Chapter 5

Merlin's balls, he was kissing a student, and giving not two fucks about it. Granger had been completely correct, who cared for petty rules when they had all nearly died? She wanted to kiss him, and gods, he wanted to kiss her, so he damn well would.

He knew he was shaking, both with nerves and arousal, but the fire that was churning through his veins like a tidal wave was pushing him forwards, forcing him to take what he wanted.

And fuck, he wanted her, in every possible way.

Severus held the girl tightly, one arm around her slim back and the other keeping her head at a good angle to allow him to taste her mouth, and keep his big nose out of the way. He felt her lips move upon his, as if she were seeking more than he was giving. He slowly but firmly opened his mouth, tentatively testing to see if she would welcome more. Granger did not pull back, but continued to return his kiss, so he slipped out his tongue, and was gratified to feel hers waiting for him.

Bloody hell.

With a growl, he gave himself up to her, and to what they were doing, entirely. He pushed his tongue ungracefully but deeply into her mouth, the squeal of surprised pleasure that she made when he did so, heading straight for his cock. He felt her hands creep on to his chest, squeezing him gently, and they were warm and seductive through the material of his shirt.

Kissing this girl was fucking fantastic, and he growled impatiently as she clenched his chest, briefly breaking their kiss.

"Come to my chambers," he muttered, trying not to sound too needy, before taking her lips once again.

He loosened his hold on her as he snogged her open-mouthed, his whole jaw moving with the effort, feeling as if he could devour her, inch by delicious inch. Granger slid her hands up to his shoulders, her hands feeling tiny on his hard collarbone.

"I want to," she whispered.

"Stupid girl," he chided, against her lips. "And yet, I am equally stupid."

There had only been one paltry kiss, in his youth, with a young witch that had also been indoctrinated to Voldemort's ranks at the same time. Severus presumed he hadn't been that impressive, since she'd not returned for a second one. This moment, here, kissing this girl, was already transcending all previous experience.

He felt Granger run her fingers up the side of his neck, and shivered at the intimate contact, luxuriating in the softness of her skin, and the tenderness with which she was touching him.

Potions, he thought, good sense finally permeating his haze of arousal. I must secure the potions. An explosion in the private laboratory may prove rather difficult to explain.

-xxx-

Professor Snape had lowered his head to one side as he'd been kissing her, and she was now stroking the side of his neck. He was receiving her touch as if he'd been starved of affection for too many years now, which Hermione suspected was the truth. His eyes were half-closed, long black lashes stark against his white cheeks, and she had an urge to run her fingers through his long hair, greasy or not. His eyes opened fully before she had a chance to decide on her next action.

"I need to ensure that these potions are safely contained before leaving. Return to your room. I shall call you via the Floo when I am back in my private chambers. Then … if you still desire to continue …?"

"Wild centaurs couldn't stop me," she replied.

"Merlin," he replied, his black eyes intense, locked on hers. "Did you sustain a blow to the head today, Granger?"

"In a metaphorical sense, possibly. I certainly made some big decisions about my life today, and the way I want to live it."

"So it would seem. And this; our current occupation, this is what you want?"

"I think I've made that quite clear, Sir."

He arched an elegant eyebrow at her, and rather than finding it terrifying, as she might have done in the classroom, now she just found it … well, rather sexy, if truth be known.

"Indeed, you have."

"I have," she confirmed, wrapping her arms around his neck and seeking his lips, taking the initiative to start the next kiss.

The professor responded beautifully, opening his mouth to her and rolling his tongue around hers, kissing with a breathless passion that she'd never dreamed that Snape could be concealing under that black-clothed armour and spiky demeanour of his. It appeared that their mouths fitted together perfectly, and his lips were warmer and fuller than she'd have thought, swollen from their snogging thus far. He groaned into her mouth and drew back, apparently with reluctance.

"You are a fucking tease, Granger. Now go, before I take you on this workbench."

She raised her eyebrow in mockery of his own standard expression, and he lifted her bodily from the bench, carrying her towards the door. She wrapped her legs around his waist as they walked from the laboratory and into the potions storeroom, and he set her down just before the door that led to the hallway, in front of the ladder that enabled him to inspect the upper shelves. She climbed up a couple of rungs to even the height difference.

"You'll finish quickly, won't you?" she asked.

"Undoubtedly so, since it has been a very long time for me."

What? Ohhh …. Hermione felt herself blush scarlet, and the heat rush to her face and neck.

"I meant, um, finish clearing up in here, Sir."

"I know what you meant," he replied, bluntly, pressing himself against her as she stood on the ladder, at eye-level with her now. "It seemed an appropriate moment to provide a warning of a different kind."

Hermione snaked her arms around his neck, enjoying watching the flash of his black eyes at her action, and feeling what must be quite a substantial erection pressing against her.

"No warnings needed. Let's just see what happens. I have no plan here. This is all new to me from this point."

"Your lack of a plan sounds excellent. Now, you must go. And Granger, should you change your mind, then …"

"I won't," she interrupted, firmly.

He gave a single, formal nod, and offered his hand so that she might step back down the ladder. She jumped the two rungs, landing next to the door, which he was opening.

"Thank you for the notes, Professor Snape," she said, for the benefit of anyone who might be walking down the corridor. "Enjoy the rest of your weekend."

The door slammed shut behind her, the wooden thud echoing along the empty corridor.

Hermione walked back to her room, not in a daze, for truthfully, she'd not felt such clarity for a long while, but in what could only be described as a euphoric state. Astonished at the lack of regret she felt for snogging a teacher, and Professor Snape, at that, she was instead surprised at how right everything had felt.

The sum of her previous experience totalled a few furtive snogs with Viktor Krum during her fourth year, which had been strange, but rather exciting. They'd had a few more prolonged snogs and some over-the-clothes groping the following summer when she'd visited him in Bulgaria, but that had been it. The world had become a dangerous place for overseas travel by then, and they now corresponded only occasionally via owl. It had been a surprise to see Viktor at Bill and Fleur's wedding, though of course, he and Fleur had become close friends during the Tri-Wizard tournament.

He'd danced with her politely, but an hour later had been caught kissing one of Fleur's Veela cousins behind the wedding cake. Harry had told her this summer that Viktor had still been interested at the wedding, but admitted he'd warned Krum off, advising him that Hermione now had a boyfriend. This had been for Ron's benefit, apparently.

Which led her to Ron, she thought, opening the door to her room and locking it behind her. What did she feel about him? Probably not that much, given what she'd spent the last half an hour doing.

No, that wasn't true. She loved Ron deeply, just as much as she loved Harry. But … had she just fallen into this not-quite-a-relationship in the aftermath of the war? The kissing was pleasant enough, and the times when his hand had brushed her bum or breast hadn't been totally abhorrent, but it paled into insignificance compared to the feelings that the simple nip of Professor Snape's crooked teeth upon her earlobe had ignited.

When Voldemort had been felled, the wizarding world had gone slightly crazy. Nothing was normal, people weren't themselves. It was only now, as normalcy was being restored, that everyone's true selves were beginning to take root again. She had been denying her true self, denying who she really was.

Who was Hermione Granger?

She was a girl, a young adult witch, who loved to learn, and had a thirst to educate herself to the highest possible level. Her logic ruled her emotions, most of the time. She was straight-talking, disliking extraneous detail. She was fiercely loyal to her friends, and expected the same in return.

Hermione Granger was also passionate, so she needed a partner who invited and accepted all the passion she held inside, to be a conduit for its release. She didn't want polite kisses. She wanted open-mouthed snogs that made her knees crumple, teasing touches that gave her prickles on her skin, and most desperately, she needed someone who could tame the fire she knew burned inside.

She'd never felt the desire to experience sex in her life, thus far. It was always something with rather low priority on her to-do list.

Until last night, in the corridor. With her bloody professor.

And now? Now she desired it, and had no fear of admitting the truth. Well, not to him, anyway. Which was curious, in itself.

Hermione kicked off her shoes and flicked her socks into the laundry basket, heading for the bathroom to clean her teeth and see exactly what her hair now looked like after Snape's fingers had been through it.

Wow, she thought, looking in the bathroom mirror.

Her face was glowing red, and her lips were plump and pink. She brought a finger up to touch them, for they felt unfamiliar. They were soft, and she smiled. Her hair was a fright, as always, so she muttered a detangling spell to sort out the worst of the mess.

Now there was nothing to do but wait, something she was not very good at. Grabbing a book, she dived onto the bed, making a comfortable nest of pillows against the headboard to lean on, and settled down.

-xxx-

It was fully dark outside before she heard his deep voice calling her from the small fireplace, and she'd had to light the lamp next to her bed in order to continue reading. Putting her book down, she hot-footed it over to the fireplace, and knelt on the hearth, looking into the glowing green flames that surrounded his head.

"Hi."

"Good evening, Miss Granger," he said, rather formally, considering what they had been doing earlier. "I have now returned to my chambers, should you wish to, I mean … should you …"

He sounded awkward, which was a tone of voice she'd never heard from Snape before.

"I do wish to. Let me get the Floo powder," she interrupted, standing up. "How do I do this, just call out for your private rooms?"

"Stop. The connection is already open. All you need to do … is step through."

Hermione swallowed hard, already feeling in her ears the roar of her blood beginning to flow faster, her excited heart pushing her lifeblood too quickly around her body. She stepped over the grate, taking the hand that he'd extended and stepping through into what must be his sitting room, as if it were merely one pace away from her own. This castle was astounding, at times.

Her eyes roved the room, assimilating her surroundings as she'd done when she entered the laboratory. The walls were lined with books, so many that it made her head whirl. There was a huge dark wood desk, piled high with parchments, and the fireplace she'd just stepped through was large too, much bigger than her own.

A large green sofa was in front of the fire, and two armchairs with a table between them were over by the bookshelves. Snape himself was still attired as he had been in the laboratory, although Hermione noted that he too had removed his shoes and socks, and his feet were stark white in contrast to his formal trousers. He must have been wearing a glamour earlier, too, since she could now see the extensive, jagged scarring around his neck, visible above the open collar of his white shirt. She couldn't help but look.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't stare."

He sighed.

"If we are going to proceed, then you may as well look upon it, for it is a part of me, now."

Hermione took a step closer to him, her eyes still fixated on the scar. It was huge, wicked-looking, and it was a wonder the snake hadn't taken his head right off, it was so big.

"May I touch it?"

"As you wish."

She lifted her hand to his neck, and watched him flinch, but try to conceal it. Tracing the ropey lines of the thick scarring from one side of his throat, almost to the other, she could not help but recall witnessing the attack that had put it there. The sight of this powerful wizard being mauled by that giant snake, being hurled around the floor of the Shrieking Shack as he'd fought for his life, was one of the most repulsive things she'd ever had the misfortune to observe.

There was a tickle of warm breath on the back of her hand, and she looked up, seeing those familiar black eyes staring down at her. Eyes that had terrorised and frustrated her for so long, but now intrigued her with their promise.

"Should we, er, discuss this first, Professor? I mean, should we talk about it?"

He continued to look at her.

"No."

Snape took hold of the hand that was on his neck, and pushed it behind his head, bowing down and capturing her lips in one swift, urgent movement. She made a sound, nothing intelligible, just surprise and pleasure rolled into one. As she opened her mouth he pushed his heavy tongue inside, seeking out her own and resuming the dance they had started in the laboratory.

His arms were locked around her waist, squeezing her tightly, pulling her up to better address the height difference between them, so that she was almost on tiptoes. Hermione slid her free hand up his chest and behind his neck to join the other one, threading her fingers through the back of his long hair as she'd wanted to do earlier.

This made him groan, and she felt the noise in her mouth as well as hearing it.

"You know not what you do to me, Miss Granger," he told her, his mouth inches from hers and his eyes half-closed in drowsy pleasure.

To answer, she kissed him again, and he reciprocated by stepping backwards, pulling her with him, until his legs hit the back of the sofa. He sat down, lifting her onto his lap so that she was straddling him. Never had she been in such a position with a boy, let alone a grown wizard. The throb she felt between her legs was so intense that Hermione wondered if Snape could feel it.

There was a twitch beneath her, and she looked up to see a languorous smirk creeping across his face, the likes of which she had never seen before, not on him.

"That is what you do to me," he muttered, hoarsely, before taking her head and bringing it down so that he could take possession of her lips once more, shoving his tongue roughly into her mouth in a kiss of such depth she'd never have believed it possible.

Hermione's pulse roared in her ears as she snogged him, her mind and body fully committed to the kiss. This was what had been missing from her life. This passion, this insane connective … chemistry they appeared to have, blazing between them. It was as if she had opened her eyes to see beyond the norm, and had found gold in a place where no one else had thought to look.

Snape grabbed hold of her hips and began to undulate them back and forth, and she steadied herself on his shoulders. His breathing became more laboured and the kissing more disjointed, but yet he did not stop either occupation. Faster and faster he moved her, rubbing her crotch upon his, building up a hot friction that was driving her insane with how good it felt. It must be pleasurable for him too, for she felt his dick harden further beneath her.

"Fucking Merlin!" he shouted, tearing his mouth away from hers, and with some effort, shifted her from on top of him, laying on her back on the sofa.

"Engorgio," he cast, getting to his knees on the cushions and making a cursory movement with his fingers.

Hermione felt the sofa expand, both width and lengthways, as he fell forwards, pushing her right leg to the side so that he could push himself between the cradling hold of her thighs. Without missing a beat, he took control of her mouth, resuming their kiss and beginning to roll his hips, his erection now fully grinding against her covered pussy.

She put her arms around his back, feeling the rippling of the efforts that his muscles were making as she clenched against his flanks. His body began to shake, and his mouth was rigid against hers, no longer kissing her, just holding his lips in position.

"Kiss me, witch," he hissed, in a tortured voice.

Kiss him? His lips were solid. Unless he meant …?

Encouraged by her idea, she dipped her head to his neck and bestowed a suckling but gentle kiss to some of the scar tissue there, allowing her tongue to slip out and make a wet trail across it.

The intensity of his frottage increased, along with a litany of creative swear words that fell from his lips, suggesting that he liked her kissing the neglected skin that had been so dreadfully damaged.

"I can't," he bit out, grinding against her so fast and so hard it was like he was fucking her through their clothes. "I cannot!"

Snape let out a loud roar, that became a cry of despair as he gave one final thrust against her, and began to slow his movements.

"No," he moaned, almost inaudible. "Please, no."

He had just come.

-xxx-

What the fuck?

He had just come in his fucking trousers like a fucking schoolboy.

What the hell had he been thinking, putting them in that position? There was only ever going to be one way it was going to end, and now he had humiliated himself beyond belief.

Severus lifted himself off the girl's body, awkwardly moving off the sofa and turning away from her, summoning his wand from his coat and casting a Tergeo everywhere from the waist down, until he was sure every last drop of his badly-timed spunk had been eradicated.

Spinning back to her, looking debauched and glorious on his sofa, he noticed that she had a wet patch on the front of her jeans, no doubt caused by the seeping through of his spectacular ejaculation. How fucking embarrassing. He sent a Tergeo to her, also. Granger could have cast it herself, of course, but somehow it seemed more polite to clear up his own mess.

He sat down on the sofa, in his original position.

"I must apologise."

"Why?" she answered, scrambling to sit up, and crawled down the ludicrously-expanded sofa towards him.

"Reducio," he cast, returning the sofa to its original size, as if by doing so he could erase his shame, before sending his wand to his desk and turning towards her.

"Granger."

"Sir."

"You will recall, me telling you earlier that there had been no witch to call my own?"

"Yes."

Seriously? Now was the time that Hermione Granger decided to turn monosyllabic? He could have done with her taking over the reins of this conversation, for it was mortifying. Her brown eyes were fixed on his face, sincere and honest, her innocence plain to see. His own, was less apparent, hidden behind the lines of age, and the demeanour of a wicked man.

"This is the reason for my … prematurity, just then. I am, as they say, inexperienced."

"I'm sorry, what?"

For fuck's sake. Did she need to him to spell it out?

"I am a virgin, Granger," he hissed, irritated at her slow uptake, which was most unusual for her.

"I understood that bit," she replied, "I just find it difficult to believe, Sir. You know, its you, and you're so …"

Her hands flailed around as if she would find the right word to describe him floating in thin air before her.

"I am, what?"

He felt his notorious eyebrow raise into his hairline, seeking her answer.

"I don't even know a word that would describe you with any degree of accuracy. But you are the last wizard in the world I would have expected still to be a virgin, Professor."

"I am unsure as to whether I should take your answer as a compliment or an insult, Miss Granger."

"I'm a virgin, too," she replied, reaching across and taking hold of his hand, beginning to thumb his palm in the most tender touch he'd ever received. "I've only kissed two people before you."

"Well, then you are one up on myself, then."

She seemed to think for a moment, as if considering her options, still holding his hand and keeping up that heady stroking on his hand.

"I think this was meant to be."

Severus could not help but curl his lip in disdain.

"Please tell me that you are not about to spout some puerile tripe about destiny, or vacuous nonsense about soul bonds? Which I must advise you, Granger, are magically impossible."

"Not at all. I probably phrased that wrongly. What I mean, is that it feels like we have good chemistry between us. You've made me feel things … I've never felt."

Damn her. Overachieving little chit had hit the proverbial nail right on the head. He leant back against the sofa, hooking one leg across the other, and sighed deeply.

"Likewise, Miss Granger," he conceded, and he felt her squeeze his hand. "But this, a relationship between us, is not a good idea."

"Shall we discuss what a terrible idea it is tomorrow? Because, there's something I need, that I'd really like you to provide, as I'm rather uncomfortable sitting here."

"And that would be?"

She took his hand, and led it between her legs, where she felt hot and damp beneath his fingers, even through the thick denim of her Muggle jeans. She must be soaking wet.

Oh yes, he wanted that.

Feeling a smirk tug at his lips, Severus leaned towards her, offering his lips for her to kiss, for unfathomably, she seemed to like doing it. He rubbed his hand against her cunt, enjoying the motion of her hips as he excited her, and felt her tongue become more frantic against his own. Inexplicably, he was turning her on. He was.

He stopped, removing both his mouth and his hands, enjoying the look of affront upon her face. Severus held out his hand, as if he were inviting her to dance, not to his bed.

"I believe we would be more comfortable in the bedroom," he stated, tugging Granger to her feet and guiding her across the room to his bedchamber. "But I must advise you, I am a novice at such things. My knowledge is purely theoretical."

"Me too, Professor," she smiled, hopping up onto the edge of his bed. "But I was hoping we could learn together."

"Indeed, we can, Granger," he agreed, dousing the lights, setting the fire to a low burn and stretching himself out on the bed beside her.