Work Text:
The bell placed upon the door chimed merrily, notifying the man of a new presence entering his workplace.
It was a common occurrence, of course- Vial and Cauldron was a very popular Apothecary, opened just a couple of years after the war; its owner prided on his skills as a potioneer, and made all sorts of potions and ointments, catered to heal and relieve any ache, wound, permanent mark and what-have-you. His clientele was large and diverse, each seeking something different from the talented man. And while his social skills were less than favourable, his talent was undisputable and made people brave his surly attitude. He had employed an assistant, of course-to help with the customers when he was busy brewing-, however, he was not here at the present, as it was his time for a well-earned break.
After all, at this time of day -that time when people usually found themselves at home, enjoying their lunch and their short reprieve from their afternoon activities-, few people visited his workplace, except in cases of emergency. And even these cases were rare and far-in-between in those gloriously peaceful times they were getting through now.
The lady who entered just now, actually looked pretty troubled. Her heels clcked in quick succession as she walked further into the shop. Her eyes flitted around nervously, taking in the various bottles and tins that were on display, before redirecting her gaze to the curious proprietor.
And what a gaze that was- amber, bright gaze, looking at him as if she attempted to read him through. This intelligent gaze seemed to match her whole appearance: it was a young woman, her petite frame nicely wrapped in a white shirt and a deep green skirt that reached her knees, and robes that billowed down to her heels. Her hair was untamed, wild chocolate curls framing a pleasant, not-overly-done face. She seemed really nervous about being here; she constantly worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
“How may I help you, Madam?” he asked, his deep voice resonating into the stillness of the room. She stopped worrying her lip and took a step closer to the counter, behind which he was standing. “Good afternoon, mister Snape. I need an ointment that relieves the pains of scarring, if you please.” she replied, taking her look around, as if she could recognize which tin she should pick up.
A big, important part of his work was healing scars that St. Mungo’s either couldn’t or didn’t bother to tend to correctly. He had done so for himself, and now he offered this to his customers, too, subtly rejoicing when they thanked him for the relief he offered them. It was one of the things that made this work worthwhile.
“Madam, it depends on the scarring. If it comes from a simple trauma, I can recommend the aloe ointment that I make, as it hydrates the skin and relieves from any ache and itching caused by the stretching of the skin” he said, pointing to the shelf on his left. “I make those, and I can guarantee their efficiency. They are also very effective on burned skin, within reason of course.”
The witch quickly shook her head and added in a small voice: “It is for a curse-induced scar, sir.”
He frowned at her reply. This was an altogether different case: curse wounds bound magic onto the inflicted’s skin, thus making them harder to counteract, something that applied especially to curses that used Dark magic. He needed to know more, in order to help the distressed client.
“I see. Madam, if you’ll allow me, I would like to ask some questions about how you acquired those scars, and maybe I could take a look at them. I am making specialized ointments for certain types of curses, so I might need to administer one that I have at hand or make a new one for you.”
She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but then thought better of it and closed it again, before nodding her assent to the man.
He turned to his side, pointing at a corridor behind him. “If you’ll follow me, please.” he said, and set off to the corridor behind him, flicking lights as he went, before opening a door at his left.
He waited for the witch to follow him, then closed the door behind her.
“This is our laboratory, where I do all the brewing for the apothecary” he explained. He was usually less talkative, but he sensed that his usual demeanor wouldn’t do with this particular customer.
She took an inquisitive gaze all around; there were copper cauldrons set on stasis in one corner of the room, and some others, empty, on the other side of the room. Various shelves were filling all the wall space of the room; little vases on them, with ingredients, each with a label on the front. Big, elongated work benches filled the rest of the space, with a big, wooden one placed right in the middle of the room, with a few things on its top. The potioneer was working on something before the woman stepped in his apothecary.
She walked towards that table, curiosity gaining her attention. There was a notebook open there, full of scribbles and drawings, and next to it a forgotten quill. She didn’t notice that Severus had already walked behind her.
“Madam, I need to know more about that scar, now” he said, and the witch was surprised at his proximity. She hadn’t heard him come closer.
When she turned to face him, Severus was standing a couple of steps behind, peering at her with an unreadable expression, his arms crossed in front of his torso. “Dolohov cast it on me, seven years ago. It hurts and itches still” she clarified, averting her gaze.
He remembered the incident-how could he not? The wizarding world almost lost one of its brightest lights, and if it weren’t for her quick thinking, she wouldn’t have survived.
“In order to provide you with the proper treatment, Madam, you will have to show me your scars” he said. “Where were you hit?”
She placed an arm over her chest. He took astep closer and looked into her eyes.
“May I?”
Two words, softly spoken, oddly kindly if one thought of the taciturn man’s usual way with words. She nodded and took her hand away, letting his own reach out and slowly unbutton her shirt. When he reached the junction where her shirt disappeared into her skirt, he gently pulled it up and opened the remaining buttons, parting the shirt to reveal a dark green brassiere.
“You have a glamour on, Madam” he observed, and he slipped his wand from his pocket, to de-glamour it.
A purplish, jagged scar started just below her collarbone and ran down her body, between her breasts and down her middle, disappearing somewhere over her side. The witch bearing the scar looked at him, as if she challenged him.
He reached out and trailed his middle finger down the raised skin, mapping the scar with his fingertip -delighting in the goosebumps that erupted in her skin.
She took a deep breath and kept on staring at his expression.
His finger slid lower, lower, until it reached her hip-finding the skirt to be an obstacle.
When Severus lifted his eyes up at hers again, she wordlessly stepped forward, in order to lift her body away from the table, and reached behind her to unzip her skirt. Her eyes, despite what should have been, were trusting, and a small smile played upon her lips.
Severus was, to say the least, enthralled by the sight of this witch, standing half-undressed and yet proud in front of him. His hands slipped up to her shoulders and pushed the shirt along with the robe off her shoulders. They fell off on a heap on the floor, and soon her skirt followed on top of them.
Her smile widened when two strong hands reached for her waist and lifted her on the table, but hissed lightly-the table must have been cold.
“I do have the proper relief for it, Madam” he said, walking away to one of the shelves, contemplating its contents for a moment before returning with a tin. “Camomile and lavender for your skin will do splendidly.”
Returning to her and opening the tin to show her, he smirked at the sight she presented. She was so very beautiful, so brave, so open.
And alone, with him, so very willingly.
Dipping two fingers onto the pale purple salve, he set on the task of spreading it on her scar, but his lips were those that set the way for the fingers. A barely-there, soft kiss on the raised skin, then a smidge of cream following it. Warm lips, chilly fingers, and her skin reacting at the feeling.
Severus noticed the way she shivered, and the way she struggled to stay quiet under his ministrations. He chuckled; Hermione Granger wasn’t known as a quiet person. She never has been known as such, in all the years he has known her.
When he reached her hip, he took his time to massage the burst of magic that left its trace on her skin, slowly, lovingly even, acknowledging the strength that came with bearing such a scar. However, when his hand brushed against the wooden table, it was sticky, with something that left a reddish hue on his fingers. He blinked in confusion, and Hermione wriggled her hips, wincing in protest at the feeling of her skin getting sticky against the wood. He brought his fingers close to his face, smelled them curiously, then let his tongue flick out and take a taste.
“Just what is this?” she demanded, as she jumped off the table. Her bottom was now the same reddish hue on its right side.
He was quick to turn her around though and made her brace against the table, making her yelp in surprise.
“That would be...berries” he said, rubbing his fingers over a reddish spot on her bottom. “Apologies- I was crushing some earlier, and some juice was spilt. Here, let me clean it for you, Madam.”
The witch barely registered that Severus dropped on his knees behind her, until the feeling of a hand grabbing onto her stained cheek and the feeling of him leaving open-mouthed kisses and soft licks on her bottom made her knees buckle. He was truly doing that; cleaning the juice of the berries by tasting her. His other hand, too, didn’t stay idle; she felt a finger brush against her clothed, yet drenched folds. It wasn’t truly helpful, that this traitorous finger slipped past the green scrap of lace and deftly made it between her folds and inside her, quickly followed by a second one.
“Does it taste good?” her panting voice -trembling almost as much as her legs-, echoed, closely followed by a whimpering sound. That was the sound that prompted Severus to double his efforts-his tongue laving the juice off her soft cheek, his fingers tracing circles inside her and causing those sloshing sounds that betrayed her arousal, her whimpering and the sound of her hand hitting on the table in desperation.
“Just divine” he purred, doubling his efforts to lave her skin clean. When his teeth scraped softly against her skin, she moaned louder, and the sound rang in his hears, addictive. Her release was quick and intense, he felt his fingers constricted by the fluttering of her walls around them. He wanted her to make more sounds like this. Needed her to keen like this again, just for him.
He wouldn’t be able to take this for long, if this overwhelming of senses went on. Because it was overwhelming; sight, touch, taste, hearing, smell -everything was too much and yet, not enough.
When Severus found himself back on his feet, he didn’t have enough patience to unbutton himself, so a quickly muttered Divesto did the trick for him. He took himself in his hand-he was ready for her, so ready, so impatient-, and he led himself to brush against the eager witch’s folds, not yet giving her what he guessed she wanted. He felt her wriggling against him, though, in a silent invitation.
One smooth slip, and he was finally home, sheathed into her tight, wet heat.
One hand braced against her hip, rubbing gently against her scar, while the other one-the one that was inside her-, teased against her lips, and she, ever the bold lioness, parted her lips and suckled on his fingers, never minding that it was herself she tasted on it.
It was such an exquisite feeling.
His thrusts began slowly, languidly, drawing pleasure from the fact that she was fluttering quickly around him. But it soon became too much, when the witch that was bending in front of him lost every ounce of self control she still had and started meeting him thrust for thrust, urging him to follow a faster pace. The room filled with their sounds, her soft moans, his impatient groans, the sound of skin hitting skin. Nothing else mattered, and the only thing holding Severus still grounded was the feel of Hermione’s scar under his thumb. A testament of strength, in a moment that he felt he was breaking her and himself.
Unable to hold himself for long, he slipped his hand away from her face again and redirected it between her legs, allowing it to draw fast, tight circles on her clit, as he still pounded behind her. Her moans, delicious as they already were, raised in volume; they became a cry, a high-pitched chant of his name, and he didn’t care if anyone walked into the shop and heard them- Merlin, let them come in, let them hear, let them see the brightest witch of her age bent over his work bench, crying his name out as she did, he didn’t care, he hadn’t even put up wards and the apothecary would be soon crowded again-.
His fingers kept their quick circling, and he growled in frustration and the impending delight he was still denying himself. But soon, she arched back and cried out his name, before falling limp against the table-still trembling wildly from the aftermath of her pleasure.
He couldn’t help it; with a low moan and her name on his lips, he followed after her, emptying himself inside her walls, burning up with spent desire.
It took a few moments for both of them to find their bearings again. Once they did, Severus begrudgingly pulled away from Hermione’s satiated body. She was warm, and so soft, that he really despised having to part from her.
But she turned around (not without difficulty, Severus smugly noted), and reached out to thread her trembling fingers through his hair. It was an invitation, for him to reach out and offer a languid kiss-the first she would get from him that day. They parted reluctantly, and Severus immediately reached for the salve again, repeating the tender dancing of fingers over the scarred skin.
“It doesn’t itch now, does it?” he asked, taking great care at her hip.
“No, it feels good”, she purred happily, deeply enjoying his care.
“Do not dare glamour that scar again, Hermione” he said, his tone accusing.
Hermione, enthralled as she was by his ministrations, lifted her face to watch him.
“You know it shows under my clothes-” she started, but Severus cut her off immediately.
“I don’t care. That scar is your pride. It’s the reason why you are the brightest witch of your age, that you are strong. Wear it and rejoice in making people feel uncomfortable because they weren’t as powerful as you were.”
The radiant smile she regaled him with, urged him to claim her lips in another searing kiss.
“Now, get dressed-lunchtime is almost over” he said, as he finally parted from her to let her enough space to get her clothes on. He followed suit, putting on and buttoning the clothes by hand.
They shared one last, quick kiss.
“Now, sir, your payment-” she said, her smile as cheeky as always.
His hand reached out and hit down once on her soft bottom, making her yelp. “I think you’ve paid me plenty, Madam” he retorted. She flushed and he smirked at the endearing sight. Then she was gone, and he stood into the now emptied room, looking absent-mindedly at the preparation bench she was standing at just a few moments earlier.
The bell chimed again, and Severus, satiated and with renewed energy, walked out of the lab, only to find his assistant, Jonathan, waiting for him at the till.
“Good afternoon, Jonathan. Did you have a good time?” he greeted the young man, who took a double take on his employer.
“Good afternoon, sir. Thank you, I did. What about you? I just saw Madam Snape round the corner-was she here?” Jonathan asked, none the wiser about what had transpired earlier in this place.
Despite himself, Severus smiled.
“She had trouble with her scar, so she took a break from work to get some ointment” he clarified, and the young man didn’t question further. He just prepared for the afternoon rush, while Severus let himself ponder for a while what other concoctions would make her bottom taste as sweet as it tasted just a while ago. He would definitely do a few experiments to find out.