Author's Note: I know, I should be working on Guilt and a Smile, and I am, truly, but I've been working on this little bastard of a fic since 2013. It is nearly fully-written, and today, the 11th, is my birthday so I thought that to celebrate I would start posting a new fic so you can all join me in the giggling.
Thanks much to Tyche Song for her help renaming this, since the working title was "Man with a Silken Schlong" and Fanfiction likes to asterisk that out. (Silly site.)
I intend to post a chapter every week to two weeks, so we shall see how that goes.
This fic will touch on adult topics and poke a bit of fun at bad smut, and may contain sex. If you're underaged and reading this, it's on your head not mine. As always, I don't own Snape or Hermione or the Harry Potter world, I'm just playing with them. ;)
I don't understand where my brain gets these things. But, here we are. Without much more ado, please enjoy "Behind the Beaded Curtain"! :)
There had to be a mistake, Severus thought as he chased the sixth year boy who'd tossed a Dungbomb onto the other chaperoning professor behind the rather garishly-colored beaded curtain.
Yes, a tragic, horrible mistake. He'd somehow inhaled a hallucinatory powder, or perhaps had been stunned by a blow to the back of the head, and he'd deal with the party responsible just as soon as he managed to exit this – this... Bloody hell, when had Puddifoot's gotten a back room, let alone begun to stock such a sordid collection? A clerk emerged from a supply room, squeaked in terror at the sight of him, and wisely fled.
There couldn't be a back room here. No, there couldn't. Really. He had to be imagining things, brought on by all the doe eyes and sighs from of-age girls (and some boys) since his reluctant return to teaching the previous fall despite gratefully spending the six previous years in peaceful-yet-boring near-obscurity.
Because, really... there was no way that Madame Puddifoot's tea shoppe stocked a back room of sex toys, sex paraphernalia, and – gingerly, he selected one booklet, flipped through it, and grimaced – some of the worst-written attempts at pornography he'd ever seen.
Starring him, if the large, oversized black phallus on display labeled as 'Bestseller - The Snape!' was any indication. Or the small charmed 'Pocket Professor' vibrator, advertising utter discretion. Or the stack of absurdly-titled stories. Or the – bloody hell, he would murder whoever was responsible. No wonder the sixth and seventh year girls kept throwing themselves at him!
Severus Snape had wondered why, just why, the students didn't fear him properly. Feeling more justified than ever in blaming Potter for his new-found fame as a dark spy and brooding hero, he tossed down the copy of "From Dungeons With Love", then pinched the bridge of his nose. He could just feel the migraine coming on.
He never should have let Minerva coerce him into chaperoning this trip to Hogsmeade. Never. Hadn't that been part of his contract, that he'd do no such thing? But of course, she had to tell him that if he didn't, Professor Granger – who he had, admittedly, become friends of a sort with over the past year, if only through the chit's own tenacity – would be forced to do so on her own.
'Didn't they all know how difficult chaperone duties were this close to the Holiday break?' Minerva had asked. 'Surely one weekend wouldn't be too terrible.' And 'it would be a shame if she had to ask one of her other friends to keep her, Hermione, company'. The witch had kept on that vein until he finally crumbled. Damn her. Damn her, damn her, damn her.
At least now he knew, he thought, trying to find the only bright spot. And perhaps he could stop it. Forcing his mouth closed, he examined more of the titles, seeking author names. "Silvertongue"- no author. "Professor YES!" - still no author. "Spy Another Day" (featuring a crudely-drawn profile of himself peering into what appeared to be a bathroom) – also no author. And nor did "Man with a Silken Schlong". None of the damn stories had authors!
And they were all terribly written. He didn't even recognise the writing style, so hopefully they were not being written by any of his current students, but still. He was not hiding a "cut body" under his robes, and while he was satisfied with the size of his equipment, he certainly did not have as monstrous a tool as the displayed phallus.
He looked down at the book. 'Profesor Snape tugged me down to the desk, his huge basilisk hanging out of his trousers next to his fuzzy orbs. With a silky growl, he ripes of my knickers and I cum hard, squirting across all the essays as he beared my skin to the air of the room.'
Merlin, this was bad. The beaded curtain clacked behind him, and he swung around with a growl just as the sixth-year darted out.
"Devons, get back here!" Severus stalked towards the door but ran into Granger. Hermione. Professor. Only...she was two-dimensional and wearing something he would never, ever imagine her wearing.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, and finally gave the rest of the room a look. It staggered him. Why the hell was this all here? And so close to the bloody school?
"Severus?" came Hermione's voice.
"Back here," he said faintly.
"Did you catch – oh, my." She faltered and looked around. "So this is where it's all coming from."
"You knew?" His brows drew together with a thunderous expression.
"Mmm. Certainly explains the age line I crossed." Severus cursed his distraction – he hadn't even noticed crossing the faintly-glowing line. "This is...a lot more extensive than anticipated."
She turned around to look at the line again, and glared at the mock-up of herself. "Oh, Merlin, really?! I would never wear that atrocity!"
"Thank Merlin for small favors," Severus managed, heart pounding at the thought. "Some of us would like to retain their vision without burning that image into their brains."
A look of hurt crossed her features before she snorted, scanning the "literature" on display. "What I can't believe is that it's all themed – you're a right James Bond, mister 'Potions are for Always'. God, these are horrible... I've been reduced to a bloody princess trapped in a castle by the look of these costumes..."
"Potter seems to fare little better," he said, gesturing at the display before she could actually start to read aloud titles of the sure-to-be-pathetic tales starring her.
Hermione laughed, patting a red-and-gold dildo adorned with 'lightning-shaped ridges for your pleasure' with far too much familiarity for his comfort. "Poor Harry! Let's see, more books – 'Harry Potter and the Pussy of Pleasure', oh, I'm going to tell him, this is ridiculous! 'Harry Potter and the Last Orgasm'..."
Grimacing, Severus forced her to put down the phallus, wiping his hand on his robe immediately after. "Would you please desist from fondling the merchandise, Professor?"
She grinned, ignoring him. "Oh, I really should tell Ginny about 'Auror Weasley: The Pink Pussy' and 'The Return of Pink Pussy'... Or George. They'll never let Ron live it down!"
"You should be outraged," he hissed.
Brown eyes turned to him, full-force. "Oh, but I am, Severus."
"You certainly do not act as if you are angry at the products around us, that your students are fantasizing to your image."
Hermione sighed and fingered a scandalously-short "Gryffindor Princess" costume. "They were doing it long before someone tried to cash in on it – why do you think I started spending so much time with you? You had the right bloody idea, and are better company than most people I deal with."
She barely gave him a moment to process that before continuing. "And as much as I'd like to get to the bottom of this travesty of the written word, we should go back to the students; preferably before Devons reports where we are, they flee, and we find ourselves playing find-the-students until dark."
"Indeed." He held the curtain back for her, and scowled as the products' wards protected them from a well-aimed Incendio. "Bugger."
At least gathering up all the little miscreants wasn't too difficult, and soon they trailed behind the children, watching for attempts at straggling on the road back to Hogwarts. The air was brisk, the snow wet, and he was glad of his customary boots. Hermione, on the other hand, was mincing through the snow in impractical-looking shoes. Then again, she wasn't a dunderhead, and had likely charmed them.
"Severus?" Her soft voice broke his reverie.
He glanced down at her, eyebrow raised, breath steaming.
"Thank you for chaperoning with me today." That warranted her a scowl, but she just grinned cheekily at him, cheeks pink with cold. "Would you like to stop by later, after dinner?"
The snow crunched under their feet, and he glared at a fourth-year attempting to drop a Chocolate Frog wrapper on the side of the path. The girl paled, clutched the wrapper, then plunged it into a pocket before fleeing to the relative safety provided by her friends.
"Perhaps." He considered the notion; an evening with Hermione was far from unpleasant. "Hermione, if I may pry -"
"Never stopped you before, but at least you're asking."
"What did you mean, 'they were doing it long before'?"
"Oi! Ackerman! No snogging – keep walking!" she shouted before giving him an exasperated look. "Honestly...In any case, it quickly became apparent that being in the public eye meant that people thought that we were fair game. Stalkers, love letters, hate mail, lascivious letters of erotic intent towards my person – I got all of it. It was horrible. I'm actually happy about that filthy little line of products, if only because it's giving people an outlet that's not directly me."
He pondered this.
"That's probably how I ended up in a church with Ron," she muttered.
"I beg your pardon?" Surprised colored his tone and she flushed. "Don't tell me you married that freckled imbecile." Surely he would have known if she'd done such a foolish thing? He'd been subsisting on hope that she was free for so long...
Hermione scowled. "He's not that bad, Severus. And, no, I didn't. You don't see a ring, do you? I almost did, but thank god for Ron and his big mouth. I got to the end of the bloody aisle and he blurts out, 'I can't do this!' I nearly fainted from sheer relief."
"You're not a witch to, pardon the expression, given the topic, 'lie back and take it'. Why did you simply not end the relationship?"
"Have you ever tried to cross Molly Weasley?" He flinched. Yes, yes he had. "It was so easy to stay with Ron – we got horribly romanticised, and it was...safe, I suppose, even if we did bicker all the time. We had rows over the stupidest things. I'm glad he was able to call it off. Molly was only accepting because her baby boy was the one to end it." She rolled her eyes. "Things were strained but fine after that, but then the mail started again."
"Indeed," he murmured. "All of my mail is routed through the Owl Post in Hogsmeade, and brought by my own owl. If a letter is not from a known acquaintance, a parent, or for business, it simply remains there to rot."
"I should do that," she muttered darkly. "But then I would lose my kindling in the winter."
Severus barked a laugh, causing students to turn in fear. Snape laughing was never a good sign.
"You could simply collect that lurid excuse for pornography and burn it," he suggested. Hermione giggled behind her gloved hand. The castle was looming into view, students quickening their pace at the promise of warm fires and hot tea in their respective common rooms.
"I could at that. You should see some of them – apparently, you're a sex god with a 12-inch cock and have girls coming all over the place just by sneering at them. Meanwhile, I'm always a virgin and I go around squirting at the slightest touch." She sounded disgusted. "I swear, none of the authors have ever had sex, let alone bothered to do any research on basic anatomy."
Recognising the signs of a brewing tirade, he intervened. "An hour or so after dinner, then? In your quarters? I did finish the last book you lent me, and would be happy to return it."
"Oh!" She smiled, tirade blessedly averted. "Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Did you have a chance to read the journal you got last week? I'm dying for a read, but they only offer subscriptions to Potion Masters, and there's supposed to be an article on Charms in Potions that -"
"I'll bring it." He cut her off. He'd already read the article and found it fascinating. Filius had been asking to borrow it all week, and he'd been steadfastly refusing.
"Thank you." She looked at him from under her lashes, and he looked away, cravat feeling uncomfortably tight as it always did when she looked at him in such a way. In other words, too often. "You know the password, just come on in, in case I get caught answering questions for Everly."
He snorted. "That Ravenclaw is almost as bad as you were."
"Oh, I still am that bad," she said. "It almost makes me sorry about my days as a student... but only almost."
"Indeed. Oh, sod it, not again -" Severus swooped away from her, his winter cloak billowing after him as he descended upon the hapless students. "Ackerman, I believe that both Professor Granger and myself have expressed to you that there is to be no snogging of Mister Bladswell. As you seem to be incapable of comprehension of basic decorum on an outing whilst being representatives of our school, I shall have to resort to separation. You shall both report to detention this evening immediately after dinner. Bladswell, you shall be meeting with Hagrid. Mister Ackerman, I believe Mr. Filch will be expecting you. Bring your toothbrush."
He exchanged a pained look with Hermione, who was pulling her wand to draw the attention of Miss Robine and Mister Bicker of Hufflepuff with a series of sparks.
"You two are Prefects," she told them coldly. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff – apiece! - for snogging in the hall, instead of guiding your Housemates to their common room. Get going before I make it detention!"
Once all the students were safely in the castle and heading back to their rooms, Devons having long-escaped, not that he would avoid punishment altogether once term resumed, Hermione buried her face in her hands.
"Merlin save me from adolescent hormones," she moaned. "Was I ever this bad?"
"You? No. Weasley, however, seemed to prefer public venues for his libidinous behavior. I never caught Potter at it, however."
"Not for lack of trying, I'm sure. I caught him, twice." That earned her an eyebrow. "I only gave him a warning, but the second time, I took points off him; I don't think he'd expected me to but I did, and I never caught him again. Not sure if he just hid better, or if he actually learned."
"I would wager the former." He pulled his pocket watch from his frock coat. "I should return to the dungeons, ensure my charges have all returned to their own House."
"Alright. See you at dinner?"
Nodding curtly, he strode off for the dungeons, pulse hammering in his ears. He hadn't spent so much time with her since the summer months, and had forgotten how to act like himself. Cursing himself for laughing in front of the students, he quickened his pace. Damn, damn, and triple damn! He was acting the besotted fool. At this rate, he'd be pouring out his feelings on Valentine's Day, bedecked in pink like bloody Lockhart.
Maybe it would deter the daft buggers from buying that tripe.
Then again, probably not.
Hermione watched him go, teeth worrying the corner of her lower lip. Bugger. Had she put her foot in it already? Ever since Minerva had convinced him to return to Hogwarts, she'd had more and more difficulty masking how taken she was with him. She'd already been teaching for four terms (having apprenticed herself to Minerva for the previous two years, whiling away her weekends with Ron and Harry at first, and later visiting Severus in his little cottage asking about Potions and whatever else she could think of) when he finally acceded to the Headmistress's pleas and replaced Slughorn.
After all the problems with Ron, she'd spent more and more time in Severus's company. It had begun because he didn't seem to mind her and he was intelligent and quiet. After the end of her ill-fated engagement, however, something had changed for her. Severus Snape stopped being a fellow Order member and a source of intellectual conversation. He was clever and acerbic and funny... and she liked him. She had found it easy to hide her feelings for a weekend visit, but then... Severus had come to the school like a surly thundercloud, snapping and snarling and everyone going right back to hating him when he'd been so vaunted while he'd stayed away.
Of course, the hatred of him had immediately prompted Hermione's championing instincts to try to talk to him in public, which he'd hated. The man had been incredibly stubborn, preferring to keep their pseudo-friendship in the off-months "where it belonged"; but then, she was stubborn too, and she figured that if Minerva could wear him down, so bloody well could she. Six months of sitting next to him without so much as a "pass the salt, Granger" or a "good morning" and she'd somehow gotten it across to him that she wasn't really going to force him to display their friendship in front of the students, and he'd grumpily given up trying to scare her away from his office and chambers, followed by actual conversation at meal times that had led to their current closeness.
Honestly, the man could be such a thorn in her side. He tolerated her perfectly well when she'd visited him as long as she'd been quiet and hadn't let her "mad hair" get in any of his brews. Severus had even let her call him her friend – at the very least, he hadn't refuted it, which was tantamount to permission.
But what she hadn't intended on was that over the course of her shy attempts at friendship, getting used to his barbs and prickles, arguing with him over silly theorems, or trying to out-do him on the Prophet crossword, she'd fallen for him. Hard. The man was brilliant, with a quick wit and a good heart, and when she wrested a smile from him it made her whole damn week.
He had a beautiful smile.
She oscillated now between trying to spend as much time with him as possible, then panicking that he'd notice and reject her that she avoided him with carefully-crafted excuses that lasted a day or two at most. She was too smitten to deny herself the pleasure of his company much longer than that. Oh, she knew he tolerated her, and while he rarely sought her ought, he accepted her company when it was offered, which was more than she could say about the rest of the staff. He kept them all at arm's length, except maybe for Irma, who didn't care what he did as long as he returned his books on time and in the same condition as when he'd borrowed them.
And he had a nice bum.
Not that she'd seen it. Not really. Just the outline of it under his trousers...
Chewing her lip a little more, she judged the time between now and dinner – if she hurried, she could make it to Hogsmeade and back. He'd never find out she'd bought a Pocket Professor, and the thought of a vibrator that worked within the walls of Hogwarts was tempting.
Very, very tempting.
Sod it all, she could make it if she ran.