Damaged Goods

Damaged Goods

Part 11

Strange, the desire for certain pleasures is a part of my pain.
--Kahlil Gibran

I do not know what is happening to me. I seem to have more energy than I know what to do with. Though my headaches are still frequent, I have tore through my homework, finishing all the week's assignments, have caught up on all the work I had missed during my sickness, studied like mad for the OWLS that are coming up at the end of the month, and yet I cannot stop.

I want to keep working, keep my mind occupied, to ignore the embarrassing feelings I am having. To sum it up, I am on fire. My lower regions have been tingling, wetness flooding through them at the most improper moments and places. My skin has been itching with a longing to be touched, stroked, cut. I have refrained from the latter except for a few indiscretions with a rather nasty rock that accidentally 'cut' me when I fell. At least that is my story if someone should ask.

Sleep has eluded me this week. I have too much energy, too much desire, and I am growing angry. Angry at my traitorous body, angry at my wanton thoughts, angry that no one even notices that I am in torment.

I sat between Ron and Harry in Transfiguration Tuesday, instead of at my usual place with Lavender. They didn't think it odd that I was there. I had accidentally brushed my legs against theirs several time, they did not notice that my skin through my robes was hot, as I innocently pretended nothing had happened. When I had dropped my quill, allowing it to roll unto the floor, I placed my hand on Harry's thigh as I bent over to pick it up. It was wicked to feel his skin quiver as I moved my hand a bit more than necessary. He didn't look at me, but I saw the faint flush on his cheeks and I tossed my head, feeling the power, though what kind I was not sure. I cried that night, from frustration, from want, from need, for human touch, for these feelings to stop, to be normal again.

***

"Harry what do you reckon has gotten into Hermione?" Ron asked him on their way back from Divination class that Thursday. "I mean if I didn't know better I would think, well you know, she was flirting with me at lunch today."

Harry's face flushed. "I think you are right."

"Really?" Ron's faced brightened, "you think she might be interested, if I asked her to Hogsmeade next weekend, you know, of course you will be with us....?"

"Remember, she can't go, she has detention with Snape."

"Buggers, forgot about that slimy git."

Harry was silent. He had noticed Hermione's behavior this week and Ron was right, she was flirting with him. But not just him, every male in Gryffindor had been the subject of her odd behavior. She had sent Neville into a stuttering frenzy when she had sat on his lap one evening in the common room, telling him if he didn't do better in potions she was going to have to punish him. The room had laughed at his red face, but Harry had felt ill.

He hadn't told Ron about Hermione's boldness in Transfiguration as her hand had crossed over his lap, he had wanted to assume it had been a lark. After watching her more closely however as she became 'friendly' with any boy that passed her way, he knew something was going on.

Entering the Gryffindor common room, they were waylaid by George and Fred. "Come with us, we need to talk," George said mysteriously and led Ron and Harry up to their dormitory. Fred closed the door and they turned to confront Ron.

"Ron, we need you to do something about your girlfriend." George said seriously.

"What? I don't have a girlfriend you prat," Ron said.

"I thought you liked Hermione," Fred remarked.

Ron flushed, "I do but she's just a friend."

"Well, we think it's about time you made her more than a friend."

"And what makes you think you know what I should do?"

"Listen we know about women," stated Fred knowingly, as Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, "and well, she came on to us the other day."

"And not just harmless flirting, bloke. I mean, she was needing a good snogging."

Harry blushed and Ron looked sick.

"Why would she come on to you two?" Ron asked.

"We figured because of you, her liking you and you not knowing how to keep a girl happy," George said grinning slyly.

"George, don't go there."

"Thought we would let you know mate, it was pretty obvious to us that she needed a little attention. They let you know. The way they walk, move, it's in their eyes, the suggestive way they lick their lips."

"I don't want to hear this," said Harry.

"Sorry about that, but we thought we would warn Ron here. If he isn't interested, then what can you do?"

"If you're her friend you need to speak to her."

Fred nodded. "Yea, the next boys she comes onto like that might not be gentlemen like we are."

Ron snorted. "Gentlemen."

"Seriously mate, there are some boys in the school that wouldn't have walked away. Don't know if she thought about that, but she might be asking for more than she can handle."

Harry looked at Ron. What was with Hermione?

***

Hermione walked into the potions classroom Saturday morning without bothering to knock. Severus looked at her as she strode in, noting that her eyes were flashing fire as she neared him. He scowled at her, noting her dress. Instead of wearing her school robes, she had them flung over her arm. She was not dressed in her school uniform but rather Muggle clothes. Jeans, he thought that is what they called those tight blue denim pants she was wearing, and a tight light blue tee shirt. He thought of telling her to return to her room and wear proper attire, weekend or not, but dismissed it, not wanting to give her the satisfaction that he had even noticed what she wore.

"I want you to prepare the ingredients for the Caput Dolor Potion," he told her, daring her with his eyes to open her mouth, ready to take out his tiredness and frustration on her. For the past three nights he had been called to train new recruits in the use of the Unforgivables and other various hexes. Not only must he deal with students daily, now he must instruct imbeciles who were throwing their lives away by choosing to follow Voldemort. The only satisfaction he had felt was when he had 'demonstrated' the spells on the willing participants.

Now, he wanted to be alone in his rooms nursing a brandy, reading a book, or just sleeping. He had thought of sending her away, but knew that Draco would jump at the chance to whine to his father that the 'mudblood' had once again gotten by without punishment.

"Start with stripping the willow bark and then slice the goose hearts. Keep your mind on your work and I don't want to hear a word from you," he instructed harshly. She scowled at him, but kept her mouth shut as she flounced over to the table where the ingredients awaited.

Sitting behind his desk he opened the German book on elemental magic he had brought with him. Casting a translation spell on it, he began reading.

Fire Magic is the magic of flames, heat and cold, and of darkness and light, but is also the magic of emotion, passion, inspiration and creativity. To recognize a person that may possess the elemental nature of the fire one need only to study the behavior of the person.

The fire elemental adheres to a black and white outlook on life. They will either be at one end of the spectrum or the other, though possessing both qualities.

A person of great passion, creativity and a drive to achieve may be someone to investigate, while another that is cold and impassive with a thirst for knowledge and power will be the counterpart. They are the same and only the personality or upbringing of the said person is reason for the behavior differences.

Severus snorted softly. A thirst for knowledge and power. yes, that did describe the family name of Snape, allowing thoughts of his parents to seep into his mind.

She was Regina Bronwyn Snape, reared in Chilia Veche, a small village on the Danube Delta in Romania. At 20 she had honored an arranged marriage to Silvanus Gustav Snape of Knaresborough, a village in northern Yorkshire, a fifth cousin 30 years her senior. A year later their only child was born, Severus Adrian Snape, named after her father Severun.

His parents were neither loving nor cruel; they were only indifferent. After doing their duty of producing an heir they lived separately, each enjoying the company of others as is often the way in polite society. He was left in the hands of servants and his mother's governess, an old gypsy woman, small with a dry humor but kind eyes.

From his mother he inherited not only his dark looks and sallow, but also a thirst for knowledge. The rare times she presented her company to him, she discussed philosophy, politics, both in the wizarding and muggle world, and her one true passion, potions. She treated him as an adult and he tried hard to meet her expectations, reading, studying to match wits with her.

His fondest memory of her was when she allowed him to help her with her potions. Though she could have easily bought whatever potion was needed for personal or household use, she often scoffed that at best they were second rated. As he would prepare the ingredients for her, she would tell him stories of her homeland, her father, her who had mother had died in childbirth, and the injustices that often plagued the Romanians and their kin.

He thought her beautiful during these brief times together. She was tall and thin, with ebony tresses that hung below her hips. Her deep sapphire blue eyes were bright and her cheeks lightly flushed, as she described the art of potion making. "Know this Severus," she told him during their last time together before he left for his years at school, "that wealth may seem like the answer to power and stature but always remember a sharp mind that is never satisfied will never be taken away from you."

Silvanus Snape disagreed with his wife to a point. He was a tall, lean man, with long silver hair that he wore lose around his shoulders and dark eyes that exuded authority when he entered a room. Wealth was power, and power was to be sought at all cost. He played his hand in the political affairs of the Ministry, using his wealth to buy the favors of those he needed and destroying those who did not agree with his views. Had he lived, Severus was positive that he would have joined Voldemort openly, though he suspected he was secretly supporting him financially.

In all fairness, Silvanus had gifted his son with his knowledge of the magical arts as well as the ability to control his emotions. Summers spent at the manor after he had started at Hogwarts were often spent with his father who taught him those spells not taught at school, as well as the art of dueling. He had scoffed at the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, telling him it did little good to defend against things you had no first hand experience in. By the time Severus reached his seventh year he knew many dark hexes and jinxes as well as the Unforgivables. "Control is the essence to mastering any magic," he had told his son, "in mastering anything. Never let them see beneath your exterior. Make them fear you at first, then let them know that you are the one in power. Whether it is in affairs of the heart or wrestling a government to its knees, remember you are the only one in control."

It was ironic that Silvanus had not heeded his own advice. He had a weakness for sport, in the flesh as well as the gaming tables, added with a fondness for strong fire whiskey. He remembered vividly the last time he had seen his mother. She was sitting in Dumbledore's office waiting for him. Albus had left them to their privacy. Regina calmly told him that his father had been killed during a duel. Her eyes were cold as she looked at her son, challenging him to show emotion over the news. "Your father has been buried and that is that," she said coolly. "Do not mourn for him, he was a fool. I hope that you show better judgment in your life Severus."

She told him that she was returning to her father's house in Romania that the manor and his father's fortune were his. Severus heard clearly the unspoken request that she expected him to stay in England and out of her life. Kissing him lightly on the cheek, she left him standing there and he realized then that he would always be alone. The only reflection he had on his father's death at that moment was the words the governess had always said when his father left on one of his escapades. "O lov tai o beng nashti beshen patshasa." -'Neither money nor the devil can remain in peace.'

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he glanced at Hermione to see how she was progressing in preparing the potion's ingredients. Noting her behavior, he tried hard not to gape at the girl. What the bloody hell was she doing, he mused as he watched her. She was rubbing her thighs back and forth as she sat on the stool, moving to a rhythm as she sliced the hearts.

Mesmerized, he now realized what she was on about. The slight back and forth pressure of her thighs were evidently massaging her private areas. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed and he could see her nipples erect beneath the thin cotton shirt she wore. She apparently wasn't wearing any underwear beneath that shirt.

"Miss Granger," he said coldly right in her ear, as he stood behind her. Oblivious to anything except the feelings racing through her, she had not noticed he had come to stand behind her. She jerked, the slippery heart flying from her hand, the knife slicing through her palm before she could halt its movement.

"Damn, you foolish girl!" Severus said angrily, snatching her hand and wrapping it tightly into a fist as blood spurted from it. He pulled her off the stool, half dragging her to the sink thrusting her hand under the spigot as cold water washed the wound.

He glared at her as he touched his wand to her wound closing it. "You really are a walking disaster Miss Granger," he said acidly, waiting for tears, or even accusation, for he had indeed startled her. He was taken aback as she looked up at him. The sultry, hungry look on her face caught him off guard and he instinctively took a step back

"Thank you professor for healing my hand," she said, her voice deep and husky. She moved as if to touch him.

He caught her wrists deftly, giving her an icy stare. "Miss Granger, you are dismissed for the day. I expect you here in the morning dressed in your proper uniform and no more of the foolishness I witnessed here today. Do you understand me?"

She gave him a coy grin. "If I don't are you going to 'punish' me Professor?" Her words were silky, suggestive.

His eyes narrowed, "Miss Granger, you will write a three foot essay on the proper etiquette, rules and regulations that the students of this school must follow, and I want it on my desk in the morning, or I will take this little display of yours to the headmaster. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes Professor," she said angrily.

"Then get out of my sight," he snarled at her.

After she had fled the room he sat down, holding his head in his hands, feeling the tension behind his eyes. He knew she was acting out on feelings from her time with the Malfoys, though he had hoped she wouldn't have to experience the intense emotions that confused the line between abnormal sexual need and want. He knew all too well those feelings. The need for the approval and acceptance from an older, powerful man, which had led him down an even darker path than being a Death Eater.

He sneered, clearing his head of those dark images. With the afternoon free, he wanted to make good use of it, heading towards his chambers with sleep on his mind.

****

Dressed in her school robes, she laid the essay on his desk the next day waiting for her assignment. Assessing her, he noted the intense look on her face, the way she shifted her weight back and forth on her feet. He could almost feel the tension radiating from her.

Picking up a book lying on his desk, he opened it and handed it to her. "You will be brewing the Caput Dolor Potion for Madame Pomfrey. I suggest you get started for it will take most of the day to complete."

She stood there staring at the page. "Sir?" He looked at her, waiting. "Are you sure you trust me..."

"If I thought it beyond your capability, I would not have told you to make it," he said sharply.

"Right." She went over to the table were two large caldrons stood and began sorting the ingredients lying there.

"I trust Miss Granger," he said, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice, "that you will ask questions if you do not understand something. But then again, if you managed to brew Polyjuice Potion successfully in your second year, this should be easy for you."

Looking at him warily, wondering how he found out about that, she saw a slight smile grace his face before he turned his attention to some papers on his desk.

****

No longer having to concentrate on the careful process of creating the potion, the only thing left to do was to stir it until it turned a deep red. She felt the nervous energy course anew through her body once more. Dancing back and forth on her toes, she stirred the potion vigorously causing it to splash out ever so often.

"Miss Granger."

Nervously she looked at Professor Snape, waiting for him to scold her. The potion was to be stirred slowly; she knew that, yet she was barely aware how fast she had been gyrating the potion until he spoke.

"It would be a pity to waste all the effort you have put into making this from lack of discipline on your ability to keep a steady, calm motion," he said impassively, moving to stand behind her. She felt his body near her back as his arm moved down hers. He grasped her hand that held the ladle and began moving it in a slow steady rhythm.

"It is about being in control, Miss Granger." His voice was low, that tone that was somewhere between a purr and a growl that often meant disaster for the student who heard it. "Without it, the potion would be useless, as magic would be nothing more than chaos, and our lives would not our own. We master what we set our minds to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir"

"Good," he said, releasing her hand and moving away. "Then I trust you can finish without my help."

She nodded, her knees weak. With the intensity of the feelings that had been ravaging her body and mind the last couple of days, having him, or any man so close was overwhelming.

When the potion was finished, she filled the many bottles he had set on the table. When the last was corked she stretched, her shoulders tight from the delicate work.

"Finished?" he asked, picking up one of the bottles. Examining the color and texture he uncorked it and took a sip.

"Yes sir. And Professor...thank you for trusting me to make the potion."

Looking at her, he noted that her face seemed more relaxed. "You are welcome, Miss Granger. However there was no doubt in my mind that you could."

A compliment from Snape? She surely must have been working too hard today.

"Well then, if there isn't anything else I will be leaving," she told him as she headed towards the door.

"Wait," he called, crossing the room. He held out a bottle of the potion for her. "Don't tell Madam Pomfrey," he said slyly. "I know how inconvenient it is to run to the infirmary."

Giving him a smile, she took the bottle of headache cure and slipped it in her robes.