
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/459152.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Luna_Lovegood/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Severus_Snape, Luna_Lovegood, Whomping_Willow
  Additional Tags:
      Dream_Sex, Community:_snuna_exchange, Hurt/Comfort, Teacher-Student
      Relationship, Canon_Compliant
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-01 Words: 2247
****** In the Heart of the Willow ******
by Venturous
Summary
     After a difficult visit to the Dark Lord, Severus finds the strength
     to carry on, with a little help from a friend. Set during HBP.
     Originally posted May 11, 2009 in Snuna Exchange.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
The Heart of the Willow
He landed hard, twisting his ankle, and gasped as he fell against the gnarled
roots of the tree. Crumpled in pain, he didn’t move fast enough to avoid the
lashing branch, and it swiped him like a slap across the face. Severus
scrambled for a footing and groped for that one root that will calm the great
tree until he can locate the entry to the tunnel below. The swinging branches
seethe and lash at him, and one wraps around his leg and pulls, and he panics,
thinking that he will not make it; that what the dark lord's minions began
earlier tonight, this damnable tree will finish, and he laughed at the
absurdity of dying suspended head down from a homicidal willow tree. And he
remembered another incident, long ago, where he was hung from a tree, helpless.
A particularly large limb clobbered him on the head, and he sank into merciful
blackness.
When he first awakens, he thinks he might dead. Bathed in a golden light an
angel sits gazing at him with beatific smile, her golden hair cascading down
like a heavenly cloak. He tried, and failed to focus his eyes, and instead just
breathed in the unearthly calm and beauty. A soft hand caressed his hair, his
face, trailing over his stubbled cheek, smoothing the black hair away from his
face. Her touch feels silken, musical. He sighed and drifts off to sleep again.
But troubled dreams return, and he cried out: "Lily! I'm sorry! I didn't mean
it, Lily, please, you know I love you, please, please come back." He reached
out blindly, tears streaming down his face, lank hair clinging to his pale
skin. He has never felt more wretched, and wished a hole in the earth would
just swallow him entirely. "Shhh, shhh" comes a voice so soft, it could be the
wind, or the delicate branches of a spring willow. Gentle hands took his
forearms and schooled them into a calmer pose, and soft lips touched his
forehead. He tried to breathe, and croaks a sob from his parched throat. "Oh,
Lily!"
"Sh sh" came the soft voice again, not Lily, she whispered. "It's OK, you will
be alright, just rest now, there, there" the voice just a breath of air, and
then her lips brushed his, just as he slipped over the edge into sleep.
She watched him throughout the night, making sure his ribs still rise and fall,
and soothing him when he begins to dream again. She is so glad that she thought
to come here, after collecting her willow branches and puss moth cocoons. It is
such a peaceful place, here under the great tree. But she had felt the willow
rising up in fury, and had gone up just in time to rescue poor Professor Snape
before the enraged tree tore him limb from limb.
She ran her wand over his wounds again, and was satisfied that the healing was
progressing. The man had a severely sprained ankle, several deep gashes as well
as many bruises and welts, most sustained before the tree got hold of him.
Wherever he had been, they weren’t very nice to him. She smoothed his limp
hair, and gazed at his face, now peaceful. He is really quite beautiful, she
thought. But people just don’t see it.
:::
"Professor, you will sit up now, and sip this tea for me, won't you?" He opens
an eye tentatively and peers at her. It is the angel. He slams his eyelids shut
and tries to return to unconsciousness. " I thought when you were dead, that
was it" he grumbles, clenching the bedclothes.
A musical giggle surprises him, and he cracks an eyelid again, squinting at the
golden figure. "You are not dead, Professor. Now, sit up for me please." He
gazes at her in wonder, at the fairies flitting around her head, at the cool
ice blue of her eyes, and her tender smile.
Well, maybe being dead isn’t so bad.
He accepts the warm cup and sniffs it's pale green contents. Green tea, he
believes, but also something else. He wonders if an angel would poison him.
Well, if he is dead, it shouldn’t matter, should it? He sips tentatively.
Bitter but enlivening, and a bit on the yellow side for a camelia sinenesis,
but it tastes good, and so he drinks.
"That’s good, Professor." She smiles at him, and it was as if the sun came out.
His eyes focus a bit, and he studies her face, and yes, she does look sort of
familiar, but he can’t say why. She takes the cup from him. "The Salix
Vitellina with Harpies will help you look on the brighter side, Professor, and
that will make everything better."
Severus recognizes the name of willow, and at the mention of mythical creatures
he suddenly realizes who the angel really is. "Miss Lovegood!" He blurts. "Yes,
professor. So, you are really awake now, oh, this is most excellent. The
Harpies will be so pleased!" She bends down to him, cascade of golden hair
showering over him and she brushes his cheek with a kiss. Moths flutter out of
her hair, and he swipes at one. "Now there, professor, you mustn't swat the
Harpies!"
Exhausted, he falls back against the pillows. He looks around the room and
realizes he is in the Shrieking Shack. She has transformed some old chairs into
a comfortable bed, a chair and a bedside table, as well as soft pillows and
linens. There are even curtains at the dusty windows, a golden sheer linen that
makes the dreary light feel more wholesome. A spray of blossoming forsythia
branches stands cheerfully in a slender vase. It’s remarkable, the place is
almost pleasant.
"You must sleep." she says matter-of-factly, and so he does.
:::
In his dream, they are high on a mountain side, and the clouds are racing by.
She stands pressed close to him, and he holds her arm as if to steady her. They
watch the clouds grow darker, more ominous, and begin to crowd out the vast
blue of the sky. He thinks they look like warships gathering for battle.
He looks into her face, her hair floating on the wind, her eyes piercing blue
and so very alive. She reaches up and pulls him into a kiss. Her golden light
pours into him, it's remarkable, this effervescent joy, as if delight were
right there for the taking. As if you could just be love, and it would be
enough. He runs his fingers through her hair, and caresses her face, and sinks
into the kiss. He runs his hands over her shoulders, her ribs, the curve of her
hips, then his hands rise over her silken belly, rising to the swell of her
breasts and cupping the soft fullness of them.
She whispers a spell and his buttons fall through their holes, and she slides
her cool small hands under his shirt, his nipples hardening at her touch. She
spreads his garment open and presses against him, her cloak is gone now, too,
and he feels the downy softness of her chest against his, and wraps his arms
around her as if to pull her into his heart. He feels himself rising,
hardening, yes, but oddly as if energy is rising from the mountain into his
limbs, driving out pain and weariness, infusing his very bones with fierce joy
and strength.
"Severus," she breathes into his ear, and it is as if the air itself is her
breath, and it swirls around them like the racing clouds, the waving grasses,
as if weaving their magic together. He gasps as she slides to her knees,
trailing her tongue on his skin along her descent, and as she nuzzles his wiry
hair and ruddy cock he can feel her smile. She takes him like a bird in her
hands, reverent, and kisses him there with a warm wet mouth, and he pushes into
her, throwing his head back, his hair trailing in the wind, his lungs drawing
in the sky's blue and the rock's grey in great gulps. And he expands like the
sky above. And then comes back into his body as if he were nothing but cock,
the sensation of her swirling tongue is so exquisite.
He doesn’t want to finish here, there is more that he wants that he craves, and
his hands glide along her arms to her hands, holding him, and her mouth, loving
him, and although it seems the last thing in the world he should want to do at
this moment, he gently raised her up. "I must see your face, my beautiful
angel." She smiles at him, and follows his lead, slithering up his body without
breaking contact, so that her breasts caress his prick, then her belly, and
then her own fur and slippery cunt.
He lifts her and she wraps her willowy limbs around him, and squirms until he
can thrust into her, He lets her fall onto him and she writhes, swaying and
dancing on his prick. He gathers himself under her and feels the mountain
strength rising through him, thrusting into her molten core, and she is the
wind and the sun streaming around him, breathing with a sing-song gasp of joy
with every thrust.
He feels her clenching him as her rhythm gains speed, and matches his pace to
hers. His hands splayed across her haunches he lifts her then lets her fall
onto his thrust. He groans with the effortless effort and as she begins to
shudder he pulses into her. Her small hands clutch his hair, and she moans into
his mouth, her thighs quivering. They sink to the ground still entwined, onto
the softness of meadow grass and woolen cloaks. He nuzzles her hair as she
snuggles against him, their hearts pounding together.
:::
When he awakened he finds himself in the bloody Shrieking Shack with a very
naked student sleeping in his arms. Years of careful spying have trained him to
show no sign of alarm, or he might have panicked and dumped her out of bed.
But, accustomed as he was to dangerous predicaments, he lay there without
moving a hair and contemplated his situation.
Tentatively he moved his limbs, gently dislodging her entwining arms. She
murmured in half sleep something about pleasing the Harpies, and opened her
remarkable eyes. She really does glow when she smiles, he thought, and while he
is admiring her she reached out to caress his face.
"Ms. Lovegood, this is completely inappropriate!" He removed her hand from his
face, and tugs the bedclothes up to cover her. She yawned and stretched, and
the coverlet fell away and he cannot help but drink the sight of her breasts.
He sighs. She smiles.
"You feel better, Professor." It is not a question. He turned away, the only
way he can unlock his gaze. "Yes." He flexed his limbs and determined that his
wrenched ankle was completely mended, and the cuts and welts from yesterday's
beating were also gone. In fact, he felt better than he had in a very long
time. "It's the Harpies, you know. They help me brew the willow tincture, and
their magic adds a great deal in the process."
"Please get dressed Ms. Lovegood. We need to get you back to the castle before
your first class." As he pulled on his shirt and smooths his robes in place,
despite the many tears and stains he feels some modicum of control returning.
Praying she is now clothed, he turned to look at her, and felt his heart open.
She was wearing her schoolgirl skirt and Ravenclaw tie, and holding in her hand
not a fairie but a moth, a speckled brown moth of the species Harpyia>
This girl is not so daft as she might seem. But at this moment she looked so
very young.
"Luna," he said tenderly. "I am so very grateful for your healing magic. You
are a most gifted witch, and I fervently hope that after this wretched war you
are able to make excellent use of your talent for potions. But at this moment,
we have a very serious difficulty on our hands." She looked downcast, as if she
wished she could argue. "I understand, Professor. We have a ways to go yet,
don’t we?"
"Yes, Luna, you must forget about this. And do everything you in your
considerable power to help Harry and the DA. You must understand, In order to
do what I have to do, there cannot be any inkling that I serve the side of
Light. This will become painfully clear in due course, I am afraid."
She stood, smoothing her skirt, and raised her eyes to his, studying him
carefully. He is memorizing her face in this moment. He longed to take her in
his arms and kiss her, to tell her how incredible she is, to hold her close to
his heart. He felt a pang of angry helpless longing, and a stab of fear for her
safety. He drew on his magic and grounded himself as he gazed into her face.
"I understand, Professor." She handed him his wand. "You are restored to health
now. I have done my best to make sure you can carry on. Do what it is you must
do."
He smiled at her, and she at him as he raised his wand.
"Obliviate."
:::
End Notes
     Thanks to my lovely betas, carpet_diemon and jin_fenghuang
     Written for Mundungus42 from the Prompt: Severus encounters Luna
     whilst hiding in a tree. Please choose an interesting tree.
     on the use of Willow as a healing remedy:
     Willow Salix Vitellina is the Bach Flower Remedy for people who feel
     resentful and bitter about the way their lives have gone. The remedy
     is given to encourage the rebirth of optimism and faith, and to help
     the person in the negative state to be more generous in praise of
     others and also more aware of how his own negative thinking can
     attract the very ill-fortune that he blames on others.
     How we Muggles benefit from willow magic, from Wikipedia:
     The active ingredient in willow bark, prescribed since the time of
     Hippocrates, is salicin, which is converted in the body into
     salicylic acid. The discovery of salicylic acid eventually lead to
     the development of acetylsalicylic acid, also known as "aspirin."
     On Harpies in mythology, from Wikipedia:
     In Greek mythology, a harpy ("snatcher",from Latin: harpȳia, Greek:
     ἅρπυια, harpūia) was one of the winged death-spirits.
     The harpy could also bring life. A harpy was the mother by the West
     Wind Zephyros of the horses of Achilles.
     Though Hesiod calls them two "lovely-haired" creatures, harpies as
     beautiful winged bird-women are a late development, in parallel with
     the transformation of the siren, a "creature malign though seductive
     in Homer, but gradually softened by the Athenian imagination into a
     sorrowful death angel."
     On the Puss Moth Harpyia umbrosa
     Found in willow trees trhoughout Europe. The_Harpy_Moth
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