A/N: JKR is the genius, not me. I do not own any of her original characters, nor am I profiting from this work of fanfiction in any way.
Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Adult Content, Angst, Anger, Lemons.
Also: in this story, Hermione is 17, and hence is of-age to engage in sexual intercourse with another adult. HOWEVER COMMA BUT: while we know from Hermione's thoughts that she is indeed willing from moment one, Snape does not, and his determination to have her regardless could very well be seen as a whisper of rape. If this bothers you, therefore, I beg you to refrain from reading this story.
I am apparently incapable of writing oneshots that are completely PWP. I tried really hard, but despite my best efforts, Hermione's character and inner dialogue kept fleshing themselves out. Grrr. So this will be a two-shot minimum, three-shot maximum.
NOTE: Edited after receiving many helpful suggestions from my readers. As much as I wanted this to be very descriptive and flowery (that's my style) I DIDN'T want it to read quite like a "cliched bodice ripper", so I've tried to edit some of the overly descriptive phrases out, as well as add more background descriptions (the door locking in part two and the desk leg in part three are for you, Insearchofsunrise!)
Hermione looked up at him, tears of rage trembling at the brink of her vision, resentment bubbling through her. How dare he? It wasn't that she was unaccustomed to his caustic remarks, but with the term she was having, she really just wanted to punch the sneer right off his face. That she was on the verge of breaking down merely upset her more.
She couldn't remember the last time she had been this upset with her teacher. The constant stream of his vitriol infuriated her on a daily basis, just as it did the rest of her classmates, but she had always ensured she kept a lid on it. Calling on her innate desire to see the good in people, she had done her level best to see past Snape's flaws, and to appreciate what he did best: drill knowledge permanently and effectively in the brains of students.
Now, however, she had had it. She had absolutely had it, and she was done putting up with it. This was the cherry on top of the shit sundae that had become her life. Honestly, she was dealing with enough already. Her one-time crush constantly eating the face of one of the most vapid girls she had ever had the misfortune of knowing? Check. A pandering, political professor constantly trying to "collect" her? Check. Big, bumbling bear of a boy, in whom she hadn't the slightest interest, trying to get in her knickers? Check. The unfounded conviction of one of her best friends that a certain blonde Slytherin was the root of all evil? Check.
And the clincher? Aforementioned best friend cheating his academically-challenged way to the top of the class via suspicious book.
She was over it. She was sick of working hard, putting in honest-to-goodness sweat and effort, and coming up second for her pains.
Her first attempt at today's defense spell was "passable", was it? Passable? She'd show him passable, the insufferable, malicious git. She was his best student, and he couldn't see past his own house ties. It was the latter half of her sixth year. Would it kill him to acknowledge the true level of her competence at this point? Just once? Especially seeing as she had always defended him to her friends, admonished them for treating him with disrespect, and tried to focus on the good in him, as she tried to do with everyone else in her life? She wasn't asking for the moon or the stars here. Just one little bit of honesty.
In retrospect, she couldn't remember coming to the decision to spit in his face, probably because her brain hadn't been involved in the slightest. There was too much anger in her for that. One minute she was watching as he stood over her desk, smirking lips curling to unleash yet another cutting one liner, and the next, she had simply let loose.
She didn't know what made her do it. She had wanted to snap back at him, snarl something enlightened that would illustrate her rightness and his wrongness and make the world right again, but she hadn't been able to make her lips cooperate to form words. As soon as she did it, she knew it was a mistake of epic proportions. She would have been less frightened if he had reared back, roared at her, or even retaliated physically. As it was, the way he slowly redirected his cold, glittering eyes to her face, her spittle still trailing down his cheek, made her blood run cold. Vaguely, she was aware of the hush in the classroom, as every student fixated his or her gaze on the professor, waiting for his reaction. Even Ron was completely and utterly silent, his tall form stiff with tension beside her.
"That was a mistake, Miss Granger," he hissed between his teeth, cold eyes raking over her.
No shit, she thought. I actually want to live to see twenty.
Her stomach clenched, and she squirmed on the bench, pressing her legs together as his heady nearness made the familiar ache gather deep inside her. Her inner walls clenched desperately down on nothingness, and she fervently prayed he was unable to smell her arousal as wetness seeped from her, soaking her knickers.
He sneered down at her, slim nostrils flared, pale face livid with anger. Slowly and deliberately, holding her gaze, he passed the cuff of his robes over his face, removing the traces of her loss of control.
Hermione knew she should probably start groveling right about now. She didn't think that even Dumbledore would find a way to excuse this, and as the enormity of what she had done sunk in, she knew she deserved whatever punishment Snape felt inclined to mete out. A contrary part of her rejoiced in her small act of retaliation, feeling that the injustices of the last six and a half years had been at least partially redressed, but even through this weak sense of accomplishment, she had to suppress a rather violent shudder. What was he going to do to her? It took all her Gryffindor bravery to continue to meet his cold appraisal, but meet it she did, pushing out her small chin for good measure. Yes, she had not conducted herself appropriately, but neither had he, and his lack of attention to common civility had been going on for much longer than her momentary lapse of sense.
Through the fog of apprehension, she realized he was speaking to her, and forced herself to focus on his words.
"...will remain behind after class, Miss Granger." He had growled the words in her ear, bending low over her, and as he rose and swept away, she was left with a lingering scent of herbs, sandalwood, and a spice reminiscent of saffron. More wetness pooled between her legs. The curious mixture of hatred and lust which he had inspired in her for the better part of the last year intensified at the low, rich tones of his silk voice, and she shuddered.
Stunned, she looked down at herself after he moved away, and took stock of her current condition. In amazement, she noted that she still had all four limbs, was not noticeably maimed, and had not lost her house hundreds upon thousands of points. She knew she was one of the students the Professor disliked most, so the fact that he had passed up on this golden opportunity to destroy her in front of the class made her extremely apprehensive about what he had in mind for after.
Judging by the looks on the faces of those around her, particularly Ron and Harry, the rest of the class also thought she had managed to cheat death. It being Snape's class, of course, no one dared to discuss Hermione's unprecedented insolence even in whispers, but it was quite clear that every single student was shell-shocked.
The rest of the lecture passed by in a bit of a blur for Hermione. She had expected him to explode at her, rage, maybe even dismiss her from the class with disgrace, and his rather contained display of anger was extremely frightening.
Potential repercussions for her thoughtless action marched through her mind, each more dreadful than the last. Periodically, she stole glances at the Professor, who swept through the classroom like Mephistopheles himself. With every glance, Hermione felt her fear multiply tenfold, along with the wet heat between her thighs. Every one of his movements was grace personified, and he seemed to slither sensuously between the rows of benches. Although she hardly had a wealth of experience, Hermione was no virgin, thanks to the hungry attentions of Viktor Krum back in fourth year, and therefore knew very well what she was feeling for her professor. The fact that her body responded to him despite his cruel and viciously biased treatment of her made her all the angrier.
What the fuck is going through that greasy head? She shuddered, realizing that she probably didn't want to know.
I think we all know what Snape has in mind... Don't forget to review!