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(Content warning: do not read this chapter in a public setting.) “It hurts.
You’re hurting me!” Snape’s hand snapped back from Petunia’s as though burned.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, far more animated than his expression had been a moment before.
Petunia quietly reasoned that perhaps he had already recovered his senses from the alcohol.
The atmosphere between them was subtle and awkward, and Petunia silently regulated her breathing, trying to calm the turmoil in her heart.
She knew her actions just now had been somewhat excessive, but they had also been a test, to see whether Snape was sober.
She knew it well: losing control under the influence of alcohol was nothing but an excuse.
Petunia stopped the movement she had been about to continue, and simply stood there, gazing steadily at Snape.
It was as if she hoped to peer through those deep black eyes and glimpse the secrets within.
Snape was equally motionless, standing there like a statue.
He did not retreat a single step, nor did he speak a single word, he only bore Petunia’s gaze in silence.
A nameless, quiet thrill stirred in Petunia’s heart.
That subtle feeling spread through her without warning, leaving her both excited and tense.
The two of them stood there in silence, with no exchange of words, yet the air between them was thick with a tension that defied description.
Time seemed to slow and grow heavy in that moment, until one could almost feel each second passing.
Petunia slowly stepped forward; Snape quietly retreated half a step, his movement slight, yet betraying a kind of helplessness and passivity.
Petunia did not stop.
She stepped forward again, and the movement drove Snape back into the corner.
He pressed against the cold wall behind him, yet kept his body composed and restrained.
At that moment, Petunia suddenly rose onto her tiptoes.
Her face tilted up slightly, and she lightly brushed the corner of Snape’s lips.
The gesture was both tender and bold, like a silent challenge and an invitation at once.
Petunia drew a slow breath, and immediately caught the subtle shift in Snape.
He had clearly rinsed his mouth at some point; the smell of alcohol had been largely carried away by the water, and what remained gave off a faint, rich fragrance, suggesting that what he had drunk earlier was no ordinary wine, but something of considerable quality.
That wine fragrance intertwined with the barely-there scent of Potion that clung to Snape, not exactly pleasant, yet not quite unpleasant either.
Together they formed a unique and subtle smell, faintly intoxicating and threaded through with a hint of mystery.
Snape’s eyes flickered slightly in the dark.
He did not resist, nor did he react with any excess, he simply endured Petunia’s touch in silence.
Petunia watched Snape’s reaction, and a satisfied smile spread across her face.
In that smile there was both self-satisfaction and anticipation for what was to come.
She knew she could continue to explore this mysterious, unfathomable man.
Ruth had told her as much.
Petunia gently reached out, her fingertips lightly touching the buttons of Snape’s shirt, as though she meant to undo them.
Snape reacted swiftly again, catching her hand.
Petunia did not retreat at that.
Instead she raised an eyebrow and smiled, turned her hand over to grip his, and gently pulled it downward.
Her movements were full of provocation and confidence, as if telling Snape that whatever she had decided to do, no one could stop her.
Snape’s hand stiffened in Petunia’s grasp for a moment, seemingly caught off guard.
Yet he did not resist, he yielded to Petunia’s intent.
Petunia looked at the man before her, her heart full of satisfaction and pleasure.
She knew she had taken control of the situation.
She looked forward to what was about to happen, her heart brimming with anticipation and excitement.
“Miss Evans…” Snape’s voice seemed to carry the last faint trace of an attempt to hold back, though that trace was already vanishingly small.
“Call me Petunia.” Petunia’s tone was firm and cool.
She gripped Snape’s collar tight, as though she meant to drag all his hesitation and struggle along with him toward her.
With a sharp pull, Snape’s body tilted forward involuntarily, and his chest landed heavily against Petunia’s.
In that instant, the distance between them closed until they could nearly feel each other’s breath.
A flicker of complicated emotion passed through Snape’s eyes, but Petunia took no notice.
She pulled him toward her with force, as if drawing him into a world only she could control.
“Miss Evans, I earnestly implore you to make use of that brain of yours, negligible as it may be, and to employ your eyes — decorative as they appear to be on your face — and take a good look at what exactly you are doing at this moment!” Snape’s voice was laced with sarcasm and displeasure.
Petunia rolled her eyes with a light, careless air, and the corner of her mouth curved into a faint arc of contempt.
“Mr.
Snape, you pride yourself on being supremely clever — if I’m not mistaken, so tell me, what exactly have you been doing this whole way here?” The color drained from Snape’s face in an instant, turning dark and overcast, like a sky thick with storm clouds on the verge of breaking.
He glared at Petunia, fury flashing in his eyes, yet he was utterly powerless.
Petunia was unmoved by his anger, and inwardly laughed in cold amusement.
She understood clearly that she was not seeking this man’s favor or his love, she simply needed him to fulfill a certain purpose.
And so there was no need for her to be overly courteous or deferential toward him.
The tension between them sharpened in an instant, as though an invisible contest had quietly begun to unfold.
“Are you planning to leave?” Petunia’s voice held a shade less patience.
She lightly swept her dampened hair back over her shoulder, revealing that slightly cold, composed face.
Petunia’s question sounded like a casual inquiry, but in her heart she did not genuinely believe this man would choose to leave at a moment like this.
“Since you want me to stay, then so be it.” Snape was silent for a moment.
“Then I thank Mr.
Snape for his generosity.” A thread of mockery ran through Petunia’s words, but her hands gently encircled Snape’s neck.
Snape’s movements were somewhat clumsy.
He drew closer to Petunia slowly, each step as if sinking into deep mire.
His lips trembled slightly, and they pressed softly against Petunia’s.
In that instant, his movements were so rough and direct, his lips trembling involuntarily.
Inexperienced, but that did not mean he was clumsy.
On the contrary, his capacity to learn was startlingly swift, and Petunia could not help but smile in satisfaction.
Petunia’s hands were not idle either, going through the motions that had appeared again and again in her dreams.
Those movements seemed to carry a kind of magical rhythm, in perfect accord with her heartbeat and her breath, like a silent poem giving voice to the longing deepest within her.
Petunia could feel Snape’s heartbeat quicken without warning, as though struck by a sudden invisible gust of wind that threw his original rhythm into disarray.
She found she quite liked this change in Snape.
Perhaps she truly did have uncommon tastes.
But she could say with certainty that it did not come from any masochistic inclination, it came from the fierce desire, deep within her, to hold the dominant position in an intimate relationship.
That desire was something her last relationship had never been able to satisfy; that emptiness had always echoed within her, and now it seemed, at last, to be filled.
Snape’s breathing grew ragged, and to ease the discomfort, he put a slight distance between them.
He drew a deep breath, as if trying to calm the waves within, but it was clear that the sensation of a woman’s hands against him had been branded on him like a deep mark, and he could not shake it for a long time.
He saw that Petunia’s lips had gradually grown vivid and flush, a tempting blush rising on her cheeks like the first bloom of a flower.
Petunia’s face curved into a languid, tender smile that brightened all her features, dazzling him.
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