In the Prefect's Bathroom

Chapter 3 ~ Worthy of Worship

Snape watched as Hermione emerged from beneath the water, swimming strongly, her hair in wet ringlets, dark against her head and shoulders, her bum and thighs, glistening and shifting beneath the sheen of the water as she kicked toward the shallows, white bubbles running down her skin. She reached her destination and stood up facing away from him, water streaming down her back, only the dimpled cleft of her arse visible as she stood a little less than waist deep.

She brushed the water from her face, then reached behind her head and gathered her hair, drawing her hands down, wringing the water from her dark, curly tresses.

"Turn around," Snape thought, twin images of the naked witch mirrored in his eyes.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him, her brown eyes taking him in as he watched her, unmoving, his face bearing no evidence of what he thought or felt. She turned quickly, diving back in, giving him only a glimpse of her shimmering full breasts as she sliced through the water again, heading for the far end of the pool.

Snape continued to watch her as she swam luxuriously, arriving at the end of the pool, turning and resting against it, her breasts floating just below the waterline. He could see the luscious swell of them as Hermione once again wiped the streaming water from her face, her belly aflutter as the eyes of the wizard rested on her.

She saw the washcloth he had used, resting a short distance away on the edge of the tub. She swam over and retrieved the green, wet square of fabric, then headed once again to the shallow end, Snape's eyes glued to her.

Hermione found her footing and stood up, this time facing him, the water lapping around her waist as she slowly and carefully began to bathe, drawing the cloth over her face, neck and shoulders, the water still frothy, still sudsy, careening down her skin, between her breasts and over her belly to the water below.

Snape walked closer and sat down at the edge of the pool at the deeper end, his feet dangling in the water, the towel still around his waist, a willing audience to her ablutions. He watched as she lifted one arm, running the cloth over and beneath it, then around her breast. Even from his vantage point, he could see the hardened tips dripping water.

She performed the same ritual on her other arm, then slowly ran the cloth over her breasts, closing her eyes as the wet and water rolled over them. They felt so sensitive. She washed her belly with slow, even caresses, and began moving toward the shallow part, revealing more flesh that was hidden below the water line. Unlike Snape, she didn't keep her body underwater. Her pubic hair slipped into view, droplets of water adorning it like diamonds as she washed the tops of her thighs.

Snape was silent, only his Adam's apple displaying any movement as it rose and fell in reaction to the beauty before him, Hermione leaning forward to wash her legs, her breasts like perfectly shaped pendulums, pointing toward the water and swinging slightly. She rinsed the cloth, the same cloth that had run over his body, then turned her back to him, pulling her hair out of the way and flinging the washcloth over her back, catching the end of it and drawing it back and forth, not missing any of her soft skin. Snape's eyes rested on the delicious swell of her buttocks, how they rose like plump pillows at the base of her spine, full, soft, alluring curves. She soaped each one, the flesh jiggling from her touch, depressing and springing back. Snape continued to watch, saying nothing as Hermione turned around, her eyes half lidded as she spread her stance and drew the cloth between her thighs, using her fingers gently to clean her sex.

Snape sat there a few seconds more before lowering himself into the water, towel and all. It lifted, floating slightly as he first swam, then walked toward her, the fabric becoming heavier and heavier with liquid until it tore away. He stopped waist deep in the water, the liquid gently lapping around him as he looked at Hermione, who was only ankle deep.

"You are lovely," he said softly. "Looking at you makes me glad I'm a man, Hermione Granger. You make me feel—Life."

"Life?" she repeated, aware of his nakedness and of the answering thrill of her own body. She didn't feel self-conscious standing naked before him. There was something in his eyes and his demeanor that made this feel—right. Whether it was or not.

"Yes, life. You are life, Hermione. You are representative of creation, perfection, oneness. You're a woman, and every man in this world enters by your kind. And almost every man is drawn back to that Life giving force, a magnet to that power, longing to return to the well of Life, the connection, the wholeness that lies between your thighs.

"Many men believe women to be—weak. Subordinate. Secondary. But woman is a mystery. Every man owes his life to a woman, but where Woman comes from, no man knows. A rib? Hardly."

Snape's voice had a hypnotizing effect on Hermione as he spoke to her, praising her and her attributes.

"A woman is the closest thing to a Divine Creator on earth. She creates form from formless in the course of nine months. There is a reason the ninth letter of the alphabet is the letter 'I.' It is how we identify ourselves after entering this world by way of a mother. You are beauty beyond beauty. You are life, the giver of life and if there is anything in this world worthy of being worshipped—it's you. Never let anyone, particularly a man, tell you anything different."

"Oh, professor," Hermione said softly to the man in front of her standing waist deep in water, his dark eyes full of passion. She felt so drawn to him. She wanted to wade back into the deep end of the pool and go to him.

Snape stood there a moment more, then began to back up, the water rising higher around his body as he retreated from Hermione. She watched him, an awful feeling of emptiness replacing the thrill his proximity had brought her. Suddenly, he began to swim toward the far end of the pool.

Hermione hesitated, then slowly walked forward a ways. Snape turned on his back, and for the first time Hermione saw his pale organ, lifted partially from his body, semi-erect and rising from a nest of silken black hair as he backstroked lazily in the warm, deep water. Then he turned over again, his tight buttocks and back flexing as he reached the end of the pool and rested against it, looking at her, his face expressionless again.

Hermione looked at him, then slowly walked forward, the water rising around her body until she was neck deep.

Unable to help herself, she began to swim toward the Potions master.

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A/N: Just a little more, and a bit of esoteric brouhaha I'd studied a while back concerning the true place of women in the universe. I remember pissing a lot of guys off with this outlook, claiming that woman was the true representation of a creator on earth. Lol.