Never to be Told

Chapter 8: Never to be Told

Hermione walked into her laboratory and stopped abruptly at the sight outside the massive windows. It was early December, and although they had experienced many frigidly cold, wet days, the first snow had just begun to fall. Huge, wet flakes slapped against the mullioned windows, clinging hopefully to the glass before sliding down heavily to collect against the pane. Hermione had always loved the way Hogwarts looked in the snow: it was as if a fluffy white blanket had been artfully arranged to cosset the castle in its comforting embrace.

With a delighted smile, Hermione walked to the window and allowed herself several moments of simply gazing outside. Impulsively, she decided she'd haul out her warmest boots and take a walk in the snow after lunch. She started on her current project with a smile and a sense of determination, but within three hours, all thoughts of snow, walks, and delight were gone. It was going to be a long day, and she was glad she had no classes to interfere with her concentration.

All she was trying to do was find a way to increase the potency of Wit-Sharpening Potion, which should have been a simple enough process. She had been successful with modifying similar potions in the past, and although it had taken some tinkering, she'd eventually ended up with stronger and longer-lasting potions. And even though she was applying the same methods she'd used with those other potions, she now stood at her table, mopping up armadillo bile from her robes and table for the third time that morning. No matter what she did, she couldn't get the bile to stop exploding when she added it, and she gritted her teeth as a black mood overcame her.

With an oath of frustration, she Vanished the mess she'd just created. She'd used the last of the armadillo bile and was down to one lone scarab beetle, so she set off for the dungeons to raid the storeroom.

Distracted by the wasted time and ingredients, she didn't pause outside the classroom, shoving the door open forcefully and letting it slam hard against the wall before stomping into the room where Snape was teaching the Gryffindor and Slytherin first–years. She mumbled an inaudible apology when he frowned down his hooked nose at her.

Hermione marched into the storeroom and started loudly rummaging on the shelves for the bile and the beetles. She could hear Snape in the outer room, chastising the class for not paying attention. It gave her an odd sense of satisfaction to learn that he was in a bad mood as well, although she couldn't explain why his displeasure suited her.

They had both spent the past few weeks in increasingly bad tempers, and the tension in their living quarters at night seemed to grow in proportion to their determination to ignore it. Everything about him seemed to set her on edge lately: each dark gaze, each lingering trace of his scent, the way his deep voice penetrated into her thoughts. Every moment spent in his presence caused a knot of frustration and something else...something she recognised but refused to name...to form deep within her. Hermione knew it couldn't continue like this for much longer; she just hoped she wasn't the one to break first.

"Miss Woodhouse, do not leave your cauldron unattended!" came Snape's angry voice from the other room. "Five points from Gryffindor!"

Hermione could hear young Emilia Woodhouse answer with a quavering voice. "But, Professor Snape, Edward's jar of horned slugs spilled... I was just helping him to pick them up!"

"I did not ask you for a speech, Miss Woodhouse!" Snape replied in a nasty tone. "Another five points from Gryffindor!"

Hermione clutched the bottle of scarab beetles tightly in her hands, feeling her anger build. She thought back to the many times Snape had penalised her and her fellow Gryffindors unfairly for similarly ridiculous infractions. Suddenly, she didn't care why he was in a bad mood; she was just overcome with rage over him taking it out on her precious Gryffindors, and most particularly on the girl she had thought of as her own little protégé.

A boy's voice sounded from the classroom, and Hermione guessed it must belong to the clumsy Edward. "It's my fault, sir: I spilled the jar."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for carelessness," was Snape's reply.

Hermione clenched her jaw as the anger rose up inside her, feeding on the frustration and irritation she'd already been harbouring. She finally found the bottle of armadillo bile and snatched it off the shelf. Then she grabbed a random bit of parchment that was lying on a desk and headed out of the storeroom. Snape's eyes were on her immediately, as if daring her to say something, and she looked back at him with defiance. She walked directly to the table where Emilia and Edward were bent over their cauldrons along with two other students.

Keeping her gaze on Snape's face, she deliberately held out the piece of parchment at arm's length and dropped it quite obviously on the ground at their feet. Snape's eyes narrowed at her, but he said nothing. One of the boys bent to pick it up for her, and Hermione noted with anger that both Emilia and Edward hadn't dared to even look at her, lest they lose more points for their House.

Hermione turned to the boy who was holding the piece of parchment she'd dropped and gushed, "Thank you so much for retrieving that for me! Excellent work! Twenty-five points to Gryffindor!"

Then she looked back at Snape with fire in her eyes before turning on her heel and marching away. Her heart was thudding painfully against her ribs, but the sense of satisfaction she felt had been worth it. She was halfway to the door when she heard Snape rushing to table where she'd just been standing, swooping down upon the students.

"Distractions are dangerous in potion-making, Mister Elliot," he said pointedly, and Hermione could tell from the way his voice carried that he was speaking to her retreating back rather than the maligned Mister Elliot. "Five. Points. From. Gryffindor."

Hermione stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes, knowing she should walk away, but unable to move her feet. In her mind, she knew he'd only taken away the five extra points she'd tried to slip in for Gryffindor, but her heart was remembering all the times she'd been powerless against him. She glanced down at the table she had stopped next to, noting by the House scarves the children wore that it was full of Slytherin students.

She would never know what made her do it. In truth, Hermione rarely docked points, but she heard herself say, "Your flame is burning the table. Ten points from Slytherin," before she could stop herself.

She thought the sound of her heart pounding against her chest could surely be heard in the silence following her statement.

"OUT!" bellowed Snape's voice from behind her. He was upon her in seconds, grabbing her arm roughly and pulling her into the corridor outside. The door to the classroom slammed shut behind him with a tremendous crash, and he finally stopped and spun her around to face him, fury in his eyes.

"How dare you undermine my authority in front of my students!" he raged at her. "Five points from Gryffindor."

"How dare you abuse students because you're in a bad mood!" she stormed back. "Five points from Slytherin."

"I'll teach my students with whatever means is appropriate! Ten points from Gryffindor!"

"Right, then! I'll respond in whatever manner I think is appropriate! Ten points from Slytherin."

High above them in the Great Hall, people stopped to stare with wonder at the massive hourglasses that represented the four Houses. Sparkling rubies and dazzling emeralds were flying back and forth so rapidly that the glasses shook violently.

They were oblivious to this in the dungeons, however, their voices echoing loudly in the stone hallway. Between shouts, the sound of the door to the classroom creaking open could be heard, and Snape pointed his wand at it without once looking away from Hermione. The door closed with a loud crack, followed by the sound of a bolt being dragged across the lock.

Obviously desiring more privacy, he grabbed Hermione by the arm again and marched her further along the corridor, shoving her into an alcove by a statue of a boar with large tusks.

"Let go of me," Hermione said testily, wresting her arm free.

"If you have issues with the way I teach my class, I suggest you take it up with me in private," he told her angrily.

"This is private enough," she said looking around the alcove. "And I do happen to take issue with the way you teach...it's overbearing, archaic, and biased." Hermione poked her finger hard into his chest with each adjective to underscore her point.

His eyes flashed dangerously as he stepped closer to her and grabbed her hand by the wrist, pulling it away from his chest. In a deadly quiet voice he said, "Tread carefully."

Breathing hard, Hermione refused to back down. "No. I won't stand by while you terrorise children."

"You're a meddlesome little fool."

"And you're a bullying prick."

"Watch your tongue, young lady."

"You don't scare me, old man."

The phrase left her lips automatically, angrily, before she could even consider what she'd said. She felt his fingers tighten around her wrist, and she was suddenly reminded of his whispered threat, weeks ago, when he'd promised retaliation if she ever called him 'old man' again. She could almost hear his voice in her head as the memory of his words flooded her: You might force me to teach you just how... arousing... experience and maturity can be.

Her eyes widened in shock as his gaze travelled down to her lips, and she knew he was remembering it, too.

Everything seemed to change in a matter of seconds. The air felt as if it was charged with electricity, and Hermione suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She couldn't look away from his face and watched in fascination as his eyes raked over her features, his nostrils flaring in his own effort to breathe while a muscle in his temple twitched rapidly. He seemed to be debating something, and she wondered frantically what his next move would be.

"I warned you there would be consequences," he whispered silkily, slowly stepping towards her and effectively closing the small distance that had separated them.

"Oh," she heard herself whisper ridiculously, lost in the darkness of his eyes as they held her captive.

Hermione swallowed reflexively and felt her heart racing and an answering pull from her core at his proximity. All the tension that had been building between them in the weeks since his return seemed to culminate inside her now, and she found her breath was coming out in fast, shallow bursts. Her body shivered as his eyes darkened, and she was forced to admit how much she yearned for his touch. She was past wondering why; she just knew nothing would stop her body from trembling except his lips on hers. Now.

The air around them crackled as they came together at last. Hermione closed her eyes as his lips crushed against hers, and all she could think was, Finally! His hand wound around the back of her neck, drawing her face closer. Long fingers caressed the sensitive skin and tangled in the hair at the base of her skull. His mouth was impatient, forceful, hungrily ravaging hers, but rather than pull away, she revelled in the pressure, in the feel of his lips bruising hers. His tongue pressed against her teeth, demanding entrance. She yielded instantly, allowing him to dive and plunder until she captured his tongue with her own, trapping it against the roof of her mouth before stroking it fiercely. His entire body tensed at her actions, spurring her onward. She drew him into her mouth and sucked greedily.

Hearing his deep, guttural groan, Hermione felt her already frantic pulse quicken. He pushed her further into the alcove. Soon her back hit the hard stone wall, and she was pinned against his body. The knowledge that he wanted her was evident as his erection ground against her pelvis. His lips never left hers as he lifted her body, clamping strong hands on her thighs to pull her legs up and behind him. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and pulled him closer with a reckless abandon she'd never felt before.

His mouth moved to her neck now, feasting on the creamy expanse of skin she'd exposed to him as her head rolled back against the wall. He trailed rough kisses along her throat. There was nothing but the feel of his mouth on her delicate skin, devouring every inch with wild, insatiable hunger interspersed with soft nips. She felt his teeth gently scraping her flesh, and she moaned in pleasure, grabbing his robes in her fists and clinging to him. Her whole body hummed in anticipation while a heavy, steady ache was building from deep inside her, threatening to consume her.

One of his hands left the underside of her thigh, travelling up her waist to slip beneath her jumper and cradle her breast. Hermione gasped as his fingers slid inside the fabric of her bra, his fingertips grazing her taut nipple. He pulled the cup down to fully expose her breast, filling his hand with it as his fingers gently stroked. The rough pad of his palm rubbed back and forth against her nipple, turning it into a hardened pebble. His mouth moved to a spot on the side of her neck, behind her earlobe. He traced distinct circles there with his tongue while at the same time his fingers perfectly mimicked the motion on the point of her breast, using only the tip of his thumb.

Hermione moaned and squeezed her legs tighter around his waist, subconsciously rocking against him in a steady rhythm. His hand moved back to her legs, and he tugged at the fabric of her robes and skirt that had caught between their bodies. Exposing the skin of her thighs, his hands roamed freely. He stroked her soft flesh, back and forth, ever higher, soft caresses turning rougher as his fingertips grazed the elastic at the bottom of her knickers. Her flesh burned with his every touch, and desire and need combined to block out all rational thoughts. His hands moved to rub and squeeze her buttocks, the cadence of his massage in exact rhythm with his hips grinding into her.

Despite being crushed between the wall and his body, she suddenly felt as if she couldn't get close enough to him, and she squirmed against him frantically. She needed to feel his skin against hers, and she pulled desperately at the layers of clothing keeping her away.

"Do you want me?" he asked against her neck.

"Yes!" Her entire body was shaking with how much she wanted him.

"Tell me," he demanded.

A strangled oath erupted from her throat as she tried to form thoughts into words. She had never been one to vocalise her desires and felt completely inept when trying to talk dirty or say something sexy. But none of that mattered to her now; she was so overcome by need she would have said anything to have him. "I want you... inside me... now," she panted the words between ragged breaths.

Her mind went gloriously blank as he lazily skimmed one hand up and around her thigh, sliding his fingers beneath the soft fabric of her knickers. A harsh, startled gasp shot from her mouth, and her body bucked violently as he stroked his finger along her swollen flesh with perfect, precise motions. There were no thoughts...only sensations...as he made good on his promise, proving how adept he was by stimulating and retreating, over and over again, all the while watching her face intently. He brought her to the very edge of pleasure and held her there, trembling and desperate for release.

"Say it," he demanded again.

Hermione moaned in frustration. She was so close, and her body was so frantic for him...all of him...she could almost feel herself turning into some sort of primitive being, driven only by basic, animalistic needs that demanded fulfilment to guarantee survival.

Shaking and frantic, she let the words tumble from her mind; there wasn't anything she wouldn't have said to him if he asked for it right now. "I want you," she growled, digging her fingernails into his shoulder. "I can't stand this... I want to feel you deep inside me, hard and fast... Please, Severus!"

Her begging seemed to work: he moved his fingers just slightly...rubbing, flicking, teasing...and expertly pushed her over the edge. He clamped his mouth back over hers in time to swallow her strangled scream of liberation as spasms of sweet pleasure shot through her, seeming to spread into every muscle and nerve-ending in her body.

His mouth finally released hers, and her head lolled forward, collapsing on his shoulder. She felt an answering weight as his forehead lowered to her own shoulder, resting there as he also seemed to struggle to catch his breath. The ringing in her ears faded slowly, and she listened to the sound of their ragged breathing echoing in the alcove. Her whole body seemed to be melting, and she was grateful for his strength, certain that his strong arms were the only thing keeping her from sliding down to the floor in a puddle.

As their panting faded, he trailed his hands along her legs, carefully unwinding them from his waist before slowly lowering them to the ground. Hermione felt a different, more powerful yearning growing inside her at his tender, almost reverent touch and shivered in expectation. She didn't think she could bear the mounting tension or the time it would take to remove enough clothing so she could feel him inside of her, filling her completely.

She raised her head slightly and turned her lips to his neck, hungrily kissing the coarse, masculine skin before moving to the strong jawbone, tasting and exploring along the way. It took Hermione a few moments to realise that Snape had remained completely immobile, his body offering no response to her attentions. She froze at his next words.

"Perhaps another time," he said coldly, taking a large step back from her.

Hermione looked up at him in confusion, realising too late that he had completely withdrawn from her. All contact between their bodies had been broken, except for her hands, fisted stupidly in the folds of his robe where she had clung to him.

Releasing his robes as if they were aflame, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and stared at him in dawning comprehension and horror.

She was pleased to note his voice shook slightly when he spoke, but it was small consolation, given his words. "Don't ever embarrass me in front of the students again, Hermione. I will not tolerate such behaviour without responding in kind, and your self-control is obviously not up to the challenge."

Then he turned his back on her and departed amidst a swirl of black robes, leaving her alone in the alcove. She heard the door to the Potions classroom open, and then it closed with a finality that echoed in her head long after the noise had died in the hallway.

A/N: Extra special thanks to my wonderful betas (Karelia and little_beloved) and my awesome Brit-picker (lettybird) for incredibly fast turnaround. I know their plates are full to the point of overflowing, yet they never skimp on encouragement and kindness. I'm very honoured by their involvement with this endeavour.