Augury & Ardor

Author's Notes: If you are bothered by scenes of non-consensual sex, please don't continue reading this story. If you've clicked on this link and aren't 18, you should leave now. While what I've written isn't what I'd consider lewd, the next few chapters are definitely adult - especially the two or three chapters following this one. They flirt on the peripheral of BDSM so be warned. If you're looking for a "hearts and roses " Snape, he isn't here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Severus watched every movement of the glass’ progress from Hermione’s hand to her mouth. Time spun out between them, their eyes locked in the gaze of a predator and its prey and he felt the darker half of his personality clawing to the surface. The tightly controlled Potions Professor was struggling with the Death Eater that still lurked in his persona – the man whose passions had driven him to join Voldemort when he was young.


It wasn’t helping that Hermione, clad only in a brief towel, had suddenly revealed herself to have grown up quite enticingly since last he’d seen her. The skinny teen had bloomed over the summer and, at eighteen, was both softly and generously curved. With her hair drying tousled about her face and the draught flushing her skin with warmth, it was becoming increasingly difficult to associate this desirable young woman with his past pupil. The fact that he not only could have her but must made the waiting intolerable.


Hermione froze as Snape pushed himself to his feet in impatience. “Enough stalling.”


Dropping the wineglass at his fierce look, she bolted for the door. It wasn’t just knowing what was going to happen that panicked her, but the silent moments they’d just exchanged a moment before when his look had promised something far more frightening than merely submitting to his attentions. She wasn’t sure what it meant; she lacked the experience to recognize his intent, but she knew it shook her to the core.


Just as her hand grasped the knob and her mind registered it was locked, he was on her, lifting her from her feet as if she weighed nothing. He carried her to the small bed and, after a brief tussle, dropped her to the mattress, his arms coming down on either side of her torso to block her in.


He needn’t have bothered, for she’d frozen as soon as she landed, rigid with the realization that her towel lay open beneath her. During their struggle, it had lost its moorings and was now framing rather than covering her. His eyes dropped from her face to slowly drink in her nudity, lingering on her high, firm breasts and the glossy brown curls at the juncture of her thighs. When she moved to cover herself, he grasped her wrists and brought his eyes back to hers.


“Stop fighting me,” he commanded, his voice husky. “It will only make it worse.”


Although she didn’t move, a struggle was fought between their eyes. Finally, with a small cry of defeat, Hermione relaxed beneath his hands and squeezed her eyes shut.


Seconds later, he loosed his grip on her wrists and straightened. A minute passed with no sound and, finally, her eyelids fluttered; she was undecided as to if she wanted to see or remain ignorant of what he was doing. To her mortification, he hadn’t moved from his position. His fingers were working the buttons open on his linen shirt, but his gaze was still moving over her with quiet intensity. When they worked their way back up to her face, his eyes were black and depthless. “How much experience have you had?”


For a moment, she didn’t understand his meaning; then, a blush suffused her cheeks and she turned her face from his.


“I imagine even a sharp-tongued harridan such as you has been kissed by now,” he said, his tone conversational, “as I recall, there was some interest between you and that Weasley boy, despite his public displays of affection with Lavender Brown last year. Were you together over the summer? Experimenting, perhaps?”


“I’m not going to discuss my sex life with you,” she snapped, his snide comment pricking her temper and turning her glare back to his arrogant face.


His lips curled in a sardonic smile. “Despite how you’ve…ripened since last year, you wouldn’t be here if you had a ‘sex life’. What I want to know is how much of an idea you have regarding what’s about to happen.”


Hermione couldn’t have spoken if she’d wanted to. The man who had intimidated her for the last six years was shrugging out of his shirt. She didn’t know what she had expected he hid under his heavy black attire, but the reality stunned her. His chest and shoulders were broad, his arms roped with lean muscle, and his abdominals flat and hard. How a Potions professor who, seemingly, had no physical pursuits, was built with such lean power, she didn’t know.


“You have been kissed?” he stressed, studying her face as he kicked off his boots.


A wave of lassitude washed over her and she found herself nodding before she realized it. Damned Calming Draught, she thought without real heat. The stressful events of the evening coupled with the wine and draught suddenly had her limbs feeling as if they were weighted down. Even when he reached down and unbuttoned his low-slung black pants, she couldn’t work up the proper energy to protest.


Then, he was suddenly beside her, stretched out on the bed, and his face was so close, it filled her vision. He was asking her another question, but his eyes were so dark and so bottomless that she felt like she was falling into them.


Severus lightly grasped Hermione’s jaw in his hand and gazed down into her face. She blinked slowly and he repeated his question, realizing the draught was finally taking proper effect. “And has any boy enjoyed more than your mouth?”


Hermione shuddered and shook her head as Snape’s thumb brushed across her lower lip. His head lowered further and the mesmerizing depths of his eyes were no longer pinning her in place. She gasped and turned her head, realizing his intent, and his mouth slid over her cheek rather than finding her lips.


Instead of trying to kiss her again, his mouth brushed against her jaw. “I thought as much,” he murmured against her ear, causing another shudder to rip through her. If his eyes were mesmerizing, his voice had always commanded more than just her attention. There had been many a time she’d found herself leaning into it with pleasure, only to realize it was connected to the stern professor she couldn’t please. It was a mixture of silk and smoke.


“Miss Hermione Granger, with her head always in a book,” he whispered, his lips brushing along the curve of her ear and feathering down her neck. His hand stroked over her shoulder, down the sensitive skin of her inner arm, and left every nerve behind tingling. “No doubt you’ve intimidated every young man who took the time to look past the book and notice how you’ve matured.”


A gasp escaped her and she arched in shock when his hand bumped upward over her ribs and his long fingers splayed beneath the curve of her breast. Then, his mouth was open and warm against her neck and along her collarbone, laving the moisture left behind by the shower. She whimpered at the electric shocks of sensation rippling through her, frightened by their intensity. Then, somehow, his hand was no longer below her breast but on it, palming the weight as his mouth kept up its intoxicating dance. Shaking her head at the barrage of feelings, she moaned in protest


Somehow, she’d lost all self control. Somehow, his hands and mouth were conspiring to melt her from the inside out. She writhed under the gentle brush of his fingers as he stroked the tight globe of her breast. His touch was like nothing she’d ever experienced; it was as if his fingers were electrified and their contact with her skin was sending a tingling through her veins. He traced along the circumference of her breast and wrung another soft moan from her as he circled the turgid nipple with his thumb.


It was later, when his mouth dipped lower and joined his hand, she cried out and her eyes flew open. She tried to push him away, her hands moving against his shoulders. “No!” The sight of his dark hair against her skin was as intimate and shocking as the feel of his mouth on her.


Her soft cry of distress did as little to move him as her hands.


Severus ignored the feeble pressure she was exerting against his shoulders and continued to brush his mouth over her breast. Her skin was warm and still slightly damp from her shower but, now, he smelled the enticing fragrance of growing arousal mixed with the soap. It was a felicitous surprise to find the Granger girl a passionate creature; he wouldn’t have guessed it of her. Closing his mouth over her nipple, he drew it to a peak and let his hand stroke down over her abdomen and hip.


Surrendering her attempt to push him away by his shoulders, she’d reached up to pull his head away. Once his mouth had closed over her nipple, however, her fingers had convulsed in his hair. For a moment, she forgot what she’d been about; the warm tug at her breast had been answered by a corresponding tug between her thighs. The feeling was galvanizing. Dizzying. She didn’t know whether to push him away or hold him there so, instead, whimpered in confusion as his mouth moved between her breasts. It was simultaneously a torture and a respite as he teased her nipples into peaks, then laved them with his tongue.


His fingers stroked over her thighs to coax them apart but, despite her response to his initial ministrations, she had them clamped together like a vise. Still stroking his fingertips along her tightly clenched thighs, he moved his mouth back toward her ear.


Hermione shivered as his breath feathered against her jaw. Every nerve ending in her body felt on fire and his warm hand on her hip and thighs was making her tremble – making it difficult for the muscles to remain clenched. She cried out half in protest and half in surprise at the spear of pleasure as his long fingers brushed up through her curls and sought entrance.


“Relax and give in to the sensation,” he urged, his voice silken as it swirled along the curve of her ear.


“Please, no,” she moaned, clutching the bedclothes, even as the trembling in her thighs betrayed her – weakened her muscles – and he was able to part them for his exploration.


“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a silken caress, “yes, open for me.”


“Nooo.” She caught her lip between her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut as his thumb found the swollen bead of her sex and circled it. Then, she cried out another broken protest and twisted the covers in both fists as one of his fingers slipped across her wet slit and slowly filled her. It felt as if every nerve in her body was concentrated there, between her legs. Her breathing was rapid and ragged, her whole body flushed with heat. She needed a moment to think, a moment to step back from the overwhelming momentum of sensation he was causing.

Severus scraped his teeth along her neck and fought the urge to rush. Despite her dissent, she was wet – a reluctantly responsive bedmate. She was also very small and very tight and had to be prepared to accommodate him. “Be still,” he commanded as she jerked against his hand. He rubbed a second finger against her slick opening and she attempted to squeeze her thighs together with a whimper.

"Don’t fight,” he whispered as he slowly joined the second finger to the first, inexorably filling her. “That’s it,” he murmured his encouragement as her trembling thighs parted. He resumed circling his thumb over her clitoris. When she cried out and bucked up against him again, he began sliding the two fingers slowly in and out of her slick heat. “Am I hurting you at all?”


A shake of her head was all she could manage. It didn’t hurt but they were scary all the same, the sensations he was causing. Shame sent waves of heat to her face and neck. Although she’d been kissed, that was the breadth of her experience. Now, she was naked, her legs spread and the most intimate part of her full of a man’s fingers. And not just any man, but a man who, up until very recently, had been her professor. A man who had nothing but contempt for her. Yet, despite all that, he had her whimpering and trembling beneath his hands.


Humiliation wrestled with pleasure as his mouth moved over her and his fingers moved over and within her. A ball of heat was rapidly building intensity between her legs and spreading throughout her abdomen when he murmured, “I think you’re ready.” His fingers slid from her body and she gasped at the empty ache they left behind.

He positioned himself over her, nudging her legs apart, and stared down into her eyes. “There will be some pain,” he warned as he reached between them, “but it should be brief and nothing of consequence.”


Hermione felt his hand between their bodies – felt something rub against her and, then, he was inside her, stretching and filling her far beyond the circumference of his two fingers. For a moment, she panicked and pushed at his chest, but then, he stilled his forward thrust and she hesitated, wondering what to expect next.


“Don’t tense,” he whispered near her ear, his voice strangely choked even as it cajoled her, “relax. Don’t squeeze your thighs. Open them like before. Open to me. Yes, that’s it.”


Severus felt the blockage of her hymen and grasped her hips to keep her from moving. “Just a moment’s pain,” he whispered and quickly thrust past it to fill her completely.


She released a surprised hiss at the invasion. A different heat spread through her and she bit her lip as he pulled back and thrust into her again. The second thrust was not as painful as the first, but she still felt as if she were being split asunder by the sheer pressure of his presence between her thighs.


“Please... Stop…” she gasped as he moved over her, her hands coming up to push at his shoulders.


“There is no stopping,” he said, his words low and hoarse, but unyielding, “until it is finished.”


He drew back only to plunge into her again and again. Although his movements were restrained, she bit her lip and squeezed her eyes closed at the persistent punishment to her tender flesh. After what seemed hours, he shuddered above her and his thrusts slowed, the last few wringing a whimper of protest from her as he arched deep inside her and seemed to stretch her even further.


Finally, he slid from her and she rolled to curl onto her side. She lay there, tender at her core, heavy in her heat and exhausted beyond comprehension. Minutes later, when he murmured something and his fingers rested briefly against her sex, she barely flinched. As she slipped over the edge of consciousness into sleep, she was dimly aware that the sting between her legs had disappeared.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Severus awoke in the dark, completely alert as she slipped from the bed. For some minutes, he lay there listening in the dark to Hermione’s soft weeping, barely audible from behind the bathroom door. He was a solitary man with solitary habits and unused to sharing his space; he’d already awakened a number of times throughout the night due, solely, to her presence in his bed.


It hadn’t surprised him when she’d drifted to sleep almost immediately after their encounter. The girl had been kidnapped and terrorized, plied with wine and Calming Draught, and then experienced her first sexual encounter.


He lay there for a moment, his arms propped behind his head, eyeing the sliver of light shining from beneath the bathroom door. It would have been easier had she remained asleep after drifting off beside him, but he knew the tears were inevitable. From the moment she’d arrived, a first year at Hogwarts, she’d displayed a strong spirit. To submit to another’s will would have been injury enough, but to have responded positively to that submission… Yes, tears were inevitable.


He debated getting up but, instead, closed his eyes and remained still. Not only would his presence be unwelcome, it would add insult to injury.


Instead of moving, he blocked the offending sound from his mind by cataloguing the ingredients needed for his supply closet. He’d had to abandon his stock at Hogwarts considering end-of-term events last year, and many rare elements had been left behind. Some items were particularly uncommon and would be extremely difficult to replace.


Ten minutes later, the silence from the bathroom was as deafening as her soft weeping had been penetrating.


Unable to ignore her presence any longer, he sat up, dragged his pants up his legs and walked to the bathroom door. There was no sound, not even of movement, inside. When he pushed open the door and stepped inside, his mouth twisted into angry lines. Curled up inside the tub with her head on her arm, Hermione had used a towel as her only protection from the cold porcelain. Unsurprisingly, she had chosen pride at the expense of comfort.


With his wand, Severus moved her from the cold, hard tub back to the bed and tucked her underneath the covers. Unable to go back to sleep himself, he Accioed a bottle of Muggle whisky, poured himself a shot, and applied his mind toward some remedy for his current situation.