When Albus cancelled classes on the Friday of the Yule Ball Severus was annoyed because how was he supposed to keep up his record of Potions OWL and NEWT scores that beat out every other subject if that old fool kept interfering with his teaching time? Now that he's lazing in bed with only a few hours left on the potion timer, he couldn't care less whether Minerva beats his scores. Hell, even Sybill can beat his scores for all he cares this morning.
He takes a shower and shaves – meticulously – and dresses in shirt and trousers, dispensing with all the layers and buttons that will only slow them down. Sitting down to breakfast ordered from the elves, he's half tempted to watch the memory of last night in the Pensieve just to reassure himself that he didn't imagine the whole thing.
When she arrives, he blurts out, "Are you sure?" then cringes. Smooth, Severus. Very smooth.
"You know I am, you great git. You were inside my head," she laughs.
And he does know. He just can't believe it, even having seen. And the reminder of how he'd invaded her mind without consent only feeds his doubts. "I had no business being there," he says stiffly.
"I've already forgiven you, remember? Now kiss me already."
"So bossy," he says, and does. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Anything you want," she says, and the way she says it dispels every shred of doubt. He leads her into the bedroom and proceeds to do just that.
From the sounds she's making – who knew swotty, bossy Granger would be this responsive? – what he wants is just what she likes. Being a bit swotty himself, he makes a thorough study of her responses and adjusts his actions accordingly.
He's always thought sex rather like brewing, where theoretical knowledge is important, but careful attention and intuition make the difference between an acceptable potion and one that is sublime. A master brewer observes the cauldron closely and divines exactly what to add when for maximum effectiveness. At her yesssss he adds a more of this, and at her oh, please a bit more of that. When words give way to incoherent moans and gasps, he knows she's like a nearly perfect brew that requires only one more anti-clockwise stir to bring it to perfection.
He stirs, she screams, and he stops paying attention to anything at all.
"Glad I waited until November," she says when she's capable of speech.
"What are you on about?"
"Your portrait said you learned a new trick in October." She lowers her voice an octave and says in an annoying good impression of him, "Or, rather, I perfected one that I knew about in theory but hadn't quite mastered in practice."
He frowns, thinking, and then realizes. "Oh. That. I have yet to show you that."
"I thought…"
"You thought what?"
"That, you know…" She gestures vaguely. "That."
"You scream and claw like a wildcat but you're embarrassed to say the words?"
"Be nice."
"Miss Granger, I am never nice. You knew that long before you came back in time intent on seducing me." He narrows his eyes. "And if you are implying that I didn't know how to do…that until I was in my thirties, you insult me."
"Child prodigy, were you?"
"When I was newly Marked at eighteen, the wife of one of the older Death Eaters took me under her wing, so to speak. Fed up with her husband's blatant infidelities and his sexual incompetence, she wanted someone young who hadn't learned bad habits she'd have to break."
"Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson."
"Madam Dolohov, actually."
"Thank you for cuckholding the bastard who gave me this," she says, touching the scar on her chest.
"I could kill him for you, if you like."
"That's all right. Fucking his wife is sufficient."
"Just as well, since he's in Azkaban and I might have trouble making good on my offer."
"Wait. You called her Madam Dolohov?"
"She was a lady of nearly my mother's age. I didn't want to overstep."
"You were worried about overstepping with your face between her legs?"
He silences her laughter by kissing her.
"Did he ever find out?"
"Unfortunately. During one of their numerous altercations she showed him a memory of us in a Pensieve, with running commentary about how my performance compared to his."
"What did he do?"
"He had to wait till the next time I displeased the Dark Lord, but when I did, he Crucioed me within an inch of my life, said he'd make me scream louder than his wife had."
"Did you?"
"I screamed, but not as loud – or as long – as Madam Dolohov."
"Men. Everything's a pissing match, isn't it?" she says, rolling her eyes. "So she was your first?"
"Yes. There was a Muggle girl back home who got drunk enough to find the idea appealing, but she passed out during the preliminaries so that was that. Just as well. I doubt she'd have been able to teach me much of value even had she remained conscious."
"So, what was so esoteric that you didn't learn it until the ripe old age of 35?"
He summons a book from the bookcase in the sitting room. The Ancient Arte of Sex Magick. He opens it to a page near the beginning and hands it to her. Her eyes widen as she scans the page.
"Something you might like to try?"
"Yes, please," she says, and starts looking through the book. She frowns at something about midway through, turns the book sideways and squints at an illustration. "Is that even possible?"
He looks. "Not for Muggles, certainly. Theoretically it is, but I can't say from experience. I actually haven't tried most of what's in there."
"Could we? That one?" she says, pointing.
"It's a bit advanced. We should probably keep to the early chapters for now. Less than an hour ago you were a maiden untouched, after all."
"I've always been advanced in my studies."
He laughs. "That you have."
"Though actually," she says, "I think I could do with a review of some of the material we've already covered."
"Any particular part of the curriculum in which you'd like to concentrate?"
"Erm…"
"Use your words, Hermione."
She blushes.
"Oh," he says. "That."