FIC: Too Old for Playing (NC-17)
Title: Too Old for Playing
Type: Fic
Age-Range Category: Two
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Severus & Lily, Severus/Lily, Severus/Remus. Features also Severus's mother and father (Eileen and Tobias) and his Potions teacher (Horace), James, Sirius, Peter, Albus, Lucius and (barely) Rabastan. Discusses briefly Aberforth, and Hank Marvin.
Author: paulamcg
Beta(s): justtoarguewithyou
Rating: NC-17
Click to View [Warning(s)]Creator Chooses Not to Warn.
Note(s): I've played with alternating between first-person and third-person scenes, and finally shifting to second-person narration, but Severus is the only pov-character. The remaining tense changes, too, are intentional and totally my fault. There is barely anything based (explicitly) on any part of post-OotP canon, but also no contradiction with it. There are excerpts from two songs in the story text. Don't Make My Baby Blue and I Met a Girl are songs performed by the Shadows - with Hank Marvin as their lead guitarist, playing the Burns Vista Sonic guitar - on TV in 1965 and in 1966. You can read the lyrics here and here.
Summary: Perhaps Severus wanted attention and appreciation, perhaps the loyalty of a friend, or someone he could save, or someone to fuck.
Once again, I was the only one left without a partner.
When the Potions Master waddled up to me and peeked into my cauldron, my reaction was to lower my head and to focus on cutting the ginger roots to ever thinner slices. Loath to reveal any signs of nervousness and hunger for appreciation, I wanted to make sure my hair was hanging across my face.
"Not bad..." There was a distracted tone in his voice, and I could hear he was already turning away while going on, "Not too bad, Mr... Snape."
Could he possibly have almost forgotten the name of a fourth-year student in his own House? Or did he hint at a significance in the Muggle part of my parentage?
Since the declaration that Hogwarts would stand firm against the supremacism professed by the sensational rising party, he was now so eager to stop Dumbledore from accusing him of partiality towards the pure-blood students that he tended to ignore many of the Slytherins' achievements. If I wanted to gain his special attention - and not only with my fucking dad's name - I needed to do something extraordinary. In order to manage that... I had to take some risks.
"Excellent, Miss Evans!"
I couldn't resist glancing at Lily, even though I was, of course, able to picture my best friend perfectly in my mind. Her perfect brilliant beauty. Yes, that bright smile - the same she'd flashed to me back when...
"You've followed all the instructions exactly, and swiftly, too."
"Thank you, Sir. Alice reminded me not to grind the scarab beetles into too fine a powder."
Of course, the pairs of Gryffindors were faster because they cooperated.
But I could learn to do something better than what was expected. To experiment and to brew an improved version of this Wit-Sharpening Potion, or anything above the level of our year. I'd share my secrets with Lily alone, and she'd stay loyal to me.
Measuring the armadillo bile, I decided to exceed the recommended amount - just subtly, to make a difference.
It was necessary to start practising now, in class. I couldn't trust I'd have the chance over the summer holiday. If Dad came back, or Mum was...
When the concoction boiled over, just as I'd bent close to stir the bile in carefully, and it coloured the tips of my hair green, the Gryffindor gang bellowed with laughter. I saw Lily cover her mouth with a hand and lean against her giggling partner.
She lets out a gasp of wonder when she sees a wizarding alley for the very first time.
Severus is proud to serve as his best friend's guide. It's a true beginning of a shared adventure when Lily grasps his hand. He enjoys imagining that Mum's not there, and... No. That would be a fun game of make believe, but eleven must be too old for playing like that.
He doesn't mind watching Mum walking in front of the two of them along Diagon Alley, as she looks equally proud, showing Lily's parents around. For once she seems to be happy and relaxed, if not totally sober, after she's downed a Firewhiskey. At the Leaky Cauldron, as soon as they'd entered from Charing Cross Road, she also dug out her best set of old robes, shrunken by a charm to fit in her purse, and returned it to its original size with a confident flick of her wand. Her magic made an impression on Mr and Mrs Evans, and now here among witches and wizards she's more elegant than any lady.
My baby... That song's in his head again: I'll be standing by/ So you just better try/ And don't make my baby blue.
He was a little boy when he first heard it. Dad had called him to see the Shadows on telly, and it took him some time to figure out that it was the name of the band. Hank Marvin was Dad's idol's name, and Burns was the electric guitar's.
"Look!" Dad kept saying between puffs of smoke. "Just like me guitar!" And, in his best exuberant mood, he didn't even complain that Severus was wheezing too loudly.
The Burns Vista Sonic guitar is Dad's for sure, and Severus hasn't made twice the mistake to touch it. But the song is Severus's. Mum is his girl, his angel - but, sadly, in love with Dad, and sad when Dad disappears with his guitar, and sadder when he returns to hurt her.
Today, however, Mum's floating down the cobbled street like a butterfly. Her wide sleeves flutter as she points at the stores they're passing.
Window displays of twirling cauldrons and of hovering broomsticks, and of flocks of owls! And perhaps most fascinatingly, of glass jars full of something gleaming, or murky, or vibrating - ingredients for poisons or other potent potions.
Severus expects Mum to glance back at any moment now, winking at him. He'll be able to read in her mind: See! I told you it was real, not a fairy-tale.
He has always wanted to believe... also that the huge portion of pumpkin-and-pineapple ice cream with a wizard's hat made of chocolate on top was a real memory, not only from a dream. But he can't remember anything else about any visit to this world. Mum, either, can't possibly have come here for years. The tales of her childhood and her school were secrets, murmured only rarely by a tipsy, wistful Mum.
When an owl brought a letter to Severus, they hid it from Dad so as not to irritate him. But she explained that they were lucky the boy would be away to a boarding school from September to June, for seven years, and her uncle would take care of the expenses.
"That's where you'll get robes for your daughter," Mum's saying, and it seems to Severus she's completely forgotten that she, too, is supposed to do shopping for a child who's starting at Hogwarts - until she goes on, "We've got school robes and a lot of the equipment at home. Don't need to buy much."
After the visits to Gringotts Bank and Madam Malkin's, Lily no longer walks hand-in-hand with Severus. She's linked arms with two girls who go on babbling about the fabrics they've chosen for their... No, now they're saying something about the list of textbooks, too. And yet another young witch is showing her new quill to Severus. Perhaps they'll all be friends.
I met a girl once, I thought she was the one for me/ I was so taken by her personality...
That was the song stuck in my head as I was creeping through the deepening shadows towards the New Greenhouse. It seemed I could never banish the music Dad had made me hear, even after we got rid of him for good.
Mum... she still meant the world to me, but... for sure she was better off now, without him. I was able to focus fully on developing my magic, and on loving my Lily, the one for me.
There was no other friend like... No other friend.
Impatient, I found it hard to walk slowly, although I knew I was too early. In her reply she'd written that she'd rather not meet me within the castle. I guessed she wanted to come straight from another clandestine meeting, perhaps from an illegal evening flight.
I couldn't help being disturbed by her strange bond with the old publican of the Hog's Head, but I wanted to feel reassured since she'd chosen to reveal the secret to me. No Gryffindor mate of hers knew about the flying carpet he kept hidden for her. But she really shared a degree of foolhardiness in common with other Gryffindors, especially the damned gang in our year. When she believed she wouldn't get caught or cause any harm, she was ready to break some rules. And she had the knack for making friends with the most unlikely people.
The Hog's Head was known for its grumpy barkeep, but he'd been surprisingly kind to me when she'd taken me to try the carpet. She'd explained I didn't need to worry that he'd ever make advances to her, because he was into men only, and I... didn't know how I felt about that.
The evening was warm for November, and when hurrying out, I hadn't bothered to take my cloak. Now, as I had slowed down, the chill of the wind jolted me. I was overcome by an urge to wank - and suddenly aware that I was still stimulated to touch myself in the same way as the little boy had been when unable to fall asleep on the mattress in the dank hallway. Although I'd learned I was supposed to think about girls, and I wanted to think about Lily, I was hopelessly stuck with my earliest fantasies, fabricated scenes for stories about a prince and a pauper, and someone in them who looked like Hank Marvin... No, at least no longer with those specs - like fucking Potter's!
In any case Lily and I were partners in what counted. To my joy, this year Slytherin and Gryffindor had both Potions and Defence Against Dark Arts together. After some of my potion experiments had been successful, I'd got the confidence to ask her to work with me, and now the two of us were a regular pair, and the one our teachers couldn't help noticing.
In the morning again we'd surprise our Potions Master with something new. I knew where to find the stray shoots of Yucca gloriosa we'd need for further enhancing our Strengthening Solution. But I wanted Lily with me - so as to discuss the process, and... I was sure she was eager, too, as I didn't have to wait for her note long after I'd aimed the charmed origami owl with my message through the Gryffindor portrait hole towards the staircase to the girls' dormitory.
The fallen, rain-sodden leaves had dampened my shoes - and made no crunching sound under my footfalls. Approaching the greenhouse, I could hear some whispering from its roof.
"You must admit it was a great catch. I really should be the Seeker." Potter!
"Uncharacteristically observant of you to recognise the handwriting immediately." And that was Lupin's measured speech.
An image of his pale, pretty face lit up in my mind as I shivered, standing as still as possible.
"The same silly, cramped cursive I saw before. And it was a feat to spot something so minuscule! Remember, the Charms notes I snatched from Snivellus? Like a girl's writing. But not like Evans's. Her style's personal and confident. Only an artist like you can imitate it."
"When I agreed to forge a reply note, I had no idea you wanted to attack him with a Shearing hex."
"I must. He writes he wants to collect some Yucca plants. Their roots are used for shampoo. But I won't let him break into the greenhouse, or do to Evans... whatever he's planned. Instead of any Dark Arts hair product, his ugly head needs a shave. And what's the fun in just making him disappointed that Evans doesn't come?"
"And what's the point in all this?" Now Lupin raised his voice, sounding more frustrated than strict in the way a prefect should. "If you want to hex and humiliate people for fun, I wonder how you can care about something like the... our top-secret project."
"Of course I do. I just can’t devote all my time to it. Unlike Sirius, I have a maiden’s honour to protect." Potter sighed. "Now you've been so loud that I'm sure the greasy git has heard us and run away."
But I crept only closer so as to continue to listen, as I heard them shift and it sounded like they turned to lie on their backs on the roof.
"If it’s supposed to remain a secret... never to irritate anyone or to make an impression... what’s the point?"
"To help you," Potter's voice was strangely stifled, "not hurt. Of course! Sirius seems to know better now how much… you need it. He's more... desperate, dying to succeed."
From the corner of his eye Severus, leaning against the wall next to the door, sees one more first-year enter the small chamber. Professor McGonagall has launched into explaining the principles and significance of the Sorting in an exasperatingly vague way, and Severus tries his best to focus, and to ignore the hurt of having been left behind by his friend.
In the train compartment he felt comfortable enough in the company of several cheerful, excited witches of their age. But when there wasn't space for all of them in the same little boat, Lily said that he'd better start making friends with some wizards, too, in any case.
Since putting on his robes - Mum's old, and faded, even more different from the other students' than he's feared - he's naturally self-conscious. Besides, perhaps it's normal for boys not to start linking arms as promptly as girls do, or clapping each other on the shoulder, or whatever.
Every time Severus glanced at the three other first-year wizards in his boat, two of them were staring ahead at the castle across the lake. The third one, a short, plump boy with a sharp nose went on babbling and bending close to the one Severus had seen him save from keeling over on the steep slope.
And now this skinny one limps in on his own, exhausted after having tried to keep up. He does look frail - but resilient, and hopeful as he scans the backs of the other first-years, instead of looking up at the speaker... who's soon finished and passed swiftly through the crowd and between the two of them.
“Can you tell me what she said first?” The boy's voice is hoarse, as if he'd got a cold.
Maybe his chubby mate is near enough to hear him. No, no one's turning... except Severus, who now can't resist taking in... some oddly endearing features of this wizard, not taller than he is. Or richer. The faded robes make him frown. When someone pays attention to him, does it have to be someone too much like him? Not exactly a pauper, but not quite a prince either. And where did that thought come from?
This boy's got a thin, long neck, and perhaps that makes him look... vulnerable? There's a pale rosy glow on the face surrounded by wisps of wavy brown hair. And a soft curve of the upper lip, as the wide mouth shifts from a smile to speaking a generous row of words to him, who's started feeling more awkward, having not responded promptly to the first ones.
“It’s a bit nerve-racking, that Sorting. I just hope I’ll fit in one of the Houses and make friends and manage to learn something... I’m Remus.”
"Severus." Reaching to shake the proffered hand, he dares meet the boy's gaze: wide, peculiarly yellow-brown eyes.
As he detects a slight narrowing in them, he's ready for the disappointment that this enchanting Remus finds something in him repulsive, after all. But he recognises the poorly-hidden wince of pain, and looks at the fingers while releasing them from what must have been too firm a grip.
And sees something familiar. Bruises. Even a fresh, soon-to-fade scar of a magically healed wound at the base of the thumb.
Could this pretty boy be a brawler? No. Rather a victim like Mum. The one for Severus to save. Yes, he wants to stay best friends with the popular witch, but to have this wizard enter the bedtime stories he tells himself.
Did I wish that Lily had noticed I had company - how, when waiting in the queue half-way down the marble staircase, I was surrounded by seventh-year Slytherins? They were only interested in how I could help them pass their Potions NEWT. That was enough of a reason for a sixth-year to be proud. But no, Lily was only less likely to ever again cooperate with me in improving the textbook instructions, if she comprehended how I used my famous skill in Potions for getting into Goyle and Lestrange's favour, let alone Avery's, or Mulciber's.
In any case she was already at the door, setting off towards Hogsmeade, and totally focused on her companion. At least it didn't look like she'd go to Madam Puddifoot's with any other wizard either.
I missed our café dates, and even more the spring days when the two of us had wandered on the outskirts of the village until finding a secluded spot, where she'd let me practise playing her guitar and kissing her mouth. Now seeing her together with Hooch, I was not terribly jealous, and not surprised at all. It was typical of her to enjoy conversation with people clearly above our age - some more mature company, for a change, she'd say.
She'd never agree to date Potter. Besides, once again he was being punished for a prank, and this time it meant he wasn't allowed to go to Hogsmeade.
Where were the other members of his little gang? I did hope they would see with whom I was standing.
Turning to scan the crowd behind us, higher on the staircase, I spotted two of those fucking... It seemed to be more and more often those two as a pair. Blood traitor Black, who's been disowned and become as much a pauper as...
What did I care! It was just tempting to watch them, and try to stalk them, unnoticed. But at the moment I couldn't bear the sight of them: the closeness they struggled to hide, and that wide mouth in a lopsided smile.
I had to resort to whispering something to... yes, Rabastan. I call him by his first name, at least in my mind. "Is it true that Pettigrew was caught red-handed with Potter? But not that pair of poofters?"
Blood’s red in all our veins. That was perhaps the least provocative one among the slogans they'd painted on the dungeon wall - this time not in but outside our common room, gaining more visibility and undoubtedly also admiration from defenders of Mudbloods.
I knew Lily was an exception. A Muggleborn - that couldn't be denied - but there was strong magic in her blood. And I'd never have called her by that word in June, not to her face, if Potter had not... I hated to have this in common with that fucking bully.
Her unrelenting resentment.
Remus is still standing next to Severus when Lily gets Sorted to Gryffindor, but the yellow-brown eyes have already been fixated on that House table for quite a while.
"Want to be Gryffindor?" Severus ventures to ask - perhaps as much to word his own wish as to regain the friendly boy's attention.
"Yes... It would be great to be in the same House..." But Remus spares him only a corner of a fleeting smile.
"Do you think you've got enough courage for Gryffindor, and... chivalry, and whatever the old hat said in its song?"
"When you need to be brave... You are. I hope."
When he's declared Gryffindor, he hurries to their table without glancing back. There's hardly any limp left in his gait. And he's bold enough to make space for himself right next to a tall, handsome wizard, whose hair's dark like Severus's. No, not like his. It's not grown too long due to neglected haircuts. Just long enough to fall over one eye in an elegant... Why look at a bloke's hair!
But that boy flicks his from over the eye by jerking his head in an arrogant way. Of course! He's the one whose Sorting caused murmurs of astonishment instead of simple cheers. Black. From a noble and ancient pure-blood family. Black's supposed to be in Slytherin.
Perhaps Severus, instead, will be made Slytherin. One of those most ambitious wizards, born for great deeds...
"I will take it from here, Mr Potter. You’ve done a good job protecting a fellow student or two." Dumbledore waves his wand towards the gap between the roots, sealing it closed.
"I’ve done nothing."
"Coward, denying it! They’ve tried to murder me, his gang, with a full monster as their weapon."
"You can calm down, Mr Snape. The Whomping Willow is quite a beast, but I’ve now made it harmless."
"No! Lupin…"
"Yes, he’ll be taken care of. We’ll talk in my office. No, in the hospital wing. Yes, two victims. Two stretchers... There you are!"
"Yes, Poppy. Mr Potter can stay in that bed until you fetch our true second victim in the morning.
"Where was I? Yes... Mr Snape, why do you say he is one?
"You say you saw him. Are you sure? That it was both him - and… a wolf?
"I see. Thank you for telling me. Now, I’m telling you not to reveal this to anyone else. Ever. I’m not threatening you with what the severe consequences would be - to you, which might be what you’re most interested in - if you did reveal it. No. I do promise: when I know that you have not done it, you will have my complete trust. Always.
"You promise to keep the secret. You can give the promise to him, too - if... when he's recovered well enough.
"Mr Potter, how long have you and your two friends known that he is one?
"Hard to say? Certainly.
"Each of you figured it out separately, is that right? And gradually, finding it hard to believe, and unwilling to mention it to each other? He’s not told you - of course not. Well, now that you all share the secret, you can cooperate and help him protect it from others. I know you will. I understand that each of you three has wanted to remain his friend. That's admirable, extraordinary. You, too, Mr Pettigrew, I am proud of… The Sorting Hat has done well to place you in Gryffindor.
"However… Mr Black, did you want to expose his secret tonight? No? Or perhaps to test if he really was what you suspected? In theory, it is possible that you tried to protect your friend from some suspicions you thought Mr Snape had.
"In any case, you risked lives - perhaps more. You must never do this again. You must confess to him. And to no one else, ever. You must serve detention tomorrow morning. As a punishment for daring both him and Mr Snape to approach the dangerous tree, which ended up mauling him - whereas Mr Potter arrived in time to save them, so that Mr Snape was spared from all but a single lash.
"Finally, Mr Potter, your presence is indispensable at tomorrow’s breakfast in the Great Hall. You’ll be declared a hero."
You've been beckoned to sit in front of the Headmaster's desk, in the chair next to Lupin's.
You try not to look at him. You can't possibly want to have anything to do with him now that you know what he is.
At least Black can't want him now either. No, of course! He's known, for years. A pervert! They must have all known. Dumbledore, too. Always.
"There’s no need for secrecy," he's saying with a wink. "An unfortunate event: a prank and an accident. But no serious harm done. Mr Black was reckless. That willow's branches can inflict quite some injuries. But I believe in rewards instead of punishments. I think I have come up with a proper reward for Mr Potter. What do you say, if I make him the Head Boy? You, Mr Lupin, are just a victim. Is that not correct, Mr Snape: a victim, just like you?"
This is how there won't be any punishments for Dumbledore, either, as if he were innocent of taking any risks, of breaking any rules, of hiding anything from the Ministry and the Hogwarts Governors, of... experimenting with a sub-human?
A werewolf should be grateful. But from the corner of your eye you see that he's frowning. A glance at Dumbledore makes him flinch, and he prefers to look away, chooses to stare at you instead.
He can't want Black any more.
The hideous wounds you saw across his both cheeks before you left the hospital wing have been replaced by soon-to-fade scars, and the face is again too beautiful in your eyes. You turn your gaze down to his hands. They are still covered with bandages. This means the injuries had been too numerous and it was impossible to heal them all promptly with the strongest magic, preventing permanent scarring.
You must focus on how repulsive that is. The beast mauling itself. This time worse than usual because sensing your presence drove it mad. Because it was betrayed by bloody plundering Black.
No, no one can save him. And what do you care anyway!
Black hates you more than likes him, after all. Wanted to murder you, or help Potter become a hero.
Dumbledore sees only a weak victim in you and declares that to the whole school.
And Lily... That speech at breakfast wasn't yet finished when Potter stopped listening - as she was right there next to him, now holding his hand.
Didn't realise just what a fool you'd been/ you met a girl once, she did you wrong behind your back...
No. Now focus. The reason you've sneaked out of school and taken a local train from Hogsmeade is not that she hasn't cared any longer how close you are with the most fervent blood purists in your House. That she doesn't care... No.
Only swaying a bit, you manage to stay on your feet. Not too bad for someone who's come of age and passed the test only recently, and not had the chance to practise. Before Apparating to the graveyard only from behind the church, you've remembered to close your eyes - and not too tight - so as to stop them from streaming and to look composed as soon as you've arrived to face Malfoy.
You never got any attention from this haughty pureblood when he was still at school. Now why...? He must have heard from some seventh-years about your innovations in Potions, and about the Spells Against Enemies.
In the twilight it's easy to spot his white-blond head: the elegant ponytail. He's turned his back on you, although he must have heard your clumsy Apparation. Only after taking a few steps away, until he's almost under the eaves of the church, does he swirl around, and he spares you hardly a nod in greeting.
"Just listen. The Dark Lord has decided to allow some half-bloods to join his party. Of course, any candidate he can consider must have old pure blood on one side. And the right attitude. He wants some young members, too, and I’ve been given a list of sixth-year and seventh-year Slytherins. You've got the honour to be included."
"So that’s why you wanted to meet me here..." You don't want to sound flattered or too excited. And are you? Rather suspicious. "Why here? Why all this trouble and secrecy?"
"Here - so you could prove you've got at least some skills as an adult wizard. You’ve done that, but there's a lot you need to learn. Besides, Dumbledore doesn’t approve of his students’ pledging allegiance to any political parties. I'm not welcome at Hogwarts on any recruitment mission. And the orders are to deliver these invitations in person. From now on you’ll receive information on your responsibilities by owl, and there will be a convention in London over the summer."
"I... don’t know. I haven’t thought of joining any group before I finish school."
"Yes, you do know. I’ve just told you. It seems you need someone to think on your behalf, or you’d remain as ignorant as Dumbledore wants his schoolchildren to be. The Dark Lord has considered it wise to extend his plans to some people like you."
"I can... consider my options."
"If you had an alternative, it would be Dumbledore’s plan for you. And you know he doesn’t appreciate your best talents or your best heritage. The Dark Lord seems to have some use for those, so it's a pity you'd rather remain a victim, protected by Potter and other blood traitors, and Mudbloods."
When Malfoy Disapparates, you're left in darkness.
Is there someone whispering up on this roof, or are you imagining things, or remembering what you don't want to? Is the last glow of sunset reflected off something real above the ridge, or is it an illusion? A pair of green eyes staring down at you - or are they yellow and brown - and turning away, meeting someone else's? Four or more figures becoming almost visible, then...
Something rising and passing over you, like a low cloud, a veil woven in patterns that are elusive but familiar... from the exotic artefact Lily once showed only to you, not to any Gryffindor. Is it your paranoia, or the whole gang spying on you?
You no longer care to spy on them - in their childish games. Just can't help noticing them jostle and tease each other when passing the Slytherin table on their way out.
"You're wearing the fang!" Black sounds pleased.
Did he just poke a finger at the base of Lupin's vulnerably-bare neck, at the dip between his collarbones?
"I can't believe you really bought him one!" Pettigrew's comment is a reproach, and his poke is with an elbow at Black's side - a shove like those you've seen stop the fucking sweethearts from pawing at each other before, too.
"Of course he did!" Potter's voice rings triumphant and smug. "To commemorate our shared night of horrors."
"Jaws..." There's a curious grin on the face your eyes are hopelessly drawn to. "...is not horror. They classify it as a thriller film."
Now Black pats Pettigrew's head. "A bloody good one. Maybe a bit too bloody for our little friend here. Or is it just that man-eating sharks are not your favourite monsters?"
"Let's hurry out now!" Potter cuts in. "I want to be back soon and catch up properly with..."
For them, violence is fun. And something that, for most of the month, they need to look for at the cinema or other Muggle entertainment. If they had spent their Christmas holidays at a camp, practising spells on living targets, not on full humans but...
Even they can't guess what you've been ordered to do, and most people here can't imagine that you are one of those chosen by the Dark Lord. Maybe these bastards know something - if they really were there last spring, with Lily, who had just joined their gang, perhaps helped them reunite after the murder attempt, and shared her own secret, invited them to fly on the illegal carpet, Disillusioned.
They must have ratted to Dumbledore back then. And it's obvious he doesn't care, because he's never interrogated you about it. If only you got the chance to tell them all that someone's wanted you! That you didn't even need to ask to be accepted.
And this is when you get an opportunity. You see Lily leave the Great Hall all by herself.
Now you're alone with her by the marble staircase. "Lily, I... hope you had a good time on holiday."
"Thank you, yes. We went to Spain. And you?" Does she look impatient, or patient, gentle?
"I was... in training." Stepping closer, you try to prevent her from slipping away. "I'd like to tell you... some things I've learnt."
"Like Dark magic? No thank you! I don't want to learn anything from you or with you. It was no use trying to change your... Just leave me alone!"
Perhaps you manage to turn your back on her just before she does it to you. And you need to stride out as long as you can control... because you've still not learnt to control or even hide your emotions.
Alone. That's what you must be. Now, and always.
Rushing across the castle grounds, perhaps you spot the gang close to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. No, you wouldn't follow them now. But if you can barely discern a lone figure?
You're trudging towards the woods now, and in the deep drifts your shoes fill with snow.
Nobody's come this way. Only animal footprints here under the trees. You can freely rage to yourself, swearing, and kicking off the drenched shoes.
Standing still, leaning your back against a frozen tree trunk, you let the cold pierce you. Is this how you punish yourself for still wanting...?
No, doing this has awakened your want. You turn and rub your crotch against the trunk.
And see the prince or pauper of your fantasies staring at you from a couple of yards' distance. He's holding a cluster of rowan berries, pretty and ruddy like his cheeks and bare hands.
The contact of your hard-on with the tree's hardness becomes more painful. Lifting your robes to uncover your unrelenting cock, you lurch towards him.
On freezing feet you step up to him and press against his human or - no matter - half-human, warm or - the better - trembling body, its softness, or - the more satisfying - its responding boner, in a bitter or - yes - sweet embrace, oozing joy - and sperm - and whispering, "I know you didn't try to murder me. He did, your fucktoy, and now you're not only his."
Spilling the last of the semen on him, you can believe you've planned this. To do this to him in spite of - or because of - what he is, and against his will, must be good enough a revenge. And when you notice that he's started wanking and trying to grab your arse with his other hand, you realise that this is better. And better still if Black, that fucking bugger, or one of the other bastards is near enough to see how...
You reach out a hand and waste only a second, touching that enticing spot between the sharp collarbones. And push him hard on the chest, and leave him lying in the snow.
Following your footprints, you try to focus on the path of trials ahead, and on your ambitions, and not to hear in your head the trite lines of lyrics which - now defective - word what's left of any childish dreams of the one for you.
... know your reputation/ ... step aside now/ And it hurts...