6. Educating Hermione (notsosaintly)

A/N: From notsosaintly: Before I begin, let me warn you: I know nothing about Quidditch. Indeed, in real life I am not much of a sports fan. I would rather get carpal tunnel typing on my computer than freeze my ass off at a football game. Some of the wenches ... erm, SASSy sisters ... decided it would be really funny to dump the professional Quidditch game in notsosaintly's lap because she was most looking forward to writing some lemons. Well, I did not get sorted into Slytherin for nothing. Next chapter will be in Jade_Orchid's corner.

Thanks much to the Harry Potter Lexicon and our most esteemed beta, Doomspark. I submit most humbly.

Chapter Six: Educating Hermione

by notsosaintly

He had been standing on the Quidditch pitch for more than five minutes already and the girl had not bothered to show up yet. Grumbling epithets that questioned Albus's parentage, he toed the half-frozen grass, staring at the overcast sky. Bloody meddling fool, he thought bitterly.

Dinner the previous night had been quite the show. The headmaster and Minerva sat tête-à-tête the entire meal, snickering and throwing what he supposed were surreptitious glances at him and toward the Gryffindor table. He knew they were up to something, and he had a fair idea what that something was.

Leaving the Great Hall early was such a common occurrence for Severus Snape that he felt confident the headmaster never even saw him leave. He stalked resolutely down the vacant hallway toward the little alcove at the juncture where Albus and Minerva would go their separate ways. If he was going to confirm his suspicion, he would have to get there before they did.

His patience wore thin waiting for the manipulating old man and his accomplice to finish their meals. Thoughts of simply confronting his tormentors battled with his ennui before he finally spotted the pair approaching. True to form, he caught mention of Quidditch tickets and heard Minerva half-heartedly scolding Albus for once again interfering in the lives of his employees. So the old coot was up to his old tricks again. Severus mentally patted his back at his exemplary observation skills. In any case, he figured, if Albus had indeed set up a date of sorts between himself and Miss Granger, then he pretty much had carte blanche if anything unexpected were to develop.

Not that anything would develop, of course. But Miss Granger's cries of "Faster! Faster!" the night before had him more than hoping it would. He could just imagine her exuberance at being taught how to ride more than just a broom.

Ah, but she was a young and naïve little girl. All his of subtle moves, including sharing that broom ride, had been gone unnoticed. He would be damned if he was going to start writing sonnets to the girl like a damned Hufflepuff, no matter that she would probably like it. No.

Dwelling on the density of Gryffindors, he had come to the realization that the perfect opportunity lie in a box that had been hastily shoved somewhere behind some old robes. The scarf Miss Granger had given him for Christmas. He had taken it out of its tissue-lined box and looked at the intricacy with which the green and silver fibers wound around each other. The silver seemed to move as he held it up to the light. Upon further inspection one could see that the yarn had been enchanted to look as though it were slithering like a snake through the grass. The scarf was really a brilliant idea, he had congratulated himself as he put it on. And, if he was right, wearing it would be a more obvious hint of his intentions, yet more subtle than screaming, "Hermione! I want to get into your knickers!"

He had snorted at the decidedly juvenile thought.

Heaving a deep sigh, he threw another glance toward the castle and was rewarded by a figure walking toward him. He straightened into full-professor mode as she got closer, pleased that she hastened her pace when she noticed him waiting. A slight falter broke her stride and, although she recovered nicely, her Gryffindor eyes spoke volumes as she recognized the scarf and realized the implications. Severus could not help but congratulate himself at his success.

~~~~~~~~~~oxo~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione composed herself after nearly tripping over her own two feet. The scarf. Oh, my. He was wearing the scarf.

Suddenly she knew why she had felt so off-kilter this morning. The spun green and slithering silver wrapped snugly about Professor Snape's neck summoned the dream, which had been lying just out of her reach, into her consciousness as if it had been Portkeyed there.

Her snarky professor stood on the Quidditch pitch with his back turned, impatience personified. Quickly she approached, quite out of breath, and tugged on his robes.

Professor Snape wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her body in close. The heat of his arousal fused with the heat in her belly. When his hand...finally!...stroked and squeezed her breast through her jumper, she moaned loudly as the fire in her belly spread downward and erupted, jerking her awake.

Hermione blushed fiercely at the vivid memory, stopping before Professor Snape. His piercing gaze caused her to look away abruptly, slightly afraid that he was going to read her mind and discover the luridness of her dream.

"Precisely on time, I see. In fact, you are so precise you are nearly late. Perhaps you are not as eager to learn about flying as I had originally thought." The words dripped off his tongue like bitter molasses.

Still a little rattled from the dream and the fact that he wore the scarf, she replied, "Yes, sir. I...I mean no, sir. I mean I am looking forward to this, sir."

The walk into Hogsmeade was uneventful. At least, Hermione thanked the deities, her professor walked at a leisurely pace and she had no trouble remaining at his side. Focusing on his feet in order to avoid the awkwardness of the situation, she found herself admiring the determined heel-toe of his every step.

The professional Quidditch pitch loomed at the far end of Hogsmeade. Conversation had been sparse and Hermione was feeling slightly ill at ease. It had occurred to her sometime during the walk that this outing had a most decided date-like quality. Doubts began to form in a quiet corner of her mind as to what exactly she was doing with Professor Snape outside of Hogwarts.

A slight pressure on the small of her back caused her breath to hitch as Professor Snape guided her toward the entrance. Hermione's hand shook as she handed over the ticket. Leery of his reaction to her nervousness, she quickly snatched her hand away before he could notice. Fortunately, they found their seats quickly; she wasn't sure if her liquefied legs would hold her up much longer.

Hermione gasped at the staggering view. They really had choice seats, at the precise height and angle to see everything.

"Headmaster Dumbledore has good taste, don't you think?" Snape mumbled in agreement.

Hermione tried not to look shocked as she shot a glance in her professor's direction.

"Yes, Miss Granger," he exhaled dramatically. "Dumbledore is responsible for this ... rendezvous, for lack of a better term. Certainly you do not think I had anything to do with it?"

"Actually, Professor, I thought it was a brilliant idea. I think I will learn much more with you explaining it to me." She was determined not to let him embarrass her.

His humph sounded suspiciously like agreement and Hermione was more than happy to think of it that way.

Suddenly, the stands roared to life and the two teams sped past the stands, lighter than air, each broom an extension of the rider's body. Oddly enough, one team was decked out in dark green and the other in deep red.

From the top of the stands, the announcer's voice boomed out over the crowds, "Entering from the West, in robes of dark green and gold, led by captain Gwenog Jones and hailing from Wales, I give you the Holyhead Harpies!"

Half the crowd burst into cheer while the other half jeered and shouted nasty comments at the passing team.

"And from the other side of the pitch," the announcer continued over the din, "our most beloved team from Scotland, wearing maroon and silver, and semifinalists in the race for the last Quidditch World Cup...I still say that match was fixed...I give you the Wigtown Wanderers!"

The crowd grew even louder as their team circled the stadium. A half-pissed wizard directly behind Hermione performed the Sonorous charm and began booing loudly, making her wince at the loud noise. Snape turned on his heel and gave the shabby-looking man a pointed glance, making him choke. Sputtering some nonsense about free speech being censored in the wizarding world, the troublemaker sat down and quickly lost himself in his bootlegged flagon of mead.

Hermione stifled a giggle as she tried to keep up with the antics of the professional Quidditch players as they dove and spun around each other. A daring pair spun away from the mass and curlicued around the opposite team. One even successfully attempted a somersault. The display was impressive. Before speeding to their respective goals, both Keepers dropped off their brooms and hung valiantly by one hand and foot, stretching tautly as they made their rounds.

Snape smirked at Hermione's gasp of incredulity and leaned closer to explain what the Keepers were doing. He had to get close enough so she could hear him over the din. Purposefully, he let his breath tickle the shell of her ear.

"That is called the Starfish and Stick," he explained. "The Keepers try to cover as large of an area as possible in order to protect their goal."

"It looks dangerous," she said breathlessly, turning quickly toward Snape in her exuberance and colliding with his nose.

An uncomfortable giggle burst forth before she could put a stop to it. Rubbing her nose, she pulled back slightly, barely suppressing an involuntary blush. Knowing it would be in his best interest to quell any embarrassment, he allowed his lip to quirk upward. It shocked her enough that the pink of her cheek paled and paled even further when his black eyes grew even darker. She looked away quickly before the implications could take hold in her treacherous mind.

A piercing whistle signaled the beginning of the match and it started in earnest right off the bat. Professional players were certainly more aggressive than the amateur students of Hogwarts. It was fast and frightening. Hermione found her heart rate speeding up with the excitement of it all.

"Which team do you support, Professor?" she asked out of curiosity, looking down at her program, trying to remember the names of the teams.

"I favor the Wanderers," he spoke, keeping his eyes intently on the game.

"The Wanderers? But aren't they the ones in red? I would have expected you to favor the Harpies."

"I do not favour teams based on the colour of their robes, Miss Granger. The Wanderers happen to be Scottish and they are far superior than any English or Welsh team." He pried his eyes away from the action to pin her with an implicit stare. "Besides, I am not entirely opposed to the colour red."

Her heart skipped a beat and blood pooled in her cheeks. His eyes melted black with her own. Oh my, was all her befuddled brain would allow her to think as her heartbeat thudded heavily in her chest. Feeling rather self-conscious, Hermione turned her attention back to the game, feeling him do the same.

The crowd cheered wildly as the Wanderers scored a goal, winging the Quaffle just out of the Keeper's reach. The scoring Chaser did a victory lap around the pitch, corkscrewing and performing various other acrobatics. Hermione was perched on the very edge of her seat.

"See what can be done with a broom, Miss Granger? These men understand the art of flying and they utilize the art to the fullest of their abilities." Snape muttered in awe.

"Did you ever play Quidditch, Professor?" Hermione asked shyly, not certain she should be prying into her professor's past.

He looked at her for a moment, expressionless. "Not for a long time and never for a team," he answered flatly. "To the utmost consternation of my father."

"I don't see why," Hermione retorted impulsively. "You fly beautifully."

"Quidditch is much more than just being able to fly, Miss Granger," he replied, softer than usual. He pinned her with his gaze. "Now, I think it best to return our attention to the game."

The crowd uproariously agreed. Hermione and Professor Snape looked up to see both Harpies Beaters zeroing in on a Bludger. Faster than the blink of an eye, the Beaters both took a swing and sent it careening toward one of the Wanderers's Chasers who was aiming to take another goal. The other side of the stands stood as a single-minded unit as the Beaters succeeded in taking the Chaser down. Everyone held their breath as the felled player spiraled to the ground, medics sprinting out to tend to him.

Hermione had subconsciously slid closer to her professor as the Chaser fell. Crestfallen, she glanced up at Snape, asking weakly, "Do you think he'll be okay?"

Peering down at the commotion on the ground, and trying desperately to ignore the closeness of the girl's body, he replied, "Not to worry. It seems he was only stunned. They will be returning him to the game shortly."

"Was that legal? It looked perfectly horrid," she complained. Honestly, this game was downright nasty in her opinion.

"It is a legal move, yes. Unfortunate for the Chaser who gets in the way, but quite legal."

He made no move to further himself from Hermione. When she had sidled up to him, he felt his stomach knot up, not unpleasantly. She was so close that he could wrap his arm around her if he wanted to. He actually had to subdue the desire to do so.

The game was back in motion with plays coming so fast now that everything was a blur to Hermione. She gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles turning white.

"Pay attention now," a voice drawled in her right ear. "Watch the Wanderers's Chasers. This is one of the Wanderers's famous moves called the Parkin's Pincer; they invented it."

As she watched, the three red-robed Chasers fluidly coalesced into one frame of mind as they bore down on a Harpies Chaser. Coming from three different directions, they surrounded the Chaser and intercepted the Quaffle in one swift move and headed off toward the Harpies goal, scoring before anyone could stop them.

The crowd surged around the pair, standing and cheering, drawing Hermione and Severus up with them and knocking Hermione off-balance in the process. She fell into her professor, whose quick hands had instinctively reached out to right her before she lost her footing as well. He kept an arm protectively around her until they were able to sit once more. Sitting, he kept her close, his thigh flush against hers. The quivering lump that was his beating heart pulsed fiercely in his throat.

Hermione sat with her hands folded in her lap, keeping her eyes determinedly on the game, trying to control a similar flutter in her chest. The leg pressing up against hers seemed to burn straight through her robes. An all-too-familiar heat began to build in her stomach. Desire was beginning to cloud her vision, making it difficult to be very mindful of the game. She shook her head slightly in attempt to get herself under control, to draw herself out of the dizzying fog.

Knowing exactly when to use a situation to his advantage was quite useful. Of course, his body never saw things objectively. In fact, the girl's closeness was becoming nearly unbearable. After catching her, he had no desire to let her go and found his body completely betraying his mind, which was telling him most definitely to distance himself from the girl, his student. There was nothing he could do as the warmth of her body seemed to overtake his senses and he found the tightening of his stomach spreading into his groin.

Thankfully, he did not have long to ponder over his tightening parts. Cheers interspersed with gasps from the crowd sharpened his attention on the field of play before him. And just in time, too. A blur of red was coming straight for him and Hermione, preceded by a golden streak. The snitch.

The Wanderer's Seeker reached out and snatched the little buzzing ball of gold out of the air but could not regain control of his broom. The momentum sent him spiraling into the stands.

Hermione froze like a frightened deer. Severus had no choice but to take control. As he threw his left arm around her shoulders and threw her to the ground sheltering her with his own body, the Seeker plowed through the space in which they had been sitting not a second before and barreled into the stands above them. The commotion of the crowd became pure mayhem and the announcer was shrieking somewhere high above the din that the snitch had been caught and the Wanderers had won.

All the commotion went unnoticed, however, by the girl and the man lying on top of her.

Hermione struggled to come to her senses after having the breath knocked out of her lungs by her much larger savior. She finally managed a deep breath, heaving her chest up against that of her professor who had the strangest look on his face; one she could not place as she had never seen anything like it before. Dark, lank hair framed his features, hiding his expression from everyone except her as he regarded her with deeply coal-black eyes. She fell into their depths as his pupils widened even further. Her breath left her again but this time for wholly different reasons.

The ends of Professor Snape's scarf still swung gently with the force of their sudden movement and tickled across Hermione's cheeks. That damn scarf. He had to wear that damn scarf.

The body, which pressed hard into her own, caused unfamiliar feelings to break free from their moorings. It really was the only excuse she had for doing what she did next. And, really, it was the only thing left to do. Hermione grabbed both ends of the scarf that she had so caringly made for her professor and used it to bring his face closer to hers. Closer and closer, breathing becoming more and more difficult, until their lips finally touched and she kissed him for all she was worth.

She probably should not have been surprised when he kissed back, but she was. But, blast it all, he was the one who had worn the damn scarf that practically screamed his desperation to get into her knickers. He took over, kissing her once, twice, thrice. So soft and so gentle were his lips. Then he opened his mouth and nipped her bottom lip, nudging her to permit him access. Allowing her lips to part at his insistence, she closed her eyes and tasted him more fully, giving in to his demand, reveling in the feelings that poured forth from it seemed every centimetre of her body.

His tongue traced the inner edge of her mouth and flicked out to touch her own, coaxing her to follow his lead. Tentatively, she teased his tongue with hers, then gained confidence as his moan vibrated through her head. Suddenly, his kiss grew more intense, more demanding, causing her to ache with need.

Her acceptance drove him nearly insane. He tasted the innocence in her kiss but it did nothing to lessen his pleasure. He met her movements beneath him as she desperately sought more of what he had to give. He twisted and twined his tongue around hers, stroking it and drawing it in and out of his own mouth as though he could make her climax from a simple embrace.

Severus was unaware of how close she actually was. Hermione's body was on fire. She arched her back, pushing her aching breasts up into his chest, forming her body against his, the hardened nipples scratching through her flimsy robe up against the harsh material of his frock coat. He was hard and hard for her, a realization that caused her to whimper into his mouth.

Suddenly, he broke his mouth away from hers, chest heaving with every breath, and trailed kisses along her jaw. Shivers fell down her spine as he traced the rim of her earlobe with his tongue.

That voice. The rumble of his voice in her ear is what did her in. She had always admired the way he could mold his timbre to fit his need, in class and out. The shivers in her spine intensified. His voice touched her in places his fingers could never reach. The pleasure it invoked was purely involuntary.

She pushed her hips up into his and let her muscles finally release against his hardness as his voice played on her eardrum.

"Hermione, let's continue this elsewhere."

And because I must, here is a song.

You and I

by Queen

Music is playing in the darkness

And a lantern goes swinging by

Shadows flickering my heart's jittering

Just you and I

Not tonight come tomorrow

When ev'rything's sunny and bright (sunny and bright)

No no no come tomorrow 'cause then

We'll be waiting in the moonlight

We'll go walking in the moonlight

Walking in the moonlight

Laughter ringing in the darkness

People drinking for days gone by

Time don't mean a thing

When you're by my side

Please stay awhile

You know I never could forsee the future years

You know I never could see

Where life was leading me

But will we be together forever?

What will be my love?

Can't you see that I just don't know

No not tonight not tomorrow

Ev'rything's gonna be alright (sunny and bright)

Wait and see if tomorrow we'll be

As happy as we're feeling tonight

We'll go walking in the moonlight (we'll be happy)

Walking in the moonlight

I can hear the music in the darkness

Floating softly to where we lie

No more questions now

Let's enjoy tonight

(just you and I) just you and I

Just you and I

Can't you see that we've gotta be together

Be together just you and I just you and I

No more questions just you and I

TBC...