WARNING: This is a slash story, which means it contains male/male erotic content involving consenting adults. If you're not of legal age or are offended by such material, please go find something else to read.

Title: Notes
Author: Salix
E-Mail: salixbabylon@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Summary: Inspired by the SSFQF, Scenario 25: Love letters by owl post. Someone is using the school owls to send Severus love letters.
Disclaimer: Characters and places in this story, which appear in the Harry Potter novels, belong to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros. and Scholastic. I don't make, or intend to make money out of them. They just wouldn’t leave me alone.
Thanks: Always to Cindy Lou. Unending gratitude to betas: Bettyblue, Olivia Lupin, and Kathryn.

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Tuesday

The Potions Master returned to his chambers after dinner on Tuesday to find a plain brown school owl waiting at his windowsill. It flew away the moment he detached the note. The square of parchment had been enchanted so that the handwritten ink looked typeset.

//Every time I see your hands I think about sucking your strong fingers. Would they taste slightly of salt, like mine, or would the potions that sometimes stain your flesh have a flavor?

Would it be dangerous? Would I be poisoned? Or merely risk the peril of that glare for presuming to taste you?

You make my mouth water.//

He turned the parchment over several times, looking for anything that might indicate a sender, or a recipient other than him. Not that there would be many other people with potions-stained fingers at Hogwarts. His brow creased for a moment, then he threw the note into a cavernous desk drawer and forgot about it with the help of a hot bath and a glass of port.

Wednesday

Again, after dinner, an owl was at his window. He let it in, but contemplated not taking the note. The owl hopped around, shaking its leg adamantly. It was another of the Hogwarts owls. Plain string binding the note to the owl’s leg. Unremarkable parchment. No name on the outside.

Finally he took the note off of the agitated owl, which nipped him in rebuff. “Blasted beast,” he muttered as he slammed the window shut.

//I wonder what your mouth tastes like. Do you drink tea throughout the day? Maybe a tisane? Coffee? Water? Is your tongue sweet or bitter?

Your words are clearly never sweet, in public, but I wonder if in private you’ve ever whispered endearments to a lover?

I dream about your narrow lips, cool from the dungeons, gently pressing mine as I dip my tongue into your mouth and taste you. Nibbling along my neck, whispering in my ear that you want me, making my knees buckle…

You DO make my mouth water.//

Severus wanted to burn it. His fingers itched to throw the letter into the fireplace and reduce it to ash. He did not want to know who sent it. Obviously someone at Hogwarts. Staff or a student; certainly no one he would ever be interested in. He did not care. He would not think about it.

He dropped the note in the drawer on top of the other one and went to pour himself another glass of port.

Thursday

Thursday night he poured himself the glass of port before he opened the window. It was a different owl this time also, he noticed, though just as uppity as the others at having been made to wait outside until Severus deigned to let it in. This owl too flew away the moment the note was removed.

//I know you probably are just ignoring these letters. Maybe you’re not even reading them. Doubtless it disturbs you to think someone at Hogwarts fancies you.

There’s a great chance that you think this is all just a hoax to make you look a fool.

It’s not.

I know you’d rather die than look foolish. I wish you weren’t so afraid to look silly, I wish you wouldn’t rather people fear you than like you... But I don’t want you to change either.

I want you the way you are.

Oh, how I want you.//

Three letters. He was beginning to feel… annoyed. This one went on top of the others. He refused to think about why he wasn’t simply burning them.

Saturday

He let the owl in straight away.

//I’m sorry to have missed yesterday; something came up. You seemed a bit put out at breakfast; do you so hate to have your routines disturbed? Could I be a part of your routine already? Perhaps you just felt under the weather.

I would give anything to be part of your daily routine. To catch your eye knowingly in the Great Hall, to meet you in your office for a passionate tryst during your free period after lunch, to watch you in the evenings when you do research or read or whatever it is you do all alone down there in the dungeons.

I know you don’t have visitors. I’ve been watching you for a while now.

Are you lonely?

You do know it’s purely by choice, don’t you? You’re devastatingly sexy. Mysterious. Intriguing. I know I’m not the only one who thinks so. I hate to think of you with others. Wanting someone else. Loving someone else. Touching them.

It’s my body yours should be pressed against, my skin burning under your confident touch, my tongue tangling with yours, my heart pounding as you moan in pleasure, my orgasm sparking yours, my sticky body under your heaving chest, my eyes watching as you sleep. My lips kissing you awake every morning.

I hate you for being too blind to see me. I hate feeling like some melodramatic kid, saying I’ll die without you. But I might. Or at least be only half-alive.

No, I don’t hate you anymore. I wish I did. It was easier. I am quite fond of you, even in your moods.

And it doesn't hurt that I want to shag you senseless.//

Someone had been watching his comings and goings. Someone who knew him well. Someone jealous. Someone who thought he didn’t notice them… And clearly he had not.

The “anymore” haunted him. An irritating clue. Someone who used to hate him, but didn’t anymore. Black? Lupin? Malfoy? No, this was someone he didn’t notice. One of the students? They all hated him. Potter? Malfoy? The other Slytherins? No, they got plenty of his attention. Potter certainly couldn't claim that Snape didn't see him; he got more notice than any other student with the misfortune to grace Snape’s presence. Perhaps one of the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs, then?

He read the note again. Oh. It could even be a female. Trelawney? Hooch? He shivered. Granger? Patil? Bones? Repugnant. Please, not a female student with a crush. How trite. Didn’t the students still gossip about him being queer? Surely that rumor had never been quelled. Especially as it wasn’t just a rumor.

This was not useful. How could he make a list of people he didn’t notice? Impossible to even try.

The letter went in the drawer.

Sunday

//I was reading some poetry last night and was reminded of haikus and their simplicity. These may not be to your liking, but they are simple musings, the work of a moment:

Obsidian ice.

Eyes burn through coarse woolen robes

Sear my lusty flesh

You move like a snake -

Frozen, then gone, biting hard.

Your venom heals me.

I cannot believe that I’m writing poetry about you.//

Severus took the parchment to his laboratory and gently painted a thin coat of liquid over the back to see if any trace of the author showed up, physical or magical. The words "No Cheating" appeared instead. He gritted his teeth as he balled up the parchment, squeezing it as small as possible, trying to make it go away.

Who was tormenting him like this? Who would bother? Some repressed student? He shuddered. Hopeful colleague? Doubtful. No, he would not give them the satisfaction of upsetting him. He was not curious, he told himself as he strode back to his chamber. He did not care. He would not be driven to distraction with the need to know.

He forgot that he wasn't curious as he dropped the crumpled ball in the drawer, and pulled out one of the earlier notes to examine the parchment. Average quality. Unremarkable in every way. And available everywhere, even perhaps at Muggle stationers. Which hardly narrowed it down at all.

He slammed the drawer and grabbed the whiskey as he headed to the bath.

Monday

Before his first class, even before breakfast, Severus went to the Owlery. If he couldn't track the parchment or the handwriting, maybe he could track the owls to see who was using them internally. If one ever waited for a response, he might be able to track where it went. He'd spent all night searching his books and finally discovered a charm that might work, despite the usual confidentiality of owl post.

Unfortunately, as soon as he pulled out his wand, Dumbledore appeared, twinkling at him and asking, "Good morning Severus. Are you hexing the owls?" in a conversational sort of way.

He growled a little, hating morning people in general and the Headmaster in the morning in particular. "Not hexing, per se," he mumbled through clenched jaws.

Dumbledore walked him to breakfast.

With his afternoon tea, Severus wondered if perhaps the Headmaster's presence hadn’t been a coincidence. His secret admirer couldn't be Albus, could it? His skin crawled and his brain itself cringed for a moment. No, best not entertain that thought. It could not be true, and even if it was, it could not be. Simple, circular logic.

He skipped dinner, but the owl still came at the usual time.

//You definitely seemed out of sorts today. Perhaps the poetry is off-putting? I didn't think it was brilliant, but I'm still surprised at your reaction.

I want you so badly, every moment of the day. I’m surprised the others haven’t noticed my nearly constant distraction and flushed cheeks. My skin burns for your touch and seeing you across the room makes me instantly aroused.

I want to pull you into a dark corner, follow you home, take you to my room. Shove you against a wall, press up against you, kiss you with every bit of skill I possess. Fit my body to yours, taste your tongue, lick your teeth, feel the grain of your slight stubble against my cheek. I imagine your skin to be cold at first, and then flaring into heat as your passion over-takes you.

Although I want to seduce you, I know I would end up moaning and writhing against you, begging for more long before you lost enough self-control to do the same. I’m not interested in staying in control with you; I want to revel in the freedom of heady lust.

I want you on top of me, behind me, underneath me, around me, in me, everywhere, all of it. I want you, I want you, I want you. Now.

How do you want me?//

Severus felt his cheeks burning and pulse pounding as he opened the drawer and carefully set the note on top of the others.

Tuesday

//I realized that last night's missive was perhaps self-centered. What do you want?

Do you want to be seduced? Have me slowly pursue you with these notes, eventually catching your eyes during meals, popping up unannounced to chat you up, accidentally on purpose touching you casually, asking you out on a date or to dinner away from the school… A slow courtship, getting to see a surprisingly tender, secret facet of you, slowly stealing into your heart and giving you the love you’ve always wanted and never known?

After weeks of gradually getting to know you better, finally kissing you, learning every texture and taste of your face and mouth, with no thoughts of sex, just enjoying the moments with each other. And then much later, bed. Hours of slow, sweet love-making, gentle and thorough, culminating in simultaneous climax. Followed by tender words, pledges of love eternal, and sweet descent into the oblivion of sleep entwined in each other’s arms. Is that what you want?

Or do you want a servant, someone willing to call you Master and give you the respect and obedience you so publicly seem to crave? Someone to lick your boots and polish your leather. Would you be satisfied with my submission or would you want to tie me up and beat me and tease me until pleasure and pain are so mixed up that more of either would make me come? Do you want to be cruel in your lust? Powerful?

Or perhaps you would want me to be cruel to you? Punish you for your daily sins, your past, take it out on your flesh… Tempting…

Or maybe you just want a casual lover, an undemanding friendship, no grand passion or romance or elaborate scenarios or power struggles? A standing weekly appointment for drinks after dinner, followed by straightforward, uncomplicated fucking, and then each off to our own beds to sleep. No actual change in our relationship, our lives. Safe.

I can be anything you want me to be.

I will take whatever you would be willing to offer.//

Intriguing… Who would be so infatuated with him as to offer to be whatever he wanted them to be? Who could possibly be equally happy with gentle romance or dominance and submission? The writer didn’t seem as happy with the final casual option, though, and more than just a touch desperate.

Points for honesty, though… Intriguing.

Wednesday

//Yesterday your hair looked so glossy and fine… I thought about it all day, and dreamed about it all night…

Black silk strands trailing

Like liquid ink splashing skin

Write your lust on me

Today I can’t think about you without getting hard.//

Well, at least that solved the question of the gender of the author.

Severus was disturbed that his body seemed to be having reactions to the last few notes that his mind had not approved. Still, he refused to think about it.

He was not at all curious. Not even slightly.

Thursday

Thursday was a very bad day for Severus. In four classes the students had managed to explode things; several of them seemed to be getting stupider as they aged, and he would have to supervise ten collective hours of detention over the weekend instead of having a well-deserved respite from the imbeciles. Days like this made him question why he was a teacher when he so actively disliked children.

He had never come up with a good answer, over the years. He just accepted it as his penance and kept a bottle of strong drink nearby to ease his fury, at the children, at the world, at himself.

Picking at his dinner in the Great Hall, he suddenly hoped that he would get another note tonight.

He wanted it.

It would be the only good thing to happen all day.

He quickly finished his meal and practically knocked over three Hufflepuffs in his eagerness to get to his rooms.

Tonight the owl actually waited while he read the brief note.

//I was hard almost all day today, thinking of you. I can’t stop touching myself.

Nor do I want to.

I’m sorry you seemed to be having a bad day. I would love to make you feel better all night.//

That was all? Just a declaration of lust? Must be some insatiable teenager. Wretched fool! He knew he was being toyed with. Fury was too common a feeling to make his hands shake.

He grabbed a piece of parchment from his desk and scrawled with his most formidable red ink, “If you are a student, I will see you expelled should you ever reveal yourself.”

The owl took off in the same direction it had come, as if it were simply returning to the Owlery. There was no reply.

Friday

//You seemed in a hurry to get to your rooms yesterday after dinner; you even fumbled with the wards on your door. Dare I hope you were eager for your evening letter? Or perhaps you were inspired by a diabolical new plan to destroy the 6th years’ remaining shreds of self-esteem. That seems disappointingly more likely.

Do you want me to reveal myself? Who do you imagine I am? Will you be disappointed?

Who would you choose as your mystery lover?//

Severus knew that he had seen no one near his chamber door yesterday evening. He had been in a hurry, but not so much that he wouldn’t have noticed someone trying to hide in his usually empty corridor. That ruled out anyone except the especially sneaky. Perhaps that Potter brat in his infuriating Invisibility cloak? Or would the bloody Gryffindor git lend the cloak out to a friend? Probably. Idiot.

Perhaps it was one of the Slytherins? He couldn’t imagine a Ravenclaw being horny or a Hufflepuff sneaky. And most of the staff had been there for years and knew him well enough to not care. Except Black and Lupin, back under Dumbledore’s protection, Black teaching the first two years of Transfigurations and Lupin DADA again. Still, it wasn’t as if either of them could possibly be interested. They weren’t even gay.

Were they?

Severus went out into the corridor and listened for a long while to see if anyone was there. He didn’t hear any breathing. He cast a Scent-Enhancing charm to see what he could smell. Nothing, just an oddly green and fresh scent lingering in a shadowy corner, an odd enough scent for the dungeons, but not associated enough with any individual that he could pin it down.

However, he could absolutely rule out the Malfoys of either generation, with their imported colognes. As an afterthought he also noted he had thankfully not caught Dumbledore's candy-sweet scent.

A sneaky man, not a Malfoy or a Headmaster. He pondered as he stared at the coals glowing in the fireplace and sipped his evening glass of port.

Saturday

//Last night I dreamed about you shoving me up against a wall in public, knocking my breath away, sweeping in to cover my mouth with yours, claiming my mouth so completely with your tongue that I felt it all the way down my throat to my groin, the sensation of you licking me inside and out.

I woke up with my entire body shaking, hand wrapped around my erection, already coming before I was fully aware that it was only a dream.

You make me feel out of control.

Can you feel it too?//

Apparently his body could, Severus noted with disgust, as it demonstrated its interest in the subject. He growled at his erection. Yes, it had been a long time. For the simple reason that he wasn’t a particularly nice person, and no one liked him, and that was how it should be since he was still atoning for his sins.

He would never be finished atoning.

He decided to take a cold shower.

Sunday

The note came before dinner this evening. Odd. And it was long.

//I know you so well. Have studied you for so many years. You think you’re evil, don’t you? That you deserve your loneliness. What I don’t understand is whether you think you deserve it because you were a Death Eater, or because you think you’re not a decent person.

Yes, you were a Death Eater; you made a mistake. You’ve more than made up for it by constantly endangering your life as a spy. Why are you still seeking penance? Do you think I don’t know that that’s why you’re a teacher? So that Dumbledore will always be around to keep you in line if you stray? To use the students as your own personal scourge? Your contempt for the students and staff is so legendary that I wonder if I’m the only one who knows that you equally loathe and love this prison/haven you’ve created for yourself. It’s safe; it keeps you safe, from yourself.

You’ve taught a subject you love with a deep passion to disinterested students for fifteen years or more. I’d say you’ve made up for whatever you did as a Death Eater, even if some of the more grisly rumors are true. I don’t believe you ever tortured anyone yourself; I doubt it’s in your nature. Somehow you would have avoided it.

Dumbledore trusts you, completely. As do many others, even if it is grudgingly. Why don’t you trust yourself? Because you made a very bad choice as a teenager and voluntarily served the Dark Lord for a short time? Or are you afraid that you are truly evil? I understand all about blaming yourself; perhaps that’s why it seems so obvious to me that you’re taking your penance too far. Severus, don’t pay for the mistakes of your past by hiding from life.

You seem so full of self-loathing; too full. I wonder what you base it upon; your uncompromising honesty? Your contempt for people who refuse to make an effort to use their own powers? For taking petty joy in the misfortunes of your students? For reveling in occasional cruelty towards those who have slighted you? Your talents in the Dark Arts?

You won’t win any popularity contests with those qualities, but they hardly make you evil. They make you a reassuringly flawed human being. You are cunning and powerful, honest and demanding. Strong, physically and morally, or you would never have left the Dark Lord. You are complex, mysterious, and tortured. No, I don’t think you’re a romantic hero with a heart of gold underneath everything. I just think you’re too hard on yourself, and that it’s time to let go and grab at some happiness, or at least pleasure, while it’s offered to you.

I may be wrong about you, but I don’t really think so. It’s been a long time since I started watching you. Very long. And I’m sure you think you know me well, too. I can’t help but think you don’t know me that well at all, or you would know who I am.//

A cold sweat broke out when he realized the writer knew he had been a Death Eater but was not one anymore. They knew he was a spy. Not many people knew that; Dumbledore had kept it a secret from all but a handful of people. Unless that handful was larger than Severus had thought. Disturbing. Move on.

The writer said he had known him for a long time… What man did he think he knew well, but didn’t? Again, impossible to know. He didn’t know anyone well. He was surprised that someone seemed to know him rather too well for comfort. He did not want to think about whether the observations in the letter were accurate or not. He felt exposed, he wanted to hide.

He skipped dinner.

Monday

Severus read the letter again. He toyed with the idea that perhaps the author was not a student. But that left only the staff, and the only other unmarried men he could think of were Black and Lupin. At the afternoon staff meeting, he sat across from Lupin and glared at Black. Lupin’s cheeks seemed flushed, but Severus wondered if it was just near that time of the month.

Black disconcerted him; instead of glaring back, he seemed to be doing something with his face that Severus supposed might be a considered a leer. Repulsive. As he felt his lips curl in disgust, Black doubled up, laughing manically. Severus resolved to put something foul in Black’s doggie biscuits.

From the staff meeting, they went straight to dinner, and an owl was waiting for him when he got back to his rooms.

//My hands twitch when I think about touching your skin. I imagine that it is smooth and silky, nearly hairless. I imagine whispering my fingertips along the planes of your chest, your sides, your stomach, your hips, your thighs.

Once, years ago, I saw you shirtless. You were wiry and lean, smooth and strong. I know you’ve filled out a little over the years. I can’t stop myself from imagining your body, hidden away under your robes, every time I see you.

If you would let me, I would spend hours memorizing your flesh with my fingertips, every curve of muscle and tendon, from forehead to ankle and everywhere in-between.

I want to lick you everywhere, praise your skin with my tongue.

I want to worship at the altar of your bed. On my knees.

I want you.//

He shivered as he read the note a third time, tingles of pleasure skating over his skin. He could not explain why his body was reacting like this, to the lustful musings of some anonymous fool.

Tuesday

//I bet your body reacts on some level to my notes. I bet it infuriates you that I’m having an effect on you. That my desire for you is contagious.

Does it make you want to shag every attractive young man you see?

Are you driven mad yet, trying to figure out who I am?

I’m the one hiding just out of the corner of your eyes, with the throbbing erection that I have trouble keeping my hands off of.//

Severus seemed to be having some similar problems, himself.

Wednesday

He was going mad. Maybe he could have his owl follow the school owl back to where it came from and deliver a note to the writer. His bird-whistle summoned his own small owl, Octavia, to the dungeons.

He quickly scratched out a note, “Cease your tormenting, you infuriating twit! I do not appreciate your notes and I am revolted by your lustful prattle. Whatever you may have wished for is only encouraging the opposite – I neither desire you nor even desire to know your identify.”

He growled with frustration as he tore up the lie-filled note. He couldn’t write that. And to whom would he send it? His evening letter had not come that night.

After waiting for a while, Octavia getting more and more irritated at having been summoned to sit in his cold chambers, he had a sudden impulse. Quickly, he scrawled on a sheet of paper, “Lupin?” and sent it off.

Minutes later Octavia returned, bearing the same note with “Yes?” written underneath in Lupin’s precise script. Severus frowned at the response. He quickly scratched “Nothing” underneath and told Octavia to return to the Owlery after delivering it unless Lupin had a reply.

There was no reply.

Thursday

Severus watched his students carefully in class. Potter distinctly blushed when he caught his eyes. Malfoy was even worse; smirking knowingly and licking his pale lips. Even the sixth years seemed more flustered than frightened. Lupin’s expression seemed frankly concerned, staring at him during breakfast and lunch, and maybe a little bit of something else he couldn’t pinpoint. Black was thankfully absent.

He scowled back at them all, wrapping himself in his sneer and sarcasm, using his increased frustration to fuel his implacable mask and not showing any kind of emotion to his anonymous stalker. After so many years, had everyone swallowed an aphrodisiac or was he suddenly irresistible? He still looked the same.

The ordinary brown Hogwarts owl waited for a response as he read the note that evening.

//I’m losing my mind. You seem frustrated sometimes, but I wonder if it’s just your usual level of annoyance with the world and every being in it.

You don’t seem even curious about who I am. Maybe you want me to stop. Maybe you throw these notes away; you show no signs of having read them. I’m surprised that it hurts me to think you aren’t reading them. I thought I just wanted you. Now I think I might care about you.

Do you want to know who I am? Are you the least bit curious? Do you even read these notes?//

Severus responded concisely, “Yes. Yes. And Yes.”

Friday

Severus was anxious all day, anticipating the next note.

//I debated this all night. Are you ready, then, really, to find out who I am?

If so, then know that you’ve had the ability to find out who I am all this time. You’ve only to touch the parchment with a particular part of your body for the handwriting concealing charm to be broken and my signature revealed.

I’m so scared of your reaction. I’ll never say a word after this, unless you do first. This is my last note. How sad I am to say that. I will miss them.//

Severus thought for a moment. Obviously he was already touching the parchment with his fingers. Unless the writer meant how he touched it, like that that wretched Monster Book of Monsters. He gently stroked the parchment, feeling foolish. Nothing happened.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey and thought about the notes. They were, for the most part, extremely bawdy. His cheeks flushed slightly as he considered using other body parts to touch the paper. He couldn’t think of any other solution; it was unlikely that the writer meant his arm or foot. He slowly unbuttoned his robes, feeling trepidation growing instead of desire. He undid his trousers. His penis also seemed to be extremely nervous. He gently touched the parchment with it. Nothing happened. He wondered if he needed to be erect for it to work, or maybe touch the parchment with a bit of semen. Maybe he would try that later, if nothing else worked.

On impulse, he brought the note to his face and touched it to his lips. He could see it shimmer out of the corner of his eyes, and lowered the paper to see. The writing shifted around like insects crawling on the page, rearranging themselves into the tidy script from two nights before and revealed Remus’ signature, somewhat shaky.

The werewolf.

He sat and stared into the fireplace all night as he finished the bottle of whiskey.

Monday

Three days later, he sent Octavia to deliver a note.

//Remus-

I miss your letters.

Would you like to come over for a drink?

-Severus//