Chapter 4

A/N: Ah, reviews. Is there any sweeter word in the English language (besides lemon, that is)?

* * *

In point of fact, Snape was in hell: a seething, roiling, walking-around-with-half-a-hard-on hell. The thing that worried Snape most about his torment was that he was using words like 'hard-on' and few choice others that had popped (no pun intended) into his seething, roiling mind. He was quite sure he hadn't uttered the term since his seventh year.

Now here he was, a man whose riper years were fast approaching, already going grey at the temples thanks to a life as a double-agent and a teacher of Neville Longbottom, and he was on a knife's edge like some sixteen year old dunderhead reading his first smutty magazine. Why was Snape in this den of iniquity? Hermione Granger, of course.

It was not without some trepidation that he had taken her under his proverbial wing the previous year. After all, she'd never proved herself to be anything other than average at Potions. True, she hadn't melted a single cauldron or blown anything up, and she had indeed helped Longbottom gain a passing grade most afternoons, but her work had lacked inspiration or any true knowledge of the field. However, he had found himself missing the subject he had taught for so many years and eventually agreed to tutor her.

Hermione had proved adept, willing, and thirsty for knowledge, and he had found himself allowing her to assist him with his experiments on a new Wolfsbane Potion. She'd come to his office as often as her overfull schedule would allow, and gradually, though Snape had been wont to blame the fumes from ground moonstone and bubotuber pus, he'd felt the grudging admiration for her intelligence shift into a sharp tug in his abdomen. A feeling which, though relatively inexperienced in that realm, he correctly identified as desire.

He'd let it go as far as a kiss in the corridor one evening. Hermione had been blathering about the magical properties of nightshade or some other such mind-numbing topic, and, partly from curiosity and partly to shut her up, he had leaned forward and pressed his lips into a mouth that was soft, ripe, and surprisingly sweet, and he hadn't stopped there. Hermione had proved so willing, so eager, that he'd anchored his hands against the small of her back (well, actually her arse, if one wanted to be technical about it) and snogged her until he'd felt himself grow hard beneath his robes. Not a good sign when one was snogging one's student.

Therefore, he'd run away like an imbecile and ignored her until she'd come to his office to demand a confrontation. Immature of him, but there you have it. She'd certainly gotten her confrontation, though, since the day she'd chosen to unleash her righteous anger was the day Narcissa chose to, ahem, thank him properly for making the Unbreakable Vow for her son's safety. Though he'd felt guilty about it, he hadn't sent Narcissa away. A week of unrelenting need that he hadn't successfully masturbated away had made him almost glad to see her. So glad that when she'd come to his home a few days later, he hadn't sent her away from there, either.

Things were over with Narcissa, though. His public allegiance to the Order had seen to that. Now he was forced to live in Grimmauld Place with Hermione, watch her walk around in her nightie with her hair rumpled from sleep, collaborate on projects with her, and not ravish her with his uncontrolled lust because she was just barely legal and still of school age. This, to Snape, seemed a task harder (again, no pun intended) than anything Voldemort had set to him, but then again, he tended to exaggerate under the influence of testosterone.

Bang, bang, bang...

A sudden sharp rapping jerked him from his reverie, and he leapt up, wand drawn, glancing around at the walls.

Bang, BANG, BANG...

"What the bloody hell?" he muttered to himself, eyes cutting sideways to the opposite wall.

Creeeeeaaaak, creeeeeeaaaaaak...

"Another Dark spell," he grumbled. "We'll be forced to move our headquarters if this keeps up. What in Salazar's name could this possibly... " At once, his hand froze on the doorknob.

"Gods, gods, gods, yes! Gods, Alastor, please... "

Polyxena. The Moodys must have made up. Of course he would have to stand there and listen to them reenact Young Frankenstein for all the Order to hear. He stared down at his robes and helplessly watched them rise into a tent of black fabric as Polyxena carried on her very vocal approach to lovemaking. Great, just great.

The only thing he could come up with to cure what ailed him was a nice, long shower with icy jets of water pounding his skin. Yes, yes, a cold shower, but first... well, a few more minutes listening to Polyxena wouldn't kill him, as long as Mad-Eye remained quiet.

"Polyxena!"

Oh, sweet Merlin. Snape's robe deflated as rapidly as it had risen. Just as well, for he hadn't exactly relished the idea of drenching his aroused body in freezing water.

"You really know how to use your hands," came the woman's low, appreciative murmur.

The metaphorical wind was back in Snape's metaphorical sails, and he began to wonder whether he oughtn't to see his Healer about this. For now, though, he decided upon the shower. Trudging toward the bathroom just down the hall, he was so caught up in his bothersome, misdirected lust that he didn't register the sound of water rushing through the pipes and the fragrant steam filling the room until it was too late.

There stood Hermione, stark naked underneath the spray, body pleasantly pink from the warm water, her bushy hair (still not intending puns, although... ) heavy with dampness. Her eyes were shut against the coursing stream of water, and she hadn't heard him come in.

The former Potions master's jaw was slack, his dark eyes unable to look away from her nubile young form, especially her nubile young breasts, but when he saw her move away from the shower spray, he scurried out into the hallway, where he bumped into Polyxena.

Polyxena's eyes were bright, and her mouth held the tiniest self-satisfied smirk. She wore a short little robe over her tall, slim frame and positively reeked of sex. "Severus." Running a hand through her hair to smooth the post-coital frizz, she nodded slightly at the greasy haired man. "What are you up to?" Her tone was more than a little suspicious, and he suspected that that husband of hers had been watching him through the wall all the while.

"Precious little, my dear Madam Moody," he said, trying in vain for his trademark sarcasm and instead getting a strangled, choking gasp.

Polyxena quirked a brow. "Little? Don't sell yourself short, Sev."

Sev? "I beg your pardon?"

With a snort and the tiniest of glances at his unfortunate tenting situation, she set off down the hall, the hem of her robe dancing against her thighs. To his right, the old pipes ceased groaning as the shower water was cut, and Hermione finished bathing. He could only imagine her stepping out of the tub nude... reaching for her towel...

Oh, yes. Severus Snape was a dead man.

* * *

"All right, we'd better head to Hogsmeade first and see what Aberforth has to say for himself. Snape, Hermione, Dung, Polyxena." Mad-Eye couldn't quite keep the scowl from his scarred face.

Likewise, his wife couldn't keep the triumphant grin from hers. "We'll Apparate from Diagon Alley. The sound of five people Apparating from here would attract too much attention."

"Apparition?" queried Severus lazily. "Have you even got your license yet, Hermione?"

"Fuck you, Severus."

With a slow glance at her body, now concealed beneath a baggy old robe, he recalled the firm flesh of her wet, pink thighs. "Interesting suggestion." He folded his hands strategically over his problem area. "I'll keep it in mind for you eighteenth birthday party."

Eyes cutting sideways to meet Alastor's, Polyxena snorted into the folds of her copper colored cloak.

"I r'member my eighteenth birthday party," Mundungus broke in reflectively. "M' dad, 'e were a Muggle, 'e took me t' th' strip club an' then we stole some cars. 'E'd 'ad me 'otwirin' them since I were nine, before I was at 'Ogwarts, y' know."

"I started my job in advertising on my eighteenth birthday," Polyxena broke in smoothly, edging the others toward the door. "Not a good day at all. I was bloody glad to see the end of that career."

"What do you do now?" asked Hermione with interest.

"Bit of this, bit of that," she replied evasively. "Alastor likes to keep me close to home, don't you, dear?"

"Damn right I do," he growled, ignoring her slight sarcasm. "Death Eaters practically walk the streets these days, and I'm a known member of the Order. You-Know-Who's lot would think nothing of kidnapping you again."

"No, probably not." Polyxena pursed her lips. "I'm sure Severus exercises the same concern for Hermione's safety."

The ex-Death Eater's sallow face twisted angrily. "What are you on about, Ollivander?"

"It's Moody. And I'm sorry, but the way you two are always sniping at one another, I just assumed you were a couple. Well, that and the way your robes tend to billow up when someone says the words 'Hermione' and 'shower' in the same sentence."

Though he tried in vain to imagine Dung in the shower, the image of the scraggly drunk was quickly replaced by one of Hermione, wrapped in a fluffy, white towel. He felt his 'throbbing loins' jerk upward.

"Case in point." Polyxena smirked, winking at Hermione as they set off down Grimmauld Place.

* * *

How had that escaped her? That was Hermione's main thought as the quintet made their way through the Leaky Cauldron and into the empty street of Diagon Alley. She wasn't the most experienced girl at Hogwarts (that particular distinction going to Pansy Parkinson), but she'd done some things. It was inevitable at a small, coeducational boarding school filled with teenagers. She'd let Victor Krum touch her breasts at the Yule Ball, but he'd kind of kneaded them, and it had hurt a bit, actually. And there was that time with Ron in the prefects' bathroom when she'd let him talk her into sucking on Ron, Jr. That hadn't been pleasant, either. And Neville. She'd let him put his hand up her robe, but he'd been more terrified than she was and anyway, he hadn't found what she needed him to find. But they'd all had erections at the time, so how in the world didn't she notice it in Snape?

The five wizards Apparated to the outskirts of Hogsmeade and began to make their way through the mostly deserted town, all of them pausing to glance up at the now-empty Hogwarts Castle. Snape, Dung, and Moody ambled ahead, eager to reach the Hog's Head and question Abe, so Hermione seized Polyxena's wrist and held her back.

"Are you mad?" she hissed violently. "What are you playing at with Severus and his, erm, affliction?"

"Well, you wouldn't have believed me if I'd just told you," whispered Polyxena. "I said you didn't do anything wrong."

"You were right," sighed Hermione. "But how could I have missed something like that?"

Biting her lip, Polyxena said directly, "Are you a virgin?"

Hermione blushed deeply. "Well... yes. I've done things, I just haven't done the thing."

"Relax." Polyxena rested a sisterly hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "When I met Alastor, I'd only done 'the thing' once. It was with Bill Weasley, but he was really horrible at it."

"I think it runs in their family." Hermione grinned, thinking of Ron's minute long blowjob. "I actually feel sorry for Fleur and Lavender."

"What are you two whispering about?" growled Moody, his magical eye looking back at them. "Keep up, will you?"

"Sorry, darling." Polyxena and Hermione quickened their steps to fall in with Snape and Dung, who was eyeing them both a bit too appreciatively as he rolled up the string of his Extendable Ear.

"Not a word." Hermione glowered at him severely.

"If you're lookin' for someone t'... "

"Shut up, Dung," snapped Polyxena.

"Alls I'm sayin' is, I do a good Engorgement Charm. Jus' r'member that." He winked one of his bloodshot eyes suggestively at her. "An' I know my way 'round th' female body."

"Silencio!" Snape jabbed his wand at the ragged man beside him.

"Thanks for that." Hermione smiled shyly, not really wanting to provoke a certain reaction.

"Think nothing of it. Someone had to stop him. When he says 'female body,' he means 'hag body.' Mad-Eye, Polyxena, go with Dung to the Hog's Head and question Aberforth. I need to speak with Miss Granger privately."