It is his cardinal rule. It has become ingrained in him as deeply as the dark mark that will not leave his arm, regardless of the spells and potions and burning acid he has tried. He remembers his horror as the sulfuric acid he'd procured in London had rolled off the black raised flesh as if it were impervious, eating through his robes and the stone floor beneath his feet.

He shakes his head and wards off the thoughts, the motion causing her to move into his vision.

She looks much the same as she did the first day he saw her. He had nothing but contempt for her that day and, if he is honest with himself, contempt is a large part of what draws him now. He hates her friends, hates their stupidity and their innocence. Hates that they use her to suit their purposes, their needs.

He holds the world in contempt, but none moreso than the two Gryffindor boys that stand by her sides.

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley? Did you have some intention of actually reaching your seats today? Or are you still hoping that some of Miss Granger's dubious intelligence will rub off on you?"

Weasley's hand lingers on her arm as he walks away, glaring at Snape, his blue eyes like ice. Potter moves away as well, regarding him cautiously. His green eyes are like a rattlesnake's, intent on the strike.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" He raises an eyebrow and looks at her, his smooth voice like velvet wrapped around the killing blow. "Did you wish to say something?"

"No, Professor."

"Well then, let's mark that as a first in the books, shall we?" He turns, his robes rustling loudly in the room. The sound does little to disguise her rough whisper. His eyes widening, he completes a swift circle and faces her again, two quick strides placing him directly in front of her. His hands fist on the table and his hooked nose nearly touches hers. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, I didn't hear that."

When she doesn't respond, he glares at Neville standing next to her.

"What did she say, Longbottom?"

"I do…I don…" Neville's face flushes hotly and he shakes his head. "I didn't hear anything, Professor."

"Parkinson!"

"She said you should have Malfoy stick the book up your…"

"That's enough." Snape snaps and silence fills the room. He jerks out his wand and shows it to Hermione, watching the shift of fear light her eyes. Barely moving, he flicks his wrist and sparks shoot through the room. "Petrificus Caterva!"

Everyone in the room freezes, trapped in the spell. Hermione's eyes stay locked on Snape as he walks up to her, intentions dark in his eyes.

"Nothing to say, Miss Granger?" He reaches out and, with the flick of a crooked finger, unhooks her robes. They hang loosely on her as his breath warms her cool cheek, smelling surprisingly of mint. "No more words to slip past those lips to insult me? No more threats or disparaging remarks?" He walks behind her, feeling her try to watch him, feeling the strain. He runs his hands from her shoulders to the curve of her ass. He leans in and presses his chest to her back, his mouth to her ear. "No protests?"

"Articulo," he whispers for just her to hear.

"Go to hell."

"I've been there, my dear," he purrs. "Shall I take you with me this go 'round?"

Her jaw tenses and she swallows, eyes darting wildly around the room, everyone's attention focused on them.

"I would think, given your love for books, you'd have come up with a much better comeback, Miss Granger." His hands curve down, over her ass. "I think I'm disappointed." He brings them around to the front of her, letting them slide over the silky warmth of her robes, parting them with deft fingers. "Would you like to try again?"

Hermione shudders as best she can under the spell; her breathing changing as he carefully begins raising her skirt. He leans against her, arms around her waist, slowly exposing her knees, her thighs to the rapid inspection of everyone in the room. "Does it excite you, Miss Granger? To be here like this? To feel me?"

"You're perverted."

"Am I?" His voice is thick and soft, smothering her like a down pillow as he slips a hand under her skirt and presses two fingers to her knickers between her legs. He pulls them back and rubs them together, drawing them up to her nose. "And yet you're wet. Does that make you perverted too, Miss Granger?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Are you suggesting that Miss Parkinson lied, Miss Granger?" He slides his hand beneath her gray vest and curves it over her breast. The nipple presses hard to his palm and she struggles against the spell. "Would it excite you more if I were to take twenty points from your house for such allegations?"

"Sod," she gasps as he tightens his fingers around her nipple, pinching and squeezing it, rubbing the surface with his palm. "Sod off."

His other hand wraps around her waist and buries itself beneath her skirt, long fingers finding her wet knickers. "Do you think your friend Mr. Weasley knows the meaning of that phrase, Miss Granger? Do you think it means something that it appears to be his favorite epithet?"

Hermione's eyes go to Ron. His face is flame red and he looks about to combust, though his eyes are locked on Snape's hands, watching their slow, hypnotic movements, transfixed.

"And you, Miss Granger. Is that what you want? What you'd like? Me to bend you over this desk right now and take you from behind? Do you want my cock inside you?" He tugs her knickers aside and lets his fingers find the burning flesh of her clit. He runs them across it once and she barely stifles a scream. "Shall I forgo the book and shove my thick, hard cock up your sweet, creamy arse?"

"But no," he speaks softly, conversationally. "I think perhaps you want to watch me, don't you, Miss Granger?" He doesn't say anything for a long time, simply looks around the room. Eyes of every color are upon them; watching them in undisguised interest, tempered with horror, embarrassment and disgust. "Tell me what you want."

Hermione gasps as he touches her clit again, moving his fingers in earnest over the hard nub. "You," she begs as he strokes her. He releases the spell on her and turns her as she falls limply, spreading her out on her desk. Longbottom looks at them from the corner of his eye and Snape smiles hungrily.

"With all these people watching, Hermione?" He bites her lower lip carefully, only the blood on the inside seeping out into her mouth. "Your friends." He swings his robes back and unbuttons his slacks, pushing them down his legs. "Your enemies?" He reaches beneath the skirt where it had fallen back down her thighs, two fingers gliding slickly inside her tight passageway. "Everyone watching you?"

She groans and arches off the desk, offering herself up to him. He presses his thumb to her clit as he works a slow rhythm; her hitching breaths sending thrill after thrill through his spine. He feels her tense and pulls his fingers away, silencing her cry with his hand, his damp fingers dipping down into her willing mouth.

His free hand guides his cock inside her, filling her with a soft stroke, feeling the resistance in her body. She shivers again and thrusts upward, meeting his hips with her own, both of them falling back to the table and submerging themselves into the steady rock of their movements.

"He's watching you, Hermione," Snape pants. "They're all watching you. Potter and Weasley and Malfoy and they're disgusted and horrified and turned on. Their cocks are so hard they can't wait for this class to end so they can relieve themselves. And your girl friends. They're no better off, are they? You can't see the need, but you can smell it, can't you?"

She nods and he sneers, thrusting harder.

"Can't you?"

"Yes." She nods again, matching him stroke for stroke. "Yes, Professor. You're right." The last word is lost in the middle of a heavy gasp. He continues moving, feeling her body contract around his again and again, wringing his own orgasm from inside him.

He pulls away from her slowly, both of them jerking helplessly as his cock slides free from her heat. He adjusts himself, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes as she fixes her knickers, her skirt; closing several clasps of her robe to hide her disheveled state.

Snape looks around the room, watching the boys sway as their petrified state works on their lack of blood flow, their erections straining visibly against their robes. He moves over to Lavender and Pansy, seated together and as far apart as they can be. "They want to touch themselves, Hermione." He looks back at her. "I want you to touch yourself tonight."

"Yes, Professor."

"Class is dismissed for today." He watches Lavender shake for a long moment. "Try not to trample each other in the rush to get out so you can get off." He holds his wand aloft. "Finite Incantatum!"

They all tumble to their seats, shaky and weak and nearly all of them thrusting a hand between their legs. "Dismissed," he snarls at them, waiting until they stand almost as one and move to the door before lifting his wand again. "Obliviate!"

Dazed and confused and frustrated beyond measure, the Gryffindors and Slytherins stumble out to their houses, barely talking, though several couples seem to fall to one another. Hermione watches them walk away, wondering how all of the students, sharing a room, will be able to indulge in the urgent need.

"Well, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Was it," he strokes her cheek delicately, "as you wished?"

"It was perfect, Professor."

"Excellent." He steals a hot kiss, biting her lip again, this time drawing a well of blood from her dark, full pout. "I'll fetch the potion to reattach your hymen."

"The what?" She follows after him, shocked when he points his wand at her.

"Imperio," he whispers, offering her the potion. "Drink."

Hermione drinks.

"Your first time again tonight, Miss Granger." He kisses her willing lips hungrily, branding himself with her taste. "My way, this time."