Lips met with a mingling of whiskey-soaked breath. Tongues danced to a tempo of rapid heartbeats. Madness, surely. The zip of her dress rasped. The pop of his buttons followed. Clothing shed to reveal flesh that seared when it met. Heat. Delicious, wicked, addictive.


It filled her head, clouding her alcohol fogged thoughts and pushing her to new heights like she'd never known. A mistake? Most likely. Regrets? Not a one. Not yet. The soft moan escaped her lips when strong hands gripped her arse. Squeezed. Lifted. Her legs around his bony hips felt right, sure, inescapable.

Bare flesh on naked skin, the whisper of bodies. Intimacy. Alien to her until now. At least like this.

"Are you sure?"

Silken tones. Smooth, alluring satin caressing the shell of her ear.

"Certain. Please?"

He couldn't deny her, it seemed. Unusual for so steadfast and controlled a man. She reveled in wavering it, corrupting it, unraveling his self-control until he was as hungry and horny as her. Sheets, cool against her skin and the slide of hot fingers, so sharply contrasted as they tunneled inside her body for the first time.

She arched. Gods, but she'd ached for this. Hoped. Dreamed of this moment only in the darkest of her fantasies. Liquid courage brought it to reality and she cried out for more, her fingers in the silk of his inky black hair. More. She craved it.

Heat in her blood. Delight in her chest. The hammer of her heart. The sawing of her breath as he drove her higher; his dark eyes fixed on her so intently she might've squirmed had she not craved the fullest of his attentions for longer than she could say.

"More," she begged, climbing a peak she'd never known with any but her own clever fingers.

"Soon," he promised. His voice, a caress. It haunted her nightmares and her sweetest dreams, both. It tormented her. She'd craved it.

"Please?" she whispered as her breath caught, sparkles behind her eyes. Close, now. So close. Just a little more… there.

Her soft, wanton cry spurred him forwards amid her mind-jolting bliss. A bite of pain; innocence divested. The deep ache. More. Gods, please more.

Slow as she adjusted. Faster when she begged.

Opening her eyes, Hermione watched him take her, slow and careful. Always so careful. So restrained. Too controlled. She wanted his fire. His passion. His overwhelming presence when he was at his most volatile. So rarely witnessed. She ached for it. She would have it. Arching under him, her fingers tracing his scar-riddled flesh, she clenched tightly.


A warning. Tight, through gritted teeth. Cracks in the shield of control. Again. Clench, arch, touch. A nip to his vulnerable throat. Cursing. A good sign. One more. A long, sensual lick, collarbone to jaw. Lips traced with the tip of her tongue. There.

A foul oath and erratic thrusts. Climbing. Always climbing. Precipice. Flying, soaring.


Harsh now, tight fists clenched in her unruly curls. Sharp enough to hurt but dimmed by bliss and enough liquor to land him deep inside her. Snapping hips, thrusting, straining, another oath, and a low groan. That sound alone could push her over the edge all over again, she was sure.

He wasn't heavy when he collapsed on top of her, his lips dancing over her clavicle in a most delightful way. Bliss.

She held him to her when he made to move off, fears of crushing her plaguing him.

"Release me, Miss Granger." Stern. A command. Could she?

"Don't move," she begged. "Just… let me hold you."

"You have a mess to clean up."

Did he know? Had he realized the sweet gift she'd offered up so willingly? Wantonly?

"It will wait," she promised.

"I won't. Let go, witch."

Reluctance. Would he simply walk away now? Leave her wanting more? A notch in his bedpost? She wasn't strong enough to hold him to her, nor currently coordinated enough to keep him on the bed when he pulled back.

"I hurt you," he muttered, discovering the blood. Virginal. Spilled willingly.

"You didn't," she assured. His glance at her was sharp, even to her slightly unfocused eyes.

"You were… you gave me your virginity?" he asked, his voice low, suddenly furious.

Sluggish thoughts offered no explanation.


Cold glass against her swollen, blood-soaked center. No, not glass. Silver. An orb.

"Keep this there until the bleeding stops. Never allow anyone access to it, you wretched little fool. Of all the hair-brained, dunderheaded… where is your sense?"

He continued to berate her, staring. Glaring. Leering, if the trail of his eyes over her still peaked breasts was to be taken seriously.

"You're angry," she sighed. "I thought sex was supposed to temper a man's fury, not stoke it."

"You did this intent on alleviating my fury?"

"I did this because I'd a need," she replied. A need to be free of her innocence. A need for carnal knowledge. A throbbing need, aching between her legs that had suffused her every time she'd been in his presence, in every class, every meeting, every moment they existed in the other's vicinity. Unexplained. Irrational. Foolish. Immovable.

Nothing could explain her feelings for the wretchedly cruel, dark, sinfully delicious Potions Master.

"Ah, I'm but a tool in your never-ending search for knowledge. Congratulations, Miss Granger. You've successfully gained carnal knowledge and a memory that will haunt you all your life."

Sneering. Again. Always, the sneering. Did he never tire of it?

"I imagine so. They say a girl never forgets her first love," Hermione mumbled, drunken thoughts turning into foolish words. Not the ones to be saying to Severus Snape after seducing him into bed with her.

Fear, sudden and gripping in its earnestness to find him looming over her, his nose pressed to hers, a hateful sneer on his mouth.

"You know nothing if you call that wild, sloppy groping 'love'."

Chills down her spine at his sudden withdrawal. Hermione frowned at him.

"Why must you insist on pushing everyone away from you?" she demanded.

"This was a mistake." Silken words in an icy tone.

"This was a delight."

Derision. It glittered in his dark eyes and dripped from his tongue amid words he couldn't take back. The slam of a door followed. Solitude. A tight fist in her stomach to find herself alone. Hermione blinked stupidly for a long moment. Drunk. Why was she so drunk? What had she done?

A hiss of pain escaped her lips when she moved, the silver orb within her collecting her virgin's blood but doing nothing to stem the ache of a torn hymen. Even the alcohol fermenting in her gut could do nothing for the sudden painful wrench of her heart as it shattered.