Chapter Six - Flowering

Hello! I apologise for the delay in updating, and everyone's probably forgot this little PWP by now, but things got in the way, yada yada yada...

As always, these characters are the property of JK Rowling and all those who have the rights to reproduce it, which sadly does not include me. I make no money from this fanfic.

Professor Pomona Sprout was a stout, earthy little witch, with a big laugh like a ratchet and a bawdy sense of humour. She was frank and forthright about the subjects that interested her most: botany, food and sex. Hermione remembered vividly the Herbology professor's almost obsessive fixation with cross-pollination and what she euphemistically called 'birds and bees business'. Sprout had taught basic sex education alongside Madam Pomfrey, and was fearless in her pursuit of the endless fascination with reproduction in all its many varied forms.

"Nature," she would declare with relish, "is natural. Witches and wizards urinate, defecate, masturbate, menstruate, ejaculate and procreate, pure and simple. When you stop pretending you're too magical to fart, you start living like a natural being and you start enjoying life." At times, when she waxed poetic on stamens, pistols and buds, Hermione had a hard time telling the difference between Herbology and Sex Education. Sometimes they seemed pretty much the same thing in Sprout's mind as well.

Pomona Sprout loved growing things, simply put, whether by placing it in the dirt and hoping for the best, or watching the planted seed in the womb grow rich and fertile in that particular environment. As Head of Hufflepuff House, she had often bragged of having the sexiest lot of the school. If the Gryffindors were reckless, the Slytherins cunning and the Ravenclaws studious, the Hufflepuffs were the breeders. She was openly and proudly lesbian, yet she never met a wizard under one hundred she wouldn't consider bedding if given the chance.

As Hermione and Master Snape entered Greenhouse Twelve, Professor Sprout threw up a hand in greeting. "Ah, Severus, Hermione, come in, come in! You're just in time. I'm about to let the butterflies in for their morning orgy."

She opened one of the southern side windows with the wave of her wand and in flew an astounding flutter of butterflies. They were enormous, obviously magical, with lovely pearlescent wings with black markings. In a giddy mass, they flocked over an area of beautiful fuchsias. Master and Apprentice watched in rapt fascination as one particularly fine specimen, as large as Hermione's hand, landed on one of the lovely flowers near where they were standing. It thrust its long black proboscis deeply into the center of the flower. As it delved into the nectaries of the blossom, its wings fluttered rapturously, and the flower itself shivered, as if truly enjoying this blissful violation.

"I see you're watching him having his wicked way with my buttonbush," Professor Sprout said with a wicked gleam in her eye. To Hermione's surprise, Master Snape laughed, and the two professors chatted away like old friends about attracting the butterflies within the greenhouse in order to use the silk from their cocoons in various magical purposes – everything from dressmaking to medicines and beauty products. Hermione listened to their conversation while watching the greedy butterflies and their artless snogging of the lovely flowers. It reminded her too much of the fourth-years she used to catch out during night patrols as a Prefect.

"It's the sweet juices, dear," Professor Sprout said, startling Hermione out of her reverie. "He can't resist 'em, and that's why he's sucking at her so hard."

"Excuse me?" Hermione said, her throat suddenly dry. Professor Sprout chuckled and Hermione felt her face grow hot.

"That sexy old beast there. No, not you, Severus," she said, with a lewd wink. She looked delighted at the flush of colour on Master Snape's cheeks. "I mean the butterfly!" she said emphatically, pointing toward the flowers. Oblivious to his audience, the large creature was greedily plundering the delicate little flower. "See how he flutters his wings like that? Those in the know tell me," Professor Sprout said conspiratorially, as she leaned closer, her merry blue eyes dancing, "that the nectar of these flowers is so delicious that the butterflies experience a kind of ecstasy when they drink it! That's why they're so greedy."

Sure enough, the butterfly, having taken his fill of one flower, immediately lighted onto the next and began his earnest, insistent probing. They could actually hear the tiny sipping noises as he drank his fill. "You see? He loves 'em and leaves 'em and goes right to the next without so much as buying the poor girl a drink first. Typical man, always cutting to the chase." She nodded toward Master Snape.

Hermione stepped back and dared a glance at her Master, waiting for the icy wall of disapproval to descend – she knew he hated being teased. Perhaps a pointed remark about inappropriate comments would be cited for good measure. Instead, he merely rolled his eyes. "I don't know what passes for typical with you, Pomona, but I think most wizards have a bit more finesse than your lecherous little beasts."

He raised an eyebrow that was as arched and delicate as the feelers on the butterfly fluttering hopefully near his red lips. As it apparently decided that Master Snape's mouth would not hold any delights for him, the large insect disappointedly zoomed away to its next paramour, prompting Snape to declare dryly, "I rest my case."

Professor Sprout responded with her raucous, machine-gun laughter. "Is that so, Master Snape? Well then, allow me to challenge your intellect with this newest batch of magical Bluepea I've recently acquired from Thailand."

Master Snape pursed his lips, pleased. "Now this I have been looking forward to." He turned to Hermione. "This is the flower we read about in the latest Potions Today. Researchers have been making amazing headway with this plant with regards to enhancing potions like Wolfsbane. The non-magical version of the flower has been used for centuries in traditional Ayurvedic medicine."

Hermione remembered the journal report very well. Ayurvedic medicine had used Bluepea for stress relief, anti-depressants, tranquilsers and sedatives. Perhaps I could find some help with my own stress relief, she thought ruefully. The idea of the flower being used in Wolfsbane to enhance the calming effect on the transformed werewolf, however, was a more pressing area of interest.

Whenever Wolfsbane was mentioned, Hermione always thought of Remus. His wife Tonks had not survived the final battle, leaving him alone with an infant to raise. Aside from the fact that he still needed Wolfsbane to curb his lycanthropic urges once a month, Remus was struggling as a single parent, even with Tonks' mother helping.

What if they could find away to help Remus, so that he could function normally for longer periods and have more time to devote to his son? It would surely be worth a bit of blue-skying to research the possibilities.

Lost in thought, Hermione absently followed the professors over to the far edge of the greenhouse, where a small cluster of fragrant blue flowers dangled from vines of lovely flat leaves. The flowers had essentially two petals: a furled and delicate petal curved over a larger, flat one which resembled an oblong blue disk. The top petal, frilly and pretty, looked, to Hermione's widening eyes, suspiciously like –

"The magical Bluepea," Professor Sprout said, with a proud little flourish. "Clitoria Ternatea Magus, or Magical Clitoris Flower."

Master Snape peered down into the flower, and Hermione watched raptly as his nostrils flared. What was it about that nose of his that made her feel so warm when he did that? I swear, if he starts lickingthat I'm going to run out of here screaming. She knew, of course, she was lying to herself. If Master Snape's long tongue were to slide under that petal, she wouldn't be able to look away if her life depended on it.

Her eyesight was saved by Professor Sprout. "Go ahead, Severus, you'll appreciate this." Rather saucily, she added, "Slide your finger under the hood and give it a little nudge. See what happens."

"I most certainly will not!" he declared, a tint of red returning to his cheeks. With the barest glance toward Hermione, he said in a voice that was fiercely quiet, "Pomona, the last time you said, 'Oh, Severus, just reach in there,' I was in the infirmary for two days."

Professor Sprout's eyes grew huge, and she threw her head back and guffawed. "Oh, I'd quite forgotten about that! The look on your face! Well, it wasn't funny at the time, but-" She cast a sideways glance at Hermione. "Nimue's trowel, Severus, we're scaring poor Miss Granger! Heaven knows what she's thinking!"

She explained, "Severus was helping me harvest the baby Mandrakes for the potion that unpetrified you and your friends. You know, that year you all were attacked by the basilisk." Her smile faded to something more wistful. "Terrible thing, that."

She brightened. "But you see, I asked Severus to fetch a bucket for me, and as he reached for it, he bumped one of my little darlings and woke it. Poor dear started crying its little head off.

"Well, your Master wasn't wearing his earmuffs like I told him to, was he?" she said, giving him a mock reproachful look. "Down he went, out cold for almost two days. He was fit to be tied when he awoke!"

Master Snape no longer looked indignant, but merely stood, arms crossed, scowling at his colleague. She seemed as impervious to his discomfort as he was to her jolly hockey-sticks humour.

Sprout gave him a friendly pat on the arm. "Nothing like that will happen this time, Severus. Go ahead," she urged, genuinely excited. "Just see what happens. Extraordinary!"

With a martyred sigh, Master Snape grumbled, "What must I do to debase myself this time, Pomona?"

Delighted, Sprout said, "First, hold the flower from the bottom in the palm of your hand." As Hermione watched, Master Snape slid his left hand underneath the flat petal and lifted it until the entire flower sat in his palm. In his large hands it looked even more delicately feminine. "Good. Now take your middle finger and just slide it under the little hooded petal."

With a final skeptical glance at Hermione, Master Snape did as requested. Hermione watched, enraptured, as his long finger eased under the hood of the flower. It was so ludicrously suggestive, she was stunned that he actually agreed to do it in front of witnesses, and she was even more shocked to see that same finger move back and forth as if stroking the flower. Hermione couldn't look anymore. It was too... too...

She forced herself to look at his face. He was wearing a small, puzzled frown, which changed to complete, open surprise, and he looked wonderingly at Sprout. Whatever had happened was obviously not what he'd expected. He made a short barking sound, and Hermione realised it was a laugh. "Well, I didn't anticipate that would happen, Pomona."

Professor Sprout was grinning gleefully. "Just wait," she said, nearly breathless.

His eyes narrowed. "What could possibly-" He shut his mouth suddenly. His eyes were enormous with alarm. "O-oh. I seem to have-" He stopped, unable to finish the sentence, and Hermione was shocked to realise that his previous blushes were nothing compared to the crimson flush that now heated his face. She'd never seen him so disconcerted.

Sprout could not have been more pleased at Snape's reaction if she'd ordered it on the menu. "You certainly did, you sly old snake! I knew you had it in you!"

As Hermione watched, Master Snape withdrew his finger. It was coated in moisture from the center of the flower. "Go on, taste it, Severus," Sprout urged, pointing at his wet finger. "Don't waste it, dear - it's lovely stuff."

Hermione watched her Master tentatively lick his finger. It was so erotically suggestive she felt slightly breathless. He tasted it gingerly, then closed his eyes and sucked the rest of the dew from his finger as if it were the most delicious of juices. Finally, he opened his eyes, and looked around rather sheepishly, as if being caught doing something naughty. His expression was truly a study to Hermione. She had never seen such obviously pleasant surprise on his face. It softened his features and made him look younger, less intractable. "Well, I have to admit, Pomona, you have me there." He looked at the innocuous little flower with new-found respect. "That was an experience I'll never forget."

"No one ever does, do they, Severus?" Professor Sprout said, and a look passed between them, the kind of look that only old friends who know one another's secrets can give. For a moment, Hermione felt slightly jealous and left out.

"What happened, sir?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity. Master Snape turned to her, as if he'd almost forgotten she was there. He was still flushed, and had yet to school his features back to their customary bland lines. He looked like a school boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

"Merlin's fork'n rake, where are my manners? I'm sorry, dear," Sprout babbled. She grabbed Hermione's hand. "You saw what Professor Snape did, my dear. Go ahead, but don't take that one," she cautioned, as Hermione reached for the flower Master Snape was holding. "Your Master has selfishly worn her out. She's quite spent; won't be fit for anyone else today. Try another." She winked at Master Snape, whose pink cheeks still bore the evidence of his discovery.

Undaunted, Hermione lifted the blue flower in her hand, and with Professor Sprout's instructions, she gently eased her finger underneath the little hooded petal. She nearly dropped it when she felt a tiny little knot beneath, no bigger than the size of a grape seed.

"Rub your finger over it," Master Snape said in a neutral voice. Hermione felt her own blush creeping down her body. With a stiff nod, she circled the little bud, which started to swell. It was just like – well, just like touching herself, fingering her own clitoris. She shot a glance at her Master, who watched her carefully, unsmiling. His eyes were intense, too intense to look at for long, and Hermione looked away, concentrating instead on the little swelling bud within the flower.

"Increase the pressure," he intoned, his voice sounding ever so slightly strained. She shot another glance at him, then dropped her eyes back to her task.

As she moved her hand over the little bud, the flower gave a little shudder beneath her hand, and she felt the cool secretions of the nectar moisten her finger. Bugger me, Hermione thought wildly. I've just given a flower an orgasm in front of my Master. Oh, sucking hell.

As Hermione withdrew her finger from the flower, her blush felt as if it were turning the tips of her hair red. To her divine mortification, moisture dripped from her finger onto the flat petal, and Professor Sprout laughed her earthy laugh again. "You see, Severus, you men could learn a thing or two from this plant! Women are always better at milking the nectar from these flowers." In a stage whisper, she confided in Hermione with a leering grin, "We know what needs to be done, don't we, my dear?"

Hermione could not, would not look at Snape. She merely stood there, with flower nectar dripping from her fingers. Before she could lose her nerve, she sucked her finger into her mouth and tasted. It was sweet, and had a clear, clean flavour, but she could not truly see why Master Snape had seemed to enjoy it so much. It was nice, but-

"It's the same with everyone, Hermione dear," said Sprout, answering her unspoken question. "Women can milk the nectar more efficiently, but it's the men who really love the taste. Story of our lives, isn't it?" she laughed. "Now, let's move on to Greenhouse Number Five. I've got a lovely new batch of flowering mopheads..."

Hermione and Master Snape dutifully followed Professor Sprout to her next point of interest, but Hermione could not get out of her head one particular image – the look on her Master's face as she'd sucked the nectar from her own finger. She had the distinct feeling that at the slightest gesture of encouragement, he would have licked her fingers clean.