Sorry for the long delay … Real Life demands. I shan't bore you with my woes. Read on … Pouf x

Chapter 19

The following afternoon, when Hermione had been seen around school enough so as not to arouse suspicion regarding her whereabouts, which included attending lunch in the Great Hall, she was ensconced with Professor Snape in his private laboratory, breathing in the soporific smell of the brewing valerian roots, which was one of the active ingredients in the potion he was experimenting with.

It was a targeted Forgetfulness Potion, he'd explained, a self-invented brew that could be taken by a person suffering the extreme effects of trauma, horrific experiences that would render an Obliviation fatal, or seriously damaging.

The base ingredients of valerian roots and crushed mistletoe berries, which she was currently crushing, exactly as he'd instructed, seemed standard in a potion that induced sleep, but it was the addition of the Lethe river water as the active ingredient that really made the creation make sense.

Snape had advised her that the base potion would quieten the drinker's mind, allowing their psyche to become dreamlike, and thus more receptive to illogical changes, and the use of the magically-activated Lethe water would gradually erase those hidden memories that were brought to the fore, those painful thoughts that remain buried at all times apart from during sleep.

"Do you have nightmares?" she asked him, bluntly.

"Every night, apart from those where you are with me," he replied, in a matter-of-fact way that made her heart wrench with grief for this lonely wizard.

"That's terrible."

He shrugged; but did not add anything further. The fact that he was spending his own personal time creating this potion suggested that his mental trauma from his past experiences was greater than she had first expected. When he'd shared the other night, when they were in his bed together after the Quidditch match, he had alluded to an abusive childhood, and that would affect anyone into adulthood, not least someone who had spent the best part of twenty years walking the precarious tightrope between the light and dark.

As she stood at the neighbouring workbench, crushing the exact amount of mistletoe berries and distributing them into the sample pots that Snape had given her, she watched him. He moved around the lab as if it were his domain, his kingdom, which of course it was, Hermione supposed. He effortlessly summoned vials, ingredients, flatboards, daggers – everything he needed, and his preparation was seamless and flowing. The cauldrons were soon emitting thin tendrils of steam, and she watched him push his long black hair roughly behind his ears, so as not to obscure his vision.

With his cloak and coat on the tall stand by the door, she could see her professor's hands and forearms clearly as he worked, those long, dextrous fingers that brought her body so much pleasure were flying around the workbench – cutting, sprinkling, and moving in curious patterns as he incanted over the cauldrons. Snape really was an absolute master of his craft.

She could the marks of old potions burns and scars on his hands and fingers. Those same long, talented fingers that had held tight to her shoulder as she'd attempted to leave the bed that morning.

"Stay."

It was all he'd said. It was all he needed to say.

And she had stayed, wrapping herself gratefully into his embrace, his powerful yet lean arms drawing her back into the enticing lair of his bed.

Sunday morning had started as Saturday night had ended, making love to this unfathomable, dark-eyed wizard, who mystified and enthralled her at the same time.

The previous evening, after he'd licked her breasts clean of the warm chocolate, and Hermione had helped herself to a huge chunk of watermelon that had dripped juice down her chin, he'd remained seated in his chair, regarding her in amusement.

"And where did a young witch such as yourself, learn such an erotic treat?" he'd questioned, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Muggle magazines, I suppose," she'd answered, with a shrug, filching another piece of the mouth-watering red fruit. "There's always something about the delights of dribbling food on your partner, and chocolate always seems to feature highly … and you know, the melted chocolate they served us with supper just gave me the idea."

"I approve."

"There's still some left in the pot."

Those eyebrows had shot up into his head at that point, but he didn't answer.

"Unless you'd rather not …?"

Professor Snape had stood up then, his black eyes fixed on hers with such an intense, piercing stare that Hermione had to struggle not to look away. Without saying a word, he released the belt and fastenings on his trousers, and dropped them to the floor. He was wearing no underwear, and his erection stood proudly, offering her the challenge.

Hermione had taken the pot and dabbled her fingers in the melted chocolate, painting long stripes on his penis, and collecting more to smear around the head. With each touch, Snape's breathing became heavier, and more laboured, until it seemed he could take no more. She'd knelt in front of him, where he stood.

"Now," he hissed. "Please."

Taking hold of his bare legs, she had begun to run her tongue up and down the length of him, licking the lines of chocolate that she had finger-painted there, deliberately ignoring the tip. Beneath her hands, she felt the soft flesh of his inner thighs trembling desperately.

"Teasing witch!"

She took no notice of his exclamation; but did begin to run her tongue lightly around the head, taking little laps of the chocolate.

"Hermione," he warned, stroking her head and twisting up small curls of hair. "You are killing me."

She looked up at him, knowing that she must have chocolate round her mouth, and that he would like the sight. He looked desperate with desire. Capitulating, she took the head fully in her mouth and sucked it clean, licking every bit of the sweetness from every crevice. As he moaned with need, she decided it was clean enough, and slid her lips down the shaft of his penis, beginning to suck him deeply and slowly, and tasting the last bits of the chocolate as she did so. His hand on her head guided her movements, and Snape soon began to thrust his hips a little, swearing softly. He reached down and removed her mouth, gently, pulling her to stand, as he sat back down on the chair, bringing her to stand in front of him.

Snape had taken hold of her little pyjama shorts as soon as he sat, and whipped them down to the floor with one smooth movement, helping her step out of them and leaving her fully naked, as he sat before her in only his shirt.

"Do you think … here?" he'd asked, his voice urgent and slightly cracked.

As she nodded, and leaned in to kiss his lips, he'd pulled her forwards to straddle his legs as he sat on the dining chair, lifting her to create enough space for him to fold his hard penis inside, and then lowered her so that her feet were flat on the floor either side. She'd bent her knees to create movement, and Snape had held her tightly around the back, crushing her upper body against him and kissing her passionately as she slid herself up and down.

All too soon, his advanced arousal meant that Hermione was soon standing still, holding on to her professor whilst he thrust up inside her from his seated position; the chair leaning back so precariously, and creaking so loudly, that it'd been a wonder they'd stayed upright.

But they had, and she'd watched familiar face as he came; how tense he held his features as he pushed up with each spurt of his ejaculation and how his black hair fell in messy strands around his face.

When he was spent, Snape had picked her up where she stood, and carried her into the bathroom, where he delivered her directly into the shower, before joining her there himself once he had removed his shirt. They'd showered and dried in silence, for in truth there was far too much kissing under the pounding cascade of water to sustain any kind of meaningful conversation.

As they'd tumbled naked into bed, he'd reached over to her, insisting that she not go to sleep without her own orgasm, and Hermione had been more than happy to submit to that request, opening her legs and allowing his eager fingers to stroke and fondle her clitoris until she came, panting and sighing as he encircled her in his arms, pulling her close for sleep.

"You climax like Nimue herself, Hermione Granger," he'd muttered, nipping the earlobe that was closest to him, "and I cannot get enough. I am under your spell, witch."

She returned to the task in hand, mindful that for after she'd finished with the berries, Snape had provided her with his research notes to examine, which was a privilege in itself. Hermione passed the berries to the other side of the bench for him to collect when he was ready; and pulled the stack of parchments and small ledger notebook towards her; inking her quill and opening her own notebook, ready to make her own observations on his exciting research.

-xxx-

Severus watched the girl, covertly. He knew she was watching him.

He knew not why, why this outstandingly intelligent, naturally beautiful and sexually potent young witch would be fascinated by such an old scrote as he, but the fact remained that she was, and Severus felt the heat of her poorly-concealed gaze from across the room. It warmed his soul; and stoked the fire that always burned in his gut and his groin when he was around her.

He'd set her the fairly mindless task of crushing the mistletoe berries whilst he got the main brew started, and once it was stable, he would take her through the theory of his experimentation; and show her the results of his practical testing.

It had been a very long time since he'd shared his work with anyone, and even longer since he'd actually wanted to do so. He knew that Granger would pick it all up lightning-fast, and he was, amazingly, excited to hear any observations she might have.

Severus couldn't deny it, the thought of collaborating with her rapacious mind was almost as arousing as fucking her. For too long she had been kept as his inferior, as his student in the classroom, but the truth was, she was far beyond anyone in his seventh-year class. This young witch would be a candidate for mastery-level potioneering, should that be the field she chose. She shouldn't even still be at bloody school.

A prescient thought suddenly poked at his mind with a sharp jab. What was Granger going to do after she left Hogwarts? Severus hadn't thought to ask her, and he wasn't sure if he'd simply presumed something. He'd spilled his own guts with a woe-is-me story about his past; but had learned relatively little about her. He was stabbed with an uncharacteristic feeling of needing to correct that error.

As unusual as it was for Severus to show an interest in another person, he found that he was genuinely interested to know more about this girl who had insinuated herself so thoroughly into his life – with more than a little provocation from him, obviously.

He watched her sift through his notes, scratching out her own observations in a pristine, scarlet-bound notebook with a ludicrously small quill. She'd pulled her bushy hair into a rough mess at the back of her head, although one frizzy curl had already escaped, and it amused him how often she crossly tucked it back behind her ear, only for it to spring forth again a second later.

Without thinking too much about what he was doing, Severus moved silently across the room, stealthily approaching her from behind, where she was standing at the opposite workbench. He stepped directly behind her and cast a cunning little detangling spell of his own creation, which eased out the kinks in her hair, and secured it neatly in a soft knot at the back of her head.

Granger had startled slightly as she'd felt his magic upon her hair, letting her quill fall on to her notebook as she rested her hands on the workbench and appeared to enjoy the sensation of him tidying her unruly mane for her. She truly did look like a lion when her hair was unkempt, especially during lovemaking, and Severus found that he rather liked it. He pulled himself in behind her, pressing the front of his body fully against the back of hers.

"Tidy hair is essential in a laboratory, Miss Granger," he chided, his lips close to her ear as he leaned around one of her shoulders. "Did your Potions professor teach you nothing?"

"My Potions professor taught me many things," she replied, turning her face to catch his lips unexpectedly with hers.

Merlin. Every kiss this girl bestowed upon him was like the first time he'd ever experienced it. Not lingering on wondering why the hell she wanted to kiss him, Severus did not waste the offered opportunity and welcomed her eagerly into his mouth, rolling his tongue around hers and pushing it deeply into her mouth, whilst sliding his opposite hand down her side and rubbing her deliciously round arse over the long, dark-purple skirt she was wearing. He loved that it was the weekend and therefore she was not in her school uniform.

At length, Severus trailed his lips down her face and to her neck, bestowing sucking kisses and teasing licks to the sensitive cords that he found there, enjoying her gasps of pleasure as he did so. He was now grasping both her hips, easing her skirt higher with a creeping movement of his fingers, gradually folding it higher and higher, until he had a handful both sides, and felt the bare skin of her thighs under his fingertips. What the fuck was wrong with him? He'd already had her last night, and again this morning, and here he was once again, both hands up her skirt and his lips locked to her neck.

"I apologise," he rumbled, against her neck. "I meant to take advantage of your formidable brain this afternoon, rather than your body."

She moaned lightly, pushing back against him in encouragement.

"Can't you take advantage of both, Sir?"

"Teasing witch," he sighed, although he could feel his lips quirking at the corners, still pressed to her sweet neck. "Calling me Sir when I have my hands so close to your most secret places."

"Severus …"

This girl was the absolute limit. He stepped back from her and pushed her skirt over her buttocks, finding not some soft frippery of lingerie, but a completely bare arse, instead.

Shocked, but instantly aroused, he grasped one naked cheek hard in each hand, causing her to squeak in surprise.

"And where might your undergarments be, Miss Granger?"

"You seem to prefer it when I go without knickers, Professor."

"That I do," he growled. "That I do; you teasing, tormenting little Siren."

He placed a hand on her back, bending her forwards over the workbench so that her pert white bottom was presented to him in all its succulent glory. Pushing her skirt firmly up around her waist, Severus opened her legs to reveal her, trailing his fingers in the juicy wetness of her splayed cunt, enjoying watching her flinch as he touched her exquisitely sensitive parts.

"I want this," he muttered, gruffly, as he sank two fingers inside her, sliding them as deep as could and loving the squeal she made.

With his other hand he reached further down and sought out her clitoris with fumbling fingers, finding the little bud that he knew would bring her so much pleasure. Keeping a gentle pumping movement inside her, Severus thumbed her clit back and forth until he felt it begin to moisten and harden.

He still couldn't quite believe what he was doing. He had a student bent over a workbench in his private lab, skirt pulled up around her waist and her bare cunt at the full mercy of his masturbating fingers. Granger began to wiggle around on the bench as he toyed with her, so he added his unoccupied thumb to her puckered rear end, massaging the virgin hole deeply, and was gratified to hear her gasp, loudly.

"You like that, don't you?"

She didn't answer, so he increased his movements, speeding up his fingers that were flickering around her swollen clit.

"Answer me, girl."

"Yes!" she gasped. "Gods … yes …"

"When you come, I will see everything," he tormented. "I will watch your tight little cunt spasming around my fingers; and observe all the juices that will drip from you at my touch."

Granger squealed again, writhing her hips as he pulled and tugged at her clitoris, drawing her closer towards the orgasm he wanted from her. He would not take his pleasure, this time, until she had climaxed first. Her hips became rigid, and Severus frigged frantically against her clit, knowing that she was on the absolute cusp of her orgasm.

"Come, little girl," he urged. "Let me have it. You know you want to."

Her scream of release swelled his cock to desperate proportions, urgently trying to free itself from the confines of his trousers. As he rubbed her through her climax, withdrawing his fingers and watching the slippery juices collect around her hole as it pulsed and contracted, Severus muttered a spell remove his lower clothing, leaving him naked from the waist down. His cock was ridiculously hard, considering how much activity it had already seen, in the last few hours, and Gods, he wanted her again, in the worst way.

Not giving Granger a chance to come down fully from her orgasm, Severus pushed inside, her tight walls clenching around his cock feeling like absolute fucking heaven. Keeping her skirt pulled high, he massaged her arse cheeks as he began to thrust, quickly building a fast rhythm, knowing that the experience was unlikely to last long, seeing as he was so fucking over-aroused.

"What you do to me, girl," he muttered. "Hermione."

She said something in reply, but it was so unintelligible that it made him chuckle, and she threw up her hands as if in good-natured defeat.

"This is what happens when you omit to wear your knickers in the presence of the Potions master, Miss Granger," he teased, starting to thrust hard inside the young witch, enjoying the tiny gasps she made with every in-stroke.

"I'll remember that," she shot back, breathlessly, but still able to tease. "Perhaps in my next Potions lesson."

She fucking would, too.

Severus was assaulted with a dozen memories of the ways he had taken this girl, all mingled into one delicious experience as his hips blurred, pounding her hard and fast, bent over his own private workbench. With a huge exclamation; a deep roar that travelled up from his stomach and growled out of his throat like a hungry lion, Severus came hard, shooting his load inside her in desperate pumps. He needed to admit it, he could not get enough of her.

It took him a while for him to come down from his peak, slowing his thrusts to a leisurely stroke back and forth, just enjoying the feel of her tight little cunt hole around his cock.

Casting a gentle cleansing charm over her pussy as he pulled out, Severus guided her to stand, lest she be bent over a solid work surface for too long and begin to ache. He turned her to face him; and gathered her in his arms – one around her upper back, and the other snaking down to touch the skin where her skirt was still pulled high above her bare arse. He genuinely could not help himself.

"You are very distracting, Hermione," he chided, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "But I find myself hard-pressed to care when the distraction you provide is so pleasant."

"Thank you, Severus. I wanted that, too. I need you … like this, more than I expected."

He swallowed, hard, but did not reply, simply holding her, revelling in the sensation of having another human being in his arms.

It was still a discombobulating experience to have her calling him Severus. As for the other thing she'd just said, well, he would have to think upon that.

-xxx-

Less than a week later, Hermione was headed towards Professor Snape's office, the main one, where students were permitted to enter, with an unwilling Neville trailing behind her, hand-in-hand with his girlfriend Hannah. She rapped on the door, flinching at the barked command to enter. Hermione had forgotten how much fear the simple sound of his voice could invoke, when she was so used to hearing it whisper erotic filth against her ear. Neville visibly blanched as she pushed open the heavy wooden door and led them inside.

"Good evening, Sir."

"Miss Granger. Mr Longbottom. And why is Miss Abbott present?"

"Hannah is Neville's partner, Sir. He wanted her to be involved in anything pertaining to the care of his parents."

"I see. Very well. Be seated, all of you."

Snape gave his wand a sharp flourish, and the two chairs that were set before his desk became three, providing seating for them all.

"Mr Longbottom," Snape began, leaning forwards and clasping his hands together in front of him, on the surface of the desk, which was tidy and clear of parchments. "I trust that Miss Granger has advised you of the reason I wish to speak with you?"

"She has," Neville replied, finding his voice but flushing deeply at being directly addressed by the teacher he most feared.

During their time in the private laboratory, where Hermione had been stunned both by the accuracy of Snape's research and the depth of his own personal pain that had necessitated it; they had agreed to tell Neville that she had taken some additional work to the Potions professor for marking; and had happened to find him working on the Forgetfulness potion. Knowing that Neville would understand Hermione's inherent curiosity and propensity to question relentlessly, he would certainly believe that she had questioned Snape about his work until he capitulated, always eager to learn something new.

She had led Neville to believe that when learning about the potion and how it worked, she'd suggested that the targeted Forgetfulness draught might be suitable in the Longbottoms' case, since of course their tragic fate was well documented and widely known.

A tense conversation between them, in Neville's chamber two nights ago, along with a great deal of persuasion from Hannah, had led them here, meeting in Snape's office to discuss whether they could take the research further, and experiment on a human subject, namely, Frank and Alice Longbottom.

No wonder her friend looked terrified. The wizard of whom he was most scared of was about to offer his doomed parents a lifeline, albeit an untested, experimental one.

"It is my belief, Longbottom, that if your parents were to receive regular infusions of the targeted Forgetfulness potion, that after, say, a month, it may be possible, with the use of exceptionally skilled and precise Legilimency, for them to be relaxed and receptive enough for someone to access the part of their mind where they are trapped. I understand that their bodies remain physically healthy?"

"Yes, Sir," Neville replied. "Although Mum is weaker than Dad. Healer Strout believes that she has given up fighting, since it's been so long now that she has been like ... this."

"Then would I be correct in assuming that you would be keen to try anything to help her, even with no guarantee of success?"

Neville shuddered, and scrubbed a hand roughly down his face. Hannah grabbed the other one and squeezed it tightly in support.

"If I don't let you try, Mum will die. If there's the tiniest chance this potion might help, I've got to allow it."

"It's not just the potion, Neville," Hermione interjected. "The potion will calm their minds over a period of time, hopefully enough to allow a Legilimens to enter their minds."

Neville looked up at Snape, his warm brown eyes meeting the professor's cold black ones.

"You're a Legilimens, aren't you, Sir?" he asked. "Harry told me."

"I am, Mr Longbottom."

"Can you do this? Can you find them?"

"I can offer you no guarantee other than I will try."

Neville bowed his head, and Hannah stood and put her arms around him, standing behind his chair and looking at Snape as if he might disapprove, but he seemed not to notice their display of affection, which would normally have had him curling his lip in disdain.

"Do I have your consent, Longbottom?"

With a resigned sigh, Neville agreed, nodding his head, slowly.

"Excellent. In that case, we have much to prepare. Miss Granger, I believe you can leave us now, your role is completed."

He was dismissing her.

Oh well, she supposed she had no further reason to be here, although Hermione felt a little frustrated at not being included. However, that may look suspicious. No one knew of the friendship that had developed between her and the surly Potions master, let alone that they were lovers.

She quietly bid Neville and Hannah goodbye, and thanked the professor formally, not meeting his eye as she left the office, closing the door behind her and stepping out into the slightly chilly air of the dungeon corridor.

Hermione had only turned one corner when she heard raised voices, and once she had turned the next, saw Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass having what appeared at first glance to be an argument, such was the vehemence in their words, but once she caught a few sentences, realised that was not entirely correct, although their discussion was certainly heated.

"Granger!"

Malfoy had noticed her rounding the corner.

"Malfoy. Daphne. Is everything alright?"

"Pervert Briner has my sister in detention," Daphne replied, tersely, a disgusted look upon her face.

"Again? She was only there last weekend, surely?" Hermione said, thinking of Astoria's detention in Briner's office that had so upset Susan as she tidied up like a little house-elf around them.

"Exactly what I said. I've written to mum and dad. I think she's playing up in Transfiguration to get herself in detention with him."

"Why would she do that?" Draco scoffed. "She fucking hates him."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" shot back Daphne. "Just because you want to get your wand under her skirt, Malfoy."

To his credit, Draco had the grace to blush, ever so slightly.

"Whether I fancy her or not has no bearing, if she's being taken advantage of by a teacher."

"Honestly, I don't know what she's playing at. She was as rude as hell to him in that detention we all had, remember?"

Hermione nodded, and Draco looked away, annoyed.

"Maybe its not her choice?" Hermione offered.

"Is he still sniffing around after Abbott?"

"I don't think so. Both she and Susan have withdrawn from Transfiguration, which is such a shame. I can't believe McGonagall isn't questioning it."

"Too busy running the whole school, at her age, to worry about why a couple of Puffs have quit a class, and without clear evidence, there's no point in any of us reporting Briner to her."

They all quietened for a moment, realising the futility of the situation.

"What are you doing down here anyway, Granger? Rather deep in the bowels of the castle for a lion, aren't you?"

"Since you asked so nicely, Draco, I was in a meeting with Professor Snape."

Was it her imagination, or did his eyes glint with a spark of mischief at her answer?

"Private meetings with the Potions master? How very inappropriate, Granger."

Daphne began making ridiculous retching noises, as if the very thought of Hermione and the professor made her want to vomit.

"It was hardly private. Neville and Hannah were there too. Professor Snape may have discovered something that just might help Neville's parents' condition."

Both Draco and Daphne looked a little chastened. Good.

"Longbottom still nailing Abbott then? Fuck, that must piss Briner right off, he absolutely had his eye on her."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Draco's coarse language, especially regarding two people as sweet and gentle as Neville and Hannah.

"They're very much together, yes," she replied, with a satisfied smile. "And if your suspicion is that he is now targeting Astoria, perhaps you should take her off the market too, Draco, so to speak?"

He sneered, although there seemed to be no malice or weight behind the expression, and he jerked his gaze towards her older sister, who looked like a burly Quidditch player, most unlike her small, blonde faerie of a younger sibling. Hermione had never seen two sisters look so different. She wondered fleetingly if they were only half-siblings, but now would be a hugely inappropriate time to ask.

"Go ahead," Daphne told him. "I heard you aren't with Parkinson anymore. But no funny business until after Christmas, Malfoy. Astoria doesn't turn sixteen until halfway through the holidays."

With that, Daphne turned on her heel, and headed back towards what must be the Slytherin common room. Hermione began to walk out of the dungeons, her destination the guest corridor where all the bedchambers for the eighth years were situated. Draco followed her, he must be turning in for the night too. They walked in companionable silence for a short while, side-by-side.

"I don't have to her ask her fucking permission," he grumbled, suddenly.

"Of course you don't," Hermione replied, burying the snigger at his offended tone, thinking that Daphne Greengrass had given her permission for Draco to approach her sister, whether he'd asked for it or not.