Afternoon Adventures

Had Severus been a man given to feeling sorry for his students, he might have spared them some pity for having to deal with him that afternoon, for he was in a fouler mood than usual. Unfortunately for the seventh year Advanced students and the second-year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, he was not that sort of man. Every command was snarled, every question mocked, and every action harshly criticized. Halfway through the second-years' lesson, he caught Jane Stalder smiling a little as she stirred her potion. Silently, he stalked over to her worktable, not speaking until he was directly in front of her with his knuckles placed on the edge of her table.

"Is there something amusing to you, Miss Stalder?" he said. She jumped and stared up at him with wide eyes, obviously terrified out of her wits. "Is there something funny about Blister-cure Brew?"

"N-no, sir," she whispered.

"Then, pray tell, what is the cause for your jocularity?"

Brown eyes flickered wildly, trying to find some escape route, but he stared her down mercilessly, and she finally stammered, "It's just... aboyIfancygavemeacard."

"Ah. Young love," he sneered. "Well, do try to keep your mind off of your classmate and on your potion, Miss Stalder."

"Y-yes, sir," she said, hastily reaching over to the cutting board and grabbing the next ingredient, which was dried Bubotuber pus. As he watched, she grabbed a measuring spoon and scooped out a measure of the noxious powder.

She was about to pour it into the cauldron when Severus noticed that she held a tablespoon, not a teaspoon, and he moved quickly to grab her wrist and prevent her from pouring it in. Too much of the powder would cause an eruption of potion similar to Mount Vesuvius. Reflexively, the girl yanked her wrist backwards, dumping most of the powder safely onto the cutting board. In the process, however, her hip bumped into the cauldron, and Severus watched with helpless horror as the yellow liquid flowed over the side of the cauldron and onto his right hand.

He leaped back from the table, but not before his skin began to bubble and writhe, some parts rising up in huge blisters, while others dried until they cracked.

"Oh, god, Professor, I'm sor...," she started, dropping the spoon to the table with a clatter as her hands flapped frantically.

"Shut up!" he snapped, startling her into silence. He needed to go to the hospital wing immediately...the potion was absorbed by the skin and would travel through the small capillaries and vessels until it affected the rest of his body. Already he could feel the skin on his forearm twitching; quickly, he encircled the affected limb with his opposite hand and squeezed, hoping to slow the blood flow.

"Everybody put a stasis charm on your potion!" he bellowed, getting some small satisfaction out of watching the children leap to obey him. "You are to stay here until the bell rings, and Merlin help you if I find so much as a dust mote out of place when I return." With that, he headed for the door at top speed. He didn't slow down one iota as he rushed to the hospital wing; he heard the exclamations and muttering of surprised portraits as he passed. Older students, wandering the halls on their free periods, dove out of his way.

It seemed to take far too long to get to the hospital wing, with his skin twitching and burning the entire way, but at last he shoved open the door and stepped inside, grimacing slightly as he looked around. He hated the hospital wing, having spent far too much time in it as a result of Potter and Black hexing him. The white, crisp sheets offended his eyes and skin, which were used to wine-hued silk. The harsh, antiseptic smell made his sensitive nose twitch, trying in vain to find the musty, complex smell of his dungeons that was as comforting to him as a blanket to a child. Most of all, he hated being fussed over and ordered about, though he knew better than to defy Poppy's commands.

Commands which were, in fact, currently being aimed at someone else. The plump witch had her back to him, bending over the third bed on the left, which was otherwise hidden by a curtain.

"Now, this is going to be a bit odd. Your skin will start to feel a bit numb in about half an hour, which means it's working. There will be another dose in an hour. I understand it's hard, but do try not to... do anything." Briskly, she stepped away and slid the curtain shut, preventing Severus from catching a glimpse of whatever poor sod was in it. Turning, she saw him standing inside the door and glared at him.

"What can you have got yourself into?" she said. "I do hope it's nothing... holiday-related. Honestly, someone must talk to those wretched Weasley brothers about their products getting into the school..." She trailed off, grumbling, before refocusing on Severus and saying, "Well, sit down, Severus, and tell me what you've done." She beckoned him over, pointing to a bed one away from the curtained one.

"I did nothing. It was a student's sloppy mistake," he said haughtily as he strode to the bed and sank onto it, releasing his arm to start unbuttoning his robes as best he could with one hand; she knocked it away and did it herself, to his secret relief.

"Half-finished Blister-cure Brew," he explained, tugging his arm out of his sleeve when he could and presenting it to Poppy for inspection. "It happened before she added the Bubotuber, so perhaps..."

She shushed him with a flap of her hand, muttering something about irritating patients who thought they knew better than the mediwitch as she felt the warped skin on his arm. Scowling, he opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden noise from the other occupied bed stopped him. Springs creaked, sheets rustled violently, and then a voice murmured something indistinct.

Given the nature of many of the magical ailments that sent people to the Hospital Wing, murmuring in and of itself was not particularly interesting. What was interesting was the very different voice that giggled and said something in response, eliciting a gasp. As far as he could tell, the first voice had been male, and the grating pitch of the giggle indicated the other to be female.

"Poppy," Severus said, "are there two students on that bed?"

"Yes. One of those Never Without You Potions from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," she replied, scowling at the name of the jocular establishment. "They have to be touching at all times and feel a need to..." An unmistakable gasp of pleasure came from the bed, along with more rustling, and Poppy winced.

"To demonstrate their love for each other." With that, she dropped his arm and bustled off to the medicine room, leaving him alone with increasingly noisy roommates.

"Oh, god, yes, right there... Ohhhh!"

"Mmph! Yeah!"

Snarling, Severus pulled out his wand and cast Silencio over the bed and was rewarded with blissful silence. He was damned if he was going to listen to two students copulating while his arm healed. Of course, the spell didn't stop vague silhouettes from being thrown against the curtain, so he turned away. Whatever perversions his students might attribute to him, the thought of being a voyeur to this pair was almost nauseating.

Poppy returned soon, bearing a lurid green bottle and a swath of white bandages; she made no comment about his having turned away from the curtained bed, but simply took his arm and poured some citrus-smelling liquid over it. He gritted his teeth as she began rubbing it into his skin: the potion she used made it feel like slightly acidic ice cubes were being run over his skin. He stared at the wall as she massaged his arm, trying to ignore the faint scraping of bed legs against the floor that he could hear behind him.

"You've got very good musculature in your arms."

"I beg your pardon?" he yelped, staring at Poppy, who was taking a surprisingly long time to work the lotion into his skin. Quite an unnecessarily long time, in fact, and using rather slower, more caressing strokes than was entirely professional. He frowned at the top of her grey-flecked head as the caresses...and they were definitely caresses now...moved from his arm to his hand, fingers moving slowly over his palm. Feeling rather alarmed, he tugged his hand away, and for good measure, shoved his other one into his pocket.

"I expect it's all that cauldron stirring," she said, and he tried very hard to convince himself that there had not been a lascivious lilt to the last two words. "Well, you'll be back to doing that in about twenty minutes, though there won't be time before the staff meeting." The wink she gave him before she bustled off had him repressing a shudder.

Dear gods, he had just been chatted up by Poppy Pomfrey. This wretched holiday must be having a serious effect on her for that to have occurred. The thought that maybe she had been contaminated by the two students currently gasping and rolling around in the other bed crossed his mind. Severus had a passing familiarity with the idea of hitting on people, but he was rarely on the receiving end, unless you counted Trelawney's little stunt at breakfast. And the witches who usually tried to chat him up tended to be extremely subtle and seductive (Narcissa came to mind) or really horny and blunt (Bellatrix). Various levels of intoxication were generally involved.

As for being on the giving end... well, Severus had found the occasional witch who was extremely susceptible to a low, silky voice and a raised eyebrow. And he was certainly better at using innuendo than Poppy apparently was. Stirring cauldrons, indeed.

He grimaced, glancing at the time. Poppy would have a fit if he left a minute before the allotted time, and he had ten minutes to go.

It was then that the bed with the two students actually started hitting the stone wall in a painfully familiar rhythm.

Getting to the staff meeting a bit early suddenly sounded like a wonderful idea. The bell signaling the end of the day's classes rang as he was halfway to the staff room, though due to the distance between it and the Hospital Wing, nearly all the other teachers got there before he did. Hermione came trotting up the corridor as he neared the door; he smirked at her glare before sweeping inside.

The rest of the staff was seated in rows of wooden chairs, except for Binns, who was floating in the corner. The usual armchairs were nowhere to be seen, and a wooden podium had been placed in front of the mantle. After scanning the room, Severus concluded that his day had just got a bit worse: the only empty chairs were next to each other, in the front row.

And Percy Weasley was standing next to the podium, pulling a large folder out of his attaché case.

Wonderful. A long, boring presentation spent sitting in the front row next to a witch with whom he was in lust. Crossing his arms, he threw himself into the farther of the two chairs. While having Hermione slide past him would have been a lovely experience, he did not want to make the presentation feel longer by having an erection the entire time. He didn't even risk looking at her as she slid into the seat next to him, instead focusing his glare at Weasley, who had moved behind the podium and was looking over his audience as he arranged his papers on the podium.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he began in the pompous tone Severus well remembered. "I'm Percy Weasley, the new head of the School Governors, and I'm here to discuss some very important changes we are implementing next year. Most of them are regarding budget, but there are a few other matters to cover. Now," he continued, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses and looking down at the podium, "let me begin with the proposed budget allotment for repairs to the Quidditch stadium, a topic that I'm sure you are all aware of..."

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If Percy Weasley and Professor Binns were placed into a contest to see who could put the most people to sleep, it would be a dead heat. Hermione shifted in her chair and tried desperately to pay attention to Percy as he nattered on about new regulations on desk heights. At least with Binns, there had been information to learn and take notes on, but the past hour and a half had been less informational than Umbridge's classes. Most of the changes Percy was talking about could have been implemented without anyone noticing or caring.

Beside her, Severus let out a long exhalation that even the self-absorbed prat at the podium noticed; she saw his eyes dart towards Severus, though it was hard to tell if it was out of nervousness or reprimand. He did seem to start talking a bit faster, which argued for nerves. Even Percy was hesitant to irritate the volatile Potions Master, it seemed; she repressed a smile at the effect Severus had on ex-students, no matter how grown up and pompous they were.

Half an hour later, the torture was over. Percy had finished his dreary monologue and asked if anyone had any questions. The silence was deafening. Percy's ears turned a bit red; he muttered a thank you and began to reorganize his papers. All the warnings of a major Weasley sulk, she thought as she stood and stretched her arms, feeling her shoulders and vertebrae pop as she moved.

"Excuse me, but could you perhaps pause your yoga session and let me by?" Snape was standing there, tapping one foot against the floor and looking extremely vexed. With a small smile, Hermione dropped her arms and stepped back; he brushed past her without a word, and she glared at his retreating back before turning to follow. Would it be so hard to just mutter a "thank you?" To acknowledge her in any way?

But then he would be like all the other polite, charming, utterly dull men who populated the world, instead of a rude, sarcastic, completely fascinating man who she desperately wanted, and she probably would not be staring at his lovely, muscular, dangerously tempting arse as she walked behind him.

As the situation stood, however, she seemed doomed to want him and want to slap him for all time. Of course, combining lust and slapping in her mind led invariably to spanking, which had her staring at his arse with an entirely new set of ideas.

"Hermione!"

Oh, no. She recognized the voice that had called her name, as she had just spent two hours listening to it. She turned to see Percy Weasley heading towards her with a determined look on his face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Severus pause as well and glance over his shoulder.

"My goodness, you walk fast, Hermione," Percy said when he reached her, panting slightly.

"It's a habit one gets into around here," she replied, forcing a weak smile.

"I well remember it," he said, chuckling a little at his weak joke. "I was just wondering what you thought of the new regulations for desk heights. A witch of your intelligence would of course understand..."

Automatically, she tuned him out. She had something of an excuse, as Severus had decided now would be an excellent time to study one of the paintings a little ways down the hall, only a little ways out of her direct line of vision. No doubt he was hanging around so he could have a good snicker at her expense, but whatever his reasons were, watching him study the painting intently was a good bit more interesting than listening to Percy. A stray piece of hair was clinging to his cheek; he flicked it away with one long, graceful finger, and she inhaled sharply.

"I knew you'd be shocked, but what do you say to it?"

Shit. "Y-yes, of course," she stammered, bringing her attention back to the redhead, who was looking pleased with himself in a way that promised unhappiness for someone else.

"Excellent! I'll meet you at nine in the staff room and then we can Floo to the restaurant. I'm looking forward to it, but then, I expect you are as well." With a final adjustment of his glasses and a slight bow, he turned and headed back down the corridor to disappear inside the staff room.

Hermione stood, feeling like she was stuck in the twins' portable swamp. This could not be happening. There were multitudes of wizards to whom she would have agreed to go on a date, wizards like Malfoy, or Cormac McLaggen, or Ron. She could not have inadvertently agreed to a date with Percy Weasley, the Prat to End All Prats.

A choked noise from Severus indicated that she had, indeed, done just that.

Well, she was not going to give that man the satisfaction of knowing that his snickers upset her. Sticking her chin up a little, she turned on her heel and marched off in the opposite direction, already planning what she would wear. Percy or no, it was still a date on Valentine's Day, and she was determined to at least look respectable, if for no other reason than to show a certain black-haired man, should she run into him, exactly what he was missing out on by making fun of her.

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She just... agreed to go on a date with that toadying little pustule of a Weasley! Severus ground his teeth together and choked back a cry of outrage.

Speak now or forever hold your peace... Too late. The boy was gone, strutting back into the staff room like he'd just married the Queen of England, and quick, receding footsteps indicated Hermione's exit.

What on earth would drive an intelligent, lovely witch as herself to go out with someone like Percy? Severus had not been watching her too closely during the meeting, but she had looked as incredibly bored as he had been. Desperation, perhaps? He knew of no paramours of hers, so perhaps that had driven her to take the only option presented.

And you're not allowed to complain until you work up the balls to ask her yourself, said a nasty little voice in his mind. Snarling a bit, he skulked down the hallway to his dungeon, thinking that a nice glass of Firewhisky would make the day look, not brighter, but at least not quite as sharp around the edges. And Flooing in sick to dinner sounded very nice as well. And a book.

"Good evening, sir."

Quilas Dertagh, a Slytherin in his seventh year, gave his snarling professor a cordial nod and greeting, a move which either spoke for his confidence in his charm or his sheer idiocy. Probably the former, as the boy had to be aware that he had cheekbones you could hang nooses from and floppy blonde hair. No Slytherin worth the name was unaware of any charms they possessed. Of course, Dertagh wasn't brilliant by any means, but he held enough sway in his House to ensure that no trouble was made about his going out with a Ravenclaw.

Severus gave him a curt nod and then forgot about him.

"Diffindo!" Severus heard a woman whisper the incantation from somewhere to his left; behind him, he heard a rip of seams and a clatter of books, quills, parchment, and ink pots, falling from what was undoubtedly a ruined bag. He felt something light hit him in the back, and he turned to see a red piece of parchment fall to the ground. Bending, he picked it up.

"Ouch!" He dropped it hastily, as it suddenly gained life and sliced into his finger.

"Oh! Sorry, sir. It's just a card Lorelei gave me...she enchanted it to attack anyone who isn't me, I think." Dertagh appeared in front of Severus, clutching his belongings to his chest as he scooped up the card, which emitted a faint purr and twined around the boy's hand.

"By the way, sir, did you hear where that spell came from?" This was murmured softly, clearly meant for Severus' ears only. Severus shrugged, but flicked his eyes over to the small alcove where he had heard the voice before turning and walking away. He heard another muttered spell, which sounded like "Accio girlfriend!" followed by scuffling and feminine squealing.

Let it not be said that Severus Snape ever stood in the way of his Slytherins getting shagged, even when their Valentine's Day card had just sliced his finger open. As long as no other teachers caught them and no one got either pregnant or ill, he really didn't care what they did.

And, frankly, Dertagh needed to stay in his girlfriend's good graces if he was going to pass Potions. And Charms.

Charms. Severus felt his fists clench as a vision of Hermione appeared in his mind. The thought of her with another man inflamed him, a possessive feeling to which he knew he had no right. At the same time, he was resigned to it; he could hardly expect a young, attractive, vivacious witch to stay cloistered in her rooms because he secretly fancied her but didn't have the nerve to tell her. He was much too self-protective to put his emotions and dignity on the line for a feeling that was undoubtedly unreciprocated. What reason would she have to like him? He was ugly and old, and he had yet to hear of a woman desiring a man who expressed dislike and disdain for her at every opportunity

And, of course, he insulted her so she wouldn't suspect that he desired her.

And because he insulted her, she would never desire him in return.

And he would never tell her of his feelings unless he was certain they were reciprocated.

For dinner that night, he had half a bottle of elf-made wine. Dessert was a large glass of firewhisky. Accompanying the meal was a side dish of brooding, garnished with visions of Hermione both actual and fantastical.

Severus was more than a bit tipsy when he finally stood up from the armchair near the fireplace and headed for the bathroom, intent upon showering some of problems away, including the tipsiness. There was no house-elf in there this time for him to surprise, which made a nice change. One stockinged foot slipped on the tile, and he just managed to grab the counter to keep from falling. Gripping the edge of the counter with all the strength he could muster, Severus carefully bent over, stood on one foot, and pulled off his black, worn sock. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he fought the urge to straighten up quickly, as the sober part of his brain knew this to be a Bad Idea; when it passed, he got the other sock off and stood up slowly.

Over the course of about five minutes, he managed to get the rest of his clothes off; it would have been longer, but he had abandoned his many-buttoned robes in the sitting room before his "meal," so his alcohol-fuzzed mind only had to contend with the buttons on his shirt and trousers. There was one brief moment of confusion when he had unbuttoned his trousers and tried to tug them down, only to find that they wouldn't move past his arse. It took a minute of hard thought to remember that he hadn't taken off his belt.

Nude at last, he stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water, flinching slightly as it gushed down on him and shocked away a bit of his intoxication. He stretched, rolling his neck and shoulders to determine how tense he was. The alcohol had loosened him up some, but not enough to allow him to sleep easily; fortunately, he had a remedy for that. Keeping a tight grip on the curtain rod, just in case, Severus reached over to the counter and, after a few tries, picked up his wand. He reached over his head to point the tip at his upper back and said, "Automasse." Immediately, he felt warm, invisible hands kneading and rubbing his tight muscles, coaxing them into relaxation. A soft groan of release escaped his lips as the spell massaged him; he gasped when it hit a particularly tight knot.

The water was perfectly hot, he was perfectly drunk, and it was perfectly easy to imagine that those invisible hands were not invisible at all, but rather were small and feminine and attached to plump, curved arms, which were in turn attached to a plump, curved torso. Severus' eyes drifted shut as the fantasy began to take hold: Hermione standing behind him, as naked as he was, working her clever hands along his tight shoulders, moving down his back until she just brushed the dimples above his arse, then wrapping her arms around him and starting on the front of his body.

He moaned and leaned one arm against the shower wall, bracing himself as he ran his other hand down his abdomen, then wrapped his fist around his hard cock. In his mind's eye, Hermione had moved around and stood between him and the wall, still rubbing her clever hands over his body, a mischievous smile curling her lips as she turned around and pressed her body against the wall. Groaning, Severus pumped his fist along his cock, his free hand clenching with each pulse of pleasure. Her arse was perfectly round and full, and it bounced with each imagined thrust into her hot, sweet cunt. His fantasy started to unravel as he pumped faster, pleasure making his mind grow less and less lucid, until it shattered as he exploded.

"Hermione!"

Sated but not satisfied, Severus slumped forward, releasing his now-limp member. Alcohol, hot water, and orgasm had made him light headed, so it took him two tries to end the massaging spell before it pulverized his shoulders. Shutting off the water, he stumbled out of the bathroom. The towel he had used that morning still lay in a heap on the floor; he grabbed it and dried himself off enough so that he wouldn't ruin his sheets when he collapsed on them moments later.

The small part of his mind that was still working properly after the evening's activities was whinging about papers to grade and syllabi to make up, but the rest of his mind told it to shove off. It wasn't as if the students cared when they got their essays back, after all. He would do all that tomorrow, when it wasn't fucking Valentine's Day.