I do not own any of the HP characters and am making no money by writing this fanfiction.
For the Birthday Boy
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Severus Snape wiped his eyes tiredly as he finished marking parchments. The grades were deplorable, as usual. He gathered them up, placed them in the bottom drawer of his desk, and made his way down to the dungeons.
Horace Slughorn continued to be the Potions professor after Albus’ death. Seven years had passed and Slughorn was considering retirement. Now that Voldemort was dead, he wasn’t as driven to teach DADA. Snape had simply wanted to prepare the students to battle Death Eaters. He was familiar with their methods after all since he had been one for the longest. In spite of all this, Snape would gladly return to Potions.
The Potions master had been a spy in their ranks and served Albus loyally for years. He had nearly died when Voldemort betrayed him at the final battle by telling his familiar, Nagini, to kill him. He had been bitten by her and had lost vast quantities of blood; only a small vial of phoenix tears had saved him.
The wizard had been left for dead, but regained consciousness long enough to spill the tears clumsily in his hand and swipe his torn throat with it. He was still quite weak when Harry Potter returned, but he had survived to return to his solitary life at Hogwarts.
Hermione Granger now worked there as Charms Mistress, replacing Flitwick when he had retired. Occasionally, they would talk about charms and potions, but Snape didn’t like to be around her for too long. Hermione had a habit of trying to get him to go out on the town with her, just to get away from the dungeons.
“You don’t have any fun, Severus,” she would say to him. “You’re not a spy anymore. No one’s watching your every move. It’s not healthy that you stay to yourself so much.”
“It’s what I’m used to, and I don’t want to discuss this any further,” he would reply. “My idea of fun is not the same as yours. I have my ‘fun’ alone. I prefer it that way.”
The last time he had seen Hermione socially was a week ago. They had shared a couple of Firewhiskys in his office, and Hermione had found the courage to ask him about his love life. He gave a depreciatingly harsh laugh.
“I have no love life,” he told her. “I never have.”
Hermione’s eyebrows rose.
“Never? Severus—are you—are you a virgin?” she asked him in disbelief.
“No, I’m not a virgin! Having sex doesn’t equate to love, Hermione. At least not in my book,” he snapped back at her.
“So—when was the last time –”
“I will NOT answer that question! You’ve had far too much Firewhisky! Out!” he hissed.
“Gods, I was just asking,” Hermione said with a little hiccup as she left. She had not talked to him privately since.
As Snape headed down the dark dungeon corridor, he thought he would not mind her company for a little while. Today was his birthday, and once again he was spending it alone. Normally, he didn’t mind, he thought, but a little company might be nice for once. But as usual, no one cared he had come into the world on this day forty-eight years ago.
Letting himself into his office and moving to the bookcase, he pulled out the book that opened his private quarters. He billowed through—and stopped, his black eyes widening.
“What the hell—” he hissed.
Sitting in the middle of his darkened study was a huge, tiered birthday cake, complete with flickering candles. It was covered with silver frosting topped with green trimmings--his house colors. It was a real cake, too; he could smell the butter cream frosting from across the room.
Snape slowly walked up to it, reading the message neatly written in icing on the top.
“Happy 48th Birthday, Severus Snape!”
There were little green hearts around it.
Snape studied the huge confection. Who did this? He ran a finger through the icing, lifted it to his nose, and smelled it for any possible poisons. Not detecting any, he tasted it. Hm. Pretty good. Well, he’d have enough cake to last for a while. He was about to cast the Sectumsempra spell on it when suddenly the top burst open, flinging pieces of cake everywhere and startling the wizard. He trained his wand on what popped out of it.
“Happy Birthday, Severus!” she exclaimed, her arms extended over her head. The cake was so huge he could only see her bare shoulders.
Wait. Bare shoulders?
“Hermione, what are you doing? Are you drunk again?” he asked her, lowering his wand.
Hermione scowled at him.
“No, I’m not drunk again. I’m here to help you celebrate your birthday! I bet you thought I forgot,” she said to him.
“I didn’t think you knew,” Snape replied, eyeing those bare shoulders. “What are you wearing? A strapless dress?”
Hermione smiled at him rather naughtily.
“No, I’m not. I’m in my birthday suit in honor of the occasion. I suggest you slip into yours,” she replied.
“You’re drunk,” Snape said, sure of it this time. She was naked? She had to be drunk. How else would she have the nerve to do this?
“I am not drunk. I’m randy. And since you have all the necessary body parts, I thought we’d kill two pixies with one blast. I can give you a ‘present’ and you can give me an orgasm. Sounds fair, doesn’t it?”
Snape stood there, blinking at her.
“Are you serious?” he asked her, then backed away as Hermione hopped up, her breasts appearing, then her belly, then her pubic hair, followed by her legs as she climbed out of the cake, completely and utterly naked. She pushed back her hair.
“Do I look serious?” she responded, question for question.
Snape’s dark eyes slowly moved over Hermione’s curves. Did she look serious? She looked – delicious. Still—
“How do you know I’m—I’m this easy?” he said to her.
“All wizards are this easy,” she responded with a smile, slowly walking toward him.
Snape backed up and Hermione stopped.
“Oh gods, Severus! Have some fucking fun! You haven’t had sex in years I’m sure, and it’s been ages for me. We’re adults and it’s your birthday! What’s wrong with you?”
“Maybe I’m not that kind of wizard,” the Potions master replied.
Hermione stared at him, then threw her hands up in exasperation.
“I should have known,” she said, walking across the study to his liquor cabinet and fixing herself a shot of Firewhisky. Snape’s eyes glittered as he watched her buttocks shift and jiggle enticingly as she walked. She then sat down in one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace.
“My chair cushion is going to smell like pussy,” Snape hissed, walking around the armchair and looking down at her.
“It might as well, since you don’t want to,” Hermione snarked back at him, taking a sip of her drink. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here completely naked and you aren’t doing anything!” she rasped.
That simply wasn’t true; Snape was most definitely doing something.
Getting an erection.
But still, he wasn’t going to give Hermione all the power. She comes barging into his rooms, bouncing out of cakes and demanding sex under the guise of it being his birthday and he’s just supposed to—to go for it? What was he? Stud service?
Not that Snape wasn’t interested. He was very interested. It was just his nature to be contrary, even if pussy was involved. Giving people a hard time was like breathing to the dark wizard; it was autonomic.
“Do you make it a habit of offering yourself to men you barely know?” Snape asked her.
Hermione nearly choked on her Firewhisky. She glowered at him, firelight flickering over her body. It wasn’t lost on Snape.
“What are you talking about, Severus? I’ve known you for years. First I was your student for almost seven years, and now I’ve been your co-worker for four. How long do I have to know you for you to think I know you?”
“You’ve been in my presence, Hermione, but you don’t really know me—what if I’m—I’m a sadist? Someone who would enjoy branding you? Or blood play? What if I want to piss on you? You just don’t offer your body to a man without having any idea what his kinks are!”
Both of Hermione eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline.
“What?” she asked. “You want to piss on me, Severus?”
“No, you silly woman. I was just making a point—”
“Look, do you want to shag me or not?” she asked him point-blank. “If not, loan me a robe and I’ll get going. Honestly. I try and give you a nice birthday and this is what I get. Drama.”
Shag? Severus Snape did not shag. On the rare occasion when he did have sex, he fucked, hard and long. Boys shagged. And as far as drama went, Hermione had no idea how much drama she was in for if he did fuck her. But she was about to find out.
“Fine,” Snape replied, starting to unbutton his robes. “I’ll accept my ‘gift’ with grace.”
“Finally,” Hermione said, watching him, glad she wasn’t in for another night of masturbation. Toys were fine, but there was nothing like a flesh and blood wizard. She was actually hoping Snape was so sex-starved, he’d make a good showing.
She needn’t have worried.
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A/N: Happy Birthday, Severus! And a very large thank you to my beta, astopperindeath. Thanks, girl. ***