screamed in horror. It's definitely not because of that!
No! Nonono! Don't think about it! He couldn't allow himself to. If he did, his heart would start beating harder again.
With noise in his ears and dizziness creeping up on him, heat ravaged his body. He leaned his forehead against the cold stone, wanting to soothe the burning embers inside himself and began to punch the wall, repeating like a mantra:
"I'm a stupid, abnormal, eccentric, fucked up freak! I'm a stupid - "
"For once you talk with sense, Potter." The Potions Master's cold voice pierced through the haze of self-loathing Harry had built up around himself. He froze, stricken by terror.
* "Addicted" by Kelly Clarkson
| Komentarze |
dnia maj 06 2011 16:22:28
I laughed so hard when Harry was thinking about dating Luna, falling in love with her, and being normal, and then she comes out with "You're not my type."
Poor Harry, so fraught with polar opposite thoughts and emotions. Snape enjoys terrorizing him, but in a way I don't think it's really terrorizing...more like seducing, except it FEELS like terrorism. Haha. Another great chapter.
| Dodaj komentarz |
|Zaloguj się, żeby móc dodawać komentarze.
Nie jesteś jeszcze naszym Użytkownikiem?Kilknij TUTAJ
żeby się zarejestrować.
Wyślemy nowe, kliknij TUTAJ
|Każdy, kto ma problem z edycją swojego profilu, z pewnością używa przeglądarki Mozilla, która blokuje edycję profilu. Jeżeli chcecie coś zmienić - obrazek, dane, itd. musicie to zrobić z przeglądarki Internet Explorer.
|Ankieta: Ulubiony rodział DI |
| || |
|Tylko zalogowani mogą dodawać posty w shoutboksie.|