Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Persistent Hunger	By : hot_stuff11 Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 5284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Anything familiar is the exclusive property of JKR; I am making no money from this fic.

Chapter List
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A/N: Poor, frustrated Severus. He's trying so hard to do the right thing and stay away from her. We'll get to the good stuff soon enough. Oh, and there is a plot, btw. I'm laying the groundwork for it in these first chapters.

I hate that adultff . net doesn't let me respond to reviews. =( For those of you who have let me know how much they like this story, and are looking forward to the next chapter, here you go! I'm so grateful for the reviews I've gotten so far. They motivate me to update faster! =) Yay!

Sure enough, thanks to the arousing dream of the previous afternoon, Snape had spent a sleepless night, and his students found him to be in a particularly foul mood. More restless than usual, he paced the classroom like a harbinger of doom, gliding soundlessly between the haphazard rows of cauldrons. Hapless students, (mostly Gryffindors), whose nerves were already shot from dealing with his moods, jumped noticeably in their seats whenever he leaned over one of them, berating them for their substandard academic efforts.

Honestly, you'd think they'd be used to me by now, Snape sneered to himself, whisking the corner of his teaching robes out of the way just in time to avoid the combustion and subsequent flareup in the usual area of the classroom. Inured at this point to the incapacity of the seemingly idiot boy, he merely vanished the mess with a flick of his wrist, snarling: "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom. You are making a potion, not a flambe." The boy flushed, eyes determinedly bent downwards, and Snape swept past, curling his upper lip. Pathetic. How Alice and Frank spawned offspring such as this is beyond me.

The class dragged on for Snape. Since Miss Ambrosio had entered the classroom with the rest of her housemates, he had not looked at her other than to assure himself that she had heeded his warning regarding her uniform. She was now the wholesome image of everything an upstanding Hogwarts female should be. Even covered up, however, she was far too delicious. Those rounded curves simply could not be concealed completely, and far from detracting from her appearance, full regulation apparel hinted at her charms in an altogether maddening fashion. He didn't dare look at her again, knowing that if he did, overtly sexual images of all the things he wanted to do to her ripe little body would fill his mind. Determinedly, he occupied himself in other areas of the classroom, willing himself not to think about the young succubus, but despite his best efforts, Snape felt himself grow hard, and it was all he could do not to growl in frustration.

He knew her hand was in the air. He had ignored it for ten minutes, watching her periodically drop her arm and shake it out, only to raise it again, before he determined that he simply could not, in good faith, continue to pretend she did not exist, nor could he avoid her forever, As it was, he steeled himself, his face drawn into its habitual sneer, and approached her. Fuck. It was her scent that frayed his iron self-control. That damned, mouthwatering aroma of flowery freshness combined with the musk that was unmistakably her. Steeling himself, drawing his robes tightly round his person, he bent over her cauldron.

"What have we here, Miss Ambrosio?" He studied the shimmering pool of liquid. It was pearlescent, rippling, and light blue in color, all the things, in fact, that the Shifting Potion ought to be. However, as he examined her effort, his slim nostrils picked up an odor which, although not altogether unpleasant, had no place in the final product.

"It's wrong, isn't it?" came her soft voice.

"I beg your pardon?" he muttered, still focused on the almost-perfect potion.

"The potion," she specified. "The smell is off, but I can't seem to figure out why. Would you help me, sir?"

It was the first time a student had ever asked for his help. Instantly on guard, he brought the full weight of his black stare to her face.

The images he saw as he slipped into her mind were graphic. Her with her breasts exposed, lying across his desk as he licked her to screaming orgasm. Him with his hand on her head, guiding her wet little mouth up and down his shaft. Her struggling to remain conscious after he fucked her nearly insensate. Grinding his teeth, he withdrew abruptly from her mind, his face twisted in a near grimace of lust. The small smile playing upon her lips told him she knew what he had seen, and he swooped suddenly close to her, wanting to wipe that look off her face. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, as he wasn't at all sure he would be able to stop once he unleashed himself upon her, but it was a game he simply couldn't resist playing.

"Perhaps, Miss Ambrosio, abstaining from filthy, teenaged fantasies would preclude such careless errors in the future." He practically purred the words into her ear, deliberately using the lowest and silkiest register of his deep voice, enunciating each syllable with weighted precision. With a smirk of pure male satisfaction, he watched her squirm in her seat, pressing her thighs together. Responsive little thing. He was able to pick up the undeniable scent of her excitement, and his already rock hard erection throbbed angrily.

"I can smell your wetness," he growled, low and deep against her creamy throat, ensuring that the vibrations of his voice resonated throughout her body. Taking advantage of the fact that she sat in the back row, he dragged his tongue over the soft skin of her shoulder. His face shielded by his hair, he sucked hard at the pulse point, savoring her fragrance and the rhythmic thud, thud of blood surging beneath his tongue, and was rewarded with a breathy moan. Her small hands clenched on the corner of her desk as she writhed, and he gave a low chuckle, then leaned back abruptly, straightening his lean form and stepping away from her.

"Now, Miss Ambrosio," he continued coldly, as though he hadn't just licked at her sensitive skin in the middle of the class period and made her whimper with pure desire. "Pray tell me why you found it necessary to deviate from the textbook?"

She was panting for air, and he took pleasure in watching her try desperately to compose herself. "The-the book calls for two and a half to three and a half grams of pixie dust, but it also specifies that, depending upon the weather, more or less may be required, much like the amount of water required while baking bread can change depending on the day." Here she half-smiled, as though recalling a fond memory. "Today being rather humid and overcast, I determined that adding half a gram more might have the desired effect."

Snape was rather impressed at her innate sense of the finely nuanced art of potion making, which was indeed similar to muggle cooking and baking, but he could not let her get away with blatant lack of attention to detail in such a dangerous atmosphere, and demanded that she recount her stirring technique.

She tossed her head in annoyance, silky blonde waves tumbling over her shoulders. "I did exactly what the book said to do!"

"Obviously not," he snarked, meeting her blazing eyes. "You will serve detention tonight at six o'clock, during which time you will research your error and correct your potion."

It was quite apparent that she was struggling between anger at being assigned detention for what was admittedly a minor mistake, and pleasure in getting the attention she craved from her Professor, and settled for a slow smile which set his blood to boiling.

The rest of the day had Snape deep in thought. He knew very well what was likely to happen that night. He wanted it, and the gods knew she was willing enough, but he did not intend to let things get that far. He could not let that happen. If she knew what he was, what he could do to her...no. He would have to control himself, pure and simple. After all, he told himself self-deprecatingly. You didn't get to where you are today by being weak. This was the mantra which he repeated again and again, right up until her knock sounded on the door of the Potions classroom.

"Enter."

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Persistent Hunger