Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 131978 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
A/N: Sometimes you lose sight of your muse. This was last updated almost three years ago. I lost touch with my muse and became discouraged in February of '15 and then Alan Rickman died in January of '16 and I hadn't been able to write about him since. Something snapped inside of me earlier today (first day of spring and we're getting pelted with snow) and I sat down and BAM 20,000 words. I do hope that that sort of update makes up for an almost 3-year hiatus. I do apologize. And I hope it's worth the wait.

                There was no warm breathing pillow beneath her cheek. There wasn’t even a warm body in her bed. There had been a warm and naked body in her bed, the operative word being had. The warm naked body had even nudged her awake, however inadvertently, sometime shortly after she’d fallen to sleep. The result of said nudging had been a curious round of deeply intimate sex that had been nothing like what she had experienced with him before. It had been slow and heated, limbs tangled in one another, his fingers threaded through her hair, his lips everywhere. But that had been in the middle of the night. Now Hermione was alone. It would have been one thing to have woken and found the bed empty, she could have lived with that. She wouldn’t have been happy about it, but she would have lived with it.
                Waking to the sound of a row was frustrating enough. Hearing every blessed word of said row as it was bickered loudly back and forth between Severus and Nigel as if she were not in the house, or anywhere within earshot, was infuriating. At first she’d tossed the pillow over her head, intent on drowning out their voices, which were arguably quite heated. But after just a few minutes of attempting to smother her ears beneath the fluffy down-feathers, she’d given up on going back to sleep. Several times Hermione had contemplated getting up to interrupt them, or at the very least sneak quietly out into the hallway and slip unnoticed into the bathroom. But their arguing seemed to shift from his bedroom, through the hallway, out into the living room, and back into the bedroom once more. Several times she’d heard his bedroom door slam open and shut in rapid succession. She had scrapped the idea of leaving her bed sometime between Severus shouting about some bloke named Michael and Nigel blustering about Severus’ wishy washy sexuality.
                Hermione laid on her back, wide eyes gazing hard up at the ceiling. She couldn’t take much more of their shouting. She had heard Severus raise his voice exactly once to her and it had been the previous night when he’d yelled at her in front of the pub in Knockturn Alley. It had been startling but it had been brief and although it had terrified her, she much preferred it to the unending lover’s quarrel that appeared to be conducting itself just outside of her bedroom door. With a frustrated groan she kicked her feet hard into the mattress. Feeling as if she had little choice in the matter, she forced herself from the bed. Deciding that she wanted to end their verbal boxing match and not spur it on further, she opted for clothing before pulling the door to her bedroom open and stalking out into the hallway.
                She’d grabbed the first shirt which her fingers had grasped when she’d reached into her top drawer, paying no notice to the fact that it was Severus’ faded shirt that he’d laid her to sleep in the night she’d contracted Flinge. With a pair of boy shorts covering her lady bits she moved herself into the sitting room, arms crossed casually over her chest as she watched Nigel gesturing wildly with his arms right in Severus’ face. “I hate to interrupt, but any moment now the neighbors are going to ring Scotland Yard for a domestic,” she said rather pointedly.
                Her voice had halted their words. Severus had turned to face her first and immediately she knew something was wrong when she saw the color, what little there was, drain from his face. Nigel, who had still been huffing when he’d fallen silent snapped his head to her direction and the look on his face was a plethora of mixed things, first shock, then hurt, followed by something that looked like murderous rage. For all the world she wished she had her wand, though remembering that he was a muggle, she was glad in that moment that she did not.
                “What is that tawdry tart doing in my shirt?” he whined. His glassy eyes glared with disgusted disdain in Hermione’s general direction.
                “Don’t be crass,” Severus warned.
                “Don’t tell me what to do. I’ve been after you to get that shirt back for ages!” the boy growled.
                “I gave it to you, Nigel—”
                “Oh don’t even start with me, Sevvy!” the boy started pacing in distracted starts, casting furtive looks again toward Hermione. “All that rubbish about holding onto it because it reminds you of me! I don’t know why I even bother with you! You’re nothing but a liar! And a cheater! And a confused idiot!” he shouted.
                Hermione, who was trying desperately not to be amused by the boy’s stupid tantrum took a tentative step toward them. “Here, I don’t want it anyhow,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest, beginning to tug up on the shirt to take it off.
                “Ugh! No!” Nigel shuddered. “No one needs to see that, honey,” he clucked with disproval at her. “Keep it on. It’ll never be the same now that it’s been tainted.”
                “Nigel!” Severus growled.
                “Go on, guard dog. Get your bitch,” he snapped.
                “You are being intolerable!” Severus snapped back.
                “And you’re being a fusty old fag who’s got his dick in a twist because some harried hussy has you all trussed up! Student my arse!” he spat and then ever so rudely flipped his middle finger at Hermione.
                “Very mature, you twat,” Severus growled. Hermione could hardly believe what was coming out of his mouth; she couldn’t believe what was coming out of either of their mouths. But she was hard pressed to step back into her bedroom and abandon what she’d found herself stuck in the middle of.
                “You’re nothing but a lying manipulative bastard,” Nigel seethed. “You said you weren’t seeing her— but here she is— and in my shirt!”
                “I said I was not in a relationship with her, Nigel. Open your god damned elephantine ears and listen when I speak!” Severus roared.
                Nigel gasped and looked stricken as if Severus’ insult had stung straight through to his heart. Hermione pitied him for a split second until she remembered a particular insult that Severus had flung at her in her fourth year regarding her teeth. That had been far worse than the verbal lashing the boy had just received, and his ears looked mostly normal even if they were a bit large for his pin-pointed head. And he wasn’t surrounded by all of his classmates.
                “You’re nothing but an asshole and a liar!” Nigel looked to be on the verge of tears.
                “I did not lie to you! I told you— she is not—”
                “You said she was your student!” he shrieked. “You said you don’t let students live here— you wouldn’t let me—”
                “You were fifteen, you daft prick!” Severus growled. “I was not stealing you away from your parents’ home to stay here because you thought you were in love with me! I’m twenty-five years older than you, Christ, you idiot! How do you think that would have looked? Finding you living here? Doing what we were doing? They could have had me put away! Charged with abuse of a minor, with statutory rape! Are you that fucking thick, Nigel?” She had never heard Severus rage the way she was hearing him rage in that moment. He was heated, he was blasting the boy out of the water, and she could hardly keep up with their words. Hermione stayed rooted to her spot, watching them like a flaming tennis match gone awry. “Do you even think before you open that promiscuous gob of yours?”
                “You said age didn’t matter! That I was just—” Nigel gasped loudly, his retort cut short at Severus’ latest insult. “Promiscuous? How dare you!” he raged. “I’m not the one keeping Broomhilda for a house fuck!” He threw an angry arm in Hermione’s direction. “You’ve got nerve you— you— whore! But you’re not even a whore! Because God only knows what you have to do to get it up when you’re with her! You— you— faker!” he shouted. Tears were now streaking down the boy’s face and Hermione was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. She very much wanted to shout out that Severus had absolutely no problem getting it up when he was with her, but the situation was already a tempestuous maelstrom thundering wildly out of control and she was certain her little addition was not going to be of any help.
                “You are jealous, Nigel! Admit it! Jealous as the damn day is long because you’re greedy! I give you an inch and you take a mile! You always have! You weaseled your way into my life— every fucking time I’d say no you’d plead! You’d whine! It was always your way— I’d cave in and it was never enough for you! I was never enough for you!” Severus snarled. “You expect me to keep you as the only one I keep while you slum it with Michael or Rubin or whatever his name is this week—”
                “I told you I’d give him up when you put me first!” he cried.
                “I always put you first, damnit!” Severus was seething. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. For a moment Hermione worried that he might cause himself a fit of cardiac arrest. Her eyes darted back to Nigel.
                “That’s why you wrote and said not to come over until this morning then, hmm? Too busy being a confused fuckwit fucking that freak all night long?”
                “I am not a freak!” Hermione shouted. Berating Severus was one thing, but she would hold her own as he turned his insult barrage against her.
                Severus whipped his head back to Hermione as if he’d somehow forgotten she was standing there. His eyes lingered on her face and for a moment. She watched the heaving breaths in his chest ease. Was he calmed by her presence or was she merely serving as a distraction before he went double-barreled into his next go-round at Nigel? She shook her head, closed her eyes and against her better judgement took a step toward him. His face looked alarmed and she halted her steps. “Hermione, just—”
                “I’d still be in bed if you two hadn’t woken me,” she said, hoping that she sounded calmer than she felt. Her emotions were still running rampant from the previous night’s encounter and while the sex had been brilliant, she wasn’t certain she was in the right headspace to deal with all she’d been put through since waking.
                “Slut,” Nigel hissed.
                “Nigel!” Severus growled.
                “You can Nigel me all you want, Sevvy! You’re a slut and she’s a— a— witch!” he shouted.
                Hermione gazed at him with wide eyes for a moment and then lost every good bit of sense she had. She snorted and then clutched at her ribs, doubling over in front of herself in a gut-shaking laugh. She couldn’t control the laughter that was rolling in peels out of her mouth. Her eyes were watering from laughing so hard when she finally lifted her head. She settled her gaze on Severus’ face who either looked livid or as if he were about to combust, it was difficult to say which, but she swore that the corners of his lips were tugging just the slightest bit upwards.
                “And she’s barmy!” Nigel growled. “You’re a moron for being ensnared by her stupid magic spells— trying to convince you to sleep with her— and she’s an enchantress! How the bloody hell else could someone like her snag a fag like you?” he cried. “She’s got visible breasts for god’s sake!”
                Hermione should have been insulted. She was certain there was an insult in that jumble of accusations somewhere, but when she drew in a breath to try and calm herself she burst into another hearty round of laughter. “Ha!” she cried, once again doubled over. “And I used a lust potion to sway him!” she couldn’t help herself.
                “Hermione!” Severus growled tersely.
                “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Severus, I am, but are you listening to him?” she was trying to calm her ribs which were still shaking from laughing so hard.
                “Rude hussy! Fine! Keep her! She’ll probably give you syphilis if she hasn’t already!” he sniffed and then crossed his arms haughtily over his chest. “And I want my freaking shirt back!” He stamped his foot as if for emphasis.
                Hermione burst into another loud bellow of laughter at the tantrum the boy threw with his lone stomped foot. Severus shot her a piercing glare but it went unnoticed. He started shouting with Nigel once more. She was drowning in her own laughter and only caught snippets of the conversation, if shouting in each other’s faces at the top of their lungs could be called such a thing. Nigel was mostly slinging insults and names in Severus’ direction, while her poor housemate tried to back pedal and bark some sense into the boy’s head. But when the ultimatum flew from the bratty boy’s lips, her laughing stopped and it took all she had not to speak for Severus.
                “It’s either her or me!” He glared.
                The room fell silent. Severus, who was panting and puffing from all of the shouting and chasing the boy’s pacing all around the living room, stood drawing in deep heavy breaths. He looked at Hermione with desperate eyes and then shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “But I told you, I am not in a relationship with her. Or with you. We have what we have. She lives here because that is our arrangement. And if you are not interested in continuing with what we’ve had as we’ve had it— then I cannot help you. But I am not going to be forced to pick and choose simply because you’ve become a green-eyed monster that I do not recognize.”
                Hermione frowned just slightly. In a sense she supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything more than what he’d uttered. He hadn’t outright refused her or given her up to pursue Nigel. Whatever it was they had, Severus seemed perfectly content to carry it on while still musing and entertaining whatever it was that she and he currently had. Only Nigel seemed to feel differently. If it put an end to Nigel, she was elated for that prospect, but she was also cautious as it did not necessarily mean he would be keen to jump into something exclusive with her. She held her breath and waited to see if the boy would protest.
                Nigel pawed at his eyes, wiping tears furiously back from them. “Then I’m going back to Michael’s.” He stormed toward the door. Severus stood in the living room watching the boy retreat. Two quick strides brought him to the boy but he did not reach his hand out to stop him.
                “Nigel—”
                “No. No, Sevvy!” Nigel cried. “You’re a cruel mean miserable man.”
                “Nigel!” Severus growled quite close to the boy’s face. “You know that with all my heart—”
                “You have no heart!” the boy cried. “And I had a mind once to give you mine,” he sniveled. “Go be with your whore,” he spat and then flung the door inward. “And I want my fucking shirt back!” Nigel stepped outside and slammed the door shut. The bang of the door echoed through the room and then all was silent. She knew that Nigel had not disapparated away as muggles could not do such a thing and for a moment she almost reprimanded Severus. She was ready to shout at him to go after the stupidly emotional boy, but she checked the urge and after a moment it dissipated. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling in that moment, only that their row had shaken her up nearly as much as everything that had happened between she and Severus up to that point of their involvement.
                Taking a tentative step toward him she kept her eyes trained on him as if approaching a wounded Hippogriff. She longed to tend to him but knew that such a gesture carried the great risk of being eviscerated. Hermione’s timid steps brought her to stand beside him. At first she said nothing, knowing that her words were likely to set him off. She wanted to touch him but wasn’t sure that was the best way to approach the situation either. With a slow, deep breath, she moved until she was standing in front of him. “Do you want breakfast?”
                Severus sighed. “Only women seem to think the world’s problems can be solved with food,” he muttered.
                Hermione did her best not to huff. “Is that no then?”
                He turned glaring eyes to her. “I want to fuck something senseless,” he said. “But it cannot be you,” he growled and without another word, stalked back through the house, into the bathroom and slammed the door.
                “Right,” she said though he was long gone from hearing her reply. She sighed. Hermione had never been one to leave well enough alone. She should have gone to the kitchen and made herself breakfast or at the very least a pot of tea. Or she should have gone back to her bedroom. Or even gone out to the shops, perhaps to pay Molly Weasley a visit, anywhere but the bathroom where he was currently holed up. Already she could hear him blasting the water. She imagined if Severus Snape were the type to blast music and shout that there would have been quite a ruckus coming from inside by now.
                She waited outside the bathroom door for a few moments, uneasily shifting her weight back and forth from her left foot to her right foot. Rationally she knew there was nothing she could do for the situation. He’d even said that it couldn’t be her, the thing he fucked senseless. That did not deter her from wishing to help. Hermione knew somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind that interrupting him was not a good idea, in fact there was a great chance that it would only worsen the situation. But she couldn’t help herself. Exactly once in her life she’d let someone storm off without chasing after them and it had nearly gotten Ronald Weasley killed.
                She wrapped her hand around the bathroom door handle and pushed it inward. A flood of steam swept over her and she ducked her head just to make her way across the porcelain floor. The curtain wasn’t pulled all the way shut and she could see him standing inside the shower, hunched forward leaning into the spray. He rested his forearm against the wall of the shower, his head leaning against it. The water slithered through his hair drawing it in black snakes down around his face and neck. She longed to slip into the shower behind him, wrap her arms around his waist and kiss his shoulder blades.
                He’d turned around once in their evening of passionate fucking and the moonlight had lit up his backside, revealing to her a sprinkling of scars up and down his spinal column. They were gone now and she supposed that it made sense that he was glamoured once more. Surely he wouldn’t be able to appear in front of Nigel as a clear skinned unmarked man one minute and have scars abound the next. Biting her lower lip because the habit had returned and she was dreadfully nervous, she approached the edge of the shower. Hermione had expected him to halt her with words or to turn and dismiss her. But if he had even noticed she’d entered the bathroom he wasn’t letting on.
                It was a bold move. Hermione slid the shirt up over her head. She had kept it foolishly because it had smelled of him. She had not been aware of its particular history. Laying it gently against the sink basin she shimmied out of her boy shorts and stood naked in front of the shower. “I’m coming in,” she announced and then smacked her palm against her forehead realizing how utterly stupid that had sounded. But there was silence from the shower, save for the natural sound of the running water that filled the bathroom. Naked and determined to overcome her stupidity, she pulled the curtain back and stepped up into the shower, careful to stand just far enough back from him to keep from startling him. She’d announced herself, though he hadn’t acknowledged her.
                Hermione was out of her depth. Any sane person would have left him alone. A normal individual would not have immediately stripped off her clothing and climbed into the shower with him, but Hermione, and subsequently her situation with Severus Snape, was anything but normal. Her fingers trembled and she squeezed them together several times before managing to still them. Only when they were still did she draw them up and rest them against his back. He flinched but otherwise remained unmoved. It was a gesture, simple but tender, and it spoke volumes where she knew words would fail. Speaking with silence had never been her strong suit. And before long she found herself falling back to the comfort of her words, even if she knew they were likely to irritate him.
                “I know this can’t be easy for you?” she started and then sighed. That was exactly the wrong thing to say. “You’re stubborn, I know that— and I shouldn’t have laughed at him, I know that— but you should—”
                He turned his head over his shoulders and it stopped her. One look could stop her words. It was an unnerving ability, one that she wished she possessed. Her eyes met his and she bit her lower lip. He shook his head and then leaned forward, effectively pulling his back away from her hand. Hermione watched as he turned around in the spray, letting the water wash down his back. He was facing her and for a moment his eyes shifted up and down her body. She still wasn’t completely comfortable with his gaze, she wasn’t sure she ever would be, not when it came to her body being naked in front of his eyes. Even when she wasn’t naked there was something about the way his eyes could penetrate through her that made her nervous. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off of his, even though he’d looked her over.
                “You talk too much,” he muttered and then leaned his head back into the shower. Severus closed his eyes, letting the water run down his face and she watched him, fascinated by the way he seemed to melt beneath the spray. Whatever he was feeling, whatever he was thinking, it was rinsing down over his body and swirling down the drain with the heated water.    Hermione stepped forward, again her hands trembled, but she placed them against his chest. He opened his eyes, tilting his head downward to keep the water from running directly into them. “I said—”
                “I know,” she leaned closer to him still until her face was but a breath apart from his skin. “You need to fuck something senseless and it can’t be me.” She repeated his words with defeat in her voice. “I don’t see why not,” she said with a shrug. “I’m here…I’m willing…”
                Severus shook his head. “That isn’t fair to you and will only cause further…” but his words trailed off as she leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips against his jaw. At first he resisted, pulling his head back from her grasp but when she flexed her fingers over his chest, gingerly letting her nails rake over his nipples, he sighed. “Why are you so willing to let me use you this way?” he asked.
                She was not accustomed to being asked questions. Hermione had always been the one to ask the questions. Divorcing the notion in her mind that sex with him was anything other than sex, she bit her lower lip, leaned up once more— this time on her tiptoes— and pressed her lips against his ear. “Because you need me,” she whispered. “You need this. You need someone. I’m someone. I’m here. And I’m willing.”
                There was a moment; a breath was caught halfway between silence and question and it hung in the shower between them. She held his gaze. He shook his head. Severus sighed again. Hermione was certain that was going to be the end of it, but he stood with his back in the water, the shower’s spray pelting down over his body furthering the steam that had surmounted in the bathroom. She had always liked her showers near scalding, something about the way it eased the grime and emotions of the day’s toils away had always served as a great comfort to her. Feeling that searing heat, even though his body blocked most of it, was a small comfort, despite their current situation.
                When he didn’t speak, not to throw her out, not to take her up on her offer, she weighed her options. Somewhere in the back of her overworked mind she knew that he was right. Using her in that moment would only serve to complicate whatever it was they were experiencing, the potential for ‘fondness’ as he called it. But in a dreadfully dark and sinister alcove of her brain she rationalized that offering herself up to him in that moment was a tactical effort that would further cement his feelings for her. Being able to provide a modicum of comfort, regardless of the fact that it was a physical release of frustrations, when the boy he was so fond of had walked out on him gave her the advantage. This cataclysmic spark echoed with verve through her mind and she made her decision.
                Hermione leaned her face up to his once more, letting her lips hover for the briefest of seconds over his before she pressed a delicate kiss against the corner of his mouth. A second kiss was pressed against his jaw and a third just where his jaw met his neck. A slow heated trail of kisses worked its way down over his skin and he did nothing to stop her as she sank onto her knees in the shower, grazing her nails gently up and down his thighs until she was situated before him. She licked her lips and closed her eyes. It was still an endeavor that she was practicing, but one that she believed she was mastering, albeit slowly. The art of drawing him into her mouth was becoming something that she enjoyed practicing.
                There was a soft gasp, his breath blending with the hiss of the shower as she took his length into her mouth, slowly bobbing her head down his shaft. There had been a hint of hardness, whether from the frustrating row with Nigel, the thoughts he’d allowed himself thereafter, or the cursory glance up and down her body when she’d entered the shower, but the reason was not important. He hardened against her tongue and she brought one hand to grip his hip. She had never been on her knees in the shower before, but found that it was not so unpleasant as she might have once suspected. The water distracted her from the pressure that her weight put on her legs and the delicious taste of his cock occupied all the other facets of her attention.
                Spindly fingers were threaded into her hair as she began to bob her lips up and down the length of his cock, licking the underside of him as she went. This continued for several moments before Hermione’s attempt at fellatio was cut drastically short. She whimpered as he pulled back from her, hauling her to her feet. Her heart was racing from the sudden gesture and for a moment she feared that he had changed his mind and was going to throw her from the shower. A microscopic voice in the back of her mind chastised her for such thoughts. While he was brutal when they fucked, not once had he shown any sort of physical violence to her and reprimanded her for even the simplest of transgressions made against his person.
                When he grabbed her hips, Hermione moaned. The pressure of his fingertips digging into her skin caused her legs to tremble. Though her eyelids were fluttering as if to shut completely, she caught his gaze and held it. He was searching her eyes, searching for answers that she did not have, that she could not have. Severus’ grip tightened on her hips, already the buds of bruises blossoming into her delicate skin beneath the pressure. She moaned once more when he spun her about, thrusting her around until her back was pressed against the wall beneath the showerhead. She cried out, his cock all but impaling her directly. The motion was sudden and had she not been pressed back against the wall of the shower Hermione knew she would have lost her balance completely and toppled to the floor.
                Severus was merciless as he pounded himself into her, driving himself harder and harder into her core, each thrust baring his full weight into her figure as if he were trying to make the shower wall one with her hips. They had fucked innumerable times, she even cautioned to think that once or twice there was such a tenderness and understanding to their sex that it could be called making love. They had experimented, she had been taught, and they had worked through a multitude of positions and techniques, but never in her sexual experience with him— or any other man— had she felt such unrelenting force, such unrestrained intensity. She would be lucky if she could walk when all was said and done.
                Water sprayed down over her; this made it difficult to keep her eyes focused on him. Her eyelashes batted rapidly trying to clear her line of sight, but it did little to help. She heard her voice crying out, whimpers, moans, full-on groans as he continued to bang her into what felt like oblivion. Never could she recall his cock being so hard, or his hips possessing such force. He was fucking every ounce of anger, frustration, fury, and grief that he felt into her sex at that moment and she felt as if she were going to explode. His skin was wet as she tried to grip the tops of his shoulders, though this was a short-lived attempt as one strong hand grasped both of her wrists together and pulled them swiftly above her head, stretching her arms out above her. She whimpered, breasts jutting forward with the motion.
                “Sev— ah— ah!” she cried, feeling his cock piston hard against the depths of her walls. It was bordering on painful though he was lost to the frantic rhythm of ramming himself into her over and over. Hermione twisted her wrists, managing to free them from his grip at the same time that he hoisted her right leg up high around his hip, deepening the angle as he continued to ram his cock into her. She grabbed his hair, her fingers tangling into his wet locks, nails raking for purchase against the back of his head. Her body was quaking, a blinding whiteness dancing just beyond her eyelids, which had fallen shut in the affront of continual shower spray.
                Hermione’s body convulsed. Her core clenched his shaft and she came. There was such a feral intensity to the way this sudden orgasm seized her body that it frightened her as it rippled through her. She clutched and clung at him, her senses simultaneously heightened and dulled, a ringing in her ears matching the bursts of painful pleasure that ricocheted through her body, zapping each nerve ending with burning jolts of ecstasy. And then he came. There was a growl, deep and carnal, his body stilling against hers as he slammed into her once more, skin quaking against skin. Long hard spurts of his release filled her as they quaked together. Her legs were tingling, both the one he held high against his hip and the one that was barely keeping her balanced on the floor of the shower. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his finger, no longer clawed into his hair, but embracing him as if her life depended on it.
                A chill crept along her skin. That forced her eyes open. How long had they been closed? How long had she been pressed against the wall of the shower with him pressed into her? He’d turned the water off, but had not moved from her body. She was still panting, though so was he. Hermione whimpered, startled by the way she flinched as he cupped her cheek. Severus withdrew his hand and stepped back from her, the sudden loss of his cock between her legs both unwelcome and unexpected. She bit her lower lip and mentally berated herself. She wasn’t certain that she could lean forward and pull him back to her without losing her balance. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her throat scratchy. She cleared it. “Body was just on overdrive,” she said. Hermione had no idea what had caused her to react in such a way to him, but she didn’t like the response nor what it had triggered in him that moment.
                Severus stood, staring at her, as if turning something heavy over in his mind. When he stepped out of the shower, she forced herself not to whimper in protest. It took a moment for her to compose her breathing, and moreover to compose her thoughts so that she could better explain the onslaught of experiences that had made her suddenly respond as if she were afraid of him, but before she could open her mouth to speak, his hand was shoved through the shower curtain once more, holding two thick towels. Hermione leaned cautiously up off the shower wall, waiting a moment to be sure she was steady on her feet before she pulled the shower curtain back to look at him. He was standing in the steam-flooded bathroom, mostly visible as the heated mist began to dissipate, with a thick black towel wrapped around his waist. His hair clung to the side of his neck, curling at the tops of his shoulder and little rivulets of water trickled down onto his chest.
                Hermione was cautious as she stepped out over the tub, taking one of the two towels offered to her and wrapping it around her body. She took the other towel and stepped toward him, slowly placing it around his shoulders. He bristled but did not pull away and there was no flinching as she had done when he’d cupped her cheek. She was thoroughly surprised when she pressed his back, pushing him forward, to see that he bent as her hand guided him to. With practiced care she wrapped the towel up and around his head, capturing all of his soaked tresses into a neat little stack before binding it into itself and letting him stand upright. His gaze was unreadable as usual, though he’d allowed her such a simple and oddly sentimental gesture. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing it to compensate for how he had scared her in the shower just then.
                “Would you care for some breakfast now?” she offered. “That was a lot of energy spent…”
                He scoffed, a faded smirk crossing his lips. “I’d care for a rest,” he said and then added, though somewhat cautiously. “Alone.”
                It pained her to hear such words, but she nodded her head. He had told her that doing as they had just done would only complicate things. Of course she couldn’t fathom what was flickering through his brain in that moment, everything with Nigel was still fresh in addition to everything that had transpired between them the previous night, and really everything that had been leading up to that point. He had needed a means to an ends; he had needed a good senseless fuck and that was exactly what she had offered. There was no cuddling to be had, no intimacy to be shared. He certainly was not one to talk about it. Hermione drew her towel around her figure tighter. “Okay,” she said, brushing past him to get to the bathroom door, though she let her fingers brush the top of his hand as she did. “But I’m putting breakfast on anyhow, and I’ll leave you a plate in the icebox,” she said.
                If he protested or objected she didn’t wait to hear it. Hermione slipped across the hallway into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. She didn’t lock it, there was no point, he would not be chasing after her, and even if he did it wasn’t as if she didn’t wish to see him. It was the other way around. She forced the revolting feelings that were plaguing her mind and her stomach from her body. He was tolerating her; he was using her; all of these things were true but never once had he tried to mask them or disguise them. Never once had he presented her with anything other than what it was. He’d stayed in her bed the night before because he was disinclined to move. He had boldly said so and told her not to take it for more than what he said it was. He had said so many things and although he had opened up to her on some level, he was still a great enigma shrouded in a headache and coated in heartache. But she could no more turn off her feelings for him than he could switch on his empathy and sense of feelings for her. The human heart, magical or muggle, was a bitch that way.
                It did not take her long to find herself in the kitchen. Cooking, even at the most stressful of times, had calmed her nerves, but she’d been so far removed from its practice that she had forgotten what effect it had on her. She’d whipped up pancakes, proper sausage, scrambled eggs, toast, and tea, serving herself a full stick-to-your-ribs sort of breakfast before carefully laying out a plate for him, with a ready-fresh stasis charm on it, and tucking it into the icebox. She thought a bit about going to the shops as she set the dishes to washing, and pondered for a moment popping in to visit Molly Weasley or even Harry and Ginny, but she realized after the washing up had finished that being with confidants was unwise given her current emotional state. She wasn’t overly interested in the shops, but perhaps a stroll through them would do her some good just to clear her head.
                She could have gone anywhere. Hogsmeade or even muggle shops in Piccadilly Square would have suited her just find, but she’d ended up in Diagon Alley, pacing back and forth in front of the Joke Shop like a nervous nelly unsure as to whether or not she could muster up the courage to go inside. When she did finally enter the shop, Hermione was surprised to see that it wasn’t crowded, at least not the main floor. What startled her was the number of witches scuttling quickly up the stairs to the overhang of the shop, disappearing behind an inconspicuous pink curtain. She blushed. She knew that George had talked about having the adult products set up in a private location with an age-line charm in place to keep under-aged witches and wizards out, but she hadn’t realized he’d actually gone and done so, or that they had enough functional products to really make such an option viable.
                Hermione glanced around. George was at the register, ringing up an older wizard who was quite gray in the beard. She felt her face tinge scarlet as she watched George slip a box of Lustipops into an ordinary Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes brown paper bag. Completing his purchase, the wizard turned to leave the shop, caught sight of Hermione, and smiled. Evidently he had no idea she’d seen exactly what she’d purchased, and made this notion that much clearer when he greeted her. “Some Ton-Tongue Toffees for my grandson, he can’t get enough of them,” he grinned with glee and not a trace of nerves in his voice. Whether or not he’d also purchased the confection for his grandchild, Hermione did not know, nor did she care, but she smiled politely with a nod and then scurried toward the register, letting the wizard go about his business.
                “Hermione!” George beamed at her. She was surprised he was so pleased to see her. Whatever Severus had pardoned as her excuse for such foul behavior was clearly working quite well. “You feeling alright? I’ve got some new things that we ought to get testing tonight if you’re up to it, the convention’s going to be here sooner than we know it,” he said and then pointed up to the pink curtain. “I’ve had at least a dozen sales already today just from those products, and it’s barely a fraction of what the full line will be,” he was grinning from ear to ear, unable to contain his excitement and his joy.
                “That’s wonderful, George,” she said, though she wasn’t sure that her facial expression matched her tone. She was genuinely happy to hear that the products were moving quickly, she wasn’t even thinking about the financial implications and how that would benefit her. Her mind was stuck mulling over coming back to the workshop that evening and testing more products with Severus. She would have to face the music at some point, it was an inevitability that simply could not be escaped, especially since they were contracted to appear at the convention. And putting it off was only going to delay the inevitable. Nothing had changed, only everything had changed. That was her problem. Hermione had no handle on her emotions, though the same too could be said for Severus, only in so much as he seemed not to have any upon which to have a handle, and it was complicating what they were doing together as colleagues. The idea made her snort inwardly. Sex-toy-testers were hardly what one would consider colleagues despite the intimate level that their working conditions brought to the table.
                “Earth calling Hermione?” George’s hand was waving in front of her face.
                “What? Oh, sorry, George, was just thinking…”
                “Look, if you’re still not up to it— I know Snape said you had a really bad reaction— so if you need another night—”
                “No, no, I was thinking about how your mother’s been after me to come round and see her,” she said. It wasn’t a complete lie as Molly Weasley was always after all of her children to pop round and see her, even Hermione. “She tends to want to know what I’m up to…” she could feel her cheeks flushing again.
                George seemed to catch on rather quickly and blushed himself. “Right, yes, well, discretion, especially where mum is concerned, is not just preferable, but compulsory, I think.”
                Hermione nodded. “Too right,” she said. “Anyway…glad to see things are going well…and yes, I’ll be fine. Should we pop round about six?”
                “Actually, I was just going to send an owl to Snape and see if half seven or even eight would be alright.”
                Hermione frowned. “Is everything alright?” she asked.
                “Oh, sure, Hermione, things are fine,” she noticed the way he paused, and then flushed just a bit. “I’m having a quick drink with someone is all,” he shrugged.
                She could tell he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and ordinarily she would have teased him mercilessly but in that moment she could hardly bring herself to find the spirit. “Of course,” she said with a polite smile. “Eight is fine if that gives you enough time to enjoy your drink,” she offered. “I can’t speak for Severus, but eight or even nine is fine by me.”
                “Great,” George smiled. “I’ll pop off an owl to him quite quick then— will you mind the shop a minute while I run upstairs?”
                “Sure, George, sure.” Hermione had never minded a shop before, though it wasn’t Advanced Potions. She had minded the whole of the Hogwarts student body as prefect in her sixth year in addition to facing down the Dark Lord and having survived. She could manage the shop for a few moments while George sent an owl to Severus. She wasn’t about to divulge to George, though a part of her suspected he knew, that they were living together and that she could have just as easily taken word home to the man about the shift in time. She very much doubted that Severus would mind them starting later, in so far as she could tell he didn’t do much with his free time.
                Two customers, both with products from the upstairs line, made their way to the register before George had returned and much as she had suspected, she’d managed with them just fine. Both were witches, one old enough to be her mother and the other quite a bit younger than she was, but she noted that both seemed relieved to see a woman at the counter. Though she suspected if they knew George’s sexual proclivities, they would feel far more at ease. There was something about a gay man in a sex shop that just put her mind to rest, and she imagined that it might be the same for other women. When George returned he smiled. “So half nine tonight then?”
                Hermione had grinned and nodded her reply before excusing herself from the joke shop, wondering how Severus was going to take the news of their delayed start. She doubted very much that George had bothered to go into detail about why they would be starting late, though it did tickle her somewhat to know that George was seeing someone. Of course he hadn’t specified that it was a date but given the fact that he’d said he was having a drink with someone rather than stating a mate or a colleague, she concluded that the meeting was of an intimate nature. It made her smile to think on it. Her smile quickly turned to a frown when she stepped out into alley and saw the ominous black storm clouds lurking overhead. She sighed. Even in Diagon Alley rain was always in the forecast, it was the UK, after all.
                At first she’d fretted about heading back to the house at Spinner’s End. Not because of the weather or even because of what he might say about the late start, but simply because she did not know what she would say if she encountered him. It wasn’t that she wished to avoid him, quite the opposite, but she knew that if she did see him she would want to talk. She always wanted to talk. And talking was not something that he seemed to enjoy, especially not when it came to discussing things relating to them. But all she longed to do was discuss it. To what end she couldn’t rightly say because in no scenario that her mind had concocted had any such conversation with Severus Snape ever gone well and she certainly did not expect that it would considering what had happened that morning with Nigel.
                Nigel. The little whelp made her skin crawl. He was particularly unpleasant and her feelings of that unpleasantness had very little to do with her jealousy toward him. She chased the lad quickly from her mind before her thoughts ran altogether poisonous. Before she had made her way to the end of the alley, the sky had opened up with a lovely chilly downpour and she found herself quickly drawing up an umbrella from the tip of her wand to keep herself dry. Hermione often preferred weather shield charms but parasol pop-up spells were coming back into style and she’d felt inclined to give it a try. But even a good magical parasol was no match for the chill of the rainfall and she found herself quickly ducking into Rosa Lee Teabag.
                “Following me?” his voice made her jump though she bit her tongue to keep from shrieking out. Hermione laid eyes on Severus and her lips pinched into a frown. This seemed to make him smirk though only very briefly and she wondered for a moment if she’d caught some fevered frantic chill in the rain and had gone completely round the twist.
                “Pay ‘im no mind, luv,” the voice of an unseen witch called. Hermione craned her neck to the corner of the tea shop where the register counter was and some three feet up on a wobbly one-legged ladder was a rather plump witch in full puffy robes. Hermione shook her head, not bothering to think on why the witch simply wouldn’t summon down whatever it was she was looking for up there. “That one likes to terrorize all me patrons,” she huffed. Rather unceremoniously, the witch descended the ladder at a rapid pace, landing on both of her boots with a hefty thump at the counter. “But ‘e pays, so ‘e stays,” she said and nodded at Severus, who was now standing at the counter.
                Hermione looked warily between her housemate and the witch who was carefully binding a package of what she could only assume was tea in some fancy blue twine. “Right,” she said and then frowned at Severus. “How do I know you weren’t following me?” she asked, crossing her hands somewhat defensively over her chest.
                The witch at the counter rolled her eyes before Severus could respond or Hermione could further her line of questioning. “I’m putting a kettle of Blue Bottle on, sort out your business, I don’t allow lover’s quarrels in me shop,” she huffed and turned her back on the two of them. “Take that rubbish to Puddifoot’s in ‘ogsmeade.” Without another word the witch walked straight through a stack of teapots and disappeared. Hermione gaped at the spot where she had previously been, only slightly astonished at the vanishing trick. Though she had mostly grown accustomed to magic and all it had to offer, there were still things— like the witch vanishing through the stack of teapots just then— that astounded her. But she was not given another moment to think on the marvel as Severus’ voice called her attention back to him.
                “I did not follow you, I came in for a tincture,” he spoke clearly and deliberately. “Mershwinda keeps certain herbs that the apothecary does not.”
                Hermione nodded somewhat dumbfounded. Then she shook her head as if clearing a mist from her brain and somehow came around to her senses. “You being here startled me is all,” she said and then moved to take a seat at the little cushion in the window. It was nook at best, but a cozy nook and she rather enjoyed the view of the cobblestoned street it presented to her, even if Diagon Alley was currently under a deluge of dreary gray rain. She tried not to stare as Severus stepped toward her and after a moment’s silent debate, settled down on the cushion beside her. They were not touching but the slightest shift from other of them would bring their bodies into contact. “Did you need something?” she asked, unsure what prompted him to settle himself beside her when there were several other chairs and cushions upon which he could have chosen to sit.
                He could have remained standing at the counter, waiting for whatever else it was that the witch— he had called her Mershwinda— was to be providing him with before he departed the shop. Or he could have taken a seat at any one of the little table and chair configurations that were spread across the tiny teashop. There was even a rocker and a rug laid out in front of the small fireplace opposite the window where he could have situated himself but instead he had chosen to sit directly beside her on the cushion at the window. Hermione couldn’t make sense of this other than to assume that he wanted something. But when he simply gave a shrug of his shoulders she was flabbergasted. A silence ensued and she had to force herself to keep from plying him with conjecture.
                When he did finally speak she once more found herself at odds with herself. “Testing the waters your way,” he said as if it were a simple comment on the rain outside. “I am most certain that I am still opposed, but without sufficient evidence…” he nodded and kept his face neutral, his features as impassive as ever. This served to spark annoyance in her but she said nothing. Was it all just a never-ending game to him? Were they back to this trial and error to see how far he could push her? He’d certainly pushed her quite far that morning, but was it still pushing if she’d given him permission? Hermione’s head was swimming with unanswered questions on the brink of overflowing through her mouth. This must have been plainly visible to Severus because he scoffed. “If it’s that unsettling…” he leaned forward and made to stand but her hands stopped him.
                Severus tensed, eyes locking immediately on hers as she pressed both palms against the top of his thigh. Again they were both aware that she lacked the strength to physically hold him in place but the gesture was enough to halt his actions. They stared at one another, Severus slowly sinking back down into the cushion all the while her hands remaining across his lap. Little crackles of the fireplace echoed around the otherwise empty teashop and Hermione found herself unable to break her stare. She had nearly drowned in his eyes once before; doing so now would be no different. But every time she found herself locked in a heated gaze with him— for one reason or another— her body seemed to take it as the greenlight for arousal. She tried to very subtly press her thighs together, not wanting to make a scene in the teashop.
                He noticed, though did not break their gaze either, allowing the faintest hint of a smirk to ghost over his lips before letting his features fall neutral once more. “You really ought to learn self-control,” he whispered, letting his lips lean just the slightest bit closer to her ear. Long delicate tendrils of his hair brushed her cheek and she shivered despite herself. It was infuriating that his mere presence, despite the perpetual emotional turmoil and upheaval he caused within her, could so readily set her body aflame with carnal lust to the point of being unable to control her own bodily responses. She fought the rising blush that was escaping up into her cheeks, desperate to maintain composure. When the wave of warmth, both in her cheeks and between her legs, seemed to have subsided, she allowed herself to gaze over at the fireplace before speaking, not trusting what her voice might sound like if she looked at him directly.
                “George wants to start at half nine this evening. He’s sent an owl,” she said.
                Severus nodded. She wasn’t sure why she had expected him to do something other than acknowledge what she’d said. It wasn’t as if he were the sort to protest, and even if he were, to do so over such a trivial thing like pushing back their starting time seemed rather frivolous. They sat in silence a moment longer before the stack of kettles clanged against one another and Mershwinda reappeared through them. Her eyes seemed to fall right to them and the witch grinned. “At least you’ve stopped your quarrelin’, though mind your hands, lassie, won’t be havin’ none o’ tha’ behavior in here.”
                Hermione’s cheeks burned. She couldn’t help herself. But before she could pull her hands back from his lap, Severus had placed both of his large palms down over the top of her delicate fingers, pressing them ever so gently into his thighs. “She’s a colleague, Mershwinda,” he said pointedly, his voice bold as if daring the witch to challenge him on the matter.
                Mershwinda seemed to be the challenged sort and snorted. “Colleague my arse,” she muttered, though none too quietly. “I don’t right care if she’s your wife,” the witch paused, narrowing her eyes at Severus’ hands. “Though I don’t see no ring,” she shuffled over toward them. “Save that rubbish for Puddifoot’s,” she grumbled. “I won’t ‘ave it in ‘ere.” With a flick of the witch’s wand, a table scraped its way across the wooden floorboards of the shop and settled in front of them. Two more flicks brought a kettle, two cups with saucers, a tea service caddy, and two little plates to its top. “And you’ll have to mind that I’ve no fresh scones left, so sausage rolls it is,” she added sharply before flicking her wand once more, bringing forth from some unseen corner of the shop the aforementioned sausage rolls.
                Severus rolled his eyes and picked up the kettle. “Blue Bottle,” he sniffed the air, making his words a questionable statement more than a definitive identification.
                “Aye, I said that, ya lump,” she said and then shuffled back toward her counter. “I’ve nearly got the rest of your order bound up too. Can I pop to the back an’ finish it without you two causin’ trouble?”
                Hermione’s face lit with scarlet though of the indignant shade. She was not some randy teenager popping into a teashop for a snog. It bothered her greatly that the witch was so brazen in her conjecture, even more so that she was entangled with Severus. Her mind was mocking her; didn’t she want to be entangled with Severus? Wasn’t a spot of afternoon tea in a teashop in Diagon Alley a delightful little outing for the two of them? Other thoughts crept into her mind, poisoning the pleasant ones. Thoughts of Nigel and how many muggle teashops or coffee houses he might have gone to with the lad, or how Severus would chastise her for making something out of nothing, after all he’d been in the teashop first and the proprietor had foisted tea upon them. For all Hermione knew, Severus had no intention of staying and having tea with her.
                “Who is that woman?” she said with a gasp of exasperation. She calmed her nerves only when she realized the witch had vanished before she’d rather rudely announced her question aloud.
                Severus had shifted over on the cushion slightly, their legs not touching, his hands no longer on hers, and somehow he’d removed her hands from his lap as well. She stared at him, watching as he picked up thistlemilk and dribbled three drops into an empty teacup before pouring a hearty splash of the steaming blue liquid into it. Little sapphire puffs of steam wafted up from the surface of the tea, dazzling her eye for a moment more. Hermione blinked several times and when she’d finally focused her mind, she noted that he’d inhaled his sausage roll and was casually sipping his tea as if it were something he did every day.
                For all she knew it was something he did every day. Hermione, despite living with the man, and knowing a great many of his darker intimacies, knew precious little about the routine of his daily life. She wasn’t even sure what sort of tea it was that he was currently drinking, but supposed it to be something he could only procure in Rosa Lee’s teashop. “What sort—”
                “Blue Bottle,” he said, taking a sip from the cup. “A potent brew of Australian Blue Bottle jelly nettles combined with sapphire dust among other things,” he nodded to the kettle. “The thistlemilk cuts the sweetness,” he added.
                Hermione wasn’t particularly keen on overly sweet things. Having grown up with dentists for parents, sugar was not a part of her every day routine. But thistlemilk was vile and bitter best she could recall and she did not relish the idea of something so bitter tainting her tea even if it meant that the tea would be a tad too sweet. Her puzzled look belayed her conundrum because his teacup appeared just beneath her nose, held there with a waiting expression of mild annoyance on his face. She let her lips press against the rim and took the tiniest sip. It was enough to determine that she would have only one drop of thistlemilk to the steamy blue concoction, if she had any of the tea at all. “What’s it for?” she asked, carefully picking up the thistlemilk and dribbling exactly one drop into her teacup. When she poured the kettle there were fewer dabs of steam rising from its sapphire surface but Hermione did not mind.
                “Potency,” he said.
                Hermione’s brow crinkled. She stared into the teacup. “Potency?”
                Severus rolled his eyes. “Not something I keep in ready supply, I’ve no need. But between the workshop and your general insatiability, I find it to be quite the balm on my all but sapped energy reserves.”
                “Oh!” she cried, nearly spilling her tea as she realized exactly what he meant. Hermione was about to bite her lower lip but his stern gaze made her think better of it. He was breaking her of the habit little by little and she made a mental note to thank him for it later. She stared down into her teacup once more. Hermione had never been fond of taking potions, not even for the simplest of things like fatigue or cramps. She tried not to think about how her magical awakening had given her the worst cramps she’d ever experienced in her life. Because that line of thinking sent her down a path of memories that were inappropriate at best.
                “It wouldn’t hurt you to drink it.” The way he let his sentence hang in the air made her believe that he was about to address her, but after their row about how to address her, he seemed to think better of it. She tried not to read too much into it. She was the queen of overthinking and overanalyzing and it had never worked out well for her.
                But she was given time to mull it over in her mind, not just his suggestion that she drink the tea but him on the whole. Mershwinda had returned with a strangely bundled package and Severus stood to meet her at the counter. Hermione hadn’t even touched her sausage roll, though she really wasn’t hungry. Her stomach seemed to say otherwise as it growled softly. She sighed quietly, picked it up and took a bite. There was no reason to be suspicious of the sausage roll, it was just a lunchtime pasty as far as she could tell, but that hadn’t stopped her from hesitating. Three quick bites had vanished the roll and she found, regrettably, that she was still quite peckish. Severus had finished at the counter with Mershwinda and she found herself staring longingly in his general direction.
                He caught her eye as he turned toward the door, a slender eyebrow arching up onto his forehead. “Did you need something?” he asked, voice even and low.
                She pursed her lips. The entire encounter had been strange. But strange had been par for the course as far as they were concerned. She wasn’t entirely convinced that she hadn’t slipped in the downpour and smacked her head upon the cobblestone and that this was all some elaborate hallucination from her unconscious, concussed mind. Hermione shook her head after a moment. “No, Severus,” she whispered. “I’ll see you tonight.”
                A curt nod of his head was all she received in response before he disappeared through the shop door. His boots hardly touched the cobblestone before he vanished with the resonating crack that accompanied apparition, though the sound was lost to her ears between the rain and door to the teashop swinging shut. Hermione sighed. She wasn’t particularly keen on remaining in the teashop with Mershwinda, especially not after the witch had accused her and Severus of being lovers. Though there was some truth to her accusation, Hermione supposed. It was more than just two people working together in a sexual environment, that had been proven by several incidences at Spinners End. And it wasn’t simply a case of friends with benefits, as that would have implied that they were in fact friends, which she was not certain was a word anyone would use when describing their involvement with Severus Snape, and that there was some benefit to engaging in the way that they did. Aside from the physical release, which she found to be thoroughly enjoyable and assumed with good reason that he did as well, she could not identify what sort of benefits came with their vexingly convoluted entanglement.
                Before Mershwinda could strike up a conversation, Hermione thought it best to settle her tab with the witch and be on her way. It should not have come as a surprise to her when the witch said Severus had paid up the tab and that she owned nothing. There again was evidence of strangely inexplicable behavior from him. Then again she could have simply been overanalyzing and it was nothing more than a simple old-world kindness. Hermione longed to clear her head; even the outing for tea had given her a headache. But she wasn’t going to head back to Spinner’s End, even if he was locked away in his room or down in the lab, she didn’t trust herself not to go engaging with him in one way or another. And going to The Burrow was out of the question, even though she’d told George she thought that was where she was going to head off to.
                Before long Hermione found herself tucked outside of the joke shop, just as George was shutting up for the evening. It had been a strange request, though he’d been in such a hurry to race off and meet his mystery date— she presumed he knew who he was meeting only that he wasn’t letting on to her who it was— that he’d hardly noticed how odd a request it was, to stay up in the workshop for a bit until he returned. Though she was unlikely to find peace of mind there, it at the very least was not the place she shared with Severus. The workshop should have been eerily quiet to her; Hermione had never been one for total silence unless she was studying. But in that moment she had enough conflicting thoughts to put Hogwarts, A History to shame as far as density went.
                But all the time in the universe wouldn’t have been enough to work out her tangle of feelings as they disrupted her thoughts. And before she realized that time had even passed, she heard footfalls on the stairs that led up to the workshop. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when George waltzed into the room. She was not looking forward to encountering Severus alone. She forced her mind to settle somewhat; it would do no good to show distraction to George as he would only start asking questions. Though given the way he was grinning at present, she wasn’t sure that he was in the right frame of mind to be prodding and plodding about through the business of anyone else.
                “How was your drink?” she asked.
                “Hmm?” he smiled. “Oh. Oh! Yes— well…” his cheeks filled with a red that was ready to match his hair. “There was a drink…and then there was a walk…and then there was—”
                “Nope. Thank you, but no, George,” she said shaking her head. “Whatever you got up to after the walk I simply do not need to know.”
                “Indeed,” Severus’ voice drawled. It startled Hermione, causing her to jolt forward ever so slightly, simply because she hadn’t seen him slip into the workshop and yet there he was standing just a few hundred yards in front of her. “Miss Granger,” he nodded. “Mr. Weasley.”
                Even Severus’ curt and formal greeting could not dissolve the perky grin from George’s face. Hermione was at the very least pleased that one of them was having a delighted evening. Though she supposed, but refused to linger on that thought too much, that Severus could also have had a delightful evening with whatever it was that he had gotten up to after they’d parted ways in the peculiar little tea shop. It made her head spin to think about just what a delightful evening might entail for him. Before she’d learned of Nigel— though blessed at the moment the grating little chit appeared to be out of the picture— she might have presumed a pleasant evening for her former professor involved reading or simply being alone with his thoughts. Knowing him intimately as she did, and what he got up to intimately with individuals that were not herself, gave her pause.
                “What have you this evening, George?” she asked in haste, wanting any sort of distraction from her own cruel mind.
                “Ah,” he said, her question seeming to draw him out of his own personal reverie and into the present moment. “Something rather ingenious, if it works, naturally,” he said. “Or at least I think so…we shall see!”
                That made Hermione nervous. Not so much the ingenious bit but the part where he said if it works. Not only did that leave room for the possibility that the product was a dud but it also meant that the product could go horribly wrong. For a moment she flashed back to the red fiery water bubbles and shuddered. But George was on the move across the workshop to the bed station he’d created; he gestured for them to follow, muttering on about how he’d read the description for this particular product several times over but it had taken him days to locate the actual thing, and he’d nearly given up on it being an actual finished product rather than just a half-formulated idea that Fred had scribbled in the ledger.
                Without much thought behind it, she was already undoing her jumper, stepping out of her clothes with her arms sliding back into the dressing robe that she so often used in the workshop. It wasn’t until she was fixing the tie at her waist that she realized that Severus had held the garment while she slipped into it. She looked back over her shoulder at him but he had turned from her and was slipping into his own workshop robe. It was little things like that which made her head spin right round. Why would he do such a thing? Had it become a habit? Was he affording her a kindness? Was this his reciprocation of kindness? There was no way of telling. But she wasn’t allowed to think on it long before George was standing directly in front of her.
                “Have a look at these.”
                In his hand was a small box covered in black velvet. It almost looked like a cigar box or a box in which one might store tea sachets. When he pulled the lid up, there were six small compartments, three stacked atop three, with each compartment holding what appeared to be a single square of parchment. The three across the top were colored, one blue, one green, and one black. So too were the three across the bottom only they were pink, purple, and some curiously blended shade caught halfway between pink and purple. Like many things inside the workshop, they looked ordinary, innocuous even. But Hermione knew better. She didn’t chance a look at Severus, who was standing just behind her, his gentle breath brushing ever so slightly against the back of her neck.
                “Alright, what are they?” she said after a moment.
                The grin that spread across George’s face was almost frightening. “He’s got them listed in the ledger as Love Tunnels.” It took him just a moment to retrieve the ledger, flipping frantically through the pages to the one he’d dog-eared down to mark the product. It was an elaborate full-colored diagram with notes scribbled absolutely everywhere. Hermione’s eyes took in the page, trying not to twist her head about too much to read Fred’s miserable handwriting in the various directions in which it was sprawled. She could feel the ends of Severus’ hair brush ever so slightly against the side of her neck as he leaned his head over her shoulder and peered into the ledger. She held her breath.
                “When inserted into the vaginal cavity…or the anus…though it doesn’t really indicate if there’s a preference or if one should be used specifically and only for one cavity or the other…anyway! They— well, it sounds a bit weird— but they sort of— absorb? Yeah, absorb into the wall like and create a texture. Some of them create movement too!” George gushed.
                “Presumably for an enhanced sexual experience,” said Severus coolly.
                His voice, despite its cold and clinical detachment, still sent shivers up her spine. There was no denying that she had developed an uncontrollable attraction to the man, which was further fueled and fed by her emotional entanglement. She forced herself to stare hard at the product in George’s hand. Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts, she chanted to herself. But her mind insisted was willfully disobedient. Of course, it was nearly impossible to think of anything that was not sexy about Severus. And it didn’t help matters that the product they were about to test was going to involve full blown penetration. Already she could feel her core beginning to heat. Hermione refused to blush, he was sure given comments he’d made in the past that he could already smell her arousal. She was grateful that George did not have so keenly tuned a nose when it came to such things.
                “Right then, so erm…should I…?” she gestured to the bed. Given that she did not have any way to discern what it might feel like if it were inserted into his anus, she figured she would be the one being ravished. It only occurred to her for the briefest of moments that she was still adjusting to the size of him when it came to penetrating her back entrance.
                “Yes, go ahead, Hermione,” said George, picking up his quill and beginning to make notations. “I endeavor to get through all six of them tonight, if you two think you can manage. We can pause or switch to something else between to give you both a rest should we need it. And I’ve got the Lustipops nearby…” he trailed off, absent-mindedly scribbling in the ledger. “I’m still trying to work out what is what,” he muttered. “These notes are impossible.”
                She spared a quick at Severus, as covertly as possible, but he had taken great interest in leaning over George’s shoulder, attempting to study the ledger. She did not sigh. She would not sigh. It was her own stupid fault for chancing to look at him. And what had she been hoping for? A glance from him? A meeting of their eyes where their gazes would lock and she’d be further vexed and perplexed? It didn’t matter; it hadn’t happened. Hermione hopped onto the bed and laid back. She contemplated whether or not to undo her robe, whether or not to take it off entirely. They did rather heat up when they got going, and as this particular type of product was certainly going to get them going, she decided it would be best to take it off completely. Hermione slipped her arms out of the robe, wriggling around on the mattress, leaving the garment beneath her.
                No sooner had she done so then did Severus appear hovering over her. She caught the briefest glimpse of something in his eye but before she could attempt to analyze it or even fully take it in, George was upon them and their attentions were both pulled to him. Hermione tried not to grunt in frustration. Every time she thought she was getting a glimpse into whatever it was he was harboring in his eyes, their work had an uncanny knack of interrupting. Though she somewhat suspected that he knew that and allowed her just a hint of puzzled pondering or enigmatic emotion, knowing full well that she would not be able to think on it for long.
                “Right, so I think we’ll start with the bottom row…judging from Fred’s sense of gender assignation…the pink and purple ones are most likely meant to be inserted vaginally.”
                Hermione raised her head up long enough to see Severus delicately lift the pink square of parchment from its slot in the box. She tried not to focus on the way he fondled it between his fingers; his elegant digits rubbed over and under it as she had so often felt them rubbing over and under her skin. She shivered.
                “Are you cold, Hermione? I did have a chilling charm earlier but it’s been ages and should have warmed up by now,” George frowned, reaching for his wand.
                Severus shook his head. “No need, Mr. Weasley,” he said and with a short, curt snap of his fingers, the room warmed considerably.
                She said nothing. Her tongue was not to be trusted at the best of times. But already her body was heated and adding the heating charm to the room would have her perspiring in no time and no doubt thrashing and bucking about as he plunged his cock into her with this latest product. Hermione refused to look at him, knowing that the faintest hint of a smirk would be tugging at the corner of his lips. He was still playing games. Perhaps it was all he knew how to do; she wasn’t much better only instead of games she wielded uncontrolled emotional outbursts as her weapon of choice.
                “Knees up,” his rich voice rumbled and this time she resisted the shiver that threatened to tear through her body. She had only just bent her knees, parting her legs to allow him access to her sex when his right hand pressed against the inside of her thigh, his thumb deliberately brushing against her slit.
                “I’ve got a bit of basic lubricant if she needs—” George stopped when Severus shook his head.
                “No need, Mr. Weasley.”
                Hermione closed her eyes, feeling her eyelashes flutter together. Damn him and his unyielding ability to make even the dullest of words sound sultry. It was no wonder her body was always ripe, wet and waiting, whenever he came near to her. She shifted her hips down, pushing her sex into his hand just the slightest bit more, uncertain as to what to expect even if she was dripping with need for him. It wasn’t natural to be so turned on, to have one’s own body betray them so thoroughly around one individual, though betrayal was less and less the appropriate word. But she couldn’t think on that, not as he was prying her lips apart, casually stroking his long, slender index finger up and down her slit.
                Her eyes met his; his eyes smoldered down into hers. She’d expected him to be staring at her lips, to be concentrating on pushing this pink square into her wet and waiting entrance. It caused her breath to hitch; this unexpected meeting of eyes, and in that moment she felt his fingers push forward, sliding into her with the little pink square tucked between them. Hermione whimpered. His fingers filled her, just two of his luxurious digits pushed but halfway into her heated channel and already she was clenched, desperate with need, craving more. It was dizzying, all the more so when she thought about how thick and full his cock felt by comparison; it was only a matter of moments before she’d feel that. Hermione’s body responded in kind, her walls pulsing with anticipation.
                “Can you feel anything?” George asked. His voice sounded distant though she knew he was seated with ledger in hand just off the side of the bed.
                “Yes…” she hissed, trying to control her exhale.
                Severus leaned over her. The long, silky fine strands of his hair brushed against her cheek, tickling her heightened skin. “He means the product, not my fingers filling your cunt.”
                It was whispered; the way the words curled from his lips as if they were intended only for her right ear, and she groaned. She couldn’t help herself. She saw the smirk on his lips; it faded as quickly as she’d seen it, but it was there. Hermione closed her eyes hard, trying to regain semblance of consciousness. She had to do better when it came to maintaining her self-control. There were six of those little sleeves George called “Love Tunnels” and he’d only just inserted the first one with his fingers, nevermind all the fucking that would ensue.
                “I feel…” she panted slightly. “I…” Hermione controlled her breath. “It’s normal, George. I mean he’s— ooh…oh!” she cried. He had pulled his fingers back, a most disappointing sensation but that wasn’t what had caused her to cry out. All at once there was a great squeezing, a tightening pressure inside of her that was teetering of the border of painful pleasure, falling just over the edge into the painful category. She whimpered once more and tried rolling her hips as if that could somehow help her escape the building pressure. And then it stopped entirely.
                “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice rushed but not entirely alarmed.
                Hermione bit her lower lip, but quickly released the petal from her teeth. “I…yes? I think so.” She frowned. “There was an incredible amount of pressure, as if someone were filling me like a water balloon. I felt fit to burst and then it just— stopped.” She didn’t feel in the least bit good about it; there was no doubt more yet to come.
                “Right,” said George, furiously scribbling away in the ledger. Though she noted with some levity that his ink-flinging technique had improved as their time in the workshop had continued. George seemed now to only smatter ink droplets directly onto his cheeks, blending into his freckles. “Do you feel alright to have him road test it then?” he asked.
                Hermione nodded, glancing up at Severus. She hadn’t thought to see if he’d prepared himself, but was not surprised when he placed both hands onto the side of her hips and pulled her forward. There was no preamble or hesitation; a swift hard push and he’d thrust himself into her, gasping as he did. Though he’d become somewhat more vocally loose with her in their private entanglements at Spinner’s End, he was still stolid and reserved to the best of his capabilities when they were together in George’s presence in the workshop. So for him to make such an audible gasp meant he was feeling something even he couldn’t fight. She wanted to grin, even chuckle quietly, but the sensation of his filling her was exquisite, intense and satisfying; all she could manage to do was groan.
                “What’s it feel like?” he heard George ask, noting as she let her head roll to the side, how intently George gazed up and down Severus’ spine. It was hot enough inside the workshop, doubly so now that her body was blazing on fire with his cock buried to the painfully pleasurable hilt in her core, but watching George lust silently over the man who was fucking her was a bit too much. She could feel little rivulets of sweat trickling down her temple. The velvety heat of his tongue caressed the side of her temple and she squealed; the entire gesture hidden by the dark cascade of hair that fell from his head around her face.
                “Severus?” George said, his own voice ever so slightly pinched.
                “It is a pulsation,” he ground out through pinched lips. “Like little dots pulsing all over her walls,” he strained.
                Hermione found this to be astonishing as she could feel nothing more than the delicious sensation of his cock filling her, and he hadn’t even moved. She’d also felt his tongue, catching the bit of sweat as it ran down the side of her temple and that had thrilled her to no end, embarrassed as she was to admit it. She could hear George again, though concentrating on his words was becoming somewhat of a strain. He was asking if it was tight. She felt no fuller than usual, though Severus was a lengthy, thick, man. She’d had precious little to compare him to, but knew full well that he filled her more than anyone else ever had and that his size was beyond that of what was considered average. She wriggled her hips and was rewardingly punished with both of his hands digging into her flesh, pushing her pelvis down. “Don’t,” he hissed, eyes twisted shut tight. He was struggling to maintain his composure.
                “Severus? Is it— ”
                “I heard you,” he panted, “The first time, Mr. Weasley.” Severus was drawing in hard, thick breaths through his nose, trying to keep perfectly still. “It is extremely tight,” he said, again through terse breath. “Combined with the pulsation even a well-trained tantric wizard would struggle not to blow his load.”
                “Extraordinary,” George murmured.
                Hermione was in awe. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling but never before had she seen him trying so hard to keep himself composed. And not only composed, but apparently he was desperately restraining himself to keep from ejaculating. Her mind, though still fuzzy with lust, desire, and need, was firing rapidly, ascertaining quickly that it was some sort of pride to which he was desperately clinging. They had the Lustipops that could recharge him with a few simple licks so he could go again and again. He’d had a tea designed to increase stamina and potency just that afternoon. So there was no other logical reason, save for pride and appearances, to struggle so vehemently against something so arousing and natural.
                Severus’ fingers were still dug into her hips, forcing her pelvis down into the mattress. But Hermione was determined to get one up on him in that moment. With a subtle swivel of her hips, wriggling just slightly from side to side, she began to clench and unclench her pelvic floor with as much control as she could muster, which admittedly wasn’t very much. But it was enough. He growled; Severus pitched his torso over her, burying his face into the mattress beside her neck, the fabric and cushioning swallowing most of his audible carnal lust as he came. A surge of heated cum erupted inside of her and she quaked at his orgasm, triggering a minor one of her own. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around his back, but he was too overcome in the throes of ecstasy to shake her off.
                “Wow!” George said and had either of them been capable of looking in his direction they would have seen a blush fit to match his hair flooded all through his cheeks. “Wow, wow, wow! Just think…if that can be modified just a bit to keep from bringing about that sort of ending too soon…” and he was off to the races once more scribbling in the ledger. “Take a minute,” he said between frantic swipes with his quill. “And detangle…breathe and whatnot…and if you’re both alright, we’ll try the next one in a sec.”
                Hermione could hear the scraping of the stool against the wooden floorboards. George’s racing footsteps quickly followed as they ascended the stairs to his flat, and the echo of a slamming door completed his hasty retreat from the workshop. She wasn’t nearly half as spent as Severus so laughing just slightly at George’s breakneck departure felt good. She knew he’d only need a minute to wank himself off, but was grateful that he’d left her alone with Severus.
                She could feel the strands of his hair clinging to the side of her neck and face. Hermione stroked her hands up and down his spine. After just a moment of doing this, she felt his body stiffen and tense. And without warning, he pulled back from her, withdrawing himself from her entirely. She shuddered and gasped at the sudden loss of contact, though it was not as chilly as she had expected. “Are you—”
                “Don’t,” he snapped.
                Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t get snappy with me, Severus. I can’t help it if the product—”
                Her words were lost in a most inexplicable fashion as he lips all but swallowed hers. Hermione couldn’t breathe. She was trapped in a kiss, his tongue assailing her mouth and it terrified her and thrilled her. It was a lifetime of passion wound up in a flash of lightening and just as it had started, it stopped, and he pulled away, glaring at her. She looked stricken, parting her lips to speak once more, but this time two fingers landed harshly against them. “I said don’t.”
                “You can’t tell me when and how and what to speak,” she tried, her words mangling as he pressed his fingers more firmly into her lips. “Stop it, Severus.”
                He glared at her. “Miss Granger—” and then he let loose a heavy sigh. “Just give it a rest, please?” he said very quietly, letting his fingers fall slowly from her lips, trailing them gently down the front of her chin and away from her face entirely. “I’ve not the strength, despite the tea, to put up with your… just…please…” he said.
                Hermione was so Gobsmacked that she simply stared at him. This was unheard of. And she didn’t know what to make of it. Half of her was convinced it was some ploy; he would pretend to concede the upper hand only to snatch it back some moments later when he had her in a more compromising position. And yet there was another part of her that was frightened by the sincerity of it. She didn’t know what to make of it. It vexed her more than anything presently. Losing his physical composure in the workshop was at times inevitable, and despite that he’d always kept his distance once the product’s effects had worn off or they’d paused from their testing. But this was something entirely different and new. She couldn’t help but think about the way they’d spent the morning; the fight she’d witnessed, the fucking in the shower, the strange encounter over tea. It boggled her mind, all of that, but not as severely as his sudden pleading did.
                She hung her head after a second and nodded. “Sorry,” she muttered.
                It was too complex to think further upon; his calling a sudden halt to these extremely trying games for reasons unbeknownst to her was maddening. Was he truly calling a ceasefire or was this yet another ploy and tactic? Or was she reading far too much into it? Her mind whirled. Did she read too much into things as he said? Or did he say that to make her think she read too much into things because he had to keep her off-balance because she was right about a whole host of things when it came to him and his feelings?
                Tentatively, she reached a trembling hand forward as she shifted to sit up. He was seated at the edge of the bed, legs swung over the side, with his robe draped over him, the lapels open. It took her body a moment to sit up fully, swinging her own legs over the side until she sat beside him. He did not flinch nor move when she did, and she pressed her luck just a bit, placing that same trembling hand on the top of his thigh. He stiffened, almost imperceptivity, but she noticed it.
                “I couldn’t feel anything different,” she said.
                He nodded. “Indeed.”
                They sat for a long moment in silence. Her mind was racing and she assumed his was too. It seemed to be taking George ever so slightly longer than usual to finish his business upstairs in the flat, but for that she was grateful. It gave her a moment to just sit beside him, hand resting atop his thigh. The room was warm but that did not negate her general desire to let her head fall against his shoulder and cuddle against him. Hermione resisted that urge, knowing full well it would earn her some sort of negative response. It shocked her further still when the heaviness of his own hand landed atop hers and for a moment she expected him to pluck up her fingers and push her off. But he did not. Severus rested his hand atop hers, staring straight ahead, silent.
                The door to the flat flew open with a clumsy bang. It startled her and she jumped a bit, surprised that he did not immediately jerk his hand back from hers. George’s feet were coming down the stairs and it was only when she heard him land on the floorboards of the workshop that Severus lifted his hand and stood from the bed’s edge. “If there are five more of these so-called Love Tunnels, I think it best if we alternate between them and another product, particularly if each one is going to be as intense or potentially more intense than the first one,” Severus said simply. Once again his facial features were unreadable, his voice neutral, as if nothing had just happened.
                And perhaps nothing had happened. He’d placed his hand over hers when she’d touched his thigh. So what? He’d called a ceasefire with their little mind games. Big deal. Perhaps it was nothing. But to Hermione it was everything. “Yes, George,” she said, surprising herself as she joined the conversation. “Severus is right. What else do you have that we can fiddle with in-between Love Tunnels?”
                For a moment George looked dumbfounded. “Ah. Right. Um… hang on,” he said and then dashed somewhat idiotically across the room to a large cabinet. “I had all but given up on these, thinking they were a bit silly and really a waste of time…but actually…given the need for a bit of a break…I think they’re perfect,” he shouted back. A moment later he stood in front of them holding a pair of what looked like wands.
                “What are those?” Hermione asked.
                “Wands,” said George.
                Severus rolled his eyes with the tiniest snort. “We can see that, Mr. Weasley…”
                George turned slightly pink in the cheeks but laughed all the same. “Magic wands.” This caused him to flush harder. “Sexy magic wands?” He rolled his eyes and groaned. “They’re enchanted— oh sod it— here.” He thrust a wand forward waiting for each of them to take it. “Fred and I made loads of these when we were running the joke shop by paper forum out of Gryffindor Tower…only not with this sort of enchantment…”
                “Oh— wait a minute— I think I remember that. The dueling duelers, right?” she said with a strange grin crossing her lips. “But George, they were dueling wands, weren’t they?”
                “Yes, Hermione. But they weren’t ordinary wands. I mean they were ordinary wands, broken ones mostly that we half-pinched half-bargained from Ollivander—” he paused, and thought better of it. “Nevermind where they came from. Fred and I spent ages working out how to enchant them with a specific set of enchantments. Like those training wands for pre-firsties, you know? When you’re trying to get basic practice in but you don’t want your kiddo to be able to do any real damage?’
                Hermione had heard of such things, having read about them in various textbooks, but as she had grown up in a muggle household, she had never had one of her own. “Yes, I think I know what you mean,” she said.
                “Right, so, instead of just your basic enchantments we loaded those up with dueling spells only more random like. You never knew what was going to come out of the end— nothing too dangerous of course— really leveled the playing field when it came to dueling. Plus these were more friendly like, so you could have it out with a mate if need be and not do any real damage.”
                Severus crossed his arms over his chest, having redressed and closed his robe properly upon standing. “To your point, Mr. Weasley. What have those got to do with these?” he had not taken a wand despite George’s still holding one out to him.
                “Well these are those! Sort of. I mean, same principal, only I tweaked them up to be loaded with…erm…sexy spells.” He blushed.
                “Sexy spells,” Severus said.
                “Er…yeah…so it’s like having blind dueling capabilities only…sexy…” the more he spoke, the redder his face became.
                “I think I see what you mean, George,” Hermione said, trying to help alleviate some of the mounting tension from Severus’ frustration. “But for the life of me I can’t think of any sexy spells that you could have possibly enchanted them with…I mean maybe a tickling curse or some such…”
                George chortled. ‘Guess that’ll be part of the fun for you when you try them out.” He pushed the wands forward once more. Hermione took hers, as did Severus, though with much more reluctance. “There isn’t anything dangerous in them, but I think it might be best if you two… wait a minute,” he said and then drew his own wand, pointing it at the mattress. “Wingardium Leviosa.” A simple levitation spell had the mattress floating up and over to a large cleared space of the workshop. George guided it down and then swished his wand about again “Engorgio.”
                Hermione watched with curious surprise as the mattress grew nearly double and then triple in size. It looked large enough to accommodate a family of giants. She bit her lower lip, but again quickly released it, hardly aware that it had been all of Severus’ chastising about that particular behavior that was having her react that way. “Erm…” she started.
                “In case anyone falls off balance or a spell triggers…well… I don’t know… just in case,” George grinned.
                “Should we just get on the mattress then?” she asked, sounding slightly more nervous than she intended.
                “Yes, but get dressed first. No, not your robes, your street clothes please, bra and panties and boxers and all that if you please,” George seemed quite pleased with himself as he picked up the ledger. “Won’t be much fun if a certain disrobing spell is fired and you’re only wearing one garment.”
                Hermione’s eyes widened. She hadn’t thought about disrobing spells. But Severus was already moving over to where their clothes were hung and had all but laced up his boots by the time she’d joined him. It took a moment but she’d stepped back into her knickers and jeans, her bra, and sweater, her socks, and shoes. She wondered if that was all really necessary, but moved to stand across from Severus all the same. She noted that he took several deliberately large paces back across the mattress. Rolling her eyes, she did the same; the proper dueling distance now rested between them. She stood with the enchanted wand in her hand, though Severus was in formation, brandishing his ready to fire it.
                And fire it he did. Without word or wave, just a simple flick of his wrist and a bolt of hot blue light fizzled out of the tip of his wand, hurling through the air at Hermione. It smacked her square in the chest before she could fully register she’d been fired at and immediately she felt its effect. There were hands paddling her backside. Palms firmly slapping at her ass through her jeans and her knickers. Seven, eight, nine, ten, the slaps were rhythmic and she squealed, jumping, and nearly pitching forward. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cried, unable to catch her balance as the unseen hands slapped her arse once more. They were firm, commanding slaps, much like the slaps he’d given her when he had attempted to train her in the art of whips and such in his home.
                “Ooh! Ow! Oh!” she cried, wriggling about. Haphazardly she flicked the wand, her wrist snapping against the air hard, but as she did, she was slapped again and the bolt of shimmering red light flew off course and hit the wall of the workshop. “Damnit!” she cried.
                Severus took no heed in her missed shot and with extreme control flicked the wand again, the same crisp movement, the same precision. Three violet sparks burst from the wand-tip and leapt through the air, swishing forward into Hermione’s hair. As they made contact with her locks, the slapping on her arse ceased. But she hadn’t a moment to gain her balance before strong, firm, fingers were tugging through her hair, raking invisible nails against her scalp. “Oooh! Oh!” she cried. Her hair had come loose from its elastic and was falling all around her face, being tugged this way and that, not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to give her trouble in maintaining upright. She pitched forward, falling ino the mattress onto her knees.
                “This is bloody brilliant,” George snickered, once again scribbling in awe into his ledger.
                Hermione flapped her arm about, a stream of bubbles erupting from the tip of the wand, several of which flew in Severus’ direction, most of which missed him entirely. The one lone bubble that did graze the side of his jaw seemed to have quite the effect on him. She watched, through tangles of her hair being tugged about, as prints of lipstick began to form all over his jawline; it appeared his was being kissed, and from the looks of it, quite sensually as his knees trembled slightly under the pressure of the curse.
                She was transfixed, staring at the invisible lips kissing his jawline, leaving shimmering lipstick prints for but a moment upon his skin before they vanished, and the sensation of nails raking over her scalp had her completely disoriented. So distracted was she that Hermione did not see Severus deftly flick his wand in her direction once more. She squealed when she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, blinking furiously to see who had attacked her. The hands in her hair ceased, and a new pair of invisible hands was tugging and tearing at her blouse, ripping it open straight down the middle, exposing her heaving chest to the elements of the room.
                Waving her wrist frantically, half in an attempt to push the invisible hands away, which were now tugging at the straps of her bra, and half in an attempt to fire off a curse of her own, Hermione flipped the wand toward Severus. A green stream of water flew from its tip but missed him entirely, splashing against the mattress and then vanishing in a puff of equally green smoke. “Urgh!” she cried. “This isn’t fair!” The weight of the invisible hands had pushed her back some, forcing her heels up into her calves as she bent with the pressure of her bra being pried off. “Damnit! Urgh!”
                She heard George chuckling. “You’re terrible at dueling, Hermione. Go on! Do better!”
                But she hadn’t the time to holler at George or do as he’d commanded because yet another spell was firing out of Severus’ enchanted wand. Silver strands were tangling around her arms and she prepared for kisses or slaps but gasped when they threaded themselves around her wrists, hoisting her arms up over her head. The wand slipped from her fingers as the silver threads bound her wrists together, holding her arms in the air.
                George roared with laughter. “Finish her, Severus! Finish her!”
                There was another deft flick of his wand. Three flicks to be exact, and a series of colored sparks— first gold, then red, and finally white— sped forth from its tip. The gold ones hit her first, tingling over her jeans, spreading up and down her legs. Her remaining clothing dissolved. She shrieked, feeling how suddenly naked she was but before she could struggle or protest, the red sparks crashed her against her exposed nipples and she groaned, feeling as if someone had suddenly started nipping and licking at her breasts. “Fuck,” she cried.
                She could see Severus taking cautious steps toward her as the white bolt hit, slithering up around her hair, gathering it up and securing it in place. She was trussed and half-bound, with her hair tied back in a knot against the top of her head, her wrists still bound together above her head, completely in the nude with her nipples being assailed. “Please! Please…” she panted, tossing back and forth, trying to be freed from everything at once and having no success whatever in her pursuit.
                George was laughing so hard that he nearly pitched from the stool. “Good gods,” he roared. “That’s bloody brilliant.”
                “Finite incantatem,” Severus muttered and Hermione collapsed to the mattress. Or she would have except for his arms falling around her and pulling her up to her feet. Somehow as he’d trekked across the mattress, he’d retrieved her robe and was slipping her arms into the sleeves as he held her upright. “Learn to duel better,” he whispered and then gently undid the tangled knot which the spell had left in her hair. Her body was on edge, still trembling and shaking, but she remained upright, staring at Severus.
                “That’s so perfect,” he said. “I wish your aim was better, Hermione. Would have loved to have seen a few more of those work, though there will be more time for that,” he chuckled.
                “Is each wand loaded with the same set of random spells and curses?” Severus asked.
                “No and I’ve no idea which one has what,” he said truthfully. “I set about a dozen or so into each one. That seemed to be the limit without the wand’s core exploding…though they do both have disrobing spells…and similar attributes, like both have some sort of binding spell…” he looked down in his ledger. “And I think with some refinement I could do a series…for beginners…for bondage….so on…”
                “Marketable, most certainly,” said Severus. “Are you alright, Miss Granger?”
                Hermione just nodded. It hadn’t been unpleasant or painful. It had been a burn to her pride that she had failed so miserably at dueling. She had never been one for dueling, even when they’d practiced for The Order. She made a mental note to try harder when they had a go after the second round of the Love Tunnels.
                “Right. So if that was enough of a break…Severus, how about trying the green one from that box? But the green one should slip over you instead of into her.”
                Hermione frowned. She stepped quickly off the mattress as she saw George brandish his wand, shrinking it back to its original size before moving it back over to where it was normally. She didn’t look to see if Severus was taking the Lustipop to prepare himself, though she assumed he was. She waited. But it only took him a moment to approach the bed, once more in his own robe. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly he changed in and out of his garments. In his hand he held the green Love Tunnel, which did indeed look ever so slightly more like a tunnel, though still paper thin.
                She glanced casually down between his legs to see him sporting an erection, though it was not as hard and firm as she’d seen him previously. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes belaying her concern. She received a hard stare and immediately blushed. “I’m fine, Miss Granger,” he muttered, before carefully sliding the green paper-thin tube over his shaft. “Damn,” he hissed, as the tube all but melted into his skin. It thankfully did not turn his shaft green; Hermione was not sure she could cope with staring at a rich, emerald green cock before having it thrust inside of her.
                Severus grunted and Hermione stared at him, eyes trailing down to his cock, which was now standing much more fully at attention. Though it was covered, and alarmingly so, in little spikes of flesh. Hermione gasped. “Oh dear…” she shuddered. “That looks—”
                “Well fuck me,” said George in awe. He’d come to stand beside them both, gazing quite closely at Severus’ cock, which for all intents and purposes appeared to be covered in fleshy spikes, the way a textured dildo might look.
                “Decidedly not,” Severus muttered, much to Hermione’s astonishment. She tried not to snort. But George seemed to take no notice of the comment, too transfixed by the altered appearance of Severus’ manhood to hear him. “Take a picture, Mr. Weasley, it will last longer,” he muttered and then nodded to Hermione. “Are you sufficiently lubricated?” he asked.
                It was her turn to blush. She was still somewhat sticky between her legs, all of the nipping and licking at her nipples from the duel had riled her up somewhat, but she wasn’t sure she was at all prepared for a throbbing cock covered in fleshy spikes. “I…er…yes? I…yes,” she stumbled over her words and scooted hastily back onto the mattress.
                Severus crawled over her, at once bringing his hand down between her legs. She sighed, her voice filled with lust, as he stroked her, gently manipulating her folds, prodding and stroking her lips, lazily flicking at her clit. “Yes…I… yes, Severus…” she whispered. She knew he was checking to be sure she was ready; she needed to not read more into it than that. But she couldn’t help herself. Hermione relaxed, her body wound up, ready for his cock, regardless if it was coated in fleshy spikes. There was a slight hesitation this time, the bulbous head of his manhood, nudging gently at her entrance before pushing slowly in. “Oooooh,” she moaned, feeling her whole body tense with pleasure.
                He began to thrust, slowly and rhythmically in and out of her, careful with his motions. Hermione was moaning and mewling, arching her hips up and all but begging him to go faster. “It does not have any added sensation on my end,” he said rather flatly, though she noted he was once again gritting his teeth. She had heard him say dozens of times that it was still sex, she was still tight, and wetter than most anything he’d ever encountered, and that it still tested his resolve to fuck her.
                “Oooh…” she whimpered once more. “Feels like…aaah…fuck…yessss….” She hissed as he pushed into her more firmly. “It’s on…yes…g-spot…oh fuck…” she was losing touch with her words but didn’t care. Hermione gripped her hands firmly into the mattress beside her, fully afraid that if she did not she would pull him down fully over her and throttle her tongue into his mouth, desperate for more. The slick squelching sound of his cock pounding her molten liquid core echoed up to her ears; the blood thrumming through her temples blazing inside her head as he pounded into her. She closed her eyes, bucking her hips to meet his thrusts and within just minutes an orgasm far greater than her smaller one from the first Love Tunnel tore through her. She squealed; her toes curled; she let the sound of her orgasmic cry break over her ears, not caring that George Weasley was watching or that Severus was trying harder than anything to keep himself from coming.
                When clarity began to cut her post-orgasmic fog and it was clear that he was not going to allow himself release, Hermione whimpered slightly and then let her hips fall flat beneath him. She watched as he stilled himself a moment, carefully sliding himself back out of her core. His cock was throbbing, still covered in the fleshy spikes. “That’s good, that’s actually really good, could you— I mean— Hermione, I just want to see if it’s something that— er…” George rolled his hand in her direction. She looked perplexed, not quite understanding what he was getting at.
                Severus put two firm hands on her shoulders and pulled her up to sitting. “Kneel down beside the mattress, Miss Granger,” he said guiding her body toward the mattress’ edge.
                It dawned on her then, as he positioned himself around her shoulders, one leg on either side, that George wanted her to suck him, presumably to see if the texture was one that could be tolerated in the throat. She blushed but it was only for a moment. She was growing less shy when it came to administering oral pleasures to him. She was still no expert by any stretch of the imagination but her eagerness to have any part of her, including her throat, filled with his desirable cock overrode her embarrassment and she licked her lips before gazing up at him rather innocently, trying her best to look seductive.
                But Severus’ eyes were closed. Both hands rested on the tops of her shoulders and she could sense that he was about to lose his handle on his self-control. Something washed over her in that moment; it was a compassion that she had not expected. Hermione placed both hands on the top of his thighs, giving his flesh a delicate, tender, squeeze before she bowed her head and carefully drew the tip of him into her mouth. She let her tongue rest still against the underside of his shaft before beginning to suck his length into the recess of her throat. The fleshy spikes did not stab and were not unpleasant, no more so than generally having a long, thick, pulsating rod, of hot, turgid flesh gliding down into one’s throat.
                Severus hissed, feeling her tongue move slowly around his cock. “That’s enough,” he whispered, but could not bring himself to push her back.
                Hermione was certain that he would need to finish before the enchantment would wear off, so she drew in a raggedy breath through her nose and then began to bob up mouth vigorously up and down the length of his shaft, all the while letting one hand slip beneath his thighs, moving to cup his balls. It was the gentle squeeze of his balls along with a swirl of her tongue over his tip that sent him over. Severus growled; Hermione forced her throat to relax; gushes of his hot seed spilled into her mouth, splashing her tongue and lips as she sucked his release.
                She waited a moment before pulling back, careful with his shaft and tip as she released him from her mouth. “It’s easy on the throat, George,” she said, though her voice was husky and low. Hermione licked her lips and stared at Severus, whose eyes were still closed. She loved the taste of him; it was a rare treat that she was not often allowed.
                A buzzer roared and echoed around the workshop. “Bloody hell who could that be?” George frowned. “I’m not expecting— ooh. Wait a tick!” he leapt up from the stool. “Yes I am. I mean I’m not expecting— that would be a wizarding world miracle,” he smirked, laughing at his own joke. “I’m— delivery! That’ll be the Wonder Water, I suspect. Freshly packaged, and ready for grand release at the convention!” He was practically giddy as he fled through the workshop to the stairs, downwards this time into the Joke Shop. “Be right back!” his voice trailed up as he disappeared.
                Hermione was cautious as she stood, drawing her robe around her. “Are you—”
                “Fine,” he muttered. She noted the way he glanced down to look at his gently deflating erection. “And smooth,” he said with a hint of relief.
                Hermione smiled. “It didn’t feel— well, not in my mouth anyhow,” she shrugged. “Brilliant in….well…”
                “Yes, yes,” he muttered and drew his robe closed. She stared at him. “What?” he sneered.
                “You just…something’s off,” she shrugged, though she knew she shouldn’t have.
                “I said I’m fine,” he repeated and then stared down at the ground.
                Hermione took a timid step toward him, being careful as she once more sat beside him on the mattress. “Do you want to—”
                “No,” he muttered and tensed when once more he felt her hand on his thigh. But again he allowed her touch, not moving to dismiss her.
                “Okay,” she said simply. Though she would never completely grow used to not discussing things, as was her— and nearly all witches ever— way, she could take solace in the fact that he had not yet rebuked her comforting touch. It was a small thing she could give to him, rather that he allowed her to give to him and for the moment that was enough. It was still quite the maelstrom of emotions inside her mind; knowing that he hadn’t exactly chose her in the battles of Nigel versus Hermione— a completely fictitious matchup between herself and the barely-legal muggle Twink— and yet that she was still victorious was a bitter spoil of war that she was trying to enjoy. But it was taking its toll on him, she could sense it, even if he wouldn’t say so. Hermione sat beside him, just letting her hand rest there, saying nothing.
                “You’re being unusually quiet,” he said after a time.
                Hermione scoffed. Damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. “You prefer it when I’m quiet,” she said.
                “A true statement. That does not mean, however, that it isn’t unusual.” He said without looking at her.
                “You said you don’t want to talk about it,” she tried to stare straight ahead as well, but found that she kept trying to glance at his face in her periphery.
                “Also a true statement. That does not mean, however, that I wasn’t expecting your insistence and barrage of questions and insistences that I answer them.”
                Hermione sighed. “Look, I think you should talk about—”
                Severus placed his hand suddenly over hers, squeezing her fingers. “Not here.”
                She frowned, but then gasped quietly. “Does that mean you will talk about it.”
                There was silence for a moment. He released her fingers from the squeeze hold he’d put them in, but kept his hand atop hers. “I shall think about it,” he said.
                But before she could say anything further, George had returned. “We’ve got Wonder Water! By the case full! Definitely going to be demonstrating this at the convention,” he cheered. “But we know what it does, so let’s get back to those Love Tunnels! I doubt they’ll be useful for demonstration purposes, but I want them ready to have in the samples catalogue so that people can get an idea. The more we have launched and ready for sale before the convention, the better off we are,” he added. “Now, are you both ready?”
                “Yes,” they said, surprising one another that they spoke their responses in unison.
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