One Hundred And One Ways To Brew Lust
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
7,934
Reviews:
14
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
7,934
Reviews:
14
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
One Hundred And One Ways To Brew Lust
Chapter One
Hermione Granger could not believe it. This time, he was going to far. The Potions master was taking 10 points from Gryffindor for each student who had left out the root of mandrake from their Healing Potion.
Her hand shot up like lightening, and amidst the rumble of protest rising from half the class, she shouted, “Sir, that’s not fair! You can’t do that!”
Seated next to her, Harry groaned and slid down his chair. On her other side, Neville whispered frantically, “Shut up, Hermione!”
Harry couldn’t believe it. Seven years at Hogwarts, seven years of putting up with this tyrant, and Hermione still rose to the bait every time. For the brightest girl in their year, she could be awfully gullible at times.
Why Hermione had decided to continue in Potions was beyond Harry’s comprehension. She’d already declared that she wanted to go into Inter-Creature Relations, taking SPEW to the next level. The Ministry of Magic did not require Potions for that particular department. Harry and Neville had also stuck it out with potions, despite their vehement dislike for Snape. Harry still dreamed of becoming an Auror, and he wasn’t going to let a snake like Snape stand in his way. Neville, dead set on becoming a Healer, needed Potions to get into St. Mungo’s Healing Academy. Ron had wisely dropped Potions as soon as fifth year was over.
Snape turned his dark eyes slowly towards Hermione, and Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise. There was something distinctly shark-like about Snape’s movements.
“As usual, Miss Granger, you are out of order. An additional ten points from Gryffindor, and I will see you in my chambers for detention tonight at eight o’clock sharp!”
Hermione glared back at him in cold fury. When class was over, she stormed out of the dungeons, taking the stairs two by two, muttering: “Hateful man!”
***
At eight o’clock on the nose, Snape heard a sharp rapping on his door. He looked up from his piles of Potions essays, and took a last sip of the Offley’s port he’d been nursing. Smirking to himself, he ambled over to get the door.
“Miss Granger, right on time. Well, at least I won’t have to deduct further points from your house”.
Hermione looked around in surprise. She’d never seen Snape’s chambers before, as most detentions were held in teachers’ offices. But she was well aware that every night this month, Snape had been allowing Draco Malfoy and his idiot sidekicks to use his office to practice brewing all sorts of nasty things, ostensibly to prepare for NEWTs. She was sure that Malfoy was responsible for Ron’s mysterious outbreak of Turkey Pox last week. She scowled back at Snape, not wanting him to notice how shocked she was to learn that his rooms were actually rather pleasant.
Snape was looking forward to this evening. Detentions were normally tedious business. Give the student lines, “I promise never again to spill gillyweed powder into my Polyjuice Potion”, or some such rot. Meanwhile, Snape would tackle the latest pile of essays, and the evening would evolve at a snail’s pace. Tonight, however, Hermione Granger had earned herself the mother of all detentions. He’d had it up to here with her snarky remarks and irreverent behaviour. Snape had declared the closet in his front room out of bounds to the Hogwarts house elves, allowing it to deteriorate to the point where he himself wasn’t quite sure what was in it. Judging by the rattling he’d been hearing in there lately, he felt certain there was at least one Boggart in there, and possibly a few Pixies too.
“Well, Miss Granger, as it appears that copying lines has done little to deter your vile tongue in the past, your task for the evening will be to clean out that closet”.
Hermione seethed with rage. “I’m not your cleaning lady!” she cried indignantly. She regretted it almost instantly as Snape froze, staring back at her with a new level of hatred. He reached behind his desk to pull out an old wooden meter stick. His tone was deadly, barely audible.
“Come here, Miss Granger”.
Hermione knew she’d gone too far. She mumbled, “I’m sorry, Professor”.
“No, you’re not,” replied Snape. “But you will be”.
The next moments were a blur. Hermione felt herself being foisted against the desk. Snape’s hand held her head down on the desk, and he brought the stick down on her backside one, two, three…. Ten times. Hermione was in tears by the end of it. It hadn’t hurt much at all; her robes had protected her well. She was crying more from the shock and humiliation of it.
Snape pulled her upright and eyed her with satisfaction. “That should teach you to hold your tongue unless I tell you otherwise!” Hermione knew better that to yell back what was on the tip of her tongue: “Actually, it didn’t hurt one bit!”
“Now”, said Snape, “on with the closet cleaning. You would be well-advised to have your wand at the ready”. With a final smug expression, he went back to correcting his essays and ignored her.
Hermione took a moment to compose herself, and decided right then that she would never again allow Snape to see her come unravelled. With new resolve she threw open the closet door, only to come face-to-face with the largest Troll she’d ever seen. This one was even uglier than the one she’d faced many years ago in the girls’ bathrooms. It was far too tall for the room, and had to hunch itself over, making it appear all the more menacing. A moment of blind panic hit her, until she realised that this must be a Boggart.
“R-riddikulus”, she cried shakily. With a crack the Troll disappeared and was replaced by the dead bodies of Ron and Harry. “R-r-iddikulus!!” Crack! A tall, thin figure appeared in black robes. Spider-like white fingers, far too long to be human, emerged from an outstretched arm. Hermione felt the blood drain from her as she raised her arm once more to try again.
“It’s just a Boggart. It’s just a Boggart”, reperepeated to herself like a mantra.
The figure reached out to her, and with a thrill of terror she caught a glimpse of two red, snake-like eyes beneath its black hood. Those long bony fingers were about to encircle her neck….
“Riddikulus!!!”
Snape’s cold, steady voice was the last thing she heard before collapsing into blackness.
Hermione Granger could not believe it. This time, he was going to far. The Potions master was taking 10 points from Gryffindor for each student who had left out the root of mandrake from their Healing Potion.
Her hand shot up like lightening, and amidst the rumble of protest rising from half the class, she shouted, “Sir, that’s not fair! You can’t do that!”
Seated next to her, Harry groaned and slid down his chair. On her other side, Neville whispered frantically, “Shut up, Hermione!”
Harry couldn’t believe it. Seven years at Hogwarts, seven years of putting up with this tyrant, and Hermione still rose to the bait every time. For the brightest girl in their year, she could be awfully gullible at times.
Why Hermione had decided to continue in Potions was beyond Harry’s comprehension. She’d already declared that she wanted to go into Inter-Creature Relations, taking SPEW to the next level. The Ministry of Magic did not require Potions for that particular department. Harry and Neville had also stuck it out with potions, despite their vehement dislike for Snape. Harry still dreamed of becoming an Auror, and he wasn’t going to let a snake like Snape stand in his way. Neville, dead set on becoming a Healer, needed Potions to get into St. Mungo’s Healing Academy. Ron had wisely dropped Potions as soon as fifth year was over.
Snape turned his dark eyes slowly towards Hermione, and Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise. There was something distinctly shark-like about Snape’s movements.
“As usual, Miss Granger, you are out of order. An additional ten points from Gryffindor, and I will see you in my chambers for detention tonight at eight o’clock sharp!”
Hermione glared back at him in cold fury. When class was over, she stormed out of the dungeons, taking the stairs two by two, muttering: “Hateful man!”
***
At eight o’clock on the nose, Snape heard a sharp rapping on his door. He looked up from his piles of Potions essays, and took a last sip of the Offley’s port he’d been nursing. Smirking to himself, he ambled over to get the door.
“Miss Granger, right on time. Well, at least I won’t have to deduct further points from your house”.
Hermione looked around in surprise. She’d never seen Snape’s chambers before, as most detentions were held in teachers’ offices. But she was well aware that every night this month, Snape had been allowing Draco Malfoy and his idiot sidekicks to use his office to practice brewing all sorts of nasty things, ostensibly to prepare for NEWTs. She was sure that Malfoy was responsible for Ron’s mysterious outbreak of Turkey Pox last week. She scowled back at Snape, not wanting him to notice how shocked she was to learn that his rooms were actually rather pleasant.
Snape was looking forward to this evening. Detentions were normally tedious business. Give the student lines, “I promise never again to spill gillyweed powder into my Polyjuice Potion”, or some such rot. Meanwhile, Snape would tackle the latest pile of essays, and the evening would evolve at a snail’s pace. Tonight, however, Hermione Granger had earned herself the mother of all detentions. He’d had it up to here with her snarky remarks and irreverent behaviour. Snape had declared the closet in his front room out of bounds to the Hogwarts house elves, allowing it to deteriorate to the point where he himself wasn’t quite sure what was in it. Judging by the rattling he’d been hearing in there lately, he felt certain there was at least one Boggart in there, and possibly a few Pixies too.
“Well, Miss Granger, as it appears that copying lines has done little to deter your vile tongue in the past, your task for the evening will be to clean out that closet”.
Hermione seethed with rage. “I’m not your cleaning lady!” she cried indignantly. She regretted it almost instantly as Snape froze, staring back at her with a new level of hatred. He reached behind his desk to pull out an old wooden meter stick. His tone was deadly, barely audible.
“Come here, Miss Granger”.
Hermione knew she’d gone too far. She mumbled, “I’m sorry, Professor”.
“No, you’re not,” replied Snape. “But you will be”.
The next moments were a blur. Hermione felt herself being foisted against the desk. Snape’s hand held her head down on the desk, and he brought the stick down on her backside one, two, three…. Ten times. Hermione was in tears by the end of it. It hadn’t hurt much at all; her robes had protected her well. She was crying more from the shock and humiliation of it.
Snape pulled her upright and eyed her with satisfaction. “That should teach you to hold your tongue unless I tell you otherwise!” Hermione knew better that to yell back what was on the tip of her tongue: “Actually, it didn’t hurt one bit!”
“Now”, said Snape, “on with the closet cleaning. You would be well-advised to have your wand at the ready”. With a final smug expression, he went back to correcting his essays and ignored her.
Hermione took a moment to compose herself, and decided right then that she would never again allow Snape to see her come unravelled. With new resolve she threw open the closet door, only to come face-to-face with the largest Troll she’d ever seen. This one was even uglier than the one she’d faced many years ago in the girls’ bathrooms. It was far too tall for the room, and had to hunch itself over, making it appear all the more menacing. A moment of blind panic hit her, until she realised that this must be a Boggart.
“R-riddikulus”, she cried shakily. With a crack the Troll disappeared and was replaced by the dead bodies of Ron and Harry. “R-r-iddikulus!!” Crack! A tall, thin figure appeared in black robes. Spider-like white fingers, far too long to be human, emerged from an outstretched arm. Hermione felt the blood drain from her as she raised her arm once more to try again.
“It’s just a Boggart. It’s just a Boggart”, reperepeated to herself like a mantra.
The figure reached out to her, and with a thrill of terror she caught a glimpse of two red, snake-like eyes beneath its black hood. Those long bony fingers were about to encircle her neck….
“Riddikulus!!!”
Snape’s cold, steady voice was the last thing she heard before collapsing into blackness.