Chapter Text
Summer, 1997
Snape came back to his senses. He was laying on top of Granger on a musty twin bed in a dusty room on one of the upper floors in Grimmauld Place. Her hair was a mass of lemongrass scented curls below his chin, hiding her face. He couldn’t hear anyone else moving around below, and he hoped that meant they were home alone. His reason seemed to be back in charge again.
But his erection hadn’t disappeared. It was, still, unfortunately, buried inside the girl below him.
It felt exquisite.
He rolled his hips, once, twice.
He exhaled slowly into the mop of curly hair below his chain, gathered up his will power, and rolled off her. She came with him, clinging to him, brown eyes glued to his while she tried to bring him back into her. “Please,” she said. “Please.”
He grabbed her wrists in one of his hands, holding her off himself while he tucked himself back into his pants. Her eyes were frantic now, pupils wide, as she gyrated her hips against the air. Trying to continue what they’d started.
What he had started. Or had it been her? It had been a blur.
“Come back,” she whimpered. “Come here.” She was trying to fumble at his pants.
“Granger,” he snarled. “Think. Pretend this is an exam for a moment and that you will fail it if you do not focus for a moment. What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just need…” She whined and ground against the air, squeezing her legs together to create friction there.
“How did we get here? Think, Granger,” Snape said, putting all the authority he could into his voice. She usually responded well to authority.
“I don’t caaaare,” she whined, clawing at his robes, his arm. He half rolled on her again to hold her down, trying to ignore the exposed breasts pressing against him.
“You’ll care once you come back to yourself. Stop.” His hands tightened around her wrists. That would leave bruises. “Breathe. Count to ten. Slowly.” She said nothing, and he tightened his vice on her wrists until she finally did.
“One. Two. Three.”
“Too fast. You’re not in a race. Count once for each long breath. You need to calm your heart rate and let the suppressant kick in.”
She hiccuped out tears for a moment. “I need you to touch me. Touch me.” She was an inferi, a mindless body writhing against him, trying to break the iron grip on her wrists. He let go of one wrist long enough to give a short, hard slap to the lower right side of her face, hoping to get her to focus. She moaned instead, low and long, turning her face toward him as if seeking out more abuse. That husky growl in her throat threatened to distract him from his purpose.
Fortunately, Snape had a lot of practice at ignoring even the most disturbing of distractions.
But slapping might not be helpful in her current state. She was in sudden onset heat, and her body was clearly interpreting pain as sexual.
“Count,” he commanded again. “Give the suppressant a minute to kick in.”
She sniffled again, snot and tears running down her face. Being interrupted mid-coitus was not something she was adjusting to well. Neither was he, now that he thought about it, considering the state of the erection he was trying to ignore. He wished he could rearrange his clothes to at least restore the appearance that all was in order. He felt vulnerable, exposed, at the idea that anyone could walk in on him right now with a half-naked student trying to entice him back down into a bed. But he couldn’t let go of her until she’d calmed down.
She finally took a deep breath, and exhaled it on a “One.” He nodded. She took a long breath. “Two.”
“Good,” he said crisply, and it was the first time he had used that word to refer to any single thing she had ever done. Desperate times, and what not. Though when she shivered next to him, he thought that he must try using that word on her again in future. And then immediately thought that he must never say that word in front of her again.
Such was his existence. Duality in every part of it.
He was weary of it. But it was necessary at the moment, as was this abrupt halt to the rut he had suddenly found himself in a few minutes ago. He’d been irritated earlier that evening to find Granger’s work station in Grimmauld’s laboratory abandoned; she’d been meant to be overseeing a rather tricky strengthening potion that Snape had been developing. But she wasn’t there, and the timer had run out on the next steps, so this batch would be lost. He’d been furious, and then he’d seen her, slumped down in a crouch, back resting against the wall of the lab, hands scratching at the ground next to her.
The scent wafted from her like the perfume of orgasm on the air. She was holding his teaching robes in her lap, mewling. Clearly in heat. Somehow that had led to this, though he’d managed to force suppressants down both their throats just before they’d fallen onto each other like rutting animals.
She was quiet for a moment. He was on top of her again now, holding her down until she finally stilled and he saw the dawn of recognition in her eyes. “Suppresant?” she asked. “Is that what you gave me?” She was coming back to herself. He flopped back onto his back once more.
He lay panting on the bed next to her, staring at the ceiling. The orange tail of her familiar wacked into his face as it rubbed itself along his shoulder, then sat next to him and licked its paw. He half-laughed. The whiplash of being in a rut one moment and then back in his right mind the next would take a minute to adjust to. The girl just lay there, frozen.
“Yes,” he said, after a moment. “A suppressant. A potion you are supposed to be taking every month, yet which you clearly have missed. Your irresponsibility has consequences for yourself and other people, you know.”
“I have,” she said, indignant. “I swear, I take it every month .”
“You must have missed a month, Granger, or we wouldn’t find ourselves in this unfortunate position.”
“No, never,” she said, her breath still loud and gasping. “I swear I take it every month, on the first day of the month.”
“When was your last heat, then?” he asked. “Or did you try skipping it by staying on the potion? That’s exactly the kind of reckless thing you would do, with no regard for the people around you. You absolutely must go through heat once a year, at a minimum.”
“I KNOW that,” she insisted. “I’m not an idiot.” He snorted at that, clearly disbelieving. “I had a heat three months ago. We used the potion to delay it until Easter break. It was my second one. Everything has been fine since then.” He vaguely remembered her occasional appearances at the great hall near the end of that break. He’d been shocked to see her without Potter hanging about her.
“Were you foolish enough to go through it alone? That would explain your current lack of temperance.” He raised an eyebrow at her in a glare. As far as he was concerned, no pubescent students were smart enough to manage their own heat cycles, which was why he took his own suppressants, and the school enforced a strict cycle of monitoring potions and heats to keep things under a reasonable level of control until these hormonal beasts could be loosed on wizarding society as newly minted adults.
“I was with Ron,” she said in a small voice.
“A beta,” Snape snorted.
“It should have been fine. He took potions to … to keep up with me.”
“Did you manage the heat…. Correctly?” he asked, eyebrow still raised. She had clearly done something wrong to have a breakthrough incident of the type the two of them had just experienced.
“Yes,” she spat out. “I assure you we did everything required to send the damn urge back into submission again.” Her face was red, and he didn’t know if it was from their recent exertions or embarrassment. Though embarrassment felt a little beyond the point at this moment. If he hadn’t had the presence of mind to force more suppressant down both their throats, as well as calming draughts, they would be rutting away like animals at the moment. Which would be disastrous on multiple levels.
He tried to shut down the sharp twinge of regret at the back of his mind at the thought. They had enough going on in their lives at the moment without these complications.
“Well, you’re on a double dose now, then,” he said. “We may need to… adjust your potion.”
She laughed. “I think so.” Then, tentatively. “Can you do that?”
“I’ve been working on some varieties. There is an individualized version I can brew for you that should be more effective than the one Pomfrey gives out.” And he could add some elements to make sure it added extra resistance for him, specifically. “And I’ve been working on a slow-release version that you could take every three months instead of every month.”
“That would help,” she said. “That would be a very popular potion.” She paused, then, softly - “Aren’t you on a suppressant, too?”
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”
“Then… Do you think yours needs to be adjusted, too?” It was a fair question, and he was already plotting ways to do so. The double-safe system they had to keep themselves civilised around a group of young adults hitting puberty should have prevented anything like this from occurring.
He sighed and propped himself up on the bed, then made himself stand. He ignored the question. While the Hogwarts staff were - appropriately - involved in managing student heats, the reverse was certainly not the case.
“Granger,” he said. “Are you… still indisposed?”
“Ugh. Um.” Not encouraging. “I think I'm getting better.” Her hips were still gyrating a bit.
“Then cover yourself up.” She slowly tugged her skirt down and half-sat up against the headboard. She looked absolutely wrecked.
Her eyes were dilated, her lips puffy. His reason might be once more driving the ship, but his body still reacted to the sight with a hugely positive affirmation. She looked ready and willing to be fucked. Gorgeous. He looked away with a shudder.
“Stay here,” he said. “I’m going to send someone up to you.” There weren’t many people he trusted to call in a situation like this. Minerva did not appreciate his insistence that she come immediately. But she did, arriving a few minutes later through the flue.
“It’s Granger,” he said, and ushered her towards the stairs.
“What’s wrong with her,” Minerva asked. “Why didn’t you take her to Madame Pomfrey?”
He paused mid-flight. He had to warn her but it was an embarrassing thing to explain.
“There was an incident,” he said. “I don’t think she needs to see Pomfrey, but she had a breakthrough heat and - things almost went out of control. They did go out of control.”
Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. “How far out of control did they go?” she asked.
“I stopped her heat mid-track,” he said. “I gave both of us extra suppressants and calming draughts to halt it. But they didn’t work instantly. There was - contact. Physical contact.” He felt like an idiot using such euphemisms, but found he couldn’t quite bring himself to say that he had penetrated a student. Ridiculous that with everything happening in the world, and with the practical and controlled approach magical Britain had developed toward such things, he could still be embarrassed by the natural functions of the body. Of his own body.
Minerva nodded, and he expected she would pry more specific details out of Granger.
The events of the last few minutes were a jumble in his brain, but they were starting to sort themselves out into a linear order. She’d had a breakthrough heat. He’d seen signs when they were working together in the field-expedient lab he’d assembled in a fourth floor bathroom, despite the protests of Ginny, Tonks, and Hermione, who now had to share a restroom with Ron and Harry for the next 3 and a half weeks. Granger had been flushed while shaving ginger, even the tips of her ears an unbecoming pink. He’d thought she might be sick. She kept touching her lips, her cheeks, her ears, and he’d found it distracting in a specific way that he always carefully blocked off in his mind when around his students. Her odor had always been pleasing, but then it had flared across him in a wave, a deeper scent that curled into his nostrils like a lick of flame that burned his sinuses, waved down his spine and settled in his groin.
Just an hour ago they’d been working together there in a surprisingly pleasant rhythm despite the tight space. In class, that pack of fools Granger ran around with divided her attention. Separated from the pack, she turned her attention to the task at hand with the focus it deserved. She had made herself into an acceptable - and thoughtful - assistant. Snape had been able to accelerate his production schedule quite a bit, to the point that they’d been able to work on some experiments he’d been thinking about.
Until she’d fallen into a haze of lust in front of him, triggering his rut. His mind threw the images up in his mind again and again, despite his attempts to wall them off. He’d been inside of her - he shuddered at the memory - and if it were not for the miracle of modern magic, they could have easily spent several days in a haze of fucking.
He’d only been able to force potions down their throats by not thinking about what he was doing. He’d grabbed the first aid kit posted by the door and downed an impotence potion and a suppressant into himself. She’d grabbed his wrist with urgency, stealing his soul through her eyes as she started pulling him toward the door and the bed in the next room.
She’d grabbed his other wrist with one hand, then, and fisted his robe in her hand. “Miss Granger,” he’d spoken slowly, hoping it would penetrate. “I will come with you in a moment, but you must take this first,” he said, twisting the cap off the familiar pink stuff. It had the flavor of mud and the consistency of a ground up banana. She’d refused for a bit, then finally taken it when he commanded her “Take it, you idiot girl, now.” The gruff tone had gotten through to her, and she’d swallowed the suppressant.
Everything had been a bit of a blur of lust after that, as he’d allowed her to drag him into the adjacent bedroom, to drag him down to the bed where she lay with her skirt up and her legs spread wide. She’d fumbled at his trousers and pulled him into her before the potions had kicked in and reason had taken over again.
No more than one or two minutes could have passed.
Snape sat down in a huff in an armchair in the library and packed the memories away, one by one - the events and the emotions behind them. It wasn’t unheard of for something like this to happen, but the last thing he needed was for anyone - for Voldemort, especially - to wonder about his connection with Granger. That was a secret that must not be revealed until the right moment - because at the right moment, it could change everything.