Truth or Dare

Chapter 9: Arousal

Things went back to normal. She and Blaise did not talk much, but there was an almost palpable difference between the air around those two and other Slytherins and Gryffindors--perhaps an absence of tension, animosity. Now and then they worked together in Potions. Hermione politely acted distant during these projects. They had blissfully finished Love Potions and had continued into the more difficult Rejuvenation Potion.

The Love Potion seemed to have broken through Neville's mental potions block--which made him somewhat the butt of a few Love Potion jokes--and he did not brew only abysmal attempts anymore. He and Seamus did better than some of the others, though Hermione's and Blaise's were the closest to perfection. If Snape cared about the incongruous pairing, he indicated nothing.

Draco and Pansy tried to get a response from Hermione about their Christmas gift, but she pointedly ignored them. In fact, sometimes at night, Hermione took the sphere from her sock and watched the activities. At times, she felt like throwing up, but other times, a wave of warmth like she had experienced in Erotica Alley flashed in her body before retreating as though guilty of some crime. And the images did inspire her as she became more accustomed to the sight of Professor Snape's blurry naked body against hers--she vaguely wondered how Draco had known what she or Snape looked like without clothes.

The charm of her Dare began sending her more sexually explicit dreams as further spurring and inspiration.

The one the finally convinced her to initiate the consummation of the Dare to stop the dreams ran something like this:

Hermione was dancing in Erotica Alley to the beat of the pulsing crimson light. Her grinding hips were encased in a short leather skirt and she was wearing a thin black tube top that showed as much skin as possible while still hiding anything indecent enough in which to get arrested.

Around her, other girls were gyrating and grinding, but their hips pressed firmly against a boy, boys who were stroking their bare skin like they were made of silk. Girls and boys next to her were making out, passionate and lustful as the quickening music. One boy had slipped his hand up a girl's scant skirt and pinched her buttocks, making her cry out.

Hermione longed for someone with her. Her flesh was willing, reaching out for one of the boys around.

When she saw Snape across the Alley, eyes smoldering as he watched her seductive motions, she danced all the more provocatively, running her own hands over the skin she knew he desired to know.

Her temptation was too irresistible for even the controlled Potions Master, and he pushed through the crowd between them. As Hermione began whimpering, eager for him, Snape started shoving other couples away and then he was there, pressing her grinding hips against his arousal. He was still fully clothed in his professorial attire, but she could feel him.

She was open and quivering, her lips wet and full as she let him kiss her, slipping a sensuously probing tongue into her welcoming mouth.

Hermione undid his trousers. That was all she would need from him, and she did not protest as he guided her down in one sweeping motion. He was hard against her belly, but then he gently lifted her and...

clench

After she woke up from that dream, she had to moan more loudly than socially appropriate against her pillow from the sheer carnality of the experience. They all became rapidly more intense each time she put off the seduction. She was afraid that very soon she would scream to him in her sleep.

Sleep, however, was the only time she felt anything for Professor Snape. The daytime found her shuddering at the thought of his touch.

Nevertheless, she prepared herself for the seduction.

Out of the bottom of her trunk, she took her bag of cosmetics and began to apply a little every day; she used the new hair potion. Underneath her robes, she wore one of the poor excuses of clothing, telling herself it had to be soon.

At night, after Parvati and Lavender had long since gone to sleep, Hermione sneaked their trashy romance novels out of their trunks and read them like textbooks, taking notes occasionally. After all, if she was going to do it, she might as well do it right. As she prepared, her dreams stopped, leaving her immensely relieved. And she had to admit, the romances were bad enough to be entertaining, like junk food after a long diet.

As Valentine's Day neared, her heart began to flutter and she knew, despite Snape's loathing for the day, that would be the evening she would ultimately strike.

In Potions class, she forced herself to think adoring thoughts; they disgusted her, but they did help her find things that she did like about Snape. He had good legs, for one, as she had noticed the first time she had taken a look. Fine hands, slightly roughened by calluses, but strong, nimble, and unusually smooth just the same. His agility was remarkable: fluid movements punctuated the menacing atmosphere he had created, and it was objectively rather amazing to watch his subtlety manipulate the emotions of his students. And as she watched him, she began to notice more and more the signs that he really was exhausted: there were dark circles under his eyes, though students rarely were comfortable looking at his eyes long enough to tell. It was in the set of his shoulders, the lines between his eyebrows, the tension in his mouth and neck. All betrayed him.

Hermione wondered what exactly he did that made him so tired. Sometimes the symptoms were more pronounced, and Hermione observed the fact he often did not use his left arm on those days. Maybe only Dumbledore was the only other person who would take the time and care to recognize Snape's nuances enough to know when there were inconsistencies. She used a Descrier, a mirror she had bought in Hogmeade, for the purpose of spying on Snape. Still vaguely ashamed and prudent, she would not view him after classes had finished for the day.

As she realized this would be the only way to ensnare him successfully, she warily began to watch him after hours as well. She would avoid observing him take off his clothes, something she found she just could not imagine with all the clothing he did wear. She would shut her eyes tight, then open them slightly to see if too much light skin was showing in the midst of his elegant, yet darkly furnished rooms. It was this way she found out he slept only in trousers, despite any sort of weather, and left his fire going through the night, though the heavy hangings of his four-poster prevented the light from penetrating. She was rather intrigued by the way he looked when he was sleeping. Like most students, she rarely ever passed a thought to the fact Snape had to sleep, and that he did interested her greatly. It was the only time she could ever see him unguarded and vulnerable, as sleep does to everyone--but this was Snape, the callused Potions master with the tongue like a black braided leather whip, and he had no trace of malice or menace in his countenance as he slept.

Then, as she began to know his routines and mannerisms--sacrificing her general health in the process by going to sleep too late, waking up too early--he changed on her one night when he did not go to bed. Hermione, who could recite everything he did before bed, jolted into awareness as his schedule drastically changed on her.

Rather than removing his clothes, he went to his enormous wardrobe--which consisted mainly of black robes, and caused Hermione to both wonder at his financial status and wonder why he did not just keep eight robes, one for each day of the week, and one more for formal wear--and from the back of it grabbed a heavy, charcoal gray cloak and mask attached to a hood.

Snape was fidgety, which was unusual in itself; usually, he had a certain unnatural stillness, and even when he moved, she could sense his almost slithering quality, but still that characteristic motionlessness would dominate his actions. Now, however, all grace had left him as he twined his fingers, plucked at his robes, shifted from one leg to another, even trembling. After his cloak was in place, Snape opened a door in the back of his wardrobe and slipped through it.

He's been summoned by Lord Voldemort, Hermione thought in horror, and she shut down the mirror and hid it under her mattress. A Death Eater gathering was the last thing she wanted to see. Her stomach churned in remembrance of her last confrontation with Voldemort's most devoted servants....

But the Death Eaters had no bearing on her Challenge, and she did not need to watch them to understand their capabilities... though this summoning provided her with an idea.

After the gatherings, Snape was generally more exhausted than usual and would probably be more susceptible to her 'advances.'

That settles it, then, she thought grimly. I start tomorrow. There was no Potions class for her the following day, but Snape always stayed in his classroom after the last class of the day. He would be alone, and it would be less likely that there would be an interruption by another class. He was rarely disturbed at the end of the day. Few were that brave.

So she lay back on her bed and dreamed of scrambling rats and little Crookshankses running around like squirrels as Hermione tried to calm him.

~888~

Hermione's back was to the wall, her heart pulsating at andante, almost fainting from anxiety. She still did not know how to properly begin, though once they began, she had quite a few good ideas where to go from there.

But there was still the problem of beginning.

She wished she had thought to bring her Descrier, but the door was slightly ajar, so she peered in, bracing herself for his rebuttal.

As she slipped her head through the opening, there was no response, so she turned her head to check for him. Snape was at his desk, his head in his arms, eyes shut and rectangular eyeglasses askew atop the bridge of his nose.

I've never seen Professor Snape with glasses before, Hermione thought absentmindedly before she stepped completely into the room and shut the door behind her.

She approached him slowly, edging around desks, staying as far as she could from Snape, painfully knowing that she would not have that sort of separation if Hermione convinced Snape to have sex with her.

fine hands stroking her breast, his thumb rubbing against her nipple and making her cry out as a sweetness trickled down into her lower abdomen, her pleasure magnified by the curve of the glass

Hermione froze at the unbidden image that she recalled from the sphere Draco had given her. It was not her imagination that she had actually reacted to the vision, her skin crawling deliciously for one moment. She shook her head to clear it. Now was no time to start truly lusting for her Professor. It would be only a strange sort of one-night stand.

Besides, whispered a wicked voice inside, it's forbidden.

That shouldn't even be an issue, Hermione snapped back. I shouldn't be voluntary thinking that way. That's disgusting. He's disgusting.

No, he's not, the voice whispered, no longer wicked. Look.

So she did. While he admittedly did not have a good-looking countenance, asleep, Hermione was able to see past the demeanor Snape generally made for himself. The Descrier only let her get within fifteen feet of him, but now she was closer and could observe without chastisement the lines edging his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks, the curve of his throat as he swallowed convulsively, the tension of his brow, the messy sweep of his oily mane of black hair. All of these seemed to take the Professor she knew and revealed his troubles. The sleeve of his left arm had slid up and she could see the edge of the Dark Mark she knew he had.

She found herself drifting closer, reaching out with curious hands. His skin did not look greasy....

Snape's eyes flew open, and before Hermione could touch him, he had jerked standing, grabbed Hermione's upper arms and pushed her violently against the wall behind his desk, looming menacingly over her. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were wide and frantic. They were not the eyes of a man angered, but of a man greatly startled.

"Don't you know better?" he yelled. "I would think that you of all people would..." Then Snape stopped, stunned at what he saw. Her robes had been rearranged and the right shoulder of the sleeve slipped down the arm, showing the provocative translucent shoulder of the negligee she had bought.

There was a light of something Hermione had never expected in his eyes: confusion. And could there be a spark of... lust? The last thought, despite that this was the objective, made her shudder in revulsion.

At her reaction, Snape let her go as if she were suddenly burning hot, then he looked at his hands like she had given him blisters. His head snapped up, and now he was furious, his voice deceptively low and measured.

"As difficult as it is to believe, two other girls in the last fifteen years or so have tried to... attract my attention. I don't know what sick delusions have planted themselves in your mind, which I had hoped would be practical enough to ignore ridiculous amorous notions, but put them away now. It will pass."

He took her shoulder in hand--the shoulder with a sleeve covering it--and forcefully maneuvered her to the door. Then he pushed her unceremoniously out.

Hermione could hear the distinctive sound of a Locking Charm that denied Alohomora being applied, blocking her entrance.

Hermione stood there for a moment, paralyzed by the dual surprises of having stirred Snape--even a little--and learning that there had been other girls who had tried to seduce him.

She adjusted her robes so that they would be respectable to any passer-by and forced a smile on her face. It was a start. She would not be able to catch him off-guard again, so she would just have to confront him on Valentine's Day night.

~888~

She avoided everyone's eyes, especially Snape's, who was particularly keen on doing the same.
Harry and Ron both noticed her sudden withdrawal, but since she did not seem to be snappish, they let it go, guessing the reason. Blaise also observed her attitude, though oddly enough, Draco and Pansy did not. Blaise offered what support her apathy would allow. And this was to say that when Snape knew Hermione was not looking at him, he would look at her.

"And," Blaise would say semi-wickedly, "it's not all incredulity."