***
They paid their bill, and Hermione felt sated. After the little incident with Gabrielle, she had sensed the tension between Willow and Snape, and felt sure the evening was ruined. But the evening had progressed comfortably in spite of it, and she found herself sad that the night was ending. She glanced at her watch. It was ten o'clock. She had not been given the opportunity to ask Willow even one tenth of what she wanted to know. The worse part was, she had no idea when they might meet again.
She knew that their mission would be taking them out of Paris tomorrow, and their destination beyond that was not yet determined. Hermione had to keep reminding herself that this was not a holiday, and no, she would not be visiting the Musée d'Orsay this time. She yearned for it. In her opinion, there was no finer museum in the world. The Louvre was sorely overrated. Who wanted to queue for hours to see that flipping Mona Lisa smile, anyway? No, at the Musée d'Orsay, she could ponder the mysteries of Pierre Puvis-de Chavannes, ogle the Odilon Redons, and bask to her heart's content in the Degas and Matisses. Of course, her all-time favourite was Manet, who'd sown the seeds of Impressionism and inspired Picasso and countless others to move in new directions. There was one painting by him that she particularly loved… l'Olympe*. For some reason, it made her think of Snape. She blushed at the implications…
"Miss Granger! When you've decided to join us, do let me know," he snapped at her impatiently.
'Speak of the devil,' she thought, rising from her chair and muttering an apology when she realised they were waiting for her so they could leave. She glared at him. How dare he make her feel like a schoolgirl when he was being so civil to Willow and Gabrielle? Especially Gabrielle. The fool was probably so caught up in the Veela aura that he hadn't picked up on the fact that her preferences leaned the other way. She smirked at the thought of him trying, and failing, to get anywhere with her.
"Willow," she turned to the redhead. "How can I stay in touch with you? I'd really like to write to you. I have so many more questions about wandless magic!"
"I'd love it if you wrote to me. We could be pen pals! Here, let me give you my mailing address," she said, pulling out a scrap of paper and scribbling on it. "I'll put my cell phone number on here too, and my e-mail address. Oh! And I've started a wiccan webpage! You should check it out. There are potions recipes on there and everything."
Snape raised an eyebrow at this, about to question the wisdom of putting that kind of information out there for all and sundry. Then he thought better of it. Nothing he'd heard from Willow tonight led him to believe that she would pay the slightest attention to his advice. He wondered idly which potions she knew how to brew. He was vaguely curious to know whether her wiccan recipes were traditional, or whether these were variations he was perhaps not familiar with.
"Willow, I would be rather interested to see your potions recipes myself. May I visit your… web-page too?"
"Of course, Severus," she grinned at him. His spine tingled every time she said his name like that, almost like a caress. "In fact, if you follow the link on the 'contact' page and try to mail the webmistress, the e-mail comes to me, so anytime you want to correspond…" She left the invitation open. Actually, Willow was hoping Snape would write to her. She still wanted to know how he'd read her mind. Deep down, there was also a small part of her that desperately wanted to know how he lived with the Darkness. His eyes met hers, and she felt him probing her mind again.
"I shall write to you at the earliest opportunity, then," he agreed, nodding to her.
She smiled back at him, throwing her arms around him to draw him into a big hug. Snape was clearly taken aback, and Hermione couldn't suppress her giggle. 'Probably the first time in many years a girl's done that to him!' He patted Willow on the back awkwardly.
When he turned to Gabrielle, he gave her that odd smile, bending down to kiss her hand again. "Gabrielle, vous êtes ravissante!" he said eagerly. Hermione rolled her eyes at Willow, who grinned back at her. Hermione had whispered to her earlier, explaining about the effect Veelas had on men. Willow winked at her.
"Well, take care of yourselves, you crazy kids!" she said merrily, briefly meeting Snape's eye again. He bowed his head to her reassuringly. Hermione saw the unspoken agreement that had passed between them and frowned to herself as they parted ways.
***
True to his word, Snape suggested that they walk back. They meandered along the Rive Gauche, crossing to stroll in front of Notre Dame Cathedral. Its gothic arches rose elegantly over large wooden doors. Lit with yellow and green lights, the façade took on a surreal quality, almost as if it was frozen in time. Hermione sighed, wishing once more that she were here with a lover instead of Snape. She looked over at him, noticing that he too seemed absorbed by the magic of the moment.
They proceeded back towards the Louvre, entering the Tuileries gardens. Couples were wandering together, hand-in-hand. Some were seated together on park benches. A few benches were hidden from plain view, but judging by the moans Hermione heard floating up from them, their occupants were not feeding the birds or enjoying the scenery. She needed something to take her mind off her own romantic yearnings. She'd practically reached out and grabbed Snape's hand earlier as they walked along the Seine. Something about the tranquillity of the water, the majestic beauty of the buildings lining it, the bateaux mouches with their glass tops and star-struck occupants floating by…
'I need a boyfriend in the biggest way,' she thought to herself.
Time to get her mind off romance. She looked over at Snape. Yep, that did it.
"Professor, did you know that Beauxbatons makes students take an entrance exam when they're only ten? And if the child fails, they can never again be admitted!"
Snape sneered. "Not every school has such an open policy as Hogwarts, Miss Granger. Beauxbatons takes only the elite. Durmstrang takes only purebloods…"
"What??? Oh that's just… disgusting, is what it is!"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "For once, Miss Granger, we are in agreement."
Hermione was stunned. She'd always thought Snape was elitist, like all Slytherins."What about the American schools?" she asked. "You mentioned the Salem Academy…"
"Ah yes, the Salem school. Now there, I am not at all surprised by the policy. The Salem school was founded in the sixteen hundreds by a colonial wizard by the name of Ashford Adams. Their recruitment policy was modelled on Hogwarts's. Any child in New England who demonstrated magical ability was sent a letter of acceptance at the age of eleven. However, as you may be aware, some Americans hold rather… puritanical views. The Salem witch hunts brought the academy to its knees. It eventually relocated, and cloaked itself carefully from the world. For reasons of necessity, it no longer sent out unsolicited letters of invitation, taking only children who actively sought them out. This meant that most of their recruitment was done amongst existing wizards. Not quite purebloods, but close. With time, it became a rather snooty institution. They now pride themselves on putting out 'the best witches and wizards in the world,' to quote from their annual report."
Snape snorted at this, indicating exactly what he thought about their claims.
Hermione was frowning in thought. "So that's why there are witches like Willow in the US. They have magical ability, but had to teach themselves because they didn't even know about places like the Salem Academy."
"Indeed," he answered.
"But what about the coven she mentioned in Brighton! They sound like they're also living in the Muggle world. Why didn't they come from Hogwarts?"
"Miss Granger, do you honestly think that everyone who receives a Hogwarts letter chooses to come? If they did, Hogwarts would be three times the size it is, at least! There are plenty of magical children who either assume the letter is a hoax, or who are flatly forbidden from taking up the offer by their idiotic parents. Some of them eventually experiment for themselves. But it is a risky endeavour. It is strictly forbidden by Magical Law to sell a wand to an uninitiated witch or wizard. As a result, many of these so called wicca groups," and he winced again as he said it, "learn intuitive magic. Wandless magic, as you like to call it. It is unfocused, dangerous, ritualistic, and downright irresponsible, if you ask me!" he finished.
They walked in silence, the sound of gravel crunching under their feet as they walked down the main path in the Tuileries.
"French gardens are very… manicured, aren't they, Professor?" She felt a change of subject was in order.
"Indeed."
She shivered in the night air. It was still gorgeous, but a light breeze was now blowing. Hermione wished she'd brought a sweater, suddenly regretting her choice of a sleeveless chiffon dress. Something had made her want to dress up nicely for Snape. 'A completely pointless exercise, Miss Granger,' she mused to herself.
It came as a complete shock to her when Snape turned, removing his wand from his pocket.
"You're shivering. I'm afraid I have no jacket to offer you, Miss Granger. But perhaps this will help."
He uttered "Incendio" and ran his wand along her arm, across her neck and then down the other arm. Her breath caught at the intimate gesture, and she shivered again. A sudden feeling of warmth spread through her, and she gasped at the sensation. She felt her nipples harden suddenly, and blushed scarlet. His eyes seemed to linger on her chest for a moment, and she looked away, mortified.
"Oh! Look, a statue of Artemis…" she pointed vaguely towards a marble statue and walked briskly in its direction. In her haste to escape, she dragged her sandals across the gravel, picking up a couple of stones on the way. Her next steps forward brought her to an agonising halt as the pebbles dug into the soles of her feet.
She buckled over from the pain. "Damn it!" she cried, hobbling over to the nearest bench.
Sitting down, she removed one sandal, tipping it over to shake out the pebbles. When none fell out, she realised they must still be stuck to her feet. She was about to check them, when a hand stopped her in her tracks.
Snape knelt down, wrapping one hand around her ankle. He used the other to brush lightly under the sole of her foot, releasing a couple of stones. Hermione blushed at the intimacy of their situation. For a brief instant, in this position, she imagined herself as Cinderella to his Prince Charming. Then she shook the image away. Honestly! Snape, a prince!
But once he had repeated the process on her other foot, he did not rise. Instead he kept one hand on her ankle and traced up the length of her calf with his other hand. When he reached her knee, his hand wandered up her inner thigh.
She felt as though she was outside of her body, looking in on the scene but unable to affect it. She saw herself parting her legs wider to give him free access. His hand moved a bit farther up… Then, as if waking from a daze, he pulled his hand away, looking up at her with a shocked expression. He rose abruptly, opening his mouth to speak. But nothing came out. Instead, he offered her his hand, pulling her out of her seat.
She did not release his hand, nor did she clutch at it. He seemed to be breathing deeply, steadying himself to say something.
"Miss Gr… Hermione. I seem to have got carried away by the moment. I apologise." Then he bent towards her hand, brushing a light kiss over it as he had for Gabrielle.
"That's alright, Prof… Severus," she said hesitantly. He didn't glare this time. She noticed he was still holding her hand, running his thumb over her fingers. 'Maybe he's still under the Veela aura,' she thought. That must be it.
She sighed, wondering why men never noticed her for herself. Ron had only asked her out last year after Fleur had turned him down flat while she was over apprenticing with McGonnagall. 'Just like Snape… caught in the Veela heat, and needing to vent with someone.' She'd ended up sleeping with Ron that same night, and regretting it intensely the next morning. Their friendship had survived on shaky ground. She wouldn't be making the same mistake tonight.
They walked together in silence, Snape still holding her hand. She kept sneaking peaks at him, trying to read his expression. An exercise in futility, she soon realised. Instead, she looked ahead of her. Her heart felt tight in her chest, as if it might burst with panic. They were coming up to the far end of the Tuileries, where the Orangerie and the Jeu de Paume flanked the gates which opened onto Place de la Concorde. There, looming tall and all aglow with fiery orange light stood Cleopatra's Needle. Beyond it stretched the Champs Elysées, the glorious Arc de Triomphe, and in the distance, l'Arche de la Défense. She sighed deeply at the sight, silently thanking Dumbledore for this amazing night.
They had just exited the gates of the Tuileries, when all at once the lights went out on the Concorde and the other monuments. Hermione glanced at her watch.
"Midnight," she said. "Time for me to turn into a pumpkin," she laughed, remembering her Cinderella moment from earlier.
Snape quirked an eyebrow at her. He pulled her to him impulsively, putting his arm around her. "And will you turn back into a princess if I give you a kiss?" he said in a low voice.
Before she could react, his lips were on hers, kissing her firmly. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and bit gently on it, causing Hermione's knees to buckle. She would have slid down, but his arm held her strongly against him. His other hand finally released hers, and slid up to the draping collar of her dress, playing with the soft fabric there. Then he stroked her neck.
"Such soft skin you have… Perhaps we'd better call you Snow White instead," he murmured against her lips.
Hermione's mind, which had shut down when his lips touched hers, awoke again and she opened her eyes to look into his.
It all crashed into her then. She was looking into Severus Snape's eyes. Those same eyes had terrified and persecuted her for seven years – though she would admit under duress that he hadn't been as bad in the last two years. Still, this was her dreaded Potions Master, who'd stood at the front of the class, mocked her, insulted her… Even if it had been for the sake of maintaining his cover as a Death Eater, she didn't doubt that he'd taken a perverse pleasure in it. Sadist!
She pulled away from him, angry at herself, and at him, for presuming too much.
Gathering the remaining shreds of her dignity, she held her head up. "She was quarter Veela, you know. I think you're still under her spell!" She threw it out at him, like a gauntlet tossed to the ground in challenge.
Snape looked momentarily bewildered. Then realisation dawned. Gabrielle was quarter Veela, and Snape had fawned over her a bit too much. But what of it? What on earth did that have to do with anything? Then he realised something else: Hermione was jealous. He smiled at this.
"Miss Granger, I can assure you of two things. One, Veela heat is only effective in person. And two," he moved in on her and wound his arms around her once more, "if I am under anyone's spell, it is yours."
He didn't kiss her now, just looked into her eyes. She was stunned by his bold moves and bolder words.
"Who are you, and what have you done to my former Potions Master?" she asked.
He laughed deeply. "He's on vacation."
She rose up on tippy toes and kissed him gently on the lips.
***
They managed to walk back to their hotel in semi-civilized fashion. But when they got to the staircase, Hermione put on a burst of speed and ran up the four flights to her room. Snape refused to run so he climbed briskly behind her, taking the stairs two at a time. He reached their floor in time to see her shutting her door as she called out, "Well, goodnight then!"
Snape was stunned. He stood outside her door for a moment, willing it to open. When nothing happened, he sighed. 'Clearly you misread the entire situation. Idiot! Definitely loosing your edge with the ladies, that's for sure.'
Shoulders slumping slightly, he unlocked the door to his own room, and let himself in. He threw himself onto the bed. Then he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should bother trying to alleviate his raging erection.
Out of the blue, the connecting door to her room was flung open. She stood there, fuming.
"Well? What were you waiting for? An engraved invitation?"
He leapt off the bed, stalking towards her and she grinned at him. Without a word, he knelt down at her feet, raising the hem of her skirt. He kissed the soft skin inside her knee, then trailed kisses upwards, along her inner thigh. His hands began to stroke inside her legs, then reached up and pulled her panties down. With little prompting, he got her to step out of them. Then he lifted her dress again, and sucked on her inner thigh while his hands slid up to trace out the outer lips of her pussy. She was soaking wet, her lips swollen and full. He traced the shape of them slowly, tasting them before pushing his tongue into her fully. She started at the sudden invasion, moaning aloud as her knees buckled. He smirked against her, dragging his tongue up and down along her slit. When he'd done this for a good five minutes, her juices drenching his chin, he moved up to her clit and flicked it back and forth with the tip of his tongue. Then he curled is tongue into an 'o' so that it formed a cylinder, wrapping it around her clit. He grabbed her firmly by the backside and thrust her pelvis back and forth, so her clit pushed in and out of the little hole he'd shaped with is tongue.
The sensation was unbelievable. Hermione wasn't sure what he was doing to her, but it was unlike anything she'd every experienced. Ron had never tasted her like this. Sex with Ron had been okay - he'd lasted more than the expected five minutes - but she'd had to fake her enthusiasm since he hadn't had the first clue how to get her off. She'd done that on her own later in the shower.
But this, this was incredible. Just when she thought it couldn't get any better, he thrust a finger into her. She felt the world explode suddenly, and she yelled out, coming violently. He kept teasing her a moment longer, then he unbuttoned his shirt and cast it off. He got rid of his trousers with a flick of his wand. Rising slowly, he rubbed his chest against her pussy, coating it with her juices.
When he stood fully, he kissed her passionately, and she tasted herself on his lips. While he did this, he fumbled behind her. Finding her zipper, he yanked it down, pushing the dress roughly off her. She wore a red lacy bra underneath. He pulled the lace cups down, exposing her nipples, and pinched them firmly, causing her to moan into his mouth. Then he stroked her breasts roughly till the nipples were hard. He reached down and hoisted her up against the wall, wrapping her legs around him and entering her suddenly. He slid effortlessly into her wet heat. Pushing to the hilt, he waited there, enjoying the feeling of her clenching and unclenching. Then he started to move slowly in and out of her, building up the pace. When he felt her tightening, he reached between them and touched her clit gently, in sharp contrast to the fast, rough pace he was setting. That was what put her over the edge, and she came again as he grunted out his orgasm. They both twitched with aftershocks for a few moments, until she slid herself down, putting her shaking legs back on the ground at last.
They hadn't said a word to each other, and when he spoke, she was sure it would break the spell they were under. For Hermione was certain they must be under a spell. Her rational brain kept repeating, "you just fucked Snape against a wall." Then, a nasty Prefect-like voice said, "actually, technically, Snape just fucked you against a wall."
He looked into her eyes, reaching out to touch her cheek. "Parfaite," he said in his deep, sex-filled voice.
'Oooooo! Snape speaking French. Not fair!' she thought to herself. Then she realised he'd called her 'perfect.'
She smiled shyly up at him. He looked down to where her breasts were still pushed up by her bra. Running his fingers briefly over the tops, he leaned down and sucked on one nipple while playing with the other. She started panting softly. Then, unbelievably, she felt him hardening against her thigh.
"So Hermione," he said lazily as he released her breast and looked into her eyes, "your place, or mine?"
She grinned at him, pulling him into her room.
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