Chapter 23
A week later, and excitement over Snape's 'resurrection' (as it was being toted in the Prophet) of Frank Longbottom was still front-page news.
Augusta Longbottom had wasted no time in announcing her son's miraculous recovery to all and sundry, and it was of little surprise that the salivating hounds at the Daily Prophet were soon all over the story.
Miraculous.
It wasn't fucking miraculous, it was the culmination of a year's bloody hard work, experimentation and research, not forgetting the services of a Master Legilimens; one who was willing to step inside Longbottom's hellish mindscape and drag him back from the dark, watery wasteland in which he had been mentally trapped.
Miraculous, indeed.
He snorted aloud, as he folded the newspaper and slapped it down onto the side table in disgust, startling Sybill Trelawney who was wafting around the staff room like a fart in a hurricane.
"Are you quite alright, Severus?" she enquired, pushing her bony face with its ludicrously magnified eyes, far nearer to his own that he would have liked.
"He is fine, Sybill," Andrea Masters interrupted, shooing the airy Divination professor away and sitting unasked in the chair opposite Severus.
He raised a slow eyebrow in the imperious manner he used when intending to frighten an errant student, and said nothing, but hooked one leg over the opposite thigh, drumming his fingers on his boot and turning to glare at the fireplace, wishing he had not dispensed with the newspaper quite so prematurely.
"Getting attention from all corners now, aren't you, Severus?" she began, leaning back in her own seat and stretching her hands along the leather arm of the old staff room chair.
"I have no idea what you speak of."
It was a lie. He had received more post this last week than the entire rest of the term put together; a mixture of potion companies offering their services, desperate people wanting to take the targeted Forgetfulness potion themselves, and worst of all, a request from the Daily Prophet for an exclusive interview, of all things.
Minerva had repeated the request to him two days after he'd burned the original letter in an impressive shower of angry red sparks, for she had received a personal approach from Rita Skeeter, no less. Severus had given the Headmistress his response in a tirade of such creative and vehement swearing that no one in the staff room, nor its immediate vicinity, could be any doubt that he would not be accepting Skeeter's request for an interview.
Pomona Sprout had actually snorted with ill-suppressed laughter, when he'd described the tabloid hack writer as the bastard love child of a mountain troll and a dung beetle. Minerva did not ask him again, which was essentially a wise move on her part.
Andrea summoned the whisky decanter and topped up his glass, pouring a second for herself.
"Your good health," she murmured, tilting her glass in his direction.
"I did not ask you to pour my drink for me."
"I was having one. It seemed polite to refresh yours."
Severus glowered at her, but the witch did not seem at all cowed by his surliness.
"Everyone wants a piece of Severus Snape, it seems?"
"What?" he snapped, jerking his head up with impatience, for she was fast becoming tiresome.
"A hero, and now a financial success, thanks to this potion of yours. I am sure you'll soon have the witches lining up at the school gates."
He did not answer her. It was true that amongst his post this week, there had been a bizarre letter from a witch named Fiona Tweddle, in which she pledged her admiration for his bravery, his cleverness in curing the 'poor Longbottoms' and providing her return address. He had consigned it to the fire and thought no more about it. Not that he would tell Andrea Masters anything about it.
"Remember, Severus. I proposed to you before all of this, not knowing the success you would make of yourself. You can be assured that my reasons for wanting to be with you are outside of financial matters."
He actually laughed – a strangled, choked sound that had nothing to do with mirth and everything to do with disgust and contempt.
Standing up, leaving the newspaper and the untouched refill of firewhisky on the side table, he took his leave of his colleagues in the staff room without a word, sweeping out of the high-ceilinged room where he had spent so much time, over the years. Too much time.
As he stalked down the corridor, swiftly turning the next corner, thanking Merlin that he wasn't on night patrol and could retire to bed, he was most displeased to hear quickening footsteps behind him, and finally, a hand touched his shoulder.
"Severus!"
He spun around, facing her.
"I have nothing to say to you, Andrea. You have made your intentions clear, and in turn, I have advised you that I want no part in what you are planning. Leave me be."
She was still holding his shoulder, her red painted fingernails bright against the black cloth of his teaching robe.
"I will wait for you," she promised, bizarrely.
"Do not trouble yourself. It will be an awfully long wait."
Andrea squeezed his shoulder tighter.
"This is an advantageous solution for both of us, Severus. I can, and will, wait until you see the good sense in what I am proposing."
"There is no good sense in your proposal."
"On the contrary," she retorted, taking a quick step forwards that rendered Severus slightly off-balance, causing him to step back, away from her, and found himself leaning against the stone wall of the corridor, knocking a painting askew as he did so.
"Excuse me!" the portrait shouted, disgruntled at being jostled awake.
Andrea Masters did not miss a beat. She closed in on him, placing her hand, with great audacity, against his covered crotch, and squeezed the bulge she felt within.
"Get your hands off me," he spat, black eyes boring down at her.
"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice oozing seduction and massaging his cock through his coat and trousers. "Because it feels to me as if you are rather keen that my hand stays right where it is."
"That, Madam, is the natural resting state of my cock. Something you will never get any closer to, because if you do not remove your hand this instant, I shall hex it off."
Realising it was not wise to test his threat, Andrea desisted from pawing his groin, but instead slid her hand up his body to rest upon his cheek, which she stroked gently with her thumb, looking up at him as if for all the world that she fancied him. Thankfully, he knew better.
The former Mrs Rookwood was an incredibly attractive witch, there was no doubting that. If his mind and body had not been so captivated by a girl young enough to be his daughter, Severus might have been tempted by her offer; if not the marriage, certainly the sex.
As it was, for all her beauty, Andrea Masters was not Hermione Granger. He needed the guileless innocence of the girl, her utter acceptance of all that he was, and all that he wasn't, as he negotiated his first-ever sexual relationship. The ex-wife of a Death Eater would eat him alive, and that didn't interest him in the slightest. He'd had more than enough of being dominated.
Andrea trailed a finger across his pursed lips.
"Let me teach you, Severus. Allow me to show you what you have been missing, all these years."
He pushed her hand away, roughly. Enough was enough.
"How do you know that I have been missing anything?" he sneered, needlessly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"So, you do fuck your students," she stated.
"Absolutely none of your business."
"I can offer you so much more than a teenager, Professor Snape. You will realise that, in time. And I told you, I am a patient woman. I will wait."
"Don't."
She smiled beatifically at him, and turned to walk away, stroking a hand across his folded arms as she departed, making him shiver, most unpleasantly. Severus rallied himself and continued through the echoing corridors, making his way down towards the dungeons, thinking that it would be a fucking cold day in hell before he stuck his cock anywhere that Augustus Rookwood's had once been.
-xxx-
Sitting in a Monday morning Transfiguration class was never the most pleasant of experiences, but today was particularly trying, after the announcement that Professor McGonagall had made at breakfast.
The new Headmistress had informed the school that as a celebration of peacetime, and as a treat for all students, there would be a Yule Ball held in mid-December, before the school broke up for the Christmas holidays. This ball would be similar to the one that had been held in Hermione's fourth year, during the Tri-Wizard tournament, when her partner for the evening had been none other than the Bulgarian international Quidditch player, Viktor Krum.
She remembered the night of the Yule Ball as having been a wonderful evening, apart from Ron's bad mood and Harry's ineptitude; as for the first time Hermione had fully embraced everything that being a girl entailed – allowing Ginny Weasley to Sleakeasy her curls into submission and pour her into an amazing dress that she had swept around the dancefloor all night, and the periwinkle blue skirts had been filthy the next morning, much to Ginny's chagrin.
The Yule Ball, McGonagall had explained, used to be solely a preserve of the Tri-Wizard tournament, but since they'd all almost died (well, she didn't actually use those words, but had implied them) it seemed silly to miss a wonderful opportunity for 'well-mannered frivolity.'
Some of the older Gryffindors had smirked, remembering their former Head of House using those exact words as she'd attempted to teach them all a basic waltz.
Nonetheless, huge excitement had rippled across the Great Hall, reaching such a level of noise that the Headmistress had needed to amplify her voice to call for quiet. It was this excited babble that was causing such a ruckus in the Transfiguration classroom, that morning.
Rather than attempt to quieten the students down, Professor Briner was encouraging them, perching on individual desks (all girls, she noted) enquiring what they planned to wear, or whom they wished would invite them as a partner. Malfoy had scoffed a little too loudly, once too often, and had soon provoked the teacher's annoyance.
"Is this all beneath you, Mr Malfoy?" Briner had goaded. "Of course, you and Miss Granger have no such trivial worries as finding a partner, will you, hmm? How uncharitable you are to the feelings of others."
"I was under the impression that this was supposed to be a Transfiguration class, not a night in the girls' dorms, wittering about dates and dresses," Draco shot back, succinctly.
Briner, of course, could not argue with that, and was forced to slink back behind his teaching desk, and resume the lesson he had started half an hour ago, glaring at Draco and herself for the remainder of the class, as if their very presence personally offended him. Hermione fervently hoped that it did.
"I'll pay for that one," Malfoy had crowed; once they were trooping out of the classroom and headed for their next lesson.
"I have no doubt you will," Hermione agreed, reluctantly, before spotting a familiar blonde Slytherin heading towards them, and enjoying Draco's face turn from pale to pinked.
"Ask her now, before somebody else does," she urged. "Trust me. That happens."
She nudged him towards Astoria as they passed ways, making him drop all his books at the younger girl's feet. It was childish, but incredibly satisfying. Hermione snuck a look behind her before rounding the next corner, and saw them both crouching down, picking up Draco's books. He would ask her to the ball, she was certain of it. Draco Malfoy wouldn't risk someone else taking the witch he had his eye on.
Ginny caught up with her as they entered the Potions classroom, breathless from running.
"I just sent an owl to Harry!" she panted, throwing her books on the nearest workbench and tugging Hermione down onto the neighbouring stool. "I've asked him if he'll write to McGonagall and see if he could be allowed back into school for the night of the Yule Ball, to be my partner. I mean, he did save the school, and the whole wizarding world, so she can't really say no. Can she?"
Hermione smiled at the excited Weasley.
"I'm sure she won't, Ginny. Professor McGonagall loves Harry, and I'm sure she'd love to see him as much as you'd like him to be here for the Yule Ball."
Ginny returned the smile, her freckled nose wrinkling as she grinned.
"What about you, Hermione? No Viktor Krum this time!"
Hermione looked around the classroom, pretending to assess the quality of young wizards within it, making Ginny laugh.
"Hmm, there's no one here that really passes muster, is there?" she replied, in a mock-snooty tone that had them both laughing together. "No, in all seriousness, I'll go alone. I don't need a dance partner to be able to have fun."
Just then, Professor Snape entered the classroom, barging through the door that led to his main office, silencing the room with a single request for quiet, curtly spelling today's brew on the board with an enchanted piece of white chalk, and launching into a detailed explanation of the ingredients they would be using, along with the usual poison warnings. No greetings, no pleasantries, no interaction. Only instruction.
Except you, Hermione thought, her eyes and ears filled with the sight and sound of her forbidden lover. I'd have fun dancing, with you.
-xxx-
Severus returned to Hogwarts, too late for dinner, but too early for bed.
He'd spent the evening at St Mungo's, not out of necessity, for Frank had now taken it upon himself to administer all his wife's doses of the Forgetfulness potion, and dutifully took his own, but because he had promised Frank that he would attempt Legilimency on Alice, to see if he could find her, inside her own mind.
It had been unsuccessful, right from the start. Severus could not find any way to force Alice to make eye contact with him, not even for a second, and without the eye contact, a Legilimised connection would be impossible. Frank had watched him try, again and again, his face etched with sadness and concern.
Unlike her husband, Alice did not focus on anything. Even when her eyes were open, they were unseeing, never darting about the room or fixating on faces. It was as if she were blind. Tests had proved she was not, but Severus had no idea what to try next.
He bid Frank good night with an apology that he could not have done more to help Alice, but with a promise that he would not give up, not yet. Frank had brushed away his regrets; telling him there was no need for Severus to apologise, for he had done so much already, and thanked him profusely for trying.
The time had almost come for Frank Longbottom to be discharged from St Mungo's. There was no reason for a healthy, sane wizard to be living on a curse-damage ward, and Severus had been told about Frank's initial plans to move back to his family home, where his mother still lived, and where his son had been raised, since his and Alice's marital home had been sold many years ago, and the funds deposited in a Gringotts vault in Neville Longbottom's name.
Once Alice was … back, Frank told him, with great certainty, they would buy a new house where they could rebuild their lives, although he wasn't sure that either of them would ever return to their jobs in the Auror Office.
Severus privately thought that none of these plans would ever come to fruition, but of course, he did not say so. That would have been cruel.
Frank was refusing to leave Alice in the hospital without him; and was applying to have her discharged into he and Augusta's care, so that she could live at home, rather than in St Mungo's. It was to his credit that the request was being considered, although, there was little that the Healers could do for Alice Longbottom now, beyond caring for her unresponsive body.
No, her fate lay entirely with him - Severus. The magnitude of this responsibility was not lost on him.
Severus found himself walking towards the fireplace as he entered his quarters, not stopping to take off his boots, nor his travelling cloak. He stepped through the Floo connection to Granger's room that they always left open; and enjoyed her surprise as she looked up and saw him in the fireplace.
She was seated, cross-legged, in a wheeled chair at her desk, in those infernally tiny pyjamas that consisted of a skimpy vest and the smallest pair of shorts he'd ever seen. Not that Severus was complaining. The more of her body he got to see, the better, as far as he was concerned.
Throwing her quill down on the desk, she bounced out of her chair and across the room to greet him, and surprised him greatly by jumping into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, and pressing her mouth directly to his. Again, he was not complaining.
"Have you been at the hospital?" she asked; once she had kissed him thoroughly.
"I have indeed. How did you know?"
"Your clothes smell of St Mungo's," she replied, cheekily, her legs still held tightly around his waist.
"Is that so? Perhaps you'd better remove them, then."
His eyes dared her to do just that, and he allowed her to slither back to the floor, ensuring she was pressed against his groin on the way down.
Severus found that he didn't want to talk about his work with the Longbottoms, or be asked how Frank was getting on, nor how long would it be before Alice was cured in exactly the same way? No, he just needed comfort – just needed … her.
Granger drew her wand, an intricately carved vinewood, from her hair, where it was holding the mad curls in a kind of messy pile, which came tumbling down when she removed the wand. Casting it towards the bed with confidence and skill, she summoned the scarlet eiderdown, sending it to lay on the hearth rug before the fire, which was still glowing green. She closed the Floo connection, returning the flames to their usual orange, and stoked it higher.
"Engorgio."
She cast her wand at the eiderdown, increasing its size and plumpness, and then doused the wall sconces, sending the room into darkness, but well-lit by the blaze of the small fire.
"Look at me," she whispered, pulling the vest over her head and standing in front of him, long hair just touching the tops of her pert breasts.
Oh, he would look. He would certainly look.
Sending another cast from her wand, this time towards him, Severus felt his cloak leave his shoulders, and fall to the floor. The buttons of his coat began to unfasten, and this too soon joined the cloak on the floor. He kicked off his shoes, pulling his socks with them, before straightening up again to look at her, naked except for the tiny shorts.
"Continue," he instructed, enunciating every syllable of the word, stringing each one out in his mouth, extending every vowel.
His shirt and trousers were soon dispensed with, tugged from his body with waves of her subtle, yet promisingly powerful magic. His wand was revealed as his shirt dropped to the floor, and she took it, placing it with her own on top of the homework that she'd been working on; when he had arrived. It was the Potions essay he'd set. The reality of their situation was laid clear, and yet, he didn't care. Granger didn't seem to, either.
"I'll do these myself, without magic," she told him, toying with the waistband of his undershorts.
"Please do," he replied, enjoying every moment of this girl stripping him of his clothes in the most tender way.
Neatly hoicking the front over his now-substantial erection, she guided his shorts over his bottom and down his legs, licking the end of his cock both on the way down, and as she stood up again. It lurched eagerly towards her, in pleasure.
"May I return the favour?" he asked, arching an eyebrow to indicate her pyjama shorts.
She stepped towards him, by way of consent.
Severus encircled her waist with his hands, slowly moving his fingers down to her last remaining garment, not that there had been many to begin with, and edged them down to the floor, as she'd done to him, and guided her to step out of them. He then took her hand and led her to the plump eiderdown that she'd enlarged and laid before the fire, bending his knees to sit down, bringing her with him, encouraging her to straddle him.
"You are beautiful, Hermione," he told her, and it was true, for she was luminous in the golden glow of the fire that was warming both their naked bodies.
He pushed his hands into her hair and drew her face towards him, capturing her lips with his own and delivering a kiss that took his own breath away with its depth and ferocity. He kissed her with everything that he could not say out loud, for he did not have the words.
He swallowed the little pants and mews that she made as he pushed his tongue roughly and somewhat inexpertly into her mouth, sweeping up her own tongue and forcing it to parry with his own. It was not long before one of his hands left her head and crept down to her chest, taking a handful of ripe tit and fondling it, flickering over the nipple with his thumb and feeling her wriggle in his lap.
Breaking the kiss, she placed her hand on his chest, pushing him backwards to lay on the enlarged eiderdown, in the nest, of sorts, that she had created. Rising to her knees, she used her hand to slip the head of his cock inside her, and then sat down to seat herself fully upon him. He groaned, long and loud.
"You are beautiful, Severus," she answered, beginning to rock her hips against him, starting a slow fuck that he had no doubt would soon have him shouting his release.
He watched her make love to him. This tiny girl who had been a virgin, just as he had. They had learnt together, and she was now capable of this. The way she was rolling her pelvis, ensuring every inch of her tight cunt manipulated his dick … her long hair bouncing on her tits as she thrust against him … well, if this wasn't heaven, it was a very close approximation.
Severus slipped one hand between her legs, dipping his fingers into her labia to seek her clitoris, and began to stroke and toy with it, making her gasp and her encouraging her hips to speed their movements. His other hand returned to her breasts, alternately tweaking and gently twisting at her nipples, both now hard and seeking attention.
"Fuck me harder, Hermione," he hissed, feeling the tight clench of his jaw that indicated just how bloody aroused he was. "You are like a Siren, a Succubus; as you straddle me in this firelight, a true witch – bewitching … enchanting …"
His mouth was running away with him, and it wasn't the only body part he was losing control of, surrendering himself entirely to this girl.
Her hips sped to a blur as she pushed herself over the edge, and he fell with her, crying out in relief as his orgasm released, and he held her around the waist, guiding and slowing her movements as he wound down.
Severus stared at her, glowing with the flush of her own orgasm, looking deliciously debauched, yet still innocent and beguiling. How did he ever get so fucking lucky?
He never wanted to let her go.