Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

If Hermione thought it best to avoid Snape after she had slipped the first two chapters of her story under his door, then she had no qualms over avoiding him now that she'd given him the third chapter. The first two were tame. The third involved oral sex in an empty hallway. Not to mention, she thought it was painfully obvious Sebastian was her literary version of Snape. She wondered if Snape suspected as much.

She couldn't believe she had gone through with it. Writing the lustful little scene, letting her fantasies play out on paper, and then handing it over to the one man who had inspired it all was something she had thought she'd never do. Up until a week ago, she never thought she'd find herself lusting after, and even flirting with, a former professor. It was almost shameful.

Her attention slowly faded back to her classroom. David Ecker was astoundingly bad with his wand work, almost to the point of reminding Hermione of Neville Longbottom. She watched her student try to levitate a small book on his desk. It shot sideways and crashed through the window behind her desk. The other students giggled, but Hermione cut them off, not wanting anyone to poke fun at the poor boy.

After telling the class to return to their work, she walked over to the window and called, "Accio Book!" It flew up to land in her open hand, the impact of the book jarring her injured shoulder a bit. Wincing, she repaired the glass with a flick of her wand and returned the book to David Ecker's desk. "You move your wand this way, David," she said, demonstrating the movement to him.

David nodded enthusiastically and resumed the exercise, while Hermione returned to her desk. He still hadn't managed to levitate anything at all when she dismissed the class.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione settled back into her desk chair. She wanted to see Snape, but she was so embarrassed by what she had written she couldn't bring herself to approach him. Instead, she had rushed through the halls all day, afraid he might see her. She had taken breakfast and lunch in her rooms, not daring to brave the Great Hall when his seat was beside hers. She couldn't keep this avoidance up forever, but she intended to try.

Usually, Hermione spent a couple hours each evening in the library, but she was afraid he would find her there. It was one of his favorite places, after all. So, she resigned herself to hiding in her rooms, despite her feeling of discomfort there. The nightmares had not plagued her dreams this week as often as they had in previous weeks, but she still remembered them when she stepped into her bedroom.

Gathering her papers, she exited the classroom and warded the door behind her. She wasn't far from her quarters, and she felt reasonably sure she wouldn't run into the school's Potions master on the way there. Unfortunately, she was only ten steps down the hall when she saw his black robes swish around the corner. Hermione felt her stomach drop into her feet. To make matters worse, the glaring white envelope was in his hand, and she was too late to hide.

"Skipping breakfast and lunch now, Granger?"

Hermione watched him approach in his usual brusque manner, stopping just short of enveloping her in his robes. "I took them in my rooms," she explained, looking for a way to escape. Her face was already turning red; she could feel the burn of heated flesh on the apples of her cheeks.

"I believe this is yours," Snape said, raising a single brow at her flustered state and offering the envelope to her.

Hermione almost denied it and shoved the manuscript away. Instead, she hesitantly snatched it from his hand. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome," he said softly before turning around and retracing his steps.

Luckily, there weren't any students around to witness exactly how embarrassed their Charms professor was at the moment. Hermione held the manuscript in one clenched hand and retreated to her rooms before she could make a bigger fool of herself.

Once she had warded her door and taken her shoes off, Hermione sat down on the sofa beneath one of the two windows in her quarters. She still had the envelope in her right hand, her fingertips digging into the parchment. The message she had jotted down on the cover was still there, and her embarrassment made her want to sink into the stone floor of the castle.

With as much hesitation as she could muster, Hermione lifted the flap of the envelope and pulled the manuscript out. His precise red handwriting had crossed out words, corrected mistakes, and made suggestions along the margins. Nothing seemed amiss until she noticed the small piece of parchment that had landed on her lap. It had not been in the envelope when she had given him the manuscript for his perusal.

Hermione grimaced as she turned the note over and read it. Actually, she read the note in full four times before she dropped her gaze to the manuscript again. As startling as it was, she believed Snape had just written a compliment to her. She had irrefutable proof that Severus Snape actually thought she was worth something. It made her giggle and cover her flushed face with her cold hands. They felt good on her warm cheeks.

She looked at the note again. Severus. He had signed it with his given name, something she had never dared call him before. He didn't call her Hermione, and she never once considered he would allow her to call him Severus. Hermione couldn't wipe the ridiculous smile off her face. Was he flirting with her? Surely, writing a note that praised her talents after reading one of the dirty sexual scenes she had been imagining him in constituted flirting with her.

She stood up and paced the room. Her mixture of excitement and embarrassment prevented her from sitting still. The stone floor was chilly on her bare feet, but she didn't notice at all. Her shoulder was still sore from catching David Ecker's book in her classroom minutes before, but she didn't notice that either.

Turning back to the sofa, Hermione's eyes traced the scattered pages of the manuscript. She wondered if any of it had turned him on. He always appeared to be so reserved and even haughty. The thought of Snape touching himself beneath his black robes while he read her story sent a thrill through her that began a throbbing between her thighs. She shifted and squeezed her legs together. Recently, thinking about him always led to lustful thoughts and a deliciously tight feeling in her abdomen.

Hermione bit her lower lip, nibbling on it as she swept her gaze along the length of her sofa. She could just imagine Snape throwing her door open, letting it bounce loudly against the wall before sweeping across the floor toward her. He would push her roughly back on the cushions, descending on her willing body right away. And he would be fast and deft with his long fingers, hiking her robes and skirt up before pushing her knickers out of the way.

Heavily, she sank into the armchair behind her, never taking her eyes off the sofa and the discarded manuscript with his red ink all over it. The muscles of her thighs were trembling from the pressure of her clenching them tightly together. Snape wouldn't talk; he wouldn't ask permission or explain his desire. He would just take her right there, his cock buried deep within her while his teeth left small indentations on the soft flesh of her neck.

Her breath was shallow and loud in her roaring ears. Unable to stand the unreleased pressure, Hermione burrowed a hand between her legs. Her robes and skirt prevented her from touching the heated flesh there, but it felt sinfully good to touch herself while thinking of him fucking her on the red sofa beneath the window.

She had a view of the Quidditch pitch. Hermione shifted anxiously in her seat while she thought of some unsuspecting player passing by her window while chasing an errant Snitch and seeing Snape pounding her into the plush cushions of the sofa.

Shaking her head, Hermione stood and smoothed the front of her robes. She was far from an exhibitionist, but these thoughts of Snape were driving her wild. With an admirable show of restraint, she straightened the pages of the manuscript and sat them on the end table before retiring to the bathroom for a very long shower, one she fantasized sharing with Severus Snape.

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He made her entire body vibrate with tension each time he was within ten feet of her. Hermione barely managed to talk to him coherently, she was so strung out on desire and nervousness. She wondered at his inability to see how he affected her. Surely his self-esteem wasn't so low that he didn't believe he could turn her into a silly, stumbling, mumbling schoolgirl with a mere glance. Because he very well could.

By the end of the week, she had come to the conclusion that his previous experience as a spy gave him a completely unfair advantage in this little flirtatious game they were playing.

Her sexual frustrations leaked over into her dreams. That morning she had nearly wept with relief when she woke completely sated after a vivid dream about Snape. Anything was better than another recounting of Harry's scream when both he and Voldemort perished a mere ten feet from her, even if it did involve Snape slipping her beneath his terribly Slytherin green satin bed sheets.

She settled into the oversized desk chair in her private rooms. The sixth year essays she needed to mark were tucked away in the bottom drawer. She couldn't concentrate on them when thoughts of him and all the sinful things they could do together wouldn't leave her alone. Just sitting by him at dinner a few minutes ago was torture. She began to wonder if he really did suspect her attraction to him, seeing as how he continued to brush his arm against hers each time he reached for his drink.

Instead of essays this evening, she had several blank sheets of parchment in front of her. Hermione thought she might be going crazy because she could think of nothing but Snape. She groaned when she shifted her hips in the chair. She had thought she knew what horny felt like when she was being felt up by Victor two days after the Winter Ball in fourth year. She knew better now. This was what horny felt like, and she was as surprised as anyone that Snape had inspired such feelings.

She desperately wanted to know if he was in any way affected by what she had written last time or if he secretly thought about her. Perhaps if she was a bit more explicit with her writing, he might be moved to action. She was unsure as to what she wanted him to do, but a decent snog in his storage closet might hit the spot at least for now. Deciding to let her fantasies play out on the paper, she picked up a quill and began the next chapter with a smile.

It had been three long nights since Haley's encounter with Mr. Sandor. She and her aunt had taken dinner with him the evening after the incident in the hall. He had been distant and made no mention of what had happened between them. It drove Haley mad. She desperately wanted to see him again, but he made no indication that he wished it as well, which made her doubt herself and her desirability.

Only a moment later, she felt Sebastian's body tense and his smooth thrusts become erratic and uneven. With a groan, he pressed into her one last time before spilling himself within her.

Hermione pressed her teeth into the corner of her bottom lip and slipped the sheets of parchment into a fresh envelope after the ink had dried on the final page. She had been blatantly obvious with her description of Sebastian, his mannerisms, and his choice of words. He wasn't a clone of Snape, but it was quite apparent that the Hogwarts Potions master had inspired the character. Snape would be blind if he didn't see it. A good portion of her hoped he would see the truth of the character and recognize himself in it. The more reserved side of Hermione blanched at the possibility he could so easily expose her newest secret desire. Then again, she hadn't exactly tried to hide it when she wrote the ridiculous chapter.

She wished she could secretly watch him while he read it, but knew that would be impossible. She couldn't spy on the master spy himself, but she could dream about his reaction to her words.

Toying with the feather tip of her quill, she pondered what sort of message, if any, she should leave for him on the cover of the envelope. With a devious smirk, she scratched a few words across the stark white envelope.

Awaiting the skillful strokes of your infamous red quill...

Hermione giggled when she read what she had just written to him. She knew she was shamelessly flirting with the man, but she couldn't help herself. Life had been horrible since that day when Voldemort had been defeated. It wasn't until just recently that she began feeling like she might be able to carry on with some semblance of happiness. Just talking to Snape made her feel giddy and stirred the butterflies in her stomach. They were a welcome distraction from the ache in her shoulder.

Without thinking much of it, she signed her first name below the short message and sealed the envelope. She would slip it under his door while he was taking breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning.

Author's Notes: As always, thank you to moonrevel and JenF for their beta services. I is thankful like a house-elf.