THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER
By: Scatterheart
A long time ago in a campus far, far away…Section Twelve
The skirt turned out to be a bad idea. It had shrunk too short in the last wash, and most of the classrooms, especially the dungeons, were still suffering from the remnants of the wintry draft. Hermione entered Potions and sat in her chair with her bare legs curled up under her as firmly as she could. She breathed into her cupped hands and rubbed her thighs, trying in vain to generate a meager amount of warmth.
"Hey, Hermione." Ron and Harry waved to her as they walked to their seats in the front of the classroom. They resumed arguing about Quidditch before Hermione could greet them back; she turned the beginnings of her wave into a reach for the inkpot on her desk. She adjusted the inkpot and set her hands in front of her. She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling nothing.
"We have an exam today. Take out three sheets of parchment and write an essay on the differences between lamb's blood and dried oysters," Professor Snape barked in his usual manner as he marched to his podium. He sat down, arms crossed, and frowned. "And for those of you who have decided to use your chairs as gymnastics apparatuses, I ask you to sit correctly, or excuse yourself from my class and receive a zero on the exam."
That was how he addressed her now, Hermione thought in resentment, swinging her legs from the chair and setting her feet on the floor. A collective "all of you." He never seemed to look at her, yet always seemed to see her, judge her. She yanked three sheets of parchment from her book bag and slapped them on the desktop. I ask you to sit correctly, he'd said. Fine. She'll sit correctly. She grabbed her quill and swirled it noisily inside the ink.
Snape glared at her with a look that shot poisoned darts.
And Hermione quietly stretched out her legs and spread them.
Yes, he caught her sitting "correctly" now, didn't he? His expression had hardened into dry ice, his eyes unreadable. His jaw was tense in that same way Hermione had seen on that day she'd caressed him. Good. She discreetly reached down and pulled the edge of her skirt upward on her leg.
The Potions Master appeared angry now. Very, very angry.
Then why don't you do something about it, you bastard, she silently spat at him. According to you I might as well not be here anyway; why the bloody hell do you care what I'm doing?
And besides, the room was not quite so cold anymore. Hermione hiked her skirt higher and snaked her hand against her inner thigh, slowly massaging, up and up.
He finally broke when she touched the thin cotton fabric of her panties. "Hermione Granger," Snape annunciated, his voice ringing loudly through the stillness of the dungeon. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for indecent exam behavior. You have a five-hour detention after school today."
She removed her hand.
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Activity you could have been doing other than reading this fic: dancing the tango… in a Petrol station! (Ten points to your house if you understand what I'm saying.) Thank you for your sacrifice.
Review me harder, baby!