Room of Requirement

The weeks passed hurriedly, and the news of Hermione’s betrothal to Severus was amaly uly undergossiped about. As it was to be a tiny wedding, the plans fell easily into place. Albus Dumbledore would perform the vows in the Great Hall at midnight on Christmas Eve. Only a few of the staff, and their closest friends and family would be attending.

Since the day in his office, Hermione had, through every inch of her resolve, not laid a hand on him. Chaste goodnight kisses aside, she spent every night alone in her Head Girl’s quarters, touching not herself nor her intended, painful as it was. She wanted their wedding night to be amazing, and so she suffered through this arduous period of chastity.

Severus grumbled, but there was little he could do. This did, however, serve to make his evil Potions Master guise much easier to assume, and he worked out his sexual frustrations docking points from students for every offense from not paying attention to breathing, if the mood struck him.

Harry and Ron signed on to stay for the winter holidays, Ron backing out of a rare Weasley family trip to Egypt to visit Charlie. Mrs. Weasley sent Hermione an early wedding gift of a lovely homemade quilt and a card that caused her to tear up. Damn hormones, she thought to herself, and smiled. Whenever she remembered that she was pregnant, that she carried Severus’ babies inside her, a warmth would hum out from her heart to the tips of her fingers and toes, and swim over her head.

She walked down the crowded hallway between classes, lost in thoughts of her wedding and her deliciously naughty Potions Master, taking scant notice of her surroundings. This was unfortunate, as Draco Malfoy chose this exact moment to creep up behind her, sycophantically muttering in her ear, “So, you’re Snape’s little mudblood whore, eh, Granger? You’re not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last. Snape’s always had a taste for mudblood rubbish like you. At least now he doesn’t have to pay for it.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy, you impotent little prick.” She walked more briskly, and he kept in step, still leaning in his ear.

“My father could tell you stories about Snape that could make your hair curl. Not that you need it, mudblood. Anyway, you’re certainly not dressed like the little streetwalker you are.” He mumbled an incantation and Hermione stood there, in the hallway, wearing a sheer red babydoll, maribou forming a border around her full, bare breasts.

She quickly tossed and arm over her bre breasts and reached down to cover her pelvic region. Nearly twenty weeks pregnant, her condition was painfully obvious in her skimpy attire. She turned on one bare heel and ran, Malfoy calling after her. “So you’nocknocked up! I knew there was some reason he was marrying you!” His unctuous cackling rang in her ears all night.

It was almost worth Hermione’s embarrassment to have Severus be the one to punish Draco. Fifty points from Slytherin and a month of cleaning every toilet bowl in Hogwarts without magic was his punishment, but Severus longed to beat the little prick to a bloody pulp. He hated to see Hermione suffer with embarrassment, students buzzing about her pregnancy, the wrongful assumption that they were marrying out of convenience. Almost as bad was the idea that other men had lain eyes on her, in all her almost-naked glory. Severus Snape was definitely a jealous man, and being the only person to see the superb spectacle that was his young fiancee naked was something close to his heart. He made a silent decision to pepper Draco’s pumpkin juice with an impotence potion every day until his graduation in June. He chuckled to himself. Poor Pansy, didn’t know what she was in for.