To Save A Serpent

A/N: To those of you who have griped about how cruel am I to make Severus dead, I say to you, in the words of Davy Jones: “Life is cruel, why should death be any less cruel?” But do not fear, this fic is hardly over.


Hermione could hardly believe that she found herself naked on her Professor’s bed. He too was naked, and they had spent some time undressing each other. His hands had been rough but gentle, smooth, elegant fingers stroking over her skin, tossing the tie from her neck and the sleeves from her arms, until he’d undone every last inch of her clothing, stockings, knickers, and bra. They all lay discarded in a pile mixed with his at the foot of his bed, as he’d drawn her up to standing to fully undress her.

But once she’d become naked before him, he did not touch her, and only allowed himself a single glance of her body before guiding her trembling fingers forward to the collar of his own shirt. It had taken her several moments of carefully undoing buttons, first down his frock coat and then his shirt, and then the buckle clasp, the button and zipper of his trousers, but finally he too had stood naked before her.

Now she was back on her back, chest heaving, eyes gazing wide up at him as he knelt on the bed, leaning against one of the four posters, the light from the fire casting a shadow over him, but enough to allow her to see him. He was not handsome, not in the traditional sense, a bit thin for her tastes, and his muscles seemed sparse, but he was hardly flabby or unappealing.

It was the scars that made her gaze so intently as if studying a star chart. His body was littered with them, practically a map, covering his chest, torso and various other areas of his body. And then there was the mark, dimly pulsing with his flesh on the forearm at his left. It did not frighten her as she believed him to be Dumbledore’s man. What did unnerve her slightly was the rather large pulsing erect organ between his legs. It was much longer than any textbook picture had ever shown her, and it seemed much wider than should have been natural, though she wasn’t exactly sure what was considered natural as she’d never seen one up close when it was erect.

“Do I frighten you?” he asked his voice soft, and his eyes half lidded as he was gazing over her perfect body. Not a scar, or blemish anywhere, though she had the most beautiful mole just to the right of her nipple on her right breast. Her stomach was a tiny pouch, not perfectly flat and her hips were wide, almost meaty and this made him smirk as he leaned forward, one hand sweeping ever so lightly over the curve of her side. “Good to know I’ll have something to grip…”

She flushed, and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry I—”

“Shh,” he whispered and placed a finger across her lips. “You are quite lovely, I cannot stand women who have little more to their figure than the bones that hold their structure and the flesh that hides their guts…” he leaned over her, his body almost aligned to hers. “You are truly a sight to see…Hermione.” Her name was almost foreign to his tongue and yet dripped sweetly from it.

She’d hardly been able to stop flushing. “I don’t feel it,” she said, and then added. “And no, you don’t frighten me…overwhelm, a bit, but only because I’ve never…well I mean this is my first real…er…you understand?”

He could have opted to humiliate her and make her say it, but sensing her state of discomfort and longing to get inside those lovely thighs, he nodded slowly. “Yes, Hermione, you’re all about books,” he muttered, but not so condescending as he perhaps should have.

The heat of his body pressing on hers had made her hot and made the air thicker to breathe, but she felt her arms wriggling of their own accord, wrapping around his back, taking in how each of those scars felt beneath her fingers. “Mrm,” she made a small mewling sound and then gazed up at him. “What do I— how should I…” but her concerns were buried against his lips. “Mrm,” again she mewled, only more contentedly this time.

“Perhaps you should just…relax and let me do this…” he whispered against her lips.

“Severus,” she protested softly. “I don’t want to be one of those girls who is just a means to an end, I want to actively erm, participate, I just haven’t the slightest idea as to what I’m doing…”

It was an awkward situation. And how he’d found himself in it, he still wasn’t sure. She was gorgeous, there was no doubt about it, but she was still his student. However, in knowing what he did about Albus and about Potter he could hardly deny himself the bit of pleasure that she offered. After all it was just going to be physical. He couldn’t love her, not the way he loved Lily, he could never love another, and he was quite certain he’d been clear about that. And certainly she could never come to love him, not the monster that he was. She was merely curious, and perhaps took pity on him, knowing as she said that he was Dumbledore’s man, through and through.

She was so young, just the start of her sixth year, a few weeks in, but she was a full year old than ‘of age’ however that seemed to quell his conscience absolutely not at all. With a slow hiss he brought his lips to her ear. “Hermione Jane Granger, perhaps you should think this over…”

A wave of near tears and nausea swept her body. No one called her that unless she was in trouble. Was she in trouble? Was he rejecting her? She didn’t understand, so eager had he seemed once he’d crushed her with that demanding almost possessive kiss in his office, and now, they were naked, him atop her, her trembling beneath him and he was asking her to reconsider? All she had said was she wanted to participate, to be active, to not just lay back and make him do all the work, had that been so offensive? Or had he been so utterly repulsed by her body and realizing what exactly he was about to do to said hideous body, was that finally catching up to him?

Her mind whirled. She understood the basic concepts of sex she’d just never done anything even close. With a trembling hand, she asserted herself, slithering her arm down between them and grasping his thick erection. The sensation made him gasp, catching him off guard in a moment of surprise, and in that moment she arched her hips, spreading her legs wide, and she used her other hand to feel her own opening.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t know where her vagina was, but studying left little time for self pleasure, and Hermione had never been all that interested in sticking her fingers up into something that produced copious amounts of blood once monthly. She tugged him forward, feeling a slight resistance, but she’d managed to get the tip of his manhood pressed against her, and she whimpered, feeling something akin to a shock shoot through her body. He felt strange in her palm, fingers curled around him, barely touching, and she was certain it would hurt when she forced him into her, but she wanted it.

“Hermione,” he brought his lips to her ear, and with one thrust of his hips he pulled back, easily sliding out of her grasp. “Stop.” He said, and she almost began to cry. “No tears,” he said softly. “I will not have tears in this bed if you intend for me to do this.”

“But— but—” she sniffed.

“Buts are for chairs,” he said, and pushed back a handful of her hair, coming up to an almost sitting position. He hated dealing with emotional women. It had never been his forte, even when Lily had been alive. “Stop sniveling or you can go back to your dormitory…” he paused, gazing down at her, and then smirked. “And I always pictured Weasley to be the sniveling one…”

Hermione choked through her tears, and just laid back, still for a moment, her eyes closed. How on earth had she gotten herself into this mess? In bed with Severus Snape, naked beneath him, though he now sat up on her side, and waiting to have her virginity taken from her. She couldn’t even justify why she was doing it. If she’d simply wanted a popped cherry, Ron was always ready and waiting. It certainly couldn’t have been because she felt anything toward the man. Curiosity, that was all, she’d seen the image and let her curiosity get the better of her. And perhaps pity, though she assumed pity was the wrong word and would never actually say it to him. A show of gratitude more like, for all that he had done for the side of good and The Order.

“I’d just rather not muck this up,” she said, to which her eyes flew open upon hearing the deep reverberating chuckle that escaped him. She’d honestly never heard Severus Snape laugh in a way that wasn’t filled with mirth or harsh and snide comments. It was a rather rich sound, filling the entire room, and as she gazed up at his smiling figure, she noticed he looked nearly years younger with a smile on his face. “Goodness,” she said. “You should smile more often.”

Immediately his face turned to a harsh scowl and his laughter died in his throat. She looked almost frightened, and then his face softened. Though it was not the laughing gaggle it had been, he carefully allowed his lips to curl into a polite smile and he gave her a rather affectionate almost puppy like nudge with his nose. “Hermione, nothing about this has to be perfect. Merlin knows I’m far from perfection…”

She heaved a sigh, letting her eyes fall closed once more, but before she could speak what was on her mind his hands had taken hers and placed her palms on his back. “Touch me, like you were before, that felt good.” He whispered to her. With a bit of a tremble, she began to stroke her hands up and down his back, mesmerizing herself with the feeling of his scars. “Yes,” he panted near her ear. “That feels very good,” and his lips suckled at her earlobe.

Hot warmth pooled between her legs and she felt the need to spread them once more, longing to wrap them up around his body, but she hesitated. Sensing her hesitation, he guided one hand down to the side of her hip and nudged it upward, almost signaling that it was ok for her to wrap herself around him. As she did, he nearly groaned. She was dripping with a slick stickiness between her thighs that rubbed up against his straining erection as she brought their bodies closer together, pressing every inch of skin she could to him.

Her fragrant musky scent reached his nostrils as his lips trailed down the side of her neck, suckling her flesh, nipping it and listening to her whimpers of delighted pleasure. The warm body beneath him seemed to jolt with shock every time he would nip her skin, or move his teasing fingers feather lightly over a new piece of exposed flesh. His lips were just hovering over her right nipple, heavy panting breaths floating over it made the bud stiffen and he smirked. “If this is how you respond to my presence…”

It was torture. Sweet delicious torture unlike anything Hermione had ever known. She longed to ask a thousand questions but something in her mind seemed to shut that option out. It were as if there were a small nymphish sprite bouncing about in her head, just screaming with pleasure, drowning out all rational thoughts and then she cried out. A wicked chuckle followed her cry and her eyes flew open to gaze at his smirked lips puckered tightly around her nipple. He’d nipped her, and was licking the bud with his velvety tongue, but something else too.

“Stay still,” he rasped against her breast, and she knew for certain that he’d pushed the tip of his swollen erection into her warm opening. It was tight, nearly painful, and yet such a unique sensation. Her chest was heaving. Her eyes were hooded, lashes fluttering. “Good girl,” he whispered, slowly edging himself in. It took a large modicum of self control not to plow straight into her tight, slick womanhood.

Keening whimpers escaped her lips, eyes closing almost tightly. “It- it hurts.” She could feel him stretching her, pressing against her internal walls, pushing himself into her. The virginal barrier was there and she could feel it being strained against. “Please…” another whimper, “Severus.”

He stilled his motions, a little less than halfway into her. Allowing her a moment to adjust, he pressed several soft kisses to her cheeks, nose and all around her eyes. “It’s going to hurt, Hermione,” his voice was firm but carried with it a note of understanding, almost compassionately. “But then it will feel better, it will, but you have to let me get all the way in first.”

Had he ever been told that he would be talking to Hermione Granger like a small child whilst trying to deflower her, Severus Snape surely would have checked himself into St. Mungo’s then and there. But she was beneath him, breasts rising and falling faster than his eyes could watch. She was panicked. Pressing both palms to her cheeks, he cupped her face and pulled back slightly. “Look at me, Hermione.”

Glittering wet orbs of honey and cinnamon found his obsidian eyes and she tried to keep from blinking but the tears began to trickle down over his fingers. “I’m sorry, I just— it hurt.”

Severus nodded slowly. “I want you to look at me,” he said. “I want you to look into my eyes, and do not look away, don’t close your eyes, understand?” It wasn’t a request, but it still held a note of asking, a gentle hint of concern.

Hermione nodded her head, sucking in her bottom lip. “Alright.”

He kept one hand cupped on her cheek, the other moving slowly to caress her breast, tickling the nipple with his thumb. She drew in a pleasured breath. His tip rested firmly in her and it was torture for with every breath she drew, he could feel her shift ever so slightly, drenching him in that silky sweet honey. “Hold my back, nails if you have to,” he said and then pressed his lips to hers, but kept his eyes on hers.

She trembled, keeping her hands tight just below his shoulder blades. “Could you— do you think you could, count or something?” she shook her head, flustered that her voice was such a nervous flutter.

Holding back the chuckle, he nodded. “Alright, I’ll count.” Although he had no idea what it felt like to have a physical barrier signaling one’s virginity, he imagined that she was perhaps making a larger deal out of the matter than need be, but dared not to call her on it, for fear that she would hyperventilate. “Good girl, one…” he drew back slightly further, to gain a better position to thrust himself into her. “Two…” but three never came for just as he’d counted to two, Severus thrust forward, hard.

She yelped in surprise, watery eyes breaking from his and tears leaking down her cheeks, but it seemed, somehow, less painful than what she’d anticipated. It still hurt, almost as if she’d been torn, and there was discomfort, holding her limbs apart, as he felt far too big to be fully inside her, but nothing excruciating. His voice brought her momentarily away from the focus of that pain. “Good girl, doing alright?”

Her head nodded vigorously, despite the pain, she was alive.

“Good,” his lips found hers once more. “Just another minute, so you can adjust, then I’m going to move,” he whispered, almost like a warning and again she nodded. He was having trouble keeping a reign on the urge to just pummel her. She was so tight and so slick that he thought he might come just resting inside her subtly shifting walls.

The pain was dulling, ebbing away as she felt him slowly start to slide back out, her walls contracting, and she whimpered. Sensations like she’d never felt before flooded her body. He was long and thick and she felt herself tighten against him as he slid further from her, as if her body were trying to keep him in place. The sensation of being filled felt exquisite, despite the remnants of pain and she did not wish to lose it. But before she could cry out in protest, he was pushing himself back into her.

“Oh,” she whimpered, letting her eyes fall closed. Both hands had fallen limp against his back and she’d nearly forgotten about them. He stroked into her, slowly, and then out, gently. “Oooh,” her moan fell low to his ear.

Severus had never experienced such a feeling, how tight, and hot she was, milking him with every thrust. Thank the gods she needed him to go slow else it would have ended long before it started. His lips came to her ear, his hot, heavy breath tickling the flesh on her neck. “You can touch me,” his nose nudged her pulsing skin, a gentle reminder that she had hands and that she’d asked to be a willing participant.

“Mrm,” her lips seemed to stick together. “Right.” Hermione found that her fingers were eager to flex over not only his back but up and down his side as well. She curved them down and around until she was cupping his buttocks and found that it was rather firm. Giving each cheek a squeeze she moaned as he pushed himself deeper into her. “Oooh, Severus, I— I—”

But the sound was lost as his lips covered hers, warm sticky tongues meshing to each other as he continued to pull himself almost all the way out and then push himself firmly back into her heat. The sound of the sheets rustling beneath her rose up and filled the room along with their panted breathes and her occasional whimpers and groans. His fingertips were gliding up her torso until they were circling her nipples, teasing them to taught peaks once more.

Dipping his head over her left breast, his lips clasped her nipple and he suckled her, drawing forth a loud whimper from her lips. “More,” she pleaded and he nearly smirked against her skin.

“As you wish…” and his hips angled back, thrusting a bit quicker into her, though still rather gently. Sex was meant to be rough so he felt very uncertain as to what he was actually doing to the beautiful witch beneath him. To the blind observer, one might call it making love, but Severus Snape was not a man who made love. There was a tenderness about him, in his movements and his caresses that he himself was not sure where it had come from. He was being gentle with her. He was pleasuring her while trying to keep from exploding at the tight sensation of her sheath.

Fingers tangled into tresses and he groaned, feeling those tiny digits working through his scalp, and her hips almost arching up to meet his. Her body was responding to him. He brushed kisses across her face and down her neck, licking her soft skin, tasting her. “And you were worried you were going to muck it up…” he whispered.

Hermione arched up, and felt her muscles quivering as he continued to stroke into her, deep and firm, in and out, then deeper and a little harder, in and out. Her spine tingled and burned with a hot white fire that sent her quivering beneath him, her whole body shaking and she felt her lungs seize up, as if full of that same white fire. “Oh! Oh!” she cried, feeling him pushing into her a bit harder. Logic escaped her and her lips flapped with moaning sounds, “Severus!” she wailed, her back practically off the bed, breasts straining forward into him.

His brow was dripping with sweat, the heat of the two of them shone in a sheen between their bodies. Her quivering body made him growl, and he could feel her walls convulsing all around him. Too long had it been since he’d been allowed a proper climax inside a willing witch. Too long, and he groaned, feeling her spasm, hearing her shriek and wail. Gods the girl was verbal.

“Severus! Oh! Gods! Merlin!” she whimpered, her body seizing into a spasm and pleasure ripped through her. Hermione Granger experienced her first orgasm. He was only a second behind her, two hot and heavy thrusts and he felt himself blow. Hot spurts of semen shot deep into her, and his member pulsed inside her still quaking walls. They were both panting, chests rapidly rising and falling, eyes half hooded coming to meet each other.

His arms were shaking holding himself up atop her, as he was no dog and would not simply collapse. But as he moved to pull back, nails sank into his flesh, almost forcing him down atop her. “Don’t— don’t leave…” she whispered in an almost choked pant. Shaking his head, he allowed it to rest for a moment between her breasts, and the nails that had been so firmly dug into his shoulders moved up through his tresses, and he sighed, feeling her racing heart beneath his ear.

He allowed her the moment of feeling him atop her, post coitus, and then he shifted, slipping out of her and onto his side. Hermione was still panting, eyes still rolling in and out of her head. A very odd urge washed over his body, for normally he would have moved from the bed, cast a scourgify on them both, handed her various articles of clothing and bid her goodnight, only he found himself with his nose buried in her hair, his arms pulling the trembling witch to his body, and one leg thrown possessively over her thigh.

The soft mewling sounds that escaped her lips as he pressed kisses to her temple and forehead made him tremble, and reaching down he managed to pull the thick duvet up over them both. “Good girl,” he whispered, stroking her hair, “Good girl.”

~*~

Tears filled her eyes once more and she thought for a moment that his ghost like figure had returned, only as she turned around, the bare room greeted her eyes. Memories of their first night seemed to echo soundly in her mind as if waiting for him to cast his spell onto her, jump in and revisit them at any moment. She half-heartedly wondered if in that swirl of memories that Harry was no doubt now viewing, if there had been any of his time with her.

Her body was trembling. The scroll was in her hand. It was believed to be fool’s magic, legend and myth, and it would never actually work. But she had to try. She’d read the words over several times; Severus had not made it easy for her to find them. Hermione figured it was because if he had handed them to her, it was practically sealing the line on his death certificate.

With her wand gripped firmly, and tears still trekking down her face, she mumbled, “Compleo navitas,” the white force surging forth from her wand with her words.

*Compleo navitas is a Latin translation which means “to fill up with energy and life.”