Hermione’s cunt was a throbbing mass of heat and wet pulsations that, quite frankly, surprised her. She was a mess of energy, hormones, and magic, bursting to break free. It was as if her mind and body had forged an agreement that with the ever looming threat of war and death gone, she would now be subjected to all the missed opportunities and base urges of her adolescence in a single academic year.
Hermione returned to Hogwarts for her eighth year only because she had learned that unless she wanted to be an Auror like Harry and Ron, she would not be getting an apprenticeship without first earning exceptional scores on her NEWTs, Golden Trio status notwithstanding. Hermione was of the opinion that she had spent enough time fighting dark wizards for the side of the light. The war took her childhood. It could not have her future.
Pale and gaunt and struggling against the tide of mental darkness that she seemed to constantly fight, Hermione had spent the summer at the burrow recovering as best she could from the past year of hyper awareness and mental strain as well as the physical toll taken by constantly running ahead of almost certain death without enough food or sleep to recover. She spent her days and nights stumbling with more ineptitude than she was comfortable with towards a healthier and more resilient version of herself. It seemed that without the impending threat of war and death, as well as a few weeks of regular meals, sleep and hydration, not only had she regained the weight she had lost being on the run for a year with Harry and Ron, but her energy and hormone levels were unusually high.
Hermione had taken up running in the morning before classes. She did this in part due to her energy spike, but she would only be lying to herself if she did not admit she also ran to keep the edge of confidence she felt being strong enough to defend herself and escape potential danger. Cardio, she had discovered, was critical to a quick escape. It was a confidence she did not want to lose when returning to the more sedentary life of a student. She found herself enjoying a run down the path parallel to the Black Lake toward the ruins of an abandoned hamlet before looping around and running back to Hogwarts. The familiarity of the path and the combined up and down hill journey gave her both comfort and an interesting, but not too challenging, workout.
For variety she found herself traveling the steep and winding steps extending from the courtyard to the lake house and back. Some days, she even took to exploring a few obscure paths leading beyond the pitch into the lowlands. These were the days when she found herself seeking to escape the vague fog of melancholy that could fall over her heart without warning; and though the longer journey into unexplored territory would force her to skive off morning classes, Hermione had learned to forgive herself for failing perfection.
Hermione wasn’t the only student to take advantage of the sprawling grounds of the castle for aerobic purposes, but in general she ran alone. She preferred the solitude she found on those early morning jaunts. In that solitude her mind was free to wander and circle around her newest obsession and vice. Objectifying men; parts of their physical being, aspects of their character, the bits she found herself drawn to, all becoming the flotsam populating the sensual fantasies she had always thought herself immune to experiencing.
Hermione was noticing the male sex at a rate that was heretofore disproportionate to her prior experience. With Harry and Ron opting out of the eighth year experience in order to begin Auror training early, Hermione was alone. Starting the new year without her best friends left her plenty of time to study. Experiencing a year without a war or someone trying to kill aforementioned best friend also left her with a lot of extra alone time. Time she spent becoming better acquainted with the sensual side of her nature and the joys of orgasmic bliss. Bliss brought to herself, by herself. Self gratification was not something she was ashamed of. She was a strong proponent of female empowerment and she could hardly expect to take a lover that would know how to please her if she did not herself know what brought her pleasure. No, the problem she was having was just how much her new obsession began impacting her life and how she viewed others.
In September she began to worry about her mental stability when Draco Malfoy, of all people, became one of her earliest forays into blatant sexual objectification. He too had returned for his eighth year. He was much quieter than their past would have suggested him capable of being. Hermione was late to their second potions class. Draco was the only one without a partner. So Hermione slid into the seat next to him, waiting for an onslaught of insults that never came. The polite smile he nervously shot her way from the corner of his eye gave him a softly angelic vulnerability she did not previously associate with him. Thus began her first forbidden intrigue.
The woman leading the potions class was an ancient crone who had tossed the official texts, instead disseminating lecture notes and articles from more current research. The woman’s enthusiastic dedication to both the craft itself, as well as encouragement toward careful experimentation and documentation of results regarding methods of ingredient preparation based on observations made in prior classes, led to a very different atmosphere in the dungeon lab than had previously been known under either of the former potions instructors. It was this kind of experimentation and exploration Hermione exulted in. Of course it was only to be expected from a NEWT level course as the foundational work had been laid by very effective educators in her more formative years. Nonetheless she could not help the joy she felt in being able to move beyond the book and traversing the well worn paths of potioneers that had gone before her.
Professor Snape, having spent the summer recovering from Nagini’s snake bite at St. Mungos, had surprisingly returned to Hogwarts to take up the position of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor instead of Potions. The acerbic professor was happy to step down as headmaster and serve beneath Headmistress McGonagall.
In potions class, Hermione could not help but notice Malfoy’s long fingers and the fluid way they moved across their workstation, caressing the ingredients deftly, maneuvering the knife with competence as he prepared what they would need. She would find herself transfixed by the elegant lines of those fingers, the bend and flex of the knuckles. Falling into brief fantasies of those fingers dipping beneath her knickers, sliding around her pubis dragging lightly, teasingly, against her skin before gently dipping between her folds, stroking her softly with the soft pads of pale fingers before pushing into her using the same grace and skill to milk soft cries and electric shudders from her body that he brought to bear maneuvering the manipulation of potion ingredients and their preparation, getting her off with delicate and effortless efficiency.
Grey eyes met her own honey brown orbs as she gasped, breath stuttering in both desire and alarm, and he glanced at her in askance. She avoided eye contact afterwards, but found herself admiring the lines of his arms, the curve of his back, all while struggling to control her body’s reaction to his skilled movements as she completed her assignment slightly behind him and he cleaned their shared workspace. She left class with a haze of warm itching heat in her gut and a pulsating throb in her chest.
The first time she brought herself off to him though, was after a shared study session in the library. Spirited debate, the crash of passion and logic like sea to sand; a tidal ebb and flow of intellect and energy found them engaging in a passionate argument over the best ingredient to use in a basic healing potion.
He was adamant that horklump juice was best, but she would not be swayed over the efficacy of dittany— particularly when fresh — as opposed to the annoyingly sticky extraction method needed to extract the same amount of material at equivalent potency from the spiked fungus. Dittany was abundant and easily accessible, whereas the horklump grew in darker and less easily accessible areas.
Draco had argued his case with precision and confidence, able to counter nearly every one of her points with one of his own. His biting wit and the acerbic sarcasm flavoring the argument between them with a level of intellectual and emotional stimulation that engaged Hermione on a vibrational level. Neither had left the table convinced the other was right. Both had left absurdly happy.
Returning eighth year students had been granted private quarters separate from the other students due to their age. Repurposed empty classrooms and unoccupied teachers quarters were used, as only a handful of students had chosen to return for their NEWTs, like Hermione. She had barely closed the door to her room before she was on her bed with her hands in her knickers as she came hard and fast, a breathy moan chanting Malfoy’s first name, trembling with ecstasy and a full body shudder, fingers drenched in her own slick.
Much to Hermione’s dismay, Draco’s hands were the first surprise, in her new sexual awakening, but not the last. In October, a Ravenclaw with shoulders large enough to shelter her between his just-as-large pecs, and a voice so deep that it made her core throb as he carefully enunciated the incantations in transfiguration. The thrum of his voice in that massive chest had her fantasizing about riding his broom thighs to completion with disturbing regularity.
The Ravenclaw’s spellwork was flawless. He was somehow able to cross reference what they were learning in class with theory from Ancient Runes and Arithmancy when brainstorming the more detailed and intricate transfigurations they were carrying out in McGonagall's class. On a somber autumn evening as the two studied side by side he showed her a neat trick in the library for pulling research to make cross-disciplinary connections on the topics of their transfiguration essays- a charm that could as easily be applied to a similar approach in other classes. The spell would allow any researcher to approach their topic from multiple and unique perspectives, enriching the papers they were writing as well as deepening their own understanding of the material. The charm made synthesizing theory and application and the usefulness of what they were mastering across multiple contexts much more efficient- his mastery of knowledge Hermione did not yet know, his willingness to expose her to it, to teach it to her, had her dripping all the way back to her room. She came three times that night under the power of her imagination and fingers. She used the memory of his body against the bookshelves, the smell of parchment, ink, and books surrounding her, the idea of using the charm to enhance her essays, his voice whispering the words to invoke it breathing over her ear and his large arm resting over her wand arm, guiding its motion as she cast; she used it all, the experiential pieces flying apart, analyzed separately, then imploding back together for a euphoric experience that left her boneless and panting, shuddering and sated.
November came as her fantasies took a new turn in the greenhouses. There was a particularly talented Hufflepuff in Herbology. He was short and stocky but chiseled like rocks on mountain paths, veins etching delicate paths as moss on stone, accenting his limbs and the purely masculine curves of his arms. Hermione would never have thought him to be her type, but watching him kneeling in the dirt at her feet, the sunlight illuminating his dark hair one afternoon as he helped her gently manipulate- in low whispered tones- a few of the more dangerous plants in a greenhouse restricted to the advanced seventh and eighth year students had her panting in need. Between the curve of his arse and the wide lips that puffed delicate breaths on her neck, the square jaw with faint morning scruff against her own soft skin, he inspired both an ache of want and a slight burn of shame.
The Hufflepuff was nearly two years younger than her. But he guided her hands to correctly move the twisting vines and avoid the dripping spikes of venom. He was calm. Quiet. Steady as the earth beneath their feet. He gave her a crash course on the merits of different materials used in protective gloves, random knowledge he possessed, only marginally applicable to the current topic in class. They stayed long after all the other students left and the professor disappeared as he continued expounding on a topic that he seemed passionate about. He then taught her three wandless spells for skin protection, patiently guiding her through the gestures, praising her mental focus as well as the swift ease with which she mastered the verbal incantations. His voice was a low rumble of encouragement in her ear. He told her she was a quick study, a beaming smile and a soft look of affectionate pride and admiration on his broad face. She didn’t even make it back to her rooms, instead opting to duck into an abandoned room below one of the greenhouses. In a space lit with a low blue light of sun-filtered water she warded the door and, throwing up a quick silencing charm, brought herself to completion, eyes directed unseeing towards tree roots growing in beautiful spirals and whorls on the other side of the window. Her focus instead on the memory of large hands and thick fingers and breathy praise caressing her neck and ear. Heat at her back and a voice murmuring magic with passion and expertise.
Beyond the energy for running and an elevated libido, she found her magic seemed to be growing as well. Her spells were coming more easily to her than previously, and her magic seemed euphoric at being used and released. Her potions came out stronger; the shields and jinxes in DADA were powerfully cast, with less effort and increased speed. Without the boys taking up her time and no other close relationships to speak of she found herself swimming the shoreline of the Black Lake on the weekends in a muggle one piece, a warming charm took care of the chill and basking a couple hours on the shoreline daydreaming of magic and sex before reading until the sun went down brought her more peace and joy than a trip to Hogsmeade ever could. When the weather grew too cold and ice began to creep across the lake's surface she began taking day hikes into the surrounding hills and forests, steering clear of the Forbidden forest but learning the lay of the land around the ancient castle.
Hermione wondered whether all these changes were typical of a witch going through normal maturation. Had the constant pressure of protecting Harry, caring for him and Ron, and fighting a war since she was eleven merely pushed down her natural inclinations and maturity? Was she experiencing something normal or was it atypical?
Unfortunately, she had no one she was comfortable asking such things to. Her relationship with Mrs. Weasley had been strained ever since she and Ron broke up. Although it had been a mutually agreed upon break and they parted ways amicably, the Weasley matriarch seemed to hold Hermione entirely to blame for her youngest son’s seeming descent into wild oat sowing depravity. A path he seemed intent on pursuing since moving in with Harry and starting his training. Ron was photographed with a different witch on his arm nearly every weekend, his fame as one of the Golden Trio keeping him on the gossip pages regularly, much to his mother’s chagrin.
While Hermione felt close to Headmistress McGonagall, she was not comfortable asking her such things, particularly since her most recent and enduring fascination involved the deputy Headmaster and Professor McGonagalls colleague, the DADA professor and war hero Severus Snape.
Yes, Severus Snape was her very own Mr. December. His voice, a cold drawl of concise confidence, rolled across his classroom resonating off the corners and crawling inside her as he lectured. She had always enjoyed his sonorous articulation, the rise and fall of vowels and the way certain consonants seemed to roll languorously off his acerbic tongue, but she did not recall his voice ever affecting her like this in her younger years. He modeled complex patterns of wand movement for powerful hexes and was able to both wandlessly and wordlessly cast his patronus with a seemingly casual elegance. His hooked nose, which was most often considered a detriment to his appeal, had begun stirring a longing inside of her— to feel it nuzzling below her ears and between her legs. She found herself hotly wondering if his nose, broad and flaring nostrils, elongated and slightly curved beak and slightly protruding nasal ridge, indicated an equally unique and well proportioned cock. Her mouth watered at the idea of undoing his trousers while he graded papers. Half formed imaginings danced in her mind of sliding her hands around his length, sitting on her knees beneath his desk, of caressing the head of his penis with her mouth and tongue. When the professor told her “well done” in a vaguely impressed soft drawl for a well cast protego, she rewarded herself with an evening spent bringing herself to climax several times to images of him, that half smile that was not quite a smile and that tone of praise echoing in her mind with each orgasm.
Hermione realized she was in trouble and in desperate need of a quick and easy shag when she had no less than thirteen orgasms in one week, all featuring Professor Snape. She was, in a word, desperate! She had steadfastly refused to engage in any relations in the wizarding world since her break up with Ron. She had no desire to be some wizard's conquest as the Brightest Witch of her Age, nor did she want her own picture splashed across the gossip sections of wizarding publications along with Ron’s. She had hooked up with a muggle for a one night stand prior to the start of term, but it was now approaching Christmas. She had not had a partner for three months and if her fevered imaginings were any indication, she was in dire need and apparently not at all picky.
Hermione once again found herself partnered with Draco, this time in Defense. Professor Snape was trawling the lines of students practicing wordless and wandless magic, focusing on expelliarmus for offense and accio for defensive response, pairs of students took turns disarming and calling their wands back to them before the wands fell to the ground or ended up in their partners hands.
“A powerful witch or wizard can simultaneously cast either a shield or simple jinx while calling their wand to themselves or disarming an opponent without the warning of voice or wand. While disarming or calling your wand back is adequate, true skill and mettle can be honed with the understanding that you are only limited by what you are willing to put into practice. Time. And effort. These are the requirements to move beyond mere adequacy.”
Professor Snape's words, the tone, the cadence, the crisply articulated d and t from the word adequate caused Hermione to shiver. A wave of desire danced delicately down her spine. She found her eyes lingering on him, even as he corrected the stance of a few of the other students while he kept talking. The professor’s dark eyes were intense and Hermione found her focus arrested on the gentle and subtle bend of his fingers. The slow slide of his grip along one student’s wand arm, the arch of his own hand along the palm of one of the Slytherin seventh years, straightening their fingers and raising their arm.
Her own wand flew from her fingers causing her to rip her gaze from the professor. It sailed between her and Draco, flipping through the air heading for his outstretched hand. Her mind focused on his smug face, calling her wand back with a wordless accio even as a golden hex leapt from her dominant hand, striking his ankle, causing him to yelp in surprise. Her hand was raised to catch her wand when the sibilant and approving tone of Professor Snape murmured from behind her.
“Masterful recovery, I’m impressed, Miss Granger.” His hand rested between her shoulder blades applying a slight pressure which shot heat through to her center and a short moan burst from her before she could stop it. Mortification burned in her cheeks as she prayed he had not noticed the sound, that to her, seemed to pulse through the classroom despite the din all around them. His hand fell from her swiftly. “Your defensive stance was well thought out, remember that the more compact and lower to the ground you can get yourself, the less enticing a target you will make.”
“Th-th-thank you, pr-professor.” She weakly responded.
Hermione found that as the days progressed her obsession only grew to heights that bordered on creepy. She watched the professor as he ate her focus arrested on his mouth, the sneer and purse of his lips, the bob of his Adam's apple on his throat. The precise and delicate way he cut his food, wrapping his mouth around the cutlery. His particular and steady routine of carefully chewing as if savoring every morsel.
She found that while she could not watch him as closely as she liked from the Gryffindor table, it was easy to observe him from above the great hall in one of the unused galleries. Hermione had taken to collecting a plate and leaving the hall, only to cast a quick disillusionment charm on herself and heading to the empty room so she could more easily observe the professor as he ate and engaged with his peers at the high table.
She knew he suspected someone had eyes on him even from the first day she began her surveillance of him. She had a bird’s-eye view of him as he scanned the room for the eyes she knew he could feel boring into him. His instincts impressed her further and engaged an interest more akin to admiration than arousal.
She learned that he had a fondness for mousse, and the way he devoured it- the spin, the decadent, lustful way he caressed the spoon with his tongue- had her panting with want and aching with need. And her reaction was over the top and patently ridiculous. Yet She found herself surreptitiously ensuring he had mousse options more frequently on his end of the table as a dessert option just to watch him eat the sweet and creamy offerings. Dessert voyeurism notwithstanding, Hermione found herself double-dipping in the guilt pool. Not only was she peeping and creeping on her professor who was undeniably a war hero deserving of more respect than she was showing, she was also using her fevered imaginings of him as fuel for far too many of her own tension taming imaginings.
Her unrequited longing and in class daydreaming came to a spectacular head the day Professor Snape had a surprise guest in class as Ron appeared, grinning as the pupils found their seats. She found herself smiling happily at her friend, even as her brow arched in inquiry at his appearance.
“Class, I am sure most of you know Auror trainee Ronald Weasley.” There was an excited murmur that rippled around the room as Ron smiled good naturedly at the students before him. Professor Snape gave everyone a moment to calm themselves.
“Auror trainee Weasley is here today to discuss Veritaserum and its application in defense against the dark arts, dark wizards and the power of magic and the mind. Eighth years will be staying after class for a demonstration of the usefulness of the potion.” Professor Snape nodded and stepped aside to observe from the corner of the classroom. Ron stood up to address the class.
“The Auror department uses Veritaserum to ensure full honesty in matters of dark magic and where time is of the essence. As the right to privacy and due process are tenets long held sacred in the wizarding justice system the use of the potion is rigorously regulated and monitored. The potion itself is considered a controlled substance and sanctioned for use only by the DMLE and only in the most dire of need. The potion creates a deep clarity of the mind so that the witch or wizard dosed is able to know and is compelled to speak only the unaltered truth. Can anyone explain why this might not always be such a good thing, after all, the truth it is said will set you free.” Ron smirked at the end his eyes flitting to Hermione whose hand slowly extended into the air.
“Yes, Ms. Granger.” Ron drawled playfully and Hermione rolled her eyes even as her mouth turned up in an answering smile.
“Well sir,” she began trying not to giggle as his grin broadened and he threw his shoulders back at her honorific address, “the clarity given by the potion to the person who imbibes it is limited to the user’s perception of reality. This means that what they speak may not necessarily be the truth, but only what the truth is as they perceive it. Furthermore, while the truth can be freeing, spilling one’s secrets can cause unforeseen consequences. Since the potion can be resisted with either the antidote or a person highly skilled in Occlumency, the truth can be manipulated by the imbiber if they are forewarned or skilled in aforementioned magic.”
“Too right, ‘Mione” Ron laughed, “twenty points to Gryffindor!”
“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley, you are not allowed to give out house points.” Professor Snape admonished without an ounce of amusement in his voice.
Ron went on to lecture and answer questions from the seventh years and the other eighth years in the class. When the class was over, the eighth years stayed behind and the seventh years shuffled out. Ron took a seat as Professor Snape stood to begin the next half of the presentation.
“Now, as you are all survivors of a war against the darkness you have been invited with special dispensation from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to partake in a practical demonstration of the functions and limitations of Veritaserum. This will be on a strictly volunteer basis, however, it does give you the opportunity to earn house points.” The professor spoke softly, though his voice rippled through the room. Hermione’s stomach clenched with a warm roll of desire at the careful way he enunciated each word with what seemed deliberate care.
Professor Snape continued. “It just so happens that one of the most accomplished Occlumens in Britain is here in this class right now.” A snort came from her side and Hermione glanced over at the perfection that was Draco Malfoy's jawline. Professor Snape raised a brow but continued on. “We also have in this class a witch considered to be the brightest mind of her generation.” the professor made brief eye contact with Hermione before allowing his gaze to drift over the classroom, “What I propose is this. Three of you will take a dose of the Veritaserum. You will see how it works on the majority of witches and wizards.” Here he gave a half smirk as he let his dark-eyed gaze travel the faces of the remaining students in the classroom, some of whom squirmed in discomfort or were midway through reacting with slight offense. “You will see that even the strongest of minds can have a difficult time resisting the strength of the potion, and then finally you will observe what happens when it is administered to a skilled Occlumens.”
“Just how many house points are we talking sir?” Draco queried. Professor Snape sneered lightly.
“Enough to make it worth it.”
“I don’t know professor,” Hermione interjected cautiously. “If I have surmised correctly, you want me to take a dose of the potion in front of everyone, potentially exposing thoughts or secrets I would rather not reveal. How are the questions you will ask being determined? And to allow ourselves to become this vulnerable, for my part at least, would require a substantial pool of points to make it worth my while.” Hermione’s chin jutted out firmly, her shrewd eyes resting cautiously on her instructor.
“Would thirty points be enough Granger?” He snarled. “One would have thought, considering your own love of learning and learning experiences, that you would jump at the chance to witness such a rare and heavily controlled potion in action. Not many witches or wizards get such an opportunity in their lifetime.” Hermione considered his words for a minute as Draco took up the gauntlet she had just thrown down, surprisingly supporting her points.
“I agree with Granger, Veritaserum presents an opportunity for abuse and vulnerability. What kinds of questions will be asked to determine that this even is Veritaserum and not just water?”
Professor Snaped found himself rubbing his temples. While he appreciated the intellect of his eighth years, he found himself yearning for a Pepper-up potion. It had been a long day of classes and having stupidly skipped lunch in favor of reading a new text on creative new hexes and jinxes from Asia that he had been hoping to integrate into his curriculum for some of his more advanced students, he found himself simply wanting to get the demonstration over with.
“Questions will be limited to this class and what happens here. Your goal will be to simply succeed in lying about it.”
Draco grinned and accepted the challenge. A ravenclaw witch Hermione did not know also volunteered. All eyes in the classroom returned to her, yet Hermione was still hesitant to agree, a nervous foreboding fluttering in her stomach.
“Well ‘Mione?” Ron cajoled, “Where’s that Gryffindor spirit of courage?” He goaded teasingly.
“Battling with my British spirit of Good Sense, Ronald.” She shot back severely, wary of the gleam of mischief in his eyes.
Snape had had enough. He raised his eyes to glare sternly at the small group.
“As I said, this is strictly voluntary. If Ms. Granger does not wish to participate, we will simply move on without her. Administer the first dose to Ms. Toffit.” He spoke, gesturing decisively to the Ravenclaw who stepped forward at the mention of her name. Ron pulled out a dropper, and as the Ravenclaw witch opened her mouth and leaned forward, he administered three drops to the tip of her tongue. Her eyes went glassy and she appeared to relax, smiling vacantly up at Ron, who grinned down at her.
“Ms. Toffit,” Ron began, stepping back, “tell us, what did you learn about in Defense Against the Dark Arts today, remember, you are to try to resist the effects of the potion to the best of your ability.” Words began spilling out of the witches mouth nearly before Ron had finished asking the question.
“We’ve been learning about Veritaserum today. We learned why it was useful and its limitations, and without even trying, managed to once again annoy the professor.” There was some chuckling from around the room as the other eighth years shot a glance to their mildly offended professor.
“And what do you think of the lesson so far?” Ron asked, grinning himself at Professor Snape's mild displeasure.
“I find it interesting to witness the use of such a controlled substance for ourselves, though I did expect more from a war veteran who faced down the Dark Lord and some of the worst Death Eaters of them all. It makes me wonder what Ms. Granger could possibly be hiding when offered the opportunity to experience this potion for herself. We all know how much she loves learning, I think maybe her bravery has been a bit overplayed due to her origins, actions reported on after the war and the charity of the truly brave wizards she surrounds herself with.” The witch continued blithely even as the smile slipped from Ron's face and his eyes shot to Hermione who was red in anger and embarrassment. Professor Snape himself snorted though he said nothing. Her vibrant eyes shining with anger and humiliation turned to him, mouth pursed in stubborn defiance as she lifted her chin.
Hermione struggled not to say anything, knowing defending herself would be a useless endeavor. The witch, as most of the wizarding world, would believe whatever she wanted. Surprisingly though it was the professor that rose to her defense, shocking her and sending a spark of happiness through her body that traveled from the nape of her neck down to her toes.
“And thus, we already see the limitations of the potion as Ms. Toffit can only speak the truth as she perceives it whereas those of us who have had the honor of fighting alongside Ms. Granger, know better than to doubt her courage.” Professor Snape locked eyes with her and merely gave her a nod of acknowledgement before turning to Draco. Hermione could not believe it. Professor Snape had not only just stood up for her character in front of the entire class, but he had also given her a very high compliment. Ron’s brows had risen into his fringe as his gaze darted between Hermione's shocked face and the blasé way the professor picked up the vial of Veritaserum and administered it to Malfoy.
“Alright Draco, what have we learned today, hmm?” Professor Snape queried. Malfoy’s face was a blank mask, his eyes a dull gray.
“We learned that Granger wears fluffy pink knickers to keep the boggarts away, and that Weaselbee is so bad at his job he’s being sent back to school for it.” There were a few snickers around the room as well as some eye rolling. Hermione let out an offended squawk but tried not to make any further sound, refusing to play his game. She was mildly disconcerted when he threw her a teasing smile without a hint of mockery or casual cruelty in it.
“And there you see a Master Occlumens manipulate the truth even while under the influence of the potion, as well as engage in an outright lie,” here Snape paused raising a brow in inquiry as he directed his focus back to Hermione, “unless of course, there is something in Mr. Malfoy’s statement you would like to corroborate, something about the description of your... Unmentionables?” Hermione cleared her throat and squeezed her thighs together at the illicit tingle that shot through her core. Simultaneously, turned on by the drawl of unmentionables in Severus Snape’s low tone -made more intense because he was discussing her’s- and offended by the idea that anyone could believe that Malfoy, of all people, would know what her knickers looked like. An occasional masturbatory fantasy was in no way an indication that anything really was happening between her and the posh git who had bullied her throughout her childhood.
“No, sir.” She stated succinctly, her eyes smoldering up at him from below her furrowed brows. A somewhat mocking smirk unfurled across his face at her annoyance.
“So what’s it to be Ms. Granger, after all, many might still feel they would have the intellectual fortitude to escape the potions effects. You are without doubt the brightest witch of this age and yet, even with all the respect your formidable intellect has earned, even you would be forced to yield your truths to the effects of the serum. Will you demonstrate for the class the result of attempting to resist the potion with no more than your indomitable will and quite remarkable mind?”
Hermione felt sparks of disbelieving glee spike across her skin and she found herself beginning to forget how to breathe. Professor Snape had just showered her in a deluge of praise without any sign or hint of deceit. The shock of it sent a jolt of arousal zinging from her nipples to her cunt and all coherent thought leaping from her awareness as she simply basked in the warm glow of Professor Snape's positive regard.
“C’mon ‘Mione, please?” Ron begged. Hermione found herself nodding while still gazing in open-mouthed wonder at Professor Snape
“Sir,” Malfoy interjected, “since Granger is such a national treasure, what with that brain of hers, perhaps we could increase the dosage, really put to rest anyone’s idea that Veritaserum can be resisted, and finally understand why it is such a regulated substance.” Malfoy’s tone seemed sincere, but his words and the way he smirked all indicated he was not at all serious. Professor Snape simply rolled his eyes. Hermione finally snapped out of the pleasurable haze that had held her to glare fiercely at the lanky blond.
“The prescribed dosage is three drops for a reason, Malfoy. It's not a potion whose results you would want to endure all day. It wears off rather quickly and since speaking the perceived truth is involuntary it would be inadvisable to walk the halls or go to class under its influence, wouldn’t you agree?” Hermione snapped, her lips thin in disapproval.
“Why,” he shot back, “got something to hide Granger? Are you too scared?” Hermine could feel herself responding with indignation to his suggestion.
“We all have secrets Malfoy,” she snapped, “why are you so eager to get at mine?”
“Enough!” Professor Snape snapped. While he did not raise his voice it was imbued with all the authority that only an entirely weary and at their wits end professor can channel. “I have said this is voluntary. Three drops is sufficient. Shall we proceed, Mr. Weasley?” He intoned.
Ron stood up readying the dropper and potion but Hermione grabbed both from him, determined to administer the dose herself. In retrospect, given her Gryffindor nature and Malfoy’s prodding at her temper, it perhaps was not the wisest decision she could have made, but when the Slytherin git waggled his eyebrows at her and clucked twice, she scowled fiercely and instead of opting for the dropper she took the potion as one would a shot. That was the least wise of all her decisions but she was so far gone in a floating haze she did not even hear Ron’s surprised squawk or feel Malfoy take her by the elbow and guide her to the chair. She could almost swear she was floating above.
“Merlin save me from the foolhardiness of Gryffindors.” Professor Snape groaned, the soft timbre of his exasperation floating over her spine eliciting a shudder of pleasure.
“So, Hermione, what have you learned in class today?” Ron asked her briskly. Hermione would like to say she resisted the potions effects. She would like to say that she struggled against the words that came flowing from her like water from a sieve, but it would be a lie.
“I learned that Professor Snape has a much higher opinion of me than I had believed possible. That Veritaserum is a powerful potion but can be resisted even if you are a total arse and that Professor Snape can get my knickers soaked with just his voice alone. Oh, and I seem to have discovered I have a bit of a praise kink.” Hermione continued blithely smiling through the pleasant haze.
“Mione!” Ron cried stricken, his face heating to a tomato red.
“This is too good!” Malfoy laughed, surprise crossing his face, there were answering laughs throughout the room.
“Tell us how you feel about the professor!” A voice called out.
And Hermione did. She began with his voice, word vomit projecting into the stunned room, ignoring the catcalls and laughter as she extolled the many ways she found herself moved to highs and lows of passion when he spoke. She continued to speak when Professor Snape stood from his chair casting a silencing charm around her and demanding everyone leave, but she was unable to stop there. She could see Ron wringing his hands at the door, his face flushed with concern, panic and empathic embarrassment. She was so lost in the potions affects she did not know she was alone with the object of her intimate affections, nor did she notice when the silencing spell was dropped and Severus Snape dropped into a chair to listen in disbelief as a beautiful young woman rhapsodized with heartfelt enthusiasm about his many virtues.
“Honestly, he could read a muggle technical manual and it would probably do the same thing to me; his voice when he speaks low and draws out the sounds; it is the most sensuous sound on the planet. I’ve come thirteen times this week to the memory of him calling me Adequate and the feel of his hand on my shoulder.”
“Why were your underwear soaked as you put it?” Snape found himself asking. He knew it was unethical, she was under the influence of a powerful potion. Yet she spoke of him with such desire. She was not a child. She was a war veteran and nineteen years old. She was the top of her class and had lived and experienced more in her short life than many witches and wizards twice her age. She was, in Severus’ mind, never even an option or possibility. He had noticed her attractiveness the way one might notice the weather when walking outside. But she desired him. Why? How? And he was noticing her now.
“You said such nice things about me professor, I’ve always wanted to please you. But it seems to have gotten worse since returning to school.”
“What do you mean, what’s worse?” He rasped.
“I have trouble sleeping because of the war sir, but also I seem to have an excess of energy. My magic feels full and large, larger than me. I find myself noticing the young men and yourself sir in ways that I have previously been able to put to the back of my mind. My libido is out of control. I know I just need a good shag and I could get it under control, but honestly I don’t want anyone else but you.” Snape found himself intrigued by both her symptoms and her last statement.
“Could it be something medical?” He questioned hoarsely, even as his mind reeled with the implication of her words. She shook her head.
“I’ve been seen by Madame Pomfrey and a muggle doctor, and both gave me a mostly clean bill of health. My therapist said I am finally allowing myself to experience normalcy. I’ve been through multiple traumatic events and was a child soldier long before the war started. I was always the one who had to keep the level head, be the voice of reason -the adult- in our trio. I never allowed myself to explore who I was becoming or my own desires growing up, as my only concern at the time was Harry’s survival. Oh, and I guess my own as well.” Snape felt a small burst of shame at his prurient interest as Ms. Granger spilled the secret vulnerabilities of her war trauma.
“And how does it make you feel, what your therapist told you?” He whispered.
“Ashamed.” Hermione answered without pause. Snape’s gaze cut to her sharply and he sat up.
“Explain.”
“Harry died, he came from abuse, learned the man he loved as a father figure raised him to die, and he did that. He does not seem to have the same issues as me. You lost the woman you loved sir, you were forced to endure horrors I don’t even want to imagine, and you endured the enmity of those who you called friends for years, saving everyone, saving us all so many times and always without thanks. Even now, knowing the role you played, the risks you took, the torture you endured, people still look at you as if you are less, and you are absolutely one of the greatest wizards to have ever lived.”
“Ms. Granger-”
“I am ashamed that I am so affected when others who endured worse carry on with dignity. I can’t even spend eight hours without my hands in my pants imagining your fingers fucking my cunt until I come.”
“Do you- do you have much experience?” He found his voice faltering- this was wrong, this was so wrong; but he had been alone for so long, and she could not lie. Could she truly be interested in him in that way? Would she possibly be able to care for him?
“Some, I hooked up with a muggle before the start of term. It was messy and not that great.”
“Why are you not with Weasley? It was rumored you were together at the end of the war.”
“I have no desire for him, we are friends.”
“But you desire me?” He found himself asking. A spark of shame and longing in his chest.
“More than I have ever wanted anyone in my life. I dream of you, your hands on my skin. Your voice in my ear. Your breath on my neck.”
“Ms. Granger you are young and beautiful-” He started at her slight gasp as he spoke, “you are a hero and could have your choice of any man you wanted.” Even in her drugged up daze she found his statement amusing and she giggled lightly.
“If that were true I would have you.” Hermione stated plainly. He did not speak. For a heartbeat. For two.
“How can you possibly be attracted to me? You hardly know me.”
“I don’t have to know you to want to fuck you. You are everything I want in a lover. Self possessed, competent, intelligent, driven, attractive-” Now he snorted.
“Miss Granger, I am well aware of my own level of physical appeal, there is no need to flatter my ego.”
“I would not do that sir and as I am under the effects of Veritaserum you know that I believe you to be attractive. I understand that you might not think so, but while your looks are not conventional, they are distinct, and they are you, sir. You have made me feel safe here, sir. You drive me to be my best self. I would consider myself a lucky witch indeed to hold your heart in my possession.” Her glazed expression lazily drifted to his lap, “or your cock. I mean, I believe we’re being honest here.” She smiled drunkenly at him. Snape would have thought himself the victim of an elaborate prank but he knew she had no choice but to speak what she perceived as the absolute truth.
“And would you be interested in something more than a carnal relationship?” He found himself whispering.
“Absolutely. I believe we are compatible on a number of levels despite our age gap.”
Severus swallowed convulsively as his eyes drank in her bemused expression. For the first time in longer than he could recall Severus Snape found himself nurturing a fragile flame of hope.
A few hours later after the potion had worn off Hermione came back to herself and realized with horror exactly how much of her inner self she had exposed to her professor. As heat mounted in her cheeks and the floor refused to open up and swallow her she slowly raised her eyes to meet the soft gaze of the object of her fantasies.
“S-s-sir,” she croaked, her voice breaking with humiliation, the hot sting of tears barely being held back by the strength of her will, “I am so sorry.”
Severus Snape reached down to his seated student and lifted her chin.
“I want you to know, Ms. Granger, that I am deeply flattered by your interest. However, as your professor I am unwilling to act on your interest or my own reciprocity until such time as the balance of power between us shifts and we can meet to further explore your desires- our desires, on a more equal footing.” Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she felt a thrill shoot through her.
“You mean, you share my interest?” She gasped hope alight in her voice and face. Severus smiled in gentle bemusement at the beautiful young woman seated before him.
“Indeed.” He whispered. Suddenly Hermione shot to her feet, she sped toward him, her hand rising to rest on his chest and he backed up in cautious surprise as she pinned him to the wall.
“So to be clear your only objection is the fact that you are my professor. Were this not the case we would be free to explore this,” she gestured between them with her free hand, her eyes never leaving his, “and see where it takes us.”
“Yes, Ms. Granger.” The regret, the wistful yearning in his voice had Hermione cupping his cheek in her hand and caressing his face with her thumb.
“I can have the DADA NEWT completed before the Christmas hols and we can spend the entire break in bed together if you are truly willing.” Hermione’s eyes searched his face for any sign of hesitation. A rumbling laugh vibrated up his sternum and he raised his own hands, one to cover the hand she held over his heart and the other to cup her face as well.
“How is that possible?” He questioned and the eagerness in his voice was undeniable and Hermione found herself smirking.
“The ministry has given me a standing and open offer to take any or all of my NEWTS at any time in the hopes of luring me to hire on with them upon my graduation. While I am nearly certain I can pass DADA with and Exceeds Expectations I was willing to wait to try for the O.”
“Hermione,” Severus whispered, the smoldering fire in his eyes banking softly, “I am not going anywhere. I can wait until the end of the year for you. Earn your O. We need not rush and imperil the goals you have set for yourself.”
“It’s alright professor, I find there is an O of a different kind I want more, an O only you can give me.” He arched a brow.
“Really? Because as I recall you have been able to give such to yourself- what was it- thirteen times this week?” Hermione gasped and he snickered.
And then her lips were on his. Time itself seemed to stop as her lips, soft and warm, slotted themselves to his own. He moaned into her mouth and his arms rose to wrap themselves around her, draw her to him, pressing yearning flesh to yearning flesh- hers soft and giving, his hard and unyielding. It was as natural as breathing when his tongue gently probed hers and the kiss deepened. Electricity danced and tingled on the surface of their skin and a heavy ache built between them, a heady promise of heat and passion and possibility. It was with the greatest reluctance Hermione withdrew, though his arms clung to hers, their foreheads fell together, their heavy, panting breaths filling the room before she spoke.
“I’ll send a patronus to Harry. I’ll have my NEWT in Defense against the dark arts by the end of the day Saturday.” Severus smiled his entire body thrumming with desire and nodded his head against her.
“As you wish.” He rasped.