Severus watched his third period class file in with carefully controlled glee, to all evidence his usual brooding self with the exception of a faint glimmer of excitement in his eyes.
Watching his prey slide daintily behind her desk, flipping her hair off her shoulder as she spoke to her neighbor, Severus felt a sense of gloating contentment. Brazen child. Let's see how she bluffs her way out of this.
Assigning a busy potions task to the class at large, he began meandering his way around the room, crisply snapping at ineffectiveness and browbeating the weak of heart.
Arriving silently behind Hermione, he leaned over her shoulder to look into the pot of developing brew, and flicking his wand wide to encompass both pot and student, murmured, "Glamour-inverta."
At the sound of his voice, Hermione jumped and collided with him. Feeling her shoulders gripped firmly, she held her breath as he turned her quickly around and focused his dark gaze on her neck.
It took every drop of willpower she possessed to repress the laughter that threatened to erupt at the look of utter perplexity on his face. Keeping her expression composed, she asked curiously, "Yes, sir?"
Raising eyes darkening with fury to hers, he held her in his grip a second longer, before silently turning and continuing his slow, sadistic exploration of the classes projects.
Hermione released a slow breath and closed her eyes, thanking the Muggles who first invented cosmetics, and the Wizard world that remained ignorant of its existence. Feeling a brief thrill of victory, she opened her eyes and caught the Potion Masters penetrating eyes drilling into hers from across the room.
What Severus recognized caused him to clench and unclench his hands at his side. Her features may be controlled, but her eyes were filled with triumph. Nodding his head imperceptively, he acceded the point.
And planned his next strategic move.
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At nine-thirty, Hermione stepped from her shower and, drying off, moved to set the alarm by her bed for 2:00 a.m. Pausing with her hand mid-air, she wondered. He'd been awake last night. Awake and waiting for her. And tonight would be no different.
"I wonder what you're doing right this minute, Professor?" she asked aloud, and walking over to her dresser, uncorked and tipped a bottle into her mouth. Swallowing the mixture with a small wince, she turned and practically skipped to her bed. "Let's find out. Shall we?"
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Severus removed his slippers, and leaned back on his bed, preparing for a nap. With his internal clock set for 1:00 am, he planned to be fully rested and alert by the time his nightly intruder made her presence known.
Shutting his eyes and exhaling deeply, he failed to notice the silvery glitter that appeared and faded at the foot of his bed.
Holding her breath, she stood, looking at his prone form settling in for the night. Ah … so this is his plan. Refuses to be ravaged in his sleep, eh? Walking silently across the room, she sat on a low bench, and head in hands, preceded to watch him fall deeply into sleep. After three quarters of an hour had passed, she stood and began idly searching his room for useful items. Grasping the long, soft materials in her hand, she approached him with a wicked smile.
With subtle skill, she stripped him without waking him. Suppose I should start with his hand. Just in case he wakes up too soon. Moving to the head of the bed, she wrapped the long winter scarf around one wrist, knotting it loosely, but not too loose, and tying the end around the far bedpost. Slowly moving her way around the bed, she managed to secure each limb firmly, but – as yet – unnoticeably to the bed.
Moving to his desk, she picked up a long feathered quill, and carried it over to his gently snoring form. Trailing the feather lightly over his bare skin, she watched him twitch in his sleep. Leaning down, she captured one flat nipple with her teeth and ran her tongue back and forth, sliding her hand down to explore and fondle him. Hearing his soft groan, she moved down to take him into her warm mouth, and began a more intimate scrutiny with a moist tongue.
Feelings overwhelmingly erotic brought him to the edge of sanity and snapped him into consciousness. Immediately alert, he struggled against the binds, helpless to prevent the waves of pleasure than rolled over him from her devout ministrations. He'd never felt so vulnerable in his life.
Lifting her head, she smiled slyly. "Awake, I see."
"Untie me this instant!" He managed in a hoarse baritone, failing to sound intimidating.
"Perhaps." Reaching down, she flicked her tongue over a sensitive area and felt him jolt. "In a little while."
Blowing cool air on him, she hummed to herself, and ignored his incensed threats. She took him again into her mouth and tantalized him, enjoying the groans and straining movements, until she felt he was once more near. Stopping suddenly, she leaned back, and studied his face, now beaded with sweat.
Reaching down, she picked up and took a sip of cold water from a glass, then placed her mouth once more over him, delighting in his jerking response. Pity, there was no ice. That's what the book suggested.
"Are you trying to torture me?" His deep whisper rolled over her skin. Slithering her body up the length of his, she kissed him deeply. Pulling back, she slapped him lightly on the cheek, and answered.
"Were you trying to mark me last night?"
In low, furious tones he replied, "You know damn well I was. Now untie me! Right! Now!"
Trailing kisses down his center, she returned to tease him once more, blithely ignoring his request, and the increasingly violent threats that followed. Coming, as they did, between gasps and groans, she felt they were more bark than bite. One particularly painful sounding promise had her snapping her head up and glaring at him. Looking around the room once more, she found a black soft cotton undershirt, and twisting it, walked over to him and placed it over his hostile mouth, tying it securely behind his head.
"Much better." Feeling only his dark eyes aimed at her, she brought him, over and over, to the edge of reason, only to pause. Sometimes momentarily, sometimes for long minutes.
After nearly an hour of teasing him mercilessly, she thought she distinctly heard a hint of desperation in his deep groans. Covered in a sheen of sweat, he strained against the ties before sagging helplessly to wait for another pass of excruciating pleasure.
Smiling at her own self-control, Hermione climbed on top of him, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Maybe you'll think twice before placing another hickey on my neck."
At his mumbling response, she untied the gag, asking, "What was that, my pet?"
"Maybe you should be more concerned with what will happen when you untie me, little girl." His deep voice, despite the obvious exhaustion and stress, still managed to curl her toes.
Reaching down, and firmly grasping his overly-sensitized manhood, she joined their bodies, holding him inside her tightly.
"Oooooh. Do tell." She purred and began to move slowly, only to pause as the familiar cool air began to rush by her. "Oh, noooooo!"
And abruptly, with a shimmer of silver, she evaporated into thin air, reappearing on her own bed on hands and knees.
"Oh! Hell! Oh shit! Oh Gods. He's going to kill me." Jumping from the bed, she raced over to her dresser to take another long drought of potion, and hopped back on the bed to wait for the effect. Closing her eyes, she softly spoke a mantra of "Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up!"
Forty-five long minutes later, she shimmered back into his room. And looked, with mouth agape at the articles strewn and tossed around. It looked as if a tornado has visited in her absence. Staring at the bed, she was amazed to see him still securely tied and apparently, from his heavy breathing, resting from his last effort to free himself.
"Oh! Severus! I am so sorry! I didn't watch the time. I didn't mean to go off like that. Oh, Gods! I'm so sorry!" And babbling nearly incoherently, she approached the foot of the bed and began franticly freeing the scarves tied to his ankles.
Keeping his eyes shut, he grit his teeth and painfully moved his legs around. Reaching the head of the bed, she began untying one wrist and stopped, as a dark sense of foreboding washed over her.
"Um … I'm going to untie your hands, now." Pausing, she watched his eyes open slowly, and glitter dangerously in her direction. "Promise me you won't beat me with them."
"After two hours, I doubt I'll be able to move them." He spoke hoarsely, having nearly worn his voice out by shouting curses for forty-five straight minutes.
Hand hovering over the ties, she frowned. "That isn't really an answer, is it? Promise me you won't lay a violent hand on me, or …" pausing, she thought deeply, "I won't untie you until breakfast is being served."
Hearing the faint quiver in her voice, he felt some satisfaction. It would behoove her to be cautious right now. Sarcasm leaked into his tone, as he replied. "I promise I won't lay a violent hand on you. Now untie these bloody scarves!"
Releasing her breath, she quickly slipped the knot loose and moved to the other side of the bed to release his remaining hand. Loosening the last tie, she bit her lip in remorse as she watched the play of sinuous muscles of his arm and shoulder as he worked life back into them.
"I really am sorry, Sev – " With breathtaking speed, he grabbed both of her wrists and bound them tightly together with the very scarf she'd just loosened. Pulling her squirming onto his lap, he held her tightly to him, grounding out, "No." He swooped down and finding her open mouth, nipped at her lower lip. "But before this night is through, you will be."
Tossing her rudely to the bed's center, he grabbed the ends of the scarf and pulled up, securing it dead center of the headboard. Following the lines of her body roughly, he found the position raised her already full breasts to voluptuous proportions. Handling them lightly, and ignoring her stuttering apologies and pleas, he thumbed over the pert nipples and repressed a smile. How long did he have with her? How long before she evaporated into thin air? He'd had plenty of time to consider his next actions. Along with torturing her with the same cool, prowess she had shown him, he had planned on laying a violent hand on her. Repeatedly. Until she couldn't sit comfortably in class the next day.
But a promise was a promise. Catching sight of the slippers he'd removed earlier that night, he smirked. There, peaking from under the debris of articles he'd managed to toss around, wandless, in his fury, lie his solution. First things first, he thought, bending his head to kiss and nip a trail down her belly.
Gripping her hips firmly, he tilted her to his mouth and feasted lightly, teasingly on her.
The next hour was - for Hermione - both Heaven and Hell.