His Alone

Title: His Alone
Pairing: Hermione Granger/ Severus Snape
Rating: NC-17
Summary: On the night of her graduation, Hermione finds solace in an unexpected person.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything pertaining to Harry Potter. No money is being made from this little bit of fiction.

AN:I have re-posted this fic, as I went through and fixed up about a zillion grammatical errors! So thanks to those of you who have read this fic and reviewed! And to those of you who haven't, then please do have a read!! ^___^

His Alone

It might come as a surprise, but believe it or not, she was used to being overlooked. Hermione Granger’s life at Hogwarts wasn’t the only life she knew, as her Muggle heritage was indicative of. She was apart from both worlds however; a part of her Muggle, a part of her witch, living in a society which was highly discriminating (depending on one’s social circle or personal outlook).

As a witch, she was very intelligent. She had read all of the prescribed school texts from years one to seven and had taken her N.E.W.T.s with the knowledge what she might very well be dux of Hogwarts. Hermione Granger had also read as many library books on as many topics as possible that her limited free time allowed, though possessing the Time-Turner in her third year had certainly helped add to the count.

Her two best friends acknowledged her innate intellectual talent and sought to make as much use of it as possible; Hermione understood this, and on most occasions allowed it, never allowing herself to feel used in any way.

However, aside from her astounding intelligence, Hermione knew that she was lacking as a person. As a first year, she had failed to connect with any member in her house. She had had no friends, at least not until Harry and Ron had come along and saved her from a nasty troll. But then, why should people be friends with that awkward, bushy-haired, buck-toothed know-it-all? She would obviously be no fun, what with her nose in a book all the time and her getting perfect marks on her school work -- what a bore.

Kids could be cruel; Hermione had understood that from a young age. Mainly because she was mostly the target for ridicule and scorn, though she could never remember ever slighting another person in her life. In fact, it was rare for her to even talk or interact with people her own age; she had at one point thought that perhaps they had mistaken her shyness for arrogance, but she soon realised that that wasn’t the case. People her age just didn’t like her or understand her.

Before her life as a witch, or even the knowledge that she was a witch, her Muggle life hadn’t been any better than her wizard one at Hogwarts. She was still strange, too intelligent, and funny things always seemed to happen around her. She was plain looking, and had been as a little child and even elderly ladies passing on the street wouldn’t feel the need to coo at the serious little girl, like they usually would any other child.

Hermione’s parents also hadn’t exactly welcomed the fact she was a witch with open arms. They had been scared and confused, completely lacking Hermione’s excitement. She soon found out that they were disappointed that their only child was different to them, who despite her intelligence, wouldn’t follow in her parents’ footsteps and become a dentist. And they weren’t even able to have any more children, due to medical reasons.

And while they weren’t thrilled, they certainly didn’t stop loving her; it just became more difficult for them to show. They were afraid of her, of her powers, of what she would become. She was foreign to them, and so, they too began to feel that they couldn’t relate to her either, much like the children at her two schools.

As a matter of fact, by the end of her N.E.W.T.S Hermione had been offered apprenticeships, the opportunity to study mastery in a number of areas, and been offered numerous good quality and interesting jobs. Even so, she couldn’t help but feel lacking, once again. She knew she had offers that loads of others in her position would scratch her eyes out for, but despite this she felt a deep, unsettling melancholy.

Nobody really understood her, not her parents, her teachers, her peers and certainly not her best friend and her boyfriend. Harry and Ron had tried, she understood that, and they did get along brilliantly most of the time. But there were times when Hermione felt she had no one to talk to, no one to discuss ideas for the future or merely for intellectual enjoyment.

Ron was a decent boyfriend, even if he did hound her for sex every other minute. She had yet to give in and something inside her continued to persist in doing so. He could be jealous and possessive, but then Ron could also be like that about his best friend, Harry. It was just in his nature, and probably had something to do with growing up in a large family and never owning anything that was ever truly his own.

So on the night of her graduation from Hogwarts, alone since her Muggle parents weren’t able to make it through the anti-Muggle wards, Hermione was feeling down and depressed. There were others in her situation, she certainly wasn’t the only Muggle-born or half-blood, but that didn’t help her feel any better.

During dessert she got up, and quietly left the Great Hall, not interested in the sweets that she knew would rot the toughest of teeth, and she wandered out towards the main exit of the castle. It was dark outside, and there was a distinct chill in the sweet spring air, but it was refreshing as she stepped out into it.

She walked slowly down the stone path, deviating off towards the lake. It was quiet out here, and though she didn’t want to admit it, Hermione really just wanted to wallow alone in her own self-pity. She knew she could’ve tried harder to fit in, and for a minute she actually lamented not doing so. But then reality gave her a good kick, and she knew there was nothing she could have feasibly done to change how people saw her. She would always be Hermione, the girl whose name you know, the girl who got somewhere in life, who appeared to have it all, but not the girl called you called for a late night chat, or invited to help you find the perfect wedding dress.

Feeling a sob trying to force itself from her throat, Hermione looked out across the lake to distract herself, and a gasp thankfully took its place. There, on the lake’s edge near the Forbidden Forest, was a figure sprawled out on the ground.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

The figure was on his or her back, legs stretched out, and… yes, arms back leaning their head against their hands. Her rational mind kicked in, telling her that this was not a victim, just someone having a moment alone much like she was. Releasing a pent up breath, Hermione relaxed again. But the mood had been disturbed, and loneliness began creeping in, and suddenly she craved the company of another.

With a sharp pang of emotion in her chest, she contemplated going over and seeing who it was that was lying so still beside the lake, and on the side that was considered the most dangerous due to its proximity to the forbidden forest. In fact, she was almost certain that the person was male, because now that she looked, the figure lacked the very conspicuous shape of breasts. He also appeared tall, and thin, and again Hermione wondered just who it was. Someone’s dad, perhaps? She could see the faint glow of pale skin, though the rest of the body was draped in the blackness of night.

Her feet made the decision for her, moving one after the other towards the supine figure. She crept with a light tread, barely disturbing the soft grass, but with swiftness. She managed to make it almost all the way over to the man before he heard her, and Hermione couldn’t contain her gasp when a profile view of him revealed just who it was.

Professor Snape.

“Oh!” she exclaimed quietly.

“Miss Granger,” Snape intoned quietly, his almost excessively deep voice rippling through the darkness. He sat up, his long legs still stretched out before him. “And just what do I owe for the dubious pleasure of your company?”

Hermione’s eyes widened briefly, for she detected not a trace of anger or irritation in his voice. At least, that’s what she assumed it was that was missing, since she’d never heard him use this particular tone before. It was relaxed, without much inflection at all.

Realising he was waiting for an answer, she sought to find one. “I… ah, I was just going for a final walk before I leave tomorrow. I didn’t realise… well no, that’s a lie since I could see someone was out here, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t realise that it was you out here, sir.”

“Indeed,” he mumbled, before turning away from her and leaning back down against the grass again, starting up at the starless sky.

Hermione’s curiosity grew as this seemed to be very un-Snape-like behaviour. “Sir, do you mind me asking if there is anything wrong?”

Snape was silent for a moment, and he looked relaxed- a very strange thing for Snape, and Hermione smiled grimly at the thought.

“I’m sure it will come as a surprise, but the absolute same thing as you, Miss Granger.”

Hermione blinked. “You’re not coming back to Hogwarts next year?” she blurted, forgetting his title.

Snape’s thin lips quirked into a smirk and his eyes seemed to glitter in the night. “Very astute, Miss Granger- you are correct, I have only just this morning tendered my resignation.”

“Oh, well, ah… congratulations, sir, I think,” she smiled for some reason at her own words. She suddenly felt awkward standing while Professor Snape was sprawled on the ground, though that was probably because she had always felt beneath him, and here, seeing him as she were from a physically higher perspective, felt wrong. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, before sighing and plopping down on the ground beside him. “You don’t mind, sir?”

Snape’s eyes moved and focused on her, narrowed, then relaxed again. “I don’t care what you do, Granger,” he said, looking up at the sky again. “And thank you, congratulations are certainly in order.”

An owl hooted from somewhere in the forest and Hermione shivered. She eyed Snape speculatively and followed his lead, lying herself down beside him, probably closer than she had ever been to him in the past seven years.

There was never quite silence, though Hermione was unable to hear the certain din that would be inevitable in the Great Hall at this present moment.

After a few minutes, Hermione overcame her shock of finding Professor Snape out by the lake and began remembering her own reasons for evading the happy crowd inside. She swallowed as her melancholy tried to engulf her again and turned her attention instead to Snape.

His eyes were closed, and in fact he wasn’t looking at the sky at all. She was struck by how unusual this current situation was, a situation where she was lying beside Snape on the edge of the lake, watching his face and realising just how long his black eyelashes were. His eyebrows might’ve been manicured too, though up close his hair was certainly greasy- however, her proximity allowed her to catch his scent and his hair certainly didn’t smell unclean.

“What are you going to do now?” Hermione whispered, wanting to hear him speak to remind her that this was reality.

“For now… nothing. Just… nothing,” Snape murmured, sounding close to sleep. But he opened his eyes and shifted his head towards her, his eyes finding hers, and again Hermione shivered, but not from the cold. He almost looked out of sorts, or perhaps he really was just relaxed.

“Me too,” Hermione answered, surprising herself. She had been deliberating on her decision for too many long hours these past few months, and it seemed that during a spur of the moment conversation with Snape that she had finally made her decision.

Snape raised a brow at her, and Hermione felt a silly urge to giggle, so she did, hoping that the quiet little spasms wracking her person didn’t turn to tears.

“I am free,” Snape murmured suddenly.

“I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“No… I-- I need to reconnect with my family, I think.” Yes, that sounded reasonable. Spend time with her alienated parents, now that she was an adult she could hopefully find common interests and hopefully get them to feel more comfortable with her magical abilities.

“Very admirable,” Snape muttered, and rolled onto his side facing her. He was close, too close now, so close that she could see the faint stubble on his jaw.

Snape was studying her face, at least that’s what Hermione thought he was doing. She was glad it was almost entirely dark because quite suddenly she was blushing hotter than she ever had. She couldn’t stand to look at his eyes, so instead focused on his nose, the very nose that had been the source of ridicule, a nose that really wasn’t all that bad. So it was big, but the rest of his face was well suited to it; it wasn’t too disproportionate and a quick look down showed that he also sported rather large hands and feet.

“Why so lost, Miss Granger?” Snape asked and his attention was focused unblinkingly on her face.

It came so suddenly that Hermione wondered just where the thought had come from, but the main thing that struck her was that Snape was a man. Not that he was male, but that he was a man, and he was close to her, and… oh… now wasn’t that an exciting thought?

“I’m not sure, yet,” she answered instead, averting her eyes from his intense gaze. A distinct pool of warmth was slowly filling her lower belly and Hermione felt like slapping herself for getting… excited, over her teacher.

“I would never have thought you would be without direction, Miss Granger. You’re two half-witted side kicks perhaps, but not you.” Snape said slowly, enunciating every word to perfection.

“They’re not so bad, and you know Harry…” She trailed off, distracted momentarily by the memory of the Final Battle between the forces of Light and Dark.

Snape sighed. “Yes, yes,” he murmured, rolling on to his back again, though slightly closer now. “So the Chosen One did as was prophesised and indeed possessed something the Dark Lord knew not.”

“It’s beyond the point, isn’t it?” Hermione sad sadly, feeling a wan smile creep its way onto her face. “Ron, however, well… you may have been mildly accurate about him.”

“Ah, do I sense trouble in paradise? What on earth could be causing tension between two thirds of the Famous Formidable trio?” Snape’s voice had reverted back to his classroom tone, laden with sarcasm and insult. “Don’t answer that question.”

Hermione was contemplating Snape’s odd behaviour when suddenly he was on his side again and even closer than before. When he spoke she could feel his warm breath on her face.

“Why did you come out here?”

Hermione frowned. “I already told you,” she answered, feeling unnerved.

Snape’s head shook slightly. “No you didn’t.”

“I did! I…” She trailed off, realising that Snape probably knew that her original answer was misleading. “It doesn’t really matter why I’m out here,” she snapped, sending an annoyed glance Snape’s way. She startled when he seemed amused by her tone.

“You should go back inside or else you’ll catch your death.” Snape muttered, lacing his fingers together and settling them on his chest, having rolled onto his back again, and she wondered briefly if he was restless.

“So will you.” Hermione added petulantly.

Snape shook his head slightly. “I have full robes on while you are wearing a flimsy dress robe.”

“True.” Hermione conceded, unmoving.

Snape huffed loudly. “I sincerely hope you aren’t expecting me to be gentlemanly.”

Hermione smiled. “I would never dream of it, sir.”

“Good,” he said, and Hermione saw in her peripheral vision that his fingers began working on his buttons.

“What…? No, sir, no…” She sat up as he did, watching as he pulled the heavy outer layer of his robe off. He was wearing slacks and a black long-sleeved skivvy underneath and he was the most naked Hermione had ever seen him, which was not naked at all, just stripped of a layer. He didn’t hand the robe over as she expected, but turned it sideways so that it would cover both of their torsos, leaving their legs bare; more his than hers, as his were so much longer.

The thick wool was still warm from his body heat and smelled of herbs, spices and something else distinctly masculine. It wasn’t the same sort of scene she often caught from Harry or Ron, but rather something vastly more intoxicating and alluring. Accepting the gracious offer, she followed Snape’s lead and relaxed back down on the ground.

“Thank you,” she said after a long moment.

“Welcome.” Snape replied.

He was so close to her, yet also seemingly so far. It occurred to her that this wasn’t normal interaction for a teacher and his student on the night of her graduation, nor was it normal in any other way, shape or form. In fact, both she and Snape seemed out of character somehow. Or, perhaps, they were actually in-character, having relaxed enough in the company of one another to not feel the need to pretend anymore. But thoughts like those only confused Hermione, and she didn’t like feeling confused, since it was something that only occurred rarely.

The gentle thrum of excitement was still present in her body and she almost shuddered at the thought of actually pursuing something with Snape tonight, right now, something that could end up with her actually losing her…

Oh, but what was she thinking? Why would an intelligent older man like Severus Snape be interested in a know-it-all, plain-looking virgin like her? What could she possibly have to offer him, other than inexperience and her cherry? She cringed at the wording of her own thoughts, no matter that it was true. She shifted restlessly, and repressed the urge to reach out past the small distance between her and Snape so that she could touch him.

Actually, now that she really thought about it, touching Snape was a very appealing idea. The consequences weren’t something she wanted to consider, but even just the idea… had anyone ever really touched Snape? She snorted aloud. Of course, Snape was approximately thirty-eight years old so there was no chance he’d never had any sort of sex.

“Something amuses you?” Snape’s voice was close to her ear, and it sounded amazing.

“Yes, but it’s not something I’d tell you,” she replied tartly, smiling, and turned her head towards him slightly. “On second thoughts…,” she mumbled, and urged her brain to shift the muscles in her hand, and slowly reached out until just the barest hint of her fingertips brushed against Snape’s wool-covered forearm. “Oh…,” she breathed, feeling his body heat through the fabric.

“You were thinking about touching my arm?” Snape asked, unconvinced, and moved the arm she was touching so that her fingers pressed more readily against it, and it felt so strangely intimate.

“Nothing so specific, just about touching you, and wondering if anybody ever has.” She curled her fingers, gently caressing Snape’s forearm.

Snape snorted, but the cynical remark about his appearance repelling any possible paramours failed to come. He seemed content to let her have her way, and Hermione was happy with that.

“You don’t mind?” she asked, hopeful that he didn’t, because it felt almost naughty to be touching Snape and it was exhilarating.

“No,” he said softly, and she saw his eyes drift shut again.

Hermione flattened her hand against his arm, feeling its width and strength, and craved suddenly to feel him in the flesh. Driven by her craving, she swept her hand down Snape’s arm until she reached his cuff, continuing until she encountered warm skin. Snape was unflinching at the contact so she deemed it safe, tracing her fingertips along the back of his hand, the skin surprisingly soft. Hermione relaxed, her movements almost instinctive, and she just enjoyed tracing each and every path along the long, slender fingers.

In fact, Hermione was so enthralled in her motions that she was startled when Snape’s hand shifted and he rolled onto his side facing her again, offering his other hand up for the same treatment.

In the dark she grinned. “Is that permission to touch your other hand, then?”

“Yes,” Snape murmured, his tone sounding sleepy in its deepness. “Are you sufficiently warm?”

“I am thank you.”

She took his other hand in hers, pulling it towards her and laying it on her stomach for better access. She was warm to be truthful, despite the coolness of the spongy grass beneath her. However, Hermione sucked in a breath with the fingers laying on her stomach moved caressingly, much like her own had when first touching Snape’s other arm. It sent shockwaves of pleasure through her whole body and she let out an unsteady breath.

Snape’s eyes opened at her reaction and his gaze seemed calculating. He moved his fingers again, this time a definite caress, and watched for her reaction; he wasn’t to be disappointed, with Hermione almost gasping and shuddering out her breath in a whoosh. He appeared satisfied with whatever he found in her expression and reaction, and managed to disentangle his hand from hers so that he could trail it around in small circles on her belly. The motions were slow but sure, and tantalisingly intimate.

When that hand curled around and gripped her side, urging her to turn and face him, Hermione complied, and then suddenly they were very close. Their faces were aligned, and his breath was warm and neutral on her face. The hand on her waist followed the curve of her figure, rising up to rest on her hip, where it gave a little squeeze.

Intrigued and curious, Hermione reached out her hand and mimicked the motions on Snape, tracing the contour of his body from his chest down to his bony hip. His body was firm, masculine, and long. In fact it felt really good, what small amount she had touched. She idly fingered his belt loop and the leather belt it beheld, shuddering slightly when his fingers found the elastic top of her knickers through her dress robe and caressed the seam.

Hermione closed her eyes. She lifted her hand from Snape’s warm, firm side, and brought it up past Snape’s face and, without hesitation, sunk her fingers into his long hair. She could feel the thin coating of oil close to the roots, though the ends actually felt quite soft.

“You’re patting me like some mangy canine,” he murmured, though he sounded amused rather than annoyed.

“You seem to like it,” Hermione smile when his eyes opened, and suddenly her breath was stolen from her chest. It didn’t matter that it was dark; she could see his face perfectly. And, somewhat surprisingly, it was quite easy to think of his face as attractive. Of course, he wasn’t typically attractive, but rather it was an appeal that came with time she thought. His eyes were smouldering black, intense like she’d never seem them, and his skin was alabaster pale, and that nose… well, it was the main feature of his face, and Hermione did rather have a soft spot for larger noses.

“What do you want?” Hermione asked suddenly, impulsively, and wished as soon as she’d said it that she had the power to take it back. She didn’t want to stop weaving her hand through his oily hair, or not be able to feel his large hand resting serenely on her hip.

Snape was silent for a few moments. “I don’t know,” he replied unhelpfully and Hermione smiled.

“Neither do I. Although I do know… that I want to stay out here with you, if you don’t mind.” She was blushing again, but red wasn’t a colour visible to the night.

“You intend to be absent for the entire Last Feast?” Snape asked, his fingers gripping her hip tightly for a moment.

“Yes, I’ve already received my certificate and eaten more than enough. Besides, I’ll see any important people in that room again sometime soon, but I might not get to see you… ever.” She finished her sentence as a whisper, and felt the familiar stab of emotion in her chest from earlier; the cause was vastly different this time, where before it had been out of pity for herself, now it was because of Snape and…

“Indeed,” Snape murmured, relaxed his grip on her hip, and rubbed his hand all the way up her side only pausing when his wrist brushed against her breast, and Hermione’s breath caught. “You wondered if anyone has touched me. I now wonder- has anyone ever touched you?”

Hermione stared into Snape’s eyes, releasing a shuddering breath against his face. “I did, I do wonder that. And… no.”

“No?”

“No.”

Hermione parted her lips, about to add more, but was distracted when Snape wrapped his arm around her completely and pulled her to him, their bodies flush. She gasped when he pulled her up so that he could reach her neck, and then proceeded to bury his large nose in the crook of her exposed neck. Snape pressed his lips against her, not in a kiss as such, but more of a caress, and Hermione could feel him inhaling her scent directly from its source.

Making a quick decision, Hermione wrapped her own arm around him and attempted to shift closer to him, freezing when she felt what she was certain to be his… yes, she could say it to herself, his erection, pressing against her thigh. Heat flooded her entire body at the realisation, pooling mostly in her lower belly, and pulsing between her legs. Hermione had never experienced such an instantaneous reaction to anything else before, and shuddered when Snape’s hips inched forward and he gently rubbed himself against her.

Burying her hand in his hair again, Hermione tugged Snape’s head up from her neck and, without pausing, pressed her lips to his in an open-mouthed, exuberant kiss. She was gratified when he responded immediately, opening his mouth and reaching his tongue out to caress with hers, and he tasted like nothing she had ever tasted.

Moaning aloud, Hermione pressed her thigh closer to large bulge against her, and Snape hummed into their kiss. His hand came to life, reaching out to cup her breast, caressing it gently but firmly through her clothing. Hermione could feel the wetness of her own arousal, felt the urgent tingling sensation, and was aware that she wanted nothing more than for Snape to fulfil her every sexual desire.

Pulling away from the kiss, Hermione moaned out a throaty yes, and shivered when Snape’s hand crept its way into her robe and stroked the bare skin of her belly. After only a few moments he paused, and Hermione opened her eyes to find him looking intently at her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked softly, the insistent thrum of arousal still roaring through her body.

Snape blinked, and then frowned. “You are seventeen, yes?” he asked with some trepidation.

Hermione couldn’t help but grin. “Yes,” she said, and then reached down a hand so that she could caress his cock through his trousers, and it felt so much bigger in her hand than it had rubbing against her leg. “Oh…”

Snape sucked in a harsh breath at the contact. “We should… take this elsewhere.”

“Definitely,” Hermione agreed, not much keen on the idea of getting caught in the act with her now ex-teacher, on the night of her graduation, out in the open.

When they stood up, Snape graciously offering her a hand, and Hermione was hard pressed to look anywhere but at the bulge in the front of his trousers. Snape was hard, and he was hard for her, Hermione Jean Granger, and he was a fully mature man, not some adolescent boy who would get hard at the sight of anything remotely resembling female (or male, depending on their particular tastes).

A disillusionment charm later and Hermione was being lead back to the castle via a back entrance and deep into the Slytherin dungeons. Snape’s rooms were in the bowels of the castle, though Hermione hardly noticed, too intent was she on the firm grip of Snape’s hand as it held hers. They entered his suite of rooms, though Hermione was too distracted to really absorb all the details. She was lead into a bedroom and lifted by strong, able arms onto a large, four-poster bed.

Snape took a step back and seemed to observe her, lying sprawled on his bed, most likely dishevelled, and she realised she hadn’t even noticed him remove the charm he had placed on her. He dropped his robes to the floor and removed his shoes and socks, before crawling on the bed next to her and pulling her close. His kiss was hard and demanding, but slow and measured at the same time, as if he were savouring her taste and feel. His hand worked its way swiftly inside her robes, finding her right breast and caressing it through the lace of her bra.

With a grunt, Snape pulled away from her and began working to unfasten her robes, pausing for a moment to seek her compliance, and moving almost too quickly for her eyes to follow once she had given it. Once removed, Hermione was left wearing only her bra and undies, a sensible, matching set, and judging by the look of fire in Snape’s eyes she must have looked pretty good. However, not wanting to be so underdressed while Snape was still fully clothed, Hermione sat up and began popping the buttons on his shirt until it opened, revealing a too-pale, sparsely haired chest. In the bare minimum light of the dungeon bedroom Snape appeared to glow, and the black of his hair made a stark contrast.

Snape was thin, but then Hermione had known that he was. He was only very lightly muscled, and once she pushed his shirt from his shoulders, she was able to appreciate his lean, wiry upper body, and his nicely proportioned shoulders. Without hesitation Hermione reached for his belt, managed to undo it with sure and steady hands, and unbuttoned the placket of his trousers to reveal black underpants. Snape’s cock was pressing firmly against the dark fabric, Hermione able to see the thick outline of it. Her pulse was positively racing, especially when her knuckle inadvertently brushed against the hard organ and Snape gasped quietly.

Growing impatient, Snape pushed her hands away, lent back on the bed and wriggled out of both his trousers and his underpants in a very un-Snape-like fashion that had Hermione grinning to herself. Naked, he looked amazing, at least to her eyes. His cock looked as big as it had felt, thick but not too long, probably around seven inches or so her inner calculator told her. A drop of liquid escaped from the tiny slit of Snape’s cock, and Hermione watched as it slowly dripped along the bulbous head and trickled down the straining length, becoming lost in the thatch of tight, black curls that surrounded his cock. Snape’s balls appeared large to Hermione, dusted with fine black hairs, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to reach out and caress them gently.

The soft, wrinkled skin of Snape’s scrotum tightened at Hermione’s touch and she gasped at the unexpected reaction. She felt hot and wet between her thighs, and her nipples ached, the lace of her bra scratchy against their sensitive tips. Looking up at Snape’s face and meeting his eyes, she reached around and unhooked her bra, letting it fall away to reveal her rounded mounds. Snape’s eyes widened as he saw them, and a long-fingered hand reached out and caressed a nipple, causing Hermione to keen low in her throat at the surprisingly good sensations. She needed to be touched, of that she was dead certain, and soon.

They came together clumsily, kissing and groping and trying to touch and be touched as much as possible. Snape’s skin against hers was smooth and warm, his mouth was hot and wet, and his cock was hard and rigid. Snape’s hands roamed every inch of her body, pausing only to awkwardly pull her underwear off, his hand immediately returning to the apex of her thighs where his fingers probed her moist folds. When a fingertip rubbed against her clit Hermione cried out, and reached blindly for his cock, taking his length in her hand and squeezing it gently.

By Merlin, he was hard. Hermione, due to her never having touched any sort of penis before, was unaware of just how rock hard a man’s cock could get. She tightened her grip and Snape thrust his hips, the silken skin of the hard length moving under her grip. Hermione was distracted, however, by the probing fingers exploring her quim. One finger had dipped between her swollen folds, and had entered her shallowly; Hermione wondered briefly if he could feel her hymen, and if he was going to surge through it with his fingers rather than his cock. She shivered at the thought, of Snape’s cock deep inside her, the thick length stretching her and rubbing against her and… oh…

Hermione’s body shook with the force of her first orgasm, a nimble fingertip rubbing at her clit unceasingly until she moaned at Snape to stop, just stop, because it was too much. He did and when she opened her eyes, Snape was licking at his fingers, his eyes shut, devouring her juices from his own fingers. Hermione moaned, pushed his hand away and kissed him, her tongue invading his mouth and finding both his taste and her own, which was strangely sweet and arousing. He let her push him onto his back and Hermione lent over him, one had immediately grabbing his cock and rubbing the length of it.

When Hermione pulled away her heart skipped a beat at the sight Snape made; naked, slightly sweaty, his lips a bit puffy, and a full body flush staining his pale, sallow skin a lovely shade of pink. The head of his cock was wet with precome, and Hermione realised she could smell it too- a musky, salty, masculine scent, and she had to know what it tasted like. Unskilled, she wriggled down his body and pulled his cock upright and towards her. Catching his eye with hers, she licked the head of his cock, gathering with her tongue the thick, bitter, salty fluid she found there and made a point of swallowing it. It wasn’t the nicest taste, not like her own, but it was Snape’s, and so that made it okay.

His eyes were desperate, and she knew what he wanted. She smiled at him, not sweetly, but her own attempted come hither look, before rolling off him and onto her back, an invitation if ever she had known one. Without a pause Snape was over her, between her legs, his tongue in her mouth. He was prodding at her with his cock, unguided, sometimes rubbing over her aching clit and sometimes not, before he found his target without a helping hand. The broad head his of his cock pushed against her and Hermione bent her knees and lifted her hips in welcome.

But he didn’t surge into her like she had expected, rather he simply rubbed himself there, pushing gently but never breaching, and Hermione realised he was giving her time to back out.

“Please,” she whispered, and the pressure increased.

Snape pushed again and this time she felt him slip in further and bump against something, and when he pushed again and Hermione felt the pain, she knew he had just rendered her the new status of having lost her virginity. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slipped deeper inside her body, and though it hurt, the sensation of being stretched with his thick width was pleasing. With a final, almost startlingly violent jolt, she felt the scratch of his pubic hair against her and moaned aloud at the though that his cock was all the way deep inside her body.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he leaned down to kiss her, his hips unmoving, waiting obviously for her signal to move. It was exciting to hear him curse, in that dark, velvety voice, knowing that that voice had uttered much more dark and deadly curses than fuck.

She moved her hands from his shoulders to his hips, and she heard his breath catch when she lifted one of her legs to wrap around his narrow hips, surprised when his cock sunk even deeper inside her. The pain had dulled to a low throb and now she tingled with anticipation.

His first movements were careful, a gentle drawing back of hips, and a slow pump of them forward as his cock slid back inside her with ease, lubricated with the juices of her excitement. The thought of his own thick, viscous essence mingling with hers at the source was suddenly such a powerfully arousing thought that Hermione cried out and lifted her hips, mashing their groins together, and it felt so good that she had to do it again.

The low growl that came from deep within Snape’s chest was a prelude to him fucking her in earnest, drawing out and thrusting back in hard, the sharp slap of their flesh loud in the dungeon bedroom. Hermione arched her back, lifting her other leg to join the first, knowing that Snape’s cock was now as deep as humanely possible for him to go. He fucked her hard, her breasts jiggling with the force of his thrusts, and she was crying out every time he slammed into her, her hands clutching at him tight enough to bruise.

Just when she felt herself about to peak, Snape drew himself from her body with an anguished groan, and she opened her eyes to draw him back, and was mesmerised by the sigh he made. His expression was feral, animalistic, his teeth bared and his nostrils flared; his cock was huge between his legs, shining and slick with her own juices, his pubic hair wet with her arousal. Before she had time to ponder more he grabbed her and flipped her over, drawing her arse up in the air.

He slammed his cock into her hard enough for her head to hit the headboard and he swore, pulling her back so that it didn’t happen again. Hermione squeaked when his cock rubbed her like it hadn’t before, the feeling more intense, though she had the odd sensation that she needed to pee. It was good though, his large hands holding her hips while his thick cock plundered her. She heard him moan behind her, and felt one of his hands slipping down the sweat slickened crevice of her arse, a finger pressing against the puckered hole he found there.

“I want to fuck you here, too,” he ground out, his voice hoarse and thick, and Hermione couldn’t feel the slap of his testicles anymore, because they had drawn up tight against his body, preparing for his nearing release.

Oh, he wanted to sodomise her. “Yesss…” she hissed aloud, and pleasure overtook her, and she literally screamed as her body convulsed, her fingers clenching the sheet until it almost tore and her toes curling until their joints cracked. The hands on her hips gripped tighter and he drove into her hard, until he roared out his release, and Hermione swore she could feel the jets of come as the ejaculated deep in her body.

Exhausted, she slumped down on the bed, feeling Snape’s cock slip wetly from her sore quim. Snape fell down beside her, breathing heavily, a hand reaching out and settling on her back.

Hermione clenched her lower muscles, cringing at the sharp pain between her legs and moisture she felt leaking out, a mixture of both hers and Snape’s, no doubt.

When both of their breathing had evened out, though neither was asleep, Snape turned to her. His eyes were dark and unfathomable, and she was suddenly afraid of what he might say now.

“May I really sodomise you?” he asked quietly.

Hermione froze, before laughing gently aloud. Snape looked wounded for a moment, so she ceased her laughter and smiled indulgently at him.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, her smile growing.

“No, I assure you, Miss Granger, it would be entirely all mine,” he replied, and kissed her.

Yes, Hermione thought absently as she felt her body react with his, it would be entirely his, and his alone. She had found her place, and it didn’t matter that she was undecided on her career or that she needed to reacquaint herself with her parents, for she had a reason for existing.

For as long as he would have her, she thought, and smiled into his biting kiss.


~~

Thanks for reading!! Please Review! ^__^

PS: I will probably write a follow up chapter, another one-shot where Hermione loses her 'other' virginity!! (I will post it attatched to this, to save any confusion!!)