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Talk Dirty To Me	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 20443 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters, nor do I make any money from this sordid little fic :)

Chapter List
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A/N: Well let me say how THRILLED I am that everyone is enjoying this so far lol! I did have fun writing it so hopefully my enthusiasm caught on. Since Hermione had to wait, I also had to wait to update.

"Care to tell me why you look as if you've been sucking on a lemon all weekend?" Mina asked Hermione that following Monday morning at work. "What happened, did the batteries on your vibrator give out?"
Hermione looked up from her desk fast enough to give herself whiplash. Mina hadn't been expecting the small pot of hand crème that Hermione kept nearby to come flying in her direction, and yelped when it struck her in the forehead.
"What you do that for?!"
"That was my attempt at beating some sense into your head," Hermione replied dismissively. "But something tells me one time won't be enough; I think I have a packet of paracetamol I can throw next."
"All right! I'll behave," Mina laughed, ducking behind her cheer and exaggeratedly peeking over the top. "But seriously, everything alright? You seem a little...tense."
Hermione gave a wry laugh as she flipped through the stack of post that had just been delivered to the office. Tense was probably the right word for how she looked. All day Saturday, she had been unable to get her conversation with the salacious stranger she'd met on Magk out of her head. Dithering between logging online to see if he was around, while the other half of her brain warned her against doing so, Hermione found herself on the computer sometime around seven that evening. She had gone with the pretence of 'I'm not waiting around for him', keeping the Magk window minimised while she trawled through a fashion website that sold witches' robes, as well as their interpretation of Muggle clothing.
A frilly lace blouse paired with a long, ruffled satin skirt, was being purported as something that a Muggle woman would wear when something casual was called for, such as grocery shopping or running other errands. The fact that the outfit was being displayed with a pair of black combat boots with four inch heels might have been cause for Hermione's brow to furrow, while asking herself who was behind the website. Yet she had been distracted with distracting herself, trying not to focus on the unlit area of Mufty's homepage which indicated that he was not online.
She had waited until nearly midnight to see if he would turn up, and when the box remained unlit, Hermione dragged herself to bed, knowing that it wouldn't do to show up at her parents' house the next day in a funk. By Sunday afternoon, her mood hadn't improved much, although she feigned cheerfulness, knowing that her mum would immediately sense her change in attitude and hone in like an eagle swooping down on its prey. Mrs. Granger still managed to see past her daughter's facade, and asked three times if she was feeling alright. Mr. Granger, being himself, was oblivious to everything, and merely asked Hermione trivial things, such as the offer of more wine or to please pass the potatoes. Oh, and for help with his mobile, which had been tucked into the front pocket of his button-down shirt.
"I'm always tense," Hermione finally told Mina, who was at her own desk and surprisingly working on a report for Shacklebolt. "Tense is my middle name."
"No, really?" Mina replied mockingly, pursing her lips. "I thought you had a stick permanently affixed up your arse."
Just as Hermione was about to offer a scathing remark, Kingsley walked out of his office and past their desks. There was an aggravated look on his face, and he was clearly in a hurry.
"Hmm, looks like someone's late for their meeting," Mina mused, tilting her head and curiously eyeing the back of the Minister as he shuffled out the door in a flurry of purple robes. Once the sight of his shiny bald head had popped out of view, she added, "He moves bloody fast for someone so tall."
"You know what else he's doing to do fast if you don't settle down and finish your work?" Hermione asked as she stood up from her own desk and smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt, "Make you redundant and find a more productive replacement. Be right back, I'm popping to the loo."
Mina replied with one of her usual sarcastic remarks, which went ignored by Hermione. The two cups of tea Hermione poured down her throat that morning, which had been consumed mostly to keep her eyes open, and also because she'd been on edge, finally made their way down to her bladder. At the end of her walk to the ladies she began running and nearly knocked over a goblin wearing a waistcoat in her haste. "Sorry!" she yelped in mortification before darting into the bathroom.
The walk back to the office was less hurried now that she had relieved herself. On her way, a wizard that vaguely resembled someone she used to know, a person that she never became personally familiar with for a multitude of reasons. This person was definitely not the wizard she had in mind, however, not unless he had taken to wearing posh trainers that looked as if they came from an expensive Muggle shop. Then there was the issue of the t-shirt that bore the name of some band Hermione had never heard of. But the long black hair that constantly fell into the wizard's eyes, which he kept brushing back with one hand, inadvertently displaying a prominent nose...yes, he definitely looked like a young Severus Snape.
Severus Snape.
It had been some time since Hermione thought about the old headmaster of Hogwarts. Snape had stayed on staff for another two years after the war ended. McGonagall then acted in his place until a replacement was found, a younger witch from the school board.
The Daily Prophet ran a small piece when Snape retired, but after that, no further mention had been given of the reclusive wizard. He seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, because hide nor stringy black hair of his had been seen since then. Ron suggested that the professor had most likely finally turned into his true Animagus form, an evil black bat, to do what he planned all along, which was cackle wildly while flapping off into the sunset.
Hermione hadn't thought that was funny, especially since they all thought the worse of Snape throughout their entire time at school. Of course, he had been a bit of a bastard, but Hermione wasn't one to hold a grudge. It wouldn't get her anywhere, and she didn't see the point.
Offhandedly, Hermione began wondering what had come of the professor. Was he living in the wizarding world? Was he even still living in Great Britain?
Shacklebolt most likely knew of the former professor's whereabouts. There was a chance McGonagall knew as well, but Hermione was aware that Snape was still a touchy subject when it came to more than a few people. Anyway, it didn't matter if she found out where Snape had disappeared to. If there was the slightest chance that they would speak, the most he would probably do was offer some pithy remark. Severus Snape did possess the ability to be polite; Hermione had witnessed that a handful of times when he attended meetings for the Order when everyone was gathered at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Even so, while his lips might have uttered the most courteous of niceties, it was his dry manner that made his every word akin to an insult.
Briefly, Hermione asked herself why she was giving so much thought to her former teacher. She had a better chance of going back to Ron and becoming the next Mrs. Weasley than of laying eyes on Severus Snape.
Besides, you have more important matters to tend to, like that mountain of reports that you didn't get to finish last Friday.
Thoughts of paperwork was enough to put Severus out of her mind and send Hermione scampering down the length of the corridor.

Thursday rolled around, and Hermione still hadn't spoken to her nameless, faceless gentleman friend she'd met on Magk. For two days in a row, she had done the whole pretending-I'm-not-waiting-by-the-computer thing. The third day, she only waited for fifteen minutes, before deciding to turn in for bed. The next morning, she resigned herself to the fact that her steamy conversation with the salacious stranger was most likely a one-off, and to not expect to hear from him again.
Not that it had done anything to stifle her racing libido whenever she thought about the scenario that he'd painted too perfectly by way of keyboard. It also didn't help that Mina insisted on telling her about some new position she and her beau had read about; she referred to it as the Reclining Lotus and claimed that it was even better when a pillow was placed beneath your hips.
When Mina began going into great detail about how the position was excellent because David managed to easily stimulate her clit with his thumb while they fucked, her exact words, Hermione was thanking every deity known to her the current inhabitants of their office were two elderly wizards, one of whom was taking a nap at his desk. The other wizard was most likely doing a walk about of the Ministry grounds, which he tended to do between the hours of eleven and one. Kingsley had his own private office, but still hadn't returned from his meeting. Thank the gods, because Hermione would have died of mortification if he were to overhear his colleague's less-than-appropriate work conversation.
"Mina, can't you and the tales of your sexual escapades wait until the weekend?!" Hermione hissed.
"Why?" Mina asked incredulously. "Who do you expect to hear me say 'clitoris', Golvokin?" She looked over at the white-haired wizard in question, who had just let out a loud snore. "You know he's not going to wake up till lunchtime. His trousers could catch fire and it wouldn't be enough to make him open his eyes."
"Mina—"
"Listen to this. Oi! Oi, Golvy! Golvy Golvokin! Guess what, I got shagged till my brains leaked out my ear this weekend. Did you hear me, Golvy? Do you even remember where a woman's clitoris is, you great snoring lump? Did you know where it was to begin with? Or did your wife need to Conjure a torch and mirror so you could find it?"
"Gods, you're horrible!" Hermione bellowed, caught between amusement and horror." Do you kiss your mum with that mouth?"
"Where do you think I learned it from?" Mina replied smugly, shrugging her shoulders.
The rest of the day passed quietly. Mina decided that she was no longer going to torment her friend, and actually stayed at her desk, although she bothered Hermione a few times to borrow a quill, and then some ink.
When Hermione returned home, Duchess greeted her at the door, meowing loudly and weaving her furry little body around her ankles.
"I know, you're ready to eat," Hermione told the animal, gently nudging her out the way with her toe so she could hang up her coat. "You'd rub up on anyone that would feed you."
After going through the rigmarole of dinner and a bath, Hermione sat in front of her computer with the sole aim of checking her email before bed. It wasn't as if she was expecting to hear from a certain person—that would have been absurd.
Of course, life was funny. When you wanted something, it never came. When you least expected it, there it was. Thus Hermione was shocked to the bones when she took a chance by logging into Magk, and finding that red dot flashing in the corner of her inbox.
User5482:"Good afternoon, or evening, depending on the time you find this message. I do hope I haven't scared you off?"
"Scared isn't the word I would use, Mister 5482," Hermione muttered to the screen. The unreasonable part of her felt like doing a little happy dance because the man hadn't forgotten about her. The cynical part of her reared its ugly head, pointing out that it was sad for her to get her knickers wet over some person she had never met and would most likely never meet.
Who asked you? she retorted to the pessimistic half of her conscience, while poising her fingers over the keyboard, fervently trying to come up with a reply that didn't sound too desperate.
-Good evening. Scared? Quite the opposite, if I may be so blunt. Although after our last conversation, I confess to wondering if I would ever hear from you again.
Hermione dithered about, rereading her note a few times and thinking if she should leave it as is.
"Damn. I hope that doesn't sound too bad. Man is liable to think that I'll try to Apparate to wherever he is right now."
"If you wanted to speak to me, all you had to do was send a message. I thought it was clear that I'm not particularly bothered with pretence and convention? Say what you like; do what you like. I promise that it will not be held against you."
That response made Hermione arch an eyebrow. This was definitely a first; in her experience most people wanted to observe propriety, even if their heart was not in it. Her one-off with the man she'd met on holiday; for someone that was keen on having a one-night stand, he turned out to be a bit stuffy, even for her tastes. The idea of talking to someone where she didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing, or Merlin forbid, letting out the desires and fantasies that she tried to keep latent for the most part, sounded like a refreshing change.
-Do you really mean that? Does that mean I can talk about anything, even how I seriously considered strangling my co-worker today?
The mental image of her hands wrapped around Mina's throat was cause for Hermione to chuckle to herself. Surely it was bad form to become amused by a thought so macabre, but Hermione really had felt her patience stretch thin when Mina began conversing about things that were meant to be discussed in a more intimate setting.
"If you feel the need to discuss a witless colleague, by all means, carry on. What happened that you were sent to such paroxysms of violence?"
That message made Hermione laugh outright.
-She began talking about things one wouldn't normally talk about whilst in public. I'm no prude, but I do try to behave with decorum. She even began yelling at an old, deaf wizard nearby about her clitoris, although he was kipping at his desk and didn't notice a thing.
Talking about Mina and her antics definitely made Hermione feel idiotic. But Mufty did say that she could talk about whatever she wanted, hadn't he?
"You definitely work with an interesting group. I am curious, though; why was she talking about her clitoris?'
That made Hermione pause. Finally, she replied:
-She was telling me about a new position she and her boyfriend tried; it's called the Reclining Lotus. Apparently it's some move from a book based on Kama Sutra. Heard of it?
"Heard of it, haven't had the chance to use it. Yet I do remember hearing good things about 'The Nirvana'; did your friend mention that one?"
-No...she didn't. Care to expound?
"I see. It's touted to do wonders for your clitoris, although I know of quite a few positions that would allow me to inadvertently caress that little nub. Forgive me for pointing this out, 'BookLovr', but you seem to be ill-advised on most fronts when it comes to sex. Pray tell, why is that?"
Hermione couldn't help the sudden feeling of disconcertedness that came over her. She thought she had been doing a great job of not letting her inexperience show.
-I suppose because I've only had one boyfriend and one lover, the latter being a one-time thing that happened while I was on holiday. And if I may be frank, both of them were about as titillating as watching Quidditch. Well, for me, that is. I've never really cared for Quidditch, although watching the matches did give me more of a thrill than I anticipated. I was sure that everyone was going to fall off their broomsticks and break their necks. I had a few friends that played and I was always twitchy until the match was over.
"I'm inclined to respectfully disagree with you on the point of Quidditch, as I'm rather fond of it, but I digress. Just two lovers? Interesting. However, let me leave you with this: you could have slept with two-hundred wizards and still ended up feeling as if you wasted an entire evening. It's not the quantity, but the quality. Sex isn't something that's meant to be rushed. Now I've not slept with any men, but the consensus seems to be that many merely rut until they get off, only to fall asleep afterwards. If I were a woman, I supposed I'd be cross as well."
That shared bit of knowledge was interesting. Mufty's next message came before Hermione was able to reply to the last one.
"Humour me, my poor, deprived soul. Hmm, perhaps humour is a poor choice of word, as I see nothing humorous about your abysmal sex life. Anyway, I would like to know what these encounters entailed. Don't feel as if you need to leave anything out, I'd like to hear it all."
Now that was definitely a first—Ron, nor the older gentleman, had bothered to ask Hermione what she preferred.
-Well...as far as positions, there wasn't much experimentation on that front. It was mostly him on top, to the side, and me on top a few times. Once we tried him behind me while I kneeled on all fours, but I didn't like it much. It felt like he was trying to ram through my stomach.
"From behind...buggering?"
-Gods no. This is my first boyfriend I'm talking about. He was my first and I was his, but when I tell you he nearly buggered that up...no way in hell was I going to let him near my arse.
Hermione shuddered as memories of that day came back to mind. Upon first seeing Ron's bared erection, she understood why there were so many Weasleys running about. If the Weasley men were all built alike, a thought which disturbed her at the time, because she viewed Ron's siblings akin to older, annoying brothers—then becoming further traumatised by the brief thought of his Dad's most likely well-endowed dangly bits— then it was no wonder as to the reason for Mrs. Weasley remaining so smitten with her husband after many years of marriage.
Yet when it came down to business, it was apparent that an over-enthusiastic virgin and a skittish one that found it difficult to relax was a bad combination. Whoever said that losing your virginity felt like nothing more than a quick pinch had lied. It burned like the rings of hell when Ron's hips snapped forward. After what felt like an eternity, Hermione had finally gotten used to his clumsy thrusts when his body shuddered viciously before collapsing on her, nearly knocking all the wind from her lungs. In spite of their cliché horrible first time, the sex had gotten marginally better, but remained absent of those toe-curling, eye-crossing orgasms that Hermione had read about. In a fit of madness, which is what Hermione called it, Ron had suggested they try anal sex. He had been turned down without her even giving his idea a second thought.
"That is a shame,' Mufty replied. "Leave it to these young lads to ruin a good thing."
His 'young lads' remark was enough to prompt another of Hermione's never-ending questions.
-The way you speak...it's obvious you've seen a thing or two. But I'm curious—how old are you?
"Tempted I am to tell you 'old enough' and leave it at that, but something tells me you'll nag until you get a proper answer. Is late forties satisfactory enough? While we're on the topic of age, allow me to ask you the same. And remember that the rules of polite society don't hold here, so don't feed me any tripe about ladies not telling their age."
Hermione snorted back laughter as she typed her reply.
-Late twenties, since we're not giving exact numbers. Is that good enough?
"For now. So long as you're of age, it's all right with me. Now I'm doing a bit of crude maths, but I figure there's at least fifteen or so years between us. Does that not bother you?"
"Heh, if you only knew," Hermione smirked, thinking of her older lover, who had been fourteen years her senior.
-The second man I told you about, he was older than me at the time. So, no, it doesn't bother me.
"Ah, yes, the holiday cock. And that less-than-fortuitous happenstance?"
-OK, I'm assuming you've heard a Mandrake cry before, or at least are familiar with the plant. Well, imagine a Mandrake being put under Cruciatus. Do you know how hard it is to get off with someone squawking like that into your ear? Not to mention the difficulty posed in trying to keep a straight face.
"I shall take your word for it. Although, now I'm curious; I wonder what you sound like whilst being lost to the throes of passion. Deep, guttural moans? Sweet, breathless sighs? Or perhaps a variation of the two, depending on the circumstances."
-I...actually have no idea. I never really paid attention to what I sound like during sex. I wonder if that's a bad thing.
"Ordinarily I would say no, as it meant that you were so wrapped up in things that you were unable to notice. However, the little I can glean by talking to you this long, tells me that at the time your mind was focused on separate matters. If that is the case, and neither of your illustrious partners noticed, you have my sympathies."
Hermione laughed so loudly from the last sentence that she made Duchess, who was slithering her way in between the crack of the open bedroom door, nearly jump out of her white coat.
"Sorry, Duchess!" Hermione apologised to the kitty. Duchess stared at her for a minute, as if deciding whether or not to hang around. Evidently her mistress had been forgiven, because the feline then jumped up onto Hermione's computer desk and stretched alongside the keyboard, as if saying, 'You've had your fun, but computer time is over. Now give me your undivided attention'.
"Alright, now you're just being naughty," Hermione groaned, picking up the cat and moving her back down to the floor. Duchess' paws had best resting directly atop the number keys, and the inbox where Hermione had been formulating her next reply read 00000000000000000000000000900000000000.
"Mrrow!" came the affronted cry from next to Hermione's foot.
"No, you stay down there," Hermione told her cat. "Can't you see that I'm talking to a nice man? Well, of course you can't see, as he's on the computer and God knows where, but even so—"
Shut up, Hermione, before you meet death by being too overly-literal. And let's not even mention the fact that you're being pedantic with a cat; Mina had a good point when she said that you were well on your way to becoming a cat lady by the age of thirty. What's next, humming to yourself while standing in the queue at Tesco's, with rollers in your hair and slippers on your feet?
-Sorry. My cat decided to lay herself across my keyboard, Hermione responded once she had deleted the series of zeros typed across the small inbox on her screen. -Yes, my track record with men has been somewhat lacklustre. I think our conversation from last Friday is the most titillating thing I've experienced thus far, if I'm being honest.
"Happy to leave a lasting impression. And tell your cat to bugger off."
-Lasting impression is an understatement; the pretend imagery was enough to burn a hole into my brain. No nookie in what feels like forever and then getting all worked up? That night is something I will never forget. Duchess (that's my cat) is currently glaring at me because I made her get down. Do you have any pets to order you about?'
Hitting the send button, Hermione glanced down to see the time in the bottom right corner of her screen. She should have been in bed at least thirty minutes ago. Yet it was worth staying up later than usual to chat with Mystery Man, even if she would most likely regret losing sleep by the morning.
"If one can consider the vermin that skulks round my bins here at night, trying to find scraps of food to gorge on, then yes, I nearly have a menagerie. I should extend an invitation to your cat to come entertain herself with the mice; perhaps I'd be on Duchess' good side."
-It would take far less than that, let me tell you. She's loyal to whoever fills her food dish, but woe to you if you move too slowly. I bet you didn't know that cats can actually appear scathing.
"Oh, I am well aware of the proclivities of felines, which is why I do not have one. But I'm not rudely keeping you up at this ungodly hour to talk about your cat...well...not the four-legged sort."
That made Hermione snort. How this man could utter such filth to her, while at the same time not putting her off, making her laugh instead, was a mystery. She wasn't used to speaking baldly herself, but wasn't adverse to it. Even so, the words in her head that began formulating a reply made her blush slightly.
-What do you want to know about my pussy...cat?
"I would take greater pleasure in finding out firsthand, but I do wonder what your pussy looks like; shaven clean and smooth as silk? Or is there a thatch of curls to tickle my nose when I kiss you? Might you have a clitoris that rides high enough to poke out, requiring nothing more for me to lift your skirts and take down your knickers? If so, two fingers would be all I need to spread your folds a bit, exposing that pretty pearl. I could lick it while you're still standing, but I promise to not let you fall should your legs go wobbly.
Hmm, unless, that little bud is hidden, in which case I shall bade you to sit in front of me with your lovely thighs parted, allowing me to see it all, employing lips, tongue, and fingers to search out your flesh.
How do you like to be touched? Do you prefer to have your clitoris lapped at as if it were a rich, decadent pudding? Or do you prefer to longer licks that begin at your rosebud and move up the length of your pussy, leaving it slick with saliva? I'd like to know what position you prefer to be eaten: on all fours, back arched and exposing the sweet juices running down your quim? Or perhaps you might enjoy riding my tongue, my hands massaging your arse as you writhe against my mouth, your thighs clenching and relaxing with each stroke until you finally explode, bathing my chin with your sweet essence.
Tell me, would you fall to the side, chest heaving and limbs trembling like a young woman that was just given her first proper sexual experience? Or would you assume the role of a succubus, continuing to straddle my face, wriggling your hips and rubbing your little pussy against my lips, groaning like the wanton vixen while desperately chasing that feeling until you break apart time and time again? How many orgasms would it take until you finally capitulate? Two? Three? Six?"
The idea of being licked to orgasm made Hermione's core clench. She had yet to have that particular experience, and was coming precariously close to asking Mystery Man if he wanted to meet right then. For all she knew Mufty could have been the next Jack The Ripper, using his gift of gab to lure in unsuspecting young women, then eventually meeting them and hacking their bodies into pieces and leaving the leftovers bits in a canal.
Bollocks; if you truly thought he was a murderer, would you still be chatting with him so casually?
Honestly...yes, if he kept talking the way he's been all along.
Hermione, you really need to get laid. And to not talk to yourself, or at least don't let anyone else hear you do it.
-I'm still here. I actually think I need a fag after reading that, and I don't even smoke.
"I fear I may have dove into things too prematurely. I left out all the other things I would do to the rest of your delectable body."
-I'd much rather you show me.
No sooner than Hermione hurriedly typed out her reply and hit send, did she realise her sentence. Had she just propositioned someone that she barely knew?
Dumb bint; you're in for it now! She chided herself. Now I bet he's going to turn into some creepy perv stalker that you'll never be able to give the slip to even though you've not met. Are you daft, or are you daft?
Hermione waited on tenterhooks for Mufty's reply. When it finally popped into her inbox, she almost pulled the mouse cord completely free from the computer as she rushed to click the open tab.
"Either you're foolishly trusting or I've made a very good impression. Either way, I feel inclined to tell you that if we were to meet in the future, rest assured, no harm would fall to you. I don't fancy the idea of Azkaban or even a Muggle prison for that matter, just in case you were worried about me being some reclusive psychotic killer. If I were to wrap my hands around your neck, it would be gently, and only to steer your mouth towards my cock."
Hermione was floored by the smooth shift in conversation; it went from sensual to creepy to sensual once again. Giving head had never been something she looked forward to. For her, it was akin to a dry chore, which she put no real enthusiasm behind. But for this stranger...she felt positively enthralled by the idea of her kneeling between his legs, one arm curled around his thighs while her other hand and mouth worked over his raging erection.
-I've been called foolishly trusting before, but I think at this point I've been successful for the most part in picking out the crazy. Anyway, I'm glad to hear that you are not some reclusive psychotic killer, although I admit to having Jack The Ripper immediately come to mind.
Now if you don't mind telling me more about your hand on my neck...that sounds intriguing, and much better than you fisting my hair from its roots and shoving your cock down my throat. Yes, I'm speaking from experience. A trying one that left my shirt wet and head sore.
"Really, what sort of men have you been consorting with? Not to sound overly cocksure, but I think when comparing myself to those other two...well, even I might be a better selection.
Would it ease your mind to know that I would never, as you put, 'shove my cock down your throat'? Nay; I prefer a touch that starts off light and ends with fervour. I wouldn't even take my cock out completely; I'd leave it poking out through the slit in my trousers, just to see what you'd make of it. The idea of your pouty lips slowly engulfing the tip...a hint of pink tongue darting out to capture that little bead of nectar sitting at the end. I know you're disagreeable to the idea of having your hair pulled roughly—not that I blame you—but would you settle for having it stroked softly while you suck me off? What if I caress the back of your neck, or run my fingers over the curve of your cheek? I've found that gentle touches are a much more effective manner of encouragement, instead of harsh, adolescent groping.
Something to think about?
I won't keep you awake any longer; it would be a shame to deprive you of sleep and being responsible for you maiming your co-worker tomorrow because of an ill-natured mood. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."
xx
Mystery Man had a point. If she did not go to sleep within the next few minutes, Mina or someone else would bear the brunt of her grouchiness in the morning. Again, Hermione was hot and bothered from her previous conversation, but was too tired to even consider getting herself off.
Oh well. There was always mental masturbation, which Hermione occupied herself with as she drifted off to sleep.
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