deficiency
[3]
Hermione Granger was sprawled out over his bed, wearing only his green scarf, with her nose buried in a book.
He was surprisingly unsurprised. Snape closed the door behind him with a soft thump, but she didn't stir, and merely turned a page; there was rampant curiosity burning in her dark brown eyes, and from this angle he could see every inch of her long, slender back. Her arse, which had become a habit for study these past few weeks, was deliciously bare and her ankles were crossed in the air. Honestly, it would be tempting to just hike her knees a little higher and…
But no. There was a woman sitting on his bed out of her own volition, wearing his scarf, and reading his books. It was a surprise she came back to him at all, after what happened last time. Hermione had fled, drying her tears and collecting her knickers on the way out, but here she was, laying on his bed.
"And which book from my private collection are you finding so engrossing?" Snape queried, unbuttoning his cuffs. Hermione jumped and looked up, a blush skimming her cheeks. (Both sets.)
"Oh! Sorry, I came to return your scarf, and I got a bit hot, and then I decided I'd just wait for you, because I read about something in a book that I want to try out. I had no idea that sperm had so many magical properties. We never used it in class." Hermione said, sitting up. Her frizzy, dirty-blonde brown hair fell over her shoulders and played peekaboo with her nipples.
"Can you imagine the ramifications?" Snape intoned, arching an eyebrow and shrugging off his waistcoat. "Two thousand teenagers, drenched with their own sloppy hormones, and for an assignment they would have to bring their spunk into class. The nation would suffer a crippling lubricant shortage."
Hermione giggled, and then hid her smile behind the book. After a moment she sobered. "I'm sorry for last time, you know. I didn't mean to push. I thought the practical application would be much easier, but I just…bit off a little more than I could chew. I'm willing to try again, slower this time."
"For such a brilliant woman you can be a very stupid little girl," Snape said dryly. Hermione recoiled, looking stung. "'Practical application'…you don't know what you're asking for. And in good conscience I can't give it."
Her nostrils flared and she tilted her head back. "Don't know what I'm asking for? Are you questioning my research? Because I can assure you, I know exactly what I'm asking for. I want you to tie me up, I want you to spank me, because I want to know. I don't know what my limits are because I haven't experienced them. I want to find them out. I…I liked it when you tied me up. I just didn't know what to expect."
She took a deep breath. "But I want you to go slow. And I want a cuddle afterwards, maybe. And I reserve the right to touch you at any time, if I'm not restrained, that is."
Snape sat down at the edge of the bed. "Merlin, woman," he muttered, half exasperated, half exhausted.
Hermione sat next to him. "Please, Severus?"
She linked their fingers together and Snape was struck by the vibrant green scarf still hanging around her neck. Slytherin colors—they suited her. And the feel of her fingers against his didn't feel quite so alien.
"One session," he said sternly, trying to establish some kind of boundary.
But it was hopeless. One dazzling smile and he was sold. Now he understood why men were idiots over women; Hermione seemed to possess a laser of charm hiding just behind her eyes, and whenever she needed something she could turn it on and smack him right in the brain with foolishness. She kissed his cheek and tugged him back on the bed, tugging at his shirt.
"One session," she agreed. "There's rope in the bedside table, Professor."
Ginny arched an eyebrow at Hermione the next day, who was sitting rather awkwardly on the chair. "Problem, Hermione?" the Auror asked idly, polishing her wand carefully. A bit of clean steam was coming from the tip of the contented wand, and Ginny always liked cleaning it; the action grounded her.
Hermione bit her lower lip. "No, nothing. How are Harry and Malfoy? Are they at each other's throats yet?"
"Oh, of course," Ginny laughed. "Malfoy thinks Harry made the whole thing up. Harry's ticked at Malfoy, because he thinks the flowers were Malfoy's idea. He upended the dustbin over Malfoy's desk and Malfoy burnt a stack of papers on Harry's desk. And then the two of them got into a row and Malfoy shoved Harry into a wall. If Shacklebolt hadn't stepped in I swear they would have been shagging on the floor in ten minutes time. And to think, it's all because Luna was trying to be subtle."
"Luna's such a dear," Hermione remarked fondly, and then shifted. "Ow."
"Do you have a sore bum?" Ginny asked pointedly.
Hermione flushed. "Well…a bit. Severus gave me a potion—"
"Severus?" Ginny interrupted shrewdly. "First name terms now?"
"I usually call him Professor," Hermione admitted sheepishly. "But Severus feels a bit more…I don't know. Mature. Anyway, we got a bit rough yesterday, and he gave me a potion to help with the ache—but I think it's wearing off, and it's a bit awkward to apply myself. So I'm waiting for him to come back."
The redhead shook her head. "It's cracked, you know. You and Snape. You hated each other, and now you're buggering each other's brains out."
"Same goes for Malfoy and Harry," Hermione pointed out.
"I know, everybody's cracked," Ginny said sagely. "I'll be the lonely Auror with no male company except for my wand."
"Ginny," Hermione started laughing hard, hiding her mouth with her hand.
"This wand has served me very well," the redhead added, waggling the wand suggestively. "I'll have you know that Volvebatur is an exceptionally useful spell."
Hermione laughed so hard she forgot about her sore bum.
There was an exquisite torture to being blindfolded, Hermione decided. Snape, who was lightfooted to begin with, could be eerily silent and give the impression that she was alone in a room. She was kneeling alone in the middle of the room, holding her hands behind her back and pretending that she was wearing handcuffs; no matter how much she pouted Snape refused to use them. But being blindfolded almost made up for it, because there was a delicious, thrummy anticipation in her stomach; she didn't know where he was or what he was doing except for some faint rustling.
"Stand up, Miss Granger."
There was a roughness in his baritone voice that she had been previously unaware of. Shiver.
A strong, long-fingered hand wrapped around her wrist and led her over to the edge of the room, until the edge of a table bumped against her. She pressed her palms flat against the low table, which made her arse stick out a little.
"I realize you are adequate at a variety of subjects," Snape purred, "but tell me, Miss Granger—how well can you count?"
"Very well, in fact," Hermione answered.
Smack!
She yelped. It wasn't really a smack, more of a swat—the kind of spank a parent might give a naughty child.
"Then count for me, Miss Granger. If you don't lose track I'll reward you with a nice little surprise." He commanded.
"Ow! One."
The swats were irregular and scattered all over her arse, some against the soft flesh of her thighs, others high near the line of her back. It didn't really hurt, per se, but once she got to seventeen there was a faint warm glow coming from her backside, a kind of light burn. She wiggled and he smacked her a bit harder, closer to the crease between her arse and thigh.
"Ah-haha! Nineteen!"
Smack! Hard this time, squarely on the right cheek. She squirmed.
"Twenty!"
"Well done, Miss Granger, you can count," Snape said silkily. "It hardly tests your intelligence, however. There's a tray before you—what's on it?"
Hermione groped forward and her wandering fingers hit the lip of the tray. "Herbs," she said after a moment. "And roots."
"Your intellect is dizzying," Snape retorted. "Please elaborate."
The tip of her fingers snagged on a spiky, thorny something, and she scratched at the stem with a nail. "Roses," she murmured aloud, getting a waft of dried rose scent, reminding her powerfully of old perfume.
"Continue," Snape ordered, and she heard him kneeling.
Her traveling fingers hit something ice cold in a small dish, and she was about to start asking questions when she felt his warm breath huff over her lower back. Those strong hands spread her legs and she arched her back, feeling something twinge in her belly. "S-something frozen," she mumbled.
"How astute."
He pressed a kiss against the dimple in her lower back, and she bit her lower lip. The ingredients, must concentrate on the ingredients! She couldn't identify the frozen things, other than they were orb-shaped and very cold, so she moved on; there was a small dish of a rough pebbly powder, something that had been ground by mortar and pestle. There was zero scent so she couldn't tell what it was.
Snape kissed her inner thigh and then lapped at her quim, making her cry out.
"Concentrate, Miss Granger."
"Peppermint," she said stupidly. She couldn't find it but she could smell the blasted thing. "And…something crushed."
There were dried petals beneath her palms now and she pressed them together, grinding and smelling something sharp, almost painfully sweet. Her fingertips went a little numb. "Belladonna," she reported, just as Snape's wickedly talented tongue found that sensitive pearl hidden among her folds. "Ah!"
She gripped the edge of the table and he waited, rocking back on his heels, for Hermione to control herself. Once she could, he resumed. "Peppermint, rose thorns, and belladonna," she rattled off, digging her nails into the wood. "The frozen things must be Ashwinder eggs, which means…moonstone! The crushed powder is moonstone! This is a love potion!"
"Twenty points for Gryffindor," Snape growled, and attacked her.
Later, in bed, Hermione rested her head against Snape's bare chest.
"Allotted cuddling time, minimum of twenty minutes," Hermione yawned, and promptly snuggled next to him.
"Maximum of twenty minutes," Snape corrected.
"Let's call it forty and split the difference," Hermione said softly, already half-asleep.
There was a very unusual expression on Snape's face, one that Hermione missed completely; it could almost be described as fond.
Just a quick something I threw together for you guys.
Also, Ginny, protip: you shouldn't use your wand like that. Better witches than you have lost ovaries, you know. -nylex