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Monkey's Business	By : sappysappysappy Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 22485 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter Summary: Hermione researches her affliction and tries to seduce Snape into relieving it.

Warnings: Dubious Consent, Full on Sex-descriptions.

Thanks: to Wickedly Wanton, my beta, for solving all my grammar mistakes and swiftly helping me with any problem I had. And now we turn this story over for any further editing to my new Beta, Krystle Bertoncin.

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Monkey Business

Chapter Three:

The Assignment and its Conclusions

or

A No-Credit Extra-Curricular Research Assignment and its Pretentious ‘why not?’ Conclusions

Hermione was not a happy person this morning. Her body smouldered with what she now knew was an unchecked, burning desire for her DADA professor and every time she reminded herself of one of his less appealing characteristics, both physical and otherwise, her mind found some excuse to twist it into something completely different. His hair was greasy, true; but didn’t that mean it would be all the smoother to her fingers? It looked so long and shiny. She told herself he was a cruel and callous man, but then she started imagining how unmerciful and demanding he would be with her. He would say, ‘I only accept ‘O’ material into my advanced one-on-one classes.’ His glittering black eyes would rake over her transparent green negligee, assessing the assets revealed within and ask her silkily, ‘Do you think you’re ‘O’ material, Miss Granger?” A long finger would caress her nipple with the lightest of touches through the silky fabric. “Disrobe me without magic while repeating the forty-nine uses of a morning stiffy and I might believe it.’

She felt damp and sweaty at the image and her eyes stole to the alluringly stiff form at the Staff Table. Would he do that for her? Banishing the fantasy from her mind she glared across the table at the homely Neville Longbottom, trying to ground herself back in reality. This was insane. She was supposed to be a polite, studious girl with her head buried in a book, not deep down in the gutter like Ron. She didn’t even want to discover what her imagination would do with his overgrown nose.

Looking down at her plate she let her spoon dangle from her fingers then drop with a soft splat. Her stomach was queasy from the pent up tension, the noise in the hall was making her jumpy, and the congealed porridge in her plate made her want to puke. This was almost worse than pre-test anxiety. She couldn’t do this. Last night she had carried hopes of triumphing over her affliction, hoped that by ignoring the problem long enough she would make it go away eventually. Instead, it only got worse as the hours passed and she now had Neville starting to look nervous and stammering uncertain apologies to her. Professor Snape was bad enough. She didn’t have the energy to deal with Neville as well.

Turning to her friends, she told them in a strangled voice to tell Professor Snape she was sick and couldn’t come to his class this morning. Everyone looked gobsmacked at the announcement and she stormed out of the hall before they could start asking awkward questions. She thought she heard Ron say that she must be a Polyjuiced fake since the real Hermione would rather lose a leg than miss a class. Ginny remarked in concern that she hardly touched her food this morning.

Running to the library in an effort to burn some of the extra energy raging in her body, she attacked the problem of her magical vow with vengeance. The spell, she discovered, was a lust spell created in the 13th century by elderly Mandarin wizards who wanted their wives to regain their enthusiasm for their marital bed. The spell had moderate popularity for two centuries before it was completely abandoned in favour of love and lust spells from the west. The western spells, unlike this eastern one, did not require the object of your desire to give consent at any stage and so were much more convenient. Despite her relentless search she could find no known counter spell or cure. It was never developed since no one was interested enough to bother with it at the time, and the fact that it was self-cast made it especially hard to counter.

Not giving up, she researched the recommended treatments for other lust spells and potions and also checked ways of breaking magical vows. The ‘True Face’ potion (supposed to make its drinker see through any glamour, magical or emotional) seemed promising at first, but then she realised the potion would only negate the false allure of his appearance which meant she would spread her legs wantonly for him while seeing exactly how ugly he was. That would be worse than the original spell! The Calming Charm she found next seemed perfect until she read in the small print that it was no good against the more potent lust spells. Beside, even if she did cast a successful Calming Charm on herself, the lust spell would still prevent her from feeling any desire to anyone except Snape. Now that she thought about it, a Calming Charm that strong would probably make her completely apathetic. She laid her head on the table and whimpered. These general cure-alls were no good. They were worse than useless. As for the magical vows’ breaking, all the stupid books seemed to suggest was to find a way to comply with the wording of her promise or suffer the consequences of refusal. If someone else had cast the spell, she could have tried to make him break it but since she made the promise to herself, she couldn’t undo it. There was no cure. The Headmaster saw to that.

Thoroughly discouraged, she trudged back to her rooms and then to Transfiguration class. What should she do? She was so distracted that when they started practicing their transfigurations she accidentally turned Neville into a potted geranium. Naturally, her professor was concerned at that and asked her to stay after class.

“Miss Granger, are you feeling well? You didn’t seem yourself today.”

“I’m sorry about Neville, Professor. I didn’t mean to turn him into a plant. You have to believe me.”

“Of course I believe you, my dear. It was an honest mistake and I’m sure Mr. Longbottom forgave you for it already, though, I dare say, he will be more wary of your presence in the future. Now tell me, has something happened to you? Is there anything I can do to help you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to confess everything to her concerned Head of House. She was always so good to her and she was sure her professor wouldn’t be judgemental this time just because she cast that horrible lust spell herself. She was just opening her mouth to tell, when she remembered her promise to the Headmaster. She had promised not to tell anything of what happened in that meeting to anyone. She hadn’t considered it could cover something like this at the time but she had sworn not to. Could she break her solemn vow? She discovered she was reluctant to do so. It would somehow diminish her; prove she was a little girl that didn’t know what she was getting into. Besides, the thought continued, what could her professor do? There was no cure for her raging libido and she couldn’t bear the thought of being forcibly separated from the object of her desires. She needed him. “It’s nothing, Professor. I just… overworked myself for the NEWTs and didn’t feel well today. I’m sorry to have bothered you. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, Miss Granger, you should be more careful with yourself. You are my favourite student, you know. If there is any problem, my door is always open for you. Now, you are excused for the rest of the day. Go to your room and have some rest. Don’t try and study. You should be in bed. You spend too much time out of it with your books.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, feeling dejected and small.

Her friends believed her lie just like her Head of House did. They joked about her ‘condition’ and threatened to tie her to her bed so she wouldn’t sneak to the Library during the night. Couldn’t they see she wasn’t just over-studying? It was so pathetic. Here she was about to fall into the bed of the most hated and despised professor at Hogwarts and they didn’t even care enough about her to notice anything was amiss. Eating her dinner quickly she rushed back to her room.

An idea had occurred to her, a final ploy to stem her need for the denizen of the dungeons. She went to the bathroom and, locking it with the most powerful wards she knew, drew a hot bubble bath for herself. As the bubbly waters covered her body, she made herself relax and started tentatively touching herself. It was her professor, drawing long tapered fingers across her breast and down her fluttering tummy. He was drawling softly in her ear. “I think I see a little Snitch, hiding right about, here.” Her fingers circled and then pressed her hardened clit and she let out a heavy sigh. Her right hand started rubbing and pinching the avid folds between her legs while her left hand slithered up to her breasts to torture them mercilessly. She panted and groaned and splashed lots of water. With every stroke and sigh, the spectre of her professor, Severus Snape, was etched deeper and more vividly in her mind. She felt herself on fire. Every touch was a wondrous, searing brand to her needy body; but release… she could not find. She sought it with finger, she sought it with care, and she pursued it with the bath brush and fretful hope. She threatened its life with riling shrieks. She even tried to charm it with soap. It was all in vain. There was no release for her. The image of her stern, black-clad professor mocked her from the misty shadows. Him, she needed. Without him, she was doomed. No one else, not even she herself, could give her what she needed. The cursed vow! She screamed her frustration and when her voice was spent, sobbed.

Crawling out of the tub, she sat on the floor. She was such a fool. How could she have been so arrogant as to imagine she could best the great Albus Dumbledore by her puny self? It was absurd to even try such a thing and she gave up trying then and there. The sensation that came over her at that decision was, oddly enough, exhilaration. An unfamiliar sense of freedom rose in her and she found herself laughing through her tears at her ridiculous self. Here she was, sprawled against the elegant porcelain wall, naked and blotchy, wiping her runny nose on her arm and bumping her head on the wall with the hiccoughs that came again and again, no matter how hard she swallowed. Reduced to this, in a mere day! Why had she tried to struggle against her fate? What on earth would possess her to resist the craved touch of her professor? She knew she had disliked him in the past. She knew that, not so long ago, she had found his looks repellent. She had respected him, as her professor and as an Order member, but she had not liked him, or been attracted to him. She had liked Ron. His exuberant expression, his shining eyes as he flew, those were things she remembered liking. It all seemed strange and incomprehensible now. Like a crooked mirror. Her heart held a different shape now. How could she not be drawn to those black, fathomless eyes? How could she not be entranced by his seductively silky voice? She knew it must be the spell working its power over her, but it didn’t seem to matter so much any longer. So what if her feelings were induced? They were her feelings. They defined who she was, now. She didn’t need to find a way to ignore them. She needed to find a way to explore them and revel in them. Her longing for him was a part of her now.

Returning to the bath and finishing her ablutions in it, she mulled over the ways to accomplish her desire. Her professor didn’t seem taken with her. The only one he liked in class was Malfoy. The image of her professor stroking the perfect, blond hair of her classmate while murmuring a reverent ‘Perfect viscosity!’ made her want to kick something. She almost started crying all over again. She, as she well knew, was the annoying, bushy-haired Know-It-All. The one who could be mistaken, at times, for an overgrown beaver. Even after she made that vow in the Headmaster’s office, he was nothing but appalled. Did he find her bushy hair that repellent? Or maybe she was just too young for his taste?

She spent the next hour and a half struggling with her hair. She drowned it with layer after layer of Sleekeazy’s; she angrily yanked her steel comb through it, breaking a few of its teeth in the process; she even cast ironing charms on it. If only she had a way to make him want her as much as she did him. If only she could charm desire for her into his head. Unbidden, the thought of casting a lust spell on him occurred to her. It was only fair, wasn’t it, that he would suffer the same fate as she did? Surely it was the only way to break his iron self control? Could she do it? The professor would surely be on his guard with her but maybe she could slip through his defences when he was distracted? Scolding herself severely for the unworthy thought, Hermione pinched herself hard on the ear. She wouldn’t do it. If what the Headmaster did to her was unethical, she could not condone his actions by repeating them on her professor. She’d have to find another way. Feeling both pleased with herself and forlorn, Hermione put on a robe and exited the bathroom. The lamps were unlit and the hall empty. It was nearly midnight.

Her room, she discovered, was locked. Glued with magic to the door was a note, written on soft, perfumed parchment. Snatching it off, Hermione read it quickly by the light of her wand tip. It was from her dear roommate, Lavender Brown. In it, Lavender saw fit to express her disapproval at Hermione’s offensive hogging of their shared bathroom. She suggested, in stylishly flowing letters, that Hermione find a bed elsewhere for the night, for she had been bother enough to them all already.

They had left her beddings and nightgown in a heap by the door. She tried to break into her room by spells and even kicks, but in vain. The door wouldn’t even budge. They must have pushed a chair against the door. Fuming, she checked the other six doors of the girls’ dormitory. They were all barred against her and they all had insulting notes of their own on them. The third years’ read: “You cow!!! I had Quidditch practice! We had to use the boys’ lavatories!!!!!” It wasn’t a Howler, but it did spit on her when she read the final exclamation mark. Everyone had followed Lavender’s lead; even her friend Ginny hadn’t broken ranks. The stinging hex on the doorknob of the seventh year dormitory door was the final straw.

She wanted to hex them all. She had to make them feel as wretched as she was right now. Narrowing her eyes, Hermione remembered hearing Ron muttering something about a hidden cache of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in the common room. Holding up her wand, she silently summoned a Portable Swamp to her hand. It looked like no more than a misshapen, greenish rock. It was one of the twins’ less elegant creations, but it was just right for her need. Placing a slip-hex beneath the sixth year door, she gathered her things and sent them to the common room with her wand. Stepping on the first step of the stairs down, she threw the rock on the floor. Instead of bouncing back like an ordinary rock, it sank into the stone as though it was mere water, sending ripples across the hall. The floor started bubbling and soon, a smelly little swamp formed where a hall once was. She considered adding one of the hexes from Harry’s Potions’ book but decided against it. She had done enough and she didn’t need the help of Harry’s cheaters’ book. It felt good to think of the maddened shrieks that would rend the morning quiet tomorrow morning. They deserved it.

What should she do now? She had no wish to spend the night huddled on the common room sofa like Lavender expected her to. This banishment business made her forget for a moment where she was headed but the unrelenting emptiness within her soon reminded her of it. She had thought of borrowing some of Lavender’s more feminine outfits to seduce her professor with. Lavender had told her once, back in their third year, that she could borrow some of her worn rags to make her look less hideous. It was back when they were ‘good’ roommates. But now, she couldn’t do that. Lavender had locked her out and everyone else went along with it. All she had on hand were the sheer silk bathrobe she wore and the blah nightgown Lavender left her. The choice was obvious. She was never good with wardrobe transfigurations, so the bathrobe it had to be. It was a one-piece outfit, tied with ribbon at the waist and it was green, the deep shade of green saved for jades and the deep sea. Red drakes caroused over it, whooshing to and fro. It was beautiful and revealing, confident and mysterious and it barely reached the middle of her thighs. It was also the only thing she had to wear. Her dirty clothes were out of her grasp, snatched away by the cleaning elves. Even her shoes were missing. She hoped Snape would appreciate it. He damn well better appreciate it. Casting a Disillusionment Charm over herself, Hermione carefully made her way to the dungeons.

Stopping finally by his door she called out hesitantly, “Belladonna?”

The door, just like the rest of its kith and kin that night stayed firmly shut. He had locked her out. Their cruelty seemed to know no bounds. She thought she heard movement inside and her heart jumped to her throat. “Professor. Sir. Please, let me in. Don’t do this to me. I need you. Professor?” Was he even there? She imagined herself wandering the darkened halls, alone and abandoned, until she burst from her pent up passion.

Suddenly she heard footsteps from the other side of the door. He was there! “Go back to your rooms, Miss Granger. Return to them and never come back. You will not flaunt the school rules merely to satisfy your base cravings,” he told her, scoffing.

“But, sir…”

“Did you not hear me, Miss Granger? What part of ‘Return to your rooms’ did you not understand?”

“Why won’t you let me in?” she cried. “You know what happened to me. You were there.”

“And I am telling you to leave. Would you like me to dock House points?”

He wouldn’t let her in. He was so close she could practically hear his soft breath caressing the other side of the door. Her rational mind left her. Her hands dug into the rough surface of the door, trying in vain to come nearer to her dream. Was there a spell, a hex, or a curse to let her through to him? She couldn’t recall in her current haze and that drove her to despair. “Oh, Professor. I beg of you. Have pity on me. I’ll die if you don’t.”

The door was flung open and she fell to her hands and knees. His voice fell on her from above. “Die, you say? Die? What foolishness is this? You suffer no more than frustrated desire and you have the insolence to claim you’ll die from it? Will you next feign tremors at the mention of extra schoolwork?” He snorted. “Get back on your feet and out of my sight.”

“I will die of it, Professor,” she told him stubbornly as she crawled after his retreating feet, preparing for the final leap. “I live in agony. Only you can relieve me of it. I have researched it, just like you asked me to.”

“You have researched it, have you? And have you yet managed to grasp that the ‘feelings’ you experience are no more than what you would be naturally capable of? That the agony you ‘suffer’ from is as trifling as what every year, one of your dim-witted friends feels when his ‘love’ rejects him? What right have you to impose your petty needs on me? What right have you to demand special treatment?”

Could he be telling her the truth? She never felt this way with Ron. “You lie.”

“You dare accuse me of lying? You miserable little girl. Get out. Now. “

She lunged after him, catching him by surprise. She covered his face with kisses. “Don’t. You don’t, have to, make, me go, through, this, alone. You can, help me.” She gave him a searing kiss on his lower lip. He hadn’t yet pushed her away. She softly whispered. “I don’t, want, the world. Only, you.” Was he responding to her kisses? “I want, this.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “I won’t, regret it.” She unfastened the top button of his robes.

His hands covered hers. “You are not yourself tonight. Don’t let Dumbledore’s machinations hold sway over you. The emotions you feel are contrived and false. You will thank me for this in the end, when the spell begins to fade. Show some spine and overcome yourself.”

He pushed her away from him. It was then that he noticed her apparel for the first time. His gaze wandered down the generous V of her robe, his wide eyes glinting in the warm light from the fireplace, before coming to rest on her bare shoulder, revealed in the excitement. His hand rose slowly to touch her shoulder. She stood stock still, not daring even to breathe, but at the last second he snatched it back, and trained his eyes squarely at her own eyes. He looked angry.

Blinking a few times she licked her heated lips with her tongue. Her eyes wandered off his stern figure and to the rest of the room, seeking the right words. What should she say? She was certain that if she blurted the wrong thing, he would toss her out and never let her in again. She had to be perfect. The room was dark. The walls were mostly covered by shadowy rows of bookshelves. A large table, covered with papers stood in the corner, with a lone candle lit at its corner. A threadbare sofa took the middle of the room. The only light came from the low flames in the fireplace, and the faint glimmer from the candle on the table. She shivered. The floor was bare and her feet were freezing. No, she would not be distracted. She had to bare herself to him. To find a truth within her so profound, that it would humble him into acceptance. The words ‘Dumbledore wouldn’t mind if you do this. You don’t have to worry about getting caught.’ played in her mind but she bit her cheek and refused to say them. They were wrong and would do anything but convince the man she wanted.

She looked him in the eye. She would be brave. She knew now that he found her attractive. She saw it in his eyes the moment he almost touched her. “I never went all the way with anyone. I kissed, and was kissed. I snogged. Ron wanted to do it with me this summer, but I wasn’t confident with myself enough to do it, or was sure I wanted to do it with Ron. That’s no longer true. I was never so sure of anything as I am now that I want to be with you. You say it’s just the spell talking but what of it?” She took a step toward him. “Emotions aren’t that rational in the first place. I don’t want to repress this; I want to explore it. With you. This spell won’t unravel by tomorrow morning. It won’t come undone in a day, or a week, or even a month. I will have to endure it alone and unfulfilled until it wears out and for what? I have never felt this passionate for anyone before. Maybe I never will. If I refuse it now, I might never know what’s possible.” She took another step. He didn’t step back. “I would die wondering what might have been between you and me. You know I’m not the type to revel in this sort of thing. I wouldn’t be able to forget my studies and duties enough to really get into the ‘spirit’ of it. Maybe I could get myself ensorcelled again to someone, but would I have the courage to do it? This is a gift.” He opened his mouth to argue and she quickly caressed it closed with her hand. He was so surprised he forgot what he was about to say. She was a little surprised herself at her daring. “It doesn’t matter who it’s from or how. Forget how it happened. I promise you, I’ll never blame you of taking advantage of me. Tell me you have no interest in this.” She let her fingers slide down his chin and across his neck, to his buttoned coat robe. He didn’t move away this time when she started unfastening his buttons.

Feeling the warmth of his chest shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. It made him seem more human and less inaccessible. He didn’t resist her when she opened his coat and let it slide down his arms to the floor. He stood still as a statue, but when she laid her hand on his chest, she could feel his heart beating wildly. She looked up at him and he returned her gaze with his hard, fathomless eyes. His hands moved up her body, drawing soft streaks of fire along her sides, to tangle in her hair and grip her head securely. His head bent and his lips captured her mouth. Her legs shivered at the sensation and she wrapped her arms around his neck. This was a dream. It had to be. It was simply too good to be true. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the magic they were creating between their lips. It was the most profound kiss she ever had and they weren’t even French kissing! Was it because she knew there would be more than just kissing to be had? Stepping closer, she stood on his boot-tips, to get closer to him and off the cold ground.

He pulled back. “I am taking advantage of you and you will blame me for stealing your maidenhood, for desecrating your very body for you. You will accuse me, as you well should, of betraying the trust placed on me, by your parents and by yourself. You will despise me and abandon me once your geas is ended.” His voice grated in her ears, harsh and condemning, yet his thumbs continued to caress her cheeks even as his eyes filled with hate and loathing. Was it for himself, for Dumbledore or perhaps for her? She couldn’t tell. He didn’t give her time to decide. He growled at her, his fingers drawing bruises on her jaw and neck, “Yet I will take what you offer me now so insistently and I will spit on you when you break your promises to me.” He kissed her again; a brutal kiss, filled with pain and pleasure in equal measures.

He grabbed her by the waist and carried her through an arch at the sidewall to his bedroom. Throwing her on the bed, he bent down to take off his boots and socks. Approaching her, her Professor was clad in only his long shirt and pants. He seemed calmer now after his outburst and she felt relieved. It had been exciting to know she broke his resistance to her, that he was really going to make a woman out of her; but at the same time it was little scary as well. Spreading her hands for him, to show she still wanted him, she tried to see his expression. His back was to the entry room and there were no lights in his bedroom. Did he expect her to respond to his accusations? She didn’t know what to say. Would he believe anything she’d tell him? It seemed unlikely and she decided to stay silent. It would be better to prove her words to him with her actions. She’d show her worth to him with sighs and strokes and touches.

He cleared his throat. “You are a virgin,” he finally said, half in statement, half in question.

Hermione blushed deeply. She would have to say something now. “I don’t have a ‘maidenhead.’ I lost it years and years ago.” She thought he might be appalled at her words and hastened to add, “Not with a boy. Or a girl. I use tampons. You know, for my period, the, yes, my moon blood!” Why did she sound like a dim-witted first year? She had to say something more, quick. “I have experience. I frig myself all the time when I’m alone.” Oh, God. What did she say? “I mean, not all the time, just lots, err, sometimes, you know, when I’m in the bathroom, or somewhere.”

Her professor didn’t reply. She covered her mouth with her hands and scooted back on the bed.

Staying by the bed, he started unbuttoning his shirt and asked casually, “And do you know how to prevent conception from occurring?”

“Yesss… I learned all about it from a book in the Restricted Section. I know how to cast a Contraceptus.” Fishing in her robe pocket, she drew out her wand and whispered the spell at her belly. A little yellow light, a brief tingle, and it was done. Laying her wand on the nightstand by the bed, she looked back at him. She hadn’t even thought of it. Hermione felt grateful to him for remembering it for her. He was letting his shirt fall to the floor. He was untying his pants. This was it. Getting to her feet, she approached him unsteadily on the mattress and when he looked up at her questioningly, she jumped on him. His pants were loosened, and so, when his hands leaped to catch her by her buttocks, they fell down. He struggled out of them savagely, not releasing his hold on her, and she let out a giggle. This wasn’t the professor her friends saw in class every day. Hugging him with her hands and legs, she kissed him on the mouth. They were skin to skin now, his warm chest pressing against her taut breasts. She deepened the kiss, venturing out a tongue to lick his lips. Her professor seemed to think her too liberal at that and nipped her tongue gently with his teeth. Stepping out of his discarded clothing, he got them both onto the bed where they sprawled down in a tangle of limbs. He pushed her lose robe out of the way and examined her with eyes and nose and lips and fingers.

One of those fingers rubbed her knee. “You are wet, Miss Granger.” The finger slowly made its way, to Hermione’s immense excitement, up her thigh and straight to her core. Hermione let out a little squeak.

“I had a bath.”

Grinning maliciously, he lifted his hand. “Really? So this,” he asked her as he let a moist finger dangle under her nose, “is merely water?”

Hermione blushed. It didn’t smell like water. “It could be soapy water.”

Chuckling, he smeared the tip of her nose generously with it. Rolling over her and grasping her arms he informed her in a bored tone, “Your nose is dirty.”

She struggled to get out of his grasp or rub her nose on the mattress but he didn’t let her. He was lying on top of her; his legs confining hers between them and his hands holding her arms at her sides like vices. She suddenly became aware that there was something hard between them, poking into her thigh. She grew very still. This must be his manhood. It was a hot and throbbing thing. Only the fabric of his underwear separated her from it. She wriggled under him, ignoring his glare, until it sat just on her core. The delicious pressure made her whimper.

He inhaled deeply as well, but still managed to demand hoarsely, “Clean your nose.”

Hermione looked at her professor uncomprehendingly for a long moment until with a lurch, the realization hit her. Parting her lips hesitantly, she licked her nose, looking him in the eye all the while. It tasted of bath soap and musk. Was it right, to put such a thing in her mouth? Her professor seemed to approve. He rubbed her nether lips through his underwear and captured her mouth with a deep, demanding kiss. Their tongues battled in her mouth and she freed her hands from his slackened grip, her self-consciousness of a moment ago completely forgotten, to stroke his hair and broad back. His hair was soft and slick. She liked the feel of it falling on her face and running through her fingers. His mouth tasted bitter. It gave an extra tang to the musky taste of her arousal. But still, she mused disjointedly, did that mean he neglected to brush his teeth?

She rolled on top of him. His broad, bony chest lay exposed for her pleasure and she kissed and stroked it with her mouth and hands. His hands were in her hair again, encouraging and guiding her in her explorations. He had little hair on it and his ribs were clearly felt through his thin skin. It wasn’t like she imagined it in her bathroom fantasies. It was more. The flat imaginings she conjured in her mind during her self-experimentations were a pale reflection to the reality of the real body beneath her.

Kissing his shoulder, she discovered he was sensitive to touches beneath his collarbone. A lick on that spot and his hands would tighten in her hair and a strangled groan would be heard. It made her feel powerful, to know that she could affect him so, and she concentrated a fierce attack there for a while. Slowly she made her way down his taut belly, discovering another special spot on the way, just to the side of his belly button, to the last of his fig leaves. She touched him through his underpants. He felt big, and hard, and strong. Hesitantly, despite the devastating eagerness induced by the spell, she pulled them down. He bounced free of them and she quickly moved away from it, dragging his underwear down his legs and to the floor. Sitting up, he pulled her back to him. She still had her robe on, unfastened and flung wide open, but on. Gently, he slipped his hands beneath it. Knowingly, he caressed her trembling shoulders and with dexterous fingers, stroked his way down her tingling arms, drawing the robe off her and to the floor. He kissed her on her bared shoulder and she sighed at the sheer pleasure of it. She hugged his naked form to hers and laid her head on his chest.

Stroking her hair, he took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. It was hard to reconcile this gentleness with the abiding hateful cruelty he exuded around her and her friends throughout their years beneath him and she wondered if she really knew him at all. Surely that man would never squeeze her hand, or stroke her hair like so? He laid her hand on his hardened organ and she looked up to him to glimpse a grin. Shying from his gaze, she experimentally stroked the tip with her thumb, and then ran it up and down its length. It was darker than the rest of him, as though, somehow, it had been lengthily tanned, and it was surrounded by long, curling black hairs. Could he be secretly sunbathing by the lakeside without anyone knowing? No. It must be just an odd play of the low light but she liked the sight. It made it look primal and forbidden. She stretched her fingers around it and started moving her hand up and down again and again and again. Everything she heard about this sort of thing told her that this was what she should do. He was breathing heavily. His hands lay beside him fisted in the beddings. She concentrated on her task.

“Are you ready, Miss Granger, to put it to good use?” He whispered in her hair.

She jumped up in surprise, her head striking him painfully in his chin.

Cursing, he leaned away from her. Seeming to glare at her he started gingerly rubbing his chin.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you all right? I’ll bring you a wet towel from your bathroom. Just tell me where it is and I’ll be right back. You were so close and you surprised me. I didn’t see you and when I’m-”

“Silence! Enough with your prattle.” Summoning his wand to him, he muttered a healing charm. “Now, answer my question.”

Hermione frantically scoured her mind to find what question she was meant to answer. He had asked her about the uses of something? His member! She felt heat flooding between her legs. She looked at it again. It was leaning down a little and it was jumping up every few seconds. Was it supposed to do that? It must be. It reminded her of her cat when following her preparation of his dish of fish, his favourite. This would get to stroke her where no one but she ever had. It would fill her and make her come undone. He thought she was afraid of it. She would show him. She wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing after all. “I’m more than ready.”

Laying his wand beside hers on the nightstand he asked archly. “Indeed? Such wild boastings must be verified long and hard before we could accept them, eh, Miss Granger?”

She licked her lips and scooted closer. “How do you propose we do that, Professor?”

“On your back, Miss Granger. Lift these knees and spread them now,” he instructed her as he pushed and moulded her into the position he desired. Slithering between her legs until he was nose to nose with her, he murmured softly to her lips. “What do you believe the next step of the test must be?”

Hermione groped between them until she caught him with her hand. “We should put this in its proper place, Professor,” she told him cheekily and tried to push it into herself. The sensations were good. In fact, they were sensational. She rubbed herself between her legs with it, giving particular attention to her throbbing clit but occasionally scoring a graze on her hips as well. Her professor was starting to breathe heavily and his face contorted in a grimace. It took a little practice to get proficient in the wielding of this quill, especially when she was confined to her current position. Biting her lower lip in concentration, she positioned it carefully at her entrance and started pushing it slowly in. Pushing her hand out of the way, he rammed into her forcefully.

Hermione shrieked. She had never put anything inside her so suddenly or without warning. He wasn’t moving now that he was fully sheathed in her and she relaxed a little. It wasn’t really painful now that she thought about it. She shouldn’t have panicked. Giving his buttocks an encouraging squeeze, she mused that none of her spiteful roommates would ever believe her, goody-two-shoes Hermione Granger, capable of such a thing. But who cared? She wanted him to continue and do more. He complied immediately and started moving in her, drawing in and out of her in an accelerating rhythm. She hugged him to her and moaned loudly into his chest. Her Professor was here! With her! Doing it; with her! His presence, above her and inside her, was a thing of power, drawing her along with it into vistas unimagined a moment before. The godly friction he created in her made Hermione cry out again, and again, and again. She clasped her legs around him. Moving with him, she drew her hands up his back. She leaned into him, her hair flailing wildly in their wild and frenzied motions. A smouldering burn was swiftly growing inside her. She lost control of her limbs and just let him have his way with her. The vague yearnings that had pulled her to this point all day long grew into an uncontrollable, roaring conflagration. She had to let it out somehow, to give focus to her feelings, a name to her mate in crime. “Oh, Professor Snape. Professor Snape! Professor!” She shouted as wave after wave of ecstasy hit her and he yelled as well as he rammed into her one last time and hugged her painfully to him.

His head had fallen to the mattress beside her and she stroked his sweaty locks out of his face. There were tears in her eyes and she felt happy. She could still feel him inside her, growing softer now and smaller but he was there, for her. She kissed his brow, and with an effort, managed to lift a weary leg to stroke his thigh, trying to give back some of the joy he had gifted her with and express her heartfelt appreciation. She was calm and at peace for the first time in too long a time than she could recall. It was a strange and wondrous feeling and she gloried in it.

All was well, except that breathing became more arduous and exhausting by the heartbeat. He was lying on her, seemingly asleep and he was heavy. Gathering her strength she tried ineffectually to wriggle from beneath him. Why did he have to be so tall and big? She shuddered at the notion of what it would have felt like if he was fat like their current Potions Professor. She gasped. Thank heaven for small mercies.

Finally noticing her struggles, her Professor rolled to her side and opened his eyes to look at her. A small smile, free of any malice or double meanings graced his features for a minute. Slowly, that smile grew smaller and then vanished altogether. “You should return to your dormitory, Miss Granger,” he told her softly.

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “What?”

He pushed himself up with an elbow and repeated himself. “You, Miss Granger, will return to your dormitory where you belong. A student such as yourself has no business poking about in such a place as this.” His eyes danced over the darkened room they shared. “Gather your things and leave.”

She couldn’t believe it. He was sending her away. Didn’t what they had together mean anything to him? She felt like crying. “But why? Don’t you want us-”

“No.” he shouted, turning his eyes away from her. Calming himself he asked her enticingly. “What did you call me?” He looked at her blank face for a time, and then patiently explained. “By what name did you address me tonight?”

“Professor Snape.”

“And I? What name did I use? ”

“Miss Granger.”

“And what sorts of persons would address each other in such a manner? What kind of respective positions would they hold to each other?”

“I can call you Severus.” She said quickly. The name tasted strange on her lips.

“You will not.” He thundered. All trace of coddling gone from his tone for that moment. “Now, answer my question. What positions would two people, addressing each other in such a manner, hold for one another?”

In a small voice, she replied. “A student and her teacher.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor.” He replied sarcastically.

“But you agreed. You listened to my reasoning and you agreed with me. You took me here and you-”

“Be that as it may,” he interrupted her sharply, “what happened in this room was a travesty of the school etiquette. I was negligent of my duties here, but no longer. You of all students should have stuck by the straight path you so loudly exhort on. If I gave in to your wiles in an instance of momentary weakness, it was but a-”

“It was not a ‘momentary act of weakness.’ It wasn’t a moment and it wasn’t an instance. We both know it was longer than that. Much longer. You can call a spontaneous kiss that. You can call your decision to let me into your rooms that. But you can’t call what we did in this bed ‘a mistake,’” she told him angrily. “Do you think you can undo it by naming it by any other name? You wanted this just as much as I did and you decided to go ahead and do it. With me.”

He got out of the bed. Seeing his shadowed form moving about naked, gathering their discarded clothing, gave an odd turn to her quivering heart. “We have done enough wrong for one night. Be satisfied that you have dragged me down with you into this pit of iniquity,” he gestured at his naked form, “and be gone, as I ordered you to, when first you came here, time and time again.”

“And what should I do when the spell I cast starts burning in me again? It’s still on me you know.”

“Live with it. I’m sure your friends would be more than happy to console you in my absence.”

“They can’t, you heartless bastard. The spell wouldn’t let them, now, would it? I can’t even relieve myself. I already tried it, you know. I tried and I tried and I just couldn’t. You see; I wasn’t completely alone there. I had your face there with me the whole time, mocking me with that sneer of yours. Why should I obey you? I had this funny thought back then, that maybe what I had to do was cast a lust spell of my own on you. I may not be as versant or as cunning as Professor Dumbledore but I am pretty nimble with my wand if I do say so myself. I told myself you didn’t deserve to be treated like that but obviously I was wrong.”

He glared at her. Holding his precious pile of clothing to his chest he suddenly seemed an absurd figure to her, particularly when she noticed that his floppy member was starting to harden and rise up at her words. He must have seen something in her expression for he turned away from her. “You think this a game. An idle passing of your time, do you? You consider the rules beneath you but what of your friends, your parents, and your teachers? Does the respect they have for you count for nothing in your eyes? You would not be able to keep such a secret under wraps from them forever and even if you did, it would taint your claim on them. How will you manage to look them in the eye the next time they tell you they trust you? Better by far that you leave now and return to where you belong. At this rate you would be found by morning. Your roommates would surely notice that your bed is undisturbed in the morning,” he said, returning to her side and dangling her robe in front of her.

Leaping out of his bed, she grabbed the pile from his hands and flung them to the floor. “My roommates don’t care that I’m gone so you might as well get used to the idea of having me around. You better, because I’m staying the night here. They locked me out of my room. Left my bedding by the door and told me to get lost. They can’t do that to me, can they? But they did. See how much your school etiquette means? And as I told you already, I want this. Do you think I’d be afraid to face the consequences? I’ll have to face them anyway. You don’t think Harry or Ron would let me defend you to the Wizengamot after the war is over and still be my friends? They’ll hate me and despise me for it and they would probably call me a traitor. You don’t have to be a genius to figure that one out.”

“You still intend to do Dumbledore’s bidding after what he did to you?” he asked her disbelievingly.

“I made that promise of my own free will and with full knowledge of its meaning and consequences and nothing that has happened since then changed that. I’m not doing it for him after all. I’m doing it for the sake of what is right. I took a responsibility when I made it and now I must see it through.”

“He doesn’t expect you to keep it. It was only an excuse to get you to cast that spell. Do you really think he cares what you do after he dies?”

“Well, it matters to me and that is all that matters.” She took his hand. “Come to bed with me. I want this and I think you do, too. Don’t cast me away now.”

She got them under the blankets. She was sweaty and there was something dripping out of her sex but she didn’t want to look for a bathroom. She feared that if she left him alone for any length of time, he would find the will to drive her away. He almost did a couple of times already. She snuggled into him. She wouldn’t let him do that. She would see to that.

~*~*~*~

Author’s Notes: This chapter was a long haul but I hope you like it. There were a couple of nods in it to various sources so kudos to those who manage to identify them.

Beeky63 – Thanks and I now have a beta (Wickedly Wanton)

Kris - Thanks

Citten – Here’s the chapter and I hope you like its length.

Darque Hart – First of all Hermione in this story is at least seventeen and a half years old already. Now I am of two minds about whether canon Dumbledore would do such a thing or not. I think he might have done it in a sneakier way. Dumbledore commits all sorts of atrocities in the books for the sake of his favourites. The main thing that would stand against it is that Dumbledore commits most of his crimes in the books through inaction more than through direct actions and you might say he doesn’t like Snape enough to do this for him. But really, the line between personally doing something and letting someone else do it is not that thick and even if Dumbledore likes Harry more than Snape by miles, he still likes him more than he likes Harry’s bookish friend. Besides, would Dumbledore really consider this such a horrible crime? He knows Hermione broke her relationship with Ron and here he is giving her an opportunity to have another relationship without feeling guilty for her ex-boyfriend.

lisa – Thanks and you’re welcome. I’ll go send another email to you now in case you need it.

Brisíngammen – Well she did try to hide for a while but of course it didn’t work.

SorceressFujin – Thanks. a_reader – Here’s the third chappie.

kate – Yes. Dumbledore certainly wasn’t kidding when he set this up.

Dragonero – So, did Snape take advantage of this or was he just giving in to circumstances beyond his control? What’s your opinion?

hermoinesaidso – I hope this was soon enough. I wanted to finish this sooner but at least it’s here now.

Bella Snape – I corrected the perspective mistake in the last chapter and I now have a beta so hopefully this will not occur again. As for Snape he did smile (and he did it before I read your review, so this is a genuine, out of my keyboard smile) even if it was only for a moment. Those muscles need practice before they’re up to snuff.

miz – Thanks. Here’s the next chapter.

amsev - Thanks.

Quarter-Blooded Witch – Well we’ll have to see how it all turns out. Right now it’s still too hot and sweaty to tell. Now what was Dumbledore whistling? I’ll have to think about it. It has to be something from WW II period when he was a soldier on the front lines in the war against Grindelwald.
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