It's been years since Hermione graduated from Hogwarts. She was older, wiser, dare she say, sexier.
Not that any of that mattered. No, she was as single as she had been in school. Lonely and horny.
She had moved out of 12 Grimmauld Place once Harry married Draco, but she returned often to take advantage of the massive library and the extensive laboratory. Despite all of the shortcomings and unwarranted prejudices of purebloods, she really had to hand it to them when it came to their homes. They were notoriously well-equipped.
"What are you doing in my lab?" A deep, baritone voice startled her. She hadn't expected anyone else to be here, especially not him.
Hermione spun around, her back arched over the edge of the table to distance herself from the intruder who was but only one step from where she stood. "Professor!" No matter how long it has been since she was beneath his tutelage, he would likely always be 'Professor' to her. "It isn't your lab." She hoped she sounded polite when correcting him. "This is Harry's house, Harry's lab."
"My equipment," he pointed behind her. "My ingredients." His eyes roamed across her body, and she felt herself warm beneath his scrutinizing gaze. "What are you wearing, Ms Granger?"
She looked down and couldn't believe her luck. "My uniform," she cringed.
"Yes, that much I can actually see for myself. Why?" Why indeed. It had made sense at the time, but now she felt foolish and juvenile.
Fully embarrassed, she didn't want to tell him. "Well, for one thing…" She had no idea what to say. All she knew was that she didn't want to tell him the truth. "Even with magic, potion accidents easily stain, and I don't care if these clothes get dirty, since no one will see me in them." Their eyes met, reminding her that he was, in fact, seeing her in them. "Almost no one."
"And?"
"Hmm?"
"What is the other reason?"
Bugger. "You'll think me silly." Hermione turned back toward her work, hoping he'd drop the subject if she appeared busy.
"I often do," he quipped half scornfully. "And I might still, if you don't tell me. So, best take your chances with an explanation."
"Alright, fine." She sprinkled in the powdered toadstool and stirred counterclockwise three times. "Well, it keeps me focused… Mostly." A pestle grinded the ashwinder egg shells in a mortar to the left, and a zester grated the ginger root. Molly worked wonders with Hermione's kitchen related charms. Not that the younger witch cooked ever, but it helped with brewing as well. "It reminds me of class with," she swallowed the lump in her throat, "with you." She kept her head down. Seemingly focused. Not actually focused.
Suddenly, her hand was encased in his, preventing her from cutting the haliwinkle as she intended. He placed his left hand on top of her own and encouraged her to push down harder than she normally did, causing the purple flesh to flatten and bulge at the sides. He guided her right hand to cut through the meat parallel to the table. His movements were fluid and mesmerising, his grip on her distracting.
That was a nifty little trick. Fileting it out like that got her that much closer to the thin strips she needed for the potion and the pudgy, uncooked flesh was notoriously difficult to slice. Turning her head back, she meant to thank him for the tip, but she found her face nearly buried in his chest. Then once she looked up, she was too overwhelmed by the expression in his eyes. She wasn't quite sure what it meant, but it was the most captivating display she had witnessed from him before.
Eventually, he told her to continue, so she did. After reigning in her attention, she quickly got back in the groove of things and nearly forgot about the presence lingering close behind her. She had to go up on her toes and lean forward to reach the vial of unicorn blood set a little too far back. When she felt her bum brush against the man standing there, she froze. Still bent over the workspace, she wasn't quite sure what to do.
Should she ignore the fact that she just rubbed her bum into Professor Snape's crotch?
Should she do it again?
Was that a moan she heard?
And what was she feeling there? Could he be…?
Deciding it was best to pretend like that never happened, she grabbed the vial to righted herself. When standing up again, she felt her body press along his own. Had they been that close before, or did he move closer?
"Where is your tie, Ms Granger? It isn't like you to not honour the dress code."
"I hardly thought it was necessary." His fingers flitted along the buttons of her blouse. A blouse that was purchased when she was several years younger, and several cup sizes smaller. If he wanted to, though she was positive he didn't, he could sneak his fingers in through the gaps and caress her skin. "I-I don't even know where it is. Packed away somewhere." Her heavy breathing continuously jutted her breast out against his hand even more, but he never pulled away.
"Perhaps I should get you into a Slytherin tie. I'm sure I could find one lying around here."
"And why would you do that? I haven't any Slytherin in me, Professor."
His warm breath fanned across her neck as he whispered in her ear, "easily remedied." Oh, it was low hanging fruit, indeed, but she didn't care. She walked right into that one. Maybe even on purpose. Set him up perfectly for such a ridiculous response as a way of seeking her own confirmation. "Unless I'm misreading the situation." He placed one finger on the knife she dropped and pushed it out of reach.
"N-n… No," she finally got out. No, he absolutely was not misreading the situation.
"Is this how you've imagined it? In uniform, bent over my potions desk?" His hands were on her waist now, and she felt him encouraging her to bend forward again until her chest was pressed against the flat surface of the table. "Did you wear this in the hopes I'd find you?" She didn't answer his question, instead blushing and resting her forehead on the table to hide her face. Her skin tingled as one hand dragged torturously up the inside of her thigh, the other resting firmly on her lower back. "Do I embarrass you, child?" Before she could answer, his fingers finally found the slick material between her thighs. "Seems you enjoy being embarrassed."
She hadn't known that he freed himself, so it came as an abrupt surprise when her soaked knickers were pushed to the side and he shoved himself balls deep into her. Without much experience, she wasn't sure what was necessarily good or bad… but damn was this great!
She didn't need experience to know how wonderful this felt. How spectacularly he filled her.
"So perfect," he whispered before picking up the pace. One hand tangled itself in her curls and pulled tight, the other gripped her shoulder and held her in place. "Perfect cunt, perfect hair, perfect. Everything I've ever wanted." She keened at his praise. Hummed and sighed, moaned and begged for more. "You're mine now, Ms Granger."
"Yes!"
"Say it!" he demanded.
"Yours! I'm yours!"
"I knew you would be." He lifted her up against his chest and his lips attacked her neck. "I knew you'd be mine. I've wanted you for so long, I had to have you."
She had no idea he felt the same way. His claim made the whole situation that much more incredible.
He tilted her head back and leaned down over her shoulder, kissing her lips passionately. "I love you," they both confessed as they came together.
A crash pulled Hermione back to reality. Looking around the classroom, she was still very much in a potions lab. Looking down, she was still very much in her school uniform. Unfortunately, however, she was also most certainly not older, wiser nor sexier than her school days, because she was still very much a student at Hogwarts.
She felt silly. Her erotic daydreams have taken a strange turn recently and began including emotional declarations. As if the dour potions master shagging her senselessly wasn't far-fetched enough, she knew it was beyond laughable to fantasise him professing these repressed feelings of love. She was his student, and one of his least favourites to boot.
As if subconsciously seeking out confirmation for this, her gaze drifted forward and met a pair black eyes. Eyes that were already honed in on her. As per his usual state of being, Professor Snape's features were hardened, giving away nothing, although it seemed more forced than normal. He was also, perhaps, paler. A bit flushed even as he continued to stare at her.
He couldn't have known what she was thinking… could he?