Entry tags:

snape/pansy

FIC: Coming to Life (Snape/Pansy)
To: odogoddess
From: Your Secret Santa

Title Coming to Life
Author leni_jess
Pairings Snape/Pansy, hint of Snape/Millicent
Summary When Slytherin females decide to do a Slytherin male a favour, it's possible they all think too hard about what that means.
Rating NC-17
Warnings Smut. Slytherins. No squicks.
Word length 5,435 words
Author's notes odogoddess, you asked for "a clueless Snape/seductress Pansy moment", and "Slytherin motivations". I hope Snape is sufficiently clueless, here! The motivations (real or imagined) are thick on the ground. You should find a few other things you asked for. I hope it pleases you.
Thank you to my beta reader S and her good eye for significant detail, and to smutty_claus moderator r_becca, whose patience is unearthly.

Severus tilted his head slightly in an attempt to hear what was being said at the Auror station outside his room. Hopeless, he knew, through the modified Muffliato, but though he could never make out words he could identify familiar voices. The interrogation had been going on long enough to tell him both that this person had not tried to visit him before, and that Henderson and Fielding were unsure it was a good idea to let her in. The woman was young, but apart from that...

He made himself return to his book. One of the few good things about being stuck in St Mungo's was being able to catch up on years of reading.

At last the device at the door sounded – an odd cross of simple Muggle ingenuity and magic provided by Miss Granger. She seemed to understand better than the Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt had set to guard him that he didn’t like surprises, and would never wholly trust guards.

Severus looked up from his book and glared, an all-purpose expression suitable for any visitor, ensuring he showed neither alarm nor surprise.

Miss Parkinson. What did she want? A surprising number of his Slytherins had come to visit, and some came regularly, but she was new. Perhaps Miss Bulstrode or Miss Greengrass had talked her into it. Ha. Bullied, shamed, or blackmailed, most likely. Severus braced himself for another declaration of gratitude.

"Sir, they've taken my wand!"

Silly girl.

"Yes, Miss Parkinson. They are responsible for my safety. A simple measure. You could have left without seeing me, if you disliked giving it up temporarily."

He had his own wand, but wasn’t admitting to her (or anyone) that the Healers restricted his use of it, and that experiment had forced him to agree that they might perhaps have reason. He was physically much better, but the thought of having his magic damaged had terrified him into compliance. He was, in consequence, uncharacteristically polite to his little corps of Auror guardians, who looked after his safety as he could not.

"You always said we should never let anyone handle our wands."

"If you cannot exercise judgement about when it might be acceptable to hand your wand over to some official, you should not have come in. Nor should you ever visit the Ministry," he pointed out.

He wasn't going to be put in the wrong by a mere student, even if she had managed to pass her NEWTs at a satisfactory level, despite the disturbances of her last year. She had at least kept her head down, that year.

He waved at the visitors' chairs lined up against one wall.

She said demurely, "Thank you, Professor Snape."

So she wasn't going to argue. She did want something.

He watched as she chose a chair and drew it closer to him, placing it so that neither faced into the light from the window. Then she sat, giving him a good view not only of her face and her hands, resting ladylike in her lap, but of the drape of her summer robes over her thigh and calf. He had seen her doing that for Draco and other students whom her parents considered marriageable, but she had never done it for her professors, to his knowledge.

Minx. He didn’t like the idea of being flirted with by a student, but he dismissed the notion of marriageability out of hand. Her parents weren't so foolish, even she shouldn't be, as to consider that her mistakes required such an extreme remedy. She was a pretty girl, nowadays. She would, however, talk too much, once marriage eased her awe of him. No.

Miss Parkinson smoothed one hand down her leg, ostensibly straightening her robes. He frowned at her. Slytherin women should have no need to be vulgarly obvious.

She said softly, "I wanted to apologise, sir, for not paying attention."

He lifted an eyebrow, to encourage her to commit herself.

She looked at him, then away, a little colour coming into her creamy cheeks. If a Slytherin felt a need – or a reason – to apologise, she definitely wanted something.

"You told us, plainly enough, that we needed to consider our long-term interests, and that we should never depend on the promises or goodwill of others. You encouraged us to think about what was not said, and to take our own vulnerabilities into account."

She swallowed, and glanced at him again. In a burst of what appeared to be unguarded frankness, she finished, "You shouldn't have needed to tell us that the Dark – that Voldemort was thinking about himself, his own ambitions, not the welfare of purebloods as a group – certainly not about us. We should have noticed what he was really doing, even if none of us – not even Draco, really – were in his confidence, as some of our fathers were."

"So you've thought better of that short-sighted suggestion you made, when he demanded Hogwarts surrender Potter."

She did blush, this time, and even a Slytherin woman would have difficulty in forcing that, unless she held her breath.

"Yes, sir. Not just that. From the time Dumbledore was – died, we should have noticed who invaded Hogwarts and how they behaved. I can see why Draco couldn't do or say anything about it; he had to think about his parents as well as himself. We should have realised the – Voldemort didn't care who Fenrir Greyback attacked. And last year we should have seen that the Carrows punished all purebloods, Slytherins too, whenever they could."

"You intend to act on these perceptions hereafter?"

"I shan't forget, sir." She sounded sincere.

"Then my suggestions to you were not entirely wasted."

"No, but I was so slow! Daphne and Tracy and Mil all saw what it meant, long before I did!"

"But they, no more than Draco, said anything to you? Perhaps they too had something to learn."

"What, sir?" She sounded hopeful, as if the puppy was not to be smacked for stealing a shoe after all.

"Slytherins have a duty to themselves, but common sense suggests that considering each other's welfare, as a matter of course, wherever possible, is going to make everyone safer."

"Have you said that to them, sir?"

"We have had some private discussions, that do not concern you, any more than this today concerns them."

That promise of confidentiality was clear to her.

"Thank you! Please sir, are you going back to Hogwarts?"

He stiffened involuntarily. "I am not. You cannot imagine last year was one I enjoyed?"

She sighed. "It's been so long since we've had a Slytherin as Headmaster. I shan't be there, but my little sister started this year; she was sorted into our House, of course."

"And what does she report?" Severus was not sorry to get away from her apologies and remorse. She had learned a lesson; it might stay with her and help her later.

"It sounds as if Professor McGonagall is fairer than Professor Dumbledore ever was, but the other Houses – they're nasty, now they have the upper hand. Viola gets smacked just for being Slytherin."

"And Slytherins never acted so?"

The pretty mouth twisted. "Of course we did. They attacked us at every turn. Professor Dumbledore did things like stealing the Cup in my first year, and Professor McGonagall certainly used to favour her House." She added grudgingly, "Viola says she doesn’t, now, and the new Head of Gryffindor is from Beauxbatons; she seems to be even-handed."

He had had that impression from Minerva herself, naturally, and from other former students with siblings still at school, but it was good to have it confirmed even from the perspective of a first year. He had done what he could for Hogwarts, and couldn't imagine going back, even though Minerva was urging him to return to teaching, either Potions or Defence, when he was in health once more. He had no reason, now, to fight against the tide of prejudice which, judging by the Daily Prophet, was still quite strong against himself, even if he was also referred to as a hero of the resistance in the same issue, as often as not.

Severus was going to leave his past behind him, and somehow get a life, to live, though he still had no idea how he might do so. The Slytherins were going to have to find some other champion. With both Horace and Aurora still teaching, and Horace continuing as Head of House, despite his wish to retire again, there should be some leadership and official support for his former students.

He told himself firmly to remember that. They were former students, to whom he now had no obligation. The trouble was, he had spent his last twenty years meeting obligations fiercely, and it seemed to be addictive. He would much prefer to spend the next twenty worrying about himself, for a change. Even if he was to be alone in that. He had spent his whole life that way; why should it change now? Then he reminded himself that a number of quite influential people appeared to be trying to see that he was safe, acknowledged, even rewarded. Minerva's wasn't the only offer of employment.

He returned his attention to Pansy Parkinson.

"We'll never have a Head of Slytherin like you, sir."

"I should hope not," he found himself saying tartly. "Nor a need for such a one."

She shook her head. "I was stupid. So was Draco; he mightn't have worked it out either, if Voldemort –" She managed to say it without stumbling, this time. "– hadn't been getting back at the Malfoys." She made a face. "That must have been horrid!"

"Yes. If you are grateful for anything, Miss Parkinson, be grateful that circumstances did not oblige you to take the Mark."

"I am." This time she looked at him directly. "You were very plain that we shouldn't, until we'd left school. I know you said it was so that we should put all our energies into serving him, which we couldn't, until we were fully accredited witches and wizards. Wasn't that risky?"

He shrugged. "What wasn't, in his service, whatever one's ultimate loyalty?"

"You took risks like that, when you needn't have done. You didn't need to do it for yourself, or your family, not like Draco."

"I assumed an obligation," he said shortly. He wasn't going to discuss Lily, or indeed Albus, with a student.

She stood up and came over to him. He looked up at her, but only for a moment: she sank to her knees in front of him. He regarded her warily. She wasn't smiling, but the dark eyes were shining at him in a way he hadn't seen in a woman since he had bound himself to save Narcissa's son. Salazar bless her, what was she about now? She had said her say; she should be retiring gracefully, and not coming near him again until enough time had passed for her uncomfortable confession to be politely ignored.

"You did so much for us, sir," she said softly. "I wanted to do something for you, to show you it's not just words, saying I'm grateful. I want to prove it."

"Miss Parkinson –" he began, feeling considerably more disoriented than when Narcissa had been kneeling at his feet.

"I wasn't in the Great Hall after the battle, sir, but Mil was, and Tracy – Draco too. They told me – told all of us – what Potter said."

Severus closed his eyes, fighting off terminal embarrassment. Would the repercussions of the brat's uncontrollable outspokenness never cease making him miserably self-conscious? That had been between Lily and himself, and Potter had had no business talking about why Severus had done what he had done.

"It seemed to me, sir, it was time someone did something for you."

She moved with the snake's ease and celerity, and was between his thighs, her hands on him, gentle, but irresistible. She was, oh Merlin, touching his cock. Through his robes, yes, and his linen braies, but if her flesh had been any closer to his he might have burned up entirely. He stared at her, paralysed, aware of heat rising in his face as it rose in his cock, but then she lowered her eyes, and it was as if she was giving him privacy, rather than hiding herself from him.

Her head bent, and she was rubbing her face against him, her hands were sliding under his robes, up his thighs, and involuntarily he opened his legs further, slid down a little in his armchair, to give her better access. She crooned something indecipherable, but clearly approving, encouraging.

She was his student; he ought to push her away, not take advantage of her.

Don't be stupid, Severus, the voice of Salazar said in the back of his head. She's not your student now, she's an adult. If a Slytherin feels she owes you a debt, it's much better to let her pay it than to keep her suspended, wondering what you want. Other people are paying what they seem to think are long-held debts; why not let a woman give him something? She seems to know what she's doing. If anyone's being taken advantage of, it's you. She's preventing you from making a choice of how you should be repaid.

Severus let his head fall back and relished the feel of the smooth-skinned hands that opened his underclothes and coaxed his cock out. Oh, she had pushed his robes out of the way entirely. He could see his cock rising, flushing, stiffening under her touch, could see her bent head, could see, oh Merlin, her tongue licking her lips as she watched and stroked him. That looked more like interest than obligation.

So much for the notion that Slytherin girls felt obliged to conserve their assets with a view to making a good match. There was also the notion, of course, that Slytherin girls felt obliged to learn the skills that might encourage a potential fiancé's interest, even if they guarded their hymens carefully, in so far as broom-riding allowed it...

Perhaps he would do her a favour, letting her do this; she could practise on him...

Bugger Slytherin thinking.

Severus relaxed further in his chair, and closed his eyes.

After a few moments he let his hand cover hers, pressing her fingers into him more firmly. She tightened her grip at once, and began to pull at him, gently still, but no longer almost tickling with that too-light touch, and he sighed. That was almost as he liked it, but if she wasn't perfect, she was far better than he had ever had or could have done for himself. There had been offers in the past, and he had rejected them, for everyone's safety's sake quite as much as for a notion of keeping faith with Lily. He supposed it had been the right thing to do, but now he had waited long enough, far too long, and this was very good indeed. If he had had any idea how good, he might have remembered long ago that Lily had never offered him anything, or asked fidelity of him...

Then Miss Parkinson must have bent her head just a little bit further, because her tongue touched him, just the tip, licking at the moisture pearling there, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. After that she swallowed his cockhead, her lips and tongue working warmly and wetly on him, heavenly, until, oh Merlin he was going to come... Not yet, no. He didn't care that she might expect better of him; he wanted this to last as long as possible, though it felt as if his cock had never been so hard. Perhaps she knew that; her mouth slid slowly off him, and the hands still embracing the root of his cock pressed firmly, very firmly, then gripped uncomfortably for a long moment, but it did the trick. He gasped, and she blew across the wet head, assuring him that she wasn't planning to stop.

She began to lick his length, exploring assiduously until it seemed as if that hot rough wet wonderful tongue had touched every fraction of him.

Then she said softly, "Watch."

He forced his eyes open, focussing on her mouth and his cock and her hands between the veils of her dark hair. One hand clasped him firmly; a finger of the other ran up his cock to the sensitive dip behind the head, then delicately pried behind the foreskin that still wasn't fully retracted. Her tongue came out to lap at his head, while her fingernail traced around, around. How was he going to bear this? But she clearly expected him to hold on, to live through it somehow; there were no signs of impatience here, just a slow increase in tension and intensity. Lessons of a lifetime rolled into one, or was it like this every time for everyone? Maybe it was just as well he'd denied himself sex; he might have been putty in the hands of any woman willing to pleasure him like this.

Then her fingernail pressed lightly into his slit, and he made an inarticulate sound. His hand flew to his mouth, trying to hold the noises in as she did it again, then began to roll his foreskin forward over his head, then back down his shaft, using all her fingers. She was going to kill him, and he couldn't think of a better way to go, so long as he came first.

At last she abandoned his foreskin, leaving it like a collar around the dark red head. Her tongue tip, just the very tip, chased moisture all over his head, while her hands stroked rhythmically up and down his shaft.

She lifted her head and looked straight into his eyes and licked her lips, slowly, thoroughly, before her hand pressed his cock against his belly then rolled it there. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and he moaned softly as she nosed his tight bollocks and nipped, ever so delicately, at the sac enclosing them.

He thought he whimpered. He didn't care.

She never let his cock alone, stroking it, just as he liked it, now, while she did all those other things he had heard about, but long since believed he would never experience.

There was no way he was going to last any longer: the heat, the pressure, the terrible need to let go, all bore down on him. He tried to warn her, but she said something around his cock and tightened her mouth on the head, sucking strongly.

That was it.

His hips jerked and his cock thrust frantically into her mouth, pumping his come into her, and all through it she suckled, gripping him firmly still, until she was drawing the last of his orgasm out of him and he was sinking bonelessly back, unable to see, and able to feel little beyond a glorious warmth and peace, muscles slack, eyelids easy, lips parted, breathing heavily still, but slowly coming into the calm harbour of satiety.

He felt her swallowing, and opened his eyes a slit to look down at her. She must have felt some change. She slowly drew her mouth away, and cupped his cock in warm hands before letting it lie along his thigh. Then she sat back on her heels and licked her lips one last time. They glistened enticingly from his semen; he wondered if he might kiss her and taste himself on her, find himself in her mouth. Later. When he was strong enough.

One of his hands, that had been clenching the arm of his chair to keep from seizing her hair, came free and moved to her head, stroking back the fine straight hair from her face, even to the strands that clung to her lips.

"Exceeds Expectations?" she asked, impertinent to the last.

"Outstanding, Miss Parkinson," he said huskily.

Old Salazar must have had times like this, when he was conscious of being totally alive, complete in himself, free of obligation to any other.

She smiled, pleased with his pleasure rather than triumphant at her success in drawing it from him, he thought. He hoped. But it was true, they were teacher and student no longer. Or if they were, it was she who taught him.

It wasn't only Slytherin instincts that kicked in then. It seemed just to reciprocate, if she allowed it. He would like to learn how to please her, at least a little, as much as she would permit, if she would show him that too. That was more important than ensuring that there was no debt between them.

There wasn't much use pretending he knew the first thing about this, beyond what he had found in books and the gossip he tried to avoid, so he sat up, leaned forward, and put his hands lightly on her breasts. He used his thumbs to caress the tips, glad to find them hard, knowing, at least, that their state revealed that she had found some kind of sexual pleasure in what she had just done.

More confidently, therefore, he slid one hand down her body, aiming for the place between her legs. She rose to her feet, making it easy for his hand to brush over her mound and for his fingers to stroke between her thighs, urging them apart.

She sank down on his thighs, nudging them together to support her, and to spread her own.

She leaned in and kissed him, and the sharp, slightly bitter taste on her lips was indeed himself. He licked them further apart, and her tongue responded playfully. He wasn't sure, afterwards, how long he'd gone on kissing her. Her hands moved freely on his body, so he assumed licence to do the same with hers. He found it very educational.

Eventually, though, she began to move restlessly against him. She must want more than this.

He asked, "Move to the bed with me? Easier."

"Yes."

She sounded breathless, and he felt a sudden surge of excitement. Maybe that was how she had felt when he responded so obviously to her.

She got off his knees and took his hand. He thought she was ready to help him to his feet, but that was no longer necessary, even if he couldn't walk all around St Mungo's corridors yet. She lay on the bed, but he shifted her so she lay across it, and she went willingly where his hands directed. He pulled his pillows off so that he could kneel on them rather than on the hard floor. He thought kneeling upright might be more comfortable than crouching between her legs, all cramped up, even if it would have given him a better view of her face.

She pulled her robes up, and he wasn't much surprised to find that she wore only silk stockings, held up by a charm. Miss Parkinson had come prepared for all of this. Sensible girl. He thought he might be glad, afterwards, to know that she had fully intended to do it, but right now all he could care about was that she was doing it. He also thought that fighting through a proper witch's proper underclothing might be a little discouraging, whereas, this way, he could see her wide-spread thighs, firm and silky fleshed, and the tightly curled bush between her legs (was it also neatly trimmed? it was remarkably symmetrical), and, from this angle, her pink, moist folds of flesh.

He decided not to wait for direction, but to be alert for it, and ran his hands from her calves, over her knees, up her thighs, from silk stockings to silken flesh, firmly rather than delicately, and used his thumbs to open the outer lips so that he could better see the glistening tender places within.

Very pretty. All those flower metaphors seemed not inappropriate. Gently he teased the edges of the inner lips.

He let one thumb move into her, gliding from the base to the top, and pressing in to find that little thing he had read about, a woman's substitute for a penis. It seemed as if they had been short-changed, until he heard her hiss as his thumb pressed into it. Well. Perhaps not. Perhaps it might be possible to overwhelm her as she had done to him, with much less effort and movement. Women might, in fact, be better provided.

He stroked experimentally, trying different degrees of firmness, different angles, until she hissed again and grabbed his hand and showed him exactly how she liked it. Now Miss Parkinson was simply a woman, no longer a Slytherin. It was very pleasant to know even he, in his inexperience, could do that to her. She had been waiting for some time, of course; he really wouldn't have known if she'd had an orgasm while pleasuring him, but he had every intention of giving her one now, unless she rejected him. The little knob of flesh was harder now, and an even darker pink, fully flushed with blood, perhaps. How remarkable, if an equivalent number of nerve endings was concentrated there!

In curiosity, quite as much as in a desire to please, he leaned into her and licked along the path his thumb had taken. What an intense, what a personal aroma! Delicious. What a satisfying noise, a tiny sob and catch of breath. Her hands closed in his hair, holding him in place. Information was always good. He acted on it, licking, nibbling cautiously on her clit, feeling and hearing her response to that. Emboldened, he tried to suck it into his mouth. She liked that, too.

Severus started to feel that sex wasn't so mysterious after all, if one had a communicative partner.

One of her hands came to find his, where they played over her belly and its rise towards her hipbones, and firmly clasped one, pulling it between her legs. She didn't speak, possibly because her breathing was erratic, but she indicated that he should put a finger into her. He did so, finding that her channel was wet, though quite tight. An almost inaudible whine of displeasure suggested he needed to find something specific. The little sounds continued, guiding him without words: cool, cool, warmer, yes, getting warmer still, no, cool, warmer, oh! That last was a loud gasp.

He brushed his finger firmly against that place again. Yes. He seemed to have it right. It had taken a while, but though it was inconvenient that she was apparently beyond words, it felt good to have reduced her to that even if he hadn't quite got what she wanted. After that, it didn't take much concentration to bring her to what was clearly an orgasm.

He closed his eyes and let his head rest on those tender thighs, while her inside muscles clamped rhythmically on his finger with surprising strength. If he'd had his cock in there he might never have escaped again, but that was something he'd worry about if it happened. If ever.

After she relaxed around him he carefully withdrew his finger. Then he licked it clean. When he raised his head she was looking at him, and there wasn't much doubt that she was pleased.

"Acceptable?"

"Oh, Exceeds Expectations at the very least, Professor!"

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson."

He let his fingers stroke through her hidden places one last time, places revealed to him, and then ran them over her belly, reluctant to end this, but aware that it was over.

She patted his hand, and sat up, bringing her legs together, though she didn't cover herself. He sat back on his heels, then used the edge of the bed to get himself to his feet, and sat beside her.

She leaned into him, though she wasn't really cuddling. Severus wasn't sure if he wanted cuddling, though the thought of it made him feel warm. Miss Parkinson had said she wanted to pay a debt. It wasn't as if she had a fondness for him. Nor, indeed, did he have one for her. Day to day, she would still be a mildly irritating person, because there wasn't much doubt that although she had learned one lesson about reasoning through, she would have many more to learn, and he wasn't sure he had the patience to shepherd her through all of them. Better she should learn with a Slytherin closer to her in age. He didn't particularly want her to lose patience with his progress in lessons such as the one just concluded, either.

Now, how did one say, "Thank you, goodbye, please leave," without being rudely ungrateful? She had given him a great deal, and he wanted to live it through again and think it over carefully; women were said to want to talk afterwards....

She took the problem out of his hands.

"You have your wand, Professor? Would you lend it to me for a moment? Or just cast Pristina on me?"

"Certainly," he said promptly, summoning his wand with a finger-click rather than reaching for it – he'd prefer no one knew exactly where he kept it – and cast the requested charm. That limited use of magic didn't strain him, now.

She sighed as the charm gently cleaned her fluids away, and vanished the sweat of exertion and excitement, and removed the swelling and the high colour from her lips, upper and lower. It was a pity to see that vanish, but he infinitely preferred knowledge of their exchange to remain exclusively theirs.

Only then did she straighten out her robes, and slip her feet into those pretty but impractical high-heeled sandals.

He conjured a comb and mirror for her, and her thanks sounded genuine.

He didn't think she'd want to talk about this. He could be grateful to her without concern for his privacy.

Miss Parkinson got herself out of his room gracefully, and he made sure to indicate to Auror Fielding, the senior of the two, that she was welcome to return. Though he doubted she would. Debts paid were done with.

ααααα SS ΩΩΩΩΩ

A few days later, on a Saturday, as usual, since she was now an apprentice in the Hit Wizards program, Miss Bulstrode came to visit.

She brought grapes, and a small box of Honeydukes' chocolates. The Aurors let her keep her wand, as they had done for some time.

He didn't rise. None of his students expected that, though he did it for Minerva now that he could do so easily.

After they had exchanged greetings she sat on the edge of the bed, rather than in one of the spare armchairs, and took out her wand, aiming it at the doorway. Politely she spoke the charms aloud, blocking sound and impeding entry.

Then she said, "I'm not looking for a pureblood marriage – maybe not a marriage at all – so I can do as I please. I'd like to please you, too; not just because we're all in your debt. Would you like to try me?"

He managed not to gape at her, but he was taken aback.

She frowned slightly, and said severely, "If you don't like my looks... And, Professor, turn about is fair play..."

She wasn't as confident as she sounded, but she was in earnest, and he was delighted. He had always liked the idea of an armful of woman, even if that hadn't been Lily's kind, or Miss Parkinson's either. He'd chide Miss Parkinson for talking out of turn another day. Perhaps.

"Miss Bulstrode, you are admirably formed. If no one's told you that yet, you haven't been seeing the right men. Boys easily intimidated by abundance, maybe. But though I'm willing, if you are, you ought to know that I, er, don't know much."

That wasn't as hard to say as he had thought it might be, and it got him a slow smile that let something inside him unfurl into warmth and sunlight.

"We can practise together," she said firmly.

He got up and sat beside her, and put out his hand to take hers where it lay on the bed, revealingly passive.

"Mastery is attained through practice, Miss Bulstrode," he agreed.

"My name is Millicent. Severus."

"Yes, Millicent," he assented, dismissing all thought of proper forms of address between professors and their former students.

That got him an even better smile, and a very thorough embrace, and a strong hint that those blocking charms were all going to be needed. He took it all, gladly, a free man, come fully to life.

ααααα SS The End SS ΩΩΩΩΩ