Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Mission Impossible	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 11774 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
His lips were everywhere; clumsy and drunken as they kissed her flesh. She was panting the room was spinning. She wasn’t even sure how they’d made it upstairs for one minute they’d been dancing in a throng of celebrated heroes and the next she was thrown back over a bed with nice sheets. Flitting glimpses of being thrust up against the wall of a lift danced behind her eyes as she tried to recall what was happening. Too much punch swimming through her veins, too many shots coursing through her blood; but he was there, ravaging her and she needed him.

Her hips were arching up, the fabric of her dress hiding her stomach, pulled down to show her heaving breasts, bunched up so he could tear at her knickers. That warm sturdy hand roughly grabbing handfuls of her tender flesh with an almost painfully strong massaging grip. She moaned, and his lips covered hers. He tasted of whiskey though she doubted she tasted much different. “Please!” she begged trying to string coherent thoughts together through the fog of lust and drunkenness.

A hard thrust had him lodged firm between her thighs, deep inside her quivering hot center and she cried out as he began to fuck her. He had been wearing pants, she thought, but it didn’t matter, he was there, on her and in her as the room continued to spin.

The Ministry’s celebration commemoration ball had called for required attendance to all those that were being honoured. It had hardly been an event she was looking forward to, but she could avoid it no less than he could. It had scarcely been a year since the fall of the Dark Lord and although all seemed well with the world Hermione knew that was not the case. The Order was still meeting frequently, and although she was kept informed on a need-to-know basis, she was certain that there was more going on than they led on.

An elaborate hotel had been laid out for the occasion and Hermione had hardly bothered with a room. She was hoping to stay just long enough to be honoured and then apparate back to her flat near King’s Cross. The evening had started early with dinner and awards. Aside from the Golden Trio several other members of the Order were honoured, or in case of the deceased, commemorated. It had shocked many of the Ministry trustees when both Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape had arrived, as most believed them to still be dead. Snape by far had been the most decorated of them all, aside from Harry of course.

But as the night wore on and the awards committee had dispersed the great ballroom turned into just that— a dance floor and bar for all in attendance to utilize. Hermione had seen her opportunity to escape the masses as everyone headed for drinks, but she was unable to make it very far.

“’Mione…” Ron slurred as he waddled up to her.

She was hoping to have avoided this situation. A few months had passed since she’d called off their engagement, realizing that in the heat of the moment when she thought the end of their world was upon them that she had no real reason for agreeing to marry him. Relations between them had been strained ever since.

“I was just heading out for some air, Ronald.” She said and turned to go but his hand fell on her shoulder and he practically knocked her over as he used her to balance himself. “Ron! Get off me.”

“’Mione, I know you said we were through…” his breath reeked of tequila as he swayed closer to her. “But I jus think you’ve not really thought about it…” his fumbling arm fell around her back and pulled her close to him. Even when he was drunk he was strong; all those years of playing Quidditch really having paid tribute to his muscles.

“Ron!” Hermione struggled to pull away from him but did little in succeeding. “Get off me right this instant or so help me—”

“Come on, ‘Mione, remember that night in the tent? And you told me—” He hiccupped and then burped loudly. “Sorry,” he grinned and then pressed his lips against her cheek, almost licking her like a dog.

“Ronald Weasley, so help me!” she cried and reached for her wand.

“’Mione, I can’t help it! I love you!” his words slurred together sounding more like a hound dog baying for its master. She’d had enough. Ron’s lips once again assaulted her cheek, trying to cover her mouth in a kiss.

“Ventrica Splurmosis!” she shouted and waved her wand. Purple and blue sparks shot from the tip throttling Ron back from her and against the wall near the coat check. As he found his bearings and attempted to stand Ron found it difficult to gain any ground at all. It seemed as if his legs and arms had turned to a floppy pasta like substance.

“Most impressive.”

The deep voice caught her off-guard and Hermione rounded on her heel, wand pointed. “Oh, forgive me.” She said with a slight blush and lowered her wand.

“Indeed.” Severus Snape said. He was donned in all black as was traditional for the man, but he seemed somehow fancier, the robes of a dressier quality, the trousers more cleanly pressed. “Pity that curse isn’t permanent.”

Hermione couldn’t help but chortle. She’d blasted Ron with the first embarrassing curse that came to mind and her blasting spells had always been a bit strong. The spell at hand caused the target’s limbs to transform into a limp noodle like state for several weeks, whilst sprouting painful purple boils over the recovering flesh. She couldn’t help but hope that it effected all of Ron’s limbs and not just his arms and legs.

She stood there for a moment gazing up at her former professor and then she shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Forgive me, I was just leaving.”

“Ah,” he said. “I was attempting to do the same; however, I have received word that any decorated heroes attempting to leave this blasted party before it has come to a natural end will be penalized into serving a month at Mungo’s on the charity services ward.” He shuddered almost visibly when mentioning this.

“I see…” Hermione frowned. She did not particularly care for the peppy head nurse that ran that particular ward and be damned if she was going to serve a month under her. “I suppose I’ll be finding a dark corner to go brood in.” she muttered.

“Company to that corner?” he offered. It was unlike Severus Snape to show any sort of interest in idle chitchat or any member of the Golden Trio, though as of late Hermione Granger had become the exception; though their conversations never floated so high as to grace the title of idle chitchat.

A pained moan erupted from Ron as he tried to stand on his noodle-like legs and collapsed once more to the ground. Hermione couldn’t contain her giggle. Severus quirked a brow at her. “That ought to keep him down for a while,” she smiled.

There was something about the way she had said it that made him almost burst into a fit of laughter. He knew all too well the curse that she had cast against her ex-fiancé. He also knew all too well of the weasel’s philandering practices, bedding every woman he could in attempts to either stir jealousy in the girl or get over her painful memory. These thoughts with Hermione’s girlish grin made him chuckle.

“Are you—sir, are you laughing?” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh herself. She’d rarely seen the man even come close to a smile but to hear him laughing, it made her body shiver with tingles up and down her spine.

Severus tried to clear his throat and halt his laughter but justice to that pathetic red-headed urchin was all too sweet and he shook his head despite his chuckling. “No, I am not.”

Hermione continued to laugh which only seemed to be infectious as Severus too continued his moment of merriment. She hadn’t heard the approach of the reporters with the cameras or she’d have drawn her wand again.

“There’s two of them, let’s get a picture.” Said one with a large camera around his neck.

Hermione couldn’t contain her giggling smile. “Oh goodness.” Severus straightened up and tried screwing his lips into a scowl but this seemed to fail miserably. “I don’t suppose that curse will be giving him noodles everywhere…” she muttered. Severus could hardly contain his bursting grin.

“A little closer together you two.” The photographer said. Hermione took this as her invitation to take his arm and she grinned. Severus turned to look at her, trying not to appear surprised, still trying to fight down his grin. The flash bulb crackled with smoke as the picture was taken and the photographer waltzed away.

“Oh that was dreadful!” Hermione burst into another fit of giggles.

“You will personally find that fellow and see to it that that photograph is destroyed.” He said. But again could hardly keep from laughing as a bellowed moan of agony rose up from the corner where Ron was still unable to gather himself to his feet.

“I think I need a drink,” she said and gazed almost expectantly at him.

“Perhaps that is not a bad idea,” he said and then followed her over to a corner of the bar that seemed unoccupied.

What seemed like forever later had them downing shot after trick shot that the bartender concocted. She could have sworn somewhere in there they’d chased a flaming Dr. Pepper with a Squashed Frog, but she couldn’t remember. The music was growing louder and she found herself leaning in to hear his words.

“I hate these blasted events,” he growled, and slammed back another shot glass. This one had layers of blue and green alcohol in it but neither of them could recall what the bartender had called it.

“So do I!” she practically shouted. “Do you want to dance?” she found herself asking. Hermione stood from her stool and took her former professor by the hand. The alcohol had soaked through to their brains as she led him out into the throng of dancing masses and he followed.

He moved surprisingly well, and the more they moved the more she longed to feel him against her. They’d kept their distance, so much as the crowd would allow, but his motions were provocative, matching hers and it wasn’t long before she found herself moved closer to him, arms in the air near his shoulders.

It happened so quickly, the room rushing, the beat of the music thumping in her ears. Her hand landed on his shoulder and what little was left of her conscious expected him to pull back or to remove her hand from his person but his own arm wrapped tightly around her waist instead and pulled her close to him. Their bodies were touching as they moved with the music and she could feel his erection pressing against her.

If he felt shame or worry he didn’t display it, though she couldn’t catch his eyes either. The lights flashed, her pulse raced, and she needed to touch more of him. Her hands gripped his shoulders, riding up and down his back, trying to pull their bodies closer. He fell in rhythm with her, moving swiftly, holding her close. She could feel his hot breath on her neck. Sweat trickled down the side of her temple and she was wild; arching her body against him, dipping herself back over his arms and pulling up close to him.

The dizzy sensation of the room spinning around her flashed and she closed her eyes for a moment trying to regain some focus. And she found her lips hovering just above his. Their bodies were still moving, the music still thumping, and in a moment she nearly forgot herself and pressed her lips forward, only to have her body thrust back from his. He shook his head, for spoken word would have drowned in the pit of writhing bodies and heavy music.

Before she could process it she was being torn from the crowd, his hand tight around her wrist and then through the main corridor of the hotel to the lifts.

That’s how they had ended up in his room, shagging mercilessly until they’d both passed out, half from exhaustion half from alcohol. And she’d awoken the next morning with a headache sizeable enough to stop several giants. They hadn’t spoken of the previous night’s encounters, merely dressed bid each other a good morning and left.

She’d seldom seen him since then. At a few Order meetings— the old headquarters restored—and once or twice at the ministry. There had been an order meeting late on Thursday at Number 12 Grimmauld Place that had led to a similar encounter. The meeting had adjourned, only a few of the higher members had been present— Hermione had been fortunate enough to be in residence and the time and assembled herself with the rest— it was the night he had mentioned that all was not well and the Voldemort was not as gone as they believed him to be.

She’d sought him out, catching him in the kitchen with questions begging in her eyes. “He’s back.” She said.

Severus only nodded. He was loathe to admit that the girl crossed his mind more frequently since their drunken night together.

“Then it’s only a matter of time…” she muttered.

It happened so quickly neither one of them knew what was going on. Her lips were on his and he was pushing her up against the countertop, his hands pulling up the hem of her skirt. Always frenzied and dirty they were. Her knickers were soaked through as he tugged them roughly down and he fumbled but only for a moment over the zip of his trousers.

She longed to cry out but his lips were crushed to hers in a bruising kiss. The cold stone of the counter grating against her bare flesh as he thrust himself up inside of her; his grip was firm on her hips, rocking her back and forth. Hermione cracked the back of her head against a kitchen cabinet and for a moment saw stars, but this did not deter him. His throbbing cock kept thrusting but no hand came to cradle her head as he rocked her harder. She leaned forward over his shoulder, her head spinning, the pain and the pleasure coursing through her body.

Severus burst forth, spilling hot seed into her and she writhed, feeling her own climax coming. He withdrew and tucked himself into his trousers but not before thrusting three fingers into her, wriggling them mercilessly until she was trembling on the counter top.

Hermione was panting, eyes glassy as she gazed at him. She swayed and nearly fell from the counter top but he caught her, arms wrapped tightly around her as he guided her feet to the floor. She stayed for a moment with her head pressed against his chest. Already his breathing was beginning to slow. Her eyes fluttered closed. A frenzied fuck; her body was still shaking as he pulled back from her.

His rough hand tilted her chin up and he gazed hard into her eyes, following their rapid movement. “You’ll want to ice that,” he said and let her chin go. He’d turned to leave out the back door but his hand was gripped tightly by all ten of her tiny fingers. His eyes were dark as he turned to face her once more.

She wobbled slightly as she balanced up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Severus remained still and closed his eyes. Hermione’s tongue forced entry to his mouth and she kissed him. He resisted at first as her arms wound around his neck, trying to pull back but it got the better of him. His arms wrapped tightly around the girl and he returned her kiss.

Their lips parted for a brief moment. And both their eyes met, an ocean of feelings swimming through hers, a wall of guarded notions in his. As he lowered his lips to hers once more a soft coughing tore them apart.

“Master Snape,” the little house elf coughed. Severus narrowed his gaze down at Kreacher and frowned. “The old wizard Dumbledore is looking for you.” He said and bowed so low that his nose scraped the kitchen floor.

“Off with you,” he waved his hand at the house elf who turned slowly around a disappeared through a crack in the walls. He turned his eyes back to Hermione. Words had never escaped him before. He shouldn’t have kissed the girl. It was playing with fire and he was far too damaged to risk being burned.

“Protect us,” she muttered and lowered her gaze to the floor.

Without another word he left the kitchen to seek out Dumbledore.

That had been the last time she’d seen him. Aside from two brief moments of passing at the ministry and one night when she’d arrived late for an Order meeting and he was on his way out the door. Their gaze always met, words went unspoken, but it was there. Whatever it was, of course.

It had taken her hours to disillusion the place, but she’d found it. Concentrating hard and knowing his mind perhaps slightly better than those who had sought him out before, she’d found the little cottage in the woods, practically buried in the snow, deep in the mountains of Norway. She had fought distraction after distraction until finally she’d burst through all the barriers and could see it just there in front of her.

Again she reached into her pocket and pulled out the careworn photograph. “I’m coming for you,” she muttered and then stuffed it once more into her pocket. The winds were rough as she approached the cottage. She didn’t know what she would find, what state he’d been left in, but she knew she had to try. Even if she was doing it for the wrong reasons, she had to save him.

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Please leave a review! Letting me know what you thought/how it made you feel helps me in crafting the story along.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Mission Impossible