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Heating up Hogwarts	By : SweetTorments Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 24021 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 5
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.

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The banging was echoing down the hallway. Luckily, there wasn't another person within hearing distance. Even if there were, it wouldn't have stopped her. She didn't care who heard. Especially now, when she was getting more angry by the second. She didn't know exactly where his door was, but he was behind this wall. She could feel him. He was aware of her, and he wasn't opening his door. The bastard!

"Snape!" she screamed.

Her fist began meeting the wall in earnest. The harsh texture of the stone was grabbing and tearing her already bruised skin. If he didn't show himself soon, she was going to make an effort to force her way in.

She'd just left Draco. After the first few minutes of dominant posturing, he'd become quiet and somber. His muscles were still quivering. She too, was shaking. She could hardly breathe, she was so enraged, so horrified.

So terrified.

How could Snape have done that? What kind of man did that make him? What kind of woman did that make her, to have chosen him?

"Snape!" she bellowed again.

"Get inside!" He threw open a door several feet away and stood back. His voice screamed of his fury, even if he didn't raise it above a curt command. Hermione stalked past him, right into his lair, absolutely beside herself with rage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded as the room sealed itself.

"Me? What about you? How could you do that to him? He chose our side!"

"I'm a Death Eater, Miss Granger," he snarled. He held his hands at his sides, fists clenched.

"No, you're not! I can see how you could get confused, but you aren't supposed to actually torture people!" she snarled back.

"You don't have any bloody idea what you're talking about," he said quietly. "You don't have a clue what it means to be me."

"So, it's okay to torture people? No, I guess I don't know what it means to be you. I'm not a monster!"

"You think that's monstrous? Try to imagine the things I see at a meeting." He took a step closer and simply glared at her for a moment. Perhaps subconsciously, he rubbed his left arm.

Hermione glared back up at him, refusing to give up her anger. Still, she could imagine. Images flew in front of her eyes, not just horrible acts, but people that he knew. The air around them grew thick, and she wanted to damn him for being what he was. Regardless of the good he did, she could feel the filth on his soul. She could feel him corrupting her, contaminating everything that had been good and pure. She could hear Draco screaming, being tortured by someone he should be protected by, and she hated Snape. As she glared into his eyes, she could feel her body responding. The tension was thick and heavy. She couldn't breathe in enough air. She hated him for that most of all, for making her want something so filthy.

"I've watched friends be murdered, and girls younger than you be raped. I've taken part in things, things that you would die before doing. I've killed, and tortured, and fucked entire families." He was speaking slowly, emphasizing every word. Hermione felt angry, impotent tears fall.

"Draco trusted you," she charged. After his words, this betrayal seemed so little. Yet it was what she'd seen, what she knew and could judge. "He trusted you, and went to you for help. You destroyed that."

"No!" He caught a handful of her hair quickly, and yanked it upward. With her face upturned, he invaded her space, their faces less than a foot apart.

"God," she gasped and moved onto her tip toes. "Wait, oh . . . " She struggled higher when he yanked again. "Stop."

"He didn't trust me. You did! He didn't ask for my help. You did!" Snape brought his other hand up, fast, and curved it around her throat. "Draco knew exactly what kind of monster I am. You're the only one who's surprised."

"Don't worry. I've learned my lesson," she ground out, even as her hands clutched at his arms. Her nails were biting into his skin, her grip punishing. At the same time, she could feel his grip tighten and her head began to get dizzy. She liked it. With every gasp for breath, her body was more sensitive, more alive. It touched her anger, this pounding in her ears. Heightened every emotion and instinct.

"Good. Don't ever trust me. Your naive little mind can't even fathom the way mine works." He yanked upward on her hair again, but she couldn't go any higher. "The Cruciatus Curse is the least of my talents."

"Professor . . . please," she begged now, both needing to be released and needing his touch elsewhere. His black eyes never left her. They never gave her the option of panic.

"And if you ever barge in here, like that, again, I'll make what I did to Draco look like foreplay. Do you understand me?"

"Yes!" she snapped, her nails digging into his arms even harder.

She could smell the blood she was drawing. She wanted to lash out at his face or neck, to do some real damage. She could, she knew; she could feel the strength she did not yet understand rushing to the surface, offering her retribution. Instead, she refused to give into him. Her limbs shook, from fear, energy, and excitement. His eyes held hers steady. She wasn't getting enough air; the world was getting fuzzy, and she still didn't look away from him. His gaze refused her desire to struggle or harm him. It demanded she submit to this violation, and that she like it. And she did.

"Good."

He dropped her and she went straight to the ground in a heap. Her knee hit the floor hard, and she groaned. Deep lungfuls of breath were being dragged into her body. The floating feeling was wearing off, leaving behind a pounding, sensation-hungry body. Hermione wiped away her tears. Some were the natural result of her body to the abuse it had taken, others were of anger, shame, and humiliation. How could she like what he did to her? How could his mistreatment turn her on?

"I don't want to ever have this conversation again," he intoned, while hovering over her. "I'll keep you satisfied, and you'll speak as little as possible."

"Go to hell!" Hermione picked herself up off the floor with as much grace as she could manage. She brushed away the remaining dampness from her cheeks and squared her shoulders. "I saw you use an Unforgivable in my suite. Dumbledore says you're on our side, but after tonight, I don't know what to believe. I'm going to report this."

"Be my guest." He flashed a smile that could only be considered condescending. He motioned to the door. "Scamper along. My monstrous night is only beginning."

"No. Tell me how you could do that. How could you watch my memories of what Lucius did to him, and then do the same thing? I need to know!"

"You want to know what side I'm on, if I'm good or evil?" He shrugged his broad shoulders in a gesture that didn't even begin to look casual. "I'm sorry to disillusion you, but I can't claim to be a good man and give you peace of mind for choosing me."

"That's not what I'm asking! Why did you hurt him?"

"You're smart, Granger, you really are, but you're still a child. Things aren't black and white."

"You're telling me this? All I see is gray! Answer my question!"

"Being on the right side doesn't make me a good person. And suddenly changing sides, doesn't make Draco Malfoy trustworthy."

"You did that because you don't trust him?" she asked, aghast. "What, you think his evil plan was to die?"

"What part of 'spy' is throwing you, Miss Granger? Believe it or not, very few people know I report back to the Order. I rather imagine it's the only thing keeping me alive."

"I know that! I'm not saying you should tell him, only . . . "

"He expected me to act that way. I wouldn't have to tell him anything. If he goes back to his father, or someone tortures him, or gets in his mind, I need him to be sure I'm a Death Eater."

"There were better ways." She continued to argue even as her voice lost its venom.

"Did you even bother listening to what Draco was saying?" he demanded, the harsh sneer back on his face.

"Yes, he was offering to help!"

"No. He was threatening to get himself killed. If he talks to the Daily Prophet, he'll ensure more enemies than just Lucius, and it'll all be for information I already have."

"Oh," Hermione said.

"Oh, indeed. Who, do you think, the Dark Lord would demand kill him?"

"You?” she guessed.

"Exactly," he purred. "I have enough of a challenge keeping you three idiots alive, and that was before I had to protect you from myself."

"You don't have to protect me from you," she stated plainly, a little laugh in her voice.

"Miss Granger, five minutes ago, your pretty little neck was in my hands. You have no idea how tempted I was to shut you up, for good."

"I wasn't afraid. I trust you."

"Obviously," he drawled. "You trust me so much, you came down here to insult and interrogate me."

"But I came. I stood in front of you and threatened to tell Dumbledore what I'd seen. That wouldn't have been very smart, had I feared for my life. And, if anything, I'm smart."

"No, if you were smart, you wouldn't have come. If you were smart, you would scurry away, out of my sight." His voice was so sharp and harsh, she didn't know how to read his intentions. She did know it intrigued and excited her. He said to run, but she was being drawn closer.

"I know you won't hurt me."

"Really? That makes one of us."

"And, I know I don't want to scurry anywhere."

"Miss Granger, I'm having a trying day. I have neither the time nor patience to delve into lust.”

"I'm not asking for your patience."

"Oh, but you are. I want you, but I can't have you now."

"Yes, you can," she barely whispered the words, her eyes diverted.

This time, the tension didn't erupt into a ferocity of passion. If anything, it refused to ignite. He refused to let it happen. After she said it, the silence stretched and turned into something else. He didn't move. Some part of her had expected him to converge upon her the moment she gave him permission. He didn't. He didn't even look particularly thrilled with the idea. His facial expression didn't change. He looked rather bad tempered, put out, and disinterested. Hermione shifted her weight, and diverted her eyes. The last thing she wanted to see was his dry lack of enthusiasm. Any confidence she'd found was being slowly leeched away, as the awkward moment dragged on.

"Come here." He made the command as if he had no doubt she would follow it.

There was very little doubt in her own mind. As she walked forward, nervous but anxious, she realized how much control he held. She had nothing but her own desires and fantasies to build from. He had years of experience. As she edged forward, that bored look was slowly making its departure. He was smirking now, but not a smirk she'd seen before. One eyebrow was raised, but it was a different sort of mocking, more like a challenge. His chin was slightly upturned, his shoulders thrown back in a completely arrogant stance.

Looking at him, part of her wanted to do something dominant, to erase that look from his face. Another part of her loved his arrogance. She wanted to go to him like this, beneath him, and let him take charge. His body language told her he could do it. He knew what he was doing, and what she wanted. Perhaps, better than she did. He would excite her, and hurt her, and give her pleasure. The only thing she had to do, was walk to him. To give him control.

Then she was before him, looking up at him with a hungry expression and seeing one mirrored back. He took her shoulders and slowly pressed her against the wall. When the hard stone hit her shoulder blades, his chest was mere inches from hers. His mouth hovered just out of reach, lips parted in invitation.

"I'm not going to sleep with you, Miss Granger," he whispered, his voice husky.

Hermione's lips fell into a pout at his words. She could have cried, she was so turned on, so disappointed. She held onto her pride by a strand, and just barely refused to whimper.

"Though, I do love seeing you like this." He raised a hand and ran his knuckles down her cheek. She couldn't help herself. She gasped and turned into the touch. "Beg me to touch you."

"No," Hermione bit out. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, each shuddering breath allowing their robes to brush against each other. She needed him closer, just a little bit, to feel his chest against hers. She was nearly shaking with her desire and frustration. "Professor, what are you doing? Just touch me."

"Close, but not quite," he said with a grin.

When his thumb brushed along her lips, teasing up tingles, she parted her lips and brushed her tongue along the ridges of his fingerprint. Subtly, he shifted closer. The movement wasn't obvious, but its repercussions were. Her breasts were touching him, as if he knew she'd been aching for him there. Her nipples were tightened almost painfully, but there was still too much room and clothing between them. She couldn't find the sensations she wanted. His damp thumb dragged over her chin and down her neck. She wondered if he was going to tighten his grip again. She would have welcomed it, the lightheaded sensations and the pain. Instead, his fingers slid lower, barely making contact, over her robe. His feather light touch ended over her heart, not an inch from where she wanted him. There, one long finger caressed a figure eight into her robe, his touch almost nonexistent. She was breathing deeply, her head tipped back, and her eyes barely open. His head was bowed forward, his lips directly above hers. His were parted, his breath dancing on her lips, making hers part in answer.

"Beg me," he whispered again.

"Please, Professor." She arched her back subconsciously, trying to get his hand where she wanted it, trying to get her mouth closer to his. He didn't allow any of it. He shifted back, just slightly, arrogance heavy in his features. "Please, touch me. I need you to."

"Say 'pretty please,'" he growled. His hand slipped a little lower. He lowered his lips, so they were just barely touching hers. "Say it, and I'll give you what you want."

"I hate you." She jerked her head to the side, panting and quivering. "I hate you so much!"

"I don't care." He laughed softly, his lips now hovering above her ear. This was almost worse; the breath made her shiver and called up memories of the first time he'd given her pleasure. "Say it."

"Pretty please!" Hermione panted and bared her teeth.

"Miss Granger, do follow directions," he sighed, as if bored, but flashed a quick, heated grin. "That sounded more like a command than a plea."

"I said, 'pretty please!' So, you bloody well touch me, right now! You . . . tease."

Staring down at her, he made an odd noise. It might have been a grunt, or a strangled laugh. Either way, he took one final step forward and their bodies were pressed flush together from thighs to chests. Hermione couldn't stop the moan that escaped. She could hardly focus to keep her eyes open. For the second time that night, she moved onto her tiptoes. This time, she was offering her mouth.

He took it. Finally, desperately and violently, he took what she was offering. Their mouths met, and she looped her arms around his neck, anchoring him close. When his tongue dipped into her mouth, Hermione almost lost it. She groaned, deep in her throat, and met his invasion with enthusiasm.

The entire world had frozen, and they were the center of all existence.

Their mouths finally broke apart, both of them panting. Hermione refused to remove her arms from around his neck. She twined one hand into his hair and jerked his head back. He grunted softly, but made no objection when she pressed her soft lips directly beneath his jaw. His pulse was pounding there, and she kissed it again before flicking her tongue out to test his taste. She whimpered and tightened her grip in his hair.

His taste, like his smell, was beyond anything she could imagine. It was primal, too basic for any company to recognize and reproduce. She didn't know whether the potion made her want what he had, or if he had what the potion made her want, and at the moment, she couldn't have cared less.

She kissed down his neck, her tongue lashing out to taste and tease. When she reached the base of his neck, the sensitive skin that merges into shoulder, she licked experimentally and then sucked. It seemed the perfect place to latch on to, and every instinct was telling her to bare her teeth. So, without too much thought, she sank her blunt teeth into his neck. His reaction amazed her. Instead of jerking back, or trying to evade her touch, he shifted to allow her more access.

She moved over his neck. She licked and nipped and pressed chaste lips to his skin. When the mood struck her, she bit down. He would let out a harsh breath with every bite. It was the only verbal reaction he had given, and she hoped it was a good thing. His hand had come up to curve around her neck again. The grip was low on her neck, his fingers relaxed. Only his thumb was applying any pressure. His fingertips were shifting with every bite of her teeth, his nails scrapping over the sensitive skin. She sank her teeth into his chin as she worked her way back toward his mouth. His grip became more punishing, and she caught his lips again. His lower lip, already swollen from her kisses, slid into her mouth. She ran her tongue over it, nibbled on it, released it and accepted his tongue when it surged forward.

Relaxing into him, she opened her mouth and allowed his control. She was light headed again, but he wasn't cutting off her air supply with a clenched hand to her throat. He was accomplishing the same effect with his punishing mouth. She was so out of control, so turned on, she didn't mind. She was trembling and achy, and when he finally pulled their mouths apart, she fought him.

He pressed her against the wall as he took a step back. Hermione was gasping for breath, but still she growled when she realized he was pulling away.

"Breathe," he commanded. His voice was dry, but did she imagine the slight humor she heard in it?

She obliged him and sucked in a lungful of air. She involuntarily repeated the action when his hands moved to her robes and began to undo them. His able fingers slid beneath the piece of clothing, one layer closer to her skin. The feel of her soft cotton shirt pressed close to her skin was devastating. The touch was too light to satisfy her, but evident enough to make her long for more.

The next moment would be with her forever. It seemed to last an eternity and yet was over with one shuddering gasp. Her robes fluttered to the ground. Only their breathing marred the silence of the moment. She could hear the fabric settle on the ground at her feet. At that moment, she looked up at Snape and met his eye. Everything seemed serious suddenly. His black eyes looked back at her, fathomless. It was the last chance to call this off, she recognized the seconds as they dragged by.

Slowly, as if he was waiting for her to flinch, his knuckles caressed her cheek. She turned into that touch. Her head tipped back, her eyes slid closed. She inhaled deeply through her nose and made a contented sigh at the perfection of his scent. He smelled like hers. He smelled like every inch of him was hers to possess and protect, to satisfy and devour. He ran his knuckles back up her cheek, and her sigh turned to a moan.

Instantly, making her eyes snap open, his body was pressed firmly against hers. His mouth captured hers, his teeth sinking into her lip before he relented to the kiss. The sinewy press and slide of his tongue was addicting. She mirrored the movements back at him. Her inexperience seemed inconsequential next to the feel of him, the reactions of his body to her blindly eager actions. Smoothly, as if he didn't realize the effect it would have on her, he slid his thigh between her denim clad legs.

Pleasure sparked. She paused in their kiss, her lips parting in a silent gasp. Then, he did something that truly shocked her. He chuckled. The sound was purely arrogant, and deep in his throat. He shifted his hip closer, and Hermione let her thighs slip a little further apart. He shifted away from the wall slightly, and she followed him. She moaned then, loud and unhampered. Hermione clutched his shoulders; handfuls of his robe were tightly clenched in her white knuckled fists.

He chuckled again before one strong arm wrapped around her back and pulled her closer. She sobbed then, too caught up in her own pleasure to care that he was showing his mirth in that particular tone. She'd already begged for his touch. He could gloat and chuckle all he liked, just so long as he didn't stop what he was doing.

His attention went back to their mouths. One of his hands had shifted to her breast, and over the shirt and bra, his fingers were caressing her tight, ultra sensitive flesh.

She was dying. Her hands still clutched his shoulders. She was clinging to him, almost liquid, with only his arm across her back to anchor her. Despite the expert attention of his mouth, her world was focused much lower. Every few seconds, his hip would shift against her again. Her body tightened and convulsed with every rhythmic surge. She did her best to kiss him back as she waited for the wonderful pressure to return. As the seconds lengthened, and he didn't repeat the motion, she felt herself being strung tighter. She whimpered in her throat after a minute dragged by. A puff of air escaped his nostrils, as if he were snorting, and then his tender fingers pinched her nipple, hard. With a startled noise, she fidgeted in his arms. The movement brought her harder against his body.

She moaned. Her eyes were screwed tightly closed as she tried to battle back the feelings swirling through her. She pulled her mouth away from his, to gasp against his cheek. Her chest was heaving, her nails digging into his shoulders. She couldn't focus, struggled to find sanity.

He pinched her nipple brutally again. She surged backward, but unable to go anywhere, just brought herself into contact with his thigh. She whimpered again, and undiluted by their joined mouths, it rang loud in the room. Her entire body was throbbing, her pulse echoing in her ears. She was trembling. Sanity was too far beyond her reach to obtain. His fingertips rubbed against her nipple, but expecting the pain, she shifted away from him again. Sensation flashed through her body.

"Oh god," she moaned, breath coming in pants. "Wait, wait, I can't! Snape, please."

"Come on, Hermione. I thought you were brave. Come for me," he whispered the words against her ear.

His entire palm covered her breast and his mouth captured hers once more. Hermione, almost unconsciously, undulated her hips. As wave after wave of sensation hit, her movements were becoming more frenzied. She could feel him, hard and pulsing, against her. She writhed against him, beyond any thought. She was breathing heavily out of her nose, barely kissing him.

He held her close as she began to shake. He ran his thumb over her nipple again, and pulled his mouth from hers. Her head was thrown back, little whimpers and moans escaping on every breath. His lips latched onto her neck and after a cursory lick at her salty skin, he sank his teeth into her.

Hermione tripped over the edge instantly and violently. A little shriek escaped her lips and her eyes snapped open. His eyes were there, drinking in her reaction. She shuddered and shook. Her body clenched and convulsed. Her death grip on his robes tightened, her body stiff. Pleasure, heady and intense, echoed within her body until she thought she couldn't stand it another minute.

She relaxed slowly, collapsing into his arms. Her cheek rested on the curve of his neck. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She felt wonderful. She hadn't felt this normal for what seemed an eternity. His fingers, the same that had so expertly manipulated her breasts, tipped her chin up. She was suddenly looking up at Severus Snape. The realization hit her and she swam with embarrassment. She diverted her eyes, avoiding contact with his. She just couldn't look at him. He grunted, and his arm dropped from behind her.

"You'll be going now, then?" His voice was chilly.

She unconsciously sought his eyes. They were questioning and accusing. He shifted slightly and she felt him, hard and insistent against her. Her embarrassment faded and she had to hide her smile.

"Maybe, or . . . "

Instead of finishing her sentence, she shifted his robes aside and lowered her hand to the top of his pants. He tensed, but the look on his face wasn't scolding or disapproving. Daringly, she sank her fingers beneath the line of his pants. When her fingers encountered what they had sought out, she hesitated. It felt differently than she had imagined. Hesitantly, she shifted her fingers over him. Her middle finger slid over the length of him several times. He groaned. The sound emboldened her. It gave her power. She maneuvered him around, so that his shoulders rested against the wall. With a grin, she closed her hand into a loose fist and slid it over his straining flesh. He relaxed more fully against the wall. His eyes shifted closed.

Hermione moved onto her tiptoes and kissed him. Then she opened her hand and moved so she could whisper in his ear.

"Beg me to touch you," she said quietly.

His eyes opened slowly. A brilliant smirk rested on his features. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers softly. When he drew back, she caught his eyes with her own. She was squinting suspiciously, but his eyes were veiled and seductive.

"You're wrong to assume I have any pride left," he murmured. "Please touch me. Do whatever perverse acts you want with my body, and I'll beg you for more." His voice was low and husky. His words hit her and her stomached jumped, making her gasp.

"That wasn't very satisfying." She pouted.

"You look plenty satisfied, Miss Granger. I, on the other hand . . . " He thrust forward, forcefully reminding her of his unfulfilled lust.

"Oh, right," she muttered and blushed.

Her hand closed over him again. He sighed and closed his eyes. She studied him as she experimented, memorizing every groan and hitch of his breath. He wasn't going to last long, she could tell. His hard length was already slippery with pre-come, his body preparing him for pleasure. She rubbed it back into his flesh, and picked up her pace. After a few minutes, his breathing had changed to something much more ragged. He was close. She moved closer and latched onto his neck. Her tongue massaged the flesh there and he pulled her closer. He gasped, tensed, and then groaned. Her mouth sucking hungrily on his skin and her hand moving quickly over his straining flesh, he came.

Seconds passed and she removed her hand. Unsure of what to do, she wiped the opaque liquid on the inside of his robe. Giggling, she glanced up at him. He was watching her, his dark eyes questioning.

"I've never done that before," she admitted.

"Well, it was Outstanding," he murmured dryly. Hermione laughed.

"That was the most satisfying Outstanding I've ever received."

"I'll take that as a compliment. I know how much you value your high marks."

"That was definitely a compliment," she said quietly.

Then, blushing horribly, she extracted herself from his arms and hurried from the room. At the door, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. He was still watching, a brow raised. She quirked her lips in a quick, unsure smile. He nodded in return and she disappeared from the room.
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Heating up Hogwarts