Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Story of H	By : AnyaToile Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 62388 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters associated with it; I am not making any sort of money or compensation for this work.

Chapter List
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Author’s note:

                Please note this is slightly AU if you count the final book. Within this story, Severus Snape never died nor did our favorite redheaded twin.   In fact, outside of Dumbledore’s and Voldy’s deaths, ignore most of all the deaths.   This is my first attempt at writing erotica and my first attempt at writing Harry Potter fanfiction. While I’ve never stopped reading about Harry Potter and enjoying the movies, it’s been years since I've read the books so please excuse me if I make a mistake. Let me know, and I’ll fix it in subsequent edits.

Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, couldn’t wrap her mind around two things: how Fred and George Weasley could continue their reign of terror within a school they no longer attended and how she could have been so bloody stupid to fall for their latest prank. Though, she wasn’t the only one that had fallen for the delectable carrot cake with its cute cartoon bunny drawn in icing on the top and the actual candied carrots and ginger as garnish. It was, in fact, her favorite. Hermione had to hand it to the twins; it was pure genius to hide the cakes amongst the Halloween feast, but it left a question of how they managed to do that without tipping off a single soul. Perhaps the twins had called in a favor from Doby, which meant Hermione was going to have to have a talk with the mischievous little house elf.

As shooting pain caused her gut to clench paralyzing her mid-step, she pushed aside the thoughts of Doby. She was on her way to the hospital wing and cursing the castle builders for deciding that the head girl’s room should be two floors below and clear across the castle. It had been two days since she’d eaten the cake and now the embarrassment of the situation outweighed the sheer pain of it. Of course, Hermione was still incredibly embarrassed that she had eaten two slices before realizing the slight caramel flavor was an anti-diarrhea potion.

Three drops was all it took to stop a person suffering from diarrhea, but the several tablespoons worth was enough to cause any healthy person to remain constipated permanently without treatment.

“I’m going to murder them!” Hermione hissed as she doubled over during another cramp.

The twins had apparently been trying to modify the potion so that it caused the drinker to fart to the tune of “Singing in the Rain.” According to them, the testing they had done had proved the potion successful, but only Gregory Goyle and a first year named Juniper Gorge seemed to respond in the way the twins had wanted; occasionally Goyle still let out a few notes of music. The rest of the students had just become incredibly bloated and constipated.

Hermione, who had always been private about her bathroom affairs to the point that she would pretend to gather firewood just to find a secret place to relieve herself when she was hunting Horcruxes with the boys, had at first refused to see the school mediwitch. She had tried prune juice, eating nothing but carrots and lettuce, and trying to drink incredible amounts of water. Nothing worked. Now she found herself walking through the deserted halls of the school with her hands clutching her tummy and trying desperately to ignore the discomfort as she climbed the last flight of stairs to the hospital wing.

When she finally arrived to the heavy door of the hospital wing, she nearly burst into tears.

On the door was a notice that read:

I will be out of the school until Tuesday evening for the annual mediwitch conference at St. Mungos. For all medical care and advice, please see Professor Snape until my return.

Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione debated waiting five days until then but knew there was no way she’d be able to last that long. Besides the pain, there was a significant risk to her health. She leaned her head against the cold door and let out a groan that turned into a muted whimper as another stabbing pain hit her. Once the pain finished rolling through her bowels, Hermione set off down the hall again, this time heading for the dungeons.

The dungeons seemed incredibly far away and Hermione had to stop and rest on the cold floor.

The chill of the near-winter air made her regret not dressing before leaving the head dorms. All she had on was a t-shirt, shorts, and a thin robe of her mother’s. Hermione had taken it when she first started out on the hunt with Harry and Ron; it was so when she was lying in bed at night she had something that smelled of her mum and could make her feel safe for a fleeting moment. Even though they might not remember her, Hermione had wanted to hang on to every sensory memory of her parents.   Now, the smell had worn off and her mother and father were back at home where they should be, albeit more wary about their daughter’s wand. Hermione should return the robe, but her mother hadn’t missed it, and Hermione had grown use to wearing it when she snuggled next to the fire with her tea and favorite books. Now, the thin red silk was anything but comforting.

She stood up again, bracing herself against the wall and continued down without further pause.

That is, until she got to the potions master’s office door. She starred at the espresso-colored wood set against the slate gray stone. The longer she starred, the hotter the hall seemed to get. Asking the mediwitch for a laxative potion was one thing, but this was Professor Snape.

The man had tormented her throughout her school years, undermining her every success and accomplishment. Even after Harry found out he was a double agent and Voldemort had been defeated, Snape continued his relentless insults against Hermione’s intelligence, citing the fact that she was late in graduating and was still here while her peers were making headway in careers and apprenticeships. It wasn’t really her fault that she had been trying to save the world and lost a year of school hunting for Horcruxes instead of studying for her exams. And it wasn’t as if she was the only one who had to repeat a year; Harry, Ron, Draco, Luna, and a handful of other students that had been pulled out of school, kidnapped, or ran away all had to repeat—at least the ones that were alive did anyway.

“I’m going to regret this so much,” Hermione whispered as she tapped her knuckles against the door.

The door creaked open and she tentatively stuck her head into the office. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment that he might not even be in.

Scanning the room, she found no trace of him and was about to leave until the morning when another intense pain shot through her stomach and she had to clutch the desk in front of her to remain upright. She gritted her teeth and tried hard not to call out least she should alert some merciless Slyterin that she was in the area.

“Miss Granger, I wasn’t aware that my absence would cause you such immense…discomfort,” a sneering baritone voice enveloped Hermione, snapping her from her pain and sending her directly into the pits of shame.

“Your absence most certainly didn’t cause me any pain,” Hermione said as haughtily as she could manage before remembering to whom she was talking and quickly adding a “sir.”

“Do you have reason to be in my office at this hour, Miss Granger?” Snape stepped out of the doorway and into room, circling the desk to sit down. “Brewing something that needed items from my private stores again?”

He leaned forward on his elbows and steepled his fingers together, peering over them at Hermione with an expression of contempt.

“I…sir…I” Hermione couldn’t seem to manage the words of nonsense flowing from her mouth.

“Stupid girl, quit wasting my time and tell me what you’re doing here,” Snape snapped, straightening his self so that it appeared he was sitting with a steel rod bolted to every vertebra.

Hermione felt her face grow even hotter and the Gryffindor pride in her roared. She turned to exit the room. Suddenly, she felt a vise-like grip on her upper arm and was met with a wave of cedar and spice. The professor had grabbed her and was sneering down at her. He was almost a full foot taller than her 5’4 frame; that combined with the murderous look in his eyes had her trembling with the same fear she had felt at Bellatrix’s hands.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for walking away from a professor during a conversation! You might think yourself entitled, Miss Granger, as the muggleborn ridding on the coattails of war heroes, but I assure you that if you think to steal from me I will have you expelled immediately so that you never have hope to finish your precious education,” Snape’s voice was barely a whisper but Hermione felt as if his voice was echoing from every wall, “How dare you disrespect me by violating my personal stores. Unlike the rest of the staff, I do not suppose you to be some sort of demigod who should be free from consequence because of your pretentious know-it-all attitude or your and Potter’s sheer dumb luck. I will not coddle you, you self-rig…”

Snape didn’t get to finish as Hermione yanked her arm from his grasp and yell viciously, “I didn’t come to steal from you, you horrid bat! I came because the sign on the hospital wing directed me to you.”

She sniffled back tears and straightened her robe, the shoulder of which had fallen down to her elbow.

Snape narrowed his eyes and raised the left side of his top lip so that it appeared he was a snarling dog waiting to lash out.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a teacher. So what is it that our head girl needs, hmm? Cramp relieving potion for that time of the month?”

Hermione looked down at her feet.

“Contraception? Or perhaps your contraception failed and you need a potion to take care of your little mistake.” Snape turned from her and moved to a cabinet lined with potions. “Who was it? If it was Weasley, I can’t very well blame you for not wanting the bastard.”

Hermione couldn’t take it anymore. Insulting her was something she had prepared for, even expected, but to degrade Ron in such a manner crossed a line she couldn’t remember drawing.

                She moved only her lips, afraid of shouting if she tried to work her mouth properly: “I am not some teen whore and even if I was pregnant, I would find few men as noble and brave as Ron to have a child with. I came here because I need to counteract the potion his brothers slipped to the student body.”

                Snape smiled cruelly and his eyes flashed as her turned to her. He said in a tone reserved for Neville Longbottom on his slowest days, “If you find yourself more musically inclined than usual, perhaps you should take it as a sign to eat slower and less so that you don’t produce so much gas. I will not waste a potion on you to spare you a moment of embarrassment.”

                “No, sir. I am not suffering in that way…” Hermione darted her eyes to the left, finding a particular tile with a crack in it to study intently.

                “Then you are not suffering from the potion but rather from lack of good diet. The potion Madam Pomfrey gave to you should have counteracted the more serious results of the dunderheads’ prank.”

                “I never went to see Madam Pomfrey for a potion.”

                “…”

                Hermione could feel tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill out as she sensed him about to open his mouth to send her away, telling her that if she waited that long, she could continue to wait.

                Instead she was shocked when she felt his hands grab her just below her shoulders. Snape began to shake her slightly as he raged, “Stupid girl! How could you have waited this long, Miss Granger? Perhaps I was wrong in thinking you were as smart as Longbottom because even he would have realized how dangerous it would be to allow that much of this particular potion to go untreated this long! You truly are an idiot.”

                “Stop!” Hermione cried out, “Stop insulting me and just give me the potion.”

                Snape let go of her as if she had suddenly turned into a ball of fire and stepped back away from her.

                “I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner, okay? Please, just give me the potion and I can go, sir.”

                “There is no more potion. The last of it was used days ago on some other dunderhead who had greedily devoured half a cake and it takes...”

                “It takes eight days to brew; yes, I know.

                Hermione felt the world move under her and had to brace herself against the front of the desk.

                “But, I… what am I going to do?”

                “Hush, girl. Don’t start that insipid whining.”

                “But you don’t understand,” Hermione wailed, closing her eyes, “The pain just keeps getting worse. I can’t last eight days.”

                “I said there is no potion. I didn’t say there wasn’t treatment.”

                Hermione looked up with red-rimmed eyes, ready to ask the professor what he meant but all she caught was the flutter of his robes headed through a doorway hidden that before had been a bookshelf lined with pickled creatures floating in jars. She was working up the nerve to follow him when he walked back through carrying a black leather bag. The doorway slammed shut behind him.

                “Follow me,” he gruffly said as he swept out the office and down the hallway.

                Hermione had to run to keep up, something which would have posed a problem with her bowels had they gone very far. Instead, she ended up bouncing off the back the professor and landing hard on her bottom.

                “Ten points for not looking where you’re going, clumsy girl,” he snarled before turning to the painting of Odysseus’s ship being tossed about the sea as the sirens tried to lure the sailors to their deaths. Snape reached out a finger and stroked the closest siren once, twice, three times. The painting swung open.

                Hermione followed him to find they were in a very sterile looking bathroom. The white marble reminded her very much of the halls of St. Mungos and she noted that the only decoration in the expansive space was the relief circling the room depicting snakes as they transformed into dragons. There was an open shower in one corner, sinks and counters lining the wall to her left, and an empty but enormous tub in the center of the room. It felt even colder in here than it did in the hall, and Hermione couldn’t help but speculate that this bathroom wasn’t used on a regular basis.

                She was snapped out of her thoughts by the distinctive sound of a zipper echoing off the walls. She looked over at Snape as he opened and unpacked the bag. Hermione came to stand beside him as he laid out what looked like a hotwater bottle on to the cabinet, a hose of some sort, and a bottle that looked like soap. At first, Hermione stared at them strangely, but when Snape began to attach the hose to the hotwater bottle, she realized it wasn’t a hotwater bottle at all.

                “Sir, I can’t…”

                Snape cut her off as he ordered her to remove her bottom garments.

                “Take this towel. Lay it there by the tub and get on your hands and knees after you’ve undressed.”

                “Sir, you can’t be serious.”

                Snape turned on the hot water tap and began filling the bag. Hermione stood rooted to the spot as she watched him add soap to the expanding bag. She couldn’t believe the amount of water that seemed to be gushing out of the tap and straight into the bag.

                “Miss Granger,” Snape’s impatient voice cut her out of her thoughts, “If you wish to feel some sort of relief tonight, you will do what I say when I say it. Or, if you’d rather, you can head back to your dorm and suffer for the next week with the possibility your intestines and bowels could be seriously injured.”

                Hermione’s voice was tiny and quivering as she said, “Yes, sir.”

                She laid the towel down and turned her back to her teacher, though he didn’t seem to pay any notice of her actions as he used his wand to check the temperature of the bag. She slipped out of her shorts, grateful she had on her robe.

As she bent to get into position she felt him come to stand by her. Looking up, Hermione could see him hang the bag on an arm of the large yet plain chandelier that hung rather low over the tub; it hung down in Snape’s line of vision and seemed to be held stationary by magic as it didn’t sway in the slightest when the heavy bag was hung from it.

Hermione winced as she heard the snap of latex gloves and nearly chuckled at the incongruous image of her robe-clad potions professor wearing muggle-made protection.

She swayed as the floor below her rose up so that her head was now chest-level with Snape. From this angle she could watch him coat the nozzle of the hose with something that looked suspiciously like Vaseline.

Before she could ask, Snape said quietly as if to no one in particular, “Some things are best done the muggle way.”

When he had thoroughly lubricated the nozzle, he let go of it so that it hung from the bag.

“I’m sure even someone as dense as you would be able to deduce from your muggle background and the instruments you see here that I’m going to give you an enema.”

“I guessed as much, sir,” Hermione was too frightened of what was about to come to even try to sound outraged at his jabs at her.

“I’m sure then you won’t need me to explain what’s going to happen. Had you been a pureblood, your parents wouldn’t have had to resort to such archaic means to cure constipation.”

“My parents never gave me an enema for constipation.”

“So they’re the barbaric type that used them for punishment.”

“My parents would never punish me this way!” Hermione sat back on her hunches so that she was eye to eye with Snape, poking a sharp finger into his chest, “My parents have always raised me with a kind but firm hand. They’re the best parents any child could ask for and I’m proud to be the daughter of Thomas and Jean Granger!”

Snape seemed unperturbed by her declaration and merely grabbed her wrist to keep her accusing finger from further assaulting him.

“Girl, I’m losing my patience with you and your desire to disrespect me tonight,” he sneered before smiling nastily and saying in a patronizing voice, “So they just gave them for you for fun, then?”

“For your information, sir, I’ve never had an enema.”
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The Story of H