Jingle Jangle Jungle

Chapter 4: Jingle Jangle Jungle

Snorri Severson woke with a yell from a nightmare about Miss Grayson chasing him with the intent of tattooing 'Hermione' on his member. He sat in bed, recovering and reminding himself that since he was a writer, there were no bad experiences, only material. He gulped down a hot tea, hurried to his office, grabbed a quill, and wrote furiously while the nightmare about Miss Grayson was still haunting him.

Bellatrix was waiting in an old abandoned tower, disconcerted because she was apprehensive about Severus keeping the appointment. She had never fretted about a meeting with Tom Riddle. She considered her cowardice – more afraid of rejection than torture.

Severus arrived. "Why are we meeting here?" he asked.

"And I'm glad to see you, too," she said, embracing him.

She was lost for a while as he put an arm around her waist, drew her close, nuzzled her affectionately, and let her indulge in a long, luxurious meeting of lips and tongues.

"It's my sister," she finally answered. "She's becoming murderously jealous."

He was thinking he couldn't do anything about that, thinking he didn't know anyone with the skill and nerve needed to cope with her sister.

"I missed you," she said. "I miss you when you're not around. I wonder what you would think about what we're having for dinner, about what I'm reading, about what I'm wearing."

"I missed you, too," he said.

"Really?" she said, hauling him over to the couch and sitting beside him close enough that they were touching.

He could feel the roundness of her hip and the warmth of her thigh. He could feel her warm breath as she leaned into him to put her tongue between his lips. She unbuttoned her blouse and guided his hands inside her bra. She nibbled and murmured as he cupped her breasts. Her hands unbuttoned his trousers.

"Oh, Severus, I need this."

Her patrician face distorted as her mouth engulfed his cock and tended it lovingly. She stopped, smiled at him, and then lifted her skirt and dropped her knickers.

"Do me, my sweet," she said, lying on the floor and opening her legs as she pulled him on top of her.

Severus loved sliding into Bellatrix – listening to her intimate sighs, parting her slick flesh, nestling between her firm thighs, and best of all, watching her lovely face as he mounted her.

They were too engrossed to notice a team with evil intent sneak into the tower. It was a very young group of assassins: half a dozen virgin enchanters – six unfucked wizards.

The first wizard flung himself up the stairs only to stop, stunned by the sight of pale splayed legs, dark furry slit, and a wizard between them and in it.

Severus plunged into the depths and hurled a curse out of his depths. Hit wizard number one got the total experience of getting into a mature woman's knickers. He experienced premature ejaculation, followed by premature demise.

Severus had a few moments of wet, fleshy fun before he heard the next wizard approaching. His response was to hump Bellatrix hard enough to push her body behind an old chest. The second wizard was surprised to see her feet jerking in the air and even more surprised to see her head jerk into view on the other side of the chest

With Severus pounding her, Bellatrix did her best with her wand. "Uh." Flick. "Uh." Flick. "Uh." Flick. Hit wizard number two was struck with the intensity of Severus penetrating a pink and moist orifice. His eyes popped open; his asshole puckered; and his cock snapped to attention. Bellatrix's next spell penetrated a vital orifice. He died happy.

The third assassin was blasting away at the chest concealing the couple in congress.

Deep into coitus, Severus jammed himself completely into Bellatrix and held her hip with one hand and her neck with the other as he rolled across the floor, pausing to press into her whenever he was on top. She held on tight and grunted with the bump and grind. The assassin paused to gawk at the bare limbs that were alternately rolling with the wizard and opening for the wizard. Twelve feet from the chest, the imperative to bang Bellatrix became too great to pause for rolling, and Severus banged away with both wands. Hit wizard number three received the full impact of plumbing the twat and riding the ass of a Black sister. He groaned in ecstasy, and his nerve endings impacted from sensory overload. He fell twitching and became still.

The fourth wizard thought the pair was hopelessly lost in rutting – an all-consuming, slapping, slurping, grunting, body-jerking rut. And it was true that the witch's thighs were squeezing her wizard in the final stages of a splendid fuck as she squeezed off a splendid jinx. Hit wizard number four, quite literally, ejaculated his brains out and fell to the floor in his love-death.

The fifth wizard snuck behind the couch for an ambush.

Severus jabbed his wand with every fiber of his being as he jabbed himself with every fiber of his being into his lady's welcoming essence. Hit wizard number five was jabbed to his essence. He went blind and stumbled out the window to fall ten stories, holding his cock with both hands and spurting out his life on the way down.

Bellatrix was writhing with the joy of Severus shagging her brains out when the last assassin peered over the stairway railing. "Ahhhhhhh," went Bellatrix, as the wave of her climax hit and she simultaneously waved her wand. Hit wizard number six waved as his brain climaxed and he had his first and final la petite mort.

Severus was making his final thrusts into the aristocratic and deadly pussy while trying to think who sent the assassins. He could think of three suspects in order of likelihood. Albus? He enjoyed shooting a stream of sperm into the wanted, but uncaught, murderess. Narcissa? He savored squirting his seed into her impaled sister. Tom? He celebrated pumping the last of his goop into a once devoted follower.

Severus was thinking that this was it. It was over, final, finished, goodbye. He had had enough of life with Bellatrix. He couldn't take any more.

"Oh, Severus, they sent a sextet after us for our sex tête-à-tête. Wasn't that considerate?"

Her eyes were shining like never before. His will wilted like a starched collar in a steam room when she said, "Promise me that we'll do this again."

Dang.

There was great consternation on the part of Harmony Grayson. She had deftly written Misako Ogami out of the story only to discover that Severus was straying into the arms of a compatible villainess instead of engaging in interminable bickering with his one true pairing. The two irresponsible writers were giving Severus someone who offered him understanding, affection, and excitement in some version of an immature male fantasy while ignoring the overbearing witch with whom readers wanted to identify, and they were failing to give a bookish girl the undying romance and incredible sex that every reader knew she deserved. Men. She considered carving 'Hermione Granger' on their peckers since that's what they were thinking with. Harmony looked at the morning effort by Snorri and snorted. Just like a male to write a little pornography and quit.

She stormed into Snorri's office to find him and Biff taking an undeserved break over cups of cappuccino. And they hadn't left any for her. They looked at her thundercloud countenance and intercepted a lightning strike with raised cups and a chorus:

Ladies love outlaws like babies love stray dogs.

Outlaws touch ladies deep down in their souls.

Harmony stopped, pivoted, and stormed back out the way she came. What could a lady do with a pack of entertaining miscreants, a pair of lovable rascals? She sighed. It was obviously up to her to weave the scattered threads of the story into some semblance of acceptable literature.

Her suspicions about male incompetence were confirmed later that morning when she was ready to pencil in the plot lines for Professor Snape's two lab assistants. She couldn't choose the appropriate colors for them until she knew who they were. She would continue using purple for Hermione Granger, but the choice between pale-pink and steely-blue clearly depended on gender. She wandered into Snorri's office and asked.

"I was thinking of a pair of smart Ravenclaws," he said. "How about Cho Chang and Padma Patil?"

"You can't use Cho," said Harmony. "Everybody hates her. Nobody will read the story if we use Cho."

Snorri looked skeptical. Harmony tried her best to give him the big picture. "We could write the fan fiction equivalent of 'Anna Karenina,' but if it had Cho in it, no one would read it."

"I thought Cho was one of the good blokes," said Snorri. "What did she do?"

"She kissed Harry and cried," said Harmony.

"Cor' Blimey!"

Under Harmony's glare, Snorri searched his memory. "Cho's friend betrayed Harry Potter, and Cho defended her friend." He looked puzzled. "But defending your friend is what Harry Potter would do."

"In another version of the story, they gave Cho truth serum, and she betrayed Potter," said Harmony.

Snorri stared into the distance, recalling more of the story. "By the gods, that's worse than torture. Can you imagine the poor girl – babbling her most embarrassing secrets – to a group of smirking, anal-retentive bureaucrats? And we can guess what she babbled about. Her confusion over Cedric cutting in when she liked Harry more. Cedric, the hero who everyone thought she should prefer. His hands on her after the Yule Ball. Her anguish over Cedric dying. Her guilt when that freed her to be with the boy she liked. Her gut-wrenching love for Harry in the face of not being part of his inner circle. Her sniffling and blubbering that she would rather die than betray Harry. And then she betrays Harry. All in front of the smirking, anal-retentive bureaucrats."

"Potter never forgave her," said Harmony.

Snorri stroked his chin. "That goes against what we want to believe about Potter's character. There must be some reason that it's acceptable." His brow furrowed. "This cuts deep. There's a hierarchy of needs. A person needs to be free of physical and emotional harm, and then a person needs unconditional acceptance by a group. Only after that can a person consider self-esteem issues such as achievement and romance."

Harmony tried running with the idea. "The villain first attacked Potter when he was part of a family, when he had his basic needs. The villain never attacked when he was with his evil guardians."

"A homeless, hungry reject doesn't fight for truth and justice," said Snorri. "The next threat didn't appear until Potter was relatively safe and had friends who would stand beside him no matter what."

"How convenient," said Harmony. She paused. "Cho must be perceived as threatening the integrity of Potter's support group, without which he could not be a hero."

"There's another consideration," said Snorri. "Cho's a Ravenclaw intellectual who should repel boys, but she doesn't; she's a first-rate athlete who should intimidate boys, but she doesn't. And she's the object of desire for two Triwizard Champions. Why don't we know more about her? She's the Alma Schindler of her age."

"She's a hussy who got more attention than she deserved," declared Harmony. "And why are you smiling at me like that?"

Both were temporarily lost in thought. Harmony was thinking about one popular version of the saga where the last chapter described the characters two decades after the final battle. The final pairings had struck her as both too convenient and too improbable – except they preserved the primary support group, without which there could be neither achievement nor romance.

Harmony suddenly remembered why she had come to see Snorri. Now was the time to strike: while he was contemplative. "I think Padma Patil and Hermione Granger should be Snape's lab assistants. I already have their colors picked out. We can use pale-pink and royal-purple."

Snorri, still lost in thought about the saga being too fragile to support two truths, merely nodded.

As she was leaving the room, Harmony was thinking that she had handled everything rather well. Padma was one of Snorri's suggestions, and she was no threat since she was making eyes at Harry. On her way back to her own room, however, she had mixed feelings about their conversation. She had been pleasantly surprised at Snorri's depth of feeling. Perhaps he wasn't a complete pig. She had enjoyed being carried aloft by his reasoning. Perhaps he wasn't a complete loss. But she had seen the glint of steel and the flash of a razor. The conclusions had drawn blood. She didn't want to think about her heroes and heroines needing a support group and sacrificing innocents to preserve it. Perhaps Snorri was not a comfortable person to be around. She consoled herself with the thought that she already knew that and had no plans to associate with him.

She was ready for more consolation. If the boys could write Severus chasing every bit of skirt, then she could have the bookstore she had always dreamed about. And her favorite characters could have a bit of fun. She knew how to do it without creating a Mary Sue, too.

How charming it was to enter a new bookstore and discover it was both well-stocked and well-appointed – from an elegant chime announcing the arrival of a customer to the hardwood floors with areas containing comfortable chairs on oriental rugs to the rows and rows of packed bookshelves – and all presided over by a quite presentable wizard she had never seen before, who greeted her with a solemn nod, invited her to peruse the shelves, and declared himself available for questions in a professional manner that, primed by her recent primping for a fellow professor and her resulting heightened social awareness, had her as interested in making his acquaintance as making herself familiar with the shop, which prompted her to ask how the books were organized in a manner designed to encourage an extended response although one could never count on a wizard rising to the social occasion no matter how plainly one presented the opportunity even when, as on this occasion, he seemed eager to extend every courtesy and had even acted as though his eye had been caught by her natural beauty augmented by the earnest efforts to appear her best as part of the campaign to interest and attract a fellow instructor whose transformation had quickened her long dormant desire for a companion with whom she could share her dreams and enrich both of their lives.

"Half the store is devoted to high-volume, low-profit, recreational reading: romances of both kinds," he said.

"Of both kinds?" she asked.

"For the girls, romances in the modern sense where the heroine struggles to win her destined mate, often a dark character, initially clueless about the virtues of the fair damsel. For the boys, romances in the classical sense where the hero endures social disapproval, overcomes great odds, performs high deeds, and saves the world."

"I suppose reading any kind of book is good," said Minerva, "instead of spending their money on candy."

"A book lasts longer than a lollipop, and it's better for their teeth," he replied.

Amused by his quip, she blurted out, "These books look a bit tattered," and then mentally kicked herself. The personable young man was not going to find any virtue in a damsel that criticized his stock.

"The books on this side of the store are all second-hand," he said. "We sell them for four Sickles each. If the reader doesn't want to keep the book and hasn't damaged it, we buy it back for two Sickles."

"That makes this a rather expensive lending library," she said, wishing, once again, that she could control her critical remarks.

"From the point of view of a free, public library, yes," he agreed, "but we offer a selection that no public library matches. Follow me."

She took a few steps with him into the romance section. Seemingly endless rows of filled bookshelves opened before her.

"This space is large enough that we had to place arrows pointing to the exit on the floor," he said. "Renting a book a week from us would only cost six Galleons a year." He gave her a quizzical look. "If you'll pardon me, you have a critical air about you. Does this come from your profession?"

"I'm a professor," she said. "McGonagall, Transfiguration. But call me 'Minerva.'"

"Biff, at your service." He had recognized her, of course, from his days as a castle-elf, but didn't want to reveal that. Now that he was slightly taller than she was instead of knee-high to her, he could see that she was attractive in a severe way and not totally formidable, which had him thinking he wouldn't mind making an impression on her. "In addition to our used selection for light reading, we have a scholarly selection. In fact, some of our reference books are under lock and key."

Her interest was piqued.

"Naturally, a professor is qualified to look at them," he said, leading her to the back of the store, waving his wand to open a concealed door, and inviting her to browse at her leisure.

We can imagine that Minerva was all aflutter at the prospect of examining a new and extensive cache of manuscripts, having poured over and absorbed all that her school and established bookstores had to offer, and we might imagine that she went immediately to the section on transfigurations, but there, dear reader, we would have missed the significance that Minerva attached to her conversations with Miss Ogami, even though, it must be said, that Minerva did not entirely approve of the visitor's flirtatious nature, and we would have overlooked the weight that Minerva accorded to Miss Ogami's description of new trends in the colonies from whence came a desire to check that if this store, with its operator obviously from the colonies, had any of the volumes alluded to in the long evening discussions that had Minerva thinking there were fresh approaches to magic which would be profitable to pursue and that now had Minerva roaming the aisles containing the more theoretical books which, to her delight and surprise, did contain the most important of the output from the Denver analytical-school: Real Magic, Complex Magic, and Functional Magic, and, to her everlasting joy, did also stock the central investigations of the Seattle combinatorial-school: Magical Groups, Magical Rings, and Magical Fields, and the combined impact of finding those treasure troves did, as the reader may very well have guessed, cause Minerva to come over weak with the ethereal elation of the true scholar even as the price tag of the volumes caused her to come over weak with the impoverished state of the public school teacher.

It is at this stage of the game that Biff, paying more attention to Minerva than a casual observer might guess and noticing both her excitement and dismay, managed to deduce their causes: the core output of the two American schools combined with intellectual avarice and scholarly impecuniousness, and offered the suggestion, based as much on solicitation for a dedicated professor as on fascination for an interesting and attractive lady, that the lady try a lay-away plan that let her read a volume in the store as she paid for it in increments, which was received by the lady as both generous and ingenious since it allowed her to begin the immediate study of the material, justified her spending time in the cozy bookstore, and gave her an opportunity to make the further acquaintance of a perceptive and generous young man who did not seem averse to her company and even, by small signs, indicated her presence would be welcome.

Knowing she shouldn't jump into the middle of a subject but unable to resist seeing one of the more exotic results Misako had mentioned, Minerva took the volume on Complex Magic, settled herself in a reclining chair, and opened to the section on Linear Fractional Transfigurations. There it was, the second example in the chapter: transfiguring an infinite plane with boundary into a disk – something Minerva had believed impossible. She began reading. What she really wanted, of course, was the inverse transfiguration from finite to half-infinite. Half-infinite? What did the Americans mean by that? Well, she would soon master it. Hmm. The way the people at Denver developed them, linear fractional transfigurations weren't that difficult. She had to have these treatises.

Biff, bringing her a fresh tea and glancing at the page she was reading, said, "The trick is to do it with something harmless."

He waved his wand through a series of moves that hurt Minerva's eyes to follow.

"I should have warned you," he said.

Floating in the middle of the room was a disk of light. Another sequence of wand moves had the disk opening into a half-plane of light. The light was blocked by the walls, but where it went through the windows, it seemed to go on forever.

Yes, Biff, Wizard for Hire, knew those spells. He didn't tell Minerva that the apparently less impressive half-plane-to-disk was the basis for some of the deadliest killing curses. He was thinking there wasn't any reason to mention that particular, obscure fact.

Minerva was thinking there was more to Biff than a personable nature and was about to engage him in a deeper conversation when two school girls walked in and Biff greeted the new customers who identified themselves as Miss Patil and Miss Granger in search of Potions manuals and possibly some recreational reading, which Biff agreed with wholeheartedly since the mind had to relax occasionally, especially if, as the girls discreetly let him know, the onerous duty of being prefects weighed on them along with the honor of being lab assistants for a very demanding professor who would settle for nothing less than excellence, which was uppermost in their minds of course as they asked the courteous store operator for his help and suggestions in the matter of scholarly treatises that needed more thought before they could commit to the purchase of a pricey monograph but, in the meantime, perhaps he could recommend some high-quality romances about which they would love to have a more extended discussion except that a Transfiguration professor appeared to be radiating annoyance at what was merely youthful vitality and healthy curiosity, but possibly his initial endorsements were good enough and they could return, together or separately, at another time since they were oh so very glad that a high quality bookstore had appeared in their midst and their scholarly instincts were telling them that a friendly store operator would take them to new heights of intellectual endeavors – a thought that had them extending extremely friendly farewells with promises to return soon, particularly since a raven-haired damsel believed a level-headed wizard had looked at her with a twinkle in his eye while a fair-complexioned witch believed a knowledgeable male responded to her as a girl.

As the two were leaving, three couples entered the store and immediately split into separate genders heading toward their respective romance sections, which had Miss Patil happy that the store was prospering with long term possibilities with respect to the operator but apprehensive that he would not remember a raven-haired girl among all the customers and which had Miss Granger delighted that the Transfiguration professor would not get to monopolize the operator but apprehensive that he would forget a scholarly girl among all the excitement; but Biff did notice them pretending to examine the window display and gave them a friendly nod, which allayed their misgivings and, unknown to them, reinforced Biff's conviction that the bookstore was a better cover than the two alternatives that had been proposed: a taco stand with its low-class status and culinary mess or a career as a potions salesman with its long hours and constant travel, not to mention the bookstore justified having an intelligent assistant, who should arrive as soon as the paperwork cleared the American Administration Complex, and that it served as a convenient center for spying as a house-elf, which was desirable since fellow house-elves knew every secret in Great Britain: the location of the Dark Lord's followers, the members of the Phoenix Club, everybody's affairs, and everyone's plots, and were often desperate for a sympathetic ear, especially when accompanied by beverages that were not usually allowed household staff – high comedy, except that people were going to get killed, and the next time he would hire better assassins.

Harmony Grayson set her pen down. It was time for lunch, and the narrative had outrun her plotlines, which were stymied because she couldn't decide between crimson and dark-orange for Minerva. It was a weighty decision, and she would tackle it after lunch when she had a clearer head.

Several doors down, working into the lunch hour, Biff was penning in a post-coital scene between Severus and Bellatrix although he wasn't certain yet where to inject it.

She was coiled around her lover as relaxed and content as a boa constrictor that has raided the chicken coop and swallowed the cock of the yard.

"Have you thought about my sister?" asked Bellatrix. "She's lonesome, and she likes you."

"I don't rightly know, ma'am, about two fillies in the same corral."

"You don't think she's some kind of blonde angel, do you?" asked Bellatrix. "Don't let her sweet face and cool manners fool you. Just because she's calculating about it doesn't mean she's any less cruel."

"I'm sure she's roamed a wild range, ma'am, and kicked as high and hard as any mustang."

"Well, she's been put out to pasture now," said Bellatrix, "but she wants to be wildly ridden as she kicks high and hard."

"Are you sure it's fittin', her being your sister and all?"

"Pillow the blonde witch, Sev, before she cracks and hexes us both."

Biff, hearing a wail from the editor's office, dropped his pen and hastened to discover the source of anguish. She was staring disconsolately at a letter on her desk.

She looked up when he entered. "Are you off the sauce?"

"Well, yes," he admitted, taking a chair.

"It shows," said the editor. "Your work is regaining its literary quality." She paused. "Listen, if you're in trouble, you can tell me. I'll be more than willing to help."

"Are there problems?" asked Biff.

"I just received a note from Wizard Public Broadcast," she said. "Thanks to your rehabilitation and the squabbling of our two interns, that last chapter of 'A Pearl of a Love Story' was so disorienting and arty that they want to read it on The Sunday Evening Modern Literature Hour."

"The Kiss of Death," said Biff. "You're going to say no, of course."

"If this gets out, we'll lose half our readers," said the editor.

"Are you sure I can't offer you anything from the drawer?" she asked, setting several bottles and powders on her desk.

"For one wild moment, I thought you were offering me everything in your drawers," he said.

She frowned. "That's the type of literary license that's going to destroy us, Biff."

She sniffed and poked at her eye with a tissue. "Oh, Biff, I don't know what to do. I haven't felt this distraught since ... since four years ago when that bastard husband I had decided to divorce me." She sniffed and poked at both eyes. "He said ... he said he couldn't live with the bitch I had become."

"I remember," said Biff.

She dried her eyes. "I remember, too. You had just arrived. I was twenty-four, and my life was shattered. You were twenty and bursting with talent. I was so jealous."

She grabbed another tissue and blew her nose as the memories flooded her mind and the tears flooded her eyes. "I asked where you got all your ideas, and I still remember your answer. You told me it was like sin, the thoughts came unbidden to the mind."

She grabbed a clean tissue which was soon soaking wet. Biff was thinking she was cute when she was vulnerable. He clamped down on the unbidden thought of her soaking her drawers.

"In the beginning, you were constantly bouncing your ideas off me," she said, smiling through her tears at the sentimental remembrances. "I love being an editor."

"We've always been strictly professional," she added.

He nodded agreement.

She gave him a quizzical look. "Did your wild thought of the moment upset you?"

It took a few seconds to figure out what she was asking. He shook his head no.

"Are you sure?" she asked, rising and walking over to his chair.

"I'm sure," he said as he took her hand and guided her into his lap.

She found sitting in his lap natural and comfortable. He had always understood her, but when had she grown so fond of him? Her arms were around him, and her head was on his shoulder. Tears of release were flowing.

She was warm and cuddly. Why had it taken him so long to realize how attractive she was, how talented and compatible she was? He held her and stroked her hair. His spirit soared.

She sat up straight, grabbed his hair, and sniffled, "If you tell anyone about this, I'll tear your heart out."

Severus was feeling as grand as a maraschino cherry on a hot-fudge sundae as he walked Bellatrix to her room even though she was biting her lower lip and giving him sideways glances. Her voice was tremulous when she asked, "You won't make many demands on me this evening, will you?"

He slid into his role as easily as the bright red tidbit slides down with the thick chocolaty goodness to reveal the cold core underlying the scrumptious concoction.

"Oh, I don't know how I should stand it," she sighed. "The very thought of your tortures and indecencies brings a blush to my face and a weakness to my knees. Take pity on a lone and castaway maiden with no one to turn to in her hour of need. I am but a frail flower tossed upon the rocky shores of life."

"Ma'am, your very words have inflamed me, and I shall be heartless," he declared as he flung open the door to her boudoir. In the two steps it had taken her to enter the room, Severus had his costume of black Stetson, boots with spurs, and concealing cloak.

"Just step behind that screen, ma'am, and put on something appropriate."

She appeared a minute later in a tweed sports coat and matching skirt that reached to the floor. She had black pumps with white socks; her hair was in a bun; and she was wearing spectacles.

"My, my, if it ain't the schoolmarm, traveling West for the first time and captured by the Redskins," he said.

La brunette le plus jolie was in les prises the peaux-rouges.

A wave of his wand had her tied spread-eagled on the bed, face down with a pillow under her that lifted her bum in the air. She wondered about the authenticity of the feather pillow but recalled that Redskins didn't stint when it came to torture. Worse, this was a White-Indian who would try to show he was more Indian than the Indians. He was doing a toe-and-heel number around the bed, er, stake. "Hee. Ya. Ha. Ha." She knew Indians had a rain dance. Did they have a sex dance? Was beating on their tom-toms a euphemism?

The White-Indian reached in his cloak and whipped out the ultimate torture implement of the Great Plains: an ostrich feather.

The schoolmarm screamed.

In the adjoining room, Narcissa turned on the table light and opened her copy of 'Brothers Karamazov.' It was going to be a long evening.

A wave of the wand disposed of the schoolmarm's shoes and socks, leaving her bare to the ankles. She tried to retain her composure, but the heretofore unknown state of undress had her blushing and wiggling her pinkies in acute embarrassment. The ostrich feather passed over the bottom of her naked feet. Her toes curled as daintily as a Geisha's having an orgasm in the middle of a haiku.

After what seemed a long interval full of screams and muffled groans, Narcissa heard the rhythmic thumping of the bedstead. She thanked heaven above that there was enough left of her sister to shag although, by some miracle, these sessions produced a radiant Bellatrix showing no marks or scars whatsoever.

A little while later, Narcissa heard the door to the adjoining bedroom open and someone clank down the hallway. She looked out to see Severus heading toward the kitchen.

"I've got spurs that jingle jangle jingle."

"By all the gods," Narcissa muttered to herself. She followed Severus to the kitchen out of curiosity and watched him rummage through the refrigerator.

He noticed her. "Where's the barbecue and the corn squeezin's, ma'am?"

It irritated her that she had no idea what he was talking about. Not only that, his outfit reminded her of that godawful 'Buff, The Wizard Rider' or whatever it was that took up space in her favorite magazine even though the writer of the best serial for the periodical seemed to have either gone on the sauce or off the sauce. Nevertheless, she said, "There's some roast beef and horseradish. Help yourself."

She watched him put his plate on the table and asked, "Who are you, exactly?"

"A wrangler of colorful wisdom, ma'am."

"You mean a rider of the purple sage."

"Yes, ma'am."

His riding the pink mage had caused quite the commotion. She would watch him ride the purple sage from a safe distance.

He noticed her irritation, but he didn't worry about it since he thought something would give him a handle. He noticed what she was wearing and said, "Quite an attractive nightgown, milady. The lacework reminds one of the best that Victorian England had to offer."

"This old thing," purred Narcissa, brushing the lacework and arching her back so the nightgown showed her figure to advantage. "It can hardly match any of the originals. The Victorians dressed grandly in a grand age."

Taking his cue, Severus let his Stetson become a top-hat, his cloak become a Victorian cape, his boots and spurs morph into hiking-boots, and his wand transform into a modest but serviceable walking stick. The game was a-foot.

"I see you've recently taken a new elf into the household after suffering the loss of an energetic one," he said. "Milady is quite gracious to have accepted an old, grumpy elf and offered him the hospitality of your Manor. It is the type of deed that many Victorians aspired to but few could manage."

"Really, you're too kind," said Narcissa, "although he is a trial sometimes." Then her brow furrowed. That was supposed to be a secret. She gave him an inquisitive look.

He replied easily, as if anyone could make the elementary deductions. "The kitchen, and parts of the hallway, show signs of recent neglect. One elf left, and elves, being traditional creatures, hadn't managed to reassign the household duties before a new elf arrived. It's a new elf, not the return of the original elf, because part of the china is stacked differently. But the new elf must be old or crippled since he can't clean as well as the elf that left as evidenced by some parts of the kitchen which are still left unattended. There's some china missing and silverware bent which indicates the new elf is doing damage but only minor damage that has not yet landed him in trouble."

"Can I trust you with a secret?" asked Narcissa.

"A Victorian secret?" he asked.

"Yes, I've always dreamed about vigorous but discerning Victorian gentlemen, but I've always feared they would reject me because I wouldn't be able to act the proper Victorian lady."

"I would think any Victorian gentleman would be proud to have you as his lady. What could possibly make you think otherwise?"

"It would be my adoration of him," she said. "He would give me wild, uncontrollable, most unladylike urges."

"Surely not," he said.

"I can show you." She stood, walked over to him, and sat in his lap. "I would want to be his little kitten."

Severus let Narcissa settle comfortably and put her arms around him as he embraced her and stroked her hair until she did a good imitation of a purr.

"I admit," he said, "milady might possibly be overstepping the bounds of proper behavior."

"It's only the beginning of what I would want," she replied.

"Are you suggesting that your adoration of the gentleman would be your approach, and seductive kisses promising affection would be your method? Would you tease the gentleman?"

"Is he not constantly teasing me – preening, strutting around – while I am confined by custom to not responding?"

"Are you saying you would go beyond teasing and attempt to entice the gentleman into transgressing?"

"Oh, sir, I blush at your plain speech. Please turn your observational prowess elsewhere and spare baring my shame."

"Are you thinking that, after some proper Victorian experimenting, you would have discovered your powers as a seductress, one that no healthy male could resist?"

She leaped out of his lap. "Fie on you, sir. Not even a maid of dishonor, as I am not, deserves the lash of your sharp tongue."

He stood and stepped towards her. "Your adoration of the gentleman would be your approach, and seductive kisses promising affection would be your method." He leaned close and whispered. "And the lashes of a sharp tongue your deepest desire."

"Uncouth and unworthy of a gentleman," she cried, stepping back against the wall.

The indignities visited on the maiden in Victorian times – the tortures inflicted on a schoolmarm by Great Plains Indians – Great Societies think alike.

Biff was interrupted by the editor charging into his office. "Oh, Biff, something terrible is happening."

"They want to read the whole damn story on The Modern Literature Hour?" he asked.

"No, no, this is much worse," she said. "We're getting threats. The letters are in my office."

As he walked with her to her office, he said, "The magazine is always getting threats from the fans of the saga. But, no, you wanted this instead of the sequel to 'My Wand is Quick.'"

"These are different, Biff," she said. "I'm frightened."

He sat and read the four letters she handed him.

'If the current tale of Severus Snape continues, I cannot guarantee anybody's safety.'

'I must speak to the authors of 'A Pearl of a Love Story' as soon as possible. It is a matter of life and death.'

'STOP STOP STOP THE STORY STOP YOU MUST STOP STOP'

'You are meddling with things that ought not to be meddled with. You are warned.'

He waved his wand over them. "Yes, you're right. There's real anguish here ... and menace."

"But this story's been told a thousand times. No one's ever sent serious threats," she said. "I would have rejected the story this time if you hadn't put that twist into it."

They looked at each other.

"The twist," they both said.

"All the other hundreds of versions that I've read were strictly Granger and Snape," she said, "but you ruined the story by getting Snape involved with the Black sisters."

"Wait a minute," he said.

"Bellatrix," they both said.

"And possibly others," he said. "We've received four threats, all different."

"Four," she said. "Which four witches?"

"Too bad I can't trace the letters," he said.

She brightened. "But you can. There's that incredible bookstore. If it can turn a disk into an infinite half-whatever, I bet it has the volumes you need to do first-rate detective work."

He gave her a sad look. "That bookstore is part of the fictional story, love." He paused before delivering the rest of the bad news. "Not everything Severson and Grayson write is real. They're making up some stuff."

"Fantasy magic?" she asked. She looked disappointed. "People should be more careful what they write." She sighed. "Oh, Biff, I'm so confused. I need a break."

"There's all the stuff in your drawer," he said.

"I don't want that anymore. I want you to hold me."

Meanwhile, back at Biff's office, Harmony had arrived for a visit on the off chance that Biff thought Cho Chang deserved all the bad things that had happened to her. It would be nice to talk to a mature, reasonable person for a change. She examined his interrupted manuscript, decided the Victorian sentiments showed a fine sensibility, but the text was flat and needed panache. She steeled herself. The Victorian age was vigorous, and it would require everything within her to do it justice.

What turmoil Narcissa must have experienced when she discovered that a gentleman she had trusted with her innermost secrets because his deductive powers signified a personality refined by the ardors of higher reason turned out to be a libertine in philosopher's clothing who would now use her secret longings to breach the meager defenses she had against a world that would show her no mercy if she did but permit herself a brief moment of bliss.

He placed a forefinger in the middle of her forehead. By the time it slid to the tip of her nose, her mouth was open, and when it reach her lips, she nibbled it. His hard, warm body was only a fraction of an inch from hers when he whispered that she was the most desirable witch in all of England and he would be happy if she would grace his day with a token of affection, perhaps her arms around him. Alas, when her arms were around him, he told her in a quiet voice that she was a loving lady and this simple contact had him quite content, and this sentence, delivered in a friendly voice with no attempt on his part to be the least bit aggressive, had her pressing against him and moaning. He did nothing but tell her how comforting her touch was, and this had the lonely lady asking him to hold her, which he did in an soft embrace that conveyed his tender feelings for her and that seeped through her and warmed the inner girl that was ready to believe his devotion and offer all the big girl had in return.

It is understandable that anyone would view the following with disdain, but one must ask oneself how one would act if a wizard appeared offering strength and solace when the world was a dark and lonely place. It is true he was involved with her sister, but this was almost a recommendation given her sister's recovery from an imprisonment that had attacked her will and eroded her soul for fifteen years – and how many readers have not looked upon the companion of some lucky lady and concluded all the good ones were taken. It is true she was married, but her husband had neglected the estate and placed the family, particularly her son, in danger for the sake of a Dark Lord who daily appeared more insane and more incompetent – and how many readers have not had second thoughts about vows taken when they, the world, and the person to whom they pledged themselves seemed very different. Narcissa was more honorable than most and these thoughts cut her to the quick, and she was certain she was condemning herself to everlasting retribution for her betrayals, but she was a lady in desperate straits who had been tripped up by her own ill-advised confession that she longed to shower affection on someone who would not scorn her. The breakdown of our tormented lady began, and if it aids in providing sympathy, then it can be said that never before had Cissy shed tears of relief as she held someone.

The interlude would have been of small comfort to our lady if the gentleman had not demonstrated that he held no small desire for her and if he had not demonstrated that he was aware of her inner conflict, and for this purpose, he breathed that she should place her hands above her head and as she crossed her wrists, he induced her into swaying like an enticing younger sister while his hands slid down from her waist until his fingertips made small dents in her promising round softness and her breasts brushed against him in the way of a woman offering an invitation until she was breathing heavily and the flush of romance overcame her modesty and convinced her that surely he wanted her physically since a world where he did not was too cruel to exist and did he not say he would accept her and no greater favor could she ask as his lips and tongue crashed upon her open mouth like a wave and she pressed against him like the unstoppable tide rolling up the beach causing her to sigh and barely hear the command to raise her nightgown as he dropped between her knees and with lips and flickering tongue teased the exposed skin as she raised her garment and spread her legs to let the attention-giver express his adoration of her pleasing form to the utmost perfection of her junction where the roughness of his tongue acknowledged the cleft of a silk garment moist and reeking with arousal before making its way up her torso over her breasts and to her lips that devoured his with the promises of her heart if he would but pay proper attention to her aching self now available as she pushed her knickers down and guided his head to her need which he did rudely tend while the elegant lady cried out louder and louder until the crescendo of her primitive cries matched the crescendo of the primitive bliss that surged through the younger sister.

It would be more comforting for all if the evening had stopped at this point leaving Cissy's ultimate virtue intact, but, alas, that perception for which the fair sex so often longs in vain proved, in this case, to be her undoing although the major failing must rest on the shoulders of the gentleman since, once her heart was opened to him, she had placed her trust in him and looked to him for guidance – a fact that he could have used to take the more morally uplifting path instead of tending to the lady's deepest desires, for, contrary to her distant exterior and what anyone would conclude from her recent history, Cissy Malfoy was a woman of great appetite and she regarded the first round of the evening, imminently satisfying though it was, as a bit of caviar on toast and merely a prelude to the standing rib roast, which, like a true lady, she preferred to have served to her with style while her host joined her in the main course with a virile gusto that overshadowed any indelicate eagerness on her part with his even greater enthusiasm.

The very Devil must have prompted Severus to speak plainly to the woman now glowing in his arms. "I admire you, you know. I have watched you work to keep everything together." He paused to stroke the hair and kiss the forehead of an exemplary witch. "You keep your sister safe when the world wants to crucify her. I wish I had someone half as devoted to me." He looked into her inquisitive eyes and nodded that he was serious. "And still you're able to play and put up with us without a single complaint. I have never known anyone this strong." He had to wait while her hug squeezed the breath out of him. "I have never known anyone whose understated beauty was this breathtaking, either."

Now the reader can imagine that her lips sought his and conveyed that she would make love to him in exchange for anything that he might want to give her, which he did in full measure, causing a thrill to run through her as she carried out his whispered instructions to let her knickers fall to the floor, raise her nightgown, and spread her legs, and it is at this point that it would be diplomatic to record that he met some resistance, but honesty requires telling that he slid with all ease into a married lady who made such helpful wiggles and satisfied moans that one could very well be forgiven for suspecting that she enjoyed the spiciness of being unfaithful, especially since she nuzzled him so gratifyingly when he was completely inside her that his taking her was akin to making love to a witch who was now his, and indeed, as reluctant as anyone should be to admit it, the sounds of Cissy coupling began with the musical moans of a woman happy that a wizard was making such demanding claims on her intimate anatomy that no female could be blamed for allowing him to continue until she responded with sinuous movements that, while admittedly inappropriate for someone else's wife, did advance her participation into an excited state where she indicated with yearning groans that the male need only accept her giving him what she had pledged to another and, while we couldn't advise enjoying such an outburst of infidelity, it must be conceded that having a witch one admires surrendering to you with abandonment could close one's mind to higher morality and leave even the most prudent wizard susceptible to the charms of a classy lady overwhelmed by loving attention to the point where her squirming became frenzied, her helpless smile acknowledged her naughtiness, and the non-discerning might easily misinterpret her intense whimpers as the squeals of an unfaithful wife just before her entire system was wracked by the force of a forbidden orgasm.

Cissy's contorted face relaxed into a childlike beauty, her knees buckled, and she slid to the floor where Severus followed and held her.

Harmony dropped the quill and waved her wand to lock the door before budging up her skirt and placing her now vibrating wand in the puffy cleft of her garment as a kind and considerate bookstore owner with a past confessed that he admired her and escorted her to a secret room full of rare and unopened volumes, and as they perused an elementary treatise, the dim disk of a lonely girl unfolded into a shining half-plane of mind-searing beauty. After he had led her back to the doorway to the world with promises to wait for her, she discovered her wand was sticky, but the rumor among the older Slytherin girls was that this kept the wood supple.

On her way out of the building, she heard caterwauling from the dump Severson called an office. She crept close while keeping out of sight.

Do not forsake me O my darling,

On this my shameful day.

Do not go away in parting.

Please stay. Oh, please stay.

I do not know what fate awaits me

Now that my soul's stripped bare.

I had to face the ones who hate me.

And I lay helpless; I was helpless in their lair.

I only know I wished I'd lied,

Than say the things they made me say.

If I could I would have died.

And now it's you; now it's you I cannot sway.

You can't forgive me that I know.

I see now that you're not brave.

Just lie a coward, just lie low,

Just lie a coward in your grave.

"Holy martyr at the stake," muttered Harmony to herself. "Gryffindors are supposed to slough off that stuff, not compose odes about it. His summer job as a writer is going to his head, and he's discovering his soul."

Later that evening, Harmony tucked herself into bed still concerned that her fellow writers were going to lose the plot and mangle the story.

She tried to tell herself to go to sleep, that there was nothing she could do. Constantly checking on him and finding him apparently healthy eased her mind, and she wanted to believe that her concern for him had some benefit on a spiritual level, but she had the growing suspicion that she just wanted to see him, and she was certain this selfish desire interfered with the transference of benefits on the higher plane. She told herself to go to sleep and not be selfish, got out of bed, threw on a nightgown, and made her way to his secret lab in the dungeon where she was certain he would concoct the potions needed to overcome the Evil One if only he survived long enough. She arrived at the hidden room and peered around the corner to see his back as he worked at an impressive array of tubes and beakers.

"I know you're there, Miss Grayson."

She was struck to the core with a fear that almost equaled her relief at discovering he was both thriving and alert. There was nothing for it but to take her punishment. She stepped into the secret lab. "Wow," she said, discovering her fears could be overcome by awe of his endeavor as well as by relief at his well-being.

"I cannot believe you are spying for the enemy, but the other option of some concern for me is equally hard to accept. Tell me, Miss Grayson, what are you doing here?"

His dismissal of possible feelings for him produced a spark of anger. "I suppose to you I am but a schoolgirl incapable of the finer emotions, but I sometimes think you hold all females in such regard, and indeed, you do act as if only Professor Snape alone on this planet had any sensibilities worth considering."

She stopped, surprised by her outburst and chagrined to the core at the thought that it was an accurate description. "Sir," she added.

"Your arrival may have been fortuitous," he said. "I am discovering that this experiment needs an extra pair of hands. You can stir this beaker of blue fluid so that the emerald dust in it does not settle while making sure this larger beaker of pink, viscous solution does not boil over. I need to prepare the next compound."

For the next five minutes, her attention was fully occupied with stirring a container and adjusting a flame. After that, she listened to his explanation of what he was attempting and helped stir, mix, and distill the various components.

When the potion was completed and safely stored, he said, "It might be better for your safety that I wipe your memory of this evening. Our opponents would go to extremes for the information now in your head."

She nodded. "I understand, and it would erase my embarrassing outburst."

"But not the truth of what you said or the reason for your spying on me. Come, let me introduce you to a terrible habit. I have coffee with whiskey after experiments. It interferes with sleep and produces the strangest dreams, but I have found no other way to relax."

Harmony couldn't believe that she said, "If you are tense, you should let me rub your shoulders. It would help you and let me be of some use."

He poured the aromatic brew and handed a cup to her. "If you feel that you're of little worth without charitable acts, I shan't impede you."

It was all going too fast: the euphoria of getting her hands on Severus, the thrill of actually helping him, and his gracious acceptance of her company. All this and the caffeine-liquor concoction had her floating – floating into his lap with her arms around him, nuzzling him, and whispering her most intimate longings. And then his confession of wanting her, watching her, desiring her, not daring to approach her.

Severus turned serious. "While I swore that I would never place any witch in danger, the conflagration you have incited within me has burned out my previous resolutions which were made not knowing the fiery heat a lady of substance could produce within me and make me question my reluctance to drag anyone on the path fraught with peril that I must tread, and so the choice is yours to make, Harmony, and I know you will choose with all the cunning and ambition that runs through every fiber of your being."

The Slytherin tendency to support the strong is frequently misunderstood or even reviled, but it is the strong who, at a critical moment, often need a extra push to win through and carry the day for us all whereas supporting the weak to rise to mediocrity is, in comparison, a paltry affair. And those with great strengths have great faults, and their companions must abide both. Thus, with every strand of her cunning and ambition, Harmony Grayson decided she would stand beside Severus Snape. She would celebrate what he was and fill the void of what he was not.

What followed was no model of wild lust or prolonged erotica, but merely the somewhat awkward consummation of their decision to be a pair. He did have the presence of mind to encourage the fairer sex by means of graceful nibbles and whispered endearments, and these did prompt her to run her hands over his torso and eventually unfasten his shirt whereupon she unfastened hers in return, which prompted him to cup her silk-covered breast, creating such a need for more that she had soon tossed aside both shirt and bra and was guiding his lips to her nipples. His kisses seemed divine enough that, at first, she wanted them to go on forever, but his lavishing attention on her breasts produced an ache between her legs that not even her virgin blushes could deny, and which caused her to tentatively, and then with enthusiasm, check if he had a similar reaction. Once she found his erection, she could not let go – it was an expression of his desire for her that she wished above all else. With some embarrassment, but not able to stop herself, she unbuttoned his trousers, and when she reached in and held him, she was so transported that she did not realize she had just soaked her knickers although she was now thinking that they were certainly in the way. Prompted by romance into activity she had never imagined, she stood, rid herself of an impeding garment, and straddled her dearest, ready for an intimacy that would have caused her hesitation if it were not for their burning devotion. Despite the sensation of his entering member flooding her system and her lust shutting down her critical faculties, she was aware that he was taking her slowly and gently with obvious concern for her well-being. Then he was all the way in, and she was gripping him and panting from the shock of penetration. Severus held her until her defenses went down, and then he enjoyed the sound and feel of Harmony Grayson making love to her chosen wizard. The first time was too overwhelming for her to notice that, at first, she liked it, and then, she wanted it, and finally, she couldn't stop her frantic jerking and animal grunts. Just before she thought she would scream, a white light burst in her brain and she cried out, "Oh, Severus." He held her as the flutter of her supreme moment subsided and she slowly went limp. He was glad for her.

As the afterglow was seeping through her and she was becoming one with her partner, a wild-looking figure charged into the secret lab.

"Success, Severus. Success, my boy. Beyond our fondest hopes," said Dumbledore. "Your potion has Narcissa and Bellatrix cutting a swath through the Death Eaters. Bellatrix even infected a Dementor and it's spreading through their ranks. The evil-doers are finished."

"What?" exclaimed Harmony. "You've been cheating on me? With married women?"

Her brain cells bent. "Bellatrix did a Dementor?!"

They were all thinking an aphrodisiac that powerful might be profitable – even married couples were a market.

Dumbledore noticed Miss Grayson's naked thighs straddling her professor and addressed Snape. "If you haven't yet, there's no reason to make her squeal, old bean. We've won."

Miss Grayson was thinking that was a good reason to do so – a time-honored victory rite. She looked at Dumbledore. "We're having a private moment, sir, if you don't mind."

Harmony Grayson's eyes popped open, and she made a silent vow: no more pistachio-nut ice cream on top of anchovy pizza.

______________________________________________________

Author note one: I wish this chapter were not so long.

Author note two: I have no idea where this story is going.

Author note three: I'm beginning to think stream-of-consciousness arose from Victorian Literature by way of omitting punctuation.