For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 26: Grottos and Alcoves

Head held high, Hermione left her room and joined the throngs of students wending their way down to the entrance hall.

'Hermione!'

She turned to find Harry and Ginny walking along, hand-in-hand; Harry was smiling with genuine admiration.

'Hi,' she said, smiling back at him.

'You look amazing,' he said sincerely.

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'He doesn't mean to make it sound as if that's completely unexpected,' she assured Hermione. 'That's a fabulous dress—where did you find it?'

The three friends began to walk again, Ginny in the middle, her head bent to Hermione's as they discussed their ball finery. When they climbed down the marble staircase to the entrance hall, Anthony Goldstein was upon them within seconds.

'Hi, Hermione,' he said, having eyes for no one else.

Hermione gave an apologetic smile to Harry, who answered with a broad wink before leading Ginny toward the Great Hall.

'Hi, Anthony,' Hermione answered, smiling kindly. 'Thank you for inviting me to come with you.'

From his superior height, Anthony eyed her up, his pale green eyes lingering rather overlong on her chest. 'You look beautiful,' he said earnestly.

Resisting the urge to remind him to speak to her face rather than her breasts, Hermione tucked her hand in his arm in a friendly manner. 'Shall we go into the Great Hall?'

As soon as they entered the specially decorated room, Hermione was on the lookout for her professor. She scanned the perimeter of the room, searching out his tall, black-clothed form, but she did not see him. All of her other teachers were present, she saw, wearing their smartest party things, but there was no sign of the pale face of her Potions professor.

He'll be here, she thought. He won't be able to stay away.

She danced the first two dances with Anthony, who was on his best behaviour—truly, his mum would have been proud—except for the way his eyes kept straying to her neckline. It made her regret the evening in Hogsmeade when, just to irritate her professor, she had deliberately flaunted herself at Anthony. What did Anthony imagine was going to happen tonight? Well, she'd worry about that later. For now, she had to assume her professor was watching her, whether she could see him or not, and it was up to her to give him a good show.

After the second dance, Hermione told Anthony she wanted a drink, and she took a seat at one of the small tables about the edge of the room. Anthony scurried away to seek out the Butterbeer she had requested, and she fanned herself discreetly as she performed another survey of the room, still looking for the pale face and piercing eyes of Severus Snape. Where was he? What was he doing? What if he had chosen to retaliate by going to the village to see Taffy Smith? Would the Headmaster give him leave not to attend the Yule Ball?

What if she had gone to all this trouble for nothing?

Anthony returned then with their drinks. Hermione accepted hers with a smile and sipped at it while listening to her date talk about his job prospects when they had left school. She noted with some disquiet that he drank rather too quickly, reminding her forcibly of when Ron had guzzled his father's entire stash of honey mead and spent all of New Year's Day sicking up in a basin while the rest of them played Exploding Snap and enjoyed Mrs Weasley's fine cooking.

As if in answer to his name, Ron appeared at Hermione's elbow. 'Will you dance this one with me?' he asked her, ignoring Anthony.

Hermione took Ron's hand and stood. 'You don't mind, do you Anthony?'

With a look that clearly said he did mind, Anthony replied, 'Not at all. I'll just wait here, shall I?'

Ron, whose dancing skills had improved a great deal in recent years, wasted no time. 'That prat is spending all his time staring at your chest,' he said baldly.

'Thank you, Ronald,' Hermione said sourly. 'I had noticed, actually.'

'And he downed a whole glass of honey mead before he even got back to your table,' her friend continued inexorably. 'Do you want me to have a word?'

'No!' she answered crossly. 'I can take care of myself—why don't you try paying half this much attention to your own date?'

Ron grinned and gave her a twirl. 'Because I trod on her toes and she's dancing with Neville,' he admitted. The song came to an end and he led her back towards Anthony, whose glass was now empty. Anthony was watching her approach with a feverish avidity. 'Really, I wouldn't mind warning him off,' Ron said, giving the Ravenclaw boy a forbidding glare.

'I can handle it,' she assured him as Anthony rose and walked toward them.

'Let's dance again,' he said hopefully.

But Harry had arrived at the same time. 'This dance is mine, mate,' he informed Anthony, neatly stepping between them and claiming Hermione's hand.

Hermione gave Anthony a smile as she allowed Harry to take her onto the dance floor.

'Did you and Ron plan this out?' she asked, torn between amusement and exasperation.

'I don't like the way he's looking at you,' Harry said seriously, ignoring her question and getting directly to the point.

'Harry,' she said, 'I appreciate your concern, but I can handle Anthony Goldstein.'

'I don't know why you came with him,' Harry said, frowning down into her face.

'Because he asked me,' Hermione snapped.

Harry gave his head a shake. 'Look at you,' he said. 'You're so pretty—why don't blokes ask you out?'

Hermione reached up and pecked him on the cheek, touched by his concern. 'Because they don't like me,' she said. 'Some people are put off by people smarter than they are.'

The dance came to an end, and Harry was moved to enfold her in a hug. 'Then people are idiots,' he said into her ear. 'Where would I be without your brains?'

Hermione stepped back from him with a warm look. 'Go dance with Ginny,' she said, giving him a final pat upon the cheek.

Harry grinned and turned away, and Hermione found herself staring across the Great Hall, directly into the furious eyes of Severus Snape. He stood against the wall, wearing dress robes of heavy black velvet over his usual severely tailored black wool suit. His arms were crossed over his chest and he leaned one shoulder against the stone wall, a mighty sneer upon his lips. Hermione could not but stare, transfixed by the intensity of his gaze, until Anthony rushed up to her and grasped her arm with a sweaty hand.

'You're my date,' he reminded her, his pale eyes now glassy with too much drink, his skin tone a near-match for his eye colour.

'Do you feel all right?' she asked him, concerned that he might sick up on her shoes.

'No,' he said. 'But I don't want you to dance with other blokes.'

'Maybe you could do with some fresh air?' she suggested, thinking the cold might sober him up a bit.

'Yes,' he agreed readily, turning his hungry gaze on her face. 'Yes, let's go for a walk outside.'

It really was the last thing she wanted to do, to go with Anthony Goldstein out amongst the couples who had slipped outside for a bit of a snog, but she also didn't want him to be sick all over the floor. Wouldn't that be a fine end to her attempt to make her professor jealous?

Uncomplaining, she allowed him to hold her hand and lead her through the entrance hall and out onto the grounds. As was customary for these functions, some small effort had been made to create a garden with interesting grottos, lit by live faeries in the flowering bushes. A three-quarter moon rode in the sky, and the crisp, cold air certainly worked to shock Hermione into full alertness. It also seemed to help Anthony; the greenish pallor left his features, leaving him just pasty—but apparently recovered enough to try to steal a kiss.

'Stop it,' Hermione said crossly when he seized her and thrust her against a rather prickly holly bush.

Floppy lips fastened wetly to her throat. 'I know you want me,' he said thickly. 'Ever since that night in Hogsmeade.'

Hermione groped for her wand. 'You're raving,' she informed him, settling for a neat thrust of her knee in the general direction of his crotch.

'Hey!' he said, twisting to evade her knee and tightening his hold on her upper arms.

Hermione struggled to free herself from him and was helped tremendously by the shadowy figure which plucked Goldstein up as if he were a rag doll and gave him a shake before speaking in Professor Snape's iciest tones.

'Twenty points from Ravenclaw for drunkenness and general idiocy, Goldstein,' the professor said, releasing Anthony abruptly, which caused the Ravenclaw to stagger and sit down rather hard on the cold ground.

'Thank you,' Hermione said, glaring down at Goldstein with distaste.

The wrathful black eyes turned on her. 'And twenty points from Gryffindor for rank stupidity,' he hissed.

Goldstein struggled to his feet. 'Come on, Hermione,' he said, staggering a bit. 'I'll take you back inside.'

Professor Snape turned on the boy. 'You, Goldstein, will report at once to Madam Pomfrey for a Sobering Draught—then you may return to your common room. If I see you again in the Great Hall tonight, the Headmaster will receive a full report on your comportment at this function.'

Hermione watched with an almost clinical curiosity as Anthony's face screwed up, as if he were going to tell Professor Snape off, but then he appeared to think better of it, for he turned and stalked away without another word.

'Honestly!' Hermione said, watching him go. 'What an idiot!'

In an instant, her professor was standing so close to her that she was engulfed in the smell of his aftershave, the scent memory sending her spiralling abruptly into need. She reached out her hands, smoothing them along the luxurious velvet robes, keenly aware of the increasing rate of her heart beat.

'I would have expected you to have more sense than to go off alone with a drunken teenage boy,' her professor said, his tone cold and distant.

She looked up into his face, the light from the faeries casting shadows around them in the grotto, but providing enough illumination for Hermione to clearly see his fathomless eyes, which held an expression she could not quite place. She had thought he was becoming easier for her to read, but in this moment, he was a complete enigma to her. They were alone in a dark, secluded, romantic setting, and all he wanted to do was upbraid her?

'I've missed you,' she said, swaying towards him, meaning to kiss him, but his hands were not gentle as he thrust her away from him.

'Go to your room, Granger,' he said flatly.

Stung, Hermione lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her breasts. 'I won't,' she cried. 'I spent a lot of time getting ready for this ball, and it's not half over yet!'

His gaze raked down her body. 'Yes, you are a proper tart, tonight—no wonder Goldstein thought you were on offer.'

Fuelled by a furious mix of indignation and hurt feelings, she slapped at his face, but his reflexes were quick; his hand closed about her wrist in a vise-like grip. 'You forget yourself,' he said dangerously.

'Let me go!' she exclaimed, and to her surprise, he immediately released her, sending her reeling back out of the grotto. Without pausing to speak to him again, Hermione all but ran back into the castle.


A quick trip to the loo allowed her to tidy her hair and calm herself before returning to the Great Hall. She was in an agony of distress over her professor, but she would not let that show. Why had he been so unkind? Why had he said something so cruel about her appearance? Why hadn't he taken advantage of being alone with her—to at least say something personal, rather than remaining in his unapproachable Professor Snape guise?

Why was this evening going so completely pear-shaped?

When she was calm, she returned to the Great Hall and made her way to the refreshments table, wanting something cool to drink. Accepting a goblet of punch from a house-elf, she sought out her friends and joined their table.

'Where's Goldstein?' Ron asked, looking over her shoulder. 'Did he drink himself into a coma?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Not exactly, but close,' she admitted. 'Can I sit here with you?'

Ginny leaned past Harry and patted her hand. 'Of course you can,' she said. 'You can't let that dress go to waste! I'm sure you'll have plenty of partners.'

Hermione grinned, feeling her spirits grow lighter. 'That's what I was thinking,' she admitted.

Colin Creevey careened up to her. 'Hermione! Will you dance with me?'

Hermione surveyed the sixth-year boy with some misgiving. It wasn't exactly what she had had in mind … but it was better than being sent to her room like a firstie, wasn't it?

'Thanks, Colin,' she said, accepting his hand.


All in all, Hermione decided she liked it better not to have a date for the ball. She danced with many different boys, from all the different Houses, save Slytherin, without having to fend off the unwanted advances of any of them. More than one of her partners told her she was looking particularly pretty that night, and Hermione revelled in the admiration, finding that it was a balm to her hurt feelings.

But by far the best part of the rest of the evening was the presence of her professor, watching her unceasingly. Every time she looked for him, she found him, his unwavering regard focussed on her. He moved about the room, from dark corner to dark corner, but he remained present in the Great Hall, rather than stalking about the grounds, blasting rose bushes, and although he might have been watching the entire student body, every time she looked for him, he was watching her.

So she gave him something to watch.

She was completely animated, laughing up into her partners' eyes, smiling, chatting, and vivacious. It was work for her, as such extroversion was not her natural bent, but it was gratifying in its results, for her partners appeared to be quite taken with her. By the end of the evening, she had received two invitations to tea at Madam Puddifoot's on the next Hogsmeade weekend, both of which she side-stepped with, 'We'll see,' and one invitation to a tryst on the Astronomy Tower, which she laughingly declined.

At one o'clock, she trekked out of the Great Hall with the other students; after all, she had detention in six hours. Tactfully, she allowed the couples to pull away from her. She felt rather giddy with the combination of appreciative male attention and the close, constant scrutiny of her professor, his dogged observation of her movements doing much to assuage her hurt at his earlier words and actions.

She climbed the staircases to the seventh floor, careful not to notice the couples entwined in the dark corners and recesses of the corridor. With her eyes focussed on the stone floor, she was taken completely by surprise when she was seized and jerked into a dim alcove, a large hand covering her mouth as a hard body pressed her against the wall.

'What are you playing at?' her professor hissed, his free hand slipping deftly through the slit of her overdress and up her thigh to cup her quim. 'Don't you know this belongs to me?'

Hermione felt her initial panic morph into excitement as she stared wide-eyed up into the glittering black eyes of Severus Snape. Arching her neck, she pressed her lips against the palm of his hand, inhaling through her nose, her body reacting sharply to the testosterone rolling from him in unrelenting waves.

The hand on her mouth pressed her head back against the wall, while the hand curved about her quim squeezed. 'Well?' he demanded aggressively. 'Do you know it, or don't you?'

Unable to speak, Hermione could only nod her head affirmatively, simultaneously grinding herself against the hand on her cunt. Dear Merlin did she know it.

'That's right,' he hissed, his fingers slipping past the elastic of her knickers, finding and parting her labia before plunging inside of her, drawing a moan from her throat.

He was touching her … touching her … would he make her come? Please, Merlin

He watched her face, his eyes darkening with arousal. 'Yes, you're my needy little slut, aren't you?' he purred, fingering her with maddening slowness and ghosting his thumb over her clitoris. 'You need this from me, don't you?'

Hermione widened her stance, her thighs obscenely spread to facilitate his fingering of her slickness, her head lolling to one side as she moaned aloud.

He circled her clitoris firmly, his other hand sliding from her lips to close about her throat. 'Good girl, be loud for me—show me how much I please you. Your classmates will hear you and peek in to see you getting off with your Potions master.'

Alarmed, Hermione jerked her head to the side, seeing another couple grappling directly across the corridor from where she was being molested by Professor Snape; to her horror, Harry and Ginny walked by at the moment, their arms wrapped about one another.

Her professor's hand tightened slightly upon her throat, and she directed her attention back to him. 'Don't be daft,' he growled, his hand slipping from her throat and dipping beneath the draped neckline of her dress, cupped her breast and lifting it with little resistance from her balcony bra. 'There's a Notice-Me-Not spell—and Muffliato.' Then he dipped his head, his lips closing about her areola.

Reduced in mere seconds to a mass of quivering need, Hermione laced her fingers in his hair even as she slid about on his fingers, and he responded by suckling insistently at her breast, sending trails of fire down to her quim. She felt as if she were an inferno of lust, her very blood burning in her veins, and wanted to set him afire as well. She slipped a hand between them, seeking and finding the bulging length in his trousers—sweet Circe how she wanted to touch and taste and fuck his cock. She skimmed from the top of his erection down to his bollocks, gently lifting, and he growled against her breast.

He raised his head, his eyes fierce, and retaliated by grasping her clitoris between his thumb and forefinger and plucking at it as if playing a stringed instrument; Hermione shuddered, feeling as if one more sensation would fragment her to dust. Even so, she slid her hand back up to his belt and tugged the leather tip from its buckle.

'No,' he commanded, and she stopped at once, her only protest a whimper.

She grasped his length again, noting that he made no objection, and his face spasmed with pleasure, his eyes closed, his teeth bared, as if to prevent himself from vocalising. His two long fingers slipped back up her channel, gathering moisture, which his thumb applied assiduously to her aching clitoris, and then his face descended, and he was kissing her, fucking her mouth with his tongue as his fingers mimicked the action below, the perfect applied pressure of his thumb supplying the impetus for the disintegration she had feared. Hermione came apart, breaking their kiss with a moaning, throaty gasp, and Severus Snape promptly fastened his mouth to hers again, swallowing every whimper as the hand in her quim slowed its movement until it and she were completely still.

With one last gentle squeeze to her mound, he readjusted her knickers and raised the fingers slick with her secretions to her lips. 'Clean me,' he commanded, his lips mere millimetres from hers, and Hermione obediently took his fingers deep into her mouth, sucking them clean of her essence.

She allowed her lips to part again, and he removed his fingers, leaning slightly away from her to stare down her body. She imagined what he saw as he looked at her—her mouth, fragrant with her own scent, one breast exposed, straining the neckline of her dress, her parted thighs, slightly sticky from their activities—and then he looked into her face, his breathing slightly irregular.

'I've never seen anything so beautiful,' he said, and she felt a plunging sensation, as if she had stepped off a ledge into thin air. He kissed her again, capturing the taste of her cunt from her mouth, sucking her lips as if loath to lose the tiniest taste of her.

He released her only when a grunt from across the corridor announced the completion of the other couple's after-hours groping. Hermione and her professor turned their heads in time to see a satisfied-looking Ron emerge from the shadows, leading Parvati Patil, who was scrubbing at her mouth with a handkerchief.

Then her professor took her chin in his hand with infinite tenderness and turned her face until their eyes met. 'We have some serious things to discuss, Hermione,' he said gravely. 'Will you come to my study tonight? I would prefer to talk now.'

Hermione straightened up from the rough stone wall and tucked herself back into her dress, her after-orgasm glow dissipating abruptly. What did he want to talk about?

'Of course,' she answered quietly.

He touched her sheathed wand with a fingertip. 'Use a Disillusionment Charm,' he advised. 'Leave here in ten minutes. I will see you there.'

Without another word, he Disillusioned himself and slipped into the now deserted corridor. Hermione consulted her wristwatch and steeled herself for the longest ten minute wait of her life.