Chapter Text
Hermione Granger was never late.
Hermione Snape, on the other hand, was always late. Largely in part due to the unexpected, but entirely welcome, insatiable appetite of her husband.
Severus had come upon her while she was changing in their rooms. The next thing she knew, she was face down and arse up on their bed while he tongued her clit, grunting in approval
Hermione blushed at the thought.
Her husband didn't even have the decency to wait for her to catch her breath, nevermind make herself presentable, before swiftly exiting their chambers.
And so Hermione found herself dashing down the corridor, flustered and most definitely not presentable if the mess in her knickers was any indication.
Merlin, she really hated being late.
Making haste, she burst into the staff lounge just as Evangeline Thompson sat in the last remaining chair, directly beside Severus Snape. Hermione's eyes narrowed as she watched the stupid bint shift not-so-subtly closer to her husband.
There was an ominous silence as the rest of the staff looked from Hermione to Evangeline to Severus and back again.
Filius Flitwick, who had the misfortune of sitting to Evangeline's right, was shaking in fright.
Evangeline whispered something to Severus.
Hermione's hand tightened on her wand. Filius squeaked. Severus looked up at the sound.
Evangeline placed her hand on Severus’ arm. Pomona audibly gasped. Severus glared at the offending appendage.
Hermione stepped forward, raised her wand and-
Pandemonium. Absolute pandemonium.
Filius screamed.
Rolanda laughed.
Minerva glared.
Pomona fainted.
Poppy choked.
Septima cheered.
Irma grinned.
As for Hermione, well she merely transfigured a nearby stool into a chair and seated herself directly opposite her husband.
Severus arched a brow at his wife.
The bastard.
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Hermione sipped her tea as Minerva handed out the December rounds schedule, all the while contemplating her life choices.
When did she become this pathetic version of herself? Hopelessly in love with her former professor turned husband. Desperate for his affection, his attention, his praise.
And there was no doubt that she was jealous of the beautiful, auburn-haired witch sitting across from her. The Brightest Witch of Her Age should certainly never be anything as pedestrian as jealous.
Nevertheless, Evangeline Thompson would have to be eliminated. There was no question.
The question was how. And when. Possibly where. But that would depend on the how and when. The who and why went without saying.
While Hermione was mulling over Plan C, she became acutely aware of the aforementioned mess in her knickers. She shifted in discomfort. Once. Twice. And again.
Hermione watched as her husband noted her obvious discomfort. Watched as his brow furrowed in confusion. Then in contemplation. And finally, in understanding.
His gaze darkened, taking her in. His nostrils flared, lips slightly parted. The tension in his body was palpable.
Severus Snape was now fully aware that his seed was dripping from his wife's quim. As she sat in the staff lounge. Amongst their peers and colleagues.
And he liked it.
Oh, yes.
Hermione could tell that her husband liked this very much.
Gaze locked with her husband, Hermione subtly squirmed in her seat.
Severus’ hand tightened on his quill.
How interesting, Hermione mused.
How very interesting, indeed.