Chapter 15
Severus looked out across the school Quidditch pitch, a sea of red and green in the supporters' stands, and the rival broomsticks of Slytherin and Gryffindor streaking between the goal hoops in a desperate struggle to be victorious in the first match of the season. There was a contingent of Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, but they were in far smaller number and in much quieter voice than the snakes and lions.
Slytherin versus Gryffindor was always a hard-fought contest, and both sides appeared to be holding their own, thus far. The youngest Weasley resembled a red dynamo, both in hair and clothing, her Chaser position seeing her hurtling around the pitch like a witch possessed. This was her first fixture as team captain for Gryffindor, hence why she seemed so desperate to secure a victory and justify her position. Her face was taut with grim determination.
His own Slytherin captain was a grim-faced prefect by the name of Booth, and somehow Malfoy had managed to return to the team as Seeker, a position he had held since the second year, the poles of success no doubt greased by the wealth of his family. Now, it seemed, he was in on pure talent, and Severus had to admit that Draco was performing admirably, thus far, having enticed the new Gryffindor Seeker into several false dives. Malfoy was experienced, a fine flyer, and most of all, exceptionally cunning, which Severus felt was an essential quality for an effective Seeker.
He wondered if Miss Granger – now fast becoming purely Hermione to him, was in the crowd. Severus couldn't tell, amongst the heaving mass of scarlet and gold, cheering their team to what they hoped would be a decisive victory. Wrapping his thick travelling cloak around him, it seemed unlikely that the shiver that had just run through him was entirely due to the temperature. It was a September afternoon, and even in the sprawling hills of Scotland, the weather could not be considered cold.
No, it was definitely her. This too-young girl who was getting under his skin like a burrowing cockroach (he mentally apologised for the unflattering analogy) insinuating herself into his life as if she'd always been there.
What had that been, this afternoon, on his sofa? The words cuddle and snuggle reeked of teenage infatuation; pathetic, banal terms that did not even come close to the feelings that their non-sexual contact had evoked in him.
She had lain on the old cushions of the worn sofa, laying her head on his chest and relaxing, somehow enticing him without words nor actions to wrap his arms around her, to cocoon them both in a warm blanket and slow his heart rate to match hers.
Severus had felt acceptance, as she settled herself against him, and he'd felt her trust as her muscles slackened, relying fully on his body to support her. He'd also felt desire in the tiniest of ways, such as the long brown curl that had tickled the top of his hand, and the warm breath from her lips on a sliver of bare chest skin as his dressing gown had opened slightly. He'd also felt her pleasure at simply being with him – and it was astounding.
It had not been a hard decision to summon the blanket and cover their lower halves, and to encircle her with his arms in a protective gesture, as if claiming the young witch for his own.
Merlin, it had been so much more than a fucking cuddle.
He'd felt a peace that he wasn't entirely sure he'd ever felt before. It had felt like calm acceptance, mixed with the erotic urges that he had for her, despite the encounter not being in any way sexual. He'd never wanted to let her go, and it was only when they both began to stumble into sleep that they'd come back to themselves, and Granger had returned to her own chambers.
She'd urged him not to get up, and he'd lain on the sofa for a good while afterwards, smoking and drinking tea, feeling rather louche, lounging around wearing his dressing gown in the early afternoon, the top of his head still tingling where she had placed a final kiss before stepping through the Floo.
What kind of lovesick fool was he? He'd thought their encounters, right from the start, to be purely sexual, a way for them both to cope with the emptiness of their lives, now that the war was over. But sitting here, watching Quidditch, his only thoughts were of how safe and content he'd felt, on his own decrepit sofa, wrapped up in the young Miss Granger.
An ear-splitting roar from the crowd jerked Severus from his indulgent thoughts, and his eyes roved the pitch for the source of the action. There it was, Draco Malfoy was flying down from above the far-end goal hoops, the Golden Snitch glittering in his hand, held firmly aloft in his leather Seeker's glove. Severus scanned the scoreboard, since the capture of the Snitch didn't necessarily mean that a team had won the game.
Gryffindor were on a hundred points, and Slytherin behind them on eighty, which meant that the hundred-and-fifty points for the Snitch gave them a comfortable win. And although he was pleased with the eruption of joy from the green and silver side of the stands, promising an excellent atmosphere in the dungeon common room later, the win meant only one thing.
Severus disguised his lascivious smirk by pulling his scarf high around his neck and mouth.
-xxx-
He opted to take his dinner in the Great Hall, where the Slytherin table was ebullient, and the Gryffindor one downcast and morose. It was a shame really, as the Weasley girl's team had played an excellent match, their technique had been good, and the fact they were in the lead on points at the time of capture showed that Gryffindor had performed well. However, the Golden Snitch was the object that meant a win or loss in such an evenly-matched game, and the experience of Draco Malfoy had ultimately secured the win for Slytherin.
Severus wasn't complaining. He had his very own prize for his house winning the match, and it would be extracted from one Miss Hermione Granger. His dick twitched at the thought, but the trouble was, he had absolutely no idea what to ask for.
His sexual experience was limited to her alone, and the things he had seen and learned via his Death Eater comrades were not experiences he wished to re-enact himself, let alone inflict upon her.
Come on, man, he berated himself, sitting at the large desk in his classroom, after supper, doing the marking of homework that he'd neglected the previous evening. He remembered the day that Granger had stayed after class; and allowed him to take her across his desk. Even now, he couldn't believe that had happened.
Severus looked out upon the empty classroom, the rows of vacant brewing benches and neatly-placed stools in front of him, their surfaces free of students and the slop they usually brewed in their standard-issue cauldrons. Granger's usual seat was not right at the front, but annoyingly (or not) directly in his eyeline. This was probably because her seat was the first place his eye was drawn when he glanced up, rather than any particular seating choice by her.
Suddenly, he knew what he wanted. Fucking hell, he knew. And Granger? She would agree to it. A Gryffindor would never renege on a bet.
He reached for a blank parchment, and inked his quill, beginning a short letter to his sleazy arsehole of a colleague, Richard Briner.
-xxx-
Hermione was fuming in the Transfiguration classroom, writing a parchment full of pointless lines, that were meant, in some way, to constitute an appropriate punishment for their supposed crimes.
The detention had begun badly when they had all trooped here after supper; Draco and the Greengrass sisters still buoyant and enthused by their victory on the Quidditch pitch, and Ginny still smarting and angry over her defeat. They lined up outside the classroom like a group of first-years, the humiliation not lost on any of them, particularly herself and Malfoy, who in any normal year would have been finished with school and in their place of work by now.
"How nice to see you all so punctually," Professor Briner had drawled, unctuously, opening the door of his classroom and ushering them all inside, gesturing to a row of five desks that had been placed in a horizontal row before his raised teaching desk.
Once they were seated, trying desperately not to look childish or sulky, and determined not to say anything else that would land them in even more trouble with this bastard; Briner perched himself on the edge of his desk and regarded them all, one by one.
"The purpose of this detention is two-fold," he began. "Firstly, it is of course, a punishment, for your disgusting behaviour in yesterday's lesson, but secondly, it is also to make you aware that I will not be tolerating any more of your unfounded accusations. I am new to this job, and I have taken over a position from a teacher with many years excellent standing. It does not escape me that I have giant shoes to fill."
Hermione privately thought that he was right about that last bit. As if a wizard like Richard Briner could ever match up to the experience and steadfastness of Professor McGonagall.
"Casting aspersions about me in the way that you did, not to mention the crude way in which some of you chose to express yourselves," he continued, glaring particularly at the Greengrass sisters, who had both attacked him using some rather colourful language, "may jeopardise my position at this school, and create needless suspicion among the students, not to mention provoking gossip."
"But Sir," Hermione interrupted, not able to remain silent any longer. "Do you not think that you yourself are provoking gossip by favouring certain students over others?"
His gaze shot straight to her, and a horrible smirk appeared on his lips.
"Are you jealous that you are not the recipient of my alleged favouritism, Miss Granger?"
"Certainly not!"
Briner stood up and approached her, looming over her desk in a way that was no doubt intended to intimidate.
"The famous Hermione Granger," he jeered. "I know all about you, little girl. You are too used to being everyone's precious lion, the teachers' pet. How galling it must be for you, to see me lavishing my attention on others, rather than worshipping at your golden throne."
Hermione couldn't even reply, she was so angry at his accusation, and felt her cheeks redden and her mouth fall open in shock.
"I think Granger is relieved not to be the subject of your attention."
Malfoy had inexplicably come to her rescue, and Professor Briner whipped around to face him.
"When I want your opinion, Mr Malfoy, I shall ask for it."
"And when I want you to declare my private relationship status before the class, I'll ask for it," Draco had retorted, quick as a flash.
"He's right," Ginny had interjected. "You say you want to protect your position here, Sir, but you're not doing yourself any favours by bringing up students' personal lives in lesson time. Everyone has a right to their own privacy."
"I am surprised, Miss Weasley, that you speak up for Mr Malfoy, given that he single-handedly destroyed your Quidditch team earlier in the afternoon."
Hermione saw Ginny flush with anger, for Quidditch was her greatest passion, and Briner had somehow known exactly where to attack her, in order to cause the maximum hurt and offence.
To Ginny's great credit, she clamped her lips together and managed not to reply, because there was no doubt had she said what she was really thinking, she'd have found herself on the way to the Head's office facing an even more severe punishment. Briner turned back to Hermione, leaving Ginny and Draco seething with anger at his words.
"As it is, Miss Granger, I have advised the Headmistress of the problems I am having with you, and that the reason for the unfounded rumours you have started spreading, are due to nothing more than jealousy, that you are no longer the most favoured student in this school."
He'd leant forwards on her desk, his palms flat on the wood, and pushed his head far too close to her face, close enough for her to smell the cheap wine he'd imbibed at supper.
"The good professor understands how … disappointed you are, not to be my particular favourite. She suggests that the trauma of the war may have affected your previously good judgement," he leered. "So, I am to … 'go easy' on you. But mark my words, girl, if you persist in making scurrilous accusations, I will stop at nothing to have you removed from this class, and from this school, if necessary. I know that the problem is you, and not your four lap-dogs, sitting here."
There seemed to be an audible intake of breath from all the seated students, herself included.
"So, this is how it is, then?"
A small but confident voice had spoken up, and Hermione looked down the row of desks, at the dynamic blonde Slytherin that Malfoy had proclaimed himself 'in love' with.
"How what is, Miss Greengrass?"
"You can say and do whatever you want, including teasing students about private relationships and leisure activities, and threatening us, but we can't say anything in return, even if we can see that you're favouring students and trying to get in as many pairs of knickers as you can?"
The silence was absolute.
Professor Briner whipped out his wand in an angry gesture, and conjured five long sheets of parchment, five quills, and five ink bottles in front of them all, before pointing his wand at the board, and the words; I will not question the teaching methods of my professor, nor make spurious allegations.
"Five hundred times," he spat. "Each of you. Now."
"The last time freedom of speech was denied in this school," Hermione pointed out, in a loud voice, "one Dolores Umbridge was in charge, silencing the students for her own dictatorial agenda. I shouldn't need to remind you how successful that approach turned out to be."
"Nice one," hissed Draco, and she wasn't sure if Briner had heard his support.
The professor turned his back on them all, returning to the other side of his large teaching desk, and seated himself.
"Five hundred times," he repeated, casting his wand to the back of the classroom and locking the door, before opening a book in front of him and writing in a notebook whilst using the text as reference.
Clearly, the discussion was over.
-xxx-
Five hundred lines later, and Briner was magically counting them as they scribbled, Hermione sat tapping her foot, waiting for Ginny, Astoria, Daphne and Draco to finish theirs. Malfoy seemed the nearest to the end of his parchment, but the younger three clearly still had some way to go, especially Astoria, who was still trying to shoot evil looks at Professor Briner, not realising the futility of doing so.
Just write, Hermione thought, crossly. Just get them done and we can all get out of here; and start planning how to bring this hideous teacher down.
There was a tentative knock on the classroom door, and Briner used his wand to slide the bolt across and open it. A fifth-year Slytherin prefect entered the room, she wasn't sure of his name, and walked up to Briner's desk, his shoes clonking noisily on the stone floor in the oppressive silence.
He passed Briner a note, which the teacher unfolded, and Hermione could see his eyes scanning the words, and a smirk forming on his lips as he dismissed the messenger.
"That is five hundred, Mr Malfoy," he called. "Put your quill down. Girls, keep writing."
Draco let his quill slap on the desk and began massaging his hand, pointedly.
"Miss Granger," drawled Briner, brandishing the note with a triumphant flourish. "It appears that I am not the only professor you have displeased this week. This missive is from Professor Snape, who has asked me to send you to him as soon as I have … finished with you. He requests that you attend the Potions classroom immediately, just as you are."
It was a herculean effort for Hermione to keep the secret grin that was twitching at her lips from spreading into a full-blown smile across her face. Detentions at Hogwarts were always conducted in uniform, and he'd specifically requested that she 'come as she was' – to meet him in the dungeon classroom. Could this be Snape exacting his prize for winning their wager? Or just his way of rescuing her from detention? Either way, she was intrigued, and not a little excited.
"Should I go now, Sir?" she asked Briner, coldly. "Since I finished my lines over half an hour ago?"
"Such an attitude," he tutted, and Hermione was hit with an intense desire to slap his ratty face. "But, yes, go. I have no further use for you."
"I'm going too, then," Draco added, firmly. "I've finished."
He stood up, pushing the desk away from him with an angry shove, and the resultant screech of wood against stone set everyone's teeth on edge.
"Walking Miss Granger to the dungeon, Mr Malfoy?" Briner sneered.
Draco walked up to the desk, right in front of their tormentor.
"Let's agree … Sir, that you refrain from making snide remarks about our relationship, and we'll button our lips in class."
It was a statement, not a question, and Professor Briner appeared to have nothing further to say on the matter. Malfoy grabbed hold of Hermione's hand, and pulled her down the centre of the rows of desks, towards the now-unlocked door of the Transfiguration classroom, not letting go until they were halfway down the next corridor.
"You don't have to hold my hand all the way to the Potions classroom," she accused, shaking her hand free of his grip, and he released her immediately.
"Don't worry, Granger, I wasn't going to. Although I will walk you down there."
"Why?" she answered, a little too quickly. "Our guest corridor is miles from the dungeons."
He smirked, looking at her in what seemed like amusement, out of the corner of his eye.
"I'm going to see some friends in the common room," he told her. "Plus, I'm a nosey bastard. I want to see what Snape has on you. Surely a swot like you can't achieve two detentions in one day?"
Hermione began to sweat a little as they walked. She needed to get rid of Malfoy, and fast. Not that she thought Snape would be unguarded enough to be laying naked on his desk whilst he waited for her, with only a cauldron in front of his dangly bits.
She berated herself at the careless thought, and … now she was grinning. Shit. Hermione turned away from Malfoy, pretending to be interested in the portraits as they walked through the corridors, who grinned inanely back at her, which really wasn't that helpful.
After a mostly silent walk to the dungeons, Draco knocked sharply on the door of the Potions classroom.
"What did you do that for?" she asked, crossly. "I'm capable of knocking on a door myself, thank you."
"What does it matter, so long as one of us knocks?"
I don't want you to knock, she thought. It's louder and heavier than my knock would be. Still, at least this might give Snape a tiny warning, just in case he had something planned. That wizard noticed everything.
"Enter."
They both heard his stern, unforgiving voice from inside the room, only to Hermione it now sounded like the promise of undiluted passion, of a racing pulse and desires met. His deep voice was like rich molten chocolate, drizzled over her bared breasts and licked clean by his talented lips.
Seriously. She needed to get a bloody grip on herself. Especially as Draco Malfoy was right there. Hermione entered the room first, quickly followed by the unwelcome third wheel.
"Miss Granger. Professor Briner received my message?"
"He did, Sir."
"And for what reason are you accompanied by Mr Malfoy?"
"I finished my lines at the time Granger was leaving, Sir," Draco replied, despite not having been asked.
"So you thought you would accompany her, why?"
Malfoy floundered around for an answer.
"I suggest that you keep your nose out of the business of others, Draco. Miss Granger, be seated, at your usual desk. You will find your latest essay there. I should like you to peruse it carefully, and then tell me why I am so very angry with you, and thus summoned you here."
His face was fixed, and his eyes bored into her as if he truly was furious. Snape was either an award-winning actor, or she had indeed made a grievous error in her essay. A little nervous, Hermione approached her desk and picked up the familiar parchment, that she had spent hours researching, composing and writing.
"If there is nothing further, Mr Malfoy?" Snape demanded, expectantly.
"Nothing, Sir," he replied, sheepishly, with none of the arrogance that he'd used to address Professor Briner.
"Then close the door on your way … out," Snape enunciated, returning to sit behind his desk with a swirl of black cloth.
As the heavy door closed behind Draco, the professor cast his wand across the room, bringing the iron bolt across as Briner had done, and then set a fizzing security ward upon it, making it totally impenetrable.
Hermione sat at her desk, eyes focusing on her essay, just in case she had read this situation badly wrong. It wouldn't be the first time in life that her presumption had landed her in trouble.
"Put it down," he commanded, and she complied, immediately. "There is nothing wrong with your homework, as of course you must know already. It is an O-grade essay, without doubt."
Phew. He must have just used it as a ruse to divert Draco from the real reason he'd summoned her here.
"Miss Granger."
The sound of his quiet but demanding voice made her look up, and his face was expressionless, giving nothing away.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Slytherin won the Quidditch, Miss Granger."
"They did, Sir."
"Do I have your consent to collect my winnings from our wager?"
She smiled, and to her delight, saw the corners of his mouth twitch with an embarrassed, slightly naughty, smirk.
"You have my consent."
He sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chin, and appraised her.
What on earth did he have planned?
-xxx-
Severus looked out over the familiar dungeon classroom, every bit as empty as it had been earlier, excepting the young witch that was now at her allocated workbench, looking expectant. How many times had he sat here, looking at her, watching her work, since this … whatever it was, between them, had begun? And now she was here. Alone with him in an empty room, awaiting his action.
She had taken up her essay that he had conjured in a split-second, after the surprise arrival of Draco Malfoy, and sent spinning to her workbench. What that little shit had been doing here, Severus had no idea, and could only hope that he didn't suspect anything untoward. Still, it would not be of any huge consequence, since he had enough dirt and scandal on the Malfoys to buy Draco's silence for a hundred years.
He had instructed her to put the essay down. They had no need of it … now.
"I watch you, during lessons, Miss Granger. Did you know that?"
He remained in the same position, leaning against the back of his large desk chair.
"I hoped so," she replied.
"You hoped so? You hoped that thoughts of you would distract me from my teaching?"
"Yes."
The little wench smiled at him, and damn, he could not stop the corners of his mouth twitching in response.
"They do, Granger," he replied, reaching down and pulling open his belt, not taking his eyes from hers as he did so. "It is most inconvenient, when extolling the various dangers of whatever potion we are brewing that day, to be interrupted by thoughts of your body, your naked body, dancing through my mind, without a care."
"I'm sorry, Sir."
She was playing the game. She was.
Severus unfastened his trouser buttons and tugged down the zip, cupping his growing erection in his hand, through his undershorts and assessing the damage, thus far. His cock was five miles ahead already, as-fucking-always.
"I recall when you took this cock in your mouth, girl," he told her, his voice deep and slightly echoing in the empty, cavernous room. "I want more."
Granger made to stand up from her seat.
"Sit."
She remained where she was, as did he, and Severus reached into his shorts, drawing his long, thick cock into his waiting hand, and began to gently slide his hand from base to tip, and back again, just readying himself.
Never mind the O-grade essay, he felt like an O-grade pervert.
The girl was sitting in her school uniform, to all intents and purposes exactly how she would sit in his lessons, other than the classroom was empty, and it was late on a Saturday evening. He was sitting at his desk, wanking slowly, wondering how long he could tease himself before his natural urges around this witch took over.
Severus had never interfered with a student in his entire life, not even as a student himself. He had noticed them, these young witches, these sixth and seventh years that were almost and just adults, of course he had. He wasn't fucking blind. As a young teacher, just starting out, some of them had been only little younger than he had been.
And yet he had never bothered a single one, in that way. He'd like to say it was because he took his teachers' code extremely seriously, but the truth was that he'd never had the confidence, nor the thought that any of them may be even slightly interested in a skinny, greasy, unpleasant professor that smelled of potion ingredients and lived in the dungeon like a vampire bat.
Now? Now all bets were off, especially the ill-advised wager that Granger had made with him earlier. With Potter off the team, there was no way that any new Seeker would have been a match for the years of experience that Malfoy possessed. She certainly had a lot to learn about the finer points of Quidditch – and the odds of winning a bet against a Slytherin.
He stood up, keeping his trousers at his waist with one hand on the hip, the front hanging wide open, allowing him to keep up the steady movement on his cock. Her eyes widened as he walked down the two steps of the teaching platform towards her, heading straight for her desk in the third row as his teaching robe trailed behind him.
As Severus stood level with her, beside the workbench, she put her hands forward, removing his own hands from his cock, and from his trousers, which fell to the floor, the belt making a metallic thud on the stone as it did so. She ran one finger down the full length of his erection, causing it to lurch upwards, as enthusiastic as a fucking Hufflepuff at a tea party. Traitorous bastard thing.
"Suck it," he hissed, desperately. "Suck it now."
Granger leaned her head forwards, still seated at her workbench, and guided his dick towards her lips, and he watched transfixed as her pink mouth closed around the head and slid down the shaft in one fucking amazing movement.
"Holy fuck," he cursed, unable to stop the expletive bubbling up in his throat.
Turning herself slightly to the side, she used one small hand on the base of his cock, holding it steady and angled into her sweet mouth. Her other hand swept around his slim hip, easing his undershorts down over his arse and stroking the bare cheek, squeezing his bum as she sucked on him, sliding softly up and down his aching dick.
"Harder," he reassured. "You can go harder. You won't break it."
She looked up at him, and Severus thought he might come there and then, at the sight of her innocent eyes, accompanied by the visual of her mouth around his cock. Fucking hell, yet again.
Not breaking eye contact, she increased the pressure of her lips around his dick, flickering her tongue across the head at the end of each upstroke, before sliding down again. Severus pushed his hand into her abundant hair, tangling his fingers in the mass of curls, guiding her head into the rhythm he needed, and she made a sound, he hoped not of protest.
But no. It had not been protest. It had been encouragement.
Gaining in confidence, she lifted her hand from his cock to his other hip, taking a firm hold and moving them backwards and forwards as she sucked him, and faster.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit …
This was likely to be over far sooner than Severus had planned, for every little accoutrement was igniting his senses, pushing him forwards. He in his full teaching robes, dropped trousers and a uniformed student sucking his cock for all it was worth, in his own classroom. It was a damn wank dream come true.
The fact that the whole situation was so totally forbidden had set his blood flowing to a level of pressure that it hadn't felt for months, there was even a whooshing sound in his ears, drowning out all other noise with a pulsing thump, that beat like a drum.
Only vaguely aware of his hand in her hair, Granger rocked his hips against her waiting lips, taking almost his entire, but not quite, full length. He felt her mouth and tongue tight against his cock with every stroke she made, and he soon realised that he was thrusting into her mouth.
Again, again, again, again ….
He burst.
Roughly gathering his shirt up so that he could look down at the sight of him coming in her mouth, Severus knew he would never forget the sight of his own spunk dribbling down Hermione Granger's chin as she tried to swallow it all. She'd never manage it, and if he was honest, the sight he was looking upon at this very moment was far more erotic than a professional full swallowing, not that he'd ever experienced one. He didn't care. He just wanted … this.
-xxx-
He'd moaned louder than Hermione had ever heard from him. She didn't exactly have the skills to perform anything brilliant, but once it had become apparent that this was his choice for his win, she had fully entered into the spirit of it. So much so, in fact, that she could feel her knickers were soaked, pressed against her on the unforgiving wooden stool.
Swallowing the last bit of his come, she wiped her chin with her sleeve, and then stroked his bare hips and bum cheeks, which were still quivering from his explosive orgasm. Hermione felt his hands on her hair, massaging her scalp absently, as if he still wasn't quite himself. She sneaked a grin of satisfaction. The power she had felt, having Professor Snape at the tip of her tongue, quite literally, had been an erotic treat for the senses.
Hermione heard and felt the fizz of his magic; and glanced up to see that he had conjured her a glass of water, which he passed to her with a raised and expectant eyebrow. Yes, she'd have that. His semen wasn't the worst thing she'd ever swallowed, thinking back to the revolting mushrooms she'd been forced to consume last year, but it certainly wasn't the best.
As she downed the entire glass, Snape pulled up his shorts and trousers, and Hermione watched him tuck his penis carefully inside before doing all the fastenings and belt back up again. He vanished the glass; and pulled her to her feet.
"Thank you," he said, his voice husky, as if it had not been used for a while.
"You won the bet," she replied, smiling.
"I trust that you did not do that purely out of obligation?"
He looked concerned.
"Of course not."
"Good. Now, I find myself reluctant to be without you for long, but you must be seen to return to your room. Especially by Draco Malfoy. Once there, remove all traces of uniform, and come to my chambers, through the Floo. If you would wear that robe, the thin one with the flowers, that would please me greatly."
"Should I wear anything under it?"
"What do you think?"
"Only if you wear yours in the same manner."
"That can be arranged."
Hermione tugged on his collar, pulling him down for a quick, hard kiss, that he seemed rather surprised to receive. She was beginning to love seeing surprise on his famously neutral face. She then walked across to the door, hearing the ward lower as she approached it, and left the classroom without looking back. The teacher-student role play had been a very separate experience. Now she wanted to return to his rooms as herself, to their more equal roles.
After a swift walk through the dark hallways, for they were almost at the Saturday night curfew, Hermione reached the guest corridor and opted to knock on Draco's door, under the pretence of letting him know that her 'detention' had been fine, but ostensibly to ensure he knew that she was back in her own room.
He didn't answer, so she knocked again, only for the door to be yanked open angrily, and a red-faced Draco was standing there. Pansy Parkinson was in his room, standing by the fire, her beautiful face swollen with crying.
"What is it, Granger?" he asked, tersely.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, I was just letting you know I was back, you know, from detention."
"Detention. Yeah, ok, got it. You're back. Good. That all?"
"Another one, Draco? You're not shagging Granger as well, are you?" Pansy screeched.
She dissolved into angry tears, and Hermione suspected this was not the first time tonight. Ah well. Malfoy shouldn't be such a cheating bastard then. He turned back to her, rolling his eyes as if he was quite sick of his girlfriend, right at that moment.
"What's that on your jumper, Granger?"
She looked down, to see a white blob on the left chest of her school uniform jumper.
Fuckkkkk ….
Hermione rubbed at it, quickly, her face burning as red as Draco's currently was.
"Um, some dinner, I think. Probably the custard. I'll put it in the laundry," she blustered.
"It wasn't there earlier. In detention with Briner," he accused.
"Does it matter? I slopped food on my jumper, what's it to you? Look; I'll leave you two be, goodnight."
She stammered her goodbyes, and hotfooted it across the corridor, opening the door to her own room, only looking back when she was just about to close it, and seeing Malfoy still standing there, leaning against his own doorframe with a wide smirk on his annoying face.
Hermione hoped to Merlin that Pansy would slap it.
-xxx-
As she stepped over the grate of Snape's fireplace, Hermione was surprised to see the room in darkness, apart from the green light of the flames, which were still glowing emerald after her Floo journey. He was dressed in his black silken robe, just as she had requested, tied loosely at the waist. His long hair still shone with unusual cleanliness after her attentions that morning, and hung softly on his shoulders, rather than lank on his face.
"May I?" he asked, by way of a greeting.
Hermione had no idea what he was asking, but he could have asked her to run naked around the Black Lake and she'd probably have done it.
"Of course."
She gasped as Snape scooped her up in one smooth movement, his arms under her legs, and carried her into the bedroom, where she gasped again at the sight before her.
There was a kitchen tray hovering above the bed, set with two glasses of red wine, a small plate of mixed cheeses, and some accompanying cracker biscuits. His bedroom fireplace was burning merrily, keeping the room warm, and there was an array of lighted candles on both bedside cabinets, flickering this way and that, illuminating the room with a golden glow.
The professor placed her on the bed, which was still made, the top coverlet of green eiderdown making it a cosy place to lounge. She moved across to allow him to join her, which he did, seating himself against the pillow, passing her a glass of wine, and taking one for himself.
Hermione searched his face for signs of what he had planned. He took a deep sip of his wine, and she did the same, and was swallowing when he began to speak, his voice low and melodious.
"I was born in a mill town in the north of England, and I was an only child. My father, like all men in the town, worked at the mill, until it closed. Unemployed and alcoholic, his activities from that point onwards consisted of beating his wife and son; and being a vile human being in every sense of the word. I was not sorry that he was imprisoned for life in a Muggle prison before I had left my teens, although I am sorry that he murdered my mother to warrant it."
Holding her breath, lest he stop, Hermione did not even touch him, not wanting to do anything to stop the tragic, but strangely beautiful, words that were falling from his usually guarded, taciturn lips.
"I joined the Death Eaters not long afterwards, with the minimum amount of persuasion, since I was already deeply embroiled in the Dark Arts through my associations at school. My pathetic heart riddled with unrequited love for a witch who would never return it; I continued on a self-destructive path, committing unspeakable acts, until the untimely death of that witch caused me to re-evaluate what the bloody hell I was actually doing."
He stopped to take a few sips of wine, and Hermione copied him, not offering advice nor comment, which was exceedingly unusual for her.
"Albus Dumbledore took my apology, offered me sanctuary, and elicited a promise from me that I have spent almost twenty years keeping, at great personal cost. You are aware of this promise?"
She nodded, drinking more wine, lest she butt in like a rampaging goat and halt his flow. Hermione had never heard Professor Snape say so much in her entire life, not even in lessons, where his verbal instruction was economical, and that was putting it kindly.
"I intended to spend the next twenty free of obligation; and enjoy the peace I fought so hard for. Instead I find myself here, with no plan and no aspirations. I am bored, Miss Granger."
"I'm sorry about that," she whispered, tentatively stroking the back of his nearest hand with two fingers, so lightly that he'd barely feel it.
"Bored … Hermione, until you entered my life when I least expected it. You have been … you are, a most surprising pleasure."
He plucked her wine glass from her fingers, and placed it with his own, back upon the tray, leaning forwards to draw her lips into a kiss, lightly touching his tongue against hers, and she could taste the heady warmth of the strong wine.
"Was I correct in thinking," he asked, drawing back, "that your request would have been for me to talk, had you won our indiscreet wager?"
"You were correct," Hermione replied, closing the distance between them and slipping her hand into the loose front of his dressing gown. "But I thought that Gryffindor lost the Quidditch?"
"I believed that we should both win."
And with that, Snape pulled her against him, folding his arms around her as he had done earlier in the day, and held her cradled to him, resting his chin on the top of her head.
It seemed, against all evidence to the contrary, that what this dark wizard needed more than anything in the world, was affection. She could do that.