Just a quick note - As we know, Severus is not black and white (Heh. How ironic by appearance). He is broken down throughout the chapters as more and more is revealed, but naturally it is a process! If you're here for the smut, hold on (and predominantly in the second half). I promise the build up is worth it. Let's first break down the complex enigma he is. Also please note that the timeline has been adapted for this fanfiction.

This is the first time I have ever posted fiction online and I genuinely welcome constructive feedback. I hope you enjoy it!

Of course I don't own any of these characters, settings etc and all belong to JK Rowling, with the exception of my main original character.

CHAPTER 1 - Gifted

It was astounding really - the ability to see into the future, to evaluate and decode ones fate before it ever happened, though the effects it had on the mind were painstaking at times, leaving the one who held the gift in a state of exhaustion, fearful of every action taken to meet or avoid a vision coming to fruition.

Eighteen-year-old Geneva Azur was one of those people, having experienced visions since the age of 7. She had once overheard her mother saying, "It is both a blessing and a curse to have a third eye." How right she was. It had certainty placed her in a different category than most children growing up. Although her parents had always encouraged her to socially mingle, her anxiety meant that she spent most of her childhood in the confinements of a fishbowl with people looking in, gawking at her differences, and not just on the inside. Geneva was born with a most unusual eye colour - her eyes were a mixture of misty grey and aquatic blue. She'd always quite liked them, but to others her eyes were just another oddity. They even made fun of her dark hair – a stark contrast to her snowy skin - it tumbled in long almost black waves with wispy spiralling ends and was always kept long. In her mother's eyes, it was the most beautiful thing about her daughter besides her eyes. "They're just jealous," she'd say.

Very quickly during her childhood, Geneva had to adapt to her invasive visions, which oftentimes induced feelings more complex than a young child should ever have to deal with. Issues of death, betrayal, seclusion and observation of the world around her meant she had matured much before her time. Life experiences had given her a thick skin. She was strong, yet wore her heart on her sleeve – a kind, compassionate soul who cared deeply for those she loved. Family was everything.

Brought up in a middle class family living in London, Geneva was born to non-magical parents. She had first found out she was a witch at the age of seven when unexplainable things would happen at her expense, usually through anger or frustration due to her visions. It certainly wasn't normal to shatter the kitchen windows with tears or cause objects to catapult across her bedroom in anger. Her parents were becoming increasingly worried. It wasn't until Professor McGonagall appeared on her doorstep one morning and explained Geneva's magical abilities that things had began to make a little more sense in their world. At least…once the initial shock had broken. Geneva Azur had been accepted into the finest school in the country…except…it wasn't a regular school, but one of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hogwarts.

For the first time in her life, Geneva was amongst others who were different. Misfits to the outside world - weirdoes to non-magical folk – Muggles they called them.

Hogwarts had finally given her a place of belonging – a place of freedom where she could be herself. Now in her seventh and final year of Hogwarts, she had come along way. From the secluded girl she had once been, sorted into Slytherin house, she had grown into a bright, hardworking eighteen year old, with confidence and loving friends.

"Oi, Azur…"

Except for him.

"What's the matter, couldn't afford the upgrade?" chortled Draco Malfoy who was stood clutching his mark 2 Firebolt broom.

Geneva brushed his comment. It was too early for this.

"Does he really need to bring that bloody thing to breakfast?" Orah exclaimed.

Orah Gulf. Geneva's closest friend for her entirety at Hogwarts - a pretty girl with dirty blonde straight hair and freckles - loyal, humorous, hard working, with a feisty kick.

Monday morning. Potions class was the last place Geneva wished to be as she lazily retrieved her heavy books from her bag and placed them on the desk with a weighted thud. She'd taken her seat on the long lab tables, next to her fellow Slytherin, Orah Gulf. Next to her was Marcus Flint, also of Slytherin and captain of their house Quidditch team. Today they were seated at the front of the class, which - due to their late arrival - was inevitable. The back always filled up before the front in Potions, as no one wanted to be sat in front of the ominous Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape, especially on Monday morning.

His stern presence and intense teaching style required the utmost attention at all times. Students never knew when they would be called upon. Failure to answer questions correctly would more often than not result in humiliation and deduction of house points.

Professor Snape stood tall in frame, over 6ft, buttoned up from head to toe in rich black robes with pale sallow skin and greasy, limp hair. His eyes - two black, scrutinizing orbs as dark as night, set under a furrowed brow with a crease that deepened in the centre - his features as sharp as his mind. His voice was profoundly sonorous, giving every word an air of severity and importance.

"Take your places. Wands...away."

Geneva tangled her dangling feet and legs nervously around herself, racking her brains for a reason good enough to explain her non-existent homework, hoping for a miracle that he would forget. There was more chance of Neville Longbottom scoring an O for outstanding on his essay.

"Open your books," came Snape's bassy voice, travelling across the classroom. "Page sixty two."

Today's lesson revolved around seemingly untameable creatures of the deep. There was an ugly looking creature on the said page with dozens of legs and the same quantity of gnarly teeth. Ron Weasley, who was sat behind Geneva voiced his disgust.

"Ugh! Wouldn't want to meet that in a hurry."

Snape's eyes shot to Ron immediately like a piercing arrow.

"Then unless you'd like to be thrown into the black lake Weasley, I would advise you to keep... your mouth…closed. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Just before the end of the lesson, Professor Snape began collecting in homework. Geneva panicked watching him; his flat palm held out as he walked the tables from the back, giving everyone a questionable side eye.

"They've all done it," Geneva whispered to Orah, anxiously.

"If it makes you feel any better, mine isn't great. I've been trying to do the Transfiguration homework. It's due Wednesday and it's been eating my brain."

"At least you've done something," Geneva exclaimed. "I've been too busy with Quidditch. He's coming…"

"Azur…" Professor Snape always referred to students by their surname, with the exception on occasion of his favourite – Draco Malfoy – who he sometimes referred to on a first name basis.

Snape was stood before her with his hand out, though there was clearly nothing on her desk. There was no explanation Geneva could give him besides Quidditch practise, which as an excuse would definitely not suffice.

"Umm, Professor, the homework...I was going to ask for-"

"Do I sense guilt?" There was no expression in his face – his lips were the only thing that moved, though barely, as he looked down his nose at her pathetic mumbling.

"It's just that I…"

"Detention." He spoke coldly. "Don't...say-another-word, Azur. I want you back here at five 'o' clock writing lines." He turned from her and addressed the class, "And as for the rest of you, if what you have handed me is a dismal attempt, you too will be spending your evening in detention."

With a swish of his robes, he lastly swiped Orah's book and strode back to his desk where dropped the pile from chest height, intentionally causing a loud thud, creating a rising dust cloud. Geneva could have sworn she rose from her chair a little.

"Class dismissed."

The downward spiral into the dungeons only increased the sickly feeling in Geneva's stomach as she made her way to detention that evening. She had never before served detention with Professor Snape, but heard gruelling things from plenty of students who had.

The stone spiralling stairs rendered her dizzy, as she swiftly ascended from the light of the corridor and into the darkness of the dungeon laboratory, ensuring a prompt arrival. She hadn't eaten that evening; instead, she opted to rewrite her essay in the Slytherin common room. Although Geneva was a bright student, since the beginning of the school year, she had found it increasingly difficult to juggle her studies, and homework was growing rapidly.

Snape's room was often the coldest at Hogwarts, even in the summer time, lying deep in the dungeons at the base of the castle. Now that was coming towards the end of November, it was exceptionally freezing, so cold at times that students could see their breath in the air. Geneva's hands grazed the walls as she made her way to the last few steps that were flicking in the flaming torch light, before setting foot into the classroom.

Professor Snape was standing with his back toward her in the distance, labelling a bottle with quill and ink.

"Professor…" she spoke meekly.

Without turning his head, he spoke coldly. "Over there. Pick up the chalk. five-hundred lines 'There is no excuse for lack of homework."

Five hundred! What a git.

"I apologize Professor. It may seem a feeble excuse but...it's just that…"

His head rose, as if she dare to argue, but he did not turn around.

"Feeble," he repeated. "Indeed."

Geneva drew in the air around her through her nose, dropping her attempt to explain how she'd been tied up with Quidditch practise with upcoming seeker try-outs. She picked up the chalk and began to write before he doubled her lines - something she'd been privy too via other student's experiences.

She could hear him walking the room behind her after a while - the ting of glass bottles and pages turning. A cauldron was bubbling in the distance creating an audible ambience along with the tapping and pulling of her chalk. One hundred lines in, and Genava wished she'd have eaten before she arrived. Her stomach made the occasional rumble, and now her wrist was beginning to seize up. She circled it to ease the ache before writing another line.

SNAP. Mid word, her chalk broke in two and fell to the floor. She bent down to pick it up, and as she rose, Professor Snape was suddenly stood behind her. His swiftness startled her, making her heart skip. "Four-hundred to go, Miss Azur." He held out a fresh piece of chalk readily at the base like a small wand. She took it, and carried on.

'There…is…no…'

He wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving? He was fixed to the spot directly behind her. Right there. She could feel his dark looming presence shrouded in judgment. Geneva wrote another complete line, feeling uneasy. Her lines were not perfectly straight. In fact they were pretty wonky and sloped downward somewhat. He must have noticed. Petty bastard. It wasn't easy to write on a board, especially for this long.

'There is no excuse for...'

Mid sentence, a strange feeling began to serge though Geneva's head, whirling, slight at first but soon increased. It came on quickly, eventually sending her off balance. She blinked. She blinked again. Not now. She blinked harder in order to shake it. For a moment the words on the board became temporarily blurred.

"Why have you stopped?" questioned Snape.

'excuse…for...lack…of….' she wrote, almost muttering to aid her focus.

Geneva gasped - her eyes grew wide, the chalk stubbed hard into the board, her letter H descending into a long line. His fingertips had snaked around to grasp her hip.

"Azur!" He snapped, spinning her around with fierce black eyes boring into hers. "Get…out."

Geneva bolted with haste up the stone steps of the dungeon and into the corridors quicker than she had dropped the chalk.

"You seem really distant," Orah observed in the Great Hall at dinner that evening. "Everything ok?"

Geneva snapped out of her daze and picked up a bread roll. "Yeah, I just…" she trailed off with an unfathomable look about her face. "Something weird. It's nothing." She had gotten used to keeping her thoughts to herself until she had at least pieced them together somewhat. How on earth would she piece together this one?

Professor Snape. Ew.

Orah cocked a brow questionably, taking a swig of pumpkin juice.

"Looks like you may be about to burst a vein there. Go easy on yourself."

Geneva laughed, brushing off her comment and dipped the roll into her soup. Orah turned back to chat to others, which allowed Geneva thoughts to run away with themselves, so much so that she didn't realise her bread had sopped off into her bowl. Amongst the din of the Great Hall, she tried to piece together what on earth had happened in the Potions lab that evening. Desperately seeking a misconception, Geneva tried to dissect it. It didn't make sense. How could this vision ever come to be? Professor Snape. He would never. It was positively incomprehensible on every level. It made no sense. No. She refused to believe it. It must be misconstrued. It had to be. It was repulsive - wrong on so many levels. She twisted her face into a look of revulsion at the very thought and poured more pumpkin juice into her goblet, giving up on her soup that now sat cold and glooping. It was alarming on every level, but most alarming of all…was that she kind of enjoyed it.

No!

She tried to clear her thoughts and focus instead on the conversation around her, but the same thoughts returned. Why had he been so sudden and abrupt for her to leave? In the middle of writing lines too. That was unheard of, especially as they were so lop-sided. She was positive had it of been Neville Longbottom, he would have made him start again and doubled the amount. Why did he let me off so easily?

Geneva opened the book Advanced Potion Making in the Slytherin common room that evening – her eyes looking through the pages instead of at them, failing to digest any information.

How positively repulsive of him to touch me like that. I'll never allow it. How DARE he, she recoiled, as though it had already happened in reality. How could he do those things to a student! Sick, twisted pervert. Another voice reminded her that she didn't object.

It's not real, she told herself, knowing she would do all she could to avoid any chance of this ever happening as long as her life depended on it.

On second thoughts, the firmness of those long fingers snaking her waist made her feel…something.

Geneva's eyes flicked up from the book she was reading, scanning the Common Room in discretion as though it were possible for her thought process to be heard. There were a couple of Slytherin girls studying near by and another girl who was reading a long piece of parchment, a couple of boys who were kicked back in comfortable chairs chatting - nothing out of the ordinary. Then, there was Draco Malfoy who was attempting to play Wizard's Chess with Crabbe.

"Honestly, how dumb can you be Crabbe," Malfoy flipped. "Goyle, take his place. Bloody hell it's like playing against a baboon!"

Geneva turned her attention back to her book. She'd barely read a line before her thoughts returned. No. Absolutely not. She was defiant and jabbed a finger to the page to force herself to read the words, but it was no use. Her Potions Professor was engrained into her thoughts so profoundly that she was forced to look around again just incase he was there. She thought of her usual hatred for his smarmy face, trying to shake her thoughts. The way he looked down his long nose at everyone with his robes ablaze - such arrogance.

"Geneva."

She flinched and spun around to the voice behind her.

"Oh Orah, it's you."

"Wow, is it that good?" She pointed to the book upon her startled reaction with a small laugh. "You're still working at it?" She took a seat next to her and peered over at her essay.

Geneva turned her nose up, flipping over a page. "Still. I'm not getting very far."

"Here, let me help you. I knew you'd be here. He graded mine, look…"

Orah passed her paper to Geneva. It was marked as a 'A' for acceptable.

"It's not great, but I thought it could help you a little. This essay was tough. Toughest yet."

"Thanks Orah. I just want to get this over with so I can get back on the pitch."

Orah shook her head, letting her eyes roll. "He's such a git - Professor Snape."

"Oh, total git," Geneva agreed, her belly twisting with responsive confliction.