Sᴘᴇʟʟᴄʀᴏssᴇᴅ. Severus x OC

օʄ ֆɛռʂɛʂ ɛռʂռǟʀɛɖ

Rest had never rained so sound. That's what sleep felt like---the leading moments to crawling into bed, nuzzling up---the sounds drizzled the late night like the constant massage of fresh rainfall.

Severus's touch was like a technicolored-splash onto a gray haze of cinema. A temporary entrance into the life she knew, into the life most know. Oh, like that Muggle classic, The Wizard of Oz. Dorothy Gale stepping out of her tornado-struck home into the fantastical world that was no longer Kansas.

And for a time, she was here. There. He had alleviated the melancholy.

Something she relied on a failed spell to do.

Was it so? Was a bliss such as this so euphoric, it was tragic? For she loved a man who she could never love, and it seemed now, he loved her back.

She was scared. Do you trust me?

Yet when Mharii returned to her dorm that night, she stepped before the mirror. Not a tone paler; not another strand more silver than what was.

She didn't understand why. To all in the world, it was unreachable. Unattainable. She could not feel.

But her professor permeated that threshold. Merlin, countless sensations became alive under his touch. Without an incantation nor potion . . . he could make her feel good.

That sweet, sweet chill of his lips. Suckling, leaving a lingering wetness that electrified her body. And of wetness . . . ohhh the returned bliss. Towards the middle of it . . . her quim had begun to secrete; to pulsate. He had made her beyond ready, beyond hesitation to let him take her right then and there.

Despite the sleepy, calm-induced session---she marveled that if a mere hand brushed her core, she might have orgasmed.

And so, when she retired for the night . . . essentially rising from his lap---it was a struggling knee-buckling walk to bed, collapsing within seconds in sight of the inviting sheets and pillow. Though she could no longer feel . . . a certain comfort lingered beneath, a certain snugness and blissful weight of the blankets.

And here she sat, at the last day of Advanced Potions. Seated at the end of the Ravenclaw table.

Her expression was nothing but solemn. Everyone's final projects of their cauldrons rested before each student on the table. A mix of scents tugged at her nose---she didn't have to master potions to know that quite a bit of progresses varied, and with it the poor unfortunate souls who completely brewed in the negative direction.

This final class will be interesting. Interesting how the Potions Master grades a potion not even he could make.

Mharii leant once more over her cauldron, then forced herself back against her seat again.

She had repeatedly looked over her contents, draining her head with the constant reminder and flaw she found. Yet, there was a time in which she simply must . . . let go.

"I hope you all have thoroughly researched and adjusted your experimental mixtures," the professor said. He rose up from his desk, towering to his full height before them. He wrapped his arms upon one another, lifting up and volumizing his cloak. "There are given routes all must take in the basic reaction of the first ingredients."

Though all was silent, the energy flow throughout the classroom fluctuated. Silent, subdued sighs or inward cusses. And Severus ensured to seal every window's crack in his classroom, yet it seemed the lack of sunlight refused to go undetected. Giddy, ancy, exhausted. Everyone was ready to leave.

And Mharii? Mixed. More than before.

Almost as if the Potions Master's indulgence of dreary tones, the surplus of candles---goodness the scent of beeswax was lovely, but like all fragrances, it invaded her head---served as a warning; a preparation. His thick, heavy cloak still wrapping him. A psychological preparation. To trick the mind that school has yet to end, that winter still hails months to end.