A/N: Greetings to my lovely Readers! I'm back again with a new, exciting chapter with a lot of Snape in it. LOL! I know that's what you've been waiting for! LOL!
Erm, just one little warning, the chapter contains lascivious scenes. I think, most of you won't mind that. :D
Okay, no more blah, blah - enjoy yourself!!! Love, wings
Chapter 11 – Lust and damnation
Severus Snape meticulously manoeuvred across the sticky mud of the swamp; he anxiously tried to avoid dirt smudging his pedant, black cloak.
He easily skipped a muddy pool of water, and the strangest smile appeared on his face – he was amused by his leap.
Wow, such long legs do the trick, he muttered to himself with a satisfied grin. I wish could keep them.
He went on with a brisk pace.
In fact, it was Hermione Granger.
The idea of brewing an advanced Poly-Juice Potion, which would tease her with a tickling sensation in her guts every time she thought of it, found her when she was trying to get rid of Filch’s dirty clothes, fighting oddly ambivalent feelings.
She didn’t let Molly burn them in the constantly smouldering hearth; she took them from the laborious hands of the astonished woman and flushing with confusion she took them into her room.
There she kept staring at them unsure of her own intentions.
She cautiously reached for the muddy cloak, which lay before her on the desk as an alarming memento of her dubious past, as if it she had been about to stroke a cobra, when she noticed a long black hair.
Her hand froze in the air.
It was his. No doubt. Must have got there when they…
She stared utterly scared and pleased at the same time. It felt a bit like he was there with her. The secret visitor of her daydreams, the soundless shadow of her thoughts, emotions and life, which restlessly waited for the sun to go down and the chill of the night to creep into her sleep. Then he would step forth from behind the curtains of the abandoned stage of her day life and whisper the words, which she could never remember when she woke, but which lurked in the depths of her unsettled mind.
That hair was the answer to her hidden call, the invisible helping or devastating hand of fate.
She managed to convince Harry that it was crucial for the Order. She knew him well enough to ride his obsessions with unfaltering nerve. She hated herself for that. She hated herself for manipulating her friend by the unseen strings of Harry’s emotions and beliefs, the ends of which were known only to the closest friends.
Hermione watched with growing horror the way the passionate woman in her pushed away the God of Cold Reason, whom she used to worship, to give way to the fearless Demon of Love.
The world of solid reasons and unquestioned morals cracked the day she first suffered the infernal touch of Voldemort, but it didn’t collapse at once. She tried to stick to it with desperate force, the force of the drowning. But her old gods could no longer follow her into the depths of misery; they no longer could soothe her with their overused answers. Dumbledore was no longer there to tell her bleeding, skinned mind which way was up and which way was down or what was all that pain for.
The foundations of her reasonable world were washed by growing waves of fear, hatred, desperation and murderous fury, until one day the flood drowned her ancient world, broke its stone-hard pillars and proud, heaven-bound arches.
Hermione found herself on the surging surface of the ocean of emotions with blood-freezing depths of darkness underneath.
Snape appeared on her horizon as a lighthouse; a far-away, twinkling source of light, seductive and misleading in the havoc of the storm, but it existed even amidst the reign of the thickest blackness.
She was drawn to him by irresistible forces, which she knew she would be too weak to fight; yet, how could she make Harry, who had never been buried alive under Voldemort’s passions, understand that she was powerless against this binding?
How could she make him believe that Snape was the only light in the impenetrable darkness around the Dark Lord, which could guide them to safety?
So she lied, she cheated, she manipulated. She fought against the heavy waves of circumstances to find the way to the shore, to the light, to him.
If she had ever been in love before, now those memories seemed colourless and faded in comparison to the deadly flames that were burning her alive. It was a devastating, sweet torture, she had never been able to imagine before.
Severus Snape sighed as he looked at the misty, cool blue distance.
He had to reach Hogwarts right after sunset, when the last lessons end. He bit his lip in a most uncharacteristic way and quickened his pace.
The ancient castle of Hogwarts smothered in murky silence; the light in the high, gracious windows seemed to be pale and cold. The atmosphere changed incredibly since Dumbledore was gone; faceless hostility leaked in with the chilly breezes though the frames of windows and doors.
Hermione wondered why she had not noticed that the last time she was there.
She heard the familiar ting of the tower-clock – she was getting late.
With over-emphasized determination she managed to drown her growing fear; Severus Snape stepped through the gate into the castle, tucking a piece of battered parchment into his pocket.
There was no one to be seen down there, the real Snape’s strict policy had forbidden any unnecessary wandering around the castle.
Hermione quickly ascended the stairs and headed towards the astronomy tower.
This was the place, where she would find her perfect victim, and also it was a place quite rarely disturbed by Snape, the present headmaster. He had a blessed aversion towards places like that. Whether it was the height or space or anything else, Hermione had no idea, nor did she care.
Hermione withdrew the old parchment once again, but in a second she put it back in her pocket.
They were already there.
Suddenly she heard footsteps swarming into the corridor from the opened door of a classroom. Suppressed laughs and whispered jokes broke the solemn air of the faintly lit corridor.
A jolly bunch of Slytherins, who thought that in this far corner of the castle rules could be regarded a bit more liberally, burst into her view.
“Hey, Dice!” A tall guy called after a slim, black-haired girl, invoking excited giggles from the flock of girls surrounding her. She lazily turned to him, showing her vicious gaze.
“What do you want, Frank? Get embarrassed again?” She raised her left brow and mockingly pouted. The giggles turned into hysterical, suppressed choking, yet the eyes did not stop scanning the corners and shadows for the sign of teachers or something worse.
They did not see Snape, though.
What ruthless measures could turn unbridled teenagers into frightened, alert creatures like them? Hermione wondered observing the unfolding events.
Frank gracefully leaned back to the wall.
“Just wanted to say that if you need your golden quill back, you know where to find me. Oh, yes, and don’t come looking for me until you come up with a nice apology for what you’ve said the last time.” He smirked and turned to leave.
“What? But that’s my father’s...! You bastard!” The girl called Dice shouted in whisper. She drew her wand so unexpectedly that her girlfriends had no time to hold her down.
The boy gave a cry of pain, and spun back drawing his own wand.
“Are you crazy?” A small, scared boy tried to grab his friend’s hand, but only managed to push it aside as the spell hit the ceiling with a crash. Pieces of stone fell on the floor.
Hermione quickly grabbed the lucky chance; with her birch wand she shot a spell right into Japardice Lacroix’ heavy bag. She recognized the lofty beauty of the Slytherins’ at once. Dice used to be one year below them; nonetheless she still managed to capture the hearts of many seventh years.
But she had something much more important than her beauty, and it was her unruly vanity, which bore a very important consequence for Hermione – she had always had a comb in her bag. Well, most Slytherin girls did, but Hermione wanted to be sure.
As Japardice’s bag burst into pieces Hermione’s second wand retrieved the comb in a flash with a few long hairs in it.
“No!” a girl shouted nearby.
Snape’s tall frame stepped forth from the shadows and the confused group froze with mortal despair.
The boy, who must have been Frank Whitmann, got pale-green.
His lips soundlessly stuttered some apology or explanation, which of the two, no one knew.
Snape’s eyes flashed, and Hermione couldn’t deny that seeing Japardice’s pretty face turn into white marble gave her utter satisfaction.
“Detention!” Snape boomed, pointing at Dice and Frank.
He sharply turned on his heels and stormed away, tailed by his two innocent victims.
Hermione quickly got rid of Frank, closing him in a broom closet near the astronomy tower. Japardice was locked up in the storage for unused, but preserved documents on the second floor. Neither of the places were likely to be visited by anyone in the following few days, so Hermione placed a Self-inactivating Lock Charm on the doors, which would release the unfortunate teenagers after their detention was over.
Hermione, not wanting to seem uncharacteristically merciful, set the charm for four hours.
After having all that done, with Japardice’s comb in Snape’s pocket she rushed to the Room of Requirements, hoping strongly that she managed to avoid all curious eyes.
In the long, tarnished mirror Hermione took a last, examining look of her reflection; a heart shaped face stared back at her, with daring, dark eyes, a silky waterfall of black hair curved towards a stubborn, provoking lower lip.
It was still a miracle to her, even after having used the Poly-Juice Potion for years, what this strange, foully smelling liquid could do to a human being. Snape’s body easily melted into a dark-haired, young beauty, which would serve as her new disguise for a while.
She pouted. Japardice must feel the luckiest girl, having such looks, she thought.
Ginny’s school clothes turned out to be too short for the tall girl, so Hermione wasted precious minutes lengthening the sleeves and the skirt to cover those slender limbs.
Suddenly she shrugged and cautiously, trying not to crumple, she tucked Snape’s clothes into her bag. She managed to get them from the Weasley twins in exchange for promising to reveal the counter-charm with which she managed to release Edelberth.
She queasily adjusted the school uniform on Japardice’s slim body one very last time and headed towards the Headmaster’s tower.
Hermione’s heart was beating franticly against her ribs, and not even Japardice’s tanned-looking skin could veil her blushing; she was sure that the air shone with nervous electricity around her, betraying her at the most crucial moment.
She planned it all in advance; she would go to his office under some fake pretence and once she was in there..., well, she would reveal her real identity. The main point was to get into his office. She touched the parchment with the tip of her wand soundlessly uttering a spell, and a complicated network of thin lines appeared on it, resembling a map.
“Shit!” she gasped and looking up she saw the real Severus Snape approaching from the direction of his office. Her heart skipped a beat, and getting just as confused as its owner was, it started drumming a chaotic beat.
Hermione frantically tried to hide the parchment, which slyly escaped her grasp and soared along the floor of the corridor.
The same moment, Japardice drew her wand with routine speed and commanded the parchment to return to her hand. Snape, who observed the trajectory of the object with distant indifference for he was lost deep in thought, suddenly fixed his dark gaze on the girl.
Hermione felt heat rise in her, being closely followed by a wave of icy cold.
She embarrassedly bowed her head, but her hands wasted no time, hiding the precious parchment in her bottomless bag.
“Nice catch, Miss Lacroix,” Snape said more slowly than usual.
“Must have been a quite confidential piece of parchment, mustn’t it?” he murmured casually, but his eyes were those of a hawk, spotting its victim.
Hermione knew very well that she was foolish enough to raise his suspicion, though, she had the impression that he was on an utterly wrong track.
She saw no other way out, but utilizing the best self-defence method she knew – immediate attack.
“Sir… Professor, I need to talk to you… erm… confidentially.” She saw by his face that he was annoyed for being deprived of the joy of being the first one to attack.
“If you consider it really, necessary, Miss Lacroix, I’m listening. But please, be short.” His impatient, somewhat irritated look served to emphasize his words.
“Erm, it is highly confidential, I would prefer to talk in your office,” Japardice said looking around in a suggestive way.
Snape furrowed his brows, his bad temper rising.
“I don’t think that is necessary, Miss Larcoix. Please, don’t waste my time. If you have anything to tell me, do it. Otherwise don’t tire my nerves.” He was ready to leave, which made Hermione-Japardice even more anxious.
“Sir, I have information about Harry Potter, and my father…” she started, but the next second she felt strong fingers dig into Japardice’s graceful shoulders, and her voice broke.
Now you got scared, didn’t you? Hermione thought, fighting back the tears of the sudden pain.
Snape commandingly dragged her with him towards the Headmaster’s office.
She did it.
At first, revealing her true identity seemed to be a simple task; when she planned her visit, she imagined herself standing before the fireplace and looking straight into Snape’s eyes, just saying: It’s me, Hermione.
But that was a daydream, she had to realize.
Now she was standing in front of a furious, upset Snape, who had no idea that his claws were still painfully clutching her shoulder, while Hermione had no idea what she should say or how.
She unconsciously tried to back away from his obsessed gaze, from the thickening, dark aura that slowly started to form around him, but there was no chance.
“What is it that you know? Did you tell your father?” he hoarsely whispered.
Hermione knew why the mentioning of Monsieur Fabian Lacroix affected him so much. Japardice’s father belonged to a noble, French family, the Lacroix, who were believed to share ancestors with the Ravenclaws. If that was true, no one knew. But the fact that they belonged to one of the purest French wizarding families was unquestionable.
It was also common knowledge that Monsieur Lacroix kept the question of preserving the reign of pure blood heritage very closely to his heart, being on common terms with Lucius Malfoy on this topic.
“So?” he repeated, strengthening his grip, as his patience came dangerously close to its end.
“Let me go.” Hermione heard Japardice’s growl from her own throat. Her tension crossed a limit where it turned into desperation and utter self-defence.
Snape fixedly stared at her.
“I’m not Japardice,” she finally said.
“Hermione?” Snape furrowed his brows piercing her with a dark, inquiring look.
Japardice slyly tilted her head to the side and a soft smile appeared on her face.
He slowly advanced on her, like a heavy cloud bearing a storm; she could tell by the flashing of his eyes that he was doing his best to control his emotions, most of all his murderous fury.
She saw his pressed lips and the muscles around his jaw strain. Deep shadows appeared around his eyes and she involuntarily drew back, closing her lids in case he would hit her.
But he didn’t; he brushed past her instead with the livid growl of a woken, irate feline.
“Leave. Now, before they find out who you are,” he said quietly from behind her. Hermione uneasily shifted, feeling too vulnerable now that Snape was standing where she could not see him, but she felt it unadvisable to turn around.
“They won’t find out unless you tell them. And you won’t.” Japardice raised her pretty head, daringly looking over her shoulder.
“How can you be so sure?” He knew how to sound really malicious. He was a great expert at that, Hermione concluded, and her stare swiftly switched down to her shoes.
“I’m not sure about anything connected to you – you know that. I just pretend to be,” she said in a small voice.
That was obviously an answer he didn’t expect. For a second he considered her words then stepped closer. The hair on her neck stood on ends as she felt his intense presence behind her back. Snape was very well aware of her vulnerability, Hermione realized. He purposefully prolonged the tension of the situation, and the girl had the firm impression that he enjoyed keeping her so exposed to him.
“I didn’t risk my life just to see you wandering around Hogwarts, like live bait for the Dark Lord’s men,” he whispered in a tone that had the effect of a Howler. His victim unwillingly shivered.
“Why did you risk your life then?” Hermione asked quietly, as her eyes fell on her own trembling hands. She quickly hid them between the folds of her skirt.
Snape remained silent for an endless minute. He silently observed the girl, the defiant straightness of her neck, the fine line of her chin, and the delicate curve of her brow that could hardly be seen from that angle. She was anxious, very anxious.
Finally he spoke.
“Don’t expect pleasant answers from me. I’m not the one to give them.” He left her and returned to his desk.
“I suppose you have brought enough Poly-Juice Potion with you for the way back.” He impatiently looked up at his clock. He had to get rid of her, the sooner the better.
“It’s time for you to go if you don’t want to traipse the Forbidden Forest at midnight.” He showed himself busy raking over the parchments on his desk.
“We need your help.” Hermione-Japardice kept standing still in front of him; her long hair flowing over her shoulders.
“You don’t,” he said coldly, not raising his eyes from the heap of essays. That eerie mixture of Japardice and Hermione disturbed him more than he liked to admit.
“We do,” she repeated stubbornly, staring at him.
He slowly raised his glance. The flashing in the girl’s dark eyes was so painfully familiar.
“Is that what Potter would say as well?” He smirked sarcastically.
Hermione set her jaw. At that moment she wanted to curse him, with both of her wands of course. And curse him bad. Why did he treat her like she was still an annoying student and not the Hermione he had rescued…?
“Yes,” she said slowly so as not to reveal her nervous, erratic breathing, “he would say that.”
Pretending to look impressed, Snape raised his brows. His fingers playfully twisted his black wand.
“And what did you threaten him with to achieve the impossible? What did you do to make him say he needed my help? You must have significantly better methods than I used to have.” His eyes were fixed steadily on her startled face.
Wait! What was that? Hermione thought gasping for words. What was he hinting at?
She felt fury rise in her like a monstrous flood.
“What do you mean?” Her voice could not depress its provocative edge.
Her fingers clutched around her wands without her being aware of what she was doing.
Snape stared coldly into the dark eyes of Japardice. Not a word was said.
That was the point, when Hermione started regretting going there; for a moment she could not understand her ever growing desire to see Severus Snape, her rescuer, her...
All she felt was dense fury and hatred.
He accused her. He accused her of having a relationship with Harry. He must have seen or sensed that memory of her and Harry together… and now he thought that they… that she loved Harry. Was he... jealous?
This new idea finally cleared the red mist of anger from before her eyes.
Snape was jealous. Japardice’s chiselled features slowly softened; beneath their surface cruel, sharp, and almost painful joy was lurking.
Snape was betrayed by his own demon of jealousy. He must have understood what was going on in Hermione’s mind, because he abruptly stood up and stepped forth, pointing at the door.
“Go. You’ve come in vain. I can’t and I will not help you. That is all I can say.” The door softly opened obeying to the silent command of Snape’s wand.
Japardice’s mouth unwillingly curved into a soft smile; light waves of laugh engulfed Hermione, which finally burst into a ripple of laughter. Snape was scared, scared of her, scared of good-old Hermione Granger, the Little-Know-It-All.
But he was even more scared of his own emotions, and whether he would be able to control them. He let slip about his jealousy towards Harry; who knows what he will let slip next?
Hermione’s anxiety, long months of alternating despair and passion that overloaded her sensitive mental system finally burst her thin shell of self-discipline, and she found no better way to deal with all that emotional chaos than letting it out in a laugh.
“You’re a fool, Professor Severus Snape!”
She wished to tell that to him all her school-life, though she used to have other reasons then, but now she simply could not resist that.
Enjoying the last smooth waves of laughter, she stepped to the door without really knowing what she would do next.
The door slammed before her nose. Hermione raising her brows rounded on her heels to him.
“You turned back to your own self,” he barked.
And it was true; the intensive essence of Hermione’s most inner feelings had burnt the Potion in her veins. Looking down at her hands and legs, Hermione saw her own small body.
Snape flopped down into his chair behind the desk, which was now his last line of defence, and leaned his forehead in his palm. Thing were getting out of control, just as he had anticipated.
Hermione helplessly shifted her feet, waiting for something happen.
“What do you want?” Snape asked. His voice was quiet and weary as if he repeated a scene he had played a thousand times.
“Help us, Severus. Help me.” The words hung lifelessly in the air.
“I can’t. I won’t. What you want to do is insane. He will kill you before you could realize it.”
“How do you know what we want?” She narrowed her now hazel-brown eyes.
“The way through the Underworld, what else would you want? I knew since the moment you left that you would come back… for this.”
Hermione cautiously stepped behind the table next to where he was sitting.
“You must go, Hermione. I will never let you back into the tunnel; its entrance is constantly being guarded. What you plan is suicide for all of us. Do you understand me?” He suddenly stood up and shook her by the shoulders, which to Hermione’s surprise still ached, though now they belonged to a different body.
“Do you understand me?” He looked intently into her eyes, but he immediately released her when he saw the shadow of pain cross her face.
“I will get you the Potion,” he said heading for the adjoining chamber of his office.
“You’re afraid of me,” Hermione stated.
Snape stopped for an instance, but forced himself to go on. She followed.
He stepped into a small storage room full of shelves with different Potions, ingredients and some of Dumbledore’s old, eerie objects on them.
“You’re going to be McGonagall this time, and I don’t care if you like it or not,” he murmured leaning, forward combing the content of the shelves.
Hermione bent forward as well, leaning close to him.
“You can’t make me leave,” she whispered in his ear.
His hand jerked and turned over a vial, as he felt her hot breath on his neck – he did not expect her being so close. A surge of grave energy travelled up his spine and made the air feel hot and dense.
“It’s not the Underworld I’ve come for, and you know that,” she continued, smiling.
He sharply turned to face her; he was furious, but this time his self-control was challenged by greater powers than his everyday irritation caused by dull students or his visceral hate for Harry Potter.
Hermione could feel the tension of his body as he grabbed her arm in an attempt to keep her further away from him.
Snape forced his breathing back to normal as he slowly said:
“I don’t want to know, you understand me?” His voice became husky again.
“I don’t really care,” Hermione said in a reckless tone and closed the tiny distance between them. Snape foolishly trapped himself in the small storage room, where there was no space to back away, and before he could have tossed her out, her arms slid up his chest, up to his neck as she pressed herself to him.
He should have stopped her there, but he hesitated, again. The dark force, which slowly threatened to engulf him, bound his will; he could fight his enemies, he could fight his friends, but when it came to fighting his own self, he felt helpless. He stood still, looking down at the girl; his black eyes revealing the abyss within him.
Hermione held his gaze firmly with her wide pupils as she slowly reached up for him. Her mouth parted, just like it did the last time there, in the murky forest. She gave the impression of a little girl who got lost and was soon about to cry.
She was looking for signs of passion in those menacing eyes, while her own betrayed her excitement and lust; they were begging for him and this affected him more than any spell. His blood turned into cold mercury in his veins as desire encroached upon him.
“Don’t…” Snape said with fiery desperation, feeling that his reason was loosing its battle against Hermione’s binding look.
She pressed her slim waist closer and slightly tilted her head. Her white teeth appeared beneath her lips. She perfectly possessed the ancient magic of women over men and she showed no mercy. She was playing with thunderous fire.
“You don’t know what you are doing. I’m not the right man.” He growled, this time grabbing her both arms and pushing her back. The remains of his self-control were stubbornly fighting the lust – he mustn’t do that, he mustn’t do that to her.
“You’re playing dangerous games with dangerous people. I’m a dangerous man, Hermione.”
She let out a dark laugh, something he had never heard from her before. She slightly reminded him of Bella.
“What have I got to loose, Severus?” The faint glow of his wand created soft, dark shadows under her lashes. It was that unsettling, demonic little Hermione again, the result of Voldemort’s dark magic.
“Your life,” he replied.
Hermione’s smile turned into a cruel curve.
“I am dead, Severus. I never returned from that damned place. Voldemort knew what he was doing – he killed me more perfectly than an Avada Kedavra.”
“You lessened my pain, and gave me the possibility to live. True, it’s the life of a shadow, of a ghost. Nevertheless, why don’t you let me use this possibility the way I want?” She nuzzled close to him again with those pledging eyes.
Her passion, which she unknowingly transformed from her previous, unearthly passion of death-wish, multiplied her natural magnetism. She adeptly tilted her head back in a way that perfectly revealed the gracious, long line of her neck, from the jaw bone to her collar-bone.
Severus followed that smooth curve with his eyes, first down, then up to her face, to her eyes that teasingly hid beneath her lashes. Just how well she knew what she was doing, and just how wrong it was!
He was mad to refuse a chance like that, he thought, but that was just too dangerous. She was a whirlwind.
“What are you afraid of? Voldemort? The Order? Me?” Hermione asked digging her fingers into his hair, sending tiny shocks of electricity down his spine. She watched his lips and imagined that they slowly closed on hers. She imagined his teeth gently nip her skin and his hands pull her in an embrace.
“Me,” he said solemnly, shattering the daydream.
Hermione’s eyes widened with surprise, and then she laughed again. Before he could have gathered his strength to push her aside, she pressed her lips on his, arching her body into his arms.
Within seconds neither of them knew where a kiss started and where it ended. Snape possessively pushed her to the shelves and holding her head firmly in his palms, he deepened his kiss. Hermione brushed to him, letting her tight slide up his leg. His breathing turned ragged as he withdrew from the kiss, rubbing his forefinger along her lower lip.
His arm glided along her waist, pulling her closer. He took no heed of the little vials rolling in all directions on the shelves and occasionally dropping down to the floor, creating eerie, fuming puddles of colourful liquids.
He reached down for her mouth again; he did not ask for allowance, he just stated his right to do so. He deftly teased her with his tongue, demanding, accusing, begging and commanding. His every bruising buss made Hermione want to press to him even closer, to feel his every gasping breath, every little motion.
Finally Snape strongly grabbed her and pulled her with him out of the disastrous place, which smelt of dragon-fire and emitted small explosions.
Behind his back, not releasing Hermione’s mouth for a second, he swished his wand, and the door slammed, closing kindly away the horrid processes of the storage.
Hermione had no idea where they were; she felt walls behind her back, wood under her feet and finally they came to a halt.
Panting, he slightly retreated.
“This is your last chance to leave.”
“I won’t,” she whispered, fighting for air. As her eyes got used to what seemed total darkness some minutes ago, she noticed his gaze on her.
“Don’t tell me I did not warn you,” he said and stepped to her again.
Hermione’s head fell back and she sighed contentedly as she felt his body press to her again. His lips found her neck, tasting and nibbling it, as they followed its gracious line up to her ear. Hermione shuddered wildly and bit her lip to stop the moan that was about to escape her lungs.
His fast, rhythmic breathing burnt her skin as his kisses slid down along her collar-bone. Hermione’s fingers forcefully clutched his shoulders and when his hot breath reached the top of her breast, she whimpered.
He pressed her back, but as she made a step backward, she felt her foot bump against something.
She would have fallen if Snape’s arm was not prepared for that; he softly laid her on the spacious bed.
Now he had full access to her, which made a satisfied grin appear on his face. He leaned above the girl and met her lips with a forceful buss.
Hermione’s thin, muscular body moved like a snake under him; she arched to him and retreated, luxuriously writhed and then stayed still. She playfully teased him with her smooth tights and soft moans.
She was nothing he had imagined in his secret moments before a glass of fine cognac; she was darker and at the same time somehow more innocent than in his dreams.
“I want you…” she panted into his ear at a perfectly timed moment, when his hand slid down her side to her hip and down under her thigh.
His body involuntarily shook as it reacted to her call.
To emphasize her will she pulled up her knee, till her skirt cringed up and fully revealed her legs. With a skilful move she pulled Severus down until he had no choice, but to place some of his weight on her. Her breath hitched with excitement as she felt his lust slowly take control over him
She sighed closing her eyes, moving her body tantalisingly.
Severus returned to her lips again, which felt incredibly soft and hot.
He reached for her hands that had already unbuttoned his vest with surprising agility and pushed them up roughly above her head. He stopped for a moment; breathing heavily, he looked down at the girl, at that strange creature, who once used to be an unnerving circumstance in his classes, and who had become one of the very few, whom he marvelled for their strength and power. She reminded him of someone…
She opened her eyes and captured him again with her deep leer.
No, Hermione was different, he thought. She wasn’t that pure, she wasn’t that selfless, but she mesmerized him with the force with which she fought first for life, then for death and now… for something he did not dare to call by its real name – love.
As their lips crushed once again, he felt a violent surge of hunger for her.
With one forceful move he tore her thin shirt off, observing cravingly the way her shock gave way to delight. Hermione let out a suppressed moan.
His wand easily detached her bra from her body, and Severus slid his palm along her bare skin, unable to catch the reality of the moment.
He felt her muscles tighten just to surrender to him the very next minute, inviting and seducing him.
Soon kisses, caresses, tender touches and wild moves together with their bodies melted into one great sensation, a sharp and almost unbearable pleasure.
A/N: I hope you liked it. :) As usually, I'm craving for your reviews! Thanks very much, wings