Chapter 8
Severus released the girl from where he'd been holding her, rather obscenely, against his crotch, and watched her disappear through the Floo, back to her own chamber. He let out a long, slow breath and pushed his hands through his wet hair, not quite sure what to do next. If he were completely honest, his mind was still filled with the memory of when her hands had finally ventured towards his cock, in the shower. He'd been one nudge away from grabbing her wrist and showing her how to do it properly, thus giving up on anything else he might have needed to do today.
It was Sunday morning. The rest of the school were at breakfast, he was already showered and dressed, with a semi-hard dick and a pathetic longing for the curly-haired witch that had just left his chambers.
Severus curled his lip. How puerile.
His first week back at the school had ended in a way that even he couldn't possibly have predicted. The mind-numbing banality of the week's teaching had somehow turned into the most erotic experience of his life, gifting his virginity to a girl young enough to be his daughter, and a bloody student, to boot.
Had the war not happened, Miss Granger would have been out of Hogwarts and in full-time work now, which would make a relationship between them somewhat more acceptable than it was presently. It would still be shockingly unconventional, but certainly less frowned-upon than a professor fucking one of his pupils.
Lighting another cigarette, purely for the want of something to do with his hands that didn't involve getting his cock out and wanking away what was left of his erection, Severus lay flat on his back on the sofa, and tried very hard to care.
But the inescapable fact was, he really didn't.
The tide of public opinion against him was as diverse as those who either supported or reviled him. People had made up their own minds about whether they considered Severus Snape to be a hero or a villain, light or dark, loyal Order member or Death Eater scum.
What had happened between Granger and himself had been mutual, consensual, and a gentle learning experience for them both. Would anyone else think that, if they were to be discovered, or would the gossips see a sleazy old professor, taking sexual advantage of a young girl under his authority?
And that was the rub, because Severus genuinely didn't care what anyone thought of their actions. He knew the truth, Granger knew the truth, and that really was all that mattered.
He inhaled the sweet smoke deeply, twisting it around his mouth before letting it go, in a long tendril, as he considered further.
But.
There was her education to think of. Clearly, the girl wanted to take her NEWT examinations, or she would not have been back at school, a year behind. Whilst he didn't give a shit whether he got fired or not, he certainly did not want to see Granger expelled in disgrace before she could complete her education, to which she was fully entitled, given what she had sacrificed for the wizarding world.
Therefore, he would be silent, conceal their contact, such as it was, and was certain that she would do the same. There was no indication that the girl was using him for anything more than scratching an itch. It wasn't as if she had asked him for any commitment. He had inadvertently discovered that she was lacking a little pulse-raising excitement, a little danger. He could provide that. He understood that need. He quite liked the idea himself.
In his bed, Granger had been far less irritating than she was in class, he thought, taking another drag of his cigarette. She'd been fucking phenomenal, if he was honest. What a passionate little witch hid behind that prim exterior, that both Potter and Weasley had been too dense to notice and claim for themselves. She was also clever enough to keep a secret.
If he'd had any doubts about returning to school to teach, they had been quelled by the sweetener of having this little secret treat to play with, in his spare time. Severus smirked, as he exhaled his smoke again.
Yes, this arrangement could be mutually satisfying, provided he didn't get emotionally involved, which of course, he wouldn't.
He wasn't that stupid.
-xxx-
Hermione bounded out of bed when the lunch bell sounded, throwing on some clean clothes and underwear, and giving her teeth a cursory clean. She still had the toothbrush in her mouth when she heard knocking at the door of her room. She spelled it open, seeing Susan and Hannah leaning in, asking if she was coming down to lunch. They eyed her teeth-cleaning with amusement.
"Had a lie-in, Hermione?" Susan teased, smiling.
"You could say that. Breakfast in bed, then back to sleep," she fibbed, through a mouthful of toothpaste.
"So did we," admitted Hannah. "I think that Ernie was the only one of us at breakfast this morning, apart from the Ravenclaws. Apparently, none of the Slytherins made it either, and no one's even seen Neville yet, today."
Hermione rinsed her mouth and towelled off the drips, walking towards her new friends and heading out of the room with them, towards the Great Hall where Sunday lunch was being served.
"I can see that Floo ordering system coming in dangerously useful, especially at breakfast times," she warned. "No doubt we'll be accused of abusing it and it'll be stopped, but honestly, freshly cooked food to your bedside, who could ask for more?"
Hermione was laying it on a bit thick, but neither of the Hufflepuffs seemed to notice, and it gave her a perfect, ready-made excuse for not emerging from her room in the mornings. Hopefully, there would be more days like today, where she awoke in Professor Snape's bed.
Even the thought of it made her face hot, and she could feel herself blushing around the neckline of her t-shirt, another Gryffindor Quidditch souvenir purloined from either Harry or Ron. In fact, this one might have even been Ginny's, she realised, as they entered the Great Hall and she saw her younger friend's eyebrows shoot up at the sight of her.
"Is that mine, Hermione Granger?" she accused, waving her fork around, for she was already well into her plate of lunch, that girl ate like a Weasley and no mistake.
"I think your mum must have mixed up some of our clothes in the last lot of laundry," she shrugged, innocently.
"For a girl who hates Quidditch, you have awful lot of team tops."
"I know," Hermione admitted, holding up her hands. "Do you want it back? I can take it off now?"
She pretended to be about to lift the hem of the t-shirt, to the catcalls of the seventh-year Gryffindor boys, so loud that they drew such so much attention from the rest of the hall that Hermione quickly aborted the rest of the prank, such as it was, and sat down, cheeks flaming.
"Never try that around a load of horny Quidditch players, Granger," Ginny teased, elbowing her in the ribs as she sat down. "They'll have you stripped down before you can find your broomstick, if you tease them."
"That's why you like to play, is it, Gin?"
"Well, of course," the redhead smirked, completely confident and unabashed. "That, and the fact the team would lose without me, now that Harry's gone."
"What about your brother?" interjected Neville, who had appeared from nowhere and sat opposite them, a smear of soil round his cheek and a tangle of roots in his hair suggesting that he'd been in the greenhouses all morning.
Ginny scoffed.
"Like Ron ever made any difference to the team. Fucking liability, he was."
She laughed, cruelly, in the way only a sister could ever get away with. Conversation turned to the Quidditch pitch, and the team that Ginny, as the new Gryffindor captain, was putting together for the new season. Even Neville got drawn into the enthusiasm, and Hermione felt her mind leave the table, with that familiar drift, the one that took her out of herself, took her away from the school that she was part of, but far too old for.
Her mind began to wander. Had it really only been just over year ago since Harry was the team captain himself, and stressing about having his best mate on the team? So much had happened since then, and that was the understatement of the century.
All over.
It was all over.
And now they were expected to settle back down like good little witches and wizards, as if nothing had ever happened? As if their friends hadn't lost their lives? As if Voldemort never existed? Fat chance. All their lives were irrevocably changed.
Unbidden, her eyes flicked up to the top table. He was not there. She hadn't really expected him to be, for hadn't he told her he was working in his private lab? But nonetheless, Hermione felt a brief stab of disappointment, quickly berating herself for being so stupid. Seven years she'd dreaded the sight of the black-clad wizard at the staff table, and now overnight she was yearning for his presence? Come on.
She'd always prided herself on her impeccable logic, so as she ate her roast chicken, she attempted to think over the situation logically. Sexual feelings were powerful, and therefore it was only natural that if one had successful sex, one would want more, and seek out the person that the sex had been had with, and then …
Oh, shut up, Hermione.
Who was she trying to convince? Herself? The facts were simple, she and Professor Snape had discovered an unexpected but intense sexual chemistry between them, and she wanted more. A small lurch in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought of his touch, confirmed her assessment. Suspecting she was smirking to herself, Hermione diverted her attention to the remainder of her lunch.
Roast chicken. Yum …
-xxx-
Severus moved smoothly around the laboratory, keeping a close eye on all the potions he had brewing, for they were all at different stages. In the row of tiny test cauldrons were the variants of the Forgetfulness Potion that he was trialling. There had been so much talk of people suffering degrees of mental trauma, that Severus had wondered if a specified version of the potion was possible to brew. This could ease symptoms where witches and wizards had experienced events so damaging that Obliviating their memories could prove fatal. A slow-acting, gradual Forgetfulness Potion, however, directed to the cause of their distress might just work. That was his theory, anyway. There was a long way to go before it was ready for human testing.
All around him were small piles of the base ingredients; meticulously chopped valerian sprigs and crushed mistletoe berries, a big jar of the standard ingredient, which was added to the general mix of most potions, and stoppered carefully; a bottle of Lethe river water, which contained the magical properties that enabled the forgetting of things.
He would never have such an ingredient out in his classroom, Why, if that bottle were to drop and be smashed, apart from wasting hundreds of Galleons, the dose would be enough to wipe the memories of an entire class, should they be stupid enough to touch it. Hence, he much preferred the quiet and safe solitude of his lab.
Severus also had a large cauldron of basic Pepper-Up brewing for the infirmary, and another test cauldron of an advanced form of Skele-Gro that he was experimenting with, that had the same bone-regrowing properties as the original potion, but without the rather unpleasant side effects of extreme pain as one's bones were mending. That one was almost ready to be used in the infirmary, after a few more test brews and observations.
In the corner, a small copper cauldron containing nettle roots, crocodile skin, and a sharp cinnamon spice, along with his own infused magic, bubbled with the contraceptive potion that he was brewing for Miss Granger. Even thinking that sentence brought a smirk to his life, and a stab to his heart, which may have been excitement, or possibly panic, Severus wasn't quite sure.
Contraception was not widely practised in the wizarding world, you were either bloody careful or you had your children young, and many girls, over the years, had left Hogwarts before their NEWT exams, already pregnant and married off. The contraceptive charm was a favourite amongst young, unmarried witches and wizards, but the potion offered a far more complete solution, with the additional benefit of not having to remember to cast the charm every time you had sex. As he and Granger had proved earlier, remembering charms whilst in the throws of great passion was not easy.
His intense concentration meant that the time sped by, and Severus was soon being summoned to dinner by an earnest little house-elf. He should go. He had not taken any meals in the Great Hall all weekend, and he supposed that Minerva might decide to have something to say about that, should he not show his face at least once. Decanting the potions that were complete, and putting the longer brews under a stasis charm, Severus washed his hands and headed for the Great Hall, entering via the teachers' door by the top table.
As if they had been pulled by a magnet, his eyes swung to the far end of the Gryffindor table, to ascertain the presence of one particular lion. Noting the back of her curly head, facing away from him and deep in conversation with Longbottom and the Weasley girl, he inwardly berated himself for being so bloody stupid.
Nothing would give them away faster than longing looks across the Great Hall. He had never before looked at the girl whilst she ate, so why should he start now? He began to force a stilted conversation with the new Professor Masters, seated to his right, and whilst she was initially frosty, probably since he'd ignored her for the past week, the similarly-aged witch was soon returning his questions about her Defence classes with succinct and rather interesting answers. It was almost something approximating a sensible conversation between work colleagues.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Minerva grinning merrily at him, looking more like Albus Dumbledore than the man himself, as her eyes glinted in pleasure at the sight of the two Defence professors, current and former, conversing like adults at the dinner table.
Don't you even think about meddling, Severus thought, trying to convey his disdain for her approval through his death stare alone. The absolute last thing he needed would be Minerva McGonagall deciding that he and Andrea Masters would make a 'fine pair', or other such twaddle.
-xxx-
Hermione tried not to look at the staff table, she really did. But it was all too easy when conversation was as raucous as it always was on the spirited Gryffindor table. No one noticed if she briefly looked around the hall, of course they didn't. Her heart had nearly leapt into her mouth when she'd seen the dark cloud arrive through the teachers' door, and she'd forced herself to focus on her friends, and her supper.
It had been a long afternoon, longer than she could ever remember. She'd taken her homework and gone to the library, thinking that the environment would be more conducive to study than her bedroom, and found herself sitting with Draco Malfoy, of all people.
That had not been intentional. Hermione had commandeered most of her favourite table, at the back of the library by the tall window, her books, quills and parchments spread out in such a fashion so as to discourage anyone from sitting with her.
"Going to take up that entire table, Granger?"
She'd looked up, seeing his blond hair and entitled, insouciant expression looking down at her.
"I was planning to, yes," she'd retorted, too loudly, as she was sssh'ed by Madam Pince, so she'd had to grudgingly made a space for him, crossly moving a few books to create some surface room.
"Well, thank you," he'd hissed, sarcastically, folding his long limbs into the seat and getting out his own books.
"Why do you have to sit right here?" she whispered. "There's a whole library of people to annoy, Malfoy."
"And today I chose you, Granger. Consider yourself privileged."
She'd made a face, feeling about thirteen again. How could he still have this effect on her? If she could punch him in the face, she would, and he hadn't even really done anything apart from ask to sit with her. Just him breathing annoyed her.
"I want to sit near the Transfiguration books, if you must know," he added, flipping open his notebook and running his finger down what appeared to be a list of book titles.
"Oh, I've got that one!" she cried, shushing herself before she could earn Madam Pince's ire again, and handing it over. "We must be working on the same essay, for Professor Briner?"
Malfoy seemed as surprised as she was by her benevolent change of attitude. Why had she said that? Honestly, show Hermione Granger a book list, and she was anybody's.
"Yes," he replied, taking the book from her uncertainly. "I'll give this first one a good bash, then we'll see if our new Transfiguration professor grades on written or oral work … if you know what I mean?"
"What are you saying, Malfoy?"
She tried to appear disinterested, but obviously failed miserably, as he leaned into her, conspiratorially.
"You don't think Briner is deciding which of you girls to have first, like a kid on their first trip to Honeydukes?"
"No, I don't! That's a disgusting thing to say."
Privately, she thought Draco had it spot on. There was something Hermione didn't trust about Professor Briner, and if others could see it too …
"You say disgusting, I say true. Any professor under the age of sixty is always looking for it, mark my words, Granger. He'll have one of you before the term is out, you wait and see."
"Well it won't be me," she hissed, firmly, picking her quill back up and scratching furiously at her essay.
"If I'm lucky, it might be me. Then it's goodbye homework."
Harry or Ron would have seen Hermione's anger, and backed right off, but Draco Malfoy had no such knowledge, or common sense. What he did have though, was a fearlessly wicked sense of humour, and she snorted, letting out a most surprised laugh at his one-liner, looking up to see a smug, satisfied look on his face.
They both heard Madam Pince's heavy footfall towards them, and turned their faces towards their work, trying to look innocent.
"Mr Malfoy. Miss Granger. If the pair of you cannot abide by the rules of the library, I shall be forced to expel you from it!"
They both mumbled their apologies, and for a few minutes, all that could be heard was the sound of the two of them writing, and the pages turning in their textbooks.
Hermione was surprised by a piece of parchment, thrust quickly across the table between them, on top of her work. She chanced a look up, to see Draco innocently writing, as if it hadn't come from him.
Unfolding the piece of paper, she saw an extremely unflattering moving drawing of Madam Pince, waving her hands about, shouting "I shall be forced to expel you from it!" in a speech bubble, and two stick people, presumably meant to be the two of them, looking miserable.
She suffocated the laugh that was threatening to escape her mouth; and kicked his shin under the table. He looked up, mouthing "What?" and then smiled, a genuine, full smile, the likes of which she had never seen from him before. It was almost disturbing.
They'd finished in the library at the same time, or rather, Malfoy had started to pack up at the same as she had, and therefore it seemed churlish not to walk back to the guest corridor together.
"So, how are you finding the eighth year?" he'd asked, once they had escaped the confines of the library.
"Conversation, Malfoy? I'm not sure that's happened before."
"Things are different, Granger."
"True. I see you with Millicent a lot?" she asked, trying to keep a dialogue flowing as they walked through the hallways.
"She's alright. About as thick as Crabbe and Goyle were, but she's harmless. Her parents are both in Azkaban, same as mine," he said, bluntly. "We find ourselves with a lot in common."
"I can't say I'm sorry to hear that, Draco," she replied, thinking of how both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had watched her tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in their own home.
"You don't have to. I know. I know what happened."
"You did your best. You know, not identifying us."
"It was a bit late to realise I was on the wrong side. Not that I had a choice."
"Your life is your own now. Fresh start, and everything. Are you still with Pansy?"
"Are you with Weasley?"
"Why would you ask that?"
"Habits, Granger. Old habits," he replied, cryptically. "Sometimes you stay with someone out of habit, not because its what you want, or the best thing for you, but because it's easy."
They'd reached their doors at that point, for their chambers were directly opposite one another, and nodded their goodbyes, both seeming to acknowledge that they didn't normally chat together. And that had been that.
Hermione had just had time to plait her hair back when the dinner bell sounded, and when she'd walked back into the hallway, there was no sign of Malfoy, only Neville, coming to call on her to go down to supper with him.
As she ate, not really hungry, she wondered what time Professor Snape would be free. Merlin, what if he changed his mind, and decided that he didn't want to see her, after all? That thought made her feel quite sick, since the whole day had been a kind of cruel waiting game, wanting to be back in his chambers, in his arms.
-xxx-
It was late, very late, when he finally returned to his chambers. Andrea Masters had kept him talking until almost the last student had left, and he'd already sent a dislodging hex to Minerva's hat as she winked at him behind Professor Masters' back as she'd left the table, leaving the two of them talking.
"No rush, Severus, Andrea!" she'd called. "I'm sure you must have much to say to one another, about Defence classes, of course."
He'd fucking hex her head off next time, not just her hat. Interfering bloody woman. A suggestion that he might be friends with the new professor was certainly not what he needed, not now, not ever.
After finishing his marking in the classroom, ensuring the weeks lesson plans were prepared, the students' store cupboard stocked, and made an emergency trip to the Slytherin common room where a fight had been breaking out, it was now well after curfew.
Throwing off his outer clothing, he chanced a Floo call to Granger's room. From the coals, he could see that all was dark, apart from the low burn that his head was currently sitting in. The connection was open, however, so he opted to step through.
She was in bed, laying on her back with the covers pulled back, for it was a warm, early-September night, and wearing a bloody Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt, but that wasn't what caught his attention. No, it was the tiny shorts she was wearing with them, the smallest fucking item of clothing he'd ever seen. He could see every dip and curve of her mound, as the shorts clung to her body, and felt a pulse of arousal in his groin.
No, he could not wake her and invite her to touch his cock, as much as he'd have liked to. He had some fucking manners. He would have to wait. Wait for another opportunity to see if she still wanted him.
Severus stared at her for a while longer, unsure if he was waiting for her to wake up, or if he just enjoyed gazing upon this girl who, for some odd reason, seemed to be his.
As he turned quietly towards the fire, he saw a small vase of red flowers on her desk and was struck with an idea. Before he could think too deeply about the good sense of what he was about to do, he took out the largest bloom, transforming the crimson petals completely into the darkest black, and laid it on her bedside table, so that she would see it, when she woke in the morning.
A calling card, of sorts.
Once he was back in his own chambers, the Floo connection sealed and the last cigarette of the day at his lips, he suspected that the floral declaration had been his second mistake.