Chapter Text
"Get out," snarled Severus Snape, thus ending yet another period of his sixth-year potions class. Rounding on his desk, he dropped the essays that he had just collected on its broad surface - regretting that the sheaf of unbound parchment didn't provide enough mass for a good crack as it landed - and dropped himself into the large carven chair behind it. As usual, he ignored his students, though he was well aware of young Hermione Granger approaching him as her classmates filed out.
He noted that she didn't try to catch his attention until the last of the other students was gone, the door shut behind her. "Professor Snape," she said quietly, but without the tremble that afflicted most of his students when they had need to speak with him individually.
Snape was, of course, scowling as he looked up from his papers, but noted immediately that in spite of Miss Granger's calm voice, her face was dangerously pale and her fingers clutched her books to her chest with a painful tightness that spoke of rigid self-control. His eyes moved over her quickly to assess any other signs of illness, but found none. Neither was Miss Granger the sort to become flustered over the usual student dramas, or to bother her professors unnecessarily. "Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked flatly, tempering his usual blistering tones in the face of her distress, but unwilling to go so far as to seem encouraging.
"I would like to make an appointment to speak to you on a very important matter," she recited carefully, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. While the discipline that she was clearly employing to deal with him casually would have made sense from some of her more easily intimidated peers, Granger was not really this scared of him, he knew. She didn't normally seem comfortable when she had to speak to him, but at the moment she appeared to be fighting terror.
"An appointment?" he asked skeptically, sitting back in his chair. "You're speaking with me now."
She didn't react to the implied rebuke. "I have Charms on the other side of the castle in ten minutes," she replied deliberately. "I wish to be able to explain my request to you adequately." Interestingly, her gaze flickered away from his just as she carefully wrapped her mouth around the word "request."
Severus regarded her for a long moment over steepled fingers. She met his eyes evenly but said no more. He had to admit that she had piqued his considerable curiosity with her uncharacteristic behavior. Finally, he sat forward and picked up the last parchment that he'd been reading when she interrupted him. "Come by after the dinner hour, then. I'll be working," he said distractedly.
He did not look up until he heard Granger slipping out his classroom door, and when he did he again noted the lines of tension drawn throughout her stiffly-held posture.
Snape was not at the token professor's lectern in his classroom, but rather at his own heavy mahogany desk in the office in the room behind, when Hermione Granger returned as per his instructions. He heard her call his name from the door of the classroom, and in a carrying tone called, "Here," as he let her again approach him while he appeared to be deeply involved in grading.
This time Granger was not carrying any schoolbooks, and she had discarded her school robes - as was allowed after classes - in favor of a blue jumper and casual slacks of some sort. Snape thought that perhaps she was trying to look adult... not too long ago she'd been wearing pinafores under those robes. He let her stand for a moment while he continued reading, then motioned her absently into one of the chairs arranged across from his desk. There she sat, not fiddling a bit, hands folded in stillness on her lap, waiting for his attention.
"Well, Miss Granger," he intoned in a low voice, sitting back in his chair and steepling his long fingers again before him; it was one of his favorite postures. "You have your appointment. I am ready to consider your request."
It was only because he was watching carefully that he noticed her rapid blink after the word request. She had been watching him while he played his little waiting game with her, and Severus suddenly was struck by the oddest notion that she had been sizing him up. A smile nearly tugged at the corners of his mouth. Indeed, she was gauging him carefully now, probably running through frantic last-minute reviews of the speech that he was betting she had prepared.
It did not begin in any way that Snape had expected, however. She said, "I spoke at length with Draco Malfoy's father when he was visiting his son here last month."
Snape's face froze for a moment. "Did you?" he drawled slowly.
"Yes, he took quite an interest in me," Granger replied levelly, looking for all the world as if she knew exactly why the mention of Lucius Malfoy might upset her potions professor. "At first I couldn't imagine why, and when I did, I rather berated myself for not realizing immediately. I am, after all, Harry Potter's best friend." This last was delivered with pure Granger haughtiness.
Snape's mind was fully engaged now, trying hard to anticipate where on earth the girl might be going with this unexpected interview. His habitual response to being at a disadvantage was, of course, to keep his mouth relatively shut and look unsurprised.
"Yes, you are," he agreed with only a trace of his usual snideness.
"I don't know why it is, Professor Snape, that I decided to react as I did. I didn't even really have time to think - there I was, sitting in one of the study rooms, reading, and Draco Malfoy's father sat down opposite me and struck up the most congenial conversation, and yet he practically... oozed... filth." She paused. "I reacted as if I were totally taken with him."
The girl stopped again, this time clearly to think, her gaze becoming unfocused for a moment as she chose words. As Snape clearly didn't need to prompt her - she was intent on coming to some sort of point - he remained utterly silent.
"Actually, I flirted with him," she suddenly added, rather hard and flat, then took a deep breath and continued. "I acted like I was completely, breathlessly overwhelmed at the fact that this big powerful man was paying attention to me. 'Oh, Mr. Malfoy, you must be very clever to have become so powerful,'" Granger mocked herself. "'Oh, Mr. Malfoy, everyone knows your name. I can't believe that you think that I'm somehow special.'"
Suddenly Granger dropped the falsetto, and added in her own voice, gaze fixed on her professor: "'Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I think I'd do anything to someday become half as powerful as you are. Anything.'"
The appointment that had started as a mere curiosity for Snape suddenly became dangerous. He wanted to question her on it, but somehow felt utterly certain that the girl actually understood exactly the implications of the things she was saying. "That was a very risky game you were playing," Snape said softly, in this circumstance unconcerned with his usual habit of never letting a student feel that she was being taken seriously.
"Yes, but of course, I was fairly safe, here at Hogwart's. I was hoping maybe he'd say something... useful. I don't know what about. I quite clearly implied that I'd gotten close to Harry because I thought he'd someday be powerful, but I was now worried that I might turn out to be on the losing side. But anyway, that's what I did. And he ate it up," she added with a faint note of pride.
Snape and his student studied each other carefully. She was still very pale, still held a tight reign on a deep nervousness, but was successfully coming off fairly smoothly. If he was half as good as he believed he was, his own anxiety was better hidden. Slowly he said, "So Lucius Malfoy believes that you're smitten with him, and that you're the sort of slyly ambitious twit that might serve some ends of his. Does that accurately sum up the situation, Miss Granger?"
"Not fully," she replied, then licked her dry lips slowly. "I received an owl from him today. He's invited me to come visit him over the break. His intentions were fairly clear."
Snape considered this carefully. "May I see it?"
She smiled very briefly. "Sorry, no. It disintegrated as soon as I read it. But I remember it word-for-word."
"Repeat it," Snape instructed sharply.
Granger looked like she was about to say something else, then subsided. She stuck her tongue into the corner of her mouth for a second - a habit he'd noticed in class before - while she concentrated, then recited:
My dear Hermione,
I am pleased to have the opportunity to extend to you an invitation to join me over the coming holiday for a continuation of the delightful conversation that we started at your school. It is clear that a young woman of your insight and talent cannot obtain all of the instruction that might benefit her in such an environment, and I believe that I might help rectify that unfortunate situation. You are, of course, uncommonly mature. If you are ready to begin profiting from the knowledge of that maturity, and to be treated as mature by a man such as myself, then I am prepared to bestow upon you the privileges of such maturity. As we discussed, they are many and great. They are also quite pleasurable, especially to one so thirsty for knowledge as yourself. And for one so beautiful.
If you feel equal to such a rewarding path, owl me your interest. I will make all arrangements.
Fondest regards, Lucius Malfoy
Snape stared at his student for a long moment, churning outrage in his stomach, cold calm on his face. She returned the gaze evenly, but her face had only gotten paler during her recital. Her fingers were curled around the arms of her chair.
"You understand what Mr. Malfoy is implying, don't you, Miss Granger?" he asked in a near-whisper. His eyes glittered.
"Perfectly," she replied.
"Why have you come to me with this? You should be speaking with the head of your house, or with the Headmaster himself." Snape kept hearing fragments of Malfoy's disgusting letter echoing in his brain and pushed the horrid words aside.
This time Granger did not take a deep breath before replying... not literally, anyway. He could see her steel herself though.
"I came to you, Professor Snape," she said clearly and slowly, "because I intend to go through with it, and I would like your help."
"My immediate instinct is that you must be joking, and yet I suspect that you are not. I will give you a chance to explain yourself before taking you up to speak with Professor Dumbledore regarding this matter."
Granger's eyes flashed with determination, and she sat forward in her chair. "I have no illusions as to exactly how dangerous this will be. But you have to see, Professor... Malfoy picked me out because I'm Harry's best friend, and he thinks I'm young and stupid and greedy. But because I am Harry's best friend, and I'm actually smart and loyal, this presents a great chance for us. Think of the advantages we could get from this!"
Snape snapped loudly, "This is out of the question!" Even Granger sat back at the edge in his voice, which he suddenly lowered to a drawl. "Miss Granger, your intentions are admirable, but this is not acceptable. Now -"
"Wait! I haven't made my argument," she insisted hotly.
"Argument?" Snape asked incredulously, sneering. "Argument?"
"Professor Snape, we're at war! And Harry's a prime target, and our best defense. This is a risk that I want to take for the things that I know are right! Who are you to tell me that I can't make an informed decision to put myself at risk for such a valuable payoff? I understand what I'd have to do, and I want to do it... for the payoff. I'm already in the line of fire, just for being close to Harry. At least this way something good can come of it!" The words were tumbling passionately from her mouth, and Snape stared at her with something akin to open amazement. "We'll all have to take risks. It's not like I'll be able to lead a safe life. I just have the opportunity to take a huge one now. I'm trying to be smart about it, to gather the resources and support I'll need to pull it off. But I can pull it off! It's not fair for you or Harry or Professor Dumbledore or anyone else to try to make decisions about what risks are acceptable to me."
Here Snape tried to open his mouth, but she cut him off. "And more than fair, it's not smart! I know I'm only seventeen, but how old do you have to be before you're qualified to knowingly put yourself at risk for something that you believe in? How old were you, when you first did it?"
She stared at him defiantly. Snape opened his mouth, then shut it again, then started to say, "Child..."
"No! Don't call me that, because I'm not. Malfoy was talking about you as an ally. He implied quite clearly that if he took a shine to me, my grades in your class would be assured. But I know that you're not his ally; you've saved Harry's life. So you're spying again, like Harry said you did before. Spying for Professor Dumbledore. You're putting yourself at huge risk! I have the right to do the same. I came to you because once I put two and two together, it was clear that you of all people should understand!"
Snape was truly astounded by everything that the girl seemed to understand. She was appealing to everything in him that would serve her cause... logic, ruthlessness, a commitment to honor even at the price of dignity. What she was saying was true... ruthlessly, disgustingly true. This was a remarkable opportunity. She certainly seemed to understand the risk involved, and the price. And if she was willing to commit herself to that, was it really best for him to try to stop her, saying it was for her own good? The girl was right; there would be no safety for her. But this? He had to be certain that she understood.
"Miss Granger, in the highly unlikely circumstance that I let you go through with this, do you really think that you understand what you'll have to do?" he asked finally, softly.
"I'll have to let him bed me," she said baldly, continuing to meet Snape's eyes despite the sudden redness in her cheeks.
"You're seventeen," he stated flatly.
"Don't let that fool you," she snapped, still blushing. "Do you really think that the sixth-years are all angels? I lost my virginity last year... it was no big deal, but Malfoy wouldn't get even that overrated offering from me."
Snape cleared his throat. "Be that as it may, this would be something entirely different than fumbling with another student in one of the storage rooms after hours. Miss Granger, in the course of my duties, which you have so succinctly surmised, I once watched a laughing group of Death Eaters take a thirteen-year old girl apart using magic while they took turns raping her. Lucius Malfoy was one of them. He enjoyed himself immensely. And while his purposes for you would be rather different, you would do well to remember the type of man with whom you're talking about going to bed."
Granger had gone from red to slightly green at his description, but to her credit showed no revulsion. "I know what kind of man he is, and I know what kind of man you are. You watched that without intervening, Professor?" she accused harshly.
Snape felt a rush of heat. "I couldn't have thrown away my cover even for that," he snapped. "We just would have both wound up dead. And even if I could have saved her, it would have been at the price of immeasurable intelligence and information that could save thousands of lives before this war is over!"
"Exactly," whispered Granger hoarsely. "It was a terrible price, but worth paying."
Snape glared at her wordlessly for a long, thoughtful moment. "So tell me, Miss Granger, what it is that you think that you need from me? Your... request."
Suddenly all of the fierceness disappeared from her face, and the blush was back on her cheeks. Her eyes went wide and she swallowed, apparently having forgotten the point of the interview in the passion of her arguments.
"You were a Death Eater once," she nearly whispered.
Snape snorted. "Yes. I was. So?"
Through some sort of exercise of will, she regained control of her voice, and said in something approaching a conversational tone, "You're right about this being different than... fumbling, you said... with one of the boys. I need to be better prepared than I am now, or he'll have too much of an advantage. You know... you know better than I do what sort of things he might try to get control of me. Magically. Or... otherwise." She valiantly maintained eye contact with him until the very last word, when it finally seemed too much and she looked away.
Snape's gaze was flat, his face and voice expressionless. "I have an idea."
"You can help me prepare myself," she forced herself to say.
"By explaining to you what Malfoy might try to do to you? Magically, and... otherwise?"
"Uh," Granger's eyes flickered over his. "I don't know if just, uh, explaining it to me would be enough... to actually prepare me to cope with it." Some of the previous fierceness returned to her voice. "I have to be able to cope with anything he tries, but make him think he's succeeding! I'll do whatever it takes to make it work."
Snape watched Granger subside, then begin to shift under his glittering gaze and his silence. He knew that others found his stillness unnatural, but he sat without any movement for many long moments. Finally, his low, dangerous voice floated across the room to her.
"Miss Granger, you may return to your dormitory. I will consider... all... that you've said. Come speak to me tomorrow afternoon after the lunch hour. I will share with you my conclusions regarding this matter then. Until then, I suggest that you not speak to anyone about it." He paused. "You may go now."
Granger seemed about to speak, then wisely shut her mouth and stood up. She watched him closely, but he gave no signs of his inclinations, merely waited politely for her to leave. After opening and closing her mouth one more time, she turned on her heel and took several measured steps that carried her out of Snape's office.
Snape was again in his office when he heard Hermione return after a sleepless, worried night. This time she didn't bother to call out for him, but simply came back into the damp, poorly-lit room, carrying her books. He made no pretense of having been at work; he was sitting in thought, waiting, when she arrived and seated herself, watching him expectantly.
"Professor," she said quietly.
"Miss Granger," he replied. "I have just come from an extended discussion with the headmaster."
Granger's cheeks began to burn in anger almost instantly. They would have to work on that. To her credit, however, her expression remained calm, and her voice was not raised as she replied. "Then I suppose that that will be it," she nearly snarled.
He raised one eyebrow, which was enough to subdue her momentarily. He had no doubt that she was assembling some appropriately scathing condemnations to hurl as soon as he actually told her that she would not be allowed to pursue her plan.
"Professor Dumbledore is most pained that things have again come to the point where allowing students to risk their lives is the best of a bad lot of choices." He watched the fierce joy come over her face as she gleaned his meaning. "Unfortunately, we are agreed that we are indeed in such dire straits."
"Then you'll not stop me!" Granger exclaimed with excitement. Snape fought back a brief wave of nausea, hearing this bright, talented student proclaim her joy at being able to pursue a course that would almost undoubtedly put her in the bed of a very evil man. But, having been there, he understood that her real eagerness was for a chance to do something in the face of a terrifying and bleak enemy.
"No, we'll not stop you."
"And..." Granger eyed him critically, going a bit red again. "Will you help me?"
Snape didn't reply, simply pinned Granger under his glittering gaze and waited for her to start fidgeting. She didn't, though her blush increased to a blaze and her body became visibly tense with the effort of staying still. Long moments passed. She refused to look away.
With a very sudden movement and noise, Snape pushed his chair back from his desk and stood. She nearly squeaked, her startled eyes following him upward. One... two... three... four... four smooth, long strides carried him around the desk and behind her chair. She didn't turn to watch him, though he saw her start to tremble as he passed out of her sight and she knew that he stood behind her. He positioned himself right behind her chair, and leaned forward so that he bent over her shoulder. She would be able to feel the heat of his body, to smell him. His hands, which had first rested on the back of her chair, settled very lightly on her shoulders, and she jerked beneath him. Snape breathed on the side of her face.
"Though it violates every principle that a teacher should uphold," he murmured, "it would be hypocritical to permit you to go to a monster's bed, and yet refuse you the preparation that might make such a foolhardy course sustainable." Granger's breathing had become rapid. With one hand, he brushed her thick hair back from the side of her face and neck, careful not to touch her skin. "Allowing you to come to a teacher's bed is at least less objectionable than allowing you to go to Malfoy's, if only slightly. So I shall do my worst to you, Miss Granger--" his voice had dropped to a throaty growl, "--while, of course, helping you find ways to endure it. And if you do, then you might be ready for Malfoy."
It took her a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was unperturbed. "Thank you, Professor Snape." He allowed himself a smile, here where she couldn't see it. She had impressive control of her tone and she had overcome the urge to fidget... if he could teach her to control her bodily reactions as well, she might be able to pull off this intrigue.
"Then we shall begin immediately. The holiday is only two weeks away. Come here tonight, at midnight..." and now Snape allowed his mouth to brush fleetingly against the side of her bare neck. "I shall be waiting here in my office for you."
Abruptly she stood and turned to face him, her face pale and her eyes bright. He remained leaning on the back of the chair, and smiled up at her very lazily, very suggestively. "All right, Professor," she said, fighting not to rush the words. "I'll see you tonight." She stayed where she was for several seconds, eyes fixed on his face, then she tore her gaze away and walked out at a clip.
When the door swung closed behind her, Snape exhaled slowly. The sweat that he'd been staving off broke out across his pale forehead, the breathing that he'd been controlling became somewhat shallower, the beginnings of arousal which he'd been harnessing insisted on now having its say. It had been a very long time since he'd taken a woman's body, and his libido was wrenched between the lustful singing in his groin and his mind's insistence on continually reminding himself the exact sickening reasons that he was doing this.
Hermione stood in the hall panting, flushed, and feeling thankful that there was no one around. She had asked herself countless times if she truly thought that she could endure the disgusting reality of Lucius Malfoy's homicidal hands on her body, and had decided that she could. It had taken her a while to conceive of the idea of asking Snape for help; the idea of having him touch her would once have left her retching, but following the resolution that she could survive Malfoy, Snape seemed just vaguely unappealing. But it now appeared that there was something that she'd overlooked in her analysis.
Her greasy, sallow, sneering, deeply unappealing Potions professor had just, with a few murmured words, the nearness of his body, and a very transient contact, left her gasping in arousal in a way that several instances of heavy petting with teenaged boys had not. She wished that she could attribute it to magic. She could not.
Hermione shifted, feeling the sticky warmth on her thighs.
She'd lied to him about her virginity, but wasn't sure if he'd believed her or not.
The flushed student pushed herself away from the hall and began walking to her next class. It was weird, knowing that she might experience sex tonight for the first time. Weirder, knowing with whom that would be. Weirdest of all, finding that suddenly the idea caused a tight, warm weakness in her gut. She'd certainly never imagined that this was how it would be, but she'd had no misgivings about the romance-less practicality of the situation. She'd been thinking of it sort of like handling flobberworms for Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class... personally gross but academically undemanding, and certainly useful to learn for later. Suddenly, she found herself thinking of "preparation" at Snape's hands in an entirely different - and terrifying sexual - light.
Suddenly, it had occurred to her that Severus Snape was a man.
Twenty of midnight: Hermione slipped from the Gryffindor dorm, swathed in Harry's Invisibility Cloak. He'd allowed her to borrow it on her own twice before, once for a rendezvous with an eager Ravenclaw, once to get into the Restricted Section of the library. She'd told him tonight that she had a date with Thomas again, and he'd only blushed and teased her a bit before giving her the Cloak. He'd throttle her if he knew where she was really going, and why.
Snape waited until exactly midnight to swing open the door to his office, knowing that Granger would have arrived early. Sure enough, she stood in the center of the room, a lush cloak draped over one arm, glancing nervously about as she waited. He smiled a bit to himself as he noted that she'd donned a flattering Muggle dress that, he had to admit, did make her look more the woman than the girl. Clinging blue velvet fell from an attractive gathered knot at her hip, which would afford teasing glances of her smooth legs as she moved. The bodice made her developing figure look fuller. She'd pulled her hair away from her face, which he'd never seen her do before, to reveal an attractive neck and shoulders. Snape stepped out from behind the tapestry that had moved aside to reveal the door to his private chambers, and Granger started a bit as she noticed him. Her wide eyes flew to his face, searching for signs of approval.
She got none, just his flat appraisal as his eyes raked over her from head to toe, lingering openly on her newfound curves. She blushed immediately, but resolutely she pursed her lips and gave him a haughty once-over in return. Snape had worn a set of his usual robes, the ones in which he taught, to deliberately try to discomfort her by reinforcing the authority of his role as her professor.
Hiding his smile at her cheek, working to ignore the stirrings of heat at the thoughts of what was ahead - he'd spent the day trying to convince himself that this would be a purely academic kind of instruction on his part - he held out one hand to her and held back the tapestry to his chambers with the other, an open invitation. She was clearly discomfited, but she tilted her head back a notch, stepped forward to him, firmly placed her trembling hand in his still one, and waited expectantly for him to lead her inside, her eyes fixed directly on his, her mouth tight.
He paused, staring down at her with hard eyes. The trembling of her hand increased a bit. Good. He led her inside.
His chambers were spare and neat but the few furnishings were lush. Here there were no jars of pickled monster parts, but a few paintings decorated the walls. Her eyes flew past the sitting room, into his sleeping chamber, where she could see one corner of the giant four-poster bed.
Snape led her directly there. Neither of them had spoken a word yet. She looked vaguely amazed at her situation.
Snape backed her up to the bed, feeling the way that his tall, robed body overshadowed her small, lithe one. She seemed very much the underage student here, and he found that his heated anticipation suddenly became a very immediate arousal. He was going to take her body. She was his student, eyes wide, naivete apparent, terror and hunger visibly wracking her inexperienced body. It was everything of which his darkest fantasies consisted, the fantasies that he'd never for a moment dreamed of living out. It went against every moral and ethical code that he lived by, and his blood was throbbing in his veins at its immediacy, his insides drawn into a demanding knot at the reality.
Slowly, slowly, Snape lifted one hand to her face. She watched the contact coming, recoiled ever so slightly, shivered as one long finger settled under her chin. Her eyelids dropped a bit as she stared up at him.
Slowly, slowly, the touch slid down her throat. His fingers curled around her neck, wrapping far around the sides, as he took a firm grip on her. Her eyes were glazed, almost entranced.
Suddenly, slowness discarded, Snape threw her onto the bed and was on top of her. Hermione screamed and struggled.
His body felt like it was smothering hers, long strong limbs finding hers among the fabric and holding her down. She couldn't help but struggle as panic overwhelmed her. The hand at her throat was gone, but now he was above her, his breath hot on her face, his flashing eyes pinning her as effectively as his powerful, long-fingered hands, and she subsided, almost paralyzed by the complete and utter realization that she was being forced onto a bed by Professor Snape, his hands were on her body, and she was about to submit to him.
He waited while she stilled, watching her analytically. The panic on her face subsided into resigned fear and confused longing. She searched his expression, but still found no warmth, no identifiable emotion. She experienced a new rush of terror as he smiled slowly, malevolently, then bent his mouth to hers.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she squeezed them shut. His mouth was shockingly hot as it met hers, his breath sweet. She expected him to force his tongue into her mouth - that was what all that the boys that she knew seemed to want to do when kissing - so she kept her mouth resolutely closed. She was surprised when his kiss was light, almost teasing, flickering around her lips, tongue darting against the corner of her mouth.
This wasn't what she expected. She lay still, let him tease her. His mouth moved a bit, down over her chin, trailing butterfly kisses over her jawline. Hermione found herself squirming a bit. By the time that he began teasing her mouth again, she was feeling the warm pleasure a bit more and the gripping terror a bit less. She parted her lips fractionally, keeping her eyes closed.
She felt his teeth close gently on the edge of her lower lip. Then he bit her, drawing blood.
Hermione would have screamed, but the sound was lost in his mouth, which had now covered hers. The copper taste of blood filled her mouth, and she began sobbing as his tongue slid past her wounded lips. He sucked hungrily on her mouth, increasing the sting, and she trembled violently beneath him.
His mouth left hers and she stiffened, wondering madly what he would do next. Her sobs, unstifled, filled the air. It took her a long minute to realize that nothing else had happened, that he was merely poised above her, still pinning her down, but not acting on her at all. His head was beside hers, his dark hair on her bare shoulder, his mouth at her ear, so she couldn't see his face. After a moment, she swallowed her cries and began experiencing a real fear that her hysterical overreaction to a few kisses had convinced him that she couldn't handle what she claimed.
He waited for her silence. When he spoke, his voice in her ear was more gentle and warm than she had ever heard it. "Hermione?"
She'd never heard her first name from him. It acted like a salve, soothing her oddly. She swallowed. "Yes?" she whispered thickly.
"I know that was frightening. I wanted to give you one last chance to back out of this mad scheme, after you'd had a taste of it." She still couldn't see his face, but his tone remained soft, and she was struck more strongly than she had ever been in the past - and it had occurred to her - by just how erotic his voice was.
She thought about it, but only briefly. She'd made up her mind, and even if her instinct had motivated her to struggle against him to the point where it looked like rape, Hermione would have insisted that she'd meant to go through with it. She took a deep, calming breath.
"Thank you for asking, but yes, I want to go through with this. I promise to stay calmer."
His body shifted against hers, and she was suddenly aware of something hard pressing into her hip. She caught her breath as she realized that Professor Snape had an erection. She berated herself inwardly - how did she think they would accomplish this otherwise? - but she was still startled to be faced with the evidence of his arousal. His breathing, however, was even and slow in her ear. "Do you feel that?" he asked silkily, and his very voice was suddenly like a skilled hand alighting in her most intimate places.
The fear, never fully receded, was returning, but manageable. "Mm-hm," she replied in a half-choked voice.
He nuzzled past her hair and purred into her ear. "I'm going to let you go. You'll behave."
He shifted again, releasing her wrists, which burned from the force of his grip. His hands drew in, running over her upper arms and coming to rest high on her sides, under her arms, his thumbs splayed across the outer swell of her breasts.
Her breathing was rapid and shallow again, but she lay still. He moved downward on the bed, his head over her stomach, and drew his hands slowly down her sides. She squirmed slightly as she felt the pressure move over her hips, down the length of her legs. His hands passed the hem of her skirt, which was bunched up around her hips, and came to rest on her bare flesh. Hermione moaned.
His hands moved up her legs, pushing her dress up as they went. They slipped past her groin, staying at the outside of her body, and slid under her dress, over her torso. She turned her head to one side, not wanting to look.
Snape began to caress her body thoroughly, started at the outermost bits and working his way in.
This was a complete change from what had come before. She experienced the dizzy, surreal thought that Snape was seducing her. The boys with whom she had fooled around had been in the biggest hurry possible to pet her as intimately as she would allow as soon as she would allow, but Snape explored her shoulders and throat, her arms and wrists, her calves and thighs and feet, and finally her stomach, sides, and back so thoroughly that she began to wonder if he was aroused at all. She was becoming increasingly so, and increasingly less inhibited and terrorized about it. She was quite shocked as she found herself writhing under his touch, trying to coax his hands with her movement to the places where her body most wanted them. She heard him chuckle and felt a rush of shame at her longing, but it was quickly washed away in the ever more powerful waves of desire. She knew that the blankets must be soaked beneath her; her thighs were certainly slippery.
Whenever she found the strength to look up, his expression was one of concentration or amusement, never of passion. She had the increasing need to see him inflamed. Hermione slowly realized that she wanted him to take her, that she was becoming ever more desperate for him to give her a far more intimate attention than he was.
"Please," she whispered, and he smiled at her knowingly, but continued to tease her by running his hands over her sides, the upper swells of her breasts, her vulnerable throat, but not over the rigid nipples that ached tightly.
"Patience," he counseled calmly, one hand cupping the side of her breast beneath the sheath of her dress, his thumb flicking nearly over its peak.
"Please," she moaned, arching into his hand. The fingers of his other hand ran through the juices coating her inner thigh, so nearly brushing her labia, then up over her stomach.
"Not... yet," he growled. The hand on her stomach slid lower, his palm nearly curving down over the light fuzz of Hermione's mons.
"Please," she begged, her whole body bowstring taut, writhing enough that she felt the brush of his fingers over her clit before he jerked his hand away.
He clucked at her disapprovingly, then got a good grip on the bunched fabric of her dress and began dragging it upward to reveal her body. She wriggled in an uncoordinated effort to help, gasping at the cool air on her hot skin. He returned to his infuriating ministrations now that she was bare.
"Please," she screamed, grabbing his hands around the wrists, not quite daring to force them to the places that wanted them, knowing she couldn't move them an inch against his will. He merely raised an eyebrow, and she yielded her grip, sobbing for relief.
He smiled down at her again and chuckled. "So needy," he commented coolly. "How needy?" he asked, and she struggled for an answer before realizing that he was finding one on his own. Her lowered his head again, kissing her lightly just below her belly button - she tingled - then lowering his head even further.
She gasped in shock as she felt his breath on the sensitive part of her body that most wanted his touch. His tongue flicked against her body - she distinctly felt it slide briefly between her labia, probe fleetingly at her in the most intimate way possible... then withdraw. His still-robed body slid upward along hers until he was again poised above her, and his hand finally found her nipple, and she sobbed with both relief and a new level of wanting.
This time she was looking into his glittering black eyes, and saw the passion that was hooded there, but real, as she cried one last, "please!"
He sat up briefly, his hands playing about his robes, then leaned over her again. Hermione was barely coherent as she felt him slide one leg between hers, then the other. He propped himself on one hand, reached down with the other, and spread her thighs gently. She raised her hips, desperate for the contact of their bodies. His eyes caught and held hers, and she felt an exultant surge of her own pleasure at the heat and desire that were now plain on his face. She felt his hardness slip along her thighs, slip between her well-lubricated labia, press insistently at the entrance of her sex.
"Hermione," said Snape hoarsely, poised to take her.
She couldn't quite answer, just looked up at him and voiced a sound of desire.
He bit his lower lip; evidently it was taking some measure of self-control to not plunge into her. She silently, desperately urged that control to slip. He held her gaze. "Do you want the pain, or do you want me to take it away?"
She fought to make sense of him. Why wasn't he inside her? "Wh-what?" she stammered.
"It will hurt, this first time. Do you want me to take the pain away?"
She froze in confusion, tears still running down the sides of her face. "I told you..." she managed to get out, before he placed a finger over her lips.
"Don't lie," he warned, his breathing a bit labored. "Just answer me. If you continue to prevaricate, I'll just take you, and you'll have the pain."
"But... but, I told you..." she insisted, her brain too addled to come to a sensible decision.
"Yes... or no?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"Professor..." she breathed, then shrieked as he rocked forward, plunging into her trembling, tight body. She writhed around him frantically, crying fiercely now, but her arms flew to his neck and she clung to him. He pinned her there on his sex, breathing hard, but didn't continue his possession.
It hurt.
"Now, silly girl, do you want me to do something about that, or keep going?" he asked dangerously.
"Keep... going," she gasped.
He obliged, and as he stroked into her again, she felt the tearing of her membranes this time, but it didn't matter. The pain was great, but in her delirium she could hardly tell where it left off and the consuming pleasure began.
The last vestiges of time and consciousness and reason dissolved as Hermione's professor made love to her. At some point she realized that Snape was now voicing his passions, and their moans mingled in the air. She later wouldn't suppose that it took that long... she didn't need it, after the desperation with which it'd began for her, and he seemed to hold off only long enough to ensure her orgasm before allowing his own. Of course, he did not just trust to fate for the former, but somehow got one palm flat against her lower stomach, his thumb quickly finding and encouraging the throbbing center of her desire, and it took only seconds for such attention to bring her to a frenzied, screaming, clinging release, as if all the pleasure and desire that had led up to her current state condensed themselves into one shining, sweating paroxysm of ecstasy.
Followed closely by his own.
He did not collapse on top of her, but rolled to the side as he withdrew from her body, drawing his robes closed again in the same motion. Hermione's eyes were glazed as she watched him... one hand absently wandered to her sensitive sex, covering herself. He rose almost immediately and stepped off to what she assumed to be a bathroom, inasmuch as she was yet thinking about such things. Sound of running water. He returned quickly, holding a crystal phial as he sat beside her on the bed, cross-legged.
She looked at the phial. "Shall I drink that?" she asked weakly.
He held it out to her, and she pushed herself up onto her elbows and raised her head. He held the phial to her lips, placing his other hand at the back of her neck, and tipped the substance down her throat. It was surprisingly pleasant, almost fruity.
Hermione looked up at Snape. He was expressionless.
"That wasn't what I expected," she said awkwardly, looking past the edge of the bed for her discarded dress.
He held her back as she made a movement toward it, waving vaguely when she looked to him. "Stay as you are. You'll need to be comfortable with that," he said quietly, and she half nodded, then sat up, wriggling to the head of the bed so that she could sit amidst his pillows. He turned to face her. She drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them. The situation was so surreal that she didn't know how to feel. If he showed some sort of reaction, she could follow his lead, but he just seemed quiet and withdrawn.
"How was that not what you expected?" he asked in the same low tone.
"I thought... I thought you'd make it as unpleasant as you could. That was... it seemed like you were trying to make me feel good," she said in a rush, watching him closely.
He smiled a bit ruefully. "You'll get plenty of both, if I'm to prepare you," he assured her. "For your first time, I saw no reason not to give you... pleasure. Though you've chosen to forego a partner with whom the act has some--" he paused awkwardly, "emotional meaning, I saw no need for it to be a completely unpleasant memory."
She looked concerned as she chewed her lip. "Professor..."
"Don't apologize," he instructed with a hint of his usual sharpness.
She looked up at him.
"I knew you were lying, fool girl. I passed the same lie along to Dumbledore. It does make the whole thing seem at least slightly less sinister, to imagine that it hasn't taken anything truly unique from you, doesn't it?"
She nodded slowly.
"Does it bother you at all that you just gave your virginity to the professor whom you most loathe?" he asked with an edge to his voice, as if challenging her to admit it.
Hermione looked uncomfortable. "I don't loathe you," she said.
He raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"I really don't," she insisted, then added slowly, "I've never liked you, but I always respected you. I don't think I could ever loathe someone who's brilliant. You're, um, unpleasant in class, but I think I've learned more from you than any other teacher. How could I loathe that?" she asked with genuine confusion. Snape stifled a laugh. The girl was serious about her inability to truly dislike anyone who had desired knowledge to offer her.
"That's helpful to know," he said thoughtfully, studying her. His tone took on some of his usual disdain as he continued. "Do not think that what you just experienced will be representative of these lessons of yours," he snapped.
Her tone was a bit hurt as she said, "I wouldn't expect that, sir. It wouldn't be very helpful, would it?"
He eyed her critically, and she fought the urge to dive for her dress. All of the gentleness that he'd displayed earlier was gone.
"Put yourself together, Miss Granger," he instructed condescendingly. "I'll want you again tomorrow night, and I'll not want you looking a fright from lack of sleep. Did you borrow Potter's cloak to get down here tonight?"
She was sliding her dress over her head, but she nodded, not trusting her voice. She felt deeply bruised, hearing this tone from him after what she'd just been through at his hands, and was determined not to cry until she got out of here.
"Take this," he said curtly, pulling a bauble on a fine chain from a pocket and tossing it to her. "Potter will get suspicious if you keep asking for that dratted thing. This won't make you invisible, but if you're quiet and unobtrusive, it will allow you to pass unnoticed. Anyone near you will find reason to be distracted from noticing you. It'll do."
She clutched it, staring at him. "Thanks," she said flatly.
"The password for my chambers is 'scholarly inquiry,'" he told her.
"Scholarly inquiry," she repeated.
He rose from the bed; evidently she wasn't getting herself to the door fast enough. She prided herself on holding the tears back well enough that she wasn't having to blink them away. Indeed, he took her arm and guided her over to the door to his office, then took the cloak in her arms and, to her surprise, settled it gently about her shoulders for her. She felt confused.
"It does not please me," he said quietly, seriously, "that my role here involves both introducing you to a new world of joys, and preparing you for the worst pains that that world has to offer. I shall strive to avoid ruining you for those future lovers who you might choose freely, but if I am not harsh enough with you, Malfoy will tear you to shreds."
Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice.
"Come to me tomorrow, and you will have nothing but unpleasantness," he promised her solemnly, and she shuddered. "But remember that when you come to me the next night, I shall discuss it with you with some... support, and I will do what I can to help you understand that unpleasantness without harm. Understand?" he asked firmly.
She nodded again; he leaned forward, and pressed his lips to her forehead in a gesture of pure affection. "Go," he whispered hoarsely.
She went.