Vanas Opportunis Chapter 3

Disclaimer Ch.1


Harry and Ron sheared by an inch of missing detentions with McGonagall from the looks they’d been giving her in class. Poor thing, she’d had no idea but played beautifully into the part by some fateful circumstance or another and they dared not act up in Snape’s class.

Snape, on the other hand, acted up aplenty.

He knew her itch was growing and he made no move to help her. Not even when she deliberately sabotaged a simple potion. He simply looked down his obscenely sexy nose at her and pronounced to the class that the school know-it-all couldn’t get a simple hydrating draught right. Predictably, the Slytherins laughed. Harry and Ron just looked at him like he was a chimera. A really nasty chimera with mange and fleas. And a bowel problem.

She sort of felt the same way.

Didn’t he want to…didn’t he want her? Didn’t he have an itch to scratch, too?

And then, how would she find out if she really liked him or if it was a side effect of the potion unless she could ask him about it? It wasn’t as if she could just mention it in class: Oh, by the by, Professor, I read in Ars Alchemae about a roofy potion you probably invented. Does it have any lasting effects?

Right. Gold star on that one.

She found herself wandering down the dungeons after dinner, morosely casting Disillusionment charms as she went. Face it, Granger, you had great sex with him and now he’s not interested in you anymore.

Rank Bastard.

She kicked a loose bit of stone down the corridor which would have given away her charm except there was no one else around.

She sighed. No one at all and she was perfectly alone in the dungeons. Where he should be.

“Oh, come now, it’s not that bad, now, is it?” His voice echoed in the hallway all around her.

She whirled around, wand at the ready, but saw no one. He laughed that dark, evil chuckle—the one she’d only ever heard as he’d walked away from the fir copse. “Professor Snape?”

“And what if it’s not?”

“I know it’s you.” She did. She knew that voice backwards and forwards now. Oh, wait, what if someone were using that charm he’d used on her…

“Do you, really? This could be interesting. How?”

She stopped and thought for a moment. How did she know it was him and not someone trying to trick her? She closed her eyes and listened. Breathing could be anyone. No noise other than that. She sniffed the air…aha. “I smell you.”

There was such a pause that she was afraid she’d probably offended him so she moved on to explain, “There’s something—” well, she wouldn’t use the word rose in a description of Snape, not aloud, “Floral, cream…and…musky.” She would not say yum. Definitely not. “I associate those scents with Professor Snape.”

“And do you make it a habit to memorize the scent of everyone you know?”

“Not in general, just…some people. Ron smells like grass. Harry smells like leather.”

“Are you only smelling the male population, Miss Granger?”

Like hell she’d tell him that! “Oh, would you stop with the sneaking around and come out already?”

With a whisper, he stood directly in front of her, arching that brow of his superciliously. She stumbled backwards a step but stopped herself. What was he playing at? So she asked him.

“I, Miss Granger? I do not play.”

“Yes you do.”

He squinted his eyes and heaven help her she wanted him to do something that acknowledged they’d been together. It was the only reason she could think of for her to keep pushing him like this.

“As I’m sure you had no intention of telling me that you know me better than I know myself, I’ll give you one chance to explain yourself.”

Oh, she wanted to slap that expression off his face! Fine. He wanted to play bastard, she could be a bitch right back. “What else are you doing with me, then? I doubt very highly it’s for anything more than play.” There, stuff that in your trousers and shag it, Professor Snape.

There was a slight tilt in is expression, something he was very, very good at, that took his face from disdainful and sneering to sexy and interested in a heartbeat. Something about his lips and his eyebrows. She shook her head and scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Touche, Miss Granger.”

Yeah, she’d thought so. Well, it seemed that now was as good a time as any to ask him, “Professor, that potion you used—”

He interrupted loudly, “And what are you doing out of your dormitory this late at night, Granger? My office. Immediately.” Without a word, he swept away from her, but she soon became aware of Filch shifting up the corridor, leering at her. Yergh.

She slipped through the gap in the Potions Room door and wended her way through the desks to his office. He was sitting in his chair behind the now-straightened desk as if he was actually the headmaster and she really was a recalcitrant student. Irritated, and without asking permission, she strode over to one of the leather chairs facing his desk and commandeered a seat, crossing her legs and placing a hand on each arm.

His eyebrow twitched. She smiled and shifted her legs a little. His attention engaged a little lower down her body. Hmm. She ran a hand up her bare leg and pulled her skirt up into her lap. His nothing eyes began to fill.

“Professor?”

“What.”

She grinned. He was either entranced or irritated. Or both. “That potion you used on me, does it have any lasting effects?” She slipped her hand to the backside of her leg and ran it up to her rear where it met the leather chair.

“If you’re asking if the lust you feel between us if manufactured by that potion now I assure you, it wore off thirty minutes after the first spray. You are attracted to me, Granger, believe it or not.”

Hmm. Sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that one, but honestly, it was surprising for her, too. Then again, the human brain did amazing things when triggered right. Still, had to get a bit of her own back, “Just as you are to me.”

“As unlikely as it seems, yes.”

“Then what about the smells?”

He stopped his perusal of her legs and slammed his dark, voided eyes up to meet hers. “What do you mean, exactly?”

She felt a bit pinned, but she wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing. “Those smells I told you I associated with you?” He nodded, “I’ve only known them to be associated with you since our first time. In the alcove.”

He narrowed his eyes and sat back in his chair.

She waited.

“Did you taste anything when I sprayed you?”

She blinked. “No. I remember nothing of a taste from the potion.”

He nodded and leaned his chin into his right hand, fingers coming across his mouth in contemplation as he stared her down. “When did you lose your virginity?”

Her mouth dropped open at the unexpected question, but she knew he had a reason to ask or he wouldn’t. “This l-last summer.”

“And did you have much sexual interest before this last summer?”

She blinked rapidly, trying to think back. She’d been attracted to boys, repeatedly and for years, but never with a strong sexual urge as she had started to then. “You’re saying that proximity and age have more to do with it than the potion?”

“I believe so. Despite our…close encounters before, I think you weren’t sexually developed enough, then.”

She dropped her head back in the chair and let out a shuddering breath of relief and beginning desire. Shortly, her hands started unbuttoning her blouse, leaving her red and gold tie in place.

“Does that answer your concerns, Miss Granger?”

She reached the last button and shrugged out of the blouse, crushing it into the seat behind her. “Yes.” He was watching with avid attention. She dropped one shoulder of her brassiere, then the next, and palmed the lacey cups over her breasts. Somehow, it felt that much naughtier to know that she actually wanted this man, rather than having some potion-induced lust. Perhaps her dreams would start back tonight. She smiled and pulled the brassiere down to hold her naked breasts for him to see between her fingers.

His own chair shifted and she heard fabric moving. She angled up just enough to see that he’d brought that lovely cock out and was playing with it just for her. Hah. Not bloody likely. He was playing with it just for him, surely, but it was still lovely to watch.

She smirked, stood up, and started slipping her panties down, only to turn around and show him her bottom as she bent over and followed them all the way down her legs. He was plunging into her before she reached her ankles.

“Mmmmm.” Yes, just like in the tunnel, but without any weird voices or interference. She reached for the chair to brace herself as he started pushing harder and faster, digging short nails into her backside. She arched her back and pushed a bit back into him, he smacked her left cheek.

“Hold still.”

“I’m not one of your drugged-up alcove girls.”

“No, you’re not, but if you want me to last long enough to finish you, you’ll hold still, maddening wench.”

She felt the evil smirk steal across her face and Lillith knows where she got the knowledge, but she shifted just a bit, arched a bit, and he was yelling himself complete. That alone sent her over the edge and she felt herself clamp down over him, both of them pulsing their satiation into the room with grunts and groans.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head to meet his, mouth to ear. “I wanted to take longer than that.”

“And I wanted to see if I could really make you come.”

“Relentless Bitch.”

“Selfish Bastard.”

He chuckled and straightened out of her, smoothing her skirt down and kneeling to lift her panties, sliding them up her legs. He reached over and picked up her shirt to hand it to her.

“I trust you are scratched?”

“For now. You?”

He actually lifted a corner of his mouth. “For now.”


That night she did dream.

She was walking down the main corridor to the Great Hall, everyone was, and Snape shoved her into the wall, kissing her madly. No one watched, or paid attention, but the thrill of the entire school being right there as the two of them progressed from snogging to him exposing her breasts and fondling them before God and Country was deeply erotic to her.

His hands slid beneath her skirt to hike her leg up around his hip and shove her skirt up for everyone to see—everyone still not looking—that she wasn’t wearing any panties. And right there, right as she didn’t think she could take any more exposure, he’d finger-fuck her right there on the wall, whispering dark things to her until she screamed.

She was rather pleased that her dreams helped take the edge off her need for Snape until the girls in her dorm started yarning about the Yule Ball coming up in a few weeks. That seemed to create some sort of schism in her dream world and everything started going to pot.

The dream started with her entering the ball between the boys, but Harry and Ron never looked at her, never stayed by her side and kept wandering off, regardless of the rather racy black dress she’d found herself to be wearing. In fact, it seemed to be a theme that no one was paying her any attention at all. She walked up to the teachers, they talked as if she wasn’t there. She spoke to Ginny and that was like speaking to a wall. Nothing. She started panicking, hyperventilating, until the room started spinning and she knew she needed some fresh air. Nearly to tears, she teetered out into the hedgerow garden just off the Great Hall on impossibly tall heels and ran completely into Snape. She literally bounced off of him and would have fallen if he’d not grabbed her arms and swung her into a waltz.

The only thing that even kept her grounded, kept her from waking, shrieking from the nightmare was the deep abyss of his regard. He would not look away from her. Everyone spoke to him, tried to get his attention, but he completely ignored them for her. For her.

The dance ended, they shifted round a hedge and his strong, deft hands coasted up her arms and into her hair, pulling her into a kiss.

Dumbledore called to him, they twisted away and around another hedge.

He laved her neck, just below her ear, right where he liked it. His hands slipped the tiny strap of her dress off and cupped one shoulder, held her there, caressing the sensitive skin there with his calloused thumb.

McGonagall came round the corner.

She gasped, he shifted, they were around another hedge. Farther and farther into the hedge maze they went, more people called to him, saw them, interrupted them just before something progressed into something satisfying.

Voldemort was the last interruption before she finally woke up crying in frustration, somewhere between fear, guilt, anger, need, and overwhelmingly unsatisfied lust.

God, what was she going to do? She stared up into the bed hangings, tears leaking out the sides of her eyes and dribbling into her ears. This was ridiculous, the dream was obvious. She wanted his undivided attention and knew she wasn’t going to get it. That was the whole rush behind this assignation, that they weren’t tied to each other that way. They were just…convenient for each other.

Dammit. Why did her heart have to get involved with this? There was no way she was going to…No, he’d cut her off in a heartbeat and go back to raping unsuspecting girls in her classes. She couldn’t even call it rape now that she knew how good of a lover he was, that he was considerate—in his own, perverse, sort of way. Well, she might not, but what if it were Luna…or Cho? What if next year it were Ginny? Did he stay away from girls that were already involved with someone? What had made him choose her, anyway?

Too many questions the night before a Transfigurations exam. She punched her pillow and willed herself into at least a clear mind for meditation, if not sleep, reciting the rules and procedures needed for the exam tomorrow.


She was hunting him. There was no other way he could describe it. At first, it was amusing and he’d taken advantage to have her so near, so often, but her appearances in so many locations about his own quickly became caging. It had to stop, if only to keep from arousing suspicion.

She’d been following him to his ingredients storage when he slipped in before she got too close. Just as she was about to knock, he yanked the door open and jerked her inside.

She stumbled across the threshold and landed against the worktable.

“You really ought to practice caution when following me, Miss Granger.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m tired of your spying or lovesickness or whatever it is that has you doggedly shadowing me every where I go. It needs to stop this instant or we stop this instant, is that clear?”

Her mouth dropped open and gave him mind to make use of that orifice for something they’d not had circumstance to yet. Before he made a complete fool of himself to his own lust, he maintained his sneer and waited for her response.

It was most certainly not what he expected.

She reared back and slapped him. Hard. “I am NOT a DOG! Nor am I a spy or a lovesick fool over YOU!”

He shifted his jaw, actually reveling in the stinging pain wrapping around his face for a moment before it settled into the deeper ache that would later bruise. He snapped his eyes to hers and pointed to the door, “Then why the hell were you following me?”

“I—” She flustered, blundered, “I wanted—don’t we—?”

His eyebrows met in the middle and tried desperately to climb his forehead, “Are you telling me you want me that desperately that you follow me about looking for an opportune time to fuck me?” When she didn’t answer, probably out of pride, he conjectured something different, “Or perhaps you would rather completely irritate me into new behavior?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Not yet, you’re not.” He darted an arm forward and grabbed a handful of her bushy hair, shoving her down, “Kneel, Hermione. Show me what your intentions really are.”

She struggled, but only until he said for her to kneel. She went down and glared up at him when he told her to show him her intentions. “I don’t have any intentions to blow your knob with you being such a bastard. That’s something I only do for nice boys. You’d probably not want my teeth near that right now, Professor.”

If she hadn’t been talking about biting his dick, he’d have been impressed. As it was, she needed to be punished, reprimanded in some way, for calling him a bastard to his face.

He held on to that hank of frizzy hair and bent down mercilessly over her, pulling her backwards to keep her eyes level with his as he went. “I’m a bastard, am I?”

He’d laced every cyanide-smooth tone in his possession into that question and it was finally registering across her brain what she’d done. “I—”

He cut her off with a yank to her hair. “Shut up. You haven’t seen me at my worst, little brat, but you perversely seem to want to.” He watched his words play across her expressions. “Don’t you?”

She was thinking furiously, he could see that much. She opened her mouth once, twice, the third time he was ready to snark something about fish, but she spoke a tiny little question he’d really not wanted to hear, “Why did you pick me?”

Shocked, he abruptly let go of her and stepped completely away, even went so far as to back up against the shelves behind him. He narrowed his eyes at her, thinking over all of the different avenues and ramifications of every possible meaning of that question. He picked the worst answer, designed to hurt and humiliate, even possibly to drive her away. “Because you looked like you needed a good fucking.” He paused for effect. “The high and mighty Hermione Granger was a thorn in my side that needed to be plucked and what better way to pluck it than to fuck it?”

He’d expected emotion, but not the controlled roiling rocking the vials and jars back and forth on their shelves for a brief moment before she stood. She was actually quite devastating in her anger, chin jutted forward, lip curled, eyes bright with tears, fists clenched at her sides…

He watched her cautiously as she swept out of the room without another word.

That went both better and worse than he’d thought it would. He only had to dart forward and catch one vial to keep it from dropping to its demise on the stone floor.


She wanted to kill him. She wanted to rip his lungs out and feed them to the giant squid…or maybe pluck out each of his oily hairs and lace his eyeballs to his genitals with them. GOD! Something to make her feel vindicated against such evil, horrible words! What was she doing lusting after such a man? No wonder no-one ever came near him, he really was as vile as everyone said.

She’d just started to think otherwise, that was all.

The bastard.

Tears rolled freely down her face as she wound her way up the changing staircases up to Gryffindor Tower. Where she belonged.

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