Stripped Bare

Severus heard a staccato beat and a tenor crooning, "If you want my body …" That was his signal to pop out of the cake, so he Apparated out to the sound of squeals and claps.

Cruciatus wasn't painful enough to get back at Ginevra Potter for this, the Killing Curse too merciful. Leave it to a Potter to humiliate him by forcing him to strip down to his underwear. She'd provided him with a strip of cloth to tie his hair back with and a thong not much bigger. Both red—with gold sparkles.

It was use the thong or the 'full monty.' Or he could not strip at all—and Hermione would receive the letter Ginevra had tricked him into writing. She had slipped onto his desk a seemingly innocent leaf of parchment from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that was enchanted to elicit your true feelings for the person addressed on the paper, in every hand-written word. As soon as he'd looked down on his desk, his gaze had been drawn to the parchment and he'd been compelled to start writing. The moment he'd lifted his quill after signing it, Ginevra had Accio'd the parchment, bringing it to her hand.

He could strip. Or be really naked.

He had taken the thong.

When he saw the dozen women gathered around the settee—the female contingent of Dumbledore's Army—and especially the woman seated at their centre, he had to bite down on an impulse to Apparate right back home. He was at Grimmauld Place. Of course, it was Hermione's twenty-first birthday—this was for her.

He could blame it on a Pavlovian response to the music, which he had practiced to, determined that if he had to bloody do this, he'd do it right. He could blame it on that while Luna blinked owlishly at him, Lavender gasped, and others sat or stood frozen in shock once they recognised him by his habitual garb, Hermione stood up and walked towards him, her smile coaxing him on.

He wasn't sure what part of his brain took over, but he was moving, slowly unbuttoning his high collar, strutting towards her with every bit of focus he put into duelling. He didn't know what the rest of the silly girls were doing anymore as he gyrated his pelvis and thrust his hips forward. He only saw Hermione staring at him, lips half parted, one hand raised as if she were going to touch him, and he shimmied out of reach, unbuttoning as he went, then slipped out of the frockcoat and threw it into her arms. Heat flared throughout his body when she buried her nose into the garment, breathing in his scent.

She tied his frockcoat about her waist, a black band bisecting her blue gown. He dipped and swayed and she mirrored him, drawing closer and closer, making the striptease a dance, as if she were the snake and he the snake charmer.

Watching her closely, he slowly pulled his shirt out from his trousers. He heard her sighs change to heavy breathing as she licked her lips. He felt a moment's self-consciousness when it came to peeling down the last cloth barrier between those brown eyes and his bare chest. There was at least no middle-age paunch to worry about, but plenty of scar tissue to evoke horror and pity. Covering up his trepidation with a predatory grin, he let the shirt hang out to his sides, exposing a strip of skin from collarbone to navel and evoking another appreciative sigh—and a sharp wolf-whistle to his right.

That broke the spell and they both stood still. Then staring right at him, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "I love my gift, Ginny, but I really think the rest of you should leave now, because I want to unwrap the rest in private."

"Spoil sport," one of the Patil twins called out.

"It's a crime what those teacher's robes were hiding," Angelina Johnson said, a purr in her voice that made him want to reach for his wand.

Tomorrow he'd track them down and cast an itching spell on each of them, but for now his focus was only on Hermione as the gaggle of females passed by him, chattering and giggling. Ginevra tugged at his sleeve. "You'll thank me for this someday," she said.

"Not bloody likely," he muttered.

"You should," Hermione said when they were the only ones left. "She only did this for me. After she slipped me that truth parchment with your name at the top." Hermione held out two slips of paper. "You're slipping, you know. She promised to return this to you, but not that she wouldn't show me first."

"Oh, God."

"Quite. Well, only fair—you get to see mine too."

He grabbed it from her fingers and started reading—he might even have got to the end—but it was hard when she leaned so close that her eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. And it became rather impossible when she kissed him, her warm hands sliding under his open shirt and trailing up his bare back.

He'd finish reading later.

refrainofdreams - Prompt: SSHG, of course. Snape gets blackmailed into being a jump-out-of-cake-stripper for someone for their birthday, and doesn't know who. It ends up being Hermione on her 21st. All other details are up to you.