There was something about Hermione Granger.
She had become so beautiful. It wasn't that she looked like some glamorous model, it was the depth and passion behind her eyes, and the less than subtle curves of her body. And the way she moved, as if she were trying to escape the human gaze. It was somehow intoxicating.
He always looked forward to having her in class. The corridors outside the classroom were often cold, and after she'd hurried to her desk and lowered her books from her chest, he could see the shape of her erect nipples through the fabric of her clothes. They were hardened by the cold and were attention grabbing because her large breasts strained against her shirt. She aroused him unbearably, so much so he was often forced to teach from behind his desk where he would sit to hide his throbbing erection.
Prior to this year Severus Snape hadn't thought of anyone sexually since the devastating death of his unrequited love Lily Evans. Sometimes when the Potter boy looked at him, looked at him with her eyes, his heart would flutter, and his cock would twitch, but it never fully aroused him because he looked too much like the man who'd bullied him his entire time at Hogwarts, James Potter.
Hermione Granger looked nothing like Lily and yet she fascinated him. Her eyes were so different to Lily's, they were a deep velvety brown and he was entranced by their sheer contrast to his prior obsession.
He thought about her almost constantly. He would lay in his bed at night as he grasped his cock and moaned her name into his pillow over and over as he pleasured himself.
He thought about her, when he slept, when he ate, when he taught. He would stand in the shower, water dripping from his black hair and off the tip of his large nose, with one hand braced against the wall as he tugged his cock. He would think of her and only her as he worked himself into a frenzy that ended with him shouting guttural words of pleasure and thrusting spurts of cum into the streaming hot water.
He wanted her. He desired her. He needed her.
He was overrun with thoughts of his student. But she hardly seemed to notice him.
Sure, she answered questions when he called on her in class, performed spells willingly, and she always handed in her homework on time. She was an exceptional student. But she never looked at him, never made eye contact with him, why he'd never even seen her smile or laugh. She always carried around a stack of books and kept her head down.
He often patrolled the corridors and he kept an eye out for her, but she was never around. So he made do with enjoying her in class, though she often so distracted and aroused him that he would find himself massaging his groin through his pants under his desk. He would do so subtly, tiding himself over until her class left and he could finally rub one out before his next class arrived.
He knew he wasn't the only one struck by her. There was chatter all over school amongst the male students, especially in Slytherin House. All the boys wanted to fuck her, and this bothered him to no end. He didn't want others thinking about her. He didn't want those horny boys thinking about her while they pleasured themselves the way he did. That was only for him, it was special, and she was supposed to be just his. His to obsess over, his to fantasize about, his to desperately crave.
And it was crazy, because part of him knew it was wrong. That it wasn't healthy. That she was a mere sixteen year old girl, not a woman of proper age.
But her body, and her mind, seemed older. She was an intellect, and she was so ripe, she was on the cusp of sexual maturation. Watching her grow up was proving unbearable, Snape's veins felt like they were on fire when he imagined her reciprocating his feelings. The idea that she too yearned for him the way he yearned for her was more than tantalizing to him. It was consuming him.
And one of these days he was going to stop cowering in shadows, and he was going to have her for real.