A/N: This story was originally written as a one-shot. But after reading everyone's lovely reviews (which truly made my day!), I decided to go a little further. So following is Chapter 2 of what I think will be a three-chapter story. Also, I have not gone back to Harry's side story, but will probably make that a story of its own at some point.
Hermione stepped through the doorway and pulled the centuries-old classroom door closed behind her with a resounding thud. As the noise echoed throughout the dungeon corridor for what seemed like an eternity, she stood still and closed her eyes. She felt as though her brain had been removed from her head and replaced with fluffy cotton balls. She could still feel a faint but persistent tingling throughout her body as a result of the tremendous orgasm she had just experienced.
With great effort, Hermione began to walk away from the door. In her hazy state, she couldn't, for the life of her, determine where she was supposed to go. Clutching half her clothing to her chest with one hand and holding the Invisibility Cloak in place with the other, she stumbled a few feet down the hall.
Finally, as she neared the staircase, some clarity began to seep into her consciousness. Images of the previous hour flashed through Hermione's mind and she stopped moving once again as she reconstructed the events. As she relived it in her mind, Hermione could feel Snape's hands on her breasts as she sat astride his naked lap; she could feel his scorching tongue curl around her nipple. As clearly as if were happening again, she felt herself bent over the desk, Snape pulling her hair and plunging into her repeatedly.
And then, in a rush, Hermione's words returned to her. She heard herself asking her professor, Are you going to punish me?
Hermione felt as though an anvil had dropped into the pit of her stomach. What had she done? Had she lost her mind entirely? Instantly, complete and total awareness returned to her, and the tingling feeling she had been reveling in just seconds before was replaced by a cold wave of panic and remorse. Recognizing that she was still standing just feet from the Potions classroom door, she fled up the nearest staircase as fast as she could.
As Hermione ascended each staircase and tore through each hallway, she didn't bother to check the map gripped tightly in her hand. Despite her indiscretion, however, she arrived at the prefects' bathroom without running into a soul. Locking the door behind her, she threw all of her clothing to the floor next to the enormous tub and turned every tap on full blast. The tub filled quickly and she immediately submerged her entire body in the scalding water.
As Hermione attempted to scour herself clean, she did everything in her power to repress the memories of her actions, but to no avail. With each violent swipe at her skin, another word, another deed, another act of unspeakable depravity swam into view. Nevertheless, Hermione continued to scrub.
She had become someone she no longer recognized. The person she thought she was would never have done this, would never have slept with her teacher. Oh my God, I slept with my teacher, she thought, and scrubbed harder.
Perhaps it wouldn't have been as awful if she had simply succumbed to the heat of the moment. Perhaps if she had found herself with him unexpectedly, and had merely allowed her defenses to drop for an instant. Perhaps then, she could have excused her behavior, if not forgiven herself for it.
But no. This was inexcusable. This was premeditated. Hermione was painfully aware of her thoughts in the days leading up to that evening. She clearly could recall the moment when her plan crystallized in her brain, when she knew, not only that she would seduce him, but also exactly how she would do it. She had planned this and it was unforgivable. It was as though she had been operating under a thick cloud of desire and arousal for days, and the cloud had suddenly lifted, providing her with glaring clarity.
Again and again, the memory of her words came back to her, begging her professor to punish her for being a bad girl. Eventually, Hermione recognized that no amount of scrubbing could banish such memories from her mind and she climbed out of the tub. Her skin was rubbed raw and pink, but she took a small amount of satisfaction from the sting of the towel on her body as she dried herself. Any small penance was a comfort.
Hermione wrapped her school robe around her, gathered up the rest of her belongings and made her way back up to Gryffindor Tower. As she approached the portrait hole, she vaguely remembered having a conversation with the Fat Lady as she departed hours before. One thing was certain: she had no desire to talk to her now.
Clearly, the Fat Lady had other ideas. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, she was wide awake, watching Hermione's approach with a salacious grin upon her face.
"Well, well, well, look who has decided to return. So out with it, let's hear…." The Fat Lady's nosy questions trailed away and her smug smile vanished as she surveyed Hermione: her robe wrapped carelessly around her body, her dripping-wet hair hanging limp around her face, her clothing sloppily bundled in her arms.
"Corona Austrina," said Hermione dully, her eyes cast down to the floor. In recognition of the password, the Fat Lady swung forward, her forehead crinkled with concern.
"Oh, dear, oh, my poor dear! You go straight up to your bed, don't waste a moment!"
Hermione climbed through the entrance, barely hearing the Fat Lady's sympathetic utterances that followed her into the common room. Without sparing a glance at the darkened room, she crossed to her stairwell and steadily mounted the steps to her dormitory.
As Hermione entered her bedroom, she noted the even breathing of her roommates and was grateful to find them sleeping. She stripped off her robe and dumped it unceremoniously into her trunk, along with everything else in her arms. From under the pile, she then pulled her heaviest nightgown and slipped it over her head. Crawling into bed, she drew her curtains and pulled the blankets over her head.
Aside from the quiet breathing of Lavender and Parvati, the room was deathly quiet. Without anything to distract her, Hermione's thoughts began to overwhelm her once again. From deep in the pit of her stomach, the guilt and disgust that had begun to simmer as she departed the dungeons boiled over and spread throughout her body. Hot tears prickled at the backs of her eyelids and slowly spilled, one by one, down her cheeks. Eventually, the effort to hold back the tide was too great, too exhausting, and she succumbed to her anguish. Sobs wracked her body, pierced intermittently by great, heaving breaths. At last, feeling like an empty shell of her former self, Hermione wound herself into a tight ball and fell asleep.
Several hours later, Hermione awoke to the concerned whispers of her roommates as they dressed. She couldn't hear them well, but caught enough of the conversation to understand they had heard her crying and didn't know why.
"Maybe she's sick," said Parvati in an undertone.
"Maybe she actually failed something," replied Lavender, and it was impossible for Hermione to miss the slight venom in her suggestion, despite her whispered tone. Hermione and Lavender had never been particularly close.
Hermione remained in her bed, half-listening to the continued discussion between her roommates. Eventually, she realized they were debating over whether to ask her if she was going to get up for breakfast. As she heard the question, it occurred to her that she hadn't really considered breakfast. Actually, there was a lot she hadn't considered lately.
The thought of breakfast filled her with a sense of dread and apprehension. She could not possibly enter the Great Hall. For a moment, she contemplated the possibility of not leaving her bed the rest of the day. Then she wouldn't have to go to classes, or face her professors…especially, one professor in particular. But even as shame began to overtake her emotions, Hermione realized that it was Friday; she didn't have Potions on Fridays.
Relief flooded her body, and eventually, the shameful feelings on which she had been dwelling ebbed marginally. She could go to her other classes. There was little danger of running into Professor Snape in between classes. But she would not go to the Great Hall.
With this finally decided, Hermione finally drew back her curtains. Thankfully, her roommates had left for breakfast and she had the room to herself. Climbing out of bed, Hermione winced a little. Her muscles ached and she felt as though she had been beaten. Her head was throbbing, as a combined result of the gut-wrenching tears she had shed and the fierce manner in which Snape had drawn back her head repeatedly, his finger wound through her hair. She pulled her nightgown over her head tentatively and looked down to survey the damage to her body.
Hermione's breasts were covered with small, fingertip-sized bruises and her nipples were swollen and tender from their rough treatment. On her left breast, just below the nipple was a small wound where she had been bitten. She was surprised to discover the wound; she didn't remember receiving it. Her knees were sore and bore the beginning tinges of bruising as a result of kneeling on the hard, cold stone floor beneath Snape's desk.
But the largest, most noticeable mark upon her body was the vast bruise spreading from her left side across the front of her stomach. As she touched the mark gingerly, she recalled Snape lifting her from his lap as he stood and slamming the side of her body into his desk. She could picture her body being pushed forcefully over the desk, her stomach smashing into the hard edge with each violent thrust.
Shaking her head as though to erase the memory, Hermione got dressed. Once she had her uniform and robe in place, she turned her attention her mirror. As she stared at her reflection, she thought to herself miserably, What have I done to myself? She was not surprised when her reflection was unable to provide a response.
Hermione was still looking in the mirror when the door to her room opened and Parvati entered. Parvati paused in the doorway, but Hermione gave no indication that she had heard her roommate enter. Finally, Parvati asked tentatively, "Hermione…are you alright?"
Hermione responded, emotionlessly, "I'm fine." She then picked up her hairbrush and began to rake her hair back roughly, ignoring the pain it caused her. She tied the bushy tendrils with a band low on the back of her neck, in what she imagined to be the least attractive hairstyle possible. Not that she ever felt that hair looked great, but Hermione had no desire to even attempt to look attractive. As she turned from the mirror, a glint of gold caught her eye, and she removed her earrings as well.
When Hermione finally turned around, Parvati was still standing in the doorway, watching her uncertainly.
"What?" asked Hermione, impatiently, as she picked up her books and her wand. Parvati took a breath and asked again, "Are you sure you're okay? Because you don't seem okay."
Hermione was struck for a moment by Parvati's concern and imagined pouring her heart out to her, telling her the whole awful story. She couldn't even begin to imagine what her reaction would be. Telling was not an option.
"I'm fine." Hermione answered, busying herself with her books to cover the obvious lie. Parvati did not seem convinced, but didn't press the issue.
By the time Hermione made it downstairs, breakfast had long finished and students were on their way to classes. She trudged to Arithmancy, not really wanting to go. In class, she paid no attention to Professor Vector's lesson and took no notes. Instead, she stared out the window in a vain attempt to find something pleasant on which to settle her thoughts.
After Arithmancy, Hermione moved on to History of Magic, meeting Harry and Ron for the first time that day. Both were surprised not to have seen her breakfast, and let her know, but she waved them off with a vague explanation about being in the library. As such an action was not out of the question for Hermione, Harry and Ron seemed to accept the explanation at face value.
But while they may have been easily pacified with regard to her breakfast-time absence, the boys were not as easily satisfied with her lack of attention during History of Magic, nor with her decision to miss lunch as well as breakfast.
"Hermione, how are we ever going to pass this class if you don't take notes? We depend on you!" said Ron, huffily, as she turned from them before reaching the Great Hall. On any other day, Hermione would have snapped back at Ron that he could take notes himself, but for once, she had no desire to bicker with him, and didn't respond.
The rest of Hermione's day went by in a blur and she paid attention to almost nothing. Finally, at the end of the day, she went up to her room, ignoring Harry and Ron in the common room, and got back in bed. She felt hungry after not eating all day, but the thought of hiding out behind her curtains was much more powerful than the temptation of food and she went to bed without dinner.
The weekend passed in much the same manner as Friday, with Hermione participating in life as little as possible. The majority of Saturday and Sunday were spent in her bed with the curtains drawn. She had no desire to spend time with people. She didn't like herself, so why should she inflict herself on others? Besides, they would only ask questions that she didn't know how to answer. She soon became ravenously hungry but wouldn't even consider entering the Great Hall. Parvati kindly solved this problem, however, by leaving some fruit and snacks by Hermione's bed on Saturday afternoon.
On Monday, Hermione emerged from her cocoon, and attended Transfiguration, but again, without paying any attention. Harry and Ron seemed stumped by her behavior but did not press her, since she never gave them satisfactory answers.
As the clock ticked by in Transfiguration, Hermione felt a sense of panic begin to slowly rise in her chest. Potions was next, after morning break. She had been dreading this since Thursday night and had no idea what to do. She hadn't seen Professor Snape once and the thought of facing him was terrifying. She couldn't do it.
And so she didn't. At the end of Transfiguation, Hermione headed straight back to Gryffindor Tower, ignoring Harry and Ron's increasingly confused questions. Sitting alone in her room, her agitation grew exponentially as time passed. She had never deliberately skipped a lesson before, excluding the time she walked out of that pathetic excuse for a class, Divination. And while she hadn't paid attention in her other lessons the past few days, she had at least gone. What would Snape think when he realized she wasn't there?
On Tuesday, Hermione decided it was time to return to the Great Hall. She was starving and she was pretty sure that Parvati wasn't going to continue bringing her food if she didn't offer some sort of explanation for her strange behavior. So Hermione returned to the Great Hall for each meal time. But each time she entered the hall, she was careful to train her full attention on the Gryffindor table and make a beeline for her seat. As she had the year before, after her encounter with Snape outside the library, she was careful never to look toward the head table, keeping her eyes on her food. Several days passed and she managed not even to catch a glimpse of Snape.
Hermione was grateful not to have to face her professor, but she knew that her good fortune would not last. On Thursday evening, just as Hermione was finishing her dinner, she glanced about the room, forgetting that looking around the room was exactly what she did not want to do. For the briefest of moments, her eyes came to rest on Professor Snape. She averted her eyes immediately, but it was as though he could feel her gaze touch him. Though he had been deep in conversation with Professor Flitwick, Snape's head turned quickly toward her. Hermione looked down into her dinner plate, but knew he had caught her. Her cheeks flushed and the feeling of shame she had been holding back all week rose within her again.
Hermione didn't have to look up again to know that Snape was watching her. She picked up her fork and put it back down immediately, unsure what to do with herself. She took a long swallow of water from her glass, put her glass down, picked it back up, then set it down on the table again. She twisted her fingers in her lap and tried to settle her nerves. But it was no use. She couldn't remain in the room with him. She got up from the table and, without a backward glance, headed for the door. It took every ounce of restraint within her not to run.
Upon reaching the entrance hall, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. But no sooner had she begun to relax and slow her pace than she heard, with horror, Snape speak her name from the doorway of the Great Hall.
Hermione stopped walking, but did not turn around to face him. Her heart was beating rapidly in what felt like an irregular rhythm. She fleetingly wondered whether something was physically wrong with her; she had never felt her heart beat in such an alarming way.
"Miss Granger, I am speaking to you," came Snape's voice again from behind her. Hermione finally turned around, but did not raise her eyes to his face. Instead, she looked to the floor. But though her eyes were on his shoes, in her mind, an image of his bare feet suddenly appeared. Her mind's eye began to travel up the professor's naked legs, and Hermione beat the image back before it progressed any farther up his body. She snapped her eyes up from the floor to try and erase the images, but, to her dismay, then found herself look straight into the eyes of Snape.
His eyes were as dark and unreadable as ever. "Miss Granger, you have missed two Potions lessons this week. This is a very serious offense and warrants detention. Explain yourself," he commanded. Hermione had no words. Surely, he knew why she had not attended class. And while she knew she could not expect to be excused for her absence, she also did not expect to have to discuss her reasons with him.
Professor Snape appeared to be waiting for an answer from Hermione, but she gave him none. Finally, his patience grew thin and he growled at her, "You will attend Potions lessons from now on, or I shall be forced to notify your Head of House, as well as the Headmaster, of your actions."
At his words, Hermione felt a surge of anger flare within her, and for the first time in a week, the anger was directed at someone other than herself. How dare he? Suddenly, Hermione was able to step back from her near-constant state of misery and examine the situation at hand. For nearly a week, she had heaped blame upon herself for seducing her teacher and giving in to her most corrupt desires. She had held herself entirely responsible for the events of that evening, and had refrained from laying any blame at her professor's feet. But as he stood before her, acting for all the world as though nothing had ever happened between them, her ire was raised.
For the first time, Hermione recognized that, despite all her intentions and schemes to seduce Snape, he was the one who had started it. He was the one who merely looked at her and lit her on fire. He was the one whose touch aroused her. He was the one who had challenged her to act. When she arrived in his classroom that night, she had done so with his implied permission. She was not entirely to blame.
And so Hermione became angry. She had spent a week punishing herself, while Professor Snape seemed to think nothing was wrong. And then, after everything, to threaten to report her to McGonagall and Dumbledore – it was too much.
Hermione glared back at Snape. "Yes, Professor," she spat, "Perhaps you should involve Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore in this situation. I would welcome their opinion as to your behavior, as well."
At her words, Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously and he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He said nothing, but didn't need to. Hermione didn't alter her gaze, but felt intimidated and a little afraid. She knew that she wouldn't tell anyone what had happened; neither of them would. Snape continued to glower at her, his eyes penetrating hers. Without warning, coupled with the fear his look was instilling within her, Hermione felt a flash of desire. It was the first time all week that she had felt the least bit of arousal and it surprised her. But the knowledge that Snape could still inspire such excitement within her angered her even more than his words and she steeled herself against him. Breaking her gaze, she turned away from him without another word.
As she reached the first step of the stairway, she heard his authoritative voice once more. "You will report to lessons on Monday, Miss Granger. Or else." She continued up the steps and shivered. She wondered what punishment he would actually inflict if she failed to go to class again. At the thought, the flash of desire she had felt at his gaze returned and this time, she didn't try to suppress it.
Snape's eyes were on hers once again, and she found herself unable to look away. She had spent a week blaming herself, wallowing in a wretched state of self-pity, and she was tired of it. She was aware of the danger flashing in his dark eyes and she knew she should turn away now. But she couldn't. The memory of his body on hers, the pain and pleasure he had inflicted on her simultaneously was as fresh in her mind as though it had just happened.
As they continued staring at each other, Hermione's breath became shallow and ragged. Her pulse quickened. Snape's eyes were hot upon her, devouring her. The tension between them became strained to the breaking point.
And then at once, his mouth was upon hers. She felt her lips crushed beneath his, then his tongue forcing its way through to her own. He pressed his body against her and propelled her backward, slamming her against the wall. Snape placed his hands on the wall on either side of her, pinning her in place. Their kiss continued, insistent and demanding, as he moved his body up and down against her. She could feel his growing erection against her stomach and she moaned into his mouth, remembering the feel of it inside her.
Suddenly, Hermione's mind cleared for a moment, and she recalled that she and the professor were in the entrance hall, as hundreds of students and teachers dined within the Great Hall, just steps away. At any moment, any one person, or the entire hall, could stumble upon them. She broke her lips away from his and he immediately moved to her throat, pulling the tender skin between his teeth, nearly causing her knees to buckle. "Wait," she breathed. He ignored her and she moaned again as he bit into the flesh of her throat. "No, wait," she said again, hoarsely. "We could get caught here."
At these words, he finally detached his mouth from her body and looked at her. The intensity of his look melted her into a pool of desire. "Oh, but you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asked, in a somewhat sarcastic, accusing tone. "You'd just love to get caught." His lips found hers again and she forgot what they were discussing.
Snape did not appear to forget however, because, after a moment, he once again pulled his mouth away and grabbed her wrist roughly. Dragging her several feet across the entrance hall, he opened the broom cupboard near the enormous front door and shoved her inside. The door closed behind them and they were surrounded in almost total darkness. Snape threw Hermione up against a shelf and aligned his body with hers again. His cock was now fully erect and throbbing against her.
In the darkness, Hermione felt Snape's hands slide over her chest and swiftly rip open her robes. His hands curved around her breasts for an instant and then she felt his fingers work their way between two buttons on her shirt. Grasping each side, he ripped her shirt open as well, and she heard buttons bounce off every surface in the cupboard.
The demanding way in which Snape removed her clothes stimulated her and she moaned again, pressing away from the shelf and against his body. His hands slithered around her body until he gripped her ass and he jerked her hips toward him. They both groaned in unison as his cock was pressed between them.
Finally, it seemed that Snape had had enough. He reached under her skirt and tore her panties down to her ankles. She could hear him fumble with his clothing for a moment and then his hands were beneath her once again. He lifted her, placing her precariously on the edge of the shelf immediately behind her. Hermione couldn't quite sit on the shelf and had to keep her hands on Snape's shoulders to keep from falling off. But even as she steadied herself, his hands forcefully spread her legs apart and he drove his cock deep into her pussy.
Hermione cried out at the sudden penetration, but Snape did not stop. He relentlessly drove his cock into her, slamming her back against the wall with each thrust. Hermione felt completely filled up with him, not just by his cock, but by his entire being. She vaguely recalled feeling the same way during their last encounter and welcomed the complete abandon of common sense and rationality that she felt, the absolute dominion that she allowed him over her. No, she didn't allow it. He demanded it.
Snape's thrusts were coming more quickly and Hermione felt herself building toward a crescendo. She could not stop herself; she cried out in fits and gasps, "Oh, God, Professor, yes, fuck me harder!"
And then she came, her orgasm spreading through her body, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She felt as though she could cry from the lightness of feeling the release brought. As she groaned in ecstasy, Snape also came, a strangled cry rising from his throat.
Hermione awoke with a start, the sound of Snape's orgasmic cry ringing in her ears. She was alone in her bed, in the middle of the night. Her heart was pounding and she was sweating profusely. Her pussy was hot and wet and her nipples, now healed, were hard. Goosebumps stood up on every inch of her body and her mouth and throat felt dry. Hermione ran her hand over her face, trying to make sense of what was happening. Then, abandoning all attempts at reason and rationality, she plunged her hand into her panties and slid her fingers into her dripping pussy.
As her index finger found her clit, she let out a groan of satisfaction. She had not touched herself, or been touched, in over a week and her body was aching for release. After the intensely erotic dream she had just experienced, it didn't take much to push her to the edge. Hermione slid two fingers into herself and pumped them in and out a few times. Almost instantly, she could feel her coming orgasm build within her. As she slid her fingers in and out, faster and faster, she rubbed her clit with her thumb, teasing the sensitive nub.
She remembered her dream, feeling Snape's cock within her, hard and thick, as he pressed her against the wall in the broom cupboard. She heard herself begging him to fuck her harder. She was somewhat aware that, in her dream, Snape had demanded full control of her once again, and once again, she had done nothing to fight it. Had Hermione realized this at any other moment, she might have felt anger at the realization. But in her highly aroused state, the thought of Snape dominating her, as he had dominated her in his classroom, brought her to the height of ecstasy, and she felt the waves of her orgasm crash over her. She continued moving her fingers in and out of her pussy, arching her back off the bed. Hermione nearly cried with relief, sliding her left hand over her stomach, across her breasts and along her throat.
When her shuddering body finally stilled, Hermione rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, allowing sleep to come. She didn't bother to think about what any of this meant; there would be plenty of time the next day.
Over the next few days, Harry and Ron were surprised, but happy, to find that Hermione was, if not normal, then at least much closer to her normal self. She threw herself into her work, doing her best to make up for the lost week in which she learned next to nothing. Her conversation with Professor Snape on Thursday evening had been a wake-up call for Hermione, allowing her to refocus her attention on the things she knew were more important.
But Snape's words to her had done more than just direct her back to her schoolwork. Hermione was angrier than she could ever remember being, and the emotion seemed to simmer just below the surface at all times. She was angry that Snape could act as though nothing had happened between them. She was angry that she had allowed herself to be so distracted. And most of all, she was angry that she was still attracted to him.
In fact, if anything, she was more attracted to Snape now than she had been previously. She felt at war with herself. One part of her yearned for him to take her violently, as he had in his classroom and in her dream, while another part of her loathed him because she wanted him to, and because he had such control over her.
Hermione's dream disturbed her most of all. It was as though her subconscious had betrayed her. And since having the dream, she found herself aroused again, every night when she went to bed. As exhausted as she was at the end of each day, and try as she might to go straight to sleep, it was only after she had come, gasping and writhing in her bed, that she would fall into blissful unconsciousness.
Despite Hermione's reawakened arousal by her professor, however, she was determined not to go to him again. The results of her first visit, as exciting and erotic as it had been, were disastrous. Hermione quickly became aware of just how much work she had missed and how much time she had let slip by in her numbed state. Her seventh year was the worst possible time to be distracted, and she would have to work twice as hard to catch up.
So Hermione threw herself into her work over the weekend, not allowing herself to think of her coming Potions lesson on Monday morning. And as a result, without warning, Monday morning arrived and she was standing before the dungeon classroom door again, completely unprepared.
All of the other students had entered the room and Hermione knew if she didn't join them soon, she would be late. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself immediately, so she took a deep breath, let it out, and opened the door.
Snape looked up at her as she walked into the classroom, but she kept her eyes forward, heading right to her table. She looked to the board, careful not to catch his eye, and began preparing her potion ingredients, as outlined on the board. She could feel his gaze upon her, but she ignored it and proceeded with her work. Eventually, he settled into his classroom routine, and she was able to relax slightly. By the time class was halfway over, she had almost forgotten why she was uncomfortable in the first place. It felt good to return to her work and she progressed steadily, determined to produce a flawless potion.
Despite the distance as she was able to put between them during class, however, Hermione's anxiety over coming into contact with Snape increased sharply as the class ended. Finished with her potion, she poured a ladleful of her cauldron's contents into a flacon, stoppered it, and filed into the line of students bringing their potions to the front of the room. With eight students in front of her, her heart began to beat faster. With six students before her, she felt her mouth go dry and her knees shake. With three students to go, her hands became sweaty and she had to grip her potion carefully so as not to drop it. And then she was standing before him, submitting her potion. Cautiously, she extended her arm until the potion was in his hand. As his fingers closed around the small bottle, part of his hand brushed against hers and she felt jolts of electricity shoot through her body. She knew he could hear her uneven breathing, could see the redness of her cheeks.
For a moment, neither of them pulled their hands away, but remained touching. Summoning all of her courage, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and was taken aback by the openness she found there. For a second, his dark eyes, usually so impenetrable, were expressive. And in an instant, she read them, finding bottomless desire there. But there was something else, as well…was it…pain? Guilt?
Even as Hermione struggled to place the emotions she found behind his normally veiled eyes, his opaqueness returned. His eyes became hard he set his mouth in a line. He removed the potion from her hand and turned from her curtly. She returned to her desk to pack up her belongings, as her emotions tumbled within her.
Hermione wanted so much to hate this man, for what he had done to her, for what she had allowed him to do to her. For what she had wanted him to do to her. But she wanted him. And now this, this brief glimpse at his soul. She wanted to know more, and at the same time, wanted nothing to do with him.
She followed the rest of her classmates to the Great Hall where lunch was about to be served. She was deep in thought, considering her feelings about her professor and trying to define her relationship with him. Her thoughts consumed her during the entire meal, so much so that Harry had to call her name three times in order to draw her attention to the third-year student standing next to her at the end of the meal. The student had brought a note.
Hermione's heart thudded as she accepted the note, certain of the identity of the sender. When she was sure no one could see, she opened it under the table with shaking fingers. It contained one word, written in a tiny, cramped hand:
Midnight.
There was no doubt in her mind as to its meaning. Nevertheless, her eyes returned to the note a dozen times, the word repeating in her brain. Her immediate reaction was one of elation: he wanted her. As she thought of her sleepless nights, her desire for him grew and she became turned on, picturing the various ways the evening could unfold.
But closely following her first reaction was the anger that was so readily at hand as of late. He wasn't asking, he was ordering. And hadn't she just decided that this would never happen again? She couldn't afford the distraction. But more than anything, the idea of capitulating to him so easily frustrated her. She would not go.
And so she didn't. As the clock crept towards midnight, she became anxious, and several times, she found herself imagining what would happen if she went. But eventually, twelve o'clock came and went, and she remained in her room, trying to sleep.
On Wednesday morning, Hermione entered Potions again, nervous about the reaction she would receive from Snape. She had studiously avoided him all of Tuesday and Wednesday morning, but knew that not meeting his eye during her lesson would be difficult. However, as she took her seat, she found that he did not even glance at her. Perhaps everything would be better now, she thought with relief. Perhaps her failure to meet him on Monday night was exactly what was needed to establish some boundaries.
And then her grade sheet from the previous lesson's potion was placed before her. She had received a "P." Poor.
The reality of the situation settled upon her shoulders like a lead weight. She had received a failing grade. She never received failing grades. True, it wasn't a "D" or, heaven forbid, a "T," but all the same, she had failed. And then her anger returned to her like an old friend. Her potion had been perfect, and he knew it. He had done this on purpose.
Hermione was outraged, her blood boiling, but she knew she had no recourse. She set to work on the day's next potion, determined to make it even better than the last. At the end of the lesson, she strode to the front of the room, thrust the potion into his hand without a glance, and stormed out of the classroom.
On Wednesday afternoon at lunch, she was unsurprised to receive a second note. Opening it surreptitiously, she took in its contents only once. It read:
Midnight. Do not disobey me.
Hermione crumpled the note and, while crossing through the courtyard outside that afternoon, set fire to it, watching the command go up in smoke. She returned to Potions on Monday to receive a "D" on her previous potion.
At the end of the lesson on Monday, Hermione angrily stuffed her books into her bad and was about to exit the room when Snape suddenly spoke to her.
"Miss Granger, you have now failed two assignments in a row. Between your shoddy classwork and your previous absences, I am forced to conclude that you are not making a sincere effort in this class. Perhaps a detention will help to set you in the right direction." Snape was sitting at his desk, his eyes not on Hermione, but on the flasks of potion before him that he was counting. Hermione said nothing.
After a moment of silence, he picked up his quill, his attention still on his desk. "You will report here at eight o'clock this evening to serve your detention."
Hermione passed through the remainder of her day in a state of great agitation. Despite her anger at Snape, the thought of being alone with him again excited her more than she wanted to admit. And it wasn't as though she were returning to him of her own volition; if she failed to attend detention, she would be forced to speak to Dumbledore. And she did not want Dumbledore involved.
After dinner, Hermione returned to the common room and attempted to tackle her homework, to no avail. She was imagining what Snape could have in store for her that evening and the possibilities were turning her on. As she tried desperately to focus on her Arithmancy assignment, she squirmed in her chair, aware that her panties were becoming wet. Furtively, she slid a hand between her legs and swiftly rubbed her swollen clit. But any real attempts at bringing herself to climax were useless, she knew, in the crowded common room.
At five minutes to eight, her agonizing wait finally came to an end and she departed Gryffindor Tower, heading for the dungeon. It felt strange to walk down to the Potions classroom in full view of anyone passing in the halls. But she was serving detention, and there was no reason to hide the fact. What happened when she reached detention was up to her professor.
She opened the classroom door and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. For a moment, Snape did not look up from his work, but put up his index finger, indicating that she should wait. He finished his thought on the essay he was grading and then looked up.
"Ah, Miss Granger, I am glad to see you have made the sensible decision not to ignore your detention. Follow me," he stated crisply. He crossed the room, to the wall opposite the classroom door and she dutifully followed him. Reaching the far corner, he pulled open the door to his ingredient storeroom, and turned to face her. Hermione looked into the storeroom and looked back at her professor, uncomprehendingly. Did he want to have sex in the storeroom? Images of her tryst with Snape in the broom cupboard from her dream came back to her and she thought to herself that the storeroom might not be too bad.
After a moment, she realized that Snape was talking to her. Trying to jump into his train of thought mid-stream, she suddenly gained a full appreciation of the situation: he wanted her to clean the storeroom.
Hermione blinked several times and looked between the storeroom and her professor again. Was he serious? But one look at his face told her that yes, he was absolutely serious. And so, without a word to Snape, Hermione entered the storeroom and slammed the door behind her.
She was not prepared for the mess that met her eyes. The storeroom was not deep, but it was tall, with a ladder that stretched well above her head, allowing access to the shelves above. And on every shelf, as well as every other available surface, there were bottles of potion ingredients. They were scattered throughout the room in disarray, some of the older bottles covered in grime and dust. Hermione looked about her dejectedly. This was not what she had had in mind when she entered the dungeon that evening.
Nevertheless, Hermione dove into her work, cleaning and sorting bottles well into the night. She lost track of time, allowing herself to daydream while her hands completed the mindless, tedious work. And finally, nearly five hours after she began, the door to the storeroom opened.
Hermione turned towards the door, startled. She had just about completed her task and the room was practically unrecognizable. Clearly, her professor had not anticipated such a dramatic change, because a small gasp escaped his lips before he composed himself.
He entered the storeroom and began to peruse the newly-organized shelves, ignoring the room's other occupant. Hermione slipped out the door and sat upon a table, exhausted. She wished that he would tell her she was free to return to Gryffindor Tower. Her bed was calling her.
Snape finally emerged from the storeroom and strode back to his desk. Only when he had reached his desk, sat down, and begun sorting through sheaves of parchment on the desktop did he acknowledge Hermione's continued presence.
"That will be all, Miss Granger," he said distractedly, not looking at her. Hermione was tired and ready to go, but she was beginning to feel annoyed.
"Well?" she asked pointedly, as she climbed off the desk.
"Well, what?" he responded, not looking up from his papers. "Oh, yes, the storeroom is acceptable," he continued vaguely. Hermione was not satisfied. She had just spent five hours cleaning and organizing a filthy closet, creating order and neatness where there had previously been chaos, and she wanted recognition for it. She was covered in dust and grime, with cobwebs in her hair and smudges on her face. She was hot and felt her uniform sticking to her damp skin beneath her robe.
Hermione approached the side of Snape's desk, saying as she walked, "My work is always better than acceptable, Professor." Snape glanced up at her briefly, but said nothing and quickly returned to his work. Hermione folded her arms over her chest and frowned at him.
"I didn't deserve to fail those assignments and you know it," she challenged him, her eyes on the side of his face. At this, Snape finally turned from his work, training his dark eyes on hers.
"I have warned you before, Miss Granger, not to defy me. You must learn that your actions have consequences."
She was amazed at how quickly her professor could swing from such a distracted state to one of such intense focus.
"And what about your actions, Professor?" she countered, not hiding the resentment in her voice.
Snape stood up from his desk, facing Hermione. She could sense his fury rising within him at her questioning of his accountability. Despite the warning signs however, she continued, "I do not have to answer to you."
Snape lunged for her, and Hermione tried to dart away, certain that he was going to hurt her. But she was not quick enough and Snape caught her by each arm, just above her elbows. She stood still, terrified, and he paused for just a moment. Sparks were shooting from his eyes and his mouth was open in a snarl. And then he pulled her toward him fiercely, his hands still gripping her arms, and his lips smashed down upon hers.
The whole world seemed to go dark and Hermione tried to process what was happening. He was kissing her and now everything was starting all over. Her mind desperately screamed for her to stop, to get away and not let this happen again, but her body responded to his touch. She threw herself against him, opening her mouth and seeking his tongue.
And then, to Hermione's dismay, as suddenly as he had begun, Snape pulled away. Startled, she opened her eyes to find him completely altered. No longer were his eyes flashing and his fists gripped around her arms. Instead, his dark, murky eyes were on her body as his fingers swiftly removed her robe and unbuttoned her shirt. His hands found her breasts and cupped them greedily, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric of her bra.
Snape put his mouth on hers once again, but this time the kiss was hungry and insistent, rather than punishing. Hermione could find no explanation for his instantaneous change in demeanor, but as his fingers teased her nipples, she found she couldn't bring herself to care.
Snape pushed her robe to the floor and then began to loosen the tie that hung in front of her open shirt. He pulled the tie over her head and slipped it over his wrist. As his tongue slid into her waiting mouth, his hands removed her bra, adding it to her growing pile of her clothing on the floor. He leaned into her as he continued the kiss, the small of her back pressing up against his desk behind her. As his hands slid down her arms and onto her wrists, he pulled her to the floor in front of the desk.
As Hermione sank to the floor, she felt the exquisite pressure of his body on top of hers. In a second, she was lying down, her bare back touching the rough stone floor. She opened her legs, allowing space for his body between her knees. As his legs and hips touched her bare thighs under her skirt, she realized that he was still fully clothed. She tried to move her hands to his shirt so she could begin to undress him, but Snape restrained her, keeping his hands firmly on her wrists.
Snape continued to kiss Hermione, his tongue sliding into her mouth, as he gripped her wrists and pushed her arms above her head. Pinning her arms in place with one hand, he pulled her tie from his arm with the other. Then, quickly, efficiently, he tied her wrists together with the already-knotted tie and bound the loose ends of the tie around the leg of the massive desk behind her.
Hermione sucked in her breath as awareness dawned on her. She was powerless. Suddenly, every sensation was heightened. She could feel the cool dungeon air pass over her bare skin, the press of the cold stone against her sensitive back.
And she could feel his hands, his mouth, his tongue. Snape was everywhere, enveloping her body. He placed his hands over hers, running each hand ever so slowly down her arms stretched above her head. Each of his hands slid down the sides of her breasts and then down to her hips. He slowly unbuttoned her skirt, pulling it lazily down her thighs.
One at a time, he removed her shoes, then her socks. Each time a new bit of skin was exposed to the cold air, she shivered with pleasure. Finally, Snape inserted a finger into each side of her panties and drew them to her ankles and over her feet. Hermione was completely naked on the floor, her arms tied uselessly above her.
Snape lifted his body above hers, his arms supporting his weight on either side of her. Then, with torturous deliberation, he lowered himself, inch by inch, until his body was on top of hers. Through the layers of his clothing and robes, she could plainly feel his erect cock against her. She wriggled a little beneath him in frustration, wishing she could remove his clothes.
Snape gently introduced his tongue into her ear and then pulled her lobe between his lips. Almost casually, he trailed his tongue down the side of her cheek, and soon, he was planting wet kisses along her throat, licking each little sensitive spot, causing her to sigh with bliss. His hands returned to her aching breasts, which he softly stroked, twirling her fingers lightly around her hardened nipples. Eventually, his lips made their way down to meet his fingers, pulling her nipple with a gentle suck.
Hermione groaned aloud, and spread her legs. She was hot and wet and wanted him in her, but she had no way to even begin to remove his pants. Fleetingly, she thought to herself that he would not allow her to exert control over him in any way, but seemed to be able to control himself indefinitely. Snape continued his winding path down her torso, gently lapping her stomach inch by inch. When he reached her navel, his tongue dipped inside and Hermione screamed as though she had just touched a hot flame. She wrapped her legs around him tightly, whimpering as his mouth made its never-ending journey toward the apex of her thighs.
Finally, as Hermione neared a state of emotional collapse, Snape's head reached her mound. She arched her back, trying to get closer to his mouth, but he backed away slightly. His hands massaged her thighs gently and then slid up to the trembling lips of her pussy. Carefully, his fingers traced the sides of her lips and then lightly pulled them apart, revealing her throbbing clit.
Hermione was wound up to such a state, she could no longer think straight. The agony of his cautious progress was too much to take; she began to cry. As tears leaked out of her eyes, Snape brought his mouth down to her pussy, the very tip of his tongue reaching for her engorged clit. As he made contact, Hermione released a low, guttural moan, no longer sounding human.
Snape whirled his tongue around her clit repeatedly and then plunged into her, causing her to thrash violently on the floor. His hands slid back to her thighs and pressed them against the floor, stopping her movement. His head continued to bob slightly between her legs and his masterful tongue brought her closer and closer to climax.
Hermione was lost to the world. She had never before felt herself lifted to such heights, never felt so close to such overwhelming fulfillment. Her head lolled back and forth on the hard floor, her eyes shut tight, and she turned higher and higher. She was so close, so close.
And then it stopped. Hermione's eyes flew open to find Snape rising before her. Hermione cried out in frustration, unable to find words to describe her panic. He was stopping? Now?
Snape's eyes zeroed in on Hermione's and the heat to which she was so susceptible seared into her. She watched as he removed each article of clothing he wore, one at a time. He folded each piece carefully, laying everything across the back of a chair. Despite the intense irritation his plodding pace was causing her, she said nothing, but followed each movement with her eyes. She felt as though she was going to scream, she wanted him so badly.
When all of his clothing had been removed, Snape stood over Hermione's body for what felt like an eternity. His eyes burned into hers, then trailed down her naked body and back up. It was as though he wanted to know every inch of her, to possess her completely. Hermione drank in his gaze ravenously, her lust increasing by the second.
Snape finally began to lower himself to the floor once more, again balancing his weight above her. And then, once in position, he stopped, looking deep into her eyes. Hermione looked back pleading mutely, not able to take the protracted foreplay any longer. As he continued to stare into her eyes, she whimpered and bucked her hips off the floor in an effort to reach him. But he did not move.
And then he spoke.
"Tell me you want me."
"I want you," she gasped, twisting in her fabric shackles.
"Tell me to fuck you."
"Fuck me," she whispered, her voice disappearing.
"Beg me."
"Oh, God, please, Professor, please do it now." Her voice was barely audible, she could no longer speak. But her eyes continued to plead, begging him for release. And so Snape relented.
Hermione made not a sound as Snape plunged his cock into her, her relief was so great. But he did not slow his strokes and soon she was moaning in time to their quick rhythm. She rejoiced in the fullness of feeling his cock gave her and enjoyed the sensation of her bare back grating across the coarse floor. Snape grunted with each thrust and then began to speak again.
"You answer to me. You answer only to me. Do not forget that." Hermione groaned in response and eventually gasped, "Only you." And then they were both lost to the heat of their bodies. Snape let out a choking gasp, coming, as stars simultaneously exploded in Hermione's head, blocking out her vision. Ribbons of come exploded from his cock and were buried deep in her belly. Hermione strained her arms against her tie, and arched her back from the floor. The intensity of her orgasm was something she had never experienced before and seemed to emanate from her very soul. Briefly, she wondered if she would black out. At last, her body stilled and she lay supine on the floor once again.
Snape staggered to his feet, shaking as he had following their previous encounter in the classroom. He turned away from her and faced the wall, interlacing his fingers behind his neck. After a moment, he turned back to her, picked up his wand from his desk, pointed it at her wrists and muttered, "Relashio." The tension on Hermione's wrists slackened and she pulled her arms down, feeling he ache in her muscles and noting that her tie had rubbed her wrists raw.
Snape was dressing with his back to Hermione and she stood to do the same. In silence, they pulled on their various articles of clothing, neither looking at the other. Finally, there were no clothes left and Hermione picked up her wand. She turned toward Snape, unsure of what to say or do.
"Professor—" she began, but was cut off.
"Miss Granger," said Snape, his eyes once again resting on the wall.
"Get out."