GIFT: The Importance of Pets and Paintings (Light NC-17), for the snuna_exchange

[snuna_xchng_mod]

Title: The Importance of Pets and Paintings
Author: miss_morland
Beta Reader: purplefluffycat
Recipient: snuna_exchange
Rating: Light NC-17
Summary: Beauty is all about potential, sometimes.



It was not that he wanted company. Not at all. But business had been difficult lately, and he, too, needed money. Being a so-called war hero was all very well, but it didn't bring much in terms of finding the means to lead a decent life.

The ad in The Daily Prophet was sparse and, he hoped, efficient: Room available for rent, Godric's Hollow. 100 Galleons per month, payment in advance. No children allowed.

It was, as Snape later had to admit, his own fault that he forgot to mention anything about pets.

*

When he received the owl, he had almost given up on finding a decent tenant. The applicants so far had been an elderly witch whose hair was obviously charmed to look blond, who had retired from an establishment called Maya's Magical Massage and who now wanted to receive clients in her own home; a middle-aged former Ministry employee who had been fired for his reluctance to wash (Snape had been forced to cast a disinfection charm after the man had left); and a young lady who apparently had not even read the advertisement.

"As mentioned in the ad, children aren't allowed," Snape had said coolly, while she merely shrugged, glancing at the five-ish small creatures running around in his garden: "Ah well, there's no harm in asking, is there...?"

So when a single woman applied, reassuring him of her steady job and her ability to pay the rent, Snape was so relieved that he didn't really remember who she was until it was too late.

*

"This is the kitchen," he informed his new tenant, indicating the room with a wave of his hand. "We will share it, as mentioned in my owl. This should not lead to any inconveniences, I hope; there is a list on the wall - right there - which indicates the hours when the room is free for each of us to prepare our respective meals. Any questions?"

She peered at the list. "Aren't we supposed to be here at the same time, then?"

Snape was about to roll his eyes, but checked himself. "No, Miss Lovegood, as is obvious from that list."

Smiling, she turned to him. "Oh, I see. You don't like anyone seeing you eat?"

"Well," said Snape, a little baffled. "It's just that I prefer some peace and quiet."

She laughed, merrily. "So do I! I'm always terribly quiet when I eat... And if we have dinner together, I can make you some of my specialties. I used to cook dinner at home, a lot."

"Thank you," Snape said, as dryly as he could. "I'm sure you are a most - inventive cook. However, those rules are set, I'm afraid. Now, if I may show you your room..."

It was not very large, only about twelve square metres, yet Lovegood beamed as she looked around at the dull, grey walls. "This is perfect," she declared, before walking over to the window. "Oh, how lovely!"

Only a madwoman could possibly find his backyard even remotely lovely. This time Snape did roll his eyes.

As Lovegood walked about the room, stopping here and there to admire a stain or a cobweb, Snape started to wonder what he had been thinking. Although he had almost forgotten her strange behaviour, not having seen her for at least five years, he ought to have remembered who she was: Luna Lovegood, that strange creature from the dark corners of Ravenclaw Tower, who somehow had ended up in Potter's Gryffindor circle...

Potter. Snape gritted his teeth.

He did not enjoy thinking of Potter, of Hogwarts, of anything related to that place or those years; still, it was impossible for him to escape what had been his life. Trying to start anew had proved futile, so perhaps it was only fitting that Lovegood should be here now, a living reminder of what he had used to be, used to do -

"Is this the house where Professor Dumbledore lived?"

His thoughts disrupted, Snape shook his head. "Whatever makes you say that?"

She turned from the window, and crossed the room to where he stood, her long skirt making swishing noises against the dusty floor. "He came from here, didn't he?"

Strangely enough, Snape had never thought about that. "Yes." He cleared his throat. "Then again, many people do."

Her large eyes studied him thoughtfully. "That's true."

They stood like that for a moment; then he turned away from her, heading for the door. "If you are still interested, perhaps we might sign the contract now."

*

For some reason, Luna Lovegood moved in during the night.

It wasn't expected at all. Rather, Snape had imagined she would arrive early in the day when he was occupied in the shop, so they wouldn't even meet. As it happened, he arrived in the kitchen to start the week with his favourite tea (black Assam, with only a hint of milk, no sugar), only to find the room littered with... objects.

Strange pots in turquoise, pink and orange lined the shelves, while a large aquarium was placed safely in the sink. The table was strewn with all sorts of plants: heaps of grains, colourful flowers and something that looked like small bushes; and, amidst all, he saw a smiling Lovegood, comfortably seated with a mug in the shape of a dragon head.

With an effort, Snape closed his mouth, then opened it again.

"What's this?!"

"Oh, it depends," Lovegood replied. "This, for instance," and she lifted the mug, "is supposed to be a Hungarian Horntail. I found it in a small town near the Danube -"

"Spare me!" Snape hissed. "Why have you cluttered my kitchen with all this - this..."

He waved his hands, incapable of finding any words.

"Well, you were asleep," Lovegood said matter-of-factly. "So I thought it would be a little rude to wake you up by moving all of my stuff into my room. Instead, I placed them here, meanwhile."

"How very considerate of you," Snape grunted.

He made his way over to the sink, his mind set on the cup of tea he was determined to enjoy, damn it. Just as he was about to turn on the water, he threw a glance into the aquarium, and froze immediately.

"What on EARTH -"

"Who," Lovegood corrected, her tone reproachful. "Ernest is my friend. And he's really special, too, the only hybrid between a piranha and a squid I've ever met."

Snape backed away slowly, eyeing the aquarium. "Is it - he - going to live here?"

"Yes, in my room," she said cheerfully. "He's really nice and quiet, so there won't be any trouble with him. Unless I forget to feed him, of course." She chuckled, but Snape failed to see the humour. "I use his ink for my potions. You can have some, if you want!"

"As much as I appreciate this unique offer," Snape said in what he hoped was a good imitation of his most terrifying teacher voice, "I do happen to be the owner of a Potions shop, and as such have excellent supplies of any ingredients I could wish for. And as far as I recall, you didn't mention anything about this - Ernest - when we signed the contract!"

"As far as I recall, you didn't mention anything about animals not being allowed," Lovegood pointed out.

She stood, walked over to the sink and bent to pick up the aquarium, smiling fondly. "Now, Ernest, this is Professor Snape. We must be nice to him, do you understand? If you behave, I'm sure we'll all be good friends..."

Snape waited impatiently for her to leave. When he finally had the kitchen to himself again, the sounds of her footsteps and her chatter disappearing up the stairs, he found himself desperately wanting to take fifty points from Ravenclaw.

*

Over the next few days, he didn't see her much. Sometimes he'd hear her voice through the wall, muttering something - cleaning charms, no doubt, or indulgent talk to the piranha squid - and when he came down to breakfast, there would be a pot boiling on the stove, scenting of spices and meat, obviously having stood there overnight.

A couple of times, Snape wondered why she didn't cast a shielding charm on the walls. Doing it himself didn't occur to him, for some reason. At least, her food didn't smell too bad.

*

The shop wasn't much work: he kept accounts, ordered new supplies once a week, and brewed Potions for those customers who preferred not to do it themselves, although most of them only bought their ingredients from him. It was nice enough, Snape supposed. Not very similar to his last job. He never got chatty with his customers, but he did not feel the exasperated need to chastise them when they got things wrong, either.

At one o'clock each day, he closed the shop and went upstairs to have lunch; at half past five, he cleaned his desk and his kits and went to make dinner. Life was stable, secure; there were no secrets, no mortal danger. Yet another difference.

But it wasn't quite what he had expected when he had bought the old house in Godric's Hollow and decided to open a Potions shop. These days, the village seemed to turn into more of a Muggle place, and there were fewer wizards and witches, which meant fewer customers for him. Before, the name of Godric's Hollow had been almost legendary - the birthplace of Harry Potter, the site of You-Know-Who's defeat! - and after the Skeeter woman's biography on Dumbledore, the village had attracted a certain number of fascinated tourists, but now, with each passing year, other places were apparently more interesting to young wizard couples and others who were looking for a place to live.

Still, this was the place that Snape had chosen - or rather, he sometimes felt, the place that had chosen him.

He had asked Lovegood about it, one morning not long after she had moved in. He had been a little late for his breakfast, and so he was still seated when she entered the room, wearing a light blue dressing gown and pink slippers.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully. "Are we going to have breakfast together?"

"No," Snape said curtly. "I will just finish this cup of tea, and then I will be off."

She walked over to the cupboard and started to rummage about. "Oh, that's a pity. I was going to make scrambled eggs."

Silence reigned for some minutes, as Snape thought of the breakfasts of Hogwarts, of bacon and eggs and porridge, and mugs and mugs of pumpkin juice. His chest gave a familiar twinge, not so much one of regret as one of melancholy, as he watched Lovegood busying herself with her cooking, her quiet incantations the only sounds filling the room.

"Why did you come here?" he suddenly heard himself say.

Of course, he had already asked about what she did for a living, and she had explained willingly enough that she was a combined reporter and editor for The Quibbler, that ridiculous magazine of her father's. She'd receive articles to edit by owl, and sometimes she'd go out on missions, but rarely ones that weren't within Apparating distance. However, she hadn't told him why she'd chosen the village as her base, and Snape hadn't asked.

She turned to look at him. "Here? To Godric's Hollow?"

He nodded.

Lovegood shrugged. "Why not? It seemed like a nice place. Daddy thinks so too; he says he'd like to see the village of the Deathly Hallows." Then she paused, as if something occurred to her. "Ooh, you wouldn't mind if I invited him here, would you?"

Snape squirmed a little. "We can talk about that later. So... This didn't have anything to do with Potter, did it?"

"With Harry?" she asked, looking surprised. "Why would it?"

"Nothing, nothing," he mumbled. "I thought you were rather close, that is all."

"Well, we were," she said, blankly. "We still are, I think. Ginny and I, too, or that's what I hope... But they're so busy now, talking about having kids and all." All of a sudden, she looked a little wistful. "I wonder if I'll ever have kids."

"Why not?" said Snape, draining his cup. He really should get the shop opened for the day. "It seems to me that anyone is able to procreate, if they really want to. Potters keep doing it, after all."

He didn't really mean it as a joke, but she giggled nonetheless. "What about you, Professor?"

She kept addressing him as 'Professor'; so far, he hadn't corrected her. "What about me? Are you asking me why I came to this village?"

"Oh no, I think I understand that", she said indifferently. "What I meant is, don't you want children?"

"What..." Snape opened his mouth to form the question, but decided he didn't really care to hear the answer. He shook his head. "Children? No, thank you. Being a teacher was quite enough."

"It's not quite the same thing, is it?" She turned back to the stove before he could reply. "Are you sure you don't want some eggs? I've spiced them up with dried thyme and bat wing, it's really good..."

Later that day, in idle moments when he rested his back against the counter and stared out into the streets, or on the few occasions when a line of customers kept him busy, he found himself thinking of their conversation, of how even her most frank questions hadn't sounded as they were meant to mock him, not at all.

*

Days went by, becoming weeks, and he found himself getting used to it.

He got used to the sound of her voice through the wall, sometimes singing long, monotone songs in the middle of the night. He got used to the exotic plants she dragged in and sometimes left standing in the kitchen. He even got used to not using the bathroom on Friday afternoons, as 'Ernest likes getting out of his aquarium at least once a week, and the bath tub's just the right size for him to stretch his tentacles.'

Sometimes he found himself listening, anxious to hear if she was in her room; when he realised this, he got annoyed, telling himself that as long as she payed her rent and didn't set fire to anything, she was none of his responsibility - he was no longer her teacher, and thank Merlin for that. Other times, when she got home after he'd already gone to bed, he'd wake up with a pang as soon as her footsteps hit the stairs. Thankfully, he'd fall asleep again soon enough (due to a sleeping draught of his own invention), but it was unsettling, even more so as a sneaking suspicion began to form in the corners of his mind.

If he'd had any friends, Snape assumed now would have been a good time to consult them.

As April passed into May and the afternoons became longer, she began spending long hours in his backyard. She did not say anything about what she did there, and Snape took care not to ask.

*

One morning, he walked into the kitchen to find a note on the table: Dear Professor Snape, I must go to an important meeting in London. It's very likely that I'll be spending the night there. Would you please feed Ernest for me this evening? There is a dried sheep's head ready for him in the fridge. Thank you very much! L.L.

Snape groaned, rubbing his forehead. Their contract certainly did not include anything about feeding bizarre creatures bizarre food. On the other hand, it wasn't as if he had a valid reason to refuse - it wasn't as if he was afraid of the piranha squid, or anything.

That evening, he approached Lovegood's room cautiously, keeping the sheep's head floating in the air behind him (he already spent enough of his day handling unsavoury objects, thank you). Opening the door with a muttered spell, he levitated the unfortunate piece of meat through the room and safely into the aquarium.

"There," Snape said as it sank down in front of an enthusiastic Ernest. "I hope the meal is to your liking, sir."

When he looked up, two things struck him: first, that he had not been in this room ever since she moved in; second, that the walls were no longer grey. They were painted.

Paintings. Paintings of people, at that.

Next to the window, an elderly gentleman in orange robes was seated among heaps of books - that would be Lovegood Senior, he supposed - and on the opposite wall, next to the door, Potter and the red-haired Weasley girl were smiling at him. Thirty-year-old memories clenched at his stomach for a moment, and he quickly moved his gaze to the left, where Potter's minions were all lined up: Weasley. Granger. Longbottom.

Then he stopped dead.

Strange things had become part of his everyday life; he had got used to most of them, or so he thought. This, however...

Snape stood there, gaping, his mind reeling, trying to make sense of what he saw: meeting his gaze directly, a painted version of himself stared at him from the wall above her bed. There was no mistaking it. His eyes, black and stern, his pale face, his sharp nose... And yet, upon closer study, there was something else, something he could not remember seeing when looking in the mirror, something almost -

"Do you like it?"

He spun around.

She stood there, right behind him, the rays from the evening sun streaming in the window behind her, making her hair sparkle and her face impossible to read. "I only finished it yesterday."

"How..." He swallowed. "That is to say, why..."

As she took a step closer, he could smell her perfume: lavender and honey, and something unrecognisable, wild-scenting. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

"Why on Earth did you do this?"

She was very close now. He did not open his eyes. "Can't you guess?"

"I'm not sure I dare."

The sound of her laughter, light and merry. "I never thought I'd have you in my room otherwise! That is... Unless you came to feed Ernest."

He took another breath. "Which I did."

The feel of her fingertips as she touched his cheek, gently. "Yes."

"You are a most peculiar being, Miss Lovegood," he whispered, finally opening his eyes to look at her, his heart pounding.

"Yes," she said again, simply; then, as she cocked her head, "So are you."

He did not have time for a reply, for suddenly her mouth was on his, her hand still on his cheek, her other arm snaking across his shoulder.

To think - if he could do such a thing - that this was happening, that finally, finally, this was happening, and with this girl, this woman, who was pulling him towards her, as if she wanted him to come closer... That this was what it felt like, another body so near his own! He opened his mouth a little, tentatively; she gave a sigh, and snuck her tongue, warm and wet, between his teeth. It was the strangest thing he'd ever felt, and perhaps the most wonderful, and he closed his eyes once more, not wanting it to stop, not now, not after all this time.

Then, suddenly, she pulled away, leaving him to gasp for breath.

"Professor," she said in a hushed voice, taking his hand, "Would you be interested in going to bed with me?"

"I..." Snape coughed. "Please, do not call me 'Professor'."

As if this was the answer she was waiting for, her face broke into a grin; the next moment, Snape found himself being dragged towards the bed, her free hand pushing the coverlets aside.

"Wait," he gasped as she was about to unbutton his robes; she stopped, looking at him curiously. "Isn't this... I mean, shouldn't we turn the lights off? And draw the curtains?"

"Why?" she said, sounding bewildered.

"Well, isn't that normal?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Do you care about what's normal?"

Snape decided that, indeed, he did not. Instead, he allowed her to undress him, trying not to think too much. When she was done, he reached out for her clothes in turn, but she just laughed: "No, I'll use a spell for that!"

A flick of her wand later, she was standing naked before him, soft and glowing in the evening light. Snape gulped, feeling his desire growing even stronger despite his nervousness: to think that it was about to happen, so quickly, that he would be touched where no one had ever touched...

Then he suddenly found himself lying on his back, her body warm and comforting over his as she kissed her way down his neck, his chest, his stomach. She splayed her hands on his hips, which seemed to be beyond his control as they arched into her touch, and kissed the inside of each of his thighs, and Snape let out a sound that was not a sob, not quite, but not a sigh, either.

Pausing, her face hovering over his groin, she looked up. "Are you all right?"

"Nnnghh," Snape groaned, and this seemed to satisfy her, for she nodded, almost solemnly, before lowering her head and taking him into her mouth.

The warm wetness of her lips and tongue was almost more than he could bear: he gasped, twitching, as she caressed him, still holding his gaze, her large eyes attentive and honest. The sensation was so new, and so good, and he wanted it to last and last -

- and then she broke away, just as he had began to worry that it soon would be over.

"Are you all right?" she asked again, and this time he was the one to nod, mouth half-open and panting

"Don't worry," she said gently, moving to straddle him. "I won't hurt you."

There were a fair number of things Snape could have replied to that, but they all vanished in the blink of an eye as she lowered herself upon him, seizing his hands and placing them on her thighs.

Oh, it was heavenly, more so than he could have ever imagined; oh, this feeling of her body as she moved, as he strained to meet her, as she pushed down on him, as her eyes, never leaving his own, became blurred and glazed...

Oh, Luna.

And Snape's own vision grew blurred as he cried out, her face the last thing he saw before the world exploded in sparks.

When it was over, he opened his eyes to find her looking at him, thoughtfully.

"You are beautiful when you have an orgasm," she told him. Then she frowned. "All the time, really."

For the first time in years, Snape felt his mouth twitch with the desire to laugh. "Do you know that you are the first person ever to say such a thing to me?"

He lay back on the pillow; after a second, she nestled close to him, resting her head on his chest. "I'll say more things, if you want me to."

"Thank you." His right hand, a little uncertain of what to do, finally settled on her back. "Perhaps not right now, though. I'm a little - overwhelmed."

She smiled, bright and open. "You liked it, then?"

Before he could think about it, his hand moved to stroke her hair. "Yes."

"So did I." She threw a look at the aquarium, then giggled. "And Ernest too, I think!"

Snape pretended not to hear.

"Wait," she said some languid kisses later. "I want to show you something."

Untangling herself, she stood and walked over to the window, then turned to him. "Come."

Luckily, there weren't any opposing houses - not that Snape really cared right now. He went to stand beside her, liking the sight of their naked bodies next to each other. "What is it?"

"Look," she said, and he did. Then he blinked a few times.

The backyard, normally barren and dusty, now sported a flourishing kitchen garden, sprouts and flowers in neat lines, waiting to ripen. Snape stared, hardly believing his own eyes. "Did you do this?"

"Yes," she said proudly. "I brought the first plants when I moved in, don't you remember?" Smiling tentatively, she added, "There are lots of herbs that are useful for Potions. I thought, maybe..."

Snape nodded, turning to look at her. "It could be arranged."

They stood in silence for some moments; then, sighing, she wrapped her arms around him without asking for permission. Snape reminded himself, yet again, that this wasn't a dream.

"You told me you knew," he murmured into her hair. "Why I moved here, that is." He swallowed down the bile that suddenly threatened to rise in his throat. "Did Potter tell you?"

"He didn't tell me anything." The words, muffled against his chest, were followed by a yawn. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now, does it?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "No," he said resolutely. "Not at all."

"I just knew I had to make a kitchen garden in your backyard," she said, drawing back to cast a last, pleased look out the window. "I saw at once that it was perfect. Beauty is all about potential, sometimes."

Yes, Snape thought as he followed her back to bed, looking at the wall where his portrait met his gaze without shame. Yes, sometimes that was true, indeed.