Lustful Alchemy

19. SHARP

The corridors are half-empty on this cold Saturday at the end of October. Everyone is in Hogsmeade for the first outing of the year, and I take advantage of the castle's tranquility to focus on perfecting the potion in the solitary quiet of my office; a task to which, lately, I've allowed myself less time than usual, distracted as I have been by what happened between Cassandra and me. The tension between us is palpable now, eager to tear each other's clothes off every time our gazes or paths cross – which, sharing a class, happens often. Seeing her finally naked, beautiful, and perfect, writhing and bending completely to my will, ignited an unprecedented desire in me. What happened a few nights ago in our quarters wasn't enough for me: I want more, knowing I'll never be satiated.

However, I've had to maintain strict self-control to not succumb entirely to the desire to penetrate her, to bury my cock deep inside her; all the while we were together, enjoying mutual pleasure, Ronen's voice kept echoing in my ears: "Haven't you seen how she looks at you?". As if it were impossible to realize or not to have noticed that Cassandra's attitude towards me has inevitably changed, even before ending up naked on that armchair.

I've seen it, I've noticed it, and I'm aware of it; I know that a deeper feeling is growing in her, much more serious than mere attraction, and that's why I didn't want it all to happen right away. That's why I make sure not to join her in our quarters when she's still awake, because she must not fall in love with me, she must not feel anything more than a colleague's affinity. I need her to be sure that things between us will not evolve, that they will remain as they are now, that there can only be great attraction between us and, with the consent of both, perfect sexual understanding... Perfect, like her. So much so that I cannot allow her to ruin her life behind someone like me, anchored to a past she can't let go of, which, although populated by traumas, is the only thing that keeps me alive. The memory of what happened that night in Scarborough keeps me prisoner in chains, slow but well-closed, blocking me forcefully every time I dare to believe I can move freely, surpassing the limits they impose on me, reminding me that I belong to that night, after which I stopped living like a normal person, starting to survive instead.

I can't let her, so young with her whole life ahead, waste time chasing me, trying to pull me out of the guilt I've been drowning in for ten years now, unable to truly succumb to it. She can't desire to spend her life beside someone like me, who out of pure egocentrism and too much self-assurance has lost everything he had. She can't force herself to live in this limbo, next to the ghost of the man I once was. And even if she did, she would soon realize what it means to live with me, with my demons, constantly tormented by physical pain, which however unbearable is nothing compared to the emotional pain, increasingly agonizing as time goes by. And then I know she wouldn't stay, she would leave me to follow her own path, her life as a free and happy woman where there's no place for me.

"Why don't you kiss me?", she asked when our lips were so close. And that's exactly the reason. It would have taken very little to give in, and I believed several times that I would, letting myself go, caught up in the emotional madness of the moment. But I had to resist, for me and for her. I can't deceive her with a promise I won't be able to keep, and I don't want to be the cause of her suffering. Those same sufferings I would like to make her forget with a kiss, losing myself completely in her eyes, venturing onto her lips like a pirate at the helm of a ship in a storm, her long dark hair like sails moved by the wind, and the curves of her body like high and sinuous waves...

An explosion and a sharp, acrid smell bring me back to reality: like a clueless first-year student, I let myself get distracted by thoughts that absolutely shouldn't cross the threshold of this classroom, and I added way too much spleenwart to the cauldron, making a mess and rendering the potion completely unusable. I empty the cauldron with a frustrated grunt and immediately pour myself a glass of Firewhiskey, sipping it with my back turned to the classroom, my gaze wandering over the expansive park before inevitably turning towards Hogsmeade. The smoke rising from the chimneys of the houses is visible even from this distance, thanks to the clear sky devoid of clouds. I imagine the chatter of the students on their trip, their comings and goings between shops and boutiques, the excited expressions of the younger ones and the relaxed ones of the older ones, finally free from studying. And I imagine that someone, even in this scenario, would seek refuge in the quiet of a shop like Tomes and Scrolls, their nose buried in the pages of a book. I can't help but think of Cassandra, it's stronger than me.