Snape had come across Winnie a bit unexpectedly that day, the dazzling sunlight streaming through the castle windows and highlighting dancing motes of dust so that it seemed the air was full of golden glitter. He had been swishing down a corridor in his usual way, his cloak streaming behind him, looking for all the world like a giant bat, when she had stepped out from around a corner with three other seventh-year girls and placed herself, coincidentally, in his path. Her hands had been moving in time with her speech, great broad armstrokes flailing through the air, and one hand happened to slip under Snape's arm and knock to the floor a bottle he'd been carrying.
The girls' laughing banter fell to an abrupt halt. Snape eyed the girls- one had such lovely copper curls; if only Winnie were a redhead- with menace. "Detention, Miss Gibson. In my office tonight, 9pm. And a point from Ravenclaw, each of you, for your carelessness."
"But I'm from Gryffindor!" spouted one of the girls.
Snape sneered. "Then five from Gryffindor as well. Move along." He casually swept away, leaving the fragments of the bottle- a drink he had finished moments earlier- on the floor, and the girls huddled together, their eyes as round as their impertinent mouths.
It had happened on a whim, but by nine o'clock Snape was glad for it. He had been in a particularly nasty mood lately, and all of Winnie's little innuendos hadn't helped. She had taken, in the past few days, to all sorts of extravagant bending and stretching in class, or sitting with her legs spread and her skirt hiked so that Snape alone, from the front of the class, could see. He was pleasantly prepared to punish her soundly, and it gave him a slight thrill to think that she didn't know what to expect.
The sound of her voice as she stepped into his office reaffirmed this sentiment and filled him with wicked glee. "Professor?" she called from the door, and her voice was a bit shaken.
"Come in and sit, Miss Gibson."
She followed his orders terrifically. Those perfect, wide eyes watched him cautiously as he moved from behind the desk and he stood before her, leaning back, his thin lips stretched into a taut smile.
"You're being punished tonight, Miss Gibson, because you have been a thorn in my side for some weeks now, and I don't feel you are showing me the proper respect." The look on the girl's face was perfect; she was crestfallen, her eyes brimming with tears. Why had Lily never looked at him like that, as if his very words could make or break her heart? "Stand up," he ordered, and his voice was thick with more emotion than he had felt in years.
Winnie stood, her body trembling. She didn't seem to know where to look, casting her gaze from Snape's cluttered desk, to his bookshelf, to the vials and bottles that stood collecting dust around the room. Snape let the moment drag on, savoring her suffering. At last, when he felt she was properly frightened, he growled, "Remove your robe."
She looked at him with apparent surprise- and, he was pleased to note, instant arousal. He didn't have to ask her again; she disrobed hurriedly and stood quite still in a thin cotton shift, the white skin of her legs prickled with goosebumps. Snape couldn't help himself, though he would have liked to have kept her waiting. He moved forward, placing a firm hand on her hip, and looked into her eyes.
It was Lily looking back at him, Lily shaking at his touch, Lily's perfect eyes almost taunting him, almost begging him. He pulled her to him with violent longing and pressed his mouth to hers as if he could make this moment real, as if only the force of his desire could bring Lily back to him. His hands ran along her body greedily, pulling up the cotton shift and tossing it carelessly aside. The girl's chest responded to his touch, heaving forward, her back arched. She was draped across his arm, her long white neck begging for his teeth, and he acquiesced to its demand as his hand sought the warmth between her legs and his long fingers plunged inside of her without warning. She let out a low moan but didn't stop him as roughly fondled her. Snape felt her coming close to the edge of her passion and freed his hand from her pressing thighs, making her cry out: "Oh no, please!" He ignored her plea and scooped her up into his arms, flinging her down to the cold stone floor. He was atop her, grinding in to her, his hungry mouth nipping at her, his rough hands scratching at her hips and wrists. She tugged at his robes, yanking them off almost savagely, and within moments he was inside of her, hard and angry, thrusting viciously, his face drenched with sweat.
"Don't close your eyes!" he hissed at her, and she obeyed though he could tell it was hard for her. She was moaning so loudly he wondered, fleetingly, if the whole castle could hear. Snape lifted the girl's legs up from his hips and rested them on his shoulders, pulling himself up on to his knees and taking her hard and swift, driving into her with all the force he could muster. Those eyes, those lovely emeralds, stayed locked to his own dark and vengeful gaze. He thought about how it would feel if they were Lily's eyes looking up at him, so full of pain and pleasure and fear and need, and with one final, longing thrust he felt a great sense of release and only one word echoed in his mind: Lily!
Snape collapsed atop the girl, gasping and trembling. He was soft, and he felt his seed spill from her as he rolled away from Winnie on to his back, the cool ground welcoming. He caught his breath. Almost all of the warmth of orgasm had left him, and he felt suddenly hollow. Beside him Winnie stirred, and all he could think was how much he wished she would leave so he could be alone with his thoughts and the cold stone floor. But he could feel her watching him. He cracked an eye to find her sitting up, staring. He had expected her to look sad, abused, tormented…but instead she looked curious, and strangely pleased.
"Never-" she began, her voice breathy and her bright eyes oddly eager, but Snape interrupted her.
"I don't know how you feel, and I'm not sure I wish to." He sat up, smoothing his hair back. "We musn't do this again."
"Right, because you're a professor and all, I know. The thing is, sir," Winnie added hastily, catching the dark glint in his eyes, "I don't care! Honestly! I want this and-"
"I cannot give you what you want, Winnie," Snape sighed, and his voice was oddly sad. He was surprised with himself, surprised at how much he regretted what he would have to say next- not because of this girl, but because this fact would always remain, no matter to whom he was speaking: "I cannot love you."
There was quiet in the room for a moment. Snape didn't look at the girl, didn't care to. The hollow feeling in his chest was spreading to his lungs and limbs and he felt he would soon suffocate if she didn't leave.
To Snape's great relief, Winnie stood and yanked on her cotton shift, her Ravenclaw robe. "You must think I'm an idiot," she said in a low whisper, almost as if she were saying it to herself and not Snape. Snape said nothing, keeping his eyes on the floor. He didn't want to see the body he had pillaged, or the eyes that had called to him and promised him false hope. She seemed to grow braver in his silence, and went on. "Is that what you thought this was? Some foolish schoolgirl crush?" She made a disbelieving sort of noise as she tugged on her socks. "I wanted you, Professor. And I got exactly what I wanted."
Taking him by surprise, Winnie grasped Snape's chin and tilted his face up so his eyes met hers. "I don't want your love, and anyway- whatever this was? I'm not stupid enough to tell myself it was anything close to lovemaking. If anything, it felt more like hate." She released him and placed her feet carefully into her shoes. "But you know what? I liked it anyway. It felt amazing. I don't know who you were thinking of, and I don't care. I've never been fucked that well, Professor, and if you want me again I won't say no." And with that she swept from the room, pulling the door closed with a clang behind her.
Snape laid back on the cool floor again and laid his arm over his eyes, letting the hollow feeling in his chest consume him.