Dreams and Realities

A/N: Thanks to my beta, not_london!

***

The students were beyond excited the prospect of another History of Magic teacher. Genevieve was definitely a very popular teacher, especially with the boys. She never wore robes, at least as far as Snape was aware. Her dresses were always tightly fitted around her breasts, waist, and arms, and the neckline curved just low enough to show the fullness of her ample bosom. Her skirts were always full and flowing down to the floor. Her long arms showed no skin, her dresses always fully covered her arms down to her wrists. Her colors were always Slytherin: in either various shades of silver or green. Snape began to love meal times. He would watch her walk down the main walkway up to her seat at the Head Table. True, her seat was not near his, but he could watch from a distance and admire her mannerisms and graceful movements.

Not since Lily have I ever seen such beauty! he exclaimed one day to himself as she walked into the Great Hall for breakfast. Her dress was of forest green taffeta that swished noisily as she made her way towards the table. Each day, Snape watched in amazement, as she would glide into the Great Hall. She was indeed an exquisite beauty. Her shiny black hair and translucent skin stood out in such drastic contrast with each other. She had her mother's features, high cheekbones, the thin, pert nose of a Frenchwoman, but her eyes were heavy-lidded, dark and mysterious, like her Slavic father, but set with such brilliant blue eyes. Her mouth was small and her lips always flushed red. Her upper lip was a little thin, and her lower lip so full, she seemed to always pout, but it was an illusion. Her eyebrows were dramatically shaped, and she took wondrous care for her face and hair. At times, Severus wished just once she would allow herself to wear her hair down, but she never did. She wore it in elaborate styles, but always up. He fantasized holding her above him, straddling him, as he would run his fingers through her hair and have it tumble down his chest. Her body was tall and fluid. She had elegant white hands that never ceased to move in graceful motion. It took a great deal of self-control for Snape to keep himself from staring at the young beauty.

What Snape did not realize was that Genevieve knew exactly what she was doing to the wizard. She choreographed every movement, every moment, from her entrance into the Great Hall for meals to her exit afterwards, were small bits of theater to seduce the Potions master. She knew she wanted him to be hers. She had known since she was ten. So, she carried herself with grace and purpose, never giving an air that she ever thought of him. But, inside her heart and mind, he was all she ever thought of.

For Snape, since that day he met with her in Dumbledore's office, had not bucked up the courage to speak with her. One day he found himself in the library, watching her study and look through various books. He saw a stray lock fall from the elaborate bun she always wore. He wanted so badly to wind his finger around that stray lock, perhaps to steal it away and keep it. He backed away and hid behind a row of books where she could not see him, his heart racing a mile a minute. He berated himself for acting and feeling like a dunderheaded schoolboy.

I can't do this! Remember the last time you thought this way? You lost. You will always lose! Forget her! he thought angrily.

But he could not forget. He tried hard to refuse her smiles as they passed in halls and at staff meetings. He stuck to his old tried and true method of cruel mockeries and sarcastic comments whenever he was forced to be in her presence, mostly during staff meetings. He secretly hoped she would only hate him...just enough.

***

One night, Snape was prowling again and suddenly found himself at her door. The door was ajar and the light was on. He heard singing coming from her room. He stood in the dark and peered into the light.

He remembered the night, so long ago when a little girl had danced with him to this song. Couldn't be that after all this time...she had kept him in her thoughts? He backed away from the door, shaming himself for intruding on such a personal and private moment. But damn! She should close her door! Any boy could stumble upon her! That is it! Snape gathered up his courage and put on his most lethal glare and rapped sharply on the door.

Abruptly, her singing stopped and he heard shuffling. She came to the door and opened it a crack more. Ah! At least she is wearing a robe! he thought. But why was he feeling a bit of disappointment?

Snape was having a difficult time of it. Seeing her in that negligee had stirred the proverbial pot. He knew now that she cared for him. How was he going to manage all this? And to top if off, he'd insulted her! Called her singing caterwauling! I am a snarky bastard! he thought miserably.

He slowly entered her room and took her head in his hands and softly kissed her lips. She was so beautiful! He hungered to feel her skin and to taste her. He fell to his knees and grabbed her legs, lifting her negligee, blessing God she wore no knickers. He buried his face gently between her legs and traveled up to her breasts as she gasped and moaned for more. Time slipped away. He found himself in her bed, naked, loving her slow and easy. He found it no surprise that she was a virgin. He reveled in her eagerness and abandon for him. She was no longer a girl, but a woman ready for a man to claim her...and what was stunning was that she wanted him to be that man!

Severus woke up drenched in sweat and shouting, "Genevieve," as his climax spilled all over his sheets. It was all a dream! He swore at himself. What am I going to do? I cannot go on like this! he thought as he fell back on his sweat-soaked bed.

***

He tried to maintain his surly manner with her, but she seemed so impervious to his foul moods and cutting remarks, he found himself easily taken off guard. She would smile sweetly as if she knew him. Every time he found her in his presence, he would feel as if naked and bare. Perhaps she is a Legilimens? No, I would feel her probing in my mind," he ascertained.

One day he found himself alone in the faculty lounge with her. He had been taking tea when she slipped in. His back was to the door, but her scent and the gentle swish of her skirt was enough for him to know it was she.

She came over to the side where he was sitting, facing the fireplace.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she said sweetly.

Snape appraised her attire. He glared at her silver-grey dress. Damn, it wasn't low-cut enough to see the swell of her breasts! He turned back to attend to his tea and stared into the fireplace as he ripped into her verbally.

"I see you have a more appropriate dress on today, Professor," he said sourly. "I pity the young boys around here that have to be around you constantly assaulting their vision with your usual inappropriate attire. Decorum, Miss Toussaint, seems to be something you lack."

He expected her to either turn tail and run away crying or rail at him for being rude. She did neither.

"My, Professor Snape, I am truly flattered. I never realized you noticed anything I wore. But, if your mind needs to feel at ease, know that I always wear my robes in my classroom. Good day."

And with that, she went to pour herself a cup of tea, nestled in an armchair opposite from the Potions master and busied herself with a book she had brought with her. From time to time, Snape would flash his eyes over to her, just to see if she were stealing glances at him. She did not. It was as if she had completely dismissed him from her mind. Snape was livid that she should ignore him so. Frustrated, he jumped up, strode to the door and left in a huff. Genevieve smiled behind her book.

What the Potions master did not realize was that the young woman was already deeply in love with the dour and irascible man and had been since she was ten years old. She knew his many faults...due to her father's attitude towards him...was completely aware of his insecurities, but it did not matter. She had bound herself to him because she could see past the darkness and bitterness to the hungry, immature, love-starved man who needed comfort so badly.

So she continued in her plan to win his love with her graciousness and aloof admiration. She would never venture him out, never would intrude upon him, but when their mutual presence was required, she made herself as mysterious and lovely as she could. A slight smile, a close brush "accidentally" against his frame, always in her most elegant dresses that revealed her beauty. She never wore her hair down, but up in seductive tresses, coifs and twists. She was quite aware of the Potion master's stares of desire upon her, but she never let on she was aware. He was much too proud. He would have to come to her. Even if it took twenty years!

She suffered for a torturous semester, having decided to save her virginity for him long ago, she spent many a frustrated night exploring her body and fondling herself. Now that he was in such close proximity to her, the torture was unbearable! Many nights she spent crying and screaming his name into her pillow while thrusting her fingers inside her. But it was never enough; fingers were a pitiful substitute for what she truly needed. The mornings following such intense exertions, slight dark circles under her eyes would show, and a glow about her face with flushed lips and cheeks would send many staff members into a gossiping frenzy. But Severus, ever the voyeur, knew of her isolation. He was quite aware no man was coming into her rooms. So, why was she at times so bloody exhausted some mornings? he wondered.

After the tortuous semester ended, summer came, and with the students gone, Severus started to slowly drop his icy demeanor and began to speak in more cordial tones towards the young woman. Cordial moments at the dinner table turned into walks along the hallways, and those walks turned into moonlight strolls. During these strolls their hands would meet, and Snape would savor the silence of the young woman. She was a very quiet and pensive lady. Serious thoughts plagued her and because of this, she never expected forced conversation. He loved that she shared his need for quiet and silence. Sometimes, an hour constitutional would be spent in total silence. Holding hands and walking close, his billowing robes would brush against her silver cloak. I love this woman, he thought earnestly during one evening stroll.

"Genevieve, would you care to join me in my study for a glass of wine?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

That evening, she had taken the goblet he offered and lingered her fingers on his. She leaned in close and whispered, "You may kiss me now."

He took the goblet and set it down. She was so sure of herself, so sure of him. He slowly brushed his lips across hers, and she hungrily moaned for more. He kissed her more passionately then, reveling in the softness of her lips that she offered so willingly. When they drew apart, breathing heavily, he couldn't take his eyes off the liquid blue pools of desire in her eyes.

"I must go," she whispered.

That night, Genevieve and Severus suffered alone in their agony of need, but the time was not right for the young woman. She needed to know him more, that he truly loved her. The Potions master was surprising her at every turn. She thought she knew him, through her father's discussions of him mixed with her own ideals from that one evening when she was a child. But her ideals were crashing down and it was unnerving. He was complex, true, but spending time with him was making her take him off the pedestal on which she had placed him so long ago. He was becoming a real flesh and blood man, a man that shared a few personality traits as herself. She loved that she could just be with the wizard, not have to continue to dazzle and preen. She loved that he relished the silence as much as she did. He was becoming different and more than she had hoped for.

The next month continued thus, Snape was enraptured with the beautiful Genevieve. She had no opinions or knowledge for potions, but she was a very caring and interesting person in her own right. They spent hours talking about history, and she asked him to share with her his passion for potion making. Snape learnt she was a fantastic listener; a stray comment made about an ingredient would come up in a question she would ask perhaps two days later. She never ceased to surprise him with her memory. The Dark Arts was one topic she fiercely wanted to avoid. She knew he carried the Dark Mark, but it couldn't be helped, she had said. "What has been done has been done." She never judged him for it. Life was perfect.