A/N: Just a quick warning to let you know there are lemons in this chapter, so if thats not your thing, I would turn back now. Also, I've been having trouble with the doc manager here at FFn. You can follow me on tumblr at lavonnallama dot tumblr dot com to see if anything like that is happening in the future, or to ask me questions or see occasional previews of my story. You're more likely to get a quick response from me there. Happy reading!

Chapter Eleven: The Act

June 1, 1997

It wasn't that she was a total innocent. Hermione Granger knew what to expect from sex. Her mother had had "the talk" with her at a fairly young age and she had known since then the mechanics of the act. And it wasn't as if she had been saving herself for marriage, but she had rather thought her first time would be with a man she loved and who loved her in return, someone she would spend the rest of her life with. In her fantasies, the ones that she had only ever indulged in late at night with the curtains of her four poster bed drawn shut and a silencing charm cast, the man she shared the experience with was most often faceless. Perhaps it had been odd that she had never pictured a boy of her acquaintance as the star of her intimate imaginings, especially considering how fond she had been of Ronald. She had day dreamed about him eagerly, her mind supplying long walks by the lake holding hands and affectionate cuddling in the Gryffindor common room. Still, when she had ensconced herself in her bed at night, no longer able to resist the pleasant sensations she knew she could elicit between her thighs, she could never bring herself to picture Ron's face, as familiar as it was.

Sighing, she splashed her face with cold water from the sink, wiping away the salty tears that had dried on her cheeks and trying to clear her mind. If she was going to go through with this tonight, she needed to focus. She had read plenty of romance novels and so was familiar with the things a man might enjoy. She wondered if she ought to try any of them tonight or just let Snape do whatever it was he had planned. Assuming he had anything planned. God, what if he had no plan? He had seemed certain that he could take charge during the event, but what if he was actually a horrible lover and she had to not only endure his attentions that night, but on a regular basis? What if she was an awful lover? She'd read about women who were cold and frigid and unfeeling and who ruined the experience for both parties. What if she was one of them? She hadn't ever thought such a thing before, given the feelings she had been able to elicit in her own body, but what if things were different when there were two people? What if she was so awful Snape couldn't perform and she was forced to stay at Malfoy Manor despite her willingness?

No, thought Hermione, that couldn't happen. They'd succeed tonight, that was all there was to it. Even if she was unfeeling and Snape's age meant he had circulation problems which prevented him from performing, she would find a way to consummate this god damned bloody sham of a marriage.

Grabbing a hand towel from beside the sink, Hermione dabbed at her face, drying it before looking up to peruse her reflection in the mirror. She was not unattractive, though she would hardly have called herself a great beauty. Her face was proportional, her skin clear and bright beside her attractively curled hair (she really did need to learn whatever charm Narcissa had used that morning), and her eyes were wide and fringed with long, sooty lashes. She supposed her face was pretty enough, though the rest of her body certainly left much to be desired. She had always loathed her small breasts and her uninspiring bottom. Compared to Parvati and Lavender with whom she had shared living quarters for the last six years, Hermione's figure was practically boyish. Yes, she had a waist and hips, but her frame was petite enough that no one ever really noticed, especially in the unflattering school uniform and robes at Hogwarts. She was lucky the robes Narcissa had supplied her accented her few assets, because otherwise she was sure the professor would take one look at her and lose all will to continue. It was a lucky thing she didn't look like a schoolgirl tonight, and that Snape in his dress robes looked little like the professor she was accustomed to.

Turning away from the mirror and leaning back against the marble counter, Hermione allowed her thoughts to turn towards Snape. No, he was not the type of man with whom she had ever imagined being intimate… but she thought things might have been much worse. As it was, he was forbidding, but not completely off-putting. The normally greasy hair which hung down his face as he taught was brushed back this evening, looking soft and clean. She could imagine touching it to be a pleasant experience. His mouth, so often pressed into a thin line of displeasure, had lately shown itself to be full and even enticing. She could imagine feeling it above her own, moving languidly and coaxing her further into an amorous embrace. And his body, so often hidden in the billowing robes he wore at Hogwarts, looked not painfully thin in his closer cut dress robes, but lithe and powerful. Hermione thought that perhaps if she could separate her memories and impressions of the instructor she had known up until now from the reality of the man waiting for her in the other room… well, maybe she need not imagine some other man that evening if she were able to focus on the positive physical attributes he held.

A sound on the other side of the door startled Hermione from her thoughts, bringing her immediately from speculation back to reality where she was nothing more than a nervous girl hiding in the bathroom on her wedding night. How exasperatingly cliche. Sighing once more, Hermione pushed herself away from the counter, forcing herself to walk to the door. Unfortunately, once she reached it she couldn't convince herself to actually take hold of the handle and pull the thing open. Merlin, she thought, what a perfectly ridiculous coward she was. She could face down the Dark Lord and survive insulting him, but she couldn't make herself open one bloody door.

"Come on, Granger," she said under her breath, "You can do this." When she had finally gathered her courage, she managed to grab the handle, twisting it firmly and pushing her way into the bedroom before she could think better of it.

He was right where she had left him, one of his arms now extended across the back of the sofa where he sat, his head tilted back slightly so that his hair brushed the seat. Even from behind, he looked far more relaxed than normal. She wondered whether that was a conscious choice on his part, or if he was actually more at ease here at the manor than in the halls of Hogwarts.

"There's still a seat here beside me," he said, not turning to look in her direction, but shifting farther to one side of the settee. Hermione gulped and walked over to sit where he had indicated, her boots clicking against the hardwood floor as her heart raced. She took her seat, sitting as far away from him as the sofa allowed and folding her hands in her lap to keep from waving them about foolishly as she spoke.

"Are you quite recovered now?" asked Snape, studying her from across the short space between them. He looked far more calm than Hermione felt.

"I'm better," she answered. And she thought it was the truth. She at least felt what was about to happen was necessary, and knew she wouldn't object when the time came. If it ever came. Snape appeared quite comfortable on the other end of the couch and didn't look as if he was inclined to move.

"I'm glad," he said, "Now, did you have anything else you wished to discuss before we begin?" Hermione's eyes widened.

"Begin?" she squeaked.

Snape arched a dark brow, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Yes, the word means to commence. The very first action in a chain of events."

"I know what the word means," snapped Hermione crossly, hands clenching together tightly in her lap as she scowled.

"Forgive me," Snape inclined his head in her direction and them moved towards her slightly, sitting up straighter and extending his right arm. Hermione tensed until she realized he was reaching not for her, but for a flute of what looked like champagne on the small table beside them. "I had thought we might enjoy a drink together," he said.

"Thank you," her own voice barely more than a whisper as she took the proffered glass, immediately raising it to her lips and draining it. From beside her, Snape snorted softly, his own glass still untouched in his hand, and then reached for the bottle on the table, refilling her glass without asking. Hermione blushed and nodded her thanks, this time taking a small sip and letting the flavor sit on her tongue.

"I take it alcohol is not one of your myriad areas of inexperience," said Snape, taking a sip from his own glass as she blushed.

"I'm not a lush," she said, "but my parents let me have champagne at holidays."

"And it was during holidays that you learned to acquit yourself so admirably?" Hermione blushed again.

"No. That was in the Gryffindor common room," she answered. To her surprise, Snape laughed and took another drink from his glass. She watched him as he did so, noting the ease with which he moved, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He seemed to enjoy the taste of the drink.

"I always told Minerva she ought to keep a better eye on you all. It's no wonder Poppy complains about the number of Gryffindors she sees after Quidditch matches."

"Well," said Hermione, "Not all of my house-mates can brew their own sober-up potion." Snape raised his brow in her direction, looking curious.

"Unlike you," he supplied.

Hermione nodded, taking a sip of champagne as he continued.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, do you make a habit of brewing potions in your dormitory, or do you confine your extracurricular potions activities to the girl's lavatory?"

She choked on her drink at his words, coughing and spluttering as he smirked and moved closer, hitting her on the back with his free hand until she had regained control and her face was bright red from embarrassment rather than lack of air.

"You knew about that?" she asked, voice low and cautious. Snape laughed full throatedly, throwing his head back and seeming to revel in her question. Hermione just looked on, her embarrassment quickly turning to irritation.

"Not at the time," he said at last, wiping the corner of one eye with his hand and setting his champagne flute back onto the table, "But when you appeared in the hospital wing sprouting fur and a tail, the deficiencies in my store cupboard became quite apparent. I must compliment you, though, in brewing such a successful Polyjuice Potion; had it been substandard, I am sure your pelt wouldn't have been half as magnificent."

Irritation now morphing to anger at his words, Hermione gritted her teeth, glaring up at the man sitting directly beside her and crossing her arms tightly beneath her breasts.

"Is this your idea of wooing a woman," she spat, "insulting her and and laughing at her mistakes?" Beside her, Snape's eyes flashed and the smile on his lips faded away leaving him with quite a serious expression.

"Why," he said, his voice silken and low, tugging at something in her she hadn't realized existed until it responded with delight to his words, "would you like to be wooed, Miss Granger?"

She blushed immediately, her face burning as she clenched her own glass tightly. Still, despite her embarrassment, she couldn't force herself to look away. She matched his gaze steadily, her heart rate increasing as he peered down at her.

"I think perhaps you should put down your drink," Snape breathed. He was growing closer now and she could smell his breath, sweet and clean as he spoke. The champagne tumbled from her fingers to the floor as his lips descended on her neck, making her jump at the sensation of his breath tickling over her skin and his soft lips trailing from her neck to her shoulder. God, the feeling consumed her. She hadn't realized those full lips would feel so enticing on her, that they would send a jolt from her neck to her breasts that caused her nipples to tighten and made her gasp audibly.

"Has anyone ever kissed you here before, Miss Granger?" he murmured against her skin, his hand descending on her waist and wrapping itself around her until he had enough purchase to pull her closer to him. After several long seconds with no response from her, he spoke again. "Cat got your tongue?"

"No," she breathed at last, tilting her head to the sound of Snape's chuckle, allowing him greater access to the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck. She wondered as she did so whether she ought to be more resisting, more reticent to let him touch her like this. She pushed the thought firmly out of her mind. She would be an idiot to want to make any of this more difficult, and if Snape had decided to play nice and make things pleasant, why should she protest? As long as she remembered the reality of the situation when it was through, why shouldn't she allow herself to pretend in the moment that things were more romantic than they actually were?

They continued that way for several minutes more, Snape teasing her with his mouth, his lips travelling from her ear to her collarbone and everywhere in between. Hermione could feel herself growing incredibly aroused, the fantasies she had enjoyed in the dark coming to life with this man as she allowed herself to be wrapped up in the sensations, in her own soft gasps as his teeth nipped softly here and there. She found her fingers threading through his hair - clean and soft as she had expected - to be highly erotic, and the sensation seemed to encourage him as well, because as she clutched his head to her chest and he gently kissed the visible swell of one breast his hand raised to her shoulder, pushing the flowing sleeve of the robe down to expose her skin there.

It was then, as the fabric fell down, exposing the entirety of her shoulder and half of her breast, that Hermione returned to herself.

"Professor," she said, the panic she had felt before returning all at once with the force of a tidal wave.

"Mmm," his response came as his lips descended on her breasts, his hands wrapped around her waist, hoisting her up towards him and allowing him access to her.

"Professor, stop," she said, pushing at his shoulder roughly and throwing herself away from him. He released her at once and she tumbled backwards, her shoulders hitting the armrest of the sofa and making her wince.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" asked Snape, sounding more irritated than usual. He was breathing hard and his hair was in disarray from where she had been clenching it. His lips looked slightly swollen from use and his pupils were dilated. Hermione imagined she didn't look too dissimilar.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Hermione righted herself where she sat, pressing a hand to her furiously pounding heart and replacing the sleeve of her robe on her shoulder. "I just," she said, unable to really put her thoughts into words. "It seemed too much," she answered.

"Too much," echoed Snape, who sounded impatient now and whose eyes had narrowed to glittering slits. "Miss Granger, a little petting can hardly be considered 'too much' when very soon you'll be naked beneath me on that four poster bed behind you, your virgin blood on my cock."

"Bloody hell," breathed Hermione, "must you be so incredibly crass?"

Frustrated, Snape rose from his seat, grabbing his still full glass of champagne from the coffee table and draining it as he strode to the fire place.

"As long as you persist in your naivete, I'm afraid I have little choice but to be direct," he spat, his hands clenching the mantel above the fire, his back tense.

For a moment, Hermione felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps she had been naive, not in denying the inevitable, but in letting herself believe the mask he had donned for the occasion. She had been foolish to assume he would not have reservations as well, that the thought of bedding a student wasn't abhorrent to him. Hadn't he said as much before she had hidden in the bathroom like a coward?

"I'm sorry," she forced herself to say, feeling a little ashamed now. "I know this can't be easy for you either." Snape turned to face her. He looked suspicious as he studied her, as if he was expecting not a true apology but for her to be provoking him in some way. Apparently she looked sufficiently repentant, though, because he just sighed and set his champagne flute on the mantel.

"No, It isn't," he acknowledged, "But I see no reason to let that ruin the experience completely. Did you not enjoy what we were doing?"

Hermione blushed and then nodded, clearing her throat and swallowing as she refused to meet his gaze.

"Then can we not continue in that vein? Must we perpetually pause to examine the unfairness of the situation, rather than enjoying the pleasant physical sensations which can be the fruit of our labor?"

She looked up at him. His eyes were glittering again as he watched her, his voice had dropped back down the the same silken tone he had used before kissing her neck. Hermione felt herself respond involuntarily, a shiver chasing down her spine as a small throbbing sensation pulsed insistently between her thighs.

"You're my professor," she said at last, giving voice to the issue which had plagued her most. This man was not just some random person. She knew him well, and in a completely platonic sort of relationship. Trying to pluck him from that role, no matter how different he might look here, was impossible when every time she thought of his title or his name she was reminded of the imbalance between them, of the history which made their union completely inappropriate.

From his spot near the fireplace, Snape spoke.

"Yes," he said, "and every time I call you Miss Granger, I am reminded of the fact that you are my student, no matter how delectable a figure you cut in Narcissa's robes." Hermione blushed at the compliment and Snape sighed again, moving once more to sit beside her, his elbows upon his knees. He watched her, seeming to consider something, weighing his options and deciding on a course of action.

"Would it be easier for you, if you were to call me by my given name?" he said at last. Hermione's eyes widened.

"You mean call you…" her voice trailed off and she gulped.

"Severus," he supplied.

"Severus," Hermione echoed, the name sounding foreign, somehow sensual on her tongue.

"Of course, such liberties should not be taken outside situations such as these…" his voice dropped again, "but I think considering what we are about to do, it would be appropriate." As he finished, he reached out with one hand, taking Hermione's own small one inside of his grasp. Oddly, she found she did not recoil from the touch this time.

"Severus," she said again, braving a glance up to meet his gaze. He smiled at her as she did so, standing and pulling her up with him.

"Now," he said, "Is it safe to continue, or should I expect to be thrust unceremoniously from you again in short order?"

Hermione gulped and shook her head, "No," she answered, "I think… well, I think I'm ready."

"We'll see, won't we," said Snape, his brow raised and that smirk on his face once more. But before she could comment on his expression, one of his arms had wrapped itself firmly around her, pressing her flush against him. Her nipples hardened almost immediately as he bent down, kissing and nipping her ear before moving down to the sweet spot on her neck. She was groaning as he moved them backwards, guiding her sure footedly across the floor until her knees were pressed to the edge of the Queen Anne bed. They fell back together, Hermione completely breathless at the feel of his long body pressed above hers. She could feel his chest against her breasts, solid and warm beneath his robes, and further down something large and stiff pressing into her thigh that she tried her best to ignore.

This time when she felt Snape's hand pull her robes down past her shoulders, exposing the tops of her breasts to his gaze, she didn't protest. Instead she allowed herself to revel in the sensation of his mouth edging down, closer and closer to the aching nipples covered now by the merest bit of bodice. His mouth trailed down, following the v-neck of the gown down between her breasts, kissing the bare flesh and letting his tongue trace patterns there. She could feel his hair, falling down as his mouth worked, brushing against her chest and making her gasp. Merlin, the sensations. She entwined her fingers in his hair then, guiding him up to kiss her breast directly again, noting his deep, reverberating chuckle as he edged the top of her bodice down and began to suck on her exposed nipple.

Her reaction was immediate. Her back arched, thrusting her breast more deeply into his hot mouth as she gasped and her eyes flew wide.

"My God," she uttered, a string seeming to tug between her nipple and the throbbing spot between her thighs, making her moan as he continued to lave her with his tongue. Soon, her other breast was exposed and she was gasping as his hand found her other nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it slightly and making her throw her head back in wild abandon.

"It's like that, is it," he said, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke. Hermione couldn't think beyond hoping he'd return to what he had been doing before, and so she urged him back down to her breast, groaning as he chuckled against her skin, encasing her once more in the wet heat of his mouth.

He took his time with her breasts, kissing and sucking them as he tugged the bodice of her gown down further, ripping out the delicate row of buttons Hermione had taken such care with that morning and tugging the gown down past her hips.

"No knickers, Hermione?" he said, his voice husky and his eyes hooded.

"There were none," she panted, heart racing as she felt his eyes roam over her body, lingering first on her breasts and then on the curls between her legs. She blushed and tried not to move under his gaze.

"A body such as yours is best viewed without in any case," he said, his eyes flicking up to meet hers as he spoke again. "Fair is fair, I think," he said, and with a flick of his hand and a bit of wandless magic, his own robes were gone and he was left in his black trousers above her. His skin was smooth and pale but for a few jagged scars on one side, his muscles were well defined and impressive. She found herself with the sudden urge to touch him, and without thinking she reached up, placing one hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, strong and fast as he breathed above her, his glittering eyes staring down into hers.

Without a word he pressed himself on top of her again, kissing her neck once more and letting her feel the hard length of his arousal tight against her bare thigh, the only thing separating them the thin cloth of his slacks. As he moved above her, she felt his taut shoulder against her cheek. Turning her head slightly she let herself taste his bare skin and heard him groan in response. He thrust once against her thigh, moving down to suck one nipple into his mouth again as if to regain control. Hermione cried out, throwing her head back and thrusting her bare hips up towards him instinctively.

"Circe," she heard him groan, and then he was unbuttoning his slacks, pulling them down along with her robes until the both of them were completely bare and pressed together on top of the bed. Tentatively, Hermione reached down with one hand to where she could feel him pressed against her, wrapping her fingers all at once around his length. Her eyes widened at the feel of him, hot and smooth in her hand, like steel encased in velvet. He groaned into her shoulder, biting down and making her hand tighten around him.

"Fucking hell," he said, and Hermione felt her hands being pushed above her head and pinned to the pillow there.

"Severus," she breathed, slightly confused until he moved one hand between her legs, touching her there where no one but her ever had and sliding one long finger between the lips of her vulva.

"You're so wet," he whispered into her ear, brushing the tip of his finger across the bundle of nerves and sensations at the apex of her sex. She jolted in response, her back arching, her breasts pressing tightly against his chest. He continued to stroke her there, making her cry out and whimper as he stoked the fire that was building inside of her, sucking her still damp nipple into his mouth again as his hand moved and her hips thrust against him involuntarily.

"Please, oh please," she cried.

"Just a little more, Hermione. You're close now," he told her. And he was right, because in the next moment as his fingers stroked her up and down, putting delicious pressure onto her throbbing clitoris, she began to come apart beneath him, shuddering as her mouth opened into a wide 'O' and she clenched the bed covers tightly into her fists.

As her sex continued to throb, the after effects of the delicious orgasm she had just experienced still coursing through her body and her breath coming in short pants, she felt Severus shift above her. He groaned as his shaft slipped between her thighs, slick now with her own arousal. He moved deliberately, and soon Hermione felt him pressing against her entrance. He felt impossibly large and she gasped at the intimacy of the sensation. It felt so good, she thought, and she wondered how much better it might feel deep inside her where she was still clenching sporadically from the orgasm he had just given her.

He paused, meeting her eyes, his gaze determined and he stared down at her.

"Please," she said again, and he thrust forward in one sharp movement. It was not as painful as she had expected. There was discomfort but not so much that she thought she might cry out. Instead she winced, wrapping her arms tightly around Severus's neck and burying her face in his shoulder.

"Tell me when it is less uncomfortable," he gritted out. Hermione nodded once and continued to cling to him, waiting for the pain to ease and then moving experimentally.

It was his turn to gasp as she moved her hips closer towards him and his length slid further inside her.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," she said at last, looking shyly up at him from beneath her lashes. He peered back at her, studying her for a moment before withdrawing himself slowly and then plunging back inside her to the hilt. The sensation made her breath catch and her eyes roll back as his pubic bone met hers and she felt a delicious pressure against her still sensitive clit. He began to thrust then, withdrawing slowly each time and then plunging back into her depths. It felt incredible, and all Hermione could do was cling to him, panting as he took her. She was so full she thought she might burst and every time he thrust back into her she could feel him hitting something inside of her that she had never felt before. She was so close now, so ready to reach completion that she thought she might die if he didn't thrust just once… twice more.

She came again with a wail, her teeth sinking into his shoulder to muffle the sound as she jerked up against him, her eyes shut tight and her back arching off of the bed. And still he moved inside of her, his own eyes wide as he watched her, one of his hands moving from her hip to her breast to caress and then squeeze as his pace quickened and his thrusts became ever more shallow. When he came, it was with a gasp and then a long, deep groan. His head fell forward as he finished inside of her with one last, deep thrust, his black hair spread over her breasts and his breath still tantalizing the wet nipple he had been sucking moments before.

Hermione was boneless beneath him as he lay there, feeling his heart beat against her and wondering how it seemed to match the exact pace of her own. She had never imagined anything so extraordinary as this when she had brought herself to climax, had never known despite the textbooks and the romance novels that this was what it would feel like. The urgency, the desperation… the feeling that the world could go to hell as long as he just kept moving inside of her. She wondered if it was the same for him, if when he had come it had felt as if the whole world was his.

"Severus," she said softly, raising a hand to touch his hair.

At her voice, he seemed to stiffen, his hand on her ribcage moving at once as he lifted his head and looked up at her. The look in his eyes, part fury, part indifference, seemed to take Hermione's voice away. She pushed him off of her at once and he complied, rolling to the side without protest and swinging his legs off of the bed. Hermione felt suddenly empty and exposed.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," came Snape's voice, cold and clipped.

Almost violently, Hermione pushed herself up and to the other side of the bed, grabbing her robes and draping them around her shoulders like a shield as she faced the opposite direction.

"Go away," she spat, eyes blurring as she felt the anger and the outrage and the sadness welling up inside of her. What a perfect bastard he was to ruin this, to show her when she was at her most vulnerable how false their entire encounter had really been. Behind her, Snape paused, shifting on the bed as if to come towards her until she stiffened and stood, her back still to him. He stood then too, and she heard him pad across the floor and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Only then did she allow herself to collapse back onto the bed, her thighs still slick with their sex as the tears began to flow down her face.