Someone was in the bed with him. Blearily, Snape lifted his head from the pillow and the woman sighed, pressing herself further against his chest. He couldn't make out a lot of her features; only wild curls obscuring her face and a very plump figure. Her leg was wedged between his knees and her arms were looped around his chest. She smelled heavenly, whoever she was; even more so, she felt amazingly warm and soft in his arms.
"Good morning," she mumbled and broke his train of thought. That voice, he thought and scrambled back, only to fall off the bed and smack something off the nightstand. "Shit!" he hissed, holding his hand to his chest. The woman sat up, startled out of her sleep. "Christ, are you okay?"
Snape blinked as he rubbed his back. Something popped, reminding him of his age. "Fine," he muttered as he stood up. Light flooded the room. His stomach seized. Hermione stood before him, dressed in a short crop top and boy shorts, curls exploded around her round face, eyes flicking between something low and his face. Curiously, he glanced down too and found he wasn't wearing any clothes.
"Pardon," he murmured as she squeaked and turned away quickly, rattling about something. Amused, he waved his fingers and called out, "Accio wand!" It zoomed into his hand and he conjured some clothes. Once he was dressed, in trousers but clothes were clothes, he said, calmly, "I'm sorry."
Her hair bounced as she spun to face him, her cinnamon eyes wide in surprise. "You're sorry?" she repeated slowly, advancing.
"Yes. I'm afraid I've outstayed my welcome," he explained, pushing forward an air of indifference as he pulled on his shirt, buttoning it carefully so as to avoid looking into her face and forgetting all of his thoughts.
"You haven't," she said firmly and he caught a glimpse of sadness in her face, her eyes lowered and lids half-mast. "I've grown to enjoy our time together," she continued softly.
"Still—" he began, rising to his feet but paused when her hand touched his arm. He cursed himself as his head angled down, his gaze locked on her puppy-dog pout. Big, brown eyes stared up at him.
"Please, stay," she begged, leaning into him, and he could feel her breasts. He tried to breathe. She smelled wonderful and he wanted nothing more than to press his mouth to hers and devour her lips.
"Alright," he said because who could say no to her pout? You're an old fool, he told himself as she laughed heartily and headed for the door. "Last night…thank you," she whispered mysteriously before closing the door. What happened last night? He wondered as he sat down upon the bed.
There came a loud meow and Crookshanks made himself known. Mustard-yellow eyes eyed Snape as he rolled out across the pillows. "Yes, I'm a human now. You must be pleased that I'm no longer a dog," he muttered dryly, smoothing out the wrinkles in the comforter absently. "I won't be like that stupid Weasley," he added. "I'm not completely brainless."
They both glanced down at his tented trousers. "What? I'm human," he spat, angling his lower half away from the cat's knowing smirk before leaping to his feet and stalking out.
He swore he heard a catty laugh behind him.
Leaning against the door frame in the kitchen, Snape admired Hermione's figure.
Round thighs and a plump bottom, muscular legs and dainty toes, a soft belly and tiny shoulders. She was by no means the gangly little girl she'd been at eleven; time had done her good. He watched her profile, her full lips and small nose, her round cheeks. Her cushiony breasts seemed to be like the rest of her, padded and cutely thick.
"Miss…" The word Granger died on his lips as she bent down, reaching for something. His face exploded with heat and he quickly made his presence known.
"Oh, you're here. How do pancakes sound?" she asked, her eyes twinkling up at him. He nodded his approval like he hadn't been thinking about slapping her butt or kissing her silly or the way her body had molded against his this morning or her wide-eyed expression at seeing him nude. Clearing his throat, he strode closer.
"May I be assistance?" His voice was breathless and far too low; seductive, even.
She blinked several times and then broke out into a short laugh. "I'm quite capable of cooking, Severus," she told him, shaking her head.
"Says the girl who turned herself into a cat," he mused gently.
"Hey! I was twelve. And Bullstrode's hair resembled her cat's hair," she chortled, placing a hand on his stomach as she passed. His face warmed at her touch and he coughed. "Severus Snape!" she cried, backtracking quickly with a huge, shit-eating smirk on her face. It made her look devilishly devious, like a succubus closing in for the kill, knowing she has her victim in the throes of pleasure. He swallowed hard, trying to wipe the idea of being her victim, her victorious expression looking even more dangerously delicious in the dark shadows of the room. Snape's face flamed even more.
"Yes?" He raised a brow, attempting to put an air of serenity and not a maelstrom of desire and embarrassment at a mere touch from her.
"Are you blushing?" Her eyes caught rays of sun and she looked even more beautiful, right here in front of him.
"Perhaps," he muttered absently, drawing his mouth to a corner of his face as he averted his eyes. He couldn't look at her any longer or he'd grow even redder, thoughts blossoming inside his brain. What was wrong with him? He'd always exerted control in all things he did and his self-control exceeded normal people's. Working for both the good side and dark had its difficulties, especially when being tortured for lack of information or being hounded by a nosy eleven-year-old with a lightning scar who didn't know shit about your true loyalties.
"I like it when you blush. It looks good on you." Her grin sent his face even hotter. "Now, come help me, Tomato Man." He heard a loud meow and turned. Crookshanks smirked up at him.
"Shut up," he hissed as his attention was captured by Hermione once again.