Room of Requirement
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
26
Views:
3,634
Reviews:
54
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
26
Views:
3,634
Reviews:
54
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
One
Professor Snape glided quietly down the silent corridor. True restful sleep never came easily to him, and it was so much more entertaining to quietly traverse the hallways, taking points from rule-breaking Gryffindors and the rare Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.
He turned a corner soundlessly and discovered two dishevled figures rushing towards Hufflepuff house. “Abbott! MacMillan! What are you two doing... out of your beds... at this hour?” he drawled, savoring Hannah Abbott’s complete mortification. Their faces, flushed from running and God knows what else, betrayed the nature of their nighttime excursion.
“Twenty points from Hufflepuff! And it should be more, for palpable teenage horniness. If I ever catch you out here again, Professor Dumbledore will be informed of your... late-night liaisons. Get! To! Bed!” Severus spun on one foot and walked briskly away from the two humiliated Hufflepuffs. Being perfectly honest, his enmity towards young lovers was largely in part to his own deficiency in this area. He was lonely-lonely for companionship, conversation, and physical manifestations of such. Of course, over the years, Albus had set him up with countless single witches. None of them, it seemed, had two brain cells to rub together. He longed for someone who could carry on a conversation about something other than the winner of Witch Weekly’s most charming smile award- unfortunately, this year, it was the Boy Who Lived seemingly to make Severus Snape’s life a living hell.
He longed for someone who shared his interests, his intellect... his thoughts drifted again to Hermione Granger. He’d been strongly attracted to the girl since she was seventeen. He noticed she seemed more attentive in class lately... maybe, just maybe... No, he corrected himself. He was the evil, ugly, ornery Potions Master. Granger had grown into a beautiful, intelligent, and capable witch. She could have her pick of men at Hogwarts and beyond, he noted, remembering her brief fling with Viktor Krum. He resigned himself to the fact that she wasn’t interested in him, and most likely just trying to brush up on Potions for her N.E.W.T.s. Not that she needed it, he thought, as she’d scored 118% out of 100 on her last exam.
He turned a corner, heading back to his dungeon. In a spot that was definitely empty an hour earlier, he saw a small door, barely noticeable, illuminated only by a softly flickering candle. Intrigued, he opened the door into darkness. Despite everything growing up in the Wizarding World had taught him, he stepped into the blackness and tried to adjust his eyes. The door slammed loudly behind him and the room became softly lit.
He blinked. From appearances, he’d stepped into a 1940’s upmarket whorehouse. The walls were striped in a gaudy but appealing duo of deep pinks. There were gold moldings, a gold vanity, a gold and pink chaise, a loveseat, and a huge golden circular bed hung with thickly woven, expensive, sheer pink drapery. The air was thick with luxurious vanilla and jasmine Diptyque candles, placed on nearly every sce ace and in the gilded chandelier above. He looked up. The bed opened to a massive mirror on the ceiling. Music played sofly, from no visible source, a male muggle singing in an ethereal voice.
“I heard there was a secret chord... David played, and it pleased the Lord... but you don’t really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift...”
Severus was still taking this all in when a loud crack- the unmistakable sound of someone apparating- interrupted his reverie.
***
Hermione Granger stood up. She was in a gaudy bedroom that she’d never seen before... or had she? She was surprised to discover that somehow, she’d been transported to the Room of Requirement- she hadn’t been here since Dumbledore’s Army was allowed to meet out in the open. She reached down to brush herself off and felt bare flesh. Her flannel, red and gold plaid pajama bottoms complete with roaring lion (more like a yawn after several washings by the house elves) were gone, replaced with sheer, gold and red plaid boy-cut panties. Her red tank top was gone, revealing a matching plaid baby-doll nightie. The baby-doll, mostly sheer, was split up to its underwire bra, ending in a red ribbon. The bra was small and tight, cupping her ample breasts and bringing them close together and up. Had she not been completely flummoxed by the circumstances, she would be thrilled with the lingerie.
“Miss Granger! What are you doing out of bed out of hours! And in that... “ he stopped, unable to finish his sentence.
“As you undoubtably witnessed, Professor, I was summoned here through no fault of my own. I was trying to study! Did you bring me here?” She would have ranted further, but she was rather consumed trying to cover her breasts, almost-bare ass, and thighs all at once.
“You didn’t apparate?”
“You can’t apparate or disapparate on the grounds. Honestly, professor, haven’t you ever read ‘Hogwarts, A History’?”
“Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for being an insufferable know-it-all in a state of near nudity. And be glad it’s not more!” He stopped, a flush creeping over his sallow cheeks. In honesty, she deserved about a hundred points for unmitigated sex appeal. He’d never seen anything so sexy in his entire life, and he’d been invited to many Dark Revels based solely on the subject. But Hermione, spilling out of her Gryffindor lingerie- embarrassed, angry, and... was that lust? Probably just anger and embarrassment, he sighed inwardly.
“I didn’t put this on! I was wearing flannel pajamas!” She looked down, avoiding his eyes.
“Well, have you ever been in this room before?” He drawled, gesturing to the brothel-like surroundings.
“Er... it’s the Room of Requirement, Professor. It shows itself and provides something for you if you ever have a real need for it.” It was like the realization dawned simultaneously- he looked at the large, gilt-framed mirror, her at the myriad candles glowing softly on every surface, her breasts spilling from her red and gold slip, Jeff Buckley playing faintly into the air from nowhere. The heady scent, the intoxicating melody, the soft lighting.
The room seemed to be implying, in a ratblatblatant way, that its occupants desperately needed to get laid.
He turned a corner soundlessly and discovered two dishevled figures rushing towards Hufflepuff house. “Abbott! MacMillan! What are you two doing... out of your beds... at this hour?” he drawled, savoring Hannah Abbott’s complete mortification. Their faces, flushed from running and God knows what else, betrayed the nature of their nighttime excursion.
“Twenty points from Hufflepuff! And it should be more, for palpable teenage horniness. If I ever catch you out here again, Professor Dumbledore will be informed of your... late-night liaisons. Get! To! Bed!” Severus spun on one foot and walked briskly away from the two humiliated Hufflepuffs. Being perfectly honest, his enmity towards young lovers was largely in part to his own deficiency in this area. He was lonely-lonely for companionship, conversation, and physical manifestations of such. Of course, over the years, Albus had set him up with countless single witches. None of them, it seemed, had two brain cells to rub together. He longed for someone who could carry on a conversation about something other than the winner of Witch Weekly’s most charming smile award- unfortunately, this year, it was the Boy Who Lived seemingly to make Severus Snape’s life a living hell.
He longed for someone who shared his interests, his intellect... his thoughts drifted again to Hermione Granger. He’d been strongly attracted to the girl since she was seventeen. He noticed she seemed more attentive in class lately... maybe, just maybe... No, he corrected himself. He was the evil, ugly, ornery Potions Master. Granger had grown into a beautiful, intelligent, and capable witch. She could have her pick of men at Hogwarts and beyond, he noted, remembering her brief fling with Viktor Krum. He resigned himself to the fact that she wasn’t interested in him, and most likely just trying to brush up on Potions for her N.E.W.T.s. Not that she needed it, he thought, as she’d scored 118% out of 100 on her last exam.
He turned a corner, heading back to his dungeon. In a spot that was definitely empty an hour earlier, he saw a small door, barely noticeable, illuminated only by a softly flickering candle. Intrigued, he opened the door into darkness. Despite everything growing up in the Wizarding World had taught him, he stepped into the blackness and tried to adjust his eyes. The door slammed loudly behind him and the room became softly lit.
He blinked. From appearances, he’d stepped into a 1940’s upmarket whorehouse. The walls were striped in a gaudy but appealing duo of deep pinks. There were gold moldings, a gold vanity, a gold and pink chaise, a loveseat, and a huge golden circular bed hung with thickly woven, expensive, sheer pink drapery. The air was thick with luxurious vanilla and jasmine Diptyque candles, placed on nearly every sce ace and in the gilded chandelier above. He looked up. The bed opened to a massive mirror on the ceiling. Music played sofly, from no visible source, a male muggle singing in an ethereal voice.
“I heard there was a secret chord... David played, and it pleased the Lord... but you don’t really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift...”
Severus was still taking this all in when a loud crack- the unmistakable sound of someone apparating- interrupted his reverie.
***
Hermione Granger stood up. She was in a gaudy bedroom that she’d never seen before... or had she? She was surprised to discover that somehow, she’d been transported to the Room of Requirement- she hadn’t been here since Dumbledore’s Army was allowed to meet out in the open. She reached down to brush herself off and felt bare flesh. Her flannel, red and gold plaid pajama bottoms complete with roaring lion (more like a yawn after several washings by the house elves) were gone, replaced with sheer, gold and red plaid boy-cut panties. Her red tank top was gone, revealing a matching plaid baby-doll nightie. The baby-doll, mostly sheer, was split up to its underwire bra, ending in a red ribbon. The bra was small and tight, cupping her ample breasts and bringing them close together and up. Had she not been completely flummoxed by the circumstances, she would be thrilled with the lingerie.
“Miss Granger! What are you doing out of bed out of hours! And in that... “ he stopped, unable to finish his sentence.
“As you undoubtably witnessed, Professor, I was summoned here through no fault of my own. I was trying to study! Did you bring me here?” She would have ranted further, but she was rather consumed trying to cover her breasts, almost-bare ass, and thighs all at once.
“You didn’t apparate?”
“You can’t apparate or disapparate on the grounds. Honestly, professor, haven’t you ever read ‘Hogwarts, A History’?”
“Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for being an insufferable know-it-all in a state of near nudity. And be glad it’s not more!” He stopped, a flush creeping over his sallow cheeks. In honesty, she deserved about a hundred points for unmitigated sex appeal. He’d never seen anything so sexy in his entire life, and he’d been invited to many Dark Revels based solely on the subject. But Hermione, spilling out of her Gryffindor lingerie- embarrassed, angry, and... was that lust? Probably just anger and embarrassment, he sighed inwardly.
“I didn’t put this on! I was wearing flannel pajamas!” She looked down, avoiding his eyes.
“Well, have you ever been in this room before?” He drawled, gesturing to the brothel-like surroundings.
“Er... it’s the Room of Requirement, Professor. It shows itself and provides something for you if you ever have a real need for it.” It was like the realization dawned simultaneously- he looked at the large, gilt-framed mirror, her at the myriad candles glowing softly on every surface, her breasts spilling from her red and gold slip, Jeff Buckley playing faintly into the air from nowhere. The heady scent, the intoxicating melody, the soft lighting.
The room seemed to be implying, in a ratblatblatant way, that its occupants desperately needed to get laid.