Lesson Seven

Lesson Seven

Monday morning introduced itself rudely with Lavender nudging the mattress repeatedly with her knee.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. You're ... going ... to ... be ... late!" Lavender's knee punctuated each word, which had Hermione searching unsuccessfully for her wand with her hand, for the proper hex with her still sleep fogged brain. The wand hovered, pinched between two precisely manicured fingers, over Hermione's head; the hex was never found.

"I'll give you your wand when you get out of bed," Lavender said sweetly and then backed away from her swiftly rising roommate, tossing the wand gingerly in Hermione's direction.

"What time is it...? What day is it?" Hermione asked groggily.

"It's Monday. Breakfast starts in fifteen minutes. Good news is the shower's free." Lavender grinned, grabbed her bag, and disappeared quickly out the door, happy to leave Hermione alone in her state of panic.

Fresh underwear, clean shirt, skirt, newly pressed robes: all found themselves tossed onto her unmade bed, and toiletries jostled their way into her arms, a few attempting escape and resisting recapture. Halfway to the bath, she remembered her wand was still on her bed where Lavender had left it, and she turned in a sleep-tousled whirl of curls and a huff of exasperation to retrieve it, figuring she had five minutes to shower, another five to get dressed and spell-dry her hair, and about five minutes to make it to breakfast on time, but would have to forgo that extra studying she had wanted to do for Arithmancy.

Toiletries, clothes, and wand were dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and knickers and nightgown were stripped off and thrown on top. The water hadn't even had a chance to heat before she stepped beneath the spray to wet her hair. Conditioner was setting and her body half-lathered before she came to the full realization that today was Monday.

Monday. That meant her first class of the day was Advanced Potions. She hesitated a full thirty seconds, soapy flannel paused over her now butterfly-filled stomach, before her nerves jumpstarted and resumed her body's previously frantic pace.

She was spell-dried and dressed a full two-and-a-half minutes sooner than she had estimated. Stopping in her room only to exchange her toiletries for her book bag, she ran down the staircase and out the portrait hole.

Back on schedule, her mind switched gears and she was finally able to think. However, soon enough it was obvious that neither schoolwork nor her classes were very much on her mind this morning. No, her mind had reserved itself for one thought only: Severus Snape. Professor Snape, she reminded herself, as it was only appropriate to think of him as such while on the school grounds. Still, the title 'professor' did nothing to quell the needy ache in her loins at the mere thought of him. In fact, she was afraid that it did quite the opposite.

The nervousness she had felt earlier in the shower at seeing him this morning had ebbed away, and a rather predatory creature had taken its place. Her pace eased and her shoulders straightened as she adjusted her bag and pulled a lock of her hair from underneath the strap. Unlike last week when she had only the memory of his kiss, this morning her skin thrummed with the ghost of his hands on her body, on her breasts, of his hardness between her legs. Whether or not he desired her was no longer a question. That had been answered quite satisfactorily last night.

Confidence cloaked her as she walked into the Great Hall and took her perfunctory place between Harry and Ron. They parted automatically and seemed to subconsciously sense the change in her.

Ron looked at her askance as she poured herself some tea, grabbed a couple slices of toast, and asked Neville to pass her a banana from the bowl that was closer to him than it was her. She caught his glance as she reached for it, but Ron looked away quickly and blushed as though he had violated some rule by looking at her.

Hermione turned to look at Ron fully and felt rather than saw a sudden movement in Harry's direction. Her head swept back and forth between the two boys, neither of whom were looking at her, and said, "All right. What are you two up to?"

Harry coughed into his napkin, muttering, "Nothing," while Ron remained mute, face trying to match the color of his hair.

"Nothing, my arse," she said, lowering her voice so no one would hear her swear. "Something is going on, and one of you is going to tell me what it is."

Harry sighed heavily. "All right. We went looking for you last night after dinner and, uh ... saw someone who looked an awful lot like you walking with Professor Snape."

"They were too far away, mate. I told you it wasn't her," Ron added, sounding like this argument had already been hashed over ad nauseam. "Right, Hermione? Tell him it wasn't you."

"You were following me?" Hermione said incredulously before she had a chance to think that perhaps denial was a better way to go. "How dare you follow me!"

"It was you?" Ron squeaked as Harry murmured, "I told you so."

It was too late to deny the fact that she was with Professor Snape last night, but there were any number of plausible explanations they would believe. She just didn't know how far they had followed her. Had the boys seen them entering the hut? Then she recalled that Professor Snape had cast a spell to make sure they hadn't been followed and even remembered a Silencing Charm. Thank the gods.

"Professor Snape saw me sitting outside after dinner," she began, "and asked if I was interested in harvesting some potion ingredients with him. Of course I went," she said flippantly as though it were the most natural thing for her to do. Uncertainty still marked both the boys' faces, which made her feel a little nervous. "What? Am I not supposed to be learning anything outside of class, is that it?"

Ron piped up cautiously, "Er ... well, no. It's just that it looked like you were ... holding hands."

A nervous laugh escaped her lips. She hoped it sounded more like she was shocked that he would say such a thing than the alternative. "Holding hands? Ronald Weasley, now you are talking complete bollocks, and I will not stand for it."

She stood up, gathered her belongings, and looked at her friends, who had suddenly found a spot on the table more interesting than her. Her heart was racing a mile a minute. She had no desire for this...whatever it was between her and Professor Snape...to be discovered by her friends. Not yet. And it had come too bloody close. They'd have to be more careful in the future.

"I'm going to class. I suppose I'll see you both there, yeah?" The queasy feeling of disaster averted had her walking a bit faster than she would have liked. If she weren't careful, her false denial would become all too apparent. For now, she just wanted whatever was happening with Professor Snape to continue and to enjoy it without her two best friends ruining it for her.

Too early for Advanced Potions, she strode down random hallways to burn off some of the nervousness, both at nearly being caught out by her friends and at having to attend class with Professor Snape first thing. How was she going to sit through class listening to him teach when the mere sound of his voice sent little shocks of pleasure straight to her core ... when the mere sight of his body would bring back recent memories of him pressed up against her, grinding them both into ecstasy?

She shuddered as a frisson of pleasure shimmered down her spine and pooled between her legs. Her steps became more determined as she tried to harness her overactive imagination and regain control of her mind and body. The traitorous body that would rather be splayed out beneath her professor as he did unspeakably wanton things to her....

Shite! She stopped mid-hall to gather her wits about her before turning and heading down to the dungeons. If she couldn't get control, it was going to be impossible to get through Advanced Potions.

Hermione was the last to enter the classroom, and she took her accustomed seat next to Harry. Ron poked her from behind and whispered loudly, "Where did you go?" She just shook her head to dismiss his question. Why did these boys always feel it was necessary to know her exact whereabouts every bloody moment? It was like going to school with her father, times two.

Professor Snape strode into the room, his brisk pace causing pieces of loose parchment to worship the wake of his robes, falling silently behind him. Hermione caught herself watching in similar adoration and averted her eyes, reminding herself that she needed to keep control. The professor flippantly waved his wand at the chalk board, and writing appeared.

"Your assignment for the hour is on the board. The brewing should take you half the hour, the essay the other half. Both should be on my desk by the end of class today." Groans sprouted from various areas around in the room, and he glared. "Need I remind you this is not first-year Potions? 'Advanced' implies there will be work involved. If any of you have a problem with that, perhaps you are in the wrong class." He stared hard at the guilty students, who now sat up a little straighter at their desks.

"Get to work," he bit out between clenched teeth, and the students scrambled to prepare their cauldrons and collect the needed ingredients from the storeroom.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Class was as it had always been. She didn't know why she had thought it would be any different. She could do this. The potion was relatively easy to brew, and it would take her mind off how much she'd rather be in Professor Snape's arms, feeling his lips trail from her mouth down her neck to her aching breasts, longing for him to bathe them with his tongue, to suckle and pull at them.... She cursed at her treacherous mind and forced herself to get to work.

Halfway between adding the shredded bezoar and stirring in the crisped faerie wings, Ron poked her shoulder again. "Hermione, about earlier..."

She shrugged him off and tried to ignore him. She didn't want to talk about earlier, didn't want to think about it either. She just wanted to finish her potion and her essay and get out of class without her mind scattering across the floor in the wake of Professor Snape's robes.

But no, it wasn't to be. Harry, trying to smooth over everything as always, had to whisper in her ear, "Don't be cross at him, Hermione. It was an honest mistake. It's just ... it looked like you were holding hands with Snape, but..."

"We were not holding hands!" Hermione shouted at Harry, momentarily forgetting where she was in her frustration.

Then she bit her tongue and looked up to see Professor Snape scowling at the two of them from the other side of the room. He drew himself up to his full height, and his eyes lacked all emotion as he looked between Harry and Hermione.

"I'm sure everyone would be intensely interested to hear about your love life, Miss Granger, but this is neither the time nor the place. Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for undoubtedly provoking Miss Granger. And twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for your outburst," he said by rote; after all, point-taking was an integral part of the day. Then his demeanor hardened. "Oh, and detention, Miss Granger, for your obvious lack of concentration. To be served today, after your last class. Perhaps you'll learn to concentrate if I make you scrub out a few cauldrons."

So much for getting out of Advanced Potions in one piece. She looked down at her forgotten potion, murmured, "Yes, sir," and resumed mincing ingredients.

~

The rest of the day went by quickly, though not very pleasantly. She had been more than happy to escape Potions class, and in her shame, her imagination left her relatively alone. She couldn't bring herself to think for too long about Professor Snape. She was worried about what he might be thinking after her outburst. Surely he had heard her loud and clear. There was no doubt in her mind that their...what the hell was it? Oh, bugger all...relationship would be coming to an end as soon as he realized others had discovered that something was going on. Her stomach roiled every time she thought about it. She couldn't even eat lunch.

Morosely, she gathered her things after her last class and made her way down to the dungeons. Thankfully, the boys had left her well enough alone for the rest of the day. She was quite upset at Harry, even though it was she who had ultimately lost them points. Still, if he and Ron had just kept their bloody mouths shut in class like they were supposed to, her relationship with Severus wouldn't be in jeopardy.

When she reached the Potions classroom, the last students were filtering out, and she waited until they had disappeared down the hallway before entering the room. She looked around for other students who might be serving detention, but the classroom was empty save for Professor Snape, who sat behind his enormous desk at the front of the room, and herself.

"Close the door, Miss Granger," he said quietly. Disappointedly, she thought. Dejectedly, she was certain. She tried to steel herself for what she knew was coming.

Turning around to close the door, a whisper of a spell ghosted over her shoulder. A locking charm: she knew the signature of that spell quite well. It would be their last private conversation together. She dammed the tears behind a wall in her heart and vowed she would not let him see her cry. She would be strong. She would accept whatever he said; he was the older, more experienced between them and knew what was best.

Slowly, she made her way to the front of the room, not looking up to meet his gaze, and deposited her bag on the floor next to the frontmost work table. When she looked up, he was standing before her...when had he gotten up from his desk? The scowl that had been burnt upon her memory since that morning had melted, and she now looked upon a face that regarded her with a soft questioning look. Against her will, her resolve shattered, and the sobs that broke forth could not be helped.

Professor Snape stepped forward and gathered her into his arms, letting her cry against his chest. She could feel his light kisses on top of her head, hear his whispers of "Shhh, it's all right" in her ear. She quieted after a minute, but her breathing was still ragged with the built up emotion of the day.

He pulled back slightly and looked down into her face. One of his hands cupped the side of her face and he implored her to "Breathe." It took a few moments for her to comply, to realize that everything she had been worrying about all day had been needless.

He waited, willing her to be calm, and searching her eyes, he asked, "All right now?" When she nodded, he continued, "Potter and Weasley have found out about us, haven't they?"

"No," she said a bit shakily. "Well, not really. They saw us walking off last night and thought they saw us holding hands, but we were too far away for them to be sure. I told them you saw me outside and asked me to help gather potion ingredients."

"Brilliant," he answered, pushing a lock of her hair away from her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. His hand paused, growing lighter as the moment grew heavier, but just as she expected him to remove his hand completely, she instead felt it trace the edge of her jaw...ever so lightly...until his thumb hovered, trembling slightly, above her bottom lip.

Oh, how she wanted to feel his lips on hers in that moment. She burned with the need, and her eyes fell shut at the combined sensation of his soft touch and her intense desire. Without opening her eyes, she could sense he had drawn closer, very close. She felt the magnetic pull, the force that wanted them to complete the connection, that repelled resistance. But he did resist, or maybe it was she, or perhaps it was both, waiting for the moment when resistance was no longer an option.

His breath mingled with hers, pulsing against her lips. He was so near, so painfully near, she only had to lean in a breath's width and take his mouth with her own, but she held herself back, waiting for him to make the first move. Anticipation coiled tightly in her chest, her stomach, her core, each shouting out silently, fervently, urgently needing to be touched.

Time dilated tortuously as the impression of his lips traveled along her jaw line and stopped at the outer edge of her ear, where she could now not only feel the irregularity of his breath but hear it as well.

"What have I done to deserve this..." he said so quietly a simple movement would have rendered his voice inaudible. "I can no longer look upon you without wanting you ... in every way."

His breath moved along the shell of her ear, as though planning where a kiss would be best placed. But no kiss fell from his lips, only weak, wavering exhalations as he tried desperately to control himself.

"Do you have any idea ... how you affect me?" he asked, voice struggling with need, fueling her desire for him until her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to give way. In a moment of lust-filled weakness, his forehead rested against hers as he gathered strength, and his breath struggled in even more erratic gasps now.

"Gods, I need..." His voice shook, betraying his emotions. "So beautiful, Hermione. I wake to thoughts of you ... I go to sleep with thoughts of you..." His breath was upon her ear once more. "I dream only of you."

She whimpered. Every inch of her body longed to be touched by more than just sweet words and faltering breath. Every nerve ending stood at attention, dying for the simplest contact. She was on fire, electrified. A single touch, a caress, a kiss: it was all she needed. Just one.

"You..." his breath slipped down to the angle of her jaw, and for a fleeting moment, she felt a ghost of a kiss, "are..." and slid slowly to the corner of her mouth, "mine."

The space between them burst like a bubble, and lips exploded together as her body simultaneously exploded with the contact, and he swallowed her screams as the force of their need continued to wash over her. He tried to devour her, every kiss a desperate plea for more, more, more. He couldn't get enough, and he made her body sing with the ferocity of his touch. Hands had a mind of their own as they stroked his face, her shoulders, his chest, her back, his hips, her hair, anything they could reach, over and over as though it could never be enough.

His mouth left hers, and she arched her neck to welcome him as he attacked her neck, groaning and growling ferally as he feasted upon her flesh. Fingers deftly opened her robes and unfastened shirt buttons, and his mouth delved lower toward more sensitive areas. She felt more than heard him mutter something, and in a second her breasts were freed from their confines and became victims of a new assault, one that she would not protest.

His mouth tugged and ignited the strings to her core as he suckled and rolled her nipples between his teeth, and her legs completed the transformation to jelly. She could no longer stand. Professor Snape caught her before she sank to the floor in a mindless heap and lifted her atop the nearest table, where he gently guided her to lie back with her legs hanging off the edge.

He stood between her legs, eyes smoldering with the possibilities before him. He ran his hands along her body, outlining her breasts, which were gloriously spread to each side, obeying the laws of gravity. But there was so much more than just her breasts to explore, and with her laid out before him, as his hands stroked the length of her torso, her arms, feeling the curves of her body, he realized that he hadn't yet had a chance to explore her body as much as she had his. His pupils grew and darkened at the thought, and Hermione quirked a questioning brow in her lust-filled haze, unaware of what he had next in mind.

His fingers played across the delicate flesh of her stomach and traced the waistband of her skirt. He hesitated a moment as if contemplating something, and then, decision made, he grabbed the hem of the skirt and lifted it to reveal a pair of modest silk knickers. Knickers that covered way too much.

He leaned forward, lowered the upended skirt to kiss her belly, then replaced it and worked his way lower, trailing kisses over her hips and abdomen to her silk-covered mound. Her gasps and moans encouraged him, as well as her quick breaths and arching hips, and he inhaled her heady scent and added his groan to hers. Sweet, intoxicating, he wanted to drink her all in, her scent, her juices as he drew them from her body. He longed to make her quake beneath his fingers, his mouth. The scant piece of fabric that still covered her most intimate span of flesh no longer looked so modest, as soaked as it was from her arousal.

Cupping his hands beneath her bottom, his long fingers reached for the edge of her knickers, pulling it lower, exposing the curls that stood sentry to her femininity. A bit lower and lower yet, and he exposed her completely. Though her legs were still constricted by her knickers, his impatience had him leaning over to explore what he could. His nose nudged the sensitive skin at the junction of her thighs, and he inhaled deeply, her scent luring him down the path to mental oblivion.

Her moans of "Oh yes" and her thrashing and begging for more had him ripping away the flimsy silk garment without another thought. Without further ado, he spread her legs and bent her knees until her hips raised slightly from the table, exposing her swollen lips and everything between.

With a moan that was halfway between a whimper and a cry, he swiped his tongue deliberately from her entrance up to the tip of her clitoris, making her hips buck and desperate pleas fall from her lips, which in turn ignited his entire body on fire with desire for the woman at his mercy. He circled and lapped at her overly sensitive bundle of nerves, taking in her pleasure as his own, absorbing every moan, every cry, every arch of her back, every clench of her thighs as his own, and then he enveloped the entire thing in his mouth and sucked on it ferociously while stroking his tongue back and forth across the now hardening bit of flesh.

She thrashed on the table beneath his hands and cried out, "Yes! Mmm... don't you dare stop!"

He couldn't have even if he had wanted to. Her pleasure had intertwined with his own, entangling his entire body in the process. Every stroke of his tongue upon her body was like a stroke upon his own. Each time he suckled her, he felt his body respond in kind. Stopping would most certainly kill him.

His mouth abandoned her clitoris, and his tongue swept lower, slipping tightly into her entrance, which clenched as her hips flexed and invited him to explore its depths. He thrust his tongue in as far as her body would allow, and other parts of him thrilled vicariously at the wondrous experience. When his nose bumped against the sensitive flesh he had recently abandoned for this new pleasure, she became nearly incoherent, chanting, "Yes, yes, yes, more, oh gods, more." So he ground his nose into her clit, hard and insistent, as he thrust and swept his tongue roughly in and out and around, keeping a tight rein on his control lest he forget himself and bury another wanting appendage within her instead.

He had to hold her hips down now with force else continuing would have been impossible, and the restriction heightened her screams and intensified the pleasure tenfold. Her thighs were tensing beneath his hands, and she quivered with the tension building up beneath his tongue. He wanted to cry out, the pleasure she was giving him simply by being able to give her pleasure was too much, but all he could do was whimper at the back of his throat, adding slight vibrations through his mouth and nose.

She exploded in an instant, wet with need, convulsing in waves around his tongue. She cried and panted as he laved the result of her passion from her and continued to push his nose against her nub, increasing the pressure slightly. When her body had calmed somewhat, he moved quickly to suck her clitoris into his mouth and pulsated his tongue across its head, feeling his own member responding equally to the stimulation. His hips thrust involuntarily, futilely, as the feeling overcame him.

The pressure grew mindlessly inside of her, making her incoherent save for one thought: "Ah... ah... oh God, Severus, make me come, make me come, make me come!"

A single finger pushed her over the edge, and as he felt the contractions squeeze vice-like around his slender digit, the part of him that longed to be inside of her convulsed and spent its desire bereft of her body. She was glorious. The finger moved of its own accord, its master lost to feelings of his own lust, inside her tight channel. A second finger tried to add itself to the first, but discovered it was near impossible. He came to himself, realized what this meant and that he didn't want to hurt her...

The realization that this girl...no, woman!...had yet to be taken by a man sobered him. This would go no further today. He had to slow down. Even if it meant waiting to feel her tight warmth surrounding him, he would stop ... for now. This was neither the time nor the place to take her virginity. He had no doubt it would be in the near future, but he wanted it to be special, and that would take some planning.

So he calmed himself down by helping her to calm down. Uncurling himself from his position bent over her body, he caressed small circles over her thighs, working his way to her abdomen, and then to her stomach after replacing her skirt to restore some semblance of modesty. Once her breathing had slowed, she opened her eyes, smiled up at him lazily, and accepted his hand in order to sit up.

She looked into his eyes and sighed. "Wow."

He chuckled. "Yes, that pretty much sums it up," he agreed and kissed her lightly on her lips.

She kissed him hesitantly at first, then more boldly, nibbling on his lips as he offered her taste and scent back to her. She took it eagerly, discovering that it wasn't unpleasant, though definitely new and different. She could go on kissing him forever, but all good things unfortunately had to come to an end.

With a reluctant sigh, he pulled back and offered his hand once more, helping her onto unsteady feet. When she had properly gained her balance, he bent and picked up the discarded piece of torn silk from the floor. Smiling wickedly, he held them up for her to see and muttered, "Reparo," then "Scourgify." Mended and clean, her feet were guided into the openings, and the silk was slid up her thighs and repositioned appropriately.

She was silent all the while he was dressing her, and he noticed the silence. It wasn't uncomfortable or even worrisome, but he could sense the pervading sense of melancholy in the air. When he finished, his finger tilted her chin upward so she could look him in the eyes. Sure enough, moisture glistened in her eyes.

He didn't know what was wrong exactly, but he didn't want the afterglow of such a beautiful moment ruined. So he swiped at a lone descending tear with his thumb and whispered, "Don't cry, Hermione."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, but still looked up at him sadly, though smiling. "I'm sorry. It's just that ... it's just that I don't want to leave."

Something inside his chest seemed to melt, and he drew her into his arms, curling a piece of her hair between his fingers. "Oh, gods, Hermione, I wish you could stay. You have no idea...."

She laughed lightly and extricated herself from his arms, knowing that if she didn't leave now, things would begin to look a little unseemly. She had been in detention for a little over an hour, and if she didn't return soon, Harry and Ron would begin looking for her. And she didn't want that.

She shouldered her bag and straightened to look at him one last time before she left.

"Thank you," she said shyly.

He looked at her, confused momentarily, wondering if she was thanking him for giving her such brilliant orgasms. "For what?" he decided to clarify.

"For giving me detention, of course!" she replied with a wicked glint in her eye.

He laughed. He had forgotten that this was supposed to be a detention, and he had to admit that it was certainly the best detention he had ever had to supervise. But just to discourage her from making this a habit, he added, "You're welcome. But ... there are better ways of getting my attention."

He stood watching her as she turned and walked from the classroom. And he realized, quite painfully, how much he was going to miss her.

~ End Lesson Seven

A/N: Thank you to Southern_Witch_69, my second set of eyes, who searched for my mistakes and encouraged me to change a couple things that had her scratching her head. When her head itches, so does mine. *smirk*