Be My Valentine, Professor Snape - REPOST :)

A/N: JUST A LITTLE REPOST FOR VALENTINE'S DAY. HAVE A GREAT ONE, EVERYONE! ***


Chapter 1 ~ Everyone Deserves a Valentine

The year was two-thousand and seven. Harry Potter and his irritating friends had long since graduated, and Voldemort was killed in the Final battle years ago by Harry, with the help of Hermione Granger and Professor Severus Snape.

Harry served as an Auror for the Ministry, and Hermione Granger was a researcher for the Department of Spells, also employed by the Ministry. Ronald Weasley married Susan Bones and already had four children. He worked with his father Arthur, also at the Ministry. Neither Harry nor Hermione had tied the knot yet or had any prospects.

Tonight had been the annual St. Valentine’s Dance. Harry and Hermione also attended, serving as additional chaperones. Harry really wasn’t too vigilant, and was looking forward to the inevitable spiked punch. On several occasions Hermione had to elbow him in the ribs to make him break apart heavily snogging students.

“Gods, Hermione…it’s Valentine’s Day. Have a heart,” he said to her before half-heartedly doing his duty.

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Professor Severus Snape strode toward his offices, in a terrible mood. This in itself was no great surprise however considering he had spent his evening waving away cherubs, trying to keep the punch from being spiked (he failed) and pulling groping students from out of dark corners.

It was always this way at the St. Valentine’s dance he was forced to attend every year, and also to brew at least a gallon of “Morning After” potion for Poppy to administer to a number of witches who got “caught up in the (drunken) passion of the moment” the night before. The wizards at Hogwarts always looked forward to Valentine’s Day, which they secretly dubbed “Shagging Day.” A box of chocolates, a few flowers, a bit of dancing and a couple of cups of spiked punch…and a successful shag was virtually assured.

It was better than Christmas.

“They should call it “St. Fucking Day” Snape snorted to himself, stopping in front of his office and removing the ward.

It didn’t matter what the day was called to the Professor…he didn’t have a valentine or anyone to fuck in either case. He suffered through every Valentine’s Day this way. Yes, he could go to the brothel and get a quick lay, but that was far from adequate. Prostitutes were only for coming and going. The moment the Potions Master finished, he’d leap off of the witch as if she had turned into flame and scourgified himself thoroughly. Not the best close for sex.

But what was a snarky bastard to do?

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In the staff room, the Hogwarts' staff was finishing off the spiked punch and getting pretty tipsy. Madame Pomfrey would be doling out sober-up potion to more than students tomorrow morning.

Flitwick and Minerva were in the corner arguing about something inconsequential while refilling their glasses. Sybil was reading Sinistra’s palm, her skinny, bangled arms waving about dramatically, multi-colored scarves trailing. Hagrid and Firenz were in another corner, Hagrid with his arm draped around the centaur’s neck and talking animatedly as Firenz listened good-naturedly, nodding.

Madam Pomfrey had retired early. She needed to be well-rested to treat all the hangovers that would be flying at her tomorrow. Hopefully she had enough sober-up potion in her stores.

Hermione was good and lit. The witch had a weakness for alcohol, but normally didn’t indulge in it unless around people she knew and trusted. She could act a real fool under the influence. The witch was lit now, her face red and giggling over what Harry was saying about Valentine’s Day as a whole.

“I tell you, Hermione…they should call it Shagging Day. When I was in Hogwarts, we waited all year for Valentine’s Day…it was the only time of the year where witches let their guards down and their robes up,” he said with a wicked grin, pouring himself and Hermione a big cup of spiked punch.

“Well, what happened this year?” Hermione asked him, smiling.

“I didn’t plan ahead, so didn’t have anyone on the roster when the day came around,” Harry said, “I missed my opportunity. It’s not like I’m around as many witches now like when I was in Hogwarts.”

“At least you have opportunities, Harry. I imagine Severus is down in the dungeons alone as he is every year. No one gives him Valentines,” Albus said a bit sadly as he swayed his way over to a chair. He sat down heavily, his chin dropping to his chest. The Headmaster was ripped. That punch was really something.

“No Valentine. How sad,” Hermione said, her face falling. Harry looked at her incredulously.

“Sad? He’d probably hex anyone who tried to give him a lacy heart…not to mention asked him to be a Valentine. Asking him to be a pallbearer? I can see that…but a Valentine? Not if they wanted to walk away with both legs,” Harry said.

“I…I bet people are just scared to ask him,” Hermione said, more to herself than Harry. That alcohol was doing a damn good job on her.

“Smart people,” Harry said, dropping into a chair and looking rather sleepy.

Harry began to drift off. Albus sleepily roused himself, transfigured a chair into a bed, then flopped down in it, snoring instantly.

Hermione poured herself another glass of punch, thinking about poor Snape, down in the dungeons who didn’t receive a Valentine from anyone. Hermione’s drunken sympathies were conveniently slipping around the fact the snarky wizard most likely hated Valentine’s Day and didn’t want to be anyone’s blasted Valentine.

“It’s so sad,” Hermione said to herself, “No one cares…so…so sad.”

Too bad Harry had conked out. If he hadn’t…he might have been able to stop what happened next. Swaying, Hermione pulled out her wand and changed a napkin into a very frilly Valentine’s Day card, then using the tip of her wand scrawled, “Be My Valentine, Professor Snape.” The handwriting was atrocious.

Hermione picked up the card and looked at her handiwork.

“Perrrrrfect,” she said, weaving her way to the staff room door and out of it. No one even noticed she left as most were nodding off or engaged in drinking more punch. There was quite a bit of it.

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Snape was in his study. He had just peeled off his robes and undergarments. He put on his black housecoat and slippers, then sat down to enjoy a nightcap before bed. He was just bringing the glass to his mouth when an amplified knock sounded on his office door. He had it magicked that way so he could hear visitors when in his private rooms.

He sat there a moment. Who the hell would be knocking on HIS door at this time of night? They had to know there’d be hell to pay. Snape walked into his bedroom, retrieved his wand, then opened the bookcase and walked into the office. The knocking continued. Snape ripped open the door and Hermione stumbled in, crashing into him and driving both herself and the wizard back into his desk.

“Miss Granger!” Severus bellowed as the witch’s hands clutched all over him for a handhold. She accidentally groped his ‘assets’ in the process before he pushed the witch off him.

“What are you doing here…and drunk?” Severus demanded as Hermione made a valiant effort to straighten herself, standing up very straight and tossing her hair back with a flourish.

“I’m here…I’m here, Professor…to right a very great wrong concerning you,” she said, her voice a bit slurred.

“A what?” Snape asked, frowning at the inebriated witch. The first four buttons of her robes appeared to have fallen off and he could see her creamy white throat clearly.

“A very great wrong!” Hermione reiterated, reaching into her robes pocket, failing the first couple of tries, then drawing out something very pink.

“This is for you, Professor,” she said, holding out the card.

Against his better judgment, Snape took the card, frowned at the laciness, opened it and read the drunken scrawl. He looked up at her.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked the witch, his face twisted.

Hermione shook her head exaggeratedly.

“Nope. I mean it from the bottom of my heart. Be my Valentine, Professor Snape,” she said.

Then she walked forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him down and kissed him. Not a nice, chaste kiss either…but shoved her tongue deep into the shocked wizard’s mouth and scoured it, pressing her body against his.

Snape was so shocked, he didn’t react…at least not violently. Despite being drunk…Hermione was quite a kisser, especially concerning intimate kisses. The Potions Master found himself responding and quite quickly. He made no attempt to break the kiss but let the witch invade his mouth and rub her body against him. He was getting a hard-on. He wore nothing under his housecoat but skin, and he was getting an erection.

Hermione pulled away from his mouth.

“Now, wasn’t that nice?” she said to the wizard, who stared down at her, his black eyes glinting. “A hot Valentine’s Day kiss. Everyone should have one of those. Even snarky Potions Masters.”

“It’s no longer Valentine’s Day, Miss Granger. It was over two hours ago,” Snape said to the witch, his eyes now drifting over her consideringly.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. It’s Valentine’s Day until morning,” she responded smiling. “Wow. I wish I had some more punch.”

Both of Severus’ eyebrows rose. Miss Granger was extremely inebriated already. He really shouldn’t encourage her…

“I don’t have punch, but I do have a rather sweet wine in my study,” the wizard said to her.

No one ever came to the Potions Master’s private rooms.

“Ooh, I like wine,” Hermione said, just walking through the open wall without any hesitation.

Snape stuck his head out the open door, looked up and down the dungeon corridor, then closed the door, warded it securely, then followed Hermione into his study, closing the wall behind him. Hermione was fanning herself.

“My…is it always this hot in here?” Hermione asked him.

“The dungeons are extremely cold this time of year. I keep a good fire,” the wizard said.

“I feel as if I’m roasting,” Hermione said, “Do you mind if I take off my robes?”

“Not at all,” Snape replied, walking over to his liquor cabinet, selecting the largest glass he had and filling it to the brim with wine as Hermione removed her robes, revealing a white dress with thin straps that clung to her curves quite alluringly.

“That is quite the dress to hide under your robes, Miss Granger,” Snape said, eyeing the dress appreciatively as he handed her the huge glass of wine.

“Well, you never know. I might have had to take my robes off for someone. I wanted to make a good impression if that happened. It fits really well,” she said turning for him.

“Indeed,” the Potions Master said, arching an eyebrow at the witch before walking to one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace and sitting down. Hermione joined him, taking a big sip of wine.

“My that is sweet!” she said.

“Sangria,” the wizard responded, looking at the witch as she kicked off her low-heeled white shoes and curled her legs up in his armchair, leaning back and looking at the fire.

Hermione had grown up to be quite a pretty witch, though not devastatingly beautiful.

“How old are you now, Miss Granger?” Snape asked her, sipping his drink.

“I’m twenty-seven,” she said, “Getting old.”

Snape snorted.

“Hardly,” he said shortly, his eyes washing over her curves.

Hermione fell silent for a few seconds, then said, “Professor, do you have any music? I feel like listening to some music.”

Snape looked at her. She comes down to his rooms drunk at an indecent hour and now wants to listen to music. He should throw the drunk little tart out on her ass. But instead he fetched his wizarding wireless and watched her fiddle the dial until she came to a station that seemed to be playing…very primal music. Heavy, thumping bass and drum line, slow…rather sexy. Hermione listened for a few seconds then clapped her hands together.

“Oh it’s Muggle Oldie Night!” she exclaimed.

Snape looked at her. Muggle Oldies? Oh good gods. He was a classical music man himself. But he didn’t say a word as Hermione placed her glass of wine on the small table between the chairs, jumped up and stood in front of the fireplace, swaying slightly to the music.

Snape watched her. The fire shined through her dress and he could see the curvaceous outline of her body clearly. It was like a peepshow.

The wizard didn’t bother questioning his ethics. He had none right now. Hermione was twenty-seven years old. She’d come to his room in the middle of the night, asked him to be her Valentine, kissed him, accepted more to drink, wanted music and now was dancing rather sensuously in front of him.

Ethics couldn’t hold a wand to this. Nothing could actually. Nothing had ever happened to him like this in his entire life. It was like a story out of Playwizard. Severus Snape was a snarky, grouchy, bastard of a wizard…but he knew an opportunity when he saw it. He would just wait to see what would happen. It could be that the witch would drink herself into a stupor and nothing would happen at all. He didn’t plan to touch her if she didn’t want to be touched. He was an opportunist, but not to that extent.

Suddenly a very sexy, odd song came on. It was American, a chorus of soulful male voices singing in harmony, with soft, rather nasal sensual vocals.

{Click here to hear song}http://www.theburningpen.com/val/ewf.m3u

You want my love and you can't deny

Hermione let out a little squeal.

You know its true, but you try to hide
You turn down love like its really bad
You can't give what you never had

“Oh I LOVE this song! Can’t Hide Love by Earth, Wind and Fire! Oh my gods!” she said, beginning to dance in earnest, slowly and sexily, Snape staring at her as he listened to the music’s lyrics.

Hermione’s eyes closed as she wound her hips in front of the fire, looking like some kind of fallen angel in her white dress, barefoot, her hair wild around her head and eyes half-lidded, the silhouette of her body surrounded by flame.

Snape drew in a breath as his half-mast erection went full mast, popping through the gap in his housecoat. He quickly covered it as best he could, pulling the fabric to the side. Hermione didn’t see his unintentional flash, but the tent was apparent. He wasn’t about to tuck his organ down between his legs…it would be too uncomfortable. His cock was too big for that kind of treatment.

Hermione chose to open her eyes at that moment and saw him pulling the fabric of his housecoat over his lap and saw the huge tent beneath his housecoat. Snape looked up and met her eyes with his dark orbs. He frowned slightly at her as if expecting the witch to say something ultimately rejecting. He was used to that after all.

Hermione stopped dancing.

“I’m a terrible Valentine, aren’t I, Professor?” she said, her voice not sounding as slurred as before. Maybe getting a look at the size of that tent sobered the witch a little.

Snape didn’t answer her. Let her answer her own question.

“I come into your rooms drunk, get drunker, start dancing all around…not thinking how it must make you feel. I bet you’re lonely, Professor…and I come here and make you feel lonelier. I’m sorry,” Hermione said softly, “I’m surprised you haven’t thrown me out yet.”

“I don’t want to throw you out, Miss Granger,” the wizard replied, holding his housecoat over his swollen cock. His voice sounded a bit hoarse. “You can stay all night if that is what you want. It’s true. I don’t ever have company, and you are pleasant on the eyes. There are worse ways to spend my nights. Continue dancing, Miss Granger. It is no imposition, believe me.”

Hermione looked at him consideringly, and the way he was holding his housecoat. No, she clearly wasn’t an imposition. Snape was enjoying watching her dance. She turned him on. That was quite a heady thing to realize. She believed Professor Snape to be the coldest wizard she’d ever known. But that tent proved he was human after all, and didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t say that, but he implied it. He was too proud to ask her to stay.

Professor Snape was a hero, a hero who never received any of the attention Harry did…not that he wanted it, but had anyone ever shown him appreciation? Oh, they gave lip service about it, but had anyone rewarded him with something he really enjoyed? She wanted to ask him, but it was too personal. Hermione was sobering. And despite that fact, she found she wanted to stay here for a bit longer and dance for the wizard. It was harmless enough, and she had a little exhibitionist in her.

“All right, Professor,” she said softly.

The wizard seemed to visibly relax as she began to move again, this time conscious of her motions and purposely dancing erotically. All she needed was a pole and a purse to put some galleons in.

Snape became so caught up in watching her, his hand slipped from his housecoat, the tented fabric falling away and his erection standing straight up, thick and pale in his lap. Hermione, who had been dancing turned toward the fireplace, turned around to face the wizard, her eyes going wide as she saw his huge cock sticking up at full mast, the wizard apparently unaware it was showing. Hermione quickly turned back around.

“Damn,” she thought, “He’s huge. Oh my gods…what if he wants to…wants to…”

Snape noticed a change in the way Hermione was dancing, then saw that he was exposed. She must have seen his cock. She was going to leave now.

Ah well, it had been entertaining while it lasted. Certainly the best Valentine’s Day present he’d ever received from anyone, even if it was the result of a drunken bout of pity on the witch’s part.

Severus covered himself again then said, “I’m very sorry, Miss Granger. I should have been paying better attention to my…er…presence, but you are quite distracting. I suppose you are ready to leave now.”

Hermione turned around and looked at the wizard. He kept his face carefully neutral as he looked back at the witch. He wasn’t going to try and impede her in any way.

“Are you asking me to leave, Professor?” Hermione asked him.

“No, but considering what just happened, I would think you would be distinctly uncomfortable to remain in my presence,” the wizard replied.

Hermione gave him a rather measuring look.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Hermione replied, “But for some reason, Professor, I’m not exactly uncomfortable. A bit…well…a bit divided.”

Snape arched an eyebrow at her.

“Divided, Miss Granger? What do you mean by that?” he asked her.

“A part of me is telling me I should leave,” she said softly, “But another part of me is suggesting I take a closer look at what you’re trying so hard to hide.”

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A/N LOLOL Oh man, belated Holiday porn. I am feeling a little better as you can probably tell. PWP and nothing much else…thanks for reading. Next chapter will probably be the end. Can’t take much time with it between Song and Secret. Just felt like a light, lemony little story for a bit of relaxation. Thanks for reading.