Chapter Two
In which Snape has a booty call.
The meeting occurred at Diagon Alley. Again incidental, the final days of holidays saw the Potions Master leaving his room at the Inn, walking stealthily downstairs (why walk noisily when Lupin was in his room sulking and ready to come out and hex him at a moments notice?) and into the painfully bright morning light. The usual noxious crowds of students enjoying their last taste of freedom filled the alley with their vile stench: the scent of youth and excitement and hope for the future. It was nauseating. Silencing the growl of annoyance rising within him, he walked towards Flourish and Blotts, wondering if he could find any other new reads before replenishing his herb supply. It was as he walked slowly from the apothecary, laden with new books and herbs to play with, that he stumbled into a lithe figure. He caught himself just in time to keep from grinning, and plastered his usual scowl upon his face. "Watch where you're going." She frowned. "Good morning, Professor." "Oh, Miss Granger, it's you." he was about to launch into a rant about the stupidity of Gryffindor students, his favourite morning topic, when an obnoxious sound filled the air. "Good morning, Professor." Malfoy. Worse than a Malfoy was a Malfoy impersonating Hermione Granger. He rolled his eyes. "Gee, Malfoy, you're so good at sounding like a woman anyone'd think you already wore a dress." He covered his mouth to keep from laughing at the girl's remark. "Miss Granger!" the admonishment was only half-hearted, his satisfied smirk surely showing through. What could he say? Draco Malfoy was a Nancy. He used Nancy boy hair gel, and likely frolicked when no one was looking. Truth be told, Snape had wondered if affection for women's clothing was the reason behind the boy's effeminate locks. Damn, but he could almost imagine the boy in a field with a pretty pink evening gown. he coughed to cover his bark of laughter, noting the smirk and raised eyebrow on Granger's smug face, and the look of confused annoyance on Malfoy's pasty head. It was Malfoy who renewed the banter. "So, mudblood, planning on returning? You know, I made it to Head Boy this year." "Who'd you blow to get that job, Ferret? Filch, maybe? Maybe Mrs Norris. nah. fur balls. " He paused as his face turned a most unbecoming red and he fought to think of something bitchy enough to say. "You stupid, ignorant, little." "Mister Malfoy, may I remind you that, no matter how obnoxious the girl is, you are forbidden to use such vulgar language in my presence. Otherwise, I'd have to defend her, and we wouldn't want that." "Bitch." Malfoy slung as he began to stalk away, defeated. "Go bpléasca scata Fomhórach ólta do chuid fo-éadaigh." Draco turned, feeling confused and slightly insulted, but, seeing the look on his teacher's face, left without a word. Surely, had she said something, the man would have whooped her from here till doomsday. Surely. "Tsk, tsk Hermione, you seem to have a fetish for Gaelic insults involving the loss of men's underwear." "Hey, I doubt Ferret would mind some drunk Fomorians taking his g-string. He'd probably enjoy it." "I'm sure he would, however, you should be aware that, should a pack of drunken Fomorians really blow up his underwear, I shall be forced to serve you with a detention for cursing him." "Ha! Giving him his wet dreams more like." Laughing, the pair wandered into the crowd.
"So, Miss Granger, what plans have you for the remainder of your vacation? Reading or running with the pack of Gryffindor's you associate with?" "Actually, professor, I was wondering if I could copy out the spell for my final assignment. that is, if it was alright with you, sir." "Wanting to start early? Need I remind you that students are forbidden to use such ingredients.?" Hermione sighed sadly, wishing for the thousandth time she could experiment with such deadly ingredients. The trials on other students alone would be brilliant. "I know, professor. I just wanted to get it memorised before school began." Raising an eyebrow, he frowned. "The volume is safely in the dungeons of Hogwarts, Miss Granger. However, I need to return there for an hour or so to meet with Dumbledore. You may accompany me, if you wish, and transcribe the work while I'm away." She grinned. "Alright, give me ten minutes to get out of these wanky clothes, and I'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron." "Wanky clothes, Miss Granger?" "Well, I was meant to meet up with Harry and Ron, and they don't like my usual clothes. They never bloody showed, the gits. I wear these to shut them up." The wanky clothes in question were a pair of loose blue jeans and a pink sweater. He nodded and left her to get ready, rolling his eyes and wondering how many times a day this girl needed a change of clothing. Honesty, women.
Ten minutes later, the Potions Master was rather grateful for the change of clothes. Now she stood before him, standing tall and looking so much more confident in tight black jeans (dear God how much magic did it take to get her in those?!?), a tight fitting AC/DC shirt (and when did she develop taste??? Honestly, it was one of the only muggle bands Snape liked!) and steel toed Docs. The quiet, bookish girl was dead, replaced by a bad-arsed little punk. For a moment he performed his best imitation of a stunned fish, too shocked to hear the snort of laughter emanating from the student in question. She cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Something wrong, Severus?" "When the hell did you develop taste, Granger?" She laughed and looked him over. "Always had it, just never showed it off. Now, are you going to stand here ogling the contents of my shirt, or shall we go?" Sighing, and turning a pale shade of crimson, he took her arm and apparated to Hogwarts.
The school looked. well, like it looked every other time she came there. There was castle, there was forest, there was. a dragon walking calmly around the lake? What the fuck? Wide eyed, she turned to Snape for an explanation. "Something wrong, Hermione?" "Only the huge fucking lizard wandering the grounds, sir." He smirked. "You know full well it's not a lizard, Miss Granger. Honestly, and here I was thinking you were intelligent." "Fine, a big, fat, scaly thing. Hows that?" "I'm sure it has a name." "It's a dragon, you tosser!" He smirked. "Now, now, Miss Granger, I don't think name calling was needed." "Actually, I think it was. Now, can we get away from the scaled wonder for a while?" Nodding, and smirking at her fear of dragons, he led her to the dungeons, wondering if it were possible to ask Hagrid to ensure she had to care for the dragons at least once. preferably when the females were PMSing.
The appointment with the aging headmaster took longer than expected. Cursing his luck, and suddenly remembering the cauldron left bubbling in his office (a headache cure he always brewed himself before the little snots returned to bother him) he flew through the castle, robes billowing like. something billowy, and ran like heck to the dungeons. HIS dungeons. Oh, sure, he didn't own the school, but he'd curse the underwear off anyone stupid enough to say it wasn't his turf. Out of breath, he ran into the classroom, noting a lack of Granger. "I'm in here, sir!" she called out. In his bloody office! The little prat was in his goddamn office! He'd flay her, he'd hang her by her pinkies, he'd. "Your cauldron was about to bubble over, sir. I though I should investigate, in case it was something toxic or flammable." He nodded slowly. "And did you work out what kind of potion it was, Hermione?" "A simple headache cure, Sir. Well, I thought it was at first, anyway, then I realised it was missing an ingredient." He raised an eyebrow "And what is missing?" "Usually the brew uses minute amounts of Belladonna, but there is none in here. I thought I'd ask you about it when you came back." He sighed wearily. "Are you sure there is no belladonna in there?" She nodded and frowned. "You. you forgot an ingredient?!?" Her voice was shocked, awed, almost smug, the little bint. "Tell anyone and I'll fail you, and all your descendants." She frowned. "Is there... is there anything you can do to fix the potion, Professor?" "If I add some chamomile, it will become a cure for insomnia. I suppose that is better than nothing, although it means I shall be without relief for the first week of term." She frowned. "It takes that long to brew?" "No, only hours, however, this is my last trip here until classes begin, and I must get you home." "But. I. can I stay and watch you make the cure, Severus, please? I've never seen this potion made before, it's incredibly interesting and." he rolled his eyes. Trust Granger to begin babbling at the idea of work. Everyone else would have run away, but no, she had to go and be all nice about it. "Fine."
The pair worked in (scarily enough for Snape) comfortable silence. Before the sun had set, the potion was bubbling away, a charming shade of puce that seemed to make Hermione slightly nauseas. Cracking his neck loudly, he began to stretch, a feline like movement that, unknown to him, showed off his denim clad arse to his all too willing female voyeur. She bit her lip, the impulse to reach out and pinch her teacher's butt almost overpowering. If he noticed the slight shine of drool on her face, he was gentleman enough not to mention it, for a moment at least. "Granger, what the hell is that on your chin?" She reddened, and made an excuse about coughing when she'd had a drink. Sure, she hadn't had a drink in nearly three hours, but he wouldn't realise that, would he?
She stretched then, sticking her chest out and moaning softly as her muscles returned to life. Had her eyes been open, she would have seen her teacher staring transfixed at her breasts, eyebrow raised as a feint flush crept over his features. Suddenly, he felt the need to put his robe back on. When her eyes opened once more, he was in his robe, looking pointedly at a wall. "Shall we return to Diagon Alley, Miss Granger?" She nodded, staring up at him with big dumb cow eyes. All trusting and innocent, all his thoughts screamed various erotic ways of corrupting her, her mouth wide as she screamed his name. All except for one voice, which screamed the phrase 'love' until being bludgeoned to death by the other voices. Surely, there had to be a potion to shut them all up. Shaking his head, he led her outside the school grounds and took her hand, apparating the pair back to his room in the Leaky Cauldron.
As the author, it's my job to let you know what's going through the mind of our characters. Let me then explain that the pair are horny as hell, looking at each other like they're a fine piece of ass, and all too ready to throw the other down and ravish them. Unfortunately for those wanting to read about this, they're both rather. prudish at times. Both want to get it on, but, because they're Hermione and Severus, their brains are getting in the way. While they're both freaking about a student/teacher fling, their bodies are trying to figure out ways of turning that damned brain off for a few hours. Because they know, like everyone on the planet knows, sometimes you just need a root. Now, on with possibly the most frustrating part of this whole damn story.
"Did you transcribe it all, Hermione?" "Yes, I did." He nodded mutely, searching for something to say that didn't use the phrase 'fuck me, fuck me now.' He continued nodding for about thirty seconds, still desperately trying to think of something witty yet profound to say. Realising that there were no sentences left to him that didn't contain sexual references; he did the only thing his horny little mind could think of. He leaned over and kissed her passionately. The crowd went wild. er. very quietly so they wouldn't get sprung. She returned the kiss hungrily, his mind reeling as he finally understood that she was as sexually frustrated as himself. With a fluid movement, his hands snaked around her waist, and he carried her to the bed.
It was Hermione's first view of a man's. twig and giggle berries. She was awed. Dear God, was it meant to stand like that? Sure, she'd never seen a man's. er. doodle, but damn he was hung! Like an elephant or something. Granted, in her earlier years she had fantasised about Lockhart and Krum and even, God forbid, Neville Longbottom, but never to the point of visualising their wizard staffs. Holy heck, but she was stupid not to. Honestly, had she seen one before now, she would have been far more proficient with the wedding tackle than she was. Unfortunately, all the books she'd read about sex didn't come with very good instructions. Pretty much lie back and moan a lot. In the back of her mind, a little voice told her to practice up, so she could write her own damn book. 'Hermione's guide to Humping', or maybe 'Granger's guide to getting it on', 'Hermione's guide to handling man meat', or 'Granger's guide to good old fashioned shag fests'. It was only when his lips descended upon hers, his tongue probing her mouth that her mind returned to the present and a jolt of fear rippled through her. She had no idea how to screw!
Phwoar! Now, Severus Snape prided himself on being above such silly male displays of masculinity, but honestly, when he'd grabbed a handful of Granger, he almost swooned like a woman. Sure, he'd been reduced to stroking the sausage o' love for about ten years now, but surely he'd have been able to remember the feel of a woman in his hands? Obviously not. So when she moaned softly into his mouth, his mind struggled to focus on what he'd done to create such a sound. By Merlin's Magical Thong, he wanted her to make that noise again. And again. And again. His hands fumbled over her clothing, desperate to rip it from her body, but sure she wouldn't appreciate the sudden chill. after all, the rooms were fucking freezing this time of year. Actually, they weren't, but he was a coward. As his fingers tried in vain to remove her stupid, bastard of a muggle booby holding device (he vaguely remembered she called it a bra. He loathed bras. They were evil. He'd have to remember to teach her how to make her breasts levitate perkily sometime. Honestly, lace up wonderbra bodices, a witch's bra, were so much easier to remove than these. They had to be designed by demons or feminists. No man would make revealing titties this damn hard) a thought occurred to him. If he couldn't remember all his tricks for removing muggle clothes. could he remember the proper use of penis? If he paled, he was too pasty for her to see it.
It was when he accidentally thrust into her stomach that Snape realised he may need a little more practice. Swearing internally, he looked her over, found the hole he wanted, and thrust. After a few thrusts, his memory returned to him, mentally slapping him upside the head for confusing her stomach and her sex. And, thank fuck, she'd been too busy tonguing him to notice the screw up. so to speak.
Hermione Granger was in heaven. There were more books here than she'd ever seen in the Library. Wait, no there wasn't. In reality, the room was a dingy, dank little cesspool, but she was young with a vivid imagination. She could pretend she wasn't on her back, legs in the air with her Potions Master giving her the lesson of her life in a cesspool. Before she could continue, her mind returned to the present with a jolt as he struck a nerve. She didn't know humans could make that noise.
Downstairs, unable to hear any of the moans and screams from the room ironically next to his own, a certain Remus Lupin sat hunched over a beer, sighing loudly and depressingly (killing the mood, isn't he?). Had he realised the cause of his manic episode was upstairs in the throes of passion, maybe things would be different. As is, he was upset.
Authors Note- hi. Thanks for reading this far. The site from which these amazingly spiffy Gaelic insults originate is . For the love of shiny stuff, go spend time there. Learn new and confusing ways to involve hedgehogs in your collection of insults! Go on. you know you wanna. Oh, and if you own the site with those spiffy insults. you rock. You are a God. Yay you!
In which Snape has a booty call.
The meeting occurred at Diagon Alley. Again incidental, the final days of holidays saw the Potions Master leaving his room at the Inn, walking stealthily downstairs (why walk noisily when Lupin was in his room sulking and ready to come out and hex him at a moments notice?) and into the painfully bright morning light. The usual noxious crowds of students enjoying their last taste of freedom filled the alley with their vile stench: the scent of youth and excitement and hope for the future. It was nauseating. Silencing the growl of annoyance rising within him, he walked towards Flourish and Blotts, wondering if he could find any other new reads before replenishing his herb supply. It was as he walked slowly from the apothecary, laden with new books and herbs to play with, that he stumbled into a lithe figure. He caught himself just in time to keep from grinning, and plastered his usual scowl upon his face. "Watch where you're going." She frowned. "Good morning, Professor." "Oh, Miss Granger, it's you." he was about to launch into a rant about the stupidity of Gryffindor students, his favourite morning topic, when an obnoxious sound filled the air. "Good morning, Professor." Malfoy. Worse than a Malfoy was a Malfoy impersonating Hermione Granger. He rolled his eyes. "Gee, Malfoy, you're so good at sounding like a woman anyone'd think you already wore a dress." He covered his mouth to keep from laughing at the girl's remark. "Miss Granger!" the admonishment was only half-hearted, his satisfied smirk surely showing through. What could he say? Draco Malfoy was a Nancy. He used Nancy boy hair gel, and likely frolicked when no one was looking. Truth be told, Snape had wondered if affection for women's clothing was the reason behind the boy's effeminate locks. Damn, but he could almost imagine the boy in a field with a pretty pink evening gown. he coughed to cover his bark of laughter, noting the smirk and raised eyebrow on Granger's smug face, and the look of confused annoyance on Malfoy's pasty head. It was Malfoy who renewed the banter. "So, mudblood, planning on returning? You know, I made it to Head Boy this year." "Who'd you blow to get that job, Ferret? Filch, maybe? Maybe Mrs Norris. nah. fur balls. " He paused as his face turned a most unbecoming red and he fought to think of something bitchy enough to say. "You stupid, ignorant, little." "Mister Malfoy, may I remind you that, no matter how obnoxious the girl is, you are forbidden to use such vulgar language in my presence. Otherwise, I'd have to defend her, and we wouldn't want that." "Bitch." Malfoy slung as he began to stalk away, defeated. "Go bpléasca scata Fomhórach ólta do chuid fo-éadaigh." Draco turned, feeling confused and slightly insulted, but, seeing the look on his teacher's face, left without a word. Surely, had she said something, the man would have whooped her from here till doomsday. Surely. "Tsk, tsk Hermione, you seem to have a fetish for Gaelic insults involving the loss of men's underwear." "Hey, I doubt Ferret would mind some drunk Fomorians taking his g-string. He'd probably enjoy it." "I'm sure he would, however, you should be aware that, should a pack of drunken Fomorians really blow up his underwear, I shall be forced to serve you with a detention for cursing him." "Ha! Giving him his wet dreams more like." Laughing, the pair wandered into the crowd.
"So, Miss Granger, what plans have you for the remainder of your vacation? Reading or running with the pack of Gryffindor's you associate with?" "Actually, professor, I was wondering if I could copy out the spell for my final assignment. that is, if it was alright with you, sir." "Wanting to start early? Need I remind you that students are forbidden to use such ingredients.?" Hermione sighed sadly, wishing for the thousandth time she could experiment with such deadly ingredients. The trials on other students alone would be brilliant. "I know, professor. I just wanted to get it memorised before school began." Raising an eyebrow, he frowned. "The volume is safely in the dungeons of Hogwarts, Miss Granger. However, I need to return there for an hour or so to meet with Dumbledore. You may accompany me, if you wish, and transcribe the work while I'm away." She grinned. "Alright, give me ten minutes to get out of these wanky clothes, and I'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron." "Wanky clothes, Miss Granger?" "Well, I was meant to meet up with Harry and Ron, and they don't like my usual clothes. They never bloody showed, the gits. I wear these to shut them up." The wanky clothes in question were a pair of loose blue jeans and a pink sweater. He nodded and left her to get ready, rolling his eyes and wondering how many times a day this girl needed a change of clothing. Honesty, women.
Ten minutes later, the Potions Master was rather grateful for the change of clothes. Now she stood before him, standing tall and looking so much more confident in tight black jeans (dear God how much magic did it take to get her in those?!?), a tight fitting AC/DC shirt (and when did she develop taste??? Honestly, it was one of the only muggle bands Snape liked!) and steel toed Docs. The quiet, bookish girl was dead, replaced by a bad-arsed little punk. For a moment he performed his best imitation of a stunned fish, too shocked to hear the snort of laughter emanating from the student in question. She cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Something wrong, Severus?" "When the hell did you develop taste, Granger?" She laughed and looked him over. "Always had it, just never showed it off. Now, are you going to stand here ogling the contents of my shirt, or shall we go?" Sighing, and turning a pale shade of crimson, he took her arm and apparated to Hogwarts.
The school looked. well, like it looked every other time she came there. There was castle, there was forest, there was. a dragon walking calmly around the lake? What the fuck? Wide eyed, she turned to Snape for an explanation. "Something wrong, Hermione?" "Only the huge fucking lizard wandering the grounds, sir." He smirked. "You know full well it's not a lizard, Miss Granger. Honestly, and here I was thinking you were intelligent." "Fine, a big, fat, scaly thing. Hows that?" "I'm sure it has a name." "It's a dragon, you tosser!" He smirked. "Now, now, Miss Granger, I don't think name calling was needed." "Actually, I think it was. Now, can we get away from the scaled wonder for a while?" Nodding, and smirking at her fear of dragons, he led her to the dungeons, wondering if it were possible to ask Hagrid to ensure she had to care for the dragons at least once. preferably when the females were PMSing.
The appointment with the aging headmaster took longer than expected. Cursing his luck, and suddenly remembering the cauldron left bubbling in his office (a headache cure he always brewed himself before the little snots returned to bother him) he flew through the castle, robes billowing like. something billowy, and ran like heck to the dungeons. HIS dungeons. Oh, sure, he didn't own the school, but he'd curse the underwear off anyone stupid enough to say it wasn't his turf. Out of breath, he ran into the classroom, noting a lack of Granger. "I'm in here, sir!" she called out. In his bloody office! The little prat was in his goddamn office! He'd flay her, he'd hang her by her pinkies, he'd. "Your cauldron was about to bubble over, sir. I though I should investigate, in case it was something toxic or flammable." He nodded slowly. "And did you work out what kind of potion it was, Hermione?" "A simple headache cure, Sir. Well, I thought it was at first, anyway, then I realised it was missing an ingredient." He raised an eyebrow "And what is missing?" "Usually the brew uses minute amounts of Belladonna, but there is none in here. I thought I'd ask you about it when you came back." He sighed wearily. "Are you sure there is no belladonna in there?" She nodded and frowned. "You. you forgot an ingredient?!?" Her voice was shocked, awed, almost smug, the little bint. "Tell anyone and I'll fail you, and all your descendants." She frowned. "Is there... is there anything you can do to fix the potion, Professor?" "If I add some chamomile, it will become a cure for insomnia. I suppose that is better than nothing, although it means I shall be without relief for the first week of term." She frowned. "It takes that long to brew?" "No, only hours, however, this is my last trip here until classes begin, and I must get you home." "But. I. can I stay and watch you make the cure, Severus, please? I've never seen this potion made before, it's incredibly interesting and." he rolled his eyes. Trust Granger to begin babbling at the idea of work. Everyone else would have run away, but no, she had to go and be all nice about it. "Fine."
The pair worked in (scarily enough for Snape) comfortable silence. Before the sun had set, the potion was bubbling away, a charming shade of puce that seemed to make Hermione slightly nauseas. Cracking his neck loudly, he began to stretch, a feline like movement that, unknown to him, showed off his denim clad arse to his all too willing female voyeur. She bit her lip, the impulse to reach out and pinch her teacher's butt almost overpowering. If he noticed the slight shine of drool on her face, he was gentleman enough not to mention it, for a moment at least. "Granger, what the hell is that on your chin?" She reddened, and made an excuse about coughing when she'd had a drink. Sure, she hadn't had a drink in nearly three hours, but he wouldn't realise that, would he?
She stretched then, sticking her chest out and moaning softly as her muscles returned to life. Had her eyes been open, she would have seen her teacher staring transfixed at her breasts, eyebrow raised as a feint flush crept over his features. Suddenly, he felt the need to put his robe back on. When her eyes opened once more, he was in his robe, looking pointedly at a wall. "Shall we return to Diagon Alley, Miss Granger?" She nodded, staring up at him with big dumb cow eyes. All trusting and innocent, all his thoughts screamed various erotic ways of corrupting her, her mouth wide as she screamed his name. All except for one voice, which screamed the phrase 'love' until being bludgeoned to death by the other voices. Surely, there had to be a potion to shut them all up. Shaking his head, he led her outside the school grounds and took her hand, apparating the pair back to his room in the Leaky Cauldron.
As the author, it's my job to let you know what's going through the mind of our characters. Let me then explain that the pair are horny as hell, looking at each other like they're a fine piece of ass, and all too ready to throw the other down and ravish them. Unfortunately for those wanting to read about this, they're both rather. prudish at times. Both want to get it on, but, because they're Hermione and Severus, their brains are getting in the way. While they're both freaking about a student/teacher fling, their bodies are trying to figure out ways of turning that damned brain off for a few hours. Because they know, like everyone on the planet knows, sometimes you just need a root. Now, on with possibly the most frustrating part of this whole damn story.
"Did you transcribe it all, Hermione?" "Yes, I did." He nodded mutely, searching for something to say that didn't use the phrase 'fuck me, fuck me now.' He continued nodding for about thirty seconds, still desperately trying to think of something witty yet profound to say. Realising that there were no sentences left to him that didn't contain sexual references; he did the only thing his horny little mind could think of. He leaned over and kissed her passionately. The crowd went wild. er. very quietly so they wouldn't get sprung. She returned the kiss hungrily, his mind reeling as he finally understood that she was as sexually frustrated as himself. With a fluid movement, his hands snaked around her waist, and he carried her to the bed.
It was Hermione's first view of a man's. twig and giggle berries. She was awed. Dear God, was it meant to stand like that? Sure, she'd never seen a man's. er. doodle, but damn he was hung! Like an elephant or something. Granted, in her earlier years she had fantasised about Lockhart and Krum and even, God forbid, Neville Longbottom, but never to the point of visualising their wizard staffs. Holy heck, but she was stupid not to. Honestly, had she seen one before now, she would have been far more proficient with the wedding tackle than she was. Unfortunately, all the books she'd read about sex didn't come with very good instructions. Pretty much lie back and moan a lot. In the back of her mind, a little voice told her to practice up, so she could write her own damn book. 'Hermione's guide to Humping', or maybe 'Granger's guide to getting it on', 'Hermione's guide to handling man meat', or 'Granger's guide to good old fashioned shag fests'. It was only when his lips descended upon hers, his tongue probing her mouth that her mind returned to the present and a jolt of fear rippled through her. She had no idea how to screw!
Phwoar! Now, Severus Snape prided himself on being above such silly male displays of masculinity, but honestly, when he'd grabbed a handful of Granger, he almost swooned like a woman. Sure, he'd been reduced to stroking the sausage o' love for about ten years now, but surely he'd have been able to remember the feel of a woman in his hands? Obviously not. So when she moaned softly into his mouth, his mind struggled to focus on what he'd done to create such a sound. By Merlin's Magical Thong, he wanted her to make that noise again. And again. And again. His hands fumbled over her clothing, desperate to rip it from her body, but sure she wouldn't appreciate the sudden chill. after all, the rooms were fucking freezing this time of year. Actually, they weren't, but he was a coward. As his fingers tried in vain to remove her stupid, bastard of a muggle booby holding device (he vaguely remembered she called it a bra. He loathed bras. They were evil. He'd have to remember to teach her how to make her breasts levitate perkily sometime. Honestly, lace up wonderbra bodices, a witch's bra, were so much easier to remove than these. They had to be designed by demons or feminists. No man would make revealing titties this damn hard) a thought occurred to him. If he couldn't remember all his tricks for removing muggle clothes. could he remember the proper use of penis? If he paled, he was too pasty for her to see it.
It was when he accidentally thrust into her stomach that Snape realised he may need a little more practice. Swearing internally, he looked her over, found the hole he wanted, and thrust. After a few thrusts, his memory returned to him, mentally slapping him upside the head for confusing her stomach and her sex. And, thank fuck, she'd been too busy tonguing him to notice the screw up. so to speak.
Hermione Granger was in heaven. There were more books here than she'd ever seen in the Library. Wait, no there wasn't. In reality, the room was a dingy, dank little cesspool, but she was young with a vivid imagination. She could pretend she wasn't on her back, legs in the air with her Potions Master giving her the lesson of her life in a cesspool. Before she could continue, her mind returned to the present with a jolt as he struck a nerve. She didn't know humans could make that noise.
Downstairs, unable to hear any of the moans and screams from the room ironically next to his own, a certain Remus Lupin sat hunched over a beer, sighing loudly and depressingly (killing the mood, isn't he?). Had he realised the cause of his manic episode was upstairs in the throes of passion, maybe things would be different. As is, he was upset.
Authors Note- hi. Thanks for reading this far. The site from which these amazingly spiffy Gaelic insults originate is . For the love of shiny stuff, go spend time there. Learn new and confusing ways to involve hedgehogs in your collection of insults! Go on. you know you wanna. Oh, and if you own the site with those spiffy insults. you rock. You are a God. Yay you!
