Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
One of my discord servers is doing a Snape-themed Inktober, so I’m taking the opportunity to practice digital art. (Like I needed any more distractions).
This one was fun, created for the “Cauldron” prompt. It represents Snape’s Amortentia (as explored in this fic).
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Sprout sensed movement down below on the ground floor, and stopped singing. She watched as Snape stepped forward from the shadows…
She leaned her head back against the railing in relief.
“Oh thank god it’s you,” she said. “I thought it might’ve been Peeves, come back with another bucket of larvae.”
Snape raised his eyebrows.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, coming up the stairs and crouching down next to her, his hands tracing a contour in the air over her, as though he was afraid she would break if he actually touched her.
Sprout’s leg below the knee seemed to be gone, swallowed up in the stair. Her hair was full of shimmering lacewing flies.
Snape reached up, gently removing them from her curls one by one. The twinkling light from the baubles reflected in her eyes, making them sparkle as she searched his face.
“Well,” she said. “I can’t figure out how to shift this bloody staircase, I’m bored beyond belief, tired of my own voice, and so hungry I could eat a Hippogriff.” She laughed, her voice carrying up the stairwell.
“But other than that, I’m grand,” she joked. “The larvae molted about a quarter of an hour ago, which has been much more pleasant, I will say. And now we can replenish your storeroom’s Polyjuice ingredients.”
She shrugged.
Snape cleared his throat, trying not to laugh. He pulled a lacewing fly from the curls at Sprout’s temple. Her hair was like silk, warm to the touch. Fragrant with something faint and flowery.
Lavender.
Snape wanted to keep touching it, run his fingers into it.
“How did you find me?” Sprout asked, her eyes searching his. In the low light, all she could see were the baubles reflected against black pools. Snape’s fingers softly brushed her face as he removed an insect from her hair.
“I went looking,” he said, shrugging. “Luckily I happened upon Peeves not too long ago. He was singing about you. I assumed the worst. Threatened him with the Bloody Baron if he didn’t tell me where you were.”
“Ah, see, I knew it would come in handy to be in with the Head of Slytherin,” Sprout said, smirking. Snape returned the gesture. He looked down at the stairs.
“Is your leg okay?” he asked, his tone brusque. “We should get you out.” Sprout nodded.
“I think I may have twisted it,” she said with a sheepish grin. “During my “panic on the staircase” phase. I’m not sure, though. I literally can’t feel it anymore.” Snape grimaced, drawing a sharp hiss in through his teeth.
“Well, hold still,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”
“I swear I have tried a thousand spells,” Sprout said in exasperation. “I feel like a bloody idiot. I’ve been vanquished by a single stair. Who even put this here, anyway??”
Snape snorted softly in amusement as he stood up. He reached out for Sprout’s hand. She took his, holding tight.
“This school has a mind of its own,” he explained, pulling her up slowly. “It decided a vanishing stair was in order, so it created one.”
“This one’s been here forever, as far as I know.”
Sprout winced, and Snape mirrored her, the pain on her face wounding him.
“Ever my tour guide, Severus Snape,” she said, steadying herself on her good leg and looking up at him.
“So — how do we get out of this?”
Snape shook his head.
“I know a trick,” he said. “But you are not going to like it.” Sprout laughed nervously.
“Just do it,” she said. “How bad can it be?”
“Okay, hold on to me,” Snape said. Sprout put her hands on his arms. He tilted his wand down at the stairs.
“Glisseo,” he commanded. Suddenly the stairs merged into one long stone slide. Their feet flew out from under them, sending them rolling down to the ground floor in a tangle of limbs and dust and lacewing flies.
Sprout was laughing, choking on dust, still clutching Snape’s arms as he lay on top of her. She felt the weight of him, pressing into her. Dark locks of hair drifted into his face, inches from hers. As she caught her breath she inhaled a familiar scent.
The earthy perfume of woodsmoke, a sharp, resinous hint of cedar.
“Are you okay?” Snape asked, searching her face. She grinned up at him, and his stomach did a back flip, feeling her soft body underneath him, her arms on his, her pretty eyes smiling at him.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she said, still chuckling. Snape sat up, pulling Sprout with him. She clenched her teeth.
“Except, I can feel my leg now.”
Snape knelt next to her.
“May I?” he asked, looking at Sprout. She nodded. He gently slipped her shoe off, gauging her reaction. He lightly pressed his fingers around her ankle and lower leg. She drew her breath in through her teeth in a hiss. Snape grimaced.
“I’m sorry,” he intoned. She shook her head, her lips curving up in a painful smile.
“You didn’t do it,” she said. “Is it broken?” Snape nodded, swallowing.
“I think it may be,” he said. “We should get you to Madam Pomfrey, Sprout.”
“You break your ankle with a guy, and he still calls you “Sprout,”” she said, shaking her head, wincing anew as she shook with laughter.
“Sorry,” Snape repeated. Sprout punched him lightly on the shoulder, tutting at him.
“Stop saying sorry,” she said. “It’s so bloody English of you.” She took out her wand.
“What are you doing?” Snape asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I don’t need Madam Pomfrey,” Sprout said. “I don’t want a fuss, and I don’t want you to have to carry me there like some damsel in distress.”
“Sprout,” Snape protested. Sprout raised her eyebrows at him.
“Brackium emendo,” she intoned, sending a reddish cloud from her wand tip into her ankle. She grimaced deeply, feeling the intense heat penetrate the joint. Then she stretched her leg out, gingerly rolling her ankle around. Snape eyed her apprehensively.
“How’s it feel now?” he asked. Sprout nodded.
“I think it’ll be okay,” she said.
“I still think you should go to Madam Pomfrey,” Snape said. Sprout narrowed her eyes at him. He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Madam Pomfrey has chocolate frogs,” Snape added. Sprout tried not to smile, her eyes still narrowed. Snape smirked.
“Predictable,” he said softly. “Chocolate always wins.” Sprout sighed in surrender.
“Okay, I give in,” she said. “But only because I’m starved. Normally I have a very high tolerance for coercion.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Snape said, standing up and holding out his hand.
Excerpt from the fic
A Different Shade of Green - WIP
💬 160k | E | Snape/young Sprout, grumpy/sunshine, slow burn, literary fic, Interbellum era
“Gillyweed!” Sprout exclaimed. “Wherever did you get it? You don’t exactly find that in your everyday garden…”
Excerpt:
“Regardless of the Quidditch match,” Sprout said. “I was thinking that Sunday we could maybe do a lake harvest?” Snape was grateful for the new topic. He looked thoughtful.
“It is a good time of year for it,” he said. “And the weather’s not too bad.” Sprout watched him.
“If you don’t want to, that’s okay, too,” she said. “It is a full day prospect, and I have been taking up a lot of your time.”
“No—I— it’s a good idea, Sprout,” Snape said, gesturing at her list. “We could do with replacing a few ingredients, it looks like.” Sprout held up the list, excited.
“I’ve nearly filled the page!” she exclaimed, and the corner of Snape’s mouth twitched.
Sometimes she was so cute.
Snape looked at the list closely, frowning with interest.
“Only because you’ve added so many extra curlicues,” he quipped, smirking. Sprout turned the page to examine it.
“I have not, Severus!” she protested. “These are strictly necessary curlicues.”
Snape nodded in a mollifying manner.
“Don’t patronize me,” Sprout said, and stuck out her tongue. “Or you can go find yourself a more “suitable” scribe.”
This is an excerpt (and companion art) for Chapter 6 of the fic, ‘A Different Shade of Green.’
💬 160k | E | Snape x (young) Sprout, grumpy/sunshine, slow burn, interbellum, literary fic
On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66261139/chapters/170823661
