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It was a hot day in June, and Severus Snape was almost enjoying himself.
He was deep in the Forbidden Forest, collecting snapdragons flowers, which were used in a large variety of potions. It was a peaceful activity, requiring extreme care and patience since the flowers had to be in the most pristine condition, lest they lose their potency. Severus had never cared much for meditating, but the slow work that was picking flowers for his potions brought him to the same mental zone, a place where everything was simple, and where only the next gesture counted.
All in all, it was one of his favorite activity, and it usually guaranteed him some time alone, away from any students or any other staff members.
But not today. No, today Potter had insisted to accompany him, and despite his best attempts at refusing her, she hadn't taken no for an answer. She had promised to stay silent and not bother him, and while so far she had done both, he was sure it wouldn't last. In fact, her silence was nothing but suspicious.
Shifting his stance, he turned slightly to look at her. She was crouched in front of several flowers, considering them with a frown on her brow. It made her look younger than her twenty-five years of age. Or perhaps that was the soft, dappled light of the afternoon filtered through the trees, falling on her like a crown, highlighting her freckles and the auburn shine of her hair.
She felt him looking, met his gaze and smiled at him. Then she nodded at the flowers in front of her.
"I found a funny one," she informed him, apparently taking his look as an invitation to speak, which it most definitely had not been.
"A funny one," he repeated, wary of what Potter would consider 'funny'.
She pointed at the flower in question. Instead of the usual bright pink, it was blue. Ah. Nothing of real interest.
"That would be a useless one, Potter. The color means that particular flower has gotten infused with magic and would destabilize any potion."
A look of disappointment came over her face.
"Oh. You're sure?"
"Remind me which one of us is the Potions Master again?"
"All right," she said with a grin.
She got up, approaching him.
"Are you almost done?"
"Yes," he snapped.
She hovered behind him, watching him work. Once more, he asked himself why she was here, not only here with him in the Forbidden Forest, but here at Hogwarts as a whole. She could have chosen any career path after defeating Voldemort. All doors were open to the Savior of the Wizarding world. He'd been convinced she would apply to become an Auror, and go on to catch dark wizards in a continuation of the life of thrills and danger she had lived as a child.
Instead, she had chosen to remain at Hogwarts, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had to admit she wasn't bad at it, even if she was, predictably, far too lenient with the students. They all loved her, of course.
Everyone loved her.
Harrie bloody Potter, the Golden girl, now all grown-up. She received ten marriage proposals a week. He had seen the letters, accumulating on her desk. She complained about them, but she didn't do anything to stop them. It would have been so simple. An interview with the Daily Prophet about her new beau, who didn't even have to actually exist. Or a quick dalliance with the new Ancient Runes professor, Elliot Hutton, who wouldn't have minded getting into Potter's pants.
But Potter wasn't the type to craft any lie in order to get some well-deserved peace, and so she remained single, and available in the eyes of the magical world.
Not that Severus cared. He didn't concern himself with Potter's love life. He was simply tired of hearing her complain about those damn letters. Perhaps he would start a rumor about seeing Potter and Hutton together, just to free his ears from her whining.
Gathering one last fragile flower and setting it down in his basket, he got up. He spotted another promising bush of snapdragons, several yards away, and was too tempted to walk away. Surprisingly, Potter followed him without any remark on his decision.
He stopped when he noticed the change in the air. It had become slightly damper, with a sweet, cloying undertone. Instantly, he was aware of what it meant. It shouldn't have been possible, not in this part of the forest, and not this early in the summer, but the scent was unmistakable.
"It smells really good in that direction," Potter said.
Then he heard her inhale a lungful of air, like a complete fool. Quickly drawing his wand, he hit her with a scent dampening spell, then cast it on himself.
"We need to move," he told her.
He retreated at a near run, cursing his bad luck. He had breathed enough of the air that he knew he'd be affected, and Potter... Potter had filled her lungs with it, the reckless girl. She'd suffer even more than him.
"What's wrong?" she said, trailing after him at a light jog.
"Did you not recognize the scent?"
"No. Should I have?"
He grumbled about her cluelessness, walked faster. She ran ahead, occasionally glancing behind her. Her wand was out, and she was scanning the surroundings with alert eyes.
"Are you going to tell me what we're running from?"
He stopped, estimating they were far enough to be safe. He felt too hot in his robes, like he was running a fever. That was one of the first symptoms. An increase in body temperature.
"Snape! What is it?" Potter demanded, her brow creased with worry.
Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated.
"That sweet scent in the air," he said, grinding his teeth against the urge to loosen his collar. "We were close to a field of blooming Amordinia."
"And that's bad because...?"
"The pollen emitted by the flowers induces a very specific reaction when inhaled."
She blinked at him slowly, and no, there wasn't a single glimmer of understanding in her green eyes.
"What kind of reaction?" she asked, brushing her bangs away from her forehead in an instinctive gesture.
Clearly she would never get it and he was going to have to say it. Plainly.
"It's commonly known as sex pollen."
There. That was plain enough, even for Potter.
She stared at him, her blush getting more pronounced.
"You're making that up."
"Oh, how I wish I was," he gritted out.
Fuck it. He loosened his collar, not caring about what it meant anymore. It was Potter, she had seen the scars before, and he needed some damn air.
"Snape, come on. Sex pollen? That's... that's not real."
"Feeling a little hot, perhaps, Potter?"
Her eyes flicked to his throat. She tugged at her own shirt collar, briefly tipping her head back, baring her lovely throat.
"We just ran, and it's a hot day," she said, stubborn as ever.
Then she licked her lips, for some goddamned reason. He looked away.
"Assuming you're right..." she said.
"I am right."
"What do we do?"
"Nothing. There is no antidote. We'll have to endure the effects."
"Which are? What? The urge to have sex?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Yes, thank you for this wonderfully blunt summary."
She shrugged, licked her lips again. This time he kept looking at her. He needed to, in case she was more affected than him and started doings things. Dangerous things. Yes, it was for Potter's safety. He had to keep an eye on her. Or both, in this case.
She sighed, wiped her hands on her skirt. Her legs were bare. They hadn't looked nearly as attractive minutes ago.
"I don't think I'm affected," she said, in a bored tone.
"You are."
"How do you know?"
She was staring at his lips, and being blatantly obvious about it.
"Any unusual thoughts?" he prodded.
She looked at his face for long seconds.
"No," she said. "Nothing unusual. It's just, you know. Hot."
Then she undid the first button of her white blouse, revealing a hint of her collarbone. A pulse of heat curled low in his belly. The pollen heightened physical responses to external stimuli, and he found himself half-hard in mere seconds. From the sight of Potter's collarbone. Merlin, he must have gotten a pretty strong dose.
"We should go our separate ways," he said. "The effects last about an hour. You should stay in the forest, alone, until it's safe to go back to the castle."
"But what if I have questions about what's happening to me?"
"I trust you can navigate this situation on your own."
"No, I need you. To answer my questions, I mean. I need you for questions."
This was foolish. He should be walking away already. There was no point in staying near temptation. He was opening his mouth to tell Potter she would be fine on her own when she said one word.
"Please."
And that was it. That earnest please and the little hitch in her breathing that came with it were enough to sway him entirely.
He was staying.
"All right," he said, knowing he'd come to regret it.
She smiled at him. He felt something warm bloom in his chest. Another effect of the pollen, assuredly.
"I'm so hot," she groaned next.
She tried casting a Cooling charm, and when that didn't work, undid the second button of her blouse. He stared, his cock rapidly stiffening in his trousers. She cast him a wondering glance.
"Aren't you hot too?"
"I am. I'm not about to disrobe in front of you."
"Nothing I haven't seen before," she replied. Then she blushed, and added quickly, "Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. I didn't mean to remind you of—" She groaned. "I'll shut up now."
Indeed, she had seen his bare chest once before, when he was lying in bed in the infirmary, recovering from Nagini's bite. She had been at his bedside often during his week of convalescence, had talked to him a lot, joking and telling stories, and while he had found it annoying at times, he had still appreciated her presence.
"I certainly hope Poppy didn't let you see more than my bare chest, or I will have to have words with her."
"No," Potter said swiftly. "No, just your chest. Sorry again." Her teeth worried at her lower lip. "I think the pollen is affecting me."
"Yes. It is."
She looked annoyed. Had she really thought herself immune to it? Despite the added years, she hadn't gained much wisdom.
"What are the symptoms?" she asked.
Or maybe just enough to defer to him, which the seventeen-year old Harrie Potter would have balked at.
"To start with, an increase in body temperature, and..."
He reached out, setting a hand on her throat.
"An elevated pulse," he added.
Hers was fluttering under his fingers, strong and fast.
"Ah," she said, giving him a surprised look.
He was surprised, too. Why was he touching her at all?
You know why. And you want to do more than touch.
Her skin was so soft, and she felt fragile beneath his hand, which he knew was an illusion. Potter was anything but fragile. She had spent her adolescence throwing herself in the jaws of death and she had always come out victorious. Even dying hadn't stopped her. She had come back, and had triumphed over Voldemort.
She wasn't fragile, and if she hadn't wanted him to touch her, he wouldn't have been able to. But she had let him. The pollen was affecting her just as strongly.
"What else?" she said, her voice huskier than usual.
"Arousal. Undeniable, inconvenient arousal."
His thumb pressed into the hollow of her throat, a delicate, exploring touch. He felt her shudder, and her eyes closed for half a second as she drew in a breath.
"That's a problem," she said, the tip of her tongue peeking out to wet her lips.
"Yes."
He was fully hard, his cock aching like it hadn't in years. Thinking back on it, Potter was really the worst possible person to be with in this situation. Had it been anyone else, he would have been able to control himself, but Potter had always had a talent for stirring up his worst instincts and breaking down his walls. He hated her for it, for the emotions she forced him to feel. For how weak she made him.
She had no idea, of course. And right now, she was staring at him like he had the answer to their problem.
His hand was still on her throat.
"We should do something about it," she said.
"Mmm," he returned, entirely too fascinated by the way her lips moved when she talked.
"What about manual stimulation?"
He blinked, slowly.
"I beg your pardon?"
She had not just said what he thought she had said.
"Does manual stimulation help at all?"
Or she had, in fact.
"You cannot be seriously suggesting this," he said, blinking again, hoping to clear away the fog of arousal that made her proposal very attractive.
"I am." She put her hand on his, trailing her fingers down to his wrist, encircling it. "Very seriously."
Say yes. This is your one chance to find out what her hand feels like around your cock.
"No," he growled, pushing her hand away and stepping back. "We are not going to have sex, Potter. We are going to resist that stupid pollen."
"Sounds like we're going to simmer into sexual frustration until we die."
"One cannot die from sexual frustration."
"You sure? Because it feels like I'm dying."
She shifted on her feet, a soft groan issuing from her throat. The sinful little sound made his cock twitch. He clenched his hands at his sides to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing her. Grabbing her, and doing awful things to her that she wouldn't want had she not gotten such a high dose of pollen.
"You're not dying," he said, glaring at her in the hope it would dissuade her from coming closer.
The two feet between them felt charged with electricity, the tension thickening every second.
"If I stop breathing will you give me mouth-to-mouth?"
"Potter," he growled.
That was not helping. Nor was the way she was looking at him, her green eyes wide and pleading. Oh, her eyes. He would have gone to hell and back for her eyes. In fact, he had.
"I really want to find out what your lips taste like," she murmured.
She took a step closer. Her lips parted, her tongue darting out to wet them as she made that sound again, and...
His control snapped.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanked her head back, and took her mouth. He took her mouth as if he had been yearning to do it for years, as if he would never get to do it again, with brutal desperation and exploding desire. She moaned against his lips, her hands clutching his shoulders, dragging him closer, molding her body to his own.
The kiss was a frenzy of teeth and tongues, an uncoordinated mess of blistering heat. It made everything worse.
Made everything better.
He had no idea how it happened, but next her back was against a tree and he was crushing his body to hers, in the same violent way their mouths were meeting, with bruising, consuming need. She mewled, arching up into him, soft and warm and wanting. He slid a hand under her blouse, cupped one of her perfect breasts, marveling at how well it fit in his palm.
She moaned something, he wasn't sure what. Perhaps "more". Or his name. Her hands were fumbling at his trousers, probably having trouble with the buttons. He should have helped, but he had his hands full—both were on her breasts now. She'd figure it out. She had killed Voldemort, surely his trousers buttons would prove no lasting obstacle.
He explored her curves, greedy fingers on her skin, his mouth sliding down to her throat, tongue pressing against the flutter of her pulse as he inhaled her scent. She smelled of honey and light, and while the honey must have been her shampoo, the light must have come from her magic. Some rational glimmer of thought told him light didn't have a scent, couldn't, but nothing else came to mind to qualify her smell.
Light, and he, creature of darkness that he was, deserved none of it. He shouldn't have touched her, shouldn't have put his hands on her, or his tongue, or any part of him. He had no right, no fucking right to touch Harrie Potter. But she was letting him, so just this once, he would have her. Even if it should kill him.
"Fuck," she groaned, finally triumphing over his buttons.
She wrapped her hand around his stiff cock, pumped him once. Raging lust hit his spine, flowing like molten lava down his limbs. He grabbed her thighs, lifted her legs off the ground, angling his hips while he hastily pushed her skirt and underwear out of the way. He needed to be inside her like he needed his next breath. She seemed to feel the same way, guiding him to her entrance, pressing his cockhead against her wet slit. Shuddering in desperate arousal, he slowly sank inside her, his breath hissing through his clenched teeth.
She keened lowly, tipping her head back.
"Please, please, please..." she whined, hands grasping at his coat, legs flexing, urging him deeper as they locked around his waist.
"I'm trying to go slow," he bit out.
"Don't. I'm ready, I'm so ready. I need you, please, please..."
He flexed his hips, burying the last inches of his straining cock into her tight heat. She groaned. Her cunt squeezed him, one strong ripple that shattered the very last thread of his restraint.
No more holding back.
No more carefulness.
Just pure animal lust, and his need to fuck Potter, denied too long.
He drew back, surged up inside her, slamming in to the hilt. She let out a strangled whine, followed by yes, yes, Snape, yes, while she clutched at his shoulders and clenched her legs around his waist.
"Yes," he growled, mouthing wetly at the hollow of her throat.
He fucked her hard, with complete abandon, muscles tensing on every thrust, scorching pleasure found in each movement. His cock cleaved its way into her soft cunt, so wet, so tight, and all his. In this stolen, sinful moment, she was his. Nothing could stop him from having her.
His grip on her thighs was too hard. She would have bruises later. He wanted her to have bruises, so she'd be reminded of this.
As he pounded into her, she rocked back into him, keening and mewling. The slap of their bodies meeting and merging was drowned out by their ragged breathing and the sounds that were flowing from her open, hanging mouth. She was making too much noise. He kissed her to shut her up, found it worked exceptionally well, wondered why he hadn't done that years ago.
She kissed him back, moaning into his mouth, giving him his tongue. He sucked on it, growled his pleasure against her lips, bliss beating down upon him, his climax fast approaching. His thrusts grew more jarring, less precise, and his legs began to shake.
"Come in me," she whined. "Fuck, Snape, come in me."
He didn't ask if she was on the potion, didn't ask if she was sure. He powered forward, snapping his hips with brutal intent, knowing he was going to spill inside her no matter what. The forest could have gone up in flames around them right this moment, and still he would have spent himself in her cunt.
She crested one second before him, crying out as she came, her entire body quivering from the pleasure. He sheathed himself a final time inside her, and went rigid, a feral growl rumbling from his throat as his cock throbbed and pulsed, hilted so deep in her excruciatingly tight heat. His orgasm lasted long seconds, until finally he was done emptying himself in her.
His legs gave out. They sank to the ground together, both breathing heavily.
"Shit," Potter said, with her customary eloquence.
She pushed his hair out of his face, looked him in the eyes. She was smiling, the foolish girl.
"I don't think it's over," she whispered.
"It lasts an hour," he reminded her, because he had told her, and as usual, she hadn't listened.
"Oh, good."
He was hardening again inside her, the pollen doing wonders for his refractory period. She felt it, began rocking her hips, slowly at first, then faster. He followed her lead, pumping into her roughly. They moved together, rutting like animals on the ground.
He lost himself in the feel of her, licked her throat, ripped her blouse apart to lick her breasts, bared more and more of her skin for his taking. Soon she was naked in his lap, and he had never seen anything more beautiful. The blazing heat of her body branded his own, turning it into something more, something transcendent. He knew he would remember this moment for the rest of his miserable life.
She was babbling his name, her channel growing tighter and tighter around his prick, and suddenly she grasped at his neck and sobbed his name, trembling as she came. For him. She came for him. He wrapped his arms around her, bit at her throat, teeth sinking into tender flesh, his hips slamming up, and up, and up.
With a jolt of ecstasy, he spilled inside her for the second time today, but not the last.
She slurred something into his hair. He licked the bite mark he had given her. Another thing she'd keep beyond that one hour. Perhaps people would wonder.
He wanted people to wonder.
Wanted everyone to know Harrie Potter was his.
She took control for a moment, and he found himself on his back, staring at the enchanting view of Potter riding him. She was bouncing up and down on his cock, her hands braced on his bare chest (when had she unbuttoned his coat?), her face twisted in a focused expression. He admired her, her sweat-soaked skin, her breasts jiggling as she fucked him fervently, her luminous smile and the green green green of her eyes, as green as the canopy above them, a green he wanted to keep for himself.
He could have died looking into her eyes.
"You're so hard again," she was saying, her voice a raspy, hushed whisper. "You feel so good... Can you come again? I want you to come again, fuck... Please, more..."
"More," he said, his own voice coming out quite desperate.
He had just realized an hour wouldn't be enough, had just realized what it would mean to lose her after this.
"More," he growled.
He grasped her hips, forcing her down on his cock harder, faster. A series of pretty little sounds was knocked loose from her lungs, and he committed each one to memory, cataloging her vocal range when it came to sexual noises. When he rubbed at her clit, she gave him more whimpers and more breathy mewls, until she came with a gasp, euphoria etched on her face.
He memorized that as well. The face of Harrie Potter coming on his cock.
Then it was his turn to take control.
She was on all fours and he was mounting her like an animal, one hand fisted into her hair, the other between her legs, teasing her clit. He made her scream, and howl, and beg. He made her come time and time again, resisting his own orgasm, intent on having her lose her mind from pure carnal pleasure. Leading her from one climax to another, he never faltered, fucking her the whole time, his hips battering her rump—and what a lovely rump it was.
She didn't beg him to stop, not once. She begged for more, begged for his cock, begged for his teeth in her throat, in her shoulder, and most of all she begged for his cum.
"Please, Snape, please, come in me, please, I wanna feel you come, please, fuck..."
Finally, after another orgasm that left her shuddering and sobbing her request, he saw fit to grant it.
"You want my come?"
"Yeeeesss," she whined.
"Say my name."
"Snape, God..."
He jerked her head back, relishing the little yelp that got him.
"My first name, Potter."
She had never said it, not once in the fourteen years they'd known each other. He wanted to hear those three syllables from her mouth. Yearned for them. Had yearned for them since she had come back to Hogwarts as a teacher, had expected to hear them since they were colleagues now, only to be bitterly disappointed when she had kept calling him Snape.
"Fuck, Sev—Severus..."
Oh, and how sweet it was to finally hear them.
"Say it again," he growled, leaning over her, giving a deep, brutal thrust into her pliant body.
"Sev, Sev, Sev..."
His guttural moans joined the wet slaps of flesh of their feral rutting as he let go of his control. Hips working feverishly, he sank his teeth in her slender shoulder, grunting. She whimpered his name again and again, and suddenly her body went taut, her cunt spasming wildly. A swelling wave of pleasure overcame him, rolling him into the raw crux of another climax and over the edge of oblivion.
He came again, pouring more of himself into Potter, then collapsed, utterly spent, and knew no more.
*
His mouth was dry.
He worked his tongue around, opened his eyes. Daylight stabbed into his tender brain. Groaning, he fumbled for his wand. His hands met warm flesh, not his own. A body stirred under him, moaning.
His confusion lasted about a second, after which it all came back to him. With a sigh, he prepared himself for the aftermath, then gently removed himself from Potter. She made a weak sound, moving her head.
"Are you all right?" he said.
"Hmm. Fine."
That didn't mean anything. Potter had once proclaimed she was fine after a week of getting less than an hour of sleep every night. She would have probably said she was fine right after coming back from the dead, too.
He sat on the forest floor, assessing the surroundings. They were alone, still. The ground all around them told the story of their brutal coupling. He was wearing half his coat, his body all sticky and sweaty. Potter was naked, and... Merlin, how many times had he bitten her? What had been thinking? (He hadn't been thinking, that was the problem.)
She groaned again, then stretched, and sat up slowly. She blinked at him. Strangely, she was smiling.
"This feels like a hangover," she said, apparently utterly unbothered by the fact that she was naked, her thighs stained with his cum.
He averted his gaze.
"It doesn't last," he said.
He cast a cleaning charm on himself, then began fixing his state of undress, first his pants, then his coat, buttoning it up. He heard Potter move, the rustle of clothes, and a murmured cleaning charm as well.
Getting up, he turned in the direction of the castle.
"I'm sorry about this, Potter," he said. "I should have been strong enough to resist."
"Don't be sorry. It was awesome."
Completely taken back by her words, and her joyful tone, he looked at her. Now decently dressed, she was still smiling. Her cheeks were red, she had leaves in her hair, and her throat sported not one, not two, but three bite marks. She looked debauched. And it was all his doing.
"I assaulted you," he said, the bitter truth burning his tongue.
"Um, no, you didn't. I've been wanting to do that for years."
Did sex pollen induce hallucinations as one of its aftereffects? Or was he dreaming, still unconscious? Or...
"The pollen is still affecting you," he said.
He looked into her eyes, but her pupils were not longer dilated. She didn't appear to be breathing shallowly either.
"No, I'm all good. I am, however, still attracted to you. Very attracted."
He stood still, processing this new reality. She picked a leaf out of her hair, chuckled, let it flutter to the ground.
"We should do this again, but without the sex pollen," she said, stepping up to him.
He shook his head.
"You cannot be serious."
"I am." She cocked her head. "I never said anything because I was sure you weren't interested, but that's not true, is it? That wasn't just the pollen?"
His face betrayed him. He knew it the moment her smile softened, taking on a tender edge.
"Bit of an odd start, but we've never been normal anyway, right?" she said, with a charming little laugh.
"There are far better prospects than me, Potter. You could have anyone you wanted. I'm not... I'm not good."
Not good enough for you.
"Severus. I want you."
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. The warmth of her lips on his skin found an echo in his chest.
"I suppose that would be a way to make those bloody letters stop," he said slowly.
She nodded, eagerness shining in her gaze.
"But this is not a relationship," he added in a firm tone. "We are not going to date. Is that clear, Potter?"
"Very clear. We'll just have sex, annoy each other, and tell everyone we're dating so the whole wizarding world knows I'm not longer single."
He sighed heavily, envisioning his future with perfect clarity. At least the sex would make up for the rest. And perhaps he liked it a bit when she annoyed him, too.
"Yes," he said. "Just that."
She took his hand, interlacing their fingers, and directed an impish smile at him.
"So, do you want to tell Minerva, or should I? What's the policy for dating a fellow teacher?"
"We won't be breaking any rule, which I'm sure comes as a great disappointment to you. And I'll let you do the announcement. All the announcements."
"All right. Are you okay doing a Daily Prophet interview? I really want everyone to know."
He groaned.
"I'm already starting to regret my decision..."
"No, you're not," she said, squeezing his hand. "Wait, one more question."
"What it is, you relentless girl?"
"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"
He squeezed her hand back, brought it to his lips to kiss it.
"You're going to sleep in my bed every night, Harrie."