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Just One Kiss	By : moirasfate Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 6385 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Just One Kiss
- 2-Chapter Two
- 1
- 2
Title: Just One Kiss (1/?)

Author: Moirasfate

Story: HG/SS: When the dust settles, who will be there to soothe your
fears, kindle your desires, walk with you as a fellow survivor? Hermione searches
for her little comforts and finds that a certain Professor can be a welcome
distraction. But how does she tell him her feelings when her voice was the price
she paid for her part in the war? And what about our favorite Professor, what
has he lost and what will he gain?

Rating: NC-17/MA

Warnings: Solo, Oral, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, M/F.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property
of JK Rowling and Scholastic Books. This is a work of fanfiction. No infringement
is intended, and no money is being made from this story. The title of this fic
and the lyrics are by The Cure's Just One Kiss.

A/N: Beta wanted! I hope to continue this fic, but a beta would be nice
to help out with my mistakes and with constructive crit... Anyone interested?
Leave a review or email me @ moirasfate@yahoo.com.

Chapter 1

I remember the time that you rained all night

The queen of Siam in my arms...
* * *
She chalked it up to be an innocuous habit at first, nothing more than a visual
distraction from her reality. But as she sat in the Great Hall, absentmindedly
pushing her food around on her plate with her right hand and cradling her chin
in the left, she felt as if her fascination was getting a little out of hand...
Speaking of hands and innocuous habits, she noticed that his hand had not moved
from the stem of his goblet and that his eyes were moving toward her location
between Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter. And as quickly as she could, her
eyes fell down to the mess of a plate before her. Hermione Granger was slowly
becoming obsessed and as much as she wanted to deny it, her eyes were automatically
drawn back to his hands when he was not looking.

Long, tapered fingers with short, manicured crystalline nails, bony knuckles
with a wide palm with just a sparse coloring of black hair near the wrist...those
hands were elegant, strong and perfect in her eyes... The only catch? These
hands belonged to the Hogwart's Potions Master, a certain Severus Snape.

Hermione turned her eyes away when she felt the touch of another hand on her
forearm, effectively stopping the stirring motion she was unconsciously making
with her spoon and food on her plate.

"Not hungry?" a voice asked close to her ear.

Hermione smiled slightly and turned her amber eyes to Harry Potter, her best
friend also known as the Boy-Who-Lived or as of late, the Boy-Who-Triumphed-Over-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...
Harry's emerald eyes shone brightly as a smile formed upon his lips. Hermione
nodded a 'no' in answer and slowly let her spoon fall to the table. Harry rubbed
her arm gently and turned back to his own meal. Hermione exhaled slowly, realizing
that she had been holding her breath at Harry's touch. It did not seem as though
Harry had noticed anything more than her stirring her potatoes and puréed
carrots... As she looked at her food she thought that the meal looked better
stirred in a white and orange mess than it had when it had first appeared on
her plate. But Harry had been correct, she was not hungry.

She glanced across the table, expecting to see Ron's curious blue eyes, but
it was Seamus Finnegan's gray eyes instead, trying to stop a laugh from passing
his Irish lips at the sight of Hermione's plate. She looked away and to her
plate again. Of course Ron would not be there, he had not been released from
St. Mungo's yet and could possibly never be released in the near future.

The war was over...and Hermione began thinking of all the people who were not
at the Gryffindor table, or any of the tables for that matter. Some were at
St. Mungo's, others were in graves...and still others were yet to be found.
But all of those who were in the Great Hall of Hogwart's School for Witchcraft
and Wizardry were scarred in some way or another. Even Harry, who had triumphed
over the late Lord Voldemort was crippled in a way that no eye could see clearly.
Mental scars were all that Harry had, besides his trademark lightning bolt scar
on his forehead. Harry was not Harry, not in the way that Hermione had always
known. The act of killing Voldemort would have inspired a joy unknown to most
even for a boy who had lived the biggest part of his life battling the bane
of his existence. But for Harry Potter, who was truly a good spirit, murder
was not settling well in his mind, or the responsibility the young man felt
for all of those who had died or were injured. Although Harry did not seem to
be depressed or even hurt, Hermione was probably one of the few who had held
Harry at night as he cried into her shoulder or who had seen Harry destroy anything
that was near out of rage and guilt. Possibly Luna Lovegood had seen it, she
was the only other person Hermione knew of that Harry would open up to...but
even Luna was damaged even more so than Harry. But in Harry's eyes Luna was
perfect, and in Luna's eyes, Harry was perfect...so in a way they were a perfect
couple and had been for quite some time even before Harry had killed Voldemort
and afterwards.

Hermione looked past Seamus to see Luna sitting next to Padma Patil. Padma
noticed Hermione's gaze and nodded kindly to Hermione. Hermione smiled sadly,
watching as the dark girl helped Luna drink from a goblet and straw. Luna did
not seem to notice Hermione's gaze and sipped her pumpkin juice slowly. Luna
had no strength in her arms and little in her legs, but Hermione knew that it
was not a permanent condition, but recovery was slow even with the help of potions
and medical treatments from Madam Pomfrey on a daily basis...

Hermione averted her eyes as Luna turned in her direction and began fiddling
with her spoon again. Hermione knew too well about potions and daily visits
to the Hospital Wing. Harry had his emotional scars, Ron had his burns...and
Hermione had her scar...the scar that had changed her life in a way she had
never dreamed possible.

Dinner was coming to an end and slowly students began exiting the Great Hall
to return to their dormitories. It was not until Harry rose from his place that
Hermione chanced one last look up to the staff table. But those hands were gone
and Professor Snape had left the Great Hall as Hermione had been lost in her
own thoughts.

* * *

It was nearly Christmas holiday and Hermione eyed her open trunk disdainfully.
She would not be going home this year, her last year at Hogwarts, she would
never be going home again... Of course she was not the only student who would
be staying the holiday at Hogwarts, she was not the only orphaned child within
the castle walls. Harry would be staying most of the holiday, as well as most
of the Gryffindor house. Even Slytherin had casualties and it still amazed Hermione
that Draco Malfoy would be like her and Harry, orphaned with no home to return
to or a family to rely on. Draco had survived the so-called 'Final Battle,'
fighting next to Order members, watching as his father was killed and smirking
with a strange sense of satisfation or so Hermione had heard. Draco's mother
had committed suicide and his home razed to the ground as the tool for Narcissa
Malfoy's morbid ends. Draco spoke to no one nowadays, but still continued to
carry himself with the airs he had always had, haughty and icy. He had been
made Head Boy just as Hermione had been made Head Girl that year, but after
Voldemort's defeat and the greatly reduced number of students in the school
itself, the importance of the Head title was diminished. Hermione still held
her position, her rooms, her privileges, but all in all it was a farce. The
student body was cut to less than half than it had been at the beginning of
the year, either with injury, death or the simple fact that many parents had
pulled their children from the school until the whole mess with the Dread Lord
was over. Even with a week to go until Christmas holidays only two students
had returned and there were no promises that any more would return in the near
future...

This lack of confidence in the institution that had protected so many, weighed
heavily on the Headmaster who was still quite alive and quite energetic to eradicate
all traces of the Dread Lord from the minds of the wizarding community. Hermione
also believed that Dumbledore's vehement campaign to brighten the wizarding
world was to occupy the old wizard's mind from all the pain and darkness that
had resulted from the war...especially distracting the Headmaster from the death
of Minerva McGonagall.

Hermione glared at her half-packed trunk again as it stood in the dim corner
of her room. She had almost no one now...not Ron, not her mentor and Head of
House, and almost not Harry... She absently wiped her eyes with the back of
her arm and moved to her small lavatory. The hour was growing late and a hot
shower was in order.

Slowly pulling off her jumper, she moved to her mirror to remove the pins from
her hair. The mirror did not speak to her anymore and Hermione was grateful.
She looked a mess...her hair was stringy and almost straight from all the grunge
the had accumulated over an indeterminagle about of time. When was the last
time she had washed it, she wondered? Dark rings around her eyes made her already
gaunt and pale face seem like a Death Eater's mask, had she lost so much weight?
Even as she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the tiled floor, she could count
her rips through her pale flesh. Her skirt and kickers came next and she hesitated
to look in the mirror again. Only one thing remained, the last piece of clothing
she wore... Slowly she let her eyes travel up her body, the unshaven legs, the
dark curls at the apex of her thighs, the sunken belly, the prominent ribs,
the slightly sagging breasts, her sharp collarbone...and then the scarf around
her neck...

Her fingers moved jerkily as she loosened the knot of the black scarf, pulling
at the thin silk to undo the fabric from around her slender ivory neck. She
held her breath as the silk fell away and her eyes were riveted to her reflection
in the mirror. She blinked and took a breath...it looked the same as when she
first saw it in a hand mirror 5 weeks before. The scar that would never heal,
never yield to the simplest of glamours...the scar that would never let her
speak aloud again.

She turned away from the mirror to the shower stall in the corner of the lavatory.
Turning the taps she waited until the water was warm enough to stand under.
Patiently she waited and then deluged herself under a stream of scalding water.
And as she washed she let herself fall into those ever-deep thoughts again...thoughts
of how she had come to be mute.

She remembered running through a field of broken and dead bodies, the infamous
Final Battle. She remembered casting curses and hexes at black clad Death Eaters,
at rogue giants, at dementors...and thinking all the while that she may never
see the next day dawn. Ron was nearby as was Neville and Ginny...but Hermione
could not hear their voices over the din and hum of curses flying by her head.
She did not see who had cast the curse that nearly burnt Ron to death, or the
Killing Curse that slew Ginny, but she heard the voice of Lucius Malfoy and
felt the dark curse that he threw at her. She had been mid-step, her wand up,
her eyes wide as she saw an arc of blood spray from her body, spilling on the
trampled soil below her feet. And she remembered falling to her knees, her wand
falling to the ground and her hands going to her neck. It had not been 'Diffindo'
but it was a cutting curse of a sort that only Hermione had read about in a
book from the Restricted Section...a very obscure, very evil curse that could
very easily have been an Unforgivable. But the fact remained, she was dying
of blood loss, her throat cut, blood running down her front, between her breasts,
into her knickers, onto her knees. And as she began to fall face first into
the sodden ground, she felt someone catch her, heard whispered words, felt a
potion slide down her cut throat and then sleep overtaking her...

When she woke, Hermione realized she was in the Hospital Wing. She tried to
sit up, but could not move; she tried to speak, but felt a pain unlike she had
ever felt and let tears stream out of the corners of her eyes. When someone
finally came, she could see hesitation on their faces...Dumbledore and Madam
Pomfrey. Gently, they explained the current situation. Many were dead, her parents
had been killed prior to the 'Final Battle' along with other Muggle families
of Hogwart's students, Order members, Hogwarts staff, students old and new,
Ministry Aurors, and most importantly Voldemort nee Tom Riddle. Hermione realized
that it was all over...the war. But the grave faces of the Headmaster and Madam
Pomfrey told Hermione that things were far from over. They explained that Ron
had nearly died and suffered severe burns over his entire body, he would live,
but in agony... Harry was alive, but shaken, and as for Hermione... She felt
her tears pool in her eyes as the Headmaster told her she would never speak
again, not normally, but possibly only as loud as a whisper.

"The damage is severe, Miss Granger. Unfortunately the curse that injured
you will make you unable to eat normally for a long time yet, and the scar will
never heal completely. But on the bright side, you will still be able to perform
magic, on a limited level at first, but I am sure with the coming weeks you
will be up to par. Madam Pomfrey will be releasing you soon, and I am sure you
want to see your friends as soon as possible. So rest easy, Miss Granger, we
will do all that we can for you."

Dumbledore had tried to sound optimistic, but Hermione remembered that his
voice had nearly cracked as he spoke to her. Three days later she was allowed
to leave the Hospital Wing to find Harry...

So much had happened since then and the point where Hermione stood under a
quickly cooling stream of water, tears prickling her eyes, her hands resting
against the tiles before her, her long hair falling over her face as she leaned
and let water or tears stream down her face.

She was finally 'up to par' as Dumbledore had said. Her incantations nothing
more than a airy whisper, but her magic untainted and as powerful as it had
always been... She could not speak outside of the occasional near undetectable
whisper, and even that whisper was painful at times. She could not swallow well,
thus the pureed food. She could not communicate much without having to write
her thoughts on parchment. She could not cry properly even if she wanted to...sobs
made her throat burn and her skin stretch uncomfortably. And every evening before
curfew she had to visit the Hospital Wing for her daily dose of Sleeping Draughts,
Muscle Relaxants and Healing Potions. It was a nasty combination, but Hermione
could tell that the pain was slowly fading as the days went by...the doses were
becoming smaller and soon her treatment would be over. But in the end she would
be less than her usual self. Harry had already told her he missed her bossy
voice, her scathing sarcasm and most of all her laugh... She would never laugh
properly ever again, but there had been little necessity to laugh lately...

Instead, Hermione occupied her eyes and thoughts to the hands of Severus Snape.
The Potions Master had survived as well, living through his subterfuge to make
it out alive on the other side. He too had suffered, more-so than probably anyone
ever should in this world, but he was alive.

Of course, Professor Snape's demeanor in the classroom had little changed.
He still seemed to loathe Harry, but tolerated Hermione more than ever...she
never raised her hand in question anymore, never to answer another poser from
the snarky Potion's Master...and this condition in itself leant to a subtle
change between Hermione and her Professor. And because of this change, Hermione
softened toward her Professor even more than ever before. She had always respected
Severus Snape, always admired his perfection when it came to potions, and always
regarded the Potion Master's position as a spy for the Order with great reverence.
But now, she hated to admit very far, she had a crush...on his hands.

Snape was not handsome. He was too tall, too gaunt, his nose almost too large
and beaklike, his eyes disturbingly black, his lips almost too thin to be noticed,
his hair too lank and stringy, his clothes like a blot of darkness, voice too
deep, his teeth too yellowed, his tone of voice acerbic and mocking, there were
so many character flaws that Hermione stopped her train of thought at that very
point.

Hermione wrapped a towel around her body and hair and left the lavatory with
all its steam and slick tile. She fell onto her poster bed face first, burying
her face in the pale green duvet, rubbing her cheek against the velvety fabric.
She rolled onto her back, pulling her legs onto the bed, spreading her body
across the bed.

There were his hands...her mind moving back to Severus Snape. He had hands
that could be so exact and so strong...large but delicate, refined yet calloused.
She opened her towel, her body a bit too warm from the shower. She could imagine
those hands, pale and rough, running down her sides with a feather-light touch.
She shuddered as her own fingers trailed down her sides mimicking what she saw
behind the backs of her eyelids. The pads of his fingers would trace her hip
bones, down the insides of her thighs... Hermione licked her lips, imaging that
her fingers were her Potion Master's fingers. Then up her body, by her navel
to the undersides of her breasts, and then...

Hermione felt her throat constrict slightly, but not painfully as a soft moan
passed her lips. Her nipples were taut and as she imagined those long, tapered
fingers pinching her dusky nipples, Hermione felt a rush of damp heat between
her thighs. This was not the first time she had thought of her Potion's Master
like this...even as her hand slid down to her dark nether curls, slipping between
the damp and swollen folds... No, she had thought of him several times, even
before the 'Final Battle.' She had always wondered if his hands were as proficient
with a female body as they were making potions. She had always wondered what
he looked like under those teaching robes, always wondered what his eyes looked
like when he was aroused...but it was his hands...just his hands she thought
of as her middle finger delved into the wetness of her pussy moving in and out...

Those fingers, covered in her juices...she was so close. His tongue, his snarky
tongue, lashing out to taste those juices...and then a wily smile. That tongue
teasing her clit, slithering into her body... Her mouth opened in a silent scream,
her throat constricted to form a sound, but there was none... Frustrated tears
were squeezed from between her eyes as she climaxed, her face and chest flushed,
her heart pounding against her ribcage. Pulling her fingers away from her spasming
flesh she panted, air passing through her maimed throat like wind blowing roughly
through dried, dead leaves. She let her breathing regulate itself before remembering
she had yet to go to the Hospital Wing for her treatment. And perhaps after
several minutes, Hermione forced herself to dress and finish her evening routine...
She smirked to herself, would masturbation be included into her routine now?
She blushed as she pushed through the portrait guarding her quarters. It was
harmless afterall, the fantasies, the obsession...it was not like she could
'tell' anyone and at that thought she frowned slightly, walking through the
dim corridors. She noticed she had taken a very acrimonious stance when it came
to her condition, but at the very least she was functioning...unlike many casualties
of the war... Of course she was not taking her condition lightly, but she was
not going to lay down and die because of it. Her personality demanded results,
and living her life was the only way to accomplish her goals. Nothing had really
changed, of course she was being set back a bit, eventually she would heal...and
in the meantime, if she wanted to fantasize about her Potions Professor, Hermione
felt like she was justified in doing so.
tbc.

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Just One Kiss