Revenge of a Hermione Scorned.

Here it is, next chapter, thank you to everyone who reviewed, am still in shock by the postive comments!



Little mentions of smut here.. we\'re getting there people, we\'re getting there.



Daya.



*



Strange sensation of falling. Appear to have fallen off high heels. Is brief moment where brain works out possible landing options while still moving slowly through the air. In my vicinity there is a thread bare, but still lovely and soft sofa, that would be nice, could be very comfy there, could assume haughty elegant position on there, and await my Snape, glaring at him as he grovels on his knees for standing such a stunning creature as myself up. That’s good. Ah, floor is always an option, would rather not, trail of green slime on floor, curse Dumbledore for giving me rooms in dungeons. I look round wildly for option three.



Ooh, this is going to hurt.



Thick, stone, large dungeon wall.



Damn option three. Damn it to hell and back.



Arms flail wildly, can see no way of getting out of this one without losing teeth, dignity, or connected cartilage in my nose.



Just before I hit it I pass the blame off Albus, who is really just a sweetheart with a romantic soul looking out for me when I’m reallllllllly honest with myself, and decide that Severus Snape is to blame. For everything. Children starving in the world? His fault. Nuclear weapons? His fault (hell he probably had a hand in their invention knowing him…). The surge of manufactured boy and girl bands in the muggle world in the last ten years. Entirely Severus Snape’s fault.



And of course, me about to fall into a wall is his fault for being late and a stubborn sod.



Second odd sensation of last thirty seconds. Feel as if I have been plunged head first into Nearly Headless Nick. (Can speak accurately on this subject, he once cornered me after a Halloween feast, and demanded a kiss. Was freaked out by horny Nick and took my only escape route…straight through him. We didn’t speak much after that.)



Oof.



Am on floor.



Not my floor though.



Curiouser and Curiouser…



I giggle wildly to self. Am Hogwarts equivalent of Alice Through the Looking Glass. Or at least Hermione Through a Solid Brick Wall That Certainly Wasn’t As Solid As It First Appeared.



Floor is moving. Perhaps if I hold onto it, it will stop.



Hmmm. Those feet are strangely familiar.



Look up, and smile devastatingly at Professor Snape, who for once looks rather bemused.



‘Miss Granger, kindly explain to me why you are lying on the floor. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for invading my private chambers through an unauthorised entrance.’



‘Go to Hell Snape.’ I mumble to his feet. ‘Am not in Gryffindor anymore, so you can’t take points away.’ Have strange urge to stick my tongue out at him. Decide not to… might end up places that might shock him. Just manage to control myself at the thought.



‘Hell is not a concept I believe in, Miss Granger, therefore it is futile for you to order me to visit there. Although I hear it is very pleasant this time of year.’



Have discovered new side to Snape. Or rather one hidden behind one of his less pleasant qualities. Behind patronising, do I detect a glimmer of wry amusement?



Or is it just the vodka? Damned muggle drink. Wait, am muggle, am within my rights to drink it ifant.ant. Anyway, it hasn’t impaired me in any way.



Adjusting my dress, I gracefully find my feet once more. He’s staring at me. Look down, no, breasts are definitely still where I left them, hidden in dress, but still just visible. Realise I have very nice creamy breasts. Ha. Take that Severus. I have nice breasts. Even if they are usually hidden under my shapeless robes most of the time. Wonder if running my hands over them a la pornstar might be too much.



He’s still staring at me. Oh yes. My appearance. All this effort to impress him. Appears to be working. Although am getting nervous by the fact he hasn’t said anything yet. Apart from to deduct points from my old house.



‘Miss Granger, why are exactly are you here?’



Not quite the declaration of my beauty that I had been hoping for. Maybe he, gods no, prefers me with ink on my hand. Or maybe he despises me so much, no matter what I do to myself its not going to appeal to his baser urges.



Why didn’t Ginny think of that one? It was her job to think of everything, I was just her minion.



Decide to wander round his chambers in manner of starlet of years gone by. I am suddenly Vivien Leigh, glaring at Clark Gable, I run my hand along the edge of a bookshelf for good measure. Bang knee into table. Hmm, table appears to have moved, perhaps an anti intruder ward Snape has cast, moving furniture to impede progress of anyone who enters room without permission. Have obviously set it off by falling into his chambers.



I turn dramatically, feeling my gown swish around my ankles, my hair falls gracefully across my eyes once more. ‘You. Were. Supposed. To. Pick. Me. Up. At. Eight.’



There we go. It’s been said.



Wow. Words appear to have drastic effect, because Snape is suddenly running at me, and clasping me to his chest. My arms lock round his waist, and I rest my head against his surprisingly broad chest. Do not snuggle, my inner monologue dictates. Do not snuggle. Manage not to snuggle, and feebly prod finger against his chest.



‘You were late. Actually you are late, as you are not standing outside my chamber door.’



‘Late?’ Damn, he’s letting go of me, was quite happy where I was thank you very much. ‘Oh. Of course, the ball.’



‘The ball.’ I cross my arms. Am not a petulant child, but am beginning to feel like one. Must regain starlet attitude.



‘I was detained.’



Detained? Ah. I see. Detained.



‘Professor Snape, sir?’



I can see why you were detained.



Standing at the doorway across the room is a girl. No, a young woman. She has sleek, long raven black hair, that I am damned sure doesn’t require the vast amount of sleeking potions mine does to get the same effect. She is dressed for the ball, in a long black satin dress, it appears like me, she has decided to use the excuse that this is a muggle celebration to use muggle clothes to their best effect. If that dressed plunged anymore, I would be able to see her belly button. In her lily white hand is a crumpled black silk handkerchief. Her wide, slightly wet eyes are of course, Slytherin green. I frown at the sight of her. She sees me and does the same. Resist urge to choke her with aforementioned handkerchief. Make note to self, learn how to cry like that, enough to give a fragile look to one’s tearstained face, yet not smudge one iota of carefully applied mascara.



‘Miss Levinson, I told you to remain where you were.’ Snape glances in her direction.



Right. I know who you are now. Felicia Levinson. Slytherin, seventh year. Am still glaring at her. Obvious she is my rival for tonight. She also recognises me as such.



‘I’m sorry, Professor, but I heard raised voices. I was just checking you were alright.’ If looks could kill, this one would be performing Avada Kadavra on me right now.



‘Everything is fine, Felicia, aren’t you supposed to be at the ball?’ I snap, not in the mood for silly schoolgirls right now.



Damn it, she is good. Bitch. She shoots me another death curse, and then glances at Snape. Her ripe lower lip begins to tremble, she glances demurely at the floor, and dabs at her eyes with Snape’s handkerchief. I seethe with jealousy, for the first time ever wishing I had been sorted into Slytherin if that’s the kind of tricks they learn there, cravings for carrots or no cravings for carrots.



And it’s working. As I live and breathe, it is working, and Snape is falling for it right in front of my eyes.



Decide if this seduction plan fails, and to be honest with every minute that passes it’s looking more and more likely, am going to swallow my pride and ask this girl for advice.



Why didn’t Ginny teach me damsel in distress routine? Add this to long list to badger Ginny with.



Am going to have to brazen this one out. Spying a nice soft looking green armchair, I delicately lower myself into it.



‘Miss Levinson, I am sure there is a reason why Mr. Cicchetti failed to pick you up, I am sure he would not have stood you up intentionally.’



I tut. ‘Yes, I’m sure there is a good reason, but I can sympathise with your situation entirely.’



Both of them glare at me. Who cares anymore? I could do with another drink.



Try to keep mouth firmly shut as Snape places an arm around her shoulder. Suppose he could look happier about it, and not like he’s stuck his arm into a pool of piranhas. It could be worse. He could be enjoying himself, he actually looks uncomfortable.



Finally she goes. Finally. Have gotten bored of counting the various species of mildew growing on the wall, and am considering recommending a good spell to get rid of them, when he turns to me.



‘Now that that unpleasant little incident is over, perhaps you’d explain to me exactly what your intentions in coming here were, Miss Granger?’



My intentions. Ooh. Actually Severus, I had planned to remove every item of your clothing, and spend an eternity licking and sucking my way across your body, as you writhe beneath me, unable to move as I have tied to you the posts of your four poster bed (mental note to self, find out if he has four poster bed before producing silk scarves out of mid air), torturing and teasing you with my wetness, before impaling myself on your long hard swollen cock and riding you like you were the number 9 bus to Happyville. For a week.



Obviously not what I say. The truth, but not what I say.



‘It’s hardly my fault I’m here, is it?’ I snap. My, I am in a bad mood tonight.



‘I suppose you are blaming me?’ he sighs.



‘Yes, actually.’ Well, if I wasn’t before, I am now. ‘Who else would magic a wall between my chambers and your chambers?’



‘You, perhaps?’



Refuse to dignify this with an answer. Because I don’t know the answer. Maybe I did. Slap this thought quickly down, and storm across room. Spend next five minutes trying to put my hand through various sections of wall. Hmm. Spell appears not to be there. Bugger it.



There is a flash of light behind me, which hits the wall. It glides over the stones for a second and then vanishes, leaving no traces. ‘It appears the spell has either worn off, or is only accessible from your side of the wall, Miss Granger.’



I pout. It feels good, so I pout some more. Turning around I notice an old fashioned decanter in the corner of the room. Inner starlet rises once more, and I stalk over to it, intending to pour self a very large glass. Bloody stopper appears to be stuck.



‘If you actually wish to increase the speed your hair grows at by a rate of a thousand percent, by all means help yourself.’



The bastard is sitting behind his desk, glancing over a parchment. Damn him. Hurriedly put now glaringly obvious vial back down, as have no wish to spoil effects of Antony’s potions. Not after what the git charged me. Rattle various bottles in a menacing way.



‘Are you still here?’



‘How do you suggest I leave, Severus?’ Oh, I get such a kick out of being allowed to use his first name. I know it drives him mad. Would prefer to drive him mad in a passionate way, rather than an increasingly irritating way, but it will have to do for now.



‘For someone who is supposedly the brightest student Hogwarts has ever seen, you are remarkably dense tonight. There is always the door.’



Dense is not the word. Perhaps ‘viscous’ would be better. Mind has obviously been affected by the shock of the fall.



‘No.’



I shock even myself at my own bravery.



‘No?’ At last he looks up.



‘You said you would escort me to a ball tonight, Severus Snape, and I insist that you fulfil your obligation.’ By the way, would you mind fulfilling me while you’re at it? Or just filling me. Am not overly fussy.



‘Fine.’ He stands.



Damn it. Does he have to make it sound like such a chore? If I walked over there and kicked him in the shin, would I have a good chance of making it out alive? Before I can work out the probability, he’s speaking again.



‘I thought you wanted to go to the ball.’



Notice he is in dress robes. Wizard looks good. Wonder if I’m drooling? Robes emphasise broad shoulders and narrow waist, and very long legs. I love long legs on a man. However if we go to ball will be forced to share him with all and sundry.



‘No. I want to dance.’



‘We can dance at the ball.’ He speaks as if he is explaining something to a very small child. Ignore this oversight, and hitch breasts up a little higher, as if proving my adulthood.



‘I want to dance here.’



‘Miss Granger, there is no music here to dance to.’



‘You’re a wizard,’ Your powers of observation are astounding tonight, Hermione. ‘Make some music.’



There must be something commanding in my tone, as he flicks his wand, and a gentle jazz song starts up. Jazz? Nice. I like jazz.



Fixing him with my sultriest gaze, well, what I believe is my sultriest gaze as I haven’t really had much time to perfect it, I glide over to him. Like the gentlemen he pretends to be, he’s holding his hand out to me. Graciously I take it, and we dance.



He can dance. We can dance. We’re good together. We move well together. We find our natural rhythms and discover they are in time. His body against mine reminds me of even deeper natural rhythms, a rhythm as old as time. I press against him closer, deciding bugger revenge, I’m out for everything I can get tonight, and I want Severus Snape, I want him inside me, and soon. My womb throbs in agreement, I can feel tendrils of desire spreading through my body, warming me, my breasts brush against him, and I hold back a moan. With my eyes I beg him to touch me, I wrap my arms around his neck, and press the length of myself against him, intimately, knowing he can feel the heat coming off me. His eyes bore into my soul, he wants me as much as I want him, I can see it there in those liquid depths, oh I’m so ready for you.



His lips are so close to mine, for the first time in my life I take the initiative, and raising myself up on tiptoes, letting my lips come dangerously close to his, another inch and they’ll meet in our first kiss, I can feel their warmth already.



Something’s not right. I appear to have missed his lips.



Time to try again. I stretch as far as I can, not quite able to reach them, I never realised how tall he was. Hmm, its warm in here. Am suddenly sleepy. Just need to kiss him, and then he can take me to bed.



A final stretch.



And then nothing…