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Obsession	By : dainty_morsel Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 5582 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling - anything you recognise belongs to her, not me. I do not make any money from these stories.

Chapter List
- 1-Obsession
- 1
Author's Note: Hello! Thank you very much for giving this story a go. I apologise if it's a bit messy – I don't yet have a beta, so if anyone's interested in the job, just let me know! This will be a multi (well, seven) chaptered story. This time there is a little story in here… ah, whom I kidding? It's mostly smut.

To say that Hermione Granger was enjoying the Yule Ball would have been to lie.

Although she looked to be her usual, smiling self – if a trifle more glamorous than usual in her burgundy dress robes – and had happily taken a turn about the dance floor with each delegate the Ministry had thought to send to Hogwarts for the occasion, she was feeling distracted and uneasy, waiting impatiently for the chance to be able to slip away from the noise and the press.

Somehow, despite its immense size, the Great Hall seemed ridiculously crowded with overexcited children, even though it was normally capable as acting as a refectory for the entire school without feeling the least bit claustrophobic. The first three years had been allowed to attend the formal dinner, but had long since been packed off to their dormitories, yet still Hermione was conscious of the tight press of bodies and the swirl of teenaged hormones filling the air.

Perhaps it was the enchanted ceiling, she considered. Normally as high as the clouds, tonight it hung low and heavy with icicles. They glimmered brilliantly in the candlelight, but added to the feeling that she was somehow being hemmed in. With a sense of foreboding, Hermione realised that it felt like the oppressive stillness before a thunder storm.

Funny, there had been no storm forecast in the Prophet.

Hermione shivered, the fine hairs on her arms standing on end despite the heated crush of the ball.

Perhaps, she mused glumly, it was just her.

She might be twenty six years old and a respected professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but there was something about social events like this that reduced her to an overwhelmed, excitable teenager.

Perhaps it was because her first Yule Ball had been such a chaotic riot of experience; a heady mess of emotions and sensations that had first enchanted then overwhelmed her. There had been her dress robes and the feeling that she was somehow finally on the verge of womanhood, then Viktor and his open admiration. She could barely remember what Ron had said to ruin the evening, but the slightest thing would have set her off. She'd been careening from one high emotion to the next and to have the shaky legs of her new found self-confidence ripped from beneath her had been devastating.

Hermione took a sip of her drink and nodded at Gilmore, the head boy, as he wandered past, hoping that he wasn't after another dance. To her relief he walked on by, and she was able to continue her official task on watching the drinks table uninterrupted. While there were no Weasleys in attendance, in a school filled with magically gifted children, there was always a chance that someone would spike the punch.

It wasn't perhaps how she would have chosen to spend the evening, but in a way she was glad for the mundane nature of the task. As it was, she was still having difficulty in shepherding her thoughts away from that previous Ball, over a decade before. She tried to focus on her attention on her colleagues and the laughing, dancing students, but her mind kept wandering to far less appropriate places.

She was very conscious of how she was dressed. The space between her stockings and her knickers seemed shockingly exposed, covered as she was by the velvet of her long skirts. Her sober dress robes were tight across the bodice, seemed to be purposefully squeezing at her chest. Combined with the bright lights, loud music and the cloying scent of punch, Hermione kept finding herself back at that first ball. As such, each pinch of fabric was reminding her ceaselessly of Viktor's teasing hands at her breasts as she had allowed him to touch her for the first time.

She rarely thought of him these days, but something about tonight was bringing back all sorts of memories.

Viktor. The Yule Ball. The way he had made her feel… She hadn't surrendered her virginity to him that night, but there had been a number of other first that has left her dry mouthed and breathless. Viktor had been experienced, but not so confident in his looks that he had dared press her into anything. It had been a rather sweet, fumbling encounter in one of the school coaches. She had let him slip his fingers inside the bodice of her dress and stroke gently at her breast and tug at her nipples. At first, her part in the proceedings had been mostly one of rather academic interest, until he had slipped her dress from her shoulders and pressed his mouth against her skin.

His kisses had been sweet and he not been shy about whispering his attraction to her. Bulgarian might not be considered the most romantic of accents, but there was something about having his desire for her conveyed in such hesitant, broken English that still had the power to tighten her nipples.

She'd always enjoyed his attentions, but that had been the first time that she had been truly aroused by them, and the lightening hot burst of pleasure that she felt had been the catalyst she needed to shed her detachment and lose herself in his caress.

Pressing her thighs together, Hermione recalled how it had been the first time that she had ever touched a boy's erection, too. She remembered the soft noises he had made as she had fondled him through the material of his underwear, not daring to pull the cloth away. He'd been hot and hard, and had bucked against her hand with each stroke. He'd been vocal when he came; slipping into his native tongue, until all Hermione had understood had been her own name, panted between gasps of air.

His breath had been hot against her neck as he'd pushed her back against the velvet upholstery of the carriage. He'd been far less shy about touching her, but at Hermione's insistence, he'd kept his fingers outside the pretty blue silk of her knickers, sliding the material over her slick quim until she had come with breathy little mewl.

She'd regretted it later. Not the fact that she had let him touch her, but her own reluctance to go any further. It had been another three years before another boy had taken such flattering interest in her. Three whole years before finally finding out what if felt like to be touched intimately by someone else. Viktor would have made the perfect first time lover, she decided, had she only had the confidence to let him try.

A sudden cool breeze brought Hermione out of her reverie.

Looking up, she saw Professor Snape striding back into the Hall, a few tiny flecks of snow still clinging to his shoulders, melting in the warmth of the room as she watched. She realised that he must have been outside checking no students were up to anything untoward, and smiled. Doubtless her memories of the Yule Ball would have been very different had she and Viktor not snuck back inside the Hall in time to avoid his patrol.

The poor man must find functions like this incredibly boring if he'd rather be out in the snow. It was rather nice to know that she wasn't the only person not enjoying the evening.

"Ready for another turn?"

Hermione looked up to find Rolanda Hooch bearing down on her.

"Who now?" she groaned in reply. As one of the few professors under the age of sixty, she had been expected to dance with half the men present.

So far she had danced a rather military Two-step with the Minister for Magic, the Foxtrot with his Senior Secretary, and something approaching the Rumba with a visiting professor from Austria. She's even been persuaded to dance with Hagrid, standing on his over-sized shoes like a little girl as he had whirled her round the dance floor.

In her current state of distraction, their attentions had just been irritating and she had gladly offered to watch over the punch for something of a reprieve.

Madam Hooch simply grinned at her, and gripping her firmly by the elbow, steered her directly into the path of the approaching Potions Master.

"Snape! Take our Hermione for a spin would you? The poor thing's dying of boredom and you know it'll stop Minerva pestering you to be more sociable."

The band were just beginning to strike up a waltz and Hermione suddenly found herself in the arms of the one Hogwarts professor who still intimidated her.

She braced herself, half expecting to find herself on the receiving end of his temper, or at least to have to endure a full five minutes of excruciatingly awkward shuffling. To her surprise, she found neither. Snape held her firmly to his chest and proceeded to guide her around the dance floor with such precision that Hermione wondered if perhaps she was floating.

She'd always heard that dancing with a man who knew how to lead made all the difference and realised that she'd never truly experienced it until then. Yet that could not explain the way her skin tingled under his fingers or the accompanying rush of heat to her belly and groin.

Snape had washed his hair for the occasion and was wearing a perfectly acceptable cologne, but he was still Severus Snape. Hermione could understand an intellectual attraction to the man, but the dampness gathering in her knickers was a purely physical response and it baffled her as much as it excited her.

It must have been due to her previous musings. It had been so long since she had enjoyed the touch of a man that being held like this was doing strange things to her libido, there was no other explanation. She'd been thinking of a sexual encounter and those memories were spilling over into the dance.

It was agonising. Each press of his body, each brush of his robes against hers set her skin on fire. Her nipples peaked painfully beneath the stiff material of her robes and Hermione was certain he must surely be able to feel them, even through the heavy cloth of his own.

He led her movements, directing the dance with the same quiet authority that held his classes silent, oblivious to her sudden torment.

Hermione wasn't passive, not at all, but she could feel herself obeying the slightest pressure from his hands as if perfectly in tune with his demands. Her body seemed to respond to his in a way she hadn't believed possible, as if she could anticipate his every whim and exceed it. It was almost as if they had been made to dance with each other. She prayed for the dance to end, yet when the music began to fade she wanted to cry, her whole body primed for his touch. The dance was over far, far too soon.

After a final flourish of strings, Severus released her and executed a slight bow in her direction. With his arms no longer about her, Hermione staggered, fearing she might collapse. Righting herself, she joined in applauding the other dancers brightly to cover her confusion.

"Thank you," she smiled, tearing herself away from him and crossing the Hall to where the older teachers sat, refusing to look back.

She wanted nothing more than to spend the whole evening pressed against him, caught in those sure, strong arms – wanted it with a ferocity that confused and scared her – but there was no way she could dance with him again that evening, not without drawing comment.

She could blame it on the Ball, or on her thoughts of Viktor, or even the unlikely possibility that someone had managed to spike the punch, but she couldn't deny the fact that dancing with Professor Snape had been almost unbearably erotic. There was no way she could remain in the Hall with him present, not without completely betraying her sudden fascination with the man.

Reaching the head table, she half staggered to where the Headmistress was sat, not caring that she was already engaged in conversation.

"Minerva, I've got the most awful headache starting," she interrupted. "Is it too early for me to make my excuses?"

Minerva looked up in concern. "You do look a little flushed. I do hope you're not coming down with anything." She pursed her lips. "Poppy's had the evening off to spend in Hogsmeade with her sister; perhaps you should ask Severus—"

"No," Hermione interrupted again, more forcefully this time. "I just need to lie down for a bit. While the punch is still alcohol free, I'm just not used to that much sugar. I'll be fine in a while."

"Are you sure? He's on his way over."

At that, Hermione's courage faltered, and she fled.

###

On reaching the sanctuary of her room Hermione kicked off her shoes, wincing as her arches relaxed back into their normal position against the cool flagstones.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she realised that she looked more than a little flushed. Her cheeks were flushed with arousal and the conservative neck of her robes could not hide the blush that was creeping up from her breasts.

She watched as her hands ran over her chest, seeking to replicate the delicious sensation of his chest pressed against hers, feeling her nipples peak and ache in response. It was ridiculous that she should feel so needy after a few brief turns about the dance floor, but at the same time completely undeniable.

Dragging her dress robes over her head, she left them in a pool on the floor as she staggered to the bed. She flopped down on the covers, still in her underwear.

There was no ceremony involved as she thrust her hand inside her knickers. She was too far gone to tease herself now. Her fingers slipped between the lips of her sex and slicked through her arousal. She was wet with desire.

Drawing her fingers back up, she smeared her slickness over her clitoris, and shuddered in relief at finally being able to address the ache that had been growing between her legs since she had found herself in Snape's arms.

Her fingers moved without finesse, working her heated sex with a determination that would have surprised even herself, had she not been so enslaved to the sensation. Her lungs didn't seem large enough and she began to pant.

Her second hand joined the first, two questing fingers sliding inside her tight opening, sliding through her sopping folds without resistance. She twisted her wrist awkwardly, seeking further sensation, before adding a third finger. She could just reach the spongy spot that made her breath catch in her throat…

The fingers rubbing at her clit moved faster, the motion becoming frantic, losing any semblance of rhythm. Then suddenly she was there. Her climax was hard and fast, her pussy seeming to suck almost endlessly at her fingers as she came, hips bucking up against her hand. Still her fingers worked her clit, not stopping til every last aftershock of pleasure had been rung from her overwound body.

Her fingers slipped out of her as her arms fell weakly to her sides, her chest heaving.

She felt exhausted yet somehow incomplete. Sweet as her orgasm had been, her fingers could not compete with the delicious sensation of being filled and stretched by a hard, demanding cock. What she had found at her own hand was relief from the ache of arousal, but not true satisfaction

Lazily she considered transfiguring something into the size and shape she needed to fulfil that need, but the idea was not as exciting as it ought to be. Perhaps it was because no faux phallus was going to replicate the sensation of being fucked by an eager and willing man. Or perhaps because her body had just realised whose cock it was she wished to have inside her, even as her mind struggled to come to terms with the fact that Severus Snape had just driven her into a frenzy of lust in the space of a five minute dance.

Closing her eyes, Hermione allowed herself to dream that he somehow felt the same.

###

Severus watched as the young witch excused herself and raced from the Hall, still in a state of complete confusion. He'd been strong armed into dancing with any number of females before, from fellow professors to any visiting witch that Minerva wished to have entertained, yet none had ever affected him like Professor Granger. Perhaps it had been the waltz and the unaccustomed sensation of having her within his arms.

No, it was more than that. It had been something to do with the way her body moved in perfect sync with his. The slightest press of his fingers and she had practically floated along in his arms. So responsive. It had been impossible to not imaging how else she might respond, if given the proper encouragement. . .

His arousal had been sudden and strong, the blood rushing to his cock with enough force to make his head spin. Two turns around the dance floor and he had suddenly acquired the sort of hard on that hadn't plagued him since he'd been a student himself.

Granger must have noticed it. Nothing else could have explained the consternation on her face or how swiftly she had fled the hall. According to Minerva she'd spun some story about feeling unwell, but Severus knew he must have scared her.

He ought to apologise, he knew; find some way to undo the damage he had just unwittingly inflicted upon their professional relationship. Using the excuse of taking her a Pain Relief potion, he would seek her out and apologise. Perhaps then he could slink back to his own rooms and dealing with the unflagging erection that was making it painful to walk.

Gods, what was it about her that had so hard? He could have been persuaded that someone had spiked the punch if it wasn't for the fact that he never ate or drank at these affairs.

Reaching her door, he raised his fist to knock. The door was ajar, just the tiniest crack. He was about to knock anyway when a gasp caught his attention and he noticed the slightest flicker of movement inside.

It was her mirror, he realises, one of the large, gilded affairs that Hogwarts seemed to be filled with. It afforded him the barest glimpse of a pair of stockinged legs, spread wide and bent at the knee. Between the legs, a pair of dainty hands were working furiously behind a pair of burgundy lace knickers.

Severus pressed himself flat against the stone wall beside the door, straining for a better view. He ought to be ashamed, he knew, spying on the girl as she masturbated, but there was no way he could stop. Her gasps and pants of pleasure were making him dizzy, his hips already thrusting his cock unconsciously against the hard stone wall. He slid his hand down to fist himself through his robes, his knuckles scraping harshly against the rough stone. The slight discomfort did nothing to dissipate the fierce need that filled him as he watched.

Her underwear made it impossible to see clearly, but the angle of her wrist showed just how deeply she was trying to push her fingers inside herself. She was fucking herself into a frenzy and there was nothing Severus could do to stop himself watching, fucking his own hand in turn.

Her legs stiffened, and suddenly she was crying out. Not the screams of a woman who knows she is being watched, but the unconscious wail of a woman completely lost to her pleasure.

Severus could feel his climax approaching and his heavy balls began to tighten. There was no way he could hold back and he bit his lip to prevent himself from moaning aloud as he came heavily inside his robes. His breath came heavy and hard, whistling through his nostrils as the spasms past, suddenly aghast at what had just occurred.

Sickened with himself, he watched as the girl slumped back against the mattress and grew still, his issue already cooling unpleasantly against his skin.

What on earth had just happened? What hadn't he turned and left rather than playing the voyeur to the unsuspecting witch? Why hadn't he knocked on the door and made his apologies as intended, pretending that he'd been unaware of her activities behind the door? If there was the slightest chance that her arousal was linked to the bizarre intimacy of their dance – if she had felt the magic of the waltz as well – there might have been a chance of finding that sort of release together.

Severus briefly considered letting himself inside and joining her on the bed. In his imagination she was welcoming, bringing her sticky fingers to cup his face. To his amazement, his spent cock twitched anew at the thought. He wouldn’t have thought it would be possible to become aroused so quickly after coming with such devastating force, but something about the witch reflected in the mirror had the power to reduce him to a randy teenager.

He watched far longer than he ought, until the Lumos spell began to fade and he knew she had fallen asleep. Finally, he retrieved his wand from his robes and cleared the mess he had made in his underwear before spelling her door silently shut.

Making his way downstairs, he realised that the Yule Ball had wound to an end. The Hall doors were wide open, showing the few stragglers refusing to leave their dance partners. The floor was a mess of dropped napkins, dropped corsages and the odd litter than gathers after a party.

If Professor Granger slept on a busier corridor then anyone could have stumbled across him as he had spied on her. The sudden realisation that he had could have been caught acting the peeping Tom and wanking over a fellow teacher in a public corridor suddenly hit him with full force.

He could have lost his job. He could have lost Professor Granger her job.

Nothing like that could be permitted to happen again. He was an intelligent man; he knew that he could not risk becoming sexually obsessed with a colleague. He owed it, not only to himself, but also to the woman he had just objectified, to pretend this had never happened.
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Obsession