Disclaimer: obviously I am not J.K. Rowling, and though I'm using her characters and settings without express permission, I'd like to think she appreciates her little army of fic writers, even when we make all of her great characters screw CONSTANTLY. Ahem. I am not writing for profit. Please don't sue me.

This story (just a drabble really, and very nearly PWP) is set in Fred and George Weasley's first year (though they will not be making an appearance, that's just a point of reference). Contains some pretty serious smut of the hetero variety. Everything here should comply with canon; if it doesn't, please let me know. And now, allow me to present…

Potions Lessons

Winnie Gibson fumbled with her schoolbag. Her hands were shaking. The other students filed from the class slowly, chattering and playing as they funneled out of the small Potions classroom and up the stairs, away from the dungeons Professor Snape called home. When the cool, damp room fell silent, she dared a glance at her teacher and let out a small, shaking breath. He hadn't noticed she was still in the room; he was bent over a parchment, his thin lips moving almost imperceptibly as he read, those sharp dark eyes focused intently. Did she dare interrupt him?

Almost as though he had sensed her deliberation, Snape looked up. "Miss Gibson," he drawled coolly. "Is there a reason you have not vacated my classroom? The bell has rung. You are expected to be in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes for supper."

Winnie brushed her white-blonde hair from her eyes. "I-I had hoped to speak with you, Professor. About m-my grades."

"Miss Gibson, you are a Ravenclaw, and an excellent student." Snape's eyes were narrowed. "What indication have I given you that your grades may be at risk?"

"Well, none, sir." This was not going as Winnie had planned. "I…I had just h-hoped-"

It shocked Winnie to hear Snape's voice, as cold and cutting as ice. "You are not here to speak about your grades, Miss Gibson, though I respect your admittedly feeble attempt to get what you want without letting me in on the secret." He smiled, his dark eyes glinting. "I have always said you would have fit in well in Slytherin. However, your lie, as I have said, is feeble at best. Tell me why you have stayed behind, or I will give you detention for a week."

Something in Winnie's eyes betrayed her, and Snape cocked an eyebrow. "You want detentions? Well, out with it. Is someone bullying you after classes? I can understand why you came to me, of course, though that is really a duty for your head of house."

"No." Her voice was steadier than she felt. "No, no one is bullying me, Professor."

"Then?"

How could she possibly tell him? It had been so stupid of her to stay behind! What had she expected to happen? Now she was trapped, utterly and completely trapped. It was no use lying; he seemed to be able to see right through her. But how, oh how, could she ever tell the truth? "Professor Snape, I…" She stood suddenly, her heart racing. Snape's cool eyes were watching her carefully, and the urge to flee swelled in her until she could no longer keep it at bay. But barely had she moved a step before Snape was around the desk, one white hand snaked around her arm. She turned around to face him, her face hot.

"I did not permit you to leave, Miss Gibson. Now explain yourself, at once."

Winnie did, in that moment, the only thing that felt right: she propelled herself forward, pressing hard against Snape's body, and kissed him. He didn't resist, nor did he release her now-aching wrist. Her tongue slid against his and she gave a little sigh of pleasure- before he stepped away, releasing her arm at once, his eyes wide. There were two bright spots of color showing on his high, pale cheeks. His bottom lip glistened from her lip gloss.

"I…I'm sorry!" She burst out, hiding her face in her hands. She felt his hand touch her shoulder, and she looked up at him, miserable.

"I admit I'm taken aback." Snape's voice was a little higher than normal. His face was so close, and all she could think about was how his lips had felt on hers….

She didn't know who started it but suddenly, wildly, they were kissing once more. His hands were rough and quick, grasping at her hips, stroking her stomach. She felt him lift her easily, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and set her down harshly on his wide teacher's desk, scattering parchments and quills. An upturned ink bottle dripped steadily on the stone floor as Snape's mouth moved from her lips to her neck, then lower still, kissing and licking the place between her breasts as one hand slipped under her blouse and snaked up her stomach. His other hand stroked her thigh, his thumb sometimes brushing lightly against the wet warmth between her legs, and each time she let out a little gasp of agony. His mouth returned to hers, devouring, as his fingers found her pert pink nipple and pinched gently. His other hand had begun to stroke her, slowly at first but gaining in speed, and she bucked up against him greedily, biting his lip. A hard shuddering rocked her- her back arched against her will- a great gasp escaped her and she screwed up her face as the feeling overtook her- and then it was over, Snape was pulling away from her, straightening his robes, running a hand through his long black hair.

She sat up, panting. Little tremulous aftershocks were running through her body, making her twitch. "Professor?" she breathed.

"I apologize," he said hastily, not quite meeting her eyes. "I shouldn't have done that. I would appreciate it if you would keep this between-"

"Oh! I'm not going to tell anyone, sir," she rushed. She brushed the hair from her eyes again and sat all the way up, straightening her long uniform socks and smoothing her skirt. "No, no, of course not."

"Of course. You should leave...now."

"I…" She looked at him askance. What was with this guy? One minute he was all over her, the next acting as though he weren't interested…she shook her head. "Of course." She scooped up her schoolbag and noted with pleasure the way his eyes moved up her legs and to the hem of her skirt as she bent down. He would change his mind, eventually. For now, things had gone better than she could have ever imagined.