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
- 14
- 15
- 16
AN: Thank you guys so much for your continued interest in this story. I’m terribly sorry for not updating and promise to get this story to its midpoint by the beginning of summer. Look for another update by next Sunday.

Once on the other side of the door, the pair found themselves in a narrow hall. Towards the end, a warm glow danced across the mahogany-paneled walls; Hermione thought it to be from a fire, which lead her to believe that the unseen area at the end of the hall was Snape’s personal living room. She didn’t have time to ponder how a dungeon bat decorates his space as the bat in question stopped and pointed towards a door, so dark and narrow that Hermione had nearly confused it for part of the paneling. She shuffled towards the door with her back bent to alleviate the pressure she was feeling in her bottom. Just as she was about to enter what appeared to be a bathroom, Snape’s long hand shot out and caught her by the wrist.

“You are to empty your bowels. You may perform the basic hygiene necessities, but you are not to wash your face or otherwise play upon your vanity.”

His voice was low and commanding, sliding up her arm to her ears and then traveling directly to her core. Or perhaps the spasm she felt there was caused by the way his onyx eyes pinned her to the spot, shinning in the dim light with what someone else would have thought passion, but Hermione was certain was only the play of firelight.

“Yes, sir,” Hermione replied softly, voice quivering from the strange clash of pleasure and pain.

Snape loosened his grasp on her wrist and let her hand slide through his. Hermione didn’t drop her gaze from his as she backed into the doorway. She would have carried on in this manner if she hadn’t tripped on a rug and stumbled into the sink.

Snape let out a suffering sigh. Hermione groaned and avoided his accusing gaze as she pushed the door shut. If the chance ever existed that Professor Snape could ever see Hermione as a sophisticated adult, that chance was surly gone.

A rolling cramp wiped all thoughts from her mind. Hermione quickly sat herself on the toilet, wincing at the contact. Her body heat seemed to have risen several degrees and the icy cold surfaces of the dungeon stung slightly. But the discomfort was nothing to the relief Hermione felt, as well as the tinge of pride of having made it to this point.

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Hermione flushed and stood up to wash her hands. When she caught sight of her reflection in the dingy mirror above the sink, Hermione gasped.

Hermione had only thought herself pretty a handful of times. The only time she’d ever thought herself beautiful was at the Yule ball. Since she’d collected a multitude of scars during the war –most notably the slur carved into her forearm by Bellatrix- she didn’t think she’d ever be beautiful again. But she certainly didn’t think she’d ever look this awful; ink was smeared across her face, neck, and shirt, sweat had damped her hair along her hairline so that it clung limply to her face and then mushroomed out in a cloud of curls, and her entire face was flushed.

She brought her hands up shaking to straighten her hair, but stopped herself as she remembered Snape’s command.

“I can’t disappoint him,” she whispered to herself, not fully understanding why.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, just as she had done that morning in the Headmistress’s office when faced with that slew of bigoted Slyterins. Hermione opened the door and found the potions professor standing just as he had when she first entered the bathroom.

“Come.”

He turned, his robes billowing behind him as he walked back towards his office. Hermione followed after him, ready to put her clothes back on and hurry to her dorm room so she could scrub away the evidence of tonight’s humiliation.

“Resume your position, Miss Granger.”

The words slapped her. Surly she had dreamed it. Or nightmared it.

“Excuse me?” She said incredulously.

Snape turned around and strode over the Hermione, standing so close that she could smell the hazel wood scent that lingered in his clothing.

His voice reverberated from the stone walls even though his voice raised only slightly as he said, “You’re detention has just begun, Miss Granger. I intend to knock you from that pedestal the blundering fools at this school have hoisted you upon. Now, resume your position, you insufferable little girl.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she did slide past the professor and lean back over the desk, balancing herself on her forearms.

“You will count each one and apologize for being such a prideful, rash Gryffindor,” his voice came from the other side of the room, “You will not move during your punishment. Failure means we will begin again.”

“Sir, I don’t understand. Count each one of wh… Ah!” Hermione didn’t have a chance to finish her question because something long, flat, and hard smacked her bottom.

She looked over her shoulder and saw that Snape was wielding a wooden paddle, about a foot in length and the width of her palm.

She opened her mouth to protest but received another three quick smacks on the bottom, each landing in a different spot on her bottom.

“Don’t. Waste. My. Time. Miss. Granger. Count,” Snape punctuated each word with a slap to Hermione’s bottom.

Hermione managed a breathless “Seven.”

“I realize that I didn’t present the directions in a textbook and that this task requires critical thinking, basic as it is, but I thought surely you would understand what it means to start at the beginning,” he said exasperatedly.

“One!” Hermione shouted after he landed a particularly harsh swat right over her left cheek, catching the top of her thigh.

“Don’t forget the apology.”

This time the blow landed across both cheeks.

“One! I’m sorry for being prideful and rash,” Hermione managed to ground out between clenched teeth.

Snape huffed, threw the paddle down, and snatched Hermione up from the desk.

He glared down at her for several moments, each of which was a contained eternity as far as Hermione was concerned. Her flushed, tear-stained face was tipped up towards his sneering one. She felt as if his eyes were mining her very soul. He brought her face closer to hers, millimeters away in fact.

When he finally spoke his words were slow but the silkiness of his voice washed away any condescension.

“Repeat after me: I’m sorry for being a prideful, rash Gryffindor.”

Before Hermione could protest the unfairness of the phrase, Snape had spun her back around and all but tossed her back onto the desk. His hands flew away from her as if she were a hot ember.

Hermione was certain she was on fire between the heat of embarrassment, anger, and what she could no longer deny was lust.

The paddle came back down across her already tender bottom.

This time she managed to blurt out, “One. Sorry for being a prideful, rash Gryffindor.”

This continued for ten more strokes until her voice was trembling as if someone had cast a jelly legs jinx on her voice box.

“Now, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape said, his voice dripping in dark seduction, “We move to stage two.”

He kicked her legs apart so they were a little wider than hip distance.

“Sir…”

“You will spread your bottom with both hands. Continue to count, but now I want you to express how grateful you are for every stroke.”

Hermione spread her cheeks wide, exposing her tight hole to the cold air. She had to bite her lip to keep from calling out; her bottom hurt incredibly.

Snape came around the desk and set the paddle down in front of her. Her eyes widened as the professor’s pale spidery fingers grasped the buckle of his belt.
- 14
- 15
- 16
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The Story of H