The Principles of Lust

Chapter Two - Without a Second Thought


There was a knock at the dungeon door.

His gaze lingered momentarily towards the wooden frame. His fingertips dropped the quill gently onto his work desk as he observed her impatient shadow underneath the door.

Curling his lip in a sinister fashion, he leaned back and called to her: “Enter!”

There was a small shuffling, and the doorknob turned. His brows furrowed as he went through the potion they would be making in his mind. As the door opened fully, and the bushy-haired girl stumbled in with too many books, his thoughts were broken off.

“I’m sorry Professor; I didn’t mean e soe so late. Harry held me back,” she looked at him. Her frame was composed; however, the slight look of fear twinkled in her brown eyes, as though being late was already a sign that she had failed him.

“Potter held you back? Dear me, Miss Granger. You should know better then to let his over-inflated head get the best of you,” he gave her a venomous look.

“Sit.”

He watched her offload the many books onto the desk in front of his, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her, preferring instead to simply observe her movements, staring so intensely that he was sure he saw her quiver ever so slightly under his eye’s caress.

Eventually she settled in the seat, no more than three feet away from him, removed her quills and parchment from her pouch and laid them out before her, linking her fingers and laying her hands upon them before lifting her gaze to lock with his.

If he was surprised by the intensity in that chocolate gaze, he gave no sign. If he found the expectancy there confronting, the only evidence was the further hardening of his steely façade, the slight sneer that quirked at his lips.

“Are you quite ready, Miss Granger?”

“I am, Professor.” She watched him impassively, didn’t rise to his scathing bait. It infuriated him but he made no outward sign of it.

“What have you prepared for us, Professor?” It was a perfectly courteous question, but he c see see the chage bge behind her eyes. He could feel the malevolence glittering in his own black orbs.

He flapped a sheet of parchment before him nonchalantly. “I do, Miss Granger. You shall be making Polyjuice potion.” Casually he laced his fingers together and propped his elbows upon the desk, measured, lazy movements, resting his chin nst nst the hammock of his hands and gazing into her eyes intently.

He saw the disappointment flicker in her gaze, quickly masked, and he allowed the triumph to show in his. He knew, of course, that she had made Polyjuice potion in her second year, illegally. Missing Slytherin robes from the laundry, ingredients gone from his private store, the confused retelling of the story of a runaway Crabbe and Goyle by Draco Malfoy to his father, the real Crabbe and Goyle being even vaguer about the incident than they usually would be. There was really only one conclusion to draw. Hermione Granger was the only student in the form with the intelligence and dedication to make that potion at such a young age.

He could see the conclusions forming in her eyes, and the anger that those conclusions sparked – embers of orange flickering in those bottomless pools of brown. It had taken her but moments to process and understand the situation. He knew, but she couldn’t admit what she had done, lest he have grounds to expel her, or at least strip the title of Head Girl from her and hand it to Pansy Parkinson.

Her next question surprised him completely.

“Do you think that I can do it, Sir?”

He jolted a little with the shock of the question, but it was only momentary. He steadied and measured his voice before he next spoke. “I am interested to see the extent of your abilities, Miss Granger.”

She threw a reply back almost immediately. “From my readings, Polyjuice potion takes a month to brew. Surely that is not the only thing you would have me create in that time. It could not possibly take any more than a few minutes from my day.”

He allowed a sardonic smile to play upon his lips. “Of course not, Miss Granger. I shall have you begin a new potion every day, so that by the end of the month you shall have a veritable apothecary simmering. If you wish to work in medicine, you will have to learn to multi task.”

She smiled as though at a child who had come up with a clever idea that an adult had thought of months ago. “I am well aware of that, Professor Snape.” She sat in silent contemplation for a moment, and then met his eyes once again. “How shall I test the potion once it is made, Professor? Surely I cannot transform myself into one of my classmates. That would most certainly be against the rules.”

He gritted his teeth, knowing where this was going, and that the clever little lioness had just backed this particular snake into a corner. Rather than rise up and show his fear, however, he took her bait.
“I shall provide you with an off cut of my own hair.”

Her eyes twinkled, and immediately he realised he had made an error.

“And I shall have to make double the dose, then, Professor, and provide you with some of my own, for it could not do to have two of you walking around the school for an hour.”

A horrible smile curled at the corner of his thin lips: “Of course...”

Hermione pretended to brace herself, putting on that small worried act, breathing in and out, her small nostrils flaring with fear. He watched her, unimpressed. Sweeping around his desk in a fluid motion of robes, he moved to the ingredients table, surveying the order upon it. Of course, everything was perfectly arranged. He was a perfectionist and he knew it. Hermione rose from the seat she had taken and at once followed suit. He folded his arms, and watched her dart over as quickly as she could – still acting. A slight smirk at her uneasy reactions. Such an actress. His thoughts were mocking.

She came up beside him and glanced up at him. He was barely an inch from her. She averted her eyes immediately, turning her attention to the ingredients, fidgeting with her robes. He watched her bemused, and turned to his side, causing her shoulder to brush against his chest. Acting as though he hadn’t even noticed, he gestured to the ingredients.

“I trust you know all of these. In your years here, you have managed to use each and every one. However,” he paused, “you have not combined them all together.”


Oh yes, I am fooling him… thank goodness.


Oh dear, she is a daft beaver with relentless bushy hair.


“Miss Granger, will you please pay attention to me,” he said flatly.

His whispered velvety words sent her down the wrong train of thoughts, and for a split moment, she felt the caress of that mystery lover. Her rosy lips quivered slightly, and shaking her head she returned her gaze to his.

“I’m sorry, Sir, please continue.”

He watched her momentarily. “As I was saying, I am quite sure you have looked through the ingredients before. If I recall correctly, you once mentioned in an essay that you read ‘Most Potente Potions’ three times. What exactly is missing, and when must you add it?” His gaze was questioning as one of his brows lifted into an arc.

A glance at the table and she answered him almost too quickly. “Fluxweed, sir. They must be picked and added during the full moon.” Her eyes twinkled.

His upper lip curled. “Indeed. Then I trust you know what to do from here. You have less than half an hour. Begin.” Turning on his heel he returned to his desk, settling down, and continuing to correct other pieces of work.

Hermione sauntered smugly over to a chair, where she saw the cauldron was set up on a small work table. The cauldron was much like the muggle Bunsen burner; they used gas here too. Oh, of course, there will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class. Those words, echoing from her first year, had never left her memory. It had been a difficult thing for her bookish mind to grasp, that some things could not be done simply by reading the theory, that some things had to be practiced and perfecteor mor magic, there was a wand. You waved it and said the words correctly, and what you wanted to appear appeared. What was one to do without a wand?

To that end, as usual, she crossed to her work table and went in search of matches. Her logical mind assured her they would be there. How else was she supposed to light the cauldron? This time, however, she saw no matches, and soon realised thhis his was yet another test of her wits. Like a predator sensing weakness, Snape’s eyes momentarily lifted to survey her, but she flashed a fake glittering smile to push away his suspicions.

He returned to marking the essays, inwardly chuckling. Without the matches, what was she to do? She knew it now, he was going to push her the hard way, and she was going to meet all of his standards, even exceeding the limit expected of her. She wasn’t going to fail. She knew that if she did ask for the matches, he would arch his eyebrow at her and have an excuse to mock her.

Hermione slipped her small hand into her robes, still eyeing the empty and rather rusty cauldron. As she felt her hand grasp her wand, she jerked her head in relief and muttered a few encouragements to herself. This wasn’t going to be easy. That greasy man, she thought, pulling the wand out of her robes, securely lifting it under the table.

However, this Potion’s Master wasn’t going to let her get away with it. Somehow Hermione knew he would find out that she used a wand to light the cauldron. The gas was on, and she figured he would have suggested rubbing two rocks together instead.

“Miss Granger, are you,” he paused. “… lost?”

Hermione froze, and then to her astonishment returned his sly smile: “Of course not, Professor.”
His eyes glinted with suspicion. “Somehow, Miss Granger, I don’t believe you.”

“What makes you say that, Professor?” She kept her gaze firmly with his, trying her hardest to make those intense coal black eyes turn away. No chance in that.

“You must have surmised that no magic will be used. In usual classes, we use matches to turn the cauldron on, however, you have requested extra-curricular lessons to boost your scores, Miss Granger, and you should understand that you are no longer working under easy conditions.” He steepled his fingers and watched her expression, waiting for her to question him. “Therefore, you will do what witch doctors did in the ancient times when they had no spells to make it easier for them.”

She glared at him, amazed at how cruel he could be at times, especially to her. In another way, she took this as a new challenge, he was testing every possible point in her abilities, and this time, he was testing her resourcefulness. Or, he was just trying to find yet another excuse to cease all lessons with her. Either way, he was going to fail miserably, because she would not back down.
She lifted her head up high, and taking a deep breath she scanned the dungeon, in search of any lose fragments of stone. Snape was eyeing her, his expression most ill, as he spotted two small shards discarded upon a bench in one corner of the classroom.

This was going to be very interesting indeed.

He was about to make a snide comment when she turned around and looked back at him, her eyes questioning his very gaze. “Professor, how could you possibly assign me a potion to brew, when you have not given me anything else to burn a fire with?” She knew she had gone too far when his fingers dropped with ease the quill that was so nicely lodged in the contours of his hand.

“Miss Granger, are you questioning my set tasks?” i>Bai>Bad move, Hermione.

“No Professor, my apologies.”

“If you continue to waste my time like this, and disrupt my concentration, I must ask you to kindly leave,” he hissed. “As I have more important things to do than watch you miserably fail.”

Hermione’s brown eyes widened. He was playing with her, he was pushing her, and he was going to attempt to make her lose her temper. He wasn’t going to win this. She was going to beat him at his own game.

She glanced at her pocket watch, and saw that half her lesson had already been wasted. She was going to have to start her work, and fast. Quickly she crossed the room to retrieve the stones that her eyes had lit upon at the same time as Snape’s, and returned to her seat with the two jagged shards in one palm.

She eyed them dubiously for a time, just staring and wondering how she would ever get a spark from such pathetic looking pieces of rock. Still, she could feel his eyes upon her, and her resolve hardened. Squaring her shoulders, she leaned toward the cauldron with the two fragments, turned the gas on, and struck them together.

Nothing. Hermione scowled. Snape chuckled lightly, and she felt her face burn with fury.


Bastard!


Again, nothing, and then again with the same result. With each failed attempt she could feel his amusement growing, feel her own anger building, shifting in her seat with her simmering fury.
Perhaps she needed to strike the pieces harder together. With what seemed to be an extravagant movement, she brought her hands further apart, and with strength double by her temper, pounded the two small stones together. There was no spark, but the stones managed to slip off one another, and the sharp point of the one in her right hand stabbed into her left palm with a sting that took hr breath away.

\"Fuck.” Her voice was a per,per, but surely Snape must have heard it. Bright red blood welled around the ragged incision, and she gritted her teeth as she pulled it, slowly so as not to break of a piece in the wound, from her palm.

Snape tutted from behind her. “Language, Miss Granger. Thirty points from Gryffindor. You shall need to have that seen to, after the lesson. You should be more careful.”

She did not turn in his direction; inclined her head so that he could see she was in compliance, but did not trust her angry self to speak. Instead, she ignored the blood and the pain in her hand, and continued to strike stone against stone, again and again with no results. She was sure, had she turned around, he would have been smiling.

But she would not. She would not give him the satisfaction. Instead she examined the two pieces of stone, wondering what she was doing wrong. She observed the ridges and shapes upon them, and considered where she would get the most amount of friction, and the biggest chance of a spark. This time, she would test it first.

Lining the stones up, this time, she held them within her sight, out of reach of the cauldron, feeling how they were in her hands, for when she reached her hands beneath the cauldron she could not see what she was doing. She struck them together, and an orange ember shot across the room to dissolve against the stone floor.

Smiling to herself, finally triumphant, she turned back to face the cauldron, only to find Snape was right beside her, looming. She had not heard his feet. He lifted a hand from his pocket, in which there was a silver pocket watch. “You have ten minutes,” he intoned severely, “This is taking too long.”

And within a moment that ebony wand was drawn, and he had pointed it at the base of the cauldron. “Incendio.” A bright blew flame spurted to life beneath the cauldron. He handed her a crisp white handkerchief from the same pocket he had taken the watch. “If you get blood in the ingredients you will ruin them. Now hurry up.\"

Snape smirked down at her maliciously as he watched her turn away, and his body rocked with a silent chuckle at the force with which the Lacewings received their chopping.



****




What was she thinking? Hermione sat at a corner table at a bar, dressed in muggle clothing with both Harry and Ron. They were in a muggle district of London, the place was seedy and far from what anyone would call classy. There were animal heads in each corner, and dreadful neon lights gleaming in all their annoying glory above the occupants’ heads. Hermione also noticed that she was one of the only women in the bar, at least the only decent woman in this awful place. A broad with fishnet stockings sauntered in, whistles issued from all ends of the place. Her boots clicked irritably on the liquor and blood-stained floors, where glass cracked under every footstep.

What a dump.

The boys as usual were discussing their recent encounters with the opposite sex while she sat back in utter boredom and tried not to think of her lesson with Snape. All seemed the usual when Harry eyed the half exposed thigh of the new entrant.

“Damn, Ron. Check out those legs.” Harry was gaping, and at that moment, Hermione realized she lost the two of them to hormones and drugs.

“I bet she’d shag you for a hundred,” said Ron as he too without shame eyed the woman who went to sit up front at the bar.

Hermione was about to lose her temper. She was just so sick and tired of telling them both the right way to treat a woman, any woman, even one who was asking for those sorts of looks. Anyhow, the both of them hadn’t even once looked in her direction, and that was another reason for her to be cross with them, as if she was ruining their chances of scoring some. She rolled her eyes.

So she decided to tackle the problem with common sense: “I wish you two wouldn’t always just talk about sex, I mean, there’s much more to girls than their looks.” She folded her arms. “That can’t be all you think about? I remember the times when you would be worrying when the Dark Lord would strike again.”

“Get with the times, ‘Mione, we don’t like to discuss the job.” Ron grumbled.

Hermione snorted. “Sorry?”

“Yeah, you know, what we do that no one else can do better.” Harry had cut in.

“You consider saving lives and stopping an evil creature from inflicting more harm and evil on our society a job?” She looked at them in amazement. “I can’t believe how self-centred you both are, you used to actually care.

“We still care; we just can’t care all the time.” Harry muttered.

He had a point, but Hermione knew they were falling off-topic. She really wanted to tell them off for ey tha that woman; however, she hadn’t realized that the other woman wasn’t the only feminine body being eyed by strangers. Hermione felt the heated gaze, it wasn’t familiar, and yet, it wasn’t exactly unfamiliar.

Biting at her bottom lip, her head turned slightly into the direction of the watchful eyes. There was a man covered in black clothing, he had a pipe between his lips, forehead creased, heavy eyeliner drawn about the eyes. She quickly turned away, her breathing rather quick. She felt glad to be at the corner with both Harry and Ron, they were her protection. She smiled to herself, and just then, both her friends rose from their seats and turning their backs on her, slid over to the woman in fishnet stockings who was being chatted up by 85% of the male population in the bar.


Fuck.


She had the sudden urge to follow.

Approaching, she leaned heavily on the bar, her back turned to the other two, who were now deeply engrossed in their conversation with the whore. Ron had no idea that was what she was, of course, that type of women generally kept themselves hidden in the wizarding world. Harry, she thought, was rather oblivious, too.

The barmaid addressed her: “What can I get you?”

There were benefits of growing up in a muggle family, one of which was knowing which women were whores, another which was knowing the names of drinks in a muggle bar.

“Cocksucking Cowboy, please. Two of them.”

The barmaid smiled knowingly at her and poured them in an instant. Just as quickly, she had thrown one down and was contemplating the second.

“I must say I have a weak spot for cocksuckers, too.”

An Irish brogue broke through her thoughts, and Hermione turned her head to the man seated beside her.


Well, hello there.


She smirked lightly: “Though I hardly imagine you are talking about drinks.”

The man winked. “Perhaps I am, perhaps I’m not.”

She studied him. Tall, from the looks of it, with an expansehonehoney brown hair not unlike her own, tied back in a ponytail that hung dhis his back. A strong set, masculine jaw and bold features provided the perfect canvas for glittering blue eyes, and his voice was a little swirl of magic in this muggle world.

Her eyes met his. Not breaking eye contact, she downed the second shot. She hadn’t eaten much, they went straight to her head and she immediately felt dizzy, leaning more against the bar to support herself.

He smiled at her, and she was all but seduced. If she had not being holding onto the bar, her knees would have collapsed. He extended a hand. “Blaine Wright.”

She took a hold of that hand, that lightly tanned, golden skin, and electricity shot through her. A smile and a flick of the hair, an attempt at flirtation, which she was not very good at.

An arch of one honey eyebrow: “And your name?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Well, Hermione, could I buy you something that might last a little longer than a … cocksucking?”
She chuckled lightly. “You may buy me whatever you wish.”

“Would you like to grab a table? I don’t suspect you want to stand up all evening.” He gestured in the direction of the rest of the bar, and she nodded.

“Perhaps I can reclaim the table I had moments ago.”

She crossed back to the table she, Harry and Ron had been at, a booth with limited view. She hadn’t even noticed that property of the alcove before. Blaine joined her in a moment, carrying a glass of beer and what appeared to be Midori and lemonade.

“You seem like a sweet person.” He smiled as he laid it down before her.
Returning the grin, she lifted the glass and swirled it as he made himself comfortable across from her. “So… tell me a little about yourself.”

She thought for a moment of how to begin, and lifted the glass to her lips, taking a sip of the sweet liqueur. How does one skirt around the fact that one is a witch? But her thoughts were distracted… how odd… the room seemed to be moving, spinning. Gods, she was dizzy…

…Realisation dawned on her about the same time as her consciousness passed into oblivion.


End Chapter Two


~*~*~*~


A/N: Firstly I must clear up a few things: The Harry Potter Lexicon is where we had found the ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion, and the flame spell. The following quote \"there will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class\" was taken from of course, Harry Potter and the Philosopher\'s Stone, the film. Other than that, chapter three should be published shortly.

- Chris

Another A/N: Appologies for the long time between updates. We will attempt to make them more frequent, but we are two people with RLs as well, and, occasionally, I do like to steal Chris away for a chat that is not \'talking shop\'. This is our first fanfic publishd together, and, indeed, our first time publishing on AFF, ene though we have both been writing for quite a time. We understand that bumping without updating may have breached etiquette - well, we do now - and we shall refrain, where possible, in the future. But we did not appreciate those of you who rated our fic down because of that. The comments, yes, but that, no. Just because we did not fully understand the unspoken posting rules, does not mean our story is of any less worth. Let us know if we are going wrong, but please don\'t take it out on us like that.

- Lucretia