Prolific author NotSoSaintly
Prolific author Notsosaintly
Is it hot in here or is it just me?! Offered for your reading pleasure, and I do mean pleasure, is the next in the Prolific Author Series: notsosaintly. You may know her better as The Petulant Poetess. Yes indeed Notsosaintly runs The Petulant Poetess. Hop on over and check out a wonderful archive. The tea and coffee aren't the only things that are steamy over there.
Many, many thanks to morethansirius for putting together this quiz!
Match the story to the quote:
Strega Letteraria WIP
Bewitching Her Mind
Garden of Eden
Man's Best Friend
Fallen
Impromptu Seduction
Metamorphosis
Children Are a Blessing, Not a Burden
Soothing Hands
Not A Word
Letting Go
An Unwitting Romance
The Tutoring Session: A Virgin's Primer WIP
Not A Word
1. "Understand, I do not want to be alone, Hermione, but who would want a cantankerous, battle-worn, old bat like me?"
She couldn’t help but giggle a little at his self-description. His sense of humor was intriguing. It was the only excuse she could think of for what she said next.
"Well, I, for one, Professor, would not describe you as an old bat. Cantankerous, maybe. Old bat, I think not," she answered boldly. "Furthermore, I cannot see why a wizard in his prime would think himself old in the least."
"I feel old, Hermione. Deep in my soul, I feel old. I have seen too much destruction, too much pain, and nothing can take that away." His voice tapered away to a whisper.
His raw response shook her to the core. How was it that they came to this place, that they were able to share such deep feelings, thoughts that had not been shared with another soul before now? Surely it was some form of magic. Whatever it was, it had the effect of severely loosening her tongue and inhibitions.
"You are too young to feel old, Professor. I wish there was something I could do to make you feel young again."
2. Her eyes met Snape’s almost instantly. Something pulled in her gut, and her heart flip-flopped like a fish out of water. His long fingers curled around a mug, and he was languidly sipping its contents as he watched her.
She told herself to look away, but she really didn’t want to. She was tingling from head to toe with the electricity of desire, almost as though she were being physically drawn to him. Feeling bold, she sent him a small smile and was a little surprised when his eyebrows raised a fraction in response. She couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if she walked right up to him, straddled his lap, tangled her fingers in his silky black hair, and devoured him. Bugger the fact that they were in the Great Hall. Who cares what anyone else thought?
Her reverie was shattered when Snape suddenly sat straight up and almost dropped his cup. She fixed her gaze quickly on her plate. Her pulse throbbed painfully in her throat as she realized that he had actually seen the images that had been playing in her mind, images of her snogging him in front of the entire school. Mmm… she thought. Time to get back to the library.
3. In a way she thought she could change him and make him into something ... someone he was not. To soften the sharp edges, as it were, if only with her.
There were small bumps in the road, nothing major, until just after their sixth anniversary. Her mother had died suddenly, and Hermione was devastated. She had trudged on, denying herself the feelings, not wanting to admit how much it really hurt.
Severus had actually shown some emotion at the Muggle funeral when he greeted her father. For the first time in her life she saw Severus Snape hug another man and a tear fall from his eye. And then he had taken what little emotion she had discovered he had, locked it up tight and threw away the key. He never spoke of her mother afterwards. He looked uncomfortable when she tried to.
4. She hummed in response as his soft, pliant fingers massaged her curved belly. Half-lidded, her eyes met his. His glassy eyes enthralled her, always reflecting her questions, making her more introspective. She detected a promise of something more in those dark pools, especially when he believed himself to be unobserved.
"I am worried, Hermione. You have been restless of late, and it is interfering with your happiness."
What could she answer to that? It was true. Vaporous visions continued to niggle in the pit of her stomach.
"Please, tell me what is wrong. Maybe I can fix it," he pleaded. His touch roved upward past her lower ribs and felt the weight of her breast. How she wished the feelings he evoked within her would fix that which caused her anxiety.
"I don’t know what’s wrong, Severus." Her eyes closed completely as his thumb pushed and ground circles around her nipple. "I keep seeing images in my mind. There are people."
Her eyes snapped open. "There are people," she repeated in a whisper, "and I don’t know who they are."
5. This morning I awoke from yet another night of drowning in a bottle of Firewhiskey, only to find myself dissatisfied with the reflection that stared back at me. When did I get so … old? My skin has sallowed. My cheeks have sunken. My hair has gotten-okay, so it has always been stringy and, frankly, a little too oily for my tastes. My nose has been broken too many damn times. I wouldn’t pay any attention to me. No wonder people are still avoiding me, treating me like I harbor the plague. I have to do something … something to make myself a little more desirable, to make people see me for who I am.
Glamours are too inefficient. I don’t want to have to worry about a glamour wearing off in the middle of the day. Although, I have to chuckle at the effect it would have on a student if one happened to wear off while assigning a detention or deducting house points; imagine the nightmares that would cause. I could always remove a glamour at the proper moment, just when it would do the most damage. Now that would be entertaining. Of course, Minerva would make my life a living hell if I pulled something like that.
6. Her feet slap-slapped in the puddles as she ran blindly to the end of the dead-end street, and she stopped, not able to go any further. There was no place to go, no place she wanted to be.
Hermione tilted her face up to stare at the dark, stormy sky, letting the raindrops break heavily upon her cheeks. She listened to them fall all around her and watched the end of their descent, as much as the darkness would allow. It was nearly impossible to keep her eyes open, and several times she had to blink away the wet. Wet. Wet was good. Wet made her numb, and numb was a state she preferred the moment.
How could he do this to her? She choked on a sob and railed at the heavens silently, cursing him, cursing her stupidity. After everything they had been through; after all the years she had put into their friendship; after sticking with him through his ‘dark period’ after he had vanquished Voldemort; after trying so hard to keep their relationship together, regardless of the walls he constantly threw up in her face … How dare he do this to her!
7. The photo still moved, even though the edges were worn and it had been folded in a couple places. He had found it in a discarded issue of The Daily Prophet soon after the Final Battle. Someone had tossed it aside at a faculty meeting. Probably Minerva, he thought. Hermione had always been her favorite student.
At the time he didn’t quite understand why he had torn the page free and stuffed it in his pocket. He had done the deed quickly and felt guilty when Albus wandered by only a couple seconds after he had tossed the evidence into the trash.
It had stayed in his pocket for days. He even managed to switch it from robe to robe before the house elves took away his dirty laundry. It seemed to burn a hole in his pocket. He felt its heat through the many layers of clothing.
Every night he would take it out and stare at her face, smiling up at him and waving, next to the Boy-Who-Lived-Yet-Again and the ever-present Red-Haired Sidekick. They had not been back to Hogwarts since the battle on the night of their graduation. But he did not miss them. No, indeed.
8. She almost didn’t notice the subtle path his thumb traveled across her stomach. Her breath quickened, and suddenly, the closed quarters felt very warm.
How many times had she fantasized about finding herself hidden away, trapped, alone with this man? How many times had she felt the thrill of danger, which he exuded by simply being in a room? How many times had she wanted to welcome the danger, to taste it?
She shifted slightly against him, pressing back simultaneously … hoping he would sense her desire … scared that he would reject her … frightened that he would not.
9. Her limbs trembled as she pulled away from his grip and turned to face him. His aquiline features were made harsh by the angle of the moonlight. She placed both hands on either side of his face, letting her fingers roam over his cheekbones, her thumbs running over the fullness of his mouth, relaxing him with her gentle touch.
Her lips brushed over the irresistible rift between his eyebrows as he gazed back at her under heavy lidded eyes devoid of all animosity. She got lost in his pupil black stare. All the passion he usually spent in anger was now focused upon her in a wholly different way and it wound up tight in her belly.
He watched as her reserve cracked and he could sense the impending inquisitorial onslaught. He touched a finger to her lips and pleaded with her silently. The tender gaze he afforded her seemed to be enough and she slowly tilted her head toward his to taste his lips.
10. The irritable professor had gotten lost somewhere between her legs and had been replaced by this stranger who looked back at her with utter devotion. And she suddenly realised why he chose to let her tend to his injuries all those times after being Summoned by his evil master. It had nothing to do with not wanting to deal with the rough bedside manner of her Hogwarts counterpart. He chose to be with her because he cared for her and enjoyed her company.
Severus smiled as the realisation dawned on her face. Letting his feelings for her show in his expression-something she was certain to understand-was infinitely easier than finding the correct words to say. It was the one way he could be sure she would see his honesty for what it was. She placed both hands on either side of his face in a gesture very reminiscent of the earlier events of the evening, except this time she pulled him to her in a kiss that seared his very soul, breaking down all the walls he had so carefully erected over his long years as a Death Eater and spy.
Is it hot in here or is it just me?! Offered for your reading pleasure, and I do mean pleasure, is the next in the Prolific Author Series: notsosaintly. You may know her better as The Petulant Poetess. Yes indeed Notsosaintly runs The Petulant Poetess. Hop on over and check out a wonderful archive. The tea and coffee aren't the only things that are steamy over there.
Many, many thanks to morethansirius for putting together this quiz!
Match the story to the quote:
Strega Letteraria WIP
Bewitching Her Mind
Garden of Eden
Man's Best Friend
Fallen
Impromptu Seduction
Metamorphosis
Children Are a Blessing, Not a Burden
Soothing Hands
Not A Word
Letting Go
An Unwitting Romance
The Tutoring Session: A Virgin's Primer WIP
Not A Word
1. "Understand, I do not want to be alone, Hermione, but who would want a cantankerous, battle-worn, old bat like me?"
She couldn’t help but giggle a little at his self-description. His sense of humor was intriguing. It was the only excuse she could think of for what she said next.
"Well, I, for one, Professor, would not describe you as an old bat. Cantankerous, maybe. Old bat, I think not," she answered boldly. "Furthermore, I cannot see why a wizard in his prime would think himself old in the least."
"I feel old, Hermione. Deep in my soul, I feel old. I have seen too much destruction, too much pain, and nothing can take that away." His voice tapered away to a whisper.
His raw response shook her to the core. How was it that they came to this place, that they were able to share such deep feelings, thoughts that had not been shared with another soul before now? Surely it was some form of magic. Whatever it was, it had the effect of severely loosening her tongue and inhibitions.
"You are too young to feel old, Professor. I wish there was something I could do to make you feel young again."
2. Her eyes met Snape’s almost instantly. Something pulled in her gut, and her heart flip-flopped like a fish out of water. His long fingers curled around a mug, and he was languidly sipping its contents as he watched her.
She told herself to look away, but she really didn’t want to. She was tingling from head to toe with the electricity of desire, almost as though she were being physically drawn to him. Feeling bold, she sent him a small smile and was a little surprised when his eyebrows raised a fraction in response. She couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if she walked right up to him, straddled his lap, tangled her fingers in his silky black hair, and devoured him. Bugger the fact that they were in the Great Hall. Who cares what anyone else thought?
Her reverie was shattered when Snape suddenly sat straight up and almost dropped his cup. She fixed her gaze quickly on her plate. Her pulse throbbed painfully in her throat as she realized that he had actually seen the images that had been playing in her mind, images of her snogging him in front of the entire school. Mmm… she thought. Time to get back to the library.
3. In a way she thought she could change him and make him into something ... someone he was not. To soften the sharp edges, as it were, if only with her.
There were small bumps in the road, nothing major, until just after their sixth anniversary. Her mother had died suddenly, and Hermione was devastated. She had trudged on, denying herself the feelings, not wanting to admit how much it really hurt.
Severus had actually shown some emotion at the Muggle funeral when he greeted her father. For the first time in her life she saw Severus Snape hug another man and a tear fall from his eye. And then he had taken what little emotion she had discovered he had, locked it up tight and threw away the key. He never spoke of her mother afterwards. He looked uncomfortable when she tried to.
4. She hummed in response as his soft, pliant fingers massaged her curved belly. Half-lidded, her eyes met his. His glassy eyes enthralled her, always reflecting her questions, making her more introspective. She detected a promise of something more in those dark pools, especially when he believed himself to be unobserved.
"I am worried, Hermione. You have been restless of late, and it is interfering with your happiness."
What could she answer to that? It was true. Vaporous visions continued to niggle in the pit of her stomach.
"Please, tell me what is wrong. Maybe I can fix it," he pleaded. His touch roved upward past her lower ribs and felt the weight of her breast. How she wished the feelings he evoked within her would fix that which caused her anxiety.
"I don’t know what’s wrong, Severus." Her eyes closed completely as his thumb pushed and ground circles around her nipple. "I keep seeing images in my mind. There are people."
Her eyes snapped open. "There are people," she repeated in a whisper, "and I don’t know who they are."
5. This morning I awoke from yet another night of drowning in a bottle of Firewhiskey, only to find myself dissatisfied with the reflection that stared back at me. When did I get so … old? My skin has sallowed. My cheeks have sunken. My hair has gotten-okay, so it has always been stringy and, frankly, a little too oily for my tastes. My nose has been broken too many damn times. I wouldn’t pay any attention to me. No wonder people are still avoiding me, treating me like I harbor the plague. I have to do something … something to make myself a little more desirable, to make people see me for who I am.
Glamours are too inefficient. I don’t want to have to worry about a glamour wearing off in the middle of the day. Although, I have to chuckle at the effect it would have on a student if one happened to wear off while assigning a detention or deducting house points; imagine the nightmares that would cause. I could always remove a glamour at the proper moment, just when it would do the most damage. Now that would be entertaining. Of course, Minerva would make my life a living hell if I pulled something like that.
6. Her feet slap-slapped in the puddles as she ran blindly to the end of the dead-end street, and she stopped, not able to go any further. There was no place to go, no place she wanted to be.
Hermione tilted her face up to stare at the dark, stormy sky, letting the raindrops break heavily upon her cheeks. She listened to them fall all around her and watched the end of their descent, as much as the darkness would allow. It was nearly impossible to keep her eyes open, and several times she had to blink away the wet. Wet. Wet was good. Wet made her numb, and numb was a state she preferred the moment.
How could he do this to her? She choked on a sob and railed at the heavens silently, cursing him, cursing her stupidity. After everything they had been through; after all the years she had put into their friendship; after sticking with him through his ‘dark period’ after he had vanquished Voldemort; after trying so hard to keep their relationship together, regardless of the walls he constantly threw up in her face … How dare he do this to her!
7. The photo still moved, even though the edges were worn and it had been folded in a couple places. He had found it in a discarded issue of The Daily Prophet soon after the Final Battle. Someone had tossed it aside at a faculty meeting. Probably Minerva, he thought. Hermione had always been her favorite student.
At the time he didn’t quite understand why he had torn the page free and stuffed it in his pocket. He had done the deed quickly and felt guilty when Albus wandered by only a couple seconds after he had tossed the evidence into the trash.
It had stayed in his pocket for days. He even managed to switch it from robe to robe before the house elves took away his dirty laundry. It seemed to burn a hole in his pocket. He felt its heat through the many layers of clothing.
Every night he would take it out and stare at her face, smiling up at him and waving, next to the Boy-Who-Lived-Yet-Again and the ever-present Red-Haired Sidekick. They had not been back to Hogwarts since the battle on the night of their graduation. But he did not miss them. No, indeed.
8. She almost didn’t notice the subtle path his thumb traveled across her stomach. Her breath quickened, and suddenly, the closed quarters felt very warm.
How many times had she fantasized about finding herself hidden away, trapped, alone with this man? How many times had she felt the thrill of danger, which he exuded by simply being in a room? How many times had she wanted to welcome the danger, to taste it?
She shifted slightly against him, pressing back simultaneously … hoping he would sense her desire … scared that he would reject her … frightened that he would not.
9. Her limbs trembled as she pulled away from his grip and turned to face him. His aquiline features were made harsh by the angle of the moonlight. She placed both hands on either side of his face, letting her fingers roam over his cheekbones, her thumbs running over the fullness of his mouth, relaxing him with her gentle touch.
Her lips brushed over the irresistible rift between his eyebrows as he gazed back at her under heavy lidded eyes devoid of all animosity. She got lost in his pupil black stare. All the passion he usually spent in anger was now focused upon her in a wholly different way and it wound up tight in her belly.
He watched as her reserve cracked and he could sense the impending inquisitorial onslaught. He touched a finger to her lips and pleaded with her silently. The tender gaze he afforded her seemed to be enough and she slowly tilted her head toward his to taste his lips.
10. The irritable professor had gotten lost somewhere between her legs and had been replaced by this stranger who looked back at her with utter devotion. And she suddenly realised why he chose to let her tend to his injuries all those times after being Summoned by his evil master. It had nothing to do with not wanting to deal with the rough bedside manner of her Hogwarts counterpart. He chose to be with her because he cared for her and enjoyed her company.
Severus smiled as the realisation dawned on her face. Letting his feelings for her show in his expression-something she was certain to understand-was infinitely easier than finding the correct words to say. It was the one way he could be sure she would see his honesty for what it was. She placed both hands on either side of his face in a gesture very reminiscent of the earlier events of the evening, except this time she pulled him to her in a kiss that seared his very soul, breaking down all the walls he had so carefully erected over his long years as a Death Eater and spy.