Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Scattered	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 25013 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I don't make any money from this fiction.

Chapter List
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Hermione let her footfalls thump heavily against the grass, feeling the sun beat down on her back, her limbs feeling heavy from the heat and walking. Despite the late night, Snape had woken her up at the same early hour, packed up camp, and led the way across Wales. Hermione was starting to seriously question whether walking around, trying to find an abandoned house to appropriate was really the best idea. There HAD to be some better way to choose a hideout.
“Professor, can we rest for a minute?” She huffed, wiping the back of her neck, and glaring balefully up at the clear blue sky. It had promised rain that morning, and the clouds had cleared away by midday, leaving them under the sun, which wasn’t bad in the shade, but right overhead, after a few hours of walking, felt like she was being cooked.
“We can rest as soon as we reach those trees. No need to stay out in the open.” He ordered, tirelessly marching forward. Hermione groaned, but kept after him, staring at her feet as she went, grumbling.
“Granger.”
She looked up, noting his terse tone, and looked ahead at him, scanning the area for danger. He was staring straight ahead, at nothing.
“What is it, Professor? Did you see something?” She crept close to him, still scanning the edges of the field.
“That house…”He pointed where he was staring, and Hermione looked from him, confused, to the empty field.
“I don’t-” Her words cut off as she stepped up next to him, the tingle of magic humming across her skin, just as a house loomed suddenly ahead. “It’s warded.” She guessed, looking around them once more. There was also a shed, just a few meters to their left, and she looked over at Snape, worried.
“It’s likely a wizard’s house. We should go back, before we’re seen.” He suggested, his hand gripping her arm, his tight hold making her worry even more. He was nervous, the large house ahead of them held his attention, but before he could take a step back, the door of the shed opened, and they had a wand pointed at them. Hermione drew her own, but in a flash, it was pulled from her fingers, and landed on the ground between them and the man who had appeared.
“What’s your business here?” The stranger asked, his hand steady as he aimed his wand now at Snape, who held his arm out, keeping Hermione mostly behind his own body. She peeked around his shoulder, taking in the grey-haired man, the tattered wizard’s robes he wore, the defensive gleam in his eyes.
“We have no business here. We were simply hiking, and came upon your home. We were just about to leave.” Snape answered tersely, never taking his eyes off of the man.
“Came upon me by accident? I don’t believe that, not for one second. Why don’t you tell me what your master wants, Death Eater?” The man sounded nasty, his head tilting higher, his eyes flashing to Snape’s left arm. Hermione glanced down, and saw what the man did. Snape’s sleeves were rolled up, and the Dark Mark was just visible before he tucked it into his side, hiding it from view.
“You’re… You’re hiding from You-Know-Who?” Hermione asked from behind Snape, trying to ignore the fluttery feeling in her chest as he stepped sideways with her, keeping himself between her and the wand. She knew he’d chalk the protectiveness up to his life-debt, but something told her it was more than that, he just didn’t want her to get hurt.
“None of your business, girly. Aren’t you supposed to be a wanted criminal, anyway? What’d they Imperius you?” He asked, his piercing gaze catching enough of her face and hair to discern her identity. Hermione glanced up at Snape, then back at the man.
“Tell him you’re not with Volde-”
“Shh!” Snape nearly hissed, flinching at the name, and glaring at her. “Don’t say it! Have you forgotten it’s been made Taboo?”
“Sorry! But tell him! Before he curses you!” She insisted, glancing nervously to the narrowing eyes of the older man.
“What’re you whispering about?” He snapped, lifting his wand just a little higher.
“Tell him!” Hermione urged.
“He’s not going to believe me.” Snape muttered.
“Fine.” She ducked from under his arm and held her hands out in a placating gesture, dancing out of reach of Snape’s hand as he tried to yank her back. “I’m Hermione Granger. I’m not Imperiused. This is Severus Snape. You-Know-Who thinks he’s dead, because he tried to kill him. I saved his life, and he owes me a life debt. We’ve been searching for a place to hide, so we can try to reform the Order of the Phoenix.”
“Shut up!” Snape hissed angrily, stepping right up behind her, and grabbing her arm.
“Expect me to believe that, do you?” His eyes flashed between them, doubt and curiosity evident.
“No. But if there’s some way we can prove it…” Hermione trailed off, and glanced up at Snape. His eyes were harder than stone, and locked on the unfamiliar wizard. He clearly didn’t trust the man, and the man clearly didn’t trust Snape, but as his eyes came back to hers, his face softened the tiniest bit.
“I’d believe you if you made an Unbreakable Vow.” The man finally said. She felt her heart thumping in her chest, and looked to Snape, who merely shook his head once, his eyes still on the wand.
“I’ve never made one before. What would you want me to Vow?” She asked, but the man also shook his head, locked in a staring contest with Snape.
“Not you, girl. HIM. I’d have him Vow to help defeat You-Know-Who, not to harm those who work against his master, and to never disclose this location to those that would risk the safety of myself, my home, or any I harbor. Vow all of that, and I’ll allow you to share my sanctuary.” The man’s stare was pompous, and expectant. He clearly expected Snape to refuse. Hermione expected it, too.
“Why would I make such a Vow when I have no proof that you’re truly on our side?” Snape sneered, slowly moving once more between Hermione and the wizard.
“What other reason could I have for seeking refuge in the countryside, and hiding my home? Our side’s all but demolished, the Dark wizards have no reason to hide anymore. Harry Potter is dead, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is running our world. If I was on his side, I’d be celebrating in Diagon Alley, worshipping at his feet, or torturing muggles without consequence. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
Snape’s mouth was a firm line, and Hermione stared into the man’s eyes as he spoke, focusing as she’d had to focus in the beginning of her lessons, to sift through his chaotic thoughts, sifting through his panic, fear, and hatred of Snape, to see the disgust behind his words. He hated Voldemort, distrusted Snape, and feared for what information they could pull from him. The locations of Muggle-borns that he’d been helping to escape from the country.
“He’s telling the truth.” Hermione whispered from behind her professor, and their eyes locked, easily sharing their thoughts.
He was just as distrustful of the man, but could feel her confidence, and sudden conviction of the man’s nature.
“He helps Muggle-borns get away.” She encouraged, and Snape looked back to the man, his own eyes filtering what he could.
“Fine. I’ll take your Vow.” he finally gave in, his shoulders relaxing a bit, his face holding a dissatisfied grimace.
“I’ll officiate. Take her hand.” the man ordered, keeping his wand trained on the dark man. Snape turned to Hermione, sank to his knees, and offered his wand hand. She copied him, feeling nervous as the man approached, close enough to bind the Vow.
“You’ll ask if I will do as he demanded, I’ll agree, and he’ll seal each layer of the magic.” Snape explained, and she nodded, even though she’d read about how they were performed years before. She nodded, and waited for the man to nod his head that he was ready.
“Do you vow to help bring about the downfall of- of… Tom Riddle?” Hermione stuttered the first, not sure if saying something so unspecific as ‘You-Know-Who’ would really be binding.
“I do.”
“Do you also vow not to bring harm to those that work against him, unless in self-defense?”
“I do.” He smirked at the loophole she offered, and she felt a wash of relief that she hadn’t had to bind him completely from protecting himself.
“Do you vow never to disclose this man’s name, location, or business to those that would do him harm?”
“I do.”
The three fiery strands of magic that circled their wrists seemed to melt into their skin, and the man stepped back, lowering his wand, and looking at Snape with slightly less mistrust than earlier.
“So, Hermione Granger, and Severus Snape, welcome to my home. I’m Horatio Shroge, and if you’ll follow me, I’ll give you a quick tour.”
* * *
Hermione sat on her bed, staring down at her bare feet, trying to take it all in. They’d gone from wandering the countryside and camping, to taking up residence in a large, comfortable house, having hot showers, and comfy beds to sleep in. The man’s house was surrounded by tall grass, and he had a small garden out back, but all Hermione could seem to think about was Snape. How was he settling in? Was he still upset with her for encouraging the Unbreakable Vow? He’d barely spoken two words to her since taking it, and had quickly disappeared into the large bedroom that had been offered to him by Shroge. The elder wizard, however, seemed more than happy to have the company, despite his earlier suspicion, and had even promised to make dinner. He hadn’t been a terribly good cook, Hermione silently noted, but the food had been better than the canned soup and stale bread that had made up a majority of their meals this past month. Snape hadn’t bothered to speak to her over the dinner table, only answering the questions Shroge put to him with curt replies. She couldn’t tell if he’d been angry with her, or still suspicious of their host, as he’d also refused to meet her eyes. Possibly a mixture of the two, Hermione decided, lying down, and trying her best to fall asleep.
The silence of the room seemed to fill her ears, oppressive and deafening. In the silence of the countryside, she could hear the battle raging around her. She could hear the horrified screams as Harry was shot down for the final time. She heard the horrible gurgling noises Snape had made as he tried to breathe through his torn throat. She heard the screams of the muggle woman in his memory, the moans of the witch he’d pleased, her own moaning as he’d brought her off.
She was suddenly more than a little uncomfortable, and pointed her wand at the door, locking and warding it against sounds before she tentatively slid a hand into her jeans, and tried to do for herself what Snape had done just the night before. She closed her eyes as pleasure swept across her, and tried to focus solely on what her goal was. She recalled the overpowering sensations of both her own, and the memory of his orgasm, and pressed her fingers harder into her skin. Her efforts resulted only in making her hips twitch, and her wrist slipped through the waistband of her pants, leaving the molten heat to suffer unsatisfied.
“Damn it!” She half shouted, glaring at the ceiling. She couldn’t believe that Snape had so easily managed to make her climax, and she could barely even continue touching herself.
She shimmied out of her jeans, slid her knickers off, and tried again, closing her eyes once more, and swirling her fingers in slow circles over the sensitive flesh. It felt amazing, but somehow, it wasn’t enough. Her mind kept wandering to thoughts of Snape, and her hand would pause, or her hips would jerk away, or her fingers would slip, and miss their mark. She growled, feeling tears prick her eyes with desperation. She just wanted the calming, satisfying release that Snape had given her, so she could sleep, was that too much to ask?
Apparently it was, as half an hour later, she let her hand fall from herself, and heaved a sigh of frustration, slamming her palms to the mattress, and slipping from the bed, grabbing her shorts from her bag, and donning them before she ventured into the hall.
She and Snape had been given rooms right across from one another, and at the far end of the hall from Shroge. He’d warned them that his half of the hallway was entirely off limits, and Hermione suspected that he’d set up at least one trap, in case Snape tried to attack him in his sleep. She tiptoed across the carpet and knocked softly at his door, hoping he wasn’t asleep. She could hear movement inside, a grumbling voice, and then the door was yanked open, revealing the scowling face of Severus Snape, glaring down at her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She muttered, looking from his face to his chest. It was very bare, and his trousers hung low on his hips, the zipper closed, but the top button left undone. It seemed as though she’d interrupted him in the middle of him changing for bed.
“What is it?” He asked, opening the door wider, glancing down the hallway suspiciously.
“It’s nothing, really, I just can’t… Sleep.” She grimaced, meeting his eyes, hoping he’d see the truth she was too embarrassed to admit. He stared for a long moment, and she worried that he’d close the door on her, tell her to find her own way of ‘sleeping’. To her relief, he opened the door wider, allowing her enough space to pass through.
She entered his room, and looked around, comparing it to her own. Different colors, different styles of furniture, but the same articles filled the room. One large bed, a nightstand, a chest of drawers directly across from the bed, and a plush chair removed to the corner near the closet.
As her eyes scanned the room, she was distracted from noticing just how close behind her Snape had advanced, and when she turned to face him, she ran right into his chest.
His arms wrapped securely around her, keeping her both on her feet, and pulled against his torso, where she was made very aware of how warm she suddenly was. Or how warm HE was. She couldn’t quite tell the difference, but she knew that SOMETHING was much too warm.
“Sorry.” She muttered, releasing the fistfulls of his biceps she hadn’t realized she was holding onto. Instead of releasing her in turn, he forced the trapped girl to the bed, and practically tossed her down, falling atop her with careful movements, his coal black eyes boring into hers with such intensity, she nearly had to look away.
She didn’t realize how defensively she was positioned until he gave her wrist a tug, removing one arm from her chest, his knee forcing its way between her thighs. With one arm trapped, and a very firm leg between her own, she felt exposed and defenseless. Her wand, she remembered, she’d left on her nightstand.
His thoughts were chaotic, scattered bits of memory mixing with colorful emotions, the familiar yellow of having her underneath him warring with the violent dark red of his anger. He wanted to punish her for making him take the unbreakable vow, but he didn’t want her to hate him. He wanted to give her what she’d come for, but he also wanted to see her fear-filled eyes as she realized just what sort of punishments he’d like to give. Thoughts of hitting her clashed with desires to kiss her, and finally, he gave in. His mouth pressed to hers forcefully, his teeth tugging at her lower lip, his tongue darting out to taste her, as his hands still gripped her too-tightly. The thinly concealed violence inside him was pouring out in his kiss, bruising her lips with his, fingers fisting her hair to pull her head where he wanted, and teeth pinching roughly at the delicate skin of her neck.
“Professor…” She stammered, the one word a plea for reprieve. He bit her harder, making her hiss in pain, but one hand was pressing into her sex, rubbing hard into the shorts, discouraging her from saying anything else. Her throat constricted with a strange noise she didn’t quite recognize, half moan, half whimper, and with humiliation, she realized that she’d spread her legs wider, tilted her head, and was pressing her body upward, against his.
“You shouldn’t have sought me out tonight, stupid girl.” He growled into her ear, his cross tone not doing a thing to dampen her lust.
“I- I know…” She barely made her lips move, the combination of fear and arousal making it more than difficult to speak. His fingers were doing wonders, and even the harsh attentions of his mouth were contributing to her approaching orgasm. Her back bowed, her toes curled, and just as she was about to hit that peak, he pulled away, leaving her feeling agitated and exposed. She clamped her legs together and sat up, looking at him in bewildered frustration, as he leaned his thigh against the foot of the bed, staring down at her with a look of bitter pleasure.
“Go back to bed.” He ordered, folding his arms across his chest, and glaring down at her. Her head felt like it was spinning as she stared at his stomach, her brain catching up with her mouth a second too late.
“Please…” She heard herself plead, and her face blazed red as she met his eyes. A swath of bright yellow shot across his mind, followed by a sparkling red, a new feeling, one she didn’t instantly recognize.
“Hmm. I like that…” He tapped his chin in contemplation, and then smiled wickedly at her, and she had a name for the unfamiliar emotion. “Beg me for it.”
Spite. He wanted her to humiliate herself out of some petty desire for payback.
“Please.” She said it again, not sure if she was asking for him to continue touching her, or for him to drop the mean act.
“Please what?” He teased, his smile in no way kind. She looked away from the swirling emotions behind his eyes, and dropped her gaze to his belly again, her eyes taking in the faint lines of muscle, the dark trail of hair into his pants, the lines of his hips that dove inward, drawing her gaze further downward, to the prominent bulge of his erection, straining to be free. She wetted her lips with her tongue, and forced her lips to move.
“Touch me.”
“That’s no way to beg.” He reproved, his voice chillingly smooth, his face devoid of the emotions that were battering her every time she met his gaze.
“I… I don’t know what you want.” She admitted feeling disoriented and on edge. She knew she should just leave, not play into his stupid games, but god help her, the way his irritation was making her heart race and her mind swim was like a drug. Anyone else, she’d have stormed out on, or chastised, but Snape… She understood him better than she thought she’d understood anyone. He’d always been afraid of being weak. And by forcing him into the unbreakable vow, he felt weak. So in compensation, he became domineering, mean, and vindictive. Though it wasn’t close to the surface, she knew that deep inside him he was just trying to comfort himself. So she stared up at him, beseeching, silently begging him to tell her how she could make up for binding him with magical oaths, for putting herself in danger by trusting Shroge, and for being so indecisive with him.
“I told you, I want you to beg. Beg me for what you want. You can make a good start by getting on your knees.” His eyes were cold, but the flash of pink through the dark reds and bright yellows brought another new thought. He would enjoy seeing her prostrate herself in more than just a revenge capacity. Just the thought was exciting him, and as she scooted to the edge of the bed, and lowered herself to the ground in front of him, she caught the tiniest of smiles flit across his face, before he had it under control, his elation hidden behind his icy countenance. Except it was rather ruined by her being able to see instantly what was underneath. Almost all of the red had disappeared, and there was only a pulsing swirling mixture of bright sunny yellow, and dark fuschia pulsing in tandem. She dropped her eyes, her pulse pounding with exhilaration at the strange game she’d silently agreed to play. As soon as she couldn’t see his eyes, she was left only with the facade he presented, the cool, domineering professor who wanted her to beg for his touch.
“Professor, please touch me.” She murmured, her face blazing crimson, but heat pooling in her shorts.
“I’m not your professor, Granger.” He chided.
“Severus?” She tried, her voice wavering.
“Too familiar. Using my given name doesn’t quite convey the respect you should be going for.” He admonished. She blushed darker, and sought for something appropriate to call him.
“Please, sir?” She tried, her tone more confused than begging.
“It’ll do. Please what?” He said, tapping his foot slowly in impatience.
“Please touch me.” She nearly jumped in shock when the feeling of contact met her head, his fingers brushing through her frizzy hair briefly. She waited for more, but after several tense seconds, no other touch came, and she glanced up, to see his eyebrows lifted.
“That’s not what I meant.” She said, looking back down, embarrassed.
“Then be more specific.”
“Please, sir, will you… help me orgasm so I can get to sleep?” She forced the words out in a quick rush, feeling her blush spread to her ears.
“Yes I will, on one condition.”
“What’s that?” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, to see flashes of memory or inspiration.
“I get to touch you however I want, and the only promises I’ll make are: You’re welcome to leave and ‘take care’ of yourself at any time, and when you do leave, you’ll still be a virgin.”
“What’s that mean, exactly?” She queried, staring at the bulge of his erection warily.
“It means take your clothes off.” His voice was commanding and seductive, and she felt a humiliating rush of heat sweep through her. Without meeting his gaze, she pushed herself back to her feet and clutched the bottom hem of her night shirt, her breath coming in short, nervous pants as she built up the courage to bare herself to him. She slowly lifted the shirt over her head, exposing the simple cotton bra she wore, and she held the shirt clutched in her fist for a moment before she let it fall to the floor. As she twisted her arms behind her back to reach the clasp of her bra, she felt her heart stutter in her chest. Was the relief he offered really worth this? Was letting him see her naked some line they shouldn’t cross? Her fingers shook as she released the hooks, and pulled the straps free of her arms, covering her rather small chest with one arm as she dropped the bra on top of her shirt. Then she reached for her shorts, bending slightly as she slid them off, so that by the time she stood, bare, in front of him, her hands were covering her most private areas, giving her some small measure of comfort. Out of her peripheral she couldn’t make heads or tales of his expression, so she looked up, staring into his eyes, even though he wasn’t looking at her face, his eyes were sweeping down her, taking in her bare stomach, uncovered thighs, naked hips, and shielding arms. She could still see somewhat into his mind, sparks of yellow, fuschia, and the familiar wall of occlumency, barring her from seeing deeper without a more powerful effort of the spell. Whatever he was hiding, though, she didn’t have much time to ponder on, as he took the single wide step into her space, and pulled her to him, his lips falling to hers eagerly. His hands rested on her bare waist, and she struggled with herself, not sure whether to keep covering herself, or to place her hands over his for SOME semblance of control. But the truth was, she was totally out of control, standing naked in an older man’s room, begging him to touch her, playing weird mind games, and melting under his touch. She was so far out of control that when his hands moved lower, gripping her bare arse, she pressed herself into him, encouraging more, letting her arms twine around his neck, not bothering to cover herself as the cotton-covered bulge of his own arousal pressed into her belly. She trusted him to keep his word, to not take her innocence, but as he pushed her back to the bed, she felt as though her innocence were already slipping away. Surely one couldn’t lie naked under a man, panting as he kissed his way down her neck, and still call herself innocent? As he took one of her nipples between his lips, she thought that maybe innocence was a sliding scale, and she was quickly falling to zero. His hand was massaging her breast, his tongue swirling, his hair tickling her skin, and when she opened her mouth to express her thoughts, all that came out was a groan of pleasure. His teeth tugged gently at the pink peak, and she looked down, watching him kiss and touch her. He moved to the other side, his teeth and tongue and lips all making her back arch as his fingers took up her other nipple, pinching and pulling and twisting expertly. If she hadn’t been aroused before, she thought this surely would have made her compliant to do whatever he wished. When his lips began travelling lower still, she slid her hands into his hair, both keeping it from blocking his face from her view, and giving her a smidgen of comfort that a single tug would stop his descent. But the closer he got to her sex, the less she wanted to stop him. His kisses slowed, and his hands came down to part her thighs, giving him a full view of her naked, splayed body. Before she could cover herself, his lips were on her thigh, burning their way towards her core, promising the relief she couldn’t give herself, and with her fingers gripping his hair tightly, his lips finally touched the heated center of her arousal, kissing softly, his tongue darting out to taste her, and massage away her tension.
It was like nothing she’d ever felt, and she nearly liquified into a thoughtless puddle as he pleasured her, his hands under her knees spreading her even wider. She moaned carelessly as his tongue probed about, feeling for the spot that would make her come undone, and when he found it, her fingers nearly pulled his hair out, her back arched, and she let out a wordless cry of enjoyment. He kept at it, slowly teasing her into a frenzy as his hands slid back up her thighs, and as one of his long digits slid along her entrance, she didn’t even mind. He slid the finger slowly into her, and she felt like the world was going to spin her right off its surface.
She came hard, and as she shook, her body quaking with bliss, he pushed his finger faster into her, prolonging the pleasure until she collapsed, panting and sweaty. She took a moment to catch her breath, her mind fogged with the post-coital haze, and her skin overly sensitive as he kissed his way back up her torso, pausing to suckle on one nipple briefly, before he nuzzled into her neck, and slid into a position beside her, lying next to her comfortably, his fingers still tracing along her bare skin.
She blinked her eyes open, and looked up at him staring down at her with a light yellow haze across his own thoughts, his expression thoughtful, and intense.
“What?” She asked, bringing her arms up to cover herself once more, shielding her breasts from his gaze in a rather late attempt to protect her image.
“I know I’ve done unforgivable things to you, but… I still don’t see why you’d want me to touch you. Am I just the best option until your Weasley boy gets free?” He didn’t seem upset, merely curious, his yellow-tinted thoughts making the bluntness of his words a bit softer.
“No. I don’t just throw myself at the nearest male, you know.” She couldn’t put the right amount of offense into her tone, so instead tried to do her best to explain. It seemed only fair he get a few answers, after she’d seen so much of him. “I… I don’t know why I want this, but… I’m attracted to you, and I can’t help it. I was scared of it at first, but now… I trust you. I know you’re not going to hurt me, and even though you like your little power games… I- I… Something happens to me when I’m alone with you. I can’t think straight, and all I can think of is what we’ve already done. What I’ve seen you do, in your memories.” At the renewed thought of his intimacy, she felt her face get hot once more, and her chest tighten with a different kind of want.
She watched his brow furrow, and focused on his thoughts, pulling his concern straight from his eyes. A dark blue patch of confusion was attached to her words, and she saw her own brown eyes reflected in his, the frustration of not being able to properly discern what she meant, or what that feeling of want that he’d picked up on had been.
“You… you can use the spell, if you’d like.” She offered, her heart hammering as she offered him the simplest understanding she could.
She could almost hear the spell that whispered through his thoughts, carrying power and intent, despite the lack of wand. She experienced her own mind in snippets through his, her own butter colored contentment, a magenta that warred with that contentment, demanding something more. A flash of heat as he felt around, seeing her enjoyment when he’d had her pressed against the bed, the counter, the tree… And her fascination as she’d studied his face, her appreciation of his pale skin, exposed by his reading position, his slim hips and well-shaped torso. She saw his confusion at how she saw him, and the clashing self-image he tried to repress made her nearly giggle with the absurdity. Lank black hair, skinny legs, crooked teeth, beaky nose, and a cowardly hunch to his shoulders were what he saw in himself. He was confident in his skills, but not at all in his looks, and he couldn’t even fathom how she could find him, who was old and ugly, even the slightest bit attractive. In the other women, they’d cared less about his looks, and more about the unusual pleasures they shared. But Hermione, she wasn’t interested in that sort of… But she was. He could see it right there, a spark of interest, a dark curiosity followed by shame that she felt it, that he’d seen.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” His thoughts were smooth, but had a harsh follow up. “I’m the one slowly stealing your innocence.”
She reached up to touch his face without thinking, trying to comfort him from the wash of guilt he felt over debauching her, despite the sick pleasure he got from doing so. She pushed a thought towards him, briefly pushing everything else behind a wall, making certain he caught that one sentence.
“We both enjoy it, so don’t feel like you’re to blame.”
His lips quirked at the corner, and she knew he’d gotten the message, so she released the rest of her thoughts, letting him continue his perusal to understand what she couldn’t explain. He began sifting quickly through emotions, thoughts, memories, searching for… Ron. There he was. Her childhood love. The boy she’d felt so guilty over at first. She did still love him. She always would, just as Severus would always love Lily. But there was no guarantee that he was even still alive, that they’d actually be able to rescue him before he went mad. Severus wasn’t just the best option for now. She wanted him to touch her, she enjoyed kissing him, and if she had to choose between living in the moment and pining for a boy she may never see again… She was going to enjoy this, here and now, and if Ron still wanted her after everything, after she’d done these things, after he’d lost his mind, they could figure out how to approach that when it came time. But each week that passed, she felt less desire to be with Ron. As a teen, she’d fantasised about kissing him, about him being her first. Well, for a brief time, she thought about maybe staying with Viktor, but… He’d just been a tool, really, to make Ron jealous. Now, when she thought of being kissed, touched, of making love, she saw black hair, black eyes, a sly smirk, and a piercing gaze. Instead of turning over what color of sexy lingerie she might wear, she fantasized she wore only skin. Instead of contemplating the pain she might have, she found herself wondering about the different pleasures Snape might offer. He was dragging her down to his level, yes, and she was enjoying every single second of it. She’d never felt the fire he created in her before, she’d never wondered what it felt like to be unable to breathe as she reached that amazing climax, and she’d never thought she’d prance into Severus Snape’s room, wearing no panties, and begging him to get her off.
Snape’s mind turned dark again at that thought, and for a moment, she worried, until the lightning strike of lust lit it up again, his pulsing desire returning tenfold at her thoughts, his fingers gripping her skin a little tighter, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he stared down at her, wanting.
“You should go to bed, before I break my promise, and ravage you.” He growled, pressing his hips into the side of hers, displaying just how he meant to corrupt her. He saw the flash of fear, and of desire that went through her, the hesitation to run away, and finally, the bold thought that flitted through her as she felt the rock hard shaft pressing into her. She wanted to touch it. And afterall, he’d been so eager to please her, why shouldn’t she return the favor? All she had to do was reach down…
She let her fingers trail from where she’d been touching his face, down his neck, along the lines of his chest, past his navel, and followed the narrow path of hair to his trousers. His mind was swirling gold, fuschia, and crimson, sparks of pleasure lighting up as her fingers touched him, as her fingertips trailed across the cotton covered arousal, testing him, feeling him. He wasn’t going to stop her, but he couldn’t bring himself to encourage her either, his mind too chaotic to form words. But she didn’t need his words. She could see directly into what he wanted. And he wanted this more than he wanted to kiss her.
It was harder than she’d expected, and she pressed her palm fully against him, rubbing slightly, watching his face and thoughts as she touched him, reveling in the strange power she seemed to wield just then. He seemed enthralled, his hips tilting, silently encouraging her on, his mind whirling away with chaos and pleasure. He was enjoying this immensely, and craved skin-on-skin contact. She grinned abashedly to herself as her fingers found the zipper of his trousers, and slowly tugged it down, the noise of his pants opening making her mind and heart race with renewed arousal. She pulled the separate halves apart, and glanced down, taking in a brief look of his sex. It was pink, darker near the tip, and curved slightly toward his belly. She had no idea if the size was normal or not, but as she took it in her hand, her fingers barely closed over it.
“Not average.” His answer to her unasked question made her blush all over again, and she shot him another quick query, which he dutifully answered. “Average is about a hand full for most women. Your hands are rather small, so I’ll probably be more than two for you.”
Out of curiosity, she sat straight up, and placed both her hands around the shaft, one touching the base, and the other touching the top. There was indeed a gap between her hands. The thought of losing her virginity to THAT suddenly made her fear come back full-force, and she didn’t dare meet his eyes.
“Don’t be afraid of it, it doesn’t bite.” He teased, his own fingers brushing her thigh comfortably. She flushed darker, and turned her back so he couldn’t see her nudity in profile. He was so comfortable being exposed, and she still felt like she stood in front of the class with no clothes.
She moved her hands, testing the feel of it, the stiffness, the softness of the skin that covered it. It was velvety smooth, and moved only from the base, the rigid shaft refusing to give. She brushed her fingers over the bell-shaped head, feeling the ridge of it’s edge, the slightly more cushioned feeling that wasn’t as stiff as the shaft. Her fingers trailed further down, and she brushed the black curls that the whole thing rested in. Her fingertips traced over one of his testicles, and she looked up at him, curiosity taking hold.
“Is it naturally like this, or do you…erm…”
“I keep myself groomed.” He answered with a shrug, and she felt her face blaze, feeling suddenly embarrassed about her own state of affairs. What with being on the run, she hadn’t really had time to keep up with her usual hygiene routine. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t bother me.” He answered her thoughts easily with another nonchalant shrug. “I’m too old to be squeamish over a bit of hair.”
A nervous giggle burst out of her mouth, and she felt her cheeks blaze once more. She couldn’t help but wonder how he preferred it, though. He smirked back, and answered once more.
“The way you normally wear it is my preference.” He said, his eyes piercing, his thoughts returning the image she’d just had of her own normal grooming. She felt a flush of embarrassment and looked away, unable to meet his eyes when she knew that he knew that she liked to keep herself bare. It was a recent muggle trend, and she’d been teased for it in the bath at Hogwarts more than once. She distracted herself from the thought of him seeing her totally bare by focusing once more on his manhood, jerking her hands slightly in an imitation of sex. She was rewarded with a groan, and his hips pressing upward into her motions, and she smiled to herself, pleased with his reaction. She kept moving her hands, faster, squeezing harder, then slowing, barely brushing his skin with her fingertips, watching his body move with the pleasure, with her teasing touches. She glanced back to his face, hoping to read his thoughts without getting into another embarrassing dialogue, and was surprised when she saw his eyes locked on hers, his teeth worrying his lower lip, his thoughts a haze of pleasure that nearly obscured the desire he was trying to quell. He was thinking about her lips, soft and pink, her warm mouth, her wet tongue. She looked back to his erection with intrigue, wondering what it might feel like against her lips, what it might taste like. She lowered her head swiftly, not daring to hesitate, lest she become a coward, and pressed her lips against the underside of his head, kissing gently down, and back up, glancing up at him for approval before she enveloped the entire head with her mouth, pulling it out past her lips slowly, and licking a circle around it. He seemed to enjoy it more than he could articulate, as his thoughts were a muddle of wordless pleasure and desire for more. She wrapped her lips eagerly back around him, glad that his skin didn’t taste foul, that instead it tasted faintly of salt and musk, a strange heady flavor that filled her mind, and egged her on. She took more of him into her mouth, until his head hit the back of her throat, and she gagged, pulling away instantly. He moaned some wordless animation, and she tried again, bobbing her head slowly just above where she’d gagged last time. His hips bucked slightly, and she could see his fist balling in the comforter, his chest rising and falling with quick pants of breaths, and she thought he must be close. She moved her hand up and down near the base of him as she bobbed her head, hoping to bring him to the same indescribable peak he’d helped her find.
His cock throbbed in her mouth, and she was shocked as a new strange flavor, and hot strand of liquid covered her tongue. She pulled away, not quite fast enough, and got another on her cheek, making her retreat further as she squeezed his shaft in her hand, and watched the rest of his orgasm pool on his stomach, his cock throbbing in time with the release of each new line of his seed. She reflexively swallowed what was in her mouth, and smacked her lips, testing the flavor, trying to decide if it was as bad as she’d expected or not. She’d heard the whispered conversations of muggle girls, of Lavender and Parvati. She knew that it could taste like what they’d eaten, or somehow taste incredibly sour and bitter. It was mostly just salty, a bit bitter, but not overpoweringly so, and left her tongue feeling strangely tingly.
She looked up at his face, seeing his eyes closed, his mouth parted to let air in and out. He looked satisfied, and she smiled smugly to herself, pleased that she’d managed to at least get SOMEONE to orgasm, since her own body was a traitor. She lifted her fingers to wipe the line from her cheek, and nearly jumped a foot in the air when his hand shot out to grab her wrist. He sat up swiftly, and leaned in, bringing his face right to hers, and before she could even flinch, his tongue darted out, and in a single swift motion, he licked the cum off her face, and was staring into her eyes with a heated intensity. She felt a strange tingle elsewhere at the sight of him doing something so unorthodox, and even though she could clearly see that it had been intended to incite her, the knowledge did nothing to stop her from being provoked. She grabbed his face to hers and kissed him, releasing some small portion of the tension that had been building within her, the tightness in her chest releasing slightly as he kissed her roughly back, his hands grabbing her, his body rolling over hers. He pinned her easily beneath him, and despite the waning of his erection, she felt both fear that he was going to break his promise, and anticipation that the unsatisfied need she couldn’t quite name would be fulfilled. Instead of meeting her hips with his as she almost expected, his hand slid between their bodies and began once more stroking her toward a climax. Her head spun with the swiftness of their building tension, how quickly they’d gone from teasing and touching the night before to this intense, passionate, bareskin romp around his bed.
Before she knew it, she was moaning again, her back arching, and her muscles quivering as a second release washed over her, and as she once more descended from that high, she found herself staring up into his black eyes, feeling both her own, and his cascading emotions. It was too much. Too strong, too fast, too many undulating thoughts and body parts.
He rolled to the side, freeing her, and she scrambled from the bed wordlessly, yanking on her shorts and t-shirt, not bothering with her bra, before she practically ran from his room, not daring to look back as he lay silently on his bed, making no move to stop her from running away. She rushed back to her own room, putting two doors between them, and collapsed onto her bed, breathing in panicked huffs, burying her face into the blanket, and trying her best to calm her spiraling thoughts. She didn’t know what exactly had made her run, what had been the tipping thought, but one she recalled much too clearly was his desire to pull her under his blankets against his naked body, and just sleep. She’d wanted to, and that scared her. She’d seen his eagerness to work her up again, and see if he could bring her off a third time. She’d wanted to, and that had worried her. She’d felt the possessiveness that he claimed her with, and THAT had terrified her. She knew that he was obsessive, that he was intense, and dominating, but as she’d stared up at him, he’d been so certain that she was HIS, she’d just wanted to escape the cage of his arms, of his thoughts, of being possessed by him so entirely that even her own body seemed to agree.
She’d thought him rather handsome, she’d found him to be useful, and trustworthy, and as she’d stared up into his face, a warmth spreading through her chest, she’d found him comfortable. A kind of dangerous comfortable that one could easily overlook, until faced with the same feeling reflected back, and named. His mind had had a name for the feeling. He’d been ready to accept the growing comfort. He’d felt it before, seen it in others, and wasn’t scared at all by it. It was a form of love, he thought. The idea that love, of any kind, might develop between them was simply more than she could handle.

A/N: Jesus christ, I've been busy recently, and got struck with terrible writer's block.

Please enjoy the new chapter! I'll be doing my best to write more, and not leave all of you hanging so long again!
LDeetz: I'm gonna keep going 'til it's finished, just... um... might be a bit between chapters...

Whitecabbit: Help is sent!! Please don't die!! Please enjoy a brief respite from the slow burn!
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