Fresh Produce, Hand-Picked

A/N - Part two of the three part smut-let. Hope you enjoy. And yes, I know how absolutely tasteless the story and chapter titles are ... what can I say? They make me laugh. Anyway, read and review.

Enjoy,

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

Part Two – Fresh Produce, Hand-picked

Hermione stared in shock as her Potions professor stalked around the room. He had stopped talking several minutes ago, but she just couldn't force a response from her mouth. It all seemed so ridiculous. Impossible, even. But why would Snape, of all people, make up such a story? Surely the one 'solution' he had presented – the only acceptable one, at any rate – would be even more embarrassing and unpalatable for him as it was for her. She would merely have to forget what was in the potion long enough to drink it; he would have to.... Hermione started fidgeting with her cuffs. So what reason would he have to make it up? No. It must be the truth. She must really have been put under a curse that would compel her to...come to think of it, as she mentally scanned her body's current reactions, she knew that this confirmed he was telling the truth also. For a long, dizzy moment, Hermione felt her skin prickle before she forced herself to suppress her response to the tingling running through her.

"I do feel strange," she said, after many long minutes of silence.

Snape nodded shortly. "The curse magnifies the longer it is allowed to continue unaddressed. I prepared as many of the preliminary stages of the potion as I could before you awoke. No doubt the sensations you are currently experiencing will increase as the final stages are completed. There are several parts of this potion that require an extra set of hands," he stopped to grimace, damning his unconscious choice of words, "so I had to wake you for the remainder. Otherwise I would have simply dosed you upon inducing consciousness."

Hermione took a moment to sort out what she'd just heard. "Thank you," she muttered quickly, certain that somewhere in there, a gesture of kindness had been made on his part. Her mind kept drifting back to the few parts she seemed to be able to focus on – firstly, these 'sensations' (the way he had said it had unconsciously made her shiver) would increase the more time they wasted, and secondly, that he needed her hands. She bit her lip to keep from swearing as she tamped down the sudden surge of excitement and hormones that had raced along her nerves.

"Such a shame," Hermione mused, not realizing herself loud enough to be heard.

"What is that?" His voice was sharp, but devoid of its usual cruel bite.

Rising from the cot, Hermione moved over to where Snape had positioned himself behind the lab table, carefully ladling other solutions in from smaller cauldrons, swiftly and precisely peeling, chopping, and preparing ingredients for the next step of the potion. As she peered into the gently rolling clear liquid in the cauldron, she responded ruefully, "That I finally get to work with you in a professional capacity and it's for something like this."

Snape raised an eyebrow at her. "And what, precisely, do you mean by that?"

With a deep breath, she summoned up some of her inherent pluckiness. "Well, sir, for all that you're unpleasant, cruel, exacting, unreasonably demanding..."

"Careful, Miss Granger," he said, his voice a low, dangerous hiss.

She tried to continue as if she'd not just insulted her toxic professor and the only person who could help her. "...you are a brilliant mind and a brilliant Potions master. I'm sorry that the only chance I've had – and likely ever will have – to work with you in a non-scholastic atmosphere has to be for something so ... unsavory."

Snape looked momentarily stunned by the compliment before his features twisted into a trademark sneer. "Shameless flattery will neither aid nor cure your situation, Granger," he spat.

"I can assure you that if I was going to stoop to kissing arse, I would hardly start with yours." Her body screamed that kissing any part of him seemed like a fantastic idea just at the moment, but she swatted the yearning away. "Besides, it is only flattery if it's untrue, sir," she said, smiling her sweetest simper.

He growled low and turned his attention back to the clear, bubbling potion in front of him.

"Amortensia?" Hermione asked, her eyes hungrily taking in the intellectual puzzle before her. Snape nodded and shrugged, stirring silently and peering into the cauldron with a small frown. "But what about the steam? Shouldn't it be spiraling? And the sheen isn't quite..."

Snape cut her off with a gruff sigh. She silenced quickly. "There are a few adjustments made for this potion."

Hermione inhaled deeply. "Well, it must be more complex than just a few adjustments. It's obviously the same potion, at least as a fundamental base, but there are fine distinctions in nearly every level. The sheen is a ruby shimmer, instead of mother-of-pearl, the steam isn't spirals – it's longer, undulating curls. Even the smells are different," she babbled without checking her thoughts. "They're far more complex than last time when I smelled..."

"It has not occurred to you," he sliced through her narrative cleanly, "that your fixations and desires may have changed since the last time you came into contact with Amortensia?"

Hermione fell completely silent and stared down at her hands, now worrying along the handle of the long glass stirring spoon resting on a clay plate in front of her. Her hands had begun to tremble slightly and she couldn't seem to make them stop. And on the next inhale, she realized how the smells had changed, where she recognized the predominate notes.

"Hell," she spat out on a harsh whisper. "Bloody fucking hell."

"Language," he said smoothly. "You will remember that I am a professor and you, a student. Conduct yourself appropriately."

Anger bubbled up in her as he deftly pushed her out of the way to reach for an ingredient. "That's an awfully rich thing for you to demand, considering the circumstances, don't you think?"

He grumbled and scowled at her, but didn't dignify the statement with a response. Falling silent again, Hermione figured that the longer they remained in silence, the better chance she had of placating his temper until the potion was complete. One very large, very embarrassing step would have to be surmounted before it was done, but she tried to put that out of her mind. She followed the curt instructions he gave her now and then, moving as swiftly and accurately as she could manage, knowing he would berate her for good measure if she did not. Hermione had never seen a more complex potion: it was a blend of at least four, possibly as many as seven other already difficult potions. Amortensia, Wit-Sharpening Solution, Calming Draught ... they were all blended seamlessly beneath Snape's hands, and several other potions or pieces of potions slipped into the cauldron as they worked together. It was a good thing that Snape was as talented a Potions master as he was; no one else would make it through this and have a fighting chance of it being effective! There were ingredients and practices she'd never seen before. When she commented as much, Severus merely scoffed.

"Your experience with complicated potion making is hardly extensive," he said, leaning away from the cauldron and using his thumb and middle finger to brush sweat droplets from his brow.

Hermione had to stuff her hands in the pockets of her jeans to help resist the urge to grab his hand and thrust the fingers in her mouth. She had never been so frustrated in her life! Her mind was no different than it had ever been: Snape was brilliant, yes, and meticulous, certainly, but he was still unpleasant and ruthlessly demanding. But her body! Her stupid, treacherous body! Over the last half hour that they'd been working, she'd begun shaking in earnest, her breathing had begun to race and she couldn't seem to sit still. Her legs twitched with anxiety, and the spot at the apex of her thighs warmed and hummed madly. She couldn't stand it! He was as beastly as he'd ever been, but because of that bloody curse, she could barely control herself being near him. The smell – his smell – of herbs and old books and the slightly sweet-sharp smell of the damp dungeons that lingered in his robes pricked at her nose from his direction and from the lingering steam of the potion. Hermione had to stalk away from the table and circle the room, working off her edgy energy and clawing at her scalp through the riot of curls.

Snape was not looking at her, but she felt his attention on her as if it were a spotlight. Oh, he was aware of how she was feeling. After nearly forty minutes of working next to each other, Snape sighed and picked up the stirring spoon. He had packed away all of the other ingredients, she saw, in the minutes she had been pacing the room, and now he was simply stirring and scowling. And though the movements of his left hand as it stirred were fluid and rhythmic, she could tell that he was anxious, somehow.

"Oh, dear Lord," she mumbled under her breath, becoming anxious along with him.

"Granger," he said roughly. His voice was ragged, and he cleared his throat more than once before gesturing for her to come take the spoon. "Stir clockwise in three second rotations of the cauldron." His voice was clipped, and the moment she took up the task, he strode away from her and began pacing just as she had.

After a few seconds of silence, she got restless. "Sir?"

He startled as he turned back to regard her.

"What is it, sir?"

"It is time," he said shortly, but resumed pacing.

"Time, sir?" She hoped he wasn't referring to what she was certain he was, in fact, referring to. Not certain she could handle the forthcoming step with dignity and aplomb, especially considering her boiling blood and throbbing abdomen, Hermione prayed for another answer.

"The final ingredient," he barked. She cleared her throat, unable to respond, so he continued. "There is a very small window of time to add the ... ingredient, or the potion will become useless. To make matters even more complicated, my magical signature has to be present in the locale of the potion for the entirety of the time it is being brewed or it will be rendered ineffective."

"So you can't leave the room to," Hermione stumbled before finishing, "procure the ingredient?"

"No," he said gruffly. His face vacillated from disgust to embarrassment to fury and back. "I shall simply have to ... no other choice ..."

He looked to Hermione and the discomfort and embarrassment on his sharp, angular features was so apparent that she couldn't help but feel a squeeze of pity for him, even through her own embarrassment and discomfort. Without a word, she turned away from him as much as the stirring task would allow and began to hum quietly to herself. She heard him sigh in relief. After a few moments, she could tell that he had settled on the cot on which she had woken, his back angled towards her. She couldn't tell if he was moving or not, but she heard not a peep of sound. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain he'd be able to hear it. When Snape got up again only moments later and began pacing swiftly, Hermione bit her lip before mustering the courage to question him.

"Sir? Is there ... a problem, sir?"

"Ridiculous," he muttered. Then an angry bellow burst from him. "How can I do such a thing with you there? With a student right here in this room, how could I? Only natural, I suppose," he began talking to himself again, "that I'd have trouble, but that doesn't help..."

"Oh," Hermione said, her voice quiet and squeaking as realization dawned on her. He stopped and whirled to regard her as she stirred. She struggled for calm, but the curse was wracking through her flushed face, her trembling limbs. "Do you mean that because I'm here, you're having trouble ... getting, erm, you know...?" Unintentionally, her gaze drifted down his torso to his groin.

Snape whirled away from her, drawing his billowing robes around his torso and scowling at her in shocked disgust. "Well, since you put it so eloquently, yes, I am," his teeth ground in fury, "having trouble getting an erection."

She hiccupped on her breath as he said it, but all the blood in her body seemed to rush either to her face or her core. Biting her lip against the urge, she spoke. "What if I left? You said that you couldn't leave, but what if I left? To give you privacy."

"Well, Miss Granger," his voice wasn't as smooth as his steps or body language as he strode back over to her and sneered down at the concoction which was now bubbling softly. "That's the ingenious and, might I say, obnoxious thing about this potion: it was designed to be a two-person process. I cannot leave the room and at this stage, the potion must be in a constant state of motion."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, sir."

He grumbled again. "Because the inventor of the curse would not have wanted the solution to evade the curse's intent, he wanted the brewer to be forced to seek aid."

"Well, I was trying to help," she said, gesturing to the spoon. Hermione was silent for a moment, and then, "Oh!" She gasped as he colored just slightly at the cheeks. "Well, sir, then I guess there's only one thing to be done."

Snape looked up to her and raised an eyebrow. Hermione summoned up every ounce of Gryffindor courage she possessed – she would need it all – and laid her hand on the thick robes at her professor's hip. "I have to help you procure the ingredient."

****

Snape darted away from her so quickly that it seemed as if the hand she had placed on him had burned through the thick wool robes to his skin. "Are you mad?" he howled. Though his face was contorted in rage, there was something wild and frightened behind his eyes. "You must be, to suggest something like that!"

Considering that she only trembled for a moment at his shouting, Hermione considered that she had taken his response rather well. "It seems like the only sensible thing to do," she said calmly.

"Sensible?" he roared again. "Sensible?! You think having a student's hands on me is 'sensible'?" He started pacing again, only this time it seemed as if he were trying not to run away or hex her.

"Sir," Hermione said, clearing her throat and trying not to blush. "It really does seem like our only option. You said yourself that the potion was designed to be a two person operation. One person stirring and one person..."

"You should not be the person...doing anything other than stirring!"

"We tried that already, remember? You weren't terribly successful." When she said that, his face paled and he stopped pacing, gaping at her. "Unless you fancy the other way to dispel the charm..." she ignored his bellow of indignation, "...then we need that last ingredient. If you can't get it, I will have to."

"Absolutely not!" Snape said, though his voice was losing its vehemence. He cursed roundly at the break and wild note there. "To suggest that you could do such a thing is ridiculous and unacceptable in the extreme."

"Well, sir," she said, her anger beginning to rise, "we're wasting precious minutes. How long do you suppose we have to procure and add the final ingredient?"

He resumed pacing and stared at the floor. "Seven minutes. Ten at the very most."

"Seven minutes," she repeated, and a bite was creeping into her voice. "You had at least five before and you couldn't prepare yourself. Do you really think that in the next seven minutes you could," she cleared her throat and spoke through the hitch in her voice, "get an erection, m-m-masturbate and have an orgasm in time to save the potion?"

His pacing increased and a growl escaped his throat. Damn it, she had him cornered and she knew it, though she didn't know the reason. It would most likely take him at least a few minutes to get over the embarrassment of the situation enough to have an erection, let alone the 10-15 minutes it usually took him to achieve completion. It had been so long since he'd been with a woman, another's touch would almost certainly send him flying in minutes.

"Well," she said again. "Do you, Professor?"

"No," he growled through gritted teeth. "But it is highly improper..."

"Needs must," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "And it isn't as if I'm underage. I'm a legally consenting adult."

He tried a different tactic. "How can you be certain that you, of all people, would be able to entice me that far?" he said, a sneer slipping back onto his face.

"Statistics show that typically speaking, masturbation with a partner yields greater and quicker results than solo stimulation," Hermione said. When he grimaced at her, she sneered back, a good likeness of his own. And lied flawlessly. "And don't think for one minute that this is any more pleasant for me than it is for you. It's only the curse that makes me like this, remember?"

He face flinched for a second but then he regained his smirk. "Do you even know what you'd be doing?"

Hermione raised the hand she wasn't using to stir. It shook violently. "Look at me, Professor. I'd barely even have to try. The curse would do it for me."

His face hardened instantly. "That's not funny."

"I thought it wasquite funny, actually."

"You thought wrong."

She sighed heavily and pointedly looked at her watch. "Tick tock, Professor," she said. "What's it going to be? Either do it yourself or come over here so I can do it for you."

Snape growled loudly, a gruff exhalation of voice, and stalked over to where Hermione stood patiently stirring. He wrenched the spoon from her hand and took over the steady, rhythmic strokes himself. "I do not trust your concentration enough to multitask," he said, "so I will stir. You will," his voice broke just a tiny bit, "stand behind me and ...aid from there. I will instruct you as to what to do..."

"I'm sure I can figure it out, sir," she said. "I have read a book or two."

Snape ground his teeth. "With the ingredient," he managed in a tight voice. "Once it has been procured."

"Fair enough," she said. When she moved to stand behind her tall, black-clad professor, though, she lost much of the adrenaline-spurred rush of confidence she had felt. What in the world did she think she was doing, putting her hands on Snape? Was she mad? Her pulse leapt and her skin prickled and her thighs ached. Yes, she was mad all right, but she was also riding high on adrenaline. And hormones.

She moved to stand close behind him, nearly flush against his body, but noticed an immediate problem. "Sir?" she said, her face reddening. "Could you take off your robes?"

"Excuse me?" he said, his voice just a tiny bit panicked. He craned his neck around to look down at her, horrified.

She flushed further. "They're awfully thick, sir, and I'm much smaller than you. Short arms, you see; I'm not sure if I'll be able to ... reach."

He whirled away from her and stiffened as straight as the ramparts at the top of the Astronomy Tower. A long beat went by before he held out the spoon to her – which she took without comment – then stepped out for a moment to take off his long teaching robes and fold them neatly across the edge of the table. Without a request, he also removed his black wool greatcoat and laid it atop the robes. When he came to stand in front of her again, he was clad only in a pair of trim black trousers and a crisp white cotton shirt laced high up his neck.

Hermione wobbled as she moved closer to him, certain that not all of it was curse effects. Surprised at the warmth that radiated from his body – she'd subconsciously wondered, at times, if he were not cold-blooded like his House's mascot – Hermione couldn't resist the urge to press herself completely against his back as she wound her arms around him. He stiffened but did not comment when she laid her hands, clammy palms down, on his chest. He exhaled a long breath – probably relief – when she began to skim her fingers lightly across his chest and shoulders only. She wondered if he was as nervous as she and grateful that she did not go straight for the "source of the ingredient," as it were. His posture relaxed somewhat as she did nothing more than run her hands across his upper body.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, but his voice was oddly stilted.

"Come on, Professor," she answered, her words muffled. She had laid her head against him and the shirt at the bottom of his wide shoulder blades stifled much of the sound. "If the problem is that it's me, couldn't you at least pretend I'm someone else? Isn't that why I'm behind you?"

"Among other reasons," he said quickly. He didn't want to admit that he shuddered at the idea of a student looking at his genitals.

"Just pretend then," she said, and when his muscles relaxed further, she began stroking a little more intentionally. The caresses started to stray down his stomach towards his abdomen, streaking across the tops of his thighs, but carefully avoiding the low center of his body. His breath was still deep and even, but hers was beginning to run ragged. The curse was taking hold of her fully, but she thanked providence for that because she was certain that it was the reason these instincts on how to touch him came into existence. Otherwise she would be all fumbling and stammering. She heard his breath catch when her fingernails grazed his nipples, so she did it again. This time he gasped aloud. Smiling into his back, Hermione wrapped her left arm in a strong brace around his chest and let her right hand move down ... down ...

She skimmed across the front of his stomach and let her fingers dance over the scratchy wool covering his groin. Though the touch had been fleeting, she felt just a hint of growing warmth. A smile blooming on her face, she pressed herself tighter against his back, feeling an electric charge scurry through her as she leaned her stomach into the tight muscles of his rear. Feeling emboldened by the increasing tempo of his heartbeat thudding beneath her face on his back, Hermione dared to shock him. Her hand moved down again and, lightening quick, cupped his testicles, squeezed gently. She heard the loud, metallic clang of glass striking the inside of the cauldron before he caught hold of himself and resumed his rhythmic stir. Her laughter bubbled out of her, low and throaty, before she could contain it and as she laughed, a gruff moan escaped him. With his unoccupied right hand, he reached out and clamped a tight grasp on her wrist. For a moment, she thought he would wrench her away, scolding her for trying to taunt him, but her breath raged in and out of her audibly when he repositioned her hand, compressing her fingers over the hot, hard length of him which twitched and swelled further under her touch. Hermione's head whirled and she thanked Merlin that she had been grasping him so tightly with her other arm. Her knees buckled and she surely would have dropped to the floor if she hadn't been.

His fingers remained on hers for a few quick moments, squeezing her hand to provide satisfactory pressure as they roughly stroked the length of his erection together. He seemed to be panting now, as his right hand moved from hers and fumbled momentarily at his belt. As he worked to free it, Hermione closed her grip tighter, moving faster along him. He leaned forward slightly as he worked open his trousers and she heard him pushing aside layers of material, batting her hand away for a moment to fiddle in front of him. He growled in obvious primal triumph and she gasped, long and loud, as he closed her fingers over the warm, silky skin of his penis. He strained under her grip, now bracing his free arm on the table as he stirred; she couldn't understand how he hadn't snapped the spoon in half beneath the whitened knuckles of his left hand. Immediately beginning a swift, tight stroke of her hand along the length of him, Hermione leaned into her professor's back, unable to resist the urge to gather some of the material of his shirt in her teeth and nip at the skin of his back.

Severus groaned loudly and the sound whipped through Hermione, stripping her nerve endings raw. If they didn't do something in a moment, if something didn't happen soon, she'd run completely barking. Instead, she whipped her left arm away from his chest and nearly screamed as she brought it back to her and yanked at the clasp of her own denims. When she thrust a hand inside of her knickers and worried her fingers urgently against the throbbing spot between her legs – a matching pace to the rough stroke of her hand along his erection, Snape moaned out, babbling something practically incoherent. He moaned on each exhalation for a moment before straightening and shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Granger," his voice was rough, desperate, "Granger, are you ... wanting?"

"Yes, sir," she said, heavily. She knew he could feel the swift motion of her hand as she touched herself, her wrist brushing just under his rear with each finger stroke.

"Are you aroused enough to be wet?" Hearing him say it in that glossy voice was too much, her answer merely a whimper. "Then give me your hand," he said. "Quickly. Give me your hand."

Puzzled but needy, she removed her hand from his erection and held it out in front of him. She could feel him shake his head wildly.

"No, no! The other hand!" She was nearly frightened at how urgent and frantic the usually steady, smooth voice sounded. "The hand that has touched you ... give me the hand that you have used on yourself. Give me your wet fingers."

She whimpered again as she drew her fingers from her body, wrapping both arms around him again to offer him her left hand. His long, elegant fingers drew around her right hand again and, as he wrapped it back around his erection, then he dipped his head and took the first finger of her left hand into his mouth. Hermione's knees did buckle this time, and only the swift movements of their combined hands on his penis and the spongy feel of his tongue swirling around her left index finger kept her from dropping completely.

"Oh, God," she moaned. "Merlin. Shit. God. I can't take this anymore."

"Me either," he whispered as he dropped her finger from his mouth. The cold air zinged across her hand, one finger wet from his mouth, the others wet from her body. He swiftly drew her slick left hand in front of him and though she couldn't see what he was doing, the increased pace of their joined hands and the sudden jerky twitch of his muscles clued her in. And then she felt it: hot streaks of liquid across the palm of her left hand and out across her fingers. He groaned loudly as his whole body jerked in a flurry of paroxysms, his hand stilling hers on his penis. She wiggled the fingers of her left hand tentatively, testing the feel of the spray of fluid that had stopped cascading onto her. Snape bent to calm himself and regulate his breathing. After a moment, he straightened again and Hermione marveled to see that he had still managed to keep the stirring spoon in constant motion. She smiled and shook her head.

Snape started to turn away from the table and hurriedly began replacing his clothing. "Dip your hand in the cauldron," he said called over his shoulder, not quite smoothly.

"But, sir..." she said, looking at the bubbling potion skeptically.

"It will not burn you; it is cool to the touch. Dip the hand that I ... used into the cauldron."

Hermione bit her lip and looked between the rolling potion and Snape's back again, hesitating. Then she looked down at her hand, bearing the long, warm smears of his semen. Something odd fluttered in her.

"Now, Granger! This is a time sensitive potion, need I remind you?"

"All right, all right," she said and, clenching her eyes tightly, reached up and thrust her hand into the ruby-shimmering surface of the water.

And nearly pulled it out again in shock.

As soon as her hand had been enveloped by the liquid, every centimeter of the submerged skin felt as if it were being licked sensually by a thousand tiny tongues. She squirmed, both in surprise and in searing, roiling arousal as she held her hand in the potion, feeling as if something within the depths of the cauldron were licking her fingers clean of the evidence of what had gone on. What they had done. Her body trembled again. Snape had just ... had just ... come on her. On her hand, coated with the evidence of her own arousal. Her face was hot and sweaty, rosy with the knowledge and – oddly – the pleasure of that knowledge. She felt arousal zing through her system again as she realized he was standing close behind her, gazing over her shoulder into the potion.

"Yes," he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice without even looking. "An odd sensation, isn't it? Quite bizarre if you don't know that it's coming."

Her arousal tightened her belly at his choice of words and she felt her knees nearly give way again. Surprisingly, his hands came under her armpits, supporting her weight, and a strangely concerned expression graced his sharp, hawk-like features.

"I'm terribly sorry, Granger," he said softly. She actually thought he meant it. "You must be practically faint with the effects by now. A dosage, then, now that it's complete. Go," he gestured to the cot in the corner, "sit."

Wordlessly, she followed his directive. And found that the minute she lowered herself to the mattress, she was afraid her legs wouldn't have supported her had she not done so that very instant. And once she sat down, her limbs began to tremble so violently that she had no choice but to lay flat on her back. Within moments, Snape was kneeling at her side, a long thin glass in his hand, full almost to the brim with the translucent red potion that had writhing strings of silver glitter laced through it. The sight made her smile. Snape laced a strong arm under her shoulders and lifted her up high enough that she could look into his face. Worry and something else – something that looked much like embarrassment – pinched his features. She reached up to take the glass from him, but he moved it out of her reach and rebraced his arm behind her shoulders, angling her body so that her head fell into the crook of space between his chest and arm.

"Let me," he said. "You'll most likely spill it, and after all we went through to procure all the constituents, I would be most put out if that were to happen."

Hermione smiled as much as she was able and allowed him to place the cold glass rim against her lips. She opened them dutifully and drank down the substance, feeling it spread through her system, first a cold punch of shock soon soothed by a lick of heat that quieted her shaking muscles. A giggle escaped her throat when he tipped the glass so far back – determined to get the last drop of liquid down her throat – that the opposite rim bumped against her nose. As he drew the glass away and moved to the lab table, Hermione flopped backwards against the pillow and couldn't help laughing. She felt dizzy-drunk from the quick flash retreat of the effects that had been wracking her system for nearly an entire day, even though she was only aware of it for the past hour. And she felt strangely intoxicated by the events that had caused it all to be possible. The feel of his skin beneath her hands surging back into her mind, skin she could nearly still feel under her fingers, forced a moan from her lips that had nothing to do with the curse.

"Sleep," she heard a rich voice say, silk covering steel. "Sleep now and let your body readjust. You can take another dose in the morning."

Ever the dutiful student, Hermione's eyelids dropped close and sleep welcomed her, an inviting and welcome lover.

Part three is coming soon ... pun intended.