A/N: So I have started an original fic but couldn't resist having my favourites ticking along in the background. Just a bit of smutty fun after the angst and turmoil of the last few. Hope you enjoy it. DSxx

P.S. Thanks to Marriage1988 for the inspiration once again.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Warning: As with all of my fics, this story is intended for readers over the age of 18.

"He doesn't give a fuck . . . look at him."

Hermione sighed, dropping her spoon back into her soup bowl.

"Neville." She turned to him, refusing to look at the staff table.

Neville's mouth was still hanging open, and Hermione was confident enough about the target of his gaze to know that it wasn't awe that had captured him. It was fear.

"Neville," she repeated, elbowing him.

"What?" He glanced at her distractedly before immediately resuming his stunned mullet impression. "Did you see him? McGonagall was telling him something, pointing and that, and he just turned his back on her. Like she wasn't even there. He just doesn't give a fuck about any of them. Not anymore."

Hermione had had enough.

With a loud scrape, she pushed her seat back and dismissed her bowl with a wave of her hand.

"Where are you going?" Neville squinted up at her.

"I'm finished. And I have work to do."

"But you said you'd help." He leapt up, banging his knee on the table with a groan before stumbling after her.

"I know. But you're not doing yourself any favours," she responded tersely. "You're obsessed with him."

"I am not obsessed," Neville insisted, clumsily bending to rub his knee as he tried to keep up with her swift strides.

"You could have fooled me," she snipped, jogging up the stairs so that he had to clear them two at a time to have any chance of staying with her.

"Hermione!" he gasped, grabbing her arm at the top of the staircase to stop her from charging off altogether. She moved like the wind when she was in a snit.

She whirled around to face him. "You need to let it go," she snapped. "The past is the past. Nagini all but killed him. And you killed Nagini. There's no reason for you to fear him. Not anymore."

"But he's still my boggart. You know that, don't you? And it's going to come up in the exam."

Hermione's face contorted in frustration. "But he shouldn't be. He can't do anything to you, Neville. He's a shadow of the man he once was. He nearly died for Merlin's sake."

"But that's what I've been trying to tell you." Neville's voice rose in consternation. "He's not. He's not weak. He's strong—stronger than you think. And without Dumbledore, without Voldemort, he's free to do whatever he likes. And he doesn't give a fuck about anything . . . or anyone. That's why he's dangerous."

"He's NOT dangerous, Neville. You need to stop thinking like that. He's just a teacher. Like all the others. And we are final year students. We managed to win the war. Now we will pass our N.E. and make our way into the big wide world. Just focus on that, on passing your exams. And you must stop talking about Snape."

"But will you help me?" he pleaded.

Hermione shook her head slightly but his forlorn expression—and Neville could pull off forlornness like no one else—made her acquiesce with a growl. "Alright. But I don't want to hear you obsessing about him again, do you understand?"

"I'll . . . do my best," he mumbled.

She huffed and glanced at her watch. "Meet me in the transfiguration classroom at 8pm. We will use the practice boggart in the cupboard there if it's free."

"Excellent." Neville nodded appreciatively, his strained expression melting with relief. "Grand."

Hermione gave a small smile. "Just be confident."

"Are you being confident?"

"Er . . . I'm trying to."

Hermione stood with her arms crossed, a few paces behind him. He appeared to be shaking nearly as much as the cupboard.

"Neville, look at me."

He turned then and she could see the sheen of sweat on his pale skin.

She approached, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Remember Dumbledore's army? Remember all the risks that you took?"

He nodded uncertainly.

"It all worked out, didn't it? You can do this, Neville. You can defeat anyone."

He nodded again, but with slightly more conviction.

She sighed then, brow furrowing with concern.

"You know that the final ingredient is laughter, don't you?" She raked her eyes over him. "You don't seem to be ready for that at all. In fact, you look far more likely to . . ."

"Shit myself?"

"Well . . . yes," she admitted, rubbing her cheek as her lips curled into a sympathetic smile. "Perhaps we should put this off for a while? Give you a chance to calm down?"

He shook his head then—slightly erratically, as though conviction was having a tough job fighting through his fear. "No. I don't want to wait. I'm not going to be able to sleep until I know I can do it. I'll just be worrying."

Hermione raised a palm to him. "Alright," she conceded. "As I said, I'll be right behind you. I'll be giving you advice but you don't need to take it. This is about you, after all—your fears. But you are also the one who needs to ultimately conquer them."

He took a deep breath then and turned back to the cupboard.

"Riddikulus . . . riddikulus . . ." he muttered under his breath, wand gripped fiercely in his hand.

"Are you ready?" Hermione focused on the cupboard, feeling suddenly anxious on his behalf.

He nodded. "Go on."

Planting her feet, Hermione drew a steadying breath before releasing the latch with a twirl of her wand.

Nothing happened.

Neville's fists opened and closed anxiously.

Still nothing.

"What's it—?"

Just then there was an eerie creak as something slowly slithered out—a set of long, pale fingers curling around the door frame.

And suddenly he was there.

All of him.

All in black.

And he was striding towards them.

Hermione couldn't remember how he'd approached that first time, all those years ago, but there was a definite air of menace to him now. Each solid footfall rang out in warning, his thin lips twisted with obvious displeasure, his jet black irises glittered menacingly, and his considerable frame seemed to rise like a Dementor until he loomed threateningly over them.

Hermione swallowed.

She was wrong.

He was still pretty fucking scary.

But Neville managed to raise his shaking wand and level it at the dark wizard.

"Riddikulus!" he cried.

It came out sounding more like a question than a command.

And the resultant transformation was . . . ridiculous.

It barely even hindered his advance.

"Back up!" Hermione cried.

"I don't . . . I don't understand," Neville stuttered.

Snape's new attire might have been that of Neville's grandmother's but it didn't seem to faze him in the slightest, rather he knocked the floppy hat out of his eyes like a cowboy, sauntering towards them on sensible black heels as though they had been made for him.

"I'm not sure that worked," Hermione called as she retreated behind the desks.

"No fucking joke." Neville took several faltering steps backwards, keeping his eye on Snape.

"You need to try something else . . . and fast."

"I told you he doesn't give a fuck." Neville's voice was quaking as he continued to retreat from the dark-haired wizard who, if anything, looked even more furious.

"But you did this," Hermione insisted. "These are your fears. He's behaving like this because of you."

"Then tell me what to do," Neville cried desperately, backing into a desk and almost toppling over it.

"You need to make him less scary by . . . um . . . by dressing him up as a . . . a clown . . ."

"You think clowns aren't fucking scary?"

"Okay . . . not that . . . just . . ." Hermione chewed her lip, trying to think. "Alright, I . . . I think I've got it . . . he's got to be naked."

"What?" Neville squawked.

"Take everything off."

Glancing around wildly, Neville continued to back around the room. "I can't," he whimpered. Then, as Snape closed in, he lifted his wand and gritted his teeth.

Snape was only a pace away.

"Riddikulus!"

Snape stopped.

Neville dropped his wand.

Hermione collapsed back onto the desk behind her. "Merlin's balls," she whispered.

They remained that way, gazing at naked Snape in silence, until Hermione finally found her voice. "Did you . . . do that?"

"You what?" Neville jerked around to look at her. "You think I'd give him that if I didn't want to be intimidated?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So that's . . . that's his . . . then? That's what he . . . really looks like?"

Neville shrugged. "I s'pose."

"Well . . ." she sighed breathily.

"Well what?" He turned to her again. "What now?"

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to focus her thoughts. "Well . . . now . . . you have to laugh."

"At that?" He nodded at Snape who was standing with his hands on his hips looking rather proud of himself.

Hermione understood exactly what he meant. Laughing was the last thing on her mind as her gaze trickled slowly over his significant . . . endowments.

"You may have trouble dismissing him if you don't," she stated matter-of-factly.

Neville rolled his eyes. "Thanks very much. Brilliant."

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments.

Then Hermione pushed herself off the desk. "Maybe I could . . ."

Neville raised an eyebrow as she edged around the side of the room until she was standing behind the naked wizard.

"I'm going to approach. He should remain facing you. There would be no reason for him to turn with you still there," she said, advancing a few paces.

"What are you doing?" There was a note of caution to Neville's voice.

"I'm just going to . . ." Her words tailed off as she clamped her bottom lip firmly between her teeth. She was getting close and struggling not to fixate upon the muscular globes of his buttocks.

Shifting her gaze upward, she found herself even more nonplussed, instantly entranced by the taper of his back, the way his muscles flexed faintly beneath the sheen of his porcelain skin like wind thrust into wet sails.

Was this really Snape? Snape released from the severity of his trappings? Or was this just some figment of Neville's fertile imagination?

Whatever he was, by the time she reached him, Hermione was reduced to mouth breathing only. There didn't seem to be enough air in the room. Tentatively she extended her hand, placing it on the small of his back. She gasped. His skin was so smooth and warm. Just like a real person.

"Hermione?" Neville still sounded worried.

She let out a sigh then. It was the breath that had lodged in her throat, but this was more than relief. It had been a while since she'd touched anyone like this. She didn't realise how much she'd missed it.

Lifting her other hand, she placed it on the taper of his waist, just above where his hand was propped.

"What are you going to—"

She tickled him. Just a brief twitch of her fingers into his side.

"How does he look?" she asked.

"He looks like Snape," Neville replied. "Just a bit less . . . frowny."

Hermione smiled, her cheek suddenly brushing against his back.

She jerked her head away then. Shocked at how close she had allowed herself to get.

Idiot.

She was there to make Neville laugh, not to nuzzle his boggart.

Reaching further down Snape's front with her hand, she located the shaft of his penis. Easily. It was, after all, quite impossible to miss.

The velveteen softness against her palm sent a jolt shuddering through her, instantly parching her throat, such that she had to clear it with a loud hacking cough in order to continue.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," she announced in her best Snape baritone as she conducted his cock back and forth like a baton, finishing with a final flourish.

Neville snorted loudly. Then choked. And suddenly a shaking peal of laughter rolled from his chest.

"You should see his face!" he cackled. "He's looking quite put out. Fantastic!"

Hermione reluctantly stepped away.

"That's right, off you go old man," Neville jeered, flicking his wand at Snape who was still looking rather baffled as he trudged back to the cupboard.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Neville said, grinning and flexing his wand.

"Not at all," Hermione responded. "Now you just need to ensure that Professor McGonagall is comfortable with allowing a bit of cock waving in her exam."

Neville's smile dropped away.

"Fuck it."