Author's Note

I don't have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 4: First

"Now?" she squeaked, feeling her jaw drop and eyes go round with shock.

She'd thought she'd have a bit of time to mentally prepare herself. Perhaps do a bit of research. Surely there were a few books she could read or something. She honestly didn't know what to expect. Well, she knew the basics of how sex worked, but what was she supposed to do with her hands and stuff like that?

"If this is going to happen, it must be before I have a chance to talk myself out of sleeping with a student, regardless of the reasons why," he said gruffly.

"I'm not," Hermione protested.

"Pardon?"

"I'm not a student here anymore," she clarified, sensing it was important to stress this fact.

He stared at her, lips slightly parted and she wondered if she'd actually managed to surprise him a bit.

"Indeed," he murmured, surveying her a bit closer.

Doubts and insecurities immediately began whispering incessantly in her ears. There was a reason she was having to seek Snape's help and there was no one else she could go to for this. Viktor and Cormac were the only blokes who'd ever shown any interest in her at all over the years, and she had a feeling they only had because of her status as Harry's friend. It did not inspire the necessary confidence she needed to face a night in Snape's bed.

Not when he had such a habit of cutting her down and belittling her.

His eyes suddenly closed and he inhaled sharply before stalking over to the door and throwing it open. A set of apartments was revealed within, and Hermione frowned, cautiously approaching.

"Are all of the professor's rooms connected to their classrooms?"

"Yes," he answered shortly.

"Why didn't yours change location when you became the DADA professor?"

"Have you changed your mind and decided you'd prefer pestering me with pointless questions instead of doing what you came here for?"

Annoyed by his brusqueness, she sighed and followed him in, a single wall sconce flaring to life as they entered. The dim light allowed her to take in the scattered piles of books and depressing surroundings. There was an air of abandonment and neglect about the place, and Hermione wondered if the house-elves had all refused to step foot inside the room after he'd murdered their master.

Probably. Extreme loyalty was expected in addition to their slavery.

Shoving the dark thoughts away, she glanced about once more, understanding that she was getting a rare glimpse into the intensely private man's life. The entire place screamed isolation and solitude. The only furniture was a desk, an end table and a single worn, leather armchair. Oh, and bookshelves. Every wall was lined with overstuffed shelves. The wizard who lived here clearly scorned visitors and preferred keeping his own company.

But was it by choice or necessity?

"I can practically see the gears turning beneath all that bushy hair of yours," he stated, visibly uncomfortable with her invasion of his home.

Hermione blinked, her hand going immediately to her head to try smoothing her unruly curls, but it was no use. Puberty had helped significantly to tame them, but they often still had a mind of their own. Letting them grow out so they had a bit more weight had helped too, but they'd probably always be the first thing anyone noticed about her.

"Sorry," she muttered, dropping her hand as swiftly as possible. She did not want to let him know the barb had found its mark. If he knew he'd managed to affect her, he'd probably try to draw more blood the next time he was feeling defensive.

He didn't acknowledge her immediately, and her hands fidgeted nervously by her sides. What was she meant to be doing? Should she make the first move? Would he scorn her for trying since her novice attempts were sure to be less than impressive?

Merlin, this was so much more difficult when she knew the person didn't actually want to be with her, nor did he find her attractive. Of course, even with Ron she would have been worrying that he was comparing her to Fleur or Lavender, and that he'd find Hermione lacking. Had he always? It was years before he'd even realised she was a girl.

Most of the time she could care less what others thought of her, particularly her appearance. Sure, she could probably spend an hour or two a day making an effort the way her dormmates did, but it was such a waste of valuable time. Time better spent learning or being productive. It was only with Ron that she let it get to her. And now with Snape, when they were about to have sex.

This would be so much easier if she at least had some clue about –

"Granger, stop thinking," Snape ordered, shaking his head as he watched her.

"I can't," she snapped, crossing her arms and huffing. As if it were that easy to shut off her mind!

"That's your problem, you know that, right?" he said, walking slowly towards her. Great. Now he was going to give her an evaluation that would further cut her abruptly fragile self-esteem to ribbons. Just what she needed if she was going to stop thinking about what they were about to do. "You're always over analysing everything."

"It's who I am. I can't just turn off the most fundamental aspect of my personality," she retorted crossly, tipping her chin up defiantly when he stopped just before her.

"Try," he insisted, seizing her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

He'd never touched her before. Especially not like this. It made her breath catch and a thousand sensations explode within her all at once.

"How do you expect –"

His hand shifted as she spoke, moving to cup the back of her head. Then his mouth was on hers, swallowing the rest of her sentence. His lips were soft and coaxing, slowly easing hers apart.

Hermione didn't resist. Why would she? This wasn't wet and slimy the way Viktor's kiss had been. Nor did it hurt the way Cormac's had when he'd pinned her against the wall and nearly smothered her, his hands grabbing at her roughly.

This was light and teasing, particularly when he sucked her bottom lip between his and nipped it playfully. It felt like she was floating as he took his time exploring her mouth, gently running his tongue along hers in the lightest of caresses.

The scent of woods and man filled her head, sensually stroking her with the decadence of crushed velvet and chocolate. Snape felt powerful, vital, overwhelming. He was all around her.

It was ages before he pulled back, and Hermione whimpered at the loss. She was breathless. Stunned. And when she blinked, she found she'd grabbed fistfuls of his open robes and she was clutching them for dear life. Had she unfastened them? His shirt too? She honestly couldn't remember.

His solid chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her hands, a sparse dusting of fine hair was visible, standing out starkly against his pale skin. She wanted to say something clever, but all that came out was, "Oh, like that."

She swallowed, bracing herself for whatever sarcastic insult he had prepared for her. But he just inhaled deeper, then answered, "Indeed."

Shadows flickered over his face, and Hermione realised the darkness had intensified, spreading to snuff most of the minimal light that had existed when they'd first entered his rooms. Oh. It was because they were in his bedroom, and the only illumination in the room came from the open doorway. When had they moved? Hermione had been so caught up in the kiss that she'd not even noticed walking.

But the darkness helped. It made the whole situation feel more like a dream. One that Hermione could allow herself to get swept up in because ordinary rules and limitations didn't apply.

"Last chance to change your mind," he stated quietly, noticing that she was staring at the bed behind him.

"I haven't," she said icily, her Gryffindor side rising at the perceived challenge. The sorting hat had placed her in that house for a reason.

"Hmph. Take off your shirt," he said smoothly, his hand sliding provocatively down her arm to rest low on her hip.

Did he honestly think she wouldn't go through with this? She would. If not for Harry's sake, then for the pleasure she'd get out of proving Snape wrong. She was every bit as daring and brave as her housemates when the situation called for it – like it did now.

Stealing her resolve, Hermione wiped it over her head and carelessly dropped it. Then, to prove she wasn't going to be all squeamish and missish, she unhooked her bra as well, letting her breasts spill free of their confining cups.

It was difficult to tell, but Hermione thought she saw Snape's pupils dilate with reluctant interest as he took in the sight of her typically well-hidden cleavage.

"You will need to be prepared," he said suddenly, voice thick and husky. It sent a shiver down her spine to hear the rich, whiskey sound. "I'll have to touch you intimately."

His demeanour was practically aloof, almost frustratingly so, especially when compared to hers. She was feeling anything but after the kiss they'd shared.

Determined not to indicate how affected she was, she matched his near clinical approach as she asked, "Will you require the same?"

"I'm not in the habit of lusting after children," he sneered disdainfully, clearly affronted that she might believe he was enjoying this interaction already.

"I thought we'd already established that I don't qualify as such," Hermione replied tartly, her lips pursing in annoyance. Was he deliberately trying to be difficult?

"I know you're unfamiliar with how the male anatomy works, but it must be aroused for this to work, and I've never considered you in this setting," he fired back almost angrily.

"I didn't suggest you had," she snapped, then realised he was struggling with this more than he was trying to let on. He was picking at her to mask his discomfort, and losing her temper wasn't going to help. It would probably only make this harder because he'd view it as her having a childish tantrum. Calling on all the skills she'd honed while acting as a Prefect and managing first years, she explained, "I was merely trying to ascertain if you needed physical or oral stimulation as well."

"Finally a good use to shut that mouth of yours," he retorted, chuckling quietly.

His amusement quickly cut off as it seemed to dawn on him what he'd accidentally said out loud.

Determined to make him eat his words, and prove him wrong about his comment on what she knew of male anatomy – even if he was correct – Hermione dropped smoothly to her knees and reached for his trousers. Her fingers had barely unfastened the first of the placket of buttons when he spoke.

"I didn't mean –"

"Shut up, Snape," she huffed, continuing steadily down the row, her hand brushing his fabric covered length as she went. To her amazement, he listened.

He wasn't the least bit aroused. If he was, she had a feeling the bulge would be far more prominent and that he really would stop her. Apparently he was going to need this if he was to help her get the ingredient she needed, just as he'd indicated before.

Thank Merlin he couldn't properly see her face because Hermione could feel the heat radiating from her flaming cheeks as she took his freed length in hand.

It was warmer than she'd expected and the skin was incredibly soft. Uncertainly, Hermione lifted him to her lips. He twitched against her fingers and she almost jerked her hand away in surprise. Her reaction caused the head to bump against her lips awkwardly.

"Granger," Snape said haltingly, and she knew he was about to put a stop to everything, despite his reluctant agreement with Dumbledore, so she went for it.

Hermione opened her mouth and took as much of his cock into her mouth as she could. Her lips had barely wrapped around him when she felt it begin to thicken. Experimentally, she ran her tongue over the expanding member, tracing the pattern of veins. The skin felt like a thin layer of satin covering an iron rod. Interesting.

Soon, her mouth felt uncomfortably stretched, so she pulled back some and used her hands to grasp the base of his shaft. She was grateful that Snape stayed silent, allowing her time to explore him a bit and figure things out considering she'd never attempted anything like this before.

After the Yule Ball, when Ron had insulted her, she'd nearly allowed Viktor to talk her into doing this to him. She'd wanted to prove that someone at least liked her, even if it wasn't the one she really wanted. Fortunately, Professor McGonagall had been patrolling and sent her off to bed before she could go through with it. She still felt a bit ashamed that she'd valued her self-worth on others' opinions, and let that have so much influence over her actions.

But that was then, and this was an entirely different situation. One that she felt in control of.

It wasn't difficult to get into the act. She was fascinated by his reaction and the way his breathing had turned harsh and uneven. He smelled of the forest and night, something forbidden and secret. Never again would she be able to venture into the woods again without remembering this moment.

"Grip me harder…yes," he said gutturally, his hand tangling in her curls and tugging just enough to get her to look up at him.

He was watching her intently, though she could barely see him. It made her brave and curious. An dangerous combination for a Gryffindor. But mostly, she felt visible. He was seeing her, not a figment of his imagination where it was some carefully crafted image of perfection or a veela kneeling before him. No. It was Hermione's mouth making him groan, and he was very aware of it.

Hermione sucked harder, trying to read his expression, but he was an enigma. Then Snape jerked, accidentally pressing deeper, and Hermione felt him in the back of her throat. Almost at once he pulled back, gasping, "Agh."

Was she responsible for stirring the unflappable man?

Not that she wasn't affected as well. A steady throbbing had begun between her legs and she could feel the damp heat gathering in her core, demanding attention. She was getting off on pleasuring him and finally gaining a small measure of approval from him – approval he couldn't deny given the evidence currently stretching her lips.

"Enough," he gasped, hands going to her upper arms.

"But," Hermione protested, not nearly satisfied yet.

"You're here for a purpose, and that will not happen if you continue," he stated bluntly, helping her to her feet.

Right. How had she forgotten?

"So, now we –"

"Don't think," he reminded, placing a hand on the center of her chest and nudging her back until her legs hit the edge of the mattress.

Hermione swallowed, but sat down, laying back when he continued guiding her back. Shivers raced along her as his hands ghosted over her, never quite touching. The faint teasing was enough to chase the doubts from her once more. Her skin was afire, a blazing path marking his progress over her.

Then his mouth was claiming hers again and she was completely lost. Time stopped. There was nothing beyond Snape and the tantalising press of his lips. At least until his hands cupped her breasts, making her back arch.

His fingers plucked and moulded the peaks, tracing enticing patterns and offering suggestive promises. Snape was clearly skilled, and knew precisely how to make her body sing for him. The weight of his body pinned her hips in place, but her desire from earlier had only grown and the ache was growing more persistent.

It didn't matter why she'd first agreed to do this. Now she wanted it because she'd never felt anything like it, and she needed more. This was what it felt like to be wanted, desired, seduced. And Hermione was completely enthralled by the experience.

Particularly because she didn't think she'd ever have an opportunity with someone so skilled again. Because surely not every wizard was this capable. Not if the gossip she'd heard over the years was anything to go by.

She was gasping for breath when he finally broke off the kiss, easing down her body to settle between her legs. When had he undone her trousers? She could free him untangling them from her ankles, but she'd not noticed when they'd first come off.

"Shite!" The startled cry was out before she'd really processed what was happening. And she couldn't really now either. Not when Snape was using his tongue to circle her clit in gentle, lapping licks.

It was leisurely, as though he had all day to whip her into a frenzy, which was precisely what he was doing. Tiny, fleeting passes morphed into entrancing figure eights. Then she felt his finger at her entrance, dipping inside her to the first knuckle before retreating. He did that several times before he entered her fully, stretching her untried channel and stroking the sensitive tissue.

Hermione gasped and moaned, unable to hold in her reaction as Snape had mostly managed to do when she'd likewise stimulated him orally. She could feel her muscles tightening in preparation. Each part of her body transforming into a coiled spring.

Then he stopped, his mouth and finger withdrawing abruptly.

Hermione lifted her head, gapping at him as he watched her. "What the hell? Why?"

"Granger, relax," he ordered, his warm breath fanning over her lower lips and making her shiver, her eyes rolling helplessly.

"I am," she muttered, annoyed that he'd stopped when it had felt so incredible.

The tip of his finger began circling her opening again, light and lazily. Hermione tried to lift her body, seeking more attention, but he pulled away, waiting for her to be still before he continued. The urge to bait him or say something scathing was strong, but just as she opened her mouth, a second finger joined the first and slid fully into her.

She was so wet that he didn't have any trouble pumping them all the way inside her, but it was a tight fit. Enough so that she cried out, "Augh."

"Relax," he reminded, his lips brushing her body as he spoke, just before they closed around her clit and sucked.

"Oh, Merlin," she groaned, the giddy, tingling from earlier ramping up to a new high she'd not known herself capable of feeling.

Tiny prickles scraped along her inner thighs where his face rubbed against her. She'd noted the dark shadow indicating he needed a shave earlier. It was rough on her skin, and had been around her mouth too, but not unpleasantly so.

Carefully, he pumped his fingers in and out of her, scissoring them occasionally. The coils in her muscles twisted even tighter, impossibly so. Hermione felt the pinnacle approaching. She was hovering right on the edge of the glorious unknown.

But again Snape stopped.

"Damnit, Snape!" she groaned, smacking the bed with a balled fist.

The bed shook, and she heard a faint chocking sound that had her lifting herself up on her elbows. Snape's face was pressed against the sheets to muffle his laughter. As if making her a frustrated jumble of raw nerves was amusing for him.

"Who knew you had such a filthy mouth on you," he said a second later, still chuckling slightly.

"I don't," she denied, unable to recall to last time she'd cursed or if she ever had in her life.

"Oh, I beg to differ," he said, drawing out the words, his lingering amusement clear.

"Then stop tormenting me already," she prompted, falling back onto the cool sheets. They were a balm on her frayed nerves.

"Relax," he taunted, nudging her thighs further apart.

"Right. Like that's going to happen with your face buried between my legs," she growled, gritting her teeth when he had the audacity to chuckle again.

The two digits he'd been using to toy with her returned, and she inhaled sharply when a third joined them, stretching her slightly beyond what was comfortable. Snape rose up above her then, boxing her in as he steadily kept fingering her.

She was seriously going to hit him if he stopped again. Her body felt nearly desperate to reach the climax he kept denying her.

Hermione understood then. He was making sure she was as close as physically possible before they actually had sex because she had to orgasm during it for this to work. And Snape was rather large – her jaw was still a bit sore from earlier. Three fingers didn't even really compare, and they already left her feeling almost too full to bare.

Snape had been studying her closely, and it was as though he'd read her mind – possibly he had – because he kissed her again then, banishing her apprehensions and making her lose herself in the moment again.

Hermione could taste herself and the tangy musk left her feeling primal and hedonistic. She nipped his lip and revelled in the groan he released. Her arms wound around his neck, nails scratching his scalp as she tried to pull him against her, wanting more contact. Wanting to feel his weight.

The fingers left her then, gliding up her torso to pinch and tease her nipple, and Hermione wrapped her leg around Snape's hip in response, willing him to know she was as ready as she'd ever be.

"Tell me if I hurt you or you want me to stop," he instructed, breathing heavily against her neck.

Hermione rolled her hips, feeling the tip of his heavy cock shift through her slick folds, spreading her wetness. Her breath caught when the crown bumped her clit and caused a starburst of pleasure to erupt behind her closed eyelids.

There was no way she'd want this to stop. It was utter bliss.

It was a second before she was coherent enough to respond, but she sensed he needed her agreement in this before he'd actually proceed.

"I will," she promised, gasping when he reached to position the tip at her entrance.

This was different from earlier. Before, she'd sensed his genuine enjoyment in teasing her and working her into a needy state. But now, he was gentle and tender beyond comparison. He'd only barely entered her before he withdrew entirely, brushing the tip against her clit then dipping inside again.

She felt overwhelmed, but the feather light brushes of his lips along her neck helped distract her. And he didn't say a word as she gripped his shoulders, her nails biting in more than was probably comfortable for him.

Little by little he worked himself into her sheath until finally he was completely seated within her. Their harsh breaths mingled, and he responded immediately when she initiated a kiss this time. He didn't move as she adjusted to the foreign feeling, but he'd taken such care that it wasn't really painful, just different.

But when he did move, she felt as though a fire had been lit in her veins. Hands roved along her curves, needing a breast before massaging her clit. She took the liberty of touching as much of Snape as she could as well.

His body was fit. Toned and lean and so much more appealing than she ever could have guessed. Hard muscle greeted her everywhere her fingers dared to roam. She could feel his muscles bunching and flexing against her, his abs straining as he rocked his hips into her steadily. So much control and power barely contained beneath the cool exterior he presented to the world.

This brief glimpse of the raw vitality and hidden passion wasn't nearly enough. She was destined to always want to know more, or gain another peak behind the mask.

Hermione ran her fingers through the long strands of his silky dark hair, the colour mimicking the shadows concealing them. She was fascinated by each new discovery she made, from the soft grunts to reluctant moans that escaped when her teeth scraped the hollow at the base of his throat.

He appeared to be in no rush, and her body relished the fact. For possibly the first time ever, she felt completely in the moment. There were no distance worries or pressing concerns. She wasn't stressed or guilty. She simply felt.

And the way Snape was making her feel was incredible. Delicious. Intoxicating.

Her entire body had become the most delicate of blown glass. So it was little wonder when she shattered, the springs finally reaching the point where they could coil no tighter and had to be released.

"Oh, Merlin, yes!" she cried, her nails scoring down Snape's back as she arched into him. "Bloody hell."

Every muscle in her body spasmed, completely out of her control. Her toes curled, and she dug her heel into Snape's bum, hardly noticing as he shoved into her several times, much harder than he had previously.

A hazy glow spread through her body, leaving her lighter and freer than she'd ever felt before. Champagne bubbles. They popped and fizzed, leaving her dizzy and blissfully drunk.

But only for a second or two. Then Snape was moving and the jostling of the bed cleared her head.

Hermione winced as Snape withdrew from her, and she felt her sore muscles flutter and try to hold onto him, unwilling to release him despite their overuse. But he didn't seem to notice as he rose, slipping his robes on, fishing out his wand, and conjuring a phial.

The glass was cold and unyielding against her tender core, and he moved methodically to collect a bit of the fluid leaking out of her empty channel. It was awkward and embarrassing, but Hermione held perfectly still for him. Thankfully, he was quick about it.

She watched him straighten and stopper the precious contents, eyeing it briefly before pocketing it. He didn't say a word as he tugged on his trousers, and did up his robes, not bothering to put a shirt on beneath. His fingers worked quickly to do up the buttons, and Hermione's mind flashed back to how skillfully they'd managed to manipulate her body.

Hermione struggled against the urge to cover herself in the aftermath. There hardly seemed a point after all the rest, but she also didn't want him to feel he'd done something wrong if she got all flustered or shy now.

Mostly though, she was wondering how he was moving around so easily. By contrast, her joints were so rubbery she could do little more than prop herself up on her elbows to watch him.

He was nearly finished when, without really thinking, she announced, "I want to help prepare the potion."

She was sure he'd refuse her help. He'd already made it abundantly clear he felt she lacked the necessary skills. And truthfully, she knew nothing about the Dark Arts, though after reading the books she'd taken from Dumbledore's office, she was insanely curious.

But he didn't outright reject her offer.

Instead, Snape paused, eyes tracking over her. She could well imagine what she looked like reclining on his bed. Naked. Legs still partially askew. Hair more wild than ever. Red marks scattered across her porcelain skin from his scruff. Nipples and lips swollen and puffy from his mouth and fingers.

Well and truly debauched. That was how she must appear.

So it surprised her when he drolly remarked, "You're familiar with my store room." Hermione winced as she remembered stealing from him in the past, and sat up fully. A mild smirk flirted with his lips as he continued, "Collect what you are able while I visit Knockturn Alley for the rest."

The reminder had her asking about one of the two other ingredients she was most disturbed by. "Where will you get the bones?"

"Muggles have been known to have abortions from time to time," he said flatly, eyeing her closely. For some reason, she had the impression that he could see her clearly, despite the near darkness surrounding them. Then, much more harshly, he declared, "I don't murder infants for sport."

"I believe you," she quickly agreed, having learned just enough about Snape in the last few hours to know for certain he'd never do anything of the sort. Honestly, he should have known that she didn't suspect that of him. Did he honestly believe she'd have gone through with having sex with him for her first time if she thought him capable of such an atrocity?

The idea of using Muggle bones from abortions simply hadn't occurred to her as an option, but it made sense. There were many unsavoury wizards that would have no qualms about taking the bones from hospitals and profiting from them. Hermione wondered how many other potions there were in existence that called for something similar.

Then again, it wasn't as though she could judge. She was about to use them herself, so really, was she any different or better?

"Surely you didn't think you could use the Dark Arts without it blemishing your soul," he said ominously, apparently having assessed her and recognized the path her thoughts had travelled down. "They are Dark for a reason, Granger."

Now probably wasn't the time to ask about the required heart. If she spoke up again, he'd likely deem her too naive to participate. Or he'd mistakenly believe she was accusing him of something nefarious as he'd seemed to do earlier.

"I know," she acknowledged, prepared to take the risk if it meant satisfying her curiosity and prolonging this strange encounter.

"It should take me an hour. Be sure to ward the door and go no further than the preparation room attached to the store room – it would be exceedingly dangerous for either of us to be discovered here. The loo is through there if you have need of it before we begin," he informed her crisply, leaving without another word.

One thing was certain, there was so much more to the wizard than she'd ever thought to guess. And now that she'd had a glimpse, she wanted to discover the rest.