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Mission Impossible	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 11774 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

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Her steps were heavy as she paced the wooden floorboards of her room. Hermione scolded herself again and again as she continued to circle the tiny space between the bed and the dresser. She’d taken a moment to banish the pot of burnt grains to the sink before fleeing up the staircase and locking herself inside her room. It was utter nonsense. He would never hurt her, he had principles. He had sacrificed so much only to be cursed into a miserable existence that scared the living daylights out of her. She sniffled, trying to calm her lungs as she stilled her pacing.

            But what if Dumbledore had been right? Perhaps the curse had so addled his ability to choose between right and wrong that he had had good reason for self-banishment to the wilderness. She shook her head. “Urgh!” she cried to no one in particular. Hours before she had lain beside him, shared a bed with him, her skin exposed her guard down. Surely if he had meant to do her harm he would have attacked her while she slumbered. But what did he mean that she taunted him? Could he smell her? Thoughts whizzed through Hermione’s head faster than she could process them. It was enough to give her a headache.

            She pressed her fingers gently against her temples and rubbed them in small circles. She needed to clear her head. She needed more facts, but she could not bring herself to leave the room. Hermione bit her lower lip and then threw herself back onto the bed. Was she really so frightened of the man that she couldn’t head to the study to try and help him? It had startled her, the way he gripped her, the way he spoke. But there was something else; something she could sense, almost like a feral need, something inhuman that had radiated from him when he’d leaned in close professing his need for blood.

            Several more hours of pacing had nearly worn a hole into the floorboards and after weighing out her options she decided that perhaps a bath was best. It wasn’t going to help him, and it wasn’t going to bring her any closer to solving the problem, but it would allow her to think freely and clearly. And she had recalled that the bathroom door had a lock upon it. She was careful as she crept out of her room, footfalls so light one might think she were invisible. Hermione bolted across the corridor and into the bathroom, forcing the door shut behind her. She flipped the lock once the latch was in place and heaved a great sigh.

            The bathroom was empty, save for her panting reflection in the mirror. She rolled her eyes. It had been foolish to think he would attack her like some great ravenous bat as she crossed the hallway. But she allowed the door to remain locked as she drew hot water for her bath. Without bubbles and herbs the water was plain and clear but felt delicious as Hermione sank down into the depths of the porcelain tub. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to clear her thoughts.

            But the bath did little to help her focus. It only caused her to think of Severus but in a much different manner. She tried her best to chase the memories away, reminding herself that she needed to help him, that she had come for the bath to think of a way to swallow back her new-found fear, and not to reminisce on fantasies past.

            Steam swirled around her face and she left her eyes closed, her hand splashing idly back and forth against the water. And she could not fight back the images of his naked body. He had been so strong, corded with thick muscles in his thighs, a proud thick cock jutted erect from between them. Hermione licked her lips. She had played the voyeur though she’d never rightly admit it, only once, but it had been enough.

            She had heard that he was staying the night at Grimmauld Place. He never allowed himself the luxury of proper sleep and so she assumed that he had come only to clean himself, find a decent meal, share news of the supposed secretive uprising, and take refuge in the safe house. She’d all but stolen Harry’s cloak and waited. He kept a room, though he seldom used it, near the attic, a tiny but private washroom was kept just opposite for his personal use. She’d waited, hidden beneath the guise of the cloak, her arse numb from falling asleep, the hour nearly midnight. But as the clock chimed she was well rewarded as he pulled himself, weary and exhausted, up the stairs.

            Hermione had slipped inside the tiny washroom, pressed against the wall as he’d disrobed. The curtain was falling from its brass fastenings and so he hadn’t bothered to draw it shut around the shower. He’d blasted the water, nearly searing hot and allowed it to sluice over his body. She cupped her hand hard over her mouth as she watched rivulets of water pour over his flesh. Each muscle was taught; straining with the weight of the day, begging for release as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back under the stream.

            The scars of his flesh seemed to melt into his skin as the water ran over them, the steam swirling around him but still giving her quite the view. Sturdy thighs stepped back and he rested his back against the wall of the shower, but not before adjusting the head nozzle. The hot spray streamed down his throat and chest and he closed his eyes; a groan escaping his lips as he allowed his hand to sweep across the top of his thigh.

            Hermione was in ecstasy; the heat warming in her center, soaking her knickers as she watched. His member was swollen, jutting proudly from a thicket of coarse black hair. She licked her lips, not daring to blink for fear she’d miss his hand as he reached to stroke himself. She had felt that exquisite cock; pulsing inside of her, pressing hard against her thigh when still clothed. It took all of her self-restraint not to moan as his palm curved over the tip and he began to stroke himself. Long hard but slow strokes at first, his face contorting slowly into the most anguished looks of pleasure she had ever seen.

            Another groan escaped his lips and her eyes were drawn to his mouth; the way his lips parted to allow the delicious sound to escape. His chest was thrust forward ever so slightly as he arched his hips against his hand and she longed to escape from the confines of the cloak and fall before him on her knees. Anything to wrap her lips around his long, thick pulsing member. His hand was rough, tugging harder this time as he stroked himself and she watched with wide eyes in fascination as he chest rose and fell, his breath growing quicker. He moaned, a guttural sound, broken up in gasps as he jerked his hand hard and fast against his member.

            Muscles tensed, his legs trembled, and Hermione held her breath as she watched him come. His member jerked, spasming against his hand, a spurt of white shooting from his tip, dripping down his fingers. His body trembled and his legs slumped a bit as he leaned hard back against the wall of the shower. She could feel her knickers, they were soaked, and she only prayed he could not smell her arousal through the steam of the shower.

            Hermione found it difficult whenever she was in the shower or the tub, not to think of the night she had watched him. It had turned her on so hotly that after he’d left the washroom and she had been certain he was in his own room, that she crept up the corridor and masturbated in the attic; afraid that someone might hear her in her room several floors below. But the image brought a smile to her lips.

            “Fantasizing?” he asked, his voice shaky and a bit raspy.

            Hermione shrieked, and jumped up from her resting place in the tub. Water splashed everywhere and she banged her elbow hard against the porcelain. “Shite,” she hissed, and grabbed at her elbow before scooting to the far end of the tub, curling her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.

            “Stop this,” he hissed. “I cannot have you jumping at my every move…” he was leaning against the edge of the tub where Hermione had been resting her head. “I have the information you need, and you will take it and go. There is no helping me, especially not if you’re going to jump and fall to pieces every time I speak.”

            His arms were trembling. It was taking all his strength to remain upright. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and allowed her heartbeat to return to normal. She hadn’t expected him to appear just beside her, while she was naked in the tub, in a room she thought to be locked. She exhaled slowly and then opened her eyes. “You interrupted me. You just startled me. I wasn’t expecting you,”

            “That much was clear from the locked door.”

            “Don’t you lock the door when you take to bathing naked?” she snapped.

            “I don’t bathe,” he did his best to sneer but the effort was almost too much.

            “I needed to freshen up, I was foolish downstairs, I let the grains burn and you caught me off-guard. I needed a bath, and you startled me, is all,” she said.

            “Is that so?” he said and slowly took a step toward the end of the tub in which she was curled protectively.

            Hermione felt a wave of nausea sweep through her body. The bath water suddenly seemed ice cold and boiling hot all at once, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She couldn’t press her back any harder against the wall of the tub, and her feet were pressed tightly against the bottom, as if ready to spring up.

            “I may not be able to see you, but I can sense your fear…” he spat. “Take your information and go,” he leaned forward, nearly doubling over as he gripped the tub, his knees trembling.

            “I’m not afraid.” She said. Her voice sounded convinced but it was doing little to quell her racing heartbeat.

            Severus slowly sank to his knees and moved to the end of the tub, his knuckles white where they gripped the lip of the tub. Hermione trembled despite her proclamation as he leaned over the edge of the water, his unseeing black voids boring holes in her direction. She closed her eyes, body trembling enough to disturb the water and she could not help the whimper that escaped her lips as he leaned closer to her.

            “Coward,” he muttered and pulled his head back, his own breath coming in short ragged gasps.

            “I’m sorry!” she cried. With her eyes focused on him once more, she bit her lower lip and then closed her eyes, turned her head upward and allowed the tears to flow down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

            “Go.”

            With a trembling hand she reached forward. Hermione sniffled and struggled to hold back further tears. She leaned over the edge of the tub and placed her shaking hand against his cheek. His skin was cold, almost frigid to the touch, and she did her best not to cry out. He tilted his head slightly against her palm as she leaned against the lip of the tub, the porcelain pressing against her breasts; and she slowly stroked her thumb across his lips. They were not as chapped as they had been upon her arrival. Hermione kept her eyes on his black voids. “Look at me,” she said, her voice soft.

            He tilted his head down, and slowly raised his hands to his eyes until he peeled back the glamour that concealed his irises. Severus gazed unseeing toward her, but she could see his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and she held her breath as she leaned further over the edge of the tub and pressed her lips against his. He did not resist her as she pressed a kiss to him. Her lips were soft, gentle and sweet as she held her kiss a moment before slowly pulling back. Hermione slid her hand over his eyes and placed a chaste kiss upon each eyelid. “I am afraid…” she whispered, “But I will help you…”

            Severus pulled back slowly from her touch, from her kiss, and closed his eyes once more. When he opened them the black void glamour had covered his rich brown eyes. He nodded, and then turned his head away, waving his hand at her. “Get dressed,” he muttered. “I may not be able to see you…but you deserve that much modesty.”

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Mission Impossible