Relic of the Damned: Carpe Noctem

George Chadderdon's Collected Poetry (Abridged)
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Carpe Noctem book. Read reviews from world's largest community for readers. When an ancient relic of enormous power inadvertently falls into the hands of. Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, T. A. Bradley lives in Relic of the Damned: Carpe Noctem by [Bradley, T. A.].

I'm just a normal person. You wouldn't even look twice when you pass me on the street.

On second thought, maybe you would. See I'm crazy. And not just the In a dystopic United States in the not so distant future, the people are hungering for a sign of hope in a world that has collapsed. Has God heard their prayers?

Has God responded to his people by sending word that he has not Ron, after receiving a good kick in the shins from Harry, had offered to accompany her to the dungeons during dinner. She had politely declined, and after silently noting the withering looks Malfoy was shooting her, it was probably for the best. Besides, he had to sweep all of the hallways of the entire East Wing for his stunt with Neville currently on the mend, so to speak, in the infirmary , and given that Harry was dueling Ginny at Wizarding Chess in the library tonight, it didn't take a genius to deduce where Gryffindor's Seeker wanted to be as quickly as possible.

If that wasn't enough of a deterrent, there was always the likely chance that Snape would kill him on sight.

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Well, at least there were actually people sitting out on the Beltane celebration by choice. Hermione sighed and licked her lips, imagining of all the chocolate mousse she was missing in the Great Hall. No use thinking about it now. She reached the door to the Potions classroom and grasped the metal handle. It didn't budge. That's funny, Hermione thought. Snape's classroom is never locked during detention hours Hermione strolled down the stone hallway a few steps further, reaching the second door in sight: one of dark cherry wood, the dark latches etched firmly in place in the quaint fashion of the local countryside.

Suddenly, thoughts on exactly how old the castle really was rose unbidden to the surface of her mind. Secrets, rituals—the binding spells that must have gone into the mortar, the sweat and blood and obsession woven into the very fabric of the walls that—. Books lined the wall behind his mahogany desk.


Tomes of all different languages, many in Greek or Latin, forbidden books one couldn't even find in the Restricted Section of the library. And the other side, amidst the vases from China, the mosaic coffee table and the hand-woven Indian tapestries…. Hermione barely had time to duck behind the desk as the second door leading to the Potions classroom banged open. Hermione stifled a gasp of shock as the door to Snape's office creaked open and a frighteningly familiar voice broke through the silence.


Oh, Gods, Hermione groaned. Malfoy shagging an instructor in an empty office. Where in the hell is Snape? She stiffened, then relaxed. That possibility was as implausible as a house elf receiving a pension. If only you knew what Draco was doing while you left him left him alone A frustrated sigh.

She sat perfectly still, hunched into a ball in the footspace made for Snape's desk chair and feeling like an amateur spy in a detective thriller. The floor was freezing cold, and her nose was itching from the dust. She shifted her head slightly, and noticed that the side panel obscuring her from view had a grated pattern with small holes in it. For the first time in what must have been eons, Hermione said a silent prayer.

At that moment, she was hard pressed to think of any point in time when it could possibly be worse for Snape to find her in his office. There was something, a tug of deep, morbid curiosity that forced her to turn her head once again towards the slits in the wood design and watch them both, the kind of unbidden action that forces one's self to abandon a state of high anxiety in favor of keen perception.

Draco was tugging frantically at Snape's buttons, moaning loudly against the taller man's shoulder. In the end, Severus had far greater success in disrobing his lover. Malfoy's robes, shirt and tie were gone before he had finished with Snape's vest, and his trousers weren't far behind. Unless you have forgotten, which wouldn't surprise me in the least. Draco rolled his eyes.

Now naked except for his briefs, Draco obediently lay down, splaying himself across the chaise in what even Hermione had to admit was a most seductive fashion. From her viewpoint, his upper body was visible over the arch at the head of the furniture, his arms dangling lazily over the sides in the same manner as his disheveled platinum hair.

Relic of the Damned : Carpe Noctem vol. 2 by T. A. Bradley (2012, Paperback)

Snape circled the reclining couch, eyeing his prize. Stroking his tapered fingers softly along the lines of muscle and sinew in Draco's shoulders, the Professor straddled him and began massaging his back in long, fluid strokes. Draco's eyelids fluttered shut, and he moaned facedown into the cushions. After a minute or so, Snape slid further up, his fingers lightly traipsing over Malfoy's temples--a silent dance of domination to accompany the caresses of his mouth on the student's skin. The golden boy's head shot up, and he gasped and shuddered, slowly relaxing again into regular series of whimpers and moans.

Wow, Hermione thought, intent on not letting the erotic scene before her affect her judgment too badly. That is one accommodating Professor At that particular moment, Snape was emitting a kind of sound that Hermione failed to find words for, save that he would be fired if he made it in front of Dumbledore.

PRIMORDIA by T.A. Bradley | Kirkus Reviews

He was moving along Draco's back in a rhythmic fashion, and Hermione finally realised that he was already shagging Malfoy. He was simply doing so with subtlety. Why am I watching this? Hermione thought to herself in panic. I'm going to be dead enough as it is; there is absolutely no need to add guilt into the equation.

Despite her mind's desperate pleas, however, Hermione couldn't help but be fascinated by the way they rose together, arching and entwined like tangled branches twisting at the onset of a storm. It was so foreign to her, this sinuous, sinister embrace of bodies.

She had never been that intimate with anyone, and though Hermione had no doubt that Ron would happily volunteer his services, she was as likely to take him up on that offer as Aragog was to sprout wings. Seeing this act was tasting forbidden fruit, a glimpse inside a hidden world to which she had no means of entry. Besides, she was in love with his best friend. And he evidently forgot that she was a girl most of the time. Except when it's convenient to try and set me and Ron up, her thoughts remarked bitterly.

Merlin, if he doesn't feel that way about me, why can't he just leave my personal life the heck alone? Of course, no one was there to answer her. Except for the couple fucking themselves incoherent on the chaise, and Hermione seriously doubted they'd be amenable to conversation at this point.

Hermione turned her attention back to Snape and Malfoy. The Potions master's breathing was definitely ragged, and Draco was mumbling indiscernible words of encouragement. Suddenly, he turned his head sideways, lying in the direction of the desk. She could see straight into his line of sight, and it frightened her for several moments, until she figured out that he wasn't looking in her direction. Still, it was a disturbing gaze, the eyes devoid of any human traces of compassion. They were icy, fathomless depths of electric blue, cruel and otherworldly.

The Gryffindor, hunched up in a crawlspace that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, allowed herself to grudgingly admit that he was good looking, if also a complete prick. She thought of a story her friend had let her read when she was eleven.