Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Story of H	By : AnyaToile Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 62388 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters associated with it; I am not making any sort of money or compensation for this work.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Author’s Note- How fitting that this chapter would be number 13. It’ll probably take another thirteen chapters to get one with the same significance. There’ll be plenty of smut between then and now so for you guys who are only here for the naughty bits, don’t worry, I won’t leave you disappointed. To everyone else, I hope you see what I’m trying to subtly get across as far as their mind set goes and that you enjoy the tug and pull between the two outside the bedroom/dungeon/bathroom/broom closet/ wherever you people like to keep your naughty bits of life.

As for everyone wondering who will be joining and not joining, well I’m not going to give you any hints other than Hermione won’t be knocking boots with an outrageous amount of men and she won’t be knocking boots with anyone for a while. Also, just because someone’s alive (and sexy) doesn’t mean they’re going to get freaky with our bookworm. It doesn’t mean they won’t either. Just relax and let the story unfold. I will tell you this- Hermione may find herself MUCH later in the story in less of a traditional relationship.

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Keep enjoying.

                Hermione skidded to a stop outside of Professor Snape’s office. She bent over and clutched her knees for support while gasping for the oxygen that always seemed scarcer in the dungeons. Despite the fact that she had run the entire way, she never managed to catch up with him. It was like the man had literally flown to his office. She didn’t let this unsettle her though. She simply straightened up, pushed her fallen hair from her face, and took a steadying breath.

                “Right,” she said, trying to force as much conviction into that single word as she could muster.

                She brought her hand up to the wooden door, aged and scarred from decades, perhaps centuries of students pounding on it. Her knock received a curt “enter.” She did so trembling.

                It was not because she was frightened. No. She was incredibly excited at her discovery, so much so that it could barely be contained to her flesh and bones.

                Professor Snape did not acknowledge her for several minutes. Instead, he sat scribbling intensely on a stack of parchment. Hermione could see that he was using his red ink and silently prayed for whoever had written this particular essay which caused Snape to attempt to make it bleed profusely.

                When he finished this essay, Hermione thought he’d look up at her, but he just continued to grade, slashing the next essay just as well.

                “Sir,” Hermione said quietly.

                He didn’t even blink.

                “Professor Snape,” she said a bit louder.

                He continued to ignore her and if Hermione would have been in the mood to be so unabashedly cast off, she would have found a bit of humor in the fact that the potions master had so much in common with Crookshanks.

                “Professor Snape, I need to speak…”

                “Silence, girl.”

                He didn’t even look up. Hermione felt her body heat up, not with embarrassment, but with anger. She threw her book bag to the floor and bent down to retrieve the handbook from it.

                “Sir, I believe you…”

                “What part of ‘silence’ do you not understand, Miss Granger?” Snape hissed the words at her with such vehemence that Hermione was reminded of a spitting cobra that had been on exhibit at the zoo; it had hooded up and stuck at the Plexiglas when her four-year-old self had approached its display. She’d been terrified of the snake, not understanding the glass had kept her safe. She was currently terrified of Severus Snape and she registered the fact that there wasn’t a sheet of Plexiglas between them.

                Snape stared hard at her shaking, angry, terrified form before lowering his head once more to continue grading.

                Hermione stood silently, shifting her weight from one foot to the next as she wondered about what she should do.

                Finally, after several minutes, Snape made three thick, violent slashes to the last essay of the stack and set it aside. He placed his quill down and steepled his fingers, peering over them at Hermione like it was she who was on display in a zoo.

                “What has motivated you to invade my personal office and disturb my silence?”

                Hermione was slightly taken back.

                “Sir, if you remember, you assigned me detention tonight and I…”

                “I assigned you detention at nine o’clock tonight. It is currently 8:52. Leave and do not come back until then,” he said as if she was Neville Longbottom who had just dropped dried daisies in a potion that clearly called for a freshly plucked unicorn hair.

                “But I..”

                “Go! We are not here to cater to you, Miss Granger,” he said as he rose up, “Some of us have schedules which are not dictated by your every whim.”

                He circled around the desk and stood just a foot from her.

                Leaning down slightly, he said, “Get. Out. Now.”

                Hermione quickly scooped up her bag and scurried out of the dark office. The door slammed shut behind her, causing her to jump and let out a tiny yelp.

                She quickly recovered and dropped her bag onto the stone floor in the hallway. There wasn’t any time for her to go anywhere else so she’d just have to wait in the cold hall.

                “The audacity of that insufferable, horrid man,” she grumbled as she slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

                She silently prayed no Slytherins would happen upon her. The war may have been won by the light side, but just as house rivalries were still alive, so was pureblood bigotry. And while those who remained prejudiced might not be as vocal, Hermione had no doubt that some of them wouldn’t hesitate to hex her if they found her alone this far on their turf.

                She let out a frustrated sigh and leaned her head back against the wall.

                “Granger?”

                Hermione shot up, wand at the ready when she heard Malfoy’s voice. She lowered it slightly when she realized it was the younger one. She didn’t like either one of them, but since Draco semi saved their lives by not revealing Harry’s identity when they were captured by Snatchers, she had just a little more trust in the son than the father. Just a little.

                “Malfoy,” she stated guardedly.

                “What are you doing down here outside of Snape’s door?” Malfoy asked suspiciously, “Begging for extra homework or going to complain about making an A?”

                “Get lost, Malfoy.”

                “Face it, Granger,” Malfoy drawled as he sauntered past her, hands shoved in his pockets, “You’ll never make an O in his class and I’ll always be on top.”

                “The only reason you’re top in potions is because Professor Snape favors you,” Hermione growled, “If you had to manage by merit alone, I’d beat you just like I do in every other class.”

                “Whatever, Granger,” he returned disinterestedly.

                Hermione watched his retreating form stop and then spin around.

                “Hey, Granger,” he started unsure.

                “What?” Hermione snapped.

                “Be careful around Sealy,” he said softly.

                “What is that supposed to mean? Thomas has been an excellent head boy and a good friend to me,” Hermione said outraged.

                Malfoy walked back towards her causing Hermione to hold her wand a little higher, ready to cast a full body bind or anything else needed.   The blonde just walked until the point of the wand dug into his chest. He looked up over her head, not a hard thing for him to do at 5’11, and darted his eyes about the corridor as if in search of something.

                “Look, Granger, Sealy isn’t exactly the angel you think he is. Don’t get too close, for your own good,” he said in a low but sincere voice.

                He didn’t say anything more, just turned and walked quickly away. Hermione watched him until he turned the corner, shocked by the enigmatic message from Malfoy.

                She lowered her wand and tucked it back into her sleeve before gathering her bag. There wasn't any time to think about what Malfoy meant; Hermione had a detention to get to. She squared her shoulders and felt a surge of renewed conviction run through her as she opened the door.

                “You’re late. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

                Hermione was struck dumb by his accusation. Of course she wasn’t late. She couldn’t be late. She’d been standing right outside the door.

                “It’s 9:01, Miss Granger. I said nine o’clock,” Snape said, his displeasure ringing in every syllable.

                Hermione stopped herself from arguing. It would just derail her mission.

                “Where is the equipment for your treatment?”

                Hermione inwardly cursed for forgetting the enema bag and nozzle.

                “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot them but I’ll get them after I…”

                Snape advanced swiftly towards her from his place in front of his desk. Hermione found herself taking two steps back to every one step he made towards her.

                “This is exactly what I mean by your sense of entitlement,” he said with malice, “You have failed to arrive at the time specified and now you fail to arrive prepared as instructed for your treatment. You think you can get away with not following instructions. This is beyond unacceptable. You are trying my patience, girl, and more importantly you are wasting my time.”

                At the end of the last sentence she found herself pressed against the door, Snape leaning over her, his body incredibly close, his hands on either side of her head so that she was utterly trapped.

                “I abhor insolence and I hate when people selfishly waste my time,” he said, his breath blowing hot across Hermione’s face and neck.

                “You will go back to your dorm and retrieve the bag, hose, and nozzle and then report directly back to here. You have already earned yourself an additional twenty minutes of detention and your time will not begin until you have returned.”

                As Snape said this, he straightened and backed away from Hermione a few feet.

                Hermione’s voice was very small when she spoke, “Sir, I needed to talk to you about the detention from last night actually, and what you might have planned for tonight. The handbook…”

                Snape turned his back to her as he said dismissively, “I will not discuss anything concerning your detention until you have followed my directions exactly.”

                He sat down at his desk and took out a book to read. Hermione let out a deep breath and ripped the door open. She’d just have to play by his rules for the time being. As she walked, she let tears fall hotly on her cheeks.

                She was upset that tonight hadn’t gone the way she’d planned. She was upset that he had waved her off when she obviously had something to tell him. What she couldn’t decide was if she was more upset that she hadn’t been able to confront him or that she had displeased him by not meeting his expectations.

                “Lover’s spat or an inadequate lover?” the portrait of Cleopatra asked in a bored tone as she lounged on her leopard chaise and ate dates, licking the juice off her lips and fingers.

                “Neither. Flippin’ Fairies,” Hermione said tiredly.

                “You know, an asp in their bed will take care of the unfaithful,” the painting said.

                “Flippin’ Fairies!” Hermione said more forcibly.

                “Alright! Alright,” Cleopatra said as her painting swung open.

                Thomas was absent from the common room which wasn’t abnormal as he should be making his rounds at about that time.

                Hermione continued to her room where she got the box and laid all the dried equipment back into it. She stashed it under one arm and hurried back out. Once outside the heads’ dorms, Hermione broke out into a run, trying to get back to Snape as quickly as possible. Once she got to the dungeons, however, she had slowed to a sluggish jog.

                She reached the office door and burst through it to find Snape sitting at his desk.

                “I’m back, Professor,” she said between breaths.

                “Indeed,” Snape said in a tone which clearly indicated he didn’t need to be told of her return.

                “Compose yourself and undress from the waist down…” he began instructing in a matter-of-fact tone that he used for his lectures, but Hermione jumped in, unable to wait any longer.

                “Sir, I need to discuss this with you,” she said, pulling the handbook back out of her bag once more.

                “Why would I be interested in your research for another class, Miss Granger?” he asked coldly, “It is of no concern to me and it certainly has no place in your detention.”

                Hermione felt the anger and indignation flow out of all her cells at once.

                “It most certainly does concern you! You had no right to treat me the way you did last night! You clearly violated your position as a professor and your chosen punishment was out of line.”

                “And what evidence do you have to support these accusations, Miss Granger?”

Snape leaned back in his chair and folded his arms as he surveyed her with his eyes.

“This,” Hermione said, holding the enormous handbook up with both hands, “On page eight hundred ninety-four , the most up-to-date revision, revision 26, states that ‘Hogwarts staff members are not to restrain students unless the pose a serious threat to themselves or others. Furthermore, they shall not use forms of corporal punishment which includes but is not limited to flogging, whipping, paddling, spanking, or any other manner that would involve a staff member to come in physical contact with a student. The suggested discipline method is one that is task oriented (i.e. writing of lines, filing, cleaning, etc.).”

Snape listened without an apparent emotion as Hermione recited the passage perfectly from memory. When she had stopped, panting from a mixture of unleashed ire and pride, he leaned forward onto his elbows and sneered at her.

“Now that you are finished impressing with your unparalleled ability to quote useless information, may we get on with your detention?”

“Sir!” Hermione raged, “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? You’ve violated your position as a professor.”

Snape continued to sneer at her as he said, “And what are you going to do about this supposed injustice you’ve face? Shall you tell the headmistress and have me sacked?”

Hermione was dumbstruck again for a third time that night. She hadn’t considered what she was going to do once she had confronted Snape about it. She wanted him reprimanded, of course. Right? Also, the way he’d asked the question made her stomach twist with the expectation that he was about to push her flat on her face – metaphorically probably, but possibly literally.

After a moment of her standing with her eyes wide and her mind uncertain as to how to reply, Snape spat, “Open your precious book to nine hundred and six.”

She did so, balancing the book on the edge of his desk and glancing worriedly at him as she turned the pages.

When she got to the page he commanded, “Read,” as he stood up and moved from his desk, pacing the office floor behind her.

She stumbled over the beginning, but slowly gained her confidence, “Hogwarts professors must adhere to the guidelines as specified herein in classroom and overall student management. Only the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Governors Board may authorize the revision of disciplinarian methods as specified by the staff handbook including the deletion, addition or modification of; however, students’ guardians may give either verbal or written agreement to allow specific Hogwarts staff members to utilize disciplinarian tactics that either not listed in the acceptable methods or are otherwise general prohibited. If a time limit is not specified explicitly, staff should assume that the permission extends indefinitely.”

Hermione stopped and shut the book, puffing a stray strand of hair from her face before turning around to face the dark wizard behind her. He’d stopped pacing the floor and was staring at her expectedly.

Yet, Hermione managed to sound brave when she demanded, “And what has that do with me? My parents most certainly didn’t allow you to chain me to a wall or humiliate me in such a manner.”

“You are mistaken, Miss Granger,” Snape said with a nasty smile, “The book didn’t say anything about parents. It said ‘guardians.’”

He repeated the actions from before, stalking closer towards her with every step until she was bent backwards over the desk and his body was just inches from her. As he continued, Hermione realized her mistake with a mixture of shame and dread.

“You are nineteen, Miss Granger. An adult. As such, you are your own guardian.”

He grabbed the front of her sweater and pulled her up so that her face was unbelievably close to his and she was quite aware of the look of silent rage and danger that rained from his onyx eyes.

“Think back to last night, Miss Granger. I asked you if you understood that you had to do as I said during your treatment; you nodded yes. I asked you if you understood that I would ensure your compliance through whatever mean necessary; you said yes. In doing so, you gave me blanket permission.”

Hermione shut her eyes as she grasped the horrific ramifications her seemingly innocent actions had triggered.

“You tricked me,” she said in a disbelieving, shaking voice.

“No, Miss Granger, I merely taught you the invaluable lesson few Gryffindors ever learn; consider the consequences of your actions,” he said quietly, the words nearly a whisper and containing no malice or fury or bitterness.

She felt him let go of her sweater and step out of her personal space.

“Strip from the waist down,” the command was soft but indicated there was no room for argument.

She turned her back to him and kicked out her shoes and began to fumble with her pants. Whilst she was doing so, she saw him out of the corner of her eye carry the white box with her enema equipment through the hidden bookcase doorway to his personal chambers.

She was chilled and completely nude from the waist down when he reentered with the enema bag; it was apparently filled with water. It was probably Hermione’s imagination, but it looked like it was fuller than last time.

“Lean your chest over the desk,” he instructed as he hung the bag from his office ceiling.

                “We’re doing this here?” she asked incredulously.

                Snape ignored her as he continued to instruct her on the proper position, “Your stomach should hang free from the desk so that it may expand as you take the enema. Keep your feet spread slightly for balance.”

                Hermione did as he instructed, determined not to move tonight so as not to earn another detention or further her humiliation with another trip to the corner. That proved harder than she imagined when his pale hand entered her vision and slammed a quill, inkwell, and piece of parchment in front of her. She jumped and then looked up at him quizzically.

                “You will write three hundred times ‘I shall be more graceful than a bumbling duck from now on,’” he said as his eyes danced with pleasure.

                Hermione felt her entire body heat up with a mixture of wounded pride and embarrassment.

                “I had considered you writing ‘I will not throw myself at my professors regardless of my desperation.’ You should consider yourself fortunate I thought of something a little less specific,” he said snidely, “Now we may see a more general improvement in your conduct.”

                Hermione focused on counting each of her breaths, inhaling so deeply that her lungs burned with the pressure each time. She faintly heard the snap of latex gloves and before she could stop herself, snorted.

                If Snape understood that she found amusement in his use of the muggle protection, he made no indication.

                Instead he said in a level but hard voice, “You will take all two quarts. You will not release until your lines are completed.”

                Hermione straightened up and turned around to stare at him with wide, frightened eyes.

                “Two quarts! You can’t be serious,” she cried.

                Snape just rolled his eyes skyward for a moment and spun her around by placing his hands on her shoulders and then forcing her body forward so that it was back in position over the desk.

                “You will not move and you will do all this in –silence. Consequences will be severe,” his tone was sharp, causing Hermione to shiver.

                She groaned as she realized that she was already wet in anticipation and from his domineering manner. She picked up the quill and began writing the lines, mentally cursing him for his unfair detention, herself for giving him the power to do this, and her body for enjoying it all.

                She’d written the assigned sentence four times when she felt his hands on her bottom. The quill stilled for a split second and she tensed her body as if anticipating a fight.

                “Relax, Miss Granger,” Snape said in the same soft, coaxing tone he’d used several times the night before, “It’ll hurt unnecessarily if you tense.”

                Hermione took a deep breath and began writing again. She managed to ignore the sensation of him spreading her cheeks with the fingers of one hand and even the pleasant, tickling feeling when he massaged around her hole with two fingers from the other hand. But when he slipped his lubricated finger to the first knuckle inside of her arse, Hermione whimpered and snapped the quill in half in her grip.

                Snape withdrew his finger and stepped away from her.

                “I’m sorry, sir,” Hermione sputtered, “Really, I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to.”

                He hissed a quick, “Silence!”

                Hermione sniffled as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. She was already failing miserably at handling her punishment well. Now what was she going to do? She couldn’t finish her lines with a broken quill.

                Hermione jumped slightly when Snape set an entire box of quills next to her. Hermione tried to glance up at him to study his face for a clue as to how to react, but he returned too quickly to his position behind her for her to pierce his guarded expression.

                He spread her cheeks once again and slowly slid his finger back into her.

                Hermione bit down on her lip to keep from moaning. When he’d reached the knuckle and was about to draw back out, Hermione softly said, “Thank you, sir.”

                Snape’s hand stilled and Hermione self-consciously added, “For the quills, sir.”

                Snape said nothing in reply. He simply slid his index finger back into her, surprising her by going all the way to the base. Hermione clenched her teeth and managed to grasp a new quill. She got through an additional seven lines before she let a full fledge moan out of her mouth. She realized she was moving her hips rhythmically and wondered how long she’d been doing so subconsciously. Snape must have noticed, just as he must have noticed the moisture glistening in the hair covering her labia, but he didn’t show an indication.

                Hermione vaguely wondered why he wasn’t cutting her to ribbons with his knife-like tongue and sharp but dark wit. She considered that it might possibly be to shield her from that form of embarrassment, but then thought better of it. Snape was probably just uncomfortable with acknowledging anything sexual in nature.

                Hermione jerked from her thoughts, her hand jerking as well so that the word “duck” in line thirty had a long, jagged tail that extended an inch downward; the cause of her sudden movement was the feeling of more pressure against her tight hole.

                “Calm down, Miss Granger,” he said irritatedly before his voice took on the soft quality again, “I am preparing you for the insertion of a different nozzle, one which will act as an aid when you have to retain the enema.”

                “No,” Hermione began to struggle against him like an animal in a cage, “I already told you that the silver one is too big. No!   I won’t take it.”

                She bucked against him, causing his thumb to slide accidently over her wet lips. The touch caused her to arch and moan. It was like a bolt of electricity went straight to her clit and made her stomach flip.

                Snape removed the hand that had been holding her cheeks spread and grabbed the back of her neck, pressing down so that she was pushed flat against the table. She could feel the wetness of the still drying words of the parchment below on her cheek and collarbone.

                “I didn’t say I was going to use the silver nozzle, but one more display like that and the predicament you find yourself in will make the silver nozzle look like child’s play,” he hissed in her ear.

                Hermione whimpered and clenched her eyes shut.

                “Yes…yes, sir,” she said meekly, “I’m sorry, sir.”

                Snape maintained the pressure on the back of her neck as he pushed the second finger inside of her opening. Hermione sobbed at the sudden intrusion. It was intense. It was uncomfortable. It was mortifying. It was exquisite. Hermione couldn’t understand how such attentions to her bottom were making her quim spasm and leak the way it was. She could feel the droplets running down her inner thigh. And she was suddenly possessed by the sudden urge to fill her quim the same way her bottom was.

                She managed to raise back up and begin writing once again after Snape lifted his hand from her. He didn’t attempt to push his finger any further into her for a moment. He stood completely still long enough for Hermione to write another fifteen lines.   When she’d gotten halfway through her forty-sixth line, he began to wiggle his fingers slightly, scissoring them out and stretching her ever so slightly. She had to stop writing altogether when he began to press them into her, sliding both fingers until they would go no further. She found herself pressing back against his fingers every time they entered and squeezing every muscle in her lower half when he pulled them back out. She was panting and whimpering uninhibitedly when she felt a sharp slap on her outer thigh.

                “This is no time to lay about, Miss Granger. Write,” he commanded harshly at the same time that his fingers slammed harshly into her.

                She yowled and arched her back so deeply that several vertebrae popped loudly. He continued this new rougher pace for a moment before pausing to grasp her hand with his free hand and forcing her to pick up the fallen quill. He moved her hand so that she crudely formed the first three words of the sentence before she managed to take over and move the quill herself.

                He began the slamming of his fingers into her once again. She was sobbing and gasping for breath, chanting “Oh, please, oh god, please, oh, please, oh god please” by line seventy.

                The potions master pulled his fingers completely out of her, causing her to scream in frustration.

                “Are you injured, Miss Granger?”

                The bastard was very well aware she wasn’t injured and he did nothing to hide it in his patronizing tone.

                “No, sir,” she ground out.

                “Good. Then we can proceed with the treatment.”

                Hermione took in a long breath through her nose and let it out through her clenched teeth. She moved the Fred and George from the joint position of number one of her list of people to murder and placed Severus Snape at the top.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and went back to writing. She stopped when her professor came to stand in front of her. He sat down in his chair, a strange bit of tubing in his hands held up for her to see. He took a bulb attached to the tubing and squeezed it, pumping air into an oddly shaped portion of the tube.

“This is an inflatable enema nozzle,” he explained.

Hermione’s eyes widened as she understood where this was headed.

“Ahh, Miss Granger, you look as if you have an idea of how it works,” he said, an eyebrow raised and smirk forming, “Explain to me how you think this is used.”

Hermione took in a dragging breath and began, “You’re going to put it in me and inflate it. I can see two places to do this so I assume one inflatable bulb will be inside to keep the tube from slipping out while the other will remain outside the body to keep it from slipping too far inward.”

“Very good, Miss Granger, but where exactly did you say this was going?”

Hermione burned bright red as she whispered a stuttered, “In me.”

“In you where, Miss Granger? Your ear? Your mouth, perhaps?”

Hermione shook her head vigorously, fresh tears falling and cooling her hot cheeks.

Snape’s hand shot out and grabbed her chin as his baritone voice urgently bid her to answer “Then where, Miss Granger?’

Hermione had had enough and yelled back at him viciously, “The same place you just had your fingers!”

“Where was that? Say it,” he commanded in a dangerous tone.

Hermione couldn’t turn her head to look away while he grasped her chin so she squeezed her eyes shut instead as she whispered, “In my bottom.”

Snape let out a laugh; it was a genuine, hearty laugh. It startled Hermione into opening her eyes to look at him in astonishment. She’d never even heard him chuckle. This rich, deep laugh was alarming to hear and even more so when you saw his face. His eyes crinkled in the corners; they shone with an emotion she had never attributed to him before – happiness. She’d seen him get malicious pleasure from tormenting students, especially Harry, but she’d never seen him show true, light happiness. With the smile, not a sneer or a smirk, and the dimple that appeared on the left side, he was nearly gorgeous. If only he do something about his teeth.

Despite his lack of dental hygiene, Hermione found herself smiling at him, basking in his amusement. She couldn’t bring herself to be offended by this man even if he was laughing at her response.

When his laughter had died away, a slight smile remained on his face and his eyes still shone with mirth. He reached out and tucked a curl that had fallen over her face behind her hair before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “rat’s nest.”

Hermione just blinked, taken back by the unexpected action.

“Alright then, Miss Granger. Let’s get this in your bottom,” he said with a chuckle as he stood up.
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