What The Future Holds

Chapter 6 - ..and Counting

By Ehann

She waited impatiently until even Neville had finished his final. The round faced boy dropped his parchment into the basket and escaped from the classroom with all possible haste. His head lowered in something like defeat, he never even saw her leaning against the wall.

Hermione Granger took a much needed calming breath and then slipped into the potions room, making sure to close the door behind her. Not that anything’s going to happen. Just…in case.  She just stood there for a moment, watching him. Her eyes feasted upon his form…These last two months she had been unable to look at him properly, since she had specifically been avoiding eye contact.

The Professor looked tired, she decided. His black hair hung in sheafs on either side of his face, as he leaned over his desk, grading papers. He did not, contrary to popular opinion, seem as if he was taking pleasure in assigning what had to be terrible grades. Hermione considered. He seemed rather…sad. Could that be?

Without glancing up he said, “Well, Miss Granger, is it your intent to stand back there and stare at me all afternoon?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” she replied, stung.

He lifted his head, brushing his hair back irritably. “Hmm. That has never stopped you in the past.”

“And will not in the future, it would seem.” She uttered the words with a strange flippancy. Well, she figured, why not? Today was the last day of class. She had taken finals in all other subjects already. Graduation was Friday, and then…

He did not scowl as she expected, or deduct points, but rather his lips twisted wryly. At first she thought that his expression seemed familiar, and then she realized it was a memory that didn’t belong to her. I never lived that life. A shaft of melancholy struck her heart and so she said, “What did you want to see me about?”

He laid his quill on the desk, stood, and came around so that he stood towering in front of her. “How is your ankle?”

Hermione shook her head, glancing away. “It’s fine. I Transfigured myself a walking stick, and went for a walk.”

His eyes narrowed. “Just when I start to believe you possess a modicum of sense…Out striding about on a sprained ankle? You never went to the infirmary, did you?”

“I was busy,” she said primly. She was starting to get annoyed. How dare he call her in here to take her to task for something that was his fault to begin with! “If that is all, Professor, I have something I need to do.”

“I see.” He shifted on his feet, and stared at the ground. “Perhaps that is for the best. Good day.” He turned away, and then Hermione had him by the elbow, clutching his robes.

“Don’t you walk away from me again,” she hissed. “I have a few things I’m going to say to you, and you will listen!”

He looked pointedly down at her hand. But he only said, “I am waiting.” Then he held up a hand. “Perhaps this is a discussion that would do better in a less…public place?”

She glared up at him a long moment before relenting. “All right. I assume you have somewhere in mind.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Some ten minutes later, they were sitting in his chambers drinking tea. He had lit a roaring fire in the hearth; in spite of the heat outdoors, the dungeons remained cold and drafty.  “Now,” he began, “I believe you were taking me to task for …?” He sipped cautiously at his steaming beverage.

Unbelievably, after a short time in his company she had nearly forgotten. “I need to know…why you were so…hateful to me, that day in the infirmary.” To her shame, she heard a tremor in her voice. Time had not lessened the wound any. She still heard his derision ringing in her ears.

He sighed, and for a time remained silent. Finally, he said something so softly that she must have misunderstood. She asked him to repeat his words and he turned a glare upon her. “I said,” he spat in disgust—then abruptly gentled his tone,-- “that I brewed my own Sight Out of Mind potion. When I …woke in the infirmary…” He looked down.

“You thought it was …still the future? What did you see?”

A long breath escaped him again, and this time when he met her eyes, she saw the burning there, just like earlier. “I saw you.”

Tension flared in the pit of her stomach, and her heart gave a great leap, sticking somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

“You had just convinced…my older self that…” he trailed off, looking away.

Her teacup clattered on the small table that stood between the two chairs. Now or never, girl. Are you going to live for once? She rose from her chair and stood between his feet, looking into his eyes. “Did I do this?” she asked, and sat down in his lap, facing him, so that her knees were wedged on either side of his thighs. She leaned over, and brushed her lips against his. “Did I do this? I must have, because I feel like I’ve kissed you a thousand times before.” His arms snaked around her back without warning, and she tensed. Until he captured her mouth in a scorching kiss, that is. It was impossible to remain tense while he stroked his tongue in her mouth, rubbing against hers in a sensual rhythm, while his hands massaged her back.

She moaned in his mouth, and he answered with a growl. His erection pressed insistently between her legs, and she ground her pelvis against him. He pulled his head back and raised a hand to her face, cupping her cheek. Her fingers plucked at his robes, then one hand wandered down between their bodies until she pressed her palm against his rigid length, squeezing him and stroking him as best she could.

He caught her arm, still it. “Hermione…at this moment, I am still able to stop what we are doing. However, if you keep doing that,” he squeezed her arm, “then we will end up in my bed. So, if you are planning on stopping me, and obviously you should do exactly that, now would be the appropriate time to do so.”

She bit her lip, then leaned down, sucking at his neck. When she felt that she had made her point, she said breathlessly, “I’m sick of being appropriate. Aren’t you?” And it was true. Her whole life she had been and done everything she was expected to. Perfect daughter, perfect student…she couldn’t do that anymore. She had to be the perfect Hermione, the best that she could be.

His eyes closed and he said in a strained sort of voice, “Oh, yes, I quite agree.”

Hermione would later think that she had no recollection of getting to his bed. One second she was astride him in the scratchy wing chair, the next she was lying flush against him in his huge bed. They were also very naked. She started to get a little apprehensive until he kissed her again. Nothing could be wrong while he kissed her like this. Something strange happened in her mind then. A queer kind of doubling as if she was thinking two things with two different minds but all at the same time.

It didn’t matter, and she pushed the knowledge out of her mind. He was suckling at her breasts, worrying the nipple with his tongue. He tugged nearly to the point of pain, and she cried out, the hand behind his neck pulling him closer still. She reached down with her free hand and rubbed her thumb over the tip of him. She felt a drop of moisture there and spread it, enjoying the feel of his sounds of pleasure vibrating against her skin. He laid his head against her chest, pillowed upon her breasts, and stayed still like that for a few seconds.

“That feels…” He sounded even more strained than before, if that was possible. She continued to play with him, stroking her hand up and down, changing rhythms and then stopping to run her thumb over the tip once more.  “I need you,” he said in her ear. He reached down, and folding his hand over hers, guided his shaft to her slit.

He closed his eyes as the wetness seeped over the head of his cock, and he rubbed himself against her, bumping across her clit over and over again. She shuddered underneath him, as his other hand gently pinched her nipples, drawing the erect peaks even tighter. Her hips bucked and he backed down the bed, kissing her body as he went.  He licked a circle around her navel, and while bringing his palms down to the inside of her thighs, blew on her wet center. He watched, aroused, as the goose flesh rose all over her skin, starting with her belly and working out from there. She was moaning loudly now, thrashing her head back and forth on the pillow, sweat beading her forehead. Snape decided to take pity on her, she was a virgin after all, and lowered his mouth.

At the first touch of his lips she cried out. Then he used his tongue on her, flicking over and over her little clit as one finger sought and gained entrance. He added another finger and, with his palm up, flexed his two fingers until he found the scrap of ridged flesh he was looking for. Never letting up on her clitoris, he massaged her insides until she was sure she was going to die.

Die if he stopped, die if he didn’t.

Her body arched, struggled of its own volition. Her hands clenched the sheets, twisting and pulling them up from the corners of the bed, until they snapped up unnoticed. Her thighs tightened against his head, and from somewhere far away she heard the primitive snarls coming from her throat.  Her whole being paused for a millisecond that lasted forever, and then she fell, shuddering and spasming until she drifted on a sea of pure pleasure.

Her consciousness receded, but that queer doubling feeling returned with a vengeance. It felt familiar and frightening at the same time. Before she could figure out what to do about it, she felt her eyes snap open from a distance.

Her body urged him up, and she felt him at her entrance. Good. She was wet and very, very ready. There was an empty ache deep within her…a woman’s instinct, perhaps, the need for completion. Her legs raised and wrapped around his hips. He started thrusting, slowly at first, sliding nearly all the way out and then filling her in one long stroke. Oh, he felt so good…his skin, the way his muscles flexed under her hands…where had he come by those amazing arms? She never would have known…

She lost track of who she was…student or woman, adult or teen…it didn’t matter, for she was one and both. Time slipped forward and backward again, and she didn’t care because she was with him either way. In two places and times, she had made her choice; this was where she wanted to be.

And still the spiraling pleasure rose and rose, like a tidal wave pulling back the sea. Her fingers clutched, leaving bloody marks at his shoulders. She growled ferociously, and then there was no thought, only gripping, mind altering pleasure…She did know in some deep part of mind that he crashed with her, falling from the same cliff, alone yet with her…

~~~~~~~~~~

He woke to comfort. The unaccustomed warmth suffused the entire front part of him and was pliable and soft. He snuggled deeper, thinking what a wonderful dream this was. He took a deep satisfied breath and, struck by a delicious scent, opened his eyes.

Snape jerked back in surprise. Then memory came rushing back. Hermione. Straddling him, touching him, seducing him…His stomach twisted, worse than it had after he had realized his behaviour in the infirmary. What he felt…what she felt…it didn’t matter. This couldn’t go on. It would be too easy, he knew, for her to infiltrate into his life as well as his bed.

He closed his eyes, pained. He wanted to snort. Oh, yes, the feared Potions Master, he thought acidly, he was never the same after that Granger chit broke his heart. He wanted to retch at the very idea that someone might think she was with him out of some bizarre paternal identification, or worse, that he had seduced her. He did snort then, albeit quietly. If only they knew …Exactly who did the seducing, I will never know. Maybe it’s better that way.

She was too young. Yes. Not even nineteen…Gods, what had he been thinking? Well, he hadn't exactly, had he? Snape cursed himself for a fool. He should have never inquired after her, when she had finished her exams. But he only intended to ask about her injured ankle…never intended…this.

She shifted in his arms then, and he tightened around her reflexively before forcing his arms to loosen. Three kinds of a fool, you are, Severus.  And he was. For he had glimpsed what it could be like with her, and a part of him desired that more than he could say. Oh, not just this—the coupling—but the whole tapestry that went along with it. He had let himself imagine an actual life where he was, of all things, happy. He sighed. It could not be. Not like this. Maybe…maybe after she grew up and was sure…perhaps then he would reconsider…Until then—he leaned closer and pressed his lips to her cheek. “See you in four years,” he whispered. “If I’m lucky.”

He disengaged his arms from under and around her and slid silently from the bed. He dressed, never taking his eyes from her still form. He left the room, with his regrets in tow,  quite deliberately neglecting to leave a note or indeed, any acknowledgment. Four years, he thought.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the realization came it was not unexpected. She twisted in bed, laying her hand on the sheets where he had been. Cool. So he had been gone some time. She sat up, wondering if he had left her a note. Her mouth twisted in an obscene parody of a smile. So be it. She swung out of bed. She dressed and stuffed the whimpering, hurt piece of herself back down into the depths where it belonged. That done, she was left with the one emotion that would get her through this.

Righteous Fury.

She slammed out of his quarters, her crimson robes sweeping behind her.  Her chin was lifted and her lips had stopped trembling. He better hope he never sees me again, she thought. Because the next time I see that man, I’m going to kill him.

Almost. She got through the Graduation ceremony without breaking down or flying at him with teeth bared. As the Valedictorian, she conducted herself as expected, with decorum, and plastered  a brittle smile to her face for so long that her cheeks ached by noon. She gave her speech calmly, thanked all the Right People. She did give in to a rather gleefully malicious impulse and specifically thanked Professor Snape for an education ‘well beyond the scope of Potions making’. His eyes glittered at her dangerously, but she could not have cared less. She was leaving, he obviously did not care…

That might have explained her state of mind when, after the ceremony was over, she was passed by Malfoy and Goyle, stopped and then called, “Malfoy!”

The blonde boy turned, startled, as he had not exchanged words with her in years. “What?”

“It’s too bad you’re such an insufferable prat, because you got gorgeous sometime last year.” She watched, amused as his jaw fell open and then she swept off, in Imperial Mode once more. “Humph,” she muttered. “Always wanted to say that to him. No reason not to now.” Pushing her way through the crowd, she suddenly spied Snape making a beeline for her. A week ago she would have cowered, and run. He had after all, turned her into a boneless heap with his tongue. Damn it! That sort of thinking was not a help.

She therefore lengthened her stride and made sure she was looking elsewhere when she accidentally-on-purpose slammed into him. “Oh, Professor, excuse me, I didn’t see you,” she said innocently.

“Miss Granger, you want to watch what you’re playing at,” he told her in a dangerous voice.

She smiled again, ignoring her screaming facial muscles. “Fuck you,” she said in a pleasant tone. “Oh, wait, I did already. Good bye, Professor.” She brushed by him. Then she was gone.

Chapter 7 >>