Fool if you think it's over
by Katta (KET on ff.net)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling, of course, of course. I'm sorry if I've borrowed them for a bit, but I am making no money from it.
Chapter 3: Mid-life crisis
Snape had to admit that Lupin's words hit a raw nerve. The very fact that the word 'frustrated' had made him jump to the conclusion that the werewolf was talking about sexual frustration, was significant.
Snape had long ago given up hope that any woman would find him desirable, or even bearable. It really hadn't mattered too much to him. He had convinced himself that he couldn't be bothered with relationships. And if he wanted sex, well, he could always go down to the brothels in Knockturn Alley. That had been enough for him – until recently.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had turned forty. Somehow he had developed a much more active sex drive in the last year or so. He was finding it difficult to keep his mind away from it. Whenever he saw a woman, he would imagine her body underneath the clothes. What was worse – he had started having similar thoughts about some of the older students. Quite apart from the ethical considerations, that was a problem as he saw a lot more of them than other women.
And it felt as if his life was running away from him – as if he was running out of time. Of course, it didn't help that the showdown with the Dark Lord was obviously imminent. Snape wasn't at all sure that he would survive that battle. If the Death Eaters didn't get him, the aurors probably would. He had taken to spending whole night wallowing in self-pity and a near-hypnotic state of frustrated sexual arousal.
And to cap it all, he was just plain scared and lonely.
So – the werewolf had a woman. Even Snape didn't really think she was a she-wolf. The truth was that Snape was jealous. And it was not made any easier by the impending arrival of Valentine's Day.
Why, oh why, couldn't he just for once in his life have a woman to ease the pain.
~@~@~@~
Valentine's Day fell on a Friday that year and Professor Dumbledore had announced that there would be a masked ball that evening. But first they had to get through the day. The antics weren't quite on the scale of Lockhart's extravaganza five years earlier, but it was pretty bad. Dumbledore had arranged for a huge postbox to be placed in the entrance hall and had decreed that all card must be posted by 8am. The whole school sat down to breakfast in anticipation of what would happen.
At 8am precisely, Dumbledore stood up, stretched out his wand towards the postbox and shouted, 'Aviare'.
A thousand cards suddenly gained wings, like the memos at the Ministry of Magic (wherefrom Dumbledore had, in fact, got the charm). The cards fanned out across the room and started landing in droves in front of the more popular members of the student body and staff.
The new DADA professor was a Swedish wizard called Sven Jansson who had cut his anti-dark arts teeth at the United Nations (Magical Division). He was clearly an expert on peace keeping, but Snape had his doubts about whether he could counter a dark curse in a fight. However …that was an old wound and not to be reopened.
What was certainly true was that Jansson was tall, blonde and very handsome. The female students clearly thought so, too, because – to the consternation of the rest of the top table – Jansson was currently drowning under a huge pile of cards. He didn't have the ego of Lockhart and had the good grace to look seriously embarrassed, but Snape thought he detected a hint of satisfaction nevertheless.
When Snape had finished observing this spectacle, he turned back to his plate to discover that there was a small white envelope on it. His immediate thought was that one of the cards had slid off Jansson's pile and he picked it up to hand it over. But then he saw that it said 'Professor Snape' in block capitals on it. No one was watching him as he slid it up his sleeve.
Ever alert for some sort of practical joke, Snape glanced down at the Slytherin table, but no one seemed to be taking any notice of him. Indeed, if the giggling was anything to go by, the Slytherin girls were as numerous as the other houses among Jansson's fans.
Snape stood up and strode away from the table. He made towards his rooms as quickly as he could and found to his surprise that his heart was racing with anticipation. He tried berating himself, arguing that it was bound to be a joke – probably a howler – but he couldn't quite banish the sense of excitement.
Finally he reached his rooms. He threw himself down in an easy chair and carefully extracted the card. 'Professor Snape'. There was no mistake. Someone had sent him a Valentine's Card. The first one in years. No – Snape decided to be brutally honest for once – the first one ever. He couldn't remember ever receiving one before. He tried for a bit to convince himself that Valentine's Day cards hadn't been such a big thing in Britain in the seventies, when he was a teenager, but he knew it wasn't true. Thinking back, he could remember Potter and Black receiving piles of them. Snape had been as dark and greasy when he was young as he was at forty. He just hadn't had any female admirers at any age (or male ones for that matter).
Sighing slightly, Snape slipped his finger inside the envelope and ripped it open. Inside was a single card, like a postcard. On the front were some rather nice water colours of herbs and plants. It took his brain a few seconds to decode the meaning – together they would brew a love potion. He turned the card over gingerly. On the back it said:
I WOULD LOVE TO BREW THIS POTION FOR YOU.
SEE YOU AT THE BALL TONIGHT.
XXX
Never before had Snape been so thrown by anything. His hands trembled and to his shame he discovered that the thoughts engendered by the card were turning him on. His face turned burning red at the thought and he rushed to the bathroom to splash them with cold water. His whole body spasmed with frustration, as he pushed down the thought that the card must have come from someone within the school. As it was unlikely that a member of staff had suddenly developed a passion for him, it must have come from a student. But even that fact was not going to put him off.
~@~@~@~
The day's lessons were hell for Snape. He couldn't concentrate on anything and was reduced to shouting and deducting points for no reason at all. (The students didn't think that he ever needed a reason to deduct points, but at least he normally had a reason in his own mind.)
Then there was the question of what to wear for the ball. The staff were not expected to turn up masked, thank Merlin, and in the end he decided to wear the same black robes that he always wore. But he couldn't remember having such butterflies in his stomach since he was about 17.
When the evening finally came, Snape was sorely tempted to be at the ball bang on 7pm. But a sense of self-preservation took over, accompanied by a desire not to make a fool of himself if the whole thing turned out to be a joke. So with an immense exercise in self-control, he sidled in late once the party was in full swing. Standing in a corner he observed the Great Hall. Dancing was going on all over the place and the older students and staff certainly looked rather merrier than was warranted if they had just been drinking pumpkin juice. Jansson was dancing with three final year students from different houses and seemed to have overcome his earlier shyness. Snape snarled in his corner.
~@~@~@~
Hermione had been watching for Snape and saw him enter in the far corner. To the untrained eye, he might have just looked aloof, but with a bit more information, she could decode his body language. He was as full of anticipation and worry as a teenager hanging out in the kitchen at a party. Like her, at that fateful New Year's Eve party, in fact.
It had never occurred to her that she would see her intimidating potions master look so insecure and nervous. Almost shy and scared. Her heart went out to him. It was at that moment she fell in love with him. To her great surprise she felt herself being turned on by the thought of holding him, kissing him, soothing away his awkwardness. It was time to act.
~@~@~@~
Snape had almost decided that nothing was going to happen and that he should leave while he still had his dignity intact, when a scantily clad Cleopatra, complete with asp, slid up to him. He didn't recognise her in the mask, but with that snake he reckoned that she had to be a Slytherin.
'Do you dance, Professor?' she asked politely.
At that point, the band turned from modern music to a waltz. Snape decided to take it as a sign. He swallowed deeply and led her onto the dance floor. When he placed his hands on her, he felt her hot skin under the thin gauze of the costume and it almost drove him mad with desire. He rubbed his hands slightly up and down, and took in the generous curves. With relief, he remembered that although the disguise had hidden her face and voice, it was unlikely that she would have been able to change her body.
Cleopatra smiled. 'Did you get my card?' she purred.
Snape stiffened momentarily and then nodded.
'Would you like me to brew you the potion?' she whispered.
He seemed to have lost his voice and nodded again.
'When the dance ends, give me ten minutes, then meet me by the sundial in the walled herb garden. You know where I mean?'
Still mute, Snape nodded again. And then the dance ended and she was gone.
It took Snape five minutes to recover his vocal cords and his composure. He gulped down some butter beer and glance around himself furtively. Had it been ten minutes? He hadn't thought to check the clock. Well, it was now or never, he couldn't wait any longer.
The herb garden seemed completely deserted and he was almost on the point of giving up. Then a shadow slid out behind him and put her hands over his eyes. He spun round to face the girl. She was very, very close and smiling at him. Gently, he bent down and kissed her. Her body seemed to melt into the kiss as she gave in to his insistent tongue. Pulling her closer, he could almost encircle her waist with his fingers and thumbs. He pushed her gently but firmly against the brick wall of the garden and kissed her again. When he stopped, he found that she was looking at him through half-closed eyes, with her lips slightly parted.
Then he was overcome by a desire so strong he couldn't hold it back.
'Come,' he said and grabbed her hand. Dragging her behind him, he walked quickly towards his chambers. She offered no resistance and let him lead her where he wanted.
Once inside his rooms, he resumed kissing her. But standing in the middle of the floor soon became uncomfortable and he pulled her down on the settee. This gave him a much better opportunity to fondle first her breast and then more widely over her body. Her costume was so scanty and sheer that he hardly had to exert any effort to start divesting her of it. In return, her hand slid up and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. He could feel a smell of desire roll off her and encouraged by this, he slid his hand between her legs. She was quite, quite wet and writhed with pleasure at his touch. They had hardly said ten words to each other at this point.
Then suddenly, in the distance, the clock began to strike twelve. This was the sign for the magical disguises to vanish and the students to return to their normal form. To his surprise, Snape found that he didn't care who she was just so long as she let him continue.
In the dim firelight, he saw her face begin to change and her hair bush out. With pleasure he noted that the curves of her body stayed unchanged as he had expected.
On the final strike of twelve, he recognised her, his fingers still delving inside her.
'Miss Granger?' he squeaked in surprise. She just smiled and drew him once again into a kiss.
In fact, Snape was so far gone, it is doubtful if he could have stopped if the girl had turned out to be Madame Pince. Moreover, he was sufficiently deeply steeped in popular muggle culture (with special reference to pornography) for an image to form in his mind: a mousy girl looking up from her library books, taking off her glasses and shaking out her hair, turning into a sex kitten.
'Hermione?' he said, experimentally rolling the name over his tongue. He was surprised that he was neither horrified nor repelled. The fact that she had now started massaging his erection through his trousers helped, too.
'I want you,' she whispered, and he was lost. Within seconds, the remainder of their clothes had been discarded. Moments later he was urgently pushing her legs apart to let him position himself. He sank into her tight spaces and found a release he didn't think he was still capable of.
~@~@~@~
Snape woke in the pale light of dawn. They were tangled up on the settee which seemed somehow wider than normal. One of them must have had the presence of mind to charm it last night. He watched Hermione's face sleeping, loving the defenceless, innocence of it. But he had to wake her, because he had to have her again. He trailed kisses along her cheek bone and watched her open her eyes. For a moment she looked confused and then her face split into a smile as she realised what his fingers were once again doing.
~@~@~@~
'Can I do it again? You're not too sore?'
'I thought older men weren't meant to be able to do it this many times in a row.'
'Older wizards just get better and better.'
'You don't say?'
'Do you like it when I do this?'
'Mmhmm…'
'What about this?'
'Oh, yeeees …'
~@~@~@~
They were lying tired and sated in each others' arms. At some point, they had transferred from the settee to his bed. Hermione was playing with a lock of his hair and they were just talking now, too sore and tired to continue making love. Snape would make a joke or observation and Hermione would laugh. He felt clever and witty, like he'd never done before in his life.
Then the clock struck eleven. Hermione stiffened and counted the strokes.
'Harry and Ron are expecting to meet me in about ten minutes to go down to Hogsmead,' she said in a panic.
Snape wanted to pull her to him and tell her to forget all about Hogsmead, but he knew that if she didn't show up her friends would start looking for her, probably even alert Dumbledore. No, it wasn't a good idea at all. Reluctantly he stood up and started to look for her clothes which had now transfigured back into a normal skirt and T-shirt, while Hermione had a super-quick shower (carefully avoiding getting her hair wet). They couldn't find her knickers anywhere, but it would just have to do.
Then Snape almost pushed her to the door, before he could change her mind.
Staring intently into her eyes, he said, 'Come back on Friday evening. Late. About midnight. Make up some excuse so that no one expects to see you for breakfast on Saturday.'
She nodded and made to leave. At the last moment, he pulled her back and silently waved his wand over her.
'What was that for?'
'To stop you getting pregnant.'
Hermione's heart melted at that. The cruellest, most inconsiderate teacher there was and yet he could show such concern for her. She left feeling like a princess walking on air.
After she had left Snape stood stock still in the middle of the room for over a minute. Then he punched the air and shouted, 'Yissss!'
~@~@~@~
Hermione felt brilliant as she walked round Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron. A silly smile kept sneaking onto her face. Every time she took a step, the absence of knickers reminded her of the night's entertainment.
'Hermione seems to be in a good mood today,' said Ron as the two boys waited for her outside the bookshop. They were both aware that she had been very subdued since the Christmas break.
'Perhaps she got laid last night,' said Harry with a grin.
The two boys looked at each other and then said in unison, 'Naaah!'
~@~@~@~
Snape felt so good about himself, he couldn't remember ever feeling that good about himself. Last night he had been witty and clever and sexy and seductive. Hermione had laughed at his jokes and responded to his touches. He preened himself in front of the mirror – not something he often did. He drew a finger along his jaw line. Perhaps he didn't look so ugly after all. There was definitely something to be said for an affair with a teenage girl.
Briefly, his conscience protested, but he put it down firmly. They were not doing anything illegal. Unethical perhaps. Immoral even. Certainly contrary to his contract of employment. But not illegal – she was well over the age of consent and over 18 even. Anyway, he had always been attracted by forbidden fruit. That had been part of the attraction that the dark arts had held for him in his youth. No doubt, none of the other members of staff would consider him capable of seducing a young girl. The thought of sitting there at the high table with this secret inside him, was turning him on and he smirked.
~@~@~@~
Monday morning was double Potions, and Hermione wondered what it would be like. Obviously, she realised that Snape wouldn't be able to treat her any differently to normally – it would raise too many suspicions. Even so, she was slightly disappointed when he seemed to ignore her completely in the lesson. Admittedly, it was a complicated potion they were brewing, and Snape needed total concentration, but she felt almost jealous in her corner watching him sweep the room and checking on everyone else. It wasn't until right at the end of the lesson that he finally lent over her cauldron to confirm what everyone already knew – her potion was perfect. Then finally he bent low over the fumes and whispered softly, 'Friday'.
Hermione's heart leapt in her chest and she left the class room walking on air.
~@~@~@~
Snape's euphoria lasted until late Monday night. The thought of the hidden act of whispering in her ear in a Potion's lesson had been sending shivers of delight down his spine all day. But in the wee small hours, the doubts set in.
'Why did she seduce you?' asked a voice in his head.
'I seduced her,' he replied stubbornly.
'Oh, did you? Who sent the card? Who asked you to dance? Who invited you into the walled garden?' queried the voice.
'Well, she must fancy me,' replied his mind.
'Oh yes, you have such a history of young girls fancying you, don't you?'
'Doesn't mean she doesn't. She's different.'
'How about she was trying to prove something, Or it was bet. Perhaps she is laughing about it at this very moment with her friends.'
Snape felt himself go cold and white. He hugged the knickers that he had finally found under the bed.
'We'll see on Friday!'
'What makes you think she'll come on Friday?'
And suddenly Friday took on an enormous significance. If she came on Friday, then this would all be genuine. If she didn't come, well …
~@~@~@~
Hermione spent the week carefully building up the lie she was preparing to tell. At every opportunity she sighed about how much homework she had, especially in subjects like arithmancy and ancient runes that the boys didn't take. Come Friday dinnertime, Harry and Ron were fed up hearing about it.
'Why don't you just lock yourself in your room on Saturday morning and finish all these essays,' said Ron. 'You can get the house elves to send you up some food.'
'Do you know, I might just do that,' said Hermione, smiling inwardly that her ruse had worked.
'But you will come to the quidditch match on Saturday afternoon, won't you?' said Harry anxiously.
'Of course,' said Hermione and fondly mussed his hair. She knew she couldn't stay with Snape all day – it would be too suspicious.
~@~@~@~
Snape looked down at the Gryffindor table and saw with despair how Hermione ruffled Harry's hair. She won't come tonight. She won't come. She doesn't love me. She loves Potter, of course – everyone does.
He rose and left the table quickly.
~@~@~@~
The lights were down low and the fire was burning. By midnight, Snape had worked himself through every emotion he possessed. First despair after the display at dinner. Then hope as he thought back to her smile in the Monday Potion class. Accompanied by lust and desire. Finally a resignation that what would be, would be. He was sitting in his winged leather arm chair, glass of whisky in hand, staring into the fire.
He jumped at the knock on the door. When it was her standing outside the door, his heart soared. She had come. She really had come. He let her in and stood close to her, wanting to touch her but not knowing if he could stop himself from pawing her once he started. She seemed a little shy, too.
~@~@~@~
Snape had never spent a whole morning in bed with a woman. He had not been prepared for the hormonal turmoil of repeated love-making, interspersed with naps and meals taken in bed. He felt light-headed and confused, as if he had lost his footing and was floating free in the air. Hermione was sleeping now and he was replaying snatches of conversation in his head.
'Do you think I'll pass my NEWTs?'
He hadn't answered that, just kissed her nose.
'No – but I mean – pass them with high enough grades to get a scholarship at Oxford.'
'Yes, I would have thought you could manage that!' Some sarcasm in his voice there. She was generally acknowledged to be the cleverest witch of her generation, but no need to tell her that. 'Is that what you want to do? Go to Oxford?'
'Oh yes,' Hermione had said with great excitement in her voice. Snape had felt a tug of jealousy then. She would disappear from his sphere of influence into the clutches of all those clever men, the cream of wizardom. He wanted to wrap her in cotton wool and keep her here for him, all for him. But, of course, his rational mind knew he couldn't do that. So he had engaged her in a discussion about what she thought university would be like. One section of their conversation drifted back to him in particular.
'I'm not going to live in college, ' she had said with emphasis.
'Why ever not?' he had asked in surprise. He would have thought that living in college would have appealed to her.
'I want to get a flat with some friends,' she had said. And then she began to describe how she imagined her student flat. Mattresses on the floor, incense burners in the corners, candles in old chianti bottles, late night parties, Chinese and Indian takeaways, studying in front of single bar electric heaters, piles of washing up in the kitchen. And suddenly he realised how very old he felt. As a matter of fact, he had lived like that when he was a student, although the late night parties had been more likely to be late night Death Eater meetings. But that was twenty years ago. Now he valued his comforts too much.
With jealousy in his heart, he watched her sleep. Who had instilled this vision of student life in her brain? Perhaps she already had a young man (young men?) that she was planning to share it with. Perhaps she had written his (their?) name on a piece of paper in that locket that was nestling so alluringly between her breasts?
Snape lifted the locket very carefully so as not to wake Hermione. He snapped the clasp open and, as he had suspected, there was a piece of paper in it. His long fingers easily extracted the paper, but before he could unfold it, Hermione began to stir. He quickly concealed the paper in his sleeve and snapped the locket shut. A moment later, Hermione's eyes flew open and she smiled at him.
~@~@~@~
They both needed to be at the quidditch match, and Hermione needed to go back and change first. This was the last few moments of their day together and neither of them wanted it to end. But it had to. They had shared a long lingering kiss by the door. Now Snape peeped out carefully into the corridor and gave Hermione the all clear. She squeezed past him and whispered, 'I love you'. Then she was gone.
Snape stepped back and shut his door with regret. Then he remembered the piece of paper from Hermione's locket still hidden up his sleeve.