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Oranges are the Only Fruit by Shiv5468 [Reviews - 3] [1627
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Severus Snape didn’t like parties in general.
Specifically, he didn’t like parties that involved pretending that he liked – or respected – any of his ex-students or present colleagues, excessive amounts of decorations, the exchanging of manifestly unsuitable presents, and party games of any sort, let alone ones involving Mistletoe.
In short, he hated Christmas. (Though Valentine’s Day was his own private pink hell. And no he hadn't ever had a Valentine’s Card, but that was because he was too mature for that sort of thing. Really it was.)
Minerva and Albus always insisted that he attend the annual Hogwarts Christmas party, despite his freely expressed views on the matter. They said he needed to get out more and enjoy himself, and completely ignored the fact that forcing him to spend his time in the company of people he disliked making inane conversation was not his idea of fun.
Albus, as always knew what was best for people.
The party was in full swing when he arrived. He used all of his skills as a spy to slip into the room unobserved, and used all available cover to make it to the Punch Bowl without bumping into Sybill ‘Pucker Up’ Trelawney. The Punch was vile and sickly sweet, but it did at least have a little alcohol in it. He’d cast a jaundiced eye over the partygoers in the, admittedly slight, hope that there would be someone he could talk to for the length of his compulsory hour’s attendance. Someone who wouldn’t giggle. Someone with an idea in their head. It would have been nice if they’d been over 18 and under 60 and looked good in dress robes.
And female.
He’d been surprised to see that Hermione Granger was chatting brightly away to Draco Malfoy, rather than making a determined bolt for the door herself. She’d always struck him – well, at least since she’d left school – as being far too sensible to enjoy this type of event. Still, she did carry the burden of being a better person than him, and was rather less prepared to be brutally rude to get her own way.
She seemed to be enjoying herself after all, and, with the only hope of decent conversation gone, he’d slipped out of the party before his hour was up. Albus hadn't seen him arrive, being too engrossed in dispensing Christmas cheer to all and sundry, so he should be able to get away with it.
He made his way to a quiet room – there was no point going back to his rooms, that would be the first place Albus and Minerve would look for him - with a comfortable chair, a decent glass of wine and a good book.
He’d barely been settled for twenty minutes, before the sound of the door opening quietly indicated that he was no longer alone. His initial fear that Albus or Minerva had tracked him to his lair was not realised. When he turned round to see who it was, there was Hermione Granger propping up the door with a wild expression in her eyes, and a large orange clutched in her hand.
It was such an intriguing sight, that he very nearly asked her what she was doing with the orange, but that would have led inexorably to conversation, which she would have taken as encouragement to stay, and his peace would be shattered. And if he wasn’t good enough to talk to before…
No, he would not ask.
Miss Granger, still oblivious to his presence, heaved a long sigh and then methodically and rhythmically began knocking the back of her head against the door. “I – thump – will – thump – kill – thump – the – thump – interfering – thump – old – thump – bastard!”
It appeared he had stumbled onto a mystery, or at least a mystery had stumbled on to him. Mind you the identity of the interfering old bastard was obvious – Albus Dumbledore. There had been more than one occasion when he too had uttered that mantra.
But what on earth was she doing with an orange?
It appeared to be a standard-issue orange: round, waxy and, well, orange. It was distinguished from other, lesser, oranges by the fact that it was studded with cloves. Cloves? Cloves? That stirred a faint, and hitherto ruthlessly suppressed, memory of some previous party, when he had been less nimble and Sybill Trelawney bearing down on him with a feral smile and a large orange.
Ah, Albus was up to his old tricks then. Everyone knew to steer clear of the Mistletoe by now, but the old custom of cloves in an orange being exchanged for kisses – or some such rule – was less well known. Albus could never resist romance, and was prepared to give it a helping hand with a charm or two.
Hermione Granger had clearly fallen foul of one of his little schemes.
The mystery of the orange explained to his satisfaction, he turned his attention back to his book. He tried his best to concentrate, but Miss Granger’s presence was oddly distracting.
“Miss Granger, do you intend to spend all night propping up that door?” he asked irritably and was gratified when she gave a startled squeak.
“Professor Snape,” she replied. “You made me jump; I didn’t see you there.”
“And now you are aware of my presence, perhaps you’d care to give me the privacy I was so obviously seeking?” he asked. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
Miss Granger was immune to his glare, and seated herself in the armchair opposite from him. “I’m sure that even you wouldn’t be so cruel as to abandon me to my fate, once you knew the terrible situation I was in.”
Severus was intrigued, though he would never admit it. “You seem remarkably cheerful for someone in dire peril,” he remarked, carefully inserting his bookmark in his novel, and putting it away in his pocket.
“I’m just putting a brave face on it,” she replied cheerfully. “Beneath this courageous façade, I am a quivering wreck.”
Severus hadn't noted any obvious signs of terror, and said so. “I’m all ears, Miss Granger; enlighten me. I presume that this involves the Headmaster, so you may omit the profanities and the suggestions that he is a meddling bastard, and I’ll take them as read.”
“Spoilsport,” she murmured softly, before launching into her tale of woe. “You’re right, of course; it is all Dumbledore’s fault.
“We were all sitting there, chatting away and minding our own business, when he suggested that we might like to play party games. Well, Harry and Ron were all for it, and Minerva was too merry to put a stop to things, and before you know it, we were all dragged into it.”
She held up the orange for inspection.
“I assume that you’re familiar with the rules of the game: you take a clove from the orange, use it to sweeten your breath, and then hand the damned thing to the object of your affections. They indicate where they would like to be kissed, they are kissed, and then they take out a clove and the whole thing begins again.
“Innocent enough, you might think. A bit silly and embarrassing, but basically harmless.”
Severus nodded. As he recalled, he’d made Trelawney kiss his knee – through his trousers – and then offered the orange to Minerva, who’d wanted nothing more than a peck on the cheek.
“What none of us realised is that Albus Greatest Living Wizard Dumbledore had decided to spice things up a bit by adding a certain element of compulsion to the whole thing. It took me a couple of turns to notice it, but soon it was clear that he’d charmed the orange to make you seek out someone who you might have fancied from a distance, but hadn't had the courage to approach.”
“Oh dear,” Severus murmured. He could see the potential for disaster there clearly enough.
“Oh dear indeed. Hagrid giving the orange to Professor McGonagall was bad enough, but then Harry and Draco…..? Well, the pair of them have slipped under a table where they are mercifully lost to sight, but they could still do with some halfway decent silencing spells if you ask me.
“The worst thing was Ron, though. Every time he was given the orange, he would keep passing it on to me, with puckered lips and a look of hope in his eyes. And when the others realised what was happening, well they couldn’t give the orange to Ron quickly enough. I was rapidly running out of places to be kissed. In the end, I decided that enough was enough and I’ve bolted with it. Albus can get his jollies some other way.”
That was definitely a harrowing tale, and Severus could understand Hermione’s determination to stay out of the way until the dust had settled.
“I mean,” Hermione continued wearily, “doesn’t the Headmaster realise that there’s usually a good reason why these couples haven’t got together, and that forcing them in this way will only lead to trouble?”
“You don’t believe that love will find a way then?” Severus asked with some amusement.
Hermione smiled. “As if. Harry may fancy the arse off Draco, but no power on earth can turn him into anything other than a shallow, selfish, egotistical wanker.”
“Mr Potter or Mr Malfoy?” Severus asked, receiving a glare in return.
“Malfoy,” Hermione said firmly, then humphed. “And I’m not even going to start on the difficulties faced by Minerva and Hagrid, even if she was interested, but I’m sure you’d agree they were insuperable.”
Severus blenched, but could resist saying, “Certainly not without fairly advanced potions of some kind.”
Hermione looked at him in horrified fascination, before clearly making an effort to clear her mind of speculation on the topic. “And it’s certainly not kind to get Ron all wound up about me being his One True Love, when he’d be much better off with almost anyone else, including Hagrid.”
“Mr Weasley doesn’t tempt you to romance?”
Hermione shook her head. “The only thing he tempts me to, is hexing, especially when he’s had a few too many pints and gets frisky.” Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. “It’s not as if we’ve got anything in common really; what on earth would we talk about?”
“Some people don’t consider conversation to be a vital ingredient of a relationship,” he remarked dryly.
“I do,” she replied equally dryly. “You can't spend all your time in bed. I’d like to be able to hold a decent conversation with the Love of my Life. To be able to talk about the theory of magic, without having faces pulled at me or being told I’m being dull; or a natter about politics that goes further than calling Fudge a tosser, no matter how richly he deserves it.”
“And he does.”
“Indeed.”
“Well, I wish you the best of luck in finding this paragon,” he said. “Intelligent conversation is hard to find.” He knew that from bitter experience; there were very few people he’d be prepared to spend talking to for more than five minutes given a choice. So few people took an intelligent interest in anything other than foolish gossip. He was only interested in the details of someone’s private life if it gave him blackmail material.
“Who says I haven’t found him?” she said, raising an eyebrow conspiratorially.
“Because Minerva keeps us all informed of the small doings of the Golden Trio, and I’m sure she would have mentioned it if you had taken up with a young man.” Severus felt an odd pang of disappointment at the thought of Hermione becoming part of a couple. Doubtless she would be wasting herself on some youngster with barely two brain cells to rub together, despite her brave words.
Hermione smiled, a little sadly. “I said I’d found him, not that we were actually an item.”
“Oh?” That sounded unlikely. Miss Granger possessed a degree of determination in reaching her goals that would have put Lord Voldemort to shame, and besides, was reasonably attractive. More than reasonably attractive, now that he considered the matter. She’d somehow seemed to grow into her hair, which had previously appeared to be too big for her, and had filled out in other, interesting places. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was attractive in her own way.
“I don’t think he’s interested though,” she sighed. “It went really well at first. We bumped into each other at a conference and got chatting. I followed it up with some letters – nothing too serious, just friendly-like – and he wrote back. But there’s no sign that he’s interested in taking things further – it looks as if we’ll remain Just Good Friends. And I’m certainly not turning into Ron Weasley and chasing him round a party with a sprig of charmed Mistletoe or an orange.”
Severus digested this in silence.
He couldn’t think who this mystery man was. One way or another he’d seen a lot of Hermione Granger this last year. There had been the inevitable Ministry functions, and he rather thought he’d been to the conference she was talking about: she had even sent him a couple of queries relating to an article she was working on. Some of her letters had been quite chatty, but he didn’t remember there being any particular names being mentioned. Neither had he seen her talking to anyone in particular at the conference, other than himself……
Ah.
Good Grief.
He felt a surge of gratitude that Hermione was as determined as he’d thought, and hadn't taken no for an answer, even if she was skirting round the issue instead of taking the direct route of simply snogging him into submission.
“Perhaps,” he said carefully, “he’s just dreadfully slow on the uptake.”
Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said doubtfully. “He’s always so perceptive.”
She wasn’t going to make it easy for him then; fair enough, he deserved it.
He wasn’t perceptive, he wanted to protest. He’d signed up for the Death Eaters. He’d thought Lucius Malfoy was a decent chap. He’d spent nearly a year talking to Quirrell and hadn’t noticed that there was a Dark Lord hiding under his turban. That was hardly the hallmark of a perceptive man.
Mind you, he’d been right about Sirius Black being an objectionable twat, so maybe he was perceptive; or at least, more perceptive than most. Still, he had to think of something to say that would make Hermione realise he had seen the error of his ways. “Perhaps he was so used to thinking of you in one role – say, as a student – that he didn’t realise what you were getting at. Perhaps,” he said, warming to his theme, “he’d be worried that he might be taken for a desperate old man if he suggested a closer relationship.”
It seemed to do the trick; to his immense relief Hermione smiled warmly at him and breathed, “Do you really think so?”
“I’m absolutely certain.” He ventured a small smile in return, still mildly concerned that he was about to make a fool of himself.
Hermione was turning the orange over and over in her hand, obviously wondering quite what to do next. Severus was slightly at a loss himself. It was one thing to confess an interest in someone, and another thing to shoot out of your chair and launch an assault on them. No matter how sure you were of your welcome, such behaviour could only be categorised as crude and lacking in style. “I don’t suppose that you’d be interested in playing a silly parlour game?” she said hopefully.
“Only with you, Hermione, and only on one condition: never mention this to Dumbledore. He’ll be absolutely impossible to deal with, if he ever found out; he’s bound to want to take the credit.”
She laughed at that, and then, her eyes still dancing wickedly, slowly plucked a clove from the orange. He watched, entranced, as she moistened her lips, then took the clove in a sucking bite that gave him all sorts of interesting ideas. She placed the orange into his outstretched hand, her fingers caressing his before returning demurely to her lap and waiting for her cue.
Where would he ask her to kiss him?
Subtlety was the key, he thought. Just because Hermione had indicated she was furthering their relationship, this didn’t mean that she was keen on furthering it to its natural conclusion on the hearthrug that evening. Let her take the lead, when it was her turn, and see where that lead him.
He laid a finger on his cheek, and was encouraged by the look of disappointment on her face.
Still, she was determined to do her best – oh, thank goodness – with what little opportunity she had. She rose to her feet, and crossed the small space between them, then leaned forward a little to place a hand lightly on his shoulder to steady herself.
It was a gentle kiss, the merest pressure of lip to cheek, but they were warm and soft, and hinted at so much more. Her hair, arranged in some complicated topknot, was beginning to free itself from the confines of its pins, and he was acutely aware of where the tendrils touched the side of his face in another caress. His face was tucked into the crook of her neck, and he could tell that she was wearing scent of some kind, something musky and sensual.
He gave a faint exhalation, almost a sigh, of pleasure as she lipped her way across his cheek coming to rest against his ear. “I think it’s your turn now, don’t you?”
“Yes, indeed.”
He took the orange in his hand, removed the clove and passed the orange to her whilst he sweetened his breath.
Hermione rolled the orange from hand to hand whilst she considered her next move. Teasingly she placed her finger on her cheek, then smiling broadly she moved it forward until it rested against her lips.
He smiled back at her, a warm smile that no one had ever seen in potions. “I think you should make yourself a little more comfortable, Hermione, if I’m to do justice to the game.” He reached towards her, took her hand, then drew her gently towards him. She didn’t resist, but allowed him to pull her down onto his lap.
Carefully, he removed the pins from her hair, and so that it could flow free and unconfined. He cupped her face in his hand, his thumb caressing her throat; her eyelids fluttered shut, and it was her turn to sigh. He was smiling when he kissed her, which meant it wasn’t very satisfactory, but she didn’t seem to mind.
Kissing was a serious matter though; it deserved proper consideration and attention to detail. He angled his nose just so, and settled his mouth more firmly on hers. He could taste the cloves on her, a pleasantly spicy sensation on her warm lips. They moved together, slow, subtle movements at first, then her mouth opened to him. Oh the urge to possess her mouth was overwhelming, to rush on ahead, but a Potions Master knew the advantages of a raising the heat slowly to a steady simmer before the rolling boil.
He parted from her reluctantly, then dipped back for another kiss. “My turn,” he said, passing the orange to her.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, all breathy and contented.
She lipped suggestively at the clove she removed from the orange, her eyes intent as he free the top buttons of his robes, and trailed a finger along the elegant line of his neck.
“Hmmm,” she said again, her face now warm against his neck. It was a slow and thorough exploration, with hot lips and swirling tongue, dwelling on that sweet spot that made him gasp for breath, then trailing up to take his earlobe in a soft, sucking bit and then, wholly outside the rules of the game she kissed his mouth.
More than kissed. Where he had hesitated, she did not, and confidently took possession of his mouth – her tongue tracing his lips and then dipping inside in a way that set his blood on fire.
When she finally raised her head, several exquisite minutes later, he said in a soft, breathless voice, “You cheated.”
Hermione drew back in mock offence. “You’re not complaining are you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not at all. It’s more of a promise that I might return the favour.”
“I do hope so,” she replied with a wicked smile. “I’ve always wanted to be taken advantage of.”
The orange as very nearly bare of cloves. There could be very few moves left in this fame, though it was now clear what the endgame would be.
He took a clove, and rolled the orange restlessly from hand to hand as he waited for direction.
Her mouth? No. Her neck? The finger moved on, moved lower, coyly traced the neckline of her robes before finally coming to rest over one breast.
There was an enormous pulse of something wild rushing through him. Blood rushed to his head, making him feel light headed, then receded to leave his cock hard – harder – and aching.
He retained enough presence of mind to draw out his wand to ward and lock the door. It fell from his finger with shocking carelessness, and then allowed his control to slip a little.
More than a little.
Hermione gave a startled squeak as Severus pulled her into his arms. He kissed her with all the passion that had been so carefully restrained before, and she responded enthusiastically matching him kiss for kiss and caress for caress.
There was nothing tentative about his kiss. He seemed very sure of his welcomebut he wasn’t taking anything for granted either, teasing her with feathery kisses along her throat before coming back to invade her mouth. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. She nipped at his bottom lip, then slid her tongue into the depths of his mouth. She traced lazy circles, revelling in the whimpers she was coaxing from him.
He broke free of her questing tongue, and lipped his way down her neck, grazing her with his teeth occasionally. He swiftly unfastened her robes and slipped them from her shoulder to reveal two creamy breasts covered by a lacy bra. He nuzzled in the valley between them whilst his hands were busy at her back.
Her bra whisped to the floor. He cupped her breasts in his hands, and tongued his way under the curve to take one nipple into his hot mouth. He wrung gasps and moans from her as he alternated long slow suckling with gentle nibbling.
One of her hands came up to tangle in the hair at the back of his neck, as his lips moved over her breasts in languid open mouthed kisses.
Her robe was now bunched round her waist, exposing her upper body completely to his view. He palmed one breast, and watched as he lazily circled the nipple with his thumb.
His other hand insinuated itself between her thighs, which parted after an initial hesitation to allow him to stroke his long fingers between her thighs. Slowly, incredibly slowly, they added fuel to the fire. Severus movements became just a little firmer, just a little quicker, while Hermione gasped her appreciation.
Her hands were busily unbuttoning him. She peeled back his shirt to reveal his chest, and one hand stroked along his ribs. A little later she followed his lead, and unbuttoning his fly, slid a hand into his trousers to pet his cock. His attention abruptly focussed on what her hand was doing. That was so much better than before, so much better. Her thumb caught a bead of fluid, and rolled it round the top of his head in delicate swirling motions. He captured her hand in his.
Her fingers quickly pulled him free of his trousers. She rose above him and put a knee on either side of his legs. She guided him to her entrance, steadied herself with another hand on his shoulder, and then eased down on him. They both watched, as his cock was slowly swallowed up by her. He threw his head back, and drew several shuddering breaths.
As she began to move, he caught her mouth in an intense kiss. His tongue surged into her mouth in precise counterpoint to her movements down.
He trailed kisses down Hermione’s throat, then further down to suck a nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue round, and then nipped at it with his teeth. She arched her back and gasped in delight. He moved one hand to support her back whilst the other moved between her thighs. Each time he slid home he flicked a finger across her clitoris making her whimper every time.
His fingers moved ever quicker between her thighs, pinching, stroking, and rubbing at her engorged clitoris. The sensation was nearly painful.
Hermione’s movements became increasingly feverish, as she climbed towards her goal, her breathing laboured and her face flushed. He was rushing towards the same precipice as her, but determined to hold on until her head flew back on a stifled groan and he was free to let go. And did.
They stayed together, his head on her breasts, her hands in his hair which spilled across her body, for a long time, content to rest in each other’s company.
“So, Hermione,” Severus said eventually. “Have I managed to convince you that I am indeed interested?”
“You were fairly persuasive, but I’m not entirely convinced.”
Severus planted one last loving kiss on Hermione right breast, and then said, “We’ll have to see what we can do about that the, don’t you think?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she replied. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Author's Note: Quillusion did it better http://www.obscurusbooks.org/html/Quillusion/Traditions.html