Reminder – This was written before Hermione’s Blog was begun and is not intended to reflect on her desires or interests in any way.
Ready to follow Hermione a little farther down the submission path?
Damn, damn, double damn! Hermione cursed herself, but for what, she couldn’t remember. She only knew three things. One, her book was in her hand, and she was almost running. Two, the burning in the pit of her stomach was increasing and creeping downward… and Three, it was IMPERATIVE that she keep up with the tall dark man walking ahead of her.
He did not look back, did not pause, he kept up his ground skimming stride, so smooth it would not have surprised her if he was floating. At last he stopped. Hermione was out of breath when she approached his side, and stood still, almost panting as he pulled his wand from somewhere indeterminate. He tapped the wall, murmured something she couldn’t quite hear, and stepped smoothly through it.
Despite her Wizarding knowledge, some things still surprised her, and she stared at the blank wall, much like she had when she’d first come to the station that day so long ago and had to walk at that wall there. She’d pretended all day to be brave and had walked boldly and straightforwardly at that intimidating tower of brick. She’d thought she would faint dead away when she reached the wall, but she had closed her eyes and walked through anyway, and her hands were trembling and her knuckles white when she emerged on the other side. Though she would never have let anyone see that.
Snape peeked back out again, almost as an afterthought, and fixed her with another of those oddly amused and wicked looks. “Ah. You’ve decided to come after all. How nice. Keep up. ” And with that he disappeared again. Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes, stepping sharply through.
It was dim on the other side, and Snape stood there, in the flickering torchlight of a long hallway, facing her. He was no longer in his jeans and smooth silk shirt, but once more in the flowing robes of the Potions Master. The only difference was that his hair was still drawn back into that sleek ponytail. His arms were folded, and his wand was in his hand.
Hermione froze. He was formidable, she had to give him that. Black eyes called beady by her friends were deep and soulful to her, and he stood as if not even a hurricane could move him from where he stood. And on his face was that same look. She tried hard to place it exactly. What WAS he thinking? The man was quite an enigma. She wondered if she would prefer it better if she DID know, or if his mystery was the better part of his charm. She let her gaze wander down his frame, her head bowing as she did.
She jumped when he spoke again, and looked up at him, her eyes moving from the shiny black of his shoes, up along the folds of the robes, to the strong shoulders, finally meeting the dark eyes.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, child, don’t look so stricken.” He slid the wand into his robes. “You are here precisely because you want to be.” He paused, and shifted, eyeing her. He thought to himself that he rather liked the glitter of apprehension in her liquid brown eyes. He took a slow step forward, and Hermione fought to keep from stepping a pace back.
“What do you imagine I will do with you?” he asked, advancing on her with a meter that would have made her bolt had he been anything but a human. Indeed, if he had been any other human, she might have bolted as well, but she stood, still, and firm, eyes growing wider. He reached, taking the book from her hands. She watched it disappear into the depths of his robes, leaving her hands empty.
He was in front of her now, leaning down slightly, his hands clasped behind his back. “What’s the matter, Miss Granger? Cat got your tongue?” She caught her breath and her mouth moved in a wordless opening and closing. Snape pressed a finger under her chin, closing her pretty mouth.
“That is singularly unattractive, Miss Granger,” he said, lips still curled gently into that almost grin that both chilled and exhilarated her. “If you are going to speak, do so. If not, then keep your mouth closed.” She bit her lip to keep from performing her imitation of a fish again, and balled her hands into fists at her sides, desperate to keep from trembling.
“You play games, Miss Granger, and you do not fool me. I see what you do, how you move. Do you think any of the looks you have thrown my way have escaped my attention?” She blushed hot, and looked down.
He took her chin in his hand and pulled it up sharply again. “Look at me when I speak to you.” His eyes were harder now, and he fixed her with a stare that let her know plainly what he was about. “Let me be perfectly clear, Miss Granger. If you continue with me, if you follow me, then you obey me, and you will do so completely, do you understand?”
She did tremble now, caught hard between what she so desperately wanted, and the urge to turn and run as fast and hard as she could. He stroked a fingertip down her cheek, and his voice softened. “Do you understand, Miss Granger?”
Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded, once, her eyes flickering downward for an instant before snapping back up to his. The obedience he had requested began instantly, almost without her consent.
Snape smiled and leaned in further, his lips meeting hers in a crushing kiss, and she opened to him, feeling him kissing her, moving his hand to press at the back of head. Her eyes remained wide open, she was unable to close them, and she could see his face, so close to hers, could smell the almost acrid scent of the herbs and potions on him, feel the surprising softness of his fingers pressing insistently at the back of her neck. His tongue searched, invading her, drawing fire from her core up to her throat. He broke the kiss, and stepped back, smiling wider now, and his eyes shone.
“You kiss well, girl. It pleases me.” Hermione beamed. “Now, please take you hair out of those ridiculous braids. You look like a farm child.” Hermione blinked, and her hands moved without her even thinking to undo the elastics and shake her hair free. It stood out a bit more than usual, the crimping left by the braids giving it a wave that was not usual, but, Snape noted, it was pretty. Perhaps he would have her braid it at night, and loose it in the mornings. Ah, but that was for later. First things first.
He turned again, striding easily down the darkened hallway, and beckoned with a single finger for her to follow. She did not even consider not doing so.