10: Rung Five - Her

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. Special thanks go to JKR for sanctioning HP fanfic.

Gobs of thanks go to my beta Southern Witch 69 and to my Brit-picker the amazing Saracen77.

10: Rung Five – Her

August 31st, 7:55 am

“Accio briefcase!” I put as much power behind the spell as I can but don’t stop moving.

I’m late, I’m late. It’s the first day, and I’m bloody well late!

I’m running through the halls, hopping as I go because one of my shoes wants to come off, and I don’t want to stop to fix it. The stodgier portraits tut-tut and shake disapproving heads as I pass.

Sleeping at Ron’s after the engagement party was a bad decision – I should have known. Well, all right, I did know. I just chose not to act on it. I mean, how would it sound for me to say: “Yes, I’ll marry you. Got to run!”

I slide to a halt a couple of meters outside of the staff room door and attempt to compose myself. A quick Scourgify and the sheen of perspiration disappears; a swipe of hand over hair – well, there’s only so much I can do with no time.

Fluttering sounds to my left, and I turn in time to catch the briefcase with my torso, but it nonetheless knocks me back half a step, and my loose shoe causes me to stumble slightly.

Taking another swipe at my hair, I square my shoulders and enter the room. Minerva continues to speak but gives me an indulgent nod. I exhale in relief.

It seems every chair is taken by witches and wizards, who are all watching me.

Impressive first impression, Granger.

My momentum carries me forward, and it takes a few seconds for me to notice that there is one seat available at the end of the table.

A seat beside Snape.

I sit and ignore him while rummaging in my briefcase for a piece of parchment and a quill.

“And we are most excited to be welcoming so many new faces to the teaching staff this year. Next, I would like to introduce Resaldo Giomanti.” Minerva seems to still be in the opening part of her speech, and perhaps because I read the full dossier on each staff member a week ago, my attention wanders.

Trying to sit beside him calmly, professionally, I notice his scent for the first time. No, that’s not true. I detected it two months ago in Tonks’s foyer but was too angry at the time to process the input. Now I have the enforced leisure of an entire staff meeting to do so.

Smoky. Less offensive than patchouli and darker than sandalwood. There aren’t many base-note essential oils left.

Hmm. What could it be?

Then, it comes to me. Vetiver – he smells of a complex combination of vetiver and his skin.

It’s perfect.

Reining in my thoughts, I find my eyes watching his hands as he prepares his tea. I don’t realize how intently I’ve been staring until he wraps his fingers around the cup to raise it to his mouth; following his motion, my gaze meets his. Jerking my eyes back to the parchment in front of me, I squirm slightly, trying to relieve the faint tingling of my center.

I look over at him and find him still watching me intently.

Circe, it’s as if he knows what I’m thinking. There goes the eyebrow.

Flushing, I squirm again, and this time our knees brush – I’m rewarded with the mild discomfort of tickling wetness seeping across my labia.

He positively smirks.

Smug bastard.

Those long fingers reach for an éclair from the platter at our end of the table and raise it to his mouth. His bite is almost dainty it’s so precise. He takes a sip of tea.

I relax. He’s just eating – why would he do anything else?

The second bite isn’t so neat – he twists the pastry while moving it away so that a smear of chocolate covers his bottom lip, and I watch transfixed as he slowly swipes his tongue across it. My clit pulses.

Ah, bastard, bastard, bastard! Smug bastard with those fingers and that … that tongue.

If a rather observant, blond woman weren’t sitting directly on my left, I’d be tempted to surreptitiously adjust my knickers, which are now thoroughly soaked and clinging to my folds.

Instead, I raise my right hand to my cheek and feel its warmth – I’m flushed. Looking over, I see Snape smirking widely – it would be a smile if it weren’t so predatory. And I swear the man could write an entire eyebrow-code dictionary – he’s certainly mastered the vocabulary.

Suddenly, hearing my name captures my attention. “… Granger, who will be our new Arithmancy Master. She is a Hogwarts alumnus and a distinguished war hero.” Minerva pauses to positively beam at me. “But on an even happier note, allow me to lead us all in congratulating Professor Granger on her engagement to another of our young war heroes, Ronald Weasley.”

That explains why she accepted my tardiness, but how did she know? Of course – Molly must have Flooed her.

I smile and thank my well wishers, going clockwise around the table so that the last person I look at is Snape. His eyebrows say nothing; in fact, his entire face resembles an inflexible mask. Then, a muscle jumps in his clenched jaw, and he grits out, “Congratulations, Professor Granger. Although it is a pity that after having endeavored for so long to obtain this specific appellation that you would relinquish it so quickly.”

“Why, Severus,” Minerva cuts in, “whoever said she was going to change her last name?”

AN: It may be evil, but I love Minerva as a hard-core feminist – she never does things by halves!

Vetiver is as Hermione describes it – smoky, rich, and deep – but it’s difficult to find, as it’s not as popular as sandalwood or patchouli.