Hiding Out

Diana spent the next days staying as isolated as possible. She had always been nice to the house-elves, and they sensed her trepidation, so they brought her food into her room. She only left her room when she had to go to class. She had a lot studying to accomplish; N.E.W.T.s were pressing in on her. She changed her hairstyle when she went to Potions class. She put it up in a bun where before she had always worn her hair down. She thought that perhaps since he so seldom paid attention to her, he'd think her hair was short since she always worked in the dark back corner of the room. She was terrified of Professor Snape finding her out. He would be furious to know she had used his desire for Morgana for her own pleasure. He rarely ever had to attend to her since she was such a good potion maker. As the days passed, she just kept telling herself, five more months, just five more months, and I'll be gone and this will all be over.

What was really bothering her were the dreams she couldn't stop. She found her herself desiring him more and more. She would wake up to the sensation of him slipping in and out of her slick core. She wanted so badly at night to return, but he didn't want her, he wanted Morgana! It also didn't help being in the same room with him during class...the very room she had experienced so much passion. Just the anticipation of seeing him aroused her. The worst part was the trek down to the dungeons. She had to force herself not to look at him.

Snape watched his seventh years work their potions. Two weeks had gone by, and he was still on the lookout for his mystery lover. He had patrolled the area to see if she would return, but she had not. He hadn't heard anything from Poppy either. He walked towards the back of the room. Oh, yes, I always overlook this girl, Diane...Diana: the Scottish girl. She was always mousy and silent, working in the dark. He hardly ever noticed she was there, but always did solid work when he graded her essays and potions. He walked back towards her in her usual dark corner and saw a lock of hair fall out from her bun into her eyes. She shook it back. She was completely unaware the Potion master was eyeing her. She swiped her hair behind her ear when it came back into her eyes. She was sighing deeply and forcing her eyes to stay open.

"Is there a problem Miss Maceachran?" Snape asked from beside her.

She jumped and turned to him, scared to death. "Oh! Professor! No...no problem," she answered breathlessly as she returned to her work with rapt attention to detail.

Snape frowned at the girl, that voice... was familiar. He studied her features. She was starting to breathe deeply and was becoming increasingly nervous. Snape walked around behind her, sniffing her hair discreetly as he passed. Tea rose. And she has it up! She was the correct height, hair color, and loosely resembled Morgana. He stopped walking and bored his eyes into the back of her neck. He saw sweat forming on her nape. She is nervous! he thought. He stayed as she began to stir her potion.

"Miss Maceachran, your technique is off. Allow me to assist you," he commanded smoothly.

He placed his hand over hers in order to guide her moments. He knew as soon as he touched her hand. Diana closed her eyes...she knew it too.

At the front of the room, Morgana smiled viciously at the couple. Snape glanced up and saw the wicked smirk on the evil bitch's face. She deliberately turned her back to him.

Snape removed his hand from Diana's. He did not know what to do. He knew she was aware of him. Yet she had not denounced him. He passed her by and decided to let it be...for now. But the figure of Diana Maceachran would have to be monitored.

***

He watched Diana over the next two months. She was a fastidious student. Hard working, but silent. Helpful to others, but made them carry their own load. Being a Slytherin, he had access to her personal files. He found out she was a pure-blood, descended from the old Prewett family on her mother's side, and her father was the elderly pure-blood Scot, Archimedes Maceachran. The Maceachran, or Mac Eachran clan was an ancient Scottish Wizarding family from way up in the remote Highlands. So, she was a cousin to the Blacks, the Malfoys, and the Weasleys! Hers was a long line of Slytherins and Gryffindors. Equally separated and just as unimpressive, her family had remained unspotted during the First and Second War. Voldemort had no dealings with the Maceachrans. They obviously did nothing to avenge the deaths of their Prewett cousins: Fabian and Gideon. So, it seemed Diana was a perfect representation of this old pure-blood family: obscure, remaining unseen, unnoticed, and unattached. She would no more haul him in front of the Wizengamot for rape than do a strip tease during the End-Of-Term Feast.

He tried to recall her from his own experiences. His stint in Azkaban had seriously tampered with his memory. Although it was getting better as time passed, it remained difficult for him to dredge up mundane or fleeting memories. One can't put a memory in a Pensieve if it can't be recalled, and he didn't trust anyone enough to poke around in his mind to help him out. As much as it pained him to think about those days back in 1996...the year he murdered Albus...he had to. It was her first year.

I was excited to finally have gained the class I had coveted for so long. First years were the easiest to manipulate to my will. Fear from being far from home, being in a new place, it was almost too easy to scare them into submission. She was older. That's right; she was the one who came from the Upper Highlands. I remember scanning the room to double-check my record just to make sure I had heard correctly that she was indeed older. She had been plain, very serious, and pensive. She sat in the back and did not care to participate in class unless ordered. Her work was solid. Solid, thorough, but was not outstanding. Perhaps she could have excelled, but her work was exactly what was required. No more, no less. One thing that stuck out was that she did not show fear as the others showed fear. She watched and observed. She disliked my pictures of the depictions of the Unforgivables. More than once I would catch her looking at them instead of focusing on my lecture, but I never chided her. First, she's a Slytherin, and secondly, her work did not seem to suffer from her lack of interest.

Ah! An interesting notation from Potter...oh, yes, he had taught her Defense Against the Dark Arts during her third through sixth years.

"Diana has extremely powerful magic behind her practical work. She, at fourteen, was able to produce a corporal Patronus...a dove...without much effort or practice. She was also able to produce some basic non-verbal spells and hexes when prodded. Her efforts to produce and conjure magic of this caliber are impressive for her age, but she is not interested in delving deeper to see if she could become more powerful. I am positive if she were to apply herself she could be a very powerful witch. She is intensely dispassionate about the dark arts, to the point of non-compliance with practical lessons. More than once I had to speak roughly with her about her refusal to participate in class. She acts as if she is ashamed of her magic and finds herself more at ease with writing, tests, basically anything that has nothing to do with using her wand. It is my opinion this could bear a potential problem if not addressed."

Interesting. She is definitely not lured by the dark arts. Good for her! Fourth year, fourth year, she would have been fifteen. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the faces and where they sat. Shite, that was the year Morgana started her seduction attempts. That was a terrible year! Dealing with Potter and that randy slag everyday! Okay, focus! Diana. She was in the back, always in the back. Did her work, kept her mouth shut. Never had a lab partner. Preferred to work alone. Interesting.

He went over his notations for her O.W.L. consultation during her fifth year. Oh, yes, the architect. She came in and sat silently...didn't even ask permission! She wanted it to be over as quickly as I did. She avoided eye contact, which was irritating and disrespectful! She claimed to have worked very hard during the reconstruction of the castle and that had flamed her interest in architecture. She stayed on sight, rain or shine, living in her tent. She said she had no home to return to, but did not tell me any reason why. She just lived like a gypsy, surviving off her wits. Oh, yes, she was the nomad that I thought was a liar! I spoke to Miss Granger about her. What did she say? He racked his brain to recall his conversation with Miss Granger.

"Yes, Professor Snape, she worked...for a fourteen year old...as hard and uncomplaining as a grown wizard. She was especially interested in the complex potions that had to be made for all the various injures that occurred on site, and to create the moldings and all the magical properties that had to be restored into the masonry. Of course, she could not create the potions, but because she chose to live on site, she was able to come and go as she pleased. She sat and took notations during the potion making process, but mostly she worked in the muck and the rain with everybody else. I don't think I ever heard her complain."

So, the girl was not a braggart. He could see her, sitting across from him in her worn robes and creamy skin: the gift of being born and bred in the damp Highland air, no doubt. It was obvious she was either quite poor or extremely frugal by the state of her robes. She did not care for girlish frivolity. Her answers during her career consultation had been perfunctory, curt, and she seemed eager to get out of his office. It was a relief. He hated chatty people, especially chatty girls...unless they were randy. After all, Azkaban had left him desperate for a woman's touch...any woman's touch. Morgana Mulciber at fifteen was another Bellatrix Lestrange, fifteen going on forty, but she was still out of bounds. He probably went to see more whores during that year than all his adult life combined.

Sixth year, she would have been seventeen. I started making plans with Morgana's apprenticeship. Diana still sat in the back, never raising her hand to answer questions, just silently worked and handed everything in on time. There is just nothing unique that stands out about her! She never seemed to want to impress anyone or prove herself. She is a true loner. So what in the hell was she doing trying to curry favor with Morgana? Unless, it was the other way around and Diana was Morgana's prey. No, she can't be that naive!

Now that he knew who she was, it still did not uncomplicated matters. In fact, it compounded his miseries. Did she conceive? Was she suffering? Her body had felt very good to him. He had taken her virginity, which was an experience that he could not stop thinking about and amazed him every time he saw her. No one had ever been where he had been, and he decided he never wanted that to change. Whenever she was in the same room with him, he felt a surge of primal need to claim her as his. He felt as though he owned her and he wanted her again. He figured since circumstances had allowed him to survive the war, and now he had this young, intriguing woman whom he had taken, why should he not keep her and make a life with her? She could give him a lot of pleasure over the years, if she were so inclined. Who am I fooling? She probably just wants to forget it ever happened!

He noticed the other boys paid her no attention. At least that was a relief; he wouldn't have to murder a student for making advances towards what was his. It was apparent Morgana was the desired one. Diana was a plain replica. Why bother with a plain Jane when a goddess was in the room? Complete and utter fools! Snape knew what the other boys did not. Diana was a very passionate and sexy witch underneath her worn robes and mild demeanor. She hid and covered her incredible body well, a figure that had been trimmed and stream lined from her manual labor, making her a fit and strong lover that surprised him in her ability to match his strength. He had experienced her screaming underneath him, thrusting her body against his as she arched her back to meet his touch. She had the most supple breasts and smooth arse he had ever tasted. He wanted her now. But how will I approach her? Forget it! Even though she's eighteen, I'll have to bide my time until she's finished with school.

Knowing became the worst kind of torture. He had a face now in his pornographic dreams. Every moment with her in his classroom was unbearable. How had he ever overlooked her in the past? He would stare at the table where he took her. He relived the moment over and over. He would watch the ever-silent Miss Maceachran as she worked...always alone. She did not seem to be cordial to Morgana. She also seemed lately to be on the outs with many Slytherins. Either that, or was she distancing herself from them? He couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

***

The winter months were at a close. The struggle to keep from Diana had been torturous. So many times he wanted to go to her, but could not. He also refused to go back to the whores he normally would frequent when in such a state. He had finally experienced the purity and beauty of a virgin. She would be the only one now to relieve him. He would have to make do with satisfying himself until he could approach her appropriately and court her.

One day, in Potions class he noticed Diana was having problems creating her Draught of Living Death Potion. She was staring at the ingredient...valerian root. She slipped on her dragon hide gloves and began to slice it, but she could not do it well with the gloves. He swept to her side.

"Miss Maceachran, you must do this with your bare hands."

He went to reach for the silver knife to begin the process while Diana slowly took off her gloves. His hand accidentally grazed a protrusion from her robes. At first he froze, but then he slowly and discreetly stretched his long white fingers on it and knew. So did she. She kept her head down and did not look at him. And that damn lock of hair fell into her eyes. He glanced swiftly around the room as he cradled her womb. No one was looking. He realized now that she could not risk handling the valerian; just touching the sliced root would be absorbed into her skin and could cause complications with the pregnancy. Clever girl.

"Diana," he whispered. "Please stay after class."

After the room was empty, the two lovers stood facing one another.

"Sir, may I meet you here tonight after curfew? Around midnight?"

"Yes," he answered dryly.

She turned to leave.

"Diana, you are having my child."

"I know, Professor," she replied without turning around.

"You will call me Severus when we are alone. You have that right."

She said nothing, but left.

Until tonight, my Diana, was all he could think.