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
- 12
- 13
- 14
A/N: Sorry this chapter wasn't up as soon as the others have been recently. It took me a while to work through the dialogue between them as it is a speak-heavy chapter. Bare with me over the next few days- we're getting close to an end here. And there are still a few kabooms in the bag.

Apparently there had been a book during her training that she hadn’t read. Though where in her training there would have been error for her to miss it she wasn’t sure. It hadn’t been through any intentional missteps of her own, somehow it simply got overlooked. Psycho-sexual traumas; the topic hardly seemed relevant especially because his condition was neurological. Or it had at least presented as neurological. And there had been nothing in his patient file to indicate sexual trauma, physical, psychological or otherwise. Her initial responses to his symptoms— the arousal during the full body stimulation, the repeated ejaculations during the massages— had all gone undetected because she had written them off as unusual, but perfectly normal male responses.

            It was because he was who he was. Had he been any other patient; had her knowledge of him not been so extensive, had she not had a previous acquaintance with him she would have investigated from the moment he had shown signs and although her knowledge of such things was non-existent then, she would have found the section of the tome she was staring at now and been able to more properly diagnose and treat his condition. But her personal relationship with his character, her previous knowledge of his life had led her to skip this crucial step in patient care.

            It had stood to reason that being reserved in the manner that he was— for all intents and purposes physically stymied and completely removed from sexual contact— she had assumed that his response was that of a person who had naturally been deprived such contacts. It had never occurred to her that there could have been more to it.

            After hours of pouring through the tome, with him still resting, though under a mild sedative, in the room attached to her chambers, Hermione had come to at least one definite conclusion; he was not going to like how they would have to proceed. The neurological responses he was having; his body constantly set on edge with tremors and the debilitating pain in his muscles, while not completely solvable through sexual release alone, would be improved upon greatly. She sighed, flipping the tome closed.

            Her mind had worked over exactly how she would present this to him; first the bit about having sex frequently to help with his treatments, and then the bit about discovering the root of his psycho-sexual trauma, which she believed to be both physical and psychological. The tome had led her to believe that once discovering the root of such an affliction— in most cases it was rarely one or the other and often a combination of both— that a series of simple spells could be used to moderate the nerve signals between the sexual stimulated nerves and those that had sustained major damage, in order to properly repair the remainder of his body.

            It was just getting him to talk about it that was going to be difficult. He had hardly been an open man all the years she had been in his presence, though she supposed he would have had no reason to be open with her as a student; but if his short time spent in her charge was any indication of how fond he was of sharing personal details about himself it was definitely about to get worse before it would get better.

            Hermione popped her head into the room where he was resting, just to see if the sedative had indeed kept him resting. She swallowed hard and carefully lifted the blankets over his body just enough to see if his persistent problem had returned. She quickly placed them back over his body more than relieved that for the moment he seemed to be at ease all over. She drew her wand tip across his forehead, registering his temperature; still a bit cooler than normal but much warmer than it had been before. She was exhausted, but was not prepared to leave him in the event that he awoke with his problem again. With a wave of her wand the large squishy armchair from her sitting room flew into the adjoining room.

            Sinking down into it, Hermione resolved herself to resting lightly in it; the only opportunity she would have to gain some sleep and still remain within an earshot of being woken should he need her. With heavy eyes still gazing at him, she leaned her head back and to the side, within moments she was asleep.

            Upon waking she immediately felt the stiffness in her neck. The dullness of the room did little to help her feel awake but as she shifted her head and he came into view she sat up fully and ran her hands over her robes, smoothing them to look less like she’d slept in them and more like she’d only just nodded off after coming in to check on him.

            “How are you feeling?” she croaked and then cleared her throat, feeling the scratchiness of early morning attack her vocal chords. With a quick flourish of her wand she summoned a goblet of water and sipped from it. “Any pain?” she asked and then slowly rose from the chair.

            Severus eyed her carefully, watching her move from her seat and then toward him. “No more so than usual,” he said, opting not to use any form of her name, given or surname. “And you?” he asked quirking an eyebrow up on his forehead.

            “I beg your pardon?” she asked suddenly, wondering what he could be talking about.

            “Sleeping in that chair while trying to play night watchman surely must have given you some sort of kink, Miss Granger,” he said with a rather flat sounding voice. “Though if your recent tendencies and behaviors with your patient are of any consequences, I dare say you need no more kinks,” he added with a rather cruel smirk.

            Hermione flushed deeply in the face. “You are going to have to stop that— or I simply won’t tell you what I’ve discovered,” she tried to say matter-of-factly.

            Severus rolled his eyes but then remained silent, gazing at her as if waiting for her to express her great discovery. When last she’d expressed such an idea it had been a simple, if ludicrous statement. And he wasn’t certain that he wished to hear her further news if it were from the same vein of thought. He held her gaze and waited, patiently expecting her to elaborate without needing further prompting.

            She kept her gaze even, noting that he did look rather silly with the blankets drawn up around him as they were, but she realized that she hadn’t given a patient’s gown, or at the least a shirt. This made her lips peel flat into a thin line. Skipping steps and mucking up protocol again, are we? Her mind seemed to have a path of its own as she cleared her throat once more. “Your muscle deterioration and nervous system malfunction— though initially thought to be a side effect of the Cruciatus curse,” she paused drawing in a breath. “I believe them to be related to a deeper trauma that you are perhaps not disclosing or unable to disclose.”

            His stare remained blank; no annoyance no anger and for a moment she worried that he had reverted to the broken hollow man she had made of him. A minute passed before he slowly inclined his head toward her. “And what exactly do you believe this deeper trauma to be?” he asked; his thin black eyebrow quirking up on his head as if to add intimidation to the question he was asking.

            This was the part she was loathing. It was bad enough she’d been through everything she’d been through with him; but to have to broach this subject as something they would need to discuss in depth; it made her body respond in many ways which were uncomfortable, several of which were beyond inappropriate. But hesitating was only prolonging the inevitable. Carefully she sat up fully in the chair, once more smoothing her hands down over her robes, trying to keep the wrinkles that had so obviously occurred while she slept from being noticeable.

            “I believe you are suffering from sort of Psycho-Sexual trauma, that could be physically rooted or psychologically rooted, perhaps even a combination of the two.” Hermione paused for just a moment. “While the nerve damage and muscular damage you have sustained from the Cruciatus curse is real; there is no denying that you have physical damage to the tissues and tendons of your muscles as well as your nerves, you are not healing because of the sexual trauma that you have endured.”

            There was a long silence between them. And when she could endure it no longer, she spoke again. “The process, once we’ve identified the root so that it can be treated, is very simple. A series of spells to keep the signals from the nerves that are sexually respondent from affecting the other nerves in your body— and that will enable me to more readily address the remaining damage, healing it effectively.”

            Again there was a pause. Hermione studied him carefully, watching for signs of outburst or resignation; waiting to hear his protests or potential questions, but none came. His eyes were void; a complete mask of neutrality that left her more than slightly worried. She had almost adjusted to his broken vulnerable responses, and she had been long acquainted with how to handle his temper and outbursts, even if they had most recently pushed her beyond her breaking point. But total silence without any indication of what he might be thinking was troubling.

            “It’s like your switch board signals are crossed,” she said, wondering if she began to explain it if he would interrupt her and berate her for thinking him not intelligent or comprehensive enough to understand. “Your body is trying to heal the damage from the sexual trauma at the same time it is trying to heal from the destruction the Cruciatus left in its wake. But your body can’t compensate for both and as your body is programmed to defend with a priority in mind…” she trailed off for a moment, waiting to see if he would snap at her, sneer at her, shoot her a scathing remark. But none came.

            “Heart and lungs, then brain, nerves to the brain heart and lungs, major organs, reproductive systems, and then general muscles,” she said. “Your body has somehow turned on itself; in an attempt to protect your reproductive system, its attacking the damage to the nerves and muscles in your shoulder— not attacking per say— that’s the wrong word, but rather, well— diverting the healthy treatments and whatnot away from there to your…” she gestured with her hand. “Reproductive bits.”

            Hermione sat back in the chair, letting her posture slump slightly. His eyes were moving slowly, studying her face, and still he said nothing. It unnerved her more than anything else. At least before when he had resorted to silence in his broken state he had looked pitiful, his eyes glassy and empty. Now she felt very much like a caged animal on display at the zoo, his eyes just studying her, watching to see what move she might make. After another few moments of silence she stood up. “Well, that was productive, and if for the moment you’re not having a…” she rolled her eyes not able to think of a better term, “A flare up, then I’m going to tend to my other patients, and see to breakfast. If you’re hungry a house elf can bring you something, but I’m going to insist that other than to use the lavatory; you really need to stay in bed.”

            “I am not an immobilized old man, Miss Granger,” he said the slightest hint of sneer in his voice.

            She couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief, but at least it was something. “I am aware of that, Severus,” she said and then crossed her arms low around her midriff. “However, I’m in charge of your care and to prevent further complications I’m going to strongly recommend that you heed my warning.”

            “My classes?” he asked offhand.

            Hermione frowned. She hadn’t thought about the fact that he would need class coverage. And then she shook her head. “Nice try, but its Sunday.” He’d only sought her out the night prior— at the Quidditch match— and that had been Saturday. “I will, however, make arrangements with Minerva if we haven’t made significant improvement by early evening,” she said. And without another word between them she left the little chamber, moved through her own chambers and sought out her shower.

            The morning was a long one; her personal ablutions taking very little time, but stretching herself through the infirmary, popping in for a quick chat with Minerva— assuring her that she would bring a more informative update later that day— and finding breakfast had her out and about until nearly 11am. When she did return she cautiously hovered in the doorway just out of his sightline, half worried that his unpredictable state of arousal might have returned.

            “I can hear you hovering,” he called from in the room.

            A shiver crawled up Hermione’s spine but she quickly shook it off. Cheeky man. She entered the adjoining chamber and nodded to him, taking a seat once more in the armchair. “How are you feeling?”

            “Cold,” he said, the blankets drawn up around him.

            “The chill from the arterial coolant should have dissipated by now,” she said with a frown.

            “Be that as it may, Miss Granger, you forget that these blankets aside you’ve left me naked. And a naked hairless man, regardless the blankets is going to feel chilled,” he said and narrowed his eyes at her. “I should hate to think this is some sort of spiteful return,” he added sharply.

            Hermione was flustered, moving quickly back out of the room, summoning a patient gown to her. He was such a trying patient. Coming back in she held the gown up in one hand. “If it were a spiteful return I would have taken the blankets,” she snapped and then moved over to him. “Put this on, as you are an official patient, and then we can get started.”

            Severus took the gown from her hand but did not move to get out of the bed. “Get started?” he asked his fingers trembling slightly. “Started with what?”

            “Discussing your trauma,” she said, returning once more to the armchair.

            His face soured slightly, his lips puckering just a little as if they’d been graced with a raw lemon, his eyes crinkling the tiniest bit. “If it is all the same to you, Miss Granger, I think I’ll sooner suffer.”

            With a frustrated sigh she pounded both hands on the arm of the chair. “Would you stop making things more difficult than they have to be and just bloody well get into that gown?”

            Severus sneered, “Privacy…if…you please.”

            Hermione rolled her eyes rising from the chair. “What bloody difference does it make; I’ve seen everything you have what more could you possibly have to hide?”

            She was surprised when he did not snap back at her. And even more so when he stood from the bed. Hermione was quick to turn around, letting her back face him.

            “Modesty now, Miss Granger?” he mocked, the sound of the gown rustling as he pulled it over his head. “You said yourself I’ve nothing you haven’t already seen?” His voice was silent for a moment and she could hear him fiddling with the ties at the side of the gown. “Or does my hairless body make you cringe despite the handiwork being yours?”

            At least he’s being snarky, her mind tried to remind her. Vicious asshole Snape was far easier to tolerate than the broken pathetic one she’d created after she’d overstepped her bounds. The verbal lashes from his tongue were commonplace in her interactions with him; she felt comfortable, able to handle what came at her as they were only words. The sounds in the room stopped and slowly she turned around, watching him climb back into the bed, now dressed in the patient gown, which while not the best of coverings for his body, at least hid him from his neck to his knees, cuffing just around his shoulders.

            Hermione slowly moved back to the chair and lowered herself into the squishy seat. “None of my patients are particularly critical,” she said with as slight nod to the door behind her. “And I’ve charmed a monitor so that she anyone need assistance, or there are new arrivals, I’ll be able to hear them,” she said. Why she felt compelled to tell him of the steps she’d taken to ensure that none of her other patients suffered lack of her attentions while she tended him she wasn’t sure, but it eased her mind to do so.

            “Thoughtful,” he said the annoyance surfacing in his tone.

            Drawing her wand from the side of her robes, she summoned from her office the smaller reference tome she’d used to research Psycho-Sexual Traumas and her notepad as well as a self-inking quill. “According to what I’ve read the patient may have put the experience behind them, such traumas of both the physical and psychological nature being so severe that in order to function they’ve been banished or repressed, sometimes even altered or removed entirely from one’s memory using the standard charms,” she said and then poised her notepad. “I’m going to make a safe assumption—”

            “Assumptions will only end up making an arse out of both yourself and mine, Miss Granger, and as you’ve done quite enough of that to my person thus far—”

            “Are you going to tell me what horrific sexual trauma you endured?” His face was neutral but she could see it in his eyes; the flicker of indignation. “Right then,” she said and then glanced down to the open page of her tome. “Going back to my assumption that you’re not going to tell me directly and make me play some ridiculous guessing game or trot me out like the inquisition, let’s pretend for my tolerance and patience’s sake that you’ve banished such a memory from your mind so that this questions actually have a purpose other than you toying with me.”

            Again he remained silent, but his eyes were calculating, staring at her, slowly one arm crossing over the other resting atop his chest. He gave her a slight nod as if to indicate she could proceed. Hermione nodded in return, keeping her sigh pent up inside. She was convinced that he was going to do everything in his power to somehow turn the tables on her. Though that may have been her overworked paranoid mind stressing over the humiliation she’d put him through; it didn’t make her any less convinced that that was how it was going to play out.

  “Have you had sexual intercourse?” she asked, reading the first question from those listed on the page in the tome. Hermione flushed and then scribbled a quick yes on her notepad, clearing her throat before moving onto the next question. “Do you have sexual intercourse regularly?” she asked, feeling another blush creep into her face; unsure she wanted to hear his answer.

            Severus said nothing, simply gazing at her. His arms looked starkly pale without the soft black hair to cover them and she tried not to stare; tried not to think about what he’d endured at her hand. But the more she tried not to think about it, the more she thought about the other things that had happened; the hot naughty sex, the masturbations, the way his body growled and groaned when he was slamming her into the wall. Already she felt uncomfortably warm; desperate for a patient to call for her— anything to give her an excuse to leave the room and depart from his company. And she hadn’t even started the difficult questions.

            With a sigh Hermione leaned back slightly. “Alright…skip that one,” she said and then glanced down into the book once more. “Do you observe masturbatory practices?”

            This time his lips twisted into a smirk as he tightened his arms across his chest slightly. “I’ve observed you masturbating my person,” he said with a rather cruel inflection.

            Her face couldn’t go any deeper into the flush of red that was filling her cheeks. Of course he was going to be difficult; it was simply who he was. “Fine,” she said, making another note with the quill. “How often would you say you masturbate?”      Severus kept his face a wall of stone as he gazed at her. And this only seemed to rile her further. “Much as I’m sure you think I’m getting some sort of sick pleasure out of this—” she lifted the tome from her lap showing it to him. “I simply want to find the cause of your problem so that you can be out of my infirmary,” she huffed in exasperation.

            Whether he had collapsed in that moment into a caring man or he simply took pity on her she couldn’t tell; but her little outburst had been enough. “Infrequently,” he said after a moment and then held her gaze with unyielding but calmed eye. “The same with intercourse, present incidences excluded.”

            Hermione noted this on her notepad and then referred to the book for the next series of questions. “To your recollection have you experienced any blunt force trauma to your genitals? Have you ever had genital injury or mutilation? Have you contracted a sexually transmitted infection?”

            She could feel her face going red; these were standard questions but nothing about her patient was standard. And she was really not thrilled with the last question, so caught up in the heat of the moment that she had allowed herself two rounds of completely unprotected sex with the man, and while she took a general menstruation potion to prevent pregnancies she hadn’t even thought of whether or not he could have given her something. Sexually transmitted infections were mostly common among muggles, with potions and various forms of magical contraception that had all but died out among the wizarding population; owing a resurgence in outbreaks to the mingling unsafely with unsuspecting muggles.

            “No blunt force trauma, no mutilation or serious injury— not since Quidditch during my own days at Hogwarts and I am certain that has little to do with this,” he said. “And no, much to your relief, I am not currently nor have I ever been infected with a sexually transmitted disease, Miss Granger.”

            Hermione couldn’t help herself as she sighed. She glanced at the book and her face paled somewhat. “Have you ever been sexually assaulted? Have you ever been a victim specifically of rape or sodomy? Have you ever engaged in anal intercourse of any kind? Do you have regularly scheduled rectal exams?” She swallowed hard; knowing that perhaps it would not be so easy for him to answer this series of questions. It seemed like the further down the list she went the more intimate the questions became.

            Severus looked away from her, letting his eyes wander to the brick wall beside the bed. He did not respond to her questions. And this made her stomach drop. “Let’s just go one at a time then, shall we?” she asked and then cleared her throat, “Have you ever been sexually assaulted?” she asked.

            There was a pause. “Yes.”

            Hermione could already feel her stomach wrangling in knots; surely he didn’t mean her? But she didn’t dare ask him. She drew in another breath. “Have you ever been a victim of rape or sodomy?”

            Again a pause. “Yes.” He said not turning his head to look at her.

            “Are the two related?” she asked a hint of desperation in her voice.

            His face was a hard set sneer as he turned to her. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Granger, while you may have been wildly inappropriate in your handling of me, I would not dare compare you to an actual sexual crime against my person for that would make light of something that is entirely too serious to be made light of.”

            A twinge of guilt shot through her like a flaming arrow. Really, you selfish twat, don’t you think it’s bad enough he has to open up about this sort of thing and you’re just worried about how he sees you by comparison? You really are a daft bint, her mind chided.

            Hermione made a note on the parchment and then turned back to the book. “If you answered yes to being a victim of sodomy or rape, or both, were you treated for injuries such as tearing, stretching, internal or external abrasions, lacerations, and contusions?”

            He had once more turned his head back to the wall. “I did not receive treatment after the incidences,” he said stoically.

            “Incidences?” she said incredulously, unable to stop herself.

            “If it is not a question that comes directly from that book, I am pleading with you, Granger, do not try my patience by adding your peanut gallery commentary,” he snapped.

            “Sorry,” she muttered and then furrowed her brow. “Have you engaged in anal intercourse?” she asked, and then shook her head. “Sorry,” she muttered again, making a note along with everything else she’d scribbled on the pad. “Do you have regularly scheduled rectal exams?”

            “No.”

            She turned the page in the book and nearly tipped it out of her lap as she read over the questions. But Hermione steeled her nerves and slowly began to ask the next set of terribly private and intrusive questions. “Have you ever been involved in a sexual relationship by force or by choice with your biological mother or biological father?”

            “No.” he said.

            “Have you ever been involved in a sexual relationship by force or by choice with a sibling, cousin, or other blood relative?”

            “No siblings, no other relatives, no.”

            “Were you sexually abused, assaulted, or tormented during your youth or adolescence?”

            Severus did not answer for quite some time and then after another awkward silence between them he began to answer. “I was never abused or assaulted.”

            “But tormented?” she asked, frowning. She had seen the memories in the pensieve and while being excruciatingly embarrassing there was nothing particularly sexual about being flipped upside down and having one’s trousers removed. She gazed at him. “Severus?”

            “What?” he snapped, turning his head sharply to face hers. “If you’re looking for some heartfelt confession of how I was tormented for my small penis in the Quidditch locker room or was tricked into trying to please some 7^th year girl only to come far too early and embarrass myself— keep waiting for it, I was not sexually tormented at school,” he snapped.

            “Alright,” she said and then turned back to the page. “Wait—” Hermione tried to catch his gaze but he was once again facing the wall. “At home then— during holiday and summer breaks?” she asked, feeling a tight lump forming in her throat.

            “Yes,” he said.

            She desperately wanted to climb out of her chair and throw her arms around him, and beg him to confide in her all that had happened; so that she could provide him with some semblance of comfort. But it was not her position nor her privilege, so like his other responses she noted them on the parchment and then move on. “Have you ever suffered from sexual inadequacy— be it physical or psychological— including but not limited to: performance anxiety, erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, inability to ejaculate, size envy, disproportionate sensationalism, hypo or hyper sensitivity, or frigidity?”

            “Yes.” He said.

            Hermione gazed at him, expectantly. “Erm— which—”

            “Performance anxiety,” he said now gazing down to the floor from where he sat up in the bed. “And before you go concocting some ridiculous notion in your head about Potter’s mother it was after her death,” he said. “And it had nothing to do with her,” he added.

            “Then what?”

            “If you must know, you insipid know-it-all chit,” he spat. “It is not always the easiest thing to do when asked do to so to an under-aged unwilling girl in front of a crowd full of your peers.”

            “Oh,” she said and then quickly gazed down at the notepad in his lap. He had meant his time spent in the service of the Dark Lord. She tried not to shudder; tried not to think about the nightmares that must have come along with the job he’d been forced to do. “Sorry,” she muttered and then began asking the next few questions, but she found herself not wanting to ask him anymore. She didn’t want to know anything else, regardless of how helpful it would be. But she had no choice. “Do you now or have you ever participated in recreational potion or substance use or abuse that may have effected your sexual performance, such as hallucinogenic chemicals, smoking, over-indulgence in alcohol, magic mushrooms, controversial potions, so on and so forth?”

            Severus shook his head no, signaling for her to continue. “Have you ever used erectile enhancement stimulants such as drugs designed to alleviate erectile dysfunction when there was no erectile dysfunction, or have used unnatural stimulants not designed to stimulate the genitals or sex drive toward this purpose?” Again he shook his head no.

            “Do you enjoy sex?”

            Severus lifted his head and stared at her with a look of exasperated annoyance on his face. “Really?”

            Hermione lifted the book from her lap. “Really,” she said flashing him the page. “Do you enjoy sex?” she repeated.

            Severus rolled his eyes. “You tell me,” he grumbled and then sighed. “No more or less so than the next man when it is with a willing witch.” Hermione noted his words precisely and continued to scribble as she flipped to the next question.

            “Do you have specific sexual fetishes or kinks?”

            This question hung in the air for quite some time before either of them dared to look at one another, and even once she’d glanced at him to find him glaring holes into the floor and he’d glanced her looking idly up over her shoulder, it was still several long minutes after before they spoke. “This is not something that needs to be discussed,” he said.

            Hermione sighed. “The last thing I want to know is what gets you going, Severus, but according to the text certain stimuli and triggers may be useful in debunking the initial problem as well as freeing the notion that you have to keep such taboo sacred secrets about yourself pent up inside.”

            “Fine, yes, who doesn’t?” he asked annoyed. “And a far as I’m concerned knowing that I have them will be sufficient until you rule out ever bloody last thing in that book otherwise.”

            She shook her head. “Alright…” Hermione flipped through the last page of questions. “Are you sexually responsive to extreme violence?” she asked.

            He looked genuinely perplexed by her question but after a moment he shook his head. “I do not believe so, no,” he said and then leaned back against his pillow. “Is that the last bloody question?” he asked.

            Hermione nodded. “For now, yes,” she slowly stood from the chair. “I have more research to read through, and you need to rest, I’ll be back in a bit once I’ve read through how to use the answers you’ve given me, and checked in on the other patients.”

            Severus nodded, turning his head away from her. “Do what you are going to do, Miss Granger,” he said.

            She approached his bed, standing just over him. “After everything that has happened since I was appointed this post, Severus, if you are going to remain in my care- and you don’t really have the choice not to— you will call me Hermione, alright?” she said strongly.

            “Get going, the sooner you leave the sooner you can return which means the sooner you can leave again,” he said refusing to take his eyes from the wall.

            “I won’t be long,” she said and left the chamber, leaving him alone to his thoughts. It wasn’t much progress and it certainly wasn’t sex, not yet at any rate, but she hoped that it would actually help her better understand everything. Hermione set off up out through her chambers and into the Hospital Wing, intending to work as quickly but as efficiently as she could so that she could get back to curing Severus Snape.

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The Massage