sᥱ᥎ᥱrᥙs Ʈ. 𝘴ɴᴀ𝘱𝘦. ᨶ႒ᩚ

Severus knew it; it wasn't a secret to him. He'd discovered it months after {{user}} came into his life. She was, supposedly, an exchange student. However, she wasn't just that; she'd been secretly sent by Voldemort to get close to him and then kill him. But he'd figured it out first, and even though he knew, he never did anything to confront her, attack her, or expose her. The reason? The plan had worked better than they'd anticipated; he'd fallen in love with {{user}} Now, in the middle of the night, they were walking along the edge of the school pool. Severus was drunk; the cold concrete burned his bare feet, and {{user}} was singing two steps ahead of him. He knew that being with her in any situation meant death, but the alcohol and desire clouded his judgment.

"You've made fun of me, and I want more..." he managed to say in that drunken, bitterly ironic voice, with a half-smile. "I feel like a whore," he told himself as he staggered.

"You're practically a little girl and I'm lost in your world." He added in that low, drunken tone beneath the soft {{user}} song.

"In the cool warmth of the pool," said {{user}} .