Revenge of a Hermione Scorned.

A/N: A couple of reviewers asked for a Snape POV. Phew. You don’t ask for much do you? After racking my brains for an eternity (well, five minutes caught between Eastenders and University Challenge) I decided it would be impossible to write too much humour into Snape, more a wry, biting wit. Which may or may not be evident in this piece. But thank you for setting me a challenge. *swigs from bottle of vodka hoping for inspiration – realises may be giving her readers the impression she is an alcoholic – would like to refute that, merely enjoy a tipple in the evening and a bottle at the weekends. I have no emotional attachment to Smirnoff at all. Nope.*



Special Note to shemhamforash, who seems to be my kind of person!



You mentioned that it would be interesting to see how I described myself in the style I write in. Here goes:



Am a twenty year old female born and bred in England, English student at university, where my hobbies are annoying my Short Story lecturer with pedantic questions, sitting in the SU (uni bar) and drooling over the rugby team. This, to me at least, seems to show a healthy balanced student lifestyle, combined with an active student social life with a wonderful group of friends who love nothing more than to debate the finer aesthetic points of the Fellowship of the Ring (intellectual debates such as ‘Shagging Hobbits: Kinky or Merely Promoting Interspecies Relationships?’ and ‘Boromir VS Aragorn – Sexy, but ends up dead, VS Sexy, but a bit bloody moralistic for my tastes…’), and of course, the finer points of Harry Potter. Within my group we have a varied taste, ranging from the ‘Daniel Radcliffe and Tom Felton, get them to call me when they reach 18’ girls, to the Lucius Malfoy Appreciation Society, a fondness for Oliver Wood unites us all, although I am the only Snapette within the group. (My fondness for older men is well catalogued, Sean Bean and Alan Rickman are to me, two of the finest specimens of manhood on this planet.) I would love anyone to email me (see my profile for address) if they feel that way inclined, (I only bite if asked nicely) and of course, I adore constructive criticism, so please review, I’m an English student, what else could you expect of me?



Daya….if you’re still reading …and haven’t just skipped to the chapter…



And so on to Snape (I trembled as I wrote that… really, I did!)



*



This evening is rapidly descending into farce. Would it be too much to ask, for an evening at Hogwarts, where normality reigns supreme for once? It would appear so. I had rather hoped for a quick end to this evening’s so called celebrations, which would hopefully end with myself alone, as usual, with a glass of Odgens finest Firewhiskey, allowed to wallow in my own self pity.



Sounds wonderful, does it not? Perfect way to spend the so called end of the Year.



I do admire Albus, although it would be a wise wizard who would be able to force me to admit it. He does have his flaws obviously, such as his reluctance to appoint me the DADA teaching post, his fondness for sugared goods, and his damned desire to meddle in the lives of his teaching staff. This evening is a classic example of this. I had hoped that a simple memory draught would have managed to alter his memory enough to make him forget about this ball, but those twinkling eyes miss nothing, and he apprehended me attempting to pour it over his morning bowl of sugared prunes.



It had been time to release my vice like grip on dignity, and beg. Cry. Plead. Anything. Anything to get him to change his mind. Infuriating dolt had simply laughed away my pleas.



Then he had uttered the final insult. ‘Perhaps you may enjoy yourself, Severus.’



Yes Albus. And perhaps the Dark Lord will return in a pink tutu.



Not only had I been forced to consider mingling with my students, the doddery old fool had cornered me into a situation where I would have to accompany Miss ‘Know It All’ Granger. The bane of my life ever since she had walked into my classroom close to a decade ago. Dumbledore has become sadistic in his old age.



Bushy hair. Large t. I. It was hard to believe that something that small could possess an intelligence to rival my own. Perhaps I had been overly unfair on her, threatened by her, despite her small size. Under my goading she had thrived, seeing the challenge, always trying to over achieve to prove herself to me. I do not suffer fools gladly, but I admire intelligence, and to be truthful, I admired Miss Granger. (Although even the wisest wizard imaginable could not force that home truth out of me.) She had grown into an accomplished witch, far more prepared for the real world at her graduation, than any other of the general slugs was. And while you’re being honest Severus, she was attractive too, in her own quirky way. The buckteeth had gone, thanks to Mr. Malfoy, the hair was still bushy, but there was quickness in her eyes, a certain set to her that was appealing.



Congratulations Severus, you have just reached a new low in your life. Calling Miss Granger appealing. Why don’t you learn to crochet while you’re at it?



She was still an insufferable Know It All though. As proved by her sorting into Gryffindor. If she had become a Slytherin, then she would have been a witch that would have gone far. Instead she came back here to train as a Potions Mistress. I should have been flattered, instead I was only aware that I would have to suffer her for another year.



And then Albus decide to meddle in my life again. Sentimental, romantic old fool. Just because he and Minerva had been cosied up with matching slippers for the last six decades, doesn’t mean that the entire teaching staff had to suffer similar fates.



I had perhaps been slightly scathing in my description of Miss Granger to Albus, something it appeared I would come to regret. Her absence from the school had alarmed me, but also left me time to think what my fate would be. Oh, I was well aware that she had something planned.



I did not ever imagine it would involve a Hermione Granger with attitude, a randy seventh year Slytherin, or an inebriated Miss Granger suddenly appearing through my chamber wall.



Ah. That reminds me. I must owl that application for the DADA post to Durmstrang. I fear remaining at Hogwarts will be the final straw for my sy. y. A sanity that I am clinging onto desperately, kicking and screaming all the way.



I must be losing my tenuous hold upon it. At least I thought so at the sight of Miss Granger lying on the dungeon floor.



Was disturbed by the immediate effect this had upon my libido. Especially as the Miss Granger in question was barely dressed in the sheerest, flimsiest, and simply the most erotic dress I have ever seen in my life. And the startling realisation that it was in the Slytherin colours. Her intentions were clear.



Unfortunately so had Miss Levinson’s. I had hoped that as a Slytherin she would have had more originality than to attempt to seduce me with tears. It is a ploy that I have seen more times than I care to remember. Surprising as it might seem, I am used to having the older female (and on that one memorable occasion, male) students throw themselves at me. However, I am not Professor Flitwick, and I’ll be damned if I ever lower myself to shagging a student.



However Miss Granger is not a student. At least, not at this establishment. And this wasn’t a Hermione Granger I recognised. In fact, this was a positively edible Miss Granger.



Edible? That’s hardly an adjective I would expect to be used in conjunction with that particular ex Gryffindor. Well, I suppose it is appropriate when one considers her chestnut hair, the sweet milk chocolate of her eyes, the ripe cherry of her lips, and any other cherries that might be required to be bitten into…



You appear to be getting poetic in your advanced age, Severus, old boy. Or perhaps that should be ‘down boy’? It is hardly appropriate to be considering Miss Granger’s sexual experience while she is lying at your feet.



I ignore the devil inside me that suggests it might beirelirely the most appropriate time to consider it. Ah, she appears to be attempting to stand. This appears to be a feat beyond her in her current state.



Gods.



By the depths of Hades.



I suppress the urge to smooth my hair. I will not give Miss Granger the opportunity to see how much she has ruffled me, for want of a better word. Miss Granger appears to have transformed herself into quite an attractive young woman. Attractive? I know us Slytherins pride ourselves on our subtlety, but that word does not convey exactly what I think of Miss Granger right now.



Sensual. Soft. Desirable. Her sleek, and not all at bushy hair falls over one slightly unfocused eye, its chestnut shine demanding to be stroked, caressed, teased between my pale fingers. Her body, while swaying with the effort to stay upright is deliciously curved in all the right places, from the ripe swell of those small, but delightfully formed breasts, to the sweep of her hips. I swallow, shaken to the core. How easy it woue toe to slip the delicate straps from the curve of her shoulders, dipping my head to taste one as I do so, and let that dress fall to the floor, revealing the mysteries of her body that hides beneath the sheer fabric. I throb at the idea, and all my self control goes into snapping at her.



She bites back, this new Miss Granger, albeit slightly slurred, she stalks the room, although never in a straight line, I wince as she walks into my favourite table, hoping that it will survive her drunken clumsiness. Appears I stood her up. This delicate, lovely creature was waiting for me. And I stood her up.



Amazing how I have the ability to bugger up my own love life without even realising it.



There we go Severus. Snap her head off why don’t you?



Curse Felicia Levinson. Curse her and her entire pureblood family. May she beget Flitwick’s offspring and end up fat and bloated. With warts. Why must women cry at the drop of a hat? Appears some kind of gesture is required. Clumsily place arm around her. Must she rub against me in that way? Am already aroused enough without this Slytherin minx making it worse. Am deeply disturbed. Appear to have two women throwing themselves at me. Am of course flattered, but still disturbed. The Gods appear to be using me for their own amusement tonight. Bastards.



Oh damnation. Hermione appears to have tripped ove arm armchair. Have already stopped her from falling flat on her face once tonight, must she continue to put herself at risk? Offer up a mental prayer to anyone who may be listening, would even willing convert to a muggle religion if one of their deities gets me out of this sodding mess.



She’s now sprawled in chair glaring at me. At least she can’t injure herself anymore.



Am formulating a plan. Get Miss Levinson out of here. Now. Infuriate Hermione so much she storms out in a typical Gryffindor tantrum, pour self large congratulory whiskey and fade into my own personal oblivion.



Miss Levinson. Check.



Infuriate Hermione…



Damn it, must she be so insistent? Hades hath no fury like a Gryffindor Hermione Granger scorned. And now she wants to dance. With me. Attempts to get her to at least get out of my chambers and head to the ball fail. Decide to humour her.



Her small body is pressed against mine, her hair smells clean and tinged with a potion I recognise, but can’t place due to the increasing pressure on my groin. Her slightly curved stomach is rubbing against that area in the most arousing manner, am trying to pull body away from her, but surprisingly strong hands are locked around my neck.



Help me. Anybody. Please help me.



Am willing to beg for help. Anything to get this so tempting young woman out of my arms before I do something I regret. Like grab her and run into my bedroom and lock the door behind us. And not emerge for a week. At the very least.



Am not exactly sure I would even make it to the bedroom right now, and am debating conjuring pile of cushions right where we are now.



Gods. She’s trying to kiss me. Think of Longbottom, Severus. Albus and Minerva shagging. Sprout doing the can-can. Anything to stop yourself pressing your lips back against that full, pink, willing pout.



Finally. The Gods answer my pleas. Hermione Granger has passed out in my arms. I stagger under her sudden weight, but despite this, a sigh that is tinged with both relief and regret escapes from me.



I drag her into the bedroom. It appears she is prone to sleep talking. Or at least ‘unconscious drunken stupour’ talking.



‘Oh, Severus, please,’ she sighs in my arms. My eyebrows collide with my hairline.



It appears she’s not completely unconscious. She’s writhing in my arms. Hurriedly drop her on the bed.



It has taken forty years to discover what exactly would break my composure, carefully cultivated and maintained.



However the sight of Hermione Granger, slim, creamy, curvy, and slightly freckled and every so touchable, peeling herself out of the slinkiest silver green dress, while moaning my name, and lying on my bed, has just managed to shatter it into a million pieces.



Take the cowards option out, and run from the room.



Have managed to control myself after a long, long, long cold shower enough to get her under the covers, and decide what I’m going to do.



As I am sure any practitioner of Occlumency will be aware of, the alcohol hazed mind is exceptionally easy to read. Against my better judgement, I dip briefly into Hermione’s mind, so easy to read, so sweet, and innocent…



It confirms my suspicions. While I had been conversing about the ball with Albus, my mind had picked up a sudden, and fierce uncontrolled outburst of emotion from nearby. Only someone in a fit of rage or distress would be that unguarded with their thoughts. Hermione had indeed heard my less than savoury comments about her.



Fuck.



Grudgingly I come to two conclusions. What I said was merely Severus Snape on the defensive to a nosy sod of a Headmaster. Secondly, Hermione Granger is a girl after my own vengeful heart.



An evil smirk (perfected from an early age) creeps across my face. She wanted revenge did she? Shame her little attempt, while entertaining, and definitely arousing, failed miserably. I have, of course, only one option.



Seek my own revenge upon Little Miss Know It All Granger. Just enough to make her see that taking on Severus Snape is not something to be entered in lightly.



Oh my.



I haven’t enjoyed myself this much since I duelled with that vain peacock Lockhart.



I do enjoy a challenge.