I suppose, in retrospect, it was rather brazen to approach him the way I did. He's always been such an enigma: solitary, moody, cautious, intelligent. There are so many words I could choose to define Severus Snape. In reality, he defies definition. I didn't know him. Not really. But I wanted to.
I wanted to know what he did when he was a Death Eater. I wanted to know if he had a life outside of Hogwarts. I wanted to know about his lovers: were they women? Men? Did he have a mistress? Did he frequent a prostitute? Or perhaps he chose his lovers at random. What was his criterion for doing so? Would he choose someone beautiful or be satisfied with passable? Perhaps he had no interest in their appearance. What sort of temptation could compel him to slake his desire?
If Severus, in fact, desired at all.
I didn't call him Severus, you know. Not then. It seemed indecent, somehow wrong. I'd always referred to him as "Professor Snape," and he addressed me as "Miss Granger" in private or "Professor Granger" in front of the students. Never "Hermione," but I wanted him to.
I wanted a great many things from Severus Snape. Things he most likely wouldn't want to divulge. I wanted to know everything.
More importantly, I wanted to know what he did when he was wicked.
I chose the Easter holidays to execute my plan. Wait, that's not true. I honestly had no plan. Flying blind was a more accurate description of my actions. I've never been one to lack such organization regarding any undertaking. However, the prospect of the unknown was extremely exciting.
The school would be devoid of students, and most of the other instructors would be away as well. Not Severus. He never went anywhere that I knew of. I honestly don't think he had anywhere else to go.
In all of our conversations, he never mentioned family. I just assumed they were long gone. It is feasible that he had relatives somewhere and chose not to associate with them. It's those little tidbits of information that I craved. Chalk it up to curiosity or just plain nosiness, I suppose. Unraveling the mystery of Severus Snape was something I'd contemplated for the past few years. I'm not sure why I waited so long, or exactly what gave me the bravado to finally do something about it, but I was tired of waiting.
I dressed carefully in a gauzy white cotton nightdress. For some reason I thought this would appeal more to Severus' taste than blatantly seductive lingerie. I have no idea why. He'd certainly given me no indication of his preferences.
My hair was untamable and I eventually gave up on trying. I was eager to make my way down to the dungeons. Truthfully, I had no real hope of succeeding with my hasty seduction, but it was a mark of my near-obsession with the man that I felt I had to try. Just once.
I grabbed a cloak (it wouldn't do for Mr. Filch to catch me wandering the school in my nightclothes), warded my rooms, and wound my way down into the belly of the castle. There was a chill in the air and my nipples hardened with cold and anticipation. Would he guess why I was there? It was certainly not the first time I'd visited his rooms late into the night. It was, however, the first time I did so with the intention of seducing him. Would he see it in my eyes? I secretly hoped he would. I had no script to follow, no master plan to execute. Fearful? Yes. Aroused? Definitely.
I knocked hesitantly on the oaken door and waited...and waited. Damn. Had he left after dinner? I knocked again with no result. Turning, shoulders hunched in defeat, I began the long trek back to my room.
Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. I looked back over my shoulder to see him peering around the door; one pale hand clasping the lapels of his dressing gown closed.
"Did you need something, Miss Granger? I was about to retire."
I turned around fully, meeting his eyes. I prayed he would decipher the meaning behind my words. "As a matter of fact, I do need something from you. May I come in?"
My question was met with the careful arch of an eyebrow. Did he want an explanation? I wasn't sure I could produce one. I had no intention of insulting our intelligence by lying. I just wasn't very clear on how to go about showing him my desire. I tried to be subtle; vulgarity would get me nowhere. Well, it might. I honestly didn't know, so I played it safe.
I let the cloak fall open to reveal my clothing. He could now see my state of dress. The gown, I knew, was quite transparent, modest as it was.
Surprise flashed in his eyes, but was gone in an instant. I thought I detected a hint of smugness there as well.
"By all means," he said, and opened the door to let me pass.
I'd hung up my cloak when I felt his arms circle my waist. I felt him warm and hard against my back.
"We need," I began when he stopped me with a small shake of his head.
"We will speak of it later," he murmured.
"But how will I know," I began again.
He trailed his fingertips down my cheek. "You already know," he whispered pointedly, as he cupped my breasts. "These are heavier than I imagined," he said clinically.
It took me a moment to process what he'd said.
"You've been thinking about my breasts?"
"Mmm," he hummed in agreement. "On numerous occasions."
I hissed an intake of breath. His thumbs were circling the peaks of my nipples.
"I had no idea they would be this sensitive," he murmured, almost to himself.
My face began to grow warm.
"Might I ask, why you chose this particular evening to appear at my door wearing this?" One hand left my breast to finger the eyelet lace on my gown. "It is very becoming, by the way. Very innocent." He pinched my nipple upon speaking the word 'innocent'.
My mind scrambled to form a coherent answer. "I couldn't wait any longer. I had to know," I said simply.
He'd stopped his ministrations. "You had to know what, exactly?"
I whimpered in protest and received nothing save his silence.
"This," I replied. "Everything. I want to know what you do when you aren't teaching or researching. I want to know your favorite books. I want to know if you like music. I want to know about your past." He snorted at the last. I ignored it. "I want to know everything about you. I'm tired of wondering."
"You could have asked," he said.
"No, I couldn't," I replied.
He nuzzled my neck. "So curious. Would you like to know what I'm going to do to you?"
I swallowed, my throat dry as parchment.
"There are so many avenues we could explore," he said, his voice husky. He dropped his hands to my thighs. "I hardly know where to begin."
I was breathing heavily, mesmerized by his dulcet whispers. His voice was hot and moist in my ear.
"I believe I would begin here." His hands gathered the skirt of my nightdress, inching it up my thighs. His fingers softly brushed my skin. "Would you like me to touch you here, Miss Granger?"
He was silent, just for a moment, long enough for me to shiver with desire.
"Would you like that?" he murmured, his question intended to torment and tease. "Yes, I can see that you would. But that wouldn't be enough," he mused, "for either of us. Clearly, I would have to kiss you I here ." He pulled the gown a bit higher and I could feel the cool air caress the folds between my legs. A droplet of moisture seeped from my sex and he caught it with his finger, swirling it around my inner thighs and into my folds.
My breath came a bit harder.
"I would take my time there," he said, "Run my tongue along here." He used one fingertip to brush my clitoris. "All the while my cock would grow harder, fed by your sighs and moans."
I made a strangled sort of sound. I couldn't describe it, but it seemed to excite him.
"Would you like to feel me inside of you, Miss Granger?"
My only answer was another quavering breath.
He slipped one long finger into me, then another, his thumb drawing small, feathery circles on my clitoris.
I gave a small cry, which turned into a whimper.
"Yes," he said smugly, "that is what I would do to you. Or perhaps you might pleasure yourself for my amusement. Would you do that, Miss Granger? Touch yourself for me?"
I nodded, my head swimming. My thighs were trembling and I was very close to climax.
"And just when you were about to come, I would cover you with my mouth so I could taste your orgasm. I would have every drop of you on my tongue."
"I can't be sure how long I would fuck you," he whispered, his lips grazing my ear. "I might not be able to stop." He moved down to bite my neck. "You might not want me to stop." He paused to slide one another finger inside me "Do you want me to stop?"
He didn't remove his hands, but he didn't move them either. He allowed me a moment in which to form my answer. The question was so much more than a request for tonight. He was asking permission for everything I could give: my body, my mind, my heart.
"No. Don't ever stop," I whispered and turned my head to kiss him.A/N: This ficlet was beta read by Scattered Logic and looked over by Lady Montgomery . It was written for Hawklaw for the Ficlet Request Cookie Jar. She requested Snape/Minerva or Snape/Hermione fluffy smut. Thanks to J. Pottinger for the inspiration for this scene.
Disclaimer: If I owned just a pinch of any of this, I wouldn't live in Oklahoma.