A/N: I always am ambivalent regarding author's notes and trigger warnings. This fic is, indeed, rated 'm'… I think that's all I need to say on the subject. *grins*
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Ch. 5— Gluttony, Greed, and Waste
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Hermione's nipples grew hard, and it wasn't solely due to arousal but cold. Looking behind her, she drew her jars of flame closer, and the very second they were through the gate, the door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into darkness relieved only by bluebell flame.
She began to shiver and drew even closer to Professor Snape. He held her to him as he flew them on, and gradually, Hermione began to be aware of the smell.
It smelled offal—as in human remains and excrement. And she gagged.
Upon looking down, she realized that if Professor Snape hadn't been flying them, then they would be wading in a river of frozen sewage exactly as described in the Inferno.
And peering around, she knew the three-headed dog was out there… somewhere.
There was a frozen wind, and as with the cyclone, it stole the breath from her lungs, replacing it with cold. Chills racked up and down her body; the temperature in this level couldn't be above zero degrees Celsius.
Professor Snape flew them higher, and Hermione was thankful the smell lessened the higher they went.
There was a ledge above leading to a cave, one of many in this level, and landing, Professor Snape put her gently down before releasing her. His hands cupped and caressed her sides as he did so, and again, she didn't think he realized he was consciously doing it.
"Can you engorge them?" he asked, nodding to her jars of flame.
In answer, Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated, picturing her jars becoming blue pillars.
Upon opening her eyes, she felt the blessed heat suffuse her, and her chills instantly lessened. Five pillars of blue light and warmth surrounded them on all sides.
"What other wandless magic do you know besides manipulating your flames?" Professor Snape asked as he released her.
Hermione shook her head. "I don't know any more, sir."
He chuffed a disgusted breath. "'The brightest witch of your age', and you don't have more conscious control of your magic?"
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she met his stare. "I've been a bit preoccupied, professor. Excuse me if I haven't found time to learn my seventh year's coursework in addition to defeating evil. Which, I might add, I found a way to do."
"Yes," he said snidely, "and at this moment, we're reaping the spoils of your victory."
"At least we're still living to do so—"
"Quiet!" he hissed.
And at that moment, Hermione realized she'd been ignoring a prickle between her shoulder blades, and she knew exactly what it meant. They were being hunted.
"Come here," he ordered lowly, slowly holding out his arms.
Without hesitation, she leapt into them right as a giant paw with its jagged claws extended swept where she'd stood not a moment before.
"Oh, HOLY SHITE—!" she broke off as the giant three-headed dog, which could only be the mother of Fluffy, began to claw, gnash, bark, and growl, spewing at them with teeth ground razor-sharp, and foam dripping from its three jaws.
As Professor Snape had landed them near a cave, they were trapped with the Cerberus in front of them. The thing was trying to corral them inside.
One of its heads lunged, and Hermione shrieked, throwing a jar of flame and smashing it into the side of its head. The thing cried out in pain, momentarily stunned, and Professor Snape used this as a diversion to fly them out and straight up.
The thing followed, leaping from ledge to ledge, keeping pace with Professor Snape's flight. It was using the tunnels and caves to its advantage, following them as he flew them higher and higher straight up the rock face.
The Cerberus made a mad dive for their heels, catching Professor Snape off-guard; its middle head extended with teeth gnashing.
Hermione flung one of her jars at it.
The thing chomped down on it instead of Professor Snape's foot and immediately yelped in pain. And still another head was there, the one she had not yet wounded, and it narrowly missed biting her arm.
With a flick of her finger another pillar of flame smashed into its eyes, blinding it.
The thing yawped and shook its head, its three heads now scorched and whimpering. Yet still the Cerberus chased after them.
Professor Snape flew them higher, the twin pillars of her remaining flame encircling them as they flew until they reached a rock ledge that had a curved lip on it, making it look like a giant, black maw.
"Could there be more than one?" she asked, trembling as he set them down on the ledge.
The Cerberus was still climbing after them but was fast losing steam. And Hermione looked down. They had to be a thousand feet or more straight up. Sudden vertigo assailed her, and she shut her eyes tight, trying to occlude it away. God, how much hated heights!
"Shine one of your flames into the space, girl," Professor Snape ordered.
Drawing a deep breath to occlude the feeling away, she opened her eyes and did so. The cave was empty; a basin no bigger than five feet by seven feet and curved upward like a clam. The entrance was protected from the bottom to the top by the 'lip' of stone that curved upward.
As far as shelter went from the Cerberus, it was perfect.
They looked down to find the mutant 'dog' was now in retreat, heading back down the rockface.
"Leave one of your flames burning near the beast and draw the other to you," Professor Snape ordered. "We need to hide so it forgets we're here. Did you notice the door below you and to the right when we landed before the Cerberus came?"
Hermione shook her head 'no'. At the time, she'd been too focused on the terrible smell and his needling of her.
"We'll have to wait until the beast sleeps before we attempt it." He pointed to the door, and it was more than obvious that was where the Cerberus was going to sleep.
"Yes, sir," she said, beginning to shiver now that the chase was over. It was well below freezing in here, and she didn't have a stitch on. And without the other flames, there was no way they were going to survive hypothermia.
Climbing into their cave, Professor Snape held out his hands for her to follow, grabbing hold of her waist. He lifted her down.
His hands remained there as the two of them turned to watch the Cerberus reach the bottom of the level near the shore. The three-headed dog made itself comfortable on the ledge nearest the door Professor Snape had mentioned and began licking its wounds.
The door itself looked to be made of stone, but there was something—perhaps a piece of paper?— nailed to it.
He drew her away and gestured they should sit and wait.
Hermione had two jars of flame left, and with one guarding the Cerberus, they huddled around the remaining one that was putting out the heat of a tea light candle.
"Engorge it to be the size of a first year's cauldron. Anything taller will produce too much light."
She did so and they sat there with the jar of flame between them, and Hermione could focus on nothing but the cold. Her nipples were diamond hard and aching; she cupped and chafed them. And it quickly became obvious her jar wasn't producing enough heat for the two of them to share.
She was wracked with a full body shiver.
Without asking, Professor Snape drew her in his arms until she sat upon his lap with his back against the wall of the cave. The both of them trembled at the contact.
"Try to rest," he ordered softly in her ear, his hair falling forward to her cheek.
She shook her head, curling into a ball on his lap, and tried to keep her teeth from chattering as she said, "I'm afraid if I fall asleep, I'll never wake up."
Some time passed, and Hermione could focus on nothing but the cold. Every single atom composing her felt frozen and nothing could warm her. The meagre heat her blue-bell flame was giving them was laughable as the cold surrounded her, permeated her very bones.
Then Professor Snape was moving her until she faced him, urging her to part her legs until she straddled him, and in the low flickering, light, she met his stern gaze. "We need to share more body heat; hold onto me," he said softly, and Hermione noticed his lips were turning blue.
Biting her lip, she did so, putting her arms around him and drawing him in close. The man was practically skin and bone, but the core of him was warm, and greedily, she clung to the heat he offered.
However, in this position with her legs wrapped around him, the lower half of him was very close to being nestled in the downy softness of her mons, and she became acutely self-conscious, momentarily forgetting the cold as reluctant arousal began to take hold.
Could they still be under the effects of the lust potion?
It was possible.
She'd never been this close to a man before. Not so intimately situated. And even though she'd lived with Harry and Ron for months in that tent, she'd never seen one.
Of course, she'd known in a clinical sense what a penis would look like. And honestly, Professor Snape's was exactly as she'd pictured one to be. But feeling him nestled almost against her… she bit her lip.
Her thoughts were going to get her into trouble, and so she sought to re-direct them. Turning her head and drawing closer to him, she whispered softly in his ear, "I know you don't owe me answers, but please, sir, tell me why did you kill Professor Dumbledore?"
For a long moment he was silent, but then he took a deep breath as if steeling himself before replying lowly, "Because he asked me to, Miss Granger."
Her mouth dropping open, and by the light of her bluebell flame, she pulled back to look up into his eyes. "Really? Why would he—"
"Stay close and keep quiet, girl," he hissed, pulling her back to him, "or we're liable to disturb the beast and be forced to stay here and freeze to death." He tugged her until she was wrapped fully around him now with the quintessential male part of him resting fully against her quim. And Hermione was now more than acutely aware of their position, discomfort warring with outright embarrassed arousal.
Their position did serve its purpose, however, as her blood began to pool and heat. And quite suddenly, being cold was the furthest thing from her mind.
She held her breath, her pulse starting to pound as she waited for what he would say next.
He muttered lowly to himself as she felt a hardness begin to form between his legs where his lower half touched hers, and he drew a deep, calming breath, counting for a beat of ten.
And it suddenly became of highest importance for Hermione to remain as still as possible above him.
She was making him hard!
It was survival instinct. He was a man. She was a woman. And this was a life-threatening situation. Their bodies were seeking heat, trying to stay warm no matter what, and they'd been drugged with what amounted to muggle ecstasy.
She bit her lip hard, trying to distract herself from the fact that she was now growing wet. And she couldn't even squirm because to do so would coat him in her moisture.
Oh, holy shite!
Following his lead, she drew her own breath on a count of ten and occluded the emotion away, trying to wish back the scent of her arousal which now permeated the cold air.
He spoke, his voice pitched low and intimate, "Albus Dumbledore knew Potter was a horcrux, and he also knew Potter must die by the Dark Lord's hand, Salazar Slytherin's interference unforeseen. The headmaster was also dying. In destroying a horcrux the summer before your sixth year, he was cursed, and the curse was slowly killing him."
The temperature between them was growing comfortable, and she clung to him, stealing his heat and providing her own. Professor Snape jostled them, and Hermione gasped to feel his pubis press more firmly against her mons.
And it most certainly wasn't her imagination this time; she most definitely felt him getting hard beneath her.
Don't move! Do NOT move! she urged herself and cast about a bit desperately, thinking of something, anything to say.
"Dumbledore—he errm, he made you promise to do it?"
"Yes," Professor Snape said, his jaw grit tight. And she could hear him counting lowly under his breath. However, it was doing nothing to calm his… well, calm him.
He stopped counting and said with an air of resignation, "Yes, he made me promise. As did Bellatrix Lestrange. I was under an Unbreakable Vow to help Draco Malfoy succeed in his mission to kill the headmaster." Once more he adjusted their positions so he was reclining more against the wall, and Hermione gasped as he lifted her away from himself and placed her above him so that her mons now rested upon his lower stomach, and his now fully engorged member was cradled beneath her arse.
She blushed the color of scarlet to feel a trail of moisture—her moisture!—pool where she sat upon him. Breathe. she told herself. Just breathe and focus on staying warm.
She shivered. He did too, and he drew her nearer.
"So, you were foxed in, right?" she asked breathlessly, burying her cold nose and flaming cheeks in his neck. "And your loyalty to Voldemort couldn't be questioned by the others. After all, you've proven your allegiance… to both your masters."
"You are correct, Miss Granger," he gruffed, turning to speak lowly in her ear, "My position at the Dark Lord's side could no longer be questioned. The Dark Lord thought I had killed the headmaster on his bequest, and I was, therefore, proven absolute in my loyalty to him."
Hermione had to bite back a moan.
His voice.
Oh, how could she not have realized before now how absolutely dead-sexy his voice was?! As smooth as liquid velvet when he wasn't giving a cutting rebuke. When he was explaining a concept or describing a potion. Hermione shivered as much in pleasure as with cold now that she was aware.
Growing more wet by the second, she kept talking, trying to distract herself as much as find the answers she sought. "And Voldemort," she said into his neck. "he errm… he gave you the school upon Dumbledore's death. Is that what the headmaster hoped would happen?"
Professor Snape shivered and exposed more of his neck for her to burrow her cold nose into. "It is," he said. "The Dark Lord had spoken of this plan to me upon my appointment many years before, and the headmaster had always been aware of it. He was a pragmatist, and through the course of my career, he made certain I was prepared to run the school should such an eventuality occur."
She gulped, and pulling back, met his stare. "You've always been on our side, haven't you? Ever since you defected from Riddle. I saw your face. You gloried in casting the killing curse. And with it, you accomplished your goal of defeating him."
Biting her bottom lip, Hermione's thoughts began to tumble, the cold seemingly far away now. She spoke as if to herself, "And during all this year you've been walking a fine line between letting Lord Voldemort have his way, protecting the students under your care, and secretly helping save Harry and the Order. Oh, sir."
Her expression stricken, she gulped and met his stare. "You've been alone," she said softly. "All year long you've been alone with everyone thinking the worst of you… and the other Death Eaters envying you your high position… and then the professors, I'm sure, made your life a living hell."
Drawing him in, she hugged him closer to her and said, "I'm so sorry, sir!"
He drew a sharp breath, and she got the feeling he would've shoved her away if he could've. "Miss Granger," he said tightly, "stop your blathering, girl. This is inappropriate."
"Inappropriate, really, sir?" She bit back a laugh. "I rather think propriety went out the window the moment your hardened prick made contact with the slick folds of my quim."
"Miss Granger!" he hissed, and she knew he was more than considering tossing her on her arse.
Shaking with silent laughter, she let her head fall to the crook of his shoulder and murmured softly, " 'm sorry. I'm sorry! I think it's hysteria. I haven't slept in over forty-eight hours, a lot's happened in a short amount of time, and there's no telling how long we've been down here."
He adjusted their positions once more until he was reclining more against the wall of the cave, and drawing her even closer to him so that she was laying on top of him, he tucked her head more into his shoulder and put his arms firmly around her. And although he held her rigidly with every part of him hard beneath her—including his prick— Hermione tried to relax.
"Rest, Miss Granger," he ordered lowly in her ear, and she shivered. "I'll wake you when it's time."
Burying her cold nose in his neck and breathing in his cedar-juniper scent, she tried to do as Professor Snape suggested.
But her thoughts wouldn't settle.
For too long Professor Snape been labeled, 'nasty and foul-tempered', 'unfair and irascible' within her thoughts. And though this was true, she was learning through their trials together just how complex this man was.
When she'd believed he'd killed Dumbledore, she'd despised him, despised her years of defending him.
Today, he'd told her the true accounting of things, and from a logical standpoint, it made sense. She knew about Dumbledore's cursed hand. She knew he was dying though she didn't tell Harry. It should've occurred to her that Voldemort would eventually need to believe he had Professor Snape's true loyalties.
She should've thought about the problem from all angles.
That's what she'd done before with each and every occurrence of Professor Snape's seeming guilt, applying logic to all aspects of the equation. But the offense had been too large. Never had she imagined the stakes would be so high: that Dumbledore would sacrifice himself…
That he'd be bastardous enough to know the hell he was putting Professor Snape through and then do it anyway.
And after Riddle set the task of killing the headmaster to Draco Malfoy, Professor Snape knew it was really he who was being asked. It had been a test—the ultimate test of loyalty, and Professor Snape had proven himself faithful.
He still continued to do so.
After all, he didn't have to put himself in danger for her. And yet, time after time he'd done so. And he was strong… so incredibly strong to have borne all the burdens he had to bear without breaking.
Hermione realized on the cusp of sleep that, ironically, in this strange and dangerous place, nestled in the arms of the most unyielding and misunderstood man she'd ever met… was the first time she'd felt truly safe in months.
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"Miss Granger, awaken."
Six years of conditioning had Hermione's eyes shooting open at the sound of her instructor's voice, and she opened her mouth to reply.
"Quiet!" he hissed in her ear, and shaking her awake fully, he began unfolding them from their spot in the cave. Standing, Hermione folded her arms around herself and shivered, already missing his heat. But, by the light of her bluebell flame, she could see the Cerberus was now asleep.
Professor Snape leaned towards her and said, "Hiss the words 'Door Open' on my mark. And don't forget to call your flames after you."
She nodded, and then he was grabbing her and holding her tightly to him as they flew like a bullet straight for the door. The three-headed dog lay sleeping not five feet away from it, and Hermione held her breath and hung on tight as Professor Snape flew them silently down.
"Now," he ordered softly, and she hissed 'Door Open', while calling her jars of bluebell flame to follow. At the last minute, she saw there was a piece of parchment on the door. And reaching for it, she caught it just as the door slid open without a sound, leaving the mutant dog undisturbed.
And looking forward, Hermione braced herself for what she would find.
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Professor Snape flew them down into a clearing next to a forest. Idyllic and certainly beautiful, but she was immediately on guard as she searched for something out of place in this Eden. The sun was overhead, and she imagined it was somewhere near three o'clock in the afternoon. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it choosing, instead, to focus on what she had grabbed from off the door of the third circle of hell.
It was a map.
Professor Snape landed them on recently overturned earth, and Hermione's feet sank in the fresh dirt. She took out the map and reading said, "We've made it the first chamber of level four. It's strange," she said curiously, "there's no description at all, just a picture of what looks like stones, perhaps a cairn?"
She looked around, and that's when she noticed all sorts of stones pockmarking the Earth.
"Come, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, as he began to walk, picking his way over the stones.
She began to follow him but nearly tripped, her ankle turning over.
Professor Snape was there in an instant, lifting her in his arms and flying them up and away.
There was a tree-line in the distance, and he made for that; the ground there littered with stones as well.
She heard a rumble of thunder in the distance.
"I don't like this," he said. "Stay near me."
"What would you like me to do, sir?"
"Protect your remaining flames, girl, and study the map. We need to find a way out of here immediately." So saying, he began to chant under his breath, and with an upward tilt of his hand, the trees around them began to shed their limbs and arrange themselves lean-to fashion against the trunk of a large oak tree.
The thunder grew louder, and his movements became more hurried.
And she realized he knew something about this place she didn't.
Stones pockmarked the Earth everywhere she looked. There was an ever-increasing clap of thunder heading their way. The map had a pile of stones as its descriptor, and he was building them shelter…
Oh, dear God, it rained stones!
Stowing the map and her jars under a shallow rock ledge, Hermione began grabbing handfuls of the discarded brush that had fallen from the trees he was denuding and began covering the holes in the lean-to with them, padding as much as possible. Meanwhile, Professor Snape continued to methodically chant and place limbs and branches in a vining latticework as tightly-packed as he could. The resulting effort looked quite like an overturned bird's nest.
The rumble in the distance grew even louder, and softly, it began to rain little pebbles.
"That's good enough. Leave it, Miss Granger, and go inside." She did so, right as the first big stone fell. Professor Snape following after her as even larger stones began to fall all around them.
There were 'thumps' and snapping twigs, and he shoved her to the rocky ground and dove on top of her, covering her.
Hermione gasped, her eyes going wide.
For, in the resulting tussle for him to cover her completely, the mushroom-headed tip of him that was still slightly erect caught and aligned perfectly with her still-slick feminine entrance, the tip of him buried within her. His eyes met hers in shock, and she held her breath as she felt him grow instantly erect.
A crashing noise drew her attention, and this time she gasped in horror for looking over his shoulder, she saw a stone as big as a quaffle come crashing through their nest straight toward his back.
It hit him, and he cried out, his back arching.
She blinked on a startled breath.
Oh.
He was inside her.
Oh, dear God! He was inside her.
Her mouth fell open as she breathed through the shock of it all, barely registering the sensation of pain as foreign and piercing as it was.
He was so very hard where she wasn't. And she was filled completely where there'd once been a void. Her inner muscles, still in shock themselves, began working, clutching at the foreign intrusion.
Meanwhile, Professor Snape groaned and looked down at her, his eyes glazed with pain. But even as she watched his expression cleared, replaced by one of shock, then panic, and then mortified horror. With a strangled cry, he pulled out of her depths, causing her to cry out.
The stones continued to rain all around them, one crashing through their nest and narrowly missing her ear. Almost instantly he was back to shield her, his upper body resting on his elbows as his forearms curved around her head protectively while his hair fell in a curtain around them.
His every muscle wire-taut, he hung his head, his lower half held well away from her, absolutely not looking at her.
The man was devastated.
God, his expression! No one could fake that emotion. He'd turned white as a sheet and never would it occur to Hermione to think she'd been raped.
"Professor," she led softly.
"Miss Granger," he replied, his mouth working, and she saw he was speechless.
Taking a moment to check in with her body, she found she could handle this and do so with an emotional intelligence that, upon further reflection, surprised even herself. Gulping, she said, "Professor... It's alright. Believe me, it's alright."
"It's not." His voice sounded lost.
She reached out and lifted his head so she could meet his stare and exclaimed, "Oh, sir! It wasn't your fault!"
He looked at her as if she had two heads, but then closed his eyes and grit his jaw, turning away.
"Look at me," she demanded, her expression sobering. "Sir, look!"
His Adam's apple working, he finally opened his eyes and did so.
"I'm not upset." Looking pointedly around them, she insisted, "It was a freak accident, a comedy of errors. We've been put in a highly unusual situation, and who would think it would rain stones?" Hermione once more checked in with her body and found she was sore and somewhat still in shock, but nevertheless, she replied, "Please, professor, don't take this upon yourself. There's no guilt."
Keeping talking in as much to distract as well as soothe, she kept her tone conversational as she said, "This level of Slytherin's chamber is a bastardization of the Divine Comedy as well come to think." Gulping, she continued, "In level four… of greed and waste, both those that are miserly and those that spend too much are doomed to crash boulders up against one another for all eternity. I swear there was just no pleasing Alighieri." Another big stone fell through their nest, this time hitting Hermione's shin, and she winced.
Professor Snape quickly moved back to cover her fully in order to shield her from another, wincing himself as a large stone pelted his arse from the quaffle-sized hole in the lean-to.
He said lowly, meeting her eyes, "Once we're out of this place, you'll have cause to think very differently about what's happened."
She shook her head. "I might be young, sir, but I know my own mind. And I don't see what's been done as a violent or even an intentional act. It was an accident. It's certainly unusual, highly preposterous, but not violent, and there's no one to blame, so don't blame yourself, alright?"
Hearing a crashing sound, she had but a moment to react as a large stone pierced their lean-to, heading straight for his head. Hermione covered him with one hand and held the other up to shield him. The rock hit, and she cried out as the wound on the back of her hand broke open.
Closing her eyes, she drew him even closer to her in order to better protect him and whispered softly, "If we get out of this alive, professor, you're taking me on a proper date."
He pulled away from her, his devastated expression morphing to shocked surprise.
"Oh, yes." She nodded, raising a hand to brush a strand of his hair that was tickling her cheek to the side of his face and said, "I'm partial to curry and haven't had any in a year or more. I've been surviving on edible mushrooms, berries, and whatever else we could forage while on the run."
He studied her for a small eternity, his entire being still. And she tried to parse each expression that crossed his face. There was shock at her words, then anger, and she immediately understood he didn't think she was being serious. Then came disbelief as he realized she completely was, followed by a closing off of his expression entirely as she watched him physically occlude. And it occurred to Hermione a moment too late he'd been reading her thoughts.
It was just as well. After all, she'd been reading his thoughts, too, by interpreting his micro-expressions instead of using legilimency. When he wasn't occluding, Professor Snape had a very emotive face.
It was a long moment before he replied softly, "Then it's a date, Miss Granger."
She grinned fully up at him
For the medium-sized stones, which were the most frequent, the lean-to he'd built was withstanding their tumult admirably. It was the bigger ones, which thankfully seemed to have lessened, and the pebbles raining in from the holes in their nest that they had to worry about. And for many moments they lay there, Hermione acutely conscious of her professor's body aligned with hers, his chest brushing her breast as he supported his weight on his elbows, his hair a curtain all around them. His breathing was even and deep, urging hers to be so as well while the sky fell.
And it occurred to her that he didn't have to shield her at his own expense, but he was doing so without hesitation. He was taking the brunt of the stones that made it through, and he was doing so without complaint. Her heart turned over.
"You know," she said, "through the madness of this year, I've tried to keep imagining what life would be like once Voldemort was defeated." She laughed. "I can honestly say this is unlike anything I ever imagined."
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition," he replied lowly, the nearness and timbre of his voice causing her to shiver. The man did have a truly sinful voice.
She met his stare as her eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's Monty Python. How do you know of such things?"
"I've not been living under a rock, girl."
"No," she smiled gently, "you're just being pelted by them. Once this hell-time excursion is through, sir, I intend to go back to Hogwarts and complete my education. Do you think you'll stay on as Headmaster?"
"It's unlikely." His tone was doubtful.
And Hermione mentally replayed what she'd just said, saying, "Oh." She met his stare. "It's because the wizarding world thinks you're guilty of killing Dumbledore, and you think a Dementor's Kiss is much more likely to happen." She shook her head. "No, sir. You won't be imprisoned. You've contributed too much, and when the truth's revealed, you'll be vindicated."
He scoffed. "Don't be naïve, girl."
"It's not naivety; it's the truth. You will not go to Azkaban. So, what will you do once this madness is over?"
"To be honest, Miss Granger—"
"Hermione," she interrupted.
Meeting her stare, he said, "Miss Granger, I haven't given it any thought. Vanquishing the Dark Lord has been my goal, and now… well, I never expected to survive the war." Hermione gulped at these solemnly spoken words.
"And yet, you have," she gave him a small smile, "at least for now. What did you dream of doing when you were my age?"
His jaw hardened as he shook his head, his hair shushing against her cheek. "You ask impertinent questions."
She brushed the stray strand of hair to the side of his face, and a merry bit of devilment made her say, "I'm actually quite surprised you've answered as many as you've done, professor."
He scowled down at her but surprised her when next he spoke. "My course was decided long before I reached eighteen."
Positively ecstatic he was choosing to continue their conversation but not wanting to scare him off with her prying, she kept it light and said, "Fine then. In your fourth year of schooling, what did you picture yourself doing when you grew up, hmm?"
He hitched a brow. "Are you giving me an advising session, Miss Granger?"
"Hermione, professor. And yes, I think you're long overdue. What about working in the private sector?" There was a rock underneath her hip, poking at her, and biting her lip, she squirmed, unconsciously situating the length of him within the cradle of her thighs. "Teaching…" she continued, "it never seemed to suit."
"What was your first clue?" he asked lowly as he moved himself to keep shielding her fully, all but growling into her neck. And his length, although soft, became once more situated within her feminine folds.
Hermione's breath caught at the intimacy of the moment, realizing he could definitely change position in order to preserve their modesty if he wanted to.
And she could too.
But neither one did.
His eyes met hers, and her pulse began to hammer.
She gulped and answered as evenly as she could, "Oh, your petty classroom terrorism tactics are the stuff of legend, sir. Black robes billowing down the hall leaving students cowering in your wake, slamming open the door of your classroom each and every class to great effect, having students poised on the edge of their seats attending to your every vitriolic word, and giving scathing, sarcastic rebukes meant to cut down lesser minds." She smiled gently up at him. "Oh, yes. 'Thou shalt not suffer a dunderhead to live', I think, was your motto."
A ghost of a smile appeared in his eyes as he murmured, "It still is."
Her heart skipped time.
"I think it's starting to lessen," he said softly.
Listening, she nodded, and turning her head, saw there was an inch of stones beside where her head lay. Those were the ones that had been stopped by the lean-to. And closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath, feeling him begin to draw away from her.
She was unprepared, however, for the sense of loss.
The last of the pebbles fell around them, and sitting up, she shook out her frizzy curls, bits of rocks and twigs flying every which way.
And upon looking down… well, there was no doubt about it, she was no longer a virgin. "I need to find a stream in order to wash, professor, as well as a bush to go behind." She looked up to find him occluding strongly, but still she thought she knew what he was thinking. "Remember," she stated insistently, "there's no one to blame."
With a murmured incantation and a wave of his hand, the mess at her thighs was banished away, leaving her clean.
Hermione's eyes widened, and then she smiled as realization struck, and the very devil within her said, "You know what else you're going to do once we find a way to imprison Slytherin and leave this place?"
He arched a brow.
"You're going to teach me wandless magic." And not waiting for his reply, she shimmied out from under the lean-to, and standing, picked her way carefully over the stones to the nearest bush to take care of business.
.
.
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A/N: Whoa! A lot happened here, didn't it? And how do you think our resident potions master is going to handle this little upset upon further reflection? And our heroine… what of her? Reviews are pennies from heaven.
Until next time,
—K