Hermione didn't know what she thought was going to come out of his mouth, but that wasn't it. And by the time her brain finally caught up to her ears, he'd put on his Professor Snape voice - a voice that had been so ingrained in her mind to obey - and she'd been between his legs before she realized what she was about.

And then he'd touched his lips to hers so softly, that when he pulled away and she saw her hands resting on the silver buckle of his black leather belt, she momentarily lost her equilibrium.

He looked down at her through long lashes, his eyes an inky black that seemed to absorb all the light in the room, as she carefully slipped the leather through the buckle, sitting up higher on her knees, running her hands up and down his thighs.

It was inevitable, really. She knew what she was getting into. Well, she had a general idea - she had no basis for comparison to the feeling of having the full weight of Severus Snape's attention on her. It was literally breath-taking.

She'd known the moment she saw him standing at the window in the ballroom that she was going to let him inside of her body. And there'd been no potion swimming through her veins at that point. She wanted him - had wanted him - since he'd approached her at the bar of that conference and his magic had reached out to her, caressing her magic like an old lover.

She stood, crawling into his lap, his eyes never leaving her face, and she settled down against his clothed erection. His only acknowledgment of their new position was an indulgent arch of his eyebrow, and she cupped his face in response. Slowly, she threaded her fingers in his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp, and placed her lips to his in a slow, lazy kiss.

She would not take him into her mouth with his trousers half undone like a sixth year under the Quidditch bleachers. Her hands started to roam, fingertips grazing down his neck, her mouth following, her teeth nipping at his jugular, her tongue soothing it over, as her hands began to unbutton his shirt.

"I thought I told you where I wanted you, Miss Granger," he rumbled into her hair, before twisting his hand into her curls and yanking her head back - she didn't know why she liked it, she just knew she did. She shivered, a low, rumbling hum escaping her when his hand tightened and twisted; the pinpricks of pain made it hard to swallow.

She could pinpoint the exact moment when he looked down at her and caught the way her eyes darkened when a slow smile crept across his face; she knew he had the measure of her. And she wasn't even sure she did. What she did know, however, was that whatever that smile meant, she wanted in.

The potion made it feel like there was fire coursing through her veins, tripping and triggering synapses all over her body. Her magic sang to his, and his answered back, and it was magnificent. Though it wasn't completely the potion, was it? His magic forced the air out of her lungs when they were at dinner - at the conference - long before she'd ever tasted it.

That was certainly something to think about.

Her fingers continued to fumble with his buttons, as she looked petulantly up at him. "Allow me a moment of indulgence, please, Severus," she said softly, finally parting his shirt and running her hands through the hair splayed across his pectorals and lower, down his abdomen, the tension in his stomach muscles twitching against her palm the only thing betraying his outward appearance of total calm.

It was her turn to smile when she yanked his shirttails from his pants and dragged it down his shoulders. She leaned forward, her teeth grazing and nipping at the curvature of his shoulder. He drew her face back and cupped her cheek, his thumb moving back and forth across her bottom lip, until he slipped the tip of it between her teeth. She gave that a little nip, too.

She began to pull away to resume her position between his legs but he gripped her hips before she could, tightly holding her in place - she was positive there would be hand-shaped bruises there later - and rolled his hips upward, rubbing himself against her, and Hermione shivered. The simplest of touches were short circuiting her brain - this was far more overwhelming than she'd expected.

"Only a moment, Miss Granger. I grow impatient," he growled, and she seriously considered yanking down his trousers, pulling her knickers aside and riding him in the chair. But the anticipation of it all was thrilling, and she didn't want to rush.

"Of course," she said, resuming her descent.

When she was back on her knees, she carefully removed his boots and socks, setting them aside, and finally, her hands were back on the button of his trousers. She took her time peeling his down his legs, her palm skimming across his cock as she did, and his hips jerked upward at the sudden contact.

He sat forward, quick enough that she'd barely seen him move, and he was pinching her chin between the thumb and index fingers of his left hand.

"Enough games, Miss Granger," he hissed. "Put your mouth on me. Now."

"Yes, sir," she answered softly, and reached forward, the position awkward, as he remained where he was, barely able to reach the top of his underwear and pull them down. He kicked them aside, let go of her chin and sat back enough for her to see his cock for only a moment, and then his hand was back in her hair.

"Open," he growled, and the moment she did, he'd pushed her face down and lifted his hips. They both moaned at the contact, and that rumbling purr, something she'd never done before, started again, and she could feel the shudder that wracked through him. After a moment, he sat back to watch her. "Suck," he said in a soft, dulcet tone that she knew was anything but.

He was big - bigger than any man she'd ever been with, and as her mouth slid down his shaft, and she struggled with taking him deeper, she wondered what it was going to feel like inside her. She whimpered at the thought of it.

She took him as far as she could, the head of his cock brushing the back of her throat, and slowly moved her lips back up his shaft. She was never going to fit all of him in her mouth, if he thrusted further, he'd be in her throat - surely he would suffocate her.

"Look at me," he murmured, and Hermione lifted her eyes to his, only to find him watching her, sucking in a breath when she dipped her head and ran her tongue along the thick vein that ran down the entire underside of his shaft. "Good girl," he purred, and she was surprised to realize that she preferred the way those two words had shifted meaning and association to him praising her, for pleasing him, rather than its actual meaning.

He shifted back a little more, and she rose up on her knees to follow him, taking in the sight of him lazily tracking the movement of her mouth, eyes half lidded, as if he were a prince on a throne, allowing one of his subjects the privilege of tasting him.

She was curious why she didn't find that image insulting.

She was more curious why it excited her.

Considering the life he'd lived, and pushing 50, Severus Snape thought he'd reached the point in his life where nothing surprised him anymore.

As difficult as it was to admit to himself, he'd been wrong.

Three weeks earlier, leaving a mundane conference, he'd turned a corner, and hit a wall of magic so intense, it almost knocked him backwards. His wand had been in his hand before he'd realized it, but a glance around the room showed that he was the only one experiencing any kind of abnormality.

He'd never, in his life, felt magic that called to him so strongly. Not even the Dark Arts, the blackest of magic, had drawn him in so wholly and completely. He'd glanced around the room, looking for the source of such an acute assault to his senses, and the ever-growing intensity led him right into the orbit of one insufferable know-it-all that he'd not thought about since the war tribunals over a decade earlier.

He'd not recognized her at first - her once out-of-control frizzy hair was tamed in a way that made him want to touch the ringlets to see if they were as soft as they looked.

She'd not grown in height, though she had filled out perfectly in all the places that mattered. Her face was striking; she was beautiful in an unassuming way. He couldn't pick out one part of her that was remarkable, but the sum of her parts painted quite a lovely picture.

Except for her eyes. Not that they weren't beautiful - they were - whisky colored with flecks of gold that made him wonder if, had he been asked before that evening what color Hermione Granger's eyes were, he could have even ventured a guess. They were big, and bright and had seen entirely too much darkness to ever be innocent again. Eyes that were entirely too old for the woman that possessed them.

He could sympathize.

Their conversation took an unexpected turn at some point (after she'd consumed about half a bottle of wine), and he wondered if she'd felt the growing intensity of their affinity that seemed to grow the more their conversation continued down that path they were on. His skin was itchy under the surface, and a panic he'd not felt in years settled over him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd acted on impulse and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. It was softer than he imagined, and the unbidden image of her writhing in his bed, her chestnut curls fanned out across his sheets, overtook him so viscerally, he'd almost leaned down and kissed her.

Instead, he'd done much, much worse. He'd seduced her, almost daring her to contradict what he saw on her face, what the rapidly fluttering pulse under his fingertips confirmed. He didn't need Legilimency to know what she was thinking. Aside from the obvious, her magic challenged him to act further on his impulses and before he'd done exactly that, he'd excused himself and all but fled from the room.

How dare she.

Though he'd like to pretend otherwise, the idea of extending an invitation to his home came to him long before he'd entered the door and set the wards on his home. The building was empty, Crupan, his associate, was presumably home with his wife and children, as he had no duties to perform when Severus was away. There was no business conducted in Le Jardin du Serpent unless Severus was present.

He took the safety of his clients very seriously, and he would not gamble with their lives or their patronage - there were beazors, sober-up potions and pepper-up potions redibly available in all areas of the lounge rooms. And he would not trust the inexperience of an inebriated punter to administer such things. He left nothing to chance, which also meant the consequences fell directly on his shoulders. And he took that very seriously as well.

He'd had no idea what he wanted to do after he'd been granted his freedom. Despite what people may have thought, he'd actually enjoyed teaching - at least to those who were interested - but he knew he no longer wanted to pursue it after the war. He'd submitted and applied a patent to the potion that cured of the Longbottoms from their madness – a potion which had come into particular demand after the war, and hadn't needed to work again in his life.

But Severus Snape was a man that could not sit idle.

The idea to brew his own absinthe had been a fleeting thought that rankled with time. When he'd made the decision to do it, the idea of expanding his products came quickly after. Before he knew it, he was brewing technically legal potions for sale, and the opium connection had come not much later.

He'd not been lying - between the time when the Dark Lord fell, and before he'd risen a second time, he'd used the drug when he was able. He was always sober for his lessons, but apart from mandatory attendance for things such as Hogsmead weekends, when his presence was not otherwise requested, Severus could be found in his locked chambers chasing the dragon.

Albus had known about it, and they'd both known the Dark Lord would return one day. And when the Dark Lord returned, they both knew what Severus would have to do. And if that was Severus' one vice, then even the most powerful wizard in the world knew better than to make mention of it.

He'd bought the house on a whim after seeing it during a shopping trip for potions ingredients on Place Cachée. It was as if the house had called to him. He'd paid in cash, moved from his flat in London (he'd burned Spinner's End to the ground with a satisfying round of incendio almost immediately after being released from Azkaban) and moved in immediately.

Crupan had been an initially unwelcome surprise. He'd been a follower of the Dark Lord, though Severus knew for a fact that the man's loyalties were never aligned with Tom Riddle's beliefs. He'd been a Ministry worker, and the life of his family had been leveraged against his loyalty to the cause.

Severus knew. He'd been the one to deliver the good news to him once Voldemort had set his sights on the man. Severus suspected that Crupan was very much relieved by the fact that he was never offered The Mark.

When Crupan had knocked on his door, Severus assumed it was to settle a score - Severus would have allowed him his chance to do so, too - but instead, he'd come asking for a job.

Even though he'd been cleared of his charges due to the threat against his family, no one wanted to hire him. However, it wasn't out of a sense of obligation that Severus offered him employment. The man was not slight of build, which would be beneficial in keeping any of the guests under control if needed, and had, surprisingly, been quite talented with potions when Severus had taught him (he'd been a seventh year, when Hermione had been a first year) and Severus knew he would need the help.

Initially Severus had planned on making him take an Unbreakable Vow not to betray him (especially considering all the illegal substances in the building), but decided a good, old-fashioned, threatening promise worked much better.

Severus had explained, in no uncertain terms, that what the Dark Lord threatened to do to him would seem like child's play compared to what Severus would do to both him and his family were he to do anything to jeopardize Severus' business. He didn't need to look into the man's mind to know he believed what Severus had told him.

He did, however, make Crupan make a different Unbreakable Vow: were the Ministry to raid the building, Crupan would not try to cover for, or take the fall for Severus' actions under any circumstances.

The Vow insured that he would not lie for Severus, nor would he try to protect him. If everything came crashing down around their ears, the only one answering to those charges would be Severus Snape. Crupan was loyal almost to a fault, and Severus would not have the man's incarceration on his hands.

Crupan didn't know it, but upon Severus' arrest, there would be a large, lump-sum payment given to Crupan, and Severus' solicitor was directed to help the man and his family before even himself.

What was the worst the Ministry could do to him? Arrest him? Put him in Azkaban again? Severus would die with the knowledge that the Dementors, and their particular brand of torture, were no match for his Occlumency shields; he didn't need a Patronus to keep them at bay.

What else could they do? Kill him? He'd been ready to do that since he was twenty-one. And had done it (albeit, briefly) when he was thirty-eight. Severus Snape was not afraid of death. Not to meet it nor to bestow it.

He'd killed exactly four people after the war, and both times were incidents related to his business.

The first had been a simple robbery attempt, plain and simple. Severus couldn't imagine what the man and his associates had been thinking (Severus was sure, at that point, there wasn't a witch or wizard alive that didn't know who he was), but in a duel, three on one, Severus had barely lifted his wand. One easily cast Sectumsempra had taken all three of them down at once.

Hiding the bodies was easy enough - it wasn't as if anyone knew where he'd hidden bodies before - and Severus had felt no guilt over the outcome of that little exercise.

The second time he'd been in an almost uncontrolled rage, and it'd taken Severus all the willpower he'd possessed not to murder the man in front of his clients. He was the reason the males and females imbibed in separate quarters.

The man had attempted to sexually assault one of his female clients, and Severus had seen too much of that sort of thing in his lifetime. Had seen the after-effects of such things in the eyes of the victims of his brethren before they were finally granted the mercy of death.

Severus had dragged the man into the cellar of the house and locked and warded the man in the room adjacent to his potions lab. And while the urge to skin the man alive immediately had been his initial intention, a cooler head prevailed.

He'd simply left the man in the room until he starved to death and then Severus had harvested and sold his organs as potions ingredients. It had put him in good standing with some of the less than savory members of the wizarding society. He hadn't felt guilty about that, either.

Ironically, the incident had led to his first post-war relationship. Her name was Cordelia, and she was tall, blue-eyed and pale as marble. Her white blonde hair hung straight to her hips and wrapped around his fist quite nicely. The small affinity he'd shared with her had tempted him to take her to bed, but it certainly wasn't enough to make want to stay.

She'd come back to see him and thank him after he'd dragged her would-be assailant down a flight of stairs, be he hadn't returned to the floor after. For two years, they had a standing appointment at one of the most obscenely expensive hotels in the country, and with a price that large, absolute discretion was was an unspoken inclusion, and Severus wasn't the only wizard taking advantage of those services.

The relationship was mutually enjoyed until she'd asked if he'd like to join her for dinner at a restaurant in the Quarter. He'd ended things then and there.

And thus began a string of such relationships which were mutually beneficial - Severus' interests weren't romantically inclined, nor were they considered… common; he wasn't a dominant, though his behavior in the bedroom would suggest otherwise, and did, in fact, align with those particular tastes. He wasn't interested in that kind of commitment. No, until they wanted the relationship to progress to something further, Severus used their bodies for his pleasure, as they'd used his, and both parties were satisfied. Until they weren't.

He'd entered the relationships upfront and honest. He'd take pleasure in their bodies and they were welcome to do the same with him, but there would be no declarations of love. No flowers or candy, no sweet kisses and gentle lovemaking; they were welcome to stay or leave at any time. When things ended, there were never any dramatic break-ups, no screaming and yelling and no stories leaked to the newspaper.

He'd shared an affinity with one other person in his lifetime, and while his affinity with Cordelia was only enough to spark his curiosity, his affinity with Lily Evans had been weaker than that.

With Lily, looking back, he wondered if that was why they were so drawn to each other in the beginning. Puppy love intensified with compatible magics that added to their excitement. Their affinity wasn't much, but with no basis of comparison at that age, who knew?

All his experience with such a phenomenon was limited to those two women, and neither had been powerful enough for him to take much notice of it.

That was, of course, until one little Gryffindor had re-emerged into his life.

The little Gryffindor that was currently on her knees with his cock in her mouth, somehow not gagging when his glans tapped at the back of her throat. His hand didn't move while twisted tightly in her hair, and he could tell she enjoyed it, not just by the seductive invitation of her magic, but by the fact that she was moaning every time her head dipped and her hair was pulled tighter.

She was looking up at him with such teasing defiance that it took every ounce of his willpower not to hold her in place and thrust his hips up and fuck her throat until he spilled his seed directly into her belly. But there was plenty of time for that later.

Her movements sped up, and Severus could feel the slithering of her tongue against the shaft with every bob of her head up and down his cock, and when her left hand began to massage his bollocks, and her right hand began to work him in time with her mouth, he found himself very near to detonation.

He did begin to thrust his hips upward then, watching her face for any sign of discomfort, and when he saw none, and increased his erratic pace, his eyes watching her as he took her mouth almost savagely.

"Prepare yourself to drink me down, Miss Granger," he growled, his voice pitched low. Then thrust himself, once, twice and held her head in place as he erupted on her tongue, his eyes rolling back in his head momentarily, as he let out a long groan, only opening his eyes to watch her as his cock continued to twitch between her lips.

"Swallow me, Miss Granger. Swallow every last drop," he hissed, and he watched the movement of her throat as she did exactly that.

She was a vision, her lips red and swollen, glistening with the remnants of his seed, her hair matted to her temples, her eyes wide and bright, full of desire, and he found himself wondering how it felt to her.

He stood, offering her his hand to her to lift her to her feet, and his mouth descended on hers in a slow, lazy kiss, tasting his flavor mixed with the sweet taste of her mouth. She sighed against his lips, her hands roaming across his shoulders, down his arms, and finally up and down his spine.

He pulled away after a moment and looked down at her with a small smile - one he showed to nearly no one - and cupped the side of her face. "You are beautiful," he whispered, before placing a quick, soft peck to her lips.

He turned from her then, recovering his trousers and pulling them on, watching Hermione as she returned to her drink and sipped at the cloudy green concoction that he'd brewed with his own hands.

He suspected Hermione wasn't a very submissive person in her everyday life, but the way she'd responded to his command - gracefully sinking to her knees and calling him sir before taking him into her mouth - he had a feeling he was going to teach her more than a few things about herself that evening.

He approached her from behind, his fingers tickling up and down her arms, his left arm finally snaking around her waist, his right brushing her hair away from her neck. She tilted her head to the side, and his mouth took what was offered to him, his tongue snaking out and tracing the shell of her ear before nipping at the lobe.

"I cannot begin to explain to you how deliciously decadent it felt to have your mouth wrapped around me. Watching your eyes while I spilled myself in your mouth, watching you swallow me like a good girl, was one of the most erotic things I have ever witnessed," he murmured, the words dripping from his tongue wickedly. "Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, his teeth dragging across her jugular, finally nipping at the skin, drawing an excited gasp from her. She leaned her head back against his bare chest, his hand slipping from her hair, to lay against her sternum, and slowly descend.

"I asked you a question, Miss Granger. You were never this disobedient in school," he said, biting her shoulder with some force; she whimpered. "Did you enjoy yourself?" He began to gather and bunch her gown in his fist, until he could feel the skin of her thigh.

He lazily fingered the suspender of her garter belt, pulling it taught and letting go, snapping it against her leg. "Answer. Me." he growled and she moaned at the sound.

"Yes," she whispered, and he curled his lips in a smile against her shoulder.

"Shall I allow you to come apart again?" he teased, his fingers inching closer to the inside of her thigh.

"Yes, please," she whispered hoarsely.

"Hmmm," he purred against her neck, nipping her enough to leave a little red mark - it wouldn't be the only one he left on her body over the course of the evening. "I think I liked it when you addressed me as 'sir' before. Let us try that." His left hand shifted from her hip to her breast, simply caressing it through her gown. His index finger circled her nipple, feeling it harden beneath the silk.

"Yes, sir," she answered, and he tutted against her ear.

"'Yes, sir' what? Is there something you require of me?" He watched as the blush formed high on her cheeks and relished in her discomfort. "Turn around and look at me and try again."

She spun in his arms, her wide eyes meeting his, realization of how he intended the rest of the evening to proceed settling over her features. She didn't seem upset about this revelation.

"Please, sir," she whispered, "please touch me. Please let me come again. I'm begging you," she whimpered.

His cock stirred, even though he'd emptied himself on her tongue no more than ten minutes prior.

"You have no idea what it is to beg for me, Miss Granger, but I shall teach you. And since you have asked so politely, I believe this time I shall eat you," he purred. "I could smell your arousal the moment I lifted your gown, and you smell ... mouthwatering. Are you agreeable?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes glazed over before she nodded.

"Delightful," he breathed. His finger traced the curve of her shoulder, dipping under the fabric gathered there. "As lovely as this gown is, and do not think I am unappreciative of your color choice, I believe it is time to remove it."

He didn't wait for an answer, and a simple twitch of his fingers had the gown unclasped and pooling at her feet, leaving her completely exposed from the waist up, though his eyes took a leisurely trip down across her stomach, to her garter belt and lace panties all of which were in a bright silver except for her nude Cuban stockings.

"Oh, Miss Granger," he purred, obviously pleased. "What would your friends say if they knew you had offered your body to your former professor, wrapped up like a pretty little present in his favorite colors?" He dropped to his knees. "What would they say," he asked, bringing his face to her mound and taking a long, deep breath, "if they knew you were about to be licked and sucked by a Death Eater until you exploded on his tongue?"

Hermione let out an unintelligible sputtering sound while he gave her a taste of what was to come licking up her seam through the lace, the flavor already present, as she'd soaked through her knickers already.

"Nothing to say, Miss Granger? Do not fret, we can address it later if you would like, though I cannot imagine you will."

His fingers curled around the top of her knickers and slowly began to peel them down, and Severus thought, for the first time in his life, that he may enjoy what came next more than she would. He was certainly going to put that theory to the test.