Seeking Oblivion

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This is Snape\'s lucky night, which will develop (hopefully) into something a little more lasting for our favourite Potions Master.


SEEKING OBLIVION

The library door eased open and a spare figure in elegant dress robes slipped into the enveloping darkness of the vast room. Closing the door as silently as it had opened, Professor Severus Snape leaned back, his eyes closing in relief. If there was one thing the Professor of Potions detested more than a Dumbledorean ball, it was a ball to which Harry Bloody Potter, The Boy Who Lived To Foul Up The Prophecy, and his confounded cohorts were invited as honoured gue

Ah, but my dear boy, it is the first anniversary of the Light’s victory. We owe it to the fallen that their sacrifice is commemorated, surely you agree with me?

As if Remus, Tonks, Moody, Draco and the rest would care. They’re dead, Albus. Neither sober memorials or drunken orgies will change that!

The stern features of The Man Who Struck The Blow twisted with remembered pain. Yes, let’s celebrate that a year ago today I watched my godson fall to his own father’s wand. Gather around to laugh at how Potter’s brainless belief in his own immortality caused him to fly at Voldemort without a wand, single-handedly casting away any chance we had of winning through unscathed.

Even the Weasley boy, surely history’s most hapless sidekick, had screamed Harry, no! as the Child of Fable launched his absurd assault. But No. Great Harry Potter alone must be seen to Save The Day.

Wanking incompetent. Lupin, his father’s friend, last of the Marauders, had fallen in a desperate attempt to deflect the four Killing Curses spearing toward the little prick. Half the Order’s stretched force had been diverted from their appointed task to save the life of one miserable youth. Severus snarled in remembering.

“Waste of magical energy.”

Damn, he was getting maudlin, the very thing he’d escaped the Great Hall to avoid. He could not have stood a moment longer, arrayed in his best black-on-black fitted robes, smiling inanely at the heedless gabblers while his heart cracked apart. Pushing himself upright, he angled his steps toward the Restricted Section in search of something - anything - to divert his mind from the supposed significance of the day.

He passed the dusty Yearbooks, recording every pupil to have passed through the lofty halls of Hogwarts, without a glance. He’d shed enough tears on his godson’s page, and Slytherins don’t cry, not even after their hearts have been ripped out and shredded. He swayed, the pounding in his head bringing a tart sting of vomit to his throat.

Damn Albus and his celebrations. Severus Snape was not going to take his expected place in that monkey house, no! He was going to find The Boke of Intoxicants. Carry it off to his private lab, and get himself plastered on a dozen different potions.

“Yeah, but did you get a look at those shoulders? Merlin, what a man!”

Oh, wonderful. Smack between him and oblivion, a pair of giggling Gryffindors.

Hermione Granger’s throaty voice climbed over an angled bookcase. Informed with laughter, blast her, surely she of the dread Dream Team should have some compassion for the dead tonight? And with her, the youngest Weasley, as of today an ex-student. Another fifteen years, Merlin willing, before another of that name would mince into a class conducted by Severus Snape.

“He’s never even noticed us as females, ‘Mione.” the younger girl was whining. Oh, joy; now he was being treated to the woes of Potter’s groupies, weeping because their idol ignored their not inconsiderable charms. Snape leaned into the shelves, inhaling the dust of years from the volumes. Well, hadn’t they seen him ogling young Creevey’s arse? Really, for a clever girl, Granger could be remarkably slow.

He shifted to a more comfortable slouch, oddly soothed by their soft speech. Hiding in a corner, debating their obsession with a cretin! Both had been present at the denouement. Was it too much to hope the decidedly unheroic behaviour of the Predestined Hero might have…

“Gods, I miss the way he stands!”

“Oooh, yes!” Weasley, breathy and awed, the silly chit. “At the front of the class…”

And which of his cretinous colleagues had allowed that puppified prick to strut before their blackboard?

Not Minerva. Despite her red-and-gold glasses, she had seen through the boy’s pretensions. Probably Flitwick, too jovial for his own good. Or the cow-eyed grasshopper Trelawney.

Just the thought of her brought out a nervous tic in his jaw.

“With his hip bumping the desk and his pelvis jutted,” Granger drooled. Funny, he‘d always imagined her having better taste. “Like he‘s just inviting you, come suck me, ladies!”

“Oooh, Merlin, yes!”

Ugh! The prospect of either of those girls giving a blowjob to that is going to make me vomit.

“And the way he glares down his nose,” Weasley rattled, ending on a gasp. “Never thought I’d say it, but I miss the days when he was unrelentingly brutal to us.”

Potter? Cruel to the adoring hordes? Or do I mean whores?

“Mmm, that gorgeous voice purring ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Longbottom.” Granger sounded ready to melt. “Yeah, it was a real turn-on when he let himself be completely vile to us Gryffindors.”

Merlin’s Balls, they’re talking about - me?

“It’s all right for you!” the younger wailed, oblivious to the man gagging for air behind the bookcase trying to fathom how his lecture stance could incite even the boldest witch to think like that. “At least he noticed you. I wasn’t bad at potions, but I wasn’t brilliant, either. All he could get at me for was being another bloody Weasel. You got singled out.”

“Mmmm.” He was going to faint. These girls were in the habit of seeing him, Severus Stoneface Snape, as a sex object? They liked being snarled at and abused?

Evidently so. Miss Granger’s words were whispery, a mere sliver of sound. “I used to get wet when he’d turn on me and take points for being an insufferable know-all. Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for your determination to thrust your encyclopaedic knowledge down our throats! And all the while, what I wanted to shove down his bloody throat was my tongue!”

They hooted. One hand over his mouth, Snape whimpered. This wasn’t happening.

It was some pathetic joke they were playing.

No. They had no idea he was in the library.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be.

He closed his eyes, groaning inside. He’d been with Dumbledore too long, just as Tom Riddle had screamed before he fell. He was catching the Gryffindor Goat’s tender conscience now.

He had to get away.

He backed to the end of the bookcase, eyes half-closed as he concentrated on the Muggle breathing exercises he’d learned to manage the agony of Crucio. Utterly dazed, he didn’t notice the two giggling teenagers heading for the same door until he bounced back from the younger’s impressive frontal padding.

“Oh, shit!”

Hermione Granger, a year out of school, contained her fright better than her newly-graduated companion, only the quiver in her greeting hinting at hhockhock. “Oh, hello, Professor. You’re lucky, you know. Eavesdroppers don’t usually hear such nice things said about them.”

“I will be taking points from Gryffindor at the beginning of next term, young woman, in memory of your insolence.”

Well, that’s what he wanted to say. What emerged, cracking from a bone-dry throat was “Um - no?”

He saw them share a glance, but through the hormonal haze clouding his brain, he failed to gather its meaning. Hermione slinked a pace closer, resting a hand over his racing heart.

“And what brings you to a dark, silent room, Professor Snape? Should you not be - celebrating?”

Ye Gods, girl, you’re giving him the flirty eyebrow! Lor’ he’s dishy when he’s all confused.

Severus gulped, filling his lungs with the flavours of vanilla and jasmine. “The memory of my godson’s death?”

Ginny closed in on his other side, standing on her toes to breathe hotly against his collar. “Not in the mood, Professor, that’s bad. Were you looking for something in particular?”

What was the girl doing, her hand caressing his cheek, and her friend, actually snuggling him?

He was floating. Had to be, the floor had melted from beneath his boots. The fact that two attractive witches were engaged in some delicious competition to see which could squirrel a way through his clothes first, he decided groggily, was hardly helping him provide coherent answers to their questions.

“Looking for a book.”

He was in a bad way, Ginny concluded, if he was only capable of stating the obviouEncoEncouraged, she pulled down his head, tracing her tongue around the delicate shell of his ear. “Which one?”

“Boke - of Intoxicants.”

Hermione’s tiny hand found a path inside his robes, her forefinger flicking loose the top button of his high-collared coat. “Seeking out oblivion?” she crooned, sliding her palm over the fine linen shirt beneath. “There are other ways to escape.”

“We can help.” Ginny was quick, her friend approved. If they played their cards right, with a woozy and aroused Snape caught between their supple curves, she might fulfil two of her fantasies - threesome and Restricted Section - in one go.

Then she’d have to thank the boys for dragging her to the pointless drinking binge she’d loudly condemned as an insult to the dead.

She latched her mouth onto his neck, uncertain whether her efforts or her friend’s had bared it, but profoundly grateful for the result of their bravery. Snape appeared to sag, his mouth falling open, allowing a whimper to break the heavy silence. Even Madam Pince was partying.

“You weren’t wrong, ‘Mione.” Ginny had abandoned his upper half to her associate, kneeling to huff her approbation to his groin. “Definitely yells come and get me.”

Hermione released the sinew down the side of his neck, satisfied he’d be marked there by morning. One hand easing inside his shirt to pop off the remaining fasteners, she smirked down at the younger witch. “Go ahead then, Gin. Your technique’s famous…”

“Far beyond Gryffindor,” Snape rasped, his knees losing their strength as realisation dawned. You’re going to get laid, Snape. Oh, my!

Nimble fingers freed his button fly, delving into his silk boxers with confident precision. He brought up an arm to drape over Hermione’s shoulder, in need of extra support.

Oh, he was an obedient child, she exulted. “I think there was something for me to shove down your throat, Severus?”

And if the use of his given name didn’t shake him out of his trance, they had it made.

“Oh, Merlin!” The Shag Queen of Gryffindor had not won her crown for nothing. A pair of warm lips teased the engorged head of his cock before sliding down his length to catch him in a dark cavern of moist delight. Severus was impressed: he was no boy, and to take him down easily, she must have…

A second source of stimulation cut the thought. Hermione’s mouth slanted greedily over his, her tongue matching the gentle, insistent pump of her cohort’s lips as his hips began to shift and his head to toss. He growled down Hermione’s throat, biting her bottom lip hard enough to pull a squeak before she returned the favour, tugging his robes right open with one hand while caressing his neck with the other.

He dropped his free hand into the auburn curls swirling around his cock, gently guiding a witch who needed no instruction from anyone on how to give good head. Ginny rocked her head, her long, slurping pulls sending shivers of sensation through him. Just as well I practised with bananas in the summer, he’s way too big for someone trained on boys, she congratulated herself, gripping his hips as his motions began to lose their rhythm. Her tongue flicked his underside in passing, her left hand making a grab for his scrotum. Snape groaned.

And Hermione worked his bared chest, apparently intent on licking each individual hair. Laid back against the dusty shelves, Severus loosed a howl of praise to the gods that had guided him to this pl

“Ah yes, oh Gods, I’m close,” he moaned, tangling the fingers not on her crown into the curling mane of her friend’s hair. Hermione took the hint, intensifying her oral assault on his right nipple while flicking the left to pebbled tightness her her thumb. She rubbed her face against him, velvet skin grazing his where his ribcage would have been, had he bones left, which he would have questioned.

His whole body stiffened under their combined caresses to glorious rigidity a split second before the overload of sensation blew out his brain, leaving him yelling, sobbing nonsense as he spilled hard into Ginny’s receptive gullet. The waves kept washing, higher, faster, until it all became too much. He fainted.

A/N Hope you\'ll excuse Ginny getting a look-in. Rest assured Hermione\'s turns will come in the next couple of chapters.