Special delivery for savine_snape Title: The Invitation Author: Recipient's LJ name:savine_snape Pairing(s): Severus Snape/Hermione Granger Rating: NC17 Summary: An unexpected invitation provokes a strong reaction. Word Count: 2394 Warnings/Content: PWP Disclaimer: They all belong to JK Rowling, bless her. I just take them out to play now and then Author's notes: I took your prompt #3 and only used the first part of it as the inspiration for this fic. I hope you like where the bunny led me. Many thanks and long, wet snogs to my darling pinch-hit beta who came through for me when my alpha beta went on vacation.
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Hermione shelved Poison for Fun and Profit with a wave of her wand then leaned against the bookshelf with a sigh. She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out the envelope she had shoved there earlier.
“Miss Hermione Granger
The Library
Hogwarts Castle”
The address was written in Ginny’s firm hand.
So, Hermione thought, as she broke the seal and read:
Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley
request the pleasure of your company
at the marriage of their daughter
Ginevra Molly
to
Mister Harry James Potter
at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
on Saturday, 11th of June
at 2 O’clock
Reception to follow
RSVP by owl
I’m invited to their wedding after all.
Things had become very cool between Hermione and the Weasleys—and by default—Harry; after the way she and Ron broke up. Hermione’s lips twitched into a tight smile. She wasn’t going to spend any time with regrets. The randy git deserved it and more.
Now, she was back at Hogwarts working as Madam Pince’s apprentice. Even though Hermione got stuck doing all the things the librarian didn’t want to do, it was her dream job. She even enjoyed shelving the “special” books—ones that would bite…or worse. And nothing was better than working the night shift.
By working while the castle slept, she rarely saw anyone except at dinner. This was fine by Hermione. Oh, Minerva, Septima and occasionally Hagrid or Filius would stop by when they had curfew duty. Hermione had all the time she wanted to read, while learning how to take care of such a wide array of books, both magical and non. She couldn’t have wished for a better job.
She frowned. Well, except for Snape, of course. She was not surprised to find that Snape had taken his old position as Potions Master and Slytherin head of house once again after his recovery from Nagini’s bite. One of the things Madam Pince had warned her about was Snape’s propensity to prowl the library late at night.
“He moves so silently I never know he’s here until after he’s snuck up on me …” and Madam Pince launched into another of her diatribes that usually degenerated into a wish that she would be allowed to bar students from the library completely.
Hermione shook herself, replaced the invitation in the envelope and shoved it back into the pocket of her robe with a scowl.
Snape came into the library with alarming frequency—almost nightly. Just to be a bloody-minded git, as far as she was concerned, since he hated her so damned much. Or so he said, she told herself as she strode back to her desk. Just because she helped save his mis-begotten life. She threw herself into her chair, picked up “Witch Trials of 16th Century East Anglia” and tried to read. Five minutes later, she gave it up as a bad job and closed the book. She put her head down on her desk and wished for the thousandth time that someone else would have heard that conversation in the Great Hall five years ago…
“…another one bitten by that evil snake and brought in too late.”
Hermione, who was standing a little apart from the Weasley family, froze.
“What do you mean ‘too late’, Ginger? There is no antidote to that snake’s bite.”
“The victim can be saved if they are treated in time, although it can take months for them to recover.”
“If there’s a treatment, why haven’t I heard of it?”
“You work in Maternity, Dorothy.”
Dorothy made a rude noise. “So, why do most of ‘em die? The only one I’ve heard of who lived was Mr. Weasley.”
“Because that be-damned creature’s venom makes the victim appear to be dead, but they don’t die right away. It can take hours—or days. And all the time, the victim is alive and in horrific pain…”
Hermione had hustled the protesting medi-witches straight out to the Shrieking Shack at wand-point. Snape was taken to St. Mungo’s only after a threat from Hermione and a dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion. She had gone to visit him a few weeks later. She didn’t expect him to be nice—and he wasn’t.
“Miss Granger—I understand that I have you to thank for my continued presence among the living.”
“Well, yes, and the two medi-witches wh-” Snape interrupted her with a lift of his hand.
“I only have one question, Miss Granger.”
Hermione wasn’t sure she liked his tone. She raised an eyebrow and asked, “Which is…?”
His cold black eyes bored into hers. “Why didn’t you let me die?”
His tone infuriated her and she snapped, “I’d seen enough death that day.”
“Did you not consider that perhaps I had seen enough death in my lifetime? Enough that I may have perhaps been looking forward to my journey to that undiscovered country?”
“Actually, I didn’t stop to think…”
“That is obvious.”
“…I presumed you’d rather be alive.”
“Your presumption was impertinent.”
Hermione had left the room at that point, mostly to stop herself from hexing him. Ungrateful bastard.
She had not seen him again until she’d come to work at Hogwarts. The castle had never seemed small to her before, but now, everywhere she went, there was Snape glaring at her.
“Miss Granger, I was not aware that the librarian’s apprentice was supposed to sleep at her desk.”
She didn’t bother to raise her head. “I’m not sleeping, Snape, and you know it.”
“My mistake.”
Hermione sat up, leaned back and crossed her arms and legs. “What do you want, Snape? As you can see, I’m extremely busy.”
Snape pulled his hand out of the pocket of his robes and tossed a familiar-looking envelope on the desk in front of her.
“Are you interfering in my life again?”
“Why on earth would you think that I had anything to do with your being invited to Harry’s wedding?”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Old habits are hard to break, Miss Granger.” His black eyes pinned her to her seat. “You always have been an interfering know-it-all.”
Hermione ignored the jibe and met his angry gaze. “Do you want to know something?” She stood up, walked around the desk and stood toe to toe with him without breaking eye contact. “I am sick to death of you swanning around here like a frustrated martyr, making me feel guilty for ruining your death.” She grabbed the front of his robes, surprising him, and dragged him down until they were nose to nose. “But I will never,” she growled, “be sorry for saving your life.”
Hermione felt the burn behind her eyes and flung him away from her. She was damned if she would let him see her cry. She tried to move away but her flight was stopped by a sudden grip on her arm. Snape pulled her around and dragged her closer.
“It seems I have the rest of my life to remedy...”
Before he could finish, Hermione closed the distance between them and kissed him full on the mouth.
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No one was more surprised than Snape this morning in the Great Hall, when an owl swooped down and deposited an envelope on the table before him. He glared at the raptor over his copy of the Prophet. Certainly there was some mistake. The owl ruffled its feathers and glared right back. Snape sighed, gave the bird a bit of bacon and then picked up the envelope. He turned it over to find out who it was really meant for…
Professor Severus Snape
Great Hall
Hogwarts
Snape folded his newspaper, set it aside and opened the heavy parchment. He pulled out the invitation, read it and returned it to the envelope. He shoved it into the pocket of his robe, ignored Minerva’s not-so-subtle grin and excused himself.
“Severus.” She pitched her voice so only he could hear.
Damn her. “Yes, Minerva?”
“Come see me this afternoon once you’ve finished with your last class.”
“Yes, Minerva.” He turned to go.
“Severus?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes, Minerva?”
“Don’t reply to that until we’ve spoken.”
She was getting as bad as Albus used to be. “No, Minerva.”
The day got worse after that.
Five melted cauldrons, seven detentions and one hundred and fifty house points from Gryffindor later, Snape hardly felt any better at all. He sat in the headmaster’s office, scowling at Minerva across her desk, and wondered if he was losing his touch. Both she and Albus’ portrait were smiling benignly at him.
He felt just a bit ganged-up on.
“Would you mind repeating that?” he asked, with a mix of horror and incredulity.
Minerva folded her hands on her desk and damned if her eyes did not twinkle in that annoying way Albus’ used to.
“Harry asked us to see that you attend his wedding,” she said in the annoying, no-nonsense way she always spoke to him. “The boy looks up to you, you know. He considers you a hero. Is it so much to ask?”
Snape reflected that he would not be in this position if Granger had not interfered with his death. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Yes, Minerva, it is. I planned to brew a batch of Pepperup Potion that day.”
Albus chuckled from his frame and Severus knew he had already lost the argument.
Later, prowling the hallways of the castle, he was disappointed to find no one breaking curfew, so he turned his attention to the library and tormenting Granger. When he thought about her, he had to admit she was attractive in her own way. And her revenge on Weasley when she found him enjoying his new-found Quidditch celebrity in bed with another woman had been admirable. Providing the Prophet with the story, including pictures, anonymously of course, was diabolical. Everyone knew who had leaked the story—which was why the Weasley’s had cooled toward her.
Snape was impressed in spite of himself.
He paused in the doorway and looked in. Hermione’s head was cradled in her arms on the desk, her riotous curls cascading down her back. His gaze softened for a moment before he shook himself mentally, arranged his face in a sneer and spoke.
Before he knew it, he had lost control of the conversation and was being very thoroughly (and pleasantly) snogged.
Snape gave in, crushed her to him and kissed her back hungrily. He explored her mouth, teasing her tongue with his. She molded her body to his and slid her hands through his hair.
He cleared the desk with a thought and lowered her onto it. Her eyes were dark and luminous, her lips red and swollen from his kiss. She looked utterly inviting—and very delectable. He lowered his mouth to hers, covering her with his body, and kissed her again. This time, he nibbled her lips, her jaw, then lower. He unfastened her robes like opening a gift, and felt himself grow hard. She wore a barely adequate yellow satin bra and knickers underneath.
Snape could not help himself. His touch was feather-light as he caressed her shoulders. He dragged his fingers slowly down her body and rubbed his thumbs across her breasts. Her nipples hardened beneath her bra and she sighed with pleasure.
Snape pushed the satin fabric down, freeing her breasts to his hungry gaze. The nipples were pink, swollen and so inviting. He bent his head, took one into his mouth and suckled as he caressed the other. Hermione made mewling sounds and arched her back. Snape nibbled his way down her body, reveling in the tremors of her stomach as he dipped his tongue into her navel then moved lower. He hooked his fingers under the elastic of her knickers and pulled them off. Gently, he spread her legs and kissed her mons as he inhaled her musky scent.
Hermione was plummeting into a chasm of feeling. Her entire body was alive, more alive than it had ever been. Every nerve ending tingled as Snape—Snape! —explored her body with his lips and hands. When he kissed her mound and slipped his fingers into her, she raised her hips with a pleading whimper. Hermione almost leapt from the desk as he licked, teased and feasted on her. Hermione felt herself spiraling up and up until, when she was almost weeping with the pleasure, she shattered with a shuddering cry.
“Severus, please—”
Snape rose and shrugged out of his robes and pants, freeing his straining erection. He took her hips, pulled her to the edge of the desk and pressed into her slowly, torturously and then pulled out again, trembling with the effort to control his movements.
“Snape!” she growled, meeting his amused, and heated, gaze. “Is that the best you can do?”
“Not even close.” He plunged into her then, moving fast and hard.
Hermione closed her eyes and abandoned herself to the bliss. Her hips rose of their own volition to meet his thrusts, every nerve ending sang. Her body quivered again and she cried out. Her voice seemed to undo him. His control slipped and he drove into her with wild abandon until he reached his climax with a shuddering cry. Snape covered her body with his and nestled his head in the crook of her shoulder, breathing hard.
Hermione wrapped her arms and legs around him and smoothed his hair away from his face. She kissed his nose, his eyes, his lips.
“So,” she murmured against his cheek. “It seems you are finally embracing your life.”
Snape opened his eyes and looked at her. His mouth quirked up on one side. “I suppose it does have its advantages.”
“It took you long enough—but I’m glad you’re seeing it my way.”
Snape’s black eyes shone with humor. “Minx.”
Hermione twinkled back at him. “How would you like to take the piss out of Minerva, the Weasleys and all the rest of them?”
“I live for the opportunity. What do you have in mind?”
“Escort me to the wedding. Dance with me—outrageously close. Snog me in front of them all.”
Snape’s eyes glittered. “I think I’d like that.” He looked at her lips and his eyes darkened. “I think I’d like that very much.” His mouth closed on hers.