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
- 9
- 10
- 11
Author’s Note:

SnakeGirl: Take note that it’s not Dean Thomas who is head boy, but a non-canon Thomas Sealy, a Ravenclaw who started at the same time as Ginny Weasley. I kind of regret creating a name when I could have chosen someone from a list of 40 or so other students; I don’t like non-canon characters in general, but now it’s done and we’ll work through it.

So I’ve decided, working through this at this particular pace, we’ll be between 45 to 50 chapters of similar length before its finished.    Also, expect more smut in the next chapter and as we get to closer to the end it’ll be a smut fest. For now, I have to lay this foundation.

Also, I know a few opinions on Sirius, but I'd like more feedback. Thanks, enjoy!



          Hermione had to literally drag the boys out of their beds, a feat that would have been impossible without the aid of magic. The boys had not only grown to their full adult height in the past year, but had gained a bit of lean muscle. She on the other hand, had been left at her 5’4 height with no major muscle mass.

                But with a wand, she was powerful.

                Too much so according to the grumblings of Ron as he rubbed a tender bump on his head as the trio walked towards the Great Hall together.

                “You didn’t have to drop me on my head, Mione,” Ron whined as he sat down on the bench and began piling food on his plate.

                Harry rolled his eyes but added, “You know, Mione, a simple Aquamenti would have sufficed.”

                “Harry, I shouldn’t have to wake you two up for breakfast at all,” Hermione said as she geared up for mother-hen mode, “It’s a beautiful Saturday today and you two would just waste it with your head shoved under your pillows. The weather is going to turn wet and cold soon. I would think you two would be trying to take advantage of the last few days of studying outdoors.”

                “You know, Harry,” Ron said between gulps of his pumpkin juice, “We should take advantage of the weather today and try out those new defensive maneuvers we planned out last night. I don’t think the quidditch pitch is reserved.”

                Harry and Ron were both back on the team this year and Harry was captain again. Ginny had been captain the year before and Harry had at first refused to take the role, but the entire team, Ginny included had insisted her take the title up again. Hermione knew Harry thought Ginny a better captain than he (and secretly, Hermione thought so, too) and that it was rather unfair for him to take her position her last year. Hermione didn’t feel it was too unfair when Ginny had fully supported the notion; besides, Harry deserved one year as a normal wizarding teen after saving the entire world.

                Ron had quickly taken up the unofficial position of co-captain and strategy planner.

                After only two solid months’ worth of listening to the two of them, who both seemed to have developed an even greater obsession with the sport, Hermione had developed the perfect technique to drown them both out. It was also helpful that Romilda Vane, Ron’s new girlfriend, didn’t have any particular affinity for quidditch.   Romilda – the very same one who had once tried to slip love potions to Harry – had grown up a bit in these past three years. She’d certainly lost her attraction to Harry.

                Romilda fawned over Ron almost to the same level that Lavender Brown had. Lavender and Romilda had quite a bit in common; so much so that it wasn’t as if Lavender had ever graduated. But, at the very least, she wasn’t insufferably jealous of Ron’s friendship with Hermione.

                Romilda came into the great hall at that moment and sat down on the other side of the table across from Ron. Ron left the conversation with Harry about swizzle turns or something long enough to lean across the table and give Romilda a quick peck on the lips before jumping directly back to the place he’d left off.

                Romilda rolled her eyes and then turned to smile at Hermione.

                “Good morning!”

                “Good morning to you, too.”

                “I know it would be soul-killing for you to miss watching these two practice,” Romilda’s tone was good-naturedly sarcastic, “but if you could possibly tear yourself away from the pitch today, I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade and do a little shopping.”

                At that moment, McGonagall rose from the head table and started walking out the doors of the great hall, catching Hermione’s attention as she passed. Remembering what she needed to accomplish before nine that night, Hermione hurriedly gathered her parchment, took one last gulp of her pumpkin juice and darted up from her seat.

                “Sorry, Romilda, but I had some research I needed to get done today and I needed to get permission from McGonagall to access some restricted materials. Perhaps next weekend,” Hermione said as she began speed walking up the aisle.

                As a quick afterthought, she turned her head to call back over her shoulder, “Bye guys! Don’t forget to fit in some homework around practi...umph!”

                Hermione slammed into something solid and slightly scratchy, causing her to fall backwards, her stack of parchment flying into the air and then drifting down like a dozen giant tan-colored snowflakes.

                “Miss Granger, this is the second time in less than twenty-four hours that your negligence has cause injury to my person.”

                Hermione looked up at the looming figure above her. She frowned and wanted to make a retort to the nature that he certainly didn’t appear to be injured in any physical way, but she bit her tongue and settled on simply trying to communicate her utter dislike for the professor in her glare.

                “Sorry, professor,” she spat out as she began to gather her parchment and a quill that had fallen from her hair.

                “If one didn’t know better, it would appear that you were purposefully trying to collide into me at every given opportunity,” his nasty tone felt like the slap he’d given to her bottom last night, but without any of the pleasure, “Perhaps you should surround yourself with more considerate friends who won’t leave you so starved for human contact.”

                As he said these last words, he looked directly at Harry and Ron who had hurried to her side. Hermione could vaguely hear the roll of laughter from Slytherin’s table. Harry said nothing but continued to pick up parchment with his eyes trained on the floor. Ron, however, turned that famous Weasley red from the tips of his ears to his neck.

                “It was an accident, you s…” Hermione cut Ron off by slamming her pile of parchment into his stomach, catching him off guard.

                Ron looked down at Hermione and she gave him a warning look. Ron looked back at her, a bit sheepishly before finishing his statement with resentful, “sir.” She gave him a half smile.

                Harry handed her the stack of parchment he had gathered and she moved her gaze towards him, gratitude radiating from her face for his small act of kindness.

                Snape simply raised a sardonic eyebrow and laid a heavy stare on Ron as he said in a nasty tone, “Twenty points, Miss Granger, for being so clumsy, and detention in my office tonight at nine.”

                Snape swept past them, his robes billowing behind him. He’d gone six paces when he stopped and bent down to retrieve a piece of parchment that had fluttered away from the others.

                He held it out to Hermione with a sneer and said, “And ten points from Gryffindor for littering the great hall.”

                He turned on his heel and gracefully made it to the head table without further incident.

                Hermione stood shaking, her parchment wrinkling in her tight gasp as she tried to inflict some sort of suffering on the potions master with just her eyes.

                “Hey, real graceful, Granger,” Malfoy called from the Slytherin table, “You looked like a ballerina out there.”

                “Yeah, just about like how you looked like a ballerina when you were eating the quidditch field last match,” Harry called back, referencing how Malfoy had slipped off his broom during a dive and ended up with a face full of mud.

                Malfoy said nothing but sent a withering glare back at Harry.

                Ron patted her shoulder and said encouragingly, “Don’t let that greasy bat get at you, Mione.”

                “Oh, I’m not.”

                Hermione finally broke from her glare and turned back towards the boys. She gasped as she remembered she had to catch up to the headmistress.

                “Thanks, guys. Got to go,” she said hurriedly and grabbed her parchment from Ron.

                She trotted in the direction of the door. She had to swerve to miss Thomas who had just entered the great hall, and on the second floor she ended up stumbling over a suit of armor that Peeves had toppled. She regained her balance quickly and without slowing her jog, she turned around and righted the armor with a swish of her wand.

                Finally, she made it to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance of the headmistress’s office. The statue still bore some damage from the final battle; his ear was missing on the right side and he had several deep gashes across his arm. The whole school still bore signs of the violence it had witnessed, but here it was, still standing beautifully and continuing to house students and class as it healed itself.

                Between gasps for air, she managed to say, “Jelly babies.”

                She felt her heart warm as the gargoyle moved upward, revealing the spiral staircase. Despite the fact that she didn’t think Professor McGonagall had much of an affinity for muggle candies, Hermione was touched that the headmistress would honor Professor Dumbledore by carrying on the tradition of the password. She knew Dumbledore had had one great love in Grindelwald, but she couldn’t help but feel McGonagall had had one great love in Dumbledore.

                She pushed the thoughts of romance and the headmistress’s personal life out of mind as she knocked on the door. It swung open and Hermione peeped her head in.

                “Hermione,” Professor McGonagall’s voice was warm and welcoming, “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”

                Hermione sat primly down on the edge of one of the wingback chairs in front of the desk the Scottish matron sat behind.

                “Well, professor,” Hermione started, trying to keep her voice level so as not to arise suspicion, “I have an assignment for Professor Binns’ history class; I wanted to do some research into the history of disciplinarian techniques employed here at Hogwarts. Even the handwritten original copy of Hogwarts: A History doesn’t cover much on the accepted punishments for students throughout the ages. I was wondering if there were any records or other documents that you might have handy.”

                “In all the years that Professor Binns has been assigning that same seventh-year paper, I haven’t heard of a single student who chose that particular piece of Hogwarts history,” McGonagall said as she stood up and walked around the desk.

                Hermione’s heart beat wildly in her chest. She could feel her face growing red. She cringed and waited for the scathing remarks from McGonagall about how she was so disappointed in Hermione, that she knew what this was really about. How dare she question the authority or integrity of Severus Snape, a war hero and brilliant professor who always held the safety and well-being of his students in high regard. Or what if Hermione was right in suspecting the appropriateness of her potions master’s punishment? Somehow, Hermione feared McGonagall telling her that she should have never allowed Professor Snape to act in such a manner to her.

                “That’s our Miss Granger, though,” the sound of Dumbledore’s voice startled Hermione.

                She looked in the direction it had originated from; there hung the former headmaster’s portrait. Somehow, even though he was simply oil on canvas, there was a twinkle in his eye that gave him that omniscient, mischievous look.

                “She’s always thinking outside of the constraints of the box,” he said with a warm smile.

                “Right you are, Albus,” McGonagall said as she rummaged through a cabinet.

                She turned around with her arms laden with three enormous leather bound books.

                “These bottom two are the first records of detentions given,” McGonagall let out a puff of breath as she set them down in Hermione’s lap, “Unfortunately, they didn’t start recording the detentions until the 1600s so we know nothing of those particular practices. These particular tomes begin in 1605 and cover until 1832. There are five more like this; it would seem behavior steadily worsened over the centuries.”

                McGonagall paused to sigh and shake her head before continuing, “The top one is the headmaster’s copy of the general handbook for staff. It’s far newer than the records. Headmaster Newton Scamander wrote it after Phineas Nigellus Black’s period left the school in a bit of a disorder as far as what was acceptable and what wasn’t.”

                The portrait of Phineas Black barked, “They became lax after I died. Before, professors had control in their classroom and mudbloods knew their place.”

                McGonagall waved her wand threateningly at him as she said, “If you don’t watch your foul mouth, I know where there are several cans of turpentine.”

                “No, Professor, it’s perfectly alright,” Hermione said, lifting her chain and turning towards Black, “I’m a mudblood who happens to know her place.”

                McGonagall stared at Hermione as if she had just happened upon the curious sight of a dragon mating with a sphinx. Hermione stood and marched determinedly over to the bigoted portrait. Though it was hung high enough that she had to tilt her, she placed her hands on her hips and gave him a cold, appraising glance.

                “I happen to be exceedingly bright, far more capable than many purebloods I’ve met. I am a witch but I’m also the daughter of Thomas and Jean Granger, successful muggles who have their own business and still manage to make time to run a household and raise a daughter with love. They instilled in me the importance of being strong, independent, and self-motivated.   Everything I achieve is through skill and hard work. I’ve never had the chance to ride of the coattails of pureblood name and I wouldn’t want to. I’m going to do great things for society and earn my respect. I’m a mudblood and my place is here at Hogwarts as head girl and the top student, but most importantly it’s in the wizarding world.”

                Hermione turned on her toe and began to march towards the stack of books McGonagall was loaning to her. She paused mid-step when she noticed that others had slipped into the office during her speech.
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The Story of H