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In Their Hands Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 19649 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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
- 11
- 12
- 13
A/N: Maral – ‘“Do you wish to continue?” ... YES YES YES!’ – LOL, excellent! Glad you enjoyed.

Severus1Snape – Great to hear from you. George is one of my favourites too. And who hasn’t played a game like that before? ;)

Oracle – ‘Of course she's intelligent and sympathetic enough to help people even with this massive flaw, but she should know that you can't be a productive therapist with those kinds of limiting opinions.’ – You’re right and it’s probably this awareness that is driving her to broaden her horizons. ‘It's kind of a cerebral/clinical story, and the writing reflects that.’ – Yeah it is. I’ve actually found myself de-beautifying it because anything that is too florid seems to stand out like dog’s balls (see how eloquent I really am :)). ‘SudaFred. Ronitussin. Pepto-Billmal’ – Bahahahah! I went with a more natural alternative – Ginnyseng. ‘Stripping is symbolic of her tearing down his defenses’ – as you say, this is a vulnerable process for him and he’s pretty uncomfortable about it. ‘I can't figure out how fucked up Snape is.’ – Another interesting insight. It’s difficult to tell at the moment. He appears so together sometimes and, yet, so unsure and vulnerable at others. I wonder if she will ever completely work him out. ‘He's not grudgingly going along with things, he's inviting her in.’ – I like your summation. Yes this was a pretty symbolic moment and she was aware of it. ‘Gulp. Salty acceptance’ – you have summed that up as only you can – love it. ‘I'm intrigued by George's balloon game.’ – I’m intrigued that you found it intriguing. You are always looking at the hidden agendas. I like that.

Annie – You probably won’t read this as you have abandoned the story but that’s okay. I appreciate you sharing your perspective. I would argue that you probably didn’t get a chance to understand the entirety of the underpinnings of each character but not everyone will want to spend the time required to do that. Thanks anyway.

Chea – lovely to hear from you. I’m really glad you are enjoying the story. I loved your lifesaver and potato stories. When people share things with me, they always get tucked away for the future. More Severus in this chapter for you :)

Chapter 12 – Hands Up

“Imagining re-enacting the scene from ‘Ghost’?” George whispered in her ear, making her jump.

Hermione whacked him with the back of her hand. “You watch too many Muggle movies,” she muttered.

She hadn’t realised she’d been staring at Snape as he moulded the lump of clay with his strong, supple hands. Shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he dipped his fingers into a bowl of water before sliding them along the creamy ridgeline of what seemed to be shaping into a small pot.

“I could sing ‘Unchained Melody’ if that would help,” George murmured.

“Shut it,” Hermione hissed, turning away to watch what was happening in the rest of the room.

Luna and Shaun were exercising on mats in the far corner. Luna was stretching her calves, while Shaun did push-ups beside her. Hermione had noticed that his ticking and convulsing had significantly abated—as though the curse were slowly ebbing from his body. And he also seemed to be smiling a lot more. Whether he had greater control over his facial muscles, or was genuinely happier, Hermione couldn’t tell, but he now seemed far younger; like the man of thirty that he was.

“Imagining re-enacting the scene from ‘Dirty Dancing’?” she whispered to George, as she caught him staring at Luna.

“I wouldn’t be strong enough to hold her up,” replied George.

“Not that scene.” Hermione snorted.

George gave a loud sigh. “Upholding therapist-patient boundaries can also be a real bitch.”

Hermione remained silent. She could hardly comment.

“It’s lucky ‘therapy’ has such a broad definition.” He grinned, crossing his arms as he continued to watch Luna’s progress.

“Don’t tell me . . . “ Hermione leaned close to him.

“I may have undertaken a ‘Luna landing’ of sorts.” He raised his eyebrows without looking at her.

Hermione shook her head. What was it about this group? And what were they running here? The Galladdon Knocking Shop?

“And you, my girl, must realise that you are standing in an extremely transparent glass house, with a handful of very big stones.” George nodded toward Snape.

She wondered how he knew. And how much he knew.

Hermione crossed her arms and sidled up next to him. “Let’s assume that you aren’t barking up the wrong tree for a change,” she spoke quietly. “Why, then, would you pair me up with Lynch in the balloon groping session?”

George ran his tongue down the inside of his cheek as if he were thinking but Hermione knew he would have planned it very carefully. “I thought you and Lynch might have a few things to work through.”

“Really,” Hermione responded drily.

“And I couldn’t be sure of what type of display you and Snape might put on if you were paired up. By the way, you are really going to have to remember to cast a silencing spell next time you have another ‘session’ in your rooms.”

“Fuck,” Hermione hissed, her fingers digging into her arms. “Are you serious?”

“Have I ever been serious?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, getting a straight answer out of George was like getting a smile out of Snape.

“So how did you know?”

“By the way you drool out of every orifice every time he stalks past.”

“For fuck’s sake, George,” Hermione huffed. He was making her paranoid. “Is that seriously why?”

“No, Luna told me.”

“What?”

“She saw you giving him mouth to snake resuscitation when she was exercising. She said she had to get close to the window to see through the crack in the curtains but she managed it.”

“Merlin’s fucking arsehole!” Hermione hissed, eyes bulging in mortification.

“Dr Granger that is hardly language becoming of a medical professional.”

“And neither is sucking off the patients,” she ground out through gritted teeth.

“True.”

“George . . . “

“Who would I tell?” He spread his hands wide. “There’s only Lynch and Ellory, and all the other patients, and McGonagall and everyone at Hogwarts and anyone else I happen to bump into.”

“George,” she groaned.

“Hermione, I’m just glad you’re finally getting a bit of action. I haven’t heard you swear this well in years.”

A reluctant smile finally crept onto her lips as she took a sideways glance at Snape who was now carving some sort of design around the edge of the pot. She trusted George but they would have to be a lot more careful in the future.

She didn’t need to remind herself that their relationship was inappropriate. That was a given. But, she reasoned, they both had more to gain from their current arrangement, than the sanctioned dynamic that should preside. At least, she hoped so.

Then she remembered something else she’d been meaning to discuss with George.

“I’d like you to get Snape on the piano when he’s next in here,” she said.

“Is he any good?”

“I’m not sure but I suspect so. I want him to use the piano to connect with, and express, his emotions.”

“Great.” George rolled his eyes. “What are we going to get? Dirges and funeral marches?”

“He’s not that miserable,” replied Hermione. “He’s more anxious than anything.”

“Well, I don’t want him all ‘Flight of the bumblebee’ either,” said George.

“He won’t be,” Hermione assured him. “Not after I’ve finished with him anyway.”

***

“This actually really hurts.” Hermione was kneeling, naked, on her bed with her hands suspended by a red cord above her head.

Snape looked up from the book he was reading. “You have your safe word if you need to use it.”

Hermione glared at him. “I know.” She suddenly winced as she felt her shoulder cramping. “I just don’t quite understand your attitude.”

Snape slowly closed the book before leaning forward in his seat to fix her with his searing gaze. “You have been disrespectful and controlling. You have not addressed me as ‘sir’ once. And I was particularly unimpressed with your attempts to create some sort of tension by flirting with Mr Quidditch. If you are not going to take these lessons seriously, then neither am I.”

Hermione’s arms were aching from her shoulders to her fingertips but she was determined not to prove him right.

“I’m sorry sir,” she replied, trying to relax. “I do want to learn. And I know you can teach me.”

Snape appraised her silently for so long she was thinking about using her safe word, just to get some blood flowing back into her arms.

“Tell me why you are bound.”

“So that I will submit, sir.”

“Partly.”

She tried to think of another answer but nothing else came to mind, she was too busy worrying about the pain.

Snape sighed. “What do you want from me?”

“To get me down from here, sir?”

“Anything else?”

“To get me off, sir?”

“Correct.”

And for some reason that understanding, when it finally filtered through, made the coals in her belly suddenly flare.

“Please sir, can you touch me?”

After a long pause, Snape finally gave an approving nod and threw his book to the floor before standing and wandlessly opening the buttons of his coat. His deliberate and emphatic disrobing created a surge of excitement that shot through her, leaving her legs trembling. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he finished by unbuttoning his collar then casually kneeling on the bed beside her.

“Where do you wish to be touched?” His voice, low and gravelly, slipped into every orifice.

She wanted to say ‘everywhere’ but knew she needed to be specific.

“On my breasts, sir,” she said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to . . . lick . . . my nipples, sir.” Her head tipped back and she closed her eyes, her cheeks flushing pink with hearing herself ask for such a thing.

“Since you finally seem to have remembered your place. I will grant your request,” he rumbled darkly.

Eyes still closed she felt his warm breath glide across her skin. It moved from her collar bone, down under her armpit and along the side of her breast. Her skin prickled with anticipation. And then his tongue, soft and moist, alighted on the areola of her left nipple. It was so exquisite and at such sensory odds with the humdrum existence that had become her life that she moaned like a wanton slut. This was going to be tough. She decided then that she might have to give up on any pretence of maintaining a professional decorum. Holding on to her sanity might actually be enough to hope for. And, yes, she had remembered to cast the silencing . . .

“Fuck!”

His hand skimmed down her bare back as his tongue hooked up under her nipple, flicking it with force. It wasn’t a soft, sensuous licking, like a grooming cat—not that she had necessarily imagined that from him—instead it was an intensely stimulating act that she knew was designed to achieve maximal arousal. And, Merlin, did it work. Hermione’s head was alternating between bent servitude and raised elation with each unsuccessful attempt to process what he was doing to her.

When he’d finished, releasing one taut, stretched nipple with a wet, pop, she was heaving and wondering if there might already be a pool of juice soaking the bedspread beneath her parted thighs. The very thought was enough to mortify her further but it also added to the pull in her abdomen—the force that seemed to be both sucking the dripping desire from her core and attempting to suck every part of him into her. The void there seemed cavernous, not for the size, but for the level of need that it signified. She found herself desperate to be fulfilled.

“Sir, can you please touch my pussy?” The foreign whine in her voice shocked her. And so did her use of the word ‘pussy’.

Finally opening her eyes, she found his face closer to hers than she could ever remember. She could see every detail of it, every thoughtful crease, every perceptive ridge, every exertion-induced shimmer, but what she honed in on were his lips, moist and plump from servicing her nipples. She found herself wanting to bite them. It seemed excessive. But at that moment, she was so desperate that the need for him outweighed any natural decency. The time for politeness had well and truly passed. And because she was tied and couldn’t touch him, she felt that, should he accidentally venture into her vicinity, like a territorial animal she would ravage him.

He didn’t respond. He simply watched her. She could feel his eyes trailing over every contour of her need, sizing it up, revelling in its vastness. She felt so exposed, so incapable of concealment that she wanted to look away but, again, the knowledge that he knew her desires so deeply was also comforting and, ultimately, highly erotic. The barriers were crumbling in large chunks, like the beginnings of an avalanche.

Those lips were still there. He let them fall apart as if he were about to speak but he didn’t. The groan that they elicited stayed reverberating in her chest, never making its way out because there was nothing to pin it to. He hadn’t actually done anything. It was pure yearning and it was almost more than she could bear.

“Tell me . . . what . . . you . . . want.” His words, each an obsidian nugget, slid into her, lodging in her nether regions.

She felt like she was drowning and he was the only one who could save her, the only one who knew how. And the urgency that she felt drove her mind beyond what probably should have been the next step in their interaction. She was clearly cutting to the chase.

“I want you to tongue fuck me, sir,” she breathed.

Oh Gods! Where had that come from? The words echoed in her ears. It was a stranger. A stranger who knew what they wanted and who wasn’t afraid to ask. It wasn’t her. But she was sort of glad they had asked on her behalf. It was true, after all.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. It was as if he had been waiting for it. A breakthrough of sorts.

When he opened them again, he asked, “Do you want to come in my mouth?”

That mouth. She clenched her jaw. It was too exquisite to consider soiling with whatever juices he planned to draw from her. But, then again, she had done the same for him without a lot of thought. She hadn’t considered it but perhaps he might enjoy doing the same from her. And did she want it? The animalistic ravaging that had crept into her masturbation fantasies every evening since it had happened, and often woke her in the small hours for a second round, told her that she did want it.

“Yes, sir.”

One corner of his mouth curled into what she could only interpret as a smile. It shocked her more than anything else. There was no element of snidery or amusement. It seemed like he was pleased, almost compassionate.

“Well done, Dr Granger,” he murmured. “And will you remain bound?”

She understood it now. The power of being at his mercy. She couldn’t feel her hands and she didn’t care. They were a means to an end for her at that moment. Of course she would remain bound.

“Yes, sir.”

He gave a gracious nod before sliding backwards off the bed and walking around behind her. Not entirely sure of what he was planning, she sensed the bed behind her sagging with his weight before feeling the warmth of his hands on either side of her waist and his lips near her ear.

“You are mine now.” His voice was low and husky. “To do with as I wish.” He held the end of the word, letting it flutter against her cheek.

Simultaneously, his hands slid up over her ribs then pushed forward to cup both breasts, fingers locking onto her nipples and rolling them expertly. She let out a child-like whimper.

“Your body will do exactly as I intend.” His tongue flicked into her ear and she felt every hair on her head extruding like play dough. “And you will not interfere with its expression. Do you understand?”

Her head pitched back as he pulled on each nipple and she felt herself now resting on his shoulder, her face partially obscured in his curtain of black hair. She trusted him completely and wanted to please him with how well she could follow his instructions.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” She felt the smooth tip of his nose grazing up the arched line of her neck to her chin, as one hand slid down her abdomen before delving directly into her slit and jostling her clitoris.

“Uhhhh,” she groaned, pushing her hips into him. Continuing to milk her nipple with the other hand, he slipped his fingers down further, dipping in to sample her saturated slot.

“Dr Granger, you didn’t think you could hide this from me did you?”

She shook her head, embarrassed by the revelation.

“Did you really think you needed all of this? What were you hoping to fit in here?”

The insinuation made her blush and squirm.

“It’s perhaps lucky that I’m . . . hungry.”

Her lips fell apart as she sucked in deep breaths, trying to stop herself from fainting.

“Open your legs further.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder and rocked her knees apart, feeling him withdraw.

Her locked arms suddenly dropped a few inches from where he had magically fixed them. Then he reappeared between her legs. All she could see was the top of his head and his coal-black eyes. Arms hooking around her thighs, he pulled her down until her pussy was clamped against his face.

Grasping the cord between both hands, she clung onto it as his head rocked beneath her, his tongue swirling around and flicking over her straining clitoris.

“Gods!” she cried, her hips grinding into him. Pulling her forward he worked his tongue down through her inner lips until it was at her creamy opening before delving inside.

“Oh, oh, oh!” A high-pitched warble floated around her, strangely disembodied, but she had a feeling it was hers.

As his face shook from side to side, his nose rubbed against her clitoris and his tongue twisted along her walls in a symphony of sensation that was threatening to send her into meltdown.

Her thrusting synchronised with his movements and he released her thighs, bringing his hands into play. Pushing her up a little he slid two fingers inside her slick sheath, facing her front wall, while his mouth moved back to her clitoris, sucking the swollen nub between his lips and tongue.

“Merlin, that’s . . . uuhhhh,” she groaned and her head pitched forward as his tongue flicked rapidly back and forth across the head of her clitoris, his fingers thrusting rhythmically inside her tight channel like well-oiled pistons.

The muscles of her pelvis had wound so tightly that it was almost painful and the pressure that was bearing down inside her, had her floating mind suddenly slamming back to reality with the frighteningly intense sensation of her impending explosion. Her channel was squelching noisily around his plunging fingers, and when he curled them forward and began rubbing against her bumpy wall, agitating her urethra, she felt herself plummeting.

“I can’t hold on.” She shook her head. “Uuunnnhhhh . . . . I’m coming!”

He suddenly moved his tongue down from her clitoris to prod at her urethral opening and she was gone, bucking like a rodeo rider.

His jiggling fingers were caught in the violent wave of contractions that captured her whole body as she jerked around from her tethered arms. Crying out as her tightly wound muscles heaved and spasmed, she felt streams of juice squirting from her core in a release that felt so complete she was unable to hold back even if she had wanted to.

She could hear him gulping through his ragged breaths and this sound, together with the continued thrusting of his fingers had her feeling like she was coming all over again. Her muscles kept ripping and grabbing at him for such a protracted time she wasn’t sure when her orgasm had ended and when her clenching channel had progressed into its stuttering aftershocks.

Suddenly aware that she had collapsed on top of him and that he may be having trouble breathing, she lifted herself on shaky legs and he took the opportunity to slide out from under her.

Groaning with each wheezing breath, she hung off her binds, aware that she was going to be in quite a deal of pain when her arms were released. Then he was back behind her, strong hands around her wrists, gently lowering her forward onto the bed and removing the cord. Her groans turned into sobs as the significance and force of her release captured her.

“You did very well,” he soothed as she felt him massaging something cool and wet into her wrists, hands and, then, arms. The ache there immediately dissipated but she didn’t stop weeping into the bedcovers. He continued to rub and stroke her until her sobs had turned into shuddering sighs. Finally, she rolled over to look up at him.

“I’ve never told anyone this.” Her voice was thin and raspy. “The whole time that Bellatrix was carving ‘Mudblood’ into my arm, she was masturbating me.”

Snape closed his eyes, suddenly understanding everything—submission, pain, degradation, sex, fear.

“Fuck.”
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In Their Hands *Complete*

In Their Hands Complete