Truth or Dare

Chapter 11: Consequences

Snape woke up slowly, warmer and more languid than he was used to. It was not unpleasant. She was half-draped on him, her leg and arm across him and her head rested on his chest. He brushed some hair out of her face.

Loathing of the act coupled with satisfaction and desire of the same writhed in his belly.

They had made love three separate times. The first, Hermione had ridden him with the expertise of the experienced but with a terrible sincerity of one untried. She had no maidenhead, but Snape knew better than to think she was anything but a virgin. Then again, so was he.

He, like Hermione, was, if anything, practical, and the last thing that had ever crossed his mind as something on which to waste his time was sex. Throughout his adolescent and adult years, Snape had repressed every sexual desire he had, dismissing lust as counterproductive--not that he had not had... thoughts sometimes, but he would forcefully push them away. The only memories directly associated with sex had been during Revels. Lucius and MacNair were, shall we say, very knowledgeable on the subject. Now that he had finally experienced sex, he both agreed and disagreed with his previous assessment. Sex was counterproductive, but certainly not a waste of time.

After Hermione had climaxed, surprisingly before he had, she had almost drifted off into sleep, but even as her eyes were closing and he had slipped himself out of her, she had begun touching him again, rhythmically pushing her hips against him, caressing him in strong, deliberate strokes. He had shuddered with the delicious sensuality she could so easily coax from him, then took the lead, seducing her this time. She had throbbed around him, but she fell asleep near the end, leaving him to peak on his own.

The third time was an interesting one. At about four in the morning, Snape woke to the feeling of Hermione's tongue licking the area directly below his navel. He knew she was asleep when he tried to tell her to stop. She protested that the cake tasted like roses and her hands tightened dangerously on his thighs. Snape felt it better not to impede the somnambulist. But he already had a raging erection due to the proximity of her administrations, and Snape had to gently pull her up by her hair so that he could release the lust she had been building in him. She accepted him so easily he did not think her dreams were very dull. Her eyes had opened a few times, but she had said nothing, and she might have still been unconscious.

It was only now that Snape realized the danger of having more than the one required time. The first was supposedly done out of duty, but the others could not be dismissed as anything but sexual desire.

So what was he going to do with her? Hermione would have to wake up at one point, and however awful Obliviate was for him, he felt compelled to let Hermione decide her own fate. He knew she would have noted his decision to let her coax him into satisfying his hunger again and again. He could think of three responses she could make:

She would ask for Obliviate and he would not have to worry about the memory of last night bothering both of them.

She would scream in horror and run away from her perverted professor.

Or she would ask him to have sex with her again.

The possibility of the third made him stir, but he twisted his mind to frigid thoughts to cool his presently sensitive passion. The sensual weight of her breasts against his stomach was not aiding his self-control. He reached out and stroked them for the last time, memorizing the texture of her nipples. Then he withdrew, and with the greatest of cares disengaged himself from her embrace, supplementing his warmth with an extra blanket over her naked body and a pillow in her arms. He tried not to look at her.

Feeling slightly dirty from the tumble, Professor Snape retired into his bathroom and took a cold shower that really served two purposes. As he washed, he contemplated the different reactions Hermione might have and steeled himself for each. Then he dressed and prepared for the day in every way possible to avoid the bedroom.

To avoid the illicitly attractive thought that there is a naked girl in your bed with your seed trickling down her thighs and onto your sheets. Snape extinguished the thought quickly, composed himself, and reentered his rooms.

Hermione was awake and sitting up in the bed with the blankets pulled around her. She had an endearing pitiful look, like she had been valiantly trying not to cry, and her hair was disheveled in such a way that if anyone came in, they would know exactly what had transpired.

Before she could say a word, Snape said, "If you'd like a shower, as I'm sure you would, you are free to use mine." He had carefully toned his voice to an air of coolness.

Hermione stared at him for a while, then wrapped one of the blankets completely around her body. She grabbed the satin negligee, and Snape watched as her left leg bent out of the modest make-shift covering.

"Could you hand me my robes?" she asked quietly. Snape admired her control. He walked over to the couches and retrieved the robes she had discarded. When he handed them to her, there was space enough between them for a cauldron.

Without a word, Hermione turned, not unkindly, and escaped into his bathroom.

In her absence, he made the bed, changing the sheets. He hoped the house-elves did not report instances of come on male professors' bedclothes. While he planned to report this to the Headmaster immediately, he would prefer it if the words came from him first.

When he had arranged the room back to the way it had been before--save the sound of the shower--he unlocked another door near the mantle and stepped into the Slytherin common room.

Blaise Zabini had slept on one of the black leather couches, anxious in spite of herself about Hermione's welfare. She approached the Head after he had closed the door behind him.

She raised her eyebrow.

And he nodded.

"Is she--?" Blaise ventured.

"She seems fine, Miss Zabini. I suppose you'll talk to her later, but right now I wish to speak with Mr. Malfoy. Where is he?"

Blaise looked like she wanted to vomit, but instead she pointed him up the stairs. "In the girls' dormitory with... Pansy. Can I watch?" she asked hopefully.

"If you follow me, I won't stop you."

She grinned.

Snape ascended the stairs.

The girls of Blaise's and Pansy's year had long since learned to avoid their own dormitory due to the tremendous amount of noise the couple made and their general tenacity all through the night. The mornings were the best, especially during the weekends because they were so exhausted and slept well past noon.

Snape entered the dormitory without much ceremony and threw open the bed curtains. Pansy shrieked and covered herself, and Draco lifted his head from Pansy's thighs.

"Mr. Malfoy, I want you in my chambers in five minutes," Snape ordered. Then he closed the curtains again. Blaise was giggling madly at the doorway, but she wisely stepped out of the way as Snape swept down the stairs.

~888~

When Draco entered the room, Snape was sitting on one of the couches. The sound of the shower was still going. Snape thought she might be drowning herself. Draco glanced in the direction of the drumming water and smirked.

"So she did it," he sniggered. "The high-minded slut did it."

Snape nodded.

"Was she good?"

Snape nodded again. "So good, in fact, I'm willing to do a rather distressing favor for her. Against you."

Draco's grin evaporated.

"Miss Granger was so kind as to enlighten me on the nature of her situation." Snape raised his eyes to Draco's, making Draco very uncomfortable. "She implied the reason why she was here was because a vengeful someone wanted to get back at Potter for what he had Dared this someone. Can you guess who this someone is, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco had to look away. His Head's eyes were dead and baleful.

"The Dare that precipitated such revenge was to humiliate this someone in the middle of the Great Hall. When does this someone plan to execute this Dare?"

"Soon, Professor," Draco muttered.

"When, Mr. Malfoy?"

There was silence.

Hermione came out of the bathroom, fully dressed in her robes, drying her hair with a towel. She froze when she saw Draco, and the hands that held the towel cautiously fell. She hung the towel before the fire and walked to a corner near the bed. She watched them with apprehension and crossed her arms over her chest. Draco was leering nastily at her.

"Mr. Malfoy, would you stop ogling at Miss Granger and pay attention to me. She has paid her due." When he turned back to Snape, Draco was considerably more sober.

"I am going to challenge you, Mr. Malfoy. Some time this following week, you will execute your Dare. This week. If you fail to do so, you will be given a severe detention with me, then I will invite your father out of Azkaban, flanked by Azkaban guards, to stay at Hogwarts for as long as it takes you to execute the Dare. In short, if you do not do your Dare within the next week, I shall have Lucius see his son dishonor the Malfoy name further. Have I made myself clear?"

Draco's pale face had gone a beet red and he glared at Hermione.

"Do not blame Miss Granger for you misfortune," Snape said dismissively. "As far as I can tell, you initiated the game."

Draco sputtered a moment, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"And just to show my displeasure, twenty points from Slytherin for stupidity," Snape called after him. When the door had closed, Snape's sight turned inward.

"You may go now, Miss Granger," Snape said quietly.

"That's it?" Hermione replied slowly. "After last night, is that all you can say?"

"No," he said, "but that's all I care to say at the present."

Hermione almost choked in indignation, but she tried to maintain a calm exterior. "You just... dismiss me like I'm some sort of..."

"I could offer you an 'A' for the year as consolation or a hundred and fifty House points, but I don't think you would accept either." He stood and went to the desk behind the couches and arranged his lectures.

"You filthy... I'm not some two-cent whore you can dismiss," she articulated. "What are you going to do about this?"

Snape whirled around, slamming stacks of parchment onto the dark wood. "What do you want me to do?! Announce it from the Astronomy Tower, write a letter to the Daily Prophet, spread a rumor through the Slytherin grapevine? I'm already going to report this to the Headmaster. No," he responded to her protests, "you won't be in trouble. Just so that he won't stop Mr. Malfoy while he's trying to complete his Dare. The Headmaster understands the intricacies of Wizard's Truth or Dare; we have had a few instances of the game through the years. Now leave, Miss Granger." He directed her to the door entering his private laboratory.

She did not move.

"We will pretend nothing happened."

"That will not work," Hermione interjected softly.

Snape stalked to the corner and loomed over her. "And pray tell, why not?" he asked, his eyes menacing.

"By the time you speak to Professor Dumbledore, six other people will know I have had sex with you. And don't think I do not know it was more than once."

Snape winced.

"I'm not going to hear the end of it from Malfoy and Pansy. Blaise's okay, but Ron and Harry are going to treat me like they have for the last few months--as admittedly they have needed to. But they won't understand that... And what about you? It was bad enough I had to be in a room with you before we... but now, knowing that it's happened, it's going to be worse."

"I can Obliviate," Snape offered snippily.

"No!" Hermione shouted suddenly. Snape raised an eyebrow. "I... I don't want to forget last night."

She stood on her toes and kissed him, firmly and fiercely, letting her tongue freely caress his. Then she broke the kiss, slipped past him, and left. She did not run or look back, and Snape saw the provocative edge of her red satin negligee under the hem of her robes. He wondered why he had not noticed before.

~888~

Hermione ran down the the corridors, not really seeing where she was going, not really having anywhere she wanted to go. She passed so many students who stared at her curiously, but she would not look back at them. It was not until she pushed open the great doors and stepped nimbly down the steps and into the snow that she realized how much she just wanted to get away. Tears streamed down her face without her realizing they were there until they slipped into her mouth.

She tripped and fell into the snow, the powdery ice stinging her cheeks and causing the blood to blossom there behind her skin. Her hands clenched beneath her, and she began sobbing as though she would never stop, though even as she cried, her rational side wondered why. Her emotions had frayed to a point where they had completely severed from logic. She just cried.

The area between her legs still ached, though it was not a bad ache--more like the stretched feeling in a muscle after some good exercise. All she could think about was how she had acquired that ache.

She had never imagined how exquisite it could be, nor that she would still want it despite the person from whom she had taken it. Indeed, she could imagine it coming from no other man, yet she could not imagine ever seeing him again.

Her tears increased as the shame filled her and pierced at her heart like a fine needle. His visage floated upon her eyelids like a projection, needful and passionate, then horrified and angry, then completely blank. She could feel his hands on her, all over her, warm against the freeze of the snow. She buried her face in her arms.

Why should she ever get up again? How could she have kissed him again, when she should have just run away, obeyed Snape's advice, and pretended it never happened? How could she have confessed that she still wanted what he had given her? And how could he have made love to her again, then kissed her back the morning after?

She remember how his thin lips softened under her own, how his uneven teeth slid underneath them...

A cry rose in her throat. He still repelled her, her hated Potions Master, the person he was before the lights had gone out. He had not been her Potions Master when she had woken up, not even when he had yelled at her to leave things be, to retain the established rules they had just flouted and were perfectly willing to flout again.

She began shivering.

"Hermione?" inquired a great, booming voice from above her. "Are yeh alrigh'?"

Hermione rolled over and sat up. "Hagrid?" She wiped her face.

"Wha's the matter? Why're yeh cryin'?"

"Nothing, Hagrid, it's really nothing," Hermione assured him, brushing at a few more tears that leaked out from the corners of her eyes. "I just tripped, and my chin hit the ground hard, that's all."

"Uh huh." He clearly did not believe her. "Well, yeh look cold down there. Like a cup o' cocoa in me hut? Jus' made some special."

Hermione gave a wavery smile. "Thanks, Hagrid."

He smiled and stretched out a hand to aid her as she stood. She hesitated before taking it. The strength with which he pulled her up almost had her falling forward again.

"There now. Follow me an' we'll talk."

He led her down to his hut. Fang burst out the open door and jumped up in excitement at seeing Hermione.

"Down, Fang. Hermione's a bit distressed." Hagrid took a hold of Fang's collar and pulled him back. Hermione gave Hagrid a sideways glance. How could he tell?

"Come on in and settle yerself down in one of 'em chairs there," Hagrid said, gesturing to an armchair as big as a closet. Hermione obeyed slavishly as Hagrid began bustling around his table, pouring the water and milk and melting the chocolate. It was a bit of time before he brought a large mug of cocoa over to her. It was clear that he had really made it for her right then instead of "jus'" making it before.

"Now," he began, sitting down on a bench opposite of her, "why don' yeh tell me what's really the problem. Have those two started ignorin' yeh again? Has the work load not improved? Heard yeh had a breakdown."

Hermione gave him a weak grin and took a sip of the cocoa. It burned her tongue. "Like him," she muttered, her tears starting again.

"Wha'?"

"I'm not sure whether it's something I'd really like to share, Hagrid," Hermione said, hoping she would not offend.

Hagrid nodded. "Boy trouble."

No, not a boy, a man, a professor. "You could say that."

"Wha'd he do? Did he hurt yeh?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I hurt myself. It wasn't his fault."

Hagrid squinted his eyes suspiciously. "Hermione, did you... do somethin'?"

Hermione looked down. Another tear felt a need to follow its brothers down her cheek and onto her robes. She nodded.

"Oh, Hermione, yeh weren' ready, were yeh?" he said knowingly.

She shook her head. "I didn't want to, but I had to," she murmured, fighting against the growing lump in her throat.

"Did 'e force yeh?"

She shook her head again.

"Then why'd yeh have teh?"

She began trembling with the effort. "It wasn't him that made me, it was... something else?"

Hagrid's mouth dropped open. "It wasn' a spell, was it?"

Hermione's head dropped her to chest and she drew her knees up. She let out a strangled sob.

"The devil. Who was it? Dumbledore'd like to know," Hagrid ranted, standing up and pacing the room in anger at Hermione's misfortune.

Hermione held out a hand to calm him. "He'll get punished. Don't worry, he's getting punished."

"Nothing is bad enough for the likes o' him for doin' this to yeh, Hermione. He should be expelled, he should," Hagrid protested savagely.

"He's getting punished worse than I was punished."

Hagrid turned to her, mouth twitching awkwardly. "Hermione, who'd yeh have teh--?"

"No, Hagrid," Hermione pleaded, "don't make me say. I can't... I need to forget. I just... need to forget." She buried her head in her arms.

Hagrid paused with his hand near his mouth, then he reached out and took Hermione in a giant embrace. "Ah'm so sorry, Hermione," he muttered as she bawled into his moleskin coat. "Ah'm so sorry it had teh happen t' yeh. Ah'm so sorry."

~888~

"Today, we will rebrew the Rejuvenation Potion. Your work last week was passable at best, but starting today, you will aim for perfection. Miss Granger, Miss Zabini, your potion was exceptional. You will begin our next application. Take your potion and apply it conservatively to this Gnarl. It has lost a limb, and Professor Sprout wishes to have it repaired. The strict laws against the Rejuvenation Potion's use is much more lenient with plant life. If your potion truly works and does not have any unseen flaws, the limb will grow into a replica of the branch it was before. You will all begin now. The ingredients are on the board."

Snape sat back in his chair and surveyed his classroom. Potter and Weasley were actually doing their work, avoiding his gaze as if he were a basilisk. Draco and Pansy were doing the same. Draco looked like he was walking on hot coals. Blaise kept sneaking glances at Hermione, who was also focused on her work, though Snape suspected it was for different reasons. Focusing on one aspect of life was the best way to alienate oneself from other aspects. Snape could name a few that she would want to alienate.

So why did he want to ask her to stay after class? Wasn't he the one who wanted her to pretend it had never happened, pretend each of them had not stepped over the line of duty?

He wanted to murder Draco Malfoy. Who would have thought consequences would be so complicated?

What if she had a baby because of this, just this one time?

Three times, Casanova, he thought, flinching slightly even as he became aroused at the thought. Wonderful. He rubbed his head, willing these persistent fantasies to go away. But they were so enticing. Of course, it would be Hermione Granger and one (three) tumbles to get him hard every time he looked at her.

Then don't look at her.

"Miss Granger," he heard himself say.

Hermione looked up from observing the branch's progress. Was it just him, or did he see a flash of hurt in her eyes?

"See me after class."

Draco deviated from his mood and sneered nastily.

"Mr. Malfoy, mind your own business."

Everyone was shocked, but Snape just stood and entered his office. He needed to cool down before then.

Unfortunately, class ended long before he could get a hold on his physical sensations, and he tensed as Hermione came into the room.

"Professor?" Ah, she was as apprehensive and mixed up as he was, which meant that, as the adult, he had to be the one to keep himself together. Easier said than done.

"Miss Granger." He would not look at her, but he did not precisely know what to say either.

"Yes, Professor?"

Hermione stared at his back and found she was enchanted by the way his shoulders moved when he breathed. Then she caught herself and forced her mind on scholarly thoughts.

"Miss Granger, why did you have to kiss me before you left my rooms?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Was he still thinking about that? That he had not pushed it from his thoughts yet gave Hermione a certain smugness, but as she eventually realized why he had not forgotten it, she sobered.

She answered truthfully, "I don't know. I just... did. I didn't mean for it--"

Snape whipped around, eyes flashing angrily. "Didn't you?" He strode around his desk and took Hermione by the shoulders.

"Don't you understand?" he hissed. "This can't go on. It's impossible, the Headmaster knows, you're still a child and a student, there's no Dare." He seemed to be trying to convince himself more than her. "This can't happen. You shouldn't have done that because now... I..."

Damn, he thought as his head dipped down and took her mouth in a frustrated, hungry kiss. His hands relaxed their grip on her shoulders and pulled her closer. The kiss was different during the day, in the light. It was not repulsive, but more daring, more thrilling in the possibility of someone just opening the door. His tongue tasted the corner of her mouth.

"No," Hermione muttered as languor began to overtake her and his touch overwhelm her. "You were right. This can't happen." She was panting for breath even as she leaned toward him again.

But he backed away, clutching at his desk to keep himself away. He stumbled into a chair. "I don't understand, Miss Granger? Why is this--why do I want you still? I shouldn't--it was only one night..."

"I don't know."

He concentrated on breathing for a few moments, then he said, "When was the last time you had your period, Miss Granger?"

Hermione started, then blushed at the question, but replied, "Two weeks ago."

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. "Perfect. I may have impregnated you."

"I don't think you did," Hermione said, the likelihood nonetheless hitting her. "All the women on my mother's side have difficulties conceiving. There's usually one child every five years. If you really want to have one, that is."

Snape nodded his head. "But the possibility is still there."

"Yes." Hermione looked at her hands.

"We cannot do this," Snape said softly. "It has to stop. Now. We have to make a concerted effort to avoid any contact or situation in which this could happen again."

Hermione agreed solemnly.

"No more meeting in my office, no stopping in the halls, we'll avoid each other in class. We just need to try harder."

Hermione agreed again.

"Then you have to go."

Hermione nodded, then stood to leave.

"Miss Granger," Snape said quickly.

Hermione turned around to face him, forcing herself to stay calm and collected. She saw that Snape was attempting to do the same. Fortunately, his experience in hiding his feelings paid off, and he pushed his momentary lapse of control behind him. Now, only a professorial visage remained. It took this little focused discussion to put everything he needed to know into perspective.

"If you find out you are pregnant, go to the Headmaster. He'll tell me, and we'll work it out through him as an intermediary, okay?" Snape murmured as gently as the Potions Professor ever could speak.

Hermione bit her lip, but silently nodded her head. She could not bring herself to speak.

"Now, leave," Snape commanded.

Hermione opened the door to his classroom and walked, dignified, from his room. Even though everything she had felt that morning was still there, she felt as though a hippogriff had been lifted from her shoulders. Now that Snape and she were going to force themselves in propriety, she knew they could. The area between her legs still ached, but maybe--just maybe--she could begin to heal. The single tear that leaked from her eye was the last one she would cry over Professor Snape for over five years.