Chapter 7

AN: Hope you all had lovely holidays! Here's chapter seven, all shiny and nice. Continued thanks to astopperindeath.

Chapter 7

O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving plant,

Within me clear

~Paradise Lost, Book IX

The world conspired to distract Hermione this day.

To her right, stacked on a dry log, the stack of books that Snape had brought whispered to her. They were bound in black and red, the leather looking as though a dragon had a go at them several centuries earlier. A dark halo indicated the protective spells Snape had placed upon them.

To her left, Snape. He was taking off his coat. His long fingers lingered over each button, just as they had lingered over her nipples the night before; he had twisted and tugged with his hand as his mouth licked and nipped...

In her mind, at least. With her fingers pumping in and out of her cunt as she alternated between pinching her nipples and rubbing her clit, biting back the moans that the fantasy of Snape above her, touching her, fucking her incited...

...and now she smelt singed hair as she hurled herself to the ground. It had only been a flash of lightning at the corner of her sight, but it had been enough to set off her reflexes.

"To quote Alastor Moody: Constant vigilance. Get up." Cool and calm, as always, his voice still communicated fathoms of disdain. He hung his coat over a branch as she warily got to her feet.

"You cannot afford distraction when working with Dark spells, Miss Granger," he added. "Lose concentration again, even for a moment, and I remove those books immediately."

"I'm sorry, sir." Stop purring your words, please, sir.

He gave a curt nod and then snapped, "Duel!"

It was all the warning she ever got. The past two lessons of pure dueling had taught her that.

Hermione sent a Quagmire Jinx at his feet and used the few seconds his subsequent floundering bought her to dive behind a thick oak tree.

"Reducto!"

Half the tree vanished in a cloud of sawdust and scorched wood.

Oh, well. New hiding place, then...

She shot out from behind the tree in an awkward, crouching run. "Missile enchent!" she cried repeatedly and, in the corner of her eye, saw Snape duck and block the balls of white light. Cover fire might do little harm, but it kept him from retaliating for vital seconds as she found a boulder and threw herself to the ground.

"Stay alive until you can think properly," he'd told her last week.

A few seconds. Nothing.

She peeked over the top of the boulder.

Snape had vanished.

It was bloody annoying when he did that.

Hermione edged around the boulder, knees bent and head low. The rough rock snagged at her shirt, and a few stings told her she was leaving hairs behind, but keeping her back to it was imperative.

A sound. Not hers.

She froze.

Where is he? She saw nothing in the woods, no sign of him anywhere. The birds resumed their tweeting as she crouched next to the boulder. It could have been any picturesque forest that did not contain a very dangerous opponent. She, however, knew better than to relax. He'd scolded her roundly the week before for letting her guard down after he'd fled into the trees, seemingly in retreat.

A long, dark shadow slid over her head, and she knew it was over.

The wand that pressed into the soft flesh at the base of her ear was a formality.

"Yield."

Her spine tingled from the silk in his voice even as she dropped her wand and raised her hands. "I yield."

The wand relented.

"You can do better, Granger, and I expect better next week."

He was sprawled over the top of the boulder like an indolent panther. She glared at him before retrieving her wand from the moss. Another duel, another loss.

A few minutes later, she and Snape were seated on the log. She stared at his wand hand as he inscribed burning red lines in the air over the books. His supple wrist glided through the complex motions as though oiled, drawing whorls of red magic that turned into a tangled knot. He flicked his wand, and the line disconnected like an errant hair flicked from a finger, leaving a nebula of red hanging in the air.

The dark halo surrounding the books shimmered and dissolved, floating up to the knot like rain reversed. Once it had absorbed all of the magic, the knot imploded.

Severus delicately picked up the top book and opened it. He paged through for a minute, frowning in search, before settling on a page and proffering the open book to her.

It tingled in her hands, though whether it was an effect of the book or her nervousness at holding something so obviously Dark, she didn't know. It was different than the books of Dark theory and potions that she had read at Hogwarts. This book had power and malicious intent woven into its binding. She wanted to fling it away and Scourgify her hands of the blood that the red binding surely left on the palms of good people.

"Now, before performing any Dark spells, you must ensure..."

"Performing?" Birds took flight at the shrillness of her voice. She stared at Snape, flabbergasted.

Snape's lip curled. "They are of little use otherwise."

"But," she said, mentally flailing as she tried to formulate a cohesive sentence, "I thought you would merely teach me the theory of Dark spells, or advanced defense methods, or something like that. I can't actually cast these spells, they're dreadful..."

"Silence!"

"No!"

It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and her point-blank refusal stunned Snape for a second. She seized the opportunity to restate her case.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I want to know why. I've read about the effects of Dark magic on the caster, and they reminded me quite a bit of a Muggle drug called heroin...pleasant for the moment, but very addictive and with numerous repercussions. Give me good reasons, Professor, because using these spells, even in practice, frankly scares the shit out of me." She took a deep breath and met his eyes steadily. No more outbursts, she promised herself. No matter how much this scares you, no more outbursts.

"That was better," he said at length.

The world also wanted to confuse the hell out of her.

He smirked at her and continued, "Granger, had you expressed enthusiasm for these spells, I would have seriously questioned your morals and, by extension, your suitability as Potter's bodyguard. Yes, these are dangerous spells to cast, but as I was going to say, you must prepare yourself against their siren call."

"As for why you need them," he added, standing up from the log and drawing his wand, "well, no Death Eater will expect a friend of Harry Potter to throw Dark spells back at them."

He meant her to use these spells in battle. These spells which killed and maimed and tormented.

But dead is dead, isn't it? a very Snape-like voice in her head purred. Better them than you.

And she could not deny that under misgivings and fears, curiosity burned.

"All right," she whispered, more to herself than him. "But only one for now, please."

A slow nod was his response. She stood up and, balancing the open book in her left hand, drew her wand.

"The first spell on page two hundred and seventy-three. Read the incantation aloud, slowly."

She bent her head to the book, repressing a hysterical smile at the heavy, Gothic lettering. Dark wizards were so melodramatic. The font made the spell, which seemed to be in either Italian or Arabic, nearly impossible to read and pronounce. Snape critiqued her as she went, mentioning that the "ah" was to be said "asch" and any "e" with an accent mark over it was long, not short. Over and over they went until she had it burned into her memory and it slid honey-smooth off her tongue.

"Now, free your hands and stand over there." He pointed to a patch of bare rock next to the stream bank. Hermione placed the book on the log with great care before moving.

"Aim at the water. When speaking the incantation, think of heat. Intense, burning, consuming heat."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

She swallowed. "What will it feel like?"

He cocked his head and pursed his lips. "I cannot describe it, exactly. But it will feel very, very, good, Granger."

Talk about consuming heat. Pushing thoughts of her newly-throbbing groin from her mind, Hermione stared at the water and began.

Fire and a kettle. Lava, pouring out of a volcano. The blaze of lust pulsing through her as she touched herself. Hermione focused, enunciating the words as images flew through her mind. Ron's hot temper, flaring up over the least little thing; the heat of the hob she'd touched as a child, searing her finger and making her cry out...

And pleasure shot through her, emanating from her wand hand like a misplaced orgasm. She gasped at the sensation, the incantation turning into an ecstatic chant of pure pleasure. The pulsing of her cunt was fueled by it, distracting her; her body begged to be touched and rubbed and satisfied. It was nothing like the fleeting pleasure of her activities the night before. She craved more. It refused her need and faded away, leaving her breathless and hugely, ridiculously, turned on.

"Look at the water, Granger."

She hadn't been aware of closing her eyes, but she opened them and looked.

The water seethed in the stream. It bubbled and roiled. Steam rose in great puffs, clouding the air and making her hair grow damp.

"It's a boiling spell?" She could not keep the incredulity from her voice. All this effort and drama to boil water?

"Essentially." Snape stood beside her, watching the boiling water slowly simmer down. "However, unlike most boiling spells, this one is not limited to water."

She stared at him. "So, if this were cast on a person... their blood...?"

He nodded.

Maybe two weeks ago she would have been sick at the thought. But now she just said, "Oh." Her pulsing loins seemed a distant matter, and her body a traitor to her cause.

"It is a remarkable sensation, is it not?"

"What...oh, yes. It's...yes."

"Like sex."

"No," she murmured, with a slow shake of her head.

"You're right." She looked over at him. "Like sex should be, I think."

She nodded. "I've read about this. The feeling comes from the power of the spell. It isn't controlled the way power in Light spells is; it's very raw and primal. The earliest spells were, by our current definitions, Dark, but wizards learned to control the power, to tame it..."

"Though not to resist it," he said after she trailed off into silence. "Humans, magical or no, are always drawn to that which feels good, whether magic, drugs, or other people. And very often," he continued, hating himself for the quote that was lining up on his tongue, "as Dumbledore has said, it is those things we most want which do us the most harm."

She gave a rueful smile, still staring at the stilled water. The spell must have deeply affected her for her to miss his sex comparison. Maybe he'd misinterpreted the hungry looks she'd given him earlier.

But it had been hard not to think of the seduction, and sex, when he'd seen the sinful bliss on her face as the spell went through her. The lovely oval of her parted lips, breasts heaving, eyes drifting shut as twisted light shot from her wand. He knew the sensation well, and watching her evoked in his mind the first time he'd cast a Dark spell. There had been come inside his pants afterward.

Watching her and remembering that had made him hard as hell. Time for a distraction for both of them.

"Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Duel!"

Maybe it was the lingering traces of the new Dark power, but she did not run for cover as he aimed and fired a Stunner at her. No, she blocked it easily (silently, too), and shot a jinx right back at him.

He ducked and overbalanced. Catching himself of a nearby rock, he saved himself in time to deflect another spell...but only just. She had the upper hand, and she knew it. Spell after spell flew at him, and he caught sight of a grin on her face more suited to a raiding corsair.

He did so hate it when his students got cocky. Blocking her spells, and getting off one or two of his own, Severus edged towards the stream bank, looking for a sandy beach that would be soft on a fall.

"Expelliarmus!"

He stepped into the beam of red light that streamed from her wand. It was like being kicked by a centaur. The air was thrown from his lungs as he slammed into the sand, and he knew his wand probably now soared through the air to land in her hand. He did the best he could to ensure his wand hand hit the sand near his face, palm down.

All right, Granger, let's see how you deal with a disarmed enemy... The grit of the bank crusted his face and slid into his hair, but he lay still, waiting for her.

Cautious footsteps. A shadow over him. But nothing touched him.

"Yield."

I think not. Grasping a handful of sand in his right hand, he twisted and flung it at her face. She cried out and stumbled back, shaking her head and rubbing her eyes.

He leapt up and tackled her to the ground, wrestling the wands from her. She fought instinctively, wriggling and kicking, but he was stronger, and she was blinded. It took but a minute for the wands to be in his hands and at her throat.

"Yield, Granger."

She struggled, writhing underneath him. Tackling her, he reflected as his trousers tightened, might not have been wise. He could not help but be aware of how soft she was. Various situations in which she was writhing under him of her own free will arose in his mind...

"Yield, dammit!"

"All right! I yield." Her kicks and bucks stopped, somewhat to his disappointment, and she lay still aside from her heaving breaths. "Now get off, please. You're heavy."

His balls were vociferous in their threats to turn blue for the remainder of the day, but Severus rolled off her and got to his feet. He took care to face away from her and immediately strode back to the log where his blessedly long coat was laid.

As he started doing up the buttons, she appeared beside him, flushed, panting, disheveled, which did nothing to assuage the burn in his groin.

"So, Professor," she said, freeing her hair from its braid to smooth the flyaways back into submission, "what lesson shall I take from that round?"

Don't tackle an attractive young woman unless you plan to do something with her in so doing. Composing himself, he looked down at her and saw a smirk not unlike his own adorning her lips. He bit back a surge of panic at the thought that she might have noticed his physical reaction. He could not afford to appear uncontrolled, even in this; the seduction had to be deliberate, the power always in his hands.

He scowled to cover his consternation. "Anything is a weapon, Granger. Do not assume that an opponent without a wand is harmless, especially if dealing with a Death Eater." Bellatrix's little daggers, one on each wrist, came to mind, along with a vivid memory of them flying through the air toward a helpless Muggle woman...

"Anything is a weapon," she said. "Duly noted, sir. And for next week, is there anything I should do?" To the Dark books her eyes flicked. As subtle as a jackhammer, all cleverness aside.

Severus drew his wand and cast a few more spells over the books, rendering them mostly harmless. "Read those for next week. Memorize ten spells, but do not actually cast them. And if you drool on the books, I will hex you all around this blasted fairy-tale forest, is that clear?"

A manic grin spread over her face, and she bounced on her toes slightly. He had no doubt that had he been Professor McGonagall, he would have received a throttling hug.

"Yes, sir! Thank you so much, sir!"

"Hmph. Next week, then, Granger."

She scooped up the books and clutched them to her chest. "Next week, sir. And, sir?"

"What?" His wand paused in midair, about to start the incantation for the portal.

"Be careful."

"Thanks ever so for the reminder, Granger. Would you like to write it on my hand to ensure I don't forget?"

She chuckled, and then she turned to go. She must be getting used to his jibes; a month ago she would have cringed and looked away.

The dank air of his town slapped him in the face when he stepped through the portal. Here, Granger's body was more distant, her laugh less charming, and his plan still solid. It was easy to be cold here. But in that paradise Albus had made...

He told himself it was an effect of that enchanted cocoon and not in any way of Granger's tits or arse or smile that his cock still strained against his trousers. The place warmed him, lulled him, just as it was meant to lull the two young people living in it. He was the seducer, and he would have the girl soon, on his terms, and as part of his plan.

But his unsaid, "Thank you," still lingered in his mind.