Chapter 3
As the evening wore on, Draco's words ate at him like well-aged armadillo bile.
Snape surveyed the ballroom with a jaundiced eye and came to several uncomfortable conclusions. First, Draco was correct- there was something inherently fishy about Granger's unexpected appearance. He would be a fool to ignore his intuition on that point. The Hermione Granger that he had been interacting with—the woman he was unexpectedly so obsessed with—was at extreme odds with the war heroine and Hogwarts student that he had taught. And while age and time could excuse some of those changes, there were enough wildly waving red flags that it was little wonder his mind had refused to let go of her.
The student-Granger had been driven by a compulsive need to prove herself, put an inordinate amount of faith in books and learning, and was loyal and protective of her friends to the point of near-fanaticism. Although he would never admit it out loud, Snape had been jealous of the unbreakable bond between Potter and Granger; the boy could behave like the worst sort of pig-headed, reckless idiot, and Granger always forgave him. The kind of unwavering commitment was rarer than a winter-blooming Pritcher's Porritch, and he'd wondered more than once what it would be like to be the beneficiary of such devotion.
And this Granger? The flirting, facetious, faux-debutante who had so fascinated him? She clearly had a facile mind and sharp wit, but that only begged the question as to why she was wasting her time by slumming it with the supposed best and brightest of pure-blood society. Indeed, her words, even taken at purely face value, did not match up with her actions. What had she told him that first night? She was 'on the hunt' and had no wish to become a 'crazy cat woman'. He had been the one to call it husband-hunting, but her actions that evening, as well as now, indicated something entirely different. Snape could possibly buy that she was looking to take a lover—certainly, her dress and coquettish manner could easily support the supposition—but it struck him as very odd that she would conduct that kind of search in such a public fashion.
It all led back to the same question. Why had Granger suddenly appeared? Could her 'hunt' be related to the very same jewellery thefts that had drawn him in?
The theory made the most sense. Given that it was all but public knowledge that multiple families had been burgled, it also stood to reason that the Ministry had finally sent the Aurors in to investigate. From there, it wasn't a leap to assume that Potter was involved, and he had accordingly wrangled Granger back to his cause. Merlin knew the girl-Granger had done his homework enough times over the years for him to return to familiar patterns as an adult.
Five minutes, he thought with no little frustration. I just need five bloody minutes alone with Granger, and I could get to the bottom of this mess!
Glancing around, he looked for Granger, but to his surprise, she was nowhere to be seen. After an evening of being conspicuous to the point of ridiculousness, she had once again vanished into the ether.
Where the hell is she? he wondered with mounting frustration.
Carefully scanning the crowd, Snape saw no trace of the Gryffindor minx; there was only the usual assortment of drunk husbands, plotting wives, lovesick youths, and swaggering lads milling about. His eyes were eventually drawn to a small scuffle by the back hallway. Squinting, he tried to make out the faces of the two men arguing, but their faces were blocked by the leaves of a large potted plant.
The taller of the two stepped back, throwing up his hands in disgust. It was David Bloomquist, he finally recognised, surprised to see the Gringotts financial analyst at a frivolous event like this. Bloomquist hissed something to the other man and started to walk away. The challenge drew the second man out from behind the leaves, and Snape felt a frisson of surprise when he was revealed to be none other than Terence Higgs.
Well, now… isn't that an interesting coincidence? Aberforth mentioned that he'd taken the shady path, and here he is, looking rather suspicious. And wasn't there some gossip about he and Higgs being involved last year?
Higgs gave a despairing look down the hallway and then towards the quickly departing figure of his former paramour. Biting his lip, Higgs strode after Bloomquist, leaving the archway unprotected.
The shadows of the dark hallway seemed to call to Snape, and he suddenly wondered if Granger could be found somewhere down the secretive length. Was it a coincidence that Higgs and Bloomquist had been standing there? Knowing that his mind wouldn't rest until he'd found out, he cautiously made his way over and slid within the enveloping gloom. Other than several snoozing portraits, the corridor was quiet, and he could vaguely see a pair of doors at the very end, capped off with a sizeable mullioned window.
Snape tried the left-hand door first. The moonlit room beyond was nothing more than an empty day parlour, the scent of flowers, an earthy muskiness, and lemon beeswax irritating to his nose. Fighting back a sneeze, he opened the second door. Unlike the other room, it was a masculine abode full of bursting bookshelves, long leather sofas and maps of all kinds. It too appeared empty, but the faint pulse of magic betrayed the presence of another person. Entering the library, he searched for the hidden source of the spellwork. As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, Snape finally spotted a narrow passage towards the back.
He opened the door to a scene ripe for exploitation: the concealed room had been made into a small, cramped office, and even from the doorway, he loomed over the sole occupant. Hermione Granger sat perched on a wide wooden desk like a pin-up model, her expression strangely solemn rather than seductive. Any smugness at finding Granger was dissolved by the odd feeling that he was only seeing half the picture. Still, he forged ahead.
"I do believe, Ms Granger, that you rather owe me an explanation."
His statement hung heavy in the air; Snape had deliberately called forth his professorial persona as he intoned the challenge. Granger didn't flinch at the implied threat. Taking another step forward, he let the door click behind him. That too got no reaction. It was telling, a shift from the girl she had once been, and his curiosity was further inflamed—not to mention his ire.
"Why are you here?" he asked, keeping his voice low as he prowled closer.
She watched him with a measured, guarded gaze even as the pulse at the hollow of her throat raced. "I answered that question weeks ago."
"You've given me an answer, yes." He stood close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off her body, and it broke through some of the chill brought on by occlumency. "And I would even wager that you gave me a truth or two. But I am no closer to comprehending that particular why than I am to understanding the sudden hold you have had over my attention these last few weeks."
"At the risk of being rude, that sounds like a personal problem to me, sir."
"It is, rather," he agreed with apparent equanimity, not missing the honorific that Granger had tagged onto the end of her statement, and how each was attempting to change the dynamic of the conversation. "And I was prepared to deal with it as such... until this evening. Ms Granger, do you know why I am here?"
"I rather imagine that keeping Draco in line requires a team effort."
Snape smiled faintly. "That it does. Thankfully, he is no longer my responsibility. No, I am here because approximately six months ago, pure-blood jewellery began to go missing, and I was asked to investigate."
"Fascinating."
"Not really. I believe that the phrase, 'same shite, different day', would apply in this situation." Leaning against the corner of the desk, he went on. "I don't believe overmuch in coincidences, and in the last week, I've uncovered several… and more than a few of them involve you."
A cool brow went up. "If that's what you've come up with, it sounds more like you've taken to concocting conspiracy theories."
"Tell me, Ms Granger, is it a coincidence that you suddenly appear in the midst of pure-blood society just as an outbreak of residential burglary occurs?"
That decidedly ruffled her feathers. She rose from the desk, standing toe-to-toe with Snape. "Just what is it that you are accusing me off?"
"Why are you here?" he repeated, playing his authoritarian role to the hilt.
"Tell me, Headmaster Snape," she spat, temper causing her eyes to spark, "if you've spent so much time analysing my actions, why do you think that I am here?"
"As I see it, there are two likely possibilities. Either you are behind the aforementioned heists-"
"How dare you accuse me of being a bloody jewellery thief!" she erupted, and he ignored the interruption.
"-or Potter once again has you doing his homework, and you are investigating matters just as I am."
Her mouth opened, and for a count of five, no sound emerged. Then she made an odd sort of wheeze and bent over double. Snape stared at her with consternation until a giggle echoed up, and then Granger was laughing wholeheartedly, her body shaking with mirth.
"Christ," she gasped, wiping away tears, "A black-hearted bandito or Harry's long-suffering minion? Those are the only two options your brilliant brain came up with? And here I thought I was subject to flights of fancy…"
She continued laughing, and Snape felt a wave of hot embarrassment wash over him. It wasn't as though the theory was all that far-fetched; hell, even Draco thought something nefarious was afoot. Glaring down at her, he waited for the impertinent chit to regain her composure.
"You want to know the truth?" she finally asked, wiping her face with a hastily conjured handkerchief. "I'm bored. Full stop. Tilting at windmills seemed better than doing sweet fuck all. I turned thirty in September, and while I am grateful to reach every birthday, this year… well, for the first time, getting older was difficult." Her expression sobered, and some of her earlier anger returned. "Believe it or not, I do know what everyone thinks of me, stuck in some dead-end Ministry job, and a single witch to boot. I've seen the disappointed and pitying looks everyone has given me. The whispers of wasted potential have reached my ears many times over, I assure you."
Running a hand through her wild curls without thinking, she winced as her chignon loosened threateningly at the assault. "A month ago, I ran into Daphne Greengrass at a Muggle nail shop in Hampstead- shockingly, we go to the same pedicure place. We had a chat, and it turns out that we have quite a bit in common. She invited me to her mother's dinner on a whim, and I went." Granger smiled mockingly. "As I said, I was bored. Originally, I had planned on playing nice, but when I got there the company was… how did you put it? Ah, yes, 'same shite, different day'. It was all the stuck-up snobbery of the Ministry, but with decent nosh. And so I decided to have a little bit of fun. Tweak a few noses… One of those noses, of course, happened to be yours."
"I noticed," Snape said stiffly, feeling a mixture of nascent anger and shame. Dimly, he was aware that he was close to losing control of his temper as Granger went on.
Her voice was triumphant. "Yes, you did, didn't you? And do you know why I did it? Because whenever you've deigned to notice me over the years, it has always been to mock and belittle… It didn't matter how much work I put in, or how respectful I was, for six goddamn years, you pointlessly and purposelessly hurt me. You got your jollies off by being cruel for no other reason than the fact that I was there, and I was Harry's friend. Ironic then, that after all this time, the only thing that's ever met your approval is my tits!"
Her harsh words punctured any sort of tender feelings or dreams he might have held, and Snape could feel the bitter, vicious man rise to the surface like a leviathan. Rage fired his blood, and leaning forward, he yanked Granger in close.
"You conveniently forget one important fact… you noticed me as well!" Not giving her a chance to pull back, Snape kissed her roughly.
Her soft, lush mouth burned him like a brand. Snape could no more control his response than he could stop the Thames from flowing. Head diving down, he caught her mouth firmly with his, kissing her with unbridled lust. She was succulent and sweet, her small, curvaceous figure caught squarely in his arms.
Suddenly, the bountiful shapes of her breasts were pressing hard against his chest, and she was kissing him back with equal fervour. He explored her mouth with deep strokes of his tongue, the bonfire of desire igniting and burning through them both. Snape wished he could tear off the velvet dress and taste Granger's skin. He wanted to suckle the tips of her breasts and then trace the curve of her stomach all the way down until he reached the bourbon curls hiding between her thighs; he wanted to debauch her a thousand different ways, and his entire being seemed to throb with the possibilities.
Blindly, he found the curves of her bum and clamped his long-fingered hands over them, pulling her hard against the prodding stiffness of his sex. Her velvet skirts muffled the sensation, folds of heavy material preventing the intimate contact he burned for. They kissed even more fiercely, straining together until Hermione whimpered his name.
"Severus…"
The shock of hearing his name uttered with such desperation finally jolted his brain into working again. Recalling himself, Severus managed to tear his mouth away, his breath ragged and uneven.
"Enough," he whispered harshly, aware that they were approaching the point of no return. "Enough… or I'll take you right here and right now."
Her eyes flashed in warning but she stepped back all the same. "You could try, but then I would be forced to hex your balls off and give them to Crookshanks to play with!"
"You know," he shot back, "for someone who is supposedly such a respectable, boring witch, you certainly take care to mention your pussy a lot."
Granger sneered at him. "Because good little witches can't talk about their cunts, is that it? I should have known you for that sort of type-"
Abruptly, she cut off, head swinging to the closed door. "Shit! Someone is coming!" Pointing her wand, she let loose with a brief blast of magic. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a hiding hole. "Get in," she hissed. "I'm not getting caught with you like this!"
With a hard shove, she pushed him into the hiding spot and then squeezed in next to him, shutting the panelling just as the door rattled. Granger tensed, and Snape felt a wave of wandless magic come from her; he thought it might have been a combination of a privacy and notice-me-not spell, but his brain was still too lust-addled to be completely sure.
A horizontal slit in the wall provided a limited view of the office as well as a meagre amount of light; their confined space was limited to the gradients of black and white. The sound of heavy footsteps stilled them both, and he strained to hear what was happening outside.
"So," a tenor voice asked, "what can I do for you, sir?"
"I am given to understand," replied an older man with the pompous, plummy tones of the upper class, "that you have any number of useful connections when one is seeking objects of value. Is that true, Higgs?"
Snape jerked, startled at the stroke of luck that had seemingly befallen him. Higgs was a curious figure in this whole mess and given his apparent felonious tendencies, a conveniently suspicious one as well. Overhearing this conversation might finally provide a solid lead… assuming he could figure out who the second person in the room was, and, of course, if Higgs had anything to do with the whole mess in the first place. Shifting, he tried to pull his wand; there was a spell that he could use to increase the viewing angle of the slit, but Granger blocked him with the simple expediency of rolling her hips against his, pinning him more tightly against the wall.
His cock twitched with renewed appreciation, apparently not having gotten the memo that shagging was no longer on the menu. "Don't toy with me," he growled, mouth brushing the delicate shell of her ear.
"Or you'll do what?" she taunted. Before Snape could do anything more than tighten his hands around her waist in warning, Granger reached up and kissed him.
Lips met lips, and it wasn't a foray into calculated seduction. No, Hermione's kiss was fuelled by pure desperation, and it was that recognition of suppressed sentiment that broke through the last layers of Severus' occlumency and self-control. She wants me, he thought dazedly, she really wants me… With a smothered groan, he turned her roughly in his arms, pressing her into the wall and grinding his aroused body against hers until they both shuddered at the overwhelming sensation. They fed on each other like a last meal, as if they were addicts and only the taste and texture of their lust could assuage the violent need.
Severus was suddenly, gloriously alive, every fibre of his being seemingly electrified in an instant. He revelled in the hot currents of desire coiling through his loins, as every muscle tightened, waiting for the trigger that would release all the gathering tension in one ecstatic explosion.
Hands moving swiftly over her corset, he fumbled slightly as he searched the panels of boned black silk for the hooks. The heated, heaving flesh of her breasts plumped out from the plunging vee of the neckline, their very fullness protesting the tight containment of the gown. Snape bent and pressed his lips to the deep valley of her cleavage, and then spread a series of slow kisses over the revealed skin. Under his questing hands, he could feel the hard points of her nipples beneath the gown. He touched them through the velvet fabric, his thumbs rubbing, stroking, his fingers gently plucking until she groaned. The sound was low and long, and it only made Severus redouble his efforts to unravel her completely.
As if from a great distance, Higg's voice penetrated the fog of lust. "-yes, I have heard that any number of items are missing…"
The words had the same effect as getting doused with a bucket of icy water, and Snape abruptly recalled himself and his true purpose. Fighting against the treacle-like pull of desire, he pulled back. Granger froze as well, feeling his unexpected withdrawal.
From the office, Pompous-voiced man drawled out a question. "And what exactly have you heard?"
Quite unexpectedly, Granger's clever fingers closed around his cloth-covered cock and squeezed. Thoughts short-circuiting and unable to do more than gasp, he stared at Hermione. Her eyes were wide, and pupils dilated; she appeared to be as dumbfounded at her actions as he. In the murky half-light, her skin glowed with all the pale luminance of the moon, all other details hidden by shadows. How long had it been since he had felt a hand that was not his own? Severus was oblivious to everything but the feeling of her fingers and the roar of blood in his ears. He was a rocket man, lost in space.
Hand taking up a regular rhythm, she stroked him slowly. Leisurely. She paused for a long moment, biting her lip. After a breathless wait, Granger made her decision.
His head fell back as she began to unbutton his trousers; vaguely, he was aware that his chest was heaving wildly. The first touch of Hermione's fingers on his bare flesh was almost too intense. Gentling her touch, she carefully pulled him free of the fabric. Thumb swirling through the liquid gathering on the head of the shaft, she grasped him fully in her palm and began her systematic torture again.
Hips moving of their own accord, Severus pushed back in a counterrhythm. "Please…" he managed.
Something that wasn't quite a smile touched her lips at his plea, and she sank down as if curtsying. Thoroughly befuddled, it took Severus ages to understand her intent. Lush lips closing over the head of his cock, Hermione sucked and sucked; he quite literally saw stars. It was an effort to hold back, to not thrust deeply in the hot cavern of her mouth as waves of pleasure enveloped him.
With a wet, obscene pop, she drew his erection away from her lips like a lolly. Wrapping her hand more firmly around his shaft, she guided the tip into the valley between her breasts. Dragging it up and down, the sweet swells of her tits squeezed him. Gleaming contrails of moisture appeared on the perfect alabaster of her skin, and he hissed, the visual stimulus packing a potent punch. As if divining the focus of his earlier fantasies, she used the swollen head to circle the mole that had so caught his attention during their first dinner; once, then twice, and then Severus went supernova, spurts of white semen hitting the curves of her breasts.
Knees buckling and mind blissfully blank, he collapsed on to the wall, barely managing to stay upright.
Snape had no idea how long he stood half-propped on the wall before consciousness finally dawned again; it was long enough that his knees and back had grown sore from the odd positioning. What have I done? he thought, stunned at how completely things had gone off the rails. Why did I let myself lose control like that again?
Granger was still crouched at his feet, head bowed and shivering slightly. Guilt twisted in his stomach, chasing away the last of his post-orgasm lassitude. As gently as possible, he pulled her upright. She wasn't crying, thank Merlin, but her face was a welter of shame, arousal, and a whole host of other emotions that he didn't want to name. Shell-shocked, they both looked away at the same time, leaning into the opposite walls.
Then the metallic, musky smell of his ejaculate hit his nose, and Snape belatedly realised that Granger was still wearing his pearl necklace. With a quick flick, he cleaned them both with a charm, not missing her flinch at the sensation of his magic. Wincing, he tucked his insensate cock back into his pants and buttoned his trousers; never more had he felt like a dirty old bastard then he did at that moment.
They stood like that for several minutes, the awkwardness growing by leaps and bounds. From what he could tell, the office was deserted. Snape reached for something to say.
"I think that they have left," he finally murmured, unable to stand the suffocating silence any further.
"Yes," Granger agreed, in a normal if flat voice; he was reluctantly impressed how quickly she'd managed to mask her emotions.
Taking out her wand, Granger cast a runic spell on the panelling. A red swirl appeared, slowly blinking and then transforming into blue lines.
"The library and the hallway are empty as well." Slashing her wand to cancel the spell, she pushed the panelling open and stepped out.
The flood of harsh white light was painful after so long in the dark, and Snape reflexively narrowed his eyes. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Snape saw that it had only been twenty minutes since they had entered the space. Disbelievingly, he shook his head as if to clear it.
"Why were you in this room?" he asked, the question popping out before he could stop it.
She stiffened, turning. "Because I was tired of getting my arse groped and my tits ogled. Draco offered to sneak me out, but he needed to say his goodbyes first. Any other questions, Headmaster?"
Granger's tone weaponised his title, and the woman who faced him looked every bit a ruthless, hardened warrior. Her gown billowed away from her slightly, the force of her magic making it sway in an invisible wind. In the cramped and shabby office, she radiated all the terrible power of Nimue reborn.
She was oceans away from the alluring siren of the ballroom, and it came as yet another shock.
Unbidden, the recollection of her much younger self returned to him: Hermione Granger, the eager-to-please, bushy-haired firstie, hand continually waving in the air. She had been so innocent then, and so bloody inquisitive that it had been nigh insufferable to have her in his classroom. He remembered her lying petrified and pale in the Hospital Wing her second year, and then recalled the shock of seeing the coltishly elegant, womanly form of Granger dance with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball… and as the torrent of memories continued to hit him, Snape dropped his head.
Seeing her so altered from that girl hurt; Snape knew that her hardened shell was no façade. She'd earned every brick in that wall. And now I've handed her the material to make yet another one.
True, Snape hadn't physically forced her to give him a blow job, but he'd sure as hell goaded her past the point of no return, and it was clear that she regretted going that far. If only I'd kept my ruddy temper in check and not been so quick to rest on my rusted laurels, this whole disaster could have been avoided, he wished futilely. Feeling the weight of his many sins bear down upon him, Snape knew that without a doubt, he deserved every scrap of pain and terror he'd lived through, and then some.
There was only one thing to do. "We need to talk," Snape said, feeling utterly ancient.
"I don't have anything further to say to you," she shot back.
"That certainly is your prerogative. I, however, would like a chance to apologise, and for obvious reasons, would prefer to do it somewhere other than here."
At his words, her anger gutted out like a candle, some of the intensity fading from her countenance. "You know," she said, almost absently, "I've never heard you apologise to anyone."
Her words- themselves an accusation- hung painfully in the air for a moment before she went on. "Do you know a private way out? I won't walk through the ballroom looking like this," she said at last, gesturing to her state of déshabillé.
"I believe the day parlour across the hall has access to the balcony. From there, we can enter the garden and make our way to the apparition point."
"Fine." Giving him a sharp nod, Granger tapped her wand over her head, a Disillusion Charm sliding over her body. "Lead on."
Eager to escape, Snape waited only long enough for the charm to stabilise before striding over to the door. Quickly making his way through the library, he paused to listen at the hallway door. Hearing nothing but the snores of the portraits, he opened the door and glanced down the deserted length. Raucous laughter echoed from the ballroom, followed by the sound of breaking glass; clearly, the more dissolute-minded had begun to take over the party.
The door to the day parlour was still unlocked, and Snape entered swiftly, scanning the room for occupants. Thankfully, it too was empty, and he wondered if the fates would be kind enough to allow him an unimpeded exit. The balcony doors only needed a quick Alohomora, and they were out, the cold winter air hitting them like a slap.
Wind gusting wildly and rain coming down in icy sheets, Snape did not relish the thought of making the walk through the garden even with a plethora of weather-protecting charms at his disposal. Wrapping himself as best he could in magic and giving Granger enough time to do the same, he re-locked the door behind them and stepped into the gale. It was an undignified dash to the gates, not to mention a fitting ending to the evening.
"To Hogwarts?" he asked, hoping like hell that Granger hadn't merely gone her own way and left him metaphorically pissing in the wind.
There was a shimmer, and she was suddenly there at his side, looking as cross at the weather as he was. She raised a sceptical brow. "And what, precisely, are the odds of me making it there and back without running into another member of staff, or heaven forbid, a student?"
It was half-past midnight on the weekend; there would still be at least two of the staff making rounds, and Minerva was usually up and nosing around until at least three. "Poor."
"Then it's not an option."
Tired and thoroughly discombobulated, Snape felt his irritation spike. "Where would you suggest?" he asked, doing his damnedest to keep his tone level.
She let out a huff of exasperation, eyes narrowing. "This was your idea."
"And I am trying to give you a measure of control," he snapped back, and Granger looked away.
"Will you trust me?" she eventually asked.
"Yes," he answered. If Granger was aiming for a spot of revenge, then he'd let her get in one good hit, although he didn't think that she was quite so petty-minded to try and properly trounce him.
"We go to my place." She proffered a hand, and after a brief hesitation—truly, it wasn't as if this evening could get much worse—he took it. Pulling him into the compressed chaos of Apparition, Granger held him securely until they landed with a gentle thump in a Muggle garden shed.
The shed was dark, and the rain was only a soft patter on the roof; glancing around, Snape tried to gather some sort of notion of their location to no avail. Other than the fact that it was full of a variety of lawn and garden implements, there was nothing to note.
"Where are we?"
"North West London," Granger answered, wand sketching an abstract pattern on the floor. "Golders Green. This is my parents' house."
Her wards suddenly lit up, and Snape was impressed at how robust and intelligent they were. Granger fiddled with the complex protections for nearly a minute before she returned her attention back to him. "I need a drop of blood."
"You've blood warded a Muggle property?" he asked, surprised. It was a risky move; if it was done incorrectly, sentient wards could inadvertently expose Muggles to the magical side of things in a rather catastrophic manner. Done correctly, however, they could provide almost as much protection as something secret-kept but with far more flexibility.
"Professor Dumbledore helped me create them during the summer between my fourth and fifth years."
"Ahh," he responded, taking out his own wand and using it to prick his finger. He levitated the dark red bead to Granger, who incorporated it into the web of magic with a flash.
A rush of Granger-scented magic cascaded over him then, and the depth of the spell was remarkable. While he could see the foundation that Albus had laid, it was clear that Granger had modified it considerably as well as creatively. She really is the brightest witch of her generation, he mused, and has finally moved beyond the basic trick of rote memorisation, hasn't she?
Saying nothing further, she stepped forward and opened the shed door. The weather was indeed far more mild in this part of England, the weather-repelling charms were no longer needed. Granger strode down the garden path without waiting to see if he was following. With a jerk, he hurried after her, only catching a brief glimpse of an overgrown garden and a tall three-storey semi-detached house.
A large orange tom was waiting for them at the back door, meowing loudly and glaring balefully at both of them.
"Oh, hush your whingeing, Crooks," Granger chided, unlatching the kitchen door and ushering them in as the wind picked up. "You know perfectly well how to use the kitty flap and could have done so at any time. It's not my fault you choose not to use it."
Ignoring her words, the cat flounced forward, tail swishing martially as it marched up to an empty bowl. Sitting sphinx-like, it resumed glowering. Granger gave a huff as she opened a cabinet and filled a cup with kibble.
"I hear and obey, master," she said dryly, dumping the food into the bowl. The beast was not impressed by the offering, pointedly glancing towards the fridge. "No," she responded. "Just because I'm late doesn't mean that you get your morning tuna early."
Getting up, Crookshanks sniffed his food, promptly turned up his nose at it and sashayed from the kitchen.
Snape couldn't help but let out a rough bark of laughter at the feline's Napoleonic arrogance, and Granger shook his head ruefully. "As you can see, I do not run this house."
Snape glanced around, taking in the dated if nice finishings; the space had an empty feeling despite the homey knickknacks and pictures that were scattered about.
"Your family?" he inquired, wondering if he would get the dubious pleasure of meeting her parents. And wouldn't that just be awkward as hell after what just happened!
Granger stiffened, the animation leaving her expression in a single blink. "My parents no longer live in the UK."
He'd stepped in it once again, that much was obvious, but Snape had no clue why. He couldn't recall much about her parents other than they were dentists. Were they attacked during the war? No, I don't think so... bollocks, what happened to them? I really should have been paying more attention to these sorts of things.
Switching on a kettle, Granger moved through the narrow kitchen and into the dark of what he presumed was the lounge. "Excuse me for a moment."
"Of course," he murmured, but she was already gone. As the kettle rumbled to life, he took in his surroundings. From what he could see, it was a solidly middle-class house, far different than the two-up two-down dump he had grown up in.
Above the table, there were a series of family pictures. Walking over, he examined them for clues. It appeared that Granger was an only child, which he vaguely recalled, and the candid snaps were of the nauseatingly happy variety. Her father was a tall, slim man with a head full of messy dark brown curls, and her mother, a trim blonde with a warm smile. Whether it be standing on snowy ski slopes or posing in front of a French château, they seemed particularly close, arms thrown over each other and large smiles in each scene. None of the pictures appeared recent, however- Granger was in her early teens at most, and still sported a rather unfortunate overbite, poor taste in jumpers, not to mention hair that defied gravity.
So what happened? he wondered again, and then jumped a metre when Granger's voice came from directly behind him.
"I Obliviated them," she admitted quietly. "They would not have gone into hiding without me, and Harry… well, I had to make a choice between them. I moved my parents to the Gold Coast under assumed identities. After the war, I tried to reverse the spell, but it didn't work." Giving a bitter laugh, she added, "The stress of trying to fix it nearly killed my father, as a matter of fact. I travel to Australia to check on them several times a year, and they seem happy enough. My Mum is a yoga instructor now, and my Dad surfs when he's not working part-time at a dental surgery."
Unable to find a response that wasn't useless or patronising, Snape turned away from the pictures silently and glanced back at her. Granger had let down her hair and taken off the corset, the velvet dress now hanging around her like more traditional robes. She appeared tired, and more than a little battered, but it did not render her any less compelling. He damned himself for still being interested.
"Tea?" she asked. Snape, still having no bloody clue what he wanted to say, was grateful for the reprieve.
"Do you have something decaf?"
"PG Tips or Yorkshire Gold?"
"Yorkshire Gold, please."
Busying herself with the tea, she appeared to be just as eager to avoid conversation as he was. Sitting down at the table together, they both began to sip at their drinks in studied silence.
Finally taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes, Granger began. "I promise you, I am not Harry's minion, I'm not up to something nefarious, and I certainly don't work for the Aurory. I'll take a wand oath if it convinces you."
Her opening statement was unexpected, and Snape belatedly realised that he had decided to trust Hermione Granger despite any misgivings. Certainly, there were a lot of things that didn't make sense in the whole situation, but Narcissa wasn't wrong when she'd noted that he'd grown rusty in the business of spycraft; maybe he saw connections where there were none.
"I believe you," he said, putting down his cup and leaning back in the chair. "And for what it's worth, I am sorry for the way that I treated you. Not just tonight… but when you were a student as well. You were correct in calling me out for my behaviour. I wish that I could say that I wasn't the black-hearted bastard of the dungeons, but frankly, I am."
Granger opened her mouth as if to object, and Snape held up a hand. "I'm all that and more, not the dark hero that people like to paint me as. Granted, being under the thumb of two masters for the better part of twenty years did not help matters, but I was a cruel bully whenever I could get away with it—which was often. I took pleasure in it because frankly, it was the only thing I had…" Snape trailed off, intensely uncomfortable in admitting the worst aspects of his own character. "And now? I have far more control over my temper—or rather, I usually have more control—but believe me when I say, my internal dialogue hasn't changed all that much from my own student days."
Bracing himself for the worst Severus said, "Please believe me when I say that it wasn't my intent to coerce you into any kind of sexual act. Forgive me for taking advantage and forcing myself on you— "
"Stop right there," she ordered grimly. "There were two adults in that closet, and if anyone should be apologising, it should be me. I was the aggressor— "
"And I enjoyed every minute of it," Snape interrupted right back, hating the guilt swimming in Hermione's expression. "At no point did I ask you to stop, or otherwise indicate that I wasn't fully consenting. I'm sorry, Hermione. That should not have gotten out of control as it did, and I take full responsibility."
"Please don't," she pleaded. "It… it wasn't like that. Not at all. I was in a foul mood, and I lashed out. What I did…" she trailed off and looked away. "I was trying to hurt you, full stop. And while I was mad about the way you treated me when I was a student, what I said to you wasn't the complete truth. You did far more than merely mock and belittle me. You saved my life many times over, and if it wasn't for you, there is no way that we would have won the war."
Severus sighed, tension and the old argument making his head pound. "And you likely would not have been put in that position had I not caused the deaths of the Potters. What I did doesn't even begin to balance the scales— "
"Bullshit!" she snapped, temper roaring out like the lioness she was. "You don't get to take the blame for Tom Riddle's racist fuckery any more than Albus Dumbledore's mad machinations. As for tonight, I greatly enjoyed myself. I liked making you shiver while I sucked you off, and it turned me on to watch you lose control and come all over my tits! Don't you dare apologise and take that from me!"
Just like that, Severus found himself sitting at the table with a fire-breathing goddess; his cock, which had been thankfully inert during the proceedings, suddenly perked up. Shifting in his chair to relieve the pressure, Snape attempted to appease the furious woman in front of him.
"I can't imagine that you got all that much out of the experience," he objected mildly, and she rolled her eyes.
"I got plenty out of it, trust me," she grumbled, a faint pink wash appearing over her cheeks. "As I mentioned, my life has been rather boring as of late. I'm… stuck, I guess, and I don't have a clue how to get myself out of the doldrums. When you and I sat down at that table at the Greengrasses', and I caught you perving over me—"
"I do not perv," Snape protested half-heartedly, a weight disappearing at her matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation. Of his attraction... Fleetingly, he wondered if she could be the one to handle his foul temper and obsessive personality; she had never stepped back from a challenge that he could remember, and Merlin knew she'd never given up on Potter.
Hermione ignored his protestations. "When you, of all people, leered at me at the supper table, paying particular and close attention to my breasts, it was like an alarm clock going off. I was awake for the first time in ages, and you became a convenient target for my frustration." She gave him a bittersweet but charming smile. "While it isn't a terribly flattering aspect of my character, it's true that I've wanted to gain your approval and attention since I was a student. And while I never thought of you like that when you were my teacher…"
"You are no longer a child in my classroom," he concluded, something protective stirring in him at her frank admission of hubris. Merlin knew he could sympathise with that particular failing.
"Just so. I'm an adult now. And adult me enjoyed watching you lose control very much."
Severus' mouth went dry at the latent heat in her expression and he resisted the urge to yank her across the table and continue their conversation in a different manner entirely. And that, a mocking voice in his head noted, is precisely the line of thought that got you in all this trouble in the first place!
"If you will allow me a bit of armchair philosophising," he remarked as nonchalantly as possible considering that his dick was trying to drill out of his trousers, "it seems to me that we have several things in common, chief of which is that we both have been lying to ourselves for quite some time. I've spent the last ten years hiding behind the walls of Hogwarts, and I think that you've been doing the same at the Ministry. We've buried ourselves in work and not dealt with… anything. And while this was not the most ideal way to discover just how bored, and indeed, how alone I am, I do thank you for the not-so-gentle kick in the pants reminder to get myself in order."
Her expression was one of rueful amusement as well as understanding; it appeared that she had drawn some of the same conclusions that he had about the origins of their actions. "Is that what we are calling it? A kick in the pants?" she teased.
Looking at the brainy, brilliant, and beautiful woman in front of him, Severus wanted to show her whatever small scrap of goodness remained of his soul, to entice and tempt her with whatever skills he could muster before she booted him out of her life for good. Perhaps the petite mort brought on by an orgasm had dulled his usual cynicism, but he just couldn't be arsed to care about the oncoming danger; there was something suspiciously like hope bubbling in his blood.
"I would call the overall incident a kick in the pants, yes. As for the part when you were specifically sucking me off… I would call that fellatio. Excellently done, at that." Letting a note of humour deepen his tone, he added. "I will even go so far as to admit that it was the second-best blow job of my life."
The shocked look on her face was priceless, and his smirk grew wider as she spluttered in disbelief.
"Second best?"
"As you've already said that you won't let me apologise, I will instead thank you for your outstanding efforts." With a languid swish of his hands, he dismissed her words.
"It was only the second-best?" Hermione repeated, laughing. "Outstanding efforts? God, but you really are a bastard, Snape!"
"I have never pretended to be anything else."
"Dare I inquire about who took first place?"
"Discretion being the better valour and all that rot, I must regretfully decline to share that information."
Granger rubbed her face, still smiling. "Great, now I am going to spend the next several days futilely trying to work the particulars…"
"You wouldn't believe them if I told you," he assured her and was rewarded by her chuckle.
Hermione stared at him from across the table, something almost fond in her expression. "Alright, go on then. Tell me what I did to get marked down."
Do I dare? Severus asked himself. The tenor of the evening had shifted rapidly enough to be bewildering, and it could still turn sour yet. But Granger… Hermione… she had seemingly overlooked his terrible behaviour and was actively flirting back. Wasn't she?
Adopting a suitably thoughtful mien, Severus steepled his fingers in front of him and let the charged atmosphere build.
"Your technique," he drawled at last, pulling out all of the stops, "was flawless, as was your creative use of visual placement. There was only one area that needed improvement."
"And that was?" she inquired, voice a purr that sent his imagination into overdrive.
"Alas, only one of us came."
Hermione pursed her lips at that rejoinder, and Severus had a visceral recollection of her mouth making the same motion around his throbbing shaft.
"I would argue that was more of an issue with your technique rather than mine."
"And I would be inclined to agree."
Severus observed that her breathing had rapidly increased; apparently, he wasn't the only one finding the conversation to be titillating. Hermione's eyes lowered to half-mast for several seconds, veiling her thoughts. When she glanced up again, it was with a more serious expression.
"What are your recommendations, sir?"
His heart seemed to stutter in his chest at her question, and Severus chose his next words carefully. "I've never allowed retakes, you know that. But as the fault appears to lie with me… I do believe that good manners would dictate that I make it up to you."
"And how would that happen?" she asked, voice catching slightly.
"Take me to your bed, Hermione. Let me even the score, as it were."
Brown eyes met his, and Severus once again felt his entire body leap to attention in sudden awareness.
"You want me," she murmured, the statement caught somewhere between a declaration and enquiry.
"If you were sitting on my lap right now, you would not be asking that question," Severus returned evenly, unease at making himself this vulnerable cooling the edge of ardour.
"Severus… I'm not that woman in the ballroom. I'm not… a lot of things. Truth be told, I'd rather stay home with a takeaway and read a good book than go out. I hate getting all dolled up like this, and most of the time, I cut a rather ink-stained and bedraggled figure."
Hermione's show of nervousness surprised him. Was she that unaware of her own worth? Or was she trying to decline in a way that let him down subtly? Despite the outward trappings of power and influence, Severus knew that he was no prize.
"You can say no, Hermione. Given… everything, I wouldn't blame you if you did."
Reaching across the table, Hermione lightly rested her fingers on top of his. "It's not that. I want you. Equally so, I don't want you to suddenly catch sight of the real me and feel like you've been sold a shoddy bill of goods. If I'm perfectly honest, I haven't been acting like myself in any of this…" she sighed deeply, some of the mask returning. "I just don't want you to be disappointed."
I want you. Her stark admission echoed in his ears, and made his mouth go dry. Her explanation didn't banish all of his concerns over her motives, but Severus found himself unwilling to lose this rare opportunity to explore a mutual attraction; it had been entirely too long since anyone had wanted him. "Neither of us are simple people, and there are bound to be complications in any interaction. But if I am sure of one thing, it's that you won't disappoint me. Infuriate or inflame? Yes. But disappoint? No."
Holding her gaze, Severus turned his palm over and intertwined his fingers with hers. "Take me to your bed, Hermione Granger. You are currently one up on me, and I can't let that stand."
Rising from her chair in a graceful motion, Hermione moved closer, not letting go of his hand. Her expression turned coy. "Are you a competitive man, Headmaster? I never would have guessed."
It was a definite challenge, and there was only one thing for him to do. He stood, the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor frightfully loud in the quiet of the house. Severus leaned down to kiss her mouth, but at the last second, dipped lower, lips and tongue seeking the racing pulse that ran down the graceful line of her neck. Hermione's head fell back in response, and Severus used the opening to gently nip her throat, finding pleasure in the blooming mark that appeared.
"I shouldn't have to remind you of this, Ms Granger," he murmured, tasting her sweetness, "but we Slytherins are not just a competitive lot, but ruthless." He sucked a little harder, and Hermione gave a low moan. "Ambitious. Cunning…" he drawled, stretching the word out until the meaning was nearly changed.
Her clever, delightful hand came up and skated over the buttons of his robe. "There is only one snake that I am interested in learning more about," Hermione whispered with a provocative smirk, fingers diving lower. For the second time that evening, she caressed his swelling shaft through his trousers and he shivered. "and it's not the hypothetical sort. Come with me, Headmaster."
"I plan on it."
Hermione laughed again and lead him up a narrow set of stairs. After a decent hike, they finally arrived at a back bedroom. It was a surprisingly austere room, done in shades of monochrome white and lacking the decoration that he'd seen in the kitchen. Other than a few books on the bedside table and set of purple robes thrown over a chair, there was little to mark the space as hers. For some, the blankness might be soothing, but for others, the cell-like nature of the room might have been a punishment.
And which is it? Severus wondered, glancing down at the woman in his arms for a long moment. Does she punish herself as I have done?
She had seen and understood his assessing stare and looked back up at him unflinchingly; her willingness to expose herself in such a fashion was staggering, triggering a flash of his own insecurity. You deserve so much more than me, he thought but was powerless to walk away from her. Not when you said that you wanted me…
Soothingly, Hermione reached up and stroked his cheek, the gesture tender. And then with a wicked smile, she pulled her wand out and loosened the charm that held the back of her gown closed. The emerald green velvet sagged at the shoulders and with a wiggle, she let it drop to the floor.
Severus' jaw followed.
How on earth does she think that she is boring?
She was wearing an old-fashioned bustier, a tiny scrap of silken knickers, and thigh-high silk stockings; with her hair cascading down her back, she could not have looked any more the wanton witch if she tried.
"It appears that once again, I find myself ahead," she purred, and Severus' hands started yanking his robes off of their own accord.
Muffling an oath at the stubborn jet buttons lining his frock coat, Severus settled for pulling it up and over his head, and then attacking his belt buckle. Hermione matched him item-for-item, rolling down a stocking as he loosened his trousers and unhooking the bustier as he whipped off his undershirt.
Finally, they stood nearly naked next to each other—him in his pants, and she in her ridiculous excuse for knickers—chests heaving and eyes glazed with lust. Hermione was a visual feast, all flushed porcelain and delectable curves, and Severus wanted nothing more than to sink into her and lose himself. The moment felt unreal, and there was a part of him that expected this to be a joke, or for Hermione to change her mind and kick him to the kerb.
But she didn't. Instead, she took one long, lingering look at him, biting her lip and sliding forward until there was only a whisper of space between them. "Severus…" she breathed, and he had never heard his name said with such longing, such lust.
Before he could stop himself, Severus pulled down his pants and stood totally bare before her. It felt like removing his last piece of armour, and he was left with no defences, nothing to hide his multitude of scars and knobbly knees. But Hermione didn't seem to see any of his flaws, physical or otherwise; if anything, her bourbon brown eyes seem to dilate further.
Indeed, Hermione's regard was like a feather floating down his body, and his cock bobbed with eagerness to reach her. He stretched for her, but she took an unexpected step back. Taking a deep breath, she grasped not for her own final scrap of fabric, but at a small silver charm bracelet dangling on her left wrist. Deftly undoing the catch, she removed it. A faint shimmer obscured her body for a moment before it faded away.
Some of the makeup on her face disappeared, and her hair grew noticeably frizzier. Although her shape didn't change one bit, the surface of her skin did; what had been perfect and blemish-free before suddenly morphed into a road map of wounds. A large wide scar bisected her chest, and Hermione had several parallel lines crossing one leg that appeared to be claw marks. Standing out in red was the word 'mudblood' etched into her right forearm, and it made Severus' gut twist to see it.
"We match," she remarked weakly, her confidence draining away by the second as Severus said nothing.
Words deserted Severus; through misdeeds, he had earned every lash and mark, but Hermione? She never should have faced the things that she had, and if her scars were any indication, it was little wonder that she found herself stuck and unable to move forward.
Gently he ran a hand up her arm, around the outside of one lush breast, and then swirled long fingers around her belly button. Gooseflesh appeared, and she shivered, not meeting his gaze.
"We do. We shouldn't, but we do," Severus murmured, and then pulled her into an embrace. It wasn't sexual; just as she had sought to soothe him earlier, Severus wanted to provide some measure of comfort, of understanding. Hermione fit perfectly in his arms, head finding the hollow between shoulder and chest, and a knot of tension that Severus didn't even know he carried loosened.
Her arms wrapped securely around his waist, and at the advanced age of fifty, Snape discovered that he rather enjoyed hugging.
Mine, Severus thought, vowing that he would do whatever it took to keep Hermione in his life.
They stood pressed together for several minutes, some of the heat of the moment fading away. But rather than feeling foolish, it simply felt nice, like coming home.
Noting the sensitive placement of several scars, Severus finally asked, "Are there any boundaries I should be aware of?"
Hermione looked up, eyes soft and warm. "I don't like restraint."
"Neither do I."
"Other than that, most things are on the table. When in doubt, ask, and I will do the same," she said, hand stroking the base of his spine. "I took a dose of contraceptive potion last Thursday."
"Homebrewed?"
Hermione met his raised brow with a faintly chiding look. "Of course." Reverently touching one of the long scars that sliced around his hip, she added, "You deserve so much more than me."
Severus shook his head in confusion at her unconscious echo of his thoughts; if anything, it should be the other way around. "Don't talk rubbish."
"It's not rubbish," she said, and then pulled his head down for another one of her desperate, drugging kisses. Leading him blindly to bed, she tumbled on to the mattress, drawing him down next to her. It was sheer bliss to sink the hard lines of his body into her softness, and the intensity ratcheted up swiftly as they explored each other's bodies with fingers and tongues.
"Slow down," he groaned as she wrapped a silky leg around his thigh and ground purposely against him.
"I want you," she said with a whine, hands kneading his bare buttocks like a great cat.
"And I want you," Severus affirmed, lips finding a pert nipple. "But we have all night."
As Hermione writhed beneath him, it became harder and harder to keep a coherent train of thought, but he was determined to get his way. Raising his head, Severus let a hint of his professorial persona colour his tone. "Just this once, I don't want to rush. I want to savour. Sup. Worship your body… Does that meet with your approval, Hermione?
She appeared dazed, and he smiled wolfishly down at her. "I… yes. Just this once."
"Excellent…" Severus whispered, and lowered his head to her lush body once more.