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The Quickening	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 32428 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter 11
Hermione had been apprehensive about entering Professor McGonagall’s office in the past but never before had she felt as sick with fear as she did now. Knocking gently on the ancient door, she waited, fiddling with the cuff of her blouse. She had been unsure of what one should wear when preparing to air the sordid details of one’s sexual encounters with one’s potions professor. She didn’t wish to appear too casual—it was going to be difficult enough to avoid looking like a complete deviant as it was. Then again, she didn’t want to be too formal, too proper, or no one would buy the story. She had settled upon a slim fitted skirt, loose white blouse with a draped neckline and strappy leather sandals with low heels. Simple, elegant and, she hoped, a bit sexy. She was unsure of whom Azkaban would send but they had to believe that she wasn’t some innocent little swot who had been raped by her predatory professor. Although, admittedly, she had attempted to sell that story to herself only days before.
The door opened and Professor McGonagall’s severe face appeared. Although Hermione was the head girl at Hogwarts, one third of the golden trio and a member of her very own Gryffindor House, she couldn’t muster even the glimmer of a smile. This situation was as serious as it got and Hermione’s abdomen clenched as she was revisited by a grave sense of impending doom. Everything rested upon the outcome of this meeting. If she couldn’t convince them that she was in a consensual sexual relationship with Professor Snape, it would mean the beginning of a long stretch for him in Azkaban, and there was a good chance that she would follow.
Professor McGonagall held the door open for Hermione to enter. Three chairs had been set up beside a large window. Three? Thought Hermione. Why not four? Rising from one of the chairs as she entered, was a man in a light grey tailored suit and charcoal robe. As she approached, her breath quickened. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, Filch’s uglier half-brother perhaps, but extending his hand to her with a mixture of cool charm and piercing scrutiny, was a man that immediately conjured thoughts of the secret agent, James Bond.
“Miss Granger.” The corner of his mouth quirked up as he fixed her with piercing blue eyes. His hand was warm as he grasped hers. He hadn’t said “You must be Miss Granger” which meant he had most likely seen Professor Snape’s memory of her in the pensieve. He had probably seen everything, even her face as it was spattered with stream after stream of come. Looking through Snape’s eyes, it could have even felt like he was doing it to her. She felt considerably more ill.
“This is Mister Harris, he works for the Assistant Director of Correctional Services at Azkaban.” Professor McGonagall gestured to the man who still had his eyes fixed firmly on Hermione.
“Mister Harris.” Hermione nodded, drawing in a deep breath in an attempt to keep herself from fainting.
“Professor Snape should be with us shortly.” Professor McGonagall was clearly uncomfortable, moving swiftly to her desk. “Who would like tea?”
“No thankyou Professor,” Hermione said quickly. It was going to be difficult enough to lie to this man as it was, without a shuddering teacup in her lap.
“Black tea thanks.” Mr Harris said, taking his seat and turning casually to sling one arm along the back.
“Shaken and not stirred.” Hermione thought to herself, sinking into the seat diagonally opposite.
“Looks like more rain,” said Professor McGonagall briskly without looking at the window, clearly trying to make conversation.
Neither Hermione nor Mr Harris responded. He appeared to be studying the contents of a nearby bookcase while Hermione was studying him. The strong jawline and lean muscularity suggested that he had probably been, or might still be, an agent of some sort. No doubt an expert in interrogation. She was in deep trouble.
There was a loud knock on the door before it opened and Hagrid entered, pushing a wheelchair containing Professor Snape. Hermione’s heart sank. His wrists were, again, bound to the arms of the chair and the same thin blanket covered his knees. They hadn’t changed the ill-fitting gown which gaped at the neck, showing a pale, twisted scar. His hair hadn’t been washed in days and was greasy and lank; his skin sallow. The only part of him that moved were his black eyes, which took in the entire scene in moments.
Mr Harris didn’t attempt to hide his surprise at Professor Snape’s appearance. Clearly, he had been apprised of Hermione’s claim that she was having a consensual relationship with the man. His gaze slid up and down Hermione, taking in her elegant style and undeniable beauty before returning to Snape who easily looked twenty years older than his almost forty and could never be described as a handsome man, even without the ravages of the past days’ detention.
“Professor Snape, this is Mr Harris,” said Professor McGonagall.
Snape nodded but said nothing. He had seen how the arrogant ponce had looked at him. Setting his jaw, he looked down his nose with typical Snapish contempt.
Hermione didn’t know how he did it. He was clearly at a huge physical disadvantage to the ruggedly attractive agent.
“Well,” Professor McGonagall perched on the edge of her seat and clasped her hands as if they were seated for some sort of pleasant tea party. “Let’s get started.”
She turned to her left. “Mr Harris. I believe you have a few questions you would like to start with?”
He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side as has if to indicate that he had even more questions now that he had actually seen the two individuals concerned. Pulling a small notebook from the inside of his suit jacket he flipped it open and scanned the page.
“Miss Granger.” He slowly drew his index finger along the ridgeline of his jaw before he looked up at her. “I understand from Professor McGonagall that you are in a consensual sexual relationship with Professor Snape. Is that correct?”
Hermione realised her body language was all wrong. She was turned as far away from Snape as she could get, her legs and arms both crossed. Forcing a smile, she adjusted herself, turning toward Snape whose eyes were boring into the man opposite, as if willing a cruciatus from his pupils.
“That is correct,” she said. “We’ve been . . . intimate . . . for only a week or so.”
The agent chewed the inside of his cheek as if considering her answer. He clearly didn’t believe her but couldn’t fathom why she would lie about it. He fixed his gaze on Professor Snape.
“Professor. Perhaps you can describe for us the nature of your relationship with Miss Granger,” he raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“We’re fucking,” said Professor Snape, causing Professor McGonagall’s mouth to drop open and her hand to rise to her chest. But he wasn’t finished.
“We have similar tastes in exotic sex, discovered in a recent period of detention. The past week has been devoted to exploring and experimenting.”
The agent’s jaw was tight and his pale blue eyes had turned icy. Clearly Snape wasn’t going to be easily intimidated. He slid his knees apart and adjusted his position in his seat, exposing his crotch in a blatant dominance display.
“Exotic.” He repeated the word and the corners of his mouth curled up in amusement. “Perhaps you could extrapolate. Expand upon what you mean by that?”
“I know the meaning of the word extrapolate.” Snape’s baritone voice was as slick and creamy as Hermione had even known it to be.
“Miss Granger has a particular penchant for certain . . . objects to be inserted inside of her. Any orifice will do. We have managed to achieve double penetration with food items on two occasions so far. She enjoys my tongue being inserted in her anus, while I fist her.”
Hermione choked but managed to make it sound like she was clearing her throat.
“Professor Snape has been very helpful in assisting me to explore my sexual needs.” She said matter-of-factly, completely dying on the inside. “He has also been very generous with sharing his own fetishes and fantasies.”
Snape eyed her warily.
“He enjoys wearing women’s underwear and sometimes a baby’s diaper when we’re having sex. He also enjoys drinking my urine but I haven’t been able to come at faecal . . . “
Snape snorted loudly through his nose and then finished with an exaggerated nod as if he were agreeing with her. She could tell he was struggling to control himself.
“He has also long desired to role-play raping a student,” she continued. “If you have viewed his most recent memory in the pensieve, then you will have seen that enacted. It finished with him coming all over my face. And I swallowed some. That was one of my fantasies.”
The Azkaban agent crossed his legs and pulled his robe over his lap. Professor McGonagall slumped back in her chair, her face pale and her mouth gaping like a fish out of water.
“I think we’re done here.” Mr Harris turned to Professor McGonagall. “Professor, may I suggest you consider disciplining these two in-house?”
“What for?” Professor Snape glared at him as Hermione silently willed Snape to shut up.
The agent lifted his chin and threw him a look of disgust. “For deviant behaviour in a school environment.”
“We are two consenting adults. What we do in our private time is our own business.” Snape was determined to grind him into the ground. “And that thing in your trousers doesn’t seem to have too much of a problem with our ‘deviant’ behaviour.”
Professor McGonagall leapt up before Snape could say more. “Thank you for coming Mr Harris!” she beamed.
***
Hermione screwed up her nose as she placed her bag on the ground next to his bed. It wasn’t like Madam Pomfrey to leave a patient in the sort of condition that Professor Snape was in.
“Why isn’t Madam Pomfrey tending to you?” she asked.
“I think I hurt her,” Snape replied. “I haven’t had a chance to apologise. She’s been avoiding me.”
“It was the curse,” he added when he saw the look of concern on Hermione’s face. “But I didn’t know it at the time. I just thought I was . . . out of control. Tainted by the past.”
It saddened Hermione to hear that he had thought himself inherently bad all the time that the curse was having its effect.
“Have you eaten?”
He shook his head. “That was Filch’s job. He’d hoped to see me taken to Azkaban and I imagine he’s now sulking in his room.”
Hermione sighed. She dipped into the bag and brought out a thermos and bread roll. Pulling a chair over, she filled the thermos cup with hot soup and brought it to his lips. He drank the entire cup down and then took a bite from the roll she held out for him.
“Why are you doing this?” He asked as he chewed.
Hermione knew that it wasn’t worth lying.
“Professor McGonagall was obviously appalled by what she heard today.”
“Just a bit.” The corner of Snape’s lip quirked up and Hermione realised it was the first time she had seen any essence of humour in him for a long time. Perhaps it was a good sign.
“She is considering terminating your employment.”
Professor Snape swallowed. “I thought she might.”
“And she’s considering not allowing me to sit my N.E.W.T.s”
“What?” He twisted around to face her. “That’s ridiculous!”
Hermione was touched that he would be more outraged about her treatment than his own.
“So we’ve come to an agreement,” she continued. “She’s fearful of releasing you until the curse is lifted or, at least, controlled. She’s given me a week to come up with something. Otherwise we’re both out.”
Snape rubbed the corner of his blanket between his fingers. It was unusual to see him fiddling, as it was a habit he admonished his students for on a regular basis.
“I’m to be your latest project am I?” He looked at her uneasily.
“Unless you have a better idea?” She let the empty cup hang at her side.
He stared at her for a few long moments. “Got any more of that soup?”
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The Quickening