Part Six

Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own these characters, nor do I make any money from them, nor do I own any stock in the manufacture, promotion or distribution of Murtlap Essence.

- In Port, A Child's Garden of Verses, RL Stevenson

Each day that followed, Hermione remained after Potions class, stroking Severus, kissing him, allowing him to play with her. He pinched and sucked her nipples so voraciously they literally became raw. He made her a special salve to heal them, insisting on applying it himself.

He dominated her nights as well. After curfew she would slip into his bed chambers and proceed to rearrange his psyche. Sometimes it would be dawn before they collapsed in quivering, sweat-soaked, sated, silly-grinning exhaustion. And if they were both making up for lost time, well, for fuck's sake, that's what Strengthening Potions were for.

He asked permission to shave her snatch; she allowed him. He examined her, sliding his fingers into every orifice, licking, tasting every inch of her. He made her urinate while he watched. She bathed him, and he reciprocated. He did whatever she asked, as long as she returned the favor.

She blindfolded him and inserted toys into his anus. She tied him up and tormented him with feathers and vibrators and paddles, and encouraged him to do the same to her. She gave him delicious back massages. She rubbed his feet, his temples, his hands. They rimmed, spanked, and talked dirty to one another. They masturbated together. His head spun each night with the debauchery she bestowed upon him. Playing these games with Hermione Granger left him feeling like he was permanently hopped up on Lust Potion.

The nightmares that had haunted him for months faded, and he slept like a baby. He discovered that he looked forward to each new day, and whatever strange, twisted perversion she planned for him. He began planning perversions of his own.

He was still touchy; in the mornings they spent together he was as prickly as a bear waking from hibernation, and his pre-coffee conversations mostly consisted of grunts, farts and glowers. Woe betide if Hermione was too heavy-handed with the Marmite, or worse, stinted and didn't catch all the corners of his buttered toast. In the early days his old insecurities kept him suspicious and petty, and more than once he gave poor Sebastian Thomas detention for smiling at Hermione the wrong way.

Catch him on a bad day and you'd be scrubbing cauldrons that had shit baked onto them since Grindelwald was a boy. Interrupt him in the middle of an important brewing procedure and you might as well swallow a bezoar now, because no matter the potion, at the end of class you would be charged with drinking poor Sebastian's results, whose potions always looked and smelled like Screwt vomit.

Afterward, when the doors closed behind them, he was always slightly contrite, and Hermione often wondered if he acted this way solely out of jealousy or pique, or because he knew he'd receive a very harsh spanking at the end of the day from it. Personally, she didn't know who enjoyed those more; her, for the lovely red handprints left on his white, curvy, rock-hard bum, or him, for the blinding blowjob he always received afterward as reward for accepting his punishment. She had her suspicions.

Catch him on a good day, though...

In class, his students never knew what hit them. Instead of blowing in like a hurricane at the beginning of each lesson, he was waiting for them, ushering them in. "Hurry up! This is complex and difficult potion to make – amazingly elegant and subtle. The results are indescribable - but you won't get through the entire process if you don't stop mucking about and get brewing! Come on - it's not going to brew itself! Look at this, just look at the delicate colour. Remarkable!"

He was a like a crackling bonfire, hissing, snapping, vital and incandescent with energy. He stopped haranguing and started driving. He did not so much berate as nag. Potions class became a fuel-injected, turbo-charged ride that left his students breathless and over-stimulated and interested. Students walked out of his class reeling with the possibilities of what you could do, if you only had the balls to risk the attempt. They poured out of Severus' classroom jacked up and sweaty and satisfied, looking, as one student described, in need of a fag.

Other professors soon complained; students coming to their classes straight from Potions were excited and distracted, keyed up and impossible to engage. It was difficult to regain their focus; they tended to doodle potion-making directions rather than class work instructions. After twenty-odd years of teaching, Severus Snape had learned to inspire.

Visions of grandeur were forged in his Potions classes, along with the belief that passion could make miracles occur, one bubbling cauldronful at a time. One day, he heard a Hufflepuff announce that 'Professor Snape might be a right bastard at times, but you can't deny he has mojo.' It had been every bit as satisfying as hearing the words, "We won the war." Perhaps, when all was said and done, even more so.

It was after midnight. They had decided to sneak up to the West Wing Tower for a little mile-high pleasure, but had only made it as far as the base when their passions overtook them. Severus had Hermione pinned to the wall, one hand down her blouse, one hand up her skirt, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a throat discreetly being cleared. They turned to see the Headmistress staring at them as if she'd just ingested a thistle.

Hermione gasped and turned her head away, appalled at being caught in flagrante. Severus pulled his hand out of her bra and put it around her waist and held her close. She was shaking. "Shhh," he soothed. "It's alright, love. Don't be afraid." Some perverse imp whispered in his ear, and he slowly removed his hand from Hermione's knickers and licked his fingers, his eyes locked challengingly on his Headmistress'.

McGonagall, seething, announced quietly, "Professor Snape, breakfast. My office. Eight o'clock, sharp." She then shook her head, and turned around and walked away, her button-downs clicking a disapproving tattoo on the stone floor.

"Oh, no," Hermione said, her voice desolate. "I've gotten you sacked."

Severus thought about it. "I've already fled Hogwarts under a much bigger, uglier cloud than Minerva McGonagall. She doesn't scare me nearly so much. Oh, she'll chew my arse to a bloody rag and wail about debauching her Gryffindor Princess and threaten to bust my balls, and I'll sit and take it. I'll survive," he finished, his voice soothing with reassurance. He was vaguely worried, though. Minerva could, if he peeved her enough, expel Hermione. But Severus didn't think that would happen, either. They crept meekly back to the dungeons and settled on trying to distract one another there. After awhile, they didn't need to try.

The next morning found Severus seated opposite Minerva, breakfast plates piled high. Minerva was a big one for breakfast. As she poured coffee for them both, she announced, "I have only one thing to say to you, Severus. Well, two, actually: Disillusion and Notice-me-not charms." She set down her knife and fork. "Really, boy, what were you thinking?"

Severus almost dropped his toast. "Well, neither of those things, obviously."

The Headmistress snorted and picked up her utensils again. "Obviously." As she cut into her black pudding, she added, "This isn't some sort of weird Slytherin vengeance, is it, Severus? You're not simply toying with that girl to set her up for a fall, are you?"

Severus had a sudden vision of being tied to his bed the previous evening while Hermione striped his backside with a flogger, and smiled. "No," he said simply. "I can honestly say that Houses have very little to do with this. As for the matter of toys, well-"

"Good goblin nobblies, Severus, I don't want to hear this!"

He shrugged as he tucked into his tomatoes. "Shouldn't have asked then." His voice softened. "But no, Minerva, to answer your question, this isn't some game. We are quite serious about one another."

"Good. I don't want this affair –

"It's not an affair, Minerva. I love the girl."

McGonagall paused, her fork raised halfway to her mouth. She coloured slightly. "Well, that's wonderful. I'm glad, Severus, truly. And she loves you as well? I just don't want this to end badly and have you moping around like some angst-ridden character in a Leonard Cohen song."

"Hermione tells me she loves me, and I believe her. And I'm quite fond of Leonard Cohen, actually."

"You would be," she retorted, and smiled. "You two make perfect sense, you know. She misses mothering the boys, and you need someone to mother you. Don't attempt to argue with your mouth full," she added as he began to splutter. "You know I'm right."

Severus took a large gulp of coffee. He wasn't about to delve further into a discussion about that. "Listen, Minerva, what happened last night was–"

"I don't quite know what happened last night," she interrupted blithely, cutting her scone. "You know how it is in this old castle. One stumbles upon many things one doesn't expect to see. Things one can't explain."

She fixed a baleful eye on him. Pointing at him with her knife, she cautioned, "But I would suspect that if more than one were to see something in the night, then one would be expected to launch an investigation regarding those unexplained things."

"Well, one wouldn't want that, would one?" Severus said, hoping she didn't notice the faint bead of sweat running down his temple.

"Oh, no, one wouldn't, dear boy," she replied serenely, buttering her scone. "Besides, you've got your own room, for Merlin's sake. If you're going to go about with your hand up the girl's skirt, do it there!"

Severus honestly didn't know what to say. Minerva had just blessed his relationship with Hermione, and turned a blind eye to their indiscretion. He felt a little strange, as if he might be coming down with something.

Minerva looked up at him and scoffed. "You Slytherins. You always think you're so sodding clever. Both you and Hermione returned to this school looking like bloodless, cardboard cut-outs of your former selves. I lost sleep over you two, you know, worrying about you.

"Then one morning you both breeze into the Great Hall, all dewy-eyed and blushing, like two newborn vampires after a night out on the tiles. Suddenly you have enough energy for ten wizards. Hermione's grades are soaring past all expectations, and that is saying a lot. Your class grades improve by 150 percent and students are referring to you as 'cool.' I'm not stupid, Severus. I can spot a wizard with a steady diet of good sex from a mile off." Her voice grew warmer. "And I'm not so old that I don't remember how it felt to love someone, and have them love me in return."

Severus turned to the woman who'd been part of his life since he was eleven years old. They'd been rivals, drinking buddies, employer, employee, confidantes, enemies and friends. He would not cry, even if he had to squirt alum in his eyes. "I'm... happy, Minerva."

She smiled her private smile. "And that's why I'm treating you to breakfast instead of a bollocking." She continued briskly, "Now, finish up your juice and go tell Hermione that I've given her permission to roger you senseless." He rose, dropping his napkin in his plate. He could not leave soon enough. As he reached the door, he heard Minerva call out as an afterthought, "And for Circe's sake, let the girl out of bed long enough to make good grades on her N.E.W.T.s."

That afternoon, when class ended, Hermione approached him as always, after locking and warding the doors. He was sitting in his chair behind his desk, his large, blazingly hard cock in his hand, languidly stroking himself, his dark eyes so full of sin Hermione's knickers almost spontaneously combusted.

"You know, there's just something about you sitting there fully dressed, playing with yourself that is unbearably erotic."

He smirked. "Once again, Miss Granger, you're starting with the obvious." Her eyes narrowed.

She saw his smirk and raised him an eyebrow. "In that case, let me start with the not quite so obvious." With a flick of her wand, she spelled her tie loose, and her shirt unbuttoned. With her eyes locked onto his, she unfastened the front clasp of her bra, pulled it away, and cupped her breasts, as if offering them to him.

His eyes grew huge. "Sweet fucking Nimue," he breathed. She had rouged her nipples. They were bright crimson red, and looked positively lethal. He reached for her and pulled her down onto his lap.

They always started making love this way, as if paying homage to the first time they came together. "What was that again about stating the obvious?" she said.

His eyes roamed greedily over her bright red nipples. "Who gives a fuck, Granger? Are you wet?"

"Are you Slytherin?"

He suddenly lifted her onto his desk, pushing her legs apart. Instead of allowing her to undress, he used his wand to cut a slit in her knickers. Seeing her glistening pussy lips peeking from the slit short-circuited his thought processes, and he rose from his desk, abandoning all thoughts of unnecessary procedures like foreplay. As he punched through the hole he'd made, she clutched his robe and mewled, a sound that caused him to pulse inside her.

"I want to make my little lioness roar," he moaned in her ear, thrusting into her hard, loving the feel of her tight cunt gobbling up his cock like a hot, hungry mouth. "And I want my sweet little pussy to purr. Can you purr for me, my nasty little girl?" he growled, his raging cock hitting every good, soft, silky part of her.

Not surprisingly, after five or six good thrusts, Hermione found she could do both.

Graduation Day, and Hogwarts was celebrating with a ball. So far they had managed to stand together with Minerva for most of the night, and even held hands. There had been a few raised eyebrows, and the Hogwarts tomtoms had kicked in early, so by the time the dance was in full swing, almost everyone, down to the drunkest Ravenclaw, had heard that Professor Snape and Hermione Granger were 'doing it.'

About halfway through the evening, Severus approached her from the far side of the room, where he'd been cornered by the Minister for InterMagical Bi-Partisanships, or some such bullshit. As Severus reached for her hand, almost on cue, the band struck up an Elvis Presley song. Looking into Severus' huge, bedroom eyes as he pulled her into his arms, Hermione knew that Galleons had changed hands.

Wise men say only fools rush in

For I can't help falling in love with you

As they moved to the music, and the rest of the room watched, Severus said, "Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?"

Hermione nuzzled against his shoulder. "About a million times. You haven't filled your quota yet, but it's still early."

He pulled her closer. "Students are watching us. Good heavens! Sebastian Thomas has just caught my eye and given me a thumbs up! What the devil is he on about?"

She looked up at his scowling face. "They're happy for you. They're trying to tell you what a lucky sod you are to have landed a prize catch like me."

"Should I return the gesture?"

She laughed. "No. You should get down on your knee and propose."

"With these knees? Keep dreaming, Granger. I'd never get back up. Sorely lacking in the dignity befitting my station."

"Ah, well," she said, pretending to pout. "I suppose it was too much to ask."

He looked down at her, and Hermione knew he took her words as a bit of a challenge. He raised his chin defiantly and stepped back. With an elaborate swish and wave of his wand, bright lights sparked over the entire Great Hall, causing shouts of surprise and squeals of delight. They blasted all over the room, whizzing like fireworks, until they rushed together and wrote themselves across the ceiling in blazing, six-foot high words, "I promise to be a good boy. Please marry me."

Hermione read the words at least ten times, and turned to Severus. He looked as unsure as she'd ever seen him. She felt a grin spreading across her face like a beam of sunlight. With a wave of her own wand, she unraveled the words, then rewrote them. "Vial 183, Batch 10."

She turned back to him with a trembling smile. Wordlessly, he held out his hand, and when she took it without a second's hesitation, the lights fell from the ceiling in a shower of sparks, and the room applauded.