Musings

It had to be his eyes, in the way they bore into her, the way they spoke volumes while his lips might not say a single word. Perhaps it was his smile, the way his lips would slightly upturn when he said her name. Or maybe it was his voice and the way her name slid like silk past those same lips.

There had to be some reason why when she closed her eyes, alone in her bed yet again, she saw him. Him. Not her husband, not James. She loved James of course; he was her husband after all, the man whom she decided to spend the rest of her life with. But James was not here, not now, nor lately. His secret missions within the Order often took him far away from her, for days, weeks even. Was that it? Was it the way he watched over her while James was gone, the way he lingered as he was now in her living room downstairs? Or maybe in the way he would come to her room and touch her cheek lightly, thinking her asleep, before leaving for the evening?

His touch. That was it. It was his touch that made her think of him. It was tender and full of emotion, more than the touch of a friend, different than the touch of her husband. It was his touch that she imagined as her hands moved from the bed and to her breasts….

It was his gentle hands that cupped her breasts lightly at first, running his thumb over her already erect nipple. And it was his lips that trailed gentle kisses down her neck to that same nipple, gently tweaking and sucking before moving more ravenously on the next. It was his face that she saw hovering above hers, his stray lock of golden brown hair that she moved out of his soulful, pale eyes.

It was not her fingers that glided through the red thatch of hair between her thighs, but his. She felt him, and only him. A faint gasp left her lips as she imagined his fingers skillfully stroking her, working their magic in all the right spots, making her writhe with excitement. And when her fingers finally found their way to the want, to the heat radiating from her core, it was him that she felt. He glided in gently, slowly…effortlessly. She felt him inside of her, stretching her and filling her completely. Her once ragged breath now coming in the form of a guttural cry, of a plea to the Gods themselves for release.

She let go. She let the intense pleasure wrack both her body and her mind as she cried out his name in vain, again and yet again.

“Remus…Remus…Please…” she said, knowing his eyes may well be upon her, that it was about time for his evening ritual of goodbye.

He stood frozen, mouth agape and hand on the wall to hold him up. His knees went weak and his legs felt suddenly like lead. He was hearing things; surely his mind was playing a cruel joke on him. But no, he thought as he saw her body convulse with pleasure, no it was not a joke. This was not a dream. This was Lily, James’ Lily…His Lily, calling out his name in glorious ecstasy, imagining him, feeling him…wanting him.

“Lily,” he called out softly as he closed the short distance between himself and her bed. His lips were upon hers….

She woke, startled, and looked about the empty dormitory before absentmindedly bringing a hand to her cheek, remembering the whisper of a touch. The room was blessedly empty, as was most of the castle at this time of year, save for a few students and professors, most of whom had nowhere to go around the holidays. She pushed the bed coverings aside and rose from her warm cocoon, reveling in the feel of the cool air against her bare skin. She strode over to the vast window by her bed and perched herself upon the ledge. The full moon was high in the sky and cast an eerie blue glow over the grounds of Hogwarts.

She felt a breeze through the room and heard the old door to the dormitory creak open. She looked about the room again and saw that none of the windows were ajar. The light of the candle that she had left burning flickered wildly, casting ghostly shadows on the wall before the flame suddenly died out, leaving her in darkness, save for the moonlight. She stood up at the window and turned to reach for the robe that hung on her four-poster bed before something outside caught her eye. She looked out the window again to see a dark hooded figure walking slowly across the grounds. She drew her robe close around her shoulders, yet it did not stop the shiver that went up her spine. The mysterious hooded figure suddenly stopped and tilted its head upwards toward her window before continuing on its way once more, disappearing quickly in the shadows of the great walls.

She hastily grabbed her wand, headed out the door of the dormitory and down the winding stairs that led to the Gryffindor common room. The usually warm and inviting room never felt colder to her, in spirit or in temperature. She hurried out of the room, feeling like the walls had eyes, that her every move was being watched and anticipated. She stepped through the great portrait and made her way down the numerous stairs that would eventually bring her to the heart of the castle.

Once at the bottom, she stopped to take a deep breath, calm herself. Her body was trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement; her every sense felt heightened. She listened for something, anything, though not sure what it was she was listening for. Just as she was about to give up and to move on to something else, she heard a voice. His voice. It was unmistakable even in its faint whisper that ghosted past her ear; a deep resonating voice full of sinister, dark appeal.

“Foolish girl, why are you out of your dormitory so late at night?” She jumped at both the harshness of his voice and at the way he seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Professor. I… you startled me. I thought I saw something, up in my room, out the window…” She stopped and stared at the ground beneath her feet, feeling humbled by his very presence. She looked up only when he did not offer a reply and noticed his gaze fall over the outline of her bare breasts, causing her breath to hitch in her throat.

He pondered her for a moment, his dark as night eyes unreadable to her, before bringing his hands up slowly to her shoulders. She thought she should do something…say something…but all she could think was that this man’s hands were about to touch her; this man whom she had both feared and loathed, yet yearned for so troublesomely for seven long years, was about to touch her. He fingered the soft fabric of her robe and smoothed his hands across her shoulders and over her delicate collarbone before pulling the garment tighter across her body, effectively covering her exposed skin.

“It is cold. You are shivering dear, foolish girl.” She thought she saw the beginnings of a smirk cross his lips.
“Hogwarts is blessedly unoccupied this time of year, you realize. I suggest you run on back to your dormitory now before you catch cold or get yourself into trouble by running into whomever or whatever you saw while wearing nothing but…” He gave her a not so quick once over and released his hands from her robe before finishing. “…this.” With that he turned on his heel and headed for what she could only assume were his chambers in the dungeon.

She stood, spellbound, still feeling the electricity of his slight touch. She brought her hands to her shoulders, mimicking his very action of mere moments ago. She drew her robe even closer still to her skin, shuddering at the very thought of what he might have imagined at the sight of her. She brought her hands from her shoulders to her face, to her cheeks, remembering again the startled way in which she awoke earlier; remembering the feel of a hand upon her face…

She gazed down the long hallway and saw him turn the corner. Once again as she was about to make her way back to her room and back to her own warm, lonely bed, she saw him look at her, though it felt as if he did more than just look at her, he looked to her, inside of her, through her…beckoned her.

She was uneasy. She knew the Potions Master was rumored to be an accomplished Legilimens, and with her guard down she wondered if he could indeed see into her mind, to know what she was thinking and what she was feeling.
“Come to me.” She heard a dark voice whisper as she saw him disappear around the corner and sink once again into the shadows of the castle.

Her heart threatened to rip right through her skin and out of her chest. She somehow found the strength and the courage to shift from her spot and move down the long hallway. Though her feet were bare she could hear the hollow echo of her unsure footsteps ring through the empty corridor. She started to walk quickly, uncertain of what to expect when she rounded the corner. She finally did and found nothing. Something commanded her to keep going, to keep walking…and before long she found herself in the bowels of the castle. Everything about this part of the grounds moved her; from the strong, damp, earthy smell mixed with the various aroma of whatever elixir Professor Snape had ordered from his latest class to the constant impression of darkness and sensuality that permeated the air here and finally to the man himself. He was certainly not the usual sort of good looking, fantasy-inducing man one would expect. He was rude, scornful, and overly confident and had an overall air of arrogance about him. His skin was paler than that of the finest white china and the hair that hung too long in his eyes was as dark as the night itself. His voice was threatening, commandeering and deliberate, the sort of voice that lingered and cut through the air; the sort of voice that could send chills down your spine.

These are the sorts of things she thought about, dreamt about and certainly fantasized about during said man’s classes. She simply could not help herself any longer. It was as if he had willed it so, had willed her to do nothing but fill her head with impure thoughts of him. Luckily for her, Potions was a class in which she had always excelled and she was more advanced and proficient than most of her fellow seventh year classmates. To some, the class was tedious, an uninteresting waste of their time, though not to her. She found it exhilarating and it came as easily to her as a second nature. She took great pleasure in the precise yet subtle balance of light and dark that went into each concoction, but even more than that, she reveled in the way that the Potions Master would often walk by her, not uttering a single word but speaking volumes to her with nothing more than a underhanded look and a slight nod of his head.

Coming back to reality, she found that she had wandered into a part of the dungeon with which she was unfamiliar. She pulled the wand out of her pocket and positioned it in front of her.

“Lumos,” she murmured as softly as she could, effectively illuminating the tip of her wand and thus lighting her path.

Up ahead she saw that the long corridor came to an unexpected end. Disheartened, she turned to go back, thinking that perhaps it was for the best. However, something in her instructed her to take a second look. As she did, she saw that the wall that she had at first perceived as a dead end was actually a door, most likely enchanted like the ceiling in the Great Hall, to look a certain way. She assumed that he had enchanted it to look like stone, hoping to keep anyone who might go snooping around away. She wondered if she was the first girl to roam the lonely castle late at night, desperately looking for him.

She made her way over to the door, trying to ignore the hammering in her chest and the growing heat she felt between her legs. Still holding on to her illuminated wand, she finally reached the door, first putting a hand to it, then her ear. She never would have thought before that she would see the day that she wished she had bought some of those silly extendable ears from the Weasley twins. She heard nothing yet knew that he was near and somehow realized that it was he who woke her earlier; it was the whisper of his touch that had roused her. She again thrust her wand out in front of her and whispered an almost silent incantation, resulting in the door coming back to its normal state before hearing the lock unhitch.

She quickly pocketed her wand once more and peered through the slight crack in the door. The scene that befell her was breathtaking. The room was awash in the faint glow of candles that were burned down to almost nothing. He moved about the substantial room in a swift, preternatural manor, the air of arrogance never leaving him even in the absence of an audience. She watched him as he discarded his robes, pulling them off of his shoulders and letting them bellow around him, casting them aside on the bed that lay against a wall in the corner of the room before glancing over at the door and tilting his head towards her in quite the same manner as the mysterious stranger she had seen wandering the grounds earlier.

He haphazardly cast his wand towards the door and it swung open completely.

“Are you going to come in then? Or shall we pretend I have not seen you and let you continue to sneak about my private quarters?” he asked her as she stood, dumbfounded, in his doorway.

She stepped over the threshold of the door, not sure if she should be doing so, not sure if this was what she anticipated when she began blindly following him throughout the castle.

He again cast his wand in the direction of the door and she watched it close as if of its own accord. She was immediately taken with the room and surprised as to how cozy it felt. There, next to his bed in the corner was a small nightstand overloaded with old books. In the other corner was an old velvet sofa with an even older looking blanket draped over the side, both in the deepest, almost black, shades of red and green. The dusty shelves next to the sofa were filled with books and jars full of odd looking substances, most likely the sorts of ingredients that would not and should not be found readily available.

The sudden feel of warmth against her body startled her. He stood behind her and again cast his wand, this time in the direction of the small fireplace and suddenly the room was awash in an orange glow. He stepped back away from her and she felt her body silently beg for him to come back, to step closer not farther away. She did not speak, did not ask what she wanted to know, what she already knew.

“You look frightened girl,” he said as he picked up his old black cauldron and brought it over to the fire. “I assure you my reputation is far worst than my reality.” He placed the cauldron over the crackling fire and she watched in amazement as the room changed from orange to smoky blue, the color reminding her of the eerie moonlight she saw when she had awoken from her dream.

Her dream. A hand touching her cheek, his hand…

Incredible sensations washed over her as the smell of the potion filled the room. It took over her senses and as she lifted her hand to her cheek, she began to felt lightheaded and drowsy. She stumbled over to the old sofa and sat down, hand still to her cheek. She closed her eyes and willed the room to stop spinning, though it would not obey her command.

He looked curiously at her before approaching her and kneeling in front of her, placing one cool hand over hers and the other upon her trembling knee.

His long smooth fingers captured hers and drew them away from her flushed cheek. He moved his own unusually beautiful face closer towards hers. He took in the sight of her, trembling nervously before him and because of him. He took her other hand in his and drew her even closer still. He looked into her bright green witch’s eyes as if penetrating her very soul, in search of some sort of answer. Neither his enchantment nor his potion would last if she did not want it to. Yes, he had used more Error running style: Style code didn't finish running in a timely fashion. Possible causes:

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