Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Massage	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 52203 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

Chapter List
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A/N: It might get a little bumpy...

  Focus. Her mind was racing but her heart was lapping it as her breaths drew in little short gasps. Just move your hand back, he’s setting you up, and you can’t keep throwing yourself into this situation. The tiny bathroom seemed stifling then and there hadn’t even been a shower to steam it up nor constricting robes to raise her temperature. She could feel a pulse almost like that of his heart with her hand on his throbbing member, only the thin material of his trousers keeping skin from skin. Patient protocol. Patient protocol. Patient protocol. And then it clicked.

            Hermione relaxed her arm, letting it hang slightly limp at her side, though it was still drawn against his lap, her palm still resting against his length. She drew in a steadying breath and then held his gaze. “Are you saying that you wish for me to examine you here, sir?” she asked and then carefully flexed her fingers, curling them around his hardness.

            “What?” he growled, his grip on her faltering.

            She quickly drew back her hand, but did not look away from him. “You grabbed my hand and pressed it to a place on your body where you clearly must be experiencing pain, which is indicative of a request for examination, and according to patient protocol once a request for an exam is given it cannot nor will it be,” she narrowed her eyes pointedly and then placed both hands on his shoulders, surprising herself with the minimal effort it took to haul him to his feet. “Ignored.”

            There was a flicker of something that crossed his eyes; so fast that she couldn’t catch it properly. Suspicion? Or doubt perhaps? She didn’t know but in that moment she had never felt more empowered and bold than she did as she put both hands on his hips and roughly yanked his boxer shorts down.

            That spurred a reaction from him. “Miss Granger!” his voice was terse, angry, and just the tiniest bit startled. Clearly he had not expected her to act out. But things were in her control now; she was done playing his games. “What the hell are you doing, have you lost your mind?” He began to bend at the waist to retrieve his boxers but her firm hand gripping his shoulder halted him and he hissed.

            She squeezed his shoulder until he stood upright. “You wanted patient protocol, you’re going to have patient protocol,” she said through clenched teeth. Snatching into the box behind her she took up a pair of latex gloves, snapping them onto her fingers. “Clearly you must be in some pain to grab my hand and press it against what’s hurting you,” she said and then dragged the stool out from beneath where he stood, letting it slide near the door. Hermione put both hands on his shoulders once more, pushing him with ease until his back was against the wall, the ledge of the sink counter brushing his hip.

            “Now tell me if this hurts,” she said and one hand took a firm grip around the girth of his erection, pulling it up as her other hand lifted both of his testicles and squeezed them, not too hard but enough for him to feel the pressure.

            Severus hissed, his head pressing hard back into the wall as his eyes fell closed. She could visibly see a wave of tension shoot through his body, each muscle stiffening tightly as it did. But the tension was not because he was in pain; she had seen that look was across his face before, that pleasured look that she had so many times previously mistaken for agony but was really ecstasy. Her hand shifted as she released the squeeze from around his testicles but this only caused him to groan.

            “More pain?” she mocked, again squeezing them, pressing her finger tips at the sensitive patch of skin just beneath where they met his body. The sounds that flowed from his lips as he struggled desperately to fight it was causing her to grin. My how the tables had turned. “Let’s see, patient protocol dictates that I should further palpate the region to ensure that there is no extensive tissue damage,” she snapped, her voice sharp, angry.

            Hermione took both hands and cupped them around the base of his cock, pressing her fingertips and thumb into alternating sides of his shaft squeezing as she slowly began to move up his length. “Palpating, per patient protocol,” again she snapped the words defiantly, hearing him unable to suppress a moan as she squeezed the tip of his erection. “Oh, that’s a response worth noting,” she said and squeezed his tip a second time.

            She could see his legs beginning to tremble, the slight shaking in his knees slowly coursing up to his thighs. She drew her hand back and then reached for the vile of cream she had used on his shoulders. “Be sure and tell me if it’s warm and tingling or hot and burning,” she said in a heated flurry, dipping her gloved fingers into the cream before quickly rubbing them together. One hand again gripped his cock tugging it upward as the other lifted his balls, squeezing them.

            Severus’s eyes flew open and he cried out, a sound that halfway between a deep sob and a guttural groan. Her fingers were unrelenting as they began to repeat the pattern they had just moments before; squeezing, stroking, palpating and he felt his whole body screaming, a tremor so intense shooting through him that his knees nearly buckled.

            It was sudden; so sudden that for a moment she had still been squeezing the base of his shaft with her forefinger and thumb. But the sudden shuddering of his length drew her eyes to his tip as he came; a splash of ejaculate hitting her sweatpants, the rest she managed to catch in her hand. She pulled both hands back watching his body jerk through the aftermath of his climactic tremors.

            “I’ve half a mind to give you a rectal exam to see if this issue is a result of an enlarged prostate,” she spit sharply. But as her eyes rose to meet his, as if daring him to challenge her otherwise she felt her stomach sharply twist in knots. It would have been better somehow if he had been crying. In his eyes, no longer guarded as they had been, was a disgusting mixture of mild fright and humiliation.

            She stepped back abruptly, blinking several times as if blinking would somehow make what she saw in his eyes disappear. And she felt the evidence against her wrist, a tiny bead of ejaculate trickling down over her glove. It was worse than when he had looked broken and vulnerable and Hermione thought she would be sick. Her own voice echoed in her head; the way she’d addressed him, her rough manner, her mockery and vicious approach. How on earth could she have expected him not to have been frightened and humiliated?

            Her mind was once again whirring as she stood there gazing ahead at him, a horrified gape to her lips as it grew on her exactly how she had handled him. But she had just been so tired of his games; she’d never meant to cause him an emotional trauma. Hermione quickly turned her back to him, her voice barely a whisper. “Please get dressed.”

            “Why?” his voice was no louder than hers; a strange sound she had not heard from him; the sound of a broken man, a man who had been defeated. “Is that patient protocol too? One should think clothing would complicate a rectal exam.” His sneering comments would have been bad enough, but to hear them without their sharp bite, to hear them as a broken plea nearly broke her resolve.

            Hermione fled past him, refusing to look at him, leaned against the wall, naked and spent and broken. And she realized as she made to flee the sitting room that she could not as they were her chambers. She couldn’t even alleviate the roiling nausea that was threatening to explode up her throat as he was still in her bathroom. With tears now streaking down her cheeks at her appalling behavior she dashed into her bedroom, forced the door shut behind her and locked it.

            She didn’t allow herself the solace of her bed; frantically clawing her way into her closet, and moving to the very back corner, pinching herself in between several shoe racks and hanging dress robes. She pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her head against her hands, allowing herself to sob. How had she allowed herself to treat a patient in that manner?

            Hermione stayed tucked away in the back of her closet for quite some time, she wasn’t sure how long but she couldn’t bear to bring herself to leave it on the off chance that he might still be in her bathroom or be on his way out of her bathroom and she’d have to look at him; look at the man she’d brutalized because she had fallen over the edge of frustration. She raked her hands through her hair, still completely disbelieving that she had allowed herself to do such a thing.

            She was not a cruel person, she had never wanted to humiliate another living soul in her life after all she’d been through. Which was partly why his comments leading up to that incident about her taking pleasure at his expense had irked her so. But she had proven him right. She had become a monster; a terrible monster like the monster that so many accused him of being. And all she could see every time she closed her eyes was how utterly humiliated he looked; shaken and taken aback. She had pressed her advantage and ridiculed him because he’d pushed her buttons. And he wasn’t to blame, she should have maintained her self control.

            Her strained nerves and overworked mind must have taken a toll on her body as she’d drifted off into a restless doze for a brief period, waking with a wretched stiffness in her neck. She blinked several times before realizing that she was still in her closet and then she sighed. She couldn’t stay in the closet forever. Pulling herself slowly to her feet, Hermione made her way out of the closet and into her bedroom. She crept across the floor and carefully opened the door, peaking out into her sitting room.

            All was quiet. It only took her a few moments to venture as far as the bathroom, still feeling uneasy though the light was extinguished. She checked inside but the only evidence that he had even been there was the stool that she didn’t normally keep in her bathroom and the kit with the book laid on the sink counter. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she moved over and carefully repacked the kit, closing it. She could feel tears prickling at the back of her eyes; how did she let this happen?

            She didn’t find sleep that night. That had been a given the moment she had fled into her closet. It had already been late, well beyond late, when he’d arrived. And although she’d made it back to her bed after cleaning up her bathroom and wandering aimlessly among the beds of the hospital wing, all she could manage was tossing and turning as she stared blankly ahead at the wall or up at the canopy. It was his eyes; she couldn’t escape the image of his eyes and how much emotion she’d seen there. In all the years she had seen him she had never seen him display emotions, and even recently when treating him what little he had shown her had been veiled.

            But his eyes when she’d humiliated him; they had revealed so much and it still made her ill even hours after he had vanished, presumably back to his own chambers. And what on earth was she going to do? She certainly couldn’t treat him again, how would she ever look him in the face? And what if he’d gone to report her? She’d lose her license for sure, though she deserved it after what she’d done to him. Even if he hadn’t reported her; she’d already been told that replacing her was impossible. That left little in the way of options and her mind was so frazzled that she couldn’t think of any, nor anyone to consult regarding the matter.

            All she could think about as she forced herself from her bed when the sun began to filter through the curtains was how long it had taken him last time; going without treatments, before the symptoms had become too physically debilitating to bear. Had it been two days? Or perhaps three, a short period of time to be sure, the end result of which had gotten Minerva McGonagall involved. That thought made her sick to her stomach once more. How on earth could she explain to the Headmistress why she could no longer treat him? It was a disaster.

            Despite her body’s fatigue she found she had little appetite as she made an appearance in the Great Hall for breakfast. Usually she had her meals served in the medical wing, but she had needed to escape from that portion of the castle. She tried not to look at him when she saw him enter from the door behind the teacher’s raised platform, noting that as he had when he’d come to her chambers at half two that morning, he was leaning on his cane. A heavy twinge of guilt shot through her as she returned her gaze to her untouched breakfast.

            She’d refused to take lunch and dinner in the Great Hall; she couldn’t deal with seeing him, even though she had not actually encountered him and aside from the cane what she’d seen of him at breakfast did not seem out of the ordinary. It wasn’t as if she could ask anyone about him; he would never let on to anyone of his pain, though it would become physically noticeable soon, nor would anyone inquire after him. By the time the late evening rolled around she had all but collapsed from exhaustion into her bed, again with her day robes still on.

            There were no nocturnal interruptions to her sleep but she found herself horribly unrested come the morning. It didn’t help that it was Saturday. And not just any Saturday but a Hogsmeade weekend Saturday with a huge matchup between Gryffindor and Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch. At least those things would keep her mind occupied. Trips into the neighboring village often meant sick stomachs from indulging in too many sweets and too much butterbeer. And Quidditch was the Pandora ’s Box of medical incidents for the school. Attending the match at the very least would give her a change of pace and hopefully it would help her avoid seeing him.

            When she’d arrived to the staff box she was surprised to see only Minerva, the student from Hufflepuff who was the season’s announcer, Horace Slughorn and Madam Pince; the rest of the staff presumably in Hogsmeade. The front bench was easily taken up by Minerva and the student as the student kept bouncing up and down as the game kicked off. Horace and the librarian were cuddled quite close together on the very last bench up in the corner of the box. They were indeed an odd couple but Hermione thought nothing of it.

            Taking the third bench near the middle she settled in ready to watch the match. But no sooner had she situated herself than a gust of air chilled the box as the door opened. It was already a brisk day and she’d forgotten her scarf and gloves. Turning to see which member of the faculty had joined them she quickly snapped her head forward, gazing intently as the Slytherin Chasers were enacting a mean bout of keep away from two of the Gryffindor girls.

            The heavy thump of his cane on the wooden floorboards as he moved down the stairs from the top of the box slowly, one step at a time, made the hair at the back of her neck stand on edge. Of course it was only natural for him to be present his team was one of the two contenders. Hermione nearly leaped up from the bench as he sat down just beside her. With wide eyes she forced her head straight forward. The whole bloody box is empty save for the first bench and the top right corner why in the hell sit right on bloody top of me? Her mind was screaming.

            He said nothing, did not even look her way but he was seated against her, their legs touching. She was terrified to move; it would seem rude to move and yet it was horribly uncomfortable. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to risk glancing over at him.

            “Ah, Severus,” Minerva said and nodded to him. “I see we’re back to the cane— you’d best not be giving Miss Granger any trouble…” she clucked her tongue and fixed him with a stern gaze.

            Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat, racing a million miles a minute as she heard the Headmistress’s voice. It felt like an eternity of his silence despite the roar of the crowds all around them all she could hear was her thundering heart, the blood pounding in her ears like a raging storm. The slightest shift in his posture told her he’d turned his head to face McGonagall.

            “Quite the contrary,” he said. His voice sounded neutral, almost natural, or at least as natural as he normally sounded.

            “Oh, well that’s wonderful to hear then, I do hope she finds a more permanent solution…I don’t fancy the idea of you with that cane,” she frowned, her face souring just slightly.

            “I assure you, she is pushing the boundaries to find me new treatments, following patient protocol to the letter,” he paused, and Hermione felt her cheeks redden, praying silently that McGonagall couldn’t see her or would else mistake her blush as a response to the whipping wind. “In fact, I believe in her excitement for this…game…she forgot that she had told me to meet her in the hospital wing. Imagine my surprise of her absence, such…uncharacteristically strange behavior…” he said.

            “Oh, goodness, dearie- it’s not the absolute match of the season between the two houses, if you’re treatment can keep him off that cane and keep students out of your infirmary because of it— than shoo! Off with you both, take him back to the hospital wing,” she insisted.

            Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach as she was forced to look at him when he stood, moving to stand in front of her. “Yes, Miss Granger,” he said glaring at her, his face an impassive wall of stone, “Back to the hospital wing then,” he said and then turned slowly, picking up his cane. Severus made his way to the top of the box and then vanished through the door.

            Hermione had gone from flushing red to deathly pale. “You look a fright dear, this chill isn’t good for you without a proper cloak and scarf— and just where are your gloves? Honestly, you did attend school here,” Minerva McGonagall tutted again. “Good thing you’re heading back up to the castle.”

            Having no choice but to submit to what was about to be the most awkward moment in her life, Hermione slowly made her way out of the third row and up the stairs to the back of the box; dreading each step a little more as it brought her closer to having to once more face Severus Snape.

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The Massage