A/N: You know, for all the hits and alerts this story is getting most of you sure aren't helping me finish it by telling me what's good and what's bad! Thank you so much for those of you who are telling me what you think, and thank you in advance for those of you who are going to start! Hint, hint. Anyways, just to warn you this chapter is a long one, and smutty. Hope you like it.
… … …
Hermione smacked him so hard her hand stung. He doubled back in surprise and dropped her to the floor.
She dashed back to the bizarre rectangle along the wall of the surreal potions classroom and climbed through it, coming tumbling out the other side. She could hear him laughing manically as she ignored the pain and pushed herself up from the stone floor. Starting to run and refusing to look back, she heaved the heavy dungeon door open in a flash.
She was running, racing through the deserted, dark halls, hearing her pounding feet echo throughout the castle. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She had just been sexual assaulted by her potions teacher.
She was running, dashing away, getting as much space between herself and that painting as possible. She was positively distraught. There was only one person she wanted. One person who could comfort her.
She was amazed how it seemed like she ended up in front of the Fat Lady in a blur. She didn't want to see another bloody painting.
"Just let me in," she heaved.
"Fine, fine," the Fat Lady said tartly, "There's no password yet anyway," she snapped, getting out of the way.
Hermione burst into the common room. She could see the dusky light of a setting sun from the tower windows. She had been in the potions room so long without daylight she hadn't realized the whole day was gone.
She wondered for a moment if those taking the standard N.E.W.T. weren't done with their first half yet, but then finally she noticed someone in the mostly still and surprisingly empty room. Harry was lounging in a chair by the fire, writing a letter, most likely to Ginny.
"Harry," she thought, an image of his Mother twirling her tongue erotically into Snape's mouth flashed before her eyes. No! How could she possibly talk to Harry right now, after what she learned about Lily… after a part of her she was sure no one else knew about was revealed? But it was too late.
"Hi Hermione," he said cheerfully, "Heard you're Head Girl! Congratulations. I was just telling Ginny."
Hermione managed to smile weakly, and was relieved to realize her heart was slowing and her insane panic had decreased somewhat, "Thanks," she murmured.
"How's the N.E.W.T.?" he asked innocently.
Her stomach lurched, "Hard," she squeaked quickly, wanting to get away from him, "I'm real worn out. Where's Ron?" she asked, still so oddly in need of him.
Harry laughed, "With the guys. They wanted to explore the girl's dormitory," he explained, "Last time I saw them they were climbing up the slide."
Hermione rolled her eyes. Even though they had the school to themselves she didn't need him goofing off right now of all times, "Got a lot of work done today then didn't they?" she forced sarcastically, trying to imitate her normal self.
Harry just shrugged, "They did alright."
Hermione shrugged back, not wanting Harry to worry about anything and headed to her usual side of the common room, when she heard peculiar noises coming from beneath her feet as she climbed the steps to the girl's bedrooms. She wondered if the boys were no longer up in the dorms but perhaps down under the staircase.
She whirled around and went searching along the curve of the staircase until she came to an inconspicuous cupboard door. She looked back at Harry who was so engrossed in his letter he hadn't even noticed her come back down. That probably indicated he hadn't noticed the boys either. But she heard another distant thud from behind the door.
"What are they up to now?" she thought as she climbed through the small doorway she had never noticed before and into a dank, cobwebbed hall. It was very dark and she could barely see except for the faint wand light coming from deeper inside the surprisingly big storage space.
Hermione could hear the excited laughs and whispers of Ron, Dean and Neville. "Boys?" she called, and then yelled out in surprise as she almost tripped and fell on her face, the sound of clattering glass and rolling bottles filled the entrance.
She caught herself on the cold brick wall, but not before crashing into a rickety wooden crate, another loud noise erupting in the small space.
"Lumos," she commanded, after drawing her wand out of her pocket. She looked at the floor where she had tripped; empty Firewhisky bottles, at least ten of them. She held her wand over what she ran into as she almost fell.
The crate was tipped over, its contents scattered across the floor. After surveying her surroundings Hermione concluded the closet started out as a reasonable space to store extra or unused school furniture. There were end tables stacked on top of each other linked by spider webs, extra chairs, the wood rotting with age, a box of aged framed paintings she nearly knocked over as well. All of it seemed decades old.
Except for the crate, the items in the crate weren't old at all. She recognized them at once. Fanged Frisbees, skiving snack boxes, all things she tried to confiscate her fifth year as house prefect! It looked as though students had hid incriminating evidence in the unnoticed closet for years. Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of a certain form the Room of Requirement took, but had never realized the closet existed, having never needed to dispose of whiskey bottles or banned toys herself.
From the sound of uproarious laughter, clattering and jeers she heard coming from further within, she suspected the boys had just discovered the place as well, judging by the sound of their excitement. They didn't even come to her aid when she made all that ruckus. They probably hadn't even heard her.
Irritated, Hermione pursued deeper into the storage room, evading more things to trip over. She heard a male voice yell out excitedly, "Oh my god, guys! Look at this!" and she wondered if it was Ron who was so pleased.
Finally she came to where the room opened up, Neville and Ron were at Dean's shoulders, he was holding up a magazine.
"See!" he called triumphantly, "I told you she posed for "Playwizard"! I told you!"
Hermione realized Dean was holding open a centerfold, and Ron and Neville were on looking with shock.
She knocked over a candelabra in her hasty distaste.
The boys looked up, instantly flushing. Dean dropped the magazine. It landed on the floor face up and Hermione recognized a younger, naked Madam Rosmerta lying on her side upon a purple satin sofa, winking and blowing kisses, shaking her large, bare chest back and forth teasingly.
"Hermione!" said Ron in total surprise.
"Never mind then," Hermione said snippily, "I see you're busy!"
She turned quickly to run away, hearing Ron call out after her.
But she didn't want to hear it. Just when she needed him the most, he was looking at porn with his goofy chums. She didn't want to be anywhere near him! God damn males and their bloody obsession with sex. It didn't matter where it came from either; they didn't even need a real woman but were perfectly happy getting off with paper for Merlin's sake. Was nothing worth having standards for?
She didn't know where she was going when she bolted out of Gryffindor tower, she didn't really care. Ron had let her down and she had no idea who to turn to about Snape.
And that's when it occurred to her; no one she could tell without dying of embarrassment would really care. Maybe "not care" wasn't the right way to put it, but what did she expect them to do about it exactly? It was a uniquely absurd situation. Would anyone believe her anyway? Since when were Hogwarts paintings sexually deviant? And why had she let him kiss her for so long before she tried to get away?
Never mind, she didn't want to know why. Why she allowed him the chance to penetrate her so intimately when she knew damn well that's what he was going to do when he first slid his skillful, manly hand down between her legs. Why she even went into that bloody painting at all, despite that suspicious look in his eye. But something about him, the painting, drew her in, pulled her…
Her breath gave a tingling shudder at the memory.
She knew with a reserved sigh this would be just one more thing to bottle up and keep to herself.
Finally she recognized she was at the library. Of course this is where her legs would carry her in a time of confused desperation. Even in a state of stress she was still remarkably predictable. She just had to keep working on her test didn't she? She suspected she'd still feel an intense and desperate obligation to stay and finish her N.E.W.T. even if the Castle's walls were crumbling down around her in an earthquake.
"And what's so bad about that," she thought cynically as she walked along the shelves of books, brushing their binds affectionately with her fingertips as she passed. Studying had always been something that soothed her. It took her away from other pressing matters, always giving her a much needed break.
And thank goodness she had some sort of coping mechanism. Anyone who thought it was easy to be friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley was an idiot. Not a year went by without almost having a complete psychotic breakdown.
Did she really have to recount each and every terrifying threat that followed her around every year? Alleged madmen on the loose, monsters released from secret chambers, Voldemort constantly lurking in the shadows. And there she was, guilty by association just because she didn't want to leave Harry to fend for himself, a bull's-eye all but tattooed on his chest.
It was unfair to expect a teenager to handle so many life or death situations. It was a wonder she wasn't in the loony bin. Studying had always been something stable, something distracting, during those maddening times of uncertainty.
She was headed towards the potions section. Might as well. It's not like she was going get any sleep tonight anyway, what with Snape's advances and Ron's wandering eye wreaking havoc on her mind. At least if she was at the library something constructive would get done.
She rounded a corner to where she knew the choice of books she would need to be when she stopped short at the sight of a lantern burning a top a table in between the two towering shelves of literature.
From the light she saw numerous books stacked about, some sprawled open. Pieces of parchment were equally scattered, a quill was laid next to a fresh well of ink. Next to that an open silver flask.
Hermione picked it up a surveyed it suspiciously, sniffing the contents.
"Didn't know you were much of a drinker," came a hauntingly familiar voice from behind her.
Draco Malfoy had appeared back at the table, his arms loaded with a stack of thick books, his pale pointed face flickering in the lantern light.
Hermione tensed up just like she did when she saw him for the first time that morning. It was unnerving! It was unjust! How could a Death Eater be prancing around Hogwart's without Aurors appearing out of nowhere to tackle him to the ground and strip him of his wand? Why wasn't he in Azkaban?
It dawned on Hermione that the biggest reason he surprised her so badly was because she had all but forgotten about him. For what a huge role he set himself up to play, he had certainly fizzled out. She recalled the last time she had seen him was actually at Hogwarts during the siege that was laid on the school. But whatever threat he was there paled in comparison to Voldemort and his more powerful, more experienced Death Eaters. It was easy to see why she wouldn't remember.
"No wait," she thought. The last time she had seen him wasn't when he was cowering in the halls, hoping he wasn't hit in the crossfire.
It was at the Ministry of Magic, in Auror department, just a day or two after Voldemort finally died.
Hermione was just leaving an interrogation room after hours of giving an account of her experiences and had come out into a holding hall. An Auror was leading her down the hall and her eyes, tired from crying, glanced over to the other people she was passing by.
He was there, sitting in a chair next to Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking as if his nervousness had literally exhausted him.
While a small, angry red flag did go off in her mind; Hermione had been so occupied with what was going to happen to her, Ron and Harry that she barely even noticed him. He had, after all, seemed insignificant and small sitting there. And he was erased completely from her awareness when the Auror distracted her with what protocol said she would be doing next; a cross examination.
And then finally, she figured it out. Something similar to what she hurriedly assumed earlier that morning, but now she was sure. Why Kingsley had been with him and why he wasn't in Azkaban...
It was something the Ministry was very concerned about. They didn't want a repeat of last time; Death Eaters getting away. They asked her over and over and over again who she saw and if she was absolutely sure. There was nothing anyone could say this time, Imperiused, threatened, blackmailed, family held hostage, it didn't matter. They weren't going to risk it. Not with all the Crabbes, Goyles and Pettigrews out there, the Lucius' who lied and hid and cried 'coerced' to get out of punishment the first time.
If, god forbid, a new dark wizard were ever to try to rise to power, the Ministry wanted to make certain there wasn't a batch of willing power-hungry followers ripe for the picking. They would not make the same mistake as last time.
But Draco hadn't been of age at the time of his involvement. And minors were always complicated. So he cut a deal. Voldemort functioned out of his own home after all. He could name names. Give away the secrets of where the Death Eaters who weren't caught that night would try to hide. He turned rat.
Hermione couldn't believe she hadn't seen it coming. And there he was, smug as always - his father in miniature.
Hermione's tenseness turned to glaring.
"Please," Draco continued, referring to his flask she was still holding again, a slight sneer in his face, "It's a very top notch Firewhisky. Help yourself; you look like you could use it. This bloody test can really get to you, can't it?"
Hermione placed the silver flask firmly back down on the table. "Sorry to disturb you," she said coldly, "I didn't realize this area would be taken."
She was turning to leave when Draco spoke again.
"There's plenty of room for two, you know," he called out, "I know you'll need these books as well, I don't want to hog them."
Hermione turned around and looked at him fiercely, angry he was rubbing it in that he got there first. …But his face didn't look sarcastic or teasing. Hermione was taken aback with surprise.
But then she realized what he was up to, and scoffed.
"You know, trying to cheat off me didn't work this morning either, but I admire your persistence," she uttered harshly.
Then it was Draco who looked sincerely surprised, then annoyed, "Cheat off you? What the bloody hell are you talking about?"
"'We can talk about it, with each other,'?" she repeated his words from earlier that morning in McGonagall's office with mock.
Draco scowled at her, "I just meant helping each other," he spat defensively, "Merlin, Granger. I don't need to cheat off you on a potions exam."
Hermione heard the conviction in his voice, and felt an irritating swell of embarrassment. He sounded like he meant it, and he was good at potions after all… Perhaps she was wrong.
"Merlin, so sorry for trying to be nice for once," he rattled on.
"Why would you try to be nice?" she asked abashed, thankful he made obvious the disturbance she was struggling to name.
Draco rolled his eyes and shrugged, organizing the books he had just come back with into stacks, "I don't know, everything else just seems so stupid now, you know? So teenaged."
Hermione didn't know what to make of his excuse, it was so unlike him. But she was distracted by the books he had.
"Where'd you find that?" she asked insistently.
"What? This?" Draco questioned, holding up a copy of Advanced Potion Making, "Slughorn's office," he explained, picking up the drink Hermione had returned and taking a swig, "So glad he's not here right now," he added with a roll of his eyes.
"So that's where they all were," she mumbled with irritation.
"What?" Draco asked, not hearing her inaudible complaint.
"Nothing," she dismissed with a shake of the head.
With Draco's aggravating presence she had almost forgotten about what had happened with Snape. But she shivered when she thought of it again. She didn't care what he did for Harry and Dumbledore anymore, anyone who leave an image like that behind was a bad wizard.
With the textbooks so easily available from Slughorn's office, she now knew without a doubt that that painting wanted to get her inside it from the second she showed up to work, a horrible trap laid by Snape for anyone who came across it.
Or had Snape not intended it to be so wicked? It would've been the real Snape who shoved it in the back of his storage closet before Slughorn dug it out again. Was Snape trying to protect people from it? Why didn't he just get rid of it completely? It seemed so much more alive than any other painting she had ever seen. And he kept saying he was "special". Would it have hurt Snape to destroy it? Was it like a Horcrux?
Hermione did not like dwelling on such unsavory notions, but she hated not understanding. She looked back up to see Draco leaned back on two legs of his chair casually, apparently unperturbed by anything. When he went to take another swig from his firewhisky the sleeve of his robes slid up slightly, revealing a glimpse of his Dark Mark.
Draco. Of course! He knew more about dark magic than anyone else her age.
"Malfoy," she dared ask slowly, "Have you ever heard of a painting that…tricks you? A painting that seems… more powerful… more alive… than most other paintings?"
Hermione didn't know what to make of it when Draco didn't seem confused by her odd question but instead smiled smugly.
"Figured it out too, huh?" he said conversationally, "Have you started brewing yet? I have. Just waiting for my sneezewort oil to fumigate. I didn't think you had talked to McGonagall since this morning though. Did you find your own polyvinyl-whatever-it-is or something? What color are you going to dye your sample? I can't decide between green or black. And have you had any luck on the counterattack? I think I'm stumped… fucking defensive magic… it's so hard."
While that was the most Hermione had ever heard Draco say in her entire time at school without using the word mudblood, not a single sentence or question made sense to her.
"Huh?" she asked dramatically, feeling like an idiot.
"You know, 'Vita Brevis, Ars Longa'," he said cautiously.
Hermione mouthed the Latin words silently, "'Life is Short, Art is Long'?" she translated out loud, bewildered.
"Yeah," Draco said, looking at her skeptically, "You know, the N.E.W.T. potion," he emphasized.
Hermione's face dropped, "That's the name of the potion?" she asked incredulously.
"What are you playing at?" Draco asked, a hint of irritation in his voice, "You just said you figured it out."
"No I didn't!" Hermione protested.
"Yes you did!" Draco insisted, "'A powerful, alive painting'?" he repeated her own words back to her, "The kind of painting you'd get if you painted with 'Vita Brevis, Ars Longa'."
"The potion is paint?!" Hermione spat.
"Yes," Draco said, clear and loud, like he was talking to someone mentally handicapped, "Enchanted paint."
Hermione just stared at him, unable to digest what she was hearing. The polyvinyl acetate, the linseed oil, of course it would make paint!
"Come off it," Draco scolded, "Why are you acting like you didn't know? You just asked me about it!"
"Yeah, I know that now," was all Hermione could say, "But not because I had figured it out… I think I must've found one. One of those paintings painted with it, that is."
Draco tilted back up onto all four chair legs and leaned over the table, "Here?" he inquired, "At Hogwarts?!"
"Yeah," Hermione answered breathlessly, still unwilling to accept the irony.
"I know it like the back of my own hand," Snape had said.
That smug bastard. He knew what she was trying to make. He was one of those, one of those 'Art is long' things. He was made from enchanted paint. She was sure of it.
The draw to him, the unexplainable interest. How he convinced her to go in, how real and vivid the whole thing seemed.
"…I think I'll take some of that whiskey now," she added, things finally falling into place.
"Well where do you think you saw one?" Draco was asking extremely interested, while passing her his bottle, sharing nonchalantly.
Hermione ignored Draco's question and took a large gulp, "Tell me more about this potion," she pleaded after gasping for air, the unfamiliar liquid burning her throat, "Anything made from this enchanted paint is evil?" Hermione asked.
"Evil?" repeated Draco, "That's a bit strong don't you think?"
"No," said Hermione, thinking gravely of how Snape had lured her into his room under false pretences, the unspoken promise of helping her - a lie, "I don't. Why? Do you think they're not?"
"I don't know, not really" Draco mumbled.
"But McGonagall said it was a controversial potion," Hermione reminded him, and herself, "Is it Ministry restricted?"
"I don't think so," explained Draco, "I guess it would be, if more people knew about it. But it's rare."
"Well why don't you think its evil?" Hermione questioned, wondering if Draco would even consider changing his opinion of it if she told him one just molested her.
"Evil such a strong word. It's just a little mischievous isn't it?" he responded.
"I don't know," Hermione confessed, "I don't know anything about them."
"Well, they're alluring and hypnotic by nature, capturing anyone who looks at it too long, because of the Unctuous Unction and Sneezewort. And whatever it paints, it just makes all of its attributes more dramatic." he offered.
"What do you mean?" she asked, desperate to know, to understand.
"Well, if a… puppy," he decided, "was painted with it, it would be the cutest, most irresistible puppy in the world. You'd want to play with it, probably waste away hours, enthralled with it. If it were a painting of a beautiful beach, you'd want to see it, be there, and then maybe get swept away by a tsunami or hurricane or something. "
"What if it's used in a painting of a person?" Hermione whispered nervously, "A person who really lived?"
"Then it would just exaggerate all the basic traits of that person," he answered, "…which I guess would be why it's controversial," he mused, "Most people are harmful when stretched to their bare essentials anyway. I mean everybody lies every now and then… cheats, steals. Secretly thinks badly of other people, hoping they are more successful in their own endeavors than their competitors. I mean, we never admit it but it's true.
"This paint would strip away all that cover up and fakeness. So unless it was of Helga Hufflepuff or some other sodding saint it probably wouldn't be a very flattering rendition of the person. We're jealous and selfish animals when it comes down to it," he went on, "Our fundamental impulses are to eat, sleep and fuck. And if we're really being honest with ourselves, we'd like to destroy anything that got in the way of doing any of that," he said conclusively. "Hey, that's not bad," he told himself, reaching for his quill and making a note on his rough draft, "I think I'll use that somehow…"
"But that's a horrible thing to think!" Hermione said, "People aren't that bad."
Draco gave her a condescending look of agreement, "Sure," he quipped.
"They're not!" insisted Hermione, offended he would insinuate she was naïve or something.
"Really?" Draco dwelled, "So you weren't hoping you do better on your N.E.W.T. than I do?"
Hermione hesitated in her response, slinking back down into a chair, "Not because I hope others aren't as successful as I am," she stammered, "But only because…"
"Because?" Draco poked, not letting it drop.
Something about Draco's all too familiar, irksome raised eyebrow and patronizing tone made her fume.
"Because you don't deserve it!" she found herself shouting, "You don't deserve this opportunity. Honestly, how do you sleep at night? After all you've done, after all the damage you've caused, receiving preferential treatment? Just because you squealed on all your little colleagues in order to save your own skin…"
Hermione instantly felt terrible. She never spoke so meanly to anyone, even him. She thought she was above it. But, for the countless time, she was surprised by his reaction.
He was perfectly calm and undisturbed, "You see?" he said plainly, "You think badly of others yourself, and hope you do better than them. A painting of you using 'Vita Brevis, Ars Longa' would result in the most insufferable, suck-up, know-it-all swot ever, you'd be insanely competitive and never sleep for studying."
Hermione turned sour. She didn't know how to explain to him how he was wrong to generalize everyone like that, assume under the surface everyone was conniving and cut-throat. Not everyone was as self-absorbed as a Slytherin…
"And just for the record," he went on, "I won Head Boy fair in square just like you did. The teachers voted for me too. If the W.E.A. wasn't going to recognize me, then they wouldn't have been able to recognize you either."
Hermione felt feeble, avoiding his eyes crossly.
"How did you know I cut a deal?" Draco asked after a short moment, still not angry, but curious, or so it sounded.
"I guessed," She admitted reluctantly, "It's the only explanation really."
Draco nodded sadly, "Everyone will figure it out, won't they?"
"Pretty much," Hermione concurred slowly, "…Who did you name?" she dared ask.
"Everyone," said Draco, unashamed.
"And that won you…?" Hermione inquired.
"Well I just wanted my mum to be acquitted," Draco explained, and Hermione felt an unexpected tug on her heartstrings, "But I guess the information I had was really valuable, I mean, I don't think they had any idea where to start to be honest."
Hermione was watching his face closely, and it was as if remembering the outcome of the details seemed to sincerely surprise him to this day.
"They came back with another offer," he went on, "If I could help them with any of their questions, sort of be like a consultant, you know, they would acquit me as well, even give me protection, let me take this N.E.W.T., stuff like that. I mean can you blame me? I saw an opportunity and I took it. I don't know anyone who wouldn't do the same. I just had to go with some Aurors on a stake out basically."
"You went with them?" Hermione asked, stunned by the danger.
"Yes," said Draco humbly, "They stormed a hideout I told them about, a killing curse was like this close to my head," he showed with his thumb and index finger, "and the whole place ended up burning to the ground. We barely made it out. They arrested about ten Death Eaters that night though."
"Wow," she whispered, taking more sips of Draco's flask, "I didn't realize there were that many left after who they caught here that night."
"Oh yeah," Draco insisted, "There are Death Eaters no one has ever even heard of! I can't tell you who of course, and trust me, you're better off not knowing. People you'd never ever suspect. Even some abroad. They were very careful about remaining secret."
"You mean like Umbridge's husband?" Hermione wondered in amazement, remembering the headline in the paper: "Ministry Official's suspicious connection to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"Yup," Draco nodded, "Umbridge had no idea he was involved either."
"That was you who turned him in? Wasn't she investigated too?" Hermione asked with a satisfied grin, "Aren't her accounts frozen and her house repossessed as evidence?"
Draco just nodded in affirmation.
Hermione visualized the scenario triumphantly. She was taking another drink of whiskey, as it no longer seemed to burn her anymore, when there was a loud pop that caused her to spill on herself with surprise.
It scared Draco too as he looked around for the source.
There was an exceptionally short House Elf at Draco's side. He looked at it weirdly.
"Mr. Malfoy," he squeaked, "Headmistress McGonagall was sent me to wake you, sir, and deliver a message, but you were not in your bed. Headmistress said it was important, so, forgive me sir, but I have tracked you down."
Hermione gulped nervously, wondering what time it was.
"That's fine," Draco told him, "What is the message?"
"Headmistress wants you to know that you are going to be fine sir, but your hotel room was broken into this evening. Again, Headmistress wants you to know she is confident in the security of the school. Aurors arrived within minutes of your sneakoscope going off, but they found no one there. And your Mother is confirmed safe at the Tonks home. McGonagall said to wish you well rest, and she will see you in the morning."
Draco gave the little Elf a curt nod, "Thanks," he said, a bit unnerved, "Oh and, McGonagall doesn't need to know I wasn't in bed yet okay?"
The elf gave an obedient affirmation and disapparated with the same disrupting pop he appeared with.
Numerous questions shot through her mind after the news she overheard but Hermione couldn't help looking at Draco with fear, the most urgent of the Elf's news disturbing her most, "What does he mean your hotel room was broken into?" she demanded.
"I was staying in Hogsmeade until testing time. They must have found me," he explained quietly, looking angrily out into the dark library.
"Who is 'they'?" she wanted to know.
"Death Eaters they haven't caught yet," said Draco hastily, as if it was so unpleasant he didn't want to talk about it.
And she didn't blame him. The idea horrified her, that there were still Death Eaters on the loose, hiding from the public and hungry for revenge. He surely had a death sentence on his head for what he had done. They probably wanted him more than her, or even Harry. What he did, that was personal.
There was a long still silence between them. And in that time Hermione felt years of hate seemingly melt away from her body. When she looked at Draco, she didn't feel dislike, but pity.
"What happened to your Dad?" Hermione finally asked.
"He's in Azkaban. Double Life sentence." he answered shortly, gesturing for his flask back and knocking back a drink when he passed it to her.
"You couldn't get him acquitted too?"
"I didn't try," he answered, somewhat harshly.
"Oh," Hermione quipped quickly, scared she crossed a line by his tone, "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be," he suddenly barked, "I'm not!"
The look of astonishment on her face didn't go unnoticed by Draco, but he didn't seem to care. In fact he seemed invigorated.
It was utterly absurd, what he shared with her next, and had she not experienced it firsthand she never would've believed Malfoy capable of revealing such vulnerable, personal feelings and experiences to anyone, least of all with her, but he did.
It all came pouring out. The force and intimidation Lucius Malfoy used on his Mother and him since before he could walk or talk. The garbage he taught him to believe and the punishments he would receive if he didn't emulate those beliefs exactly. How Draco didn't really care at all how someone learned magic. How Lucius swore up and down to his Mother that his ruthless scheming for power was over the first time Voldemort fell and the family was nearly destroyed by the accusations and dangerous cover up.
And then he described in graphic detail how terrible the fight that erupted was when Narcissa found out he answered the call of the Dark Mark; how Narcissa earned her black eye and fractured wrist and what a first class ticket to hell he had bought them all for the next three years, what with the failure with prophecy and his first stint in Azkaban, getting Draco involved in his dirty, murderous business and then ending up host to Voldemort himself in their own Manor.
Draco admitted he didn't realize what a monster he was until it was too late, but with the anger and hatred he had for what he got him and his mother involved in, well it just made it that much worse. He was positively seething and Hermione was a little afraid, not knowing what she would do if Draco Malfoy lost it in front of her. Give him privacy? Comfort him?
But in the end, when Draco's eyes looked like they were swelling with reluctant tears, not tears of sadness, but tears of fury, she found herself feeling for him.
Not that anything excused what he did! Nothing excused that, he was still accountable for all the terrible choices he made… but it certainly did explain how he could make such choices. How such a young person could find themselves so deeply involved in such monstrous hatemongering societies, responsible for such horribly unthinkable actions.
And then she remembered how extensively he was put in his place. How he choked when it came down to committing murder. How he fearfully denied recognizing them when they were brought to his house; just the idea of witnessing more murder, especially of someone he knew, of someone he would be responsible for, too much for him to bare.
She felt so sorry for him. That his father kept him so afraid and powerless feeling that he honestly believed there was no one he could turn to for help. She sat there quietly for a long while with her sympathetic thoughts, surveying him discreetly as he tried to regain his composure.
"So…" Draco finally spoke again uncomfortably after an awkward silence was allotted for the water in his eyes to dissipate, he looked determined to show no sign of embarrassment from all that he just revealed, still intent on being his cool and collected self, "Weasley really has been sucking on your face then?"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh out loud in surprise. There she was, all but deciding not to hate him like she had every right to, and he reminds her perfectly of what a rude, arrogant prat he could be, homicidal prejudices or not.
It was probably due to the lateness of the hour and the hell of a day she had had, but it was a little humorous, after all, and she decided not to mind.
"I guess you could say that," she answered jokingly, "Who are you to judge anyway, not like you're not known for your fair share of action."
Draco chuckled, "I wasn't judging," he said friendlily, "Figured you'd be his girl eventually," he added, revealing too much notice of her affairs.
"Well," she began, "We're not actually dating," she said, not knowing why, for the hundredth time that day, she was doing what she was.
Draco cocked up a casually interested eyebrow.
The small thought of "why would he care and why am I bothering to divulge?" pecked at the back of her mind, but Malfoy seemed so harmless, so inconsequential, that she felt an ease, an urge, to continue.
"I mean, we're not boyfriend and girlfriend," she explained, "Yet," she added clumsily, "Well, I don't know if we will be, that he'll want me I mean, or that I'll want to be his girlfriend, if he were to ask me that is," she stammered on nervously, "Not that I expect him to or anything."
Draco just laughed slowly, "Merlin, Granger, relax. Is he your first boyfriend or something? Didn't Krum ever seal the deal?"
"I didn't sleep with him if that's what you mean," Hermione asserted.
"So, you are all virgin territory," he goaded, and she couldn't tell if he was teasing or sneering.
"Well, we snogged a bit," she said defensively.
"So Ron has at least one famous quidditch player up against him already? No wonder he's too chicken to ask you out proper."
"Do you think that's it?" Hermione wondered insistently, despite Draco's joking tone, "Viktor?"
Draco grinned and shook his head, "Well I'm not saying I understand the mind of a Weasley, but as a guy I know it's a bit unnerving when a girl is more experienced than I am."
"I'm not experienced!" Hermione blurted, then immediately felt like an idiot dork as Draco burst out laughing. She blushed hotly and embarrassed, but couldn't help but laugh too, as Draco's had an air of understanding to it.
"I could've guessed that," he teased.
Hermione scowled, "So what? A girl can't cut a break; either she's a prude or a slut."
"You're right," Draco agreed, and Hermione was surprised by his sensitivity, "I'm glad I'm not a girl."
Hermione was silent for a moment, contemplating on whether or not Draco Malfoy would be a good source, a reliable source, to confide in. To answer a question ever girl wondered about at some point.
"A muggle boy on a ski trip, holiday of my third year," she said finally.
"What?" Draco asked, confused.
"My first snog; his name was Bryce. Well, there was a boy who would chase me around and kiss me on the playground of my grammar school, but that doesn't count. So, Bryce, Viktor and Ron," she listed, "A guy I never saw again, a "famous hunk" and my best friend. Be honest, is that slutty? Am I just a troublemaker?"
Draco seemed to really take a second to think about it, "No," he finally answered, "Seems just right to me."
The comfort that blanketed her was completely unexpected, but very much appreciated, "Really?" she asked.
"Yeah," he assured sincerely, and Hermione finally felt relief from a chokehold that had had her all summer, that she was abnormal.
"Well," he went on, a joking sparkle in his eyes, "For you anyway, I don't think you'll ever escape the prude bookworm that is Hermione Granger."
Hermione glared teasingly back, oddly exhilarated to have someone to speak candidly about "images" with, "Oh, because losing my virginity second year is so cool," she said, "We can't all be Draco Malfoys."
"It wasn't second year," he sneered and Hermione laughed, pleased she picked on him as successfully as he did her.
"It was fourth," he corrected nonchalantly.
"Fourth?" Hermione gasped, "You lost your virginity when you were fourteen?"
"I was fifteen," he insisted, "I turned right before Christmas, and it was at the Yule ball."
"Well Pansy was still fourteen," Hermione explained, still shocked that joking turned to seriousness, "Don't you think that's a little young?"
"It wasn't with Pansy," Draco told her, "It was a fifth year from Beauxbaton."
Hermione was confused and it must've been obvious, "But… weren't you dating Pansy?" she asked.
"No," answered Draco.
"But you went to the dance with her," Hermione was certain she remembered right.
"Yeah…" answered Draco slowly, "But that was just a dance; I didn't make her my girlfriend till fifth year."
"But," Hermione started, surprised at his coolness when she was so distraught, "She was your date that night, and you just went off and screwed some foreign exchange student?"
"She got over it," Draco insisted.
"You told her?" Hermione spat.
"Well, I didn't 'tell her' necessarily, but eventually she got it out of me."
Hermione was felt very troubled, "Wasn't she sad?"
Draco looked annoyed, "I guess," he admitted, "But she knew we weren't 'together' together."
"But you knew she liked you," Hermione insisted, "And that that would hurt her."
Draco just shrugged, "Shit happens. That's life."
Hermione didn't understand what she felt, and she never would've placed it as disappointed. "Well was it even good? Having sex for the first time with someone you hardly even knew?"
Again Draco shrugged, "Not really, but the first time never is right?"
"It can be," Hermione asserted, "If you plan it right."
"Like it ever works out that way," he dismissed.
"It will for me," Hermione claimed boldly.
Draco scoffed, "Yeah, right," he said sarcastically, "Until you get burned. Just wait till you get screwed over Granger, then you'll learn what's worth the effort and what's not."
"No one screwed you over," Hermione pointed out, "when you screwed over Pansy."
"Well, I'll have you know that your little innocent victim Pansy got ass-backward drunk and made out with Blaise Zabini at a party I was hosting."
"And so you cheated on her before she could cheat on you? Like you knew she was going to or something?"
"First of all, we weren't even dating so it wasn't cheating, and even if we were, yes. You gotta get people before they get you. It's not even that personal. You need to look out for yourself first Hermione," he said insistently.
Hermione just scowled. She suddenly felt very depressed and uncomfortable. She missed when the conversation between them was light and enticing.
"Are you disgusted by my whorish ways?" he inquired in a tone that seemed to want to bring it back to a less serious place as well.
"No," Hermione finally answered, realizing it was really none of her business and she shouldn't let whatever Draco Malfoy wants to do in his sex life bother her, "It's not like we all didn't already know you were the schools biggest man-slut," she tried to joke.
"Not quite," he conceded, "There's one guy who still has more tallies than me."
"More tallies? What do you mean?" Hermione asked, unsure if she even wanted to know.
"Don't Gryffindors keep track?" he asked.
"Keep track?" Hermione repeated, confused, "Of how many girls they've shagged?! No!" she spat, "At least… I don't think so… I'm not sure actually," she said with a crinkled forehead, "I wasn't here at all for 7th year though. I would hope most of that stuff would at least take place with the older students…" she finished, finding herself once again trying to sneak her own standards imposingly onto him.
Draco just shrugged and gave her an amused smile.
"So I take it Slytherins keep… 'tallies'?" she asked.
"Yeah," Draco admitted, slightly embarrassed now, "Some do. You see, there's a particular dorm that the more… popular… students stay in," he explained carefully, and Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of Ron and Harry's room. "Some of the past students have scratched tallies into the wall. It doesn't say what it means, but, everyone knows anyway," he finished.
"Who has the most?" she was surprised she wanted to know.
"Some bloke with the initials H.B.P.," answered Draco.
"Snape?!?" exclaimed Hermione.
Draco spit out his whiskey at the suggestion, spraying some of the table, "What?" he cried, "I said H-B-P," he repeated.
"I know," Hermione insisted, "That's what he called himself, the 'Half Blood Prince',"
"Are you serious?" Draco scoffed in disbelief.
"Well is there any other H.B.P. Slytherin?"
"No, we even tried looking it up once."
Hermione laughed, "So did I! So I'm sure HBP is Snape."
"Well I guess that makes sense," he said finally, "I've heard stories from his days at school. I just figured he never wrote on the wall."
"Stories?"
"Yeah," he continued, rolling his eyes, "You think I'm bad? He was something, let me tell you. I'm pretty sure he dated my mum!"
"You're joking!" Hermione exclaimed.
"I wish," he muttered, his face weary with disgust, "And he fooled around with my Aunt, it caused a lot of drama I think."
"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione insisted, "Severus Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange dated? And he cheated on her with her sister, your mother?"
"I wouldn't say 'cheated'…" Draco insisted the point again, "They weren't really dating, just fooling around. And that was official," Draco pressed firmly, "It was known it was nothing more. My Aunt was kind of… that kind of girl," he admitted reluctantly, "That one actually pissed her off though, I think she really might've actually liked him, that's why she hated him so much even when they were older."
Hermione's face gave away her disgust.
"I know, I know," he agreed, "But apparently he was big man on campus."
"Really?" she gaped, "I thought he was teased?" she offered.
"Snape? No, no. He was 'very cool'."
"But… Harry's Dad and his friends picked on him all the time…"
"Oh, well, yeah," Draco huffed, "Gryffindors hated him. But only because he was their "worthy opponent" from Slytherin. It's not like the big guys from my house didn't get their own punches in on Potter and Black and everyone else. I'm sure if ever they got Snape alone they ganged up on him."
"Interesting," Hermione mused. It had never occurred to her that there was a whole other side to the stories she had heard from Harry. She felt foolish, because it made a lot of sense. Of course Snape would be the Slytherin's James Potter. And in all the memories Harry saw, Snape had been alone, no other Slytherins around to help him.
She remembered how easy it was to punch Malfoy himself in the face even with two chums there. And while all the Gryffindors insisted Harry was king and Malfoy was a loser, it was exactly the opposite in his neck of the woods.
"I just can't believe all this time it was Snape who was such a cherry-popper," Draco commented, still looking awed.
Instantly his words plummeted her back into her earlier terrible feelings toward Snape, realizing she had miraculously forgotten about him - even had a little break from the whole horrid ordeal.
It was funny how talking to Draco had distracted her so well; even put her a little at ease by shedding light on the mysterious nature of the predatory painting. And all the insight into the male mind he so honestly and uncompromisingly shared with her had been so comforting. She was strangely thankful for him.
"…Listen, Draco…" Hermione started after another awkward silence, where she was wondering if Draco thought it was odd they had spoke so civilly and openly to each other for so long too, "I think you may have been right earlier, we're probably allowed to talk about the test on purpose, Heads generally supported each other…"
Draco was looking at her curiously.
"What I mean is, would you like to work together? I could probably figure out the defensive magic quite well, and I really could use a hand brewing this 'Vita Brevis, Ars Longa' stuff."
Draco gave an odd, overly satisfied smile that made her a bit uneasy, and she wondered if she would regret her daring offer.
"Well," said Draco, holding up a piece of parchment with wet, ruined ink running down it in droplets, "Seeing how I've spit whiskey all over my instruction sheet when you told me it was Snape, I suppose I do need to look on at someone else's."
"Oh," Hermione thought dismally, her stomach suddenly clenching again in horror.
She just remembered she left her test template in the painting of Snape…
"I should really go send a quick Owl to my Mother," Draco said, interrupting her horrid realization, "I'm sure McGonagall already did but ever since I've had Death Eaters trying to kill me… well you can imagine she's a little worried these days and she'd appreciate hearing from me… Do you want to go get your materials and meet me back here?"
Hermione inhaled deeply. "Sure," she finally agreed. Now that she knew she was dealing with a cheap form of dark magic, she was going to get her bloody stuff back.
… … …
Her legs were shaking the entire walk to the dungeons, but she was determined to ignore it. Just like she was determined to ignore the odd tingling sensation in her low, low belly… the burning in her cheeks whenever she pictured his younger, sharper face. However old he was really supposed to be, he looked twenty-five. Fit, agile and in the prime of his life. More powerful than she had ever guessed he would've been in his younger years.
She groaned fearfully when the stupid potions door squeaked on its huge, rusty hinges. She peered in slowly.
The lack of a subject in the painting was obvious, even from the back of the room. Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She approached with the same bravery she tried to invoke the first time she entered the room that day.
When she was a mere few feet away from the frame she saw it. Placed directly in the middle of the table, face up to taunt her, was her test template. She tried in vain to look around the wooden pieces of frame, but apparently it didn't work that way, it was still only two dimensional to her.
Mustering up her courage she stepped intrepidly back up onto Slughorn's chair and experienced the uniquely weird waterfall sensation for the second time as she crossed through the eerie veil of canvas.
Her heart was beating rapidly, but not as fast as the feeble thoughts flying through her mind, "Maybe he'll leave me alone. Maybe he left out of shame," she wondered shallowly as she climbed through, "I wouldn't want to show my face again after I acted so piggish…"
She headed straight for the table, to overcome with cowardice to look around. Snatching her test template and folding it up, she shoved it hastily into the pocket that adorned her skirt.
While one large hand clamped over her mouth from behind her, an equally strong arm snaked around her waist, drawing her back into a tall, broad, body snuggly.
"You must fancy another go," he hissed huskily into her ear, rubbing his face into her curls, inhaling her scent, "Coming back like this…"
Hermione clawed at his hand, her scream an inaudible muffle. It was no use; she was no match for him.
He flipped her around and clutched her by her shoulders.
"Let me go!" she ordered, "I've only come for my things! You will let me pass!"
Snape just smiled wickedly at her, and something in his eyes made her stomach erupt with butterflies. She had discovered the hard way that she had no control over this kind magic at all.
For the second time his mouth came crashing down on hers, but she was intent on not kissing back this time… no matter what. She tried to get her arms in between them, to push him away, but she failed as his grip on her shoulders tightened and his tongue pushed thoroughly against hers, leaning her backward.
"STOP!" she shouted when he broke away to survey her. Again he just grinned wickedly.
"You fool," he whispered, "Your voice says stop when your swollen lips and heaving breasts say more. You should really learn how to lie better."
"I'm not lying," she insisted with panic, "I want you to stop and leave me alone!"
"Really?" he challenged, "Then why…" his arm snaked up her skirt again, rubbing her panties against her, "are you steaming?"
"I…" her voice wavered as she got lost in his deep black eyes and the sensation of his touch.
Her chin tilted up slightly to meet his next kiss. He deepened it, biting and sucking on her bottom lip, sliding his other hand around her and squeezing her butt, pushing her harder against the hand between her legs, still rubbing the outside of her womanhood sensually. She began to relax and sink down against his hands.
"No!" Hermione cried again, responding with outrage to her own concession, trying to push herself away from him again.
Snape was obviously growing tired of her attempts to fight him and angrily flipped her around. Still pinning her arms to her side with his hold, he walked her into the ledge of a nearby table that met the height of her waist, standing himself directly behind her and bending her over it.
It was unbelievable how fast he reached around, slid his palm down her stomach, and had two fingers within her panties directly on her clitoris, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body that made her paralyzed with surprise. She knew instantly it was Lily who showed him how to have this kind of effect on a woman, and she let her top half all but collapse on the table, her arms shaking as they weakly held her up.
Sandwiched between the table and his body, Snape ran his free arm up her shirt and cupped her breast with his palm, kneading it desperately.
She heard him moan with approval, "So supple…" he murmured, rubbing his erection against the bottom of her ass. She felt herself growing wetter and wetter by the way Snape rubbed her creamy juices around as he continued his massage.
"Tell the truth, Granger," he demanded, "Has anyone ever touched you like this?"
"No," she whimpered.
"But you like it, don't you?"
Hermione roared, furious he was using that against her and desperate to release the build up of scream that was mounting in her throat.
Once again, he slid his finger into her and she felt him brace his lower half more firmly against her in order to hold her up because her legs gave out with limpness. His erotic presence was all she knew. He felt so strange and new inside her.
"Mmmm," he moaned, "Could you be anymore innocent?" he drawled.
Hermione was breathing shakily against the tabletop when Snape withdrew his teasing hand. She couldn't explain why, but she just froze in place and made no attempt to fight him when he clutched both sides of her collar in closed fists, ripping the buttons off of her robes and white blouse with rippling pops.
He cast the destroyed shirt and robe to the floor and she felt his hot, strong hands glide down the flesh of her back admiringly, then he unhooked the clasp of her simple white bra and let it slide off her shoulders down onto the table. He cupped both her free breast in his hands, twisting her nipples softly between his thumb and for finger as he devoured the back of her neck in kisses, rubbing his now even more bulging groin into her. She could feel the residue of her sex from one of his hands as he played with her chest.
She whimpered profusely as he delighted her senses further, escaping into the ecstasy. How quickly he made her arousal escalate, just with the sound of his voice whispering in her ear, his dominating touch and the feel of his body right up against hers.
Holding her in place with one arm, she heard the rustling of fabric as he opened his own robes and freed his cock from the jingling belt and zipper of his trousers. Then he snatched the hem of her panties into a grasp and yanked them down.
Now in nothing but her skirt, Hermione gasped in shock as he slid his whole length into her, feeling his fat, engorged tip press firmly against her delicate walls. Why she didn't feel ashamed that her own slick, wetness made it so easy for him, she did not know.
Pressure spread throughout her groin and up into her stomach. All she could do was moan; loud and long as he held himself tightly against her, letting her feel every intricate and accommodating adjustment her body made to his large, pulsing presence.
When he slid out the friction caused a violent shock of reverberating pleasure, and she felt her entrance tighten around the inflamed head of his penis as he lingered there, and again he evenly rammed himself back fully inside, stopping only when his pubic bone nestled firmly against her shapely ass.
Somewhere between his thorough and dramatic entrance and rhythmically ramming her hips bones painfully into the sharp ledge of the table as he humped her, he increased his pace. Hermione could do nothing but dip the small of her back down, sucking her stomach up from the flat surface. She needed to use the ample curve of her bottom as a bumper, absorbing all the pleasure of his thrusts without being smashed into the hard piece of furniture, presenting her ass to him in a most encouraging way.
But even more so unbelievable, was that it was her voice shrieking so ecstatically. That she was moaning and begging and pleading, not for him to stop… but for him to not stop.
Her face was practically tilted all the way up to the ceiling, throwing her hair back in a fit of passion. Her mouth hung open and she kept her eyes closed tight, afraid the ecstasy was a dream.
He persisted, fucking her hard and rough with no sign of ceasing. She never imagined that it would feel good to have her breasts rock back and forth slightly in his hands, matching the tempo of their throws, but his possessive touch ignited her with fire, and wherever his palms met her body the skin might as well have turned to gold.
It wasn't long before her hands were planted firmly on the table, and she was forcing her backside back roughly, meeting Snape's thrusts with a sharp smack of flesh on flesh. There was something growing, a heat, a power, stemming from where the end of him was still beating into her incessantly, and rippling outward, gaining momentum.
Suddenly her screams of passion were silent, and she was airless, immobile, as something exploded inside her and Snape gave an exceptionally pleased yell of enjoyment. She felt herself clench onto him extra tightly and vibrate erratically for what seemed like an insane glimpse of eternity. When her body finally released the euphoric pleasure still lingered and she smiled dreamily, letting her upper body finally collapse onto the table.
But Snape wasn't finished as she thought herself to be. He turned her around, and she tossed like a rag doll.
The hungry look in his glinting eyes caused her to straighten again. And he lifted her with ease onto the table, sitting her on the edge and spreading her legs.
Positioned to face him, she now knew what was plummeted so ravenously within her, and the sight of his erect and glistening flesh only sparked her desire to see more of his body. Learning from him, she yanked on the fabric of his robes so hard the buttons flew off, and after pushing it off down his shoulders she scooted up the hem of his shirt for him to grab, pull off and toss away.
She drank up the view of him; chiseled and rippling, his cut abdominals led up to a broad chest and thick arms, his face staring at her seductively, chunks of stringy, sweaty hair falling in front of his eyes as he licked his lips like she was something to eat.
Dragging her fingers down his chest and clawing him with her nails made him snarl with arousal and she returned his engulfment by kissing ferociously back against his mouth. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, but he grabbed her harshly by the wrists in protest.
She ignored his rejection of an embrace as she sucked wildly on his neck, pressing her chest against his, exhilarated by the exchange of body heat; she felt a moan rumble from deep within his chest.
He pulled away and pushed her back, gripping her hip with his left hand and sliding his right hand up her stomach, between her breasts and laced his fingers around her neck snuggly. The crawl of his skin against hers made her shiver and his grip reminded her of his strength. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he repositioned his tip into her entrance, utterly glossy with her arousal.
It was completely different, when she could see the look on his face while he fucked her. It was so rough and satisfied, as he grunted his pelvis forward. One hand roamed her body greedily but the other hand around her neck held fast, telling her, despite the obvious euphoria on his face as he moved in and out of her savagely, how disposable she was to him.
Telling her that every inch of her was intended, designed, for his supreme sexual satisfaction. Her purpose was his pleasure, and should she ever fail to fulfill that purpose… well, his hand would just grip tighter and she would be dismissed.
But his victoriously sneering face blurred as her eyelids fluttered. She felt the energy mounting in her core again.
"God damn," Snape snarled a curse as her pussy tightened once more, choking him as he stroked. She exploded in another orgasm, shuddering with exhaustion.
Snape chuckled evilly, "You're such a good little girl," he uttered through gritted teeth, still maneuvering his member within her.
"Professor…" she whimpered.
"Severus," he demanded, taking a handful of her hair in a fist and yanking her head back.
"Severus," she cried, the syllables of his name sizzling on her lips.
"You always were my favorite student," he whispered, leaning down to flick her nipple with his tongue, rolling his hips into her with a grind, enjoying the feel of just being in her soft, velvety depths.
The change of his tone, the hint of affection, troubled Hermione, almost enough to break the spell of raw sexual intrigue he had on her, and she locked eyes with him for a brief moment, begging for an explanation for this, any of it.
But his blissful smile turned into a sneer at her desperately inquisitive look and he once again quickened his pace, banging into her harshly.
Her cries were desperate now, despite the pleasure as he built her up to come again.
"Has the Weasley boy ever made you feel like this?" he demanded, digging his fingers into her hips.
"No," she gasped, "Never- Not like you…"
The room filled with the sound of her scream for the third time and her body shuddered more violently then ever, going numb and limp as the lingering tingles drifted away.
"Severus," she pleaded, her clitoris starting to burn from too much friction. Her legs were starting to ache from being spread open, and her insides were sore from his repeated ramming. Despite the carnal desire to feel him surge his ejaculate, hot and creamy inside her, her body could not take another orgasm.
She needed desperately the satisfaction of him climaxing then falling on her in a warm embrace before feeling him exit her, but every muscle in his body was flexed and frozen. He was not letting himself. It was as if he intended to fuck her forever.
The pleasure mixed with pain, and her face screwed up in discomfort.
"Severus…" she pleaded again, "...Snape…"
"No," Snape yelled heinously.
"Please," she begged, trembling.
"No!" he yelled again, "You're not leaving."
But his face contorted with worry. He couldn't help it. His own cock couldn't take much more stimulation without burning either.
"No," he bellowed, "Oh God," he roared, and Hermione felt him enlarge with a surge through her; emptying his seed while he yelled and literally vibrating.
He fell into her, but not warmly. He gasped for air frantically, his dead weight pinning her to the table. Finally he pushed himself up with exhausted arms.
"You're staying," he hissed with desperate malice, and Hermione was overcome with fear from the insane look in his eyes.
"Granger?" came a stunned voice.
Snape's face followed Hermione's as they looked out with a dart.
Draco Malfoy was standing in the middle of the potions room, his jaw hanging loose and his forehead crinkled with confusion.
Snape roared monstrously, pushing himself off of Hermione and disappeared into thin air.
Hermione, unsure how she was able to function, covered her topless, bare chest with her arm and slid off the table onto her knees.
She managed to rise to her unstable feet and charge towards the eerie window-like portal back to the real potions room, falling through and landing heftily in Malfoy's arms.