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An Accidental Affair Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 29007 -:- 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: Oracle – I’m glad you enjoyed the last chapter. ‘I hope those are my last words’ – bahahaha, me too! ‘Lots of excellent alliteration in the chapter’ – well you are the queen so I can only try ;) ‘But I suspect it's the smoking hot rod, which made me laugh.’ – it made me laugh too. ‘The Illuminaughty’ – sheer brilliance – I keep thinking I see members on the street. ‘It's a double-penetration major.’ – more brilliance. This makes me think we should write something together . . . what do you think? ‘Sneaky word pimp.’ – that he be. ‘How much longer until we find out why he blew up the book?’ – When I find out, I’ll let you know ;)
LeWyKi – So lovely to hear from you. Congratulations on completing your Bachelor degree, obviously those final experiments worked out? A average? – Impressive. Yes, I manage to indulge in bits of work too between writing. ‘Rather unexpected setting’ – now tell me, have I ever presented you with an expected setting? I laughed a lot at your summation of the likely progression of this one. Just checking – am I that predictable or is this just the usual journey for protagonists (or this coupling) in general? Very astute. Maybe a twist or two as well? We’ll see! As always, thanks for reviewing.
Dezzu – I’m so glad you found the last chapter funny. I always wonder if my sense of humour will translate :)

Chapter 12 – Náhodnému Affair
Hermione lay on her bed, her mind adrift on a rolling tide of thoughts. It was ironic that she should be granted an elevated level of clarity by the detoxification potion, only for her over-taxed brain to be so overwhelmed by the events of the past hour, that she’d been rendered virtually incoherent. But the more she considered what’d transpired between herself and Snape, the more she wondered if he’d actually been quite deliberate in his motives. Considering his occupation, she wondered if, in his own way, he’d been seeking to teach her—and perhaps even to test her. She also couldn’t rule out the possibility that there was an amount of teasing involved. She had found him to be prone to a surprising amount of mischief after all.
So now what? Had she learned? Had she passed? Or had he simply finished playing with her? Certainly his parting words had seemed pretty final. He’d left no real opening for them to meet again before returning the book to the museum. Did what they’d shared mean anything to him at all? Maybe this is what he did, how he’d become so experienced—sampling widely, playing, trialling, appraising and leaving. She shouldn’t feel as upset about it as she did. In reality, she’d done pretty fucking well out of the past few days. It was certainly the most stimulating week she could remember in years, for more reasons than one. And Snape had surprised her. He’d been understanding, compassionate, had cared for her when she was ill, cooked for her, opened her eyes to a whole new world of sex, given her a handful of the best orgasms of her life, and provided her with an opportunity to turn her life around.
The problem was that she couldn’t see any point in sobriety if she was simply going to go back to the same miserable existence she’d been attempting to endure these past years. That sort of life could only be made worse with clarity—the sad truth smacking her flush in the face every second of the day. So what was she really saying? That she wanted someone like Snape in her life? Severus. She still couldn’t get used to the idea of calling him by his first name so it seemed a little bizarre for the space beside her to feel so empty. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought that she might even be . . . missing him.
She could still smell him. Taste him. Her pussy was still throbbing from his touch. She absolutely needed to shower but if this was the last time she was ever going to touch him, the idea of washing away all trace of him seemed like just another loss.
‘Mione, you need to pull yourself together! You hated him less than a week ago. How can you suddenly be pining over him?
Had she really hated him? Or had she hated herself? Did he simply represent the memories of everything she’d tried to bury since school? Her failings, her shortcomings—not ever being good enough?
She thought about his fingers trailing down her cheek. It seemed a rather intimate gesture if only to acknowledge her decision to detoxify. But now she began to wonder if the whole orgasm marathon might indeed have been related to that. Was it a test of the detoxification regime? An attempt to demonstrate resilience—the capacity to withstand stress and not give in, to not fall off the bandwagon? Could this whole thing have been manufactured for him to fulfil his childhood promise?
And then there was the book. He’d deliberately destroyed it—she was now convinced of that. But why? To get her into trouble? It seemed very unlikely. He didn’t even know she worked there. And why a sex book in the first place? He wasn’t a prude. Far from it. It made no sense.
Hermione decided that she could easily lie there all day trying to rationalise his behaviour but she actually had a hell of a lot of writing to do. One downside of her exhilarating engagements with him was the fact that she’d promised to write far more than originally planned. The upside was that she had plenty of material—and some deep-seated inspiration.
Wrapping herself in a dressing gown, she sat herself down at the dining table with a pile of parchment and the bottle of magical ink. Stopping only once for a quick meal, she wrote for hours and hours until dusk crept quietly into her flat, catching her almost asleep. In the fading light, she blinked at the window imagining what he might be doing. Was he writing as she was? Was he thinking of her as she was him? Despite the intricate scenarios of thrilling sexual engagements she’d conjured in her mind, she couldn’t help the overwhelming sense that, like her, he was essentially a lonely person. And the passion with which he wrote made her believe that his romantic notions hailed from a deep place, somewhere genuine and, ultimately, vulnerable despite the sexual confidence that he seemed to possess. The other thought that she couldn’t shake was the notion that he’d had a difficult and traumatic life. And yet he was still prepared to give. He’d already given her a considerable amount. Far more than she’d given him.
She was struck by a sudden inspiration, a desperate need to write. And it came as a flood, tumbling out without pause. The entire process felt cathartic, intensely therapeutic, gradually stitching together one of the many wounds deep within her. And by the end, her face was damp with tears.
After dropping her quill, it was all she could do to stumble to her bed before falling into an exhausted dream-filled sleep. And she would be awarding no prizes for guessing who the main protagonist was in them all.
***
Hermione had an early shift at the Museum the next morning and was shocked, and somewhat horrified, to find herself crying in the shower as she finally washed his essence from her. She admonished herself for being fucking ridiculous but it didn’t stop her from feeling miserable.
Spending the day treading the lifeless boards in gloomy surveillance almost did her head in. The only highlight was when she was able to finally get into the storeroom to examine the tattered remains of the book which had been placed inside a box. Part of the front cover was scorched but it was still mostly visible and, using her wand, she was able to magically transfer the image from the front cover onto a piece of thick parchment, placing it in her bag.
At home that afternoon, she flopped down on the couch and threw back the second detoxification potion. The effect was quick, almost instantaneous. It was then that she knew she couldn’t do it—she physically wasn’t going to be able to stop herself. Grabbing her bag and coat she headed for the door, aware that she was probably about to make yet another massive mistake.
***
Hermione’s knock on the door sounded weak, almost tremulous. It was the first time she’d touched the ancient wood it in five years but the same trepidation thundered through her chest.
“Enter,” his voice boomed. The familiarly surly tone was almost enough to make her turn and run, which she might have attempted if her legs hadn’t instantly turned into shuddering lumps of jelly. Dredging up a breath from the soles of her feet, she waited a moment, willing herself to at least appear calm, before pushing open the classroom door.
Snape was at his desk, writing. He didn’t look up immediately and she didn’t speak, stopping just inside the door. When he finally lifted his head to regard her, he appeared genuinely shocked, immediately standing.
“Miss Granger, is there something wrong? Has there been an issue with the potions?”
She shook her head, approaching him tentatively.
The frown that sliced through his brow was made all the more severe by the shadow of the dungeons, making it difficult for her to speak.
Just give him the feeble story, ‘Mione. Then he can tell you to fuck off.
Clutching her bag in both hands, she stopped in front of his desk.
“I just came to remind you that you have a chapter to write on . . . intercourse . . . in water.”
He appraised her for a long moment before responding, “I am aware.”
She lifted her chin in acknowledgement. “Oh, right. I . . . um . . . I just stopped by to . . . check if you needed any . . . any help with the . . . words.”
His eyebrow lifted slightly as he studied her. “What words would you be looking to provide?”
Hermione could feel the crimson flush rolling up her throat.
“Um . . . more . . . just the . . . female perspective on . . . “ she tailed off.
He placed his quill down with careful precision before stepping around the desk, trailing his fingers lightly across its surface. Moving around until he was standing in front of her, he crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the desktop so that his eyes were now level with hers. He stretched one long leg out until his large boot sat beside her two small ones. He was disconcertingly close but she didn’t want to withdraw, to reveal how intimidated she really felt. His scent was full and heady and she almost closed her eyes to savour it.
“I hadn’t decided upon the . . . location . . . for this particular chapter,” he stated quietly. “Perhaps you can advise?”
“Location?”
“Yes. Bath . . . shower . . . river . . . ocean?” Each word rolled off his tongue as he penetrated her with his gaze. “Which should it be?”
Hermione chewed her bottom lip. “What’s the . . . the difference?”
What the fuck? You don’t know the difference between a bath and the ocean?
He inhaled deeply through his nose. “Having sex in deep water, even a bath, is necessarily slower—movements are impaired by the density of the fluid but bodies are virtually weightless and can be maintained for a protracted period in certain positions, provided there is sufficient lubrication. By contrast, sex in a shower affords more rapid movements due to the reduced water mass but, depending upon the position, the male may be required to support the female’s weight.”
“Would that be a problem?”
“No.”
It was rather unequivocal.
“I believe that the . . . the quicker movements might be . . . required.”
Required? Why ‘Mione? You may as well have told him that you are desperate for him to fuck you as hard and fast as he can.
“Well then.” He leaned back slightly. "How do you wish . . . to proceed?” His eyes flickered as he measured her.
Proceed? She hadn’t expected that from him at all. He’d always seemed to naturally take the lead. Was this some sort of role reversal?
His arms were still crossed, his leg was still too close. In reality, the way she would have liked to ‘proceed’ was by thrusting her tongue into the vague smirk on his lips and snogging him senseless. Instead she extended one faintly trembling hand and grasped his wrist, pulling his hand out from where it was locked beneath his elbow. Then she placed his palm against her cheek, her eyes not wavering from his despite her roiling heart.
She noticed him flinch with the contact to her face before his jaw firmed. Slowly, he slid his hand from her cheek around behind her ear, raking his long fingers into her hair. Then in one fluid movement he stood and leaned over her, his lips hovering adjacent to her temple.
“You need to learn to articulate, Miss Granger,” he muttered, his voice a low growl. “Tell me what . . . you want.”
“You . . . ” she gasped, somehow unable to continue.
He turned his face into her, tilting her head back until she could feel his teeth bared at the curve of her jaw. His breath was coming in soft bursts and she wondered what he was going to do to her.
“We both know that’s not the case, Miss Granger,” he murmured. “But I’m . . . intrigued by your offer.”
She felt his teeth graze her earlobe and a shiver captured her spine.
“I look forward to hearing what you have to say,” he whispered before suddenly turning away and leading her by the hand to a second door in the back of the classroom.
Either he has some pressing engagement to attend to and wants to get this over and done with as quickly as possible or . . . there’s always the possibility that he isn’t totally averse to the idea of . . . fucking you.
But Hermione didn’t have time to entertain any further thoughts about his motivations as she was rushed through his living quarters and into a large and surprisingly luxurious bathroom before she’d barely had a chance to draw breath.
For some reason her eyes were immediately drawn to the spray nozzle at the head of the deep bath. Had she made the right choice? A host of sordid, nozzle-centric visions flooded her brain but were instantly dissipated by the quick, elegant sweeps of his hand that had the door closed and the shower taps on, a welcome plume of steam rising from behind the frosted glass door.
Hermione was already hyperventilating. As his commanding form loomed over her, a shroud of steam curling about his broad shoulders, he seemed both ominous and, she had to admit it, mouth-watering. Maybe it was just the steam rapidly humidifying the room and everything in it, but she definitely felt herself getting wet. Everywhere.
“I believe it may be your turn to do the honours,” he said, crossing his arms and moving away to lean against the edge of the wash basin.
He wants you to get your gear off, ‘Mione. Yes, I worked that out myself actually, thank you very much.
Hermione felt an inexplicable level of self-consciousness as she shrugged off her coat and threw it onto the ground beside her. He’d been on the receiving end of her close-up pussy vision on numerous occasions, but for some reason having him scrutinising her as she disrobed felt too intimate, too revealing. She decided not to look at him; it was easier that way.
Clumsily she undid her shirt buttons and slid the material off before tossing it aside. Then she quickly brought her hands to the back of her bra and unhooked it before inclining her shoulders ready to remove it. He suddenly cleared his throat.
Looking up, she met his searing gaze. It instantly parched her mouth, making it difficult for her to swallow. She leaned forward again to remove her bra but the slight turn of his head to the left stopped her. He raised one eyebrow slowly and she waited before lifting one hand to the strap on her shoulder. His chin lifted gradually with her hand and she could somehow tell that he approved. With lingering restraint, she slid the strap down the moist skin of her arm, watching him closely as he seemed to inhale the visual. For some reason, watching him drinking her in made her breath catch and, lips falling open, she continued the extremely slow reveal.
When both straps were hanging loose at her elbows, the satiny material clinging to the curve of her breasts she approached him, one languid step after another until she was directly before him. With an equally mischievous arch of the eyebrow, she made to remove the final silken barrier but instead turned her naked back to him and threw it away. She heard a loud exhalation through his nose and couldn’t tell if he was amused or frustrated. It didn’t matter for what she had planned.
Slowly backing up, one foot on either side of his outstretched legs, Hermione, continued until she felt her backside brush against his groin. Shit. That was just casual interest, wasn't it? Bringing her arms behind her she grasped his, pulling them out of their locked position across his chest before gently lifting both hands forward to her breasts.
Their simultaneous groans rent the clammy air as his hands closed over her soft mounds, nipples like glazed cherries rolling against his palms. She closed her hands over his, enjoying the feel of his supple movements under her fingers, kneading and grasping at her. Uncrossing his legs, he guided her backwards until the rigid column in his trousers was firmly ensconced between her denim-clad buttocks. Grinding slowly into her, his fingers simultaneously extruded each nipple into long, tingling peaks. And just when she thought she couldn’t take any more of his languorous stimulation, a feather-like caress fluttered along one shoulder. She didn’t need to look to know that his lips were there—softer than petals with a surprisingly hot tongue tipping out between.
“Severus,” she gasped, clutching tightly onto his writhing hands as the nips of his mouth and strokes of his tongue became more insistent. Then one hand left her breast and snaked down the front of her abdomen, which was still undulating with his rhythmic thrusts from behind. It took a fraction of a second for him to flick open her button, the smooth entry of his fingers down the inside of her jeans forcing her zipper down the rest of the way until his fingers were on her clitoris.
“Unnnhhhh,” she cried, her head tipping backwards to implore the ceiling as his teeth grazed her neck and a practised digit rubbed at her swollen nub.
She could feel a growl vibrating through his throat as he sucked at her more passionately, the fingers on her nipple mimicking the increasingly frantic pace of those on her clitoris.
“Oh, shit!” Hermione gasped, before a high pitched moan broke from her, her eyes squeezing closed as she reached behind herself, clawing at his thighs.
“She came, wanting me, her pussy sucking at me with jealous need,” he rumbled, his tongue flicking into her ear and screwing around inside it as his finger slid down to do the same to her pussy. The shock of the simultaneous intrusions finally dragged her over the edge.
“Uhhhh, uhhhh, uhhhh,” Hermione wailed as she convulsed against him, her whole body shuddering as the waves of orgasm tore through her. His breath gushed across her neck as he continued to stroke and thrust into her, drawing out her gasping release. And just when she thought she couldn’t be any more shocked, his hand trailed back up her abdomen, over the curve of her breast, sliding up her neck to her chin.
“And we supped upon her sweet nectar, avaricious and awash with desire.”
Then he slid his index finger into his mouth and middle finger into hers. As she lapped at her juices on one finger, he simultaneously licked and sucked at the other, his lips and tongue so tantalisingly close but never quite touching hers. It was the singularly most erotic act she’d ever engaged in, and for that reason she decided she was happy to miss out on the shower—and perhaps the final ever opportunity to have his cock inside her.
“That’s next,” he murmured.
It took a moment for his words to sink in before she suddenly withdrew and turned her face to his. “So you have been reading my thoughts!”
“You were voicing your thoughts out loud. Again.”
Oh. Fuck. She thought she’d given that up with the drink.
But then she realised—his finger had been inside her mouth the whole time. Hadn’t it?
Hermione frowned with a mixture of confusion and rekindling desire as his hands slipped down to slowly push the damp denim over the curve of her hips. There were clearly a lot of serious questions to be answered. But she reasoned that they could be asked after the most pressing issue was dealt with—that of his cock, which was still embedded in her backside. She suspected it could do with a good scrubbing and she had just the apparatus for the job.
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- 13
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An Accidental Affair *Complete*

An Accidental Affair Complete