snarrymod (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} snarrymod) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} snarry_games,@ 2009-08-30 10:41:00 |
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| Entry tags: | cauldron, fic |
Team Cauldron Entry (FIC): "Temperance is a Virtue" by Yura_Slash
Title: Temperance is a Virtue
Author: yura_slash
Team: Cauldron!
Genre(s): Alive and Kicking (EWE) & Genderbender/Crossdressing
Prompt(s): Skin Deep
Rating/Warnings/Kinks: NC17; Highlight if you wish to know: *Warning for heterosexual intercourse between Harry and female!Severus.*
Word Count: ~7100
Author Notes/Disclaimers/Betas: I do not own Harry Potter and am seeking no profits from my twisted take on JKR’s universe. Thanks to my sister for her quick beta!
Summary: Temperance Prinz debuts on the potions conference circuit, her career finally (back?) on track, only to run face first (literally) into the one person from her past that could derail it all.
Temperance is a Virtue
Presume not that I am the thing I was;
For God doth know, so shall the world perceive,
That I have turn'd away my former self;
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots:
Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death,
As I have done the rest of my misleaders,
Not to come near our person by ten mile.
King Henry V, King Henry IV, part 2, Act V, Scene V
Temperance finished packing the last of her bags and sat back on her bed with a sigh. She would activate her conference portkey at 3pm tomorrow afternoon—there was plenty of time now to prepare herself mentally for the strain of being among so many wizards and witches for the first time in years.
She sat back against the headboard, propping a pillow up behind her back for comfort, and closed her eyes. With the ease of a practiced Occlumens, she slipped into a meditative state and began fortifying her mental shields, paying extra care to the cache of memories belonging to her former self. It would not do to slip into the past mannerisms that had made her . . . him so distinctive, especially not among so many of his past colleagues.
A tinge of mental anguish shrouded all of his memories, making them easy to sort out and store away. After an interminable amount of time, Temperance opened her dark brown eyes and they alit on the functional, but attractive dress robes that she’d owl-ordered for the first day of the conference. They hung from the hook on her wardrobe door, freshly pressed, and Temperance allowed herself a smug smile as she contemplated the modern cut.
She was Temperance Prinz, a witch whose star was on the rise, and she would look the part. Although she would have liked to present some of her more experimental potions, she was still presenting at the most distinguished conference in her field, and her name would be spoken of in all the most important circles. It was an achievement rarely bestowed on one so new to the field, but that her expertise had been noticed so early on was a point of pride for her.
She laid back, shoving the pillow under her head, and waved a hand at the candles set in sconces all along the walls of her bedroom. "Nox."
The next week’s assignments came fluttering around the corner. Each Auror had his own color-coded memos, so Harry plucked the chartreuse paper airplane from the air before it could make a crash landing on his cluttered desk. It was smoking, which meant it was urgent—probably an overnighter.
Ron stood up to grab his own, pink-colored assignment and then headed over to Harry’s desk. "Bugger all, Harry – an overnighter? And on your weekend, too!" He tried to make a grab for the smoking memo, but Harry pulled it away before he could get to it.
Ron, and most definitely Hermione, would give him grief if he were to admit it, but Harry was extremely relieved at the prospect of getting out of the house for a night. Teddy was currently going through a "food is disgusting" phase, and Harry was tired of dealing with the messes every day after work. Andromeda was so exhausted from watching the exuberant six-year-old that she usually just passed him off when Harry walked in the door and went for a long soak in the tub. Even though she always said she'd already eaten, Harry was positive that she had her dinners delivered to her there in the large master bathroom just to avoid the terror that was Teddy with a spoonful of peas. Kreacher wouldn't admit to it, but Harry would catch him with the food tray one of these days . . .
"So what’s it say?" Ron asked impatiently, giving him a knock on the shoulder with his fist. "Bet it’s awful – Margaret’s still mad that you didn’t call her back after your date last month."
Harry ignored the jibe about his pitiful, practically non-existent love life and finally unfolded his assignment. After giving it a quick glance, he sighed. "Well, it’s awful, alright. And it’s at a potions conference. Imagine – a room full of Snapes!"
Ron gagged and mimed death by hanging.
"There’s not that much more information in here—just that I’ll find my debriefing file at the front desk of the hotel where the conference is being hosted. Seems like it could be a couple of nights, though. I hope Andromeda's up to watching Teddy alone for that long -"
"You want Hermione and me to take Teddy the weekend? Give Andromeda a break from the kid?"
Harry hid a grin in his recently abused shoulder. "I don't know, Ron, you've never taken him for more than a few hours at a time, and I was always there, too, just in case . . ."
"Ah - how hard can it be?" Ron said, pulling Harry up and out of his desk chair by the sleeve of his robe. "Let's go run it by Hermione. She'll likely think it's great practice for when she finally pops."
"Don't let her hear you talking about her like a balloon—not if you want dinner tonight."
Ron guffawed. "Ah, come on, Harry. Have you seen her lately? Looks like she swallowed a melon. It figures we'd have twins the first time around."
Harry and Ron left the office together, both still carrying on and laughing much like they had at Hogwarts.
Temperance was jittery with nerves as she entered the grand ballroom, though no one would have been able to tell just by looking at her. And that was a good thing, because she was noticing quite a few lingering glances in her direction.
Because of the exacting and solitary nature of the potions trade, there was a dearth of women in the field. Temperance's upper lip curled in disgust as she recalled the ridiculous goings-on at conferences past, when men (who didn't bring their wives along) would all but do battle to score the prize of a potions mistress in their hotel rooms for an evening. Temperance, in her past life, would always ignore the pathetically adolescent fumbling and focus on the conferences' true purpose: the pursuit of knowledge and academic exchange.
But, if the lascivious glances she was witnessing were any indication, it seemed that she may very well be the center of unwanted amorous attention herself.
Wonderful.
She smoothed her new formal robes and headed for her assigned seat at one of the banquet tables. She was determined to make a good first impression on many of these Masters present—one that she could build her professional reputation on—so she would have to endure some social interaction and, heaven forbid, flirting. Starting at the bottom of the ladder after so long on the top rung was a humbling experience, but not one that she couldn't handle. With a courageousness that had been enough to withstand Voldemort's stare, and then a prolonged battle with Death itself, Temperance walked up to her table.
Harry left the front desk, file in hand, and made a dash for the swiftly closing lift doors. "Hold the lift!" He slipped through the shrinking gap and, true to form, bumped right into a tall, imposing figure that had been moving to block the doors with his or her arm. "Whoa!" Harry called out in dismay, just as all his—highly sensitive—documents went spilling across the lift's marble floor. "I'm so sorry!" he gushed, dropping to his knees to start gathering up the mess. Just as he did so, however, the other person bent to help, and Harry knocked his nose on the back of his or her head on his way down.
"Ow!" he cried out thickly, and jerked back upright with his hand at his face.
The other person in the lift straightened, and Harry finally got a look at . . . her glowering face.
"Have you always been such a klutz?" she growled, raising a hand to the back of her head with a wince.
Harry blushed bright red and hardly noticed that the lift had begun to move without his selecting a floor. "Sorry! Won't happen again," he said. His eyes flickered across the harsh features of her face, stopping for a long moment on her impressive nose, and then met her inky stare, which was just now widening with recognition.
"Potter! What the hell are you doing here?"
Files forgotten on the lift floor, Harry blinked stupidly at her. "I - I'm sorry. Have we met?"
Something shuttered in her eyes, and then she was shaking her head tightly, sending her long, dark hair swaying. "Forgive me. I was merely surprised at seeing an Auror of your . . . . caliber . . . attending such a specialized conference."
Harry felt like he'd been insulted somehow, but he couldn't think of a thing to say in response. There was something about this woman . . . that sparked something inside him. Something he'd thought long dead. She was so . . .
And then the lift doors opened and a robotic voice informed them that they had reached the fifth floor. "Good day," the woman said primly, and swept away with such melodrama that Harry was struck dumb for a moment, watching her walk down the fifth-floor corridor. She seemed so familiar . . .
"I don't know . . . it seems a touch expensive. And you can't tell me what's in it?"
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon—bright and sunny and full of promise—and Temperance was annoyed. Very annoyed. So annoyed that she had to hold her tongue between her teeth for a moment to keep from snapping at the vapid witch as she would have done years ago, in another life. "I'm sorry, madam, but I cannot reveal my formulas until the proper patents have been obtained. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes, but is there anything icky in it?" the middle-aged, dumpy woman persisted, holding the jar of skin-smoothing cream to the light and squinting stupidly at it.
Temperance glanced at her name tag for the third time in as many minutes, trying to recall the last names of any of the many wizards she'd met so that she could place . . . Margaret Tilsdale . . . as someone's spouse and not an actual brewer at . . . TrueBrew, Inc. "I find the term 'icky' to be highly subjective, Ms. Tilsdale." Finally giving up on speculation, she asked, "With TrueBrew, are you?"
Ms. Tilsdale turned her gaze from the jar of cream and blinked nearsightedly at her. "Yes, I've been a brewer for them for the last five years. But that's beside the point—were any sweet, fluffy animals hurt in the making of this potion?"
Temperance snapped. "You cannot possibly be serious. And you call yourself a brewer? It's witches like you that give a bad name to us all. Out! Out! Before I turn you into a newt and use you in my next potion!" She tore the cream from Ms. Tilsdale's sweaty grasp and shoved her away from her display, practically apoplectic.
The other woman gave an indignant squawk and then was gone. There was a rising murmur in her wake, and heads turned to get a glance at Temperance, who was having a hard time behaving in a manner more suitable to her name.
"Blast it," she muttered under her breath, putting the skin-smoothing cream back in its place on the display rack. Much more of this, and she would call it quits. The booth hadn't been pulling much of a profit, and she may do better to spend her time networking with fellow innovators and creative thinkers. The men she'd known years ago and always enjoyed theorizing with would surely take her seriously . . . just because the men at the welcome banquet hadn't . . .
"Excuse me, miss?"
A hesitant voice interrupted her thoughts and brought an instant scowl to her face. "What?" she growled, turning swiftly and setting her dark blue robes in a swirl around her. She was ready to snarl at the newcomer – only to be confronted by the same face that had shocked her so in the hotel lift last night.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but could you please come with me somewhere more private and answer a few questions?" He flashed his Auror badge, probably just as he had done it a thousand times before, and grimaced. "I hate to ask you to leave your booth, but it won't be but a few minutes . . . oh! You're the woman from the lift!"
Temperance sighed. "Yes—and you're Harry Potter. May I ask what this is concerning?"
Potter looked up at her with just a hint of the defiance he'd always shown as a student. "I'm afraid not, Ms. Prinz. This is official business and needs to be discussed only under protection of a silencing charm."
Temperance gave another sigh, injecting as much of her displeasure into it as possible. "Very well. Let me 'lock up,' as it were."
Potter watched her hands closely as she set security charms on her booth and its displayed wares, not saying a word as she layered them one on top of the other. Then, once she was satisfied, she turned to her erstwhile escort. "Alright. Lead the way, Mr. Potter."
Harry led the way to a small café near the hotel's lobby, where he had held all of his interviews thus far. The table he had charmed to stay unoccupied was in the back corner by a window, and its position allowed for a clear view of the café, the lobby, and—out the window—the car park and valet stand.
"Here we are," he stated unnecessarily, moving to hold out one of the table's four chairs for Ms. Prinz.
She ignored his gesture and took one of the two chairs that allowed a view of the hotel, and Harry paused uncomfortably for a moment before moving to take the chair right beside her in the café's corner. His eyes scanned their surroundings before coming back to the dark figure to his left.
"I'll put up a silencing charm now," he said. He waited for her nod of assent before speaking the spell under his breath. His wand, strapped to his forearm in a quick-release mechanism, glowed faintly under his sleeve, and he noted his interview subject's dark eyes training on it for but a moment before they skittered away.
"So it's true then, that the great Harry Potter doesn't need to take his wand in hand to subdue masterminding criminals—or perform simple, third-year charms—anymore?" she asked, eyes now focused on the people milling in the hotel lobby just a few feet away. Her voice was low and as rich as velvet, and it skated across Harry's nerves and raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
"I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind," he answered, pulling a roll of parchment and ballpoint pen from the inside of his cloak and setting them on the table. Her eyes—so, so dark, and yet not empty in the slightest—watched him uncap the pen. Harry decided that he liked the open curiosity on her face, and so said nothing about the, probably alien, device that he'd got back into the habit of using since school. When he began to write with it, however, her eyes sparked and then the expression was gone. Harry got the feeling that all expressions were fleeting on that stoic face.
"Full name, as it appears on all official documentation?" he asked, after writing the requisite time and venue headings on the Ministry’s official interview parchment.
Those long, pale fingers he'd been so fascinated by earlier, when they'd been wrapped around a thin mahogany wand, fluttered against the table and then moved up to toy with a thin hank of shining, black hair.
"Temperance Eileen Prinz," she answered matter-of-factly.
"Occupation?"
"Potions mistress, brewer, and inventor."
Harry soldiered on, desperately trying not to notice the way Temperance—her name was Temperance, of all things!—kept touching the tip of her tongue against her bottom lip as she twirled her hair around her fingers. "Please name any and all business partners who have more than a 25% share in your profits."
Temperance's fingers dropped away from her hair and resumed their stroking of the table. "SkinDeep Cosmetics," she answered.
"Please state the nature of that business arrangement in as much detail as possible."
Temperance's eyes darted to the nearby window, taking in the sight of a portly wizard with a large cauldron struggling to reach the front door of the hotel unaided. "I brew basic formulas for them in bulk. I also have unrestricted access to their labs and their ingredient stores, and the freedom to experiment and create potions on their premises. Whatever original formulas I create remain my own intellectual property, though SkinDeep gains 30% of all the profits I achieve from sales." Her eyes flickered back to meet Harry’s once he'd finished writing out her succinct answers. "Is there a point to all of this?"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Prinz," he answered, his gaze steady but his cheeks pink with discomfort. "I really can't say. But if you have any other business partners or financial backers, I really need to know. And if SkinDeep Cosmetics is partnered or affiliated with any other group, aboveboard or otherwise, I would appreciate your candor in naming those groups now."
Temperance's countenance became as dark as a thundercloud. "If this is just a fishing expedition, as I suspect it is, you'll have to excuse me." She rose imperiously, and Harry found himself on level with her small, perky breasts. "And if it's an audit you're after, send along an agent from the Wizardkind's Horribly Oppressive Revenue Service and I'll hand over my receipts!"
Once he'd pulled his eyes away from Temperance's chest, Harry's hand shot out and grabbed her by the upper arm. "I'm sorry for offending you, and I certainly won't be sending any agents from WHORS after you—I just have to ask all the new conference attendants these questions. Let me buy you a drink to make up for it?"
Temperance raised an eyebrow at him. From her standing height, she was able to loom over him quite impressively, and Harry was once again struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. It put him off balance at the same time that it compelled him to get closer to her—to the woman who caused all these strange stirrings and half-longings in him.
"I think I will have to decline," she answered him huffily. Her hand moved to her opposite arm, where Harry's fingers still clutched at her desperately, and began prying his fingers away one at a time. "Now, if you will kindly unhand me, I have work to do!"
She finally managed to free herself from Harry's grip, and then she was leaving in a swirl of robes. Harry admired her tall, thin form until it was gone around the café entrance.
Harry finished the last of his interviews for the day and then left the café, taking off the "reservation charm" as he went. He didn’t usually resent his job, but something about this assignment didn’t sit right with him. First of all, he didn’t know why he was asking any of the questions he was asking. Second of all, he didn’t know why he of all people had been chosen for what was, essentially, a question-and-answer session with a bunch of academics. He was a field agent with stellar offensive and defensive rankings, and even though his name may carry a bit of cache, it did nothing to impress the people he was questioning now.
Harry headed out into the hotel lobby and towards the grand ballroom, which had been set up for demonstrations. It was Sunday, the biggest day of the conference, and the room was packed. He started moving through the crowd to see who was on the main stage, when he was suddenly struck by a voice off to the side. The cadence to it – the tone . . .
"No, but I assure you that the results achieved are uniform across the board."
It was a woman’s voice, but unusually low in pitch. And unlike most women’s voices, it was firm and had no questioning lilt.
He turned and began scanning the smaller stages to the left of the huge hall until he saw her: Temperance Prince. Prince? No, it was Prinz, wasn’t it? But it was awfully close to . . . Harry's eyes practically bulged out of his head. He wouldn’t have gone so far as to . . . but that voice! Harry shook his head in wonder as he drew closer to Temperance’s stage. Severus was dead . . . wasn’t he?
Temperance stalked back and forth across the small, raised platform, applying face cream to cringing volunteers. There were three of them sitting in folding chairs, and they all looked very nervous.
"Now ladies, you will feel a slight tingling sensation as the muscles in your face tighten –"
"Eeeeeah!" one of the women screamed, clutching her cheeks and making to stand.
Temperance swooped behind her and dropped a quelling hand on her shoulder. "Be calm, you foolish woman. I assure you that the sensation, albeit strange, is in no way damaging."
The volunteer took a deep breath and raised the mirror clutched in her hand. The other women on the stage were already smiling into their own mirrors when she gasped, "But my crows’ feet! They’re gone!"
Temperance smirked. "Yes, but I do believe that to be the desired effect. Correct?"
She turned in her chair and smiled up at Temperance, her face appearing at least 20 years younger. "How often does it need to be applied? And do you have potions for other areas?" she lowered her voice, "like my baggy arms?"
The others looked up at him with inquiring eyes, and Temperance noticed that quite a crowd had gathered around her stage.
"It must be applied once a month for the desired effect," she answered, raising her voice for her larger audience. "And yes, I do have creams for areas like the abdomen, arms, and neck. Each area responds differently to topical creams, so the formulas have been altered slightly for optimal performance –"
There was a rush on her stage’s display that lasted for about fifteen minutes before all of her stock was gone, save for a few lonely order forms. She let out a sigh and sat in one of her folding chairs, cashbox in hand. That had gone well—even better than she had anticipated. True talent always found success, no matter what package it came in. Perhaps some of the men she'd met at the banquet last night would take her more seriously now, she thought, looking around at the other stages. Their presenters were having a much harder time selling their products . . . She looked up and out into the crowded hall, mind adrift, only to be snagged on a pair of electric green eyes just over a dozen feet away.
Potter . . .
When he saw her returning his stare, he turned his back and disappeared into a stream of people heading for the main stage.
Had he been there the whole time? She gripped the cashbox tightly in her hands. And what was he playing at, anyways?
Temperance, ensconced in a dark corner booth in the hotel's subterranean pub, tried valiantly to calm her jangled nerves. Potter had set her off yesterday, as was his wont, and left her feeling particularly fragile. Somehow, in just one interview, he had made the line between this life and her past life as thin as gossamer. Even harder to understand was the way his touch had made her feel—like there was something inside her, something deeply buried, trying to fight its way to the surface. His large, warm hands, so different from when he'd been a student, and his voice, deep and clear . . .
All this, after a mere half hour in the man's presence? Was she mad? Fallen victim to a spell?
And then today, when she’d caught him staring at her in the hotel’s large banquet hall . . . his deep green, beseeching eyes, no longer hidden behind his owlish glasses, had pierced her to her very soul. To his very soul.
Of course, the cause of her current internal crisis would choose this moment to appear. "Hullo," Harry greeted, voice soft and eyes searching her face for acceptance.
Temperance simply scooted further into the circular booth, allowing room for Harry beside her, and turned back to her drink, dark eyes searching the nearly-empty glass for answers to this newest puzzle in her life.
But Harry didn't sit right away. "Would you like another?" he asked, nodding towards the cocktail in her hand.
Temperance knew she probably shouldn't. She was quite tipsy already, but . . . "Yes, please. A Frank & Dean martini."
Harry shot her an inquiring look, and Temperance rolled her eyes.
"It's a martini that contains half gin and half vodka. It was named after the famous Muggle singers, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, who each enjoyed their martinis with a different liquor."
If Harry was surprised by her knowledge of Muggle culture, he didn't show it. "Got it. I'll be right back," he said, and turned to head to the bar.
Temperance watched him walk away, eyes trained helplessly on his perfect posterior. Harry Potter the man, as opposed to Harry Potter the student, had a tall, well-built body. He obviously kept to a rigorous work-out schedule, Temperance thought, blushing hotly as an image of Harry, chest bare, sweaty, and short of breath, floated through her subconscious. Maybe she could end her self-inflicted isolation for just a single night, if opportunity would allow. He seemed interested, and even though she'd never . . . even though he'd never . . .
"Here you are, Ms. Prinz," Harry announced, appearing at her elbow with a martini glass in hand.
Temperance practically jumped out of her own skin. It seemed like he had just left, and she was surprised into being her usual, cantankerous self. "Mr. Potter doesn't have to wait long for anything, I see," she sneered, knocking back her glass and drinking the last of its contents before snatching the full cocktail from Harry's hand.
Harry took that as an invitation to sit, which Temperance mostly ignored as she drank a long sip from the new martini. After a few moments, Harry seemed to gather his resolve. "Have you been enjoying the conference so far?" he asked, eyes on her long, pale throat.
Temperance rolled her eyes in response. "Pathetic. You could have at least started with a compliment instead of a banal inquiry such as 'how are you enjoying the conference?' Do women usually just throw themselves at you? Fall into your lap?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably in the booth. "You know, that’s not far from the truth, much as I hate to admit it."
Temperance snorted into her glass and then took another drink—this one more measured than her last. "Well, I can assure you that your charms are wasted on me. I don’t swoon over celebrities, especially empty-headed ones such as yourself."
Instead of taking offense, as he should have long ago, Harry just smiled at her and took a drink from his own glass. It was a simple tumbler of what appeared to be scotch or bourbon on the rocks. "Yes, well, I’ve tried to fill that emptiness over the years, but I must have sprung a leak somewhere along the way."
Temperance was startled into a sharp bark of laughter, and Harry’s expression turned pleased.
"You know, you remind me a lot of someone I used to know. He passed away years ago, but just being near you is somehow a comfort . . ."
Temperance tensed. "He?" she interrupted hotly, "I can assure you that I haven’t any ‘dangly bits’ at the moment, and I can’t imagine that being near someone with my disposition could be at all comforting."
Harry stared down into his glass for a moment, as if weighing what he was about to say, and then raised piercing green eyes to stare into Temperance’s own. "As for the first part, it wouldn’t matter if you did . . . have dangly bits I mean. As for the second, the man I knew—the man who passed away—was a dark man, to be sure. But he was a strong man. He was a man I could rely on. And though not many people liked him or appreciated everything he did, he could—and did—save my life numerous times. I wish I had known him better –"
Temperance slammed her now empty cocktail glass down on the table and made to stand. Too overwhelmed to continue the conversation, and too drunk to hope to navigate its many tricky dips and turns, she began to make her excuses, but Harry once again grabbed her by the upper arm to stall her. Then he leaned close, which set her to reeling and almost made her miss his next, sharply hissed words.
"I know it’s you, Professor. I. Know."
Temperance gasped in shock, and then realized too late that her reaction had given her away before a single denial could pass her lips.
"Come with me," he insisted, pulling her sideways out of the booth and leading her with a strong grip out of the pub and to the bank of lifts nearby. "We need to talk somewhere private, and I’ve set my room’s security wards myself."
Temperance followed him remarkably docilely to his hotel room, despite the shocked and then knowing glances that were thrown their way as he dragged her along the corridors.
Oh, how he wished that they could be doing what everyone thought they were rushing off to do. The double scotch on the rocks he'd had earlier had gone straight to his head and was making him think wild thoughts. Maybe when they reached his hotel room, he could just throw her on his bed . . .
"Here we are," he said, pulling out his wand and touching its tip to the door numbers 717. The door glowed purple for a moment and then swung open, and he gave Temperance’s arm another tug. "Come on then. Inside."
The hotel room was cramped and only comprised a single, oddly-shaped room with an attached loo. Temperance allowed herself to be pushed down into the only armchair in the room—it was an overstuffed monstrosity right next to the king-sized bed, and the tacky floral pattern reminded Harry strongly of the armchairs Albus always used to conjure.
Harry closed the door and another flash of purple consumed it. He ignored it in favor of watching Temperance closely, then he sat on the edge of the bed so that his knees almost touched hers.
"Severus Snape," he stated. It was not a question.
Temperance looked up at him with wild eyes. "No! Don’t call me that!"
"It’s your name, isn’t it?" he asked, leaning forward.
Temperance retreated further into the chair's embrace. "Not anymore."
Harry sat silently, staring raptly at her pale face, and after a few moments of silence he realized he had unconsciously leaned even further into Temperance’s space. He leaned back. "Aren't you?"
"I’m not him anymore!" she exclaimed desperately. "I’m not even a he anymore! Can’t you see what I’ve been through? What lengths I’ve gone to in order to remain hidden? How could you – !"
Harry had reached forward and placed his hand on her knee. His palm fit around the knobby joint perfectly, and his thumb began stroking the inside of her leg without his express permission.
Temperance let out a rattling breath. "What are you doing to me? Why –?"
Harry didn’t know the answer to that question himself so he ignored it, leaning forward again until his lips ghosted across Temperance’s own. He could smell the liquor on her breath, the potions on her skin, and the potion fumes in her hair. "You captivate me," he whispered, before lunging forward and taking her mouth forcefully with his.
Temperance whimpered into the kiss, and Harry was encouraged further. He took her into his arms and pulled her down onto the bed, where he proceeded to roll on top of her. She gave an "Oof!" of surprise and he slipped his tongue into her mouth and began running his hands up and down her body, too excited to go slow.
"Oh!" she cried out when he allowed her a breath.
"Yes . . ." he hissed, beginning to work on Temperance’s many buttons and clasps, all of which stood in the way of his finally knowing her intimately. And oh, how he wanted to know her!
"Ah! What are you -?" Temperance gasped when she felt Harry’s hands slipping under her robes. She had never purchased a bra for her wardrobe, uncomfortable with the notion of wearing what amounted to a harness on her chest, and his thumbs had glided across her erect nipples on their first pass. "Oh! Oh . . . I – I can’t . . ." she moaned, trying to escape Harry’s wicked fingers. In seconds, her robe was parted and Harry’s head dipped to her chest. Before she knew what was happening, his tongue was on her flesh, swirling on and between her breasts in a thoroughly distracting manner.
"Mmm . . ." he hummed, and Temperance was almost gone enough to pleasure that she let him continue. Almost.
She grabbed him by the hair—so soft to the touch!—and pulled him away from her chest. "Who do you want, Harry? Me? Or Severus?"
Harry looked down at her (and when had she gotten under him, anyways?), and Temperance was overwhelmed by the lust and passion in his eyes. They glowed with it. "Would it be so wrong of me to say ‘both’?" he asked, his hands once again taking over where his mouth had been, cupping her breasts in his warm, strong palms and stroking his thumbs across her wet nipples.
Temperance hissed in pleasure. "But – but I’m a woman now . . ."
Harry moved one hand up to her face. "It doesn’t matter what’s on the outside, Temperance . . . Severus . . . or whatever else you want to be called. Beauty is only skin deep, and it’s what’s here," his thumb stroked her tall forehead, "that matters. Your intelligence, sure, but also your strength of character, your loyalty, your sense of right and wrong, your stubborn bloody-mindedness, and your wicked tongue . . . Merlin, but I haven’t been so turned on by anyone, ever!"
Temperance was blushing by this time—she could feel the heat in her cheeks—and Harry smiled down at her. "I don’t know what to say," she whispered, "except that I’ve always admired your own better qualities and wished I hadn’t had my part to play in Voldemort’s and Albus’ schemes. How can you . . . how can you want me? I suppose I have mellowed over the years I haven’t had to teach, and female brain chemistry is such that I am more susceptible to the gentler emotions – oh!"
Harry had grown bored with her musings and begun to lick and suck on her neck. "Oh! Oh – you’re so good at that . . ."
Harry lifted his mouth from her neck and moved over to her ear. "When I thought you were dead, I was devastated," he whispered.
Temperance shivered and Harry retreated back from her ear, but stayed braced on hands and knees over her exposed body.
"I didn’t know why, but I was so obsessed with you that I couldn’t stop watching your memories. I watched them over and over. I put my own memories of you in the pensieve and watched them, too. It was the effect your voice had on me that finally led me to realize that I could like men as well as I liked women. It’s so deep and seductive, even when you’re being a prat. And it’s so distinctive—it’s how I finally realized who you were." He paused and Temperance looked up at him expectantly. "Now, can we get back to the snogging?"
Temperance scowled, but it wasn’t long before the expression was wiped clear.
Harry knew he should take it slower. He had the feeling that Temperance had never been with a man, and that the taking of her virginity should wait for a more perfect time or place, but he couldn’t stop himself. What if he didn’t take the opportunity now, and she disappeared tomorrow? She had done it before . . .
So he let his tongue move further and further down her body. He spread her legs and slipped between them, his mouth leading the way. When she cried out in surprised pleasure, it was music to Harry’s ears, and he continued to lick her clit and deep among her folds until his mouth was wet with her juices and numb from exertion. She had orgasmed at least twice, the second time when he had slipped his fingers inside her and stroked her inner walls lovingly.
"I want you," he whispered, moving up her flushed, sweaty body. His cock, hard and hot and throbbing with need, rubbed against her leg as he went and then settled in the hollow of her hip. "Please?" he whimpered against her neck, where his face had come to rest. His only answer was the canting of her hips, and Harry let out a groan of pleasure as his cock moved between her legs and against her entrance. "Temperance . . . Severus . . . I . . ."
"Shhh . . ." Temperance whispered tenderly, and then she was letting him inside her body. There was a slight restriction and then it was gone, and Harry was moving in and out of her slickly.
"Temperance," he gasped. "Severus!" It was almost a sob. "So good . . ."
Temperance’s hips moved in time with his own, and it wasn’t long before they were both gasping and moaning uncontrollably, their frenzied pace shaking the bed and knocking it against the wall rhythmically.
"Temperance!" Harry cried out, giving in to his rushing orgasm.
"Harry!" she shouted in answer, her inner muscles clenching him tightly inside her.
. . .
When he woke up hours later, he was alone in his bed. The pillow smelled faintly of potions.
It had been a long two weeks. Temperance had sold all of the rights to her pending patents to SkinDeep Cosmetics for a ridiculous sum of money and then quit her position as brewer. Then she’d spent just a few more days as a woman, getting all of her affairs in order so that she could make the transition back to manhood smoothly. The sex-change potion that she’d brewed out of necessity—and was now considering obtaining a patent for—bubbled merrily in front of her.
Losing her virginity as a woman had made Temperance aware more than ever of what she had lost in her transformation. Her experience with Harry had been full of pleasure, but something had been . . . off. Never having had sex as a man, or been a sexual being at all, really, Temperance was eager to learn what Severus had been missing out on. When her clit had been throbbing between her legs under Harry’s talented fingers and tongue, she’d wanted . . . more . . .
And maybe what she really wanted to do was test Harry’s prettily-worded promises that her sex didn’t matter. Harry, who she’d left alone in his hotel room as yet another test. She was pushing him away at the same time that she was hoping he would come closer—and isn’t that how she always treated those she cared about most?
But the only reason it was possible for her to take back her identity was because of the way Harry had tracked her down afterwords—and Kingsley Shacklebolt. After a long talk with Kingsley, Harry had discovered that the true purpose of his assignment was to ferret out Severus, who Kingsley had been convinced was hiding among the many new brewers at the annual potions conference.
And Kingsley’s instincts had been spot on. Now Severus was to receive a full pardon and an Order of Merlin for his wartime efforts—just before Kingsley left office. Apparently, he wanted to go out with a bang.
As she stared down into the nearly complete potion’s depths, waiting for it to turn yellow before she could take it off the fire, she was more excited than she’d ever been before about what the future could hold for him. For Severus.
"Temperance?" Harry’s voice floated down the cellar stairs. The imp had broken into her home yet again, it seemed.
"For now," she whispered in answer, taking the cauldron from the flames. "But not for much longer."
Months later . . .
Even though he no longer had to masquerade as a woman, Severus liked to run his fingers through the finer garments in his closet. Those he’d purchased for . . . her. Today he clutched an emerald green, cashmere sweater so hard that its shoulder fell off its hanger.
"Severus?"
He turned. "Harry –"
The imp moved into his arms and looked up at him, eyes shining. "I don’t care, you know. If you want to wear her clothes sometimes…"
Severus blushed and Harry raised a hand to the puckered flesh of Severus’ neck.
"I love you. All of you."
Severus kissed him deeply. When he felt Harry's cock harden against his thigh, he dropped the sweater to the floor and moved more fully into his embrace.
"I . . . I love you, too," he whispered. He still had a hard time saying it, and Harry rewarded him by reaching down to grope at his burgeoning erection through the part in his dressing gown.
"Why don't you show me how much?" Harry growled and, once he'd managed to turn Severus into a panting mess with a few strong strokes of his hand on his cock, he pulled him out of the closet and threw him onto their large canopy bed.
Severus didn't move as he watched Harry approach, except to spread his legs wide. Merlin, how he loved being a man, even if it did require a touch more preparation . . .
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MOD NOTE: POLL IS NOW CLOSED. THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING IN THE SNARRY GAMES.
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