The Potions Master's Storeroom

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Anything you recognize is entirely the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fanfiction, and as such, I make no money from this.

---

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Things had been going so well and then I had to slip up and feed him an image of me on my knees performing ravenous fellatio upon his person. What on earth was wrong with me? I’d never felt so out of control in my life.

I considered ducking out, of course. I stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom and coughed delicately into my hand, trying to look consumptive. I stuck my tongue out and looked at my tonsils. Nope, pink and healthy. My face appeared to be in the very bloom of health. Curse my excellent genes!

Since I was already in the bathroom, my parents’ insidious brain-washing had me reaching for my toothbrush and smearing paste on it. Ever since I was a little girl, cleaning my teeth has been a meditative exercise. I stared at my reflection in the mirror as I scrubbed the bristles against my molars, rhythmic and gentle, always moving with the grain and never against it. I brushed while I pondered my situation, not stopping the soothing motion until my mouth was covered in froth and I was doing an excellent impression of a rabid squirrel.

Fact: I danced with Severus Snape at the Yule Ball.

Fact: I enjoyed my dance with Severus Snape at the Yule Ball.

Fact: By “enjoyed” I meant that all of my childhood notions of the man had been swept out the window with one arch of his elegant brow. I paused a moment to scrub my tongue firmly while I struggled to be honest with myself. Also, I had to change my knickers. That definitely counts as enjoyment.

Fact: He caught me fantasizing and, to all appearances, would be very receptive to any advances I choose to offer.

Fact: He scares me.

I spit into the sink and rinsed my mouth out.

I didn’t fear his Death Eater past or his uncertain temper. Instead, I was a wreck because I had no clue what he expected. Aside from the obvious, of course. My cheeks heated. Was he interested in getting to know me or was it all just about a shag?

Moreover, I hadn’t seen anyone socially in ages.

I felt like I should put training wheels on my dating abilities before being expected to be able to perform any dating tricks. Dear lord, that made me sound like a hooker.

But isn’t this just what Snape was talking about at dinner? A lack of interpersonal bravery? I’d faced down Voldemort at Harry’s side, but here I was scrubbing my teeth until my gums bled at the idea of a man who not only was interested in me, but was most emphatically not a Danger Granger.

“Oh, sod it all. I’m going.”

---

When my portrait guardian, Guinevere the Dyspeptic, alerted me that Professor Snape was at my door, I was dressed in sensible clothes: a warm cloak, sturdy hiking boots, and the laciest, most feminine pair of knickers I owned. My hair was tied back into a loose bun at the nape of my neck – loose so that it would come apart easily with a tug from manly fingers. I was as ready as I was going to get.

I opened the door with a smile plastered on my face, and Snape fell back a step with a look of disquiet.

“Good lord, woman. Are you in pain?” he said.

“What do you mean?” I continued, smiling determinedly.

Snape stared at me, eyebrows quirked. “Nothing.” We stood in silence for a moment before he shifted his weight and gestured to my still-grinning visage. “Miss Granger, I must insist you put those away. You look like you’re planning on biting me.”

I let the smile drop and worked my aching jaw a bit. “Well,” I said, considering, “the night’s still young. I’m not ruling anything out.”

Snape’s lips curled upwards, and I was suddenly struck by his appearance. Although he was still wearing black from head to toe, he’d shucked his stuffy frock coat and instead sported a black zip-up jumper over a pair of well-fitted wool slacks. On his feet was his pair of gently shabby dragon-hide boots. He held his cloak draped over an arm.

Without his normal woolen armor, he looked approachable – more like a man rather than an authority figure, although there was a bit of that, too. It was his posture, I thought. I eyed his broad shoulders and flushed as I pictured the crescent moons I wanted to leave embedded there in his skin. I was careful not to meet his eyes.

We walked together in silence, close enough that his hand would occasionally brush the hem of my cloak. The stairs swung in our favor, and in no time at all we were nearing the great double doors that guarded the entranceway. I saw moonlight puddling around a shadow on the floor. As we approached, it resolved itself into the huddled figure of the bespectacled Hogwarts’ Divination professor.

“Miss Granger, I feel I must caution you against the action you are about to take.” The voice was thin and breathy, carrying strangely in the cold night air.

I squinted my eyes and looked into the dark that curled behind the open door. “Professor Trelawney?”

The woman stepped forward, one hand extended. “Miss Granger, you must take heed and flee from your wicked ways or death shall come upon you like a thief in the night!”

“Are you threatening me?” I asked incredulously.

“Sybil, Albus has warned you against trying to spook any females who happen to find themselves in my company. I would also take exception to hexing of any sort.” There was a firm warning in Snape’s voice.

Professor Trelawney ignored him and focused all of her attention on me. “Miss Granger, you do not know the forces which you are unbalancing. I have seen your unholy alliance, and it will bring nothing but sorrow down upon Hogwarts.” Her voice rose into a shaky wail and I winced at its shrill tone.

“Sybil,” Snape snarked. “Do shut it. Your interference is not necessary.”

“Nor welcomed,” I grumbled.

Snape put his hand on the small of my back in a protective gesture and nudged me towards the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we actually have work to do.” His voice was curt.

We swept past the Divinations professor, and once we were outside, the Potions master slid his hand to my hip. His tapered fingers rested on the gentle bone of my pelvis and it was just what I wanted: intimate and affectionate.

“Ms… Pardon, Professor Granger,” he began in a low murmur as we approached the forest. A thin dusting of snow crunched under our feet and the night had a bright, otherworldly feel that occurs when the moon reflects off of the white.

“Why do you have so much trouble with that?” I asked, curious.

“You were Ms. Granger to me for ten years before picking up the appellation ‘Professor.’ It still squeaks a bit if you turn around too quickly,” he said, dryly.

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure if I should feel offended by that remark. “Why don’t you call me Hermione, then?”

“I should like that, Hermione.”

I shivered as my name rolled off his tongue.

“May I call you Severus?”

“That would please me very much.” His hand tightened on my hip. “Hermione, I feel I must draw attention to the elephant between us. It should be fairly obvious what I want to talk to you about.”

Oh god, he wanted to talk about my perverted fantasies. It was his own fault for eavesdropping on them… Eyesdropping, whatever. “Is that so?” I said, praying my cool tone would discourage him from pointing out that we were heading into the very woods in which I’d fellated him in my fantasy, and coincidentally he’d just happened to bring his penis along as well.

Severus’s fingers slid slowly from my hip to my ribs and I clenched my teeth to keep from moaning. “Yes, I feel it must be addressed.”

“Then by all means, Severus.” I waved my arm in what was meant to be an offhand fashion, but which looked vaguely threatening instead.

“Hermione, the other night when we were dancing, I couldn’t help but notice that...” My heart began to pound. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve managed to put on a few pounds since coming to work at Hogwarts.” He pinched my waist playfully and I squealed.

“You bastard!” I punched him quite firmly, but only succeeded in hurting myself. I really need to cut my fingernails.

He laughed, a deep rumble in his chest, and led me into the forest.

---

Admittedly, I had pictured this as more of a date than actual work; some sort of perverted excuse to lure me into the dark woods where we could be alone. Obviously, Severus did not. I took the silver sickle he handed me with a mew of disappointment (a very small one!), and slung the bag he’d had stashed in the pocket of his cloak over my shoulder. He gave me a gentle nudge in the direction of the silvered winter hollyhock.

“We each need to fill a bag. Do not touch the flowers as they will burn your skin with the cold. I’d give you a pair of dragon hide gloves, but they negate the magical properties of the plant. Be very, very careful.” And with that, he turned his back to me and began to fill his bag with precise movements.

Despite my disappointment and my dislike of the cold, I was still Hermione Granger, the swottiest swot to ever swot the swot. I was fascinated by the winter hollyhocks. Distant cousins of the flowers that could be found in Muggle gardens the world over, winter hollyhocks grew solely in areas with a high magical saturation on winter nights rich with moon. They bloom for a few hours only, before crumbling into frost and frozen dust. The only place in the UK that they could be found with any real ease was the Forbidden Forest.

I knew for a fact that Severus was studying their chemical make up in his research on the Cruciatus Curse. Many people have tried and failed to find a counter curse for the Unforgiveable, and unfortunately, the sheer focus on preventing it has led to a dearth of treatments for post-curse symptoms. If anyone knew how painful it was to recover from that particular spell, it was Severus Snape. I believed he’d have a breakthrough soon, because really, the man was brilliant.

Without complaint, I cut the pulpy, wooden stems until my fingers were sticky from sap and the bag hanging over my shoulder bulged. It was slow work because the blooms lined the stems from top to bottom, and I had no desire to hurt myself. I needed my fingers. Any woman who’d been celibate for three years would. Oh, and also I supposed that I would need to be able to hold a wand in order to teach my Charms classes. Priorities, Hermione. Priorities.

As I cut the final hollyhock, a loose bloom fell from the plant and brushed my index finger as lightly as a kiss. “Oh,” I said, startled.

“Oh?” Severus said absently.

“Oh. Ooooh, god.” I sucked in my breath as the tingling sensation grew into an aching burn.

“Hermione?” I heard concern in his voice, but I couldn’t respond, blindsided by a flash of pain so great I thought the world had dropped away from beneath my feet.

Tears spilled down my cheeks and I began to sob. “Oh, god. Oooooh, Severus, it hurts. Make it stop.” My teeth were clenched together and began to chatter.

“Foolish girl! Didn’t I tell you not to touch the flowers? Quickly, put your finger in your mouth.” He dropped his bag and stalked over to me. I fought him when he tried to take my burned hand in his because I didn’t want him to touch it, sure that my skin would slough off beneath the lightest brush. The pain was unbelievable and causing waves of nausea to ripple in my belly. “Hermione, listen to me! You must put your finger in your mouth. It will neutralize the acid from the petals.”

I was unable to process what he was saying. I could feel the pain burrowing deeper into my flesh and I began to hyperventilate. Frustrated, he wrapped his left hand around my waist and yanked me against his hard torso, my good hand trapped between our bodies. With his right hand, he wrapped his fingers around my wrist and sucked my burned forefinger into his mouth.

Immediately, the pain trickled into nothing. I stopped fighting him, 100% of my attention focused on the image of Severus Snape suckling on my finger. His tongue swirled over my pad and my mouth fell open as I watched him, our eyes locked together. It was hot and wet and intensely erotic, my other hand creeping up his body to tangle in the collar of his cloak. His rook eyes were intense as he pulled back just far enough so I could see his tongue lave the sensitive skin between my fingers. Immediately, I moaned - a breathy, shocked sound.

“So clumsy,” he whispered hoarsely, and then his mouth was on mine. His lips were warm despite the chill air, and he tasted heavenly. Our lips touched and pulled away, touched and pulled away, until I parted mine enough so that his tongue could slip into the warm cavern of my mouth. With every slick slide of his tongue on mine, I grew more focused on this man and what he was doing to me. A tiny, excited noise slipped from my throat and his reaction was immediate.

His hands flexed on my bum and pulled me tight against his erection. I squealed, surprised by the sensation, but when he ground against my core, my eyes rolled back into my head and it turned into a groan of pleasure. It had been so long since I’d been in the arms of a man and Severus felt very, very right against me.

When I reached up to bury my fingers in his slick hair, he opened his cloak and wrapped me tight. Pulling his mouth from mine, he buried his face in my neck, his cold nose resting in that tender spot where my neck met my shoulder.

“Thank you,” I whispered and rested my cheek against his hair. I hoped I wouldn’t break out in spots from the grease. “For saving me.”

“Hermione, I should very much like the opportunity to get to know you better.” Severus’s voice was quiet and firm.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes.”

His grasp tightened around me, and I sighed, content to be trapped in the circle of his arms.

---

A/N: Like it, Love it, Hate it, Review it!