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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
- 13
- 14
- 15
A/N: LeWyKi – Well that BA/MA system sounds much more streamlined than the 8 years it took me to obtain my qualification. I’m tempted to ask where you live – Europe somewhere? I’m glad you enjoyed the last chapter. Hermione’s monologue has been fun to write this time round. ‘Reluctant goodbye’ – I like that, don’t be surprised if you find me stealing more of your words again. Over-thinking? – Hermione is a master of that (as am I) so no doubt it will be on the cards. ‘All in all, one day left’ – indeed, little time to establish something more. ‘Perhaps a celebration afterwards?’ – Now that’s another nice idea. I’ll see what I can do :)
OO – Thanks for the ‘tailed off’ thing. You knew I was too lazy to look it up. No I didn’t know you were a cheerleader but I can believe it, you are the most supportive person I know. No the EKG would be performed by a paramedic of course – my brother is an Engineer but he knows a hell of a lot about surge protection if you are in need. ‘Ft-ft-ft-ft-ft-ft.’ – that effing cracked me up! ‘All groans should come from the balls.’ – Ne’er a truer word spoken :) ‘"Colossus of Cocks"--Eighth wonder of the world.’ – Bahahahah! ‘I'll have to rent a jackhammer.’ – that’s some serious redecorating you’ve got planned. ‘Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.’ – maybe we can have a competition to see how many we can get away with in a row? ‘I still have no idea what's going on in this story’ – and what makes you think I do?
Dezzu – I’m so pleased that you are enjoying these chapters. I like to keep them coming at a reasonable pace to make sure people don’t lose track of the plot and also to stop them rolling around inside my head :)

Chapter 14 – Mae Damweiniol Affair
When Hermione returned to her flat it was dark and cold. Her hair was still damp, driving the chill even deeper into her bones. She could have easily cast a drying charm but was intent upon holding onto the shower memory for as long as possible—although the sultry warmth was becoming increasingly difficult to conjure as her brain rattled around on the rickshaw of her chattering teeth.
She found herself ravenously hungry and was more grateful than she could have expressed for the bounty of eggs, bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms that she discovered inside her fridge. He’d clearly bought way more than required for yesterday’s breakfast. She sighed as she leaned against the sagging door. He’d known she was too proud to ask him for anything and so it had all been done under the guise of his own needs.
As she began cooking, her mind circled around her increasingly complicated mental image of Severus Snape. It was less a collage and more of a Frankenstein of impressions that were cobbled together from her years of interactions with him. What she discovered, however, was that the bitter resentment she’d held toward her Professor as a student no longer married with the person she’d come to know over the past week. He may be doing an extremely good job of sustaining a cunningly conceived façade to gain Merlin knows what from this predicament. Or perhaps he really was a genuinely kind person thrown, like her, into an entirely bizarre situation—the only difference being that he had a shitload of secrets and she had virtually none, not after her drunken ramblings divulged pretty well all of them. But, she reasoned, what else could she expect from a former Death Eater and spy?
And therein lay the problem. His entire past was built around deception. He’d been incredibly good at it. He had to be. Although not good enough, as it turned out, not to be eventually recognised as a traitor and almost killed. Could she have seen through his deception? Or had he been slipping into her mind the entire time, using her thoughts and emotions to manipulate her?
Hermione found herself staring at the bacon as it spat and sizzled in the pan. In reality, his generous stockpile of food would likely last longer than their relationship anyway, which was destined to terminate at 5 p.m. the next day—to be handed over to Mr Dooley for him to place upon a plinth for unsuspecting visitors to raise an eyebrow at upon passing. An increasingly dusty symbol of what once was.
She was crying again. She wanted to blame the detoxification potion for her highly emotional state but it seemed that this time it was entirely reasonable for her to indulge in such a deep state of sadness. What they had shared felt special—to her at least. Like a new chapter in her life had just begun, only to be cut short, left unfinished—she would no longer have the protagonists with which to continue writing it. She’d go back to where she left off before the book, without options, trapped in a life she hated, a million miles away from the only people who really loved her and who didn’t even know that she existed.
***
Severus rubbed his eyelids with his fingertips before drawing them down his nose, inhaling deeply. It was late—probably too late to owl his completed chapters to her. He’d send them in the morning. Gathering the pages of parchment from the desk in his living quarters, he placed them inside a large envelope with copies of his ink drawings. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that the floral images belonged in the book. It wasn’t the quality, he knew them to be of a reasonable standard but the content didn’t really seem to fit. Still, Miss Granger had been adamant and an adamant Miss Granger had never been someone to easily dissuade.
He ignored the heaviness in his chest. It would go away. Eventually. As he began to extinguish lights in preparation for retiring, he remembered the assignments he’d been marking in the classroom when she’d unexpectedly arrived. She’d been a welcome distraction. Sighing, he willed himself to let another wave pass before continuing out the door to his classroom desk.
As he gathered up the assignments, he noticed another small bundle of parchment sitting on the corner of the desk. Unfurling it, he read the title: “The Magic of Hand Jobs.”
A wry smile captured his lips. She must have left it there on her way out. No doubt it was inspired by some lucky sod she’d wanked off under the Quidditch stands.
He began to read:
The room was a lifeless grey, the light almost too dim to make out his still form, deathly pale except for the swathe of dark hair, an inky stain against the starched sheets of the hospital bed. She entered, quietly, tentatively, uncertain of herself now that she’d finally been granted access. Would she even be received? Or would he consider her another who had come only for the fascination of witnessing the fallen? Perhaps he already knew her secret. That she’d seen him in this state before. She’d been there. And had left him to die. Alone.
Her throat tightened at the sad irony. Despite being alive, breathing gently in this quiet room, he was still alone. Drawing up a chair, she sat by his side, observing the stillness of his milky eyelids, wondering if he was unconscious or merely asleep. One hand lay limp and open by her clenched knees and so she took it, grasped it in her clammy fingers. She felt guilty for forcing a familiarity that didn’t exist between them but she needed it, she was there for forgiveness after all.
He didn’t stir, his slow breaths sighing under a thin cotton gown. His skin was warm. It was the first time she could ever remember touching him. She’d observed and even admired these hands on innumerable occasions. She’d witnessed them confident, efficient, elegant and even deadly. But she’d never seen them like this—exposed as he would never have allowed them to be, completely vulnerable.
Amongst the bottles and jars on the cabinet beside her, she noticed a lotion. She released his hand to pick it up. Dispensing a generous amount into her cupped hand, she returned, starting by pressing her palm against his, their fingers intertwining as she rubbed her heel in rhythmic circles against him. Then she slid up to unfurl his limp fingers, coating them with the slippery fluid, then dragging her fingers down between his until she reached the delicate webbing, which she massaged gently with her fingertips. Pressing both thumbs into his palm, she worked the muscles there before grasping his index finger firmly and squeezing it as she gradually slid toward the tip.
This final action almost seemed to have the effect of an animating potion upon him, his finger twitching to life beneath her touch. She glanced at his face which remained still but, as she grasped each finger in turn, they began to move, stretching and searching, gently stroking at her when they encountered her skin. By the time she’d finished, his hand was exploring hers, feeling her, edging along her nails, trailing over the lines and curves as if he was somehow trying to identify her by touch alone.
She couldn’t help the small smile that curved her lips as his thumb began rubbing slow circles on the back of her hand, gentle and reassuring. She had intended to be the one to comfort him with her touch, not the other way round. However, she did feel her heart growing lighter, even if his efforts were misplaced, enacted upon the person he had mistakenly assumed her to be.
Gently pulling from his grasp, she shifted to the other side of his bed and began massaging the lotion into his other hand. As with the first, her ministrations appeared to enliven him, his fingers returning her caresses until he interlocked his fingers with hers, then slid his thumb down to lightly stroke the inside of her palm.
She gasped, shocked by her body’s response to the sensation. Her breath shuddered out as he continued to slide with tender restraint over her sensitive flesh. She’d never considered him in that way at all, or at least she thought she hadn’t, but there she sat, flushed and tingling knowing that she should leave but very much needing to stay.
Eyes still closed, his other hand came over to join the first, encapsulating her small hand in his before drawing her toward him. She was forced to stand, leaning over his body as he brought her palm to his face. Running the tip of his nose up the side of it, he inhaled deeply before planting a soft kiss in the centre. She moaned quietly in response, feeling her legs trembling beneath her.
Before she knew what was happening, he had cupped one hand around hers and used the other to push down the bedcovers. Then he began moving her hand down with his. Not forcing, but guiding it to where he had pulled up his gown to reveal the other part of his body that seemed to have become animated by her touch. At least that was something that had managed to come through his terrible ordeal unscathed.
She bit her lip as he wrapped her small hand around the soft skin of his cock, curling his own hand around hers before caressing her fingers reassuringly with his thumb. She had no idea who he thought she was. Would that person have done this to him? In the end, she realised that she didn’t really care. She was willing to do this for him. In fact, she felt that it was the least she could do.
Starting slowly, his hand guiding hers, she stroked his silken shaft. His chest filled and then released a long deep breath as if he were finally liberating a tide of tension he’d been holding onto for too long. She started at the base with rhythmic caresses, aided by his supple fingers before he slid her higher toward his head, dragging her palm over the tip where she felt herself being coated with a sticky trail of his pre-cum. Far from being repulsed, however, she found herself feeling so incredibly turned on she had to bite her lip even harder to stop herself from moaning aloud.
He loosened her grip slightly and sped up her movements, sliding his skin smoothly over its iron core. Then he began thrusting his hips in time and she found herself doing very little of the work, just being there, her layer of fine skin against his velvet. He groaned deeply and his chest started working harder. She grasped him more tightly and jerked in time with his thrusts until she could see his balls tightening.
He grimaced before releasing a breathy moan that was more like a deliverance than anything else, then his cock began to jerk inside her, a fountain of come spurting over both of their hands, shooting out strings of creamy release until they were both coated in thick trails.
Breathing heavily, she could only watch as he brought her hand back to his mouth and placed a chaste kiss against her knuckles, contrasting starkly with the come that was slicked across it.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“Do you forgive me for leaving you?” she whispered.
“Of course,” he responded, sliding his fingers up her arm and shoulder to her face where he placed two fingers on her cheek, tracking the tears that were falling. “But only if you promise to never leave me again.”
The sheets of parchment dropped from Severus’ fingers, landing on the cold dungeon floor, rumpled and tear-stained.
- 13
- 14
- 15
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An Accidental Affair *Complete*

An Accidental Affair Complete