Author's Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

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 15: Release

Snape hoisted her tighter against him, squeezing her bum when she rolled her hips, rubbing her against his thick cock. The friction felt incredible, and Hermione let a moan escape into Snape's mouth. Each step he took heightened her pleasure, the action jostling her against him, and her hands grabbed at his broad shoulders, seeking an anchor lest she lose her hold on reality.

Because this was actually happening.

And not because anyone had manipulated them into the situation.

Already this felt different from the last time. He'd coaxed and seduced her body then, the spell requiring her to orgasm at just the right moment. Not before, or during, but right at the conclusion, and only then. As a result, there had been an underlying edge of perfunctoriness to the whole thing. This held none of that calculation or forethought. Only need drove their actions.

As they reached Snape's room, he tumbled to the bed, landing them in a twisted tangle of limbs. A startled laugh sounded from her as he withdrew his arms, rising to kneel over her, his arms caging her in. But she certainly didn't feel trapped. More, it caused desire to pool in her core at his show of strength and vitality. Snape would never be mistaken for anything but the solid and imposing man that he was.

At once, her hands went to the row of buttons and she began working at his clothes, anxious to feel his warmth and trace the ridges of his well hidden muscles again. Impatient for this moment.

With each freed button, Hermione exposed more pale skin, the colour contrasting starkly with the dark robes he favoured, making him appear as though carved from marble. She strained her neck to arch up and run a line of open-mouthed kisses along the taunt tendons in his neck, her fingertips inching further down his torso, drawing closer to his belt buckle.

She had to wedge her hand between them to undo it, as Snape continued grinding his hips against her while she did, the layers of fabric doing nothing to mask the feel of him. She ached to wrap her hand around his length. To feel its heat branding her palm, to see if it was as conversely silky and hard as her memory insisted it was.

Her leg wrapped around his hips, and Hermione used her foot to shove his trousers and pants down, freeing Snape's member from its confines. Deftly, she took him in her fist, running her thumb over the tip and spreading the moisture that had gathered there. It was hot and slick, and more immediately rushed to the crown to replace it.

A sharp nip answered her action as Snape's teeth briefly grazed her neck. Tiny prickles from a day's worth of beard growth tickled along her collar bone, scraping lightly.

"Ah," she gasped, tipping her head back against the sheets, silently requesting he do it again.

He didn't. Instead, he kissed along the delicate wing of her collarbone, stopping only when it met her shoulder, his hooked nose nudging her bra strap out of the way as he went.

Her hand stroked over his length twice more, not having stopped fondling him while he kissed her, before he lifted himself. Hermione tightened her legs, digging the heel of her foot into his bum to hold him in place when he made to move, and she protested, "But–"

"I want you naked," he explained, bending to whisper the needy words close to her ear. The fan of his warm breath made her shiver. "I want to taste you again, Granger."

With that simple declaration, her limbs went limp, and Snape easily extracted himself. Eager to resume and allow him to taste her as he'd suggested, Hermione quickly shed her clothes, shrugging out of the blouse Snape had apparently undone without her notice, and lifting her hips to wriggle out of her trousers.

They were barely off before Snape had buried his face between her legs, his hands holding her thighs spread for him. His tongue dipped into her briefly, then traced back up her seam to focus on her clit. He feasted on the tiny button, lashing it with flicks fast as a striking asp.

"Oh. Oh! Oh," she moaned, all substance fleeing her mind.

He didn't tease her, and he wasn't gentle. No. He destroyed her.

She was nothing more than a strangled plea. Awareness of anything beyond the fluttering jolts of electricity radiating from her centre was impossible. A craving took over, insatiable. She begged and pleaded for more in her mind, but failed to form the words. Not that it mattered. Snape understood anyway. And he gladly, skillfully, gave her what her body demanded.

Her climax came fast. Sharp and sudden. Steamrolling her with its sudden and consuming arrival. A rubbed band stretched to the point of snapping with a final, irreparable crack!

Hermione's hands fisted in her hair, and she cried out, "Ugh, yes!"

On and on it continued. A lightning storm erupted in her veins, sizzling and crackling. Light and heat coursed between her cells, connecting them on such a basic level that Hermione felt more invigorated and alive than she ever had in her life. She was lost in the sea of energy rippling through her.

Reality returned slowly when she felt the head of Snape's shaft beginning to sink steadily into her. He was unhurried, careful, and Hermione was better prepared for the tight fit than she had been before. Gossip had nothing on experience. Now, she welcomed the slight burn that came from the stretching that accompanied their joining.

"It doesn't hurt," she promised, voice husky and unfamiliar after her earlier shouting. Not at all the bossy, know-it-all tone she used most of the time.

"Good," he acknowledged, seating the last bit of himself snuggly within her. "I wasn't sure if it would," he admitted.

Hermione felt her lips curl slightly. Had Snape ever acknowledged not knowing something? It was a rarity, to be sure. And Hermione felt a tenderness towards him for being on the receiving end – particularly when he was taking such care with her, just in case.

"It's good," she promised, fighting a blush. It was a bit embarrassing to discuss in their current positions, his weight pinning her to the bed, her hands wrapped around his naked back.

"Only good?" he questioned, deliberately rocking his hips, withdrawing slightly only to swiftly fill her back up.

"Fuck," she gasped, eyes rolling up at the exciting sensations his movement inspired. Good had definitely been an understatement.

"That is the intention," he assured her, clearly amused.

"Then stop being a prat and do it already," she encouraged, her prompt coming out more cross than she'd intended, so she added a pointed wriggle of her hips to emphasise her meaning.

With a deep chuckle, he listened, moving easily, and she realised how ridiculously wet she was from having his mouth licking her earlier. No wonder he'd entered her so easily.

Snape kept his strokes lazy, knowing she was still adjusting to the foreign invasion, despite her words. One hand grazed along her arm, lightly caressing. Hermione took advantage and kissed his chin, then his cheek, and finally his lips when he turned his face to meet her.

She was about to say something, wanting more, when he rolled, leaving Hermione gasping in surprise and draped across his chest, her long tresses spreading around them. She'd barely a second to see her honey curls mix with his obsidian strands before he spoke.

"Let me see you," he requested, helping her to sit up astride him. "Ride me," he challenged, running his hands up to span her rib cage, fingers just brushing the swells of her breasts.

Ride him? As if she knew how. What if she did it wrong? Or—

Anticipation lightened his features, transforming the rough sternness or bitter stress she typically saw etched into the plains of his face. It pushed her to ignore her immediate misgivings and resentment over her inexperience.

Uncertainly, Hermione rotated her hips, groaning at the glorious feel of her clit rubbing against his pelvis when she did. Experimentally, she did it again, "Like this?"

"Yes. Do that again," he encouraged, easing his hands up to fully cup her breasts, shaping them with his dexterous fingers. "Hmm, yes," he repeated, lifting his hips to push deeper, "just like that." She saw his smile before her eyes fluttered shut, relishing the delicious tendrils unfurling from her core, a plant seeking sunlight.

Hermione braced her hands on his chest, her thumbs brushing his nipples as he explored her curves, alternating between guiding her hips over him and tweaking her pebbled nipples.

She could have stayed like this for days, the rest of the world ceasing to exist as she let Snape consume her and provide this escape. There was no war. No Horcruxes. No struggling friends. No hurt children. No imprisoned Muggleborns. No monsters.

Only the distraction of Snape. His hands. His mouth. His words. His cock.

Black spots appeared in her vision, leaving dancing red afterimages behind when her heavy eyelids slid closed, weighed down by the spell of lightheadedness that came over her when his shaft hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. It was just right, and her nails scraped down his chest while her head fell back in ecstasy.

Hands abruptly gripped her hips, fingers digging into the rounded curve of her bum, holding tight enough to have Hermione wondering if Snape would leave marks. Then she was bouncing roughly on his dick, moaning and gasping at the sudden urgency.

Over and over again he hit that tender spot, turning her mind to mush.

"Snape!" she cried, teetering on the brink of oblivion.

So close. She was so close.

"Open your eyes, Granger," he ordered, deep baritone a rasp along her spine like the touch of fur. As soon as her eyes snapped open, she was caught in his penetrating gaze, sinking into the inky pools like quicksand. Her mouth went dry and her breath snagged in her chest. "Say it again."

Snape's hands reached to cup her face, staring even more intently. Hermione felt exposed. Every hidden truth of her laid bare. He truly saw her.

Hermione had the impression, though she didn't know why, that he was reminding himself of who he was with as much as he was ensuring she was aware as well. Though who he thought she'd envision instead eluded her.

Then Snape was leaning up, letting her feel the way the muscles in his abdomen clenched with the movement. When he was close enough, he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. He tasted of decadence and sin. The promise of fulfilling dark desires and wicked fantasies.

"Say it," he repeated, his lips moving against hers as he spoke.

The pressure in her chest tightened, but try as she might, she could hardly draw more than a shallow breath. He'd captured her entirely, demanding she do as he said.

"Ah…uh, Snape," she gasped, exhaling the last of her air.

It was like the moment of drowning. The pressure had been building and building, mounting until she thought she'd explode from the compressed weight of fighting against the need to breathe. Then she finally opened her mouth to inhale a rush of water and make it stop. To release the pressure.

Only it wasn't death that greeted her.

It was the crest of an orgasm washing over her. A storm surge with the strength to carry her for miles along the peak of the wave.

Every joint in her body came undone like an untied bow, the ribbon pieces left dangling and unless. She was little more than a ragdoll as she slumped forward, not entirely sure, but thinking he said, "Hang on."

Then he had her on her back with her legs lifted over his thighs, and he was thrusting rapidly into her. Hermione's hands fisted in the sheets, clawing and grabbing at the fabrics in a bid to hang on as he'd recommended while he pounded into her, unrestrained.

He looked fierce and wild. A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin in the flickering candlelight that illuminated the room. His hips bucked frantically, possessing her, claiming her.

It was almost too intense. She was still sensitive with her muscles spasming and her chest heaving. He'd let her take what she needed from him before, and now he was doing the same. But a second before it became too much, Snape released into her in hot bursts, a strained, "Granger," falling from his lips before collapsing forward.

He lay panting and sweaty beside her as they both caught their breath. It was not nearly as awkward as when he'd feigned being unaffected in order to set about collecting the potion ingredient and escape the evidence of what he'd been coerced into doing.

It occurred to her that he'd treated her as a willing woman, not a nervous virgin from the moment she'd assured him she was all right. That knowledge brought with it a different sort of satisfaction from the physical kind he'd just gifted her with.

His fingers ghosted over her hip then, and she shivered, feeling him involuntarily slip from her swollen channel as she moved. Her skin felt sticky and she could feel his semi-hardness as it came to rest on her thigh.

A second later the arm across her waist tensed slightly. Guess things had officially come to an end. Hermione swallowed a sigh, but couldn't resist dropping a kiss on the hollow of his throat before she sat up.

Ginny's recent brave actions came to mind, including how they'd set the tone for things to come. Hermione decided to take a page out of her book. And for the first time in a very long while, she felt like could think clearly.

"I should get back before I'm missed, but I'll come by tomorrow," Hermione ventured, noting how breathy she still sounded as she spoke a desire she wasn't even entirely certain she had. But as soon as she said it, she knew it was the truth. She didn't want this to be a one off.

Her words were a statement, but also a question. Ultimately, it was his decision. But now he knew where she stood.

The vein in his neck fluttered, ticking faster beneath the reddened mark she'd accidentally left. Had she bitten him? She'd been so wrapped up in the moment that it'd been an unconscious act.

The barest touch of his fingers grazed her thigh, so fleeting she'd have missed it if the touch hadn't thrilled her senses. Then, in a carefully neutral and far too controlled voice, eyes fixed securely on the ceiling, he replied, "I hardly care what you do."

He'd said similarly in the past. And it was never the truth.

She took a chance that the same could be said for now. "I don't believe you."

His head tipped then, and he shifted to prop himself up and take her in. Slowly, like the most sinful and leisurely of caresses, he let his gaze rove over her tousled and flushed silhouette, lingering on her jutting breasts and the evidence of their release still smeared near the juncture between her legs.

"My staff meeting should be over by nine. The office will be empty after that," he declared, making his wishes known.

Hermione gave a jerky nod, not trusting her voice not to squeak if she dared to say anything else. Hurriedly, she dressed, aware of his eyes on her the entire time – and the way her hands trembled, making her fingers clumsy until multiple attempts were required to clasp her bra. She dreaded how he might interpret the sight.

To be honest, she didn't know the cause. Was it nerves regarding this new understanding that they'd be continuing an intimate relationship? Or was it the lingering lethargy that her limbs weren't used to in the aftermath of their shagging?

But, Merlin, that had been incredible!

As she shut the door behind her, she just barely caught him saying, "I will definitely burn in hell for this."

Hermione rested her forehead against the aged wood of the closed door. It was cool and smooth after enduring for centuries. Concentrating on those miniscule details calmed and centred her.

She could hardly believe that had just happened. She'd come to this office with her emotions out-of-control. She'd been ready to throw everything she believed in away. Until Snape stopped her. He brought her back to herself. Reminded her of who she was and what she stood for. Then cleared her head of all the rioting chaos…for a time.

The countless challenges and obstacles she had to face seemed much more manageable now than they had earlier. Already a list was forming in her mind, the items reshuffling themselves as their relevance became clearer.

She'd hardly turned when a flash of brilliant blue caught her eye. Instantly, Hermione froze, staring in horror at Dumbledore's likewise frozen form.

The former headmaster appeared too stunned to move or speak as he made the connection between her wild hair, barely fastened clothes – a button was missing from her top, just over her breasts – and the room she'd just exited.

There was no misinterpreting what she'd been doing.

Immediately, she felt the urge to make excuses or stammer out an explanation since she'd not expected to see him. It had been over a week since she'd seen him visit the office. Awkwardly, she attempted to tame her curls, patting them down, then used her wand to magic her shirt properly closed. She'd been too unsteady to try in front of Snape.

But then the urge to justify her actions passed as the full extent of the situation came to mind. They'd not done anything wrong. They were both consenting adults. Dumbledore had no right to look so startled and affronted. As if he'd not had a hand in orchestrating the first time! He was in no position to sit in judgement now for what he'd set in motion.

Bearing that in mind, Hermione left the office without a word, only just remembering to grab Harry's cloak and throw it over her head before she left. At least that would account for her messy hair.

"Oh, good. I'm glad you're back before I fell asleep," Ron greeted, making her jump.

The urge to look around was strong, and she had to force it away lest she look as guilty as she suddenly felt. Of all the people to run into. Had he noticed the flush still heating her cheeks? Could he smell the musky scent of sandalwood that lingered on her skin, or did the bite of salt mask it?

"Right," she responded, rushing on to blurt, "the book I was looking for was already checked out."

Ron nodded along, though she didn't think he was truly listening to her. It was a habit he regularly fell back on when he wasn't really interested, too engrossed in his own thoughts. She was torn between relief and annoyance. The research she did was to help Harry, so he should care more, but for once his laziness meant he didn't suspect anything about her.

"Look, we need to talk about us," Ron announced without warning.

"Us?" she squeaked, looking for Harry.

He was already in bed asleep. Of course. How late was it? She'd not been with Snape that long, had she?

Only then did she notice all of the Halloween decorations. Apparently, she'd missed an impromptu party while she'd been out. No wonder Harry was already abed. He'd not seemed in the mood to celebrate when she'd left just before supper.

"Yeah," Ron said nervously, taking a seat, then jumping right back up before sitting again. Hermione fought back a groan when he surreptitiously wiped his palms on his pants. Hadn't they already done this? She could have sworn Ron was paying attention when they'd had this conversation. "I've been thinking…we're been getting on all right now, haven't we?"

"Yes," she agreed tentatively, disliking the direction this seemed to be going.

"It's been so much better, and how we worked together in the Ministry, and what you did to take care of me… We've been through so much. It's always us. It was always supposed to be – Harry reminded me, and…and then I wondered… Did we make a mistake? Did we call us off too soon?"

This could not be happening. Not tonight. Not when each shift of her limbs generated a twinge between her legs and she could feel the way the fabric of her trousers was sticking uncomfortably to the moisture she had yet to wash away.

Ron was studying her intently, leaning closer as he did, almost as though preparing to kiss her. All she saw were the things that didn't make him Snape. His smile was too wide and came too easily. His emotions were always too close to the surface, straightforward and without an ounce of challenge. His disdain for books and learning. His perpetual laziness. His loose tongue. His ready laughter and more traditional good looks. The only thing right was the rather prominent nose, so like Snape's….

Hermione was abruptly back in the moment with that last thought.

She leaned away quickly, pulling her hair forward to shield her neck and part of her face. Had he seen the red rash Snape's scruff had marked her neck with, or how puffy her kiss-swollen lips were? Was she putting off pheromones or something in the wake of her recent activities?

He looked abruptly mortified, and shifted quickly away, crossing his arms.

Stiffly, Hermione demanded, "Ron, what brought this on?"

"Harry was talking, and it got me thinking. Guess I should have known better," he grumbled.

"You think?" Hermione snapped.

"Because you're the only smart one?" Ron countered swiftly, apparently itching for a fight after her reaction to his advance.

"Ron." The harshness she infused his name with had him gritting his teeth. "What really brought this on?" she pressed.

"I was starting to think I might fancy Luna, but couldn't be sure because of you. I should have known better. I guess we're really over," he said roughly, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment.

"Oh, it's safe to say we're over," Hermione muttered. Ron's flush spread, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, and she realised she'd been a bit too adamant. It was hard not to when her already tender muscles longed for nothing more than a shower, not the landmine that was soothing Ron's pride. "I only meant I'd noticed you moving on. I think it's good."

She hadn't, having enough going on that claimed her focus, but she'd pretend otherwise if it meant avoiding another hammering out of all the reasons they didn't belong together. And it did make sense, him and Luna. They were spending an awful lot of time together lately – usually when Hermione was with Snape and Harry was occupied with Ginny.

"You mean you'd rather be all alone than with me." She heard what he was really saying: You don't think I'm good enough for you.

"I never said anything like that," Hermione denied incredulously.

Her seat put her in the perfect position to see that their conversation had woken Harry. He was watching them, though his eyes were squinting in an effort to bring them into focus without his glasses. Noticing he had her attention, he immediately closed his eyes. Nice try. He was going to get an earful from her tomorrow.

"But it's the truth. You say you've noticed me moving on, but you're doing the opposite," Ron said, obliquely acknowledging the way she'd taken to researching when the others were gathered together – for all intents and purposes, avoiding the others.

Oh, if he only knew what she was really getting up to.

"Are you sure you don't fancy any of the blokes in the D.A.?"

"I don't need the distraction. There's enough on my mind. Not to mention rather limited options," Hermione said honestly, unable to imagine one of her former classmates being able to keep her on her toes the way Snape always managed to. Knowing how Ron would take her evaluation, she quickly tacked on, "Since we're already figured out how much better we are as friends. You know it's true."

"Yeah. Harry just got in my head earlier. I just had to check." Ron shook his head, banishing whatever was plaguing him. She'd have to remember to thank Harry for stirring this all up again. Some friend. Ron still looked slightly peeved, but for once he let it go at that to ask a different question. "What do you think about the other bit? I mean, can you really picture me with Luna? You don't think people will talk, what with her being a bit…loony?"

Now Hermione was the one offended.

"I think, as our friend, Luna deserves better than to be insulted – especially by someone claiming to fancy her!"

"Geez, Hermione, lay off. You were always the first to discount her before, and I was only saying," Ron muttered, scowling.

"Oh, I know what you were saying," she said darkly, narrowing her eyes as she seethed, ignoring the reference to the remarks she'd once made herself about Luna – remarks she'd not once made after becoming friends with the girl. "It was the same as it was with me in fourth year. All you cared about were looks."

"Obviously I got better about that – I fancied you, didn't I? I was even willing to try again with you tonight!"

As his words registered, she was unaccountably hurt by what he was suggesting. She was not particularly vain, but until this moment, she'd truly believed she'd grown into her features. And so long as it wasn't humid, even her hair looked rather nice. All right, perhaps it was just passable, but still, it was definitely better. Yet in a couple sentences, Ron managed to make her feel like a troll.

Had Snape minded? He'd certainly not looked at her with anything approaching disgust or even indifference.

Gah! She didn't need this. She was not defined by what a wizard saw when he looked at her.

Still, she couldn't help but lash out, sneering, "With compliments like that, it's really no wonder we didn't work out."

Hermione was struck by how much she'd sounded as though she were mimicking Snape, while Ron blanched as he realised what he'd said.

"Hermione—"

"It's fine, really," she sighed, though his comments still smarted enough to dull some of her previous sense of contentment. At least Snape hadn't made it seem a chore to shag her. And it wasn't like she wanted Ron to fancy her anymore anyways. "But I would like to point out that Luna has changed a bit in the last few years. She's been there when we needed her. She's proven herself. And since Harry dated her, she's not considered a joke."

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten about that," Ron said, frowning. He shot a furtive look in the direction of Harry's stiff form, their friend doing a rotten job at feigning sleep.

"It shouldn't matter regardless," Hermione insisted, pursing her lips in disapproval. Perhaps Ron would always get hung up on public approval, but it was one trait Hermione sincerely hoped he outgrew. And the sooner, the better.

"I know. It's just hard for me, I guess." That hint of vulnerability he displayed now was once something she craved. Now, she felt a bit like a Muggle shrink as she analysed him, searching for the right words.

"You went from being in your brothers' shadows to Harry's." He smiled weakly, recognizing that she really got him.

Too bad she didn't have the same, as their spat aptly demonstrated.

"With the right witch, you'll always come first. You're worth it, so don't settle," she said sincerely, letting go of their earlier tiff.

Ron blinked at her, looking hopeful all over again. "Hermione—"

"It's getting late, and I have a few ideas to run past Harry in the morning," she hinted, cutting him off.

Ron nodded, not saying a word as she jumped up to grab her beaded purse, ignoring the protest her overworked thighs gave in response. All she wanted right then was a bit of privacy to shower and take the remaining dose of Contraception Potion that she'd thankfully kept after brewing it in her hotel room over the summer.

When she'd brewed the potion, she'd only had enough stoneseed root for two doses worth. For some reason she'd gone ahead and made the extra, which she swallowed quickly now. Luckily, each dose lasted a month, so she had a while before she would need to ask Snape for a restock and have that particular conversation. It would probably be a good idea to wait, and not remind Snape of the potential consequences of their actions if she wanted to continue shagging him.

Too bad she couldn't have a repeat this very moment. She could do with it in the wake of Ron's unintentionally hurtful remarks.

The bathroom door wasn't even closed before she heard Ron ask, "You heard?"

"Sorry. At least you know now," Harry said weakly.

"Yeah. I think I'll talk to Luna tomorrow," Ron replied, tone sharpening as he added, "since you're with my sister and not interested in Luna."

"Ron—"

"Night, Harry," he muttered.

Jealousy was another pesky trait she wouldn't mind Ron getting a handle on, if she were honest.