One Final Detention
Summary: Answer to the Detention challenge issued by Shiv ... a very, very long time ago.
Rating: NC-17
A/N - Anything you recognize, I don't own. The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowlings.
See the bottom for the list of challenge requirements. I started this fic over two years ago, I think. Finally finished it in the car over the Christmas holiday.
“Of all the imbecilic things you two have dragged me into over the last seven years this ... this tops them all! What were you thinking?” Hermione Granger glared at the two young men before her, both trying desperately to stifle their laughter.
Ordinarily the sight of an obviously disgruntled witch covered in globs of rapidly melting snow would have caused Hermione to smile, if not join Harry and Ron in laughter. But not today, not when the disgruntled (and rapidly approaching furious) witch was Hermione herself.
She drew a hand across her forehead, displacing a chunk of snow that threatened to melt into her eye. The icy sludge did nothing to cool the heat of her skin as she worked herself into a frenzy. “What the hell possessed you to think it would be a good idea to summon an ice sprite in the girls’ lavatory the day before we bloody-well leave Hogwarts forever? Shut it, Ron, I’m not done yet.” She stabbed her finger at the redhead’s sternum hard enough to make him wince and to cause his wide grin to droop.
Hermione turned, arms flung wide to encompass the snow drifts in the nearby corridor, the frozen water cascade where the first toilet stall should have been (and, thanks to the mischievously dangerous sprite, now was not) and the crystalline particles still blowing around the room as the remnants of the ice sprite’s magic continued to work.
“You summoned a dangerous creature on school grounds without a thought about safety or containment or ... or ... anything! And when things got out of hand, you ran to me for help because reliable, dull Hermione has nothing better to do than save your arses.”
“It’s not too late for us to be expelled, you know.”
Harry smiled reassuringly, “We won’t get expelled, Hermione. We defeated Vold- ”
“Cram it, Harry.” She spun around to look him in the face. “You can’t really be planning to live off that for the rest of your life, can you? Besides, that may work for the Boy-Who-Lived, but Ron and I don’t have that luxury.”
“I’ve worked very hard to earn some respect in this world and I will not have you ruining that. Now, what in Merlin’s name convinced you two to perform this ... this act of stupidity?”
“An excellent question, Miss Granger. One, I must confess, that I am anxious to have answered as well.”
Hermione didn’t need the look of horror on Ron’s face to realize Professor Snape was standing behind her. She would recognize that low, sinister voice anywhere.
Slowly, she turned. Overwhelming dread at being caught - by him, especially - did more to dampen her anger than anything the boys could have said or done.
Professor Snape was standing in the open doorway, shoulder braced against the jamb, arms crossed. He looked deceptively casual for a man who held the fate of his least favorite students in the palm of his hand.
“Weasley, Potter - an explanation, if you please.” Snape’s sardonic tone left no doubt that he was asking for his own amusement, that there was no excuse they could come up with that would forestall punishment.
Ron looked to Hermione for help and found none. “Erm ... It was hot?”
Snape caught the murderous glint in Hermione’s eyes and quickly stepped between her and the boys.
“Warm though it may be, Weasley, that is no excuse for destroying school property and endangering the lives of your fellow students. Miss Granger was correct in stating that it is not too late for you all to be expelled.”
Hermione’s gasp and the look of shock on Weasley and Potter’s faces almost made up for what he was about to do, thought Snape.
“However much it would please me to be the one to send the Dream Team home in disgrace - and be positive that I would find great pleasure in it - you are leaving my sight for good tomorrow and I’m feeling generous.” He gave them a moment to consider his words.
“One final detention with Mr. Filch, boys. I’m sure he will appreciate your assistance when he attempts to root vermin out of the plumbing this evening.”
“As for you, Miss Granger. It would be a shame to waste what Professor McGonagall insists is one of the most promising young witches of this century on so menial a task.”
His words poured out like acid, making Hermione want to burst at the injustice of it all.
“You will be in my office immediately after the Leaving Feast. Do not be late.”
“Clean this up, all of you. And fifty points from Gryffindor. Apiece.”
- ~ -
Cleaning up the mess left by the ice sprite took most of the day. Hermione had barely enough time to shower and change into clean, dry clothes before the Leaving Feast.
Ron and Harry had spent the entire afternoon bemoaning their fates until she had felt her patience snap.
“Considering what he could have done, you’re getting off lightly, you twits.” Hermione had stood with her hands on her hips, and lectured them as if they were the first years they insisted on acting like. “You deserve worse. You don’t have to spend your last evening here cleaning cauldrons and Merlin knows what else for Professor Snape. At least you two get to serve your detention together.”
The boys had exchanged a look, and before she could brace herself they had pulled her to the ground and begun tickling her mercilessly.
The ensuing battle had ended with the three collapsed in a damp, giggling heap.
“We really are sorry for getting you in trouble, ‘Mione. You know that, right?” Harry had looked up at her from his resting place on her stomach, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
She had affectionately rubbed his hair before reaching back to do the same to the redhead whose belly she was using as a pillow.
“I know.”
Unfortunately, that did nothing to help her present situation.
She filled her plate automatically, lost in thought. It was only as the first forkful of potatoes approached her lips that she realized she had no appetite.
Her stomach revolted at the thought of food, and she carefully lowered the fork back to her plate.
Ron and Harry seemed to have no such trouble, the food disappearing from their plates at record speed. Getting into trouble was second nature to them. Just watching them eat was making her feel queasy.
To distract herself Hermione looked toward the High Table. Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore were talking. Before Hermione could look away, Professor McGonagall glanced toward the Gryffindor table and made eye contact. The motherly smile she wore faded into the stern press of lips Hermione had grown quite familiar with.
It seemed that word of how Gryffindor had lost a hundred and fifty points in a single afternoon had reached the professor.
Hermione quickly looked further down the table. That charlatan Trelawney was staring pensively at her plate. One thin, bone-like finger poked at the small pile of beans. Trelawney bent closer and began muttering to herself.
Wacko.
Hermione rolled her eyes and moved on to the next professor.
The professor who appeared to be watching her with the barest hint of amusement on his face.
Professor Snape tilted his head a fraction and gave a half nod in acknowledgment.
Hermione felt her throat dry up and her cheeks flush. Her nerves were shot; anxiety over her upcoming detention was playing havoc with her system.
It’s purely psychosomatic. Calm down. What are you so anxious about? He can’t hurt you. It’s three or four hours of your life and then you never have to see him again.
Oddly enough, that thought made her feel worse.
Suddenly, there was a tremendous racket from the High Table. Hermione - along with everyone else in the Great Hall - looked up in time to see Trelawney pull herself up from the floor, chair overturned. She was gasping for breath and shaking her head as if to forcibly refocus her “Inner Eye”. She didn’t seem to notice that her hand was firmly planted in the middle of her plate.
Hermione delicately snorted into her napkin.
Even Professor Snape looked concerned. He stood and attempted to right the Divination instructor’s chair at the same time as he offered his hand to her for support.
The instant he gripped her hand she uttered an inarticulate cry and fell backwards, pulling the unprepared Potions Master down with her.
They both disappeared behind the High Table, and Hermione was too stunned to laugh.
While she could not see them from her vantage point at the Gryffindor table, she could hear - even over the nervous laughter of the students who found the whole thing hilarious but were still afraid that Professor Snape would suddenly appear above the table and hex them all. The sounds of a scuffle and Trelawney’s breathless voice (no doubt issuing another dire warning) drifted through the hall, although Hermione couldn’t decipher what the “seer” was saying.
Professor Snape’s voice, however, was very clear. “Get off me, you delusional... Do. Not. Touch. Me. Ever. Again.”
He stood, the remnants of Trelawney’s dinner splattered across his robes and frock coat. He brushed himself off, straightening his coat and robes.
His icy glare effectively cut the laughter like a flipped switch. Until, that is, one final piece of kidney pie slid down his hair to land with a plop on his shoulder.
A cackling laugh split the absolute quiet of the hall, broken by sporadic wheezes for air.
Professor Snape glared at the Headmaster, whose laughter had degenerated into a fit of eerily feminine giggles. The Potions Master shook his head in disbelief before pinching the bridge of his nose as if attempting to ward off a headache.
As the rest of the Great Hall joined a rather giddy Dumbledore in laughter, Snape turned and disappeared through the door behind the High Table.
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh along with everyone else, especially when Trelawney finally poked her head up from behind the table. Her confused “Did I do something?” sent Dumbledore into another wave of giggles.
- ~ -
Severus stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. As he dried himself off, he surveyed his discarded clothing.
Not only was each piece covered in ground in food, the entire mess still carried Trelawney’s stench of incense and patchouli.
The thought of smelling like that woman for the rest of the evening had forced him into the shower even though it meant he was going to be late for tonight’s detention with Miss Granger.
He wasn’t sure why he had assigned that particular detention, why he hadn’t sentenced her to share the boys’ fate.
He had realized that the three would be leaving tomorrow and (gods willing) he would never speak to them again. Maybe it was that thought that made him give up his plans for a quiet night with a new book and a glass of port.
“There are,” he mused at his reflection as he combed the tangles out of his damp hair, “some things I would like to say to her. Some questions I would like answered.”
Simple curiosity, really. Nothing life-altering, like that over-indulged lunatic Trelawney had insinuated. He snorted at the memory. She actually had the gall to attempt her Great Prophetess farce with him.
He repeated her cryptic words to the man in the mirror, face scrunched up and eyes open wide in a cruel parody of the Divination instructor.
“What coldness masked, heat shall reveal. Voices rise in anger. Wounds bleed anew. The Serpent touches flame, and burns as a phoenix. The Lion gasps in silence, forever altered.”
He finished shoving the soiled clothing into his hamper, talking to himself the entire time.
“What does that even mean? Forever altered, does she think I was planning to murder the girl?”
He cast one last look at the mirror, pausing to make sure there were no little bits of dinner clinging to his teeth.
“I’m surprised she pulled her head out of that cloud of incense long enough to find out about Miss Granger’s detention in the first place.”
- ~ -
Hermione stood in the hall outside Professor Snape’s office trying not to fidget. She’d been waiting for at least a quarter of an hour with nary a thing to distract her overactive mind from the imminent detention.
All assignments were turned in long ago. Tests taken. Nothing, really, to do but contemplate the next few hours and Professor Snape’s uncharacteristic tardiness.
Obviously it was a ploy to increase her unease.
She pushed down the urge to pace or lean against the wall or do anything to work off the nervous energy. She wasn’t going to show any outward sign that his tactic was working.
Hermione pulled her school robes closer to ward off the chill. Odd, how even in the warmest parts of the year, the ambient air of the dungeons is always so cold.
The muscles in her legs were beginning to ache from being locked in one place for so long. Hermione gave in and leaned against the wall for support, the initial chill of the stone causing her to jump.
That’s it. He’s got five more minutes and then I’m leaving.
She stared down the corridor as if willing Professor Snape to step out of the shadows.
Her classmates were probably having the time of their lives while she was stuck here waiting for ... for what?
Hermione realized that if she was to wash cauldrons all evening he would have sent her to the Potions classroom. The same held true for restocking the supply closet.
So what am I going to have to do?
She was so busy trying to imagine what new horror Snape had in store for her that she almost didn’t notice the faint tingle from the stones pressed against her back. Hermione realized the wards on the office door were dropping just seconds before the door creaked open an inch or two.
“Come in, Miss Granger.”
She felt her jaw drop and snapped her mouth closed in anger. What a jerk. He’s been sitting in there the whole time.
She marched into his office prepared to give him a piece of her mind - consequences be damned - and stopped just a few feet past the door.
Professor Snape was in the middle of the room, carefully using his wand to direct a chair past the maze of apparatus-covered tables to rest directly in front of his desk.
His teaching robes were missing, as was his customary frock coat. Instead he was wearing a dark (Black? Blue?) button down shirt tucked into black trousers. His boots had been replaced with a pair of black leather loafers.
Even counting the rare occurrences when Hermione had occasion to see him wearing something other than his robes, she had never seen him look so ... casual.
Professor Snape finished moving the chair and turned to face her, wand tucked away so quickly she didn’t see where it had gone.
“I must apologize for my tardiness, Miss Granger. The incident at the Leaving Feast, which I’m sure you witnessed, necessitated a visit to my chambers. Please, sit.” He pointed to the chair he had just moved and crossed to take his place behind his desk.
Hermione blinked. Had he just ... did Snape apologize? While her brain tried to adjust to the unfamiliar concept, Professor Snape scowled.
He pointed to the chair once more. “Sit.”
She quickly crossed the room and perched on the edge of the seat, her mind still in chaos due to the odd behavior exhibited by her instructor.
Professor Snape had been a safe constant in her life for seven years. Others were inclined to love you one week, hate you the next. Even the boys had times when they were angry or upset or cruel with her.
But Professor Snape was always the same, never a kind word or a hint of praise. She never had to worry about hurting his feelings or doing something to cheer him up, because it wasn’t possible.
They had reached a truce of sorts over the last few years. She stopped trying to prove herself to him and he stopped punishing her for it. She had finally realized that he understood what she was capable of, that the complex side projects he assigned her were proof of his trust in her abilities. That meant more than any hollow words of praise from his lips could ever mean.
The man sitting before her had stepped out of his acceptable role and done something unexpected. It was disconcerting.
“If you could refrain from gawking at me like an exhibit in a sideshow, Miss Granger, I would like to begin.”
And suddenly, all was once again right with the world.
“Pardon me, sir, but I’m a little confused as to the nature of my detention.”
“How so?” With one brow arched and his head slightly tilted in an inquisitive manner, Snape reminded her of a predatory bird.
I’m sure his nose has nothing to do with the resemblance. Right, Hermione?
“Well, usually your detentions involve scrubbing filthy equipment or restocking supplies and those take place in the classroom.”
He studied her for a moment before pulling himself closer to his desk and placing both hands flat on the surface. “Correct, most of the detentions I personally enforce are of the nature you described. However, I thought I made it clear this afternoon that you would not be doing any such thing. Had I wanted to waste your intellect on trivial labor I would have sent you off to share Potter and Weasley’s fate.”
Hermione felt her stomach roll. “So what am I going to be doing?”
“You are going to answer a few questions. You will answer them honestly and to the best of your abilities or I will be forced to find something far worse than rooting out vermin for you to do. Do you agree?”
There was definitely a catch somewhere, Hermione was sure of it. “What if you hear something you don’t like?”
Professor Snape looked surprised for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. Suspicion was heavy in his voice. “Afraid you’re going to admit something that’s going to get you or your friends in deeper trouble?”
Hermione chose not to answer.
Snape waited a moment to see if she was going to respond. “Fine. I will agree not to punish any petty infractions you may have committed in favor of receiving completely truthful answers.”
“Petty by whose definition?”
He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
“I’m going to regret asking this, but what would your definition be?”
Hermione leaned forward, nearly unable to believe that she was actually negotiating terms for her punishment. They both knew perfectly well that Snape had the authority to assign any reasonable punishment without her prior agreement. So what was he up to? What was he trying to find out?
“Promise you won’t punish anything that did not directly lead to severe injury, maiming or death ... and I’ll truthfully and to the best of my abilities answer anything you ask.”
His hands shifted to cup his chin; one nearly solid black eye popped open and studied her over the top of his fingers. The lower half of his face was hidden by his hands, but Hermione thought she saw a hint of a smile for a split-second.
“I’ll swear on my wand.” She could tell he was weakening.
Snape dropped his hands and leaned toward her, his gaze seeming to catch and hold hers. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Granger, I’ll know if you lie.”
He looked down to study the fingers of one hand and Hermione was glad of the broken eye contact. For a moment she had felt the barest hint of pressure in the back of her mind, a reminder (Warning.) that Professor Snape could reach in and take whatever information he wanted with little or no trouble.
“I agree to your terms.”
Hermione felt a momentary rush of victory. Of course, he’d only given in because it suited his purpose, and he obviously didn’t think there was anything too horrendous for her to confess. Still, she felt like dancing in her chair.
The question was what unsolved mystery from the past seven years was he going to ask about?
He lowered his hands and studied her for a moment, as if he was collecting his thoughts.
“Why are you so compelled to let Messrs. Potter and Weasley take advantage of you? Longbottom as well, for that matter.”
Not what I was expecting.
Hermione opened her mouth to answer and found that she didn’t know what to say.
“Advantage? Use me, sir? I don’t understand the question.”
“How many times have you told Potter and Weasley where to find the answer to an assignment, because they were too busy to find it themselves? Too busy discussing Quidditch plays, perhaps. Or wizard’s chess. Or girls.”
“How often do you come to their aid when they have gotten themselves into trouble?”
“Do you lie for them?”
He leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face. He obviously knew the answer to that particular question already. “Why? What do you get out of this parasitic relationship?”
Hermione had a feeling he wasn’t going to like her answer. “They’re my friends; that’s reason enough.”
He was out of his chair and around the desk before she could blink. She barely managed to stay seated as he stopped directly in front of her chair. He was angry. It was apparent in the way he held his body, the clipped way he bit off his words, but his face showed nothing.
“Friends.” He spit the word out like it was a vulgarity. “Your friends use you, Miss Granger.” He settled his hips against the desk, his hands griping the edge so tightly she could see his knuckles whiten.
Hermione started to shake her head in denial and one of his hands gripped her jaw. His hold wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but strong enough to keep her immobile. As if she could move anyway, she froze the second his fingers made contact with her skin.
“They use you, because they know you expect it. You think the only thing you have to offer someone is your intellect. You believe that you have to provide the answers to be worthy of their friendship. I’ve seen it before.”
“That’s not true. It’s ...” His thumb slipped from its place along her cheek to press against her lips, silencing her.
“Do they get angry when you decline to give them an easy answer? Do they refuse to speak to you when you won’t help? Only to come rushing back to your side the moment they need another favor?”
Her moist breath blew against his thumb in rapid pants. His hand felt as if it was burning from the heat of her skin. He pulled away quickly. Touching her had been a mistake, an aberration that should never have occurred.
She wanted to deny it, tell him that it wasn’t true, that Harry and Ron would like her if she wasn’t smart. But there had been too many lonely meals, too many early morning revelations about late night excursions she had not been invited to, too many instances like today where she wasn’t called for until something needed fixed or banished.
“Harry and Ron and Neville ... That’s not the only reason they talk to me.” Her tone was defiant, but Snape could hear the undertone of uncertainty.
“You are correct, that isn’t the only reason. There are others, I’m sure. After all, even I have witnessed the way they look at you.”
Hermione very much wanted to remove that all-knowing smirk from his lips. Surely he wasn’t insinuating ...
“Come now, Miss Granger, you can’t say you haven’t noticed. Haven’t secretly rejoiced in the knowledge that they find you attractive.”
She looked startled. Could she really not know?
Hermione felt ill. This wasn’t happening. “Why are you doing this to me? You know I’m just one of the boys to them. I am aware of my appearance, Professor, I do not appreciate your efforts to mock me.” She was practically shouting, her skin flushed.
Snape grasped her arms and pulled her up, out of the chair. He looked as if he wanted to shake her, and she braced herself for the assault.
“I have seen it myself, Miss Granger. I’ve seen the way they stop talking to watch you walk past. Seen them watch you eat from the corner of their eyes. Watch droplets of perspiration trail down your neck into your décolletage as you work over a boiling cauldron. The way you nibble on your quill as you ponder your next sentence. The way you bite your lower lip when you’re preoccupied or nervous, until the need to soothe that lip with their tongue is almost too much to resist.” His voice faded into a groan, and she realized his gaze was on her mouth.
Where her lower lip was trapped between her teeth. Without thought, her tongue slid out to run across the slightly swollen flesh.
His hands contracted, pulling her forward and off balance, forcing her to grasp handfuls of his shirt or risk falling. She opened her mouth to protest, and his lips cut off her voice.
His lips were warm and soft, she hadn’t thought they would be soft.
As his tongue swept across her lower lip, his hands curled into her hair as if to hold her in place. They weren’t needed; Hermione had no intention of going anywhere. Not while those lips and that wonderful tongue, which was finally seeking entrance to her mouth, were causing that light-headed feeling of excitement.
She pressed closer, one hand sliding up to wrap her fingers into his slightly damp hair. She used her newfound leverage to pull him nearer, her tongue greeting his, before pushing into his mouth to explore.
Someone whimpered, and she wasn’t positive it was her.
Snape pulled back, his breathing heavy and rapid. “We shouldn’t do this. We can’t do this. It’s not ...”
“Shut up.” Hermione pressed forward onto the balls of her feet until her lips collided with his once again. She used the weight of her body to force him to sit on the desk. His arms closed around her. One hand cupped her rear, pulling her to him, and she used the momentum to brace one knee on the desk near his hip.
Teeth nipped sharply at the lobe of her ear, causing Hermione to jerk back. “Manners.” The heavy-lidded way he was studying her took some of the sting out of the reprimand.
“I apologize, Prof ...” Hermione suddenly had no idea how to address him. Somehow she just couldn’t call the man pressed so intimately against her “Professor” or “sir.”
His hold on her body began to loosen. “Beginning to see reason, Miss Granger? The sheer idiocy of what we - Fuck ...” His words sputtered to a halt as Hermione slid a hand between them to cup his arousal.
“I said. Shut. Up.” She didn’t give him a chance to protest before renewing her assault on his mouth.
Her mind was screaming. She was kissing Professor Snape. Snape! She had her hand pressed against his cock. His very, very interested but, regrettably, fully covered cock. Hermione wanted closer, but her hand was still trapped between their bodies. If she tilted her hips just so ...
Snape’s fingers closed around her wrist, dragging her hand away from between them. Her disappointed whimper turned into a squeal of surprise as Snape gripped her waist and stood, quickly reversing their positions. Hermione suddenly found herself sitting on the edge of his desk, her feet not quite reaching the ground.
His long fingers were plucking at the material of her robes and she quickly moved to help him. As the robes parted and his hand slid in to mold against the curve of her breast, Snape nudged his beak of a nose against her ear. “Are you sure?”
His thumb flicked across her peaked nipple. “Gods, yes.”
Hermione clumsily reached behind her and pushed everything she could touch to the side of the desk. Something broke as it hit the ground. Snape tried to see what it was, but she tangled her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth back to her neck. “I’ll pay to fix that. Later.”
He chuckled into the hollow of her throat and began to pop open the buttons of her blouse. Hermione wanted to reciprocate - she really did - but every time her hands shifted from where they were massaging his scalp, his hands cupped the weight of her breasts or caressed her nipples and she had to hold on or risk sliding off the desk in a boneless heap.
Finally her shirt was open, and she let her robes and shirt slip off her shoulders. Hermione felt the heat of a blush stain her cheeks as Snape stepped back and looked at her simple white cotton bra. She almost stammered an apology, but it wasn’t as if she had gotten dressed with seduction in mind.
Slowly he knelt down and parted the front fastening of her bra. She shivered as he drew the material away and the cold dungeon air hit her sensitive skin. Then his lips closed around one peak and she thought she was going to implode. It had been so long since someone had touched her like that.
- ~ -
Severus had given them both more than one chance to end this and now it was past the point of bowing out gracefully. They were mutually culpable for what was happening, but that knowledge did little to soothe his conscience.
A sharp gasp, followed by what had to be the most intoxicating moan he had ever heard, came from above him and the right or wrong of it no longer mattered.
The tip of his tongue flicked against her nipple and her hands jerked, tugging at his damp hair. Severus liked her response and flicked his tongue again. Contrary to what many believed, he was aware of the principle behind positive reinforcement and could utilize it when the need arose.
She was shifting restlessly, perched on the edge of his desk, cradling his body between the vee of her legs. Severus ran the palms of his hands lightly up her sides under the bunched garments still hanging off her arms, marveling once more at the sight and feel of her. She wasn’t thin or particularly muscular - if anything he could see the hint of softness he’d noticed in her face was present elsewhere - but Severus found the softness appealing. It was a sharp contrast to the hard, angular women he dealt with when he was away from the school.
Long-fingered hands slid lower, stroking against the soft material of her skirt before sliding underneath. The skin there was warmer, the muscles of her thighs quivering at his touch. Granger - Hermione tensed when his thumb stroked inward and slipped beneath the edge of her knickers. Severus hesitated, unsure if the reaction was meant to encourage him to stop, or not to.
He lifted his chin to find her watching him intently, that lower lip caught between her teeth once more. Another finger joined the first and her breath huffed out with sharp nod of consent.
She was aroused and wet to the touch as Severus gently parted her cleft. Only an ignoramus would have been surprised, but there was still that insidious bit of doubt that had whispered through his mind. He took great enjoyment in the way that doubt seemed to fold in on itself with each gasp that escaped her lips. The tip of his finger brushed against her bundle of nerves and she nearly came off the top of the desk.
- ~ -
Hermione bit her lip hard, breathing heavily through her nose, hands no longer touching him at all because they were supporting her as she leaned the upper half of her body away to give him more room to do ... what she really hoped he would do. Her robes and blouse were still tangled around her arms and she struggled to free them without falling backward or sliding off the desk.
“No! Don’t sto-“ The husky cry died on her lips as he removed his touch only to use both hands to draw her knickers down her thighs. The look he gave her, amused and daring her to protest, brought a dull heat to her skin. Seemingly all of it.
With the removal of her plain cotton knickers - thank the fates that she had bothered to change into something clean after the helping the boys restore the loo - Hermione found herself at a disadvantage. She was splayed across his desk in only her skirt and socks - her shoes had been kicked off at some point prior although she couldn’t be sure when - and he was still fully dressed. This was not acceptable as far as she was concerned.
Even as he leaned forward, urging her to spread her thighs so that he could - oh Merlin, he was - Hermione was weakly pushing him away. And pulling him back. And pushing him away. The dexterous tongue bathing her clit was beginning to make it impossible to do anything other than feel.
- ~ -
Fingers speared through his hair, urging him closer and then away. Severus was trying to follow the signals she was giving him; trying to make this encounter well worth the risk they were taking and the perplexing woman was confusing him. The tableau before him was fascinating and he would have been more than willing to take the time to bring her pleasure but for the annoying tugging on his hair and the soft “Wait - no - yes - oh - wait” that continued to pour forth from her mouth like some kind of mantra.
He leaned back on his heels and glared up at her.
“What are you trying to tell me, woman? Make up your mind. Do you want this or not?” So help me I am this close to Obliviating her and tossing her out in the hall and pretending this night never happened. So very close.
“You’re still dressed.” Hermione sat up, panting ever so slightly.
“That’s what the hair pulling was about? My clothing?” He couldn’t help feeling offended. Due to living at the school most of the year and his reputation, Severus didn’t have the chance to bed a woman as often as he would have liked, but he hadn’t realized that his technique was so lacking.
It could be worse, Severus. She could have interrupted the sex act to explain that she’d just discovered the lost answer to an Arithmancy proof as Vector did the one and only time you attempted to bed her.
That was a memory he never wished to experience ever again.
- ~ -
If she didn’t suspect it was a physical impossibility, Hermione would have thought that he was - blushing? Maybe he’s just really, really upset?
She slid off the desk and reached behind her to the fastening of her skirt. He can be as upset as he wants but I’m not leaving until I get shagged. Not now. The material slid to the floor and she stepped out of it, leaving her bare from the socks upward.
Looking down at him kneeling at her feet made her shiver with a rush of excitement, especially the way he seemed to be taking in each bit of her with his gaze. Almost like a caress.
“I want to touch you.” Miraculously her voice came out sure and strong.
He nodded once and stood. Hermione couldn’t help but be impressed with the graceful way he moved. She moistened her lips as he stood there, one eyebrow arched as he looked down at her. When he made no move to begin removing his clothing she understood. She’d interrupted him and now it was her responsibility to move things along.
Hermione took a deep breath and reached for the first of the buttons. Concentrating on keeping her hands from trembling, she almost missed the first tell-tale hints of skin being uncovered bit by bit as the shirt began to part.
Pale and marred by a few traces of ancient scar tissue, his chest wasn’t the toned musculature found in one of those magazines the girls in the dorm had giggled over, but Hermione was pleased nevertheless. As she pulled the shirt tail free of his trousers she couldn’t help thinking this was the body of a real man who had more important things to worry about than how he looked or what exercises would make which parts of his body bulge the most. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and realized that he had been watching her closely the entire time, dark eyes studying her face for something.
Maybe he’s worried I’ll be disappointed?
Even as she knew she had to be mistaken, Hermione leaned forward to press her lips against his chest. Both hands fell to his waist and began to fumble with the fastenings of his trousers as her chaste kisses changed; lips opening so that her tongue could sample the taste of his skin, the edge of her teeth gently grazing a male nipple. That brought a rumbling groan from him, and Hermione quickly moved to repeat the action.
Suddenly his larger hands were tangling with hers, urging her fingers out of the way. Before she could protest the material under her hands parted and he was pushing trousers and boxers past his hips urgently.
Heated skin thrust up into her palm, and they both gasped at the unexpected contact.
Hermione lifted her head. His cheeks were flushed with heat, eyes heavy-lidded and glittering as they watched her. Her fingers closed around his length and stroked. Again his hand reached between them, this time to pull hers away completely.
“Are you on the potion?”
Not the most romantic, or even erotic, thing he could have uttered at this point in time, but vital.
“Of course, my two best friends act like their penises were a blessing from the gods and should be worshiped at every opportunity with any willing female. If that’s not enough to traumatize me into making sure I’m on birth control I don’t know what would. I’m also on the pill, if that makes any difference.”
His ardor began to cool at the reference to Potter and Weasley.
Hermione noticed and arched her brow in a fair imitation of the look he’d given her earlier. She moistened her lips again, this time intentionally to draw his attention to her mouth. Her hand trailed down to brush against his erection again. “Now?”
- ~ -
“Not yet,” he gasped.
Severus toed off his shoes and bent to wrap his arms around Hermione’s waist. With great care, he stepped out of the clothing bunched around his ankles and set her atop his already cleared desk.
“Excellent initiative,” he praised, stepping between her parted legs until they were pressed together from chest to groin. The contact of fevered flesh made his jaw clench to keep from groaning.
So long. Too long.
Hermione’s mouth on his skin had nearly driven away the last of his control, and Severus knew the reserves he’d found would soon expire. His only hope was to hold off the inevitable long enough to bring her to orgasm or to at least retain some sort of sanity after his own so that he could make an attempt after the fact. The way she was rubbing against him and moaning was doing nothing to aid his efforts.
Severus took a deep breath, inhaling the scent that would forever be associated with this encounter in his mind, and kissed her. His hand moved across her skin, skimming tender flesh as he eased Hermione down to the desktop.
He freed her mouth and brushed his lips against the line of her throat and lower to the soft curve of her breast. Her fingers speared through his hair, urging him closer. This was a cue Severus could follow. Lips parted around a budded nipple, teeth gently scraping the flesh.
- ~ -
Hermione sighed as his tongue played across her skin. She had never been particularly adventurous during her few couplings with other men, preferring the comfort of a cushioned surface and complete privacy. This was a new experience - dangerous and exciting, although just the tiniest bit uncomfortable - and Hermione found that she liked it.
She would like it even more if he’d stop tormenting her.
Squirming until she could reach his arse with her hand, Hermione dug her fingers into a cheek and lifted her hips. So close.
“Now?”
- ~ -
“Now,” Severus gasped in agreement, unable to deny the need racing through his blood. He bent his knees and shifted, slowly sinking into the wet heat of her.
The room was silent other than Hermione’s soft gasping breaths.
Then Severus began to move, long strokes that made Hermione arch her back and bite her lower lip. His mouth crushed against hers, his movements quickly becoming more desperate as his pleasure built.
He braced one hand against the desktop and insinuated the other between them to stimulate her clit. His jaw clenched, and Severus knew he was close.
She began to tremble beneath him, both of her legs coming up to cradle his hips. Her nails raked at his back as she stiffened, and Severus felt the first tremors of her orgasm begin to grip at his cock.
Her name was on the tip of his tongue. Severus bit it back, thrusting hard as his own climax began.
This, as forbidden as it was, could be justified in his mind, but the intimacy of speaking her given name during the act would be unforgivable.
- ~ -
She was the first to recover, relaxing her hands to stroke him rather than digging her nails into his back. Slowly her legs lowered to dangle awkwardly over the edge of the desk and she thought about asking him to move, but he had his head pillowed upon her breasts and Hermione had never seen him look so ... content.
It would have to end, and soon, but for now Hermione just wanted to let the moment warm them both.
- ~ -
Settling back into her favorite chair with a glass of sherry, Sybil Trelawney felt at peace. It had taken years, but she had finally gotten back at Severus in her own subtle way. “He won’t be able to call me a fake after tonight, will he, precious?” she crooned to the overweight lump of fur Sybil claimed was a cat.
The fact that Granger, who made no bones about her contempt for the art of divination as well, was the instrument of Sybil’s vengeance only made the whole thing sweeter.
The signs had all been there for months, the stones had been thrown numerous times and the results were always variables of the same answer - for some inexplicable reason the pair were doomed to connect. Who could blame her for taking advantage of the forewarning to stage a little “prophetic” magic of her own?
~*~
The Detention Challenge from Shiv
**Requirements**
* The basic requirement is that Hermione should have Detention with Snape and be shagged into the middle of next week.
*The second requirement is that it should be hot enough to melt the screen, and if it is printed out will cause the paper to spontaneously combust.
*To avoid the issue about the morality of the student-teacher sex, it is almost her last day in school, and the exams are over and marked.
*Shiv’s preferences:
1. Hermione shall not trip along to the detention in the expectation of a shag. She will be expecting detention. She is most likely rather annoyed about getting detention. This will mean she gets a Lovely Surprise. She will also be attending wearing all her underwear, and regulation robes and skirt length.
2. The detention will not consist of Professor Snape getting Hermione to bend over to clean a cauldron such that he can ogle her firm, ripe, melony, pert, cute, rounded, whatthehellever buttocks. Nor will there be a cliched sentence about Severus realizing that Hermione has grown into a woman, with accompanying descriptions of “curves in all the right places”.
3. The sex will be physically possible. Severus will be a normal length and size and colour. There should be no extra pair of hands. Impossibly long fingers reaching into wombs. There will be no kissing until the parties are unable to breathe - that is what noses are for. If necessary draw a diagram and work out who is doing what to whom, and how. Illustrations are always welcome, for those who like to draw.
4. Hermione will not be a virgin, therefore she will not be shocked at what she finds under those robes. Neither will Severus be a virgin. We don’t need to know who their previous shags were, and there shall be no references to “Ron didn’t manage to make her feel like this.” Severus is, however, a Sex God, otherwise what is the point.
5. Hermione still has frizzy hair and not cascading curls. Severus still has a big nose. His hair might not be greasy - as he could have had a wash before the shag - but it will not be silky close up, “Gosh, everyone has been wrong about his hair all along”.
6. Forbidden Phrases. There will be no:
- feminine cores
- throbbing manhoods, rods, shafts, or anything that sounds like it belongs on a car
- Purple-headed love-mushrooms
- Shutters - they are large wooden objects on houses, and nothing to do with sex at all. Shudder is allowable but why not try something new - trembling, shivering, quivering, quaking, etc.
- No Sev, Sevvie, Sevviekins, Greasy Git, Know-it-all, overgrown bat - I’m tired of seeing them
- Severus will not announce to Hermione that she is so hot and tight, when sliding his throbbing manhood between her slick folds (and there’s another, no slick folds); and preferably should not announce that she is all wet for him, unless this is done with style and flair.
- No releasing a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.
- Neither should Hermione lap up his ejaculate eagerly, and he definitely shouldn’t be lapping up his own ejaculate - some of us read this stuff in the mornings and eat porridge and that kind of visual can result in people being unable to write smut for simply weeks.
Rating: NC-17
A/N - Anything you recognize, I don't own. The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowlings.
See the bottom for the list of challenge requirements. I started this fic over two years ago, I think. Finally finished it in the car over the Christmas holiday.
“Of all the imbecilic things you two have dragged me into over the last seven years this ... this tops them all! What were you thinking?” Hermione Granger glared at the two young men before her, both trying desperately to stifle their laughter.
Ordinarily the sight of an obviously disgruntled witch covered in globs of rapidly melting snow would have caused Hermione to smile, if not join Harry and Ron in laughter. But not today, not when the disgruntled (and rapidly approaching furious) witch was Hermione herself.
She drew a hand across her forehead, displacing a chunk of snow that threatened to melt into her eye. The icy sludge did nothing to cool the heat of her skin as she worked herself into a frenzy. “What the hell possessed you to think it would be a good idea to summon an ice sprite in the girls’ lavatory the day before we bloody-well leave Hogwarts forever? Shut it, Ron, I’m not done yet.” She stabbed her finger at the redhead’s sternum hard enough to make him wince and to cause his wide grin to droop.
Hermione turned, arms flung wide to encompass the snow drifts in the nearby corridor, the frozen water cascade where the first toilet stall should have been (and, thanks to the mischievously dangerous sprite, now was not) and the crystalline particles still blowing around the room as the remnants of the ice sprite’s magic continued to work.
“You summoned a dangerous creature on school grounds without a thought about safety or containment or ... or ... anything! And when things got out of hand, you ran to me for help because reliable, dull Hermione has nothing better to do than save your arses.”
“It’s not too late for us to be expelled, you know.”
Harry smiled reassuringly, “We won’t get expelled, Hermione. We defeated Vold- ”
“Cram it, Harry.” She spun around to look him in the face. “You can’t really be planning to live off that for the rest of your life, can you? Besides, that may work for the Boy-Who-Lived, but Ron and I don’t have that luxury.”
“I’ve worked very hard to earn some respect in this world and I will not have you ruining that. Now, what in Merlin’s name convinced you two to perform this ... this act of stupidity?”
“An excellent question, Miss Granger. One, I must confess, that I am anxious to have answered as well.”
Hermione didn’t need the look of horror on Ron’s face to realize Professor Snape was standing behind her. She would recognize that low, sinister voice anywhere.
Slowly, she turned. Overwhelming dread at being caught - by him, especially - did more to dampen her anger than anything the boys could have said or done.
Professor Snape was standing in the open doorway, shoulder braced against the jamb, arms crossed. He looked deceptively casual for a man who held the fate of his least favorite students in the palm of his hand.
“Weasley, Potter - an explanation, if you please.” Snape’s sardonic tone left no doubt that he was asking for his own amusement, that there was no excuse they could come up with that would forestall punishment.
Ron looked to Hermione for help and found none. “Erm ... It was hot?”
Snape caught the murderous glint in Hermione’s eyes and quickly stepped between her and the boys.
“Warm though it may be, Weasley, that is no excuse for destroying school property and endangering the lives of your fellow students. Miss Granger was correct in stating that it is not too late for you all to be expelled.”
Hermione’s gasp and the look of shock on Weasley and Potter’s faces almost made up for what he was about to do, thought Snape.
“However much it would please me to be the one to send the Dream Team home in disgrace - and be positive that I would find great pleasure in it - you are leaving my sight for good tomorrow and I’m feeling generous.” He gave them a moment to consider his words.
“One final detention with Mr. Filch, boys. I’m sure he will appreciate your assistance when he attempts to root vermin out of the plumbing this evening.”
“As for you, Miss Granger. It would be a shame to waste what Professor McGonagall insists is one of the most promising young witches of this century on so menial a task.”
His words poured out like acid, making Hermione want to burst at the injustice of it all.
“You will be in my office immediately after the Leaving Feast. Do not be late.”
“Clean this up, all of you. And fifty points from Gryffindor. Apiece.”
- ~ -
Cleaning up the mess left by the ice sprite took most of the day. Hermione had barely enough time to shower and change into clean, dry clothes before the Leaving Feast.
Ron and Harry had spent the entire afternoon bemoaning their fates until she had felt her patience snap.
“Considering what he could have done, you’re getting off lightly, you twits.” Hermione had stood with her hands on her hips, and lectured them as if they were the first years they insisted on acting like. “You deserve worse. You don’t have to spend your last evening here cleaning cauldrons and Merlin knows what else for Professor Snape. At least you two get to serve your detention together.”
The boys had exchanged a look, and before she could brace herself they had pulled her to the ground and begun tickling her mercilessly.
The ensuing battle had ended with the three collapsed in a damp, giggling heap.
“We really are sorry for getting you in trouble, ‘Mione. You know that, right?” Harry had looked up at her from his resting place on her stomach, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
She had affectionately rubbed his hair before reaching back to do the same to the redhead whose belly she was using as a pillow.
“I know.”
Unfortunately, that did nothing to help her present situation.
She filled her plate automatically, lost in thought. It was only as the first forkful of potatoes approached her lips that she realized she had no appetite.
Her stomach revolted at the thought of food, and she carefully lowered the fork back to her plate.
Ron and Harry seemed to have no such trouble, the food disappearing from their plates at record speed. Getting into trouble was second nature to them. Just watching them eat was making her feel queasy.
To distract herself Hermione looked toward the High Table. Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore were talking. Before Hermione could look away, Professor McGonagall glanced toward the Gryffindor table and made eye contact. The motherly smile she wore faded into the stern press of lips Hermione had grown quite familiar with.
It seemed that word of how Gryffindor had lost a hundred and fifty points in a single afternoon had reached the professor.
Hermione quickly looked further down the table. That charlatan Trelawney was staring pensively at her plate. One thin, bone-like finger poked at the small pile of beans. Trelawney bent closer and began muttering to herself.
Wacko.
Hermione rolled her eyes and moved on to the next professor.
The professor who appeared to be watching her with the barest hint of amusement on his face.
Professor Snape tilted his head a fraction and gave a half nod in acknowledgment.
Hermione felt her throat dry up and her cheeks flush. Her nerves were shot; anxiety over her upcoming detention was playing havoc with her system.
It’s purely psychosomatic. Calm down. What are you so anxious about? He can’t hurt you. It’s three or four hours of your life and then you never have to see him again.
Oddly enough, that thought made her feel worse.
Suddenly, there was a tremendous racket from the High Table. Hermione - along with everyone else in the Great Hall - looked up in time to see Trelawney pull herself up from the floor, chair overturned. She was gasping for breath and shaking her head as if to forcibly refocus her “Inner Eye”. She didn’t seem to notice that her hand was firmly planted in the middle of her plate.
Hermione delicately snorted into her napkin.
Even Professor Snape looked concerned. He stood and attempted to right the Divination instructor’s chair at the same time as he offered his hand to her for support.
The instant he gripped her hand she uttered an inarticulate cry and fell backwards, pulling the unprepared Potions Master down with her.
They both disappeared behind the High Table, and Hermione was too stunned to laugh.
While she could not see them from her vantage point at the Gryffindor table, she could hear - even over the nervous laughter of the students who found the whole thing hilarious but were still afraid that Professor Snape would suddenly appear above the table and hex them all. The sounds of a scuffle and Trelawney’s breathless voice (no doubt issuing another dire warning) drifted through the hall, although Hermione couldn’t decipher what the “seer” was saying.
Professor Snape’s voice, however, was very clear. “Get off me, you delusional... Do. Not. Touch. Me. Ever. Again.”
He stood, the remnants of Trelawney’s dinner splattered across his robes and frock coat. He brushed himself off, straightening his coat and robes.
His icy glare effectively cut the laughter like a flipped switch. Until, that is, one final piece of kidney pie slid down his hair to land with a plop on his shoulder.
A cackling laugh split the absolute quiet of the hall, broken by sporadic wheezes for air.
Professor Snape glared at the Headmaster, whose laughter had degenerated into a fit of eerily feminine giggles. The Potions Master shook his head in disbelief before pinching the bridge of his nose as if attempting to ward off a headache.
As the rest of the Great Hall joined a rather giddy Dumbledore in laughter, Snape turned and disappeared through the door behind the High Table.
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh along with everyone else, especially when Trelawney finally poked her head up from behind the table. Her confused “Did I do something?” sent Dumbledore into another wave of giggles.
- ~ -
Severus stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. As he dried himself off, he surveyed his discarded clothing.
Not only was each piece covered in ground in food, the entire mess still carried Trelawney’s stench of incense and patchouli.
The thought of smelling like that woman for the rest of the evening had forced him into the shower even though it meant he was going to be late for tonight’s detention with Miss Granger.
He wasn’t sure why he had assigned that particular detention, why he hadn’t sentenced her to share the boys’ fate.
He had realized that the three would be leaving tomorrow and (gods willing) he would never speak to them again. Maybe it was that thought that made him give up his plans for a quiet night with a new book and a glass of port.
“There are,” he mused at his reflection as he combed the tangles out of his damp hair, “some things I would like to say to her. Some questions I would like answered.”
Simple curiosity, really. Nothing life-altering, like that over-indulged lunatic Trelawney had insinuated. He snorted at the memory. She actually had the gall to attempt her Great Prophetess farce with him.
He repeated her cryptic words to the man in the mirror, face scrunched up and eyes open wide in a cruel parody of the Divination instructor.
“What coldness masked, heat shall reveal. Voices rise in anger. Wounds bleed anew. The Serpent touches flame, and burns as a phoenix. The Lion gasps in silence, forever altered.”
He finished shoving the soiled clothing into his hamper, talking to himself the entire time.
“What does that even mean? Forever altered, does she think I was planning to murder the girl?”
He cast one last look at the mirror, pausing to make sure there were no little bits of dinner clinging to his teeth.
“I’m surprised she pulled her head out of that cloud of incense long enough to find out about Miss Granger’s detention in the first place.”
- ~ -
Hermione stood in the hall outside Professor Snape’s office trying not to fidget. She’d been waiting for at least a quarter of an hour with nary a thing to distract her overactive mind from the imminent detention.
All assignments were turned in long ago. Tests taken. Nothing, really, to do but contemplate the next few hours and Professor Snape’s uncharacteristic tardiness.
Obviously it was a ploy to increase her unease.
She pushed down the urge to pace or lean against the wall or do anything to work off the nervous energy. She wasn’t going to show any outward sign that his tactic was working.
Hermione pulled her school robes closer to ward off the chill. Odd, how even in the warmest parts of the year, the ambient air of the dungeons is always so cold.
The muscles in her legs were beginning to ache from being locked in one place for so long. Hermione gave in and leaned against the wall for support, the initial chill of the stone causing her to jump.
That’s it. He’s got five more minutes and then I’m leaving.
She stared down the corridor as if willing Professor Snape to step out of the shadows.
Her classmates were probably having the time of their lives while she was stuck here waiting for ... for what?
Hermione realized that if she was to wash cauldrons all evening he would have sent her to the Potions classroom. The same held true for restocking the supply closet.
So what am I going to have to do?
She was so busy trying to imagine what new horror Snape had in store for her that she almost didn’t notice the faint tingle from the stones pressed against her back. Hermione realized the wards on the office door were dropping just seconds before the door creaked open an inch or two.
“Come in, Miss Granger.”
She felt her jaw drop and snapped her mouth closed in anger. What a jerk. He’s been sitting in there the whole time.
She marched into his office prepared to give him a piece of her mind - consequences be damned - and stopped just a few feet past the door.
Professor Snape was in the middle of the room, carefully using his wand to direct a chair past the maze of apparatus-covered tables to rest directly in front of his desk.
His teaching robes were missing, as was his customary frock coat. Instead he was wearing a dark (Black? Blue?) button down shirt tucked into black trousers. His boots had been replaced with a pair of black leather loafers.
Even counting the rare occurrences when Hermione had occasion to see him wearing something other than his robes, she had never seen him look so ... casual.
Professor Snape finished moving the chair and turned to face her, wand tucked away so quickly she didn’t see where it had gone.
“I must apologize for my tardiness, Miss Granger. The incident at the Leaving Feast, which I’m sure you witnessed, necessitated a visit to my chambers. Please, sit.” He pointed to the chair he had just moved and crossed to take his place behind his desk.
Hermione blinked. Had he just ... did Snape apologize? While her brain tried to adjust to the unfamiliar concept, Professor Snape scowled.
He pointed to the chair once more. “Sit.”
She quickly crossed the room and perched on the edge of the seat, her mind still in chaos due to the odd behavior exhibited by her instructor.
Professor Snape had been a safe constant in her life for seven years. Others were inclined to love you one week, hate you the next. Even the boys had times when they were angry or upset or cruel with her.
But Professor Snape was always the same, never a kind word or a hint of praise. She never had to worry about hurting his feelings or doing something to cheer him up, because it wasn’t possible.
They had reached a truce of sorts over the last few years. She stopped trying to prove herself to him and he stopped punishing her for it. She had finally realized that he understood what she was capable of, that the complex side projects he assigned her were proof of his trust in her abilities. That meant more than any hollow words of praise from his lips could ever mean.
The man sitting before her had stepped out of his acceptable role and done something unexpected. It was disconcerting.
“If you could refrain from gawking at me like an exhibit in a sideshow, Miss Granger, I would like to begin.”
And suddenly, all was once again right with the world.
“Pardon me, sir, but I’m a little confused as to the nature of my detention.”
“How so?” With one brow arched and his head slightly tilted in an inquisitive manner, Snape reminded her of a predatory bird.
I’m sure his nose has nothing to do with the resemblance. Right, Hermione?
“Well, usually your detentions involve scrubbing filthy equipment or restocking supplies and those take place in the classroom.”
He studied her for a moment before pulling himself closer to his desk and placing both hands flat on the surface. “Correct, most of the detentions I personally enforce are of the nature you described. However, I thought I made it clear this afternoon that you would not be doing any such thing. Had I wanted to waste your intellect on trivial labor I would have sent you off to share Potter and Weasley’s fate.”
Hermione felt her stomach roll. “So what am I going to be doing?”
“You are going to answer a few questions. You will answer them honestly and to the best of your abilities or I will be forced to find something far worse than rooting out vermin for you to do. Do you agree?”
There was definitely a catch somewhere, Hermione was sure of it. “What if you hear something you don’t like?”
Professor Snape looked surprised for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. Suspicion was heavy in his voice. “Afraid you’re going to admit something that’s going to get you or your friends in deeper trouble?”
Hermione chose not to answer.
Snape waited a moment to see if she was going to respond. “Fine. I will agree not to punish any petty infractions you may have committed in favor of receiving completely truthful answers.”
“Petty by whose definition?”
He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
“I’m going to regret asking this, but what would your definition be?”
Hermione leaned forward, nearly unable to believe that she was actually negotiating terms for her punishment. They both knew perfectly well that Snape had the authority to assign any reasonable punishment without her prior agreement. So what was he up to? What was he trying to find out?
“Promise you won’t punish anything that did not directly lead to severe injury, maiming or death ... and I’ll truthfully and to the best of my abilities answer anything you ask.”
His hands shifted to cup his chin; one nearly solid black eye popped open and studied her over the top of his fingers. The lower half of his face was hidden by his hands, but Hermione thought she saw a hint of a smile for a split-second.
“I’ll swear on my wand.” She could tell he was weakening.
Snape dropped his hands and leaned toward her, his gaze seeming to catch and hold hers. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Granger, I’ll know if you lie.”
He looked down to study the fingers of one hand and Hermione was glad of the broken eye contact. For a moment she had felt the barest hint of pressure in the back of her mind, a reminder (Warning.) that Professor Snape could reach in and take whatever information he wanted with little or no trouble.
“I agree to your terms.”
Hermione felt a momentary rush of victory. Of course, he’d only given in because it suited his purpose, and he obviously didn’t think there was anything too horrendous for her to confess. Still, she felt like dancing in her chair.
The question was what unsolved mystery from the past seven years was he going to ask about?
He lowered his hands and studied her for a moment, as if he was collecting his thoughts.
“Why are you so compelled to let Messrs. Potter and Weasley take advantage of you? Longbottom as well, for that matter.”
Not what I was expecting.
Hermione opened her mouth to answer and found that she didn’t know what to say.
“Advantage? Use me, sir? I don’t understand the question.”
“How many times have you told Potter and Weasley where to find the answer to an assignment, because they were too busy to find it themselves? Too busy discussing Quidditch plays, perhaps. Or wizard’s chess. Or girls.”
“How often do you come to their aid when they have gotten themselves into trouble?”
“Do you lie for them?”
He leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face. He obviously knew the answer to that particular question already. “Why? What do you get out of this parasitic relationship?”
Hermione had a feeling he wasn’t going to like her answer. “They’re my friends; that’s reason enough.”
He was out of his chair and around the desk before she could blink. She barely managed to stay seated as he stopped directly in front of her chair. He was angry. It was apparent in the way he held his body, the clipped way he bit off his words, but his face showed nothing.
“Friends.” He spit the word out like it was a vulgarity. “Your friends use you, Miss Granger.” He settled his hips against the desk, his hands griping the edge so tightly she could see his knuckles whiten.
Hermione started to shake her head in denial and one of his hands gripped her jaw. His hold wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but strong enough to keep her immobile. As if she could move anyway, she froze the second his fingers made contact with her skin.
“They use you, because they know you expect it. You think the only thing you have to offer someone is your intellect. You believe that you have to provide the answers to be worthy of their friendship. I’ve seen it before.”
“That’s not true. It’s ...” His thumb slipped from its place along her cheek to press against her lips, silencing her.
“Do they get angry when you decline to give them an easy answer? Do they refuse to speak to you when you won’t help? Only to come rushing back to your side the moment they need another favor?”
Her moist breath blew against his thumb in rapid pants. His hand felt as if it was burning from the heat of her skin. He pulled away quickly. Touching her had been a mistake, an aberration that should never have occurred.
She wanted to deny it, tell him that it wasn’t true, that Harry and Ron would like her if she wasn’t smart. But there had been too many lonely meals, too many early morning revelations about late night excursions she had not been invited to, too many instances like today where she wasn’t called for until something needed fixed or banished.
“Harry and Ron and Neville ... That’s not the only reason they talk to me.” Her tone was defiant, but Snape could hear the undertone of uncertainty.
“You are correct, that isn’t the only reason. There are others, I’m sure. After all, even I have witnessed the way they look at you.”
Hermione very much wanted to remove that all-knowing smirk from his lips. Surely he wasn’t insinuating ...
“Come now, Miss Granger, you can’t say you haven’t noticed. Haven’t secretly rejoiced in the knowledge that they find you attractive.”
She looked startled. Could she really not know?
Hermione felt ill. This wasn’t happening. “Why are you doing this to me? You know I’m just one of the boys to them. I am aware of my appearance, Professor, I do not appreciate your efforts to mock me.” She was practically shouting, her skin flushed.
Snape grasped her arms and pulled her up, out of the chair. He looked as if he wanted to shake her, and she braced herself for the assault.
“I have seen it myself, Miss Granger. I’ve seen the way they stop talking to watch you walk past. Seen them watch you eat from the corner of their eyes. Watch droplets of perspiration trail down your neck into your décolletage as you work over a boiling cauldron. The way you nibble on your quill as you ponder your next sentence. The way you bite your lower lip when you’re preoccupied or nervous, until the need to soothe that lip with their tongue is almost too much to resist.” His voice faded into a groan, and she realized his gaze was on her mouth.
Where her lower lip was trapped between her teeth. Without thought, her tongue slid out to run across the slightly swollen flesh.
His hands contracted, pulling her forward and off balance, forcing her to grasp handfuls of his shirt or risk falling. She opened her mouth to protest, and his lips cut off her voice.
His lips were warm and soft, she hadn’t thought they would be soft.
As his tongue swept across her lower lip, his hands curled into her hair as if to hold her in place. They weren’t needed; Hermione had no intention of going anywhere. Not while those lips and that wonderful tongue, which was finally seeking entrance to her mouth, were causing that light-headed feeling of excitement.
She pressed closer, one hand sliding up to wrap her fingers into his slightly damp hair. She used her newfound leverage to pull him nearer, her tongue greeting his, before pushing into his mouth to explore.
Someone whimpered, and she wasn’t positive it was her.
Snape pulled back, his breathing heavy and rapid. “We shouldn’t do this. We can’t do this. It’s not ...”
“Shut up.” Hermione pressed forward onto the balls of her feet until her lips collided with his once again. She used the weight of her body to force him to sit on the desk. His arms closed around her. One hand cupped her rear, pulling her to him, and she used the momentum to brace one knee on the desk near his hip.
Teeth nipped sharply at the lobe of her ear, causing Hermione to jerk back. “Manners.” The heavy-lidded way he was studying her took some of the sting out of the reprimand.
“I apologize, Prof ...” Hermione suddenly had no idea how to address him. Somehow she just couldn’t call the man pressed so intimately against her “Professor” or “sir.”
His hold on her body began to loosen. “Beginning to see reason, Miss Granger? The sheer idiocy of what we - Fuck ...” His words sputtered to a halt as Hermione slid a hand between them to cup his arousal.
“I said. Shut. Up.” She didn’t give him a chance to protest before renewing her assault on his mouth.
Her mind was screaming. She was kissing Professor Snape. Snape! She had her hand pressed against his cock. His very, very interested but, regrettably, fully covered cock. Hermione wanted closer, but her hand was still trapped between their bodies. If she tilted her hips just so ...
Snape’s fingers closed around her wrist, dragging her hand away from between them. Her disappointed whimper turned into a squeal of surprise as Snape gripped her waist and stood, quickly reversing their positions. Hermione suddenly found herself sitting on the edge of his desk, her feet not quite reaching the ground.
His long fingers were plucking at the material of her robes and she quickly moved to help him. As the robes parted and his hand slid in to mold against the curve of her breast, Snape nudged his beak of a nose against her ear. “Are you sure?”
His thumb flicked across her peaked nipple. “Gods, yes.”
Hermione clumsily reached behind her and pushed everything she could touch to the side of the desk. Something broke as it hit the ground. Snape tried to see what it was, but she tangled her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth back to her neck. “I’ll pay to fix that. Later.”
He chuckled into the hollow of her throat and began to pop open the buttons of her blouse. Hermione wanted to reciprocate - she really did - but every time her hands shifted from where they were massaging his scalp, his hands cupped the weight of her breasts or caressed her nipples and she had to hold on or risk sliding off the desk in a boneless heap.
Finally her shirt was open, and she let her robes and shirt slip off her shoulders. Hermione felt the heat of a blush stain her cheeks as Snape stepped back and looked at her simple white cotton bra. She almost stammered an apology, but it wasn’t as if she had gotten dressed with seduction in mind.
Slowly he knelt down and parted the front fastening of her bra. She shivered as he drew the material away and the cold dungeon air hit her sensitive skin. Then his lips closed around one peak and she thought she was going to implode. It had been so long since someone had touched her like that.
- ~ -
Severus had given them both more than one chance to end this and now it was past the point of bowing out gracefully. They were mutually culpable for what was happening, but that knowledge did little to soothe his conscience.
A sharp gasp, followed by what had to be the most intoxicating moan he had ever heard, came from above him and the right or wrong of it no longer mattered.
The tip of his tongue flicked against her nipple and her hands jerked, tugging at his damp hair. Severus liked her response and flicked his tongue again. Contrary to what many believed, he was aware of the principle behind positive reinforcement and could utilize it when the need arose.
She was shifting restlessly, perched on the edge of his desk, cradling his body between the vee of her legs. Severus ran the palms of his hands lightly up her sides under the bunched garments still hanging off her arms, marveling once more at the sight and feel of her. She wasn’t thin or particularly muscular - if anything he could see the hint of softness he’d noticed in her face was present elsewhere - but Severus found the softness appealing. It was a sharp contrast to the hard, angular women he dealt with when he was away from the school.
Long-fingered hands slid lower, stroking against the soft material of her skirt before sliding underneath. The skin there was warmer, the muscles of her thighs quivering at his touch. Granger - Hermione tensed when his thumb stroked inward and slipped beneath the edge of her knickers. Severus hesitated, unsure if the reaction was meant to encourage him to stop, or not to.
He lifted his chin to find her watching him intently, that lower lip caught between her teeth once more. Another finger joined the first and her breath huffed out with sharp nod of consent.
She was aroused and wet to the touch as Severus gently parted her cleft. Only an ignoramus would have been surprised, but there was still that insidious bit of doubt that had whispered through his mind. He took great enjoyment in the way that doubt seemed to fold in on itself with each gasp that escaped her lips. The tip of his finger brushed against her bundle of nerves and she nearly came off the top of the desk.
- ~ -
Hermione bit her lip hard, breathing heavily through her nose, hands no longer touching him at all because they were supporting her as she leaned the upper half of her body away to give him more room to do ... what she really hoped he would do. Her robes and blouse were still tangled around her arms and she struggled to free them without falling backward or sliding off the desk.
“No! Don’t sto-“ The husky cry died on her lips as he removed his touch only to use both hands to draw her knickers down her thighs. The look he gave her, amused and daring her to protest, brought a dull heat to her skin. Seemingly all of it.
With the removal of her plain cotton knickers - thank the fates that she had bothered to change into something clean after the helping the boys restore the loo - Hermione found herself at a disadvantage. She was splayed across his desk in only her skirt and socks - her shoes had been kicked off at some point prior although she couldn’t be sure when - and he was still fully dressed. This was not acceptable as far as she was concerned.
Even as he leaned forward, urging her to spread her thighs so that he could - oh Merlin, he was - Hermione was weakly pushing him away. And pulling him back. And pushing him away. The dexterous tongue bathing her clit was beginning to make it impossible to do anything other than feel.
- ~ -
Fingers speared through his hair, urging him closer and then away. Severus was trying to follow the signals she was giving him; trying to make this encounter well worth the risk they were taking and the perplexing woman was confusing him. The tableau before him was fascinating and he would have been more than willing to take the time to bring her pleasure but for the annoying tugging on his hair and the soft “Wait - no - yes - oh - wait” that continued to pour forth from her mouth like some kind of mantra.
He leaned back on his heels and glared up at her.
“What are you trying to tell me, woman? Make up your mind. Do you want this or not?” So help me I am this close to Obliviating her and tossing her out in the hall and pretending this night never happened. So very close.
“You’re still dressed.” Hermione sat up, panting ever so slightly.
“That’s what the hair pulling was about? My clothing?” He couldn’t help feeling offended. Due to living at the school most of the year and his reputation, Severus didn’t have the chance to bed a woman as often as he would have liked, but he hadn’t realized that his technique was so lacking.
It could be worse, Severus. She could have interrupted the sex act to explain that she’d just discovered the lost answer to an Arithmancy proof as Vector did the one and only time you attempted to bed her.
That was a memory he never wished to experience ever again.
- ~ -
If she didn’t suspect it was a physical impossibility, Hermione would have thought that he was - blushing? Maybe he’s just really, really upset?
She slid off the desk and reached behind her to the fastening of her skirt. He can be as upset as he wants but I’m not leaving until I get shagged. Not now. The material slid to the floor and she stepped out of it, leaving her bare from the socks upward.
Looking down at him kneeling at her feet made her shiver with a rush of excitement, especially the way he seemed to be taking in each bit of her with his gaze. Almost like a caress.
“I want to touch you.” Miraculously her voice came out sure and strong.
He nodded once and stood. Hermione couldn’t help but be impressed with the graceful way he moved. She moistened her lips as he stood there, one eyebrow arched as he looked down at her. When he made no move to begin removing his clothing she understood. She’d interrupted him and now it was her responsibility to move things along.
Hermione took a deep breath and reached for the first of the buttons. Concentrating on keeping her hands from trembling, she almost missed the first tell-tale hints of skin being uncovered bit by bit as the shirt began to part.
Pale and marred by a few traces of ancient scar tissue, his chest wasn’t the toned musculature found in one of those magazines the girls in the dorm had giggled over, but Hermione was pleased nevertheless. As she pulled the shirt tail free of his trousers she couldn’t help thinking this was the body of a real man who had more important things to worry about than how he looked or what exercises would make which parts of his body bulge the most. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and realized that he had been watching her closely the entire time, dark eyes studying her face for something.
Maybe he’s worried I’ll be disappointed?
Even as she knew she had to be mistaken, Hermione leaned forward to press her lips against his chest. Both hands fell to his waist and began to fumble with the fastenings of his trousers as her chaste kisses changed; lips opening so that her tongue could sample the taste of his skin, the edge of her teeth gently grazing a male nipple. That brought a rumbling groan from him, and Hermione quickly moved to repeat the action.
Suddenly his larger hands were tangling with hers, urging her fingers out of the way. Before she could protest the material under her hands parted and he was pushing trousers and boxers past his hips urgently.
Heated skin thrust up into her palm, and they both gasped at the unexpected contact.
Hermione lifted her head. His cheeks were flushed with heat, eyes heavy-lidded and glittering as they watched her. Her fingers closed around his length and stroked. Again his hand reached between them, this time to pull hers away completely.
“Are you on the potion?”
Not the most romantic, or even erotic, thing he could have uttered at this point in time, but vital.
“Of course, my two best friends act like their penises were a blessing from the gods and should be worshiped at every opportunity with any willing female. If that’s not enough to traumatize me into making sure I’m on birth control I don’t know what would. I’m also on the pill, if that makes any difference.”
His ardor began to cool at the reference to Potter and Weasley.
Hermione noticed and arched her brow in a fair imitation of the look he’d given her earlier. She moistened her lips again, this time intentionally to draw his attention to her mouth. Her hand trailed down to brush against his erection again. “Now?”
- ~ -
“Not yet,” he gasped.
Severus toed off his shoes and bent to wrap his arms around Hermione’s waist. With great care, he stepped out of the clothing bunched around his ankles and set her atop his already cleared desk.
“Excellent initiative,” he praised, stepping between her parted legs until they were pressed together from chest to groin. The contact of fevered flesh made his jaw clench to keep from groaning.
So long. Too long.
Hermione’s mouth on his skin had nearly driven away the last of his control, and Severus knew the reserves he’d found would soon expire. His only hope was to hold off the inevitable long enough to bring her to orgasm or to at least retain some sort of sanity after his own so that he could make an attempt after the fact. The way she was rubbing against him and moaning was doing nothing to aid his efforts.
Severus took a deep breath, inhaling the scent that would forever be associated with this encounter in his mind, and kissed her. His hand moved across her skin, skimming tender flesh as he eased Hermione down to the desktop.
He freed her mouth and brushed his lips against the line of her throat and lower to the soft curve of her breast. Her fingers speared through his hair, urging him closer. This was a cue Severus could follow. Lips parted around a budded nipple, teeth gently scraping the flesh.
- ~ -
Hermione sighed as his tongue played across her skin. She had never been particularly adventurous during her few couplings with other men, preferring the comfort of a cushioned surface and complete privacy. This was a new experience - dangerous and exciting, although just the tiniest bit uncomfortable - and Hermione found that she liked it.
She would like it even more if he’d stop tormenting her.
Squirming until she could reach his arse with her hand, Hermione dug her fingers into a cheek and lifted her hips. So close.
“Now?”
- ~ -
“Now,” Severus gasped in agreement, unable to deny the need racing through his blood. He bent his knees and shifted, slowly sinking into the wet heat of her.
The room was silent other than Hermione’s soft gasping breaths.
Then Severus began to move, long strokes that made Hermione arch her back and bite her lower lip. His mouth crushed against hers, his movements quickly becoming more desperate as his pleasure built.
He braced one hand against the desktop and insinuated the other between them to stimulate her clit. His jaw clenched, and Severus knew he was close.
She began to tremble beneath him, both of her legs coming up to cradle his hips. Her nails raked at his back as she stiffened, and Severus felt the first tremors of her orgasm begin to grip at his cock.
Her name was on the tip of his tongue. Severus bit it back, thrusting hard as his own climax began.
This, as forbidden as it was, could be justified in his mind, but the intimacy of speaking her given name during the act would be unforgivable.
- ~ -
She was the first to recover, relaxing her hands to stroke him rather than digging her nails into his back. Slowly her legs lowered to dangle awkwardly over the edge of the desk and she thought about asking him to move, but he had his head pillowed upon her breasts and Hermione had never seen him look so ... content.
It would have to end, and soon, but for now Hermione just wanted to let the moment warm them both.
- ~ -
Settling back into her favorite chair with a glass of sherry, Sybil Trelawney felt at peace. It had taken years, but she had finally gotten back at Severus in her own subtle way. “He won’t be able to call me a fake after tonight, will he, precious?” she crooned to the overweight lump of fur Sybil claimed was a cat.
The fact that Granger, who made no bones about her contempt for the art of divination as well, was the instrument of Sybil’s vengeance only made the whole thing sweeter.
The signs had all been there for months, the stones had been thrown numerous times and the results were always variables of the same answer - for some inexplicable reason the pair were doomed to connect. Who could blame her for taking advantage of the forewarning to stage a little “prophetic” magic of her own?
~*~
The Detention Challenge from Shiv
**Requirements**
* The basic requirement is that Hermione should have Detention with Snape and be shagged into the middle of next week.
*The second requirement is that it should be hot enough to melt the screen, and if it is printed out will cause the paper to spontaneously combust.
*To avoid the issue about the morality of the student-teacher sex, it is almost her last day in school, and the exams are over and marked.
*Shiv’s preferences:
1. Hermione shall not trip along to the detention in the expectation of a shag. She will be expecting detention. She is most likely rather annoyed about getting detention. This will mean she gets a Lovely Surprise. She will also be attending wearing all her underwear, and regulation robes and skirt length.
2. The detention will not consist of Professor Snape getting Hermione to bend over to clean a cauldron such that he can ogle her firm, ripe, melony, pert, cute, rounded, whatthehellever buttocks. Nor will there be a cliched sentence about Severus realizing that Hermione has grown into a woman, with accompanying descriptions of “curves in all the right places”.
3. The sex will be physically possible. Severus will be a normal length and size and colour. There should be no extra pair of hands. Impossibly long fingers reaching into wombs. There will be no kissing until the parties are unable to breathe - that is what noses are for. If necessary draw a diagram and work out who is doing what to whom, and how. Illustrations are always welcome, for those who like to draw.
4. Hermione will not be a virgin, therefore she will not be shocked at what she finds under those robes. Neither will Severus be a virgin. We don’t need to know who their previous shags were, and there shall be no references to “Ron didn’t manage to make her feel like this.” Severus is, however, a Sex God, otherwise what is the point.
5. Hermione still has frizzy hair and not cascading curls. Severus still has a big nose. His hair might not be greasy - as he could have had a wash before the shag - but it will not be silky close up, “Gosh, everyone has been wrong about his hair all along”.
6. Forbidden Phrases. There will be no:
- feminine cores
- throbbing manhoods, rods, shafts, or anything that sounds like it belongs on a car
- Purple-headed love-mushrooms
- Shutters - they are large wooden objects on houses, and nothing to do with sex at all. Shudder is allowable but why not try something new - trembling, shivering, quivering, quaking, etc.
- No Sev, Sevvie, Sevviekins, Greasy Git, Know-it-all, overgrown bat - I’m tired of seeing them
- Severus will not announce to Hermione that she is so hot and tight, when sliding his throbbing manhood between her slick folds (and there’s another, no slick folds); and preferably should not announce that she is all wet for him, unless this is done with style and flair.
- No releasing a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.
- Neither should Hermione lap up his ejaculate eagerly, and he definitely shouldn’t be lapping up his own ejaculate - some of us read this stuff in the mornings and eat porridge and that kind of visual can result in people being unable to write smut for simply weeks.