Nude Ink

First Picture: The Nude

Until one day, after my 11th birthday, I was finishing up a piece on a canvas in my bedroom; a cute countryside girl with beautiful, braided hair. She moved. At first I thought my eyes were playing games with me, but as I stared at her intently, she burst out all of a sudden:

"Don't you know it's rude to stare? Stop staring at me!"

I got so scared, I stumbled backwards, and fell on my butt, yelling for my dad in horror, who appeared in my doorway almost immediately. He also had a dumbfounded face for a few moments, but after coming to his senses, he helped me up from the ground with a warm smile, and sat down with me on my bed. Dad informed me with a gentle smile, that it seems, I'm a witch. The signs point to the fact I inherited magical powers from my mom, so it wasn't a surprise when at the end of August, the letter from Hogwarts flew in the mail slot. Great. I won't be going to a normal school apparently.

Even though it was the world of magic we were talking about, weirdly enough, it didn't seem to interest me that much, I was still too preoccupied with being in love with my brushes and quill. I was a fairly closed up kid, but I guess this is to be expected from a child who lost her mother at a young age.

We managed to set me up for the first year, finding Diagon Alley with slight difficulty, and asking for help to enter platform 9¾ from another wizard family, but we made it in the end, and soon I was on Hogwarts express, on the way to the school of witchcraft and wizardry.

I'll be honest. I wasn't a good student. I wasn't standing out in anything, nothing really captured my interest, I was getting by with only passing grades and being a little asocial. I didn't make deep, long-lasting friendships, and I wasn't attending any kind of gatherings the school held for the holidays. I found it hard to trust anyone, so I didn't bother with deepening any kind of connection. Surface-encounters were perfectly enough. The only relatively intriguing aspect of my school years was my potions professor, Severus Snape, whose style and just way of being allured me. After my fifth year, I became a bit curious about him, and I started anticipating potion classes, slowly becoming infatuated with his prim and proper teaching and high standards. I did good on my O.W.L.s and worked hard to enter his N.E.W.T level potion class, which I successfully managed to do, thus potions becoming sort of my favorite subject.

~*~

Seventh year is hard. The difficulty level is murderous, and the expectations are astronomical. Still, I'm doing my best to keep myself on the surface, trying to make the teachers at least somewhat proud, especially Snape, who —for some inexplicable reason— is the main character in my head since the start of my last year here. I had class with him three times a week— Monday and Tuesday normal potions class, Fridays were reserved for NEWT students. The dark prof required a separate notebook for NEWT class, so that he can observe and follow our studying progress down to the smallest detail. The potioneer collected these notebooks every three months, and based on how organized we kept it, and how many extra assignments were completed in it, we got credit points from the bat.

His classes became a blur nowadays though, (and we're only in the middle of fall) me taking notes, but completely losing myself in his sensual low voice and elegant, flowing movements. I'm so distracted with my overwhelming feelings, that the dungeon bat started sending me weird looks and frowns, silently signaling that I should get my shit together. Easier said than done, when you're an 18-year-old teenager with raging hormones and a crush on your professor.

His mannerisms bring out the pleasant childhood memories in me, when I drew my dad's physique, the tingling sensation under my skin became ten times stronger since then, taking the form of heavy arousal.

And I finally realized what that pleasant tingle was. My sexuality was awakening. She was raising her head, not for my father or his friends, but for the natural, raw masculine energy in general. And now, with a fully developed, 26 years old absolute sex bomb in front of me, my libido is rising with each day in his proximity. His body has so much tension and control inside him, that it simply turns me into putty; from fifth year I started imagining his gaze on me more and more. The simplest gestures and words made my knees weak; I enjoyed every little order he gave me in his classes, and his subtle appreciative nods in the NEWT classes got my head spinning each time. I started to go crazy about him. I got so hot around this man, that I'm surprised he didn't notice yet, each potion class representing a bigger difficulty every week. He was the most severe of my teachers, and I couldn't even dream of a friendly connection with him, due to his stern and closed-up style. The potioneer kept a 5-step distance with everyone; he wasn't like a few of my other professors whom you could invite for a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks if you wanted to know them better. The bat was strictly professional with everyone, with a high wall around himself, no chance of entering his circle. It was a literal nightmare keeping up with the school's high demands, and trying to keep my gradually growing crush hidden and under control. I felt like I was reaching a breaking point.