Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
Author's Notes: Hey everyone! So, after a million years, I decided to edit and add on to this beast. I hope everyone enjoys! Reviews would make my day. Warnings: Spanking.

..........................

As the wall closed behind the girl, Snape snarled a curse and hurried to his bedroom. Going directly to his wardrobe, he pushed his school robes to one side and used his wand to issue a password which caused the hidden panel to peel away and reveal a doorway. Ducking inside, he entered the secret room which contained his most sensitive texts and potions ingredients. Going to the far wall, he offered another password and exposed his final secret: his Death Eater robes and mask.

Stripping hurriedly, he bared the inflamed Dark Mark on his left forearm. Though his entire awareness was focused upon the mark, he refused to look at it. There wasn't anything he wanted to see less.

Before donning his robes, he cast a harsh cleansing spell on himself. Though he'd kept Granger from seeing the mark and kept her off his skin for the most part, he couldn't be too careful. The Dark Lord had werewolves at his disposal, and the blighters had an amazing sense of smell. Picking up on Granger's cat pheromones was a real possibility, and he could only hope whatever chemical response his own body manufactured was minimal and could be covered by frequent cleansing charms.

Redressed and with his mask tucked into his robes, Snape paused and allowed himself to lean against the wall momentarily. Eyes sliding closed, he forced himself to simply breathe. He was frightened in a way he hadn't been for a long time. Cursing Granger for soothing his anger and frustration when he needed it most, Snape straightened and made his way to the Dark Lord.

…..................

Hermione's weak knees buckled and she stumbled, crashing to the floor like a felled log. Her right cheek made jarring impact with the hard floor, and she began to sob. Though she'd crawled into bed sated and happier than she'd been since this nonsense started, she'd woken with every nerve-ending screaming in pain and the agony of her womb clenching viciously.

Dragging herself to hands and knees, she crawled toward the bathroom. Her skin was ablaze, and the fever was making her disoriented and panicky. After managing the doorknob to the bathroom, her weight braced against the door as she pawed at the knob from her position on her knees, she tumbled onto the bathroom floor. Still wearing her underwear and tank top, she dragged her trembling body to the bathtub and managed to haul herself over the edge.

When she blindly fumbled the shower on, the ice cold spray pelted her oversensitive body like needles and she screamed. On her back with her arms crossed over her chest protectively, Hermione sobbed.

….....................

Official business concluded, and Snape having escaped any undue attention, he'd been attempting to hide his sigh of relief when the party favors were dragged forward and the dark revel truly began. He didn't recognize the victims; one was a wizard but the two women were muggles. Though his position within the Death Eaters didn't warrant first crack at the meager supply of playthings, Snape hovered in fascination like the rest.

Usually, he watched stoically as his stomach churned in distaste. Tonight was different. The twisted hunger in the room, the excitement on their faces as they circled their prey like hyenas, the blood and the screams, they awakened in him something vicious and starving. Quivering as he watched, one of the muggle women moaned as Lucius gripped her throat, and Snape growled his hunger.

Bellatrix turned at the sound, fierce sadistic glee making her look cunning and mad. When she moved toward him, her body rolled like a snake stalking its prey, and his gaze was heated when it met hers. He ached to rip her apart. Whether she misread his intention or delighted in his violence, her expression was eager and a little coy when she gripped his hand and pulled him forward.

He quelled his body's overwhelming repulsion at her touch. A fissure of pain tore through his gut, but it only heightened his blood-lust. The world around him felt vague and dream-like, garish pictures of demons contorting in fiendish anticipation. The promise of release, the chance to devour, beckoned him closer.

Bellatrix turned to him and urged, “Go on. Make them scream.”

With all eyes on him, he raised his wand. Faced with similar situations before, he'd done the same. But as he searched his mind for the perfect curse, he knew that for the first time he'd take true delight in watching them scream. He felt a paralyzing moment of fear and resentment toward the spell controlling him, but it lasted only a moment.

…....................................

After Hermione's agonized scream as the cold water pelted her too-sensitive skin, the banging from Draco's entrance to the bathroom began. The sound seemed unbearably loud and the walls pulsed. Hermione couldn't have moved from her position, collapsed in the bathtub, to save her life, and speech was too much to manage. After another minute with no answer, the door burst open with a splintering of wood and Draco charged forward with his wand raised.

The simple effort of awareness became too much, and Hermione let her eyes slide closed. When he spoke, her eyes snapped open and she was confused by his presence.

“Granger! What the hell?” Draco demanded.

“Go away!” she screamed.

“Did someone do this to you?”

His nearness was an added torture that she didn't need. The incredible pain only worsened with her body's rejection of him, the mindless need to drive away the man who was not her mate. Where her fingers clutched her shoulders convulsively, lethal nails elongated and sliced into her skin. Shaking her head back and forth manically, she couldn't stop the sobs.

A strangled cry escaped when he turned off the shower. Though she cringed away from him, he reached for her, his hands gripping her shoulders and shaking her. At the touch, her back arched like she'd been electrocuted and she swiped at him blindly. Her nails shredded his white tee-shirt and drew thin lines of blood across his chest.

Stumbling backward, he gaped at her a moment and then said, “I'll get help!”

“No!” she yelled as he hurried toward the door. “Please! Please, Draco, please. No.”

She was still begging, the word “please” a chant upon her parted lips, when he edged closer to the tub again and stood observing her. A tiny part of her was aware of her soaked through tank top and panties, and she knew he was getting quite the show.

Unable to hide, she only stared up at him as her vision swam and her body convulsed again. She wished that he would just go and every instinct demanded she snarl and hurt, but what remained of her logical mind recognized him as a lifeline. She was too disoriented and agony-ridden to manage the situation, and she knew that.

Looking less like the capable wizard she knew him to be and more like the unsure child she'd never seen in him, Draco said, “Tell me what you need.”

“I need ...” Her womb spasmed again and she knew very well what she needed, but she couldn't ask Draco to get her to Snape. After the torture Draco had taken, he wouldn't have complied even if she was willing to expose her secret. “You have to … I have a fever.”

“A fever didn't cause those.” When her disorientation didn't allow her understanding, he elaborated, “You have claws.”

She moaned and shook her head. The claws were the least of her problems, but with the blood still beading from his wounds, she understood his focus. She spent a few unfocused moments attempting to sheathe her claws, but the effort was futile. Another bout of pain wracked her body and she convulsed pathetically.

“Sleep,” she begged. “Lower my body temp … erator. Make me sleep.”

Draco shook his head and took a step away from her.“I'm getting help.”

“No.” She flung her hand out, caught the edge of the tub, and attempted to pull herself upward. She ended up half slung over the edge of the tub, her clawed hand outstretched in entreaty. “It's mine. My secret. Please. Please. Trust me, please.”

After several long seconds, he sighed and returned to her side. Reaching for her, he said, “I'll help you to bed.”

“No!” Hermione flung herself away from him and back into the tub, her outstretched hand now one of warning. “Don't touch me! Make me sleep first. Make me sleep.”

When he raised his wand and leveled it at her, Hermione closed her eyes in grateful acceptance and remembered nothing else.

…......................

When she woke, early morning light filled the arctic room and Draco Malfoy stood over her with his wand drawn. Before she could remember the night before or get her bearings, she cringed away from him. Her arm rose to cover her face protectively.

“It's morning,” he said quietly. “Are you better?”

Angered by her weakness and embarrassed by the onrush of memories, Hermione snapped, “I'm fine, Malfoy.”

Taking stock of herself, she realized the shorts she wore hadn't been on last night and cried, “Did you dress me?”

Draco's look of concern quickly fell behind the mask of his sneer, and he snatched the book and blanket from a chair beside her bed and turned on his heels to stalk away. Realizing too late that he must have spent the night watching over her, Hermione grimaced and scrambled out of bed. Her body was sore and aching, a mixture a pain, hunger, and irritation. But she didn't have claws and she could string a sentence together, so it could have been worse.

“Wait.” When he didn't turn around but stopped with his back to her, Hermione was faced with the unexpected position of being in the debt of Draco Malfoy. She said, “Sorry. I'm embarrassed.”

Turning, he demanded, “What's going on with you, Granger?”

Shaking her head, she said, “I can't tell you.”

With a curl of his lip, he turned to leave. Hermione struggled for something adequate to say when all she really wanted was to beg him to keep her secret.

“Thank you,” she said instead. “I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there. I … I owe you.”

“No, you don't.”

Not understanding his words and fearing the worst, Hermione hurried after him and cut off his escape with a hand on his shoulder. Her body rebelled against the touch, but she grit her teeth and kept her grip.

“What do you mean?” she demanded. “Are you going to tell?”

He brushed her hand away and turned, bringing her face to face with the evidence of her violence when she saw his ruined shirt. She lowered her gaze, terrified of what she could have done to him—how very out of control she'd been.

“You saved me from my father. You're keeping my secret. I'll keep yours.” With a suspicious look, he added, “Whatever it is.”

Hermione knew that despite his bluster, their relationship was different now. Her grandmother used to tell a story about a skittish puppy that never quite trusted her. Until, one day, the dog came home with porcupine quills in her muzzle. After removing the quills and treating the wounds, the puppy was loyal to a fault. It wasn't that different with people, so she gave him the warmest smile she could muster and said, “Thank you.”

“Start taking a sleeping potion if this is going to be problem, okay?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, her stomach plummeting, and said, “I'll handle it.”

….............................

Snape eyed the ice clinking at the bottom of his brandy glass. Better than not that it was empty. He needed to leave for breakfast shortly, he hadn't slept a wink, and he'd kept up a low level buzz ever since returning from the revel. The previous night, he'd gotten his first taste of the disorientation the potion could cause, and he had a better grasp of Granger's lack of control. He also had a better grasp of the ramifications of thwarting the potion's will. He'd been rock hard and ridden by violent lust all night, no matter how often he attempted to take the situation in hand.

Sleep hadn't been an option, and his irritation and wisp-thin attention span had kept him from his usual diversions. Reading hadn't worked. Grading had been disastrous. He'd savaged his way through half a dozen lengthy papers, dozens more in queue, before throwing the lot of them into the fireplace. He wasn't sure how he'd explain or right that whim, but the papers he'd marked hadn't been in any condition to return anyway.

Then, he'd sat back and allowed his mind to wander. Pretending that nothing had changed and the potion's side effects could be managed easily was not working. Perhaps the stars would realign after they consummated the bond, but impregnating the chit was not an option and yet the only option that would truly satisfy her body. Thus, they could siphon away the madness, but never deplete the depths of lust from which it welled. As, only hours before, he'd stood in the snake-pit and believed himself immune to venom, he understood how quickly his body could turn on him and how very far away spring was. It was too long and too much could go badly too quickly.

The longer he thought, the more sure he became Granger needed to be managed. More, his mind began to conquer possible advantages to his new alliance and Granger's unusual new abilities. Perhaps keeping his distance from her and assuming the same tendencies that drew her to him would control her behavior wasn't enough. Perhaps, they needed to be as joined as the potion wanted them. A week ago, he would have sooner opened a vein than seriously consider the idea, but he'd kept himself alive knowing when to change tracts and improvise. Hermione Granger wasn't the worst match for him, after all; she was smart and mostly logical. He could make her see reason.

…...........................................

As the day wore on, Hermione's temporary reprieve sank away and left her trembling with pain as she suffered through her classes. Her irritability had sky rocketed and beneath the hundred minute annoyances, her resentment of Snape seethed unpleasantly. She'd needed him last night, needed him more than she'd ever needed another person in her life, and he hadn't come. Of course, her anger was unfounded. How could he have known? But as illogical as her feelings of betrayal were, she felt them keenly.

Which might explain why Hermione had a sadistic grin on her face as she waved her hand obnoxiously in the air during Potions. She'd already interrupted the lecture at least ten times, and Snape was pissed. If the tight set to his mouth and narrowing of his eyes was any indication, she was pushing his oath not to issue her a detention to the very brink. When he attempted to ignore her waggling hand, she began making little “oi, oi” noises as she glared into his eyes, her grin manic.

When he'd walked in, she'd licked her lips and all but sighed her contentment as the horrible pain eased from her body and was replaced by licks of lustful flames. Then he'd ignored her completely, and ignored her some more, and she was left to stew over how utterly unfair it was that the man before her was her only reprieve against insurmountable pain, and he couldn't be bothered to look at her. He said he could help. He said he understood. Yet what was he doing?

The longer she thought about being forced to beg for his touch and then being abandoned to writhe on her back, in heat like some pathetic animal, the angrier she got. After the first snide question, the second was easier, and then it started to become fun.

“Miss Granger, do lower your hand immediately.”

“But, Professor,” she whined, “I have a question. Isn't it your duty to educate me?”

“Indeed,” he growled, the word loaded with subtext.

“Oh, I knew you'd be ever so obliging if I asked nicely enough.” Tossing her hair, she cast him a wicked look and added, “It's a shame though, isn't it? That I have to beg 'pretty please' to get the education I crave?”

Snape glowered and took two fluid steps toward her. The movement of his body, so powerful and aggressive, was entrancing. Floored with lust and fighting the urge to whimper, she bit her lip. His nostrils flared.

“What,” he bit out, “is your question.”

“You know,” she breathed, “it's flown right out of my head.” She made a shooing motion with her hand and said, “You may continue. I'm sure it'll come back to me in a moment.”

From behind her, she heard Ron's groan but didn't take her eyes off Snape as his hands clenched. His raised brow told her very clearly that, had they been alone, she would have been in trouble. Her taunting smile reminded him that his hands were tied.

“Stand up.”

“Professor?”

He stalked across the remaining distance between them and Hermione shivered at his approach. When he slammed a hand down on the table before her, she gasped. His heated, predatory gaze dared her to defy him.

“Stand.”

Heat spread through her belly as she slowly stood, the two of them all-too-close. When his hand snaked beneath her hair to grip the nape of her neck, her body curled toward him before he dragged her to the front of the classroom. There, he released her and she floundered as she surveyed her bemused classmates. Snape retrieved his potions book from his desk and then circled her like a hungry cat.

“As I'm proving so very inadequate at quenching your cravings, perhaps osmosis would be preferable.”

“Professor?”

“Go to the corner.”

“Professor,” she objected.

“Do not test my patience, Miss Granger. I assure you, you've reached its end.”

Realizing too late that her classmates restrained her behavior as surely as they did Snape's, she was left with little choice but to obey. When she stood in the corner he'd indicated, she gave him an unimpressed roll of her eyes. He snarled and stalked closer.

“I've seen enough of your face for one day. Turn around.”

There were snickers from the class as she ever-so-slowly turned and buried her nose in the corner. She could feel Snape moving behind her and tingles of anticipation and fear sparked through her body. When he was so close that she thought he might touch her, audience be damned, the naughtiness of the situation had her rubbing her thighs together. When he spoke, it was a quiet whisper against her ear.

“In precisely fifteen minutes, I'm going to bend you over my desk and spank that smart ass of yours. If you remain still and silent until then, I'll make the education you're craving a pleasant one. If you disobey, you'll be screaming for another reason entirely.”

He drew back and balanced the heavy potions book atop her head. Hermione longed to look at him, but that was out of the question. She was as good as blind standing as she was in the corner. His heated words and the images they conjured made her shiver and the book shook threateningly.

“Do not move,” he said more loudly.

As no one could see her, Hermione allowed her expression to curve into one of deep satisfaction. Being sent to the corner like an errant child was humiliating, but she didn't give a damn. She'd wanted his attention and she'd gotten it. Heat pooled between her legs at the promise of his rough, strong hands upon her bared flesh. Still, her body was more primed for the punishment than her mind. He wanted her submission when a large part of her still wanted his blood, believing he should be the one punished for the torture she'd endured the night before.

She imagined spanking him instead, his large body bent over his desk, and her shoulders shook with silent laughter. Her mouth formed a startled O as the book wobbled. Every iota of her awareness focused upon regaining the balance and remaining motionless for long minutes. The task only became more difficult as her breathing turned ragged. Realizing that her stillness was the precursor for the release she longed for so desperately was turning her confinement into agonizing foreplay. Unable to move, unable to see beyond the wall of white, hearing only the dark rumble of his voice, her awareness had turned inward as she strained to keep the balance, the precipice she teetered upon as her excitement revved higher mimicking the strain for pleasure.

She wanted to snarl at him, of course. Wanted to disobey, punish, and take—but not really. Not down deep where her mate's strength and dominance sparked wicked desire. She was stronger than she'd ever been, strong enough to take care of herself, but she reveled in the knowledge that he was stronger. He was worthy. As she waited impatiently for the class to end, she didn't even consider allowing the book to fall—if anything, Snape was a man of his word. Her desire for his attention, the need to be taken care of after her night of torture and the pain, insecurity, and hopelessness that remain in its wake, was all consuming. She wanted his touch, would take it even if it brought pain, but believed him when he promised relief for her obedience. She wasn't sure he deserved it, but anger wouldn't soothe the ache within her. Only his touch could do that.

When he finally dismissed the class, ordering her to stay behind for further discussion of her behavior, Hermione's inward focus did not waver and she was only vaguely aware of her surroundings. When he locked and silenced the room, she buried the shiver that threatened. Long minutes passed in which he said nothing, did nothing, only left her burning with anticipation. Finally, he spoke.

“Without removing the book, I want you to turn around and walk to me.”

She wanted to whimper, to cry, to beg and rage at him, but not more than she wanted her reward. Knowing there was nothing for it, she turned slowly. Snape was standing beside his desk, his shoulders thrown back and his face impassive, merciless. Taking her first small step, the too-large book teetered dangerously and she gasped. Fueled by her desperation, her claws extended and her already hazy world blurred. She crossed the space between them with a grace that was not her own. Halted before him, she kept her gaze lowered, inwardly begging him to remove the book, to end the test and reward her achievement.

When he pressed into her space and ever-so-slowly lifted the book free, she mewled and sagged with relief, claws rescinding. Her slender fingers clutched at his robe for support, her breathing changing to soft pants. To her shock, Snape lifted both hands and cupped her face. Leaving one against her cheek where his thumb stroked rhythmically, his other hand slid along her neck and arm. The petting was soothing, a reward for her good behavior, and it fulfilled a soul-deep ache to reaffirm their bond.

“I'd ask why you're being such a good girl, but I know how much you need me. What I really want to know, is what changed between last night and now?”

Hermione whimpered and tried to turn her face away, wanting nothing more than to skip the talking. Pain, pleasure, she'd take both, but she wanted them now. His thumb slid beneath her chin and held her gaze steady.

“Was it simply the blood-lust making you demand my attention? Or was I being punished for some infraction you've conjured within your mind?”

Despite her desperation for him, she scowled. The agony of last night had been all too real.

“No. You're angry. Why?” When she still refused to answer, he demanded, “Speak, Miss Granger.”

She shook her head minutely. He'd stripped her of her control, of her anger, and replaced both with pure lust. If she spoke, if that simmered away, she feared what would remain. There was a burning in her chest and behind her eyes, an edge of panic and desperation and sadness threatening to overwhelm her, and she feared that if she spoke while his hands petted her so nicely, she'd splinter beyond repair.

She didn't know what he saw in her face, but he gave a slow nod and stepped away. His smirk was suddenly dangerous.

“Bend at the waist and grip the edge of the desk. You may use it for balance, but not to support your weight.”

She knew her expression was one of pathetic gratitude as she whispered, “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet. I'm going to wring you dry.”

She wasn't sure what he meant, but when he gave a jerk of his chin toward the desk, she rubbed her palms on her thighs and assumed the position. Immediately, she realized it would be difficult to hold for any length of time. The muscles along the backs of her legs began a low-level stretch, as did her shoulders. Even with her gaze focused upon the floor beneath her, the effort needed to hold up her head would quickly become unpleasant. Further, her balance seemed shaky and he hadn't laid a finger on her yet. She hoped whatever advanced abilities the spell granted her would kick in when they were needed, but she knew that wasn't the point.

She jerked in surprise when he gathered the hem of her robe and pushed it up the length of her legs. When he reached her skirt, he added that to the material in his hands and pushed it over her ass to bunch around her waist. The vulnerability of the position unsettled her, but she wanted what was to come more than her next breath.

“Such virginal, pink panties. Do you have any idea how badly I want to rip them off you?”

He gripped both her hips and pressed his groin into her ass, giving her a pretty good idea. Without thought, Hermione tried to move against him but her position didn't allow much leeway.

“Spread your legs. Wider.”

Once he was satisfied, he stepped back. The new position provided her even less balance, and she clutched the edge of the desk desperately.

“I can't—”

“You can.”

His hands moved from her hips to run along the outsides of her thighs. They slipped inward to tease the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, refusing her the touch she wanted, and then slid upward to cup her ass. His hands were large and spanned much of her bottom, making her want to purr. She knew once the spanking began, she might not be so pleased. Still, as the weight and slight grip changed to gentle massaging and rubbing, her eyes slid closed in pleasure.

“Do you know why you're being punished?” he asked softly. “Not because you want the pleasure. Not even because you need the release you'll find in the pain. You're being punished because you acted like a brash child ignoring the potentially lethal ramifications of her whims.”

Hermione made a disgruntled noise and Snape landed the first open-palmed slap against her panty-clad ass. It was startling, but not overtly painful.

“Shh, I know. Trust me, I know. You're at the mercy of the potion. We both are.” He gave the other cheek a similar slap. “I simply don't care.”

His hands returned to their gentle, soothing rubbing for several seconds, his fingers slipping a little closer to her sex. Her breath went reedy.

“You're not a brash child, Miss Granger. And you're not suicidal. What you are is beyond the limits of your self-control.” He landed a stinging slap to one cheek and then immediately repeated the process to the other. Hermione gasped from the tease of true pain. “As you are unable to control yourself, I will control you.”

She stiffened at the words and another slap fell, then another. Across the expanse of her bottom, lightly stinging blows landed, never in exactly the same place and all spreading a tingling warmth.

“I control your pain.” The first hard slap landed and she gasped in shock. “And I control your pleasure.”

He landed a stinging blow to her sex, the vibrations traveling deep and making her moan. It was the closest another person had come to touching her there, and part of her wanted to wriggle away in shock. Instead, though her legs were already trembling, she arched her back to offer him better access.

Huffing out an amused breath, he gripped her hips and forced her into her original position. Smoothing his hand over her bottom again, he said, “Conserve your strength. When I want unfettered access to your sweet little cunt, I'll strip off your panties and put you over my lap. Currently, I'm more interested in your pain.”

Unbidden, a needy, mewling sound slipped from her lips. Perhaps a sane person would have groaned, but the potion had her understanding of pleasure and pain so intertwined that she lusted after both. That she happened to want what Snape was offering seemed inconsequential: there was one person in the world who could prevent her complete destruction, and it certainly wasn't herself. She was at his mercy.

Only his fingertips touched her, and they twirled absently over her inflamed skin. Tension and impatience seized her and she whimpered in protest.

“You will receive twenty spankings that are worthy of your crime. Intermingled with these spankings will be others that are not punishment at all, or not punishment enough. You must count aloud as you receive each of the twenty. If you wrongly count a neutral slap, you will lose a point. If you do not complete your punishment, lunch will end, we will be interrupted, and your lust will go unsatisfied.”

This time, Hermione did groan. She shook her head, wriggled her ass impatiently, and whined, “Professor, please.”

“You've always been the teacher's pet, Miss Granger. And, as you've said, it's my duty to educate you. I've drawn up a lesson plan and provided proper motivation. Now, do, prove how utterly clever you are, so I can get those panties off and spank your clit until you scream.”

Her stomach clenched. Biting back the urge to groan, she nodded eagerly. A slap landed against her sex and Hermione bit her lip, understanding already that her acquiescence was being rewarded.

“You need to understand.” Slap. “I hold you responsible. Whether you're freshly fucked and mostly sane, frustrated out of your mind, or sporting claws and flooded with blood-lust, I hold you responsible.”

A string of light slaps fell across her ass and she held her breath, waiting for the punishment. With each new slap her body became more accustomed to the sensation, and she began to notice how, if she paid really close attention, the shock waves from his touch ricocheted through her sensation-hungry body.

“If you miss class, you will be punished,” he growled, spanking hard enough to earn a gasp.

“If you enter the forbidden forest without me, you will be punished.”

The slap made her catch her breath at the pain, but her toes still curled. She was impatient, but knew better than to talk out of turn and delay the punishment.

“If you threaten to expose our secret, all because you want my attention,” he growled and hesitated, making her catch her breath and tremble in anticipation, “you will be punished.”

When his hand came down, it was hard enough to make her body rock forward, her fingers clenching around the edge of the desk as she gasped silently in shock. As soon as she got her breath back, she said, “One.”

“What you don't understand—”

She cried out at the pain and said, “Two.”

“Is that I have spent long years perfecting my subterfuge, while you are a guileless Gryffindor who was ruled by her emotions even before the potion.”

He punctuated words with stinging slaps, the blows occasionally edging closer to her thighs and center. As he made his point, the next hard slap caused her knees to buckle momentarily and her body jerked before straightening. She said, “Three.”

“If I don't leer after you, it isn't because you don't have my attention. You've found your mate. The potion's will has been done. You needn't wail for attention any longer.”

His hand came down hard and she bit her lip against the very real pain. Numbly, she breathed, “Four.”

“Today—”

“Five.”

“You were very—”

“Six.”

“Very—”

“Seven.”

“Bad!”

The first sob was wrenched from her chest and she cried, “Eight!”

Despite her earlier eagerness, tears were swelling and her ass cheeks were clenched against the promise of more. Her chest was heaving, emotions welling within her that she didn't know how to process or hide.

“Do you want me to die?”

Despite the anger in his voice, his palm was gentler when it landed. Strangely, the absence of anticipated pain teased forth another sob. She shook her head hard in denial.

“My body convulsing with pain. Slices of my flesh peeling from my bones. Blood pooling. And witches and wizards violating my body for pleasure you will never again feel.”

Hermione gripped the edge of the desk even tighter as tears fell unbidden. When the next punishing blow came, she couldn't make herself call out the count. The pain was almost unbearable, but it seemed less than she deserved suddenly. After a count of five, his palm landed against her sex, but she twisted away from him.

“All my spying for naught. All the warnings that have kept others alive gone in an instant. And where would Mr. Potter be then, I wonder? Mr. Weasley? You'd most likely be dead.”

The slap hurt so very badly that she couldn't deny his intention and sobbed, “Nine.”

“But as Lucius Malfoy fucks the light from your eyes, you might imagine the pools of blood and glassy stares of your mates' savaged bodies.”

She held her breath, even through his vicious blow, and tried desperately to stomp down the panic threatening. Her body was trembling so violently from maintaining the position and controlling her emotions that she feared she would fall.

“If Voldemort triumphs, how many others would die?”

“Ten!” She wiped her wet cheek against her forearm and whimpered, “Professor, please.”

“And it would be all—”

“Eleven.”

“Your—”

“Twelve.”

“Fault!”

When the anticipated blow was only a stinging slap, Hermione's face contorted in true torture. Her breath was hitching, hiccuping, as she fought against the onslaught of terror, shame and guilt. Body on the brink of collapse and fighting the intense urge to curl into a small ball on the floor and sob properly, Hermione forced her knees locked and tightened her grip.

“Is that what you want?” he demanded, pinching her ass cruelly, making her body clench despite all reason. “Is it?”

“No,” she whispered.

Her knees threatened to buckle at the body-rocking slap. She sobbed out, “Thirteen.”

“I ask if you want to kill us all and you whisper? Has the potion leached your humanity? Are you broken?”

Something within her shattered and she began to sob in earnest, her body convulsing in heaves that threatened her balance. She shook her head desperately and yelled, “No!”

“You're sorry then?”

“Yes!” she cried. “I'm sorry.”

“But you were angry.”

“Yes.”

“You wanted to punish me.”

“Yes.”

A solid smack landed against her aching core and then another. Hermione turned her face into the side of her arm and tried to stop her sobbing gasps for breath.

“I understand the impulse all too well, Miss Granger. Allow me to education you on the nature of punishment, however.”

The spanking left behind pain so white-hot she could barely recognize the sensation. She stuttered, “Fourteen.”

“Punishment teaches others to better please you, but it is effective only if you make clear why they are being punished and how they might better please you. Now, sweet, you will make clear immediately how I displeased you, or you will displease me.”

“Professor,” she pleaded, shaking her head desperately. “I'm sorry.”

“Then do as you're told!”

The spanking caused her knees to buckle and her vision to swim. On the brink of giving up entirely, she began to sag but was caught around the waist and anchored against his hips. As she sobbed, he ground against her, reminding her all-too-clearly of what was at stake.

She broke and breathed, “You weren't there.”

One of his large hands slid up the length of her spine, the touch soothing even as she subconsciously pressed her aching, too-hot bottom against his arousal. He prompted, “And you needed me?”

“Yes!” she snarled. But the terror of the previous night rushed back and her face contorted in agony. “It hurt so bad. So much worse than this. So much worse.”

“You were scared.”

“I thought I was going to die!”

His palm stroked over the small of her back and his voice was gentler when he said, “I'll do everything in my power to make sure that never happens again. But you didn't die, and your behavior was still irresponsible. You deserve your punishment.”

Mindless with pain and shame, Hermione found herself nodding in agreement. When he drew away, her legs held her and she gulped around her hiccuping pants.

“Hold tight,” he growled. “This is going to hurt and you're going to sob the fear and hopelessness right out of that delicious little body. Do you understand me?”

“Please,” she whined, absurdly wishing she could curl around him and cling.

The first blow came almost as a surprise and her body writhed, her back arching. She counted, “Fifteen.” The next came an instant later, before she could even catch her breath, and she could feel herself begin to lose awareness of her own mind. She called, “Sixteen!”

Her eyes clenched closed, but all she could see were the broken bodies of the people who relied upon her. A heartbreaking sense of loss cascaded, and she vowed to herself that Snape would not die because of her childhood stupidity. Harry would not lose. Ron would not sacrifice himself to protect those he loved.

She rocked forward, her cries silenced momentarily as her mouth formed a silent O of shock, but her eyes remained clenched tight. She whispered, “Seventeen.”

And then her mind was whisked away from her, only broken sobs and the scramble of her nails against the wood of his desk audible above the hard, consistent slaps of his hand. The searing pain was so all consuming that she felt beyond it, outside of herself, fractured and soaring. In consecutive cries, she counted, “Eighteen. Nineteen! Twenty!”

Without conscious decision, her body collapsed at the twentieth blow. He must have expected it because he was there to haul her against his much larger frame, his strength holding her pliant, kitten-weak body aloft. Though she couldn't quiet her quaking body from its gasping sobs, relief and hope course through her like a tidal wave. She gave a shaky smile.

“It won't always be like this,” he said against her ear. “The contraceptive has taken hold and tonight I'm going to fuck you.”

She moaned in desperation and nodded her head manically. Replacing the images of blood and death within her mind with this much more pleasant visual, she hissed, “Yes.”

“We won't allow ourselves to become this desperate again.” His hand slid over her stomach, across her hips, and cupped her sex without embarrassment or apology. “If you ache for me, I'll make you come over and over and over again.”

Beginning to return to herself, one hand clenched into a fist around the material at his thigh and the other arm came up to wipe at her tear and snot damp face. She grimaced in embarrassment as her breathing settled from broken sobs to deep pants.

“I can't begin to explain how pleased I am with you, Hermione.” The fingers still curled around her sex kneaded her flesh expertly, teasing a keen from her lips. “So why don't we get these panties off, and I'll show you.”

If she'd been on the verge of recuperating, his words robbed her of that strength. She sagged against him, pliant and pleased and trusting. She'd done it. She'd earned her reward.

Feeling only smaller and more protected as he easily carried her to the desk and set her upon it, she knew her face was defenseless as he straightened and their eyes met for the first time in what felt like an eternity. His lips gave a quirk of a smile and she licked her own. Then he was reaching for the band of her panties, her robe and skirt still bunched around her waist, and his skimming fingers caused her stomach to jump. Though part of her was still the shy virgin who wanted to cringe with embarrassment and hide from the baring of her body, she raised her hips as he pulled the panties free.

“We're running out of time,” he said, voice full of regret. “Though you have one final lesson to learn, you're going to have to come very hard, very quickly. Understand?”

“God, yes!”

He sat beside her on the desk, reached for her face and drew her in for a single dirty kiss, and then guided her over his lap. Her feet dangled over the edge, but being given the freedom to rest her head upon her folded arms seemed like the epitome of luxury. He spread her thighs apart and then growled hungrily, making her blush despite her eagerness.

“Though neither of us might enjoy the truth, you are mine, Miss Granger. Mine to punish, mine to please,” his hand ran along the sore slopes of her ass, “my greatest weakness, and my greatest strength. You see, the golden trio wouldn't need to run off half-cocked and muck up the works if you had more faith your professors weren't trying to kill you.”

He landed a light blow to her exposed center, the vibrations ricocheting deep into her body. Rather than withdraw his hand, it pressed harder, a finger slipped between her slippery lips to rub against her clit. A long, shuddering breath escaped and she shifted against him, suddenly aware of his arousal pressing into her belly. When he groaned, she gave another wriggle, preening at his reaction even as she melted beneath his purposeful hand.

“You will learn to trust me implicitly. And, as I have no choice, I will return the favor. Your knowledge is my knowledge, and my knowledge is yours.”

He took up a soft, circular rhythm against her clit and the touch was overwhelming and sinful. She slithered against his arousal and purred when he gasped and ground upward.

“I … Merlin, you could drive me to distraction. I will personally oversee your education, both because the other professors are suspicious of your recent ramshackle work and because you are my partner, and my partner will be the best. You want to be the best, don't you?”

“Oh, yeah,” she breathed. Then she whimpered and demanded, “More.”

She moaned in protest as he removed his hand. It came down against her core once, and then again. Whimpering, she rolled her stomach against his hard length to thank him for the pleasure.

“I'll teach you the things no one else will.” Perhaps in demonstration, his palm landed again and then, without warning, one of his oh-so-nimble fingers slid deep within her body. Hermione moaned, the sound startling her only slightly less than the action itself. “I'll ask more of you than anyone else.”

His finger crooked, making her mouth fall open in surprise. When she felt his other hand smoothing along her ass and dipping lower, her stomach churned hot and low. The finger buried deep within her slowly withdrew, setting off a firestorm of sensation she'd never known possible. Her breathing went slow and heavy, her awareness centered fully on his hand. As the last half-inch of his finger withdrew, she whimpered in denial, but his fingertip rimmed her opening. He explored her, her awareness seeming to discover that secret part of her body as he did. The intense, intimate attention was both exactly what she wanted and mortifying. Regardless, when he slipped the textured tip of his finger within her body, anticipation was a sweet pleasure itself. Aching for him, she made a greedy little sound. Chuckling wickedly, he thrust his finger deep. She was still reeling from the sensation when the hand that had been curled around still-stinging ass curled instead around her thigh and massaged a single finger against her clit.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed.

“You see, you're a clever, clever girl.” His finger withdrew and plunged, the friction delicious as his other finger kept up its mind-numbing, toe-curling manipulation of her clit. “You chose me.”

After being so hungry for so long, her body was climbing the precipice in leaps and bounds. She bit her forearm to stifle the sounds he teased forth, her hips lifting to grant him better access.

“Who else could give your body what it needs?” he asked. “Who else could see to it that you not only survive this ordeal but come out of it smarter and stronger than you went in?”

The finger inside her curled again, rubbing against a spot so sensitive she trembled. Then the finger circling her clit lifted and two returned to pinch the bundle of nerves gently, rolling it between his fingertips in a touch almost too intense to bear.

“Oh, god.”

“I know exactly what you are, exactly what you need, and I'm going to give it to you hard and often.”

Another crook of his finger and she moaned, her hands going to the edge of the desk to grip tight as he'd taught her. She tossed her head, so desperate for the building pleasure she thought she might cry again.

“You'll get O's in all your exams. And I'll keep you so well-fucked you'll be able to stomach the presence of your friends, whom you'll help me protect.”

“Yes,” she cried. Whether the response was to his words, which were sexy beyond reason after the hopelessness of the past week, or the expert manipulation of her body by his too-skilled hands, she didn't know or care. The tightening of her body was delicious and she recognized it now, chased after it, wanted it so badly she closed her eyes in concentration. “Please … oh, please.”

“Your foolish act and its heinous side-effects will make you a hero.” He stopped rolling her clit only to grind a finger against it, the extra pressure making her mouth gape as she hovered on the tantalizing edge of pleasure. “We'll protect your friends, and defeat the enemy, and save the wizarding world. All because you're a clever, clever girl who chose correctly.”

And then she was tumbling, a shriek escaping as her body convulsed around his plunging finger. The pleasure was more intense than any she'd ever known. It shot through her body, curled in her stomach, and radiated pure, pulsing bliss. The quick withdrawal of his finger was only an added stimulus to her already overloaded body, and she hadn't even begun to reform her mind when he lifted her from his lap, drew her hips even higher into the air, and then pressed her knees together.

“I'm going to fuck you in a few hours, but I need this now.”

It was all the warning she got and more than her pliant, still-pulsing body needed before his thick, hard cock thrust into the channel of her thighs, sliding along her opening and against her clit in the process. Her shoulders hunched at the exquisite pleasure, and as he thrust hard and fast, again and again, she shattered a second time, the orgasm startling and painfully intense. He cursed above her and pulled back, wet strings of his come streaking her ass as she shivered with pleasure.

After a long minute of complete silence, only their labored breathing shattering Hermione's oasis of peace, Snape drew away. She heard a series of cleansing spells and then she was being hauled upright. She clenched her fists into the fabric of his robe as he sat her upon the edge, her feet dangling. He slid her panties on without a word but then met her eyes.

“Do you agree to my terms?”

She gave him a well-content smile and purred, “Your terms were sexy.”

“I endeavored to make them so. Is that a yes?”

“Yes, please.”

Smirking with self-satisfaction, he fairly sauntered across the room. She didn't take her eyes off him and didn't take her eyes off the doorway of his supply room until he reemerged. When he returned to her side, it was with two small potion bottles.

“A healing and a pep-up,” he said as he held them out for her. “I want you nice and limber.”

“For my ravaging?”

He raised a brow and gifted her with an amused smirk. He said, “Indeed.”

Straining a little at her new-found leash, she preened at him and challenged, “Or maybe I'll ravage you first.”

“Oh, I think not. As a virgin, it is your solemn duty to blush prettily and make noises of surprised awe. Would you be opposed to ravaging me tomorrow?”

“Not at all, Professor.”

“All sorted, then.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Scamper along. And do try to look a little put out as you leave. You've spent the period being punished, after all.”
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Heating up Hogwarts