|Nasza twórczość/Our stuff |
| || |
|Gdzie można nas znaleźć/Where you can find us |
| || |
| Gości Online: 3|
Brak Użytkowników Online
Zarejestrowanch Uzytkowników: 4,361
Najnowszy Użytkownik: darlingyoure_m
|Liczba odwiedzin Number of views |
| || |
|WAŻNA INFORMACJA |
|Jeżeli masz problem z zamieszczeniem komentarza, to prześlij go nam na PW albo na e-mail: email@example.com
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 8 - "Confession" |
Have you ever noticed,
That I’m not acting as I used to do before?
Have you ever wondered,
Why I always keep on coming back for more?
What have you done to me?
I’ll never be the same I'll tell you for sure*
“… Avery and Macnair were sent to negotiate with the Centaurs, and Lucius Malfoy used the Imperius curse on Broderick Bode from the Department of Mysteries. The Dark Lord’s forces are increasing. He’s got tremendous support from central Europe. A large group of Death Eaters from Romania and Hungary joined him recently. And offers of help are coming from the eastern countries of Europe.” Severus Snape was sitting in the headmaster’s office and was giving his weekly report. He wasn’t looking at the old man, though his gaze was directed at him. He seemed to look through him.
Albus Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. From week to week, the reports had become increasingly unfavorable. Voldemort was growing stronger at an alarming rate and it seemed that no one and nothing could do anything to stop him.
“And what about those mass attacks on officials working for the Ministry of Magic, who are still loyal to the Minister?”
“The list is very long, and many are willing to do the Dark Lord a service. Nothing can be done.”
“Do you know any names?”
Severus shook his head. Not even a muscle moved on his face.
“The attacks are carried out almost immediately. We learn the names only at the meeting.”
The headmaster was looking extremely tired. Last month had only helped in deepening the wrinkles on his gaunt, pale face. He closed his eyes and was sitting in silence for a moment, listening to his thoughts. The Potions Master was waiting patiently. Recently, the headmaster was more often falling into states of despondency than anything.
The old man’s chest heaved a quiet sigh.
“He’s winning, Severus, and there is nothing we can do about it. Our allies are crumbling. Voldemort now reigns over half of Europe, and his tentacles have begun to reach into the depths of other continents. Our only hope are the young, but we can’t send them to war.”
Snape said nothing. He’d heard this speech so many times that it had become quite boring for him.
“The only thing missing to complete his victory is Harry.”
The Potions Master’s face remained blank.
“You must tell me immediately if Voldemort has decided on a plan for Harry. This is a priority, Severus. We must protect him at all costs."
Dumbledore’s blue eyes were digging into Snape’s black ones, as if the headmaster wanted to cram these words directly into his head for him to understand their weight. The man nodded as a sigh of understanding, without breaking eye contact. Dumbledore smiled a pale, tired smile.
“I’m glad that I can trust you, Severus.”
“Are we finished, Headmaster?”
“Yes, please.” Dumbledore waved his hand. “Keep me posted.”
Snape nodded stiffly, and then stood up and, without looking back, left the headmaster’s office. He crossed the distance between the tower and his quite chambers in the dungeons very quickly. It was late and the last of the students still roaming the halls got out of his way.
Severus walked into his office, crossed it in a few steps and found himself in his private chambers. The fire hissed softly, revealing from the darkness bookshelves filled with books. Severus turned towards the dark, distant corner where on a marble platform, decorated with silver snakes wrapped around the base, was a large bowl made from the same material.
He stopped before the Pensieve and pulled out his wand. He waved it over the bowl and the straw-golden and liquid-volatile substance contained in it came to life. The Potions Master waved his wand for a while, as if moving through unwanted thoughts, searching for something within them.
He finally found it.
Slowly, he turned his wand in his fingers, stringing on it a golden, glistening strand. On the substance’s surface loomed the Dark Lord’s face for a moment, replaced after a while by the image of green, glittering eyes hidden behind glasses.
While the images and thoughts again went to his head, everything suddenly disappeared and the surface of the substance in the Pensieve became smooth and golden again.
At the same time, Harry Potter was lying curled up under the covers in his bed and hating himself with every cell of his body.
He hated his weakness, which had led him to what he had done today. He hated that his body had reacted impulsively and incomprehensibly and he couldn’t control it, even though he had tried. He hated his weak will, which had given up with a single word, closeness, and a touch.
But most of all he hated Severus Snape, who was able to use it all and turn it against Harry. He hated him!
“I won’t write it for you, Ron! Get it out of your head.”
Hermione closed her eyes, feeling that she was losing control.
She and Ron were writing an especially long and difficult essay on a History of Magic. Harry wasn’t with them. Frankly, he hadn’t shown up since yesterday evening. He came in the middle of dinner, blushing and absent in thoughts. It’s true that recently he was behaving very strangely all the time, but since last week he was so silent and reserved that Hermione had begun to seriously worry about him. And yesterday at dinner he had eaten just a little pudding and declared that he wasn’t hungry and, not waiting for them, he went to the dormitory. Ron had said that when he had returned, Harry was asleep, but Hermione suspected that he only pretended it to avoid awkward questions.
Something bad was happening to him lately. Something very bad. And Snape was involved in it and Hermione didn’t like it at all.
She had been watching Harry over the past week and had noticed how he had been surreptitiously glancing at the professor, then quickly looked away, blushing. She had seen how Snape watched Harry during the last lesson. She still remembered, as Harry had suddenly come back to the Potions class and how long he had been there… and when he had appeared at dinner… Well, he had looked extremely agitated.
She had a theory about this, but the thought of it was making her dizzy. For now she decided to push it away as much as possible until she was sure. She prayed that for once it would turn out she was wrong.
“Hermione, come ooooon! Help me, because I won’t make it till training and I want to see Harry.”
Hermione curled her lips.
“You had all last night to write it.”
Ron groaned and leaned his forehead on the parchment, smudging what he had just written.
“You have no heart, you know?”
“But I have finished this essay. As opposed to you," she said, putting a stop to the concersation and vigorously signing the essay with her name. With the corner of her eye she saw Ron’s desperate face. Oh, how his pleading eyes bothered her.
“Oh, fine! Give it here!” she growled, snatching the parchment to use it for amending and improving.
On the freckled glowing face she saw an indescribable smile full of gratitude.
“I love you, you know?” Ron grinned and jumped up to run to training. Hermione felt like, contrary to her will, her face was blushing.
Oh yes, it bothered her to no end.
“What are you doing, Harry?” Angelina’s cry echoed in the school grounds.
Once again, the sound of a loud whistle interrupted a well-planned attack and left the entire team completely lost. Everyone was getting more and more pissed off. Along with the audience.
Once again Harry had flown right in front of the charging Chasers. In just half an hour, he interrupted the action several times, a few times he was almost struck by a Bludger, and a few other times he had missed the Golden Snitch fluttering right in front of him. And when he was thinking that it couldn’t be worse, he collided with Katie Bell and broke her broom. He wanted to escape from here as soon as possible and get as far away as possible.
It was all Snape’s fault! Harry couldn’t even focus on flying straight. He didn’t have any control over his broom. The furious glances of his teammates and the disappointed look of the people in the stands prevented him from playing effectively and distracted him even more.
He could only think about Snape and the hot, ruptured moments in the potions storage cupboard yesterday afternoon. He had done IT again. He had pandered to him. He couldn’t resist him. He had let Snape take control of his heart, mind and body.
The Potions Master tasted so wonderfully…
Harry closed his eyes, remembering the salty taste of Snape’s pulsing erection in his mouth and the sounds of pleasure that had escaped fhis lips while Harry was pleasing him.
Oh, it had been wonderful… It was impossible to compare with anything the feeling that piled in him when he had realized that he was the only one who had access to such a sight. Snape’s closed eyes, parted lips, greedily catching the air, the face contorted by a grimace of pleasure stronger than anything else. Oh, Harry had drunk this sight in, wishing to remember it’s every detail foreverl. And now he couldn’t stop playing it in his memory. Whatever he did, he still had this sight before his eyes. He should consider himself extremely lucky that he had seen something that Snape would probably not let anyone else see. Ever.
But Harry wanted more. More Snape. More of his taste and smell. He wanted more than he had got so far. Much, much more.
But it seemed that his dreams would remain just dreams. He closed his eyes. In his head still echoed the Potions Master’s last words: “Until next time, Potter.”
Those words had hit him. Snape had turned to him las if ... as if...
He gritted his teeth in helpless rage.
He was weak. Being close to Snape always made him weak and submissive, as if he had no will of his own. He couldn’t understand that. He knew that Snape was simply using his weakness, but he agreed to do so. More - he longed for it.
But he wasn't like that some time ago. Potions Master’s biting refrains had inflamed the fire of rebellion and hatred in him. He had been able to argue with him, to disputed with him, never allowed him to lambast him. Now, when he stayed alone with him, his mind dissolved.
But it wasn’t just that. In his heart, he knew why he couldn't stand up to him. Because he was afraid. He was afraid that if he did, Snape would stop being interested in him. He would take what he wanted. He had power over him, he could do anything. He could reject him, say he had had enough and would look for someone else…
Harry shook his head violently.
What the hell I am thinking?
If only he knew… If only he had a clue how far he could push and not lose it. But he didn’t know. Snape was like a closed book. Harry didn’t know his intentions. As he realized, he didn’t even know why Snape had taken an interest in him so suddenly. Because it was unlikely that he had drunk the potion Desideria Intima. And that his greatest desire was Harry.
It was ridiculous!
Or maybe Snape was flattered that he was Harry Potter’s greatest desire? Maybe no one had ever had an obsession over him and he felt… honored?
Oh, yes, what a honor… Being an obsession of his greatest enemy…
Maybe he just wanted to humiliate him? Ha had always loved to do so, and now his opportunity had arisen… Who would have missed the opportunity to watch his greatest enemy on his knees at his feet? Certainly not Snape.
But even if this case proved to be true… why the hell didn’t it bother him? Well, at least not as much as it should. He meant… Of course that bothered him, but there was something… He couldn’t name it. Whenever Snape acted like that, looked at Harry with his crooked smile on his lips, treated him as if…as if… heck, as if he were his owner! As if he had absolute power over him and he knew it… Harry felt something… strange. He felt anger, that was clear. He felt regret. Disappointment. But underneath it all, there was also something that made his stomach turn, and lava that melted his will inside him. As if he was arou --
No, no, no! He wouldn’t think about that!
Harry shut his eyes and shook his head again, scattering these frightening thoughts which had imperceptibly crept into his head. He breathed a few times.
But maybe it was about something else? Maybe Snape was behaving like that because he just… couldn't behave in any other way. Harry doubted that such an unattractive (at least for most people he knew. No, scratch that – for all the people he knew), nasty, sarcastic bastard as he was could really be any other way in a relationship. In fact, he couldn’t imagine that Snape could be with anyone in any kind of relationship. It just didn’t suit him. Snape has always shunned people, was always alone. He was for some time, a Death Eater, torturing people… It was impossible that someone like him had some sort of huge deposits of feelings, not to mention sensitivity. No, Snape was very antisocial. And maybe that’s why he was behaving in this way and not otherwise… He just didn’t know how else to be. And if he didn’t know, Harry should go teach him…
Oh, he suspected that it wouldn’t be easy. And somehow he couldn’t even imagine it. How would he teach him anything, since in his presence, he couldn’t even think?
It was such a difficult task, Harry’s head was spinning when he tried to imagine it. But maybe… maybe he could try someday. Maybe he could gain the courage --
Suddenly he realized the silence around him. He blinked a few times and looked around. Everyone was looking at him.
For a few minutes he was hanging in the air and he was knocking into the wall with the shaft of his broom.
He felt his face reddening. Confused, he jerked his broom and flew to the middle of the field. He couldn’t stand the accusing glances of his teammates.
Why had he even agreed to this? He wanted to go back to playing Quidditch, because he loved it, but he couldn’t put it in his heart because of Snape. His heart was fully occupied at the moment. They were all counting on him, and he couldn’t keep his thoughts on the field for more than five minutes.
No, it had been a very bad idea to accept the proposal to return to the team.
“Go back to the game!” screamed Angelina, but without enthusiasm. The whole team had moody faces on. Several fans had already left the stands.
It’s all because of me, he thought, hating himself for the current situation he was in.
He bit his lip, deciding not to think about Snape anymore! At least not now. He wanted the dark figure and cold eyes to leave his thoughts, at least for a while, so that he could redeem himself.
He clenched his hands on the broom handle and carefully began to scan the sky in search of golden flashes. He made few circles above the field, completely absorbed in his primary focus on his role.
Finally he saw it.
The Golden Snitch was hovering a dozen meters above the left gate. Harry started to fly in the direction of the golden ball. The triumph was already settled on his face. He stretched out his hand to catch the Snitch. The momentum of the wind in his ears effectively inhibited all other sounds. He heard someone shouting something, but he didn’t care about this.
He almost had it.
He had almost managed to erase everything --
And suddenly everything went dark.
Harry opened his eyes.
He saw white space above him. Heaven? Is it possible that he had fallen from his broom in some unexplained way?
His misty eyes fell on the candles hanging in the air.
No, it was the ceiling.
Harry tried to raise his head and at the same time he felt as if someone hit him in the head with a frying pan. Pain exploded under his eyelids with a thousand sparks. He bit his lip so he wouldn’t scream. Suddenly he felt as though he was spinning on a broom. The whole world spun around him and instead of stopping, it increased. Struggling with pain and dizziness, he barely opened his eyes and turned his head to one side.
He was in the hospital wing. Lying on a bed next to Luna’s.
What the hell am I doing here?
The last thing he remembered was the Golden Snitch, which he’d almost had.
“Oh, you finally woke up.” The silence was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey’s voice in the hall. The nurse stood over Harry’s bed and looked at him with concern.
“What happened? What am I doing here?” he asked a bit bewildered.
“You got hit by a Bludger. During training. On the head,” she explained briefly, while pouring a drink the color of rotten greens in a glass on a table standing next to Harry’ bed. “And then you fell from your broom. Fortunately, you ended up with only a few bruises and blackedout. I gave you painkillers.”
“And I almost caught it,” grunted Harry and tried to raise his head, which resulted in an even stronger feeling of getting hit with a pan.
“Oh no, my dear. You won’t get up for some time. You’ll stay in this bed until morning, when everything will return to normal. Now drink this. It will help relieve the pain, though you may feel a bit dazed after that.”
Harry sighed resignedly. He had been so close… Now everyone will surely think he’s a prize looser. He hadn’t noticed the Bludger, because he had too engrossed in his desire to catch the Snitch. They would probably exclude him from the team…
It was all Snape’s fault!
He decided to torment Harry’s life, even if he had done nothing. Harry knew in his heart that this wasn’t the man’s fault, but he loved to blame him for everything. It was much easier than blaming himself.
He just couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was like a fly, which had stuck to a spider’s web woven by the Potions Master. He was in no way able to break free and fly away.
He drank a dose of the nasty rotten green potion, and after a moment he was alone in the dark. Well, maybe not quite alone.
He slowly turned his head and looked at the unconscious Luna. She wasn’t so pale anymore and the bluish tint had disappeared from her eyelids. This was probably due to the antidote that Snape had brewed. She looked as if she was just sleeping.
The feeling of relaxation slowly enveloped his mind and body. Peace slowly began to sway, and his legs became extremely heavy.
A deep sigh came from his chest. He felt like the straps that restrained his mind relaxed and various deeply hidden thoughts that had come to light began to emerge on top. Everything else suddenly became so… void.
“I let myself in for, Luna,” he whispered softly. “I can’t help it. It’s stronger than me. When I see him, my heart dies. And I'm so… so… happy, but completely without joy. It makes no sense, I know. And I also know that this probably means nothing to him.” The words got out. He couldn’t stop them. He felt that with each word a weight was lifted from his heart, as if these words were the weight and the only way to get rid of it was to throw them out. Even if there was no one to listen to them. “But that’s just impossible that I mean nothing to him. I saw his eyes when I was doing it to him. I didn't fancy that. Why would he allow me if it meant nothing to him?... I want more. I need to get more, otherwise I’m going to go mad. I won’t let him treat me like that. I’ll find a way to break him. To make him show that he cares for me, to make him finally notice me. I can’t stand his indifference again. I won't make it. I have to come up with something. I won't give up so easily. The problem is that when he’s around, I… I… it’s as if I cease to be myself. I mean I’m my usual self, but in some way only too. Oh, it makes no sense!... I just stop thinking about anything in that moment. I see only him. I hear only him. Just like when I was under the influence of the potion. In fact, in his presence I feel like I am under the influence all the time. Of Snape and of the potion.
“Snape?” Luna’s soft voice interrupted his discourse. Harry turned his head and he saw with horror that Luna’s eyes were wide open and was staring at him curiously. “Strange taste you have, Harry.”
It turned out that Luna had awoken from a coma a few hours earlier, and when Harry had thought she was lying unconscious, lost in the disease, she had been really just dozing. He believed that it was extremely unfair. He was glad, of course, that her condition was better, the huge stone on his heart lifted, but his joy was disturbed by the fact that she had just found out about Harry’s most deeply hidden secret. A secret he had never, ever revealed to anyone, not with his own free will. But the potion that Pomfrey had given him had made him too dazed to know what he was doing. Now, he knew to avoid the rotten green potions that smelled like a burnt rubber.
But the Ravenclaw was an extremely generous person. At first, Harry had been so frightened that he had tried to deny it and convince her that he didn't say 'Snape' but... 'Grape'. That’s it, 'Grape'.
But Luna had just smiled, as if she didn’t believe any of his words. Harry had finally given up. He had forced her to promise that she should tell no one about that, because then he would need to escape from Hogwarts. She had promised that she would tell no one and not to worry. She told him that it was his business, whom he fancied (Harry had immediately denied this), and that it was perfectly understood.
She hadn't resented him. She hadn’t cursed him. Hadn’t scolded him. Hadn’t turned away from him. She had accepted it so… normally. As if Snape was not… Snape.
Harry, himself, didn’t regard this as normal. Snape was twice his age, his teacher, the most hated person in the school, and he was a Death Eater.
This was enough reason to not consider this normal. Luna, however, didn’t seem to notice at all.
Maybe if I had told her that I was in love with my aunt, she would have been a little bit surprised…
“I have a little surprise for you today.” The Potions Master's trenchant voice pulled Harry from his thoughts.
It was Monday. Potions class. Harry had spent the whole of Sunday in bed thinking about how to make Snape give him what he wanted. He couldn’t just go and ask. He couldn’t. He had to do it in another way. He had to somehow provoke him. He knew that it would be very dangerous, but he had to try. Now that opportunity had arisen.
“You will have a test today.” The Potions Master smirked, observing with satisfaction the students’ horrified faces.
Oh, unannounced tests were what he loved the most.
Only Hermione looked pleased.
“Well, luckily I was studying yesterday ,” she announced and with a smile she glanced at despaired Ron. The redhead muttered a few curses at the professor.
Harry wasn’t paying attention. He was feeling excitement heating up his blood. His hands were trembling slightly. Especially when the Potions Master’s eyes fell on him. Snape distributed the student worksheets with the questions and gave half an hour for them to answer them. He demanded absolute silence and declared that, if he caught anyone cheating, he would personally expelled them from his classes. Forever.
Harry looked at the questions.
1. What is the main ingredient of the Stretching Potion?
2. By whom and where was the first Elixir of Vigor brewed?
His eyes were looking through the questions, feeling that he would fail this test completely, when he saw the eighth question, and his heart leapt almost to his throat.
8. Describe the effects of the potion Desideria Intima.
The Gryffindor smiled to himself. Well, he knew the answer to one question. He put his quill to the parchment and was about to start writing when he suddenly hesitated.
In his mind, tentatively and awkwardly at first, grew a mad idea.
And what if…?
He gulped and looked around the classroom. Everyone was completely engrossed in the test. Looking around the room, his eyes crossed with the eyes of Snape, sitting at his desk. A surge of heat enveloped Harry’s body. He could feel his skin burning and his heart started beating faster.
He knew what to do. It was a crazy idea, but Harry knew it was the only way to get what he wanted.
He put his quill to the parchment and began to write.
Harry tried to slice the leaves of bindweed but he had some problems with it. Instead of the leaves, he almost chopped his fingers. He felt that he would just go crazy with impatience, and he felt the blood in his veins boiling. He was excited and jittery. With every minute, it was getting worse. Every once in a while he looked at Snape grading the tests.
In the class there was absolute silence. Everyone was staring at Snape, despite the fact that their task was to prepare a Potion of Dreams. Everyone was curious about their results.
Harry swallowed hard. He had to remain calm and have a stony face when Snape read this. He had to look confident.
He had picked up his quill to add to the parchment another point for a potion’s preparation, when he saw Snape’s eyebrows rise in the expression of infinite amazement, and his head break away from the test and the black eyes pierce through Harry.
He read it!
Harry felt that at this point he would just die. The blood in his veins turned in boiling oil, burning him from the inside. He was too far to see the expression in the professor’s eyes, but he had the impression that his eyes were tearing the soul from his body and ripping it to the shreds.
He read it! I have to continue this!
With a trembling hand he put the tip of the quill in his mouth and began very slowly to remove in from his mouth, feeling it tickle his lips. He then licked them, trying to look at Snape with bold, defiant eyes.
Snape narrowed his eyes dangerously.
Harry knew that they were in a class full of students, and that anyone who looked at him would instantly figure out everything. He knew this, and being aware of it put him in a state of even greater excitement. He felt this body shaking with eagerness.
He was seducing the professor. During the lesson. With the entire class present. It was crazy!
But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t care about anything at this point. Only about Snape and his piercing gaze. Harry felt as though nobody else was in the class. Red flooded his eyes, effectively distorting everything around him.
There was just Snape. Staring at him intently.
Snape, who was smiling darkly.
Snape, who suddenly said:
“Mr. Potter. You’ve written this very unintelligibly. Could you read us your answer to the eighth question?”
Harry suddenly felt as if he was falling from a great height, not having anything to catch.
“What?” he muttered, blinking in surprise. He saw Snape sending him the test. The parchment landed in front of Harry.
That’s impossible! He can’t do that! That wasn’t the plan!
Panic began to dominate his mind. He looked at his test. He felt that everyone had stopped and stared at him with anticipation.
No! No! No! I can’t read this! What do I do?
He thought frantically. It seemed that he was caught in a trap from which there was no escape. At his own request. He should have foreseen this. Snape loved humiliating him too much to miss this opportunity. And judging from the expression on his face, he had enjoyed it exquisitely.
Why had he written this at all? Why had he so risked?
The letters blurred before his eyes. He didn’t need to see them. He knew what he had written.
8. Describe the effects of the potion Desideria Intima.
One result of this elixir is that… I can’t stop thinking about you. I did that last night. And you know what I was thinking? I imagined how you’d take me on your desk. Undressing me, pushing me on the wooden tabletop and slipping your hard cock into me. Your hands sliding over my naked body. You were touching me everywhere, I felt your mouth kissing me everywhere as you moved within, I feel you. Deeply. I accept you willingly, because I want you. I want you to take me; to fuck me. And I can see the desire on your face. I can see the pleasure you succumb to.
I came, moaning your name.
Tell me, Severus… Would you like to have me on your desk, completely naked and submissive?
I’ll do everything you ask.
Would you like that…?
“We’re waiting, Mr. Potter.” Potions Master's sneering voice broke the silence prevailing in the classroom.
Harry felt that his head was spinning so much that he would probably faint.
Oh, he couldn’t believe what he’d written. In a Potions test! The damn test! And now this son of a bitch was telling him to read it! In front of the whole class!
He closed his eyes, begging in his mind all the good spirits that could be somewhere around to make anything that would save him. Whatever!
In the worst case he would have to burn this test and be exposed to Snape’s wrath. But he preferred that to another devastating humiliation.
Snape had no pity on him. He had never absolved him. He had always loved to torment him, and nothing had changed. He suspected that it would never change. He regretted that he’d do this… but he had to take the risk.
He glanced at Snape’s eyes filled with bitterness. He wanted to tell him: “How could you do that, you bastard!” But he knew that the man would probably not give a damn.
He reached into his pocket. He had to burn this test. There was no way out. The entire plan would remain as angry memories and Snape, who would surely --
Then the bell rang.
The relief which he felt had no comparison. His knees nearly buckled. He began to thank all the ghosts in his mind that he had been listened.
“For the next lesson, please describe the full process for brewing the Potion of Dreams. Add a description and history of all the ingredients, the characteristic method of preparation, the description of the taste, odor, color and texture, the history and effects of the elixir. On no fewer than three rolls of parchment.
A murmur of indignation went through the class. Snape had always given them tedious homework, but not usually this much. He had to be in an extremely bad mood.
Everyone began to gather their belongings, clean up after themselves and slowly leave the classroom. When Harry, still in the spirit of gratitude for the bell rescuing him, took his bag and wanted to go out,the Potions Master's ominous voice covered the murmur of the class:
“Stay after class, Mr. Potter, and you will read aloud what you wrote.”
Harry squeezed the test he held in his hand. He felt a shiver down his spine. These words sounded almost like… a promise. He knew that Snape wouldn’t let him get away with it so easily. Not after what he had written.
He gulped and turned from him, telling Ron and Hermione who were waiting:
“Don’t wait for me. I want to go visit Luna later. Go on to dinner alone.”
Ron nodded and patted Harry on the shoulder.
“Hang in there, man.” Then he turned and walked towards the door, along with the rest of the students. But Hermione hadn’t moved. She was looking at Harry with piercing, thoughtful eyes. Later, her gaze went slowly to the desk at which Snape was sitting, and then returned to Harry.
"Just don’t come back too late,” she whispered, looking down, turning around and leaving quickly.
She guessed something, he thought in dread, watching as his friend disappeared behind the door.
Why did he say this at all? It wasn’t such a credible excuse, especially since Luna was being released from the hospital tonight. But he could think of nothing else. He wanted his friends to go away. What else did he have to say? He suspected that he couldn’t get out of here too soon. He was sure, judging by the Potions Master's gaze that was piercing his back. It seared.
When the last student walked through the door, dead silence reigned in the classroom. Harry felt like the panic, which he was trying to stall over the last few minutes, wrapped him up and took control of his mind.
Why he had written this at all? At this time, he only wanted to be far away from this place. Escape. Disappear.
Earlier, when he had been writing this, he hadn’t cared about the consequences. He had acted on impulse. On his desires. And now he had to face Snape. He didn’t feel like he was up to the task.
He closed his eyes, waiting for what seemed to be the inevitable.
“Look at me, Potter.”
Harry clenched his fists.
Get a grip!
He turned slowly, fearing what he would see.
He held his breath when the burning, razor-sharp black eyes looked at him and smashed his confidence into small pieces. Leaving only fear and shame.
He couldn't look away! He had to face him!
Suddenly, he felt a surge of heat as he heard the sound of the door locking behind him. A strange glow then illuminated the room.
Silencing and locking spell. Oh shit!
Harry was only able to stand there and fight the growing panic and anxiety within him. He saw a dark smile appear on the Potions Master’s face.
“I will repeat my request once, Potter. Can you read to me what you have written?”
Harry thought he would probably faint from embarrassment.
“You know what I wrote,” he uttered, his voice breaking.
One of the Potions Master’s eyebrows rose in a gesture of malignant satisfaction.
“But I would like to hear it from you. It is not often that I see such an… hmmm, profuse response to my test questions.”
Harry’s blood burned in his veins, consuming him from the inside. His head began to spin when he saw the look the Professor struck him with. There was fire burning in the black eyes.
The atmosphere in the classroom was so thick it seemed almost palpable. Harry knew that what he’d say now could change everything. The burden of this awareness overwhelmed him.
He wanted Snape. He would do anything to get what he wanted. But was he ready for it?
He wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in his throat. Snape was standing stiffly against his desk, and the intensity of his gaze was depriving Harry of everything. Including the capacity for speech.
“I can’t,” he finally managed to whisper, feeling that a little more and he would explode.
He couldn't say that! He couldn’t.
“In that case, you may go, Mr. Potter. You’re free.”
Harry knew he would explode if more time passed and suddenly, the heat in his veins was replaced by a cold, icy shiver, that made Harry’s body shake.
No! I don’t want to!
Harry looked away. He realized that his sweaty hands were shaking so much that he could hardly hold the test.
It can’t end this way!
He closed his eyes, fighting the cold shivers of his body.
He still felt the look of those flaming eyes digging into him. A look that was burning him with its intensity, as if Snape was waiting for Harry to do something; say something. As if he was waiting for a signal. He wouldn’t do anything until Harry begged for it.
Harry’s heart broke from his chest and flew away. His blood began to burn again. The temperature in the classroom seemed to get hotter and hotter. As Harry’s courage grew, the air in the room became hotter and stickier.
He felt drops of sweat streaming down his back.
He raised his head and looked at the eyes that seemed to be searching his soul.
He wanted this. He couldn’t quit now. He wouldn't forgive himself if he quit.
Harry swallowed hard.
"Nobody will ever want you like I do. Nobody will ever look at you like I do. I don’t care what others say about you. To me you are perfect. Only I discovered this, no one else knows this and will never know. You are mine. Your perfection belongs only to me. The whole of you belongs only to me. And if you think I’m insane, if you think me mad, then go ahead. I’m crazy. I can’t help it. You have power over my heart. Did you know that?
You can hurt me with your words, you can hurt me with your actions, but I don’t really care, because I’m lost in you and nothing can save me now. I’ll always come back to you.
I know that everyone considers you to be a cold and heartless bastard. I know that you have built a wall around yourself so thick and inapproachable that nothing could get through it. But I will try to break through it. I will always try. Because I believe that one day I will be able to do it. And I believe that someday you will give me just a particle of your warmth. Only a bit. It’s enough for me.
And in the same time my heart is pierced by the fear. I’m afraid that one day you’ll forget, and I will still remember.
Sure, you'll call me a fool, because how else can one identify someone who needs your look to exist?
I hate it when you pretend that you don’t see me. Your indifference hurts me. I feel as though my heart was stabbed by an icy dagger, which freezes it and then stops it. Then I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m slowly dying of cold.
However, during those brief moments, when you give yourself to me… it all didn't matter anymore.
And your orgasm… your orgasm is my greatest reward. Your face softens, your eyes close and your mouth opens, panting and moaning when your cock is in my mouth. You try to hide the pleasure pouring over your face, but I see it. And then I feel it. I feel that I really am the Chosen One.
I don’t ask for much. I just want you to want me. To desire me. That’s it. Please, want me."
Harry tried to say these words aloud. However, they remained in his soul. And each of them burned the interior of a painful wound. The only ones that managed to escape from his trembling lips were:
* "Extasy" by ATB
| Komentarze |
dnia czerwiec 08 2013 13:42:56
Obojętnie, czy czytam to po polsku, czy po angielsku, ten rozdział zapiera mi dech w piersi. Tyle emocji, tyle wypowiedzianych i niewypowiedzianych głośno słów. Przepiękne wyznanie miłości, które padło w duszy Harry'ego. Tym bardziej poruszające, że nie powiedział tego na głos. Zakończenie tego rozdziału to wooooow. Stanowi wstęp do przełomowej sceny erotycznej w "związku Severusa i Pottera".Uczucia, przeżycia i emocje na najwyższym poziomie W przeciwieństwie do Was dziewczyny, często brakuje mi słów, by wyrazić, co czuję czytając DI. Ale źle się wyraziłam na początku mojej wypowiedzi. To nie jest obojętne, w jakim języku czytam, bo widzę, że angielski jest o niebo uboższy od polskiego, nie jest w stanie nadążyć za Waszymi genialnymi opisami, metaforami. DI traci w przekładzie, nie można oddać jego całego piękna w obcym, nie tak doskonałym języku, jak nasz, którym posługujecie się perfekcyjnie. Chylę nisko czoło przed Waszym talentem
dnia maj 27 2016 21:10:24
Wyraziłam już swoją opinię na temat tej opowieści, ale muszę się nie zgodzić z autorką komentarza. Angielski nie jest uboższym językiem. To, że nie posiada deklinacji nie oznacza, że jest gorszy. To, że przekład nie jest tak ujmujący jak oryginał oznacza tylko to, że osoby tłumaczące nie potrafią dorównać autorkom - nie to, że język angielski bądź jakikolwiek inny jest uboższy.
dnia maj 27 2016 21:15:16
Chociaż zależy, jak ową ubogość traktować. W języku polskim, na przykład, nie ma tyle "czasów". Z drugiej strony, angielski jest uboższy pod tym względem, że nie posiada deklinacji (jak wspomniałam). Zaś jeśli chodzi o słownictwo, stwierdzam, że angielski jest na tym polu bogatszy, ale to i tak zależy od autora, jak bogatym słownictwem będzie się posługiwał.
| 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.|