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At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 80085 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 10
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
- 14
- 15
- 16
A/N: Sorry for the false alarm earlier in the week. Something weird happened when I tried to update the tags and the same chapter re-posted. Hopefully it won’t happen again, DSxx
SickPuppy – Yes, the tables have turned . . . for now ;)
OO – ‘Ah! She's reclaiming her power. Excellent’ – Oh yes, in fact you may notice some familiar concepts in this chapter (thank you ;)). ‘experiencing both his humanity and her own’ – I like this. I think that at key moments it does shine through for her, when she manages to get beyond the layers. ‘This is the crux of their entire interaction summed up in two simple sentences.’ – yesss, thank you for acknowledging that :)
Annie – I really appreciate your thoughts and I happen to totally agree with you. I have a long-winded reply in my head but not enough space here to write it. Please be assured that this is a journey for Hermione and that she is on a steep learning curve about such things. Their relationship is yet to reach a middle ground and this is basically the pendulum swinging back in the other direction. Hopefully you’ll see from this chapter and the next few that I have no such intention of portraying what you are concerned about. And whilst I only got through a small amount of 50 shades, I hope I don’t stray into that territory either. Please let me know your thoughts as things progress. x
Snapeswhore – I’m glad you can feel for this flawed, complex, but hopefully redeemable man x
Cheichei87 – ‘as I felt like the previous chapter just wasn't complete’ – you are totally right, I ended up splitting the two chapters as it was just taking too long between updates :) ‘And even girl boss' are allowed to have an emotion outburst sometimes, so I hope she lets herself have one after that effort!’ – you are so right. It is just about to happen :) x
Kvarta – ‘I have mixed feelings about this chapter’ – that is totally good, I’m more than happy to invoke mixed feelings (in fact any feelings at all). ‘Through, in this regard, she is his mirror image’ – absolutely, consent is dubious with him as it was for her. ‘duh, he IS a MALE’ – but a very special male ;) ‘I can't wait to see these repercussions’ – hmmm, you don’t have long to wait, this chapter in fact :) ‘he understood it as a way of torturing him, inflicting pain maybe more severe than flogger ever could.’ – I’m glad you picked up on the multiple meanings of this statement. ‘Your Hermione is truly cruel in this story’ – well that might be a bit harsh. I think she is genuine in her intentions but naïve in her outlook. The result might not be ideal but I don’t think she is deliberately trying to be cruel. ‘you can't disassemble someone like that and just abandon him, after care is part of the game’ – as she will come to understand. ‘Consider yourself warned’ – okay, warning noted. I hope I manage to extricate myself from it this chapter. ;) And thanks again!
Tnteacups – Thank you so much. I’m pleased you are enjoying this one. More on the way!

Chapter 15 – Woodmaster
The lightness in Hermione’s step was a welcome relief from the leaden boots that she’d been dragging around for months. So much so that she felt herself practically floating, gliding along the dungeon corridors, sweeping around the corners—
“Miss Granger!”
Hermione recoiled in shock as she rounded into the prune-like pucker and withering glare of Professor McGonagall.
“What business do you have charging about the dungeons on a Sunday?”
“I . . . I’m sorry Professor,” Hermione fumbled. “I didn’t expect to meet anyone else down here. I’ve just been visiting . . . the Headmaster.”
The older woman’s frown deepened. “Visiting? Do you mean attending detention?”
“No . . . I . . . borrowed a book.” She nodded to the book tucked tightly under her arm.
Professor McGonagall’s sharp gaze slid from the book back to her face.
“And enjoyed a cup of tea?”
Now it was Hermione’s turn to frown. “I’m sorry?”
Professor McGonagall brushed a finger over her chin and inclined her head at Hermione to indicate.
“Oh.” Hermione wiped a hand across her chin and felt the liquid smear that she must have missed. “Yes . . . he . . . um . . . he makes an excellent . . . cup of tea.”
Professor McGonagall peered down her nose before responding drily, “No doubt.”
Dipping her face in an attempt to hide the rising flame in her cheeks, Hermione gave a small, awkward smile before stepping sideways, preparing to leave.
“I have actually been waiting for you to come to me . . . of your own volition.” Hermione glanced up and was surprised to see hurt in Professor McGonagall’s green eyes. “To explain to me why you chose to break curfew for a second time—after I fought so hard for you to be allowed additional privileges as head girl.”
Hermione’s gaze returned to the dungeon floor. She had avoided Professor McGonagall for this very reason. The older woman had always had the capacity to make her feel like the worst person on the planet.
“I really am so sorry,” Hermione responded truthfully. “I didn’t come to see you because I felt terrible about it. I had no explanation for my behaviour . . . It was selfish. I’ve been focusing upon trying to earn the points back.” Her eyes instantly flicked over her shoulder in the direction of Snape’s chambers. “I know that you argued for me—and I really appreciate it. I’m so sorry to have betrayed your trust.”
As she spoke, she found herself shifting the book around to her front until she was holding it protectively against her chest. She was so good at doing guilt . . . but it still hurt.
“The Headmaster was extremely unwilling to allow you to attend that book group. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“It was only the collective reasoning of the rest of the Hogwarts staff that made it possible.” Professor McGonagall’s features hardened in a manner that made Hermione wonder exactly why she was being informed of Hogwarts’ internal politics.
“I understand.”
Face softening, the professor reached out to Hermione, placing a wrinkled hand upon her arm. “I know that this year has been difficult. It has been for all of us. But please know that my door is always open to you . . . Always.”
Hermione nodded, a grateful smile touching her lips. “Thank you, Professor. I do appreciate it.”
Footsteps on the stairs caused Hermione to look up. Professor Sprout was descending. She smiled when she saw them. “Good morning to you both.”
“Professor Sprout,” Hermione nodded, wondering at the chances of seeing two professors in the dungeons on a Sunday. Then she noticed Professor McGonagall’s expectant expression as the Herbology teacher approached, and sensed that this was not a chance meeting.
Were they here to see Snape?
Hermione took a small step backwards. Now she was worried. How had she left him? She realised then that she really should have checked to make sure that he was all right before leaving. What if he wasn’t?
“It was good to see you, Hermione,” Professor McGonagall’s lips cinched into a small smile. “I hope to see you again soon.”
Hermione inclined her head. “Yes, Professor.”
Then the two older women disappeared around the corner in the direction of Snape’s chambers.
Hermione swallowed nervously, unsure of what to do, but then heard their footsteps halt not far away.
“Did you manage to speak to the others?” Professor Sprout whispered.
“Yes, they all agree that this latest incident with the trees should be sufficient,” Professor McGonagall’s response was similarly muted.
“So what do you intend to tell the school board?”
“That we now have enough evidence of unsafe practises and indiscriminate property damage to put forward a motion for dismissal.”
There was a brief silence.
“How do you think he’ll take it?” That was Sprout.
“That is really not my concern. The man is not fit for the role and should never have been offered it in the first place.”
More silence.
“You haven’t forgiven him . . . for Albus, have you?”
McGonagall huffed. “I thought I’d made it clear . . . that has absolutely no bearing on the matter at hand. This is about the future of the school—a school that is in an extremely fragile state and that requires a more considered approach than he is capable of.”
Their footsteps finally started to move away.
Hermione’s heart and mind were racing, frantically trying to process what she had just heard. Biting her lip, she gripped the book until her knuckles turned white.
Then she stepped around the corner.
“Professor McGonagall,” she called after the retreating forms. “There is something I need to tell you.”
***
The cleaving spell worked surprisingly well. Hermione had never used it on wood before but found that, with a concerted effort, she was even able to split one of the largest logs directly down the middle. Now she was gripping her wand tightly, using it to levitate a log about the length of a bus deeper into the forest. It was tricky trying to navigate around the already established trees but she considered that it would make an excellent addition to the inner loop of a far-enriched obstacle course that she’d been working on the entire day.
Using the fallen trees, she had managed to create a range of climbing stumps, vaults, balance beams, and even some slab seats and tables scattered throughout her running track. There was still one more tree to go but the light was starting to fade. She would find a spot for the current one and call it a day. Gradually turning the huge piece of wood as though attempting to dock a large ship, she finally managed to set it into a clearing between a stand of tall, slender trees. She wasn’t deep enough into the forest to consider it dangerous but it was sufficiently secluded for people—or only herself if no one else cared to make use of it—to obtain some much needed solace.
Sighing with a mixture of satisfaction and fatigue, she proceeded to swing her leg over the log and lay down, her stomach and cheek resting against the trunk. She inhaled slowly through her nose, staring out at the corridors of shadowy columns and jumble of foliage. It was so peaceful, the scent from the split timber so heady and delicious she could just about go to—
Thud.
A huge shadow landed upon her back, pinning her against the log.
Before she could scream, it growled into the hair behind her ear, “Why did you lie?”
Snape. Despite her predicament, she felt the icy shard of terror in her chest begin to melt. At least it was the devil she knew.
“I don’t—” she attempted, having difficulty drawing breath into her compressed lungs.
“Why?” he hissed, pressing down on her more heavily.
“I just . . . I wanted to—”
“Help?” He spat the word.
Her breath choked out. She didn’t respond.
“You can’t.”
“But—”
“You . . . can’t,” he snarled.
“But Professor McGonagall—” She attempted to lift her head but found his forearm instantly braced against it.
“You think I don’t know?”
Hermione allowed her cheek to drop back against the rough bark. So he was aware that the other staff wanted him gone.
“Perhaps you would prefer me to tell her the truth? If you are so desperate to be removed?”
He snorted, a cool gush down the back of her neck.
“The ‘truth’? And whose truth would that be?” The dark cynicism of his voice ground into her. “The one you’ve cobbled together from countless gross assumptions? The detritus amassed from your festering ruminations?
She grimaced in discomfort, wondering what he was so bitter about. She had made a connection with him—she knew it. So what was the issue? That she had gotten too close? Or was it the fact that she’d taken the blame for the trees? She’d told Professor McGonagall that Snape had felled them on her request—to help her to extend the obstacle course for others to use.
“I am not your latest cause,” he ground out through gritted teeth.
“And I’m not yours!” she retorted breathlessly.
He surged up behind her ear again, growling fiercely, “And yet I did not seek to debase you with pity. I did not approach you with sympathy . . . a service only to the giver.”
Pity? Sympathy? Is that what she’d shown him? A tightness wormed its way into her throat. She’d thought she was helping. She’d even congratulated herself on it as she’d left. But had her actions actually hurt him? By dismissing his request, betraying his trust, had she failed to show him what she’d intended . . . had she failed to communicate how much she cared—that she did truly accept him? His tears suddenly meant so much more to her.
Her own vision blurred, the trees turning into a muddy swirl that mirrored the black sludge backing up in her mind. What had she done?
His breathing was heavy in her ear, damp with emotion.
She swallowed painfully, feeling her thoughts receding, sliding back, a slippery slope, one that she’d clambered up with so much difficulty.
“The trees,” she whispered. “I’d forgotten why I needed them . . . until now.”
He didn’t respond, now just a presence—like the weight on her shoulders personified.
“Even as a child you need to know, don’t you?” she murmured. “That you are loved?”
She saw it so clearly now, wondering why it had eluded her for so long.
“I used to climb. I’ve always been a good climber.” Her voice was light and wistful. “We’d finished the picnic and they were reading. Both of them. Her head was resting on his stomach, rising and falling gently with his breaths. And I’d gone into the forest, only a little way . . . and climbed.”
She paused, remembering how she had watched them, straddling the crook of a high branch . . . feeling like a spy—with the ability to see them as she never had before. As they were without her.
“They must have been lost in their books because they didn’t notice for a long time. I didn’t mind. I liked seeing them like that—together but far away, in their own worlds.” She smiled, a brief twitch that fell away. “And when they finally realised—that’s when I saw it. The moment they surfaced and I wasn’t there, I remember their faces. The loss . . . so naked . . . raw, as though I might be lost to them forever.”
Her chest convulsed. The pressure on her back subsided.
“They called for me. Moving jerkily as though trying to go in every direction at once. But I just stayed up there. And watched. I wanted to see it . . . how much they loved me . . . how much they would miss me if I was gone.”
It felt like the bark against her cheek was also inside her . . . inside her throat as she swallowed.
“But then it happened. They did lose me. I went. And yet they didn’t miss me at all . . . they couldn’t . . . there was nothing to miss.”
The harsh truth, now spoken aloud, was acutely painful but somehow less traumatic than she’d expected—like a lie full of prickles that, once acknowledged, she could finally cast aside. But it was the next part that cut deepest, peeling back too many layers at once.
“I wonder now at my compulsion . . . this need to be among the trees, to run. It has always felt desperate—as though searching for something that has slipped away . . . like I’m trying to claw it back. And now I think it might be those moments—the ones where I should have been with them instead of watching, instead of unfairly testing them . . . making them prove that they loved me, when I always knew.” Her voice had ground down to a whisper. “I think I come here to feel close to them.”
She shuddered as a cool breeze whipped across her face in the fading light, flitting over her stippled tears. The pressure of his body intensified.
“And I did what I did . . . not out of pity.” Her eyes squeezed closed at the painful admission. “But because I wanted to feel close . . . to you.”
He remained very still, enveloping her like a protective carapace. But then she felt his muscles tense and her hand immediately darted back, digging into the crevice behind his knee, holding him. “Stay . . . please.” Each word was a hoarse sob.
His body remained locked around her but she felt something upon her cheek—his hand, thumb trailing along her jaw. Surprisingly warm.
“What do you need?” The resentment was gone, his words soft and gentle.
She just resisted the urge to let it all out—to expose her most intimate desires to him. There was something more immediate.
“I need to feel you—inside me. Like this.” Her desperate hand stuttered up the back of his thigh, grasping his trousers before pulling his hips into hers. “And I need you to tell me why.”
She was sick of pretending that she understood everything. She didn’t. And even though she hadn’t always managed to deduce the meaning of his words, she had a sense that his purpose was less about communicating absolute truths and more about extending her, testing her perspective, forcing her to question her assumptions. He understood people and their motivations like no one she had ever met, and now she was asking him to tell her about her own. It might have been cause for embarrassment if it had been anyone else—but he had always seemed intent upon helping her to understand and she knew that he was brutally honest enough to give it to her with unflinching clarity.
“It is human nature to wish to feel some things and not others.”
Just the cadence, the timbre, the resonance through his chest into hers was enough to start the liquefaction of her mind, like a drug.
“Trying to separate one emotion from another is futile, as is trying to pick apart the physical from the emotional.”
His thumb continued, riding the curve of her chin before stopping to rest against her parted lips.
“But you already understand the dance between the two, don’t you? The physical and the emotional?”
His hand suddenly left her face, moving down to grasp her arm that was clutching at the log. He ground her forearm, her scar, against the bark.
“You already understand the power of using one to obliterate the other.”
Her face crumpled in realisation—it was what she had deprived him of by ignoring his request.
“But you happen to have discovered another source—a more potent well of feeling. A place where you can feel most deeply.”
His hand left her arm and slid down between her legs, gliding over her pussy through her jeans.
“You are beginning to understand yourself at your core—wanting to connect with it. You want to entice others. You want to entice yourself.”
He rubbed more insistently and she began to moan.
“And you favour how your body responds to me. You relish letting go—giving me control of it.”
He muttered something indecipherable and a burst of cool air suddenly hit her down there, a stark, seam-splitting exposure of her nether regions that made her feel both tight and open.
And then he touched her properly.
“Yesss,” she moaned, digging her nails into the log. It was an acknowledgement of the truth—to herself as much as he—and encouragement, to give her more.
But her plea turned out to be unnecessary. Now that he had breached her denim skin, the raw sensations were absolutely all-consuming. It was the context as much as anything—the gentle susurration of the surrounding forest, the damp earthiness and lazy lengthening of its shadows. And then his fingers rubbing her furiously, plying her in deft circles, stirring her clitoris to fill and throb, more cock-like than she’d ever comprehended.
She writhed, grinding into his palm, her hip bones jabbing against the unrelenting wood, the coarse bark abrading her nipples, grazing her cheek. But she noticed little of it as his fingers slid down to enter her, filling her with two long digits that immediately set to work stimulating and stretching, curling and jiggling until her rasping breaths filled the air.
“You feel it. The power that resides here.” His mouth was hovering by her ear. “You understand that you can use it to take as well as give—you sense its inherent power. And that’s what you want. You want to feel powerful. That’s why you did what you did.”
Her breaths gave way to sobs.
“You are powerful,” he murmured. “More so than you realise.” She heard the sound of his zipper opening, even as he continued to pump her with his other hand. “But you don’t need to seize it from others. There are very many who will give it . . . willingly.”
He rapidly withdrew his fingers, instantly replacing them with his iron cock, its contours broader and harder than she would have considered humanly possible. But after his intensive preparation, he slipped inside her with relative ease and all she felt was an overwhelming sense of gratification—a fullness of body and mind that left her wondering how she could ever feel complete without it.
He began to stroke slowly. “You want forgiveness.”
Her heart clenched.
“And you think that forgiveness will come when I do.”
Her hand slithered up to cover her face.
“That I will fill you with it.”
He continued to thrust, his breaths becoming more laboured.
“But that is not the case.”
Her heart sank as her eyes squeezed closed.
“Because I have already given it to you . . . It is now up to you to accept it. To accept fully. Accept what you are. Accept what you want.”
His words, rammed home by his actions, broke down another of her walls.
“I want this,” she whimpered, lifting her buttocks to allow him to penetrate her as deeply as he could.
He pumped harder, groaning in her ear.
She turned her head to glimpse his shadowed face above her. “I want . . . you.”
He faltered, staring intently into her eyes, his breaths visible on the cooling air. Then his hand slid under her cheek, protecting it from the bark before he unleashed himself on her.
“Unnhhhhh,” she moaned, curling her face into his palm.
His hips thumped into her, his balls pounding her outside as his cock rammed her insides.
Pelvis bouncing against the log, her legs shook as she tried to brace herself against the onslaught. His hot breaths rasped into her hair, his free hand hooked into the waistband of her jeans, yanking her backwards as he slammed forward. She had the acute sense that he was attempting to fuck a number of things out of his system . . . and perhaps into hers.
Scrabbling to readjust her hold on the log, she lost awareness of all discomfort as a surge of pleasure flooded from between her legs, up through her chest. It was the pre-orgasmic euphoria that strained out against his fingers as a high pitched keening before he dragged her over the edge.
“Severus!” she cried, his name bursting unconsciously through her lips as the eruption shook her, seizing her limbs and wrenching at her insides. As her pussy gripped and squeezed at his length, she felt his thrusts suddenly stutter and jerk before he answered with a raw shout of his own—deep and visceral, just like the release that pulsed into her with each powerful convulsion of his cock until he collapsed with a dying groan on top of her.
He was heavy, but she felt indescribably safe and secure pressed beneath him. With her face sandwiched between the cup of his hand and the rasp of his shadowed cheek, his chest rising and falling against her back, she was enveloped within what felt like a warm, dark, breathing womb. She imagined herself remaining like that, hibernating there in the forest with him.
“You are welcome to leave the school grounds as required from now on,” he murmured against her cheek.
Perhaps she wouldn’t hibernate after all. Perhaps she would just take him with her.
Then he lifted himself off her. But as he did, she felt the briefest press of his lips against her temple. Out of everything he’d done to her and with her, this was by far the most meaningful.
He really had forgiven her.
- 14
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At the Headmaster’s Discretion *Complete*

At the Headmaster’s Discretion Complete