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If someone had told Hermione when she had been a student that six years after leaving, she would be fucking Severus Snape in a broom closet during the Memorial Gala that was held every May, she would have laughed in their face and helped them to the Hospital wing to check for hexes. Yet here she was, legs wrapped around the waist of the dower potions professor, a broom digging into her back as he thrust into her over and over, her walls tightening around his surprisingly large dick.
The memorial gala was the one time a year they saw one another and after the first year, this was how they spent the night. Fucking in a broom closet if they couldn’t make it down to the dungeons and into his office. She had saved his life during the final battle, shoving potions down his throat until it was all over and he could be taken to St Mungo’s. Severus had asked her for a word in private during the first gala. She followed him down to his office, he had shut the door behind her. He was still as intimidating as ever but there was something different about him now that the war was over that Hermione just couldn’t put her finger on. He had thanked her for saving his life and told her he owed her a life debt.
She couldn’t even remember how they went from discussing life debts to her bent over his desk, Gryffindor red dress pushed up over her hips while Severus pounded into her. When they finished, Hermione fixed her hair, charmed away the evidence of their coupling and went back to the party. They didn’t speak to one another again until the following year. Brown eyes met his dark, almost black eyes across the bar. Once dinner ended and the speeches finished, she made her excuses to Harry and Ron. Slipping from the Great Hall as inconspicuously as possible, she hadn’t made it more than a corridor down from the hall before long fingers encircled her wrist, pulling her into an unused classroom.
Before she could say a word, Severus whipped her around, pressing her firmly against the door, his lips crashing down onto her, his hands running up and down her sides, over her arse. His lips moved from hers down her neck, her collar bone, before his hands released her and pulled at the bodice of her dress, ripping it clean apart, his mouth descending on her breast and drawing a nipple into his mouth.
It continued the same way in the next few years. Never speaking to one another, never seeking the other out except for the night of the gala. Now, six years later, Hermione was only a little ashamed to say that for the other three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, she did little else but think about Severus Snape. She counted down the days until she knew she would be filled by him completely. She spent most nights, her fingers deep inside, wishing it were his long slender fingers bringing her to climax. A part of her considered asking him for more, more nights together but she couldn’t bring herself to be disappointed. If he wanted more from her, he would have said so. Severus Snape was many things and direct was one of them.
So here she was, six years in, fucking a professor in a broom closet and secretly wishing she could have this every night. She felt the slit in her dress rip farther up and knew she would have to cast a reparo before leaving the closet even if they continued down to his office. Just as she was hitting her peak, her head thrown back, not even noticing the broom handle anymore, Severus pulled his mouth from her breast, locking eyes with her.
“I don’t want to wait another year to have you.”