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Doing it for the Order Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 72673 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 4
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
- 16
- 17
- 18
A/N: Thank you for the kind holiday wishes, I know this is a busy time for you all. So after everyone left on Christmas day, I managed to get a few hours of, slightly drunken, writing in. I hope you enjoy it. DSx
P.S. This chapter is my tribute to the inspired video artworks - 'Hysterical Literature.'
Kvarta – ‘Mine broke, literally, under me few days ago’ – hmmm, what were you doing in it? ‘I just love how protective he is’ – I, too, love a protective Sev. ‘I, also, see her as protective motherly figure towards him.’ – Yes, it has impact as she is quite a brittle character a lot of the time too and her soft spot for him is endearing. ‘he still was her first ;)’ – this is true and, no doubt, that is having some influence upon her. Happy holidays to you and yours too. I look forward to reading more of your story. xx
OO – ‘And of course I loved that he's watching her back.’ – Yes, it’s the first time it’s become clear that he’s really looking out for her. Thanks for the book title fix, I think I was just being lazy in the end. ‘Wet fish slap to the heart.’ – Hahah, that is such a visceral sensation . . . I can feel it even now. ‘To continue to save him.--This was my next fav line this chapter.’ – I enjoyed that one too . . . shows there’s a bit going on here for her. Happy Christmas cheesecake!! xx
Appreciative – Thank you so much for your kind words. I particularly liked ‘there's a plot outside of the sexytimes that usually makes sense’ – LOL. There are a few gaps. I’ll be filling them in as we go – hopefully ;) x
Ali – ‘Well I'd just ask...fancy a shag Professor?’ – of course you would, I would expect nothing less from you, especially after a glass or two of Prosecco ;) OO is the one who usually has to put up with my drunken ramblings so I’m glad you returned the favour. And a very Merry Christmas to you too. BTW ‘diwnfakk’ is now my new favourite word xx

Chapter 17 – Handing Out Orders
The copy of ‘Potions Uncorked’ that he’d Owled through was certainly clean. She doubted it had ever been opened. And it turned out to be far less interesting than the first time she’s read it. There were no notes . . . no bold statements capturing some sudden flash of inspiration, no insights to pique her interest. Still, she had it tucked under her arm as she hurried toward the Dungeons, wondering what the hell she was going to do with it.
Their ‘tuition sessions’ to date had really been nothing of the sort. The earlier ones had amounted to little more than snide arguments. They’d missed quite a few recently. And now that the venue had shifted to his chambers, she wondered if the intention of the sessions might change. Was he actually going to teach her something?
She wasn’t averse to the idea as she’d certainly felt her academic focus slipping in recent months. She also harboured misgivings, however, as she was no longer confident of her ability to sit in close proximity to him without feeling somewhat distracted. Certainly the nature of their last few interactions didn’t leave much room for quality educational cogitation.
She’d also held off trying to see him despite her desperate desire to do so. It hadn’t taken her long to realise that she couldn’t very well apologise without him suspecting that he’d been discussed. And the fact that he’d shared virtually nothing with her to date, suggested that his injuries at the hands of the Dark Lord were likely to be something else he would prefer to keep private.
They did, however, need to talk—even if it seemed to be the most difficult thing of all for them to do. The tenuous undercurrent of something more—the inference of genuine mutual attraction that seemed to have woven itself into their sexual relationship, although welcome on her part, wasn’t enough to sustain her. She really needed some answers. And, no doubt, so did he.
So she shook out the nervous tension as she faced his door, and knocked. Moments later it was opened—he delivered a courteous nod. It was . . . almost normal.
“Hello."
“Good evening, Miss Granger.”
Fuck. She couldn’t do this.
“Please call me Hermione.”
She was on edge already. He could tell just by looking at her. Hair volume up. Brow furrow down. Shoulders rigid. And her tone—stripped of pretence. She was clearly there to have it out with him. He was somewhat surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Not wine.”
Did she know? Her expression was wary but he doubted Dumbledore would have discussed the poisoned bottle with her.
“Tea?”
“Yes. I’d love that . . . Severus.”
He held her gaze. He hadn’t imagined it—a genuine escalation.
“Of course.”
Did it extend beyond the sex? Beyond their recent intensification? Was she inferring a desire to deepen their relationship? Part of him, of course, wanted it, but another part was even less sure now of what he could offer her. A cup of tea would have to suffice—for now.
With a wave of his hand, he summoned a tray with a teapot and jug, cups, saucers, and a sugar bowl from the lower shelf of his drinks cabinet, setting them upon a table with two chairs that he’d moved into the middle of the room.
Hermione was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t called upon the services of the House Elves but she was increasingly discovering his preference for self-sufficiency. As a double agent it probably served him well.
Gesturing to the chair beside him, he took a seat. Hermione slid ‘Potions Uncorked’ onto the table.
“How did you find it?” He nodded to the book.
“The parts I read were a little . . . bland.” Her eyes flickered up to his as she sat. His copy would have been far better.
“I agree.”
Of course he did. He’d practically re-written it.
“Did you ever get your stolen books back?”
His mouth firmed into a thin line. “No.”
It was only one word but she already knew better than to push it.
He handed her a cup of tea and she found herself focusing on his hands—those very, very impressive hands—both professionally and . . . privately.
As unhelpful as it was, she suddenly felt it . . . a stirring deep inside. And the sense of despair that accompanied it hit her like a Bludger to the stomach. She wanted him—which was really her own problem, plenty of people wanted those they couldn’t have. The issue was that she could have him. But only on the terms of the Dark Lord. Only on the terms of the Order. And she was afraid that if he wanted her too, they would be caught in an even more agonising tryst—if that was at all possible.
He sensed something brewing. She was watching him spoon sugar into her cup and then his own—adding a dash of milk.
“You remembered.”
“Sorry?”
“You know how I have my tea . . . From Madam Puddifoot’s.”
He knew a lot about her. More than he cared to let on.
“We take it the same. I should remember.”
She was quiet again.
“Do you mind if I call you Severus?” she asked finally.
“No.”
“I wouldn’t call you that in class,” she added.
“Of course.”
“Will you call me Hermione?”
“If you wish.”
“Yes, I do.”
He watched her over the rim of his cup. More thinking.
“Can the enchantment be fulfilled more than once in a week?”
There it was—cutting straight to the chase. His chest tightened.
“It already has been.”
“What do you mean?”
“We met on a Friday, and then the following Wednesday.”
Her eyes shifted up and to the left. She was recalling.
Then she took a sip of tea.
He felt like a cowardly bastard—letting her force the conversation. But he just couldn’t go there—for many reasons.
“I’d like to,” she murmured into her cup—so quietly that he almost missed it.
He could have asked her to repeat it—she was probably expecting him to. But that would simply prolong what was already a patently difficult conversation. He wouldn’t even ask her to explain. He already knew.
“As would I.”
She looked up, her expression hopeful. His chest squeezed even tighter.
“But I really don’t think it would be wise to persist in such a manner.”
Blinking. Too rapidly. She was holding back tears.
“However, we can continue to meet—like this.”
“For ‘tuition’?” she ground out, pushing her cup away.
She was getting ready to leave.
“Of sorts.”
She glared at him.
“Accio.”
A book flew from one of the shelves and slapped into his raised palm.
“Read.” He tossed it onto the table before her. “Out loud.”
It was their third year potions text—a clean copy. She already knew it back to front.
“I don’t need to—”
“Read,” he demanded.
Huffing, she flipped the book open to the middle. The first recipe she came to was one for relieving anxiety. It didn’t work very well—at least not for the type of anxiety she had—she’d already tried it.
Propping her chin on her hand, she began reading in a bored tone. “The ingredients for the Tension Relief potion are derived from those used to prepare the Rapid Sleep potion but are necessarily milder due to the . . .”
Her breath caught. He’d moved closer. And his fingertips were now trailing lightly up her inner thigh. She’d worn her skirt . . . wondering if . . .
“Rea-d.” The last letter popped off his tongue. She couldn’t help glancing up to see the aftermath on his lips . . . hovering, parted deliciously . . . she really wanted to—
“. . . the lesser nature of the intended effect,” she continued quickly as she realised he was about to berate her again.
She swallowed.
“Imbibers of this potion will be granted almost instantaneous . . .” She groaned.
His fingers had continued on and were now tickling gently up and down her knickers, fingering the seam between her pussy lips.
She sat up straight, her legs drifting slightly apart.
“. . . relief from the tension that currently afflicts them.”
Sighing breathily, she continued. “Contraindications for this potion include those already taking potions to combat insomnia . . .”
He pulled her knickers aside and slipped one digit between her folds, brushing against her clitoris.
Her eyes widened but she managed to focus on the text before her, suddenly understanding why he’d given her a book she was familiar with.
As she pushed out the words, his finger simultaneously pushed deeper until it was nudging at her opening. Another moan disrupted her fluency as he entered. She eventually recommenced—more slowly. Two fingers were inside her now, confidently delving in and out. Her voice was inversely assured, wavering with each stroke until she was forced to stop.
She ventured a glance at him. It was a mistake. The intensity of his gaze, like two pools of black fire, made her trembling hands even more agitated. Pressing both against the page, she resumed. And that’s when his thumb descended onto her clitoris—rubbing the nub which she could already feel was extremely swollen as his fingers continued to plunge into her.
The pitch of her voice rose. She bent her head closer to the page, attempting to keep her gaze steady. She realised then that the distraction of reading meant that her body was responding automatically, without her capacity to intervene. Everything she felt was caused by pure stimulation, not her mind’s interpretation of it. And it meant that the building sensation was . . . extreme.
Breathing heavily, she squeezed the words out, grasping the seat of the chair with one hand to assist the natural rocking of her hips which she felt quite unable to control.
Doggedly she continued but it was a losing battle, each sentence punctuated by the requirement to draw frequent deep breaths.
He sped up and she could hear the sound of her pussy’s obvious enjoyment at being pounded up to his knuckles.
A series of guttural grunts erupted from her. She braced her shaking hands against the table top.
“Unhhh . . . uhhh . . . Gods!”
Her eyes closed and her mouth dropped open as she came, the chair rocking and scraping against the floor as she was seized by a succession of violent convulsions. Drawing gasping breaths, she continued to ride his fingers, a patch of dampness spreading beneath her. The power of her orgasm seemed to eject more and more from her body, his fingers continuing to thrust and agitate throughout.
When the final contraction quaked through her, her head pitched backwards and a groan of relief escaped her lips. She felt him withdraw. After a few moments, she managed to crack her eyes open, discovering that he was still intently watching her. Then he slowly brought his hand to his mouth and proceeded to lick the base of his index finger. Her channel twitched again. He was tasting her. He’d done it before, far more intimately than he was now, but for some reason it felt incredibly erotic. Sucking the digit into his mouth, his eyelids shuttered slightly, giving the impression that he was enjoying and savouring every last drop—an image that burned so deeply into her, she knew she wouldn’t forget it—ever.
“When will you return, Hermione?” His impossibly low voice, and her name upon it, was liquid desire.
“Friday,” she whimpered.
“Friday?”
“Wednesday.”
He inclined his head as though he’d been expecting it.
She gave a shuddering sigh.
And, even then, it couldn’t come soon enough.
- 16
- 17
- 18
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Doing it for the Order *Complete*

Doing it for the Order Complete