Seven Preposterous Things

Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise
--Percy Bysshe Shelley
--An Exhortation

It turned out to be rather more than a single kiss.

In a car with cracked upholstery, the sun rising like a spectre over the city, Severus Snape had Hermione Granger in his arms. Her shrewish and unstoppable little tongue had insinuated itself into his mouth. He lost himself in her brown bramble of curls. He was intimately aware of her soft hands with their close bitten nails as she held him to her. As if he had any intention of getting away. No witch, no woman, no person, had a right to such soft supple skin. He inhaled her smell as she kissed him, not only the smell of good clean soap tinged with sweat but the unmistakable smell of aroused female.

Her cunt.

He could smell her cunt getting wet as they kissed. Every sensory nerve in his body sprawled open and hungry, wallowing in the feast of her. There was nothing else in the world to him for that time but Hermione Granger.

He was drowned in her and drunk on her, full of her, yet hungering for her all the more.

He would dream of this when he lay rotting in his grave. Her little moans of pleasure were like exquisite daggers in his heart, any more and his very being would break open.

One last melting endless kiss and...

He shoved her off him and onto her side of the car.

"Wha..? Severus, you've got to stop doing that," she said.

"It was wise," he said, blinking.

"It was rude," she said, straightening her clothes.

Severus inhaled sharply, feeling for his bearings. "Had I not put a stop to the proceedings, they would have ended soon enough, quite of their own accord."

"I see," Hermione said in that maddeningly arch way of hers. "You could make an effort to be less abrupt."

"I suppose," he said with a frown, unwilling at that moment to detail the vagaries of his sexual response.

Unsure what to say, he scowled.

Hermione scowled back, and something in his gut plummeted. He was grinding his back teeth and searching for scathing words when Hermione's lips broke into something that was not quite a smile.

"I'm not angry," she said. "I do wish you'd stop shoving me. All you have to do is ask me to stop."

"Indeed," he said uncomfortably. He was fairly certain there was a suitable course of action given the situation; he simply could not, despite a feverishly searching brain, reason out what it was.

Hermione only gave him that curious stare of hers. It took him a moment to catch the gleam of mischief at the heart of her gaze.

"If you have any doubt, why don't we try it? I'll kiss you, then you tell me to stop and if I don't do as you say, you're allowed to push me across the front seat again, fair enough?" she said.

Without awaiting his response, she bestowed on him a kiss so gentle, so clinging, so sweet, so tenderly lingering that a diet of them would have been enough to sustain him.

"Now tell me to stop," she whispered into his ear.

Relaxing into her lips, he complied. "Stop," he murmured, reaching inside her top and rubbing the flat of his palm against the hard nipple of her right breast.

She released him with obvious reluctance.

"Shall we try again?" she said, raising a playful eyebrow at his hand still inside her clothing. "To be certain?"

He pulled her back onto him, his free hand in the snarl of her hair. It was a bad idea, getting worse.

"We must, in all seriousness, curtail this activity before it ends badly," he muttered into her neck.

"Right, then," she answered softly, but instead of extricating herself, she simply went limp atop him.

"You realise too much pleasure can, at a certain point, become uncomfortable," he said, suddenly inexplicably hoarse, trying to shift her away, though his erection was of the opinion that she should stay precisely as she was.

"Only if left unresolved," she said seductively, stroking his side.

By sheer dint of will Severus Snape kept himself from whimpering, but his hands reflexively balled into fists. He shut his eyes tight against whatever she was going to say. "I can't... I... it won't... possibly..." He struggled against his own loathsome, stuttering mouth. "I am far... far too... aroused." The last word came out a rushed whisper. He was caught between the ache settling into his testicles and a frantic voice in rear of his brain screaming dignity, maintain some iota of dignity at all cost.

"Me first," Hermione said, allowing just enough space between their bodies for her purpose.

Severus had yet to open his eyes, the option of complete annihilation still too close, so he was a bit surprised when he felt her lead his hand into her knickers. His fingers in the damp narrow space, a place of cotton cloth and tightly coiled pubic hair; this was, without question, the best day of his life.

Lucky, lucky, lucky, echoed in his head. Don't make a fool of yourself - came on its heels - one wrong move and she'll mock you forever, or worse, laugh behind your back.

He tried to slip his finger into the viscous slit, but she held him fast, circling and stroking the clitoris. He assumed that's what she was doing; his head was too muddled to be sure of much. After a moment, he was able to stop his thoughts racing sufficiently to pay attention to the way she was moving his hand and flutter his fingers appropriately. He earned a moan of pleasure from her.

"Don't stop," she ordered in a voice he had never heard her use before. He opened his eyes to see Hermione, her eyes heavy lidded, pupils dilated, breathing hard, hips rocking against his fingers. He increased the speed and intensity of his fingers against the seat of her pleasure and watched, fascinated, as her face contorted in ecstasy.

This was easier than he'd imagined, the key was simply to gauge her arousal and respond in a similar rhythm and pressure. He won some small internal victory when her eyes rolled back in her head.

"Harder," she said, fairly crushing his hand between them.

In a moment of inspiration, he slid his hand down a bit, his fingers curving into the mouth of her sex and his palm grinding the clitoris.

In the split second it took him to achieve the manoeuvre, she began to convulse, shoulders and head thrown back, lips parted. He understood, objectively, that she was reaching her climax, but it was strange to him, and he had to remind himself not to stop as she thrust madly against him.

The part of him that called for dignity licked its lips. He had successfully induced a female to orgasm. It wasn't so very difficult after all. He wondered vaguely if he had failed with others because they were Muggles. The other part of himself, the one that whinged and manipulated and cheated in a desperate ploy to get what he had coming, wondered if he could get her to suck him. It wasn't outside the realm of the possible.

Absolutely not! Dignity forbade it. He'd ejaculate as soon as she wrapped his lips around him. Cunning agreed that, on closer consideration, when fellatio did occur he didn't want the proceedings cut short.

She collapsed in the crook of his arm like a winded racehorse, her pretty face obscured by her wild tangle of hair. Was she satisfied? He couldn't see. Carefully he parted her mane, half expecting thorns to prick his finger. She was exquisite in her languor.

"You are a lovely girl," he said, his own reverence surprising him.

She smiled at him. It was a curious sensation and a curious position, a satiated witch grinning up at him and his cock reaching levels of turgid discomfort he hadn't known existed. Like a contented cat, she all but purred as she stretched, gliding her body over his. Bloody exquisite and bloody hellish simultaneously.

"Tell me what you'd like," she whispered, running her tongue along the rim of his ear.

What would he like? It seemed he had been wondering that himself, but now it was going all muddled again. His brain was hard pressed to come up with more than single words; she was going to have to fuck him or kill him soon, he didn't care which, the two were practically interchangeable.

"I don't know," he murmured, perhaps the most honest words he had ever spoken in his life. Her hands cupped his face.

"I could bring you to ejaculation manually," she said, sounding like the most erotic text book he had ever read, "but I do have condoms in my purse. I bought them before I came to the club last night."

Severus breathed deeply as both terror and delight seared his senses "Condoms?" he repeated dumbly, then cursed himself.

This was the true power of witches, Severus thought, not only to destroy, to suck the power out of you, but the power to make you want it, crave your own loss above all things.

They said it was just a little death.

"Don't expect..." Severus began, but Hermione hushed him.

"I understand," she replied.

"If it's any consolation, the second time should be somewhat longer," he muttered, wringing language from his brain like blood from a stone.

"Severus," she chided, touching his face.

"May I have the condom?" he asked trying not to sound strangled, but he was, he was tangled up in her as sure as if she were devil's snare.

After a moment's rummaging in her handbag, the thing was in his hand.

"The directions seem simple, but I've never used one," she said uncomfortably. What did she have to be nervous about?

"I have," he said, tearing the foil with his teeth and inhaling the acrid smell of latex. He unbuttoned his trousers with one hand.

For her own reasons, Hermione flinched a bit.

There was a moment of adjustment, Severus lying back as best he could in the close quarters of the car, and Hermione struggling to strip off her own clothes, the bottoms at least.

With attentive study, he pinched the air out the tip and unrolled the thin skin of plastic knowing full well she was watching him. It was a bit tight.

Then, so slowly he thought perhaps she seemed a bit afraid, though that was highly unlikely, imagine Granger being afraid, she climbed on top of him. He watched, mesmerised, as she lowered herself onto his prick, the slippery squeeze of her beyond reckoning. He should have averted his eyes; it was too much. He wanted to wail in terror or in triumph, he didn't know which. Hermione Sodding Granger was riding his cock.

She barely touched him except for the place where they were joined, barely moved, but instead balanced precariously, steadying herself with one hand on the dash board. He was grateful. Had she kissed him, he would have ejaculated before insertion was complete.

Now what?

On impulse he reached out and grasped her hands, lacing her fingers with his. She looked him in the eyes. Palm to palm, gazing into her face, that was all it took. His cause was lost and the spasms overtook him. In its entirety, their union could not have lasted much more than thirty seconds.

Severus weakly searched his mind for some way to cut her low, lower than him, before slinking away to bind his wounds. They were not yet separated.

Then she kissed him, even more thoroughly than she had kissed him before.


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Hermione broke the kiss, pulling back to get a good look at Severus Snape and feeling him slide out of her, slack and wet.

He looked pale and shaken. Notably more pale and shaken than was usual. An internal surge even more powerful than she was used to after sex coursed through her body.

She had never taken a wizard of Severus Snape's calibre to bed before.

Well, not bed exactly. Prone in a car.

She felt utterly awash in conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she felt unreservedly brilliant. On the other, she had never known she was siphoning off wizards' magic during sex before. The notion of associating guilt and sex was completely new to her.

Prior to this she'd had splendidly healthy relations with wizards and, generally speaking, didn't care one whit whether she ever saw them again when she had her fill of them. Her unions were acrobatic and cheerful, with the emotional repercussions of a handshake.

Not that she didn't like the wizards she'd had sex with; they simply failed to move her in any way that didn't involve her clitoris. It was as though as each well-mannered and well-groomed young wizard brought her to multiple orgasms, her heart leaned against the doorjamb like Severus Snape, smoking a cigarette and tapping the ash on the carpet, turning up the collar on its leather jacket.

Tonight, or this morning rather, having what she knew objectively was fairly pedestrian sex with Severus Snape had, without question, been the most thrilling fuck of her life.

Why? Because he was such an undeniably powerful wizard? No doubt that was part of it, but there was a great deal more to her feelings than that. The very knowledge that it was Severus Snape looking at her, in turns anxious, elated, and adoring was heady. What sort of witch wouldn't feel it like a lightning bolt to have a wizard of his intelligence and power looking up at her, eager to please?

Her heart raced from more than the sex when he took her hands. It was strange, but she felt she'd never been so intimate with anyone as that instant, his large hands pressed against hers, every emotion laid bare on his face.

And it all took place in an old beater of a car, secreted away in a forgotten alley of Muggle city far from home.

It was both seedy and enchanting, which considering the wizard involved, she ought to have expected. She was starting to develop an appreciation for seedy. You never knew what sort of complicated secrets it hid.

He continued to look unhealthily pale even as he pulled himself into place behind the steering wheel, tossing something melodramatically out the window. Oh. The condom. She wasn't sure if that was better or worse than carrying it home in his pocket.

She was looking forward to getting him properly undressed in a proper bed and having a proper leisurely shag, once he had a chance to recuperate, of course. She had the strange sense that she was only now, for the first time, getting a glimpse of Severus Snape as he was rather than as he appeared. The idea of having him laid out totally naked before her was enthralling. Hermione reached out and touched his surprisingly broad shoulder.

"Are you well enough to drive home?" she said.

He snorted. "No, you've drained me so utterly you're going to have to carry me into the house as well drive the car. If I persevere, I may barely be able to turn the wheel; perhaps I should sit on your lap so you can work the pedals."

Hermione rolled her eyes heavenward. She should have foreseen this sort of a response to a show of concern on her part. She began to take him to task but stopped herself. It never went well, the argument always escalated in ways both rapid and asinine and she was left with the vaguely unclean feeling she sounded like a young, childless Molly Weasley. What was a viable alternative? Agree with him? It was worth a try.

"And once you're safely indoors, shall I put you to bed with hot tea and extra blankets?" she said with a grin.

Miraculously, Snape smirked back, which made her ridiculously pleased with her own cleverness.

"Don't forget the chocolate biscuits. My weakened state requires chocolate biscuits, the ones with the jam in the middle, as well as," he paused dramatically, turning the ignition and bringing the engine roaring to life, "a foot massage."

"Absolutely, I'll have Draco give you one; it's not as if he has anything useful to do; he has such nice strong hands," Hermione answered.

She was even more pleasantly surprised when Severus Snape turned round and kissed her. She noted his technique had already improved markedly.

"Shit!" she said as soon as he released her mouth.

"How encouraging," he said, stepping on the gas and moving the car jerkily out of the alley.

"No, I wasn't talking about you. Shit! What time is it? I have an early class," she said. "Have you seen my watch?"

"You want to go to school?" he said blankly.

"I'll have to shower first," she said, diving into the floorboards to retrieve a glint of metal she felt reasonably certain was her watch.

Severus turned on the radio. Too loud, it hardly needed to be said.

"Perfect," she said, checking the time, "seven o'clock, that gives me two hours until class. We'll both have time for a quick wash."

Severus was still twiddling the knob and looking dour.

"You're not expecting me to skive, are you?" she asked.

"Don't be foolish, I am not yet so giddy with romance that I have mistaken you for the sort of witch who would choose sleep over calculus," he said, pulling a decidedly bedraggled cigarette out of his jacket pocket. They must have rolled over them at some point.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd want me if I was the sort of witch who feels free to neglect her education simply because she'd rather be in bed," she said.

"I see," he said, and in a moment of prescience to rival Sybil Trelawney, Hermione saw a sulk coming on.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger's daughter was made of sterner stuff than that; she had no interest in allowing herself to be coerced and manipulated by the moods of Severus Snape.

"On second thought, you're right; I should skive off. Perhaps I should leave school altogether, then you could quit your job and you and I could spend all our time in bed," she said cheerfully. "We most likely wouldn't even notice we were living on stale crusts of bread, with no electricity."

Severus Snape brought the car to a somewhat bumpy halt at a stoplight. "Indeed," he said. "Point taken."

"So Severus," she said with continuing cheer, "it occurs to me how much you know about me and how little I know about you."

Severus took a deep draw from his cigarette. "You've lived with me for three months. You doubtless know a great deal more than you realise."

"I know how you take your tea. I know it's best not to speak to you for a good hour after you wake," she said.

"Both very pertinent details," he said, tapping his ash out the window.

"What's your middle name?" she asked "You clearly know mine."

"I had the advantage of being privy to your official documents," he said. "My middle name is fairly uninteresting."

"As uninteresting as Jane?" she asked.

"Nearly," he snorted. "Liston. Draco showed a singular lack of imagination when it came to devising our new identities."

"Is it a family name?" she asked.

"Hardly," he said.

She waited for more but nothing came.

"Care to elaborate?" she asked.

"No," he said, tossing the butt of his cigarette out the window.

"May I ask why?" she said with naked curiosity.

"Certainly," he answered and cleared his throat. "This morning is coming perilously close to good; I refuse to mar it with a discussion of the naming practices of the wretched beings from whose ill advised union I sprang."

"Fair enough," Hermione said, and it was true, it seemed like perfectly reasonable position on his part, which nonetheless made her all the more curious. He behaved as though he'd been named after a family pet or as the result of a wager in a pub.

Still silence stretched as tense as a rubber band.

"Have you done your homework?" Snape asked uncomfortably.

She knew he was grasping for conversation, but it was both insulting and silly; spurred on by her earlier triumph at defeating Severus' urge to start a row, Hermione answered him in kind.

"Four days ago, Professor," she said, folding her hands in her lap primly.

He chuckled, and in a gesture that seemed to take place in slow motion, he stiffly extended one long arm toward her. She didn't quite grasp what he was doing until the appendage wrapped itself around her shoulders and drew her to him. He put his arm around her.

After the initial shock, she found it pleasant. She had never been seized by the urge to cuddle a wizard and no one in their right mind would describe Severus Snape as cuddly, but under the circumstances she gave in to her desire to nuzzle his chest.

In reply, he made a low moan of pleasure Hermione had previously assumed he reserved specifically for top-notch sweeties and the first cigarette of the day.

She settled smugly into the crook of his arm, going through her coming calculus lesson in her head.

They drove home that way. Severus sang along with the radio. The song was one she didn't recognise.

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Author's Note: All My Thanks, As Usual, To Shiv