One Hundred And One Ways To Brew Lust

9. Unravelled

***

They developed a sort of routine for that week. Hermione would show up at his chambers around seven. Each evening began with an attempt to get some work done. Snape had cleared his spare desk off for her, and she would sit down for thirty minutes or so, working on Arithmancy or Ancient Runes while he got back to Potions correcs. Bs. But it didn’t take long for him to get restless. Hermione found it amusing that he, capable of biding his time cunningly against the likes of Death Eaters, was always the one to crack first.

Tonight he walked up to her until he was standing behind her chair and placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging her neck as he whispered, “I think it’s time to rest your eyes a bit, Miss Granger.” Without further words he tied a satin kerchief around her eyes, and reached around to bring her hands behind the chair. He bound her wrists loosely behind her with another silk scarf. Unbuttoning her blouse with one hand, he reached below her skirts and caressed her moist folds. She’d stopped wearing knickers.

“Oh!” Hermione started. Being blindfolded meant every move came as a surprise to her. She’d never guessed at the excitement it might cause. She felt a tickle over her mouth and felt the strong urge to scratch, remembering belatedly that she was bound to the chair.

“Oooh! That is so unfair. Just you wait until I’m out of this chair!” she threatened him. Then, rather meekly, she added, “Do you think you could scratch my nose? It’s driving me insane… What is that?”

“I’m sure a clever witch like you can guess, Miss Granger.” He withdrew the quill from her nose. His voice was colder than usual, and his formal tone made her uneasy. “Or perhaps you’ve been neglecting your studies too much… Lost that edge, have you?” There was a fury in his calm tone that set her mind on alert. Why was he so angry?

“I…”

He left her no time to finish her statement. “Quite clearly, you’re in need of disciplining.r lar latest Potions assignment is sub-standard, Missy.”

He thrust one finger harshly inside her soft folds. “Maybe if you weren’t writhing around in your chair like a bitch in heat, you’d recover your powers of concentration!” he bit out, as he added another finger, then another. Snape felt her insides spasm slightly at the word ‘bitch’ and his fingers were flooded with her wetness. He made a mental note of her reaction. She was bending backwards out of her chair to meet thr thrusts now, panting harshly. His thumb dragged roughly over her clit. He brought the quill down to her nipples and teased them with it. She relished the contrast in the feelings spreading over her body.

“That’s right,” he whispered dangerously. “Show me what you’re made of… Can’t resist my touch, can you? A touch you ought to loathe!”

Hermione frowned at this, but she was caught in the beginnings of a tremendous orgasm, which took her by surprise and momentarily obliterated all other thoughts. Snape continued to pump ruthlessly into her, even after she moaned for him to stop. She came once more, almost painfully, and squeezed her thighs around his hand in an attempt to stay his movements. He removed his hand from her abruptly, shaking with inexplicable fury. He unfastened the scarf from her wrists and removed her blindfold with trembling hands, not making eye contact.

“I think it would be best if you spent tomorrow in your common room, catching up with school work. If anyone asks why you’ve been let off detention, you can tell your friends that I had a prior engagement.” He turned away from her, and went back to his pile of corrections without another word.

He didn’t spare her a second glance as she fled his chamber.

Hermione was furious as she took the stairs to her dormitory two-by-two, muttering to herself. When she got there, Crookshanks was lying on her bed, curled up in a patch of moonlight. Looking up at her through sleepy eyes, he got up and yawned as he curved his spine upwards, stretching lazily. She moved towards him, but he cast her a scornful look and hopped off the bed, exiting the room with his tail held high.

“Well, I have neglected him shamelessly. No wonder he doesn’t want my company.”

She sat down on her bed, staring up at the beautiful full moon, and began to cry as she ran over the events of her bizarre evening with Snape. She wished more than anything that she could confide in her friends. But she couldn’t begin to imaginet Rot Ron and Harry would think of her current situation. The only thing she was sure of was that they’d probably never speak to her again if they found out.

***

Snape sat at his desk, staring at the words before him. “Healing Potion can be administered orally or applied directly to a wound,” the essay began. He thought about the night he’d applied it to a certain student’s bruises…

What had come over him tonight?

He rose to pour himself a glass of port, something he hadn’t been doing lately, what with Hermione’s late night visits. He tipped the bottle, only to discover with regret that it was empty.

“I must visit the School wine cellars at some point tomorrow,” he muttered to himself.

He readied himself for bed, and fell into a fitful sleep. He was wearing a mask, pouring port for a woman in a wig. She was dressed like an eighteenth century courtesan. She looked up at him adoringly, whispering: “I love you”. Her face was obscured by shadows. He sneered gracelessly back at her when he heard her words. “Don’t be so sentimental,” he said as he turned and walked away.

***

Hermione awoke drowsily before dawn from a jumbled dream involving people wearing masks. She didn’t need an OWL in Divination to interpret it: obviously, she was worried about not having a date to the Yule Ball this Friday. After last night’s fiasco, she felt certain Snape wouldn’t be taking her, mask or no mask. In fact, she wasn’t sure where they stood. She looked into her mirror, trying to tame her bushy locks.

“It’s not going to work, my Dear,” the mirror yawned back at her.

“I couldn’t agree more,” she answered back glumly.

***

With the Yule Ball and the end of Term only four days away, it was difficult for anyone to concentrate on lessons. Some teachers gave up on the curriculum entirely, caught up in the festive mood. Professor Flitwick taught them how to enchant a mask so that it would hover a millimetre away from the wearer’s face, without need for an elastic.

“It’s much more comfortable that w he he bounced up and down excitedly.

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who smiled back cheerfully. Cho had agreed to go to the ball with him, and he had already decided on his costume. He was looking forward to Friday, even though it meant seeing the Dursleys on Saturday.

“Hey, Hermione!” Ron nudged her. “Er… have you got a date for the Ball yet?” he asked her nervously. Harry decided that now would be a good time to ask Lavender what she would be wearing, and he turned away, engaging her in conversation as if there was nothing more fascinating under the sun.

“Well, no actually. I guess I’ll be going stag,” she said lamely.

“Er… well, since I don’t have a date, and you don’t either, want to go together?” he asked, trying to feign casual indifference. In reality, his heart was beating fast and his ears had turned pink with embarrassment.

“Alright, then,” she answered miserably.

Ron was elated and didn’t pick up on the depression in her voice.

“Great! I’ll meet you in the Common Room on Friat sat seven!”

“I’m sure we’ll see each other before then, Ron,” Hermione smiled at him.

“I know, just wanted to firm things up now. No harm in that.”

***

It seemed all the teachers had caught the Yule Ball bug, for Professor McGonagall decided to teach them how to transfigure their dress robes into the costume of their choice.

The last period of the day was double Potions, and Hermione was seriously debating whether to attend or simply feign illness. But that would mean more questions from Harry, who’d been eyeing her suspiciously all day.

“You alright there, Hermione? Only you’ve been awfully quiet all day,” he enquired.

“Well, I guess I’m just dreading spending the holidays alone here.”

“I know how you feel. If it’s any consolation, at least you won’t have to sit across from Dudley during Christmas dinner. I’ll be lucky to get a few bones and some broth once he’s done with the turkey!” he complained.

“Oh Harry, I wish you were staying here with me!” she moaned as they entered the Potions classroom.

Snape caught the trail end of their conversation and it piqued his jealousy.

“Please, Sir!” Lavender ventured boldly from her seat while the rest of the class was filing in. “Will you teach us how to brew a Hangover Potion for the day after the Yule Ball?” The rest of the class laughed nervously. They stopped abruptly when they caught Snape’s reaction. He looked like he was ready to wipe the floor with her.

“Miss Brown, though you and the rest of the student population undoubtedly regard the Yule Ball as the high point of your sorry existences, I have far more important matters to attend to on Friday. There is no way I am going to waste my time on such frivolities!” His eyes fell briefly upon Hermione as he said this.

“Now, proceed with the preparation of the Revival Draught. Instructions are on the board…”

***

As seven o’clock approached, and Hermione was still picking at her elderberry pudding, Harry nudged her. “Shouldn’t you be heading to Snape’s for detention?”

“Not tonight,” she said, faking a smile of relief. “He’s ‘otherwise engaged’ this evening.”

“Lucky you!” Ron grinned. “Want a game of Wizard’s chess later?” he added.

“Sure, after I catch up on my homework.”

So they headed off to Gryffindor Tower.

As they sat by the fireplace, Crookshanks curled up at their feet (he seemed to have forgiven Hermione for neglecting him), laughing together, Hermione realised how much she’d missed spending the evenings with her friends. As though her mind was clearing out the cobwebs of an old dream, she began to wonder what on earth had come over her these last two weeks. Was she really in love with Snape? SNAPE? As she stare a g a glass of grape juice she’d been drinking, flashes of last night’s dream came back to her. Someone had offered her a glass of port. That seemed significant. Hadn’t she meant to ask Snape about the port he’d offered her that first night? Now more than ever, she seemed convinced that he had spiked it with something. Maybe Lust Potion. Maybe… Love Potion? But why? And how would she ever know for sure?

She needed to sneak back into his chambers. But he obviously didn’t want to see her anymore.

“Look at that!” Lavender pointed out the Tower window. “Well, Hermione, I think I know why Snape’s ‘otherwise engaged’ tonight! He’s walking down the path to Hogsmeade.”

Hermione pretended to be only mildly interested as she looked down at the footpath. Snape cut an unmistakable profile in the glow of the full moon.

“I’ll bet he’s off to the Three Broomsticks to ‘talk’ to Madame Rosmerta,” Lavender giggled, sharing a knowing look with Parvati.

Harry looked up at that. “Oh yeah? What’s the story between the two of them?”

“Well,” Parvati gushed animatedly. “From what I’ve heard, they used to be quite the item!” She and Lavender burst out laughing, as though the mere thought of Snape with any woman was completely absurd. No one noticed the colour draining from Hermione’s face.

“I’ll do it tonight,” Hermione thought determinedly. After about twenty minutes, she excused herself, saying she’d forgotten to look up a reference in the library, and made her way quickly to Snape’s chambers. She’d process her feelings of jealousy later. Right now, she needed to collect a sample of his port wine.

“Alohomora!” she whispered softly as she got to his door, and slipped in just before Mrs. Norris rounded the corner. Her heart was racing. But, if Snape was in Hogsmeade, at least she was assured of an hour’s peace to collect the evidence she needed.

She made her way to his desk, pulling out a small phial she’d brought to hold the port. But when she tipped the bottle, she found it empty. Hoping that just a drop would do, she waited patiently for the last few drops of tawny liquid to trickle into the phial. Capping the bottle, and trying to replace it exactly where she had found it, she pocketed the sample and was nearly out the door when Snape’s cold voice startled her from behind.

“And just what do you think you’re doing in here?” he asked her menacingly.

“Wh… what?” Hermione was frozen to her spot. “Where did you come from?”

“It is a fact I keep well-hidden, Miss Granger, but actually, I’ve set wards around my chambers. Ever since that despicable Crouch broke into my office three years ago. They alert me to the presence of any intruder…”

Hermione was still too stunned to reply. How had he arrived here so fast? He couldn’t have Apparated… Floo network… of course! There was a fireplace at the Three Broomsticks.

“I was looking for you,” she bluffed.

“After I expressly told you to stay away?” He was closing in on her menacingly.

“Well! As you so aptly pointed out to me a couple of weeks ago, you’re supposed to be more than just my professor. For a while there, you actually had me fooled into thinking you cared about me. I feel I have a right to know why you’ve gone back to acting like a complete bastard!”

“A complete…?” His voice trailed off as he got in her face. Now she could smell alcohol on his breath. Firewhiskey, by the smell of it. This was not good.

“Well, if you don’t want to talk, I’ll be on my way then,” and she made a dash for the door. But he was too quick. He grabbed her by the elbow, bringing her back to him quickly. His hand pulled back her hair as he tilted her head to look into her eyes. His pupils were dilated in a furious glare.

“As I seem to recall from last night, you like it when I’m ‘a complete bastard’…” he whispered seductively.

Hermione could have cursed her hormones a thousand times. For despite the fact that she currently loathed the man in front of her, she felt herself swoon as he brought his hand up to her neck and stroked down, pinching her nipple hard.

“Tell me, Miss Granger. Do you want to play a game?” he whispered before dragging her to his bedroom. Her legs were not quite working properly. He tossed her onto the bed and she bounced once, landing on her stomach. He climbed over her, pulling her trousers and socks off. He left her lacy underpants on, and she found herself wishing she’d worn those damn gag granny pants with the smiling pumpkins.

“Tsk, tsk. Such a little whore!” he muttered with a heavy slur, and now Hermione felt a pang of fear. He turned her over, and undid the buttons of her blouse, pulling it off her coarsely. To her dismay, she realised she was wearing a matching black lacy bra, which he also left on. “Don’t you dare move,” he whispered in her ear.

He got up to get something from his dresser drawer, and when he returned, he had a belt and some scarves. Hermione knew a moment of blind panic when she saw the belt, convinced he was planning to whip her with it. But he caught her hands behind her back and bound them with it. Then he used two silk scarves to tie each of her feet to the posts at the foot of his bed.

“Should I gag you and blindfold you too, hmmm?” he asked her as he leaned over her, caressing the skin of her midriff. “Would you like that?” he whispered in her ear. She shook her head nervously, writhing on the bed covers.

“Hmmmm,” he moaned thickly. His hands were moving clumsily, so different from his normal, graceful style. He started to kiss her neck, sucking and licking it. Nipping at her throat from time to time. She shut her eyes as he groped down her throat to her left breast, tugging down the lace of her bra to reveal a nipple. He tugged at it roughly, and she arched off the bed, hissing.

“Yes, my little wench. You like that, don’t you?”

He pulled down the other cup, and sucked on one nipple while twisting the other around in his fingers. It was a bit painful, but Hermione felt a flood of wetness drench her panties, and she groaned, ashamed at her reactions.

One hand groped its way down to her panties. He pulled them aside and shoved two fingers roughly into her, letting her nipple drop out of his mouth with a loud “plop” when he felt the wetness there. He pulled his fingers out, bringing them up to her face as he turned them over, wet and sticky.

“Look at that,” he marvelled, as though seeing cum for the first time. “Your pussy is dripping for me, wench!” he ground out. He sucked his fingers into his mouth and moaned at the taste. “You taste good,” he whispered intimately into her ear. Her heartbeat picked up a bit. He seemed to be getting gentler. “Just like a bitch in heat,” he added maliciously. And her eyes popped open to glare at him in cold fury.

His laughing eyes smiled malevolently down at her. He ducked back down to her panties, casting off his robes in the process. Pulling her panties aside again, he pushed his erection into her without warning, in one long, languid thrust. Her breath caught and she wished this didn’t feel so good. He looked down from atop her, and, even in his drunken stupor, he had to acknowledge how ravishing she looked, with her bra trussing up her breasts like a makeshift corset, and her hair fanned out around her head. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were gently parted as she panted in arousal. He leaned down and kissed her. “Do you like that?” he grunted between thrusts. “Do you like it when I fuck your cunt?” Her eyes flew open. She was shocked at his language. But, as usual, her body seemed intent on betraying her, and she opened wider for him. “Hmmm. Yes. I can see that you do… Too bad!” he added as he suddenly withdrew from her.

He waited above her, as she processed what had just occurred. Her breathing was speeding up and she looked up at him expectantly. “Beg,” he instructed her.

“What?” she spluttered out, indignantly.

“You’ll have to beg for it, my little wench. Beg me to fuck your cunt,” he purred into her ear.

“I’m not going to…” she trailed off as he inserted two fingers into her again and slowly drew them in and out of her, massaging her clit with his thumb as he did so. More wetness flooded out of her, and she found herself wishing once more that this didn’t feel so good. She heard a rip and looked down to see that he had torn her panties away once he realised he couldn’t get them off her because her legs were still bound. Something about being tied up and so entirely at his mercy made her come undone. She moaned aloud as he took her clit in his mouth and sucked it lazily. Then he stuck his tongue deep inside her. His hands reached up to her nipples as he did this, and tugged on them painfully.

Lost in a thick haze of lust, she moaned out, “More!” It was the best she could do. She absolutely refused to beg.

His response was to remove one hand from her breasts, and stick a finger in her ass while still pumping furiously in and out of her with his tongue. She was shocked. She felt no pain, just an incredible sense of wantonness, and she finally decided to throw pride to the wind.

“Please…” she cried out. He pulled his mouth from her pussy and looked up at her, still wiggling a finger in her ass, and pinching her nipple with his other hand.

“Please what?”

“Bastard!” she muttered. “Please… fuck me” she blushed scarlet.

He was about to ask her “Where?” when he took pity on her. In a flash he was inside her again, and he brought a hand up to her throat, grasping her around it, pressing firmly but not too hard, while she stared up at him, barely comprehending what he was doing.
Then he stopped as soon as he’d started, and fondled her breasts as he pushed in and out of her. She felt full. “Oh yes, yes…” She moaned unknowingly.

“Such a soft, wet cunt you have, pretty little wench,” he muttered. “Do you want me to fuck you a little longer, or shall I let you come now, hmmm?”

Hermione couldn’t form words, she just kept moaning, “Yes, yes!”

“I guess I’ll just have to keep fucking you then.” For half an hour he kept at it, and she though she would pass out from the intensity. Then, as he decided to shift gears and pick up the pace, he reached between them, flicking her clit roughly. Hermione felt the mother of all orgasms coming on and she cried out, spasming longer and harder than she’d ever done before. He kept pushing in and out of her for another five minutes, not letting her come down from it, and she had the second multiple orgasm of her life. Finally he was sated, and pulled out of her, rolling over onto his back.

She lay there panting in a daze for a few minutes, still tied up, legs open, feeling their juices seeping out of her. He seemed in no hurry to untie her. Or perhaps he’d forgotten in his drunkenness. She looked over at him when she heard a faint snore.

“Unbelievable!” she muttered angrily to herself. And her wand was nowhere she could reach at the moment. She wiggled her feet experimentally, and to her relief, discovered that they were loosely bound. When she’d untangled herself, she rolled off the bed, and walked over awkwardly to her discarded robes. Feeling for her wand, she untied the knot in his leather belt with a swift flick of it, and freed her hands.

She dressed quickly and left his chambers trying to calm her emotions.

As she showered away his scent, she was unable to admit to herself that the sex had been incredible. She was too busy mourning the loss of something much greater. That wasn’t making love, she told herself. That was just sex. Just fucking.

She cried herself to sleep under the doleful eye of the bedroom mirror.


*